“For real. I know these cats got a studio in they house up on Champlain. We go down there and make beats and record our rhymes.”

“You know Cognac?”

“The rapper?”

“Yeah.”

“Hell yeah! ‘We Likes It Ruff.’” He started to juke on the couch like the music was playing. I busted out laughing because he didn’t have any rhythm. Dancing like that, he obviously was trying to impress me (and wasn’t). But I was about to impress him.

“Well, I know the girl who sung on that song.”

“Quit playin’!”

“I do. She go to my school. We used to eat lunch together every day.”

“Damn …” He stared at me. “Can you give her my tape?”

“Why should I?”

“Shit, ’cause it’s the bomb.”

“Maybe. I’ll think about it. I gotta hear it first though.” He didn’t need to know I hated Patty-Cake’s guts.

“You seen Juice yet?”

“No, but I want to.” So take me.

“Man, I seen that shit five times already. Auntie Linda got me these sneak preview tickets plus I got it on bootleg. That shit is raw! Everybody in it—Queen, Big Daddy Kane, Eric B., Rakim. Man, Tupac go straight ballistic at the end. You wanna watch it?”

“No, I don’t wanna see no bootleg. I was gonna see it at the movies,” I said, wondering if I had the skills to coerce two men in one night. Apparently I did.

“Well, I’ll go again if you wanna go.”

“You payin’?”

I was expecting him to say some bullshit, like “Hell naw” or “Why should I pay for you?” or “You ain’t my woman.” But he surprised me, as he had been doing all night.

“I guess I could. Seein’ as though you homeless.”

“I ain’t homeless!” I screamed louder than I had meant to. He looked shocked and leaned away.

“I was just jokin’,” he said.

“Well, don’t play with me like that,” I pouted. “You know I live in the building. I got somewhere to go. I just ain’t trying to go there tonight.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t feel like dealin’ with some shit.”

“Well, you can stay here. They ain’t comin’ back ’til next week.”

“Alright now. I ain’t trying to beat your girl down when she come up in here asking questions.”

He just grinned lopsided again, but made no reply. I didn’t push the issue because I didn’t want him to think I was sweating him. He wasn’t cute anyway, only kind of nice. I wondered why he had white splotches on his face and neck, but I didn’t want to embarrass him so I didn’t ask.

“So I’m taking you to the movies, now you stayin’ at my crib. And you still ain’t told me your name.”