Zora and Nicky: A Novel in Black and White

by Claudia Mair Burney

  “You don’t know what happened, Nicky.”

  “Yeah, I do, Rich. He was buttoning his shirt when he came to the door.”

  “Don’t judge her, Nicky.”

  “Why not? I’ve been celibate, trying to follow Jesus. Trying not to sin.”

  “But you have sinned. You may not have been with a woman, but you’ve sinned, even sexually, haven’t you, Nicky?”

  I don’t say anything, because of course he knows I have. “I’m so sick of everything. I’m sick of pious lies. Everybody cleaning up real nice, and all of us full of filth on the inside. I’m full of filth, and you are, and Zora. But we all say we love God.”

  “Nicky, I know you’re upset today. But don’t lose perspective. We all sin. I’m not crazy about being an alcoholic, losing my wife, making a mess of my life and reputation. I’d rather be a good guy, but the fact is, I’m a mess, and the best thing I know about God is that He loves people, even messy ones. So even when I sin, I have an advocate with the Father. Don’t go all legalistic, Nicky, just because you’re hurting.”

  “I don’t want to be legalistic. I just want to be right with God. I want to live a good life. Why is that so hard? To live a good life and maybe be myself. Find somebody that can love me for me—all of who I am. Dude, Rebecca thought I’d be writing like Max Lucado. Dude!”

  “Do you want to pray again, Nicky?”

  “Just pray for me, Rich. I’ve got a raging headache. I’m going to bed.”

  “Okay, son.”

  We hang up. I get some ice, even though my eye is swollen underneath like crazy by now. My dad has never been much for hitting, even when I was a kid. While my grandfather was a real “spare the rod, spoil the child” kind of guy, Dad never did seem comfortable with corporal punishment. Maybe I really am like him in some ways.

  Nah.

  I don’t give that another thought because my mind goes right back to Zora and those sad-looking doe eyes. She doesn’t even have a phone to call me. And I wonder if she will. I wonder if she’ll give me a chance to plead with her not to marry the Lion King.

  How can he be good for her? If she were mine I’d be her father’s nemesis right now. Nothing would keep me from taking care of her. As it is, I’ve spent almost all of the cash I have available to buy her things I thought she both needed and wanted.

  I should have done more. If I had, maybe she wouldn’t have walked to my church, and none of this would have happened.

  Again, I think about her sad eyes. I want to go to her, but she’s probably with him.

  You’re crazy, Nicky. She’s somebody else’s woman. You knew that all along.

  But it doesn’t change how I feel.

  I hear a knock at my door. Nobody comes to see me. It’s after ten on a Sunday night now. I don’t know who could be at my door.

  I get up from the futon to answer it. The knocker is insistent. “Who is it?” I yell to the door.

  “Yo, it’s Pete.”

  I don’t bother to mask my sarcasm from the God who knows all things, except apparently how much I don’t want to see Pete. “How nice.”

  I open the door. God must be really happy with me. Pete’s standing there with my dad.

  I let them in.

  Pete shakes his head when he sees my face. “Yo, man, what are you doing?”

  “Shouldn’t you be asking who am I doing, Pete? Because I’m thinking that’s what this little visit with my dad in tow is about.”

  I close the door, and they go right over to the futon and sit down. Now I wish I had furniture. I drag a chair out of the two feet of space that passes for my dining room. Slam it in front of the futon and straddle it for bad-boy effect.

  Why do this to me, God? Why tonight?

  Pete tries for peacemaker.

  “Yo, Nick. Your dad is upset.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  “We didn’t come all this way for you to act all ticked off.”

  “Then I suggest you go back to Ypsi, ’cause I’m ticked off.”

  My father clears his voice. “Nicholas, I’m not happy at how things went today either. I called Pete because I’m frankly bewildered by your behavior.”

  “My behavior?”

  “You attacked your grandfather.”

  “I collared him. Then I got attacked.”

  He holds his hands rigid on his lap. “I’ve never seen you in such a state. I had no idea what you’d do.”

  “Well, it looks like you figured out how to get the situation under control pretty fast.”

  “I’m not pleased that I hit you, son.”

  For a moment I’m confused. The only person who’s called me son in years has been Richard. “What?”

  “I said, I’m not pleased that I hit you.”

  He didn’t repeat the son part. Figures. “Well, it’s done. What do you want now, Dad?”

  “I want to talk to you about that woman.”

  “Her name is Zora. Don’t call her that woman like she’s a White House intern that I did naughty things with.”

  At this he looks at Pete who takes over.

  “Yo, Nick, man.”

  “Pete,” I say, “didn’t I tell you not to say yo to me again?”

  “Look, I know she’s hot.”

  “Pete—”

  “Your dad and I talked about this.”

  “You really don’t want to go there, Pete.”

  He puts his hand up with a “stop” gesture. “Yo, just listen, Nick. Okay? I’m just keepin’ it real.”

  “Why don’t you keep it white, which is what you are, Pete.”

  “It’s what you are too, Nicky. Look, I’ve seen Zora. I totally feel you. She’s hot, man, but you don’t bring her home.”

  “First of all, I didn’t invite her to dinner. Dad did.”

  My dad steps back in. “I realize now that was a mistake. I didn’t recognize you were having relations with her. I should have, based on the things she said.”

  I run my hand through my hair. I can’t believe him. “I’m not having relations with anybody. She was nervous. Everything came out wrong, but nothing is going on between Zora and me, meaning, we are not having relations.”

  “I’m not naive, Nicholas. Rebecca and I saw you kissing her in public.”

  “Dad, you make it sound like we were on the JumboTron in Madison Square Garden.”

  I’m getting sick again. The people in my life literally make me sick.

  Pete gets straight to the point. “Look, Nick, what your dad and I are here to say is, if you haven’t, just do her already.”

  I get up from my straddling position, turn my chair around, and sit straight as a judge to face them. “Excuse me?”

  My dad nods in agreement. “My father always told me white men have had a certain fascination with women of color. I know you’ve been keeping straight, Nicholas. Maybe you just need to experience this so you and Rebecca can move on with your life together.”

  I stare at the shell that looks just like my father, but surely some alien life-form has overtaken him. My mouth goes dry. “Dad? Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “I’m not proud of myself. But I can’t stand by and let another incident happen.”

  Incident. I know what incident he’s talking about. The one that drove the biggest wedge between us.

  “You think I’m going to get someone else pregnant? Dad, I promise you I will never have another abortion on my conscience for as long as I live. No, thank you.”

  “I can’t decide what would be worse, Nicholas. That woman having an abortion, or you having an illegitimate half-black child.”

  I’m astounded. My heart pounds so hard I think I’m going to have a freakin’ heart attack. My ability to speak abandons me.

  “Yo, Nick. Think about it. A little half-black baby would totally scandalize your family. Your family has worked too hard to let your lust for some black chick ruin them.”

  I’m still struck dumb.

  Dad speaks. “It’s n
ot just the fact that she’s black. It’s who she is. Her father is one of the most heretical preachers in that community. The only reason I tolerate him at all is because his is one of the few local ministries that is actively involved in campaigning with me against abortion. Their family is tacky. She doesn’t have any class.”

  “Tacky?” This from the people with red-lipped, tar-black Jocko in the yard. This is the abortion rights activist and politician, who just said that he can’t decide if an aborted baby, which he abhors, is better than a living half-black one that I fathered. And I won’t even get into the horrific racism implicit in his comments. And to top it off, he makes a sweeping judgment on another man’s ministry. And he called Zora’s family tacky!

  “Dad, unlike Rebecca, Zora graduated magna cum laude from a top, historically black university.”

  “That doesn’t impress me.”

  “She’s an amazing artist. A dancer. She’s got more class on a bad day than—”

  “Nicholas, I’ve put up with all your irresponsible choices. But this is the worst of all. You’re only doing this to lash out at me, but you’ve hurt Rebecca and your mother terribly. I’m pleading with you, Nicholas. Stop this foolishness before anyone else gets hurt.”

  I can’t take any more of this. My voice modulations rise with my blood pressure. “What makes you think I’m trying to hurt someone? What if I just really like her?”

  “Do you honestly think I’d believe a handsome, intelligent young man like you would choose someone black when you can have your pick of white women?”

  “Are you suggesting black women are somehow inferior, Dad?”

  He looks flustered. His face blanches. “Of course not. I’m only saying that you don’t have to needlessly make your life difficult because you’re sexually curious.”

  That again. Sexually curious. Is that what this is? How am I supposed to know? I want to ask him. This is my dad. I’m supposed to be able to go to him and ask him how to know if I’m falling in love. How to know if her brown skin is an issue.

  “But what if she’s the one, Dad? Like Mom was the one for you?”

  My dad stands up. I’ve never seen such an expression of outrage on his face. He steps over to me, and I think he’s going to punch me in my other eye. He points his finger at me, and he’s shaking in rage. Pete gets so scared, he stands up too. Like he’s gonna help if Dad suddenly lunges at me, but Dad doesn’t. Not physically.

  “You selfish, sorry, spoiled-rotten brat. You’ve never cared about anyone other than yourself. You’re weak. Always crying. Sensitive. Too much like a woman. I’m giving you an out here, Nicholas. Go and have a—whatever you want to call it—with your black girl, and come back to reality and have your life. She’s not the one. She can’t be. Not in this world, and you know it. You’re doing this to get at me.”

  “Dad—”

  “Shut up, boy! Look at yourself. You are smarter, more handsome, and far more charismatic than I ever have been or ever will be. And I watch you make choice after choice to throw it all away. I could have been the governor, Nicholas. But you, you surely will be, if you just listen to me. But not with a black wife. Not with a bunch of half-breed kids. The world isn’t ready for that. I want you to succeed, and you are determined to fail. And I hate you for that.”

  And now he does hit me. A backhanded slap across my mouth. He follows the slap with an assault of furious blows. For a moment I look into his eyes, and I see passion there. It reminds me of how that word passion is rooted in pain. Suffering. My dad is feeling something for me. Finally. I’ve looked into this man’s icy blue eyes so many times and found nothing staring back at me, and now in this moment there is something. Hate. It’s not love’s opposite. It’s better than the apathy I’ve gotten most of my life.

  I actually prefer it.

  He unleashes blow after blow upon my face until Pete pulls him off of me.

  It all happens quickly. I’m stronger. I could take my father, but I won’t. His words “I hate you” drive a stake inside of me, pinning me to the chair.

  I hate you.

  The words seem alive, mocking and challenging. Demanding me to do something about them. I hate you pokes and prods me, whispers, “You don’t have to be the good son.” Says, “Go and get your woman. Your fine black woman.”

  My ears ring. My face stings. I don’t feel the pain, but I taste blood inside my mouth. I swallow it.

  I knew he hated me. I’ve always known.

  He’d never said the words before now, but I’ve felt him despise me through a myriad of indignities stacked upon each other for years, like a miser stacks his coins.

  I will not let him see this destroy me. Just let him have this moment. This release of righteous anger of his. When I can gather my wits about me, I nod to let him know I understand what he’s said to me. And to disappoint him more, I will not cry.

  He will not cry either.

  I have never seen my dad cry, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so emotional. His eyes are almost as red as his face, and they shine with tears I know he will not shed. Not in front of Pete and me. He yanks away from Pete and rushes, nearly running, out of my apartment. Pete looks bewildered. His torn gaze shifts from me to the door and back to me.

  “Go with him.”

  “Nick, man. I’m sorry.”

  I don’t say anything, just gesture with my head toward the door, and Pete scurries out to my dad.

  The words I hate you keep swelling, permeating the room. It’s one thing to know your father hates you. Another to hear it. Another to know it’s growing like fungus on your walls.

  I can’t stand this apartment. It was where I tried to hide from the knowledge that he abhors me in the first place. Now my little sanctuary seems contaminated with his loathing.

  I grab my jacket. I gotta get out of here. I try to tell myself that I don’t know where I’m going, but I do. If I could just see her. She knows me. God, I promise I won’t do anything wrong. I won’t do anything like what people keep suggesting to me. I don’t want to just do her. I love her. If I could just hold her and have her tell me it’s going to be all right.

  I get in my car and head to I-96. Won’t be long, and I’ll be lost in those brown doe eyes.

  ZORA

  We drive to Linda’s house, and I’m surprised to see the hippie van isn’t Linda’s but Billie’s, and even that really isn’t a surprise. We drop Linda off, and I can tell she’s a little disappointed, but we promise not to have too much fun without her, and I get very excited because it just feels like Billie is going to take me on some big, wild, crazy adventure, and I can’t wait to go.

  We drive all the way to Detroit, and I wonder why she motors all the way to Ypsilanti for a small, informal Bible study.

  “It’s the people I come for.”

  “But it’s just a few.”

  “Yeah, but what a few. But you oughta know that by now.”

  “I’m beginning to see what you mean,” I say.

  She takes a peek at me, and puts her eyes back on the road. “Okay, Linda is so gone. You gotta tell me. The kiss? Spill it.”

  I laugh. “You sound like a teenager, Billie. How old are you?”

  “Too old. So you gotta tell me. Humor a senior citizen, will ya?”

  “You really are a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, baby. I’m not without hope, glory to God. Now about that kiss?”

  I sigh from deep inside. “I shouldn’t talk about it, Billie.”

  “If you didn’t want to talk about it, you’d have spent the night with Linda. Or your boyfriend, God have mercy!”

  She’s right. “Okay, I want to talk about it.”

  “So talk.”

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

  “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

  “When I think of Nicky, I feel like I’m standing in some wide open place, and I’ve been living inside a mason jar. I feel like breathing, and dancing, and singing, and st
retching. I feel like doing and being everything, all at once. And that’s what his kiss felt like. I wanted to just breathe him in. Take him into myself like sometimes in church I want to take God into myself. It made me feel all those things. Does that sound awful?”

  She literally screams. “That’s awesome!”

  “I just met him.”

  “Just because you’re feeling a lot right now doesn’t mean you have to rush. For some people, there really is love at first sight, and then they grow into loving one another with a mature love that’s very different from what you’re describing, but it’s still really nice, baby.”

  “I’m so scared. He wasn’t supposed to be white. Shoot. He was supposed to be Miles.”

  “But he isn’t. What are ya gonna do?” She shrugs even as she drives.

  “I think Linda is right. I don’t even have a job. I don’t know where I’m going to be living after three weeks if they put an eviction notice on my door.”

  “When was the last time you paid your rent, baby?”

  “First of this month.”

  “You won’t be on the street any time soon. But I hear ya. We’re gonna work on the job thing. But right now, you’re in love with a white guy. Are you gonna let yourself feel that?”

  “His grandfather called me a nigger to my face, like I was nothing. Like I didn’t have a feeling worth sparing. And this wasn’t somebody hurling insults at me from a mob. I was an invited guest at the dinner table.”

  “Nicky stood up for you.”

  “But how long will that last? Nicky is a black sheep that wants to be the favored sheep. You think he’s going to keep bringing me to dinner?”

  “Have dinner with other people.”

  “I will. My own people.”

  “Zora, I know how you feel.”

  “How, Billie?”

  “That guy John I told you about? His parents hated me. Of course they didn’t call me that awful thing Nicky’s grandfather called you. They called me a white-trash whore. To my face. They didn’t think their beautiful Princeton-educated son should have fallen in love with a hooker who would never amount to anything.”