16
DEVIN
W
hen the few people trickled out of the party, it was obvious that I'd missed my six-foot cutie. My neck stretched over and in between the crowd, searching. Where could she have gone? I had my eye on her all night. As the crowd herded to exit, I lost her.
One of my boys asked, “Damn man, who are you waiting for?”
“This chick.”
He laughed. “You better come on. We're going to Ozio's. There'll be a bunch of chicks there.”
“You right. Let's go.”
Still, I scoped every tall woman as we walked to the car.
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I walked aimlessly through the exhibit hall the next day, searching for the six-footer. Why was I tripping on her? Was it because she wasn't tripping on me? I tried to shake it, because as of late I've been shooting for looks and ending up with nothing more. Maybe it was the way she bent over to the floor and touched her toes. I chuckled as I minimized the attraction to merely sexual.
I ducked in and out of all the Emerging Leaders sessions. She was nowhere to be found. I began to think she just was here styling and profiling, picking up numbers like me. Around two, I decided to continue my house hunt. When I hopped in a taxi, I heard someone say, “Hey, âI Love My People.' ”
Walking toward me was the model's home girl. She waved her left hand. A huge rock that I didn't notice the night before sat propped on her finger. I chuckled to myself. As I contemplated hopping out, it hit me that the model may have been wearing a rock, too. I frowned. Usually I'm more in tune to rings. Why hadn't I seen it? Maybe she wasn't wearing it. She walked up the Convention Center steps and the taxi hadn't moved. Just as I looked at the driver, he looked at me in the rearview mirror. “Where to, sir?”
My brain apologized to the driver and threw my body from the taxi. It pushed my legs up the steps and back into the Convention Center. Once inside, I looked around. Home girl was no where in sight. Feeling slightly silly, I walked toward Starbucks to grab a coffee. When I passed the couches on the left, someone said, “I thought you were gone, âI Love My People.' ”
I smiled. “Actually, I forgot to pick up my ticket for the Gospel Brunch on Saturday.”
She giggled. I laughed too. “Honestly, when I checked in they didn't have any more tickets. They told me to . . .”
As my words collided with her you're-faking smirk, I chuckled. “All right. I needed some coffee.”
“It really doesn't matter to me. I was just surprised to see you back here.”
I decided to scrap the explanation. “Yeah, where's your girl?”
She looked at her watch. “She may not make it here today. She's working. She was trying to get off, but some things came up.”
“Oh really. Where does she work?”
“She's a labor attorney for the Train Workers' Union.”
I frowned. “What?”
“No, she's not Naomi Campbell. She doesn't like to career drop when she's out.”
She misinterpreted my shock. Could this be the Taylor with the Polish last name? “Yeah, I understand that. I'm actually a consultant for the Train Workers' Union.”
“Really.”
“Yeah, what's her last name?”
“Jabowski.”
I started to explain to her that some old lady tried to set me up with her two weeks ago, but I didn't bother. Instead, I said, “Is she married to a white guy?”
She chuckled. “No, she's single. Both of her parents are black, and we have no clue where that name came from.”
“I'll have to look her up the next time I'm in her building.”
“Yeah, why don't you do that?”
I would have attributed it to fate, but I downgraded it to luck. I whipped out a card and decided to put the ball in Taylor's court. “Here you go. Good seeing you again. I have to get my coffee.”
We both laughed. I'm not certain she knew I'd rushed back in to get Taylor's information or not, but she was clear that it wasn't strictly for coffee. She didn't offer her card. As I pretended to rush off to Starbucks, I said, “Make sure y'all keep in touch.”
She gave me a “whatever” nod. I waved. She waved and said laughing, “Keep the love alive for our people.”
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My detour caused me to be fifteen minutes late for my appointment with my realtor. The taxi pulled up to newly built condominiums in the Potomac Place; I nodded approvingly. My realtor stood outside. He smiled like he knew this was the one. I stepped from the taxi and extended my hand. “What's up, man?”
He nodded. “Man, these are the ones.”
“A'ight. We'll see.”
He went on to describe the amenities and the details of the building. “The one we're going to look at is an investment flip. The owner has never lived in it, but you know . . .”
“Yeah, he's selling it for twice the amount.”
“Exactly.”
We entered the chic building and went to the third floor. He pointed, “It's an end unit.”
“Okay.”
He opened the door to the condo and Taylor sat on the counter. She smiled. “Hey Devin. You like it, don't you?”
I nodded. She hopped off the counter and music began playing. She danced seductively. I smiled. She motioned for me to join her. I stepped into the living room with her. She wrapped her long arms around my neck, just as she did at the black party. We danced in front of the fireplace. She whispered, “Wait 'til you see . . .”
My realtor finished the sentence and ended my daydream. “The bedroom. It's huge.”
I followed him into the master bedroom. It was definitely larger than all the rest I'd seen. This was the place. It was near the South West Waterfront, close enough to Union Station that I could transport back and forth from New York. This was it. A part of me wasn't sure why this place felt more like home than all the others, but I was sold.
“I want to put a contract on it.”
My realtor looked surprised. “You sure?”
“Positive.”
“I had a few other things to show you. Do you want to see them first?”
“Nah man, I think this is it.”
“Okay, it's a great building. I definitely think it meets all your requirements. The people in the building seem pretty cool.”
Why was he still giving the sales pitch? I nodded. “Yeah man. I think this is it.”
I heard my mother in my ear telling me to buy a house instead of a condo. I blocked her voice. Splitting my time between two cities was not conducive to managing a house.
We went to his office to process the contract. He forewarned me, “Yeah man, the market is crazy right now. People are out-bidding each other like crazy.”
I nodded.
“So, if this contract isn't accepted, how much are you willing to go up?”
“I'll go as high as I need to as long as it's still market value.”
“I got you man. It's my job to educate you.”
I signed the contract. Now, I have to explain to Jennifer that we're going to have to flip-flop weeks, instead of days. I took a deep breath. Some things you're never prepared for. Life would be so much easier if I'd had a kid with someone I actually loved.
17
TAYLOR
W
hen my alarm clock sounded, I banged on the snooze button. I pulled my comforter over my head and stretched. Conversations with Scooter had me up until almost three o'clock for the last two weeks. How did he manage to make it to work at seven every day?
I lay motionless hoping time would completely stop. I looked at the clock and 10:00
A.M.
was rapidly approaching. “Shit!” I muttered.
I contemplated calling in sick. Finally, I got my exhausted butt up and into the shower. Luckily, I'd packed my luggage while we chatted last night. Once I was up and moving, adrenaline pumped through my veins. I rushed around the room to find the right mix between professional and sexy. I put on my black Tahari suit and a wife beater underneath. Planning to switch after work, I packed my denim blazer.
My cell phone buzzed. I looked at my morning greeting. GOOD MORNING TAYLOR. CAN'T WAIT 'TIL YOU GET HERE.
I responded. CAN'T WAIT EITHER, SEE YOU SOON.
By the time I got to work, it felt like it was time to leave. Was it my excitement that fast-forwarded the clock to 3:15? I peeped into my MAC compact and went for my last run to the restroom.
After rushing through the terminal, through security, and to my gate, I sat there awaiting the flight to my future. Finally, the flight attendant's voice came over the speaker. “We will be boarding flight 423 to Stamford, Connecticut, in just a few moments. Please have your IDs out.”
My heart dropped. I looked at the time. Thirty-five minutes before take-off. Two hours from my destiny. I imagined our greeting. Our departure. The magazine that sat on my lap, slowly slid down my legs, as I explored the possibilities.
“Rows fourteen and higher.”
I looked around wondering if anyone noticed me daydreaming. Then, I stood up and walked over to the gate. As I walked through the tunnel, I sent Scooter a text message. GETTING ON THE PLANE. WILL C U SOON.
I turned my phone off before he could respond. Once I had my carry-on stowed away, I sat in the window seat. As I always do, I watched the baggage carriers rip and run, loading luggage and riding around, transporting thousands of dollars worth of goods in their little carts. They deserved more money.
Temporary diversions were welcomed, because when my mind reverted to Scooter, nerves danced around in my chest. I attempted to close my eyes, hoping to block the visions of what I expected to happen. Surprisingly, I drifted off to sleep and woke up midflight, questioning why I was here. I sat up in my seat, looked at the balding white man beside me, rubbed my eyes, and looked out of the window. One mile high and I was not sure if I should continue the journey. I grabbed the
Sky Mall
magazine from the seat-back pocket to calm my nerves. I flipped anxiously through it. The pilot came over the speaker.
“We're about 100 miles outside of Stamford. It's sixty degrees Fahrenheit. Winds are light. You're in for a nice evening. In just a few moments, we'll begin our descent.”
As the plane descended, so did my confidence. Why was I headed to creep with another woman's man? I shook my head. I'm too cool for this. Just as the wisdom would seep in, my desire to find Mr. Right would bully it out. When the plane hit the runway, my heart sank. I took a deep breath and prayed. “Lord, I need your help. I know this ain't right . . .”
I stopped midprayer. Letting the prayers of my ordained family intercede seemed like a better option.
When the pilot turned off the seatbelt sign, the other passengers popped out of their seats, grabbing luggage from the overhead bins. Everyone was in a rush to nowhere. It's always funny to watch the hysteria that leads to standing still at baggage claim. While everyone else stood up in line to exit, I peeped out of my window and enjoyed the sunset. When the passengers behind me were all out, I got up.
I called Scooter when I got to baggage claim. He picked up and said, “I'm outside waiting for you. I'm driving a silver Honda Accord.”
“Y'all love those damn Hondas.”
We laughed and got off of the phone. I gave Courtney a safe-arrival phone call. To my surprise, she answered almost immediately. She sighed. “Hey girl.”
“I'm here.”
“Thanks for calling.”
“I'm waiting for my luggage.” A man nearly tackled me as he went to get his luggage. I frowned and sucked my teeth. “Dang!”
Courtney asked, “What happened?”
“People kill me in a rush to nowhere.”
“That statement is profound.”
My bag came around the carousel. I grabbed it before I responded. “What the hell are you talking about, girl?”
“In a rush to nowhere.”
“What's so profound about that?”
She grunted, “I'll text you, okay. Have fun.”
Baffled by her comment, I shrugged my shoulders, closed my phone, and put it in my back pocket. I headed out of the airport and Scooter was leaning on his car in blue scrubs. He smiled. I smiled. I wanted to run, but I floated instead. As the cloud graciously carried me to him, a stun gun trembled through me, bringing me back down to earth. I jumped and realized it was my phone vibrating in my back pocket.
Scooter smirked as he tried to decipher the confusion on my face. I laughed, as I stood in front of him. He reached out to hug me. I leaned into him and felt like I could melt. “Hey, Dr. Evans.”
He kissed my cheek. “Hey Tay-Bae.”
We held on for a few more seconds. I could have stayed there, but he let me go and grabbed my luggage. He opened the car door and I sat in the passenger seat. I pulled my phone out to see who'd just sent me a text message. It was Courtney. The subject was THE RUSH. I contemplated not opening it, because I didn't want to deal with any warnings. My curiosity would not rest, so I read it.
RUSHING N2 THIS RELATIONSHIP WITH SCOOTER IS THE SAME AS RUSHING 2 BAGGAGE CLAIM. TAKE YOUR TIME. DONT GET 2 INVOLVED 2 SOON. -C.
Was she trying to say I was headed to nowhere? The anxious look on Scooter's face was spoiled by the baffled look on mine. He asked, “What's wrong?”
“Nothing.” Trying to reaffirm, I repeated, “Nothing.”
He asked, “Are you hungry?”
The jitters in my stomach filled it to capacity. “Um, not really.”
“Well, let's go to the hotel so I can change. Then maybe you'll be ready to eat.”
“That's cool.”
My mind was on Courtney's message. God only knows where Scooter's mind was, but we had nothing to say. After hours and hours of phone conversation, we sat confined in his car exchanging silly smiles. We pulled up to the Westin Hotel and stopped at the front door. He got out and pulled my roller bag and his backpack from the trunk. He sat it on the side. The older bellman pulled his cart over and placed the bags on it. He was a handsome black man, about fifty with mixed gray hair and a pleasant smile.
“Good evening, young lady.”
I smiled. “Good evening, sir.”
He pulled the cart toward the automatic doors, and I followed. He asked, “Is that your husband?”
“No.”
“Boyfriend?” he asked.
Suddenly, I felt like an asshole. No, he's not my husband. No, he's not my boyfriend. But here I am going into a hotel with him. I obviously looked like I was worth having a title. Feeling rather insecure, I nodded.
“He's a very lucky man.”
I blushed. “Thank you,” I said.
Scooter came rushing into the hotel. He smiled at me. The nice man smiled. “A doctor, huh? You're a lucky lady . . .”
Hoping my discomfort wasn't obvious, I nodded. Scooter checked in and grabbed our bags from the cart. He handed the man a few dollars. “I got it from here, man. Thanks.”
“You guys have a great time here in the marvelous town of Stamford,” the man said.
We laughed, as he was clearly joking. I pressed the elevator button and turned around to Scooter's puckered lips. We pecked. He smiled. “I'm glad you could come, Tay-Bae.”
“Me too.”
The elevator doors opened and we got on. After he pressed the seventh floor, I leaned on the mirror. He stood in front of me and his eyes studied my eyes. I did not waiver, because I wanted to read his mind as well. When the elevator opened, I held my arm in the door so he could pull my bag out.
He pointed to the left, saying, “We're this way. Room 705.”
I walked ahead of him and he commented, “I can't believe we're here.”
“Me either.”
When we got inside of the room, I went straight over to open the blinds. He followed and sat at the small table near the window. I sat down across from him. He reached out for my hand. I willingly offered both.
“How did we get here?”
“I dunno.” I hung my head and repeated, “I dunno.”
He laughed. “Me either. I mean . . .” He stopped and shook his head. “Never mind.”
I urged him to finish. “What? Tell me.”
“I didn't foresee this.”
Knowing that I'd fantasized about this for months, I decided not to say anything. He continued, “I can't believe how easily my feelings have resurfaced.”
I nodded. “I know.”
“It's been really hard to keep my mind on anything else.”
I smiled. “Me too.”
“I look at my girlfriend and . . .” I cringed and took a deep breath, as he continued. “I wonder if she knows what's going through my mind.” He chuckled. “Tay-Bae, this shit is crazy.”
“I know,” I said quietly.
“It's like this just snuck up on me. I never expected to be here.”
I looked at him and asked for the fifteenth time. “Why didn't you bring her to the reunion?”
“She didn't want to come.”
“I never knew I'd feel like that when I saw you again either.” I sighed and tried to explain my actions. “I mean, I always knew that our breakup was a mistake, but I never knew that I'd still want to be with you after I saw you.”
“I know. Me either.” He paused. “Now, I feel pressured to make a decision,” he added.
With a sympathetic expression, I said, “Look Scooter, it's still early. You don't have to make a decision today. We have to make sure this isn't infatuation between us. You know?” He nodded. I continued, “Let's not make this heavy. When it gets heavy, then you make a decision. Today, let's just kick it.”
I grabbed the City Guide from the table to see what there was to do in Stamford. It didn't appear there were any clubs that I wanted to go to. In pursuit of places to just kick it, I suggested a pub in what appeared to be a busy strip. Scooter was never hard to please. He was mostly down for whatever I was down for. And thankfully, that hadn't changed. Scooter gazed at me as I bent over and flipped through my bag as if I hadn't already decided what I should wear.
Peeping over my shoulder, I asked, “Do you want to get ready first?”
Snapping out of his daydream, he said, “Oh, yeah. It doesn't matter.”
Scooter took all of ten minutes to throw on a pair of jeans and a Polo shirt. When he came out, my purple lace panties lay on the white comforter. My eyes followed his as he fantasized me with them on. I sashayed past him and picked them up as I headed for the bathroom. After I showered, slipped on my top and, of course, I walked out to grab my jeans. Tiptoeing bashfully past the bed, I said, “Oh, I forgot these.”
He licked his lips and gave me a lustful expression, as I rushed back to the bathroom to slip them on. After I made up my face, I was ready to just kick it. I stood at the bottom of the bed and let Scooter admire me before asking, “Are you ready, baby?”
We left the room and headed into town, a town that Scooter claimed he was familiar with, but didn't know where anything was. So, I asked the hotel receptionist how to get to the pub. She suggested we try a Mediterranean bistro not too far away, so we did. I was shocked when we pulled up to the hole in the wall. Scooter and I looked at each other and began to laugh. We decided to just go in, because nothing else in this town looked plush either. The moment we stepped in, Arabian music was playing and we bobbed our heads in agreement. We were seated at a nice cozy table for two. When the bartender came to take our drink orders, I ordered a Royal Red Apple Martini and Scooter had a glass of wine. Once our drinks came, we heard loud drums and belly dancers filled the room. They jingled and twirled their little hips, rippled and snaked their bellies as Scooter and I stared in awe. Scooter joked that he bet I could do it, too. Why was he so supportive?
When they recruited people to dance on stage, I went up there. High on life and high on the possibility of love, I did my own booty-shaking version. If I could have controlled my giggles, I probably would have been a lot better at it. When I returned to the table, Scooter was standing up, clapping.