I thought about Trent and wondered how he was spending the day with his new family. I remembered our first Thanksgiving in Seattle. When we cut the turkey we’d cooked, we discovered that we’d left the gizzards and liver inside in a plastic bag! We laughed so hard that we ended up making love on the kitchen floor and had dinner later at the Four Seasons hotel downtown.
I made myself a cup of coffee and looked through the TV Guide to see if there were any movies on HBO or Showtime that I hadn’t seen. I started to call Kirby but realized it was too early. I thought it was both humorous and comforting that I depended on my little brother the older I got. Instead of hitting Kirby’s digits, I called Basil on his cell and I was brought out of my holiday funk when he answered the phone.
“What’s up, yo?” Basil asked.
“Just called to wish you a Happy Thanksgiving,” I said.
“Same to you. Ray, I wish I could talk, but I’m on my way to pick up Talley. I don’t want to be late. Can you believe it? Ray! This is our first Thanksgiving together, and I woke up this morning realizing how much I have to be thankful for,” Basil said.
“You’re right. Have fun and I’ll talk to you later,” I said.
“Holla back when you can,” Basil said as he clicked off his phone.
I took a shower and got dressed so I could go out and buy a newspaper. Just as I was headed out the door, my phone rang. Maybe it was Basil calling back, or I suddenly feared it might be Trent wanting me to say hello to the new wife.
“Hello,” I said.
“Raymond?”
“Yes.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, sir. This is Chris Thomas.”
“Chris, good hearing from you. Happy Thanksgiving to you,” I said, thinking maybe I wouldn’t have to spend the day alone after all.
“So what do you have planned today?”
“Sad to say, but I think I’m going to be working,” I said.
“Does Davis know how lucky he is to have such a dedicated employee like you? Man, I wish my people were like that,” Chris said.
“Please don’t tell anybody I’m working on the holiday,” I said.
“I won’t. We all should be thankful after the year the country has had,” Chris said.
“So true.”
“Look, could I talk you out of working and doing something with Debi, Luc and myself?”
“Sure. What are you guys doing?”
“We’re going down to the AIDS youth center house that I told you both Debi and I support, and we’re serving Thanksgiving dinner to the residents. We sure could use your help,” Chris said.
I thought for a moment and said, “Sure. I’d like to help out.”
“Great. We’re on our way right now. A bunch of us cooked most of the food last night and we’re going to have a feast,” Chris said.
“Tell me where to meet you,” I said.
Chris gave me the address and I changed from my jeans into some nice black slacks and a cranberry-red sweater and headed downstairs to catch a taxi. The city seemed like a ghost town and the cab zipped downtown into the Village area and stopped in front of a five-story solemn-looking building on the corner of Houston and Bleecker.
I walked into a building that looked like a combination office building and day care center. When I reached the elevator I saw a homemade sign on pink paper reading THANKSGIVING DINNER ON FOURTH FLOOR. I got on the elevator and pushed four. I reached the floor and walked into a large room full of teenagers and a few adults with small children. I looked around the room and after a couple of circles around I recognized Chris’s bright smile.
“Raymond, over here,” he said.
I walked over and greeted Chris with a firm handshake.
“Thanks for agreeing to help out. I wanted to let some of the people who stayed up all night get back with their families before the day was over. Here, let me get you an apron,” Chris said.
A few minutes later Chris walked out with an attractive African American woman who was carrying a white chef’s apron.
“Here you go. Try this on,” Chris said.
I pulled the starched sugar-white apron over my head and tied it. At least I tried to tie it. When Chris and the woman saw me having trouble, the lady said, “Come here. Let me help you.”
“Dang, I’m sorry. I forgot you two hadn’t met. Raymond, this is my wife, Debi,” Chris said.
“Hello, Raymond. It’s so nice to meet you. Chris speaks so highly of you,” Debi said.
For a moment I was speechless. I had no clue that Chris was married to a black woman. She was beautiful, with a head of tight curly auburn hair. Debi had a gentle angular face and skin the shade of Brazil nuts.
“Debi, it’s nice meeting you. I’ve been looking forward to it,” I said.
“Let me introduce you to Luc,” Chris said as he looked around the room.
“I think he’s in the kitchen, honey,” Debi said.
Chris walked toward the kitchen and Debi gave me my assignment serving gravy on the dressing and mashed potatoes. While she was showing me how to ladle gravy and making sure I gave each guest at least one giblet, Debi looked at me and said, “I don’t guess Chris told you I was black.”
I was embarrassed, but I smiled and asked, “Was I that obvious?”
Debi started laughing and said, “Don’t worry. It wasn’t that bad. You know, when we’re down south white people who do a double take. But in cities like New York, Philly and Boston, the black people give us the look.”
“I’m sorry. All Chris told me about you was that you were a great wife and mother, and a doctor doing a lot for AIDS,” I said.
“I raised him right, didn’t I?”
“I guess you did,” I said as I placed my first spoonful of gravy on the plate of a tall Latina girl with multicolored hair and two nose rings.
Chris came back with a handsome little boy who was the same color as Debi. I knew this was Luc, and our meeting was not quite as surprising as my introduction to Debi. It was more like a second kiss, when you knew what to expect.
“This must be Luc,” I said as I stooped down so that I was eye level with the little boy.
“Luc, say hello to Mr. Tyler,” Chris said.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. Tyler. So you came to help us serve food?”
“I sure did, Luc, and I am so happy your mom and dad invited me,” I said.
“I’m the butter boy today. It’s my job to put the butter on the rolls,” Luc said, his moist brown eyes flashing innocently.
“It sounds like an important job,” I said.
“Last year I was in charge of the cranberry sauce,” Luc said.
“Luc, don’t talk Mr. Tyler to death. Go back to your workstation,” Debi said.
“Okay, Mommy,” Luc said.
“He’s something else,” Chris said proudly.
Luc walked toward the end of the tables, where I saw a large tray of rolls, and then he suddenly turned back around and said, “You still love me, Mommy?”
“Of course I love you,” Debi said.
“Good,” Luc said with a huge smile.
When Luc had disappeared, Debi smiled and said, “Kids are God’s gift that keeps on giving.”
About three hours later I poured my last ladle of gravy onto some cornbread dressing for a young man who volunteered that his name was Dru Bolton and that he was HIV positive.
All I could say was “Happy Thanksgiving, Dru.”
“What’s your name?”
“Raymond,” I said.
“Are you going to eat?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Do you mind if I join you?” Dru asked.
I looked over and saw Chris, Debi and Luc at a table, eating from paper plates, and decided to take Dru up on his offer. He was young, tall with a solid-looking body and big, widely spaced brown eyes.
“Sure, I’d like that,” I said.
One of the volunteers made me a plate of turkey, ham, macaroni and cheese, string beans and a couple of ro
lls. The food smelled good and looked like what my mama makes on Thanksgiving. The only thing missing was her good china.
I sat down at a table with Dru. He’d already finished eating half of his food and started questioning me like we were on a date.
“How old are you?”
“How old do I look?” I asked.
“Like you’re in your late twenties,” Dru said.
I couldn’t contain my smile, and I asked Dru how old he was. I was expecting him to say in his early twenties, but when he said eighteen I was surprised that he was so young.
“How long have you been living here?” I asked.
“Since I was sixteen,” he said.
“Do you mind telling me how long you’ve been HIV positive?” I asked.
“For two years,” he said.
I wanted to ask him why somebody didn’t tell him about protection when he started having sex. Instead, I gazed at the shafts of evening sun filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“I guess you want to know how I got it,” Dru said.
“Do you want me to know?”
“I was in love with this guy and he was the truth! He didn’t like to use condoms, and he promised me he was HIV negative because he had a girlfriend. He was on the bi now, gay later plan,” Dru said, laughing.
“What happened to him?” I asked.
“He married the girlfriend,” Dru said, suddenly looking sad and lonely. I looked over at the table where Debi and Chris were sitting. They had finished eating and were gazing into each other’s eyes as if they were sharing a wonderful secret. Maybe it was just the way love looked. It’d been a long time since I’d seen that look. I glanced back at Dru, and his expression hadn’t changed.
“Are you okay?” I asked as I touched his hand.
“Oh, I’m so thankful for my life. I haven’t been sick. I take my meds every day and I’m going to live long enough to fall in love again,” he said confidently.
“You think you’re old enough to know love?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
“Don’t I what?”
“Know love when it comes,” Dru said.
“I don’t know, Dru. I just know I have a lot to be thankful for.”
23
__________________
I was getting ready to leave my office, when my private line rang. I figured it was Davis and started not to answer. All I wanted to do was go home and crawl into my bed with a slice of pizza and a box of tissues for my tears. I was still upset over one of the worst Thanksgivings of my life.
“Zola Norwood,” I said.
“Zola, are you ready for an evening of romance?” Davis asked.
“Davis, how are you?”
“I’ll be better about an hour from now. I’m getting ready to send my driver to pick you up and deliver you to a perfect secret location I recently discovered.”
I guess he found it with one of his other women. I took a deep breath, and when I released it, I heard Justine screaming, “You’re going to hell!” and somehow it gave me strength for what I said next: “Davis, I can’t.”
“What?”
“I can’t see you tonight,” I said.
“You’re not feeling well?”
“I feel okay. I just don’t want to see you,” I said.
“Have you lost your mind? Who do you think you’re talking to?”
“Davis, I think we should end this relationship. I mean, if that’s what you call it. I still want to work with you, but I’m looking for a love of my own,” I said, realizing for the first time in a long while that I needed to change the way I viewed love and relationships. The evening of 9/11 flashed into my head, and I remembered how terribly lonely I felt sleeping in my bed. Neither Jabar nor Davis was available to comfort me and tell me everything would be all right. But these were rules I had set up, and it was time for me to acknowledge the life I’d created for myself based on one bad love affair.
“Like I said, my driver will be there in ten minutes. Make sure you’re out front when he gets there,” Davis demanded.
“Davis, did you hear what I said? Of course you didn’t, but let me say it again. I don’t want to see you tonight. I don’t want to continue this arrangement.”
“Hear me! Be downstairs and that’s all I’ve got to say,” Davis said.
“I won’t be there,” I said.
“You’re a smart girl, Zola. You’ll be outside, waiting,” Davis said, and he hung up the phone.
I picked up my purse and briefcase and headed home.
After two slices of sausage pizza I was ready for bed. I started to call my mother and tell her about my aborted trip home, when I heard the doorbell ring. I put on my robe, looked through the peephole and saw Davis standing outside my door. A light mist was falling and Davis’s driver was holding an umbrella over his head.
“Davis, what are you doing here?” I asked.
“Zola, I need to talk to you,” Davis said forcefully. Then he spoke to his driver. “Preston, I’ll page you when I’m ready to go. I think you’ll be safe here,” he said as he looked around my neighborhood.
I opened the door all the way and he walked in.
“What kind of games are you playing, Zola?” Davis asked.
“I’m not playing games. What are you doing here? I thought my neighborhood wasn’t good enough for you,” I said.
“I’m not staying long. Pack yourself an overnight bag. Make sure you pack some nice sexy panties. I have a hotel and some nice things waiting,” Davis said.
“What part of ‘I’m not going’ don’t you understand?”
“Zola, are you on drugs? You know what our deal is.”
“Our deal?” I asked as I raised my eyebrow at his statement.
“Yes, Zola, don’t play dumb with me. You get to run your magazine and I get pussy on demand,” Davis said without any emotion in his eyes or voice.
“You can’t talk to me like that. I’m good at what I do. I don’t want to sleep with you just because you demand it. I never looked at our relationship like it was some kind of job-for-sex arrangement,” I said.
“Zola, please. What did you think this was? I told you when I met you I was never leaving my wife. Do you realize how much half of my total worth would be? I’ll be with that bitch until the day I die,” Davis said.
If I wasn’t totally convinced I was doing the right thing by breaking up with Davis, his calling his wife, Veronica, a bitch was the sign I needed. My father had always told me never to give a man who referred to his wife as “that bitch” the time of day. I had been giving Davis much more of me than he deserved.
“Davis, please leave. I need to make some changes in my life and I need to reconsider some relationships, and I’m starting right now. With you,” I said.
“While you’re reconsidering these relationships, make sure you think about what you could lose,” Davis said.
“Are you threatening me?”
“Figure it out,” Davis said as he walked out the door.
24
__________________
I’d just closed my leather binder after a meeting with Davis and was getting ready to leave his office, when I heard him say calmly, “Oh, yeah, I need you to fire Zola,” as the white barber removed a black cape from Davis’s neck.
I stared at him for a moment and then asked, “You want me to do what?”
“Fire Zola. Get the locks changed and have security escort her out of the building,” Davis said calmly. “Make it as embarrassing as you possibly can,” he added.
“What’s going on? What did she do?”
“Nothing. Fire her.”
“Nothing?”
“Yeah, nothing. Get rid of her.”
“What’s the reason? What am I supposed to tell her?”
“You don’t need a reason,” Davis said without looking up from the papers on his desk. The barber was packing his equipment and didn’t make eye contact with Davis or me.
“But, Davi
s, the magazine is doing great, even in a tough economy. Lots of magazines are hemorrhaging advertising and sales. I haven’t seen that trend with Bling Bling,” I said.
“I don’t give a damn. The bitch isn’t doing what she was hired to do, run a magazine and, more important, give me pussy when I need it. I don’t have time to go out and look for new pussy,” Davis said, looking at me calmly like I should understand his reasons.
“Doesn’t she have an employment contract?”
“Yeah, she does. But I made sure it was to my advantage. We can give her some type of severance, but make sure you remind her of the noncompete clause. I don’t want to see her starting a magazine or working at one for at least two years,” Davis said.
“She has a noncompete clause? Did she have a lawyer look over her contract before she signed it?”
“Yeah, but it was somebody I recommended,” Davis said proudly.
“Davis, this may be a problem,” I advised.
“It’s your job to make sure it’s not. I want her out by week’s end.”
“Who’s going to take her place?”
“I don’t know. Call an executive search firm and find someone who can start right away. Have them check and see how much money we would need to offer Amy Barnett over at Honey magazine to come over here. I’ve been watching that magazine and I hear she’s doing a great job over there,” Davis said.
I couldn’t believe that, as smart and brilliant as Davis was, he was acting like he was whipped. Davis thought this was going to be simple, but from what I knew about Zola, simple was the last thing firing her was going to be.
“Are you sure about this, Davis? Is there any way you can work this out?”
“Raymond, you didn’t hear me stutter. Fire the bitch. Now, if you don’t mind, I have some calls I need to make,” Davis said as the barber handed him a mirror and he admired his cut. It was the tone he used when he dismissed people from his world. I’d witnessed Davis do this to several people before, but this was the first time he’d done it to me.
“You’re the boss, Davis,” I said as I headed out of his office. I heard Davis say, “Great job, Chester.”
A Love of My Own Page 22
