by Deidre Berry
I chose not to tell my mother that plans for this party had been in the works for the past few months. In fact, I had already contracted with Donna Samuels, my favorite floral designer, to transform my condo into an elegant party atmosphere, and the only thing left to do was finalize the menu with Nelson, which I would do later on this week at the menu tasting.
So, I hated to do it, but for the first time since I was a teenager, I looked my mother in the eyes, and lied with a straight face.
“Believe me, I’m not planning a party for Daddy this year,” I said, crossing my fingers behind my back. “I should be back to work by then, and I’ll probably be busy that day anyway.”
“Well good, because Cedric is just not going to be up to celebrating,” Mama said, using a dish towel to wipe down the kitchen counter. “You keep that money you would have spent on a party and do something nice for yourself, for a change.”
Little did she know that it was too late. The birthday boat had already set sail, and unlike Mama, I was sure that a party in Daddy’s honor was exactly what he needed to help lift his spirits.
34
A few days after Uncle Woody’s funeral, Nelson came over to my place around 7 p.m. with a notebook in hand, looking quite serious.
“You ready to see what I came up with?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, leading the way to my kitchen table. “Let’s see what you got.”
I know I said I would let Nelson do his thing with the menu, but the control freak came out in me, and I had to have some input. We butted heads, going back and forth for nearly three hours, and this is the menu that Nelson and I finally decided to go with.
STARTERS
CRISPY CRAB CAKES WITH OLD BAY REMOULADE
ARUGULA AND WALNUT SALAD WITH BERRY VINAIGRETTE
MAIN COURSE
PRIME RIB
POACHED LOBSTER IN A WHITE-WINE SAUCE
WHITE-CHEDDAR MASHED POTATOES
GRILLED ASPARAGUS
OVEN-ROASTED TOMATOES WITH FRESH HERBS
DINNER ROLLS
DESSERT
SEVEN-LAYER RED VELVET CAKE
MANGO-LIME TARTS
PRALINE BREAD PUDDING
It will be a sit-down dinner for fifty people, and we are going to have a dessert buffet. Simple yet tasteful, and not too far out of Daddy’s comfort zone.
“So,” I said to Nelson. “Now that the menu is out of the way, how much are you going to charge me to do the catering?”
“I’ll tell you what—if your dad and his guests hate the food, then you don’t have to pay me anything. If they love it, you owe me fifteen hundred.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s it.”
“And you’re that confident in your skills?”
“Yes ma’am,” he said with a cocky swagger. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well alright then!” I said, shaking his hand to seal the deal. “But I’m counting on you, Nelson. It’s all on you, man!”
“Don’t worry, Tori. I got you!”
I was hoping that those wouldn’t be famous last words, when I got a phone call from Simone.
“Where are you?” Simone asked, with what sounded like a whole lot of commotion in the background.
“I’m just finishing up a menu consultation,” I said.
“With that neighbor friend of yours?”
“Yes…” I said, looking at Nelson, who was looking at me. “Why, what’s going on with you?”
“Hello! You said you were going to swing by and hang out with us tonight.”
“Oh! I totally forgot,” I said, slapping my forehead with my palm. “Alright, I’m on my way. You need me to bring anything?”
“Just your smiling face,” Simone said. “Oh, and bring your friend, too. I think it’s time I checked him out.”
I hung up the phone, still looking at Nelson.
“What?” he asked, suspiciously.
“My girlfriend just invited the two of us to her place for a little kick back.”
“Nadia, from upstairs?”
“No, her name is Simone,” I said. “She’s heard me speak of you on a couple of occasions, and she wants to meet you.”
“Oh, I get it!” he smiled. “She wants to look me over to see if I’m worthy of her stamp of approval, right?”
“Get over yourself!” I laughed. “My friends’ approval is only required when I’m dating someone, and since we aren’t dating, just consider it a platonic invitation to hang out.”
“Alright, I’m game. I’m always up for meeting new people.”
Poetry nights at Simone and Rasheed’s never fail to be interesting. There is always plenty of hummus and pita bread, fruit platters, vegetable trays, organic wine, ginger beer, and stimulating conversation to go around.
The smell of Nag Champa incense hung thick in the air as an eclectic group of creative types came together to share thoughts, ideas, and their respective arts. Among them were actors, writers, poets, visual artists, scholars, dancers, singers, musicians, and intellectuals.
When Nelson and I arrived at Simone and Rasheed’s modest split-level bungalow, the lighting was so low that it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, and make out that Simone was standing beneath the massive black-and-white photograph of a stoic Billie Holiday that I had given her for her birthday a few years ago.
There were two-dozen or so people seated on the floor and wherever else they could find a spot to sit; all enraptured with one of Simone’s signature poems. Rasheed strummed a soft melody on his acoustic guitar, while his woman delivered a dramatic performance piece with much sass and animation.
“I imagine myself in the depths of hell, trapped deep inside a miry pit. I look up, see a woman’s outstretched hand, and take it. The woman is strong. She pulls me up and out of the pit with ease. She helps me to settle my feet on solid ground. I dust myself off and I look into the woman’s face to thank her. I smile. This woman is not only strong; she is beautiful, radiant, and righteous. I smile because I recognize her. The woman is me.”
Finger snaps, whoops, and lit lighters go up around the room.
“Alright, girl!” I applauded Simone as she came over to greet us. “Save yourself!”
“I’m so glad you made it,” Simone said, giving me a hug.
“Me too,” I said, kissing her on the cheek. “Simone Benson, this is my friend Nelson Tate. Nelson, this is my sister Simone.”
Simone and Nelson hit it off instantly. They got to talking about everything from making your own turkey sausage to the benefits of juicing. The two of them were so far off into their own little world, that they didn’t even notice when I left them to go mingle with some of the other guests.
“How’s it going, Rasheed?” I asked, walking up on him having what looked to be an intimate conversation with a pretty, heavyset sister in a burnt-orange sundress.
“Hey Tori,” Rasheed said, removing his hand from the small of Ms. Orange’s back long enough to give me a hug. “What’s up, girl?”
“Not much,” I said, waiting to be formally introduced to the heifer he was so obviously flirting with. But Rasheed didn’t make the effort. Instead, he allowed himself to be led away by another female admirer, who insisted that he serenade her with a rendition of “Cry” by Lyfe Jennings.
Rasheed’s flirting doesn’t mean anything, huh?
I just hope for Simone’s sake that her trust in Rasheed hasn’t been misplaced, because she is the last person in the world I want to experience the pain that I have been through.
“Hey, that girl in the orange dress, what’s her name again?” I asked Simone as we assembled more veggie trays in the kitchen.
“Oh, Delilah? Yeah, she’s cool. She’s playing the lead in Rasheed’s play.”
“Well earlier tonight, I saw Rasheed giving Delilah the kind of backrub that should only be reserved for you,” I said. “What’s up with that?”
Simone laughed at me. “Tori, as long as you’ve known Rasheed, you shoul
d know by now that my man is just a harmless flirt. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”
“I’m just saying, speaking from experience, you might want to keep an eye on that.”
“Well, I appreciate the concern, but I trust my man. And even though it turned out that you could not trust Roland, please don’t come in here placing your negativity on my relationship, okay?”
Now I totally understand why some women hesitate to tell their girlfriends that their man may be up to no good. You always look like the villain, even though all you’ve done is express concern.
“Okay. You know what? My bad. Case closed,” I said, chopping a celery stalk into one-inch pieces.
“Thank you!” Simone said, spooning hummus into a decorative bowl. “Now, tell me about you and Nelson.”
I shrugged. “Not much to tell.”
“I’m not buying that. He’s here with you tonight, isn’t he?”
“Just as a friend,” I said. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
“That’s how it usually starts,” Simone teased. “Rasheed and I were friends for about a year before we decided to cut out all the bullshit and become exclusive.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go placing any bets on this one,” I said, chewing on a miniature carrot. “Nelson and I are just friends and I’m pretty sure it’s going to stay that way.”
“So what’s keeping it from going any further?” Simone asked.
I relayed the story of Nelson screaming out Kara’s name while we were having sex.
“Ooh!” Simone winced. “Now that could be a problem.”
“I know, right? And how do you compete with a ghost?” I asked. “Especially one who is this perfect angel in his eyes. Seriously, if the woman had any flaws, it would have been something sappy like she loved him too much.”
“Hmmm…” Simone said. “I wonder what Fatima would say about this situation?”
“Well this is one time I don’t mind you discussing my business with her, because I would really like to know how to handle—” I stopped myself when Nelson walked into the kitchen.
“There you are,” he said to me. “We’re just about to start a Scrabble tournament—you play?”
“Do I play?” I asked, incredulous. “Simone, you better let him know who the reigning champion is around here.”
“Tori’s a beast when it comes to Scrabble,” Simone told Nelson. “I’m telling you, the girl can kick some serious butt.”
“Oh yeah?” Nelson said. “Well, I’m about to change all that.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” I said, letting Nelson lead me back into the living room, hoping he had not overheard enough to know that he had been the topic of discussion.
An hour later, I was systematically destroying the competition at Scrabble, while Nelson participated in a lively discussion on the state of Black America.
Everybody laughed until they cried when Nelson did a dead-on impersonation of Bill Cosby. “Stop calling each other niggas and learn how to read and write!” He rolled his eyes, did the Jell-O Pudding face, and continued, “Never mind my past indiscretions, and all the rumors you may have heard about me, y’all niggas need to get your shit together in a major way!”
“God bless Bill Cosby!” I said. “Somebody needed to stand up and say it.”
My comment turned the heat up on the debate, and as Nelson valiantly defended my viewpoint, Simone nudged me and whispered, “I don’t care what you say. I think we have ourselves a winner!”
Nelson and I left Simone’s a little after midnight. He parked his Escalade in the parking garage of our building, and we walked over to the Cheesecake Factory where we had dessert out on the patio.
“Now this really reminds me of New Orleans,” Nelson said, as a parade of horse-drawn carriages clip-clopped past the restaurant.
“It seems like you have a thing for New Orleans,” I said, savoring my Godiva Chocolate cheesecake. “Have you been down there since Hurricane Katrina hit?”
“Oh yeah, no doubt. As a matter of fact, I had just gotten back from New Orleans that day we ran into each other at Home Depot. I spent two weeks down there helping my Aunt Edna get her restaurant up and running again.”
“So how is it going down there?”
“Slow! I mean, it is ridiculous that most of those neighborhoods are still the same mess they were right after the storm first hit,” he said with a bitter edge in his voice. “And those FEMA trailer parks—man! On the outside looking in, they look like hell on earth; I can only imagine what it’s like to actually have to live in that type of environment.”
“That’s a damn shame.” I shook my head. “It just seems to me that what’s happening down there is criminal on so many levels.”
“Yeah, you’re right…” Nelson agreed, quickly wiping away a tear that had suddenly sprung to his eye. “I’m sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “It just makes me so mad to see all those kids living like—man, they just deserve so much better than that.”
Nelson’s anger about the plight of New Orleans was so palpable, and his passion so strong, that tears unexpectedly sprung to my eyes, as well.
I wrapped my arms around Nelson and rubbed his back with long, gentle strokes.
It is so refreshing to see a man passionate about something besides sports and sex. I felt Nelson’s pain, though. The situation in New Orleans just goes to show that freedom ain’t as free as we thought it was. If you have money in this country, then you have value. You matter when a natural disaster comes along. If you happen to be poor, then oh well! You’re just ass out.
After a few minutes, Nelson was back to laughing and joking again.
We stopped by George Brett’s Restaurant for a couple of drinks, and then went back to Nelson’s place for a game of pool, followed by another kind of dessert.
35
The first thing I saw when I woke up this morning was a pair of hazel eyes peering down at me with grave concern. In my still-hazy state, it took a few seconds for me to process that the eyes belonged to Nelson, and that I was lying butt-naked in the middle of his bed.
“Good morning,” he said, handing me an oversized Reggie Bush jersey to cover my nakedness. “It’s nice to know that you’re still in the land of the living.”
I stretched and smiled, remembering last night’s freaky escapades.
“You put it on me something fierce, but yeah, I’m still here,” I said, pulling on the jersey. I noticed that Nelson was already showered and dressed. “What time is it, anyway?” I asked.
“A little after eleven o’clock. I was just about to feed you breakfast in bed, but since you’re up—” He took my hand and pulled me up out of bed. “Come on, let’s go eat.”
I followed Nelson into the kitchen, where he had obviously spent half the morning whipping up a feast.
“Orange juice or coffee?” he asked.
“Orange juice is fine, thanks,” I said, surprised and impressed by his thoughtfulness.
Nelson poured the juice and joined me at the table, where we sat down to a breakfast of eggs Benedict, blueberry muffins, hash browns, and fresh strawberries.
After sampling the food, I gave Nelson an enthusiastic thumbs up, which he graciously accepted with a nod.
A gourmet cook and an expert lover all in one? I could definitely get used to this. But, I digress. After all, we are “just friends.”
Nelson was staring at me intently.
“What?” I asked, helping myself to another muffin. “My table manners offending you, or something?”
“No,” he said thoughtfully. “I was just wondering what your special friend thinks of all of this?”
“And what special friend would that be?” I asked.
“You know, the one you were so serious with that it made you deeply regret sleeping with me that first time.”
Vincent.
“Oh,” I shrugged, nonchalant. “It turns out that he wasn’t so special, after all.”
“So, does this mean we can do aw
ay with all this friendship stuff?” Nelson asked, and the question made my heart beat faster.
“You tell me,” I said, playing it cool. “You were the one who insisted on all of that in the first place.”
“Well, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately,” Nelson said, while buttering his muffin. “And considering the chemistry between us and that we get along so great…I don’t think it would be a bad idea to call ourselves dating. How about you?”
We smiled big at each other like two goofy teenagers.
“You like me?” I asked in a teasing voice.
“I like you a whole lot,” he said in a suggestive manner. I was about to suggest what we could do with the strawberries when someone started pounding on Nelson’s front door.
I continued to enjoy my breakfast while Nelson went and answered the door. A few minutes later, he walked back into the kitchen followed by a smartly dressed couple in their fifties. I was instantly self-conscious as they scrutinized me from head to toe: the morning-after sex glow, the Reggie Bush jersey and nothing else, the disheveled hair.
The couple raised their eyebrows at me, each other, and then Nelson.
“Well, who do we have here?” the man asked, his voice dripping with accusation.
Nelson had a sheepish look on his face, reminding me of the proverbial little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Margaret and Frank, this is my neighbor, Tori Carter. Tori, meet my in-laws, Margaret and Frank Murphy.”
Kara’s parents? Fuck.
“It’s a pleasure to meet the both of you.” I smiled, extending a hand that neither one of them bothered to shake.
How’s that for an awkward moment?
“Sorry to drop in unannounced,” Margaret said, turning her attention to Nelson. “But Frank and I were on our way over to the cemetery and thought it would be nice if you could join us.”
Nelson’s face lit up as if he had just been invited on an all-inclusive trip to Jamaica. “Sure, why not?” he said.
All eyes were on me, and I took that as my cue to leave.
