by Candice Dow
I collapsed on her and rested my head next to her silky mane. Suddenly, I felt like I heard someone say, “Yo. How are you going to disrespect me like that?”
My head popped up and frowned. Her husband frowned back at me, snapping me back into reality. I ran my hand down my face and rolled over. I took a deep breath and digested the discomfort. She rose on one elbow and rubbed my chest. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Something happened.”
I raked her hair. “I’m fine, baby. You know how men get after sex.”
“No.”
Was that her way of saying that I wasn’t allowed to be a man after sex, because she was paying me? My mind was filled with all sorts of questions. How have I succumbed to this?
I asked, “Do you want to go downstairs?” I began gathering our things. “Let’s go.”
She followed, but I could see she wanted to decipher my thoughts. Downstairs in her room, she begged for an explanation for my change of mood. Committed to staying in character, I kissed her forehead. “Baby, I’m fine.”
She huffed. “If you say so.”
As we showered, she scrutinized my actions. I joked and made idle conversation. When we lay in her bed, I thanked her again. She rubbed my face. “Thank you, Rashad.”
Scene 27
FATIMA
When I walked upstairs, I discovered surprisingly that Rashad was already gone. Assuming he’d gone to get breakfast, I walked into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. A bag with a bagel and a note attached sat on the table: Coffee in microwave.—Rash
My temples throbbed. Where are you? After six weeks, disappearing in the morning is definitely out of character. After I called him several times and received no answer, I stormed through the house spitting obscenities. Finally, I called Mya.
“Mya, I need help.”
She giggled. “Ah, yeah.”
“Stop. I’m not playing. I thought this would be easy, but…”
“You’re catching feelings.”
I sighed. “No, I mean. Maybe. How long do you think I can do this?”
“Tima, I really don’t know. It’s taken away some of the loneliness. Right?”
“Yeah, but if I end it now, then I’m going to miss him.”
“Why do you want to end it?”
“Because I didn’t expect to feel like this?”
“How do you think he feels?”
“I think he’s just in it for the money.”
“And you’re just in it for the company.”
My phone beeped. Before checking the ID, I quickly clicked over. “Hello.”
“Hi, Fatima.”
I mouthed, “Damn!”
It was my tenant on the third floor. “Hi, Kelli.”
“Remember I told you that my faucet has been leaking.”
“Yeah.”
“Um. I thought you were going to have someone fix it?”
Here I was falling for the damn man that I hired to take care of these types of things and neglecting to enforce his chores. At least this was an issue that I knew how to fix myself.
“Kelli, I can fix it. I’ll be up in about thirty minutes.”
When I clicked over, Mya giggled. “I guess that was Rashad.”
“No, it was a reminder that Rashad is getting paid for nothing.”
“Fatima, I think you’re tripping.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Yesterday, when we talked, you were happy as a bug in a rug. Now, you’re talking like you don’t want to do this anymore. What happened?”
“We went out last night. Had a wonderful time. After we had sex, he all of a sudden got distant. Then, I wake up this morning. He’s gone. He’s not answering his phone. Kelli just called. Her sink is broke. So, I have to fix it myself, because he’s nowhere to be found.”
“If I’m not mistaken, he’s just supposed to treat you well and be there when you need him. You’re not supposed to know where he is every second of the day. You need to figure out want you want. You can’t have it all.”
“How many times do you have to tell me that?”
“As many times as it takes for it to sink in.”
“All right, Ms. Know-it-all. I have to go fix Kelli’s sink. Maybe we’ll hook up later.”
I threw on some sweats and grabbed the toolbox from the kitchen. Before I left, I tried Rashad again. It went straight to voicemail. After slamming the phone down, I looked at the picture of Derrick and sucked my teeth and yelled, “Who told you to die?”
I stomped upstairs to Kelli’s apartment. Uncertain if I was more pissed that I forgot to tell Rashad to fix this weeks ago or my inability to locate him this morning, I tapped on her door. Just as I entered, her boyfriend was leaving. As if it were his responsibility, I thought why can’t he fix it? I mumbled, “Hey.”
Knowing her rent is way below market value, she blushed. “I didn’t want to worry you. It’s just been awhile.”
“I’m sorry.”
Standing in her bathroom, I tried to recollect how I’d done this previously. After opening the pack of new washers, I grabbed the wrench and began loosening the faucet. This is ridiculous. Why am I doing this myself? What the hell am I paying Rashad for?
Out of nowhere, water spurted out and smacked me in the face as I complained. I tried to cover the continuous surge with my hand. It spewed through my fingers. After my face and my clothes were soaked, I suppressed my pride and yelled out for Kelli. She rushed in to witness the geyser in her bathroom. “Oh my goodness. Do you know what you’re doing?”
In the middle of being hosed down, I had to stop and roll my eyes. “What do you think?”
She scurried around the apartment. “What are we supposed to do?”
I yelled, “Call somebody!”
The water was practically up to my ankles; still I tried to decrease the pressure by covering it with both hands.
She screamed, “Who?”
“Any damn body. Call somebody.”
After close to ten minutes and a two-foot flood, her boyfriend returned. He rushed in, opened the cabinet and turned the water off. He smirked. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to turn the water off before you do anything?”
Oh yeah, I forgot that part of the instructions. Kelli stood at the bathroom door. “Everything’s wet.” She looked at her fully loaded makeup case. “All my makeup is ruined.”
“Kelli, I’m sorry. I’ll replace everything.”
She huffed. Afraid to continue with my maintenance responsibilities, I batted my eyes at her boyfriend. “Can you do this? I’ll pay you.”
He sucked his teeth. I frowned. No his lazy ass isn’t acting irritated. He should have offered to do it anyway. I’m just a poor little widow. As we debated with our body language, Kelli whined about how I drenched everything she owned. Once he agreed to change the washer, I stepped out of the pond and into the hall. Water gushed from my shoes. My pants legs flapped around my ankles. “Kelli, I’ll be back with the wet vac.”
Still hysterical about her stuff, she ignored me. I hung my head and slouched down to my apartment. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed and wanted to cry. Before going backup stairs, I checked the caller ID on my phones. Rashad still hadn’t called.
As I pulled the heavy vacuum up three flights of stairs, the tears fell. I stood outside Kelli’s door and eavesdropped. They called me every ditsy, spoiled-brat in the book, which triggered more tears. It’s not my fault that I was left with all this. I never wanted to be a landlord. After taking a deep breath, I tapped softly on the door.
“Come in,” Kelli said.
Before turning the knob, I dabbed beneath my eyes with my fingertips. When I walked in, they both wore smirks of curiosity. Could it be possible that I heard everything? I curled my lips to confirm that I did.
I proceeded with my cleanup duties. After sucking up an entire five gallons of water, I prayed that her boyfriend would help me empty the water in the tub. Unfortunately, he didn’t
. I was forced to tilt the heavy bucket alone. My constant grunts didn’t trigger any sympathy.
I pulled two hundred bucks from my damp pocket. Soggy money is better than no money at all. Obviously they agreed as they both reached out for it. I pulled it back to my chest. “Kelli, one-fifty is for you for your inconvenience. Fifty dollars is for you for fixing the sink.” I looked at Kelli. “If you need more, let me know.”
Although I knew I was setting myself up to be played, I didn’t care. She nodded. “I’ll let you know.”
I struggled out of the door and down the stairs with my vacuum. Seconds after I closed my front door, my phone rang. It was my tenant on the second floor. She was a middle-aged lady that never caused much trouble. I took a breath before answering.
“Fatima, I have a leak.”
I covered the receiver and mouthed, “Shit!” Then, I moved my hand. “Ms. Harris, Kelli had a flood in her apartment. Where’s your leak?”
“In the bathroom.”
I huffed. “Yeah, I’ll have someone look at it. I’ll see if they can come out today. Will that be okay?”
“Yes, honey. Just let me know.”
“Okay, I will.”
After I peeled off my damp clothes, I plopped on my bed and sank my face in my hands.
Scene 28
RASHAD
I left Fatima’s house at six in the morning to get her breakfast and to get home to change into some old clothes. When I crept into the apartment at the crack of dawn, I heard my mother’s television, so I tiptoed around. I was nearly out the door in a ragged T-shirt, old jeans, and Timberlands when my mother called my name. I stood in the hallway. “What’s up?”
“I don’t want nothing. I wanted to make sure it was you.”
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m about to leave, though.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’ll be back.”
I darted from the house before she had more questions. I arrived at the worksite at seven-forty-five. The contractors were already there moving and shaking. I watched the orchestrated operation for several minutes before Marty arrived. He pulled up in a Benz CLS and parked it on the dusty street. He grabbed two hard hats from his trunk. I stood up and shook his hand.
“Glad that you could make it this morning.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it. I’m really excited.”
“Yeah, it’s exciting. I want to walk you through one of the houses that are almost done.”
He instructed me to put on the hard hat and we headed to a house at the end of the block. He asked, “You’ve done some rehabbing before, right?”
“Uh, I’ve done a little.” I chuckled. “When I was a teenager.”
“Okay, that’s fine. If you follow my lead, you’ll never have to get down on your hands and knees with a hammer again.”
I frowned. He clarified, “Managing construction projects is the way to go. As a worker, you can only perform one job at a time, right?” I nodded. He said, “Exactly, but if you know how to manage your contractors and can identify the shortcuts that they try to take, you can manage multiple projects at the same time.”
He opened the door. “For your sake, I’m going to go through this apartment with a fine-tooth comb. You’ll see why managing this stuff is important.”
There was orange tape on various things. The apartment looked flawless to me. Marty pointed to one of the pieces of tape. “What do you think is wrong there?”
“Ah?”
He showed me how the contractors painted over a crack in the drywall instead of spackling it. Then we went into the kitchen, and he pointed to the ceiling. “Do you see the huge gap in the crown molding? These are the things you have to worry about.”
He opened up the cabinet. “Look in there, what do you see?”
I joked, “Another piece of orange tape.”
“No, actually the cabinet is cracked in there and that’s a path for mice to get through.”
He explained the importance of identifying all these things before the contractors are gone. We left that house and went into another one. It was practically still a shell with some of the framing done.
“You want to make sure that the electrician, the plumber, and the other contractors are all in sync. Timing is everything. This comes with experience, but if you shadow me, you’ll get it down.”
“What do you mean by timing?”
“You need to estimate how long your contractors need to frame, before you have the electrician and plumber come in. What happens if the framing is wrong and you’ve already brought the electrician in? You have problems.”
“Yeah, I can imagine.”
My head throbbed. This was a lot to master, but as long as he was willing to counsel me, I would be here.
“But it’s almost like science after awhile. Managing construction is all about knowing what has to be done, not necessarily knowing how to do it.” He chuckled. “Do you know how to learn that?” Judging from the bewildered look on my face, he answered, “Read.”
I agreed, “Well, I’ve been doing that.”
“And there’s a certain confidence that hands-on provides as well.”
“What do you think the chances of me being able to manage my first project without a lot of prior management experience?”
“I’m not going to say you won’t have any pitfalls, but everyone has to start somewhere.”
I couldn’t afford any pitfalls. This would be my home. He noticed my disappointment and said, “Some people manage to get this done without even attempting to take a course. My course should make sure you’re well prepared. If not, I promise to help you as much as I can.”
Somehow, I believed him. This seemed like it was his passion. How could his five-foot-five body hold all the energy he possessed? Some of it transferred to me. My mind traveled at the speed of light as I imagined how I would get this done.
Marty dropped me off at my mother’s apartment. I rushed in like a big kid. Everything seemed within reach. I dashed into the shower. I couldn’t wait to go back to Fatima’s. Maybe we could do something like take a walk in the park, shop a little. The sun was shining and I wanted to have a nice, relaxing day.
It was around one, after I chatted with my mother and finally got dressed. I rushed to the pizzeria, because I knew Fatima would be hungry. On my way to her house, I called. She picked up and didn’t say anything.
I said, “What’s up with my Teem?”
“What is the purpose of our agreement?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Whenever I need you, you’re never around.”
“Fatima, don’t start it.”
“I thought you were supposed to help me.”
Though the frustrated tremble in her voice told me otherwise, I said, “You’re joking. Right?”
“You’re not on your job.”
My excitement quickly evaporated, but for my sanity, I said, “Tell me you’re playing.”
“Do I sound like I’m playing?”
As the attitude and inflection in her voice traveled through the phone, crushing my pride, all I could do was say, “Fatima, I’m out.”
I hung up the phone. I will not have a woman yell at me. I’m a man’s man. I can’t do it anymore. As much as I enjoy being around her, it’s these times when the bad drowns the good. The money is not worth disrespect. She can take this role and stuff it.
As I sprinted down her street, suddenly I remembered the good things, the way we laugh together, and how much fun we have and I questioned my decision to let it all go. Yet, my anger told me my fear to let this go wasn’t about Fatima, it was just the loss of a companion. Let it go, Rashad. Find a woman that isn’t paying you.
I pounded on her buzzer. When she opened the door, I stormed in and yelled, “What happened between last night and this morning?”
Her neck twirled with each syllable. “You weren’t here.”
It angered me that I was doing everything she asked me to do and more,
yet she still wasn’t satisfied. “What the hell do you want from me?”
“I want you to do your damn job!”
I walked up into her face. “My job? My job?” Her eyes blinked rapidly. I huffed. “All I think about is this damn job. All I do is think about ways to make you happy.”
She sucked her teeth. “That’s what you get paid for.”
“I don’t get paid to genuinely care about you. I get paid to act like I give a damn.” I huffed. “This dumbass script.”
Her mouth hung open. “What did you just say?”
“You heard me.”
“When did it become a dumbass script? You’re getting paid for that dumbass script. My money isn’t dumb.”
“Teem, you know what’s sad. Everything I do for you is because I want to. That’s why it’s a dumbass script. Do you understand that?”
Her eyes lowered. Suddenly, I wasn’t as pissed. Fear was written all over her face as she shrugged her shoulders. A strong desire to make her secure and to let her know that I wouldn’t leave her too overwhelmed me. Her arms locked tightly around my torso. I kissed her forehead and said, “Attraction can’t be bought. I would be here for free. You know that, right?” She shrugged her shoulders and I said, “Believe me.”
She nodded on my chest. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
She sighed, but I knew she thought I was here primarily for the money. Five weeks ago, she would have been absolutely right. Even I am tripping on how my feelings are traveling so rapidly. I spend hours wondering what it is about her that has me so caught up.
She looked up at me and pushed her finger in my chest. “Do you know what I’ve been through today?”
“Why don’t we sit down, have a slice of pizza, and talk about it.”
She sucked her teeth and slouched in the chair. Her eyes rolled in her head as she released a disgruntled sigh. “The chick upstairs called me about her leaky faucet, and…” she curled her lips, “somebody wasn’t here.”