“Girl, are y’all doing it yet?” It was Gail. “Girl, I know y’all doing it. Is it good? Does he hook it to the left or to the right?”

“No, we’re not doing it,” I replied, deflated with disappointment.

“You’re not?!”

“No! And if we were, I sure wouldn’t be answering the phone.”

“I would.”

“I’m sure.”

“Why y’all not doin’ it yet?” Since it was Gail on the phone, I had to respond with something good or she would never let it go.

“Gail, we’re not doing it right now because we’ve already done it. We had a wonderful evening of fine wining and dining on his boat and because he’s got to get up early in the morning for a flight, he put me up in a fabulous five-star hotel, which to me is very honorable.”

Silence filled the airwaves as I stood, fingers, legs, and toes crossed, hoping that Gail would buy the explanation I was selling.

“Umh hmh,” she moaned.

Just the response I had feared. No good was to be gained from an umh hmh. Umh hmh was part of the universal language of women. No matter what the situation, its meaning was clear. In this case, Gail obviously wasn’t buying it.

“Don’t umh hmh me. Gail, nothing is wrong!” I pleaded, hoping not to sound flustered.

“Oh, it’s something wrong, girl,” she replied. “That man did not ask you to fly all the way to Chicago on Thanksgiving to put you in a hotel room to spend the night alone by yourself. And who in the hell flies anywhere on Thanksgiving morning? Isn’t he from Chicago? Ain’t his people in Chicago? I smell a rat, girl. A big ole stuffed Thanksgiving Day rat.”

Two things Gail was not: trusting and mature. Not to mention her every motivation in life had something to do with the pursuit of sex. I had to be the bigger person. I had to be the adult. I had to face the accusation she was aiming at Graham head on with the proper dignity and class he commanded.

“Good night, Gail.”

“Good night? Girl, don’t you hang up on—”

Click.Okay, so maybe hanging up wasn’t all that mature, but it was a quick fix and the only way I could prevent her from planting any more negative seeds in my head that would grow faster than the ones I had already planted and watered myself.

“RRRRRRRing!!!”

“What, Gail?” I answered, knowing it was her.

“Gurrl, he probably got a page from another woman and dropped you off so he could dip his turkey neck in another woman’s Thanksgiving gravy. Montana, don’t let that man play you like that. Go over to his house and clown his ass!”

“Gail, I’m going to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Girl, wait a second, Montana, don’t you—”