Nikkie chuckled in spite of herself. “There’s probably not anyone more qualified.”
“Nope,” Lucia said. “Not many.”
“And, honey”—Nikkie put her hand on Lucia’s shoulder— “if you need any help in learning how to act black, you know you can count on me.”
Lucia looked at her and started laughing. “Well, I’ll just have to keep that in mind.”
“You do that,” Nikkie said as she opened the door to leave. She turned back to face Lucia one last time. “Just think. I have to act white, and you have to act black.”
“As they say,” Lucia said with a grin, “all the world is a stage.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
September 2008
All this for me,” Nikkie said as she looked around the large gathering in the grand ballroom. “Well, for me and Tyrone, mostly for me. Even if most of the guests are friends of his.”
“All for you, honey.” Cindy drained the last drop from her champagne glass. “Aunt Helen and your new bridegroom might be on a couple of boards together, but she wouldn’t have offered to host the wedding reception for him. There’s got to be some benefit to being an orphan, huh?”
“Cindy!” Rachel slapped her cousin on the wrist. “Sometimes you are just too damn outrageous.” She turned to Nikkie. “I apologize for her. Too many martinis and she says the stupidest things.”
“Oh, be quiet. I’m drinking champagne.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Nikkie said cheerfully. “Nothing can ruin all of this for me. Just think! I’m a bride!”
“Yes, you are, dear. And you’re a lovely bride, indeed,” Mrs. Riverton said as she joined their little gathering in the corner of the room. “I just wish you hadn’t decided to get married in City Hall.”
“We just wanted something quiet,” Nikkie said demurely.
“I still can’t believe you married after only dating Tyrone like six months.” Rachel shook her head. “But they say it’s the whirlwind romances that last the longest.”
“That’s certainly the way it was for your father and me,” Mrs. Riverton said wistfully. “He proposed on our second date, and I only made him wait three days for my answer. And we lasted twenty years. Twenty very happy years.” Her voice caught. “I never even thought about being with another man after he passed. No one could ever replace him.”
Rachel put her arm on her mother’s arm. “Mother? Are you okay?”
“Oh, child, I’m fine. Don’t worry.” She turned to Nikkie. “I only hope you and Tyrone find half the happiness that Charles and I had, and I hope you’re together twice as long.”
“Thank you,” Nikkie said.
Truth be told, Nikkie was sure that she and Tyrone were going to have a long and successful marriage. Their time together had been nothing short of bliss. He was attentive, generous, and he was simply delighted that she had “devoted so much time and energy into learning” his culture. What he didn’t realize was that he was giving her the opportunity, and the excuse, to reembrace her own. He thought it was because of him that she learned how to cook soul food and started listening to black music. She was even able to watch her favorite television shows again—not that he was interested in watching them, but he thought she did so to impress him, and he was appreciative of her efforts.
Yes, marrying a black man helped complete her disguise. Even the six-week-old fetus she was carrying in her stomach wouldn’t give her away. If it came out light, everyone would attribute it to her being white. If it came out dark, it would be attributed to the fact that Tyrone was black. All in all, there was no motivation to cross back over at all. No reason except for her estrangement with Joseph. But, she rationalized, he would never truly forgive her for ever passing in the first place. Their relationship could never be the same.
She made her bed, and damn if she wasn’t going to make the best of lying in it.
“Ah, there’s the missing groom,” Mrs. Riverton said as Tyrone grabbed Nikkie by the waist.
“And why is the new Mrs. Bennett hiding here in the corner?” He planted a big kiss on her lips. Like always, it took Nikkie’s breath away. God, how good it was, she thought, being with such a man; being married to such a man.
“Just chatting,” Nikkie said, nibbling his ear. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“You’re being neglectful, Nikkie.” Cindy pressed her champagne glass against the nape of her neck and smiled wickedly. “Your husband wants to dance, mingle, and show off his new bride. I know I would never abandon a man like Tyrone, especially on his wedding night.” She gave Tyrone an up-and-down glance, lingering more than just a few seconds at his groin region. She licked her lips appreciatively.
“Ahem.” Mrs. Riverton cleared her throat. “Rachel, dear, why don’t you take your cousin Cindy out on the balcony to get some fresh air. She looks a little flushed.”
“Oh, Aunt Helen, I’m fine.” Cindy tossed her long red hair. “I just need another drink. Is it okay if I ask Tyrone to get me a drink? No? Well, then I’ll hunt one down myself. Bye!” she said in one long breath. And with that, she strode off without looking back. Mrs. Riverton sighed and walked away in the other direction. Rachel and Nikkie laughed, and Tyrone just shook his head.
Rachel whispered into Nikkie’s ear, “And this”—she made a sizzling sound—“is your brain on drugs.”
“What’s she on now? That doesn’t even seem like E,” Nikkie whispered back.
“Don’t know. Maybe meth?”
“Whatever it is, I don’t appreciate her coming to my wedding reception high,” Tyrone said, obviously having overheard them. He grabbed Nikkie again. “What say we go ahead and tell our guests good night and then make our exit?”
“Wait, give me a minute to tell everyone to grab their bags of rice!” Rachel hurried off.
Tyrone pulled Nikkie to him. “So how does it feel to be Mrs. Bennett?”
“Feels very good.” Nikkie nuzzled his neck. “And I can’t wait to see what married sex is like.”
Tyrone grinned. “That’s my girl.”
“Ahem.” Ritchie, Cindy’s brother, stood in front of them. “I just wanted to give my congratulations again and my sincerest wishes for a happy life.”
“Why, thank you, Ritchie!” Nikkie said, nestled in her husband’s arms.
Ritchie shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Uh, Tyrone, do you think I might be able to speak to you for a moment?” He smiled at Nikkie. “I promise I won’t keep him long.”
Nikkie leisurely strolled toward the dais while Tyrone and Ritchie walked out onto the balcony. She wasn’t halfway across the ballroom floor when Tyrone roughly grabbed her by the arm.
“Come on. We’re getting out of here now before I hurt somebody,” he said gruffly as he propelled her toward the door. “We’ll call and give our regrets tomorrow.”
“What happened?” Nikkie asked when they were outside and they were waiting for the valet to retrieve their car.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Tyrone said brusquely.
Nikkie put her hand on his shoulder. “Was it something Ritchie said or did?”
“Didn’t I just say I didn’t want to talk about it?” Tyrone snapped.
It was only when they were in the car and a mile away from the Riverton mansion that Tyrone spoke again. “That little white bastard had the nerve to ask me if I knew where he could score some heroin because his connect was dry.”
“Oh, my God,” Nikkie said breathlessly. “Ty, I’m so sorry.”
“See, to people like him, all blacks are just a bunch of drug-using, drug-pushing niggers,” Tyrone continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “It doesn’t make any difference how much money a black person has, or how successful a career he has. We’re just a bunch of niggers.” Tyrone hit the steering wheel with his fist. “That’s why I can’t stand white people. Even when I marry a white woman, I’m still nothing but a nigger to them.”
Nikkie couldn’t think of anything to say, so said not
hing. They drove on in silence.
“I’m sorry,” Tyrone said when they pulled up in front of his Brooklyn brownstone. “You know I didn’t mean I can’t stand all white people, right? I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings.”
Nikkie shook her head. “No, I’m okay.”
Tyrone sighed. “And I didn’t mean to imply that I married you to gain some kind of acceptance, or to prove that I’m just as good as a white man. I swear I don’t care about those people.”
“I believe you,” Nikkie said simply. She hoped she did.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
May 2009
Nikkie’s labor had been long and hard, but the twenty-eight hours of intense pain were nothing compared to the joy she felt as she nestled her newborn daughter, Elizabeth Ann Bennett, to her breast.
“How many times are you going to count her fingers?” Jenice asked as she poured herself a glass of water. “If there were ten the last time, there’s not going to be eleven this time.”
Nikkie smiled. “I know, I know. She’s just perfect, isn’t she?”
“And just the most beautiful baby in the world,” Mrs. Bennett said. “When I went down to the nursery to see her this morning, everyone was pointing to her, saying how lovely she was. I told everyone, that’s my grandchild laying there—of course she’s lovely.”
“They say blacks and whites make the best-looking babies, and I guess it’s true,” Denise added. “I might have to marry a white man so I can have a baby this pretty.”
“Stop talking nonsense, Denise.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Nikkie traced her fingers over her daughter’s face. Unlike many babies whose faces seemed blotted with little color dots, Elizabeth Ann’s face was smooth, and the color of cream. Her brown eyes were already framed by thick eyebrows, and her head was covered in long silky brown curls.
“So where’s the proud papa?” Jenice asked.
“He went to his office to hand out cigars. He was here with me the whole time I was in labor, though, and the doctors let him cut the umbilical cord. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”
“Here, let Nana hold her grandchild for a moment, won’t you?” Mrs. Bennett reached for the baby.
Nikkie leaned back and closed her eyes. She’d done it. She’d become a mother, and had not threatened her secret in doing so. Elizabeth Ann’s black features could have been inherited from either her or Tyrone, but everyone would just assume it came from the father’s side of the family. The same would be said of any other child they may have. She would forever regret that her children would never get to know Joseph and his family, but there was nothing she could do about that at this point. The die had been cast. There was no longer any turning back. She opened her eyes to see Jenice staring at her intensely. Something told her the woman was thinking the same thing. She’d actually been able to pull it off.
“Well, I’m going to head on back to the office myself.” Jenice bent down and kissed Nikkie’s cheek. “I’ll try and stop over and see you tomorrow.”
“Actually, I’ll probably be going home tomorrow.”
Mrs. Bennett shook her head. “Isn’t that something? Have a baby one day, send the mother home the next. I stayed in the hospital three days when I had my children.”
“Well, I’m not going to stop by the house, because I know you’re going to need time to get your rest, but I’ll call you tomorrow or the next.” Jenice got to the door just as Tyrone appeared with a six-foot pink teddy bear.
“Here, Jenice!” he said grandly as he placed the teddy bear on a chair and pulled a cigar out of his breast pocket. “Have a cigar! It’s a girl!”
“I know that, you fool.” Jenice gave a little laugh as she left the room.
Tyrone walked over to Nikkie’s bed. “Hello, my lovely wife, my dear sweetheart, my wonderful mother of my very beautiful child!” He bent down and gave her a big kiss on the lips.
“Tyrone, you’ve been drinking!” Nikkie said reprovingly.
“Well, I had a couple of toasts with some of the boys at the firm, but I’m all right, don’t worry.” He turned to his mother. “So how does it feel finally to be a nana? You feel old?” He held his hand out to take hold of the baby, but Mrs. Bennett turned the other way.
“I be feeling fine, boy. And toast, or no toast, you shouldn’t be come to the hospital with de liquor on your breath. And don’t you t’ink about holding this li’l angel in your arms with you be drinking.”
“She does look like an angel, though, doesn’t she?” Tyrone looked down at the child sleeping in his mother’s arms. “I think she’s got my eyes, but her nose and lips are definitely those of her mother.”
“I think she has my ears,” Denise piped in. “See. She has thick earlobes just like me. She’s going to have a hard time getting them pierced.”
“Well, she’s got her nana’s temperament,” Mrs. Bennett said. “The baby don’t hardly cry ’cept when she ready to feed. Otherwise, she don’t do no fussing.”
“But, Lawd, when she fusses, she fusses really loud,” Nikkie said wearily. “The nurses say she has the strongest lungs in the nursery.”
“Now, that she got from her nana,” Tyrone said, causing the whole room to burst into laughter.
“Knock, knock. Mind if I come in?”
“Dr. Rheingold. Here”—Tyrone pulled another cigar out of his breast pocket—“have a cigar!”
“Thanks. I’ll save it for later, if you don’t mind.” The doctor put the cigar in his coat pocket. “So we have mama, papa, and grandmama here?”
“And auntie,” Denise piped in.
Dr. Rheingold smiled. “And auntie.” He sat down in a chair in the corner so that he faced everyone. “Actually, I’m rather glad. Because I need to talk to you about a serious matter.”
Nikkie sat up in the bed. “Is there something wrong with Elizabeth Ann?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” The doctor’s voice was solemn. “While running the normal battery of tests we do on newborns, we found that Elizabeth Ann has sickle-cell anemia. I’m sorry.”
“What?” Tyrone abruptly sat down on the night table, knocking over a glass of water. “How can that be?”
“Oh, my dear God,” Mrs. Bennett whispered.
“But how can that be?” Tyrone said again.
“Mr. Bennett, it seems that your daughter inherited one sickle-cell hemoglobin gene from both you and your wife. Probably neither of you even knew you had the gene, because people with just one sickle-cell hemoglobin gene don’t usually develop the disease, they simply have what’s called sickle-cell trait—which usually has no symptoms.”
The doctor turned to Nikkie, who lay in the bed with unshed tears in her eyes. “But anyone who has the trait has the ability to pass on the gene, and when the baby inherits the gene from both parents, it results in the baby getting the disease.”
“I don’t understand.” Tyrone slowly shook his head, then looked at Nikkie, who averted her eyes. “How—”
“Maybe you need to do another test. Maybe you got the results mixed up with another baby’s,” Mrs. Bennett said frantically. “I thought only black people could get sickle-cell anemia. The baby couldn’t possibly have sickle-cell disease. Her mother’s white.”
The doctor cleared his throat. “Well, actually—”
He’s going to say it. He’s going to say, “Well, actually, the mother couldn’t be white.” He’s going to out me.
“No, I’m not. I’m African-American.” Nikkie couldn’t believe she uttered the words, but what did it matter now? There was no use in trying to dispute biology. After all, how could a white woman give her child a gene that only blacks have? “I’m black.”
“Doctor, are you sure there’s not some . . .” Tyrone swung to face Nikkie. “What?”
“I’m African-American, Doctor. God believe me, I didn’t know I had the trait, but I’m black. My mother was black, my father was black, and I’m black.”
“Nikkie, w-what?” Tyrone stammered.
“What are you saying?”
“Tyrone, I’m saying I’m black. Just like you. Just like your mother. Just like your sister,” Nikkie said, waving in his family’s direction. She couldn’t keep the hostility out of her voice. She wasn’t mad at Tyrone, or even at herself for that matter—not for the moment at least. But she was pissed as hell at the situation. In fact, she was furious. “I’m just light-skinned is all.”
“But I thought . . . we all thought—” Mrs. Bennett started.
“Mama Bennett, I know what you thought,” Nikkie said in a tired voice. “But I’ve been passing all this time.”
“Mom!” Denise reached out just in time to catch the baby, which fell from her mother’s arms.
“Dear sweet Jesus,” Mrs. Bennett said as she struggled to a chair.
“Oh, my God!” All eyes turned to Cindy and Rachel, who were standing in the door with Bloomingdale’s shopping bags brimming with toys and baby clothes.
“You’re black?” Cindy asked incredulously.
“Please git out,” Mrs. Bennett said abruptly. “Dis be a family matta.”
“Um, perhaps I should leave, too.” The bewildered Dr. Rheingold slowly stood up. “I can see that your family has some issues to work out, but please just page me when you’re ready to talk about your daughter’s disease.” He walked to the door, and then paused and turned toward Nikkie. “What I was going to say, though, was that African-Americans are not the only people with the sickle-cell gene. Caucasians of Mediterranean descent can also be carriers. I just thought your family might have been Greek or Italian.”
“How can you be black?” Tyrone stood in the middle of the room, looking from his mother and sister to Nikkie, the color drained from his face.
Her first instinct was to look away, but she gathered her strength to look Tyrone in the eye. “Tyrone, I’m sorry. I’ve wanted to tell you so many times, but I didn’t know how.”
“You didn’t know how to tell me? What the hell does that mean?” Tyrone asked, his voice now rising.
“Tyrone, I swear I’m so sorry.” Nikkie began crying. “It just kind of happened. I went up for the job at Paxon and Green and didn’t get it because it was set aside for a black and I wasn’t black enough. So the next time I went up, I made believe I was white and I got it. I never meant for it to go on as long as it has, but it just seemed as if I were trapped.”
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