Zora and Nicky: A Novel in Black and White

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Zora and Nicky: A Novel in Black and White Page 19

by Claudia Mair Burney


  Yes, Miles. Make me feel good.

  He takes off his jacket. Balls it up and gives it to me. I’m confused.

  “It’s for a pillow.”

  I nod. Put it under my head.

  He starts unbuttoning his shirt.

  Oh, no. Wait a minute. I just wanted you to kiss me so I could erase Nicky’s kiss from my soul. I mean, I don’t even like kissing Miles. I certainly don’t want clothes to come off. Oh, no. What have I done?

  My mind starts shutting down.

  I don’t want to think about what this man of God, this bishop-in-training is trying to do. I can’t handle this right now, God. I start thinking in parts so I won’t have to put the whole of this together. While he touches me I think:

  Miles has on a blue button-down shirt. He must have worn it to church. I’ve seen it before. He wears it with the camel-colored suit. It has pale yellow pinstripes. He has on jeans, but for now, he’s only unbuttoning his shirt. He has a solid, strong build and a surprise of a curly tuft of afro hair on his chest. For a brief moment, I wonder if Nicky has hair on his chest then banish the thought.

  Miles has his shirt wide open, but the last few buttons remain. He stops unbuttoning to kiss me again. I wonder if he thinks I think his chest is sexy.

  Finally, I find a little voice. Something inside that can’t let this happen. “Please stop.”

  He doesn’t stop.

  I close my eyes and tell myself I should marry him. It’s sensible. My mother would think this is a good decision, marrying Miles. This touching he’s doing will only hasten the day. I think of all the people at church who are dishonoring each other with bad touches. Good Christian people in churches all over have done and are doing this. I tell myself that it won’t matter. That Jesus will forgive us. That no one will know. And the fact that I feel nothing but afraid and confused is secondary to what I really need. I have to get what I really need.

  I have to fall out of love with Nicky Parker. And I have to do that right now.

  NICKY

  I pull into the nearest parking lot, and no one comes after me, including the police. Despite my concern of what the men in my family would think if they drove by, I can’t help myself—I put my head on the steering wheel and cry like a baby.

  I’m so confused. I feel like a stranger to myself, and today I’m even more of a stranger to my family than I usually am. I don’t want to be a white man today. And I don’t want to be the color of water so you can see right through me like my family does. I want to be a Vincent Van Gogh, Starry Night, full of color. Zora would understand that.

  I want to write. Literally. Right now. I keep a notebook in my glove box. I yank it open and fumble around for a pen. Some writer I am. I can’t find a pen to save my life. After rummaging around under the seats, I finally locate one and begin a poem for Zora.

  I wish I were the color of the sky because you love the sky maybe you could love me, too— my distant winking stars, my nameless constellations my strange new worlds to explore. Most of all I wish you would love my impenetrable darkness. Could you love me if I’m black, but only on the inside?

  Before I have time to censor myself—and God knows I should—I take it to her.

  ZORA

  His touches have become tentative, as if he is warring with himself. I don’t think his higher self is winning. He keeps touching and kissing.

  My lovely white dress with the circle skirt. Circle like a wedding ring. It’s getting dirty on the floor. This morning I loved this dress. I took a few moments after I dressed and danced around the empty living room in it. The whole place is one big studio now. Good, hardwood floors just made for dancing. I twirled around thinking of how happy I felt. How I wanted to see Nicky. Meet him in the house of God, even if I had to walk. I danced, thinking of him.

  I’m going to hate this dress from now on, the way accident victims hate the clothes they were wearing when tragedy struck. I will not associate this dress with Nicky standing at my door trying to give me the box, saying it was from Jesus.

  Mr. Incarnational Christian.

  Where is Jesus now?

  Oh, no. Don’t you start crying anymore, Zora Nella Hampton Johnson. Miles isn’t listening anyway. It’s like MacKenzie always told you. Once you get a man going so far, you have to just let him have it. You can’t just say no.

  Is she right?

  Can I say no, Lord?

  Where are You?

  I need an incarnational Christian to show up right about now, because I’m in trouble, and the trouble is about to get worse. This man who says he wants me to do what’s right, who says he’s been praying for me, who says I’m cursed and he doesn’t want to make it worse, is about to do something I don’t want him to do.

  I start sobbing. “Miles?”

  “What? Why are you crying so much?”

  “I’m a virgin.”

  “I know that, Zora.”

  “Are you a virgin?”

  He doesn’t answer right away.

  Dear God. He isn’t. What’s the matter with us Christians?

  I cry even harder.

  “Baby, that’s in the past. I’ve respected you. We can get married as soon as you’d like to.”

  “You promise?”

  “We can get married as quickly as we can get a license.”

  “What if Daddy doesn’t approve?” I don’t ask with an attitude. I’m serious.

  “I’ll talk to him. He listens to me, Zora. He loves you. He wants what’s best for you too.”

  I try to force myself to believe it. “I love you, Miles.”

  That’s not me. I’ve fallen in love with someone else. That’s the youth group girl who’s seventeen with the crush on the guy who looks like a young Denzel. Because the real me—the one on the floor of an empty apartment with the man who is supposed to love her—she’s not feeling this guy who has given her nothing in her time of need. She’s not down with the one who doesn’t think she has any real painting talent. She’s cursed as it is, and if she thinks about all this, she’s not going to declare her love to him. She’s going to start swinging on him like she did the guy she really loves, the one who gave her the white dress, poetry, art supplies, and forty dollars to catch a cab that cost thirteen. And the driver gave back change.

  “I love you too, baby,” Miles says.

  “Stop touching me, Miles.”

  “Come on, baby. You got a brotha all worked up. We can get married in a few days if you want to.”

  “I don’t like this. I don’t want it, and I’m scared.”

  “I won’t hurt you.”

  “I’m not ready for this.”

  “You’re not going to take me there and just say stop.”

  I try with all my strength to get up. He struggles with me. I want to knock his head off. I try to remember that this guy is supposed to be my boyfriend. I’m supposed to love him. I don’t care what Mac says about not getting a guy started. I’m going to do everything I can to finish this my way. I may not be the strongest between us, but God help me.

  I give him another push, and if that doesn’t work, I’m gonna start scratching, kicking, and screaming.

  On the second push, he responds. “What’s the matter?”

  And all I can think of to say is, “You’re getting my white dress dirty.”

  And that says so much. God, have mercy.

  “Zora, it’s just a dress. Relax. I’ll make this good for you.”

  The buzzer sounds, and it’s as if he puts on an I’m-a-really-great-guy-who’s-not-about-to-date-rape-my-girlfriend persona. I see him change personalities before my eyes. I get up and run to the bathroom. If that’s my father at the door, this is all I need, God!

  I hear Miles buzz the person in. He didn’t ask who it was. And a few moments later, there’s a knock on my door.

  Before I can get to it, Miles swings it open.

  My mouth opens with the door. Nicky Parker is standing there.

  NICKY

  Surpris
e!

  The door opens, and she’s not standing there. The Lion King is. And he’s the freakin’ king of the jungle! Zekora has got to be six-foot-four or -five. I look up to him, and I’m six-foot-two. He’s annoyed that I’m there, and because he’s buttoning his shirt, I can figure out why he’s so annoyed.

  I had her wrong, and I don’t usually call ’em wrong. I pegged her for a virgin. Shoulda known. She’s too sensual to be a virgin. And here I am, with a poem in my hand, now wondering if someone else is going to smack me around today.

  He sizes me up. A white boy at his girlfriend’s door. And it occurs to me that I don’t know anything about Shaka Zulu. I don’t care how racist I sound, or am, either. Maybe I’m not the one I should be concerned about him hurting. I don’t know if me showing up is going to be a huge problem because I didn’t factor him in this equation. Every freakin’ “black men are dangerous” fear I’ve ever had seizes me. And my reflexes are about as sharp as marshmallows right now.

  “Can I help you?” he says. He ain’t smiling.

  I look crazy. I’ve got a big bruise where my dad hit me, I just tried to beat up an old man, and I’ve been crying profusely, but I’m a white man in a suit. And I’m a Baptist.

  “Good evening, sir. I was wondering if I might share with you the good news of Jesus Christ.”

  A part of me wants him to please say no. I think if he has any good sense whatsoever he will say no and slam the door on me, no matter how much I want to keep her safe. God, let her be okay. I just feel like I need to get in that apartment.

  I’m being paranoid.

  “Oh,” he says. “Come in.”

  And I do.

  But I do it with an attitude, and not of gratitude. I want to see her. I want her to look me in the face after she kissed me and then did the wild thing, literally, with him.

  What kind of hypocrite am I? I took her to dinner with my freakin’ girlfriend. I’m trapped with Zora in an existential nightmare.

  I step into the apartment, and she is standing by the bathroom door, totally shocked to see me. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around the idea of their shared intimacy. Her man says, “Z. He’s a brother in Christ.”

  She just nods and stares at me like she’s never seen a Christian before.

  Miles sticks his hand out. “I’m Miles Zekora. This is my wife, Zora.”

  I shake his hand, trying not to react to the fact that he called her his wife. He takes that one flesh thing seriously. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Zekora.”

  “Call me Miles,” he says.

  I turn to her. Nod. “Mrs. Zekora.”

  He waves off my formality. “Naw man, just Zora. What’s your name, brother?”

  “Nicky Parker.”

  Miles offers a witty little remark about my name. “Nicky Parker? Brother, you got the same name as the character that comedienne chick Monique plays on that TV show, The Parkers.”

  I knew the show, but honestly, no one, even Pete “I love all things black” Greene has ever said that to me.

  “Your name reminds me of something, too.” I look like I’m struggling to think of what. “Can’t remember,” I say. “Oh, well. Hakuna Matata!”

  Zora intervenes before I get punched again. Or give a punch. “He’s been here before, uh, witnessing.”

  “I did witness here before,” I say. It wasn’t really a lie. I may not have been proselytizing, but I did try to truly be Christ to her.

  “I’ve had a very hard day, and God knows I need Jesus right now,” she says.

  Does she need Jesus after the lovin’ like some people need a smoke? I certainly need Jesus after she’s been with Miles, and this is one instance I truly want nothing to do with incarnational Christianity, but I actually care too much to let her statement go without throwing her a bone, even if it’s an Ezekiel one, all dead and dry.

  “We all need Jesus, Zora. Today seems to be a big day for needing Him. At least for me.”

  Miles looks at my face. “Looks like you been needing Him bad today, man.”

  “That’s true, Miles. I’ve had a very hard day as well.”

  “And you’re still out here being a soldier for Christ.”

  “Soldier?” I chuckle. “That’s apropos, especially with my war wounds.”

  “You can learn something from him, Zora. About perseverance.”

  She gives him a beatific smile. “I’m sure he’d have a lot to teach me, Miles.”

  I don’t touch that one. But God, I want to. And I want to touch her, despite how sick I feel being around the two of them. Is this how she felt today around Rebecca and me? And nobody has called me racial slurs standing here.

  My eyes catch hers. There’s a world of emotion in those eyes, including one I know well: shame. She’s safe, and now I’m not. I’m getting so angry at the thought of the two of them together, I am capable of saying or doing anything. I need to get out of here. She needs me to leave.

  “I just thought I’d stop by to say God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life. I’ll be going. I hope you and your wife have a great rest of the day, Miles.”

  Zora steps forward. “We’re not married yet, Nicky.”

  “It’ll be a matter of days,” Miles says. He sounds defensive, and if I were him, I would too. “Might as well say it’s done.”

  I can’t help myself. Nastiness flies out of my mouth. “Really? Days? No wonder your apartment is empty. You’re moving. Hey, where’s your engagement ring, Zora?”

  Miles looks a little ticked off at me. “I’ve got that taken care of.”

  “Of course. It’s probably with her other stuff. What was I thinking? Forgive me. I just find it odd that your fiancée isn’t wearing a ring.”

  “I’m handling it,” Miles says.

  I want to keep up the nasty, but it will only make matters worse. And it won’t change anything.

  I’ve lost her.

  What am I, crazy? I’m not pursuing her. Just hanging out with her for a few days has got my life totally twisted. I’ve lost my head, she’s just gotten cozy with Simba, and I need to get out of here.

  Suddenly I’m drained. I take another look at her. She’s so beautiful she takes my breath away.

  I reach out to shake Miles’s hand.

  “I wish you and Zora every happiness.”

  “Keep in touch, man. I’ll invite you to our reception. Let us get your number. Take his phone number, Z.”

  “Miles, he probably doesn’t want to come to our reception.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it, Zora. Let me give you my phone number. Do you have a pen?”

  “As you can see I don’t have anything.”

  “You have Miles. I’m sure he can at least give you a pen!”

  “I’m not so sure,” she says.

  Miles gives her a very unpleasant look, but he takes a pen out of the pocket of his jacket on Zora’s floor. He gives it to me. I write my name, address, house and cell phone number, and e-mail address on the folded paper with the poem I wrote. I even write my work number and put Linda’s name in parenthesis. Try to hand it to him.

  “Just give it to Zora. She’ll probably be the one sending out invitations and stuff. You know how that kind of thing is, man. You got a girlfriend?”

  “Not anymore. She broke up with me today.”

  He actually laughed. “She dot that eye?”

  “It’s actually just under my eye. And, no, that was my father.”

  “Whoa, say it ain’t so, Nick. Sorry to hear it. What did you do?”

  “Long story, but let’s just say I was really into another woman. Everybody could tell. Nobody approved.”

  “She must be something else if nobody approved.”

  “Something else? Now that is an apt description, Miles. She was something else all right. But regardless of who or what she was, my girlfriend didn’t like me being obviously crazy about her.”

  Miles nods. “True that. Any way you can work things out with your girlfriend?”

&nbs
p; “We weren’t a good match. Frankly, the other woman is better

  for me.”

  “Why don’t you hook up with her then?”

  “I just found out she’s getting married.”

  “Dang, man.” He shakes his head. “I hope you find somebody. Maybe you’ll be blessed and find somebody like Zora.”

  “Now that would be something.”

  “Yeah, man. I’m blessed.”

  “You sure are, Miles.”

  He pauses. Seems to strain that pea brain of his to think. “Hey, maybe I can hook you up with somebody. Would you have a problem going out with a sistah?”

  God, you’ve got to be kidding me.

  I feel Zora looking at me, and I fight not to look back. “Problem? Why on earth would that be a problem? It’s not like this is the fifties or something, Miles, sheesh!”

  “Yeah,” Miles says. “Things are different now.” He rolls his shoulders back in smug self-satisfaction. “Then it’s settled. We’re going to hook you up with a sistah.”

  “I’m excited.” I shift my attention to Zora. “Zora, do you know anybody I’d be interested in?”

  “Maybe one person.”

  “Would it help if I told you what I want in a woman?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, come on. It’ll be fun.” I glance around at the sapphire walls that she said match my eyes. I love her. I’m mad at her. “May I sit, please?”

  “We don’t want to keep you, Nicky.” But her husband waves away what she’s said with a flick of his hand.

  “Naw, it’s cool. Take a load off. We’re brothers in Christ, right?” He holds out his fist, and for a moment, I’m confused. I wonder if this is some kind of precursor to aggression, but then I realize he just wants me to pound it. This is just a guy thing.

  I pound. Sit. And he sits with me.

  “Sit down, Zora,” he says. He just orders her. He’s not really asking. She sits down obediently, in a way Rebecca would if I said, “Sit down!” Didn’t even challenge him. This isn’t the Dreamy I know and love.

  Miles leads the questions once Zora sits with us.

  “So, what kind of woman do you want?”

  “I dunno, Miles. Somebody kinda dreamy.”

 

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