“Well.”
“Don’t tell me you’re cosigning his bullshit.”
“Ryann, your uterus is your own. But if you want to try to plant something in it? Well, that implicates another person. And if you’re successful, it implicates another two people. So … take that for what it’s worth.”
“Ivy, I really can’t stand your ass sometimes, you know that?”
“I know,” Ivy sang. “Because I tell you the truth.”
“Well enough about me. What’s going on with you and Toolbelt Stud?”
“One, you know I hate it when you call him that. And two, things are fine.”
Ryann rolled her eyes. She could hear the simpering lovesickness in Ivy’s voice whenever her man, Eli came up in conversation. It was an emotion that was so foreign that most of the time, Ryann almost doubted it existed. But it was difficult to doubt when she had seen it with her own eyes. The 50-50 Love Teddy Pendergrass sang about? Well, Ivy and Eli sure seemed to have it.
The few times that Ryann had been with them both, she couldn’t deny Eli’s devotion, because it was coming out of the brother’s eyes and ears how much he was into Ivy. And her friend was very much the same, always getting a school-girlish tone in her voice when she was talking to, or about Eli. It was the sound of a woman who was spoiled rotten by a man, in every way imaginable.
Every way except financially, that is.
If there was one chink in the ‘Ivy & Eli Armor’, it was the disparity in their earning power. Ivy made six solid figures and owned a home in one of the pricier Washington DC suburbs, and Eli was still struggling to make his home improvement business consistently solvent. And that was no small deal. As far as Ryann was concerned, it would be darn near impossible for her to overcome that little dilemma.
“Happy relationships are so boring,” Ryann teased. “I just shared that I might be pregnant by some guy I know only from monthly board meetings for a non-profit comprised of ex-cons and you got nothin’ for me?”
“Nope,” Ivy said. But there was a moment’s hesitation in her response.
Ryann pounced. “Don’t lie. What’s going on? Give me somethin’!”
“You need to go find that test and pee on the stick. Stop worrying about me and Eli. We have no drama to share, believe me.”
“Okay, so it doesn’t have to be drama. But something’s happening. I can hear it in your voice.”
“You don’t want to hear it, believe me.”
“I do.”
“No, you …”
“Heffa, didn’t I say I want to hear it? I need to hear it. To get my mind off Spencer and that damn pregnancy test.”
“Okay, so here’s the thing. And I don’t need you to analyze or critique what I’m about to say. I just … I’m going to say it out loud for the first time, so I don’t need you to …”
“Will you just spit it out? Damn.”
“I think … I want to ask Eli to move in with me.”
Ryann, who was sitting up in bed for the conversation leaned back against her pillows, eyes wide. “Really.”
“I know!” Ivy was giggling on the other end. There was the schoolgirl again. “It’s crazy! I mean, if I do that, I may as well be asking him to marry me because I would never have Jaden living with a man who wasn’t going to be in his life for the rest of his life. Y’know what I mean?”
“Yeah. And that’s only the half of it,” Ryann said.
“What d’you mean?”
“It would be like adopting a kid, too, wouldn’t it? I mean, isn’t his son short a momma?”
“Yeah.” Ivy’s tone was more subdued. “I’ve definitely thought about that. But Zion is a great kid. A little more rough-and-tumble than Jaden, but amazing. I’m falling in love with him a little more every day too.”
Ryann mimicked a gag. “Well then, Ivy, I guess that’s … great,” she forced herself to say.
“You think so? You think I should ask him then?”
“Are you crazy?” Ryann said, sitting upright again. “No! I meant it’s great that you’re falling in love with his kid. Not that you should shack up with them.”
“Why would that be crazy?”
“Because you’re giddy right now, Ivy. You and Eli, you’re in the honeymoon phase. You don’t see each other as much as you’d like to, you’re horny and screwing all the time … Believe me, this is not the time to make a decision like that.”
“You’re probably right. And besides, it’s just a backdoor to what I really want from him.”
“And what’s that?” Ryann asked, as if she didn’t already know.
“I wish he would propose,” Ivy said. “I want him to say he loves me and doesn’t want to live without me, and go all out and stage one of those big, showy proposals that all women dream about but pretend they don’t.”
“Girl, bye,” Ryann said. “I have never dreamed about a proposal like that. Not in my life.”
“I don’t believe you,” Ivy said. “I know you act all jaded, Ryann, but every woman wants to be loved like that. And have someone who’s not afraid to show it. And one of these days, you’re going to tell me what happened to make you feel like you can’t own up to it.”
“Bye, girl,” Ryann said, this time more pointedly.
“Okay, fine,” Ivy laughed. “Be that way. I have to go iron Jaden’s uniform for tomorrow anyway.”
“Good. Go do something useful with yourself,” Ryann said before hanging up.
Once she had ended the call, she thought about what Ivy said, about wanting a man who loved her so much that he wasn’t afraid to show it to the entire world.
There had been a time when she wanted that. Not actively wanted it, maybe; but at least she believed it was possible. That was a long time ago though, and she was a different woman then. Hell, not even a woman. She hadn’t been much more than a girl.
Shaking her head, Ryann resolved not to let herself go there. What she needed was a good, large glass of wine. She had lowered her feet to the floor and was about to head downstairs when she remembered. What if she was pregnant? Having wine might not be the best idea in the world.
Of course, she didn’t know she was. And there had to be women out there who had, before they learned of their pregnancy, indulged in a merlot or two, and then gone on to have perfectly healthy babies. Right?
Right.
She slid her feet into her slippers and padded down to her kitchen. She even took out one of her stemless wineglasses and opened the wine cooler, selecting a cabernet that she loved, and liked to keep cool even though wine connoisseurs would tell her that was not the proper way to store it. Taking the bottle out, Ryann went so far as to pull out the cork, and poised to pour, just couldn’t make herself go through with it.
“Dammit!” she said, setting the glass and bottle aside.
This was going to drive her nuts until she found out, so may as well take the test and be done with it. Why the hell was she hesitating? There was no point blaming that on Spencer, either. She wasn’t hesitating because he’d been imperious and demanding about it. The truth was, she didn’t want to take the test because she was enjoying the idea that she might be pregnant. Just the possibility of pregnancy gave her a tiny glimmer of how incredible an actual pregnancy might be.
Thinking about it gave her a little whisper of excitement; that inside her, a little person might be growing. Boy, or girl, she had no strong preference. But a baby would be another person who would be part of her, not only while they grew in her womb, but after she birthed them as well. Someone who would look like her, and perhaps even sound like her, but who would have their own personality traits and preferences, and ideas. Who would be an independent and sentient being who nevertheless would always, always be part of her.
And what if it was a boy? One who looked like Spencer, maybe.
Wait. What?
What difference would it make if the kid looked like him? He was nothing to her but a good meal punctuated by a fun time in bed. Still, if the kid
looked like him that wouldn’t be a bad thing since Spencer was quite handsome. But then she would have to face that they would always be a part of Spencer as well. Just as they would always be a part of her. It was an old-fashioned idea, but Ivy was right. If she was pregnant, there would be not only one, but two people besides her to consider. She had never known her father, and that had been no walk in the park.
Ryann re-corked the wine and sighing, replaced it in the wine cooler. She would try to content herself with a glass of grapefruit juice instead.
“Have you taken the test?”
Ryann rolled her eyes. She didn’t even know why she had answered the phone. Maybe because she knew he would just keep calling, and calling and calling …
“No, Spencer. I haven’t.”
“What’re you waitin’ for?”
Tossing her pocketbook across to the passenger side seat of her midnight blue Mercedes E300, she lowered herself into the seat and started the engine, waiting for the Bluetooth to connect the call to the car’s system.
“I’m waiting until I’m good and doggone ready, Spencer,” she said sweetly.
She fully expected a proportionately snarky response, but one did not come. Instead, she heard a long sigh.
“One of my boys told me it can be nerve-wracking for women. That I should be more sensitive about …”
“Wait. You told one of your boys about this?” Ryann asked, momentarily pressing down on the brake, halting her progress down her driveway and out onto her quiet suburban street.
The sun had not yet risen. She was an early riser, who liked to head downtown long before even the early bird traffic began. Now, it was just after six a.m. It somehow did not surprise her that Spencer, too, was up and about. He was one of those men who practically glowed with healthy vitality. He probably worked out every morning, ran miles before most people lifted their head from the pillow, and was dressed and on the go while others were just about to step out onto the bathroom mat.
“I didn’t share your name. Just that I had a situation.”
“That’s what I am?” she asked. “A situation?”
“What would you call it?” he returned.
“Spencer, for now would you just be satisfied with ‘when I know, you’ll know’?” she asked wearily. “I promise you will be among the first …”
“Among? Why not the first?”
“What difference does it make?” Ryann said sharply. “The point is, I won’t waste any time making sure you know shortly after I know.”
“I say we take the test together tonight,” Spencer said. “I’ll come around seven. That way if you’re nervous, you’ll have someone there with you.”
“I never said I was nervous.”
“I never said you were, either. I said, ‘if’ you were. Anyway, I’ll bring food. What kind d’you want?”
Sighing, Ryann thought for a moment. She could either spend the next ten minutes trying to argue him out of coming to her house, or she could end the call by quickly acquiescing and get on with thinking about the meeting she had this morning.
It was with a young filmmaker whose independent movie had been acquired by a major studio for more money than he knew what to do with. So, what he was considering doing with it, was donating to one of Ryann’s non-profit clients. He was not yet thirty, new to philanthropy and wanted to be the new John Legend of social justice causes. He could likely be talked into just about anything if Ryann struck the right note.
Wasting time talking to Spencer was getting her head out of her game.
“Thai, Spencer,” she said finally. “You can bring Thai.”
Then she hung up on him. He didn’t call back, and Ryann was surprised to feel the tiniest ping of disappointment.
“Is there a picture of him online anywhere, you think?” Ivy asked.
“Probably,” Ryann said sourly.
They were sitting in her office, both with shoes off and feet up on the coffee table in the little sitting area near the door. Ivy had stopped in, bringing sandwiches and chips for a quick lunch, and Ryann was filling her in about Spencer’s call.
“I’m going to go find one,” Ivy said licking the salt from her chips off her fingers and going to sit at Ryann’s desk.
“Don’t be puttin’ your saliva-fingers on my keyboard!”
Ivy ignored her and began typing something, leaning in a little closer to the monitor. “Is he Spencer Hall of the …” Ivy squinted as she read, “… Coalition of One Hundred?”
“Yeah, that’s the ex-con organization he founded. The one I’m on the board of.”
“Huh,” Ivy said.
“What’s that ‘huh’ mean?” Ryann looked up.
Ivy was chewing the corner of her lower lip. “He’s really nice-looking. More than nice-looking, actually. Just …”
“Yeah I know. What’s he wearing? A purple suit, or something?”
Ivy guffawed. “I didn’t want to say anything, but … his taste is a little …”
“Loud,” Ryann finished for her. “But he looks damn good naked. That I can vouch for. And that, of course, is the most important thing.”
Ivy gave her a look then came from behind the desk, rejoining her to finish their lunch. “Well, the clothes don’t always make the man. Eli couldn’t give a crap about clothes and …”
“I wondered how long it would be before we got to the Toolbelt Stud. You can’t even help yourself, can you?”
Ivy blushed and popped a potato chip into her mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyway, Spencer is handsome. If it turns out you’re pregnant, I bet the baby would be cute. There’s that anyway. I wonder if subconsciously that’s why you took out the diaphragm. Like some kind of primal instinct to choose a virile male to procreate with.”
Ryann shrugged.
“So, what else is up?” Ivy asked, stretching her legs out in front of her once again.
Ivy had long legs, slender but shapely. In general, she had the kind of body that looked great in anything. Lissome and graceful, but with boobs and a little bit of ass as well. Ryann, when they had first met, working on Capitol Hill had been prepared to dislike the dark-skinned beauty.
Ivy was cool as a cucumber in professional settings, almost aloof in her manner. But when they worked together on a project for the Congressional Black Caucus, Ryann learned that she had a wicked and irreverent, sometimes even raunchy sense of humor; and she didn’t take herself or anyone else too seriously.
They bonded over cocktails in H Street pubs, and sliders at Capitol Hill staff mixers; and Ryann had been there when Ivy met and eventually married Gavin Livingstone, of the Philadelphia Livingstones, a clan of African American aristocrats descended (as Ivy’s mother-in-law was fond of sharing, according to Ivy) of a long line of Freedmen.
Ivy’s marriage hadn’t lasted, but the friendship with Ryann had—through a baby, an ugly split, the eventual rapprochement between Ivy and her ex; and now, a new and exciting relationship with a man who, on paper, didn’t look like an ideal match for the likes of Ivy, but in reality, was very much so.
“I think I’m going to score a big donor today,” Ryann offered. “Someone looking to spread his money around to all the right causes, just so long as he has someone to tell him who and what the right causes are. Not an ounce of actual conviction in his scrawny little body, but lots of money in his bank.”
“You always speak with such contempt for the people you raise money from,” Ivy said shaking her head. “At least they’re doing something for the world.”
“Doing something for the world,” Ryann snorted. “They’re trying to buy their way into Heaven or atone for all the bad shit they did to get where they are. Don’t kid yourself.”
“Wow. That’s cold.”
“It’s true. Have you ever heard of the non-profit industrial complex?”
Ivy’s eyes widened. “Ahm … no. What …”
“It’s like the prison industrial complex. People working in an industry where if
they did their jobs well, would actually work themselves out of having one. They don’t really, truly, earnestly want to solve the problem they claim to be so concerned about. So instead they tinker around the edges, always spinning their wheels, never making a true commitment to eradicating ‘the problem’.”
“That is a vile, and cynical concept,” Ivy said laughing. “Made up by people like you, Miss Ryann. So, tell me, does that make you as a fundraiser part of the ‘non-profit industrial complex’?”
Ryann shrugged. “Of course it does. You ain’t never heard me say I give a damn about anyone but myself.”
Ivy looked up at her. “You’re not the person you pretend to be, Ryann. And it hurts my heart every single time I hear you say things like you just said.”
Averting her gaze, Ryann concentrated on sliding a slice of onion out of the last bite of her sandwich. “Whatever, Ivy.”
~4~
Ryann wasn’t the girl who was supposed to wind up in college. She was the girl who everyone would have wagered was destined to wind up pregnant before graduation. Fast. That was what the adults called her. The words the other teenagers called her, especially the other girls, were not as polite.
What she really was, was a cliché. The early bloomer who got labeled because she had breasts, and hips long before other girls her age did. She looked sexy, even when she wasn’t trying to be; and had a full, lush mouth, sleepy bedroom eyes and a round, curvaceous bottom. Boys talked smack about her to give themselves cred, and the other girls hated her for it because even negative attention was more attention than many of them got.
Being ostracized for her looks might have made some girls play them down, but Ryann had eventually done the opposite. She wore shorter skirts, tighter tops, and even makeup before she was sixteen. Everyone thought she was as “fast” as she looked.
But the truth was, she had no boyfriends and no real sexual experience until well into her sophomore year at college. The outward brashness had been her armor, an act of defiance against the girls who rejected her as friends; and a way to intimidate the guys who pretended to, but never really had the courage to step to her. The problem was, the armor worked. She had few friends, and even fewer dates.
The Lover Page 3