Passin'

by Karen E. Quinones Miller

  Nikkie pulled the glass away from his reach. “No, this is fine, actually. I happen to like sweetened tea.”

  She took a greedy swallow. “This is actually very good.” Tyrone gave her a smile that she read as “thanks for saying that.” Hah! Let him think I’m only trying to be nice. This stuff is delicious.

  “Well, Mom, Nikkie and I have to go.” Tyrone gave his mother a kiss. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  “What do you mean? You just got here! Sit back down, we’re going to eat dinner in just a bit. I have smothered chicken, red rice, and greens waiting in the pot.” She turned to Nikkie. “I think you two should stay and have dinner. It’ll give us a chance to get to know you better.”

  Nikkie’s mouth had started watering as soon as Mrs. Bennett had ticked off the menu. Real food! She and Tyrone had agreed that they would only stay for a half hour or so and then head out to an Italian restaurant. But, heck, smothered chicken beat lasagna in her book any day.

  “Tyrone, couldn’t we stay?” she said quickly. She smiled, ignoring the surprised look on his face. “I mean, I don’t mind if you don’t.”

  Dinner was simply heaven, and the best meal she’d eaten since moving to New York. The smothered chicken and red rice were seasoned to perfection, and the greens were actually cooked all the way through. Mrs. Bennett had even made fried plantains and had baked a pound cake for dessert.

  “Bet you never had food like this before.” The woman chuckled as Nikkie wolfed down her food. “Black people cook food different than white, eh?”

  Nikkie nodded as she finished the last bite of cake. “They do, but I can tell you I truly enjoyed this meal.” She moved her chair slightly from the table and rubbed her stomach. “I’m sure I gained a good ten pounds.”

  Mrs. Bennett looked at her approvingly. “Tyrone, you have to bring her to eat every week. We’ve got to get some meat on your girl’s bones. Fill her out some.”

  “I like her just the way she is, Mom.” Tyrone reached down and grabbed Nikkie’s hand under the table and gave a quick squeeze.

  “You don’t know nothing, boy. Mom’s right. She could use some filling out,” Denise said as she wiped her mouth with a blue paper napkin. “Nikkie, why do white women always think they have to starve themselves to look good? Don’t they know that no man wants a bone?”

  “And don’t you know not to be rude at de dining table, girl! Act like you raised, eh,” Mrs. Bennett said before Nikkie could reply.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Denise said quietly.

  “Now help me get dese plates off de table.”

  There goes that accent Tyrone was talking about. “Here, why don’t you let me help you,” Nikkie said, standing up.

  “No, don’t worry about it.” The woman waved Nikkie off. “Denise and I can handle it. Can’t we, Denise?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I insist.” Nikkie picked up a couple of plates. “It’s the least I can do to repay you for that delicious meal.”

  “Well, let me get you an apron, then,” Denise said as she rose from the table. “I don’t want you to dirty up that nice dress.” She paused, then looked at Nikkie sheepishly. “I’m saying that because it’s really nice. I like it. I really do.”

  Nikkie smiled at the girl’s peace offering. “Thanks,” she said as she followed her into the kitchen.

  Mrs. Bennett washed, while Denise and Nikkie dried the dinnerware as strains of upbeat music drifted from the radio. All three women swayed their shoulders and hips to the tune as they worked.

  “Is that reggae?” Nikkie asked as she wiped the last glass.

  “No, calypso. Hear the steel drum?” Mrs. Bennett reached over and turned up the volume. “That’s the music of Trinidad.” She started humming along to the song.

  “It’s nice. I can’t understand the lyrics, though. They sing them too fast.”

  “Don’t worry, most African-Americans can’t even pick up the words, unless they’re from the islands,” Denise said as she did a little twirl. “Come on, Mom. Dance with me.”

  Mrs. Bennett wiped her hands on her apron and joined her daughter in the middle of the kitchen floor. “You watch now, Nikkie. You’re going to have to learn to calypso if you’re going to be in the family.”

  They sang as they danced together and then apart, and Nikkie was able to pick up some of the words.

  Anytime you goine to cook an ole cowhead,

  Get the hammer, tie yo head wid coolie red.

  For it mek a poor man nearly lose ’im life,

  Lef ’im house an make ’im run and left ’im wife.

  De cow get up, raise up ’im horn,

  Open ’im mout’, and start to gwan.

  De poor man holler until ’im hoarse,

  Run from Clarendon down to Racecourse.

  Nail, nail, ten penny nail

  Get yo hammer and a’ ten penny nail.

  Nail, nail, ten penny nail

  Get yo hammer and a’ ten penny nail.

  After a few minutes, Nikkie was able to pick up the chorus and sing along with them.

  De cow get up, raise ’im horn,

  Open ’im mout’, and start to gwan.

  De poor man holler until ’im hoarse,

  Run from Clarendon down to Racecourse.

  “Hey, de girl gwine Trinidadian,” Mrs. Bennett shouted with glee. She grabbed Nikkie’s hand. “Just watch my feet and do de same ting.”

  It didn’t take long for Nikkie to master the steps, and soon all three women were twirling around the kitchen.

  “Look at her, Mom! The girl must have some black in her,” Denise shouted over the music, which they were now blasting.

  “Oh, Denise, please.”

  Nikkie looked up to see Tyrone smiling in the kitchen doorway.

  “Not all white people dance like they’re having seizures,” he said.

  “Don’t worry.” Nikkie threw back her head as she danced, then raised her hand in the air and twirled it as if she were ringing a bell the way Mrs. Bennett taught her. “I take it as a compliment.” She started singing again, and Mrs. Bennett, Denise, and even Tyrone joined in.

  Nail, nail, ten penny nail

  Get yo hammer and a’ ten penny nail.

  Nail, nail, ten penny nail

  Get yo hammer and a’ ten penny nail.

  “I love your family,” she said after they were back at Tyrone’s Brooklyn brownstone.

  He smiled. “I thought you would. And I kind of think they love you, just as I said they would.”

  “I have to admit I was worried there for the first few minutes, but they seemed to warm up after a while,” she said as they headed to the bedroom.

  “That’s because”—Tyrone took her in his arms and kissed her on the throat—“they saw you weren’t stuck-up or

  standoffish. You were willing to try new things. Bet you never had collard greens cooked with salt pork before, huh?”

  Not since my mother cooked a pot. “It was really good. I’m going to have to get some recipes from your mother so I can cook for my man.”

  Tyrone held her at arm’s length, then pulled her back into an embrace. “See, that’s what I’m talking about. You don’t have a problem with cultural differences. You’re just . . . just so accepting.

  “It’s going to take my mother some time to get used to me dating a white woman, and I hope you’re patient with them, especially Denise. She’s young and says stupid things, but she doesn’t mean them.”

  “Um-hm, she was actually really sweet after a while.” Nikkie unbuttoned Tyrone’s shirt as she spoke.

  Tyrone nodded. “She really is.” He was quiet for a few moments. “I had to explain to them that I didn’t mean to fall in love outside my race, but it just happened. I think at first they felt it was some kind of betrayal, but, you know, black women are like that. They hate seeing black men with white women. I’m sure you’ve seen the dirty looks they give us when we’re together—even your friend Jenice. They automatically thin
k that the man hates black women or something.”

  He shrugged. “That’s not the case with me, of course. And my mother knows I’ve gone out with plenty of black women, Puerto Rican, and Asian, too. It just so happened I fell in love with a white woman.”

  He pushed her down on the bed and lay down next to her, cupping her breast in his hands. “And now that I have, I find that I’ve been missing out all my life. God forgive me for saying this, and I trust you’ll never repeat it, but you’re so much gentler and sweeter than any black woman I’ve known.” He caressed her face, then kissed her on the lips, then down her torso, stopping just above her panties. “Your skin is so soft, and you smell so good.” He started kissing her panties. “Especially down here.”

  A lump developed in Nikkie’s throat and she gently pushed him away. “I’m sure black women have soft skin and smell good down there, too.”

  “I haven’t run into any as soft as you.” He seemed unperturbed as he slipped his hand into her underwear and began fingering her clitoris. “And I’ve never run into any who taste as good as you.” He licked his lips.

  You’re not dipping into the honeypot tonight! Nikkie wanted to scream, but instead she calmly removed his hand. “So you’re trying to say that white women smell and taste better than black women?”

  Tyrone propped himself up on his elbow. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing. I guess I’m just not in the mood. In fact”—she stood up and grabbed her skirt—“I think I want to go home tonight. I have a big day in the morning.”

  “Hey!” Tyrone sat up. “What are you getting an attitude about?”

  “To be honest? I’m just uncomfortable hearing you talk so negatively about black women.”

  “What are you talking about? Just because I said I’m into you, you think I hate black women? Give me more credit than that.”

  Nikkie turned to face him as she buttoned up her blouse. “Didn’t you just say that white women smell and taste better than blacks?”

  “Nooooo. I just said that you smell and taste better than any woman I’ve ever been with. But then I haven’t been with every black woman in America, you know.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her back in the bed.

  “Tyrone,” Nikkie said as he pushed her back into a lying position, “tell me you don’t like me just because of my color.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said as he undressed her again. “I love you because you’re Nicole Jensen. Your race makes absolutely no difference.”

  God, she thought as he started nibbling her breast, if only I could believe that was true.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  June 2008

  I don’t know why I let you drag me here,” Cindy said to Nikkie after Tyrone walked away from their table to refresh their drinks. “This place is just boring.” Cindy made a face as she looked around the small, crowded club. “When your boyfriend said he wanted to go to a club in Harlem, I thought he was talking about some swinging spot. I don’t even like jazz.”

  “Give it a chance, Cindy,” Rachel said reprovingly. “We’ve only been here a few minutes.”

  “And I’m only going to give it a few more,” Cindy said with a sniff. “They don’t even have a VIP section.”

  “Well, here’s your chance to mingle with the common people,” Nikkie said with a giggle.

  “I can’t believe no one’s recognized me,” Lucia said, looking around the place.

  “That’s because you’ve never starred in a Spike Lee Joint,” Cindy said with a laugh. “Good Lord, what the hell am I doing here?”

  “Sorry, superstar. Uptown you’re just another white girl,” Tyrone said as he rejoined the four women at the table. “Don’t worry. Once the show starts, the gentrification folks will start coming in. I’m sure some of them will ask for autographs.”

  “Whatever,” Cindy said in a bored voice.

  Lucia took a sip from her drink and waved her hand. “I was just kidding. I don’t want anyone asking for autographs while I’m out having a good time.”

  Tyrone grinned. “You’re such a liar.”

  The table burst out in laughter.

  “So, Tyrone, how did you find this place?” Rachel asked. “I’ve been to Harlem before, but I’ve never been to this club.”

  “I was raised not far from here,” Tyrone answered as he looked toward the bar. “See that guy over there? He’s the owner, Lloyd Watson.”

  Nikkie craned her neck to get a look. “Really? I’d like to go over and talk to him.”

  Tyrone patted her hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.” He got up from the table again.

  “Ooh, Nikkie,” Cindy said when he was out of earshot. “Not only did you hook up with a black guy. You hooked up with a black guy from Harlem. You get extra points for that.”

  “Just ignore her, Nikkie,” Rachel said quickly. “I’m glad you and Tyrone are together. I’ve never seen you happier.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not paying her any mind,” Nikkie said as she downed her drink. “I’m having a great time myself.”

  “I bet you are,” Lucia said with a laugh. “Your boyfriend seems to be quite a guy. And you two make a cute couple.

  I’m glad you dumped that Hal guy. I told you he wasn’t your type.”

  “Oh,” Nikkie said, turning to Lucia. “And what do you know of my type?”

  “Well,” Lucia said with a twinkle in her eye, “I know that it’s the Tyrone type and not the Hal type.” She gave Nikkie a wink. “Dig, girlfriend?”

  Nikkie’s eyes widened. Lucia knows! No, it couldn’t be. She pushed the thought out of her head. If Lucia knew, she would have let the cat out of the bag before now.

  “Damn, Lucia. Now you’re beginning to sound like Tina. Just because we’re in Harlem doesn’t mean you have to talk like the natives.”

  “Shut up, bitch,” Lucia answered. “I’m just having a good time.”

  “What the hell is it you and Lucia are drinking, anyway?” Cindy asked Nikkie.

  “Harlem mojitos. It’s a mojito made with cognac, instead of rum.”

  Lucia grinned and raised her glass. “When in Harlem, do as the Harlemites do.”

  “Well, you don’t have to overdo it,” Cindy grumbled.

  “Shut up, bitch.” Lucia giggled. “I can’t believe you made me repeat myself.”

  “Bitch, please,” Cindy snapped.

  “Now, now, ladies,” Tyrone said soothingly, sitting back down. “Can’t we all just get along? Now all of you be quiet a moment. I believe Lloyd is going to make an announcement.”

  Sure enough, Nikkie saw a tall black man with slickedback salt-and-pepper hair mount the empty bandstand and grab the microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said after he had everyone’s attention. “It’s just been brought to my attention we have a celebrity in our midst. Ms. Lucia Silver, star of the upcoming Woody Allen movie, Lake Oh She’s Gone. Ms. Silver, please stand up and take a bow.”

  Lucia smiled and put her hand on her chest in a “who me?” gesture, then graciously got up and nodded at the crowd, which had broken out into applause. She blew a kiss to Lloyd before sitting down again.

  “You didn’t have to do that, Tyrone,” Lucia said out the corner of her mouth as she smiled at the people taking pictures with their cell phone cameras.

  Tyrone grinned. “Oh yes, I did. Nikkie gave me my marching orders right after we got here.”

  “Always on the job, huh, Nikkie?” Lucia reached over and patted her hand, then leaned and whispered in her ear, “I’m serious. This guy is a keeper. Don’t blow it, okay?”

  Nikkie smiled and whispered back, “Don’t worry. I have no intention of doing so. Watch. I’m going to marry this guy.” She straightened up and grabbed Tyrone’s hand under the table.

  “You ladies are in for a treat,” he said, giving her fingers a quick squeeze. “Lloyd told me that the guy who usually plays sax with the jazz trio appearing tonight is sick, and Julian Meyers is sitting in.�
�

  “Who’s he?” Rachel asked.

  “He’s played with some of the jazz greats, like Dizzy Gillespie and Michael Raye, but he’s just beginning to get some notice around Harlem. I’ve seen him perform at a club down the street. Believe me, you’ll enjoy him.” He leaned over close to Nikkie’s ear. “By the way, I heard what you and Lucia were whispering. Glad to hear you plan on keeping me around for a while.”

  Nikkie blushed. “Oh! I, uh, um—”

  Tyrone laughed and grabbed her around the shoulders, pulling her close to him. “Don’t worry. I’m not planning on letting you get away, either.” He planted a soft kiss on her lips.

  “Aw, isn’t that sweet,” Lucia said.

  “Isn’t it just?” Nikkie said as she looked up into Tyrone’s mesmerizing eyes. “Isn’t it just?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  July 2008

  So you actually signed Ruta Savage as a client, huh?” Tyrone said as he and Nikkie strolled down Amsterdam Avenue, hand in hand, toward her apartment building. “Pretty impressive. They did a write-up on her in the Village Voice just last week.”

  Nikkie nodded. “I know. She’s actually a PR person’s dream. She’s so gorgeous, sweet, and talented, it’s not going to be hard getting her press, or getting her into the right events. And she’s so focused and dedicated to her acting career that I really don’t think I’m going to have to worry about her getting into some scandal that can’t be handled with an easy spin. I really lucked up with this one.”

  Their walk was slow, allowing her to take in the Saturday-afternoon sights and sounds of the Upper West Side, where she’d been living for almost a year now.

  “How did you meet her?” Tyrone asked.

  “Through Lucia,” Nikkie answered. “Ruta had a bit part in the film that Lucia just finished shooting and the two became friends. When she found out that Ruta didn’t have a PR person, she recommended me. I jumped at the opportunity, of course. Ruta doesn’t have a lot of money now, but it’s obvious the girl is headed for big things.”