Getting to the Good Part

by Lolita Files

  “Nine A.M.,” he repeated. “As of 9:01 A.M., the faxes will go out to the newspapers. Doesn’t matter to me that this won’t be big news. All I need is for it to show up in the paper at all. Just a little blurb. Something tiny. Anything that’s enough to give us grounds to pull out.”

  I was shaking violently.

  “Good night, Reesy,” Helmut purred.

  Before he hung up the phone, he made a loud kissing sound.

  I couldn’t take it. The stress of the night had become too much for me to handle.

  I burst out crying. Hysterically. Uncontrollably.

  How did I let things come to this?

  I lay down on the sofa in a fetal position, pulling the afghan over my head. In the darkness, I could still see the glimmer of the tennis bracelet.

  I frantically clawed at it, unfastened it, and flung it off my arm.

  I flung it as far across the room as I could.

  I pulled the covers back over my head and allowed myself to cry out loud underneath their shelter.

  Tonight was a milestone, as milestones would go.

  For the first time in nearly two decades, I had done something that I’d sworn to myself I would never allow to happen again.

  For the first time in nearly two decades, I had totally lost control.

  And cried because of a man.

  I deliberately slept in the next day.

  You see, I wasn’t about to break down and farm myself out to Helmut like I was some kind of common tramp.

  That was not going to be happening, no matter how scared I was.

  I’d rather die than do some mess like that.

  No. Instead, I just forced myself to sleep on through the morning, until it was practically noon. That way, what was past was past. If he was going to do it, then he had done it by now.

  But if he had done it, at least he knew that I was not about to bow down to him. Reesy Snowden was not afraid of being down. Or out.

  I had been there before, and had long mastered the art of the done that.

  What was the hardest part of it all wasn’t what would go on with the show.

  As much as I loved that show and everybody in it (with the exception of one Miss Tamara H.), I knew everybody would be able to land on their feet somehow. The show might even survive.

  Helmut could have very well just been bluffing.

  For me, what was the hardest was staying asleep until noon.

  I was taunted and tormented by a parade of dreams, all of which featured various manifestations and incarnations of Dandre Hilliard, starring as the wronged strong lover who had been trying desperately to do right by his tawdry hoe.

  (Needless to say, I played the role of the tawdry hoe with an Academy Award–winning tour de force.)

  When I finally allowed myself to rise, I was wringing wet with sweat. Without bothering to look at a clock, I got up and went straight to the shower, hoping desperately along the way that my phone would ring and that Dandre would be on the other end of it.

  It didn’t, and he wasn’t.

  I must have stood in that shower letting hot water course all over my frazzled nerves for more than thirty minutes. I was actually surprised the water stayed hot that long, considering how it tended to fluctuate from hot to cold at a moment’s notice.

  My ears were strained for the phone the entire time that I was in there.

  Never once did it ring. No calls from Dandre, Helmut, or anybody.

  When I finally got out of the shower, I figured it was best to just get my behind dressed and head on down to the Nexus. May as well be in the slaughterhouse when the ax wielder came to lower the boom.

  Things were business-at-usual at the theater.

  Julian was the first face to greet me as I walked through the doors.

  “Your behind don’t even work out with me no more in the mornings!” he admonished with a grin. “So what, you think you too good for me now that you the main reason this thang is going to Broadway?”

  I laughed a fake, nervous laugh. My eyes avoided his.

  “Oh, you too good to talk to me now, too?” Julian persisted.

  He walked briskly alongside me as I beat it to my dressing room.

  “Everything’s cool, Julian,” I answered quietly. “I’ve got a real bad headache, though. Plus I got some things on my mind.”

  “I see,” he replied. “You want some Aleve? Or you gon’ try to meditate it away?”

  Julian was being his usual jovial self. It wasn’t his fault, but a sistah was not in the mood for any of it right now.

  “I just need a few minutes of peace in my dressing room, if that’s all right with you,” I replied.

  We had stopped and were standing next to my door. Julian was searching my face for a hint of something. I was looking all around him—at the walls, the floor, anything but him. He had gotten to know me much too well. If I made eye contact with him, he would read me with a quickness.

  “All right, Miss Thang,” Julian said in a calmer tone. “So when’s that wedding jumpin’ off?”

  “What wedding?” I asked, caught off guard.

  Julian’s brow furrowed.

  “Your girlfriend, Misty’s.”

  “Oh,” I replied with relief. “Next weekend.”

  “Don’t sound so excited,” he joked, putting his hand on my arm. “Contain yourself, please! Whose wedding did you think I was talking about?”

  “Misty’s,” I lied.

  Julian cut his eyes at me.

  “Bullshit! You’re trippin’ on something. You may not want to tell me what it is, but don’t be trying to lie to me. This is Julian. I know there’s something wrong.”

  “I just need some time to chill, okay? Maybe I’ll talk to you about it later.”

  If you don’t talk to me about it first, I thought.

  “Cool,” he said with a shrug. “Whatever. You know where I am when you need me.”

  I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Thanks, Julian. I love you for that.”

  Julian gave me a genuine smile, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously at me.

  “Something’s definitely up with you,” he remarked, waving his finger. “I’m like a bloodhound. I’m gon’ sniff that shit out. Watch me!”

  “I don’t doubt that you will,” I mumbled, as I walked into my dressing room.

  Probably much sooner than you think.

  Well, that night, Black Barry’s Pie went on as scheduled.

  Without a hitch.

  No negative words from Gordon, no comments from Dreyfus, and definitely nothing from Julian. If anybody knew anything, Julian would be the first to know.

  Perhaps ol’ Helmut had been as full of shit as I suspected.

  After the show that night, I hung around in the dressing room, hoping that Dandre would perhaps show up and have some words for me, good or bad.

  By eleven, he still hadn’t shown. Neither had Helmut.

  (Helmut’s absence was definitely a good thing.)

  I went home and crawled up on the couch with my afghan again, chatting on the phone with Misty.

  “Has Rick said anything to you?” I asked.

  “Naw, girl,” she said. “I’m sorry, but, sad to say, that’s not our biggest priority around here right now. We got all these people coming into town for this wedding. Mama and Daddy are gonna be here tomorrow.”

  “Are they flying or driving?” I asked.

  “Girl, you know my ol’ crazy daddy won’t fly. They are driving all the way up here from Mississippi. They left two days ago and are making a bunch of stops along the way.”

  “Umph,” I muttered, my attention not fully committed to what she was saying.

  I was too busy wondering what must have been going on out there somewhere in Dandre’s head.

  “Rick’s brother and his wife are coming out Wednesday from Seattle,” Misty rambled.

  “He’s got a brother?” I asked absently. “Is he cute?”

  I didn’t even c
are as I asked the question. It just popped out of my mouth out of instinct. I didn’t give a damn about no cute men.

  All I wanted was my Dandre.

  “Uh-huh, from the pictures I’ve seen. His name is Trane.”

  I pulled the blanket up tighter around me.

  “What kind of name is that?” I sighed, just asking dumb questions out of obligation.

  “It’s short for Coltrane. Michael Coltrane Hodges.”

  “Oh,” I mumbled. “So what do you need me to do this week?”

  “Can you help me in the mornings with some of this last-minute rushing I got to do?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I don’t really have to be down at the Nexus until the afternoon, anyway.”

  “Okay,” she said, then paused for a moment. “You’re scared, ain’t you?”

  She got my attention back with that.

  “Scared about what?”

  “’Bout Dandre, and Helmut, and the fact that he might mess things up for you with the show.”

  “I’ll be a’ight,” I answered abruptly.

  “Reesy. Don’t try to front with me. This is scaring you to death. You can admit it. It’s not like I’m gonna think any less of you for admitting that there are things in life that make you afraid.”

  I was quiet.

  She was quiet, too, waiting for me to confess.

  “All right, then,” she finally conceded. “You know where I am if you need my shoulder. No matter how crazy this week is, I can always squeeze in time for you.”

  “Thanks, girl,” I sighed. “I appreciate it.”

  “No problem. Look, I gotta go. I got too much stuff to do here before I go to bed.”

  “Okay,” I responded reluctantly.

  I wasn’t quite ready to get off the phone. I needed an encouraging voice to hear me out. If not Misty, there was no one else that I could call.

  Other than Grandma Tyler. But I knew she was probably sleeping by now, and it would scare her if I called her up and woke her at this hour.

  “Bye, Reesy,” Misty said. “Love you girl!”

  “Love you, too,” I mumbled. “Hey, Misty?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I am scared.”

  My voice was so small, it was a dot in the wind.

  “I know, girlfriend,” she said. “I know.”

  “Okaybye,” I said abruptly.

  “Bye, baby.”

  I hung up the phone and stared at the blank TV screen.

  Miserable, lonely, sad, and blue, I traipsed my pitiful behind into the bedroom.

  I climbed in under the covers, pulled them over my head, and prayed to God that my sleep would be a dreamless one.

  Four days passed, and still, all was well with Black Barry’s Pie.

  Nobody said a thing to me about Helmut pulling out, and I damn sure didn’t bring up nothing about it on my own.

  Dandre had erased me from his mind like a reformatted disk. He didn’t call, come by, send messages through anybody, or anything.

  I, of course, couldn’t call him. After all, he had called me a hoe and a trick. And a bitch.

  If I called him, that would mean I didn’t respect myself, and Reesy Snowden definitely respected herself.

  And while I would have shouted for joy if he would have just called me, I wasn’t about to lose my dignity and pick up the phone for him.

  The wedding rehearsal and the rehearsal dinner were scheduled for this evening, but I wasn’t going to be able to go to either because I had to do the show.

  Misty and I were going to practice on our own, though, earlier in the day.

  All that night, during my performance on stage, my thoughts kept wandering to the fact that at that very moment, Dandre was there at the rehearsal with them, gracing the group with his handsome face.

  I thought about some of my line sistahs. A number of them were in town for the wedding. They were some pretty girls. The sorors of Alpha Kappa Alpha were some beautiful, together women.

  They’d be at the rehearsal party, because some were bridesmaids.

  Any one of them would be a decent match for Dandre.

  As I thought about this, Reesy-as-Mimosa began to sing some of the songs with a little too much pomp, venom, and circumstance. I saw a few brows go up among my cast members alongside me.

  Bump that. They were lucky I even managed to stick it out.

  I was so upset at the thought of Dandre with someone else, it took practically all I had not to storm off that stage and out the door. I was itchin’ to make an appearance over at the rehearsal dinner.

  Afterward, Dandre was throwing Rick a bachelor party. Misty said that Dandre was inviting a lot of girls. Women that he knew long before he ever started dating me.

  I was jealous of this, too. But what could I do about it? I was the one who had played him like a bad hand, and had told myself I didn’t want him to begin with.

  He was pretty much lost to me forever. Brother was fair game to anyone who wanted to have a shot.

  As much as I tried to block that thought out, I couldn’t. I knew that he’d be sleeping with one of those chicks tonight, whether it was some li’l hottie from the bachelor party or one of my line sistahs from back in the day.

  Actually, though, a soror wouldn’t do that. Not my line sistah. I’m sure Misty would put a buzz in their ears about the situation with me and Dandre, without revealing too much.

  While I boogied away on stage, singing up a bevy of Mimosa’s greatest hits, in my head I chanted a frantic mantra in hopes of some centered peace.

  Nam myoho renge kyo. Nam myoho renge kyo. Nam myoho renge kyo.

  Nothing. The more I chanted it, the more rampant my imagination became.

  Meditation wasn’t helping me at all.

  I needed relief.

  A sistah was missing her man something fierce.

  And, in the words of Diana Ross and the Supremes, “there ain’t nuthin’ I can do about it!”

  THE WEDDING BELL BLUES

  I watched her as she gracefully slipped on her full marital jacket, ready to slide into it with an ease that she obviously had been prepping for her whole life.

  I couldn’t help but envy her.

  She was absolutely radiant in her dress.

  The bodice was satin, a pouf-sleeved, apricot-and-cream-colored delight with a plunging backline. On the poufs were tiny apricot roses done in satin. Where the plunging back formed a V, there was a beautful bouquet of cream and apricot flowers. The dress hugged her figure closely and accentuated all of her best features.

  Misty was like a butterfly who had spent way too much time trapped in her cocoon, and was now ready to bust that joint and fly away to wider, more varied skies.

  It’s funny. I expected this, her wedding day, to be a day when she and I would be our closest. I would be there to see her realize something that I knew was a lifelong goal.

  Instead, it was turning into one of the most separated times we’d ever spent together.

  I spent most of the morning gathering up the bridesmaids.

  It was good to see so many familiar faces again. The dresses were soft pink tea-length numbers that clung to the waist, then flared out into a classic, clean A-line.

  “Wow, Peggy, you look fantastic!” I exclaimed.

  Peggy had been number three on our pledge line. She was slender and graceful, with an angular yellow face that was very pretty and regal. Her hair was a short little tuft of curls. She came from a lot of money, and she looked every bit of it.

  Dandre would like her, I thought.

  “What about me?” Shawnee asked. “Is my dress on right? The back feels kinda funny.”

  I helped her adjust her dress. Shawnee had been a cheerleader in college. Some eleven years later, she still looked like one.

  I’ll bet he’d probably like her, too.

  Once I finally made sure everyone’s dress fit just right, I stuffed the girls into the white limos that Misty had rented. I wanted to make sure they were at the church wit
h plenty of time to spare.

  The groomsmen were already there. They’d been there for at least a solid hour. Guys were nowhere near as troublesome as women about getting dressed.

  They just slipped into their tuxes, brushed their teeth, and they were done.

  Already, I was exhausted.

  If I didn’t know it then, I damn sure knew it now. The term maid of honor wasn’t necessarily some lofty privilege. The word maid should have been the giveaway. What it basically translated into was honorary grunt.

  It seemed like a compliment of the highest order to be bestowed with, but when it got right down to it, you were your homegirl’s pack mule. Someone to shoulder all the burdens so the bride could make it through the whole experience with as little stress as possible.

  After I got the bridesmaids in order, I was sent off to check on getting more ice (I’d thought that was the two-million-dollar-a-plate caterer’s job), chase down a blow dryer, and look for some cement glue for one of the bridesmaids’ heels that fell off.

  It was some of the most frustrating work I’d ever done.

  The wedding was slated for noon.

  By 11:45, I was almost as nervous as the bride herself.

  “Reesy,” Misty smiled, holding my hand, “you look great. I couldn’t have picked a better, more appropriate dress.”

  I studied myself in the full-length mirror. I did look good.

  The pale pink, floor-length gown was cut asymetrically, with one shoulder bare. The satin material made a rustling sound when I moved.

  “We’ve got to get you outta here and over to the church,” I said. “It’s almost 11:50 A.M., and that’s at least a five-minute ride. We don’t want you to pull up at the church too early or too late.”

  “I’m a little nervous, girl,” Misty whispered, clutching my hands.

  “That’s normal. If you weren’t nervous, then I’d have cause to be concerned.”

  “Thanks, Reesy. For being so strong and supportive of me.”

  I gave her a warm hug and a squeeze.

  “Now, get out there and get in that limo!! You’re starting to make me nervous for real!!”

  I wasn’t aware that I would be walking down the aisle with Dandre as a part of the bridal procession.