Zora and Nicky: A Novel in Black and White

by Claudia Mair Burney

  “Aw, sweetie. It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay. I’m feeling totally white-people weary right now.”

  “That’s completely understandable,” Linda says. “What Nicky’s grandfather said to you was horrible.”

  “And that’s not all. Nicky ended up kissing me.”

  “We heard about that, too.” Billie says, with way too much enthusiasm. “Is he a good—”

  Linda clears her throat. “You were saying Nicky kissed you.”

  “And I ended up kissing him back. And I sorta lost my head because I had never kissed anybody before. Not even my boyfriend. And …” I’m talking too fast. I sound like a lunatic. “Are you supposed to feel numb and tingly at the same time? Or get chills and warm—well, maybe warmer than warm?”

  “Yeah.” Billie grins at me. Linda gives her another look.

  “Anyway,” I say, “I didn’t think I should have enjoyed it so much, considering, and then when I got home, Miles showed up.”

  “Did you tell him you kissed Nicky?”

  “No. Not yet. It kinda creeped me out. No offense, but Nicky is … you know. He’s not like me. His grandfather made that clear. Should I have told Miles?”

  Billie shakes her head vigorously. “No! I don’t see any need for you to add that drama to your life right now. Anyway, what else happened?”

  “I ended up trying to make Nicky’s kiss go away. I mean, I feel kinda guilty telling you this, but I just didn’t … I don’t know. I’m confused. It wasn’t supposed to be Nicky giving me my first kiss. What am I supposed to do with that?”

  Billie can’t seem to help herself. “Get another one! Nicky’s a doll! Are you nuts? And he loves Jesus. He’s a mess, but you can work with him.”

  Linda seems to have the patience of Job. “Billie, Zora has to find a job so she can keep her apartment. She really doesn’t need the complications of adding Nicky Parker and a confusing interracial romance to her life right now.”

  “It’s always time for romance. Unless you’re married or something and it’s just wrong, but she’s not married, and neither is he.”

  Linda says, “What about Miles and Rebecca?”

  “They both need to be deleted,” Billie answers.

  Linda sighs deeply. “What else happened, Zora?”

  “I kissed Miles. A lot. And he just doesn’t kiss the way Nicky does. And he doesn’t … he doesn’t taste right.”

  “That’s because you’re in love with Nicky now. Did you know that biologically speaking, only the people you’re compatible with taste good to you?”

  Linda shakes her head. “Billie, can you bring something helpful and Christlike to this?”

  She gives Linda her own annoyed glance. “This is Christlike. Jesus wants her to dig Nicky. It’s obvious. And I’m not afraid to say so.”

  “You’re not afraid to say anything, Billie.”

  “This is true. Go on, baby.”

  I shake my head at the two opposites. “Anyway, I got Miles all excited, and he said he would make me feel good.”

  “Oh, sweetie,” Billie says.

  Linda just lays her hand on her heart.

  “He started touching me all over my body. He had his hands all over my … I feel so ashamed. I have to marry him.”

  “Oh, no, baby. I don’t like him for you. You can’t marry him. He’s an a—”

  “Billie,” Linda says, raising her voice without raising it.

  She shoots a frustrated look at Linda, and then gives her attention back to me. “Okay. I’m going to try not to cuss because I’m working on that, but he’s a jerk. You know that, I’m sure. You’re smart, Zora. Your instincts have gotta be telling you he’s not right for you.”

  She releases me enough that we can have a conversation. “I know.”

  She plops down effortlessly on the floor. “Sit down, baby. Let me tell you about my man.”

  This I have to hear. Linda sits down with us. She crosses her long legs and swings her hair behind her back. She’s a crazy hippie, and I just love her despite my misgivings about white people.

  Billie starts her story with, “I was a hooker, sweetie, with a drug habit and a bad man. I wasn’t a high-end call girl, either. I was workin’ the streets for this idiot named Rodney, and believe me, I was a bigger idiot than Rodney if I was workin’ for him.”

  I look in her face. She’s beautiful. I mean, really pretty. I wondered how long ago this was. As if she could read my mind, she told me.

  “This was years ago, when I was about your age. I was twenty-three. And I meet this guy. He’s passing out condoms and sandwiches to us girls. And he called us ‘ladies.’ He was just plain good to us.”

  I nod. What kind of guy passes out sandwiches and condoms to hookers and means it when he calls them ladies? Her eyes light up with love and memory.

  “One night, it was freezing. Rodney didn’t make enough money that night because it was thirty below or something crazy. Three of his girls had the flu, and I was one of them, but they were throwing up and had high fevers. I could still stand up. So he put me out on Woodward Avenue to do what I did.”

  I shake my head. Imagining a young, wisecracking, cussing Billie freezing up and down Woodward.

  “I couldn’t get a boyfriend if I paid him that night. And that’s when I saw John, the condom-and-sandwich guy. Ironically, his name is John.”

  I laugh.

  “He became my boyfriend that night. He went to his ATM machine and took out three hundred dollars, the most he could get. Took me to a diner and got me some chicken soup. I couldn’t get warm enough. And he just kept giving me hot liquids and asking me to tell him my stories. And baby, I had a lot of them.”

  Her eyes fill with tears, and she brushes them back. “I’d never had a man listen to me. Not since my daddy died. And John listened and never said much about himself. He didn’t even preach to me, and I knew he was some kind of preacher. He just took me off the street, gave me soup, money to keep my pimp from sending me to the hospital, and kept me warm until the next time. And there was a next time. And a few more.”

  “Oh, Billie,” I say. “That’s so sad.”

  “Yeah. But it’s my life. I gave it all to Jesus eventually. ’Cause you know what, baby? John kept giving out sandwiches and condoms. Saint Francis said, ‘Preach the gospel, and use words if you have to.’ Sweetie, that man preached to me every day without saying one thing about Jesus. He just acted like Jesus. Protecting me. Looking at me. Truly seeing me. Not trying to take what he could get, and I offered him some, for free. He’s a cutie!”

  She laughs, then has that satisfied smile I’ve seen on women truly in love. “And pretty soon I asked him to start telling me stories. About Jesus. About the Samaritan woman. About Mary Magdalene. And he told me about the desert harlots. Now those were some changed whores, Zora. And Jesus loved them! He excited me.”

  “Wow.” I want to tell them Nicky excites me, but I’m so confused right now. Billie goes on with her story.

  “He kept coming back, asking for nothing, just giving, until one day, I said, ‘Hey, remember that water you were tellin’ me about? That water that’ll make it so you ain’t never thirsty again?’ And that cutie smiled at me, and I told myself I was gonna marry him. Anyway, he said, ‘I remember.’ And I said, ‘I’m pretty thirsty. Can I have a drink of that?’ The rest, as they say, is history. We fell in love.”

  “Amazing,” I say. “Now that’s a story.”

  “And that’s a man. Seems like the one that shows up with the clothes, and the food, and gets you a cab, and fights his family for you is the one—”

  Linda clears her throat.

  Billie rolls her eyes. “I can’t help it. I’m a romantic.”

  Linda rankles. “She’s got a crisis, Billie. She’s not trying to get a man.”

  “I know she’s not. She’s got two of them. I’m just sayin’ only one of them is worth a—”

  The buzzer sounding again interrupts her. Speaking of men.
…

  I get up off the floor and think to actually ask who it is in case I get another surprise and find the pope standing there. But it’s just Miles.

  “It’s my boyfriend.”

  “Oh, joy,” Billie quips.

  This oughta be interesting.

  I buzz him in, and he’s surprised that I have company. He turns on the charm. He is truly my father’s protégé. He’s got a big Wal-Mart bag in his hand.

  The ladies stand.

  “Miles, these are my friends. This is Linda.”

  He reaches out and gives her what I know is a firm handshake.

  “And this is Billie.”

  He extends his hand to Billie but she doesn’t take it. “Hey,” she says. Linda gives her a subtle glare.

  Billie looks at him up and down and starts in. “Somebody’s been to Wal-Mart. Whatcha got there, big spender?”

  I think that woman has a spiritual gift of flustering people.

  He stammers. “Uh. I got her uh, a …”

  He pulls out of the bag, of all things, an air mattress!

  Billie stares at him. “You gotta be kiddin’ me.”

  “She’s sleeping on the floor,” he says.

  “Yeah, what else is new? Where were you Friday with your little air mattress?”

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

  “No, you don’t, because I wouldn’t buy what you’re selling, pimp. You’ve got to explain to God why three whole days after your girlfriend loses everything you show up with an air mattress and that box of condoms you think I don’t know are in that bag. And why you do this only after you spent the afternoon feeling her up.”

  His ire rises like my father’s. Daddy’s taught him well. First he looks at me. The looks says, Zora, did you tell them our business?

  “Don’t look at her like that,” Billie says. “I know what you’re thinking. I’m prophetic.”

  “I don’t know who you are, woman. But I suggest you watch what you say to me.”

  Billie gets right in his face. “I could have you for breakfast without a burp, sweetie. Bring it on.”

  Linda pulls Billie to the side. “We’re going, Zora. I’m very sorry.”

  “I’m not,” Billie says to me. “Come with us, baby. I don’t trust Romeo here.”

  I look at her and Linda, and then Miles, and all the emptiness. Blue walls. Red walls. It still feels too lonely. Frankly, I’d rather go with them no matter what color they are. I think. But I’m not sure.

  I’m surprised Linda doesn’t tell Billie to mind her business. I think she wants me to go with them too. In his anger, Miles must sense my hesitation.

  “Zora, you’d better ask your friends to leave.”

  “I think everybody needs to calm down,” I snap back at him.

  I’ve never seen Miles so angry. His left hand is shaking. He reminds me so much of the worst of my father that I feel afraid.

  His voice is controlled rage. “As the man you are about to marry, I’m telling you right now to ask your little friends to leave or I’ll put them out of here myself, and you won’t like it.”

  “I’ve met more compelling pimps,” Billie says.

  “I’m sure you have,” he replies.

  “You’ve got to come stronger than that to break me down, my friend.”

  Miles looks at me. “Zora …”

  I feel like I can’t take any more. “Can you all just leave? I just want to be left alone.”

  “Zora. You’re my woman, and I don’t have to take orders from a female.”

  “Feeling me up doesn’t make us one flesh, Miles. Just let me have some space. Take your air mattress and condoms and go.”

  “Fine,” he says.

  “Miles?” I say. “Wait.”

  He looks angry. “What?”

  “Do you really have condoms in that bag?”

  He doesn’t say no. I look at Billie. She’s harsh and crazy, but she knows so much more about life than I do. Linda just looks at the floor.

  “Why didn’t you bring me a Bible?” I asked.

  Linda says, “We’ve got a Bible in the car. We’ll get the things we brought for you and just leave them by the door. It’s just the stuff we told you about and some clothes, personal items, and a few quilts and pillows. We’re so sorry we didn’t get these things to you sooner.”

  Billie adds, “The House of Hospitality and The Beloved Community rely on donations. I’ve been looking for furniture for you since Friday, but we have to dole out our resources according to priority needs. I’m sorry, baby. Take the air mattress. We’ll get you a bed soon. I promise.”

  Miles doesn’t say anything. He just sets down the bag with the mattress in it, condoms and all, and walks out. I don’t try to stop him.

  I do follow Linda and Billie down to the car they came in—an old-fashioned hippie VW van. I can only imagine who it belongs to. Miles is long gone, even though he heard them say they had some things for me.

  They have two big boxes, and that doesn’t include Richard’s stuff from Zingerman’s.

  Billie takes the braggin’ rights. “Look, baby, we didn’t shop at Macy’s for you, but lemme tell you, I got a good eye. I didn’t let Linda pick out anything. I know nuns who wear more interesting clothes.”

  Linda doesn’t even look fazed. “I know that I’m beautiful in Christ, and I happen to love my modesty and my personal style.”

  “I love it too.” I say. And oddly I mean it. But I like Billie’s style more.

  Billie laughs. “Not that there’s any leather in here for you. I just figured you got a classy yet bohemian kinda vibe. Am I right?”

  “That’s exactly right.”

  “I got ya good stuff. Even us needy God-broads like to look good. Right, baby?”

  “I think so. I don’t know.”

  She laughs again. “Trust me on that one.”

  Once again, Jesus has shown up, this time looking like two crazy white women. Maybe He looks like Miles, too. With an air mattress so I wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor, despite Miles’s agenda. But what if he returned? Could I handle him?

  “Can I go with you two after all?”

  “Of course,” Linda says. “We’d be honored to have you, either one of us. Do you want to go to my place or The Beloved Community?”

  “What’s The Beloved Community?”

  “That’s the community of Jesus where Billie and her family live. I live alone. I’d love to have you.”

  “I’d love to come, but I’ve got to see a place called The Beloved Community.”

  A wide grin creeps across Billie’s face. She thrusts her fist in the air. “Yes!”

  “The Beloved Community it is,” Linda says.

  We put the boxes in the apartment, and I take a moment to go through them. Billie is right. She has a great eye and scored some wonderful things for me. I grab a few necessities, including Nicky’s phone number, a sketch pad, and some pens, and head out the door.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  NICKY

  I get home and I feel like I’ve got freakin’ posttraumatic stress syndrome or something. All I can think about is Zora, and I don’t know what to do about that. I’ve got exactly four friends. Three of them go to Bible study with me, not including Zora. The other is Pete.

  I do not want to talk to Pete. I do not want to talk to anybody of the female persuasion from the Bible study, except for Zora, and I can’t decide whether I’m mad at her, depressed, or both. I just drained Richard, I’m sure, so I’m on my own.

  I don’t have much furniture. Just a cheap futon I got for a hundred bucks at the Meijer in Ypsilanti, and a floor lamp and end table. In the corner is a bookshelf, but I haven’t put many books on it. I feel guilty about reading the books I want to read, and even more guilty about not reading the books Dad gave me to prepare me for seminary.

  I sit on the black futon. It matches my mood. Pull out my cell phone. I’m going to have to torment Richard again, because God knows as much as
I want to have a little talk with Jesus, I need to hear a human voice.

  I punch the numbers. He answers on the first ring.

  “How are you, son?” he says.

  “I suck, Richard.”

  He chuckles. “You’re all right, Nicky.”

  “How do you know when you’re falling in love?”

  “I think one of the first signs is that you start asking people that question.”

  “She came to our Bible study four days ago. Five days ago I didn’t know a Zora Nella Hampton Johnson existed in this world.”

  “Sure you did, Nicky.”

  “I did?”

  “Sure. Maybe you didn’t know it was her, but you knew there was somebody out there who’d want to see you for who you really are. Who’d want to know you. Somebody you’d want to know as deeply and intimately as you can know another person.”

  “That’s exactly how I feel, Richard. She’s going to marry Simba.”

  “You should stop saying things like that, Nicky. I don’t think they’re helping you.”

  “I’m not going to get any help here, Richard. God made my dream woman black. He puts me in the most racist family imaginable and makes me fall in love with a black woman.”

  “You sound very self-pitying. And you’re not even being honest.”

  “I am being honest.”

  “First of all, there are families far more racist than yours. Second, God didn’t make you do anything.”

  “Are you saying I’m choosing to feel what I feel?”

  “I’m not saying that there isn’t a little magic and mystery happening. It’s springtime. You and Zora are two young, attractive people. Love is in the air. But the truth is, yes, you are making choices, many of which you didn’t have to make at all.”

  I think about what he says. Can’t even deny the truth of it. “I can’t help myself, Richard. She captivates me.”

  “I know, kid.”

  “She’s gonna marry that guy.”

  “I hope not. She’d miss out on you. I’d hate that.”

  “I don’t understand those people. They took everything from her. He’s supposed to be her boyfriend, but he didn’t stand up for her. I didn’t see one thing in her apartment that I didn’t give her. Well, Linda said she and Billie took her some food and stuff, but that was it. He probably made love to her on the floor, Richard. He didn’t even spring for a hotel room. How could he watch her be stripped to nothing, and then keep taking from her?”