by Candice Dow
I chuckled. “So, it’s my fault. Huh?”
“No, but I had to go fix it myself.”
“A leaky faucet is no emergency. Why didn’t you just wait?”
“Because…”
I softly knocked on her forehead. “Because you have a hard head.”
“Well my hard head landed me in a damn puddle of water.”
“What happened?”
“I forgot to turn the water off.”
“No.”
“Yeah. And it took damn near ten minutes before Kelli’s boyfriend rescued me.” She giggled. “Water was everywhere. We could have gone swimming.”
The harder I laughed the worse she made it sound. “The ceiling was wet. All of Kelli’s toiletries were soaked. I felt so stupid.”
I stood up, huddled over her, and wrapped my arms around her. “Is that why you wanted to fire me?”
“Oh, you were fired! I was so pissed.”
“Why were you mad at me?”
“Because I woke up to an empty bed. Then, you didn’t answer your phone. Had you answered your phone, I wouldn’t have felt so helpless.”
I stroked her hair and reassured her. “You know I’m not going anywhere.”
She pushed me away. “You know you’re on probation.”
I fell back into my chair. “Probation?”
“Mmm-huh. Three strikes you’re out.”
“How many strikes do I have now?”
“One and a half.”
We burst out laughing. I shook my head. “Teem, you are a trip. I guess this will be a deduction from my pay?”
As her chin dropped, she snickered. “You noticed?”
“It’s not heavy.”
“It must be if you noticed.”
“Fatima, look, it’s really okay.”
When she realized that I was not concerned, she lifted her head. “Oh, by the way, can you go upstairs to check out Ms. Harris’s ceiling?”
“Don’t tell me the water seeped through?”
With her lips poked out for my sympathy, she nodded. I shook my head. “I see why you were tripping.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”
“You sleep like a damn rock. Even if I wanted to wake you up, I couldn’t.” I stood up. “Where are the tools?”
“Sitting at the door where I left them.”
I glanced around to the front door and noticed the large toolbox in the middle of the floor. “A’ight. Is Ms. Harris expecting me?”
She grabbed the phone and lifted her index finger. “Let me call her first.”
After she spoke to Ms. Harris, I headed up to the second floor. She opened up. “Hello, young man.”
“How are you today?”
“I was fine until it started raining in my bathroom.”
I laughed. “Let me check it out for you.”
She ushered me to the bathroom and pointed to the ceiling. The drywall looked pretty saturated. I gasped. “Wow. That’s bad.”
Inwardly, I laughed as I imagined Fatima when the water began gushing out. She nodded. “Yeah, I’m afraid it will fall in.”
“I’m going to carve it out and put some plastic up there today. I’ll come back tomorrow or Monday to put up a new piece of drywall.”
She huffed. “Okay.”
I bent down to open the toolbox. When I noticed DM engraved in the handle, I immediately felt the need to get my own tools. But with this sweet lady standing patiently in the hall, I figured it wasn’t the time to be petty. I took a deep breath and found the saw.
When I climbed up on the sink, Ms. Harris thought it would be a good time to start a casual conversation.
“So, are you the super?”
“Ah, I’m just helping Fatima out.”
“I’ve seen you around frequently. Are you a good friend of Fatima’s?”
I nodded as I began to cut out her ceiling.
“That’s good. She hasn’t had a man around here since Mr. Mayo.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“So, are you her boyfriend?”
Ironically, I didn’t know the answer to her question. Before responding, I cleared my throat. “We’re good friends.”
“I don’t know how she survived his death. She went on with her life without missing a beat. I don’t even remember her mourning.”
I grunted because I felt like Fatima was still in mourning. Ms. Harris continued, “He definitely took care of her.”
Like I need to hear that again. Hoping that my lack of response would send her away, I pretended to be preoccupied. Unfortunately, she didn’t get the memo. “They were so close.”
I huffed like I struggled with the cutting. “Ms. Harris, do you have a bucket?”
“Sure, let me get it.”
When she returned, I put the bucket up to the hole I’d cut for the water to drain. As it trickled into the bucket, Ms. Harris stood at the door with her arms folded. Lady, isn’t there a Lifetime movie on or something?
When the water became a slow drip, I reached for the saw and cut away a large square and covered the hole with a plastic bag. Before I left, Ms. Harris said, “She’s a sweetheart. I’ve been praying for someone to come along.”
She winked at me and I nodded. “All right. I’ll have Fatima give you a call to let you know when I’m coming to patch up the ceiling.”
When I returned to the apartment, Fatima giggled. “White powder is all over your face and hair.” She kissed me. “It’s sexy, though.”
Ms. Harris’s comments played in my head as I looked at Fatima prance around, concealing the obvious. This poor girl was in pain.
Scene 29
RASHAD
Marty gave me all the information I could ever need about managing the renovation project. What happened to the part about finding the property? When I started this house-hunting, I was so pumped with adrenaline that I didn’t realize how hard it would be. Each time I stepped into a vacant or condemned home, I become more and more discouraged. How can I make a dump into a castle? The cracked walls, nasty wallpaper, sunken floors, and missing steps overwhelmed me. How does a house ever get in this condition? The smell of mold and dust made my stomach somersault in disgust.
I roamed Harlem on my twenty-eighth birthday looking at dumps. Had it not been for the birthday card that Fatima gave me this morning, today would have completely passed me by. The weeks have been zooming by as well. In between searching for this house, studying renovating the house, interviewing contractors, and not to mention taking care of Fatima, I’m about to lose my mind.
If nothing pans out by the weekend, I may be forced to give up. When Monique told me that so many people think they can do this, but even when they have the money in hand, many come back and say forget it, I laughed, but now I’m thinking about how I’m going to join the crew of quitters.
My broker and I walked up to a house on 127th Street. Before we walked in, he confirmed, “You’re going to love this place.”
When the door swung open, the rotted smell made my nose wrinkle and forced me to squint. After I opened my eyes, what I had envisioned was before me. I hung my head. “This is unbelievable.”
“Yeah, it has some structural issues, but the frame is great. The stairs to the basement have collapsed, but from this floor up, you’re good.”
I nodded. He continued, “What makes this place a jewel is that all you’re doing is renovating versus gutting it out and designing an entire architecture. This is the first time I’ve shown this place. I can’t believe it sat for so long. This is definitely a diamond in the rough.”
My smile stretched wider and wider as we toured the safe parts of the home. It felt like this was my place. Before I became overly confident, I asked, “What are my chances?”
“There were no contracts on this place this morning. If you want to put a contract down, we can head over to the office now.”
When we left the house, I could have skipped down the steps. Suddenly, my negative
feelings were gone. After we finished the paperwork, my anxiety level increased. I crossed my fingers, my legs, and prayed for all the luck in the world.
“So, how long does it take for them to accept the contract?”
“It usually takes about a week. You know City Props will have an inspector come out before the contract is actually approved. They have a vested interest.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“So, you’ll know something by next week.”
How was I going to contain my excitement for so long? Not to mention, I’d rather be disappointed immediately rather than wait seven days.
Trying to assure my chances, I decided to go over to City Props myself, just to warn Monique to look out for my contract. When I showed up, she blushed like I was just the person she wanted to see.
“Hello, Rashad.”
“Hey, Mo.”
She snickered. “When did I become Mo?”
I raised my hand for a high-five. Without knowing why, she slapped my hand. “You became Mo when I found my house.”
“Oh, I’m so happy to hear that.”
“Yeah, it’s been almost a month since I started looking. I was about to give up.
“Most people do.”
I smiled and her eyes gravitated to my pearly whites. Her head tilted. “I’m really happy for you.”
“Thank you.”
“No, it was all you.”
“You pushed it through for me.”
“Yeah, but…”
I squinted. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m going to miss you popping in here worrying me.”
I chuckled, but she didn’t so much as crack a smile. “I’ll still come to visit.”
“No, you won’t. But anyway, are you going to take me to see the house?”
“Don’t you have to see it before everything is approved?”
“No, it’s above me now. The inspectors make the decisions from here.”
“I can schedule an appointment with my broker for us to see the inside.”
“That’s cool. I’d definitely like to see it. Schedule an appointment and get back to me.”
I thanked God for the best birthday present of all time and rushed home to get ready for my date with Fatima. She demanded that I meet her at her house at seven sharp.
Scene 30
FATIMA
When I walked into my office, Kia wore a look of fear. I smiled. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “Alana Lynch’s book has gone to print and she called yelling. There are tons of errors.”
My heart dropped and I winced. “What kind of errors?”
“Misspellings. Punctuation.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s bad.”
I stormed into my office. “Get Alana on the phone.”
Before I could drop my bag, Kia buzzed: “Fatima, she’s on line one.”
After several deep breaths, I picked up the receiver. “Alana, what happened?”
“You tell me what happened?”
“We’re not going to get anywhere with all the yelling.”
“I returned my corrections a week late and was told that it had already gone to press.”
“So let me understand this. When you returned the final proofs, they were late?”
“Don’t make this my fault.”
“Trust me. I’m not making this your fault. I just want to know where the breakdown occurred.”
As she sniffled on the other end, I frowned at the receiver. Her voice trembled, “I feel humiliated.”
“Let me speak to my production editor and I’ll give you a call back.”
She slammed the phone down. Why am I even here? Egos take the fun out of everything. It made Derrick proud to say that his wife was slated to be one of the youngest editorial directors in the business. As I stood up to go to the production department, I began to wonder if I was here just to pay tribute to him.
When I walked out of my office, Kia shrugged her shoulders and I curled my lips. To calm her frazzled expression, I waved my hand. “Don’t sweat it.”
When I walked into the production editor’s office, she sighed. “Fatima, what should I have done?”
“How many errors is she talking about?”
“It’s a good number.”
She flipped through the proofs and showed me several errors. I cringed. “Those should have been caught before it even went to her.”
“Fatima, it slipped through the cracks.”
“The cracks? This is an embarrassment.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t justify reprinting. It’s just not worth it.”
As I looked over the errors, they were so blatant. How could this have happened? As tears welled in my eyes, she patted my arm. “Fatima, I’m sorry.”
“I guess I’ll have to copyedit everything that comes through here because I can’t depend on you guys to hire competent freelancers.”
“She edited several of our books in the past. I don’t know what happened.”
“She’ll never edit anything else.”
“Fatima, calm down.”
“Calm down? It’s my reputation on the line. Not yours. Not the freelancer’s. Mine.” I turned to the acknowledgments. “Look whose name is here, mine. That’s what everyone will see when they read this trash.”
I dropped the proofs and the pages sprawled all over the floor. As I stormed out, she said, “It can be corrected in the second printing.”
I shouted, “That’s too late.”
Tears rolled down my face and I left the building to get myself together. I went to get a caramel macchiato with a triple shot of espresso. I needed support when I talked to Alana. She didn’t deserve this and neither did I.
After several deep breaths, I got the courage to call her back. She pretty much called me incompetent and threatened to go to another house. I fought to restore her faith in me and promised to edit personally all her future works. After all of my pleading, we ended the conversation on an amicable note.
I lay my head on my desk. Kia came in and asked if I was okay. I propped my face up on my folded hands. “I need a vacation.”
“Take me with you.”
It hit me—I felt responsible for all of my authors. I looked at my pile that was headed to production for copyediting and knew I couldn’t survive another slip through the cracks. After organizing the pile by release date, I buried my head into the pages. I scrutinized every word. It was the least I could do.
When Kia came in to tell me she was gone for the day, I told her to send all calls to voicemail. I was so entrenched that when I looked up twenty minutes after she walked out, it had actually been two hours. My head collapsed on the desk. When I awoke from my nap, it was ten o’clock. I jumped up. Oh my God! It’s Rashad’s birthday. I’m late. I scurried around, piling stuff in my bag. How did time get away from me?
Ten missed calls, all from Rashad. I quickly called back. He didn’t answer. I sent him a text message. He didn’t respond. I rushed home. When I jumped from the taxi, he was on the steps with a bottle of Cuervo in his hand. I ran up the steps. “I’m so sorry. I—”
He kissed me. “It’s cool. Don’t sweat it. I was worried about you. Are you okay?”
“But—”
“All that matters is that you’re here now.”
“I—”
“Teem, I’m just happy to see you.”
“I feel horrible. How could I mess up on your birthday?”
“You’re human.”
Still, I felt the need to explain. “I had a terrible day at work and I just felt overwhelmed, laid my head down, and had the calls sent to voicemail, so I never heard the phone ring once. How long have you been here?”
“Since seven.”
My eyes watered. “No.”
“Teem, it’s not heavy. I’ve been sitting here, thinking about life.” He raised the half-full bottle. “Drinking Cuervo and just enjoying nature.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
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“Why didn’t you answer the phone?”
He chuckled and held his phone by the antenna. “My battery died after I called you a million times.”
I felt like I should tell him that I loved him or should I say that I loved his patience.
“I had a reservation at—”
“We’ll just have to do something else.”
“I don’t know—”
“That’s what you pay me for…”
When we walked into the house, I sat on the couch. “Rashad, let’s celebrate tomorrow.”
“We can still hang out tonight. Let me make some calls.”
How could he be so considerate, even when I was inconsiderate? My head hung as I watched him plan his own party. I was completely exhausted and really didn’t have the energy to do anything. I’m sure he thought I was a self-centered witch, so I just pretended I was wide awake.
He looked at me. “You ready?”
“As ready as I’m going to be. Where are we going?”
“To this karaoke spot.”
Couldn’t he have picked a place that I could lay low? I felt trifling for not being enthused and I felt even worse that I didn’t as much as have a cake for him after all the days he made me feel special.
When we walked into the club, the hostess led us to a private room. I wanted to curl up on the couch, but Rashad shoved a huge book of song selections in my face. I flipped through the pages while Rashad ordered the food and drinks, and wasn’t inspired to sing anything.
He chuckled and by the time I looked up to see what humored him, he had programmed a song. He stood in front of me with the microphone in his hand. The speakers blasted: “Solid as a rock…”
Suddenly, I felt like I’d overdosed on caffeine. I popped up. My parents’ theme song was on. He reached out for my hand. I danced to him. How did he know that I loved this song? It’s like one of my family’s heirlooms. As we glided to the old school beat, I felt a closeness that frightened me. He sang in my ear: “‘And for love’s sake. Each mistake, you forgave.’”
I sang back: “‘And soon both of us learned to trust…’”
