“That’s money right there,” Deuce said, nodding at the shot of a crowd of women exiting a mosque in their white prayer garments. “You gotta keep that. That can’t wind up on the cutting room floor.”
“You think so?” Asif asked. “It looks like something from Spike’s joint, X to me.”
“It does look like a shot from Malcolm X,” Zora said as she walked by, grabbing and stuffing things into her overnight bag.
“They didn’t have a shot like that,” Deuce said shaking his head. “You’re thinking of the one where the Fruit of Islam all look up …”
“Yeah, yeah,” Asif said. “You right. Maybe I should keep this.”
“And if you slow it down a little? See how the wind is blowing their dresses right there?” Deuce pointed at the monitor. “In slow motion …” He gave a long whistle.
They were looking at some of the latest footage Seef had shot over the past month. His production was speeding up, and he was even paying some guys to work with him, so he didn’t have to do all the camera work, set up of the shots and the other half-dozen jobs he had been handling solo all this time. More than a few of the pledged donations had come through, and because Deuce had also given him what he referred to tongue-in-cheek as “a few dollars” Asif occasionally allowed him to express an opinion about the progress of the documentary.
“Listen to you, working hard for that post-production credit,” Asif laughed.
“Nah. This is all you, man. I just have, you know, an eye for beauty.”
Deuce glanced over at Zora as he spoke, shrugging on a lightweight cardigan to cover her smooth, brown arms.
It was Friday and they were heading to Jersey, for Asif to go to the mosque, and Zora to spend the weekend at her parents’ house because her brother was home for a month-long visit from France. Whenever she was going home, she was modestly dressed, sometimes covered ankles to wrists. Only now that they had talked openly about her faith did Deuce realize that it was something she had always done, though he never thought about why.
“You ready?” Zora was looking at him quizzically, so Deuce realized he’d been staring at her.
“Yeah,” he said, getting up, and looking around for his keys.
He was driving because Asif had recently gotten rid of his car, and it gave him a chance to stop in at his father’s place, before heading to Bedford to check in on his mother. Seeing his father to talk business was his justification for being out of the office for the day.
For the last couple of weeks, though, he hadn’t needed one. Jamal Turner had eased up a little, ever since he presented him with a fuller proposal for joint ownership of Gollum. He had even dropped his mildly sarcastic tone whenever he said the name of the proposed new company.
Finding his keys, Deuce picked up a sofa cushion and tossed it at Asif whose eyes were still fixed on the computer monitor.
“C’mon, man. Let’s roll.”
For the ride to Jersey, Zora sat in the backseat, her legs extended, her feet bare. She was reading a book, that for a change was not a law school textbook, and listening to music with her earbuds in. Every so often, Deuce glanced at her through the rearview mirror.
“You should come with us,” Asif said.
“What?” Deuce looked at him before returning his attention to the road. “Come with who? And where?”
“Me, my uncle and cousin. To Jumu’ah.”
Deuce laughed. “Nah. That’s a’ight.”
He only knew what the word meant because that time he sat in on Asif’s interviews
“It ain’t like you gotta convert, bruh,” Asif said shaking his head. “No one’s gon’ put you in a headlock or make you to wear a taqiyah and pledge your allegiance to Muhammad. Just come … see what we’re about. See some of what she’s about.” He motioned toward the backseat with a lift of his chin.
“I’m not religious.”
“Neither am I,” Asif said laughing.
“But …”
“It’s complicated,” he said. “Why you think I’m making this documentary? Working some of my own shit out, that’s why.”
Looking over at him to see whether he was serious, Deuce narrowed his eyes. “So, you don’t observe …”
“I fast.” Asif shrugged. “I pray. But I also fornicate and drink alcohol.” He laughed again. “And I’m still Muslim. Just not always a very good one. Go figure. It’s more than religion though. It’s … culture, it’s community. It’s a way of looking at the world.”
“I don’t want to create any expectations that if I go to mosque with Zora …”
“She won’t come,” Asif said, sounding certain. “It’d just be us. You, me, my uncle and my cousin, Ousmane. The men. Zora and my auntie will stay home probably, cook an afternoon meal …”
“Wait. So, women can’t …”
“Women can go to Jumu’ah. They just don’t have to.”
“But men do?”
Asif nodded. “Healthy, able-bodied men must go, yes.”
“How do your women feel about being excluded?”
“Again, it’s not exclusion. And they feel differently depending on who you ask. Maybe you should ask your woman.”
Deuce tried not to react. Since he and Zora reconciled, he had stayed over more than a few nights a week, waking up and sometimes even having breakfast with Asif since Zora always slept later than he did. Though he made it a point never to ask, he always got the impression that Seef was holding back on his disapproval and didn’t see the relationship as valid in some way.
But now, hearing him refer to Zora as his woman, Deuce felt both surprise and satisfaction.
“Look, bruh. Here’s the deal: I’m the eldest son of my uncle’s eldest brother. My uncle knows your history … or some of it anyway, with his daughter. If I invite you to Jumu’ah and you come? It can only help your standing with the family. Even if you never convert.”
“I’m not going to,” Deuce said.
“You don’t have to.” Asif shrugged. “But if you do this, as a sign of respect for who Zora is, and where she comes from, one day if you need to …” Asif considered his words. “If one day you needed to ask of my uncle that he … relinquish his daughter, he’ll remember this day and it’ll work in your favor.”
“Relinquish her?”
Asif shrugged again. “Hey. I’m just tellin’ you what I know. Getting his approval? That’s going to be a battle won inch by slow inch. And what I know is, without his blessing? The odds of her makin’ the kind of commitment you seem to want? That’s slim to none, man.”
~~~
“Well. That was interesting.”
“It sure was.” Zora stared out the front bay window, watching as her father, Asif, Ousmane and Deuce all piled into her father’s Buick.
“Did he tell you he was planning to do this?” her mother asked, peeking out the window over Zora’s shoulder.
“No. He didn’t.”
When she, Deuce and Asif had arrived at the house, Zora expected that he would let them out of the Range Rover and pull away, heading directly to his father’s house. But instead, he parked and came inside.
There hadn’t been time to ask him what he was doing because he and Asif walked ahead of her, and the next thing she knew, her brother was opening the front door and there were noisy greetings all around.
And once inside, her parents came out to see Asif and it was like a mini family reunion. She kept trying to make eye-contact with Deuce, but he was too busy heading over to her father, shaking his hand and then making a valiant effort to be included in a conversation that her dad seemed just as determined to exclude him from.
Asif—bless him—pointedly spoke only in English making sure Deuce wasn’t completely marginalized, even though her father spoke only Wolof. And then he announced that he’d invited Deuce to Jumu’ah and that he’d accepted.
Now, watching the men driving away together to the mosque, Deuce among them, the entire thing was completely surreal.
“I’
m glad I took the day off work because of Ousmane being home,” her mother said, laughing. “Or I would’ve missed it. Your poor father must be so confused right now.”
“I’m confused right now,” Zora said, still staring after the car though it had already pulled away. “He was supposed to go to his father’s house. And then to Bedford. He never said …”
“Well, I think this is a wonderful development.”
“Don’t start thinking crazy thoughts. He isn’t going to come back a Muslim or anything ridiculous like that, so …”
“Okay.” Her mother smiled and shrugged. “Well, since we’re here, we may as well spend our time usefully and make them something to eat.”
Zora gritted her teeth to avoid spouting off with some quip about them being home cooking for the men while they were off taking care of lofty spiritual matters. But it seemed a pointless argument to start when she wasn’t particularly eager to attend Friday worship anyway.
When she was in L.A., she studied more progressive forms of her religion, experimented with worship in places where women could lead prayer, and marry non-Muslim men without being warned of the dire consequences for them and their offspring. But neither the more conservative, nor the most progressive strains sat completely comfortably with her.
“Okay,” she turned to smile at her mother. “What should we cook?”
They made spicy chicken with fragrant saffron, new potatoes with garlic and truffle oil, and jasmine rice. Zora followed her mother’s instructions in the kitchen, her mind drifting as she imagined Deuce removing his shoes at the mosque and being led through each stage of prayers with Asif and Ousmane on either side of him. She knew her father would pretend to ignore him but would be watching closely every gesture and reaction.
Thinking about that made the cooking and the waiting almost excruciating. But when Zora finally heard the car outside, less than two hours had passed since they left, and Deuce walked in looking none the worse for the wear.
“Our plot failed, cuz,” Asif announced, clapping Deuce on the shoulder and winking at Zora. “He’s still an infidel.”
They all ate together, and even though Zora studied him for clues, her father gave nothing away in his expression or manner about how he was responding to having Deuce along for prayer. Mostly, he seemed interested in hearing Ousmane talk about his work and studies in France.
That interest served its purpose because when everyone else was having after-lunch coffees, Zora slipped outside with Deuce to the backyard.
“So, how was it?” she asked, leading him to the seats under the oak tree, where her mother often took her morning tea or coffee.
“It was fine.”
“Just fine? What did you …?”
“It was fine,” Deuce said again. “It was like church. Just like church.”
“And?”
“And nothing, Zee. It was like going to church. Prayer, a sermon and done.”
Leaning back, she tried to understand her disappointment, and to swallow it before Deuce saw it for what it was.
“Hey.” He put a finger at her chin, turning her head so she would look at him. “What’re you worried about?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly.
“Are you worried that if we had four big-headed boys one day, I wouldn’t want them to be raised Muslim?”
Smiling, Zora lifted her eyes to his. “Well, since you bring it up, would you?”
“I don’t know.” Deuce didn’t smile back, and his voice dropped so low she could scarcely hear him. “I don’t see why not. But honestly, I don’t know. That’s not a small thing … thinking about kids, when all I want an answer to right now is whether my girl wants to hang out with me for the rest of our lives.”
“I ...”
Deuce placed a forefinger on her lips.
“That’s okay,” he said. “I know it’s complicated. But the question’s out there. For whenever you feel ready to answer it.”
Removing the finger from her lips, he leaned in but seemed to remember where they were and stopped short of kissing her. Her family was inside. And her father would not be amused if he glanced out at the backyard and saw his daughter being … compromised right under his nose.
But Zora didn’t care.
Deuce had gone to the mosque with her cousin, father and brother. Subjected himself to her father’s coldness and disapproval. For her. He deserved to be kissed, no matter where they were or who might be watching. He deserved that. And so much more.
She leaned in to meet him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“Why has it been so long?”
Robyn was coming downstairs just as he entered the house, wearing rubber slides, and a cerulean one-piece swimsuit topped by a flowy, flowery organza coverup. Her hair, recently colored auburn with blonde highlights was longer than Deuce had seen it in recent years, brushing her shoulders in soft waves.
And for a woman over forty with two children, her body was still in the kind of shape that he had to remind himself not to ogle. She was tan from spending much of the summer at their Hamptons house, and by the pool out back. In the warm months, this was how he pictured her—tan, relaxed and usually with a kid on her hip.
There had been a time, when he was about seventeen, that Deuce looked at Robyn and thought, of his father’s obvious besotted-ness, I get it, man. I totally get it.
His mother though, claimed not to get it. Robyn had been, for a long time, the focal point of all her rage. Had he been younger, and more impressionable when she entered his father’s life, Deuce was almost certain his mother’s words alone would have succeeded in turning him against her.
“Every time I see you, you look like more of a man.” Robyn hugged him, and then held him at arms’ length to look him over.
“That’s ‘cause I …” He shrugged, pretending to be self-deprecating. “I kinda … am?”
“No, you’re not,” she said, playing along and pouting. “Not yet. I refuse, refuse to accept it.”
Deuce humored her with a laugh, but her face grew somber and she squeezed his shoulder.
“How’s your mom?” she asked.
He swallowed. “Okay. I guess. I’m heading over there after this. Just to check in, y’know? She doesn’t really tell me much.”
“Well, I’m sorry, love.” She ran a hand over his head the way she had since he was sixteen, though now she had to reach up much farther to do it. “If you ever need … anything. Please.”
“Yeah. Of course. Thanks.”
“Well, the kids are out in the pool, and your father’s in his office, of course. Don’t leave without coming to … Oh! And by the way, Chris mentioned that Zora was here? Is she back on the East Coast, or is it just for the summer?”
“Back for good,” Deuce said. “And us, too. So … yeah.”
“I hadn’t realized you’d broken up,” Robyn said, her head falling to one side.
“Yeah. But only … just temporarily.”
“Hmm,” Robyn said. “Well then I’m glad you worked it out. I always loved Zora. Bring her over sometime.”
As she walked away, Deuce thought about Regan and her claim that he had never introduced her to his friends, or to his life in earnest. It was true, he realized now. She met his mother only by accident, but he had never introduced her to Robyn or his father. Hadn’t even been able to tell either of them that Zora was no longer in his life. Maybe, Deuce thought, it was because she always had been. Even with months of complete silence and with another woman on his arm, Zora had always been the woman in his life.
He found his father in his office like Robyn said he would be, but he was on the phone and held up a finger to let Deuce know he would be done shortly. Ambling away from the door and down the hall, Deuce went to look out the French doors down to the pool where Robyn was just getting settled on a lounger. His brother Landyn, wearing a life-vest, was toddling toward the steps at the shallow end, encouraged by Caity who was already in the water, her hair a large,
dripping wet halo that reminded Deuce of Zora’s.
When his phone chimed, Deuce wasn’t even surprised to see that it was from his aunt. Whatever she was about to say, he almost felt like he had called it up. His mother had been on his mind all morning, his worry about her like a burr at the edge of his mind.
“Where you at, baby?” she asked without greeting. Her voice sounded urgent.
“My father’s house. Why? What’s …?”
“How long will it take you to get over to your mother’s?”
“Aunt Stacey, what’s going on?” Suddenly, he was so painfully aware of his heartbeat, he could almost hear it.
On the other end of the line, his aunt sighed. “I’m in South Beach. I knew I never should’ve …”
“Aunt Stacey,” he said more forcefully. “What’s going on?”
“Your mother’s home, by herself. The housekeeper is off this weekend and you know your grandmother doesn’t drive. I’ma order her an Uber to get over there, but when she does, she ain’t gon’ be no kinda help because …”
“What happened? What does Ma being alone … what does that mean?”
“Deuce, she didn’t want me to tell you. She’s stopped treatment. But …”
“What?”
“Yes. A couple weeks after she told you, she … she decided to refuse treatment. When they told her that the … Well, the numbers aren’t improving, so she doesn’t want to deal with the chemo and all that comes with it if it isn’t working. So she …”
“Goddamn it! And none o’ y’all thought that was important enough to tell me?” Deuce erupted. “Why you keep holdin’ stuff back from me?”
“Look, don’t you swear at me. This is what your mother wanted!”
“Who gives a shit what she wanted? Her judgment’s always been fucked up!”
“Listen to me …” His aunt’s voice fell to a menacing low. “If you think you gon’ disrespect my sister …”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I just … I don’t understand why she …”
“You don’t gotta understand! Just do as I say do and get over there! She’s in the bed, and at this point, she needs help with pain management. That’s all. But sometimes it gets so bad she can’t … it’s hard for her to get up. All you need to do is call her, get your ass over there and help out. You understand me?”
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