Free Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice by April Sinclair Page A

sardine-eating minute. What did Traci mean? I hoped she didn’t call herself picking me up. Although it was an exciting thought. But I hated to have to rain on her parade. Call me a prude, but I knew I wasn’t ready to get down with a woman.
    â€œThe city? I’m staying in a hotel in downtown San Francisco.”
    â€œSan Francisco is the city. That’s what everybody calls it. This is the East Bay.”
    â€œOh, well, I don’t want you to drive all the way across the bridge on my account.” I figured Traci wasn’t offering to drive me back to San Francisco for her health. It wasn’t like I could invite her up for tea and crumpets. “It would help if you just gave me a ride to BART.”
    â€œLook, I stay in the city. I’ve got to go back over to that side anyway.”
    â€œOK, well, in that case, thanks.” I went and got my sweater.
    As we left the church, my mind was a ball of confusion. This might be the perfect opportunity to get next to a woman. I was on vacation, in a strange city, and no one would ever have to know. If I didn’t like it, I could forget it ever happened. But the thought of me being sexual with a woman made my legs turn into Jell-O.
    We walked down the street toward Traci’s car. There was an unmistakable charge in the air, and we were definitely creating it.
    I would’ve thought twice about climbing into some man’s car I’d just met, but it was different with a woman. I felt completely safe with Traci in her little red Volkswagen bug. Well, maybe not completely safe; that would have been boring. Traci shifted gears.
    â€œIsn’t it hard to have a stick in a place with so many hills?” I asked.
    â€œThere is such a thing as an emergency brake,” she reminded me.
    â€œI know that.” I shook my head. “But all that stopping and starting, especially on the hills.”
    â€œI wouldn’t drive anything else. You have more control over the car.”
    â€œThat’s what the last dude I dated used to say. But I wonder if having more control over the car isn’t overrated.”
    â€œI don’t know whether your squeeze overrated his joystick, or not.”
    â€œNo pun intended, I’m sure.”
    Traci smiled. “But as far as I’m concerned, if you ain’t shifting and dealing with the clutch, you ain’t driving. You just steering, that’s all.”
    â€œI can barely drive an automatic. I just got my license a couple of months ago.”
    â€œWell, I’ve been driving ever since God was a corporal.”
    â€œHow long is that?”
    â€œAlmost ten years.”
    I made a mental note. That would make her around twenty-five. Traci was an older woman.
    â€œChanging the subject here, I’m just curious. I finally saw an Asian woman and a Latina woman, but where were all the sistahs tonight? I mean, Oakland has a pretty large black population, doesn’t it? And it’s right next to Berkeley. Where do they go?”
    â€œStevie, a lot of black women are into roles. This wasn’t their scene tonight. This was a political scene.”
    â€œWhere is their scene?”
    â€œThey got a club in East Oakland called the Jubilee. Saturday nights the joint be jumpin’.”
    â€œI’d like to see it. Can we check it out?”
    â€œI’m sorry, Stevie. But I can’t take those ‘Negroes’ tonight. I’m in the mood to kick back.”
    I wondered why Traci didn’t want to be around the sistahs. And if she planned to kick back by herself or if she was hoping to have some company.
    â€œI had to work today,” Traci explained. “Let’s say we go back to my place for a glass of wine and conversation before dropping you off at your hotel?”
    There’s your answer, I thought. She’s hoping to have some company. It had been my experience that when a man suggested going back to his place, he expected more