by Tiana Laveen
“Hey, I thought you said you were close. Everything okay?”
“No, everything is not okay. Ya boy Dennis here, the fuckin’ menace, is giving me a hard time.” The older man glanced up at him. “Guess he doesn’t approve of me coming to see you. I’m sick of this shit.” Cameron punched the counter with a tight fist.
“Cameron, calm down. I’m coming right now.” Emily quickly disconnected the call.
“Was that Ms. Windsor?” the guy asked, acting oblivious.
“Are you like, on something?” Cameron huffed. “You know damn well that was her. She’s coming down because you are harassing me and holding me up.”
“I’m not doing any such thing. I am checking your information in the database,” the man replied dryly. “I do that with everyone.”
“Your supervisor is going to hear about this. Mark my words.” Cameron shook his finger in the man’s direction. “I saw how you looked at me the other day when I left her place the last time, too. This is a pattern of behavior.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I had come that evening, took her out, and we returned together. I watched you look at me help her in and out my car. You looked pissed, like it was some personal offense against you. When we returned to her place that night I didn’t leave until the morning and I guess you filled in the blanks and felt some type of way about that. What? You’re mad because she doesn’t look at you like she looks at me?” Cameron sneered. “I swear to God you better be glad I’ve calmed down over the years. There was a day in time when I would’ve been in jail and you in the hospital over some shit like this.”
“This is the calm version of you?” the guy said in an unsettling, high-pitched squeal. “You’re acting like some crazy monkey, ya know that? Control yourself before I call the police.”
“Crazy monkey? You wannabe cop, underdeveloped, inbred lookin’ mothafucka.” Cameron lunged toward the bastard, who stepped back. “I will reach across this desk and—”
“Cameron, Cameron.” Emily seemed to appear out of thin air, wearing strange little hair clips in her hair, an oversized sweatshirt, and skintight leggings. Her bare feet beat against the glossy marble floor as she raced toward him like a lightning bolt. Grabbing him by the arm, she stepped in front of him like a block of bulletproof glass.
“Dennis, what seems to be the problem?” she asked sternly, resting her arms on the counter.
“And give me my damn license back, mongoose-faced bastard, since you wanna venture into the animal kingdom. Aren’t you supposed to be over at the theater playing the hyena in The Lion King tonight?”
“Cameron, please,” she turned toward him, “I’m handling this.” She returned her attention to Dennis, who looked flushed and shaken. What did the bastard think he’d do? Just keep standing there and take it?
“Ms. Windsor,” the man stated in an exasperated tone, as if he’d somehow been violated. “So many people come in and out of here every day. There’s no way that I can recall everyone’s face.” He waved his hand as his eyes hooded. “Mr. Davis here apparently has taken offense to my asking pertinent questions so I can ensure that he is who he says he is, and that you are in fact expecting him.” His voice was soft and pathetic, as if he hadn’t just been showing out a few seconds ago.
“But I told you that I was expecting him, Dennis. I told you that my boyfriend was on his way, and even put his name on the guest list.” She pointed to a clipboard with printed out papers. Cameron assumed his name was added on it. He had no reason to believe otherwise.
“I still have to check all of the information, Ms. Windsor. Someone could have pretended to be him. Those things happen, too.”
“I don’t really understand that, but what stands out the most to me right now is that I’ve never had any of these issues with my other guests coming to see me. You’ve let them through with no problem—ex-boyfriends, my female friends, my personal trainer when he used to stop by. My father never had problems coming in, either, and sometimes he’d walk right past you and you’d only smile and wave. This is in fact the first time, Dennis, that I have ever run into this problem with you.”
“Well then, let me reassure you, Ms. Windsor, that this was nothin’ personal.” The man raised his hands and let them flop back down to his sides. The jerk was now avoiding eye contact, as if Cameron wasn’t standing there at all.
“Actually, it doesn’t. You see, this is the second time Cameron has complained to me about you doing this.”
“But it’s the fourth time that it’s happened, Emily. And I’m sick of it,” Cameron said loud enough for the other man to hear him. Dennis shot him a surreptitious glance then looked back at Emily.
“I promise ya it’s just procedure, Ms. Windsor.”
“I’m going to be frank with you. I think it’s because my boyfriend is Black.” The man had the audacity to look surprised, and his beady eyes widened ever so slightly. “Dennis, I’m not going to debate this with you. Don’t give Cameron a hard time when he comes here. I don’t appreciate it and I will have you reported if this happens again.” Her voice rattled as she yelled, as if exploding at the realization that the ugly truth was now right in her face. Cameron drew closer to her and wrapped one arm around her waist.
“Give me my damn license.” He swallowed the expletive he wished to add at the end. Dennis motioned to place it in his palm, but he snatched it from the bastard’s grasp. Cameron put it back in his wallet and took his baby’s hand. “I’m telling you, you’ve messed with the wrong man this time. I make shit happen. I’m not the porch monkey that you may take me for, son, sittin’ around, letting shit slide. This isn’t the end of this.”
They walked toward the elevators. Dennis didn’t utter a word. Cameron looked behind him and watched him busy himself at the computer as if nothing had happened.
“Well, that was awesome.” Emily grimaced then laughed dismally, shaking her head. “Good grief.”
“I don’t need you to call anyone. I meant what I said to him. I’m taking care of this. I hope his friends give him a going away party tonight because I’m going to have his job. I know exactly who to call. We can’t let stuff like this go, Em. You have to fight fire with fire. Now you’ve seen what I go through all the time. The shit you just witnessed? That happens often.” She looked rather sullen at that moment. “Hey, why is your hair in clips?” he asked as they got on the elevator, still holding hands.
“I was parting it to dye it. You came a bit earlier than I expected so I had to put it on halt.”
“I thought you always got your hair done at that fancy salon on Madison Avenue?” He pushed the number 7 and the doors closed.
“I do, but for some reason, I got a wild hair up my ass, pardon the pun.” She giggled. “And wanted to dye it dark brown.”
He pulled her in his embrace. “Why do you want to dye it dark brown all of a sudden?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I just think it suits me better now.”
“But why would you do that?”
“What do you mean? I just wanted a new look. Women like to change it up all the time, Cameron. Besides, maybe it’ll help me look less washed out.”
“You’re fine the way you are.”
“You don’t even like blondes. You said so yourself.” She huffed as she pulled away from him and crossed her arms.
“Is that what this is about? Never mind, I’ll get to the truth another way. Have you ever dyed your hair another color before?”
“No. Just various shades of blonde. I’ve been platinum blonde, I’ve been honey blonde, but always blonde.”
“Okay, I get it now. You don’t have to change yourself for me, Emily.” He shot her a disapproving glance as they reached her floor. They stepped out, Emily seeming a bit vexed from his words.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Why can’t you just believe what I told you? Women like to change it up a bit. Can’t I change my hair col
or without there being some big conspiracy or self-loathing driving it?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
They soon entered her apartment and the place smelled fresh and clean as usual. Wiggling out of his shoes, he set them by the front door and marched behind her as she entered her master bedroom suite. He followed her into her bathroom, almost slamming into the back of her.
“What are you doing?” Her brows bunched. “Why are you so close?” She turned to face him and pressed her palm against his chest. He peered at her countertop, taking notice of two plastic bottles filled with dark chocolate-brown hair dye, a black rat tooth comb, a hair dying brush, plastic gloves, and some little tube filled with ointment.
“Don’t do this.” He snatched her to him and crushed her lips in a kiss. He finally talked himself into releasing her, and they looked into each other’s eyes. “Come here. I wanna tell you something.”
Taking her by the hand, he led her to her bed. They sat down, the television light glowing on both of their faces.
“I have reason to believe that you feel maybe I’d be more attracted to you if you had darker hair, and were less, I guess you could say, European looking.” He struggled to find the right words as he saw the hurt in her eyes. “I…uh…had a sexual relationship with a White girl in high school once.” The woman’s jaw dropped open and then she burst out laughing. “I’m serious. It was lowkey. I didn’t want anyone to know. It was just sex, you know? Well, she felt stronger toward me than I did toward her. Soon, she told me she loved me.”
“What did she look like?”
“Her name was Lana. She had a medium-ish shade of brown hair and light brown eyes. She was nice, popular. But I never wanted her to tell anyone about us. One day, she came to school and her hair was dyed jet-black and cut in a hairstyle like the group from back in the day, Salt-N-Pepa. She had dark brown contact lenses and dressed more like the Black girls at our school all of a sudden.” Emily sat a bit taller and crossed her arms over her chest, but he didn’t miss her deep swallow. “She did that in hopes that it would make me want her, be with her in a relationship, but it didn’t work. Look, Emily, you already have me, okay? There’s nothing for you to prove.”
She lowered her gaze.
“But see, here’s the thing, Emily. This hair thing symbolizes more than just something about me, about us. This is about you, and personal acceptance. You told me last night when we were on the phone that you were ashamed of yourself. You said you’ve been studying and reading, and that though we still don’t agree on everything, things are starting to click in your head. You can now understand my perspective a lot more, and you even apologized. You told me that you can’t truly love me and not try to understand where I’m coming from. And now that you do, guilt has taken over.”
“It has. I feel like I’ve awakened from a dream, like I was in some fog.”
“Yeah, not being realistic and not at least trying to empathize with another person’s pain then suddenly seeing that someone you care for has been deeply affected by the very principles you held dear can do that to you.” She nodded. “You even admitted that you’ve fallen into a depression. I don’t want that to happen to you. I was depressed enough for the both of us. When Brooke died, I didn’t think I’d ever be okay after that. And you know what, baby? I was half right. I am not the same, but I am okay. I only became okay after I actually accepted what happened—not just in my mind, but in my heart—and truly understood that I would not be making her proud if I didn’t get out of that funk.
“I know you may not think that on a conscious level, but subconsciously, I think all sorts of things are going on inside your head right now. You’re still trying to find yourself, the new you. You’ve taken on some of the characteristics of my deceased girlfriend, and yeah, I’ve noticed it. It was out of your control; you didn’t choose it. You’ve got an important part of a proud Black woman inside you and that heart beats within a proud White woman. There’s no way that this isn’t clashing with your own physical identity, the way you see yourself now. There’s a power struggle between the two of you it seems. I’ve been reading about heart transplant surgeries for a while now, Em. You are right. You’re not the only one who has talked about this sort of thing happening.”
“So what do you think is happening? I’m curious to hear your opinion.”
“Here’s my guess. In Brooke’s quest to elevate you, you sometimes feel attacked and then you start second-guessing yourself. You are the exact opposite of what she looked like in so many ways, but I doubt Brooke cares about that. You both have the same body type and shape, I’d say, but that’s about where the similarities stop. Your outward appearance means nothing at this point. It’s what is goin’ on inside that counts. You both were adamant about your beliefs, and you were loyal to those you loved. Those are excellent qualities. Do you realize how brilliant and incredible you are, baby? If you don’t, I’m right here to remind you.”
He tilted her chin upward and kissed her. She kissed him back, a sad smile on her face.
“Thank you.”
“Focus on dying the inside of yourself, the old you. Paint over that shit with bold, bright colors. God made you blonde, and that’s fine. No, I don’t have any problem with women changin’ their hair color, as long as it’s not because they hate themselves. For fashion, to cover some premature gray or a changeup? Cool, but what kind of man would I be to let you do somethin’ like that for all the wrong reasons? I love you and that’s just not me.”
“Maybe you’re right, Cameron,” she uttered, her eyes misting. She looked down at her bare feet. “I’ve been feeling strange again. It comes in waves. I looked at myself and hated my hair, every strand of it. I hated my skin, my body, all of it. It made me feel so powerless.” Tears welled in her eyes then trailed down her cheeks. He leaned into her and held her tight.
“I know it’s not my heart making me feel this way. It’s not Brooke. It’s remorse. I…I read about the Central Park Five and was sickened.” She shook her head. “Someone else had to confess, come forward, for these young men to regain their freedom. And from my research, and trust me,” she huffed, “I did a lot, the whole mess was steeped in racism and injustice. So many times I have judged people based on the way they looked, their accents, their clothing. And now look at me.”
She pulled away and looked up, sadness reigning in her beautiful blue eyes. “You warned me. You told me I was going to get broken down, and that’s exactly what happened.”
“I need you to take one day at a time, Em. Stop trying to rush this process.”
“I’m not rushing the process. I’m rushing the pain. It hurts.”
He nodded in understanding. Bringing her close once more, he rested his forehead against hers. Through her tears, she began to move her fingers along his black button-down shirt until his chest was exposed and the clothing tossed haphazardly onto the floor. Moments later, he was pressed down flat onto the bed and gripping a fistful of sheet as she took him into her mouth, licking and sucking his hard nature, making his toes curl with lusty ecstasy.
He hissed and moaned when he came almost without warning, his ejaculation erupting into her mouth. She swallowed him whole, taking in every drop before licking her lower lip, absorbing the last of him. Spent, he tried to catch his breath.
She slowly slid away from him, got up, and entered her bathroom, closing the door softly behind her. After a few minutes, he switched on the television, selecting the news channel, and removed his socks, the only articles of clothing left on his body. He heard the water of the shower come on and drifted into a daydream as he teetered between a need to doze, hunger, and horniness.
When she came out, her blonde hair was wet and she had a black towel wrapped around her body. Emily snuggled up close to him under the sheets, and he immediately pulled her close, kissed her cheek, and wrapped his arm around her. Together they watched the movie Black Swan, simply enjoying each other.
“What do you do when you ca
n’t remember something important?” she questioned out of the blue.
“Mmmm, like forgetting where I put something?”
She ran her fingertips along his chest hair.
“No, well, kinda. I can’t remember the name of a friend of mine. See, she was the daughter of this Black woman who used to take care of some of my mother’s errands and she and I became friends. When some of my so-called popular friends from school came over and saw us together one day, they said stuff about her after she left my house. I stopped talking to her after that. She soon stopped calling me and asking about me. I guess she got the message. She and I would have good conversations up until that point and I really liked her. I’ve always regretted that, I believe, but only recently have slowed down long enough to acknowledge it, ya know? To admit to myself that I give a damn.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I just wish I could remember her name. Damn it. I want to try and look her up.”
“What do you think her name started with? The letter?”
“Um, I think it was something like Sa…a Suh sound at the beginning. Her mother’s name sounded similar to hers. Yeah, I’m pretty sure it was an “S,” but that’s not a good enough lead. I can’t ask my mother for obvious reasons.”
“Do you remember what borough she lived in?”
“I think Queens. Well, she was born in Queens but then moved to Brooklyn, I think. The cleaner’s shop she worked for though was in Manhattan.”
“What about the name of the place?” She shook her head. “Okay, maybe your father remembers where he hired her from, or an agency perhaps, and they can help you.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll call him back tomorrow and ask.” She gave him a peck on the lips then looked back at the television. “Are you hungry, Cameron?” she asked behind a yawn.
“Yeah.” He ran his hand up and down her arm. “We can order that pizza after the movie is over.”
“I didn’t think we were really paying attention to the movie though.” She giggled.
“Not the movie on the TV. The porno movie we’re about to make.”