by Nicole Falls
“Girl, I was soaking up how good it feels to be free! Do you realize how long it's been since I've been able to take a walk by myself? Just me...alone with my thoughts no bodyguards or paparazzi lurking tryna snap a pic of me. For that reason alone, it's been great being home, actually. In Ragston, I'm not Roxanne Malone. I'm just Lil Rocki, Frank and Mary's baby. The people here are nosy, but it's a familiar kinda nosy, you know?”
“Rocki, I can't even begin to imagine your life, girl. I don't know how you deal with all of it. Shoot, if I'd gone through what you're going through now? I'd be somewhere wearing a hug me jacket in a padded room.”
Rocki chuckled, “You get used to it after a while, girl. And you know how much I've always loved acting, so I just take the good with the bad. And trust me, there's a lot more good than bad.”
When we arrived at the Malone's, Rocki's parents greeted me like I was a soldier coming home from an extended tour overseas. I guess it had been at least fifteen years since they'd seen me, someone, who was once a permanent fixture in their house after school and on most weekends. We'd rotated between Rocki and Charli's homes as kids, never spending too much time at mine because my father made anyone who wasn't Witnesses that came to our house very uncomfortable. He and Mikey stayed into it because he kept trying to get Mikey to convince friends to start a Bible study or come to the Hall.
Rocki and Charli were where I drew the line, though and my father begrudgingly respected it because they both came from what he considered to be good families, despite being worldly. Worldly was how Witnesses described anyone who wasn't a follower of their faith, meaning they were of the world and not of the Lord, Jehovah God. Our Witness community was small, with not many kids around my age and if it were up to him, I wouldn't have any friends. Thankfully my mother was a little less...zealous and managed to temper my father's extremes most of the time.
Rocki showed me to the guest room that used to be her big brother Paul's room. Both Charli and I had massive crushes on Paul growing up, much to Rocki's chagrin.
“Hey, I can finally tell Charli I got between Paul's sheets too now,” I said, setting my bag down and falling onto the bed.
“First of all, both of you are gross.”
I laughed at Rocki's reaction, unable to resist ribbing her a little more, “Now you know you woulda loved having me as a sister in love, don't trip, boo!”
“Bemmy, please.”
“For as long as you call me Bemmy, I'll continue to make inappropriate jokes about banging your bro. Them's the rules,” I shrugged.
“You are so ridiculous,” Roxanne laughed, “Despite your rebranding when we entered Westfall High, you know I'll never call you Emerson, right?”
“So nasty, so rude,” I intoned, imitating Nene Leakes which sent Rocki into a spell of laughter.
“Girl, you are still silly as ever. What time is your flight in the morning?”
“Soooo...about that...”
“It's early isn't it?”
“Not super duper early, but yeah, I need to be in Detroit by eight. That's not a problem, is it? Because I can still go back to Grace's and grab my car in the morning, I just...I couldn't stay there tonight.”
“You don't have to explain yourself to me, trust me when I say I understand needing your space. Especially if you're used to operating on your own time, and someone's trying to come in and change that. What's going on with you and Gracie, though? I thought she was the reason you were even here?”
“She is...but she...we...you remember how whenever we would be following SEGA around how Grace treated me versus how she treated you and Charli? Like I was some baby to be managed instead of a budding young woman? Let's just say that Grace hasn't exactly grown out of that.”
“Ahhh, say no more...let's talk about more interesting things. Like you leaving on a jet plane to go and get that thang!”
I felt my face getting hot, “I'm not—this isn't...I'm just going to hang out with my friend is all.”
“Yeah, hang out with his dick in your—”
“Rocki!” I exclaimed, fake scandalized.
“Girl bye, you may not say a word stronger than frick, but the way you were knocking back that wine the other day lets me know that our little Bemmy isn't as innocent as she was when she left Ragston. And ain't nothin' wrong with that, chica. Go for yours! Get some! You deserve!”
Roxanne was right about that; I did deserve. But I had a strong, strong feeling that getting more deeply involved with Roosevelt on an intimate level would have me out here more sprung than I already was. And I couldn't even afford to be catching feelings that would lead to me having to catch flights to get my dose of dick because my life was still in L.A. and his was reemerging in Chicago. Bobby and I couldn't survive the distance from Long Beach to the Valley, so I wasn't even banking on being able to be multiple time zones away from a man and making it work. Nope, I'd keep things platonic with Roosevelt, no matter how tempted I was to do more.
“We're just friends, Rocki. It's not like that at all,” I protested.
“Mmmhmm, whatever, girl,” she replied, sliding away from where she'd been perched alongside me on the bed and slowly inching away to the door.
“You outta here? On your way to bed already?”
“Nah-uh girl, just putting some space between us so that lightning that's gonna strike you for lying about just being that man's friend doesn't fry me to a crisp as well.”
“I promise I cannot stand you,” I giggled, rolling my eyes at Roxanne's dramatics.
We stayed up for a few hours more, shooting the breeze before we settled in for the night. We’d have to leave Ragston at a little after seven in order for me to make my flight and I wasn’t sure of what Roosevelt had planned once I arrived in Chicago, so I wanted to be well-rested. Soon after Rocki left my room, I changed into my PJs and fell into an immediate deep sleep.
The next morning, I was awakened by the smell of sizzling bacon. After showering, I went downstairs to see Rocki and Mrs. Malone sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee. As soon as I rounded the corner, Rocki popped up, a look of relief on her face.
“Hey friend, you ready! Let’s roll,” she said, moving quickly to grab my arm and try to drag me out of the door.
“Girl, let this child get some food in her while you are trying to rush away from a simple question.”
“Nobody’s rushing, mama. Emerson’s got a flight to catch, we can’t be late is all.”
“Whatever, little girl. I’ll let you be for now but do know we’ll come back to this conversation. Emerson, there’s a breakfast sandwich with your name on it in the microwave. Don’t let Roxanne rush you out of here before you can get something in your system.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Malone.”
When we got in the car I asked Rocki what all of that was about, but she brushed me off, saying her mother was just being her typical nosy self. We drove the forty-five minutes to Detroit in silence—me worried about whatever was to come from and of this trip to see Roosevelt and Rocki carried away by whatever secrets she was harboring.
I exited the escalator following the instructions Roosevelt gave me to meet him near baggage claim. I insisted that he didn’t need to come inside the airport to retrieve me. I wasn’t too good for a curbside pickup, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. So, I was making my way to the baggage carousel for the flight I’d just deplaned, despite not having checked one bag. I was barely a few steps off the escalator before I spotted Roosevelt and immediately broke down into laughter. He stood just to the right of the end of the escalator dressed like a chauffeur, holding a large poster board with “Miss NoName” written on it. Shaking my head, I closed the distance between us and was swept into his arms for a tight hug. I relished the contact, brief as it was before speaking.
“Hey there, Mr. Ashe.”
“Miss NoName,” he responded with an exaggerated bow, “My chariot awaits you.”
My protests fell on deaf ears as he grabbed my bag off of my shoulder an
d took my hand in his, leading me toward that beautiful Caddy that had first caught my attention when our paths first crossed.
“How’d you manage to leave your car right here and no one has messed with it?”
“It pays to know people in high places…and also for your high school homeboy to be the traffic supervisor who owed you a favor or two,” he laughed, then tossed my bag in the trunk before opening the passenger door for me.
He made sure I was securely in the seat before rounding the car, starting it up, and navigating out of the airport. I’d been to Chicago countless times, but most times with colleagues and not for an extended amount of time, so I had never actually seen the City in its full glory. Roosevelt lived on the West Side of town, so we had to traverse through a bit of that infamous downtown Chicago traffic to eventually land in his neighborhood. The view of downtown Chicago as we traveled North was beautiful. I said so aloud, and Roosevelt remarked that it was actually his least favorite view of the city; which to me was a little insane. He said the view from North traveling South was actually the most superior and promise to take me on a ride to see that…and the view from West driving East so I could decide which was my favorite.
“You hungry? I figured we could drop your stuff off at the house, then go grab something to eat. Got a lil spot that I’d love to take you to for breakfast.”
“Yesssss, please,” I hissed, surprised that he hadn’t heard my grumbling tummy.
I’d never grabbed that breakfast sandwich that Mrs. Malone made for me, so Roosevelt’s plan was perfect. After about half an hour, we pulled up in front of a beautiful, sprawling brick home situated on a corner lot. The front yard was massive, the seven steps of the porch that led up to the front door flanked by gorgeous flowering bushes that were in full bloom. As we walked up the stairs, the smell of fragrant flowers flooded my senses.
“What kind of bushes are those?”
“Those would be Edna Ashe’s prized Viburnum shrubs.”
“Vibranium like de bleck pentha? Let me find out y’all are growing the heart-shaped herb out here!”
Roosevelt just laughed and shook his head before unlocking the door and ushering me into his space…well the space that he was currently occupying, but I was very hesitant to call it his. From the small portion of it that I’d seen so far, this space was still decidedly Edna Ashe’s space. It had all the hallmarks of the space belonging to an older black woman, right down to the plastic covered furniture in the living room. Roosevelt gave me the two-cent tour of the place, insisting I’d have more time to look at it after we returned from breakfast.
The place Roosevelt wanted to take me was actually within walking distance of his home, a small greasy spoon type that he undoubtedly frequented often as we were greeted effusively by folks as we walked in. Roosevelt bypassed the “Please Wait to Be Seated”, leading me to a booth in the back, left corner of the establishment. We’d been seated less than thirty seconds before a waitress appeared with a carafe of coffee and an easy smile.
“Hey, Ro,” she said, handing the one menu she had in her hand to me, “Who’s your friend?”
“Hey Nosy, this is my friend Emerson. Emerson, this is my homegirl—and neighbor, Chantrelle.”
“Nice to meet you,” I replied, cautiously, not quite sure what this was.
The Chantrelle chick didn’t seem to be someone with whom Roosevelt was currently involved, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have had something going before. Now, why would he bring me to a place where some of his old work currently works.
“Y’all know what you want yet?”
“Damn, Chan, she hasn’t even gotten a chance to look at the menu, give us a minute,” Roosevelt laughed.
“Take your time, Ro. Just holler when y’all ready,” she replied, hesitating briefly.
“Was there something else, Chan?”
She looked as if she was going to say something then shook her head, turning on a heel and strode away. I looked at the menu, checking out my options and said nothing. Despite this place looking pretty rundown, the menu was very impressive. They were a farm-to-table esque establishment, recently awarded a prize for being one of the top ten diners in America by some prestigious restaurant association. The menu was a mix of old diner favorites as well as a few atypical meal and side choices. I’d decided on the blueberry waffles with a lemon crème glaze and a side of duck bacon.
While I was busy perusing the menu, Roosevelt had busied himself pouring coffee into our mugs and doctoring his up a bit. He slid two packets of equal beside the mug in front of me, and I smiled. He apparently remembered the way I liked my coffee from the last time we’d been I each other’s physical presence. I always put precisely one and a half packets of Equal into black coffee because one wasn’t enough and two was too much. He’d teased me mercilessly about my persnickety coffee math then, but I see it clearly left an impression.
“You know what you want?” Roosevelt asked, sipping his coffee.
I nodded, and he signaled for Chantrelle to come and take my order. She did so quickly, then left us to our silence as we waited. Roosevelt said nothing, just stared at me.
“You know it’s creepy just to stare at somebody without a word, right?” I teased.
“It’s hard not to stare when someone’s as beautiful as you though,” he shot back smoothly.
I rolled my eyes and laughed, “So…is this your spot? I noticed that Chantrelle didn’t even hand you a menu or ask what you wanted.”
“Yeah, I’ve been here a time or two,” he laughed, “I’ve been coming here since I was a shorty though. It was MaDear’s favorite place, that wasn’t her own kitchen, to eat.”
“Ahhh,” I replied, “So you come here to keep the tradition alive, huh?”
“Yes and no, my boy Petey from high school actually owns this joint now. It’s been in his family for years, and when he inherited it, he switched up the style a bit to incorporate some of the things he’d learned in culinary school. It was never my favorite place to eat, but Pete’s upgrades quickly changed that.”
“Oh cool,” I said, sounding dumb to my own ears.
I was a little…actually a lot nervous. And when I was nervous, I got quiet, awkwardly so. Luckily our food was delivered to the table quickly, so the necessity of eating sort of precluded the need for much talking. My waffles and bacon—and the bite of Roosevelt’s massive omelet that he insisted I try—were delicious and by the time we finished, I was ready to go lie down somewhere and sleep off the itis. Roosevelt had other ideas, however, as we walked out of the diner.
“You up for a walk?” he asked.
“I don’t know how far I’ll get with all this yummy food still digesting, but sure, why not?”
“Don’t worry; we won’t be going too far.”
Roosevelt grabbed my hand, and we strolled in the opposite direction of his house. We walked for a few blocks, stopping intermittently as he pointed out landmarks that shaped the course of his life growing up in this neighborhood. I saw his elementary school, listened to hilarious stories about antics he’d gotten up to while attending there. Across the street from the elementary school was a home that he said had been fashioned into a store when he was growing up. The store was run by an old white woman, despite the neighborhood being predominantly black.
“She must’ve been a holdover from when the neighborhood was less diverse,” Roosevelt laughed, “But yo…I swear, thinking back on it now, she was definitely a racist. Our green dollars were good enough for her rude, old ass though.”
“Isn’t it crazy now? Some of the clearly racist dog whistles we recognize now were completely oblivious to us back then,” I remarked.
“Too busy tryna get my sour pickle with a peppermint stick to worry about her old self calling me boy in that derisive tone of hers. I can hear it now, just standing here. C’mon.”
We walked through a few more blocks of the neighborhood, with Roosevelt being stopped by folks along the way offering condolences or
just wanting to speak since they’d heard he was back in town. The short walk I was promised actually ended up being over an hour long, despite us not covering any further than six square blocks. Each time someone came up to Roosevelt, he was affable, keeping our hands interlinked and making sure to bring me into the conversation, introducing me to all of the folks that approached. By the time we made it back to his place, I was definitely in need of that nap I’d felt coming on shortly after breakfast.
“Hey,” I yawned, “Don’t think I’m lame but, I need to take a nap if you expect me to keep going.”
“Yo, my bad, you probably had a pretty early morning, right? Yeah…do what you gotta do. Whenever you’re ready, we can head over to see Rich n’em at the studio.”
“All right, sounds like a plan,” I said, before heading upstairs to the bedroom Roosevelt had designated as mine for the duration of my stay.
I woke up a few hours later to a quiet house. Wandering downstairs in search of my host, I found him sprawled on a couch in the den, the television still on. Guess I wasn’t the only tired one, I thought as I sat down on the chaise alongside the couch on which Roosevelt napped. I picked up the remote that was on the side table between us and listlessly began flipping through the channels to find something to watch until Roosevelt woke up. I settled on some reruns of Sanford and Son but found my attention consistently drifting back to a sleeping Roosevelt.
“You know it’s creepy to watch someone while they’re sleeping, right?” he rumbled eyes still closed.
I snapped my gaze toward the television.
“Boy please, ain’t nobody watching you, not when ol’ fine Rollo is onscreen.”
Roosevelt sat up, stretching, “Hold on. I know you didn’t just call buddy from Fred Sanford fine.”
“He was! Shooooot, if I were a young tender in the seventies, he definitely could have gotten it.”
“I don’t even know how to respond to that. Wow!”
