So Nana Rue spent most of her career touring Europe, finding much of her success in Paris, where she married a fellow black actor and gave birth to my father before being forced to return home to Harlem in 1948 when my father was just two months old. By that time, the Renaissance that had what Nana Rue called “spectators and speculators” roaming the streets of Harlem had all but left. She and my grandfather, who died a few years ago, settled back into the home she’d always loved and took on new roles by new Negro writers with new Negro attitudes. Bringing to life their depictions of Negro culture, in all its defiance and resilience, was an honor even Nana Rue couldn’t turn down.
Though she stopped touring decades ago, Nana Rue still took on small parts from time to time to “keep her blood young.” Everyone in the business knew her, and most of her shows were completely sold out during the first week. When Julian and I had started dating, he’d begged to meet Nana Rue and said he had to see her perform before, God forbid, she left this earth and her legacy behind. Laughing, I informed him that there was no way that feisty firecracker of a woman was going anywhere anytime soon.
Before Tasha stepped into the elevator, she gave me a few last-minute pointers about step one. “Block your number when you call,” she said. “You want this to be a sneak attack. You don’t want him to be prepared or he’ll close up. Also, you don’t want him to know where you are. He shouldn’t think you’re sitting at home waiting for him to call. Avoid talking about the breakup, only saying that you’re fine and you want to be friends. Say you agree with him about the split and that you’ve just been too busy to call. Then, after he agrees to come to the reception with you, make sure you make it clear that you’re meeting him there. Tell him you’re having dinner beforehand and you may get ‘tied up.’ This will not only make him wonder whom you’re dining with, but also reinforce the friends thing—only couples arrive at places together. And last,” Tasha went on after reapplying her lip gloss, “the final and most important point is that you must hang up the phone first. Are you listening, Troy?” I nodded my head. “You have to rush him off of the phone. This will keep you in control of things. Don’t allow the conversation to get too deep. That’ll lead to an emotional disaster. You don’t want that.” Tasha stepped back and gave me a quick once-over. “You’ll be fine, Ms. Lovesong. Go get your man back.” She blew me a kiss. “Good luck.” She pressed the button for the elevator, and she and Tamia and their pink Puma sweat suits disappeared.
The sun woke me up the next morning. After spending the night stuffing my face with Chinese food and cheap wine, I slept like a baby until the midmorning sun came blazing through my blinds. I ran over the night’s events in my head, recalling Tasha’s news, and climbed out of bed. My situation with Julian seemed so small compared to the journey Tasha was about to begin as a mother. Within the small amount of time I’d spent with the girls at the community center, I’d learned one thing about children: They’re hard work. I couldn’t even imagine having one of my own. It was an insane idea, but as Tamia and I explained to Tasha after she finally came out of the bathroom, we would support her decision.
I rolled over and looked at the time. 10:37 a.m. It was time to make the call. I had to be at the settlement to meet with the girls by noon, and I wanted to call Julian before I left. I picked up the phone and pressed speed dial 1—Julian’s cell. The phone was just about to ring but I hung up. I threw the phone on the bed. I wasn’t ready. I missed Julian, but I wasn’t ready. How was I supposed to talk to him without bringing up Miata? I couldn’t act like she didn’t just answer his phone. What the hell was I going to say?
Okay, courage. You need to have courage, Troy, I reasoned with myself. I picked the phone back up and looked at it. “I have to have courage,” I said aloud. I got out of my bed and turned on the radio. I wanted to play music so Julian would think I was someplace having a good time—yeah, right, at 10 in the morning. An old Jay-Z song was playing. Good enough. As long as it wasn’t Donny Hathaway. He’d think I was really losing my mind then. I blocked my number and dialed his cell. Round two.
“Julian James,” he said, answering on the third ring. He sounded kind of tired. Maybe even sad.
“Hey…um. Hey. It’s Troy.”
“Troy, wow. Hi.” He actually perked up when he heard my voice. “How are you?”
“I’m fine. I’m on my way to teach my class at the center,” I managed.
“Oh, yeah, the ballet class, right?”
He still remembered my schedule! Okay, calm down, Troy. It’s only been a few days.
“Yeah,” I said.
“I wanted to call you, Troy,” Julian whispered into the phone. I could tell by the people talking loudly in the background that he was walking through the hospital. “I wanted to say I was sorry for the other day. About how I acted. There are just some things going on.”
I was thinking: What things? What things? Come clean, fool! Come clean now and we can kill the trick together!
But I said: “Oh, it’s fine, Julian. Really. That’s why I’m calling. I wanted to tell you that it’s okay.” Light as a feather, I reminded myself. “I’m actually glad you did what you did. I agree with you.”
“You agree?”
“Yeah. I mean, I could use some space too, with school and everything. I’m very busy,” I said.
“You’re busy? It’s been, like, three days since the breakup.”
“Yeah, well, I’m very busy.” I couldn’t believe he was making me sound so…available.
“Cool, I guess,” Julian said awkwardly. I had him right where I wanted him. Tasha was right. It was working.
“In fact,” I went on, “I want to be friends.”
“Friends?” He sounded like someone had dropped a ton of bricks on his Benz. “What are you talking about, baby?”
Let me just say here: There should be some kind of rule about men calling you “baby” after a breakup. It’s kind of like playing the wild card in Uno—if you use it enough, you can’t lose. He had no right to call me “baby”…but I confess, I liked it.
“What I’m talking about, Julian, is us moving on as friends.”
“Are you okay, Troy? This isn’t like you,” Julian said. “To be honest, and don’t take this the wrong way, I expected you to be a bit more upset and less…well…breezy about all of this. It’s kind of scary.”
“Ju Ju.” I used his childhood nickname, knowing he hated that. “We’re cool. There’s no reason to panic. In fact, I wanted to invite you to a reception for my Nana Rue’s new play this Saturday. It’s in Harlem at the Harambee Theatre.”
“Oh, I really don’t know if that’s a good idea. So soon.”
A good idea? What in the hell did he mean “a good idea”? But then I reminded myself: Light as a feather. Light as a feather.
“Well, that’s fine. I’ll just speak to you later, then,” I said, wanting to toss the phone in the toilet. It was the “lightest” thing I could think of. Then, just as I was about to say goodbye…
“Wait. I’ll go,” Julian cut in. “You’re right, Troy. We can be friends, and I’ve always wanted to meet Rue. So I guess this is my chance. When and what time?”
“Well, it’s next Saturday at 7 p.m.”
“Cool. I’ll pick you up at your place?” he asked.
“No…” I remembered Tasha’s instructions. I wanted him to come pick me up so badly. Maybe he’d come upstairs for a drink…maybe we’d end up in bed and…Oh shit! Who am I fooling? “No, I need to meet you there,” I said. “I have a dinner thing before and I may be a little late, so it’s best if I catch up with you at the theater.” I struggled not to sound like I was reading a script.
“Well, okay,” Julian said, obviously a bit thrown with my suggestion. “I guess we’re set, then.”
“Yeah, we’re set.” I smiled, thinking of his hazel eyes. For one moment I thought I’d never see them again.
“I’m really happy we’re”—he stopped and there was a short, lingering, utterly pa
inful silence—“doing this thing and I—”
“You know, Julian, I’m late and I have to go.” I cut him off. I had to cut him off. I felt the silence Tasha was talking about. We were about to start talking about “us.”
“Damn, girl. Can a brother get a second?” He chuckled.
“I’m serious, Julian. I need to go. Chat with you later.” I hung up the phone before he could respond and threw it on the bed. I did it. Step one was in full effect. I just had to keep my mouth shut. Now it was time for a little bit of change…but I had to get through the rest of the weekend alone first. As the plan said, I had to go on with my life.
“You called him?” Tamia asked, taking a seat next to me in class on Monday morning. To my surprise Saturday and Sunday had flown by without a kink. I had a lot of studying to do since I’d missed three full days of class, and I was able to keep Julian out of my mind by burying my nose in my books. I took Pookie Po to the doggie gym and got to work.
I ignored Tamia’s question, continuing to go over the case notes I’d spent the weekend compiling. I knew the suspense would kill her.
“Well, did you?” she asked again.
“Tamia, I’m trying to study,” I said, trying to sound as lame as possible. “Class starts in fifteen minutes and I really need to catch up.”
“Heifer, don’t play with me.” Tamia slammed a pen on her desk. “Tell me everything, blow by blow.” She waved the pen in front of me as if it was a fork she was about to dig into a big slice of pie. “I wants the dish…I needs the dish.”
“Okay, okay.” I turned to her. I felt like I was back in high school, sitting in the back of the classroom gossiping about my first date with Adam Ramsey, the captain of the basketball team. “I’ll tell you everything.”
“I’m so happy for you, girl.” Tamia smiled at me after I’d given her the details. “I’m happy this is going how you want it to, so far.”
“I thought you hated the plan, Tamia.”
“Well, I still think it’s ridiculous and all that. I mean, you can’t make anyone love you, but Tasha was right. If you really believe this man loves you, which I do believe is true, then do whatever will make you happy. No one wants to spend the rest of their lives wondering what would’ve happened if they did this, that, or the other. I’m your friend and I’ll be here for you.” Tamia locked her eyes on mine. “And if things don’t work out the way you’d planned and you need a shoulder to cry on, I’ll still be here.”
“Oh, Tamia. That’s so sweet. Thank you.” I reached over the space between our desks and hugged her.
Tamia opened her bag and put her notebook and a recorder on the desk.
“And as crazy as the plan is, it’s exactly why I admire Tasha,” she said.
“How so?”
“I know I can be hard on her, but Tasha’s a fighter. She doesn’t just accept stuff. You know?” Tamia explained, slipping a tape into her recorder. “She’s no one’s doormat. She calls her own shots and makes her own reality…no matter how crazy it is.” We both laughed. “No, I’m serious. I really look up to her for that. For her spirit. I wish I had some of that courage.”
“Wow, Tamia. I bet Tasha would really love to hear all that,” I said. “That would make her happy—to know that you feel that way.”
I looked at the door in the back of the classroom just in time to see Alex, Tamia’s pigment-challenged admirer, walk in.
“Alex is here,” I whispered to Tamia.
“Oh shit,” she said.
Alex, whom I also called “Tamia’s Rainbow Connection,” nearly broke his neck trying to make it to the front of the classroom where we were sitting.
“Rainbow Connection in three seconds,” I said. Tamia slumped down in her seat. I counted, “One, two…”
“Hey, Troy,” Alex said, walking up. He actually looked kind of fine. He had a tan. He must’ve spent the weekend in the Hamptons.
“Hey, Alex,” I replied, hiding my laugh behind a wide smile.
“That was a great case presentation you did last week. I was blown away,” Alex went on. I could tell he was nervous. “Hey, Tamia.” She forged a smile. “I called you yesterday. Did you change your number or something?”
“Um…yes,” Tamia answered. There was a pause. This was the part where Tamia was supposed to take out a piece of paper and give Alex her new number. I counted to ten in my head…nothing. Still silence. Alex stood there looking like a cheap prostitute waiting on a john to pay her. I wondered if he’d checked his e-mail in the past twenty-four hours.
Still silence…Okay, I had to say something. Anything. They were killing me. It was like an Old West standoff.
“Well, I need to study before class,” I said, breaking the silence. Good call.
“Me too,” Tamia said. She pulled some flash cards from her bag.
“Well, I’ll be in the back,” Alex said. “I’m not as brave as you ladies.” He gave Tamia, who was staring at her flash cards like we were about to take a final exam, one last look and walked away like a wounded cowboy. He’d lost the draw.
“Damn, girl. I guess you’ve already done your spring cleaning.” I looked at Tamia. “You had his ass wrapped around your finger.”
“Oh well. He’ll get over it,” Tamia said coldly.
“Tamia, why are you acting like that about Alex? I didn’t know things were that bad between you two. I thought it was just a color thing,” I said. I was really surprised by how blunt Tamia was being. It just wasn’t like her.
“You want the truth?” she asked without looking up from her flash cards.
“Hell, yeah.”
“I’ll tell you, but then you must promise to never tell anyone or bring it up again.” She finally looked up at me. I nodded my head. “I had sex with him.”
“What? When? Where? Why? How was it?” I asked, recalling all the important questions one asks after they’ve found out a friend has slept with someone.
“It was on our first date,” Tamia said, turning red. First-date sex was really not her style. “I mean there was something between us. Like sparks.”
“And?” I interrupted. She wasn’t giving me the good stuff.
“Well, we stopped by the library so he could pick up a book for class. We went down into the old book stacks and started kissing. It was playful at first,” she said, “but then we started touching each other.”
“And?”
“And…I put my hand in his pants. And I touched it.” My mouth fell open and I could tell I was blushing now too. Not Tamia! The good girl fucking around in the old library stacks! Why didn’t I think of that first?
“And?” I was begging like Pookie Po did for her treats.
“It was so big! It was, like, perfect. Just hard and…perfect,” Tamia said. I could see by the look in her eyes that she was reminiscing about how it had felt. Her look was deep and longing, as if he was standing in front of her.
Now, this is a bad place for Tamia to be in. Though she is the “good girl” of the bunch, Tamia loves oral sex. It’s just how she gets off. I, along with most of the other sisters I knew, were brainwashed to believe that enjoying oral sex (and a bunch of other myths about sex) made us “nasty girls,” but Tamia was the first woman I knew who openly said that was a bunch of bull. Our junior year, she left our Black Feminism professor speechless when she said our sexual desire as women wasn’t something we should be ashamed of or allow anyone to prescribe to us. Tamia stood in front of the entire class (men included) and said it was time for sisters to embrace their desires and figure out what they liked most in bed. After that outburst, she was on a one-woman mission to find her sexual passion, one self-fulfilling head job at a time. She didn’t have many partners, but when she did, it was definitely all about what Tamia wanted to do in the bedroom. Her 3T secret code name was “Head Mistress”—pun definitely intended.
“I had to taste it.” Tamia playfully slapped herself on the forehead.
“You went down on him?” I teased. “In the s
tacks at the library?”
“Yes,” she said coyly. I nearly fell out of my chair laughing.
“And?” I asked, trying to figure out where things had gone wrong. The story sounded great so far.
“Well, after he came—”
“In your mouth?” I stopped her. I had to ask. “Yuck.”
“Hell, no,” she answered. “You know I don’t do that. Anyway, after he came, he pulled a condom from his wallet and whispered in my ear, ‘Please let me feel you, please.’ It was so hot.”
“Damn, girl,” I said. “I’m feeling hot my damn self.” I started fanning myself.
“I know, it was like he was begging…. It was so erotic. I looked around and I didn’t see anyone, so I said yes,” Tamia went on. “Girl, he put that thing in me and I don’t know what came over me. I just went crazy. He had me up against the bookshelf, standing up, but I was riding the shit out of him. All he had to do was stand still. I was all over him, Troy.”
Take Her Man Page 9
