by Candice Dow
“Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right. You did a good job.”
We played a few more rounds before fatigue got the best of both of us.
Scene 22
FATIMA
On the taxi ride home, I found myself caressing his leg for no reason. I was smitten with his aggressive nonchalance. He seemed fazed by nothing, but on point with everything. He stroked my hair but gazed out of the opposite window. I blushed just because. No, actually I blushed at my brilliance. How could I be so blessed to find the guy to act out my script so well?
Once we were in the house, we headed to my bedroom. He turned the cable station onto soft R&B and we sat on the bed holding hands. I mouthed the words to all the songs.
He chuckled. “You’re so animated.”
Just as I was about to respond, he leaned over and kissed me. My heart plummeted as if this was our first time. He hovered over when I laid down. Our eyes conversed, questioned, wondered, and anticipated. Without ending our gaze, we undressed. He stroked my hair delicately from my face, in the same motion that he loved me. Anxiety rippled through me and triggered my tear ducts to water. I took deep breaths to suppress the over-emotion. Gentle lovemaking combined with passion took us on a journey far away from Harlem. I was in paradise.
Maybe because he was the first man I’d been with in three years, but I felt hopelessly in love with him. As I fell asleep in his arms, I pleaded with myself not to surrender to this feeling.
After four weeks, Rashad was still full of surprises. I woke up to eggs, bacon, and coffee served on a tray. He stood over me in his boxers and undershirt. I said, “Good morning.”
After setting the tray on my lap, he said, “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. You didn’t hear all that noise in the alley this morning?”
I shook my head and he walked over to the window and opened the blinds. “Yeah, someone must have been blocking the way and the trash truck kept beeping the horn.”
“I didn’t hear a thing. Where’s your food?”
“Upstairs. I’m going to get it.”
When he returned with his tray, he plopped down beside me. I covered my morning breath and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for breakfast.”
“No problem.”
He handed me a small envelope that contained an index card with the following instruction: A surprise awaits you at the end of this journey. CLUE # 1—INSIDE THE BATHROOM, UNDER THE BLUE CANDLE.
I tapped my shoulder into his. “Rashad, what is this all about?”
“Fatima, it’s just a game. You’ll be done by the end of the day.”
“What’s the surprise?”
He hung his head. “It won’t be a surprise if I tell you.”
“It will, I promise.”
“Just follow the clues. If you don’t figure it out before the last clue, I’ll tell you.”
After I finished my breakfast, I sprung from the bed to find my first clue. I lifted the candle to find a small piece of paper with the number “5” on it. I stood in the doorway facing Rashad and said, “C’mon baby, can I get better clues than this?”
He laughed. “That is a good clue.”
“Okay, so where’s my next clue?”
“It’s no fun to get all the clues at once.”
I huffed. “Now, you got me all excited and I have to wait for the next clue. Can you at least give me a hint as to when I can expect it?”
His orange juice sprayed from his mouth as he laughed harder at me and made me laugh. “Okay, I guess I’ll just have to be patient.”
“Not patient, just not anxious.”
I rolled my eyes in my head. “Okay, I guess I’ll just have to wait.”
I closed the bathroom door and looked at my first clue again. What does the number “5” describe? Hell, it could be anything.
On my taxi ride to work, I got a text-message: SECOND CLUE IS IN THE SIDE POCKET OF YOUR BACKPACK.
I quickly rummaged through my bag and found another sheet of paper with the clue: BOSTON. A big smile spread across my face as I knew I’d figured it out. I quickly called him, “Okay, Red Sox game, your favorite player wears the number five, or we’re in the fifth row.”
“Nope. That’s not it.”
“C’mon. Just tell me. Now, I’m going to have to go to work all day wondering what you have planned. Can you at least let me know when the surprise occurs?”
“You’ll know soon enough…”
When I arrived at work, a small basket of chocolates sat on my desk. I opened the card: CLUE #3: CANDY.
How do the number “5”, Boston, and candy relate? Now, I was baffled without a doubt. Kia came into the office saying, “You sure are getting a bunch of gifts.”
I smiled. She handed me a large envelope. “He must be a really nice guy, huh?”
With my chin propped on my folded hands, I nodded. “Yes, he’s extremely nice.”
“It’s so good to see you happy.”
I sucked my teeth. “Are you saying I wasn’t happy?”
“I mean you weren’t unhappy. You were just really into work and you…”
“I…what?”
“You were just really pushy. You seem so much more relaxed the last few weeks.”
My bottom lip hung. “I’m not pushy.”
“It’s not a bad thing, but I can tell a difference.”
With the clues on the forefront of my mind, I didn’t really have time to entertain my character flaws. I shooed her. “Whatever, Kia, I haven’t changed at all.” I opened the envelope. “What’s this?”
“A submission from Serena McEnvoy. It’s only the first three chapters.”
“A new author?”
She nodded and I huffed. “Why does she insist on sending me the first three chapters when I keep telling her I need an entire manuscript for new authors?”
“I read it and I kinda like it.”
I leaned back in my chair. “Maybe I’ll take a look at it.”
Kia laughed. I sat up to inquire what humored her. She said, “See, a few weeks ago, you would have just sent her a rejection letter.”
“That’s not true. I’m reading it because you said you liked it.”
Her dancing eyes told me that her liking it never mattered before. I waved my hand. “Whatever. I’ll check it out.”
Shortly after Kia walked away, my phone buzzed with what I assumed to be my next clue. It was Mya asking to do Happy Hour. Depending on the result of this little game, I may not be able to make it, so I declined.
She promptly called to ask why. After I explained, she pointed out, “Tima, I think you have yourself a winner.”
“Let’s not lose focus.”
She laughed. “Who? Me or you?”
“You!”
“I’m focused. I’m just saying he seems to be doing all the right things in the right ways.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s still early.”
“Don’t even fake like you’re not flattered.”
I sucked my teeth. “I am flattered…and focused.”
“And fake.”
We laughed and chatted about miscellaneous things as I awaited my next clue. We tried to decipher the surprise based on the current clues. Two geniuses plus three clues equaled zero answers. She tried to hang on the line for the fourth clue, but it didn’t seem to be coming anytime soon.
It was shortly after lunch when it arrived. He called and asked, “What year did Michael Jordan began playing in the NBA?”
“C’mon now, Rashad. You’re pushing it.”
“You don’t have to answer right now, but the answer is your next clue.”
This had become more like a job than a cute little game. I got on the Internet to find the answer. Now, it was 5, Boston, candy, and 1984. Tell me what this surprise could be.
Shortly after, he sent another text message: YOU’RE HOLDING IT IN YOUR HAND RIGHT NOW. HOW does he know what’s in my hand? What does he mean? I text-messaged him back: DO YOU MEAN MY PHONE?
He
responded: LOL. BINGO.
As I headed home, he called to remind me to check the mail. I kidded, “I guess my next clue is in there.”
“Your last clue.”
Suddenly, I was excited again. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out yet. I know how inquisitive you are.”
“Yeah, but I’m no mind reader. Your clues are hard as hell.”
He snickered, “I’m sorry.”
“Okay, I’m almost home.”
“I have some work to do, so if it’s okay, I’ll stop by a little later.”
“Okay, I’ll call you when I figure out the surprise.”
“Make sure you do.”
After I sifted through a bunch of other mail in my box, I found Rashad’s letter. A Ticketmaster envelope fell out. I read his short note: CLUE #5: YOU’LL HAVE TO—COUNT ME OUT.
I frowned and pulled the tickets from the envelope: New Edition Reunion Tour. I laughed, because I, of all people, should have figured this out. Five members from Boston. They were at the height of their career in 1984: “Candy Girl” “Mr. Telephone Man.”
My head fell into my hands. I couldn’t believe that he put so much energy into surprising me. How did he know I was a die-hard New Edition fan? When I called to tell him how happy I was, he didn’t answer.
Scene 23
RASHAD
I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket as I chatted with an older couple sitting in my section. They were telling me how much they enjoyed my service and thanking me for a pleasant attitude. Of course, I had to seal the deal with, “You don’t get great service every time you come here? That’s unacceptable.”
After stepping away from them, I rushed to the back to grab food for another table. The couple was gone when I returned. I delivered the food to the other table, and stopped to pick up the credit card folder. I was flattered to see a one hundred dollar tip when I opened it.
My smiled stiffened. I’m going to miss those occasional gifts when I turn in my letter. As much as it seemed like an easy decision to just walk away from an hourly job to a guaranteed salary, I struggled. What if I mess up somehow and Fatima decides that this is not what she wants to do anymore? Will I be S.O.L.?
As my phone vibrated in my pocket for the third time, it was clear what I had to do. Sure I have lucrative weeks here, but there are also slow weeks. Nothing can replace a consistent salary on a consistent basis. I still walk away with experience. If push comes to shove, I can always find another waiter job.
I snuck into the kitchen for a minute to call Fatima. She fake-cried on the phone. “Oh, Rashad. I was so surprised. I can’t believe you took the time and energy to think of all those clues.”
“It wasn’t that hard.”
“It was thoughtful though.”
“Did you understand the last clue?” I asked.
“The last clue was the tickets.”
“No, it was ‘You’ll Have to—Count Me Out.’ Those are for you and Mya. I won’t be able to make it Thursday.”
A brief moment of silence broke the line. I was scheduled to work and couldn’t find anyone to take my place. People were willing to trade weekend days with me, but I wasn’t feeling that. Plus, I figured she’d want to go with Mya. She huffed. “I really wish you could go with me.”
“I have a taping that night. It’s nothing major, but I have to be there.”
I looked up and realized that two of my tables were up. As she sighed on the other end, I said, “Sorry, Teem. We’ll talk about it when I get there.”
The decline in excitement in her voice made me uneasy. She sighed. “Okay, that’s cool. Mya would love to go.”
I looked around at the hustle and bustle in the kitchen and concluded it was time to give my supervisor my resignation letter. There is no way I can keep Fatima happy, hunt for a house, wait tables, and audition full-time. Something must give.
After my shift was over, I pulled my letter from my bag and asked my supervisor if I could speak to her privately. When I handed it to her, she joked, “I hope this isn’t a resignation letter. I’m not accepting this.”
“I thought you claimed you wanted to fire me anyway.”
“I do, but like you always tell me, you’re good at what you do.”
“I’m sorry, but this is my two-weeks’ notice.”
Her eyes glossed. “Did you land a role?”
“Sorta.”
“Where? What?”
“It’s nothing major. I’m just an understudy.”
She read over my letter. “You know this is one of the best waiter jobs you’ll get. Do you really want to quit to be an understudy? That doesn’t sound stable.”
Maybe it wasn’t, but my plans were much bigger than waiting tables or being an understudy. She continued, “You’ll never make the kind of tips you earn here somewhere else.”
With over four hundred dollars in tips floating in my pocket, I knew she was right. Still, I made it clear that I was done.
“Okay, I’ll just sit around and wait for Rashad’s call.”
Her sarcasm tickled me, but I hoped I never had to make that phone call. When I stepped out of the restaurant, I was overwhelmed with confusion until I heard Fatima’s voice. A small amount of excitement remained when she answered.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
She said, “Nothing. Rashad, how did you know I love New Edition?”
“Uh, the NE “HeartBreak” poster in your home office is a dead giveaway.”
“Oh, I forgot about that.”
“Did you talk to Mya about going?”
“She may not be able to go, but it’s okay. I can go alone.”
“We’ll work something out.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
“Maybe I can pull a few strings and get the taping done earlier.”
That’s exactly what I did. Why be loyal to a job that I was seconds away from leaving? I called in sick early enough for them to find someone to replace me. When I told Fatima I could make it, she tried to convince me to do whatever I had planned. After I told her that it was canceled, she agreed to meet me in midtown after work.
I noticed her from a block away as she trotted toward me and fell into my arms. Judging from the euphoria on her face, she lied when she said she was fine with going alone. I said, “I’m happy to see you.”
She pulled back. “I’m happier to see you.”
“I bet.”
She looked at me inquisitively. I put my arm around her shoulder and we strolled to Madison Square Garden.
From the moment New Edition stepped on the stage, Fatima was no longer my partner. She was a member of the band. She knew every dance move by heart. She slid when they slid and turned when they turned. It was obvious that she needed no else to enjoy New Edition. My greatest reward for making arrangements to come to the show was witnessing Fatima completely lose herself in the music.
Scene 24
RASHAD
When I left Fatima, I rushed home to make sure my second pay stub was in the mail. When I first noticed I was being paid by Mayo Enterprises, a part of me wanted to quit, but as I checked my bank account, somehow my reservations disappeared. In a little over a month my account has gone from zip to fourteen thousand dollars. At that rate, I can cope with a little ego-bashing from time to time. Speaking of time, I studied my pay stub and wondered why it was fifty bucks more than the last one. As I scrutinized the stub, I saw fourteen days worked and a deduction of three hours. I rushed into my bedroom and checked the previous one. That one deducted seven hours from my pay.
As I sat on my bed baffled, it dawned on me. I chuckled slightly and shook my head. I laughed harder when I calculated in my head the time I had been late. Collectively, it totaled three hours in a two-week period. I opted not to question her about it and just step up my time game. How do you question free money? Especially now that she has become my sole source of income.
When I sat at my computer t
o check email, I forgot that I had planned to send Fatima an evite for this evening. After shuffling through different invitations, I found the perfect one. A romantic night out. When she sent a response back of maybe, I was suddenly angered because I’d pulled a gang of strings to get these tickets. I sent an email back asking why in big, bold letters. After waiting five minutes for a response, I called the office.
Now that her assistant knows my voice, she puts me straight through. Fatima picked up. “Hey, Rashad.”
I sighed. “So you’re not sure if you can make it.”
“Work is really stressing me out right now.”
“When will you be able to give me a definite answer?”
“No later than three.”
“Okay. Just keep me posted.”
I thought for certain she’d be available. If she can’t make it, I guess I can look at it as her waste of three hundred dollars, not mine. As I sulked in the destruction of my surprise, I checked the time. I hopped up. I had to schmooze my way into a course at the New York Real Estate Institute; I couldn’t be late. Pacing through the apartment, I tried to decide if I should get dressed or just go with what I had on. Suddenly, I grabbed my backpack, jumped in a taxi and headed down to 35th Street. When I first called the school to inquire about this course, they claimed to be full until the end of the year. Determined not to take no for an answer, I went there in person and practically begged the administrator to make an exception for me. Though no one from City Props had called me back yet, I claimed I’d been given this grant and I desperately needed this course like yesterday. Once I agreed to pay seven hundred bucks, instead of the required three hundred and fifty for the Construction Project Management Certification course, somehow they had one extra seat. This course supposedly provides all the tools and information to put a construction management project into immediate action. Considering that I plan to take action immediately, I was determined to be here.
As I tried to sneak in the class five minutes late, the instructor looked up. “Welcome.”
