Over. (This. Is. Not. Over. #2)

by Dianne, Shannon

I really do love this ice cream parlor; it’s so festive in here. Since Sweetest Day was this month, Randy still has all of the windows decked out with hearts, kissy lips and Hershey Kisses window clings. Only a mom-and-pop shop knows how to celebrate the holidays in style. Right now he’s playing Hello Stranger, by Dana Owens (for you white people) or Queen Latifah (for us black people). That’s the other thing that I like about mom-and-pops: their ability to pacify all of their clientele at the same time by playing a smooth jazz tune sung by a rapper. Don’t mess with a mom-and-pop. I slide into an open booth by a window, thankful that there was one left since it’s pretty packed, and look at Malcolm and Nicky again. They’re doing some dumb fist bump ritual they made up. I laugh at their corny asses, look out of the window and sit here in pure bliss.

  It’s funny but even as a feminist, my dream life has always included a husband, children and family excursions. My dreams, however, always included my husband being the father of my children but I suppose it’s too late for that now. Jon is a still perfect dad, especially now that he lives in Boston … and in the same condo building as Malcolm and the crew. I know, I know. So he doesn’t have weekends anymore, he takes Nicky whenever. I’ll stay at Malcolm’s place and ride the elevator down to Jon’s condo and drop Nicky off. Marla is always answering the door with a spatula in her hand and a smile on her face. She’s genuinely happy to see Nicky. Something’s always in the kitchen cooking, since she’s a stay-at-home wife. (Jon loves making his women stay-at-homes I see.) She always greets me with gusto. Jon will yell out a greeting from wherever he is in the house, regardless if I can see him or not. I’ll yell back to him, Marla compliments me on something I’m wearing and then gives me a hug before I leave. Now I’m trying to figure out why I thought she was such a bitch in college. Needless to say, I haven’t told Rena that Marla is a stellar human being. Though I secretly adore Marla, Rena and I still call her a bitch. I can’t tell her that I had it wrong about Marla. I’m tired of letting Rena down. Anyways, Marla’s just so damn tickled to be living with Jon now she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

  Malcolm and Jon will see each other in the lobby or outside and they’ll raise chins at each other and that’s it. I can’t lie, the living arrangement works out well. Actually, it’s a dream come true. My ex-husband and the man I had an affair with are just two elevator stops apart. How convenient.

  “Three scoops of gelato.” Malcolm says as he and Nicky slide into the booth. I snap my head back to the two of them as Nicky looks at me and smiles.

  “Three scoops!” I say, eyeing the pile of cream, sugar and nuts.

  “Yeah, baby. We’re men.” He looks at Nicky and they break out into the fist bump thing again.

  “Right.” Nicky says during the middle of it.

  “You two are so lame.” I say as I reach for a spoon from the pile Malcolm laid on a napkin. They ignore me.

  “Chocolate, butter and pitas …” Nicky says after the fist bump thing and then grabs a spoon. Malcolm takes the times to pronounce the word pecans and Nicky repeats after him, while I dig into the chocolate gelato. Damn, I’m happy. I thought happiness like this was a dream. I never knew that I could be happy with both my son and a man. I just thought that it would always be an either/or deal. Either Nicky would be happy with Jon or I would be happy with Malcolm. I never knew that both Nicky and my happiness aren’t mutually exclusive, but could actually be attained at the same time, by the same guy.

  On a high from the rush of sugary gelato, all three of us start engaging in a conversation about which color in a crayon box is the best color. Nicky says green, I say melon and Malcolm says red. Winks are exchanged, smiles are flashed, and laughs are given all around the table.

  I’m the happiest that I’ve ever been.

  Danielle

  Sunny

  “I figured he’d be out once we started driving.” Malcolm says as he stops at a red light and looks in the back seat at Nicky.

  “Yeah …” I snuggle deeper into my seat, grateful that Malcolm was wise enough to upgrade to a truck with heated seats. Why in the world would he have bought the first one without them? He places his hand over mine and brings it to his lips. He’s happy too, he doesn’t have to say it. That’s the thing with Malcolm and me, we’re full of feelings but don’t have the need to spew them all over the place all the time. I love him, he knows that; he loves me, I know that. But we don’t say it too often. Why would we? Is it not obvious that we love each other? And so he lowers my hand and we proceed to my condo with Malcom turning on the Siriusly Sinatra station on XM radio. That’s our new thing these days when we’re in the car with Nicky: Vocal jazz. Clean, safe, fun. (Jacob and Winnie had the nerve to give us this suggestion.) Thank goodness for clean, safe and fun because my life with Malcolm can get pretty crazy sometimes.

  Frank is singing Sunny and the three of us are cruising through the streets of Boston, quietly, contently. Did I mention before that we’re happy? As Frank croons on, I remember how much I love this song. Sunny.

  Sunny, yesterday my life was filled with rain

  Sunny, you smiled at me and really eased the pain

  “Aww, I should have named Nicky, Sunny.” I look over and say to Malcolm. “I missed a great opportunity.”

  “Well, I didn’t want to be the one to say it.” He says, shrugging. And then I let out a contented sigh and enjoy the rest of the ride.

  When we reach my condo, Malcolm gets out and asks valet to park the truck while I unbuckle Nicky out of his car seat. By the time I turn around with him asleep in my hands, Malcolm is right behind me. Taking Nicky from me, he lets Nicky get comfortable in his arms as he sinks into his deep sleep again. The three of us walk in my building, Malcolm and I say hi to Nell and then walk towards the elevators … this is the life I always wanted. I mean, really, at this point, what could destroy the happiness that I now feel?

  “Well what do we have here?”

  The Fultons.

  “My favorite couple,” Malcolm says with a wide smile, “The Fultons.”

  “Well it looks like this thing is gonna happen!” Mr. Fulton says as he returns Malcolm’s smile, eagerly running to the elevator, dragging his wife along. “Rossi’s going to win that election!”

  “That’s what the polls say!” Malcolm says with orchestrated excitement.

  “Hello, doll.” Mrs. Fulton says as she comes over to hug me and then walks over to Malcolm to kiss Nicky on the cheek. “He’s so sweet. And Malcolm, you always smell divine.” Malcolm sneaks a wink at her and she giggles. It never fails with these two.

  “I’ve always had faith in that boy.” Mr. Fulton says of Rossi as we all walk onto the elevator. “Remember last Christmas when I saw you Malcolm? What did I say? I said, I have faith …”

  “In Senator Rossi,” Malcolm finishes his sentence with a nod. “You did, you sure did.”

  “Uh-huh! I told you that he was going to make it into that house. Didn’t I? I foretold it!”

  “You hit the nail on the head.”

  “Uh-huh. I know my politics, now. Tell ‘em Margaret,” he says to Mrs. Fulton, “do I know my politics?”

  “You do.” Mrs. Fulton replies. “We both do.”

  “Uh-huh.” Malcolm says with another serious nod. “No one will ever be able to say that you didn’t predict this election.”

  “Never!” Mr. Fulton yells. “Another Boston boy in the White House! I’ll be damned.”

  If you would have asked me just a few months ago, I would have laughed at the absurdity of Rossi being elected president. I mean, let’s list the reasons why Rossi’s a damn joke:

  His wife is such an ass-kisser she puts Malcolm to shame. (Malcolm swears he’s not an ass-kisser but what would you call a thirty-one year old who’s already Lead Counsel for the next President of the United States?)

  He’s called the five foot, six inch, Florida Latino senator, Eduard Marcos, ‘a little Latin boy’.

  His Boston Globe interview concerning Iran and
the US oil crisis: ‘Iran is just acting silly.’

  Both of his daughters are a pair of looney tunes. (That of course is his greatest sin of all.)

  By the way, I only deal with Lola when the Blair family has a photo op and I have to act friendly. Other than that, I never answer her calls, emails, texts or letters. That friendship is done.

  Anyways, back to Rossi’s stupid ass, why is this man a viable candidate for the presidency? Why will he win this election in three days? Two words: His crew. The Blairs, The Marchs and the dozens of big names they intermarry and associate with … including the Rouge’s (Rossi’s solidified link to Black America) and the Yates (Winnie’s military family). You’ll learn this in life: everyone needs a crew. Rossi’s crew will be elected to the presidency, not him.

  Rossi had the strategic vision to place himself around women and men who make headlines. Among them is Malcolm touted in Boston as the ‘coolest White boy’ around. This phrase is said by both black Bostonians (who are proud that the ‘coolest White boy in America’ is dating a black woman) and white Bostonians (who idolize his royal Blair pedigree and the number of zeroes in his bank accounts). I think it’s both a load of shit. Let’s be honest, whites and blacks like Malcolm for one reason: he’s the best bullshitter alive or dead. But he’ll admit that on any day. The question is, why did Rossi choose him as his closest confidant and Lead Counsel?

  Massachusetts is notoriously Democrat and Rossi is notoriously conservative. (Though he once ran on a more liberal platform). Let’s list the reasons why he needs Malcolm:

  Malcolm’s the man who was just photographed attending a Kanye West concert two months ago. Rossi can reach the young voters.

  Malcolm’s the man who dates a black woman. Rossi can reach the black voters.

  Malcolm’s the man who had pictures released of him attending a Bar Mitzvah as a child. Rossi can reach the Jewish voters.

  Malcolm’s the man who was caught, by a cell phone camera, hugging an older Puerto Rican lady who was going insane with joy after they both walked into Starbucks together. Rossi can reach the Hispanic voters.

  Malcolm’s the man who was caught, by another cell phone camera, doing the corny fist bump thing with Nicky. Rossi can reach the child-bearing voters.

  Malcolm is a rich young White Republican. Rossi can reach the yuppie White voters.

  Any way you put it, Malcolm is seen as a rich boy who has a weakness for minorities, geezers and kiddies. Both Democrats and Republicans are sold. You are the company you keep, right?

  Mr. and Mrs. Fulton continue to talk to Malcolm about Rossi and how eloquent he’s been sounding lately as the elevator lands on our floor. They’re still talking as we walk off the elevator, but I can stomach no more. The Rossi family has rubbed me the wrong way ever since Lola broke into my condo and took pictures of me sucking dick and Laura was trying to find and blackmail me. I haven’t been fond of them since. I slip Nicky out of Malcolm’s arms and head to my condo.

  After I get in, I lay Nicky on his bed and begin to search for his night clothes. The only reason he’s not getting a bath tonight is that it’s Friday and I’m one of those mothers who believe that children don’t need to be clean on the weekend. As I busy myself with Nicky’s bedtime ritual, which includes praying that the Death Angel spare his life overnight, while I cling onto his bedside rosary beads, I realize that I’m humming. Can you believe it? I’m putting my child to bed and will return to the living room with a man that makes me happy. Not bad, Danielle. Some people never have this moment. I lay Nicky’s rosary beads back on his nightstand.

  When I ease out of Nicky’s room, I see that my veranda looks pretty cozy. Malcolm has lit the hearth and has candle lights flickering on the tables. Hmm, he’s out there, the night is out there, the candles are out there. I know what I’ll do. I hurry to my bedroom, peel my clothes off and drape them on the back of my chaise, leaving just my bra and panties on. Then I head to the linen closet to grab a thin blanket. Nicky’s asleep, Malcolm’s fine as hell and I’m in the mood for fun. I take a quick look at my toes. Still pretty and plum. Just checking, since he likes to suck them. I wrap the blanket around me and then walk out towards the balcony and see him sitting there, drinking scotch. There’s another glass sitting next to him on the breakfast table.

  “Hey, sexy ass.” I say to him as I walk to the breakfast table, pick up my glass of scotch and take a sip. He looks over at me, places his glass on the table, and lets out a small laugh. “Guess what kind of mood I’m in?” I slide the blanket down and let it fall onto the ground, the fire from the hearth keeping me warm.

  “Damn, you’re perfect.” He says as he stands and reaches for me. I walk to him, my eyes locked on his and then without warning, he picks me up and I’m straddling him. With his head in my hands, I attack his mouth. He takes a firm grip of my bottom and digs his fingers into the flesh.

  “Such an ass man.” I say as I break our lips.

  “Yes ma’am.” He says before diving back into my mouth. He sits while I straddle him, our lips still locked, his fingers still gripping my behind.

  “You smell good.” I say between kisses. He smiles and dips into my mouth again, harder, deeper. So deep that the force of his mouth makes me lean back. He pulls me closer to his groin by my ass. Mine. He breaks his lips from mine.

  “I’m trying to figure out what the hell I did to get you.” He says, his lips brushing against mine.

  “You must’ve been good.” We both laugh at the absurdity of that statement.

  “Damn, twelve years … I wonder how things would’ve turned out if I had just given up.”

  “Never give up.” I whisper.

  “You took the words right out of my mouth.” He looks at me, narrows his eyes on mine and then gives me a mischievous grin. He’s giving me ‘the eye’. I love you. I smile at him. Yeah, I love you too. I nod. He nods. I take another sip of my scotch before he eases the glass out of my hand and takes a sip of it. And then I dive into his mouth again.

  I grind my middle against his and he lets out a light growl. Well, look what we have here. A bulge. Mind as well reach for it. He enjoys when I ‘play’ with him. Better you than me, he always says. I look at him and raise my brows. Permission, please. He looks at me and nods to it. All yours. And so I reach into his pants, my fingers grab the bulge and … wait …

  That’s not a bulge.

  Well it’s a bulge but that’s not the bulge that’s still pressing against my leg. Wait, the bulge still pressing against my leg has a sharp corner. That’s a box. I look at him. What the hell is that? He shrugs and nods to it again. Go see. I reach in his pocket and my hand wraps around it. This better not be a pair of damn earrings! I look at him and he takes a blasé sip of my scotch. Mr. Laissez-faire. So damn cool. Mal. Colm. Blair! If this is an earring box, I will murder you! I pull it out. A box the color of a robin’s egg. Shit … shit … shit … this better not be an earring box! I look at him and he’s looking at it right along with me. Hurry up, Red. I wanna see what’s in there too. Don’t toy with me Blair! This better not be an earring box! I … slide … it … op … en …

  Whoa.

  “Marry me.”

  Laura

  November 5th

  5:30 p.m.

  “Are those damn bells going to ring all night?” I ask Dena as another round of bells chime.

  “Just until tonight, relax.” She says as she sips her tea.

  I’m sitting on Dena’s couch across from her and drinking chamomile tea. My new therapist says that I should not only take my Lithium but also do things in my everyday life to help my mood. So, since January 1st, I’ve been cycling every day for thirty minutes at my new health club. I’m also taking yoga. I go to Mass every Sunday and confession every Thursday. I’ve joined a book club in my new home state of Maryland and I attend it with my mother-in-law. (By the way, I’m married.) And, I drink chamomile tea for its relaxation properties. Oh and I’m in the planning stages of trying to open up my own gymn
astics school. I guess you can say that I’m trying not to have another episode like I had last Christmas. I’m keeping busy and staying healthy.

  “So where is it going to be?” I ask Dena.

  “They haven’t said, they’ve just hired limos to pick everyone up and take us there.”

  “What’s the big secret? They’re getting married, why it the venue so hush-hush?” I ask as I fold my leg under me and glance around. I’ve always loved Dena and Nat’s condo. They, along with Winnie and Jacob, live in the same building as Malcolm. So many nights Dena and I would have sleepovers while the guys were in one of their offices working. Sometimes Winnie would join us (when she wasn’t with Jacob’s sisters) and it all just felt right. We were a sorority of three, eating king crab legs, dipping them in garlic butter and washing it down with chardonnay. We’d sit in someone’s kitchen, open all the blinds and let the Boston night shine in on us. Sometimes we’d open the windows so that we could hear the commotion below and when it was cold outside, we’d still open them but open the oven as well and crank it up to four hundred degrees. I miss those days. Things are different in Maryland, where I now live.

  “They have to be careful. A lot of people are in town for election night, a lot of supporters and crazies.” She gives me a look. “Sorry, I know how much you hate that word.”

  “Shut up Dena.” We smile at each other and take a sip of our tea.

  I’m in town for the presidential festivities here in Boston … and the wedding. The Republicans are holding their celebratory events here, with everyone in town for the watch party tomorrow night. We all want to be here to see my father become America’s next president and of course we all want to attend Malcolm’s wedding. Actually, my reason for coming isn’t so much as a want than a need. There was no way I couldn’t be seen at Malcolm’s wedding. How would that look? Yeah, we’re all still about appearances.

  “I guess they just don’t want any unnecessary hoopla around their day.”