“I’m honored to have been chosen. This is my mother, Mrs. Cotton, and my friend, Georgia Manley.”
“Hello,” he said to us both, slightly bowing our way.
We responded simultaneously, “Nice to meet you.”
He spoke again to Makkai. “The work you do is simply amazing, Doctor. And you’re a role model for so many young people all over the country.”
Mrs. Cotton smiled, taking her seat beside her renowned son.
Before long, main course meals were served that included a red leaf vinaigrette salad, shrimp-covered salmon and asparagus spears, and a buttery yellow rice covered with hollandaise. The mood was upbeat and the company was great. Sharing our table was Dr. Lois Taylor, who worked with Makkai.
“So, Dr. Worthy, what’s next on your list of accomplishments?” Speaking in a smoky voice, she grinned at only him, sitting there with her broad shoulders, wearing a low-cut, sunny yellow taffeta pantsuit. She didn’t have very much on top, and her medium brown face wasn’t much to write home about, but she spoke as if one had better get to writing. Anyway.
“Nothing planned, Dr. Taylor, just enjoying each day as it comes.”
She took a sip of her red wine. “You seem to have your bases covered.”
“What do you mean?” Makkai took a small bite of his vegetable and chewed like he had a large piece of tough steak to deal with.
“A great career, voted-for awards, a beautiful mom and a beautiful lady by your side.”
“I could say the same about you, Doctor.”
“Yes, but there’s no man at my side. I’m working on that, though.” She raised her glass and took a bigger sip.
“You won’t have a problem,” Makkai said without looking at her, only cutting his fork into his baked fish.
“No, you won’t,” said Mrs. Cotton, giving a nod to signal her agreement, or to deliver her son from Dr. Taylor’s clutches.
I said nothing. Dr. Taylor looked at me with a wink and nodded. I immediately delved into my vanilla crème brûlée.
“And this evening, the recipient of our distinguished Daniel Hale Williams award, named after the great black surgeon who performed the first prototype open heart surgery back in 1893, is a gifted specialty surgeon who works in the field of adult heart surgery. He chairs several organizations, as well as being the vice-president of the Society for Thoracic Surgeons. He has pioneered efforts on the national health-care scene advocating research into heart disease in the black community, being that cardiovascular disease is the leading cause of death amongst African American men and women. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, Dr. Makkai Jerome Worthy,” said last year’s recipient, Dr. Robert Anderson.
“Jerome?” I asked his mother as we all stood in unison, while I sort of snickered.
“That was my father’s name,” Mrs. Cotton said with pride, putting her hands together for her accomplished son.
“I see.” I felt as though I should not have said it like that. But, dang, I guess I really was making fun. Makkai did not look like a Jerome. Bad girl, Georgia, bad girl. Surely his mom had at least one strike against me already.
As Makkai approached the podium, Dr. Anderson handed Makkai the bronzed statue. Makkai stood smiling like a winning politician, slightly bowing until the applause ceased. Dr. Lois Taylor was the last one at our table to take her seat again.
“Wow, I am so honored to be acknowledged in this way. You go through life just doing what you do and in no way do you ever expect anything in return. I enjoy helping people and treating patients who look to me for my training and knowledge. You pray that you make the best decision, because it really is all in God’s hands. We, as doctors, don’t have as much control over the outcomes of our patients’ health as people think we do. It’s just about making timely medical decisions and letting God’s healing hands do the rest. I get a chance to go to work and perform the very same surgeries I watched being performed from those observation galleries while I was a junior and senior in medical school. And now I get to share my commitment to provide the best medical care possible, and interact with patients and families and my fellow colleagues in the medical profession. I’m living a dream come true. And it’s only just begun.
“I’d like to thank a team of so many people, first being those fantastic folks who I work with, who I’ve learned from, who have helped me, and who have supported me. But, mainly I could not possibly do what I do without my beautiful mother, Corrine Cotton, my rock and my roots. She always told me that greatness is on the other side of inconvenience. And that there’s no elevator to success, you have to take the stairs. Thanks Mom, for raising me to believe I could do anything.”
She smiled and blushed, humbly and demurely looking around at everyone who applauded.
Makkai delivered a respectful nod her way and placed his hand over his heart.
She blew him a major kiss, and wiped her right eye with her napkin.
“I’d also like to thank God for my many blessings, for my health, and for my family. And I’d like to thank the NAACP for this prestigious Daniel Hale Williams award, and for the greatness that his name and the organization stand for. As a whole, the NAACP serves a great purpose in the advancement of our race. So I thank you again. May many, many blessings come your way. I’m honored and humbled. Good night.”
As Makkai moved away from the podium, not one person remained seated. He held tight to the statue, taking the few steps down from the stage and back toward the table, stepping along with the sound of many clapping hands and loud whistles. He approached his mother who had tears in her eyes. He hugged her and then stood next to me as the applause dissipated, taking my hand and squeezing it firmly as we took our seats at the same time.
Next thing we knew, after a few more awards were handed out, it was time for a little booty shaking, grooving to everything from “Boogie on Reggae Woman,” to the latest cut by Ludacris.
“Go ahead with your bad self,” I said to Makkai’s mom as she danced next to me, working it out with the gentleman who was the head of the NAACP. He actually taught her how to step in the name of love.
“Don’t think I can’t get my groove on now,” she told me, allowing her smile to take over her face.
“Mom’s dropping it like it’s hot,” Makkai said, looking thrilled by her joy.
He danced with everyone, including doing the cha-cha with Dr. Lois, Gotta-Find-Me-a-Man, Taylor. But, I snatched him away when “I Don’t See Nothing Wrong” by R. Kelly began. It was time to slow dance and she needed to back up. One song is my absolute limit for sharing. There’ll be no bumpin’ and grindin’ with my man.
I must admit that the evening was a blast.
My belly was full.
I looked good.
And I ended up barefoot with a buzz.
Dancing with the finest man in the world.
The man of my dreams.
Dr. Feelgood.
Chapter 14
Georgia
“It was nice meeting you,” I told Makkai’s mother as the limousine pulled up to drop her off first. We sat across from her in facing seats.
“Nice meeting you, too, young lady. You’re a beautiful girl. And, Makkai, I’m proud of you, son. You looked so great up there. Thanks for allowing me to tag along.”
“You’ll always be front and center, Mom.”
“You two have a good evening.” She put her hand on her son’s knee. “Makkai, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Not so fast. I’m walking you to the door.”
“Makkai, I’ll be fine.”
“No, Mom. I know Mr., sorry, Al, is gone and you’re home alone, so I don’t think so.” He moved from beside me and slid over across the pewter-colored leather seat and toward the door. He stepped out first and offered his hand. She grabbed on and stepped out, and they talked all the way to the door of her yellow house with the white picket fence.
When Makkai got back in, he sat across from me. “Did you have fun?”
“I did
. That was a great ceremony and the food was great, too.”
“It was, wasn’t it?”
I slipped off my jeweled high-heel sandals, wiggling my toes. “And your mother is the nicest woman in the world.”
“She’s pretty special.”
“I showed her pictures of the girls. She said she wants to meet them one day.”
“Oh, she did? They are some cutie pies.”
“I told her you’d met my mom, too.”
“Okay.”
I rubbed the souls of my feet. “So, Makkai, how do you know Dr. Taylor?”
“Dr. Taylor is in my department. She’s a coworker, why?”
“Just wondering.”
“Georgia, you can just cut that right on out. I had a great evening and want to keep it positive.”
“So do I.”
“Good.”
A while later, after the driver turned up the oldies station at Makkai’s request, the car pulled into the driveway and up to Makkai’s front door.
“Do you want to come in?”
I was a little bit surprised, but you know I had to play it off. “Come in? Sure.”
Unlike the first-lady treatment he gave his mother, he got out and headed straight to the driver to give him a tip.
I carefully stepped out, looking toward my car, which was parked in the circular driveway.
“Your car will be fine there.”
This man’s Hollywood Hills house is a magnificent sight to see. Makkai had it going on. It was huge, with a flat roof, but it was tri-level, with white stone columns along the front door that led to two, twelve-foot-tall double doors. Lion’s head doorknockers hung in brass.
We went in through his four-car garage and stepped into a spacious sunken kitchen with gray and black granite countertops and matching floors. He had a walnut island in the middle of the kitchen that was bigger than a king-sized bed. All of his appliances were shiny black, and the faucets and lighting fixtures were stainless steel.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“Oh, no, I’m fine.”
He placed his grand award statue on his marble entryway table. “Make yourself at home. My bedroom is upstairs and to the left, two flights up to the top floor. Or you can take the elevator, right here.” He pointed toward the hallway.
I just stood and stared from the doorway of his kitchen to the sprawling living room with white carpet and toffee brown leather furnishings. He had a formal fiberglass table that sat twelve. Beyond the dining room was a panoramic view that spanned from the Hollywood sign, to most of the city from downtown to Century City, and almost to the shoreline of the Pacific.
From the back, his home sat on stilts, high on a hill. And down below, far below, was a blackbottom, Olympic-sized swimming pool, with black and white outdoor furniture, a circular bar, a light green tennis court and a red clay basketball halfcourt.
My jaw remained dropped. “Makkai, this is absolutely beautiful.”
He spoke as he led the way. “I got this house for a steal years ago. I’ve made a lot of improvements. Believe me, it didn’t come like this. Here, I’ll show you the rest of the house, including my office and guest rooms, and I have a weight room if you want to use it in the morning. But, I hope we head up to that bed in a minute. I am dead tired, Georgia.”
We were both tired actually, finding ourselves lying down as soon as everything but our underwear came off.
I lay still on my back, checking out his massive bedroom with floor-to-ceiling beveled mirrors everywhere, a black marble fireplace, two huge suede sofas and a headboard that spanned along the entire wall.
In an instant, Makkai was snoring. I didn’t even know he snored. Maybe because I’d usually fall asleep before him, just in postorgasm mode. But tonight, there was no sex … just being together.
Before I knew it, I was up standing up in my coral panties and staring outside of the sliding glass door that led to a beautiful, large balcony.
I wondered if the alarm would go off if I went out there for a little air. I looked back at Makkai, sound asleep, and as my eyes made it back to the view, I saw his Sidekick on his oak end table next to the sofa, illuminated by the tiny lights of his headboard. The bad girl in me told me to pick it up. The good girl in me told me to take my ass to sleep.
As I scrolled through, my heart started racing frantically. With every number that appeared, a beat pounded just as strong as the curiosity grew and more panic started to rise. What am I doing? But, then again, who are these women? Same area codes, different area codes, unfamiliar area codes. I just had to know. I picked up a Post-it and pencil from the end table and started to write. My jealous hands were shaking. The incoming calls were frequent. The outgoing calls were similar. I carefully and quickly replaced his phone on the side table, tiptoeing all the while, and made my way to my purse beside the bed, taking out my cell. I headed to the enormous ebony bathroom and closed the door, locking it behind me. I pressed star sixty-seven so my number wouldn’t show up and I dialed.
This is Royale. I’m not in right now.
This is Magenta, I promise to call you back.
This is Salina.
This is Monday.
Hi, this is Mary Jane.
Damn, why do women now leave their names on their announcements? They make it so damn easy. So if there are men living with all of these women, where are they, and why aren’t their voices on the recordings? What am I doing? Surely these are just friends. And he’ll say that I’m a stupid dumb bitch for violating his privacy anyway. Yes, that is what this will be all about. Oh, hell, I had to call just one more.
“Hello?” a soft, sexy voice answered.
“Hello.”
“Who’s this?”
“Who’s this?”
“Hello? Who is this?”
I shut the phone. The voice sounded familiar.
Why is it that when people are busted, they blame you for the violation? Point is if there’s nothing to find, there’s nothing to worry about. He’ll tell me he doesn’t go around snooping through my things, so how dare I go around snooping through his, and that I can’t come to his house anymore. But, the point is, this is not about what he would do. He would say it doesn’t matter to him, just so it won’t matter to me. He wants you to chill like he has chilled. He’s not jealous or insecure because it’s not like that. Well, maybe it’s because you haven’t given him a reason to think there’s someone else. And, you’re not him. You’re you. You know right from wrong. And this is wrong. But, two wrongs don’t make a right, and what you won’t tell me, this call log will.
The real deal is … men are fucking dogs. They are never satisfied. They are greedy. They lie. They are running around in a world of so many women per man that the thought of having ten women to choose from at any given time just causes spasms of pumped blood from their brains to their dicks. Hence, a hard-on. He can have a fine-ass Halle at home and still check out a hottie, wondering what it feels like to be inside of her. He can be with her, and take her to lunch, and talk to the other throughout the day, and sneak by her house in the afternoon, and see her for dinner, and make a run by her house at around midnight. And call you to say he can’t wait to see you the next day. I’d rather you be with someone else, missing me, than you be with me, missing her.
How come I’m not enough for Makkai? Oh, that’s right, he’s Dr. Feelgood. Well, Dr. Feelgood is every man who is a liar, a player, a flake, a punk, a mama’s boy, a hound, a weirdo. Just like my no-good daddy.
I am so damn angry I could lose my mind.
With way too much running through my head, I had no choice but to get out of his bed at seven in the morning because Makkai’s alarm went off since he had to get up early. I didn’t get a wink of sleep, and I didn’t get to slip on some of his clothes to work out in his weight room either.
He made a slow trek to his bathroom, brushed his teeth, and then threw on some boxers. After washing my face, I slowly put my clothes back on, and then we headed
downstairs.
“What’s up?” He read my face as we walked outside.
I rubbed my eyelids. “Just tired.” I tried to play it off, unsure how I would approach him just yet.
“Okay, well, try to get some sleep at home. You’ll be fine. I’ll talk to you later.” He gave me a weak peck on the lips as he closed the door to my car, and then watched me pull off, up the driveway and out the electronic double gate.
I rode way past the posted speed limit, still wearing my red slinky halter gown, tapping my French manicured acrylic nails along the steering wheel, and singing along with the full-volume words to “I Hate You So Much Right Now,” by Kelis. I rolled down all of the windows, breeze blasting through my hair and against my face, and screamed at the top of my lungs, “Oh yeah, I forgot, Makkai … we were only fucking, right?”
Chapter 15
“Today, we are honored to have a few distinguished guests in our midst,” said baritone-voiced, afro-wearing Pastor Smith.
Later that morning, the applause at the mega-church dissipated.
Pastor Smith wore a wheat-colored, double-breasted, three-quarter-length, three-piece, tailor-made suit made with the finest gabardine material, accented by a pink silk handkerchief, and two-tone cognac David Eden alligator and crocodile shoes. He was beyond clean; he was Mr. Clean.
The arena-styled church with deep rose-colored theatre-style seats was large and packed.
Pastor Smith spoke as smooth as he looked after the congregation had heard the gospel choir sing a moving spiritual rendition of Hezekiah Walker’s “Jesus is My Help.”
“First we have Ms. Tanya Hart, well-known entertainment news anchor and, from what I hear, an awesome singer. Please welcome Ms. Hart.” He led the applause. “Maybe one day you’ll come and sing with our choir. I’m sure our congregation would love that. And we have Mr., or should I say Dr. Makkai Worthy, renowned heart surgeon. This man has been performing complicated heart surgeries for many years, and he’s a past president of the Black Surgeons Foundation. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Dr. Makkai Worthy.”
Dr. Feelgood Page 7
