by Donna Hill
Young women dragged reluctant toddlers with one hand and pushed strollers with the other, heading toward the hope of something better, immune to the "hey, babies" that trailed their sashays, having heard it far too often and knowing that no one called them baby and meant it. Only their own daddies, who were more hope than reality.
Two ree Movies with Membership flashed obscenely in the window of the video store, hoping to entice the passersby. But these people who bartered for their daily existence knew that nothing in life was free and continued on their way.
Nick put the Navigator in Park, and peered through the passenger window at his possible future.
"Plenty of foot traffic," Parris said, trying to sound hopeful over the rumble of a delivery truck that banged down the tattered blacktop.
Just then a burgundy Jaguar pulled up and parked in front of them. The driver stepped out. Assurance and a sense of entitlement dressed the woman, who clearly was not of the neighborhood. Honey-blond hair framed a peaches-and-cream complexion, her cheeks a pale red from the slap of cold air. She looked neither left nor right as she walked straight to the storefront and stood sentinel. Her bearing and oversized Kate Spade purse were her only weapons against the odd looks tossed her way. The platinum of her watch caught the rays of the sun. Her lips pinched into a thin line that dared someone to cross them. But her green eyes belied the outward confidence. They jumped and darted at every puff of smoke, burst of laughter and flow of curses.
"That must be her," Nick said. He hopped out and came around to open Parris's door then set the alarm. They approached and the wary eyes took on an almost feral glare, fingers clutching her purse a little tighter.
"'Morning. I'm Nick Hunter. And this is Parris McKay."
He extended his hand and the tight lines around her mouth slowly dissolved. A smile of welcome relief stretched across her mouth, revealing perfect off-white teeth.
"So glad to meet you. I'm Celeste Shaw." She shook each of their hands and registered the look of apprehension in their eyes. She needed this sale, this way of proving herself separate from her socialite mother and money broker father. Corrine and Ellis Shaw deplored the notion that their Ivy League daughter, who they'd spent a fortune educating and grooming, had reduced her potential to this lowly lifestyle. And Celeste relished their disdain. "Before you say anything, I know the neighborhood isn't the best. But the entire area is slated for revitalization. The developers have already begun buying up the vacant property. In another five years you won't recognize the place."
As if that's a good thing, Nick thought but didn't say. Just like you couldn't recognize most of Harlem these days. The verve and vitality, the thing that gave Harlem its rhythm, had been replaced with superstores and condos, and people who made more money than most black folk ever dreamed of. What she meant, but didn't dare say, was a new Harlem. A Harlem that was safe for folks who looked like her, who could take over the historic brownstones, add outdoor cafes and coffee shops, get rid of mom-and-pop stores and replace them with stores where no one knew your name and didn't care to find out. Nick had other plans. "Let's take a look."
"Great," Celeste answered, beaming. She dug into her overpriced purse to retrieve the keys. "So how do you know Leslie?" she asked into the depths of her bag.
"Leslie and I met about a year ago when I managed a club called Downbeat. She did some renovations for us."
"Leslie is a doll."
"How do you know Leslie?" he asked, curious about the odd-couple combination. Leslie Evans was a product of the notorious Red Hook projects in Brooklyn, raised by a single mother, and the polar opposite of this ultrathin, Upper East Side pampered diva who slummed in her off hours to rid herself of echelon guilt.
"Leslie and I met during a theater class in the Village about ten years ago and we clicked." She looked up with the most endearing smile on her face, holding up the keys like a prize. "Sometimes you meet people that change your life. That's what Leslie did for me." She turned, fumbled with the rusty lock and finally got it open.
"Here, let me do that."
Nick came around her to lift the heavy metal gate. He pushed it up above their heads and Celeste opened what used to be a glass door. She went in first.
"I know it's not much to look at but it has plenty of potential."
Celeste crossed the open space of the entryway into the dusty dankness of the interior, knocking a cobweb out of her way without flinching. That earned points with Nick.
Big black garbage bags of refuse sat like brooding Buddas along a peeling wall that might have been tan at one time. A horseshoe-shaped bar held countless stories of days gone by. Wobbly wooden tables that were once draped with revelers sat forlorn, surrounded by empty seats filled now with the ghosts of the past.
You could almost hear the raucous laughter over the sound of clinking glasses and the four-piece combo; smell the scent of expensive perfumes and manly colognes, accenting the well-heeled crowd. The long necks arched in laughter while thick fingers sought soft skin and a chance for a little more with the right turn of phrase...you sure look good tonight...and a glass of something warm and dark...another one for the lady...to wash it down easy.
Nick drifted through the space, absorbing the memories, the melody, not seeing the disrepair or the angst of what was, but what he knew it could be.
Celeste started toward him. "There's a full kitchen in the back and a large storage room. And as I mentioned the price is right. With renovations this could be a treasure. And--"
He held up his hand to stop her talk and approach. He wanted to do this alone, not distracted by the practiced come-on, but seduced by things she couldn't possibly see or know.
Celeste, pink-faced, stopped in midstep. She knew she sounded naive but she did believe that in the right hands and with enough work this forgotten wasteland could really be something.
"How many people have you shown this to?" Parris asked as Nick disappeared in the back.
Celeste hitched her purse higher up on her shoulder. "Mr. Hunter is only the second one," she admitted. "The first guy never got past the entrance. He took one look and walked away." She sputtered a nervous laugh, her cheeks warming. "I'm still kind of new at this," she confessed.
"Although it's not my decision to make, I agree with you. It has potential."
Celeste brightened. "You really think so?"
Parris cocked a brow and a half smile. "Don't you?"
Celeste blushed. "Yes, I really think so and I'm sure Leslie would love to get her hands on this place." She caught herself and looked at Parris. "I mean if he takes it. I don't want you to think..."
Parris gently placed her hand on Celeste's shoulder. "Relax." She bent close. "It'll be fine."
A flash of gratitude settled the lines of worry around Celeste's eyes that allowed Parris to see beyond the armor of her designer suit and the odor of money that held lesser ones at bay, to a vulnerable young woman who was as uncertain about what she was doing as Parris was. The clothes, the car and the practiced attitude of superiority were all part of the elaborate camouflage of one who needed props to help them be somebody. Stripped away of artifice, Celeste Shaw was as ordinary as anyone else.
"Do you live in the city?" Celeste asked, city being the euphemism for Manhattan.
"Yes and no."
Brows rose in query.
"I'm sort of staying with Nick...temporarily until I can find a place."
"Oh, I see."
But Parris knew that she didn't see. No one would. They would all assume that something was going on. That at night they slipped into each other's bed, shared hot, wet kisses in a tangle of arms and legs, hers spread to give him room. And they'd cry out each other's names in a language that only they could understand. That's what everyone would think. And she would look only at the ground when she came out in the morning barely saying hello to the neighbors who sat in judgment about things they didn't know.
"Roommates?"
Parris's neck burned. The heat rose to h
er cheeks. "Yes, roommates." She should go find Nick.
"I got the impression it was more than that."
"Why!" Her voice crested in agitation. "Is it so hard to believe that a man and woman can share a space and not be involved?"
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply anything. Sometimes I talk before I think. Bad habit." She drew in a breath and released her apology. "It's just that the way you are with each other." With a short huff she adjusted her bag again as if it had gained weight.
The words were delivered as a statement of fact. An undeniable truth, direct and sincere, leaving Parris no choice but to accept it. In doing so she allowed a seed of trust to take root.
"Why do you say that?"
Celeste glanced up. She looked Parris directly in the eyes, so intensely that Parris took an involuntary step back. "The way you move in unison, but still apart. You're together and still give each other space. Symbiotic." The corner of her thin mouth jerked in time to the shrug of her shoulder. "A vibe, that's all." She began foraging around in her purse again.
"What are you looking for?" she asked, amusement in each distinct word.
Celeste flushed. "Truthfully? Nothing really. I always start digging in my bag when I'm nervous and blurt out stupid crap that's none of my business."
The guileless confession reached down inside Parris and wiggled around between her ribs until she broke out in bottomless laughter. The sound was so sudden and alive that it leaped into Celeste's opened mouth of surprise.
Their laughter rippled and danced the two-step around the overturned chairs and tables, doubling them over from the simple pleasure of it.
"What's so funny?" Nick looked from one face to the other--both were almost identical in joy.
Their laughter simmered to bursts of bubbles as they sniffed and wiped damp eyes.
"I don't know," they said in unison, looked at each other and took up the chorus again.
Nick shook his head. "Some kind of woman thing," he muttered.
"Ooooh, whew." Parris dabbed at her damp eyes.
"I haven't had a good one like that in ages." Celeste sniffed. "Humph." She drew in a breath to steady herself then turned her amused gaze on Nick. "What do you think?"
He took a step over to Parris, who was slowly pulling herself together, and looked down at her a moment before sliding his arm possessively around her waist. She gazed up at him, her brows knitted in question. Nick focused on Celeste.
"We'll take it."
It took every ounce of self-discipline and years of "coming out" classes and daily admonishments from her mother on proper decorum to keep Celeste from leaping right up in Nick's arms.
"You're sure?" she asked instead of something appropriate to the joy of her first sale.
"Yes, very sure."
Parris's subtle "I told you so" smile settled the raging butterflies and confirmed that his answer was real and not imagined.
"I'll get the papers drawn up and give you a call when they're ready." She stuck out her hand. "Congratulations." She pumped his hand. "It shouldn't take more than a week."
"Great."
Parris leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "Congratulations," she whispered. "I think it's perfect."
His gaze dipped into her soul and stirred it. "So do I."
Celeste stood a bit to the side, watching the exchange, nothing sexual but more intimate than if they'd stripped bare for each other. It was natural and easy and she envied the moment. She and Clinton Avery had been a couple for three years. They were engaged to be married and never in all that time did she ever feel what she felt in Nick and Parris's presence.
The sudden realization startled her before settling down to an acute sadness. Her life had been spent in the requisite two-parent home. Anything she'd ever wanted was hers for simply being the only daughter of Corrine and Ellis Shaw. Although she'd been showered with clothes, the best education, the right friends, cars and money, affection--at least outward affection--had been missing.
But until now she didn't know or care. Her parents never touched or passed soft looks between them and she mimicked their life with her own. And it was then that something flared inside her. An emotion so foreign she couldn't give it a name. She'd never wanted for anything in her life. But she wanted what they had. She wanted to know what it felt like to have someone look at her with adoration--not possession--to hold her as if she might break, not because it looked good on camera. She wanted laughter to bubble up like uncorked champagne, not the artificial sound of practiced humor with delicate hands covering mouths. Laughter like the kind she'd shared with Parris and sometimes Leslie. And she thought perhaps being with them, that what they had, the magic that she coveted, could be hers, too.
They both turned toward her and the spell was broken. Celeste blinked away the hunger in her eyes and spoke into her purse.
"If you're done looking around I guess we can go." She glanced up.
Nick checked his watch. "Wow, I didn't realize how late it was." He turned to Parris. "I need to catch up with Sammy. I can drop you off at the apartment if you want."
Samuel "Sammy" Blackstone was one of Nick's best friends and a member of the band since its inception. Their years together dated back further than either could remember. They each had a different version of how they'd met that varied with the occasion and the company they were in.
"If you're in a hurry I can take Parris. If it's okay," she said to Parris.
"Sure, if you don't mind." Parris offered a smile of surprised gratitude.
"Not a problem."
They walked out, almost in step.
Chapter Four
Parris settled herself into the lush interior of the Jaguar that still smelled like the showroom. "This was really nice of you to drive me."
"It's not a problem. I'm done for today."
"I'm pretty much on my own, too."
Celeste flashed her a look as she pulled out into traffic. "Hungry?"
"Starved."
They laughed in time to a Billy Joel tune that Parris realized she liked.
The wind had kicked up a notch and the clouds overhead were thick pearl-gray threats by the time they found a parking spot at Amsterdam Avenue and 110th Street. They stepped out of the cozy warmth of the car and the easy conversation into the backhand of cold air that lifted skirts and sent cigarette butts flipping and tumbling down the street like untrained acrobats.
Parris pulled the collar of her short wool jacket up around her neck. Even though she'd lived in New York for a few years, she still hadn't gotten used to the onset of the bitter winters and days so cold that people could actually freeze to death on the street. Those lost souls, whose only source of warmth was the grates that covered the underground railroad, a macabre symbol of freedom in a way that could be as treacherous as lifesaving. Ironic if you thought about it.
Celeste hooked her arm through Parris's as if they were good old best girlfriends and led her toward Mira's, a bistro where students from Columbia University hung out between classes.
The heavy glass-and-wood door swooshed closed behind them, securing them in a warm vacuum. Voices buzzed and forks clinked against plates at tables populated by bespectacled and studious types mixed in with those who wandered the halls of ivy simply because they could afford to do so.
The air held the aroma of well-done burgers and fries drowned in ketchup, and there were conversations of politics, unreasonable professors, ski junkets to Aspen, celebrity falls from grace and dreams of summer.
"Stay or go?" a worn-out-looking waitress asked.
"Staying," Celeste said.
"Right this way." She led them around the table to a vacant two-seater in the rear, giving them a bird's-eye view of the comings and goings.
Parris and Celeste shrugged out of their coats and settled into their seats.
The reluctant hostess placed two plastic-coated menus in front of them. "Someone will take your orders shortly."
Celeste leaned across the ta
ble, her voice a pseudo whisper. "The food is much better than the service. I promise. I used to come here when I was an undergrad. Not much has changed." She opened her menu.
"You attended Columbia?"
Celeste nodded. "Yep. Class of '02. Barely," she added with a wink.
"I sense there's a story behind that." Parris checked out the menu while waiting for Celeste's response.
"Let's just say that my stay at Columbia was checkered at best. I could have been a good student but I didn't need to be. My parents paid for one of the libraries, the Shaw Research Center."
Parris's eyes widened. "Oh."
"Hmm. So needless to say many of my professors turned a blind eye to my barely passing grades and missing reports, excessive absences..."
Parris's sense of perfect pitch registered that the cavalier statement held undertones of melancholy and possibly regret. She angled her head to the side. "Why, Celeste? I mean, so many people would love the chance to go to a university like Columbia."
Celeste sighed and put down the menu that separated them. "I've asked myself that question a million times." She raised and lowered her shoulders while slowly shaking her head, the combination an outward display of her inner confusion.
"Any answers?"
"What can I get you ladies?" the waitress asked, cutting off Celeste's response.
"The burgers are the best," Celeste recommended.
"Fine. I'll have mine medium well with cheddar cheese and a side of fries."
"Make that two."
The waitress picked up the menus with a promise that the wait would not be long.