by Dara Girard
He called the next day. And then two days after that. Followed by five more calls and conversations that lasted for hours. Their conversations were intelligent, inventive, romantic. Sometimes the words didn’t matter, even in the silences she felt a connection. She sensed a kinship. She spoke about her work and her recent trip to Portugal. He spoke about his work as an engineer and his trip to Turkey.
Regina listened to every detail. The sound of his voice at times like poetry--beautiful, at times enigmatic, at other times clear, but always enlightening, engaging and inspiring. His voice gave her a connection to the world when for so long she’d felt out of place. Regina floated through her days, looking forward to their almost daily talks until he said the unthinkable.
“I’d like to meet you,” he said.
Regina swallowed, feeling her heart race. Through their talks they had discovered they lived in the same area, but she’d never thought of meeting him in person. “Why?”
“Why not?”
She bit her lip, searching her mind for excuses. Why not? Because this relationship is perfect just the way it is. Because I don’t want to ruin things. Because I don’t want you to see me.
“Regina? Are you still there?”
“Yes.”
“How about dinner?”
Not coffee, not lunch. Dinner. Why did it have to be dinner? Dinner meant he was serious. Dinner meant he really wanted to get to know her. But didn’t she also want to know him? She wanted to meet him too, right? But part of her was afraid--no terrified. Should she warn--tell--him that she was black? She loved talking to him and maybe since he was black and he’d travelled, he’d give her a chance. Maybe it wouldn’t matter. Perhaps a successful black man would want to marry a successful black woman. He wouldn’t care that she didn’t fit the status symbol. Maybe he wouldn’t be disappointed, but pleased. She wouldn’t let Drea’s fears limit her. This could work. He wouldn’t think she was putting on airs or trying to be someone else. He would accept the fact she wasn’t a woman with creamy white skin and red blonde hair. “Okay.”
They set a time to meet at a local restaurant that Saturday.
“How will I recognize you?” Benedict asked.
I’ll be the tall black woman in a striped dress, she wanted to say, but then realized she was curious to meet him. She didn’t want to give him a reason to change his mind. “I’ll wear a hat with a red flower.”
“And I’ll carry a green rose.”
“A green rose? I’ve never seen one before.”
“They’re not abundant in nature but very beautiful. You can’t miss them.”
***
She only told Ann about her date. Ann helped Regina select an outfit and walked with her to the restaurant.
“I wish I weren’t so nervous,” Regina said.
“You’re going to be fine.”
Regina smoothed back her hair. “I heard Drea’s moving in with Trenton.”
“And she’s going to be miserable, but that’s nothing new.”
“Do you think--”
Ann shook her head. “Let’s not talk about her right now. You need to focus on your date with Benedict and your life, not hers.”
“I’ll give you a signal if I need help,” Regina said walking into the crowed, busy waiting area of the restaurant.
She saw the rose first. An unusual color. Then she lifted her gaze to the man holding it. He was tall, good looking dressed in business casual attire. He was also all wrong. Her heart fell to the floor. “Oh no,” she said then ducked behind a wall.
“What?” Ann asked. “Do you see him?” She made a face. “Is he gross? Don’t you hate it when a guy has a great voice and looks like a--”
Regina shook her head. “No. It’s not that. I can’t see him.” She tore off her hat. “I can’t let him see me. I’ve got to go.”
Ann grabbed her arm. “Why?”
“I thought he was black. How could I have been so wrong?”
“Where is he?” Ann demanded looking through the crowd.
Regina pointed to a man sitting at the bar. “He’s not going to want to see me,” she said starting to panic. “I shouldn’t have said ‘yes.’ I should have told him that I was black over the phone, but I just wanted to see him. How could I be such an idiot? This is a disaster.”
“It’s not a disaster,” Ann said taking the hat from her hand and placing it firmly back on her head.
“You’re right. You should go out with him,” she said shoving her foreword. “You’ll like him.”
“Are you crazy?” Ann said, her voice cracking in surprise. “I don’t sound anything like you.”
“You’re great at mimicry. Remember how we met?”
“But--”
“Just for one night, please.”
Ann shook her head. “I don’t like this.”
“Plus you look the part.”
Ann narrowed her eyes. “Because I’m Asian and he’s--”
Regina clasped her hands together in a plea. “Please do it for me, Ann. Please, he’s checking his watch. I don’t want him to think I stood him up.”
Ann folded her arms unmoved. “But you are.”
“Seeing you will soften the blow.”
Ann frowned. “You’ve been listening to Drea too long. She’s wrong about your options. You’re funny, attractive and successful. Any guy would be lucky to have you. Give him a chance.”
Regina wanted to believe her friend’s words, thankful to have someone like her in her life, but fear still gripped her. “I don’t want to see the disappointment on his face. I can’t. I’ll never ask you to do something like this again.”
Ann glanced away and when she looked at Regina again, tears glistened in her eyes. “ I really hated what Drea said to you the other day. I hated how she thought I didn’t understand and most of all, I hated what she implied. Okay, so even if she’s right and most men want a beautiful blonde, you don’t need most men. You just need one. The right one. The one who loves you just the way you are. My grandmother once told me that true value is the price you put on yourself. I don’t know if Benedict is the right guy for you, but aren’t you rejecting him too?”
“No, I--”
“Then go over there and say hi.”
Regina hung her head, wishing she had the courage Ann had. Wishing fear didn’t grip her so completely. “Okay, I admit I’m a coward. I can’t see him.”
Ann briefly squeezed her eyes shut then sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll go meet him, but you wait here for my signal. Got it?”
Regina nodded, relieved. “Yes,” she said, then watched Ann go over to Benedict, her feeling of relief quickly replaced by loss. It had all felt so perfect. Seemed so right, but it was just another illusion. Just like coming to America and thinking she’d fit in. She gripped her hands into fist, for a moment feeling like the thirteen year old who’d been bullied, whose wounds were still fresh, but she’d also fought back and although she’d lost, she’d won respect.
She thought of Ann’s words. How much Ann cared for her. She was right. This was another battle, a battle against labels and others limitations. Love and self-respect were things to be claimed, not given. She had to respect herself, she had to believe that she was worthy, even if he didn’t. She couldn’t be afraid like Drea and think she deserved less, even if everyone else thought so. All that mattered was what she thought.
She’d always been an outsider looking in and never part of the crowd. She briefly closed her eyes and held back her tears. The signal hadn’t come yet, so she’d give her friend another couple of minutes before she left. She’d enjoy going fishing with her father. To be quiet. To stop dreaming.
She took a deep breath and walked over to them. She was strong enough to face whatever happened.
“She’s really shy,” she heard Ann say in her regular voice.
She paused, surprised that she wasn’t trying to be her.
“I thought so,” she heard Benedict say, then he looked up and their eyes
met.
Ann turned around, flashing a proud grin and mouthed ‘I knew you would come,’ before she said, “It’s about time you got here.”
“Sorry for running late,” Regina said.
Benedict handed her the rose. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“Oh, thanks,” she said taking the rose, finally letting it register that he didn’t look disappointed, but he did look wary. Maybe he was hiding his feelings well. Maybe he was disappointed that Ann wasn’t her.
“Would you like to join us?” she asked her friend.
“No, I’m leaving you two alone.” She then leaned towards Regina and whispered, “You won’t regret this,” before saying goodbye to Benedict and leaving the two of them at the bar.
“Our table should be ready,” he said.
“Right.”
Minutes later they sat at the table with nothing to say.
Benedict sat back, shoved his hands into his pockets and sighed. “Let me guess. I’m not what you were expecting.”
No. His voice didn’t match the good looking, six foot two, Asian American man who sat opposite her. The man who enjoyed extreme kayaking and rock music. The man whose calls she’d looked forward to for over a month.
And to her horror, her own assumptions and stereotypes loomed large in her mind, forcing her to face them with a sickening truth. Was it so bad that he wasn’t black? “No,” she said honestly, “but I bet I wasn’t what your were expecting either.”
“You’re much prettier,” he said. And she expected him to smile as if he’d made a joke, but he didn’t.
She turned and pointed to a scar on her neck. “I got this from a girl who thought I was trying to sound white.”
“I’ve got a couple scars of my own, but you can’t see them until I get to know you much better.”
“I hope I get a chance too.”
He winked, then his face spread into a sexy grin. “You will.”
Regina laughed and felt the tension between them disappear, they no longer had to pretend to be strangers. They no longer had to pretend to be someone else--they could be themselves. That night she said goodbye to the bullied thirteen year old. She no longer had to worry about fitting in or being the popular choice. The world was big and the options many. Ann was right, she didn’t need most men to want her--just one. The right one.
The sights and sounds around her faded way as she dined and laughed and talked with the man sitting in front of her. She felt free to be a person, not a voice, or a race, just a woman and she felt giddy with the feeling of her new liberation. The evening ended faster than she’d hoped and soon they were saying goodbye in the parking lot--parting with a light kiss.
“I’ll call you,” he said, after walking her to her car.
She nodded then waved and watched him go. She lifted the green rose, inhaled its scent and smiled because she knew he would.
The End
***
Berry Picking
Chapter One
Dear God please don't let that be him. Paula Oyelowo offered this silent plea as she sat in a West Indian restaurant, Island Dining, watching a tall, dark man speak to the maître d’ then walk towards her table. Except “walk” would be the wrong word. He bounded towards her through the elegant restaurant like the proverbial bull in a china shop. The men she usually went out with were more refined, like stallions. He was no stallion. His tie was crooked, one of the collars of his white shirt was up and the other down, his light gray tweed jacket had a dark smudge near the hem and he was vigorously wiping his hands with a paper towel--staining it black. Paula cringed. She’d been told he was an engineer, not a mechanic.
Paula forced a smile, but remained seated as she greeted her blind date, wishing, for the twentieth time, that she'd said no to the suggestion. But she'd promised her best friend, Tamara, that she'd try him out. Her friend had been insistent and over a six-month period, had bugged her every day until she said “yes.” She had decided she would start to be mature when it came to relationships. She sighed. Being mature had meant going out with men who were a little older, in settled careers, and looking for marriage, but she had her standards and “first impressions” played a major role in her selection scheme. And she wasn’t impressed. He was almost forty. Just in her age range since she’d hit the big 4-0 soon. In four years to be exact, but time seemed to be barreling towards her. It was time to get serious. To settle down.
“You’re not getting younger, and before you know it, you’ll be too old for any man to want,” her mother liked to remind her. With a repetitiveness that bordered on the neurotic. Sure, she could still attract the under thirty set--especially those twenty-five to twenty-eight--but she hadn't had much luck with permanency. After two relationships that had ended badly she was willing to try something, or rather someone, new. But this date looked all wrong
“Sorry I'm late,” he said in a rush, his accent a mix of a Northeastern region she couldn't place. At least he sounded sincere. “There was this lady with a flat tire.” He collapsed into the chair in front of her then jumped up again as if on springs. “I haven't introduced myself.” He held out his hand and promptly knocked over her water glass.
Paula leaped up in time so that the water only splashed her, rather than soaking her skirt. She bit back a swear word.
“Sorry about that,” her date said, reaching for the glass and hitting the flower in the center of the table with his elbow.
Paula grabbed the tiny crystal vase before it fell. “That's all right,” she said. “Sit down. I'll handle it.” Which she did by moving the vase off to her side of the table. She was used to handling crises. As a Management Consultant at a prestigious firm in Washington, D.C., she worked on merging the firm’s clients with new partners to utilize and optimize their services. She was a genius at using technologies to provide greater opportunities for companies to form collaborations with others that advanced the decision-making capabilities of their organizations. It was a tough, high-profile position, and over the past seven years she had made a name for herself in the industry. Paula inwardly groaned, wondering why Tamara thought to set her up with such a clumsy man. One would think that by his age he would be able to manage his oversized hands and feet, instead of moving around like an awkward sixteen-year-old going through a growth spurt. He didn't need to introduce himself. She already knew the vital statistics. Name? Conrad Baynard. Age? Thirty-eight. Occupation? Mechanical engineer. Income? Six figures. Tamara had used that as one of his selling points as well as telling her he was one of the finest men she'd ever met.
He had a nice face. Not remarkable, but comfortable. Nothing to make her heart race or her skin tingle. To her he was like hot cinnamon chocolate--warm and sweet, but nothing more. She usually liked her men with a bit more spice. Paula sighed. It was going to be a long night.
She got the attention of a waiter. She had the table changed, their settings rearranged with two new glasses of water. Then they ordered.
“Perhaps we should start over,” Conrad said with a sheepish grin.
“No, let's just move ahead. You know my name and I know yours so we might as well get past the banal introductions and niceties to something more interesting.”
He lifted a brow. “A woman who gets to the point?”
“I'm allergic to wasting time.”
He nodded then fell silent.
She'd been too curt. That was a terrible habit of hers, but she really did hate wasting time. One of her greatest strengths was efficiency. She knew how to be productive. How to make things happen. But it seemed the date was DOA--dead on arrival. However, since she still had a meal to eat she needed to fill the time up with something. She'd never see him again so she decided she might as well make the most of it.
“So, tell me about yourself,” Paula asked. Men usually liked to talk about themselves so she thought that would be a safe topic to begin with.
Conrad folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “How much did she pay you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Tamara. Did she pay you to go out with me?”
“No,” Paula stammered, feeling her face grow warm. She shifted in her chair annoyed. She never became flustered.
“Bribe you with something?” he asked, his gaze steady and intense.
“No.” She tried to hold his gaze, but she had to briefly look away. “Why?”
“So you wanted to come?”
She returned her gaze to his. “Yes.”
His eyes lightened with amusement and a grin spread on his face. “Then relax and stop acting like this is either the Inquisition or a job interview.”
Paula stared at him for a moment then laughed, suddenly relieved. “It's that obvious?”
“If you glance at your watch one more time I'll start to feel like a lab rat.”
“A lab rat?”
“An experiment.”
Paula nodded and lowered her watch. “Sorry, this is my first blind date.”
“Good. Me too. So there's no pressure. There's nothing to compare it to.”
Except a non-blind date, but that didn't matter. Paula felt her tension ebb. “So what do you do for fun?”
“I play in a band.”
“Really?” she said surprised. “What instrument?”
“The tuba.”
She inwardly groaned. The tuba. Not a sexy instrument like the saxophone or piano, but a big bulky horn instrument. “Why?” she asked just to be polite. She wasn't really interested.
“By the fifth grade I was already as tall as my teacher and I wanted an instrument bigger than me, so it was a choice between the tuba or the cello. I chose the tuba because I liked how they looked in the marching band.”
He chose an instrument only because it would look good in marching band? He was a dweeb--all he needed were thick glasses and a pocket protector--but he didn't seem to care and soon neither did she. Paula listened to Conrad tell her about his marching band days in college and the group he played with now. He also told her about and his grandmother's blackberry patch and how he used to help her harvest the berries and how she'd make pies. By the time their food arrived Paula had to admit that Conrad was rather cute and she liked him. His life sounded so different from hers. He was a second generation American, his grandparents on his mother’s side came from Grenada and from Jamaica on his father’s side, by way of Ghana. His parents had met at the party of a mutual college friend and married soon after. They’d had two children, and provided them with a nice upper middle class upbringing. In contrast, Paula had become a U.S. citizen just four years ago. His family seemed as if it could fit in a Norman Rockwell painting. Her family definitely wouldn't, but she wasn't sure she was ready to share yet.
