A Hire Love (16 page)

T
he title guy read over each document, but I scribbled my signature before he could thoroughly explain. I was in a rush to get inside of my dry-rotted house and began carting stuff away. I’d already reserved a dump truck and a crew of guys for eight in the morning.

When the key to the padlock was placed in my hand, it felt like I was given a free diamond. Monique and another representative from City Props were there. Before I left the conference room, I hugged Monique and thanked her again. Her eyes slightly dimmed as our handshake broke. For a moment, I contemplated inviting her out, but didn’t want to risk the chance of running into Fatima again. Over the last few weeks, her roller-coaster ride at work has triggered highs and lows in our relationship. The last thing I need is for her to terminate my employment when I need it most.

Monique folded her lips tightly as though she expected an invitation. Then, she said, “Make sure you stop by and visit.” She winked. “Sometimes contracts fall through and we’ll give the money to someone with a proven success track.”

“Thank you. I will do that.”

Finally, all parties left and I jogged to the train; then, from the train to my house. After struggling with the rusty padlock for five minutes, the rickety door creaked open. Unlike before, the rotten smell was inviting. It belonged to me. I again walked through the safe parts of the house.

My imagination ran wild as ideas filled my head:
A fireplace could go here. Leave this space wide open. Make this window larger
. Dust floated around me, while I floated away.

My anxiety wouldn’t let me rest as I went home and began booking appointments in order—architect, electrician, plumber, and carpenter. I planned to be an intricate part of each phase. While I sat mapping out my house to completion, my mother walked in. “Hey, stranger.”

“Hey, Ma.”

She gave me a hug and I asked, “How proud would you be if you knew I purchased a brownstone?”

“More proud than I’ve been in a long time.”

I dangled my key in front of her. She raised her eyebrows. “That key doesn’t mean anything.”

I pulled out my settlement papers and handed them to her. She looked them over and her eyes watered. “Rashad, how were you able to do this?”

“I told you that assistant job that I have pays pretty well.”

Tears formed in her eyes as she nodded. “I’m so proud of you. I’ve been praying that something wonderful would breakthrough for you and look at this.” She hugged me. “Now, this is the man I raised.”

“I’ve always been the man you raised.”

She sighed and said, “I lost you for a minute.”

“You thought you lost me? I’ve always been focused.”

“I couldn’t tell.”

“When it’s all done, you can have one of the apartments rent-free.”

“I’ve been waiting for the day that my only boy would take care of me.”

“It’s coming. That day is coming.”

She held my face in her hands. “Is this why I’ve only seen you two times in the last four months?”

“Actually, my job is why you haven’t seen me.”

“Okay. Okay. When do I get to see the place?”

“It’s just a shell now, Ma. I want you to see it when it’s done.”

She sucked her teeth. “Rashad, just take me to see it.”

I took a break from my planning to take my mother to the house. She hugged me over and over again. Her excitement brought tears to my eyes. Nothing could replace making the person that sacrifices everything for you proud. She asked, “How much is this assistant job paying?”

After I explained to her the help that City Props offered, I think she got a better understanding of how I could afford it. When we left the house, I decided to take her to eat, which I hadn’t done since I met Fatima.

We took the train to midtown for Italian food. As we sat down to break bread, it was obvious how long it had been. We caught up on the latest in each other’s life. She pressured me for more information about my job and my lack of a relationship. She would die if she knew that my job and relationship were one. I successfully skated around her inquiries. Then, she asked, “Have you given up on acting?”

“Nah. Why would you say that?”

“You haven’t mentioned anything about castings and you’re spending all of your time on this new job.”

Her comment rattled me. Not only had I noticed my slippage, but so had she. My obsession to please Fatima and become financially free had stifled my dream. When I looked at my mother, I felt slightly ashamed. “Acting is my life. I have some things I’m trying to do so I won’t be a broke actor, but I will never give up acting.”

“That’s smart. I’ve been trying to tell you this.”

After we finished eating, we chatted for awhile longer. When my cell phone rang, I knew it was Fatima. As eager as I was to speak with her, I let it go to voicemail. My mother asked, “Who’s that calling?”

When the phone rang again, she said, “Why don’t you answer?”

When I picked up, Fatima said, “Hey, you.”

“Hey, you.”

“Where are you?”

I asked, “Where are you?”

“In the house waiting for you.”

“Okay, I’ll be there shortly.”

“See you when you get here.”

My mother raised an eyebrow. “Who was that?”

“My boss.”

“Sure sounded touchy.”

I chuckled. “It’s not that serious.”

Although I knew she wanted more information, I brushed her off and rushed her home.

As I headed to Fatima’s house, my conversation with my mother replayed in my head. It was clear that I needed to redirect my focus on the bigger picture.

M
y wedding anniversary brought back so many memories. We were married on Labor Day six years ago and today was the hardest because not only was it another anniversary, it was Labor Day and living through this is surely hard work.

I lay in my bed alone and contemplated staying in all day, sipping wine, and willing Derrick back into existence. It was actually a blessing because I was drowning with work, but the day off gave me an opportunity to wallow in my pity all alone. The manuscripts scattered beside me would have to wait until I was done with my yearly depression ritual. Rashad had left at the crack of dawn to go where, I don’t know, nor did I ask. He had been doing that for weeks now; it had become routine.

I popped in my wedding CD. Al Green blasted through my speakers: “Let’s, let’s stay together. Lovin’ you whether, whether times are good or bad, happy or sad.”

Tears welled in my eyes as my wedding day played in my head. I went into my closet and pulled out my wedding album.
Today, I married my best friend. September 4, 2000.
I flipped back and forth through the pages hoping to jump into the photos and relive each moment. My phone rang and interrupted my medium attempt.

Rashad’s voice came through the phone, “What are you doing on a beautiful day like today?”

I sighed. “Rashad, I’m not in the mood.”

“We’re going to the Caribbean Day parade. How can you not be in the mood?”

“I’m not from the Caribbean.”

“But I am. Get ready. I’m on my way with our Trinidad flags.”

“Rashad. I—”

He hung up the phone and I looked down in my lap to Derrick smiling up at me. I patted the picture.
I love you, honey.

For the first time since his death, I took a shower on our anniversary. I debated whether or not I should be hanging out with Rashad, but before I knew it, I was dressed and waiting in my living room.

When he came into the house, he wore his Trinidad soccer jacket and jeans. I giggled. “You’re a real patriot.”

“I have to be.”

“What’s up with the fake accent?”

He kissed me. “You don’t like my accent.”

“No, it sounds like you’re trying too hard.”

“Okay, I’ll quit.”

“Thank you.”

“What have you done all day?”

“Nothing.”

“Good. You’ll have enough energy to get rowdy with me at the parade.”

“I’m not getting rowdy.”

When I was infused with the energy from the crowds of people that surrounded me, I was made a liar. We stood on the sidewalk on Utica Avenue in Brooklyn raising our hands to the roof and grinding to the island sounds of calypso and reggae. I’d even got the nerve to tie the Trinidad flag bandanna around my head. Vendors lined the streets with ethnic foods and drinks. Rashad had poured enough Caribbean rum down my throat to last me until the New Year. As each elaborately decorated truck passed, I raised my flag like I was born in the islands. Rashad lifted me up on his back so that I wouldn’t miss anything. Dancers marched behind the trucks with flamboyant costumes. Different celebrities surprised the crowd by popping up from their country’s float. I bounced on Rashad’s back and waved my arms in the air to the eclectic sounds that vibrated through me.

Rashad appreciated my enthusiasm. He would look up and smile sporadically. His muscles would bulge each time he hiked me up higher to protect me from sliding down his back. I leaned over his shoulder. “I’m glad you forced me to come out.”

“Forced?”

“Yeah. I didn’t want to come out today.”

“You sure didn’t fight hard.”

I chuckled. “Whatever.”

People cheered for their countries, yet we were all family. This was my first parade since I’ve been in New York, but it sure wouldn’t be my last.

With one arm wrapped around Rashad’s neck, I rested the side of my head on the side of his. My eyes closed in the midst of the commotion and I smiled. My meditation was disrupted when someone yanked my arm. I flinched and prayed that the feminine hands that I saw before I looked into her face were not those of Rashad’s woman.

When I looked into my sister-in-law’s face, I wanted to revise my prayer. Her eyes scorned me as I leapt off of Rashad’s back. She looked at me. I looked at her. Finally, she spoke, “Hey, Fatty.”

My stomach rumbled. “Hey.”

Rashad held my hand like he wanted me to introduce him, but I didn’t know what to say.

She smiled. “How are you?”

“I’m good.”

“I see.”

I took a deep breath. “I mean, I’m doing better.”

“I guess you’re dating again.”

I shrugged my shoulder. She was never a big fan of mine. She thought I was too young for her younger brother.

She snickered. “It’s funny. I actually thought about you today, because you know today is…”

“Of course I know…”

“You don’t come around anymore.”

I assumed that she was the reason that I felt abandoned by his family after he died, but I didn’t feel like explaining. Instead, I dropped my head. “It’s too hard. You know?”

She nodded. “I know. So introduce me to your new friend.”

When I introduced them, I inadvertently said she was my sister-in-law. Rashad eyes dimmed. She gave me a hug and walked away. Suddenly, despite all the festivities, I rewound to being consumed with my tragedy.

Rashad recognized my preoccupation. He leaned over and asked, “Are you ready to go?”

“No, I’m okay. You’re having a good time. I don’t want to ruin it.”

“Teem, I’d rather we go home, than have you looking over your shoulder.”

“What?”

“You’re not ready for her to see you with someone else. I know.”

“I—”

“I understand. Let’s go.”

I wrapped my arm around his waist. “Thank you. Thanks for understanding.”

Though he claimed to understand, his attitude while we sat on the train told me otherwise. I massaged his leg. “Are you okay?”

He shrugged his shoulder. “I’m fine.”

I intertwined my fingers in his and wondered if I should explain that today was my anniversary and that my public display of affection was inappropriate. My eyes tried to explain, but he stared out the window at a cement wall. I raked his evenly blended hairline.

“I’m sorry for ruining your day.”

He shook his head. “My day isn’t ruined. You know that I don’t stress the little things.”

When we got to my house, he told me that he had some things to do and he would be back. I thought about stopping him, but decided to let him have his moment, because I needed one too.

He called a few hours later, as if nothing ever happened. I tried to apologize, but he stopped me and told me to come to the door. When I opened up, his smile told me that I was forgiven. Our embrace confirmed that he was an exceptional man who has total control of his emotions. As much as I appreciated it, I also questioned his ability to just let things go.

T
he summer had disappeared right before my very eyes. I woke up the morning after Labor Day trying to figure out where it had gone. Fatima and I were both working like we had something to prove. We would leave her house around seven and neither of us would return until close to eleven. Considering that I thought I should be hands-on with the renovations, the freedom gave me the opportunity to handle my business.

It took me nearly two months to actually trust my contractors. When the renovations first began, I would come in every morning prepared to steam off wallpaper, cart away junk, or strip floors. After going to a few auditions and being questioned if I’d been in fight because my knuckles were scraped up, I decided to take Marty’s advice and lay back and let the pros do their jobs. And that, they have done. The house is divided into five apartments; that includes a duplex, which is where I will reside. The second level has one two-bedroom. The third level has one one-bedroom and a studio. We also divided a portion of the lower-level duplex and made a small studio accessible from the outside.

Fatima assumed I’d just become a more punctual person as I rushed her out of the house each morning. I think it has finally registered that I have a life too. I sat on the bed as she stood in the bathroom mirror complaining about the hair on her face that no one can see.

Five minutes passed and now I stood at the bathroom door. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It would be faster if you just shaved.”

Her eyes opened wider. “Are you saying that I have that much hair?”

“No, I’m saying that it would be quicker if you shave. You’re picking at nothing. Soon you’ll be pulling off skin.”

“I know what I feel.”

“I know what I see. I think it’s just become a nervous habit.”

“You don’t have to worry about it, so you don’t care.”

I slouched on the door. “Fatima, if it bothers you that bad, why don’t you do something about it?”

“I am.”

“Something more permanent, like laser or electrolysis.”

“So, you do see it?”

“No, I see the time you waste picking at invisible hair. So, if it will save you twenty minutes a day, I think you should go for it.”

“You’re so punctual now. You make me sick.”

She gathered her things and rushed out of the bathroom. Her eyes were dark from lack of sleep and her body was getting slimmer every day. I sympathized with her because she had committed herself to be a one-man show at work. I prayed that one day I could relieve her of that burden. One day soon, she’d only have to work if she wanted to.

Before we left the house, she asked, “Are you going to that party tonight?”

“Are you?”

“Mya said that everyone who’s anyone should be there and that you should go.”

“What about you?”

Her face sagged. “I can’t. I have too much work. It will be another late one.”

I hugged her and she leaned her head into my chest. I stroked her back with silent apologies.

After putting an exhausted Fatima into the taxi, I headed over to the house. When I got there, the electrician sat outside.

I asked, “No one’s in there?”

“Nah, I’ve been here for thirty minutes.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I figured you were on your way.”

As we headed into the house, I told him, “Look, call me if you get here and no one’s here.”

The contractors also had a key and are scheduled to be here every morning by seven-thirty. As I wondered what the holdup could have been this morning, the team straggled in. The lead guy said, “What’s up, Rash?”

While checking my watch, I said, “Nothing man. What’s going on?”

“Yeah, we’re running a little late this morning, but it’s not every day.”

I just nodded, because it wasn’t as if their lateness delayed anything. In fact, they were ahead of schedule and had done a hell of a job so far. In less than three months, the place had been transformed into the castle I dreamed of.

Whenever I stepped into the house, it seemed that another room was completed or framed. I walked through the house and checked out the new installments and rechecked everything else.

The renovations ran so smoothly, I began to believe that I could purchase two or three homes a year. Within two years, I would be living large and be a ballin’ actor, instead of a starving one. It amazed me how easily it was to rent out the apartments. People would literally walk up to the contractors asking when it would be done and if I were renting out rooms. I had four applicants lined up to move in and ten on the waiting list if anything fell through. If I had known three years ago, I would be King of New York by now. Then on the other hand, I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of meeting my Teem.

I brought Fatima dinner at work before heading to the networking party of the year. When I got there, she looked at me and her eyes watered.

“What’s wrong?”

“You look so good and I have to let you go to this party alone.”

“Teem, leave this stuff for tomorrow. It will be here.”

“But look at me.”

“You look fine. You’ll just be the classy lady among all the trashy ones.”

We laughed and she said, “I really can’t. Aside from all of this work, I’m sleepy. I don’t know where I’ll get the energy from.”

“We’ll get you a Red Bull and I’ll give you all the extra energy you need.”

“What are you going to do if I fall out at the party?”

“You’re not going to fall out.” After looking into her weary eyes, I changed my mind. “Okay, let me stop stressing you. When are you leaving?”

“In about an hour.”

“Do you want me to stay here with you?”

“If you stay, it will take me longer than an hour. So, go on and go to your little party. I’ll just be here, working.”

I pried myself from her office and headed downtown to the party. When I walked in, I searched for Mya. At least I could have a piece of Fatima if she couldn’t be here. After going up and down the stairs aimlessly, I decided to relax in the cut.

When I saw a chick that I used to date, I tried looking in the opposite direction. She walked up to me.

“Hey, Rashad.”

I said, “Hey…”

“Deneen.”

I knew her name but I wanted to knock her off her high-horse. She blushed. “So, what have you been up to?”

“Nothing much.”

“Well, you look good.”

“You, too.”

“How’s the acting career going?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “What about you?”

“Good. Work is picking up.”

A year and a half ago, I thought this girl was the hottest thing in the city. As she stood in front of me selling herself, I just wanted her to disappear.

She rocked in front of me. I stood still. She continued to talk, “You are so handsome.”

I chuckled. Now I’m handsome. When I was sending her flowers and begging to take her out, she wasn’t interested. I looked at all the other fake chicks at the party and shook my head. It’s hard to tell the real from the fake. Despite all of Fatima’s requirements, I know she’s real.

“What are you doing later?” she asked.

“Ah, I have to meet my girl.”

Her dancing came to a complete halt. Her eyes opened wider. “Oh, Okay.”

Trying not to come across too harsh, I asked, “What are you doing later?”

She shrugged her shoulders and walked away shortly after. Why do women think they can always use their sex appeal to get you? I walked through the club, trying to see if I recognized anybody. After shaking hands with a few of my colleagues, I gathered that this was a networking event for starving actors to network with starving actors. Neither Mya nor any of her director friends were anywhere to be found. Maybe they were in VIP. If I can’t get to the important people, what the hell is the purpose? Since my heart really wasn’t in the club, but all the way in Harlem, I called Fatima to see if she was home yet. When I told her I was on my way, she asked, “What about the party?”

“I’d rather be with you.”