All the Trouble You Need

by Jervey Tervalon

Jordan sighed, shrugging.

  “What, you want me to wash your dog or something?”

  “No, I want to meet Daphne.”

  Jordan’s face fell slack with surprise.

  “Why in the world would you want to meet Daphne? I told you I’m not seeing her. She’s got a boyfriend.”

  “Yes, I know, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “What shouldn’t be a problem?”

  “Arranging for us to meet.”

  Jordan walked in loopy circles around the car shaking his head.

  “I can’t believe you’re insisting on seeing her. You don’t believe me when I say I’m not seeing her?”

  Trisha took a moment to reply.

  “I believe you, but I need to ask her a question.”

  “What question is that?”

  “It’s not for you. It’s for her.”

  “Trisha, I can’t possibly call her. I haven’t talked to her in weeks. She’s . . . she’s back with her old boyfriend.”

  “Oh.”

  “See, I told you. Everything is different.”

  “Jordan . . . you want to know what’s happening with David.”

  “Yeah, but . . .”

  “Well, I want to know Daphne. I mean, if you want us to be closer. Isn’t that what you said? Since we couldn’t get any closer, we needed more space.”

  Jordan shook his head.

  “I didn’t say anything like that. I didn’t say anything. It’s what you said. You’re putting words in my mouth.”

  “Admit it. It’s because I’m a virgin.”

  Jordan sighed, and looked at her through the window as though it was the first time he saw her.

  “Trisha, I don’t care if you’re a virgin. That’s a decision you made, and it’s important to you. I’m different from you. I have another set of values.”

  “What’s that? Dating women who sleep with you, but break your heart?”

  “Trisha . . .” Jordan walked all the way to the porch and back.

  “Just ask her. I’m not psychotic.”

  Again, Jordan shook his head in disbelief.

  “I’m not calling her.”

  “Jordan . . .”

  She gave him that on-the-verge-of-tears look, and he crumbled.

  “Okay, I have a compromise. Be right back.”

  Jordan ran into the house and returned with a phone book and handed it to her.

  “Look it up. The Daniels family—Hope Ranch Road.”

  “Me?”

  “You can ask her yourself.”

  At first Trisha wouldn’t look at the number, but Jordan held the phone book out right under her nose.

  “I could copy it for you,” he said.

  “No, that’s okay. I have a phone book at home.”

  “So, you’re going to do this?”

  She waved good-bye and left him there in the driveway, shaking his head.

  * * *

  Home, Trisha unlocked the door and hurried inside hoping no one else would be there. She needed to call Daphne before she lost her nerve. Good, no sign of Mom. Better to speak to your nemesis alone. She used the phone in the kitchen and while dialing looked out at the pool and beyond the pool, to the ocean at the horizon. All of this she’d be losing now that Dad was retiring. Daphne didn’t have these problems, born with a silver spoon embedded so deep in her throat she didn’t have problems. She probably never had to work at fitting in. If she were as pretty as she had heard, men had a way of ignoring a little coffee in the cream. Trisha had been plagued by Daphnes—rich, beautiful white girls—her entire life. This Daphne wasn’t white, but she was close enough; one of those charming octoroons, those Jennifer Beals, Mariah Carey types who don’t live in a black world unless they want to. It would probably be easier if she were just another airhead blond having an adventure messing around with Jordan. Daphne probably was discovering her roots with Jordan, whatever those might be.

  She dialed the number.

  “Girl, your mama’s at the hospital picking your daddy up.”

  “Pie!”

  “Yeah, that’s my name.”

  Pie walked to the sink, looking more grim-faced than usual as she filled a plastic bucket with sudsy water.

  “Something wrong with Dad?”

  “Oh, no. That doctor say that Mr. Bell is fine enough to come home and be with y’all.”

  Pie had on her housecleaning uniform, starched white even down to her white rubber soles.

  “Ya know, since y’all moving into that apartment and gonna be renting this out, this gotta be presentable. Otherwise, only people gonna want to rent it is gonna be pigs.”

  “Pie, you shouldn’t be cleaning. Mom is going to hire a crew to do what we don’t finish.”

  Trisha watched as Pie wrung out the sponges and wiped down the wooden blinds around the sliding-glass doors like she had a grudge against them.

  “Something wrong, Pie?”

  “Naw, nothing wrong . . . ’cept I can’t believe you moving down the hill.”

  “Dad’s plan makes sense. We don’t need this big house, and since he’s retiring, that’ll cut expenses way down. And I’ll be away at the law school.”

  Pie’s mouth contorted to a sneer.

  “Yeah, but y’all still don’t got enough money for you to be going to law school. It ain’t fair to you. Mr. Bell should have thought about it before he up and retired like that.”

  “Pie, I think he’s retiring because of his health.”

  “Ain’t nothing wrong with your daddy God couldn’t fix if he fell on his knees and prayed.”

  “You know that’s not him.”

  “I know that, and I’ve been knowing him a lot longer than you, but he still doing wrong by not sending you to law school.”

  “I’m going to go. It’s just going to take more time. Next year I’ll apply for loans and scholarships. I’ll need to work, save my money.”

  “Yeah, what about you meeting some man and you get the hot pants for him? You gonna settle down and make a baby like anybody else. That’s only natural. Way I see it, you gotta go to law school now, ‘cause if you don’t, you might never go.”

  “Pie, you don’t have to worry, I promise,” Trisha said, wrapping her arms around Pie’s large waist.

  Pie pulled away and started on the walls, but she abruptly stopped, dropping the sponges into the bucket and stormed from the kitchen, muttering. She returned with her purse.

  “How much is that law school gonna cost you?”

  “UCLA? About ten thousand.”

  “Okay, here,” Pie said, and handed her a signed check with no amount written in.

  “Now, come the fall, you use that for your first year.”

  Trisha glanced at the check and handed it back to Pie.

  “Pie, you need your money. I’ll do fine.”

  Pie shook her head, took the check, and closed Trisha’s hand around it.

  “I wouldn’t be giving you the check if I couldn’t afford it. I like money. That’s why I saved it. I was always proud to work for the Bells. Your daddy made sure I got my money in the right accounts. I’m leaving all my money to you and that old man of mine who just sits there watching shows all day. You just getting some of the money sooner that you gonna get later, anyway.”

  Trisha gave Pie a hug and tried not to cry, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “I’m gonna go clean that little bathroom your daddy uses when he don’t want nobody to know he’s smoking a pipe.”

  Pie headed off, leaving Trisha the opportunity to pull herself together. She couldn’t stop thinking about the check, using it for school. Pie’s word was good.

  She found Pie cleaning the already spotless mirror in the bathroom off the foyer that nobody used but her daddy.

  “Pie, I just can’t accept this money. Like I said, if I don’t go this fall, I’ll go the next.”

  “I don’t want to hear all that,” Pie said, turning away to scrub the tile in the bathtub.

  “Bu
t, Pie . . .”

  “It’s that Jordan. You ready to tie that boy down, but you need to finish your education first.”

  “Jordan?”

  “ ’Least Jordan got a use for girls. I know you talking to that David. When you gonna drop that boy? He’s calling you all the time talking ‘bout nothing.”

  “I didn’t get the messages.”

  “I didn’t take them down. He don’t got nothing to say. What’s going on with this Jordan?”

  “He stopped seeing the other girl.”

  “See, now you cookin’.”

  “But I feel like I should talk to her. Find out exactly what’s going on.”

  “Why don’t you ask the boy?”

  “He says it’s over between them.”

  “Ain’t that good enough for you?”

  “No, I don’t believe him. He’s still in love but won’t admit it. I’m going to invite her out for coffee and ask her if they’re really broken up.”

  “What you really doing all this for?”

  Trisha sighed and tried to avoid Pie’s steely gaze, but Pie circled around until she could look Trisha right in the eye.

  “I want to see for myself what has him so head over heels. If she sounds like a idiot, then I’ll know he just likes pretty girls. There’ll be no point in pretending we can have something serious.”

  “Well, if you do go out with this chickie, don’t you take your eyes off her.”

  “Why?”

  “Listen, I’ve been around. Sometimes these little chickies get crazy enough to do anything to keep their man. Even put some poison in your drink.”

  “I didn’t think about that.”

  “Well, you better.”

  Pie, through with giving advice, went back to scrubbing the toilet.

  Trisha returned to the kitchen and dialed. She let the phone ring long enough to embarrass herself if someone picked it up. She heard a soft “Hello” on the other end.

  “May I speak with Daphne?”

  “This is she.”

  Trisha’s heart raced.

  “Daphne, this is Trisha Bell, Jordan’s friend.”

  “Oh, hi. Jordan’s spoken of you often.”

  “He has?” Trisha asked, without thinking.

  “Yes, all compliments.”

  For a long moment Trisha couldn’t mouth the words.

  “Daphne, I know this is going to sound strange, but if you have some time, I really would like to have coffee with you.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Yes, I thought we could talk.”

  Another long pause. This time on Daphne’s end.

  “Sure. How about this afternoon, Charlotte’s on State? Threeish? Is that good for you?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Good, I’ll see you there.”

  Trisha hung up the phone feeling light-headed, as though she had been drinking. She was going to do it, meet her, see for herself what had so captivated Jordan.

  * * *

  After showering she did her nails and hair, and dressed faster than she had ever dressed. With only ten minutes to spare, she rushed outside and raced to the SUV. At the edge of the driveway, she saw her father’s Saab laboring up the hill. Trisha’s stomach sank. If they saw her, that would be it. She’d never make that appointment with Daphne. Trisha hit a quick right uphill to the San Marcos Pass to avoid having to greet her parents. She slid down in the seat, but through the rearview mirror she could see her father on the passenger’s side for the first time in his life. His gaunt face looked tense, probably because her mother was driving his precious car.

  It was very hard to find a place to park on State Street, and a woman had to be cautious. Seemingly most of the nuts, panhandlers, and skinheads hung out south of De La Guerra. Charlotte’s, though, was a very nice café. She had been there once with David. Trisha wondered if Charlotte’s was where Daphne and Jordan met for romantic rendezvous.

  She entered the café and surveyed the tables, hoping she’d see Daphne before she was seen. Luckily, the room was almost empty, just a few couples, but no solo, well-dressed, beautiful exotic with a mess of unruly curls. That was a relief. Trisha wanted the high ground. Certainly, Daphne wouldn’t have a problem spotting her, a single black bean on a bed of white rice.

  After some twenty minutes Trisha noticed the headline of a discarded newspaper on the way to the rest room. The Harlem Globetrotters were suing the City of Santa Barbara for racism and police misconduct for arresting them in a jewelry store heist. Trisha shook her head. Santa Barbara deserved to pay through the nose. A half hour passed and she began to wonder if she was being stood up. Then, ready to leave, she saw a tall, attractive woman doing a serious sprint in heels across State. It had to be Daphne, all in white—stockings, shoes, some almost fairy-tale dress, puffing on a cigarette that she discarded halfway across the street. Trisha had chosen a seat that wasn’t instantly visible from the door. She watched Daphne enter the restaurant, then she snatched up the newspaper and pretended to be engrossed. Just from the glimpse of her she could see how pretty she was, like a cross between In-grid Bergman and Sonya Braga; an actress right out of those 1940s romances, distracted, pretty, and always in need of being rescued.

  “Trisha?” Daphne asked, shyly. “Sorry I’m late. My mother needed me to run errands.”

  Trisha stood and they shook hands. Maybe she should have stayed seated; Daphne was almost a half foot taller than she was, but some of that was those heels.

  “Thanks for meeting me. I know it’s strange to have coffee with someone you don’t know.”

  “Well, I can’t say I’m not curious about you.”

  “You are?”

  Daphne laughed.

  “Let’s be honest. We’re both friends of Jordan. He’s a good friend. I’m trying to understand him.”

  “In what way?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. How long have you known him?”

  “A little more than a year.”

  A waiter walked by and Daphne gestured for his attention. They ordered drinks; for herself a latte and for Trisha an iced tea. Trisha would never bring that drink to her lips; Pie had ruined that with her poison warning. After the drinks were ordered, awkward glances exchanged, and a long painful pause, Daphne got to the point.

  “Jordan means a lot to you?”

  Trisha found herself almost unable to answer.

  “I’m not sure I’m ready to admit that. I don’t know if he’s worth all the trouble.”

  “Trouble meaning, am I involved with Jordan?” Daphne asked.

  “Yes, I guess that’s the question I’d like answered.”

  “No, we’re no longer seeing each other.”

  Trisha believed her. Somehow, she knew she was telling the truth.

  “Did it just not work out?”

  “No, it’s complicated. But Jordan is special. I wouldn’t do this for any other man. I knew you would be a good person and it would be okay to reassure you that Jordan and I are just friends.”

  “But why was it complicated? Was there a reason for you breaking up?”

  Daphne smiled weakly.

  “Actually, we were never a serious couple. We just dated. And . . . someone returned who’s very important to me.”

  “An old boyfriend?”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “Well, that changes everything.”

  “It does.”

  “You must be very happy,” Trisha said.

  As if hitting a switch, Daphne’s mood changed instantly. Her ease and poise disappeared; in its place was gloom.

  “I’d better be going,” she said, flatly.

  “I should go too. I’m supposed to wait for a plumber to come finish installing a shower in our guest house. We’re trying to rent it out, that and the main house,” Trisha said.

  “You are?”

  “Actually, it’s a little studio my mother likes to call a guest house.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “On San Antonio
Road, near the Pass.”

  “Oh, you’ll have no problem renting that. It’s very pretty and so close to the mountains.”

  Trisha nodded, but the truth was, many whites seemed uncomfortable renting from blacks, even in nice neighborhoods.

  They walked out of the café together, both so distracted that neither paid. A waiter burst out of the door behind them waving the bill for two untouched drinks.

  Trisha was parked a little farther up the street so they walked together, but not a word was exchanged. Trisha wanted to make another go at conversation, but she was too caught up in Daphne’s dark mood.

  “Is there something wrong? Are you feeling okay?” Trisha asked, when they reached the car.

  Daphne tried to smile, but it was halfhearted.

  “I just feel a little overwhelmed right now,” Daphne said, as they parted.

  * * *

  Trisha watched David’s muscular, dark body swim lap after lap in the pool. A really beautiful man, she thought, when he finally tired and pulled himself free of the pool and stretched out at her feet. She shifted the deck chair so she wouldn’t be staring directly at his Speedo-covered ass.

  “Girl, when are you going to try the water?”

  Trisha shook her head. David stood up and began to massage her shoulders.

  “Don’t even think about throwing me in.”

  “I’m not. I just hope you’ll fly up to San Francisco with me. We’ll stay at the Saint Francis, go to a few nice clubs. It’ll be wonderful.”

  “But you still haven’t explained . . .”

  “Oh, not that again. You have to trust me. I’m not the only one. Many men choose . . . even though we have complex natures. We discover how we want to live and then we live it. Everything is possible.”

  David’s agenda was broader than she knew what to do with, and his explanation, his story, the story he had been telling bits and pieces of for the last few weeks, made him even more bewildering.

  “It’s not about making love to a man. I don’t have a problem with that, but I need more than that. With men it’s always about the physical or money. I tried that life with an open mind, and it’s not enough for me.”

  When David had first confessed all this to her, she wasn’t allowing herself to believe it. What she wanted to say but couldn’t bring herself to do was Be for real! Instead, she just tried to put a damper on his marriage fantasy, sighing and shaking her head whenever he mentioned it. Somehow she thought he’d get the message without her having to spell it out for him, but that didn’t work. That head of his had to be made of mighty hard wood.