Until

by Timmothy B. Mccann

  After putting her purse on the couch and checking the answering machine, Betty went to her room, put on her Kobe Bryant Laker jersey, and then proceeded to her office. As she sat in front of the gray-blue computer screen, she thought, I’ve got to get a life. Seems the entire world is off doing things. She looked out the window. Everybody out enjoying their lives and playing dodgeball with kids and I am sitting here in cyberworld. This is it. Tomorrow I call Compu-Line and cancel the service. I hate to lose a friend, but I need a life. Then she turned on her computer, clicked her mouse, and discovered a letter from DLastRomeo.

  Dear Betty:

  First and foremost I would like to apologize for the length of time it has taken for me to get back with you. I know it has been a couple of days and I counted three letters you had mailed me since. But if it is any consolation. I’ve thought of you continuously for the past 48 hours and I’ve really needed a little time to gather my thoughts.

  This may take you by surprise, but I have been thinking of you in ways that are not purely related to friendship. To be perfectly honest. I originally had these thoughts a while ago after the Zelma fiasco, but I was confused as to whether they were based on my attraction to you or if it was a rebound situation. And since the situation with Evander occurred soon after, I felt it would be in bad taste to allow these thoughts to surface.

  I did not wish to bring out these emotions until I understood them. Now I am sure, and I hope you do not change the way you feel about me as a friend due to the nature of this letter.

  Betty, as you know, I had a tragic ending with Felicia. I never thought anything in this world could make me feel as bad as the pain of losing that woman. Afterwards I doubted myself in every aspect. I doubted if I was attractive enough, if I was man enough, if I was decent enough to meet and keep the kind of woman I wanted in my life. All of the self-confidence I had in myself from sports, from business, from public speaking, had all of a sudden gone down the drain.

  But now I know I am ready because it occurred to me that after each day it’s you I want to talk to if things went well. I rush home and turn on my computer before I undress sometimes, because it’s you I turn to for solace. After thinking about what we have shared over the past several months. Betty, I find that it’s you I look to as the soft place in my life to lean on when all the odds are against me.

  I know you are a hardworking woman, although we really have never discussed what you do for a living, and what I am trying to say may be the last thing you want to hear. If it is, I’m sorry I have written these words because I would never want to lose what we have. But I would really like to know you better.

  I know I am taking a gamble by sending you this letter. I am aware that the worst-case scenario may be your thinking I was just after you in a way that was not purely friendship. Actually the worst-case scenario may be that I never hear from you again. Well, Betty, a friend once told me something that I will never forget. She told me in a letter. “If the outcome is finding my south . . . it’s worth it all.”

  Betty. I know you wrote me several letters over the past few days that I never answered, and once again, I’ m sorry, but I had to be sure. Now I’m sure that I would like to get to know you better. If the feeling is the same, (352) 555-5896.

  Until . . .

  Drew

  Betty read the letter with her hand over her mouth the entire time, hardly able to believe he had written about feelings she wanted to share with him. And to top it off, she now had his unlisted home phone number.

  “So, let me get this straight, Betty,” Jacqui said on the phone. “This guy, on the Internet, who does not have a girlfriend in the real world, and was dumped by a dead woman, would like to talk to you—and you are actually considering calling him?”

  “Yes,” Betty said slowly.

  “Damn. Is that what sisters have come to? Okay. Now, you have no idea what this guy looks like or anything?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay. And for all you know, this guy could be some serial killer or mass rapist working the Net.”

  “Jac, please,” Betty said with a smile.

  “No, I am serious. You should have him checked out or something before you even consider calling him. I’m telling you, you should watch a little bit of Montel. They have a show on about these Internet fools just about every other week. Get his last known address and I can have Stefan run a background check on him. What if he has Caller ID or something and he starts calling you?”

  “I don’t think so. This guy is nice. I mean he writes the most wonderful letters, and from his description, he sounds good-looking also.”

  “From his description. Check out what you said, girl. From his description. What brother out there thinks he ugly?” As Betty laughed, Jacqui continued. “I’m serious. What brother out there don’t think he’s cuter than Denzel? Just ask any of them fools. I don’t care how fat or skinny he is, he thinks he’s three sit-ups and a bottle of Gatorade from dating Vanessa Williams.”

  “I know, I know. But,” Betty said, and then her tone became serious, “I have my own business now. I have this beautiful home. I have the car and the lifestyle I have always dreamed of, and all I have to share it with is my cat. What’s wrong with this picture? I mean I have had some serious, is-it-worth-it discussions with myself the last few days. I’ve sacrificed everything to be where I am now, and where am I? It has nothing to do with my biological clock. It’s just that you work hard for a life. Okay, I’ve worked hard. Now, where is my life?”

  “Honey, I understand. But if this man was half as nice-looking, half as intelligent, and half as romantic as you think he is, don’t you think he would be off the market? You know how many women in this town would drop an ovary for a man like that? Honey, we are both in our thirties and the only thing left on the shelves are the half-priced scratch-and-dent men. They’re the brothers who the other sisters done gone through and tossed away because they didn’t fit, were too big, or too small, were the wrong color, or just did not catch their eye. Something is wrong with everything left on the shelves. It’s not a matter of if something is wrong with him, it’s a matter of finding what is wrong with him. It’s tough looking at it in that context, but it’s reality. If that Negro could conjugate a verb and count to five, child, he would be swept up like a dead cat on a Friday night in back of a Chinese food restaurant.”

  “Maybe,” Betty said, smiling at the conversation and thinking the last thing she needed in her life at this time was another Evander. “Scrateh-and-dent men, huh. Maybe you’re right.”

  “Girl, you know I’m right. Now, let me give your number to Stefan’s cousin. He works for Denny’s, but he’s a regional director or something. Stefan says he’s nice-look—”

  Giggling at Jacqui’s contradiction, Betty said, “I appreciate that, Jac, but I need to hang up for now.”

  “Why? What’s going on? Please tell me you are not ending a conversation with me to go on-line.”

  “Actually, I’m canceling the service tomorrow.”

  “Well, good for you.”

  After a pause she said, “Thanks. Now I gotta call Drew.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Night, Jac.”

  After getting off the phone with Jacqui, Betty went over to the computer and picked up the piece of paper with Drew’s number on it. She sat on the oversized sofa in the living room while she pondered whether she could really go through with it. Was she prepared to deal with its contents once this Pandora’s box was opened? She picked up the cordless phone beside her and dialed the number, even as she wondered, What if Jacqui’s right? As she dialed the last digit, she knew inside that her life would in some way change as a result of doing this. Just like Alice, she was about to enter the looking glass.

  “Hello. This is Drew.”

  Dayuummb, she thought as she listened to his answering machine. This is how his voice sounds. So full, so rich. Just like she expected.

  “I’m presently not available, but you
r message is very important to me.”

  Damn, this man has so much sex appeal it comes through even on the answering machine.

  “So at the sound of the tone—”

  I can still hang up and he would never know I called—unless he has Caller ID.

  “—leave your name and number—”

  I hope I am doing the right thing; owww, I even like the way he says “number.”

  “—and I’ll call you back.”

  Damn, I want my voice to sound right. I hope it doesn’t crack. This’ll be the man’s first impression of me. I hope—

  “Thanks, and have a nice day.”

  Oh my God, it’s time. I’m not ready! I don’t know what to,

  Beep.

  “Ah, Drew. This is . . . this is Betty. I, umm, got your message and—”

  “Betty?”

  “Drew?”

  “Hey, how are you?”

  “Fine—and yourself?” Betty’s heart beat like a jackhammer and she could feel her T-shirt move.

  “I’m fine. One second. Let me turn this thing off.”

  Oh my God. It’s really him. At least he can talk, so Jacqui was wrong about that.

  “Okay, I’m back. I just came from dinner with Walt and Peggy. I told them I was not going to let them break up. Although they’re separated, I think there’s a chance.”

  “That was so nice of you.”

  “It was the least I could do for Peggy. She’s my girl. But listen to me, I’m rambling on and on. I wanna talk about you. How are you, love? I can’t believe I am actually talking to DeltaDream.”

  Their conversation lasted for hours and hours. They discussed everything from politics and what they would do if they were president, to the roles being taken by the current crop of top Hollywood black actresses. They shared childhood stories and favorite vacations, but the bulk of their time was spent talking of love. Not of their past loves, but the way it made them feel and what they missed most about it. For the first time they were communicating directly, and it flowed like the warm breeze that tossed pine needles against Betty’s window.

  “My goodness. Would you look at the time?”

  “It’s one-thirty. What time did I call you?” Betty asked.

  “Ah, about nine. Remember I had just come in from dinner. I can’t believe you are right here in Gainesville too. All this time we’ve been communicating and you were here in town. I was almost afraid to ask where you were, initially, because I didn’t want to scare you off. Later I didn’t want to know because I was sure you lived in western Afghanistan or something and I’d be crushed.”

  Flattered by the statement, Betty said, “I felt the same before you mentioned Gainesville in your letter. I’m just glad you can understand why I didn’t tell you I was in town sooner.”

  “Are you kidding? Don’t you watch Montel? Besides, as fast as both of our lives have been moving recently, love, I understand.”

  Chapter 24

  Friday

  After saying good-bye to her secretary, Betty left the office with a genuine smile for the first time in weeks. Carol joked about the unexplained spring in her boss’s step that day and the fact that she was singing aloud with the radio. When she looked at her quizzically, Betty said, “I’m just happy to be free. Nobody telling me what cases to take, no politics, just doing what I do best. Or should I say . . . what we do best.”

  Betty arrived at the meeting place where she had agreed to meet Drew ten minutes early. She did not want to play the fashionably late game, so being early was not of concern. “Turning over a new leaf this time. This time . . . it will be different.”

  Betty and Drew had arranged to meet at The Art House, which was a structure renovated by the city and used to display local works of art. It was a three-bedroom home, and as Betty walked inside, she looked to see if by chance Drew had arrived before her. From his description of himself, she knew he had not yet made it. The Art House was a little fuller than on most days, which meant there were a handful of people. A couple of blue-haired ladies holding hands for support, a few college kids, and the security guard slash custodian slash director of the establishment.

  Oh well, I am early, Betty thought with a check of the art deco clock on the wall.

  Drew sped down the highway toward The Art House. Looking at the clock in his car, he realized he had eight minutes to make the fifteen-minute trip. In the passenger seat was the file of a customer who had been given his name by Lisa of Murphy, Renfro and Collins. When he met with Mrs. Lopez, she spoke at length regarding her desire to protect her kids’ financial future. He knew she was a good client, but she was the reason he was now late.

  For Drew the day seemed to never pass. For the first time in a long time he was excited to meet someone and it felt good. He wanted to call her house just to hear her voice on the answering machine, but realized that in their four-hour conversation he had never thought to ask for her number.

  With a smile on his face he turned on the radio and listened to Stevie. It was the first time he’d allowed himself to listen to him since the reading of the will. This time the words brought new meaning because they spoke of a love that would last through time, a love so strong it would last until the oceans covered the mountains. The song was not a tome of darkness but a beacon of light pulling him toward existence on another realm.

  As he drove, Drew laughed out loud to himself. He had no idea whether Betty was overweight, a size two, fair complexioned or dark, but he smiled as he drove because it didn’t matter to him in the least. And then on the side of the highway he saw an elderly lady beside a stalled car. Drew looked at the time as he sped toward the art gallery. He had seven minutes to save himself from making a bad first impression. As he drove, Drew looked in his rearview at the stalled car, which got smaller and smaller, and thought, Somebody will help her. Hell, I don’t know the first thing about cars. And then Drew remembered his father. How he’d once worked on a car in the rain for a handicapped man while Drew and his friends waited in the car to go bowling. As he came to the red light at the intersection, Drew looked over his shoulder to see if he could see the lady, and he did. He could see her leaning against her car as the other motorists passed her by as well. And then Drew glanced at the clock, held the three roses he had bought for the occasion so they would not slide off his seat, did a Utum, and said, “Betty, love, I hope you understand.”

  As Drew drove close to the car and parked, the lady’s face lit up. “Thank you so much, son. I really appreciate it. I don’t know what happened. I was just driving and I heard this loud noise which sounded like a shotgun blast. Blam! Blam! Blam! I stopped the car and got out to look at my tire. I would have tried to make it back home, but I was scared to drive on it like this. My husband used to tell me never drive on a flat, but this tire ain’t really flat, see? So I didn’t know what to do.”

  Drew looked down at the tire, which was still inflated but had lost most of its outer shell. The only thing he knew about a car was how to check the oil, replace the gas, and, thanks to his father, how to evaluate tires. “It’s no problem, ma’am. Sometimes this happens with retreads. Do you have a spare?”

  “I think so. I’ve never stopped on the side of the road.” She headed toward the trunk. As she did, Drew glanced at his watch and heard her say, “Lord Jesus, would you look at all this stuff? I’m gonna have them chum get their mess out of my trunk. I don’t keep my car like this!”

  The trunk was packed to the rim with toys, clothing, canned meat, and shoe boxes filled with papers. After another quick time check, Drew rolled his sleeves above his elbows and said, “Ma’am, I don’t mind helping you move some of that stuff out of the way.”

  “Are you sure, son?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said as he slid the items over just enough to get the tire out of the tire well. As he freed it, he noticed that it, too, needed air and that he was now five minutes late for his first impression.

  Sitting in the museum, Betty took notice of the Da
rren Goodman display of artwork. His drawings of children’s faces were so realistic they looked like black-and-white stills. Then a couple walked in with only their pinkies locked, swinging their hands back and forth in a way only lovers can. On the wall the clock reported that Drew was now fifteen minutes late. Betty was a little surprised because in their conversation he had mentioned how he took pride in always being on time. While they were meeting socially, nothing in his words had indicated that he was not the consummate professional.

  “Chill, Betty, chill,” she repeated to herself. “He could be in traffic or maybe his appointment ran a little late.” Picking up her cell phone, she pressed speed dial so she could talk to Jacqui while she waited.

  “Hello?”

  “Yes . . . ah, did I call—” and then Betty realized her mistake.

  “Hello? . . . Beep? Beep, is this you?”

  Anger cinched her stomach tight as Betty figured out she had speed-dialed the wrong number, but she could not hang up.

  “Listen, Beep . . . I know it’s you. Thanks for calling me. I just want to let you know that I got out today. My momma put up the house and got me a real attorney and he thinks we can beat the charge.”

  Betty’s hand trembled with anger, but then a calm of confidence came over her. She swallowed with difficulty, found her voice, and replied, “Evander? Let me just say that I’m okay with that. You hurt me, but guess what. It doesn’t matter to me anymore.”

  Exhaling audibly, he said, “I knew all it would take is time, Beep. So what you’re saying is that you would like to talk this thing over?”

  “No. No, what I’m actually saying, is that I could give less than a damn about you doing time. What I am saying is you’re petty, insignificant, shallow, and an ass. You played the role of a lifetime, but in actuality, Evander . . . it’s you who got played. See, if I were like you, I would be upset right about now. But in actuality, Evander, I’m glad I called you . . . by accident . . . because you just gave me closure, which, as I look back, is the most you’ve ever given me. I once thought there could have been a little something for you in my heart, but there’s not.”