It was a loaded question. Of course, I would be busy, but “too busy” meant that I wouldn’t make time to talk to her, as if she were not on my priority list.

I said, “Judi, let me ask you a question. When I was on my photo shoot and hanging out with you in Miami, did you see me making a lot of calls on my cell phone?”

“So you’re going to be preoccupied with someone else?” she asked me. That was what she wanted to ask me all along.

I said, “Why does that make a difference to you? It’s not going to stop you from being celibate.”

“Oh, so you are mad at me.”

“No, I’m not. But I do plan to continue on with my life.”

“I didn’t tell you not to.”

We sounded like high school kids arguing in a circle.

I finally asked Judi, “Hey, girl, what’s the real meaning of all of this?”

Our argument seemed pointless. We weren’t dating or anything. We were just friends. Or were we?

“Oh, so now I’m a girl,” she responded.

“It’s just a figure of speech.”

“A figure of speech that I don’t particularly care for.”

I didn’t particularly care for this conversation. I had been ready to hang up with her five minutes ago, and long before I had gotten myself into trouble with her.

I said, “Look, can we finish this conversation at another time?”

We were both wearing out our welcomes.

Judi responded, “Go on and do what you have to do then. Nobody’s stopping you.”

“I think you are stopping me.”

How many times did I have to tell her that I was ready to go?

I was pacing my apartment floor growing more irritated by the minute. What exactly did Judi want or expect from me? I wasn’t going celibate. It was a waste of time to even engage me in a conversation about that.

Finally, she said, “Okay. Call me whenever.”

“That’s a deal.” I hung up the phone and paused for a minute to get my bearings. “Women,” I told myself. “They’re confused as ever.”

By that time I forgot who else I was supposed to call.

While I still held the phone in my hand, it began to ring and startled me. I was willing to bet that it was Judi calling back for more, but I would have lost my money. I looked down and read the number on the caller ID, and it was Kim O’Bannon calling back from Chicago. She probably had more details on the photo shoot. I wouldn’t have answered it if it was Judi again.

“Yup, it’s me,” I answered.

“Oh,” Kim responded. She seemed startled by my snappy answer.

She said, “If you don’t mind, Terrance, I’d like to have a moment to talk to you about something else while you’re out here in Chicago.”

After just hanging up the phone with Judi on some possessive-woman shit, I don’t think I was in the right frame of mind for any more mystery. It didn’t sound like Kim was talking business anymore. She usually talked business right out in the open.