Homecoming Weekend

by Curtis Bunn

  Jimmy smiled. But he detected something in Donna’s delivery that he didn’t like. “You say that like you think I’ve been chasing women,” he said. “Why do I feel that?”

  “Well, I wasn’t trying to convey that, but that’s what men do, right?” she said. “Especially when they leave their wife at home for the weekend.”

  “You seem pretty . . . won’t say obsessed, but interested in my wife not being here,” Jimmy said. “That’s at least the third or fourth time you’ve alluded that point. Why’s that?”

  Donna said, “No, I wouldn’t say that. I’m just giving you my observations.”

  “What is it?” Jimmy asked. “You like me?”

  He was surprised that he asked her that, but he was not in the mood for innuendo or hints.

  “Yes, I do,” Donna said. “You asked me and I told you. Now what?”

  Jimmy was again surprised. He considered himself a keen judge of people and certainly could tell when a woman was interested in him.

  “You sure haven’t shown me that you like me,” he said. “I’m flattered that you do. Trust me, I am. But . . . ”

  “But you’re married?” she said. “You’re married, but you chose to come here without your wife. You did that for a reason. Weren’t you looking for something? Someone?”

  “I’m married,” Jimmy said. “I didn’t come here to find something or someone. I came to see my old classmates, enjoy my time away from home—”

  “Blah, blah, blah,” Donna said. Jimmy was taken aback. She had been very quiet the whole weekend, observing without commenting on much. Suddenly, she was open and direct.

  “Do you like me, have an interest in me?” she said. “Aren’t you leaving tomorrow, going back to your wife? Aren’t you looking for a highlight of your weekend?”

  “I’m going to go get a drink,” he said, “because I need one. Not too many times in my life I have needed one. After surviving being attacked by locals early in my Iraq tour, I needed a few drinks. This is the first time since then.”

  “You thirsty? Or are you hot?” Donna said.

  Jimmy didn’t answer. He just got up and went to the reception area outside the ballroom. He chatted with NSU national alumni president Butch Graves for a minute before he found Carter coming from the bathroom. “Yo, this is crazy,” he said.

  “What?” Carter asked.

  “Your girl’s friend, Donna; she’s coming on to me stronger than any woman ever has, well, except for Regina. She basically just asked me to hit it. I can’t believe this.”

  “You can’t believe she did or you can’t believe you’re considering it?” Carter said. “Look, man, I don’t care what you do. I don’t. In fact, I know you won’t hit it. That’s who you are. You’re one of the few good guys who would turn it down. And that’s great. But I do need you to occupy Donna a little bit, dance with her, talk to her. I need to spend some time with Barbara and she’s worried about Donna being by herself. You see these guys in here; most of them out here in the lobby talking and laughing instead of in there with tables full of women.”

  “All right, I got you,” Jimmy said. “But I need to get her under control.”

  After getting a shot of Absolut, Jimmy went back into the ballroom. He did not even sit down. He grabbed Donna’s hand and took her to the dance floor. That gave Carter the space he needed to talk to Barbara.

  “Barbara, I really want to share some things with you about you moving to New York,” he said. “We can try to find someplace more quiet.”

  “This is okay,” she said. “No one is here right now. We have some privacy.”

  “Okay,” Carter said. “I really want to tell you about Marlena, the woman whose text you read . . . She’s . . . she’s my wife.”

  The music was loud and Barbara was not sure she heard him correctly. He just couldn’t have said what she thought he did. “What?” she asked.

  “She’s my wife,” Carter said.

  Barbara heard him clearly that time and her poise and elegance were shattered. She was flustered and confused. “Your wife?” she said. “What the fuck are you talking about, Carter?”

  Barbara hardly ever used profanity, but she was incensed. Carter took a deep breath and looked down at his shoes. Then he raised his head and looked into her teary eyes. His heart was pounding and a queasy feeling arrived in his stomach.

  “We got married almost three months ago,” he said. “We—”

  “How in the fuck could you get married and not say anything to me?” she said. “How in the fuck could you call yourself loving me and marry someone else? How in the fuck could you try to condemn me for getting a divorce? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  That was the most he had ever heard Barbara curse in all the years he had known her—combined. He literally was scared because he had no idea where she would go with her anger. There was a drink on the table and he picked it up and moved it far away from Barbara.

  “I’m sorry, Barbara. I am,” he said. “This was not about love. I, uh, we decided it was the right thing to do considering the circumstances.”

  “What fucking circumstances?” she yelled.

  “She was pregnant,” Carter blurted out. “Her period comes like clockwork and when it didn’t, she took the test. She’s a Seventh Day Adventist and premarital sex is forbidden. Her parents are staunch in their religion. She said she was going to be ridiculed and basically catch so much hell if she was pregnant before marriage.”

  “And you fell for that shit?” Barbara said. “You are a very smart man. You telling me you fell for the dumbest, lamest trick in the goddamn book?”

  “It wasn’t a trick,” he said. “I know her family. It was real. It would have been messed up for her if they found out she had premarital sex. And I couldn’t let her go through that. I was trying to protect her relationship with her family.”

  Barbara seethed. “Oh, so now you’re Mr. Save-a-Ho? You’re Mr. Morals? You get married because someone is pregnant? And that’s supposed to be something I should believe?”

  Carter was in unfamiliar territory. He had never seen Barbara in such a rage. Worse, he did not know how to handle it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  COLD TRUTHS

  Tranise, Mary and Charlene

  True to her word, Tranise showed up looking beautiful, sporting a little black dress that plunged in the front, displaying a set of breasts she did not have as a college student, and a chiffon back. She knew Brandon’s attention would be hers. But she did not expect to see Kwame there.

  “There goes your young suitor,” Mary said. “Did you tell him you were going to be here?”

  “I must have; I can’t remember,” she said. “I haven’t talked to him since I saw him at the game. We didn’t talk about tonight. But it’s cool. I’m fine.”

  “This is a little older crowd, but it’s sophisticated,” Charlene said. “Maybe we can learn something. Or teach a few things.”

  “To who?” Mary said. “You on the prowl?”

  “It’s the last night. Damn right I am,” Charlene answered. “Tyrell is a nice backup plan.”

  “Is Rodney coming?” Tranise said.

  “Of course, he is,” Mary answered. “After what I gave him last night, how could he not come back for Round Two?”

  “I’m scared of you,” Charlene said.

  “Y’all so freak nasty,” Tranise said. “I don’t even know if I should be hanging with you hookers.”

  The ladies laughed as Kwame came over. His youthful energy was apparent. His interest in Tranise was, too.

  “So this is our last night together, huh?” he said to her. “I feel kind of sad about that. I’m thinking we should extend the night.”

  Tranise smiled. She knew what he meant but she wanted him to say it. “Extend the night?’ she asked coyly. “What does that mean? Go to breakfast after the party?”

  “Actually,” Kwame said, “no. I was thinking about my place. It’s small. But it’s clean and it’s cozy
.”

  “Are you open to learning?” Tranise said.

  “Teach me everything you know,” Kwame eagerly answered.

  “Here’s your first lesson,” Tranise said. “Understand who you are talking to. If you understood me at all, you know I would not go back to your apartment. You would know, in fact, that I could be offended that you asked me that after meeting me yesterday.”

  Kwame was thrown. He had not been rejected much in his young life—indeed, he had his way with women—and so he did not know how to respond. Tranise was as interested in educating him as she was getting to know him.

  “You are a good catch,” she told him. “You’re smart. You have charisma. You’re handsome. You obviously know a good catch when you see one since you are interested in me. Sorry, I couldn’t help it. Seriously, though, you have to be able to discern a woman from a ‘trick.’ A trick would go to your apartment tonight to ‘extend the night.’ I know you don’t think I’m a trick. You probably have used that same approach to others and it worked. But it won’t work and shouldn’t be used on everyone. You have to be able to discern how you should be with individuals based on that individual. I know I didn’t give you any indication that I would go home with you. So . . . ”

  Kwame felt awkward. The competitive gene in him wanted him to continue to go for it. Maybe he could turn her. The conscious side of him felt like a little boy in class, admonished by the teacher he admired.

  “Thank you for telling me that,” he said to Tranise. “I’m sorry. I hope you know I would never try to offend or disrespect you. I don’t know. I guess I just wanted a chance to see you in private before you left tomorrow.”

  He’s good, Tranise thought, especially to be so young. There was an innocence and genuineness to him. “Let’s just have a good time tonight,” she said. “I like you. I think you’re cool. And I gave you my number, so we can keep in touch.”

  “I’m good with that, Kwame,” he said. “I’m good with that. Let’s hug it out.”

  They embraced and he kissed Tranise on the side of her face. She smiled. “Seems like you’re trying to do more than hug, Kwame,” Tranise said as she pulled back.

  Kwame smiled and pointed to the bar. Tranise nodded her head and they walked together for the first round of drinks for the night. The bartender made them cranberry and Belvederes with a twist of lime. They toasted to “meeting new, wonderful people,” Kwame said.

  They tapped glasses and took a sip of their drinks. “Good for you?” he asked Tranise. “If it’s not, I will send it back and demand that whoever made the inadequate drink be fired.”

  Tranise laughed and her spirits were lifted. But just as quickly as she smiled, the sight of Felicia on the arm of Brandon gave her a queasy feeling. Kwame noticed.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, looking over his shoulder and spotting Brandon and Felicia walking into the ballroom.

  “Nothing,” she said. “Just saw something that made me sick.”

  Kwame did not feel good about that. He had been trying to earn Tranise’s interest and yet she clearly had something for Brandon. Not minutes after receiving a lesson from Felicia, he delivered one to her.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t understand something,” he said. “You obviously have something for this guy. It’s obvious. And that’s the problem. I have told you and shown you that I really like you. You have been lukewarm with me, but very hot about this guy. That’s cool. But he’s married. You gave me some good advice a minute ago and I will take heed. I think you ought to take this advice: If you are in the presence of someone who is interested in you, it’s pretty rude to constantly show interest in someone else. I tried to ignore it yesterday, two or three times. And now I see that this man’s wife is pregnant . . . And you talk to me about someone being a trick and someone not? Maybe I’m young, but I do know that he is not a good catch.

  “Have a good time.”

  And then he walked away, leaving Tranise standing there, somewhat shocked, definitely embarrassed. He had eloquently put her in her place. And in doing so, her level of respect and interest in Kwame soared.

  She walked into the lobby area, looking for him, but found Mary and Charlene. “What’s wrong?” Mary said. “Where’s Kwame?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “I’m looking for him . . . How’s it going?”

  “It’s going great,” Mary said. “The men look like men. It’s sort of a receding hairline convention, but I don’t mind that. They are mature and confident. You can tell they have done things in their life by how they walk and talk. And I love just standing here and watching friends see each other for the first time in years. There’s something really nice about that. You can see how genuinely happy they are to see each other. I love it.”

  “I also saw a couple folks whose greeting was not all that enthusiastic,” Charlene said. She lowered her voice. “This woman behind me,” she said. “She hugged this other woman and when she walked away, she came over here and said to her friend: ‘You believe she had the nerve to speak to me? When we were in school, she didn’t pay her rent for three months and then just moved out. I got evicted because of her. And she never apologized.’ Her friend said, ‘What year was that?’ The girl said, ‘Ah, 1982.’

  “So she’s been holding that grudge for thirty years. Wow.”

  Tranise listened, but her head was on a swivel; she wanted to talk to Kwame, to apologize. Instead, Brandon walked up. Charlene and Mary spoke and left.

  “You look great, Tranise,” he said.

  “So do you,” she said. “So does your pregnant wife.”

  Brandon smiled. “Has homecoming been good for you?”

  “It’s been amazing,” she said. “I feel like I will never miss another. I feel more connected to the school. I left and stayed away, but never again. This weekend has been inspiring, in more ways than one.”

  “Same here,” he said. “I am inspired to visit Atlanta.”

  “Don’t you think you should be focused on your wife and your baby that’s coming in—what?—two months?” Tranise said. She was angered because Mary and Kwame were right—he was married. That college crush was good for college. The reality of today meant a different set of emotions.

  “I can multi-task,” he said, and offered his captivating smile.

  Another time it was a smile that would have overwhelmed Tranise. This time, it flat-out angered her.

  “You know, Brandon, I am glad we got to talk and really meet after all these years,” she said. “But you are married. I know your wife. But you seem to think it’s okay to flirt with me. You’re being very discreet about it, but it’s flirting. And that makes me think you don’t think highly enough of me. To think I would see you, date you, sleep with you . . . whatever, is a real slap in my face and I don’t appreciate it. I don’t get any pleasure out of saying this because at one time in my life—several years ago—I had a serious crush on you. But that was then. You’re married, Brandon. You should act like it.”

  She turned to walk away and Brandon reached out and grabbed her arm. Tranise looked down at his hand on her and he let go. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I apologize. That’s really all I can say. I’m sorry.”

  He was really sorry because Felicia arrived at that moment. “I thought you were getting me some water,” she said.

  “I am. Come on,” he said.

  “You go ahead,” Felicia said, looking at Tranise. “I’m coming.”

  Brandon walked on and Felicia walked up to Tranise. The number of people milling in the reception area outside the ball-room had increased exponentially, so Felicia remained poised as she spoke.

  “What is it about staying away from my husband that you don’t understand?” she started. “You hate me? Fine. I hate you, too. But you don’t interfere in my marriage. I might be pregnant, but I can and I will bust you upside your head with a bottle. Now you can hate me and look at me crazy like you are right now. But you gonna respect me and my marriage.”
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  Tranise was about to tell her that her husband had come on to her, that she needed to check him and not her. But at that moment, Steve Nottingham emerged with his camera, asking the ladies to pose.

  “Don’t move; stay right there and smile,” he said.

  Neither of them wanted to, but they did. He flashed the photo. “Beautiful,” he said. “Thanks.”

  Tranise turned to Felicia to tell her off, but saw only the back of her head. She walked away.

  Charlene and Mary came over. “Okay, so what the hell was that all about?” Charlene said.

  “Nothing worth talking about,” Tranise said. “She hates me and thinks I’m trying to get with Brandon.”

  “Well, aren’t you?” Mary said.

  “At first, it was very, very flattering that I even met him and he was talking to me,” she answered. “But you were right about what him flirting with me meant. And Kwame was, too.”

  “Kwame said something about it?” Mary asked.

  “He did,” Tranise said. “I’ve got to talk to him.”

  She scanned the reception area and then went out into the hotel lobby seeking Kwame. She caught the attention of Greg “Night Hawk” Cook, Val Guilford, Curtis West, Jon Aponte and Mark Conrad—friends from their Norfolk State days in the early 1980s.

  “Excuse me,” Curtis said politely as she walked by.

  Tranise was pleasant by nature, but she was rattled by the events of the night and came off rather snobbish with her response: “I’m really not interested in talking right now,” she said.

  “That’s fine,” Curtis responded. “I just wanted to tell you that you have toilet tissue stuck on your shoe.”

  She looked down and was embarrassed about what she saw—and how she responded to him. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m really sorry. I’m really a nice person. I just have something on my mind.”

  “We understand,” Val said. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

  They all laughed and Tranise was on her way.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE