Lust

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  The March air provided a cool breeze, but I was dripping with perspiration as I walked the block and a half to Damon’s building. It didn’t take the valet long to bring my car, but even then, I sat in my BMW for five minutes before I could even start the ignition. I didn’t want to drive when I had no control and my palms kept slipping down the leather steering wheel.

  Over and over, I whispered, “I love my man. I love my man. I love my man.”

  All I had to do was keep saying it, keep remembering it, and everything would be okay. But even though I sang that mantra like it was giving me life, I couldn’t say it enough to make me stop thinking about Trey.

  I needed to do something, because clearly my solution of thinking about my mother was not working.

  And then I realized: I could go home.

  8

  Tiffanie

  This is where I came for peace. To this house that had always been my home. I turned off the ignition, but I didn’t budge. Neither of my grandparents’ cars were in the carport, not that I expected them to be. It wasn’t even one in the afternoon, although my grandmother would be home soon.

  I leaned back and closed my eyes, waiting for the peace that always enveloped me, even before I stepped through the front door. But the calm that accompanied me every other time I came home didn’t cover me today. Instead, my mind was filled with thoughts of Trey. And once again I asked myself, was this what it had been like for my mother?

  She had been lured into a love affair by a married man. To this day, my grandfather never talked about what happened, though I knew his sternness came from a place of his love for me and the loss of her. My grandmother was more open, telling me when she was sure that I was ready. I guess it was all my questions that made her think that I’d been ready for the whole story when I was just eleven. But what was the proper age to tell a child that her mother lost her life over love?

  The tap on the window startled me, dragging me away from my history before I could delve too deep. “What are you doing sitting out here, honey? You okay?” My grandmother’s voice came through my closed window.

  I lowered it just a bit to say, “Hi, Gram. I just came to check on you and hang out for a little bit.”

  That made her smile. “You not working today?”

  “No, ma’am,” I said as I slid out of the car. “I had some things I wanted to take care of for the wedding.”

  “Well, come on inside. You got your keys, don’t you?” She didn’t give me a chance to answer. “I can’t stand up too much longer. You know my feet are killing me.”

  I slid out of the car and watched my grandmother trudge up the walkway, then waddle up the five steps that led to the front door. Her sixty-four-year-old stride showed just how weary she was.

  That made my heart hurt. I hated that my grandmother had taken all kinds of jobs since her retirement as a clerk from the Department of Social Services a few years ago. Her most recent position was as a Walmart greeter at the new Superstore in Northwest.

  My grandmother didn’t have to work this way. For all the years that Damon had been in my life, he had tried to take care of my grandparents. From the condo he wanted to buy them in downtown, to the positions he created just for them with his company, his desire was to do for them what he never got the chance to do for his own grandparents. But they’d said no to it all.

  Trotting behind her, I got to the front door before she did. With my own keys, I opened the security gate first, then the door, and stepped aside so that my grandmother could go in first.

  She dropped her purse and keys on the entry table and I paused at the door, giving myself a moment to bathe in the sight and the smell. Like always, the house wrapped itself around me, welcoming me home.

  Seconds later, my grandmother did the same to me, and even though I towered over her five-foot-two-inch frame, I melted into her arms. She didn’t hold me for long. Instead, she stepped back and looked up and into my eyes. When I was a little girl, I not only believed that my grandmother had eyes behind her head but also often wondered if she had some kind of telephone line to God. Because my grandmother knew everything. She knew when I wasn’t feeling well, when I was tired, when I’d done something wrong, or when something was wrong.

  “What’s bothering you, honey?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” I said, even though I dang sure knew she’d know I was lying.

  “How you gonna tell me that when I already know something is up?” She took my hand and led me to the couch. “Come on, you sit down right here, and I’ll make us a cup of tea.”

  “No,” I told her.

  My grandmother went into eyebrow-raising mode, and before words could come out that matched the look she was giving me, I continued, “I mean, you sit down and I’ll get the tea for us.”

  Her gaze stayed with me for a couple of moments before she nodded. “You trying to change the subject?”

  I shook my head. “When the tea is ready, we’ll talk.”

  My words must’ve been good enough, and my grandmother sat down in the leather recliner that she did accept as a Christmas present from me and Damon. Before I was even all the way in the kitchen, I heard her moan with the pleasure that came with rest.

  I had that hurt-heart feeling again and wondered if I should use this time to talk to my grandmother once again about letting me and Damon help. Maybe she would take a job with me at the spa.

  Inside the kitchen, I eyed the Keurig that I’d purchased for my grandmother, but then turned to the kettle sitting on the stove, remembering that she had never bought any more ­K-Cups after she used up the ones that came with the machine.

  “The tea just don’t taste the same,” she’d told me.

  After I set the teakettle down, grabbed two mugs from the cabinet, and prepared both cups with the store-brand tea bags that Gram insisted tasted best, I leaned against the sink and thought about what exactly I would tell my grandmother.

  While my grandfather had been been strict and forbidding, my grandmother was the flip side, open about everything, and her show of love was all about letting me know the real story, schooling me so that I could make the right decisions. Though I’m not sure it was my grandmother’s intent, she was the reason I’d stayed far away from the love that destroyed the woman I couldn’t even remember.

  The kettle whistled, I filled our cups and carried them into the living room. Setting them down on the table in between the recliner and the sofa, I took my place on the corner of the couch and then patted my hands on my lap.

  The sound made my grandmother open her eyes and she gave me that smile. “You don’t have to do this, honey. I just want us to talk.”

  Not listening to her protest, I lifted one of her legs onto my lap. By the time I’d tugged off the slip-ons that she wore for comfort, my grandmother’s head was back and her eyes were once again closed.

  With my thumbs, it only took two presses and the room filled with her groans of pleasure.

  “That . . . feels . . . so . . . good.”

  I thought about all the times I’d done this for my grandmother, after seeing it on one of the soap operas that she loved. Even as a five- and six-year-old, I knew that this was something I could give back to her for all that she was giving to me.

  “Did you have a tough day, Gram?”

  She hummed her reply.

  I kept kneading, she kept humming, and I glanced around the room, slowly taking in the pictorial story of my life that surrounded us. Covering three walls were dozens of photos that were starting to fade inside twenty-year-old frames that were beginning to rust. So many pictures of so many moments and so many achievements.

  Just pictures of me. With my grandparents. Not one of my mother. As if I were their child; as if my mother never existed.

  And then, in the center of the mantel, there was the largest picture of all—Damon’s and my engagement pic
ture, the photo that had appeared in the Washington Post. We were in profile, me looking up, him looking down. Nothing but love.

  “Gram?”

  Another hum.

  My eyes were still on that picture when I asked, “How did you know you were really in love with Granddaddy?”

  It was a rapid flutter, the same way butterflies flap their wings, and then her eyes opened.

  My thumbs and fingers kept moving, but I had a feeling that her attention had shifted from her pleasure to my anguish, which she sensed. She didn’t say a word, just studied me.

  So, I rephrased the question. “How did you know? Like really, really know he was the man for you?”

  She slid her foot from my lap, planted both feet on the floor, and leaned so close to me that our noses almost touched.

  “Where is this question coming from?” she asked.

  “No place.” It was my second time knowing that she knew I was lying. But what was I supposed to tell her? That today I’d met a man who made me want to forget about Damon?

  She nodded a little, then said, “It was a feeling, or rather, I should say, it was a knowing because of the way your granddaddy made me feel. Every time I saw him, I’d smile. No matter what I was going through that day, or how I’d been feeling, he made me smile. And I’m not talking about on the outside. I’m talking about right here.” She pressed her hand over her heart. “And in other places, too.” She laughed a little, and so did I.

  Shaking her head, she continued, “All I can say is that it’s a feeling that led to a knowing.” She paused. “Why are you asking me that?”

  I sighed and picked up my cup of tea that was cool enough now for me to sip. It was my way of stalling, but my grandmother let me sip and sip until I’d swallowed half the cup. I put it down and faced her, but before I could say anything, she said, “This is not about your mother, is it?”

  I shook my head, only giving her a half-lie this time, because this was about Trey as much as it was about my mom. “I just want to be sure,” I said.

  After a moment, she chuckled.

  “I want to be married like you and Granddaddy. I want to be married forever.”

  Another chuckle and a shake of her head. “God has given us so much, but one thing that He hasn’t given us is guarantees. But He’s given us discernment and that spirit when you know that you know that you know.”

  How many times had I heard my grandfather say that?

  “If this isn’t about your mother . . .” She paused, giving me time to speak, but I sat stone-still. She continued, “Are you having doubts about Damon?”

  I shook my head and inside said, I’m having doubts about me. “It’s not really doubts. It’s just like I said . . . I want to be sure.”

  “Do you love Damon?”

  I couldn’t get the word out fast enough. “Yes.”

  Leaning all the way forward now, she pressed her hand against my chest. “Right here?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She gave me another one of those stares right into my soul. After a few moments, she spoke. “That’s what I’m talking ’bout,” she said in a way that made me think if she’d had a mic in her hand, she would’ve dropped it.

  “It’s just that in a few days, I’m gonna be married, Gram.”

  “Yeah.” She grinned. “And I’m so happy.”

  I chuckled at that. “It wasn’t always that way.” Shaking my head, I remembered the time I first brought Damon home and they’d grilled him like a Sunday steak.

  “That’s true.” She nodded a little as she sipped her own tea. “We had to make sure that he wasn’t just some street hustler. We had to know that he’d changed his ways.”

  “He has changed,” I said.

  She put her cup down to take my hands into hers. “You changed him. That man had already started, but you helped him to finish it. That’s why I’m sure he’s the one God chose for you. Because while Damon loves you, you’re his covering. Your prayers, your presence will just continue to help that man grow as a man after God’s own heart.” She paused. “Baby, there are no guarantees, but you and Damon are as close as it gets for me.”

  I sat there, holding her hands, letting her words settle in my ears, and settle in my heart.

  She added, “These doubts, these questions are all normal; now, I don’t want you to go forward with anything that you don’t believe in.”

  I shook my head. “No, I believe in us.”

  She nodded. “Good. Then just stay right there and keep God in the mix . . .”

  I laughed at her choice of words, but she didn’t crack a smile.

  “And you and Damon will be fine.”

  She squeezed my hands as if that was the period on this conversation, then she leaned back in the chair, and this time, she was the one to put her other foot in my lap. She didn’t say another thing, just closed her eyes.

  It had only been a few words, a short chat, and my grandmother had filled me with peace. I didn’t have to be concerned about what happened today with Trey. He was just one of those bad boys who’d made me curious for a moment. This had nothing to do with my mother; this was natural and I was fine.

  Looking at my grandmother sitting back, so peaceful, I didn’t want to disturb her. So I mouthed “Thank you,” then thought about all that she’d said. She’d been so sure, and I chuckled about that telephone line I thought she had to God—maybe He’d told her something, too. “Oh, one more thing,” my grandmother started.

  Glancing up, I didn’t even notice that she’d opened her eyes. She kept her foot in my lap, though she did lean forward just a little bit. “I have no doubt that God chose you for Damon and Damon for you for a great purpose. He wants this union.”

  See? God had spoken. That made my smile wider.

  “That means that the devil will come and try to kill, steal, and destroy.”

  The corners of my lips drooped in an instant.

  “You cannot let that devil in.”

  My heart stopped beating.

  “Don’t give him any kind of foothold into your life or into your marriage. Because I’m telling you, if you do . . .” Then, just like that, she leaned back and closed her eyes.

  It took me a moment to catch my breath so that I could continue her foot massage, but my heart, which had stopped for a moment, was beating like it was making up for lost time. And that peace that my grandmother had given me was stolen. It was what she’d said about the devil that took my peace away. The devil that made an image flash through my mind. Trey Taylor.

  9

  Damon

  You know you didn’t have to do this, bruh,” Trey said right before he slid into the booth facing me. “I thought I was just gonna stay at your place with you and Tiffanie.”

  Even though I smiled, that was never gonna happen. Trey was my boy and everything, but I’d learned a long time ago never to house your dog too close to your cat.

  I said, “Nah, son. You needed your own space, and since you’re my best man, getting you a room for this week is my way of saying thank you for offering to stand with me.”

  He nodded his appreciation.

  “Everything okay with your room?” I asked.

  He shook his head, but I knew that gesture wasn’t negative. There wasn’t anything bad anyone could say about the rooms at the Willard Hotel. “Bruh, I’m telling you, after where I’ve been for the past seven years? This is great.”

  “Cool.” I gave Trey some silent space to glance around. That would give me a moment to figure out how to approach him about leaving Atlanta and coming on board with me.

  “Bruh, this place . . .” He paused as his eyes took in the sights and the sounds of the bar in the hotel’s lobby. “This place is thick with money.” He inhaled like he was taking a long hit.

  “That’s because this is where money lives,”
I told him.

  He gave the place another glance, like he was trying to soak up the lounge that was packed to the perimeter with the movers who shook DC. Even though I was no longer affected by this place, which has been around so long that Abraham Lincoln had sipped a libation or two here, I remained conscious of its impressiveness. That’s why this was my go-to spot whenever I needed to make my own grand impression. Many deals had been closed standing at that bar.

  “Mr. King!”

  I grinned before I even looked up. “What’s up, Walter?” I greeted one of the bartenders who served me often.

  He shook my hand, I introduced him to Trey, and he took our orders: a Budweiser for Trey and a Ramos Pinto for me. I added a couple of orders of the Angus burger sliders and calamari for us to snack on.

  When the waiter turned away, Trey said, “So it’s like that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They know you by name?”

  His tone was filled with disbelief, but I didn’t know why. Trey knew that whatever I was involved with was always top-shelf.

  I nodded. “I do a lot of business here.”

  He paused, did another one-eighty glance. “This is a long way from the spots on the block.”

  “Truth. But when you’re asking for the big money . . .” My shrug finished my sentence. “They need to know my name with the amount of money I be droppin’.” I laughed.

  “Makes sense now . . . that you’re having your wedding here. Did they give you the spot for free?”

  “No, son, nothing’s really free at this level, at least not the way you’re thinking. But they always give me enough incentives to encourage me to keep coming back.”

  He nodded and at that moment, Walter slipped in, placed our drinks on the table, then slipped out, the way he always did, never hovering like the waitstaff at other restaurants.

  Trey held up his beer and I did the same with my port. “To my man, and his bride, may she bring you all that you deserve.”