Mr. Duncan looked like he was about to cry too. He sat back in his seat and held up my application.
“I guess this is one we’ll have to keep,” he said, smiling. “So, we’ll have a way to call you to let you know when your first day is.”
“I got it?” I asked.
“You got it,” he said, putting the sheet down on his desk. “We’ll see you in the new year.”
It was December and freezing outside, but I was floating on air. The screaming children turned to singing angels as I headed out of the office. I felt like a new woman. A woman of purpose. Not Kerry Jackson, the black Barbie doll, but Kerry Jackson who was about to do some hard work and make some hard changes in the world. It sounded crazy, but in that moment, with each step I took, I felt like the old me was dying. And I didn’t know what it was that I was stepping away from or why I needed to go. But there was a spring in my step that I felt from the inside. Walking down the street with other women who were working hard and facing probably the same things I was facing, I felt a rush of life I had never felt. I knew it was a little premature, but I was a person on a mission.
I smiled at every face I passed, wondering who they were and where they were going. What they did. How they added to the world. I wanted to run home and kiss Tyrian’s nose, to hold him and tell him what his mother was about to do. I wanted to tell the world. I wanted to tell . . . Jamison. This need flashed into my mind in the worst way. I’d never had or achieved anything in my adult life without sharing it with that man. He was a part of who I was. I wondered if this was the feeling Jamison had when he started Rake It Up. Like he was about to build something and the possibilities were limitless. How could I have missed that for so long? What had I been doing? Suddenly, the idea of working through this without him, without a listening ear at bedtime, scared me to death. He was my husband. A sinking feeling fell over me and then I really wanted to go home. My step became less peppy, my smile was fading. My opportunity seemed like less of an opportunity without my partner by my side. I had missed Jamison. Each day without him was unbearable. He came by most afternoons to see the baby and bring us things, but in my anger I was keeping my distance. I still had nothing to say to him. But deep in my heart I was unsure of how much longer I could go on. But still, I had to stand my ground. He’d hurt me, and while I wanted so badly for that to just go away, it couldn’t.
“Barbie Doll?” I heard someone call from behind me. I was sure they weren’t talking to me. I hadn’t had anyone call me that since college. “I know that chocolate syrup skin anywhere. Is that you?”
I turned to see a familiar face looking at me. Only it seemed older and much more mature than it had been the last time I’d seen it, so I couldn’t quite place it.
“Kerry, you’re going to act like you don’t know me?” he said.
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to place him. It was someone I’d dated.... Gone out with.
“Preston, Preston Allcott,” he said, opening his arms to hug me.
It was the Preston Allcott that grabbed my crotch during our date in undergrad. I hadn’t seen him in over ten years. He was local, of course, had gone to the Morehouse School of Medicine just like the other men in his family, but he’d fallen off the radar a long time ago. He pretty much looked the same, only he was more handsome. His olive skin had darkened a bit and now the sun, even in the cold December breeze, seemed to catch each curve on his face.
“Wow,” I said, hugging him.
“Don’t act like you don’t know me,” he said, laughing.
“I just haven’t seen you in so long,” I said, wanting to say that I knew him too well after he’d grabbed my crotch.
“Well, I kind of left the whole scene after graduation. I needed to get myself together. Get away from all of that stuff. You know?”
I nodded my head, but I wasn’t sure exactly what he was talking about. Preston was a true blue Atlantan man of society. His family pretty much made the scene from its beginning, and from what I recall of slick Preston in college, he’d embraced it.
“You look amazing,” he added. “Like the wife I should’ve had.”
“Stop it,” I said.
“No, really, I was too much of a jerk to recognize it back then, too caught up in a bunch of bullshit, but now I see that I missed out.”
“Thank you,” I said. “So, what are you doing downtown?”
“I own a health clinic down here,” he said, poking out his chest. “We service people with HIV/AIDS who have trouble getting good healthcare and insurance.”
“Really?” I asked. It didn’t sound like the Preston I’d known. I was sure he was a surgeon or something. His father was a cardiothoracic surgeon. A free clinic? Working with the poor? That wasn’t the Allcott way.
“Yeah, it’s real,” he said. “Before I went to med school, my father insisted that I go to Europe to vacation for a month, but when I got there, a guy I met invited me to travel with him to Kenya. He was a doctor and said I could assist him and learn some things about ground work before I went to school. I’d never even thought about it, but I went—without my father’s blessings—and seeing the HIV/ AIDS epidemic there, my life was forever changed. I just wanted to come here and work to make sure the disease didn’t continue to ravage our people.”
“That’s amazing,” I said. I hadn’t at all expected any of this to come from Preston. Not the crotch grabber! He seemed so changed. So much more mature.
“So, what about you?” he asked. “Career? Married? Children?”
“Oh,” I struggled. “I just had a baby and . . . I’m—”
“Married,” he grabbed my left hand. “Oh, yes, you married um . . . Jamison. Right?”
“Yes,” I said, trying to hide my uncertainty.
“And you just had a baby?” He stepped back and looked at me. “You do mean a year ago or something, because you don’t look a pound over a size two.”
“Stop it,” I said.
“So, what about your career? How is that? Where are you practicing?”
“Practicing?”
“Yeah, you’re a doctor, right? You were going to med school.”
“Oh, no,” I said. Now I’d have to explain that to another person. “I just decided—”
“Stop,” he said, cutting me off. “You don’t need to explain your life path to me. I’m just some dude you used to date. No need to explain.”
We both stood there laughing for a minute.
“But I can tell you’re coming from somewhere.” He looked me over again.
“Well, if you must know,” I said, “I just got an internship with the Department of Social Services. I start helping them next month.” I was so proud to hear those words coming from my mouth. Now I’d have something to say when people asked me what I was doing. I wouldn’t have to appear “made busy” by things around me—not Jamison, not the house. I had a job.
“Wow, that’s cool,” he said. “Sounds like you’re on your way to my side of the game. Service!” He held up his hand and I gave him a high five. “That was weak! You just got a job. You better slap this hand again.” He put his hand up again and I jumped up to slap it like I’d just made a winning touchdown. “That’s right, woman!”
“Yeah,” I said playfully.
“Now, the only thing you need to do next to make the celebration complete is to meet me for dinner.”
“Dinner?” I asked. I hadn’t had dinner with any man but my husband since . . . since . . . ever.
“Yes, a meal to celebrate your new job. I insist,” he said. “Now, I know you’re married. But this is strictly me trying to catch up with an old college acquaintance and make up for grabbing your crotch.”
“You’re crazy,” I said.
“But I’m serious.” The smile left his face. “I’m not that man anymore. I’m a new person. I want to show you and do a little bit of celebrating. Strictly platonic. Nothing to tell your husband.”
“You promise?” I asked before realizing that I w
as accepting. Was I accepting? Hell, I needed to get out for one night. Without Marcy around I needed someone to talk to. I was tired of cleaning up vomit and changing diapers. I wanted to feel like a real adult for just an hour or so. I was still young and sexy and if Preston could see it, so be it. I had no intentions of sleeping with him or even seeing him again after that evening.
“I promise,” he said. “Look, I’ll be waiting at the Four Season in midtown at 7 PM. If you come, you come. If not,” he reached into his pocket, “you have my card, and you can call me if you ever need anything. Sound fair?”
“Yes,” I said, taking the card.
“Great.” He took my left hand and kissed it softly. “See you later,” he said.
EMAIL TRANSMISSION
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
DATE: 12/16/07
TIME: 7:15 AM
So, it’s been a few weeks since I’ve heard your voice. Well, I have heard you speak when I visit Tyrian or when I call to say I’m on my way, but you’re not really speaking to me, as much as you are tolerating my existence. I know that you have every right to be angry with me, but not hearing your voice or speaking to you is killing me slowly. Not having my wife and baby in the house just hurts. And I’m man enough to say that I cried and I even drove past the hotel you were staying at a few times. I don’t even feel like I have a right to complain to you, but I have to say something. I have to do something to fix this. The only thing I could think to do right now, at least to begin to open the lines of communication, was to write to you. The funny thing, though, is that this is your old work e-mail and I don’t know if you check it anymore. I don’t even know if you have another e-mail address. Either way, I hope this reaches you and I want you to know that I miss you and Tyrian so much. Please come home.
EMAIL TRANSMISSION
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
DATE: 12/16/07
TIME: 11:22 AM
I find it entertaining that you should decide to contact me in the very fashion that you used to contact Coreen. Don’t you get tired of e-mailing people? Let’s hope you don’t mistakenly send me a message that was meant for her. Maybe you should’ve been writing your wife all along. And as far as me coming home, I need you to know that’s going to take a lot more than some text on a computer screen. I’m really, really upset right now. Your betrayal of our family was unacceptable. And I resent you more than I could’ve imagined. WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE ANY OF THIS? I was nothing but a good wife to you. And to add to that, you went behind my back to visit my father, claiming I “was too weak to take it.” No, you’re weak and if I was, as my husband, it was your job to build me up. NOT sneak around behind my back. That hurts and it’s a slap in the face. So, I really can’t be concerned with your feelings right now. You can save them. What’ll bring me home?
TRY A MIRACLE.
The No-Tell Motel
It was an hour before I was supposed to meet Preston at the Four Seasons for dinner. I hadn’t even decided if I was going. In fact, I was leaning against it, but then I got the e-mail from Jamison and with my blood steadily boiling, I decided that I had to get away. I couldn’t believe he thought some sad e-mail was going to bring me home.
I didn’t know what I was doing by going out with Preston, but I knew I had to get away from Jamison’s mess to avoid getting any more angry at the world. The only problem was that Tyrian wouldn’t take his eyes off me. He wasn’t even two months yet, but that boy had the eye coordination of a tennis player. From his baby swing, his eyes followed me around the room as I got dressed. Most parents would’ve been excited that their child was showing such strong motor skills at an early age, but the circumstances and the fact that he was beginning to look more and more like Jamison every day was making me feel a little guilty. But guilty about what? Yes, Preston was fine. Yes, Preston was rich and smart and clearly a changed man. But we were just going out for dinner. I didn’t owe him anything; he didn’t owe me anything. But . . . Why was I so nervous? Why was I getting so dressed up? Why had I lied to Aunt Luchie and told her I was going out for drinks with Marcy? Why wouldn’t Tyrian stop watching me?
“Mama is coming back,” I said, trying to calm him before he started crying.
He looked at me and I swear that baby narrowed his eyes and then rolled them in disgust.
“You’re looking mighty fancy,” Aunt Luchie said from the bedroom door. “I guess you girls need some excitement. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Yeah, we’re just eating though, so there will be no excitement.”
“I’m sure,” she said with a hint of speculation in her voice. After staying with her for two weeks, I came to the realization that Aunt Luchie was so much like my mother in her constant desire to investigate the lives of others. The only difference was that my mother had a problem holding her tongue when it came to her inquisitions. She ruled with cutting questions and biting advice. Well, Aunt Luchie’s style was much more subtle. She chose the question-without-a-question route. It was all about polite suggestions and silence. Even in the politeness and silence, she was working her magic. But I was on to her now and determined not to crack under the pressure. She wanted me to break down and come clean about where I was going. But there would be no breaking down here. The last thing I wanted or needed was more advice.
“Great,” I said, kissing her on the cheek before slipping on my coat. “There’s plenty of milk downstairs and after his next bottle he’ll be out like a light for the rest of the night.”
“I know how to care for this boy,” she said. “I know when he eats and sleeps, don’t I?” She looked over at Tyrian for an answer and that little boy nodded his still-soft-on-the-top head.
“Wonderful,” I said. “One big happy family. I’ll be back no later than eleven.”
When you’re married and have children, you forget just how busy the rest of the world is outside of your circle. Other than dinner with Marcy and Damien, annual parties, must-be-seen-at events, and business functions, Jamison and I seldom got out of the house. But driving to the Four Seasons, I realized that apparently, everyone else was. Peachtree was packed with cars carrying people here and there, smiling faces peeking out of car windows, excited about what was waiting for them inside the growing city. No matter that it was a weeknight; no matter that it was an unusually frigid night. They were out for a night on the town. Every day, the small city where a single name was once able to open many closed doors was seeming bigger and bigger. It was considered progress to many people, but to my people, it felt more like an invasion. No one knew who anyone else was anymore. The old special names were fading fast as more money and more lineage came in from other cities. “It started with that Coretta,” I heard a woman say once at one of my mother’s book parties. They’d sit and talk for hours, gossiping about who wanted in and who would never be in. Coretta Scott was one of their favorite topics. As nice and sweet as she was, these women, who were her age, seemed hell-bent on keeping her at an arm’s distance just because she wasn’t a true Atlantan. “She came here thinking she’d already be inside because she was married to Daddy King’s son,” she added. “Ha!”
Driving through the traffic, and thinking about this old practice, I thought of just how ridiculous it was. The city was growing and changing and while I was taught to disdain the growth, it seemed unreasonable to believe that we could keep the secrets of Atlanta to ourselves. Yes, after Coretta, more blacks from outside of Atlanta did come into the city, but why not? Why shouldn’t the city grow and change? There were some bad things about the city, but there were also some wonderful things. Maybe the old way wasn’t the only way. What were we protecting anyway? Access? This was the kind of thinking that had troubled Jamison and added to the stress in our marriage for so long. Even with my name attached, it kept him out of certain contracts. Constantly made him feel like he wasn’t enough. And while I tried my best to chalk i
t up to “the way things were,” that way was wrong. I could admit that now.
“I was about to leave,” Preston said when the hostess led me to the table where he was waiting. He stood up immediately to pull out my chair and I could see that he was dressed handsomely in a navy blue suit and white shirt. I also noticed that he’d gotten a haircut and was freshly shaven. He looked like he’d just walked off a movie set, and I had to admit that he made me look rather undressed. I’d decided to wear a pair of black slacks and a fitted, red sweater. My hair was curled loose and pushed back behind my ears. It was attractive, yet not overdone. I didn’t want to send the wrong message.
“I am not that late,” I replied. It was just ten or so after seven.
“Well, I guess I’ll have to forgive you anyway. You look lovely,” he kissed me on the cheek and went back to his seat.
“That’s an overstatement,” I said, laughing.
“Why do you always do that?” he asked.
“Do what?”
“Not take compliments,” he said. “You did that this morning when I said you looked nice.”
“You know, I don’t know,” I said, trying to remember if I’d actually been doing that. The baby did have me feeling a bit less attractive, but I’d never thought about it.
“You’re a beautiful and desirable woman, Kerry. And your husband is a lucky man for it.”
His First Wife Page 23