Friends and Lovers (45 page)

We made it back to the house on Don Diego right around three, and
damn.
By then the cul de sac was crowded with everything from Pintos to Rolls-Royces, had more rides than the L.A. auto auction, and there was hardly anywhere to park on the narrow street. Most of the neighbors had come down early in the morning and helped with the decorations, beautified the place
and made it look like the gateway to an African village, so most of the day Debra’s house had been crowded.

Leonard’s mother and stepfather showed up right after we made it back, along with a van crammed with relatives. Leonard’s mom saw what was going on and hopped out of the van with
mucho
attitude, talking about she wanted something more solemn.

My girl Debra stepped up to their faces, in a polite way, and stood firm.

“I know he was your son, that goes without saying,” Debra spoke up in that soft tone that let you know she was a force to be reckoned with, “but he was my husband. We knew him in the same way, but I knew him in a special way too. Believe me, this is what he would want.”

I stood next to her and agreed, co-signed every thing Debra said. Tyrel stepped up and told them that the music should play strong and long with nothing but Leonard’s favorites—hip-hop, rap, reggae, and R&B. I rose to the occasion, put in my two cents and told them if it would make them feel better, we could toss in a few up-tempo gospel songs by Yolanda Adams and Kirk Whalum. But if they were gonna hang out up here after dark, they’d better be in the mood for nothing but hot jazz.

Even after we said all that, they missed the point and still thought that Debra should be grieving “in a mo’ traditional manner”—whatever the hell that meant. Now you know we had spread the word from the desert to the sea, from the mountains to the valleys, and everybody else respected Debra’s wishes for the home-going, but Leonard’s parents were both wearing dark colors. Leonard’s stepdad had on a jet-black polyester suit; his mom’s face was sulking behind a thick, midnight-colored veil.

Somebody always has to put a nasty cup in the Kool-Aid.

Leonard’s mother’s attitude, the way she shook her head at everything
positive
, how she made face after face at all the people in vibrant colors, the way she slumped her shoulders and shook her head, implied that she thought Debra had lost her mind and was giving her son a speedy send-off to hell.

“I am grieving,” Debra stressed as she put her right palm on her stomach. “This isn’t easy for me to do, but this is what Leonard Junior would want. It’s about him, not us. I don’t want to bury his memory; I want to keep it alive. We have all our lives to mourn. Today I want to celebrate the fact that God gave him to us. I love both of you and will do anything for you, and I do want you here with the rest of our friends, my family and extended family. But if you get back in your van and leave, I won’t be offended.”

They stayed.

* * *

By four p.m. the sun was smiling down on our world and the backyard was filled with people from both sides of the family and the neighborhood. A couple of politicians showed up for a photo opportunity. Friends. Old lovers. Comics. Actors. Fifty, maybe sixty people. Some played dominoes. A chess game or two. Bid whist over by the pool. A serious block party. Debra’s two older sisters had made it in from Seattle and Minnesota and both drove down the hill to the Shabazz bakery to get cakes and pies. Her baby brother wouldn’t get in from NYU until late night, about the same time that Tyrel’s mother and sister would be getting here.

So a full-scale pool party/fish fry/dance/barbecue was in full bloom by five. The gate to the pool and the trees and bushes around it were decorated with bright colored balloons and streamers.

It was so beautiful. That’s the way things should be.

A lot of people brought food. Bobby barbecued chicken and turkey dogs. Alejandria fried the fish. Alejandria had a secret Mexican recipe she used to season the fish that made just about everybody forget about Bobby’s prizewinning barbecue.

Some of us slipped inside and huddled around the bigscreen TV. The den had standing room only while we kicked back and played Leonard’s concerts and movies. “The DuBois Marathon.” There was a lot of laughter. Very few people cried. And when they did, it wasn’t
long. Debra looked around at everybody, smiling as she sat on the sofa next to me and Tyrel.

“Of all the things I have, I would gladly give it up to kiss my husband one more time and hear his voice. I’m not saying that to make anybody sad, ‘cause if you cry I’m putting your ass outside until you through.” Everybody laughed. “I just don’t want you guys to take each other for granted. Ever.”

I squeezed Tyrel’s hand, then kissed him on the cheek. He held on to me. I wanted to kiss him every morning. Every night.

* * *

Tyrel walked me around to the front of the house and we sat on his car just as the sun lowered itself enough to give the city that orange glow. For the first time in a long time, I relaxed. And I checked out how fast the sun goes down, even when you’re paying attention.

I smiled and told Tyrel, “Chiquita will be here later on. I want you to meet her. She’s a flake, but she’s kinda cool.”

The second she saw me and Tyrel, I bet she’d grin and draw sweet circles in the air. Already I heard her Southern-fried voice boasting, “Grrl, you got it going on at 360 degrees.”

Rap music kicked in and thumped in the back of the house, and all the children were screaming, chanting along with the lyrics as they danced into the night. My thoughts pulled me, made me quiet for a long time. Tyrel was quiet most of the time too.

I nudged him and asked, “What’s on your mind?”

Tyrel said, “Billie Holiday songs. Pear-apples. Soft kisses in the dark. What about you?”

“Beaches in Rio. Sultry music at sunset. Candlelit dinners.”

We held hands and slipped back inside our thoughts. I had so many, and they all were clear for a change. I was the first one to speak up when I whispered, “That’s what I’m gonna do.”

“Want to share?”

“Promise not to laugh?”

Tyrel made a Boy Scout sign. “Promise.”

I cleared my throat, took a breath, let it seep out before I spoke my soft words, “When I get back to San Diego, I’m gonna pack and move my things up here to Debra’s garage. I was thinking about leaving a nasty note for Richard’s momma, but that would be a waste of ink because the Nutty Professor don’t know my name. Nothing for Richard because I don’t care enough about him to waste the paper. I’m moving in with Debra. She needs me. I’m not running away from anything this time. Just coming back to the place I never should have left.”

“Older and wiser?”

“A little wiser. I’ll never, ever get old.”

“Whatever.”

“Anyway.” I nudged him. “I’ll transfer back up here, but I don’t know how long that’ll take because everybody and their grandmomma wants to be based in Los Angeles. But it shouldn’t take long. I’ll shuttle back and forth in the meantime.”

Tyrel chuckled. “Anything else?”

“I’m gonna ask you if you still want to see me. And if you say yes, I’m gonna ask you to move back too. You could stay here with me and Debra. And since there’s going to be a baby pretty soon, you’ll have to sleep in the room with me so the rug rat can have its own room. And I’m gonna trade my Z in for something with four seats, maybe a Jeep, because those are so cute. Then we can all ride together. You say you love me, and I know I love you. Well, I might as well do the right thing. I figure if you’re good enough to sleep with, you’re good enough to marry. But not until after I see how well we get along together, because it has been a long time. And if we do still want each other, and I hope we will, I’ll promise to never run out on you and to always talk about what’s wrong. Well, at least try to because sometimes I can’t help it. Nature sneaks up on me and I PMS real bad. But if you say no, at least I tried.”

Tyrel said, “You make it sound so easy.”

“Hey, you’re the one who asked.” He put his arms
around me, gingerly. Made me feel like a schoolgirl on a first date. I loved that sensation.

He said, “Anything else?”

“I want two girls and a boy. Twins and a single.”

“Finished?”

“Give me a minute. I’ll think of something.”

Tyrel teased, “Need help?”

I purred along with a righteous sensation. Closed my eyes for a moment. Smiled and enjoyed the night air dancing on my skin. All over my body, I was captured by the crush I had on him. “Let me feel as young as I look and relish my high school daydream. You know how sentimental I am.”

“Pretty extensive for a simple fantasy.”

“It’s just a romantic notion, that’s all. My little fairy tale. Life doesn’t ever work out like that.”

“Stay hopeful. It’s sweet.”

“You know what I really would like? No joke?”

“What?”

“I’d like you to call me up to ask me out on a date. Maybe pick me up and take me to a matinee. Buy me some popcorn and chocolate-covered raisins. Maybe we could drive down to that place on PCH in the Long Beach Marina.”

“The yogurt shop downstairs by the movie theater?”

“Yeah. With your top down and my feet up on the dash.”

Tyrel chuckled. “What about everything else?”

“Sorry, but you know I ain’t selling my Z for nobody. My insurance just dropped, and I have only two more payments left. A movie and a bucket of popcorn will be just fine. For now.”

We laughed.

Tyrel whispered in my ear, “Can I have your phone number?”

“Sure. I’ve already memorized yours.”

We shared a smile.

“If you’ve got time on your social calendar,” I said, “I want to earn
my
three keys back.” I stuck my finger in that dimple and twisted. “I want my cavern back, too. That’s my real estate.”

“Consider yourself in escrow.”

We kissed.

Debra walked out, rubbing her belly and eating. “I was looking all over for you two. You guys okay?” Tyrel smiled and nodded.

“What are you two doing out here all by yourselves?”

I smiled and batted my eyelashes real fast.

Debra brightened up and said, “Good.”

She stood next to Tyrel, then sent a warm and wide don’t-mess-it-up-this-time expression back to me. From the house to the cul de sac, Debra hadn’t stopped licking her fingers.

I asked, “Dang. Is it that good?”

Debra said a naughty “You tell me?”

“What?” I blushed. “No, you didn’t.”

“But y’all did last night.” Debra took a step back and looked out over LaBrea, then up into the sky, toward the stars. “I wish he was here to see this. You two talking. Leonard would get a kick out of this. And a good joke. But mostly, he’d be so happy to see you two together. He really would.”

Debra held that same pleasant facial cast, but tears ran out of her eyes. I moved to hug her, and when I did, a spot of my sorrow came out of my eyes too.

“Stop,” I said. Damn. So much for being the strong one (his time. I was wiping my face before I could help her dry hers. “You gonna mess around and choke on a chicken bone.”

“I’m eating fish, knucklehead.”

“Whatever,” I said and held Debra’s hand. We stood for a couple of minutes and helped each other not cry too much.

Tyrel said, “Shelby?”

I stopped dabbing tears and said, “Uh-huh?”

“How would you like to go on a date with me? To a movie, and maybe if you have the time, we could go get some yogurt. I know this nice little place on PCH. We could ride by the ocean with the top down, your feet on my dash.”

I blushed and wiped his misty eyes. “I’d love to. As long as you don’t try to pull an Obispo on me.”

Debra used a paper towel to mop her face and said a lighthearted “Don’t you two look tame.”

Tyrel moved in between us, held onto us, and we all swayed for a little while. Every now and then I wiped Debra’s eyes. Her eyeliner was running, just like mine. The shivers crept in and my tears got a little out of hand. She dabbed my face, held my chin until our eyes met, deepened her voice. “I’m not an airline stewardess. I’m a flight attendant. Airline stewardess sounds too much like a waitress.”

I laughed. “And I ain’t nobody’s waitress.”

Tyrel added, “What flavor is that?”

I giggled, “Strawberry.”

Debra told one of Leonard’s jokes.

I told another.

Tyrell messed one up. But we laughed anyway.

We stood out front and gazed over the city, watched planes floating in, saw headlights chase each other down below. It cooled and we cuddled in the light winds.

“We’re going to bury Leonard tomorrow,” Debra said, then paused like she was thinking. “I want everyone in bright colors. Everybody. I want it to look like a sea of happiness.”

I was massaging Debra’s belly. Touching, feeling the warmth.

Debra smiled over her tender words, “And me and Leonard the third are going to need you godparents for a long time.”

Tyrel said, “I know.”

“Now my priority is to be a good mother and let my child know what his father stood for.”

I was still drying Debra’s face. I said a motherly “We’re gonna need each other.”

Debra sighed. “Let’s party before we get melodramatic.”

“Okay,” I said. I kissed my girlfriend on the cheek.

“Shelby,” Debra said. “You look like a raccoon.”

“You’re the ugly one.”

Tyrel held our hands, and we walked back to the house.

Before I could make it to the 42nd Street Station in Times Square, my damn fingertips were aching. Every one of them had turned more purple than Barney, that stupid dinosaur that everybody over three loved to hate. And I’m not lying. I’m serious. About hoofing it up to Broadway and 44th and being cold. The wool lining in my trench coat was doing the right thing and keeping my almost five-foot-nine inches of middle-ground-brown body warm, but I was carrying a couple of packages, things I’d bought from R.A.G. and the Official All Star Cafe. Presents for my best friend. My friggin’ hands were bare, my fingers were swollen, and ready to burst like microwave popcorn. I should go by Fino’s, right up the way between 5th and 6th Avenues, and buy some more gloves made of that soft Italian leather, but I hate to buy what I already own and had left at home. It’s amazing how pain in one part of your body can make you miserable all over. To make it worse, I saw my brown Italian boots stepping on the gray asphalt, heard the crunch when I slipped and slid in some leftover filth and slush on the edge of the pavement, but I couldn’t feel my toes.