Cyberspace is amazing and scary at the same time.
My throat dried up as I dialed, but I called.
A sister answered. Soft voice. My age, maybe older, but not much.
I had to swallow a swig of my bottled water and figure out how to handle this. The direct, no-bullshit route was always the best. The last thing I wanted was to get into a “do you know Vincent and what is he to you” conversation. But a woman had to do what a woman had to do.
I said, “Yes, may I speak with Joanne Jackson?”
“I’m sorry, but Miss Jackson is deceased. She recently passed.”
My heart stopped. This déjà vu moment came, reminded me of when Momma died all of a sudden and people were still calling, and I had to say pretty much the exact same thing.
So much empathy was in my voice: “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“I’m just—may I ask who I’m speaking with?”
“One of her daughters. I came back from overseas to take care of things. Are you a personal friend or . . .”
“No, no. I’m a realtor. I was . . . I’m sorry to disturb you.”
“No, it’s okay. Momma wasn’t organized, and we’re trying to go through all of her stuff, find out what bills were paid, if any, and—”
Somebody picked up an extension.
“Mommy,” the little girl said, her voice articulate, “is that Daddy?”
“No, Kwanzaa. Mommy’s talking on the phone.”
“I’m hungry.”
“Put your shoes on and we’ll go to McDonald’s.”
I blinked out of my trance, gave her my kindhearted condolences, then hung up as quick as I could, feeling foolish. Maybe that was a sympathy card that Vince had sent to the family. That was all it was.
4
Dana
I asked Vince, “Where’s the bathroom?”
He shuffled next to me. “Downstairs in the basement.”
“I gotta go potty.”
“You always have to go potty.”
It was seconds after the benediction of a jam-packed second service at FAME—First African Methodist Episcopal, just east of downtown L.A. Vince and I spoke to a few people leaving the mega church, shook a few hands, then mixed with the stampede leaving the upstairs section. It was hard to act cool and stay cute because my bladder had started speaking in tongues ten minutes before the ushers took up my tithe.
I asked Vince, “You see Ruby Dee and Ossie Davis?”
“Where?”
“Downstairs.”
The lobby was crowded like Times Square. Ushers were directing traffic. Some peeps were trying to leave, others were trying to get inside and claim a seat for the next service.
Vince told me, “I’ll be outside the door.”
“Okay. Take my Bible. Won’t be long.”
The line for the ladies’ room was longer than the line at Magic Mountain. Waiting gave me a moment to people watch. A few of my peeps looked like they had staggered in from Club Century. A sister in blue leather pants, a couple wearing short dresses, another was a cleavage factory. One was all up in an usher’s face, giving up righteous words and devilish eyes.
No matter where, men are men, and women are looking for men.
I did my biz, put on a little more lipstick, and came out, climbed back upstairs, slowly. Pumps with narrow heels are not made for mountain climbing.
Vince was outside near the street, talking to a petite, bowlegged, bronze-colored sister with wavy dark brown hair. From where I was, her narrow face reminded me of Queen Nefertiti.
When she kissed Vince on the lips, my world halted. My heart became a brick. Can’t leave your man alone for a minute.
Vince saw me and adjusted his coat. Looked so uneasy. Her eyes followed his and she looked uneasy too. I moved toward their anxious expressions like I was being sucked into a black hole.
Vince moved my Bible from his right hand to his left, then pulled me near his side. “Dana,” he said, and motioned at her, “this is Rosa Lee.”
“Nice to finally meet you.”
I’d heard about Rosa Lee and her family, but we’d never met.
I said, “You’re the schoolteacher, right?”
“Teacher, counselor, drill sergeant. And that’s just at home.”
We laughed.
“Rosa Lee,” Vince continued, but sounded a little nervous, “this is my fiancée, Dana.”
Her eyes did a quick peek-a-boo at my empty ring finger before her soft smile met my face. I scanned her ring hand, saw the huge rock on her finger.
We were interrupted by another woman. This one was a little darker than me, over six feet tall, in a dark knee-length multi-colored dress, holding an NIV Bible and her pink umbrella. She was excited to see Rosa Lee and Vince. So excited that she was rude enough to cut me off.
“Lord, I haven’t seen either one of you in years. I see you’re still keeping in touch with this knucklehead.”
Vince said a few things, but he didn’t introduce her to me.
She asked Vince, “Where’s Malaika? I called out to her momma’s house last week, but nobody answered.”
Rosa Lee made an “oh boy” face, then glanced at her watch.
My beau moved closer to me. The woman blinked a few times when he held my hand. Her new look said she got the message.
Vince was very uncomfortable. “We broke up years ago.”
“I didn’t know. The air force had me stationed in Japan forever, so I’ve been out of touch with the real world.”
Once again, Vince introduced me as his fiancée. And like they all do, her curious eyes ran across my empty ring finger.
My skin heated up. Anxiety all over my face.
She asked, “When’s the wedding?”
I said, “We’re looking at next summer.”
“That far away?”
“No rush. We have to shop for rings. I have to figure out who’s gonna be in it. If we’re going to get married here in L.A. or back at my old church in New York, which might not be practical. Where the reception will be . . . photographer . . . music . . .”
Rosa Lee saved me from going on and on. “Getting married is more than a notion.”
After that, Rosa Lee had to hurry and get a seat before the last show of the morning sold out. Vince waved adios to the tall one, then kissed Rosa Lee again, right on the lips.
My soul was in this weird place. A very unspiritual place. Where a woman has to be cautious and confrontational about things.
I said, “Sweetie?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What kind of relationship did you have with Malaika?”
“Love at first sight, competition, conquest, contempt.”
“Sounds like a very unhappy ending. When did you go out with her?”
“Years ago.”
“She go here?”
“Nah. She doesn’t go to church here.”
“Where’s she now?”
“Married. Last I heard, she was living overseas.”
That made my sun brighter. But not bright enough.
He paused, turned, and stared at the huge brick church. He wanted to say something but didn’t.
I should’ve let it ride away on the soft cool breeze. But my soul still wasn’t satisfied.
In the car I asked, “Did you used to date Rosa Lee?”
“Nope.”
“You kissed her on her mouth.”
“Oh, is this your jealous side?”
“Not jealous, just, as the pastor would say, heedful. If you saw me go lip-to-lip with a man you didn’t know, a good-looking brother that you hadn’t been introduced to, then looked guilty when I saw you—”
“I didn’t look guilty.”
“Of course you didn’t. If you saw me locking lips with a brother, I don’t think you’d run out in the streets and start tap-dancing.”
“Dana, all of us have been ace boon coon since high school. Me and her husband, Womack, have been hanging tight since elementary school.”
He drove up Adams to Crenshaw, the Mostly Mexican part of town, made a left and went to Rodeo and made a right, the black side of L.A., headed back toward Culver City, where white people ruled the yard. The scenery changed, but my thoughts remained the same. A nerve had been struck. Reminded me of how I felt left out of my daddy’s prosperous life.
As he passed the guard shack and headed toward the man-made lake on the edge of my complex, I said, “Sweetie?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Don’t you think it’s time I met all of your friends? These peeps will be getting invitations to our wedding, right?”
He nodded but didn’t say anything as he pulled over in front of the door to my three-story building. Building 9000. Separated from Overland Boulevard by a wall that a midget could jump over.
I asked, “Why don’t you set something up? Nothing big. We could meet for coffee, or I could cook and we could kick back and play dominoes.”
Again, he nodded.
I wished I hadn’t spoken my mind, especially when I realized my mind was dipping in a well of memories, taking me to a place I was trying to leave.
After we kissed a few times, I asked, “You coming over later?”
“I can.”
“I’ll throw a lil’ sumthin’-sumthin’ together for dinner.”
“Okay. Yeah. I’ll be back after I do my laundry.”
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. Why?”
“Your mood is kinda funky. You’re so quiet.”
“I’m cool. See ya in a little bit.”
We kissed again, short and sweet, then Vince left.
I went upstairs, undressed, checked my messages.
I had a verbal note from my landlord: she had put her condo on the market. A slap in my face. She knew I was an agent. White people stick together like . . . hell, like Asians do.
The next message was from Gerri. She was supposed to have met us at church this morning. That was the third time in two months she’d pulled a no-call, no-show on me. I wasn’t mad at her, though. She’d probably worked late last night. Child support was delinquent and she was impatient, working two jobs to keep it all together. And she had to go to that late-night paper route again tonight. A risky gig that not too many people knew about.
Being a single parent ain’t no joke.
I thought about zooming over to Lula Washington’s and hop in a dance class, but since it was gloomy and I was lethargic, I took advantage of the mood. I lit candles, turned on the music, turned on the shower, closed the door so the hot water could steam up the room, made it my own private sauna. The moment I stepped in, the phone rang.
Vince or Gerri, had to be one of them.
I held my breasts, hurried, dove across my bed and grabbed the cordless phone before the call rolled over to my service.
Happiness reeked in my voice. “Good afternoon.”
“You left me hanging, Dee Dee.”
“Claudio?”
My lungs filled with tears. That husky Brooklyn voice filled my apartment, thickened the air.
“Yeah, it’s Claudio.”
His voice was crisp. I could see him, every detail of his face, even the little scar behind his right ear. I was butt naked and he was in the room, all around me. I pulled the comforter down over my body and said, “How did you . . .”
“Get your number?”
“Yeah.”
He chuckled.
I said, “Renee?”
“You know it.”
My eyes went to my black lacquer dresser, IKEA-STYLE decoration that came with this condo. A picture that me and Vince had taken down at Del Amo mall was set high on top. That new love gave me strength.
“What do you want, Claudio?”
“I’m gonna be in L.A. soon.”
“L.A.? Los Angeles or Lower Alabama?”
“From what people tell me, most of the nigs out there are from lower Alabama. I hear clubs close before two in the morning out there.”
“Look, Claudio, I’m busy and—”
“Your area code is 310 and I’m gonna be kicking it in the 310, so I guess that’s not too far from you, right?”
“What difference would it make if it was?”
He paused long enough for me to hear HOT 97 on his radio.
“You left me hanging, Dee Dee. Thought we were gonna try again.”
“Changed my heart.”
“Well, can I change it back?”
I wanted to sound mean, but my voice was soft. “Don’t do this, Claudio.”
“You had me getting my funds right, bags were at the door, had the tickets on Tower Air in my pocket, then you changed your number. That was cold-blooded.”
“I’m hanging up, Claudio.”
“You really hate me, don’t you?”
“I don’t do hate. Can’t heal when you hate.”
“Dee Dee, I’m gonna be honest. This ain’t easy for me. Being without you night and day has been rough. Look, I thought that after a while you’d call me up. I didn’t sweat you because you know the old saying, if you love something set it free. Let’s hook up when I land in L.A.”
He started telling me about his company, TNT.
I asked, “Why you name it TNT?”
“ ’Cause I’m blowing up.”
“Corny.”
Everything he told me, all of those were our ideas, our plans when promoting was my hustle. Working temp jobs in the day, doing everything from bill collecting to phone solicitation, then hustling at night.
“I saw Steve Harvey last week,” he said, talking in a soft tone. “Brother is completely off the hook. We vibed; I hit ’em with a larger plan for hitting up sponsors and doing a major comedy tour starting on the West Coast, and his boys gave me the hookup out your way.”
I said, “Thanks for the reach out and touch, but I gotta go.”
“Wait, wait.”
“Don’t hold me host—”
“Hold on, just give me a sec. I was at Nell’s last night. Saw our old crew. Everybody asked about you. Made me miss you more than I can stand. What I’m saying is, I’m doing all of this, I’m motivated and on the right track because of you. Everything is jumping off, I have my own Web page—”
“Ten-year-olds have Web pages. Hell, I have a Web page.”
“Hold up, gimme a minute.”
I listened and paced, chewed my thumbnail. I stopped moving and leaned against the wall, halted in front of my black-and-whites of Harlem: Eddie Rochester at the Theresa Hotel, a snow-covered Central Park at nighttime, a World War II food-ration line outside of GE Votings Employment Agency.