Until (20 page)

“I know, baby. This is new to both of us.”

“Do me a favor? If you are ever feeling neglected again, please, just tell me? Okay?”

There was silence on the phone and then Evander said softly, “Thank you. And I love you too.”

After another long conversation with Evander on the phone at home, Betty worked on the case until the early morning. As the clock struck one, she closed the last file, and returned it to the box from which it had come, and went on-line to check her E-mail.

She had been corresponding with the gentleman she knew only by the moniker DLastRomeo for several weeks and was fascinated by the fact that he, unlike most men on-line, never asked her for her phone number or tried to flirt with her. He seemed to actually enjoy conversing, and if something was important to her, he acted interested in it. As she signed on, she heard the computer say, “You've got mail,” and a smile came to her face as she saw it was a letter from him.

   Hello, DeltaDream:

Thanks for replying to my last letter so quickly. I just wanted to write to say it was refreshing to visit with you on-line. So often I notice that people have forgotten what a friend is as it relates to the opposite sex. I am glad to consider you a friend and it is my sincere hope that I can be a true friend to you as well.

Today was a tough day for me. As I may have mentioned. I own a financial planning firm. I closed a deal with this law firm and found out today they were exercising their right of recession. That's when a company backs out of a contract.

Betty laughed for the first time in hours.
He still doesn't know I'm an attorney. How cute.

Well. they did not call me to tell me. They did not write me to tell me. They did it by fax at four-fifty on the tenth day. We were ten minutes from earning a substantial commission, and nine months of work went down the drain with a simple four-line faxed letter.

Unfortunately in this state when that occurs you don't get a percentage or even a referral fee. You just get . . . well, I guess you catch my drift.

So today I called to talk to the senior partner and he would not come to the phone. He just had his secretary tell me the firm was not interested and that they expected their check for the initial de
posit to be returned within thirty days. The senior partner is a trip. If I told you how far this idiot has advanced in this firm, you would never believe it.

“An idiot partner? Trust me, I can believe it,” Betty said aloud.

I called a few friends in my industry for advice and found out he took the plan we spent so much time working on to our competitor. In fact, he told the other financial planner he wanted the exact same program I had presented to him. They drew it up for him in less than two hours and stole the commission we had worked so hard for over the past nine months.

I'm sorry to get so deep in this letter because I usually contact you to keep my mind off work, and I know I sound bitter. But to be honest, I have been consumed by this situation. These are things they don't teach you in business school. Well, anyway . . .

I appreciate your prayers, and yes, I have gotten over the reading of the will. Yeah, it got to me, but I must move on. I guess it is not for me to know the whys of it at this point. I just trust that one day I will.

Thinking of you . . .

Until . . .

Drew

In spite of the tone, Drew's letters always had a way of brightening her day. This day in particular she needed to hear from him. Betty wanted to reply immediately, but she knew if she did, she would go into detail over either her problems with Evander or her fears regarding the case, and neither was an issue she wanted to revisit. So she turned off her computer and desk lamp and went to bed.

Drew walked through
the door of his home to find the answering machine winking at him. It had been over two weeks since the reading of the will, and he had spent his non-working hours on the golf course to keep the demons at bay. Unfortunately, he saw little improvement in his golf swing, and the whys were never far from his thoughts.

The third message was from Zelma. He had given her his home phone number to stop the friction in the office surrounding her calls. The more they talked—although he knew he should not have personal conversations with her—the more he became intrigued by her. She was even more intelligent, more driven, and more opinionated than he'd initially realized. Her postgraduate studies had been at Oxford, and she spoke three languages fluently. Even though they spoke after hours, Drew built a wall in their conversation and never divulged much of his personal life. And then one Friday night, the first Friday night he had not visited Felicia's graveside, he'd shared the intensity of his pain. He'd told Zelma how he'd felt blindsided by Felicia's letter and that there was a part of him he felt could never fully trust again.

Sitting on his couch, Drew clicked on the television, muted the sound, then picked up the phone and called Zelma. “Hello,” he said when she answered, “What's up?”

“
Nothing much. I just got this damn satellite dish installed, and now instead of surfing through forty channels of shit I don't wanna see, now I surf through two hundred and fifty. What are you up to?”

“Just got in. Had a couple of appointments cancel, so I took the sticks out and played a little golf,” Drew said as he looked at Felicia's graduation portrait on the mantel over his fireplace.

“Good for you. You need to get out for some fresh air every now and then. We'll have to play together sometime. Maybe I can teach you a thing or two.”

“Oh, it's like that, huh?” Drew said with a smile.

“Seriously. I'm a scratch golfer, you know. I have to be to compete with these white boys. After taking their money, for some reason they always take me more seriously in the office. Funny how that works.”

“Umm.” Drew walked in his kitchen and popped the top of a beer.

“The only problem with my work is you never develop true friends. I mean they invite you to golf and drinks, but you can never really let your hair down and all. Ya know?”

“Yeah, that can cause a problem at times. I remember how it was for me when I was in corporate America. I think I'm in a good position now, though. We never really have that problem, for obvious reasons.”

“I always wondered why you just hired black women. Is that why? And why are they all so young?”

Returning to his couch and clicking off the TV, Drew said, “Well, Peggy's in her midforties, but I was never really worried about that. I just wanted the most qualified people, and that's what they were.”

“My ex-fiancé's brother tried that. Hired three sisters and a brother in his paint company. It was just a small company and they robbed him blind.”

“So you were engaged? How long ago?”

Zelma's normally assertive voice weakened as she said, “Last summer.”

“May I ask what happened?”

“No!” And then after a pause he heard a smile in her voice as she said, “Yeah, I guess I can tell you. Although I
must admit, I really don't like talking about it too much. To make a long story short, he and I met on a blind date. When I first saw him, I was not attracted to him at all. He was a little goofy sometimes. But he was nice and I had been in a relationship with this guy who was verbally abusive. Then from almost out of nowhere, I started having feelings for Vince—that was his name. Our relationship was the closest thing to magic I have ever experienced. In three months we were talking about a future together. Within six months I moved in with him. Within nine months he gave me a ring and we were planning a wedding, and then on my birthday we had this fight.” She paused and continued over a sigh, “I can't believe I'm telling you this. But he put me out of the house . . . and it was raining that day. Well, I saw him about a month later and he was dating one of my friends who just happened to be white.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah, I know. It was messed up, and yeah, it stung a lot. Sometimes very smart women make very dumb decisions, and I made more than my share about men. But I will never make the same mistake again. You just try to get over it. Like the other night when you were talking about your girlfriend? Felicia? And I was telling you to stay strong? That's where that was coming from.”

“Do you still love him? Deep inside?”

“I have feelings for him. He was my first mature love. I don't wish him any harm or anything, but do I love him? No, I don't. I mean, if he came back tomorrow, would I take him back? After what he did to me? Never.”

“Seems you have healed very well.”

“I don't know about very well, but I've healed. Now you tell me. If by chance Felicia was here today, after all that had happened to you, would you take her back?”

Walking in his living room, Drew stood front and center before Felicia's portrait and looked her in the eyes.

“The truth, Andrew. I know you
The Man
and all, but if you could, would you take her back?”

Holding the phone in place with his shoulder and folding his arms in slow motion, he said, “We didn't have a fairytale romance. We had good times. We had a lot of good
times actually. When I think back on the relationship and the time we spent together, I guess I loved her a lot more than I even would like to admit now. You know,” he said, staring into the eyes of the portrait, “when we first got together, I used to get up at six to get dressed for work. But whenever she slept over, I would get up at five-thirty, just so I could watch her sleep.” It was the first time Drew had ever told that to anyone, and for a moment he regretted doing so. But there was something about saying the words that was cleansing. “Was our relationship magical? I don't think so, especially when you look at the last couple of years. Often, even before she was diagnosed, she would get jealous and accuse me of doing things. We would fight about the time I devoted to the relationship. I know I loved her. And in spite of the problems we had, she should not have done me the way she did.” Drew reached for the portrait on the mantel, wiped off the glass, and then walked toward the hall closet, where he placed the picture on the top shelf and closed the door. “So to answer your question? No. No, if I knew what I know now, I would not take her back.”

“Did someone come over?”

“No. Why you ask?”

“Just sounded like I heard a door close.”

With a smile Drew said, “You did. In more ways than one, love. Tell me something? I have an idea that might be good for both of us. What if we go on a date. Not the kinda date where a kiss is expected or anything like that. Just two friends. Just a get-out-and-get-over-our-past kinda date.”

With a smile in her voice Zelma said, “I think that would be nice. Why don't we go to see the Philharmonic. I think I could get us a couple of fantastic—”

“Wait a minute,” Drew said, looking at his fireplace. “I'll plan this.”

“Oh my goodness.”

“Oh my goodness what?”

“Just the way you said that. We ain't going hunting or fishing or something southern, are we? I know how you southern boys are.”

“Damn, you tried me that time.”

“So how should I dress?”

“Very casual. As in shorts and sneakers.”

“You have
got
to be kidding me. I haven't worn sneakers on a date since I was sixteen. And that was only because my momma made me.”

“I kid you not. And I will pick you up tomorrow around noon. We'll make it an all-day thing. Okay?”

“That's no good.”

“Why not?”

“You must not know many professional black women, Andrew. If you did, you'd know that Saturday is National Get Your Hair Done day. That's out.”

“Do it earlier.”

“You're serious, aren't you?”

“I'll meet you at your house tomorrow at four. What's the address?”

“Andrew Staley, if I have to reschedule my hair appointment for
youuuu,
believe me, this date better be the bomb.”

As he drove up her driveway, Drew took a deep breath and looked in the mirror. While he had made the phone calls to arrange everything for their date, he had debated with himself about following through with this, but as she opened the door he knew he was doing the right thing. Her smile was different as she walked outside and the sun beamed on her chocolate brown skin. Although her hair was tied up in a wrap and she wore khaki shorts with a Karl Kani T-shirt and hiking boots, it was her smile that was the biggest difference in Zelma McGrady. It was not the smile of a senior comptroller. It was a smile that said,
Thank you for being a friend.

“So,” she said after getting into his car. “Where are we off to?”

Without breaking eye contact, Drew said, “You look . . . beautiful.”

Zelma smiled as she checked him out as well. “Don't make me blush; besides you ain't looking too bad yourself, Mr. Staley. So tell me, where are we going? Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!”

“First do me a favor. Put your finger in your mouth.”

“Put my what in my what?” she said, and tilted her head down. “See, I knew you were some kinda closet freak, Andrew!”

With a laugh Drew said, “Come on, just do it.” When she did so and removed it quickly while staring at him suspiciously, he said, “Okay, now put it in the air.”

“Oh, that's so cute,” she said, catching on to what he was doing. “It's blowing, ah, thataway,” she said, pointing to the left of her house. Drew put the car in reverse and they headed in the direction of the wind to start their date.

“You must excuse my wrap, but I couldn't squeeze another day out of this hair. I called Marcel and he'll see me tomorrow, so you're in luck.”

Drew smiled as he put on his tortoiseshell Ray-Bans, and then he felt Zelma's full lips on his cheek.

“I just had to do that. Thanks for getting me out of the house and being so sweet. And besides, now all the pressure is off. We've kissed and now we can just enjoy our date. Right?”

“Right,” Drew said, smiling more on the inside than he displayed on the outside.

“Tell me something,” Drew said, and inserted a CD. “How often do you think about him?”

“Vince? All the time, that's all. But I'm getting better. It's been less than a year since we broke up, and you know, I used to cry every time I saw a green Camry like his. You know, there are a lotta green Camrys out there. I could just see her in it with her blond hair blowing out the window and him grinning and stuff, but I got over that. It takes time, but you'll get over what's-her-face too. I now look at the relationship and try to learn as much as I can from it. But to be honest . . . it still stings a little.”

“If Felicia taught me anything, she reminded me of something my dad told me years ago. He told me you get what you got. I hate to say it, but people don't change. I saw a lot of things I did not necessarily like in her and I tried to overlook them. She was often selfish, mean-spirited, and downright nasty at times, but I tried to make her the woman I wanted her to be. Looking back now, maybe that's why
she decided to hurt me the way she did. Maybe because I wanted her to change.”

“That's not true. Andrew, I've listened to you talk about her, and I think she probably loved you more than you know, but what she did didn't make sense. She was bitter. Point-blank.” Zelma spoke with her hands as if she were giving a presentation. “She was bitter because she got dealt a bad hand and decided to leave this world with a bang. I don't really know you that well, but from what I do know of you, I know you did not deserve to be treated like that.”

Drew stared down the road and turned the volume down on the song “I'd Do Anything and Everything to Fall in Love.” “Tell me something? Do you still see his face whenever you hear a love song? That's my biggest fear. Whenever I hear a love song . . . I'll always see her. She'll always be there.”

After driving an hour, Drew slowed the car in the middle of the two-way road, and Zelma immediately looked back for traffic. “What are you doing?” she questioned with a smile of anticipation.

“This is where we will have our date.”

Looking up and down the deserted stretch of highway, Zelma said, “On the side of a highway? There's nothing out here but trees and . . . See, I knew you were gonna take me on a country-boy date. You got moonshine back here or something, don't you?”

“Don't tell me,” Drew said, turning off the road. “With that attitude you
must
be a New Yorker. Right?”

“Born in Jamaica, Queens, and you might not want to forget it. Hey, where are you going!” Zelma asked, laughing as they drove through an open gate down a bumpy path through the woods. “Andrew, where are we going! I'm serious! Wait a minute! Wasn't Ted Bundy from Florida?”