I pulled up in front of the house and noticed my brothers, all three of them, sitting on the front steps waving. By the looks of the champagne and glasses in their hands, I would not be celebrating alone as I’d predicted. My mood shifted. I was reveling in the fact that, for once, we could celebrate one of my accomplishments, one that had been brought to completion without the aid of any family member.
EJ was standing at the curb, before I could put the car in park. It brought back memories of him teaching me how to drive. Parking had been so hard, which almost made me give up. He kept at it, until I’d learned how to do it perfectly. His reward after every lesson would be a big hug when I got out of the car. Some things would never change, I accepted, as he pulled me into his chest.
“I’m proud of you, Lil Sis. You and Michael did a helluva job with that festival.”
“Thanks, Big Bro.” I could feel the blood heat my face, as the praise rained down on me.
“Let her go, EJ. We’re all waiting to celebrate.” Phillip started walking toward us.
Clifford yelled, “Let’s take the celebration inside,” holding the wine bottle and glasses in the air.
We ended up around the kitchen table raising toasts to my success.
“To my Lil Sis,” Cliff offered, even though he was the youngest of us all. “Always the smartest in the room and on her way to becoming the most successful.”
“Cheers.” They clinked glasses and I quietly basked in the adulation.
The center of attention had always been Maria’s spot. She was the pretty one…the one who could hold her own in any situation and usually got all the attention without trying or asking for it. It was given freely, especially by my mother. I used to wait for her to look at me with the same pride as when Maria walked into a room but I was a Daddy’s girl, basically by default. My father always seemed to know I needed his extra attention. I don’t think my mother noticed she was spending all of hers in one place. My value increased, when my sister messed up.
“No mister yet, huh?” Phillip asked, during a private moment in the living room.
“What makes you think that?”
He gave me an “are you kidding?” look and we both laughed out loud.
He said, “I know you, the same way you know me.” “Then you already know, there’s no one.”
“Yet.”
“Huh?”
“You don’t have anyone yet. But there’s no way a woman like you, with everything going for yourself, will be alone for long.”
“She’s alright just like that.” Clifford and EJ announced their presence with a joint statement.
I knew they spoke in jest but Phillip’s question almost sent me back into the funk I’d fled the park to escape.
“You know we are joking,” EJ pulled me to his side, draping his arm over my shoulder. “Lord knows I want the best for you. That means the best career, the best health, finances…all of that, before the right man. I want you to have the best life.”
“It wasn’t fair to you, the way all of the attention was sucked up by Maria. You couldn’t tell but she needed it more. That’s why she fell, she looked for that in men. You are stronger than that, Zoë. I just want you to realize that. You are special and you are beautiful. Don’t forget it.”
My brothers guarded both of us with the same ferocity. Maria was a reminder of how easy it was to falter. For years, her bad choices were taken as a personal blight against their roles as brothers and protectors. It was both good and bad that everyone wanted to hold me in such high esteem. Good because I felt appreciated. Bad because it fenced me in to their expectations over mine. I’d unwittingly become their poster child for “A Brother’s Guide to Protecting His Sister.”
We turned from our conversation to see our brothers pretending to wipe tears from their eyes, and they closed in to envelope us in a group hug. By the time they left, it was literally the middle of the night.
I was surprised at how a show of support from them validated the woman I knew was hiding deep inside and wanted to come out. Phillip said my man was coming but I wanted to feel good about what he was going to get. In my bedroom afterward, I stripped down to my skin, studied my appearance in the mirror and looked my insecurities in the face: the mocha brown skin, smooth and even, the naturally-red hair I inherited from my father’s mother that I dyed brown to match my skin tone. People often described me as attractive but until I could see it, it didn’t really matter. Through my reflection, I looked deeply into my bright, almond-shaped eyes, personally my best feature. My body, nonetheless, would never be perfect but I’d taken care of it very well. I would date me, I thought out loud to my reflection. So, tell me, why so much trouble finding the right man?
Chapter Five
I was a month deep into celebrating my success. Michael and I had new projects lined-up, some of which I’d acquired on my own. He had a great idea to put together a jazz supper series that would combine the talents of jazz musicians with different area restaurants. The concept would move the series to different locations and themes: Paris one week, New Orleans another, New York the next… It was a great idea but it needed more development. In the meantime, we had to concentrate on our bread and butter events, the ones that paid the bills and allowed us to build bigger things.
I went out to shop, something I hadn’t done in a long time. It was usually done as something to reward myself but that night with my brothers had been enough to sustain me for a long while. They’d left me with the greatest gift of all. They had showered me with so much love and attention. They’d given me the solution to my problem: Until someone else came along who would do the job better than me, I was going to bestow the love and attention I deserved and constantly craved upon myself. They gave me back myself.
The liberated me still believed in the powers of steamy water on my skin, so I took a steamy shower and slathered myself with a silky, luxurious body cream. I brushed my hair back into a ponytail—not the lazy, hurried kind but sleek, polished and deliberate. I applied bronze frosted shadow to my lids and a richly pigmented nude lipstick to my full lips. I’d traded foundation for a glowing complexion achieved with the regular application of potent serums and natural oils. My natural look coordinated well with my free, unburdened spirit. I enjoyed pampering myself, ever since I decided to choose me. So I put on a long, fleece dress and Birkenstocks, then headed out for shopping on a sunny Saturday. I enjoyed trying on new things, clothes I would normally overlook—the body-conscious dresses, shoulder-baring tops, and tees with deep v-necks. It occurred to me that I was having a dress rehearsal for the life I was envisioning for myself. But I also realized, while I affirmed my release from old hang- ups, I still wasn’t ready for that kind of reveal. I digressed from my usual separates of interchangeable pieces and bought one soft, knit dress. It was casual enough to lounge in and sexy enough to spark the imagination. Like me.
When I got my first hunger pang, it was demanding. I had been out for hours and was very close to declaring my day done. I had been busy feeding my soul but my body sent me a strong reminder. I had to drive by Harbor East to get home and on a whim, I decided to stop at one of its new trendy restaurants. There were several parking spaces, where there were usually none, and that settled my spontaneous decision.
The hostess led me to a perfect corner table by a window with a view of the water. The sun was setting early and I was sipping the house Chardonnay while enjoying the beautiful picture of the water dappled with waning sunlight.
“The sunset agrees with you.”
I was totally absorbed in the scene outside my window when his voice broke my trance.
“Zoë, isn’t it?”
It was the beautiful stranger—looking even better than he did the day we met, if possible.
I turned to completely face him and assembled my features into the best nonchalant expression I could muster. He answered the question that my raised eyebrows and tilted head wanted to ask but did not.
“You wouldn’t
be an easy woman to forget,” he said.
His eyes were piercing mine again, convincing me that his words were sincere.
“Besides, you looked beautiful then and you look more beautiful now.”
He flashed me the ultra-bright smile and my insides fluttered, despite the fact we both knew damned well I didn’t look beautiful then. But I welcomed his attention, even though I didn’t think I’d earned it.
“I want you to make a scathing remark or at least chastise me to help ease my conscience a little. I was a real witch to you that day. I was afraid you’d left with a terrible impression.”
“Actually, I thought your temper was rather cute,” he said. “I was probably disturbing you that night, as I’m doing right now.”
He looked at my planner spread out on the table, peppered with multiple sticky notes in varying colors.
“No. It’s okay,” I said. “This can wait.” I closed the book and turned to him with a smile. Forget trying to look unaffected. This man was candy for the eyes and food for the soul. I yearned to be fed. He had to know his presence was unnerving. Nobody possessed that kind of power unaware.
“I was still waiting for word, since you so kindly offered your assistance. Although it may be possible you were just trying to get rid of me.”
“I’m so sorry, Humphrey—I can call you that, can’t I?”
He said, “Zoë, you can call me anything you like, as long as you call me.”
Without warning, a chill went through me. It was becoming a regular occurrence when I was around him. He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and handed me yet another business card from a polished silver case.
“Please be sure this one doesn’t end up wherever you ditched the last one, okay?”
This time, he turned it over and wrote another number. He hadn’t bothered with that bit of information before
He stood there with that disarming smile and his towering frame draped in a charcoal wool suit, obviously made just for him, and a shirt in French blue that made his appeal undeniable. A red flag went up. Could my luck really be this good? If being in the right place when opportunity presented itself was considered luck, I intended to take full advantage of it. Lucky me.
I retrieved his last card from my purse and held it out to him. “You wouldn’t mean this card right here, would you?” My tone was serious but the flirt in me caused my mouth to turn up at each end.
I had been so busy feeling sorry for myself that first night, I hadn’t bothered to read his card. I’d stuck it into the pocket of my bag. But I was treated to his smile once again, as he commented, “Yes. Only I want you to use it this time.”
He rejoined his business meeting there in Nico’s, but insisted I call him later that night.
“By the way,” he said. “No need to have your brother call.
What’s his name again?”
He was smooth. He switched from flirting to dropping information seamlessly.
“His name’s Phillip.”
“Oh yeah, Phillip doesn’t need to call me about the former owner. I found what I needed.”
“Who what’s-her-name, huh?” Conversely, I fl ted while digging for information.
“Not really that important. Let’s talk soon.”
He made his way back across the room in a confident stride, leaving me feeling hungrier than I was when I first entered the restaurant. And intrigued.
Michael and I agreed our next event would be a big departure from our usual. We signed on as promoters of a stage play. It was going to be a gala affair at the Arena Playhouse—a premier production of Carmen Jones. A group of actors from various drama programs around town had been cast. Negotiations were under way to bring Charles Dutton on as director. Our fingers were crossed.
We arranged for authentic memorabilia to be on display from the 1954 movie. We were auctioning off an original lobby card and an autographed picture of Dorothy Dandridge. Phillip helped me to pull that one off with the help of a private collector friend in New York. The proceeds from the auction were going toward scholarships for Coppin State University’s theater program. Th e would be gourmet coffees and desserts from a local coffee house on sale as well and 10% of their sales would also go toward the scholarships.
his event would be even greater than our last effort. We were on a whole other level than paint and wine parties. A month before our date, the tickets were already 75% sold. And the best part was, we wouldn’t have to worry about rain.
It was nearly 10p.m. and we were still on the phone working out small kinks in our plans. I had been toying with Humphrey Pearson’s card for quite some time, trying to decide if I should call that night or wait until the next. It was starting to pull my attention away from the business at hand. I didn’t want to seem too anxious and I certainly didn’t want him to think I was playing hard to get. There h ad t o b e a balance between the two. I t h ad been a long time since I’d been so attracted to anyone and never quite like this. It was time for me to find out if he was worth so much of my energy.
“Zoë, you must be a million miles away,” Michael said. “I’ve asked for the stage manager’s phone number twice and you only responded with ‘hmmm.’ Whatever is grabbing at your attention is definitely winning.”
“What? I…uh…I was just thinking about something.” Or someone.
“I gathered that much. Let’s finish up tomorrow and text that number to me, please.”
My preoccupation with Humphrey was a welcome distraction, after the news from Phillip. He would not be attending Thanksgiving, the next week. I regretted not having the nerve to beg out of my mother’s catered dinner first. She’d gotten the grand idea from one of her clients to patronize one of the local popular soul food spots, disrupting our family traditions of preparing dishes at her house the night before and my father frying the turkey out back.
As far as I was concerned, Phillip’s disruption was an unofficial announcement that Patrice was “the one.” So I wondered if my real regret wasn’t having one of my own to defy family customs for. The prospect of Humphrey as someone to occupy my time was becoming more appealing. I would definitely call.
On the fourth ring, his voicemail kicked in:
“If you have this number that means I really want to talk to you. So don’t hang up before leaving a message. Ciao.” Beep.
“I don’t think you want to talk to me too badly or else you would have taken this call. By the way, this is Zoë Browne.” In my haste to leave a cute message, I almost forgot to leave my number. I was finishing my last call for the evening with an interested investor in the play, a former colleague of my father’s, when my call-waiting beeped. I quickly bid him a good evening and answered the call with a smile on my face. “Good evening, Beautiful.”
He sounded sexy and eloquent.
“Hi, Humphrey. I assume you got my message.” “Yes I did. And now, I finally have your number.”
“Both times we met, you simply handed me a card, then made a quick exit. I thought maybe you weren’t interested.” I held my breath.
“Oh, I’m interested.”
His comment had me tongue-tied, in a heavy, long pause. “Hello? ...I haven’t scared you off, I hope.”
“No. I’m still here.”
“Good. I want to see you. You know, by means other than mistaken identity and chance meetings.”
Away from the scrutiny of his intense gaze, intrepid thoughts surfaced, and emboldened words came easily.
“Are you certain that first meeting was purely by chance?” “That’s a peculiar question.”
“So was our meeting.”
“Can we arrange an ‘unpeculiar’ meeting then? …I’d like to see you again.”
“I’m sure something could be arranged.” “Good. Before I leave next week?” “Leave what?”
“I’ll be returning to New York.”
His statement was a wet blanket thrown on the small fire kindling in me. What could I possibly say or do to capture his inte
rest and keep it long enough for him to stay? A little voice inside was whispering for me to relax but a bigger voice was reminding me that I hadn’t asked for anything in a really long time. I wanted the chance to find out if he was the tall drink of water I’d been thirsting for, since forever. Please God….
“Well, when is a good time for you?” He interrupted my prayer. “I have a couple of evenings later in the week and I have this weekend open.”
“How about Saturday? We could go to D.C. and enjoy the sights, maybe go into Georgetown and have a bite to eat. What do you think?”
His voice was doing things to me that I didn’t know could be done. It was even taking the edge off that bristling announcement of his plans for departure.
I wanted to say ‘Yes! Anywhere, anyplace, anytime’ but I digressed.
“Okay, I promise I won’t bite your head off this time.”
It’s a good thing he couldn’t see through the phone. I was smiling so hard I felt goofy.
“No worries, on my part,” he said. “I promise you’ll be as safe as you dare. And I’ll produce any credentials necessary to put your mind at ease.”
The British could sound so serious, but I could hear a smile in his voice, too and imagined how nice that looked.
“See you at noon on Saturday, then?” “Okay, I’ll see you then.” “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Sweet dreams and I hope they’re all of me.
Chapter Six
I had a whole week to go before our date and I was going to keep myself occupied with work, household chores and whatever else it took to help the time move swiftly. I wanted Saturday to come, like yesterday. I filled in empty spaces with menial movements: I took my car to the mechanic, got a mani/pedi and started cleaning with a vengeance, determined to make the house ready for keeping company. I needed something to do with my hands and with my mind, while I marked the time until I’d see Humphrey again.
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