“No, of course not. I’m just saying.”
Angelina started changing into a long, floral nightgown. “You weren’t out long,” she said.
Safire slipped on some sweats. “I wasn’t in the mood.”
“If I didn’t know better,” Angelina said, “I’d think it was that sweet young man we met. What is his name?”
“Darien,” Safire said, knowing it was him and wondering if Angelina had seen through her facade. “I guess it’s him. We had a fight, and I told him to leave—again.”
Safire was tearing up a little thinking about it. This wasn’t like her, but neither was how much she missed this man. Angelina noticed and put an arm around her little sister’s shoulders. “It’ll be okay. If he’s anything like Jeremy, he’ll be back.”
“I think I wrecked it this time for good,” Safire admitted.
“Then perhaps you should make the call and fix things.”
Safire had always kept her cool about men and was surprised by all the reactions this relationship was getting out of her. But there was something about being in a home, a home with parents in it. It made all of her vulnerabilities come out; it gave her a safe place to release them. And she had to admit that she’d been feeling more vulnerable since her latest breakup with Darien. There was pain and longing in her heart.
“He pressed me for a date that we would meet again, and then he pressed me to define our relationship.”
“How long have you been seeing him, sweetie?”
“A few months,” Safire answered.
“Wow,” Angelina said, pulling back the covers for them. “That doesn’t seem like an egregious request.”
“Maybe. But he can make me so angry.” Safire sighed. “Just when things were going so well.”
“Maybe too well,” Angelina replied, getting in bed. “Did you sabotage it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“You never let it get serious, Safire. Maybe this time it is—or you want it to be.”
Safire got into bed. She didn’t like what her sister was saying, but she couldn’t argue against it, not at the moment. She looked at her sister.
“Thanks, Angelina.”
“You’re my sister, sweet pea.”
Safire turned off the light. “You’re my sister, too. Jeremy’s parents are really nice.”
“I know,” Angelina said. “We sure did let out the waterworks this afternoon. I guess it’s been a while since we’ve had parents, both of us.”
“I know,” Safire said. “It’s nice to be here with them.”
Angelina turned over. “Let’s get some sleep.”
Safire pressed her palm to the void in her chest and let her sister get some rest while she dwelled on the man who had moved her—body and soul. When she got up late the next day, Angelina was already dressed and gone. Safire showered and emerged in time for Eddy’s arrival with his grandparents. Both got teased for being late risers.
The rest of Safire’s time in Houston was as hectic as the first day. Thursday it included Thanksgiving lunch with Jeremy’s family, helping Mrs. Bell with dinner, and dinner itself, followed by football and cleanup. The next day, it included shopping with Angelina and Mrs. Bell for something new and something blue and going out that night with Angelina, Jeremy and Jeremy’s friends. Safire tried to enjoy it all but couldn’t.
Eddy offered to take her clubbing two more times, but she declined. Yet there was still more than enough to do. Saturday, Eddy took her on a tour of the city, and they met the family for a late lunch before taking the kids to a movie. They got home in time for more Thanksgiving leftovers and to let the travelers prepare for their journey home.
When Safire got back to Miami on Sunday, she was more tired than when she’d left, but it was so nice to spend time with a whole family, one with parents. It filled a space in her that was empty. Another slot was still blank.
* * *
Two days after she got back home, Safire ran into Darien. She’d had inquiries about one of her school applications. They needed more information from her to consider her request for funding. They also had a reading that they suggested she attend. They couldn’t tell her yet if she’d gotten accepted, but all of this was a good sign. After the reading, she decided to stop in the bookstore and look at the books for classes she hoped to be taking the next fall. It couldn’t hurt to get ahead.
She knew that Darien went to Florida International University, but it was huge, with over fifty thousand students. There was no need to worry that she would see him there. She wasn’t going anywhere near the Art Department.
It turned out that the author of a new book on art was having a reading and signing at the bookstore, and there was Darien, along with a cadre of his artsy friends. He hadn’t seen her amid the bookshelves, and she had found a book that she wanted, so she was ready to slip out before she was spotted. She couldn’t face him—not yet. And if it hadn’t been for one of the women in Darien’s group, she would have gone.
The woman was blonde, with her hair tied up in an African wrap and a mud-cloth cape on. That by itself was enough to spike Safire’s temper. But when the woman put her arm around Darien right where they stood at the book signing, Safire got fully piqued. She had no right, she knew, but she couldn’t stop herself from going to stand up in Darien’s face, pointing out, just with her presence, what a hypocrite he was.
Safire stood directly in front of Darien. “Long time no see,” she said with her hand on her hip.
Darien straightened, looking surprised to see her and perhaps by her tone. His smile was momentary and then vanished. “Yes, it’s been a little while.” He turned to the woman at his side, “Would you excuse us for a moment?” Then he took Safire’s elbow and walked her away from his group and the signing, leading her toward the cash registers.
“A bit testy today, are we?” he said.
“Just noticing how long it took you to find someone else,” Safire said.
“She’s not someone else, and we’re not involved,” he said calmly. Then he added with a hint of warning, “And I’m not going to fight with you here like we’re six-year-olds. If you calm down, you can stay. Otherwise, you should leave.”
“Don’t you usher me out the door. You don’t own this place.”
“No, I don’t,” Darien said. “And I can’t stop you from being here, but I don’t want to argue with you. Calm down, and come meet the author. Meet some of my classmates. But if you’re in a huff, forget it.”
Darien’s calm and his apparent embarrassment over her just infuriated Safire more. “I’ll be in a huff anywhere I choose.”
She was at the register now, so she paid for her book.
When she turned around, Darien was gone. She had a mind to go look for him and read him the riot act, but she thought better of it. This was not how she had imagined a meeting between them would go, not when she’d been pining over him. Safire clutched her book under her arm and stomped out the door.
Chapter 18
Darien left his professor’s office feeling relieved—at least about school. He was on the right track with his prospectus and final exhibit plan and would be able to finish up the prospectus next semester. He had submitted his projects for his figure-sculpture class and his final papers for his Caribbean art class and his contemporary art class. Now he only had to finish up his final paper for Critical Studies in the Visual Arts, and his semester would be over, leaving him time to finalize his exhibit and a couple of weeks to get ready for the Christmas holidays, which he hadn’t yet considered.
He was on his way to the library to do more research for his last paper when he thought about Safire. He hadn’t expected to run into her at the bookstore, and she obviously hadn’t expected to see him, especially not while Alicia, one of his classmates, was hanging on his shoulder. In a
way, it was a dose of her own medicine. She was the one who didn’t want to define their relationship. In any case, he didn’t want to fight with her when he was supposed to be giving her space. He’d left her at the register without even saying goodbye; that would only have continued their dispute.
He did expect to see her tonight, which was Friday and the night of the fund-raiser at the Heritage Center. It was a gala dinner and fund-raising event, and she would be there either as one of the volunteers or with the table purchased by the Law Offices of Benson and Hines.
Darien finished at the library, taught his class at the Heritage Center and went home to change for the evening event. He decided on a dark purple suit and a kente cloth tie with a purple theme. Since he would be presenting a few of the awards and talking about some of the work of the Heritage Center, he figured he should dress. Safire would doubtless be decked out; it was the perfect occasion for the fancy end of her wardrobe.
Darien got to the gala early. He needed to get the programs, awards, donation envelopes, slide show and his talking notes from his office, and he needed to make sure that the caterers were setting up, that the silent-auction items were being put out and that the volunteers were decorating. The event was being held in the lecture hall at the Heritage Center, but by the time he walked in, you couldn’t tell that it was a lecture hall because it was so done up—covered tables, floral arrangements, the works.
Mr. Johnson came in not long after he did, and together with the volunteers, they got programs and donation envelopes on the tables and started the slide show running in time for the first handful of their two hundred guests. This included their two emcees for the night—a local actor and a local radio host, both of whom could boast of time spent at the Heritage Center as children.
Since it was late, the program started with the repast, the slide show and bidding for the silent auction. Darien noticed Safire sitting at the table for Benson and Hines. She was wearing a short embroidered cocktail dress made of chartreuse fabric. It had no shoulders or straps and fit her like a coat of paint on a car. Over that she had a sheer chartreuse bolero cover-up with feathers over one shoulder and at the bottom hem. She wore three-inch heels, and her hair and face were done to perfection. She was breathtaking. Darien stared at her and sighed, but when she glanced his way, her face changed to thinly veiled disgust, and she looked away.
The emcees started the program during dessert. After acknowledgments, Darien was called up to talk about some of their activities. Next, students were called up to give testimonials about some of the classes, and then a call was made for the filling of the donation envelopes. Mr. Johnson reported on their fiscal matters and thanked the corporate backers and the volunteer entrepreneurs and the attorneys. Then Darien gave the awards for outstanding work to some of the students and volunteers.
Safire was one of the volunteers being awarded that night. She had accepted an award for Benson and Hines earlier. This one was for her.
“The next award,” said Darien, “is a special one. It goes to an outstanding volunteer teacher as voted by participating students. This year that award goes to Ms. Safire Lewis for her work reigniting the Book Club Program for children aged eight to twelve and thirteen to sixteen. Both of Ms. Lewis’s classes voted her outstanding volunteer teacher.”
Safire approached the podium like a model, wearing a bright smile. But as she neared Darien, her smile turned cold, plastic. She accepted the engraved glass plaque with a curt thank-you and turned from him without another word.
After Darien had given all of the awards, the emcees called for a twenty-minute break so that final bids could be made on the silent-auction items. They spent the time talking about the items—which ranged from student artwork to airline tickets. It was a silent auction, so people were encouraged to go take a look and write down their bids.
Darien’s path wandered across Safire’s path as they were looking at the auction pieces.
“Hello, Safire,” Darien said.
“Mr. James,” she returned.
“Congratulations on your award. You were student picked, which is something.”
“Thank you,” she said and turned to walk away.
Darien was supposed to be giving her space, but he couldn’t help wanting to pull her back and take her into his arms.
“So we’ve gone from arguing to the cold shoulder?”
“If that’s what you call it.”
Maybe she still needed time, but Darien was starting to wonder how much. He would have loved to have been together with her at this event, to have her as his date. Nothing in her expression signaled that she felt the same way, except, perhaps, her continued rage over seeing him with Alicia’s arm around him.
“My brother’s here,” Darien said, “and so is my mother. They’re at the table next to the head table. Maybe you’ll go say hi.”
Safire looked past him noncommittally and continued to peruse the auction. She wrote her name and bid down next to a child’s toy, probably for her brother, Philly, and continued around the room. As she neared the front, however, Darien saw her leave the auction tables and hug his brother and his mother.
Darien had been called over to talk to some of the businesspeople, so he couldn’t go to them, but he was glad that Safire went to greet his family. And he was wondering again how much time she needed.
When the program was almost over, the emcees invited Mr. Johnson up to make one final call for the filling of donation envelopes.
“Anything you can give helps the programs that you’ve heard about at the Heritage Center. Thank you.”
Then they announced the winners of the silent auction and told how much money it had raised. They also announced how much was made that evening, which was almost seventy-five thousand dollars.
“That includes tickets, the auction, donation envelopes, mail-in donations and corporate sponsors. If you’d like to make it an even seventy-five, just come up to the podium.”
The last thing was a live song, and a local ensemble went up to sing “Lift Every Voice and Sing.” Then the emcees said good-night, and people started filing out.
Darien didn’t see Safire again after the gala. She slipped out while he was greeting parents and people from the local community, probably to give him his comeuppance for leaving her in the bookstore. He stayed behind to collect extra programs and begin cleaning up. How much time did she need?
* * *
Two days later, Darien was still wondering about this question. It was Sunday, and he had spent the morning finishing a draft of his paper on Harlem Renaissance iconography for his Critical Studies in the Visual Arts class. The rest of the day would be spent getting ready for his exhibit.
The exhibit wasn’t for school, but at least two of his professors were coming, including his prospectus advisor, who would be giving him ideas for his prospectus and final exhibition based on this showing. Some pieces that weren’t sold might even go into his final exhibition.
At the same time, he was hoping that the showing would give him some exposure. To that end, he’d taken out ads in three papers, two magazines and two theater programs. He’d also made and copied flyers that he was going to start putting up today, and he’d even had postcards printed that he’d been giving out here and there for a few weeks.
He spent the early part of the afternoon selecting pieces and building bases, but he needed more supplies, so he wrapped up what he was doing and changed to go out. He brought postcards and flyers with him and went to pick up his little brother.
“Where are we off to?” Lawrence asked.
“A little bit of everywhere. But the first stop is the fabric store.”
“Fabric?”
“I need material and batting for backdrops.”
“Okay. I can help with that. What next?”
“Next,” Darien said, “is the h
ardware store for heavy-gauge wire and picture hangers, platforms of some kind, some extra lighting.”
“Have you started working on the location as yet?”
“No, that comes at the end—next week. It’ll take at least two days to install the whole thing, assuming I can get some help.”
Lawrence looked out the window as if occupied. Darien knuckled his head and then started to pull it down for more.
“All right,” Lawrence said. “I’ll help.”
“I’m borrowing the van, the ladder and a couple of moving dollies from the Heritage Center. We should be able to make out. I’ll be forever grateful.”
“I wouldn’t leave you stranded.”
Darien didn’t take too long in the fabric store, despite his brother’s meandering. Lawrence found a piece of hot-pink fabric with sequins and held it up against his chest.
“I can see Safire in this,” he said. “How are things with her? You know she came and spoke to us at the gala.”
Darien grimaced and nodded. “No sequins. I mostly need basic colors—black, white, beige, fire-engine red, sky blue, ocean cobalt, grass green. Oh, and some African prints.”
“I’d have guessed that,” Lawrence said. “But you didn’t answer my question.”
“Not well. Now, focus.”
“Want to talk to baby brother about it?”
Darien looked at his brother. “Not now, but thank you. Is there anything you need to tell your big brother about? Anyone?”
Lawrence exhaled and hung his head down. “No, not right now. I guess I wanted to live vicariously through you for a little bit.”
“We’ll have to change that,” Darien said. “But for now—” he tapped a bolt of fabric “—come on. We have a dozen stops to make.”
Lawrence fluffed a shaggy orange fabric, and Darien shook his head. He wasn’t going to get very far if he waited on his little brother to make selections. He finally started handing Lawrence the bolts that he wanted and had Lawrence take them to the counter for cutting. He saved time that way, and Lawrence didn’t need to concentrate when his mind was elsewhere.
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