A Hire Love (13 page)

F
atima had a smile plastered on her face from the moment we got to the theater. It was a pleasure to be in the company of a woman that respected art. I watched her as she watched the play. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought this was her first live show. Her excitement brought me joy. I found myself humming the songs along with the crew.

When tears rolled down her eyes and interrupted her joyous expression, I frowned. Then, I concentrated on the scene where Celie and her sister were being forced apart. Fatima mocked the hand movements of the actors. She sniffed and mouthed, “Nothing but death.”

Her pain permeated through her tense muscles. I massaged her shoulders. I assumed that thoughts of her husband upset her. Shortly after the scene, intermission gave her a moment to recuperate. I leaned over and asked, “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

When her smile greeted my concern, I was relieved. She chuckled. “That part reminds me of me and my cousin. We were inseparable when we were kids. We would act that part out.”

Why was I happy to know that her tears weren’t about her husband? I smiled. “Really. Are you two still close?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Not really. She’s in Alabama. I’m here. I guess we grew apart.”

“How old is she?”

“My age.”

She stared into space and I stared at her. She spoke of Alabama like it was on the other side of the world. It was as if she’d left it behind. Did she think she was better than her family? What’s up with her and Alabama? My mother and her sisters go to Trinidad two or three times a year. They refuse to lose that connection. What made her feel that family was disposable?

We stood outside of the theater as I tried to pull something from my trick bag. When she folded her arms over her chest, I removed my suit jacket and put it around her. She batted her eyes. “Thank you, handsome.”

“No problem, gorgeous.”

After a few minutes, she said, “Let’s just get pizza.”

“I can’t take you for pizza looking like this.”

She rolled her neck. “Why not?”

Whenever I was slightly convinced that she was uppity, she’d do something like this. “No. We’re going somewhere nice.”

“Nothing’s better than pizza.”

I chuckled. “I forgot.”

We walked to the nearest pizzeria. Before I could grab napkins and have a seat, she had folded her slice and tilted her head back.

In between chewing, she asked, “What are you laughing at?”

I shrugged my shoulders. She said, “You’re always laughing at nothing. I got a feeling that you think I’m silly.”

“I think you’re cute.”

“Be honest with me.”

“Fatima, I
am
being honest.”

It was as if someone had written a script for her as well. She laughed on point. She knew how far to push it and she knew just how to show her appreciation. I meant everything I said to her. It disturbed me to think that she thought it was all an act.

We sat in the greasy pizzeria in our black tie attire like we had on jeans and tennis shoes. I appreciated her style. She was a rare treat.

When we walked into her house, we kissed for an eternity. I told her how much joy she had brought me and she told me the same in the midst of our embrace. We made love in the middle of her living room floor. While we united as one, thoughts filled my head.
I could be here. I could fall in love.

I collapsed on her and rested my head next to her silky mane. Suddenly, I felt like I heard someone say, “Yo. How are you going to disrespect me like that?”

My head popped up and frowned. Her husband frowned back at me, snapping me back into reality. I ran my hand down my face and rolled over. I took a deep breath and digested the discomfort. She rose on one elbow and rubbed my chest. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Something happened.”

I raked her hair. “I’m fine, baby. You know how men get after sex.”

“No.”

Was that her way of saying that I wasn’t allowed to be a man after sex, because she was paying me? My mind was filled with all sorts of questions. How have I succumbed to this?

I asked, “Do you want to go downstairs?” I began gathering our things. “Let’s go.”

She followed, but I could see she wanted to decipher my thoughts. Downstairs in her room, she begged for an explanation for my change of mood. Committed to staying in character, I kissed her forehead. “Baby, I’m fine.”

She huffed. “If you say so.”

As we showered, she scrutinized my actions. I joked and made idle conversation. When we lay in her bed, I thanked her again. She rubbed my face. “Thank you, Rashad.”

W
hen I walked upstairs, I discovered surprisingly that Rashad was already gone. Assuming he’d gone to get breakfast, I walked into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. A bag with a bagel and a note attached sat on the table:
Coffee in microwave.—Rash

My temples throbbed.
Where are you?
After six weeks, disappearing in the morning is definitely out of character. After I called him several times and received no answer, I stormed through the house spitting obscenities. Finally, I called Mya.

“Mya, I need help.”

She giggled. “Ah, yeah.”

“Stop. I’m not playing. I thought this would be easy, but…”

“You’re catching feelings.”

I sighed. “No, I mean. Maybe. How long do you think I can do this?”

“Tima, I really don’t know. It’s taken away some of the loneliness. Right?”

“Yeah, but if I end it now, then I’m going to miss him.”

“Why do you want to end it?”

“Because I didn’t expect to feel like this?”

“How do you think he feels?”

“I think he’s just in it for the money.”

“And you’re just in it for the company.”

My phone beeped. Before checking the ID, I quickly clicked over. “Hello.”

“Hi, Fatima.”

I mouthed, “Damn!”

It was my tenant on the third floor. “Hi, Kelli.”

“Remember I told you that my faucet has been leaking.”

“Yeah.”

“Um. I thought you were going to have someone fix it?”

Here I was falling for the damn man that I hired to take care of these types of things and neglecting to enforce his chores. At least this was an issue that I knew how to fix myself.

“Kelli, I can fix it. I’ll be up in about thirty minutes.”

When I clicked over, Mya giggled. “I guess that was Rashad.”

“No, it was a reminder that Rashad is getting paid for nothing.”

“Fatima, I think you’re tripping.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Yesterday, when we talked, you were happy as a bug in a rug. Now, you’re talking like you don’t want to do this anymore. What happened?”

“We went out last night. Had a wonderful time. After we had sex, he all of a sudden got distant. Then, I wake up this morning. He’s gone. He’s not answering his phone. Kelli just called. Her sink is broke. So, I have to fix it myself, because he’s nowhere to be found.”

“If I’m not mistaken, he’s just supposed to treat you well and be there when you need him. You’re not supposed to know where he is every second of the day. You need to figure out want you want. You can’t have it all.”

“How many times do you have to tell me that?”

“As many times as it takes for it to sink in.”

“All right, Ms. Know-it-all. I have to go fix Kelli’s sink. Maybe we’ll hook up later.”

I threw on some sweats and grabbed the toolbox from the kitchen. Before I left, I tried Rashad again. It went straight to voicemail. After slamming the phone down, I looked at the picture of Derrick and sucked my teeth and yelled, “Who told you to die?”

I stomped upstairs to Kelli’s apartment. Uncertain if I was more pissed that I forgot to tell Rashad to fix this weeks ago or my inability to locate him this morning, I tapped on her door. Just as I entered, her boyfriend was leaving. As if it were his responsibility, I thought why can’t he fix it? I mumbled, “Hey.”

Knowing her rent is way below market value, she blushed. “I didn’t want to worry you. It’s just been awhile.”

“I’m sorry.”

Standing in her bathroom, I tried to recollect how I’d done this previously. After opening the pack of new washers, I grabbed the wrench and began loosening the faucet. This is ridiculous.
Why am I doing this myself? What the hell am I paying Rashad for?

Out of nowhere, water spurted out and smacked me in the face as I complained. I tried to cover the continuous surge with my hand. It spewed through my fingers. After my face and my clothes were soaked, I suppressed my pride and yelled out for Kelli. She rushed in to witness the geyser in her bathroom. “Oh my goodness. Do you know what you’re doing?”

In the middle of being hosed down, I had to stop and roll my eyes. “What do you think?”

She scurried around the apartment. “What are we supposed to do?”

I yelled, “Call somebody!”

The water was practically up to my ankles; still I tried to decrease the pressure by covering it with both hands.

She screamed, “Who?”

“Any damn body. Call somebody.”

After close to ten minutes and a two-foot flood, her boyfriend returned. He rushed in, opened the cabinet and turned the water off. He smirked. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to turn the water off before you do anything?”

Oh yeah, I forgot that part of the instructions. Kelli stood at the bathroom door. “Everything’s wet.” She looked at her fully loaded makeup case. “All my makeup is ruined.”

“Kelli, I’m sorry. I’ll replace everything.”

She huffed. Afraid to continue with my maintenance responsibilities, I batted my eyes at her boyfriend. “Can you do this? I’ll pay you.”

He sucked his teeth. I frowned.
No his lazy ass isn’t acting irritated.
He should have offered to do it anyway. I’m just a poor little widow. As we debated with our body language, Kelli whined about how I drenched everything she owned. Once he agreed to change the washer, I stepped out of the pond and into the hall. Water gushed from my shoes. My pants legs flapped around my ankles. “Kelli, I’ll be back with the wet vac.”

Still hysterical about her stuff, she ignored me. I hung my head and slouched down to my apartment. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed and wanted to cry. Before going backup stairs, I checked the caller ID on my phones. Rashad still hadn’t called.

As I pulled the heavy vacuum up three flights of stairs, the tears fell. I stood outside Kelli’s door and eavesdropped. They called me every ditsy, spoiled-brat in the book, which triggered more tears. It’s not my fault that I was left with all this. I never wanted to be a landlord. After taking a deep breath, I tapped softly on the door.

“Come in,” Kelli said.

Before turning the knob, I dabbed beneath my eyes with my fingertips. When I walked in, they both wore smirks of curiosity. Could it be possible that I heard everything? I curled my lips to confirm that I did.

I proceeded with my cleanup duties. After sucking up an entire five gallons of water, I prayed that her boyfriend would help me empty the water in the tub. Unfortunately, he didn’t. I was forced to tilt the heavy bucket alone. My constant grunts didn’t trigger any sympathy.

I pulled two hundred bucks from my damp pocket. Soggy money is better than no money at all. Obviously they agreed as they both reached out for it. I pulled it back to my chest. “Kelli, one-fifty is for you for your inconvenience. Fifty dollars is for you for fixing the sink.” I looked at Kelli. “If you need more, let me know.”

Although I knew I was setting myself up to be played, I didn’t care. She nodded. “I’ll let you know.”

I struggled out of the door and down the stairs with my vacuum. Seconds after I closed my front door, my phone rang. It was my tenant on the second floor. She was a middle-aged lady that never caused much trouble. I took a breath before answering.

“Fatima, I have a leak.”

I covered the receiver and mouthed, “Shit!” Then, I moved my hand. “Ms. Harris, Kelli had a flood in her apartment. Where’s your leak?”

“In the bathroom.”

I huffed. “Yeah, I’ll have someone look at it. I’ll see if they can come out today. Will that be okay?”

“Yes, honey. Just let me know.”

“Okay, I will.”

After I peeled off my damp clothes, I plopped on my bed and sank my face in my hands.

I
left Fatima’s house at six in the morning to get her breakfast and to get home to change into some old clothes. When I crept into the apartment at the crack of dawn, I heard my mother’s television, so I tiptoed around. I was nearly out the door in a ragged T-shirt, old jeans, and Timberlands when my mother called my name. I stood in the hallway. “What’s up?”

“I don’t want nothing. I wanted to make sure it was you.”

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m about to leave, though.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll be back.”

I darted from the house before she had more questions. I arrived at the worksite at seven-forty-five. The contractors were already there moving and shaking. I watched the orchestrated operation for several minutes before Marty arrived. He pulled up in a Benz CLS and parked it on the dusty street. He grabbed two hard hats from his trunk. I stood up and shook his hand.

“Glad that you could make it this morning.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it. I’m really excited.”

“Yeah, it’s exciting. I want to walk you through one of the houses that are almost done.”

He instructed me to put on the hard hat and we headed to a house at the end of the block. He asked, “You’ve done some rehabbing before, right?”

“Uh, I’ve done a little.” I chuckled. “When I was a teenager.”

“Okay, that’s fine. If you follow my lead, you’ll never have to get down on your hands and knees with a hammer again.”

I frowned. He clarified, “Managing construction projects is the way to go. As a worker, you can only perform one job at a time, right?” I nodded. He said, “Exactly, but if you know how to manage your contractors and can identify the shortcuts that they try to take, you can manage multiple projects at the same time.”

He opened the door. “For your sake, I’m going to go through this apartment with a fine-tooth comb. You’ll see why managing this stuff is important.”

There was orange tape on various things. The apartment looked flawless to me. Marty pointed to one of the pieces of tape. “What do you think is wrong there?”

“Ah?”

He showed me how the contractors painted over a crack in the drywall instead of spackling it. Then we went into the kitchen, and he pointed to the ceiling. “Do you see the huge gap in the crown molding? These are the things you have to worry about.”

He opened up the cabinet. “Look in there, what do you see?”

I joked, “Another piece of orange tape.”

“No, actually the cabinet is cracked in there and that’s a path for mice to get through.”

He explained the importance of identifying all these things before the contractors are gone. We left that house and went into another one. It was practically still a shell with some of the framing done.

“You want to make sure that the electrician, the plumber, and the other contractors are all in sync. Timing is everything. This comes with experience, but if you shadow me, you’ll get it down.”

“What do you mean by timing?”

“You need to estimate how long your contractors need to frame, before you have the electrician and plumber come in. What happens if the framing is wrong and you’ve already brought the electrician in? You have problems.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

My head throbbed. This was a lot to master, but as long as he was willing to counsel me, I would be here.

“But it’s almost like science after awhile. Managing construction is all about knowing what has to be done, not necessarily knowing how to do it.” He chuckled. “Do you know how to learn that?” Judging from the bewildered look on my face, he answered, “Read.”

I agreed, “Well, I’ve been doing that.”

“And there’s a certain confidence that hands-on provides as well.”

“What do you think the chances of me being able to manage my first project without a lot of prior management experience?”

“I’m not going to say you won’t have any pitfalls, but everyone has to start somewhere.”

I couldn’t afford any pitfalls. This would be my home. He noticed my disappointment and said, “Some people manage to get this done without even attempting to take a course. My course should make sure you’re well prepared. If not, I promise to help you as much as I can.”

Somehow, I believed him. This seemed like it was his passion. How could his five-foot-five body hold all the energy he possessed? Some of it transferred to me. My mind traveled at the speed of light as I imagined how I would get this done.

Marty dropped me off at my mother’s apartment. I rushed in like a big kid. Everything seemed within reach. I dashed into the shower. I couldn’t wait to go back to Fatima’s. Maybe we could do something like take a walk in the park, shop a little. The sun was shining and I wanted to have a nice, relaxing day.

It was around one, after I chatted with my mother and finally got dressed. I rushed to the pizzeria, because I knew Fatima would be hungry. On my way to her house, I called. She picked up and didn’t say anything.

I said, “What’s up with my Teem?”

“What is the purpose of our agreement?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Whenever I need you, you’re never around.”

“Fatima, don’t start it.”

“I thought you were supposed to help me.”

Though the frustrated tremble in her voice told me otherwise, I said, “You’re joking. Right?”

“You’re not on your job.”

My excitement quickly evaporated, but for my sanity, I said, “Tell me you’re playing.”

“Do I sound like I’m playing?”

As the attitude and inflection in her voice traveled through the phone, crushing my pride, all I could do was say, “Fatima, I’m out.”

I hung up the phone. I will not have a woman yell at me. I’m a man’s man. I can’t do it anymore. As much as I enjoy being around her, it’s these times when the bad drowns the good. The money is not worth disrespect. She can take this role and stuff it.

As I sprinted down her street, suddenly I remembered the good things, the way we laugh together, and how much fun we have and I questioned my decision to let it all go. Yet, my anger told me my fear to let this go wasn’t about Fatima, it was just the loss of a companion.
Let it go, Rashad. Find a woman that isn’t paying you.

I pounded on her buzzer. When she opened the door, I stormed in and yelled, “What happened between last night and this morning?”

Her neck twirled with each syllable. “You weren’t here.”

It angered me that I was doing everything she asked me to do and more, yet she still wasn’t satisfied. “What the hell do you want from me?”

“I want you to do your damn job!”

I walked up into her face. “My job? My job?” Her eyes blinked rapidly. I huffed. “All I think about is this damn job. All I do is think about ways to make you happy.”

She sucked her teeth. “That’s what you get paid for.”

“I don’t get paid to genuinely care about you. I get paid to act like I give a damn.” I huffed. “This dumbass script.”

Her mouth hung open. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me.”

“When did it become a dumbass script? You’re getting paid for that dumbass script. My money isn’t dumb.”

“Teem, you know what’s sad. Everything I do for you is because I want to. That’s why it’s a dumbass script. Do you understand that?”

Her eyes lowered. Suddenly, I wasn’t as pissed. Fear was written all over her face as she shrugged her shoulders. A strong desire to make her secure and to let her know that I wouldn’t leave her too overwhelmed me. Her arms locked tightly around my torso. I kissed her forehead and said, “Attraction can’t be bought. I would be here for free. You know that, right?” She shrugged her shoulders and I said, “Believe me.”

She nodded on my chest. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

She sighed, but I knew she thought I was here primarily for the money. Five weeks ago, she would have been absolutely right. Even I am tripping on how my feelings are traveling so rapidly. I spend hours wondering what it is about her that has me so caught up.

She looked up at me and pushed her finger in my chest. “Do you know what I’ve been through today?”

“Why don’t we sit down, have a slice of pizza, and talk about it.”

She sucked her teeth and slouched in the chair. Her eyes rolled in her head as she released a disgruntled sigh. “The chick upstairs called me about her leaky faucet, and…” she curled her lips, “somebody wasn’t here.”

I chuckled. “So, it’s my fault. Huh?”

“No, but I had to go fix it myself.”

“A leaky faucet is no emergency. Why didn’t you just wait?”

“Because…”

I softly knocked on her forehead. “Because you have a hard head.”

“Well my hard head landed me in a damn puddle of water.”

“What happened?”

“I forgot to turn the water off.”

“No.”

“Yeah. And it took damn near ten minutes before Kelli’s boyfriend rescued me.” She giggled. “Water was everywhere. We could have gone swimming.”

The harder I laughed the worse she made it sound. “The ceiling was wet. All of Kelli’s toiletries were soaked. I felt so stupid.”

I stood up, huddled over her, and wrapped my arms around her. “Is that why you wanted to fire me?”

“Oh, you were fired! I was so pissed.”

“Why were you mad at me?”

“Because I woke up to an empty bed. Then, you didn’t answer your phone. Had you answered your phone, I wouldn’t have felt so helpless.”

I stroked her hair and reassured her. “You know I’m not going anywhere.”

She pushed me away. “You know you’re on probation.”

I fell back into my chair. “Probation?”

“Mmm-huh. Three strikes you’re out.”

“How many strikes do I have now?”

“One and a half.”

We burst out laughing. I shook my head. “Teem, you are a trip. I guess this will be a deduction from my pay?”

As her chin dropped, she snickered. “You noticed?”

“It’s not heavy.”

“It must be if you noticed.”

“Fatima, look, it’s really okay.”

When she realized that I was not concerned, she lifted her head. “Oh, by the way, can you go upstairs to check out Ms. Harris’s ceiling?”

“Don’t tell me the water seeped through?”

With her lips poked out for my sympathy, she nodded. I shook my head. “I see why you were tripping.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”

“You sleep like a damn rock. Even if I wanted to wake you up, I couldn’t.” I stood up. “Where are the tools?”

“Sitting at the door where I left them.”

I glanced around to the front door and noticed the large toolbox in the middle of the floor. “A’ight. Is Ms. Harris expecting me?”

She grabbed the phone and lifted her index finger. “Let me call her first.”

After she spoke to Ms. Harris, I headed up to the second floor. She opened up. “Hello, young man.”

“How are you today?”

“I was fine until it started raining in my bathroom.”

I laughed. “Let me check it out for you.”

She ushered me to the bathroom and pointed to the ceiling. The drywall looked pretty saturated. I gasped. “Wow. That’s bad.”

Inwardly, I laughed as I imagined Fatima when the water began gushing out. She nodded. “Yeah, I’m afraid it will fall in.”

“I’m going to carve it out and put some plastic up there today. I’ll come back tomorrow or Monday to put up a new piece of drywall.”

She huffed. “Okay.”

I bent down to open the toolbox. When I noticed DM engraved in the handle, I immediately felt the need to get my own tools. But with this sweet lady standing patiently in the hall, I figured it wasn’t the time to be petty. I took a deep breath and found the saw.

When I climbed up on the sink, Ms. Harris thought it would be a good time to start a casual conversation.

“So, are you the super?”

“Ah, I’m just helping Fatima out.”

“I’ve seen you around frequently. Are you a good friend of Fatima’s?”

I nodded as I began to cut out her ceiling.

“That’s good. She hasn’t had a man around here since Mr. Mayo.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So, are you her boyfriend?”

Ironically, I didn’t know the answer to her question. Before responding, I cleared my throat. “We’re good friends.”

“I don’t know how she survived his death. She went on with her life without missing a beat. I don’t even remember her mourning.”

I grunted because I felt like Fatima was still in mourning. Ms. Harris continued, “He definitely took care of her.”

Like I need to hear that again.
Hoping that my lack of response would send her away, I pretended to be preoccupied. Unfortunately, she didn’t get the memo. “They were so close.”

I huffed like I struggled with the cutting. “Ms. Harris, do you have a bucket?”

“Sure, let me get it.”

When she returned, I put the bucket up to the hole I’d cut for the water to drain. As it trickled into the bucket, Ms. Harris stood at the door with her arms folded.
Lady, isn’t there a Lifetime movie on or something?

When the water became a slow drip, I reached for the saw and cut away a large square and covered the hole with a plastic bag. Before I left, Ms. Harris said, “She’s a sweetheart. I’ve been praying for someone to come along.”

She winked at me and I nodded. “All right. I’ll have Fatima give you a call to let you know when I’m coming to patch up the ceiling.”

When I returned to the apartment, Fatima giggled. “White powder is all over your face and hair.” She kissed me. “It’s sexy, though.”

Ms. Harris’s comments played in my head as I looked at Fatima prance around, concealing the obvious. This poor girl was in pain.