

Also by Cheryl Robinson

________________

When I Get Free

If It Ain't One Thing

It's Like That

Sweet Georgia Brown

In Love with a Younger Man

When I Get Where I'm Going

Remember Me

The One

Like Mom

Copyright 2017 by Cheryl Robinson

All right reserved.

Published in the United States by Rose Colored Books

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
CONTENTS

Cover

Also by Cheryl Robinson

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

June 1986

Ray

Sarita

Sarita

Ray

Sarita

July 1986

Ray

Sarita

Ray

August 1986

Sarita

September 1986

Ray

Sarita

October 1986

Ray

Sarita

November 1986

Ray

Sarita

Ray

Ray

November 19, 1987

Sarita

December 1987

Ray

June 1988

Sarita

August 1988

Ray

November 1988

Sarita

R ay

Acknowledgements

About The Author

To my late father, Benjamin Anthony Robinson Sr.

I found out what I've been missing

Always on the run

I've been looking for someone

-La Forrest Cope

(Lyrics from "You Give Good Love" Whitney Houston)

June 1986

_______________________________
RAY

_________

"If it isn't Raymond Saint. What's up, man?" I hear a familiar voice coming from behind me as I pose in front of a floor-length mirror in the women's shoe department at Hudson's admiring the suit I just got out of the layaway at Man-oh-Man. I have two more to get out next payday.

Joseph Morris steps into my view, and I turn to face him. "Joe, man, what's up? I haven't seen you since we graduated." We share a brotherly handshake. "How've you been?"

"Couldn't be better, honestly. Life is real good. I've been in town for about a week, visiting family. I'm actually flying back tomorrow. I was just picking up a few things before I go."

"You moved out of state?"

"Yeah, after I graduated from U of M. I'm starting my second year of law school at Stanford."

I'm pretty sure Joe's father is either an attorney or a doctor.

"Man, good to hear that." Joe was part of the crowd I hung with at Cass Tech. I've been out of high school since 1980. Six years now. Damn, that's a long time to still be doing nothing.

"I see you're still staying sharp." Joe brushes my lapel.

"Trying to."

"So, man, what are you doing these days?"

"You know, the usual. Right now I'm just waiting for my girl."

He nods. "Where did you end up going to school? It's hard to keep up with everybody. Cass is so big, and we knew everybody, didn't we?"

I place one finger up to signal for Joe to wait, and then I unclip my pager. "This is my girl paging me right now actually. I need to find her." I've got to get rid of him before he finds out the truth and every Cass Tech alumni knows that the guy voted most likely to succeed is now selling shoes. Why am I in denial? I'm sure most of them already know.

"Really, that's cool. I was on my way out. I got what I came for." Joe raises a Hudson's shopping bag.

"Ray." I hear the forceful voice of a female. I turn to see Cynthia Meyers. This has the potential to get real ugly, real fast.

"What are you doing here?" My eyes lock on Cynthia, and Joe disappears—even though he's still standing here.

"It's a store, not your house. I don't need an invite."

"You need one if you're coming to talk to me. What do you want?"

"Why did you stop calling me and stop taking my calls?"

"Well, man, ah, it was good seeing you," Joe says. "I'll let you handle your little situation."

"Little situation?" Cynthia eyeballs Joe. "I'm a lot more than that."

Joe nods at me and quickly leaves.

"Well, why haven't you called me?" Cynthia asks again.

"I've been busy." I work my way between two of the tall clearance racks, seeking some privacy. Luckily, my manager won't be in today, but there are three female customers browsing.

"Busy doing what? Selling shoes?" Cynthia flips one of the size-seven pumps off the rack. "Hudson's doesn't stay open twenty-four hours, seven days a week."

"Please tell me why you're here."

"Why I'm here?" Cynthia snaps. "Because I want you to tell me why you stopped calling me."

"Do we have to talk about this here? I'm working."

"You won't talk to me any other time, so yeah—we do have to talk about it here. Unless you're ready for me to act a complete fool at your job. If I'd known you were going to act this way after we had sex, I never would've slept with you."

I shake my head as I stare at her. Someone so pretty acting so ugly. "I don't believe that," I say.

"I don't know why not!" she shouts.

"Please lower your voice," I whisper and watch two customers walk out of the department, leaving only one woman trying on shoes. "Because you had sex with me and didn't even know me. That's why."

"So?" Cynthia has a hand on her hips.

"So? All you had was my first name and telephone number scribbled on the back of an Olga's receipt." I lean down and whisper in her ear, "You let me come inside your mouth and you swallowed."

"And you liked it, and you said I was good. You also said you were taking me out to celebrate my birthday. What happened to all that?"

"I got busy."

"Busy? I shouldn't have to track your ass down. Don't play with me, Ray," Cynthia says through gritted teeth. "You weren't busy when we were at Belle Isle and you were begging me to suck your little dick!"

Little, really? I'm not going to let her bait me. "Yep, you're right."

"I'm right? About what—your dick being little or that I shouldn't have to track your ass down? Ray, I'm going to make your life so miserable, just like you've made mine."

"How have I made your life miserable? We've only seen each other once."

"Yep, and that's why my life is miserable."

"Look, I'm at work. Please leave or I'm calling security." I scan the sales floor. The customers who have just walked in are pretending not to listen, but I can tell they are.

"Call security. I don't care. I'm not shoplifting."

My coworker Denice—a sexy, gray-haired, older woman—is glaring at us from behind the cash register. She taps her finger on the face of her watch. It's almost time for shift change. If Cynthia keeps this nonsense up, I'll sic Denice on her and have her claw Cynthia's hazel eyes out with her curved nails.

I may have kicked it with Cynthia a little longer, until something better came along, had her boyfriend, Blaze, not called me. He's the one who told me her last name. He's an ex-con. At least I'm not doing that bad. According to him, he served a year on an assault charge, all because of her. He confronted the man she was cheating on him with, and it turned physical. Blaze beat him with some nunchucks. He found the Olga's receipt with my number and figured he needed to call and issue me a warning that if I continued to see her, I'd get beat down, too. He definitely doesn't have to worry about that.

"Ray, you ready?" Denice asks. She's strolled over and joined us between the clearance racks.

"No, he isn't. We're still talking. Can't you see that?" Cynthia darts her eyes at Denice.

"Listen, little girl. I wouldn't exactly classify what the two of you are doing as talking. It's more like you're making a fool of yourself. If he wants to talk to you, he will call you. If he doesn't, that means he's not interested. You don't have to come tracking him down at his job. What are you trying to do? Get a black man fired? It's hard enough for our men."

"Ray, tell your grandma to leave unless she wants to get beat down in the shoe department at Hudson's."

"Cynthia, go home to Blaze. Do right by your own man," I say.

"If I take a razor blade out of my purse and slit my wrists, I bet you'd feel bad then, wouldn't you?"

"I bet he wouldn't," Denice says. "And thank you for waiting until after our shift to do that."

"Ray, you're gonna have a surprise waiting for you. Believe that." She eases the handle of a switchblade from her fake Gucci purse and drops it back inside.

"Surprise us," Denice says, and the two of us glide off.

___

Denice can barely restrain herself. She yanks me through her front door and massages my shoulders as she guides me down a long hallway. This is my first time at her house. Last week, we were in the stockroom at work both looking for a size eight in the same shoe for our customers. There was only one pair left, and I'd just grabbed it.

"I'm sure we can work something out," she said. Next thing I knew she was on her knees, fiddling with my zipper. We flirt all the time, but I assumed a woman her age would never be interested in a man as young as me. Needless to say, I gave her the pair of shoes. "I hope you know I didn't do that to get these pair of shoes. I did it to get you," she said.

My mind was messed up for the rest of that day. And now I'm at her house, a really nice ranch, and I'm wondering how she can afford to live in the Ravines, working at Hudson's. It's not like she's a manager. Her commission is decent but not that much better than mine. She has been there for twenty years. I guess that's worth something. But this much? I doubt it.

"How many bedrooms do you have?" I ask.

"Five." Denice pushes me inside one of them, kicks off her heels, and fumbles with my belt buckle and zipper. My pants drop and pool at my ankles. "Do you know what I love about you? Your thing is always standing at attention and ready." She gets on her knees and yanks my boxers down. "She called this little; it's the biggest one I've seen."

"This is why I love older women. You know just what to do. You're not afraid of the dick like some of them young girls," I say as I grab Denice's thick hair.

"What did I tell you about messing around with those silly young girls, huh? You don't need 'em. Momma's gonna take good care of you, right?"

I actually enjoy calling Denice "Momma" because my own mom won't allow me to call her anything other than Miss King, and I always felt cheated by that. So if this is the only way I can call a woman "Momma," I'll take it.

"What you want Momma to do to you? Do you want to come this way or the other way?"

"The other way."

"You should've told me that. Got me wasting time on my knees when you could've already been on your back." She rises up and quickly comes out of her dress, pantyhose, bra, and panties.

She slaps my hand as I reach for her breasts. "You love squeezing these big ole things, don't you?" I nod and pout. She's teasing me, and I can't stand it. "You gonna have to wait. When you give Momma what she wants, Momma will give you what you want."

I jump into the bed and roll onto my back. "How old are you, Denice? I always wanted to ask you that."

"Does your dick care how old I am or how good I make it feel? Old enough to make these eight and a half inches feel better than it's ever felt." She gave me an extra half an inch. I'll take it.

Denice climbs on top of me, slides my dick inside of her, and starts riding me. "If you keep giving me this dick whenever I want it, you won't have to put no more suits in the layaway."

Just as I'm reaching out to squeeze those big melons of hers, Denice stops suddenly. "Shhh," she says. "I think that's my husband."

"Husband! You have a husband? You never told me that."

"What do you think this is?" She flashes the huge rock on her ring finger. "Do you honestly think I can afford this house working in Hudson's shoe department?" Denice has several rings on her fingers. I assumed that was just another one.

"Damn, Denice. I'm not trying to die."

"Shhh." She places her index finger to her lips. She climbs off of me and tiptoes to the door, opens it, peeks out, and quickly closes it behind her. "It's him! What's he doing here this early? Hide."

"Where?"

"Somewhere. I don't know. But whatever you do, don't leave this room until I tell you to." She grabs her dress and heels, puts them on quickly, and sneaks out of the room.

I hurry to the door to lock it. I have to get out of here. I spot the phone on the nightstand and call my best friend, Boone. I just hope Denice's husband doesn't pick up while I'm on it. Boone has to come get me. It's Tuesday. He's off today. I'm too old to still be living like this and way too young to die.

I hear her husband talking as I'm rushing to put on my clothes.

A few seconds later, I quietly raise the window and try to pull up the screen. It won't budge. I grit my teeth and try again. Only this time I try to channel all the anger I have about my life into getting the screen up. Maybe the adrenaline of the situation along with all my frustrations will turn me into the Hulk. It doesn't.

I hear Denice's husband's voice outside the door and then hear the doorknob turn. "Why is this door locked?" he asks.

I don't wait to hear her answer. It's now or never. I punch through the screen, tear out the netting, and climb out. Then I sneak around the perimeter of their home like a burglar and run to the corner to wait for Boone at the entrance of the subdivision. I pray no one calls the Southfield police on me.

A few minutes later, Boone pulls up in his pickup. I jump inside. "Go! Drive! Just take me to Northland," I yell. When I called him, I could tell from the drag in his voice that I was putting him out, but he always comes through for me. I just need to go back to the mall, get my car, and go home. I should've known that something was up when Denice told me to ride with her and that she'd bring me back to the mall. Still, I never would've thought she was married. That's not cool at all. I'm not trying to sleep with another man's wife. I do have some values.

As Boone drives me back to Northland, he starts in on another one of his lectures, like he's my father and not the same age as me. Boone and I are nothing alike. We've known each other since our junior year at Cass, the same year he moved to Detroit from a small town called Jefferson. It's in Texas.

He wears cowboy boots and cowboy hats and thick, prescription glasses that distort his eyes and make it difficult to tell if he's looking at you—the longer you know him, the easier it is to get used to. He didn't have too many friends in high school. We clicked because we both love playing Spades, and we'd play at lunch. He was my partner. He also has a sense of humor and acted somewhat like a bodyguard. I needed one because back then I was always messing with someone's girl.

He's a tall dude, way taller than me—six six—and in a minute, if he doesn't push those burgers to the side, he's going to be three hundred pounds because he's already close to it. His wife, Sharon, also went to Cass with us. They've been married since they were eighteen.

"Man, when are you going to give up all of your playing and settle down with one woman? Don't you get tired?" Boone asks.

"Hook me up with one of Sharon's friends. I do need to stop meeting women at the mall."

"Most of her friends are already married."

"She doesn't have one single friend. Is that what you're telling me?" I glance at Boone as we're sitting at a red light.

"Not really."

"Not really? What does that mean? Either she does or she doesn't."

"Well, I mean, one of her best friends is single, but nah, you can't meet her."

"What do you mean, 'Nah, I can't meet her'?" Now he has me intrigued. Don't tell me what I can't have, because that makes me want it. "How does she look? Describe her. Is she pretty?"

"Don't even think about her. Her looks don't matter."

"Does she look like she could be related to Sharon? Or when we're fucking am I going to have to have all the lights off and her head shoved down in a pillow?"

"And that statement right there is the exact reason why you won't be meeting her. Besides, you wouldn't be having sex with her because she's going to stay a virgin until marriage."

"A what?"

"You heard me, a virgin."

I turn up my nose and shake my head. "I like a woman with a little experience, personally."

"You'd rather have a woman who's been with men as opposed to one that's never been with one and you're her first?"

"Yeah, because what's a virgin going to do but lie there and have me do all the work?"

"If I had a choice, I'd want to be the first." Boone clearly didn't have a choice with Sharon, because from what I heard, he wasn't the first or the second or the third or the fourth. I'll stop there, even though I could go on.

I try to visualize myself with a virgin, and I can't because I've never been with one. "I've never broken a hymen before. I wonder if it feels any different. I would like to meet her."

"So you can break a hymen? Hell no. And you wouldn't be breaking hers, trust me."

"How do you know? Don't issue a challenge. You know I'm a competitive dude."

"Sarita's a sweet, wholesome girl. Like I said, she's still a virgin, and she's also highly intelligent. She graduated from Georgetown with an MBA at twenty-two. She's in management with GM and is a CPA. She's the kind of woman you can take home to your mom." He thought about his statement. "Well, maybe not your mom, but most moms."

"And how old is she?"

"She turned twenty-four on April twenty-second. She's a Taurus."

"Okay, you say that like it means something."

"It does mean something, because you're a Libra."

"And?"

"Y'all aren't compatible."

"Man, I don't subscribe to that nonsense. The only compatibility we need to have is in the bedroom. And actually, I wouldn't mind teaching her everything she needs to know."

"She's never even had a boyfriend."

"What?" I was getting excited about the idea of her, but I'm not anymore. What twenty-four-year-old woman is going to choose not to have a boyfriend? Men haven't chosen her, which might be the real reason she's still a virgin. "She must not look too hot," I say to Boone.

Boone shrugs. "She's pretty to me." He pulls into Northland Mall, the upper level, near Hudson's. As we approach my car, I notice something's wrong. My car looks a lot lower than all the others parked around it. We pull up, and I see that all four tires on my Renault Alliance are slashed. I jump out of Boone's F-150. Then I notice the scratches on the passenger side door. Someone has keyed the word Cheater into it.

"Do you have AAA?" Boone asks. He's parked his truck and is now standing next to me.

"Look at my car! And you're asking do I have AAA? Look at my damn car."

"What do you expect? You keep playing women and thinking none of them will ever retaliate. Looking at your car won't fix it. Do you have AAA?"

"No, I don't, and I can't afford to call a tow."

"I'll pay it, man, and you can just pay me back."

I clear my throat and look at the sky to prevent my tears from falling. This is just one more thing, piled up on all the other things I can't afford, not all of which is related to money. "I'll pay you back on payday. Man-oh-Man will just have to wait."

"You can take your time paying me back. Get your suits out."

"Those suits can wait. I want to pay you back." I shake my head and sniff. "Damn, man, when is this shit ever gonna end?"

"You know when it's gonna end. When you stop it. You have to be the one to change. To want to change."

"Trust me, I want to. This is old. It's just familiar. I wish I were more like you. I wish I did have a woman I clicked with. I'm so far behind in my life. I don't even know where to start."

"Somewhere. Start there."

___

On Saturday, my off day, I open the side door and notice a white Ford Escort parked out front. Cynthia Meyers is sitting in the driver's seat. She's at my mom's house. I never brought her here or told her I live here. Is this girl stalking me? I've never had a stalker before. I've had women come over here after I stopped calling, which usually happens after we have sex. A few got on their knees, grabbed my ankles, and begged me to stay with them. But none of them have ever stalked me. It took my mom to get those women straight, and I never heard from them again. My mom has to do the same with Cynthia Meyers because I never want to see or hear from that girl again.

I rush into the kitchen in a panic. My mom is at the breakfast table with a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other reading obituaries in the Free Press, her favorite pastime. "Miss King, listen, there's a crazy woman outside. I need you to talk some sense into her."

My mom sets her cup down and takes a long drag of her cigarette. "The only reason there's a crazy woman outside is because you just like your daddy. Y'all drives them womens to be that way. They ain't born like that. But once they get to messin' with a Saint—your last name should be Sinner—they get to losin' they mind." She shakes her head and puckers her lips. "What you do to the girl? And don't lie."

"I ain't do nothin' to her. She too loose."

"Loose? She loose 'cause you mens made her that way. You mens kill me, callin' a woman loose. You the one laid down with her, what that make you?"

"But she's too young to be that loose."

"Young? How young? You best not be messin' with no teenager. You almost twenty-four years old. You need to grow up and start actin' your age. Get your own place. When you movin' out?"

"She's not that young. She's twenty-one. Just talk to her, please."

"Where she at?"

"In her car, sitting outside our house."

"Stakin' your ass out. Ain't it sad the lows some womens go to behind mens. Let her ass sit there. I don't care. It's a free world, and last I check I don't own any of these city streets, includin' Santa Clara."

"But she's the one who flattened my tires and keyed my car."

My mom stabs her cigarette butt in the ashtray, stands up, and marches outside. I should've just told her that to begin with. I rush to the living room and crack the front window so I can hear their conversation. The distance between the street and the four-family isn't much, and my mom and Cynthia both talk loud.

"From my understanding, you the girl that flattened the tires on my son's car and keyed the door. Is that true?"

"No, ma'am," Cynthia says. She's gotten out of her car and is sitting on the hood with her arms folded, staring my mother down.

"Don't lie, 'specially not to me. 'Cause I can see through all that, and I can tell by the way you said, 'No, ma'am,' that you is. Let me tell you somethin'. Don't let no mens tear you down that low. A pretty girl like you. You the one supposed to be messin' with they heads, not the other way around. If you don't have a line of mens waitin' for you, somethin' wrong with you. You not using what God blessed you with: that light skin, that long hair, them hazel eyes. Girl, please. Look at you. You almost pretty as I am. Almost."

"Your son ain't nothin' but a player, and he done played with the wrong one this time."

"Yeah, my son is a playa, and I don't see what any of you womens see in him no way because he needs to get himself together or stay single."

"But I like him. He's so fine. He should model."

"Model? We ain't in New York. What he need to do is get him one of them damn factory jobs like his best friend got and start makin' him some real money and be set for life."

"He ain't have to do me the way he did me, though?"

"What he do—fuck you?"

Cynthia nods.

"He ain't force himself on you, did he?"

Cynthia shakes her head.

"Okay den. So he ain't done no more than you wanted him to do, and evidently you liked it. You liked it so much that his thing got you actin' a damn fool. I guess he done turned your young ass out because he done been with enough womens to know what he doin' there."

"I just can't get your son out of my system, and I've tried."

"Some of you womens ain't no better than mens. Last I checked, a big dick ain't never paid one bill. If you think my son can make you climax like no other, just wait till you get you one of them mens that makes sure you don't have to worry about nothin': lights paid, car note, rent, all that shit. I don't care if his thing is this big." My mom waves her pinky finger around. "That alone should be enough to make your toes curl. Stoppin' bill collectors from callin' your ass? Oh, that's orgasm worthy right there."

"All I can do is try. But you need to tell your son to stop playing games, especially with me."

"Girl, my son is grown, and I'm not the coddlin' type. He gonna live his life, and I'm sho' gonna live mine. Right now, we may be livin' together, but we all the way separate."

"Yes, ma'am," Cynthia says, dragging her voice.

"And one more thing. You gonna need to write my son out a check for the cost of the repair of that car door and those tires. He already got three estimates. Either that or he will be filing a police report with DPD on your ass, because he won't be filing an insurance claim and have our rates go up. He's on my policy, which means my rates will also go up, and I ain't about to have that happen. So I hope you got a job. If not, you better hurry up and find you one of them mens I just finished tellin' you about and have him pay it."

"Yes, ma'am."

My mom marches back inside. Cynthia gets back in the car but stays parked out front.

"What she say, Miss King? Why is she still out there?"

"You heard every word through that window you got up." My mom shakes her head. "That one ain't wrapped too tight, and I think I heard an accent. Is she from the islands? Because womens from the islands is crazy, so you betta hope not."

I shrug quickly. "I don't know. I don't know her like that."

My mom draws her head back and frowns. "You don't know her like that? Pssh. But you still stuck your thing all up in her? You so nasty for doin' that. You know that?" She stares at me like she's waiting for me to respond. Okay, I guess me and a whole bunch of other men and the women who let us are all nasty for doing that. "You ain't got nothin' to say fo' yourself?"

"It's just something that happened."

"Somethin' that happened?" My mom shakes her head. "And it keeps happenin', and I'm sick of it. I'm so tired of these womens comin' over here. It's gotta stop or you gotta move. Every time I gotta go and talk to one of them womens you stick yo' thing up in, I lose some of myself. You know that? And that one out there I don't understand at all. I mean, a pretty girl like that, actin' a damn fool behind your ass. She supposed to have ten mens, comin' out the woodworks, chasin' after her. Somethin' wrong with that one. You watch her. Watch her real good."

Cynthia finally drives off. I can only pray that it's the last time I see her.
SARITA

_________

Celery. Baby carrots. Yogurt. Alfalfa sprouts. Whole wheat bread. Lots of cheese. Raisins (I do love those). Leftover salmon. Milk—now I have an idea. I plan to drive to the Boston-Edison area to Mr. Fo-Fo's and get one of those huge slices of chocolate cake that's large enough to feed three, even when one of them is Boone. That'll go great with a tall glass of milk.

I take a deep sigh. When the highlight of my Saturday afternoon is eating chocolate cake, something's gone terribly wrong. I'm not that old.

The doorbell rings.

"Sarita," my mother says through our intercom system.

I walk over to the unit and press down the button to talk. "Yes, Mother."

"Please answer the door. That's the new landscaper who's coming to take a tour of our grounds. If you don't mind starting it off, I'll take it over in just a bit. I'm on the phone with Mrs. Emerson, and we're discussing you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. I'll tell you later."

"Okay."

It's a good thing this isn't one of my lazy Saturdays when I sleep in until noon and then dwell on the fact that I still don't have the life I want. This is one of those Saturdays where I got up and got fully dressed, opting for one of my Norma Kamali dresses, which has huge shoulder pads and two oversized pockets that flare at my hip in a way I really like. It's the same color as my mood usually is—gray, which is the color of independence and self-reliance as well as evasion, noncommitment, and loneliness. Half of my wardrobe is that color.

"Oh, and don't get any thoughts. From what I hear, if it's the son, he's a good-looking man. Just remember he's here about our lawn. He's not a doctor making house calls."

"Mother!"

I stroll to the door, and as soon as I open it, I see stars. Good looking is an understatement. He's not as beautiful as Presley Okafor at Georgetown, but close enough for me.

"Hi, I'm Raphael Adams—the landscaper. Are you Dr. Sarah Deering?"

"No, that's my mother. I'm Sarita, her daughter. But I guess I didn't need to say that part. If she's my mother, then I'm obviously her daughter, right?" I clear my throat when he doesn't respond and instead stares at me as if I have two heads and I'm talking out the side of both of them.

"I'm here to walk the grounds."

"I can start off showing you the grounds, and then my mother will finish if that's okay?"

He nods. He's a clean-shaven man. His hair is in a regular low cut, which I'm glad of. If I see another hi-top fade, I don't know what I might do. As much as I'd love to be in a relationship right now, if the only man I can have is one with a hi-top fade, I'll continue being lonely.

Raphael is tall like my daddy—six two easily. He's wearing a pair of Dickies and a tight-fitting white T-shirt. He's muscular and, while unfortunately he isn't dark-skinned, he's not light-skinned either. Closer to my complexion, which is somewhere in the middle, only he's a couple shades lighter. I've rarely been attracted to men my color or lighter. The darker, the better, which is odd, since my dad is light-skinned, and I'm a daddy's girl.

I smile at Raphael. That's a sexy name; it rolls off my tongue quickly. But I can tell he doesn't see me. I feel like waving my hand in front of his face and saying, "I'm right here. Please look at me." It's as if he was holding a scratch-off in his hand, and when I opened the door, he realized he didn't win.

When he saw my face—which there's nothing wrong with, but most men make me feel as if there is—his expression changed. How, if I look like my daddy and women find him attractive, do men not find me attractive? I don't look so much like him that I look like a man. Besides I always wear dresses. I don't wear my hair down, but it's not as if it's long like Mother's, so I don't see what I stand to gain if I change my hairstyle.

"This is a beautiful home." Raphael looks toward the cement-tiled roof. "Is that the maid's quarters on the third floor?"

"We just call it an apartment, but I suppose that's what it was. We don't use it now."

He nods and continues scanning the grounds, which encompass two lots spread across an acre of land with a formal and informal garden and a sunken pond.

"I love the homes in this area. We have a lot of clients over here. Do you know when your home was built?"

"Nineteen sixteen."

"Very nice. I want to live over here one day when I settle down with a wife and kids."

As I'm showing him around the smaller lot, my mother strides out toward him. His eyes bulge, and I wouldn't be surprised if something else didn't, too.

"Dr. Deering. I'm Raphael. My dad sent me in his place. I hope you don't mind."

"Why would I? I'm sure your father has taught you his business well, and you'll provide an adequate assessment. But, if you don't mind, I need to run over to one of the neighbor's for a quick chat." She smiles at me, and then turns back toward Raphael. "I'll be back shortly. My daughter can answer any questions you have. She's brilliant and knows about this home and the history of the neighborhood better than I do. She gets that from her father."

"That's fine. I'll keep walking the grounds with her, and I'll wait for you to return so that we can go over the assessment."

"You can go over that with my daughter as well."

"I'll wait."

My mother waves and floats away, and Raphael's eyes follow her. She's fifty-four years old and gets more attention from men than I do.

"Did you have any questions for me?" I ask, trying to snap his attention away from my mother and back to me.

"Your mother is—for lack of a better word—beautiful. Damn. But I guess you hear that a lot, don't you?"

"All the time."

"And is that all her hair?"

"Yes."

"Damn. At least now I have a vision of exactly how I want my wife to look." His eyes assess me as if I'm one of the hedges in the backyard that needs shaping. "You must look like your father."

"Just like him. My sister looks exactly like my mother."

"Where is she?"

"In Boston. Married."

"Of course she is."

"Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to finish showing you this lot and quickly go around to the other. I have plans, and I can't be out here all day." I'm ready for my chocolate cake and milk. I'm used to men falling out over my mother. I've always been in the shadow of her and my sister.

Well, maybe not always. I had that kind of attention, once, when I was a child. My hair was once almost as long as my mother's. The length of a woman's hair can be a great source of power, and it's not my fault that I lost mine. But I've managed to compensate for it in other ways. Just not physically.
SARITA

_________

The walls in my bedroom are still pink even though I've outgrown the color. They were beige when my parents first moved here in 1962. Back then, Palmer Woods only had a few black families. It's comprised of 295 colonial and Tudor revival homes in a now-historic district.

The year they moved to Palmer Woods was the same year I was born. As a kid, I always wanted this room. After all, it has a sun balcony, chandelier, two walk-in closets, a built-in vanity, and a private bathroom with separate bathtub and shower. But being younger, I had to settle for the smaller yellow bedroom on the opposite end of this floor until Sunniva left for Harvard in 1976, which was also my freshman year at Our Lady of Mercy High School.

But now it's no longer about this room. I've been back from DC for two years, and it's time for me to reclaim my independence. I felt like more of an adult in college. I lived in an off-campus apartment with my best friend, Sharon, for all but my freshman year when I lived in the dorm, which is where I met Sharon. She was assigned as my roommate.

Sharon was married back then and still is today. She got married the summer before we started at Georgetown. She's a grown woman and living as one, while I'm in a pink room. It's time for me to move.

Dr. Emerson is here. It's just after ten in the morning, but he's come to my parents' home to pick me up for a date—my first one. Not just with him, but my first one period. I suppose I shouldn't be nervous since I've known Dr. Emerson my entire life. I also know how most doctors are—I'll call him Dr. Emerson unless he tells me otherwise.

I hear him downstairs talking with my parents about the membership-only Detroit Golf Club that's across Seven Mile Road, minutes from our home. They've finally integrated, but my daddy isn't interested in joining. He'll stick to golfing his way through the various courses in south-eastern Michigan. I'm not surprised Dr. Emerson golfs. He probably skis, too. It matches his upbringing.

I'm not ready, which is why I'm still sitting on my canopy bed with the sheer white curtains drawn meditating on 1 Corinthians 13:2–6, which are my favorite verses to reflect on. I'm so ready for love, but not any old something—true love. I scan the highlighted verses:

If I had the gift of prophecy, and if I understood all of God's secret plans and possessed all knowledge, and if I had such faith that I could move mountains, but didn't love others, I would be nothing. If I gave everything I have to the poor and even sacrificed my body, I could boast about it; but if I didn't love others, I would have gained nothing.

Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.

When I finish meditating, I set my Bible on my nightstand and rest my rosary on top of it. My gray Norma Kamali cotton shirt dress—a different one than the one I wore when the landscaper was over yesterday—is laid across the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed. The heels of my sling-back pumps kiss on the hardwood floor in front of the entrance to my bathroom.

Would it be rude if I never made my way downstairs? My mother wouldn't allow that. This is her dream for me. I climb through the curtains, slip on my dress, and then step inside the closet and stare at my three favorite Coach purses: the Dinky, the Slim Satchel, and the Stewardess. I can't decide which one to take.

I love each for different reasons. And I can't narrow it down by color because all three are black. Coach doesn't have a bunch of colors to choose from to begin with, and if I'm spending that much on a purse, I want to make sure I use it often. I'm not like my mother. Coach isn't high end enough for her. She prefers Gucci and Louis Vuitton. But I'll take black glove-tanned cowhide leather over some initials on canvas any day. Besides, black goes with everything.

"Sarita, Dr. Emerson is waiting for you downstairs," my mother says as she enters my room.

"I know, Mother." My hand inches in the direction of my Dinky, which is inside its own little white square of the built-in purse display.

"Well, if you know, what's taking you so long? Not that we don't enjoy talking to him because, of course, we do. He's such an intelligent young man, and his parents are dear friends of ours, as you know. He likes you, Sarita, and he's not the play type. He's serious. He's looking for a wife."

"I understand, Mother."

"What do you understand? Do you understand I'd like for you to smile at Dr. Emerson, show those great teeth, stay engaged in his conversation? He's a very rational man."

"Mother, I'm not stupid. I went to college. I have two degrees." I start transferring the contents of my Stewardess into the Dinky. It can't fit nearly as much, but all I really need are some bobby pins and a small comb in case my updo comes undone; my Fashion Fair Lip Moisturizer, my slim wallet, and my keys.

"I never implied you were stupid, Sarita. I know you're very intelligent. I just understand how you are, and I know that you feel that once you leave work, it's over, but everyone doesn't feel that way. Dr. Emerson is passionate about his work, so please act as if you're interested. Do you remember everything that I taught you about dealing with men of his stature?"

I nod. "Yes, Mother." I've been around men of his stature my entire life. My daddy is a man of his stature.

"Good, because if you do exactly what I've taught you over the years, you will be married to Dr. Emerson by next spring."

I sigh but not loud enough for my mother to hear. Married by next spring? What is my mother talking about? She told me that Mrs. Emerson asked if I was in a relationship and asked if it were okay if her son called me. How did she go from that to marriage? Because he's a doctor and my mother is desperate for me to land one? But at least I'm no longer nervous. I'm ready for this date to start. Anything to get me away from my mother.

"Remember, this is not a date. This is an introduction over brunch, that's it, so don't make more out of it than it is."

"I know, Mother."

"You look beautiful, Sarita."

"Thank you, Mother."

"You look like the type of woman a man marries. Enjoy yourself. I know that you will." She smiles proudly, as if her dream for me will soon be realized.

Dr. Emerson glances at me and grins as I glide down the curved, carpeted staircase. I hesitate for a moment at the bottom, then head to the front entranceway.

My daddy and Dr. Emerson are still discussing golf. I'm trying not to drill a hole into the Pewabic tile with the heel of my pumps.

"Well, it was good seeing you, Graham. I'm sure I'll be seeing you soon."

"You definitely will, sir."

Dr. Emerson shakes my daddy's hand and heads toward me.

"You should have come over and not waited by yourself over here," he says.

"I didn't want to interrupt."

"You are not an interruption. Far from that." Dr. Emerson hurries to open the front door for me and then guides me to his red Corvette Indy Pace Car convertible. I want to ask him a few questions about his new car since I work for GM, but I'm nervous again. I barely speak at all in the car, though that doesn't seem to bother him.

___

"Have you been here yet?" he asks as he pulls up to valet at the Whitney, a restaurant that opened this year and is housed in a mansion that was built in 1894.

"This is my first time."

"I'm glad I could take you somewhere you've never been."

I turn toward him and smile, making sure to show my great teeth.

Once inside the restaurant, we're taken to the second floor to one of the fifty-two rooms and seated at a square table for four in front of a fireplace. I hold up the large menu to obscure my face.

Dr. Emerson clears his throat and asks, "Sarita, do you know what you'd like for me to order for you?"

I drop the menu just below my eyes. "I think the three-course lunch."

"That sounds good." He smiles. "Sarita, are you nervous?"

"A little bit."

"How can you be nervous? You've known me all of your life?"

I set the menu down on the table. "Honestly, Dr. Emerson—"

"Graham, please. Don't ever call me Dr. Emerson. Only my patients call me that. I'm not on an ego trip."

"Okay." I smile. I'm glad he's not one of those doctors on an ego trip. That means he's like my daddy, but not like my uncles. "Graham, I don't feel like I've known you my entire life. I've known your family. I went to school with your brother."

"Right. With Emmerit."

I nod.

"My youngest brother is married, and I'm not. Isn't that pathetic?"

"Isn't that by choice?"

He shakes his head and says, "Not at all. If it were my choice, I would've been married at twenty-five."

"Why weren't you?"

"I know how I want my wife to be and that type of woman is hard to find."

My mother said I have to engage him, so I suppose I have to respond. "How would you like your wife to be?"

"I'd like for her to be tall, around five nine, and slender with straight, white teeth. I prefer that she not wear makeup—since she has flawless skin, she doesn't need to. Good bone structure and a nice grade of hair and comes from a respectable family. I'd also prefer her to be a Catholic like me. And the daughter of two dentists." He looks at me and smiles. "You do know that I just described you, right?"

"Yes." I pick up my glass of water and take a sip.

"As long as you know." Graham pauses for a minute. "Your mother tells me that you're still a virgin."

I start to cough and pat my chest because I'm choking on the water I just swallowed. "Are you okay, Sarita?" Graham immediately gets out of his seat and pats my back.

I clear my throat. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you."

"Did I embarrass you with that statement?" he asks as he sits back down.

The waiter interrupts our conversation and Graham places our order, starting with mine and then orders the three-course Lumberman's Brunch for himself.

Once the waiter leaves, I say, "I just don't understand why she would discuss something like that with you."

"You do know what this is, right?"

"What, what is?"

"Us? You and I? The introduction today? You know the purpose of it, correct?"

I think about his question and realize I don't honestly know what the purpose is but I say, "To see if we have a mutual interest, and if so, possibly date?"

He shakes his head. "Date? What is that? What serious-minded man has time to date? I desire a wife. I know your family. I'm proud of everything you've accomplished. I love that you still live with your parents, and your mother explained that you're going to continue to do that until you get married, which shouldn't be much longer. I'm very attracted to you, Sarita. But even though this is an arrangement, I still want to make sure that you feel the same way about me."

Graham is actually a handsome man. Tall. Around six two. But he's, well, he's a very fair-skinned man. If not for the coarseness of his red hair, he'd probably be mistaken for a white man. And he has freckles but only around his nose and partially around his cheeks, though they're faint. His looks don't turn me off, but they definitely don't turn me on. I may be a virgin, but I do still know what I find sexy, and I'm attracted to dark-skinned men. I can't say it enough—the darker the better.

"What do you mean by arrangement?" I ask.

"Your parents and my parents are arranging for us to get married."

"Arranged? The way they do in Asia and the Middle East?

He nods. "It's a shame it wasn't adopted here. I think the divorce rate wouldn't be as high. You see, as a psychiatrist, I know the importance of a person's mental state being intact and how that ties into how they function in a relationship. You have to have a healthy mind to have a healthy relationship, and parents often know what's best for their children and what will work in the long term.

"Initially, you and Emmerit were supposed to marry, but when he went off to college, he got a girl pregnant, and that changed things. So now he's married to her and miserable—entirely different backgrounds. I went to my parents for you, and they spoke to your parents about us. This is basically an introduction to me, your future husband, if you'd like for me to be your future husband."

"Oh, umm, I don't know what to say." I laugh because I'm extremely nervous. I cry when I'm angry. I'm not angry now, though tears might be appropriate. No one's going to arrange my marriage, and I'm not going to marry a man I don't love.

"You don't have to say anything right now. Think about it."

The waiter brings our first course, which is a simple salad with herbed vinaigrette for me and a smoked salmon crostini for Graham. Graham watches me as I eat, and that bugs me. He's a nice man, I continue to tell myself, and he's not old, but he is eight years older than me, my brother's age. He went to Gesu Catholic School and U of D High School with Solomon, which makes this feel even odder.

Anyone who knows me knows how close I am with my brother. We're kindred spirits. If Solomon thinks I should marry Graham, then I will.

___

"No, absolutely not," Solomon says as he walks the used car lot at Mel Farr Ford on Greenfield where he works, clipboard and pen in hand. He grins at a young woman as we pass her. I discreetly shake my head. Solomon is a married man but still flirts. He can't help it. Women pay him plenty of attention. "Think about this. He's my age and a doctor, and he's not married and doesn't have kids. What's up with him?"

I shrug.

"I think he's gay. I've always thought that."

Tomorrow will be one week since Graham and I went to brunch, and he'd like to take me to church and breakfast.

Solomon bends down and peers through the window of a Ford Mustang to read the VIN and then checks a box on the form attached to his clipboard.

"But if he's gay, why would he want to get married to me?"

"My sister. My innocent little sister." Solomon shakes his head. I see the frustration on his face as he straightens up and looks at me. "He's getting older, and to other people, it doesn't look right that a successful man isn't married and doesn't have kids. That's where you come in. He'll marry you. You'll be his front, and he'll still be going off with men. It'll be a sexless, loveless facade. Is that what you want? He'll sleep with you just enough for you to have two or three kids and complete that perfect picture," Solomon uses his hands to frame a picture in the air. "But he'll still be hanging out at Menjos."

"Menjos?" I ask as I follow him from one used car to the next as he reads VINs and checks boxes. He must be doing inventory.

"It's a gay club."

"So, is he? You make it sound like you know for a fact that he is."

"I don't know for a fact, but that's what I heard. Don't get me wrong, I've never been to Menjos, so I can't say for sure. Maybe he's not gay. It's all hearsay. But I don't want my baby sister to be the one to confirm whether or not the rumor is true."

"I don't think he's gay."

"Maybe it's the complete opposite. Maybe he's a ladies' man, and a scorned female dropped that rumor, but that's definitely the one circulating."

"Gay, no," I say, shaking my head. "Ladies' man, maybe."

"And if our mother is okay with you marrying him, you already know you can't do it. But who am I? No one in our parents' eyes. I'm selling cars. I'm not a doctor. But Veronica doesn't care. She loves me for me. She encourages me. And I love that woman, but she doesn't understand why our mother hates her, and I'm not going to explain that nonsense to her.

What am I supposed to say, 'Baby, you come from a one-parent home, your mother doesn't have a degree, and she has three kids by three different men, and you didn't grow up in Palmer Woods or Sherwood Forest? You went to Pershing.' What does any of that have to do with who I love? Now they're trying to arrange this crap on you."

"It's not Daddy," I say.

"Pssh, that's what you think. I'm convinced that our parents are clones of each other, but Dad's smoother with his manipulation. Sarita, don't marry that man. A better one will come along. But now I have an issue that I need your help with."

"Whatever you need."

"Well, baby sis, I need your help convincing our parents to let me move into the third-floor apartment with Veronica and the boys for about a year until I get our money up. We're being evicted."

"With as much money as you make?"

"The IRS is after me for back taxes. Five years' worth and they're about to garnish me. You haven't moved up there, have you?"

"Solomon, you of all people? When you know that I'm a CPA, right? Please explain how you got in trouble with the IRS."

"This is old, way before you were a CPA and got your MBA and all that. I'm pretty much screwed. I owe them about sixty G."

My mouth falls open and stays that way so long that a fly almost flies inside. Solomon's quick hands swat it away though.

I close my mouth and jerk my head to the side. "I could've swallowed that thing. You're always saving me."

"Isn't that what a big brother is supposed to do? Think of that fly as Graham."

I wave Solomon off. My mind isn't on Graham or that fly. I'm thinking about the time Solomon really saved me. If it weren't for Solomon, I wouldn't be standing here. I was eight years old. Sunniva and Solomon were playing pool in the basement, and I was watching and waiting for my turn. Solomon promised to teach me. I snatched the small plastic wrapping from a piece of old-fashion peppermint and tossed the peppermint into my mouth and started sucking.

"Solomon won!" I shouted, and then balled my fists and threw them in the air. The peppermint I was sucking was resting on my tongue, and as soon as I spoke, it flew backward, slid down my throat, and got stuck. I felt the vein in the middle of my forehead popping. I couldn't move. And though I could see that Solomon and Sunniva's mouths were moving, I couldn't hear any sound.

They were racking up the balls to start another game. Then suddenly Solomon rushed behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and tipped my head forward. With one hand formed into a fist, he pressed hard into my abdomen once, and the peppermint flew out. I coughed and couldn't stop coughing for several minutes. But I could hear again. Dr. Bernie, our 120-pound Bouvier, was barking. If it weren't for Solomon performing the Heimlich maneuver, which he'd just learned that day in school, and Dr. Bernie alerting Solomon of my distress (something I'd discovered from Solomon later), I wouldn't even be here.

Nineteen seventy was a bad year. Later that year Dr. Bernie died at fourteen. It's also the year I lost most of my hair, but that's something I try not to think about. As far as I'm concerned, I owe my life to Solomon and will do anything to help him. I want him to smile and mean it, not just for a car sale, but for himself. Becoming a chef would make him happy. He had plans after high school. When he walked across that stage during his commencement, he was hoping to move to New York and attend the Culinary Institute of America in the fall. He wanted to become a chef but couldn't because Mother said, "No child of ours is going to become a cook."

If I had an extra $60,000, I'd give it to Solomon.

"The sixty thousand dollars is before penalties and interest, but don't worry about it. I already gave them ten thousand."

"So now it's fifty thousand?"

"It's sixty thousand after the ten thousand I paid."

"Solomon, what were you thinking?"

He shakes his head. "I'm not good with money. Veronica's ready to leave me over this."

"For better or worse—do people still take their vows seriously?"

"Talk to Mother. Beg her for me, or talk to Dad. We need to stay there for at least a year."

"She wouldn't let you for a month, and you want a year." I shake my head. "You can use me as a guarantor for another apartment."

"I appreciate that, but that only gets us in there. I'll still have to pay the rent every month."

"I can help you for a year if you can find a place for around six hundred dollars, but next year will be more of a challenge because I have to help Faith with things she'll need while she's in college."

"That girl is blessed to have you as a big sister. You don't have to do any of what you do for her."

"I feel like she's the one giving to me, not the other way around. I can't believe she's seventeen now. It seems like yesterday when Mother and Daddy hired Miss Joy." Miss Joy has been my parents' house manager (what we prefer to call her rather than maid) since I was eight.

"Yep, they're family. You know they're family. Mother's paying for her to go to Mercy but won't pay her own grandkids' tuition."

"Miss Joy doesn't make anywhere near the amount of money you make. If you didn't have the IRS problem, you'd have no problem paying tuition and every other bill that you have. And I'm sure now that you're having financial problems, she'll pay for the boys' education as well. She loves your boys, and you know it."

"I guess so. Joshua is a carbon copy of our mother."

"You're not lying about that. Just find a place, and I'll help you. Call me with the details."

"You know I don't have time to look for an apartment. Can you handle all that for me?"

I nod. "I'll start today."

"Love you, lil sis." Solomon bends over and gives me a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. I rush to my car and decide to spend the rest of the day apartment hunting. It's Saturday. I don't have anything else to do.

I pick up Faith from the two-family flat she lives in with her mother and brother as I do some Saturdays. I take her to Olga's Kitchen, a Greek restaurant chain, for lunch. I've been craving their cream of broccoli soup and some Snackers. That's really all I want, but I might also order a three-cheese Olga because I love those, too.

"How's your summer shaping up so far? It's a big one, the last one before you graduate. Are you excited?" I spoon some soup into my mouth.

She nods. "And nervous."

"College is a big step. You have to go in there with the right mindset because you're suddenly going to have so much freedom, and if you're not mature enough or mentally prepared, you could abuse it.

"My mom doesn't think I'm ready to go away."

"I know your mom's strict on you. It's only because she wants the best for you. We all do. My parents can't wait for you to join their practice. Just stay focused. When you're away at college, you have to be strict on yourself."

"I will."

I study Faith, such a cute girl. She has an innocence to her that I hope she keeps for as long as she can. "What about the boys?" I ask.

She giggles.

"I'm detecting something. Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No, but I do like this one boy from my neighborhood."

"What's his name? Tell me about him."

"His name is Tommy."

"Where does he go to school? Give me the rundown."

"He goes to Mumford. He's going into his senior year, too. He lives in the neighborhood. We're just friends. It's nothing serious. But he's cute. He used to look goofy when we were younger. Now, he's fine."

"That's good. I guess. You don't want anything or anyone to become a distraction." I try to follow her roaming eyes. "Well, what else? Fill me in."

Faith shrugs. "There's nothing else to tell right now, but when there is I'll definitely tell you."

"Just remember what I've taught you."

"No sex before marriage?"

"That's right. Now, our goal this afternoon is to find Solomon and his family a new place to live, probably a townhome, somewhere near their jobs. They both work out this way. I've only been back for two years, and I've never really hung out in Southfield. I don't know where to get started."

"There's this one place that my aunt used to live in, but I don't remember the name of it," Faith says.

"Do you remember how to get there?"

"Sort of. I know you take the Lodge until it runs out, but I can't remember the name of the street you turn on. I can probably figure it out when we get there."

"Sounds like it's off of Northwestern Highway. I'm somewhat familiar with that area. I learned how to play tennis at the Franklin Athletic Club."

She finishes up her Olga burger, and we head out.

___

"I like this place for me," I say to Faith as we come upon a more contemporary townhome community than the one we just left. We've found something for my brother, but I think it would be fun to look some for myself. "I can already tell this place is expensive, but I still want to see a model."

"You make good money. I'm sure you can afford it," Faith says.

"I probably can afford it, but I'm a bit of a spendthrift. Just because I can, doesn't mean I will."

"Are you sure these are for rent, though? They look way better than the house I live in."

"The sign said they were rentals. Let's just go in and see." I pull into the small parking lot of the management office and take the closest space. "Doesn't hurt to look."

"Your mom will never let you move," Faith says and laughs.

"That's one of the good things about being grown, Faith. I no longer have to ask for my parents' permission."

"I can't wait to be grown."

"Be careful what you wish for; there's a flip side to everything." We get out of the car, still laughing over the Richard Pryor tape that we were listening to. It's the weekend, and I'm no longer in a corporate environment. I try to loosen up a little, especially when I'm with Faith. I want her to have fun when she's with me.

"Hello," I say to the middle-aged white woman sitting behind a desk. She has her blonde hair styled into a permed bouffant. Her desk is crowded with files and paperwork. She took a quick glance when the door opened but returned to what she was doing at her desk without greeting us. She's wearing a white keyhole shift dress, and her beige peephole pumps can be seen from underneath the desk.

"Hello. How may I help you?" she asks without looking up.

"We were interested in seeing one of your three-bedroom townhomes," I say, standing so close to Faith our arms nearly touch.

"The rent here is eleven fifty a month." She drops her pen and stabs her eyes at me. "That's one thousand one hundred and fifty dollars, and we rarely run specials, but when we do, we never prorate to reduce the rent."

"That's fine. May we see one?"

"With a three bedroom, you can only have six occupants, and every adult will need to fill out a separate application as well as qualify. We can combine incomes but not credit. Each adult resident must be credit worthy."

"I would be the only occupant."

Her face appears sceptical. "How many kids do you have?"

"None."

"Really? And you want a three bedroom? Why?"

"I like having a lot of space. I don't want to feel confined."

"Mmm hmm. Also, the deposit is equal to a full month's rent, plus a five hundred dollar cleaning fee, and a seventy-five dollar application fee. So total move cost will be..."

As the woman reaches for her calculator, I say, "Two thousand eight hundred seventy-five dollars."

She holds up her index finger. She isn't going to rely on my mental calculation, opting instead to depend on her Casio. She punches in the numbers but makes a mistake and starts over.

"It really is two thousand eight hundred seventy-five dollars," I say.

"You're right. It is," she says, clearing her throat. "Also, keep in mind to qualify"—she shakes her head stiffly as she says the words to qualify—"you will need good credit and a gross income of one-and-a-half times the monthly rent. But it doesn't matter because right now we're at full occupancy, and unfortunately, I don't foresee anything coming up, nor do I have anything available to show you. I'm so sorry. I'd love to be able to show off our brand-new townhomes."

As she speaks, I open my satchel and pull out my most recent check stub. "Excuse me, but I do have a question."

"No, we don't take co-signers, I'm so sorry. Wasn't that what you were going to ask?"

"Actually, no, it wasn't. I won't need a co-signer. Could you take a look at my most recent check stub and tell me if, based on my income, I'd qualify should something become available? And as far as my credit, I do have an eight fifty FICO, so I'm in good shape there."

"Eight fifty? Do they even go that high? I've never seen an eight fifty FICO, and I've pulled my fair share of credit reports."

"If you pull mine, you will," I say, smiling, showing off my great teeth as my mother would say, and the woman does take notice.

"Aren't you a lovely young woman? And you speak so well. Do you live around here?"

"Right now, I live with my parents, in Palmer Woods."

"You live in Palmer Woods?" She straightens her back. "Do you really?"

"Yes, I've lived there my entire life, other than when I went away to Georgetown."

"Georgetown, really?" She sees me for the first time, even though I've been standing in her office for ten minutes.

"Yes, I have an MBA from there."

I place my check stub on the woman's desk on top of a rental application. She puts on a pair of half-frame readers and studies the check stub. "So you work at GM? And, my gosh, you can afford to rent three townhomes with your income." She continues to study it. "Deering—of Deering Dental that's on Seven Mile near Wyoming? Are you related to those Deerings? The ones who invented the toothpaste for people with gingivitis? My husband uses it."

"Yes. They're my parents."

"Oh my gosh. I always say this is a small world. Why didn't you say that when you walked through the door, honey? Everyone from Detroit knows your parents. Your mother and I went to Our Lady of Mercy together. She was one of the first . . ." She stops suddenly.

"Black students?" I say.

The woman nods nervously as if she's afraid she may have said something wrong.

My mother wasn't just one of the first black students at Mercy in the mid-forties, I believe she was the only one. "I also went to Mercy."

"Did you know that Mercy used to be in Detroit at Outer Drive and Southfield Road?"

"My mother did tell me that."

"It was there for years. After high school, I got married and started having kids—all boys or my daughter would've gone to Mercy, too. My husband and I live right up the road in the Village of Franklin."

She said that to let me know she has money also.

"I haven't seen your mother in years, but she'll still remember me. We have the same first name. Just tell her Sarah Francis said hello."

"I'll be sure to let her know."

"This is merely something I do on weekends to keep busy now that all of my kids are grown and out of the house and all doing extremely well for themselves. My husband and I are friends with the developer of this place, and these really are beautiful rentals. If you're into that sort of thing. They're better than most of the condos around here that I've seen people pay ridiculous sums for."

"I can tell just from the outside that they're very nice."

"You know what I just remembered? One of the townhomes that I rented may not go through. The woman is thinking about buying a home instead. Would you like to see it?"

"We'd love to."

"And I'd love to show it to you." The woman puts on a wide smile. We follow behind her. "It's just right over there." She points to a nearby townhome. "We can walk. But you're so thin, I'm sure you get plenty of exercise."

As soon as I walk through the front door of the townhome, I fall in love. I can picture myself living here. It has an attached two-car garage, a finished basement, two-and-a-half baths, and a kitchen with a window above the sink, which is an absolute must.

"This is nice. Isn't it, Faith?" I ask as we enter the master bedroom.

Faith nods. "But I can't see you living here all by yourself."

She's probably right. The more I think about it, I don't need something this big. But the dream was fun while it lasted. The search for my own place has just started, which is best because I didn't appreciate the way the woman treated us. What if she didn't go to school with my mother? Or I didn't grow up in Palmer Woods? Or I didn't have my check stub with me? But it's definitely a beautiful place.

___

"What was that woman's problem?" Faith asks after we've returned to the car, and I'm easing out of the parking lot.

"Well, Faith, time for another one of my little history lessons. We may not live in the south, but Michigan is one of the most segregated states in our nation. The next time you're over to the house, I'll show you an old photograph that my grandfather took during World War II. There used to be a large sign, almost the size of a billboard, opposite the Sojourner Truth Federal Housing Project that read: We want white tenants in our white community.

Palmer Woods used to be all white not too long ago, and it used to be written in their housing covenant that the houses could only be sold, leased, or occupied by whites, except the help. That was in Detroit. Can you imagine how they feel out here? You've heard of white flight, right?" She nods. "This is where they came. That's why I keep telling you the importance of getting a quality education. Do you see how she changed when she heard 'Georgetown' and saw how much I make and where I work?"

"And who your parents are and where you live? I don't have all that."

"You don't have all that yet. You will. All you have to do is work hard, get your education. Don't settle for mediocrity. Never be in the middle of the pack. If you can't be at the top, it's not even worth it because everything else gets overlooked."

"Did my mom used to live with you all?"

"For a little bit, she did. You did, too, for a little bit. I know you don't remember because you were a baby. You lived in the upstairs apartment."

"I love your parents' home. I want to have a house just like it. I want to live in Palmer Woods. My mother said I better marry a doctor."

"Your mom has been around my mother too long if she said that. You don't need a man to get nice things. You can work hard and get it for yourself. Faith, listen, you can be anything you set your mind on and work hard for. You're smart enough."

"I want to be married, too."

"So do I, but my husband doesn't have to be a doctor."

"A lawyer?"

"I don't care about all that. He does have to have a decent job though. Maybe an engineer or a computer programmer. Doctors do nothing for me. I have a family full of them."

As I'm driving on the freeway, I think about Graham. If I don't cancel on him, I'm seeing him again tomorrow, and I wonder how that'll go. I'm also pleased that I accomplished my goal and found Solomon and his family a townhome that wasn't too expensive. It's across the street from the one I looked at. And it's $600 for a four bedroom with two-and-a-half baths. That's where he and his family need to live, not in our parents' home. I know the torture his mind would endure on a daily basis if he had to come back home at his age. It's bad enough at mine.

___

THE DOORBELL RINGS. I rush to open it before Miss Joy can. "I'll get it," I say, because I already know it's Solomon and Veronica. My brother doesn't like the townhome I found. He thinks it looks rundown. I don't think so. It's in a nice area. No, it doesn't look anywhere near as nice as the one I looked at across the street from it, but the rent's so much less than the other place. I think he just doesn't want to take money from me.

My brother has a lot of pride, but he also makes a lot of excuses. It's true that my parents wouldn't pay for him to go to a culinary arts college. But he's had opportunities to pay it himself. He had his trust fund money when he turned twenty-five. That may not have been enough to pay for the four-year program, but definitely for the two-year associate's degree. He's also earned plenty of money working at Mel Farr. He could've saved up for the other two years. I guess it's because he's married now with two sons, and his life is different now. But I still want him to follow his dream.

The problem Solomon has is the exact same one that I have—he can't make up his mind. That's why he married Veronica. He's never admitted it, but in my heart I believe that he was conflicted between her and Sloan, and he chose Veronica because she was the one in front of his face, and Sloan was away at Wellesley.

I believe that's why he constantly praises Veronica and professes his love for her because he doesn't want to admit that he made a mistake and let his soul-mate slip away. Because who wants to live with that? He can't get Sloan back now. She's married with kids. She's moved on and happy. So he has to make Veronica—his wife—seem like she means so much more to him than she really does.

He's trying to force himself to be happy. That's why I don't want to be with Graham. I don't want to force myself to be anything. I just want to naturally be that way. I want to love the man I'm with. I want to love to look at him and be around him and spend time with him, all of that. And I want the feelings to be mutual.

Today's not a good day for my brother to ask our mother if he can move upstairs with his family. My mother's in a bad mood because of me. Even fussing at my daddy, which is something she never does. Just because I told Graham I couldn't see him today. Whose life is it?

"Let me live, Mother, please," I told her when she refused to leave my room.

She stood stiffly in front of my bed with her arms folded tightly against her chest and a frown that made her beautiful face look so unattractive. She demanded an explanation from me as to why I wouldn't go out with Graham.

"Put that Bible down. This is more important."

"Graham is more important than God? I know some doctors think they are God, but—"

"Will you stop with that?" she shouted. "You let Solomon influence you far too much. That's something he would say, not you. You always respected doctors. You even wanted to become one at one time."

"Mother, I never wanted to become a doctor. You wanted me to become one."

"I will not allow you to let a great man slip away. Dr. Emerson is ready to marry you. Do you know what it means to be a doctor's wife? Do you have any idea the prestige that comes along with that?"

"But Mother, I'm already an educated woman with two degrees."

"Don't forget I also have two degrees, but I don't take them to bed with me. You can't make love to your degrees. Your degrees can't become the father of your children. You need a husband to do those things. Getting an education is a given in our household. It's nothing to brag about. Being a wife and a mother is an honor. If you don't get married, you're a failure."

"I'm a failure if I don't get married, Mother? Would you care to rethink that word?"

"No, because you would be. Where do you think the term old maid comes from? Is that what you want to become? You're too beautiful and smart to spend the rest of your life alone."

"I'm young, Mother. It'll happen."

"You're right it will, because you're marrying Graham. I was already married at your age."

"Back then was different. It's nineteen eight-six now."

She started to pace and the clicking sounds that came from her pumps against the hardwood floors sounded just as annoying as a person taking their nails and scratching a chalkboard.

"I thought you always wanted to be married. You were always so quick to give your Barbie dolls a wedding. Now, it's time for you to allow us to give you one, and we'll spare no expense."

"I want to get married, and I'm sure that I will, but I can't imagine going from never having a boyfriend to suddenly having a husband, and it's a shame that you can't understand where I'm coming from." I started to pound the Bible on my mattress. I wish she could've listened to me for once.

"You're right, I can't. I don't expect you to marry a white man like your sister, but I do expect you to marry a good man—a doctor—Dr. Emerson. You've always been the obedient one, and you will continue to be."

Our conversation went further downhill from there, and by the end of it, my mother won again as always.

I told my mother that I'd start seeing Graham more regularly in the hopes of developing feelings for him and attraction. I always envisioned myself being instantly attracted to my husband instead of forced into feeling one. Even talking to him on the phone is uncomfortable. He's already jumped to the conclusion that we're getting married and tries to plan for our future.

No, I don't want to live in Palmer Woods. The houses are too old over here, and I like contemporary things. If I could live in a glass house, I would. I don't want to think about how many children I want with him even though I already know that I'd like to have at least four (two boys and two girls), possibly five. No, I don't need my name to be hyphenated. I'll proudly take on my husband's last name. He also gives me random pop quizzes. I guess to make sure I'm not an airhead and that I didn't obtain my degrees by cheating.

Who doesn't know that George Washington's face is on a dollar bill? Abraham Lincoln's is on a five dollar bill. Andrew Jackson's is on a twenty dollar bill. Ulysses S. Grant's is on a fifty dollar bill. Benjamin Franklin's is on a hundred dollar bill. Who doesn't know these things? Apparently, the last woman Graham went out with didn't, and she also has a master's degree.

He asked me other things that were more challenging, but I hated that he asked me anything. I'm intelligent. And if he'd just talk to me instead of quiz me, he'd discover that. And that's exactly what I told him, and he made a promise to never do it again. I hope he makes good on his promise.

I rush to the door, open it, and focus on my brother. But I can't avoid his wife because her perfume is so strong that it's making me sneeze and causing my eyes to water.

"Bless you," she says as she flutters her fake lashes, twitches her nose, and walks in, bumping her huge shoulder pads against my arm without even saying excuse me. I guess she expected me to immediately step out of her way and give her room to enter like she's some queen because she believes all of my brother's hype about her.

"I told her not to put so much on," Solomon says. "At work, they told her after several warnings that she can't even wear perfume anymore."

"That's my business, and you don't know if Sarita's sneezing because of that. She could have a cold."

"It's your perfume." I cover my nose quickly as it starts to run. "Are you wearing Poison?" Miss Joy walks up to me with a box of tissue. "Thank you," I say to Miss Joy after I remove four from the box and wipe my nose and hands.

"Yep, I sure am, and I love it, and so does your brother."

"It's too strong," Miss Joy says, firmly. "You need to go to the bathroom and wash it off if you expect to sit down with Dr. Sarah."

"And you need to clean. Aren't you their maid?" Veronica asks.

"Who do you think you're talking to like that?" I lean my face into Veronica's. I've never had a fight in my life, but I feel so compelled to slap her. I really want to feel my hand hit her fat cheek. I want to hit her so hard that my palm and the side of her face turn red instantly on contact and sting.

"What did she say?" my mother asks as she storms into the foyer from the library. "Did you just call Joy a maid? She's our house manager."

"That's just a fancy title that means the same damn thing," Veronica says as her arms are folded and her head is rocking from side to side.

"Victoria, if you couldn't leave your attitude at home, you should've stayed home with it."

"My name is Veronica, and you know it. Solomon, I'm already ready to go. I told you this wasn't a good idea. You continue to let this woman disrespect me, and I'm tired of it. If I'm good enough to be your wife and the mother of your children, then I should just be good enough."

My mother says, "Is that how you were raised to only want to be good enough? Good enough is what people settle for. Didn't your mother teach you that? You've never gone to the store and they're out of what you really want and then they offer up a substitute. And if you decide to take it, what do you tell them? That's good enough."

"Where are my kids? I'm ready to go," Veronica shouts. "Now! I don't have to stand here and listen to this woman bereat me"

"The word is pronounced berate, honey," my mother says. "Be and then rate. Berate. A very simple word. And didn't you mean 'our' kids or maybe you do mean 'my'? I wouldn't put anything past you."

"I'm ready to go!" Veronica shoves Solomon's arm. "Why can't you stand up to your momma? You look like a weak man beside her."

"He doesn't have a momma. He has a mother," my mother says.

"My brother isn't a weak man!" I say. I've never disliked someone as much as her. I hate that my brother's with her. Why didn't he marry Sloan? I was closer to Sloan than I was Sunniva. I wanted her to be my sister-in-law so badly.

"Is that how you let your wife speak to you, Solomon?" my mother asks. He doesn't respond. He talks negatively about our parents when he's around me, but when he's around them he shuts down. "I've never spoken to Dr. Samuel in that way and never will."

"Dr. Samuel? He's your husband and you have to call him Dr. Samuel?" Veronica says.

"If I were only around family, I'd say, 'your father,' but since you're here, I say 'Dr. Samuel' because that's how you're to address him."

"He's a dentist and so are you. You clean teeth, and you want to act like you're so much better than folks. That's all you do is clean teeth."

"He's a periodontist, but from the looks of your gums and your overcrowded teeth I don't expect you to know the difference. I am a DDS—a doctor of dental surgery and proud to be one. I do far more than clean teeth, honey. We're also business owners. And what does your father do? Hmm? You don't have a clue as to who he even is. And that's why you have no respect for my son because you weren't raised around any men, just bitter women."

"And that's why you have a grown-ass woman in your house who's never been out on a date. Scared to death to live. So if she doesn't marry a doctor, what's she supposed to do? Live with y'all for the rest of her life. Sarita break free. Your mother's crazy."

"Yes, I am. A woman who's been married to the same man for thirty-three years. Who's a DDS and lives in Palmer Woods in a home that's paid for, with one daughter who's a corporate attorney and graduated from Harvard, and another daughter who graduated from Georgetown with her MBA at twenty-two and is a CPA and is also in upper-level management at GM. Tell me about your mother and her children. Isn't your oldest brother serving time in a state penitentiary for selling drugs? What about the other one—oh, he's there, too? And your sister? Doesn't she strip in one of those clubs on Eight Mile? Then there's you. Using your body to trap a man. You ain't gettin' none of our money, honey. He's been cut out our will. He was lucky to still get his trust fund money, but he's already blown that. I'm sure you helped him. Why are the two of you even here? What do you want to talk to me about? I'd love to know."

"I don't want to be here," Veronica says. "Coming over here to talk to you was your son's idea, not mine. I just want to get my kids and go."

"Don't be rude," my brother says to Veronica, who stabs her eyes at him. "That's my mother you're talking to."

"Mother, may I say something?" I ask.

"You gotta ask? Just say it!" Veronica says, talking with her hands.

"I'm not done with you," says my mother as she pokes a finger in Veronica's face. "Call me crazy again, and you'll see just how crazy I am. And don't you ever tell my child what to do. I'm referring to Sarita right now."

"Mother, it doesn't matter what she says to me. I don't listen to her—"

"Let me handle this, Sarita."

Veronica throws her hands up as if she's giving up. "See what I mean, you won't even let the girl talk. You settin' her up for failure. I hope you know that. You're not the world's greatest mother. You only think you are."

I'm standing in the foyer, shaking my head, and staring across at Solomon, who's doing the same. We're both angry and helpless. I know he feels that way because I know my brother. And while I may agree with mostly everything my mother has said, I don't understand why she's continuing the conversation. Veronica's not going to leave Solomon, and he's not leaving her.

"My daughter doesn't need any advice from you. If Solomon wants to sniff up your ass like some lost puppy, that's his mistake. He could've had a good woman, but then you came into the picture. I wish you would've let him pump his gas in peace. I was so right about you. You are a hood rat. And I want you to leave right now out the crevice you crawled in here through."

"I'll leave when my kids come down here, and we'll all leave together."

"Your kids have been over here since Friday, as always. They spend every weekend with us, and it's been that way ever since Joshua was born."

My mother adores her grandkids. I actually thought the kids would bring her and Veronica together, but it actually caused even more friction between them because Veronica doesn't want any advice from my mother on how to raise them. She also didn't want either of them to become a Catholic. She's a Baptist, but doesn't go to church. But my nephews are Catholic. Solomon is a pushover when it comes to some things, but not all. He will put his foot down. He put his foot down about his children being Catholic.

"That's why I can't tell them nothin' now, especially Joshua, because you fill their heads with such hate toward me. I'm their mother, not you. Solomon, I'll be in the car, and bring my kids. I'm not gonna ask that woman to live here because I don't wanna live here with her, and I won't."

"Please take him with you," my mother says. "Because he should already know that my answer to that question is no."

"Mother," Solomon says. "Can we please discuss it?"

"There's nothing to discuss, Solomon. That woman you call your wife and I don't get along, so she won't be living here. And that's the end of that."

"I want my children down here right now, and I want to go," Veronica says.

"If you want to make your husband's workday even more hectic by having him first take the children to school when he has to be at work at eight on Mondays, then, by all means, I'll have the children come down. But we drop them off at school on Mondays, and this was the arrangement we made, and it's been this way for several years, and you know it, Victoria."

"Veronica. My name is Veronica, and you know it, and I'm not telling you again. I'm tired of you treating me like I ain't shit."

"Would you rather me start treating you like you are shit?"

Veronica stamps her foot and says. "Bitch, you are unreal."

"Bitch!" my mother shouts. "You just called your husband's mother a bitch? You low-class whore. She called me a bitch," my mother says as she turns and looks at me and then Miss Joy and finally Solomon. "Never in my life has anyone called me that word, but I'm sure she's used to the reference. Get out of my house! You're not welcomed here."

"I never was," Veronica shouts.

"You're right. You never were. Goodbye," my mother says with a wave.

"Solomon, come on. Let's go!" Veronica shouts even louder.

"We're not going anywhere until you apologize to my mother," Solomon says.

"I'm not apologizing to that woman. For what?"

"For calling her a bitch. You can't call my mother a bitch, are you crazy?"

"You didn't tell her to apologize to me for calling me a hood rat."

"Yes, I did, and she has, but today you're acting like one."

"Oh—really, mmm. Okay. Well, I haven't been acting like one, but maybe I need to start."

Miss Joy walks to the front door, opens it without saying a word, and sticks the tissue box out for Veronica as she walks past her in tears.

Veronica slaps the box of tissue, and the tissue box hits Miss Joy in the face.

"Why would you do that?" I ask as I run out of the house and approach Veronica. "Why would you throw that box in Miss Joy's face? That was rude."

"I didn't mean to."

"If you didn't mean to, you should've told her you were sorry."

"When is someone going to tell me they're sorry? No, I'm not Sloan. But I didn't put a gun to your brother's head and make him marry me. If he wanted to marry Sloan, he should've."

"You're right. I should've," Solomon says.

I turn around quickly and see Solomon behind me, and I'm shocked that he actually said that. He finally admitted what I've known for years. He should've married Sloan. Now, I have tears in my eyes. My life would've been so different if I had Sloan in it. Let alone how much happier my brother would be. I haven't had my sister around me since I was fourteen. Sunniva went away to college and only came back for Christmas. She even stopped coming home in the summer once she started dating Robert, the man who later became her husband. She keeps saying she's coming for a visit soon, but I haven't seen her since I graduated from college.

"Oh, really. You should've?" Veronica asks. A large vein pops from her forehead.

He nods slowly as he pokes his cheeks with his tongue. "She never would've called my mother a bitch."

"You call your mother a bitch."

"That's a damn lie. I've never called my mother a bitch and never will."

"You may as well have!" Veronica shouts as more tears begin to flow.

I can't imagine how I'd feel if my husband told me that. I doubt I would ever get past it.

"May as well have and actually doing it is completely different. I have enough respect for my mother not to call her that word. You actually called my mother—the woman who gave birth to me and raised me—a bitch. How would you feel if I called your mom a bitch or a whore?"

I watch as my mother stands on the porch, and a grin creeps slowly onto her face. I shrug. She's right again, and she'll use that as leverage to get me to marry Graham—because she's always right about people. I may as well start writing out my guest list for our spring wedding. If I'm lucky, I can push it off until next summer.
RAY

_________

I walk into Big Boy's at Northland Mall, Boone's already seated at a booth in the crowded restaurant eating a hamburger and fries. He has a chocolate shake on one side of his plate and his cowboy hat, sitting on its crown with the brim up, on the other side. He's wearing a short-sleeved, three-button placket shirt, his usual pair of Wrangler jeans, and one of his many pairs of cowboy boots. You can take Boone out of Texas, but you can't take Texas out of Boone.

"I'm getting another burger," Boone says.

"Another Big Boy burger?" I ask him. A Big Boy isn't a small burger like a White Castle; it's a double-decker cheeseburger.

"Don't worry, man, I'm paying for it."

"Sharon's not feeding you? I know she wants you to lose weight, but is she starving you so that you will? Two Big Boys?" I shake my head. I guess he's not trying to lose weight. Boone is always going to be a big dude, and Sharon just has to accept that.

"You know Sharon don't cook, but I didn't marry her for her cooking, and I'll leave it there."

I order lunch, and Boone adds another Big Boy and then asks if they have free refills on shakes.

"Did you just ask this young lady if they have free refills on shakes, man?" Then I say to the waitress, "Please excuse my friend. He's from Jefferson, Texas." I turn my attention toward Boone again. "Maybe in Texas, where everything's bigger, they refill shakes, but not in the Motor City. If you want another shake, man, you have to pay for it. I agreed to treat you to one lunch, not two."

"Just bring me some water," he says to the waitress. Then when she walks away, Boone says, "Did you see how she was staring at you? Do you know her?"

"Nah. How was she staring at me, though? The way all the other women in Michigan do?"

I slide my First Federal Savings and Loan bank envelope over to him. "Here's the money I owe you for the tow."

"Thank you." He takes the money from the envelope and slips it in his wallet. "That's one thing I will say about you. You always pay me back. Most of the time before I'm even expecting it. So what's up, man? You must've had a big commission if you're treating me to lunch and everything."

"I've been thinking a lot about Sarita."

"Who?"

"Isn't that her name—Sarita? The one you were telling me about that's never had a boyfriend—the wholesome one. I need something like that in my life."

"Something like that or someone?"

"Don't get all technical, you know what I mean. Someone—is that better? I'm ready for someone who's real. I need to settle down, stop playing games, and commit. She could be the one."

Boone isn't paying me any attention. He's almost finished with his food, and he's scanning the restaurant, worried about where the waitress is. "What's taking her so long? I wish she'd hurry up with my burger. I'm starving over here."

"Are you listening to me, Boone?"

"You're ready for something real? Yeah, I heard you, but I don't believe it. How can you possibly be ready when you have a stalker? You need to get that in check. Sarita works in upper-level management for GM. She doesn't need any unnecessary drama in her life. So, no, I don't feel you're ready." Boone shoves his last few fries in his mouth and starts to chew.

"I am ready. Having a woman stalk me lets me know it's time to stop playing. I need to meet a sweet young lady, and Sarita sounds like the one. Introduce me to her, please."

"She's a very sweet young woman, but I don't have the final say in this. Only Sharon does. She's very protective of Sarita, and I'm very protective of both of 'em. If Mrs. Sawyer says yes, then I'll have to go along with it."

"Shay Shay won't do it. Deep down I don't think she even likes me." The waitress returns to the table with our food. Shay or sometimes Shay Shay is Sharon's childhood nickname.

"She doesn't have anything against you. Well, let me rephrase that. I don't think she ever would have envisioned introducing you to any of her friends and definitely not to Sarita."

"Aren't all of her friends married except Sarita? Isn't that what you said?"

"Yeah, but they weren't always."

I start thinking about what Boone is saying and realize they never have introduced me to one of their friends.

"If I have to ask Shay, I'll feel like I'm in the courtroom testifying. She'll probably pull out her Bible and have me swear on it. Then have you do the cross-exam. Just introduce me to Sarita. You're the head of the household. Shay has to do what you say."

"Shay's the one running things over at the Bonnie View Apartments. I just go to work every day and try to make as much as I can to save for this house that she wants. My sole purpose in life is to try to make my wife happy. That's what my father did for my mother, and that's what I'm going to do."

"You're too perfect. I'm amazed that we're still best friends. We're nothing alike."

"Yeah, I know. But I'm hoping if you stick around me long enough some of my southern ways, all of this hospitality and charm of mine, may rub off on you. But it has almost been eight years, so I don't know. Your ways may run too deep to change."

"What do I need to do to convince you and Sharon that I'm a changed man so that you'll let me meet Sarita?" I lean across the table. "Talk to Shay for me. Let her know how serious I am. Let her know that I'm seriously ready to change and I'd like to meet a real woman with some substance. The right woman can change a man."

"And the wrong man can destroy a woman." Boone leans his back against the booth and studies me as he gnaws on his toothpick.

"Are you looking at me, man? You know it's hard to tell with those thick-ass glasses of yours."

"Ha. Ha. Ha. Yeah, I'm looking dead at you. If you're in the midst of change, why do you need a woman? Why not change and then meet the woman?"

"I need that. It's something I've desired for a while but fell into traps. Cynthia Meyers was the last trap I'm falling in. She was my wake-up call. Everything happens for a reason."

Boone nods. "I want to believe you. And I have met dudes way worse than you when it comes to their dealings with women. Hell, I work at the plant. Some of them make you look mild."

"I'm telling you, I'm a good dude. I just need the right woman."

"I'll talk to Sharon for you and let you know what she says. I can't promise you anything though. But if we introduce you to Sarita, you better not mess it up."

"Man, I'm not. I'm not. I'm ready."

"You better be, because if you hurt Sarita, you're going to mess up our friendship. And I mean that."

"I hear you, man. I'm ready." As I pick up a few of the fries from my plate, I can't help but grin because I believe Sarita will be the start of something positive in my life. Yep, I really do think so.

___

As I walk through the side door to my mom's four-family flat, I see Reid. He's staring at me through the space in the banister. He's seven and lives upstairs with his mother, Tisha, who's my age and has four kids, one who's just a few months old. None of her children look alike, so they probably all have different fathers. I think Reid's dad is one of the Chaldean brothers whose family owns a few of the gas stations around here.

Reid looks more like those people than his own. I've always heard that Chaldean men love black women. But let a black man date one of their women—they don't play that, not when it comes to their women. I know firsthand. I used to want this one Chaldean woman so bad. Her arms were a little hairy, not her armpits, at least I hope not—I wasn't lucky enough to ever see those. She had a lot of hair on her head, which was the main thing that attracted me to her, and she had a beautiful face and a great body, too.

But even a player knows when it's time to pull back. When a man comes up to you in Greektown while you're out on a date with his sister and says, "If you don't walk away right now, I'll kill you," it's time. He showed me his gun. Let's just say I had no idea I could run that fast or I would've run track at Cass.

"Reid, why are you always out on these stairs?"

"Better to be out here than in there with them screaming kids."

"You should be helping your momma with those screaming kids."

He shakes his head. "Those are my momma's kids, not mine."

"They're your siblings."

"You don't have no siblings?"

"None that I know." I tell him because a kid that small isn't trying to get too deep, and hell, neither am I.

"I see you got on another one of them sharp suits."

"Thank you, Reid."

"My momma said you got all them suits but don't go to church in none of 'em 'cause you don't go to church. How come you don't go to church, Mr. Saint? I mean your last name is Saint."

"One day, I will. I promise."

"You don't have to tell me. I don't have no power over God's gates. I just hope I get in."

"You're seven. Stop thinking about gates. Is that what they teach in the church you go to? If you don't go to church, you don't get in?" When a seven-year-old is starting to make me feel guilty about the way I'm living, I really know it's time to get my life in order.

"That's what my momma said."

"Your momma says a lot, doesn't she?"

Reid nods. "My momma is always talking. She even talks in her sleep."

"Well, Reid, as always, it was good talking to you."

"You promised to teach me how to play Spades, remember?"

"I did promise, and I'll definitely keep my promise."

"When?"

"Soon. Very soon."

___

A cloud of Lysol is floating above my head. Denice sprayed it immediately after my customer left. I'm strangling one of the pumps before I toss it back inside the shoe box. Why can't today be the day I quit?

I'm putting nine pairs of shoes away. From a customer who spent an hour trying to decide on one pair but didn't buy any and left the foul smell of her feet behind. Her heels and toenails were dirty. We're supposed to help our customers try on the shoes, but I didn't touch her feet. I politely placed the boxes beside her and stood close enough that if she needed my assistance—a different size—she wouldn't have to yell to get my attention.

I used to be shocked when well-dressed women came in with nasty-looking feet. I'd turn up my nose and shake my head. I couldn't even hide my disgust. Not anymore. I'm used to it now. But I still won't touch their feet. And they don't even seem embarrassed by it. They must think the ability to deal with funky feet is a part of my job description.

I wish I could wear gloves. The disposable kind. I'd keep a box handy and wear a pair at all times because I'm extremely paranoid about picking up a person's germs. I wonder if toenail fungus is contagious. Can I get that shit by touching feet? That's why I wash my hands frequently.

One good thing I can say about my mom is she keeps a standing appointment every other Saturday at a nail shop on Seven Mile for a manicure and pedicure. She told me to never deal with a woman who has dirty fingernails or toenails, because if they can't even keep their nails clean, then what do I think they're doing with what's between their legs. Unfortunately, that's not a golden rule.

I've run into two women who had beautiful nails and feet, but when I went to go down on them I had to come up immediately for fresh air. I could feel the heat rising off of it, and I wasn't about to put my mouth on that. These were pretty women, too. Like all the women I deal with are. Any woman with me has to be pretty because I'm a good-looking man.

But what have my good looks gotten me other than popularity in high school? I can count on one hand how many friends I still talk to from Cass. Everybody I hung out with is doing better than me. Yet, I was the one voted most likely to succeed. What a curse that's been. I'm not even sure why I got it. I was smart, not the smartest. Must've been a whole lot of girls voting. If I was going to get any title, it should've been best dressed. That's the one I really wanted because I was the best dressed.

"Ray?" My jaw clenches at the high-pitch sound of a woman's voice coming from behind me. I tighten my face. I don't want to turn around. What if it's Cynthia Meyers? It sounds like her. Cynthia has pretty nails and feet and good overall hygiene. Everything smelled fresh. Yet, she's a fuckin' stalker.

I turn my head slowly, and when I see Miss Bennett, one of my regular customers, a smile creeps on my face. "Hey, Miss Bennett, you look nice. Are you coming from church?" She has on a light-pink skirt suit with a matching ribbon-style pillbox hat that has sparkly rhinestones and floral accents on it. My mom would love that outfit. She has plenty of fancy hats that match her skirt suits, and I'm sure she turns heads when she walks into her church. She did the one and only time I went with her.

"I am coming from church. And it's Mrs. Bennett." With the amount of emphasis she placed on Mrs., she must've really hated being single. Maybe I should start referring to her as the honorable Mrs. Bennett. Is marriage all that?

"I'm sorry about that." I stand over her as she sits down, crosses her big legs, and pulls her skirt down. She doesn't have to worry about me looking up it. She's an older woman, in her fifties, and while I am attracted to older women, I've never been attracted to Mrs. Bennett because she's fat.

I could say she's thick, but why sugarcoat it? I'll date a thick woman. Thick women, at least the ones I've dated, don't have big stomachs. I'm not saying every woman I date has to have a stomach as flat as an ironing board, but she can't look like she's due to deliver any day now, which is how Mrs. Bennett looks.

"Not a problem, Ray." Her eyes are locked on mine. It's not the same look that a woman gives me when she wants me. But it does seem like she wants to say something to me.

"Did you have any questions about our sale, or see any shoes you wanted me to grab for you, Mrs. Bennett?"

"No." We continue to stare at each other for a few seconds longer, before any more words are exchanged. "You were on my mind for a different reason today."

"I was on your mind? Really? Why?"

"I was here the day that woman was in here saying some pretty personal things, and I was truly embarrassed for you, Ray."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Bennett. I was embarrassed, too."

"God spoke to me about you after that."

"About me?" God spoke to her about the man who sells her shoes?

"Yes, about you."

"Okay, what did he say?"

"That I need to lead you to him. You need a church home, Ray, for fellowship so that you don't fall prey to your weaknesses. He didn't reveal to me what those weaknesses are, but I'm pretty sure that I know." I nod continuously as she continues speaking. "My husband was a lot like you before I got to him. He's attractive, just like you. A ladies' man, or was. He had a lot of women, like I imagine you do, and was definitely a player."

"You think I'm a player?"

"I'm not judging you, Ray, I'm simply telling you what God placed on my heart. I'd like to invite you to my church home. I'm sure you've heard of Perfecting."

I immediately shake my head. "No. I'm sorry, but I haven't."

"You haven't?" She raises one eyebrow and cocks her head. "Pastor Marvin Winans' church?"

"I know who he is, of course, but I've never heard of Perfecting."

She folds her arms across her stomach and looks at me skeptically. "You were born and raised in Detroit, right?"

"Yep. Been here all my life and never even been out the state."

What's the big deal? I've never heard of her church. Sorry.

"I'd really like for you to come to church with my husband and me next Sunday. Even if you don't join. Just come for fellowship. Come and pray and worship with us. There are some single, God-fearing women who attend. Can you join us, Ray?"

The smile I keep propped on my face for my customers has disappeared. I stand motionless for a few seconds. I don't want to be rude or lose a good customer, but I also don't want to go. Seems like everyone has an opinion of how I should be living my life.

I shake my head. "Nah, Miss Bennett, but thank you for the invitation."

"Mrs."

"That's right. Why do I keep doing that? Mrs. Bennett, sorry. Don't get me wrong I love God. But I don't go to church."

She stares at me as she's holding the pump that she just grabbed off the display counter that's beside her. "Why? You'd be so uplifted from the word. Pastor Marvin Winans is anointed."

"I can tell from his music."

"You listen to his music?" She pulls up her brows and her eyes sparkle.

"Indirectly. Gospel is all my mother listens to. She loves the Winans. She loves Patricia Lockwood, too."

"I do, too. That woman has the voice of an angel."

I nod. I guess. I don't really listen to gospel even when my mom plays it. I tune it out. I'm into techno music and R&B. Lately, for inspiration, I've been playing D Train's "Keep On" in my car all week on my way to work. I'm able to listen to it almost three times before I park my car at work.

"Well, Ray, if you change your mind, I'd love for you to be our guest."

"It's just not something I want to do right now."

"I'm not going to pressure you because when God spoke to me about you, he told me not to. He told me to be patient and understanding, so I will." She takes a different shoe off the same display counter, holds both pumps up, and says, "May I see these in a size ten, please?"

"I'll get those out right away."

I breeze past Denice in the stockroom. Since all that went down at her house, we've barely spoken. She's not mad about the screen I tore out in her house. That actually worked out because she lied and told her husband someone broke in, and they must've locked the door, which was why her husband couldn't get in.

She came up with a lie quickly. I guess she's a seasoned pro. Now, she's mad because I won't sleep with her anymore. I never would've slept with her had I known she was married, and I told her that. So now I guess she doesn't even want to be my friend. Oh well, life goes on, I guess.

After Mrs. Bennett leaves, I see Sharon in the jewelry department with a pretty, light-brown-skinned woman. I wonder if that's Sarita. If so, she doesn't look like a virgin to me. Some women claim they're virgins but have a body count of men they've slept with that's higher than the number of women I've been with.

"Boo," I say after walking behind Sharon and leaning over her shoulder.

She drops a pair of earrings that she'd just removed from the counter display and screams. "You scared me, fool."

I shake my head and laugh. "Sharon, you're so scary acting. What's going on?"

Sharon's starting to pick up weight. I wonder if she's pregnant. Her face looks fuller. I would ask, but Denice told me, you should never ask a woman if she's pregnant. This was after I'd asked one of my customers who ran off crying. Denice told me she probably has some kind of female issue that made her stomach look that way. I haven't seen that woman since, and she was one of my regular customers.

"Nothing," Sharon says. "I thought you didn't work on weekends."

"I try not to. I was off yesterday but got stuck working today. Someone called in. Two more hours and I'm out." I stare at her friend with a smile. "Don't be rude. Introduce me to your friend."

"Marie, that's Ray. Ray, Marie...she's married."

"Congratulations?" I say with a shrug. "Why are you telling me that? I just asked you to introduce me to her."

Sharon shakes her head and giggles. "Because I know you, Ray."

"Actually, I thought she may have been Sarita, that's the only reason I walked over here."

"Me?" Marie shakes her head as she rolls her eyes and laughs. "You must wear glasses. You need to put them on because Sarita and I look nothing alike. Sorry, but I'm not her. I'm sure she's somewhere with her mother."

I'm glad she's not Sarita. Because as I got closer to the woman, the less attractive she was. She has terrible skin, and her makeup is caked on her face, and it's a couple shades too light. She looks like a clown.

"He's never met her," Sharon says and then mumbles, "and never will."

"What was that?" I ask, putting my ear near Sharon's lips.

"Ray, move." Sharon pushes my face away from her.

Marie continues to laugh. I'm detecting a funky vibe from this Marie girl. She didn't even say hello to me when we were introduced. I get it, she's married. Does that mean she can't say hello to a man? Is that in the wedding vows? To love, honor, cherish, and never say hello to the opposite sex? And then to laugh and roll her eyes at the mention of Sarita's name, who happens to be Sharon's best friend. And I don't know what she meant by probably somewhere with her mother. Is she dissin' Sarita because she's not married? Some of these married women really think they're the shit. They better hope their husbands think the same.

"What's wrong with being with her mother?" I ask. I can feel my nostrils flaring, but I can't make it stop.

Marie darts her eyes in my direction and says, "I'm sorry, but were you speaking to me?"

"Yeah. You know I was. You were the only person who said that, so who else would I be speaking to?"

"Ugh," she says and rolls her eyes upward where all I can see are the whites of them. She better hope they don't get stuck like that. "Sharon, I'm going to hosiery." Marie pushes past me without saying excuse me.

"Damn, she's married? Just proves there's someone out there for everyone, because I couldn't deal with an attitude like that."

"Ray, she doesn't act that way with her husband."

"But she was dissin' your best friend. You should've taken up for Sarita."

"Marie is also my best friend. I've known her since I was five. We used to live next door to each other."

"So that means she can diss Sarita?"

"She wasn't dissing Sarita. They just don't like each other."

"Cool. Now, I really want to meet Sarita. We already have that in common. Did Boone tell you I want to meet her?"

"I have to go, Ray. If you don't mind, put these back." Sharon hands me three pairs of earrings that she had in her hand and disappears quickly.

Damn, does my breath stink? What's going on? They couldn't wait to get away from me.

_______

"That man called here for you," my mom says as I try to breeze past the entrance to the kitchen without her noticing me. But her senses are better than a dog's.

She's in her usual spot in the kitchen at the table, smoking a cigarette, drinking coffee, and reading the obituaries. It would've been nice to be able to come home to an empty house for an hour, but that never happens. My mom needs a man. I haven't seen her with one since James Williams, and they broke up when I was fifteen. Men are always flirting with her, but she doesn't like any of them. It's probably best. She's pretty enough to draw them in, but she's too crazy to keep them.

"I heard him on your answerin' machine. He called himself your dad. Can you believe that? Started to pick up. But if I pick up, he'd probably hang up because he don't want to hear what I got to say." My mom is still living in the past. My father left her when I was two, and I'm twenty-four now. Well, almost. So almost twenty-two years ago, and she acts like it's yesterday. "Anyway, he wants you to call him. Are you?"

"Yeah, I'll call him. He was returning my call."

"What you call him fo'? He don't care about you. All he care about is that new wife of his and them four kids he got over there. Four or five, whichever he got, not you, not his namesake. You look just like him and act just like him even though he don't have shit to do with you. Ain't it sad?"

"Mom, I'm really not in the mood to hear that today."

"Mom? You bet not ever call me that—Miss King, and you know it. You tryin' to be funny 'cause I den pissed you off. That's why I don't like having no grown-ass man livin' up in my house. 'Cause you think you can just run over me. Ain't nobody gonna run over me, not no mo'. Miss King. Don't you ever forget it."

I want to shake my head at the sight of her, but if I do and she sees me, she'll slap me down. I'm grown, but I feel like a child when I'm around her. A little boy who never felt the love from his mother. "I'm tired of this shit," I say under my breath.

"What you standin' there fo'? Go. Leave. I'm tired of lookin' at you."

I hang my head as I walk to my room. Boone has a Leave It to Beaver mom who still bakes him cookies from scratch. All my friends had nice moms who praised and loved their sons. But I had to get stuck with one who's mad at the world because of a man.

I play the message my father left.

"Hello, son. This is your dad. My wife said you called. I was happy to hear that. I was hoping that you'd meet us at Stanley's Other Place for dinner. We'll be there at seven if you can stop by. If not, I'll figure out another way to meet up with you. But I hope you can come. We'd love to see you. It's time you met your sisters."

I don't even think twice. I'm going because I have to get out of this house. I grab my keys I'd just set on the dresser and head for the door.

"Where you goin'?" my mom says as I walk past the kitchen.

"To dinner."

"With who? I know not that man. You betta not be." She jumps out of her seat and follows behind me.

I stop at the threshold between the living room and dining room. "Why, Miss King? Why can't I? He's my dad."

"Your dad? He ain't spent a day of your life with you, and he's your dad, huh?"

"That's not true. He was with me for the first two years of my life."

"He was with you and his other kid, too. Ask him how he got a daughter that's seven months younger than you and listen to the lies he tell. If you don't believe me, do the math. It's simple enough for someone like me—who don't even have a high school diploma—to do. He want to come across all prim and proper and Mr. Respectable and Mr. Family Man and Mr. Detroit Police Officer, when he ain't shit and neither are you if you go on and be with him. You goin'?"

"Yeah, I'm going."

"Go den. It ain't gonna hurt me none."

I want to slam the door behind me, but then I see Reid, sitting on those stairs as usual, and I know he looks up to me. I don't want him to think it's okay to slam the door in his mother's face.

Reid waves and says, "Hey, Mr. Saint."

"Hey, Reid."

"Where you going, Mr. Saint—to a club?"

I grin and shake my head. "Not tonight. To dinner. You wanna come?"

He perks up. "Me? You'll let me go for real?"

"Yeah, I'm just going right up to Stanley's Other Place. Go ask your mom."

"She'll let me."

"You still have to ask her, Reid. She needs to know where you are at all times."

"Okay, don't leave me."

Reid runs up the stairs, and while I'm waiting for him to return, my mom walks out. "So you really goin', huh? And you takin' little Reid with you, too? I heard you. You betta turn your face around and look at me, boy."

"I'm a grown man, not a boy," I say after I turn and face her.

"Yeah, you grown. Grown enough to get your own damn place, so start lookin.' "

Reid runs downstairs and waves at my mom. "Hey, Miss King."

"Hey, Reid. How you?"

"I'm doing pretty good for the most part."

"That's good."

"You gonna go to Stanley's with us too?"

"Nah, I don't mess with dem folks."

"What folks?" Reid asks.

"Come on, Reid," I say and lead him out the door.

"You bet not turn little Reid against me. I know that. Don't believe nothin' he say, little Reid."

That's wrong for my mom to do because Reid looks confused. He doesn't want to pick sides. He just wants to be a kid and try to enjoy his young life.

"Do Miss King love you?" Reid asks as he gets in my car.

I stick my key in the ignition and start the engine. "That's a million-dollar question. If I had the answer to it, I'd feel rich."

___

Stanley's Other Place is at Woodward and Eight Mile. Five minutes from my home and from where my father lives, but we beat them there.

It's just now seven.

Reid and I are sitting at the entrance. My head is turned in the direction of the door, watching the parking lot, so I can see him when he pulls up. I doubt he's still driving that Regal. He had that six years ago, and it was old then.

I look away for a few seconds to check out a female who just walked out the bathroom. Her Guess jeans sure are fitting her nicely. She doesn't even notice me. I usually can catch the corner of a woman's eye. She must be with a rich man. Those are the only ones who don't look. But why would a rich man bring her here?

"Here they come," Reid says as he gives me a nudge.

I turn to face the parking lot and see my father walking toward the entrance with five women. I know which one his wife is because I've met her once. The first time I came to my father's house. I just popped up, but he wasn't home, only she was. And I stayed long enough to tell her who I was, but I didn't need to tell her because she took one look at me and knew. I've never met his daughters. Mom told me I needed to meet my half sisters so I wouldn't end up dating any of them. I wouldn't have dated any of them. They're tall like their mother. Mr. Saint's wife is taller than him. I've never been attracted to tall women. I want my woman to look up at me, not down on the top of my head.

"How did you know that was them?" I ask Reid.

"Because you look just like him. He just doesn't have on a suit. How come? He doesn't like wearing them?"

"I don't know. I don't know the man that well."

"Hey, you made it," my father says as he extends his hands out toward mine, and we shake hands at first, and then he pulls me in closer for a hug. I give him one, but my back and shoulders tightened during the embrace.

"And who is this little fella you brought with you?" my father asks.

"I'm Reid. I live upstairs from Mr. Saint and Miss King."

"Nice to meet you, Reid," my father says, and then shakes his hand too.

"He's so cute," the only one of his daughters with long hair and without braids says.

Mr. Saint has a wide grin as he claps his hands and says, "Let's get us a large booth, sit down, and eat this good Chinese food. How's that sound?"

"Good. I'm starving," Reid says. "My mom can't cook. She tries, though. Miss King can really cook good. She's always making me a plate. She can really fry some fish. She gets her fish fresh at that fish market on East Seven Mile, not far from I-75, past Chaldean town. My daddy's Chaldean. Miss King always buys me one of them big pickles with the juice inside the pouch."

"Reid, you need to wash your hands before we sit down, and I do, too," I say.

"I don't need to wash my hands. I washed them before I left the house."

"Well, you're going to wash 'em again." I say to my father, "If you want, you can go ahead and get seated, and after I take Reid to the bathroom we'll come out and find you. You can go ahead and order. You don't have to wait for us."

"All right, don't sneak out," my father says, slapping my back and bursting out in laughter.

"I won't," I say with a smirk.

I place my hands on Reid's shoulders, turn him in the direction of the bathroom, and guide him there.

When we go to the bathroom and stand at the sink washing our hands, I say, "Don't bring up Miss King. I know you love her, but that's her ex-husband. So, you know what that means, right?"

Reid shrugs and says, "They don't like each other no more?"

I pull out four paper towels from the wall dispenser and hand Reid two of them. "Can't stand each other. At least, Miss King can't stand him."

"How come? What he do to her? I love Miss King."

I stoop down and grab a soft hold of his arms. "Listen, we're going in there, and we're going to sit down with those people, and eat some Chinese food. Don't talk a lot. Just eat your dinner."

"And fortune cookies. I gotta bring a couple home for my momma, and you gotta take at least one to Miss King because she wants to know her fortune, too."

"I don't believe in none of that stuff, Reid."

He tips his head to the side and blinks rapidly. "You don't believe in fortunes?"

"I don't believe in fortunes or horoscopes—none of that. Come on, let's go."

"Do you believe in Santa Claus?"

I want to tell him the truth so badly. No, I don't believe in Santa Claus. Miss King told me there wasn't a Santa and tore up the letter I was writing to him, had me write my father instead, and told me she mailed it. I was five. That was the year I didn't get not one gift, not even from Paw Paw because she wasn't speaking to him then.

"Yeah, I believe in Santa."

"But he ain't real," Reid says.

"Says who?"

"Miss King. She told me that last Christmas when I was sad because I ain't get no gifts, and I thought Santa didn't like me. Miss King said my momma is Santa and maybe she doesn't like me."

I stop outside the bathroom door and pull Reid back inside the bathroom. "Miss King said that to you? That your momma doesn't like you?"

Reid shakes his head. "She said maybe she don't. And then when the weekend came, Miss King had a G.I. Joe for me and a Transformer and a Teddy Ruxpin. But I gave the Teddy Ruxpin to my little brother. Don't tell Miss King. I don't want her to get mad at me. I was hoping she'd buy me a suit this Christmas."

"I'll buy you a suit, Reid.

"For real?" he says quickly as his eyes sparkle. "Don't promise, because you promised to teach me how to play Spades and still haven't."

"I will be teaching you soon enough."

I feel bad when Reid and I get to the booth and see nothing on top of the table but menus.

"Were you all waiting for us before you ordered?" I ask. They nod. "Sorry we held you up."

"You didn't hold us up. We didn't mind waiting," my father says. "We weren't going to be rude and order without the two of you."

His family isn't talking to me. They're just staring me down. And the youngest one, who looks to be middle-school age, has her elbows on the table and uses her fists to prop her head up as she looks across the table at me.

The waitress who comes to our table breaks up the awkward silence that started as soon as Reid and I sat down. My father tells the waitress that we need a few more minutes to look over the menu, but my father and Reid are the only ones looking over the menu. I'm trying to, but with everyone else at the table looking at me, it's distracting. And his wife clearly has an attitude. I'm sure all the Miss King references Reid was throwing out didn't help any. She's trying her best to be cordial, but her smile seems forced.

"Is something wrong?" I ask his wife as she continues to stare over at me and shake her head.

"Don't mind Beth," my father says. "She's just fascinated by how much you look like me."

"Oh, is that all?" I ask her.

"That's part of it," his wife says. "But also I just wish you and your father had a better relationship—"

"Beth, don't, not now and not here," my father says.

"No, I need to because who knows when you'll see him again—six more years or ten or twenty, and life is too short to hold things in. And I really want the two of you to have a relationship because he's always wanted a son—"

"And he's always had one. For twenty-four years, at least," I say.

"But he hasn't had a relationship with you, and it wasn't his fault," his wife says.

"It wasn't mine, either. I was a child."

"We know it wasn't you, and we also know who it was," his wife says. "But now you're not a child, and you need to spend some time with your father. He shouldn't have to beg you."

"He's never begged me. He's never even picked up the phone. I called him."

"Well, son, I haven't had your number. I had no way to contact you. I wasn't going to come by the house. I'm not welcomed there."

"You know where I work, don't you? I've never seen you there," I say.

"Your father sometimes works doubles," his wife says.

"No disrespect to you, ma'am, but I'm trying to talk to Mr. Saint, not you."

His wife huffs loudly and turns her head to the side.

"Reid, do you know what you want?" I say, and he nods quickly.

"I want sweet-and-sour chicken with shrimp fried rice. It comes with the egg roll and the jumbo shrimp too, right?"

"Yes, I believe so." I was hoping to get away from Miss King for a couple hours, eat at one of my favorite spots, and try to get to know these people. But I don't want to know them anymore. "I'm ordering something to go for the two of us."

"See, this is exactly what I'm talking about," his wife says, throwing her hands up as she shakes her head and tightens her lips. "Your father is a good man. Why are you doing this, Raymond?"

"My name is Ray," I say in a stern voice. She's talking to me like she knows me. Like I'm one of her children.

"Your father is a good man, and he loves you. I wish you'd give him a chance and not listen to your mother. I know she talks about him like a dog. I know she does."

If I'm going to leave my wife for another woman, the other woman won't look worse. She'll have to look much better. My mom looks much better than this woman, and her attitude doesn't seem that much better than my mom's, either.

"Beth, stop," my father says firmly.

"Mr. Saint, I'm sorry that we have to leave—"

"And stop calling him Mr. Saint. He's your father," his wife says as she leans across the table and points her long fingernail in my direction as she raises her voice slightly. "He got shot four years ago in the chest. He could've died, and would've if he wasn't wearing a bulletproof vest and the bullet deflected to his shoulder. He's not a patrolman. He's a narcotics officer."

"Don't say that too loud, Beth," my father says. "You don't know who's in here."

"There's a crack epidemic out here," his wife says, lowering her voice, "and those are the types of people your father has to chase down. People selling and using. It's no guarantee he's coming home, and all he wants is a relationship with you. Have you ever been in a crack house? He goes in one almost every day."

I signal for the waitress. When I'm ready to leave, it doesn't matter what anyone says. No amount of talking will change my mind.

When the waitress walks back to the table, I say, "I need to order two dinners for carryout. Let me have a sweet-and-sour chicken combo and also your almond chicken combo. And can I get six fortune cookies." I turn toward Reid. "Is six enough?"

"Eight," Reid says.

"Okay, eight," I say to the waitress.

As my father and his family proceed to order, I stare down his wife because she's staring me down.

"Which one is your oldest daughter?" I ask her.

"That would be me," says the young woman wearing her hair in long braids that have jewelry or a bunch of beads at the ends of each one.

"And how old are you?" I ask.

"Twenty-three."

I nod and say, "Interesting." I look across the table at his wife. "And you were saying about my mom?"

"That's not his child. He adopted my daughter. Miss King wants to believe what she wants to believe, and she feeds all those lies to you, and you obviously believe them, too. I love your father. He's a great husband to me, and a great father to his children, and he can also be a great father to you. It's not too late. Just wait until you have children—you'll understand."

My father lets out a long, deep sigh and says to his wife, "Ray doesn't owe me anything. Nothing at all."

The two of them talk to each other for several minutes, mostly about me.

Reid tugs at my suit jacket. "I hope they hurry up with the food. I'm starving. Can I eat in your car?"

"Yes, you can."

"I won't drop nothin'."

"It doesn't matter. I hate that car now."

A few minutes later, the waitress returns with my carryout order, and I reach for my wallet.

"We're paying for that," his wife says with a raised voice that's shaky.

What's she so mad about? She won. She has a husband and family. All my mom has is a broken heart and a son who looks just like the man who broke it—a constant reminder of her pain.

My father says to me, "Our door is always open, son, like I've told you. We want to get to know you. We want you in our lives. You're a part of our family. We hang a stocking up for you every Christmas. It has your name on it. We used to buy you gifts. Hoping maybe one Christmas your mom might have a change of heart."

"There are two sides to every story," I say as I rub my stiff neck. I don't know why I'm taking up for Miss King. I guess because the crazy I know is still better than the one I don't.

My father crosses his arms and squints his eyes as he looks over at me. "And you've heard your mother's side your whole life. It's my turn. I want you to hear my side now. I may not agree with the approach my wife just took, but I do agree with everything she said."

"I didn't agree with anything she said, but thanks for dinner."

As soon as we step out of the restaurant and into the parking lot, Reid says, "I did what you told me, Mr. Saint. And I did good. I didn't say one word, but I wanted to say somethin' so bad. Because that woman talks too much. More than my mom. Who is she?"

"Reid, I don't know who she is, but I know who she's not."

"She's not your momma."

"That's right," I say as we approach the car. I tried, and sometimes that's all a person can do.
SARITA

_________

"What do you think about meeting one of Boone's friend's this weekend? His name is Ray," Sharon says.

Sharon and I are eating our lunch in GM's food court. I had a taste for Chinese today and Sharon decided on pizza.

"Meeting him for what?"

"To possibly date."

When I don't respond, Sharon says, "Sarita, are you planning on going the rest of your life without dating?"

"I may get married soon."

Sharon chuckles. "How, when you don't even date?" She takes a bite of her pizza.

"My parents are arranging for me to marry a doctor."

Sharon pretends to fall off her chair. "My best friend, my college roommate? The one who, when she wasn't in class, was either cooped up in Lau studying or at home playing Pac-Man, who never went to any of the school functions and never had a boyfriend, is getting married? The only man I even remember you having a crush on is that African guy at Georgetown. What was his name?"

"Presley Okafor. Why did you have to remind me? I have yet to meet a man who's as fine as Presley."

"Finally, you're getting married. Thank you, Lord. Can I do my holy dance?" Sharon raises her arms upward and starts stomping her feet underneath the table. "The last of my single friends can finally join the not-always-happily married club."

"Sharon! Remember where you are. This is GM, not Word of Faith, and I'm in management, and as black women we can't act stereotypical. You already know this."

"I can really tell that you were raised Catholic and by Dr. Sarah Deering. No offense to you or your religion or your mother, but you need to loosen up. We're at lunch."

"Catholic or not. Just because I may, and I do need to stress the word may, get married isn't worthy of praise at work. I'm considering it, but—"

"But what? Maybe you need to test the waters first?"

"Maybe, and I'm not referring to having sex before marriage. But it might be nice to meet someone else, just for comparison."

"Good. Then go to Cheeks with us tonight."

"Cheeks? What is Cheeks?"

"Girl, you've never heard of Cheeks? It's a club."

"You want me to go to a club? I don't know, Sharon. You know I don't go to clubs. And I've never been interested in going to one."

"Weren't you the one who was just complaining about your boring life? Time for a change. Boone and I are going to pick you up and take you there. It'll be fine, Sarita. You'll have the protection of your two best friends, and you're going to meet Ray—our other best friend."

"Who?"

"Ray. I've told you about him."

"Never heard the name."

"Ray Saint. Boone's known him since they were juniors at Cass. He was the first person Boone met when he moved here."

"Why are you just now thinking about introducing me to him?"

"I've only been back here for a year, and you've only been back for two. Ray is the one who expressed the interest, but, just so you know, he does have a reputation of being a player."

"Is it justified?"

"I'd say so."

I shake my head. What is she thinking? She expects me to go from a doctor to a player? That's not testing the waters. I'd drown. Sometimes, I don't know about Sharon. She stayed an extra year in DC and worked, which I found odd because she's married. I would've been rushing back to my husband. I understand she was already accepted into Georgetown before he proposed, and he was the one who pressed getting married before she went away rather than after. But how could she not rush back to the man who cherishes the ground she walks on? Does everything he possibly can to please her? Has a picture of her on his keychain?

Even though Sharon's my best friend, I try not to ask too many questions. When Sharon wants you to know something, you don't have to ask. I just worked on getting her back home by getting her a job with GM.

I shrug. "He can play, just not with me."

"I know he can't get past your padlock, but I still have to warn you. So what do you want to know about him?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Why?"

"You've already told me enough. A player?" I shake my head again. "I'll let him tell me whatever he wants me to know. Besides, it may not ever matter if we're not attracted to each other, so why waste valuable brain cells?"

"I know you've heard this a lot, but you are truly different." Sharon takes another bite of pizza and looks at me.

"What?"

"So you'll go? We don't have to stay longer than an hour."

I take a few seconds to think about it, eat a little of my Chinese food.

"Well?"

"An hour, Sharon. But that's it. I mean it."

___

I'm here at Cheeks. It's right on Eight Mile. I pass it all the time but never noticed it. Every club is dumb to me. I just don't get the fascination of a bunch of people all gathering under one roof to dance and listen to music and drink. I'm of the belief that nothing good happens after midnight. That's why I want to leave by ten. It's nine, so the place isn't as crowded as I'm sure it will be in another hour or two, and Ray is supposed to be here by nine thirty. I think his name is Ray. I lean over to Sharon who's sitting beside me at the table and ask, "His name is Ray, right?"

"Yep, and he just walked in," Sharon says as Boone stands from the table and walks over to Ray.

I glance toward the door. From a distance I can't tell much, but as Ray gets closer, I see his smooth, dark skin, the manufactured waves in his hair, and long lashes and think that he's nearly perfect, even though he's not that tall, though he isn't short either. And he's wearing a suit. It's cheap, but so many guys these days don't wear suits at all.

"Sarita, this is my best friend, Ray," Boone says. "Ray, this is Sarita."

"Nice to meet you," Ray says and smiles. I notice a small chip in one of his front teeth, nothing that can't easily be cosmetically corrected. He sits in the chair beside me. When I smile back at him, he says, "Your father must be a dentist because you have some really nice teeth."

"Actually, both of my parents are."

"Seriously?" Ray says.

"Well, actually my father is a periodontist and my mother's a dentist."

"What's a periodontist?"

"Smile again," I say. Anyone who knows me knows I have an obsession with people's teeth and gums. He smiles, and I check out his gums. It's dark inside the club, but not pitch black, and there are candles on the tables that give off enough light. "You have healthy gums. If you didn't, you'd need to see someone like my father. He treats people who have periodontal disease, which is gum disease."

"I see. That's interesting." He turns toward the dance floor, leaving his back to me. "Is that the Wizard on the turntable?" He turns back to face me. "That's the Wizard, right?"

I'm sure the look on my face must be one of bewilderment because I have no idea who the Wizard is.

"You know, from WJLB," Ray says. I can tell from his tone that he's really excited over the Wizard.

"Sarita doesn't listen to the radio," Sharon says.

"What do you mean she doesn't listen to the radio? Why not?" Ray asks.

"Ask her, Ray. She's sitting right beside you," Boone says.

"Why don't you listen to the radio, Sarita?"

"It's too commercial. I'd just rather buy what I want to hear."

"Who are your favorite artists?"

"Whitney Houston."

He waits. "Okay and who else?"

"No one else."

"You mean when you're in your car on your way to work and wherever else you go, you listen to Whitney Houston and that's it?"

I nod. "Pretty much."

"But her album was just released last year. Who did you listen to before that?"

"Various artists, but I've loved Whitney Houston since she recorded that duet 'Hold Me' with Teddy Pendergrass. I love that song."

"That hasn't been out long. Who did you listen to before Whitney? Do you like Cameo? Janet Jackson? Anita Baker? Anita Baker lives here."

"I like all of them, but I love Whitney Houston."

I get his back again. What did I say wrong? I can't have one favorite artist? He is a player.

When the Wizard mixes "I Want It to Be Real" with "What Is a DJ If He Can't Scratch," Ray asks me if I want to dance.

"No, thank you," I say.

"You don't dance?"

"No."

"Well, I'm going to the bar to get a drink. Do you drink?" Ray asks.

"No."

"Okay, well, I'll be back. Would you be mad if I danced with someone before I came back though?"

"No."

"I mean, I don't want to be rude."

"That's not rude. We're meeting each other for the first time, and I don't dance but you do, so go have fun."

I watch Ray wander away quickly. I wish he would've stayed and showed a little bit of interest.

Sharon's already on the dance floor, dancing by herself. Boone's left at the table with me because he doesn't dance either. He scoots over into Sharon's chair. "Well, what do you think? Do you like him? I know you don't know him, but first impressions."

"He's very attractive. More attractive than Presley Okafor."

"Who?"

"No one. And he can dance," I say as I watch him doing all the latest moves with a pretty woman that he seems to be really into. He dances with her while several songs are being mixed in, and he continues to talk to her after they stop dancing. Boone and Sharon, who's now back at the table, seem more upset over that than I am.

"He's being rude," Sharon says.

"It's okay, you guys. We don't know each other. Now, if I were in a relationship with him, I'd be upset, but I just met the man thirty minutes ago, and I still want to leave in another thirty minutes."

"Sorry about that," Ray says when he finally makes it back to the table. "I went to school with her."

"Oh, really? She went to Cass?" Sharon asks, and I can tell she has an attitude. "I don't recall seeing her there."

"No, not Cass. Elementary school. She went to Hally with me."

"Oh, you went to Hally," I say.

"Yeah. Why? Did you?"

"No, I went to Gesu, but it was just around the corner from there."

"Oh, you went to Gesu? You had to wear uniforms. Are you Catholic?"

I nod. "I sure am."

"I don't think I've ever met a black Catholic. Actually, I don't think I've met a Catholic."

"There are a lot of black Catholics," I say.

"I've never met one. Are you sure you don't want to dance?"

"I'm not a very good dancer, but I do love hearing this DJ mix."

"I'm pretty decent on the turntable myself, but deejaying isn't my thing. Too many dudes call themselves DJs these days. Back when I was in high school, you could make some money at it. Not now. I wouldn't mind doing standup after seeing Delirious. Eddie was funny and all, but I'm way funnier."

"Funnier than Eddie Murphy?" I say and start laughing.

"See... I made you laugh." He asks me to dance again when the Wizard starts mixing in "Cosmic Cars," which is everyone's jam. I must admit it's also one of mine.

"Okay, I'll dance."

I stand and attempt to brush the wrinkles from my dress. Ray looks down at my shoes. "Wow, you're tall, and you have on flats. You're almost my height. How tall are you?"

"Five nine."

"I'm five ten and a quarter."

I smile. He obviously wants to be taller if he's claiming a quarter. You'll never hear a tall man say something like that. Boone would never say he's six six and a quarter. No.

I follow Ray to the dance floor and do the only move I know: the snake, where I tilt my head, move my shoulder, and continue to move it along with my head to one side and go back to the other side with the same movements, moving my hands with the movement. It's the one and only dance that I've perfected.

There seems to be some chemistry between the two of us. I'm definitely attracted to him, but I'm still not ruling out Graham. Despite the attraction, when the hour is up, I leave, though we do exchange numbers first. Ray stays and there's more than enough of the night left for him to collect as many numbers as he pleases. He's single, so he's allowed to, but I really do hope he uses mine. Even if it doesn't turn into a love connection, I'd love to have another male friend.

___

"Has Boone talked to Ray?" I ask Sharon. We're at work in the food court, pushing our trays down the line at the Chinese stand. I tried holding out to see if Sharon would say something about Ray, but she didn't. I suppose that's not necessarily a bad thing. We just met on Friday, and it's Monday. I hoped he'd call over the weekend. If he were interested, he would have. Right?

"Boone hasn't talked to Ray. But he'll see him tomorrow. He's meeting him at Bally's to work out."

My face lights up. "Boone is going to work out?" Sharon is determined to get her man slimmer.

"Yes, he's been putting it off too long, and he's getting too big."

"Sharon, you better love that big man just the way he is."

"This has nothing to do with love," Sharon says through laughter. "Weight is a tricky thing. You can't let it get out of control. Boone thinks because he's six six he can mask his weight. He'll be six six and obese, if he doesn't watch it."

"Are you going to ask Boone to ask Ray about me?"

"If you want me to, and it sounds like you do. He hasn't called yet?"

I shake my head. "Not yet."

We move to a small table near the entrance to the food court. Sharon sets her tray down. "What did you think of him? Be honest."

I smile as I start to think about Ray. "He's really funny. He made me laugh the whole night."

Sharon rolls her eyes. "You were only there for an hour."

I shrug. "And he's fine. I mean, girl."

"He doesn't do all that for me, but maybe that's because I've known him since the ninth grade. He is used to getting a lot of attention from women because of the way he looks."

"He needs to learn better manners though. He could've opened the door when he walked me out of the club, and the door to the truck."

"It may not have been such a good idea to introduce the two of you."

"Why?"

"Ray needs work. You all are so different. You should probably be with a doctor, even if not the one who wants to marry you. If I'm being honest, that's the type of man I see you with, not Ray."

"But I like Ray. He's nice. If for nothing more than a friendship. I'd really like to have another male friend. One who isn't married."

"But he hasn't called?" Sharon shoves a forkful of fried rice into her mouth.

"Not yet. It's just been a couple days."

"When men are interested, they call the next day, sometimes the same night. Do not call him. You have too much to offer to worry about a shoe salesman returning your call."

"He sells shoes?"

"You didn't ask him what he did?"

"Should I have?"

"Weren't you curious?"

"He didn't ask me what I did."

"Because he probably already knew. I'm sure Boone told him. You know Boone is your PR person, and so am I. We're proud of what you've accomplished. I wish I were as smart as you; maybe I would've moved up quickly. I feel stuck in this entry-level marketing job. Part of me wants to be a wife and mother, but another part of me wants to be a high-powered corporate executive."

"Sharon, you've only been here a year. You'll move up. Just go to grad school and get an MBA."

"No more school for me. I don't even have to work if I don't want to, and when I start having kids I might not want to. I can't imagine being a wife, a mother, and a corporate slave."

"I never even thought to ask Ray where he worked," I say, changing the subject.

I get where Sharon's coming from about corporate America. It's probably the way most people in an entry-level position feel. I have something she wants—a great position. And she has something I want—a husband.

"He works at Hudson's, in the women's shoe department. So, if you don't want to run into him, don't go there Monday through Friday between ten and six and some weekends. I know how you and your mother love to go to the Woodward Shop."

"I'm glad you told me. I would've been so shocked if I walked in there and saw him."

"Yeah, girl, and what if you didn't have your toenails painted that day, and he was helping you."

"Or a hole in my pantyhose at my big toe."

"Yeah." We both start to laugh. Sharon takes a bite of her egg roll. "Honestly, it doesn't bother you that he sells shoes and doesn't have a degree?"

"He doesn't have a degree?" My mouth falls open. I guess I assumed because he was wearing a suit that he had a degree and a good job.

Sharon shakes her head, and I think about it for a second. "Well, I think it would bother me more if he had a degree and was selling shoes."

"Don't relax your standards just because you're attracted to the man. I see you with the doctor, to be honest."

Sharon may see me with Graham, but I don't. I like Ray. There's just something about him.

July 1986

_______________________________
RAY

_________

"So, man, what do you think?" Boone asks after he finishes spotting me on the bench press machine.

"It's the first of the month, and I need to find a place. My mom wants me out, and I want out. Friday is the fourth. Do you know what that means? The clubs are gonna be off the chain."

We're at the Bally's Total Fitness near Northland. Boone's only here because Sharon wants him to get a membership, start working out, and lose fifty pounds. I can't see that ever happening, not as much as he eats.

"What do you think about Sarita?"

I'm sitting on the side of the bench, elbows on my knees, head bent as I wipe the sweat from my forehead with a towel.

"Are you planning on working out or just watching me work out?" I ask Boone. I'm trying to avoid his question because I don't want to offend my friend because she's a good friend of his and his wife's best friend, and I did plead with him to introduce me to her, but I have to be honest.

"Yeah, I plan to, but back to Sarita. What do you think?"

"Sarita. Hmm? She's alright, I guess. But for someone else, not for me."

"Really?"

"I mean, you know my type, so you already know she's not it. I can make concessions, in some areas, but not when it comes to a woman's body. I need curves." An image of Sarita flashes in my head. "Nah, she's definitely not my type."

"So the girl who slashed your tires is your type?"

"Physically. Not mentally."

"But for some reason you always meet women like her: pretty on the outside, but missing a lot inside. Maybe you need to ask yourself why you attract that and change it."

"Man, what do you want me to do? Date her, even though I don't like her? That's not fair to her or me."

"It's cool, but she's attracted to you and asked Sharon if she thought you'd call her. She's not pressed though."

"If I'd call her? If she wants to talk, she has a phone and my number. She can call me because I'm definitely not pressed."

"Oh, so you want her to chase you? A woman with an MBA and an upper-level management job at GM. That's not ever gonna happen. She'll never chase you, not when she has a doctor chasing her."

"That's cool. I won't lose any sleep over it."

"Ray, Ray, Ray. When will you learn?"

"Boone, you're my boy, but sometimes your advice is a little over the top, man. When I need it, I'll ask you for it." I smile at the woman on the chest press machine who smiles back at me. She has long hair, a big chest, and a flat stomach. "Now, she's my type."

Boone turns and inspects the woman. "Is she even black?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Who cares? She doesn't have to be black. It's 1986. Am I supposed to only date black women?"

Boone turns back and studies the woman. "Nah, she's not black. She's not white, either. She might be another Chaldean. And we already know how that worked out for you.

"She looks Hispanic to me."

"So you're not attracted to black women anymore? Is that why you don't like Sarita?"

"Man, don't put words in my mouth. I never said that. Are you crazy? I'm still attractive to black women. But I'm not going to limit myself to one race just because I'm that race. I don't like Sarita because she's skinny and tall and not my type. How many times do I have to say it?"

He shakes his head and frowns. "I just don't understand brothers like you."

"Brothers like me? Man, what are you talking about? Maybe if Shay was dark-skinned, you could talk about brothers like me, but you have the lightest black woman there is, and you're judging me. Besides, that woman isn't white. She's a minority, too."

"I married Sharon because I love her, and I don't love her because of the color of her skin. She just so happens to be light-skinned."

"So you don't have a preference? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Not as far as looks go."

"That's impossible, man. Who doesn't have a preference?"

"Sharon's only five four which is shorter than I'd normally go for. But I wasn't going to rule her out because of it."

"A woman five four is a perfect height for my height. Five nine is too tall for me."

"I just...I don't know," Boone says, starting his thought and then stopping.

"Speak your mind."

"You don't like Sarita just because she doesn't look like that woman? You haven't even given her a chance, and she's such a good woman. She could be a great friend to you. She could be someone who could help you because, man, you definitely need some help."

"I need help?"

"Yeah, with your life and the way you're living and the choices you're making."

"What did Miss MBA GM manager have to say about my job and the fact that I don't have a degree? I know she said something."

"She didn't even ask what you do."

"She didn't ask Shay what I do for a living? Come on, man, I don't believe that. Every woman wants to know that."

"She's not trying to marry you. She thinks you're funny and handsome. She wants a friend. Someone she can go out with from time to time."

"Yeah, she might be cool to have as a friend. I don't know. I have to think about it."

"You have to think about having someone as a friend?"

"I've never had a female friend. Unless I count Shay, but I don't normally count her because she's a package deal with you."

"Sarita could be your first."

"My break is over. Time to work my calves." I walk away from Boone. He's trying to push Sarita on me, which is really turning me off.

___

As I'm in the hallway locking my mom's door, I feel eyes on me. I turn and see Reid staring at me through the space in the banister. "What's up, little man? It's kinda late. What you doing down here? Where's your mom?" I walk over to the stairway.

"Upstairs."

"How come you're not?"

"You said you were going to teach me how to play Spades, Mr. Saint."

"I am."

"When?

"Not tonight. It's almost ten, and I'm going out. How about tomorrow?"

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Are you going to church tomorrow? We go to Greater Grace every Sunday."

"I need to start going to church. I need prayer."

"I'll pray for you. I'll pray that you become my daddy."

"Become your daddy?"

Reid nods. "My mom said that you're gonna be. She said she prayed on it."

"Reid, get up here and stop bothering Mr. Saint while he's trying to leave." Reid runs up the stairs as his mom walks down them halfway, barefoot and in a short, pink, terry cloth robe. "Hello, Ray."

"Hey, Tisha."

"I hope my oldest doesn't get on your nerves too bad."

"Not at all. He's a nice kid."

"My kids, if they don't have anything else, have manners. I make sure of that."

Her terrycloth robe flies open. "Oops, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to give you a peep show on the staircase." She ties the attached belt and puts a knot in it.

"No problem." I didn't even peek. Tisha's attraction for me is flattering, but it's definitely not mutual. Four kids and just not my type overall: she wears her hair in a short cut that frames her face, and she uses a lot of gel to slick down her edges.

"Ray, Ray, Ray. You stay in them clubs on weekends. Ain't nothin' in a club, but it takes some of us longer to figure that out. You have yourself a good night."

"You, too, Tisha."

If I were attracted to Tisha, I'd stand there and watch her walk up the stairs, but I'm out the door before she's behind hers. It's Saturday, and as soon as the weekend hits, I'm headed to a club, somewhere, just like Tisha said. Tonight, it's the Warehouse Club with two of my friends from Cass Tech. Last night, I went back to Cheeks. I'll be fifty, still going to clubs, because that's how much I love the atmosphere of them: the dancing, music, the bar. I love everything about nightlife.

I'm hoping tonight I'll meet a cutie who has her own place. That's if I'm lucky. But yesterday was payday, and my commission check was big enough. I can spring $49 for a room at the Shorecrest Motor Inn, if need be. But for me to do that, I'm not making any concessions, not like I'd be making if I were with Sarita. Boone should've stuck with his gut and not introduced me to that girl. I'm sure she is sweet, but she's definitely not my type.

___

The Warehouse Club is packed with most of the regulars. I notice a few fresh faces as I sip on my Long Island Iced Tea and stand at the large bar, in the center of the club. My friends are nowhere to be found. Most likely on the dance floor, where I've been most of the night. But now, it's almost two in the morning, and I don't have any phone numbers. I haven't tried to get any, either. The women I danced with were cute, but I need more than cute. I need perfection. Maybe black women are no longer doing it for me. Maybe Boone was right, and I'm not attracted to them anymore. These faces just aren't exciting me. And there aren't too many women in here with long hair. To their shoulders or a little past, but I'm looking for a woman with hair so long she can sit on it. I guess it doesn't have to be quite that long, but damn near.

Maybe we should've gone to Cheeks, where a lot of pretty women go.

The DJ is pumping out the sounds so loud that the walls are bouncing along with everyone on the dance floor. He mixed in "Rock Lobster" and other new wave music with techno and some other music that I've never even heard before. Now, he's playing "Out Come the Freaks." That's an old jam from a few years back.

Maybe I should own a club since I love going to them. That's something I should really look into. How hard is it to get a liquor license? Then, I need to find the building and the money for it. Hell, I don't even have enough money to rent an apartment. I guess I could save up. By the time I'm thirty, I might have enough money to lease a spot. I don't think it'll be downtown, though. It would sound damn good to say, "I own a nightclub" when someone asks, "What do you do for a living?" Way better than saying, "I work at Hudson's in the women's shoe department." What would I call it? Saints? Nah. Maybe.

I have time to figure all that out. I could try and partner up with some of my more established friends who may, by then, be looking to invest some of the money they've earned off the degrees they worked so hard to obtain. I couldn't go to college like them, but I can be in business with them. That's just as good. Almost. Not quite.

"Hi," a woman says from behind me. I turn around and have to blink because it's as if my prayers have been immediately answered. Now, this is what I'm talking about. She has long hair that's teased to perfection, not one strand out of place. And she has a big chest. And I think she's light-skinned. But it's dark in here. Judging by her features and her hair, she's probably light-skinned.

"Well, hello. How are you?" I ask. I immediately take a look down at her chest, and when I look back at her face, she's smiling, so obviously, she isn't offended.

"I'm fine," she says.

"I can see that. What's your name?"

"Autumn."

"Autumn. That's a beautiful name. I'm Ray. Ray Saint."

"I love your last name."

"Who knows? One day it might be yours."

She laughs. "I like your suit, too."

"Thank you. And I like what you have on. Turn around and model it for me." She twirls to show off her black leather mini-skirt and leather, sleeveless top that molds to her chest. She also has on a pair of black fishnet stockings that have stars all over them and a seam going up the back of her legs and a pair of black pumps with rhinestones going up the heel.

"Well, I just wanted to give you my number because I'm getting ready to leave, and I noticed you as soon as you walked in," she says.

"I'm not sure how I missed you," I say, taking another long glance at her chest. She smiles. She doesn't have the best teeth—a big gap in the center of them—and they buck out a little. But, hell, it's hard to find perfection these days even though I'm definitely searching for it.

"I'm not surprised. You had most of the women's attention," Autumn says.

"Did I?" I shrug. "They didn't have mine."

She hands me a business card without the name of a business on it. Odd, but okay, I guess. It just has her name, phone number, pager number, and a picture of something but it's too dark in here to tell of what. After I leave the club, I take another look at her business card, and it's a picture of leaves. To go with her name, I guess.

The night wasn't a complete waste. One number is better than none. Four or five would've been better than one.

"Is there an after-hours spot we can go to that isn't gay?" I ask from the back seat as we merge onto the Lodge Freeway from East Jefferson and head north.

"I think there's one on Lyndon," my friend, who's driving, says.

My other friend says, "And Ken Collier deejays at a club called Heaven. I know that's an after-hours spot because I've seen a flier for it, but I don't know if it's gay or not. I've never been."

"I can still remember the first time I heard Ken Collier deejaying. It was at the YMCA. He also deejayed some parties at the Roostertail. Don't y'all remember, back during our Cass Tech days?"

"Of course. The good old days," my other friend says.

"You say it like we're so old," I say. "Our life is just beginning."

"Yep, that's right, it is," my friend, who's driving, says.

"Since you don't know if the club is gay, you can take me home," I say. "But one thing I do know, if Ken Collier is deejaying, he's bringing the house down. It's probably so many people in there that the walls are sweating. He's one of the best DJs I've ever heard. Maybe the best."

"And we both know you've heard plenty as many clubs as you've been to over the years," my friend, who's driving, says.

"The Wizard is probably my second pick," I say.

"Don't forget about the Electrifying Mojo," my other friend says.

"Yeah, he's up there, definitely. I miss his Landing of the Mothership on WJLB," I say.

"I never heard him on WJLB," my friend, who's driving, says, and my other friend agrees with him.

"Y'all were away at college when he was on WJLB. He was there before WHYT. Did you hear the interview he did with Prince a couple weeks ago? It was when Prince was at Cobo for his birthday. And you know Prince doesn't give interviews. "

"Nah. How did I miss that?" my friend, who's driving, asks. My other friend didn't hear it, either. "I knew about Prince's birthday concert, but that thing sold out helluva quick."

"While y'all were away at college, I used to party at L'uomo, and Ken Collier was deejaying there, too. Too bad we don't know if that club is gay or not. I'm not ready to go home."

"It's right on Seven Mile and Woodward. We can drive by there," my friend, who's driving, says. "We'll be able to tell."

"Nah, that's alright. It's over by Palmer Park, more than likely it's gay. I'll just have to settle for the one number I got tonight."

"Yeah, I saw you with that chick, man. She was fine as hell," my friend, who's driving, says.

"Wasn't she?" I say. "But I'll see how that works out. Sometimes, the finest ones are the craziest ones. Look at my damn stalker."

"Yeah, well, what's the alternative?" my other friend asks. "A sane average-looking or ugly chick?"

There's a brief period of silence before we collectively say, "Nah, that's okay."

My friend puts on his Prince cassette and fast forwards to the song "Pop Life."

I'm really not ready to go home, but, oh well, I guess all good things must come to an end.

___

"Reid said you gonna play Spades with him. Is that true?" my mom asks.

When my eyes open, I'm shocked that my room is so light. "Turn off the light, please."

"It's no light on."

"What time is it?" I roll over and look at my digital alarm clock. "It's one?"

"Well, when you stroll in here at five in the mornin', what time do you expect to wake up? Do you have my money? You were supposed to give it to me Friday, but you were nowhere to be found."

Last night was wild. None of us wanted to go home, so we rode by the club called Heaven. And it's a gay club. We couldn't tell immediately, not until we went inside. Because when we drove up to it, there were several pretty females walking in. A couple of them were drag queens, though. But we didn't figure that out until we got inside. There were some straight people in the club. Women, mostly. And I immediately clung to one of them but never asked for her number because she was just average-looking. Inside that gay club, though, she was the finest woman I'd ever seen.

I'm secure with my sexuality. It didn't bother me that a few men flirted. I politely told them that I was straight and only there to listen to Ken Collier, who didn't disappoint.

The wildest part of our evening came on the ride home. That's when my friend, who told us about the club, the one who wasn't driving, admitted that he was gay. I'm not sure what made him come out at that particular moment, but he did. He had a couple drinks at Heaven, and I did see him on the dance floor with a man. A question mark was immediately raised in my mind, but I was still giving him the benefit of the doubt. I thought he might have been buzzed and just wanted to dance. I also noticed that a few people inside of the club knew him, but I still didn't think that much of it because you can know gay people and still be straight.

My friend, who admitted to being gay, had so many women at Cass and as far as I know he still has his same girlfriend from high school. I'll admit I kind of went speechless for a few minutes, but eventually gave him my support. I told him the fact that he was gay didn't change anything. I still considered him to be my friend. He accepts me the way I am, so I can do the same with him. But my friend driving didn't say shit. In fact, he went out of his way to drop our other friend off first, and then went back and dropped me off. On the way to my mom's house, he kept saying, "I'm done with him. I can't be hanging out with no gay dude. Can you believe that shit?" I was surprised to hear him say that because the two of them were close, or so I thought. They both went to Morehouse. And the two of them and another guy from Cass rented an off-campus apartment from their sophomore year until they graduated.

Inside, I was thinking he was wrong for saying that, but I never spoke up. Maybe because out of the two of them, I'm closer to the one who was driving, but I still should've told him how I truly felt.

"Yes, Miss King, I have your money."

"You better because I want my three hundred dollars. I know how you do. Rentin' motel rooms and buyin' drinks. Tryin' to perpetrate. No need because in the end the truth is always revealed. Bishop talked about that in church this mornin'. If you would've been there, you would've heard it."

"Miss King, your money is on my dresser in a First Federal envelope. Can I go back to sleep?

"If you promised that boy you were gonna do somethin', you got to do it because kids don't forget nothin'. I told him to come back in an hour, so get up, get dressed, and get yourself together. Teach the boy how to play Spades."

"I can't do it today, Miss King. Tell him I'll do it next week."

"You tell him, then." She slams the door.

___

One week later, I keep my word with Reid. The two of us are seated across from each other at the small, square table in my mom's breakfast nook. The cards form a perfect arch as I shuffle them. I slam the deck down on the center of the table.

"Teach me how to shuffle like that, Mr. Saint," Reid says.

"First things first, which is learning how to play Spades. I prefer playing Spades with four people in pairs of two so each person has a partner. However, when that isn't possible, you can play Spades with two people. How this works, since I shuffled, you can either cut the deck or tap it."

Reid taps it.

"Are you sure that's what you want to do?"

He nods.

"Since I shuffled, you go first. When I say you go first, I mean you have two chances. You look at the first card. If you want it, if you feel that the second card won't be better, then you put it in your hand. Don't let me see it. You can look at the second card, but you can't change your mind on your pick. You have to put it on the side of the deck face down. Any questions?"

"So, we have to do that just because we're missing two people?" Reid asks.

"That's right."

"If we weren't missing two people, you would've dealt the cards out?"

"That's right."

"So, what if I go upstairs and get my momma and you get your momma and we play with four people?"

"I thought you wanted to learn how to play Spades."

"I do, Mr. Saint."

"Okay, so allow me to lay down the foundation of Spades first before you start inviting all the mommas to the table. Is that fair?"

Reid nods.

"Okay, then you start."

He picks up the first card from the deck, looks at it, and places it beside the deck face down. Then, he looks at the second card, takes the first card back, and places the second card beside the deck face down.

"No, young man. It doesn't work that way. If you don't take the first one, you have to take the second one. You can't change your mind."

"I don't like the second one."

"You have to keep that one. You looked at the first one. You didn't like it. You threw it away. Now you have to pick the second one. It doesn't matter what the second one is."

"But the first one is better."

"You should've picked it."

"I thought the second one was going to be even better."

"Let me see these cards." I turn over both cards: a queen of spades and an eight of diamonds. "The queen of spades was your first card. You definitely should've kept that one. Let me go back. I may have assumed you knew that spades are the trump, which means it's higher than any other suit. I don't care if it's a two of spades. If I throw down a suit that you don't have, even if it's an ace, your lowest spade will win that book. So you try to collect as many spades as you can."

"Mr. Saint, why you got on a suit today, if you didn't go to church?"

"This isn't a suit. I'm casual today: a vest, white dress shirt, and a pair of slacks, no tie or blazer."

"My momma said you didn't go to church because you was too busy partying with the devil and didn't get in until almost time to go to church."

"With the devil?"

Reid nods. "That's what my momma said. She thinks people who go to clubs are the devil."

"How would your momma know what time I got in?"

"Because she heard you. She said you were talking all loud. Must've been drunk, she said. She sleeps with her window up, and you know her bedroom is on that side."

"No, I don't know where your mom's bedroom is, and, actually, I wasn't drunk. I only had one Long Island Iced Tea."

"All you had was some iced tea? You didn't have alcohol?"

"Long Island Iced Tea is an alcoholic beverage that any adult twenty-one years of age or older can partake in if he or she so pleases, and last night I had one glass."

We continue selecting the rest of our hand from the deck.

"My momma said some woman's stalking you."

"How does your momma know that?"

"Because she talked to the woman. She said the woman was telling all y'all's business. Said y'all went to Belle Isle. Did y'all?"

"Your momma shouldn't have been telling you all that. You're a kid. You don't need to know all that."

"She said the woman had real light skin, and she figured that was your type."

"Must be her type, too, because you're light. Evidently your father is light also, right?"

He nods.

"Okay, so people like who they like."

"My daddy's from Morocco."

"Your daddy's from Morocco?"

Reid nods and arranges the cards in his hand. "He lives in Toronto. He speaks four different languages. He speaks French. He speaks Italian. He speaks Spanish, and..." Reid's eyes roll upward and he appears to be in deep thought.

"Does he speak English?"

"Yep, that's the other one. English."

"What about his own language?"

"Yep, he speaks that, too."

"So he speaks five languages."

"And he works for the United Nations. She met him at Fairlane last week."

"I thought you said he was your father. She met your father last week?" I shouldn't be quizzing a seven-year-old about his father, but I just can't help myself.

"You know like you are. Same thing. Just different father."

"What about your real father?"

"I know who he is, but I don't know him. If I did, he'd be teaching me Spades." Reid looks at his hand. "Now what?"

"Arrange your hand by suit so you won't renege. Put all your diamonds together, clubs, hearts, and spades. And if you have any jokers put them with your spades because that's considered the highest spade. It'll cut anything. We're playing with both the high and the low joker in this deck." I'm staring at both of them in my hand as I speak, placing them at the end of my hand with my spades. That being said, my hand is just average. I'll be lucky to squeeze out five books.

I can hear my phone ringing constantly from the bedroom.

"Listen to that girl. She is a maniac. Let her come back by here like she threatenin' to do; I got somethin' for her ass," my mom says as she walks into the kitchen.

"Miss King, please don't cuss in front of the young man."

"You right. I'm sorry, Reid."

"My momma said that girl got a loose screw."

"You're momma's right. She do got a loose screw. She got a few of 'em. How your momma know the girl?" Miss King asks.

"He said she came by here again," I say. "Only this time, she talked to his mother."

"Ray, what I tell you about that girl? You have to watch that one. Maybe you need to file a restrainin' order with the police. You went and saw that man who calls himself your daddy. Why didn't you talk to him about it?"

I shrug. "I can't prove anything." That was my whole reason for calling my father to begin with, but, oh well; I left without asking him for advice.

"I still say better to be safe than sorry."
SARITA

_________

"You're beautiful," Graham mouths as I glide down the staircase at my parents' home. I'm spending the entire day with him. First, we're going to church at Sacred Heart and then to the Original Pancake House for breakfast. Then he's bringing me back home but will pick me up at five for dinner and then we'll go to the movies. All of that is fine as long as I'm home by eight thirty, so I can relax a little, get ready for bed, and be under the covers by ten. I've already made that clear to Graham.

Another thing that I made clear after he mentioned his original plan of taking me to 220 Merrill for brunch and 1940 Chop House for dinner—two upscale restaurants—was that I'm down to earth. My mother would appreciate those places more than I would. How do the pancakes taste? That's all I care about right now because that's what I have a taste for.

I asked him to take me to the Original Pancake House for breakfast. As for dinner—1940 Chop House is a restaurant that opened last year on East Jefferson; I'm trying to avoid wearing a cocktail dress and a string of pearls and carrying my clutch. I want him to take me to a nice place where I can wear a casual summer dress and carry my Coach purse. Just because you have money doesn't mean you have to go out of your way to spend it. I want to make sure Graham isn't materialistic.

When I get to the bottom of the staircase, he tells me again, "You're beautiful," only this time he doesn't mouth it.

"Thank you."

"That's a lovely dress you have on."

"Thank you again." It's just a navy blue, empire waist, A-line dress that hits at the knee. It's sleeveless, and I have a paisley jacket over it that hits above the waist and has three-quarter length sleeves. It's nothing special. But I couldn't think of what else to wear. I have plenty of skirt suits, but I didn't want to wear work attire.

My parents are probably already seated in the pews at Gesu; we're members there. The church is just across the parking lot from where I went to school from kindergarten through eighth grade.

As Graham's driving south on I-75, he plays his Winans tape, and he starts singing along to "Long Time Coming." He can't sing, but he obviously loves the song. I turn my face toward the glass and chuckle. I love the song, too, and know it by heart. I know that a high note is coming that I must caution him about. "Please don't try to hit that note."

"No?"

"No, please don't. You're struggling with the regular ones."

"That's right, you can sing. I remember coming to a few of those Gesu talent shows and seeing you coming in second place," he says as a joke.

"Second place? Are you sure about that?" I look over at him, and he's smiling. He has nice teeth. He should—my mother is his dentist. "Evidently you didn't come to any of the ones that I was in because I won all of those."

"You know Gladys Knight's and the Pips' kids won all those talent shows."

"But I won several." He shifts the gear of his manual transmission after exiting the interstate and drops his hand on my thigh, over my dress.

"I'm sorry; my hand slipped out of gear." He moves his hand from my thigh. I'm not as nervous around him now because he's made me laugh.

The interior of his 'vette doesn't have much room, so it's a good thing I'm feeling more comfortable. "How do you like your car? This is the first convertible we've put out since seventy-five."

"I know. I had that one also."

"That's right. You're the Emerson brother who always drove a 'vette."

"Are you going to remind me of how young you were in '75?"

I shake my head.

"Yep, I'm the one who always had a 'vette. Had one since I was sixteen. This is my fifth."

___

I'm enjoying church and the lively choir that's not a traditional Catholic choir. People attending for the first time have to stand and allow the congregation to greet them. That's what I'm doing now, and lucky me, I'm the only one this Sunday visiting for the first time or the only one willing to admit it. The friendly congregation claps and greets me.

Graham looks so happy being with me. I wish I could feel the same. I'm just not there yet, and I'm not completely sure why. If it had been his brother, Emmerit, I think I would've been happier. He's my age, and I was always attracted to him. Even though Emmerit often made my life at Gesu feel like a living hell. I think they said he should've been put on Ritalin. All I know is he couldn't stand still.

He was always fidgeting, always up in my face. He teased me all the time and yanked on my long ponytail. He probably got his girlfriend pregnant on purpose so he wouldn't be forced into marrying me. I don't get it. I don't understand why the men I've been attracted to are never attracted to me. When I look in the mirror, I see a pretty woman, and I'm not going to let Ray's opinion of me change the way I feel about myself.

Church service at Sacred Heart is thirty minutes longer than Gesu's. On the ride to the Original Pancake House, Graham continues to play his Winans tape, only this time he doesn't sing. He tells me that he's tired of being alone. Then, he seems to retreat into deep thought. I'm glad he's not sharing whatever's on his mind. I'm not in the mood. I thought my feelings had recovered from being told Ray isn't attracted to me, but they haven't. Every now and then I think about it. I'll just suck up more compliments from Graham because right now my ego's deflated.

As soon as we walk into the Original Pancake House, Graham spots a couple with three small kids: toddlers (who appear to be twins) and an infant. Wow. I feel for the mother, but she's all smiles and appears happy. That's how I want to be as a mother: happy and glowing because I helped bring a child into the world, which is truly a miracle.

"How have you been, Graham?" the woman asks with her infant lying against her chest. Her husband is trying to quiet down the twins. He politely waves and then ushers them out of the restaurant, leaving his wife and infant with us.

"Really well. You two have added on another one, I see. It's been that long since I've seen the two of you?"

"Couple years." The woman is staring at me but speaking to him.

"I don't want to be rude," Graham says. "This is Sarita. Sarita, this is Catherine Richmond, and her husband Eric just left with their twins. You know the Deerings, don't you?"

"Of course. I went to school with Sunniva," Catherine says. "From K through twelve. Sarita Deering. I remember you. Look at you all grown up. What's Sunniva up to?"

"She's doing well. She and her husband live in Boston. She's a corporate attorney; he's a judge. She has two boys under the age of five. So her life is hectic."

Catherine shakes her head and says, "Trust me. I know. Sunniva had all the men chasing after her. So, she got all serious and became an attorney. But she was always smart as a whip, just a party girl. Are the two of you married?" Catherine asks me.

"Not yet," Graham answers. "But soon. We'll be sure to send you an invite." Catherine glances at my ring finger. "I designed it myself, and it's being custom made."

"I'm not surprised. Only the best for Dr. Graham Emerson's wife."

"That's right. Only the best," Graham says, and takes my hand. I clear my throat and wiggle. "Are you okay, dear?"

"Yes," I say, faintly.

"I'll be watching out for our invite and congratulations again. I'm so happy for you two. Well, I better go because Eric can't handle the twins, and I know he's wondering what's taking me so long. But it was really good seeing the two of you. Make sure you tell Sunniva I said hello. And how's Solomon? I used to have the biggest crush on him."

"He's fine."

"Oh, I know that," she says, slapping my arm, "but is he still in Detroit?"

"Yes," I say and look away. I don't like talking about Solomon to his peers because no, he's not a doctor or a lawyer. He's not living up to his full potential, but leave him alone because he's my brother, and I love him just the way he is.

"Catherine, Eric just pulled up," Graham says, pointing out the window.

"Okay, let me get out of here. I've run my mouth long enough." Right before she walks off, she says, "You two make a nice-looking couple."

"Thank you. I agree." Graham squeezes my hand and smiles. As soon as she leaves, I pry my hand away from his. "You're not going to let me hold your hand."

"Not yet."

"Wow. I can't even get your hand. I have a lot of work ahead of me."

As soon as we're seated, I say, "You weren't being serious about having a ring made, were you?"

He shrugs. "Maybe. Maybe not. But what if I were?"

I focus on the menu. "I'm starving."

"Let me get a waitress over here." Graham motions for one. After our orders are placed, Graham says, "Was I being a little too presumptuous when I told Catherine we were getting married soon?"

"A little bit, yes."

"But that's what I want. I hope you also want it. Are you warming up to the idea at least?"

"This is only our second time seeing each other. I need more time to think about it. A lot more."

"This is our third time together. Don't forget about the other night at Space Station."

"You beat me at Pac-Man. No one beats me, so I want to forget about it."

He grins. "I should've let you win, but I'm very competitive. From all my years of playing basketball, I just can't help myself. And also don't forget that we've known each other, just in a different way, your whole life."

"But sometimes it's hard to shift your mind in a different way."

He laughs quietly.

"What did I say?"

"Dear, I'm a psychiatrist. I know all about how difficult it is for some to shift their mind in a different way, so it was funny hearing you say that."

"That's true. You would know."

"I've been trying to see you more. You seem content with just talking to me on the phone. I was surprised when you finally agreed to spend the whole day with me. Pleasantly surprised."

"I'm enjoying being around you, Graham."

The smile he's had on since Catherine told us we made a good couple hasn't left his face. "And I'm really enjoying your company." He pauses to allow the waitress to set our plates down.

"Is there anything else I can get the two of you?" the waitress asks.

"Dear, do you need anything else?" Graham asks me.

I shake my head and say, "No."

"We're all set here, but thank you for your service."

The waitress walks away. He waits for a second and sips his water.

"What? Why are you staring at me?" I ask.

"You're so beautiful, and I want us to do this more often—a lot more often, okay?"

"Go to the Pancake House?"

"Just be together. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert... and more dessert." He laughs. Then he says, "I love going to plays. Do you?"

"Yes. I love plays."

"Have you ever been to a Broadway play?"

"Never."

"Really? That's surprising."

"My parents were too busy working when I was growing up to take vacations and travel. We never even went to Cedar Point."

"What? I can understand never going to a Broadway play before I can understand not going to Cedar Point. That's where all the busy Midwestern parents took their kids because you could do that in a weekend. Come on, doctors, depriving your kids of their roller coaster rides."

"I always wanted to go."

"You're an adult, Sarita. You don't have to go with your parents. You can go with me—your man. Am I your man?"

My eyes fall to my plate. I can't look at him. I can feel him staring at me. I shake my head and say, "No."

"Look at me. Don't be nervous. Am I your man, Sarita?"

I look directly at him and say, "No."

"Not yet, but soon, I'll be more than your man. I'll be your husband. The father of your children. Your protector. Your provider. Your lover. But, before all that, I'm taking you to a Broadway play and to Cedar Point."

"Really?" Now I'm the one smiling. "That would be nice, especially Cedar Point. I want to finally ride a roller coaster."

"Wait, you've never been on a roller coaster?" I shake my head. "You never went to Edgewater Park?" I continue to shake my head. "Boblo?"

"Nope."

He grins. "You're such a sweet woman, Sarita, but I can see you've been sheltered. I need to get you out. I will be so happy when you agree to become my wife. So happy to be the first man you've ever been with in that way. You know what I'm referring to, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. As long as you know. That's a rarity these days. Even at your age, and especially at mine. I'm proud of you for being a virtuous woman."

"Thank you." I cut my pancakes in neat squares, drizzle ample amounts of maple syrup on them, and start to eat. And he's watching me eat again, and I think he's getting excited because he seems to be moving around in his seat more than usual. It's subtle but still noticeable. I'm not sure if watching me eat turns him on, or the thought of being my first.

"Do you know what movie you'd like to go see?" Graham asks.

I hold up a finger because I'm not through chewing. "It doesn't matter," I say after I've swallowed my food.

"I want you to pick it."

"I don't even know what's showing?"

"Aliens opened this weekend."

I can tell by the way his eyes light up that he wants to see that. "Let's go see it," I say.

"Are you sure? I want you to pick the show. I want you to be happy. That's my job, making you happy."

"I want to see that. I'm sure."

"Maybe you just want to make me happy?"

Am I supposed to respond to that as part of engaging him the way my mother said to? If I say "yes," it feels like I've fallen into his trap, so I don't say anything, and he doesn't press the issue. I like that about Graham. He tries his best to make me feel comfortable.

"So here's the plan. After we leave here, I'm taking you back home, so you can relax and change into something more casual. That said, I do love seeing you in dresses. Your calves are a work of art."

I smile. He's definitely giving my confidence a boost. "I ran track at Mercy for two years, which really helped to develop my calves."

"Did you stop because of an injury?"

"No. Junior year is a critical year for college applications, so I wanted to focus on my schoolwork."

"Well, those two years served your calves very well." When I smile again, he turns his head to the side. "I don't want you to get sick of me, but if it were up to me, I'd see you every day. Do you think that's possible?"

"Every day, no, because work conks me out. We'll have to stick to weekends."

"Your job's really stressful, I imagine."

"Definitely, but I do love it. I love performing over and above what's expected of me. I may look young, and, sometimes, when I'm in meetings, I can tell before I even say one word that they're not taking me seriously. But when I speak, they all sit up in their chairs. I command the attention of the entire room of mostly white, mostly middle-aged men. I feel like a corporate superhero. I transform into someone completely different. I have to in order to survive in corporate America."

He chuckles at the superhero part but otherwise listens intently while eating his omelet. "Please know that my wife doesn't have to work if she doesn't want to."

"But if your wife wants to work, you won't mind, right?"

"Of course not. As long as you know if some craziness jumps off there, you don't have to take it. The bills will still get paid without a problem."

This seems like the best time to focus on my food, so I pick up two small pancake squares with my fork, put them into my mouth, and start to chew.

Graham looks down at my plate. "You don't eat bacon?"

"No. I prefer to eat fruit as a substitute."

And I don't drink coffee. I also avoid eating onions and garlic, unless I don't plan on being in contact with anyone all day. I avoid anything that can make my breath smell foul. My mother taught me all of these things about how to be the best version of myself to attract a certain type of man, but Graham is the first man who's ever paid me this much attention. I deserve attention, not just from Graham, but from men.

"All finished?" he asks, still looking at my plate. I nod and look over at his clean plate. I only ate half of my stack of pancakes and all of my fruit. "So the plan is to see Aliens?"

"Will you be mad if I change my mind?"

"Don't change your mind, dear. I'm eager to spend time with you."

"I need to be in bed by ten."

"What's going to happen if you don't get to bed by ten? Are you going to turn into a pumpkin?"

"I'll turn into something because I definitely won't be myself."

I'm enjoying my date, but I have to go to bed by ten. I need my eight hours of sleep, and I'm not flexible when it comes to that. I guess I should've told him that from the start. But all I was thinking about was being around a man who wants me because it still hurts when I think about Ray telling our best friends that he isn't attracted to me. He doesn't even want to be my friend. I don't understand why I care so much about a shoe salesman. Now I sound like my mother. That's what a bruised ego will do.

"Basically, what you're telling me is you don't go out Sunday through Thursday because of work—at least not at night?"

"That's what I'm basically telling you."

"Fair enough. I guess I'll have to plan things for us to do on Fridays and Saturdays, and on Sundays it'll just be church and breakfast and possibly a matinee."

Graham pays for our breakfast, and we leave the restaurant. He's always a gentleman, opens doors for me, compliments me, and refuses my offer to go Dutch.

"So now who are you going to see Aliens with?" I ask as he drives me home. The thought of Graham taking another woman crosses my mind, and I'm jealous. Just because I haven't made up my mind doesn't mean I want him with someone else. I love the attention. I yearn for it.

"You. On Friday." When he stops at the light on Seven Mile and Schaeffer, he turns to me and says, "Sarita, you're the only woman I'm seeing, and I hope that I'm the only man you're seeing. Am I?"

"You are."

"Please keep it that way."

"You're the only man I talk to on the phone also."

"I'm sure you talk to your brother."

I playfully roll my eyes at him. "You know what I meant."

"I do talk to other women on the phone, Sarita. I'll never lie to you. It's completely platonic, though I was in a relationship with one of them several years ago when I was in my early twenties and in med school. However, if you'd like for me to stop talking to them, I will. Would you?"

"No, that's fine. Of course you have female friends."

He squeezes my thigh tightly and says, "I don't want you talking to any men on the phone. I don't want you to have any male friends."

"Graham, you're hurting me," I say, moving my leg.

"Am I'm hurting you?" He moves his hand from my thigh. "Don't hurt me, okay?"

I nod. "I won't."

"Because I know how most men are. Most men can't have a female as a friend, especially not an attractive, successful one who's never been with a man. You'll be their challenge."

"Is that what I am to you, your challenge?"

"No, you're my wife. I've told you that. But I know you love hearing it, so I'll keep saying it."

"I forgot about Boone."

"Boone? Who is he? He sounds like a hillbilly."

"Leave Boone alone. Though he does wear cowboy hats and cowboy boots."

"I bet he does. How do you know Boone?"

"He's married to my best friend, Sharon, and he's one of my best friends."

"His name is Boone?"

"His middle name is Boone. His first name is Sherwin, but everyone calls him Boone."

"Everyone should start calling him Sherwin."

"No, he's totally Boone, and sometimes we do talk on the phone. Sharon might hand me the phone if she's busy."

"Okay, then, with the exception of Boone, how's that?"

"That seems fair." It doesn't even matter. I don't talk to men anyway.

Graham turns left off of West Seven Mile onto Woodston Road and enters Palmer Woods, following the curve of the elm-lined streets, passing the Bishop Gallagher mansion along with several other sizeable brick and stone homes set back from the road. As he makes a slight right onto Wellesley Drive—the street his parents live on—heading to my parents' home, he says, "Can we do dinner if I promise to get you back no later than eight thirty?"

"No later than eight thirty. You have to promise me."

"Scout's honor. I'll pick you up at five, and we'll go to Peabody's for dinner. Have you ever been there?"

"No, but I do recall seeing it over the years. It's in Birmingham, right?"

"That's the place. You probably saw it on your way to Roots."

"I didn't own one pair of Roots. I mostly wore penny loafers with my uniform."

Graham pulls into my parents' driveway on Lincolnshire.

"Watch the rocks," I say, cautioning him about the large white rocks that line the edge of the streets in place of curbs as if he didn't grow up here. But he's getting awfully close to one of them.

"I know oh so well, unfortunately. I tore up the undercarriage of one of my 'vettes on one of these damn rocks." Graham puts his car in park in my parents' driveway, and we sit idle for a few minutes. "I guess I'll let you go relax. I'm probably going to take a nap when I get back."

"Me too. I love taking naps."

"I guess when we get married I'll be going to bed at ten every night with you, and we'll be taking naps together. I hope you don't go to bed at ten on Fridays and Saturdays."

"No, I don't. But if we get married, you don't have to go to bed at ten like me, and we don't have to take naps together."

"When, not if, and yes, I do. Growing up, didn't your parents go to bed at the same time?"

"They did, and they still do, but why do we have to take naps at the same time?"

I sit stiffly with my hand on the door handle.

"I just think it'll be fun because we won't be napping the whole time I'm sure."

"Well, I guess I'll see you in a few hours."

"Allow me to get your door, please." Graham rushes out of his car, over to my door, and holds it open for me. He takes my hand, helps me out of the car, and then walks me to the front door. I give him a friendly hug, making sure to leave ample space between us. "See you at five." He waits for me to open the door and walk inside before he walks to his car.

Maybe everything really does happen for a reason, because if Ray had been attracted to me, then I would've stopped seeing Graham, and Graham is a really good man. I'm not sure why he was strangling my thigh, but I can overlook it. He probably just didn't know how strong his grip was. I'm sure I'll eventually be attracted to him. I'm sure. Eventually I'll stop picturing Ray's face. I hope. I'm going to set my alarm clock for three, take a nap, and force myself to think of Graham.

___

Peabody's is a dimly lit restaurant with two levels. We sit on the first floor in a high-back booth against a stone wall. The crowd is definitely an older one, much older than me and Graham. I'd say the median age is sixty-five. The place is packed. There's a live band playing jazz. I wonder if my parents have ever been here.

"Would you care for an appetizer?" Graham asks.

He's dressed casually in a nice pair of slacks, penny loafers, and an IZOD golf shirt. I changed into a different A-line dress that's emerald green. This one has a handkerchief hem that hits right at the knee and short sleeves, and I paired it with sling-back pumps.

I peruse the menu quickly.

"How about sesame ginger calamari? I say.

"That sounds good. I already know what I'm ordering for my entree. I'm getting the Atlantic salmon."

"That's what I really want," I say with a slight whine that causes him to nibble on his lower lip.

"Can we take a moment to talk about what I really want? I really like you, Sarita, but you're a hard woman to read. What do you think about me?"

"You're a very nice man. Very established."

"Have you been thinking about what we talked about at the Whitney?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"As I told you at breakfast, I'm still thinking," I say.

"I really like you," he says. He may, or he may also be an excellent actor. I have no idea because I'm terrible at discerning when men genuinely find me attractive.

"I really want the salmon."

"Do you like me, Sarita? Can you see me as your husband?"

"I'm still thinking about it, Graham."

"What's to think about? What are your concerns? Tell me so that I can clear them all up. We have our parents' blessing. I know that means a lot to you. I also know marrying a Catholic means a lot to you."

"How do you know that?"

"Your mother told me."

"You talk to my mother?"

"No, dear. She mentioned it. That's all."

"I really want the salmon," I say again.

"Well, maybe we shouldn't get the same thing so we can share. Do you see anything else on the menu that you want . . . or off the menu? Because I definitely see something off the menu that I want."

My eyes are on the menu, but I can feel his eyes on me. "No, I just want the salmon with a house salad. We don't have to share."

"Anything for my princess."

The waiter, who set our water glasses down earlier, returns to our table, takes our order, and leaves.

"You do know you're my princess, right?"

"Graham, I want to take things slow. I need to get to know you."

"Sarita, must I remind you that we grew up together. I've known you your entire life."

"I definitely know that. Look what I found." I remove the Polaroid picture that I went searching for before I took a nap and slide it over to him. "That's you holding me when I was a baby." I laugh.

He stares in amazement at the picture of me when I was only a few months old before glancing up at me. "Can you believe this?" He studies the picture further, turns it over, and looks at the date that's written on it. "August 1, 1962. And look how I'm smiling at you. I knew when I was eight that you were my wife. May I keep this?"

"No, that's creepy."

"It is not. It's my baby as a baby. May I please keep it?"

"No, Graham." I hold out my hand, and he quickly places it in my palm without a fuss. He's so easy to be with. Why isn't he taken? Is the rumor true? I'll be so sad if it is. If he's gay, I don't want him to pretend that he's not. I want to tell him not to worry about what other people think. He doesn't need a wife as a cover. But what if he isn't? Should I marry him?

"But I have one you can keep." I slide a picture of him as a teenager in 1971 over to him. He has on denim bell bottoms, a polyester shirt with a wide collar, and a big red afro.

"This one I'm burning. I looked awful. Please tell me I look better than this now."

I nod quickly. "You do. Much better."

Our meals arrive as we're both caught up gazing at each other from across the table. After taking a few bites, Graham asks, "How's Solomon? He used to be one of my best friends at Gesu. Those nuns always gave him a hard time. We were also pretty close friends when went to U of D. How's he doing?"

"Solomon's fine."

"I heard he works at Mel Farr."

"He does and does well there. He's a top salesman."

"I'm sure he is. Who doesn't get their car from Mel Farr?"

"Folks who drive 'vettes."

Graham winks at me and laughs. "So true. But the volume that comes out of that place is insane."

We take several minutes to eat in silence and stare at each other lovingly. I can get used to this. Maybe having an older man will serve me well.

"He'll be attending culinary arts school soon. He's a great chef." I'm not sure if Solomon will be attending culinary arts school soon, but I've decided to speak the things that I want into existence. I also want Ray, but I haven't said that out loud yet. I've merely kept the thought alive. But why? Why do I want someone who doesn't want me?

"I'm pretty good in the kitchen myself. In fact, I want to invite you over. I want to cook for you one Saturday, if that's okay."

I nod. "That'll be nice."

"How's Sunniva? I heard you mention that she's an attorney, and I believe you said her husband is a judge and they live in Boston. Is that correct?"

"Yes, Sunniva's great," I say, hesitating as I realize he may have dated my sister and that would add even more awkwardness to all of this. "Did you ever date her?"

"No, of course not. I only look white."

"What does that mean?"

"She's your sister. You know exactly what it means."

"Are you implying that my sister only dated white guys?"

"Is her husband white—yes or no?"

"Yes, but—"

"But, nothing. Let's just say I'm not surprised. She quickly shut down every brotha that tried to holler at her from U of D, Brother Rice, and Country Day."

"She's not like that. It just seemed that way."

"It seemed that way to a lot of us."

"So you did want to date her?"

"No, but Chet did."

Chet is Graham's middle brother and the finest of the three, at least to me. He's brown, but a lighter brown than I am. Normally, dark-skinned men are my preference, but there's always an exception and Chet—with his chiseled features—is mine.

"How's Chet doing?"

"He's a professor of psychology at George Washington, and he's married and has a son and daughter. His wife is white, too." He looks at me for a reaction, and when he doesn't get one, he says. "Would you ever date a white man?"

"I am dating one."

His shoulders bounce as he lets out a hearty laugh. "Are you referring to me?" I nod and smile. "That wasn't right, and you know it."

"You're right. It wasn't, because you don't have time to date."

"I have nothing but time for you, dear. But I don't need to date you because I already know that I want you." I have a feeling by the way that he said "I want you" that he's going to start singing Marvin Gaye. I also have a feeling that he thinks he can sing. " 'I want you to want me. I'd love you to love me'."

I was right. "You skipped a whole line."

"You know it by heart?" he asks. I nod. "Really? How does an innocent young lady like you know the lyrics to Marvin Gaye's 'I Want You to Want Me'?" I shrug. "Have you wanted to be wanted?" I nod slowly and stare at him. I hope my eyes look sexy and not crazy.

"Well, I definitely want you, dear."

I wish he'd call me baby instead of dear. Baby is so much sexier.

I'm getting tired. All of a sudden it came down on me. "What time is it?"

Graham looks at his Rolex. "Almost time for me to take you home. It's going to be difficult for me to go an entire week without seeing you, Sarita. Real difficult."

"You can call me."

"And I definitely will."

Graham does just as he promised and drops me off at eight thirty. It takes me thirty minutes to get ready for bed—in addition to my regular routine of brushing and flossing my teeth, scraping my tongue, and washing my face, tonight I'm applying a mud mask for fifteen minutes while I bathe in Himalayan pink salt.

As I'm soaking, Ray's face flashes in my mind. "Go away," I say out loud.

"Who are you in there talking to?" Mother asks from behind the closed door.

"Myself, mother."

"Yourself? It's a good thing you are marrying a psychiatrist. Don't talk to yourself, or I should say, don't answer."

I've been having a recurring dream about my wedding. I never see the groom's face. And numbers are in my dream. Eleven and Nineteen. Twenty-five and thirty. So I played the lottery with the numbers, but didn't win. When I get married, I want to do so on November nineteenth.

Will it be a good thing if I marry a psychiatrist? He is Catholic. Maybe I should start writing a list of his positive attributes. Positive and negative.
RAY

_________

While I'm cleaning my room, I see Sarita's phone number on the back of an old ATM receipt with a negative thirty-five dollar balance. I'm glad I wrote her number down and didn't hand this to her. Maybe I should call Sarita. Maybe Boone's right. I do need a female friend. Someone I'm not trying to sleep with, and I'm definitely not trying to sleep with her. I mean, I shouldn't say it like that. There's nothing wrong with the girl. Men like who they like. It's not her fault that I'm not attracted to her. Get your head right. I have to because what I'm doing right now with women just isn't working. Cynthia's still calling. Luckily, I was able to get her banned from Hudson's after she came in with Blaze and had him point his finger at me like it was a gun.

I pick up my phone and press each digit of Sarita's number in slowly. I almost hang up, but she answers on the second ring, right before I do.

"Sarita?"

"Yes, this is she. Who is this?"

"This is Ray." I'm smiling because she has a sweet voice.

"Ray?"

"You forgot me that quick? Ray Saint. Boone's best friend." It's probably been a few weeks. Honestly, I can't remember.

"Oh," her sweet voice drags. "I remember you. I'm very surprised to hear from you after all this time."

"It hasn't been that long. Has It?"

"Two weeks. We met on June twenty-seventh. It's July thirteenth."

"Yeah, sorry it took me so long to reach out. Are you busy?"

"No."

"Why not? It's four o'clock on a Sunday. You don't have any plans?"

"No. I went to church earlier and to breakfast."

I'm waiting for her to ask me if I went to church, how often I go, what my denomination is, etcetera. But, she doesn't ask me anything about church. There's a long awkward silence, until she finally says, "Sharon said you always wear suits. Is that true?"

"Yep, just about every day."

"Have you ever heard of a bespoke?"

"I don't believe so. Nope."

"Really? You should look into those. They're tailored to fit your shape."

"So a custom-made suit?"

"Yes—a bespoke. Once you get one of those, you'll never want to buy one off the rack. All of my daddy's suits are bespoke."

"I'll look into it."

"You should because you'd look really nice in one."

"Since we're talking about what our friends have said, Boone tells me that you've never had a boyfriend. Is that by choice?"

"Not really."

"No?"

"Men have never found me attractive, I guess."

"Really? I doubt that." I know I don't find her attractive, but she certainly isn't ugly. "I've seen women who look way worse than you with men."

"Thanks... I guess." Her voice cracks. I hope I didn't hurt her feelings.

"I didn't mean it negatively. I just meant, don't get down on yourself."

"Oh, I'm not down on myself at all. I realize I may not be the type that most men go for, and that's fine. I'm not desperate. If I were, I'd most certainly have a man. I had a man approach me the other day while I was in line at Sandpiper, waiting to play the lottery."

"You play the lottery?"

"Not usually, but I've had a recurring dream."

"About what?"

"Just life. The man stays at Harbor Lights." Harbor Lights is a residential and outpatient alcohol and drug rehabilitation center run by the Salvation Army geared toward those with a lower income. It operates somewhat like a jail, but a lot of them go there voluntarily. I know because one of my uncles has been in and out of there.

"What man?"

"The man at Sandpiper."

"Oh, right." If she's not desperate, why is she still thinking about some dude at Sandpiper?

"He was out on a weekend pass. If I were desperate, I would've given him my number. He wasn't a bad-looking man. But I'm not desperate."

"You say you're not down on yourself, but you sound like you are."

"No, I'm not. But sometimes, I don't understand what men want from women."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Let's change the subject."

"Are you tired of your Whitney Houston tape yet?"

"I will never ever get tired of listening to Whitney."

"I believe you because you said that with conviction."

We talk about all kinds of music and about sports—mainly the Pistons. She's not into basketball, but she's open to watching it and learning. She never asks me about my work, even though we talk a long time. She tells me that she needs to get ready for bed, but I don't want to get off the phone. She asks me to call her back in thirty minutes, and I do.

"Are you in bed now? I ask when she answers the phone.

"Yes."

I try to steer the conversation in a different direction. "What do you have on?" I ask. I put my free hand under the cover.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... you're in bed. Do you sleep in the nude or do put on a gown or just some panties?"

"Ray, please don't talk like that."

"I was just curious. I know you're a good girl, and I want you to stay that way." I haven't had sex in a few weeks, and watching porn isn't cutting it. Just knowing she's a virgin is really turning me on.

"Why are you moaning? What are you doing?"

"You don't want to know," I say.

"So, do you have a girlfriend?"

"No."

"Are you dating someone?"

"Not right now, no."

I hope she doesn't think I'm calling her to date her. I'm horny. That's it. I'm not trying to date her. We can have sex, though.

"Why are you calling me?"

"Just to talk. You know you don't live that far from me. Why don't you get dressed? I'll come get you. We can drive around Belle Isle."

"Belle Isle?"

"Yeah, it's pretty at night."

"Maybe one night, not tonight."

"Why not? I want to see you.

"Ray, I'm in bed. And I need to go to sleep."

"Do you really want to know what I'm doing? I'm playing with myself."

"I have to go."

"Don't go. I'll stop. Please don't go. You don't ever get horny?"

"Ray, I don't plan on having sex before marriage or even kissing. I mean, I know it doesn't matter to you, but I don't want you thinking of me as just some voice on the phone. You're not on a party line, so don't get sexual with me."

"I don't call party lines. Those are for kids. I'm sorry if my question bothered you. You do have a sexy voice. I guess I got turned on by it. Have you ever had a man tell you that?"

"No, Ray. You need to stop."

I grin and quickly change the subject, start talking about The Cosby Show, which she says is her favorite show on TV. We talk and talk until she falls asleep. She doesn't snore. I don't hang up, and I eventually fall asleep, too. I wake up at one in the morning, still cradling the phone. "Sarita?"

"Yes, Ray," she says calmly. She sounds the way I would imagine an angel would.

"We fell asleep on the phone talking."

"I have to be at work in a few hours. I have to go."

"What time do you usually get home?"

"Seven."

"I'll talk to you tonight, okay"

"Have a good day, Raymond Saint."

"Please call me Ray. That's what my friends call me.

"Have a good day, Ray."

"You do the same."

When I get off the phone with Sarita, I don't go to sleep immediately. I reflect on our conversation and think more about what she said. She's going to be a cool friend to have. For some reason, I didn't like hearing her say that men don't find her attractive, even though I'm one of them. Actually, it's not that I don't find her attractive; I'm just not attracted to her. There's definitely a difference.

I lie in my bed with my hands behind my head and my fingers interlocked and stare at the ceiling. She's so calm. I've never dealt with a calm woman before, not ever. It makes me calm. I can't go back to sleep, so I go to the kitchen for some water. Something slams against the front door to my mother's flat. I rush to it and look through the peephole. Tisha is in the hallway arguing with some tall man, about as big and tall as Boone, and Reid is out there, too.

I open the door and step into the hallway. "Hey, what's up? What's going on out here? Come over here, Reid." I put Reid inside my mom's flat and close the door. "What's going on?"

"What's going on? I tell you what's going on," the man says. "This bitch has lost her motherfuckin' mind, fuckin' with me."

Reid cracks the door open, and I close it again.

"Hey, there's no need for that type of language, sir. There's a child here, and you're calling his mother the b-word. Nah, man. That's not right at all."

"Fuck that kid. He ain't none of mine, and the one I got with her, she won't even let me see but wants to go down to the Friend of the Court on me again like her ass ain't already gettin' enough. Three of her four kids' daddies work at the plant. She makes enough to own this fuckin' four-family, not rent from it. I work at Chrysler and the other two work at GM, right beside each other. Factory worker's hoe, that's all she is."

"Listen, there's a better way to deal with this. None of the kids asked for any of this."

"Yeah, but the baby she just had of mine ain't the only kid whose mouth needs to be fed. I got three of my own with my wife, and Tisha knew when she slept with me that I was married."

"And you did, too, right?" I say with an attitude because he's saying all of this within Reid's earshot, and he'll never forget it. "You're a father, yet you're talking like this in front of a young boy? Come on, man."

"What? He needs to be in bed. Take that up with her, not me. She ain't no fit momma, but she wants me to pay all that child support. What I might do is take my kid from her, and let my wife raise her 'cause she'll do a better job."

Tisha's in the background, standing near the stairs, being quiet. But I have a feeling that won't last long.

"Sir, I understand your frustration."

"You got a kid with her? Because that's the only way you gonna understand it."

"Sir, listen, there are two other families that live in this flat, and if you continue to scream and yell and cuss, one of 'em will call the police. Why involve the police in any of this? You two need to sit down and work it out with the court. Don't put innocent children in it."

"I'm leaving right now, but keep fuckin' with my check, hear," the man says, pointing a finger in Tisha's face.

"Get your finger out my face!" Tisha shouts.

"Tisha, please!" I say, angrily. I'm trying to diffuse the situation, and her attitude is about to escalate it. I don't know if this man has a gun or what. "Sir, it's best that you just go. Please go. It's not worth it." I usher him to the front door.

"She ain't worth it." He walks out the front door, and I turn the lock to the deadbolt.

"Where's my son?"

"He's in my mom's house," I say.

"He can come out now. The big bad wolf is gone. Look like both of us got stalkers."

"Yeah, but the difference between you and me is mine won't be in my life for at least eighteen years."

"Bring my son out here, please. He's got school in the morning."

"I need to talk to him about what happened first."

"I can talk to him," Tisha says.

"I'm a man, Tisha, and I can relate to your son better than you can, so please let me do it. And I will personally walk him to your door after I talk to him."

"Tomorrow's a school day. You gonna get him up in the morning, too? When he don't feel like getting up because you're keeping him down here talking? There's nothing to talk about. I ain't raisin' no weak kids. I know how to talk to my son."

I stare at her until she looks away. She saw in my eyes that I'm not playing.

"I need to handle it."

"Don't talk to him all night." Tisha storms up the steps and slams the door.

I walk in my mom's house, and Reid's sitting on the sofa with his arms folded.

"What's wrong?" I ask as I sit beside him. He shrugs. "It's something. Tell me."

"Sometimes, I wish I wasn't a kid. I don't like depending on people."

"You mean your mom?"

He nods.

"Where's the rest of your family?"

"In Toledo."

"I didn't know you weren't from Detroit, Reid."

"I am from here. You asked about the rest of my family. They're the ones from Toledo. My grandma and Paw Paw, all my uncles and aunts and cousins."

"You got a Paw Paw, too?" I ask.

Reid smiles and nods. "Yeah I got a Paw Paw."

"Aren't Paw Paw's the best?"

"They sure are Mr. Saint. I wanna be just like my paw paw when I grow up."

"Tell me about your paw paw."

"He owns a construction company. All my uncles and aunts work there. They build colleges and stadiums and big buildings like that." He continues talking about his grandfather's business. Reid's a really smart kid for his age. Very wise to only be seven.

"What brought your mom to Detroit?"

"My grandma and Paw Paw got a divorce, and my grandma moved here. But then ten years later they made up and got remarried, and my grandma went back to Toledo but my mom didn't."

"Why didn't your mom go back?"

Reid shrugs. "I don't understand her sometimes. She has too many boyfriends and don't none of 'em mean her no good, and she needs to concentrate on her kids.'"

"Who says that? Your grandma?"

He nods. "How you know, Mr. Saint?"

"I can just tell. Women want to be loved. That's all your mom wants to be loved."

"I love her. Why can't that be good enough?"

"She probably wants you to have a father-figure."

"You my father figure. I want to be just like you when I grow up. I want to wear suits like you always wear. I want to have a bunch of women, too."

"No. Don't have a bunch of women, Reid. The only reason I have a bunch of 'em is because I can't find the one who makes me feel complete. Find you one good woman and stick with her. But please do wear suits."

"I will."

"Could you hear what that man was saying?"

He shakes his head. "Not really."

"Good. Because sometimes adults say things out of anger. More issues come up in your life the older you get, and sometimes, they're hard to deal with. When people act that way, they're acting out because they have a lot of unresolved issues."

He shrugs. "I guess."

I look at the antique clock sitting on my mom's end table. We've been talking for half an hour, which, for a kid, is a long time. "Well, Reid, I have to get you back upstairs before your mom has a fit. But please know if you ever need to talk or just get tired of sitting on those steps and want to sit in here, you can just knock on the door. Okay? You have an open invitation."

He smiles. "Okay. Thank you, Mr. Saint. I'll pray you find a woman who makes you feel complete. You deserve her."

"Thank you, Reid. I'd love to find her."

___

On Thursday, after Sarita and I had been talking every day, she asks, "Would you like to go to my brother's housewarming on Saturday?"

I don't respond right away.

"It's real informal. No need to bring a gift or food or anything like that. My brother and his family just moved into a townhome in Southfield. And I wanted to throw this for him."

"Yeah, why not?"

It feels a little awkward. I don't know if this is a date. Am I supposed to pick her up and take her there or meet her? She read my mind because she says, "I'm the host, so I'll already be there. Maybe you can ride with Boone and Sharon."

"I'll definitely be there. I'm not sure if I'll ride with Boone or not. I have a pretty good sense of direction. I'm good with a map. I have a Rand McNally Road Atlas. I'm sure I can find the place."

"It starts at five. My brother will be on the grill. He's an amazing chef. Bring your appetite."

"I look forward to not only the food but also seeing you again."

"I can't wait to see you again as well," she says, and I can tell from the sound of her voice that she's smiling. She makes me feel real good over the phone. I really hope that doesn't change when we finally see each other again.

___

"You can't wear a suit," Boone says. He called me a few hours before the housewarming to see if I wanted to ride with them.

"I can't?"

"Man, no. It's a barbecue. You have to be casual. Don't you have a pair of khaki shorts you can put on?"

"You expect me to wear shorts? I hope you're not wearing a pair. When are you getting back in the gym?"

"I'm not fat. Sharon's been in Michigan too long with little dudes like you. If she came to Texas, she'd realize everything truly is bigger there. I'm a solidly built man."

"I'm muscular. One hundred and seventy pounds with nine percent body fat. Solidly built man, do you have a six-pack? You wish you were built like me."

"I may not have a six-pack, but I have a flat stomach. But forget all that. I know your mother raised you to believe it's better to be overdressed than underdressed, but it's too hot for a suit. We're going to be outside just as much as inside. Don't you have anything casual to wear? Jeans?"

"I'll wear my white linen suit with a T-shirt underneath."

"That's real Miami Vice, man, and nothing's wrong with that I guess. Are you riding with us or going alone?"

"I'm going alone. Should I bring a deck of cards? I want to play Spades."

"You don't have to bring cards. We'll be playing Spades."

"Does Sarita play?"

"All those hours the two of you have been talking on the phone, and you don't know the answer to that? Yes, and she's real good. She can probably beat you. She's good at Pac-Man, too."

"She may be good at Spades and Pac-Man, but she's not better than me."

"I'm sure she could probably beat you at both."

"I'll have to take her to an arcade and see just how good she is at Pac-Man. But she's not going to beat me at Spades because she's going to be my partner. What time are you and Shay getting there?"

"Four. Sharon's helping Sarita out with the whole thing."

"I hope you're bringing a couple of bottles of your uncle's barbecue sauce."

"We're all out. He's going to ship us some more. But from what I understand Solomon makes a mean sauce and rub. He marinates his ribs for twenty hours. The meat slides off the bone. According to Sharon, his food is better than sex." I can't even respond to that. My wife better not tell me that a rib bone is better than my boning.

"Look for me around five, right when it starts," I say.

"I'll see you there."

___

I didn't need my Rand McNally to find the place because I knew a woman who lived in that townhome community. I went over to her place a few times last year. She's twelve years older than me, which I liked, and physically she was my type. But she was a divorcee with two kids, which, for me, equals nothing more than a one-night stand. The sex was good. One night turned into three consecutive ones and a couple more the next week. But I had to move on because I don't want another man's leftovers. At least she wasn't like Cynthia Myers and didn't stalk me when I stopped calling. Maybe all she wanted was sex. She has a college degree and a good job. She's an engineer with Chrysler. I'm sure she had "ten mens waitin' for her," as Miss King would say.

I'd feel strange if I came completely empty-handed to someone's housewarming. I stopped at Tradewinds around the corner from my house and bought a 12-pack of Stroh's beer. I know Sarita doesn't drink. I hope she doesn't get mad at me for bringing alcohol. But it's just beer.

"Hi, Ray," Sarita says with a smile as she answers the door. "It's good to finally see you again." She's in a long sundress with short sleeves. She looks cute today, and I should tell her, but I don't. I don't want her to get the wrong idea and think I'm flirting. Though actually I'm not so sure it would be the wrong idea. Her arms are thin, but I actually prefer thin arms on a woman as opposed to fat ones or even muscular ones. Some of those women at Bally's have arms more ripped than mine. Sarita's hair is pulled back as usual and really wavy today.

We stare at each other for what feels like a long time.

I raise the twelve-pack. "I brought along a beverage." I should've told her it was good to see her again. Damn, why didn't I? Am I nervous? Do I feel butterflies? Nah, I won't go that far.

"My brother will be ecstatic."

"He's a beer drinker?" I ask.

"Not really. But some of his friends are, and he was just mentioning that he didn't think he had enough alcohol, which I was actually glad about."

"Well, I'm glad I could help him, but I'm sorry that I disappointed you in the process."

She smiles, and I get to see those pretty teeth. "You didn't disappoint me."

"I hope I don't." I'm not sure why I just said that.

"What?"

"Nothing."

I arrived exactly at five, the starting time, and there are already twenty people inside.

"Make yourself at home," Sarita says as I follow her to the living room. "Boone's outside on the grill, helping Solomon with the meat, and Sharon's in the kitchen helping me with the rest of the food."

"Where's your brother's wife?"

"Over there with her sister, staring at you." Sarita glances over at two women who are huddled together eyeing us. "Have fun. I guess her sister likes you."

I look at the women. Both of them are cute and light, but not every light-skinned woman is my type. And neither one of them are. Both of them look like women who can't be faithful. I can't explain what that looks like but a man knows.

"Don't leave me," I say to Sarita. "We can talk for hours on the phone, but when we're in person you want to leave?"

"I just don't want to cramp your style. You never know. Mrs. Saint could be here."

I smile. I'm starting to regret stressing on the phone that I want us to be friends because I can see us being more than that.

"You're right, she could." I stare at Sarita, and she looks away quickly like she's nervous. I can tell she hasn't been around men, and actually, I don't mind that as much as I thought I would.

"Let me introduce you to my brother." She takes my hand and pulls me through the patio doors. Her soft hand feels like a feather. "Solomon this is my friend, Ray. Ray, this is my brother, Solomon."

"What's up?" Solomon says with a nod, and I nod back and say the same.

"Ray brought a twelve-pack of Stroh's."

"Good looking out," Solomon says. "I appreciate that. We can never have too much beer for these fools."

"Are you hungry, Ray?" Sarita asks when she hears my stomach growl.

"A little bit. Sorry, it's obvious."

"I'll fix your plate. If you want," she says.

"Yeah, that's sweet of you."

When she walks back inside to start fixing my plate, Boone comes up to me and says, "I told you she was a sweet woman."

"You were right."

"I told you she'd make a good friend."

Friend? I have my sights set higher than that now. But I'm not going to tell Boone that just yet because I have to make sure.

"You were right about that also," I say.

"Ray, are you my sister's boyfriend or what?" Solomon asks.

"Boyfriend? Not really. No. We're just friends. But she's definitely girlfriend material." I look through the patio door and watch her fix my plate.

"Some feel she's definitely wife material," Solomon says.

"You have to be a girlfriend before you become a wife," I say.

"That's usually how it works, for some, not for all," Solomon says.

Solomon and Sarita don't look anything alike. But I'm assuming they have the same parents. Genetics is wild. He's as dark as me, and Sarita's somewhere in the middle. Their hair is the same, though. He doesn't need a wave cap the way I do. And he's the first dude I've seen get just as many stares from women as me. Let me be honest, he's getting more than me, which is cool. Because the one woman I do want looking at me—Sarita—just did and smiled. And I winked back. I feel like telling her today that I like her. I want to take her out tomorrow instead of Autumn, who I met at the Warehouse Club the night my friend came out the closet. But let me not get ahead of myself. Because Autumn is pretty. She has long hair and big breasts. I have to at least see how the date goes.

I notice Solomon's wife again. She looks like a former party girl that I'm sure racked up a high body count in the process. She's built even after having two kids. Her hair isn't long, but she has a really pretty face. She probably turned the poor Catholic school boy out and then trapped him with a baby. I'm piecing together things Sarita has told me. I get the impression Sarita doesn't truly care for her sister-in-law but tolerates her for the sake of Solomon and her nephews.

Sarita strolls out with a plate loaded with food and hands it to me.

"Y'all ran out of paper plates?"

"No. I didn't want you to have a paper plate."

"You're special," Solomon says and then laughs, and I laugh too.

"Be quiet, Solomon," Sarita says.

"Should I eat out here?" I ask because I'm standing close to an empty table.

"Eat inside, away from the flies."

"My sister attracts flies. And not just the insects."

"Shut up, Solomon," Sarita says through laughter.

"I hope you got rid of that other fly," Solomon says.

"What is he talking about?" I ask as I follow Sarita back inside.

"Nothing. He's just silly."

"I like the relationship you and your brother have. I can tell the two of you are close. I wish I had a sister."

"I'll be your play sister."

"Nah. We can stick to being friends for now." I pick up a rib bone, and the meat slides off of it.

"You have to eat my brother's ribs with a knife and fork."

"I see." I start eating, and I can kind of understand why Shay said his food is better than sex.

"Try the broccoli casserole and the sweet potato pudding."

"Trust me. I'm going to try it all." I take a few bites and have to close my eyes and shake my head. My knees feel weak. I'm having a foodgasm. "Can you cook like this? Because if you can, I'm getting on one knee right now."

"No. But he's going to teach me."

"Your husband will be a lucky man." I stare at her until she breaks it. "He could bottle his sauce and put Boone's uncle out of business." I start licking the barbecue sauce off my fingers, and the smile on her face lets me know she's enjoying watching me do that. She sure doesn't seem like a virgin right now.

A couple hours later, people start playing Poker and Spades. Sarita's brother is playing Poker, and the Poker players are betting with real money, while the Spades players are merely trash talking.

"He shouldn't be doing that," Sarita says as she watches her brother.

"He's your brother. Don't mother him," I say. "Partner, how many books do you think you have?" She ignores my question and continues staring at Solomon. "Look at your hand, not at your brother."

Sarita looks down at her hand. "About four or five, probably six."

"I was wondering where my hand went. To my better half because I only have three."

"Somebody's reneging," Boone says. "Because we think we can get six, and y'all going for nine."

"Yep. We're going for nine." And I'm sure Boone and Shay will be the ones to renege because I may not have the best hand, but what's good about it is I only have one club, and it's an ace. I have two diamonds: a queen and a three. I also have the ace of spades and three low spades that will get me some books when my other suit runs out, and as always the high joker has found me once again.

If we play this hand right, they may only be able to squeeze out two. "Ladies first," I say to Sarita because she's the one who has to start it off. She does a bold move by throwing out the queen of spades. What that tells me is she probably has the low joker and the king of spades. She's trying to figure out if I have the high joker or the ace. She'll know after this book that I do, and then we're going to sweep them. They may not even get one book.

"Wow," I say, shaking my head and smiling.

"What's that about?" Boone asks.

"Me and my partner are like this." I motion two fingers between my eyes and back toward her.

She gets that book, and we keep on the spades train until we run them dry. They only end up with one book.

"I told you she could play," Boone says.

"You are good," I say to Sarita. "You can be my partner any day because it takes guts to lead with the queen of spades when you don't have the ace or the high joker."

There's a nice mix of music playing. "Saturday Love" just ended, and "Rumors" is blasting through the speakers. The music is on point until the gold-diggers' anthem "Ain't Nothing Going On but the Rent" starts to play. I hate when something snaps me back into reality.

Sarita's the only woman not singing the song, and Solomon's wife is really into it.

"Turn that shit off," Solomon shouts and all the men in the room cheer.

Solomon's wife replays it, and I shake my head. I can't have a disrespectful wife. That's why I don't plan on getting married. It's like rolling the dice; you never know what you might end up with.

___

It's Sunday, July 20, and I'm down on Gratiot at Joe Muer, an iconic seafood restaurant, with Autumn. She has a really nice apartment in the Millender Center downtown that I saw when I picked her up. Now that I see Autumn in the daytime I can confirm that she's a pretty woman. Sometimes a dark club and alcohol distort my vision. She's not light-skinned, but she has really long hair, past her shoulders, and keen features. So, in this case, the color of her skin doesn't matter. When she mentioned she had a taste for seafood, the first place I mentioned was Red Lobster, but she laughed. This is where she told me to take her, and here we are. I must really be trying to impress her because Joe Muer isn't cheap. I hope my prepaid Visa card goes through. I think I have a hundred dollars left on it.

"Autumn, tell me about yourself. You're always busy; I can never get you on the phone."

"That's because I'm just coming out of a relationship, and we've been kind of back and forth, but now it's over for good, and I'll need to find a new place to live."

"Do you live with him or something?"

"No, but he pays my rent. Or used to."

"Oh, I see." Miss King would be proud of her. "Is he making you move or can't you just start paying it yourself?"

"I'm in nursing school full-time, and I have the most expensive two-bedroom floor plan they offer, so, no, I can't pay for it myself. Do you want to start paying it? I accept handouts."

"Even if I wanted to, I can't afford to. I know the rent there isn't cheap."

"What, exactly, do you do for a living?"

"I'm in sales," I say, clearing my throat and trying to figure out a good lie.

"Sales? What kind? Pharmaceutical?"

"Um," I'm thinking about lying, but then I notice Sarita leaving the restaurant, holding some white man's hand, and all of a sudden I can hear my heart beating.

"Are you okay?" Autumn asks as she turns to follow my eyes. "Do you know them or something?"

"I thought they looked familiar." I continue to stare at them. That goofy-looking dude looks happy as hell to be with her. I know he's going to try to get himself some tonight. She bet not.

"Back to my question," Autumn says. "What kind of sales?"

All of a sudden Autumn doesn't matter. Getting home and to my phone does. She isn't worth the lies. "I sell shoes at Hudson's. In the women's shoe department." She laughs like I told a joke. She laughs the way Sarita did when I told her that I was funnier than Eddie Murphy, only Sarita's laugh was softer and more feminine and wasn't meant to cut me down.

"Are you serious? You work at Hudson's and that's all you do? No, I don't care how fine you are."

"Yeah that's all I do."

"You don't have a degree?"

"Nope," I say. I could care less how she feels. Here I've been talking to Sarita every night and this is how she's going to do me. Alright, that's cool. No. No, it's not.

"Did you go to college at all?"

"No, I did not."

"I can't go from dating a Detroit Piston to someone like you."

"Your ex is a Detroit Piston? Which one?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Why?"

"I'd just rather not say."

"Are you that mad at him now that you don't want to claim him?"

"Well, it's a lot deeper than that because the reason we broke up is because he still hasn't left his wife, and I don't think he's going to."

"Let me get this straight: the man who you were with and who was paying your rent is married, and you knew it?"

"Yes, but he was supposed to leave his wife."

"Don't they always say that? That's the main reason I don't ever want to get married. I'd rather stay single before I have to resort to cheating."

"Working at Hudson's, you probably will stay single, unless you settle on some ghetto girl from the East Side. They probably don't care. You're probably a major upgrade for them, but not for me."

"What's wrong with the East Side? I have a lot of cousins who live on that side. There are nice homes over there. Where did you grow up?"

"Green Acres. Are you familiar with that area?"

"Never heard of it," I say, lying. Obviously, she thinks her parents' neighborhood is a lot better than the East Side. I can tell by the way she swirled the words Green Acres.

"It's near Sherwood Forest."

"Okay, I've heard of that. It's right beside Palmer Woods, and I have a good friend who lives there."

"You have a good friend who lives in Palmer Woods? Who? One of your regular customers?"

"No, a friend. Both of her parents are dentists."

"Yeah, I bet she is just your friend. Both of my parents are teachers, and it bothers me that you don't have a degree. I'm going to be honest with you because I'm not one to waste anyone's time."

"Did the married basketball player have a degree?"

"Well, when you make that kind of money, you don't need a degree."

"I guess when you make that kind of money you don't need to be single either. And you're judging me for not having a degree?" Tisha messed around and had a baby with a married man. Now, this woman is being kept by one. Is there a shortage of single men? Is that why I'm being stalked? I'm beginning to think so, because there's no reason why a single woman should be messing with a married man. "You know what, we can either go Dutch on this meal or we can go home. Which would you prefer?"

"I was getting ready to go home, actually, anyway, and I don't need you to take me there." She gets up from the table and strolls away. I'm glad I don't have to take her home because that means I'll make it home faster. My mind is stuck on Sarita. She better pick up when I call her. I wish I had her parents' phone number so in case she doesn't pick up I could call their line. I would. That's how angry I am.

___

"I have to see you right now," I tell Sarita over the phone.

"Huh? I'm in bed. It's ten thirty. You know I go to bed at ten and have to get up at six, Ray. It's Sunday, not Friday or Saturday. We can't talk on the phone all night on a Sunday, and you can't see me. I need eight full hours of sleep to function at my highest level. My job is stressful. I need to let you go."

"Sarita, I have to talk to you right now, in person. I mean it. This isn't a joke."

"No, Ray, I'm sorry, but I have to go."

"Well, can we go out to lunch tomorrow? I'll come to your job and pick you up."

"But what about your job? How can you do that?"

"I can make that time up. My manager's cool."

"I wouldn't want you to do that, and honestly, Ray, you sound anxious. If this is about you seeing me at Joe Muer, it's okay. All we do is talk to each other on the phone. I'm not jealous that you were with another woman—"

"You saw me there?"

"Yes, I saw you. I saw you as soon as you walked in with her. She's very pretty. I'm sure she's more of your type. Obviously, she is because you were out with her and not me."

"What?" I didn't understand what she meant by that.

"Nothing."

"Okay, you may not be jealous about what you saw, but I'm very jealous about what I saw. Who is he, and why were you holding his hand? What else have you done with him?"

"Nothing else."

"Have you kissed him?"

"No."

"Good, don't. I'm going to be the first man to kiss you."

"What? Have you been drinking? We've only been talking on the phone for a week, Ray."

"A week?"

"One week. That's it."

"No, it's been longer than a week."

"No, it hasn't."

"We've only been talking on the phone for a week?" Damn, it seems a lot longer. I don't talk to the same woman every day, not even for a week. I might call a woman one day and talk to her again a week or two later. Not every day and not for hours at a time.

"That's why I want to know if you've been drinking."

"No, I haven't been drinking. I'm going to be the first man to kiss you."

"Ray, I was under the impression that you didn't even like me in that way."

"What? Who told you that?"

"Boone."

"When did Boone say that?" My voice raises a few levels.

"He told Sharon that right after we met for the first time."

"Well, I do like you. Forget what Boone and Sharon said. Who was that man, Sarita?"

"He's someone I may marry."

"Marry? You're not going to marry him."

"Why do you care, Ray? I'm not your type."

"Stop saying that."

"It's true. Isn't it? Be honest."

"It's not true, and I care because I have feelings for you, Sarita, and these feelings are freaking me out."

"After a week? You have feelings for someone you're not attracted to?"

"I am attracted to you. Stop saying that."

"That's not what you told Boone, and Boone wouldn't lie."

"I'm not saying he lied." I don't know what to say to get her to see my point. "What about yesterday?"

"What about it?"

"I came to your brother's housewarming and had a great time. When we got home we talked all night. You never mentioned you had a date."

"And neither did you. Listen, Ray, I don't know what type of women you're used to dealing with. Maybe they have low self-esteem, but I don't. Just because you don't find me attractive doesn't mean other men won't, and the man you saw me with does. I have to go. It's past my bedtime."

The next thing I hear is a dial tone, and I'm freaking out. Why is she mad at me? She wasn't yesterday. She's jealous, just like I am. I bet you.

"You gotta help me," I tell Boone. He's the next number I dial.

"Help you how?" Boone asks. "I'm asleep, man."

"What's up with all you people going to bed at ten?"

"You should try it."

"You have to help me because you're the one who messed me up in the first place."

"Messed you up how?"

"By telling Sharon that I told you that I wasn't attracted to Sarita."

"But isn't that what you said?"

"No, I never said that."

"Then what exactly did you say?"

"I may have said she wasn't my type. I may have said that, but even if I did say that, I didn't expect you to tell Sharon. But anyway that's different than saying I'm not attracted to her."

"I don't see it that way, but then again our minds don't think alike, so I'm not surprised."

"I am attracted to her. I'm very attracted to her. She has really nice legs. So if you want to relay something, relay that. And I don't want to see her with another man."

"Okay, so you're calling me for what reason?"

"You have to help me get her back. I'm losing her."

"You're losing her? I never knew you ever had her."

"I consider her to be my friend. My close friend. My birthday is coming up. I was hoping I'd spend it with her. You have to help me since you're the one who messed all this up."

"No, Ray, I'm not the one who messed any of this up. You did, but I will talk to her. Sarita usually listens to me. Now you need to listen to me."

"About what?"

"You want her back, as you put it, then you need to take her to the Greatest Love Tour. Whitney Houston is going to be at Pine Knob next month. I'm taking Sharon. I'll buy the tickets, and you can just pay me back because I know it may take you a few paychecks to get your money right. I don't think we should wait until the last minute to buy the tickets or they may sell out. Hell, they may already be sold out, but I'm sure we can get some lawn tickets."

"I don't like borrowing money from you, but in this case, I will. She would love that. Thank you for the suggestion. I really appreciate it."

The Greatest Love Tour. I better get busy selling a lot of shoes.

August 1986

_______________________________
SARITA

_________

"What are you all excited about?" Mother asks as she enters my bedroom and her eyes dance over the summer dresses I have sprawled over my bed. "Is Dr. Emerson taking you out?"

"No, Mother."

"Well, where are you going?"

"I'm going to see Whitney Houston in concert." I start to jump up and down from excitement. "She's at Pine Knob for the Greatest Love World Tour." My face lights up at the thought of being in the same space as Whitney Houston, my favorite artist of all time. I'm shaking just thinking about it.

"You're going to a concert in the middle of the week when you have to work tomorrow? Where are your priorities?"

"Mother, I'm not in high school. I'm an adult, and I'm going to a concert. And if I weren't still living here, you wouldn't know what I was doing any day of the week."

"Sarita, I know you're an adult, so calm down. And you do have the right to enjoy yourself, obviously. This is just out of character. You usually don't go anywhere, unless it's with Dr. Emerson. Now, what's going to happen when Dr. Emerson calls you, and he will, and you don't answer and then he rings our phone? What am I supposed to tell him?"

"Tell him I went to see Whitney in concert."

"Are you trying to make him jealous? Is that it? Sometimes that works, and other times it backfires. You don't need to make him jealous he wants to marry you."

"I'm not trying to make him jealous."

"I'm sure he would've taken you to the concert if you had let him know you wanted to go. He wants to make you happy, Sarita. I'm sure he's told you that."

"I was invited. Please, Mother, don't ruin this for me. I'm in a good mood. It's Whitney. Let me enjoy myself for once. I've done everything you've ever asked aside from becoming a doctor—"

"I'm over the fact that you're not a doctor. You have a great position at GM, and you're going to marry a doctor. Who are you going with?"

"Sharon and Boone."

"Is she your only friend? What happened to your classmates from Gesu and Mercy? Do you need me to help you track some of them down? I know all of their mothers. I know you didn't pledge in college, but it's not too late for you. You can go grad chapter. You need more friends than Sharon. That girl's life is a mess."

"Sharon's life? How? She's married. She has a good job and has a degree. What part of that is a mess? Besides, I have other friends—from work."

"Are they in upper-level management like you are? Where did they grow up?"

"Mother, I'm an adult. I can pick my own friends. What difference does it make where they grew up? They had no say in where they grew up."

"You always want to associate with people in your same social circle. That's all I'm saying. But I know at work you have to be cordial. Who else are you going with? I'm sure you're not going to be the third wheel."

"A mutual friend of ours is also going."

"Listen to me, Sarita," my mother says, sternly. "I hope that mutual friend isn't one of Boone's factory worker friends, because you told Dr. Emerson you would be his wife, and I don't expect you to go back on that. You won't go back on it. You said you did everything I ever asked. I'm asking you to marry Dr. Emerson. Then I'll never ask you to do anything else. You'll be his wife and do what he says, not me, and I won't interfere."

"I never told him I would marry him, Mother. I told him I was thinking about it, and I am. It's not fair that you do this to me."

"What am I doing to you, Sarita? Please tell me. I'm trying to make sure you have a good life. What is wrong with that?"

"I'm the only one of your children that you can get to, and you use that. You tried to control Solomon, and it didn't work. You tried to control Sunniva, and that definitely didn't work. But I guess you perfected your techniques by the time I came along."

"From my understanding, you and Dr. Emerson looked at homes that are close to your job. That shows how considerate he is—that he's willing to drive almost an hour to get to his office so that you only have to drive five minutes to get to yours. Isn't that considerate of him?"

"Mother, I have to finish getting dressed because I have to leave in a minute."

"Why aren't they coming here, Sarita? What are you trying to hide or who?"

"You know what? I'll finish getting dressed over at Sharon's." I grab the clothes I intend to wear, some flats, and my purse, and then head for the front door.

___

Even though this is only my third time around Ray, it doesn't feel like it. He's being very attentive toward me. He compliments me as soon as we both get into the backseat of Boone's truck. "Sarita, you look very pretty tonight with your makeup on and your hair down," Ray says. I have to remind him though that he should open the door for me.

"Sharon did all this." My skin feels itchy with this drugstore foundation on. And I can't get used to these false lashes. I hope they don't fall off; I'll be really embarrassed.

"She did a good job. You should always wear makeup, especially lipstick. Not that you're not pretty without makeup, but you look even better with it. Have you ever thought about letting your hair grow? I love long hair."

Sharon turns around from the passenger seat and says, "Sarita's mother's hair is so long she can sit on it."

"Your mother's hair is that long, for real?" Ray asks. He has a wide grin, and his eyes sparkle.

Yes, but she never wears it down. She keeps it in a bun."

"Your mother must be light-skinned like mine. My mom has long hair, but not that long."

"Actually my mother's dark-skinned; she's about your complexion."

"Really? She must look like Pocahontas. Does she have Indian in her?"

"Indian? Do you mean Native American?"

"Well, if you need to get all technical. But you know most blacks have Indian in them."

"I didn't know that. She's black. That's all that I know of."

I hate that Ray's someone who feels if you're black with long hair you're mixed with something else.

"That means your hair can grow long; it's in your genes," Ray says.

"Sarita's dad is light-skinned with naturally wavy hair, and he's tall. He's very handsome," Sharon says. Boone gives her a strange look. His possessiveness is showing.

"My hair used to be long, not as long as my mother's, but about to here." I use my index finger to show how it reached to the middle of my arm."

"Wow," Ray says and smiles. "Why did you cut it?"

"I didn't. I may try to let it grow back." I really don't want to discuss what happened with my hair when I was a child or think about that tonight. Tonight is all about my girl Whitney. I'm ready to have fun.

The parking at Pine Knob Amphitheater is crazy. Even though we left early, traffic is still bumper to bumper. We started noticing the congestion the closer we got to the exit.

Boone suggests that since we all have on comfortable shoes, we park near the entrance and walk to the venue. That way, when it's time to leave, we won't have to wait an hour just to get out of the place. Good idea.

When Ray reaches for my hand as we're walking toward Pine Knob, it takes me by surprise. At first, he only touches it right on the edge, almost as if to ask if he can. When I don't remove it, he cups it with his, and butterflies dance in my stomach. When Graham holds my hand, it doesn't feel natural. I want to squirm loose, but I don't do that anymore because I don't want to hurt his feelings.

"I can't get over how pretty you look," Ray says.

"I'm glad you find me attractive tonight."

"Baby, I'm very attracted to you. I was attracted to you when I saw you at Joe Muer, and you didn't have on makeup then." I look at him, smile, and flutter my fake lashes. "What?"

"I love that you called me baby."

"Well, I'll keep doing it then."

Pine Knob has five main seating zones, and most of them are covered with a large fixed canopy. Our seats, though, are in the rear outdoor lawn area that isn't covered. We brought along a picnic basket and blankets and four chairs, and we stretch out in our own little section and get comfortable.

Ray and Boone leave to buy beverages.

"You really like Ray a lot, don't you?" Sharon asks.

I smile widely and nod. "There's something about him. I just feel an instant connection."

"I'm glad you like him, but take it real slow with him. Real. Real. Slow. I've already told you he has a lot of admirers."

"Any man who looks like him will. But okay, I'll take it real slow."

Ray and Boone return, holding a cup in each of their hands. Ray offers me one of them.

"What is this?" I ask.

"A little wine. You're Catholic."

"I don't drink wine outside of Communion."

"No problem; I'll just drink it."

Our view of the stage is slightly obstructed, but we each have a pair of binoculars, and I'm using mine to watch for Whitney. When she glides on stage for the first time, I lose my mind. I start jumping up and down and screaming as she starts to greet us—a huge crowd of at least fifteen thousand. She opens the concert by performing "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'," covering Michael Jackson, and then sings "Eternal Love." When she performs "You Give Good Love," Whitney slows down the pace of the song and starts by singing "good love" several times and harmonizing.

"Would you like to slow dance, baby?" Ray asks.

"I don't know how." I'm embarrassed to admit that, but my daddy was always busy and never had time to teach me.

"You will after tonight."

I start to sing "You Give Good Love" along with Whitney Houston. Ray smiles and says, "Wow, you can really blow."

I start to sway my small hips from side to side. Ray grabs my waist and pulls me into him. "Are you ready to learn how to slow dance, baby?"

I nod. I love the way he says "baby."

"Follow my lead and just remember don't step on my feet."

We start to dance, and I feel as if I'm keeping up with his steps. He's a very good teacher. As the song is nearing the end, he kisses my left cheek and whispers in my ear, "Are you going to let me give good love to you?"

I nod.

"When?"

I shrug.

"Tonight?"

I shake my head.

"Tomorrow?" I shake my head again.

"When I marry you?"

I nod.

"I give good love, baby," he whispers.

"Kiss me?" Ray asks.

I shake my head.

"On my forehead."

I tilt my head up slightly and kiss his forehead.

"Thank you."

After Whitney stops singing "You Give Good Love," we sit down and listen as she sings "Hold Me," which is one of my favorite songs, though it's not quite the same without Teddy Pendergrass.

By the time she starts to sing "Didn't We Almost Have It All," Ray and I are sitting on a beach towel on the lawn hugged up, and I'm still singing along.

"I don't like the lyrics to that one," Ray says.

"Why?"

"It sounds like a breakup song. I don't want to almost have it all. I want to have it all. Do you think it's possible for two people to have it all?"

I nod. "I think it is."

The next song she performs is "I Wanna Dance with Somebody," which is a lot more upbeat. By the time she performs the last song, "Greatest Love of All," I think I'm in love.

Ray says. "Are you going to let me be your first?"

"My first what?"

"Everything. I want to be your man. Is that okay?"

"What does 'being my man' mean?"

"In high school, I would be your boyfriend, but now that we're adults, I'm your man."

"I don't know, Ray. I've never had a boyfriend."

"That's hard for me to believe, baby. You're a sweet woman." Ray whispers to me, "Can I let you in on a little secret?" I nod. "I've never had a girlfriend."

"I don't believe you."

"Ask Boone."

I turn toward Sharon, who's seated next to me, stretch my arm over her legs, and tap Boone's thigh. "Boone, Ray claims he's never had a girlfriend. Is that true?"

Boone looks over at Ray and says, "Gina?"

Ray grabs his heart and acts as if he's having a heart attack. "Why, man, why? Why did you have to bring her name up? But she wasn't my girlfriend; I only wanted her to be."

"What happened? Did she hurt you?" I ask.

He pouts and nods. "I hope you don't."

"Oh, I won't."

"Watch out for him, Sarita," Sharon says. How many times is she going to tell me that? "He was a player in high school, and I think he may still be." She turns to Ray. "You better not hurt my friend."

"I'm reformed," Ray says. He watches me as I smile at him and shake my head. "What are you thinking?"

"You just never know," I say.

"Never know what?"

"How you're going to meet someone."

"Yep, and we owe it all to Boone and Sharon." He leans in to kiss me, but I put my hand on his chest to stop him. "I'm not ready to do that yet. Sorry."

"I understand." He kisses me on the forehead and draws me closer to him. "I love your innocence."

___

"Sarita, Dr. Emerson is downstairs, and he looks stressed. Let me tell you something that you will never do, and that's play games with a doctor's head. I won't let you. All of a sudden, you're not taking his calls?"

"Since yesterday, you mean? I was at the concert."

"You all have been going out to dinner every Saturday and to church and breakfast every Sunday."

"Just for two months—"

"Planning your future life together," my mother says, cutting me off. "And now you won't even take his calls? How do you think that makes him feel? Would you want to be treated that way? Are you trying to make a psychiatrist go crazy? Is that your goal?"

"Psychiatrists are already crazy," I mumble under my breath.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing."

"He told me he's in love with you."

"In love with me? You and Graham talk about us more than Graham and I do."

"Go downstairs and talk to him. He's in the library. Reassure him, please."

"Reassure him about what?"

My mother cuts her eyes over at me and takes a deep breath. "Your future husband is downstairs waiting. Are you going to invite him to stay for dinner?"

"No, Mother, I'm not."

"And why not?" Mother snaps.

"First of all, he's not my future husband." Before she can say another word, I head for the stairs. Once downstairs, I enter the library. Graham is browsing the shelves of the built-in bookcases. He has his hands shoved inside the pockets of his dress pants. He turns to face me, and he really does look distraught. I don't want him to look like that. I like Graham, just not as much as I like Ray.

"May I have a hug?" Graham asks.

"Yes." I step forward, and he embraces me but leaves a fair amount of space between our lower bodies, which I appreciate. He is a perfect gentleman, and there's a part of me that will be sad because I can't see him any longer now that I'm in a relationship with Ray. I don't think Graham is gay. I think he really is looking for a wife around my age with a similar background to his, and I became his ideal, and the way he treats me almost makes me want to continue being that. But marrying him will make him happy, not me. I sure will miss all the attention.

We sit on the sofa and stare at each other for several minutes before either of us says a word. "Sarita, have you decided whether or not you'd like for me to be your husband?"

"If you want to move on from me, Graham, you can. I don't want to hold you up."

"No, no, no. That's not at all what I'm saying. I don't want to move on from you. I want to move on with you. I love you, Sarita. I'd just like to have an idea of how much longer you need to think about it."

For some reason, I can't tell Graham no, and that bothers me because supposedly I'm in a relationship with Ray, and he's as attentive as he can be. He called me as soon as I got home and asked about my day. We have plans to see each other on Friday; we're going to the movies.

"May I have until the end of the year?" I ask.

"You need until the end of the year, Sarita? We've been seeing each other since June. It's going to take you that long to decide? I'd really like to move on with this and marry you, and then we could be pregnant by the end of the year."

"So we wouldn't have a big wedding? Because that takes time to plan."

"Sarita, we can have a big wedding. Whatever you want. It doesn't have to take that long to plan. Or we can just have a small intimate ceremony. I don't want to delay our happiness. Don't I make you happy? I really try to."

"You do."

"Then why did you go to that concert last night without me. When I called you last night, your mother told me you were there. I would've taken you. You didn't want to go there with me—to see Whitney Houston, The Greatest Love Tour?"

"I didn't think to ask. Someone..." I almost said too much. I don't want him thinking I went there with a man. I feel confused right now.

"I would have taken you. I will do anything to make you happy."

"If you'd like to see other people, Graham, I understand."

"What's his name?"

"Whose name?" I ask, startled by his question.

"The other man. I know you're seeing another man. You went to the concert with him, didn't you? What's his name?"

"Ray. His name is Ray." There I said it. I'm never one to play games, and I'm not going to lie.

"Is it serious?"

"I'm not sure." Why am I lying to Graham? Why can't I say, "Yes, it's serious; we're in a relationship." Maybe, because it's only been one day and I don't know what was in that cup Ray was drinking? Maybe he was buzzed. And I also hate that he used to be a player.

"If you don't know, then it must not be. Is he also a doctor? I'm sure he is."

"No." And that's the other thing about Ray that I'm really not sure about. He hates his job and doesn't have much direction. He didn't go to college. I don't need him to make money because I have a good income and my earning potential is only going to increase, but I think he needs to make money for his own self-worth. I just don't know how to approach the subject with Ray about his future plans without insulting him.

"He's not a doctor?" Graham looks concerned.

"No," I repeat, only this time I also shake my head.

"Does he work at GM with you? Is he an executive there?"

"No."

"What does he do?"

"He has a job, but he hasn't found a career yet. He's still young. He's twenty-three."

"Oh, he is young. Fresh out of college. What was his major?"

My eyes fall downward. I realize I'm embarrassed. "He didn't go to college."

"He didn't go to college? Sarita, I know you're not considering this man."

"There's not an age limit on college. He can always go at another time."

"I hope you haven't had sex with this man. I hope you haven't wasted your virginity on him because you're not acting right to even consider him."

"No, I haven't had sex with him."

"And you like him despite all of his shortcomings."

"The only thing I mentioned was that he doesn't have a great job and he didn't go to college."

"That's more than enough. That is, if you're looking for a husband, which I'm sure someone of your stature is. Why are you even entertaining this guy?"

"I think I love him." There I said it. Why continue to fight the truth? I do think I love Ray. There's something about him and the way I feel when I'm talking to him that makes me feel we're meant to be together.

"What do you love about him, Sarita? It's not good to be with a man that you're unequally yoked with. He doesn't have a career. He's young. He may not even be thinking about having kids right now. He's still thinking about playing."

"I don't care about that."

"You don't care about kids?"

"Not the kids, the career. He's young. He'll figure it out. I make more than enough money, and I'll always make more than enough money. My lifestyle won't suffer at all if we get married."

"Who's talking about marriage? Not a man that young. He's not ready to settle down, and by the time he is, we could've had three kids. And even if he were, you don't want to marry a man beneath you. You never want to marry a man who hasn't figured his life out. Because that type of man isn't happy with himself, and if he isn't happy with himself, he won't be happy with you. Trust me on this; you're getting into my area of expertise now. Let me ask you something, Sarita. If you had your choice between two men: one is the man you love"—he holds up his index finger on his right hand—"and the other is the one who loves you,"—he holds up the index finger on his left hand—"who would you choose?"

"The man who I love who also loves me."

"No, no, no. These are two different men." He wiggles his two fingers on opposite hands.

"As I said, the man who I love who loves me."

"No... no... no. These are two different men. One of them, you love, the other one loves you. Which one are you picking?"

"The one I love."

"Do you love me, Sarita?"

I shake my head slowly.

"Well, there it is: the truth."

"I do as a friend."

"I don't mean as a friend. And I don't mind that you don't, because in arranged marriages there usually isn't love at first. But, in this case, there's another man involved who you are in love with. And even though I know for a fact you're doing the wrong thing, I have to remove myself from this."

Graham stands, and I instantly feel remorseful. I almost feel as if I could be making a major mistake. "So where does this leave us?" I ask.

"It leaves us nowhere. You've decided. You don't want me to be your husband."

"May I have a hug?" I'm not ready to let him go.

"No."

"No?" I feel even more confused. Why doesn't he want to hug me?

"I do still have feelings for you, Sarita. I'm trying to pretend I'm not hurt, but if I'm going to tell the truth also, I'm crushed."

I don't want to lose Graham. I'm afraid to lose him. I walk up to him and kiss him on his cheek and say, "I'm just asking for a few more months."

"Sarita, are you playing with my feelings right now?"

I shake my head and then drop it.

He places his finger under my chin and raises my head. "Please don't play with my feelings. Remember in the car, when I told you not to hurt me?"

I nod. "Yes, I remember."

"You're hurting me. You just told me you love another man. Now you're asking for a few more months?"

"You're a good man, Graham, and I'd hate to lose you, but I do have some reservations about you and that's why I started seeing someone else. But I mostly only talk to him on the phone, aside from the concert. I've spent more time with you. I don't want to make a rash decision either way. I'm not experienced with this. If I didn't have any reservations, I probably wouldn't need that long."

"Reservations? What are they? I need to know so I can work on clearing them up for you."

"We'll talk about it. But on another day, though, okay?"

Graham hugs me and brings me in closer to him. "I'll give you until the end of the year. That kid will be gone by then. Don't give him anything to take with him. Stay a virgin for me. I'm your husband, but I want you to be sure, okay?"

I nod and he kisses me on my forehead. "I'll stay a virgin for you."

"I can't wait until you're my wife. I can't wait until we're together for the first time." He bites his bottom lip.

"Would you like to stay for dinner, Graham?"

"I'd love that. Did you cook it?"

"No, my parents have a chef. You know they're too busy to cook, and so am I."

"Is that what you'd like for us to have? We can. I'm going to treat you like my princess, Sarita. You won't want for anything, nothing at all. In fact, the next time we see each other, I'd like to show you my bank statements and investment portfolio. We live in Detroit, and there are a lot of slick talkers here. Ray may be one of them, but I can prove I'm not. I can back mine up."

"Graham, I know you. I know your family. I know you're not a slick talker."

"Remember that you know me and that you don't know him. He doesn't deserve a woman like you. He hasn't accomplished anything in his own life to get a woman like you."

I take Graham's hand and lead him into the dining room. What's wrong with having two men vying for my attention, especially when I'm not sleeping with either one? Every woman deserves that.

"Are you using a new hand lotion?" I ask Graham.

"No, why?"

"Your hand feels so different."

"In a good way, I hope."

"In a very good way."

___

I'm glad I still have Graham. It's Saturday, and I'm with Ray at the Americana on Greenfield in Southfield waiting for The Fly to start or at least for the lights to dim and the previews to play, and Ray is rubbernecking every light-skinned woman with long hair that he sees. It's obvious, and I'm embarrassed. Now I definitely know what his type is. Before, I only knew that I wasn't it, but I wasn't completely clear on what was. Now I am.

"Do you want something from the concession stand?" Ray asks.

"No," I say without looking at him. I'm so upset I could ignite.

"Well, I'm going to get some Twizzlers and popcorn. I'll be back." He leaves, and I immediately have flashbacks from Cheeks. How he left to go dance with other women, and I pretended as if I didn't care, but I did. Deep down, I did. I'm willing to bet anything that he left me to go talk to the woman he was eyeing who was also eyeing him who walked out just before he did. I wait for a minute and then stand up because I want to see this for myself. This is my future, and I'm not going to let a good man go while I waste time with a player. If I'm right, I'm calling Sharon to come and get me.

I walk out and he's standing near the concession stand talking to that same woman, and they appear to be exchanging numbers. That's all I need to see. Of course, he doesn't see me and won't ever see me again.

"Boone, I need to speak to Sharon," I say into one of the payphones in the theater.

"She's out."

"Out?" I shout. "Out where? She can't be out."

"You know Sharon likes to hang out with Marie on weekends."

Marie. Ugh. I tried to be her friend, but she wasn't interested.

"I need to ask a favor of you then—a big one."

"What?"

"Please come and get me. I'm at the Americana, and I'm with Ray, and he's disrespecting me—"

"Disrespecting you? What do you mean he's disrespecting you? How?"

"He's flirting with other women, and right now he's getting one of their numbers. He—I don't want to be here with him. I'm done. I don't need him."

"I'm on my way."

Boone and Sharon don't live far from the Americana, so it'll only take him about ten minutes, fifteen at most. I'm standing by one of the side doors, peering through the glass, anxiously waiting for Boone when I hear Ray say, "Why aren't you in the movie? It already started."

"I'm waiting for Boone."

"Boone? He's here."

"He will be."

"Why will he be here, Sarita?"

"If you think about it long enough, Ray, you'll probably figure it out."

"What's wrong? What did I do?"

"Ray, you didn't go to the concession stand."

"Oh, I didn't?" He pulls a bag of Twizzlers out of his pants pocket.

I shake my head. "You may have gone there, but you made a detour."

"Will you stop talking in riddles and just tell me what I did wrong?"

"I saw you get that woman's number. I guess I know your type now, and I guess you were buzzed when you asked to be my man. I don't want a man like you, not when I have a man waiting for me to make up my mind who's willing to show me his bank statements. At least you did show me something, though, and that's who you really are. Don't bother calling me again."

"I went to school with her."

"Oh, she went to Hally too?"

"No, Cass. That was Gina."

"That was Gina? How ironic." I shake my head and stare out the window, searching for Boone's pickup.

"It is ironic, but it really was her." Ray shows me the small piece of paper he used to write down her name and number.

"Good for you. You found your long-lost love."

Boone pulls up, and I push open the door and leave.

Ray trails behind me. "Sarita, wait." When I don't stop walking, he grabs my arm. "Why are you being like this? Don't do this."

"Let go of me." I yank my arm free. "Who do you think you are?"

"I'm not letting you leave. You came with me, and you're leaving with me."

Boone steps out of the truck and walks toward us. "Ray, man, stop." Boone moves Ray's hand away from my arm. "Go back in the theater or go home or something. Just leave her alone, okay?" Boone says calmly.

"But she's telling me she never wants to talk to me again. We just started our relationship, and now she's ending it. Maybe this is why she's never had a man. Maybe she ends it before giving the guy a chance."

"Don't make it worse for yourself. You do have the right to remain silent," Boone says.

"I'm not under arrest. I'm going to talk to Sarita." Ray turns toward me. "I'm sorry, Sarita. Upon further reflection, I shouldn't have gotten Gina's number."

"Gina? Gina, Gina?" Boone asks.

"Yeah, Gina Rhodes."

"Aw nah. You're right, you shouldn't have. Man, please, I wouldn't have two words to say to that girl. After the way—"

Ray stabs his eyes at Boone and then focuses back on me and says, "I can take you home, Sarita. We don't even have to go back in the show. I'll just take you home. I wasted eight dollars on tickets, but that's cool."

"Ugh, here." I grab my wallet from my purse and remove a ten dollar bill. "Keep the change." I shove the money inside his linen suit jacket pocket.

"No, Sarita, I don't want this," Ray says as I'm walking away from him. I get inside of Boone's truck, and we drive away.

As Boone's driving me home, I think about Graham. I'm going to call him tomorrow and tell him I'll marry him.

"Ray does like you, Sarita," Boone says.

"He has an odd way of showing it."

"I've been analyzing my friend for a while now, and I think the way he is has a lot to do with his mom. They have an odd relationship. They love each other, but it's strange; he can't even call her mom."

"What does he call her?"

"Miss King. I've heard her cuss him out for calling her 'mom,' and I wasn't the only one who heard it. I know he was embarrassed to get cussed out by his mom in front of his friends just for that."

"Can he call her 'mother'? My mother doesn't like being called 'mom.' I have to call her 'mother'."

"No, he can't call her that either. And she's always telling him how much he's like his father, and his father cheated on her and left her for another woman. I think you intimidate him. You're not like any of the women he's ever dated."

"I know because I'm not his type."

"Sarita, I'm not talking about physically. You're just not like them, period. And if it didn't work with any of them that means it could possibly work with you, right? Maybe that scares him. Maybe relationships scare him."

"Why isn't he like you, Boone? Commitment doesn't scare you. You were ready at eighteen. He's a player, and I'm not putting up with that."

"Sarita, you have your stuff together, he doesn't, and I know that bothers him. He's met women like you before with a career, college educated. Sometimes, they sleep with him, but they usually stop calling once they meet a man more on their level. I'm not telling you to lower your standards by any means. I don't know what I'm telling you. Do whatever you feel is best."

"I don't know, Boone. I may just marry the doctor. I'm ready to get married and have kids, and I don't think Ray is ready for that."

"If that's what you want. But make sure you love him. Don't marry him just to spite Ray because marriage is a lifelong commitment, and you have to take the good with the bad."

"I think I'd rather marry a man who loves me, not the one I love."

___

First a Whitney Houston concert and now Cedar Point, the end of my summer is shaping up nicely. We're standing in the line for Demon Drop, a Freefall ride that can accommodate up to four riders, and there are four of us: Graham, Faith, and Faith's boyfriend, Tommy. I told Faith she could bring along a friend, but I didn't know it would be her boyfriend. If I had known that Tommy was now Faith's boyfriend, I would've been more specific. But I assumed since she always says she wants to emulate me, she meant that literally. I guess not. I hope that Faith's not having sex with him.

Graham drove my car, and we got to the amusement park a half an hour before it opened. We're not going to stay until close, just long enough to ride all the roller coasters, eat, and take in a show.

"Are you ready for this, dear?" Graham asks as we're seated inside the gondola-style car and the harnesses are being secured.

The gondola moves backward to the rear base of the lift tower.

"I guess it's too late for me to change my mind?" I ask Graham.

"I'm afraid so."

As the gondola quickly climbs vertically to the top of the tower, my eyes peek through the spaces in the metal floorboard. Faith and I start screaming and laughing. Graham and Tommy remain calm. I guess it's a male thing.

"Don't look down. Look ahead. It's going to be over before you know it," Graham says.

I look ahead and read the yellow-and-red Attention! sign: Sit upright in Seat at all Times. Keep head and Shoulders Against Seat.

The gondola moves forward and dangles over the drop track for a few seconds before suddenly dropping without notice. I've never screamed so loud.

"Can we go again?" I ask after our gondola has returned to the docking station and the attendants help us out.

Graham smiles. "Of course we can. We can go as many times as you want."

"No, I have to consider everyone, but if we could go on one more time," I say, raising my index finger. "And then I know that Faith wants to go on the Corkscrew, and Tommy, you mentioned the Gemini and the Blue Streak."

"Yes, ma'am."

Yes, ma'am? Does he think I'm Graham's age? I'm not much older than the two of them. Don't read too much into it, I tell myself.

"We have to ride Thunder Canyon," Graham says. "That's the newest ride."

After riding Blue Streak, my stomach starts to growl. It's noon, which is my usual lunchtime. Graham hears it. "Someone's hungry," he says. "It is about that time."

We eat at a nearby food stand that sells Philly steak sandwiches and then take the Sky Ride to the other side of the amusement park, where Thunder Canyon is. Faith and Tommy are too busy cuddling to enjoy the 360-degree views of the amusement park and Lake Erie. I whisper in Graham's ear, "Should I say something?"

Graham shakes his head. "They're seniors. That's what kids do. Leave it alone. I am jealous, though." He kisses my cheek. "I'll just continue to tell myself 'one day'."

When we get to Thunder Canyon I learn that it's a water ride. Faith insists she doesn't want to go on and gets teary-eyed when we try to convince her.

I pull her to the side, away from the view of Graham and Tommy. "Listen, it's okay," I say and hug her. "You don't want to go on because you don't want to get your hair wet? If so, I'll buy you a hat."

"I'm afraid of water." Her voice cracks with each word.

"You are? Well, I'm going to make sure before you go off to college that you know how to swim, but you don't actually get in the water on this ride. Don't worry about your hair, I'll buy you a Cedar Point hat. Let's just have fun. It looks like a fun ride."

Faith shakes her head. "I can't do it."

"That's okay. They can go without us, and we can get some frozen custard and talk. Would you rather do that?"

"Yes, please."

"I'm proud of you," I say to Faith after we get our custard and sit down at one of the umbrella-shaded tables. "I know you as someone who sets goals and achieves them. Four-point-oh in your crucial junior year. Just keep your grades like that this year as well. Start applying for colleges early. Are there any that you'd like to tour?"

"I want to go to Georgetown."

"But? Because I hear one. Is there another school you'd rather go to? You still want to go to Howard, don't you? Howard's a great school." I smile, but Faith isn't smiling back at me.

"I may be pregnant," she says. "Not may. I am. So I guess I won't be able to go to school."

I shake the words Faith just said immediately out of my head. She can't be pregnant, because if she is I failed her. I spent too much time dating two men and not enough time with her. "Faith, how? I mean, I know how. Why?"

"I love him."

"But you can love someone and not have sex with them. Faith, you can't throw away your future. You still need to get a degree. Now, not only for yourself but for your child. And you shouldn't be at an amusement park on rides if you're pregnant."

"You're not going to tell me to get an abortion like everyone else is telling me?"

"No, I'm not going to tell you that. What did Tommy tell you?"

"He wants me to have an abortion, too."

"Listen, it's your body and your baby. Don't let anyone pressure you into making a decision that's going to change your life. No matter what anyone else tells you. You have to decide. "

"I feel like if I keep my baby, my life is over. But if I don't, then I'm not sure I can live with the guilt. I just feel like my life is over." Faith drops her head on my shoulder and starts to cry. Now the tears she shed earlier make sense. This isn't about her hair getting wet. It isn't about her fear of water. It's about her fear of becoming a mother at such a young age.

"Your life is not over. It's just beginning. But you do have important decisions to make. I'll help you any way that I can. But it should be your decision. You're seventeen."

It's hard to pretend nothing's changed. My plan for Faith was to take her to tour a few colleges on weekends next month, help her narrow down her list, fill out applications with her, and provide a stellar recommendation letter. But now I may be planning a baby shower.

I help Faith pull herself together before Graham and Tommy return. I try to smile as all four of us play games in the giant arcade underneath the ballroom. I can't.

Graham comes up behind me while I'm playing Pac-Man and puts his hand around my waist and kisses my neck once. He is very attentive, and I love that, but right now I have Faith on my mind. "Is something wrong?" Graham asks when he notices how terrible I'm doing at Pac-Man. We've dueled it out over Pac-Man at the Space Station Arcade in Royal Oak, and he always beat me. But the last time we went, I won, and I think he let me.

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I'll tell you later."

Even when Graham wins a gigantic stuffed teddy bear for me by tossing a ring on the neck of a bottle, I barely crack a smile. On the ride back, Faith and Tommy fall asleep in the back, and I spend the drive deep in thought. After we drop them both off at Faith's home just after midnight, Graham drives me home.

"What's wrong, Sarita?"

"Faith is pregnant. She's pregnant. I failed her. Unless she was lying, she had been a virgin up until this guy. I don't know what I could've said to her to make her realize that she didn't have to give into him."

"Don't fault yourself. This sort of thing happens. Everyone doesn't have your type of restraint, Sarita."

"I'm just at a loss. I don't know what to do. I feel like I'm pregnant. And her family wants her to have an abortion, and I don't want her to do that, but it's not my life. But I want to protect her. "

"Be there for her. She's going to need you, but don't try to make any decisions for her."

"How could she let this happen?"

"Sarita, don't you ever have urges? Don't you ever want to express yourself in that way?"

"Yes, of course, there are times that my mind goes there, but I try not to let it. I guess it was a good thing I never had a boyfriend because I wasn't around any temptation."

"I bet you avoided boys and now you avoid men. I don't think they ever avoided you. "

Maybe Graham is right. And maybe I'm avoiding men out of habit and not necessity.

September 1986

_______________________________
RAY

_________

I look out the window as I sit at a booth in the Red Lobster in Madison Heights. I'm watching for Gina. I'll be able to spot her as soon as she pulls into the parking lot. It's Saturday. I called Gina on Wednesday when I couldn't get Sarita on the phone after several attempts. All I ever get now is Sarita's answering machine. Gina and I arranged to meet for lunch at one o'clock today. She lives out this way, in Troy, at Canterbury Square Apartments near Oakland Mall. I hope she's worth me losing a good woman over. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe now that Gina's grown, she won't let her parents influence her decisions on who she dates. I guess that's what I was thinking.

I glance down at my Seiko, which is older than me. It used to be my paw paw's watch. He gifted it to me when I graduated from Cass. I tap the face of it. The damn thing died at 12:20 p.m., which is around the same time I left my mom's house to arrive here by one. It took me at least thirty minutes to get here, and I've been sitting here for about twenty minutes, which means Gina's late. Figures.

After I finish this cup of coffee, if she's not here, I'm gone. I'll probably run up to Foland's and pick up a new battery and look for a new watch to put on layaway. I need a second watch to rotate between; I wish I could afford to collect them. I need to start making some real money. I don't have to be rich, but I do want to be able to buy things without putting them on layaway first.

Maybe I should stop calling Sarita. But it's only been two weeks. It's September 6, and Sarita left me at the movie theater on August 23. Boone said I messed it up with her for good; maybe he's right. Isn't he always? Only thing, if I stop calling Sarita, she could meet a dude out there who isn't going to treat her right, probably use her for her money, maybe even force himself on her because she's a virgin and he wants to be the first. I don't want her to end up with somebody like that. Who am I kidding? I already know she's going to end up with the white man I saw her with.

A red Honda Prelude parks in the space in front of the window where I'm sitting, and Gina gets out. Damn, that girl is still fine. Still has that body: small waist, big breasts, and curvy hips. She stands inside her open car door and fumbles in the back of it and pulls out a little kid, around three or four. Gina has a kid? Or is she babysitting for someone? No, that's her kid. I can tell by the way she's interacting with him. The excitement I felt when I first saw her fades quickly. One thing I don't want is a woman with kids.

I stand up and head for the entrance, and when Gina walks in, she spots me immediately.

"Hey! How are you?" I try to sound upbeat. She's a single mom. My mom's one, too. Maybe I shouldn't be judgmental. I always said I'd never date a woman with a kid, but who knows? There's always a first time.

"I'm fine, Ray. How are you?" She smiles, and I notice braces. Gina never did have the best teeth, but her teeth were the furthest thing from my mind.

"Good, good." We hug for a second. "And who's this little man?" I ask as I kneel down and extend my hand to shake his.

He hides behind Gina's leg, tugs on her blue jeans, and peeks at me from the gap between her thighs. "This is my son, Cloyd. Say hi, Cloyd."

"Well, hello, Cloyd. How are you?" I ask, still extending my hand.

"He's shy," Gina says.

"Yeah, I can see that... very."

I lead her to the booth and say, "I ordered an appetizer sampler while I was waiting, and it just arrived. Help yourself."

Gina helps her son slide into the booth, and then she sits down across from me. "Yeah, sorry I was late. I thought my sister was going to babysit, but something came up with her."

"No problem." I can't stop staring at her son. "How old is he?"

"Three."

The waitress immediately comes back to the table to greet Gina, who's ready to order and who does so for herself and her son. I order a Create Your Own Crab Leg and Seafood Platter with hushpuppies and coleslaw that starts at $7.95 and make sure to order the one that's $7.95. Gina orders a piña colada with her meal. I hope she doesn't think I'm paying for that. She should've stuck with water the way I did and asked for extra lemons and used the sugar packets on the table to make lemonade. I learned that trick from Paw Paw.

"I see you're wearing braces now. Who's your dentist?" I ask, praying she doesn't say Sarita's parents.

"My dentist or my orthodontist?"

"I guess both."

"I go to a place out here called New Smile for my braces, and my dentist, Dr. Bruce, is out this way, too. Just about everything I do is out this way. I guess that's why I never ran into you at Northland."

"How did you know I worked at Northland?"

"Just from various people who have seen you there. I mean it is Northland, and most people do go there."

"Do you keep in touch with a lot of our classmates?"

"A few, more so now that they've started coming back from college, at least those who have. A lot of them moved out of state."

"What are you doing now, aside from being a mother?"

"I work at the post office, and I also work part-time at Winkleman's. I was supposed to go in today at five, but with my sister bailing out, I had to call in."

"I remember tagging along with you to the Winkleman's downtown. That used to be your store."

"Still is. They have the best pantyhose."

"Didn't you go to Eastern?"

She nods. "I didn't graduate though. Kinda got sidetracked, if you know what I mean," Gina says, rubbing her son's curly hair. "But I may go back when I can find the time. What about you? What are you up to?"

"You already know I work at Hudson's, at least right now. I'm in the process of trying to figure my life out and get it more in line with how I think it should be."

"Still in those suits, I see."

"Always." Our conversation stops as if it's at a red light. I glance at her son again. I just can't stop looking at him. He's playing with a miniature toy truck on the table.

"What's wrong? Is he bothering you?"

"Nah, I'm just thinking back. You should know what I'm thinking about."

She turns up her nose and says, "I don't want to talk about that. Besides, it was for the best because neither one of us have our lives together. I'm sure we would've been miserable and not together."

"You never know how it may have turned out because our lives would've gone in a different direction."

"A worse one, I'm sure. But like I said, I don't want to talk about it. How's Miss King with her crazy self?"

"Still crazy."

"I'll never forget the one time I met her. When she first walked out, I thought she was a girl you were messing with. Your mom looks that young. And you don't favor her at all. People would believe she was my mom before yours."

"Genetics. What can I say?"

"Your dad must have some strong genes because you didn't get any coloring from your mom. Your hair isn't like hers, eye color, nothing. But that didn't stop all those girls at Cass from losing their minds over you."

"You never lost your mind over me. That's for sure."

"I was drawn more to your personality than your looks, just being honest. That's why you were voted Most Likely to Succeed, not to say anything's wrong with your looks."

I shrug. "I guess I just wasn't your type."

She shakes her head. "You weren't."

The waitress brings our food out, and as we start to eat, I find we don't have much to talk about. Everything that sparkles isn't gold; some of it's not even gold plated. I have to keep digging for the diamond I carelessly let slip away. I hope Sarita answers her phone tonight.

___

A few days later, after a long day at work, I walk through the main entrance of the four-family flat. All day at work someone kept calling the women's shoe department, asking for me, and when I picked up all they would do is breathe heavily. Yeah, I know who that was. She can keep breathing; just don't come near me.

"Mr. Saint, I need your help," Reid says from the staircase.

I immediately think the worse. "Is your mom okay? Did anything happen? Did that man come back?"

"My mom's okay. She's upstairs frying shrimp."

I walk over and sit on one of the steps near Reid. "Why the long face then?"

"I need your advice."

"I'll do my best to help. What's wrong?"

"My girlfriend—"

"Girlfriend? Aren't you seven? That's kind of young to have a girlfriend, don't you think?"

"Well, really, ex-girlfriend, but I want her back."

"I know the feeling."

"You broke up with your girlfriend, too?"

"No, she broke up with me."

"Nah, see, they don't break up with me."

I laugh. "Reid, how do you already have an ex-girlfriend? Didn't school just start last week?"

Reid nods. "And she became my girlfriend on the first day. Then I broke up with her the next day 'cause Abby started. She wasn't there on the first day. She's from California."

"Now Abby is your girlfriend?"

He shakes his head. "Was. But I broke up with her today."

"Why did you do that?"

"I don't like her no more. She got too many boyfriends."

"How many?"

"Five, not including me."

"She must be real pretty."

"She looks like your momma."

Based on that, I already know that Abby is light-skinned and has long hair. "Tell me about the first one."

"Her name is Princess."

"The first one's name is Princess? Reid, what were you thinking?"

He starts to laugh.

"That's what men want, a princess. She might live up to her name, but I guess you'll never find out."

"I will if she takes me back."

"And how does Princess look?"

"Kinda like your momma, too, but I like girls who have long ponytails, and Princess's hair is short."

"Do you like girls who look like your momma?"

He nods. "I like all girls."

Reid is always neat. He reminds me of the way I was at his age, only I was wearing suits back then. Maybe Tisha isn't doing that bad of a job with her kids. But he still needs to get off the stairs.

"Whatever you do, don't grow up to become a player. The life of a player is a lonely one."

"How do I get Princess back, Mr. Saint?"

"Start treating her like one. Be nice to her. Don't let her see you with any other girls at school. Write her a little note, and give it to her in the hallway."

"How many girlfriends you have, Mr. Saint?"

"I had one, but she broke up with me."

"Why did she do that?"

"I hurt her feelings."

"How?"

"She thought I was flirting with another woman while I was on a date with her."

"Were you?"

I nod, and Reid shakes his head. "Girls don't like to get their feelings hurt," he says.

"They sure don't. I wish I could get one more chance with her; I'd never hurt her feelings again."

"Do you want me to call her for you and ask her to give you one more chance? Women have soft spots in their hearts for kids."

"What are you gonna say to her, Reid?"

"I'll say, Miss—what's her name?"

"Sarita."

His eyes narrow.

"What's wrong?"

"My other girlfriend's name is Sarita."

"Reid, my Sarita is grown, not a kid."

"So is mine." He scowls. "Sarita Deering. Her momma is Dr. Sarah Deering—that's my dentist. She gives me check-ups and cleans my teeth. I don't have one cavity, and I'm keeping it that way. Is she the same Sarita?"

"Actually, she is."

Reid shakes his head, folds his arm, and starts blowing air out his nose. "Sarita's my very first girlfriend since I was five."

"You met her at the dental office, I take it?"

He nods. "I can't believe you hurt my Sarita like that." He balls his fists and places them in front of his face.

"You're gonna fight me over her?"

He nods.

"Let's not do that. What if I give you five dollars to leave a message for Sarita?" Reid shakes his head and continues to shake it as I plead my case. "She'll probably pick up when she hears your voice. That would really help me."

"Nope. I'm a kid, and I'm not getting involved."

"Reid, you were the one who offered to call, and since she knows you, she'll probably pick up once she hears your voice."

"That's before I knew it was my Sarita." Reid runs up the stairs and slams the door.

Kids. Maybe if I buy him a new Transformer, he'll leave a message on Sarita's answering machine for me. I remain seated there, and I think about the last conversation I had with Boone. I went to his house and played Spades and talked about Sarita. Specifically, him helping me get her back. But he shut me down quickly and started laughing. When I asked him why, he said, "I'm glad I'm married and don't have to deal with all these games people are out here playing."

"You think I'm playing a game with Sarita? I miss her. She's my woman."

"You can't make up your mind, so I suggest you leave Sarita alone. Go on with your life, and she'll go on with hers."

"What's she up to?"

"Her life. She mentors a young girl. But, for the most part, she's a homebody."

"Is she back with that doctor?"

"Honestly, man, I don't know. But if she were, I wouldn't be surprised. Would you?"

"I messed up. And I need your help with Sarita—"

"You always need my help. But you're not my only friend in this. Sarita doesn't want to see you."

"I don't believe that. She didn't give us a chance."

"How would you have felt if Sarita had done to you what you did to her at the movies?"

"I wouldn't have liked it, but I don't have relationship experience, so I don't have the best etiquette when it comes to commitment."

"It's not about etiquette. It's about right and wrong, and what you did was wrong, and she's moved on."

"I didn't want a relationship with Gina. I wanted closure."

"Well, did you get it?"

"Yes. I definitely did."

"Good because that was some costly closure. You gave up your possible future for some trash from the past."

My eyes start to get glassy and tears fall. "Damn," I say, trying to catch them.

"Are you crying over Sarita?"

"Nah, it's my allergies."

"Since when you got allergies, man? You're crying over Sarita and that's okay because now I believe that you like her."

"I think I love her."

___

Hudson's is having another sale. I'm not complaining. I'm staying busy, trying to make as much commission as I can because I'm ready to move. Step one of getting my life on track is getting my own place.

I maneuver myself out of the stockroom and around the cash register where Denice is standing.

"Denice, do you have a minute?"

"It's pretty busy."

"It will only take a minute."

We walk into the stockroom and stand off to the side. "It's still been awkward between us since that day I went to your house. I know we've been kind of avoiding each other. But before all the other stuff we were friends, and I just want us to get back to being friends."

"We can do that." She strokes the side of my face. "I'm so surprised you don't have a special lady in your life. One who has her head on right and isn't out slashing tires."

"I had one and blew it. Now, I'm just going to concentrate on getting myself together."

"You got something against selling shoes?" she asks and puts a wide grin on her face.

"To each his own, but I need something else. I'm better than this. No offense to you."

"No offense taken. I wouldn't want a man selling shoes. My husband's a real estate broker. I see you doing bigger things. Just stay away from the mommas and the maniacs, okay?"

"Okay."

After we leave the stockroom, I start helping an older woman try on a pair of Wilson gym shoes.

"I need to talk to you," a woman says.

Though it's clear I'm being addressed, I don't look up from my customer. I know by the voice that it's Cynthia, and she's standing right over me.

"Ma'am, how do they feel?" I ask the woman, ignoring Cynthia.

"Ray, you really need to turn around and talk to me because if you don't, I'll blurt it out, and I don't think you want me to do that."

"Do you need a larger size or is this one working for you?" I ask. I continue ignoring Cynthia.

Before the woman can answer, Cynthia says very loudly, "I tested positive for gonorrhea, and you gave it to me. Thought you might want to know before your dick falls off. Or maybe you already know."

"Ah, I changed my mind about these, but thank you," my customer says and then hurries away.

Denice is at the register. She's stopped mid-sale. "Is something wrong? Did your register just break? I need to get out of here," the woman she's ringing up says.

I turn slowly and tilt my head up toward Cynthia. I don't even have words for her. Even though she's been banned, she still came to my job during a big sale and dropped that on me. There are at least fifteen people in here, and I'm sure most of them heard because they're all staring at me.

"It's true," Cynthia says, dropping the paper with her results on the floor near my Stacy Adams. "You should've answered your damn phone."

I screen all my calls by listening to my answering machine as they're leaving a message. I only pick up for those I want to talk to because there are three women still calling me that I don't want anything to do with. I look down and see the word Positive next to both "Gonorrhea by PCR" and "Chlamydia."

"Oh, and I forgot to mention that I also got chlamydia from you."

Cynthia bends down, snatches the paper, shoves it in her purse, and marches away.

I sit on the floor and drop my head. I can't bring myself to look at Denice. I can't even imagine what she's thinking.

I leave work early to get tested. As I'm driving, tears flow from my eyes. I've been with a lot of women—fifty, maybe, I don't know; I've never stopped and counted—but, no matter how many, I've never had an STD. I should've worn a condom.

There are a few clinics on Seven Mile, and I stop at the first one I see. There's a long wait, and none of the people in here look healthy. If I have an STD, I have to get the shit out of me. Take whatever antibiotics I need because I don't want to walk around with that mess. How long have I had one? I don't have any symptoms. Shouldn't something be burning? I grab some pamphlets from the wall to educate myself as I'm waiting because, judging by the packed house, I will be waiting a while. I'm lucky to have found a chair, even though it leans to one side as soon as I sit down. I'm trying not to inhale any of this diseased air. I know germs are lurking in here; they have to be.

"Damn," I say out loud and feel eyes in my direction. I'm reading the CDC fact sheet for gonorrhea and am at the section, "How Do I Know If I Have Gonorrhea?" The first thing it says is "Some men with gonorrhea may have no symptoms at all." That's why I said "damn." Just because I don't have any symptoms, doesn't mean I don't have it. Then I read the actual symptoms: burning sensation when urinating; white, yellow, or green discharge from the penis; and painful or swollen testicles (although this is less common). I keep reading. "Aww, shit," I say in response to the section, "Can Gonorrhea Be Cured?" It says, "Although medication will stop the infection, it will not undo any permanent damage caused by the disease." Twenty minutes of messing around inside of a car wasn't worth it.

I study the clock on the wall. I've been in this place, on this wobbly chair, for an hour. When are they going to call my name? I get excited when they call the woman who walked in before me. Five minutes later, a woman opens the door that leads to the examining rooms and calls my name. I hurry from my seat, rush toward the woman, and follow her behind the door. She leads me to one of the examining rooms and gives me a gown to change into. I sit on the examining table and wait for the doctor, or maybe he's just a tech. I don't know. He's a man in a white coat. He explains what he's about to do and takes a swab of my urethra, then hands me a cup for my urine sample and a bag to place it in. He asks me if I only want to be tested for gonorrhea. "At the very least you should also test for chlamydia, too," he says.

"Test me for every STD there is. I need to know if I have anything at all."

He instructs me to give the bag to one of the technicians up front. The young woman I give it to looks at me like she knows me. She probably lives in my neighborhood. She tells me it'll take two to five days for the results for gonorrhea and one to three weeks for the chlamydia.

___

The results arrive a week later. I'm so glad my mom's at work, and I get the mail before she does. She would've figured it out just from the return address. I haven't been able to sleep all week. Denice is barely speaking to me. The only thing she wants to know is what my results are. I keep telling her that she needs to get tested, not just go off of my results. Now that I do have them, I'm afraid to open the letter. I sit on the edge of my bed and take a few deep breaths and stare at the sealed envelope. If I have it, I'll just have to take the antibiotics. I take another deep breath, tear the corner off of the envelope, and slide out the paper. I still can't look at it. Finally I force my eyes to the page. My eyes feel like they're going to pop I stare at the results so long. I throw the paper down, stand, and start doing the Prep. Negative. All negative. I feel like framing my results.
SARITA

_________

I'm in the backyard sitting on a bench near the fountain watching the water fall from each of the three tiers. It's a beautiful Saturday, late afternoon, and there's a nice breeze. I have thirty minutes to burn before I head out, so I thought I'd sit here in peace and quiet just to reflect.

"Don't you look lovely in your little summer dress with your sandals on? Is that a French pedicure on your toenails?" Mother says as she strolls up to me in a long, floral-print dress and sits beside me. "I'm glad you stopped putting on that hideous makeup, and you're back to wearing your hair up the way Dr. Emerson prefers." My mother uses her hand to brush back a few loose strands of my hair that the wind blew out of place. "That man will do anything for you, so that's who you need to aim to please, not the outside world. Are you listening to me, Sarita?"

"Yes, Mother," I say as I turn to face her and smile the way she is.

"So where's Dr. Emerson taking you tonight?"

"He's cooking dinner for me."

"Really?" Her smile fades, and she turns away from me and focuses on the fountain. "You know I love the Emersons and their three sons. However, Dr. Graham Emerson is still a man. So, no matter what that man says, I want you to keep your treasure hidden. It's only for your husband to find." She looks at me. "Do you understand?"

"Well, Mother, you did say that he is my husband."

"Future husband. We're not in the future yet. But I will say this, there's absolutely nothing wrong with you making sure that everything is working. And you can do that simply by looking, as you should. Just don't touch. If he needs to do anything else, he can use his own hands."

Whatever my mother is talking about is going over my head right now. I have so much on my mind with Graham and Ray.

"You do remember what I told you about loose women?" she says.

I nod and say, "Yes, Mother, I remember."

"While some men do rely on loose women for their gratification, they can just as easily do it themselves."

"Of course, Mother. There's no need to talk about this."

"You need to know that there's nothing wrong with a man doing that or you looking at them as they do it. At least when it's a man you're as serious about as you are about Dr. Emerson."

"Mother, I don't want to talk about this. Please."

"I'm saying the two of you are going to be alone together in his apartment. You've never been alone with a man in his apartment before, have you?"

"No," I say as I shake my head.

"If he's like most men, at some point, he's going to make an advance toward you, but you need to remain a virgin until you're married. You will remain a virgin until you're married. But that doesn't mean you can't engage the man."

"I don't want to talk about any of this with you. I'm only going over to his apartment for dinner. He's always been a gentleman, and I'm sure he'll continue to be one. I feel completely comfortable around him." I'm a grown woman, even if my mother doesn't treat me as one and even if I sometimes have to remind myself of it. Still though, even as an adult with multiple degrees and a career, I'd be devastated if I got pregnant out of wedlock. I can't help but think of Faith. Faith gave in to the pressure, I imagine, and her desires. I have desires, too, but I try not to think about them. When I'm with Graham tonight, I won't think about them. It's a good thing I'm not attracted to him. It's a good thing he's not Ray.

"Gentleman or not, Sarita, he's a man, and do not under any circumstances sleep with that man. Doctor or no doctor."

"I hadn't planned on it, Mother."

"Well, things don't always go as planned. Look at Faith." My mother shakes her head. "I still can't believe it. And let me tell you something—the minute you give into Dr. Emerson or any man will be the same minute you see him change. Your goal is getting to the altar. The best gift a new bride can give her husband is her virginity. I don't care what a man tells you when he's trying to get some."

"Get some?" I can't believe my mother is talking like this.

"That's right. Get some. From here, there, and everywhere. That's what these men are out here doing. Don't fall victim. While they're trying to get some, you're trying to get something. And this is the something that you're trying to get." Mother taps the huge diamond ring on her finger. "And you won't get something by giving up something."

"Every woman who gets married is a virgin?"

"I never said that, Sarita. Of course not, but if you want to be honored in your marriage, if you want to be respected and cherished, then you must remain pure before marriage."

"Is my husband going to be pure?"

"Life is full of double standards, Sarita, and this just happens to be one of them. And besides, you wouldn't want a pure man."

"I wouldn't?"

"No. You wouldn't. You want a man who knows how to please you, so the two of you won't be fumbling in bed trying to figure it out. As long as the man you're seeing uses protection while he's out there with those loose women doing whatever they do, don't worry about what it is they're doing before they become your husband. It only becomes your concern when they get a woman pregnant or they contract an STD because you don't want either one of those scenarios in your life."

"Well, Mother, it's almost time for me to leave. I do need to go freshen up before I do." I stand and head back to the house.

"Just remember everything I've ever said, Sarita," Mother says to my back. "I'm ready to plan the wedding for early spring."

___

Graham lives in Southfield at 5000 Town Center, a luxury high-rise with thirty-three floors, and his apartment is on the thirtieth floor. He offered to pick me up and bring me to his home. But what sense does that make, when he's the one cooking? I get it; he's a gentleman. I definitely understand that, but I don't mind driving because it gives me time to think. Ray is calling me constantly. He had a beautiful gift basket made especially for me and had it delivered to my job. There was a mug inside with a heart, and his name was in the heart, and there were various hot chocolate mixes and gourmet cookies. The note that was attached to the basket read: Every time you take a sip, I want you to think of me: your hot chocolate. Miss you, baby. Love, Ray. He also gave Boone the ten dollars back, and Boone gave it to Sharon, and Sharon gave it to me. I erased Ray from my mind, but now he's starting to pop back up on occasion.

I pull up to Graham's building and valet park as he instructed me to do. When I get on the elevator and push the number 30 button, I start to panic. I'm not nervous about going up to see Graham. I'm nervous about being the only one on the elevator. When I was at Georgetown, I got stuck in the elevator at Lau after a late night of studying. Luckily I wasn't on the Lau elevator more than a few minutes before it started again, but I always think about that whenever I step into an elevator.

After the twentieth floor, my ears pop. I rush out when the doors finally open. Conveniently, Graham's apartment is close to the elevator. He opens the door before I have a chance to ring the bell. Was he standing behind it, looking out the peephole? It seems odd, almost desperate, but at least he likes me.

"I thought I heard the elevator," Graham says.

If he could look like Ray but keep his same personality, I'd have the perfect man. He has on a black-and-white chalk-stripe bib apron over a white polo shirt and a pair of Guess jeans and Bass loafers. He's a preppy, as are most of the guys that I grew up with.

"You know you can't get past me without a hug."

I hug him. He doesn't leave a space.

"You look very beautiful this evening. And you have perfect timing because dinner is almost ready." He leans down as if to kiss me.

"What are we having? It smells delicious," I say as I slide away from him.

"I don't get a kiss this evening, not even on the cheek?"

"On the cheek," I say, before planting my lips on his right cheek.

"Thank you," Graham says and smiles.

"I hope you like duck. I suppose I should've asked you before I prepared it."

"I love duck." He grins. "What?"

"Nothing. Never mind me. We're having duck breast with pomegranate-citrus glaze."

I stand in the foyer and wait for him to guide me into the next room. "Dinner is almost ready." He takes my hand and leads me into the living room. "I just have a few little finishing touches, but make yourself comfortable, and I'll talk to you from the kitchen."

"Do you need help? I don't mind being your sous chef. I have experience with that. I help Solomon in the kitchen sometimes."

"No, I'm serving you. I just want you to relax, kick off your shoes if you want. I know how stressful corporate America can be, and you only have one more day, and then you have to go back to that grind. My mom never worked outside of the home, and I guess once you start having kids, you won't either."

I think he's trying to throw out a subtle hint, but it's not all that subtle. It seems he doesn't want me to work outside of the home. I can't imagine not working. I choose to ignore his comment and focus on the panoramic views of Southeast Michigan and Canada through the huge wall of windows.

"Do you really enjoy cooking, Graham?"

"I absolutely love it. We can either have a chef, or I can cook all our meals. I don't mind."

"Let me taste it first, to make sure you can cook."

"Well, you'll be able to taste it in a minute because it's ready," he says as he carries our dinner plates to his dining room table and goes back to get silverware. "What would you like to drink? I have wine, water, grape juice."

"Water is perfect."

Graham goes to the kitchen and returns with two open bottles of Perrier and two glasses, hands me one of the bottles of Perrier and a glass, and then sits across from me. He no longer has on his bib apron.

He says grace, and then we start to eat, or at least I do. He waits for me to take a few bites and watches me while I chew. He enjoys watching me eat for some reason. I noticed that the first time he took me out when we were at the Whitney, and he's done it every time since then. "Why do you watch me eat?" I ask.

"I thought I was discreet, but I guess not. You have really nice lips; they're heart shaped, and I like seeing them in motion."

"Oh, thank you."

"You're a sexual and sensual person. I can tell by the way you eat. Fast eaters are fast lovers, but you take your time with your food. Some people are neglectful of their food. They won't even look at it. But you took a bite of the dick—duck, I mean—that was definitely a Freudian slip. I'm sorry, dear, please forgive me."

"That's okay," I say and chuckle. He's starting to turn me on, but then I think about what my mother said and about Faith being pregnant.

"As I was saying, you took a bite and looked at it. You're going to be such a good lover. The way you eat is very sexy." That's the word—sexy. That's what I want to be. Not cute. Sexy. I want to turn a man on. I want to drive him crazy. I want him to be content with being with me and only me, and I want to feel the same way about him. Graham is getting there. Slowly.

I've never analyzed the way I eat my food or the way anyone else eats theirs. But now I'm going to start watching people eat. I watch Graham and notice that he eats slowly, and he keeps his eyes on his plate as he's chewing. He even smiles occasionally, and before he takes another bite, he looks at me.

"What do you think of the meal I prepared for you?"

"It's delicious. We don't need a chef. If you don't mind cooking, you can," I say, then realize I just acknowledged that I'm going to be with him. I hope he didn't take me literally.

"Thank you. I will do all of the cooking. And I'll run your bath water every night and give you a bath. I'd love to do that. I just want to pamper you."

"But what are you going to let me do?"

"Trust me; there will be a lot you can do." There's silence as we stare at each other as if we're both wondering what's next. Then Graham breaks the silence. "So, Sarita, what are your reservations about me? I don't have any about you. I'd marry you tonight if you'd let me. We can fly to Vegas right now."

"I don't know. As I've said in the past, I do feel that you're a little too old for me. I've always pictured myself married to someone my age."

"Really? I'm thirty-two. Thirty-two is too old for you? That's only eight years, Sarita. But, then again, you are dealing with that kid."

"How is he a kid when he's my age? My parents are the same age." I haven't told Graham that I'm no longer seeing Ray. I want him to think that he has competition.

"The men back in our father's generation are nothing like the men of this new generation. The men today at your age are kids. He's your age in number only. You're far more mature than he is. Have you told him about me?"

"He knows."

"What does he know? What have you told him? Have you told him that I'm a well-established doctor who already has my life figured out? The only thing missing from it is you."

"I told him that you are serious about me."

"As long as he knows. So my age is a reservation. What else? There has to be something else. Are you attracted to me? Do you like the way I look or am I too light for you?"

"Why did you ask me if you're too light?"

"Because I know how my women are. A lot of you don't want to date outside your race, and I kind of look like a white boy, but I'm a black man, trust me. Both my parents are black. So, answer my question. Are you attracted to me?"

"I think you're an attractive man. You're tall, and you're physically fit. What's not to like?"

"I didn't ask you to dance around the question. I asked you to answer it. You're dancing right now. Are you attracted to me? Am I your type?"

"I try not to have one type of man that I'm attracted to."

"Okay, there you go, still dancing. Let me ask you this: Is Ray light?"

"No, Ray isn't."

"Is he your complexion, somewhat in the middle?"

"No."

"Is he your mother's complexion?"

"Yes."

"So he's dark?"

"Yes."

Graham clears his throat and says, "Are you attracted to him, Sarita?"

"Yes."

"I can tell."

"How can you tell?"

"Because when I asked you if you were attracted to me, you started moonwalking and doing the Electric Slide."

"I did not," I say with laughter.

"Yes, you did. You danced all around my question. But when I asked if you were attracted to Ray, you gave me an emphatic yes."

"I did not."

"You did, and you smiled, and your face lit up. So now I see what he has over me. You're more physically attracted to him. Don't fall into that trap, okay?" Graham gets up from his seat, walks over to me, and sits beside me. He clasps his hand inside of mine. "I love your complexion. Look at the difference." I look down at our hands and the difference in the tone, at least four shades, maybe five or six. "That turns me on right there. Let me tell you something, Sarita. When we finally become intimate, you won't be thinking about this light skin or these freckles or this red hair, trust me."

"Graham, I don't have a problem with the way you look or your complexion. There's nothing wrong with it," I say as I unclasp my hand. "My daddy is fair-skinned."

"He's not as fair as me, though. I really do look like a white man, don't I?"

"A little bit. And I love your freckles, by the way."

"I love everything about you, by the way," he says, and I drop my head. "But moving on because I can tell I'm making you nervous, and I don't want to do that. What are your other reservations? You can talk to me; I'm a psychiatrist. If you can't talk to me, you can't talk to anyone."

"There is one thing, but I don't know how to say it because I don't want to offend you."

"No, Sarita, I'm not gay. I don't know where that rumor started; it's been circulating for over a decade. Don't worry about that. I am not gay. Is there anything else?"

"When is the last time you dated?"

"I don't date, you know that. But the last woman I was seriously interested in was over a year ago, and that was brief."

"Did you have sex with her?"

"Yes, I did."

I lift an eyebrow. "You haven't had sex in over a year?"

"Prior to reconnecting with you, I was having sex with a young lady. It was just sex. She doesn't want to be in a relationship with me, and I don't want to be in one with her. I haven't seen her since I started seeing you."

I look away from him.

"You don't believe me?" he asks. I shake my head. "Would you like to ask her? I'll call her. She knows all about you. She and I are just friends, and we both had needs, and we trusted each other to fulfill them versus some stranger. She's in a relationship now, too. I'll call her." He stands up and walks to a nearby phone. He's expecting me to tell him not to, but I'm going to let him do it. I just need to know he's not a player because if I'm going to be stuck with one, I may as well be with Ray, the one I'm attracted to.

"Okay, call her."

"Wow." He shrugs. "Okay, I will, because I don't want you to have any reservations. It's a shame you can't just take my word, but I won't hold that against you." He picks up the phone and starts dialing. I'm expecting him to say there's no answer or leave a generic message on an answering machine, but instead he says, "Hey, are you busy? I'm going to put you on speaker, okay? I have someone I'd like for you to speak to. She wants to ask you a few questions. That's if you don't mind...Thank you." He puts the phone on speaker and says, "Jill, are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here. Hi Sarita."

"Hi."

"Notice I didn't need ask for your name because I already knew who he was referring to because I know that he's in love with you." I don't respond. I feel embarrassed. Now I regret having him call her. I feel like a possessive woman. "Do you have any questions for me?"

"No, I'm sorry he called you."

"It's no problem. Are you sure you don't have any questions?"

"She asked me about the last time I had sex and who that was with, and I explained our relationship. I think she's having a hard time understanding that type of no-strings-attached arrangement."

"Okay, sure. I will try to clear that up. Graham and I have known each other since high school. I also know Solomon. I wasn't a Mercy girl. I went to Immaculata. We have had sex on several occasions, but there weren't any feelings attached, only our friendship, and we don't have sex any more. I'm in a relationship now also. So, if you have any reservations about his commitment level or whether he can be faithful, I can tell you without a doubt he's being faithful to you, and he won't cheat on you."

"Why didn't you want to be with him?" I ask.

"Okay, umm, Graham, are you there?"

"I'm here. You can answer. You won't hurt my feelings."

"We want different things out of life. Graham wants a wife and kids. I want to stay single and have a significant other in my life without being his wife. I don't want kids. I'm an artist. I love to travel, and I paint the world as I see it. I'm not a traditional woman and make no apologies for that. And, all of that aside, I don't think he'd want to marry me. Some people can be sexually compatible, and that's all. That about sums us up. I'm in his past. We don't see each other, and he's not seeing anyone else but you."

Graham looks at me. "Do you have any other questions for her, dear?"

I shake my head. "No."

"Jill, thank you."

"You're welcome. I don't need to be in the wedding, but I do expect an invitation."

He grins and stares at me. "You're getting one."

He removes the phone from speaker, says a few more words to her, hangs up, and returns to sit beside me.

"I'm sorry I asked you to do that."

"There's no need to apologize. That was one of your reservations, and I want to clear them all up and move forward. I want to start planning our wedding."

"What made you think of me? We didn't go to school at the same time. How did I come to your mind?"

"You don't remember when we ran into each other at Dutch Girl?" Graham asks.

"I remember seeing you. Yes, of course."

"I was leaving my parents' house, about to head home, and wanted to stop at Dutch Girl and get a few donuts to take home, and you walked out as I was walking in. You smiled with those great teeth you have and gave me a friendly hug. We didn't talk long, but I made sure to look down at your wedding finger. After I'd gotten my donuts, instead of going home, I went back to my parents' house and told them to call up your parents and arrange it. The next weekend we were at the Whitney. Any other reservations?"

"None that I can think of at the moment."

"Are you sure? I want to clear up all of your reservations."

"I'm sure."

"Do you still need until the end of the year or will the end of the month do?"

"The end of the month is tomorrow, Graham," I say.

"I'm aware of that." Graham won't break his stare with me.

I hesitate before I answer. "I still need until the end of the year. Maybe it won't take that long, but I'd like to still have it."

After dinner, he shows me around his two-bedroom, two-bath apartment. He's converted one of the bedrooms into an office, and we stop there. It's the best-looking room in his place. The other rooms are sparsely decorated.

Graham asks me to sit on the sofa, and he removes a file from one of the drawers and sits beside me. He opens the file and says, "These are my most recent bank statements." He hands over his National Bank of Detroit statements. "And this is my Merrill Lynch investment portfolio, and these are my tax returns from the previous three years. I can go back further if you need me to. Do you?"

"No. This is fine."

"Do you know what you're looking at?"

I grin. "Now you're getting into my area of expertise. I have an MBA with an accounting concentration, and I'm also a CPA."

"Brains and beauty," Graham says.

"I look at his financials. He's in a very good position. He made $212,000 dollars last year, which is a lot more than I did. I make good money, but not six figures, yet. Close. He has over $500,000 spread among five Merrill Lynch accounts and over $80,000 in his checking. "You don't spend that much of your earnings, do you?"

"No, there's not much I need."

"Well, you need this nice apartment to be decorated. It doesn't feel like a home. You need to put up some pictures and have fresh flowers. Not roses, though; I'm allergic to those."

"I'm glad you told me because you would've received a couple dozen on Valentine's Day from me. A bouquet at GM and another at your home, though by Valentine's Day, we'll be in the same home."

"You sound pretty confident about that."

"I am."

"There's just one other thing I need to show you." He stands, unbuckles his belt, drops his jeans to his ankles, and pulls down his briefs. "I don't think a gay man would get this turned on by you. And I don't think an old man could." Graham's penis is the first one I've seen outside of a picture. When I was ten years old, I missed the school bus on purpose and walked home with Daphne Fields, who lived in my neighborhood, two doors down from me. She pulled out a Polaroid of a grown man from her book bag. He was naked and holding himself, and I was mortified and immediately tossed the image from my head. But Graham's penis, I can't stop staring at. It's much darker than he is. I don't know if it would be considered big, but I can't imagine anyone finding it small, and he seems quite proud of it.

"Have you ever seen one before?" he asks.

I shake my head.

"Would you like to touch it?"

I shake my head.

"Then, you can just keep looking at it because it's yours. I'm not expecting you to do anything with it until after we're married. If I need to do anything, I'll use my own hands."

My mother may have actually asked Graham to show me his penis. I wouldn't put it past her. She probably called him while I was on my way here. I love my mother, but she's loony. On second thought, she's not that loony. She wouldn't do that, would she? What would she say—"Don't try anything with my daughter, but you can show her your penis."

"Would you like to continue looking while I use my hands, Sarita?"

I'm curious enough to nod. Sometimes when Ray and I would talk on the phone late at night, he'd tell me he was masturbating, and I wondered what that looked like.

Graham steps out of his loafers and jeans and the rest of his clothes and stands in front of me nude. He has a fraternity brand on his upper arm and another one on the left side of his chest. His body is hairless, and he's a slender-to-medium build. He takes my hand and leads me into his bedroom. "You can sit on the chair or on the bed," Graham says.

I choose the chair. He moves the full-length mirror from one side of the room and sets it beside me. Then, he places his hand on his erect penis and tugs slowly. First, he's looking in the mirror at himself as he's doing it, but when he starts to look at me, he tugs faster, and his testicles start to flop. It's fascinating to watch because he doesn't look like the same man. He looks sexier. And I feel like I'm pleasing him without giving up too much of myself. I wet my lips with my tongue, not purposely, at least I don't think, but when I do, his body jerks, and he loses his balance, and semen shoots everywhere. A little gets on my left ankle and toes, and I scream.

"What's wrong? Did I get some on you?"

"Yes. Ugh."

He lets out a deep breath and says, "Give me a moment to gather myself, and I'll get a washcloth and clean you up. He sits on the end of his bed with his legs spread apart and his elbows resting on each leg, with his head down. "Masturbating standing up is no easy task, but I do find that position the most enjoyable." He's breathing heavily. "Did you enjoy watching that? You looked like you did. You're not going to answer me, Sarita?" When I don't respond, he says, "I'll take that to mean yes."

"Do you masturbate often?"

"Any man who can get an erection masturbates often. If he tells you he doesn't, he's lying. Give me one moment." Graham stands, goes to the bathroom, and returns with a warm white washcloth and towel, slips off my sandal, and wipes off my left foot and ankle with the washcloth and then dries it with the towel.

He places my right foot on his penis and starts rubbing. His penis is getting hard again.

"Stop, Graham." I pull my foot away.

"Having you watch me really turned me on. I've never let someone watch me. You can trust me, Sarita, because you've known me and my family your entire life. But, outside of me, I would hope you wouldn't let a man do that. Another man may not have the type of restraint that I do. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I say with a nod.

"You don't need to see another man's penis under any circumstances, okay?"

"Okay," I say, nodding. Then, "Well, it's getting late."

"I literally poured myself out to you, and now just like that you're going to leave?" Graham says.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I say, quickly heading toward the front door. I have to leave because I don't want to do something with Graham that I'd regret. Watching him masturbate turned me on, and I didn't think it would. Does that mean he turns me on? Or am I just ready to have sex? As soon as I get home, I need to pray.

"Yep, first thing in the morning for church and then breakfast, as always," Graham says. "But hold on a minute. You know I have to take you downstairs and see you off safely. Better yet, I'm just going to drive you home in my car, and tomorrow after breakfast I'll bring you back here to get your car. That way, I don't have to worry about you driving at night."

October 1986

_______________________________
RAY

_________

When Sarita enters Boone and Sharon's apartment and sees me, the beautiful smile on her face transforms into an ugly frown. "Hello, Sarita. How are you?" I ask.

"You all didn't tell me Ray was going to be here," Sarita says to Sharon and Boone, completely ignoring me.

"Oh, I'm fine, thank you so much for asking," I say to myself sarcastically.

"Because we wanted you to come," Sharon says. "Come on Sarita, we're just going to play Spades. You love Spades, and so does Ray."

"Hello, Sarita, how are you?" I ask again as she breezes past me. She takes a seat at their small dining room table and starts shuffling cards.

"Who's going to be my partner because he isn't?" Sarita says.

"Yes, Sarita, I am," I say as I sit across from her. "I'm your partner."

"No, you're not." She hears the front door close, and she quickly scans the apartment. "Where are Boone and Sharon?"

"They went to the store to pick up some refreshments. They'll be right back," I say.

"Why did they have to leave me with you? I could've gone to the store with them, or you could've."

"Are you talking to the cards or me?" I ask with a huge smile. She jabs her eyes at me. "Hi," I say, smiling and waving my hand. "They left you with me because I asked them to. I begged them to. They now how strongly I feel about you, Sarita."

"Strongly?" she says and rolls her eyes.

"Look at me, baby. Did I hurt you that bad? Are you that sensitive? Or do you just love me that much?"

"Love you?" She looks at me dead on. "Don't flatter yourself."

"You love me that much."

"How could I love you, Ray, we haven't even spent that much time together?"

"What about our conversations? We would talk on the phone every day. Used to. All night on Fridays and Saturdays. We went to see Whitney together. I taught you how to slow dance."

"Thank you for that, by the way. Now, I'll be all ready for my first dance at my wedding this spring."

"I miss talking to you—"

"Did you hear what I said, Ray? Because I'm getting married."

"No, you're not, baby," I say with a laugh.

"Oh, yes, I am. I'm getting married."

"I miss laughing with you—"

"You're really not listening to me, Ray."

"We had the best conversations. I never wanted to get off the phone. I felt safe with you."

"I'm getting married, Ray."

"Yep, we are."

"You must be marrying Gina because you won't be marrying me."

"Why haven't you returned any of my calls? Do you listen to my messages? I'm pouring my heart out to you on them." I stare over at her. When she continues to ignore me, I snatch the deck of cards that she's shuffling from her hands, and when she leaps from her seat and comes over to mine, I hide the deck of cards behind my back. She reaches around my back. I drop the cards on the floor, stand, and back her into the wall and kiss her as if she's my wife, because one day she will be. And she doesn't resist. She loves me. "Are you sure you've never kissed before because your tongue knew exactly what to do? You're a quick learner, baby."

"I've never kissed anyone before, but I'm still getting married." She squirms away from me and sits on the sofa in their living room with her arms folded and her legs crossed, tapping her foot. "And you weren't supposed to kiss me, only my husband is."

"I'm going to be your husband."

"No, you're not," she shouts.

"Yes, I am. Watch me. Baby, what do you want me to tell you? You caught me looking at a woman."

"Not just looking. You gave Gina your number. And you were looking at several, and all of them were light-skinned with long hair. I've never understood colorism. We're all different, big deal. I'll admit, I love your dark skin, but I'll marry a man who's light and love him just as much as I could love you. This preference in skin color is stupid, and it usually leans in the favor of light skin."

"You mean you'd marry a man who's white, right?"

"That's right. I would."

"Can we stop talking about skin color? Just because a woman is light-skinned and you're not, you're going to trip. At least, they're black; the man you were with is white."

"Dr. Emerson isn't white. He's a fair-skinned black man."

"Dr. Emerson? Is that what he makes you call him?"

"No, but I wanted to call him that."

"Why? To rub it in my face that he's a doctor, and I'm not?"

"You're color struck, and you don't want to admit it. I know a good psychiatrist you can go and talk to."

"I'm sure you do. Dr. Emerson?"

"Yep. And he's a really good one. I'll give you his business card. You need help."

"I know one thing: you better still be a virgin. I know that. 'Cause I'll know how to tell on our honeymoon."

"Honeymoon, pssh. You'll never find out."

"Oh, yes I will, baby. Come on, can we start over with a clean slate, please?"

"No."

"Why? Because of that doctor? I've never felt about any woman the way I feel about you."

"Not even Gina?"

"Nope, not even her, and if you must know about Gina—"

"I didn't ask anything about her," she says, cutting me off.

"I want to tell you. In the eleventh grade, I wanted her to be my girlfriend. She kept putting it off, but she acted like she liked me. She kissed me and let me do just about everything else to her. She got pregnant, and I was nervous about being a father that young. But I figured I'm going to step up and be in my child's life because my father wasn't in mine."

"So you mean to tell me you have a child?"

"No, I don't. She had an abortion. I didn't know she was going to do that. I didn't ask her to do that. I didn't want her to do that. But she did it because her parents didn't approve of me, and they never even met me. She told me they didn't approve of me because I was dark-skinned."

Sarita shakes her head. "That's so stupid. It's so stupid! You're dark-skinned, so what? My mom's dark-skinned, and she's the most beautiful woman I've seen in my life. I have people in my family who are darker than you, and then I have people in my family who are as light as Sharon and then all the shades in between. And I've never heard any of this nonsense coming from any of them. When we get together, it's not about what color our skin is. It's about what's in our minds. I'm not saying I don't believe you, because I do, but really all your explanation does is anger me even more because why would you practically run me over in the movie theater to get to someone like that?"

"I didn't run you over, baby. Maybe I needed closure. Sometimes you need to sit in front of the person who once had your heart so you can realize that person doesn't have it anymore. She doesn't have my heart anymore. I thought about you the whole time."

"So you saw her?" Sarita asks.

"Yes. I did."

"And?"

"And nothing. I felt nothing, maybe anger, but definitely not love. She had her three-year-old son with her. She couldn't get a babysitter. But seeing her child caused old wounds to resurface. I'm staring at this kid who's light with good hair, and he was allowed to live, but my child wasn't because I'm dark-skinned."

"Good hair?" Sarita asks, and rolls her eyes.

"I don't know why you're rolling your eyes. You have good hair."

"Okay, whatever with that. I don't feel like discussing good hair," she says as she makes quotes using two fingers from each hand. "She may have gotten an abortion because she was young. I'm not saying either way was right. But she didn't say she wasn't having your child because you're dark-skinned, and I'm sure it wasn't her decision. I'm sure it was her parents."

"Have you even been listening to me? Because you used to listen to me."

"I listened, Ray. I just don't want you to carry that. Sometimes we carry a belief around that isn't true. Yes, she directly told you the reason her parents didn't want her to be with you. But that doesn't mean that if you had been light and gotten her pregnant that they wouldn't have forced her to get an abortion. They may have done that because of her age. Did you have sex with her?"

"Obviously I had sex with her. That's how she got pregnant."

"Come on now. I mean when you met her recently."

"Oh, no. It was just a quick lunch at Red Lobster."

"There's nothing quick about Red Lobster. So the two of you had a nice little sit-down."

"Are you jealous?"

"No."

"I know you're not when you're over there with that white man."

"Is she married to the father or divorced from him?" Sarita asks.

I shake my head. "She got pregnant her sophomore year at Eastern and dropped out of college. The father doesn't have anything to do with his son. Doesn't pay child support or anything, I wouldn't have been that way."

"Well, you couldn't have missed me too much if you were dating other women."

"That's what you got out of all this? That I didn't miss you? Because if that's all you got out of it, you missed the whole point. I don't want any other woman; I want you."

"You're a very attractive man. I'm sure she wants to be with you now."

"She doesn't think I'm attractive. And I never knew that back then, but when I met her at Red Lobster, she told me. She liked my personality, not the way I looked.

"How ironic. Because I like the way you look, and not your personality."

"What's wrong with my personality?"

"It needs work. You need to do some major renovations to it. But there's nothing at all wrong with the way you look. In fact, you're the most handsome man I've ever seen. How's that for an ego boost?"

"I don't need you to boost my ego. I need you to give me another chance. One more chance. If I blow it, don't give me anymore."

"I don't know, Ray. As my first boyfriend, I placed high expectations on you."

"But I'm not your first boyfriend."

"You are—or were."

"You were right—are. But, no, Reid was your first boyfriend."

"Reid? Little Reid?" Her smile brightens the room. "How do you know Reid?"

"My mother owns a four-family, and he lives in one of the flats. He was going to call you on my behalf until he found out it was you. Then he said he wasn't going to help me get his woman back."

"He didn't say that."

"Basically, that's what he said."

"Reid is so cute and smart. He said he wants to be a dentist. My mother ate that all up. Reid is one of her favorite patients."

"When you and I would talk on the phone, I was always so upbeat after our conversations. At work, I'd sell more shoes, and I didn't carry around my woe-is-me attitude about my job and my life and not having a degree. When we stopped talking on the phone, my life went right back to the way it always was. You left a void. I don't want you to marry that white man."

"He isn't white."

"I still don't want you to marry him. I can't marry you tomorrow. I need to get some things in order. I don't make nowhere near as much money as you."

"I don't care about that, Ray."

"Well, I do. I just don't want you to marry him. You're my wife; I know it." She stares over at me right after I say that, and there are other things I want to tell her. I want to tell her that I love her, but before I get up the nerve to, Boone and Sharon burst through the door with a big brown paper bag.

"Sorry it took us so long," Sharon says, "but Boone and I put on the new Luther Vandross tape and next thing we knew we'd gone all the way to M&M Shrimp Shack, and you know how long that line up there always is."

"I hope you all got us some hushpuppies and coleslaw to go with the shrimp," I say and wink at Sarita when I catch her staring at me. "And I hope you all are ready to play Spades because as many times as Sarita shuffled this deck, somebody is getting a good hand. And I hope it's me or my partner."

"So did you all make up?" Boone asks as he stands in the living room eating out of the Styrofoam carryout container.

"Damn, man, you haven't even given us our food yet, and you're over here eating in our faces. We're hungry, too, Boone," I say. "I turn toward Sarita, waiting for her answer. "Well, have we?"

"Yes, we are friends again," Sarita says.

"But I want to be your man again."

"You're not that. Yet. But you can be my Spades partner. We should be able to eat together and play Spades." Sarita stands up from the sofa and heads back to the dining room table. I'm looking forward to sitting down because I've been pacing the floor, pleading my case with Sarita this whole time.

"Boone, did you bring the Luther tape in? We can listen to that while we're playing cards," Sharon says.

"Don't worry, I bought the album, too," Boone says.

"Oh, then put it on, baby," Sharon says as she rubs Boone's back as she passes him. I don't get her. Sometimes, she really seems to love her man. Other times, it seems like she can't stand the sight of him. Is that all a part of being married? I hope not.

"I'm two steps ahead of you," Boone says.

"Not with that container still in your hand you're not," I say. Boone sets his food on the dining room table and puts on the new Luther Vandross album, Give Me the Reason. The first song that plays is "Stop to Love." We start our game. When "So Amazing" comes on, I can't take my eyes off of Sarita because every word of that song is exactly how I feel about her.

"Does Ray have both jokers?" Boone asks, after he throws down the ace of spades.

"Why would you throw out an ace of spades before the high joker was even played?" I ask Boone as I slap the high joker down on the table over the ace of spades. "Of course, I have it. Don't I always?"

Sarita stares over at me and sings the lyrics to "So Amazing," and I mouth to her, "I will, too, baby." I smile as I peer across the table at Sarita, my future wife. I never thought I'd have one, but I know for a fact that I'm going to marry her and love her, and we're going to have an amazing life.

___

For the next week, I talk to Sarita every day, and on Wednesday I drove out to GM and picked her up for lunch at Olga's. Wednesdays are usually my late night, and I work from one until close. Sarita can take her lunch whenever she wants, and she chose eleven that day.

Now it's Saturday, and Sarita has met me for lunch at Big Boy's downtown on Jefferson. "You like burgers, don't you?" I ask her.

She nods.

"Good, I'm going to order for you." I'm her man again, soon to be husband, at least in my mind, because being with her just feels right. After we had played Spades, I pleaded with her on the phone all night and into the morning to let me be her man again, but she still hasn't agreed.

When the waitress comes to our booth, I say, "She's going to have a Big Boy, a large fry, and a chocolate shake. Actually, we'll both have that." I want her to eat more and gain weight. Damn, she'd be so fine with long hair and some weight on her. She has a cute face and good hair. She already has nice legs. I wish her thighs were thicker, but her calves are nice. Once I put a couple babies in her, those hips will spread. My baby is gonna be fine as hell when I get through with her.

"I know you don't expect me to eat as much as you do?" Sarita says after the waitress leaves.

"No, I just expect you to eat as much as you can, baby." I pick up my glass of water and take a sip. "What are you thinking?" I ask Sarita. Her eyes haven't left mine.

She shakes her head. "Nothing."

"I want to know what type of man you want for a husband and what I need to do to be the best man I can for you."

She starts talking, and I try to keep my eyes locked on her. Before Sarita arrived, I did notice an attractive woman, and I know she noticed me too because she smiled. I couldn't help but smile back. Bad habits are hard to break.

"Ray, I just need for you to be patient with me because I've never been in a relationship. My focus for the better part of my life has been on my education. When I was in elementary and middle school, my goal was getting first honors. In high school, my goal was getting straight As and becoming class valedictorian. In college, it was staying on the Dean's List and graduating summa cum laude. After undergrad, it was getting my MBA. And I accomplished all of those. I didn't have to go to job fairs and do rounds of interviews. I didn't have to worry about a job. I had offers from just about every Fortune 500 company there is. I chose to come back to Michigan and work for GM, and they offered me a lucrative position, especially for someone twenty-two."

"You had your MBA at twenty-two?"

"I got my undergrad degree in three years and my MBA in one."

"I'm impressed."

"Thank you. I was really focused. I didn't party. I didn't pledge. I did belong to a couple of organizations. I knew it would be important to show that I was well-rounded. I was a member of GAMBLE, which stands for Georgetown Aspiring Minority Business Leaders and Entrepreneurs, as well as Georgetown Accounting Society."

"What did you do for fun?"

"Being a full-time MBA student kept me extremely busy. Between the team-based weekly projects and GAMBLE and the Accounting Society, trust me, I had plenty to do. "

"And you never met any guys through those organizations?"

She shakes her head and shrugs. "Never. I've never even had a guy flirt with me."

"They probably did, and you just didn't know that's what they were doing. You were more focused on your goals, which is great because you accomplished a lot. I wish I'd been more focused. We're so different. I should be more like you. I should have a stable career. I went to Cass with people who grew up in your neighborhood. They're all doing well now. Every last one of them. And I was thinking about that the other day. I was real cool with them at school, but none of them ever invited me over to their house. Is there some type of closed society over there?"

Sarita starts to laugh. "What are you talking about? Of course not. Closed society? It's a neighborhood."

"When you were growing up, did you only associate with people from your neighborhood?"

"I had friends who lived in Sherwood Forest and Green Acres, and out in the suburbs, too. I had quite a few friends who lived in Farmington Hills and Bloomfield Hills. They all came to my house."

"Did you have more white friends than black ones? You kind of seem like you would."

"What do you mean by that? I had friends. Some were white, but, actually, most were black."

"You kind of remind me of a white girl. If I'd only spoken to you by phone, I'd think you were white."

"Where is all of this coming from, Ray?"

Should I tell her? I think I will. "You told me your sister's married to a white man."

"Yeah. And?"

"And that doctor you were with might as well be white."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I don't want to get all into you, and you leave me for a white man. White men will date black women. Certain black women. And you're thin. They love thin women. I just don't want to get hurt."

"I'm not going to hurt you, Ray."

I'm going to be honest with you, Sarita. For the most part, the reason I've never had a girlfriend was by choice. I was too busy being a player. Always had to be at a club, getting numbers. But now, in retrospect, I see that I wasn't committing to anything period, not just women: my future, my education, my life. Are you a career woman?"

Sarita shakes her head. "I'm a woman who has a career, but I have old-fashioned beliefs. I guess they'd be considered old-fashioned." She shrugs.

"Why do you say they're old-fashioned? What are they?"

"That my husband is the head of the household. My mother drilled that into our heads."

I want to be the head of my household. I want to be the breadwinner and have a wife that stays home. "But how do you feel about that?" I ask.

"You can be the head of the household, but I still want to work. My mother works, but my daddy leads my mother, and she led us. But my daddy never abused his power. He's a good daddy."

"When we get married, are you going to call me 'Daddy'?"

"No," Sarita snaps and stabs her eyes in my direction. "You're not my daddy. She raises her index finger. "I only have one daddy. But you'd be my husband, and I'd treat you like a king."

Hearing that confirms it. Sarita is my wife because that's exactly how I want my wife to treat me—like a king. The waitress returns to our table and sets our food down. "Now that I have you, I have more of a sense of urgency. I have to get myself together. I want to be your king, but I need to feel worthy of that. I just don't know where to start."

"Don't worry, Ray. I have faith you're going to figure it all out. Have you ever thought about working for a company that will pay for your education?"

"Only major companies do that, and they want their employees to already have an undergrad and they'll pay for their master's."

Sarita shakes her head slowly and says, "Not always."

"If not, then they rarely have any positions available."

"Ray, all you can do is try and keep trying and be persistent. Put in applications with all the major companies. Even if the position is entry level. Then let them pay for your degree and work your way up. What would you like to do?"

"Anything but sell shoes."

"Sell encyclopedias?"

"Oh, okay, now you're the comedian."

She smiles. "Well, you did say anything but sell shoes, and my parents have purchased a new edition of Encyclopedia Britannica every year since I was six from the same salesman."

"No, I don't want to sell encyclopedias, baby. I want to use my mind. Do something analytical. How did you know you wanted to major in finance and accounting?"

"I've always enjoyed working with numbers. I started doing my parents bookkeeping at their dental office at twelve. I was better than their bookkeeper. They ended up firing him. I do their taxes every year. I've been doing that since I was eighteen."

"I'm really surprised you didn't study medicine and become a doctor."

"That was my mother's plan for all of her children. Working with numbers is just natural, and I love it. But, when I'm off work, I'm off. You can't do that when you're a medical doctor. I give my all at work. I'm usually the first one to arrive in my department and the last to leave. Doctors never leave. Even when they leave physically, they don't leave mentally. And if I'm not passionate about something, especially when lives are involved, I'm not going to pursue it just to have a title. I have to sleep at night. What I mean by that is I don't want to have anything on my conscious."

"You seem so focused. Maybe you can help me focus."

"Ray, I want to help you. I don't want you to be unhappy because that could interfere with us, and I don't want anything to interfere with us. I love you."

"You what?" I ask.

"I love you."

I smile. It feels good hearing her say that. Does that mean you're my girlfriend?"

"Not yet. I have to make sure. I don't want to be hurt again."

"I love you, too. I've never told a woman I loved her. Ever. I've never told anyone I love them, not even my mother."

"Not even your mother?"

"Nope. And she's never told me, either."

Sarita looks concerned. "You should love your mother. Otherwise, how can you love me?"

"I can love you, and I do. And I'm not saying I don't love my mother. I just never told her I love her."

"Family's important to me. I'm close with all of them, even my extended family. And there's a lot of us."

"I can't say the same about mine. Sarita, please understand that I'm very happy with us, with our relationship. You're the bright spot in my life. If it wasn't for you, I'm not even sure I'd be thinking this seriously about life period and getting myself together. I'm way more than who I am right now, much more. I can visualize myself with a closetful of bespoke suits that I buy, not you, and with a nice home and kids and a wife—with you as my wife."

"I love you, Ray, just the way you are."

I know you do." But I wish she didn't. I wouldn't find anything wrong with her applying pressure on me; it would motivate me—as long as she doesn't nag. I understand that Sarita doesn't want for anything. She doesn't have bill collectors calling her the way I do. If her car breaks down tomorrow, she can buy a brand new one. I can't. She lives with her parents because she wants to, not because she has to. She could buy a house if she wanted to. I live with my mother because the most that I probably could afford to pay is around $500 a month, so it wouldn't be a very nice place. But even then, my credit's so bad I wouldn't get approved. I don't have any savings. My checking is constantly overdrawn. I live paycheck to paycheck. At least now I can envision myself having a nice home, a wife and kids, and money in the bank. But I don't want to have money simply by relying on Sarita's. If she's my wife, and I do believe she is going to be, then I have to get myself together. I have so much ground to make up.
SARITA

_________

If I'm truly going to give Ray a second chance, I need to make sure he's better for me than Graham is, so I'm going to make a list of positives and negatives for both. Each time I see them, I'll add to the list.

Graham

In no particular order

POSITIVES

1.) Practicing Catholic

2.) Nice teeth

3.) Very attentive

4.) Know him well

5.) Financially secure

6.) My parents like him

7.) Doctor

8.) Cute freckles

9.) Know his family well

10.) Nice body!!!!

11.) Tall

12.) Preppy dresser

13.) Smells masculine, spicy-leather scent: Trussardi Uomo

14.) Exceptional hygiene: clean, short fingernails/fresh breath/no ear wax

15.) Patient—doesn't force issues

16.) Great listener

17.) Close-knit family

18.) Good cook

19.) Takes charge

20.) High self-esteem/confident

21.) Doesn't overspend

22.) Wants children

23.) He's attracted to me

24.) Great hygiene

25.) Smooth skin

26.) No hair on his body

27.) Nice feet!!

NEGATIVES

1.) Sexuality is still .... ?

2.) Too light/not that attracted to him

3.) Sometimes he goes overboard with his attention

4.) 8 years older than me (Too old?)

5.) Sometimes boring

6.) My parents like him

7.) Doesn't wear suits

Ray

In no particular order

POSITIVES

1.) Beautiful dark skin and long lashes

2.) Finest man alive

3.) Funny

4.) Sexy without saying one word

5.) Smells good: Drakkar Noir

6.) Appears to have a nice body

7.) My age

8.) Has a full-time job

9.) Intelligent

10.) Fun to be around / keeps me smiling

11.) Took me to see Whitney Houston

12.) Taught me how to slow dance

13.) Good kisser

14.) Boone's best friend

15.) Good hygiene: clean nails/fresh breath/no ear wax

NEGATIVES

1.) Doesn't have a college degree

2.) No career

3.) Questionable family history/background

4.) Wears cheap suits

5.) Small chip in his front tooth (can be corrected)

6.) Only 5'10" and a quarter

7.) Might be a player

8.) Strange relationship with his mother (Miss King?)

9.) Lives with his mother

10.) I'm not his type

11. & 12. ) LACKS DIRECTION AND FOCUS—CONFUSED

On second thought, maybe a list isn't necessary because right now Graham is ahead but only on paper. In my heart, Ray is the obvious winner.

___

Ray and I meet at Backstage Deli for dinner. It's on Woodward near Six Mile near where both of us live but closer to me. I didn't want him to pick me up from my parents' house, because I'm not ready to introduce him to my parents, especially my mother. I don't want him to run away from me, and after meeting her, he may, because that will be her goal—to make him run far away.

The restaurant also has a club called Footlights attached to it. Both the restaurant and club are known gay establishments, but straight people come here, too. I wonder if Graham's ever been here. I really don't think Graham is gay. I know Solomon thinks I'm naive, but I have flashbacks of Graham standing in front of the mirror. He's not gay.

"Do you like Reubens? They make great ones here," I say.

"I hate sauerkraut."

"Their salads are great, too."

"You're not ordering a salad. You need to eat real food if you want to gain weight," Ray says, sternly.

"I don't care about gaining weight."

"Well, I'd love to see you put on about fifteen to twenty pounds."

"Fifteen to twenty pounds, Ray?" I shake my head. "I'm built like my mother. She was my size up until she had Solomon. And even after three kids, she's still small. Not as small as me, but slim." For some reason, he thinks I can defy genetics, and he can turn me into Pam Grier right now.

The waiter comes to our table, takes our order, and leaves. I order a hamburger, fries, and a salad, and Ray orders a steak with mashed potatoes and a side salad.

"Why haven't I met your mother—or your father? Explain to me why we have to meet places when we're supposed to be in a serious relationship and one day you're going to be my wife," Ray says.

Hearing him say that makes me feel warm inside. "I'm not ready to introduce you to them yet."

"You're an adult, baby. I'm an adult. I'm not going to be with a woman and not be able to meet her parents. I won't do that. Why can't I meet them? You don't think they'll like me? See, Palmer Woods is a closed society."

I roll my eyes. "I haven't met your mother," I say.

"Honestly, Miss King isn't someone I want you to ever meet. She's not someone I want you to have any contact with before or after we get married. After I move out, I don't care if I ever see her again."

I scrunch my nose. I have to edit my list to change "strange relationship with his mother" to "no relationship with his mother," which is a big negative. "You don't love your mom?"

"Yes, I love her, but I'm ready to move on with my life without her in it."

"But why? She's your mother."

"I don't want to get too deep into this right now while I'm with you—someone I do love. I don't want to ruin the night. Part of it, though, is that I'm tired of being compared to a man I never had a relationship with. My parents were married, but my father left when I was still in pull-ups. He married some other woman, and I guess from that point on she decided to turn me into her punching bag. I get that she's not all the way right in her head—"

"What do you mean by that?"

"She had a nervous breakdown after my father left and spent close to six months in Northville. I had to go live with my grandfather and my step-grandmother."

"Really?" I say, trying to keep my eyes from popping. Northville is a large psychiatric hospital. It's been open since the early '50s. A few years ago, the Detroit News ran an investigative report on the place and found the conditions to be "appalling." Basically, patients weren't being treated for their mental illnesses but were being neglected, abused, raped even, and over-medicated. Some even died after getting into fights with staff or other patients. And it was a common occurrence for patients to escape and run through the neighborhood.

"Is your mother mentally ill?"

"I guess. I don't know, though. I was only two when it happened."

"Do you think she is?"

"I'm sure she is, but I don't know what kind of mental illness she has."

I'll have to add "family history of mental illness" to Ray's negative column.

"Do you struggle with that at all?"

"Mental illness?" Ray asks, and I nod. He shrugs. "I'm not crazy. I may get depressed from time to time. Don't we all? But when I'm around you, I feel much better. You're always so calm and serene. You don't talk loud, and you don't cuss, and I love that about you."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. I also love that you don't smoke or drink like my mother, and you're well educated. I did tell Boone that you weren't my type, at first. He didn't get it. He didn't understand how you couldn't be, and now I understand why he didn't get it because now I don't understand what I was thinking, but I do know that I love you." He looks down at my plate. "Eat the rest of your food, please."

"But I'm full."

"Sarita, finish it for me. That's the only way you're going to gain weight."

"Dr. Lex said I didn't need to gain weight."

"I didn't know you were still talking to him."

"To my gynecologist? He's been my doctor since I was twelve."

"Oh, I thought you were referring to that other doctor. The one I thought was white."

"No. Dr. Lex said I have a perfect BMI as is, and my frame is naturally slender. I'll gain weight naturally over time, Ray, the way my mother did."

"Maybe that's true. Maybe it isn't. Did you know that GNC carries powdered drink mixes to help with weight gain? You make them like shakes. You can definitely put on weight with that and then start working out with me. You're going to have a sexy little body. I'm going to make sure of that."

The fact that Ray can't accept me the way I am is another negative. All this date is doing is bringing out more negatives.

"I'm meeting your parents tonight. I have to get that out of the way because I don't want to fall deeper and deeper in love with you just to have you dump me because your parents don't like me."

"You just won't understand my mother because she's impossible to comprehend. I don't want her to say something to you that will offend you. I don't want you to judge me based on the way she feels because I'm not like her. I don't think like her."

"What would she say? It's my career, or lack of one, isn't it? Don't worry, I'm going to get myself together, baby. I'm not going to be working at Hudson's forever. You believe me, don't you?"

"Yes, I believe you. Of course, I do. I know you're going to figure things out. You're a smart man."

"Yep, I just need to figure things out, that's all."

"Don't overthink it."

"I won't. I do want to meet your parents."

"You will."

"I know I will, but I want to meet them tonight, like I said."

"Ray, it's almost seven o'clock."

"It's still early."

"But she's having tea right now."

"So? Come on. But finish your food first." He looks toward the bar and says, "I'm ready to go."

"What's wrong?" I ask as I turn to see what he's looking at and notice two young black men around our age. One of them is rubbing the other's back. "Do you know them?"

"Yeah, I went to Cass with the one in the black leather jacket. I don't want him to see me. I think he'll be embarrassed if he sees me."

"Did you know he was gay?"

"Yeah, he came out to us recently."

"Then, if he came out to you, he wouldn't be embarrassed. Maybe you're embarrassed."

"I'm not embarrassed, but I'm ready to go."

Backstage has a front and back entrance. We parked near the back entrance. To avoid his friend, Ray and I left out the front entrance and walked around to the back.

As he's walking me to my car, I say, "I wish you would've spoken to your friend."

"Why are you looking at me like that? Do you think I'm gay? I'm not in the closet. I just have to get used to him being that way. It's one thing for him to say he is, but it's another thing to see it. They were acting like a couple."

"They probably are. But I understand."

"Do you? Because if you understood, you wouldn't keep questioning me. I'm the man. Follow my lead. That's what you said you'd do."

"If we get married."

"When, not if. Now come on. I'm ready to meet your parents."

___

As I pull into the driveway of my parents' home, I wonder what Ray is thinking. I don't have to wonder long.

"This is your home?" Ray says as we exit our cars and meet in front of the three-car attached garage.

"It's my parents' home. Please don't be intimidated. I just live here."

"You live in a mansion?"

"It's not a mansion. There are much larger homes in this area. It's more like a mini-mansion." Ray looks nervous. "Are you sure you want to do this?" I ask.

"Yeah, I'm positive. I don't want to be hidden. I need to make sure you live with your parents and not with that doctor I saw you holding hands with. He might be your husband already."

"Ray, please be serious."

"I am being serious. That's why I'm ready."

"No matter what my mother says, remember those are her feelings, not mine. Don't hold it against me, please. Promise?"

"Yes, baby, I promise."

When I walk in, Miss Joy is putting on her coat to leave. "You're still here?" I ask.

"I'm leaving. Al's running late, but he should be here any minute."

"Ray, this is Miss Joy. She's our house manager and like a second mother to me."

"Also known as their maid," Miss Joy says. "And you are?"

Ray's eyes are bouncing around the large open foyer at the expensive artwork, sculptures, and other furnishings. Miss Joy clears her throat.

"I'm Ray, Sarita's boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" Miss Joy says, her head bouncing. "Sarita? Don't do it."

"He's not my boyfriend," I say, shooting my eyes over at Ray. "We're working on that."

He grins, nods, and mouths to me, "Yes, I am."

"Okay, Sarita, you know how your mother is."

"I know, but I'm a grown woman."

Miss Joy takes a deep sigh. "I might need to call in tomorrow because somehow your mother will find a way to blame all this on me." A car horn blows, and Miss Joy kisses my forehead.

"Joy, please remind your son that he can't come in this neighborhood blowing a horn," my mother says as she walks out of the den holding her usual cup of chamomile tea. When she sees Ray, her attention immediately turns to me. "Sarita, who is this man?"

"Time to go," Miss Joy says and she heads out the door.

My mother remains standing just outside the den.

"Mother, I have someone I'd like for you and Daddy to meet.

"Your father and I are in the den relaxing, and you want us to meet some man right now?"

Ray speaks up. "Ma'am, it wasn't Sarita's idea. I asked to meet you and your husband—"

"Just a minute," Mother says, pointing a finger in Ray's direction. "I'm speaking to my daughter, not you. Not yet."

"He'd like to meet you and Daddy."

"Who is he?"

"He's a very close friend of mine."

"I'm her boyfriend."

"Really? I've never heard about you. But yes, you come on in here."

I take Ray by the hand and lead him into the den. My daddy is seated on the vintage French Louis XV–style carved walnut sofa wearing one of his smoking jackets and puffing his cigar with his elbow resting on one of the scrollwork arms.

"Hi, Daddy," I say with the smile I always have for him.

"Hi, baby girl. And who is this young man that you have with you?"

"This is Ray Saint—"

"He says that he's her boyfriend," Mother says, taking a seat beside my daddy.

"Really?" my daddy says with a chuckle. "Why don't you two have a seat?"

We sit on the upholstered green velvet love seat directly across from my parents. My daddy lays his cigar on the ashtray and stares at Ray.

"Tell us about yourself, young man," my daddy asks.

"Where did you go to school?" Mother adds.

Ray clears his throat and looks over at me. I shrug. This is what he wanted to do, and I warned him. "I went to Cass."

"Cass is a high school," Mother says. "Did you go to college? I'm sure you did, if you're with my daughter."

"Not yet, but I plan to go."

"And how old are you?" Mother asks.

"Twenty-four."

"What are you waiting on?" Mother snaps. "Why didn't you go when you were eighteen?"

"I was accepted to several. I just didn't have the money to go. My mom couldn't afford to send me, and I couldn't get enough in student loans, so I didn't go. I was accepted into U of M, though."

"Well, it doesn't matter where you were accepted if you didn't go." Mother shakes her head.

"What are you doing with your life, young man?" my daddy asks.

"Right now I work at Hudson's in the women's shoe department. I sell shoes."

What he's saying isn't doing him justice because he is so much more than that. "Ray is intelligent and witty, and he treats me really well. I've never felt this way about any man," I say.

"Any man? Really? The only other man who's been in your life is Dr. Emerson. Please don't insult the doctor," Mother says. "Open your eyes, Sarita. He's a good-looking man. That much is evident, but you need much more than that to be happy. Looks fade quickly when you can't pay the mortgage."

"It's not just how he looks."

"Admit it. Yes, it is. You like the way he looks and dresses. So what? Did you buy that suit for him? I'm sure they're not paying that much in the shoe department at Hudson's."

"No, ma'am, she didn't buy this one."

"This one? So she did buy one?" Mother says and looks over at my daddy.

"I bought him one for his birthday."

"You bought him a bespoke suit for his birthday, and what did he buy you for yours?"

"I didn't know him on my birthday."

"You haven't known this man for a full year, and you bought him a bespoke suit. Are you on drugs? Does he have you on drugs?"

"No, ma'am, I don't have her on drugs. I'd never do that. I don't use drugs. I don't even drink, other than an occasional glass of wine or a beer."

"I'm sure my daughter warned you about me because I know my daughter. And despite her warnings, I'm not going to be rude to you. There's no need to. Sometimes, young men don't know when they're in over their heads, and you, young man, must have no idea how far over your head you actually are."

"I love your daughter."

"I'm sure you do. What's not to love about my daughter? But you're not the only one who loves her."

"Mother, please don't."

"Sarita, don't you 'Mother, please don't' me. I am and I will. You thought this was a good idea to bring Roy here tonight."

"Ma'am, my name is Ray."

"What your name is doesn't even matter."

"Sarah, please. There's no need to treat this young man that way. Everyone deserves respect. We don't even know his intentions. They're just spending a little time with each other. There's nothing wrong with that. I'm sure it's nothing serious."

"Yes, sir, it is serious," Ray says. "I plan to marry your daughter."

"I don't think you're ready to marry my daughter, young man," my daddy says, waving his hand and the thought away. "You don't make enough money to take care of my daughter. I don't care about you not being a doctor, but you have to be more than a shoe salesman at Hudson's." Daddy picks up his cigar and takes a few puffs.

"I do care about him not being a doctor," Mother says. "Sarita is marrying a doctor. And that's that. But I do love your last name. Saint is a lovely surname, though one my daughter won't be taking on. Sarita, you can see him out."

My eyes plead with Daddy. I want him to save me from my mother, the way he always does. But he shakes his head. He doesn't approve.

I put my head down, then stand up. I guess it's over. I guess Ray is going to drive off, and that will be that, and then I suppose I'll go to church with Graham tomorrow as usual. I suppose I'll just do what they want me to do. I'll marry Graham and try to be happy.

Ray and I don't speak as we're walking to the front door, but once outside, near his car, he says, "That doesn't change anything for me. If anything, it motivates me even more. I wasn't fortunate enough to be born into all of this. I wish I had been. I never knew black folks lived like this, with maids. I guess I should've known. I went to school with people who lived over here. I just never came to their houses. Like I said before, I was never invited to their homes. I guess I was too low class."

"Ray, not everyone who lives here has a maid and a chef, and you're not low class."

"You have a chef, too?"

I nod. "My parents do. They're hardly ever here, and when they are, they're tired."

"Baby, I still love you. You're still my woman. They're not going to marry you off to that man, and Sarita if you are still talking to him, leading him on, you need to let him know. Do you hear me?" I nod and look down. "What do you hear me saying?"

"I need to stop talking to the doctor."

"That's if you actually believe I'm your husband. If not, I guess you can do whatever you want. I love you, baby. I'm going to get my life together. I promise you. I don't know if we'll have a maid and a chef. We might hire Molly Maid to come through every now and then."

I laugh. "I don't need all that. I just need you."

"I know something else you need," he says, snuggling up to me.

"I do."

"And I really do," he says.

"After we're married, Ray."

He leans in to kiss me.

"Roy, you need to go," my mother says from the porch. "Now. Sarita, get in the house."

"No, Mother, I'm grown. I will come in there in a minute."

Mother slams the door.

"I think your mom has a little more in that cup than tea."

I laugh, and he strokes the side of my face. "I'm getting you out of there. You are grown, Sarita, and we love each other." We kiss, even though Mother is flicking the garage lights off and on. I don't care. I'm not doing anything wrong.

When I walk in, Mother says, "Dr. Emerson is on the phone for you."

"Did you call him and tell him about Ray?"

"No, I did not, Sarita. Why would I tell him about Roy?"

"His name is Ray."

"When you have the right man, I'll use the right name. Dr. Emerson is on the phone."

I take a few deep breaths and march up the stairs, kick off my heels as soon as I enter my bedroom, and pick up the phone.

"Hello, dear."

"Hi, Graham."

"I miss you. I miss going out with you on Saturdays. We are still going to church tomorrow as usual, correct?"

"Yes."

"Brunch or dinner?"

"Dinner will be fine."

"I know you don't like upscale restaurants, but I'd like to take you to one—the Golden Mushroom. It's out near me. It's a beautiful place. Great food. The mushroom soup is the best I've ever had, and they have several other unique offerings on their menu."

"That's fine, if that's where you'd like to take me."

"Yes, it is. I enjoy taking you to nice places."

I may be a bit naive when it comes to men, but some things are obvious. He's trying to let his money talk and take me to places the "kid" can't. I'm not a psychiatrist, but that's my assessment.

___

The next day, after Graham takes me home after church and before we go to dinner, Faith finally returns my calls. I've been calling her regularly, while trying to give her a little space to think.

"What's been going on with everything? It's been a couple weeks since I spoke to you last."

"I have an important update," Faith says. I can hear her smile. "I do still plan to go away to college, and I also plan to have my baby."

"Did you make that decision on your own?"

"Yes, I did."

"I'm so proud of you because I know it wasn't easy, but it was your decision, no one else's, which is the way it should be since it's your life."

"It's not going to be easy, though, but so far nothing has been. In the long run, if I keep working hard like always, I know it'll work out."

"And where is Tommy in all of this?"

"I still love him. I guess we're taking a break from each other for now. He plans on being in his child's life. He's going to try to get a job at the plant when he graduates."

"He doesn't want to go to college?"

"College isn't for everybody. I'll be proud of him for getting his high school diploma because at times he acts like he wants to drop out."

"I have a friend who works at the Ford plant. I'll see what he can do. You haven't met Boone, but you've met Sharon, and Boone's her husband."

"Yes, I remember Mrs. Sawyer. You introduced me to her when I shadowed you at GM."

"I'll talk to Boone and see what he can do, but I'm so happy that you're not giving up your college dreams, and you're going to still try to go away to school and get that experience."

"I'll probably stay local my first year. Go to either University of Michigan Dearborn or Wayne State, and then go away for my sophomore year. But I'm definitely going to college."

"I know you are, and I'm going to continue to support you in every way I can. In fact, we need to get together soon for a pamper day. Get manicures and pedicures the way we used to."

"That'll be so much fun."

"We're going to do it soon."

___

The waiter sets a platter of seven different kinds of mushrooms in the center of our booth. The mushroom appetizer plate wasn't on the menu; Graham put in a special request for it. Graham probably frequents this place since it's only a mile from his home.

As he's enjoying his mushrooms with wine and I'm nibbling on mine and sipping water, I say, "May I ask you a professional question? It doesn't involve me, but a friend of mine."

"Sure?"

"I have a friend's whose mother was admited to Northville."

"Northville, really? It must have been very serious."

"She had a nervous breakdown after her husband left her and had to stay there for six months. Is that a long stay? Is she mentally ill? She was diagnosed as being something, but my friend can't remember what?"

"Is your friend's name Ray?"

"Yes."

"Then just say that, okay? I know you talk to him. You can be open with me, okay?"

"Okay."

"So he has a history of mental illness in his family. Please know that, and that's important because mental illness is genetic, which means he may also be mentally ill or if you have a child with him, your child could be or both he and any offspring that he may have. These are the types of things that most people don't consider when choosing a mate, and they should. And, in our community, mental illness runs rampant, and it's often left untreated. It's nothing for a black person to brush everything off as 'I'm just a little depressed' like most blacks are because of all we deal with. Frequent bouts of depression are a mental illness, and there could be other things underlying that. Bipolar disorder, for example."

"He did say that he has bouts of depression."

Graham shakes his head. "Don't just listen to him. Hear what he's telling you. He has bouts of depression. This isn't a man who needs to be talking to you; he needs to talk to me or someone trained to help him."

"Back to his mother. She had a nervous breakdown because his father left her and then she got committed to a psychiatric hospital. What would make you commit one of your patients?"

"They're suicidal or a danger to others. If they can't function in society, they have to be removed from it and treated and hopefully with propers meds can transition back, but NSH is not a good place for that. I try not to put any of my patients in there."

"This was a while back. I think in ninenteen sixty-four."

"They may have been decent in sixty-four. When NSH first opened, it was a good psychiatric hospital. One of the best. Obviously, I was still a child myself in sixty-four, but I know the history of the place. By the time I started practicing, the state had started closing hospitals and funneling those patients into NSH and reducing the mental health budget. That place has been going down ever since."

"Do you think she's still mentally ill?"

"It's hard to say. That was a while ago. And she only stayed in for six months."

"Only? I can't imagine."

"That's good you can't. Don't try to."

"What do you think happened?"

"If I were simply guessing without taking a look at any of her medical records. I'd say she had an adjustment disorder, and those are temporary. Her husband left her, it was traumatic, and she may have tried to commit suicide or stop working—she did something to wave a red flag, and she was admitted."

"She won't allow him to call her 'mom' or 'mother'. Only 'Miss King.'"

He nods quickly. "Yes, that's dissociation. She is distancing herself from him. She doesn't want to be a mother or his mother. One or the other or both. It sounds like this woman has more problems than an adjustment disorder. Most likely she's on some type of medication or should be."

"So you think she's taking medication for her mental illness?"

"Or should be." He stares across the table at me with a stern look on his face. "Is that what you want in your life, really? Please know that you can't love mental illness out of a person. 'If I love him enough, he won't commit suicide.' That's not true. You can love him enough, and he can still put a gun to his head and pull the trigger. And guess what? He may put it to your head first. Is that what you want?"

I shake my head. "Not at all."

"No, not at all. I'm glad you're coming to your senses before it's too late."

Graham is right about this. What am I thinking? I love Ray, but I have to give my children the best chance at a quality life. Am I prepared to raise a child with mental illness? But then again, my mother isn't the most stable-minded human being. For all I know, she could have a mental illness.

The waiter returns to our table with our entrees. Graham is having Dover sole, and I ordered bronzed Atlantic salmon with sweet corn and mâche salad and a horseradish and Asiago polenta.

"Next Saturday, I'm taking you to Excalibur for dinner, okay?"

"Saturday?"

"Yes, Sarita, Saturday. I want to spend more time with you. I need my Saturdays back. Some of them. Have you ever been to Excalibur?"

I shake my head.

"Where did your parents take their children for special occasions? I understand being busy, but come on. What about when you graduated from Mercy? Did they attend?"

"Of course they did."

"Where did they take you to eat after?"

"The Lark."

He nods. "That's a nice restaurant."

"I've been to nice restaurants: Lelli's, Mario's, Sinbad's . . . most of the usual ones. Just never here or Excalibur." Graham isn't as talkative as he usually is. "Is something wrong?" I ask.

"You took thirty minutes away—from what I already consider to be a short amount of time to spend with you since I have to get you back by eight thirty—to talk about your other man. I'm a patient man, but common sense should tell you that's not cool."

"What's not cool?"

"Would you want me to start discussing another woman during our time together? A woman I was seeing, if I were seeing another one, which I'm not by the way. But if I were, would you? You don't have to answer. Common sense tells me that you wouldn't."

"I'm sorry. That's your area of expertise, and I was just curious."

He sighs and shakes his head.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask.

"Will the best man win?" He puts a small forkful of fish in his mouth, starts to chew, and watches me as I avoid eye contact. "I'll keep being patient, but please don't abuse it."

"I won't." Patience is already on his list of positive attributes, but he probably doesn't feel it's one.

The next Friday, I cancel my dates with Graham for both Saturday and Sunday. "You don't have to tell me why," he says. "I already know." I've spent a lot of time with Graham, but now I want to spend even more time with Ray to really make sure he's worth it. I can tell that Graham's patience is wearing thin. I need to get Solomon's advice because I'm confused.

___

"It's gotta be quick because I only have ten or fifteen minutes at the most. You see all these customer's walking the lot, don't you."

Solomon and I are seated in my car in the Mel Farr Ford parking lot. My Whitney Houston tape is playing softly through my car speakers.

"But it's your lunch break. Don't you get an hour?"

"It's Saturday. Our busiest day. I'd rather make money than eat. What's up?"

"I like two men. I may even love both of them. Actually, if I were being honest with myself, I'd admit that I do love both of them."

"Is one of them Graham?"

"Yes, of course."

"Of course?" Solomon asks and laughs. "You love Graham? Is that what you're telling me?"

"He treats me really well. He makes me feel like a princess."

"Probably because he knows how it feels to be one."

"He's not gay!" I shout.

"Alright, I'm sorry. And how does Ray make you feel?"

"Ray needs a little work. A better job and a closer relationship with his mother. But I really love him. Despite his issues."

"Do you love him or do you want to fix him? Is he that three-legged Poodle you found in Palmer Park? The one you brought home to our parents and begged them to keep. And what did they say? Do you remember?"

I nod. "He's in too bad of shape. We can help him, but you can't have him."

"Maybe you can help Ray, but you just can't have him."

"But I thought you liked him?"

"I do like him. He seems like a cool dude, but I don't think he's ready for marriage, and I think you are. You listen to this crap all day. You must be." Solomon turns down the volume to my Whitney Houston tape so that it can't be heard.

"Whitney Houston's music is hardly crap. Come on, Solomon. I need your help."

"Graham is the better choice."

"Graham? Huh? I thought you didn't want me with Graham."

"Graham's referred three people to me, and all three of them have bought cars."

"So your opinion can be bought? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Listen to me. You know Graham's family. He has a great relationship with his parents. He's established in his career. You'd probably have a better life with him, if I'm being honest. But you gotta go with your heart and your gut because you don't want to look back on your life twenty years from now and wonder, what if? And you definitely can't let another person decide something this important. Even if that other person is me. Sorry, baby sis, but this has to be your choice. You have time. I doubt Ray's looking to marry you tomorrow."

"But Graham is," I say, pleading. I need help deciding, and Solomon's opinion on this is the one I really value.

"You'll figure it out. I gotta go."

Solomon kisses me on the cheek and gets out of the car, running over to greet a customer that just got out of her car. Meeting with Solomon didn't help. Now I'm even more confused.

___

I met Ray downtown at Lansdowne for dinner. It's a former railroad car ferry that's now a floating restaurant moored near Hart Plaza on the Detroit River. It opened while I was at Georgetown, and I've never been. After dinner, we're going to Beau's Comedy Kitchen because, even though we're complete opposites in many ways, we both love to laugh. Ray's a lot more outgoing than I am. For the most part, I'm a homebody, and he can't stand being home. I used to think it was because he lived with his mom, but now I believe even if he had his own place, he'd still want to be out and about. Honestly, that's another reservation I have with him. It's good that he brings me out of my comfort zone when we're together, but I do wish he could be content with staying home sometimes.

Ray ordered three appetizers for us to share and two large meals. He also ordered dessert while I'm still trying to finish my dinner. It's a lot. "I'm going to eat as much as I can," I say to Ray. He smiles, then mouths, "I love you," which motivates me to take a few more bites of my garlic mashed potatoes. I know I told myself I wasn't going to let him change me, but maybe I do need to gain a few pounds. It wouldn't hurt.

"What else do you like about me?" Ray asks, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of coffee. "You always tell me how attractive I am, but now I'm wondering if your mother is right. Is that the only reason you like me?"

"No. I like that you're patient. The very fact that we can see each other so regularly and not have sex and you haven't tossed me aside proves that. You're also persistent because even when I broke up with you, you didn't give up. You didn't take no for an answer. You kept trying. That's the type of man I want—one who will fight for me until the very end. I guess maybe I'm a hopeless romantic."

"I'm sentimental. I don't get rid of things that I love. I still have toys from when I was a kid. But I'm not like Boone. I'm not going to write love letters and read romance novels with you, the way he does with Sharon. He's a hopeless romantic. I'll buy you a beautiful card."

"Will it be blank inside before you write down your own feelings?"

"I will go through the cards with the preprinted words inside until I find the one that matches the way I honestly feel." He stares across the table as if there's something very serious on his mind. "Did you break it off with the doctor yet?" Ray takes another sip of coffee, and I sip my hot cocoa.

"No, I haven't broken it off with him yet," I say, setting my cup down.

"So you're still talking to him and seeing him?"

"I see both of you."

"I'm not seeing anyone other than you. You need to stop seeing that man. You have to cut it off with him. I don't want you talking to him at all, not even on the phone. Break it off." I shift my view to the Detroit River outside. "I mean it, Sarita. Don't string that man on or me. Do you hear me?"

I nod and turn my attention back to Ray and look in his eyes and say, "I'm not ready to do that just yet. I have to trust you."

"I was under the impression that we were in a relationship."

"I need to trust you. I'm working on that. Once you lose my trust, it's no guarantee you'll ever get it back. But I do feel you're worth me trying again."

"But you said you love me."

"And I do."

"How can you love someone you don't trust?"

I shrug. "I'm not sure how, but I do."

As I'm eating my cheesecake, I wonder if we'll still be dating this time next year. I imagine we will. But how about five years from now or ten? We talk about marriage, and he seems serious, but my daddy said that sometimes men will talk that talk with women to try to get a little more out of them: sex. "Just keep holding out because if they mean it, they'll show it, not just talk about it," Daddy said. Of course, that advice was given to me about Graham. The only advice Daddy has given me about Ray is to keep him as a friend. Mother doesn't call Ray "Roy" anymore. She doesn't call him anything. She pretends he doesn't exist.

___

Tickets for the show at Beau's Comedy Kitchen are fifteen dollars each. With dinner, Ray's already spent over a hundred dollars on this date. I want to turn my brain off from numbers, but I can't. I don't want Ray to go broke courting me. I know he's doing this because he saw my parents' home and now he thinks he has to go overboard to impress me. I don't want to emasculate him by offering to pay or for us to at least go Dutch, but this has to stop. He's been taking me out on Fridays and Saturdays all month long to really nice places, and he can't afford to keep doing this. He pays his mother $300 a month for rent; he has his own phone line at her house, so that's a bill; his pager is another bill; his car is always in the shop; and I doubt he makes more than $30,000 at Hudson's, including his commission, and I'm being very generous with that figure. He probably makes $25,000. Still, I'm enjoying myself. We're practically falling out of our chairs laughing at a comedian called Downtown Tony Brown.

After the set ends, Ray walks me to my car. He opens my door, and we hug and kiss before I get inside. "I'm going to follow you home to make sure you get there safely, but Sarita, I meant what I said about that man. You can't talk to him anymore. I've never committed myself to one woman, and I'm totally committed to you."

"I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"I'm not sure."

I guess I'm afraid of being alone. Finally, I have attention from men. Something I've wanted. If I could just have a man who looks like Ray but acts like Graham, I'd have the perfect man.

"Break it off with him or break it off with me," Ray says. "I'm not going to let you hurt me. I'll walk away before I let you hurt me. Decide."

___

"Have a seat," Graham says as he closes the door to his office. I sit on the sofa across from his desk and cross my legs. "I've missed you, Sarita." Graham studies me from head to toe. "But I wanted to give you space because I know marriage is life changing, and what I presented wasn't conventional. I know I wasn't on your radar, but you were very much on mine. But enough of my pitch. I'm assuming since you're coming to my office in the middle of the week you've made your decision."

He's right. I took a half day off from work to take care of this. I don't like to keep things lingering. I like to put checkmarks in the appropriate boxes. And this is a box that needs to be checked off. "I'm sorry, Graham, but I can't marry you."

His eyes grow wide. He looks shocked. "Maybe you should've danced this time. Why can't you marry me? Are you choosing that kid over me?" He sits at his desk but leans forward, toward me.

"Graham, you have everything a woman would want. You're attractive and a doctor with your own practice and earn a good income. You're stable, and you're attractive. You have a beautiful body."

"Now, you're dancing. You called me attractive twice. But? I have everything, but?"

"There isn't one."

"There has to be, because you're not choosing me."

"I don't even understand why you're still single."

"Is that another reservation that you forgot to mention? Allow me to address it. I'm still single because I refuse to settle. I won't settle. I could've been married ten times over, but I know what I want. I know who I want. Sarita Deering. Soon to be Sarita Emerson—a doctor's wife. I want you, Sarita. Look, take to the end of the year to think about it. Don't just toss us away. This decision is about your life. It will alter the course of your entire life. I'm a very good man. And I intend on doing right by you. I will do right by you."

"I know you're a good man. I just can't marry you."

"Why would you choose him over me? I want to know."

"I don't look at it as choosing him over you. I just look at it as wanting to be with him, and I don't know why."

Graham starts shaking his head slowly and says, "You're making a big mistake, but you're young, and you don't see it. But you will, though. You will. And I may not still be around to pick up the pieces of your broken heart."

"You'd pick them up, Graham?"

"If I'm still around." He flops back against his leather executive chair and sighs. "Maybe I went about this all wrong. I shouldn't have called it an arranged marriage. I should've just tried to date you. You probably thought the whole concept was weird and thought I was, too. But I really thought your parents could make you choose me, and I wanted you to want me as badly as I want you. I should've just asked for your number when I saw you at Dutch Girl, not driven home to my parents like I'm twelve asking for a new Schwinn." He continues sighing and staring at me. Tears leap from my eyes. "Why are you crying when it was your choice to make?" he asks.

"Because you're a good man."

"But not good enough for you, I guess." He stares at me until my eyes break away. "And I'm going to still be available until you're no longer available because I know I'm a better man for you than him. I know this. I just need you to know it." He stands and walks me to the door. He doesn't ask for a hug, and neither do I.

November 1986

_______________________________
RAY

_________

Friday at seven couldn't get here fast enough. I took my lunch at the end of the day, went home, took a quick shower and changed into a different shirt and pair of socks with the same suit and tie, excited about seeing Sarita. Solomon and his wife are in Vegas for the weekend, and Sarita's watching her nephews. But she's not happy about it. She didn't go into detail but feels her brother can't afford to take his wife on a trip, not even for a weekend and especially not to Vegas. "Do you think they're gambling?" I asked her.

"Why else do people go to Vegas? They're already married," Sarita said.

I told her, he's grown. He's a husband and father, and she should probably stay out of their business. I was bracing to be cussed out or at least for her eyes to roll, but she agreed with me. That's another thing I really like about her. She's not argumentative at all. She's not a pushover, either. She'll give her opinion, but she's not looking for a fight. And I've definitely dealt with women who are. I'm a man, a strong one. I can bench press two hundred, and one thing I'll never do is hit a woman. Never.

I ring the doorbell to Sarita's brother's townhome, and two young boys answer.

"She hates you! Go away," one of them shouts and then slams the door. Not exactly the way I was hoping to be greeted.

"Peter and Joshua that wasn't nice. Apologize," Sarita says from behind the closed door, right before she opens it. "Hi, please excuse my nephews." She shakes her head as she stares down at them. "Peter and Joshua, apologize. I mean it."

"What exactly are we apologizing for?" the taller, and I assume older of the two, says.

"Being rude to my guest," Sarita says.

"No apology needed," I say. "They're kids. I don't take any of it to heart."

"I wasn't going to give you one anyway," Sarita's older nephew says. Her nephews walk into a different room, but only briefly.

"You know how kids are. We were that age once, remember? I'd get a whooping for acting like that, though. But we can just whoop 'em at this." I hold up a new deck of cards.

"I don't know. They're pretty good at Spades," Sarita says.

"Not better than us."

"I taught them pretty well," she says. "So did Solomon."

"We'll have to see about that. So, is dinner ready? What are we having?" I ask as I remove my wool coat. Sarita takes it and hangs it in the small entry closet.

Her nephews return to the foyer and stare at me.

"I think I saw you on Seven Mile on my way to my grandparents' house, selling bean pies. We're Catholic," the older one says with his nose in a knot.

"Joshua, how many times do I have to tell you to be respectful of others?" Sarita asks.

"I asked him a question that's all," Joshua says.

"What was the question?" Sarita asks.

"Are you in the Nation of Islam?" Joshua asks, staring at me.

"You did not ask him that."

"Are you?" Joshua asks. "Because the Deerings are Catholic."

"No, I'm not in the Nation of Islam," I say.

"Then, why do you have on a suit with a bowtie and suspenders? That's how they dress."

"You have on suspenders?" Sarita asks. Her eyes light up when she spots them. "I love seeing men in suspenders."

"Ooh, I'm telling Grandma you're flirting with a man who isn't Graham. I like Graham."

"Joshua, you've never met Graham," Sarita says.

I don't like hearing that man's name, and I hate that her nephew knows it.

"I like anyone my grandmother likes. Does my grandmother like you?" Joshua asks me.

His young brother laughs and shouts, "No!"

"Go to your room. Both of you," Sarita says.

"We don't have to go to our rooms," Joshua says. "This is our house, and you're supposed to be watching us, not inviting men over from the Nation of Islam."

"And we haven't eaten yet," the younger one says.

Usually I like kids, but not these two. If they were mine, they'd have a belt on their behinds right now.

"Would you two like to play Spades after dinner?" I ask. "The two of you against Sarita and me?"

Joshua says, "Don't try to butter us up. We may be young but we're not stupid. We go to Kensington Academy. Where did you go to school?"

"Joshua, what did I tell you about that entitled attitude of yours? Do not act like that," Sarita says through gritted teeth. "And Peter do not follow your brother's lead. Apologize to Mr. Saint right now. I mean it."

"Mister who?" Joshua asks.

"You heard what I said. Mr. Saint, and you're going to refer to him as Mr. Saint."

Joshua stands in front of me with his arms folded and looks me up and down. "Mr. Saint, I'm sorry for being entitled."

"You're not entitled, Joshua. You're only acting that way."

"I am entitled. My grandmother, your mother, told me that I am, so I am."

"Don't worry about it. Apology accepted," I say.

I'm excited to eat. According to Sarita, her brother is teaching her how to cook. If she can cook half as good as he can, I'll be a happy man.

"What's for dinner?" I ask her again.

"Is this man having dinner with us?" Joshua asks.

"This man has a name, and I told it to you," Sarita says.

"I'm not calling him Mr. Saint. We're going upstairs to play on our Nintendo."

The boys march upstairs, and Sarita says, "I can't believe Joshua is my brother's son even though they're practically twins. My brother is the most down-to-earth man you'll ever meet. I'm sure you could tell when you met him."

"Yeah, your brother's real cool."

"But that Joshua has the spirit of my mother. He doesn't even like his own mother."

"Well, we do have something in common then," I say.

"Don't ever say that. You have to love your mother."

"Loving your mother is a requirement?" I ask.

"Before you can love another woman it is."

"I completely disagree because I really do love you."

"Then you love your mother. You may not agree with everything she does or says, but you love her. I don't agree with everything my mother does or says, but I definitely love her. I know her heart is in the right place."

"Well at least you know that much. But I'm not trying to put a damper on our night, and I'm definitely not trying to spoil my appetite. So what's for dinner?"

"I cheated a little bit. I had my parents' chef make his fried chicken. You have never tasted fried chicken this good."

"Really? Is it better than your brother's?"

"My brother doesn't make fried chicken. He makes a baked version that's pretty close."

"Wow, I can't wait to taste this chicken and be the judge. So what did you make?"

"The sides."

"What sides are we having?" I ask.

"Potato salad, green bean casserole, and dinner rolls."

"Did you make the dinner rolls from scratch?"

"No. Who has time to wait for yeast to rise? They're the Wonder Brown 'N Serve dinner rolls."

"I love those," I say.

"Good. I do, too." She walks over to a small box and starts talking through it.

"Is that an intercom system?" I ask.

She nods and raises her index finger to me. "Joshua, I'm serving dinner in five minutes. You and Peter need to head downstairs now and leave your attitudes upstairs."

"My attitude comes with me wherever I go. And we'll be downstairs when we finish our game. Thank you."

"They wouldn't survive a half hour in my mom's house," I say. "Maybe not even five minutes."

"When am I going to meet your mother? You met mine."

"I'll never forget that."

"Well, Ray, I really would like to meet her."

"You will."

"When?"

"In time. It won't be too much longer. I'm glad to be here. I'd like to come over tomorrow, if you'll let me."

"I don't see why not."

This free date came right on time because my funds are getting low. I had about twenty dollars to spare and was trying to figure out what Sarita and I could do this weekend with just that. She's always offering to treat me, but I have to prove to Sarita that I'm husband material and not some freeloading shoe salesman trying to rack up bespoke suits on her dime.

When the boys return downstairs, we sit at the living room table, and Sarita starts preparing everyone's plate.

"She didn't make that chicken. Chef Marcus did," Joshua says.

"I already told him that Joshua."

"She made that potato salad. I watched her. And I asked her why she put raisins in it," Joshua says.

"Yeah, why did you?" I ask Sarita. "Black people don't put raisins in potato salad."

"False," Joshua says. "My aunt is black, and she did."

"Yes, I did because I love raisins, and they're good for you. Taste it before you complain, Ray."

I taste a forkful and shake my head. "I'll make the potato salad from now on. I don't even know how, but I bet it'll taste better than this." I shake my head and stick out my tongue in disgust. She starts to pout. "No one's perfect, baby. Not even you."

"Baby? Ooh, I'm telling my grandmother that you have a man over, and he's calling you baby?"

"Joshua, you're starting to wear on my nerves," Sarita says. "I am grown."

"No, you're not. You still live at home with your parents. Grown people don't do that."

"It's not because I can't move."

"Then why don't you? Because you're not grown," Joshua says and then looks at me like he wants to ask where I live. Please don't. I'm not trying to have him embarrass me in front of my woman even though she already knows that I live with my mother. Still, I'd rather not give her a reminder.

"How old are you, Joshua?" I ask.

"Nine. Why?"

"I was just wondering."

"I'm six," Peter says.

"And you two think you can beat the two of us experienced Spades players, huh?"

"Not think. Know. We're card sharks, but don't tell my grandmother I said that. She'd rather we play chess."

"What do you want to be when you grow up, Joshua?" I ask, even though I already know what he's going to say—a doctor, of course.

"I'm going to be an oncologist like my great uncle Ronnie."

"You don't want to be dentists like your grandparents."

"Did I say I wanted to be a dentist? No. An oncologist is what I said."

I blow out air and shake my head.

I'm done talking to Joshua. It's time to whoop him at Spades.

I take my last few bites of chicken. "You were right, baby. This is good."

"Will you please stop calling my aunt baby? It bugs me. It really does," Joshua says.

"Would you rather me call her Sarita?"

He shakes his head. "If I have to call you Mr. Saint, you should be calling her Miss Deering."

"I tell you what. If you beat me at Spades, I'll call your aunt Miss Deering. Deal?" I stick out my hand, and Joshua slaps it and says, "Deal."

"We're going to two fifty," I say.

"I'll deal," Joshua says, grabbing the deck from my hand as I'm starting to shuffle.

"Joshua, you're being rude again," Sarita says.

I start to realize after I see him shuffle that he might be pretty good because he shuffles the deck as good as me. And then, after I look in my hand, and for the first time, don't see either joker, high or low, I have a feeling we may be in trouble.

"How well did you and Solomon teach them?" I ask.

"Really well," she says.

Sarita and I are in the hole after the first hand and have to bid a blind to try to dig ourselves out. Only I make the mistake of not listening to my partner and bidding a blind seven because I assume that we won't have two bad hands. I'm wrong. We go in the hole again. We're going to lose.

"Miss Deering, do you have anything for dessert?" I ask.

"No, Mr. Saint, but I'll be sure to have something tomorrow. What would you like?"

"Tomorrow?" Joshua shouts. "He's coming back."

"What would you like?" Sarita asks again, ignoring Joshua.

"Brownies."

"Are the boxed kind okay?" Sarita asks.

"Of course, just as long as it's Pillsbury."

"My dad makes the best brownies from scratch," Joshua says.

"Did he teach you how to make 'em?" I ask.

"My grandmother said I have the hands of a surgeon, not of a cook."

"It's ten. Time for bed, young men," Sarita says as she starts clearing our plates from the table.

I can't wait for those brats to go to bed because I'm ready to spend some alone time with Sarita.

She walks them upstairs and tells me to get comfortable.

I move from the dining room table to the leather sectional in the living room and turn on the television.

"What took you so long?" I ask her when she returns fifteen minutes later and sits beside me on the sectional.

"I was getting them ready for bed."

"Why couldn't those grown ass men get themselves ready?"

She laughs. "They did, but I had to supervise."

"Are you ready to do that full-time?" I ask.

"Do what?"

"Have kids? You do want kids, don't you?"

"Yes, of course. I want four: two boys and two girls," Sarita says. "Do you want kids?"

"I do now. After that experience with Gina, I never thought about kids again, but I want you to have my kids."

"Really, Ray? You want me to have your kids?"

I nod. "You'll be a great mother. I can tell."

"How many do you want?"

"Doesn't matter as long as they're healthy and all boys."

"You don't want any girls?"

"I can't imagine having daughters. I would be too strict. They wouldn't be able to date until just like you, after college. But, see, with you as their mother, you could teach them all of those values. Didn't you learn them from your mom?" She nods. "Yep, you're the mother of my kids."

"Are you going to name your firstborn son after yourself?" Sarita asks.

"Don't you mean our? Of course. Our firstborn son has to be named after me. He'll be the third."

"Do you have a good relationship with your dad?"

"I don't have a relationship with him. I thought I told you that I've seen him a couple times. That's it. Remember I told you that my mom always lets me know that I'm just like my no-good daddy because he left her for another woman. I'm nothing like him, though. True, I used to be a player. But that's in my past. Before you, I was meeting a lot of women with kids."

"More than one child?"

"One is too many. I don't want to marry a woman who already has a child. I'm too young to deal with somebody else's child and all the drama that brings. I want to give my wife her first child. I want to be my wife's first everything. I can check that box off with you."

"I want you to be honest with me," Sarita says. "When was the last time you had sex."

Her question takes me by surprise, but I'm not ashamed of my answer. "It was before I met you. I haven't cheated on you, Sarita. Why?"

"Well, Sharon said, and I don't want you to go back to Boone with this—"

"What did Sharon say? Because I know she didn't say I was cheating on you because I'm not."

"No, she didn't, but . . ." She stops short.

"But what? I don't want you to have any doubt, so say what she said."

"She doesn't believe that you're not having sex with anyone."

I take a deep breath. I don't want Sarita to see the side of me where I explode when someone threatens something of mine. "First of all, don't let her beliefs influence yours. Second, there are other things a man can do if he needs to get off. And I don't mean to be so blunt about it, but we're both adults."

"You mean, masturbate, right? So that's what you've been doing?"

"Yes, you already knew that."

"But how do you do it?"

"Come on. You're not that innocent. You know what I do."

"You always ask me to talk dirty to you on the phone, so you can do it, but I never do. So, do you call up another woman and have her talk dirty to you so that you can get excited and masturbate?"

"No."

"So what do you do?"

"I do something."

"What?"

"What difference does it make? I do something that only involves myself."

"You're hiding things from me now, Ray?"

"No."

"So what do you do?"

"Watch porn." I didn't want Sarita to know that, and I'm not going to elaborate.

"Porn?" she asks, wrinkling her brows. "Do you watch a lot?"

"Not a lot." I lie, but I don't feel bad. "Baby, I'm a man, and I have needs, so I do that so when we see each other I won't pressure you into doing something you're not ready to do." That's partly true, but I've been watching porn since I was twelve. "Let me ask you something. How do you know you're even going to like sex?"

"Because I just know."

"How, if you've never had it? That's the only gamble, baby. And I really enjoy sex. I love that you're a virgin, but what if when we finally have sex, you don't like it or you're real frigid. I guess that's the only thing about waiting until marriage for sex. I mean, what if the two of us aren't compatible?" I'm sure that if I told Sarita that porn is the first thing I turn on after work—after I lock my bedroom door and turn the volume down low so my mom can't hear if she's already home—that wouldn't go over too well.

"Do you only watch porn because you're not having sex?"

"Probably. Maybe." I lie again. I need to change the subject and fast. "Could you ever marry a man in progress?"

"Do you mean would I marry you before you were established in your career? You've asked me that, Ray. Several times."

"And what did you say?"

"I trust that you're going to get your life together. What you do for a living doesn't bother me. It's an honest living, but I want you to be happy, and I know you want a better job."

"I know you come from a family of high achievers. Doctors. My people are blue collar folks. Getting out of high school is a major accomplishment for us. My cousin, Vera, recently graduated from college, and she's the first in our family to do so. Our upbringings are like night and day, but I love you."

"I have faith in you. I know you'll figure out what you want to do for the rest of your life, and you'll be great at whatever that is."

"And you're not pretending, right?"

"Pretending? How?"

"To be as sweet as you are, and as innocent."

"Thank you for the compliments, but I'm just me."

"You never even complain. Like this past Sunday when my bank card declined at the Original Pancake House, you just gave them your card and never said anything to me about it."

"It wasn't a big deal. You always pay for everything anyway. We should go Dutch sometimes."

"No, and I'm paying you back on Friday."

"You don't have to."

"I'm going to." I'm also going to prove her parents wrong and show them just how good of a husband I will be to Sarita. Even if I'm not a doctor.

___

The next day, I bring along my secret weapon—Reid. Tisha didn't mind me watching her oldest son for a few hours. I filled him in on the drive to Solomon's townhome about Joshua and Peter, so he's well prepared for their attitudes. Honestly, he almost seems more excited than I am about seeing Sarita.

"Reid," Sarita says as soon as she answers the door. She bends down to give him a hug and kiss on the cheek.

"My Sarita," Reid says. "I didn't want to believe it, but I guess it's true. You dumped me for Mr. Saint, didn't you?"

"Reid, we haven't seen each other in almost a year."

"But still you were right here." Reid places both of his hands on the right side of his chest, and I move them to his left.

"Your heart's on that side."

"Aww, Reid, you're so sweet."

"Being sweet didn't do me any good. I still got dumped."

"I didn't dump you, Reid. You're too young for me. I had to have a man my own age."

"That's true." Reid waves at Joshua and Peter, who are both sitting on the stairs. They run upstairs without saying hello and don't return until dinner is served a half hour later.

After we eat the seafood pasta dinner that Sarita prepared, she sets out the brownies I requested, and I take out a deck of cards. I'm ready for this rematch. Only with Reid as my partner, and Sarita seated next to me for good luck. Sarita's pasta wasn't that good. It had jumbo shrimp and scallops in it, along with Portobello mushrooms, broccoli florets, and a creamy alfredo sauce. The shrimp were a little overcooked and rubbery, and the sauce was too thin for my taste. The pasta was crunchy. Let's just say, if I do marry Sarita, I'll be echoing Boone's same sentiments: I won't be marrying her for her cooking. But it won't be for the sex either, since I have no idea what I'm in store for there. It'll be for love. Sarita is my first love.

Joshua and Peter are on the quiet side today. Sarita must've given them a stern lecture or put them on punishment or both.

Today, I'm the one who shuffles and deals the deck first.

"Reid's your age," I tell Joshua as I toss a card in his direction.

"You're nine?" he asks Reid.

Reid shakes his head. "Seven."

"Then, he's not my age," Joshua frowns and shakes his head.

"Seven, nine what's the difference?" I say.

"I'm in the fourth grade, are you?" Joshua asks Reid.

Reid shakes his head. "Second."

"Two whole grade. That's the difference," Joshua says to me.

"I stand corrected. I'm sorry."

"Where do you go to school?" Joshua asks Reid.

"Hally."

"Is that a Catholic School?" Joshua asks Reid.

Reid shakes his head. "Public. I'm not Catholic. I'm Christian."

"Catholics are Christians, too," Joshua says as he shakes his head and rolls his eyes again. "It's not even a private school? You have to go to a public school?" Joshua's nose twists. "Your parents must be poor."

"Your parents aren't rich, Joshua," Sarita says, sternly. "Remember what we talked about this morning. Your parents will be home soon, and your father will ask for a full report."

"And I'll be seeing my grandmother soon, and she'll ask for one, too."

"That's okay, Miss Sarita. Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never break me. The pastor said, 'It's not where you start. It's where you finish.'"

"That's right, Reid. That's right!" I say. "Let's get down to business. Partner, how many books can you get?"

"Four," Reid says.

"I can get about the same, so we'll bid an eight," I say as I write my name and Reid's down on a small steno pad that Sarita gave me. I draw a line down the center of the page and on the other half of the page write Joshua and Peter's name. Underneath my name and Reid's, I write the number eight. "How many can you two get?"

"Five," Joshua says.

I hope they renege and go in the hole.

I look over at Sarita and mouth, "I love you."

She smiles, but doesn't say anything. Doesn't she love me? She does. Doesn't she?

Karma would dictate that Joshua and Peter will lose badly, and I'm a firm believer in karma. Unfortunately, I don't seem to have it on my side because while Reid gets the four books he said he could, I only manage to get three, which means we're the ones going in the hole. Then, to get us out, I bid a blind seven for the next game because I didn't learn from yesterday, and we're one book short of that bid and now even deeper in the hole. Joshua has a smirk of satisfaction on his face.

"I'm sorry, Reid."

"I'm glad he's your partner and not mine," Joshua says.

"I'm glad he's mine," Reid says. "He taught me how to play Spades."

"He needs to learn how to bid before he teaches someone how to play," Joshua says.

"One more game. Winner takes all," I say.

"That's not fair," Joshua says. "We're the ones who are winning."

"As a doctor, you're going to learn that life isn't always fair," I say.

"Are you a doctor?" Joshua asks me.

"No."

"Then how can you tell me what I'm going to learn."

"Where's Sarita?" I ask, looking around.

"She went outside that way," Reid says, pointing to the front door.

"She did? When?"

He shrugs. "I don't know."

I didn't even notice. I was so wrapped up in the game.

I get up, walk to the front door, and open it. She's standing on the porch with that white-looking man—the doctor—Graham. He has his fancy convertible 'vette illegally parked in front of the townhome. "What's going on?" I ask as I step outside.

"Nothing," Sarita says. She looks guilty.

"Something. Why are you out here with him? Are you playing me?"

"I came by to speak to Sarita for a moment—"

"I wasn't talking to you. Sarita and I are in a serious relationship." I look at Sarita as I say, "And she told me that she told you that." I turn back to him. "Did she?"

"Listen—" Graham says, and I don't like his tone when he says it.

"Who are you telling to listen? I'm a grown ass man." When I step toward him, Sarita steps between us.

"Ray, don't act like this." Sarita presses her hands up to my chest."

"What's going on between the two of you?" I ask. "And I want the truth! Have you had sex with this man? Don't lie to me."

"No, Ray, I haven't. Nothing is going on."

"You're rather abrasive with her, young man," Graham says. He's standing just off the small porch landing with his hands buried inside of his leather jacket, calm as ever, not a worry in the world.

"Young man? Yeah, I'm young. So? And so is Sarita. Find you a woman your own age or a man."

Solomon told me at the barbecue why he didn't want Sarita with Graham. He told me about the rumor that Graham is gay. It made me think about my friend who came out the closet, and he had a girlfriend. That's just not right. If Graham's gay, he has no business trying to get with Sarita.

Graham grins and shakes his head. "That's sad."

"What's sad?" I ask.

"You. You're sad. You're scaring her. She wasn't raised to be spoken to in this manner."

"I'm talking to you, not her, and we can settle this right now because I'm tired of you trying to push up on what's mine."

" 'Push up on what's mine?' I'm not even sure what that means."

"Because you're a doctor you don't understand what that means, huh? It's too street for you, I guess? Good. I want you to remember that I am from the streets, which means I can easily kick your ass if you keep this shit up."

"Keep what up? Trying to let my dear friend, who I've known all of her life, know that she's making a mistake by dealing with a fool like you. I will be keeping that up."

"Oh, really, you will?" I step toward him.

"Are you trying to fight me, young man? Because I don't think you want to do that," Graham says.

"Let's go inside, Ray." Sarita takes me by the hand. I push her aside, charge toward Graham, and grab the collar of his jacket. He grabs my wrist, takes me down to the ground, and leans his knee on my arm, near my shoulder.

"He's a black belt," Sarita says.

"A fourth Dan black belt," Graham says.

I have no idea what fourth Dan even is. I just know he's strong as hell, and I'm embarrassed. He's got me looking weak in front of my woman.

"Unless you're a fourth Dan or higher, don't ever step to me," Graham says.

"Get off of him, Graham," Sarita says.

"Get off of me!" I shout as he continues to press the weight of his knee down on my arm.

"Graham," Sarita says forcefully. He stands up. "You should leave now."

"No, he should," Graham says. "He needs to leave, Sarita, not me. I'm not going to watch you make a mistake like this. I'm not. Don't let this fool ruin your life. He needs help. He has a problem."

I get off the ground and rush at him again. He kicks me in the shin and then hits the side of my face with his elbow, and I fall to the ground again.

"Graham, leave him alone, I love him, and you're hurting him." Sarita bends down on the ground to see about me.

"He's not hurting me. I'm not hurt!" I take my hand and cup my nose to catch the blood running from it.

"You have to leave, Graham. Just go," Sarita says. After he walks away, Sarita says, "Let's go back in the house."

"He pulled out all those Bruce Lee moves. That ain't fair. A black belt is a weapon. You know that, right?"

"Yes. I know."

"That would be like me pulling out a gun. Would that be fair?"

"No."

"I'm not weak, Sarita. I'm not. Right now I might look weak, but a black belt is a weapon."

"I know you're not weak."

"I'll show him. He can't have you."

"I don't want him, Ray. I want you."

"Do you love me?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me you did when I told you inside?"

"I don't know. But I do love you."

"I love you, too. I love you so much that I'm scared," I say.

"Don't be. I'll never hurt you. Let's go inside, so I can get something to stop the bleeding."

"Sarita?" I grab her wrist. "You can't ever talk to that man. I don't want you ever talking to him. I mean it." Blood is spilling from my nose onto my hand and the concrete.

"I won't ever talk to him. Come on. Let's go inside, so I can get you cleaned up."

I follow her inside.

"What happened to you?" Joshua says, his eyes are big and so is the smile on his face.

"Joshua, go to your room," Sarita says firmly. "I mean it. Go now."

"What did I do?"

"You've been acting like a brat all day. You were rude to Ray yesterday and Reid today, and you're influencing your brother to be the same way. And now you have a smile on your face about someone being hurt."

"I'm not hurt," I say firmly.

"I know, honey," she says to reassure me. "Just go to your room, Joshua."

"Fine, because that's where I want to go." He marches up the steps and then yells. "Peter get up here now."

"I want to talk to Reid."

"I'm your brother. Get up here!"

"Be quiet and get in your room. Peter is staying down here with us," Sarita says.

"Fine." A few seconds later a bedroom door slams.

"Your father will be informed of you slamming a door," Sarita says.

"Are you okay, Mr. Saint?" Reid asks as he walks over to me. "What happened? Did you fall? That one step is kind of tricky. I bet you missed it."

"Reid, Mr. Saint is okay. I'm going to take care of him. You and Peter can play Spades alone. Do you know how to play with just two people?"

Reid nods. "Mr. Saint taught me."

"Good. You two do that, and I'm going to attend to Ray."

"You'd make a good nurse," I say to her.

"We don't have nurses in our family. We have doctors," Peter says.

"Peter, actually that's not true. We do have a few nurses in our family. Just sit down and play with Reid. Be the sweet kid you always have been and not a clone of your brother, okay?"

Peter nods. "Okay."

Sarita takes me into the kitchen and hands me a roll of paper towels. "I'm going to get a washcloth and clean you up."

"Sarita, I love you."

"I know," she says with a smile.

"I can protect you. I know I looked weak out there, but I'm not weak. I'll learn karate if I have to."

"You don't have to because you don't have to fight. You never struck me as someone who would do that. You could've talked to Graham."

"He was threatening me. I don't take well to that."

"I don't recall him threatening you."

"He was threatening to take you from me or prevent you from being with me."

"The only one who can prevent me from being with you is you. I'm not going anywhere. I love you."

"And I just realized something. You used to give me the hardest time about dating light-skinned women, and here this dude looks just like a white man. So you better never mention something like that to me again."

"I won't. Now let me go and get a washcloth, okay? I'll be right back."

"Hey," I say as she's about to walk away. She turns to face me. "I'm coming back over here tomorrow."

"That's fine. But I'm going to church and breakfast with my parents and my nephews.

"After that I'll be here."

"I would love that."

I nod and watch her. I'll show him and her mother. She's my woman, and no one's taking her from me.
SARITA

_________

At church as I'm kneeling in prayer, I say one for Ray. "Father God, please uplift Ray so that he may be a strong man, not just physically, Father, but mentally. Direct his steps so that he may be more grounded in your word. Ray is a good man. But he struggles from time to time as we all do. I see the good in him. I see what my parents and Graham don't. I want him to find you so that he may be saved and experience true joy and develop into the great man I know he is. I can help bring him to you, Father. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit—Amen."

"Good morning, Sarita," Graham says as he makes his way into our pew.

"Graham, I'm so glad you could join us," my mother says.

"Oh, I wouldn't miss it. Thank you for inviting me."

I'm in church, and I don't want my heart to fill with anger, so I have to pray hard to prevent myself from rolling my eyes at my mother.

"The invitation is always open to you, of course," my mother says.

"Hello, Sarita."

"Hello, Graham."

We hug, and he whispers in my ear, "I prayed about it, and God told me that you're my wife so I'm not going anywhere."

___

For brunch, we're at the Whitney. I think Graham and my mother want to remind me of my first date with him—that wasn't a date. According to my mother, it was an introduction over brunch, that's it. Evidently that wasn't it.

This time we're in one of the dining rooms on the first floor. At a round table for six that's in front of a glass-encased bookshelf. Graham is seated between my mother and me. My daddy is next to my mother and across from me, and Peter is on the other side of me and also next to Joshua.

After we've all finished our meals, my mother takes the white cloth napkin from her lap and places it on top of her plate. "Graham, I believe you have something you'd like to say to Sarita."

"Yes." He turns his chair to face me. "I'm not a man who gives up easily. I told you that I want to be your husband. And that hasn't changed." As Graham bends on one knee. I start to shake my head. He takes a ring box from his pants. "I want to marry you, Sarita. Will you be my wife?"

When he opens the ring box, my eyes enlarge and my mother gasps and says, "Graham, that's a better ring than mine."

"Not quite," Graham says with a smile.

"Almost," my mother says. "It's lovely. You must really love my daughter."

"I do. Will you, Sarita? Will you marry me? I will be the best husband to you."

My mouth and mind are wide open. The emerald-cut diamond set in platinum is beautiful. It's also gigantic, and nothing I'd ever wear. But for some reason, I can't say no. I can't say yes, either. "I have to go to the restroom."

"Before you answer his question?" my mother asks.

I rush out of the room and into the bathroom on the same floor, take several deep breaths and look at myself in the mirror.

A few seconds later my mother walks in.

"You will go in there, and you will accept Dr. Emerson's engagement and marry him. There's no reason not to."

"Yes, there is."

"Give me one, and it better be a good one."

"I'm in love with another man."

"He's not a man. And he'll never be your husband. Never. And I thought you wanted to be a wife. I thought you always wanted that from the time you were a little girl. That's what you talked about—how much you wanted to be married—before I even spoke on it. This is your dream."

"No, Mother, it's your dream for me to marry a doctor. I want to be married, but I want to love the man I'm marrying."

"And you don't love Graham?"

I shake my head slowly. "He's a good man; he's just not right for me."

My mother shakes her head and frowns. "This is where I've failed with you. As smart as you are, you are ignorant when it comes to love. If you can't discern between a man who you're supposed to marry and one you should have never spoken to, I've failed as a mother. I'm not going to watch you destroy your life, because if you stay with that boy, you will be destroyed."

She leaves the bathroom. I stay inside of it and wipe away my tears, until I no longer hear her heels clicking on the Pewabic tile.

I walk out of the bathroom and immediately see Graham walking toward me.

I'm nervous. A man has never asked me to marry him. But I always imagined accepting the proposal when one did. Now I understand the saying, "Be careful what you pray for." I always prayed to have the attention of men. I wanted to be married, and I couldn't get married if men didn't see me. Now two men do. And the one walking toward me really does.

"Come with me," he says, and then pulls me out of the door that's in the back of the restaurant. We walk onto a large deck with two park benches across from each other.

It's a mild November day in Michigan, but I'm still freezing. I don't do well when there's any chill at all: my nose turns as red as a McIntosh apple and clear fluid will run from it without any notice. I'm not trying to embarrass myself, but I do want him to know where I stand.

I open my mouth and try to explain. "I had to leave the room because I wasn't expecting that and I don't think—"

"Don't say anything else. I don't want you to tell me no, Sarita. I want you to take your time and think about it. Men and relationships—it's all new to you, and no one should rush you. No one. And I won't. I want you and only you. I can protect you and take care of you like no man ever will. If you don't marry me, Sarita, I feel sorry for the woman who does because she'll only have a piece of my heart. You have my whole heart. Please think about it."

"But Graham, I already made my decision."

"I can't accept that as your decision. That would be like someone who could have a Rolls Royce settling for a Pinto."

"You're a Rolls Royce?" I ask, smiling and trying to lighten the mood.

"I'm sure as hell not a Pinto," he says, opting to remain serious.

"I can't string you on, Graham. I already made up my mind, remember? You need to move on. You're a good man, and there are other good women out there."

He shakes his head. "I'll move on when you walk down the aisle with another man. Until then, I'm going to continue to pursue you. I'm not a quitter, and right now you're confused. You're innocent, and you have a man from the streets controlling your head."

"He's not from the streets. He just said that to seem tough. He's not tough."

"You don't have to tell me that. He's so shallow I can see straight through him. He's a very weak man. And I detect mental illness. I'm not just saying that. It's present. Is that what you want? Do you want to risk that? Bringing a child into the world that's suicidal because his mother chose flesh over substance? Is that the heartache you want to live with? I'm not going to let you make a mistake, not one this big. Because you're also affecting my life."

I shake my head out of confusion. "How am I affecting your life?"

"Because if you marry him, Sarita, then I have to settle. Do you think I'm going to be a fifty-year-old bachelor with no kids? No. I'm not. People will really think I'm gay then, won't they?"

"Is this all about what people think? Is that why you want to get married?"

"No. Of course not. I want a family. That means a wife and kids. That's why the whole rumor of me being gay is even out there—because I won't settle. I could've been married a long time ago. Some women you merely sleep with. Then there are the ones you marry. Unfortunately, men come across a lot more of the ones we just want to sleep with. You are wife material. You are my wife."

"Graham. I don't mean to interrupt you, but my nose is about to run. May we please go inside?"

His face beams. "Yes, dear. Of course. I don't want your nose to run. You are so sweet. Do you know how sweet you sounded when you asked me that? You didn't storm inside, complaining, huffing and puffing. I'm not going to be stuck with that type of woman. You are my wife."

"Okay."

"Okay?" He smiles broadly.

"I don't mean okay I'll marry you. I mean, I understand how you feel, and although I don't feel the same way—"

"Stop. You're off the clock. We're at the Whitney, not GM, and I'm not one of your subordinates. I love you, Sarita. And I don't even care if you don't love me right now because one day you will."

"How can you not care? I would care."

"Well, you're a woman. You're supposed to. A man absolutely has to love the woman he's marrying. But a woman doesn't have to love the man because, remember, the man chooses the woman—or should."

We start to walk inside the restaurant as I begin to sniff.

"Ray loves me, and I love him."

"That kind of man usually has a lot of charisma. He's like a sugar high. But the problem with a sugar high is it doesn't last very long."

I'm waiting for him to tell me he's protein and compare protein to sugar, but I guess he's sticking to being a Rolls Royce.

When we walk into the restaurant, I say, "I have to go to the restroom and get myself together, but you don't have to stay."

"I do have to stay because your parents have left, and I have to take you home."

"They left me?" I ask.

"They left you with me, a man they trust."

I walk into the restroom. I know Graham's outside of it, not too far. If I'm being honest with myself, I trust Graham. He's not someone I have to figure out. I pray for him, but not for him to get himself together. I think of 1 Corinthians 13:2–6 and wonder if Graham is love.

___

Ray comes over to my brother's place at ten at night after the kids are in bed. I made up an excuse and stayed at my parents' for as long as I could. I didn't want to risk Ray coming over here while the kids were still awake and one of them mentioning what happened—Joshua being the one. Because he certainly would have. And Ray would've lost it, and then I may have lost him. I do love Ray. I think it was love at first sight, and not only because he's a very attractive man but because I can see in his eyes that he needs me, and I've always wanted to be needed by a man just as much as I've wanted attention from him. I can help Ray and love him, the way no other woman can.

"How was your day?" Ray asks. We're in the basement, relaxing on my brother's old leather sectional.

"Not bad."

"You're quiet. I have you up past your bedtime."

"Yes, you do, but that's okay. I can make an exception for you," I say, and then yawn.

"Are you sure?" he asks, fidgeting with his tie.

That's another thing. Graham doesn't wear suits. On Sundays, he'll wear a dress shirt and tie and dress pants, and I imagine that's what he wears to work. But he's not into suits. He already told me that. And I like men who wear suits like my daddy.

"How was your day?" I ask.

"Not good. I missed you. I didn't know if you were avoiding me because of what happened last night. I didn't know if you thought about it. I didn't know if your feelings toward me changed."

"My feelings toward you will never change."

"I believe you, and I feel the same way about you. I've been looking for another job."

"Good, Ray. That's great. I know you want that."

"And I'm sure you want that for me, too, right?"

"I want you to be happy."

"I want you to be proud of me. That'll make me happy. I was going to wait until after I got the job to tell you this, but I'll tell you now. I'm going to try to get a government job. I applied for the post office, and I'm going to put in applications with the city and the state. The benefits are good. The pay is much better. I can go to school, and I wouldn't mind being a teacher. I really like kids, and I've always been smart. I should've continued my education. I won't stop with just teaching. I'll get my masters. I'll become a principal."

"It sounds like you have a great plan."

"You're so sweet. I've never met a woman like you. You've never said one thing to tear me down. Not ever."

"Why would I do that? I love you."

"I know." He stands, walks up to a family picture hanging on the wall, and stares at it. "Is this you?" Ray asks, excitedly. "The little girl with the long ponytail."

"Yes, that's me."

"Look how long your hair was." He turns and looks at me in amazement. "If your hair were that long now, I wouldn't even be standing here."

"Huh? Why not?"

"Do you know how many men would've been after you? You would've already been married."

"If I had long hair?"

"Yeah. Men love women with long hair. It's feminine and then yours is a good grade, too. Yeah, because of your hair. You even looked lighter. Were you lighter then?"

"I may have been. I was young, and you see how light my daddy is. I'm sure I was. Come sit down and forget about that picture."

"How old were you?"

"Eight."

Ray sits back down on the sectional next to me. "You're special, Sarita." He sweeps his hand over my face and studies my hair. "You're so pretty. I like your baby hair; I like that you don't need to use gel to get it to lay flat. It just naturally lays that way. I hate when women gel down their edges." His eyes haven't left my hair. "You would be even prettier with long hair like in the picture. Your hair should be that length now. You never should've cut it. Why did you?"

I look toward the ceiling. "I really don't want to talk about that. It's one of those things I try to forget. No one in my family even mentions it anymore." I hug myself and keep my eyes on the ceiling.

"I'm just curious. I thought we agreed not to keep things from each other," Ray says.

"We did, but I don't want to talk about it."

"You didn't want to cut it?"

"No. I loved my hair."

"Tell me what happened, baby. It'll help me know the woman I love even more."

I take a deep sigh and try to explain it away in a few quick sentences. "When I was eight, my parents' hired a new maid. I don't think she liked kids. She's the one who cut my hair."

"Your maid cut your hair? Did your mother ask her to do that?"

"Nope."

"So . . . then . . . why did she?"

"Ray, you're really going to make me talk about this?"

"Yes, because I really want to know. I want to know what happened to that little girl's long ponytail. I assumed you wanted to cut it."

"Not at all."

"I'm listening. Why did your maid cut it?"

"Because she was crazy. She'd just mopped the kitchen and saw streaks on the floor where someone had walked across it, and she lost it. She demanded to know who walked across the floor that she'd spent an hour on her knees scrubbing. My sister blamed me."

"So as punishment the maid got a pair of scissors and cut your hair?"

I shake my head. "Nope. She opened the drawer and took out a butcher knife and sliced off my signature ponytail. I loved my ponytail. It swirled at the tip, and it reached the middle of my back."

"Oh wow."

"Yep. And, she took that same knife and held it to my throat and told me if I ever did that again she'd slice my neck the same way she did my ponytail."

My eyes fill with tears. I knew I was going to cry if I had to talk about that. I was traumatized for several months afterward. I had terrible nightmares and had to sleep in my parents' room. They took me to Graham's father's office to talk to him. He was a child and family psychiatrist. We went there for months as a family. Solomon was there, too. He felt guilty because he wasn't there at the time.

I think my mother was afraid that I'd blame my parents for what happened because they hired her without checking her references. I think she thought I'd harbor a deep hatred for them that I'd carry into adulthood. My mother probably thought having short hair would ruin my self-esteem and cause me to become an average student.

"What? She had a knife to your throat. Oh, see—now that's where as a parent I would've lost it. There's no way. You put a knife to my child's throat . . ."

"Sunniva and I ran into her bedroom and locked the door. We tried to call our parents, but she'd taken the phone off the hook."

"Who was this woman? Sybil?"

"I don't know who she was, but I didn't deserve that. We didn't come out until our parents came home from the office. Three hours later. When we heard their car pull up, we ran out on my sister's balcony. I was crying and screaming. 'My hair! My hair! My hair!'"

Ray is visibly upset. He hasn't stopped shaking his head. "If I had a daughter, and someone did that shit to her, I'd be in jail right now."

"Trust me, when my mother looked at me and realized what I was saying, she did lose it. She stormed into the house and tried to beat that woman to death. Mind you the woman was twice the size of my mother, but my dad still had to restrain my mother."

"What happened to that woman? Did she get arrested and go to prison for assault and child abuse? She should've."

I nod slowly. "My dad called the police, and she was arrested. I think she went to jail. I actually think she already had a record because I remember my parents started doing background checks after that. But then they hired Miss Joy, and she's been with us ever since. You know, the one you met."

He nods. "I'm sorry that happened to you."

"The worst part was school the next day. This happened on a weekday, and I went to school that day with long hair. The next day my hair was short, uneven, and crazy looking because I couldn't go to a hairdresser to get it cut properly since it was so late and all of them were closed. My mother thought it was a good idea to wash my hair so I could wear my curls, which made my hair look even shorter than some of the boys."

"You were teased, weren't you?"

"Relentlessly. To the point, I left school after the second period and walked home."

"And you were just eight? Did you get a spanking for that?"

I shake my head. "I've never had a spanking."

"Really? I wish I could say that. If I would've left school after the second period and walked home, I would've gotten my ass beat."

"What hurt my feelings the most was how kids treated me after my appearance changed. I went from getting all of this attention when my hair was long to getting none at all or negative attention." I think about how ugly I felt, and that's when my tears finally drop from my eyes and roll down my cheeks.

Ray wipes them away. "Yeah, I'm guilty. I'll admit. I always preferred women with long hair, but you're different. You're beautiful the way you are."

I smile. "Thank you."

"But, you should try to let your hair grow back. It was meant to be long. It's in your genes. Have you ever thought about using those hair oils they sell? Super Gro? There's a ton of 'em. I always see them at Perry's when I'm buying my wave caps. And I know a couple women who swear by that oil, and their hair is long. My paw paw's wife makes some kind of hair ointment, too. I could ask her about it. It might help. She's made a lot of money off it because black women want long hair. "

"One of my uncles is a dermatologist, and he said that my hair follicles were damaged from the force she used when she snatched my head back and the way she cut it. I had trauma done to my scalp. He gave me cortisone shots when I was younger and prescribed ointments and all that. It worked because for the longest time it wouldn't grow at all, and now it's almost shoulder length. But I stopped focusing on my hair. Hair doesn't matter."

I look over at Ray when he doesn't say anything. It would've been nice to hear him agree with me, but he doesn't.

"I don't want to ever hold anything back from you, but there is one thing that I never told you," Ray says.

"Really, what?" I ask as I look at him suspiciously.

"I'll tell you. But only if you promise not to hold it against me, and you have to give me a kiss."

"A kiss?"

"You don't have to use your tongue. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Remember, this was before I met you, okay?"

"Okay."

"I had a stalker. I'm using the word had very loosely because even though she hasn't done anything in a while, I've never had a stalker and don't know how they operate. She could strike again. I don't know."

"Wait a minute? You had a stalker? When?"

"Right before I met you."

"Is she an ex-girlfriend?"

"I've never had a girlfriend, remember?

"Why would she stalk you? What did she do?"

"Shit, what hasn't she done? She keyed my damn car, harassed me on my fuckin' job, came to my fuckin' house."

I wonder why he feels the need to curse so much. Boone never curses around Sharon. I'm sure he may when he's with Ray or other men who speak that way. I hate hearing profanity. I don't want to come across as a prude, but I do want to ask him why he curses. And I would if I didn't think he'd take offense and brand me a snob.

"How did you meet her?"

"At the mall, the way I used to meet a lot of the women I dated. Just being honest. She meant absolutely nothing to me. She was a one-night stand, that's it. Tryin' to get all possessive and shit just because I wouldn't return her calls."

She's a loose woman: the type my mother brings up to remind me who I'm better than. How much better am I, really, if I have to share the same man with her?

I appreciate Ray's honesty, I guess. But it does hurt me that he's loose, too. I understand the world is full of double standards. My mother constantly reminds me of that as well. But, even if a man is having sex, he can still have standards. A one-night stand, really? I bet she's pretty. I bet she has long hair and she's shapely. Men are so weak. Some men. I guess I should say some, even though, to be honest, I'd say all men are. Well, not my daddy or Boone. Those would be the only two exceptions that I know of because even Solomon is.

"Tell me what's going through your mind right now and don't censor it," Ray says.

My eyes are back on the ceiling. "I hope you used protection. That woman could have an STD. If she's willing to have sex with you after just meeting you, the odds are pretty high that she's done that many times before."

"I don't have any STDs. I've been tested before. I can show you my paperwork as proof," he says.

I shrug. "No need."

"Why, it doesn't matter? Just because right now we're not having sex, doesn't mean we're never going to."

"I'm not having premarital sex, and I'm serious about that."

"I know you are. I just felt the need to open up and be honest with you about that crazy bitch."

I look at Ray. Now he's forced me to speak up.

"I really hate that word."

"Bitch?"

"Yes, Ray, that word. I hope you don't take offense, but I hate hearing people use profanity. It feels like a violation of my spirit."

He lets out the loudest sigh I've ever heard from him or anyone and rolls his eyes. "A violation of your spirit? You gotta be kiddin' me. Let me get this straight. I can't cuss around you; I can't kiss you; I can't . . . What's a person supposed to do with you?"

Ray's face is tight, and his eyes are glassy.

"Wow, you have a lot of anger inside of you."

"I'm sitting here trying to tell you about a situation that's affecting me because I've never dealt with it before, and you're stuck on words. I cuss from time to time, big fuckin' deal." He leans into my face when he says the word.

"Wow, you really have a lot of anger. I'm sorry if telling you about something I don't like offends you. I just thought—"

"What did you think? That while I'm in the middle of telling you a story that I wanted you to hear, I need to listen to what fuckin' offends you? Baby, I love you, but I hate people with those holier-than-thou attitudes, and I hope you're not one of 'em. Those same folks—who go to church every Sunday, quoting scriptures, not using profanity—are sinning, too. Just in other ways. Cussing? Last I checked it's not against the law, and a four-letter word never killed anybody."

"Calm down, Ray. I didn't mean to get you this upset. You told me that you're glad that I don't curse—"

"I am," he says, interrupting me, "but that's you. I'm not the only one out here cussing, but you want to judge me for it? Here I thought you were more down to earth and real and shit. That's one of the things that attracted me to you."

"Because I don't like something and I tell you means I'm not real?" I shake my head. "I could've kept it in and grinned and pretended it doesn't bother me. That's not being real."

"I'm not good enough." Ray drops his head, closes his eyes for a few seconds, and shakes his head. "Your mother was probably right; maybe I am in over my head and don't know how far."

I lean in and kiss him on his lips without my tongue, and I hold his head in my hands and say, "I love you, Ray. You're not in over your head. You're an intelligent man, and I just feel that you don't have to rely on profanity to express yourself. I know you're at a stage in your life where you want to change, and you're frustrated. It's your life, so obviously use whatever words you want. You're grown, and I'm not trying to be your mother. I'm trying to be your girlfriend."

"I want to make you happy. I want you to be proud to be my woman, not girlfriend. We're not kids, Sarita. We need to get out of our parents' house. We're grown."

"I'm not going to live with you, Ray."

"I know that, baby. I know. I don't want you ashamed of me. Maybe I do cuss more than I should. My whole family does." His facial expression softens. "May I have a few more of those kisses please?" I lean back into his face and kiss him several more times. He wraps his arms around my waist and brings me into him. "I don't want to lose you. I know you're better than me. I just don't want to be constantly reminded."

"No one said I was better."

"Your mother did, and so did that man yesterday. I know you are, but I'll catch up. Just don't stop believing in me, okay? I'm not trying to get you to feel sorry for me, but I do deal with a lot of shit with my mom." He balls his right fist and pounds it in the air when he says, "Sometimes, I want to fuckin' explode. I'm just frustrated with her and you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"Why are you frustrated with me?"

"I mean I respect you, you know, for saving it for marriage, but I want you, Sarita. You think I want to keep masturbating. That's frustrating." His breathing gets heavier the more he speaks. "I want to make you feel good. I need you to make me feel good. Trust me, baby, you're going to love it." He puts his hand under my skirt and starts rubbing my thigh before I quickly move his hand away.

"No, Ray. Stop."

"Come on, baby. I need it for real. We can do it down here."

"In my brother's basement?"

"Yeah, I need it. I haven't had sex since I've been with you. I need it bad."

"No, Ray."

"Then jack me off while I talk dirty to you."

"No."

"Let me talk dirty to you. Let me tell you how much I need your tight pussy. —"

"Shut up!" I shout and stand from the sectional. "You have to leave."

"We're not going through that again. You're not going to break up with me. What for this time? Wanting you? We're twenty-four. Twenty-four." He stands and adjusts his pants. "You got me all excited and shit. I don't know how much longer I can take this. But if I were to go out and find me another one-night stand, then I'm a cheater, right?"

I shrug. "Do what you have to do."

"You don't mean that. You don't want another woman to have your stuff. This is your stuff."

"I'm not looking at you, so I don't know what you're doing, but I hope you don't have it out."

"It's not out of my pants, but trust me, it's out."

"Ray, it's time for you to go."

"I just got here an hour ago."

"And I have to go to work. I'm usually in bed at this time."

"I'll leave, but you're going to be mine one day. One day real soon. And you won't be able to tell me no then."

"If you're my husband, I won't ever tell you no. I've already told you that."

"Just always remember you said that because sex is big with me. I don't ever want my wife to deny me. I'm not Boone."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that I'm not going to lie in bed with my wife and want to have sex and accept a no the way he does."

"I don't like the way that sounds."

"All I'm saying is the woman I marry has to understand who she's marrying. I'm a very sexual man. It means a lot. I can keep holding out, waiting for you, but once we say "I do," you have to keep saying that or just don't marry me. Is that going to be a problem?"

"How many times have we talked about this before? I've always told you, I won't deny you."

"I'm not Boone."

"How do you know what goes on in their bedroom?"

"Come on. How do you think? I'm sure Sharon tells you things, too. She probably has another man. Does she?" He sits back down on the sectional, but I remain standing.

It's time for Ray to leave. It's late. I have to work in the morning. I refuse to let love blind me the way it did my cousin Vicki, who was a dentist at my parents' practice. She married a man who couldn't keep a steady job, already had three kids, and had served time in prison for assaulting a police officer. He beat my cousin, took everything she had, and left her broke and with nothing. She couldn't even find the strength to work again, and her patients loved her.

She's seventeen years older than me, so I wasn't around her on a personal level, just during family functions. But she used to be such a dynamic woman. Now she lives with her mother and no one even mentions her. She never comes to any of the family functions. I haven't seen her in ten years. I won't let a man do me that way.

"No. No way. She wouldn't do that," I say, referring to Sharon cheating on Boone.

"Pssh. You don't know your girl. Her reputation precedes your friendship."

"She's not like that anymore. She told me how she used to be in high school. People can change. Please don't talk about my friends. They're my best friends, and I love them and they love each other."

"Boone loves Sharon. That's obvious. I want my wife to be head over heels in love with me. Are you my wife?"

I take a deep sigh and shrug. I never should've thought about Vicki. "I don't know. Only time will tell."
RAY

_________

Going to Somerset Mall with Sarita allows me to learn about myself and a few things about Sarita. I realize that I can be out without looking at other women. I never thought that was possible. I also used to think there wasn't any harm in looking. But since it bothers Sarita as much as it does, there's some harm in it. Surprisingly, it's not that difficult to do. I just have to stay focused on Sarita and no one else and stop becoming distracted by my surroundings.

What I learned about Sarita. Well, for one thing, she loves Bonwit Teller. It's her favorite department store. I assumed the Woodward Shop in Hudson's would be tied with Saks. And, she loves crepes, which is why we're having lunch at the Magic Pan.

"I've never been here before," I say as we wait for our order. "I've never even had a crepe."

"Really? I love crepes. I could eat one every day."

"But they don't look filling. How many calories are in them? If you're going to gain weight, baby, you need calories."

"Ray, please stop. I'm going to gain weight. Are you not attracted to me the way I am?"

"Yes, baby, of course I am. I just want you to gain a little weight. That's all." I glance over at her. She looks sad, and I want to cheer her up. "We're going to Charles W. Warren after this to look at engagement rings."

"Just to look, right?"

"Yep, so I can get an idea of what you like because it will take me a while to save up. But I've been doing pretty good on my commission lately."

"You know, Ray, if you want to go to college, I can pay for it."

"No, absolutely not. I'm going to college, but I'm not taking your money to do it. That's your money that you worked hard to earn, and I don't want any of it. I'm not taking from you. That's what your parents expect of me. I'll provide for you, you watch."

Sarita smiles across the table at me and reaches for my hand.

After we eat our lunch, we go to the jewelry store in the mall, and she tries on rings. There's a woman in there who's causing me to sweat. I saw her when we walked in, and I'm doing my best not to look at her, but I can see her curves out of the corner of my eye, and I can tell she's checking me out even though she's with her man. It bothers me that men don't check out Sarita. That's an ego thing. Most men want to have a woman on their arm who other men want. I know the doctor wants her, but he looks white and probably acts white, too, and white men love thin women. But most black men like women to have meat on their bones. I'm a breast, thigh, hips, and butt man. Paw Paw did tell me to marry a thin woman because, after I put a couple babies in her, she'll have those curves while the curvy women will be struggling with losing the weight. I tell myself to focus on Sarita and what we're doing. I steer her toward the largest diamonds. I want to save up and get her the best. But she pulls me aside and says, "I don't want anything too big."

"Are you sure about that?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm referring to a diamond, Ray. I don't want a ring that's too big."

"But I want to get you the best, baby."

"I don't need all that."

I lead her back to the glass case and point to the ring with the smallest diamond. "So if I bought you something like that, you wouldn't care?"

"Not at all. That's pretty. That's my style."

The last thing I learned about Sarita while we're at the mall is that she's not high maintenance, which—judging from her upbringing—is surprising. I grin. I can buy something like that on payday.

___

Boone and I walk out of a barber shop on Wyoming near Curtis together. I got a simple line up haircut, and Boone got his beard trimmed and his Afro cut down so that his curls are finally noticeable.

"Hey, man, are you in a rush to get home?" I ask Boone. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Where you wanna go?" Boone asks.

"Have you been to Steve's Soul Food yet? It's just opened on Grand River?"

"Yeah, I been there. The portions are pretty decent."

I figured he had because wherever there's food, there's Boone.

"Alright, man, follow me over there, so we can talk," I say. He agrees. As I'm driving, I'm thinking about Sarita. Last night, on Friday, I drove her across the Ambassador Bridge to Windsor to a motel on Huron Church Road, where I'd reserved a room earlier that day. She wouldn't even get out of the car. She wasn't mad at me. Well, she may have been, a little. She didn't want to go inside. I've rented hotel rooms on occasion. Sometimes just to chill on my own and get away from Miss King. Usually, though, I'd bring a woman who didn't have her own place, but I never brought any of them to Canada. I thought I was doing something special for my baby.

"I'm not going to have sex with you before we get married," Sarita said with emphasis from the passenger seat. This was after I'd showed her the room key and whispered in her ear, "Let me make love to you."

"Can we just go in there and play a little? We don't have to take off our underwear. Just do a little grinding, please? I need something, baby. I'm not having sex with anybody."

"Well, I would hope you're not, since we're in a relationship now. I stopped seeing a great man for you."

"So, you think the man who kicked my ass is a great man?"

"I'm not saying that—"

"We're in a relationship, but we don't have sex. I just want a little sample."

She shrugged like it was nothing and shook her head. "Neither of us needs any temptation. You may get carried away and come out of that underwear. I'm not losing my virginity in some seedy motel in Windsor. You need to take me back over that bridge and to my car so that I can go home. Maybe you need to come back here and pleasure yourself and afterward ask yourself if you're ready to commit to someone like me because I'm saving myself for my husband. That's why we had to stop kissing because you get too carried away."

"But I am your husband."

"Only time will tell."

As Boone and I are carrying our trays of soul food to one of just a few empty tables, I say, "Sarita's the one, man. I'm going to ask her to marry me this weekend."

"But it hasn't even been a year. It hasn't even been six months," Boone says.

"Five months if you count from when we first met. It doesn't matter. I'm in love with her."

Boone's focuses on his food: ribs, yams, collard greens, and cornbread. He asks questions between bites. "I thought you wanted to figure some things out first. I thought you said you want to go to college. I'm sure Sarita will wait. What's the rush?"

"No rush. But didn't you get married at eighteen? And now you're asking me what's the rush?"

"At eighteen, I had my job at Ford and made decent money. Does this have anything to do with that suit she bought you for your birthday?"

"Why would her buying me a suit for my birthday make me want to marry her?"

"Because those suits are expensive, and I don't know if you're thinking—"

"Thinking what? That she's going to take care of me. No, I'm not thinking that."

"I'm not saying that. I'm sure you do love her."

"I do," I say.

"Trust me, I believe you because I already told you before I even introduced you to her that she's the type of woman you take home to your mother, which is basically saying the kind you marry. Hell, if I wasn't married to Sharon, and I met Sarita, I'd probably be doing the same thing."

"Huh? What exactly does that mean? Because I don't like how that sounds."

"Obviously I'm married and love my wife. I'm just saying if I wasn't married and met Sarita, I'd probably be looking at her as wife material, too. I'm letting you know Sarita is a real good woman."

"You're not telling me anything I don't already know. So what's the problem?"

"But I know you. I know you're not happy with yourself and your job. Marriage is tough. It doesn't survive on just love. Both of you are my friends, and I don't want to see either one of you hurt. If you're going to be with each other for the rest of your lives, what's a few more years, just until you align yourself better? Is she giving you an ultimatum or something?"

"No. She said she'll wait, but I just have a feeling I'll look around, and she'll be with that doctor. I can't lose her."

"And you think you can be with just one woman for the rest of your life? Because you've always said you weren't the marrying type and couldn't commit yourself like that. Are you sure that you can?"

"Yes. I never thought I could because of the women I dealt with before. I didn't want to be with them for the rest of my life. Hell, I barely wanted to be with them while I was dealing with them."

"But are you actually ready? Because if you're not ready, you'll lose her anyway."

"I'm ready," I say, firmly.

"Are you ready to get married or are you just ready to have sex with her?"

"Both. I'm definitely ready to have sex with Sarita. I haven't had sex with anyone since I met her because I don't want to cheat on her. I love her. God placed her in my life for a reason. I believe that. And that reason is that she's my wife. Sarita is so sweet. I have enough going wrong in my life; she's the only right."

"Don't marry her just because you're ready to have sex with her."

"That wouldn't be the only reason, but it is the only way she'll have sex, and she told me that once we're married, we can have sex as much as I want. Every day if I want, and I want that."

"Yeah, well, just know there is such a thing as a honeymoon stage. She's saying that now, but will she be saying that a year or two or six years from now?" What does Boone know about a honeymoon stage? Sharon was hundreds of miles away from him for the first five years of their marriage. She just got back here a year ago. And based on things he's admitted to me in the past, they've never had a honeymoon stage.

"Have you met her parents yet?"

"Yep."

"And how did that go? Not good, I bet."

"That's right, not good. They don't give their blessing, but so." I shrug and toss my anger aside. I haven't been back to her house since, and that's perfectly fine with me. "Sarita's an adult, and it's time for them to let her go, so she can start her own life. Her mother controls her."

"She just wants the best for her. That's all any good parent wants."

"I already bought the ring. I'm going to ask her to marry me." I pull out a ring box from my suit pocket and slide it over to Boone.

He opens it and starts to chuckle. "Where's the real one?"

"Real one? There's only one, and that's it."

"You can't give Sarita something like this. She'll laugh in your face, trust me. When I gave Sharon her first ring, that's what she did to me. Is that even a half of a karat?"

"It's a third."

"A third of a karat? Have you seen her mother's ring?"

"You can't miss that thing. But I'm sure that wasn't her first ring."

"Is that the ring you want her walking into boardrooms sporting?" Boone shakes his head. "Nah, man."

"She's not marrying a ring; she's marrying me."

"When I gave Sharon her ring, she said she wouldn't accept my proposal until I got her a better one. I had to get a loan from my dad just to buy one."

"That's Sharon. I know Sharon and Sarita are best friends, but they're nothing alike. Sarita's going to love this ring because she loves me. She's not a flashy person, and besides, she has thin fingers. A big rock wouldn't even look right on her hand."

"That's the excuse you're going to use, instead of the truth, that you can't afford a bigger one? I'll loan you the money, man, no problem, and you can take your time paying me back."

"I don't need a loan," I say as I shake my head. "Why would I want to buy Sarita an engagement ring with borrowed money anyway? She's gonna love this ring. I know her."

"You may know her, but you don't know her better than I do. She may not be flashy, but everything she has is quality."

"And that ring is quality. I went to Simmons and Clark."

"Look, I'm not trying to make you feel bad, man. I just don't think you're ready. This ring is more proof of that. I do believe that you love her, especially if you're not having sex with her or anyone else. I definitely believe that. I just don't want you to make a mistake by rushing into marriage."

"I've never been so sure of anything. I don't need advice. I'm simply advising you of my plans."

___

My plan was to take Sarita to Cliff Bell's downtown on Park Avenue, an intimate jazz club with cozy booths that Sarita and I could snuggle up in. I was there last year to celebrate Paw Paw's seventy-fifth birthday, so I thought it would also be a special place to propose. I figured we could have dinner there, listen to live jazz, and then I could pop the question. But we're down here and the building is dark and the place is permanently closed. Now what? I'm wearing my bespoke suit that Sarita bought me for my birthday. It's a light gray pinstripe three-piece. My waves are looking good. I made sure to stay in the wave cap all night Friday and most of today to ensure they'd be right.

Sarita is gorgeous in a black and silver Geoffrey Beene dress that I bought her from Bonwit Teller that day we went to Somerset and looked at rings. That's when I discovered that she's a size four. I don't know a lot about women's dress sizes, but I do know that my mom wears a size eight, so if she's half my mom's size, and I don't consider my mom to be fat at all, then I know for a fact that Sarita's too small. She's wearing flats because I don't want her to be taller than me. She would've worn heels if I'd wanted her to. She has on makeup because I asked her to wear some, and her hair is down, and it's grown out a little because I asked her to work on her hair and allow it to grow. Now, it's a little past her shoulders when it used to be almost shoulder length.

I don't have a plan B for this engagement. This won't be romantic, but it will definitely catch her off guard. "Sarita," I say as turn to face her at the entrance to the club.

"Yes, Ray."

"You know I love you, right?"

"Yes."

"And I know that you love me. You tell me and show me that you do. I know we talk about getting married and being together forever. I know you're ready now. I may not have it all together, just yet, but I want you to trust me. I'm going to get myself together and be the best husband you'll ever have." I take the ring box from my pants pocket and get on one knee. "I love you, Sarita. Will you marry me?" I open the ring box.

She covers her mouth with both of her hands, jumps up and down, and screams, "Yes, Ray!"

My heart is beating really fast and my hands are shaking as I remove the ring from the box and slide it on her finger. It's a perfect fit, and it's the only ring she has on either hand. She gazes down at it but doesn't say anything.

"Do you like it, baby? I know the diamond is small, but I'll upgrade it as soon as I can. I just can't wait any longer; I want to marry you."

"It's perfect, Ray. It's beautiful. I'd never wear a big diamond; it's just not me. This is me. You don't ever have to upgrade it. I'll wear it forever. I love it. It's perfect. You're perfect, Ray. I love my ring, and I love you."

"We're going to have a great life, Sarita. I'll make sure of it."

We hug, and she gives me a real kiss in the entranceway. We're officially engaged.

___

It's my turn to introduce Sarita to my mother. I pick Sarita up from her parents' home. I don't go in or even go to their front door because Sarita asked me not to, and I don't want to anyway. It's a shame her parents don't like me. That would have been ideal, but it doesn't change anything, and neither will Miss King's opinion.

When we get to my mom's house, I say, "Listen, Sarita, I'm doing this for you because you introduced me to your parents when I asked. But if it were up to me, I wouldn't introduce you to Miss King. I guess I'm going to have to echo some of your same words. No matter what Miss King says, please don't stop loving me. Whatever she says is not a reflection of me. Do you have my back?"

"Always."

I lean over the seat and kiss her and then take a deep breath.

"Are you ready?" I ask.

"Yes," Sarita says with a big smile.

She really wants to meet my mother, and I really want to make her happy, and that's the only reason she's meeting her.

When we walk into the hallway that leads to the flat, I spot Reid on those steps.

"Hey, Reid. Look who I have with me," I say.

"Hi, Reid," Sarita says with a big smile. "We meet again."

Reid doesn't smile. He seems down. "Are you okay?" I ask.

"Yeah, just thinking about life."

"Life? What about life?"

"School. What I'm gonna be when I grow up. I'm ready to be grown."

"You're seven. Enjoy being a kid."

"I'll try, Mr. Saint."

"Are you sure you're okay? If anyone has hurt you or anything, you can always talk to me."

"I know. I'm okay."

"Guess what?" He looks up at me, and I say, "Sarita and I are getting married. Would you like to be our ring bearer?"

He nods. "It would be my honor."

"Ahh, Reid, you're so sweet. Give me a hug before we go inside," Sarita says, stooping down to hug him.

"Even though her name isn't Princess, you still better treat her like one," Reid says through gritted teeth. "Because she is one."

"Reid, you're going to make me cry," Sarita says.

I feel better when I see Reid smile. "I will definitely treat her like a princess." I take a deep breath. "Now, it's time for me to introduce her to Miss King."

"You've never met Miss King?" Reid asks, his eyes doubling in size.

"This will be my first time."

"She's real pretty, but sometimes she scares people. She doesn't scare me. She's real nice to me. I love her. Try smiling, because you have a pretty smile. That might help."

"Thank you, Reid, for the suggestion," Sarita says.

"Come on, baby," I say, taking Sarita's hand and leading her to the door. "I know it's not a fancy abode, but it's where I live."

She nods. "I hope she likes me." I can tell she's getting nervous as I turn the lock and we enter.

"She will. What's not to love about you?" I ask, echoing her mother's words. I hold Sarita's hand and stand calmly in the living room. "Miss King, I have someone I'd like you to meet."

"Don't you hear this fish sizzlin'? You gonna have to wait," my mom yells from the kitchen.

"Fish on a Saturday. Since when?" I ask.

"Since I ain't have none on Friday to cook."

"You okay?" I ask Sarita as I squeeze her hand that I'm holding. She nods, but she's even more nervous. She won't even look at me.

"Who you got in here for me to meet?" My mom says as she strolls into the living room where Sarita and I are still standing. "Who's she?" My mom doesn't have a pleasant expression on her face when she looks Sarita up and down.

"Miss King, this is your future daughter-in-law."

"My future what?"

"Daughter-in-law."

"Boy, please, you not gettin' married."

"Show Miss King your ring, Sarita."

Sarita proudly displays her engagement ring.

"Hell, I don't even wear glasses, and I need a pair to see that. Where's the diamond in the ring?" Miss King asks as she holds Sarita's hand up to her eyes. "Leave it to my son to find a diamond ring without one."

"I asked for a small stone," Sarita says.

"Well, if you asked for a small stone, then you the fool. What woman is gonna ask for a small stone? Girl, you that desperate to have a man? You got to be if you marryin' my son. Where y'all gonna live? Not in here with me. And the flat I had available I just rented, so if you was thinkin' about that Ray, that's not an option."

"We've been looking at apartments. We're narrowing it down," I say.

"And what about you?" My mom asks me.

"What about me?"

"It ain't good to go from your momma's home straight into a marriage, fool."

"I won't be. I have an apartment. I'm moving to Franklin Park Towers next weekend."

"Oh, really? You can afford that?"

"Yes, Miss King, I can. It's a one bedroom in Southfield."

"Southfield? I guess you think you movin' on up. And you can afford that? I hope you ain't usin' none of her money because I done taught you better than that."

"Yes, Miss King, I can afford that on my own."

"What you see in my son that make you think he'll be a good husband, outside of sex?"

"Oh, no, we haven't had sex, not before marriage."

"Ohhhhh, okay, I got it. I understand now," my mom says, nodding and grinning as she looks over at me. I'm not sure what she knows, but I know she'll tell me. "I have to watch my fish, and I need to talk to you for a minute," my mom says to me. She turns to Sarita and says, "Honey, what is your name again?"

"Sarita."

"You go on ahead and make yourself comfortable on that sofa, and we'll be right back."

I follow my mom into the kitchen, through the swinging door that closes behind us. She turns her fish over and turns down the fire and then walks out into the hallway from the kitchen and closes the door behind us. "What in the hell are you doin'?"

"Getting married."

"To that?"

"That? Her name is Sarita."

Mom shakes her head and lets out one heavy sigh. "How long before you start cheatin' on that? Because she's not your type, and you know it. She's not even close to your type. That's not gonna work, Ray."

"So what she's not my type? Maybe my type has changed. I love her."

"Your type ain't changed unless you done gone blind."

"Miss King, I'm not going to let you talk about my future wife. She's not an ugly woman."

"Ain't nobody say she was, but she do need to put some meat on them bones. I do know that. Some of them big fat mens might like a bone like that, but you don't. All the womens I've ever seen you with were very shapely, includin' that crazy one that was stalkin' you. Don't get married just to cheat. I'm tellin' you that right now."

"I love her. I won't cheat."

"I'm goin' to ask her the same question I'm about to ask you. What do you love about her? The fact she's holdin' out until marriage. Is she a virgin?"

"Yes."

"And that's what you love about her. You not slick. You was tryin' to get you a virgin, and when she wouldn't say yes to your smooth talk, you bought her a cheap-ass ring with a diamond so small if it fell off you wouldn't even know the difference. What's next? Takin' her down to the justice of the peace for a quick I do and then bust yourself all up in that tight stuff, and then leave her for dead. That's what you plan on doin', don't you?"

"Leave her for dead? Miss King what does that mean. Rough sex? I won't be rough with her. I know she's never been with a man—"

"I'm not talkin' about rough sex, fool. Your mind only go one way. I'm talkin' about you and your cheatin' ways that you inherited from your daddy. I can tell the girl loves you just by the way she looks at you. That's what I mean when I say leave her for dead. The way your daddy left me."

I still don't have a clue what she means by leave her for dead. But I say, "No, I won't do that."

"You mens. You nasty mens. Been with all them different womens and you think you deserve a virgin. Get yourself checked out before you go up in that girl. Make sure you ain't got nothin' you gonna leave behind."

"I didn't go in those women raw. I always used a condom." Well, usually. There have been a few rare occasions that I slipped up—Gina being one and Cynthia Meyers, unfortunately, being another. But I know that I'm clean after I had that scare with Cynthia. I haven't had sex with anyone since Cynthia.

"Raw? Is that any way to talk to me? Do you really love her?"

"Yes, Miss King, I really love her."

"And are you gonna keep on lovin' her after you got what you really want and the thrill is gone? I know you mens. I know ya."

"The thrill will never be gone."

"You not ready for marriage, Ray, so I suggest you have a long engagement. Long like a prison sentence, five-to-ten, and use that time to get yourself in order."

"I'm getting myself together. I threw my black book away."

"What you want? A cookie? The damn black book probably wasn't worth shit no way, you done burned so many bridges with all them womens you done wrong." My mom walks back into the kitchen to check the fish. She starts lining a plate with paper towel and lays the fish on it.

"I love her. I really do."

"How you meet her?"

"Through Sharon and Boone. She's Sharon's best friend. They were roommates in college."

"Oh, she went to college?" Mom sets the plate down on the kitchen table.

"Yes, she went to Georgetown and graduated."

"Have you met her parents?"

"Yeah," I say, dragging my voice. "They live in Palmer Woods."

"Palmer Woods, really?"

The swinging door to the kitchen is closed, and we're talking low, but I still worry that Sarita can hear us. I hope not.

"They're both dentists. Well, her father is a periodontist."

"And, how that meetin' go?"

"It could've gone better."

"I bet it could've gone better," my mom says with a cruel snicker. "Are y'all staying for dinner?"

"No, we're apartment hunting, and then we'll go out to dinner."

Mom sticks a spatula in my face and whispers firmly, "If you gonna do it, you betta do right. Don't mess up. 'Cause if you do, I'm a be the first one to tell you I told you so. And I don't think you should do it. Not with the way you are. Like your daddy. Just like him. She's too skinny for you. You ain't gonna be satisfied with a stick like her. No meat. All bone. That ain't you."

"Miss King, you really don't know me."

"I know you. I had you, and I know who you just like."

"Well, people can change."

"They can. But have you?"
RAY

_________

"Honey, you don't have any furniture," Sarita says as she stands in the middle of the living room of my one-bedroom apartment.

"I have a bed, dresser, and a nightstand. That's all I need for now. And pretty soon I'll have you, and then I'll really be straight." I walk up to her and give her a hug.

"Is that how you view me? As furniture? I'm a loveseat?"

"No, baby." I smile. "You're my love." I peck her on the lips. "We still can't tongue kiss?"

"Not yet."

"Do you remember our first kiss at Whitney's concert? How good that was?"

"I was caught up in the moment," she says.

"Let's get caught back up."

"No," she says and wiggles away from me.

I follow her to my bedroom where she starts hanging up my suits that are laying on the bed. "Can you see yourself living here?"

"No." She shakes her head and walks into the closet with my favorite navy suit on a hanger in her hand.

"No? Really? Why not?"

"It's nice for you. I love it for you."

"But for us?"

She shakes her head slowly. "It doesn't have a balcony, and not enough closet space and the sink faces a wall, not a window. I want us to have our own private entrance, and I don't like elevators or long hallways—"

"Okay, stop. Is there anything you do like about my place?"

"It's very nice for you. It has an exercise facility."

"That's in the clubhouse. I'm talking about my actual apartment. Do you like anything about it?"

"Yes. It's a perfect bachelor pad," she says and smiles.

"I'm not going to be a bachelor for long. I don't want to wait a year to marry you. I can't wait that long."

"I want a wedding, and it takes time to plan one."

"Who's going to pay for it? Your parents?" I ask, sarcastically.

"I don't know. My daddy probably would. Maybe."

"No, he wouldn't. Your mom would shut that down. She probably runs things."

Sarita laughs. "She tries to run her children's lives, but she can't run my daddy and never tried to. My mother treats my daddy like a king. They have a great marriage."

It's too bad her mom doesn't like me because there are things about her mom that I like. She raised Sarita to remain pure before marriage and stressed the importance of education. And now I learn that she treats her husband like a king, which is why Sarita told me she was going to treat me like one when we get married.

"I can't wait to get treated like a king. Do you remember that you already said you'd treat me like one?" I follow Sarita from the bed to the closet as she continues to put away my suits.

"Yes, once we get married."

"I'm ready to get married right now. Let's just go down to the county clerk, apply for our marriage license, go to the justice of the peace, and say our I dos and be done with it. Isn't it about us starting our lives together?"

"I've always wanted a church wedding. It's about us being together and capturing special moments that we can share with our children. I don't want our daughters to think it's okay for them to get married by the county clerk."

"It is."

"No. I don't want them to settle. They should be married in a Catholic church. Our children are going to be Catholic. And I'd love to be married in a Catholic church. Can't you get baptized? Otherwise, I'll need to get special permission from the bishop."

"We don't have to get married in a Catholic church."

"I really wish you'd convert and become a Catholic. But I don't want to force you."

"When can we get married? Do we have to wait until the summer?" I ask as we go back and forth between the bed and the closet as she hangs up more of my suits.

"No, that's not enough time."

"It's plenty of time."

"I'm getting my dress made. I already have the seamstress. She made my sister's wedding dress. She's in high demand. It could take a year for her to finish my dress."

"A year just to get a dress made?"

"At least a year. It could be longer. I'll have to go to several fittings. We can't get married in the summer anyway because I want to get married on November 19."

"Why?"

"Because that date has been coming up in a recurring dream of mine for a while now. It means something. And that's what I want."

"I just want you to know that I can't wait until you're my wife." I move in closer to her, put my arms around her waist, and pull her toward me.

"I can't wait either." She blushes and looks at the carpet.

I place my hand on her chin and raise her head. "I'm going to teach you everything you need to know about pleasing me. You're smart. I'm sure you'll be a fast learner."

"I'm sure I will be."

"We probably will need a new bed, not that it'll be the only place we're making love, but when we do it in the bed, we'll need a lot of space because I'm sure it'll get kinda wild. It's been a long time. I'm starting to feel like a virgin."

"Really?" she says and sounds skeptical.

"Yep. I'm still faithful. Are you looking forward to our first time as much as I am?"

"Honey, you're going to start talking yourself up."

"I'm already up. I pretty much stay ready." I pin her against the closet wall. "Do you feel that?"

"Yes," she says, with a little crack in her voice.

"How does it feel? Good?"

"Good. Yes. But please stop."

"If it feels good, why do I have to stop? We're grown." I lick her neck and nibble her earlobe. She starts to giggle. "You're ticklish. I didn't know that." I keep nibbling her earlobe, and she giggles louder. I grind my lower body against hers.

"Back off, please," she says, sternly.

"You can't tell your fiancé to back off. I want to play tonight. Please. You can keep your panties on—"

"No!"

"Come on, baby. I'll be good. I promise. I'm not trying to trick you. You gotta give me something."

"No."

I take a deep sigh. "This is really frustrating. What am I supposed to do? Masturbating gets old."

"There's plenty of loose women out there," she says, mumbling.

I heard her, but I'm not sure what she meant by that. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing. But there are."

"You want me to cheat?"

"No. I don't want you to cheat. You better not cheat on me."

"But that's what you said."

"No, I didn't."

"Sarita, you did. Is that what you want me to do? Because I don't want to cheat on you."

"I don't want you to cheat.

"Man, this place is like a maze," Boone says as he burst into the bedroom, carrying a big box of my things that he got from his truck. The last of my stuff. "What's in this box? It's heavy as hell." He stops in his tracks when he sees us wedged in a corner in the closet. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt." He looks startled. Like he's surprised that I'm kissing my woman who will soon be my wife. It doesn't happen often, but every now and then, she will give in, a little. "How many different buildings are there, and how many people live in here?" he asks.

"A lot."

"Sharon and I are starving. What happened to Buddy's pizza and playing Spades?"

"Go get the pizza," Sarita says to me as she wiggles free and joins Sharon in the living room.

I hear Sharon say, "You have to buy Ray some furniture. Where are we going to play cards? On the floor? It took us longer to get out here from his mom's house than it did to move his stuff in. But I'm not complaining because moving is a hassle."

I walk into the living room to fuss at Sharon in a playful way, but when I get there, all three of them say, "Surprise."

"We got you a little kitchenette set," Boone says. "Nothing real big, but you needed something in here. We almost got you a dining room set, but this was cheaper. You'll have to stop putting your suits in the layaway and save for your own dining room set."

"You and Sharon did this?"

"Yeah," Boone says. "It's your housewarming gift. No big deal. But if you have a housewarming, remember that we already got you something because we won't be getting you anything else. This is why it took us awhile. We had to go pick it up, and now all four of us need to put it together."

"Wow. You all did this? I don't even know what to say."

"'Thank you' would be cool, man," Boone says with a laugh.

"Yeah, man, of course, thank you. I can't believe you all did this." I've known Sharon since we were freshmen in high school and Boone since we were juniors, and we've never given each other a card on birthdays and holidays. And they went out and bought me a dining room table and chairs? "Did y'all really buy this or did Sarita buy it and tell you all to say that you did." I turn and look at Sarita. "I don't want you to ever lie to me, baby. Did you buy it?"

"I paid half of it, and they paid the other half," she says quietly and then puts her head down and turns one of the flats she's wearing on its side. No wonder she was never put on punishment or given a spanking. I can picture her as that little girl with the long ponytail, melting her dad's heart.

"Why didn't you tell me, baby?"

"I know how you are and what you would've said."

"Don't be the kind of wife who keeps secrets. I'll never keep any from you."

"Will you forgive me?"

"Of course. It was sweet. I'm grateful because I did need it."

"Let's just order Domino's or Pizza Hut," Sharon says.

"No," I say. "I hate those places. I'd rather starve. Boone and I are going to Buddy's for a square pizza."

"We're gonna have to order two," Boone says.

"Why? You want one all for yourself?" Sharon asks.

"It's four of us. One pizza isn't enough for four people, Shay, unless we each only take two slices," Boone says. "I need at least three, and I know Ray does, too." When Boone refers to Sharon as Shay, it's usually because he's irritated with her. Not always, but usually.

"But Ray doesn't need to lose weight. He works out regularly. Something you were supposed to be doing."

"I don't like Bally's. It's a meat market. Is that what you want me around? A bunch of half-naked women all on the prowl for a man?" Boone asks.

"That's what's there?" Sarita asks, looking at me with concern.

"Thanks, Boone. Are you trying to get me in trouble with my woman? I don't know what he's talking about, baby. He just doesn't want to work out."

"Excuses," Sharon says to Boone. "You're not going there for meat. You're going there to work out and lose weight."

"What's in this box?" Sharon asks as she attempts to pick it up. "A dead body? I was going to help you start to unpack it, but you have it sealed up like a fortress."

"Don't worry about it, nosey," I say as I take the box housing my extensive porn collection, walk to my bedroom, and shove it in my closet.

"You ready man?" Boone asks, "Because I am."

"You better not bring back two pizzas. That's all I know," Sharon says.

"Shay, we're bringing back two of 'em," Boone says, sternly.

"And that's why you're three hundred pounds."

"I'm not three hundred pounds."

"Yes, you are."

Boone walks out of my apartment after me and slams the door. Now I can confirm that Shay's getting on his nerves.

___

On the ride to Buddy's, Boone and I start talking about marriage. I want his advice.

"Obviously, you know that Sarita makes a lot more money than I do."

"Yeah, that is obvious."

"How should I handle that?"

"What do you mean?"

"She wants us to go fifty-fifty on things. She wants a better apartment. A balcony and window above the sink and more closet space. I can barely afford where I'm living, but I don't want to go half on things. I want to do for her like you do for Shay. Call me old-fashioned."

"My opinion on that. If a woman wants to help you, take the help. What's wrong with going half? My wife is spoiled and runs the household, and I pretty much do whatever she says to make her happy and keep the peace."

"You're not losing weight. That would keep the peace."

"My burgers help me cope."

"You're not happy? Not Boone."

"I'm not saying that. What I am saying is if you have a woman willing to go half, and she's the one who brought it up, not you. Why not? Why not live in a better apartment? Marriage is hard enough. You're going to want your space sometimes. You're going to want that balcony when those walls start closing in on you. And it will happen. Trust me. And more than you think. Nothing and no one is perfect. That includes marriage. And your wife. And hell, you already know you aren't."

We laugh.

I say, "A better apartment. I guess I can see that. You're right."

"You're going to thank me in six months to a year, maybe sooner."

"The honeymoon is over that quick?"

"You gotta figure the two of you haven't even spent the night together. Sharon and I had sex before marriage, but we never spent the night together because we were in high school. When we finally did, I was shocked that she snores. I'm talking loud. I have to wear ear plugs."

"I never thought about that. If Sarita snores, I don't know, man. How do you deal with that? That's such a turn-off."

"Trust me, even if she doesn't snore, she's going to do something to turn you off. What if she forgets to flush the toilet and you go behind her and see that? Pretty little Sarita. You probably can't even picture her sitting on a toilet. Let alone shitting in one"

"Nope. I can't."

"But we all have to do number two. Sharon farts a lot, especially in bed."

"Damn, man, how do you sleep? Snores and farts?"

"I just got used to it. I'm not perfect either. I fart. I burp. Sharon hates when I burp. But I have control of my burps. When I'm at home after I eat, I burp. I don't do that at the restaurant. I'm just saying there are things that you're going to see her do for the first time that will turn you off."

"We do need a bigger place then. And I'll put a sign up in the bathroom reminding her to flush."

"It'll be other things, too. Trust me. Marriage is for the rest of your life. Are you ready?"

"I'm ready. I love her," I say.

"I'm proud of you, man."

"Of me, really? Why?"

"You have your own place. You're marrying my best friend. I love Sarita. She's happy, which makes Sharon happy, which makes me happy. You have changed."

"I told you the right woman can change a man."

"The fact that you're faithful proves that."

___

I'm coughing on the phone as I'm talking to Sarita. "Baby, I don't' want you to get sick. Don't come over here tonight."

"But I want to take care of you. I made some homemade chicken noodle soup. It's Solomon's recipe. It's really good. It's chicken noodle soup with dumplings."

"It sounds good." I start coughing more. But I don't want to risk you getting what I got, I'm just going to take some cough medicine and go to bed. I'll be knocked out, so if I don't answer the phone, please don't get worried. I'll be sleeping."

"Okay, honey, I love you. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay."

As soon as I hang up the phone, I put a big grin on my face. Sarita's so trusting. We've seen each other every day for the past two weeks that I've been here, and I've been perfectly fine. Even yesterday, when we were together, I was the picture of health. Earlier, when we talked right after we both got home, I started coughing and told her I thought I was coming down with something, and now I sound like I'm on my deathbed. The reason is two-fold. For one, I have a woman coming over. She means nothing. I just need to get all of this built-up sexual energy out of my system so that I can concentrate and not be so irritable. Then, also, Thanksgiving is next week, and I'm not going to her parents' house and have dinner with her parents and her other snobby relatives. I'll politely decline due to my illness. Then I'll make a miraculous recovery soon after.

___

As soon as the woman walks in my apartment, I don't even let her finish taking her coat off before I say, "I need to be honest with you before we do this."

"Okay. What? I hope you don't have an STD."

"Nothing like that. But I hope you're not looking for anything serious. We can have a good time, but that's all because I'm in a serious relationship and very much in love."

"You're in what? Love?"

"That's right."

She chuckles. "I'm not looking for anything serious, but you're not in love because if you were, I wouldn't be here. The woman you're in love with would."

I'm not going to go through Sarita's background with this stranger. I'm not going to tell this woman who has her titties popping out a dress that's so short it could double for a long top that I have a pure woman who's not over here because I told her not to come and my woman does what I tell her. My woman's not loose. She's not out here giving it up to a man who doesn't want anything to do with her after tonight. I just want to bust a nut, and that's it. Then I'll be able to hold out until we get married. At least that's the plan.

"I just wanted to be upfront with you because I've had a stalker before."

"I bet you have because you look good, and it's a good size." She has wasted no time unzipping my pants and pulling it out through the fly in my boxers. She's stroking me nicely. It's feeling good enough that I can come this way and not feel guilty about cheating on Sarita.

"Actually, you can just keep doing this. I know I'll be able to come like this. I can give you some lotion."

"Then what about me?"

"We wouldn't have to have sex."

"But I want to have sex. Why do you think I'm here?"

"For the discount. Isn't that what you told me?"

I met this young woman—not that young (late twenties, early thirties)—in Northland's food court. She approached me because she recognized me from Hudson's. She said I sold her shoes a few times. We flirted, and she laid out a proposition for me. Christmas is coming, and she has kids and wants to use my discount.

In that Sarita dropped a subtle hint to find a loose woman after I told her that it was getting difficult for me to keep waiting, I started thinking. This woman needs a discount. I need to bust a nut. Two people in need. Why not? After this, I'll be straight. I'll go back to being faithful.

"I need the discount and this," she says as she strokes me. "I enjoy sex just as much as a man. And I want it doggy style."

I come out of my clothes in seconds. I put on a condom, and after she tells me there's no need for one, I want to put on two, but I'll make sure that the one I do have on doesn't slip off.

I take her to my new sofa that I gave Sarita permission to buy. It was hard, but Sarita wanted a sofa, and I want her to feel comfortable when she comes over. It was just delivered earlier today. Sarita hasn't even seen it in my apartment yet. It's either do her here or do her on the bed. And she's not putting her body in my bed. She can rest her knees on this cushion and grab hold to the back of the sofa for support while I pump inside of her a few times and come real quick, but that's it. Sarita takes naps in my bed.

While I'm in her, I realize quickly that I'm just going through the motions. I've been with a lot of women. I started having sex at twelve. I've had sex with a lot of women—too many. And I honestly can't recall too many bad experiences. This by far is the worst. Her hand felt better. The best part is hearing her talk dirty and squeezing her big breasts. Those two things are the only things that make me come.

Afterward, I go to the bathroom and immediately take a shower. I have to get that woman's smell off me and just her spirit, in general. I should've just told her to leave right after, but that would be a little rude. I'll kick her out after I feel clean again.

She knocks on the door while I'm drying off and says, "I hope you don't mind I ordered us a pizza. It should be here in about twenty minutes."

Did this woman just say she ordered a pizza? It ain't that kind of party.

Not even five minutes later there's a knock on the door. And I hear Sarita. She's at my door. I'm busted. It's over. I'm losing my woman—the love of my life—a pure woman who's never let a man inside of her to a woman with a hollow pussy. This can't be happening. This is a nightmare. "It's over," I say, repeatedly.

I may as well go out and face the music. I'm not going to disrespect her to the point that I'll walk out with a towel wrapped around my waist. That would really rub it in her face what I've been doing. But I left my clothes on the living room floor. What if she sees them? All I can do is shake my head.

I take a deep breath and open the door. "Where's Sarita?" I ask.

"Sarita? Who's that?"

"Who was at the door?"

"I have no idea. Some female. But she said she was at the wrong apartment."

"You have to go. Now."

"Go? Why? My pizza hasn't even gotten here yet."

"You have to go right now."

"I want my pizza!"

"Do you want your discount?"

"Yeah, I have to have that."

"Okay, so you have to leave."

"It's like that, really. I guess I should've listened to you and just used my hand and not given up the goodies."

Goodies? I have to really hold back and not laugh in her face.

Not long after she leaves, Sarita calls.

"Baby, where are you?" I ask.

"At a payphone."

"A payphone? Where?"

"Down the street from your apartment."

"Baby, it's late. What are you doing out?"

"I was worried about you, and I brought you some soup. But I think I came to the wrong apartment unless you have a woman in yours. Do you?"

"No, you definitely went to the wrong apartment. You're always getting mixed up in this complex. That's because it's dark. It's past ten. You know you don't go out this late. And why are you standing at some pay phone? That's dangerous."

"May I please come back to give you your soup? And then I'll leave."

"Yeah, sure, just make sure you come to the right apartment this time."

"I'll be there soon."

"Okay."

Before I get dressed, I move the sofa to the opposite wall because if she was standing at the door and the sofa was on that wall, she would've seen it. When she comes back and sees the sofa, she really will think she was at the wrong apartment.

As I'm getting dressed, I swear off cheating. It's not worth the risk of losing a good woman like Sarita—a woman who's so concerned about me that she stays up past her bedtime to bring me soup.

A few minutes after I get dressed, there's a knock on the door. I open it and see Sarita.

"The sofa came," she says with a smile. She needed to see that sofa to believe my lie. I'm so glad that it did come.

"Yeah. I wanted to surprise you."

She walks further into my apartment, through the living room into the kitchen and sets the large container of soup down.

"Do you want some soup right now?" she asks.

"Yeah, that would be nice."

I hear a knock on the door, and I'm afraid to answer it, but then I remember the pizza.

"Who's that?"

"I ordered a pizza." I grab a ten dollar bill from my wallet and rush to the door.

"Kimber—" I wave my hand in the air as the delivery man starts to say the woman's name. "Here, keep the change."

"Actually, with the delivery charge, you owe me a dollar."

"Wait right here and don't say shit." I grab my wallet, take a five dollar bill from it, and rush back to the front door. "Here. Now, you can keep the change." He hands me the pizza box with the receipt stapled to it with the woman's name on it. "The devil is a lie," I say as I snatch the receipt off the box and shove it in the man's shirt pocket.

When I walk back inside with the Domino's box, Sarita's standing in the living room staring at the floor.

"Did you move the sofa?" she asks.

I look down and see the indentions in the carpet from the legs of the sofa.

"Two guys moved that sofa in here, and at first they put it right here, but I liked it on that wall better."

"It doesn't look right on that wall. That wall isn't meant to have a sofa on it."

"No?"

"No. This is the living room area. That's not part of the living room area. That's part of the dining room area."

"Really?"

She points toward the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. "That's why there's a chandelier up there."

"You're right. I haven't been feeling good. I guess I wasn't thinking. Next time Boone is over, we'll move it."

She walks to the sofa, starts to pull one end, and drags the sofa back to the spot it was in.

I knew the sofa was light, but I didn't know she'd try it.

"Get your rest, honey. Your cold is taking your strength. And since when did you start eating Domino's?"

"Buddy's doesn't deliver, and I wasn't up to driving there."

She nods her head slowly. "Well, now you have some soup."

"May I have a hug before you go?" I ask.

"I don't want to get whatever it is you had—have, I mean."

"You're right. Call me as soon as you get in to let me know you made it home safely, okay?"

She nods but doesn't say anything. I can tell she's thinking about what has transpired over the last thirty minutes. I see doubt in her eyes.

"Let me get my coat, so I can walk you to your car."

"No, you're not feeling well, and I lucked up and got a parking space close to the building just like before.

She walks toward the door, and I follow her.

"I love you," I say.

"I can tell," she says.

"What do you mean?"

"I can tell that you love me."

"Why wouldn't you just say, 'I love you, too,' the way you normally do?"

"I hope you feel better soon, and I love you."

When Sarita leaves, I stand underneath the chandelier, look up at it, and say, "That's it. I'm done with cheating. Never again. It's not worth it. I didn't even enjoy myself. Luckily, Sarita fell for my lies, but I'm still left with guilt. Nope. No more women. I'm about to become Sarita's husband, and I'm thankful for that. She's all I'll ever need."

November 19, 1987

_______________________________
SARITA

_________

Today is the big day. Our wedding. My wedding dress is made from charmeuse silk, and the upper portion has rhinestones and Swarovski crystal sequins. There's draping at the bodice and skirt that creates a beautiful optical illusion such that I appear to have hips. Ray's going to love that, as short lived as it'll be. The train isn't exceptionally long, and my veil is fingertip length. I hired a photographer and a videographer. I want tons of photos commemorating this day and a video that I'm sure our children will appreciate, seeing us young and in love. It's also something I'll cherish.

Sharon helped me plan the wedding and found the church, which wasn't difficult. It's the Baptist church that's across the street from her parents' home in Indian Village. Our reception and honeymoon will both be at the Hotel Pontchartrain. We're putting off going away for our honeymoon until our first anniversary.

I took off quite a bit for the planning and preparation of our wedding, and I can't take off any more time from work and neither can Ray. But I already know I'm going to surprise him with a trip to Hawaii for our first anniversary. I hope he doesn't get upset about me spending my money on something like that.

We both want to go to Hawaii, and he can't afford to pay for it right now, so I'm just going to do it and hope it doesn't lead to our first argument. I can't imagine us ever arguing. We haven't so far. Not really. We have disagreements, but it's never anything major.

As anxious as I am to finally make love to Ray, I'm also very nervous. Honestly, I'm thinking more about our first night together than I am the wedding.

"Are you excited?" Sharon asks. We're inside a small room at the church that I'm using to get dressed.

I nod quickly.

"You don't look excited though. What's wrong?"

"I'm scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Everything. Marriage. Being someone's wife. But especially sex," I whisper.

"Sex? You're going to be a married woman, and you can finally have sex with your husband; I thought you'd be excited about that."

I shake my head quickly, and tears start to flow down my cheeks.

"Oh my goodness." Sharon wraps her arm around my shoulder. "Are you crying about getting married or about having sex for the first time?"

"Sex."

Sharon leaves me for just long enough to grab a box of tissues. "Sarita, what you did, I wish I'd done. To save yourself for your husband is special, and I know for a fact that Ray appreciates it and will be patient with you."

"But will it hurt?"

Sharon laughs. "That all depends on what he's working with and how he works it. Since it's your first time, it may be a little uncomfortable. If it is, just tell him. He knows you're a virgin."

"But what if he doesn't like it?"

Sharon dissolves into laughter. "That's the last thing you need to worry about. I'm pretty sure he'll love it. I'm almost positive that's all he's had on his mind for a while now."

"But I have no experience. I don't want to just lie there like a stiff board."

Sharon shrugs. "What would shock him is if you start carrying on like a porn star. I'm sure he's expecting you to lie there like a stiff board. He knows he'll have to teach you some things. Some of it will just come natural, trust me. Now, if he wants oral sex that will require skill, he'll have to definitely teach you what to do and how he likes it. I'm sure he'll know how to satisfy you orally because he's far from a virgin."

"He doesn't have to do that to me if he doesn't want to. It's not like I'll miss it since I never had it done before."

"Sarita, don't turn it down. Even though I've never cared for oral sex, you might actually enjoy it. But don't worry about your honeymoon. Focus on your wedding and being a beautiful bride and then the reception."

"Thank you for putting all of this together. You and Boone are great friends."

"It was fun. I'm so happy for you," Sharon says. "Are any of Ray's relatives here? I didn't spot Miss King. She's coming, isn't she?"

I shrug and continue to wipe away my tears. "I assumed so. I hope so. Paw Paw and Madam Kris, Paw Paw's second wife, are coming."

There's a knock on the door, and a man and woman enter.

"Sarita, this is my hairdresser, Monica, who I told you all about, and her husband, Scott. Monica's going to be doing your hair, and Scott will do your makeup."

"Hello," I say with a smile and sniffles.

"Are you nervous?" Monica asks.

"A little bit," I say.

"Honey, I saw your husband with his fine self. I wouldn't be nervous if I were you. I'd be thrilled."

"I would be, too," Scott says.

I raise my eyebrows, which Monica notices. "Don't pay any attention to my husband. He finds beauty in men and women."

"Scott, Sarita doesn't like wearing makeup, so don't overdo it," Sharon says.

"I enhance; I never overdo. I will be putting some lashes on her. Will I be doing too much if I do that?" Scott asks as he takes out several sets of lashes and sets them on a small table where he also set his huge makeup case.

"As long as they're the strips and not the individual ones."

"The individual ones last longer," Scott says.

"That's not Sarita. She doesn't want all that," Sharon says.

"That's okay. They're the experts. I'll trust the outcome whatever that may be," I say.

"Thank you," Scott says as he sweeps his hand over the chair he's standing behind. "Please have a seat. After Monica curls your hair, I'll do your makeup."

"You're so pretty," Monica says. "Isn't she Scott?"

"Beautiful with that sexy little body like a model and tall like one, too. You ever model before?"

I shake my head. "Do you think I'm too skinny?" I ask.

"Not at all," Scott says. "Who told you that?"

"I was just wondering."

"Evidently, your husband likes it. You're walking down the aisle, aren't you?" Scott says.

I nod, but deep down I know that Ray still wants me to gain weight, but eating more and exercise won't change my genetics.

"Now is not the time to be insecure about yourself.," Scott says. "This is supposed to be the happiest day of your life. You're about to be that man's wife, and the two of you make a beautiful couple. Gonna have some gorgeous kids. Aren't they, Monica?"

"They sure will. You know who she reminds me of?" Monica says to Scott. "That actress from 21 Jump Street. I can't think of her name. The one with the curly hair."

"Holly Robinson," I say. I can't count the number of times after 21 Jump Street made its debut this past spring that total strangers walked up to me to tell me that. Whenever Ray's with me, he beams with pride.

Monica nods. "Yep, that's the one. Doesn't she? Has hair just like hers, too. I'm gonna give you a similar hairstyle to bring out your natural curls and then tease it up. What do you think about that?"

"Teased?" I ask. I know that's the style, but I've never been into it.

Monica and Scott start to laugh. "Your hair will be going into an updo. It's not about your hair; it's about that beautiful veil you have and your dress. When you change out of your wedding dress, into your other dress, I'll change your look and have it down."

I allow them to transform me. In an hour, I'll be walking down the aisle.

___

My daddy knocks on the door to the room I'm getting dressed in, and I let him in after I'm dressed. He looks concerned. "You can change your mind," he says. "If you have any doubt, it's not too late. I don't want you to feel pressured by the large crowd. This is your life, no one else's. Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

"I've never been as sure about anything as I am about this," I say to my daddy, and I want to believe it, but I have some doubt still. I don't know what it is. Maybe, deep down, I wish he'd found a job. He's frustrated about still working at Hudson's. He really thought he'd be at the post office or somewhere else by now. Anywhere other than Northland Mall. It doesn't bother me. I mean. I do want him to have a better job. I want him to be the best version of himself. It'll just be better for him and us and our kids. He's young. He'll get one.

And then there's the honeymoon. I will miss my virginity. Maybe I kept it like an award. I don't know if I'm ready to give that up. Ray seems so sexual. I just don't know. I'm nervous.

My daddy gives me one of his looks. He can look in my eyes and read my mind. He's always been able to do that.

"Do you mean that or are you just saying that?"

"I am nervous. But I mean it."

"Then I'll support you in this because I love you. You look beautiful."

"Thank you, Daddy. Where's Mother?"

"She wasn't able to make it."

"She's not here?" I ask in a panic. I need my mother. I need to hear her say something even if it's something I don't want to hear. Sometimes her craziness snaps me out of my nervousness. Now, I don't have that. "She's not here?" I ask again, only this time in tears.

Daddy shakes his head. "Baby, you know how your mother is. Now don't go messing up your makeup. I'm here, and so is Solomon and your uncles, aunts, and cousins. Most of your family is here."

"Did Sunniva make it? She told me she was going to try."

"I don't think so."

"I had a feeling she was just telling me that. She's just like mother."

"I'll be your mother and father today. How's that? What would my little lady say?" My daddy says, referring to my mother. " 'Sarita, I can't believe you're going through with this.You're actually going to marry Roy.' "

"It's Ray, mother."

" 'Well, when you marry the right man, I'll use the right name.' "

I start to laugh and smile. I need to hear her voice, even if it is being mocked.

"I wish she had come," I say.

"You know how your mother is. She made it to the front door; she just couldn't step out. She'll be okay. Always know as crazy as your mother can seem at times, she loves her family and wants the best for all of her children."

"I know, Daddy."

"Are you sure that you're ready to do this, honey? You don't have to."

"I love him, and he loves me. I'm happy."

"We want you to be happy. Hopefully your mother will come around, but you have my support. Are you ready?"

I nod.

"Let's go then."

I take my daddy's arm, glide down the church hallway, and stand in front of the closed doors. When I hear "You Are the Sunshine of My Life" begin to play, I know it's time. The door opens, and I start walking down the aisle. When I get close to Ray, he starts to cry. Boone, who is standing beside Ray, helps him compose himself.

"You look so beautiful," Ray says to me as my daddy hands me off to him and we stand in front of the minister. We don't have a flower girl, but Reid is the ring bearer, and he's doing a great job. Sharon is my matron-of-honor, and Faith is my maid-of-honor. Boone's the best man, and one of Ray's other friend's from Cass is a groomsman. We could've had a large bridal party. Ray has a lot of friends, and I have a few coworkers I'm close enough to and a lot of cousins. But I didn't feel like going through all of that. I've heard horror stories about how brides have fallen out with their bridesmaids. I'm not going to fall out with people I have to see Monday through Friday from eight to five.

The minister says, "The bride and groom have chosen to say their own vows, which they will now read."

Ray starts by looking at the index card he's holding. "Sarita, I pledge my love to you. You are my heart, my best friend, my confidant. I don't feel worthy of the unconditional love you provide, but I will continue to work every day to earn your love. I will always be patient with you, always be honest, and will cherish you forever. I will always love you, whether you're sick or in perfect health, for richer or for poorer, for better and for worse, and forsaking all others. With you by my side, nothing will stop us from having a wonderful life together for all the years we're blessed on this earth if you shall have me."

Despite my nervousness, I'm able to look Ray straight in his eyes and from memory say, "I, Sarita Deering, take you, Raymond Saint, to be my husband, the man I promise to always cherish and obey and to love unconditionally for all my life. In good times and bad, in sickness and health. As long as we keep God first in our family, we will remain immensely blessed. I look forward to walking beside you as your wife and best friend."

Then the minister says, "It is at this time that I now pronounce you husband and wife. And what God hath joined together let no man put asunder. You may kiss the bride."

Ray and I kiss so long that the crowd starts clapping and whistling, and we still don't want to stop.

___

Ray and I have our first dance to "You Give Good Love" by Whitney Houston, of course.

"I knew the night of the concert when I was teaching you to slow dance that you were going to be my wife. I knew then," Ray whispers.

"I love you so much, Ray. This is the happiest day of my life."

I have my daddy-daughter dance to "Isn't She Lovely" that Boone is singing, and he sounds almost as good as Stevie Wonder. He's standing with the band that we hired, and one of the band members is playing the harmonica.

Daddy has been practicing the dance with me for the past month. When the song is over, I don't want to leave the dance floor, even though I've never been one to appreciate the spotlight, but Ray wants us to sneak out of the reception and go upstairs to our room because he can't wait any longer. He's ready for our honeymoon to start.

___

I'm standing at the door to our hotel room in front of Ray, whose body surrounds mine, as he's fumbling with the key card. "I've been waiting for this night for a long time," Ray whispers in my ear.

"Here, honey, I'll do it." I take the card from his hand and slide it into the slot. I feel a bit of relief that he's also nervous. I attempt to walk inside, but he stops me.

"No, I need to carry you over the threshold." He scoops me into his arms, brings me inside the room, sets me down gingerly, and closes the door behind him. "Well, here we are as husband and wife about to spend our first night together. We're married now, Sarita, which means no holding back. We can do and say to each other whatever we like. I talk dirty—filthy—and I want you to do the same. Are you going to be able to do that?"

"Filthy, Ray? I don't know. Can we take things slow?"

"Slow? That's what we've been doing. You're scaring me. We've talked about this at length. Don't be frigid. Please."

"Okay, Ray. I won't."

"Good, because that won't work at all. Let's not start our marriage off on the wrong foot."

"Okay. I know. I heard you."

He kisses my lips lightly. "I'm so ready for this."

"May I shower first?" I ask.

"Shower first? Baby, I don't want to wait any longer."

"I want to be fresh."

"You are fresh. No other man has ever been down there. You're very fresh."

"I want to shower. Please." I try to look at him as sweetly as I can. I'll do whatever he tells me because that's the promise I made, and he's my husband. But I hope he won't abuse the power that I'm going to give him in our marriage.

He takes a deep sigh and nods. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes, okay. Can we shower together?"

"No," I say as I shake my head quickly.

"Too soon for that? Maybe tomorrow?"

"Maybe. Can we just do one thing at a time? I know you don't want a frigid woman, but this is my first time. You have to be patient. You promised that as well. You promised to teach me, and all of that."

"Sarita, I'm a very sexual person, baby, and I'm your husband. You do remember when you told me that you wouldn't deny me ever, right?"

I nod. "I'm not denying you."

"I'd really like to take a shower with you."

I consider his request. I am his wife, and I'm supposed to make him happy, but he's critical of my body, and I can't imagine standing in the shower with his eyes running down every inch of me. "Tomorrow. I'm just a little nervous tonight."

"I know it's your first time. And I am going to teach you how to let go and how to please me, and I'm going to please you. Go ahead and shower alone, but only tonight." He kisses me and sucks my bottom lip. "Aside from not showering together, there's nothing else we won't do tonight. Run your pretty hair under the shower and let those curls come out."

I stay in the bathroom a lot longer than I need to. The shower water is still running even though I stepped out twenty minutes ago. I swipe my hand across the foggy mirror. At least, all of this steam is bringing life to my curls. And I'm glowing because I belong to someone, and not just anyone: Ray, the man I love. But I'm scared to do everything—or anything at all, actually.

I hear a knock at the bathroom door, and Ray says, "Are you okay in there? I'm worried about you. How much longer?"

"I'm coming."

"You will be pretty soon."

"But I forgot something."

"What did you forget, baby?"

"My lingerie."

"You don't need any."

"They do have his and her bathrobes, hanging in here. But if we use them, they're seventy-five dollars."

"Each?"

"Yes."

"You don't need that. Just come out as you are."

I study my body—my barely B-cup with medium-size areolas and protruding nipples, my flat stomach, and my innie belly button. My thighs have a slight gap, not much. I turn sideways. My butt isn't big, but it pokes out a little. It's not flat.

I take a deep breath and open the door, and Ray's standing in front of it in his boxers.

Our wedding and reception were beautiful, but this part is awkward. I'm standing in front of the door with my arms to my side. He studies my body but doesn't say anything for a moment.

"I need to get you nice and wet because I got a big one as you can tell." He takes my hand and puts it on his penis. "Just rub it, not fast. But I guess you don't know if I have a big one or not because you've never seen one before, right?"

"Right." I stare at his penis, the second one I've seen in person. Ray's is just a little fatter than Graham's, and it's also a little shorter.

"What do you think about it?"

When I say, "I'm not an expert," his penis becomes even stiffer. "But it's pretty."

"Pretty?" Ray grins and starts to kiss me. As he's kissing me, he walks me toward the bed. "Tell me again."

"You have a pretty penis, and I like how it curves upward a little."

"I'm gonna be able to hit your g-spot with that curve, especially doggie style, but we won't start with that. That will be tomorrow morning's lesson. Tonight, it'll be Oral 101 and Beginners Missionary."

"Beginners? Excuse me, professor, but I've always been in advanced classes, never beginners. Do you have a test you can give me before placement?"

"Yeah . . . oh yeah . . . yeah," Ray says. "You are an advanced student, I can already tell because you're already getting into roleplaying, and I haven't even discussed that yet."

"And your scrotum is nice and big."

"Sarita, I need to teach you how to do this," Ray says. "Don't use the technical terms. I have a pretty dick." Ray strokes it. "Not a penis. My balls are big, not my scrotum. Will you say that for me, please, in your innocent voice?"

I want to make my husband happy, but I don't want to feel like a puppet. I know he's teaching me, but it feels awkward because I want to say what I want to say, not what he tells me to say. Only I don't know what to say. "Be gentle with me."

He takes a deep sigh, closes his eyes, and when he opens them he says, "I'm going to try my best to be, but if I get carried away, you'll need to tell me because I've been waiting for this for a long time."

"I'll tell you."

"Now for the test. Actually, let me give you a little pop quiz, first." He kneels at the foot of the bed as I'm lying on it, bends and spreads my legs, and holds them up by my thighs. Then he starts to slowly kiss around my vulva and the outside of my thighs. "You smell so good, and the hair's so soft and pretty. Can I tell you something about your pussy lips?"

"My vulva?" I nod as he licks my vulva.

"You have a fat pussy, and you've been hiding it all this time under your skirts and dresses. I thought it would be boney."

"You like that it's fat?"

"Hell, yeah. Plump on the outside and tight inside. It can't get any better than that, and I want my dick to be the first thing that goes inside, not my tongue, so I won't stick my tongue in you yet. I'll just keep it on the outside." He stands and picks up the bottle of KY Jelly from the nightstand, squeezes some in the palm of his hand, and rubs it on his penis. "I can't wait. Damn, I can't wait."

I'm trying to think of something to say. Something to blow his mind. But I don't want to sound silly or turn him off. So I don't say anything at first, but then I remember something he likes. Something we always talk about. "You're my king. Do you know that?"

He clears his throat. "Am I?"

"Yes, and you're in control. I'm going to do whatever you say. You're the boss."

"I'm the king, not the boss. The king." He starts to moan and tug on his penis.

"You're the boss and the king."

"Damn, baby, stop, let me get inside of you first, before you start saying all these things that turn me on because you know how I like to be in control. Now, tell me again that I'm the king."

"You're the king."

"That's right. I am the king." He climbs back in bed, spreads my legs and raises them slightly.

From the minute he enters me, I immediately think of the song "So Amazing." It feels incredible. It hurts but also feels good. I trust him. I know he won't hurt me, and eventually it won't be as painful.

"Can I tell you something?" he says through moans as he pumps hard and fast. "You feel so good. It's so tight and warm and soft and wet. Am I going too fast?"

"No." I lie. He's going too fast, but I can tell he's enjoying it. And that makes me enjoy it even more.

"Whose pussy is this?"

He keeps asking me as he continues to moan and pump. He asks me three more times before I finally say, "Yours."

"Thank you for staying pure for me. You're my first because I've never had a pure woman, ever. Do you like the way I'm making you feel?"

"Yes," I say through moans.

"I need you to tell me what you like about it. I'm giving you the first lesson. Tell me how I make you feel."

Ray's a talker, and it's difficult for me to also be one, but I want to make him happy. I want to let him know how good he's making me feel. So I start to tell him how hard he is and how good it feels and how wet I am and how good he's stroking it. Then, I say, "Go faster . . . Go faster . . . Faster."

"I think you're ready to advance to doggy style." We both stand from the bed. "I want you to get on the bed on all fours, and I want your butt level with the end of the bed, but if not, I can reposition it, and then I want you to arch your back so it has a curve to it. Don't have it humped up. Okay?"

"Like this?" I say as I get in the position he describes.

"Exactly. You pick up on everything that I teach you so quickly. Just like you did when I taught you to dance, and that's what this is going to be like—dancing. You just have to follow my movements and let go and get into it and take all that you can and don't tell me to stop. I'll go slow at first, but I might get a little carried away. If I do, tell me, and I'll slow down, but allow yourself to feel pleasure because I'm your husband. And you don't have anything to feel guilty about. Mind, body, and soul. I need those three things from you always."

With each one of his thrusts, I think about the end of my virginity. It's over. And I'm sad, but I don't understand why. I'm married. It's supposed to end with that. Ray loves me, I continue to tell myself as I take each thrust. Even though my first time isn't quite the way I imagined it to be—nothing like any of the love scenes in any of the romance novels I've read—there's no doubt in my mind that Ray loves me. He tells me that he does, and now he's showing me. I can feel his love inside of me, and I never want that feeling to stop—ever.

"I love you, Ray."

He places the palm of his hand in the arch in my back and presses down. "I love you, too, baby, and I'm always going to love you."

"I'll never stop loving you, Ray—ever."

December 1987

_______________________________
RAY

_________

"How's married life treating you?" Boone asks as we sit inside a booth at Big Boy, waiting for our burgers, fries, and shakes.

"Man, I'm enjoying being married to that beautiful woman of mine."

Boone's crooked smile lights up the room. "So you love marriage?"

I nod. "I love coming home to a person who has my back. There's no drama in the house. She treats me like a king."

"That's great, man."

I look around the restaurant to make sure no one is within earshot. The place is just sparsely occupied. That's to be expected at three in the afternoon on a Tuesday when most people are either at work or in school. I took a late lunch, and Boone's off today. He and Sharon are just coming back from Texas. They fly down on occasion, usually taking off Friday and Monday for a long weekend to help Boone's uncle with his restaurant. I believe he's in the process of expanding.

"When I tell you, man, that I have never been more satisfied with a woman sexually, I'm not joking."

"Really? I thought you were a little worried after the honeymoon."

"I was, but I had to change my approach. I wasn't as patient as I told myself I would be. Part of that was because we hadn't had sex and I was so damn excited."

"So you don't have any complaints there?"

"None. Not even with her little body because it's easy to manipulate, if you know what I mean. And we have sex every day."

"I'm not surprised. You've only been married three weeks. Holla at me when it's been three years. It won't be every day. I can guarantee you that."

"I'm not so sure about that, man. Sarita enjoys it, and she doesn't have any hang-ups about anything. She lets me do whatever and does whatever I want her to do to me and does it well. She'd probably let me do a threesome if I wanted. I think I'm going to take her to a strip club and start asking her which dancers she thinks are attractive."

"Man, don't do that shit. Are you crazy?"

Boone meant that because he hardly ever cusses unless something really bothers him.

"She might want that."

"You mean you want that, don't you? Get that out your mind. You haven't even been married a month, and you're talking about bringing someone else into the bedroom. I know my friend, and she doesn't want to be with a woman. Don't start bringing that bullshit into your marriage. Instead of taking her to a strip club, why don't you go to church with her? Have the two of you been to church together? Because Sarita used to go every Sunday."

"Nah, we haven't made it there."

"Why not?"

"Man, I'm not Catholic."

"You don't have to be Catholic to go to church."

"I don't want to go."

"Have you ever thought about becoming Catholic because it would make her happy?"

"She's happy, trust me."

"Look," Boone says, leaning across the table. He pauses for a minute to let the waitress set down our plates. "Even though we're the same age, I feel like because I've been married for several years I can help you with your marriage, and I want to do that."

"I don't need help with my marriage. You keep running your household the way you want to, which is letting Sharon run it. And I'll keep wearing the pants in mine and run mine the way I want to."

"Fine." Boone shrugs and takes a bite of his burger. He doesn't say anything more, and I feel the need to break the silence.

"So are you and Sharon planning on starting a family anytime soon?"

"We're still young," Boone says.

"True, which is the best time to have a baby. But Sarita and I plan to wait a few years. I definitely want to be in a better financial situation before I do that."

Boone nods and eats his fries and drinks his chocolate shake.

"Did you find a place yet?" he asks.

"Yeah, we decided on a place in Southfield on Civic Center. Real nice place. Brand new. It's a one-bedroom apartment on the second floor with a private entrance. It's not the townhome she wanted, but it has quite a few things that she wants, and it's a lot cheaper than that townhome we looked at."

"That's good. Just keep trying to make her happy."

Boone's voice is dragging. He's barely looking at me. He's talking, but I can tell he's upset with me. I almost start to ask him about it, but I change my mind. I don't want to be Boone in my marriage. I love being an alpha male.

"Yeah, there's a window in the kitchen and a full-size washer and dryer, cathedral ceilings. It only has a carport, but considering I can get it for six hundred and fifity-five dollars with a one-month prorated special, I'm happy."

"That's good."

"What about you and Sharon. Are you all moving into a house soon?"

"We're still looking. When do you guys move in? "

"Next weekend."

"Do you need help?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, that would be great if you could."

"Yeah, of course. You can use my truck and my trailer."

"That's so cool, man. And man, I was just bullshitting about the threesome. You know I talk a lot of shit. I know my baby wouldn't be down for that."

"I hope you were just talking. I really do. If she's allowing you to lead, take her the right way; don't get her lost."

"I won't. Don't worry."

Boone definitely is worried. I know for a fact because he's barely eating his food.

"You're not hungry?" I say, looking down at his plate. He's only taken one bite of his hamburger, and his plate of fries and shake have barely been touched.

"Nah. I'm going to get it boxed up."

___

"These are cute," I say to Sarita as I tug on her Guess jeans with leather on the knees and side pockets. It's the first time we've seen each other in jeans since we've been together. I'm not the only one checking her jeans out. When Boone offered to help me move, I didn't realize that he was going to bring a friend who works with him at the plant. He's a tall dude like Boone, but in better shape. I'm grateful for the extra help—it's allowed us to move all of the stuff from our apartment at Franklin Park Towers to the new place quickly—but what I won't tolerate is the flirting he's doing with my wife. First of all, I'm not even used to men looking at her in that way. True, she does have a different glow now that I'm giving it to her real good on a daily basis. But I saw him look at her tight, little ass, and I'm ready to explode.

I pull Boone into the kitchen. "You need to check your homeboy before I do."

"What are you talking about?"

"He's checking Sarita out."

"No, he's not."

"Yes, he is."

"No, man, he isn't. And since when have you started getting all jealous?"

"What do you mean?"

"I've seen men check Sarita out before. You have, too. You didn't care then, but now you're about to blow a gasket when someone really isn't?"

"What's your point?"

"My point is my brother and his wife are in the process of getting a divorce because he cheated."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Before he was caught, he was accusing her of doing the same thing. He had us convinced that she was cheating, when all the while it was him."

"I still don't understand what that has to do with me."

"Are you cheating on Sarita? Is that why all of a sudden you're getting jealous?"

"I'm getting pissed off because I don't want a man looking at what's mine, period."

"Okay, man, I'll tell you what. I'll take him home. We'll leave and allow you and Sarita to restore some order in your household. How's that?"

"Sounds like the smartest thing you said all day."

After they leave, Sarita seems upset. "I thought we were going to get a pizza and play Spades," she says. "Why did they leave?"

"Who? Boone and Sharon?"

"And their friend."

"Why are you concerned about their friend?"

"I'm not concerned about him."

"Sarita, you're a married woman, and I need for you to always be respectful. Don't flirt with men whether I'm with you or not."

"I wasn't flirting with him."

"You were."

"No, I wasn't, Ray."

"You were!" I say firmly. "And that doesn't make me feel like no damn king. I'm about to take a shower and go to bed. I have a headache, and I'm pissed." I kick off my Nikes.

"But, honey, I don't want you to go to sleep mad at me, thinking I was flirting with him."

"Well, that's how I'm going to bed." I head to the shower, pulling off my sweatshirt as I walk toward the bathroom. Sarita follows closely behind me. I take off my jeans, socks, and underwear and step into the shower. Sarita joins me, pleading with me to forgive her.

"If you didn't do anything, what am I forgiving?" I ask as she washes my back.

"I mean, if you perceived it that way, then I was wrong."

"That's right, because perception is reality. You can't be giggling up in some man's face. That doesn't look right."

"You're right. I was wrong."

I feel her soft, pillowy lips kiss my neck. I turn, and she starts to kiss my chest and continues down until she's on her knees. I shut off the water and enjoy the moment. I'm not trying to hurt Sarita, but I am trying to keep her on her toes. She's such a good wife, and I want to make sure she stays that way. I'm not Boone. I can't let my woman wear the pants. I can't do everything she tells me to do and act like she doesn't do anything wrong. Boone rarely discusses his personal life, but out of frustration, he'll tell me things. And he's told me that Sharon rarely wants to have sex, which explains why she's not pregnant. That won't ever happen in my household. It won't take long before I have my woman performing for me just like a porn star.

"Now, I feel like a king."

June 1988

_______________________________
SARITA

_________

I just want Ray to be happy. I'll forfeit my happiness for his, and that's what I'm doing now because I really feel uncomfortable being in the adult section of this video store that's down the street from our apartment. It's a separate room that you have to enter, and I didn't like how I felt walking inside. I know this is what my husband is into. He doesn't hide it from me. He wants me to like it as much as he does. That's impossible. I'm losing a little bit of myself because I'm keeping the way I honestly feel locked inside and smiling when sometimes I want to cry. Like when he forgot my birthday or when he treats me like I'm a blow-up sex doll.

"Which one do you want to watch tonight?" he asks as he leads me by the hand and we peruse the shelves.

"You can pick it," I say, trying not to look at the videos lining the shelves or make eye contact with the other people who are in the room. All men.

"I always pick it. I want you to," Ray says as he takes a videotape from the shelf. "How about one with a threesome? That should be fun to watch. I'm going to get some of those. Help me pick them out."

"I have to go to the restroom. I'll be back. Just pick out the ones you want."

As I exit and pull the curtain shut, I see Graham, and he sees me.

"How are you?" Graham asks as he approaches me. I want to hug him. He reminds me of who I used to be and what I could've had. I know the first year of marriage is hard, and I'm not experienced and probably read way too many romance novels to be realistic when it comes to love. I'm not giving up on Ray, but it sure is good to see Graham. I hug him even though he didn't ask me to.

"I'm good. How are you?" I ask.

"Could be better, but I'm here."

"Who are you here with?"

"Myself. I still don't have anyone in my life. I see a young woman on occasion. I don't know where that'll go, but we're both ready for marriage, and she's really ready."

"I'm surprised you're not with her. Is she back at your condo?"

"No. And that should tell you something. I'd rather spend Saturday alone watching videos than with her. You know that wouldn't have been the case with you. When I found out that you had gotten married, that was a rough day. I was still holding out hope."

"What movies are you renting?" I ask. I change the subject quickly. I don't want my mind to continue thinking about what-ifs.

"Let's see what I have here: Children of a Lesser God, Aliens—the movie you were supposed to go with me to see and never did—and A Room with a View. I would ask the titles of yours, but I'm sure it would embarrass you." Graham shakes his head. "That's not you, baby."

"Huh?"

"What" he asks. "What did I say?"

"Nothing."

Baby? Graham actually called me 'baby.' Why now, when I'm off limits, is he sounding sexy?

"Is he in there? I learned a new karate move. I should try it out on him." Graham chuckles. "That's if he ever comes out. So that's what he has you into?"

"Aren't all men into that?"

"I never told you that. I said all men masturbate. Not all men are into porn, and you're looking at a man who's not. Why would I need to look at that when I can look at you? Why would I need to fantasize about having sex with people I'll never meet when I can have all the fun I want with the woman lying right next to me?" Graham glances away for a moment and then whispers, "Here he comes."

I turn and see Ray with several VHS tapes in his hand. He looks annoyed.

"Maybe I better go. I think he's mad," I say.

"Good. So am I."

"Hi, honey," I say to Ray as he approaches us. He stares at Graham without saying a word.

"Why are you talking to him? Did you tell him you were going to be here and to meet you?"

"I live right down the street—less than five minutes," Graham says.

"I was talking to my wife."

Graham hands him his business card, and Ray looks down at it. "Here's my card. If you have something you need to say to me, call. I can help you or refer you to someone who can."

"Help me how? What are you talking about? Come on Sarita, let's go," Ray says.

"I'll talk to you later, Sarita," Graham says as Ray pulls me toward the exit.

"No, you won't be," Ray says. He leaves all of his videos on the glass countertop and hurries me out.

I glance back at Graham, who is standing just outside of the door watching us.

"What the fuck was that, Sarita? Are you fucking that man? Now that you're not a virgin anymore, are you fucking him, too?"

Graham moves toward our car. "Is everything okay, Sarita?"

"Don't address my wife. Do you have something going on with her? Yes or no?"

"No, we're friends. I've known this young lady her entire life."

"But you wanted to marry her."

"You're right; I did. I sure did. I proposed to her at the Whitney, and she turned me down for you."

"You proposed to her?" Ray turns toward me. "You never told me that. Now I know you keep shit from me. You're probably fucking this dude. Aren't you?"

"There are only three people here, and I'm certainly not raising my voice at Sarita the way you are because my mother taught me better. Maybe you don't have a good relationship with yours."

"How the fuck would you know that? You told this man about my mom, Sarita?"

"No, she didn't."

"You answering for her is really pissing me the fuck off. She doesn't belong to you. She belongs to me."

"She's not property."

"Get in the car, Sarita!"

I've been standing between Graham and Ray as they argue. It's loud, but not loud enough for the police to be called, just enough for customers pulling into the parking lot to turn and observe and assess the situation for a second before they enter the video store.

"Ray, please calm down. This is embarrassing," I say.

"I'm embarrassing you? Get in the car, Sarita. I mean it."

I get in the car and sit with my elbow resting against the locked door. I'm nervous, and my hands are trembling.

Graham shakes his head. "Mr. Saint, you're misdirecting your anger at a woman who loves you, and that's a surefire way to lose her."

"Then you should be glad because that way you can get her. I know that's what you want, and her family wants, and, hell, she might, too."

Ray jerks the car door open and shoves the key in the ignition. Graham walks over to my window and knocks on it.

"What the fuck is he doing? He has a lot of nerve," Ray says.

"Are you okay?" Graham asks me through the glass.

I nod as Ray starts the ignition. Graham moves out the way just in time, because I'm sure if he hadn't, Ray probably would've run over his foot.

It's a short ride from the video store back to our apartment, and the only thing Ray keeps saying to me is, "Just wait until we get home." If he puts one hand on me, I'm leaving. I won't ever let a man hit me. My daddy never hit my mother. I won't be my cousin Vicki. I don't say anything. I have tears in my eyes.

When Ray pulls into the carport at our apartment, he turns to me and says, "That's who you really want, isn't it?"

"No, Ray. I want you. I love you."

"Are you going to leave me for him?"

"Why would you even ask me that?"

"Why won't you answer the fuckin' question? Are you going to leave me for him, yes or no?"

"No, Ray. I love you."

"He's following you around like a lost puppy, knocking on my window, handing me his business card as if to dare me to call his ass, and I just might to see what he wants to tell me. He's waiting for you, Sarita, but he's going to have to keep on waiting because I'm not going anywhere."

I cover my face with my hands and start to cry. "I just don't understand what I can do to prove to you that I love you. I do. I really, really do. But I'm not sure if you want my love."

"I do want it! I just have never had anything like it. You know how they talk about people hitting the lotto and going broke five years later because they never had money, and they don't know what to do with it? I have never had anyone love me the way you love me, and I don't know what to do with it. What am I supposed to do with it? Wait to get hurt and be mentally fucked up for the rest of my life? Miss King only had to be in Northville for six months. If you left me, I'd be a permanent resident of that bitch."

"I'm not going to leave you, Ray. Maybe you need to talk to someone."

"Talk to someone. What are you trying to say? What is that supposed to even mean? Somebody like who?" He snatches Graham's business card from his interior suit pocket. "Somebody like Dr. Graham Emerson ABPN Double Board Certified? He has a mobile phone. I guess he's doing really well if he can afford that. Must be a lot of crazy muthafuckas. I'm keeping this." He tucks the card back inside his suit jacket. "I'm calling him, so if you did something with that man, I swear, you better tell me because if he does . . ."

"I didn't do anything. That was my first time seeing him in over a year."

Ray drops his head and says, "Okay."

"Can we go inside now?"

He shakes his head. "You can. I'm going to work out. I need to clear my head."

"When will you be home?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I don't know."

"But Ray, we're married, and you need to tell me."

"Is that in a handbook somewhere? After all I just went through with some man you used to mess with, now I have to give you answers, and you can't give me any? I'll be at the gym until it closes. It closes at midnight. I'll be home shortly after. Don't wait up."

He doesn't even walk me to the door, and it's dark outside.

I love Ray so much, but I don't know how to make him happy.

I lie on the bed in the fetal position and cry myself to sleep because I don't know who I am anymore. I've always wanted love, but I had no idea how much love hurts.

August 1988

_______________________________
RAY

_________

Right now, we're at the Rondeview restaurant, which is a revolving restaurant on the top floor of the Holiday Inn on Telegraph Road in Southfield, getting ready to order breakfast.

For the last couple of months, I've really been trying to put more effort into my marriage. I've actually been trying to be more attentive to Sarita's needs and stop being such a jerk. Some things will take some time for me to change, like watching porn. I thought she liked it, but now I just think she tolerates it.

The reason I've been such a jerk is because I still can't shake the meeting I had with her uncle, Dr. Ron Vasser (her mom's brother) over the Memorial Day weekend. He took us out on his forty-foot yacht. I was so geeked. I'd never been on a boat of any size. And since he invited us, I figured he was cool like Solomon. But my excitement faded quickly when it was just the two of us in the front of the boat. He made Sarita go in the cabin with his family so the two of us could talk alone.

He called me Roy instead of Ray, just like Sarita's Mom does. He also puffed his cigar smoke in my face, and, in so many words, proceeded to tell me that I wasn't shit.

"I know my niece loves you because she married you, and she really sees this thing as a death-do-us-part type of situation. But for someone who was married for twenty-five years and now I'm starting all over again with my second wife and more kids, I know firsthand that there's more reasons than death for two people to part. So that leaves you." He took a puff of his cigar.

"What leaves me?" I asked.

"You can either leave—"

"Leave what?"

"Sarita."

"I don't want to leave Sarita. I love her. She's my wife."

The man was acting like he was in the mafia, and he could make me leave even if I didn't want to.

"Then bring yourself up," he told me. "No one's telling you to go to school to become a doctor—"

"Sarita doesn't want a doctor."

"I'm your elder, and I'm talking. When your elder is talking, you need to be quiet and listen."

"No disrespect to you, but I don't like what you're saying. You don't know me, sir—"

"Dr. Ron is how I prefer to be addressed, but you can go ahead and call me, Dr. Vassar."

"You don't know me, sir, and neither does Sarita's mother. My heart's in the right place when it comes to Sarita."

"You need to have more than your heart in the right place when you take on a wife. You need to have your finances in the right place, too. At least show her mother that you're trying to improve yourself, so she doesn't think you're using her child."

"I'm definitely not using my wife."

"According to my sister, every time she sees you, you've got on a new bespoke suit and an expensive pair of shoes. She says you dress better than her husband, who's a doctor. Now we're no fools."

He continued. And I felt trapped out there, in the middle of the Detroit River. At one point, I felt like he wanted to throw me overboard. And then at another point, I felt like I wanted to jump. After meeting him, I really felt threatened. And then seeing her with Graham just made me snap. That's who her family wants her with, but I be damned if he gets my wife. Still, I shouldn't have acted the way I did at the video store. I know I embarrassed Sarita, and I'm trying to make it up to her and remind her why she married me. I never want her to be afraid when she's with me, or be afraid of me.

The waitress comes to our table just as I reach my hand out to take Sarita's.

"Hello, Ray." I look up and see Cynthia Meyers, and I'm speechless. "Do you two need to look over the menu?"

"Yes," I say, shaking my head and frowning.

"Sure. Take your time." She walks away. She's pregnant, showing. I know it's not mine because I haven't seen her in over a year, so if she wants to pull that, it won't work.

"Let's leave," I say to Sarita.

"Why?"

"That's the stalker."

"It is?" Sarita says with a look of concern. "She seems so calm."

"I wouldn't eat any food she brought to our table and expect to still be alive after I ate it."

Cynthia returns to our table. "Are you two ready to place your order?"

"We're probably not going to eat here."

"Ray, don't leave. You brought your wife. I'm assuming she's your wife. I'm married as well."

"To Blaze?"

"No, Blaze died in a car accident almost a year ago. And I got saved shortly after that."

I notice the diamond cross necklace hanging from her neck.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"God delivered me from so much. And for you to be here with your wife, sitting at one of my tables is a testament that prayers can be answered. Because one of the things that really wore on my mind was how I terrorized you or tried to. And it was all because of my pain. Detroit is a large city, but it's not all that large, so I figured we'd eventually run into each other and I'd have the opportunity to apologize. I wanted to tell you that I'm not stalking you anymore, so you don't have to look over your shoulders. But if you still want to leave, trust me, I understand. But if not, I can have another waitress help you and your wife so that you feel more comfortable. I'd also like to comp your breakfast."

I look across the table at Sarita. "Are you okay with that, Sarita? I'll leave it up to you."

"Yes. That's fine."

"Thank you, Cynthia. I'm glad that you found God, and you're at a better place."

"A much better place. I'm married, and we're expecting our first child together, my second. God has worked miracles in my life. I'm here to tell you."

I'm pleasant while she's standing beside our table, but I don't decline the offer of a different waitress. Some people you just have to be happy for at a distance—Cynthia Meyers is one of them.

___

I walk through the main door of my mom's four-family flat, Reid's not on the steps as usual.

"Does Reid still live upstairs?"

"Who?" Miss King says blowing her nose. I hope she's not getting a cold. I don't want to get sick.

"Reid. Why doesn't he sit on the steps anymore?"

"That woman moved out in the middle of the night two weeks ago and stiffed me on the rent. Didn't even tell me nothin' in advance so I could try to get somebody in there."

"What's so important, Miss King, that I have to come over here after work. You need money?" I know she does. She has tears in her eyes. What's she going to say? Edison is about to shut off her lights because she didn't pay the bill? Some sob story I'm sure. Ever since I moved out and no longer give her rent money and half on the utilities, she acts like she's broke. She works full-time at Farmer Jack's, been working there for years. And I'm sure she got a few "mens" giving her money. So what does she want? She needs to stop spending all her money at Tradewinds on cigarettes and alcohol. But she never misses a Sunday at church. I take out my wallet because I know it's about money. It always is with her. I'm so glad I'm not married to a woman who lives paycheck to paycheck and has a broke mentality. No matter how much money Miss King gets, it will never be enough. Sarita and I won't ever have that problem because Sarita knows how to handle the finances.

She sniffs and says, "I don't know what to say."

"Is this enough?" I ask, handing her a fifty-dollar bill.

"Your paw paw is dead."

I can hear exceptionally well, but I refuse to believe what I just heard. That can't be true. I just talked to Paw Paw yesterday. "I just talked to him. He's not dead."

"He just died this afternoon. That's why I paged you 911. He was talkin' one minute to that woman, his wife, and he was dead the next. Just like that. My daddy is dead. Just like that. My car is broke down, and I need you to take me to that woman's house, so I can find out where my daddy is. You know I don't like being around that woman. I just can't believe my daddy's dead. I mean he was old—"

"Old? He was seventy-eight. He wasn't even eighty yet. How is that old?"

"For the men in our family, that's old. Half of them don't live to see sixty."

I'm standing in her living room, trying to envision my life without Paw Paw in it, and I can't. He kept me grounded, or tried to. He was the best at it then anyone. And he was trying to help me be a better husband to Sarita because I admitted to him that I needed help with that. I needed to build up my self-confidence and stop trying to compete with my wife.

I've only been talking to Paw Paw on the phone. The last time I actually saw him was at the wedding. And before that I hadn't seen him in a year. Now, I can't ever see him again. Is that what she's saying? It hits me. All of a sudden I realize what she actually said.

"He's dead for real."

"Yes, Ray, for real, not for play," my mom shouts.

The most important person in my life aside from my wife is dead.

"Why? Why can't shit ever go right for me? Why Paw Paw?"

"Are you going to take me over there?"

"Yeah. I can't believe this."

"It won't take me long to get ready. Fifteen minutes. Maybe ten."

I use the phone hanging in the kitchen to call Sarita.

"Hello my darling husband," Sarita says as soon as she hears my voice. She sounds so happy.

"I have some sad news."

"What's wrong?" she asks. I hear the panic.

"Paw Paw is dead." My voice breaks up and I holler out in pain. My tears fall.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. I know how much you loved him, and how much he loved you. I'm so sorry. I feel so blessed that I met him at our wedding. What do you need for me to do? I want to help you get through this."

"Just don't leave me. You're all I have now. "

"Honey, I'll never leave you. You're my life."

"I don't deserve you."

"Yes, you do, Ray. I love you."

"Paw Paw took to you immediately. He told me that I had a good woman."

Every time I called Paw Paw he'd ask me about Sarita before he asked me anything else. He said he could look in her eyes and tell she was honest. He always said, "A person's eyes are the windows to their soul." He loved Sarita's eyes. "She's healthy, happy, and filled with hope," he'd say. "You got you a good one there."

Paw Paw went too soon. And he took a big chunk of me with him.

___

"Ray," Denice says while I'm in the stock room looking for a pair of shoes for one of my customers.

I'm not mentally here yet. Paw Paw's funeral was a week ago, and when his casket was lowered into the ground, I lost it. I had to lean on my wife for strength. Boone and Sharon came to the funeral and also had a beautiful peace lily delivered to our apartment. I should've called in. I just don't want to be here. I'm depressed. I wish I could just walk out for good.

"Yeah?" I answer with a drag in my voice.

"I tried to help this woman, but she's asking for you."

"Who is it? Is it one of my regular customers?"

"I've never seen her before."

"Is she asking for me by name?"

"No. She said, 'Who is the man who just walked in the back in the nice suit? I want him to help me. So I was like well, I be damn, okay, heifer. "

"Alright, I'll be out there."

"She has a lot of shoes, so it should be a nice commission check."

I walk out with a pair of shoes in my hand for another customer and stop in my tracks when I see the one asking for me. I give the customer I was already waiting on the pair of shoes she's interested in. "I'm going to let you try those on and walk around with them and then I'll be right back," I say.

"Hello," the woman says as I approach her.

"Hello. I'm Ray."

"I'm Eve, and I'd like to see all of these shoes if you don't mind. In size seven. There are also some shoes that I'm interested in that are in the Woodward Shop, but I'd like for you to get the commission or I won't be buying them."

"That's not a problem. I can also work the Woodward Shop."

I'm not sure what I'm looking at. I see a fair-skinned woman, possibly white. But there's a slight tan that tells me otherwise, though she has blue eyes that cause me to throw up a question mark. In the interest of not giving away how beautiful I think she is, I don't stare. I take a glance at the shoes she's interested in and head back to the stockroom. We have all five in her size.

It takes me a minute to gather up the boxes. Denice helps me carry them out to her and also takes over helping my other customer.

"Would you like help or would you like to try them on yourself? Some customers like their space."

"I'm not one of them. You can crowd me."

I bend down and take the top off the first shoe box, remove the pump from the plastic, and put it on her right foot. I do the same for the left.

"Would you like to walk around in them?"

"No, there's no need." We stare at each other for a moment.

"Are you sure? Just to make sure they're comfortable." It's interesting the way she positioned herself in the shoe department. She sat in the most private section there was, off from everyone else. I think about this because I'm wondering if the reason she had me get so many pairs of shoes is that she's going to ask for more, and when I leave, she's going to steal the ones I've already brought. That's something that's been going on lately, so I'm on guard.

She slips one foot out of the shoe as I'm opening another shoe box and rests that foot in my crotch and starts to wiggle gently. "I see someone's getting excited." She stops when she can tell she has me. "I'm ready to try on the next pair." She leans into my ear and says, "Do you happen to give after-hour foot massages?"

"Not normally, but I'm sure it can be arranged." She's older than me. In her thirties probably. Marriage didn't take away my weakness for older women. She's a shapely woman, too.

"I sure hope it can. I'm staying at the Westin downtown, but only for two more nights." She takes a business card and pen from her purse and writes her room number down. "I'd love to see you. Tonight if I could."

I look up and see that she's looking at my hand. She's spotted my ring.

"You're married?"

I nod.

"Happily?"

I nod again.

"That's what you think. I hope to see you tonight and tomorrow night."

"Tonight probably won't be possible."

"I guess you don't want your mind blown."

___

When Eve opens the door, she isn't wearing any clothes, just some three-inch heels. She's still shorter than me. There aren't any lights turned on inside the hotel room, but the curtains are pulled back, and the lights from the Ambassador Bridge shine through. When I gaze out the window, I see the water of the Detroit River.

As soon as she closes the door behind me, she pins me against it and starts kissing me passionately. She's a great kisser. The radio is playing "Fire and Desire."

"May I squeeze your breasts?" I ask.

She takes my hands and places them on her chest. I haven't felt this in a while. I love Sarita, but I just need to get this from time to time, that's all. The perfume she has on, I've never smelled before, and it's driving me crazy. She smells better than any woman, including my wife.

"I'm going to ask you again," she says while I'm on my knees and buried between her legs. She doesn't have any hair down there. "Are you happily married? If you are, stop licking my exotic shorthair right now. If you're not, stand up so I can blow those brains out."

The mere fact that I'm standing doesn't mean I'm not happily married. I'm here because I'm a cheater, which means I'm also a liar, and standing is proof of that.

___

As if I haven't been feeling bad enough about all the sneaking I'd been doing lately—I even flew to Atlanta on one of my off days and flew back the same day—now Sarita's decided to buy me a car because mine has given out for the last time. And it's not just any car, but a fully loaded 1988 Pontiac Bonneville SE.

"Baby, you don't have to do this," I say to her at the dealership as the car salesman is writing up the contract.

"I want to. Besides, I get a huge employee discount."

"Man, never turn down a free car," the grinning salesman says from behind his desk.

"What do you mean free? She's my wife."

"I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I didn't mean anything by it."

Sarita rubs my thigh as I'm staring the man down. She always does that to calm me down.

"Just hurry up with that paperwork. We're ready to leave," I say to him.

Sarita leans over and gives me a kiss and whispers. "I love you. You make me so happy."

"I love you too, baby."

When I drive my new Bonneville off the lot with my wife by my side, I feel like more of a man than I ever have. I am a king. This will work. Eve's from Louisiana but lives in Atlanta. When I need to squeeze and suck on those double-Ds and be in the arms of an older woman to satisfy whatever desire it is that I have, I'll fly there. But she stays so busy with her job as a pharmaceutical sales rep that I won't have to worry about her coming here. I also don't have to worry about anyone here knowing her. Other than that, I'm with my heart, and I'm always going to be here. Sex with Eve is mind blowing, but I definitely wasn't her first. This time next year I probably won't even be speaking to her over the phone.

November 1988

_______________________________
SARITA

_________

On Thursday, Ray came home at eleven at night after doing inventory. He typically works the day shift and gets off at six. Before he went to sleep, he told me he had to do inventory the next day, too, and would be home around the same time. Usually, I'd kiss him before heading out the door, but he had the comforter pulled up over his wave cap, so I just told him that I loved him and left for work. I didn't want to wake him. I also didn't want to leave bright red lip stains on his cheek and hear him complain about it even though he made me start wearing all of this makeup. Now, it's almost one in the morning on Saturday, and Ray still isn't home, and I'm freaking out. Something must've happened to him, and I don't know what to do, so I call Sharon and Boone.

"Hello," Boone says in a raspy voice.

"I'm sorry to call this time of the night, but Ray isn't home, and he should've been here two hours ago. What should I do, Boone? I think something's happened to him."

Boone sniffs, clears his throat, and says, "Who's this?"

"Boone, it's Sarita. Wake up." I sound desperate.

"Sarita, what time is it?" He clears his throat again.

I march into the kitchen and glance at the wall clock, "Twelve fifty. Is Sharon up?"

"Sharon's asleep. And you should be, too."

"Ray's missing. Did you hear me? And I don't know what to do."

"Ray's not missing. He's probably in one of those strip clubs on Eight Mile."

"Really?" I feel hopeful. I'm actually relieved that my husband may be at a strip club.

"Give me a minute. I need to go to the bathroom, splash some water on my face, and try to wake up, so I can talk to you. One minute. Don't hang up."

I'm pacing the living and cradling the phone in my arm as if it's a baby. I have the handset pressed firmly to my ear. My hair is pulled back in a ponytail as usual, but several strands are sticking out from the sides. My tears have washed all of my mascara and most of my foundation away, and I've sucked off my red lipstick. I'm still in my work clothes. Well, at least the navy skirt and white blouse, not the matching suit jacket. I tossed that on the leather sofa as soon as I got in from my parents' house and discovered Ray wasn't here. I kicked off my pumps the moment I stepped into our apartment, but I still have my pantyhose on.

After work, I went straight to Deering Dental and then to my parents' house, trying to pass the time until Ray came home because it's hard for me to be home without him since we do everything together. Well, we used to. But things seem different now, and I don't know why. My mother started calling more to check on me. Ray answered a few times, and one time they got into it because he told her that I was grown, and she treats me like a baby.

Earlier, when I was over at my parents' house, my mother told me that Graham told her about what happened at the video store because he was worried about me. Graham told my mother that Ray was acting like a person with a mental illness. He has my parents and his convinced that Ray is mentally ill.

I just want things to go back to the way they were. When we first got married, I was happy, and Ray seemed to be. Hopefully our vacation will bring us back together.

Earlier, at work, I couldn't concentrate because I couldn't wait to tell him about the trip to Honolulu that I booked as a surprise for our one-year wedding anniversary, which is today. We're leaving on Monday. Both of us took the next two weeks off. He thinks we're just taking an Amtrak to Toronto, and I can't wait to tell him that we're flying first class to Hawaii and staying at the Hilton Hawaiian Village Beach Resort and Spa on Waikiki Beach. This is going to make up for the honeymoon we never had. I got home at eleven thirty, and I've been waiting for Ray to arrive.

Ray asked for that time off a long time ago. I hope he hasn't forgotten what today is. I didn't want to remind him and blow the surprise, not that he'd figure it out. I don't think he would have. But I didn't want to take any chances.

"I'm back," Boone says, and then clears his throat. "So Ray didn't come home? Did he at least call?"

"No, but he told me he would be home a little late because he was doing inventory. But he was supposed to be home at eleven, the way he was yesterday."

There's a noticeable silence, and then Boone says, "He stayed out late yesterday, too?"

"Yes."

"Really?" Boone says. He sounds concerned.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What, Boone? Tell me." I'm growing impatient. I'm tired, but I can't sleep. It's my anniversary. Where is my husband? "Tell me!"

"Calm down. I don't want to say because it's not my business."

"Yes, it is. He's your best friend, and you're my best friend. We're all best friends. What? Say it!"

"Sarita, I don't want to see you being done wrong. That might be what's happening."

"Done wrong? How?"

"I know you love, Ray, but I also know you've never experienced something like this before and maybe you don't recognize the signs."

"Signs?" I'm confused.

"When men tell you they're working late, sometimes it's true, but a lot of times it may not be. You've been married to him for a year and dated for over a year before that. During all that time, have you ever known him to do inventory at Hudson's and come home late?"

"No," I say softly.

"Exactly. I've never heard him mention inventory. I hope nothing's wrong, and I honestly don't think anything is. But when he comes home, he needs to come with some proof of where he's been. I hate to see a good person like you being done wrong."

"Boone, I don't think Ray's doing me wrong. I think something has happened. But I hope I'm wrong."

"Nothing's happened to him, and I'm going to talk to him, too. Because I'm the one who introduced the two of you and I don't want anyone getting hurt in this situation. He told me he'd changed. I'll call around and see if anyone's heard from him."

"I appreciate whatever you can do, Boone. I really, really do."

"I know you do. I've known you for almost as long as I've known my wife, and, of course, I've known your big-head husband since our days at Cass Tech, so I'm concerned as well, but I'm pretty sure he's okay. I'll tell Sharon to call you when she wakes up. Try to get some sleep. He'll get home eventually. When he does, cuss him out real good."

"You know I don't curse, and if I did, I wouldn't curse him out on our anniversary."

"Oh, wow, is that today? That's even more of a reason to cuss his ass out. How's he going to go MIA on his anniversary?"

"We're going to Honolulu on Monday. It's a surprise that I've been planning for months.

Oh, Boone, I hope he's okay." My throat starts to sting, and my eyes water. I clear my throat.

"He's fine. He's just doing Ray shit."

"What does that mean?"

"Dumb shit."

Boone is cursing. I've never heard him curse. He's mad at Ray.

"I just hope he isn't hurt," I say to Boone as he yawns a few more times. I feel bad for keeping him on the line, so I say, "I'm going to let you go so you can try to get some sleep before you go to work."

"If you need to talk, I'll stay up. That's not a problem," Boone says.

"No, I don't want you falling asleep while you're working on the line," I say. "I don't want you responsible for any recalls." He laughs. "Do you work every weekend?"

"Just about."

I take a deep breath. "If you hear from him or his family, please let me know," I say.

"Of course, I will. Cheer up, okay? We love you over here, and he'll show up."

"I love you all, too."

"Hey," Boone says before I hang up, "he's okay. I know the guy, and I'll guarantee you that he's okay. Now get some sleep."

"I'll try."

I hang up the phone and feel worse than I did before I called them. Boone thinks Ray's at a strip club, and I don't put that past him because Ray's addicted to porn. I don't want my husband to frequent strip clubs and watch porn. Why can't I be enough? I want a husband who comes home to me every night at a decent time, preferably right after work. If Ray's okay, that means he's not that kind of husband, so either way, something's wrong.

Since I can't sleep and can't think straight, I put on my wool coat, grab my keys, swap out my pumps for my K-Swiss gym shoes, and head out the door.

I drive to the section of Eight Mile Road where there are clusters of strip clubs and go in and out of each parking lot and scan the cars for Ray's red Bonneville. I don't see one. This isn't the only area in Detroit with strip clubs. There's the Booby Trap that's also on Eight Mile, but near Woodward, not far from my parents' house. When I get to the Booby Trap, I spot what I think is Ray's red Bonneville SE with matching rims, but as I drive closer, I see it doesn't have paper tags. It's not his.

I could go to other strip clubs, but instead I drive down Woodward to Seven Mile to the Detroit police station to file a missing person report. An overweight black officer in his mid-twenties and almost as tall as Boone is trying to flirt with me, even though he knows I'm there to file a missing person report for my husband.

"If he doesn't come back, you know where to find me," he says as if he's joking. "Seriously, I'm sure you're husband's okay, but if you want to file a report, you need to do that in Southfield because it's out of our jurisdiction."

That's where I head next.

The Southfield Police Department isn't busy at a quarter to three in the morning. I'm standing in front of a large glass partition, speaking with a white officer who's in his mid-to-late thirties. There's a young white man, mid-twenties, standing next to me, talking to a different officer about an ex-convict who is threatening to kill his entire family.

"Your husband has only been gone a few hours, Mrs. Saint." The officer yawns and says, "Sorry, long night."

"He's missing," I say, insistently.

"Maybe he's over a friend's house or a relative's orrrrrrr . . ."

"Or?" I say. My eyes dare him to suggest that Ray's with another woman. Ray isn't with another woman. He wouldn't do that. He doesn't need to cheat. We have sex every day. "Or what?"

"Or somewhere else. Did you contact everyone he knows?" the officer asks.

"I don't know everyone he knows."

"What about his relatives?"

"I don't know any of them."

"Didn't you say he's your husband?"

"Yes, but we've only been married for a year as of today. I don't know all of his relatives. Only his mother, I don't even have her phone number."

"You don't have your mother-in-law's phone number, and you don't know any of his relatives? Did you find him in the newspaper? In the classified section?" he asks and then wrinkles his brows.

I shake my head. "No, of course not. I'd never meet someone that way."

"Did you try his job? You said he was working late. Did you call there?"

"He works in Hudson's shoe department, and they close at nine, and when they're doing inventory, they don't pick up the phone."

"All I can suggest is that you call everyone he knows." His eyes move from me to a file that's within his reach. He's apparently moved past my case.

"That's it?" I ask.

"Call his job. If he still doesn't surface in a few more days, we'll take a report."

"A few more days?" I ask. I can feel myself getting ready to lose it. "Something has happened to my husband. I know it," I say as I pound my open palm with my closed fist. "He's crying out to me. You have to help me. "

The officer shuffles around a few files, sighs, and shakes his head. "Miss, this happens every day. Someone's husband doesn't come home because they're with another woman. We have to consider all possibilities."

"What about his body being in the city morgue? Did you consider that possibility?"

"Well, you're free to go down there and check," the officer says.

"You don't care, do you?" I ask.

"None of 'em down here do," the young white man standing beside me shouts. My attention shifts in his direction. "They're not trying to take any reports down here. I'm telling Officer Randall here that a convicted felon is threatening my girlfriend and my whole entire family, and he doesn't want to do shit. We have to die first, and then you all will investigate?"

"Sir, you're going to need to calm down, or we're going to have to escort you out," another officer tells the man.

"You don't have to escort me nowhere because I'm leaving."

The officer helping me taps the glass partition separating us and says, "Miss, give it two more days. If you don't hear from him by then, come back, and we'll file the report."

I storm out of the station. If they don't want to find my husband, then I will do it myself.
RAY

_________

I'm not wearing a suit today. I don't need to wear one today. I have a pair of jeans on with a sweater, a leather jacket, some gym shoes, and a baseball cap. I don't want to look anything like myself. I'm ashamed. I really am everything Miss King ever said I was, or maybe she was actually too kind. Everything she told me about myself that I rejected for years is exactly who I am. And somehow, Sarita still fell in love with me the way I am.

She married me and gave me her unconditional love—saved herself for me until marriage. And I took it, too—couldn't wait to be the first, though deep down I knew I wouldn't be the last. I'm exactly who Miss King says I am. I wanted to prove her wrong, and I thought I was close to doing so. Until I fell victim. No, not a victim. It's one thing to lie to other people, and I've done that repeatedly, but I'm not going to lie to myself.

I'm not a victim. I knew exactly what I was doing, and I enjoyed every minute of it. I couldn't resist that woman. The way she looked. Her body. Those pink nipples that nearly blended in with her skin. The way she said I made her feel when I was inside of her.

But she was only supposed to be a one-night stand. I've had a few of those since I've been married, and it never interfered with my love for Sarita. In fact, it made sex with her even better. I swear. I wasn't going to leave Sarita for some woman I helped at Hudson's.

I drove around for most of the day, trying to make sense of the mess I made. Then I took a cab from Art Moran Pontiac-GMC—where I dropped off the Bonneville Sarita bought me—to Detroit Metro Airport, which is where I am now.

There are payphones all over this airport, and every time I pass one, I want to stop and call Sarita and tell her the truth and ask her if she'll forgive me, but then I think about the Americana—how angry she was at me just for taking a woman's number. I almost lost her then. She never should've forgiven me back then, and she'll never forgive me now.

I let out a deep, long gasp of air and stop at the next set of payphones and use one of them.

The phone rings three times. Then Boone answers.

"Hey, man," I say. My hand is strangling the cord attached to the phone.

"Ray?"

"Yeah."

"Where are you, man? Sarita's worried about you."

"At Metro."

"Airport?"

"Yep."

"What are you doing at the airport?"

I sigh and shake my head. I don't know where to start. "I got myself in a bit of a situation."

"What are you talking about? What's wrong?"

I clear my throat. "I'm leaving."

"Leaving? What do you mean?"

"I'm leaving Detroit. I'm moving to Atlanta."

"Wait, what? Why is this the first I've heard of it? I don't understand. What are you talking about? Is Sarita going to Atlanta with you?"

I clear my throat again. Something seems to be stuck in it, and I can't get whatever it is out.

"Do you need water? What's up with your throat?" Boone asks. He's talking very loud and fast.

For some reason, I thought it would be easier for me to tell Boone than Sarita, but it's not. "I've got to go to Atlanta because I messed up, man."

"You messed up? How?"

I clear my throat again. "I cheated on Sarita." I brace myself for his reaction but hear nothing. "Are you still there?" He doesn't answer. "Hello? Did you hang up? Are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"You don't have anything to say or any questions to ask?"

"I'm just taking it all in right now." Now his voice is monotone.

I take another deep breath. "The reason I have to leave like this is because the woman I've been messing around with is pregnant, and she wants me to leave Sarita and be with her. She has it all planned out: where I'm going to college, what I'm going to do with my life. She researched everything. I'm going to become an air traffic controller. They make good money. I tried to figure out what to do with my life here. I applied for better jobs, but I only got one interview, and I didn't get the job. I want to be Sarita's equal." I pause to allow Boone to speak and again hear nothing. "Are you still there, man?"

"Yeah, I'm here." Boone's tone is much harsher and has a lot more bass.

"You're real quiet."

"I'm in complete shock. When Sarita called me to tell me you hadn't made it home yet, I figured you were up to some of your mess, but not something like this. I told her you were probably at the strip club because that's honestly where I thought you were."

"She has everything figured out, though, Boone. I love Sarita, but I don't really deserve her if I'm completely honest."

"So now after you marry Sarita you want to be completely honest, not before when you were competing for her love? It was all about winning then, right? Because you're a competitive dude. But now it's about being honest?"

"I never said I didn't love her. I probably will never love another woman as much as I love Sarita. But I can't figure out my life here. I don't know why I can't, but I can't. I don't want to depend on her. I don't want to be the man her parents think I am. Her mother hates me. So does her uncle. Her whole family does. Sarita can do better than me, and she will—she'll marry that doctor or some doctor. That's the life she deserves. She's too good for me." I feel like I'm talking to myself. "Boone, are you there? Say something, man."

Boone says, "I know you're doing a lot of talking, but do you hear what you're saying. Why did you get married, Ray?"

"At the time, I didn't want to lose her."

"You're a real selfish man. Real selfish. I've been calling you my best friend for eight years and never knew how selfish. Have you told Sarita any of this yet?"

"No."

"No?" he says, shouting.

"No. I haven't talked to her. I can't tell her. I just can't."

"Where's the car?"

"The car?"

"The Bonneville. What did you do with it? If you're at the airport, where's the car?"

"That's all you have to ask about is the car?"

"Yeah, at this point, because what you're saying doesn't matter. You cheated on Sarita, you got the woman pregnant, and you're going to be with her. Where's the car? You know the car, the one she bought you because you needed a car because yours was always breaking down. Where is it?"

"Man, I need you to help me."

"Help you? You do need help, but I can't give it to you. We, Sharon and me, need to start helping Sarita. Because she's going to have to put the pieces of her life back together. Because, in her mind, you were her life and you two were building one together. You're not keeping that damn car, so where is it?"

"I don't want the car. This isn't about that car. I dropped it off at Art Moran. I don't even have one piece of luggage to check. I only took a few things with me. This isn't about material things. If I'd stayed here, living the way I am, I probably would've jumped off the Ambassador Bridge."

"Damn, man, your life is that fucked up that you'd rather kill yourself? Why were you telling me you were so happy?"

"I can't explain it."

"You won't, you mean? So you're flying off and starting over, right?"

"If I thought Sarita would work through this with me and forgive me, then I'd try to get up the nerve and call her, but that's only if I knew she'd forgive me because I do love her. Even though it's hard being with her and being constantly reminded that I'm a failure."

Boone starts to laugh. "Does Sarita remind you of that, or do you remind yourself of that all the time?"

"Do you think she would forgive me for getting another woman pregnant? Because I will be in my child's life."

"Nah, she won't forgive you. Why should she? She gave you everything, and that wasn't good enough. You told me she was the perfect wife. That's what you said. Those were your exact words. Who leaves that?"

"Boone, man, I wish I knew what was wrong with me, so I could fix it."

"I want to ask you something. When you had me take you to the airport that time to pick up the woman you said was your cousin, that was her, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, that was her."

"I knew it. You had me take you to the airport to pick up another woman and take the two of you to a hotel. You mixed me up in that bullshit. I knew it! As long as I've known you, I've never heard you speak of a cousin named Eve."

Sharon is in the background, cussing, calling me outside my name—saying things about me that not even Miss King has: "She could've married a damn doctor, instead of a shallow-ass nigga like you. A psychiatrist, and that's who you need to go see because you're one crazy muthafucka! You're not just like you're daddy. You're just like your crazy ass momma. Get help!"

"Tell Sharon to calm down. I'm not a shallow-ass anything. You all don't understand."

"You right; we don't. We're honoring the commitment we made!" Boone shouts. "And now after a year, you're just going to leave. And by the way, do you know what—?" He stops suddenly.

"What?" I ask.

"It doesn't matter. Well, actually, it does. Do you even know what today is?"

"Saturday."

There's a long stretch of silence, seconds feel like minutes. I don't ask if he's still there because I hear Boone breathing. I know he's angry at himself for introducing Sarita to me, and he's mad at me—for being me.

"Yeah, you're right, it's Saturday. Saturday the what, though?"

I glance down at my Rolex, the one Sarita bought me for my twenty-fifth birthday.

My eyes widen. "Oh, wow, today is our wedding anniversary."

"Yep, that's right, and Saria booked a trip to Hawaii for you two, flying first class to a resort. You're supposed to be leaving on Monday. It was going to be a surprise. She was so excited about being able to finally go on a honeymoon with you."

I drop my head. "See, I should've been the one surprising her with something like that. That's what I mean."

"Go ahead and board that plane. You're already at the airport, ticket in your hand, one-way, I'm sure, getting ready to fly to be with that woman that you've known for what?"

"A few months."

"A few months? Oh, wow, I feel stupid because I thought you loved Sarita. I actually did. You had Sharon and me convinced, and Sarita definitely thought so. A few damn months. Good luck with that shit."

"I've already told you that I love Sarita, and I do."

"You don't love Sarita. How can you love Sarita when you don't even love yourself? I don't believe you're capable of loving any woman, regardless of how she looks. You need psychological help. You need to sit down and talk to somebody before you destroy even more lives."

"If it weren't for this situation with the baby, I wouldn't even go—"

"I got to go to work. I've already wasted too much time on the phone with you. Go on and be with your situation, and we'll be here with Sarita. And, please know that she'll rebound from this and be just fine. We'll make sure of that."

The next sound I hear is a dial tone. I don't even bother to hang the phone up. I leave it dangling as I walk away, heading for the departure gate. Once I get there, I remain standing with my hands shoved inside my jacket. I'm looking out the window at the planes, the takeoffs and landings as I wait for my 8:30 a.m. flight to board. When it does, I give my ticket to the woman standing at the gate.

Before I walk through the door to the ramp that leads to the plane, I take one last look at the terminal. It's not too late for me to choose Sarita over Eve. But my father wasn't in my life. I want to be in my child's life. I want to have a life. One where I'm not selling shoes. One where my wife's parents like me. Sarita's free to be with the type of man she really wants. To be with Graham. He'll snatch her up before I land in Atlanta.

Now that Paw Paw's dead, the only other person I have in Detroit—who really means anything to me—is Sarita, and I swear she'll be much better off without me. She deserves better than me. Graham is better than me. That's who she'll rebound to. Her mother and uncle, her whole family will be so happy.

"Sir, if you could please walk through the door or step to the side because you're in the way of the other passengers."

I step to the side and let everyone else board before I do. I'm the last one to enter the plane, and I'm still on the ramp when the door closes. I immediately feel trapped.

The pilot greets me as I step onto the aircraft. He smiles and says that he hopes I enjoy the flight. I smile back and thank him. I'm starting a new life, but there's so much of my old life I'm leaving unfinished.
Acknowledgments

__________________________

THIS IS THE first book that I've written that I've let someone other than an editor read before I published it, and now I wish I'd always shared my work before publication. Not only did it motivate me to continue to write, curing me of writer's block. But it also allowed me to experience the story through the eyes of readers and make adjustments to it based on their feedback.

My sister, Janice Robinson, was my first beta reader. She read the second book in the trilogy. Actually, she listened to it, because her job keeps her really busy. So I'd record myself reading each chapter, send it to her, and wait for her feedback before sending her another chapter.

When I mentioned to her that I was releasing a free eBook that took place entirely in the eighties, when the two characters were young, she didn't seem completely convinced that I should. But after listening to the book, she realized it was necessary because it helped frame who the characters are based on who they were and deepened the reader's experience. She helped me tremendously and still is, and it really helped deepen our bond.

Then, Holly Starkey (a beta reader who I found online) came into the picture. She helped me more than I can express in words. I had to trust a total stranger with my work, and I've never been able to do that. I used to be very guarded over my novels before they were published. Maybe, I was afraid to hear any criticism. But now I'd rather take the bulk of the criticism before publication than after. It's obvious that Holly loves what she does, and I appreciate her for the help she provided and continues to provide as I'm finishing up the trilogy. Her queries were instant light-bulb moments for me and allowed me to write new scenes that would hopefully draw readers in even more. And there were also the scenes that she'd read and say, "I don't understand the point of this, nothing happens in it. I guess you can keep it if you want, but if you do, cut it down."

I would also like to thank my copyeditor, Theresa Dowell Blackinton of The Reading List Editorial. She took the book over after the beta readers. And as I continued to add and add and add to this story—until what was supposed to be an eighty-page free novella turned into a large novel—she'd catch the smallest details that I somehow managed to overlook. I also loved all of her queries as well because they always made me take another look at the characters and really bring them out.

To the fabulous voice over actors who helped voice several of my characters for the promotional audios I posted on my website and on YouTube. It was such a pleasure for me to hear my characters come to life through their voices and experience their talent.

Note to readers: For the most part, I tried to keep the timeline accurate; however, in one case in particular I did use creative license. According to my research, the Rondeview restaurant closed in 1986. I'm not sure if that's accurate, because I really thought it was still open in 1987, which was the year my scene took place. I contemplated changing the setting based on my research, but it was a small scene, and the Rondeview was close to where Ray and Sarita lived and the perfect setting for them to run into Cynthia Meyers.
About the Author

_______________________

Cheryl Robinson is the author of ten novels, six of which were published by New American Library (NAL), a division of The Penguin Group. The other four novels were published independently through her company, Rose Colored Books.

The Until Ray Trilogy is her first trilogy. She lives in Florida.

To connect with Cheryl, please visit:

UntilRayTrilogy.com

Facebook.com/untilraytrilogy

Cherylrobinson.com

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