Heard It All Before (17 page)

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Authors: Michele Grant

BOOK: Heard It All Before
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15
Less than Twenty-Four Hours Away
Renee—Friday, August 13, 7:00 p.m.
 
 
F
riday the thirteenth, wouldn't you know. Trust and believe, this marriage felt doomed from the get-go. First off, Oliver Salisbury was just about the whitest white boy I had ever seen. And Stace? Oh, she liked to act like she was on the vanilla side of the black scale, but deep down, I believed she was more ghetto fabulous than the rest of us. On the surface, she was the first one to talk about reverse discrimination, the Rainbow Coalition, and equality for all. But peel back a layer and there beat the heart of a little Black Panther in the making.
Just wait until one of his friends slipped up and called her something slap-worthy. Or started a sentence with, “Black people always ...” Oh yeah, just wait for that. I guess I sound prejudiced, huh? No, no, not at all. I got along with white folk well enough. I really did. I just thought a black man should be with a black woman and vice versa and that was that, period. I mean, come on. We came in all different shapes, sizes, and shades. If you want a white girl, why can't you just find the lightest sister with light eyes out there? You want something exotic? How about a sister from the Caribbean? Or Brooklyn? Same goes for the women—they could find what they wanted right here within the race.
But as if all of this wasn't enough, here it was, the night before the wedding and it was raining. Supposed to rain all weekend long. Now, I didn't go for that voodoo stuff, but this was a bad omen. Even I understood the omen of torrential rain on your wedding day. Hardly seemed like God's way of smiling on you, now, did it?
On top of all that, Oliver had only one friend close enough to be in the wedding, so Stace had to come up with the groomsmen for him. So here we were: me; Greggy; Jewel; Rome; Roni Mae; Aaron; Tammy; Stace's brother Kenneth; Keisha; Arthur, a real cute little white friend of Oliver's; Stace's little sister Marie; and of all people, Patrick ... as in Jewel's
ex,
that Patrick. Of all the people in the world, that was who Stacie picked to be the extra groomsman. She said she couldn't think of anyone else on such short notice. Shit was gonna get funky up in here, you mark my words.
This was the rehearsal dinner from hell. The bride and groom argued all through the rehearsal, the minister had a nasty head cold, Aaron and Roni Mae weren't speaking to each other for some reason, and Roman was about to commence to swinging on Patrick. Keisha had already blamed Arthur's ancestors for keeping hers in bondage. Kenneth, recently divorced after a whopping eighteen months of marriage, was hardly pleased to be here, reminded of all things matrimonial. Stace's dad still wasn't speaking to her for marrying a “milktoast with no ends” (translated to “white boy with no money”), and her mom had been nervously hustling us through dinner so we'd be gone before Pops got in from league bowling night.
“So, we don't have to stay long, right?” Gregory asked me for the fourth time in as many minutes. Why men always get so nervous at weddings? Looking like disciples at the Last Supper and shit.
“Till the bitter end, baby.” I grinned at him. “Besides, things are just getting interesting, don't you think?”
Gregory glanced around the room. “Remind me, baby—we're eloping.”
Hold up! Eloping? As in marriage? My eyebrows shot straight up. “Did I miss a proposal?” My expression said “Gotcha!” and I waited for his answer—eagerly awaited. Marrying Greggy fell right into my scheme. Here was one discussion I was ready to have.
He was saved from replying, because at that moment, Stace burst into tears and ran from the table.
“Lord have mercy, what now?” Jewel, the maid of honor, sighed, speaking my thoughts aloud. She looked over at me and I got up. As if choreographed, all the girls got up from the table and followed Stacie. Jewel stopped at the door and looked back at Roman. “Don't do anything to embarrass me while I'm gone, player.”
Roman rolled his eyes and reached for another corn-bread muffin.
Stace must have felt like a cornered turkey on Thanksgiving morn. We were all circled around her in the living room. She stood in the middle of the room weeping, and we hovered about her like vultures circling an expiring carcass.
“So, what's the problem?” Jewel questioned, cutting to the chase as usual.
“So, do ya love 'im, girl?” Keisha asked.
“Really love him?” I repeated.
“Like you can see yourself with him for the next thirty or forty years? That's what I'm trying to find out,” Jewel pressed.
“Does your mouth water looking at him?” Tammy added.
“How could her mouth water looking at Oliver?” I couldn't resist. Like I said, he looked white, he talked real white with a British accent, he walked white, and worst of all, he thought white—no flavor whatsoever. Still asked things like, “Why don't you want your hair to get wet?” So unacceptable.
“What's the mouthwatering got to do with any damn thing?” Roni Mae asked. “Your mouth can't water for the next forty years. Shit.” Roni Mae and Aaron must've had a big fight. She was sounding a wee bit bitter.
“And mouth water don't pay no bills,” Keisha added.
I tried to put it plain. “I guess what I'm asking is, are you sure you're doing the right thing?”
Stace looked scared shitless. “I think so.” She was wringing her hands and refused to look any of us in the eye. Poor Marie was only fourteen; she looked kind of shell-shocked by this conversation. Let it be an early lesson to her: men were hell. White, black, purple—hell, every one of 'em. But then again, they did have their uses.
Jewel got that I-can't-believe-this-shit look on her face and took a step closer to Stacie. “What do you mean, you
think
so? Listen, girl, if you've gotta single doubt, speak NOW. Tomorrow at three it's 'til-death-do-you-part time.”
“Shouldn't be no
I think so's
this late in the game, girl,” Keisha argued.
“I know, I know!” Stacie shouted. We all jumped. Stacie never raised her voice. Ever.
Jewel took her arm and dragged her over to the sofa. She pretty much threw Stacie onto the cushions. “What's the problem?”
Stace finally looked up. She looked like she was going to cry ... again. “I guess I love him. He treats me like a queen most of the time. No one has ever treated me like he does.”
“So?” Roni Mae prompted.
“So, I still feel like something is missing.” Her voice was so faint; we had to strain to hear her.
“What?” Keisha asked. “He's got some money, right?”
“Keish,” I scolded, “not everything comes down to dollars and cents.”
She snorted. “Easy for you to say, Ms. Moneybags.” Keisha thought anyone who made over $10.00 an hour was rolling in it.
“He's not rich, if that's what you mean,” Stacie answered. “Probably never will be, but we'll get by.”
Inwardly, I cringed at the thought of going into a marriage thinking we'd just “get by.” Hell, if I wanted to just “get by,” I'd stay single.
“Can he fu—” Tammy caught herself as she realized we were in Stacie's parents' house and a minor was present. “There are no sexual problems?” she edited tactfully.
“Tammy, please,” Jewel snapped before sparing a smile for Marie. “Hey, Marie, can you run upstairs and look for the Extra Strength Advil?”
She fled like a death-row inmate granted a reprieve.
After she left the room, Stace laughed. “Sex is all right. I've had better; I've had worse.”
Again, I mentally winced.
Sex is all right
? What the hell was the point of marriage if not finding all your fantasies wrapped in a bow and tying them to you for life? If she was only getting all right sex, at least the boy should have some bank behind him.
“Well, what about the next forty years? Do they look good with him?” Roni Mae had shaken off her mood to ask an intelligent question.
“I guess so, but he's not sure he wants kids.” Leave it to Stacie to break out the major revelation less than twenty-four hours before the nuptials. Damn.
“You once told me you would be happy with a man who just loved to travel and wanted tons of kids,” I reminded her. Someone had to point out the obvious.
“Lemme guess, he don't wanna travel neither?” Keisha asked snidely.
Stacie put her head down again. I guess that meant no. I glanced at Jewel, who looked alternately pissed off, then worried as hell.
“Let me see if I can get this right. All this time you've been with Oliver, all we've heard about is how right, how perfect he is. Now, almost eighteen hours before you are divinely connected in a holy ceremony with this guy, what am I hearing? What's so right, so perfect about him? He wants no kids, the sex is so-so, you're not sure you love him, he doesn't wanna travel, and y'all are going to get by on your public school teacher's salary and whatever it is Oliver wants to be when he grows up? Am I missing something?” Jewel snapped out impatiently, giving in to the irritation.
Stacie jumped up. “He treats me like a queen, I said! Like everything I say is important, like I'm the most important thing in the world to him.”
“You are the most important thing in the world to him—you're his food and shelter for the next forty years.” It came out before I could stop it. Everyone looked at me, and I refused to take it back. That's how I read the situation and that was that.
Stacie started to cry ... yes, again.
“Aw, shit,” Tammy said, and put her arm around Stace.
Jewel rolled her eyes. “Stace. I hear what you're saying behind all of this. Your parents have done a good job of ignoring you for the past twenty-nine years, and all your major relationships have left you feeling like you weren't important to anyone. Deep down, I know you know that's not true. Now, if you're only marrying Oliver because he puts you on a pedestal, don't do it. If you're only marrying Oliver because black men have trampled you and you don't trust them anymore, don't do it. If you're only marrying Oliver because you don't want to start all over and look for someone else, don't do it. But if you really love him, can't imagine not spending the rest of your life with him, feel absolutely comfortable with having him as your lover and best friend forever more, go for it and to hell with everything and everyone else.”
Stace had stopped crying, but she still looked scared as hell. “How long do I have to decide?”
Jewel visibly bit her tongue and shot me a look. I shrugged back at her. I figured I'd already said too much, but I was dying to say that she'd had the last year and a half to decide.
Roni Mae smiled. “Seems to me like you got 'til tomorrow at three.”
 
 
Roman—Friday, August 13, 11:40 p.m.
Stace and Ollie brought the wedding party out to a club instead of doing separate bachelor/bachelorette things. Personally, I didn't think Stace trusted his ass ... couldn't say as I blamed her. Bad enough that a fine sister was hooking up with this little white boy, but he ain't 'bout shit neither! I could see it if he had a little something on the ball. My guess was he must be putting it to her pretty good, 'cause otherwise I just didn't see the appeal. Boy was bringing nothing to the table as far as I can tell. Program was raggedy, not the most thoughtful or well-bred dude, the résumé was tired, and he had NO game—he
must
had to be knocking it out the box.
Anyway, we'd been here since eleven, and I was just 'bout ready to call this evening a night. First off, it was old-school jam night. Their idea of old school was songs from the early nineties! Now I got this damn Patrick yanking my chain. We met a couple weeks ago, and I felt it was my place to pull him to the side and hip him to the real, ya know? Let him know that, ah, whatever little plans he had for him and my Jewellen Rose, he could deep-six 'em. I thought he was feeling my vibe, but the brother just seemed to wanna step incorrect on this.

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