by Dara Girard
He grinned. “You can be quite fierce.”
“I know.”
He took her hand. “You mean a lot to me.”
She smiled her bad mood disappearing. “I know that too.”
They walked back to his car. “Have you ever gone berry picking?” he asked.
“No.”
“Would you like to try?”
Berry picking. It was something new. “Sure, that sound interesting, but why berry picking?”
“It's the right time and my grandmother wants to meet you.”
“Oh.” Paula didn't mention that she hadn't thought of introducing him to any of her family. Perhaps one day soon. “I haven't said I'll be your girlfriend yet.”
“I know. She still wants to meet you.”
Chapter Four
The following Saturday, Conrad took Paula on a comfortable, quiet drive, thirty minutes out of town. She didn't tell him that Andre had called her twice, and that she'd gone out for coffee with him. And Conrad didn't ask. Paula wondered why they got on so well, when there seemed to be so many differences between them. She liked to get to the point. He handled things in a laid back way. She still remembered seeing her first sight of snow at the age of eight, when they had arrived in Ontario, Canada in the middle of winter. He'd been skiing since he was four. His grandmother had a berry patch. Her grandmother lived a life of privilege and wouldn't know what manual labor was. Any chore she needed done, she would give to her housekeeper. Paula inwardly laughed thinking of how she'd guarded herself from telling her aunt and mother where he was taking her.
“Just to his grandmother's place, she has a berry patch.” she'd told the two women at lunch. Her mother liked to invite her over monthly to have lunch with her at her apartment. Calls from her mother always felt more like summons than invitations. About every two weeks her mother had a new outfit made. She pretended to want her daughter and sister over for their opinions and to eat, but in truth she wanted compliments. Which they always gave. Today the menu included baked plantain, steamed greens and curried goat. Her mother wore an expensive lace gown, which she planned to wear to an upcoming wedding.
“Why?” her mother asked. Her mother looked just like Paula, except she was taller, and wore glasses. She had striking features but was not as beautiful as her sister Miriam. She still turned heads and always looked as if she were ready for a portrait.
“He wants me to see it.”
“How much does he make?”
“Six figures.”
“Low, middle, or high?”
Her sister sent her a look. “Does it matter? Six figures is enough.”
“More is always better than enough.”
“I don't know,” Paula said.
“Find out. You should know information like that by now.”
“What's so special about a bloody berry patch?” Aunt Miriam asked.
“Watch your language,” her sister said.
Aunt Miriam only rolled her eyes then looked at her niece. “Tell us the truth.”
“I am,” Paula said. “We're going berry picking.”
“What? Is that an American slang for something?”
“No, we are actually going to pick berries.”
Her mother scowled. “Doesn't the woman have workers to do that? What's the point of having property if you have to toil the land yourself?” Her mother was averse to manual work of any kind, including preparing a cup of tea.
Paula smiled. “I think it will be fun.”
“Be careful,” her mother warned pointing at her. “He may just want to see how hard you'll work. You want a man who will take care of you not vice versa. They can be sly in their ways. “
“Mother, it is simply a trip to his grandmother's berry patch nothing more.”
Her mother frowned, but for some reason her aunt began to grin.
Paula wondered about that smile as Conrad drove up to a lovely colonial house nestled among what looked like woods. The house was impeccably kept, with a lovely garden in the front, displaying a wide variety of blooming flowers and off to the side, Paula caught a glimpse of a neatly tended garden bursting with an array of vegetables. They walked up a paved walkway and then Conrad knocked on the front door. A tall woman, with sharp eagle-like eyes, answered and hugged Conrad then grinned at Paula.
She extended her hand. “You must be Charlotte.”
Paula paused. “No.”
“Juanita?”
“No.”
“Giselle?”
Paula shook her head.
“Stop teasing her Gran,” Conrad said in good humor. “You know she's the only woman I've ever brought here. Come on.”
His grandmother giggled like a naughty school girl and then took her hand. “Oh, that was lots of fun. You should have seen your face.”
“Well, I wouldn't blame him if he’d brought all of his girlfriends here.” Paula said. “This place is beautiful.”
“Flattery will get you everything. Now let's go pick some berries.” His grandmother moved quickly, with a speed that belied her age of eighty-one. She led them to the back of the house where several large cane blackberry bushes grew. She handed Paula and Conrad a basket each.
Within seconds Paula realized she didn't know what she was doing. Conrad and his grandmother seemed to have a rhythm she couldn't pick up, but she didn't care. She was enjoying herself and imagined the sweet blackberry pie they would bake later.
His grandmother came up to Paula and looked into her basket. “You're doing it all wrong.”
“Wrong?”
“Yes. The way you're choosing the berries. The ones that are hard and shiny are usually bitter inside. Instead, you want to look for the ones like this.” His grandmother reached out and pulled several berries from deep inside the bush. “You want to look for berries that are sort of dull, plump, and undamaged, rich with color that almost fall away in your hand.”
“Oh.”
His grandmother looked down at the ugly looking berry. “Not attractive I know, but they're delicious.” She popped several in her mouth. “The best way to find the berry you like is to taste them.”
“You're the expert.”
“Yes I am.” She sent Paula a sidelong glance then lowered her voice. “You pick your men that way too, don't you? Don't look so shocked. You wouldn't be the first. Most women do. They go for what they see on the outside or for what sounds good and not what is good.” She looked over at Conrad who was busy eating a handful of berries. “I know he doesn't look like much, but he's a solid man. Most women pass him up because he doesn't meet the typical standard of charm or attractiveness.”
“He's a nice man.” Paula continued picking, uneasy with how accurate his grandmother was.
“He's more than that but you don't see it. He’s ‘black gold’, just like the finest blackberries. So do us both a favor and break up with him before you break his heart.”
Paula looked at her surprised. “What?”
“I know your type. I like you. I really do, but not for my grandson. He needs someone who really sees how special he is and that woman isn't you.”
“Mrs.--”
“I can tell that you're the kind of woman who likes to get to the point and so do I. I don't suffer fools gladly. I love my grandson and when he finds the right woman I'll know it.” She tapped her chest. “Just like I know how to pick berries, I know how to read people. That man you have hanging on the side.” She began to grin. “Thought I didn't know about him? Yes, I do. Conrad told me you still want to be free. You want your options open. Well, I'm here to tell you that option number two is perfect for you. You want a suave, sophisticated man who looks good in a dinner jacket and charms clients, so go after him. He's who you deserve. Leave my grandson alone.” She narrowed her eyes and hardened her tone. “And if you stay with Conrad to spite me, I promise I'll make you pay.” She turned and left.
Paula stared at the older woman’s back, speechless. Sugar and spice she was not. She didn't think sh
e was good enough for Conrad? Maybe she didn't think any woman would be. Who did she think she was to tell her about the man she deserved? She was a catch and no one would tell her what to do.
She walked over to Conrad and looped her arm through his. She glanced up and saw his grandmother tighten her lips. Paula didn't care. She glanced down and looked into his basket and saw it was full. “You're really good at this.”
“I've had the practice.”
“Your Gran let me know I was doing it all wrong so I had to start over.”
“Better to start over than have a basket filled with bitter fruit.”
“That almost sounds like a proverb.”
“I'm a man of hidden talents. Have you tasted one yet?”
“I thought I'd wait for the pie.”
“No, nothing's better than a ripe fruit.”
“Said Eve to Adam.”
“This is not that kind of garden.” He held a berry out to her.
She could have taken the berry from him. She could have fed herself, but she didn't. Paula opened her mouth and let him place the berry inside.
He was right. There was nothing like the fresh juicy taste of a ripe, juicy, blackberry and having someone you were quickly growing fond of feeding it you.
“Well?”
“It's delicious. Help me pick some more.”
***
“What was it like?” her Aunt Miriam asked the next day when she and Paula's mother came to visit. She knew there was no way of stopping them.
“It was wonderful,” Paula said setting tea on the table. “We picked berries and laughed and then his grandmother made this delicious pie. She gave me one to take home.”
“How is he with her?”
“They're very close.”
“That's a bad sign,” her mother said.
“Why?”
“He might always compare you to her.”
“I doubt he expects me to turn into a pie making, berry picking woman.”
“You never know.”
Aunt Miriam shook her head. “Don't listen to your mother. She married flash and I married substance. Substance lasts longer.”
“How would you know with two dead husbands?” her sister chided.
“Only one man lasts longer in my heart. Had he lived it would have been heaven.”
Paula's mother shook her head. “So called 'substance' can only last you so long. It was your father's connections that got us here. He treated me well...I just didn't like the household. But I was well taken care of.” Her mother tried to sound offended, but they knew she wasn’t. Paula was well aware of her father’s contributions. Neither she nor her siblings had lacked for anything when her mother had up and left her father. He was out of the country at the time, and she had just gotten into one of her many fights with his third wife. She was the most recent addition to their household, and had taken an instant dislike to Paula’s mother and her children. She was always complaining and shouting at them, but one day she went too far and struck Paula with a wooden kitchen spoon, leaving a large welt on the back of her arm. Her mother had never raised her hand to any of her children, and without her husband being there for protection, decided she didn’t want her children to grow up in a home with quarreling and, worst of all, violence.
Her mother had called her father and within four days they were on a plane, with several suitcases carrying all their belongings, heading for Toronto, Canada, where a friend of her father was waiting for them. He had been very helpful, securing a house for them, enrolling them in school and introducing them to the African immigrant community there. At first, her mother regretted her decision, there were no housemaids, or drivers to run her errands, but Paula and her siblings all pitched in to help. Once they all finished middle school, her mother decided to move to Maryland, where her Aunt Miriam lived. Her mother still lived on the monthly stipend her father sent for them. Paula had never been able to understand why they stayed married, but over the years she had accepted their relationship for what it was.
Unlike her father, Conrad wasn't wealthy. He wasn't handsome. He wasn't charming. Just solid. Nothing to brag about. Could she handle that? How would she be around her friends whose husbands were far more dashing? She had one friend whose husband wasn't attractive but at least he was wealthy and showered her friend with gifts and affection. Then there was another friend whose husband was not wealthy but was drool-worthy gorgeous. When he walked into a room, all heads turned. Then there was Tamara, who had gotten both a wealthy and attractive catch and was the envy of their close-knit Afro-Caribbean community. But Tamara hadn't worried about Conrad being neither wealthy nor handsome, she'd liked him and had thought he would be a good catch for her. She didn't need his money, she had plenty of her own and he wasn't intimated by her income, although some men had been. Yet she knew he wouldn't pass her mother's scrutiny and she still had doubts.
“Choose a man who won't shame you,” her mother said.
Paula listened knowing that Conrad wouldn't stand a chance.
***
Her mother's words came back to Paula a couple of weeks later when she received the award announcement. She'd won. Paula stared at the announcement stunned. All her work and sacrifice on her job had been worth it. First she'd seen her company’s business nearly triple after signing the contract with the entrepreneur; and now she'd won a prestigious award. She had to tell Conrad. She reached for the phone, but before she picked it up, it rang. She glanced at the number. It was Andre. She hesitated then answered.
“Congratulations,” he said.
“You heard already?”
“I knew when the announcements would come out and checked.”
“I can't believe it.”
“You worked hard. You'll love the banquet.”
She paused. “Banquet?”
“Yes, that's when you'll receive your prize.”
How could she have forgotten about the banquet? That's when all her peers would be there. She could imagine Conrad spilling his drink on a guest or staining his shirt again, the thought made her groan.
“Is something wrong?” Andre asked.
Yes. “No.”
“You know, you haven't given me an answer about dinner.”
Of course, Andre would never make a mistake like that. He moved easily through a crowd and people liked him. He'd make a great escort. That's all he would be. Conrad didn't need to know about the banquet and she'd tell him about the prize later.
“I've got something better in mind,” she said.
Chapter Five
“I'm so proud of you!” her Aunt Miriam said giving her a fierce hug. Paula had stopped by her aunt's shop to tell her the good news. “What has Conrad said?”
“I haven't told him yet.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why not?”
“I'll tell him later.”
“What are you hiding?”
“I've decided to go to the banquet with Andre.”
“Why?”
“It will be better.”
“For whom?” her aunt challenged.
“Both of us.”
“I haven't even met him yet and you're already throwing him away?”
“I'm not thr--”
“Then why won't you take him?” she cut in.
“He's socially awkward. It's not the kind of atmosphere where anything can go wrong. This night means a lot to me.”
“You sound like your mother.”
“She has a point. What he doesn't know--”
“Will hurt both of you.”
“Don't be so dramatic.”
“I don't care if he wears clown shoes, if you love him, you'll tell him. He has the right to know.” She held her arms and shook her. “Listen to me on this: Tell Conrad.”
But she didn't. Paula convinced herself it was best for both of them. After the banquet she would tell him how long and boring it was. How she wanted to save him the agony of having to dress up like a penguin in a tuxedo, which she knew h
e hated, and then they'd laugh about it. It would be fine, although it was hard not to tell him about the award. He'd been so supportive, but she only had to keep it from him for a little while. She could do that.
***
The night of the banquet was perfection. Paula felt like a queen and reveled in the envious glances and whispered remarks from the women wondering who her date was and commenting on what a handsome pair they made. “See Dad, I'm a success,” she thought as she left the stage holding her award. She hadn't realized that after so many years, his opinion still mattered, but now she was past it. Growing up she had wanted her father to be there to see her successes, but he never came. Over time, she and her siblings saw him only on a few occasions, and knew of him only as their “financial” provider and father in name only. Tonight she was beautiful, and successful, with a man at her side who projected the right image. She glanced at her aunt who was frowning and her mother who was beaming. She exited the ballroom and headed for the ladies' room.
“I can't believe you came with that smiley faced boy,” her aunt said as she entered the room.
Paula touched up her lipstick then put the tube away. “Andre's really a great guy.”
“I was hoping to meet Conrad tonight. I dressed up with extra care for him.”
“You'll meet him another time,” Paula said then turned and left, with her aunt following close behind.
Unfortunately, she was wrong. The moment she and her aunt left the ladies room, Conrad came out of another room. He saw her and smiled and walked towards her. He was dressed in a pair of casual jeans and a fitted polo jumper, carrying his tuba in a large case.
Paula halted, her heart hitting the floor. “Oh no.”
“What?”
“That's him,” Paula said in near panic, wishing she could hide.
“Who?”
Paula didn't get a chance to reply. Conrad stopped in front of them and grinned. “Wow. You look sensational.” His gaze skimming over her dress with male admiration. “I’m here with my band, we just finished playing a gig for a retirement party. What's the occasion for you?”
“Um...” Paula turned to her aunt, hoping to change the topic. “This is my Aunt--”