by Maryam Diaab
Terrence was tall and exuded confidence. There was something about him that made me want to jump his bones the second our eyes met. “Girl, look at him,” I said, putting my food down and smiling in his direction.
“Who?” Yvette asked, looking up. “I know you aren’t talking about that nerdy looking guy over there? He looks like a bootleg Al B. Sure,” she said turning away and grimacing in disgust.
“He is not nerdy, he’s an intellectual, and yellow guys are in, haven’t you heard? I’m going over to talk to him,” I declared, rising and straightening my skirt.
“You go right ahead, Wendy.”
And I did. I strolled over to his table and stood right in front of him. “Hi, my name is Wendy Web,” I said, dropping my given last name of Wilstink, and using the one I planned to adopt when I made it big in journalism.
“Terrence Hall.” His voice was deep and sultry. I noticed his cellular biology book and smiled even wider.
“Premed?” I asked, running my fingertips over his brand-new textbook.
“I am. This is my third year. You’re a freshman, right?”
My smile weakened slightly. “Yes. How could you tell?”
Terrence laughed lightly and glanced over at Yvette, who was looking very uninterested. “I can always tell the freshmen,” he said, looking up at me then back to Yvette, who was now sloppily eating a bean burrito, taco sauce dripping onto the wrapper in front of her. “Who’s your friend?”
With those three words, I was completely crushed but not surprised. This happened more often than not when it came to anything involving Yvette and me. We met our sophomore year of high school, and I had been in her shadow ever since. Yvette was among the best and the brightest, and I was the one always running behind her wishing that I were the one with a 4.0 GPA and the captain of the majorettes.
Men want to be with her and women want to be like her. Yvette had this aura that made people want to be around her. She’s fun, friendly and kind. Sometimes I think that Yvette is everything I’m not. Don’t get me wrong, I, Wendy Web, am definitely fabulous in my own way, but I struggle with the things that seem to come so naturally to Yvette. Her skin is clear and glowing, while I have to spend one hundred dollars a week to obtain the same healthy complexion. Yvette can eat any and everything she wants, and I have to work out three times a week to look half as good as she does.
I looked from Yvette to Terrence that day twelve years ago and wanted to cry. In my mind, things always came down to Yvette versus Wendy, and this was a prime example. What did she need Terrence for?
“Her name is Yvette, and she has a boyfriend,” I said with the stankest attitude I could muster. What I told Terrence wasn’t exactly the truth. Yvette and Corey were taking a break, seeing what was out there and exploring their options, but I didn’t want Yvette exploring her options with Terrence. Though I didn’t know much about him, I knew enough to realize that he was perfect for me.
“Okay, my fault. Just wanted to know,” he said, keeping his eyes on Yvette.
Terrence and I did not exchange numbers that day. I could tell that he was into Yvette, and even though I was used to this scenario, I would not accept, under any circumstances, her rejects.
Three weeks later Yvette called and declared that she was in love with a premed student named Terrence Hall. I couldn’t believe my ears and wanted to slam down the phone and never talk to her again. She was my friend, my best friend, and she was in love with a man who was meant for me. But I got over it quickly after I met the quarterback of the football team. And though I pretended to believe Yvette when she told me that she had no idea who Terrence was, I’ve never forgotten what happened so many years ago. When I was eighteen I thought of Terrence as Yvette’s reject, but now I considered him an encore.
Because Yvette is so predictable and driven, she has now given me the perfect opportunity to take back what should rightfully be mine. I love Yvette, I really do, but I am sick and tired of being her sidekick, the Robin to her Batman. Her moving to Nashville and leaving Terrence behind, helpless, is just asking for trouble. What man can resist a home-cooked meal and an innocent massage when his woman has abandoned him?
Yvette
6
Nashville. It is the most beautiful, friendly, laid-back city I have ever seen. I’ve been here for three weeks and, aside from Terrence wanting me to come home every weekend to take care of his needs, my life couldn’t be better.
The first time Terrence asked me to come home he had me believing he actually missed my company. “This is a big adjustment for me, Yvette,” he told me during one of our nightly telephone conversations. “I think the transition would be much easier for both of us if you could visit on the weekends.” Terrence offered to pay the plane fare, but I was still uncomfortable with the idea of visiting Detroit so frequently.
“Terrence, I just got here. Don’t you think it would be a better idea if you came to see me? That way you could see my new apartment and meet some of my new colleagues.”
The staff at Nashville Prep had been wonderful. Upon my arrival, the faculty welcomed me with open arms, hosting a luncheon in my honor. I had even been invited to a few after school events, happy hour and movie night, which shocked the shit out of me. It is very uncommon for members of the administration to socialize with teachers.
“I really don’t have a problem with that, but I’m on call this weekend.” So, like a lovesick fool, I quickly threw some necessities together and hightailed it to Detroit.
As it turned out he was at the hospital the entire weekend delivering babies and dealing with difficult patients, and I was stuck at home fluffing and folding, cooking and cleaning. When Terrence finally came home after sixteen hours at the hospital, he claimed that he couldn’t go one more second without feeling my body next to his. We then had a whopping two minutes of the worst sex I’d ever experienced and then, predictably, he rolled over and fell asleep. I spent the remainder of that evening lying on the couch, tears rolling down my face. I was devastated and ready to go back to Nashville, but I wasn’t surprised. This was typical Terrence, always thinking about himself. No one else was as important as he was. Ever.
The following weekend Terrence called, begging me to get on a plane and visit him. “I’m not on call because I found another doctor to cover for me. I’ve got reservations and I’ve planned a romantic evening out. If you don’t come, everything will be ruined,” he whined like a baby, causing me to wonder what I had ever seen in him in the first place.
“I am not coming to Detroit after that mess you pulled last weekend. If you want to see me, then you come here.” He came and complained the entire time. He didn’t like the humidity, and he thought every white person who crossed his path was staring. “I cannot wait to get out of Hicksville,” he said the night before his departure. “I know you won’t be here for long. There is absolutely nothing to do unless you like country music, are one hundred years old or in college.”
“That’s what I like about it, Terrence. Everything is so slow and calm. I appreciate the opportunity to be with my thoughts.”
“Are you serious?” he asked in disbelief. “You sound like one of those new age Bohemian chicks. A month from now, you’re liable to cut off all your hair and stop wearing deodorant!”
Needless to say, this weekend we will both be at our separate places of residence. I was excited about finally being alone, beginning my journey to find myself; it is what I came to Nashville for. As Wendy so harshly pointed out a few weeks ago, I often chose to do what others expected of me. In Nashville I promised myself to begin concentrating on finding the real Yvette, and doing what makes me happy.
But as the school’s twenty-two-year-old secretary came into my newly renovated office, I realized the weekend was still two days away and I still had work to do.
“Ms. Brooks, there is a guy in the office who says he’s supposed to observe you. He goes to Tennessee State.” Her eyes were bright and sparkling, her smile stretching from ear
to ear. She ran her hand through her short Halle Berry-styled hair.
“Oh, right. I forgot all about that.” Last week I agreed to have an honors education student shadow me one day a week for four weeks. The project was part of the university’s methods requirements. “Now I’m going to have to create something exciting to do so he won’t have to sit in my office for the next hour and watch me make phone calls. Maybe I can find someone to suspend. That’s always interesting,” I joked, looking up from my computer screen. I caught Jordan peeking around the door corner and back into the front office before jumping back, looking extremely guilty.
“What are you so excited about?” I asked, picking up a stack of unfinished teacher-evaluation forms and heading for the open door.
“Wait until you see this guy, Ms. Brooks!” she whispered excitedly. “He is, without a doubt, the best-looking man I have ever seen.”
I looked at her skeptically. “How many men have you seen in your twenty-two years, Jordan?”
“Enough to know that he should be a model or something.” Jordan led me into the front office, and with a grand sweep of her hand and a soft giggle, introduced me to my shadow for the next hour.
“Good morning,” I said cheerfully without looking up. When I did, my breath caught in my throat, followed by a soft gasp. I realized that not only had Jordan been accurate in her assessment of his looks but she may have actually underplayed them a little. He introduced himself as Ajani Riley in a voice so deep and sexy that I almost wanted to scream. I felt as if I was standing before a god among men. His face was a golden bronze color, and he looked to be about six feet, three inches tall. Ajani wore his jet black, wavy hair faded to perfection. He wore a long-sleeved button-down shirt, slacks and shoes color coordinated in various shades of gray and blue. He was young, probably about nineteen or twenty, despite his neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. Ajani Riley took my breath away.
I was shocked and embarrassed when my heart started to beat faster and I felt my cheeks start to warm up. This was a child, a college student, and I was a thirty-four-year-old almost-married woman. I was not allowed to have this type of reaction, but I couldn’t help myself. He was perfect.
I looked over at Jordan, who was now studiously filing papers. Our eyes met and she gave me a smile that said she knew that I was smitten by Mr. Riley as well. It was probably written all over my face.
“Should we get started? I’m going to evaluate a teacher today,” I told Ajani, in a higher-than-normal voice. We left the office and walked to the school’s English wing, our footsteps echoing on the freshly waxed linoleum floors. “I can give you a copy of the form I use so that you can do your own evaluation. If we finish a little early we can go back to my office to compare notes.”
“How long have you been here?” Ajani asked me as we walked along. His voice traveled under my clothing and tugged at my underwear.
“I just arrived from Detroit Prep, our sister school. I was…” I stuttered, more nervous around him then I had ever been around any man. “I-I was a lead teacher there and received a promotion.” He wasn’t looking at me; he was looking through me, and the simple action sent chills up and down my spine.
“So you’re new to Nashville. How do you like it so far?” We exited the main hallway and entered the English wing, with Ajani holding the door for me and, if I wasn’t mistaken, guiding me through with his hand on the small of my back. His touch sent my mind reeling, making me wonder how quickly he could unsnap my bra.
“I’m really enjoying my time here. Everyone’s very friendly and easygoing. Even though I do get lonely with my fiancé being back in Detroit, I like the laziness of the city.” I was rambling and immediately regretted mentioning that I was engaged, although I wasn’t sure why.
“Engaged, huh? I didn’t notice a ring when we shook hands.” His comment was innocent enough, but somewhere below the surface I detected a bit of disappointment in his voice.
“Sometimes it bothers my finger, so I don’t wear it all the time.” I didn’t understand the need I felt to explain myself to him, but there it was; I didn’t want any confusion between us.
“This town isn’t as lazy as you think. Have you had a chance to go out at all?” He was obviously flirting with me and didn’t seem to have any shame whatsoever. Didn’t I just tell the child that I was a soon-to-be married woman?
“Not really.” My mouth spoke even though my brain screamed ‘Be quiet!’ This was not the professional conversation that I was supposed to be having. I was supposed to be summarizing my duties as an assistant principal and giving him a rundown on what a typical school day for me was like. I needed to get back in control. Quickly.
I led Ajani into Mrs. Lawson’s class, pulling a chair for him from the back of the room. As Mrs. Lawson began teaching her lesson on idioms, I felt Ajani’s eyes on me. I became overly aware of what I was wearing, the length of my close-fitting black skirt and how low-cut my purple V-necked sweater was. Every time I looked up from the evaluation form, Ajani’s eyes were boring into mine, a sly smile on his face. Damn, he was sexy. Damn!
I sat back and thought of the last time Terrence was in Nashville. He’d complained half the time and ignored me the other. I wondered what he would think of this young boy giving me all this attention.
Jotting down some notes regarding Mrs. Lawson’s classroom-management style, I sneaked another look at Ajani. His gaze followed the length of my exposed leg, licking his lips on the way up.
An electric tingle shot through my body, causing me to shake my head and close my eyes. This was ridiculous.
Forty-five minutes later, Ajani and I left the classroom and headed down the hall back to my office. “So what did you think?” I asked, smiling professionally.
“I definitely like what I see.”
“Excuse me?” I said, trying to keep my voice level.
“In the classroom. I like what I saw in Mrs. Lawson’s room. She’s an excellent teacher.”
I relaxed a bit, though I was pretty sure there was a double meaning behind his comment. “She is an excellent teacher.”
Ajani and I stood at the entrance to the main office face to face. He was at least six inches taller than I, and his lips looked so soft…
“So I guess I’ll see you next week,” Ajani said, flashing that perfect smile again.
“Right, next week,” I answered, attempting to keep my composure intact, my tone light.
“I can’t wait,” he said. Winking, he smiled and walked away.
* * *
Something was seriously wrong with me. I woke up this morning all twisted in the covers and sweaty with thoughts not of my fiancé back in Detroit, but of Ajani. I dreamt of him all night, and in those dreams we were doing things to each other that would make a porn star blush. I woke up wondering if he would be as good in real life as he was in my dreams and then cussed myself out for wondering about him at all.
Since we met two days ago, I have thought of little else. I found out that Ajani was only twenty-one years old. That’s an age difference of thirteen years, making my thoughts even more appalling. For a few hours after I met him, I thought that I was overreacting, that Terrence and I being apart, compounded by our still-unresolved relationship problems was causing me to completely lose my mind. But as those few hours turned into days and I couldn’t stop thinking about him, I began to worry.
“Ms. Brooks, you have a surprise in your office,” Jordan said, wearing her usual hundred-watt smile and bursting with energy, making me feel my thirty-four years that much more.
I stepped into my office and was greeted by the biggest, most beautiful bouquet of Casablanca lilies I had ever seen. I tossed my bag on the cream-colored chaise in the corner and grabbed the small card from the flowers. I expected to see an I love you with Terrence’s name scrawled on the bottom, but after extracting the card from the envelope, I realized that my expectation was way off. Way, way off.
In case you would like a break from work or the lazy da
ys of Nashville, give me a call.
555-1432
Ajani Riley
“Your fiancé is so sweet,” Jordan said as she came into my office, clearly impressed. She went over to my desk and inhaled the bouquet’s heady scent. “I really hope I can find someone like that when I’m ready to settle down,” she gushed.
Staring at the card, I blinked rapidly, hoping that the signature on the bottom of the card would magically change.
“So I guess you’re going to visit him this weekend?”
“Who?” I asked, by now distracted.
“Your fiancé. You know, the one who sent you the flowers.”
I folded the card and palmed it. “No, I’m staying here for a change,” I said, still in something of a fog.
“Well, call me if you want to do anything.” Jordan left and closed the door behind her.
Opening my hand, I smoothed the card. Reading it over and over again, I found myself looking for any evidence that this was an innocent gesture from a young man with an obvious crush. I stared at the card for several minutes before reluctantly concluding that Ajani was hardly innocent. It was painfully obvious that he knew what he wanted and wasn’t shy about going after it.
I couldn’t deny my attraction to him, but I knew that what I felt wasn’t okay. My wedding was now less than six months away, and if I gave into the feeling I was having then I wouldn’t be any better than Terrence. Everyone loved Terrence. My grandmother. Wendy. Everyone. There was absolutely no way I was going to screw up my life because some delicious-looking college student sent me flowers.
I took the card and dropped it into the shredder, watching as the silver blades turned it into confetti.
Ajani
7
“I’ve met my future wife,” I announced giddily to my brothers, who were at the kitchen at our father’s home in Memphis. Both were eating massive bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches. Identical, in every sense of the word, Jabari and Dakari looked a lot like me. They had the same chiseled Riley chin, dark eyes, and wavy hair. At five feet, ten inches, they were several inches shorter than I was.
