Commitment

by Forrester, Nia

  He turned his attention once again to his wife, watching as she speared a piece of broccoli with her fork and bit into it. Her hair was growing out even more, beginning to curl at her nape and she had lost a noticeable amount of weight. She stretched her legs out before her, resting them on the edge of a nearby chair. They were smooth brown, slender and firmly muscled at the same time.

  The impulse to touch her, to reach out and pull her closer never went away. That he would be in this predicament with Keisha seemed irrational when the abiding and central truth of his life was that the sun rose for him only once Riley opened her eyes every morning.

  “Maybe they won’t show,” she was saying to Tracy now. “It’s tough to make it up here when there’s a lot of snow like this.”

  “Have some fun with this,” Tracy suggested. “Maybe they can give you extensions and blue contacts.”

  “Good idea,” Riley said. “Just what I’ve always wanted.”

  Shawn smiled and stood to go find Lorna, brushing Riley’s head as he walked by. She leaned into his hand and closed her eyes, briefly warming to his touch.

  Lorna was on the sun porch reading. She looked up when Shawn joined her and set her book aside.

  “Pretty rough yesterday, huh?”

  “Yup.”

  He hadn’t discussed his testimony with anyone except for Brendan and had even postponed a debriefing with Doug and Robyn so he could sit with the experience for awhile before someone told him how he was supposed to feel about it.

  He hadn’t expected was how pointed the questions would be. And how graphic. Grand jurors were permitted to ask him questions directly, and they asked things he should have expected, but felt completely unprepared for.

  How many times did you have intercourse with the complaining witness?

  Who initiated the intercourse?

  Where did you have intercourse?

  What kinds of intercourse?

  If you were intoxicated, how do you know she consented?

  When did your wife discover you had intercourse with the complaining witness?

  Not only did he feel like he was defending himself against a rape charge, it felt like he was defending his marriage. If this was what the questions might be like at trial, he was even more certain now that he’d made the right decision to keep Riley away.

  “Are they going to call you again, you think?”

  Shawn nodded. He’d gotten the definite impression that the jurors had unfinished business with him. Some of them just seemed to want to know what was going through his mind, and decide whether he was just a spoiled celebrity who thought he could have anything he wanted, including women who might not be interested.

  “Just keep your cool,” Lorna said.

  “It’s tough to do. Did you see her?” Shawn asked referring to Keisha.

  He’d seen her briefly as he entered the grand jury room, exiting another door. She was dressed like someone on her way to choir practice and had her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. Nothing about her appearance suggested the person he knew her to be.

  “I did. Pretty girl.”

  “All of them are,” Shawn said bitterly.

  “So one would think it would become easier for you to just say no,” Lorna said lightly.

  Shawn looked at her. It was the first time she’d ever said anything that even resembled judgment about what he’d done.

  “It didn’t have anything to do with that,” he said finally. “It wasn’t about her being a cute girl. I mean, of course that gave me an excuse, but it didn’t . . . that wasn’t what it was.”

  Lorna held up a hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to explain it to me. It’s really none of my business.”

  “There’s no explanation. No excuse. The first time we met, you told me to try to be the man Riley thinks I am. And I came up short. I let her down.”

  Lorna said nothing but the look in her eyes said she agreed with him.

  “I let her down, I let myself down,” Shawn continued. “And I feel I let you down too.”

  Lorna shook her head. “Shawn, I didn’t know you then. I had no expectations. I had hopes, but no expectations.”

  “What about now?” he asked.

  She smiled. “I feel like I know a little bit about the man you are now,” she said slowly. “And so quite apart from what you owe to Riley, I don’t want you to let yourself down either.”

  “Thank you?” he said laughing.

  “I do mean it as a compliment. Shawn, you are a powerful voice in this world. And you’ve been given such a gift of the opportunity to have people actually listen. I want you to get past this setback and continue to use that voice.”

  “Question is whether anyone will listen anymore.”

  “Oh, they’ll listen,” Lorna said. “Maybe even more so now. That’s the nature of our crazy society.” She slid him the book she’d been reading when he came in. “Here’s some food for thought.”

  Shawn looked down. “Autobiography of Malcolm X.” He grinned at Lorna, flipping through the pages. “You’re bringing out the big guns.”

  “Ever read it?”

  “No,” he admitted.

  “You should. This is a man who managed to really, truly change. It sounds simple, but y’know the old adage that people don’t change? I think that’s generally true. But this is someone who pulled it off and accomplished self-transformation on a scale that only happens very rarely, to my mind.”

  “I’ll check it out when you’re done,” Shawn promised.

  “No, take it now. I’ve read it a million times. And when you’re done, I have some other stuff you might be interested in.”

  “Or I could just start coming to your lectures,” Shawn said, only half-joking.

  Lorna perked up. “I just had an idea.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Come to my class as a guest lecturer.”

  “Before or after I get convicted of sexual assault?”

  Lorna gave him a look. “Shawn. You’re not going to be convicted.”

  He shrugged.

  “I would love to have you come in and talk to one of my classes. About your work, about gender in rap, about your experience with this. If you’re comfortable.”

  “I don’t know. What would the college think about that?”

  “Who cares what they think? I’m tenured.”

  Shawn laughed. “I’ll think about it.”

  “When you’re ready, let’s talk. I can help you outline your lecture.”

  “You sound pretty confident I’ll want to do it,” Shawn laughed.

  Lorna winked at him as she stood to leave. “Of course you’ll want to do it. You’re a performer.”

  Shawn smiled and opened the book to read the first line: When my mother was pregnant with me, she told me later, a party of hooded Ku Klux Klan riders galloped up to our home in Omaha, Nebraska one night. He leaned back. He would kill some time before Darnell and the rest of the crew got here.

  It seemed like minutes later when he looked up and Riley was standing over him. She glanced down at the book but didn’t comment.

  “You’re up,” she said. “The stylist is here.”

  “I think I’ll wear some of my own stuff,” he said. He had just gotten to the part where Malcolm Little became El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz.

  “Dawn’s here too. She’ll probably want to see what you’re wearing anyway, so she can set up her shots.”

  “Okay.” Shawn stood reluctantly, following her into Lorna’s study where several garment bags were laid out and couple women were laboring over camera equipment and lights. He immediately saw a familiar face. It was Aracely, from Philip Mark’s studio. Just his luck that the person Philip would send would be the person he’d flirted with in a flash of poor judgment. She looked up when he walked in and then quickly lowered her eyes once again to the shirt she was fussing with.

  “Hey Aracely,” he said amiably. No point acting like he had something to be guilty about. “How’s Philip
?”

  “He wanted to come but had to take care of other business,” she said. “He wanted me to let you know that he personally picked out these looks for you.”

  “Sounds good. Let’s see what you got?”

  “Apparently you’re wearing all white,” Riley said rolling her eyes.

  “We’re going for the innocent as a lamb look, huh?” Shawn said grinning at her.

  “Well, consider the alternative,” Riley said dryly.

  “You’ll photograph beautifully,” someone said in a musical West Indian accent. “You have the perfect complexion for white.”

  The taller of the two women stepped forward and held out her hand. “I’m Dawn. Good to finally meet you.”

  “Dawn. Good to meet you too,” Shawn said, taking her hand. “Thanks for coming out.”

  “My pleasure, my pleasure,” she said. “Let me tell you what I’m thinking . . .” she pointed toward the backyard. “You have a minute? Riley?”

  They followed her out to the back where she described her vision. She wanted Shawn sitting on the ground under the spruce, Riley next to him with her feet in his lap. They were going to put down a fake surface because there was still snow on the ground. A few more shots would be of them walking about the garden; a couple of them separately, and a couple shots inside the house. Dawn entered the sun porch from outside and spotted the book Shawn had just left behind. She picked it up and gave a small smile.

  “This yours?” she asked.

  Shawn nodded.

  “Let’s get one of you with the book as well then.”

  Riley shook her head. “You don’t think that’s going to look a little contrived?”

  Dawn shrugged and looked at Shawn. “Well, is it? Contrived?”

  “You mean am I actually reading the book?” Shawn asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah, I’m actually reading the book,” he said, annoyed.

  “Well then why worry about how it looks?” Dawn said.

  “Fine. I guess the magazine will decide whether they’ll use it.”

  “Oh, we’d use it.” It was Darnell. “K Smooth reading Malcolm X? Priceless.”

  “How about K Smooth kicking your ass?” Shawn asked, only half-joking. “You think you’d want to use that picture?”

  “Probably not,” Darnell said, unfazed. “We already ran a story about you kicking someone’s ass, remember?”

  Shawn greeted him with some pound and a half-embrace. Darnell was typical “Hot-lanta” pretty boy. Always dressed to the nines, fresh haircut, face shaped up and even hands manicured. He was just slightly shorter than Shawn and heavier-set. But it was all muscle. Truth be told, there was no telling who would win a fight between them if it ever came to that.

  “So you don’t mind sitting through the whole photo shoot mess?” Shawn asked him.

  “Nope. Looking forward to it.” Darnell turned to Riley.

  “This is my wife,” Shawn said. “Riley, Darnell wrote that bullshit I told you about that time.”

  “I don’t think you did tell me,” she corrected gently. “Nice to meet you, Darnell.”

  “No. Nice to meet you,” Darnell said with emphasis. He looked her over appreciatively and turned to give a significant look to Shawn; one which clearly said that he felt as though he’d been deliberately kept in the dark about a secret. Shawn returned the look with one that clearly said he should watch himself if he knew what was good for him.

  “So what ‘bullshit’ is Shawn referring to exactly?” Riley asked.

  “I said he had . . .”

  “Let’s not talk about that right now,” Shawn interrupted. “We’re still doing this walk-through, right?”

  “Actually we’re done,” Dawn said unhelpfully. “I’ll go set up for the outside shots so we can take advantage of this light.”

  “So Darnell,” Riley continued. “I hope you’ll be gentle with me.”

  Darnell smiled. “This isn’t exactly a gentle topic.”

  “No, it’s not,” Riley said. “What I mean is no cheap shots I hope.”

  Darnell held up his hands, palms facing her. “Shock journalism is not my thing. I’m strictly on the up and up.”

  “Good.”

  “So is Dr. Terry around?” he asked. “If she doesn’t object, I might want to talk to her for a few minutes as well.”

  “Whoa,” Shawn stepped in. “We didn’t talk about that.”

  “I know. But you have to know that folks might be curious.” He looked at Riley, his eyes getting that look again—more like a brother macking in the club, rather than a reporter. “Your mother-in-law is like Angela Davis or something. Inquiring minds want to know what she thinks of you.”

  “I’m happy to ask her if she’s up to it,” Riley said sounding completely untroubled by the suggestion.

  Shawn was not quite as untroubled. He and Lorna were getting into their own groove for sure, but he wasn’t certain he wanted her interrogated about the fix he’d gotten into, and gotten her daughter into.

  “I’d love to meet her if she’s around,” Darnell pressed.

  “She may have escaped to the college,” Riley said. “I’ll see if she’s still here and willing to talk to you.”

  Shawn turned to Darnell when Riley was out of earshot.

  “You better watch what you say to my wife, Darnell. I’m serious.”

  “Well shit, Smooth, why don’t you just interview her yourself?” Darnell said.

  Shawn looked at him levelly.

  “You’re protective of her. I get it. But if you think I flew all this way, and drove two hours just to lob some softballs, I might as well leave right now.”

  “Just be fair. That’s what I’m talking about.”

  “I’m always fair,” Darnell said.

  The photo shoot was fairly painless. Shawn let his mind drift, thinking about his grand jury testimony, and the likelihood of being called back, instead of his surroundings. Riley was comfortable with Dawn so posed easily and naturally in his arms, and seemed even to enjoy it at times. Her make-up had been done by someone Aracely brought along. She looked beautiful, of course, but he still preferred her natural, the way she looked when she stepped out of the shower in the morning, or came back from yoga. At times a faraway look came into her eyes, and he knew she was thinking about the grand jury as well, and about what would follow it.

  Sometimes lately he saw new expressions cross her features, expressions he’d never seen before—worry, sadness and the occasional flash of outright fear. He hated that he had introduced these emotions into their daily life and he hated it more that she never complained, or blamed or made him feel like it was his fault, when they both knew that much of it clearly was.

  After the shoot, Riley went in to submit to Darnell’s inquisition and Shawn sat with Dawn reviewing the shots on a monitor she’d set up. Most were good, but a few were nothing short of amazing.

  “Could I buy some of these from you?” Shawn asked.

  “Sure. But I’d rather give it as a gift,” Dawn said. “The magazine’s compensation is more than adequate and I never did give Riley something for your wedding.”

  “Thanks.”

  Shawn stared at the image on the screen. It was one where they were sitting under the tree looking directly into each other’s eyes. It had been cold out there, so Riley had moved in really close and was looking up at him. In the image he saw something that he didn’t always notice when he was looking right at her. She loved him. It was in her eyes, the way she inclined her head toward him; it was all over her face. This was what he could lose. He could lose her.

  “I could print this one before I leave,” Dawn said quietly. “If you want it right away.”

  “Nah, that’s alright. Send it to me later,” Shawn said, playing it cool. He stretched his arms above his head and worked out a crick in his neck.

  “Okay,” Dawn said. “You’re sure?”

  “Yup,” he stood and headed back to the sun porch to see whethe
r he could finish the book before nightfall.

  g

  It was dawn. And Shawn watched her face as Riley drifted just on the edge of post-lovemaking sleep. They were sitting up, still intertwined, Riley astride him, her legs wrapped about his hips, his arms clasping her tight against his chest. Her breathing had slowed to normal but her hair was damp and flattened against her skull with perspiration, and her skin luminous in the dim light.

  “You’re crazy-beautiful,” he said.

  A slow smile transformed her face and she opened her eyes fully now.

  “Aww. That’s the mushiest thing you’ve ever said to me. Is everything okay?”

  “As okay as can be.”

  “So why do you sound like the guy about to make the ‘goodbye speech’ in a sad movie?”

  “Is that what I sound like?” Shawn eased her off him, grimacing at the loss of contact as he pulled out of her, and pulling the sheet about them both.

  “D’you remember that time when we went to Chris’ house just after everything started? He said something to me that I’ve been thinking about.”

  “What was that?” Shawn raised himself onto an elbow and looked down at her.

  “He asked whether I was up to a trial and everything that might follow. He said that if it got really bad, you wouldn’t want me to stick around. That you wouldn’t expect me to.”

  It was only half true. He wouldn’t expect it. But he would want it. Because he was too selfish to let her go.

  “So?” Riley prompted.

  Shawn looked past her and out the bedroom window.

  “It’s true,” she said, a note of incredulity in her voice. “You’d want me to leave you.”