“But you shouldn’t have to.” Lana looked dismayed.
“Lana, not everybody goes through life the way you do,” Weslee laughed.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Well, just doing whatever feels right and not taking responsibility.”
Lana narrowed her eyes. “Don’t criticize me, OK? Just because I have certain things doesn’t mean that I don’t take responsibility.”
Weslee, seeing the beginning of a tantrum, decided to leave it at that.
“Well, I’m going to Neiman’s,” said Lana.
“Fine. I’m meeting Duncan in Kendall Square tonight for a movie. A French film.”
Lana rolled her eyes and walked away in the other direction.
The clanging of weight machines and loud techno music was bad enough, and so Weslee tried not to show her irritation as the elderly woman struggled to lift fifteen pounds on the shoulder-press machine.
“Ms. Goldberg, let’s try a lighter weight, OK?” This woman was testing every last bit of patience Weslee had left.
It was her first client on her first day of her second week at HealthyLife. The best thing about working the midmorning shift was that it was slow enough so that she could actually get some studying done between clients. But then, her clients tended to be either the really overweight type who were terrified of working out at the trendy gym during peak hours or the elderly who had nothing better to do all day than putter around a health club before heading out for a big lunch that would cancel out all their efforts.
But hey, Weslee rationalized, I’m getting eighteen dollars an hour, and some of these women know how to tip!
“Oh, honey, I thought I could do it. It just doesn’t look that heavy,” Ms. Goldberg whined.
“It’s no big deal. We’ll start off light, and when your muscles get a little warmed up, we’ll work our way up to the heavier weights.”
One-on-one training was not as easy as it looked. The personal interaction could get to be a little too much. Some people wanted to deviate from her planned routine, and that made her crazy. It was a standard script for most of them: She’d take them through a weight circuit and then send them off to one of the cardio machines for twenty minutes—twenty minutes she used to catch up on reading her textbooks. She even had time to work on assignments on her laptop while her clients sweated themselves out on the treadmill or stationary bike.
For some reason she hadn’t told Duncan yet about her job. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt ashamed. They had only been out on a few dates, she mused, so she really had no obligation to reveal all—at least not yet.
She knew her feelings of shame were irrational. It’s not that she didn’t have money; she just didn’t want to spend any more of it. And with Duncan asking her out more and more, she would need to spend money on hair, clothes, and makeup to impress someone like him.
It had taken her two hours last night just to get ready to meet Duncan for yet another foreign film, this one in the Coolidge Corner theater in Brookline, and coffee. She remembered that going out with Michael had only required thirty minutes of prep time: shower, put on a little foundation, lip gloss, jeans, flats, and a sweater. Now it wasn’t that simple. She knew that Duncan expected her to look a certain way. He always commented on her appearance and she found herself looking forward to his compliments. Every time she grew weary of Lana’s childish attitude, she checked herself. Had it not been for Lana, she could never have kept a guy like Duncan interested. Duncan required a full face of the most expensive makeup that made her look as if she was not wearing any. Her outfits had to be classy, understated, and sexy at the same time. It was a look she had seen Lana carry off sometimes, and she was learning that it was not as effortless as it seemed. So, she decided to ask Lana, who had replied: “Calvin Klein, Max Mara, and BCBG. You’re tall, and thank God you barely have any curves, you’re not fussy, plus you’re cheap.” Weslee had rolled her eyes at the last jab, but she had taken the advice and it was working well for her.
Duncan was well worth the effort. He was almost like a teacher to Weslee. They’d spent hours talking about the movement to repatriate land to black farmers in Zimbabwe and the wisdom or lack thereof in U.S. foreign policy. She was in awe of him as she saw the similarities in their political viewpoints: he was quasi-conservative, too! “And you don’t have to be ashamed of it,” he’d smiled. He knew everything about everything and had been everywhere. He had traveled to half the countries on the African continent and through most of Europe, all before he started law school. He was fluent in Swahili and French, and he knew German well enough to travel there without difficulty. He was so smart. God, he is so incredibly sexy and smart, she thought as she took her elderly client through the motions.
Since her first date with Duncan, he had called every day. She was almost dizzy from all the attention. He had even brought her a flower last night. He was so romantic, and a great kisser, too. She got weak-kneed just thinking about the hot-and-heavy twenty minutes they had spent at her apartment door last night. She couldn’t let him in. She couldn’t trust herself.
“One more set?” Ms. Goldberg interrupted her less-than-pure thoughts.
“Yes, just twelve more repetitions.”
She couldn’t wait until Saturday. He had promised to drive her up to the White Mountains in New Hampshire to see the fall foliage. She had never done that before. It was one of those New England things, he had told her, that when she did it once she would have to do it every year. She couldn’t wait.
Chapter 9
An early morning rain had cleared to reveal a perfect fall day. The air was crisp and clear, and there was color everywhere. They had left early, after eating a huge breakfast Weslee had made. It was the first time she had cooked for him, and she watched him apprehensively, desperately seeking signs of pleasure on his face as he took each bite.
He cleaned off his plate, but she still asked him two or three times whether he really had enjoyed his eggs, pancakes, bacon, and hash browns. She knew that it wasn’t the gourmet breakfast that he was probably used to. She had flirted with the idea of salmon and bagels with Bloody Marys, but she hadn’t wanted to seem pretentious. She’d decided to stick with what she knew. Yet she still wasn’t fully convinced even after he told her over and over that he had enjoyed her cooking.
She would never admit it to him, but she just loved Duncan’s BMW Z3. She teased him about how impractical the two-seater sports car was, especially for the rough New England winters.
Now he was offering to let her drive it.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious. I think once you drive it, you’re never going to be able to go back to that Toyota or Chevy or whatever it is you drive,” he laughed.
“For your information, I have a Honda Accord, America’s number one choice.”
“For mediocrity.”
“Duncan!”
“It’s true. If you had your choice, what car would you drive?”
She had to think for a minute. “Maybe an Audi A8.” She loved that car.
“Now we’re talking. So, get one.”
“I wish I could.”
“Well, once you’re done with your MBA, you’ll be able to.”
“First I have to find a job.”
“Oh, you’ll find a job. You’re young, smart, fine, double-minority.”
“Duncan!” She smacked his knees playfully.
He looked at her and laughed as he took the car up a gear on the clear highway. “So, where do you want to live after school? Will you stay here?”
“I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to live in New York City.”
“Why not stay here? There are plenty of financial companies here.”
“I know. But I might want to try New York for a while.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s just so big, bad, and exciting.”
“Boston’s exciting.”
They both laughed.
&
nbsp; Weslee breathed in deeply as she gazed out the window. She had to ask Duncan twice to slow down so she could take in the beauty of the fall foliage. He had been so right. She would have to do this every single year. The myriad reds, oranges, burgundies, golds, and greens, all just fluttering on the trees against the cobalt sky went on for miles and miles. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. She had never seen anything like this in Illinois.
Duncan kept his eyes on the road. She could tell he was having the time of his life playing with his car. For the first twenty or so miles of the trip up Route 93, he showed her every single function, gadget, and whizbang technology the car came with. He was like a little kid with a toy.
By the time the tips of the White Mountains were in view, she had learned so much about him. The pressure he felt as the youngest of four brothers was apparent to her. He talked about his strict, uncompromising father, who ran their Brookline household with an iron fist. He was much closer to his mother, who had Creole roots and was also a lawyer until she and his father had decided to start having children. He was the only one of his siblings still living in Boston. He spoke fondly of his nieces and nephews, who were scattered all over the country.
She was finding that the more she knew, the more she grew to like him as a person. He was boyish in that he gave in to his every childish whim—like the car, his pet cobra, and a horse that he kept at his parents’ other home in Carver, Massachusetts. He was a bit spoiled, yet he was inquisitive about other people—her, anyway. He drilled her about her family, her niece and nephew, even about Michael. She was reluctant to talk about that relationship, but he dug deeper and deeper until she told him the whole story.
“So you moved here to get over him?”
“No, I moved here to go to business school.”
“University of Chicago and Northwestern have great management schools.”
“I don’t think that Chicago would take me.”
“Did you even apply?”
She sighed.
“OK, Weslee. I see I’m hitting a nerve.”
“You’re not hitting any nerves. Don’t give yourself so much credit.”
He cocked his head to the side, and she wondered if she had hurt his feelings.
“No, I didn’t apply,” she conceded.
He nodded as if to say, I thought so.
They stopped in Littleton, New Hampshire, a tiny town near the Vermont border. Weslee stretched as she inhaled the chilly, clean mountain air.
“Where are we going?” She looked around unconsciously for other black—or at least brown—people.
“To a diner.” He pointed to a small eatery across the street.
Weslee was glad she had worn boots. There was snow on the ground, and it crunched under her feet as they walked to the diner.
“Are we going to be OK up here?” She felt uneasy. She thought that she felt a couple of stares from the occupants of a passing truck.
Duncan looked down at her and smiled. “This is not the Deep South, Weslee.”
“I know. But I don’t see anybody who looks like us.”
“This is New England. The sooner you get used to that, the better.”
They walked into the diner.
“How are you guys doing today?” a friendly waitress greeted them at the door.
“Good, and you?” Duncan replied, totally at ease.
Weslee followed his lead and smiled politely while he made small talk with the waitress as she led them to a red Formica-topped table.
Once they had ordered lunch, Weslee felt more comfortable. An interracial couple walked in, and she felt even better. Duncan laughed at her obvious relief at seeing another black face in New England’s North Country.
“My, you really need to deal with your race hang-ups.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” She didn’t mean for it to sound as curt as it did.
“Calm down. That’s all I’m saying. Just calm down.”
She cocked her head to the side the way she did when she was irritated.
“Did I say the wrong thing?” He reached for her hand across the table.
“No, I’m just thinking.”
“Thinking?” he asked.
“Well, we’re just from different places.”
“Everybody’s from a different place. Everybody.”
“I know.” She pursed her lips.
“Hey, you’re with me, it’s OK.” He said it softly and squeezed her hand. When she didn’t reply, he nudged her feet with his under the table. She couldn’t help smiling.
After they ate, they drove farther up into the mountains.
“I want to show you something,” he said, pulling off an exit onto a one-lane highway. He drove for a couple of miles, then pulled onto a dirt road.
“Where is this?” she asked. He didn’t answer. He just drove the little roadster over the bumpy dirt path. He stopped at a tiny stream. They got out of the car.
It was a scene straight out of an Impressionist painting. The trees in all their wild colors leaned over the stream on both sides, some branches joining to form a bridge above.
“Wow!” Weslee looked around. “This is so beautiful.”
“I knew you’d like it.” Duncan put his arm around her waist.
They stared at the beauty in front of them, not saying anything for minutes.
“Thanks for bringing me here, Duncan.”
“Don’t thank me. I brought you here for selfish reasons. I wanted to see you around all this beauty.”
He held her to him and kissed her. She kissed him back and let his hands slowly move over her body. She moved closer to him, melting into the hardness of his chest.
He pulled back after a few minutes. “We should head back.”
She looked at him, dazed. “Uh. Sure.”
Oh my goodness, she thought, was I too eager? Maybe I should have at least tried to stop him.
He held her hand as they walked back to the car. He walked her over to her side of the car and opened the door. Their eyes met, and the temptation rose again. His kiss made her weak, and she folded her arms around his neck.
“Weslee,” he said. “You’re driving me crazy.” And kissed her deeply.
This time it was her turn to stop him. She knew that if they went even one step further, there would be no turning back.
On the ride back to Boston, Weslee felt truly happy. Duncan laughed at her rants about her clients at the health club, suggesting that she start her own personal-training business. She teased him about his obsession with his car. He dared her to drive the rest of the way home. She refused.
“I’ve never driven anything so small and fast,” she protested.
“You’re such a chicken.”
“You won’t be saying that when I wreck it.”
“You’re not going to wreck it. If you do, I have insurance for that.”
She looked at him. He took his eyes off the road briefly to meet her stare.
“Come on, Dunster, show me what you got.” He pulled off to the side of the road.
“OK, you got it.” She got in the driver’s seat and adjusted the seat. “OK, show me again what all the buttons do,” she said nervously.
“Just drive the car. It’s not going to bite you.”
Weslee sighed and looked in the driver’s side mirror for traffic. She pulled onto the highway slowly.
“Um. You might want to try to at least drive at or above the speed limit,” Duncan joshed.
Weslee rolled her eyes and hit the gas. “Oh my God!” She hadn’t expected the car to lurch forward so quickly and violently.
“Now we’re talking,” Duncan said, strapping on his seat belt.
Two hours later, Weslee pulled up in front of her apartment building. She giggled from the driver’s seat. “Can I keep it?” she joked.
“Sure, go ahead, keep it.” And he did it again. Without warning, he swooped across the front seat and kissed her: long, hard, and deep. She felt like she was melting. It may have
lasted a few minutes or a half hour. But when she opened her eyes, it was considerably darker than it had been when she had pulled up to the curb.
She tried to think. Third real date. What to do?
“I guess I’d better go up.” She wished she had it in her to be a bad girl.
“OK, I’ll call you tomorrow.” He caressed her face and kissed her on the lips.
I’ll be waiting, I’ll be waiting, I’ll be so waiting, she sang to herself as she bounded into her building.
She kept replaying the day over and over in her mind. Duncan, Duncan, Duncan. Sometimes it was good to disobey your instincts, Weslee thought. Or else she would never have found out that he was so romantic, so sweet, so irresistible. She never thought herself to be the type to attract guys like him, but here he was, obviously crazy about her.
The phone rang. Wow, couldn’t he wait? She answered in her sexiest, most I’m-not-waiting-for-your-call voice.
“Hey, Weslee.”
It was William.
“Hey, William.” She found her real voice.
“What’s up?”
“Um. Nothing.”
“Hey, I have two tickets for Riff Raff, that Lawrence Fishburne play.” He sounded excited, and she hated to burst his bubble.
“Um. Tonight’s kinda bad, William.”
“Why, what’s going on? Are you OK?”
“Um. I’m just tired. I was out all day. I went to the White Mountains today.”
“You did? With Lana?”
“Um. No. Duncan took me.”
A long pause ensued.
“Oh. That must have been cool. It’s nice up there this time of year.”
“Yes, it was,” she said quietly, almost apologetically.
“OK. Well, maybe another time then. Take care.” William sounded wounded.
“Sure, William. Thanks for asking me.”
He said good-bye quickly and hung up.
They had been playing phone tag over the last few weeks. In the last message she had left him, she had said, “William, you’re the busiest man I have ever not gotten a minute to get to know.”
Lana had convinced her to let him go. “I told you, he’s a total workaholic,” she had said.
But Weslee felt rotten. She knew what had just happened. William knew now that she had picked Duncan. There was no going back.
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