Zora and Nicky: A Novel in Black and White (42 page)

“It won’t work out, baby. And your daddy will never approve.”

“Maybe it won’t, but I’m going to see, and I’ll live my life without Daddy’s
approval. And without his stuff if need be. I choose poverty and the Beloved
Community with Nicky over all this. Don’t abandon me too, Mama.”

She slips her arms around me. “You’re my little girl. I think you’re making
some very foolish choices, but I’m not going to abandon you. I know what
it’s like to lose your mama. A house divided can’t stand, so I guess my house
is going to come down. It wasn’t built on much anyway. You pray for your
mama. I may be choosing poverty with you, baby. And I don’t want to do
that. I’m too old for that.”

“Mama, it looks like you’ve figured out how to handle him. I don’t think
you’re going to have it too hard. Just try to listen to Jesus. I don’t know what
that is going to sound like, but try, Mama.”

I hug her. My mother is the opposite of Ms. Pamela. She’s the poorest
wealthy woman I’ve ever known.

NICKY

I’m embarrassed by how badly I need to see her. I wish she’d left something
in my car or in my apartment, but she’s only left something in my heart, so
I tell myself that I’m going to go to her, and when she opens the door I’ll tell
her she’s left her eyes on my heart, and that since she sees inside of me all the
time, I’m afraid I may be forced to keep her. But that sounds stupid, not to
mention psychotic. So I think I’ll just show up and try not to look like a dork
until she makes me leave.

I buzz the buzzer, and my lungs feel like they want to jump into my
throat. Man, she makes me feel like a little boy in the best and the worst ways,
all at once. I consider how I’ll say my name when she asks who it is, but she
doesn’t ask. She’s expecting someone. I’m thinking it’s not me.

I trudge up the steps wondering how soon it’s going to be before the
Lion King is behind me clobbering me. I can’t help it. I’ve had a lifetime
of negative stereotypes stored in my head. The fact that Miles has already
threatened me doesn’t help. But he’s going to have to do what he’s going to
do. I need to see her.

I get ready to knock on the door, but it’s already ajar. I feel a little worried
when I see that. I tell myself that this is irrational. She’s expecting someone,
probably Miles, and she’s opened the door for him. I almost turn around, but
push the door open instead, and she’s standing there staring at me with those
big Bambi eyes. I can see that her apartment is full of furniture. The princess
is back. She won’t need me anymore because, from what I can see, her stuff is
way better than anything I could give her.

It’s over. It’s all over.

“Hey,” I say. I wonder if she can hear how my heart sounds like African
drums, just for her.

She looks so surprised to see me. How can she possibly be surprised when
nothing can keep me away from her? Nothing at all.

“Nicky? What are you doing here? I thought you’d be working today.”

“I should be working. I would have called you, but—”

“It’s good that you couldn’t call. My parents just left. In fact, I thought
you were them coming back. If you had called while they were here it probably
would have been trouble for both of us.”

“You got your stuff back. Congratulations.”

“Would you like to come in?”

She waves me forward and I walk in to Black American Princess world.
It’s a freakin’ awesome place to be. I don’t belong here.

Zora doesn’t look good. I mean, she
looks
good. She looks incredible.
She’s wearing the black pants and white shirt. Oh, man. She’d look good
in anything, but those long legs draped in that flowing fabric! Still, in this
princess paradise my outfit from Janelle’s isn’t good enough for her.
I’m
not
good enough for her. Zora’s out of my league. My dad may think she’s tacky,
but she’s got more money, style, and class than we lowly Parkers ever had. I
knew when I first saw her I couldn’t afford her. Not snack-machine guy.

“You look really beautiful today, Dreamy.”

“Thank you, Nicky.”

She’s been crying again. I want to ask her what happened, but then again, I
don’t really want to know. She’s no doubt had her own version of the nightmare
I’ve been living. I just want to take her in my arms and get her out of here.

“Zora, let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“I’m taking you home.”

“I can’t go home with you.”

“Sure you can. Let’s go.”

“That’s what they all expect. You to take me home. You to bed me down.
My parents told me to marry Miles. Miles tried to rape me, Nicky.”

“He tried to rape you?”

“I told him no, and he thought I shouldn’t have gotten him worked up.”

“Had you ever … you know … had you been with him before?”

“I’m a virgin, Nicky. I’d never even kissed Miles. You gave me my first
kiss yesterday.”

“No way, Zora.”

“
Way
, Nicky. You gave me my first kiss.”

Her words weaken my knees. I sit down on her leather sofa. “Dreamy,
baby, you should have told me.”

She sits beside me. “Does that change things?”

“I thought you slept with Miles.”

“No wonder you were being such a jerk. But you stayed.”

“I didn’t know if he would hurt you because I showed up. Something
told me you were in trouble, but I didn’t trust my instincts. Not completely.
Man, Zora. I’m sorry.”

“You came back to me, even after you thought I slept with Miles. That’s
why you called him, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I thought maybe you were … I don’t know. I just didn’t want you
sleeping with him. You can’t marry him, either. Even if you slept with him,
and thank God you didn’t, I’d still protest you marrying him.”

“That’s not what you said at first.”

“Well, I changed my mind. You can’t marry Miles.”

“You don’t have to worry. I told my mother I was going to marry you.”

I have a mild heart attack, but I get over it fast. “You told your mother
that?”

She looks embarrassed, because she can’t know how lightheaded I feel.
How I think I just grew four or five inches taller. But surely she can see I can’t
stop smiling.

She tries to take it back. “I realize now that sounds presumptuous.”

“Not so much. How did that go over with your mom?”

“She doesn’t think you’ll have me.”

“I’ll have you, all right. I’m going to take you home with me right now.”

“That’s not what I had in mind when I said you’ll have me.”

“I want to have all of you, Zora. May I have all of you?”

She just nods her pretty head with a smile, and says, “Yes.”

Oh, man. I think I just asked Zora to marry me. Or did she ask me? I
don’t even know. I just know suddenly my stomach is doing cartwheels, and
she’s grinning, and she looks so freakin’ happy.

“We’ll fly away together.” She stands up and spins around. Dear God, she’s
lovely. Her voice is music. A song I feel like I’ve always known. “Wherever
our wings lead us, Nicky.”

“You and me. Free as birds.” I want to believe it.

“Free as birds.”

She starts singing. Right there in my arms by the door. She throws her
head back, and what comes out of her mouth is so ethereal and haunting it
almost scares me.

One of these mornings bright and fair
I want to cross over to see my Lord
Going to take my wings and fly the air
I want to cross over to see my Lord

Oh, man. Zora is singing Negro spirituals. I don’t do that. I may do a
rousing rendition of a hymn on a good day—and it’d have to be a real good
day—but this is way out of my league.

I don’t know if I can handle a wife that sings Negro spirituals.

Or is it me wondering if I can handle a Negro wife?

I release her. She kisses me one more time and runs to grab her
backpack.

We leave quickly. Zora forsaking her princess possessions to go away with
me. I don’t tell her how afraid I am. I don’t tell her that I come from a family
of hunters, and that birds get cut down in flight and come hurtling down to
earth again wounded or dead, and sometimes those birds get stuffed and put
on display so their murderers can enjoy their beauty long after they’ve crossed
over to see the Lord.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

ZORA

We decide to take my Lexus to Nicky’s apartment. He wants to ride in style.
He says he’s never driven a Lexus. He’s really getting into it.

I don’t like this. It feels wrong. It has an exaggerated quality about it. Like
Nicky is a cartoon caricature version of himself. I can’t escape the feeling that
he’s somehow mocking me. My defenses soar.

Before we got in my car, he grabbed a bunch of CDs out of his truck. His
music is appallingly white. He listens to people like U2. I mean, I know Bono
does a lot of work for Africa, but I’m not really feeling U2. Or Coldplay, and
his other music that sounds suspiciously country. I don’t do country music.

He has the driver’s side window down because we’ve got another stellar
unseasonably mild spring day.

“Can you just turn the air on, Nicky?”

“Why?” he says. “Its beautiful! Don’t you think the fresh air is nicer?”

“That’s a white thing. Always needing air.”

“What? Black people don’t need air? You don’t have lungs or something,
Zora? Did I miss some detail in anatomy? I knew we didn’t have the same amount
of melanin. I knew the hair was different. But what is this lung thing?”

“I just mean you don’t see us hiking, and mountain climbing, and doing
extreme cold weather sports.”

“Come on, Zora. You know that’s not true.”

“Oh, really? Name some black athletes that do those things.”

“I’m not that well versed in black hikers or mountain climbers. White
ones either, Zora. But I’m sure that’s not the problem. Is it the music? Are you
embarrassed that black people may think you’re listening to U2? What would
you like to listen to, princess? Shall I put in Fred Hammond for you?”

“Maybe I’d like for you to stop calling me princess. Not that you mind
driving the princess’s Lexus.”

“I’m sorry. Does the princess have trouble sharing her toys?”

“Does the cowboy have to come in, conquer, and take what he wants like
all white men do?”

He doesn’t say anything. Just stares straight ahead, but he turns off his
music, puts the windows up, and turns on the air.

I end up complaining because now I feel too cold.

“Is this a sign of things to come, Dreamy? Are you going to be hard to
please?”

“What difference does it make? Everyone says you aren’t going to stick
around.”

“And you’ll give me good reason to go exactly like you’re doing. Is that
how this works?”

“I don’t know how it works. You tell me. Are you taking me home to have
a little taste of brown sugar?”

“Brown sugar? I haven’t heard that one. I heard the whole darker-the-
berry thing. I thought maybe I could just taste your sweet berry juice. I don’t
know. Maybe you can give me a taste of
all
your flavors. We can explore
the whole gamut of racist stereotypes. You can put Baskin Robbins out of
business today.”

“You know, Nicky, I’ve been defending you, and now I’m not sure why.
You suck.”

“I’ve been defending you, too. You might want to take a look at my face,
Zora. I’ve been fighting for you. For your honor. I’m on my way to a freakin’
jewelry store to buy you a ring that I can’t afford so I can marry you, which
we both know neither of us is ready for. I’m not a Thomas Jefferson, despite
your eloquent speech. I broke up with Rebecca, the acceptable-to-the-parents
white
girlfriend. I told her I’m in love with you. I told my mother I’m in love
with you.”

“You told her that?”

“What does it matter? I’m not sure you really believe in us. Nobody
believes in us.”

“Billie does.”

“Yeah, Billie. That and five bucks will get you a venti latte from Starbucks.
You may even get some change back. Oh yeah. Let me taste your
coffee
, too.”

“Stop it.”

“You started it, Ms.
Brown Sugar.
”

“I believe in us, Nicky. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, but that doesn’t
mean I don’t have my doubts and fears. Miles was my first relationship. And
I totally got him wrong. I have no idea what I’m doing. Are you sure about
any of this, Nicky?”

“I’m not sure about my own name most days.”

“Do you
think
you might love me?”

“I’m thinking I might. How ’bout you? Do you
think
you might love
me?”

“My father slapped me today. I’m not just taking a little ride with you,
in case you didn’t realize it. I’ve walked away from everything I lost, as far as
I’m concerned. It wasn’t taken. I walked away from it. I’m thinking I might
love you very much, Nicky. I’m thinking I might want to spend my life with
you, but I don’t know how. You’re white. And I don’t know how to be with a
white man.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“You promise?”

“Yes. I promise.”

“Can we just skip the ring? I’m tired. I’m tired of fighting. Of
everything.”

“I’m not Miles, Zora. If we’re going to get married, I want to get you a
ring.”

“I just want to go home with you for now. Can we just go home?”

“Sure, Zora. We can go home.”

He doesn’t argue with me. He just takes me home.

NICKY

I get her to my apartment, and before I open the door, I’m thinking of all
these differences between us. I don’t have sapphire and red walls. I’m going to
open the door, and she’s going to be disappointed, and that look on her face,
however subtle, will burn into me like a brand, no matter how she’ll try—if
she is as kind as I think—to reassure me. And if she’s not as kind as I think,
it will be worse.

We get inside, and her Bambi eyes look for some sign of life or color but
find none. My apartment looks as soulless as my inner life. The princess is
appalled by my cheesy apartment. She doesn’t offer me any consolation. No
insincere “Nice place” tossed in my direction to soothe my wounds. She gives
me nothing. Rebecca would.

What did she expect? I’m not a freakin’ engineer like Miles. But I can give
her all the Tom’s potato chips and pretzels and M&Ms she can stand. Can
Miles do that? I think not!

I tell her she can have a seat, and she tells me she wants to see where I
write. Of course I write in my bedroom, and if I’m not mistaken, I told her
that. The thought of Zora’s presence in my room seems like a delightfully bad
combination, but I’m strong in the bedroom. I’m the king in that domain. I
can right this slight I feel if I can get my hands on her. And if I can get her in
that room, I can. She’s asking for it.

“Right this way, Dreamy.”

I lead her past my poor excuse for a dining room and living room. Past
the shabby black futon. I open the door to my bedroom—the monk’s cell
where I haven’t taken a woman since I’ve tried so hard to do the right thing.
And now I don’t want to do the right thing so much.

“There’s nothing in here but my bed and my laptop,” I say. “I don’t even
have a chest of drawers. My clothes are stacked in my closet, and my socks
and underwear are in freakin’ plastic shoeboxes from the dollar store. And you
suck to make me talk about where I put my draws, Zora.”

She laughs.

“What?”

“I didn’t know white people said ‘draws’ for underwear.”

“What can I say? I’m
urban
. Sometimes I say ‘drawers.’ ”

“You did go to Ypsi High.”

“Yeah. And you went to Pioneer?”

“I went to Sankofa Shule.”

I don’t even attempt to say that. “What is that?”

“It’s an Afrocentric charter school. Very revolutionary.”

“I thought you Word-Faithers thought stuff like that was of the devil.”

“Most do. But we have strong AME-Church roots. We had to know who
we were as a people, plus my grandfather had lots of converted Black Panther
cronies. Our blackaliciousness is an LLCC distinctive, hence the Spelman,
rather than the Rhema, education.”

“You are so in trouble for slumming like this, and with po’ white trash
like me.”

She sashays into my bedroom, that rear end swinging from side to side
in those black pants. I should have stuck with skirts. Then I’d have just been
tormented by the endless calves, but that would be more manageable by far.

I stand in the doorway while she glides inside with the rhythm of a
sonnet. I’m captivated by her melodic voice, even though she’s judging my
stuff. Or I feel like she is.

“You’re right. All you have is a bed. And a computer.”

“I live a Spartan existence, but I can compensate by making your stay
here most enjoyable.”

She sits down on my bed, and the look on her face is innocent. Childlike.
She bounces up and down on it like she wants a test-drive that evil Nicky is
more than happy to give her. Good Nicky is terribly weak right now, but he
tries to make an appearance despite my attitude.

“This is where I write. Come on back into the living room, if you could
call it that.”

God, what was I thinking bringing her here? I just wanted to go away with
her. I wanted to get us away from all the ugliness around us, and now all this
ugliness is cropping up inside of me. And now she wants to interrogate me.

“Tell me about your first kiss.”

I decide I won’t tell her. Ever. The thought of it makes my palms sweat. I
clench my fist. “You don’t want to know about that.”

“I do. Tell me.”

I feel a little claustrophobic. I lean against the doorjamb. I try to think
about kissing Zora. I remember her taste that first time. My mother’s gravy
still lingering in her mouth. Peas. Something minty. Something tangy. “Tell
me about yours.”

“I don’t have to. You were there.”

“I only know what
I
felt, Zora.”