The End of the Line (6 page)

“Did
something go wrong?” Latesha asked with grave concern.

“You
could say that.”

“No,
you say it,” she replied sharply, as if offended by his lack of regard for her
matchmaking service.

He
was surprised by her forthright manner.

Latesha
cleared her throat. “Listen, Peter, we try our utmost to match people, but we
can’t determine who will meet your lofty standards.”

“I’m
not that picky,” he complained, “but the two women I’ve dated so far were
totally not right for me. I honestly don’t think you could have found worse
matches if you tried.”

“Not
picky?” Latesha asked sarcastically. “
Hmm
.”

“Don’t
get me wrong,” Peter said, “both women will probably make wonderful wives to a
pair of fortunate souls, but I had nothing in common with either one of them.”

Latesha
tried not to laugh, but couldn’t stop herself.

“I’m
sorry,” Peter said, exasperated, “but I fail to see the humor in this. I just
wanted someone from the same galaxy as me. Is that too much to ask?”

“Of
course not,” Latesha said, controlling herself. “Give us one more chance. This
one will be on us. No charge. Agreed?”

“All
right,” he said after a moment of thought. “Who this time?”

“Her
name is Martha and she is a very motivated person.” Latesha paused. “She is
very attractive, too. I saw her picture.”

“Here
we go again.”

*
* * *

Peter
met Martha at a park near the university on Friday evening. She was wearing a
sleek black business suit and was, as Latesha had assured him, pleasing to the
eye. He took a deep breath, put on his best smile, and nodded to her.

“Are
you Peter?” she asked, formally shaking his hand.

“Yes.”

For
the next few seconds she looked him up and down, inspecting him as if he was a
soldier standing at attention. Finally she motioned for him to sit down on the
bench facing her.

“Have
you ever been married?” she asked.

“No.”

“Do
you have any children that require financial support?”

“No.”

“How
much do you make a year?”

“Net
or gross?” he asked, trying to be funny.

“After
taxes.”

Peter,
not wanting to argue about it, told her.

“I
suppose you’re still young and upwardly mobile,” she surrendered, knitting her
brows. “But I hope you don’t plan on staying at that level. I’m accustomed to a
nice lifestyle and I may want to stay home and have kids. If I do, I need to be
sure my husband is a good breadwinner and can support me and the children. I’ll
need a membership at the fitness club. That’s nonnegotiable. Two cars are a
must. There’s nothing I hate more than having to share a vehicle. It’s
downright uncivilized.”

“Yep,”
Peter said, amazed at how businesslike she was.

“I’m
on a mission,” she boasted, “and I don’t want a husband holding me back. Call
it old-fashioned, but I think a man should earn twice as much as his wife, and
if he didn’t, I just couldn’t respect him. Do you have any diseases, or is
there a history of disease in your family?” Hardly had she finished asking the
question, when she added, “I control all the credit cards.”

“Bye,”
Peter said, standing up and walking away. He had no idea how Martha reacted
because he never looked back. Shaking his head with frustration, he went home,
changed into his pajamas, turned on his stereo, and called the Forevermore
Matchmaking Service.

*
* * *

“Hi!”
Latesha greeted pleasantly. “How did it go?”

“Disaster
number three.”

“Oh,
sorry to hear that.” She waited for a response, but when he gave her none, she
continued, “I really am sorry, Peter, but maybe this isn’t the service for you.
We tried our best, but people are hard to match. Everyone is an individual.
There’s no way we can predict who will like whom. We can only follow some basic
guidelines and give it a shot. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.”

“It’s
not your fault,” he said in a defeated voice. “It must be me.”

“No,
that’s not it,” she assured him. “Everyone has someone out there.”

“If
you say so.”

Latesha
drew her knees up to her chest. “Can I ask you something?”

“By
all means.”

She
paused for a long time. “I was intrigued by something you said during an
earlier call.”

“Oh?”

“Crossing
race lines is not the norm, so you may see it as, how shall I say, theoretical.
But the proof is in the pudding. What would have happened if we had set you up
with an African-American, for instance? Do you find black women attractive?”

“Yes,
very much so,” Peter said instantly. “I think black women are beautiful.”

“Really?”
Latesha challenged.

“Yes,
really,” he said curtly, seemingly miffed that she didn’t immediately believe
him.

Latesha
did not like his tone. “Name one then.”

“What?”
he queried.

“You
said you think black women are beautiful. So name a black woman you think is
beautiful.”

“All
right. Alicia Keys is beautiful. Whitney Houston in that video, you know the
one with Kevin Costner, was really beautiful.”

“I
will always love you,” Latesha informed him.

“But
we’ve just met.”

“Excuse
me?” she asked, as if they were out of synch, then realized what he meant by
the joke. “Oh, a jack-of-all-trades,
and
a comedian.”

“I’m
sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t resist.”

“I’m
still not convinced,” Latesha said, totally engaged in the conversation. “I can
see that you know how to watch music videos, but have you ever spent so much as
two seconds with a black woman?”

“Are
you black?”

Latesha
was taken aback by that question. “What do you think?”

“I
think you’re black.”

“How
did you come to that conclusion?”

“Your
name, Latesha, your address in Beechwood. It doesn’t require a Sherlock
Holmes.”

Against
her will, Latesha found herself fascinated with this man, especially because he
had no idea she knew exactly what he looked like.

“We’ve
been talking for several minutes,” Peter continued, “and you are black, so,
yes, I have spent at least two seconds with a black woman.”

“I
mean in real life,” Latesha said with a sour expression.

“Well,
as a matter of fact, I did,” Peter declared. “The day I first called you I was
waiting for someone at the university and I sat down beside a black woman. We
spent much more than two seconds together.”

“Are
you making this up?” Latesha returned. “Are you a storyteller, Mr. Elsworth?”

Peter
seemed absolutely charmed by her. “It’s true.”

“Prove
it. Tell me what you talked about.”

He
hesitated. “Well, we didn’t actually talk, or at least she didn’t. I asked her
if I could sit beside her and she moved her things for me.”

“How
old was she?” Latesha asked, as if she still did not believe him.

“Mid-twenties.”

Though
she did not want to ask, she could not resist. “You said black women are
beautiful, but you described only television women. What about a black woman in
the flesh?” Latesha’s heart literally pounded. “Was she attractive?” The moment
the words came out, she regretted them.

“She
was stunning,” Peter said instantly.

Latesha
froze.

“Absolutely
stunning,” he continued, “the kind of woman who takes your breath away.”

Latesha
was at a loss for words.

“But
it wasn’t just her beauty,” Peter said.

Latesha
swallowed hard.

“It
was her presence,” he added. “She had that classy look. Know what I mean?”

“Not
sure,” Latesha mumbled, stunned at the turn the conversation had taken. “What
do you mean?”

“Some
women have that special something,” Peter said thoughtfully. “I don’t know how
to put my finger on it exactly, but some women have a special dignity. They’re
the kind of women men like to take home to meet their families.”

Latesha’s
mind went blank. She heard her father wheeling down the hall. “All that from
sitting next to someone on a bench?” she asked in a half-whisper.

“I’m
sorry,” Peter said, sounding mortified. “I’ve talked your ear off.”

“No,
not at all.”

“Isn’t
your boss eager for you to take as many calls as possible?”

“I’ve
been told to take as long as I need,” Latesha said. “Tell me, if you found this
woman so compelling, why didn’t you speak to her?”

“I
wanted to, but how do you initiate a conversation with a complete stranger?”

“Maybe
sometimes you have to take chances.”

“I
wish I would have,” Peter said regretfully. “I’ll never get another chance to
see her.”

“Who
knows?” Latesha said, biting her lip. She heard her father wheeling back up the
hall. “My father watches a lot of TV,” Latesha said as if talking to a lifelong
friend. “He especially likes the judge shows.”

“Who’s
his favorite?”

“Judge
Judy. He never misses her.”

“What
kinds of things do you like, Latesha?”

She
felt nervous at the personal question, but for some reason was pleased he had
asked. “I like being home - I’m a bit of a homebody, I suppose. But I also like
the outdoors and socializing.”

“Do
you like music?”

“I
love music. What about you? Who’s your favorite singer?”

“Donna
Summer,” he said.

“Donna
Summer? That’s interesting.”

“People
call her the disco queen, but she was far more than that. When she was a little
girl singing in church, people used to come in to hear her amazing voice.”

“What’s
your favorite song by her?”

“‘State
of Independence.’”

“I’m
not familiar with it,” Latesha said, now totally absorbed in the conversation.
“I’ve heard a lot of her songs, but never that one.”

“What’s
your favorite song, Latesha?”

“‘Dance
Me to the End of Love,’ by Leonard Cohen. I memorized it.”

“Could
you recite it?”

“You
want me to?” Latesha asked with great surprise.

“Yes,
very much.”

“I
don’t know,” she said with a short, shy laugh. “I might mess up.”

“Maybe
sometimes you have to take chances.”

Latesha
put the phone to her other ear. “You’re not in a hurry?”

“There’s
nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Okay,”
she said, a hint of caution in her tone, “but let me get it right first.” She
paused for close to a minute. “Are you sure you’re not in a hurry?”

He
laughed. “I’m not in a hurry.”

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

She
slowly and articulately recited the entire song with great feeling.

“Wow!”
Peter whispered a few seconds after she finished.

“Yes,
wow,” Latesha added with a sigh.

“That
song is pure poetry. It’s beautiful!”

“Yes,”
Latesha said, greatly excited by his enthusiasm. “Sometimes it makes me cry.”

“No
need to cry, Latesha. So long as anyone can write like that, there will always
be hope.”

Latesha
gazed at the ceiling. “Do you think there is an end of love, Peter?”

“No,
I do not think there is an end to true love. I believe it only gets deeper.”

“Yes,”
she agreed, then suddenly felt embarrassed by the intimacy of their
conversation. She sat up as if she had been startled from a heavy sleep. “I’m
sorry, but this conversation has gotten awfully informal.”

 
“I’ll forgive you under one condition,” he
said playfully.

“I’ve
only known you for a short time and you’re already placing conditions on me?”

“Yes,”
he said.

“All
right, Peter, let’s hear your condition.”

“I’ll
forgive you,” Peter said, “if you let me give you a bag of jellybeans.”

She
laughed. “Jellybeans?”

“Jellybeans,”
he answered. “When I was a kid, we used to pass them around as a symbol of
friendship.”

“I’ve
never heard that before, but yes, I’ll let you give me a bag of jellybeans.”
She laughed again. “Someday I might even get to collect them.”

“Deal,”
he said. A long pause followed.

“I
guess this is it. I’m sorry we couldn’t find you a mate.”

“Thanks
for trying,” Peter said.

“Thanks
for giving us a chance and thanks for being so patient.”

“Sure.
No problem.”

Another
long pause followed.

“Well,
then, I guess it’s goodbye,” Peter said.

“Guess
so,” Latesha returned.

“Wait,”
Peter said, almost as if short of breath. “What about you? Maybe we could go
out. Before you say no,” he added in a rush, “I just wanted to tell you that
I’ve really enjoyed talking to you on the phone. I’ve looked more forward to
talking with you than going on any date. I’m sorry if this sounds out of place,
but I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t ask.”

Latesha
heard her father lowly singing Ol’ Man River. “I don’t think so,” she said.

In
the background Latesha could hear Peter’s stereo and the song Just Another Day
by Jon Secada. She knew that song well
and had played it hundreds of times in the days and months after her mother
died. She wanted to tell Peter about the significance of that song, sharing
with him as she done before, but now it seemed inappropriate. Peter hesitated
for a short time, then spoke with resignation.

“Okay,”
he replied, sounding defeated. “I guess this is our final goodbye, Latesha.”

“Goodbye,
Peter.”

She
hung up and, lost in thought, walked out of her room. Mr. Thomas looked at her
as she stared off into space.

“Another
satisfied customer?” he asked.

“What,
Dad?” she said, snapping out of a daydream.