Till We Meet Again (8 page)

     “I am, Janice, I am. I know I have blocked men out over the years. I didn’t want to get hurt again. But I’ve worked through that. Besides, this shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you guys. I told you I was ready,” I continued.

     “Yea, but that was almost a year ago,” Moira interrupted.

     “But I hadn’t found anyone, until I met Charles. He was definitely worth waiting for.”

     “Do tell,” Janice leaned forward.

     “Well, nothing I haven’t told you before. He’s kind, attentive, compassionate and ambitious. He’s supportive of my career. He’s strong. He doesn’t put up with my crap. And I need that.”

Janice looked at me waiting.

     “And yes he makes love like a champion thoroughbred. He knows my body better than I do,” I said directly to Janice.

     “I knew it!” Janice sat back in her seat with a satisfied smile.

     “As long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters,” Melissa said.

     “Giddy up!” Janice said under her breath but so that everyone could hear.

Totally ignoring Janice’s comment I continued, “I’m sure he’s not perfect. No one is. But he is all that I have been looking for and more. I have to keep pinching myself to make sure I’m not dreaming,” I smiled. Then I cleared my throat. “Also…ummmm….there’s something else.”

“What is it?” Melissa asked.

I hesitated. “He wants me to meet his parents,” I said looking at each of the girls.

     “Oh, that’s serious,” Janice sat back up on the couch.

     “Yes, it is. I’m really nervous,” I said picking at the plate of grapes I had in front of me. “I feel like a 16 year old. It’s crazy.”

     “Why are you nervous?” Moira said. “They’ll love you.”

     “I’m not so sure of that,” I said looking down at my plate.

     “Why? What’s not to love?” Patricia said.

     “His parents are a really big deal.”

     “So are you,” Melissa said with an edge.

     “They may not think I’m good enough,” I said.

     “What the hell are you talking about?” Patricia exclaimed. “They’d be lucking to have their son date you.”

I shook my head. His dad is a retired Chief of Surgery from Harlem Hospital. His mom is a retired attorney and the daughter of an attorney that worked directly with Thurgood Marshall…you know the Justice Thurgood Marshall of the U.S. Supreme Court.” I looked at the girls…No response. “And they have a four story brownstone in Brooklyn Heights!”

     “Ohhhhh,” the girls all said in unison.

Yes, we all knew about Brooklyn Heights.

     “Wow they’re heavy duty,” Melissa said.

     “I told you!” I said exasperated. “On top of that his father is on the board of different organizations; and his mother is the head of the Women’s Ministry Board at The Abyssinian Baptist Church. Do you know who the ministers there were??”

     “Yea, Adam Clayton Powell, Jr, the first African-American Congressman from New York City and over 10 terms as a U.S. House of Representatives,” Melissa said.

     “Exactly!” I said. Not to mention other prominent African-American men. That church is very powerful.

     “Wow” Patricia said.

     “Yea wow. So now you understand why I’m pretty nervous. I really want to make a good impression,” I said quietly.

     “Look Simone,” said Melissa, “Remember who you are and whose you are.”

     “Yes,” I said.

Moira added, “And I don’t care how much money they have that doesn’t make them better then you.”

     “All that matters is your relationship with Charles,” Patricia said. “Don’t let them intimidate you.”

     “I won’t,” I said shaking my head.

     “You really like this guy, don’t you,” Janice asked.

     “Yes, I really do,” I answered.

As silence fell over the room it occurred to me even if I wanted to rebuild the wall and run for cover it was too late. I’ve already fallen for him.

1

Driving down the tree lined street of Pierrepont Place in Brooklyn Heights I looked at the majestic brownstones as we passed by. Built in the early 1800s, they all were just as beautiful as the next. As we pulled up in front of the stately Dupree brownstone my stomach began doing somersaults. After turning off the ignition Charles squeezed my hand and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry, it’s going to be alright,” he said trying to reassure me.

     “How do you know that?” I said.

He laughed, shook his head and got out of the car. As he circled around to open my car door I thought to myself. Why am I so nervous? I’m a middle aged accomplished woman, for God’s sake, not a teenager. Girls get nervous when my sons bring them to meet me. I shouldn’t be feeling this way.

Charles helped me out of his car and we stood in front of the 4-story brownstone, in all its glory. But all I wanted to do was jump back in the car and floor it back to Westchester. Again, I asked myself why I was so nervous. I could only come up with the juvenile answer of, because.

Then I thought, what would happen if Charles’ parents didn’t like me? Too upsetting to even think about it, I tried to push the idea out of my head.

Charles took my hand and led me up the stairs of the stoop. The carvings around the high arched eleven-foot double entry doors were amazing and the decorative glass doors were just as beautiful and timeless. When he rang the doorbell Charles brought my hand up to his lips and kissed the back of my hand. Looking into the warmth in his eyes I felt a sense of peace.

An older woman with shocking white hair and dark skin came to the door. Her stark white uniform told me she must be the housekeeper.

     “Hi Sophie!” Charles said, with a big grin when the woman opened the door.

     “Mr. Charles. Why did you ring the bell? You know this is still your home,” she scolded him with a stone face.

     “Well, I was bringing my best girl home to meet my first best girl and I wanted to impress her.” Charles turned to me. “Simone, meet my first best girl, Sophie. Be careful she gets jealous easily.” He grinned and turned to Sophie.

     “Oh Mr. Charles, you’re forever the flirt!” Sophie said with a big grin that almost split her face.

Charles gave her a bear hug that had her feet lifted off the floor. “Oh Sophie I missed you!” he laughed.

     “Put me down you crazy boy!” Sophie laughed, as she playfully slapped his shoulder as he placed her down gently.

With her feet now firmly on the ground, she closed the door behind us. We walked in to the foyer.

     “Hello Ms. Simone, nice to meet you.”

     “Nice to meet you as well Miss Sophie.” I couldn’t help but smile. The love between Miss Sophie and Charles was infectious.

Charles had told me that Miss Sophie practically adopted him when his grandmother suddenly died when he was in his early 20s. Miss Sophie had been the cook/housekeeper they hired when Charles’ grandmother, Miss Josephine, finally gave in. She and Miss Sophie often argued about how to run the house. Although Miss Sophie showed Charles’ grandmother the utmost respect, they were like best friends who loved to annoy each other. Miss Sophie was just as heartbroken as the rest of the family when Charles’ grandmother passed. Her death had left a heartbreaking hole in Charles’ heart. A feeling I know all too well. Charles and Miss Sophie helped each other through the grief with laughter and shared memories of Miss Josephine. And when Miss Sophie had a bout with breast cancer Charles was right there to take her back and forth to her treatments. He sat there with her through every one. Miss Sophie was more like family than anything else.

The inside of the brownstone, a mix of old and new, made you feel as if you had traveled back in time. Walking into the foyer, I immediately noticed the 13-foot high ceilings with its detailed cornice moldings. The walls were embossed with full mahogany wainscoting, which are usually only in luxury homes.  The floors and the mahogany staircase across from the front doors looked to be original wood.

     “Dr. and Mrs. Dupree will meet you in the parlor,” Miss Sophie said as she pointed down a long grand hallway adorned with family photos.

The parlor, I thought? Oh this is going to be a stuffy night.

     “We got it from here Sophie. Thank you.” As he gave Sophie a kiss on the cheek, she blushed.

Charles directed me through an archway trimmed with wood and into a large room, which seemed to be filled with art and lights strategically placed to show off the artwork. The vaulted ceilings were painted white with gold leaf trimmings. The gold curtains on the floor to ceiling Victorian windows were pulled open to let in the light. Beethoven’s “Piano Sonata No. 14 in C Minor” played in the background throughout the room on the high-end sound system. The regal looking fireplace had a large white marble Marseille mantel with a black marble hearth. The fireplace screen was an Aubusson with a polished brass finish. It looked like a royal seal.  The smell of the wood burning brought back memories of home. A massive mirror with a gold leaf frame hung over the mantel with sconces on either side. The off white “c” shaped couch was decorated with several multi-colored pillows. Across from the couch were two matching Louis XV styled upholstery chairs.

Instead of stuffy, I found the room to be warm and cozy. Although the walls were painted white the décor was very colorful due to the paintings on the walls, pillows on the couch, and artifacts strategically placed throughout the room. The soft lighting showed off the art work. Since Charles’ parents were not in the room as of yet, I took a moment to look at the extraordinary art work on the walls. The paintings and black and white photos took you back in time. There were pictures of persons from the late 1800s up into the 1960s, some famous people like Lena Horne and Dizzy Gillespie and others were just everyday people doing everyday things. Right next to Dizzy was a picture of a young Charles looking to be about 10 years old playing the trumpet, he wore a suit with a bow tie. He looked so adorable. But then another painting caught my eye.

I was especially drawn to a painting of a young Mullato girl dressed as a ballerina in a white flowy mid length dress. She was in front of a mirror at a dancing studio. In mid-twirl she was on her toes…so graceful…with a look of love on her face reflected in the mirror. The look did not seem to be the look of love for a suitor but for the pure pleasure of dancing. Through the mirror in the painting I could see the reflection of a window. The window showed a tall full weeping willow in a meadow. It looked so peaceful and calm. The sun was shining bright. But inside, the walls of the studio looked old and dingy. The paint was peeling off. But it didn’t seem to matter to the dancer. She wasn’t there for the décor she was there for her true love, the art of dance. I don’t know why but the painting moved me. There was something about the painting and the girl in the mirror. Despite her surroundings, despite her circumstances she was going to bloom.

     “This is just beautiful,” I said pointing to the painting. Not being able to take my eyes off of it.

     “Do you like it?” Charles asked.

     “I love it!” I exclaimed. “I can actually feel the look of love and passion on her face. A love for doing something for the simple pleasure of doing it; not for the money.” I wanted to reach out and touch the face of the young girl in the painting but thought better of it.

     “The young girl in the painting is my grandmother, my father’s mother, as a teenager.”

I turned to Charles…shocked!

“My family is originally from Louisiana, of Creole descent. My grandmother grew up outside of New Orleans. She loved to dance more than anything. The artist who painted the picture was a young man who was in love with my grandmother. When my grandfather saw the painting, he instantly fell in love with her. Some would say he became obsessed with her. He bought the picture from the starving artist for a small fortune and stole my grandmother away from him, practically the moment the artist turned his back to count the money.” He said with disgust in his voice. “Who would think that the young girl in that painting would one day be the wife and then mother of a doctor?”

Charles looked thoughtfully at the painting. “Did she continue to dance?” I asked.

Charles shook his head. “They were married right away. She immediately became pregnant and never danced again. My grandfather came from a lot of money. He was used to getting his own way. No matter what the cost.”

     “You said your grandfather was a doctor, right?” I asked.

     “Yes, but his father and uncles had dealt in some other lucrative business that no one ever speaks about. Being a doctor was the ‘clean’ side of the family money.”

Looking at the painting again I said, “She had to have missed dancing. Look at her. She loved it.”

Almost to himself Charles said, “Money can change everything.” He shook his head, “I can’t imagine not being able to do something you love so much.” Sadness for his grandmother filled Charles’ eyes as he reached out and touched the face of the young girl in the painting.

Just then Charles’ parents came into the room. My first thought was what a stunning couple. Dr. Dupree stood about 6’2”, the same height as Charles.  With the same build and curly hair as Charles, his light brown eyes seemed to twinkle against his café au lait complexion. His high cheekbones and strong slim nose reflected the Cherokee and Creole mix of the Dupree heritage Charles previously mentioned. Dr. Dupree wore a tan sports coat over a polo shirt and tanned dress trousers.

Mrs. Dupree had smooth cocoa skin that was flawless. Not a wrinkle was on her face. Wearing very little makeup one could easily see she was a natural beauty. She looked nothing near her 70 plus years. Just above her shoulders, her hair was cut into a stylish bob with a streak of gray in front, parted on the right side. She wore a cream colored silk blouse with brown pants, along with a pearl necklace and matching earrings.

As they walked into the living room Charles’ dad said, “Hello Simone.” He shook my hand. “It’s very nice to finally meet you.”

My hand seemed to be swallowed up as Dr. Dupree embraced my hand in both of his. “Thank you, Sir. It’s nice to meet you as well,” I said trying not to show my nervousness.

     “Oh please, call me Lawrence,” he said with a warm smile causing me to like him instantly.

He then introduced me to Mrs. Dupree. “This is my wife and Charles’ mother, Elizabeth Dupree or Lizzy, as family and close friends call her.” With the stone look on her face I couldn’t imagine anyone calling her Lizzy.

Although Charles had the same eyes and mouth as his mother, there was an air of intimidation around Mrs. Dupree. Remembering that she is a retired attorney, I should not have been surprised that her steely stare made me feel like I should be confessing all my sins.  I swallowed hard as I said, “It’s nice to meet you Mrs. Dupree.”

Since she did not make a move to shake my hand I kept my hands to the side.

     “Hello. Welcome,” she said stiffly. 

     “Thank you,” I said quietly. And even more nervous than I was when I first walked in.

Charles came up from behind me.

     “Hi Mom,” he bent down and kissed his mother on her check.

Only then did I see warmth in her eyes. Warmth she seemed to only have for her son.

Oh, oh, I thought. Is she one of those mothers who thinks no woman is good enough for her only son?

      “Hi Sweetie,” she said with a smile, that actually reached her eyes, while she reached up and brushed her hand on his cheek. A gesture I recognized as one I do with my own sons. Mrs. Dupree sat down on one of the matching upholstered high back chairs.

As Dr. Dupree stood on the side of his wife’s chair facing Charles and me, I saw him put his hand on Mrs. Dupree’s shoulder. Almost absentmindedly she reached up, put her hand on his, and gently squeezed as if they were giving each other strength. Strength for what, to meet me? What kind of person did they think I was?

Before my brain could register what I just saw, Dr. Dupree offered to make us all drinks.

      “Let me help you with that Dad,” Charles said as he looked over at his mother and me.

Glancing down at me he asked, “Wine?”

     “Yes, please,” I said wishing I drank scotch.

Looking at his mom and me again, Charles kissed my cheek and gave a look to his mother. She smiled at him and shrugged her shoulders.

Not understanding what that unspoken communication was about I felt even more nervous as Charles and his dad went to the bar on the other side of the room.

I sat down on the couch across from Mrs. Dupree’s chair. Careful to sit up straight and “lady like” I tried to break the ice.

As a classical piece of music I recognized began to play, I said to Mrs. Dupree, “This music is lovely.”

     “Yes, it is,” she answered in a monotone voice. “Do you like classical music?

     “Yes, I do. Actually, I really love this one…‘Claire De Lune’ by Debussy.”

She raised an eyebrow as if to say, “I’m surprised you knew that!”

     “I used to play violin as a child,” I continued. “My grandfather, a lover of different types of music, made sure we were well rounded.”

     “I see,” she said. And as if an afterthought she continued.  “And what did your grandfather do for a living?”