by Candice Dow
“Wonderful. How are you?”
“I’m fine. I was calling because another house fell through and before I give it to the next person in line, I wanted to know if you felt like rehabbing another house.”
I sighed. She continued, “We’re really impressed with how quickly you got everything in motion with your house. And believe it or not, we hate to see our money go to waste. We’d rather give it to someone who’s done this before.”
“What about my income? Will the rent serve as my income?”
“No, we’re hoping to go to settlement before you begin receiving rent. If we were to account for that, you’d be over the limit. So, I was hoping to use your current salary. Is that okay?”
This opportunity was screwing up my plan, but how could I say no to another practically free house. My ego expanded as I imagined eventually owning half of Harlem. Before I could evaluate the effects of my actions, I said, “Oh, that’s not a problem. What do I need to do?”
“First you need to go check the house out. Let me know if you’re really interested and we’ll get the ball rolling.”
“Okay. Where is it?”
“One hundred and twenty-ninth and Fifth.”
“When can I see it?”
“Is today at two okay?”
Actually, I planned to pick up Fatima from work by three. Since she didn’t know anything about the plans, I decided I could push that back.
“That’s fine.”
“Someone will meet you outside the house. Talk to you soon.”
As I stood outside of the condemned house, the reservations that I had when I first started my search reappeared. There’s no way in hell that I have the time to sacrifice fixing this house. Then I remembered why my house seemed to take all of my time. I was determined to have it done by an unreasonable deadline. This one could be on the slow track. One of the brokers for City Props walked up and shook my hand.
The dry-rotted smell that used to make me sick invoked an ambitious rumble in my stomach. We couldn’t walk around much, but from a visual estimate, I could divide the place into five apartments. He continued his sales pitch, but I was already sold. I said, “Look man, I’m on my way out of town, but I want this place. What should I do?”
“Call Monique and let her know.”
When I called Monique to give her the heads up, I also let her know that I wouldn’t be available throughout the weekend. She asked, “So where are you going?”
“Just driving up to Vermont.”
“Sure wish I could go.”
I felt indebted to her as well. It took no scientist to figure out that she gave me the hookup. I said, “One day.”
“What do you mean?”
“One day, you’ll go to Vermont.”
“But, what if I want to go with you?”
I ignored that and proceeded to discuss business. “You’re funny. So, do I need to sign anything before Monday?”
“No, I can push it through with your old application. I’ll probably need you to send your pay stubs in again.”
“Okay, that’s cool.”
“Just call me Monday and we’ll discuss what to do next.”
“Okay, sweetheart.”
She paused. “Don’t make me smile.”
“I aim to please.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to you Monday.”
When I called to tell Fatima I’d be picking her up from work, she asked a million questions. Where are we going? Why are you picking me up? Why are you on your way now?
“I thought you liked surprises.”
“I do, but I…”
“You like to know everything.”
“I’m just curious.”
I chuckled. “Whatever you want to call it. I’ll be outside of your building in fifteen minutes. I’m in a blue Ford Taurus.”
“I…”
“See you few minutes, baby.”
Scene 39
FATIMA
My head spun faster than I could organize my desk. Knowing there was no way to accomplish all I needed to do before leaving, I decided to just leave. Monday is another day and I’ll deal with it then.
When I rushed outside, I looked around and Rashad beeped the horn from the middle lane. After dodging traffic, I hopped in the car and kissed him. “What’s this all about?”
“We’re going out of town.”
“I have a tennis lesson in the morning.”
“You’ll have to cancel.”
As we passed 125th on the FDR, I asked, “When are we leaving?”
“Now.”
“Rashad, I have to pack.”
“Already did that.”
“What did you pack for me?”
He sighed. “You need to learn to be relaxed and let me take control.”
“I’m just curious.”
“Didn’t I promise to take care of you?”
“How long do you plan to take care of me?”
He chuckled, but didn’t answer. Based on my estimation, it was approximately seven more days. He rubbed my knee. “Take one day at a time, Teem.”
I watched him from the corner of my eye. “Where are we going?”
“Vermont.”
“Vermont? What the hell is in Vermont?”
“Teem, you’ll like it.”
“You could take me up there and leave me stranded.”
“What makes you think I would want to leave you stranded?” I shrugged my shoulders and he massaged my knee. “I kinda like your company.”
“I kinda like you too.”
On the long ride, I kidded, “We could have driven to Alabama.”
“Never satisfied, huh?”
“I am satisfied. I was just saying this is a long ride.”
“Are you afraid to be locked in a small space with me for too long?” He paused. “Or are you afraid to deal with yourself?”
I frowned. “What are you trying to say? I don’t have a problem with myself or you.”
He smiled slyly. “I’m just wondering.”
“Well, don’t.”
I stared out of the passenger side window at the beautiful scenery. As we drove farther north, Fall was a little more obvious. The trees and grass and peacefulness made me miss home. My sudden connection with Alabama startled me. When I had reached New York, I promised I’d never return, but as I admired the greenery I wasn’t so sure that still held true. All of a sudden, I felt the need to pull out my cell phone and call my mother.
“Mama.”
“Fatima?”
“Yeah, Ma.”
“How are you, baby?”
“I’m pretty good. Work is a little hectic, but everything else is good.”
“Have you decided whether you’re coming home for the holidays?”
“I don’t know, yet.”
She went on to tell me all the family gossip. Finally she said, “You know I worry about you when you don’t call.”
“Ma, I talked to you last week.”
“Fatima, I haven’t talked to you in almost a month.”
I sighed. “I’m sorry, Ma. I’ll get better.”
“I know you’re busy; just try to give me a call sometimes.”
“I will.”
“I love you, Fatima.”
“I love you, too.”
As I closed my phone, Rashad reached over and rubbed my leg like he knew what I was thinking. “How often do you visit Alabama?”
“Like once a year.” I paused. “If that.”
“You should visit your family more.”
I didn’t feel the need to respond, but I pondered it. Ten minutes or so later, I nodded.
After a few rest stops and six hours later, we arrived at the Green Mountain Inn on Main Street in Stowe, Vermont. When he went to check in, I sat in the car wondering what would make him select this place. The little country town had completely shut down by nine o’clock. For a girl who likes adventure, this seemed a last resort. Maybe he got it for a reasonable price. At least I didn’t
have to worry what he decided to pack for me; no one around here would care. He hopped back into the car and pointed. “We have to go up here to the Chesterfield House.”
“Okay. So, what will we eat tonight?”
“There’s a restaurant up there.”
When we got out of the car, he grabbed the luggage from the back and we headed into the building. There was a nice Victorian feel to the place. I looked around and nodded. “It’s nice.”
He frowned at me as if he never doubted it. He opened the hotel room door and let me walk in first. Classical music played in the huge suite. The fireplace crackled across from the king-size canopy bed. Chocolate-covered strawberries and wine sat on the table opposite the door. When he walked in behind me, he noticed my excitement.
He bent down to kiss me. “You like it?”
“I love it.”
A Jacuzzi tub was beside the bed with all sorts of spa products decorating the ledge. He held me in his arms. “I love to make you happy.”
My heart wanted to say, “I love you.” Instead, I kissed him. As we stood in the middle of the floor, passionately kissing, I never imagined I’d feel so complete with another man. As I admitted my feelings to myself, I pushed away.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m just…”
He pulled my head to his chest to let me know that he didn’t need an explanation.
Scene 40
RASHAD
As I held her in my arms, I had so many things that I wanted to tell her and needed to tell her. I thought about telling the whole story, but decided it made better sense to explain it all when I no longer needed her income.
After I turned the fireplace off in the already warm room, I grabbed a chocolate-covered strawberry and fed it to her. I tasted the sweetness on her lips. She smiled.
“Are we going to eat?”
“Yes.”
“I’m hungry.”
She grabbed another strawberry and I poured wine into our glasses. I said, “To our future.”
She sipped and added, “Together or apart.”
A dart stabbed me in the heart. Afraid of what she meant, I didn’t ask if it was a question or a statement. Instead, I stood up and asked if she was ready to have dinner. She popped up. “Yep.”
We strolled out into the peaceful Vermont night. The air was clean and crisp. Bright stars shone down on us. They appeared close enough to touch. Our clasped hands swung back and forth. When we walked into the Main Street Grill, she kidded, “I wonder if we’re the only black people here.”
As I shrugged my shoulders, the black host walked up and said, “Ay, mon! What’s good mon?”
Her eyes danced around. I smiled at him. “Hey, it’s just the two of us.”
“Right this way.”
We followed and Fatima squeezed my hand. I tried to suppress my laughter. Her eyes bulged as she attempted to communicate with me.
The second he walked away, we burst into laughter. She said. “I didn’t know black people lived in Vermont. Not to mention Jamaicans.”
I put my finger over my mouth. She curled her lips. “He must be in protective custody.”
“Fatima, stop being prejudiced.”
He stepped back up to the table with a basket. “This is our signature bread, honey oatmeal.”
We nodded. Before he finished talking about the specials, Fatima had broken a piece of the bread. Her expression told me it was good. I smiled at her. She nodded. “This is the best bread I’ve ever had.”
“’Tis good, mon.”
She chuckled, but I knew she was laughing at him and not about the bread. She nodded. “’Tis good.”
When he walked away, she sucked her teeth. “He can cut it out with that Jamaican accent.”
“Fatima, that’s that man’s culture.”
“But he’s in Vermont. He better assimilate. If they come looking for him, they will find his Jamaican butt in no time.”
“What makes you think someone is looking for him?”
She giggled. “Because I know.”
I sat there admiring the crazy thoughts that her mind conjured up. She was even funnier than I think she could ever imagine. I grabbed a piece of the bread and it melted in my mouth. By the time our dinner arrived, we’d devoured three baskets of honey oatmeal bread.
The food seemed wonderfully fresh as we barely talked during dinner, aside from Fatima kidding that they probably killed the cows out back.
When dinner was done, we decided to unwind with dessert and wine. After two bottles, Fatima was the loudest one in the restaurant. I kept hushing her, but her comedy made me laugh just as loud as she spoke. We literally closed the restaurant down.
Scene 41
FATIMA
When we got back to the room, we danced to silence. He massaged my shoulders and kissed my forehead. We undressed each other and the relit fire crackled as we tiptoed to the bed. Momentarily, he held me and stared into my eyes. I wondered about his hesitation. What was distracting him? He brushed my hair from my face and appeared like he wanted to talk. Instead, we kissed. Gently, he touched me almost as if he was afraid. Did he not have the courage to tell me this would be our last time together? Finally, he loved me sensually and I lay in the bed full of emotions. My eyes watered and I turned so he could hold me in the spoon position. Knowing he couldn’t see, I let the tears fall as he rested his chin on my shoulder. I inconspicuously wiped my eyes and said, “Rashad.”
He rose up. “Yeah, baby.”
“Never mind.”
He didn’t pry for more as usual. Instead, he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Hoping that his thoughts would somehow transfer from his fingertips, I reached for his hand. He willingly offered. He raised our clasped hands up to his mouth and kissed my hand.
On my side, I turned to face him, scrutinizing his breathing. Then, I leaned over and lay my head on his chest. He stroked my back and we feel asleep.
The bright sun alarmed us at seven in the morning. I rubbed his chest. “Good morning.”
“Good morning. We forgot to close the blinds last night.”
“I know.”
“Do you want to try and get some rest or do you want to go for breakfast? We’re going kayaking at ten.”
“Ten?” I huffed. “Well, I guess we have no choice.”
“We can eat more of the honey oatmeal bread that you begged Peter for last night.”
“I didn’t beg him.”
“Yeah, okay.”
We got up and I pulled my clothes from the luggage. I selected an outfit. “Is this for today?”
He chuckled. “Baby, I just packed. You can wear whatever you want.”
After we got ready, we headed to the Main Street Grill again. The smell of fresh biscuits and bacon filled the air. I looked at Rashad. He laughed. “I know. You can’t wait to eat.”
I pushed him. “Shut up.”
We were greeted by Peter again. I kidded, “Did you stay the night here?”
He laughed. “I have a room at the hotel.”
I nudged Rashad and nodded at Peter. “Oh, you live here?”
“Yeah, I come here six months and go back to my country for six months.”
“Really? You go back to Jamaica?”
“Yah, mon.”
“So, how did you arrange that?”
“I have an agent that gets me hospitality work at hotels in the states.”
“Oh, wow. That’s interesting. So you work for only six months?”
When we sat, Rashad tapped his knee against mine under the table, but Peter didn’t seem to mind my interrogation.
He said, “Yeah, I work hard while I’m here and go home and relax.”
“Must be nice. Do you have a family in Jamaica?”
Rashad’s eyes cursed me. Peter said, “Yes, my wife is there.”
Our conversation was interrupted by a couple waiting to be seated. Peter raised his finger. “I’ll be back.”
Rashad smirked at m
e. I giggled. “What?”
“You are a trip.”
“Are you trying to tell me you didn’t want to know how he got here?”
“No, Teem. I really don’t care.”
“You know, we’ve only seen like ten people that work here. We could be on the set of a murder mystery.”
His eyes squinted as he laughed hysterically. “You are crazy. You have a thing for movie sets, huh?”
He stood and headed for the buffet. I sat stunned waiting for a fly to land on my tongue. Peter came back to the table. “Are you okay?” He poured my coffee. “You leaving tomorrow?”
I nodded suspiciously. It was okay to find out his story, but surely I didn’t want him keeping track of me. “How did you know?”
“Breakfast is all-included. I have to check your room number.”
My neck inched back. He laughed. “Your husband gave it to me last night.”
“Oh, that’s not my husband. He’s just my—”
The proximity of the sound of Rashad’s footsteps startled me. Maybe I shouldn’t have said it like that. He chuckled. “I’m just her assistant.”
My head jerked in his direction. His smile masked his discomfort. The muscle in his jawline pulsed, as he dropped his plate on the table. My shoulders slumped and I grimaced.
As my apologetic gestures tried to rewind the actions of my compulsive tongue, he tilted his head toward the buffet. “Get something to eat before there’s nothing left.”
Peter vanished during our silent altercation. Before I stood, I reached over to touch his arm. “Are you going to wait for me?”
“Of course I’ll wait for you, Fatima.”
I pouted my way to the buffet. Fatima, you really don’t know what the hell to say. Why didn’t I just say, you mean my boyfriend? It seems that the perfect words are always two steps behind. I stood in front of the most amazing breakfast spread that I’ve ever seen. Pastries, muffins, biscuits. My eyes popped out when I saw a fresh loaf of honey oatmeal bread. After piling three slices on my plate along with eggs and bacon and a cheese Danish, I bounced back to the table.