Date With Destiny

by Mason Dixon

  In more ways than one.

  “That was brutal,” Rashida said during the drive back to Savannah.

  “Did you expect any less?”

  “I can’t blame him for being pissed after being unceremoniously shown the door. I would be, too.”

  “But you wouldn’t let your emotions cloud your judgment.”

  That’s what you think.

  “Tonight Martin was toying with us to get Dennis’s goat,” Harry said. “You have to figure out a way to bring both of them to the table without touching off World War III. Based on what I heard from Martin during dinner, you have your work cut out for you.”

  “Not I. We. I have four other committee members to help share the load. And you’re one of them.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  Rashida sighed heavily. “I don’t want to think about Martin, Dennis, committee meetings, or hostile takeovers until next week. You promised to show me a good time tonight. When does the fun begin?”

  “Ask and ye shall receive.”

  Harry pressed the accelerator closer to the floor. After they picked up Rashida’s car from the bank’s parking lot, they drove to her apartment, where they stripped off their professional personas in favor of their personal ones. Then they headed to Club One.

  Rashida heard the thumping dance music before she made it halfway up Jefferson Street.

  “If you want to go upstairs for the show,” the drag queen at the ticket counter said, “it’s ten bucks extra per ticket.” A Marlboro Light dangled precariously from one corner of her fuchsia-colored lips.

  “Do you want to see the show?” Harry asked. “The next performance isn’t for another ninety minutes. I don’t know if I’ll be here that long.”

  When Harry made eye contact with an attractive blonde standing just inside the entrance to the main floor, Rashida knew why she had insisted on leaving her Hummer at Rashida’s apartment. Based on the silent conversation taking place between her and the blonde, Rashida would be driving home alone.

  “It’s been a long day,” Rashida said. “I plan on making it a short night.”

  Harry smiled as she and the blonde seemed to come to an unspoken understanding. “You and me both.” She forked over the price of the tickets and led Rashida to the main floor.

  The thousand square foot dance floor was crowded. A disco ball slowly spun over the heads of couples with a wide variety of age and gender makeups gyrating to the pulsating music. The mirrored walls doubled the number of the room’s occupants. Lightness alternated with darkness as multicolored strobes flashed rhythmically.

  Though the club’s aesthetics had changed over the years, its essence remained the same. Rashida felt the same sense of freedom and acceptance she’d experienced the first time she’d ventured inside.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Harry asked, shouting to be heard over the vocal histrionics of the latest dance music diva with solid pipes, a catchy hook, and a talented producer who knew how to showcase both.

  “No.” Rashida felt the call of the music. “I want to dance.”

  Harry extended her arm toward the dance floor. “Lead on.”

  Rashida joined the steadily growing crowd. She danced with an abandon she hadn’t allowed herself since she and Diana began to come apart at the seams. Harry danced with her, but Rashida didn’t feel a sense of connection with her. She couldn’t find the effortless rhythm she fell into whenever she danced with someone she was attracted to. The rhythm Harry found as soon as the blonde cut in on them. Rashida stayed until the music slowed, then bought a bottle of water from the bar and headed to the floor below.

  A buffet table laden with canapés was nestled against one wall. For patrons who wanted hot food, waiters filled orders from the bustling in-house restaurant known as the Bay Street Café. Music videos played silently on a series of flat-screen TVs. Video poker and gaming machines chimed as eager players tried their luck. Players of another sort crowded around the three pool tables on the far side of the room. Clusters of people sat on armchairs and loveseats, embroiled in quiet or spirited conversations.

  The music upstairs was so loud Rashida had barely been able to hear herself think. Downstairs, her ears rang in the comparative quiet. She sat on a bar stool next to a graffiti-covered column and watched the pool players show their stuff.

  At the first table, two sets of seniors were squaring off. Based on their body language, the women were kicking the men’s asses. At the middle table, two women who looked barely out of their teens were doing more making out than ball striking. At the third table, a pair of men whose crew cuts identified them as Army Rangers from nearby Fort Hunter were going at it. Their necks were nearly as wide as the trunk of a two hundred-year-old tree, their biceps the size of canned hams. The poor pool balls didn’t stand a chance.

  Rashida was about to sing a silent praise to the lifting of the ban on gays in the military when she saw Destiny bantering with one of the Rangers. Her breath caught. Destiny looked more relaxed, more unguarded than she had ever seen her. Like she was no longer playing a role she had been assigned and was finally allowed to be herself. Her confidence, which had to have taken a dent after she lost her job eight months ago, had been restored. She appeared to have arrived alone, but Rashida didn’t think she’d leave that way. Her energy was magnetic. Women of all sizes, shapes, and colors drifted into and out of her orbit. She paid each equal attention, giving hope to all while encouraging none.

  When Destiny looked up and caught her eye, Rashida wanted to join the pilgrimage. She wanted to run the other way. She remained rooted in her seat and waited for Destiny to walk over to her and try yet again to persuade her to choose her desires over her principles. Destiny raised her glass toward her but didn’t make a move in her direction. When the Rangers’ game ended, she picked up a pool cue and began to play the winner.

  Destiny was keeping her distance. She had finally taken the hint. She had finally done what Rashida had asked her to do. So why did Rashida feel disappointed instead of elated?

  “There you are.” Rashida turned to find Harry standing behind her with her arm draped across the blonde’s shoulder. “I came to let you know Cameron and I are leaving. I didn’t want you wondering where I was.”

  “Do you need a ride back to your car?”

  “Not tonight. There’s a room at the Bohemian with my name on it. The hotel’s only a few blocks from here. I can walk that far. I’ll pick up my car in the morning.”

  Rashida climbed off her bar stool. “I’ll walk out with you.”

  “Leaving so soon?” Cameron asked. “You haven’t met anyone yet.”

  “I wasn’t looking.”

  “That’s the best time to find someone,” Cameron said perkily. “When you aren’t looking.”

  Rashida glanced over her shoulder as Destiny lined up a shot. “So I’ve noticed.”

  Chapter Nine

  Saturday, March 11

  12:17 p.m.

  Savannah, GA

  Rashida’s doorbell rang while she was cleaning her kitchen counters, a task she usually performed whenever she sought to clear her muddled thoughts. Today, she felt like a dog chasing its tail. She had a goal within sight but it remained tantalizingly out of reach. Martin’s unexpected counter to her business proposition had something to do with her discomfort, but seeing Destiny afterward was the main reason she felt off kilter.

  Destiny’s standoffishness at Club One had felt like a rejection. A turning away. Avoiding seeing each other outside of work was something that needed to be done, but why had she spent all morning wishing she could undo it? She couldn’t figure out if it was only sex she was longing for or a deeper connection. Could she have a relationship with Destiny? Did she even want one?

  She hadn’t expected one night of mindless passion to affect her so greatly. She had told herself—told Destiny—their night together couldn’t be repeated. Little by little, however, Destiny kept chipping away at her resolve like a lumberjack s
winging at a mighty oak. Like that tree, Rashida felt herself beginning to fall. She wanted another night. And another. And another. She wanted to spend time with Destiny. She wanted to get to know her. Hear more about her past; learn what, if anything, she had planned for the future.

  “Does she even have a plan?” she asked out loud. She wasted no time answering her own question. “If she did, she’d have a better fallback than sleeping in the spare bedroom of a friend’s house. She’d have a place of her own.” She pulled off her latex gloves and dropped them in the trash. “Why do I even care? Worrying about employees’ living arrangements isn’t in my job description.”

  But Destiny was different. There was something about her—a hint of vulnerability that showed through her obvious toughness—that intrigued her. When Destiny had talked about her father throwing her out of the house when he discovered she was gay, she had seemed to shrink inside herself. As if she had briefly reverted into the frightened teenager she had once been. When she talked about moving on with her life, Rashida could see the strong woman she had become. But at what price? Rashida wanted to comfort the girl and soothe the woman. Unfortunately, both were out of reach.

  The doorbell rang again, more insistently this time.

  “Just a second.”

  She put her cleaning supplies away and quickly washed and dried her hands. She crossed into the living room and opened her apartment door without looking through the peephole, fully expecting to see Harry on the other side. The last time she had checked, Harry’s car was still sitting in the same parking space she’d left it in last night. Checkout time in most of the downtown hotels had come and gone. Harry should be arriving any minute now. By Rashida’s calculations, she was already overdue.

  “How was your walk of shame?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never taken one.” Destiny stood in the doorway with a bag of takeout food in her hand. When she held up the bag, Rashida caught a whiff of Asian food. “Peace offering?”

  “I didn’t know we were at war.”

  “With you, I’m never certain. Have you had lunch yet?”

  “No.” Rashida held the doorknob with one hand and the doorjamb with the other to dissuade Destiny from inviting herself in. “Now that I’m no longer on call, I was about to head out and grab something.”

  “Then I guess I’m right on time.” Destiny pushed through Rashida’s makeshift barrier and stepped inside.

  Rashida closed the door and took a quick look in the mirror to see if she looked presentable, then silently chastised herself for worrying about her appearance. “You’re not working today?”

  “I told Charles there was something I needed to do. He agreed to give me the afternoon off.”

  “What did you need to do?”

  Rashida half-expected her to say, “You.”

  “I’m here for my lesson.” Destiny pulled a set of chopsticks out of her back pocket. “Jackie said you were a wiz with these. Can you teach me how to use them?”

  “I’m not much of a teacher.”

  “I beg to differ.” Destiny moved closer. “You certainly taught me a thing or two Tuesday night.”

  Rashida folded her arms in front of her chest to establish distance without giving ground. “I thought we agreed this situation was untenable.”

  “Un what?”

  Rashida was pretty sure Destiny was only feigning ignorance. “If you’ve come here to attempt to seduce me, you can turn around and—”

  “I came here to bring you lunch. The kitchen’s that way, right?”

  Rashida dropped her arms. “How did you know?”

  “You gave me the grand tour on Tuesday, remember?”

  Rashida remembered unlocking the front door and leading Destiny to the bedroom while they tore off each other’s clothes. Everything that happened after they got naked was a blur.

  “Right.”

  In the kitchen, Destiny put the bag of food on the counter and pulled out a series of plastic and Styrofoam containers. “It took some digging, but I finally found the name of your favorite restaurant. When I went there this morning, I asked them to prepare your favorite dishes. Does this look right?” She indicated the spread in front of her. Soup, salad, sushi, almond chicken, and steamed rice.

  “It looks perfect.”

  “Care to join me? You might as well because I’m not going anywhere until all this is gone.” Destiny pried the lid off a container of soup and began to help herself to the contents. “I could probably eat it all myself, but it might be more fun if you helped. Could I have a beer?”

  “It’s a bit early, don’t you think?”

  “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Destiny said with a shrug.

  Rashida shook her head, unable to determine if Destiny was charming, insufferable, or both. Then she grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and set the bottle in front of her.

  “Did you have a good time last night?” Destiny asked after she took a long swallow. “You left before I had a chance to say hi or to tell you how hot you looked in that outfit you were wearing.”

  Rashida blushed at the compliment but tried to downplay how good it made her feel. “You were busy meeting the members of your fan club. How many members are you up to?”

  Destiny flashed a disarming smile. “I’ve lost count. Grab yourself some soup and meet me in the dining room.”

  Rashida felt more like the guest than the host. “You don’t make it easy to say no, do you?” she asked after she took a seat.

  “Why say no when yes works so much better?”

  Destiny crumbled a fortune cookie and fished the tiny slip of paper inside out of the pieces.

  “Aren’t you supposed to save that for after the meal?”

  “I like pushing my luck.” She unfolded the paper and began to read. “The world may be your oyster, but that doesn’t mean you’ll get its pearl. What does yours say?”

  “Do not mistake temptation for opportunity.”

  “Both our fortunes leave something to be desired.” Destiny tossed the slips of paper aside. “I think we should choose our own fate.”

  Rashida wondered if their fates were intertwined or were destined to remain parallel. “When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

  “A track star,” Destiny said without hesitation. “A sprinter like Florence Griffith-Joyner, without the hair extensions and one-legged outfits but with the gold medals, world records, and millions in product endorsements.”

  “Why didn’t you pursue your dreams?”

  “The story of my life. I thought I knew better than the coaches did and got myself kicked off the team.”

  “And now? Now what do you want to be?”

  Destiny seemed momentarily taken by surprise. The laughter went out of her eyes and she grew suddenly serious as if she thought she was being subjected to a test and didn’t want to give the wrong answer. “I want to run my own business one day.”

  “Really? What kind?”

  “A unisex salon. The kind where fathers take their sons for their first haircuts and women come in to try out the latest natural styles. I want it to be like the French Roast. A local place, not a chain. A place you can go and hang out all day and be made to feel welcome. There are a couple of empty storefronts on Broughton Street that would be perfect. If I had the money to buy the equipment and pay the rent, that is.”

  Rashida could tell Destiny had given the idea serious thought. She seemed to have the drive to put her plan in motion. All she needed was the ways and the means. Rashida had both.

  “If you get a business plan together, you could apply for a small business loan. I know several lenders who might be interested in backing a venture like yours. When you’re ready, I could give one of them a call. They’re always looking for creative and profitable ways to comply with the Community Reinvestment Act, a federal regulation that encourages banks to make loans to borrowers in all segments of their communities, especially the ones who live in low- or moderate-income
neighborhoods.”

  Destiny rubbed her chin with the heel of her hand. “A business plan, huh? I’m not much of a writer. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “I’ll help you, if you like.”

  “Really?”

  Destiny’s eyes glittered with so much excitement Rashida couldn’t help but smile.

  “I’d be happy to.”

  Destiny seemed so grateful to hear the words Rashida wondered when was the last time someone had offered her a helping rather than hurtful hand.

  “That’s not all I want to do. If I didn’t have to worry about making ends meet, I’d love to open a homeless shelter for teenagers so a young girl or boy who’s in my old situation could have a place to lay their head at night without worrying about someone trying to chop it off.”

  The bubbling enthusiasm Destiny had displayed only moments before gave way to sadness. She glanced at Rashida as if embarrassed by her show of emotion.

  “I don’t know why I said anything. They’re just pipe dreams.” She pushed the empty soup container away from her. “My parents always said I’d never amount to much and they were right.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Destiny spread her arms helplessly. “I’m thirty-four years old and what do I have to show for it?”

  “More than you’re giving yourself credit for. You have a job, you have a place to stay, and you have people in your life who care about you. What more could you ask for?” Rashida watched Destiny’s eyes fill with tears. “The people who tried to hold you back aren’t in your life now. Don’t worry about proving them wrong. Concentrate on proving yourself right. Your ideas aren’t pipe dreams. They’re goals. You can achieve them if you try.”