Another Man Will (23 page)

C
HAPTER
41

Yvette

Y
ou never knew what to expect when delivering packages; every day it was something new and crazy. There were so many holiday shipments. That kept us busy and made the day go by fast. I'd seen some interesting things happen on this job. Who knew that people sent drugs through the mail? Last week this man shipped two pounds of weed and got busted when he signed his name. The police were waiting for him. I didn't even know I was part of a sting operation and they were watching me make my delivery. Then there were so many crooked people in the world: neighbors signing for packages and then telling their neighbor it never came. And between the fraud and the drug bust, we had the bad kids throwing rocks at us. But the job was not all bad, because since I'd been jumping on and off this work truck, going up steps, and lifting boxes, I'd gone down a size.

Even though it was not the best job, I thought just leaving the house every day was so refreshing. I'd been so busy, I hadn't even thought about Phil. When I got enough money, I was going to hire an attorney. I didn't forget about my money, but I wasn't letting it run my life anymore.

Kirk and I had a delivery of nine big boxes to Lena's Soul Food on Germantown Avenue, and there weren't any available parking spaces. Kirk double-parked, blocking the narrow, heavily trafficked street. I raised the door, stacked the packages on a dolly, and pushed them into the dimly lit restaurant. Inside were about a dozen prelunch customers scattered throughout the establishment. I walked over to the hostess's desk.

“I have packages for Mr. William Nelson.”

The thin hostess told me she would be right back to get the owner to sign for the delivery. An older, well-dressed man came out from the back.

“I need your signature here, sir.”

“Oh, these are my new light fixtures I've been waiting for, now?” he said as he instructed the hostess to count the boxes. Then he attempted to lift one of the boxes up and then placed it back down. “Wow, these are heavy. I can't believe they got women lifting these big boxes now? Do you know how many boxes I am supposed to have?”

“You have nine boxes and, yes, they do have us ladies lifting boxes and stuff now and, by the way, did you know we can vote now, too?”

He laughed and said, “I should have eleven boxes, miss.”

I looked down and realized two boxes were missing, and he was right. “I see that; I'll be back. Let me go to the truck and check.”

I went back out to the truck and told Kirk we were missing boxes. He got off his ass and located them all the way in the rear. I walked back in with the two packages, and the hostess said the owner would be right back out. I looked down at my watch—it was time to go and he needed to hurry up.

“So have you ever ate here before?” the hostess asked as she wiped off menus. I told her no. I wasn't with the small talk; I was just trying to get to the next delivery. “You should come here for lunch one day. We have really good food.”

“Yeah, maybe one day I'll try it. Uhm, do you know how much longer it will be?”

“I'll go check for you.”

 

 

Ten more minutes passed, and I was still waiting for a signature. The owner came back out, carrying two hot plates of food, and told me he would be right with me. He delivered the food to a table and then said, “Where do you need me to sign, pretty lady?”

“Right here would be good.”

“I'm so sorry for having you wait. But come check us out sometime. On Wednesdays we have a live band and fifty-cent buffalo shrimps and wings. Take a menu.”

“Okay, I will.”

I finally made it back to the truck.

“What took you so long? You know we got all these other deliveries, and your phone keeps ringing,” Kirk grouched.

“The owner had me waiting for his signature.”

Kirk cranked the diesel engine back up, and my phone began ringing again. I grabbed it out of my bag, only to hear Brandon yell, “Mom, these boys keep bothering me. I'm trying to do the right thing, but I'm about to really go off on one them. It's Semaj and these other two boys.”

“Ignore them, Brandon. Don't get in trouble again. Just go to the office and talk to the principal.”

“Mom, I'm really trying. I don't want to get suspended again, but if they swing on me, then I'm going to defend myself . . .”

“Brandon, just go to the office. I'm calling up there now.”

“Okay, Mom I'm going there.” I felt a sense of peace that he was on his way to the office and had avoided a fight, or so I thought.

The next thing I knew, Brandon said they were coming up to him, and I heard kids in the background saying there was about to be a fight. I called his name, and the phone call ended. I called his school and they said they would call me back after they had everything under control.There was no way I could get off this truck and run to his school. This was a new job, and we were miles away from the distribution center, where my car was parked. I tried to call my dad, but he didn't answer, so then I dialed Dana and asked her to go get Brandon at school. Her phone rang and rang and tears dripped down my cheek. I was so angry and felt so stuck and then Dana answered.

“Hello, Dana, I can't leave work. Brandon was in a fight. Can you please go up to his school? These boys keep bothering him.”

“Don't worry. I'll go up there. No one is going to touch my nephew. I'll call you when I get there.”

C
HAPTER
42

Dana

Y
vette called me, crying hysterically, asking me if I could go to Brandon's school, because he was in a fight and these boys wouldn't leave him alone.

I arrived at the busy school. The office phones were ringing, and the sound of students filled the hallway. I spotted Brandon.

“Nephew, are you okay? What's going on? Who were you fighting?”

“I'm okay. These bulls just be talking crazy, and I had to let them know that I will fight all of them.”

Just as he was explaining to me what had happened, I heard a student who was sitting at the opposite end of the office say, “Look at him. Got his mommy to save him. He don't know I beat people's moms' ass, too!” I turned around to see who he was talking to.

“Excuse me. Who are you talking to, little boy?” I said.

As clear as day he looked over at me and said, “You bitch.”

I looked around the office to see if some authority figure was watching or had heard what he'd just said, and before I could respond, Brandon was on the boy, punching him in his head.

“Don't be calling my auntie out of her name. Bull, I warned you.” I struggled to pull Brandon off of my verbal attacker. Security came up, and suddenly all the adults in the school office were paying attention.

“What kind of school is this?” I yelled as I held on to my out-of-control nephew, who was still swinging.

“Ma'am, calm down. We have everything under control,” a man said as they gathered the other boys and pulled them out of the office.

“Well, it sure doesn't seem like it. That boy just verbally attacked me and threatened my nephew! So don't tell me to calm down. This is a disgrace.”

“Ma'am I'm sorry you feel that way. I'm Mr. Walker, the vice principal. Please step in my office.” I followed him, and I remained standing.

“What kind of insane asylum are you running, Mr. Walker?”

“We didn't allow Brandon to be attacked. I believe the altercation is stemming from some ongoing disagreement. Brandon, what is going on with you and Semaj?”

“Man, he keeps saying things to me every day, and I've tried to ignore him, but he wanted to fight me, and he thought because he had Jahlil and Damon with him, I was going to back down.”

“Brandon, you're going to have to find another way. All this fighting could get you suspended, if not expelled,” Mr. Walker replied.

“They attacked my nephew! You're not going to suspend him for defending himself.”

“I didn't say I was going to suspend him. I said he could be suspended. Because Brandon was not the aggressor, he won't be. However, in the future, Brandon, you will have to try to stay out of these types of situations.”

Brandon nodded. “I know. I tried, Mr. Walker. That's why I called my mom, and I was on my way to the office when they came at me.”

“But you have to control your anger,” Mr. Walker advised. “Some people make me mad every day, but I can't go around knocking and punching people out. If I did, I wouldn't be able to be here, because I'd be in jail. So what you have to do is learn to control your anger and attitude. Because this is high school, and it's time to be responsible and start thinking about your future. What do you want to do when you graduate?”

Brandon looked at him with a straight face and said, “I was thinking about going pro playing either basketball or football.”

“Basketball or football, Brandon?” I looked over at my nephew. I didn't want to break his poor little heart, but the last time I saw him on the court, he wasn't that good. Especially not good enough to play professionally.

I guessed I wasn't the only disgusted person in the room. Mr. Walker closed his office door and said, “Brandon, that sounds good, but you always have to have a backup plan. Just in case something goes wrong. What else would you like to do?”

“I don't like to do anything besides hang with my friends and play ball.”

“Brandon, you're interested in other things, right?” I asked.

“No, all I want to do is either be a basketball or a football player, or maybe a rapper.”

A rapper? Really, Brandon?
I thought as I became alarmed. I couldn't believe that my nephew had the same dumb fantasy as a million other little black boys.

“Again, that sounds good, but what are some other possible career choices, other than in the entertainment field?” Mr. Walker asked.

Brandon shrugged. “I just really want to make a lot of money, and I know football and basketball players make money.”

“But attorneys make money, and so do doctors,” Mr. Walker pointed out. “They make a lot of money, and their careers are longer, because they can't get cut because of an injury or because they are not fast enough. My brother Micah is a neurosurgeon. Do you know what kind of doctor that is?”

“ No.”

“Well, he is a doctor that operates on his patients' brains, and he makes more money than most football players.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. How about you start hanging out with me on Saturdays, so I can introduce you to my brother and people like him so you can get some other ideas of what you might want to do? How does that sound?”

Brandon nodded. “I guess all right. How long do you have to go school to be a doctor?”

“Well, you have four years of college then four years of medical school. Then you have your residency. Maybe ten years give or take a few, but then you have a career for a lifetime.”

“Okay, I want to meet your brother, but I have to ask my mom.”

“Okay, we will arrange it.”

“His mother won't mind. He can attend. Thank you for inviting him, Mr. Walker.”

I was really impressed with Mr. Walker. He was able to get Brandon thinking in a matter of minutes. Brandon wasn't going to be suspended and I could return to work.

“No, thank you. It takes a village, right? I'm glad you were able to come up and support your nephew,” he said, smiling as he looked over at me and then back over at Brandon. “You'd be surprised how many times you call a student's house and no one shows up.”

“No, we won't do that in my family. Any problems, just call me and I'll be right up.”

“I'm not even going to have to call your aunt, am I, Brandon?” Mr. Walker asked.

“No,” Brandon assured him.

“No, what, Brandon?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, it was very nice meeting you,” Mr. Walker said.

“Likewise. Again, any issues, call me. His mother is working, and I might be able to respond quicker,” I said and gave him my card.

“Will do. Brandon, walk your aunt to the door, and come back to the office so I can write you a note to go back to class.”

C
HAPTER
43

Dana

“G
ood morning. May I have Dana Turner, please?” “This is she.”

“Yes, this is Mr. Walker, from your nephew's school.”

“Is he in trouble again?” I sighed.

“No, not this time. As a matter of fact, I haven't had any issues with Brandon since we met. He's been stopping in my office, and we've been talking about things. I was calling to see if you were interested in participating in a career day panel of women in business for our young ladies. I saw that you are a marketing executive on your business card and, well, our girls need to see examples of successful women.”

“Of course. What do I need to do or bring?”

“Not much. I just want our students to get an idea of what your everyday workday is like for you, and you could possibly just answer a few questions.”

I wrote the time and date down and thanked him for inviting me. I guess I could give the students a few hours of my day.

I remembered career day when I was in school. It was just an opportunity to get dressed up, not to have to go to class, and be bored to death by peoples' parents talking about their job. I hoped my job was interesting enough to keep the students' attention.

The Career Day was set up in the large library of the school. On my panel there was an attorney, a police officer, and a veterinarian. We all spoke about what we did and then the students were able to ask us questions. At first no one asked any questions, then a young lady stood up and said, “I want to know: are y'all rich and what kind of cars do you drive?”

The other women on the panel didn't answer, so I took the microphone and responded. “What's your name?” I asked.

“Charae.”

“Okay, Charae, to answer your first questions, I do make a very good living and I drive a nice car, but I'm not rich.” I heard someone yell out if you're not rich then you're poor, and the other students started laughing. I laughed a little because it was funny.

“My job is to make you want to buy something I'm selling.” I looked at the audience of attentive students and asked Charae to come up to the front of the library. She walked up to me, and I picked up a thick book I saw to the side of me. “Now, what I want you to do is sell me this book.”

She bent over and laughed nervously and said, “Hold on, okay? Hold up. What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to tell me why I should buy this book, why I have to have it, and make me want to buy it.”

She spoke into the microphone. “You should buy this book because it is nice and it is thick and it's green.”

“Now, that was good, Charae. How many people would buy Charae's book?” A few students raised their hands. “Now, let me show you how I would sell this book. I would say, ‘Charae, you need this book. It has four hundred and thirty-six pages. Have you ever had a book with this many pages? Do you know how much you will learn with this text compared to other books? This book is green and goes exactly with your beautiful eyes. Charae, this book is made for you.' Now, would you buy my book?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you made me think I needed it.”

“Exactly. Good job. Everyone, give Charae a round of applause.” Charae walked back to her seat, and other students' hands shot up. I tried to answer as many questions as I could before the next guest took over.

After my panel I walked to my table, where two young ladies were waiting to speak to me. Both were pretty and innocent looking. One was short, had light brown skin, and had her hair up in a long ponytail. Her browner, taller friend wore her hair in two French braids with a headband over them. I smiled, ready to answer all their marketing career questions.

“So how are you ladies doing?”

“We're fine,” the taller girl said. “We just wanted to come over and tell you we liked your speech and wanted to tell you that your hair is cute.”

The shorter girl asked, “What kind of hair is it?” It was not a question I was expecting, but at least I had people interested in me. The veterinarian was typing into her phone, waiting for someone to talk to her.

“Well, thank you again. It's a Remi Loose Deep Wave.”

“So, like, is it fun at your job, selling stuff, and do you get dressed up every day?” the taller girl asked.

“I do, and it's fun most of the time.”

“It seems like it is, and I like your shoes, too. My cousin got the same kind. They are Jessica Simpsons, right?” said the shorter girl.

“Yes, they are.”

“I told you,” she whispered to her friend.

I answered every question they had about my career and style until they ran out of them. By that time Mr. Walker had approached the table, clapping his hands lightly.

“Bravo, Miss Turner. You were great. I'll buy whatever you are selling.”

“Thanks. It is my job.”

“I just had a young lady come up to me, saying, ‘Mr. Walker, I think I want to be a marketing executive.' ”

“That's great.”

“I'm sure this morning, before you came, she didn't know what a marketing executive was. And now she does. People do not realize the importance of seeing a visual in front of them,” he said.

“That's good. You're making me feel like I did something special today.”

“You did, you really did, and I'd like to thank you. If you are not busy, I would like to invite to you one of my Temple alumni events, Real Men Sizzle, next Saturday.”

“Oh, I've heard of that event. I'll try to make it. I'll bring my boyfriend,” I said.

“Great. I'll expect you, then. And I will e-mail you with all the details.”

“Thank you. I'll look for it. And right now I'm going to sneak out and go back to work,” I said. Mr. Walker thanked me again for coming, and I began making my way out of the school.

 

 

Adam had plans to go see his sister Melissa in a play already, so I dragged Tiffany to the Real Men Sizzle event. The event was held at the African American Museum. There were photos and artwork of different eras of black history on the walls.

We walked in and I immediately spotted Mr. Walker. He looked so handsome and refined. His creamy whipped-mousse brown skin was flawless.

I waved to him. He began walking in our direction. He was wearing a taupe suede jacket, with a peach shirt underneath.

“That's Brandon's principal.”

“Wow, he is cute,” Tiffany said.

“Thank you for coming, Ms. Turner. Make sure you get some of this good food.”

“We will, and you're welcome. I'm a person of my word, and I have to support you, because my sister said she can see a change in Brandon already. Mr. Walker, this is my friend Tiffany. She is also an educator.”

“Where?” he asked.

“Smedley Elementary in South Philly,” Tiffany told him.

“I used to be in that district. I taught at Bryant. I enjoyed it, but I wanted to make a difference on a broader level. Eventually, I want to start my own school or nonprofit,” he revealed.

“So you really want to save the world?” Tiffany laughed.

“You could say that, one kid at a time. I don't subscribe to the whole ‘I made it, I'm good, and forget everyone else' mentality.”

Tiffany nodded. “I say that, too, but then I look at my paycheck and say, ‘Is it all worth it?' ”

“Of course it is worth it. You make a difference every day. My parents were educators. They didn't make a lot of money, but they stressed that education was everything.” He paused for a moment. “It is not about us. You really can't have the mind-set ‘I have mine.' No, because what will happen is the same kid that you didn't help will hit you in your head in ten years and rob you. I don't know—maybe it is me, but I can't eat in front of a hungry man.”

Tiffany nodded again. “I agree.”

“One of my brothers is a surgeon, my sister is completing her law degree, and my baby brother is a freshman at Morehouse.”

“Your parents must be proud to have four successful children. How did they get all of you to do well?” Tiffany asked.

“No sports or outside activities until our school work was done. And it paid off. They raised us to make a difference. My attitude is this: I can easily get my corporate six-figure job.” He looked over at me and gave me the eye. “No offense, Ms. Turner.”

“Mr. Walker, none taken. I don't exactly make six figures yet.” I laughed.

Then he continued on. I wanted to scream,
Can I be part of the conversation?
They were going back and forth about theories and solutions to the problems with education, and I couldn't add anything to the conversation.

“I'll be back,” he finally said, placing his hand on the small of my back. Moments later he returned with a gorgeous caramel-skinned man.

“Ladies, this is my very good friend, Jacob Price. He is one of the city's best attorneys. If you ever get into a situation, you should give him a call.”

“We try to stay out of trouble,” Tiffany joked.

“That's true, but sometimes trouble can find you.” Mr. Walker's handsome friend reached in his suit pocket and handed us both his business card.

After some small talk Jacob began filling us in on his last horrible relationship and how he was looking for a girlfriend. But it was hard for him to date with his long hours. I couldn't imagine why he was single; he was perfect.

Tiffany whispered to me, “Oh my God I'm in love.”

I said, “Me too.”

I wasn't sure who he was interested in, but then he made his move on Tiffany. He looked in her direction and asked, “So, do you think we can go out and see a movie or whatever you like?”

“Sure, okay. When?”

“Whenever; give me a call any night, but Thursdays I teach a law class at CCP, so any other night.”

“Okay, sounds good.” Tiffany smiled, and Jacob walked away. As soon as he was a couple of feet away, Tiffany ripped up his card.

“Why did you do that?”

“Because, I don't need any temptation. I don't want to cheat. Where was he when I was single and alone?”

“So you are not single anymore?”

“No, I am not. Solomon and I had the conversation, right after his grandmother's funeral. How about you and Adam?”

“Well, we never had the talk, but I'm there all the time, and he introduced me to his mom and his sisters as his girlfriend, so I guess I'm his girlfriend.”

“Well, isn't this amazing? The two single girls both have men, and now we are at an event with a room full of all these good-looking, successful black men in suits.”

“Tiffany, I was sitting here thinking the same thing,” I said as I looked around the room.

“And they're not married, either. I've been doing hand scans, and no rings. I've never seen so many men I would date in one room. We were looking in all the wrong places. Shit. Don't we have some girlfriends to call to tell them to get down here right now? And Brandon's principal, he is great. Whew, that man looks good.”

“Yeah, he is a good-looking man,” I said, inhaling all of him from across the room.

Throughout the evening Mr. Walker came to check up on Tiffany and me, making sure we were comfortable.

“Thank you for inviting me out, Mr. Walker,” I told him when Tiffany and I were getting ready to leave.

“I'm glad you were able to make it. Uh, Ms. Turner, I know I'm being a little forward, but is it possible for me to see you again, outside of Brandon and school?”

“No, I'm sorry. I'm involved. But thank you.”