I'd Rather Be With You

by Mary B. Morrison

  He got up and walked away as Tisha said, “See you then,” ending our call.

  I exhaled, sat up straight, and then glanced around the room. He was standing, facing the bar. Hopefully, he’d make it back to me before the event was over.

  Placing a sign with the number 11 on the edge of my table, the waitress asked, “Another ice tea?”

  I nodded. I’d better slow down and make this next drink last. I’d have a couple of hours for the alcohol to wear off before driving.

  The tall woman announced, “Gentlemen, find your match. Whatever number I’ve given you, that’s the person you’ll meet first. When I tell you to start, you have exactly ten minutes. When I say ‘stop,’ you get up and move to the next number in numerical order. Do not skip. Do not linger. No backtracking, or you’ll be excused from speed dating.”

  Dang, why so many rules?

  A guy about my height, five-nine, sat in front of me. The waitress removed my drink from her tray, placed it on the table, and then went to the next table.

  “Start.”

  This guy did nothing for me. I smiled. “Hi, I’m Loretta, and you are?”

  “Donald. You’re pretty. Here are my three questions—Where’re you from? What do you like to do for fun? And what would you do for a living if money didn’t matter?”

  His questions were decent. I answered, “I’m from Houston. Born and raised.”

  Lord, please don’t let him be from Port Arthur.

  “For fun, I take my daughter to the park.”

  His brows stretched toward his hairline.

  “And if money didn’t matter, I’d be a concert pianist.” As a young girl I loved the piano. Sister Odom, the church pianist, could make it sing like a bird or holler the same as the preacher.

  “Okay, my turn. One, are you truly single? Two, did you come here looking for a woman to date or a one-night stand? And three, have you ever done time in jail?”

  He looked at his watch. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen anyone use a watch for time.

  Donald said, “I’ve never been to jail. I have had several one-night stands, but that’s not why I’m here. And yes, I am totally detached. I’m looking for the right woman. How about you?”

  I chuckled. “You could say that. Maybe.”

  “Stop.”

  Donald extended his hand. “We might have something in common. Nice meeting you, Loretta. Hope to see you after this is over. Just in case, here’s my card. Call me.” He didn’t wait for a response. Guess he didn’t want to get eliminated for lingering.

  The next three guys who sat at my table were well-dressed. Though I wasn’t interested in any of them, they all seemed nice enough for someone else. The fourth man was more feminine than I was. Down South, that didn’t mean he was gay, but he could be bisexual. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t remotely interested.

  Finally the man with the cowboy hat and boots had come back to me. He eased into the seat. His cologne greeted me.

  “Start.”

  He tilted his hat away from his face. “Hello, dear.”

  I picked up my purse and tossed thirty dollars on the table for my two drinks. Didn’t need any problems.

  Granville said, “Tell Madison I hope she likes the baby gifts I sent her for our child.”

  CHAPTER 44

  Tisha

  Friends should forgive.

  That was easier when we were kids. An argument here, a fight there—a week later we were playing together. We held no grudges. We could talk about one another, but no one else had better mess with one of us or they had to deal with all three. Back then, we had loving hearts that didn’t hold hatred. Even when we were mad, deep inside we cherished our friendships.

  Despite all that had happened, what Madison, Loretta, and I had was worth holding on to. Once again, I had to initiate our meeting face-to-face. Hopefully, in five or ten years, we’d forget the horrible events of the trial. Maybe we’d joke and laugh about it. There were less than four months left, but I couldn’t wait for this year to end.

  Lining my coffee table with a yellow cloth, I placed six small, heart-shaped silver trays for the hors d’oeuvres in a circle. The tips touched at the center. A beautiful unbroken heart was formed, symbolizing what I hoped we’d have today.

  I was serving bacon-wrapped scallops, beef skewers, popcorn shrimp, chicken fingers, raw vegetables, toffee-covered peanuts I’d bought from the Girl Scouts, and dipping sauces; and, of course, bottles of champagne were in the refrigerator. The food would take minutes to prepare once Madison and Loretta arrived.

  I wasn’t sure what made Loretta call me back an hour later to say she was on her way, but I was glad we didn’t have to wait three hours. Candles, bath fizz balls, scented soap bars, lavender lingerie packs, eye masks, cotton spa gloves and socks to make hands and feet extra soft, facial masks, and lip plumper were inside all three gift bags in the living room. I had to treat myself too.

  Madison probably had everything in the bag and more; but with one month to go, she could use it after she had her baby. Loretta more than likely didn’t have any of what I was giving her, but learning to relax between all that praying, which wasn’t working, might help her to become a better person.

  The doorbell sounded. I cheerfully called out from the kitchen, “Come in.” Hopefully, whichever one it was had heard me. If not, Madison or Loretta would eventually realize the door was unlocked. There was something that made friends and family feel entitled to enter the home of loved ones, making them turn the knob.

  “Tisha, we need to talk.”

  I took off my apron and placed it on the chair. Walking toward Darryl, I said, “Get the hell out of my house.”

  Instead of turning around, he stood still. His nose almost touched mine. I was not backing away.

  He said, “Our house. And I’m not leaving. I live here too.” Spit flew from his mouth and landed on my lips.

  I wiped it off. “Not anymore you don’t. Wherever you been laying up for the last year, go back.” I wanted to wipe his spit on him, but that would be too intimate.

  Darryl’s jaws dropped. His clothes were too big; his tennis shoes were dirty; a beard had grown in. He had that sour gym stench. “Where’s my boys?”

  I laughed. “Darryl, please. Stop yelling. Your breath stinks. Get out before I call the police. I’m serious.”

  “I stored my things in my mom’s garage and someone stole all of it—TV, clothes, video games, everything. I’m sorry, Tisha. Give me one more chance.”

  All the nice items I’d bought for him were stolen? Right. “You want another chance? To do what? Keep lying to me. Stay out all night. Treat your boys. Spend my money on your bitches.”

  “I don’t want those women, Tisha. I want my wife. My car needs a tune-up and I do too. Look at me.”

  “You’re not man enough to get your shit from your girlfriend’s house. You can’t even tell me the truth about that. You moved your stuff into her place, but she put your ass out, and then kept your things. I don’t blame her. Every woman isn’t going to put up with your lying and cheating.”

  “Ti—”

  “You don’t owe me an explanation. When you should’ve given me one, you didn’t give a damn! Thought you were the man. Never believed I’d put you out. Huh?”

  “That’s besides the point. You’re my soul mate. My high-school—”

  “If you need a place to stay, I can help you.” I picked up my cell phone and dialed Madison. “I’d like to report a home invasion.”

  “Darryl?”

  “Yes.” I recited my home address, then said, “I know the intruder. His name is—”

  Darryl threw up his hands. “Be like that,” he said, then left.

  “I’m on my way over,” Madison said. “Don’t hang up until I get there.”

  Standing in the doorway, I watched Darryl drive off in the car I’d bought him. Nothing about him was attractive. The man I once loved—vowed for better or worse—I couldn’t imagine any part
of his body touching mine. I didn’t hate him. I was done with him. I scrubbed my hand to wash off his saliva.

  Loretta parked in her driveway and walked over with Madison. After they were in the house, I locked the door, then gave each of them a hug.

  “Have a seat wherever you’d like. I’m going to put the appetizers in the oven and grab the champagne. Madison, do you prefer juice or water?”

  “Not today. I’m having what you guys are drinking,” she said.

  “Okay. One glass won’t hurt, but I’m not serving you two.”

  Surprisingly, no one had an attitude, but I sensed underlying tension. Madison was lounging on the chaise; Loretta was seated on the sofa. I filled our glasses, placed the bottle in the ice bucket, and then sat in the chair. In case I had to get up quickly, I didn’t recline.

  “Since I asked you ladies to come over, I’ll start. First I want to say, I miss you both. I’m not perfect. I’m not pointing any fingers or taking sides. Whatever I say is how I feel. Madison, you look beautiful pregnant.”

  I had to remember to take pictures before they left. We hadn’t done that in a while, and I had no pics of Madison pregnant. I did have three photo albums with identical layouts beside my seat. I’d put together one for each of us. All of our graduations from kindergarten through college were in chronological order. Birthday parties. Outings at the theme park we used to have in Houston. The front cover was a collage of our baby pictures. On the back was a picture we had taken at the Policemen’s Gala. We were all smiling and happy. That was right before Loretta had met Granville.

  I told Madison, “Thank you for not judging me for having an abortion, and thanks for being there for me.” Tears clouded my eyes. “I don’t have regrets, but I do have remorse.”

  Loretta gulped her champagne, then burped. No “excuse me”?

  “You need to repent,” Loretta said.

  “Loretta, the older we get, the less I understand you. I’m not going to bring up anything that you’ve done or didn’t do. You can tell us why if you’d like. Just know that I love you.”

  Loretta didn’t say anything. She sat there, staring at Madison.

  Madison said, “Tisha, if not for you, we would’ve stopped being friends after college. For real. Although you and I don’t go to church every Sunday, you are the most spiritual and forgiving person I know. Loretta, I don’t understand you, honey, and probably never will. But what I want is for you to tell me why you hate me so much. What have I ever done to you to make you feel that way?”

  Madison started rubbing her stomach. She hadn’t touched her drink. Maybe she just wanted it to sit there so she’d feel like one of the girls.

  Loretta exhaled. “I still don’t condone abortions. Tisha, if you believe I wronged you, God will judge us individually. What’s done is done. God don’t like ugly.”

  Madison and I stared at Loretta. She still didn’t get the purpose of our getting together.

  “You can lead a horse to water, but I didn’t make Madison have sex with Granville. But at least you kept the baby,” Loretta said, staring at me.

  I wanted to put Loretta’s ass out of my house, but that would . . .

  “I’ll be right back. I forgot about the food in the oven.” From the kitchen I yelled, “Madison didn’t say anything about Granville. She asked why you hate her so much. Answer that question please. I want to know too.”

  I raked the scallops on one plate, the baked chicken fingers on another, and did the same with the other food. I placed the baking pan on the stove, refilled Loretta’s and my glasses, then put an assortment on three small plates.

  “Thank you,” Madison said, taking her plate.

  I handed one to Loretta. “Thanks, Tisha.”

  Leaning back in my chair, I crossed my legs. “Loretta, why are you jealous of Madison?”

  She hunched her shoulders, nodded, and then raised her brows. Shaking her leg, she said, “I’m not.”

  “I might not have breasts at this moment, but I do have a heart. Loretta, you need a heart transplant.”

  I didn’t want to change the subject. I told Loretta, “Yes, you are jealous.”

  I was glad Madison had spoken up. Loretta must’ve thought cancer was going to destroy Madison. It hadn’t altered Madison’s attitude. She was still confident.

  “You’re sitting there, using the Lord’s name in vain. Tell us what you told the Lord when you came to the hospital and punched me in my face. I bet you won’t try that after I have my husband’s baby.”

  Loretta’s leg started shaking faster. She knew better than to act a fool in my house, because I would kick her ass.

  “We’re waiting for you to answer, Loretta.”

  “Okay, then why did you make the bet?” Madison asked. “Tell us that.”

  Loretta stared at Madison. “You’re not innocent. You don’t love Chicago. You left him for dead. I nursed him back to health. You should thank me. I’m indirectly responsible for saving your company, your house, and I’m the reason you got that new car. I—”

  “Bitch, that’s my husband. Mine! Not—”

  “Not for long,” Loretta interrupted.

  Madison looked toward me and started eating.

  I told her, “Don’t give Loretta the satisfaction.”

  “You still think this was a good idea?” Madison asked.

  The tone had to shift if we were going to get through the night without fighting. I picked up the albums. Handing Madison and Loretta theirs, I placed mine on my lap. “Let’s remember the good times.”

  Madison laughed. “I didn’t know I had a bad hair day in my life. Where’d you get this picture?”

  “Your mom gave me a copy. My mom didn’t have any before we were all five years old. I got a few from your mom too, Loretta.”

  Loretta slowly turned the pages.

  Madison laughed again. Louder this time. “Me in a playpen! No wonder I’m crying. Oh, Tisha, I forgot to tell you. I got a playpen, a car seat, and one of those luxury strollers today, but I have no idea who sent it. Did you?”

  I shook my head.

  Loretta finished her champagne and hurled her book. Pages scattered. The book hit the wall behind Madison. “Bitch!”

  “Not in my house.” She could’ve hurt Madison again.

  Madison sipped her champagne for the first time. “Why am I not surprised? Go home and pray and stay the hell away from me.”

  Loretta stood. “Your real future baby’s daddy sent all of that.”

  “You wish!” Madison sat her flute on the table, then scooted to the edge of the chaise.

  Friend or not, before Madison’s feet touched the floor, I got up and put Loretta’s ass out of my house.

  CHAPTER 45

  Granville

  “Wake up. I have a driver waiting for you downstairs.”

  I sprang to a sitting position, smacked myself in the face, and then started swinging. The stranger standing at the foot of my bed pointed a gun at me.

  “Who are you? I’m not letting you rob me, man. You’ll have to shoot me first.”

  “Get up, get dressed, and get your ass downstairs. You’ve got fifteen minutes. If you’re not downstairs by then, the driver will be gone, and you can let the police give you a ride. You’ll be going back to prison—this time to stay. And your brother will be joining you.”

  Police? I knew Beaux shouldn’t have messed with that gun. I went to my closet. Looking at the top shelf, I saw the shoe box was gone, yelled, “Fuck!” Then I remembered I’d moved it. I checked under my bed. It was there.

  Stumbling into the shower, I took three minutes. I skipped shaving and put on my jeans. I didn’t care much for the tennis shoes I’d put on. My feet looked like hammertoed claws from wearing cowboy and work boots all the time. Sometimes I wore open-toed sandals. A man was supposed to have rough dogs.

  The lock on my door was clean picked. No sign of forced entry. That was probably why I didn’t hear anything. When I got back, I was getting an alarm syst
em. I had to rethink that. If I moved in with Madison, an alarm would be a waste of money that I could spend on the baby.

  I left my second-floor penthouse. I trotted down to the black car, with the tinted windows. A man dressed all in black, with a chauffeur hat, got out and opened the door. I didn’t know why he had those dark sunglasses on. The sun hadn’t come up yet.

  Standing by the opened door, I asked, “Who are you, dude? Where are you taking me?”

  He didn’t say a word. I should’ve gotten my other gun, but I wasn’t trying to go back to jail. I wasn’t sure if it was there. I turned around. I’d take my chances at home. Two steps toward my penthouse, I heard a click. Stopped. Turned.

  Aiming at my head, this dude still didn’t say anything. Maybe he couldn’t talk? Perhaps he got shot in the neck like I had. If I was about to die, I might as well find out why. I got into the Town Car. He closed the door. The guy who had been in my house wasn’t in the car. The driver drove for about twenty-five to thirty minutes.

  Fuck! I forgot my cell.

  I could barely see the huge black iron gates parting. Maybe they weren’t black. It was too dark to tell when they closed behind us. I couldn’t lie. I was scared, but I kept my cool. Massaging my knuckles and loosening up my shoulders, I regretted not putting up a fight before getting into the car. Probably could’ve taken his gun and beaten him with it.

  The car door opened. “Get out,” he said.

  Well, at least he could talk.

  “Hey, buddy, what’s this all about?” I asked, standing in front of a place so big there was no way all of this was somebody’s house.

  “Follow me. And don’t try anything stupid. This place is surrounded by security.”

  Did he mean security cameras or were there really people hiding out? The wooden floor was shiny, but it wasn’t slick. Maybe that was ’cause I had on my rubber-soled tennis shoes. The chandelier was round, and had hundreds of crystals. If I lay on the floor and spread my arms and legs like a bear, if that thing fell, it would bury me alive. Two staircases? Show-off. Who needed two? They both went to the next floor.

  I walked behind this guy until we arrived in a room with the longest dinner table ever. Two, four, six . . . eighteen, and with the two chairs, one at each end, twenty people could eat here. The room was halfway lit. A high-back chair at the end of the table faced the wall.