“I’m so sorry,” Melanie said with a self-consciousness chuckle. How could she have fallen asleep at such an endearing instance? That episode would surely go down in her infamous file of life’s most embarrassing moments.
“My untimely bout of narcolepsy makes no editorial statement on your Prince Charming status, but should definitely stand as a public warning against combining Dramamine and alcohol. Believe me, you weren’t the tiniest bit boring,” she said, touching her fingers to her lips and remembering his kiss.
“I’ve never had a woman fall asleep while I’m baring my heart, but then again, it’s been a very long time. I’m probably very rusty.”
John’s statement caused Mel to sit up. Oh, my God. What else did he say to me?
“Melanie, don’t worry. I’m as confused as you are,” he responded as if reading her mind. “We’ll just muddle our way through this. I won’t let either one of us get hurt, I promise. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Look, I have to go to Belize. Things are getting worse down there. I’m flying out the twenty-eighth.”
“How long will you be away?”
“I’m not sure. A week at least, maybe more. I’d like to see you before I go. Do you think we could get together on Monday?”
“I’ll be out of town….”
“Oh,” John said, his disappointment obvious.
“But I won’t be far, just down in D.C. I’m sure I can come back a day early,” Mel said, surprised at her unwillingness to pass up a chance to see him.
“Great. I’ll see you soon. Why don’t we meet at the company apartment?”
“I guess so,” Melanie replied, caution permeating her voice.
“Don’t worry, you’re safe with me. I just want to go someplace where we can talk freely,” John assured her.
“Okay, then. See you on Monday. Have a Merry Christmas.”
“You too, lovely. I’ll be in touch.”
Melanie hung up the phone, wishing she could stay in bed with a hot carafe of French vanilla coffee and engage in some seriously deep self-reflection. But with only five days until Christmas, and over three thousand things left to do before leaving for D.C., there was no time for such luxury.
She pushed back the covers and, with them, all thoughts of John Carlson. Mel slipped on her warm and comfy chenille robe and padded out to the living room, where the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the angry sound of Candace’s rage welcomed her. She walked into the kitchen to find her friend dressed and yelling into her cell phone.
“Fuck you and your goddamn wife. You and your precious fucking marriage can go to hell,” she screamed before hanging up.
Melanie poured herself a cup of coffee without comment, knowing it was best to let Candy simmer down before trying to talk. Melanie was sure that Frank was canceling Christmas Eve plans with her, just as he’d done on the Fourth of July and his birthday. It continued to boggle Melanie’s mind that even after Candace’s numerous affairs with married men, she still didn’t understand that holidays and important family events always belonged to the wife. It disturbed Mel even more that Candy, despite her constant disappointment, seemed to revel in her role as the other woman.
“I can’t believe that asshole said he wants to take a break. He says he ought to give his marriage another try, that the bottom line is, divorce is too expensive and he’s too old to start over. Well, if Frank Warren thinks I’m going to sit around waiting for his tired ass, he’s as fucking crazy as that bad-weave-havin’, ruin-a-good-Versace-outfit-wearin’ bitch he’s married to. Fuck him,” she said, tears hiding behind her anger.
“Why do you keep putting yourself through this?” Mel asked.
“Not now, Melo. I’ve heard it all before.”
“At the risk of pissing you off, maybe you need to keep on hearing it until you start listening. You should have been out of this affair long ago. You are the other woman, Candy, not Regina. You must have realized at some point that this is how it’s always going to be, no matter what promises Frank makes to you.”
“How can I possibly know that?”
Melanie stared at Candace in total bewilderment. How could she not know? Turn on any talk show, pick up any magazine, log on to any relationship message board, and you’ll hear mistress after mistress admitting that when given the ultimatum, a man will rarely leave his wife. The truth Candace refused to acknowledge was that she was in a no-win, going-nowhere-fast relationship with a married man—a man who viewed her as his personal amusement park of sexual thrills where the cost of admission was well worth the exhilaration of the ride.
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” Candace retorted. Melanie let the comment slide, unwilling to examine the ironic circumstances of her own budding relationship with Sharon Carlson’s husband. “Let me give you the short but sweet list of why it’s good being the other woman,” Candace continued.
“First of all, there is no commitment, which means I can live life on my own terms, which is a damn good thing. Plus the sex is phenomenal because it never becomes routine or boring.”
Mel listened as Candace explained how the time she and Frank spent together was always quality because they weren’t mired down in the realities of living a real life together. Or how getting stood up on occasion was a small price to pay for the great gifts given to relieve her anger and assuage Frank’s guilt.
Melanie had to admit that if she listened without fully investigating the other side, Candace’s arguments sounded good. On the surface she appeared to have it all—great sex, companionship, and the ability to live on her terms without all the personal sacrifice that comes from sharing one’s life.
But for each “pro” Candace espoused, two more “cons” popped up in Melanie’s head. Didn’t Candace recognize that Frank’s trinkets weren’t expressions of love, but rather payola for services rendered? Or that by constantly engaging in these one-sided, make-love-but-not-a-life-together alliances, Candace would never learn to deal with the pressures or share the joys of a complete, sunshine-and-rain, splendor-and-pain union? Couldn’t Candace see that it wasn’t the ease of having a man without the maintenance that drove her to relationships with married men, but rather the fear of true intimacy? And what “perks” could ever be enough to keep her sidelined and mateless on this one-way, dead-end street?
“In other words, the wife does all the shit work and I get all the benefits,” Candace concluded, pulling Melanie away from her thoughts and back into the conversation.
“Don’t you feel any guilt at all?” Melanie asked as she followed Candace out of the kitchen and into the living area. Candy angrily plopped down onto the couch as Melanie headed for the dining room table piled high with boxes, gift wrap, ribbon, and various other holiday supplies.
“Guilty for what? I’m single. I’m not the one cheating.”
“What about karma? Aren’t you afraid that all of this is going to come back around on you?”
“No, because I know how to meet my man’s needs. If Regina made Frank happy, he wouldn’t be with me. She obviously isn’t taking care of business, and I am.”
“Then why he’s taking a break from you, not her?”
“Thanks for the pep talk, Melo. With friends like you…” Candace said, rising to make her exit.
Mel jumped at the sound of the door slamming behind Candace. As Melanie began wrapping Christmas gifts, she couldn’t help feeling struck by the hypocrisy of her argument. Here she was, ragging on Candace for her indiscretions with Frank, and all the while she herself was teetering on the perimeter of becoming a marital interloper.
Mel was forced to reexamine the reasons—not the excuses—why she had hopped out of her relationship with Will. Was it because she was afraid of the exact same things her friend was trying to avoid? And if so, perhaps this skip she was taking in John Carlson’s direction had less to do with feelings of love and more about safety. Because John was a married white man, and therefore technically off-limits, was she
merely looking to him to fulfill her emotional and physical needs without having to jump into a real relationship?
Melanie’s thoughts swirled around her head as she tied a ribbon around a gift box and picked up a silk poinsettia. As she reached for her glue gun to attach the flower, she noticed the message light blinking. She clicked on the speakerphone to retrieve her messages and soon Will’s voice filled the room.
“Hey, Mel. It’s Will. Just calling to see if you’d gotten back to town. Give me a call before you head this way. I’m looking forward to hearing your voice. ’Bye, now.”
Melanie disengaged the line and began dialing Will’s number. Two touches short of completion, she paused to ponder her action. Was she really ready to talk with him? Hadn’t she had enough emotional upheaval for one week?
A promise is a promise, the dutiful sister/daughter/friend inside of her sang out. But confusion is king, her befuddled ex-fiancée/premistress neighbor chimed in. Forget it, Mel decided and hung up the phone. She’d call him after the holidays. She’d quietly slip into town, drink a little eggnog, sing a few carols, and bask in the crazy chaos of a Hitts family Christmas. Perhaps a little Yuletide cheer was just what she needed to blow away the confusion and put her head back on straight.
“But Mommy, Santa Claus is not a brown,” Eva insisted as she stared at the papier-mâché rendering of St. Nick, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts, checking his naughty and nice list.
“Honey, Santa is brown, but because there are so many children in the world, he has lots of helpers who are all different colors,” Francesca explained to her daughter.
“Melme, is Santa Claus a brown?” Eva asked Mel, apparently not sure who or what to believe. Melanie heard Eva’s endearing mispronunciation of her name and smiled at her sweet, precocious niece, surprised that even at the tender age of five, race was already an issue.
“What color do you think Santa is?” Mel asked.
“Red and white,” Eva proclaimed.
“You are so right,” Melanie answered, laughing and drawing her niece into a loud, demonstrative bear hug. Eva wasn’t concerned with Santa’s skin color, only that his uniform was not in order.
Out of the mouths of babes truly comes the wisdom of the world, Melanie thought. If only we grown-ups would listen.
“Eva the Diva, come over here and let me tell you the story about Leroy the gold-toothed reindeer and his very shiny car,” Xavier said.
“No, Daddy, that’s not how it goes,” Eva insisted, while Francesca and Mel burst into laughter. “PopPop, you tell the story. Daddy doesn’t know it right.”
Lawrence Hitts gladly obliged his granddaughter, sitting her in his lap to share the story of Rudolph. Xavier sat on the floor and quietly coaxed Jena over using a red satin ribbon, succeeding in bringing both baby and mother to his side. Melanie stood near the front window and let her eyes canvass the room, first taking in the twinkling tree packed with sentimental ornaments, and then examining the black nativity scene gracing the coffee table, an artistic rendition of the true meaning of the season. Lastly she moved on to the hand-stitched stockings hanging from the staircase. They were stretched and worn from years of excited hands dipping into their overstuffed innards, but to Mel’s eyes they were still icons of childhood pleasure.
Melanie inhaled the delicious and inviting scent of her mother’s sweet potato pies baking in the oven mingling with the crisp, tart aroma of cinnamon-spiked apple cider warming on the stove. She stood observing the tender scene with mixed sentiments. She was so grateful to be part of a loving family with such meaningful traditions, but the same scene made her question if she’d ever be ready to create these precious Kodak moments with her own husband and children.
A loud thud from upstairs interrupted both the storytelling and Mel’s personal contemplation. “What’s Mom doing up there?” she asked. “Chopping wood?”
“She’s wrapping gifts,” Franti explained, her voice distinct with that teasing I-know-something-you-don’t-know tone left over from childhood.
Suddenly the festive tinkling of sleigh bells sounded from above. Immediately Eva jumped from her grandfather’s lap and ran toward the foyer. “That’s not Grandma, that’s Santa Claus,” she announced, clapping her hands.
From the top of the stairs, they all heard the hearty and cheerful sounds of Santa’s laughter, followed by the heavy thud of boots on wood. They all watched as red velvet legs tucked in black, fur-topped galoshes descended the stairs. “Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas,” Santa’s familiar voice called out. The hearty sound of his greeting sent baby Jena scurrying to the safety of her mother’s arms, while a wide-eyed Eva stood frozen by the staircase with Melanie, watching this Yuletide hero appear before her very eyes.
“I told you, Melme, Santa is red and white,” she whispered to her aunt.
Red and white and Will Freedman all over, Melanie thought as she lightly tugged Eva’s braids. What was wrong with everyone around here? First Candace and now Francesca trying to sandbag her every step by inviting Will any-and everywhere. These folks had some major payback coming.
“Where’s Eva Gabrielle?” Santa asked, brightening the room with Will’s joyous, gapped smile.
“I’m Eva.”
“Well, come let’s see what special something Santa has in his bag for you.” As Eva followed Mr. Claus to the armchair near the fireplace, Francesca, chuckling into her hand, slid over next to Melanie.
“And what’s so damn funny?” Mel whispered.
“You. You’d have thought you’d seen the real St. Nick, the way your face looked when Will came bouncing down the stairs.”
“Was this your idea of a joke?”
“My idea, yes. Joke, no.”
“Why?” Mel whispered, trying to be discreet when she really felt like pinching her sister.
“Because we like him, Melanie. He still feels like family. You may have broken up with him, but does that mean the rest of us have to?”
A new wave of remorse washed over her. She was the one responsible for not only taking away Will’s marriage, but the only family he had left in the world. How could she not help make his holidays bright? Melanie looked over and watched the dear, tender way Will was responding to Eva and her unending list of Christmas desires. After reminding the child that only very good girls received such elaborate gifts, he kissed her on the top of her forehead, pulled out a box, suspiciously the same size as WNBA Barbie, and sent Eva happily on her way.
“Now, where is Melanie Lorraine?” Santa inquired.
Francesca indiscreetly shoved Mel forward in Will’s direction. “Here she is, Santa.”
Melanie moved with trepidation as the adults silently chuckled to themselves. There wasn’t one person in this room, other than Melanie, who didn’t think that these two belonged together and, whether forced or voluntary, found pleasure in seeing them together.
“Sit on Santa’s lap so we can get a picture,” Francesca insisted, skillfully avoiding the optical daggers being slung in her direction.
Melanie reluctantly sat down on Will’s lap, both embarrassed and amused. She had to admit that he did look awfully cute all dressed up like the Claus man. This was definitely one for the scrapbooks.
“Have you been naughty or nice, little girl?” Will inquired, playing his role to perfection.
“I guess that depends on whom you ask, Santa,” Mel answered, feeling the uncomfortable rush of remorse seep from her guilty conscious.
“Well, Santa still brought you a very special present.” Will leaned over and handed Melanie a large box from his velvet sack.
“Open it, Melme,” Eva prompted. “I’ll help.” Eva rushed over to help her aunt strip the gold wrapping paper from the box. Quickly she pulled off the top and Melanie’s laughter filled the room as she lifted out a huge tub of Red Vines licorice. Her discomfort was melted away by the appropriateness of Will’s choice—sweet, inexpensive, and yet highly personal.
“Thank you, Santa. This was on the tip-top of
my list,” Mel said as she opened the container and handed him a fat red licorice whip. This simple action flashed her back to the very first time she’d shared her favorite sweet with Will.
They had met shortly after Melanie returned to D.C. following her father’s heart attack. After weeks of nursing her dad, Mel had gratefully allowed Candace to drag her to the Black Enterprise Ski Challenge in Vail, Colorado, for some much-needed R&R. Following her lesson on their last morning in Vail, Melanie was feeling confident enough to take a run down the novice trail. She started off well, snowplowing her way back and forth down the mountain, but when she tried to escape the path of a renegade snowboarder, Mel found herself flying downhill fast and furious. Panicked by her failed attempts to slow down, she slid out of control into a group of skiers stopped on the side of the trail. She rammed directly into Will, and, despite her petite build, managed to knock him over.
Luckily, neither was injured and they decided to retire to the lodge for a drink. As a feeble attempt toward reparation, Melanie offered Will a whip of licorice. This action turned out to be a yummy icebreaker, leading them into a friendly debate over the taste of Twizzlers vs. Red Vines. After exhausting that tasty subject, the two continued to talk for hours. Mel, naturally curious and genuinely interested, was full of questions about the man and his livelihood. Will spoke excitedly of his job at America Online and his ideas on the vast untapped opportunities available for African-Americans in cyberspace.
His promise to contact her when they both returned to Washington, D.C., was fulfilled the moment he hit his front door. Will persevered after Melanie with tenacious gusto, letting nothing impede his pursuit of her. When she had plans for Super Bowl Sunday, he promptly convinced her to cancel her date and attend another party with him. There he was attentive and gallant, making a yeoman effort to assure that she was comfortable and having a good time.
Their first official date had to be canceled when Lawrence Hitts had another heart scare while Mel’s mother was down South visiting her relatives. Will canceled their planned visit to the Corcoran Museum to view the Gordon Parks exhibit, and instead packed a romantic picnic dinner and brought it over to the house with a coffee table book of Parks’s photography and a package of licorice. His thoughtfulness warmed her heart and placed Will Freedman at the top of her short list of favorite people. Once again there was no lack of conversation, but this time Will’s were the questions asked and answered. By night’s end, after sharing their first kiss, both knew that the other was someone special.
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