They approached the passenger side of the car. Rapsilico stared straight ahead at the ball-playing kids who had resumed their rule of the street.
"You know I ain’t into white boys, but damn, that nigga is fine.” Claudine bent down to get a better look at the clone, and Shawnetta nudged her. “Can he hear me?”
“Yes. He has ears.” Shawnetta opened the door. “Rapsilico. This is my friend, Claudine.”
The clone hopped out of the car, and Claudine backed up, a mistrustful frown on her face.
“Whattup, Claudine.”
"Hey.”
"Can I call you Claude?”
“No.”
“Aight.”
Claudine studied the White Man. “What’s your name again?”
“Rapsilico.”
“It fits.” She turned to Shawnetta. “Let’s go, before my neighbors see me out here talking to Frankenwigger.”
She reached for her door, but the clone grabbed the handle first. “Let me get that,” he said. Claudine climbed into the car and sat back in her seat, impressed. Shawnetta knew it was because most men in L.A. were sorely lacking in manners. They brushed past Shawnetta to enter the elevator first, let doors slam in her face, and on the rare occasions when they asked her on a date, they were at the entrance of the restaurant long before she’d even descended from the car. Now here was this Companion treating them with more respect than most red-blooded men they knew. After he closed Claudine’s door, he raced around to the driver’s side.
“I got you, Shawnie.”
“Thank you.”
It would be nice to put everything in his hands, to turn the wheel over to her White Man and let him chauffeur them around town. She knew his wallet contained a license that specified he was a driving-enabled clone, but she didn’t want to take the risk. Not yet. Maybe after knowing him for a few weeks, she’d take him somewhere out of the way to test his skills.
As they drove off, Claudine said, “How old are you, Silico?”
“Rapsilico,” Shawnetta said.
“Right. Rapsilico. How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Got you a young boy.” Claudine winked at Shawnetta in the rearview. “Now do they rent you out to white girls too, or are you only leased to sisters?”
“Claudine.”
“What? Everybody in here is grown. I’m just getting to know Rasp – your friend here.” She reached up to feel the clone’s hair. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this crack – this White Man was the truth!”
Shawnetta glanced over at her Companion. If Claudine’s insults bothered him, it didn’t register on his face. He still smiled that boyish grin as he stared at the street ahead.
“Back to my question, Rapilico.”
“His name is Rapsilico.”
“My mistake. Back to my question, Rapsilico. Do they rent you to white girls or only black women?”
“I’m strictly into sisters.”
“Good answer,” Claudine said.
“I love black skin,” he said.
Claudine chuckled a good minute before she said, “They trained you well, honey. But those pretty blue eyes must have cataracts, because that sister sitting next to you is far from black. Well, she black, but she as light as they come. What in the world is this country coming to when even light-skinned chicks are hard up for dates?”
Rapsilico put a hand on Shawnetta’s cheek. “She’s beautiful.”
Shawnetta felt her face reddening beneath his oily fingerprints. The clone had been programmed well … or had her features triggered something in him, some memory of loveliness?
Claudine sat back in her seat, watching the passing scenery. A dreadlocked man hoisted a toddler onto his shoulders as they crossed the street. The little girl grasped his ears, resting her cheek against his hair.
“Your windows are dirty,” she said.
Ten minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot at the Baldwin Center Plaza on La Tijera and Heliotrope. Although it had been renamed by its new owners several years prior, everyone Shawnetta knew still called it Baldwin Center. She rarely shopped at this mall because it was one favored by black folks, and too many black people congregating in one place made her nervous. If she was ashy because she forgot to put on lotion after getting out of the shower, they noticed. If her hair wasn’t styled to a T, they noticed. Their unvoiced criticism was harsher than verbalized critiques from the white people she knew. She would definitely stand out with Rapsilico here, but that’s what she wanted.
“Now, this is family,” Claudine said, as they neared the entrance. She linked arms with Shawnetta. The clone was close on their heels like a puppy vying for attention. Claudine swatted at him with her free hand. “Back up, son.”
“He doesn’t take orders from you.” Shawnetta turned to her White Man. “She meant to say, can you give us a little room, please?”
“Aight.”
Claudine was messing up her plan. Shawnetta wanted to make her entrance hugged up with Rapsilico. Now he lagged behind like a reluctant coworker who had gotten roped into joining them.
“He’s nice and everything, but I can’t wait until his lease is up,” Claudine said. “A little plastic is cool every now and then, but I don’t see how you can wake up to that every day.”
“Why not? He sure is easy on the eyes.”
“True, but black love is a beautiful thing.” She nodded at a pregnant woman with braids who was stopped at the crosswalk, waiting for an SUV to pass.
Shawnetta said, “I don’t believe in black love anymore.”
“That’s because you need to come south of Wilshire Boulevard,” Claudine said. “You’re a beautiful woman, Shawnetta. Bourgie, but beautiful. You always get attention when you hit the hood. Plenty of guys was checking for you at that barbecue we went to on Slauson a few months ago.”
“Not the attention I’m looking for. They were, like, ten years older than me and divorced, or had baby mamas,” Shawnetta said. She finger combed her hair. She usually slicked it back into a ponytail on the weekends, but she had flat ironed it for the occasion. The burnt orange scoop neck dress she wore accentuated her hazel eyes. “Why should I settle? I have a degree. I have a good job in accounting at a top production company. I’m still young, and I don’t have any kids.”
“And you never will with Rap hanging around. Girl, it’s a conspiracy.”
"What is?”
“These clones. What if all the lonely, pitiful, black-man-hating, feeling-sorry-for-themselves sisters just up and got a cracker for hire?” Her chuckle had a bitter edge. “They’d be cuddling with clones every night, never taking time to get to know a real somebody – if that’s what they wanted.”
Shawnetta sighed. Claudine was so old school. And for all her “black love” talk, she hadn’t been on a date in years either.
“Claudine, black women are dying out. We have to keep our options open,” Shawnetta said. They walked through the automatic doors of a department store, and she glanced around for men’s clothing. “Besides, I’m only going to be with Rapsilico for six months. The Naturally Nordic sales rep said that being with a clone helps attract real white men. It makes them less intimidated because they see you’re open to interracial relationships.”
Claudine sucked her teeth. “Honey, a real white man wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole. You too close to Becky,” she said. “You ain’t dark enough, your hair ain’t nappy enough, you ain’t got enough ass, and you ain’t got them strong Nubian features most crackers are looking for when they get their stroll on through the jungle.”
“Whatever.”
Shawnetta paused by a row of men’s suit jackets. She crooked a finger at Rapsilico. “Come try this on, sweetie. We need to find you something hot for the holiday party.”
Shawnetta held out a pinstriped black jacket and the clone slipped into it, but it hugged his biceps too tightly. She looked around. A tall dark-skinned salesman rang up a customer at a nearby register. As he handed the woman her bag, Shawnetta waved at him. He jogged over with a smile, which slipped when he saw the White Man standing by her side. She noticed the diminished cheer in his eyes, the same siphoning of joy that echoed in hers when she saw what appeared to be an available black man later joined by a white woman.
“Good morning. Need some help, ma’am?” His nametag read Xerxes.
“My boyfriend is buying a new suit,” Shawnetta said. Behind her, Claudine snorted. “Can you help us with some sizes?”
"My pleasure.” Xerxes gave Rapsilico the once-over. “You’re a 38, right?”
“That sounds about right,” Shawnetta said. The black man turned away from her, rifling through the clothes. He handed the White Man a jacket. “Here you go, sir. I’ll get you a size 32 pants.”
“Thanks, son,” Rapsilico said.
Xerxes paused, his hand gripping the rack ...
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