Until

by Timmothy B. Mccann

“Are you done?”

  “Jacqui . . . yeah. Yes, I’m done.”

  “Trust is important. It just seems there are so few men out there nowadays who deserve to be trusted. But . . . well if you feel in your heart that he is the one, then maybe I’m overreacting. In case you haven’t noticed I can do that from time to time. Hell, I know I got baggage and the oldest rule in the book is never ask a woman without a man for advice on how to keep one. All I can say is just . . .”

  “I know. Just be careful.”

  “No Ms. Ann, and stop finishing my damn sentences. All I can say is . . . girl, I love you.”

  “Thank you. I needed to hear that.” Clearing the lump from her throat Betty sat up in her chair and said, “New subject. I forgot to tell you I had the nicest letter last week waiting for me when I got home.”

  “Aww shit here we go again. Mr. Modem. Right?”

  “Yeah. Drew’s nice.” Betty said, and smiled. “He sends me these wonderful poems, but he never makes advances. It’s just sweet. That’s all. He’s romantic, like the men in the old black-and-white movies. The ones who would light two cigarettes in their mouth and hand one to the lady who was sitting at the bar crying. Sorta like Billy D in Lady Sings the Blues. I like that,” Betty said, watching the father in the house next to hers walk out to adjust a sprinkler.

  “I’m touched,” Jacqui said sarcastically. “I’ve told you about meeting people on those computers. If he were worth a damn, he wouldn’t be sitting in front of the computer typing poems to women he’s never seen before. Besides, he probably married or got some disease or something and just doing this as a way to get off.”

  “Maybe, but I sit in front of the computer and type letters to him, so what does that make me?”

  “You’re different. I’m telling you something is wrong with this guy,” Jacqui replied.

  “But if he was trying to be more than a friend, why would he tell me about this woman whom he seemed to be getting closer to and his dead girlfriend?”

  “Because he’s sneaky. Does he tell you anything intimate?”

  “Of course not.”

  “He hasn’t gotten that far yet, but it’s coming. Baby, let Momma explain this game to you. It’s known by many experts in the field as—” Jacqui paused for effect “—as the oldest fuckin’ game in the book!”

  Betty laughed aloud, startling Tickey, who scampered through the glass door into the house.

  “First of all,” Jacqui said, “he ain’t got nobody. Okay? He’s hard up and just wants you to sweat him. Has he asked you what you do for a living?”

  “No, he hasn’t. And even if he had, I’m not that stupid. Besides, Jac,” she continued as another two-income-household van passed. “Don’t you sometimes feel like life is just passing you by? Like the whole world’s been invited to a party you never got an invitation to? I know I do. Seems I am—” And then Betty corrected herself and said quietly, “It seemed I was the only one in the firm my age unmarried and unattached. I watch my neighbors over here, and she is in her late twenties with a house full of kids, and I’ve never seen the lady unhappy. Not that that’s the life I want, it just seems I’m missing out on something.”

  “Honey, I understand that. But the answer is not on a computer.”

  “I’m not looking for it on a computer, and besides, you’ve never signed onto the Net. So how you know so much about it?”

  “That’s true, that’s true. You have a point. But you know something? I’ve never had an autopsy; however, you won’t see me standing in line for one of them either. I’m telling you he ain’t got nobody. He most likely some pervert or something. Men lie like I don’t know what sometimes. Just remember AMAD and it’ll make life simipler: All Men Are Dogs. They just have different tail lengths.”

  “Sweetheart, you’ve got issues,” Betty said with a giggle. “I don’t think all guys are dogs. I think there are definitely some dogs out there, but I believe there’s some good in Evander, and I think my friend on the computer is nice as well.”

  “See now, my date just pulled into the driveway, and I know he’s a dawg, so that’s the difference between you and me. Sometimes I even call him Amad by mistake. Look at him. He just knows he’s getting some tonight, but he ain’t. I bet he got a pocket fulla rubbersohmygoodness!” Jacqui said in a muffled tone.

  “What!”

  “Aww shyeet, he’s wearing those black leather jeans.”

  “Leather? In Florida? In the spring?”

  “I know it sounds crazy, but yes, girl. If you put those pants on a thousand men, nine hundred ninety-eight would look like a damn fool wearing them. But Amad, I mean Stefan and Eddie Murphy could pull it off,” she said laughing. “I don’t know, I might have to go to church with you this Sunday after all, because it might be a whole lotta sinning in my house tonight.”

  “‘Bye Jac.”

  “Hey before you go!”

  “What?”

  After a pause for the right words Jacqui said, “I know I’ve said a lot about the brother but, if deep in your heart you feel he’s the one for you . . . well you know all I want is to see you happy. Do what you have to do to make it right, okay?”

  “Thank you.”

  Betty smiled as she hung up the phone. But as the sun left the sky and she could see the neighbors sitting around their table preparing for dinner, loneliness returned. When she’d graduated, she could never see herself as anything but a power-wielding litigator. Yet on this night, she would have given anything to change places for an hour with the lady in the lace apron serving dinner.

  Betty walked inside her house, triple-locked the doors, grabbed a box of raisins, and sat in front of her computer. She had not signed on for several days due to the caseload at work, but now that it was over she thought, Another night on-line. Damn. During her conversation with Evander she had decided to surprise him with a special evening, but the more she thought about it, the faster the idea had faded.

  After she signed on, Betty’s computer mailbox icon lit up, indicating she had mail, and a smile came to her face as she saw it was a letter from Drew that had been in her box since Saturday.

  Dear Betty:

  Sorry not to address you by your screen name, but for some reason, speaking to you directly makes me feel a little closer. I just got back home from a strange day and I need to write to sort out my feelings more so than anything else. Remember the young lady I told you I was debating about going out with? Well, if you noticed I haven’t written to you about her in a while, it’s because I finally asked her out a couple of weeks ago. Actually we had a lot of fun until my hormones got in the way. As a gentleman I will just say it has been a while and I did not use good judgment. I brought her to my home, kinda got her excited, and could not finish what I had started.

  As I was looking in her eyes, thoughts of Felicia flashed through my mind nonstop. And it was not just the good aspects of my relationship with her. It was also the bad, and I started seeing those same things in Zelma. They introduced themselves the same way to me, they were both a little overly aggressive, and they were both ready to make a move before we really knew each other.

  I’m not the smartest man in the world, Betty, but I try not to make the same mistake twice. And looking at her that night, I saw myself walking down a familiar road.

  As I drove her home, she was a little upset, and she had every right to be because I did start the encounter. I tried to make small talk and she would not say a word. Nothing at all. She just sat there staring ahead with her arms folded.

  As I mentioned to you before, we lost the big account I had worked so hard on, so if we lose this one, I’ll have to lay off Grace for a couple of weeks, which is something I have never done before. With the job market being the way it is here in Gainesville, there’s a chance I may lose her to another company.

  Don’t get me wrong. Zelma is nice people. But I’m looking for something else. I am looking for someone I can fall in love with as a friend. The kind of woman I could o
ne day look in the eye and say without a doubt, today I just married my best friend in this world. I’m aware that such a love may not exist and maybe I am too immature not to give up hope, but until I find it I will continue waiting . . .

  Until . . .

  Drew

  Betty reread the word Gainesville several times. He could have meant Gainesville, Georgia, or Gainesville, Texas. Without stopping to think, she went into her kitchen, opened the phone book, and saw it in the financial consulting section.

  Andrew Patrick Staley and Associates

  Financial Planning, Annuities,

  Life, Health, and Retirement Benefits

  “Oh my God, Jac will never believe this one.”

  Betty sent Drew a quick reply, never mentioning she lived in the same city and only a couple of miles from his office. She told him not to give up on love and to listen to his heart. As soon as she sent the E-mail Betty signed off the Net, inhaled slowly and decided to follow Jacqui’s advise. To do what she had to do to keep Evander in her life.

  Standing on Evander’s step, Betty peeked inside the glass in the door to make sure he had not returned early. She had parked her car down the block so as to not give him a clue she was there. The closer she got to his house, the more her stomach told her all was not well, but she did not care. Tomorrow she would pin him down as to what was going on. Tomorrow she would find out if her fears were valid. But tonight she needed his caress. She had followed the rules, and although she knew she might regret doing so, tonight she was prepared to break a few. Reaching in her purse, she used the key he had given her for the first time. As she walked inside dressed in only her overcoat and wearing the red pumps she had never worn for anyone except him, she set her brown bag of goodies on his coffee table. Inside it were strawberries, incense, candles, massage oils, and motion lotion. It felt so unusual being in his home without him there. Her first impulse was to do a little innocent snooping, but she resisted. With a quick look at the clock, she took out her Janet CD. She had always wanted to make love to “That’s the Way Love Goes.” Whenever she worked out, she would listen to Janet, and when the song came on she could see herself dressed as she was on that night, slowly dancing with Evander in the center of the room. And as they danced she would say the words softly in his ear.

  Betty pictured herself dropping her coat to the floor and dancing nude with him fully dressed as she controlled his every moment with the grind in her hips. She would slowly disrobe him to the thick vibrating rhythms filling the air. And once he was undressed, she would lead him to the bathroom, where she would have the tub of hot water completely covered with Mexican long-stemmed rose petals, and surrounded by candles. The air would be kissed with the smell of incense, and cold enough for them to cuddle in front of his fireplace afterward as they would begin phase two of their night of romance. The fantasy was clear in Betty’s mind as she looked at the clock and awaited his arrival.

  Betty fell asleep on the carpet of the guest bedroom beside the stems from the flowers she had brought for their encounter together. The bubbles in the tub mixed with the rose petals had gone flat, the candles had burned to nothing, and the water was cold as Evander scrambled for his keys and opened the door a little before 3:00 A.M. As he entered the house, he did not notice the bag left on the coffee table, nor did he look into the darkness of the guest bedroom to see Betty lying on the carpet asleep. As he entered his bedroom, his cellular phone rang.

  “Hello? Hey what’s up? No, it’s cool. I’m glad you got the message. What’s going on with you? Well, you know how Momma is. Always trying to make things out to be a lot more than they really are. No, not really. Naw, we’re a long, long way from that, man. We’re just kicking it.”

  Hearing Evander’s voice, Betty awakened, wiped her mouth, gathered her bearings as to where she was, and then smiled trying to think of how she was going to surprise him. She blindly searched for the remote to the CD player so she could cue up Janet as soon as he was off the phone.

  “No! I mean she’s a nice girl and all, but no, I don’t see it going in that direction. Yeah, she’s an attorney. Cute as hell and she’s making serious paper. Really. Well, you know me.”

  As Evander laughed, Betty’s lips parted; she hoped this was another ghost from the shadows of her mind.

  “Oh, I know she’s making good money because I checked out her bank statement. I don’t play,” he laughed. “When I helped her move into this house in Royalton Oaks— Yeah, I know. She’s the only black person I saw living out there. But I was in her files, man. I saw everything. You hear me? Bonds, stocks, CDs, the works! Man, I just don’t care anymore. Listen to this. She’s only thirty-two. Exactly. Check this out. I’ve been playing the game for a while looking for just the right moment. One night while we were lying in bed, I was broker than I don’t know what, right? I noticed her purse right beside the bed. So I was putting my hand in it and— Naw, man, I wasn’t looking for that. She don’t carry any real money. No, I was looking for her Social Security card. Why? So I could apply for cards in her name, what else? So, as I was saying, I was fishing for the cards and stuff when I heard her wake up. I had to play it off, right? I sat up like I was half asleep and started running the game on her. Exactly, just like I did LaTonya. So she fell for it, and a couple of nights later she was begging me to take some money. I won’t say how much, but let’s say it was mid four figures. Serious. I told you it works, man.

  “But it gets better. I found this twenty-thousand-dollar preapproved platinum application in her desk drawer. She gets so many I know she never even missed it. So in the meantime, I went back to Orlando the next weekend to spend a little time with Becky. I’ll tell you about her later. But while I was there, I mailed off the application and got a PO box, and as soon as I get it, I’ll do just like I did before. Cash advance the hell outta it. What? No, man, see, that’s where you’re lost. I know she’s an attorney and all. But she is a woman first and foremost. This female adores me, man. I told her I needed some money to buy a piece of the bakery and she went for it. So I’ll just tell her I made a mistake because I wanted to buy in so bad and planned to pay the card off before she ever knew about it. Trust me, she’ll forgive me. See, she’s feeling guilty about not being able to spend any time with me so I know she’ll go for it. Yo. I even told her my cell phone and beeper was off so she would stop calling me in Orlando while I was with Becky. Now, don’t get me wrong. I got feelings for her, man. No, I’m serious. I think she has a shot at one day being Mrs. Jones. But man, I gotta be me. You know?”

  Betty heard Evander walk down the hallway and she waited for him to notice the lone brown bag sitting on the coffee table. “Yeah, man, you know I gotta get mine.” She heard him walk a little faster to the bathroom, where he had to notice the tub of water covered with rose petals. Then she saw him turn around slowly and look into the darkened guest bedroom as he said, “Ahh, listen, man. I’m gonna have to call you back.” As he clicked on the light he looked down at Betty looking up at him with only the flower stems and remote covering her nude torso.

  “Evander?” she said, with disappointment spun so tight in her throat she could smell it, but refused to allow it to show on her face. “Can I just ask you one question? Can you just tell me, why?”

  As she drove home, Betty sang loudly with Stevie and then repeated to herself, “You can’t make me cry, Evander Jones. I won’t give you that much power over me! You can’t make me do it!” Sitting in her car, she blindly searched her purse for a poem Drew had sent her. As she pulled into her driveway she cut off her ignition and read it to herself.

  Until rain falls from the heavens,

  To an earth so barren and dry,

  Until clouds form angels,

  So high up in the sky.

  Until kids cease to ask why.

  Until yellow roses blossom

  on snowcapped mountains,

  Until moonlight shines all day.

  Until August turns into winter,

  And
we bundle up, in May.

  I’ve put my dreams off for so long

  I get tired of hearing until.

  I get so tired of not living today,

  So tired of restraining my will.

  Like a jazz song with no ending,

  Or a sonnet without a break.

  My life seems to be continuously leading

  To that one word . . . wait.

  I thought it was right,

  In fact it felt great.

  I now had my love,

  No need to wait.

  For love, for passion

  My wait was now complete.

  But now she is gone,

  But now she is gone.

  Must a tree wait?

  Must a flower wait to bloom?

  That’s a bad analogy I make,

  For they too must wait, that’s true.

  So I’ll wait to find another,

  This time I’ll assert my will.

  But she too will break my heart,

  And again I’ll wait until.

  Until rain falls from the heavens,

  To an earth so barren and dry,

  Until clouds form angles,

  So high up in the sky.

  Until kids cease to ask why.

  Looking out her window, Betty smiled with a newfound strength and said, “See that? Vander, you can’t make me cry! You are not worth the salt in my tears! You are . . .” And then Betty saw her neighbors’ darkened house with the Big Wheel behind the Chevy station wagon and she sat in her car and cried, alone.

  Chapter 21

  Monday,one week later

  Dear Drew:

  Today marks a week since it happened, and I appreciate the shoulder. The first couple of nights were hell. I don’t think I had an idea how much this man had become a part of me. I went around the house and de-Evanderized it the day after the incident, and I thought doing that would make me feel better. I took a long ride in the country to clear my head and even wrote him a letter just to get the feelings out and never sent it to him. But none of that really helped.