Is the Bitch Dead, Or What? (16 page)

Four people away, kneeling on the edge of the altar, was Ivan Richardson. When he had outed Edwin on Ritz Harper's radio show, he thought he would feel better. He didn't. He felt as bad as he had ever felt in his entire life. He couldn't shake the sadness, the self-loathing. All of the bitterness and anger he had been harboring against Edwin all of those years had ended up consuming him.

You reap what you sow.

Edwin's sermon that day touched him. Ivan felt guilty and convicted. He needed to see Edwin and ask for forgiveness. He no longer wanted to ruin Edwin— in fact, he had never wanted to ruin Edwin. Edwin had broken his heart. All he wanted was to get Edwin back.

Once he was in the presence of what Edwin had left him for— once Ivan felt the power of Edwin's church— Ivan understood why there could be no ties, no connections, no communications between them. Ever again.

This was a different world. Ivan told himself that he wished he and Edwin could somehow remain “friends,” but deep down, Ivan knew that could never be. He loved Edwin too much to just merely like him.

Today, Ivan was finally ready to face his demons and to face himself. The walk to the altar felt like he was traversing the length of a football field. He was nervous and scared. He kneeled with his head bowed and he shut his eyes, squeezing out the tears.

At the same time, Edwin was making his way down the large number of people at the altar. He placed his hands on their heads and said silent prayer with them. He asked God to grant them peace and to come into their hearts and allow them to have a stronger relationship with Him. He asked God to grant them strength to overcome whatever was troubling them and to find the faith to follow whatever it was that God wanted them to do.

Edwin came to Ivan and he paused. There was something familiar about that bowed head. He hadn't seen this man in this church before, but he knew him.

He placed his hands on the man's head and prayed. When he was done, Ivan looked up, tears streaming down his face. He stared at Edwin and their eyes locked.

“I'm sorry,” Ivan whispered.

Edwin froze. Ivan! Dear Jesus, Ivan!

“I am sorry, too, Ivan,” Edwin managed to say. “I forgive you. Will you forgive me?”

Ivan buried his head in his hands and cried like a baby.

Ivan understood.

To understand all is to forgive all
.

Except, maybe, when it comes to a certain New York disc jockey named Ritz Harper.

After church service at Faith Baptist, Randolph didn't want the day to end. He felt uplifted and bold in spirit, and he wanted to be with Tracee. She was simply so beautiful to behold. Today was the first time he had seen her in something other than casual wear. She wore a blue print wraparound dress, which fit snugly enough to show off her runner's physique. Her calf muscles were smooth and taut, allowing her to forgo stockings. She wore a three-inch navy-blue, open-toe shoe. She had her hair out, curls hanging to her shoulders, framing her face. Tracee even had on makeup— which she didn't need, but it enhanced her beautiful features. Randolph was completely smitten.

He wore a suit— one from his days in corporate America. It was perfectly tailored, and he sported a natty shirt and a perfectly tied Brooks Brothers necktie.

As the two left the church together, some congregants couldn't help but marvel at what a striking couple they made.

Randolph made the first move.

“Do you want to grab something to eat?” he asked.

Church was harmless, Tracee thought, but “something to eat”? That was a date in her book. She toyed with saying no. But her stomach (and maybe some other body parts) betrayed her, and she blurted out “Of course” before her mind had a chance to stop her.

They had driven to Harlem in separate cars. Tracee had Ritz's Aston Martin. She didn't want Randolph to have to pick her up. Besides, she was staying at Ritz's. Ritz would be getting out of the hospital soon, and Tracee would be there to make sure there was a smooth transition for her friend. Tracee thought it would be awkward for Randolph to come to Ritz's house.

They found their cars and agreed to meet up at the Original Pancake House in West Caldwell, New Jersey. Randolph lived in Parsippany off of Route 46. The Original Pancake was way better than IHOP It was one of the few places that served fresh-squeezed juices and turkey sausages in addition to healthy oat bran pancakes. Tracee hadn't been able to work out much since coming to New York. The least she could do was watch what she ate.

It was about a forty-five-minute drive over the George Washington Bridge to Route 46, to Route 23. Tracee drove in near silence, with just the hum of the powerful engine and her thoughts. She thought about how much she was starting
to connect with Randolph and how strange that connection was, considering that he was Ritz's brother. She also thought about how and if she was going to tell Ritz. This was a tougher secret to keep than the one about her aunt's health. Tracee easily justified keeping her concerns about Aunt Mad-die's health from Ritz. Ritz was fighting back from near death herself. An emotional blow like that, so soon after recovering, could be too much.

This secret was another story altogether. It was complicated— very complicated. Did Tracee want to tell Ritz the truth? She reasoned that perhaps the news of Randolph being Ritz's brother should come from Aunt Maddie. Aunt Maddie had told Ritz about her mother's death so many years ago. So she was the logical one to tell Ritz about her brother's life.

But Aunt Maddie didn't have time for that drama, with all that she was going through. Tracee knew that the responsibility would eventually fall on her. But the longer Tracee waited to say something, the more trouble it would be when she finally did. What made it even scarier was that Ritz had expressed feelings for Randolph that were anything but sisterly. She thought he was fine; Ritz even talked about conquering him.

Tracee remembered how crazy Ritz had acted when he stopped by to see her and she didn't want to see him because she didn't feel she was presentable enough. Ritz didn't want to see him unless she could look her sexy best. How in the world could Tracee tell Ritz, “Oh, by the way, that sexy dude
that you want to sleep with, well, he's your brother! And oh, yeah, I kind of like him myself!”

Tracee was hoping that someone else would bail her out. Perhaps Randolph should do it? No, she couldn't put that on him. She sure wished she had a friend to talk to about this dilemma— Tracee would have been on the phone within seconds to tell her best friend about this wonderful man whom she was falling for. Under normal circumstances, Ritz would be really happy for her. Ritz had been making jokes for months about how Tracee was practically a nun— as in not getting none.

“Girl, how long has it been?” Ritz asked her one night when Tracee was three months into her vow of celibacy. “Look, you got seven more months of this celibacy shit and I'm having you committed. It ain't natural for a woman to be celibate— especially not for that long! Your coochie's going to get dry and grow cobwebs!”

They had laughed. Tracee didn't disagree. She thought that it would be nice to be in a relationship again, but it would have to be the right one— and she was starting to believe that the “right one” might be Randolph.

When she was with Randolph, she felt alive. Her coochie was anything but dry when he was around— quite the contrary. But that would have to be something she would keep to herself, too— for now.

She got to the Original Pancake House before Randolph, thanks to Ritz's Aston Martin and Tracee's daydream driving. He pulled up a couple of minutes later. She was waiting for
him at the entrance. The place was packed, as it always was on the weekend. They took a number and sat in the waiting area near the Ms. Pac-Man and Galaga machines.

“So why don't you have a girlfriend?” Tracee blurted out. She was not usually that forward.

Randolph looked startled.

“Um, well, my last relationship didn't go so well. I caught her in bed, in my bed, no less, with one of my friends,” he said. “She said she was tired of me spending so much time working and not with her.”

“Wow!” was all Tracee could say.

“No. It was a blessing. I blame myself for being superficial. I met her in a club, and man, could that woman move her body, which was incredible.…” Randolph caught himself. “Sorry.”

“Why apologize? That's the truth, isn't it?”

“Well, yeah, but I don't want you to think I'm some sort of ho.”

“I think you're a man, and it's normal for a man to be turned on by a sexy woman,” she said. “That just makes you human.”

“I'm working on that part. The human part. That's the part that gets me in trouble,” he said. “I almost lost it that night and wanted to kill her. But something stopped me. I went on a drinking binge, barhopping in New York on a Saturday. When I was done, I ended up in front of Times Square Church. I thought it was fate. I went in, still tipsy, with a hangover looming. The message I got that day, though,
changed my life. It was then that I decided to do some pruning. I cut off all of the people who weren't right in my life— which was just about everybody.”

Tracee smiled. She wasn't used to men being so open and real.

“So tell me more about your parents.”

Randolph visibly winced. This wasn't a subject he wanted to talk about.

“I'm struggling with that topic right now,” he said. “I'll be honest, Tracee, ever since I found out about Ritz being my sister, I have been so confused about everything. It feels like my whole childhood was a lie. My father projected this perfect family image to the world— including my mom and me. He was a pillar of the neighborhood— hardworking, church-going. My mom was the perfect homemaker, very soft-spoken, very loving. They seemed like the perfect couple. It was fun growing up in a house with them. They gave me everything I could possibly want.

“Then to find out that my dad, my hero, had a daughter behind my mom's back. I mean, what kind of man walks away from a beautiful little girl? I have to deal with that, Tracee. Everything I believed in feels fake now. What would you do if you found out that someone you loved and looked up to your entire life wasn't the person you thought they were?”

Tracee looked at him. She knew exactly what he was talking about, more than he knew.

“Your childhood wasn't a lie,” Tracee said. “It was what it
was. You can't question yourself. Parents don't always do what they're supposed to do. They're human. We put so much faith in them. It's like they're gods and can't do wrong. Most of the time they do things because they believe it's for our own good. You have to forgive your dad, talk to him, and somehow get him to talk to Ritz. A Jordan family reunion might be in order.”

“Get him and Ritz together? I'm trying to get to the part where I can talk to him about it. I wasn't thinking about him reuniting with Ritz. How do you think she's going to take it?”

“She's not,” Tracee said. “She'll probably cuss him out and tell him never to speak to her again. But you know what— I think that's part of her problem. She lost her mother when she was ten and never knew her father, and I believe that Ritz has been spending her entire life trying to prove that she matters— that she doesn't need anything or anyone to make it. But the truth is we all need someone.”

“Even you?”

“Yes, even me,” Tracee said, smiling. “Especially me. Why do you think I'm trying to build a strong relationship with God? I would rather know that the one who has my back is the One who created the world. I have been so let down by people. Rand, people will let you down— that's the truth. God never will. I don't put my faith in any man.”

“You can depend on this man,” Randolph said, grabbing Tracee's hand from across the table and squeezing it gently. “I'll never let you down, Tracee, ever. If I say I'll do some-
thing, I will do it. If I make a promise to you, I'll keep it. Always. No exceptions to the rule.”

Tracee felt tingles shoot through her body. She looked into his eyes and knew that he was sincere.

“Tracee, I hope I'm not being too forward, but I really like you,” Randolph said. “After my last girlfriend, I decided I would wait until I found the right woman. I wasn't going to waste any more time going from woman to woman. I was waiting for someone special, someone who loves God, someone I could spend the rest of my life with. Well, I think I've found her. Yep, I think I've found her!”

Tracee was speechless. She loved the way he had spoken those words. He hadn't said them in some deep, intense, “heavy” way, like something out of a corny Hollywood melodrama. No, he looked and sounded like a little kid who had just run downstairs on Christmas morning and was marveling at the presents under the tree. But Randolph wasn't marveling at a present. He was marveling at her.

She wanted to do something crazy, like tell him she loved him. But she was scared. How could she tell him something like that? She hardly knew him, but she felt she had known him forever. It was too confusing. It was too soon. So she said nothing.

“I know we just met. I know I haven't known you long,” Randolph said. “But it doesn't take all day to recognize sunshine. I see you. I see who you are. And I know I can love you. Do you think you can love me?”

Tracee was sitting in front of a man handpicked by God, a
man she could not have constructed if she went into a store and bought a kit and built him from scratch.

“I guess what they say is true. When God does something, He goes way beyond what you could possibly imagine,” Tracee whispered under her breath. She didn't intend to say it loud enough to be heard, but she couldn't hold it in.

“What did you say?” Randolph said, smiling. He heard her.

She looked at him and smiled back. He was still holding her hand; he had it cradled in both of his.

Tracee didn't have the words to express what she was feeling, so she leaned across the booth and kissed him. It was a kiss that came from her soul. Randolph saw that soul. Randolph felt that soul. Randolph knew that soul— and he always had, if the truth be known. He just hadn't met it until he met Tracee.