Page 127 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

I snap my fingers at her. “Sit at the bar like you belong there. Look beyond bored. Gorgeous and uninterested. You been stood up by some idiot. Let him see the loneliness. He’s a sucker for that shit, apparently.”

I don’t add: he’s mine. Not yours.

Touch him, and I'll kill you.

Celie swings the car door open.

Some guy’s selling roses out of a milk crate by the curb, shouting “Two for ten, don’t be cheap!” at couples walking past.

Celie gives Jasmine a push out of the car. “Go get ‘em, babe. If he don’t trip over himself, he’s either blind or dead.”

Jasmine climbs out, then hits her stride—hips forward, chin up, long tanned legs straddling the city street.

Jesus, she’s hot.

A cab double-parks behind us

and leans on the horn.

I groan, crack the window halfway, and hang out. “Yeah, yeah, everybody’s got somewhere to be! Take a fuckin’ number!” I yell, then scramble for my binoculars, grumbling, “Fuckin’ New York—don’t know tonight’s for testin’ loyalty, not patience.”

Jasmine pauses in the middle of the crosswalk, spins to face us, and raises her hands. “Eh, where is my hype, hm? You must flatter me. How else I keep going?” I see that sultry arched brow from halfway down the block. “I cannot work like this.”

I roll my eyes.

“Okay, Jazzy, you’re fuckin’ hot.

“A damn queen.

“Now own it, girl.

“You got the look,

“the attitude.

“Strut in there like you own the place.”

She starts her strut again,

swinging the door open to the Clover.

I keep up the hype, throwing compliments like camera clicks. “Yaaas, slay mama. Gimme that I-hate-this-country-but-I-look-good-here face.”

Celie folds into a laugh behind me, then grabs my shoulders from behind. “Yo, this is so fucked up… I love it.”

The second the door closes behind Jasmine, the room notices her.

Eyes drift to her.

Elbows pull back.

Hips shift.

The crowd parts,

chatter coming in through the earpiece.

Andrew’s posted up in the corner⁠—