Authors: Sandra Kitt
Jason felt the pain returning.
He was walking not fast but at a steady pace. He was trying hard not to slip into melancholia over the past. Losing Michael. And other kids. He thought about something Leah had asked him at their first meeting, and suddenly recalled, in painful details, the black teenager he’d shot five years ago while trying to separate a street gang fight. He was always to wonder if he could have done something else besides use his gun. Something else besides act on instincts he’d learned to use in war.
Once back in the dark of his apartment, Jason moved toward the refrigerator in his narrow kitchenette. He took out a can of beer and wandered back into the combination living room and bedroom of the studio apartment. His bed was a queen-size mattress on a wooden platform, low to the floor. He sat on the edge and felt his thoughts swinging dizzily back and forth between the past and the present. On a stool next to the bed that he used as a nightstand he reached for a pack of cigarettes.
His attention was caught by a propped-up postcard of the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. It was from a redheaded dancer he’d met last spring at the precinct when she’d come in to report a stolen bike. They’d become lovers. Jason had been enthralled with her because she did things with her life. He’d loved her uninhibited freedom of spirit. She’d left for California in September to dance in a musical. Jason picked up the card and read once again the bright but impersonal message on the back. He put it down again. She had talent and was going places. She also had a temper. Jason remembered her passion and liveliness right in this very bed. He remembered her telling him that there were other men in her life, and she didn’t want any heavy relationship. So he saw her when he saw her, and enjoyed their time together. It used to be enough.
Jason’s thoughts switched back to Leah Downey. He’d never dated a black woman before. He didn’t even know any beyond Joe’s wife, Nora, and a few of the women officers at the precinct. But that was different. And he honestly wasn’t sure if Leah’s being black made a difference. Jason was aware of the prejudice—toward black people, and Latinos and Asians and Arabs and anyone else who wasn’t white—some of his fellow officers shared. The talk had always made him uneasy.
He liked the way Leah Downey listened. Intently, with her eyes on him. That’s the way he talked to his groups. He looked them right in the eye. Jason thought she smiled nicely, easily. Not coquettish. No games. No pretense. He liked that, too. She didn’t ask a lot of questions, but she responded with her complete attention, to everything he said. That interested him. Which still didn’t come close to any reason to ask her out again.
But he had. Jason finished the cigarette and lit another. He sat in the dark and sipped his beer while staring at nothing in particular as he tried to figure out if Leah Downey was really all that special.
F
OR THANKSGIVING DINNER GAIL
invited her photographer friend, Steven, and Leah was expecting Allen. The day was gray and cold, but the smell of a dozen different foods filled the house with a warm, homey aroma. Gail, who’d offered to do most of the cooking, was anything but humble and home-like as she emerged from the kitchen at noon hot, bothered, and ill tempered.
Leah tried to soothe Gail as she set the table. But with most of the work done, Gail sprawled on the sofa and eventually dozed off for a nap.
Leah left her there and went to start the dessert. The kitchen, as was usually the case when Gail cooked, was a wreck. Leah began to clean up the mess. She had just finished putting away a handful of freshly washed utensils when she got a frantic visit from Biddy Rosen. Her widowed neighbor, who had a tendency toward over-worry and theatrics, had worked herself into near apoplexy over her preparation for dinner. Leah knew, however, that it wasn’t the cooking. It was that her son, Harold, who was gay, was bringing home his lover.
The older woman’s cheeks were flushed. The absurd wig she wore to disguise thinning gray hair was slightly out of place, giving her what Leah thought was a distracted air. Leah had barely opened the door when Biddy rushed through. She grabbed Leah’s hand and stared up at her with a plaintive expression.
“Help me,” Biddy wailed so comically that Leah burst into laughter and assured her neighbor she would.
Biddy launched into a nearly unintelligible monologue about pearl onions, white sauce, good china, and a fear of making decent gravy that bespoke sure doom. She was also complaining that she didn’t have a roasting pan big enough for her turkey. She had dashed across the street in nothing more than an old sweater with a grimy apron tied around her broad waist. Biddy followed Leah into the kitchen, pulling her hairpiece into place.
“Honestly, I don’t know why I said I’d to this. Harold is coming, and he’s bringing a friend.”
Leah smiled as she hunted around the kitchen for a pan to lend her neighbor. “You sound like Gail. You could have said no. Next year let Harold cook for
you.”
But it was clear from Biddy’s harassed expression that doing everything right was important to her. She was anxious that she and her son celebrate the holiday as everyone else was doing, like other families. As Leah listened to a steady stream of nervous chatter she resorted to the cooking sherry, pouring the other woman a healthy glassful. Biddy sat in a chair fanning herself with a tail of her apron.
“You know, when Harold was a little boy, you could have given him a hot dog with mustard and he’d have been just as happy. What did he know from cranberry sauce and turnips? My husband’s family would come over. We’d have a house filled with quarreling relatives and antsy kids, there’d be all this food, and Harold would only want a hot dog.”
“So, give him hot dogs. Maybe nothing’s changed.”
Biddy looked aghast. “I couldn’t do that. He’d disown me. Worse yet, he’d probably say, ‘How embarrassing, how unpatriotic’ or something like that.” Biddy did a perfect imitation of her son, showing with humor that she’d made her peace long ago with her only child’s way of life.
Leah rinsed out a pan for Biddy, who, suddenly remembering she’d left potatoes boiling on her stove, grabbed it dripping wet to race out of the house. The slamming door awakened Gail, who came into the kitchen in a much better mood than when she’d left.
“Mmmmm, it does smell good in here. Did you make a sweet potato pie for dessert?” she asked, opening the oven to peek inside.
“No. Apple. If you’re going upstairs to take a shower and change, will you please bring down some linen napkins from the closet? And some candles.”
Gail grimaced. “Candles? For Steven? Why waste them?”
“It’ll look nice. Besides, Allen likes candles.”
Gail chortled as she left the kitchen. “He ain’t worth it, either,” she muttered behind her back.
When Steven and Allen arrived, there were fresh flowers in the hallway, den, and living room. There were candles burning on the sideboard and dining room table. Allen, remembering Steven from the boutique opening, took an instant dislike to him.
To Steven’s credit, he was only amused. He shook hands with Allen after giving him a thorough once-over and proceeded to ignore him the rest of the night. Steven’s only indication as to what he thought of Leah’s boyfriend was to whisper to Gail, “The man is lame.”
The four of them sat and had drinks. Gail was more charming than the evening called for, flirting back and forth between the two men, talking and laughing nonstop.
Steven managed to seat himself next to Leah and monopolized her attention. Leah decided that she didn’t care for him very much for no other reason than he seemed to find everything and everyone so amusing. And she vaguely thought him disloyal to Gail for ignoring her. But Gail didn’t seem to mind. As a matter of fact, she and Allen were getting on better than usual, for which Leah was grateful.
“So …” Steven began, his arm stretched behind her on the sofa back. “Tell me about yourself.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“If you’re related to Gail, there must be,” he said dryly, glancing briefly in Gail’s direction. “Are you in fashion also?”
“No, I’m not.”
“That’s too bad. You’d make a terrific show house model.”
Leah smiled politely.
“I’d really like to take pictures of you sometime. You’ve got good bone structure. Wonderful legs. Would you pose for me?” he asked smoothly.
It was such a bad come-on that Leah was inclined to think he was serious. “I don’t photograph very well. Why not use Gail? She loves to have her picture taken.”
“Yeah, I know.” Steven chuckled. “Gail’s real pretty. But you have something more.”
Leah didn’t give him a chance to say more of what. She tried to change the subject. And she tried to get up. “Would you like another drink?”
Steven curved his hand over her shoulder to hold her still. “Relax. Relax …” he said soothingly. “Just sit and talk to me. I won’t bite, you know.”
“I bite back,” Leah responded at once.
Steven raised his brows in surprise, but he laughed at her sudden show of spirit.
“Is it fun working with all those beautiful women all day long?” she asked, listening as Allen and Gail laughed together across the room.
Steven shrugged. “Not really. And they’re mostly girls, not women. A lot of ’em are bitches and a pain to work with. The white chicks have class but no style. The black sisters have style but sometimes no class,” he commented openly.
“Sounds interesting,” Leah said absently.
“It’s a living. I’m really an actor between auditions.”
“Oh, really?”
“I’m up for a part in a new series being shot here in New York. I got called back last week for another reading.”
“What if you don’t get the part?”
“I’ll ask you again to pose for me.” Steven smiled seductively.
Leah shook her head. “I hope you get the part.”
“I got a couple of things going. Sooner or later I’ll break out.” He shrugged good-naturedly. “Maybe I’ll just find someone to support me.”
Leah couldn’t tell if Steven was serious or not, but she used the moment to stand and suggest they all get seated for dinner. She focused her attention on Allen. But whatever flow of gregarious talk and humor he had been able to conduct with Gail before dinner suddenly came to a halt with herself. Gail had much less trouble switching her focus to Steven, and Leah had to conclude at the end of the evening that the only person who really seemed to have had a good time was her sister.
“How’s the new position?” Leah asked Allen at one point. She knew he always liked talking about that.
“It’s okay.” Allen nodded, busy with turkey and cranberry sauce.
Leah waited for more. “I guess that means it’s working out.”
Silence from Allen.
Laughter from across the table.
“How are your folks?” Leah tried again.
“Fine, fine. I’ll see them at Christmas.”
Leah sighed. “Allen, am I boring you?” she asked bluntly.
Allen’s expression was one of great patience. “Leah, I can’t talk and eat at the same time.”
Leah looked at Gail and Steven. How come
they
could?
Steven declined dessert and stood to leave when dinner was over. He thanked Leah and Gail for inviting him, and shook hands with Allen.
“I’ll just run up and get my things …” Gail said to the room in general.
Leah looked surprised. “What things? Are you going out?”
Benign confusion furrowed Gail’s brow. “Didn’t I tell you? Steven and I have plans for the rest of the evening.”
Steven neither confirmed nor denied the news. He stood quietly and patiently by the door studying the designs on the floor runner.
“I’ll be right back,” Gail said as she raced up the stairs.
Leah looked around at the remains of dinner. “It’s okay. I’ll clear the table,” she said wryly, but the irony was lost since no one was listening. Allen silently helped to stack dishes, but they clattered so loudly in his hands that Leah was afraid her grandmother’s china would break. She gently pushed him aside and told him she could do the job alone.
Leah was in the kitchen rinsing plates when Gail came in.
“Leah, I’m sorry I’m leaving you to clean up the dirty work.”
Leah smiled. She couldn’t help but feel there was a double meaning to Gail’s statement. “I know you’re sorry. But you’re going anyway.” Gail held her peace and put on her coat. “Are you seriously seeing Steven?
Gail shrugged. “He’s on a short list of available escorts.”
“He doesn’t seem your type.”
“He serves the purpose,” Gail answered cryptically as she buttoned her coat.
Leah looked up sharply. “What purpose?” But Gail was already in the hallway headed toward the front door and the waiting Steven.
Steven surprised Leah by taking her hand and squeezing it gently in his own. “Thanks again for dinner. I’m sorry about the quick good-bye. I hope this doesn’t spoil the rest of the evening.”
“Don’t worry about it. Gail’s unpredictable. And she’s full of surprises.”
“Not all of them fun, I bet,” he said dryly.
Allen hung back in the living room examining CD jackets, indifferent to the gathering.
Gail opened the door. “I’ll talk with you later,” she told her sister. “Good night, Allen,” she yelled out, but when there was no answer from the living room Gail smiled broadly, shrugged, and left, with Steven right behind her.
Leah stood in the following silence with a sense that the evening had crashed resoundingly. It had changed at some point from being dinner into bizarre conversations with innuendos. She searched out Allen and found him in the dining room downing a glass of wine. Leah began to silently gather the dinner glasses when Allen suddenly reached out and grabbed her arm. She looked at him questioningly, but the light reflected in the lens of his glasses kept his eyes hidden.
“Leave that stuff,” he said. Then he faced her fully and pulled Leah into his arms and began to kiss her.
She was completely unprepared and stood for a moment as he feathered kisses over her face. She pulled back, her expression puzzled.
“Allen, what are you doing?” she asked with a nervous laugh. She was very uncertain about this sudden directness from him. She was not prepared to switch emotional gears on a dime while holding a basket of uneaten bread and a pitcher of gravy.