The Heart is a Lonely Hunter (29 page)

In Lagos he had felt a bond, a closeness that often happens when Americans are in a foreign land but now something was different. In fact things seemed to have changed in the last week alone. To William it seemed like the metamorphosis was overnight. She was certainly dressing better and he really began to wonder if she was seeing someone.

In any case, he thought it best to keep the conversation on a level playing field if that’s what she really wanted. So, he continued with the conversation that made them both feel at ease.

“I’m not sure what Morris’ intentions are. What I am sure of is that no matter what offer he intends to throw my way at the end of the meeting and in all likelihood he’ll pull me around some little dark out of the way corner and make his pitch or tell me he’s throwing me a few more dollars. But whatever it is he’s selling, at this juncture, I’m not buying. He won’t use this little Uncle Tom again. That’s for damn sure.”

Melinda wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin before she spoke, quiet and deliberately.

“I don’t know what the meetings about either, William. What I do know is that whatever dark, musty corner the old man pulls you into after the meeting, ‘you will go’, and without hesitation. Do you understand? That’s what you’ve always done and that’s what you’ll do now. Any offer he makes you, you’ll gladly accept because that’s what you’ve always done. This isn’t about you or your ego William Stanton. This is about putting an end to all the tragedy that this man has created right here in our own backyard. Now if you don’t believe that you can’t handle whatever it is that he may throw your way for one reason or another then you let him know that very apologetically and very contritely so that he doesn’t get an inkling that you may be trying to undermine him in any way. After all, this is not about William Stanton anymore. There is a panoramic view that looms so much larger and is not quite so scenic as it was and you and I and a host of other people are in the midst. Excuse me, William, I got so caught up in our little chat that I totally forgot the time. Do you have any idea what time it is?”

William glanced at the Rolex donning his left wrist and replied, “It’s a little after nine. Why?”

“Oh, well I have another engagement and am supposed to be there at nine. It totally slipped my mind,” she lied, “and you know how I hate to keep people waiting.” And with that said Melinda slipped out of the booth revealing the split and those legs William so desperately wanted to get to know and headed for the door.

“See you Monday and call me if anything breaks,” she said in her haste to meet whoever it was she meeting. “Oh, and thanks for dinner William. It was lovely.”

William pulled out his wallet placed a Benjamin under the tray of peppermints and almost broke his neck trying to follow her to the door.

“Guess I’m gonna miss my nightcap. I’d gotten kind of use to stopping by,” he admitted.

William had a hard time understanding this woman he thought he’d come to know so well. Couldn’t understand her coldness. Just when he thought they had broken down all the barriers.Pulling her car around to the front of the restaurant, William opened the car door for Melinda and though angry he knew he had know right to be.

He had ample time in the years that he’d known her to properly assess this woman and hadn’t. Even in the weeks after Sill left he had failed to appreciate her in any more than in a professional sense until a bellhop in a foreign country made him aware of the treasure that stood before him. He’d always felt awkward approaching women. Even when they threw themselves at him he was at a loss as to how to respond.

Now standing here watching Melinda, looking better than she had ever looked and knowing that in all likelihood she was on her way to meet another man was more than just disheartening. It was excruciating.

Melinda, hoping that he would object to her leaving, waited patiently. The silence was positively deafening.

Opening the car door, he knew he had no right to be angry, although he was. William was at a loss for words.

Finally, she spoke. “Your presentation was sensational, William. You’re a shoo-in for the computer contract.” With that said, she closed the door, started

her car and was quickly swallowed up in the throng of early evening traffic before he had a chance to reply.

He’d barely gotten over Sylvia’s leaving. Now, Melinda seemed to be moving on, too. How could Melinda leave at a time like this, when everything was in such a state of turmoil? This was certainly no time to abandon ship. It wasn’t that long ago when he told her the one thing he needed most was a friend and hadn’t she agreed to be there for him? He was irate but in his heart, he knew Melinda was not the reason. She had offered herself to him in every conceivable way.

It was he that had chosen to live in the past, to dwell on Sill. And he’d only recently come to the realization though that it no longer mattered that Sill was gone. What mattered was the fact that she’d left him, rejected him. And not for the abuse. She rejected him because he did not meet her standards. His inadequacy drove him now as it had in college, as it had his entire life. He had felt inferior as a Black man in a White world and tried hard to emulate the norms and nuances of White America in order to be accepted. Despite finishing at the top of his class and his efficiency and productivity work, he remained an outsider. Hoping he would fare better at a Black institution, he’d been rejected for being
‘too
White’. Certain that his economic status and right wing politics would be a true indicator in defining his role, his niche he’d married an elegant Black woman, hoping to improve his status, his lot in life and, still, he was met with rejection. He’d treated her like a queen, placing her in a castle overlooking the whole of Atlanta and still the rejection.

It was the rejection, the idea that he wasn’t good enough, that he didn’t fit, which bothered him most and above all. It drove him, obsessed him, overwhelmed him.

Only recently had he’d been able to see, to feel, to know, to come to terms with his own frailties, his feelings of inferiority. He could do this now. He could do it because he had found his inner peace, his so-called comfort zone. He had found it, thanks to Melinda, the small town, little country girl, who had no formal education in the way of a college degree, nor what William considered enough drive and desire. But she, more than anyone else, convinced him that it was just as important “to be good at what you’re good at” and not continually try to chase the genie in the bottle with the idea of making every dream come true when one would certainly do.

It was her loyalty, her support, more than anything else, which was responsible for his turnaround and his recent success. Now, it seemed, she too was leaving. She was the sole reason he wasn’t behind bars at this very moment. It was, after all, her idea to open the trust fund for Alex when his parents rejected the money. It was this act of goodwill, which led the Nigerian government and the D.E.A. to examine, William Stanton, a little more closely, convincing them, that he may be more than just another money hungry, foreign power broker out to siphon millions from poor Nigerians, and deal a little yayo on the side to boot.

William turned the Mercedes around in the middle of Maine and headed north. Fifteen minutes later, he pulled up in front of Melinda’s tiny home and sat wondering what he could say that he hadn’t already said. Not more than five minutes later, a dark blue sedan pulled up. William witnessed an elderly man leaning over and kissing Melinda. Out of the car, before Melinda’s foot could hit the curb, William grabbed her by the arm swung her around and escorted her at the quick step to his car and opened the door.. .The man, in the long blue Lincoln Town car hurried to her side. “You alright, pumpkin?” the elderly man asked,

“Couldn’t be better, Uncle Dennis. Just a friend who wasn’t sure about what he wanted until he saw someone else with it.” Melinda smiled.

“Why you scoundrel. You played me, didn’t you? Played me for the fool that I am.” William said while Melinda grinned broadly.

“You’re no fool, William. A bit slow but you’re nobody’s fool. Where are we g
oin
g?”

“Your choice, Melinda. I could care less as long as I’m with you.”

“William. William Stanton. Don’t tell me you’re tryin’ to be affectionate?’’ Melinda smiled.

“Better late than never, wouldn’t you say?” William remarked. “Damn, you look good tonight. Wonder why I never noticed?”

“I’m just grateful you did. I was gettin’ a little tired of having to scratch my own itch.”

“How’s the Tavern sound? We’ve still got a bottle of champagne on ice.”

“Tonight’s kind of special for me, William. I’ve waited close to six years to gain some kind of foothold in your life. I’d like to remember it even if it’s only for one night Make a left at the light. There’s some place I’ve always wanted to take you.”

William made the left at the traffic signal. On the right was the ever-so popular night spot William had heard so much about. Parking the Benz behind the club, William was somewhat apprehensive at first. He seldom frequented bars or clubs. He always felt out of place but tonight he felt a little more comfortable, a little more at ease, when he saw several well dressed couples, some

Black, some White, waiting in line. The headliner was up and coming jazz vocalist, Cassandra Wilson.

Once inside William was pleasantly surprised. The décor was exquisite. The petite young hostess who greeted them led them to a table up front. William had to admit he was quite impressed. There were Hispanic couples, White couples and even an Asian couple or two but the overwhelming majority were Black.

Melinda ordered a bottle of
Moet
and smiled at William’s reaction, his surprise.

“Thought you were the only Black professional in Fulton County didn’t you, William? Are you surprised? See the gentlemen over there. That’s Jazzy Monroe. He’s the owner of this little juke joint. He knows every great jazzman from Florida to Maine. He probably did more to keep American jazz alive in the last twenty years than anyone else on the East Coast.

When jazz musicians were forced to go overseas to find work to take care of their homes and families, Jazzy paid their plane fares and did all he could to keep them afloat. Most of ‘em, you know, the older ones like Ray Brown and Count Basie, you know, the biggies, simply adore Jazzy. Most of them perform for free when they’re in town ‘cause they know Jazzy and they know Jazz ain’t tryin’ to exploit ‘em, bein’ that he ain’t nothin’ more than one of them himself. Jazzy, ain’t nothin’ but a strugglin’ musician who got tired of strugglin’. He plays a sweet horn himself but couldn’t make enough just playin’ so he started buyin’ and sellin’ real estate to augment his income. With four daughters, he had to do something,

After his real estate business took off, he opened this place and set up a pension plan for those musicians who didn’t or wouldn’t necessarily have anything to fall back on. Now; he’s in the process of tryin’ to set up an insurance fund so they’re covered in case they need medical attention, you know, medical insurance.

“You probably wouldn’t know it, to see him but Jazzy’s a millionaire several times over. Would you like to meet him?”

“Sure, Melinda, but not right now. Let’s enjoy the set right now. I believe Kirk Whalum’s up next,” William said, “I, too, respect a good horn.”

Melinda continued pointing out the faces. It read like a
Who’s Who of Fulton County
. “See the gentleman on the olive suit at the table to your right? That’s Edwin Davis. He’s the vice president of one of the largest Black banks in Fulton County. He’s a good man to know, William.”

“Sounds like a
Who’s Who of Black America
. How can you possibly know all of these people?”

“Jazzy’s my uncle. I’ve spent every summer working here since I was in high school. Now, I work when I want to, usually on weekends when there’s a big name in town or whenever he calls and says he needs me. He supported my mom and my sister when my father passed so I owe him a lot I even worked some weekends with Jazzy’s accountant, Mr. Davis when I was junior in high school on an intern basis. He was fresh out of college. Talk about a shrewd cookie. The brother taught me everything I know about bookeepin’ He taught me how to balance the books, where to look for tax write-offs, everything. It was like doin’ an internship at Howard. That’s where Mr. Davis went, you know, Howard.

Tried to get me in there on a partial scholarship. He and Uncle Jazz were goin’ to foot the remainder of my tuition but when things broke down at home, I thought it best that I stick around and help out with my baby sister while my mom worked and went to school.”

“You certainly seem to know a lot of people.” William remarked almost with a tinge of envy.

“The number of people a person knows is irrelevant. What’s important is the
type
of people one knows. These are some of Atlanta’s best and brightest, the elite of the Black community, the movers and shakers. This is where you’ll come to rub elbows when you get the confidence to open your own agency. This is the Augusta National Golf Club of the Black community. This is the unofficial boardroom where the really big deals are made. This is where the power lunches are held, the bids are submitted and the contracts signed.”

Just then Jazzy arrived at the table, beaming. “I saw you come in. How’s my favorite niece?” he said bending over and kissing her on her cheek. “Good. Good. I must say you’re looking rather elegant this evening. Your Uncle Dennis told me you were coming. He made sure I held a table up front for you. Told me what he’d do to me if I didn’t. So you make sure you tell him you were almost on stage you were so close. Have you eaten?”

“I’m comin’ from dinner but some seafood would hit the spot. Uncle Jon, I’d like for you to meet William Stanton. William, this is my Uncle Jon better known as Jazzy.”

“Nice to meet you, William. Stanton did you say? Boy that name sounds familiar. Any relation to a Sylvia Stanton?”

William’s mouth dropped open. He could feel the blood rush to his cheeks. “Why, yes.” Caught totally off guard, he glanced at Melinda who was equally stunned. Just when Melinda thought that Sylvia was out of the picture, she’d once again managed to creep back into their lives. “Sylvia’s my ex. We’re separated.”