Until (27 page)

“
Hey, Girl. How
are you this morning?” Jacqui asked.

“Fine,” Betty said, sitting at her desk with the phone at her ear in an office in a relatively low-rent district. Her grand opening had consisted of a cake sent by Jacqui, plants from a group of secretaries at Murphy, Renfro and Collins, and over twenty phone calls before lunch. “Just sitting here wondering what to do with all this stuff in this tiny office. I've been so busy this morning I haven't even had time to fully unpack my stuff.”

“We'll fix it up and it'll look good in no time.”

“I hope so,” she said, attempting to spin as she had so many times in her old office and then remembering her new chair would not do so. Looking over her shoulder, she said, “I sure miss my private bathroom and view and—”

“Forget the view. It's your sanity that's more important. I'll bring you a forty-ounce. That's what y'all drink on that side of town right? After a few shots you'll think you had your old office again.”

“Shuddup.”

“So what are you doing for lunch?”

“A phone conference with Mrs. Gaiting. She was one of my first clients at the firm and would like to continue giving me her business.”

“Well, that's a start. So I guess the doors of Betty Robinson, Esquire, are officially open, huh?”

“I guess so,” Betty said with a smile as she reviewed her receipts. “I guess this is all real.”

“Well, the reason I asked you what you were doing at lunch is because,” and then Jacqui said affectionately, “my
Stefan
is coming over for lunch and I wanted the two of you to meet.”

“Ohh,” Betty said, taking off her glasses and then crossing her legs and massaging the ball of her foot. “So it's my
Stefan
now. I haven't heard you talk like that since you were dating Yancy. Two grown folks playing you-hang-up-first on the phone, but I won't go there.”

“Don't start,” Jacqui said with a smile in her voice. “I mean so far he's looking like the real deal. We're going for a little weekend getaway to a bed-and-breakfast near Pensacola. And guess what. It will be our first time.”

“First time for what?” Betty demanded, shocked as to what she could mean. “I know you don't mean the
first time
first time.”

“Yes I do. I talk stuff and believe me, we came close, but like I said before, I wanted it to be special, so we're doing it the right way.”

“Well, I'm proud of you. I really am. I mean so often we make the same mistakes with men over and over again. I'm glad you waited.”

“I know. But tell me something. Have you ever noticed that as long as we've been together, as long as we've been friends—”

“We've never been happy at the same time, right?”

“Ain't that something? It's either you in a relationship and I'm on the outside asking how was it or vice-versa.”

With a smile Betty said, “Oh well, no one said life was fair, right?”

“I guess not.”

Changing the subject, Betty continued, “So tell me, is
he
cute?”

“Well, you know me. I'm not one to talk.”

“Not one to talk? Are you kidding me? You better tell me something, girl.”

“Like what? I mean he has a little hair on his chest and all and—”

“Hair on his chest,
bump
that! Tell me about the feet, girl . . . get to the feet! Inquiring minds want to—”

“Fourteen, double Ds, hands the size of baseball mitts, and child, that myth ain't no myth, if you must know. But seriously, he's really not my type at all. He's a geek with a pocket protector and everything. He's a Kappa, but he's not what you would call cute-cute.”

“Damn. Most Kappas are pretty boys.”

“I know. Leave it to me to find an ugly one, right?”

“So you got yourself an ugly Kappa man, huh?”

“Okay! Now, why you wanna go there? He ain't too bad-looking. He just ain't drop-dead or anything.”

“Is he tall?”

“Yeah, he's just under six two and dark as an eight ball at midnight.”

“Really? Is he, like, blue-black?”

“No, Stefan's purple-black. Child, when that Negro gets out the car, the oil light comes on, he so black. One night when I woke up, he was sitting across the room staring at me.”

Laughing, Betty said, “That's cute. Just watching you sleep?”

“Cute my ass! I started yelling. When he looked at me, it looked like a train in a tunnel! But don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. There's something that's so powerful about looking at rich, swarthy, dark, ebony steel, if you know what I mean.” After clearing her throat, Jacqui called out, “Ah, Willie Mae. Bring me something to drink, please?”

“I know,” Betty laughed. “A dark black man is a beautiful thing. That's the one thing I didn't like about Vander.” As the words settled, the tension was thick until she added, “Well, let's just say that
stealing
thing wasn't too attractive either.”

As she pulled into her driveway, Betty waved to her neighbors, who were playing dodgeball with the kids, and picked up a cup that had blown onto her property. As she returned to her car for her attaché, her mind immediately turned to
Drew. Deep inside she felt the desire, more than ever, to at least find out what he looked like, in spite of the threat to their friendship.

Walking through the door, Betty was greeted by Tickey. “Hey, sweetie,” she cooed as she entered the code for her home alarm. Sorting her mail, she wondered how a man like Drew, who appeared to be so bright and strong, could be available. She wondered if he was gun-shy, and missing Felicia more than he seemed to share in his letters.
But then again, who knows?
she thought.
Maybe he is DLastRomeo.
Then Betty thought of the last man who was so kind and warm, and said aloud, “Yeah, right,” as she tossed the mail on her dinner table.

After putting her purse on the couch and checking the answering machine, Betty went to her room, put on her Kobe Bryant Laker jersey, and then proceeded to her office. As she sat in front of the gray-blue computer screen, she thought,
I've got to get a life. Seems the entire world is off doing things.
She looked out the window.
Everybody out enjoying their lives and playing dodgeball with kids and I am sitting here in cyberworld. This is it. Tomorrow I call Compu-Line and cancel the service. I hate to lose a friend, but I need a life.
Then she turned on her computer, clicked her mouse, and discovered a letter from DLastRomeo.

   Dear Betty:

First and foremost I would like to apologize for the length of time it has taken for me to get back with you. I know it has been a couple of days and I counted three letters you had mailed me since. But if it is any consolation. I've thought of you continuously for the past 48 hours and I've really needed a little time to gather my thoughts.

This may take you by surprise, but I have been thinking of you in ways that are not purely related to friendship. To be perfectly honest. I originally had these thoughts a while ago after the Zelma fiasco, but I was confused as to whether they were based on my attraction to you or if it was a
rebound situation. And since the situation with Evander occurred soon after, I felt it would be in bad taste to allow these thoughts to surface.

I did not wish to bring out these emotions until I understood them. Now I am sure, and I hope you do not change the way you feel about me as a friend due to the nature of this
letter.

Betty, as you know, I had a tragic ending with Felicia. I never thought anything in this world could make me feel as bad as the pain of losing that woman. Afterwards I doubted myself in every aspect. I doubted if I was attractive enough, if I was man enough, if I was decent enough to meet and keep the kind of woman I wanted in my life. All of the self-confidence I had in myself from sports, from business, from public speaking, had all of a sudden gone down the drain.

But now I know I am ready because it occurred to me that after each day it's you I want to talk to if things went well. I rush home and turn on my computer before I undress sometimes, because it's you I turn to for solace. After thinking about what we have shared over the past several months. Betty, I find that it's you I look to as the soft place in my life to lean on when all the odds are against me.

I know you are a hardworking woman, although we really have never discussed what you do for a living, and what I am trying to say may be the last thing you want to hear. If it is, I'm sorry I have written these words because I would never want to lose what we have. But I would really like to know you better.

I know I am taking a gamble by sending you this letter. I am aware that the worst-case scenario may be your thinking I was just after you in a way that was not purely friendship. Actually the worst-case scenario may be that I never hear from you again. Well, Betty, a friend once told me something that I will never forget. She told me in a letter. “If the outcome is finding my south . . . it's worth it all.”

Betty. I know you wrote me several letters over the past few days that I never answered, and once again, I' m sorry, but I had to be sure. Now I'm sure that I would like to get to know you better. If the feeling is the same, (352) 555-5896.

Until . . .

Drew

Betty read the letter with her hand over her mouth the entire time, hardly able to believe he had written about feelings she wanted to share with him. And to top it off, she now had his
unlisted
home phone number.

“So, let me get this straight, Betty,” Jacqui said on the phone. “This guy, on the Internet, who does not have a girlfriend in the real world, and was dumped by a
dead
woman, would like to talk to you—and you are actually considering calling him?”

“Yes,” Betty said slowly.

“Damn. Is that what sisters have come to? Okay. Now, you have no idea
what
this guy looks like or anything?”

“Right.”

“Okay. And for all you know, this guy could be some serial killer or mass rapist working the Net.”

“Jac, please,” Betty said with a smile.

“No, I am serious. You should have him checked out or something before you even consider calling him. I'm telling you, you should watch a little bit of Montel. They have a show on about these Internet fools just about every other week. Get his last known address and I can have Stefan run a background check on him. What if he has Caller ID or something and he starts calling you?”

“I don't think so. This guy is nice. I mean he writes the most wonderful letters, and from his description, he sounds good-looking also.”

“From
his
description. Check out what you said, girl. From
his
description. What brother out there thinks he ugly?” As Betty laughed, Jacqui continued. “I'm serious.
What brother out there don't think he's cuter than Denzel? Just ask any of them fools. I don't care how fat or skinny he is, he thinks he's three sit-ups and a bottle of Gatorade from dating Vanessa Williams.”

“I know, I know. But,” Betty said, and then her tone became serious, “I have my own business now. I have this beautiful home. I have the car and the lifestyle I have always dreamed of, and all I have to share it with is my cat. What's wrong with this picture? I mean I have had some serious, is-it-worth-it discussions with myself the last few days. I've sacrificed everything to be where I am now, and where am I? It has nothing to do with my biological clock. It's just that you work hard for a life. Okay, I've worked hard. Now, where is my life?”

“Honey, I understand. But if this man was half as nice-looking, half as intelligent, and half as romantic as you think he is, don't you think he would be off the market? You know how many women in this town would drop an ovary for a man like that? Honey, we are both in our thirties and the only thing left on the shelves are the half-priced scratch-and-dent men. They're the brothers who the other sisters done gone through and tossed away because they didn't fit, were too big, or too small, were the wrong color, or just did not catch their eye. Something is wrong with everything left on the shelves. It's not a matter of
if
something is wrong with him, it's a matter of finding
what
is wrong with him. It's tough looking at it in that context, but it's reality. If that Negro could conjugate a verb and count to five, child, he would be swept up like a dead cat on a Friday night in back of a Chinese food restaurant.”