by Unknown
“I heard that, Terrance. Don’t be fresh. Seriously speaking though, will two hundred cover it?”
“It should,” Terrance replied.
“Shall I bring it with breakfast or would you like for me to bring it by now?”
“The money can wait, Sylvia. Ya know, I’ve been waiting for this night for an eternity and I must admit that you made it better than I could ever have imagined in my wildest dreams.” Sylvia knew there was more to come. She cringed at the thought of his impending thoughts. Was this the brush-off?
Terrance continued. “There are just too many unanswered questions. Until I get some answers, I don’t think our seeing each other is such a good idea. You’ve got to communicate more than you’re doing. You’ve got to talk. Talk to me, baby. You’ve got to help me understand. I mean, just think about it, Sill. You’re a beautiful, intelligent sister. More importantly, however, you’re a married woman. And the truth of the matter is that some man is coming home to an empty house. His wife’s gone and who knows what other pieces are missing from the puzzle.”
Terrance could hear Sylvia sobbing softly in the background despite attempts to muffle her crying. There was an uncomfortable silence before she gathered herself
“Goddamn, Terrance! He beat me. I gave him six of the best years of my life. For six years I put up with his ignorance. For six years, I was little more than a hood ornament, a showpiece, and his goddamn whore. I begged him to grow, to realize his potential to become his own man. I waited and waited. I supported him in every way I could until I finally realized that he didn’t have the capacity to grow. And when I couldn’t support his quest for fame and fortune, he beat me. HE BEAT ME, TERRANCE. Beat me to the ground.” There were no longer any attempts to muffle her sobs. She was crying openly now. Terrance only wished he’d let sleeping dogs lie. The situation was becoming even more complex and certainly more than he’d bargained for. At first, the thought of a jealous husband and a not so stable woman were his concern. Now, the husband had taken on another quality that made him fear not only for this woman but also for his own safety. She made it seem like the cat was an impulsive gorilla.
“Meet me halfway, Sill,” he heard himself say, before he could manage to stop the flow of words.
Her crying ceased almost immediately. “I’m on my way, Terrance.”
Terrance hated his student’s use of profanity and abhorred hip-hop music because of the derogatory references made to women but he had to admit: ‘This bitch was crazy.’ And somehow, someway, he was being lured into her madness. She was like quicksand, the more he tried to wriggle free, the deeper he sank. Never, not in a month of Sundays, would he have imagined that someone so seemingly unassuming could carry so much baggage. Of course, it was her choice to carry this load silently and he had certainly not volunteered to be her personal valet. He had always promised himself that he would never let anyone bring drama into his life. Never would he allow anyone to live rent free in his head for more than five minutes. Yet, here he was at eleven-thirty at night sitting, arm draped around Mrs. Sylvia Stanton, on a park bench by the very, vacant tennis courts of the Lake Spring Village apartment complex.
“My living room sofa is so much more comfortable. We could finish where we left off. I know a virile young man like you couldn’t have possibly been finished.” Sill’s mood was suddenly upbeat. Terrance wondered if the sobbing on the phone was just a ploy to get him over to her place. Now, he was sure it was just that, a ploy. Here he was coming out to supposedly console her and she was just as chipper as could be. Ignoring his somber mood, Sill continued, “Tell the truth, Terrance. Did you leave because you were upset with me passing out on you? I should have told you. I’m not really a drinker and I guess the combination of alcohol, the moving and you, darling, proved just a bit much for me,” nibbling his earlobe, Sill crooned. “Can we go back to my place and christen the stairs again, lover?”
Terrance ignored the remark. “What are your plans, Sylvia?”
“Whatever do you mean, lover?”
Tired of the games, his agitation growing, Terrance snapped: “What the hell are you doing, Sylvia? I don’t know if you’re risking your life but you’re certainly putting mine in jeopardy.”
Sylvia saw a side of Terrance she had never seen before. Sensing the gravity of the situation, all sense of frivolity was quickly erased. It was obvious that, despite her attempts at denial, the repercussions of her actions weighed heavily on her mind. Sill became fixated, resolute in thought. It was apparent when she did reply that she had given the matter considerable thought before acting. This made Terrance feel a little more at ease but there was still a plethora of unanswered questions.
“What am I going to do? That’s the million-dollar question. I wish I knew. I really don’t know, Terrance. I consolidated our accounts, today, and, as you know, I resigned. Mr. Langdon was very understanding. And I’m seriously considering putting the house on the market but I don’t want any repercussions. William’s a schemer and pretty methodical. I doubt that he’ll do anything rash. But what do I know? I never thought he’d raise his hand to me because we had a difference of opinion. He was always the one telling me that it’s OK to disagree. I just don’t want to be around a man that’s going to put his hands on me, or any woman for that matter. I refuse to be beaten. My father never laid a hand on me and no other man will either. I won’t allow for it. I thought about pressing charges but I have faith in the Lord. If there is to be vengeance, it will be His. Right now, I’m just tired. I figure I’ll take a leave of absence, maybe a sabbatical, go back to school, finish up work on my masters and then begin on my doctorate and learn to love Sylvia Stanton again. It’s the first bit of freedom I’ve had in I can’t remember how long and it feels good. Still, I’m not really used to it and, to tell you the truth, it’s a little bit frightening. Such a hodgepodge of emotions all trying to find their only little niche. Perhaps, that’s why I wasn’t as attentive to your needs as I should have been earlier. I do so apologize. Can you forgive me?
Funny thing, though, Terrance, I spent the better part of the school year trying my damndest not to look in your direction, not to respond to your advances because I knew just how easy it would be for me to fall for you. I honored my marriage vows. I honored them not because I so loved my husband. I didn’t honor them for the sake of our marriage. I honored them because of the pact I made with the Lord. Now, I’m trying to pick up the pieces but I’m so afraid, Terrance. I’m afraid of intimacy, of getting close, surrendering myself again. I’m afraid of truly loving someone else, of losing them and the hurt that follows the loss. I’m just so afraid. Can you understand my fear, Terrance, darling? Can you understand me wanting to love you, wanting to share a part of my life, my soul with you and yet afraid of being involved at the same time? Hell, it’s crazy, I know. Most of the time, I don’t even understand. All I’m asking is that you be patient with me. Just give me some time. Can you do that for me, lover?
Terrance still wasn’t sure if he was making the right decision but answered ‘yes’, and felt himself sinking even deeper into this unknown abyss he was coming to know as Sylvia Stanton. “I’m here for you, Sill. Let’s go home.”
“Your place or mine?” responded Sill as subtle as was possible.
“Does it matter?” Terrance answered dryly.
“Not as long as I’m with you.”
Sill put her head on Terrance’s shoulder, grabbed his hand, interlocking her fingers with his as if she were a high school junior on her first date with the captain of the football team. She was happy he understood. Happy to be with him and she would make sure that he too would be happy with her. She was running out of chances and it was up to her to make it work and she would or she would die trying.
CHAPTER 13
Stopping by the bank, William Stanton picked up three thousand dollars in travelers’ checks, then made his way to the office to pick up his itinerary from Melinda who had been with him since he joined Hill and Morris
six years ago. The very loyal and very efficient Melinda handed him his itinerary as he entered the outer office.
“Good mornin’, Mr. Stanton. All set and ready to go? Here’s your itinerary for the first week. I’ll fax you your schedule for next week and I should be joi-nin’ you in Lagos for three or four days to help you tie up any loose ends or administrative problems shortly after that. You’ll be stayin’ at the Conrad Hilton in downtown Lagos and a car will pick you up at the airport. Your portfolio’s on your desk and I’ve made the necessary changes and made sure all the account information’s been updated. If there’s anything I’ve failed to cover, just e-mail me and I’ll take care of it.”
Eddie Ames from Budget and Finance had objected vehemently to his taking Melinda with him but after some minor finagling and a few promises, Eddie had agreed. Following Sill’s refusal, and the okay from Eddie, he called Melinda.
“Africa? You jokin’. Ain’t you, Mr. Stanton? Good God! This is an opportunity of a lifetime. What can I say? I’m packing now,” Melinda said, trembling with excitement. She hung up without asking when, where, or what country. This was the reaction he had hoped for from Sill. Instead it led to the worst fight they’d had in their six year marriage. A marriage he’d thought was getting better with the years. Sill, had been so anxious to get married and when he asked her on that day in June six years ago without hardly knowing her it had seemed like a no-brainer at the time. And for the first couple of years he couldn’t have asked for any more but there were some deep seated problems he hadn’t counted on and being such a cautious soul when it came to matters of the heart she had never let on that something was troubling her until last night and oh, how he regretted last night. He’d never put his hands on anyone before but to do that to a woman was the epitome of cowardliness. At least he’d always believed it to be. But he’d been worried sick the whole time she was gone and then for her to just come back in with that flippant attitude—well—it had all been just a bit too much for him to stand. Now he regretted it but what was he to do.
Mr. Stanton you’re daydreaming. Get it together, your flight into Charlotte leaves at nine-twenty and it’s eight-thirty now!”
William’s first stop was Charlotte, North Carolina, where he had a business luncheon with one of his very first clients, Mr. Flynn, who then put him on board British Airway Flight 754 to London.
He hated flying. The rash of recent plane crashes did little to placate his fears but after a double Scotch on the rocks, William felt fine. Sleeping fitfully, he awoke briefly, ordered another double, relieved himself in the closet like John and slept soundly for another six hours.
This time he awoke to the sound of the captain’s voice requesting seats be placed in an upright position. The no-smoking sign was on and a few minutes later, he was sitting in London’s Heathrow Airport. It was 7:25 in the morning. He still had three hours between the next leg of his journey and knowing that he would not be able to sleep, decided to get some breakfast.
There were several rather quaint little English restaurants in and around the airport He chose McDonald’s, ordering an egg McMuffin instead. Sylvia would have been outraged. Each time they had gone on vacation Sylvia commented on Americans traveling thousands of miles to eat fast-food. What would she say if she saw him now? He didn’t care but he would have preferred one of Sill’s home cooked breakfasts. Some grits, eggs, bacon and homemade biscuits the way only Sill could make it would certainly have hit the spot. Instead, there was this slop. William was a firm believer that good food couldn’t be prepared quickly. No, sir. Therefore, there was no such thing as ‘fast-food’. He thought about all of this as he grabbed the London Times and bit down into his Egg McMuffin. Sure tasted good to be processed. William glanced the front page. The headlines read, Yeltsin Wins Election by Narrow Margin. William read on. It seemed that progress and economic growth hadn’t come as quickly as the Russian people had come to expect so now they were contemplating throwing out the baby with the bathwater. The Communist candidate had given Yeltsin a run for his money. A run-off was predicted. William thought this was akin to Blacks asking for a return to slavery but then what did he know about politics?
The layover between flights seemed to drag on forever.
Sill would have had him out wandering around London taking in the sights, souvenir hunting. For this reason he was glad Sill had chosen to remain home but this was the only reason. He missed her already and vowed to correct the situation as soon as he returned.
“British Airways Flight 603 now boarding.” William jumped up, grabbed his overnight bag and headed down the long hallway.
“Flight 603 to Lagos?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” replied the rather cordial young flight attendant
“If I were ten years younger.”
The flight attendant smiled her flight-attendant smile.
“3-C right side. You’ve got a window seat. Have a good flight, Mr. Stanton.”
“If you’re on this flight it can’t help but be a good flight,” he replied with a wink.
Anita, the petite stewardess who had given him his boarding pass, also gave him her name and her hotel room number just in case he needed a guide his first couple of days in Lagos. But after the first three days of board meetings and introductions along with a visit to the U.S. Embassy William was too exhausted to do anything but eat a light dinner in his suite and fall fast asleep. And so tight was his schedule that the only parts of Lagos William was really able to see were from the deeply tinted windows of his limousine.
Lagos was a bustling metropolis, which reminded him more of New York than any place he’d been, except Tokyo. There were Black people everywhere. Everywhere. But not only were they driving cabs and buses and picking up garbage, they were behind the scenes, in board rooms and in the banks. Black people were running things.
William Stanton was energized by a new self-awareness, a new pride. These were his people. He could now understand why his old college roomie constantly talked about his country?
The only Whites he came into contact were somehow attached to the U.S. Embassy. The anti-American sentiment was rampant but he didn’t feel it. In fact, the only thing William Stanton felt was warmth. Those that spoke English and spoke to him about the United States inquired about Michael Jordan and Will Smith, who had recently conducted a tour of several African countries. They wanted to know about the plight of their Black brothers in America. Had it gotten any better since the Sixties? All those he met made him feel welcome and after the first week he knew the city well enough to walk to most of his meetings.
The last several mornings, a nine year old, Nigerian boy would greet him in the hotel lobby where they would have breakfast together. This was no mere coincidence or act of goodwill on William’s part but was the result of an encounter William witnessed upon his arrival.
The youngster William later came to know as Alex had been pestering a foreign couple for change in front of the hotel while the doorman was busy hailing them a cab. Alex in his haste to get the woman’s attention accidentally touched her arm. The military police heard the woman’s screams and immediately grabbed the youngster by the scruff of his neck and threw him up against the wall.
William, having witnessed the whole affair left his breakfast where it stood and spent the next twenty minutes attempting to explain the whole affair from his point of view. The big, burly Black cop who held Alex, released the boy to William, shouted a warning at the boy and left. Alex followed William everywhere after that and was the first person William saw each morning when he entered the hotel lobby. There standing smiling broadly would be Alex peering through the large double doors. William would beckon and after getting the doorman’s attention, Alex was permitted to join him for breakfast.
The doorman, however, made it quite clear in his broken English that little Alex’s attire was not suitable for the hotel restaurant so in between meetings William Stanton bought young Alex a small wardrobe. The boy was ecstatic, but continued
to wear the same outfit over and over.
The meetings took up most of his day and were as a whole not fruitful. The military regime had installed a Minister of the Interior, who had imposed both a ban on the killing of elephants and the sale of ivory. The amendment met with widespread opposition but was tightly enforced causing the price of ivory to skyrocket. Poachers had a field day. Nevertheless, the U.S. supported the ban. There was therefore little for William to accomplish. Ivory was the agency’s largest import. Next to ivory everything else was trivial in comparison. Mr. Morris must have known all this. It made little sense and forced William to think about some of the things Sill had said. His hands tied by the ban he had to ask himself why the old man sent him. Ol’ Man Morris kept abreast of everything that concerned Hill and Morris, and William was certain the old man was aware of the country’s policy concerning ivory. It just didn’t make any sense.
Despite his uneasiness William enjoyed the city and became acutely in touch with himself. Never had he seen such pride among a people? Sure, there was poverty. Where wasn’t there? But there was a wealth of pride, of values. Many of the brothers he knew at home who had the big cars, and fancy houses didn’t possess what these people possessed. Even little Alex in his tattered bits of clothing possessed it and it was beautiful to see. They had a sense of pride, a sense of dignity. Walking down the streets of Lagos, watching the men and women in their multi-colored garments and kofus, William also felt a sense of pride, of dignity, of belonging for the first time in his life.
He tried to call Sill to apologize, to tell her he finally understood but as before there was no answer.
At least Melinda would have a chance to see it first-hand. Black people run-nin’ things. William waited until he knew she was on her way before faxing the minutes of the Ivory Meetings back to Morris and spent the day with little Alex who now acted as his tour guide. There was no question Alex could better use the money he would have paid a guide but Alex was by no means a charity case. In actuality, he had a better command of the English language than most and took him to places no guide would have never considered taking him. He ate Nigerian delicacies in little out of the way shanties where the food was delectable and the conversation better. Thanks to little Alex he learned of tribal politics first-hand and was given an historical perspective of the Civil War between the Ibos and Yorubas.
