In the lingering warmth of an early October evening, Dwight walked into a crowded bar near Navy Pier. He promised himself that he was too old and serious for the happy-hour scene, but there he was, standing amid a group of well-dressed, mostly Black professionals. His reasons for being there were different from when he used to come looking for a weekend, maybe a month if she was good, romance. He was a former card-carrying member of the new pussy club. But the older Dwight got, the more he wanted something more permanent, like he once had with Kelli.
Tonight it was strictly business and he came armed with business cards and a stack of newly revised résumés in his black leather portfolio. Dwight had a feeling he’d be looking for a job soon, and First Fridays were a good place to start. Popular for years with those looking for love and/or career opportunities, First Fridays were sponsored by the local chapter of the National Association of Black MBAs, and Dwight was a paying nonparticipating member. The couple of meetings he attended had bored Dwight to sleep.
All week long the sales management at Dwight’s office had been hounding him to reconsider his position. One manager had even told him if the company didn’t get this million-plus deal, they might have to lay off some employees. At the very least, they said year-end bonuses would be next to nothing. But Dwight had stood his ground, offering a two-page memo detailing why MedMac didn’t need the proposed equipment. He had even offered to identify existing customers who might actually need the equipment. But no one wanted to hear what Dwight had to say. All they wanted was for him to sign the proposal and keep his mouth shut. Dwight told them he couldn’t do that. They threatened to take him off the account. He sat silent and rigid in a chair, grimacing his disapproval. The sales manager, Kent Larson, became so unnerved by Dwight’s steely gaze, he chain-smoked three cigarettes in the office’s smoke-free environment. When Dwight finally broke the silence by saying he had some calls to make and asked if there was anything else, the manager puffed out a weak no.
While he was deciding if he should have a drink before he passed out his first résumé, he felt someone come up behind him and place hands over his eyes.
“Guess who?” a squeaky female voice asked.
The voice didn’t sound familiar, but the hands were soft and sweet-smelling. “You got me. Who is it?” Dwight asked as he felt the hands move from his eyes. He turned around and saw a short woman with a comfortable bosom. As she positioned herself at the bar, Dwight couldn’t help but notice her spectacularly round bottom. Her smile had a sensual fullness to it, like a bowl of peaches. Dwight vaguely remembered tapping her last year when he was in his baby-gotta-have-back phase. One of his last new pussy conquests.
“Ah, how ya doing, sweetheart,” he said, and gave her a hug.
“I’m fine, Dwight. How you doing? It’s been a long time no hear from,” she said as she reached toward the bar for her half-empty glass of white wine.
“Baby, I’ve been fine. Everything is good in the neighborhood,” he said.
“You don’t even remember my name, do you?” He was caught.
“Sure, I remember you. It’s Cynthia, right?”
“No,” she said, her full lips pouting.
“It starts with a C, right?”
“No, it don’t. It’s Priscilla, and my friends call me Cilla,” she said.
“Cilla, that’s right. I knew there was a C in there somewhere. You still lookin’ good,” Dwight said as he gazed at Priscilla’s full hips in her tight-fitting green dress.
“You don’t look so bad yourself. Why haven’t you called me?”
“I lost my electronic date book. That’s why I’m so glad I ran into you. I was wondering if I would ever see you again. Didn’t have your work number either. Now, who do you work for?”
“I work for the city,” she said. This will definitely be a pleasure play, Dwight thought. He knew he didn’t want to work for the city.
“Yeah, I remember. You’re in public relations, right?”
“Community relations,” Priscilla said. Dwight started to give her a smart same-thing response, but instead said, “That’s right, community relations. Sounds real cool.”
“It’s a job. Most of these people in here are looking for jobs. I already got one,” she said.
“Is that so,” Dwight said as he tried to make eye contact with the bartender. He needed a drink before every inch of his body starting showing annoyance.
“Can I have a Beck’s?” Dwight asked the bartender. He smelled the tortilla chips and guacamole placed along the bar for drink-buying customers.
“In a minute,” he replied. When Dwight turned back toward Priscilla, a tall, slender woman had joined them. “This is my soror, Tasha,” Priscilla said.
“Hello, Tasha, I’m Dwight Scott.”
“Nice meeting you, Dwight,” Tasha said as she flashed a beautiful smile.
“What sorority are you ladies members of?” Dwight asked.
“You don’t remember nothing I told you,” Priscilla said. “Sigma Gamma Rho at FAMU.”
“The only sorority,” Tasha said as she gave a high-five to Priscilla.
“Are you in a fraternity, Dwight?” Tasha asked.
“Naw, that ain’t me. So you both from Florida?” Dwight asked.
“I’m from Miami and Tasha’s from Jackson, Mississippi,” Priscilla said.
“Southern girls,” Dwight said. “There’s a whole lot of southern people living in Chicago.” He felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and was greeted with a cold Beck’s from the bartender. “How much, fella?” Dwight asked.
“No charge. The gentleman down there paid for it.” He pointed toward a crowd of men at the opposite end of the bar.
“What gentleman?” Dwight asked.
“I don’t know his name. He’s an older man,” the bartender said, trying to find Dwight’s benefactor. Dwight was looking too, when he heard Tasha call his name, “Hey, Dwight … Dwight.” He turned around and said, “Yeah, whatsup?”
“Did anybody ever tell you that you look like R. Kelly?” Dwight frowned. Women were always asking if he was any relation to Chicago’s popular R & B singer. Before he could say yes, Tasha said, “I don’t know why you making that face. R. Kelly looks good.” Dwight decided not to respond: He needed to locate the man who had bought him the beer. The music in the club was blasting like summer thunder and Blackstreet’s “No Diggity” was rocking the packed club. On the dance floor, couples were whirling and sweating in tight rhythm. Tasha waved her long, scarlet fingernails in the air and started singing, “Party over here … party over here.” The dance floor was filling up quicker than a Bulls game. “You want to dance?” Dwight asked Priscilla. “Not off this song. Too many people on the floor. But I promise you a dance when the next good song comes on.” Dwight smiled and then turned to Tasha and repeated his question. “I can’t. I’m with somebody. And I ain’t having him go off on me in this packed club.”
Dwight muttered whatever under his breath and cursed himself for even asking. He started looking toward the end of the bar to see if he recognized anyone. He saw Dan Stickens from MedMac walking toward him and smiling with a Beck’s in hand. He was a stocky, silver-haired man in his early fifties with a raspy voice. “Don’t tell me you gonna act like you don’t know a brother. Not when I’m getting ready to buy over a million dollars worth of equipment from your boys,” Dan said.
“Dan, my man. What’s going on? Are you the one who sent me the brew? Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, my man. I didn’t know you were a First Friday kinda guy,” Dan said.
“Naw, I haven’t been to one of these things in years,” Dwight said.
“What brings you out this evening?”
“Just trying to see if there’s anything new out here. A brother needs to update his address book and his résumé every now and then.”
“You’re not quitting your job, are you? We depend on you over at that company,” Dan said.
“Naw, it’s the address boo
k today,” Dwight lied. He wondered what Dan would say if he told him about the problems at his office. Dwight decided it wouldn’t be right to confide in Dan, even though he considered him more than a customer.
“From the looks of things, you’re well on your way,” Dan said, motioning his beer toward Tasha and Priscilla a few feet away, munching down on the chips and guacamole.
“Naw, that ain’t me. I’m just passing time,” Dwight said. “What’s this about you spending some big money?”
“I thought you knew. I heard you’re the one who made the recommendation that we upgrade our equipment. That white boy you work with set up a meeting at our office for early next week to go over the contract. I’ve already talked to our accounting department about preparing the draft if we like what we hear. We’re going to be on the cutting edge when it comes to information processing,” Dan said proudly.
Dwight took a swig of his beer. Should he tell Dan what was really going on? He was praying Dan wouldn’t ask him what he really thought. “Then, I guess I’ll have to see that mug of yours again next week.” Dan smiled and offered up a toast to their mutual success. Dwight heard the clinking of their beer bottles so clearly over the loud music. Maybe the clinking was inside his head. He suddenly had a piercing headache and “No Diggity” wasn’t helping.
Riley stopped reading Susan Taylor’s Lessons in Living and tried to decide if she should mention her conversation with Ryan to Selwyn. She was sitting up in their king-sized bed with six pillows assembled behind her head and back. Her cotton nightgown hung loose around her body like the sheets after a night of sleep. Selwyn would always pull the covers to his side during the night until Riley retrieved them in the early morning.
Riley decided to lie down and close her eyes, but just when she did, the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Riley, did you speak with your daughter?” her mother asked.
“Hello, Mother. Yes, I called her,” Riley said. This was all she needed to ensure another sleepless night.
“So what did she say?”
“About what?”
“Now, Riley, I hoped you would have figured out what’s going on. That child has started having sex. And you and Selwyn better get up there and talk with her, or bring her behind back home. I told you sending her up there with all those potential hoodlums wasn’t a good idea. Ryan should have stayed home and gone to the University of Chicago like her grandpa and I suggested. I don’t want her to end up in the same predicament as you.”
Her words pierced Riley’s heart, and tears began to form in her eyes. “Good night, Mother, I don’t feel like discussing this tonight,” and she hung up the phone. Her mother should have just come out and said it: “If Ryan’s not careful, she’s gonna end up pregnant just like you did your junior year in college.” She wiped the tears from her face with her nightgown just as Selwyn entered the room. Dressed in green plaid pajamas, he was carrying a mug of hot chocolate and a copy of Black Enterprise.
Riley didn’t want Selwyn to see her tears, so she looked away. But Selwyn did notice and asked, “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, I’ve just got something in my eye.”
“Did I hear the phone ring while I was in the shower?”
“Yes,” Riley said softly.
“Who was it?”
“It was my mother.”
“Is everything all right? They’re doing okay?”
“Yes, they’re fine, Selwyn. Mother’s just trying to run my life,” Riley said.
“What is it this time?”
Riley paused for a moment, then decided Selwyn had a right to know about her conversation with her mother and about their daughter. Even during the very dark periods of their marriage, their children were the one thing about which they could communicate. It was the common bridge they always tried to cross together.
“Mother’s worried about Ryan. But I spoke with her today and she’s okay. She just had a bit of a bug. And it sounds like she has a boyfriend.”
“A boyfriend?”
“Yes, some guy named Perry,” Riley said.
“What do you know about this Perry? Is it serious? Have you talked with Reggie about him,” Selwyn asked with some concern in his voice.
“No, I haven’t talked with Reggie, and I don’t know much about this guy. Ryan must have said something to Mother about him though. She’s worried Ryan’s going to get herself into trouble.”
“What type of trouble?”
“Sex, I think. But we’ve talked with both our children about sex. Ryan will be responsible,” Riley said.
“Be responsible, my ass! I hope she’s not up there sleeping with this guy. I’m heading up there the first of the week, and if your mother’s right, then Ryan’s coming home and I’m taking her tail to Northwestern or De Paul,” Selwyn said firmly. “Where is her number? I think I’ll call her right now.”
“Selwyn, don’t. I think we might be jumping the gun. Let’s wait and talk with Reggie. Maybe I should go up there with you next week,” Riley said.
“Suit yourself. But I’m not going to let some knucklehead ruin my daughter’s life while I’m spending my hard-earned money to get her an education,” Selwyn said as he set his mug on the nightstand and pulled back the covers on the left side of the bed. Riley closed her eyes and pretended to fall asleep. But when Selwyn turned the lights out thirty minutes later, Riley was still awake.
In the darkness that covered the room like a dream, Riley thought about her mother and husband being so concerned that Ryan would repeat her own mistake. She tried to convince herself that Ryan and Reggie were more educated about sex than she had been. With AIDS, students were now taught to practice safe sex. Riley had tried to maintain a big-sister attitude with Ryan, though a subject as loaded as sex smacked her back into mother mode. When Ryan was a junior in high school, she shared her curiosity about sex, and had told Riley that she was still a virgin, and intended to remain so until she met the right man. Riley told her daughter how she had made Selwyn wait for sex, almost two years, but left out the part where she got pregnant because of getting caught in the heat of passion. Despite what her mother thought, Riley never considered her children a mistake. A little early, maybe, but not a mistake. Could history be repeating itself for Riley’s daughter? She wondered where Ryan had met Perry and if he was anything like her father. The right man. Clarice had drummed that phrase into Riley’s head as a young girl. Wait for the right man. Riley fell asleep wondering if Perry was that man.
Chapter 17
Late Sunday evening Uncle Doc stopped by for a surprise visit after leaving his second church service that day. He said I didn’t sound good when he spoke to me early that morning, and he wanted to make sure everything was all right. I poured the two of us glasses of cranberry juice and spiced Uncle Doc’s with a capful of vodka. “Just right.” He smiled as he took his first sip. We moved to my dining room table, and Uncle Doc pulled out a cigarette, kicked off his shoes, and said, “Whew, there’s a time limit on these shoes, and it’s up!” My uncle was the only person I allowed to smoke in my home. He situated himself in the dining room chair, looked at me, and said, “Now, Boo—tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong. Just some things I have to work out,” I said.
“Who with?”
“Myself and a friend,” I said.
“Do I know this friend?”
“Of course. It’s Yolanda and her new man,” I said softly.
“He ain’t beatin’ her or nuthin’ like that, is he?”
“Naw, it’s nothing like that.”
“Then why the long face?”
I explained my dilemma to Uncle Doc without going into specific details about my patient. I knew anything I told him would remain between the two of us. He listened intently as he drank and smoked a couple more cigarettes. When I finished, he looked at me and said, “I know you want to help Yolanda. You’re her friend. I understand that. But, Boo, you worked too hard to git where
you’re at now to risk it. You accepted an oath. Yolanda will understand that. Anyhow, trust me, she’ll find out. Yolanda’s too smart a girl not to.”
“But what if she doesn’t? She could be putting herself at risk.”
“What are you talking about? You said this man doesn’t beat her.”
“I’m talking about AIDS. If this guy is sleeping around, he could be infected.”
“No, Boo, you’re a doctor and know that not all bisexuals or whatever you want to call them have that virus. Besides, Yolanda ought to be smart enough to ask questions and protect herself,” Uncle Doc said.
“I guess you’re right. I just wish there were some way I could warn her without breaking my oath.”
“Just leave well enough alone. It will work itself out. Scoundrels like this guy can only cover their spots for so long. Sooner or later they show up.”
I thanked Uncle Doc and told him he was right. I got up and went to the kitchen to refresh our drinks. This time I poured myself a glass of wine and two capfuls of vodka into Uncle Doc’s drink.
“You want to hear some music? Maybe some Billie Holiday?” I asked as I sat back down at the table.
“Naw, I done heard enough singing today. Let’s talk. Are you sure that’s all that’s bothering you,” Uncle Doc said.
“The other stuff I can work out,” I said. Uncle Doc raised his bushy eyebrows and said, “Are you sure?” I knew I couldn’t say yes and make him believe me. So I asked him how long did it take him to get over losing James, his partner for nearly twenty years.
“Well, you never really git over losing someone you love. But you have to go on. You owe it to yourself and to them. You been thinking ’bout Donald?”
I told my uncle how Donald had been on my mind almost every other free thought I had when I wasn’t worrying about Yolanda. I shared my plans of going to New York and how I hoped it would finally let me put my memories to rest. Uncle Doc told me to go if I really thought it would help, but he also thought I should try and keep myself busy with work and finding a new love in my life. “You’re still a young man, Boo. You can have love in your life again if you’re willing to try. I don’t really think going to New York will help unless you’re going to meet somebody new. I’m going to figure out a way to git you out more. You ain’t gonna meet nobody sittin’ up here in the house all by yourself.”
If This World Were Mine Page 16