The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

by Unknown

  William was truly agitated. How long had it been since they’d slept in the same room, let alone the same bed? Her continual rejection was a source of much of his frustration, if not most of it.

  “Damn, woman! I’m so tired of that ol’ tired-assed sixties bullshit, I don’t know what to do. You’re the same type of nigga I went to school with that was in one semester and out the next. Steady talkin’ that backdoor, back-alley, liberal bullshit. All of them niggas together didn’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. Runnin’ ‘round campus talkin’ ‘bout how they wouldn’t have been no slave. Picture that. If we’d all acted like that there wouldn’t be any of us here now. Same niggas are back at home right now slavin’ at McDonald’s and still talkin’ about what they gonna do and what they not gonna do. Simple ass, hypocritical niggas, talkin’ about makin’ some damn changes in the system. How much change you gonna be able to make, makin’ five and a quarter an hour. And like it or not somebody’s gotta still get out there and shuffle today so that our children can see a better day tomorrow. I do it for you and I do it for them goddammit. You better be steppin’ and fetchin’, and shufflin’too if you expect to be in a position to give somethin’ back. Shit, talk is cheap.

  How many niggas are out there reciting that liberal bullshit are actually in a position to give dollars? With all your ideas and lofty ambitious how many of your young and gifted students have you put through school? Hell, you can’t even pay your own way! Sure, you prepare them but preparing them isn’t paying their tuition. C’mon, talk to me, baby! What’s your claim to fame? What? The best prepared college students at Mickey D’s.”

  Sill had never seen William this angry before.

  “All I’m trying to say is that-”

  “You ain’t sayin’ nothin!” William, his rage and frustration obvious, cut her off. “You can’t tell me a damn thing. Not a damn thing. Nothin’. At least nothin’ I ain’t heard before. I know what Black people had to endure in order to get where they are. I’m living proof. Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Look, William,” she said, “I applaud your contributions to—what is it? The United Negro College Fund? But damn, so does George Bush and right now I don’t see a whole lotta difference. Here you are siphoning millions of dollars from Lagos, from poor people so your ass can drive around in a brand new Mercedes. You’re making close to a hundred grand a year. You donate five of that because your accountant tells you that you need a tax write-off and you’ve got the nerve, the gall, to think you’ve done your part. When in reality, you haven’t done a damn tiling when you turn around and make a donation to the Republican Party. Shit! You’ve just negated any contribution you’ve made to the United Negro College Fund.

  Hell, if my granddaddy knew I’d married a Republican and a Black Republican to boot he would turn over in his grave. How many of them are you altogether? Five? Doesn’t that tell something? You might as well get a rope and just start hangin’ the brothas yourself. You ain’t any better than what’s his name? The senator from your home state, what’s his name? That Thurmond from South Carolina. Yeah, Strom Thurmond or that so-called black Lieutenant Governor from Maryland.”

  Logical, persuasive, cunning, Sill was in her element now. Never having seen him this angry, Sill reached for William’s hand but this only angered him more.

  “Look! If you really wanna do something, William, something for me, for the community then stop parading around here in your expensive car, and your extravagant home on the hill and your ‘ready for every occasion’ woman and your I-got mine-get-yours attitude that don’t say nothin’ except that I sho’ is glad to be up on the hill wit’ you good white folks. It’s just sad. You are really sad, William.

  And by the way since we’re on the subject of things I’m tired of, another thing I’m tired of is you thinking that I belong to you, that I’m just another one of your possessions. Truth of the matter is, I’m good for you and if you haven’t figured that out, just ask your lily-white counterparts down at the agency. They know it. They respect me even if they don’t agree with my politics but they’ll never respect you because they recognize you for what you are and that’s a goddamn puppet. A fuckin’ sell-out.

  When you get to Nigeria and look into the eyes of some those that are less fortunate than you, ask yourself one question. Ask yourself, ‘What price fame?’ Why, you’re no better than the African who sold his brother and sisters into bondage for some damn trinkets.”

  Sill threw the pastrami sandwich down, marched into the kitchen, pulled out a tray of ice scattering it everywhere in her haste and anger and reached for the bottle of Jack Daniels. Empty, it dawned on her that she’d finished it days ago. “Silly, nigga,” she muttered not really caring whether he heard her or not.

  “What did you call me? Silly nigga?” William was livid “This silly nigga who takes care of your fat Black ass knows one thing. You’re gonna pick up every bit of that goddamn ice you got all over the floor.”

  “Fat Black ass? Tell me! Please tell me you didn’t say that. My ass wasn’t too fat last night when you were trying to get next to it.”

  “Sill trust me. You’re not all that you think you are, in or out of bed.”

  Sill not to be out done but knowing that she was wasting her time simply replied, “You know what they say, William. One man’s garbage is another man’s gold.”

  William was out for blood now and Sill realizing this regained her composure. After all, there was no reason to make matters worse. William was lost. Hopeless.

  “I think its best we don’t say anything else to each other tonight, William. This is obviously something that’s been brewing awhile. Perhaps I’m just not what you need at this juncture in your life. Maybe your trip will do us both some good. It’ll give us some time to think.” Sill was sure William would reconsider taking Ol’ Man Morris’ offer now.

  William, though thrown for a curve by Sill’s latest barrage also managed to regain his composure.

  “Look Sill, a lot of things were said in anger that probably shouldn’t have been said, but let’s not be hasty.”

  There was little question of William’s love for his wife and the thought of separating on these terms was more than William bargained for. Repeating his travel plans, Sill was stunned by William’s sudden stubbornness.

  “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, William Stanton.” And on that note Sylvia grabbed her keys, her pocketbook and was out of the door.

  “Don’t do this, Sylvia!” William pleaded. “Don’t!”

  Sylvia walked towards the garage door, backed the ten-year-old Ford down the long u-shaped drive way, through the wrought iron fence, ignoring William’s desperate pleas.

  In her rush to leave, she’d forgotten her cigarettes. Relieved and alone and realizing that she had absolutely nowhere to go, Sill stopped at the local convenience store grabbed a pack of Newport’s and a Pepsi and made her way back to the car.

  Sill thought of her last visit to the bank and the encounter with the ever so debonair Mr. Davis and immediately began the search for his business card. Finding it tucked away ever so neatly in the corner of her purse she paged the number printed on the front. Waiting for the call back, she realized she hadn’t seen his son Stephan in school since last semester when classes were switched over. She tried calling Edwin again but there was still no answer. Her banker and real-estate broker Edwin was the divorced, single-parent of two of her brightest students and a fellow church member. Financially secure, he’d always made it plain that any time she came to her senses and had the good sense to leave William he’d be there to pick up the pieces.

  Two teenage boys, sporting beginner dreadlocks and those baggy jeans she just couldn’t get used to, be-bopped over to the phone. She started to head over to the phone to tell them she was waiting for a call and then hesitated. William would never have permitted this. A similar situation had occurred on their way to Maryland a few years ago.

  William had drive
n around in circles for what seemed like forever in search of a phone booth because he refused to ask a young Black man how long he would be on the phone. “Too many crazy people out there. They’d just as soon shoot you as say ‘hello’,” he’d told her as they rode around in circles lost looking for an empty phone booth. She made it a point to pick up a cell phone the very next day but hardly ever remembered to bring it with her. She cursed William again to herself as she stepped out of the car and approached the young man. “Excuse me sir, I’m waiting for a call.”

  The teenager spun around with looks to kill. His scowl melted almost as soon as he glanced at Sill. “Lord, have mercy! You say you need to use the phone?” he questioned, looking at her up and down, devouring her with his eyes.

  “Yes, sir, I’m waiting for a call.”

  The young man hung the phone up, almost immediately. “No problem, mommy. No problem at all. Anything else I can help you with?”

  “Thanks but no thanks, poppy.” Sill smiled at the boyish attempts at flirtation. She waited another five minutes or so still glancing at the young men, now just standing there waiting, laughing, as only idle young men do. Sill headed for the car. As she did, one of the young men remarked loud enough for her to hear. “If he could see what I’m seeing, mommy, he would be the one calling.”

  Sill smiled, self-consciously. In her haste to get out of the house or better yet away from William, Sill did little more than put on some lipstick. She still wore the sheer blue Danskin stretch pants, cut-off t-shirt and navy blue heels. Not in a million years would she have considered wearing an outfit like this out in public. It was just a little somethin’ somethin’ she threw on to keep his libido on high. She cursed William again before donning the navy blue blazer she kept in the back seat of the car to cover some of her nakedness. Lighting a cigarette, she emptied the ashes from the ashtray and returned to the phone booth. Leafing through her phone book, Sylvia considered going back home, knowing full well her stubborn pride would not permit her to.

  CHAPTER 10

  Terrance Daniels didn’t usually entertain on school nights. In fact, he rarely entertained at all anymore. Most, if not all of the women he dated in the last year or so left something to be desired. He hated to generalize, but the fact of the matter was, the attractive women rarely worked on anything besides being attractive and the ones he could hold meaningful conversations with did little or nothing for his libido. He was still wondering what it took to get the whole package. Countless dates later he’d given up trying to answer that question altogether.

  And the only reason Laura Harrington gained entrance on this rainy night was that his neighbor Marcy who lived in the townhouse a few doors down called to ask if he had today’s newspaper and not wanting to see her walking at night he’d met her halfway. Standing outside watching to make sure she got home safely he noticed a car pulling up in his guest parking spot and as soon as he saw those legs that seemed to never stop getting out of the car he knew that it could only be one person and one person only with legs so long and so shapely as those now striding towards him.

  Laura Harrington was a dancer he’d met several years ago. Voluptuous and yet still cute, Laura Harrington had a pleasant, if not pretty face and oh yes, legs for days. Close to six feet tall, shapely was neither the appropriate word nor best suited word when one took the liberty of describing her.

  When they’d first met and she informed Terrance that she was a dancer, he could for the first time in his life understand why men would go to a club and pay to see a woman dance. He still wouldn’t pay but he could at least understand and it wasn’t long before he found himself picking her up in front of the swanky club after the show.

  She, with fists full of dollars soldiers had stuffed in her G-string, would saunter through the parking lot, grinning, grinding, for her adoring fans, open the car door and slide in. Before Terrance could exit the parking lot good, Laura would burst into tears.

  In the beginning, Terrance had tried to soothe her bruised ego. But after two or three of these episodes, Terrance stopped buying tissues for the car opting instead to just let Laura direct him to her favorite motel where she could use all the tissue she wanted. The first few minutes there, Laura wanted to do little more than cuddle. The crying would subside after a few minutes and then she would be on him like a fly on slop, passionately trying to exorcise her demons. Still, with all the intimacy they’d never really gotten to know each other. Terrance knew he was partially to blame for this, for wanting nothing more than being this close to a beautiful woman. But after no more than a month he came to the ugly realization that their relationship was nothing more than one of lust and passion. No more than just a physical thing. And for a while it didn’t seem to matter.

  Laura Harrington, or ‘Candy’, as she was more commonly referred to on stage, with those long slender legs was a cult figure among strip club patrons but Terrance soon realized after having dinner with Laura and some of her friends that he really didn’t want to be among her circle of friends. To make matters worse the girl was unparalleled in bed. And this was not a good thing.

  On stage, Laura could make things move and jiggle that Terrance hardly knew existed. Under the spotlight at the club she undulated like mad bringing the crowd of both men and women to their feet with each performance.

  Always the last to go on stage, Candy knew how to work the crowd and was the clubs top attraction. The men would literally fight to be able to shove a twenty in her G-string. But, as talented as ‘Candy’ was on stage, Laura was just that bad in bed.

  Their relationship lasted a few months, ending after Terrance grew weary of the relationship which had now become nothing more than a series of half hour stops at the city’s cheapest motels. Tired of the whole charade, one day he simply stopped calling.

  Laura hardly took the break-up in stride. And although she must have certainly seen it coming she enjoyed the little time they shared. And yet, the more Terrance tried to distance himself, the more adamant Laura became about keeping their relationship together. It was certainly obvious that she hadn’t experienced anything remotely close to the time and love Terrance had shown her and was content with the way things were. And it was soon pretty obvious that Laura was not going to let go or simply walk away without the situation getting ugly.

  Terrance, desperate now for his former lifestyle and some peace of mind, was forced to confess his disappointment in their relationship. When this had no effect, Terrance simply alluded to the fact that he did not find her compatible in the bedroom. Devastated by this revelation, Laura not only left the relationship, she left town.

  Most recently, Terrance had the occasion to bump into her at Designer Shoes in the mall. It had to have been at least three or four years since the break up but it was easy to see what had attracted him to her in the first place. Laura had gained a pound or two but was still as gorgeous as ever. Men’s heads turned constantly as they hugged and made small talk outside of the shoe store. There were even a few women who found themselves forced to turn and look at Laura. Seems Laura had done quite well for herself since their last meeting, opening a chain of spas and tanning salons. She was in Atlanta promoting the chain and would be here until she found a relatively inexpensive piece of real estate in which to open another.

  Exchanging numbers, as people do who haven’t seen each other and who have shared something intimate and special at one time or another in their lives, Terrance never but never expected Laura to show up at the front door of his townhouse out of the clear blue and without phoning first. After all, years had passed. And although he was still mesmerized by those long, slender legs and more than ample thighs, which Terrance believed, had grown even longer and more firm, it was the same ol’ Laura. Buffed and polished on the outside. On the inside, Laura was still a gem in the rough.

  Inviting her in, seated on the pastel loveseat in front of the fire place, Ter-rance and Laura reminisced while they sipped glass after glass of some Merlot he had tucked away
for just such an occasion as this. Two and a half carafes of wine later, Terrance learned more of her travels and business ventures than he cared to know. She was still single; still looking for a meaningful long-term relationship but had stopped dating since most of the men she’d met in the last year and a half or so left so much to be desired. Terrence wondered if this last statement about long-term relationship was an attempt to try to work things out after so many years. Glancing down at her shapely legs and thighs, Ter-rance wondered what else she’d learned since she’d been away.

  Before he could venture to find out, the phone rang. Excusing himself, Ter-rance caught another glance at Laura’s fine brown frame and at that moment was glad she’d found the courage to stop by. He was almost sure it was his mother who had been calling quite regularly as of late, hoping to get him to commit to attending this years’ family reunion. He hadn’t been to one since he could remember and had no intentions of attending this one either. Both knew it but still she called. Damn, she was persistent Checking the caller I.D. and not recognizing the number, Terrance picked up the receiver in the bedroom. “Hello. Terrance Daniels, please.” The voice on the other end was not one he recognized.

  “Speaking.”

  “Mr. Daniels, this is Sylvia Stanton,” she said. Nervous, she had had mixed emotions about making the call but it was too late now. Embarrassed for having had to make the phone call at all, she was relieved that Terrance had answered the phone instead of a female. She knew she had no right to feel this way. Nevertheless, she did. With nowhere to go, she quickly vetoed her pride.

  “Just called to see if your offer still stands,” She was on a roll now. She’d best continue before she lost her nerve. “I was thinking that if you’re not busy then maybe you’d like to meet me at Dante’s for a drink? Say in half-an-hour? That is if your offer still stands.”