Sunday Brunch

by Norma L. Jarrett

  “New York.” I said. “Capri's from New York.”

  “Are you serious? Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “No problem. Capri's my girl. And you know, she isn't as cold as she seems. She just tends to be cautious around men that she meets.”

  “Yeah, I know, I've seen her before.”

  “At Etienne's?”

  “Yeah, and my lawyer works at her firm,” he said. “I was up there a couple of weeks ago going over some business, and I asked about her. I couldn't get much information except her name and that she seemed to be single. She looks like a very sharp sister.”

  “Yes, she is, but she's very private.”

  “Well, tell me, what would be my best approach?”

  “That I don't know. She's not too fond of athletes.”

  “Wonderful,” he said, throwing up his hands. “Well, I can't change who I am, but I'm not going to give up till she has a chance to get to know me. It's out of her hands now,” he said as he winked.

  My heart melted. I could still hear a little trace of New York in his voice. Stuff like this never happens to me.

  “In the meantime, put in a good word for me, alright?” He squeezed my hand, got up, and then walked off quickly to dodge another female admirer coming his way. He dashed through a side exit. Capri and Jermane were still on the dance floor. Jewel and Angel were talking to a couple of guys at the bar. I danced with the next guy who asked.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ewel stretched out on her sofa, feeling the buttery-soft leather rub against her skin. She admired the long legs and flat stomachs of the dancers on Soul Train. One girl's hair danced as hard as she did, reminding Jewel that she needed to touch up her own weave.

  From the couch, she surveyed a pile of letters on top of the coffee table. She strategically pulled a clothes catalog from between the unopened bills and started flipping through the pages.

  She scanned the living room and began the almost daily ritual of admiring her own taste, going from the love seat made of supple Italian leather, to the buffed hardwood floors partially covered with a sheepskin rug, to the coffee table's wrought iron legs. Then she turned to her matching glass cabinets with strategically placed collectibles of porcelain African American women, a china plate hand painted with her sorority shield, and an ivory statue of a man and woman embracing.

  Just as she jumped up to go to the kitchen, the doorbell rang.

  “Who's that, unannounced?” she wondered.

  As she rushed to the door, she remembered she had her Saturday morning no-frills look going on. Her hair was pulled back with a headband, and she wore a T-shirt, boxer shorts, and ankle socks. She peeked out the window to see who it might be.

  “Package for Ms. Jewel Whitaker,” a uniformed man said. He noticed the eyes peering from behind the curtains.

  Jewel opened the door, feeling less worried about her appearance since it was only a deliveryman.

  “Yeah, that's me,” she said.

  “So how are you?” he said, revealing a soft smile.

  “Can't complain,” she said, not looking directly at him.

  As he stood there filling out the form, she slyly took in his frame. He wasn't very tall. He only looked to be around 5′6″ or 5′7″, but he was built. His tan skin glistened in the sun. She also noticed that his calves were built and that his shorts fit his thighs nicely. His crisp shirt was firmly tucked in his shorts and his sleeves were slightly rolled up. He had a clean-shaven face and his hair was cut so low that he was almost bald. He had long eyelashes and very friendly eyes.

  “Can you please sign here, ma'am?”

  “Ma'am? I'm not that old,” Jewel said.

  “Nothing personal. Just being polite,” he said. “Well, that does it. Have a good day,” he said, handing her a receipt.

  “Yeah, well you have a good day, too,” she said, feeling almost cheated because he didn't ask for her number.

  “By the way,” he announced with a slight grin as he reached the door of his truck, “you're a very attractive lady.”

  “Oh, thank you. You have a real good day,” Jewel said. After she watched him drive off, she refocused on the package, trying to remember what she'd ordered.

  “I see he didn't bother to ask for those digits,” a familiar voice taunted.

  Jewel turned to her right and noticed the tall frame of her neighbor, Toliver.

  “He wasn't my type,” Jewel insisted.

  “Evidently, you weren't his either,” he said as he bent down to pick up his Saturday paper.

  “Don't worry. He wasn't yours either,” she quipped.

  “Let you tell it,” he said, as he rolled his eyes. “Anyway, what's been going on?”

  “Not much. You know, same old routine.”

  “It's rare to see you here on a Saturday morning. No sugar daddies lately?”

  “Toliver, mind your business. I haven't seen you with any new business lately either.”

  “That's because I'm more private with my business.”

  “Right. Anyway, I don't have time for this … I'll talk to you later,” she said, and slammed the door.

  She walked in, tore open the package, and gazed upon the pink satin sheets she'd ordered. She threw the package to the side. She plopped back on the couch and watched the Soul Train credits roll up the screen. Her thoughts moved to the man who had just delivered her package. She flashed back to his chest and how she wanted to see more than what the top of his shirt revealed. She looked at the receipt on top of the package and noticed his signature-Kevin Eastland.

  “What am I doing? He is not rich enough for me,” she muttered. She grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels, wondering how she could see Kevin again. She parked the screen on the home-shopping channel. She watched as the model demonstrated how to use a small appliance. She immediately felt the urge to order a bagel slicer.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ood mornin' Lord. Thanks for another day. Forgive me for my sins. Sorry about missing my tithes last week, but my ten percent will be in the basket tomorrow, most definitely. Bless my family and friends. Help Jermane to calm down. And please look out for my dad. Please send him a nice woman, someone sweet, kind, fun, spiritual … BUT he doesn't necessarily need to marry her. (I know I'm being selfish. Please help me work on that.) In Jesus' name, Amen.

  The phone rang.

  It happens every time. At least I got a chance to finish my prayer.

  “Hey girl …”

  “What's up, Jewel?”

  “Wanted to see if you wanted to go to the mall today. Nordstrom's is having a one-day sale,” she said in an almost orgasmic voice.

  “I can't. I have to go into the office for a little while and then I just need to relax after that.” I didn't want to tell her that I was on a tight budget and would only be able to window shop.

  “Oh, well, don't be mad at me if I get all the good merchandise,” Jewel said.

  “I won't. I'll see you tomorrow at church,” I said.

  What am I doing? This self-employment is starting to wear on me. I need something to motivate me. I'm falling into a slump. I'm tired of budgeting. Tired of not being able to shop. Tired, tired, tired!

  I reminded myself that I'd just prayed.

  The phone rang again.

  Here we go again. I'm never going to be able to get out the door.

  I let the answering machine get it.

  “Lexi, it's me, Jermane. Pick up, please.”

  “What's up? You sound stressed.”

  “Yeah, I am, kind of. Lexi, Rex and I got into it last night.”

  “Really, what happened?”

  “Well, I told you he didn't mind if I went out, but when I came in so late and had alcohol on my breath, he got really upset. I've never seen him like that before. And do you know what the wildest part is?”

  “What?”

  “That's the most reaction I've gotten out of him for the past year. I was almost happy that he was mad, be
cause at least he was showing some emotion,” Jermane said.

  “He didn't try to hit you or anything, did he?”

  “No, Rex would never do anything like that. He just yelled a little.”

  “Maybe he'll start realizing that he needs to spend more time with you.”

  “I hope so,” she said.

  “Last night was really a trip. I've never seen you act like that, Jermane.”

  “I know. I couldn't believe it myself. I was really out of order.”

  “Well, it's OK. We have to let our hair down every now and then,” I said.

  “Do you have time for a quick bite to eat?” she asked.

  “Umm, for a friend in distress, yes,” I said, remembering I'd just turned Jewel's shopping invitation down. “I was going to head into the office, but I can connect with you for a bit. Where do you want to meet?”

  “The Java Stop.”

  “Sounds good to me. Give me about 20 minutes to get there,” I said, looking at my watch.

  “OK. See you in a minute, dear,” Jermane said.

  On the way, I felt a little guilty for accepting Jermane's invitation for lunch instead of Jewel's invite. But I just didn't have time for an all-day shopping excursion with Jewel. She lives for one-day sales. Between fighting the mall crowds and Jewel's limited conversation, I'd be worn out for sure. Besides, Jermane had some real issues. Time spent with her would be more constructive. I loved them both, but I had to be in the mood to deal with L'il Miss Shopaholic.

  However, with Jewel it's been drama from day one. She and I first met in the financial aid center at West-wood. I walked in the office right behind Jewel. We both sat down.

  I looked at her and thought I had her figured out before she opened her mouth. It was August, the hottest month of the year in Houston. Nonetheless, her hair, done in long sister curls, and her makeup were flawless. She had on a floral skirt, tight white tank top, and red sandals with a heel higher than I would've worn to law school. Plus her chandelier earrings were a little too much.

  Oh, boy. Probably somebody's spoiled little daughter. What kind of clients is she going to represent?

  Just as I was about to make conversation with her-only because I felt obligated-someone at the counter called out, “Jewel Whitaker, we're ready to see you.” She got up.

  About five seconds later, I saw Jewel's neck rolling and her finger pointing at the woman behind the counter.

  “What do you mean my money isn't ready yet?” Jewel said. “Get me the financial aid director. I don't know what he thinks this is, but I'm paying his salary! I don't know why you people are going to make me act Black. This is stress I don't need!”

  “Ms. Whitaker, calm down, please,” said the lady behind the counter.

  “Calm down? Calm down? I have no books, no money for rent or food, and I'm getting a migraine,” she said as she dramatically placed her hand on her temples.

  “Ms. Whitaker, it does say in the school financial aid packet that you should be prepared to pay for your living expenses by other means if your financial aid is delayed.”

  “If I could do that, I wouldn't need financial aid in the first place,” Jewel said, staring the woman right in the eye and gritting her teeth.

  “Okay, just please remain calm. We're doing the best we can to facilitate the process. Mr. Bronsen, the director, is taking names for appointments so you can find out the reason for the delay. The wait will be about an hour. In the meantime, we can give you credit at the bookstore to get your books. Once again, I'm sorry for the delay,” she said in a less-than-sincere tone.

  “Whatever. I'll wait, because you people will give me some financial aid TODAY!” Jewel said. She rolled her eyes and sat back down.

  What a performance!

  “Are you all right, girl?” I asked. Her eyes were watering.

  “Yeah. I just don't need this extra stress.”

  “I know what you mean. I'm from out of town, and I wasn't prepared for this at first. Are you a second year, too?” I asked.

  “Yes, one year closer to freedom. All my friends are working real jobs, having fun. I can't believe I signed up for all this stress. It is horrible for my skin,” she said, pulling out her compact.

  “It can get rough sometimes,” I said.

  She put away her compact and extended her hand. “I've seen you before. I'm Jewel Whitaker.”

  “I'm Lexi.” I shook her hand.

  We sat on that couch for about two hours waiting to speak with the financial aid director. By the time it was over, I felt like Jewel was a long-lost friend. She was entertaining. Underneath her wanna-be attitude, she had a good heart.

  Even though she seemed ditzy, she was actually pretty smart. I eventually came to realize she just uses her brain a little too selectively at times. To this day, I can't figure out how she got one of the highest grades in Tax Law, one of our hardest classes, but almost failed research, which is a guaranteed A to most students.

  My memories of Jewel faded as I pulled into the parking lot of the Java Stop and recognized Jermane's car. I walked in.

  The Java Stop is a trendy coffee place where eclectic and eccentric people hang out. Mostly artists, musicians, and more mature students stop in for coffee and bagels. Jermane had already found a corner.

  “Hey, bud,” I said.

  “Hello, dear.” She greeted me with a light kiss on my cheek and a slight embrace.

  Her eyes looked puffy, like she hadn't gotten enough rest the night before. Her face was bare, without her usual lipstick. Her normally relaxed look was replaced with a slightly wrinkled forehead.

  Our waitress walked over and placed a basket of mini-muffins on the table. We ordered French roasted coffee.

  “I'm so glad you were able to make it,” Jermane said. She took a deep breath.

  “No problem. So what's up?”

  “Well, I think … Lexi, I really need to talk.” She looked around as if someone might be trying to eavesdrop on our conversation.

  “Lexi, I'm really starting to feel like I'm in this marriage alone. I don't want to give up on it, but I just feel like Rex has his priorities all wrong. I've never felt more alone in my life. He keeps saying that he's working so hard for us. Although I've been telling him how I feel, it just doesn't seem to register with him. It's like he's somebody else-not my husband. I know money is important to a certain degree, I mean for security and things, but I would give anything just to have my husband back.”

  I placed one of my hands on top of hers

  “I just want us to spend time together,” she continued, “to lie in the bed in the mornings and not do anything and just hold each other. My life is so routine, almost a drudgery. I'm tired of it!”

  Her words were coming out fast, contrary to her usual perfectly paced diction.

  She must've been holding this in for awhile.

  “Have you thought about going to counseling?”

  “Like a therapist? Lexi, we're not that bad off. We're not crazy. And I don't need some person I barely know in my business, trying to give me some textbook solution to my marital issues.”

  “I think a lot of people feel that way, especially Black people, because we're always taught to be strong and weather the storm,” I said. “I don't mean to just talk to anyone. There are a lot of good counselors out there who have a strong spiritual foundation. Besides, they have to be confidential. It wouldn't hurt to try. I'm just sayin', it's an option.”

  “I guess I never thought seriously about it,” Jermane said.

  “Sometimes when you can't work out things within yourself or in a relationship, it may take an experienced third party to help sort things out.”

  “That makes sense.”

  The waitress brought our coffee over. I savored the morning medicine I always craved. In between sips, I caught the back of a waiter who somehow seemed familiar.

  “Jermane, I think I know that guy over there. He looks familiar.”

  Jermane focused her attention toward
a table a few feet away from us. His back was facing us. He was tall and muscular and had on jeans that were slightly worn with a white polo shirt. He wore the same multicolored apron as the rest of the employees. Almost as if on cue, he turned around and glanced at our booth.

  “Oh, no! It's Black Zorro,” Jermane said. “How is it possible we're running into him?!? God, I hope he doesn't recognize us.”

  I felt almost as flustered as Jermane. What were the odds that we'd casually run into a stripper on the day after his show?

  He flashed a sly smile of recognition at us. Zorro looked like the type of man that could make a woman lose her mind. Some men just have that kind of appeal. It's like they release some kind of chemical that lets you know that they can make your body do remarkable things. It has nothing to do with merely being cute. Whatever it was, Zorro had it.

  He didn't come over, sparing us further embarrassment. After we downed our coffee, we quietly slipped out of the café. I caught Zorro staring out the window at Jermane. She looked back as well.

  I can't deal with any more drama. Rex is going to have to get on his job.

  I thought about how sensible Jermane was and how much she loved Rex. For as long as I'd known her, I'd never seen her use terrible judgment. But I'd never seen her in a state like this before, either. I held onto my faith that she would do the right thing.

  She's just going through a phase. Lord, help us all. When we're weak, you're strong.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ermane paced back and forth as she stared out of the bay window. She turned around and cased the room as if she were a thief, trying to determine which prize to take and which to leave behind. She looked into the face of a Black woman that stood out on a painting on the wall. The woman looked as if she was one of the turn of the century's elite-regally attired in a crimson gown with a black hat and a large feather to top it off. She stood solemnly at the side of her man, who was dressed in a black pinstriped suit.

  Jermane despised this picture, but never told Rex, who loved it. She decided that she would take it down, but later. She took off her shoes and fell backward on the sofa. As she sank deeper into the cushions, she realized that this was the first time she'd actually realized how comfortable the sofa was.