Until (10 page)

As the CD changed to the O'Jays' “Let Me Make Love to You,” Evander suddenly froze. “What's wrong?” Betty asked, fearing with her inexperience she had done something wrong.

But he just said softly, “I want to look at you.” Catching her breath, Betty blushed and closed her eyes as Evander said, “Look at me.” Betty did so with reluctance. To the beat of the music Evander moved again as she closed her eyes and then he said, “Betty. Look at me.” Never had doing so been so difficult for her. As her fingers turned into fists
he said once again to the rhythms in the air, “Betty . . . look . . . at . . . me!” And Betty opened her eyes and a little more of her heart to Evander as he mouthed the words slowly,
I love you.

It was 3:30
A.M.
and Betty was awake. As Evander slept, she eased out of bed to go to the bathroom. By far it was the most special night the two had shared. It was, in a way, frightening how good this man could be when he wanted to. As she walked toward the kitchen for a cup of tea, she turned off the CD changer with Teddy in the middle of “Come on Go with Me.” Teddy never sounded as good as he sounded tonight.

After she returned to the room, Betty pulled her white antique rocking chair closer to the bed to sit and rock, and watch her
Vander.
He slept so peacefully. Like a forty-four-year-old baby. The face that made a passionate scowl while they made love was now at rest atop her pillow. The body that made her vibrate with a liquid fire lay innocently in a fetal position.

Being mischievous, Betty pulled off the remnants of satin that were still on him, leaving him totally exposed. As he lay there, her eyes rested on his chest as she wondered what kind of heart pumped inside of it. Was it cold or sincere? Could it walk away and leave or call out a name in an argument? Could it have been broken and in need of healing or was it as warm inside as it appeared from the outside?

The door cracked and Betty was startled until she heard the furry bundle of love meow and walk toward her. As she rocked, Tickey jumped in her lap and she held him close. After the hours she had just spent with this special man, her cat tingled and it felt good. Evander reached for the sheet to cover himself while he slept, and Betty rocked and sipped her tea. She had done things with him she had never heard Jacqui mention doing before. This was a night that exceeded her wildest dreams. Was it because she was lonely? Was it because she could truly admit to herself that she had fallen in love with this man deeper and faster than she ever wanted to admit? Or was it because of the fullness of the moon against the black velvet sky? Whatever it was,
it had worked. “If it was because of the moonbeams, it's a damn shame you can't bottle them,” she whispered and then yawned. Then Betty quietly put her cup on the dresser and picked up the key to Evander's front door. As she rocked and stared at it, Tickey curled into a tight ball on her lap and went to sleep.

As the March
winds blew, Betty and Evander traveled the interstate south. It was a weekend Betty had decided not to work because Evander had asked her to meet his mother. In spite of the increased caseload at the firm, being with him was something she looked forward to. Evander's family lived in Freemont, which at one time had been a prosperous black suburb of Orlando. It now stood as just another red-light district. A part of the city where no one jogged the streets, but people constantly ran them.

Her life had changed drastically since Evander had walked into it. There were times when, if she was not in the midst of a case, she would walk in her door after work, pull off her shoes, and chat with people on the Internet for hours—even at times eating her dinner while gazing into the screen. Many guys would proposition her, but none piqued her interest except for the one with the DLastRomeo moniker. But finding anything more than a friendship on the Net was the last thing she was looking for, because already Evander had made so many of her dreams come true.

The invitation from Evander came as a surprise and flattered Betty because it was a major step in their young relationship. She wanted to see another side of this man she had become so enamored of. They had made love almost every night for the past several weeks and each time it
seemed he attempted to stretch the envelope. If she wanted to take this relationship to the next level, meeting the tree from which her mighty oak had fallen was essential.

The trip to the magic city could not come at a better time for Betty. Each day the tension and office politics intensified at the firm. It had been a little over a month since Mr. Murphy's heart attack, and although his condition had improved, the word was he would relinquish his interest in Murphy, Renfro and Collins. Since Renfro was running the concern single-handedly, everyone depended on rumors to determine in what direction the firm would travel. By most accounts, the feeling was that the following week a partnership would be extended.

After losing several contracts based on their exclusive white middle-aged brotherhood at the top, Bert Collins had spearheaded a nationwide task force to recruit a top minority candidate into the fold as a partner. But after reviewing the list of candidates who would consider the position, Agnes Murphy had informed Betty over coffee that she had both superior credentials and growth potential. She'd also added, “This is one time when your being a double minority will make you a shoo-in. Dear, I'm not at liberty to tell you where that came from, and you
didn't
hear it from me.”

Two days after she'd spoken with Mrs. Murphy, five associates had been invited to interview over a three-day period, and according to Lisa, who'd sat in on the panel, Betty was by far the top partnership candidate. On the eve of what could potentially be the most important week of her career, Betty rode down the interstate with the wind in her face, holding Evander's hand and listening to Coltrane's “A Love Supreme” ooze from the speakers.

As they arrived in the old neighborhood, Evander made a point of identifying for Betty each significant landmark, or at least the ones important to him. “See that boulder over there?” Before Betty could answer Evander said, “That's where I use to catch the school bus when I was in middle school. One time when we were standing there in the rain,” he reminisced with a faint smile, “a couple of white boys drove by in a red Mustang with their asses out the window.
And over there at that intersection, I was driving my first car, a 1978 Camaro Berlinetta mind you, and this lady ran a stop sign and broadsided me. She was driving an Olds Ninety-eight and I doubt she scratched the bumper.”

Each street had its own story, its own special memory for Evander, and Betty was taken by the sound of his voice. These places, which would mean nothing to the average observer, meant so much to him. She was honored he wanted to reminisce with her.

“Hey, Beep, I forgot to tell you. Mom invited a few of the family members over for lunch. I hope you don't mind. I just found out about it last night.”

“No,” Betty replied with a heartfelt smile. “I don't mind at all.”

As they drove up to his mother's house, they were beset by a couple of children who shouted, “Vander! Vander's here!” He jumped out of the SUV and swept both of them off their feet as if he were their father who had returned from a long day at the office. Betty checked her face in the rearview and applied a touch of lipstick before she exited the truck. There were a few people already in the house, and from behind it music blasted from a car trunk so loud it vibrated the metal with its thump.

“Who tat is?” the little boy asked Evander, staring at Betty.

“This is my friend. Betty.”

Friend? Friend, huh?
Betty thought, and tried not to read too much into the words.

“Tell Betty what your name is,” he continued, while he attempted to get the little boy to stand in front of him. With a smile void of a tooth, the little boy shook his head no and ducked behind Evander with his face in between Evander's legs.

The little girl said, “My name is Anna Janay.”

The little boy, now not wanting his sister to one-up him, lost his fear and said, “My name is Jake and I'm four years old.”

Evander took the kids by the hand, and he and Betty walked toward the house. As Betty got closer, she noticed a tall, imposing woman at the door. She looked to be in her
late sixties, stood at least six two, and had a distinctive streak of gray in the center of her hair. She had a small trace of a mustache, the kind people never notice, and large forearms a little out of proportion even for her.

“Well, look at my baby,” she said, and walked out to Evander, who was at the base of the steps. Betty was in awe at the sight of the two large individuals embracing. “Why didn't you call, boy,” she said with a raspy voice, “to let me know you were on the road? Had me worried sick. I tried to call you three or four times this morning and didn't know where you were.” Evander gave his mother a boyish smile, not unnoticed by Betty. It was obvious he loved her, and she could see the love was returned. One of Jacqui's rules was “The way a man treats his momma is the way he will treat you,” so the sight brought comfort.

Mrs. Jones looked at Betty, who smiled up at her. “So how are you? Evander's told me so much about you.” And she spread her arms wide enough to give Betty a hug. Betty, who was several inches shorter, stepped up to accept the embrace. In spite of her size and slightly masculine features, Mrs. Jones had a warm, feminine, motherlike feel, with just a hint of Skin-So-Soft to her scent.

As she embraced Mrs. Jones, Betty thought,
I could feel comfortable calling her Mom. Oh my God, I know I did not think that. I did not consider how it would feel to call this lady . . . Mom?
But after they parted, she smiled, because it felt right. It would feel right to find out from her what Evander liked to eat and how he'd learned to ride a bike and why he was such a decent man in a sea of dogs.

“Y'all come on in here,” she said, and headed up the steps as she retied her apron. “Let me introduce you to everybody. We got some more coming soon.”

Evander looked at Betty and smiled as he reached for her hand. “Are you ready for this?” Betty nodded her head yes as they entered the home.

The semifull house at the end of the cul-de-sac was like most houses in the neighborhood. Constructed three decades earlier, it had a skirt around its frame structure and was painted a mustard color with black trim around the doorway and on the shutters. The ceiling was stucco with bright
accents that looked like glitter, and roach bates were evident in the comers. On the living room walls there were stiff, browned, Olan Millsesque shots of family and friends of family, from at least four generations of Joneses. In the corner Betty saw a dusty picture of MLK, JFK, and RFK with the words “Freedom Fighters” inscribed beneath it, and a large fish tank with one lonely fish. The house was cooled with an underpowered AC unit in the eastern window. The ice blue shag carpet matched nothing in the house, yet it all fit together perfectly. In modern interior decorating magazines the look would best be described as eclectic. The Joneses just called it home.

“Let me introduce you to everybody, sugar,” Mrs. Jones said to Betty. “This is Uncle Elmo. This is Alexandria and her little sister Araxá. Now, this is the newest member of the family over here. Her name is Bre—Bre—BreNushia, I think is how you say it. I don't know why that child momma named her that crazy mess in the first place.” And then she looked at Betty and said, “Why is it people naming babies such foolish names? If I see another baby named Jordan or Kenya or Shenequasetta, I don't know what I'll do. What happened to names like Robert or Percy or Dorothy? You know what I mean?”

Although Betty could see a look on her face requesting a response such as
No ma'am, I would never name our child a name like that,
she opted to just nod in agreement.

“Now, that's my nephew Eric over there. His wife, Ling or Ding or something, couldn't make it.” And then she whispered, “She's Vietnamese, you know.”

“She ain't Vietnamese, Auntie!” Eric said in a huffy tone.

“Then what is she?”

After a pause and a glance at the family members who stared at him, he said in a muffled tone, “She Chinese.”

“This is my sister Gladys and her husband, Ben,” Mrs. Jones said as she ignored the comment. “Gladys!” she said, and kicked Gladys, who was half asleep, in the foot. “Evander got himself a li'l cute girl, doesn't he?”

“Yeah, Evander's got a cute one, all right,” Gladys said, and rocked back and forth while she fanned herself with
the back of the phone-book cover she had ripped off to stay awake.

With a look around the room, Mrs. Jones said with her hands on her narrow hips, “I guess that's just about everybody. There's a few fools in the backyard, but you don't need to know them yet,” she laughed.

In the La-Z-Boy in the den was one last family member who stared at the TV without acknowledging the houseguest. As he watched TV, he fiddled with the beaded twists of hair on top of his head while talking on the phone.

“What's going on, Shawn?” Evander said, and gave him a playful smack on the back of the head as he pushed in the cordless phone's antenna.

Shawn ducked late and said as cool as a fan, “Yo! My name Red Dog now. You better recognize!”

“Red Dog? Oh . . . I'm sorry . . . Red Dog. Boy, please,” Evander said, and palmed his head with his large hands. “How old you now—Shhhaaawwnnnn!”

“Yo,” he said, “you can chill with that Shawn stuff,” and then he noticed Betty and said, “Unk, I feel you trying to front for your honey and all. But if you don't know, you besta ask somebody. I'm seventeen.”

“Seventeen what?” Evander asked in fake astonishment. “Seventeen what, Shawn? Not years old.”

“Yep, my birthday is June twenty-eighth, 1980!”

“Boy, you lying. That would make you nineteen!”

“I mean eighty-one. I mean eighty-two! You didn't let me finish, I was gonna say eighty-two!”

Evander and Betty laughed as Mrs. Jones shouted from the kitchen, from which floated the aromas of grilled onions and pure calories, “Y'all come on in here!” As they walked in, she said “Bobby Jo will be over here soon, Evander, with them bad-ass chums of hers.”

“How's Jo doing nowadays?” he asked, and hopped up on the kitchen counter. As he grabbed a bag of Crunch 'N Munch out of the cupboard, Betty sat at the dinette table. Bobby Jo was his youngest sister, and more than thirty years later, the umbilical cord was still attached.

“She's fine. Just crazy as a bag of dirt and worried about that good-for-nutin' husband of hers who will-not-work-to-
save-his-life, and is still beating her in front of dem chum. I'm getting sick and tired of her running over here all time of night,” she said, and stirred a pot of mustard greens full of fat ham hocks, okra, and dumplings. The aroma itself made Betty's mouth water.

“That's messed up, her getting you involved,” Evander said.

“Oh, I'm not worried about that fool husband of hers coming over here starting anything,” Mrs. Jones said, and looked Evander in the eye. “I
still
keep my little friend in the dresser.” Although the words did not come from her lips, the assumption was clear. Mom had firepower in the bedroom. “Besides, Bobby Jo ought to clean up that nasty house of hers.” And then Mrs. Jones lowered her voice so the others in the house would not hear. “She's the only person I know that had that Sears once-a-year pest-control treatment, and they gave her money back.”

“What?”

“Child, dem folks were spraying that nasty-ass house every three, fo' weeks. They finally just said the hell with it, gave her a full refund, and said don't call us no more.”