A Hire Love (21 page)

A
s ready as my mother was to move, she seemed to have a hard time transitioning. More of her things were at the old apartment than the new. I stumbled into my new apartment carrying a heavy box when my cell phone rang. I was elated to hear Steve’s voice.

“What’s up, Rashad? It’s Steve.”

I crossed my fingers before responding. “Hey, Steve. Things are good.”

“Are you sitting down?”

My heart jumped out of my chest and bobbled on the floor. I stared as my heart beat. “No, but I can be.”

He laughed. “Well, sit down.”

My knees trembled as I found a box. “Okay. I’m sitting.”

“Pack your bags, buddy. You’re about to be the hottest new actor in Hollywood.”

As if my floor were a trampoline, I jumped up and down. I hit high-five with the door and the wall. What did I do to deserve this? Tears rolled from my eyes as I fought to catch my breath.

“Steve, man. Please tell me you’re not playing with me.”

“Look, man. I let agents handle rejections. If you didn’t have the job, you definitely wouldn’t hear it from me. Why don’t you go out and celebrate tonight. We’ll talk the specifics tomorrow. I just wanted to give you the good news.”

“Man, you can give me the specifics now. I can be in LA in twenty-four hours.”

He chuckled. “Look, man, you have about a week to make the move. Like I said, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Still out of breath, I gasped, “All right, Steve, as long as you don’t change your mind.”

“Don’t worry. It’s sealed. I sent your tape to the producers and they loved you. It’s your role, man.”

Trying to express my deepest gratitude, I took a deep breath. “Steve, thanks for everything, man.”

“Don’t mention it.”

I hung up the phone and jogged to the old apartment. When I announced the great news to my mother, we jumped around in circles. Though she’d told me to get a real job dozens of times, the tears in her eyes said she was glad that I never listened.

Monique happened to call in the midst of our celebration. She wanted to discuss the new property. Though I would have liked to be greedy and commit to doing everything, I told her that we needed to scrap the second property. I wouldn’t have the time to manage the renovation. My head nodded to an internal beat as I explained that I was planning to be in LA.

Though I’m certain Monique was happy, she sounded disappointed. Now that we no longer had to do business, I thought it might be an ideal time for the dinner I promised her. I asked her to hold and covered my mouthpiece. I mouthed, “Do you mind if I take her out to celebrate?”

My mother shooed me. “Honey, I don’t care. I’ll celebrate on my own.”

When I returned to the phone, I said, “Monique, I’d love to celebrate with you. If it’s okay, I’d like to take you out this evening.”

“Rashad, I would love to.”

“I’ll meet you at eight.”

When I hung up the phone, my mother smiled. “Now, you can find yourself a woman.”

I chuckled. “You’ve been trying to get me hitched since I graduated from college.”

When I arrived at Monique’s place, she was anxious and ready. She met me at the door and didn’t invite me in. On the taxi ride to the restaurant, I asked her casual questions. She seemed to be in another world or at least not in this one. My ego longed for excitement, which she clearly lacked.

“Do you like to dance?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Not really.”

“Do you like comedy?”

“Sometimes.”

I took a deep breath. Sometimes attraction is not enough. Finally, I just stared out of the window. When we arrived at the restaurant, I asked if she wanted a drink. She declined, “I don’t drink.”

Okay, Monique had officially blown my high. As I ordered a constant stream of Cuervo shots, I refused to grant her the authority. She could either join my party or watch it. Turns out, she chose the latter. After the taxi dropped her off, I told the driver to take me to Fatima’s address. I’m now the man she wants me to be. I sang jingles as we headed uptown. “‘If I have to beg and plead for your sympathy, I don’t mind, because you mean that much to me.”

I beat on the back of the driver’s seat. When I stepped out of the taxi, I yelled, “Fatima!”

I jogged up her stairs and rang the bell. Her office light was on, so I tapped on the window. “Fatima. Open up. I want to be with you and I know you want to be with me. Fatima!”

I sang, “‘Tell me when will I see you smile again.’”

Neighbors yelled from their windows, “Shut the hell up!”

Still, the lady I came for said nothing. She let me stand outside and make a fool of myself. I refused to go. She is the reason I am so happy. I loved her for making me worthy of her love. Like I couldn’t go on without her, I yelled her name over and over again.

When the NYPD pulled up and escorted me from her door, stating they were called by the lady inside, I immediately sobered up. Well, almost, I yelled, “How can you do this, Fatima? We’re better than this.”

As the officers stuffed me into their cruiser, I sang Lenny Williams’, “’Cause I Love You”: “I don’t have much riches, but we gonna see it through. ’Cause I love you…and I need you.’”

The officers chuckled. One of them imitated a verse in the song: “‘Lenny, you just oughta forget about her.’”

I laughed a bit. “‘Maybe you’ve never been in love, like I’ve been in love.’” I sang loud enough for Fatima to hear.

He shook his head. “She just called the police on you, man. Let it go.”

They slammed the door and I sang, “‘I think I better let it go. Looks like another love TKO.’”

The officers laughed harder as the driver started the car. “Man, where do you live?”

As they mocked my desperate attempt to get my lady, I was disgraced. I stepped out of the house a man full of promise, and returned in a police car. When it sank in that Fatima could call the cops on me, I was determined to move to LA and forget she ever happened. Calling the cops on a black man for no reason is clear evidence that you couldn’t give a damn about his future. As I fell asleep, I accepted that she could never be a part of my future.

N
ew dreams replace old dreams. I sprung up in the middle of the night nine days later with the answer. Letting go of what Derrick and I shared meant letting a piece of myself die. I had yet to do that; instead I kept a piece of him alive and that has kept me from living. I thought I wasn’t honoring his memory but I hadn’t honored myself. How could he rest in peace if I’m fighting for his life? It was time to throw in the towel. I sat in the bed and pulled my wedding band from my right finger. Since nothing in my bedroom had changed since I went off to college, I thought this would be an ideal place to bury the band. I tiptoed to my trinket-like jewelry box and dropped it inside.

I tried to force myself back to sleep, but I couldn’t help but think about Rashad. Could he see my reluctance to letting go? Is that why it was so easy for him to let go? I wanted to talk to him. I needed him to know. When I finally dozed off, my cell phone rang. I jumped up and assumed fate sent a subliminal message to Rashad.

I was disappointed to discover it was the doctor’s office calling about a laser hair-removal appointment. As I rubbed my chin, I told them I’d try to make it. The receptionist reminded me of how long it took to get the appointment. If I missed this one, I could be looking at another two months. I took a deep breath and assumed this was the inspiration I needed to get back to New York and get everything off my chest.

When I called the airline to check on standby flights, I was told my best option would be at seven in the morning. The next day, I was packed and at the airport by five, praying that I could get on. My efforts weren’t in vain as the flight attendant called for standby passenger, Fatima Mayo.

When I got off the plane, I checked my messages just in case there was a delay with me being in Alabama. There were no new messages. No one cared. My head drooped in disappointment. Suddenly, I was determined not to wallow in my pity. I had business to handle. I wanted to be with Rashad and a part of me knew he wanted me. I wanted to love him and build new dreams with him.

When the car pulled up to my house, I snapped. The light in my office had been on for ten days straight. Preoccupied with my irresponsibility, I almost forgot to pay the driver. I went into the house and the silence was too loud. I sat on the couch and stared at the portrait of Derrick and me. My family’s advice was loud and clear. How could I ever move on if I couldn’t let go?

I rushed downstairs, and changed my clothes. Wearing the tennis shoes Rashad had bought for me, I ran up to 148
^th
Street to the address where I sent his pay stubs. I stood out of breath on his steps and smashed the bell. A lady said, “Yes.”

I looked at the speaker and considered turning around, but I remembered his touch and the way he stared into my eyes. It had to be real. I didn’t know who she was, but she was going to know who I was. I refused to let this love die. After clearing my throat, I said, “Hi. My name is Fatima Barnes. I’m looking for Rashad. Is this where he lives?”

She didn’t respond, but the door buzzed. I opened up and headed for the second floor. The door opened and I was happy to see an older woman. My smile pleaded with her. “Is Rashad home?”

She looked confused. “He’s at the new house.”

“The new house?”

“Yeah, we’re moving.”

I nodded slowly. “Where’s the new house?”

“On One hundred and twenty-seventh, sweetie. Aren’t you the young lady that works with the company that helped him with the place?”

I had no idea what the hell she was talking about, but I nodded. “Yeah, but I forget the address.”

She willingly told me the exact address and the cross streets. I dashed from the building and hopped into a taxi. I rang every bell on the door. Rashad appeared in the doorway and I pushed my way in. Boxes were sprawled around the apartment. We stood in the middle of the floor. Our emotions echoed as we stepped in circles around each other.

I said, “Hey.”

With a blank look, he replied, “Hey.”

Though I’d practiced my speech for nearly a day, I didn’t know what to say. His stoic stance befuddled me. I asked, “Just moving in?”

“Well, my mother’s going to move into this apartment now. I’m going to rent out the one that she had planned to live in.”

“So, you own this place?”

“Yeah, I bought it awhile ago. But we just finished the renovation a week or so ago.”

“So, why aren’t you going to stay here?”

“Mya didn’t tell you?”

“No, I haven’t spoken to Mya. I just got back from Alabama about an hour ago.”

“Well, I’m moving to LA tomorrow.”

I gasped, “Tomorrow?”

He nodded.

“What’s in LA?”

“I got the leading role in a new movie and we start taping this week.”

“That’s so wonderful. Ah…um…”

Confused, I didn’t know why I was there. It was never about love for him. He had a dream and I was just a delay. I clapped my hands and nodded to avoid crying. “Bravo. I always knew you were a great actor.”

My head hung and I reached out for a hug. He loosely slung his arm around me. As I fought my tears, I backed up to the door. “I’m glad I had a chance to wish you farewell.”

“Teem.” My eyes begged for something in his voice. He put one finger up. “Here, check this out when you get a chance.”

He handed me a manila envelope with what appeared to be a manuscript inside. I smirked because he had no clue that I wasn’t in that business anymore. When I put my hand on the door, I hoped he’d pull me back. I spoke slowly, “Maybe we’ll hook up when I come to LA. Or when you come back.”

He walked over and kissed my forehead. “Take care, Teem.”

“You, too.”

Afraid to end the scene, it took me nearly three minutes to exit the stage. My leading man never ran after me. I walked up the street at the pace of a turtle and peeked over my shoulder. Why didn’t he rescue me?

I went back home and put the numbing cream on my face for my laser appointment as if I weren’t already numb. I slouched to the train station. I never even felt the pinch that the doctor told me I should feel.

I sat in my living room sulking when the effects of the laser began. My skin started to sting and I tried to rub it away. Still, it hurt. Then, I was crying—my face burned and Rashad was on his way to Hollywood. Blowing my nose in her ear, I called Mya.

“Girl, your voicemail wasn’t coming on while you were in Alabama.”

I sniffed. “I know. My phone works sometimes down there and sometimes it doesn’t.”

“I thought you felt better the last time I talked to you.”

“I just came from Rashad’s place. I went there to confess my feelings, but he wasn’t feeling it.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. He didn’t have to say anything. He looked at me like I didn’t belong there.”

“Did you get a chance to say anything?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

“’Cause he would probably think I told you that he’s about to blow up.”

“But you didn’t.”

“He doesn’t know that. You fire him over the phone and show up two weeks later saying you changed your mind. He’s not trying to hear that.”

Spit bubbles lined my lips. “But, he has to know what I felt. I…He—”

“Honey, I don’t know. Maybe you should go back and just get it off your chest.”

“What if he doesn’t want to hear it?”

“Can you handle that?”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Well, I think you did the right thing.”

When my wailing became worse than when Derrick died, I pleaded, “Mya, let me go.”

“I’ll stop by when I get done, okay?”

When I hung up, I opened a bottle of wine. I decided to entertain myself while I got drunk, so I pulled out the manuscript from the envelope. It was titled: “The Perfect Script II” by Rashad Watkins.

My heart plummeted. Afraid to flip the page, I traced over the title. Would he describe a woman like me or someone else? I found the courage to read the summary of the characters. His words jumped off the page and pointed in my face. My shortcomings were all outlined in scenes:
Ability to love like she has never loved before. Cook for me as often as I cook for her. Treat me with as much consideration as I treat her. Never say good-bye over the phone.

As I read on, I was shocked to see my positives as well as my negatives. His script stated that if the woman snores, she should wear nose strips. I’d asked him before if it bothered him, but, of course, he had said no. Damn it! I forced him to lie to me. His script showed that he saw the imperfect me as perfect.

My heart raced as I tried to think of ways to reverse this and really show him who I was. Getting fired and going home was the wakeup call that I needed. I’m alive. I didn’t die with Derrick and Rashad made me see that. I have to go get him. I need to tell him that I’m ready to give love in return. I knew: Nothing in this house mattered. I could leave it all. It represented a life that was over.

My chin was covered with aloe as I ran around packing my things. In my quest to go get my man, I peeked in the mirror to see why my skin was still stinging. I screamed, “No!”

Dark polka-dot scabs covered my chin and neck. Oh my goodness, the laser singed me. Not today of all days. How can I convince him that I’m the girl for the script when I look like a leopard?

I called the doctor’s office and yelled at the top of my lungs, “You burned me all up. What am I supposed to do?”

The nurse instructed me to continue using the damn aloe vera. I shouted, “That’s not going to make these scabs go away.”

She said, “The scabs will go away in due time. Usually it’s just the epidermis layer that is damaged and that sheds daily anyway. You’ll be fine once it heals.”

“I don’t have time.”

“I’m really sorry Mrs. Mayo. I think I explained to you extensively the side effects of laser on colored skin.”

I slammed the phone down and called Mya. She told me to slow down as I rambled off my plans and my physical damage. I repeated, “Mya, he wrote a script describing his perfect woman and I want to audition for the role.”

“Go get him, Tima. I knew he wanted you.”

As she boosted me up, I paused, “There’s one problem: I look like a leopard.”

“From crying?”

“No, from the laser hair removal.”

She gasped, “You’re lying.”

“Please, hurry up and get here. We have to do something.”

“Okay, I’ll be there soon.”

I continued gathering my necessities while reading the script until Mya arrived. When I opened the door, her eyes watered. She covered her mouth. “Oh my god, Tima. It’s really bad.”

Her reaction scared me because I assumed that I was overreacting. She stood beside me in the bathroom mirror and admitted, “You can’t go get him like that.”

“What am I going to do?”

“Just calm down. Maybe makeup can work.”

We grabbed my makeup and she tried to apply concealer.

I winced.

“Does it hurt?”

“It still burns.”

“Tima, we may have to wait until the morning.”

“What if that’s too late?”

“It won’t be. Just get there bright and early.”

“Can you go prep him for my arrival?”

She shook her head slowly. “Tima, that’s not very grown up. Now, is it?”

“I just don’t want to miss him.”

“You won’t. I’ll ask Steve to come up with something to stall him until around ten. Is that good enough?”

“I should just go.”

“Honey, trust me. You do not want to go like that.”