The Next Best Thing (27 page)

I walked back into my condo the next morning and was relieved to see that Roland was no longer on my couch. However, it felt like I was in a bad dream when I heard cheerful whistling coming from my bathroom. I was debating whether to investigate or go running and screaming from my condo, when Roland opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the living room. He was butt-naked, with his sausage swinging every which-a-way.

“Why are you still here?” I asked through clenched teeth.

“Waiting for you, my love,” he said, trying to hug me.

“Get out!” I said, spinning out of his grasp. “You have about two minutes before I call the police.”

“Now why is all that necessary?” Roland asked. “After everything we've been through together, and this is how you treat me?”

“Hah! That's fucking rich. Look, this might be hard for your ego to take, Roland, but I got over you months ago. So whatever happened between you and Veronica, I suggest you go work it out because you have nothing coming over here. I got a new man now. A
real
man.”

“Oh, so that's what's up with all the condoms and sex toys in the nightstand?”

“Yep!” I said. “And he's hitting it better than it's been hit in
years
.”

“Wow, Tori!” he said with a look of disgust. “You're just all out there, huh? First my man Gary sees you at Pierpont's with some old crazy dude, and now you're screwing the neighbor?”

How in the hell did he know about Nelson and me? I put my poker face on and held my cards close to my chest. “And what neighbor is that?” I asked. “There are quite a few single guys in this building.”

Roland looked taken aback. “Damn!” he said. “Just how many of the neighbors are you kicking it with?”

“All of them!” I said. “Now will you please get the hell out of my face?”

“You know, I got sentimental last night and felt bad about how I did you,” he said. “And in that state of mind, I really thought I wanted to re-declare my love for you, but now—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” I exploded. “Please do not flatter yourself into thinking you have the power to make that decision, because I wouldn't take you back if Bill Gates paid me to do it.”

“Okay…Okay…” Roland said. “Just answer one question for me, and I'll go. Is Nelson from across the hall supposed to be your man?”

“What gives you that idea?” I asked.

“Because he came over this morning, and we had a little man-to-man talk.”

“I don't believe you,” I said, starting to see red.

“Go ask him. He said he cut some trip short and wanted to let you know he was back.”

“And what else did you two talk about?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“You, me, and he.” He sang the melody to the Mtume classic, and then laughed. “Remember that song?”

“Fuck you, and that song,” I said bitterly. “What did you say to Nelson?”

“That's between me and him, but let's just say that if he was your man, I don't think he is anymore.”

I felt a rage coming on. With my blood boiling, I grabbed my trusty baseball bat out of the hall closet and started swinging at Roland. His butt-naked behind ran wildly around the condo trying to avoid being hit. I managed to whack him across the shoulder with the bat, and he started screaming like a terrified little bitch.

“Cut that shit out, Tori!” he shrieked. “Have you lost your fucking mind? You could seriously hurt me with that thing.”

“And that's exactly my intention,” I said, throwing Roland's clothes and shoes out in the hallway.

“You're fucking crazy!” were the last words he said to me as I forced him out the front door by bat point, wishing it were a gun instead.

“And don't you dare bring your black ass around here anymore!” I yelled at Roland through the door.

I watched through the peephole as the man I used to love scrambled to get dressed, all the while mumbling that I was a psycho bitch.

When I was sure Roland was gone, I ran across the hall and pounded on Nelson's door for about ten minutes straight. I just wanted to see him. Just needed to talk to him so badly that I didn't care what it must have looked like to the neighbors, who were, one-by one, opening their doors to see what all the ruckus was about. Ignoring their snickers and pitying looks, I kept pounding on that door for I don't know how long. And I knew damn well he was in there, because I used the key he had given me and the safety chain was against the door.

After about forty-five minutes, Nelson finally opened the door. He stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, and did not invite me in.

“What's up?” he asked, his tone dry and disinterested.

“I've been trying to get in touch with you, that's what's up. Didn't you get any of my messages?”

He shrugged. “I haven't even checked my machine.”

“That's a lame, boldfaced lie and you know it.”

“Either way, what difference does it make?”

“Nelson, don't do this. I know that on the outside looking in, it looks pretty bad. But Roland being over at my place is actually a lot more innocent than it looks.”

“Is it really?” he asked. “A man you were with for years answers your door with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and you call that innocent?”

“Nothing sexual happened between us, Nelson. I didn't even spend the night there—”

“So how did he get in?”

“I assumed it was Simone, and I opened the door without checking to make sure,” I explained.

“So that means you let him in, right?”

“Technically speaking, yes I did. But I was trying to get him to leave the second he walked through the door.”

Nelson sighed. “Regardless of what you obviously think, I'm not stupid. Plus what am I supposed to believe when that man tells me you two still love each other, and are working on getting back together?”

“You're supposed to believe me,” I said softly.

“I want to, Tori, but I just can't,” he said sadly. “If I were a little less intelligent then I probably would believe your story, but frankly, it sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me.”

“So what are you saying, Nelson?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.

“I think we need to chill, and give each other some space.”

“Fine,” I said, my voice trembling. “If you want to talk to me, then you know my number and you definitely know where I live.”

Nelson nodded, and stepped back inside his condo. I quickly turned my back to him, refusing to give him the opportunity to close the door in my face. Or to see the tears that were streaming down my face.

 

He who finds diamonds must grapple in the mud and mire because diamonds are not found in polished stones. They are made.

—Henry B. Wilson

SUNDAY

I can't believe this is happening. Not only did Roland ruin our relationship, but he also came back and ruined the budding relationship I had with Nelson—a relationship that I was truly starting to treasure.

Bastard.

Simone was right. I didn't have any business out there dating so soon after breaking up with Roland in the first place. The second relationship in less than a year to go down in flames, and the common denominator is me.

This time, I really am moving. There is no way I can stay around here, now. Too much tension to have to deal with every day.

“I can't believe you're gonna let some man run you up out of here,” Yvette said, while helping me pack. “We've had some good damn times in this condo.”

We were in the living room, carefully wrapping my African statues and other fragile decorations in newspaper, while waiting for the moving company to show up.

Simone was working, as usual, and Nadia was still in Miami, so it was just the two of us.

“It's my own fault,” I said. “Like Simone said, I let my hormones overrule common sense, and this is the end result of it.”

Yvette sighed and said, “Yeah, well, I guess you gotta do what you gotta do.”

“That's the same thing my parents told me. But at the same time, they're happy I'm staying over there because they wanted to keep the house in the family, anyway.”

“If my money wasn't so funny, I would buy this place myself,” Yvette said, looking around.

Ten days after my big breakup with Nelson, and my condo is officially on the market. The realtor at Remax said that the building is located in one of the most desirable areas of the city, and he assured me that it would sell within sixty days.

That's fine and dandy. But I don't want to stay in this building two more weeks, let alone two months.

Just the other day, I passed Nelson in the lobby on my way to the parking garage, and I might as well have been invisible. He didn't speak or acknowledge me in any way. What are we, in junior high school? He can't at least be civil about this whole thing?

I know Roland answering the door to my condo as if he still lived there looked bad, but Nelson's refusal to hear me out leads me to believe that he is using this situation as an easy out. Clearly, the two of us getting together was just too much for the poor guy and this is a convenient excuse for him to push me away, crawl back in his shell, and go back to being the lonely widower.

While waiting for my condo to sell, I am staying at Uncle Woody's old house, which he left to my father in his will.

 

Several hours later, Yvette rode with me as I drove over to my new place with the moving company van following behind us. Junior was already at the house, and was Chief Operating Officer of moving. His duties were to make sure that the movers placed the furniture where I had specified, and that the boxes marked “kitchen” were actually put in the kitchen, and so forth.

It took less than fifteen minutes to get from my old place to the new one, located in the historic Brookside area. The two-story limestone house has an old-fashioned charm. It has four large, airy bedrooms with oversized windows, two-and-a-half bathrooms, French doors, a formal dining room, and antique oak floors. The backyard is a secluded one-and-a-half-acre lot populated with towering walnut and apple trees, and even a huge vegetable garden with its own automatic watering system.

It's one of those neighborhoods where the kids are all grown up, and have left behind their elderly parents.

I haven't met all of the neighbors yet, but I have known Mrs. Clarkson, who lives next door, for years. She is a kind, bible-toting, God-fearing woman who lives alone with her two perpetually barking Chihuahuas.

I had barely pulled into the driveway before Yvette shouted, “Who the hell is that?” practically breaking her neck to get a good look at Larry, my other next-door neighbor, who was pulling into his driveway at the same time. Larry is a fine, bald brother the color of Hershey's Special Dark chocolate. He waved at us as he got out of his car, and headed inside.

“I don't know much about him except that his name is Larry, and he's a forty-two-year-old bachelor who bought his property at auction a year and a half ago,” I said. “And he is also off limits to you.”

“Why are you cock-blocking?”

“Because I moved over here to get away from drama,” I said. “And if you two get involved and it doesn't work out, I'll be stuck in the middle of that shit, and I'm not having it.”

“Not necessarily…” Yvette pouted.

“Forget about it, Yvette. Besides, you have Daniel, remember?” I said, reminding her of the white guy she met at Club Heifers a few months ago, and has been dating ever since.

“Yeah, but it's always good to have a spare around, just in case.”

“Now there you go with the next best thing syndrome,” I said, shaking my head in dismay. “Daniel is a good man who adores you, helps pay your bills,
and
has added your ass as an additional card holder on his American Express card. You would be crazy to mess that up for some knucklehead who probably doesn't have anything to offer except a big dick, and a smile.”

“Girl, I'm just joking around. I may have a weakness for dark chocolate, but Dan is the man! I'm telling you, if things keep going like they've been going, I see us getting married.”

“For real? It's that serious?”

“It's
that
serious,” Yvette said emphatically. “And that myth about white men being less endowed? Not true…”

I looked over at Yvette, and we shared a good, long laugh before getting out of my Navigator, and getting down to the business of moving me in to start my new life.