White Chocolate

Charlie leapt and spun around. She waved her hands in the air. The calypso music was in her blood. She was its avatar. She shrieked as she shook her backside. “Work it girl!” came a nearby shout.” Charlie licked her smooth, apricot-flavored lips and grinned as she executed intricate movements involving long dormant muscles. Bring on the liniment tomorrow(!)she decided, as hand on her belly she wriggled her waist and rotated in a circle. The scent of barbecuing meat mingled with night-blooming jasmine came with the breeze that cooled the party as they all danced with abandonment on the wooden dance floor in Charlie’s backyard. Some of the white guests bounced up and down in tune with their own inner rhythms, instead of the calypso rhythm. This contrasted starkly with many of African descent sensuously cavorting to a familiar music. Fire fire! In she wire Papa Ai yay yay, O yo yo Then she saw Lennie. Her husband, beer bottle in hand, was vigorously 'working up' on a white woman. He held her firmly by the waist as she screamed with delight and exuberantly accepted his every pelvic thrust with one of her own-all set to music. Charlie bit her lip ‘till she tasted blood. He was a good father. He was tall, handsome, light-skinned, part East Indian with straight hair and he was a doctor. He had lightened her darkness. She gritted her teeth as she tossed her hair, shook her ass and finished her rotation. God damn it! She could bear it. “Great party, Charlie,” her friend Rose called out, shimmying past and laughing with her husband, Grantley. “Charlie, there you are!” A large woman, face shining as if someone had just fried chicken on it; elbowed her way towards Charlie. “Meet some friends of mine.” She grabbed Charlie’s hand tugging her off the dance floor as Charlie looked back apologetically at her abandoned dance partner. “Don’t worry about me; go do your hostess thing,” he said and leapt into the center of a group of gyrating hips and bouncing breasts.. Girrrl, I'm so proud of you. And don't you look cute? Is it a Gallanos darling? How much did it cost?” The woman leaned forward, pecked Charlie on the cheek, and groped the back of her dress checking for the label with the garment's 'credentials. Charlie evaded the anticipated, seeking fingers. “Glad you made it, Rebbie.” She eyed the six strangers. “Who are your friends and where’s Scott?” Rebbie rubbed her thumb and middle finger together. "Gotta make the money, honey; he’s still seeing patients. He’ll be along later. I was bragging on you to these ladies, talking up this mansion and your restaurants. You know how we love to see our black folks doing well. They just had to see for themselves, so I brought them along-knew you wouldn't mind. This is some housewarming. Meet Vera, Ruby, Jacquetta, Eliza, M'War and Shaniqua." The strangers smiled at Charlie as a nearby reveler noted; "This melanin thing is serious. The melanin challenged arrived first, and now the others are rolling in. Haw, haw!" “Asshole!” said Rebbie. “Girl, how much did this place cost? Come, show it to us.” She looped arms with Charlie. “Charlie, is it true that you’re the only black family living here in Angloville?” asked one of the strangers-a lively looking black blonde, in tiny clothes. “That’s not important,” chimed in another one. “Charlie, Rebbie promised you’d show us the house. I’ll bet its pretty, just like you. Let’s go see it.” A tension headache was setting up shop above Charlie’s right eyebrow. Come on; let’s get on with the tour. I brought my video camera,” Rebbie gently tugged Charlie's arm as the group closed in around them and they all advanced toward the house. “We’ll have the next Delta meeting here and the Jack and Jill installation tea of course. It'll impress the hell out of the new mothers and show them that they're entering a quality organization. Uumhmm.” The headache started to sell its wares as Charlie, fighting the urge to whirl on the bitch, arms akimbo, and invite her to fuck herself instead displayed her proper West Indian social aplomb and merely said, “Excuse me; I must get back to my guests." “"What, honey?" said Rebbie absently propelling Charlie ever more insistently toward the large, brightly illuminated house. Charlie jerked her arm away. "Rebbie; go find a table for yourself and your friends. I’ll have the caterer put out more food – nice meeting all of you.” She pressed Rebbie back toward the party and the uninvited satellites fell in behind her. Then Charlie headed for her house, alone. She gave an annoyed West Indian chupse, audibly forcing air out through her teeth. “Uncouth big bitch,” she muttered. Vowing that Rebbie would tour her house the day white cops stopped using black men for target practice; Charlie let herself into her bustling kitchen. A few minutes later Charlie emerged from her kitchen behind a pair of waiters headed for the buffet table with laden trays. She paused for a moment to admire it all. Tikki torches flared dramatically and in the distance votive candles floated in the swimming pool. A slight breeze stirred colorful, balloon table centerpieces and laughter and snatches of desultory conversation punctuated the night air. "What do you and your husband do?" “He’s a lawyer," came the quick response. “So am I! Corporate law." The speaker examined a non existent speck on her perfectly manicured nails as the light played dazzlingly on the diamond eternity ring and tennis bracelet being so advantageously displayed. Her conversational partner relaxed visibly and smiled before rummaging through her Byblos bag. She produced a purse size spray and spritzed herself. "I had this scent made for me while I was in France last month, but it's such a bother! It wears off so quickly ... Maybe I won’t carry it in my store." She pouted. They heard: "There's such a crush of people here. I hope no one scratches our car. Every time that Rolls goes to be repaired …” "... the bathrooms by the pool were always wet. He couldn't deal with it, and he saw dirt in the folds of his tent! We're trying a new camp this year." A sympathetic cluck presaged, "That's awful. My daughter was at a sleepaway last summer-for the gifted of course. She qualified for the Johns Hopkins program; her brother did too but he never went. Well, the white people expected the child to wash her own clothes, for Crissake! We had to drive to Pennsylvania to sort it out." “…son’s at Merril Lynch. He wants to leave but they keep promoting him!” "...You really must try Chez Marc; my wife buys all her furs there." "I can't do that. We have a moratorium on spending in our family right now. The baby starts Harvard this Fall. You know how kids are; she wanted to attend her sisters' alma mater. These Ivy League kids…Harrumph." The speaker gave a choking laugh. "Did you go to Harvard too? Pat’s formed a club for children of black Harvard graduates-along the lines of Jack and Jill. You know, so they can meet the right sort." "High yella people can look frightening! My son brought home a big-lipped, big butt girl the color of shit and butter, and then had the nerve to tell me she was beautiful. I said, 'Boy, don't you ever again bring home anything that looks like it should have a tail'." The summer Sag Harbor crowd was trying to gain converts to the good life. "The ice cream in those waffle cones should be banned. I sniffed it and gained ten pounds on my backside last summer." "...hard to get a decent pool man out there. Algae lined the entire pool and the bastard had to be coaxed to come take care of it." "Bet he charged the 'black tax' too. You know how they always charge us more." "You'd love Sag! Black folks have some houses out there, uumh, uumh, ooom!” "Nooo! “ A blood-curdling scream presaged the eruption of two Abercrombie clad pre-adolescent girls onto the lawn, one frantically clutching a hamster. "You give him back to me right now. I’ll kill you!” The pursuing child screamed