35
Glover
Lionel was right about me having to make choices. My little therapy session with Mona helped solidify my decision. Max and I needed to air everything out and leave it behind us.
Part of me still fought it, so I decided on a compromise between my conflicting sides: I would see Max one last time, a farewell to our situation.
I called Max from work. When he answered the phone, he sounded distant. I asked him out once I made sure his schedule was clear for the night. He paused, as if debating it, before agreeing. That was all I needed to convince me that he and Lionel had an encounter.
Dinner and dancing was something I’d been dying to do with him since we met. Might as well go out with a bang, I figured. I sped home from work, determined to find something perfect to wear. I reached in the back of my closet and pulled out my spaghetti-strapped red dress, something nice to go with my skin tone. I found some matching sandals then leapt into the shower, so I’d be so fresh and so clean.
I showed up at Max’s looking all sassy and elegant as usual. He was ready when I arrived and hurried out the door. I thought it was a little strange that he didn’t show me in, but maybe he didn’t trust us being alone anymore. I blew the matter off, as we had dinner reservations at Glaze. Max wore a black, long-sleeved shirt, with olive slacks and black shoes. His cologne smelled good as usual. I had to hand it to him; the boy was looking positively delicious. It was going to make it more difficult to have our little talk later in the night.
The drive was mostly silent, until we were on North La Cienega, heading toward Sunset. El Ami was on the right, along with its usual line in front. Max’s attention shifted to it as we passed, and his gaze lingered.
“Would you prefer to go to El Ami, Max? We can if you want.”
“No, I was just thinking about something. I’ve been there before anyway.”
“Did you see any stars?”
Something was funny to him. His outburst was unexpected, but at least it broke the tension. “No,” he answered, getting himself under control. “Just Smitty and my cousin,
the football player
.”
“Your cousin plays ball?”
“No, I was joking. Long story.”
When we arrived at Glaze, I embarrassed Max in front of the other patrons by running around and opening his door for him. Being silly eased the tension of a last meal and the long good-bye that was beginning.
We were seated inside shortly. After appetizers, I proposed ordering for one another. Max loosened up. That warm smile returned; that smile that I loved so much—and would miss.
Max ordered my entrée, the crawfish and shrimp étouffée with white rice. Max told me to go light with his, so I ordered the roasted salmon. It was Latin music night down at Sunset, so I would finally get to check out Max’s moves on the dance floor. We women always watch a man’s moves on the floor for obvious reasons. Sadly, I never got to the obvious reason with him, so that would be a moot point after tonight.
After we finished our meal, we sat around and engaged in small talk. We both seemed to be holding stuff back for later. Was he thinking the same thing? Our final night? After a few glasses of wine, the check, and tip, we hit the club.
I listened to Latin music sparingly, but that didn’t stop me from dancing my ass off.
I recognized Shakira’s sexy yodeling and a few others, like Elvis Crespo and Celia Cruz. The DJ spun meringue and salsa all night, as well as some of that Miami bootyshakin’ from Pit Bull to literally shake things up. Max surprised me that night, adjusting with ease to whatever was playing. He seemed more comfortable than me. Of course, he wasn’t the one getting married.
We held hands from time to time as we danced, but tried to keep the grinding to a minimum. Damn, it was hard not to do in this atmosphere of winding and twirling bodies riding the rhythm.
While we danced, I said, “I’m impressed. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“What?”
“Your dancing, Max. You are good,” I said just before he spun me around twice. Really good.
“Muchas gracias, Señora McDaniel. I love to dance. I just don’t get much of a chance these days.”
“And here I thought you were just a slow country boy.”
“Not a lot slow about me. Now, are you gonna talk or dance?”
We left for Max’s apartment around two o’clock in the morning, shutting the place down. I was worn out, so Max drove. The mood was still upbeat, until we walked into Max’s apartment. The laughter ended as Max remembered why he’d kept me out.
His living room looked different. Things were missing or rearranged. Two pictures were still in their frames, but the glass wasn’t there, and they were on the floor, propped against the wall. The coffee table was gone too. When he realized I’d noticed, his entire demeanor changed.
“What happened in here?”
“Why don’t you ask your fiancé? He can fill you in.”
“You weren’t going to tell me about this?” I yelled.
“Nope. No biggie. We just had a difference of opinion. I can’t blame him, though. You
are
his woman, right?” he asked with a sigh.
“Thanks. You make it sound like I’m a piece of property.”
He punched the wall out of frustration, startling me. This was weighing on him as much, if not more.
“You know what I mean, Glover. Shit! I tried to do this tonight, pretending I’m okay, but I can’t. You’re about to get married and we’re play-dating as if we’re just friends. We both know it’s more than that. A lot more.”
He moved closer.
More than that.
A lot more.
My chest rose and fell, hinging on his very existence. With him alive, I was alive. The charge between us grew the closer he came. We were about to kiss. And then ... after the kiss ...
“We need to talk,” I whispered, finding my voice before it utterly failed me. “Now.”
It halted him. He said with a sorrowful look on his face, “You’re right about that. I was going to bring it up earlier, but we were having such a good time... .”
“It’s come to this?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yep. I want you more than anything in this world, but not like this. This needs to be resolved one way or the other. Real talk.”
“I had such a great time tonight. I didn’t want it to end.
I ... we can’t see each other anymore, Max. I’m sorry.” “Don’t be. You made your choice. Things are back to the way they should be.” He refused to look at me.
“Max. I—”
“I think you better leave. Now.” Max rested his head on the wall, his eyes closed and fists clenched, shutting everything out—or keeping everything in, both equally painful. To try to stay right now would be sabotaging everything.
He deserved better. “Good-bye, Max.”
I wept as I drove home, torn over whether I’d left the best man behind me for the right man in my life or vice versa. Max had breathed life into me like never before, but maybe his energy and passion belonged with someone worthy of him. Someone I clearly wasn’t. My mascara ran down my face, its nasty taste on my lips. That night, I cried myself to sleep. Tears would tide me over, for I would wake to a brand new day.
36
Max
It tore apart my heart to deal with Glover like that, but it had to be this way. I went toward the door, but allowed it to slam shut. I slumped to the floor with my back against it, banging my head repeatedly.
After sitting there in silence, “manning up” to deal with my pain over losing yet another person that was supposed to be perfect for me, I picked myself up and went to my bedroom. I tried to fall asleep, but just tossed and turned. It was pointless. I gave up after half an hour, going to the kitchen to drown my sorrows. Maybe that would put me to sleep.
The refrigerator light formed a halo behind the six-pack of beer as if it were a sign. Not one to ignore signs, I carried the six-pack over to the couch. I normally would have placed the beer on my coffee table, but that was gone. I pulled one can free and left the rest on the floor on the side of the couch. Opening it, I noticed a small rip on the armrest; a reminder of my “disagreement” with Lionel. He’d won, and I’d blown my entire paycheck for the evening to end on this note. To think I’d intended on sleeping with Glover tonight as some sort of childish revenge against Lionel.
A last laugh on my part.
Yeah, that’s it.
I let out a weak laugh of my own as I hit the TV remote. What was it about me that set me up for failure?
I sat on the couch, flipping channels between
SportsCenter
and
Anderson Cooper 360
while finishing off the sixpack. I had a good buzz going, but it didn’t kill the hurt and confusion I felt. Maybe it was my buzz, maybe I knew what I was doing, but it was almost four o’clock in the morning when I walked over to my phone. I opened the drawer on the nightstand and looked inside. In the back corner, behind the West-tel phone book, were two discarded pieces of paper. I opened the yellow piece first. Scribbled on it was the number of the girl from El Ami, Diane, the one who left with Jay and her friend. I took a deep breath, stared at it. She certainly had my nose open that night, but there were too many lies wrapped around that. No more lies. On the white notepad paper was Velina’s number. I honestly never planned on calling her, especially after meeting Glover, but I convinced my semi-drunk ass that she might be willing to take my mind off things with an impromptu foreign language lesson.
I walked back to the couch and took a seat. I hit the MUTE button on the TV. The phone rang twice before I considered hanging up. I realized that the booty call was shameless, as well as too late, for the best time for booty calls ended an hour ago.
“Hello?” said the man. A groggy man I had disturbed. Like I said, too late.
“Sorry. Wrong number.”
“A’ight, dude.”
Click.
I hung up the phone and carried my pitiful ass to bed.
Four hours later, the small slits of sunlight coming through my blinds shook me from my coma. No matter how bad things were, I was still a morning person. My breath reeked of beer, my throat was dry, and I had a pounding headache to boot.
I never felt more alone.
I needed to get away.
I texted Jay to call me then waited. It didn’t take long for my phone to ring.
“Hello?”
“Country, that you?”
“Cut that shit out.” My head pounded when I raised my voice.
“A’ight. Whaddup?”
“I need a favor. Can you still hook me up on plane flights?”
“Yeah, cuz. I just need to make some calls. Gotta be sure she ain’t went and got fired on me ’n shit. When you need this?”
“Today. I want to go back home for the weekend.”
“F’real? Oh, shit. If I hook you up, you better bring me back some boudin or pecan candy.”
Jay had a lady friend who worked for Continental Airlines. He always had someone on call for the hook-up, and loved to brag about it. Jay’s bragging wasn’t in vain this time. Two hours later, I sat in Jay’s Beamer, still nursing my headache while rushing on our way to Terminal Six at LAX. My ticket was waiting for me at the airline counter. I called Samir earlier to let him know I was going out of town for a few days.
“That girl got you running out of town,” Samir had remarked with a laugh.
I didn’t reply.
“You know you coulda let me know about this earlier. I haven’t been to Lake Charles since that last funeral. Coulda crushed some big, fine country girls. But I gotta work, though,” Jay said.
“Sorry, cuz. I didn’t know I was going ’til today. Anyway, Lake Charles ain’t that country. You make it sound like people are walking around barefoot with tumbleweeds in their mouths.”
“Whatever. I ain’t worrying about no tumbleweeds. Bitches out there can walk around barefoot with my dick in their mouth, though.”
When I didn’t laugh or groan at his weak joke, Jay showed his human side.
“You okay, cuz?”
“Yeah,” I mumbled, looking out the window at the traffic signs as we arrived. Jay drove into the departure lane and popped his trunk for me to get my duffel bag.
“Okay. How much do I owe you?”
“Don’t worry about that, cuz. I took care of ya. Just don’t forget to bring back that boudin. That’s some good shit. I wish I could find some of the real stuff out here,” he said, referring to the rice-filled sausage concoction I grew up on.
“Thanks, man. I owe you. I’ll try to bring that boudin back, but you know how airport security trips over everything now.”
“You know Pops gonna want you to come by for dinner when you get back. I’m sure he’s gonna quiz you about what’s going on back home.”
I ditched my hangover during the flight from LAX to Bush Intercontinental. I had a short layover in Houston before taking a smaller plane on the connecting flight to Lake Charles. I took a cab from the airport to my mom’s house, figuring I’d surprise her. I wasn’t gone long, but there were already new restaurants along Highway 14 and on Prien Lake Road and Nelson Road, near the L’Auberge du Lac Casino. The area was in a state of flux after Hurricane Rita, between the infamous “blue roofs” still prevalent in the poorer neighborhoods years after the storm to the influx of gambling money from nearby Texas into the economy. With the money came the business boom, but also the loss of innocence that Lake Charles used to have. Things moved a lot faster in Lake Charles these days. Old ladies who used to be given proper respect were now victims of muggings and purse snatchings, all to feed the addictions of crackheads and other predators.
We turned off Highway 14 onto Oak Park Boulevard, where my momma’s home was. We’d moved across Highway 14, the old dividing line, from the Terrace to Oak Park, when my father died years ago. At that time, the Terrace was a predominantly black middle-class neighborhood populated by those who worked across the lake in the chemical plants, including my dad.
My mom couldn’t bear the memories of when my dad died in the explosion, so we left our house on Admiral Nimitz, and she’d been in her brick home in Oak Park ever since.
Oak Park was predominantly white at that time, but time seems to change all.
The blinds moved when the cab pulled into the driveway behind her Camry. Orelia always kept an eye open for strange cars in the neighborhood. As I paid the cabby, my mom ran out to greet me in her housecoat.
“Oh, my baby!” she squealed, almost lifting me off my feet, despite her small stature. I gave her a loving kiss on the cheek and returned the hug, savoring our reunion. A mother’s love is something special.
While it was good to see my mom, I felt a little out of place being back. The area was changing, but so was I. It was like taking a fish out of the fish bowl, throwing him into the ocean, and then putting him back in the bowl. While in that ocean, it gave me a different perspective on many things; among them, friendship, family, and love. Now I was back where I started.
Orelia was disappointed when she saw only my duffel bag, and she was even more upset to find out I was only in town for the weekend.
“Baby, you sure you don’t want to come home to stay?”
“I’m sure, Momma. I just needed a little break.”
“You don’t have somebody pregnant out there, huh?” What was this? Was my momma hanging out with Samir?
“Momma, you know better. Can’t I just come down to visit?”
“Yes, but you didn’t sound like you had any plans last time I talked to you. You hungry?”
“No, Momma. Just tired.”
“Your room’s the same. Go on back there and get some sleep then. We’ll visit when you get up, baby.”
I headed back to my old room, dragging my duffel bag behind me. On the hallway walls rested framed pictures of our family. I snarled at my kindergarten picture as I walked by. I had a big bush on my head and a tooth missing in the front. God, I hated that picture.
Before I’d made it completely to the rear, my momma yelled out, “Maxwell, are you going to see that Pitre girl while you here? I saw her in Prien Lake Mall last month. She said to tell you hi.”
Instant migraine.
I clenched my duffel bag handle as if in a death grip. I wasn’t expecting to get hit over the head with Denessa so fast, and it hurt like hell.
Denessa Pitre and I had been an item throughout high school and into part of my time at college. As with most things involving me, it didn’t work out as planned. Her having a baby, courtesy of one of my boys, only five months after our break-up was another loud signal that things were over before I knew it. I never filled my momma in on the details. To her, I was just being a stubborn man who ran off a really good girl from the right family and right church. Despite Denessa’s betrayal, Orelia was convinced we were meant to be, while I was left bitter about anything resembling a serious relationship, careful never to get caught up and burned again.
Until now.
Until Glover.
I dropped my bag on the floor and kicked off my shoes. I was about to crash, but decided to make a call to my apartment in L.A. to see if any messages were left.
None.
“Stupid, man. Stupid,” I said as I threw myself onto the bed, just glad to be away for a while.