26
Max
Zena left her Impala with Smitty the next day. Probably his reward for conspiring to hook me up with Niobi. Smitty had some health club guest passes that were about to expire, and we both had the day off. I needed to relieve some stress, and hitting the weights was the right idea. I could tell Smitty was allergic to working out just by looking at his scrawny ass. He wouldn’t admit it, though. He just wanted to push Zena’s whip in front of some honeys.
“Damn, boy. You’re gonna put more weight on there?” he asked as I added some plates on the bench press. Having quit after ten minutes of struggling, he’d decided to be my spotter and protect me from injury. Yeah.
“Just a little bit more. You not getting tired, huh, Smit?”
“Nope. I just don’t want you hurtin’ yourself.”
“Oh, okay. Hey, what’s up with that Niobi shit? Wasn’t cool, man.”
“Aw, dawg. That was Zena’s idea. Niobi saw you one day when she and Zena came by my crib. I’m not in this shit, bro. Honest. Now, if you and Niobi happen to hook up, then that’s your business, bro. That loco motherfucker she was foolin’ with got put in the County.”
“And you want me messin’ with his woman? I may be new out here, but I ain’t stupid.”
“Nah, man. He’s gonna be gone for a long stretch. Plus I heard she’s a freak,” Smitty added with glee. I was about to lift the weight, but stopped.
“You did her, Smit?”
“Hell no! Zena would kick my ass—no, she’d bust a cap in my ass.”
Two women walked past, breaking our train of thought.
“We’re not gonna be able to hang like this anymore soon, man,” I lamented.
“I’ll be doing those banker’s hours in a few weeks. You will be too soon. Just you wait. Heard anything yet?”
“Smit, remember that day downtown, when I went in the employment office?”
“Yeah.”
“I met somebody there.”
“She broke and unemployed too?”
“No, fool! She works there.”
“That’s what took your ass so long! You coulda came to get me, bro. Afraid I was gonna steal her from you, huh?”
“She’s not mine to steal. Big ol’ rock on her hand, all blingin’ and shit.”
“For real? Then why you still cryin’ over her? Something else must have happened. Talk to me, dawg.”
“Something else happened, but I’m not sure what. We had lunch, but it was supposed to be an interview. I never asked her about the ring. I figured it was none of my business. The problem is I can’t stop thinking about her.”
“You sound like you’re sprung and you haven’t even smelled it, let alone tapped it. What’s she look like?”
“About this tall, light brown, light brown eyes, fine as all hell. Name’s Glover.”
“Glover? What the fuck kind of name is that?”
“Trust me. If you saw her, you wouldn’t be complaining about the name.”
Smitty worked up the courage to lift again. We traded places, with him hemming and hawing before sitting down. I stood over the bar after reducing the weight to something manageable for him. Or a sixth grader.
“How’d you guys wind up going to lunch? And why didn’t you tell a brother?”
“She called me. Strangest shit. She pulled my app and called me about some jobs at the DMV.”
“Maybe she wanted to give you a driving test, Maxwell,” he joked in between straining to lift the weight bar.
“I would think it was maybe a coincidence, but I’m not sure. I get this vibe when I’m near her.”
“That vibe’s called a hard-on, fool. I get that vibe often around women. It’s a reflex. Trust a player on that. Did you get the digits?”
“Nah, I don’t even know if she’s about that. Don’t want to make a fool of myself. Everything could be about business. You know I need a job. I don’t want to fuck anything up by playing the pimp hand. I leave that shit to you.”
“Sounds to me like she’s up to something, bro. Be careful you don’t get played. Seriously.”
“I won’t, bro.”
“Max?”
“Yeah, Smit?”
“Could you get this weight off me?”
27
Glover
Wednesday was here before I knew it. In spite of my promise to Lionel that I would go by his parents’ house, I really didn’t want to be bothered after combating rush hour traffic. A promise was a promise, though, so I kicked off my shoes and rested my eyes for five minutes before venturing back out the door.
Bel Air was only five miles away, but it was several dollars from my station in life. The view of the million-dollar homes (and their equally impressive gates) made for a scenic drive as I wound my little Civic through West Sunset Boulevard. While passing the intersection at Whittier, I recognized Mona’s dad’s car at the red light. I had forgotten he lived around here still. I caught a fleeting glimpse of him behind the wheel of his Bentley, with the new Mrs. Stevens seated beside him.
Damn. The woman looked to be about my age, maybe younger. He’d found his fountain of youth somewhere between those thighs. They had so much in common, I’m sure. Hope he was getting his money’s worth.
Coming upon the ivory walls of the Dunning estate, I reflected on the beautiful Mediterranean design. Lionel told me the estate had been built in the 1930s. For as big as it was, it had an understated elegance about it. Lionel’s parents bought the place about ten years ago when they moved from Ladera Heights. Lionel’s father was a prominent attorney in L.A. who had recently retired, and his mother, Adele, was one of those society types who loved having her name in print. The fact that Lionel was marrying me had to be killing her, but she was one to honor her son’s wishes.
Usually.
The gate opened for me when I pulled up. I assumed somebody was watching my car on some security monitor. I drove around the half-circle, careful not to scratch the Mercedes, and parked by the water fountain. I’d really wanted to change into some sweats after work, but stayed in my work attire. No need to give Adele any ammunition.
The demure Spanish woman greeted me at the door then walked me through the foyer, past the double spiral staircase. A canvas portrait of the Dunning family rested on the wall above the left stairwell. I glanced at it, wondering sarcastically if they were planning on having another painting done to add me above the right stairwell.
We continued toward the back of the first floor, proceeding down a hall. The light disoriented me as we flowed into an enormous open room lined by an entire wall of glass. The sun poured in from all around, glistening off the marble floor on which I stood. It was beginning to set, but it seemed as if it were midday in here. The glass wall looked out onto a palm tree–lined pool below. The room was almost bare, save for an antique table and a few chairs, but it was large enough to host a ball.
Lionel’s mother stood with her back to us, surveying the grounds. There was a reason she’d picked this location to receive me. This was Adele’s turf, and she wanted to let me know it. A grand scale, and I was just a little pebble in her eyes.
A pebble that happened to be marrying her dear son, though.
“Aw, Glover,” Adele said, turning as if startled by my arrival. “How are you, my dear?” Adele was a dead ringer for Eartha Kitt, but wore her hair in a short salt-and-pepper afro. She stood before me in an embroidered, multi-colored tunic, with gold sandals. We walked toward one another, giving a gentle embrace followed by the customary kiss on the cheek.
Adele held my face in her hands and stared at me with an adoring smile.
“I’m glad you made it.” She then turned briefly to my escort and said, “That will be all, Iris.” With that, Iris smiled and disappeared back up the hallway from whence she came.
“How are you, Mrs. Dunning?”
“I’m fine, Glover. Please, call me Mother, or at least Adele. I hope you will come to think of me as that over time. I know I could never replace your dearly departed mother, and I would never presume otherwise. I just want you to know that I am here for you.”
“Thank you,” I said, internalizing the urge to bristle at her mention of my mom. Adele was right, though. She could never replace her. “How is Mr. Dunning?” I asked, referring to the more pleasant of the two.
“He’s doing very well, Glover. He’s somewhere on the property, probably outside looking to change the landscaping. He’s always trying to stay busy since retiring. Come over here. I have some ideas to run by you.” Adele led me to the antique table.
“I have a couple of sample menus from the caterers, as well as some wedding dress samples. We’re going to need to get you fitted. You’re a size fourteen, right?”
“Uh, no. I’m a size ten.”
Bitch.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was close, though. Do you like Vera Wang’s designs, or Escada? I see a lot of that these days.”
“I
love
Vera Wang. I just wish I could afford her stuff.”
“Nonsense, child. Vera Wang it is. When do you want to be fitted? We don’t have time to waste, and I’m already going to pay extra due to the late notice.”
“I don’t know. As soon as possible, I guess. Do you have to call the store?”
“Store?” she repeated, petrified. “No, dear. I’m going to call Vera. Your dress is going to be an original. I can’t have my son’s bride in anything less.” Adele let out a chuckle over my amateur moment.
“That’s okay. Really. A store-bought dress is expensive enough, but an original? I can’t pay that kind of money back. “
Adele ignored me and continued, “I’ll need a list of guests for the invitations. We’ll also need to get your bridesmaids and matron of honor fitted. I have two locations on standby down in Catalina. Are you positive about getting married there? There are some really beautiful sites up the coast, and Catalina is so, so ... I don’t know.”
“I’m sure about Catalina, Mrs. Dunning. If you don’t like the location, then don’t worry about it. I can take care of it by myself,” I said, waving my arms as was my tendency when irritated. I tensed, prepared to back away from the table we were standing at and leave if this suddenly went south.
“No, dear. I don’t have any problems with your choice,” she said, not changing her stance in the least. “I’m just trying to help you explore your options. That’s all. Tell me, do you like paté?”
We explored my “options” for another hour. I had to be to work in the morning, so I used that excuse to end the agony. I dreaded having to come back, but put off that thought as I sped away. I’d left my cell phone on the seat, and picked it up to call Lionel, sure he’d want to know how I made out with his mother.
I’d pressed the MENU button, finding his number, when I came to a red light. I stared into the light for a few seconds before hitting the CLEAR button. I then reached into my purse for a folded piece of paper and started dialing again.
“Hello?”
“Did I wake you up?”
“Um, nah,” he said, lying through his teeth. “What’s up?”
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Nothing.”
“How about dinner this time? On me.”
28
Max
Late at night, the call surprised me. I was more surprised by the voice on the other end—and the invitation.
She trusted me in her apartment. Her private space.
I was scheduled to work that night, since Samir had taken me off the weekend schedule for our barbecue. But I begged and pleaded my way off, as I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see Glover again. I owed Samir my first born for this one.
When she gave me directions, I discovered she lived on the same end of town. When I first moved out here, I’d even considered moving into the same apartments where she stayed. Delicious irony, it would’ve been. They were just a bit pricier than what I had in mind. In spite of my familiarity, her directions were perfect anyway.
On the way there, I picked up a bottle of Zinfandel and a single yellow rose from the Albertsons on South Sepulveda. That was after I got a haircut that I really didn’t need. Wasn’t sure what to expect, but I felt the overwhelming need to look my best.
When the door opened, I realized my decision was the right one. I stood there in the hall and checked out Glover. She wore a yellow top and black pants, with black slip-on sandals. By her shoulder, I could see a glimpse of her black bra strap. A small gold chain draped her neck, just below that pretty face of hers. Her lips were covered in gloss that I was dying to sample—right off them, of course.
“Are you going to come in, or are you going to just stand there staring?” she asked, leaning against the open door. Her smile told me I amused her.
“Both options seem pretty good, but I think I’ll come in.” I strolled past Glover, stealing a glance at her backside as she closed the door. The snugness of her pants made it easy. She wore a thong.
Damn.
When she turned to welcome me officially, I leaned in, giving her a short, platonic hug and kiss on the cheek, still in the dark as to what she was expecting. I caught a whiff of her perfume as I pulled back. Made me want to camp out on her neck, wake up to her. Women placed that shit in all the right places to drive a brother crazy.
“Welcome to
mi casa
, Señor Guillory. No problem with my directions, right?”
“None whatsoever. Oh, this is for you,” I said, handing the yellow rose to her. I hadn’t planned on it matching her outfit, but hey.
“That’s so sweet! Thank you.” She came closer and placed her right hand over my shoulder, where it came to rest around the base of my neck. Slowly, gracefully, she pulled herself into me, planting a soft kiss on my cheek. Her lips lingered there for a moment before she returned to her own space. My heart begged her to stay, made me want to pull another flower out of thin air just so we could repeat it.
“You brought wine too? Let me take that.” She sashayed into her kitchen with the bottle in hand. “Make yourself comfortable. Dinner will be ready in a minute.”
“Can I take my shoes off then?”
She chuckled. “Sure. Just don’t funk up my apartment.”
As I sat, I noticed some pictures by her television set. One of the photos was of Glover as a child at the beach. She was with a woman whom I presumed was her mother. Another was Glover in a graduation gown. The same woman was with her in the photo.
“Is this your mother in these photos?”
“Yeah, that’s my mommy.” You could hear the light that entered her voice. “Those are some of my happy times.”
“You were cute in your little swimsuit. The other picture is of your high school graduation?”
“Yep. That was the last picture of my mother . . . before she passed away. We were like best friends.”
“Hearing you say that makes me think about my momma. We’re close, but it kinda makes you think. I guess we take tomorrow for granted sometimes.”
“Tomorrow’s never promised, Max,” she offered, emerging from the kitchen with plates in hand. “Food’s ready. I hope you like pasta. You can put on some music while you’re over there.”
I found one of Glover’s light jazz CDs and inserted it into the CD player. I liked her taste. Definitely a sophisticated lady, but still down to earth. Glover ran back in the kitchen to wrestle with the bottle opener and the Zinfandel.
“You got it?”
“Of course. Just have a seat,” she replied while obviously struggling. I liked her toughness.
She’d gone to great lengths to prepare the meal—fresh salad, fettuccini Alfredo with shrimp, and hot buttered garlic bread. I don’t know if my wine was the right one for the dish, but she didn’t complain. Over the small talk of dinner and watching one another from across the table, the bottle dwindled down quickly. I regretted not picking up two, but it loosened me up enough to begin really speaking my mind.
“Glover, what’s going on? Really. I see one thing, but I’m feeling another. Would you help a brother out?”
“All right, I’ll come clean.” I watched her set the wine glass down before her. Noticed her clench her napkin several times and release it as she sighed. “I intentionally pulled your application and called you. This is not the normal kind of thing I do, you understand. I’m acting completely out of character, because I’m usually straightforward.”
“Be that way now,” I pressed, figuring I had nothing to lose.
“Okay. I’ll spell it out. I’m feeling you, but you know that already. I’m also engaged—to a wonderful man,” she robotically added, as if obliged to say that. “It means we can never be anything more than friends. That’s why I can’t be straightforward. I barely know you, but I feel so at home when I’m around you. I should have been straight with you from the jump, instead of acting like a schemer. I’m sorry, Max.” All of that seemed from the heart.
“No apologies needed. At least we’ve got that in the open,” I said, finding it impossible to hide my deflated spirit. “What’s his name?” I asked, being a glutton for further punishment. Did I really care who her fiancé was? Probably not.
“Lionel.”
“Lionel must be something. He’s got you and he’s able to afford a ring like that. Yep, he’s very lucky.” I took my glass, guzzling down the remainder of my wine.
“Are you upset with me? You have every right to be. I would understand it if you never talked to me again.”
“Okay, it’s my turn to come clean. I saw the ring the first time I met you. I hoped it was just for show or to keep dudes off your back. You’ve been on my mind ever since I met you. At least now I know where we stand, and I can live with that. Hell, I don’t have a choice really.” I smiled because it was the only thing I could do. I wanted to demand that we have our interview now, list all my qualifications and why she should be with me, but that job was already filled by a
fuckin’ Lionel
. She had stoked dormant fires in me, but I was crippled from acting on them.
“Again, I’m sorry, Max. I know I’m wrong for what I’m about to say, but I still would like to get to know you better ... as a friend. I can’t explain it, but there’s something there that I feel I would regret to no end if I didn’t explore it. Maybe I’m just buggin’, and feel free to tell me if I am. Would you be okay with that?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to mask the pain and resentment as I convinced myself. “I would like that. I don’t have that many friends out here, and one can never have enough friends. Shake on it?”
I extended my hand across the table and Glover took it. Our eyes met in understanding, despite what our brains and hearts debated. Logic was trying to tell the heart what to feel, but it was only a game, for the heart feels what it wants. Lionel was definitely a lucky man if he held even half of Glover’s heart.
“Max?”
“Yeah?”
“You didn’t get the DMV job. They hired someone else. I found out late this afternoon. I did forward your info to them like I promised.”
“I knew you did. No matter what else, I trust you. Thanks for trying, though.”
“Would you like some ice cream for dessert?”
If I could eat it off you.
“Sure.”
“It’s cookie dough. Is that okay?”
“Yep.”
“Good. It’s in my freezer. The bowls are in the cabinet on the left and the spoons are in the second drawer. Bring me some too.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” I said dryly as I got up, walking past her and into the kitchen. True to her word, everything was where she said it would be. We stayed in the safe zone, trading jokes at the table while eating dessert.
As we wrapped up, Glover’s phone rang. I could tell it was one of her girlfriends. Even though she spoke briefly, I chose that time to leave. She walked me to the door, where we hugged again. I held my breath as our chests pressed, fearful of any further rush I might get from her scent. The atmosphere was different from when I’d entered.
“Did you pick up that Oriental rug at the swap meet?” I asked, pointing toward her sofa.
“It’s a Persian rug, and yes, I did buy it there. How did you know?”
“My boy Smitty has the same one in his apartment,” I said. “Speaking of him, we’re barbecuing this Saturday. We’ll be out by the pool and stuff. Nothing crazy. You’re welcome to come.” Stupid of me, but I had to see her again, for the heart not only feels what it wants; it does what it wants.
“Thank you. I’d love to come,” she said, accepting my offer.
“Good. It’s at my apartment. I would give you the address and stuff, but you already have it from my app. Good night.” With that said, I turned and walked away. I had to get back at her for the ice cream thing.
“Good night to you too, smart ass,” I heard Glover laughingly say as she closed her door.
I was filled with all-consuming thoughts of Glover, knowing deep in my heart that she wasn’t totally committed, despite what she’d said. Maybe it was just that I wasn’t as sold on it as I should be, both disappointed in the present but foolishly hopeful for the future as I walked to my car. What was it about me that demanded pain and heartache whenever I connected with someone? Shit.
A little too much thinking for me, as I didn’t see the dark-colored Audi speeding toward me just as I stepped off the curb.
“What the fuck!” I yelled as it barely missed landing me in the hospital or worse, continuing at speeds unsafe for an apartment complex parking lot. Probably a drunk, I guessed, as it kept going. Still alive to daydream on what might have been with Glover, I got in my car and drove away.