“I know it’s going to happen. Lately I have the sweet taste of success in my mouth,” he said, abruptly extricating himself from her arms and pounding his hands against the box office window. “One day soon, I am going to own Broadway!”
“But what about movies? Don’t you make more money doing films?” Candace asked instinctively. She could understand his love of acting, but why not in a medium that certainly paid better?
“Yes, eventually I guess you do, but it’s not about the money. It’s about making real art, not commercial hits. That’s why Charles Dutton has been my inspiration and hero ever since I first saw him work. When you look at his body of work, you realize he knows that the stage is the only real place to make art as an actor.”
“But he does a lot of film and television too,” Candace pointed out.
“True, and I’ll do my share of film and TV as well, but the greats always come back to the theater. And when they return, I’m going to be here ready to work with them. God, I want this so bad,” Griff said, choking on the ambitious hunger building in the back of his throat. “And, baby, I want you to be a part of it too. Look, Candace, I’ve dropped women or been dropped in the past because my lifestyle was too tough for anything serious to develop, but I can’t do it this time. I love you, and I want you to be the one with me at the beginning of the big time. I know you’re high-maintenance, but that’s okay, you deserve the best and I want to give it to you. But the reality is that it will be rough for a while. I don’t have a lot of money. Hell, I don’t have any money. But I believe in me, baby. And I want you to believe in me too.”
“Aren’t you Griffin Bell? The actor from Race for the Race?” Candace and Griff’s conversation was interrupted by one of two attractive black women who looked to be in their twenties. They approached Griff, one bold and outspoken, the other quiet, obviously suffering from the adoration and hero worship typically reserved for sports legends and musicians.
“We saw you onstage and in the Village Voice. You are one awesome brother,” the bold, pretty one purred.
“And fine too,” her shy friend said under her breath but loud enough for Candy’s territorial ears.
“Can I get your autograph?” the first girl asked.
“Sure.” Griffin watched with complete ego gratification as the girl slipped her coat off her shoulders, lifted up her sweater, and offered him a fresh white T-shirt to sign. Candace eyed the pushy woman with a “bitch, is you crazy?” glare.
“Maybe I should sign on the back,” he said, pulling a pen from his pocket and moving behind her.
“I’m an acting student at NYU. I’d love to sit down with you and pick your brain. Maybe you could jot down your phone number as well?” the girl asked with a suggestive twirl of her hair.
What, bitch? Am I invisible? I guess you don’t see me standing here about to pop your silly ass upside the head? “I’m afraid not,” Candy interrupted, possessively taking hold of Griff’s arm.
She led her man off with a triumphant smirk and did some quick reasoning. He owned nothing to speak of, and that was bad. But he also had great potential to make money, and lots of it. And though she’d never been a huge fan of potential, this time it might be different. This time the man she loved was willing to love her full-time, not only when it was convenient for his schedule. And how could she throw Griff away into a crowd of hungry heifers who would happily eat him up like a vat of Italian gelato? He was her man, damn it. Piss-poor as he might be, Griffin Bell still belonged to her.
“Candace, baby, are you jealous?” he asked, smiling.
“Of those tired ho cakes? Be for real. But about what you were saying before missy did her sidewalk striptease, I do believe in you and I love you too. And I think that you should move in with me.”
Griffin stopped in the middle of Broadway and turned to face his woman. “Are you serious? You know my situation. I mean, I’ll help out whenever I can, but…”
“It doesn’t matter. I can handle it. You just concentrate on becoming a star,” she said before giving him a sloppy kiss, well aware of the envious eyes of his two fans following behind.
Chapter 18
Amanda watched as Ilah Rogers’s blue-veined, milky-white hands trembled. Slowly and deliberately, the eighty-eight-year-old filled the small plastic scoop with potting soil and deposited it into the ceramic pot. Before arriving, Amanda was sure that she was going to hate working with these senior citizens, but now, after completing six of her fifteen hours, she found that she was pleasantly surprised. Apart from the old-lady smells of violet toilet water and mothballs that made her feel slightly nauseous, she found she actually liked being here.
“Here are some lovely crocus bulbs and ivy,” Sharon said as she stopped by the table with a carton full of plants.
“Ooh, do you have yellow and purple ones? Those are Mrs. Cramer’s favorite colors,” Amanda’s friend Quincy announced. She took the time to select the marked bulbs and choose the freshest ivy from Sharon’s box, wanting the best for her senior chum.
“I guess we’ll take the tulips, freesia, and ivy,” Amanda decided. “Is that cool with you, Miss Ilah?” Ilah agreed and Amanda placed their choice next to the elderly woman. Amanda removed the ivy plants from their small pots and arranged them and the bulbs in the larger container. Together she and Ilah pressed them down into the soil, Mandy adding a few more scoops of dirt along the way.
Sharon watched as Amanda and her friend respectfully interacted with their adult charges. She realized that in many ways, from her dress to her choice of music to her use of urban slang, Mandy had adopted the cultural cues of her best friend. Quincy appeared to be a perfectly nice young lady, but Sharon could not help wondering why Amanda didn’t have any girlfriends from her own race.
“Ms. Ilah, you’re a mess.” Amanda laughed as she reached over and tenderly brushed potting soil from the old woman’s left cheek.
Sharon watched Amanda clean Ilah’s face, and a sad and frightening reality began to haunt her. There would be no children or grandchildren to visit and care for her when her useful days were gone. Instead she’d be stuck in a place like this, receiving doses of pity and friendship from people sentenced to do so by either the law or their bored and guilty conscience. The thought depressed her thoroughly and she excused herself to the ladies’ room, not wanting to upset the teenagers or their elderly companions.
“Miss Ilah was pretty cool. I had a good time,” Amanda said as they pulled off the highway. “Oh, this is my jam. Mind if I turn this up?”
“Go ahead,” Sharon said, once again struck by Amanda’s musical preference. Sharon listened as Mandy sang the words proclaiming the total unacceptability of ignoring opportunity’s knock. “May I ask you a question?” she inquired as Eminem’s song segued into a medley of annoying commercials.
“Yeah?”
“I see that you and Quincy are really close.”
“Yeah, she’s my girl.”
“She seems very nice, but I was wondering: Do you have any friends who are…`you know, who are…”
“What? White?”
“Well, yes.”
“Yeah, of course I do. I hang with all types of people. Why?”
“I was just curious why you seem to be drawn more to Quincy’s culture than your own.”
“You’re beginning to sound like Catherine and Nelson. Why do you all have such a problem?” Amanda said defensively. “Don’t you have any black friends?”
Amanda’s pointed question took Sharon by surprise. She was certainly “friendly” with several people who were African-American, but she’d be exaggerating to actually call them friends. It’s not like she avoided such relationships. Her life simply did not cross paths with many people of color—at least not in any substantial way. No black families lived in their immediate neighborhood or belonged to their country club. And other than the Pulleys, a couple she and John often chatted with during First Sundays at their church, and Claudia Johnson, the director of the loca
l literacy program, Sharon had no regular conversations with any black women. And even their talks revolved around fundraising and current world affairs. Never anything personal or confidential. Until now she’d never even considered the lack of color in her friendships. Certainly she wasn’t racist, but why did Amanda’s query make her feel so guilty?
“Don’t get upset, honey. I’m only asking because I’m trying to understand you better. I’m not judging you or your friend,” Sharon said, ignoring the question.
“I like Quincy because she’s cool and we like the same things. She just happens to be black, that’s all. I like black people because they aren’t afraid to be themselves. They aren’t worried about what other folks think. If they want to put their baseball cap on backwards, they do. If they want to wear clothes that are big and baggie or skin-tight, even, they do. And if they think that kids going around shooting other kids is wack, they’ll stand up and say so, even if it means getting arrested. The kids Catherine knows and wants me to be friends with would never do any of those things. They’re afraid of being themselves because they’re afraid of being different. I’m not down with that. My black friends are just more expressive, and I like that. But if Quince was white, that would be cool too. It just so happens that she’s not.”
“Understood,” Sharon replied, secretly satisfied that Amanda’s circle of friends was more inclusive than she originally suspected. It may not be true in her life, but she did feel it was important that Mandy have a balanced cultural experience.
Is this what mothering a teenager is like? she wondered as she turned into the train station to drop off Amanda. It was harder than it looked, but better than she could ever imagine.
“I think that couple that came by last week is going to make a serious offer,” Sharon said in a wobbly voice later that evening. She’d saved this important but most distressing bit of information for last as she filled John in on the events that had taken place while he was away.
“We’ve been here a long time, it’s tough for me to say goodbye too,” he said, covering her hand with his. “But this isn’t just the end of an era, it’s the beginning of a great new one for us. I promise you, you’ll come to love your life in the city just as much as you’ve loved this one.”
“I keep telling myself that, but it seems harder leaving a home that I love just because we can. Maybe if we had to it would feel different.”
“I know, sweetheart, and I have an idea to take your mind off of things. Why don’t we throw a party at the apartment?” John suggested.
“A housewarming?”
“No. February fourteenth is right around the corner, or have you forgotten?” he asked, teasing her.
“Have I ever forgotten our anniversary? But why a party? Why don’t we go away somewhere?”
“Honey, I know you don’t like large shindigs, but I think this would be fun.”
Huge celebrations were not Sharon’s style. She’d much prefer a small intimate dinner with close friends than a big bash with a room full of people she didn’t know. “Will you have the time?” she asked, grasping for any excuse.
Sharon’s question was on point. He really was too busy for some extravagant soiree, but the bigger picture took precedent over his tight schedule. An anniversary party would give Sharon something to concentrate on while he was traveling back and forth to Belize these next few weeks. John was also hoping that celebrating their marriage in the apartment might also help her to feel more connected to the place. Help her loosen the attachment she had to this house and the unfulfilled desires that haunted her. It was his greatest hope that in this new environment, Sharon would find the peace of soul and the same renewed enthusiasm for life that he had recently discovered. And for reasons still unclear, John greatly desired a public celebration to mark his twenty-fourth wedding anniversary.
Maybe to make up for your private feelings for Jax? John refused to confirm or deny his intuitive thought, and instead took his wife into his arms. “We can celebrate the beginning of our life together in our new home,” he said softly in her ear. “And why don’t you invite Amanda to join us?”
Sharon pulled back enough to examine the face that had uttered those shocking words. When it came to Amanda, John often behaved like a jealous sibling, so for him to make such an offer was the ultimate compromise. Knowing that the teenager would not be comfortable in such a setting, the invitation would never be extended, but Sharon was touched by her husband’s thoughtfulness.
“It might be fun,” she conceded.
“It will be. I promise.”
“I love you, John.”
“And I do love you, Sharon.” John spoke the solemn truth as thoughts of Melanie Hitts breezed through his head.
Chapter 19
“My feet are absolutely screaming,” Melanie announced as she threw her purse on the couch and followed with her body. “And for nothing. I don’t believe they rented that apartment before I got there, especially after I called yesterday to tell them I’d be over with the deposit. Now it’s back to square one.”
“Let me take a look at those dogs,” Will said as he slipped off her shoes and began massaging her tired feet.
“Hmm, this feels so good,” Mel moaned as she laid back into the sofa and closed her eyes.
Will fought the urge to lean in and kiss her. Since New Year’s, he’d successfully walked that fine line between being a love interest and becoming a nuisance, but keeping the scope of his intentions in check was definitely becoming a challenge. When Melanie had mentioned on the phone that she was going to spend the weekend apartment-hunting, he’d gladly volunteered to accompany her and was thrilled when she took him up on his offer. “I still can’t believe that Dark Gable is living with Candace,” he said, breaking the silence.
“Me either. And even though she said there was no hurry for me to leave, the way they are constantly on each other, three is definitely a crowd.” Mel finished her comment slightly embarrassed by the suggestive context, as she and Will were still struggling to maintain their sexual distance. Will was living up to his promise to take it slow, while Mel was trying to resist making love with either John or Will until she was totally sure where her relationship with each of them was headed.
“My boy is totally whipped.”
“Hold that thought,” Mel said, reaching over to pick up the ringing phone.
“Hello there, Jax,” John’s voice boomed through the receiver.
“Hi. Where are you?” Mel asked as she immediately pulled her feet from Will’s grasp and sat up. Her abrupt change in position put Will’s ears, eyes, and male instinct on full alert.
“Back in Belize. It’s good to hear your voice. How are you?”
Afraid Will might hear John’s deep voice through the phone, Mel got up from the couch and walked over to the window. “Good. How are things down there? Have you gotten everything straightened out?” she asked, keeping the conversation chatty and friendly.
Who’s on the phone that she needs to walk all the way across the room to talk to? Will wondered.
“The situation is better, but not solved. But I really don’t want to waste our time talking about my problems here. Austin tells me that the press announcement at the Art Miami Festival went well. I’m not at all surprised.”
“Folks seemed to be excited about the concept, though we were preaching to the choir. I mean, it was a room full of art lovers.”
“Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there with you. So how have you been doing aside from work?”
“Okay, I guess. I just got back from apartment-hunting. I have to be out of my place by month’s end, but I’m having a little trouble finding something I like and can afford.”
“Where are you looking?” John asked.
“At this point, anywhere.”
“How does Tribeca sound to you?”
“Great, but way out of my price range.”
“What if I could work something out? A friend of mine just finished renovating some ter
rific condos on Duane Street.”
“Not 129 Duane?”
“You know it?”
“Not specifically, but a friend of mine has a client moving into that building. It’s gorgeous.”
“I know that a couple of the smaller units are still available and I could speak with him, if you’re interested.”
Am I interested? Suddenly visions of Will helping her move into a luxury apartment secured for her by John made Mel reluctantly acknowledge the traitorous thought that she was becoming more like Candace than she was comfortable with. A mate and a date. Weren’t those Candace’s ingredients for cooking up the perfect love life? One man to supply the goodies, another to enjoy them with? But it’s a very different set of circumstances, she argued with herself. He’s only offering to help you find a place, not pay for it. And this is Tribeca. How can you pass up such a golden opportunity?
“I’d appreciate it very much,” she told him.
“Consider it done.”
“It’s really very nice of you.”
“I would build you a castle if I could, but since I can’t, making a phone call is the very least I can do.”
“When are you coming back?” Mel asked.
“Why? Do you miss me?”
“Maybe,” she said, while unconsciously running her hand through her hair.
Definitely a man, Will decided. And a brother she’s interested in. Her conversation may sound casual and friendly, but her body language is screaming out something totally different.
“Well, just in case you do, I’m coming in sometime late next week. There’s a serious bid on the house, so I need to be there to do the paperwork,” John said.
“Word around the office is that the new apartment has turned out wonderfully.”
“Jude did a great job. In fact, Sharon’s having a Valentine’s party there, so that’s another reason I need to get home,” he told her, reluctant to reveal that this was also his anniversary celebration. “But mainly I want to get back because I have something I want to show you. I thought we might be able to use it in the Casa de Arte, but I want to get the approval of my favorite art critic.”
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