Better Than Okay (5 page)

And that was the problem. Their relationship stayed in her dorm
room. They’d gone to the movies a couple of times, late at night. And that was
it. But she was so absorbed in him she’d ignored common sense. She’d failed to
realize that she’d become the very girl that she’d always pitied and silently
judged for their blindness and stupidity.

Then one night, after an especially long “study session,” he’d
whispered that he loved her and said he wanted to be with her. And she believed
him. That is, until he’d abruptly stopped talking to her around the time of his
graduation. She found out a week later that he was engaged.

He asked her to meet him for coffee afterward and he’d apologized
profusely, still insisting his feelings for her were real, but that he needed
to do the right thing. The right thing by his new fiancé, not her. She’d
cried—right then and there in the trendy college coffee shop that sold
overpriced lattes.
 
She actually let
him see her cry. And he’d looked at her with pity. She didn’t know which was
worse, his un-love or the fact that he felt sorry for her. Her tears hadn’t
done a damn thing besides make her look weak. She’d vowed after that it would
never happen again.
 

Raven had been there through the whole thing, comforting her
through her crying bouts, helping to restore her shattered self-esteem. Dorian
was there for her, too, just in a different way. He’d threatened to kick
Jamal’s ass if he ever saw him again, which wasn’t likely to happen since he
moved with his new fiancé to Charlotte just a month after his graduation.
Dorian never liked Jamal and made no qualms about telling her.

She glanced at the clock, noting she had about fifteen minutes to
finish getting ready. She still felt stupid every time she thought about Jamal,
even though it was five years ago. The whole story was so cliché it was
sickening, but it was her story. And it hurt. She wasn’t vulnerable very often.
She wouldn’t allow herself to be. She learned enough about what
that
got you from watching Chrissy and
seeing how her mom’s relationship with her dad had turned out.

They’d divorced when she was ten. Her mom caught him cheating, and
he said he couldn’t be married anymore. A year later he was living in Reno,
married to some chick he’d only known for six weeks, helping her raise her
two-year-old daughter. She’d listened to her mom crying herself to sleep more
times than she cared to remember in the year that followed. Her crying hadn’t
gotten her anything either. Her dad never came back.

Suffice to say, she wasn’t big on the dating scene. She’d gone out
a few times, but had deliberately kept it casual. Besides, she had other things
to focus on—like her career. She wasn’t an idiot. She knew music
journalism was competitive, especially if you were a woman. She also knew that
there was a good chance
UMusic
wouldn’t
last much longer and she needed to build her clips and establish herself more
if she planned on eventually landing another gig. She didn’t have time for the
endless drama that came with being in a relationship or seriously dealing with
a guy. Yes, she got lonely at times. But she could deal with it. If it got
unbearable, she’d call up one of the guys she’d hang with occasionally, usually
Amari.

She liked hanging with him the most because he didn’t bug her. He
didn’t call often; she usually called him. He didn’t harass her by pretending
to want to be in a relationship with her. He was upfront about not wanting one,
which suited her just fine. And mostly, he didn’t push her about having sex.
She knew most guys expected it after two to three dates, which sadly, ended up
being her cut-off frame as a result. Amari seemed to be okay with just hanging
out with her. She wasn’t naïve though. She knew that if she ever initiated it
he would immediately accept. He flirted with her endlessly when they were
together, but that’s as far as it went. And she never felt creeped out by his
advances because she knew they were harmless. They understood each other. And
it worked.

 
Of course, Raven
thought she was avoiding a serious relationship because she was scared of
getting hurt again. Destiny was honest enough to admit that was part of it, but
mostly she just had other shit to be concerned about.

Her phone buzzed and she rushed out of the bathroom and grabbed it
off of the desk, grinning as she read the text Brian had just sent.

“
Make sure you check out
Reflux Jazz tonight if you can. I saw them a couple of months ago and they’re
dope.”

“Already on the agenda,”
she responded.

“Cool. Exclamation point.”

She smiled and sat the phone back on the desk and rifled through
her suitcase, trying to find something comfortable for the night. She didn’t
know if she would see him again before he left for Phoenix. His flight was
leaving first thing in the morning and she knew she wasn’t going to be finished
until really late. She was tempted to persuade him to get a pass to the
Festival, but his new bosses wanted him to go to dinner with them to meet with
some clients.

She slid into a pair of jeans and pulled a red Bob Marley tank top
over her head.
 
She didn’t like
wearing dresses when she covered concerts because she needed to be able to move
around without restriction, especially if she was taking pictures.
 

She walked over to the small desk where her bag was sitting, took
her notepad and a pen and slid them into the back pocket of her jeans. She
slung her camera bag over her shoulder and glanced at the time on her phone
again just as it rang.

“Are you drinking yet?” Raven prodded the second Destiny answered.

She rolled her eyes and sighed loudly. “I had one drink, Ray. Are
you happy?”
 

“Yes,” Raven answered, “I actually am.”

Raven was probably more excited than anyone that Destiny had
gotten to cover the festival. Not because she was even into jazz like that, but
because she said New Orleans is the best city to get drunk in. She’d tried to
explain that she was there to work, not stumble around like a drunken tourist.
Since Raven was a middle school teacher she was forced to keep her wild side
bottled up during the school year. She planned on coming to Miami for a couple
of weeks after school got out for the summer and she was counting down the
days.

“Are you having fun yet?” Raven was asking now.

“Yep,” Destiny smiled, thinking of Brian. “I’ve been hanging with
Brian all afternoon. I really missed him more than I thought I did. And guess
what?” She didn't wait for her to answer. “He’s moving to Miami!”

“What?” Raven squealed. She knew him from the many trips he took
to Tallahassee while they were all in college together.

“I know, right?” Destiny smiled again. “The job he was
interviewing for is based in Miami, not here.”

“And so it begins.”

“And so what begins?” Destiny asked, wrinkling her face at Raven’s
cryptic tone.

“Nothing, Grasshopper,” Raven sighed. “Are you guys hanging out
tonight?”

Destiny shook her head. “No, he had to go to dinner with his new
bosses to meet some clients or something. I’m not even sure if I’ll see him
again while I’m out here.”

“That kinda sucks,” Raven replied.

“I know,” she frowned. “But he’s moving to Miami!”

Raven laughed. “Shit… okay, I gotta go,” she said, suddenly
hurried. “It’s freaking Parent-Teacher night… I can’t
wait
until this year is over,” she sighed, irritably. “Have fun for
me.”

“I will,” Destiny said just as quickly. She was so late.
 

After she hung up, she hurried into the bathroom and quickly put
on some eyeliner and eye shadow. Studying herself, she grabbed her blush and
lightly swept her cheeks. She put on some lip-gloss as she rushed out of the
bathroom. She did a quick sweep of the room to make sure she wasn’t forgetting
anything important and hurried out the door.

*
* *

She was drunk. Dammit. She said she wasn’t going to get drunk and
yet here she was… drunk. Well, not really all the way, totally drunk. Maybe
just a little drunk. Like, a little lot drunk. She walked down the cobblestoned
pathway of the French Quarter toward the direction of her hotel, her bag hung
securely over the front of her chest like a sash.

The night had gone extremely well. The shows she covered were
probably the best she’d ever seen. Gabe had pretty much let her choose which
shows she was going to cover because he said he wanted the story to be as
authentic as possible. She’d mostly chosen to cover local jazz bands. She
figured she’d either already seen the bigger acts, or could see them any time.
She wanted this experience to be as authentically New Orleans as possible.

 
It was so easy to get
caught up in the vibe of the city, the music, the culture, the people. From
what she could tell, she was one of the few female journalists covering the
Festival and was definitely the youngest. But at this point, she was used to
it. It made her feel good that Gabe trusted her with such a big assignment.

She’d taken notes on the music and experienced being in the venue
with people who actually loved music as much as she did. The crowd was as much
a part of the experience as the actual band. She’d never seen anything like it.

But here, she was able to completely lose herself in the moment.
It was a music writer’s dream. She’d written down everything—the way the
deep rumble of the stand-up bass had mingled seamlessly with pat-tat of the
drum beat; the rich vibration of the trombone bopping along to the staccato
rhythm of the keys.
 
The five-man
band had totally commanded the crowd, lifting them up with a swift change of
key then drawing them back down without a moment’s notice.

Although her pictures weren’t as great as she would’ve liked,
mostly because her company camera was nothing like the ones professional
photographers had, she thought she’d done pretty well. This was the first time
she was able to write a lengthy editorial piece about a live jazz show.

She’d done more than her fair share of reviews, but the angle of
this story allowed her to be even more creative, and she’d taken more notes
than usual, amped by the opportunity to further define her writing voice.

She had the music beat at her college paper and even though Raven
never understood how she was so content to cover shows and work alone, Destiny
really loved it. She liked being able to get lost in her thoughts, in the
rhythms on stage. She liked being free to work the room the way she needed to,
without worrying if whoever she brought would be okay by themselves, or
offended if she was gone for too long.
 

She’d hopped around, in and out of different venues, soaking it
all in. Once she was satisfied she’d gotten more than enough for the night
she’d finally allowed herself a drink. Big mistake. The guy at the bar had
suggested that she try a strawberry daiquiri. She thought it was a safe enough
drink, even after he told her it was made the “real” way, on the rocks and not
frozen. She normally stayed away from cutesy girly drinks, but the guy had
insisted that she couldn’t leave the city without having one. So she did.
Actually, they were so good she’d had two. And now, she was drunk.

“Hey, sweetheart!” She looked up to see a group of three guys on
the side of the street motioning for her to come join them. The one yelling at
her had on a fishnet tank top and jean shorts. She was always attracting
weirdos.

“Come over ‘ere, mama!”

Um, no.
She smiled politely and kept walking. She was
never rude to any of the guys that tried to talk to her. She hung around enough
guys to appreciate that on some level it took nerve to approach a woman,
knowing she could reject you. She walked a little faster to get away from the
catcalls of the drunk fishnet shirt guy. She was still aware enough to know that
it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to be walking through the streets of New
Orleans at two in the morning, half-drunk by herself.

She pulled out her phone and texted Brian. He’d said he would
probably hang out, get a drink and people watch but planned on going to his
room early since his flight left at like eight-twenty in the morning.
 
She hoped she wasn’t waking him up.

“U up?”

She put her phone back in her pocket and tried to walk a little
faster without tripping. She passed by an old man who was so drunk he could
barely stand. He reached out and grabbed her hand.

“…fine ass,” he slurred, not even able to get a coherent sentence
out.

She snatched her hand back and hurried to pass him. Her phone vibrated
and she answered it quickly after seeing Brian’s name pop up on the screen.

“Hey,” she breathed, hoping she didn’t sound as buzzed as she
felt.

“Where are you?” he immediately asked, probably because of the
noise on the street.

“On St. Charles,” she said, looking around. “I’m like a block from
my hotel. I think.”

She stopped and looked around again, frowning. She turned and
started heading in the opposite direction, bumping clumsily into a group of
girls with cups in their hands.