How Stella Got Her Groove Back Read Online Free PDF

lips: I do not want to take my child with me on my vacation. Did you hear that?”
    “Well, you know what they say about those Jamaican men, don’t you?”
    “What?”
    “That they’ve all got fire hoses for dicks.”
    “I don’t care what size their dicks are! You’re not listening to me, Angela. I’m not going down there to get laid. I can get laid any day of the week right here at home. I’m going down there to regroup. I’ve been living in fifth gear for too long and I need to decompress. That’s it in a nutshell. Comprende? ”
    “How long you staying?”
    “Nine days.”
    “Dag, Stella!”
    “Look, I’m in the mall parking lot and if I don’t talk to you before I leave, I’ll call you when I get there.”
    “You know how expensive it is to call from another country?”
    “Then forget it. I’ll send you a postcard.”
    And I hang up. I knew I should’ve called Vanessa first. She’s a lot looser, four years younger than me, still has a fresh attitude and is much more open-minded than your average widow of four years who recently met and has been cavorting with a man old enough to be our father. Apparently J.B. is retired but he worked for years in the sporting goods business so he gives her all the free sneakers and exercise paraphernalia she could ever dream of even though she does not ever walk jog or exercise but takes the stuff because it is free and it’s great for her daughter, Chantel, who is only eleven and growing and Vanessa said J.B. who won’t tell her what those initials stand for is a recent widower and so they have a lot in common even though all he does is talk about his dead wife and just wants somebody to listen and he wants to show her how to golf and maybe have an occasional dinner like every Friday because since he also has prostate cancer he can’t do the nasty which she is grateful for in a sad way but she also said, “Hey, it doesn’t cost anything to be nice. And don’t even think of him as my boyfriend, girl. He’s what I call a part-time companion.”
    I like Vanessa because she is generous, fickle, but full of mucho compassion, and ever since Angela has become mother-bound again she has taken on the job of trying to be our mama. We lost ours twenty years ago when some drunk driver jumped the curb and took her from us and anyway we lost track of our daddy like twenty-five years ago and we don’t really care if we ever find him at this point and who’s looking but Angela sort of works overtime with her parental posturing and she is making it sound as if I am like asking for her approval to take this vacation. Which I am not.
    • • • •
    When I get home I have two messages. The first one’s from Vanessa. “Girl, Angela called and told me you’re going to Jamaica! How come you didn’t call me? Way to go, girl. It’s about time your old dead ass did something to liven up your dead-ass life. Way to go. Take plenty of condoms with you and get some from all those young Jamaican boys with big flapping dicks—do one a day if you can handle it, girl—and oooooh I wish I could go with you but Angela said you want to go by yourself and she’s such a square and I don’t blame you cause this way won’t nobody have to be all in your business and you can turn into like a whore and nobody’ll ever have to know but call and tell me if you do. Talk to you later. You sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
    I crack up. Vanessa and I are a lot alike except she’s much more outspoken and says whatever comes to her mind and then thinks about it later. She is forever putting her foot in her mouth but that’s what I love about her: plus the fact that she really doesn’t give a shit. I’m not as impulsive—I at least try to consider the consequences of what I’m doing but even if I’m scared I usually do it anyway because it kind of gives me a rush. This is the main reason why I used to do drugs. There’s nothing like a good rush.
    Beep. I hear Quincy’s