Homecoming Weekend (36 page)

Kwame smiled and pointed to the bar. Tranise nodded her head and they walked together for the first round of drinks for the night. The bartender made them cranberry and Belvederes with a twist of lime. They toasted to “meeting new, wonderful people,” Kwame said.

They tapped glasses and took a sip of their drinks. “Good for you?” he asked Tranise. “If it's not, I will send it back and demand that whoever made the inadequate drink be fired.”

Tranise laughed and her spirits were lifted. But just as quickly as she smiled, the sight of Felicia on the arm of Brandon gave her a queasy feeling. Kwame noticed.

“What's wrong?” he asked, looking over his shoulder and spotting Brandon and Felicia walking into the ballroom.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just saw something that made me sick.”

Kwame did not feel good about that. He had been trying to earn Tranise's interest and yet she clearly had something for Brandon. Not minutes after receiving a lesson from Felicia, he delivered one to her.

“Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't understand something,”
he said. “You obviously have something for this guy. It's obvious. And that's the problem. I have told you and shown you that I really like you. You have been lukewarm with me, but very hot about this guy. That's cool. But he's married. You gave me some good advice a minute ago and I will take heed. I think you ought to take this advice: If you are in the presence of someone who is interested in you, it's pretty rude to constantly show interest in someone else. I tried to ignore it yesterday, two or three times. And now I see that this man's wife is pregnant . . . And you talk to me about someone being a trick and someone not? Maybe I'm young, but I do know that he is not a good catch.

“Have a good time.”

And then he walked away, leaving Tranise standing there, somewhat shocked, definitely embarrassed. He had eloquently put her in her place. And in doing so, her level of respect and interest in Kwame soared.

She walked into the lobby area, looking for him, but found Mary and Charlene. “What's wrong?” Mary said. “Where's Kwame?”

“I'm not sure,” she said. “I'm looking for him . . . How's it going?”

“It's going great,” Mary said. “The men look like men. It's sort of a receding hairline convention, but I don't mind that. They are mature and confident. You can tell they have done things in their life by how they walk and talk. And I love just standing here and watching friends see each other for the first time in years. There's something really nice about that. You can see how genuinely happy they are to see each other. I love it.”

“I also saw a couple folks whose greeting was not all that enthusiastic,” Charlene said. She lowered her voice. “This woman behind me,” she said. “She hugged this other woman and when she walked away, she came over here and said to her friend: ‘You believe she had the nerve to speak to me? When we were in
school, she didn't pay her rent for three months and then just moved out. I got evicted because of her. And she never apologized.' Her friend said, ‘What year was that?' The girl said, ‘Ah, 1982.'

“So she's been holding that grudge for thirty years. Wow.”

Tranise listened, but her head was on a swivel; she wanted to talk to Kwame, to apologize. Instead, Brandon walked up. Charlene and Mary spoke and left.

“You look great, Tranise,” he said.

“So do you,” she said. “So does your pregnant wife.”

Brandon smiled. “Has homecoming been good for you?”

“It's been amazing,” she said. “I feel like I will never miss another. I feel more connected to the school. I left and stayed away, but never again. This weekend has been inspiring, in more ways than one.”

“Same here,” he said. “I am inspired to visit Atlanta.”

“Don't you think you should be focused on your wife and your baby that's coming in—what?—two months?” Tranise said. She was angered because Mary and Kwame were right—he was married. That college crush was good for college. The reality of today meant a different set of emotions.

“I can multi-task,” he said, and offered his captivating smile.

Another time it was a smile that would have overwhelmed Tranise. This time, it flat-out angered her.

“You know, Brandon, I am glad we got to talk and really meet after all these years,” she said. “But you are married. I know your wife. But you seem to think it's okay to flirt with me. You're being very discreet about it, but it's flirting. And that makes me think you don't think highly enough of me. To think I would see you, date you, sleep with you . . . whatever, is a real slap in my face and I don't appreciate it. I don't get any pleasure out of saying this because at one time in my life—several years ago—I had a serious
crush on you. But that was then. You're married, Brandon. You should act like it.”

She turned to walk away and Brandon reached out and grabbed her arm. Tranise looked down at his hand on her and he let go. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I apologize. That's really all I can say. I'm sorry.”

He was really sorry because Felicia arrived at that moment. “I thought you were getting me some water,” she said.

“I am. Come on,” he said.

“You go ahead,” Felicia said, looking at Tranise. “I'm coming.”

Brandon walked on and Felicia walked up to Tranise. The number of people milling in the reception area outside the ball-room had increased exponentially, so Felicia remained poised as she spoke.

“What is it about staying away from my husband that you don't understand?” she started. “You hate me? Fine. I hate you, too. But you don't interfere in my marriage. I might be pregnant, but I can and I will bust you upside your head with a bottle. Now you can hate me and look at me crazy like you are right now. But you gonna respect me and my marriage.”

Tranise was about to tell her that her husband had come on to her, that she needed to check him and not her. But at that moment, Steve Nottingham emerged with his camera, asking the ladies to pose.

“Don't move; stay right there and smile,” he said.

Neither of them wanted to, but they did. He flashed the photo. “Beautiful,” he said. “Thanks.”

Tranise turned to Felicia to tell her off, but saw only the back of her head. She walked away.

Charlene and Mary came over. “Okay, so what the hell was that all about?” Charlene said.

“Nothing worth talking about,” Tranise said. “She hates me and thinks I'm trying to get with Brandon.”

“Well, aren't you?” Mary said.

“At first, it was very, very flattering that I even met him and he was talking to me,” she answered. “But you were right about what him flirting with me meant. And Kwame was, too.”

“Kwame said something about it?” Mary asked.

“He did,” Tranise said. “I've got to talk to him.”

She scanned the reception area and then went out into the hotel lobby seeking Kwame. She caught the attention of Greg “Night Hawk” Cook, Val Guilford, Curtis West, Jon Aponte and Mark Conrad—friends from their Norfolk State days in the early 1980s.

“Excuse me,” Curtis said politely as she walked by.

Tranise was pleasant by nature, but she was rattled by the events of the night and came off rather snobbish with her response: “I'm really not interested in talking right now,” she said.

“That's fine,” Curtis responded. “I just wanted to tell you that you have toilet tissue stuck on your shoe.”

She looked down and was embarrassed about what she saw—and how she responded to him. “Thank you,” she said. “I'm really sorry. I'm really a nice person. I just have something on my mind.”

“We understand,” Val said. “Just don't let it happen again.”

They all laughed and Tranise was on her way.

Jesse, Don and Venita

D
on and Jesse entered the party feeling better than most—they had smoked two joints before leaving the room and had two beers en route to the party in Jesse's scraped-up BMW. Venita got high, too, but she stayed behind to connect with her cousin, Diamond, and her pregnant room-mate, Janea.

“I need to have a buzz,” Venita said. “I'm about to advise this child and I'm not sure what my advice should be.”

“Just tell her what makes sense to you,” Jesse said. “In the end, she's going to do what she wants to do. That's how people are. You can only give her something to consider.”

Don actually considered bypassing the party and staying at the hotel. But the call from his accountant came and it was encouraging: Don's finances were not as bad as originally thought and he had a commitment from an investor, a builder in Richmond who had notions of supporting small black businesses.

“This guy will put you on another plateau,” Don's accountant said. “We have to work out the terms. But we have an agreement in principle. He will be a silent partner and you will go on functioning as you have. Without bogging you down with the details right now, you will be in a position not only to succeed, but to expand.”

That half of his life saved, Don was pumped about hanging out with his old friends at the party. He, in fact, became the most jovial person.

“You sure have a burst of energy,” Jesse said.

“Well, that's what happens when your life gets saved,” Don said. “You feel like you have a new reason to live, like you have a second chance. I was suffocating. You know, if a man can't earn a living, he can't do much anything else without feeling some kind of way about himself. My accountant identified a potential investor and dude is committed to putting a half-million dollars into my business. It's an investment for him and I'm told he will get special tax benefits because I'm a small, minority-owned business. I don't care what the benefits are for him. For me, it moves me to another level and frees me up to do the strategic marketing I need to do to help the business to thrive, not just survive.”

“Man, I'm happy for you,” Jesse said. They were standing outside the ballroom, sipping cognac and watching women. “I know that's got to be a relief. And not that we
really
need a reason—as last night showed—but we should drink to that.”

“A can't even believe you have the slightest interest in drinking after all you had last night,” Don said. “You have some crazy tolerance or something. The last time I was as drunk as you were, throwing up and shit, I didn't drink for two weeks.”

“I don't know what it is, but after the game, I started to feel better, like myself,” Jesse said. “At first my head was pounding and I felt sluggish. That nap really helped. Now I feel almost like new. Not quite one hundred percent, but much better. Good enough to party tonight.”

Rochelle, the woman Jesse hardly recalled meeting on Friday night, came over. She was drop-dead, wearing a metallic dress
that fit the contours of her body, drop earrings with rhinestones and metallic heels that accentuated her shapely legs.

Jesse's bald head was shining and his thick eye brows and mustache caught Rochelle's attention. “You look good,” they said in unison.

He called her after the game as she requested and they talked law and life and laughed and created an interest in each other. They found a table in the ballroom and sat close together.

“So why would you be talking to me after you saw the condition I was in last night?” Jesse asked. “I'm glad you're here; don't get me wrong. But I know I was out of it. Wasn't being that drunk a turnoff?”

“Well, it wasn't a turn-
on
,” she said. “But there was something you said—and you obviously don't remember—when we talked last night that stuck with me, made me think that you were interesting enough to get to know.”

“Oh, Lord,” Jesse said. “What did I say?”

“I asked you why you came back to homecoming,” she began, “and you gave an answer I never heard before. You said: ‘Because I like to be around courage.' I found that so interesting. I asked you what that meant and do you remember your answer?”

Jesse remembered. “I said, ‘It is not easy, in the face of drugs and crime and economic struggle and peer pressure and family dynamics to push on, to strive for a higher education. That's what I see when I see young students. I don't see the sagging pants—well, I do see them and it bothers me, but I can see beyond that. I see that they want something better for themselves. It takes courage to ignore the trappings—and there are more trappings for them than there were for us—and press on. So I like to be around courage in a place where I was lifted up to become a good citizen, to become a lawyer.”

“That's a great closing argument,” Rochelle said. “And that's why I'm here with you now—because I like to be around a man who has more than surface thoughts.”

“Who knew?” Jesse said. “Sometimes you get drunk and you're a babbling idiot. And sometimes, the truth comes out coherently. Anyway, I appreciate you being here and what you said.”

Rochelle also liked that she and Jesse had similar tracks out of NSU. Jesse went to law school at New York University after graduation and Rochelle, three years later, enrolled in law school at Columbia University to become a corporate lawyer.

“So, I'm sure you hear this a lot, but what is it like to be a defense attorney?” she asked. “Do you feel like you're getting guilty people off?”

“I feel like I'm doing my job,” he said. “That's how I keep my sanity and commitment to it. My client is not guilty. Period. I have to think of it that way. If I don't, well, as a human, it would be hard for me to do my job effectively. I have had cases—murder cases—where our client was not the most upstanding citizen. But before accepting the case, we had the firm's private detective to snoop around and we went in believing he did not kill his wife. I was lead on one particular case–and he was found not guilty. I was happy with the jury's verdict. But I felt better two days later when the real murderer was found—a co-worker she had an affair with. I didn't think he was guilty but I under-stood why he was arrested, so I had some inkling that he might have done it. Finding out he didn't do it meant a lot to me.”