“Says who?”
I leaned back and closed my eyes. I’d heard this track before. My best friends would go back and forth—Miriam would tell Michellelee about some guy she thought was perfect for Michellelee, and Michellelee would tell Miriam to mind her business. They would keep at it until Miriam stomped away, because that’s how it was going to end. Miriam would be mad and Michellelee would shrug her off.
Helping Michellelee find the right man seemed so important to Miriam. I guessed it had something to do with the way she was raised. From the moment we met, she’d made it known that she wanted a husband and a family more than she wanted even her college degree. It seemed to me that she was going to get her wish; her boyfriend, Chauncey, was the only guy I knew who wanted to get married as much as Miriam did. So, I guessed, Miriam wanted the same thing for her friends—well, at least that’s what she wanted for Michellelee.
Of course, she probably wanted the same for me, though she never did anything to try to help me. Maybe it was because she thought life was different for white girls. Or maybe she thought life was just different for me.
Actually, she had a point. While I was still in my mother’s womb, she and my daddy had already planned for my wedding day. According to their dreams, I was going to marry Waldorf Astoria the Fourth. That was not his real name; that was just what I called Clarkson Wells, the son of my father’s medical business partner and best friend.
“This time, I’m not trying to set you up.” Miriam’s voice broke through my reverie. “You’ll be doing Chauncey a favor. His best friend in the whole world just came home.”
“Where’s he been? Prison?” Michellelee smirked.
“No, that would be your last boyfriend. By the way, is Pookie out yet?”
I couldn’t help it, I had to laugh.
“His name is Luke,” Michellelee said, as if she was more insulted by what Miriam had called him than by what Miriam was saying about him. “Not Pookie, and he wasn’t in prison. He just had to take care of some outstanding warrants.”
“Whatever!” Miriam said. “Look, Chauncey’s friend just got back from Mississippi.”
My eyes popped open. “Mississippi?”
“Not your part of Mississippi, Emily.”
What was that supposed to mean?
“He’s been in Mississippi taking care of his grandmother,” Miriam explained. “She died two weeks ago, and he’s finally back home. Chauncey wants to cheer him up and he thought you two would have fun together.”
“Oh, great. Just what I need, some guy crying on my shoulder all night about his dead grandmother.” Michellelee shook her head. “Not interested.”
“Please, Michellelee! I’m not asking you to marry Jamal. Just do this double date with me tonight and if you don’t like him, fine. I will never ever ask you to go out with another guy again in my life.”
Michellelee closed the magazine and laid it flat on her lap. “So you’re saying that if I do this tonight, you’ll forever give up trying to hook me up?”
Miriam laid her hand across her chest like she was saying the Pledge of Allegiance. “I give you my word.”
“If I were you, I’d get this in writing,” I said.
Miriam glared at me, but when Michellelee said, “Okay, I’ll go,” Miriam clapped her hands with glee.
“But”—Michellelee stopped Miriam’s celebration with that one word—“I’ll only go if Emily goes, too.”
“What?” I snapped my head toward her so fast I was sure that I’d have whiplash in the morning.
“If I don’t like this guy, I’ll have someone to talk to.”
“No, thank you,” I said.
“Come on,” Michellelee said. “It’ll be like a triple date, only you’ll be alone.” She laughed.
I tossed the pillow at her. “I refuse to be anyone’s fifth wheel. Plus, I already have plans. I’m going to sit here and wait for KCAL Breaking News and the announcement that Bill Clinton did have sex with that woman.”
“Michellelee,” Miriam said, ignoring me and glancing at her watch, “we have to be ready in like an hour and a half.”
“So not only do I have to go on this date, but I have to look like a star in ninety minutes?”
“Yeah, but if anyone can do it, you can.”
The obvious sucking up worked. Michellelee grinned. “Okay. I’ll find something fabulous to wear.”
While Michellelee strolled up the stairs to her room, Miriam rushed into hers, which was right off the living room, and I didn’t move from the couch. Instead, I turned from channel to channel, watching and waiting for the news to come about the president. Just a bit more than an hour later, a knock on our door interrupted my viewing. I was annoyed; I didn’t feel like entertaining Chauncey and his friend until Miriam and Michellelee were ready, but I had to be the good roommate.
Then, I opened the door, took one look outside, and stood straight at attention.
“Hey, Emily,” Chauncey said.
“Hello.” But I wasn’t looking at him. My glance went straight over his shoulder and I took in the most beautiful vision.
Now, one thing you must know—I wasn’t one of those white girls who chased black men. Not that I was prejudiced; I just came from a long line of Mississippi Harringtons who preferred the pre–Civil War days. In my family, everyone stayed with their own kind. My grandmother had even told me that was biblical, and certainly, I was going to follow the Bible.
But my grandmother had never seen a man who looked like this. This guy was hot!
“So . . . you gonna let us in?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I could feel the heat rise on my cheeks. I stepped aside, but I never took my eyes off Chauncey’s friend. Miriam had told us his name, hadn’t she?
My eyes followed every step he took as he strolled past me. While Chauncey had on a fake leather coat over his suit, his friend wore a tailored overcoat that was buttoned up but still left a peek of his white-with-black-pinstripe shirt and black diamond patterned tie. My mother had taught me to love a well-dressed man.
As I motioned for them to sit down, Chauncey finally introduced me. “This is my boy, Jamal.”
Jamal!
“Nice to meet you,” I said, holding out my hand. Now, my friends often teased me about my proper Southern ways. But I wasn’t so uncool that I shook people’s hands. Right now, though, I had an ulterior motive—I wanted to touch him.
Then he opened his mouth. “Nice to meet you, too.”
I had to hold on to the chair so that I wouldn’t swoon! He sounded just like Barry White, whom Michellelee blasted from the stereo.
“So, I guess the girls aren’t ready.” Chauncey opened his coat and sat down on the chair. Which left only the couch for Jamal.
“No,” I said. “But I’ll go check on Miriam.”
“You don’t have to,” Chauncey said. “I’m sure she’s just about ready.”
“I don’t mind.” Moving quickly, I grinned at Jamal, then pushed open Miriam’s door without even knocking. Closing the door behind me, I whispered, “I’m going with you.”
“What?” she said louder than I wanted her to. “And why are you whispering?”
“Chauncey and Jamal are right out there and I don’t want them to hear us, but I’m going with you.”
“So Michellelee talked you into it, huh?”
“Yes,” I said, thinking that was a good excuse. “But I need thirty minutes to get ready.”
She shook her head. “I have to be there for photos, so if you’re not ready in fifteen, we’re outta here.”
I leaped out of her bedroom, grinned again at Jamal, then took the steps two at a time to my bedroom, which was next door to Michellelee’s. I don’t think I’d ever moved so quickly, and before fifteen minutes had passed, I was back downstairs before either Michellelee or Miriam.
“So, you’re going, too?” Chauncey asked, looking a little confused.
“Um . . . yes. Miriam didn’t tell you?” Even though I was talking
to Chauncey, I was looking at Jamal. “I love to support the Upward Bound program. It’s such a good cause.” Then, without giving either one of them a chance to answer, I slipped down onto the couch next to Jamal. “Were you with Upward Bound, too?”
“No.” He shook his head.
Not Upward Bound? That was how Miriam and Chauncey had met; I thought Jamal had been part of that program, too. Well, I’d just have to find another way to connect. But before I could switch subjects, Michellelee sauntered down the stairs at the same time that Miriam came out of her room.
Since I wasn’t supposed to be a part of this little party, I sauntered off to the side as the introductions were made. I watched Michellelee as she looked Jamal up and down, but her smile was steady.
“We’d better get moving.” Miriam opened the door to the front closet, where we all kept our coats.
Chauncey led the way and Miriam followed him, but before Michellelee could step out of the door with Jamal, I called her back. When Jamal looked back over his shoulder, I said, “I forgot something and I need Michellelee.”
Michellelee frowned as I pulled her back into the townhouse. “What’s up?”
Michellelee and Miriam were like sisters to me, so what was most important was my relationship with Michellelee. If she was into Jamal, then I would back away. But if she was not . . .
“What do you think?”
“Of what?”
“Of him? Do you like him?”
“Jamal?” She shrugged. “He’s okay; I’m just not into that kind of guy.”
“You’re not into the tall, dark, and handsome kind?”
She waved her hand. “He’s fine, but in such an obvious sort of way. I like my men with a little more of an edge.” Then she paused. “Wait a minute . . . why’re you asking me? Are you interested?” she said like she couldn’t believe it.
I nodded.
“He’s black,” she said.
“I noticed.”
“And you’re blonde.”
“I have been all my life and the carpet matches the curtains.”
“Ewww!” Michellelee said. “You’re nasty.” But then she grinned. “Well, go for it, girl.”
“Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want to start anything . . .”
“Oh, really? You don’t?” Michellelee took two steps back, then looked me up and down the way she’d just done Jamal. “That must be why you just painted on that dress, ’cause you don’t wanna start anything.” She shook her head. “But I ain’t mad at you. Go get yours.”
Michellelee was right. I was wearing a Tadashi design that hugged every part of my six two frame. I didn’t have the hips that Michellelee swayed, or the behind that Miriam rocked. But I had boobs. And my girls were on full display in this dress with the V neckline that almost went all the way down to my navel.
“Okay,” I told Michellelee. “I’m going for him.”
When we stepped outside, the car horn blared and we knew it was Miriam. She was standing outside of Chauncey’s twelve-year-old Jeep when we rushed up.
“Come on,” she said, “we’ve got to get going. You get in the middle.” She directed Michellelee to the backseat, where Jamal was sitting.
Before Michellelee could move, I slid in. “I’ll sit in the middle.” I made sure not to look at Miriam because I knew she was giving me one of those looks that could take my life away.
But there was nothing that Miriam could do. By the time she slipped into the front seat next to Chauncey, I was secure in my place. By the time we got to the Hollywood Palladium, Jamal and I were chatting as the friends that I hoped we’d be.
“So you agree with me about Bill Clinton,” I said as Jamal helped me out of the Jeep. We’d been talking about politics all the way over.
“Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong. He was my man before; I even did some work on his campaign. But with what’s going down now . . .”
I grinned and turned to Michellelee with triumph all over my face. She just rolled her eyes. She’d been right. Jamal wasn’t her type. He had political sense.
But the deal was sealed when we walked into the Palladium and Jamal helped me into my seat.
“By the way, how tall are you?” he asked. “About six two?”
“Good guess.”
He nodded. “So, do you model?”
I sighed, wishing I had a hundred dollars for each time I’d been asked that question. Why in the world did people think every tall white girl was a model? It had to be the same disease that made everyone think every tall black guy was a basketball player. And since I was almost eye to eye with him in my three-inch heels, I was sure he’d had that question a lot in his life. So I decided to just give him a pass and answer.
“No modeling, but my height does come in handy. I play basketball.”
He frowned. “With USC?” When I nodded, he held up his hand. “Wait a minute. You’re that Emily Harrington?” he asked, sounding amazed. I had been a highly recruited player from high school, so I wasn’t surprised that Jamal knew me—at least by name.
“Yes, how many Emily Harringtons did you think there were?”
We laughed together.
“Aren’t you from Mississippi?” he asked.
“I am. And you just got back from there, right?”
The smile that he’d been wearing faded quickly and I was so sorry I’d asked.
“Yeah. I had to take care of some family business.”
Wanting to get back to the happy place where we’d been, I changed subjects. “Do you play any sports?” I asked, getting dangerously close to that stereotypical question.
But it worked because his grin came back quickly. “Yup. Basketball.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I played at Crenshaw.”
“Crenshaw High? They have an amazing reputation.”
“Yup.”
“So,” I began, “you didn’t want to play at the college level?”
His smile went away again. “I was accepted to UCLA, but just a couple of days after graduation, I had to leave for Mississippi. You know, for my grandmother.”
Well, since this topic wasn’t going to go away, I decided to use it. “Where does . . . did your grandmother live in Mississippi?”
“In Natchez. Do you know where that is?”
I nodded. “Natchez is about ninety miles south of Jackson.”
“Which is where you’re from,” he said, more like a statement, but I answered like he was asking a question.
“Correct.”
Though there were others at the table and a whole program that went on from the stage, Jamal and I kept talking, keeping our conversation to a whisper. I found out that he’d just enrolled at West Los Angeles College, the same college where Chauncey was, as a second-year student studying to become an EMT. He told me that their lifelong dream was to become firemen.
We talked about school, sports, a little bit about our pasts and our hopes for our future. By the time Jamal helped me out of my chair when the program was over and we walked back to the car, we were officially friends, the first accomplishment of my mission. When we got back to the townhouse, Jamal walked me and Michellelee to the door while Miriam stayed in the car with Chauncey.
At the door, Michellelee said, “Good night, Jamal,” without even making eye contact with him as she spoke.
But once she stepped inside, I lingered outside with him. “It was great meeting you.”
“You, too. You’re kinda refreshing.”
I didn’t know what he meant by that; it sounded positive, but I was certainly aiming for something more than refreshing. “So . . . I hope to see you soon.”
“Oh, yeah. Definitely.”
Definitely! That was a great word. “Okay, I’ll see you later.”
He stood right there until I stepped inside; I leaned against the closed door, but I wasn’t able to stay in that moment for long.
“You’re really feeling him!”
My eyes snapped open. I’d forg
otten that I wasn’t alone. “Yes.” I nodded at Michellelee. “I really like him,” I said as I fell onto the sofa. “Not only is he hot, he’s smart, and cool, and interesting, and . . .”
She held up her hand like she didn’t want to hear my litany, which was too bad because I could’ve gone on and on and on.
She said, “I get it, and he seems like he’s into you, too.”
“He’s going to call me.” Then I sat up straight. “Oh no. I didn’t give him my number.”
Michellelee laughed. “Don’t worry. He knows where to find you.”
I settled back down. She was right. He was Chauncey’s best friend. He was probably asking for my number right now . . .
I blinked three times and came back to the present, though the memories stayed with me. When I closed the door that night, little did I know that Jamal and I were a long road and many years away from our bliss.
But we’d found each other, felt each other, and I’d always been convinced that anything that God put together could never be taken apart. So once we married, though I was aware of the danger of Jamal’s career, it had never been a concern. We would last forever.
Of course, I knew no one lived forever. I just never thought death would separate us. Instead, I preferred to think that Jesus would come back and lift me and Jamal up at the same time.
Today, though, had proved that I couldn’t hide from reality.
That’s why I didn’t want to take my eyes off Jamal. Not that I had ever taken my eyes off him. From the first time I saw him, I knew that, physically, he had all the gifts. He looked just like that actor that my girls loved so much. Idris Elba. Yes, Jamal was Idris Elba before there was even an Idris Elba. He was sexy and soulful. In the way he walked, in the way he talked.
But right now, I wasn’t thinking about the brightness of his eyes or the fullness of his lips. I didn’t care about the sharp angle of his jaw or the cleft in his chin. Tonight, I just celebrated the rise and fall of his chest.
Jamal parted his lips and released a small moan, though he stayed asleep. Then, as if he knew I was there, he lifted his arm and I lay back against his chest, now feeling the rhythm of his heart.
I was exhausted, but I refused to close my eyes. I wanted to dance to the beat of Jamal’s heart. I wanted to twirl to every one of his inhales and swirl to each of his exhales. I wanted to celebrate because I now realized the preciousness of this gift in my bed. Lying with her husband was something that Miriam would never do again.
Never Say Never Page 4
