Zora and Nicky: A Novel in Black and White (9 page)

I look over to see if she heard. And, sure enough, at the sound of my
name Zora searches the café and finds me. Our eyes lock, and I can’t tell if
that’s a smile or a grimace on her face.

She probably grimaced.

I stand. I can’t very well act like I don’t see her
now
. I force my feet to
move, one in front of the other, until I make my way to her table. Once again,
my eyes meet hers.

She’s been crying. Oh, Dreamy. What happened?

I don’t know if I should shake her hand or what, so I stick my hands in
the pockets of my jeans.

I nod a greeting, and she pretends she doesn’t remember my name.

“Hey you, is it Nicky?”

“Yeah. And your name is …”

“Zora.”

“
Zora
! That’s right.”

And your mother’s name is Elizabeth, and your father’s Jack, and your
first puppy, a Shar Pei, was called Diamond. I learned all that on MySpace.
“How are you?”

“I’m good,” she lies.

And here comes Pete. “Hey there.” His grin can’t get any bigger.

He nudges me. “Aren’t you gonna introduce me?”

I say no with my eyes, but he ignores my signals. He thrusts his hand
out at her, and she takes it. She leaves no trace of the sorrow I just saw. She’s
a good politician.

“I’m Zora Johnson.”

“Pete Greene.”

“Nice to meet you, Pete.”

He turns her hand over and kisses it. Then the clown bows from the waist
until he almost hits his head on the table. “The pleasure is all mine, lovely
Zora.”

I lose all semblance of patience with him. “I’ll see you at the table in a
minute, Pete.”

“I’d like to stay and chat with you and
Zora
.” Not a yo to be heard.

“We don’t want you, Pete.”

Zora snickers, but at least I made her smile. She’s all grace and kindness.
“You’re both welcome to join me.”

“Pete doesn’t want to disturb you.” And to Pete: “Could you go keep an
eye on our table?
YO
!”

I irritate him, but he doesn’t want to punch me in the face in front of
Zora. He does another goofy bow for her. “Milaaaaaady,” he says, and saunters
away.

Zora laughs. “That Pete is quite a character.”

“Quite.”

I sit down. Pete can wait. “Look. I won’t beat around the bush. I can see
you were upset, though that was a good save. I don’t want to pry, but if you’d
like to talk, I can be a good listener.”

She gives me a shy smile. “I don’t know, Nicky. The last time I cried you
hightailed away from me at warp speed.”

I can’t stop the blush creeping to my cheeks. I stare at her like a deer in
the headlights, and she calls me on it.

“Say something, Bambi.”

I’m totally flustered. “I don’t know what to say.”

“How ’bout you don’t feel comfortable with black people being so”—she
crooks her fingers into quote marks—“‘expressive.’”

My mouth opens. I can’t even respond at first. I sputter like an idiot until
I finally get out, “Is
that
what you think?”

“Maybe. You’re the one who said your father is a racist. Like father like
son, Nicky?”

Okay, she might look like the Queen of Sheba, but wait just a minute.
“I’m nothing like my dad.”

“Why’d you run?”

What? I’m supposed to tell her? Another verbal seizure. “I can assure you
that wasn’t the reason.”

“What was it?”

I hate this woman, but I don’t want to lie to her. Did I mention I hate
her? Regardless of how I feel, I’m not gonna let her brand me a racist just
because she’s in a mood.

“
Maybe
,” I lie, “I wish I could be that”—I imitate her gesture—“‘
expressive
.’
Maybe I’ve been walking around like something from
Night of the Living
Dead
and I see you wallowing on the floor with all that …”

Luscious, round …

She looks impatient. “With all that
what
?”

“All that, uh,
feeling
.” Real smooth, Nicky. “I’m … I just mean, you
definitely stirred something in me.” Now that’s the truth.

Her eyes search mine. “For real?”

“For real. It was
difficult
for me to process all that was going on inside
of me, and that’s God’s honest truth.” I drum the table with my fingertips
while she stares at my hand. “Look, Zora, I’m a PK; you’re a PK. At birth
we get a cross, a Bible, and a mountain of issues. Don’t let my issues
concern you. All of us go to Linda’s Bible study because it’s safe. You can
find God however you find Him there. It can look like however it looks,
and if for you it looks like being on your face …”
with your glory coming
at me
“so be it.”

A stray strand of hair sweeps across her cheek, and God help me, I can’t
resist, I brush it back behind her ear. She recoils.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, Nicky.

I bolt back away from her. Can’t even think of how to save face this time.
I touched her face. Can I
be
any more intimate? I could! Which is why I need
to stay as far away from her as possible.

“Nice to see you again, Zora. God bless. Feel better.”

I try to run again. Fast. But she calls my name, and I can’t help myself,
I turn back around, and I just fess up. “Sorry about the hair thing, Zora. I
don’t know what—”

“No problem.”

An endless pause, and then a miracle of an olive branch. “Nicky, I was
wondering … can you give me a ride home? I’ve got, uh, car trouble.”

“Is your car outside? Maybe I can look at it for you. Do you have road
service?”

“Never mind.”

“Wait. I’m sorry. I was just—”

Pete appears out of nowhere and rescues me. “We’d
love
to give you a
ride.” He still hasn’t uttered a single yo, which annoys me even more, since
obviously this verbal hiccup is reserved for me alone.

“Right this way,” I say.

Gonna be an interesting ride.

P
ETE DRIVES. IT’S
his truck. I hate that Pete drives. He controls the CD player
and blasts his new Jay-Z CD with no regard as to whether Zora is a fan or
not. He prattles on and on about how much he loves “Hova” until he starts
in on Beyoncé.

I know we’re treading dangerous waters. Pete watches BET.
Loves
BET.
Pete thinks Jay-Z’s super sistah “B” is the pinnacle of womanhood—black,
white, or otherwise. I’m praying as if my life depends on it that he won’t use
the
other
“b” word, even though I know he’s easing up to it.

“Do you like Beyoncé, Zora?”

I try to distract him. “Do you like Wayne Newton,
Pete
?”

He disses me. “I’m talking to Zora, Nick.”

“Maybe Zora doesn’t want you to interrogate her all the way through
your who’s who in hip-hop list, Pete.”

“I wanna know what kind of music she likes.”

“Then why don’t you ask her that, and you can stop name dropping every
black artist you can think of whether or not you actually listen to them?”

Zora laughs. “Relax, Nicky. I think he’s kinda cute.”

I don’t even want to think about how jealous this makes me feel. And I’m
never jealous of Pete. Pete, who is
always
jealous of me, laps up her words like
a cat at a milk dish.

His voice goes about forty octaves lower in what must be an attempt at
sexiness. “I think you’re cute, too, Z.”

He’s really starting to irritate me. “Did she say you could call her Z?” He
ignores me, and horror of horror, he says it. The “b” word.

“I think you’re
bootylicious
, Zora.”

I think my heart stops. I’m gonna have to be resuscitated.

Zora’s voice turns into ice water and pours into both Pete and me, even
though she only addresses him. “You don’t know me like that, Pete. Back up.”

I groan audibly. Words fail me. I wrestle with homicidal urges. I watch a
lot of crime shows. I know how to kill Pete a number of ways. I reach all the
way across Zora—saying excuse me, of course—and bop Pete in the head like
I’m Little Bunny Foo Foo.

We reach Zora’s apartment, and Pete actually tries to get out of the truck
with us.

I give him a stare so completely cold I can rethink my career options
and go into cryogenics. Fortunately,
this time
he takes the hint. Zora’s kind
enough to take my hand as I help her out of the truck.

I walk with her to the front door of the apartment building, a building
much nicer than my own, surprised she has to use the buzzer.

“You do live here, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Don’t have your keys?”

“Don’t have my purse with me.”

“I see,” I say, not seeing. Don’t women have purses, no matter how small,
surgically attached to them at all times?

Her gaze goes downward.

“Zora?”

She lifts her head, and her eyes meet mine.

“Are you okay?”

She shakes her lovely head. “I’ve got daddy trouble.”

“I know all about that.”

“Thanks for the ride, Nicky.”

“I’m so sorry about Pete. He’s … retarded.”