Never Say Never (37 page)

I'd heard enough. Actually, I'd heard too much. This meeting hadn't changed my mind, it just hurt my heart.

Taking another quick glance around, I found my trench coat dumped by the door, though I didn't remember dropping it. Before I could reach it, Jamal lifted my coat and folded it over his arm.

“I want you to stay.”

“Why?”

“Because we haven't talked.”

I snatched my coat from him. “We've talked enough,” I said.

“But I thought you came over here to—”

“To what?”

“To work this out.” He glanced at the bed.

“Oh, don't get confused. That was nothing but ex sex.”

“What?”

“The moment you got in bed with Miriam, I became your ex. I only came over here to make sure, but I'm going to see Carl Bell tomorrow and, hopefully, he'll be able to get us divorced as quickly as we got married.”

I reached for the door, but Jamal tried to block me.

“No!” he shouted.

I shoved him again, the way I'd shoved him before. This time, I meant it. He fell against the wall, and I flung the door open. Running into the hall, I looked from one end to the other. There was no way I could take the elevator. Jamal would be right behind me.

Dashing to the Exit sign, I grabbed the doorknob to the stairwell, then I looked over my shoulder.

Just like I thought, there was Jamal.

38

Miriam

I
stopped at the edge of the hotel's driveway, turned off the lights, then cut the engine.

Sitting at least two hundred feet from the front door, I asked myself again, what was I doing here? This was so not me, yet here I was.

The clock was ticking toward midnight, but the Westin felt alive with a kind of a midday energy.

Since I was down at the far end of the hotel, with my headlights off, no one noticed me. That worked; I didn't want anyone coming over, asking questions I couldn't answer.

Last night, when I'd put this plan together, it'd made sense. It hadn't been hard to figure out where Jamal was staying. And I'd confirmed that with one phone call. I'd asked for him, was connected, but hung up when he answered.

Then I put everything else in place. I'd called the sitter and even practiced what I would say to Jamal when I told him that I was in his hotel. I figured he'd be shocked, but he'd come down, and in some quiet corner of the lobby, I'd tell him how I felt, convince him it was right, and that maybe this was even our destiny.

It was all worked out in my head, but not totally in my heart, because of Emily. But what was I supposed to do? Especially now that Emily had kicked Jamal out, was I supposed to walk away? If I found a million dollars on the street, I wouldn't just step over it because the money wasn't mine to begin with.

It made complete sense.

At least, it had last night.

But now it wasn't so clear as I sat in the dark. Now my arguments only felt weak, pathetic, and a whole lot desperate.

I sighed. I couldn't sit here any longer debating with myself. I'd already wasted so much time. On the way over, I'd stopped at Starbucks and then I got this incredible urge to go to the movies alone, though I couldn't tell you what I saw.

Now my time had run out; either I had to do what I came to do, or I had to go home.

Turning on my headlights, I revved up the engine, shifted to drive, and just as I eased my foot off the brake, two people ran out of the hotel, stopping in the spotlight that shone from my headlights.

A man. A woman.

Jamal. Emily.

My eyes and mouth opened wide in horror, though I wasn't the only one. The people who stood in front of the hotel, waiting for their cars or sliding out of cabs, stepped to the side, not wanting to get involved.

It played like a silent movie in front of me. Emily's face was drenched with tears, and Jamal was crying, too. She yanked away from his grasp, he pulled her back into his arms.

I'd been frozen in place at first, but then I shut off the lights and the ignition, then scooted down in the seat. I kept my eyes right above the steering wheel so that I could still see it all.

An attendant walked over and gestured with his hands as if he
was asking if everything was okay. Emily and Jamal nodded together and waved the man away. Then Jamal gently pulled Emily to the corner. Now they were partially hidden by a large shrub. Emily's back was to me, but I could see Jamal.

Jamal cradled Emily's face, and I watched as he begged her with his heart. She shook her head, and my heart pounded.

Her objections didn't stop him. Jamal pleaded with everything inside of him, with a love that I'd only seen once. He begged with a love in his eyes that I could see even in the dark. A love that I'd only seen . . . from Chauncey.

That was when my first tear fell.

Jamal wrapped his arms around Emily and led her into the hotel.

I didn't let a second pass before I turned on the ignition. But I didn't turn on the lights and I didn't shift the gear into drive. Instead, I backed the van out, an illegal move that was in line with everything I'd done recently.

I waited until I was a block away from the hotel before I turned on the lights. And then I aimed my car toward home. Slowly. I had to drive slow; what else could I do when my tears had turned me into a blind woman?

What I'd just seen was now a loop that ran over and over in my mind. Clearly, I needed to change my plans. But before I could think, I had to cry.

39

Emily

Y
o!”

I sniffed. “Hey, Red,” I said into my cell.

“Where I need to be at?” Michellelee said.

Even though tears were still seeping from my eyes, I chuckled. Michellelee, the so articulate, so polished anchorwoman who used the King's English all the time, cracked me up when she went into her version of what she called Ebonics. “What do you mean?” I asked her.

“You're calling me after midnight . . .”

Quickly, I scanned the dashboard. Dang!

Michellelee continued, “And you're crying. So, where I need to be at?”

I laughed out loud this time. “I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was so late and I was trying not to cry. I just needed my friend.”

“Where are you?”

“In my car.”

“What's going down?”

“Nothing, really.”

“Please don't make me ask twenty questions. It's too damn late for that. Just come over to my place,” Michellelee said.

“I don't really want to bother you.”

“Girl, please.”

“Is Craig there?” I asked,

“Yeah, but you don't have to worry about him 'cause I already gave him some, so he's knocked out. He won't wake up till morning, when it's time to get some more.”

Only Michellelee could keep me laughing when all I wanted to do was cry.

She said, “So come over here. How long will it take you?”

“About three minutes,” I said, looking up at the twenty-story tower where Michellelee lived. “I'm right downstairs.”

“Heifer, get up here!”

She hung up on me and I wiped away the tears that were left over and slid out of my car. I'd found a premium space right in front of her building, which was something that didn't happen in the middle of the night. Especially not a Sunday night.

When I stepped into the building, the concierge motioned for me to go right up and I figured Michellelee had already called down.

I may have had the condo on the beach, but Michellelee's eighteenth-floor apartment in the Wilshire high-rise paid homage to all that was fabulous about Los Angeles. The panoramic views of the Hollywood Hills were postcard perfect, even on the foggiest of days. And the Hollywood sign reminded me just how special this city was.

Though it was after midnight, Michellelee greeted me in full makeup, with her weave flowing down her back. If she wanted to, she could have gone straight from her bed to the studio. The thing was, she always went to bed like this when Craig was in town. It was a lesson from her grandmother, who told her that you needed to look your best at all times in case your husband woke up in the middle of the night and wanted to have sex.

When Michellelee had first told me and Miriam this when we
were at USC, we'd cracked up. But when I realized that Michellelee truly practiced this going-to-bed-looking-like-a-princess, I'd laughed harder. At any other time, I would have made some joke about her looking like a star at midnight. But I didn't have a joke in me tonight.

Michellelee's greeting was a hug, and I held on to her tightly. When she put her forefinger to her lips, I nodded, then I kicked off my shoes and we tiptoed across the pure white plush carpet.

Everything about Michellelee was over the top, and her apartment was no different. The guest bedroom, with its four-poster mahogany bed and gold-brocade drapes, had the feel that royalty would be arriving soon.

She flicked on the soft light, closed the door behind us, then flopped onto the bed. She patted a space next to her and I crawled onto the alpaca fur bedspread.

“So, what's up?” my friend said, without any ceremony.

“I saw Jamal tonight.”

“Really?” When I nodded, she asked, “Did he come home?”

“No, I went to him. I couldn't sleep, I had so many questions, so I went to get some answers.”

“Good! Finally. You talked to him.”

“Not really, not much.”

“What happened?”

I stayed silent, and that was all Michellelee needed. She busted out laughing. “Good,” she said once her laughter had diminished to just a chuckle. “Sex is always a great place to start.”

I gave her a sideways glance before I turned to her window. “I'm filing for divorce.”

“What?” She sat straight up, as if my words were shocking.

I nodded. “I can't do it. It's not in me to stay.”

“I can't believe this. So Jamal is going along with this?”

I shrugged. “What can he do? He saw tonight that he really
can't stop me.” I told Michellelee the whole story. How I'd run out of Jamal's room and down the staircase, the whole time hearing his footsteps behind me. He caught me in the lobby, but I'd broken away from his grasp. Jamal had been determined, though, and he came after me. And I'd had to live my drama in front of a whole bunch of strangers, something a good Southern girl should never do.

I continued, “He just kept telling me that he was sorry and that he loved me. He said he could fix this.”

“That's what I'm talking about.”

I shook my head. “If Craig cheated on you, you would be out. I know you, Michellelee. You would leave.”

“That's what all women say.” She waved her hand. “But here's the thing. No one ever knows what they'll do until it happens to them. And if you take a situation like this. This is so—”

“Sad,” I finished for her. “But there's no way I can give Jamal a pass once he committed adultery with my best friend.”

“Can we let the record show that Jamal slept with Miriam.”

“What do you mean?”

“Whenever you talk about this, that's where your focus is.”

“Well, that's what happened.”

“Can you change your focus just a little? To you and Jamal? I mean, I'm no psychologist”—she paused and I smirked—“but at some point, in order to heal, you have to get past the beginning and at least move to the middle before you get to the end.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I don't need the middle. The end is good enough for me.”

“I don't know how you can divorce Jamal without making any effort. What about counseling? Or at least a cooling-off period.”

“What part of ‘I'm getting a divorce' don't you understand? I will never be one of those women who allows herself to be walked over by a man.”

“Whoa. Not sure that's what's going on here.”

“That's what it feels like. And don't tell me that's not how it feels. You don't have my heart.”

“No, I'm not invalidating your feelings. I'm just saying that you shouldn't make decisions when you're in such an emotional place.”

“There's no need to delay the inevitable.”

“I think the reason you won't give yourself time is that you know Jamal will get to you and you might change your mind.”

“Look!”

“Okay,” she said, throwing up her hands. “Well, I'm your girl and I'll always support you.”

“I know that.”

“Even when you're wrong.”

I shook my head.

“And can I say one more thing?”

“No.”

Michellelee ignored me. “You and Jamal have been married a long time, and you gave up a lot to be together.”

I nodded. “That's why it never should've happened.”

“I agree, but that's why you can't let it fall apart.”

Shaking my head, I said, “Don't make it sound like it's my fault. This is all Jamal. Remember?”

“Yeah, I remember, 'cause you ain't neva gonna let anyone forget. And yes, what Jamal did was pretty bad. Foul, really. Probably the worst thing he's ever done in his life.”

I studied Michellelee's face, knowing there was some kind of punchline coming.

She said, “But I don't think anyone is as bad as the worst thing they've ever done. No one should be defined that way.”

“I would think you'd be on my side.”

“I am, Em. That's why I'm saying all this. I've known Jamal for
a long time, too, and I know his heart. And you know it, too; you've just forgotten because you're hurt.”

I leaned back on the pillows and Michellelee did the same thing on her side of the bed.

“You really surprise me,” I said to her. “I really thought you'd be leading the charge to divorce court.”

She shook her head. “Girl, some women are good for telling another woman to leave her man. First of all, those women are usually man-less, and if they do have a man, they ain't got a clue. You'll never hear me say some foolishness like that, 'cause unless I'm sleeping under that couple's bed, I don't know everything. I only know what I've been told.”