by Dara Girard
Then she stopped, as a face began to form in her mind. No, she had been wrong. There had been, still was, one person who lingered in her mind nearly twenty years later. Drake Henson. Could he be the one her grandmother was referring to? Could she really dare to dream that big?
"You've thought of someone?" her grandmother said with a knowing smile.
Oh yes. Greta made a noncommittal sound.
"It may or may not be him. Keep your heart open. I want you to be happy."
Happiness with a man seemed like a foreign concept. Greta brushed the thought of Drake aside. "But I am--"
"Greta." Her grandmother grabbed her hand and gave her a fierce look. "You can lie to yourself, but not to me. Remember what I said. Keep your heart open. All men aren't the beasts you've made them out to be."
Greta laughed. "I don't think that."
"But you don't trust them."
No, she didn't trust them. But she also didn't need them. She had male colleagues. She was one of the few females in her department. They never looked at her with any personal interest and that was fine with her. "They never pay attention to me anyway," she said. But Drake had once. He'd been so kind. She remembered the deep island lilt he had when he spoke. In school, he always seemed preoccupied, almost otherworldly. She wondered what thoughts he had. His kindness didn't seem real. She'd never seen a young man so nice before. He never belittled her.
Once, when the teacher had announced the three top grades for an exam, she'd gotten the highest score. While other kids had sneered, he'd given her a brief pat on the back and said "Good job". It had been an absent, casual gesture, lacking any true intimacy, but it had been a crumb of kindness to a girl who'd been starving for affection. Unfortunately, it made her desperate for more. So desperate she'd made herself available to his younger brother, Eric, just to get his attention. At the time, Eric was much smaller than his older brother, he wore glasses like her, and was rather quiet. Her scheme hadn't worked. She'd given his brother his ‘first time’, and hers, and Drake still didn't know she existed.
It had been a new low for her. And it had scared her. She remembered that Minnie had come for a short visit, at that time, and had noticed a change in her.
“What’s going on wid you girl?” she asked as Greta helped her put away her clothes. She sat on the bed, watching her.
“Nothing." Greta opened a drawer and placed a top inside. She'd given her grandmother the room she shared with Brianna and Marlene. They would room with Rita while Greta would sleep on the couch. "I hope there's enough room here for everything you brought."
Minnie's keen gaze sharpened. “Someting different.” Greta knew when her grandmother spoke patois, it was an indication that she was either very relaxed or serious, and she didn’t sound relaxed.
Greta pulled out another top and kept her voice neutral. “What do you mean?”
“I’m too ole for games. I know when a girl becomes a woman. Look at mi."
Greta swallowed then turned.
"What you up to?”
Greta shrugged then saw her grandmother frown and knew she could see right through her and the thought terrified her. Her grandmother's opinion meant everything and she didn't want to disappoint her. She didn't want to do or say anything that would send her away. "I have my period, Minnie. That’s all. There’s nothing else going on.”
“Why you wearing your hair like dat?”
Greta touched her new hairstyle with trembling fingers, feeling bare and vulnerable. Since sleeping with Eric hadn't made a difference, she had been trying to fix herself up and change her image to get Drake to notice and like her. She desperately wanted him to see her, but he hadn’t noticed a thing. Unfortunately, her grandmother had. “I just wanted to try something different. Is that a crime?”
Minnie's frown increased. “Don’t try fi talk fast wid me Greta. That’s not you. Who you want to be? Your mother or yourself?”
She never answered her grandmother's question, but that very day, she’d gone back to pulling her hair back in a ponytail, and wearing her comfortable clothes, instead of wearing close fitting sweaters to show off her figure. She’d borrowed some of Marlene’s clothes, without her knowledge of course, but she had taken them off as soon as she got home because they made her feel so awkward she’d kept her jacket on all day.
After her grandmother’s visit, the thought that she could be just as much a user as her mother and sister had terrified her. She realized that she'd been too eager for male attention, just like them, but seeing where that kind of neediness could lead, she'd gotten over it fast. Greta promised herself that she would never use someone or be used. She'd be self reliant. After the fiasco with Eric, Greta focused on graduating from high school, going to college, and getting out of the city.
Men were not for her. She wasn't good for them and they weren't good for her. She vowed she’d never let herself become that susceptible again. Greta earned her undergraduate and master’s degree, then got an excellent job and bought her own house. Compared to most of her classmates, she knew she was a success. Several years ago she had been featured in a major national magazine and listed as one of a few black scientists making a name for herself in environmental issues. She had achieved most of what she'd dreamed of, except a family of her own.
Could Drake be part of her future? She didn't believe in true love, it only belonged in fairy tales. She hadn't seen it in her life. She'd seen it in movies and read it in books and listened to it in love songs, but that was all. She hadn’t, and didn't see true love being part of her life. But maybe, just maybe she'd see Drake again and ...
"I'll go" Greta said.
Minnie beamed. "Good. Go and have fun."
Fun. Greta thought back to her grandmother's words as she looked at a crude drawing on the bathroom stall. She laughed bitterly. She wasn't having fun. She shouldn't' have come at all. She'd placed too much hope on this night. She should have known better.
* * *
Greta had decided to go straight to the reunion after work. Before leaving her office building, she’d gone into the bathroom and changed. She’d selected to wear the only decent outfit she had in her closet along with a pair of leather two-inch heels she had bought for the occasion. Getting dressed up wasn’t something she was comfortable doing. At work, since she spent a lot of time working in the lab, she always wore a white lab coat. And, for day to day wear, she opted for comfortable, rather than stylish, shoes.
She let her hair out and spent time curling her shoulder length hair with a curling iron, unable to tame a shiver of excitement. Going to the reunion would be like going to the prom she never went to. Part of her wished she had a date or a friend to go with her to the event, but she was used to being alone, so she quickly dismissed the idea.
Greta entered the school, not surprised that the committee hadn't been able to rent a classy hall or glamorous ballroom for the event. She picked up her name tag, which was arranged alphabetically on a table off to the side, then turned and walked down the hallway and entered the cafeteria. The first thing she saw were gold and black streamers and balloons (their school colors) and several of the organizers rushing around making last minute preparations.
She didn’t know any of them, so she walked over to the side and leaned against a wall. She'd come too early. She'd never learned to be fashionably late nor did she know how to make an entrance. No one noticed her. Greta looked at her badge and saw they'd spelled her name wrong. GERTA. Oh well. It didn't matter, she looked forward to the evening and possibly seeing Drake again. She hoped he’d come. But as the evening progressed her hopes dwindled and then she saw him.
Chapter Two
He was just as beautiful as she'd remembered him. Grayer than she'd expected, but that didn't take away from his gorgeous amber eyes, smooth brown skin, and impressive build. She rushed over to him and squinted at his badge, pretending she was trying to remember who he was, although she didn't need to. "I don't believe it. Drake Henson?"
He sent her a wary look. "Yes."
She remembered that most about him. He was cautious with strangers. "You haven't changed a bit," she continued wishing she could get her racing heart under control. "You still look like you'd rather be somewhere else."
"Bad habit of mine."
"What's your name?" a female voice asked.
Greta paused. She hadn't noticed the woman standing beside Drake, although she should have. She was an attractive, full figured woman, with a kind smile. Greta tugged on her badge a little sheepish for being so single focused. She should have guessed he would have brought someone, she just assumed since he'd been a loner in high school that hadn't changed. "They misspelled my name. I'm Greta Rodgers. It's all right if you don't remember me."
"I remember you," Drake said in a warm voice that washed over her like a fresh spring breeze. He still had the voice she remembered so well, and it still made her skin tingle. "Physics whiz who played the clarinet."
He really remembered her? "Yep, that was me. I'm a physicist now. If the rumors are true, you're a successful restaurateur. Not too bad for our class." Of course she hadn't heard any rumors, she’d looked him up online.
"I didn't do it alone. Cassie's been my rock."
Her heart fell. "Cassie?"
Drake affectionately touched the woman beside him. "Yes, my wife. She helps me with the recipes, design, and a number of other projects and she also has her own job as a speaker. If you’re still single, and need a little confidence booster, you should think about attending one of Cassie’s seminars. They’re amazing. That's how we first met. Actually--" He stopped when his wife nudged him.
"Nice to meet you," Greta said, fighting to keep her voice light, although she felt like falling through the floor.
Cassie smiled with sympathy. "Likewise."
Cassie's sympathy made her feel worse. She didn't want to be pitied. Greta forced a grin. "Figures you'd be married. I'd hoped with all the divorces you'd be one of them." Greta felt heat steal into her cheeks, she didn't mean to sound that brazen. She needed to escape. "It was nice to see you again."
Drake frowned. "You don't have to leave. I could get you two ladies a drink and--"
"No, thanks," Greta said quickly. "I'd better go see who else I can recognize." She quickly turned and made her way over to the punch bowl, wishing it was a large brandy or whisky. Couldn't they even afford any liquor?
He was married. Not just married. Happily married. Greta felt like someone had ripped her heart out and squeezed the life out of it. What was worse was seeing the sympathy and compassion in his wife's eyes. Greta knew his wife could see that she still had feelings for Drake. How pathetic, to carry a crush for so long. Why couldn't he have been less attractive, or at least, less kind? He'd remembered her. It would have been easier if he hadn't. Greta watched Drake seek out Brenda Timmons, she had been their Prom Queen. No surprise. Men always did. No one sought her out. That was how it always had been and likely always would be. Why had she let her grandmother--a romantic--convince her that life could be otherwise?
Greta left the cafeteria and hid in the bathroom, where she'd been for the past ten minutes. She'd been such a fool to come. There was no one there remotely interested in her. A man from her past? What garbage. She'd set herself up. She was usually more practical. Harboring a crush for this long was juvenile. Drake could still make her knees weak and he was still blind to her feelings. She was pathetic. Greta knew she couldn't hide in the bathroom forever. She was about to open the door to the stall when she heard the bathroom door open.
"I know. She looked pathetic," a woman said. "Oh, and did you see Greta?"
Greta took a step forward to listen.
"Who could miss her in that retro dress?" her companion replied.
"She probably dragged it kicking and screaming from the 80's." They laughed uproariously.
"Heard she's a scientist or something."
"She'd have to have brains looking like that."
"And her tongue's still dragging on the floor for Drake."
They saw it too?!
"I know. You'd think she'd know better. He's way out of her league."
"Can't blame her, lots of girls had crushes."
"My god, did you see his wife?"
The other woman laughed. "A real porker."
"At least she's pretty and I hear he owns a restaurant or something. He'd need a woman who likes to eat."
"That’s probably the only way he can feed her."
Both women laughed.
Greta gripped her hands. It was high school all over again. No, it was worse. In high school, at least she had her dreams to sustain her. Now, she would soon reach forty without having achieved half of the things she had thought she would. Like winning a Nobel Peace Prize or curing a major disease. Instead, she'd spent most of her life supporting her mother, sister and niece. They were right, she wasn't a great dresser, but who cares? She didn't mind them making fun of her, she was used to it, but making fun of Drake's wife, Cassie, bothered her.
Greta walked out of the stall and the two women abruptly stopped laughing. She tried not to stare. She recognized them. The only reason she knew their names was because they had been the popular kids, and also among her tormentors. Chantal Gilmore, a former member of the dance team was a gaunt looking woman, wearing long false eye lashes, pink lipstick and a blonde wig or weave, Greta couldn't tell which. Her companion, Lanesha Charles, was on the chubby side. She was wearing a pair of enormous gold earrings and sported three party rings on each hand, and evidently thought that wearing a tight, black, lycra dress would make her appear slimmer. Unfortunately, the dress only emphasized her rolls. Greta knew they felt sorry for her, but she felt sorry for them. They were still stuck in the role of looking down on others in order to feel important. As she had done in the past Greta decided to ignore their remarks and be as pleasant as possible.
"Hi Lanesha," Greta said in a bright voice. "How many kids do you have?" she asked, knowing it was a safe topic of conversation.
"Three. You?"
"None, no surprise there, right?" She turned to Chantal. "Did you ever get into modeling?"
"I'm in retail now."
Greta held back a grin, briefly imagining Chantal working at a discount store folding shirts. "Great," Greta said with faint praise. "Well, bye." She dried her hands then left. She heard the two women burst into laughter.
It was best to just leave. There was no reason to stay. Greta grabbed her coat, walked out to the parking lot and got in her car and drove several blocks feeling her pent up energy begin to ebb. She had escaped. It was over and she'd never go back. She was turning down a street when she saw a tall man standing looking at his car's flat tire. He was in a bad place for a flat and he definitely had the wrong car--a shiny gold BMW. In that neighborhood it was like leaving fresh meat in front of a pack of wolves. He'd probably gotten lost, or tried to find a short cut to another part of the city. Hopefully he had a spare.
Greta pulled her car to the side and parked. It wasn't safe for him to be by himself until he got his car back in order. She crossed the street and walked over to him. He appeared bigger the closer she got to him. He may be lost, but a thief would be taking a risk to attack him.
"I'll find a pair of eyes for you while you change the tire," she said.
The man spun around. "A pair of eyes?"
Greta paused. He was younger than she'd expected, probably late thirties to early forties although the darkness didn't let her get a good look at him. "Yes, you need a pair, and fast, or you won't last a minute out here."
"I'll last," he said in a grim tone.
"That's some hot property. Did you get lost or something?"
"Or. Something."
Clearly he wasn't in the mood to be sociable, but that didn't bother her. Greta was used to surly male behavior. "Just give me a minute."
The man went to his trunk. "You could look out for me."
She laughed. "I don't have that kind of power."
She glanced around then saw a male figure across the street. He had a body like a slinky--wiry and flexible--with a bouncy walk, as if he was always ready to run. High Flyer. She knew him. She was in luck. "Don't move. I'll be right back." Greta darted across the street.
Rita had made her very aware of the different dealers in the city. High Flyer was a man she'd become acquainted with, through a friend of her mother's. He'd gotten his nickname because he was a drug dealer to the upper crust of DC society. He never had to go to them, they came to him. She knew that many of his associates lived in the area, although few knew where he lived. He had a code, which she respected, and which made him a man with a lot of reach and connections. She walked up to him. "I need a favor."
High Flyer stared at her surprised then shook his head. "Sweetness, you know I don't work this side. I don’t need no trouble."
"I know, but--"
"However, lead the way, Sweetness, I'll make an exception. How high you wanna fly?"
"I don't want that."
"What’s up then?"
"I need eyes on a car. I'll make it worth your while."
"What kind of wheels we talking ‘bout?"
Greta nodded to the BMW.
High Flyer gave a low whistle. "That’s gonna cost you."
"I know." Greta handed him a fifty dollar bill.
"That gets you ten." He pulled out his cell phone and started to dial.
"Ten?"
"It shouldn't take more than ten minutes," he said, looking at the well dressed man lift a spare tire and jack out of the trunk of his car.
"But--"
He turned away and spoke into his phone. "Yea, I got a watch job. Yea, you see it too? I know. But don’t touch and make sure no one else does. Good." He put his cell phone away then turned to Greta. "Done."
"Thanks."
"I've got some info for you. It's ’bout Rita."