Waiting to Exhale (50 page)

"This is my first time at this convention. And you?"

"My fourth," I said.

"Is it worthwhile?"

"It all depends. You'll get to hear a lot of stuff you probably already know. You'll meet some hotshots from other stations that'll try to court you, but this, of course, is only after they've thoroughly checked out your bio in the back of your station's program booklet. They'll spend half the day walking around looking for your name tag. You'll go home with tons of business cards, and of course you'll never hear from them."

"So why'd you come?"

"You want the truth?"

"Nothing but."

"I needed a vacation. And it's free."

He smiled. "I hear you."

"The real fun is at night."

"So does that mean you're going to the party tonight?"

"I'm considering it."

"Is something better going on that I don't know about, or are you planning on hitting the casinos?" He pretended to give me a scornful look.

"It just depends on how beat I am at the end of the day."

"I hear you," he said again. "So what seminars are you going to today
!

"I was planning to go to the NewsCenter exhibit first."

"I'm going to that too."

"Oh, really," I said, and threw him a sarcastic look. "Then I was thinking about sitting in on the minority-journalists seminar."

"Me too," he said.

"Are you serious?"

"I kid you not. Look what I've circled on my schedule."

I glanced down at it. He was telling the truth. "I see you're going to the one for program producers. Is that what you do?"

"Yep. What about you?"

"Right now I work in publicity, but I might get a chance to coproduce a community affairs show. I won't know for sure for a few weeks."

"Well, good luck."

"Thanks," I said.

"So," he said, and tried to stretch his legs. "Looks like we might be stuck with each other most of the day, then, huh?"

"Looks that way," I said. And thanked the Lord. I couldn't think of anything else to say, and hell, I was nervous. I looked out the window and saw a billboard for the Nevada State Lottery. A man was thinking about what he'd do if he won. It said: "I'd still work every day ... on my tan!" I cracked up.

"What's so funny?"

"Did you see that billboard?"

"No, I didn't."

I told him what it said. He chuckled. By now we were in front of the convention center. All forty or so of us got off the bus. There were six or seven other buses in front of ours. After we registered and got our respective packets and name tags, we went to the exhibit. Charles and I talked through the whole thing. The production seminar was so crowded, we had to stand up. It was even more boring than the one for minority journalists. We knew most of this stuff already, and we spent half the time looking at the clock.

Charles ran into a person from his station who wanted to introduce him to somebody from another station. They were halfway across the room. He'd been over there about twenty minutes. I intentionally hadn't looked in that direction. When I finally did, Charles was looking at me, pointing toward the door. I got up and walked out. A few minutes later, he appeared. "I didn't think he'd ever stop talking," he said. "What's next on the agenda?"

"I don't think I can take another seminar today."

"Me either," he said. "So tell me. How're you planning on spending the rest of your afternoon?"

"I was thinking about going swimming, to tell you the truth. It's warm enough."

"At the hotel?"

"Yep."

"Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," I said. Was this a dream or what?

"Great," he said. "I'll run up to my room and change real quick, and I'll meet you by the pool. How's that?"

"That's fine," I said, and tried hard to contain myself.

Since none of the buses were there yet, we took a taxi. I told Charles I needed about a half hour. I didn't tell him why. I wanted to shave that ugly crotch hair and whatever new growth was under my arms. When I got in my room, I couldn't decide which bathing suit to wear: the one that made my breasts look bigger, or the one that made my ass look smaller.

I felt like I was on speed. I couldn't remember the last time a man made me feel this excited. Yes I could. Kenneth. Only this man wasn't married. He'd told me that at the exhibit. So I could afford to get excited. I also didn't care what did or didn't happen. I liked this being spontaneous shit. Besides, I just wanted to have some fun.

I showered and shaved and put on some lipstick. I decided on the fuchsia-and-chartreuse two-piece: not bikini; two-piece. It was loud, but it still made my ass look smaller and hid the few stretch marks I have on my hips. The top had pleats, which gave my boobs a 3-D look. I put a big T-shirt on over it and slipped on a pair of flip- flops. The elevator couldn't get there fast enough.

I hope I like him, I thought, as I walked through the doors that led to the pool. And I hope he likes me. Wouldn't that be ironic? To come to a conference on business and end up meeting the Man of My Dreams. Here you go again, Savannah. Dreaming out loud. But fuck it, I thought. You only go around once.

I put my canvas bag between two empty lounge chairs and walked over to get some towels. By the time I came back and took off my T-shirt, I heard that voice. "I'm trying not to stare," he said. Wrhen I turned to look at Charles, he was wearing some Hawaiian-looking boxer-type trunks. Thank God. I couldn't have stood to see much more of him out here in broad daylight. There was an abundance of hair on his chest. I could tell he pumped iron, because his arms had these hard muscles bulging up. His thighs and legs looked like a runner's. His skin was a mouth-watering shade of brown. "Can yo u b elieve this weather?" I said, for lack of something more profound to say.

"It beats San Francisco. We never see this kind of heat up there, except in October, when it's Indian summer."

"Are you from San Francisco?"

"Nobody's from San Francisco. I'm originally from Chicago."

"Did you go to school there too?"

"Yeah. Northwestern. After I graduated, I worked as a newswriter for six years, then moved into production. I got burnt out on Chicago, though, so I decided to try the West Coast. But I hated L
. A
. Only lasted a year there. So when I got this offer in San Francisco, I jumped on it. I've been there for-what-close to two years now."

"How old are you, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Thirty-three. And you?"

"Thirty-seven."

His eyebrows went up. "I figured you to be thirty-one, thirty-two at the most."

"Well, I'm thirty-seven," I said again, proudly.

"You sure look good."

"Thank you."

"You know something? When you got on the bus this morning, I was hoping you wouldn't do like some sisters do and pretend like I wasn't there."

"Why would I do that?"

"For some reason, when black women see me by myself, they not only don't speak but usually won't even make eye contact."

"I find that to be true of a lot of black men."

"You've gotta be kidding. As fine as you are?"

"Look at you!"

"If you're giving me a compliment, thank you. But I'm serious. I get more cold shoulders than you can imagine."

"Well, I can be at a restaurant, a bar, a club-you name it-and black men hardly ever look my way, let alone talk to me."

"I find that hard to believe. I mean, let's be real. You're attractive-beautiful, really-sexy, and obviously smart."

"Thank you, Charles. But how do you know how smart I am?"

"If you handle publicity for a television station, been asked to produce a television show, how dumb could you be?"

"I didn't say I was dumb. But you can't tell how smart somebody is by looking at them."

"I beg to differ with you," he said.

"Well," I sighed. "Now that you mention it, you've got a point."

"Would you like a drink?"

"Iced tea," I said. "Thank you."

He got up and walked over to the outside bar, and I rubbed some suntan lotion over my thirty-one-year-old body. Charles came back with two iced teas and set them down on the little table. "So you feel like going in?"

"Why not," I said. "Let me take one little sip before I get dehydrated."

He took a sip too. We went to the edge of the deep end. Charles dived in, as beautiful as Greg Louganis ever has. He had form. And so much grace. I watched his brown body glide through that blue water like a torpedo. When he came up, he stood in the shallow end and watched me. My diving isn't the greatest, but for some reason, today it was perfect. I blew bubbles under water until I saw his legs come into focus. I stood up in four feet. He was standing in three.

"You can come a little closer," he said. He must be crazy, I thought. I saw how the sun was making his mustache, his muscles -hell, everything on him-glisten. I didn't budge. We both stood there as if we were considering each other. He smiled at me. I grinned at him. It was pretty obvious: we had started something. I couldn't wait to see what happened next.

We sat by the pool and talked until it was almost dark. Charles gave me all kinds of tips, pointers, and suggestions for the show. Told me not to be intimidated by the idea of it. Just do it. He shared some of his experiences with me. The good and the bad. He said this was a hard business for black men to break into. But he wasn't whining. Charles said that white men didn't like being upstaged by black men. But that was too bad. He was on a mission: to be one of the best black television producers in the country. He had loads of ideas. My adrenaline accelerated just watching how worked up he got explaining some of them to me. It was almost as if nobody'd ever taken the time to listen to him before. Charles also said that his so-called good look s o ften worked against him. He tried to downplay them as much as possible, which was one of the reasons why he liked being behind the scenes: where it didn't, or shouldn't, matter what he looked like.

By the time he walked me to the elevator (I didn't want him to come up to my room yet), he told me how refreshing it was to meet a black woman on the same "wavelength." I was honest and told him I felt the same way. What was also rare was how sobering and solemn he was. He had a philosophical answer to everything. He told me he had a little book he wanted to give me. Said he'd bring it to the party.

Right now, I'm trying to figure out what to wear to this damn party. I always get like this when I've been roused. Why do some men have the power to get you like this, and some don't? Who knows? Who cares? I thought, as I pulled all the evening clothes I'd brought out of my garment bag, spread them on the bed, the couch, and over the chair. I'd meant to bring my black lace dress. That would've been perfect. I looked at everything again. I'll wear the white dress. It's sort of Diane Keatonish, but with much more pizzazz. It's long, has a drop waist, this thick gold embroidery stuff all around the hemline, kind of low in the front but not too revealing, which of course wouldn't reveal all that much on me anyway. I was staring at myself in the mirror when the phone rang. It had to be him. Nobody else had this number. I was tempted to let it ring three times, but what was the point? "Hello," I said, after one ring.

"Are you ready to boogie?" he asked.

I liked his energy. His spirit. I swear I did. He was the first black professional man I'd met in a long time who wasn't stuffy. And Charles hadn't forgotten he's black. From what he talked about this afternoon, he still knew where he came from. "I'll be right down," I said.

He was standing in front of the elevator when the doors opened. He looked outstanding in a tailored blue suit, yellow shirt, and yellow- and-orange print tie. I smiled at him like I was still in high school. Charles looked at me and shook his head. "You ought to be against the law," he said.

"Thank you," I said. "You look pretty snazzy yourself."

He took me by the hand. Had I really just met this man this morning or what? Why did I feel so comfortable? Like I knew him?

How does this shit happen so fast? I wondered. But right now I wasn't trying to come up with any answers. I didn't care how it happened. I was just glad something was happening.

When we got outside, Charles asked if I wanted to take a taxi or walk. I was wearing flat shoes, so I told him I didn't mind walking. "Good," he said. "I feel like I could walk ten miles."

"What'd you have for dinner?" I asked.

"Nothing. What about you?"

"I had the same thing you had."

"Why didn't you eat?"

"Wasn't hungry," I said.

"Me either," he said. "You're spoiling my appetite, Savannah. Throwing me all off kilter. I only brought two suits, but I had one hell of a time trying to decide which one to wear. If I don't learn anything while I'm here, it'll be your fault."

"Stop it, Charles. You're embarrassing me."

"Good. I want you to feel as giddy as I do."