“I believe I can manage to scrum up some fire for you, Purpose.”
Purpose. Damn, that was poetry the way he said it. But again, I couldn’t let on how much I was moved by him.
I said, “Arrogant.”
“Confident,” he replied.
His gaze kept falling on my breasts. He’d quickly look away, to his credit. But he wasn’t sly. I said, “Horny.”
“Smitten,” he volleyed back at me.
Okay. I could keep going.
“We wouldn’t work. I hate rap,” I told him. “My tastes lean toward R & B. Old school R & B.”
“Told you I love all kinds of music,” he said. And then that dazzling smile crossed his face again. “In fact, I got kicked out of Catholic school because I thought the holy trinity was Aretha, Gladys and Patti.”
Despite myself, I laughed. “You’ve got all the answers.”
“A few I don’t, Jacqueline.”
“Which are?”
He ticked them off with fingers I noticed belonged to strong hands.
Where did I live? Would I go out to dinner with him? Where to?
He paused at that point, looked at me deeply, asked, “And since I’m somewhere between arrogant and confident, horny and smitten, I’ll just throw it out there. Could any man make love to a woman such as you and not be changed for the better? That’s one I’d really, really like to find out. I have my ideas, though. What do you think, Jacqueline?”
I placed the Toni Morrison novel back on the shelf.
I didn’t need her words any longer.
His words were molten lava, hotter than anything I’d ever heard or read.
I told him where I lived and, “I’d love to go out to dinner with you. Italian, ’cause a sistah needs some chicken parmigiana in her life.”
“You didn’t answer the most important question, Purpose.”
The question about making love to me. I didn’t want to go there with him right then. Too much sex talk and he’d be in my bed before the clock struck midnight. And I was trying my very best not to be Sinderella on the first day.
I said, “I don’t even know your name.”
He took my hands in his, leaned down so he could look me in the eyes. “You’ll know it soon enough, Purpose. Jacqueline. Because my last name will be yours one day.”
I blinked and swallowed.
He said, “Can we go somewhere and be alone?”
I managed, “I don’t even know your name.”
I was a broken record.
He smiled and sealed the deal with, “My name is Todd. Todd Darling.”
Before the clock struck midnight I was Sinderella. And I wasn’t ashamed of myself, either. Something that felt so good just couldn’t possibly be wrong.
An awful lot of blood, it felt like I was drowning in it. My flow was much heavier than usual. Cramps had my stomach in a tight knot. I hated blood, especially when it was coming from moi. I hated my period. And that one had snuck up on me. A lot of things had been catching me off guard. I’d been walking around in a half daze, overwhelmed with newlywed bliss. Even my job was tenuous at that point. Before I got married I put in twelve hour days on a regular. After my nuptials, I struggled to do eight. I was the supervisor of Accounts Payable at my company, and so I set the tone for everyone. The department was suffering under my leadership. My boss had already sat me down for two powwows. My performance was “sub-standard,” he told me, and needed to be corrected “yesterday.” I didn’t care. Todd was the only thing that mattered to me.
In Todd I trust.
If I lost my job, I knew he had my back, had our back. He could go back to work in a heartbeat, halt on writing his academic tome and get back in the field. Todd was an ecologist. He’d taught the study at several universities, then eased out of that around the time he met me. His dream was to write a user-friendly book on the topic, something that would appeal to teens, spur them to study ecology at the college level. Todd had such passion for it. He made all that talk of “combating the aldegids destroying the hemlock trees in the region by releasing sasjiscymnus tsugae into the Delaware Water Gap” sound like some damn Maya Angelou or my honey Luther. My fool ass spent more time at work surfing my office computer for ecology stuff than actually working.
I wanted to learn everything I could about ecology, how to spell and pronounce all those big words.
“Those aldegids don’t stand a chance, baby,” I remember telling Todd one night, “once you sock the tsugae on ’em.”
Yep, I actually said that. And that brother loved me down that night, too. I swore I died and got a shopping spree at Tiffany’s. Todd tapped it so good I thought he’d channeled Gregory Hines from the dead.
I floated on that level of bliss home one day, early. I had to take a half day because of my period. I’d ruined my sky-blue thong-cut panties. They’d go in the trash and I’d have to put on my hideous period drawers. They were puke-green, uglier than Jimmy Walker, but they performed their purpose admirably.
I made a few stops after work despite my situation. A CVS pharmacy and a restaurant around the corner from my job for a Cuban sandwich to go.
My period was kicking my ass. But I was a fighter.
God definitely had a sense of humor. Menstrual period, my ass. I’d love to see a man deal with the cycle month to month, the only reprieve coming either nine months after his sperm and some female’s egg got busy or when he was knee-deep in Ben-Gay. That’s it, pregnancy or menopause. Men would be on picket lines behind that mess. Hell no, we won’t flow. Can you imagine it? I could.
Despite it all, I walked into the door of our condo with a smile on my face.
I called out, “Todd?” as I slipped out of my shoes at the door. There was a slight chill in the air, so I had on a light coat, as well. I slipped out of that, too, making sure to hang it neatly on the coat tree in our foyer. Todd was neat and organized. In the short time I’d spent with him, I’d picked up those traits, as well.
“Baby?”
Normally when I came home he’d be at the kitchen table, piles of papers in front of him. Ballpoint pens, yellow notebook tablets all over the table. He wrote longhand first and then transcribed to computer later, he’d told me. Oftentimes he’d have a jazz CD playing softly in the background.
The house was quiet. I moved to the bedroom. I gasped when I walked in.
We had two huge walk-in closets. He kept his neat suits in one; I kept my Imelda Marcos-like collection of shoes and all my designer clothes in the other.
The doors to both closets were open.
I could see white wall on his side. Empty. Todd’s suits were gone.
I made a few frantic calls to his cell. Got a disconnected line each time.
I paced the floor. Bit my nails. Thought.
Couldn’t come up with any explanation. Todd hadn’t left a note. He hadn’t left anything. Not even his scent. He’d scrubbed the bathrooms, mopped the kitchen and wiped down all the counters. He’d done laundry, too. Our bed sheets and pillow covers. His scent was gone from them.
I sat on the floor with the cordless phone in my hand.
Right in the nook where the wall bended.
My sniffles were soft, the trickle of my tears easy.
Before five o’clock, the phone rang. Had to be Todd, no one else called.
I picked up hurriedly. “Hello?”
“Jacqueline Darling?”
“Yes.” I didn’t recognize the voice.
“My name is Evelyn Joy. I work in Human Resources…”
My job. My brain went fuzzy. It wasn’t Todd.
“…wanted to change the time I originally scheduled and meet with you tomorrow in the a.m., nine instead of eleven,” Evelyn was saying.
I managed, “What?”
“We’d like to meet with you tomorrow morning at nine instead of eleven. I called you earlier and scheduled for eleven.”
“Why didn’t you call me at work? I was there this morning?”
She hesit
ated, then, “I was going to leave you a message at home.”
“We don’t have an answering service.” No one called, it wasn’t necessary, and Todd was home during the day working on his book.
“I spoke with your husband,” she said.
“And told him what?”
She said, “Who I was and that we wanted to meet with you tomorrow.”
“You still haven’t told me what for.”
“We’ll discuss the details in—”
I cut her off. “Am I being terminated?”
“Mrs. Darling, I—”
Again I cut her off. “Am I losing my job? You might as well tell me now. I’m really considering not making it to that meeting tomorrow.”
“That wouldn’t be a good idea, Mrs. Darling. I’m trying my best to be reasonable with you.”
“If you were in my situation,” I said, “would you want to walk into that meeting and get blindsided? Please tell me what’s going on.”
There was a long chunk of silence.
Then she said, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Darling. I did not want to conduct this over the phone. The company has decided it is in our best interests to sever—”
I clicked the phone off. Waited a few minutes to gather my composure.
Then I dialed my bank to check for a balance on my accounts. I was going to need money to make it. Todd was gone to who-knows-where. I was suddenly jobless. So many emotions were going through me. I was being hit from all sides at once. But I was practical above all. Money, that’s what I needed.
I clicked off again after getting my balance from the bank.
Practicality went out the window. My sniffles turned to sobs. My easy tears became tears that racked my body. The bottom had fallen out from under me. And I’d never seen it coming. And I didn’t know why it was happening to me, a good soul and a good woman.
The automated voice from the bank was stuck in my head.
Zero balance.
CHAPTER 7
DAWN
I used to dream in color. While asleep or awake, it didn’t really matter.
Vibrant colors, lots of purples and oranges and pinks and blues and lime-greens. Each color had a musical note attached to it. Life was good, then. Not perfect, but good. I was content, happy. It’d taken me many years to get over the deaths of my parents. I missed Clarence and Jo Min so much I couldn’t put a word on that kind of pain. But eventually, day by day, the pain eased a bit more. Tanya and I didn’t talk hardly at all, I didn’t have a man in my life, friends weren’t something I wished for, and yet my dreams were in color.
Life was good, then. Not perfect, but good.
It seemed to move toward perfect, though, about two years ago. Seemed to. It was a short time before my doctor’s voice softened in sympathy and he avoided direct eye contact, and so I lived life and did things then the way I always had. I drove at night, for example.
I was at a Pathmark grocery store the day my life started moving toward perfect. Pathmark was open twenty-four hours. It was just past midnight. I liked shopping late. The store was mostly empty except for a few cashiers and a couple young boys stocking shelves. I moved from aisle to aisle, singing.
At the time I was contemplating vegetarianism, so I had a can of sweet corn in my hands, rolling it around like dice as I read the label, singing softly to myself. I was in my own little world.
I heard, “Lovely,” which made me jump.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
I turned in the direction of that rich baritone voice. The can of sweet corn slid from my hand. It hit the ground with a metallic thud. Mr. Baritone picked it up for me, noticed the dent, reshelved it and handed me another. I had to work to make my arms move. I had to work to take the can from him. It was proving difficult. I hadn’t been touched by a man in close to a year at that point and it hadn’t mattered to me. Until that moment.
He was handsome in a way that stole your breath. He smiled at me and my legs turned to water. I noticed a scar in his eyebrow. It had long since healed, but I wanted to rub aloe on it and bandage it and kiss it. I wanted to touch him. And I wanted him to touch me.
I finally got my arm to move and took the can of sweet corn. “Thanks.”
He said, “I shouldn’t have interrupted.”
“Interrupted?”
“You were doing your thing, baby. Singing the hell out of that song.”
He called me baby. It sounded so good to my ears. I could get used to it.
He said, “Tell me you sing professionally?”
I waved off his praise, played modest. Told him at most it was a hobby.
He moved closer. “‘Beat Out Dat Rhythm on a Drum.’ You sang it better than Pearl Bailey herself.”
I hunched my eyes in surprise.
He caught my gesture, shrugged. “Carmen Jones, right?”
I nodded. Pearl Bailey played Frankie in the movie. “Beat Out Dat Rhythm on a Drum” was her signature song. I was twenty-eight then, I recognized I’d have to live another twenty-eight years before I met another man that knew that song.
He had me. I tossed aside the notion of vegetarianism. I wanted meat.
He said, “You’ve got some Dorothy Dandridge in you, too.”
Dorothy was the lead in Carmen Jones. She was beautiful. One of the first beautiful black actresses. Gorgeous enough that white men wanted her so much they let it be known, even in those blatant racist times. Halle before Halle. All these years later, Halle had actually played the role of Dorothy Dandridge in a movie about her life.
I said, “I wish.”
“No. I’m serious. You’re absolutely beautiful. In a classical way, too. You’ve got a nice presence about you. Beautiful eyes. You’re flawless…?”
It took me a moment to realize that pause meant he wanted my name.
I said, “Dawn…Dawn Daniels.”
He smiled. “DD. Same initials as Dorothy Dandridge. That settles it.”
I smiled, too. Everything had fallen into place for him to seduce me. Not that he needed divine help. He was smooth as a ride in a BMW on his own.
Brazen, I asked, “Okay, Mr. Smooth, what’s your story? Married but still looking? Divorced and not over it yet? Gay but need a cover?”
He replied, “Single and prepared to mend the heart of a sister with a soul turned cynical because of the stupidity of some brother.”
I swallowed. “You know stupid-ass Walter, huh?”
Walter had been the last man to touch me. I’d told myself he’d be the last that ever would. Promises were meant to be broken, I guess.
“I know Walter’s type. Dudes that don’t have the sense God gave them.”
My daddy used to say that. One of his favorite phrases actually. The sense God gave you.
I said, “What’s your name?”
If he’d have said Clarence I wouldn’t have been surprised. He reminded me of my daddy. I loved my daddy.
He said, “I’ve got good news for you, Dawn Daniels.”
My heart was beating out a rhythm on a drum. I asked, “What’s that?”
He moved even closer. I could smell his cologne. Not too much, just a dab. It was heaven on his skin. He looked me deep in the eyes and announced, “My last name is Darling. So you get to keep your initials.”
It took me a moment. I said, “That a proposal?”
He smiled. “Let’s start with dinner. You can pick the restaurant.”
I looked around the grocery store, considered something, and then turned back to him. “Let’s head over to the meat section. I’ll figure something out.”
He smiled. “A private dinner. Even better.”
I said, “Can’t believe I’m about to do this.”
He said, “Terry.”
“Excuse me?”
“Told you my last name was Darling. Didn’t tell you my first. I’m Terry.”
I was moving so fast I’d forgotten that detail.
I said, “We’re moving too fast.”
; He smiled. “I’d like to think we’re moving too slow.”
He was handsome beyond words, so I didn’t disagree.
I was in the living room crying softly when Terry came in from his afternoon run. We’d been married just a few short months at that time. My husband was tireless in his efforts to strengthen his bad left knee. He’d been a referee in the NFL for four years, but lost that steady paycheck with a bad step on the hard ground of Lambeau Field. Torn ACL, an injury every athlete feared. Terry’s eyes misted when he showed me a get-well card signed by Brett Favre, quarterback for the Green Bay Packers. Football was Terry’s passion. I knew the pain of losing something you loved and so I worked long long hours selling houses while Terry worked equally long hours trying to regain the mobility and strength in his knee. He appreciated my efforts, told me he’d pay for me to record a demo, get my singing career jumping, after he got back in the NFL. In the meantime, I sold those houses. But selling houses was a night game.
My tears in our living room were because the night was no longer a friend.
Terry paused when he noticed me on the couch. He wiped the sweat from his brow and moved slowly over to me. I was plopped down on the couch. He sat on the arm and touched my shoulder. His touch made my tears come faster.
“Tell me about it, Dawn.”
Hearing him say my name comforted me some. I’d been having vision trouble. Funky things were happening with my eyes I couldn’t pinpoint. I’d went to see a specialist that day. I’d left that morning resigned to the fact I’d need glasses. I’d go with contacts, though. I was vain and knew it, accepted it.
“Dawn?”
I choked out, “Retinitis pigmentosa.”
Terry immediately pulled me into an embrace. My tears blended with the sweat on his T-shirt.
I said, “What are we gonna do?”
“You can’t drive at night now, I know. But it isn’t the end of the world.”
Terry knew something about everything. It amazed me. I hadn’t even told him the restrictions my just-diagnosed eye disease would put on my life.
He said, “Watch this,” and bent his knee. “Much better, right?”
I nodded.
“God closes one door, opens another. I’ll take care of everything, Dawn.”
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