And This Too Shall Pass

by E. Lynn Harris

  “I know that’s right, but what’s a diva to do?” Desiree asked.

  “But I decided to have some fun when this friend of Tim’s came over and asked me what I did, knowing full well that I worked with Tim,” Tamela said.

  “What did you do, soror?” Stephanie inquired.

  “I told him I was a doe hoe,” Tamela said as she took her fork and lifted some pasta from Desiree’s plate.

  “A doe hoe?” Karen said with a quizzical look on her face.

  “That’s the same look he had,” Tamela said as she pointed her fork toward Karen’s face.

  “What is a doe hoe?” Desiree asked.

  “You see that white girl over there?” Tamela questioned as she pointed toward a pretty teenager seating customers as they came in and marking their names off the lunchtime waiting list.

  “Yes,” Karen and Stephanie said at the same time.

  “Well, she is a doe hoe,” Tamela laughed. “You know, like close de doe.”

  “Girl, you are so crazy,” the three others said in unison.

  “I know it, but it helped lighten up the evening,” Tamela said.

  “Did you meet anybody interesting?” Karen asked.

  “Just a bunch of politicians and lawyers. All trying to figure out how they can win back City Hall from Daley,” Tamela said.

  “They can forget it,” Desiree said. “There won’t be another Harold Washington in this city for a long time.”

  “I don’t know,” Karen said. “If Marion Barry can make a comeback, anything is possible.”

  “Tamela, you should run for mayor. We could work it like we did in high school,” Desiree suggested.

  “Please, don’t you even go there. I’m busy enough just trying to keep the job I got,” Tamela said.

  “I know that’s right,” Stephanie said.

  “Oh, I did meet … well, not exactly meet … but there was this fine busboy or waiter that kept looking at me and smiling. He was so pretty I assumed he was probably gay, you know, but before the night was over he slipped me this napkin with a sweet note on it,” Tamela said.

  “What did it say?” Desiree asked.

  “It said, ‘I just want to tell you how beautiful you look tonight,’ and he drew one of those little happy faces with a little curly ’fro and signed his name, Caliph,” Tamela said.

  “He didn’t have an Afro, did he?” Stephanie asked.

  “No,” Tamela said.

  “Caliph. Spell it,” Karen said.

  “C-A-L-I-P-H, Caliph,” Tamela said.

  “That’s an unusual name, sort of strong-sounding,” Karen said.

  “Did he leave a phone number?” Stephanie asked.

  “No, he did not,” Tamela said, as she brought her soft drink to her lips.

  “Then he was probably gay,” Stephanie said. “They seem to be able to appreciate a good-looking sister better than the straight ones.”

  “As my mother always says, tell the truth and shame the devil,” Tamela said as she slid her index finger around the top of her water glass.

  The women finished their food and all ordered coffee while Karen asked to see the dessert cart. Karen loved Bennigan’s dessert cart. She was a little stocky, but not fat, and she loved clothes too tight for her powerful thighs and thick waist, which explained the black mini skirt she was wearing.

  “I know you’re not,” Tamela said.

  “What?” Karen asked, looking at Tamela with a sneaky smile.

  “Ordering dessert.”

  “Maybe,” Karen replied.

  “Girlfriend, you keep eating like that and you are going to be a charter member of the Big Panties Club,” Desiree teased.

  “I’m sorry. But I ain’t trying to be no fashion model,” Karen said.

  “I know that’s right,” Stephanie added. Of all the women sitting at the table, Stephanie was the one to most likely be mistaken for a fashion model. She was exquisite-looking with a Tater Tot brown skin, an oval face surrounded by neck-length black hair, carefully styled.

  Desiree pulled out rolled-up copies of Essence and Emerge magazines and opened them onto the table. She had large paper clips on a page in each magazine.

  “Let’s just recommend the books on these best-seller lists,” she suggested.

  “But I’ve already read all of those books,” Stephanie said.

  “Me, too,” Tamela interjected.

  “So, what are we going to do? We decided that we were only going to read books by black people,” Desiree said.

  “Yeah, but what about Africans?” Karen asked.

  “They are black, aren’t they?” Tamela smiled.

  “Yes, I guess you’re right,” Karen said.

  “Why don’t we get the lady at that bookstore under the Wabash El tracks to recommend some books?” Desiree said.

  “That’s a great idea. And we would be supporting a sistah too,” Tamela said.

  “You know we ought to go in and buy a couple of those books on tapes for some of the books we’ve been avoiding,” Desiree said.

  “Oh yes, those are great,” Tamela said.

  “I’ll check into it,” Stephanie said.

  The women had refills on their coffee and chatted about books that would be tape candidates, sorority business, and, eventually, men.

  Karen was finishing a hot fudge brownie when she turned to Tamela and asked her what she thought of all the coverage the O. J. Simpson trial was receiving.

  “Honey, like I tell the people in my office who are always asking me what I think about it, I don’t think about O. J. Simpson ever. But I will say this, black folks need to turn off Court TV and if they got to watch television then they need to be watching C-SPAN so they can keep their eye on Congress,” Tamela said.

  “I know that’s right,” Desiree said.

  Just when Tamela was getting ready to suggest another topic, Desiree swiveled her head and let out a delightful squeal.

  “Speaking of black men, look at that tall glass of chocolate milk,” Desiree said as she stared at a tall, attractive black man walking into the restaurant.

  “A tall glass of what?” Karen asked.

  “Chocolate milk,” Desiree repeated.

  “And we’re always complaining how men talk about us. Listen to yourself, Desiree. You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” Stephanie said.

  “I’m not shamed, he is fine,” Desiree giggled.

  “He’s okay,” Tamela said as she looked toward the door.

  “Oh … oh … oh … oh,” Desiree said, as she held her mouth as if she was trying to prevent something from falling out.

  “What is your problem?” Tamela asked.

  “Don’t you know who that is?”

  “Should we?” Stephanie asked.

  “He does look familiar,” Karen said.

  “That’s the new quarterback for the new football team. Zurich Robinson is his name. Honey, he is Shaft fine, muther-shut-your mouth. I could do a stank butterfly with him,” Desiree said, recalling the latest dance craze.

  “Since when did you get to know so much about sports?” Tamela asked.

  “Since they started having players that look like that,” Desiree said.

  “Who do you think he’s waiting on?” Stephanie posed to the group.

  “Would you ladies like some more coffee?” the waiter interrupted.

  “Yes, but you can also bring the check,” Desiree said. The waiter gave Desiree a grateful smile.

  The women were silent for a moment, gazing toward the hostess station where Zurich Robinson was standing. He noticed them looking at him and smiled as he looked at his watch.

  “Please, dear Lord up above, don’t let him be waiting on a white girl,” Desiree said as she looked toward the ceiling with her hands in a prayer position.

  “Chile, get a grip and calm yourself down,” Tamela instructed. She wanted to say, You girls act like y’all ain’t never seen no fine men and he ain’t even all that.

  “Girls, I have a conf
ession to make,” Desiree said.

  “What have you done now?” Tamela asked.

  “Yes, girl, tell us what you did,” Stephanie said as she removed her square-shaped glasses.

  “I wrote him a letter and sent him a picture,” Desiree said as she mockingly held her head down in shame.

  “No, you didn’t,” Karen said.

  “Oh yes, I did. Look at him,” Desiree said in a defensive tone.

  “Honey, are you that desperate for a man?” Stephanie asked.

  “It’s not about desperation. It’s about trying to meet a fine, smart man who also has the potential to make a lot of money, I read in the paper where he is single, a college graduate, and was on the Dean’s List,” Desiree said.

  “What did he major in, Recreational Management?” Tamela asked sarcastically. That’s what they major in at Southern, she thought.

  “No, the paper said some type of journalism. I think broadcast,” Desiree said.

  “Oh, that’s different,” Karen said. “And, ladies, you know how cold it gets in Chicago. Better meet a man now when the weather is warm enough so that you can see what you’re getting. When it gets cold, you know how men cover up those horrible bodies some of them can have.”

  “Ain’t that the truth, girlfriend,” Desiree said.

  “Did he write you back?” Stephanie asked.

  “No, not yet. It’s only been a couple of days,” Desiree said.

  “You should go over there and tell him that you wrote him,” Karen suggested. Tamela had a Please don’t go over there and make a fool of yourself look on her face. Desiree saw this but ignored her friend’s caution.

  “You think so?” Desiree asked.

  “Yes, you wrote him a letter. Go over there and tell the brother you think he’s fine. If you don’t, then I will,” Karen said and she rearranged the pink scarf adorning her neck.

  “How do I look?” Desiree said, as she pulled out a tiny compact from her purse. Her lips were still brick red and her eyes were large and dark in a round face, surrounded by pencil-length dreads.

  “Are you going to go over there?” Tamela asked.

  “Yes, I am,” Desiree said, as she closed the compact and slipped it back into her purse. As soon as she made sure her blue silk blouse was tucked neatly into her starched jeans, Desiree slid out of the booth, turned to her friends, and said, “Wish me luck, sorors.”

  “You go, girl,” Stephanie said.

  But just as she started to walk toward the door, Desiree saw an attractive black woman come in and go directly up to Zurich Robinson and begin talking to him. Desiree assumed that it was someone he knew and the person he was waiting for. They seemed to be enjoying each other and the woman, who looked familiar to Desiree, was looking up at Zurich like a schoolgirl with a serious crush. Dejection set in, and Desiree slid back into the booth.

  “Well, sorors, it looks like I’m not going to meet my husband today.”

  “Isn’t that the new sportscaster, Mia Miller?” Karen asked.

  “It sure does look like her,” Stephanie said.

  “Yeah, that’s her. She was at Northwestern when I was there for law school. She didn’t hang out with sisters too tough, but she always had a fine black man on her arm,” Tamela said.

  “Is she nice?” Desiree asked. “And what is she doing with my body?” she joked.

  “She’s sometimey. Sometimes she speaks and then sometimes she acts like she doesn’t see you. A lot of my sorors at Northwestern thought she was a bitch,” Tamela said.

  “Wait a minute. I have an issue here,” Desiree said as she held her hand up in a stop-in-the-name-of-love fashion.

  “What is your problem?” Tamela asked.

  “Didn’t we say we were going to stop calling each other names?”

  “Yeah,” Karen said.

  “I didn’t call her a bitch. I just said some people I know think she’s a bitch,” Tamela said.

  “I just don’t like the word,” Desiree said.

  “Well, what do I say when it applies? I’m all for sisters treating each other with respect and all, but let’s face it, some of us are bitches,” Stephanie said.

  “I got it. I got a better term,” Tamela said.

  “What? Let’s hear it,” Desiree said.

  “Let’s just say she’s a DD,” Tamela smiled.

  “A DD. What’s a DD?” Karen asked.

  “Defective Diva,” Tamela said.

  “Oh, I like that,” Stephanie sighed.

  “Me, too,” Desiree said. “A DD. Defective Diva.”

  “See, look what we’ve accomplished today. An alternative to that terrible name,” Tamela said.

  “But back to my dream boy and Miss DD. Is she all black?” Desiree asked.

  “Now how am I supposed to know that? I did not go up and ask to see her papers,” Tamela replied. “Anyhow, what difference does it make? She got some black in her and so, guess what? That makes her black.”

  “Hello,” Stephanie said, lifting her tea glass as if she was toasting Tamela’s response.

  “Why do we have to claim all the mulattoes?” Desiree asked with a smile.

  “ ’Cause we that kind of peoples,” Stephanie said.

  “I think she’s black. Although she pledged a white sorority,”

  Tamela said.

  “She did what?” Desiree asked.

  “Yes, girls. Miss Thing pledged Delta Delta Delta,” Tamela said.

  “Was it some kind of affirmative-action pledging?” Stephanie asked.

  “No, she just went through rush and they gave her a bid. She didn’t come through the real Delta though,” Tamela said.

  “I know that’s right. Is there any other Delta, besides Delta Sigma Theta?” Desiree inquired.

  All the women gave each other high fives and sang, “Delta sho nuff Delta.”

  “She kinda looks like an AKA,” Karen said.

  “There you go with those sorority stereotypes. Something else we have to work on,” Tamela said. “But that will have to wait till next time,” she added.

  The hostess led Zurich Robinson and Mia Miller past the area where the women were sitting. Both Zurich and Mia smiled at the group as Zurich pulled out the chair for Mia at a table about ten feet away. The women were silent when the waiter came and said, “Can I get you ladies something else?”

  “Yes,” Desiree said as she lifted her hands and pointed toward Zurich. He was still standing and was wearing pocketless black silk trousers molded to his round backside. When he turned to take a seat in front of Mia, the ladies could see his muscular upper body testing the strength of his beige knit shirt.

  “Desiree, please,” Tamela said as the waiter smiled and picked up the small brown tray with the money.

  “Chile, he ain’t wearing underwear,” Desiree said.

  “How can you tell that?” Karen asked.

  “Did you see him when he bent over slightly? No line, girl. And look at that ass, honey. You can set a full tea service on it,” Desiree said as she gave Karen a circle snap.

  “Let’s go before this potential DD embarrasses us all,” Tamela said. She looked at Zurich’s ass and privately agreed that it was nice. Maybe he was all that. But why waste a body like that on tea. That is a family reunion slab of barbecue body.

  “You can talk about me all you want, but I’m going to meet that man,” Desiree said confidently, as she followed her sorority sisters out of the packed restaurant. Outside on busy Michigan Avenue, the women exchanged hugs and cocktail kisses and all four went their separate ways.

  Back inside the restaurant, Mia and Zurich settled in for a three-hour lunch. When Mia had contacted Zurich through his publicist, Gina suggested they meet and go over some of the questions Mia planned to ask during her profile. For the station’s hour-long Sunday-night sports shows, she wanted to interview him before and after the game with the Bears.

  Gina DeMarco thought Mia Miller would be a good friend for Zurich to have in the press, so she granted h
er exclusive access to Zurich before he talked with sportscasters at Chicago’s other major stations. With Mia being somewhat new, Gina knew she wouldn’t be as jaded as some of the other fat-faced sportscasters, with their bad hair and ties. Gina had also watched Mia’s career closely and felt that, like her client, Mia Miller was going to be big in the Chicago sports community. Maybe one day soon, Mia Miller would need a publicist/manager, too.

  Mia was struck not only by how handsome Zurich was (better than his pictures, she thought) but also with his command and delivery of the English language. He seemed confident, friendly, and ready to answer the questions Mia had prepared. Zurich took note of how beautiful Mia looked in her form-fitting peach linen dress. They ordered sandwiches, and Mia clicked on her tiny black cassette recorder. But before she asked her first question, Mia called the waiter.

  “Would you change that iced tea to a white wine?” she asked as she clicked off her recorder.

  “Sure. And you, sir, do you still want the iced tea?”

  “Yeah, I’ll stick with the tea,” Zurich said. Mia gave a quick toss of her hair, smiled at Zurich and the waiter, and turned the recorder on once again.

  “So, when did you know that you would one day be the starting quarterback for an NFL team?” Mia asked.

  “When Coach K told me,” Zurich laughed. “No, just kidding with you. Well, I was always the quarterback when I was a kid. It didn’t matter if I was playing in the fields behind my grandma’s house with my brothers and friends or on an organized Pee Wee football team down in Florida. I knew that quarterback was the only position that I wanted to play,” Zurich said.

  “Did you have any doubts when you were overlooked after graduating from Southern Florida Tech, despite a stellar career?”

  “No, not really. With SFT being such a small school, I didn’t get a lot of press coverage. Just the local papers. But I knew my chance would come one day. I just had to be patient and make sure I was prepared,” Zurich said.

  “Was there any defining moment when you knew, despite being black, that you would be given a chance?”

  “Watching Doug Williams when he quarterbacked the Redskins in the Super Bowl was really special for me. I was twenty-two and had just been ignored by the NFL draft. When Doug entered the league, they did not give him his props. But in the Super Bowl game, well, it was so exciting for me. I was there with Doug on every pass, every run, even the plays that did not go well. I knew then that the same thing could happen for me. His performance helped me to hold on to my dreams of playing in the NFL, during a time when it would have been real easy to give up,” Zurich said.