Scoobie sank back down on my bed, buried his head in his hands, and moaned, “I didn’t know, Faye. I didn’t know.”
“And if you had known,” I said, “you really think it would have made a difference?”
To my utter shock and disbelief, he looked up at me with his eyes red, his face wet, and said, “Back then? To be honest, no, probably not. But that was then, Faye, this is now. If we’ve got a son floating around out there somewhere, then we need to find him.”
“Find him for what?” I said. “Haven’t we complicated his life enough as it is? Face it, Scoobie, it’s too late. The boy is twelve. I’m sure by now he’s settled in with some nice family who loves him and—”
He cut me off with, “But what if he’s not? What if he’s stuck in the system somewhere, bouncing from one foster home to the next? What if he’s been neglected? Mistreated? Abused?”
I told him, “Like I haven’t spent more than one sleepless night thinking about all those things and more? But what’s the use, Scoobie? It was a closed adoption. Finding out anything with regards to either his well-being or his whereabouts is virtually impossible. Don’t think I haven’t tried.”
“I don’t doubt you have,” he said. “But I haven’t. I run in a lot of different circles these days. Chances are better than good that I can come up with a connection to someone who can help us.”
“Yeah? And then what? We find him and the three of us reunite to become one big freaking dysfunctional family, destined to live unhappily ever after? Man, get real—”
He jumped up again, only this time he grabbed me, locked his arms around me, and whispered, “Faye, I’ve been in love with you since I was fourteen years old. All it took was bumping into you that night at the mall for me to realize that not much has changed as far as my feelings for you are concerned.”
This wasn’t anything like the brief exchange we’d had at the mall. It had been years since he’d held me that close. A part of me wanted to pull away and never look back. Another part of me longed to feel him even closer. Durn near choking on all the days and nights of hurt I’d endured because of him and his trifling ways, I said, “What? And that’s supposed to make it all right? After twelve years and all the dirt you did, I’m just supposed to forgive, forget, and welcome your sorry ass back with open arms just because you say you love me?”
With tears streaming down his face like rain, Scoobie said, “You want the truth? Well, the truth is, Faye, yes, I was a low-down, dirty dog for leaving you when you needed me most. But you know what? I was scared. I thought you’d gotten pregnant deliberately as a way of tying me down and keeping me from realizing my dreams. So yeah, I ran. That’s what boys do. But I’m a man now—ten times the man I was before. And as a man, I’m coming to you and asking—no, not asking—I’m begging you, baby, for just one chance—one chance to try and make this right.”
Okay, before you go getting it twisted, let me just say that it wasn’t all the crying or even the fact that the brother broke down and used the L-word that sucked me in and kept me there. More than just a few of the things we touched on that night struck sensitive nerves with me—from Scoobie’s long-overdue admission to having been both a dog and a coward, to my own confession to indeed having gotten knocked up in a weak, illogical, and totally immature attempt to keep dude in check. And then there was the guilt we now both feel about the birth and subsequent abandonment of the little boy who carries our DNA but neither of our names.
In essence, what Scoobie and I had was our very first ever no-holds-barred conversation. We dumped it all out there—the good, the bad, the ugly—and sorted through each and every one of the messy bits and pieces until we were both satisfied. It was extremely cathartic, if nothing else.
But I told Scoobie before he left, “Just because we’ve talked doesn’t necessarily mean I’m ready to let you back into my life just yet.” We’d been standing outside under the porch light saying our goodbyes, and his quick response had come in the form of a kiss—a soft, wet, and teasingly sweet kiss, followed by an all-too-sincere-sounding “Take all the time you need, baby. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”
HIM
It was close to eleven when dude finally brought his rusty butt up outta there. I might have been willing and able to just let it go if I hadn’t seen them kiss. Yeah, she kissed him, and unlike the time before it wasn’t any of that quick, friendly peck on the cheek kind of action either. As far as I could tell, it was all lip and quite possibly more than just a little bit of tongue.
To say I was disappointed in ol’ girl is putting it mildly. After having spent nearly a full day and a half with me, and a good portion of that laid up in my doggone bed, she turns around and lets dude slip up in the mix like it ain’t no thang. I had a good mind to call her up and ask if her revolving door was gonna be spinning through the night or what? But you’ll be happy to know, I didn’t show out this time.
No, rather than venture outside and give either of them the satisfaction of knowing just how much they’d managed to get me riled, I left my window peeking post and spent the rest of the night drifting back and forth between sleep and trying not to speculate on what all the two of them might have been doing over there.
I can’t help it, man. I dig the girl, okay? Even after what I’d just witnessed, I was still wanting very much to extend her the full benefit of the doubt. I mean, after all, what reason would she have to lie about what’s been going down between her and dude? But as far as slick is concerned—man, I should have known from the jump his yella ass wasn’t up to nothing good. And the next time he fixes his mouth to say something foul in my direction? All I can say is, he’d best bring his “A” game and come ready to play hard ’cause I’m ’bout through being Mista Nice Guy.
HER
And to think, I woke up the next morning in a good mood. Really, all I had on my mind was kicking it with the kinfolk, eating some ribs, and savoring the sweet taste of my Aunt Bessie’s homemade ice cream. All that worrisome stuff having to do with brother Scoobie and Mr. Carl, I’d resolved to put on the back burner to be dealt with some other day.
So I was in my room getting ready for the trip when Nora started pounding on my door. “Yo, Faye. You up? Loverboy’s here to see you and he’s got flowers.”
Hell, girl, my mood took an immediate turn for the worse. I marched out of my room and into the kitchen with every intention of pulling the brother to the side and tactfully reminding him of some of the promises that had come out of his mouth just last night. Please, if only it could have been that simple. First of all, the brother in question wasn’t Scoobie.
An eyeful of his back and Nora’s big moon-pie face were what greeted my entry into the room. I should have known by the slick grin on the heifer’s face, she was up to something. She was cheesing hard and looking dead at me when she said, “So, Carl, what you got planned for this fine Memorial Day?”
I cleared my throat, hoping to distract him, and he did turn around and smile, but he also kept right on gabbing with my traitorous roomie. He said, “Not a whole lot. My girls are hanging out with my ex and her new man; my cousin Squirrel rode up to Chicago yesterday with my Uncle Westbrook; and all of my other friends are spending time with their families, or you know, have made plans that don’t include me, so …”
And like the low-down cow that she can be sometimes, Nora giggled and said ever so sweetly, “So why don’t you come and go with us? Faye won’t mind. The more the merrier, she always says. Isn’t that right, Faye?”
I could have choked her. Strangled her dead right there on the kitchen floor. She knew I didn’t have the heart to veto her invitation—not with Carl standing there holding a durn armful of yellow carnations and wearing a smile of my making.
HIM
Hey, it wasn’t like I went over there looking for an invite. All I called myself doing was letting the sister know that one, I wanted to be taken seriously, and two, I didn’t intend to let her late-night caller’s challenge to m
e go unanswered.
If she didn’t fancy the idea of me tagging along, she should have doggone well gone ahead and put her foot down. All she had to say in so many words was, “Look, man, I’m feeling pressured, okay? You need to back off and give me the space I need to think this thing through,” and I would have been more than happy to oblige her.
Instead she took my doggone flowers and led me to believe everything was on the up-and-up—until we’re all set to hit the road. Being that it was her car we were taking, I did the gentlemanly thing and offered to both drive and put a couple dollars’ worth of gas in her tank. Though she nodded her consent and tossed me the keys, rather than join me in the front seat, she climbed her big butt into the back, claiming she was tired and in need of some room to stretch.
I tried to convince myself that after having kicked it with me for most of the weekend, she probably was feeling a bit drained. What I didn’t want to think about was how the time she’d wasted doing Lord knows what with her late-night guest might have fit into her fatigue equation. And then there was the silence. While Nora, as usual, talked her fool head off, Faye was pretty quiet the whole way down. But every once in a while I’d glance at her in the rearview window and notice her eyebrows all scrunched up, as if she were brooding about something.
The only saving grace was that the trip wasn’t a long one. Water Valley is, thankfully, only an hour and a half or so drive from Memphis. Once we got there I figured it best to just temporarily put aside my concerns about the bad vibes I was picking up from Faye. I wasn’t about to let her funky little attitude keep me from being anything less than cordial when it came to meeting and greeting her folks.
She comes from a nice enough clan—mom, dad, couple of brothers, and the usual assortment of elders, cousins, and kids. They’re somewhat on the loud and country side, but you don’t have to be around them for longer than a minute to know that they’re basically good people who care about one another. Her old man is a semiretired truck driver and a pretty easygoing sort of guy. He gave me the usual interrogation concerning my intentions towards his “babygirl,” but it was fairly laid-back and lighthearted kind of stuff. On the other hand, Faye’s two older brothers, Frank and Grant, let it be known in so many words and gestures that they weren’t above whupping the black off my ass if they found out I wasn’t doing right by their li’l sis. And then there was Mrs. Abrahams, Faye’s mom, who treated me like I was already a member of the family—called me “son,” waited on me hand and foot, and kept asking if Faye had been taking good care of me.
It also didn’t take me long to hone in on the fact that ol’ girl’s family had anointed her their “chosen one.” You know, the one most everybody tries to push out in front of the pack and encourages to go forth and do well; the one all the old folk pin their own deferred dreams of a better life on; the one thought of as smart and talented enough to one day do not only the family but the whole damn race proud! Doesn’t every decent, working-class, God-fearing Black family have at least one? I know amongst my own kin, it’s my sister Sheila, the serious scholar and tenured English professor, who proudly wears the crown.
But getting back to ol’ girl’s peeps, overall I’d have to say that hanging out with them was a whole lot of fun. To tell the truth, at one point I was having such a good time feeding my face, sipping on Uncle Chester’s evil-tasting homemade wine, playing cards, and swapping lies with the fellas that I damn near forgot all about Faye. Who knows when I would have noted her absence if Nora hadn’t come over and whispered into my ear, “Better go check on your girl. I think she might be needing some attention—if you know what I mean.”
So, dutiful lover that I am, I went inside and found Faye sitting alone in the den, blowing smoke into the hum of the air conditioner.
When I asked what was wrong, she gave me one of those curt “nothings” that usually mean something. So I said, “Then why are you sitting here in the dark puffing yourself full of nicotine?”
She took a moment to snuff out her cigarette before she said, “I came in to get out the heat.”
I said, “Come on now, Faye. You’ve hardly said ten words to me all day. Are you upset with me about something? Is it that you didn’t want me to come?”
She shook her head and said, “I’ve just got a few things on my mind, is all.”
I took a chance and asked, “Might I be one of those things?”
With a sad little smile creasing her lips, she said, “You might.”
After squaring my shoulders, I said, “And what about your friend? The one I saw over at your place last night?”
Rather than answer, she sighed, leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes.
Even though I wasn’t completely sure I’d be able to stomach the truth, I went after it anyway. “Something happened, didn’t it? Something between you and him that changes the way you feel about you and me?”
With her eyes still fastened shut, she said, “If you want to know the truth, Carl, yes, something did happen. But like I told you already, it was a long time ago. How I feel about you and me is a totally separate issue.”
She sounded earnest enough, but just to be sure I said, “So does that mean you’re still open to what we discussed the other day—a one-on-one, I’m your man, you’re my woman type of scenario?”
Before she said anything, she blinked open her eyes and focused them on me. Then, in a soft voice she said, “Sure, I’m still open to that, Carl. It’s just that … well, it’s complicated. I still need some time. It’s not the kind of decision I can just turn around and make in a day.”
Feeling better, now that some of my fears had been openly addressed, I plopped down on the floor in front of the chair where ol’ girl was seated and said, “Well, what about a night, then? I’m saying, when we get back home, you could come on over to my place, I could draw you a warm bath, give your back a nice rub, your feet a slow, sensuous massage—and then, if you act right, I could even throw in a little toe-sucking here and there.”
I slid off one of her shoes, nibbled on her big toe, and pretended like I was fixin’ to make good on the promise, right then and there. And for the first time that day I got a genuine smile out of her.
“You play too much,” she said. “Now give me back my shoe.”
“No, the problem is you don’t play enough,” I said as I rose up on my knees and shoved her shoe down the front of my pants. “Now come down here and give me some sugar and I’ll give it to you.”
She laughed and said, “If one of my brothers should happen to walk up in here you’re gonna have a whole lot of explaining to do.”
I said, “So what you waiting on? Hurry up and get your butt down here.”
To my surprise, she did. She eased herself onto the floor next to me, plucked her shoe from my pants, and when I leaned over to collect on my end of the deal, ol’ girl laid ’em on me—long, sweet, keep-a-brother-coming-back-for-more kind of kisses that almost made me forget we were still in her parents’ house.
There was an urgency in her kisses, an urgency that both thrilled and scared me in much the same way the look I saw in her eyes did when we finally paused to catch our breaths.
But before either of us could say anything, Nora poked her head around the corner and said, “Ooh wee, I’ma sho’ll tell it! Mr. and Mrs. Abrahams, you better get in here quick. Faye and Carl in your den, down on the floor, fixin’ to straight get freaky with it!”
HER
The trip to Water Valley couldn’t have been more perfect—for Carl, that is. He got rave reviews and durn near a standing ovation from the home folk—especially my mama, who made a big show of fawning all over the man, like he was royalty or something. And Carl seemed right at home sitting out under the shade tree, drinking wine out of a jelly jar, and backslapping with my big-headed brothers.
But out of everybody, I’d have to say it was my father who really surprised me. I was in the kitchen stirring up a big pitcher of lemonade to replace the one we’d already fi
nished when he strolled in and said, “How you like your mama’s new refrigerator?”
At first glance, the question came off as an entirely legitimate one. My mama had been needing a new refrigerator for the longest, but given the shaky state of my finances, I’d been hard pressed to come up with the cash—that is, until that fateful night in the mall when I’d bumped into Scoobie with his open checkbook and guilty conscience. I’d taken half of the money and turned it over to Nora as an extra payment over and beyond what I already give and owe her. The other half I’d sent on to my mama with instructions for her to make Daddy or one of my big-headed brothers take her to pick out the fridge she wanted. But it wasn’t long after I assured my dad that as long as Mama was happy with her choice of appliances, I was too, that I realized his true motive for wanting to talk to me.
“So … Carl tells me he’s a FedEx man. You know, ever since you got on down at the VA your mama’s kind of had her heart set on you bringing home some nice doctor, one of them smart, good-looking Ben Carson/Marcus Welby types.”
Rather than let my daddy in on the fact that I’d hardly be interested in such a beast, I just played along with him. “Well, if the way she’s been doting on him is any indication, she’s either changed her mind or else is looking to trade you in.”
My daddy laughed and without skipping a beat, turned around and asked, “You known him long?”
I told him the truth, which was, “He’s been subletting the condo next to ours for close to eight months now.”
Looking all serious, my daddy came over and stood next to me before he said, “From what I gather he’s more than just a few years older than you, isn’t he? Been married before and he’s got, what? Two or three kids?”
I didn’t know if he was asking or telling, but in any case my response was, “I wouldn’t go reading too much into his having come along with us, if I were you. By no means is this some sort of ‘let’s go meet the folks’ kind of visit. At the moment and until further notice, all we are is friends, okay?”
After The Dance Page 14