While I prepare dinner, I finish the remainder of the wine. By now, I’m floating and feeling kinda sexy. I can’t wait for Herman to get here. I finish dinner and go into my bedroom to select an outfit to wear.
I choose a raisin-colored mini-dress, with large silver hoops and silver sandals. I take a shower, put on my makeup and get dressed.
I go into the kitchen and fill up two bowls with the salad mixture and place it on the table along with the flowers. I set out plates, glasses, silverware, and napkins.
I step back and assess everything. Perfect. I think about lighting candles, but feel that will be overkill.
Herman arrives promptly at six. He hands me a bottle of Cristal. I put it in the refrigerator and lead him into the living room. I put on the Dreamgirls soundtrack. Jennifer Hudson’s version of “And I am Telling You I’m Not Going” is playing, and I ask Herman if he wants to dance.
“Dance?” he asks. “I didn’t know you still danced, Charity.”
I grab his hands and put them around my waist. “There’s a lot about me that you don’t know.” I smile seductively.
I let Herman dance me around the over-sized living room. When the record is over, I kiss Herman on the cheek. I’m feeling so bold, I’m shocking myself.
Herman touches his cheek, looking a little shocked.
I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m ad-libbing nicely. “C’mon,” I say, grabbing Herman by the arm, “let’s have some champagne before dinner.”
I go into the kitchen and select two champagne glasses that Lynzee bought me. The frosted flutes have three-dimensional metal leaves wrapped around the stem and end with a pink ceramic rose on the cusp.
With the lobsters needing only minutes to boil, I rinse off the ugly creatures and toss them into the seasoned boiling water.
While I fill up the glasses, my hands shake. I have a bout of guilt, and wonder to myself what the hell am I doing. I shrug it off and bring the glasses into the living room.
“How are the twins handling the divorce?” Herman asks as we sip our drinks.
“They’re bright kids and chose not to take sides.”
Herman looks contemplative. “You know I always wanted twins. But I wanted a girl and boy twin. You know, get it all over with at once.”
I get a quick flash of April’s face and nearly spill my drink. “Sorry.” I jump up from the sofa. “Dinner’s ready. C’mon, let’s eat.”
I prepare the plates in a colorful and professional manner the way my mother taught me, and fill the glasses with ice water.
For the next twenty-five minutes, we eat and chat, and laugh about the fun times we’ve had together.
“I’m stuffed,” Herman says, wiping his lips with the napkin.
“Me, too.” I rise and take the plates to the sink. “Ready for more champagne?”
“Do ducks quack?” He smiles.
I haven’t felt this good in years. I feel so light on my feet, I feel as if I’m floating. Once we’re back in the living room, I turn back on Beyoncé’s CD. I refill our glasses. We sip and smile at each other.
“Halo” comes on and Herman extends his hand. I get up and we dance. Though I know I shouldn’t, I snuggle up to Herman. His response is to kiss me on my neck.
“Mmm, that’s good,” I murmur. He can’t be gay. He just can’t.
The next thing I know, Herman is kissing me on the mouth. I kiss him back. Then I freeze. What in the hell is going on?
I step out of his arms. “Herman,” I say licking my lips, “I thought you were gay.”
He smiles seductively. “I’m not gay. I’ve just been waiting on you to give me a chance to show you what kind of man you really need.”
I drop my head back. “Lordy, Lordy, how did I get into this?”
Herman guides me back to the sofa. He looks into my eyes and says, “I love you, Charity. I always have. I don’t want any woman other than you.”
I drink my champagne and nearly choke on it. “Herman, you must know—”
“That you still love Jett. I know. But once you see the kind of husband I can be to you, I think you’ll give me a chance.”
I pick up my glass again and bring it to my lips. I gulp hard. It seems that I can’t get high enough tonight to offset this odd feeling that’s stirring in my loins.
“Herman, I—”
There’s a loud knocking on the kitchen door. “Excuse me.” I pick up my glass nervously and head for the door. I forgot to turn on the back porch light, so I can’t see who’s out there. I turn on the light with my right hand, and balance my glass with my left.
It’s Jett. He screams through the glass, “Charity, what the hell are you doing?”
39
I’m so embarrassed I could sink right through the floor. The angry look on Jett’s face terrifies me. I’m stone cold busted.
“Let me in!” he hollers.
“What do you want?” I’m not going to let him bully me.
“This is still my house. I said let me in before I call the police.”
Hesitantly, I open the door. “Why are you here?”
“Is that Herman’s car in the driveway?” He glares at me. “Don’t lie.” He pushes past me and heads for the kitchen. I follow him. “What the hell is going on in here?”
Herman gets up from the sofa. “Charity and I were having dinner.”
“If I were you, I’d get the fuck out of my house before you get your ass kicked.”
“There’s no need to get angry, Jett. Charity and I—”
“Are good friends, Jett. You know that. Why are you making a big deal out of this?” My hands are shaking.
“Do I smell alcohol on your breath?” he says, turning back to me.
“I had some champagne.” I look defiant. “So what?”
“Oh, so the moment I’m out of the picture, you forget all about church. You forgot about your promise to me to never drink again.”
I pick up the champagne glasses off of the cocktail table. “You’ve got a lot of nerve talking about promises.” I head toward the kitchen. Jett grabs my shoulder.
“Don’t fuck with me, Charity. You’re still my damned wife.”
I push away from him. “Not for long.”
Herman gets up. “I think it’s time for me to head on home. Good night, Charity. Jett. I’ll see myself out.”
After Herman leaves, I pick up around the house, throwing away empty bottles and putting the champagne glasses in the sink to wash out by hand. “I thought we finished our conversation this afternoon,” I tell him. “What did you come back for?”
Jett takes a seat at the table. “Don’t try to change the subject. What was Herman doing here so late?”
“I told you. We had dinner.”
“And what else? And why are you wearing that mini-dress?”
“Nothing. This dress happens to be one of my favorite outfits. You picked it out for my forty-fifth birthday, remember?”
Jett’s mouth bunches up. “That dress was for my eyes only.”
I finish wiping off the counters. “Why don’t you go home, Jett? It’s late and I’m tired.”
He gets up. “I don’t appreciate your drinking. And when the twins find out, they’re going to be disappointed too.”
“I’m a grown woman. I do what I want to do. Now, are you going home, or do I have to call the police?”
“I’ll leave.” He makes it to the hallway and turns around. “Why did you change the locks?”
“Because you don’t live here anymore.”
“What if I moved back? What if I said I wanted to work things out between us?”
“Are you asking?”
“Yes, I’m asking. I had second thoughts about getting a divorce. So what if I moved back?”
It hurts my soul to say these words, but they have to be said: “You’re not welcome. You walked out on me. As far as I’m concerned, you can keep right on walking.”
When I wake up Sunday morning, I have a splitting headache. It has to be the al
cohol. My body is not responding well to this unhealthy invasion.
I turn on the water and sit on the bench in the shower for thirty minutes. By then, I feel refreshed and ready for anything.
I reflect on last night, and I’m a little embarrassed. I practically threw myself at Herman, who now says he’s not gay. I still can’t believe I never figured it out. I’d never seen him with a man, but since I’d never seen him with a woman either, I just took him at his word. After all, who would believe a straight man would claim to be gay?
I go upstairs to my office and whip out my horoscope book. Herman is a Leo. I’m an Aries. As I read the text, I’m stunned to find that we’re compatible. I sit back and think about my emotions. Could I really care for Herman? No, I tell myself, it’s way too soon to begin a new relationship. Therapists say that you should wait at least a year after your divorce before you date. I assume they know what they’re talking about. I close the book and shut down my emotions. Not now.
I decide to go by the twins’ apartment. I grab my things, leave out of the back door and get into my car. When I try to start my car, it won’t turn over. I try again and again. Still nothing. I go over to Jett’s tool cabinet and remove the battery charger. Within minutes, I’ve got the red and black cable handles connected to the right source. I get back inside my car and crank it up. It starts. I put the charger back and get back in my car.
Then a thought hits me: my 550 BMW is five years old and paid for. Why shouldn’t I buy a new one? I can damn well afford it.
“Yeah, why not?” I say to myself.
So, instead of going to the twins’ apartment, I drive down Germantown Parkway to the Ambassador BMW dealership. Car salesmen give me time to check out the inventory before they approach me.
“Hello, I’m Seymour. And you are?”
“Mrs. Evans.”
“Welcome to Ambassador BMW. Can I help you with anything? Answer any questions you may have?”
“I see a car I like. I’m here to get a good deal. If the numbers work out, you’ve got a sale. If not, I’m outta here.” There are approximately two to three hundred cars, shining like diamonds on all four sides of the lot. I’m interested in the 760 Li.
He extends his arm. “Follow me inside, Mrs. Evans.”
The glass-and-silver building is impressive. It’s only been open for two years. When I bought my old BMW, I had to drive to Atlanta to purchase it.
I trail him to his small cubicle. He offers me coffee or water. I decline both. I want a new car, but I don’t want to be too rash. What if I lose the lawsuit? How am I going to pay for it? My inner voice says that I’ll find a way. Nothing makes a woman feel better than a new baby, a new house, or a new car.
While sitting at his desk I say, “Here’s the vehicle identification number. I’ll tell you right now, I used to be a car salesman, and I don’t plan to pay more than five hundred dollars over cost. Are we clear?”
The vehicle I selected is a silver 760 Li Sedan. It has 535 horsepower, 20-way power seats, keyless start and stop, a hard drive–based navigation with voice activation and real-time traffic information, and even has side view cameras and a sixteen-speaker sound system. But what really has me sold is the four-year no-cost maintenance. At almost one-hundred-twenty-five thousand dollars, it should almost drive itself.
I can hear Jett’s complaint: “Why in the hell are you buying a new car? There’s nothing wrong with your old one.”
“Because I deserve it,” I’d say.
“You can’t stand to keep money in the bank, can you? You just have to spend every dollar you can get your hands on. When you get broke, don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”
Fuck you, you cheap ass asshole. It’s my money.
And now, Seymour nods and takes out a purchase order. “Let me take down your information.” He asks for my keys. “First, we need to get your car appraised.”
“Sure. Another thing: I don’t plan on being here for two or three hours. Either you’re going to do it, or you’re not.” Suddenly I feel strong and powerful. Turning down Jett’s offer to move back in has left me empowered. For years, I’ve been Jett’s doormat, but now I’m finding my voice.
“My goodness, Mrs. Evans, you’re going to be a tough sell.”
Seymour and I fill out the paperwork. He runs my credit, and then takes the application up to the new car manager. He comes back minutes later.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Evans, but we can’t come close to your offer.”
I get up. “Thanks for wasting my time.” I head out the door. Once in my car, I’m pissed. I wanted that silver BMW. I could go to the Audi dealership and get a good price. I know the manager there. But an Audi would be my third choice of vehicle.
Just as I’m about to drive off, I hear a pounding on my trunk. I look over my shoulder and spot Seymour. He comes around to the driver’s side. “Yes?”
“My manager wants to speak with you again.”
“Why?”
“Because he thinks you two can come to terms about the car.”
“Okay, I’ll give him a shot.” I’m getting excited. I might get my car yet.
I follow Seymour back inside. The sales manager, Hollis McMann, is waiting at Seymour’s desk. He extends his hand. “Hello, Mrs. Evans. Thanks for coming back in.”
I take a seat. “Please don’t waste my time, Mr. McMann. I’m adamant about my offer.”
“I understand totally. Let me show you some numbers.”
Mr. McMann brings out the invoice sheet for the car I want. He gives me the costs of getting the car delivered, service costs, and clean up. Those costs are close to eight hundred dollars. When you factor in the cost of storing the vehicle on the lot, that’s another three or four hundred dollars. That said, if they sold me the car at my price, they’d be losing money.
“I don’t believe these numbers,” I tell him. “And I don’t believe that the cost of this car is really what you say it is. I know all about dealer incentives and dealer cash back. You can make the deal if you want to. I’m sure you’ve done as much for your friends and family.” I get up. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
I get ready to leave again.
“Hold on, Mrs. Evans,” Mr. McMann says. “You’re right about the dealer cash. Can you give me ten minutes? I have to run this by the general manager, Gray Sterling. He has the final say.”
“Ten minutes, Mr. McMann, and I’m gone.” I take a mint off of Seymour’s desk and press my purse into my breasts. I automatically rock and wait. Rock and wait.
Nine minutes later, Mr. McMann is back. “We have a deal, Mrs. Evans. Would you like to take delivery today?”
“Yes, today. I can come back another time for the clean-up. I’m in a hurry.”
He shakes my hand. “Thanks for your business.”
I nod and rock back in my chair. After my car is ready, I’m going to take a quick drive down to Atlanta. I might do a little shopping at Nieman Marcus and then have some dinner. I should arrive back home at around midnight.
Good. I like that plan. I can visit the twins’ place next weekend.
I enjoy a Sprite and a bag of barbecue chips while I wait for Seymour to get my keys. The moment I see my new car shining like wet silver, my smile is as wide as Texas. I get the keys and then transfer my papers and paraphernalia to my new vehicle. And I’m off.
Herman calls. “Is everything okay?
“Great. I just bought a new car. I’m on my way to Atlanta.”
“Want some company?”
As I change lanes to pass a car on my left, the car handles like it’s floating across the road. I feel like I’m in a cockpit, the ride is so smooth. “No, I need some time alone.”
“Did Jett stay long last night?”
“No.”
“Charity, I don’t know how to say this, but I meant what I said yesterday.”
“I’m flattered, Herman, but I can’t deal with this right now. My life is in turmoil. I don’t know where my future is going. I don’
t know if I’ll have a career in six months. I don’t know if I’ll be broke in six months. There are just so many variables. I don’t want to put any more stress on my mind. Do you understand where I’m coming from?”
“Yes. I’ll give you some time.”
“Thanks.”
“Have a good time in Atlanta.”
“I will. Bye.”
I get on Interstate 78 to Birmingham, Alabama, to Interstate 20, and then take Interstate 75 into Atlanta. By the time I reach Lenox Square Mall on Peachtree Road Northeast, I only have an hour to shop. But when you know how to shop and which stores to shop at, an hour is all you need,
First stop is Nieman’s, where I buy two white blouses, one silk and one lace. I purchase three long gowns and two short ones. I pick up five bra and panty sets, and then head out to Nordstrom’s. I try on and select four pairs of sandals and buy a pair of thigh-high fall boots. Finally, I stop by this French boutique, The French Connection, that I’ve always loved, and purchase two mini-dresses, a pair of trousers, and a matching top.
I’m done and I’m suffering from inundation. I put my purchases in my trunk and drive to Outback Steakhouse. I’m in the mood for a steak and a flaming onion with that tangy sauce that I love. I can never get enough of that sauce. I could eat it every day. I’m tempted to ask the chef for the recipe, but realize that I wouldn’t be the first person to ask, and not the last to go away without the recipe.
It’s time to get on the road and head home. When I get on the freeway, I call Jamone and tell him where I’ve been. He and Javed came by the house around nine. They were worried about me. I forgot to leave the lights on. I tell them about the car. Both boys think it was a good move. They want to know if they can take it for a drive next weekend. I say that I have to think about it. They know I’ll say yes. After all, I’ve got insurance, and it’s just metal.
When I get home, I turn on the lights and make two trips into the house to haul my purchases inside. I hang up the clothes in my closet and store my shoes on the shelf. I put sachet tablets on my undergarments and store them in my dresser drawer.
I’m still floating on cloud nine, but something is nagging me. I think I’ve forgotten about something. First, I pour myself a glass of wine, and then I skip up the steps to my office and check my messages.
We Ain’t the Brontës Page 18