Frost on My Window

by Angela Weaver

  “Who are you? Who gave you my name and why are you looking for Rena?” I looked up at the large black man with the Caesar haircut and thick roped gold chain.

  He looked astonished at my questions and I couldn’t fathom why.

  “The name is Nine and everything else don’t matter. All you need to do is tell me where Rena’s at and I’ll get outta ya way.”

  If he’d moved, I would have turned and run down the street, but he just stood there on the sidewalk watching me with a strange sort of pleading look on his face. I glanced at the black Lincoln Navigator double-parked on the street. The vehicle held two occupants who seemed to be studying me as intently as I looked at them.

  “Rena is out of town.” I looked Nine in the eye.

  He sighed. “I know that. Can you tell me where she and Nina went?”

  I shook my head and lied. “I don’t know.”

  “You trying to tell me your own cousin up and left without telling you where she went?”

  “She left in a hurry.”

  I watched as all his earlier confidence seemed to vanish, replaced by fear. “Look, Ms. Russell. I don’t mean to cause you any trouble. I just need to talk to Nina. Tell her I’m sorry. I was just drinkin’. I didn’t know,” he said hurriedly.

  “I’m sorry but I really can’t help you.” I’d given my word to Rena and nothing could make me break it.

  His shoulders slumped and he turned away. I watched as Nine got into the passenger side of the Navigator and the car drove away. The fear I’d seen in the boy’s eyes stayed with me as I entered the apartment. Shaking off the incident, I closed the door, making sure to turn the deadbolt. Simba lay on the windowsill, and, as I bent down to take off my shoes, I heard a thump and the pitter-patter of feet on the floor.

  The cat brushed himself across my legs and unthinking I scooped him up into my arms and carried him over to the sofa. I needed to hold something, feel something. The fear in Nine’s eyes as I mentioned Rena’s quick departure bothered me. Not even the thought of Rena’s coming home would erase the blue/black bruise I knew I’d see on my arm in the morning.

  Even after I’d showered and changed into my pajamas that night, I still had knots in my stomach. All I could think about were the challenges I’d faced getting through school and paying my dues as the only black woman in a division of two hundred. As I looked into the mirror while brushing my teeth, I couldn’t see my own reflection. Instead, I saw the room filled with students. I saw their eyes as they watched me. I could see the effect of my answers wash over their faces and I wanted to take that picture they had of me, the one where I stood alone at the top of the world with my legs wide planted across the North Pole. I wanted to take that image, that Strong Black Woman image, and light a match under it. See that old lie, the black woman’s honorary title, burn.

  I curled up in the bed with their awed faces in my mind. The truth swirled like bitter wine in my stomach. It was all a lie. Just another mask I wore during the day and took off the moment I set foot in the apartment. I didn’t want to be strong. I didn’t want to be admired by those women sitting and drinking their bottles of Evian while dreaming of conquering the business world.

  The truth was that I wanted to be loved. To hell with fighting for a place in corporate America. I’d rather have a wedding ring on my left hand. SBW: Successful Black Woman. More like Selfish Black Woman. I wanted it all. The great husband, the good kids, the nice house, and Disney World vacations. I wanted all the love, care, comfort, companionship, security, and happiness I could get out of life. I wanted that special someone to take care of me, love me, protect me, fight for me. I wondered how much of my soul I’d have to sacrifice to get it.

  * * *

  I looked at Sean in puzzlement as the car came to a stop in front of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I was playing hooky for this? Although I loved the idea of spending time wandering through art-filled corridors with Sean, the last place I wanted to be on a beautiful Friday afternoon was a building packed full of tourists, teenagers, and elementary school kids.

  “The museum?” I asked. We’d been to such places before, but I’d never seen Sean so excited.

  “Trust me.” He held out his hand and I let him assist me out of the car. The smell of popcorn rose on the breeze from the stand on the sidewalk. The warmth of the sun on my skin was a pleasant shock after the artificial air conditioning of the car.

  Sean held my hand as we entered the building and I watched as he flashed a card at the entrance attendant. As we headed towards the back of the museum through the Egyptian collection, I heard the first note of music. The echo of drums filled the space. I blindly followed Sean as we entered the Sackler Wing. The large, open courtyard with a glass wall looking out over Central Park was a beautiful room, but today it was breathtaking.

  I was entranced. All I could do was gaze around the open space and windowed courtyard. Sunlight poured through tall windows, cascading over the Temple of Dendur. The small Egyptian temple had been donated to the Metropolitan Museum back in the 1960s. Through high arched windows I saw trees and people strolling through the park. I took a deep breath and the lush sweet smell of orchids filled my nostrils. I shook my head and looked over at the front of the temple. All I could see was the blur of moving dancers. Around me people had begun to take their seats.

  “The show just started. Why don’t we take a seat?” Sean suggested.

  I settled down beside him on the cool metal chairs and watched the white-clothed dancers weave amongst the flower arrangements. The men and women moved with such a light grace that they seemed to skate across the floor. Intricate islands of orchids and vines had been set up around the tall palm trees. I leaned against Sean and settled in with his arm resting behind my chair. I was so into the dancing that it wasn’t until near the end I noticed the rhythmic movement of Sean’s fingers on my shoulders.

  “Did you like it?” Sean’s voice startled me from my reverie. I had been so caught up in the music and the dance I didn’t realize that it was over. We stood up and joined the rest of the audience in clapping. As people milled out, Sean and I stood near the side. I stretched, hoping to wake up my numb behind as he adjusted his baseball cap.

  “Can we go up to the temple and look at the flowers?” I asked.

  He smiled and grabbed my hand. “I don’t see why not.”

  “How did you find out about this event?”

  “My banker’s with Merrill Lynch. I was talking to Jim this morning and he mentioned that they were sponsoring this little event and I thought you’d be interested.”

  “You’re right. This was great.”

  “It’s not over yet.”

  I looked at him in surprise, wondering what he meant by that comment. Before I could ask I lost my train of thought to the aroma and sight of the flower displays.

  We walked past flowers of every color and size. The beautiful multi-colored orchids were displayed in a wonderful array of pink, green, raspberry, yellow and orange petals nestled in green oval leaves. Each of the different orchids seemed to complement the other in color and fragrance. We paused and stared at exotic rich purple, maroon and blue blooms with banded or speckled green leaves.

  We ended up finishing our walk outside in the park. Sean stopped and leaned against a tree. I stood next to him enjoying the breeze. The moment reminded me of Los Angeles.

  In the fall when Exile was taking a break from playing, Sean and I drove to California parks and sat out under trees and watched the kids playing. He’d urge me to join in the fun and play Frisbee. Sometimes we would spend the afternoon playing soccer.

  “Did I tell you I bought a new car?”

  “No, what’d you get?” I inquired, not surprised one bit.

  “It’s going to be a charcoal gray BMW, four-door, but it looks sporty.”

  “Going to be?” I asked, puzzled. Sean was one for instant gratification, and with his bank account he could afford it.

  “I haven’t really seen it yet. I
ordered it off the Internet last night.”

  “You ordered your car online? Let me guess, the dealership was closed?”

  “Well, yes, but I was looking at the BMW website and they have this service so that I could have the car custom built. I picked out the insides and everything,” he said with a child-like glee.

  I sighed, but couldn’t help smiling. “You have got to be kidding.”

  “No, I’m not. I can go online and check on the status. They even emailed me a picture.”

  “Along with a fat bill, of course.”

  “Would you believe me if I said I got a discount?” He grinned.

  “Hmmm…No,” I teased.

  “Would it make you feel better to know that 10 percent of the proceeds from Exile’s tour is going to be donated to the Cancer Society?”

  “You’re a wonderful guy, Sean.” I turned and gave him a big hug. He’d managed to take my mind completely off my problems.

  I watched his nose wrinkle as though he smelled something fishy and then a light blush spread to his cheeks. “I’m not a saint, Leah,” he said, holding me close.

  “I know.” I smiled up at him, winking devilishly through my sunglasses. “You’re selfish and you’re a bully.”

  “Who told you that?” he asked.

  “Fox.” Fox was Exile’s lead bassist. The six-foot-five musician had the build of an ex-bodybuilder and a heart of gold.

  “And you believed him?” Sean rested his hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes. I could see his lips twitching, trying to resist the urge to laugh.

  “I believe that you took the man’s last pint of Guinness.”

  “So he told you about that, huh? I like getting what I want. You can’t blame a man for taking the last can of beer.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “I’m wounded.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  He laughed and grabbed my hand, pulling me behind him as a teenager on roller blades whizzed by.

  “That was close,” I commented.

  “Yes, it was. I don’t know about you but I’m kinda hungry.”

  “I could use a bite to eat. Got any ideas?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” He looked at his watch.

  “You’re wearing it,” I exclaimed excitedly.

  He glanced up at me, surprised, and then held the watch up to show me. “I always wear it.”

  “I’m just surprised you haven’t lost it yet.”

  “Not a chance. You know me so well that it’s hard to remember a time when you weren’t in my life.”

  I’d given the G-Shock watch to Sean as a joke. He’d somehow managed to lose or misplace two Rolexes in the space of two months. I’d seen the black rubber digital watch in the mall while I was shopping one afternoon and impulsively bought it, thinking that there was no way Sean could misplace something that large.

  I blushed slightly and shook my head. “You must have one short memory then,” I joked.

  “Hmmm, I remember the look on your face when I dropped by your place six months ago. The mud masks you and Rena were wearing were unforgettable.” His eyes widened in a look of pure terror. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so surprised,” he said, smirking.

  “Well, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh so hard,” I commented.

  “I almost choked to death.”

  “Serves you right for just dropping in.” I pinched him on the arm and he shook his head. I couldn’t do anything but laugh as Sean put his arm around my shoulders and turned to walk back towards the waiting car.

  * * *

  “I almost walked by the place the first time I was meeting some co-workers for dinner and drinks last month.” I stepped in front of Sean as he held the door open.

  The host, who was dressed in a trademark indigo blue button-down dress shirt, greeted us warmly at the front door of the upscale restaurant. The after-work crowd had yet to settle into the high cushioned burgundy chairs around the bar. The smell of roasting meat drifted through the brick-lined room, circulated by black and gold ceiling fans.

  “You told me once that this was one of your favorite restaurants,” Sean said as he placed his hand on my lower back and politely guided me towards the back of the restaurant.

  I smiled, more than a little surprised he remembered. The Shark Bar, a hideaway nestled between the busy streets of Amsterdam and Broadway, was a place that Broadway actors, sports stars and media-weary entertainers stopped in for a quiet meal. I saw recognition and curiosity on the faces of some of the patrons as Sean and I walked up the stairs and entered the dining area. Its yellow walls and low lighting provided an intimate setting.

  “Come here often?” Sean asked as we settled down into the back booth.

  “This is my third time,”

  “It’s nice. I like it.”

  “Not too down-to-earth for you?” I teased.

  “You know me better than that,” he chided while flipping a lock of hair out of his eyes.

  I picked up my water glass as my mouth suddenly went dry. Sean was staring at me. I looked into his eyes and they were the same dark green, but different. The warm affection reflected there made my breath catch in my throat. Picking up the leather-bound menu, I stared blankly at the menu choices, feeling somehow saddened. Sean’s look wasn’t for me.

  I concentrated on other things after the waiter came to take our order, and a mutual silence fell over our table. That was the thing between us. Sometimes we didn’t need words. The silence seemed to hold all our thoughts and reflections. There had been many evenings when we sat for hours by Sean’s pool without saying a word. We would both just gaze at the rippling water and breathe. Some Sundays Sean would just sit with a pen and pad furiously writing while I sat in a reclining chair sipping lemonade and typing away on my laptop.

  I never felt as though I had to say something witty or fill the time we spent together with my problems or lack thereof. So I sat back and took in the ambiance of the moment. The smooth rhythms of jazz seemed to delicately cover the clatter and tinkling of glasses and silverware, the murmur of voices. The corner booth we sat in was shaded by pulled back plum velvet curtains.

  When we left the crowded restaurant after dinner, a light summer rain had just begun to fall. Sean and I paused, looking at one another, before we jumped into the waiting car. I could tell that he was remembering one of our nights out in L.A.

  I’d never thought of rain as something beautiful until I met Sean. One night after too many memories, laughter, and food, we walked down a small avenue in L.A. huddled together under my umbrella looking for his car.

  “Do you see it, Leah?”

  I looked towards Sean. The childlike wonder in his voice caught and held my attention. He was referring to the rain. I rolled my eyes, thinking that only a white person could think that the rain was a beautiful thing. Rain was rain, and, to this sista who had just got her hair done two days before, it was the ultimate enemy. I thought of unexpected showers as Mother Nature’s way of reminding black women who was really in charge.

  I turned and followed his gaze, looking towards the florescent streetlight. My sarcastic comments died in my throat before they could pass through my lips. The winds were light that night and the warm rain came down straight like a curtain of stringed teardrops. The beeping of a car horn broke the spell, but just for a second I had seen it: a glimpse into Sean’s soul. The memory would live on every time I saw a streetlight in the rain.

  Chapter 11

  When the phone rang the next morning, I picked it up knowing I’d hear Rena’s voice on the other line.

  “Leah, it’s Lance.”

  “What’s up?” My half-drowsy disappointed tone wasn’t anywhere near welcoming. I wanted some answers only my absentee cousin could provide, not aggravation from the previous love of my life.

  His voice was hurried. “I got a situation.”

  “Okay,” I said, slowly falling back into the habit of caring about his well being. “What i
s it?”

  “Lee, I know this is last minute, but I need you to come over to my place.”

  I heard the sounds of someone screaming in the background and sat up in the bed. “What was that, Lance?”

  “That would be the situation,” he said hurriedly. “Look Lee, you have more than enough cause to hang up, but I really need your help. Can you come over to my place?”

  I let out a sigh, then sat up in the bed. “What’s the address?”

  I pulled a sheet of paper and a pen out of the nightstand drawer. It took me twenty minutes to shower and get dressed. The drive into the city would have normally taken over an hour, but this rainy morning the streets were empty of the usual lines of taxicabs driving over the Brooklyn Bridge.

  I was at Lance’s high-rise apartment in under an hour and a half. I had to drive around the area for a good fifteen minutes before finding a parking space. I strolled though the glass doors that were held open by the white-gloved doorman and made my way towards the front desk.

  “I’m here to see Lance Phillips.”

  “Your name, please?” he asked.

  “Leah Russell.”

  “One moment, Ms. Russell.”

  The gray-haired security officer picked up the phone, and I glanced around the entry foyer while I waited. The place reeked of new money and Wall Street arrogance. The marble floors covered with dark colored rugs softened the otherwise overwhelming lobby. Freshly cut flowers spilled out of delicate Ming vases, while crystal chandeliers graced the high ceiling.

  “You may go up, Ms. Russell. Please take the elevator to your left. Mr. Phillips resides on the twenty-fifth floor, apartment 2502.”

  I nervously waited as the elevator shot up to Lance’s floor. When the doors opened onto the wide carpet-lined hallway of the twenty-fifth floor, I heard the sound of a baby wailing. My finger had barely pressed the doorbell to apartment 2502 when the door opened. Lance looked like hell. His bloodshot eyes, ashy complexion and overall disheveled appearance shocked me.

  “Come in,” he said eagerly, stepping aside and practically pulling me inside.