The Pride

by Wallace Ford

  By now Sonny Rollins and Oliver Nelson were deep into their collaboration on the “Alfie” album. I asked the flight attendant for another gin and tonic with the mandatory wedge of lime. For the moment, it was better to think about Prince Olajide than the reason why I was flying to Gary on a Friday morning.

  CHAPTER 65

  Paul

  Don’t play that song for me

  “I am glad that you asked that question, Mr. Taylor. I like a businessman who gets right to the point.” The prince definitely had a plan. But I couldn’t get over his Scottish accent. It was like seeing Michael Jordan in a kimono. The dissonance was simply hard to ignore.

  “I have to make it clear, Mr.—Prince Olajide, that I am an attorney and I am not usually involved in any business transactions for my own account.”

  “Of course, of course. That is the reason I have come to see you and not some other lawyer.” I had to hand it to him, he was smooth and cool, if nothing else. I could not imagine butter melting in his mouth.

  “You see, in order for the sum of two billion dollars to be invested in the United States, I will have to pay a servicing fee of five million dollars. While my personal accounts in Switzerland and the Isle of Man could easily cover this cost of doing business, recent exchange control regulations in Switzerland and the Isle of Man are making that kind of transaction somewhat complicated, if you know what I mean.

  “It would be so much easier to simply raise that paltry sum here in America and share the profits with my co-investors … and with my counsel.”

  The prince flashed a knowing, conspiratorial smile. I halfway expected him to wink and nudge me in the ribs with his elbow.

  And it was at that point I knew that this was all complete and utter Grade A bullshit. I had guessed that was the case when the prince first started to talk. Now I was sure.

  “Excuse me, sir. Would you happen to have a mirror?”

  “I beg your pardon?” The prince was truly baffled by my question. And, months later, at 25,000 feet, I still had to laugh. There was not much else to smile about at the moment so I had to savor that moment from the past.

  “I asked you for a mirror because I need to take a good look at myself.”

  “I am afraid that I just … don’t … understand.”

  “I just want to see if I look as dumb as you must think I am.”

  The prince began to stammer and stutter and sputter. He found himself in the unfamiliar position of being able to say nothing as he was truly taken aback.

  “Look, I am sure that we both know bullshit when we see it. And your Savile Row suit and Scottish accent notwithstanding, this whole deal is bullshit. And we both know it.

  “Now I mean no insult. Some of the most successful business people that I represent are hustling day and night. I just have a problem with you trying to hustle me.

  “I don’t know what our mutual friends from Ghana told you about me, but they could not have told you that I just fell off the truck from the country. Did you really think that you could just moonwalk into my office and get me to fall for this?”

  In retrospect I had to hand it to the prince. Once he had been busted he did not try to breathe life into a dead con. He knew when to hold them and he knew when to fold them.

  “Mr. Taylor, it appears that we will not be able to conduct any business today …”

  “Or any other day, my friend.”

  “I understand completely and I apologize for taking up your time. I trust that you will not be offended if I don’t finish my espresso?”

  “Under the circumstances, no offense taken. Please have a good rest of the day.”

  And with that, Prince Olajide walked out of my office and out of my life and into the record book for the top bullshit story of the year. It was the only thing that happened during that time that made me smile.

  Sonny Rollins continued to play. I continued to sip my Bombay Sapphire gin and tonic. My big dilemma was whether I should put on James Carter or Mark Whitfield next. Of course, there was always Shabba.

  At that point, on that flight, on that day, music was my salvation and my lifeline.

  CHAPTER 66

  Paul

  If I ever had a dream before …

  Samantha died exactly ten days after my meeting with the prince. It was not sudden and it was not a surprise. The doctors were very clear in their diagnosis. Nevertheless, her death was a shock that would stay with me for the rest of my life.

  A few weeks after our trip to St. Lucia, I was finally able to persuade Samantha to see a doctor about her cough and nagging throat problems. One week later she was diagnosed as having throat cancer. One month later, after intensive radiation and chemotherapy, the doctor told Samantha that she might not live to see Christmas. She barely made it to August.

  The diagnosis was a shock. The prognosis was disaster. Her death was expected. And when it came, she embraced it with grace and dignity. And I cried bitter tears alone. Again.

  First my father had died unexpectedly. Then my brother had his fatal accident. And now the love of my life was gone forever. For more than a few moments I felt as if my brain had lost its moorings and that my soul was hurtling toward eternal darkness and hopelessness. All the good works and success and money that I had didn’t mean a goddamn thing. My life was being torn apart by what? Fate? Destiny? Bad luck?

  There was nothing to do but laugh to myself as I decided on Oscar Peterson as I finished my drink. Gary, Indiana, was about a half hour away, and the coffin containing Samantha’s wonderful and gorgeous body was in the hold of the jet. I was flying in to attend her funeral in her hometown.

  As the jet continued on its sad journey through the skies over western New York State, I was glad that I had met some of her family before—her mother, father, a couple of sisters and her younger brother. But I knew that there was nothing in my life that had prepared me for the pure and exquisite agony of having to witness Samantha’s family, consumed with grief, having to bury her long before her appointed time.

  The recollection of the Prince Olajide story was the only light moment in an awful awe-filled day. By the time the plane landed in Gary with its tragic cargo, I knew that as overwhelming as my grief might be, it simply could not compare to the pain felt by her parents. A father should never have to bury his daughter. A mother should never see her child’s coffin.

  I was Samantha’s lover. In a different world and in a different time and place she would have been my wife. But my pain and loss was dwarfed by what I saw in the eyes of her mother and father. And we all wept, without shame and without control.

  The funeral services were held at Mount Nebo Zion Baptist Church in the heart of Gary. The minister was Reverend Wendell Wesley. I learned that he had been pastor of the church for thirty-five years.

  I have to confess that I have a very cynical view reserved for some black Baptist ministers. I had seen too many of them use their position as the source of spiritual guidance to take advantage of their congregation, to make money and to seduce vulnerable widows. I know that there are many ministers who truly believe in their work and are spiritually dedicated and I am sorry that their rapacious brethren diminish the reputations that they work so hard to maintain.

  I know a game when I see it, and in my mind, too many of them cared not a damn for the Bible and worshipped at the wrong altar all the time. I will always be glad, however, that I reserved judgment before meeting the pastor of Mount Nebo Zion Baptist Church.

  I will remember his eulogy for Samantha for the rest of my life. In fact, in the days and weeks after her funeral, it was Reverend Wesley’s words that would sustain me through the pain and hurt that came with the realization that I had lost her for all time.

  Indeed, it still surprises me that I can actually replay the Reverend’s entire sermon in my mind, like some kind of haunting videotape. It is not unwelcome, just haunting and beautiful, like my memories of Samantha.

  Reverend Wesley spoke in the traditional cadences of a
Baptist minister. But he did it with exquisite drama and class, and without the bombast and pretension. He was eloquent and elegant. His words over Samantha’s casket were perfect.

  Dearly beloved, and we are all beloved in the eyes of the Lord; To the Gideon family in this time of your great loss, please know that you have our prayers and that our tears flow with yours. There are times of great tragedy that can also be times of great hope. A time of great pain can also be a time of great pleasure. I know, I know, right now all you can think about is the pain. And we lift our voices to heaven and ask, where is the pleasure?

  We are here to celebrate the end of a wonderful and glorious life. And at the same time that we mourn the loss of our dear sister, our dear daughter, Samantha Gideon, we must believe, we just have to believe, that she is in a better place now. She is receiving the blessings that she so richly deserves, and the glory. She has gone home. Her father’s house has many mansions. And she is there now. That we know.

  Can I hear an amen?

  The pain and the suffering that we expect at birth is a cause for tears and sadness. But a soul has been saved, Samantha’s soul, Samantha who believed in God in her heart and soul and is experiencing the glories of paradise now. Angels are washing away all her tears and protecting her, and she will not be crying for the rest of eternity. Everybody, say amen.

  And, even as we stand before her casket, as we gaze at what is left of her presence here on earth, we are tempted to ask God, Why? Why now? Why Samantha? Why, God? Please tell me why? But you know what? We are asking the wrong question at the wrong time. I don’t believe you heard me the first time. I said, we are asking the wrong question at exactly the wrong time.

  We didn’t ask, “Why?” a beautiful child was born to wonderful and loving parents who cared for her with kindness, affection and compassion from the very first day that she was born until now.

  We didn’t ask, “Why?” she grew into a beautiful and talented woman who could charm a smile from the meanest man in town. And we didn’t ask God “Why?” she was given the voice of an angel who could sing so sweetly that she could make the monkeys come down from the trees. Can I get somebody to say amen?

  No, nobody asked “Why?” then. So how can we have the nerve to ask God “Why?” he would take her back so that she could join the heavenly choir and sing for the pleasure of all the blessed ones forever? She belongs to God. She always belonged to God. We all belong to God. We have to remember that. She didn’t belong to any of us, not even her mother and father. She always belonged to God.

  He was kind enough to let her visit us for a little while. And we must be thankful that he let one of his angels walk with us, touch us, love us, smile at us, if only for a little while. But it could never be time enough. And it was never going to be forever.

  As we remember Samantha, the warmth of our smiles should dry our tears of sadness and grief. The angel called Samantha is gone from us, for now. But in a little while, just a little while, in the twinkling of an eye, I know that we will all be listening to the sweet sounds of her voice once more. One by one, God will take us all away and we will be a part of that heavenly chorus. Even those of us who can’t sing a note here on earth … don’t worry, we will be singing in heaven.

  So let’s turn this funeral into something else. Let’s change it from a time of sadness and tears into a time of thanksgiving. Let’s change the day from one of grief to a time of wonderment and expectation and celebration of the life of Samantha Gideon.

  We are so sad that Samantha is gone. Nothing can change that. And Mr. and Mrs. Gideon, you know that this whole congregation extends its hands and hearts to you. But we also join you in giving praise to God, in giving thanks to God for the wonderful gift of having had Samantha in our lives.

  Mr. and Mrs. Gideon, we are going to grieve with you right now, but we too anticipate the day and the hour and the minute and the second and the moment when we will all stand in the glorious light of our Lord and Savior. And then we will see all our loved ones once more. Can I get an amen?

  Now I will tell you, Mr. and Mrs. Gideon, you have lost a daughter, but right now, someone has lost a sister. Someone has lost a mother or a father. Tomorrow someone will lose a wife or a son. But with God’s mercy, we will all be reunited in the sweet green pastures that are just on the other side. Some day soon. Very soon. Believe it, brothers and sisters. It is the way of God’s world. Let everybody say amen. And now, let us pray.

  For the first time in over three decades, I did pray. I didn’t pray the way they taught me in catechism or Bible school, but I prayed. I prayed to God, I prayed to That Which Is Greater Than Me. I really tried to give thanks for having had Samantha in my life.

  I prayed that Mr. and Mrs. Gideon would find some comfort at this awful time. And I prayed that somehow, some way, this loss would somehow, some way, make some sense in my life. And I prayed that it would be soon.

  CHAPTER 67

  Paul

  Shared pain—shared tears

  After the funeral, there was her burial in a cemetery not far from the church. The family had a number of people come by the house for the tradition post-funeral meal. It was a hot August day in Indiana, so a lot of the people who came by wound up eating their ham sandwiches and fried chicken on the lawn in the backyard while Mr. and Mrs. Gideon quietly and with enduring nobility received condolences from their guests in the parlor.

  I had endured the sight of Samantha’s casket being lowered into her grave. The family was kind enough to let me place a single long-stemmed purple Sterling rose on the casket. It was her favorite flower and to this day I cannot look at one without thinking of her and loving her all over again.

  When I got to the house, I waited until the appropriate time to have a few words with Mr. and Mrs. Gideon. There was not a whole lot to say. I promised to stay in touch and that I would complete the shipping of Samantha’s personal effects back to Gary. I also promised to visit again during some holiday season. And then it was time for me to go.

  I had already decided that I was simply not going to spend the night in Gary. I arranged to rent a car and drive to Chicago and catch a late evening flight back to New York.

  As it turned out, the one hour drive to O’Hare Airport was the absolute perfect therapy. I didn’t even bother to turn on the radio to listen to music. I drove in absolute silence so that I could gather my brain and organize my spirit and my thoughts.

  I thought about the last month of Samantha’s life. To say that it was brutal would be an understatement. It was beyond hell. She was never in much pain, the technology of modern medicine and pharmacology being able to do that much for her.

  But there was never any doubt that she was going to die, so once we had some kind of acceptance of that awful truth, she and I had a chance to say all the things to each other that loved ones rarely get to say before one or the other is gone. And then, of course, it is too late.

  At least we had the good fortune of knowing when the end was coming. And for that I will always be truly grateful.

  But knowing that every day was closer to our last day almost drove me out of my mind at the time. I raged at fate and God. I cried for no reason and for every good reason there was. Despite my trying not to, I kept thinking about a few words that I read in something called Five Rules of Life.

  The rules referred to the fact that, if we are lucky, we will find one person in life who will love us as much as we love them. And, if you find that person, you should do everything you can to keep that person in your life. And then I would just weep.

  And sometimes I would sit at her bedside, while she was sleeping, and I could swear that I could see her actually fading away. She started to disappear right before my very eyes.

  At the end, she passed away quietly. She just went to sleep. Just like that. Despite the pain, it’s a moment I will never forget.

  CHAPTER 68

  Paul

  Pieces of a man

  Now, driving to O’Hare Airport, on
the way back to New York, I tried to take stock of my life. I felt that I needed to take a look at myself.

  The woman that I had come to love was dead. The love of my life was gone. The woman whom I had loved, Diedre, was now a client. She had loved me, very well I believed, but now it was strictly business. At least that is what I tried to believe.

  Lisette Bailey was still a treasure and a source of pleasure and enjoyment. We both always had fun. But was there anything more? I doubted it.

  As far as Lisette was concerned, I was almost sure that it was only about fun. Her career, her life, her future, came many places ahead of anything having to do with me or any other man.

  Since Samantha had died I was sure that I wanted something more than fun. Sure, I still wanted to have fun. But I also wanted what I had with Samantha.

  There I was, forty-five years old, reasonably successful , and poised on the precipice of the greatest deal of my life. I was about to make history, and I was all alone.

  I held on to that thought as I returned the rental car and boarded my flight back to New York. I put Miles Davis’s “Kind of Blue” on my Walkman and sipped a glass of undistinguished white wine as the great American Midwest gave way to the mad cacophony of buildings, roads and people that made up the northeastern part of the U.S. beneath us.

  I thought about the love and caring and partnership that I saw Charmaine and Jerome Hardaway share and I felt the gnawing annoyance of envy looking for a grip on my soul. And as my thoughts and feelings wrestled with all of that, I found myself even believing, for a moment, that what Gordon and Kenitra Perkins had between them was a relationship worth having. As contorted and convoluted as their own reasons for being together may have been, so went my thinking, at least they had each other in their lives, and they were not alone.

  As the plane cruised under the night stars, my feelings of grief and pain took full control. Tears welled up in my eyes. Miles knew my feelings and blew them through his horn into that special place where feelings really live.