by Zetta Brown
I think I stopped breathing several minutes ago and have bitten into my lip hard enough to draw blood. I exhale slowly. We both want trust and honesty and, in return, we both expect to accept each other as we are. Is this really too much to ask?
“Jared,” I say, struggling to find the words and sigh. “I’m not cut out for high drama. Promise me that I can trust you . . . please?”
He presses his lips in a thin, firm line and grips my wrists to the point of discomfort.
“Evadne, I promise you.”
Chapter Eleven
“A Family affair”
I can’t fault Jared’s menu choice for me because the sirloin was perfection. When I mention the art show, I’m surprised at his eagerness to attend and risk meeting my folks. By the time we get to the bookstore things are going full throttle. Judging by the number of people present, tonight is a certifiable success. The shop windows blaze with lights and behind the green lettering announcing Preston ’s Place, est. 1975 , I see dozens of people mingling and dressed in fine after-five wear. Some hold little plates of food, some hold cups, while others are becoming adept at trying to manage both.
Well, this is it. For the second time in my life, I am about to introduce a man to my family, or to be precise, my parents. The first time was an unavoidable fluke back when I was in high school and I hope this time isn’t the same.
Mom and Dad hold court at the front door, greeting people with Maia and Tess standing nearby wearing identical pinafore outfits and passing out programs.
I grin when I see them. My parents are stylin’. Dad wears a teal-colored suit cut to flatter his portly stature and Mom wears a flowing, ivory-colored lace dress with her long black hair arranged in a crown so her streak of gray hair stands out like a badge of honor. My parents see us at the same time and both fail to hide their dumbstruck expressions.
I have a date.
And he’s white.
Their shock makes me wonder if I’ve been wrong all these years about my parents’ tolerance. Oh, hell. Do I really know my parents at all? Just because they spent years at the epicenter of the civil rights movement doesn’t mean they are card-carrying members of the Love-Knows-No-Color Club. But when Mom reaches for Jared’s right arm and Dad for his left, completely pulling Jared away from me, I want to kick myself for my paranoia.
“You must be Evadne’s friend,” Mom gushes.
Then Dad cuts in. “It’s nice to meet you—?”
“Jared. Jared Delaney.”
“Jared Delaney.” Mom smiles at me. “I like that.”
Yeah, I bet she does. The name Evadne Delaney is going through her mind right now. This is why I never bring men around to meet the family and, once again, I’m assured that I should never trust Beverly and LaRue with secrets.
“Hi, Daddy. Hi, Mama.” They ignore me. They’re already showing Jared around. When I take a step to join them, Mom spins a pirouette to face me.
“Eva, you stay by the door. We’ll be back.”
Well I’ll be damned.
For the next twenty minutes, I play official hostess with my nieces. I meet the regular patrons, the society crowd, and several of the young artists with their families and friends. Although my parents took Jared away, it’s Theo and LaRue who bring him back. They’re all laughing.
“Hey, Squirt! I was just giving Jared a quick tour, but here he is, unscathed.”
My jaw drops at the sight of Theo. Usually he wears jeans and a shirt hinting of Africa, with his bushy Afro adding a few inches to his 6’3” frame. Now he stands in a navy-blue suit resembling my dad’s—and totally bald! The light shines off his pale almond skin and reminds me of how my late grandfather looked. Noticing my astonishment, Theo grins.
“Do you like?”
“Well—yes! You look great! But it’s obvious LaRue dressed you, though.” I turn to my sister-in-law who sports a red halter dress with a light, fringed shawl. Her long hair is in an elegant French roll.
“Yes, but what about the ’do?” Theo asks, smoothing a hand over his head.
“It looks great. Makes you look years younger.”
LaRue rolls her eyes. “Eva, the man saw a patch of gray hair yesterday and freaked.”
“Yeah, well I dare them to come back.”
We laugh and I look at Theo and Jared. “Good to see you and Jared are playing nice.”
“Of course, sis. Jared here is pretty hep. Ain’t ’cha, bro?”
“Oh, I’m a wigger from way back.”
The boys laugh and give each other a pound. Will the wonders never cease? I guess I’m the only one concerned, but Denver is pretty conservative and despite our being in a place full of so-called liberals, I don’t see many mixed couples.
As Theo and LaRue leave, she catches my eye and tips me the wink. I blush, but a tug at my hem quickly catches my attention. I look down to see Tess staring at Jared.
“Jared, I want you to meet my nieces, Princess Tess and Princess Maia.”
“Your royal highnesses.” He does an elegant bow from the waist, but as he raises his head, he stops and rubs his eyes. “Why, bless my soul, I’m seeing double!”
The girls giggle.
“Now, which is which and how can I tell?”
“I’m Maia.” She gives a slight curtsey.
“And I’m Tess.” She copies her big sister.
“Yes, but how do I tell you apart?”
“Practice,” they chime.
This is their response to anyone who asks, but I rediscover its charm all over again because of Jared’s hearty laugh. He reaches into his pocket as he kneels before them.
“Well, two beautiful young ladies deserve special treats.”
With a slight of hand he produces twin quarters from behind their ears. The girls squeal with delight. Jared can now call the girls his.
“Are you going to be our new uncle?” Tess asks.
Jared looks up at me with a combination of amusement and astonishment.
“OK, you two. Go have a browse.” Mom has returned to her post and I am eternally grateful. “Help yourselves to grilled shrimp quesadillas in the alcove.”
I grab Jared by the hand and lead him away.
“Your nieces are cute.”
“Yeah. Just adorable.”
Instead of going to the alcove I lead him upstairs to the exhibit. The room is crowded but we manage. We take our time perusing various drawings, paintings, and sculptures.
“These kids are good.” He nods in appreciation, which I see as high praise coming from someone of his accomplishment. “From what I can tell, you got a bunch of kids that with the right training and encouragement, they can go far.”
I smile. “Well, there’s my sister Bev and her husband Alex. She’ll be glad to hear that.” I wave to get their attention. She grabs Alex by the arm and drags him over to us. Her willowy frame works the devil out of her denim jumpsuit. Alex, who used to box in the army, is stocky and slightly shorter than Bev. His dark skin melds perfectly with his chocolate-colored suit. When he’s not working as a computer analyst, he helps Bev by counseling and organizing physical activities for kids.
After introductions, I have Jared tell Bev what he just told me and her face lights up. She looks so appealing it’s no wonder people are eager to help her just to see her smile.
“Jared, you have no idea how much that means to me.” She grins. “These kids deserve every
chance they can get to know there’s more to life than gangs and guns.” She turns to me and frowns. “You know, one of Alex’s kids was shot last week.”
“Oh no, Alex, which one?”
“Cubby,” he says.
Clarence “Cubby” Morton is one of the boys Alex councils. Cubby’s a chubby cutie pie and only ten years old. I played hoops with him at one of the group’s barbecues last summer and he’s a charmer. His mother works hard, but can’t stop dating the wrong men. Hearing that he was shot brings tears to my eyes and Alex notices. He puts his hand on my arm.
“He’s doing fine at Children’s Hospital. Just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Yeah,” Bev says with a frown. “His daddy came home.” Then she turns serious. “His mom is dead, though.”
“Are you sure he’s alright? What’s gonna happen to him?” I ask and feel Jared’s arm go around my shoulder.
“Evadne, everything’s fine,” Alex soothes. “We’ll take care of Cubby.”
I take a deep breath and when I exhale it makes me shudder. Jared’s grip tightens.
“Jared,” Bev asks, “would you possibly be interested in giving a talk one day? Maybe holding a workshop?” She gives him a sweet smile. She’s working it and Jared is hooked. He looks at me and grins.
“I don’t see why not.” He reaches into his back pocket for his wallet and gives my sister his card. “Give me a call next week and we’ll set something up.”
Beverly takes the card and shakes his hand to close the deal.
“On a lighter note, we’ve been able to make nine sales already.”
“Make it ten.” Jared points to a canvas of a painting done in pointillism of a woman’s profile whose long black tresses turn into a raven in flight. You would’ve thought Beverly just won the lottery.
“Thank you, Jared. All the money goes to the after school program and towards a college fund for the kids.”
The three of them continue to talk but I don’t hear. I can’t take my eyes off my date. Less than two hours ago he was telling me his darkest secrets and now he’s charming my family. His chiseled but delicate profile, long neck, and thick auburn hair make him look like a dusk-colored angel. He’s so stylish and put together, could it be that after all my years of associating with frogs I have finally met my prince?
Why am I so skeptical? Because this kind of thing only happens in books and movies where the heroine is a size four and an oil heiress, that’s why. If this is a dream, I’ll follow it to the end. But if it’s a joke, I’ll be sure to have the last laugh. I shake my head. No, Evadne. That is the wrong attitude to have. Just take it for what it is. You have finally gotten what you deserve.
Jared turns to me and I guess I have this simpering look on my face because he raises his eyebrows and chuckles. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I smile and wrap my arm around his.
Bev and Alex start to leave. “Hey, Eva,” she says. “If you see the boys, tell them I need them to set up a few more chairs in here.”
“Will do.”
“Who are the boys?” Jared asks as we walk away.
“Their sons . . . also twins.”
He shakes his head in disbelief then pulls me close to blow in my ear. “You must be very fertile.”
“Simmer down, cowboy.” Actually, I’m terrified of the prospect—and surprised he isn’t. His left hand slips down to my hip and gives it a squeeze.
“You feel pretty ripe to me.”
The huskiness of his voice makes me tremble and his taking a nip at my earlobe doesn’t help calm my nerves. I moan. We go down the back stairs and immediately to our right is “Eva’s Corner.” Guests are browsing the aisles and suddenly, we come to—The Door.
“What’s this?” he asks with mock innocence after reading the inscription. I purse my lips together and before I can think of something smart to say, he has the door open.
This will be my first time behind The Door since that fateful day in 1977 and a lot has changed. For one, I don’t remember the room being so small. Berber carpet has replaced the shag and now nice wood bookshelves, like the ones in the main store, line the walls. The room is painted a dark, hunter-green with oak wainscoting and English landscape paintings hang from the walls rather than nudes on glow-in-the-dark velvet. The whole room resembles a formal Victorian library.
There’s a lot more books and how-to guides along with the requisite titles of Playboy , Penthouse , and Hustler . We’re the only ones in the room and Jared pulls me along as our eyes scan the shelves. Going around to the next row, I see my nephews gawking at a magazine.
The two rail-thin young men look like junior members of The Temptations with their twin, slate-gray suits, black shoes, white shirts, pinstripe ties, and close-cut Afros.
“A- hem !”
Delius and Darien jump nearly two feet and I have to purse my lips to keep from laughing, but that doesn’t stop Jared.
“Auntie Evie!” Delius says first. His brother is too spooked to talk. Both of them register blushes on their pale skin.
“What are you doing in here?” I ask.
The boys look at each other. At six feet, they’re taller than me and almost as tall as Jared. If they hadn’t been raised right, they could’ve told me to fuck off. Since their answer isn’t forthcoming, I reach for the magazine Darien clutches. His knuckles are red from their death grip, but he lets go without resistance. Apparently the boys were lucky enough to stumble upon a magazine that had been separated from its protective sleeve. That’s when I discover it’s not a magazine, but a high-gloss comic book.
“ The Life of Lucrezia ?” I read the title aloud. The cover shows a sultry blond lounging on a sofa in what looks like a living room. She wears a peignoir trimmed in pink boa that barely covers her nudity. Her nipples and the dark triangle of her sex are visible. Her legs are crossed and she wears fishnet stockings and high heel mules to match her gown. She’s talking on a princess phone with this demure look on her face, twirling the cord around her fingers.
“What’s this?”
“It’s an adult comic, auntie,” Darien mumbles.
“Oh, really? And how long have you two adults been reading this comic?”
They look at each other but don’t answer. I begin flipping through the pages. What I see is fantastic. The drawings put me in mind of old Archie comics circa 1950 that I have in my own comic collection from when I was a child. The images are drawn with bright, primary colors in stylized detail.
But talk about explicit! I’ve never seen Archie and the Gang do the things I’m seeing in this comic. The panel I look at takes up both pages and shows a man and woman doing it doggie style in a dentist’s chair.
The temperature in the room goes up about twenty degrees and I fan myself. The artist not only captures the physical composition of the act but the emotion as well. You can feel the impact of the man moving inside the woman’s body from the strain and the bulging veins at his temple and in his neck. Sweat beads at his hairline and his face is beet-red. And as far as the woman is concerned, you can practically hear the pleasured moan spill out of her mouth. Her face is one of complete ecstasy as her porcelain white features blush with exertion, and her blond hair is a luxurious mass of melted gold about her shoulders.
I’m getting dizzy. Despite these past days with Jared, seeing actual images of sex is rare for me. I’ve only been to a few X-rated movies, and all I saw was a lot of woman showing of
f full-frontal nudity and silicone castles, but never the penises of the men. I can’t even bring myself to flip through a Playgirl— though I’m dying of curiosity. But this is just too intense. I raise a hand to my forehead.
“Are you alright?” Jared’s voice, full of concern, comes from behind me. I’d forgotten he was there. I nod stiffly but can’t look away from the picture.
“Boys, your mother wants you upstairs. Now.”
I only hear the feet of my nephews stumbling over each other as they get away. Jared moves beside me and takes the book. “Eva? Sugar, what is it?”
“It’s . . . well look at it!”
He opens the book. “Yes? And?”
“I’m sorry. You must think I’m so prude.” I smile weakly.
“Hardly. But what’s wrong? Does it offend you?”
“No! Quite the opposite. It’s made me incredibly horny.”
I lean against the bookcase, pick up the nearest magazine, and fan myself. I smile. “We’ve come a long way from Archie and Ritchie Rich .”
Jared chuckles and continues looking at the book. I start reading the titles of the other comics. Not all are the same bound quality like the one he holds; most of them are printed on newsprint.
I should tell Dad he needs to lock this room when no one’s around, or have a buzzer so someone can control who gets back here before some rabid, politically-correct consumer with nothing better to do accuses my dad of corrupting youth. But I see two problems with this move. First, most of the books and magazines have covers that conceal any juicy bits. And second, it would mean telling my dad I was behind The Door—again.
I’ll just casually lock the door when we leave. My nephews’ secret is safe with me. And as long as they’re not like their mother, so is mine.
“Gee, Evadne, if this is the sort of reaction I can expect after you read one of these you should get it.”
