Waiting to Exhale (40 page)

"So where you from?" he asked.

"Who, me?"

He smiled at her. Bernadine noticed he was wearing a wedding band on his left hand, which made her relax. He was so well-groomed, she figured he had to be a lawyer, or maybe even a model or something. "I live in Scottsdale," she said.

"And you're staying here at this hotel?"

"Yep."

"So it's like that," he said, and took his right hand and ran it over his hair.

"Like what?"

"I'm being fresh. I apologize," he said.

"It's okay," she said, and took another sip from her drink. Bernadine didn't know what to do or say next. It was obvious that he was going to keep talking, and since her drink was half full, she couldn't very well hop up and leave without looking foolish. For some stupid reason, she felt like talking now. "I just went through a divorce, and today it's final and I'm celebrating," she blurted out.

"Well, congratulations," he said. "If congratulations are in order."

"They're definitely in order."

"How long were you married?"

"Eleven years."

"Whew," he said, and took a sip of the beer he had ordered.

"What about you?" she said.

"Five."

"Happily?"

"At one time," he said.

"Where do you live?" she asked.

"In Virginia, right outside D
. C
."

"What brings you to Phoenix?"

"Well, I had to come out here to get some background on a case I'm working on. I'm a civil rights attorney."

"So how long have you been here, and how long are you staying?" She couldn't believe how nosy she was being. Bernadine blamed it on those daiquiris.

"For four days now. I leave tomorrow."

"Have you had a chance to see the city?"

"You mean 'town,' don't you?" he said, grinning.

He had the most incredible smile. Sexy, when she got right down to it. And that mustache, boy, was it shiny, even in this dim light. And those bushy eyebrows, and those luscious lips, and the way he moved, as if his bones were lubricated. Bernadine was positive the booze was responsible for these impressions, these sensations she was having. She'd never felt aroused by a complete stranger before, and now that she was aware of it, she was starting to feel uncomfortable. She couldn't remember feeling these kinds of sparks when she met John. Or any man. "You're right," she said, trying to keep her mind on what he'd just said and not on him. "Even though there're a million people here, it really is just a big town."

"I've seen enough to know I wouldn't want to live here. It's too hot, for one thing, and what's there to do?"

"Nothing."

"I have to admit," he said, "you're the most stunning thing I've seen in the four days I've been here."

"Thank you," she said. Bernadine's face felt flushed, and she knew that if she were white, she'd be red.

"So is this the extent of your celebration?" he asked her.

"It looks like it," she said.

"You're not celebrating alone, are you?"

"Well, you're sitting next to me now," she said, and wanted to bite her tongue for saying it. Was this flirting? Bernadine wondered. Or was she making a fool of herself?

"You're right," he said. "I hope you don't mind."

"So far I don't."

He started laughing and asked if she'd like to sit at a table, where he could see her face when they talked. Bernadine got up, leaving her drink at the bar.

"Would you like another one?" he asked.

"I think I've had enough. Maybe a club soda," she said, "with a twist."

James ordered two of them and brought them back to the table. Over the next three hours, they learned more about each other than some people do who've known each other for years. Bernadine didn't know what to do with this information-how to process it-now that she had it. It turned out that James was thirty-seven years old, and his wife, who was white (which didn't bother her tonight, for some reason) and only thirty-two years old, had some rare form of breast cancer. She'd been hospitalized at least six times this past year. As Bernadine listened to him, she could tell he wasn't making it up. This wasn't the kind of shit you made up. He didn't have any kids but said he always wanted some. His wife didn't, which was a major cause of their problems. Three years ago was when she had noticed a big bruise on her left breast. James said she told him she hadn't bumped into anything that she knew of. When they had it checked out, they discovered it was the kind of breast cancer that even a mastectomy wouldn't help. James told her that they'd been planning to divorce, but he couldn't leave her like this. They had a respirator at home, and for the last year she'd literally been living on morphine. Now they were just waiting for it to happen. He said he was drained. Watching her suffer like this was the worst thing he'd ever been through in his life.

Bernadine told him her whole history with John, and even the recent incident with the pills. James said she was brave. The way she was going forward with her life, raising two kids by herself and working full time. Even the way she came into this bar alone tonigh
t t o celebrate. He said he had seen her when she checked in, and confessed that he'd hoped she wasn't meeting anybody here. He said he had his fingers crossed that she'd come back down to the bar for a drink. And here she was.

He also said John was a damn fool, like so many men. "We take entirely too much for granted," he said, "when we shouldn't. We abuse what we should be doing our damnedest to protect. We hurt the people who love us, and then wonder why our lives are so fucked up-excuse the language."

"You don't have to apologize," she said. "I totally agree." As a matter of fact, Bernadine agreed with just about everything he'd said during these three hours. As they talked, James became more and more enchanting. Bernadine wondered how men did that. How they could say the right things at the right time and just look better, become so much more alluring. How they could move a certain way, look at you a certain way, and make you yearn for them. James had done that and more. She couldn't remember the last time she actually sat down and talked to a man who had an opinion about so many things. She could've sat there and listened to him all night.

"Can I help you celebrate your new freedom?" he was saying. He was holding Bernadine's hands, which by now she felt perfectly comfortable with.

"What do you mean?"

"Let me ask you this first. Haven't you ever wanted to do something like this?"

"Something like what?"

"Meet somebody and feel so attracted that you don't waste time pretending because you just want to be with that person, you want to feel that person so bad that it's more like a need, so you go for it and don't worry about what'll happen afterwards?"

Damn, Bernadine thought. It sure sounded good. And even though she'd had that fling with Herbert, that was some superficial shit compared to this. She and Herbert never talked, they just fucked. "Well," she said, "I've been married for so long I never thought about it."

"Let me be your comfort zone tonight," he said, and looked her in the eye. This man was serious.

"Well, it's been comforting just talking to you," she said. "But to tell the truth, I'm game." She got nervous right after she said it. But fuck it. She wanted to see what doing something like this was like, before she came to her complete senses and changed her mind.

James got up from the table and helped Bernadine out of her chair. He went over to sign for the drinks, turned around, and looked her in the eye again. Damn, Bernadine thought. She watched every move he made. His shoulders were so wide, she had to inhale. She couldn't wait to get inside them. When James put his arm over her shoulders, she felt that same current pass through her body all over again.

They caught the elevator to her floor. Bernadine could hardly get the key in the door. James could tell she was nervous, so he reached over her head and took the key from her. "It's okay," he said. "Relax. Let me do this." She could feel his chest against her back. She wanted to fall just so he could catch her. Instead Bernadine stood stock-still. When the door opened, the cool air flooded the room and hit them in the face. She set her purse on the bed and walked over to the picture window. Now that he was here, she didn't know what to do. She was scared to get too close to him too soon. But James followed her. They both looked out at the view of the city, which was lit up and spectacular. She'd had some pretty good dreams before, but nothing came close to this.

"You feeling okay?" he asked.

"Nervous."

"I know," he said. "It's pretty obvious you've never done anything like this before."

"You're right," she said.

"I like that," he said. "Having second thoughts?"

"I'm having all kinds of thoughts," Bernadine said.

"Well, if it's any consolation, I've never done this before, either."

"I bet," she said.

"I don't lie," he said. "It's just a temporary solution to a permanent problem, which always comes back." James bent down and kissed Bernadine on her head, her cheeks, and then her bare shoulders. She felt them drop. "I know it sounds corny, but I feel like I've know
n y ou all my life," he said, and kissed her on the lips. "You want to know something else?"

Bernadine could barely hear him. He tasted so good. "What?" she finally said.

"I haven't slept with a woman in six months."

Bernadine heard that. "Now, this I don't believe," she said.

"It's true," he said.

"Why haven't you?"

He just looked at her. "Tonight I want to make you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world," he said, and kissed her again.

Bernadine looked in his eyes and smiled. It sounded good, so good that she took a deep breath, looked at all this man standing in front of her, and dropped her guard. After all, she wasn't married anymore. She had protection in her purse. And she was a grown woman. Free to do whatever she wanted to do. Wasn't she? Hadn't her heart given her permission to do this? If so, why was it changing its mind in midstream? Now it was telling her that she shouldn't be here. That what she was doing was low and sleazy and the kind of shit she should've gotten out of her system in her twenties, not her thirties. But she was starving for real affection, for real tenderness, and Bernadine needed a real man to give it to her. She wanted James to hold her. She wanted him to tell her over and over again that she was beautiful, until she believed it. She wanted him to tell her that everything would work out, that her life would be okay. But she wanted it to be the truth.

James said it had been ten years since he'd held and kissed a black woman. It had been ten years since he'd been able to talk to a woman without any pretense. He said he was grateful to be standing here. He put his arms around Bernadine and held her so close for so long that Bernadine started crying. James told her to go ahead and cry. And she did. And it felt good.

They stood there, in front of that big window, until they both felt strong enough to give each other another kind of comfort. By six o'clock the next morning, James Wheeler and Bernadine Harris were in love. They both knew, they said, that this kind of comfort was a temporary thing. James thanked Bernadine for easing his pain. Thanked her for trusting him. And thanked her for her honesty. He thanked her for everything, but especially, he said as he got in a taxi, for restoring his faith in black women. Bernadine checked out of the hotel, got in her Cherokee, and drove home. In the house, she sat down on the couch and, out of habit, reached for a cigarette. But she didn't have the desire or the need, and didn't smoke it. She sat there smiling, replaying the past night in her head for hours. It didn't matter if she never saw him ever in life. It didn't matter at all. She was alive again.

Chapter
19

Gloria heard the sound of a big truck outside her bedroom window. She knew it wasn't trash day, so she got up and peeked out through the miniblinds to see what and who it could be. There was a big moving van pulling into the driveway across the street. And then a navy-blue Buick sedan pulled up in front of the house. A black man, who appeared to be about fifty, got out of the car. He was wearing a bluish-gray uniform. Gloria figured he worked for the transit authority. If she wasn't mistaken, that was the color of their uniform. His hair was almost totally gray, and he was getting bald. His skin was a reddis h b rown. He looked about five nine, maybe ten, but she couldn't tell for sure. She also couldn't tell how good-looking he was, but from where she was sitting, for an older man, he didn't appear too bad.

Finally, she thought, some black people in the neighborhood. Gloria was excited. She and Tarik were tired of being the only ones on the whole block. She couldn't understand why more black folks hadn't moved in here. It wasn't like these houses were all that expensive. And it wasn't like they were out in the boonies.

She sat there for another fifteen or twenty minutes, watching the movers unload box after box after box. Gloria was wondering where the wife was. Maybe she'd go there later and introduce herself, take them a bottle of wine or something. No. Maybe they were religious people and didn't drink. She wouldn't want to offend. Then she remembered she had a half-baked sweet potato pie in the freezer. She could thaw it out and take it over.