by Cheryl Faye
After three rings, Myra called up from downstairs, “Do you want me to get that?”
“I don’t care,” Charisse called back.
Myra picked up the extension in the den. “Hello.”
“Myra?”
“Yes.”
“This is Stefàn. May I speak to Charisse, please?”
Pausing momentarily before she removed the receiver from her ear, Myra didn’t bother to cover the phone when she called out, “It’s him.”
Unable to resist the need to hear his voice, Charisse slowly rose from her seat to pick up the extension. “I have it, Myra.” It was still a few seconds before she put the receiver to her ear. “Hello,” she said cheerlessly.
“Charisse, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Can I talk to you?”
“I’m on the phone, aren’t I?”
“Can I come over?”
“For what?”
“Because I need to talk to you.”
“Why can’t you say what you have to say on the phone?”
“Because I need to see you to say what I have to say.”
She huffed loudly.
“Please?”
“I don’t care,” she said in resignation.
“What’s your address?”
She gave it to him.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” The line went dead in her ear.
When Charisse hung up the phone, she returned to her chaise. Why’d I do that? Why’d I tell him he could come over? Because you want to see him.
Less than ten minutes passed before her doorbell rang. Charisse had not moved from her bedside haven. Myra, who was still downstairs, answered the door. She was surprised to see Stefàn and was so disappointed in Charisse she couldn’t even say anything.
“What’s up, Myra?” he said after an uncomfortably long silence.
“Hello.”
She made no move to let him in.
“Charisse is expecting me.”
Finally, she stepped back so he could enter.
“I’ll get her,” she grumbled, not bothering to offer him a seat.
“Thank you.”
She climbed the stairs and entered Charisse’s bedroom. “Your friend is here.” She made no attempt to hide her disapproval.
Charisse chose to ignore Myra’s scowl, and rising slowly, dragged herself from her bedroom. She could see him from the top of the stairs and was affected the same way she always was upon seeing him—with nervous excitement. Stefàn had obviously gone home because he was now wearing jeans.
“Hey, Charisse,” he said softly as she descended.
“Hi.” Moving toward her living room, she said, “Come on in here.”
Charisse took a seat on the sofa. Stefàn sat beside her.
“So what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”
“I wanted to apologize to you.”
“For what? You don’t have to apologize for anything. You said it yourself, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not like you’re my man. I don’t even know why I acted like that. I’m the one who should be apologizing to you.” She rambled as if she was afraid she would lose him if she didn’t explain her actions.
“Charisse, she wants to buy a house.”
“Whatever,” she said flippantly with an off-handed wave. “I had no reason to walk out without saying anything to you. It’s not like you promised me anything. I wasn’t expecting to see so many of your women there, I guess.”
“I’m not involved with anyone who was at the house, Charisse. I swear.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway.”
“Yes, it does. Look—”
She cut him off. “No, it was stupid of me to think you wouldn’t know anyone there. Those were your friends and you told me you’ve been going to their parties for years, so, of course, you’re going to know people there. I can’t believe I was actually jealous. Why should I be? I have no right to be.”
Reaching over, Stefàn took her hand. “Charisse, please let me say something.” He paused a moment while she calmed down. “Listen, whether you believe it or not, I am sorry for what happened. That woman, Jeannette…. I was as shocked as you were by the way she assaulted me. I don’t know her, but she wants me to show her some houses. That’s why I gave her my card. But aside from that, I owe you an apology for the way I behaved. I invited you there and I should have been more attentive to you. No, I’m not your man, but you’re my friend and that means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me, Charisse.”
Staring straight ahead, Charisse gave away no trace of what she was feeling.
Pausing briefly to gather his thoughts, he continued. “Yes, I knew several women there, but I swear, I wasn’t trying to get with any of them. I realize I should’ve been less selfish and probably should’ve checked a few situations that I didn’t. I’m sorry for making you feel uncomfortable because of my actions or…inaction.” He paused again and took a deep breath.
Charisse’s hand was still resting easily in his.
After a few uncomfortable seconds, Stefàn continued. “Risi, next to my sister and my Mom, you’re the only woman I know that I don’t have to front with. I can be myself around you and whether it means anything to you or not, that means the world to me. You’re special to me and I don’t want to lose your friendship, especially over nonsense like this. I’m truly sorry and I hope you can forgive me. I promise you, nothing like that will ever happen again.”
With Stefàn’s last apology, Charisse finally turned to face him. She could see he was sincere and was relieved. After a thoughtful moment, she softly said, “I have to forgive you. I can’t expect God to forgive me if I can’t forgive you.”
A tentative smile crossed his face. “Well, I thank you and I thank God you feel the way you do.” Then teasingly, he asked, “Do you still love me?”
“I can’t stand you,” she quipped as she rolled her eyes at him in mock disdain.
Stefàn laughed, “Good, ’cause I can’t stand you either.”
Against her will, Charisse chuckled.
“There it is,” he said.
“There what is?”
He gently caressed her cheek. “Your beautiful smile.” Charisse blushed, and realizing that he’d embarrassed her, he said, “I’m gonna leave before I wear out my welcome.”
He stood and made his way to the door.
“You’re showing that woman a house tomorrow?” Charisse asked as she walked him out.
“Yeah.”
“I know it’s not Christ-like to be spiteful, but make sure you take her to the biggest, most expensive ones you can find.” Then, looking up, she murmured, “Forgive me, Lord.”
He laughed again. “Oh, no doubt; she made the mistake of telling me price is no object.”
“You realize she wants more than a house, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but I’m not interested.”
Charisse believed him but added, “She doesn’t seem the type to take ‘no’ for an answer.”
“I run my show, Charisse. No one runs it for me unless I give them permission. And believe me, if there was no commission in this for me, I’d quickly hand her off to one of the other agents in my office.”
She chuckled at his dilemma.
He leaned in and softly kissed the side of her mouth. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
Electric charges raced through her with his gentle buss and garnered a shy smile. “Be careful.”
He winked. “Always.”
When she closed the door, Myra was standing behind her. “So what’s he got to say for himself now?”
“Look, Myra, I understand how you feel about Stefàn, but I don’t feel the same way. I care about him. And whether you believe it or not, I don’t believe he’s ever lied to me. I’m not trying to get him to fall in love with me or anything like that. We’re just friends, so I would appreciate it if you would keep any negative comments you have to say about him to yourself because, just like I would never sit b
y and let anyone trash you, I won’t listen to you trashing him either. Okay?”
Myra sighed. “Okay.”
“Thank you. Are you coming with me to church tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Turning toward the den and linking her arm with her best friend’s, Charisse asked, “What were you watching?”
CHAPTER 12
AIN’T UNDERSTANDING MELLOW?
“Myra, aside from the fact that you believe Stefàn is a player, what is it about him you dislike so much?” Charisse asked.
They were in Charisse’s Corvette with the top down, on the way to Myra’s apartment in Brooklyn. It was ten minutes past eleven on Sunday morning and they had just left Charisse’s church. The sun was shining brightly and the day promised to be as warm and beautiful as the preceding days had been.
After Stefàn left last night, Charisse and Myra had watched a movie. They’d steered clear of talking about Stefàn or the pool party, so the night had been pretty enjoyable. Still, Charisse had gone to bed with troubled thoughts of Stefàn and her best friend’s strong aversion to him. She sensed the influence of her upbringing was playing a large role in Myra’s cynicism but that did nothing to dispel her discomfort.
Upon awakening that morning, Charisse had initially decided not to ask Myra about the basis of her feelings for her new friend. As they ate breakfast and prepared to leave for church, however, Charisse felt their conversation was stilted and forced. She was sure the reason for this had everything to do with Stefàn. That being the case, she put aside her earlier decision because she needed to know why Myra felt the way she did. It mattered what her best friend thought, especially about someone who, it seemed, would have an apparent impact on her life one way or another.
“I don’t like the way he disrespected you yesterday.”
“He didn’t disrespect me.”
Myra looked askance at Charisse as she said, “The way he was flirting with all those women?”
“Okay, he was flirting, but how was that disrespectful to me?”
“He invited you there.”
“But I’m not his woman, Myra, and I’m not trying to be. We hardly know each other.”
“And you’re going to tell me his flirting didn’t bother you?”
“Yeah, it did, a little,” Charisse admitted sheepishly.
“More than a little. You had an attitude for most of the time we were there.”
“But that wasn’t his fault. That was my own jealousy, which I had no right or reason to feel. Stefàn has never implied or suggested we be anything other than what we are.”
“Yeah, but you’ve already been out with him four times,” Myra pointed out.
“What four times? I went riding with him. He went riding with me, which, by the way, wasn’t a date, and yesterday.”
“He brought you dinner at your job.”
“But that wasn’t a date, either. In fact, the only time that could even be considered a date was maybe last Sunday, but even that was—”
“Well, Thursday when you got your car—” Myra interrupted.
“I told you, that wasn’t a date. I picked him up to ride with me and we happened to have dinner together, which I paid for.”
“Why would you buy him dinner?” Myra asked in astonishment.
“Because I wanted to.”
“You can’t tell me you don’t like him, Charisse.”
“Of course, I like him, but we’re just friends, Myra. I like you, too.”
Myra rolled her eyes at Charisse as she muttered, “Please.”
Laughing, Charisse continued, “Look, I know who Stefàn is and I have no intentions of being added to his harem. He knows what I’m about, how I’m living. I’ve even talked to him about my faith. And I don’t see anything wrong with us being friends.”
“Yeah, but we both know you’d like to be more than that. I know you, Charisse. You like this guy more than you’re letting on,” Myra insisted.
“I’ve never denied that I like him. He’s really a very decent guy.”
Myra looked over at Charisse in disbelief. “You call the way he behaved yesterday, decent?”
“He didn’t do anything wrong yesterday,” Charisse insisted. “He knew a lot of people there. A lot of them were women,” Charisse stated directly, “but so what? He’s an exceptionally good looking man and he’s very charming. Women are drawn to him and he plays on that. Most intelligent people draw on their strengths. But he wasn’t trying to get with any of them.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he told me he wasn’t.”
Myra shook her head. “I can’t understand how you can be so gullible.”
“I’m not being gullible, Myra,” Charisse agitatedly decried. “Stefàn promised he wouldn’t lie to me. He’s never given me any reason to believe he has or does. I talk to him every day. You don’t. You don’t know anything about him except what I tell you.”
“I know what I see,” she insinuated.
“Do you really believe you can know everything about a person from seeing him two times?” Charisse asked sarcastically.
“He acted just like he did at Jewel’s wedding.”
“Maybe, but he’s a single man. He’s not committed to anyone.”
“He invited you there,” she repeated.
“He invited you there, too.”
“You invited me.”
“Only after he suggested it. Myra, he’s not my man. He’s my friend. That’s it. We’ve never kissed or anything. He’s never even tried to kiss me. I talk to him like I talk to you and we talk about everything. I’m learning about Stefàn, the man, not the myth, because he wants me to know him and I want to know him. You call it gullible but I think he wants me to know the man apart from his reputation. We all have two sides—the public and the private. Stefàn is showing me his private side. We talk about our childhoods, our weaknesses, our fears. And I told you, we even talk about Christ. He’s trying to understand what motivates my faith and I want to teach him. For all you know, my relationship with him could lead him to Christ.”
Myra huffed in disbelief.
“Why is that so hard for you to believe? No one is beyond forgiveness and God’s grace, Myra, not you for being so judgmental, nor Stefàn.” Charisse could feel herself becoming very defensive, so she took a deep breath and tried to rein in her emotions. “Listen, we have a real friendship growing and that’s what I like. He respects how I feel. That’s why he came by last night. He knew I was upset even if I had no right to be and he cares enough about me to try and fix what was wrong. That’s what friends do. That’s what we do, Myra. He really is a very sweet man. And yeah, I want to get to know that man. I’m not setting my hopes on him. I have no ill-conceived notions that he’ll suddenly become the perfect man to settle down with. But I like hanging out with him. I have a good time with him. He’s a lot of fun and much more interesting than you could probably imagine.”
“I don’t want to see you get hurt,” Myra said softly.
“I don’t want to get hurt either, Myra, and believe me, if I ever start to feel like I’m getting too…enamored of him, I will drop him like a hot potato.”
CHARISSE WAS BACK AT HER HOUSE BY THREE O’CLOCK that afternoon. She was there for all of ten minutes when her telephone rang.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Charisse. How you doin’ today?”
“I’m good, Stefàn. How’re you?”
“Pretty good. I’m getting ready to get out of here.”
“You’re at work?”
“Yeah.”
“I just got back in from taking Myra home.”
“Did you go to church today?”
“Absolutely.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes, I did, but I always do.”
“I’m glad to hear that. What do you have planned for the rest of your day?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“Have dinner with me?”
; Smiling, she replied, “Okay.”
“Feel like taking a ride on the bike?”
“Ooh, yeah,” she said excitedly.
He laughed. “Cool. Listen, I’ll come and get you at about five o’clock, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Looking forward to it,” he said softly. “See you then.”
When Stefàn pulled up in front of her house, promptly at five o’clock, Charisse was sitting on her front steps. Having changed from her church clothes, she had put on a pair of pale pink jeans since they would be on the motorcycle. Under the matching jacket thrown over her shoulders, she wore a sleeveless white T-shirt.
“Hi,” she called to him.
He pulled into her driveway and immediately turned off the bike’s engine. Wow, she’s sitting there waiting for me. Does that mean she’s as eager to see me as I am to see her? Deliberately removing his helmet as he tried to staunch his excitement at the possibility of his thought being the truth, he said, “Hey, gorgeous. You look pretty in pink.”
“Thanks. Let me go get my helmet. Would you like something to drink before we go?” she asked as she held the door open.
“Sure; I’ll take a glass of ice water.”
“Come on in.”
Following her into the house, Stefàn pulled off his driving gloves as he walked in, and unzipped his jacket.
“What time did you go to work this morning?”
“I was there at eight.”
“Yeah, that’s about the time we left this morning. It was a little tough getting up ’cause we were up late watching a movie.”
“When I left here last night, I went home and crashed.”
“Did you show that woman any houses today?”
“Yeah, she was my first appointment.”
“Any luck?”
“Not yet, but I didn’t expect much the first time out. I’ve got a few properties to show her, though. She was a royal pain, too.”
Charisse laughed. “Trying to get more than a house, huh?”
Sighing, he said, “I don’t have a problem with a woman who makes it clear what she wants…as far as….”
“Sex?” Charisse offered since he appeared to be struggling with the word.
Stefàn actually blushed before he continued. “Yeah. But, this woman…. She’s like an octopus. I swear she’s got eight arms,” he said with a frown.