How Stella Got Her Groove Back (39 page)

“I’ll drive,” he says, and we walk slowly toward the house and when we get inside the door we both stop and sort of just stand there and look at each other and then we both get this dorky look on our faces like What do we do now? I really do want to make love to him but I don’t want to act too eager like I can’t help myself plus he should be tired but then again he’s young so maybe he isn’t. Relax, Stella. He’s here for three whole weeks.

“I should get my bags,” he says.

“Want me to help you?”

“No. They’re heavy. Would you have any tea?”

“Tea?”

“Yes, you know, tea?”

“Sure, I’ve got all kinds of tea. What kind do you want?”

“I don’t care, Stella. Any kind.”

“Well, if you’re going to be this easy to please, you can stay awhile.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he says and makes his way out toward the garage while I boil water. When he comes back I let the tea brew and follow him back into my room, where I stand in front of the dresser.

“You can have these two drawers,” I say.

“You actually cleared these out for me, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” I say, sitting on the edge of the bed. It is a simple platform bed and very low to the floor, so I am kind of leaning back on it. The sun is setting and is casting a sort of yellowish hue over the salmon walls, which is actually very pretty, and the room is beginning to turn the color of a ripe cantaloupe.

“This floor
is
purple, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“And so is the one in the room next to it, right?”

“Yes, they are. This wood’s from Africa and it’s called purple heart and the stuff on my office floor is just plain old leather.”

“A leather floor?”

“Yep. It’s been done before. Believe me.”

When I see him hold up a suit, I walk him to the closet and point to an empty area. “You can hang all your stuff there.”

“All I brought was one suit. Will I need more?”

I smile. He is so sweet. “No, I don’t think you’ll need more than this one. How many suits do you have, Winston?”

“You’re looking at it,” he says and cracks up. “I don’t go to very many formal affairs, you know.”

“Not to worry, bud.”

We stop in the bathroom. The ceiling is yellow plaster and curves like the top of a tunnel. “Boy, do you have unusual taste,” he says. “I’ve never seen any of this stuff before. Ever. Aren’t those sinks glass?”

“Yep.”

“And are those seashells in the countertop or am I just imagining it?”

“No. They’re there.”

“This is some house you have here. I’m serious.”

“Well, I’m glad you like my home, Winston, and while you’re here, please live in it like it’s yours, because it is.”

“Thank you, Stella,” he says and pecks me on the nose. “I’m just a little overwhelmed by it all, you know.”

“That makes two of us.”

“So can we like just stop moving for a minute or two?”

“We certainly can,” I say, pointing to the door. “In or out?”

“Right here is fine,” he says, and we lie on our backs on the bed and watch the ceiling fan spin and Winston’s feet are touching the floor and mine hang over the edge and I feel my fingers walk over the puffy comforter squares and I take his hand in mine and hold it. We lie like this for a long time and it is so nice to share the silence with a man to meet one who appreciates the calm and then it seems like just as I am thinking how nice it would be to roll over into his arms Winston pulls me over on top of him and puts his arms around me and kisses me and I kiss him back and he says, “I’m so glad to see you.”

And I say, “I’m glad to see you too.”

“I can’t believe I’m here,” he says.

“But you
are
here,” I say.

“Yes, I am,” he says. “Sooo,” he says. “Are you ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“An evening swim.”

“You feel like swimming right now?” I ask.

“You got a problem with that?”

“Nope,” I say and sit up.

“But let’s swim in here first, if that’s okay with you.”

“No problem, mon,” I say, and slowly prepare myself for a swan dive.

“Y
OU SURE YOUR
sister’s going to accept me?”

“Winston, you can relax.”

“I
am
relaxed. I’m just wondering, you know.”

He is driving the truck and he is driving like he’s been here all his life. I am impressed. We pull up in front of Vanessa’s house, and Quincy and Chantel are in the driveway, chasing her two cats. “Mom! Win-ston! You’re here!” Quincy yells, and runs to give me a big hug and then he actually hugs Winston, who hugs him back. Chantel imitates Quincy’s moves.

“Where’s your mom?”

“Right here,” Vanessa says, coming out of the house with a bandanna tied around her head, looking even more like Pepa, and she is wearing tight bluejeans and supporting them rather nicely from every angle and the yellow print blouse is tied up front into a knot.

“Oh, hi, Cindy!” I greet her.

“Cindy?” She looks confused.

“Crawford, isn’t it?”

“You know where you can go, Stella. Don’t be so rude. Oh forget
you
. Now let me guess, you must be. . .”

He is blushing. “Winston.”

“And you’re from?”

“Jamaica,” he says.

“You’ve gotta be kidding!”

He is still blushing.

“How you doing, Winston? I’m Vanessa. Stella’s beautiful brilliant sister. Want to come in?”

“Not right now, babe,” I say. “We’re on our way to San Francisco.”

“Well, Quincy can stay here.”

“We want him to come with us,” Winston says. “And Chantel as well, if it’s all right.”

Vanessa is giving me the eye of approval behind his back and then she does a thumbs-up and now she’s making her lips pantomime, “You go, girl!” and I simply smirk. “Take her, keep her,” Vanessa says. “I’ve got about six loads of clothes in here and I’m barbecuing some steaks later. Do you like barbecue steaks, Winston?”

“Sure I do.”

“Then would you guys like to come back later for dinner?”

“Sounds good,” I say. “We’ll see you around fiveish.”

• • • •

First we go to the art store, where I don’t even want to think about how much money I spend on supplies: times change, prices go up, is one thing I know for sure. But it’s all good is what I’m thinking after we fill up the back of the truck, and I smile for a long time because it feels like Christmas and I can’t wait to open these gifts.

We spend all day on Pier 39 and take the ferry to Sausalito and skip Alcatraz and then we drive up and down San Francisco streets and after a couple of hours of this Winston says, “Stella, I don’t have to see the entire city today. Aren’t you tired?”

“Not really. I thought you wanted to see San Francisco.”

“I do, but not all in one day. I can always come back,” he says.

“I know. I just wanted to show you as much as I can while you’re here.”

“I want to see as much of
you
as I can while I’m here,” he says, and Ms. Nosy is all ears and eyes, but Quincy is staring out the window counting Volkswagen Bugs and yelling “Punchbuggy!” each time he sees one so he hasn’t heard a word we’ve said.

“I want you to see what’s available,” I say to Winston.

“I’ve already seen what’s available. Why do you think I’m here?”

“You certainly are fresh in America, Winston Shakespeare.”

“What?” he sings.

“Mom, can we stop at McDonald’s?”

“No. Your aunt Vanessa is barbecuing, remember?”

“Oh yeah. But McDonald’s would be much better—right, Chantel?”

“If I could get a filet of fish with extra tartar sauce, sure, but I like my Mom’s barbecue. She makes the best sauce.”

“Look. We are not going to McDonald’s and that’s the end of it.”

“You tell them, Mom,” Winston teases.

As we go over the Bay Bridge, Winston is looking around again. “It really is pretty here,” he says. “I like the feeling I get from this place.”

“And what feeling is that?”

“Peaceful,” he says. “It feels really peaceful here.”

• • • •

Angela’s station wagon is parked in Vanessa’s driveway. I am almost ready to throw up, but she came and we’re here and she asked for it but I make myself a promise not to act ugly in front of Winston because I would surely scare the man off and he hasn’t even been here twenty-four hours yet. Then I kind of panic. What if she gives him the cold shoulder? Or what if she embarrasses me? Interrogates him, makes him feel uncomfortable? We’ll just leave. That’s exactly what we’ll do if she gets out of line.

When we get in the house Angela is the first person I see because Vanessa is outside on the patio taking the steaks off the grill. Angela does not like to smell smoke.

“Hello,” she says ever so nicely.

“Angela, this is my friend Winston. Winston, my sister Angela.”

“Hello,” he says, and walks over to shake her hand but of course I’d like to yell, “Don’t touch her! She’s got evil mean cooties and they might rub off!” “It’s so nice to meet you,” he says and gives her a warm smile.

Angela smiles back, which makes me very suspicious, but she’s wearing her favorite navy blue Laura Ashley–type dress with the white Peter Pan collar which makes her look sweet and innocent but of course this is the reason why women wear these dresses in the first place and let’s face it, you turn your back and close the door tight enough and you would be surprised to learn that many of them are the biggest sluts in town, but today Angela does look pretty even though I hate to admit it. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Winston, and I’ve really been looking forward to meeting you. Glad you finally made it here safely.” She almost sounds sincere even though Vanessa is standing at the window making a Howdy Doody face.

He points to her big belly. “So I understand you’ve got two of them in there, hey?”

“That’s right,” she says. “Both boys.”

“You know that already?”

“Yep.”

“And when are they scheduled to arrive?”

“That’s cute,” she says, as if she is really capable of being touched, and looking at her she is rather convincing right this second. “Around the tenth of December.”

“That’s soon,” Winston says.

“Barbecue’s up!” Vanessa yells in the doorway, holding a platter of glistening rib eyes. We walk into the kitchen in single file and reach for paper plates, which Vanessa has stacked inside those straw holders.

Winston piles up his plate with a steak, baked beans, sour dough bread and a salad. “Would you have any Thousand Island dressing, Vanessa?” he asks.

“Who eats that mess?” Vanessa asks, frowning.

“I like it too,” Angela says.

“Well, sorrreee. Ranch is as close as I can get. Come on, Winston, try something new. Get used to it, bud!”

Winston blushes and Angela walks over to him. “She’s a little crude, so don’t pay too much attention to her. She’s known for having bad hair days.”

He laughs. Pours some ranch dressing over his salad and offers to do the same for Angela. She nods a thanks. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asks her.

“Thanks, Winston. I’ll just have some of that lemonade,” she says and walks out on the patio. Winston pours her a glass as Quincy and Chantel run downstairs, to eat in front of the television, I suppose.

Vanessa comes over to me with her plate of burgundy meat. “He’s nice,” she says as we watch Winston and Angela, seated side by side at the picnic table. “And fine as hell, I might add.” We see Winston laughing about something. “Don’t worry, girl. I don’t think she’s going to do anything stupid.”

“I hope not,” I say. “But I’m going out there just to make sure.”

“Knock yourselves out,” Vanessa says. “I can’t take that hot-ass sun. I’m staying right here in my kitchen thankyouverymuch.”

I go on out and sit down to face them and the sun is indeed blazing against my back. “Hi,” I say for lack of anything better.

“Stella. Angela tells me she has a son in college.”

I peer over at her. She has an affable look on her face.

“Winston was telling me he was a pretty good swimmer and volleyball player in high school and I was telling him that in America you don’t see very many black swimmers or volleyball players and that Evan’s one of the few black hockey players. Right, Winston?” she says as if she’s trying to convince me that she has no ulterior motives. “As a matter of fact, he’ll be here next week. How long will you be here?” she asks him.

“Three weeks,” he says, looking at me as if to verify this.

“Three weeks is the plan,” I say.

“Well, Stella, would you bring Winston over to meet Evan, have dinner and meet Kennedy?” she asks, giving me the warmest grin. I do not understand this.

“Sure,” I say.

“So, Winston. What part of Jamaica are you from?”

And he tells her and then she asks him a number of questions about his family, his job, and he tells her about his aspirations for maybe becoming a chef, and it looks and sounds as if she’s trying to or has actually bonded with him and if I’m not mistaken she also appears to be impressed for some reason I can’t quite discern.

Finally, we all come inside and Angela says she has to get home. “Winston,” she offers, “you know they have some very good culinary schools in San Francisco. Would you ever consider coming here to get your education?”

I am shocked to hear this, and Winston is sort of taken aback, and Vanessa, who is clearing the table, actually misses her palm and wipes crumbs right onto the floor.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

“You should,” she says, and says goodbye to him and yells down to the kids. I walk her to the door and she asks me to help her carry a bag of something or other to the car and I do and once outside she says, “Look, Stella. I know I’ve been a little hard and everything and I don’t mean to be. I just have had a difficult time accepting the whole idea of this and I just want what’s best for you. I want to see you happy. See you get the love you deserve.”

“I know, Angela.”

“He’s sweet. Nice. Very poised and gracious. And quite handsome. Doesn’t carry himself like he’s as young as he is.”