Going Broke (15 page)

I walked cautiously around my apartment. When I got back to the kitchen, he was still chuckling. I smacked him on the shoulder. “I can't believe you're laughing at me.”

“I needed a good laugh,” he said. “Now I need the biggest pot you've got.”

I made my way around the kitchen, first finding a vase for my flowers, then getting him a pot.

For the next hour, Chef Mel did his thing in my kitchen. I'm sure my stove was wondering what the hell was happening, because the microwave was my friend.

Mel didn't need my help. He seasoned the boiling pot and tossed a dozen and a half crabs into it. He added some smoked sausages, potatoes, red and green peppers, and a host of other ingredients. The boy could burn, and in an hour we had the dinner table full of things that weren't supposed to be together: blue crabs, garlic rolls, salad, and red wine.

I poured the wine. “Thank you, Chef Mel.”

He joked, “That's
Head
Chef Mel to you, ma'am.”

“If you're the only chef in the place, how could you be the head?”

He lit the two candles that he also brought. “You're right. That'll make me the master chef.” He looked at me. “Lights, please.”

I was impressed by all that Tremel had done.

He placed the candles on the side of the floral arrangement I had placed on the table. He spent a few minutes teaching me how to open the crabs and showed me where the most meat was often hiding.

Over dinner we talked a lot. He asked me questions I wasn't ready to answer, but I did. The questions were about Damian and me, my relationship with my father, and how I lost my job. He had me swallowing my wine like it was Sunkist.

Seeing how tense I was, Tremel decided to tell me more about himself, to even the score.

 

 

Two months before he left Cleveland, he learned that the eight-month-old boy he thought was his son by his girlfriend of three years, wasn't. Sondra, his then girlfriend, confessed to sleeping with her ex-husband a few times while they were having problems.

He described the feeling as
being eaten alive by an alligator
. “I wanted him to be mine. I wanted him to belong to me so bad.”

After the paternity test proved that Justin wasn't his son, he tried to stay in the relationship, but every day was an uphill battle. The little boy he had grown to love was now too painful to look at, so he walked away. The hardest thing he ever had to do was not see Justin again.

 

 

In an effort to lift our spirits, he reached for a new bottle of wine and filled our glasses. “The rest of the night we'll spend toasting to reasons why you shouldn't eat crabs on a first date,” he said with a chuckle.

After he poured my glass, I held it up. “The reason why you shouldn't eat crabs on the first date is because your date might accuse you of being a little crabby.” I laughed.

“I'll drink to that.” He did and then continued, “You shouldn't eat crabs on the first date because you might get snapped at.”

We were cracking up at our own corny little statements. I'm sure the wine was a helper. We carried on toasting even after all the wine was gone.

I told him to rest on the stool on the other side of the counter while I did the dishes.

Tremel was good-looking, funny, smart, a great cook, and a good man.

Damn
!

After the dishes were done, we had more conversation on the couch. When we were both yawning, Tremel looked at his watch and decided that he should get going.

“But it's only two in the morning,” I joked.

He stood up and pulled me to my feet. “If I stay any longer, then I'm not leaving.”

“Oh my. Look at the time, you better get going.” I smiled.

“When can I see you again?”

“Well, I'm leaving town on Monday,” I informed him. “I won't be back until Thursday or Friday.”

“Where are you going?”

“Virginia.” I wasn't lying.

“Have fun.”

“Fun?” I smirked. “Yeah, right.”

“Why not?” He looked confused.

I couldn't look him in the face. “Job interview, and since I'll be not too far away, I'm planning on visiting my father.” I guided him to the door.

“Well, take my number and give me a call when you're back.”

I grabbed a pen and something to write on, and I took his number.

He explained that he was in the process of getting his own phone line installed, but until then he instructed me to never call that number after 10:00 at night, because Mrs. White would have a cow and a pig.

I gave him my word as I strolled back over to him standing by the door. “I had a wonderful time tonight,” I said.

As I stared up into his handsome, caramel face, his hands slid around my waist, and I trembled.

“I did too,” he said. “The number one reason you shouldn't eat crabs on the first date is because that pretty much secures the fact that your date wouldn't dream about kissing you.”

“That's not true.” I stood on tiptoes and planted my lips on his.

His grip on me tightened, as our tongues were gentle with each other. It didn't last long, but it was enough to imagine what it would've been like had it lasted longer, and I tasted no crab.

“Drive safely,” I said.

“I will.”

My forehead touched his goatee, as we hugged.

“Have a good night, Sarai.”

“You too, Mel.”

When I closed the door, I did the Hollywood movie thing and pressed my back against the door and smiled.

I sat on the sofa awhile and watched the last forty-five minutes of
My Big Fat Greek Wedding
on HBO.

When I retired to my bedroom and turned on the light, I saw a crab move sideways under my bed. “Oh, hell no.” There went my heart again. “Please tell me I didn't just see that.”

I stood frozen for a full minute, trying to think about what to do. “I'm not touching that thing.” I thought about closing the door and sleeping on the couch, but the problem would still belong to me in the morning.

“What am I going to do?” I closed the bedroom door, ran to the kitchen and grabbed the can of Raid without thinking. “This isn't going to work.”

I scurried back to the kitchen and grabbed the pot we used earlier. I thought maybe it would come out and I could throw the pot over it, so by the time I got back in town it would be dead.

As I walked past the countertop, I saw the paper with Mel's number on it and disregarded his words—This was an emergency.

“Who dis?” The elderly voice sounded stunned. “Hello?”

I bit my top lip. “Hello, may I please speak to Tremel?”

“Young lady, I'm in my bed.” She paused. “Ain't no decent girl be calling no man at this hour. You need to—”

Mel's voice interrupted. “Hello?”

“Mel, it's me.”

“Tremel, you know I don't play this foolishness.”

“I'm sorry, Mrs. White. She's in another time zone.”

“Well, she better set her watch to this one.” She slammed down the phone.

“Sarai.” He sounded concerned. “What's wrong?”

“There is a crab under my bed.”

He laughed. “Then you need to see your gynecologist, girl.”

I had already seen Doctor Baker and I had enough.

“I'm serious. Please come and catch this thing.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. I know that it's late.” I begged. “Please.”

“All right. But if I come, I'm not leaving.”

I thought a few seconds. “I'm not sleeping with that crab underneath my bed.”

“I'm on my way.”

“He that is of the opinion money will do
everything may well be suspected of doing
everything for money.”

—Benjamin Franklin

Bank Statement # 10

 

 

 

W
hen security called for my permission to let Tremel up, I felt the way I think people feel when they catch the Holy Ghost—I jumped up and down with the biggest smile. I couldn't tell if my reaction was because of Tremel coming back to search for the crab or him coming back, period. Whatever it was, I was thankful—so thankful, I wrapped my bathrobe around me and met him at the elevator.

When the doors slid open, he was leaning against the side with a grin, wearing gray jogging pants and a T-shirt. “I can't believe I'm out of my bed at four in the morning to catch a crab.”

“I'm sorry,” I said with a slight smile.

As he walked into the apartment, he yelled, “Almighty crab, show yourself.” He disappeared into my bedroom, but I stayed a few feet from the door. He screamed and made a bunch of crazy noises to scare me, then ran out laughing with the crab kicking between his fingers.

I hightailed it to the living room.

“This is the first time a woman can ever say that I gave her crabs,” he joked. “What do you want me to do with it?”

“Anything. I don't care.” I curled myself into a ball in the corner of the loveseat, trying to stay away from him and the sea monster.

He grabbed a paper bag, dropped the crab in it, and placed it in the freezer.

“Oh, that's so cruel,” I whined. “It's gonna freeze to death.”

“You didn't think it was cruel when I dropped them in the pot. And you sure didn't think it was cruel when you were eating them.” He smiled and reached for the handle. “Would you like it back on your bed?”

“No, no thank you,” I said quickly. “Sorry, mister crab.”

He stared at me from the kitchen then walked over and pulled me up from the chair. “Good night.” His hands enveloped me.

“I thought you were gonna stay.” I hoped I didn't sound desperate.

“I'd love to.” He continued in a voice mocking Mrs. White. “But what kind of a decent man would be sleeping at a woman's place?”

I giggled as I whacked him gently on the shoulder. “I know you'll be a gentleman and stay on the couch.”

“I'll be even more of a gentleman if I went back home.” He looked down at me.

“All right.” I couldn't argue with that. “Thank you so much.”

We both went silent, waiting on the other to bend. “Call me when you get in, so I know you didn't fall asleep on the road.” I wanted to kiss him again, but I made the move the first time.

“I will.” He brought my hand to his lips.

“Thanks again, Mel.” I blushed.

“I'll send you the bill.” He yawned, removed his hands from my back and was out the door sooner than I wanted him to be.

Still too traumatized to go into my room, I grabbed a blanket and made myself comfortable on the sofa.

Thirty minutes later, my phone was ringing.

“I'm alive,” he informed me, “and I'm not even sleepy anymore.”

“See, you should've stayed. I'm on the couch.” I turned the television off, so I could concentrate on him.

“Why aren't you in bed?”

“My heart hasn't gotten the news yet.” I giggled. “I need time to calm my nerves before I go in there.”

“Wait a minute. You had me to come all the way over there to clear a room that you're still not going to sleep in?”

“Yeah,” I answered matter-of-factly. “You got a problem with that?”

He laughed. “I think you just wanted me over there.”

“I think you just wanted to come back over here.”

“I wish I would've stayed now.”

I was blushing. “How come?”

“Because you have leftover crabs and a brotha is starving.” He got serious. “Naw, I really enjoyed your company.”

We talked and laughed until eight in the morning, when the sun was high up in the sky and traffic was on the streets below.

Asleep for only an hour, I was awakened by another telephone call. “Hello?”

“Did I wake you?” a woman asked.

“Who is this?”

“This is Stefani.”

My eyes widened. “Hi,” I said.

“I have your flight information.”

“Okay.” I reached for a pen and paper.

“You and Cherry are flying together on Delta. She's a very nice girl, so at least you'll have company. When you two arrive, there will be a driver waiting with a sign that says
Elite
. Give him Conrad's name. That'll be your ride to the hotel. Don't go to the front desk. Go straight to room nine-eighteen and get your room key from Judy.”

“Okay.” I was tired and ready to hang up. “What time is the flight?”

“Tomorrow at three, and you're coming back—”

“Is it possible that I can fly back on Saturday?”

“Why?”

“My dad lives in the area and he's sick. I'd like to go and see him.”

I heard her typing something. “I guess I can handle that, but the hotel on Thursday and Friday nights are on you.”

I wanted to yell, “Have a damn heart,” but I held my tongue. “That's all right.” I had planned to rent a car and drive to Dover.

“Just make sure you have your ID when you arrive at Delta. Everything else is taken care of.” She added, “I'll get you a flight out on Saturday afternoon. Judy will let you know.”

“Thanks.”

She said, “No problem,” then she was gone.

I slept until 3:00 in the afternoon and woke up feeling like I had been comatose for weeks. I didn't want to move or think, and I definitely didn't want to do laundry then pack.

I watched TV on the sofa for two hours before I talked myself into getting up. While the washing machine washed and the dryer dried, I thought about the night before and stared at the phone, willing it to ring.

I wanted Tremel to come over or call and ask to do something or go somewhere with me.

When he didn't call, I vacuumed, mopped, packed, and waited some more.

After a night like the one we had, not getting a phone call the next day was a slap in the face. Maybe I read too much into what happened.

The phone wasn't ringing, so I began to dissect the entire evening. Did I push him away?

When Tremel informed me that his last date was two weeks prior, I didn't want to be outdone, so I said that I was dating too. God knew that wasn't the truth, but I didn't want Tremel to know that I sat in my apartment and checked my e-mail all day.

The next lie I told him was that I didn't think I wanted to have kids because I wasn't good with children. I read in a magazine that if a woman mentioned that she wanted a family too soon after meeting a guy, he'd automatically throw up maybe not a stop sign, but definitely a yield.

The last thing it said was people who got married before thirty-five were making the biggest mistake. That was my own stupid logic; I fooled myself into believing that, because I felt too old to not have at least been engaged once.

 

 

I took the cordless phone everywhere with me. At midnight, I was angry when I hopped out of the shower and looked at the caller ID—“Well, fuck you too.”

I chalked it all up to another free meal, checked my room for crabs, and crawled under my sheets with images of Tremel gallivanting around town or toting a bushel of crabs to another girl's place haunting me.

“Bastard,” I whispered to myself. Then my eyes closed, and I waited for the next day.

 

 

An hour before leaving for the airport, I picked up the phone to call Daddy. I wanted him to know that I'd be there to see him on Friday.

“What the—” I didn't have a dial tone. “Shit.”

What a time for BellSouth to act like I was the only customer coming up short. I mailed out the check on Friday, which meant they'd get it today, Monday.

Suddenly my fury cooled into a smile. The phone was probably disconnected the day before, which would explain why I hadn't heard from Tremel. I had only given him my home number.

In retrospect, if I wasn't so proud and had picked up the phone to call
him
, I would've known. He may have even tried to come over, but with the hell I raised about Damian never being able to enter the building, security wasn't letting anyone up before talking to me.

“What an idiot,” I said to myself. I looked at the clock and wondered if I had time to quickly stop by the school and say hi, but once I pulled onto the crowded highway, I knew that I couldn't make it there without missing my flight.

Walking through the Fort Lauderdale airport, I didn't give much thought to what was ahead of me. It hit me when I sat down in my coach seat—This venture wasn't a regular business trip. I wasn't traveling for WBIG and attending a concert or doing an interview. I was about to have sex with men for money—not just any men—pastors.

After this I'd probably never see a church again, not until they rolled me in on the big day. This deed was sure to send me straight to hell, no lines, no waiting.

“Sarai?” A woman walked up to the row where I was sitting.

When I looked up, I was lost for words. “Cherry?”

She was drop-dead gorgeous, light-skinned and not very tall, but thin, with long, curly hair and succulent lips that even a woman would fantasize about.

“Hi. How are you?” I extended my hand.

“I'm fine.” She leaned over and touched my weave. “I love your hair.” Running her fingers through my layered look, she winked at me. “Very chic.”

I couldn't stop looking at her lips. “Thank you.”

If all of the other Elite girls looked like Cherry, I'd probably only make enough money to buy myself a Vanilla Coke and a smile. She was wearing a professional navy blue skirt suit. I quickly compared it to my beige slacks and plain white dress shirt and felt as though we weren't going to the same meeting.

 

 

During the flight, Cherry's mouth didn't stop. She told me everything about her. Her real name was Yolanda Miller. She was a professional dancer and the choreographer for a local R&B girl group, which was about to get signed to a major label. Cherry, twenty-nine, had been working for Conrad for five years. She owned her own house, a BMW, and a Benz.

She didn't offer me any excuses for why she was in the Elite, and I was glad. I didn't want to have to explain my reasons.

However, she advised me about what to do, telling me never to let my two worlds collide. She said, “When you're not working, don't think of yourself as that woman, and when you're working, don't think of nothing but that woman.”

 

 

By the time we landed, I was feeling like what we were about to do was natural, empowering, and something we should be praised for. Conrad had her mind all jacked up, and she had me halfway there. I felt comfortable with Cherry. We exchanged numbers and promised that we'd hang out when we were back in Miami.

We were off the plane, in and out of the car, and knocking on Judy's hotel room door by 7:00. Judy was an older woman who had too much attitude. It was probably because she was envious of us, since her body was 2000 miles away from being a moneymaker. There were four other girls in the room, and none of them was as friendly or nearly as pretty as Cherry or me.

When I settled into my room, I searched for my cell phone like a crackhead looking for a rock. I emptied everything from my purse. I needed to place a call, and nothing but death would stop me. “Eureka,” I whispered as I saw the silver flip phone.

The next thing I heard was Mel's sexy baritone voice. “Hello?”

I couldn't believe the smile on my face. “Hello there.”

“Sarai?”

“Yes. Hi.” I contained myself. “How are you?”

“I'm doing all right.” He sounded happy to hear from me. “I tried calling you and saw that you were having technical difficulties.”

I was a bit embarrassed. “Yeah, BellSouth is no joke.” I offered clarification. “I sent them a check on Friday, but I guess—”

“You don't have to explain anything to me. Believe me, I know.” Then he added, “Why do you think I don't have a phone?” We both laughed.

“So how did the interview go?”

For a split second, I didn't know what he meant. I didn't have a lie ready. “Well, that's not until tomorrow.”

“Well, good luck.”

“Thanks.” Being deceitful wasn't something I liked. “I'll need it.”

“So you'll be moving up there if you get it, right?”

“Yeah.”

He went quiet. “Then maybe I shouldn't be wishing you good luck.”

“Maybe.” I jumped when the hotel line started ringing. “I better get that.”

He said, “Is this your cell phone number on the caller ID?”

“Yes.”

“May I use it?”

“Of course you can,” I answered.

“Cool,” he said. “Have a good night.”

“Thank you.” He had no clue what type of night I was going to have, and neither did I. “Bye.”