Going Broke (28 page)

 

He knew that I would show up, and once again he used the microphone and stage to humiliate me. His intention was to make me feel about as big as a mustard seed, and he had exceeded that.

As the crowd roared and stood to their feet to praise Tremel, I stood too, but not to worship Mr. Colten. I walked toward the exit.

Before I made it through the first set of doors, I was already in tears, so I dashed through them and into the bathroom. I landed in a stall, where I quietly let out my frustration.

“I hate you, Tremel.” I wept and whispered to myself. He had just told about two hundred people all of my business, and I couldn't appreciate the “art” in that.

I was looking for closure, and I found it. I wanted nothing more than to slap the taste out of his mouth. The line between love and hate was on a diet. It got so thin that I hopped over it and ran.

“I can't stand you.”

I wanted to punch the tile, but I'd look pretty dumb walking out of the restroom with a broken wrist. It took me fifteen minutes to count to one hundred, dry my tears, and contain myself enough to make it to my truck.

As I walked down the sidewalk, people were staring at me like Tremel showed a poster-sized picture of me and told folks to avoid the whore. I sucked up my paranoia and almost ran to my truck when I saw it. I just wanted to get in, go home and call Nat to tell her that I wouldn't mind if she collected the $200 loved ones received for turning in someone to the insane asylum.

For a moment, I wondered if they'd give me the $200 if I presented myself as I walked in. “You're so stupid,” I said to myself with a laugh.

I deactivated my alarm, looked back at the club, knowing that it would probably be the last time I would ever see Tremel. I smiled and said, “It was nice knowing you.”

When I opened the door, there was an assorted bouquet in shades of purple flowers on the driver's side seat. My hands covered my mouth, and I let out a muted cry. I picked up the arrangement and read the card—
I'd like to call a truce. Please meet me back inside to negotiate the terms. Tremel.
They were the exact same words he captured me with.

Instead of being overjoyed, I was filled with mixed emotions. A part of me wanted to run back into Vocalize and jump back into his arms. Another part of me wanted to run back into the club and jump-kick him. A part of me said that expecting him to forgive me was selfish and undeserving. And the last part said that I needed to leave well enough alone.

After two minutes of thinking, I did what I thought was best. I walked over to a homeless lady sleeping on the sidewalk and placed the flowers in a bag next to her, then I got into my truck and pulled onto the street.

I rode around for an hour, trying to convince myself that what I did was right, but for the life of me I couldn't understand my decision, and I didn't, until I pulled into my parking spot.

For the first time in a long time, I, Sarai Emery, thought not only of myself but of someone else. It didn't matter that Tremel was now floating in cash. What did matter was that Tremel did treat me like a queen, and he deserved better than what I did to him, better than anything I could probably ever do. I couldn't expect him to forgive me after I knowingly did what I did to him. I no longer felt worthy of his forgiveness. I was just happy that his dreams came true, that he didn't hate me.

 

 

“'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to
have loved at all.”

—Alfred Tennyson

Bank Statement # 17

 

 

 

I
walked into my apartment and found things just the way I left them—a mess. Newspapers, shopping bags, magazines, cups, and clothing were everywhere. Forget lying down and curling up in bed, I needed to make this place look livable. I spent twenty minutes in the living room before it actually looked like the room I was paying rent to be in.

After picking things up and washing dishes, I started vacuuming and spotted a small box on the sofa. “Stuff is poppin' up from everywhere,” I said to myself as I turned off the Hoover. I grabbed the box and walked to the kitchen before opening it. “Aaaaaaah,” I screamed and dumped the box and the live blue crab into the trash can.

“It took you long enough to find it.”

I heard the voice coming from my bedroom and stepped into the hallway to see Tremel walking out with a smile.

“I come in peace.” He threw his hands up as a symbol of the end of the war. “If you don't want me here, I'll go, but first I'll let him out of the trash can and then you'll be on your own,” he joked.

I was in disbelief as he got closer to me.

“I'm so sorry,” I said, my body beginning to quiver and tears sliding down my cheeks. “I didn't mean to—” I stopped in mid-sentence. He was close enough to touch, but I didn't know if touching him was the right thing to do.

Seeing my hesitation, he moved first. He pulled me to him, stared into my eyes, and wrapped his firm arms around me.

I breathed a sigh of relief, remembrance, relaxation, and then buried my head in his chest.

As though we were dancing, we stepped slowly until we backed into the sofa, where he sat down and pulled me into his lap.

I gazed at him a while, as though he was a ghost. I didn't want him to disappear like he did in my dreams. I pinched myself and ran my hands over his face like I was Helen Keller or Stevie Wonder. I needed confirmation that he was truly in front of me, not just a figment of my nightly imagination. I closed my eyes and embraced him. When I opened them and found that he was still there, I knew that I could die a happy woman tonight. Right there in his arms, I cried the Nile, Mississippi, and Potomac Rivers.

I knew why he was back, but even if he had only come to pick up a pair of socks, I would still feel the same way. Tremel made me love him; no other man had ever sat me down and told me why he loved me. I waited my entire lifetime to find Tremel, and being without him felt a lifetime longer. It wouldn't matter if he was still sweeping floors, bussing tables, or opening the front door of a hotel for its patrons. Real love comes but once in a lifespan, and before my eyes closed that night, I could say that love was a friend of mine.

“I'm not going to lie. I was hurt. I didn't want to see you, want to hear your voice.” He sighed. “I needed time to figure out if I was man enough to believe you, understand you, live with you, and love you.” He took a deep breath. “And I came to a conclusion that I want to at least try.” He rubbed my back again and again. “Sarai . . . I'm back.”

“I didn't mean to hurt you. You have my word that I will never do that to you again; I'm so sorry.” Although I was hyperventilating, I tried to smile. “Three months felt like forever.”

“Yes,” he said, “but a minute earlier would've been a minute too soon.”

“I'm not that type of girl, Tremel.”

I felt the need to explain. The night he left he only heard what I did, but not why I did it. Not that any reason would be justifiable, but it wasn't because I didn't care for him.

“Times were hard, and I saw everything that I had slipping away from me. I was going to get kicked out of here, I needed money for Daddy, my truck was about to be taken, my phone, my lights. I felt like I was in a tornado all by myself. I couldn't land a job, and it seemed like I had nowhere else to turn.” I sighed. “The moment I got involved in it, I knew that it would somehow ruin my life, and the moment I started lying to you, it did ruin my life. There was nothing I wanted more than for you to come back, but I was prepared to accept and understand if you never did.” I cried, “Thank you. Thank you so much for thinking enough of me, in spite of what I did, to give us another chance.”

“You were always on my mind. I never stopped thinking about you.”

I joked, “You mean a big-time singer had time to think of me?”

He tickled me quickly. “Yes, he did.

“And enough time to write that awful poem too.” I had to go there.

He fumbled in his pants pocket and handed me a folded piece of paper. “Read it.” It was a written version of the same lines he'd scolded me with at Vocalize earlier.

I put on a heavy, old, Deep-South voice. “I don't think I could make it through another whippin,' massa'.”

He laughed. “Then just stare at it and see if you get the message.” He held the sheet in front of me.

“What am I looking for?”

“Never mind.” He turned to me and looked at me peculiarly. “Sarai . . . you hurt me more than anyone I've ever known—”

“I know and I'm—”

“Shh.” He silenced me. “You've hurt me more than anyone I've ever known, and I think that is because I love you more than I've ever loved anyone in my entire life.” He paused. “It killed me not to call you, not to see you, and not to be with you over the past few months.” He paused briefly. “When everything started happening with my music, I was happy because I thought that it would make it easier and I wouldn't think about you so much.” He shook his head. “But singing those songs over and over again, knowing that you're the life behind the lyrics was hard.” Then he added, “Plus, you're partially responsible for me being who I am right now. You helped to make my dreams come true, and . . . I just can't see my life without you.”

Thank God, his shirt was black, because my makeup was running a marathon down my face and onto him.

“I didn't know about you being on the radio until today.” I sucked back snot I felt was on the verge of draining down and embarrassing me. “Congratulations. I'm so happy for you.”

“We've made it,” he whispered in my ear.

I blushed. “Hearing you on the radio earlier was how I ended up at Vocalize.”

“I announced it because I wanted you there.”

“I almost didn't go, though. In a way I wish I hadn't.”

He cringed. “Why?”

I pretended to have to think about it. “Hmmm, let's see . . . because you tore me a new asshole with your poem.” I rolled my eyes playfully.

“‘A new asshole'?” Tremel cracked up before he continued. “I had some steam to let out, but at the same time I wanted you back in my life. So I dusted my feet before I came back in. I didn't want to walk back through the door with that anger.

“I'm not here to deal with that situation. I'm here to deal with the fact that I still love you.” He smiled and held up the poem again. “Look at the first letter of every line.”

I did, and read aloud the words formed by those letters—“Tremel still loves you, Sarai Emery.” I looked at him. “Aw, that's so sweet.”

“So even though I was rippin' you a new one, I did it because I'm still in love with you.”

He moved closer to me. I felt his breath on my top lip and got nervous, like we had never touched.

“I love your hips, I love your thighs. I love your lips and the way you roll your eyes. I love not just what you say, but the way you say what you say. I love being with you, love coming home to you every day. I love when you're strong, but I love it when you're weak. I love when you're happy, but even when you're bleak. I love the big things, but also the simple things that we do. For you, I'd do anything, Sarai, because I love you.”

“I love you too.” I held him tighter and felt my mouth open, but didn't know what I was about to say. “Please don't leave me again.”

“Didn't you just hear what I said?” He picked up my chin. “I love you. I'm never leaving you. I'm never giving up on you, on me, or on us. When I saw you giving the homeless lady my flowers, I knew that I hadn't gotten through to you.” He smiled. “Coming here was Plan B.” Then he pointed at the kitchen. “The crab was Plan C.”

“So you forgive me?”

“Yes,” he said. “Let's just promise to keep no secrets from here on out.”

Tremel was willing to be with me, love me, and forgive me, all in the same hour. I had to be hallucinating.

“I promise.” I paused. “But I have another confession.”

He looked concerned, so I continued.

“I kept a bottle of your cologne.”

“I know. I saw it on your dresser. You owe me because, when I left, that thing was almost full.”

“Child, please! Owe you what?”

“I'll think of something.” He started tickling me, and I jumped off his lap. “Come back here,” he yelled.

I was already running around screaming. “Don't tickle me! I have to pee,” I joked.

We played around for two or three minutes, before I fell into his trap. I was dumb enough to run into the bathroom, and with nowhere else to go, I turned on the water, grabbed the removable showerhead, and pointed it at him. “Step away from me.” I was still giggling. “If you tickle me, I'll be forced to shoot you.”

Tremel took a few steps toward me with his hands up as though he was really in a life or death situation. “Ma'am, I am not armed, so please put down your weapon.”

“Stop!” I yelled. “Don't take another step. I don't trust you.” I looked him up and down. “What are you hiding?”

“I don't have anything.” His hands were still up. “I come in peace.”

“I don't trust your kind.” I scanned his body like he was a criminal. “Take off your shirt.”

“Come on, that is ridiculous.”

“Obey my orders, or I swear I'll pull the trigger, sir.”

“Okay, okay.”

I watched him remove his shirt. Seeing his chest again made me ready to stop playing this little game.

“Do you want my pants off too?” Tremel smiled.

I smiled back. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

I held the showerhead closer to him and pretended to be astonished when I saw a bulge beneath his silk boxers. “What's that?”

He joked, “That's a weapon of mass destruction.” He went to reach for it.

I sprayed him. “Put your hands up, sir.”

He obeyed, lifting his hands back over his head.

“Remove your shorts slowly. Let me see this destructive missile.”

“No problem.” He removed his boxers, and all of the nights he had pleasured me with that weapon flooded back to my memory. It was still beautiful, pointing straight at me like it was a compass giving northern direction.

I walked over to him. “How do I know that you're not hiding something in your mouth?”

He moved closer to me. “There is only one way to find out.”

When our lips touched, I quickly pulled his tongue into my mouth.

During our gentle oral tug-o-war, he passionately slid his tongue between my lips.

I forgot about the showerhead, I dropped it and sent it crashing to the ground. We were both breathing heavily.

Tremel was back! Back inside of my apartment, my arms, and back inside of my heart. He wrapped both of his hands around my waist, and during our nasty “tongue tango,” he didn't unbutton or unzip anything—He literally ripped the clothing from my body.

At first when I heard the material tearing, I thought of the cost, but I quickly dismissed that thought. My man was back, and if he wanted to snag the skin from my bones it would be all right tonight.

I felt his extension growing more and more against my stomach. “Is there a way to deactivate that missile?”

“I'm sure there is.”

We kissed and took baby steps all the way back into the dark bedroom.

I reversed into the bed and crawled backwards into it. “Will you allow me room in your silo to prepare for the deactivation?” Tremel asked.

At this point, he was sexier than ever to me. “Yes, yes,” I whispered, pulling his body down toward mine on the bed.

“Make love to me.”

Had he asked to park it in my backyard, I might've consented that night. “Make love to me, Tremel.”

He continually pecked at my nipples. “May I leave my gun powder inside of your storage area?”

I knew exactly what he was asking me. The week before things went berserk, Tremel and I, in Cleveland, discussed the possibility of starting a family. It was agreed upon that we both wanted a baby. I told him that when I was ready, I'd stop taking the pill, which I did a few months ago.

Tremel had said that when he was ready, he'd just simply stop pulling out as he always did. Tonight was the night.

“Come on.” I reached down and guided him into me. “Give me all the gun powder you've got.”

Before he was completely through my entrance, I was trembling, grabbing hold of his back.

During the first thrust we both let out loud gasps. Our bodies started vibin', said hello, began a conversation, then let loose to do pleasurable damage to one another.

He plunged, thrust, and sweated, while I grinded, squeezed, and squealed. He plowed his gunpowder rapidly into my silo, and I was glad to be the keeper of it.

His lips found mine and tears soaked me once again. He held me atop him the same way we had finished. “I have a question to ask you,” he said.