Just as I was about to relive one of my one-night stands in my journal, the phone rang.
“Hello,” I said.
“Whatsup, my boyfriend?” Yolanda asked. She sounded quite happy.
“What’s the word? Where are you? Didn’t you have a date?” I asked.
“Which question do you want answered first?” Yolanda asked.
“Where are you?”
“In my hotel.”
“Didn’t you have a date with Mr. Wonderful?”
“Yes, and it was.” Yolanda sighed.
“Tell me about it and where is he?”
“On his way home, I suppose. It was all that and a bag of chips. He picked me up in a car. A regular limo, nothing really flashy, but a car nonetheless. We went to B. Smith’s for drinks, and then we went to see Bring in da Noise, Bring in da Funk, which, by the way, Leland, is just all that. Absolutely awesome, we have to come back here and see it together. We need to see Smokey Joe’s Cafe too,” Yolanda said.
“Yeah, yeah. Tell me about the man. Did he kiss you again?” I was thinking how I want to see the musical, but wondering if Yolanda’s new toyboy would want to tag along and who would be the third wheel. Me or him?
“Yes, and it was all that. Damn, that boy knows he can kiss. But that’s as far as I let him go. Homeboy, I know, had other plans, but I’m taking this smooth talker slow,” Yolanda said. I couldn’t remember her gushing over a man like this in a long, long time.
“What did you do after the play?”
“We went to dinner at some seafood restaurant near the Four Seasons Hotel. Plush deluxe, baby. You know, John is not only charming and fine, but he’s very smart. I mean, he didn’t mention sports once during the night. We talked about everything but that. I think he thinks he’s a player, but there is something very sensitive and special about him,” Yolanda said.
“Does he have any brothers?” I was thinking if he had a lot of brothers there was bound to be a gay one in the bunch. I wanted to gush a little bit myself.
“I don’t know, we haven’t gotten to his family yet. I mean, not all of them. I know his mother is dead, and he’s real close to his father and his aunt.”
“Speaking of family. I was just jotting down in my journal some stuff about my family reunion,” I said.
“You still haven’t decided what you’re going to do?”
“Naw. Uncle Doc is giving me the blues about not going. Giving me the you-ain’t-got-but-one-mama speech.”
“You know he’s right. You want me to go with you? I could go for some of your mama’s gumbo. When is it?” Yolanda asked.
“It’s in August. Now, you going with me … that’s a plan. That way I won’t have to talk to members of my family,” I joked.
“Now, come on, Leland. Be nice.”
“I am.”
“I’m getting ready to crash. I’ve got a meeting over at Arista Records tomorrow with my good girlfriend, Lajoyce. My girl has some possible acts she wants me to work with. I can’t forget the real reason I came to New York, I gotta work some! I just wanted you to know that your sisterfriend is alive and doing quite well, thank you very much, in New York City. And I love you … that’s all,” Yolanda said.
“I love you too … that’s all. Am I going to have to wait until Friday for the rest of the details, or is this something you’re going to share with the group?”
“Both. Good night, sweetie.”
“Good night, Yogi. Sleep tight.”
After I hung up the phone I went back to my journal, but before I resumed writing, I went to my kitchen and poured myself a glass of orange juice and located my Diana Ross The Boss CD. I needed Miss Ross and the music to take me back to New York and the eighties like only Diana could.
I love me some Yolanda, so I’m really happy with recent developments with her love life. It sounds like she’s found a winner in this John guy. But what will I do if my girl gets hooked? I don’t think I’m ready for the dating scene again. When I think about Yogi dating someone serious, I realize how much I depend on her and how I’ve removed myself from the children. I know one of the main reasons is the fear of losing someone else. Either a friend or a new lover. But we can lose people all kinds of ways. Lose them even when they’re physically still in our lives. I’m wondering if Yogi and I would be so tight if I hadn’t lost so many friends to AIDS, crack, and crazy trade. Would she have liked me (heaven forbid, loved me) in the eighties? AIDS changed everything. Could I put up with Dwight’s macho routine and Riley’s want-to-be-white bull if I hadn’t lost Donald?
While listening to Yolanda talk about John, a vivid memory came to life. I was trying hard to keep it out, because I wanted to focus my attention on Yolanda’s joy. But there it was despite my protests. A vision of Donald the first time I saw him, at the Nickel Bar on a Wednesday afternoon. A tall, trim, broad-shouldered man who looked at me and smiled and asked, “What do we have here?” I thought of how we talked at the 72nd Street subway stop for three hours. How many trains passed us by before we finally parted. How our first official date lasted forty-eight hours. I miss that. I miss stopping at Sylvia’s on the way to his apartment some evenings and picking up orders of smothered chicken and fried chicken, and then sitting on the floor of his apartment, feeding each other. Drinking some wine and maybe smoking a joint. And then making mad, crazy love. Oh, how I miss Donald.
Listening to Miss Ross has me thinking of putting my dancing shoes on, throwing caution to the wind, and giving that dating wheel a spin. But the thought of being dizzy again scares me.
I’m tripping right now! I just got home from my date with Yolanda, and I didn’t get the draws, but I’m not upset! I mean, I had a mad time with this lady. She looked good and smelled even better. And when it comes to kissing, you know old girl can hold her own without showing her trump card. Her kisses are sweet, sensual, and very gentle. Exactly how I imagine she’ll be inside.
When we were alone, we just talked and she seemed to enjoy talking with me and vice versa. We didn’t talk about sports or sex. Instead, Yolanda had me thinking about what I was going to do the rest of my life. When I talked, I looked into her thoughtful brown eyes, and saw somebody who, even though she doesn’t know me, seemed interested in what I had to say. She asked questions I had never been asked, like without a woman in my life as a child, how was I able to appreciate women? I guess she meant for things other than sex. I told her about my aunt Lois, and that seemed to satisfy her, but I had never thought about whether or not I appreciated women. I can be a big dog. It’s like she was giving me the benefit. Most women naturally assume men are dogs, and you know most men don’t let them down. Yolanda acts as though she expects only the best from men. She’s so in control, so confident. She carries herself like I’m worth nothing but the best and if you want to even get within sniffing distance of this good loving, then you’ve got to come correct. I haven’t even come close to feeling this way on a date since the first time I went out with Chase. I never felt that with my ex-wife.
Yeah, I made my standard attempt by inviting her back to my place, and when she said no, I offered to keep her company. I snapped out of my trying-to-be-a-gentleman stance long enough to do my player move, but then I got over myself and began telling this woman everything there was to know about me. Shit, dreams and stuff I hadn’t even admitted to myself. I told her about this dream I had of buying a big ranch and having about five kids. I want a lot of children because I was an only child. I told Yolanda I wanted my father and maybe his lady friend to come and live with me and help me raise my family. I had forgotten all about that dream. When I was in the position to buy such a place, I hadn’t met a woman I wanted to bear my children. Maybe that’s changing.
Usually I wait for a woman to show her weakness and then I go for the kill, just like in sports, when you figure out your opponent’s weakness and go for it. For me, success in the game of seduction is to get them naked. I love the different variations of the body. Make that most bodies. I
have been known to get a lady naked, then tell the skeezer to get dressed and get to stepping if I don’t like what I see.
But what’s really tripping me out about tonight is the ride home. On the way back to my apartment I made a call from the limo to this freak of the week I know who lives on the Upper East Side, named Linda. I told her to meet me at my place and to leave her panties and bra at home. She responded, “I’m on my way.”
But when I got home, all I could think about was Yolanda and our evening together. I managed to shower and slip into my robe. When Linda showed up at my place around two A.M., I thought I was ready for something real freaky. But I couldn’t get Yolanda out of my mind even when Linda tried to kiss my lips. When I didn’t respond, she went for the dick. But even my dick was in a place I feared my heart was headed with Yolanda.
I told Linda I would have to take a rain check and gave her a twenty-dollar bill to pay for a cab home. She gave me that you-ain’t-shit look, but I didn’t give a damn.
I think I’m in real trouble. I wanted to call Yolanda, but I didn’t want to wake her up. She said something about having an important meeting in the morning. So I called her machine in Chicago a couple of times just to hear her voice. The third call I just put the phone close to my music, Marvin Gaye moaning “Distant Lover.” On the fourth call I finally left a sappy message, mumbling something about what a sweet time I had. I can’t remember ever doing that. And then I called FTD and ordered a dozen red roses, a dozen yellow roses, and a dozen white and had them scheduled for delivery the first thing the following day. I went to sleep thinking about Yolanda and me covered by those roses.
Chapter 7
Riley slowly finished her second cup of coffee and enjoyed the August heat of the morning sun coming through her office window. The sky was a hopeful blue. Riley started to go to her kitchen and pour herself another cup of coffee, but instead she turned on her computer, waited for a few seconds as the modem made the connection she needed and had looked forward to the last two weeks. When she heard the automated voice announcing she had mail, her face broke into a wide smile. She clicked a few keys with a sense of joy and wondered what message would greet her. Her message felt like a loving touch after a long trip.
Dreamseekr: Just wanted to say good morning and to let you know that someone out here in cyberspace thinks you Ye wonderful and is hoping that this Friday will be a good day in your life. I’ll have something special for you later. Lonelyboy.
Riley punched a button that would save the message in a folder she called True Dreams, then turned off her computer, located her journal, and began to write:
I love the computer age! Every morning and sometimes in the evening when I log on to my computer there is a very sweet message from my secret admirer. One day he even downloaded a picture of a vase full of beautiful roses, with a note below saying he hoped I could smell the roses and that they brightened up my day. He has been sending me poems, and I send some poetry and a few song lyrics back to him. For the first time in a long time I feel like someone appreciates my talents, besides my kids, who I think don’t really get the poems, but at least they try and be supportive.
I don’t have any idea how my secret admirer looks, or even if he’s Black. I don’t think I care. All I know is that whenever I hear the computer tell me I have mail, my heart skips faster than double-dutch jumping. At night I can’t sleep for wondering how my secret admirer might look. This happens even when Selwyn is here. A few nights ago he startled me when he reached over to kiss me good-night. I was thinking about my mystery man, and when I felt his lips brush against mine, I looked at him like he was a total stranger and asked, “What are you doing?” He didn’t respond. He just rolled back over to his side of the bed. The next morning he didn’t even say good-bye when he left for the office. I didn’t even know he had gone back to the West Coast until his executive assistant called to make sure the car service had shown up to take him to the airport. She explained they had recently switched services and hadn’t heard from Selwyn. I told her they had shown up, even though I wasn’t certain. But knowing Selwyn, he would have been back upstairs on the phone raising hell with somebody.
I was through with Selwyn. When he didn’t make the trip back to Hampton with me to take Ryan and Reggie to school, I thought seriously about divorcing his butt as soon as I got back home. He came up with some lame excuse about a client making a million-dollar decision and he needed to be there to make sure his firm got the business. Most times I tell him I understand, but I just looked at him like he’s not even there. The children didn’t seem to mind, but it ruined the trip for me. All the plans I had made about visiting some of the places I thought were special to the two of us were destroyed. My mother and father offered to make the trip with us, but I told them I would be fine. I helped my kids check into the dorms, went out and spent a ton of our money on dorm goodies for Ryan and Reggie, then spent two days eating and watching movies in my Radisson Hotel suite. Instead of rekindling a romance, his absence made me realize how silly my plans were.
While sitting in my hotel room, watching a sad movie and eating some lifeless popcorn, the weight of the loneliness I feel every day in my own house hit me full force. Maybe it was the realization that I could no longer look forward to the sound of the door opening and one of my children coming in and greeting me with a hug and kiss and sometimes a kind word. I looked out on the city of Hampton, Virginia, a city where I had enjoyed so many happy times, and I just couldn’t stop the tears. But I don’t want to write and think about that sadness again. I want to enjoy this surge of joy my computer and this special man is bringing me.
On the evening I returned from Hampton, my admirer surprised me again. I was on my computer, composing some poetry in the workshop area, when this little message popped up my screen: Your poetry and messages have given me something to look forward to. There was a little box where I could respond to his message. At first the message scared me and I was wondering how he knew I was on my computer. I was feeling a bit paranoid. But he explained this feature called the Buddy List that notified him when his friends were on-line. When he told me I was the only person he ever sent messages on his Buddy List, I had to fight back tears. We spent the next hour writing messages to each other on the computer like we were grade-school kids exchanging notes. He must live in California, because he said something about the Bay Area’s warm days and cool nights. I also get the impression he’s some type of executive, because a couple of times it took him a little longer to respond to my question. He would then explain he was talking with his assistant. During this session I told him I was married and he told me he was also. I asked him if he was in love and he said he didn’t know. That his wife didn’t understand him and had let herself go. When he posed the same question to me, I said I was beginning to wonder if I had ever been in love. He said he had figured that out from some of my poetry.
I don’t feel like I’m doing anything wrong. I view this as a way of satisfying my emotional needs like I use other things to quench my sexual desires, like my little mechanical friend, Frank Faithful, I keep hidden in my lingerie drawer. And this man has inspired me. Two days after this chat with my mystery man, I went out to the fitness warehouse and insisted they deliver a treadmill the following morning. I’ve been on it every day, listening to music and motivational tapes. Sometimes I feel like I’m chasing Gail Devers. I’m starting to feel better about this ole body.
Dwight poured himself his first cup of coffee and then hit the mute button on his small color television sitting on the counter. Dwight always hit the button when his favorite newscaster, Hosea Sanders, turned to his white co-anchor. Dwight wasn’t interested in any news she might be reading. He started to pick up his phone and call his mother and share the morning with her, as he often did. But he looked at the clock and realized that it was already a few minutes past seven A.M. in Oakland. His mother had most likely left for the hospital where she had worked as an LPN since he was in the eighth grade. So he p
ulled out his journal and began to write something he might even share with the group:
I don’t know why I called the sister, but I did. Maybe I thought I could be her Black knight and save her from an abusive boyfriend. I noticed her name, Chanel, and her digits on the tiny piece of paper sitting on top of my dresser. I didn’t even remember how she looked, but she must have been checking me out, because while I was standing outside the Hyde Park movie theater, she rushed up and hugged me. I didn’t even invite her on the date. She had asked me if I was married, and when I said no she said, “Good. Take me to the movies.” Since women weren’t beating down my door or ringing my phone, I said sure, why not. She wasn’t that bad-looking, kind of a cute little girl who had already seen a lot of life. I could tell that in the ten minutes we waited to get tickets, popcorn, and sodas.
She talked too much, and obviously didn’t think that much of herself. I think all the talking was to keep herself from thinking about her situation. She talked during the movies, causing me to miss a lot of the funny lines in The Nutty Professor. I guess there were funny lines from all the laughter from the audience. She told me about all her boyfriends, her two kids, pausing to ask: “You don’t have anything against a woman with children, do you?” I must have said no, because all I remember is her smiling and saying “good” as she continued to talk endlessly. The only question I got her to answer was about the guy who was beating her. She started by saying he was one of her babies’ daddy and he had gotten upset with her for speaking to her other baby’s daddy in the health club. I was going to ask her why she hadn’t married, but she gave me that information during one of her monologues: She hadn’t found the right man. I wanted to tell her she still hadn’t, but I couldn’t get a word in.
If This World Were Mine Page 8
