by Omar Tyree
She paused and started laughing.
“Where’s Dad?” I asked her. I wanted to push the subject away from the wedding.
“I just sent him out on an ice-cream run. I had a craving.”
I was jealous about that. When was the last time I could fulfill my sweet tooth with a man?
“You sent him out on Wayne Avenue?” I began to think about Victor Hinson again. I couldn’t help myself. Wayne Avenue had been one of his stomping grounds, and I had heard through the grapevine that he owned storefront property there.
“Yeah,” my mother answered before a pause. She said, “You know your old friend has a health food store around there now.” She didn’t even want to say his name.
I smiled, reminiscing on the eighties and my young love affair with Victor.
My mother took in my silence and said, “I hope you’re not still thinking about him. He’s married now, right? I thought we went through this already, Tracy.”
Although my mother had always considered Victor handsome, how many mothers do you know who would openly accept her daughter holding on to a jailbird while she goes away to college? “You mean to tell me that no nice young man has interested you at Hampton?! Get a grip, girl!” my mother had told me during my years of dedication to Victor while he spent time in prison.
“I can’t help but think about him every once in a while, Mom,” I admitted to her.
“Mmm, hmm,” she grunted. She knew that she couldn’t say too much about it, because she had held on to my father after he walked out on us years ago, where many women would have filed for a divorce. So I guess I got my stand-by-your-man approach from her. Nevertheless, my mother was married to my father and had borne his only children. That’s where the similarities stopped. Victor had his own family, and I had become an outsider.
“Anyway, is Jason around?” I asked my mom. There was no sense in lingering on about the past, and Victor and I were definitely in the past, because there was no getting back together for us. I was wishing on a miracle.
“Yeah, he’s home, you want to talk to him?” my mother answered me concerning my brother.
I told her I did, and I had never talked to Jason as much as I should have. I felt bad about that. If I had a little sister, I knew that I would talk to her a lot more about the birds and the bees and stuff. But with boys ...you know,it’s different. You want to see them test their wild oats and everything, but at the same time, you want to protect them from the trifling ’hood rats.
“What’s up, Tracy. How’s Hollywood?” Jason asked me. He sounded pumped up about it like a lot of other people who knew I was trying my luck out there. They just couldn’t wait to see my face in the bright lights so they could scream, “I know her! That’s my girl!” They damn sure did it with Will Smith during that Independence Day movie.
I said, “It’s just a job, Jason. It’s nothing to really brag about.” Not yet anyway, I thought to myself.
“You meet any stars out there?”
“Plenty of them, and they’re all regular people,” I told him. “You look better than a lot of the stars out there,” I bragged. Jason did look good, too. He was a beautiful chocolate brown with big, bold eyes, long eyelashes, and nearly six foot tall at fifteen. My little brother was always handsome. He reminded me of everything that I wanted in a man, just like my daddy, tall, dark, handsome, and slightly rugged. Jason wasn’t all that rugged though. He was more of a smart-aleck kid. I guess that was because of dealing with me. My parents also sent him to Engineering & Science, a smart kid’s high school. As crazy as it seemed with my master’s degree in English and everything, my brother wouldn’t have been my type back in the day. I didn’t go for smart guys too much. Or at least not book smarts.
“Would you like to hang out with your big sister if we have time this weekend?” I asked him. I figured it was the least that I could do to see where my brother’s head was.
“When?”
“Tomorrow. We have a wedding rehearsal in the morning, but after that I’m free.”
“What are we gonna do, go to a movie or something?”
That was the difference between a little brother and a little sister. I don’t believe a little sister would have asked that question unless I was boring, but Jason wanted to know What do I do with a girl if she’s not my girl? That was a teenage boy for you. Being with a girl had to have a definitive purpose for him.
I chuckled and said, “Yeah, we’ll go to a movie then.”
“To see what?”
“I don’t know. Whatever.”
“At what movie theater?”
I sighed, growing tired of his damn pettiness. “Look, would you cut it out already. I just want to hang out with you. Is it okay to do that? God!”
He laughed and said, “Aw’ight. What time are you gonna pick me up?”
“How ’bout I pick you up from school tomorrow?” I was renting a car to get around in. I even thought about sneaking off to Atlantic City for some recreation after the wedding reception that Saturday night.
Jason sounded hesitant. “Pick me up from school?”
“Yes, pick you up from school. Why, you have something to do after school tomorrow?”
Does he have any girls? I thought to myself. Maybe Jason is faster than what I think.
He said, “Yeah, we have a basketball game at our school tomorrow. Our varsity only lost one game, to Gratz. We got this boy, Lynn Greer, who’s tough. He drops like thirty points a game.”
A basketball game. That’s more like it, I thought with a smile.
“How come you don’t play? You’re tall enough aren’t you?”
He laughed and said, “Yeah, but my game is not all that. E&S has some good players.”
I couldn’t believe it. My own brother sounded like a little punk.
“You mean to tell me that you’re scared to go out for the team, at Engineering and Science?” I couldn’t imagine smart guys being all that good in basketball. I said, “I could see if you went to Dobbins or West Philly.” Those were the schools that were good in my day.
My brother said, “Dobbins and West Philly? They’re both garbage. Our squad is fifteen and one. I’m telling you, they’re good.”
“What about Germantown, my old high school?” I asked him, smiling.
“Germantown?” Jason broke out laughing. “Aw, they’re big-time garbage. We played them and blew them out by like thirty. I was at that game.”
“Anyway, so what time is the game over?” I asked him. You start talking about sports with guys and they’ll run their mouths about it all night long.
“You can pick me up around four-thirty, quarter to five. The game’ll be over by then.”
“Where is your school at again?”
“Nineteenth and Norris.”
“Okay, I’ll find it. And tell Mom and Dad I’ll see them tomorrow night.” When I hung up with my brother I was still filled with energy. I didn’t feel like talking to Raheema though, because I didn’t want to think about her wedding. On top of that, I was thinking about Victor again and I had to block those thoughts out.
To settle some of my energy, I took a cab and snuck out to South Street to grab a bite to eat at a restaurant, and boy was it cold outside. The California weather never slipped below freezing in January like Philadelphia’s did. I wasn’t really prepared for the cold climate back home.
“Are you cold?” the Italian host asked me as soon I stepped inside of the restaurant.
I said, “Yeah, so find me a warm spot.”
He smiled. “I think I can do that. Are you dining alone?”
“Unfortunately,” I answered.
He found me a seat close by the bar that was indeed warm.
“Is this spot warm enough for you?”
“Yeah,” I told him. “Thanks.”
I sat down and started looking over the Italian food on the menu. It was rather dark in the restaurant, so I had to pull the menu right up to my eyes to see it. I spread it out in front o
f the candle that sat on the table in front of me and squinted at each entree.
“You see anything you might want on that menu?” another voice asked me. I couldn’t see who it was with the menu in front of my face, but the voice sounded familiar.
I said, “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Would you like to recommend anything?”
I held the menu there between us.
He said, “For dessert, I would recommend the chocolate mousse.”
I smiled, and my heart started racing just like it did for him when I was a young girl.
“What if it’s off-limits now?” I asked. “I thought I couldn’t have that anymore.”
He laughed. “You never know unless you ask for it.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. I pulled that damn menu down from my eyes and stared Victor right into his sexy-ass face. Had I set myself up that night by thinking about him or what?! Be careful what you wish for, right?!
Victor and I just stared at each other, with him smiling, and me sweating with fear and nothing to say. A lot of guys were dying their hair and beards jet-black in Philly to look extra sexy like Barry White or Gerald Levert, but Victor didn’t need to. His hair was jet-black and sexy naturally, like all of the rest of him.
I just sat there and asked him, “Why? Why did you do that to me? I wanted to wait for you.”
He knew damn well what I was talking about, and I had never been more serious in my life.
He just shook his head and grinned at me. His hair was cut low enough to show off the perfect mold of his head, and high enough for the small dark curls on top to blend into the waves on the side and down into a perfect Philly fade that connected to his dark beard and goatee. He was wearing all tan, lighter than beige, and I just wanted to reach out across the table and grab him like a damn groupie backstage.
I was so fucking weak for this man, but how could I not be attracted to him? Victor had always been extraconfident, bold, sexy, and flyy. He was all-athletic, he could fight, and he was respected by all of his peers. He just had that street flavor that all of the girls wanted, and all of the guys admired. Victor was the shit, a black god of a man, and he knew it! He needed his own onyx statue somewhere, and since I always wanted to be with the best, I wanted to be with him. The fact that I could never quite have him made me sweat him even more. He would forever be my black butterfly who flew away from my eager love net.
“Answer me,” I told him. “Why did you play me like that and go to someone else? I thought that I was the one.” I wanted an answer once and for all.
He looked at me for another minute before he opened his mouth. It seemed like a hour.
He said, “You had college to go to. I couldn’t come between that. I had to let you go.”
“What do you mean, you ‘had to let me go’? I didn’t let you go.”
He shook his head again. “It just wasn’t right. You know that. I was writing you like that because I was in jail. Your mind starts playing tricks on you in that place.”
“So are you saying that you really didn’t care about me like that?” I was praying that he wouldn’t tell me that. I didn’t care if he was married with two sons or not, I just wanted him to tell me that he cared anyway.
He said, “I cared enough about you to let you go. That’s how much I cared.”
I shook my head and said, “That’s bullshit! If you really cared like that, you would have kept me.”
“Yeah, kept you away from doing what you needed to do.”
“Well, what if I needed to be with you?” I asked him. I was saying anything at that point just to keep the heat of the conversation going. You know how it is, you don’t want the fire to cool off and blow away, so you add the kerosene.
He stared at me in deep thought. “You were supposed to be doing what you’re doing right now, and I was supposed to be doing what I’m doing. It was our destiny to be apart,” he said.
I was running out of breath. I said, “Victor, don’t talk that Muslim stuff to me right now. I don’t need that right now.”
“This has nothing to do with—”
“Yes it does,” I said, cutting him off. “You took the easy way out and got this girl pregnant so you wouldn’t have to face me.”
“Face you for what, to be sucked back into that nonsense? Do you remember how we met, Tracy? Do you remember how I treated you? Is that what you want to remember when you talk to your children? Come on, now. Think about it. We couldn’t do that. It was all a fantasy.”
“It could have been real,” I told him. I didn’t know what else to say.
He said, “Yeah, real dumb.”
My waiter came. “Are you ready to order?” He looked at me and then to Victor.
“I’m already at a table,” Victor told him.
I said, “I’ll need a few more minutes, but I’ll start off with a house salad and some more water,” because Victor was making me thirsty.
When my waiter walked away, Victor said, “I have to get back to my table. I’m down here on a business meeting.”
I looked around the restaurant to see where he was sitting.
“What kind of business?” I asked.
“Real estate and storefront property. I own a health food store now on Wayne Avenue. I’m looking to buy a few more stores and a couple of apartments to rent out to college students in North Philly.”
Victor was never an unintelligent man, and jail didn’t seem to slow down his mind at all. If anything, it had only straightened his mind out for him, and made him see more clearly, which was not the case for most brothers who went in. That just made me want him more. I would give up everything for him, which was crazy, crazy, infatuated love.
“So how’s your wife?” I asked him. Was he still happily married to her? I looked toward his ring finger but missed it when he backed away.
He smiled and never answered me. “I’ll see you around,” he said.
“See me around where?” I was desperate to stay in touch with him somehow.
He said, “I guess on the big screen, right? I hear you’re out in Hollywood now.”
“Who told you that?”
“People know you, and I know people,” he said and walked away.
I had lost my appetite. Well, not really, I just couldn’t concentrate on food, but I was still hungry for it. I just wanted to eat it with Victor still in front of me.
I got up to use the restroom and to spy on him to see where he was sitting and who he was sitting with. I spotted him by the window with an older black man in a dark gray suit. I guess they were able to see me when I first walked in. All I know was that I wouldn’t be able to sleep that night until I found a way to get back in touch with him.
I knew that Victor saw me going to the restroom, but he ignored me while talking to this gray-suit-wearing man as if there was no tomorrow.
I slipped inside the restroom and went straight to the mirror to brainstorm.
Okay, now what do I say? I thought. Do I approach him while he’s still talking to this man? What kind of business meeting do you discuss at ten o’clock at night anyway? Does this man know that he has a wife and kids? Of course he does.
I was full of questions and no real answers.
“Can I speak to you for a minute?” I asked the mirror in a calm businesslike tone. I nodded. “Yeah, that’s good,” I told myself. “Now I just have to go out there and do it.”
I stood there in the mirror and took a couple of deep breaths like yoga or something.
“Well, here goes nothing. Or is it everything?”I told myself.
I walked out from the bathroom and over in their direction, only to find two empty seats and dirty dishes at their table.
No, no, NO! I won’t be able to sleep tonight! I pouted to myself. DAMN! I did not need this shit right now!
I was so weak that I felt like running out in the cold like a lunatic, either that or breaking down and crying. Instead, I composed myself and walked back to my table, a defeated soul of cold, unstirred
soup.
The waiter was back with my salad and water. I felt like sending him away again.
He said, “A Mr. Q. told me to give you his card.”
I looked and took the light green business card from my waiter’s hand. It read “Mr. Q.’s Healthy Treats.” It had the name Qadeer Muhammad with an address and a phone number printed at the bottom. I flipped it to the back to see if he had written me a message, but he hadn’t. I felt better with the card though. At least I could eat and sleep that night, but what would I do next? Would I hunt him down at his store? For what, so he could embarrass me by showing me his ring and his two sons? I could really make myself look like a fool. I had to fight off the impulse, I just didn’t know how. All I could think of for the rest of the night was Victor Hinson giving me another one of his personal “treats” in my hotel room at the Four Seasons. However, would that be “healthy” for me? Or would it be more like a poison?
$ $ $
Raheema never looked more beautiful or happier in her life than at the wedding rehearsal at church that Friday morning. She was six months pregnant, but she didn’t show it much. People call that a boy. Her husband-to-be, Ernest Neumann, was indeed handsome, penny brown with a rounded head and a perfect dimpled smile. He seemed self-assured and happy about marrying my girl.
Raheema’s bridesmaids were all of her college friends. I told them plenty of stories about her to keep the mood light.
“So, Raheema was always the studious type?” they asked me.
“No question about it. I thought she would never get married unless it was to the books. Now she goes ahead and beats me to the altar, and with a baby.”
“Would you stop talking about the baby. Everybody doesn’t know,” Raheema said.
I figured she had to be joking with that. I frowned at her. I said, “Girl, you may not be as big as a cow right now, but you do show. So don’t even believe that lie that Ernest told you.”
“What did I do?” Ernest called out, overhearing his name.
“You knocked up my girl, that’s what you did,” I fired back at him.
Everyone laughed, and I felt good while standing right in the middle of things and instigating. I had a few exciting tricks up my sleeve that included seeing Mr. You-Know-Who. I decided that you only live once, so regardless of whether I was embarrassed or not, I wanted to follow my impulse, as long as it didn’t kill me. Having another talk with Victor would not kill me. What that talk could lead to, however, was another story.
