known you were previously involved with Hal.”
“I should have—”
“No, no.” Tyrone waved her off. “It was none of my business, of course. You’re not under any obligation to tell me of your past relationships. After all, we’re not exactly in a relationship. We’re just going out for a friendly lunch.”
“I know,” Nikkie said quickly. She didn’t want him to think she believed it was more than it was, although to be honest she hoped—and felt—it was definitely going to be leading to much more. “But still, I shouldn’t have let you come to the office. It’s just that Hal’s been out for a few weeks, and he wasn’t expected back until Monday.” No need to tell him that Hal had been out because he was trying to get over her. Thank God Tyrone had declined to press charges, as had Jenice. But there was no way Mr. Kadinsky was going to reconsider and let Hal keep his job. Still, she reasoned with herself, it was his fault, not hers. She may have dropped him, but that didn’t mean he had to act like a lunatic.
“No matter what the circumstances, he was out of line,” Tyrone was saying. “I never did like him, anyway.”
“Oh?” Nikkie perked up her ears.
Tyrone nodded. “From when he and I first met at the mayor’s luncheon. We were seated together at a table, and he attempted to dominate the conversation. Every time I opened my mouth to say anything, he’d cut me off with some trivial remark no one was interested in. We all had those marked place settings at the table with our name and company affiliations, but you could tell he assumed that I was a nobody who was simply there because Merrill Lynch had bought a spot and filled in with one of their little people because no one in the top brass could attend.
“Then just before the luncheon ended, and everyone was milling around, he came over and introduced himself. Someone must have told him who I was.” The smile on Tyrone’s face was unmistakable. It was the same one she’d worn when that model, Jovanna, had been dissed by Cindy and Rachel at the nightclub, and the one she’d also worn when Sarah had seen that she was hanging out with the New York jet-setters. Of course she’d just been judged powerful because of the people she was with, whereas Tyrone’s power came from who he was. That had to have been even more satisfying when Hal came running back to kiss his ass.
“I can’t stand phony-ass people who only judge you by what you’ve achieved. People should be judged by their character or their personality, not by their position,” Tyrone finished.
Handsome, successful, and intelligent; she’d really hit pay dirt with Tyrone. Or had she? The words he said earlier replayed in her mind: After all, we’re not exactly in a relationship. We’re just going out for a friendly lunch. Why would he make it a point of saying that after plying her with flowers and calling her every day to tell her how much he was looking forward to seeing her? Suddenly, she suspected that the debacle with Hal probably turned Tyrone off so much he didn’t want to have anything else to do with her. And this is just the type of man I need in my life right now, she thought dismally.
Before she could further sink into a state of depression, they were interrupted by a short, dignified-looking African-American man in a gray Armani suit, white shirt, and red silk tie. His appearance screamed money, and his mannerisms shouted distinguished gentleman.
“Tyrone, how good to see you again.” He turned to Nikkie and gave one of those almost imperceptible bows that make every woman feel like a lady. Tyrone made the introductions on cue.
“Nicole Jensen, this is Quincy Aston. Quincy is a special assistant to the mayor.” He turned to the man. “How’s it going, Quincy?”
“Everything is fine, thank you. I don’t want to interrupt your meal,” he said, moving aside as the waiter approached to serve their appetizers. “I just wanted to stop by to make sure you received your invitation to the Governor’s Ball next month.”
“I did, thanks. And of course I’ll be there. Quite a coup getting Rudy Giuliani as the keynote speaker. Should be quite an evening.” Nikkie couldn’t help but notice that his tone was polite, but not as friendly as it had been with Art Kadinsky. He turned back to Nikkie. “I hope you’ll consider attending as my date.”
And just like that, Tyrone announced to Quincy Aston that Nikkie was not just any old luncheon date, but someone he’d better get used to seeing around. And what a coup it would be at the office if she could actually have her picture taken at the ball with the governor. The smile appeared on Nikkie’s face again, the one that said “That’s right. I am somebody.” Or at least: “I’m good enough to be with a somebody, so watch out for me.”
“It will be a pleasure to see both of you. Well, I’ll leave you to your meal.” And with that, and another one of those almost imperceptible bows, Quincy was gone.
“Shall we dig in?” Tyrone said after he left.
“He seemed very nice,” Nicole said while spreading her napkin over her lap.
“Aston? Not one of my favorite people, but he has his good points. I deal with him on a business level, but I would never have anything to do with him on a personal level.”
“Oh? What’s wrong with him?”
“Well,” Tyrone hesitated. “Do you know what ‘down low’ means? As in, he’s on the down low?”
Nikkie nodded, but Tyrone continued as if he hadn’t noticed.
“It’s a term, usually used in the African-American community, to refer to a gay man who is not only in the closet, but goes to great lengths to hide his homosexuality by squiring around beautiful women, getting married and having children, and doing everything he can think of to appear manly—”
“I know what you’re talking about,” Nikkie interrupted.
“Oh, good,” Tyrone said absently.
Oh God, and he seemed like the perfect man. Don’t tell me Tyrone is homophobic. “So you don’t like homosexuals,” she said casually. “Oh, the shrimp cocktail is delicious.”
“That’s not it at all.” He suddenly laughed. “I almost said some of my best friends are gay. But that would have sounded as phony as the white people who say some of my best friends are black, wouldn’t it?” He smiled.
“No, it doesn’t matter to me at all that Quincy is gay,” he continued. “What bothers me is that he’s on the down low. I find that deceitful. Downright despicable, in fact. And most openly gay people, even those who have no issue with gays who are in the closet, consider men on the down low as traitors. I think people should be what they are, and be proud, even if they don’t go around announcing it. Don’t you agree?”
The stone that had been in her stomach for the past year was suddenly making its way up her throat. “Would you excuse me for a moment?” She jumped up from the table without waiting for an answer and barely made it to the bathroom stall before she emptied the contents of her stomach into the commode. When she finally stood up and wiped her mouth, her brother’s words echoed in her ears: “Turn your back on your race if you want to, but you’d best remember, when you burn bridges like that, you’re going to have a helluva time trying to cross back over to the other side when you need to do so.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Okay, I was going to ask how you’re doing, but you look so miserable I see I can save my breath,” Jenice said as she took a seat in Nicole’s cubicle. “Is Mr. Kadinsky blaming you for Hal’s meltdown on Friday?”
Nikkie shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. In fact, he called me over the weekend to make sure I was okay.”
Jenice laughed. “Probably trying to head off some kind of sexual harassment lawsuit against the firm or something.”
“More than likely. He also told me that the police had to let Hal go with a warning, since I convinced Tyrone not to press charges against him for attempted assault, and suggested I consider taking out a restraining order against him.”
Jenice whistled. “Are you going to?”
“No. I got a call from Hal’s mother on Sunday. He asked her to call to let me know he’s checked himself into a sanatorium in Salt Lake Cit
y. She told me he wanted to apologize and assure me he wouldn’t be bothering me further.” Nikkie shrugged. “I believe him.”
“Well, you’ve had a wonderful weekend, huh?”
Nikkie rolled her eyes. “Simply outstanding.”
“Well, what about Tyrone?”
“What about him?”
Jenice sucked her teeth. “Go ahead and play stupid.”
Nikkie sighed. “We went ahead and had lunch on Friday; then we met for brunch on Sunday. Pier 2110, ever heard of it?” She didn’t wait for Jenice to answer. “We had a nice time. He’s a nice guy. But I don’t think I’m going to see him again.”
Jenice shot her a puzzled look. “Why not?”
Nikkie shrugged and started shuffling around papers. “It’s only bound to make things even more complicated, Jenice. I mean, I thought I was going to be able to be truthful with him, you know? I thought he might even actually be my ticket out of all of this. But he’s not.” Nikkie explained to Jenice the meeting with Quincy Aston at the restaurant. She finished by saying, “He made it clear what he thought about people passing for something that they’re not. Not exactly the person I can come out to, now is he?”
Jenice strummed her fingers on Nikkie’s desk. “I see your point.”
“The thing is, I really like him,” Nikkie whined. “I mean, he’s so nice, and he’s so into me already. And he’s handsome. He’s got money. He’s the perfect man.”
“Well,” Jenice said slowly, “why not go ahead and keep him? I mean, like you said, he’s into you. Maybe it’s because he thinks you’re white, but maybe it’s because he really likes you. Why throw that away? Go ahead and get to know him better. Maybe as time goes by, you’ll figure out a way to tell him.” She paused. “Or . . .”
“Or what?” Nikkie said expectantly.
“Or go ahead and tell him now and get it over with. I mean, why not? If he doesn’t want you because of it, then so be it. You just said you were going to drop him, anyway. But why not just
give him a chance? You said you like him.”
“Jenice—”
“Look.” Jenice threw up her hands. “Either you don’t tell him yet and see if it’s going to go somewhere and then take a chance and tell him, or tell him now and get it over quickly. All I’m saying is that I don’t think you should dump someone just because of what you think they might do. It doesn’t seem fair.”
Nikkie sighed. “I don’t know, Jenice. I don’t know.”
“Just think about it.” Jenice stood up. “Wanna have lunch later?”
“Sure.”
Jenice walked to the door, then hesitated. “One more question before I go.”
Nikkie looked up expectantly. “What’s that?”
“Well . . . I mean . . . just how long do you plan on passing, anyway? Is this going to be a lifelong thing?”
Nikkie grimaced. “I don’t know that, either. I mean . . . Oh God, Jenice. I’m so tired of all this. But I don’t know how to get out. For Christ’s sake! How do I come out now and tell everyone I’ve been lying all this time?” She looked up at Jenice quickly. “Not that I’ve actually lied. I mean, I never told anyone that I’m—”
“Do me a favor and spare me that bullshit, Nikkie.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry. But that’s just what I’m saying. How do I just come out now and admit to everyone I’ve been living a lie? I mean, I have a hard enough time admitting it to myself.”
“Just go ahead and do it.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Nikkie grumbled. “You don’t have to go ahead and tell everyone you’re a fraud.”
“Well,” Jenice said as she got up again, “I suggest you pray on it. You didn’t make it over to my church on Sunday, but there’s always next.”
“Yeah,” Nikkie said absentmindedly. “Maybe I’ll do that.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
May 2008
It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bennett. Tyrone’s told me so much about you.” Nikkie folded her hands in her lap, and started to cross her legs, but thought better of it. She wanted to make a good impression on the Bennett family—and especially the matriarch, Tyrone’s mother. She smiled at Tyrone, who was hovering next to her chair.
The small woman with the wizened face looked over her from foot to head before answering. “Has he? Well, he’s told us quite a bit about you, too. He said you’re from Detroit.”
“Yes. But I’ve been in New York for a year now. I truly love the city.” Nikkie folded and refolded her hands. “I understand you’re originally from Trinidad. I’ve always wanted to visit. Do you go back often?”
“She goes every couple of years—”
Mrs. Bennett shot her son a disapproving look. “I think I can speak for myself.” She turned back to Nikkie. “Once every few years only. Most of my family moved to the States years ago. My husband—God rest his soul—and I have been
in this same neighborhood going on forty years. All of our children were born here in Harlem.”
“That must be why you have no accent. If Tyrone hadn’t told me you were Caribbean, I’d never have known.”
“Oh, get her mad or excited.” Tyrone chuckled. “Then her accent comes out hot and heavy. Emphasis on hot.”
Mrs. Bennett ignored him. “What about you? Do you go back to Detroit often to visit your family?”
Nikkie looked down. “Well, I did, but my parents died earlier this year . . . ”
“Mom, I told you that.” Tyrone rubbed Nikkie’s shoulders.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, child.” Mrs. Bennett put her hand over her mouth. “Tyrone did tell me, forgive me for forgetting.” They fell into an awkward silence.
“What about your other family?” Mrs. Bennett asked finally. “You have no brothers or sisters? Or aunties? Cousins?”
“My mother was an only child, and my father’s family has all passed,” Nikkie lied. “I do have one brother. But he’s thirteen years older than me, and we’re not close.”
Well, the latter part of the statement was the truth. Joseph had hit the roof when she first told him that she was dating Tyrone.
“He’s black, and you still can’t tell him? What kind of craziness is that?” Joseph had demanded over the telephone.
“Joseph, it’s just complicated. I’m going to tell him, but I’m waiting for the right time,” Nikkie tried to explain.
“When is the right time? You know what? Don’t even bother answering that. I don’t have anything else to say.” And with that, Joseph had hung up, leaving Nikkie once again in tears.
“Thirteen years or not, he’s still your blood. You should try to get close. Especially since you’re all the two of you have.”
The tears that had sprung to Nikkie’s eyes were real, and she lowered her head and tried to blink them back before anyone noticed.
“Mom, you’re giving Nikkie the third degree. You—”
“I am not,” the woman huffed up. “I’m making pleasant conversation. And it’s natural for me to ask questions. You bring her here to meet your mama, I can ask a few questions, I think.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Nikkie said hurriedly. “Of course you can. I certainly don’t mind.”
“Well, you must be thirsty. Denise,” Mrs. Bennett said to a young woman who was passing through the living room, “would you bring your brother and his lady friend something to drink?”
“Okay,” Denise said, making a face.
“What’s that?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The girl sighed as she disappeared into the kitchen.
Mrs. Bennett turned to Tyrone, who was still massaging Nikkie’s shoulders. “Give the woman some breathing room. Come. Sit on the couch next to me.”
It was easy, now, to see where Tyrone got his imperious manner. Mrs. Bennett was a woman who liked being in charge, and even her son—who had the same commanding quality—didn’t question her authority.
But yet there was nothing cold or snobbish about her. In fact, Nikkie thought, she
was probably a very warm woman, once she decided to let you in her inner circle. And Nikkie knew she was now on trial to see if she was worthy or not.
She looked around the room. The beige walls were filled with framed photographs of family members, certificates, and diplomas. The furniture was old, but well-kept and expensive. The couch was brown tweed, with a matching love seat and recliner. Although the room had wall-to-wall carpeting, there was a multicolored throw rug under the end table and another in front of the couch where Mrs. Bennett and now Tyrone were seated. The two wood end tables and the nineteen-inch console television were cluttered with more framed pictures, and there was not a speck of dust to be found anywhere.
“This is such a lovely home.”
“Thank you. We’ve been here thirty-seven years. We bought this house for thirty-five thousand back in 1970. Now they just sold one of the brownstones for almost three-quarters of a million dollars. We’ve had many, many offers to sell since the white . . . since the neighborhood became more mixed. We’re not moving, though,” Mrs. Bennett said firmly. “This is our home.”
Nikkie blushed. Mrs. Bennett hadn’t brought up the so-called interracial relationship, but Tyrone had warned her they weren’t pleased at the prospect of their only son dating a white woman. “They’ll get over it,” he had assured her. “I know my mother. Once she meets you, she’ll love you. And if she loves you, the rest of the family will, too, or she’ll beat them until they do.”
So far, things were going politely, but she didn’t feel the love as of yet.
“It took you long enough to get these,” Tyrone was saying as his sister handed him a glass of brown liquid from a silver-plated tray.
“Be glad you didn’t have to get them yourself,” the woman replied. She handed her mother a glass, then walked over to Nikkie. “I hope you like iced tea.”
“I love it.” Nikkie gratefully took a sip. Oh, my goodness! Sugar!
Tyrone must have mistaken her surprised look for displeasure. “It’s too sweet, isn’t it? My mother loads her tea down with sugar. I keep telling her she’ll get diabetes.” He stood up and reached for Nikkie’s glass. “Let me get you something else.”
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