Until (28 page)

“Maybe,” Betty said, smiling at the conversation and thinking the last thing she needed in her life at this time was another Evander. “Scrateh-and-dent men, huh. Maybe you're right.”

“Girl, you know I'm right. Now, let me give your number to Stefan's cousin. He works for Denny's, but he's a regional director or something. Stefan says he's nice-look—”

Giggling at Jacqui's contradiction, Betty said, “I appreciate that, Jac, but I need to hang up for now.”

“Why? What's going on? Please tell me you are not ending a conversation with me to go on-line.”

“Actually, I'm canceling the service tomorrow.”

“Well, good for you.”

After a pause she said, “Thanks. Now I gotta call Drew.”

“Are you serious?”

“Night, Jac.”

After getting off the phone with Jacqui, Betty went over to the computer and picked up the piece of paper with Drew's number on it. She sat on the oversized sofa in the living room while she pondered whether she could really go through with it. Was she prepared to deal with its contents once this Pandora's box was opened? She picked up the cordless phone beside her and dialed the number, even as she wondered,
What if Jacqui's right?
As she dialed the last digit, she knew inside that her life would in some way change as a result of doing this. Just like Alice, she was about to enter the looking glass.

“Hello. This is Drew.”

Dayuummb,
she thought as she listened to his answering machine.
This is how his voice sounds. So full, so rich.
Just like she expected.

“I'm presently not available, but your message is very important to me.”

Damn, this man has so much sex appeal it comes through even on the answering machine.

“So at the sound of the tone—”

I can still hang up and he would never know I called—unless he has Caller ID.

“—leave your name and number—”

I hope I am doing the right thing; owww, I even like the way he says “number.”

“—and I'll call you back.”

Damn, I want my voice to sound right. I hope it doesn't crack. This'll be the man's first impression of me. I hope
—

“Thanks, and have a nice day.”

Oh my God, it's time. I'm not ready! I don't know what to,

Beep.

“Ah, Drew. This is . . . this is Betty. I, umm, got your message and—”

“Betty?”

“Drew?”

“Hey, how are you?”

“Fine—and yourself?” Betty's heart beat like a jackhammer and she could feel her T-shirt move.

“I'm fine. One second. Let me turn this thing off.”

Oh my God. It's really him. At least he can talk, so Jacqui was wrong about that.

“Okay, I'm back. I just came from dinner with Walt and Peggy. I told them I was not going to let them break up. Although they're separated, I think there's a chance.”

“That was so nice of you.”

“It was the least I could do for Peggy. She's my girl. But listen to me, I'm rambling on and on. I wanna talk about you. How are you, love? I can't believe I am actually talking to DeltaDream.”

Their conversation lasted for hours and hours. They discussed everything from politics and what they would do if they were president, to the roles being taken by the current crop of top Hollywood black actresses. They shared childhood stories and favorite vacations, but the bulk of their time was spent talking of love. Not of their past loves, but the way it made them feel and what they missed most about it. For the first time they were communicating directly, and it flowed like the warm breeze that tossed pine needles against Betty's window.

“My goodness. Would you look at the time?”

“It's one-thirty. What time did I call you?” Betty asked.

“Ah, about nine. Remember I had just come in from dinner. I can't believe you are right here in Gainesville too. All this time we've been communicating and you were here in town. I was almost afraid to ask where you were, initially, because I didn't want to scare you off. Later I didn't want to know because I was sure you lived in western Afghanistan or something and I'd be crushed.”

Flattered by the statement, Betty said, “I felt the same before you mentioned Gainesville in your letter. I'm just glad you can understand why I didn't tell you I was in town sooner.”

“Are you kidding? Don't you watch Montel? Besides, as fast as both of our lives have been moving recently, love, I understand.”

After saying good-bye
to her secretary, Betty left the office with a genuine smile for the first time in weeks. Carol joked about the unexplained spring in her boss's step that day and the fact that she was singing aloud with the radio. When she looked at her quizzically, Betty said, “I'm just happy to be free. Nobody telling me what cases to take, no politics, just doing what I do best. Or should I say . . . what
we
do best.”

Betty arrived at the meeting place where she had agreed to meet Drew ten minutes early. She did not want to play the fashionably late game, so being early was not of concern. “Turning over a new leaf this time. This time . . . it will be different.”

Betty and Drew had arranged to meet at The Art House, which was a structure renovated by the city and used to display local works of art. It was a three-bedroom home, and as Betty walked inside, she looked to see if by chance Drew had arrived before her. From his description of himself, she knew he had not yet made it. The Art House was a little fuller than on most days, which meant there were a handful of people. A couple of blue-haired ladies holding hands for support, a few college kids, and the security guard slash custodian slash director of the establishment.

Oh well, I am early,
Betty thought with a check of the art deco clock on the wall.

Drew sped down the highway toward The Art House. Looking at the clock in his car, he realized he had eight minutes to make the fifteen-minute trip. In the passenger seat was the file of a customer who had been given his name by Lisa of Murphy, Renfro and Collins. When he met with Mrs. Lopez, she spoke at length regarding her desire to protect her kids' financial future. He knew she was a good client, but she was the reason he was now late.

For Drew the day seemed to never pass. For the first time in a long time he was excited to meet someone and it felt good. He wanted to call her house just to hear her voice on the answering machine, but realized that in their four-hour conversation he had never thought to ask for her number.

With a smile on his face he turned on the radio and listened to Stevie. It was the first time he'd allowed himself to listen to him since the reading of the will. This time the words brought new meaning because they spoke of a love that would last through time, a love so strong it would last until the oceans covered the mountains. The song was not a tome of darkness but a beacon of light pulling him toward existence on another realm.

As he drove, Drew laughed out loud to himself. He had no idea whether Betty was overweight, a size two, fair complexioned or dark, but he smiled as he drove because it didn't matter to him in the least. And then on the side of the highway he saw an elderly lady beside a stalled car. Drew looked at the time as he sped toward the art gallery. He had seven minutes to save himself from making a bad first impression. As he drove, Drew looked in his rearview at the stalled car, which got smaller and smaller, and thought,
Somebody will help her. Hell, I don't know the first thing about cars.
And then Drew remembered his father. How he'd once worked on a car in the rain for a handicapped man while Drew and his friends waited in the car to go bowling. As he came to the red light at the intersection, Drew looked over his shoulder to see if he could see the lady, and he did. He could see her leaning against her car
as the other motorists passed her by as well. And then Drew glanced at the clock, held the three roses he had bought for the occasion so they would not slide off his seat, did a Utum, and said, “Betty, love, I hope you understand.”

As Drew drove close to the car and parked, the lady's face lit up. “Thank you so much, son. I really appreciate it. I don't know what happened. I was just driving and I heard this loud noise which sounded like a shotgun blast. Blam! Blam! Blam! I stopped the car and got out to look at my tire. I would have tried to make it back home, but I was scared to drive on it like this. My husband used to tell me never drive on a flat, but this tire ain't really flat, see? So I didn't know what to do.”

Drew looked down at the tire, which was still inflated but had lost most of its outer shell. The only thing he knew about a car was how to check the oil, replace the gas, and, thanks to his father, how to evaluate tires. “It's no problem, ma'am. Sometimes this happens with retreads. Do you have a spare?”

“I think so. I've never stopped on the side of the road.” She headed toward the trunk. As she did, Drew glanced at his watch and heard her say, “Lord Jesus, would you look at all this stuff? I'm gonna have them chum get their mess out of my trunk. I don't keep my car like this!”

The trunk was packed to the rim with toys, clothing, canned meat, and shoe boxes filled with papers. After another quick time check, Drew rolled his sleeves above his elbows and said, “Ma'am, I don't mind helping you move some of that stuff out of the way.”

“Are you sure, son?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said as he slid the items over just enough to get the tire out of the tire well. As he freed it, he noticed that it, too, needed air and that he was now five minutes late for his first impression.

Sitting in the museum, Betty took notice of the Darren Goodman display of artwork. His drawings of children's faces were so realistic they looked like black-and-white stills. Then a couple walked in with only their pinkies locked, swinging their hands back and forth in a way only lovers can. On the wall the clock reported that Drew was now fifteen minutes
late. Betty was a little surprised because in their conversation he had mentioned how he took pride in always being on time. While they were meeting socially, nothing in his words had indicated that he was not the consummate professional.

“Chill, Betty, chill,” she repeated to herself. “He could be in traffic or maybe his appointment ran a little late.” Picking up her cell phone, she pressed speed dial so she could talk to Jacqui while she waited.

“Hello?”

“Yes . . . ah, did I call—” and then Betty realized her mistake.

“Hello? . . . Beep? Beep, is this you?”

Anger cinched her stomach tight as Betty figured out she had speed-dialed the wrong number, but she could not hang up.

“Listen, Beep . . . I know it's you. Thanks for calling me. I just want to let you know that I got out today. My momma put up the house and got me a real attorney and he thinks we can beat the charge.”

Betty's hand trembled with anger, but then a calm of confidence came over her. She swallowed with difficulty, found her voice, and replied, “Evander? Let me just say that I'm okay with that. You hurt me, but guess what. It doesn't matter to me anymore.”

Exhaling audibly, he said, “I knew all it would take is time, Beep. So what you're saying is that you would like to talk this thing over?”

“No. No, what I'm actually saying, is that I could give less than a damn about you doing time. What I am saying is you're petty, insignificant, shallow, and an ass. You played the role of a lifetime, but in actuality, Evander . . . it's
you
who got played. See, if I were like you, I would be upset right about now. But in actuality, Evander, I'm glad I called you . . . by accident . . . because you just gave me closure, which, as I look back, is the most you've ever given me. I once thought there could have been a little something for you in my heart, but there's not.”

Before Evander could finish saying, “What are you—” she hung up. Betty sat with her cell phone bouncing in her lap
with a big Kool-Aid smile on her face. But as she looked up at the clock, the smile disappeared.

“Drew, I'm so happy you stopped. I knew your daddy. God, he was a good-looking man. A good-looking man, you hear me? Had all that good curly hair and a silver cap on his front teeth. He used to sell my first husband tires back in the sixties. I remember he attended services at this church up on the hill. Had a woman pastor? Yeah, Mother Days Church. I remember it like it was yesterday.”

Drew had removed the tire, and as he tightened the first nut on the spare he noticed he was drenched in sweat from the blazing hot sun.

“Son, do you need a towel to wipe off on? I think I got one in the trunk here somewhere.”

“Ah, no ma'am,” he said, flicking sweat from his brow and afraid of what she might return with. “I have one in my car. Thanks anyway.”

The lady patted a tissue to her face and said, “Do you know these boys?” as a Ford Pinto which was covered with house paint and had a swinging crucifix on the rearview mirror pulled up behind them.

Drew looked over his shoulder and then at his watch. He was twenty-five minutes late. “No ma'am,” he said, and continued to tighten the nuts.

Stepping out of the car, a brown-complexioned teenager with baggy jeans and a tight white tank top said, “'Scuse me. How do we get to 1-10?”

Drew continued to work but could hear the lady getting flustered as she tried to give directions.
Damn, Betty, don't leave. Why didn't I get her phone number?
Standing up with the crowbar in hand, Drew said, “Listen, man. You have to get on 1-75 to hit 10. To get on 75, you have to—”

“What did he say to you?” demanded another teenager with distinct Hispanic features who was in the driver's seat. “This punk giving you lip, Carlos?”

“No. He was just telling me how to—”

“Shut up. You acting like a bitch again!” he said, glaring at the kid. “Now, we gonna do this or what, huh? We gonna make it happen this time or you gonna punk out!”

The elderly woman put her hand over her heart and rubbed it back and forth slowly. Quietly she repeated over and over words that were inaudible. “Ma'am, this is going to be okay,” Drew said as he dropped the crowbar from his hand to seem less threatening.

As the metal hit the ground, the driver of the car whipped out his chrome handgun. “What the fuck was that!”

Carlos screamed, “Jesus! No! Put that shit away!”

“Listen, man. What do you want?” Drew asked in a composed voice. While the kid alternated pointing the gun at the old lady and Drew, his hand shook and a vivid look of fear glittered in his eyes.

Every time the steel pointed in the lady's direction, her body flinched with terror and the words crystalized into “LordJesusLordJesusLordJesus.”

“What do you want, man? Nobody's going to be a hero today, okay? Just tell us what you want.”

“I want your car keys, big man!” he said, looking at the Benz. “And I want your wallet and Grandma's purse!”

The first thought to cross Drew's mind as he reached into his pocket was,
It's insured.
As he grabbed his keys and threw them in the direction of the driver, the kid fired the gun, the old lady screamed, and Drew fell to the ground bleeding as Carlos followed orders to drive the Pinto while the other kid got behind the wheel of their new car.

The pinky-holding couple left the museum with the two old ladies. Soon it was only Betty, The Art House guardian, and the tick of the clock. As Betty walked out, the woman said, “Thanks for coming, ma'am. Have a nice day.” Then she closed the door and slid the Closed sign into place, all in one motion. Betty's fears that something may have happened to Drew turned to frustration. Her excitement at meeting him for the first time and putting a face to the voice was now disillusionment with looking to find that special someone. As Evander's voice rang in her mind, Betty drove home hoping he would at least call, but in her heart not believing she would ever again hear from DLastRomeo.

“Girl, what did I tell you about that nigga?” Jacqui said, fuming.

Betty lay on the couch in Jacqui's office and looked up at the light fixture.

“You didn't even know the man.”

“You're right,” Betty said like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

As she sat and leaned forward on her desk with her weight firmly on her elbows, Jacqui refused to let up. “Now, just for a second, let's review what we do know about him. Or at least what he has
told
you about himself. He was head over heels in love with this female whose dying wish was to break his heart. He played with this sister's head and out of the grace of her heart she showed she was bigger than him and gave his company their business. And he graduated from a black college, yet he kissed up to some white man to make a sale? How am I doing so far?”

Betty said nothing.

“Now, to top it off, he invites you to this out-of-the-way—”

“It wasn't out of the way,” Betty said quietly.

“Who gives a damn!” Jacqui exclaimed as she stood and walked over to Betty, who was still lying down and refused to make eye contact. “The man left you hanging, and if you are not pissed off about it, damn it, something must be wrong with you! Now, girl, this is hard to say, but I can't continue to follow up behind you when you make these bad decisions. From the day I met you, Betty, I've been cleaning up after you because I see what you could be. You know I love you, girl. Ain't no doubt about that. But I wish you'd learn to listen to me
sometimes
before this mess happens again. I know finding a man out there is tough, girl, but damn.”