And in as little time as it took Zora to blink, Deuce made a sudden ducking motion, head-butting Rashad directly in the face. Then Mia was screaming, a group of guys Zora didn’t know were saying, ‘whoa, whoa, whoa!’ charging toward the action, and shoving her out of the way. Behind the phalanx of broad-shouldered guys, Zora saw nothing, but heard grunts and the sounds of a scuffle. By the time the mass of bodies in front of her parted enough for her to get a view of what was going on, there was blood everywhere.
Rashad and Deuce were held apart by two other guys, while they yelled at each other, kicking and struggling to be set free. Deuce looked relatively no-worse-for-the-wear except for the expression of almost rabid rage on his face. But Rashad wasn’t as lucky. His nose and mouth were a mass of dark crimson, blood streaming from his nose, frothing from his mouth, and spraying onto the front of his coat while he screamed expletives. Deuce’s face looked fine, but the blood spatter had made its way down the front of his shirt as well.
While Zora looked on in stunned horror, Mia dragged her by the arm away from the house and down the front path into the street.
“Oh my god, Shad, you look … awful.”
Zora was sitting next to the examining table in Health Services, a hand on Rashad’s thigh. His nose had swollen to twice its size, both his eyes were ringed in purple, and his upper lip had been split along the middle. The consensus from the sleepy nurse practitioner and LPN who had initially attended to him was that he would need two small stitches just inside his upper lip, but everything else would be fine with a few extra-strength Tylenol, a bag of ice and the passage of time.
After Mia dragged her away from the mêlée, and back to her room where Zora paced a hole in the rug, she waited about a half hour before calling Rashad’s cellphone. He picked up eventually, and explained that the brawl had broken up fairly quickly after Deuce’s friend Kaleem arrived on the scene to calm him down. And he had gotten a ride over to University Health Services to take care of his injuries.
“I’ve been in scraps a lot worse than this,” Rashad said. He sounded like he was talking around his lips rather than between them. “I’ll be fine.”
Zora grimaced and touched his thigh. “I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have …”
“Not your fault,” Rashad said. But he was saying the words by rote, and not with any real sincerity, which Zora could not say she blamed him for.
“It is my fault. I saw him inside, and I shouldn’t have … engaged with him. I just …”
“But you are,” Rashad said. “Engaged with him.”
“Just … stop talking. It hurts me to see you do it,” Zora said squeezing his leg.
“I will. But lemme just say this one thing …”
Zora held her breath.
“He’s not for you, Zora.” Rashad shook his head. “And this ain’t even about me and you. He’s going to get you off-track …”
“It’s not …”
“Don’t say it’s not that deep,” Rashad said, raising his voice to speak over her. Then he put a hand to his mouth as though in pain. “I don’t think even you believe that.”
Zora looked away. “We only spent a little over a week together.”
“Yeah. And look where ‘a little over a week’ got you. Already.” Rashad shook his head and then looked up at the ceiling.
Before Zora could respond, the LPN returned to the room, and slid a metal instrument tray closer to the examining table. Smiling grimly, she looked at Rashad.
“I won’t lie to you, young man,” she said. “This isn’t going to be pleasant. Not one bit.”
When Zora made it back to her dorm, it was well past two a.m. but she felt like she’d been up for three days. Apart from a few couples sitting around in the common room, hovering over but barely touching each other, as if deciding whether and where to continue the mating dance, things were quiet. Her legs were heavy, and walking down the hallway toward her room seemed like more than she could handle. She wondered whether Mia was awake. She didn’t feel like being alone with her thoughts, and despite being tired, wasn’t sure she would be able to sleep.
After his stitches were done, she’d gone with Rashad back to his apartment where he insisted he didn’t need her to stick around. Zora could see in his eyes that he was angry with her, and with himself as well, probably. This was not the kind of drama he got involved in. Not Rashad Dixon. And given how small their little community was, there was every likelihood people were already spreading the news about how Rashad Dixon had thrown down with Deuce Scaife at the first party of the semester.
He’s not for you, Zora.
Rashad’s words were still ringing in her ears. They shouldn’t have shaken her the way they did, because it was what she had been telling herself all this time. It was what made it possible for her to leave his father’s house and ignore his calls and text messages afterwards. But as the days went by, and the silence between them lengthened, her resolve was shaken.
The idea that they were so different was beginning to seem like someone else’s idea.
Maybe Rashad’s voice was the one in her head that had been telling her that all along; his and that of their community of activists whose standards for themselves and the world at large sometimes seemed impossible to meet. The reasons for Zora’s avoidance of almost all Rashad’s calls over the holidays hadn’t only been about their breakup. It had also been about that first call, the one that came when she and Deuce were sitting in The Cheesecake Factory.
Their food had only just arrived and Zora looked down at her way-too-large portion of fries with satisfaction, then up at Deuce who was smiling at her. She thought he looked a little nervous, like it was a first date, and she was thinking that it wouldn’t be so bad if it were, because not only was he handsome, but he had been so solicitous with her, and so respectful. Everything she had heard about him was at odds with how he treated her. She thought about the little twist of excitement in her stomach when she first heard from him that morning, and how that twist became almost a lurch once she saw him.
And she puzzled over it, because she and Deuce Scaife had had a one-night stand and that was all it was supposed to be. And she puzzled over the fact that she hadn’t felt that kind of excitement in a long time about anyone; not just sexual excitement, though there was that. But excitement at getting to know him. The last person she’d felt that for was Rashad himself.
And yet once the phone rang, and she saw that it actually was Rashad, she was almost angry at him for the intrusion into a moment that she wanted to be all her own. Since she met him, there had been very little that was all her own, and here he was again, when she was with someone she liked and was very much attracted to, crowding into her thoughts, and making her second-guess them. For the first time ever, in that moment, Rashad felt like someone who was taking something from her, rather than giving.
Zora had barely been at the university for a month before she met him. He was the booming presence at the front of the room during her first Black Caucus meeting. Zora still remembered his admonition that they not allow their lesser numbers (“I refuse to use the phrase minority!”) relegate them to second-class citizenship. And that they make up for what they lacked in numbers on campus by amplifying their voice, delivering a powerful message, and always speaking truth to power.
He reminded Zora of a fiery preacher standing up there, and she could tell that much of what he said he had probably planned, or even rehearsed. But that didn’t lessen the appeal. In fact, it increased it, because it meant that he was earnest in his desire to motivate and mobilize the new freshman class; that he cared enough to think about and then deliver heartfelt, prepared remarks.
After the meeting was over, Rashad was mobbed by people who wanted to meet him one-on-one, mostly girls who smiled shyly and rocked back and forth on their feet. Zora watched from the sidelines, waiting until the crowd thinned before making her own approach. There was only one other person with him when she finally plucked up the courage. Her vo
ice croaked when she said hello, and Rashad smiled at her, his eyes kind.
It was only a month after that when they became a couple, and about five weeks later they slept together for the first time. Rashad waited before initiating anything because—he told her later—he wanted her to “feel safe.”
And she had, with him. He was such a larger-than-life sheltering presence. Just being with him had helped define her. No one had to ask what Rashad Dixon’s girl was about. Except now that she was no longer Rashad Dixon’s girl, did it mean she needed to revisit the question? What was she about?
Chapter 11
“Yo! You smashed? You and Zora?”
Kaleem was pacing Deuce’s room, both hands resting on the dome of his head, eyes wide.
“Shut up, man. It wasn’t even about that.”
“Tell me then. What was it? Because I’m about to fight you my-damn-self. That’s foul as hell, man. You knew I was tryna push up …”
“I told you, it wasn’t about that!”
Kal stopped pacing and stared at him. “What was it about then?” Deuce said nothing and Kal nodded. “Thought so. And I know that shit was good. Had to be, the way you just kirked on ol’ boy. And with Tamara there too? Watching you fight over some other chick? That shit was just … cold.”
“Kaleem, shut the fuck up.”
“What happened? She boyfriend-bombed you? Man, I been told you her and Rashad …”
“I need to talk to her.” Deuce pushed himself up from his bed. But the floor felt rubbery and less than solid. The next thing he knew, Kal was at his side, holding him up.
“Whoa, man. Chill. I think whatever the fuck you drank is finally kickin’ in.”
“I gotta talk to her tonight, Kal …”
“No, man. Listen to me. She will not want to see your ass. Although, no lie … I heard that shit was impressive. Just head-butted that nigga …”
Kal was right. Zora wouldn’t want to see him.
But he had to go anyway. Because if she slept on it, she would only wake up angrier. That was how stuff like this worked. Time only amplified it, and the rumors would only make it worse. By the time the story made the rounds a few times, it would have him standing over Rashad Dixon with a pickax about to bury it in his head.
“I need to get over there. But …”
Kal looked at him blankly. “But … what?” Then he was shaking his head. “Hell nah. You want me to go with you? And do what? Hold your tissue while you cry and beg at her door?”
“You’re a real …”
“Hey.” Kal held his hands up. “I did my part. You got lucky tonight with your drunk ass. If I hadn’ta stepped in when I did, you would’ve been laid the fuck out. He was sober.”
Deuce blinked and shook his head. “So you really gon’ let me walk out in the cold, and find my way …”
“You’re not that drunk, and it ain’t that far,” Kal said. “Just try to walk in a straight line. When this shit you about to do blows up in your face, I ain’t tryna be there to catch no shrapnel.”
“Y’know what, Kal? Fuck you.”
Kaleem laughed. “You’re welcome.”
Shrugging on his coat, Deuce made his way slowly toward the door, getting his bearings as he went. Once outside his room, he stood at the top of the stairs to the main level and considered; then thinking better of it, he went for the elevators instead. In the mirrored wall, he saw his reflection and groaned.
He looked like crap. His eyes were bloodshot, and one of them looked a little swollen. Reaching up, he tentatively felt to see whether he had been hit. He didn’t recall Rashad getting any shots in, but then Deuce had been operating on pure adrenaline and wasn’t sure he would remember if he had.
He remembered a fleeting glance at Zora though, and the shock on her face. He remembered her girl, Mia, pulling her away and then Kal showing up to help break things up. And he remembered Tamara, crying, her makeup streaking down her face, and the look in her eyes of hurt and humiliation.
He never wanted to be that guy again. The one who would make a girl look like that.
Outside, the cold woke him up a little bit. There was no snow on the ground, but a little ice, from freezing rain they’d had earlier in the day. It crunched under his feet as he walked. Deuce navigated the patches of visible ice slowly and carefully, and thought his luck had to have changed when he made it to Zora’s dorm without winding up on his ass. But the door was locked, and so he had to stand outside in the cold for almost a half-hour before someone showed up and let him in behind them, giving him a semi-suspicious once-over but saying nothing.
“I go here,” he said. His speech sounded garbled.
Maybe Kal was right, and he should have waited. Zora would be horrified when she saw him like this. That is, if she even opened the door long enough to see him at all.
Finally upstairs, he stood there for a few seconds then raised a fist and knocked. Inside, there was no sound. She was probably sleeping. If she was there at all. Maybe she was with Rashad, nursing his wounds, apologizing … consoling him. Deuce closed his eyes at the thought, just as the door opened.
Zora was standing there, barefoot, in shorts and a tank. Her hair was secured with a scarf, all of it concealed beneath the colorful fabric. For a few beats she just looked at him, taking him in from head to toe, saying nothing. Her lips trembled and her eyes filled, and then with both hands she shoved him hard in the center of his chest.
Deuce staggered backwards into the hall, feeling his own eyes fill.
“Why the hell did you do that?” she demanded. “What is wrong with you?”
Taking two steps toward her, he shook his head, saying nothing.
“He had to get stitches!” she screamed at him. “Do you know that? He …” She raised her hands to push him again, but Deuce grabbed her wrists and walked toward her until they were both in her room. Then, reaching blindly behind him with one hand, the other still holding one of her wrists, he shoved the door shut.
Looking around, he confirmed that she was alone.
“No, he’s not here!” Zora yelled at him, prying loose. “He had to go to Health Services. Because of you. Because of what you did!”
“I’m sorry,” he croaked.
“No, you’re not!”
Deuce looked at the floor, thinking for a moment, then looking up at her again. “I’m sorry I upset you,” he amended.
Zora’s shoulders sagged. “And you say I’m unbelievable?” She turned away from him, putting both her hands over her face.
Deuce moved closer, walking into her, so his chest was against her back. He lowered his head, burying his face into the top of her scarf-covered head, inhaling the scent of coconut and almonds, feeling Zora’s head fall back. He lifted a hand, touching her at first hesitantly, waiting to see if she objected, resting it on her stomach and pulling her back, tighter against him.
“Missed you,” he breathed. Bowing his head further, he buried his face in the crook between her neck and shoulder and was grateful when he felt her slight tremble.
This. They always had at least this—the involuntary responses of their bodies to each other. Zora made a sound of frustration and tried to pull away but Deuce tightened his hold around her waist, keeping her in place against him.
“Tell me you missed me,” he said. But it sounded like a plea. Kal was right. He was begging.
Zora twisted again, trying to get away, but this time half-heartedly, and finally weakening.
“I’m sorry, Zee,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Deuce, you can’t … you can’t do stuff like that.” But she wasn’t screaming anymore, and no longer sounded angry.
Finally, Zora turned to look at him. And for the first time that night, he saw the softness in her eyes that he had so quickly come to yearn for. She lifted a hand to his left eye, where he was now fairly certain he had taken a blow.
“You look …” She didn’t finish the sentence, but instead let her head fall forward and rest on his ch
est, just beneath his chin. “I missed you, too,” she said instead.
Deuce exhaled and pulled her tighter against him, feeling her finally relax into his embrace.
They slept wrapped around each other, but it was a fitful restive sleep. Deuce opened his eyes whenever Zora moved, and when he did, saw that her eyes were open too. It seemed only minutes passed though it had to be hours. Morning light broke. Zora got up and Deuce sat up as well. But she was only going to close the blinds and then joined him once again on the small bed.
When he tried to pull her against him spoon-fashion, Zora instead faced him, and offered a small, wan smile. She draped an arm across his middle, and he did the same to her, both of them simply wanting to know that even if they slept, the other would still be there. A hundred things remained unspoken, that they would no doubt talk about later. But for now, exhaustion won out and their weary eyes finally shut, and stayed that way.
A tightness, and solid mass of discomfort around his left eye was the most significant sensation Deuce felt when he woke up. That, and a vague but persistent pounding on the side of his head. His right side was numb, and when he tried to move, he realized it was because Zora was asleep on his arm. Stretching and flexing his right hand, he tried to get the circulation going without having to move her, but the motion caused her to awaken. She looked dazed, and still exhausted. He was too. But he was glad to be exactly where he was.
Taking a deep breath, Zora tried to sit up but Deuce clamped a hand on her hip.
“Morning,” he said. His voice was gravelly with sleep.
“Morning,” she returned. “This … I hope you know this doesn’t mean I’m not mad as hell at you.”
“I know.”
She rubbed her eyes, and yawned. Her breath was slightly stale, but strangely, that didn’t lessen her appeal. Not even a little bit.
Young, Rich & Black Page 12
