Kweku’s face had gone from displaying a measure of inquisitiveness and concern to empathy. His suit jacket was off. His knees were digging into the seat of his chair, and he rested his chin contemplatively in the palm of his hand.
“So for a long time I was driving in circles,” I continued, “wound up on this idea that I was free anyway and I didn’t care where I was going. I was just free. And I didn’t know what I was free from ... It was like all this time I’d been riding up on the edges of my life with training wheels. And suddenly, I felt like someone had kicked them off. Kicked them off and kicked me down and dared me to ride again without them. It felt kind of good. And then—”
“That feeling ran out?” Kweku asked.
“Either that or you were out of gas,” Pete said.
“It was a little bit of both. I was on 20, headed east. My cell phone was in my hand and so many times I wanted to just call someone, but every person I thought I could call ... I just didn’t want to speak to anyone. I needed to be alone.”
Kweku stood up and went to sit in the empty seat beside Pete.
“After an hour, I ran out of gas, so I stopped at a little out-of-the-way gas station off the highway. There were two pumps and no credit card slots on the machines, so I had to go inside,” I said. “There was this old Hispanic woman working the register and after she swiped my card, she looked up at me and in the most surprising Southern voice said, ‘Too late for you to be on the road, hon. ’ I looked at my watch. It was only a bit after eleven. ‘We don’t have no place for you to stay here, but if you go about ten miles up the road, they got some fancy hotels where you can rest for the night. Cost you about thirty-five dollars,’ she added. ‘No, thanks, ma’am, ’ I said sweetly at the idea of a fancy hotel costing only thirty-five dollars a night. ‘I’m just passing through. ’ I took the card, pumped my gas and got back on the highway. By this time I’d decided maybe I was going to see Justin. I could call him when I got into the city in the morning and go by his place to make sure he was all right after the blowup at the house. Then, when the lights on the highway went from dull and sparse to bright and frequent, I started seeing these fancy hotels the old woman was speaking of. It was a clump of two-star inns with light that shone onto the highway. I thought of maybe stopping and as I tried to decide which one was the fanciest—the one advertising free Internet or the other with HBO—I wondered when the big hotels would come charging down 20 into Tuscaloosa. And then I remembered something.”
“What?” Kweku asked.
“A conversation Dame and I had once where he admitted he’d spent nearly a million in the past year at the Ritz-Carlton in downtown Atlanta. He had a big, fifteen-bedroom mansion with a pool, movie theater, and basketball court out in the suburbs of Atlanta, but he only stayed there when he had company. Otherwise, he said the house always seemed lonely and just too big. So, he spent most of his time in the penthouse at the Ritz-Carlton. It was in the middle of everything, the place was never quiet and it came with maid service.”
“I wish I had that kind of money,” Pete said. “I’d let my wife have the house and go live at the Days Inn!”
“Did you go to the Ritz?” Kweku asked as we chuckled at Pete’s remark.
“I sure did. But by the time I got into Atlanta and the time change switched from Central to Eastern, it was after two in the morning.”
“What happened?” Pete asked.
“I called the hotel for directions and after getting lost a few times, I ended up asking people on the street for help. And then when I pulled up outside of the place, my heart was beating so fast that I was sure I was about to go into cardiac arrest. The thought of him being so close, and me being so far and unable to touch him, made me ill. I was so nervous, so on edge.... I didn’t even get out of the car. I sat there for hours, thinking of what he’d say when he saw me—if he’d see me at all. If he cared. If I’d just walked out on my life for nothing. Then the sun came up and I was sitting in my car half-asleep and half-awake trying to decide what I was going to do next.” I wiped a tear from my cheek.
“The street sweepers came and went. People started walking up and down the sidewalks on their way to work. A couple of cop cars went by,” I remembered. “I realized then that everything was still changing. I’d been in that car for hours, stuck in this limbo in my mind—not knowing if I should move forward or turn back—but the rest of the world was still going. Even after everything had changed for me, the rest of the world was still moving. And I had to as well.”
“You left?” Peter sighed. It was as if we were both watching the same sad movie.
“No,” I said with a slight grin. “I got out of the car.”
Both Peter and Kweku were silent now. The two looked up at me leaning over the seat as if I was a film unfolding to the climax. Their eyes were wide and shiny. Their mouths just cracked open a little.
“I went into the lobby, sure I was going to be turned away, knowing there was no way the staff would just let me go up to the penthouse suite or even admit that Dame was staying there. But I had to see. At least try. I walked to the front desk, trying to remember my story—I was Damien Mitchell’s sister, visiting from Alabama. I wanted to see him. I was still wearing a pink church dress and heels from the graduation, so this was a believable tale. I didn’t exactly resemble one of the groupies from the club. ‘Can I help you?’ one of the receptionists asked cheerfully. ‘Yeah, I need—’ I started, but at my side, I saw a familiar profile trudge to the counter.”
“It was Dame!” Pete said triumphantly.
“No,” I said. “It was Naima. Her hair was everywhere and she looked like she’d just crawled out of bed. I was happy to see someone that could connect me to Dame and tell me I was in the right place, but then I realized it was Naima, a woman I knew wanted to be with Dame at his hotel at six in the morning. My mind leaped into suspicion. The Wiz Billie had talked about was already being uncovered. Naima stood there, fumbling with her purse. It was as if she couldn’t see me standing beside her. Or didn’t care to. ‘Naima?’ I said. She looked at me, grinned emptily and said nothing. But I could tell she knew who I was. ‘I’m looking for Dame,’ I added. ‘He’s gone,’ she said and then she looked at the receptionist. ‘I need a cab. ’ Naima locked her eyes on the woman, dismissing me. ‘Look,’ I said, laboring not to sound defeated, ‘I don’t know what kind of relationship you and Dame have, but I was just wondering... . I just needed to see him.’ Naima grunted and looked at me. ‘There’s no relationship. I pretended I was drunk and couldn’t drive home last night from the club, but he made my ass sleep on the couch. ’ She exhaled and looked down at her nails pensively. ‘Of course I tried.... But once again, all he could talk about was you... . Journey! Journey! Journey! Jesus!’ she added drily. ‘Really?’ I asked. ‘I thought he hated me ... that maybe he’d moved on. ’ Naima looked back up at me. ‘You try telling that to all of the women he’s been cutting off lately. It’s like a graveyard around here. ’
“Naima and I walked out of the hotel together. And while she was still working overtime to convey that she had no desire to be in my company, I could tell now that she was just a woman trying to get the attention of a man. I was learning that was how it could be sometimes. But I wasn’t going to let that faze me. And after melting Naima’s ice away, I was able to charm her into giving me Dame’s cell number. After telling me it was pointless to call because I’d probably already missed Dame, because he, Benji, and one of his assistants left to go to the airport at 5 a.m., she made it a point to warn me never to tell anyone about her Southern hospitality that morning. ‘I don’t make it a habit to help strangers,’ she said. ‘This is a cutthroat business and you get hurt if you don’t watch your back. But Dame’s a good guy. The most real I’ve met in the business, so you can consider this a favor to him—not you. If I can’t get what I want ... someone should. Tell him I said good-bye. ’ ”
“Naima is a good enemy,” Kweku said, getting up and coming back to our
row. “You need those.”
The flight attendants instructed us to return to our seats and buckle up in preparation for landing.
“So how did you end up in Ghana?” Peter asked, comically pushing his face between our seats.
“That’s the best part of the story,” I said. “It was an unexpected arrival and departure.”
PART THREE
See
Chapter Twenty-four
My senses just wouldn’t connect. They were scattered everywhere around me, trying to process every sensation and what the impression meant in my mind, but it was all just happening too fast for the rationale of my mind and body to keep up with the passion of my heart and soul. In there, in my heart and soul, was fluttering and bursting and amazement and all I could do was try not to let the sensations overwhelm me.
Naima was wrong. It wasn’t too late to call Dame. I knew this because I’d been listening to his voice on the phone for a while now as it led me to the airport and terminal where I could find him. And while I was just as excited to hear him speaking to me, sounding as if maybe his heart and soul were fluttering and bursting, too, this sound was nothing more than a rattling reminder of what I needed, what I wanted to see, to feel, to smell, to even taste. It was like a hungry person smelling food. Until I had the thing within me, the aroma was nothing but a reminder of what was to come.
I ran from my parked car into the terminal with the phone held loosely to my ear.
Inside of the terminal, there was ringing and talking, some laughing and chatter. The sweet smell of cinnamon buns from a bakery window in a corner of the circular waiting area wafted out to me. I could see people walking, holding hands, hugging, and saying hello and good-bye. I rushed from these circles, around and underneath to find my own, listening to Dame’s instructions along the way.
“I’m right over by the big palm trees in the middle of the waiting area,” he said. “I’m looking around for you. Are you over here yet?” I didn’t answer. I just kept looking and soon my eyes found the now familiar smiles of teenage girls. I followed their faces, one by one, along a line where they stood with their arms outstretched, holding cameras and rolled-up pieces of paper with pens clutched in the center. At the front of this jumbled line was Benji, big and menacing, meeting worthy adversaries in these young girls as he struggled to keep them at bay. I craned my neck a bit so I could see where their eyes were batting, yet Benji’s protection also guarded my view.
“You see me?” Dame asked.
“No,” I said.
“Wait.” I heard scrambling and what sounded like steps. “I’m getting up on a chair, so you can see me.”
The line of girls shifted back, and high up behind Benji rose Dame. His back was to me.
“Do you see me?”
“Yes!” I dropped the phone and rushed past Benji and the girls, who’d become more excited by Dame’s leap on the chair, and now other people were standing up and looking on.
“Well, where? Where are you?” Dame looked around and then, just as I arrived at the foot of the brown leather seat where he was standing, he looked down and saw me. Throwing away all caution, I followed the racing of my heart and jumped up on the chair next to him.
Without saying anything, we embraced and the world inside the airport lobby went into a panoramic slow spin around us. Nothing else mattered. All I could feel was my heart finally resting against his and his strong arms holding me close. Oddly, it was the most familiar feeling I’d ever known. And while the embrace was just fast enough for the starry-eyed girls to take only one or two pictures, it filled my spirit so much that it felt like forever. Through the corner of my eye, I saw a police officer running toward us.
“Why are you in Georgia?” Dame asked, looking at me.
“I’m going to have to ask you two to get down from there!” the police officer barked, now standing at the foot of the chair next to Benji and the girls, who were cooing and calling out for Dame.
“I left. Evan found out about everything and I left.”
“To come—”
“To you,” I said, finishing Dame’s statement, and quickly, his eyes flashed from being endeared to distant. “I know you’re probably still mad at me,” I tried, “and I’m sorry for what happened. You don’t have to forgive me, but I had to see you ... to let you know that—”
“Sir, ma’am,” the officer called, but neither Dame nor I looked at him.
“Give them a second,” I heard Benji say.
“To let me know what?” Dame asked me, his eyes still far away.
“That I—” I looked down at the girls and the officer, who were standing there as quietly as Dame now, waiting for my answer. “I ...” And I didn’t know quite what to say ... what to add ... how to express what I was feeling all inside of myself, and with each second the massive room seemed to grow more quiet with expectation. “I ... shit.” My eyes wide open, I wrapped my hands around the back of Dame’s head, pulled his face down to mine, and pushed his lips apart with my own, delivering a passionate and impetuous kiss that I led without reservation or care of what was going on or who was looking. I held my breath and pulled Dame’s into mine again, working his tongue so aggressively that I felt his body go limp. The sparks exploding between us were rivaled only by the flickers of cameras around the lobby.
“Damn,” I heard one of the girls say, and then there was the sound of cheering. When I finally let go of Dame—and it was I who had to let go—I looked down to see that the police officer and two others behind him were clapping and nodding along with everyone else. Behind them were men holding bigger cameras than the ones I saw before and the men looked less like travelers and more like paparazzi in their sweat suits and sneakers.
“You know this is going to be all over the news tomorrow,” Dame whispered under the noise as we continued to hold each other.
“Yes,” I said,
After Dame and I finally decided to get off the chairs after risking our lives messing with airport security, we were escorted to a private waiting area on the second floor of the lobby. Pushing through the crowd and past the photographers, I’d lost an earring and learned very quickly that the paparazzi’s flashing cameras are much closer than they appear on Entertainment Tonight.
Dame and I sat in a pair of seats before a huge one-way window that showed the floor of the lobby and I told him all about the People magazine picture and what happened with Evan. He kept apologizing for not telling me the pictures people took of him could end up anywhere and that he never intended to harm my marriage. But for me, the picture, while untimely and hurtful, represented the truth and I was old enough to know that at some point, the truth would have to expose itself. Just right then, I was happy it had. I couldn’t worry about tomorrow.
“Dame, we have to get to the gate; the flight’s about to start boarding shortly,” Emily said, coming toward us with her BlackBerry in her hand. She’d been standing next to Benji at the door.
“Shit,” Dame said.
“Where are you going?” I asked him, suddenly reminded that we were in an airport.
“Ghana,” Emily said before clicking on the phone to take a call.
“Ghana?” I repeated.
“Yeah,” Dame said. “I’m doing some studio work out there with a label. And I kind of needed a real break before I go on tour.”
“For how long?” I felt my heart cracking into bits like Dame and I had been together for years and he was suddenly leaving me.
“A month.”
“A month? You’re going away for a whole month?”
“Yeah ... Well, I requested more time and I’m working through some things with the label,” Dame said. “Hey, you can”—he looked at Emily and then back at me—“you can come with me.”
“Come?” I asked. “But I don’t... . I can’t go to Ghana.”
“Why not? You can come with me.” Dame’s eyes started dancing like we were being served a fat bowl of ice cream.
“I don’t have a tic
ket,” I complained, and he frowned.
“I can buy out the entire cabin if I want,” Dame said.
“Well, I don’t know anything about Ghana. I was just driving here to see you. I don’t even have my things.”
“Emily, I need you to get another ticket. Journey’s coming to Ghana with us,” Dame said and Emily looked at him like he was crazy.
“Really?” she asked, clicking the phone off.
“Wait,” I jumped in. “I can’t just go.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No,” Emily said. “She needs a visa and her shots to even get into the country.”
“You handle the visa,” Dame said. “Just call the ambassador in D.C. He owes me a favor after that benefit we did last summer.”
“Ooookay,” Emily answered, clearly weighing Dame’s order in her head. “Well, I’m sure I can get him on the phone.... But we might have to wait and get a later flight.”
“I don’t care,” Dame said, looking at me.
“And then we can handle the shots at the layover in Amsterdam.” Emily produced a pad and started writing this down.
“Shots?” I asked.
“You have to get a few shots to get into the country . . . yellow fever ... all this stuff. Wait, what am I talking about—” She slapped herself on the forehead.
“What?” Dame and I asked.
“The shots and the visa won’t matter if you don’t have your passport—not nowadays. There’s no way around that. They can’t even rush it.”
“Oh.” Dame sighed, and we all traded looks. She was right. There was no way around the passport thing. I sighed and felt an itch at my hip.
“Wait!”
“What?” Emily and Dame looked at me.
Something She Can Feel Page 29