Down On My Knees (27 page)

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Authors: Victor McGlothin

BOOK: Down On My Knees
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Grace was halfway through dinner when she experienced thoughts of Wallace falling prey to another woman. She hadn't taken the time to inquire about his plans for marriage, but the fact that André was chowing down on a slab of chicken-friedsteak in front of them wouldn't allow for it, although offering Wallace an innocent cup of coffee at her home just might.
Sitting on the passenger side of a moving car was a thrill in itself for Grace, after having been André's personal chauffeurfrom his birth. She wanted to reach across the console several times and rest her hand on Wallace's arm during the drive over. A wide-eyed man-child sitting in the backseat prevented her from moving on it, not to mention what reactionit would have drawn from the driver's side of that shiny luxury car. Sure, Grace had seen Wallace eight times now, and yes, she was counting, but how well did she really know him? Come to think of it, how well did he know her, she also considered as they approached her driveway. Getting rid of André was Grace's top priority if she expected to create an avenue to facilitate a twenty-questions session that was long overdue.
“Dré, aren't you going to hang out at the recreation center this afternoon?” she baited him once they were inside.
“No, ma'am. It's Sunday, the rec is closed on Sunday.” André sat on his bed and eased off his church shoes. “Whew, I can't wait to turn on the Mav's game. Allen Foray is leading the conference in points per game. Maybe Mr. Peters can watch it with me?”
Maybe Mr. Peters has better things to do
, Grace thought to herself.
“Um, I was thinking that Wallace and I could have a chance to talk in the den. Do you mind catching the game upstairs in the study?” Grace was willing to buy André a ticket, call him a limo, and rent a chaperone if that would have gotten him out of the way momentarily.
“Na, I don't like that TV,” he replied nonchalantly. “Tube's too small. I'd rather hang out in the den with y'all.” André glanced up at Grace, who was biting on her bottom lip. He flashed an impish grin and chuckled. “Gotcha! Ma, I know you like Mr. Peters. I'm a kid, but I'm not stupid. He likes you too.”
“Oh Dré, you ought to be ashamed, playing me like that. So, you are actually okay with me and your teacher hitting it off ?”
“It's not up to me, but he's cool as teachers go. Everybody likes him. Don't sweat it. The Mav's game don't, uh doesn't, come on until six. Y 'all will be finished talking by six?”
“Let's see,” Grace said, noting that the current time was two-fifteen. “I don't know. That'll be cutting it kinda close. You may have to miss the first quarter.”
André sprang off the bed in a panic. “Ma', I can't miss—” he started to complain, before seeing Grace's smile light up the room.
“Gotcha back!” she told him. “Never forget, I'm the one who invented gotcha. Sure, we'll be done hours before game time. And thanks for understanding that mamas need special friends, too. Portia isn't the only woman with her eye on a cutie.”
“Was that a family meeting going on in there?” asked Wallace when Grace returned from André's bedroom.
“Kinda, sorta,” she answered. “We had to get on the same page, mine. Coffee or tea?” she asked, approaching the pantry. “I think there is some chamomile and peppermint.”
“I'd like a glass of orange juice, if that would save you some trouble.”
“It wouldn't be any trouble, but I also have OJ. That boy loves the stuff. If Dré could pump it in his veins, he would.”
Grace gestured toward the living area. Wallace was eager to escort her into the open room where there was a comfortablesectional to relax on. As it turned out, he was as anxious as Grace had been to discuss grown folks' business. But beforethey did, Wallace had her cracking up when he shared tales of his own dating disasters, especially one about meetinga particular woman affectionately referred to as Pumpkinby her professional handler, Sly the Pimp. Regardless of how many times Wallace selected various other singles' profileson a Web site and arranged dates to talk face-to-face, Pumpkin kept showing up with Sly demanding a small sittingfee for her time.
“Oh, yeah, I've had my run-ins with Sylvester Greenberg,”Grace was almost too embarrassed to say. “He's Jewish,and he says being a black man is a state of mind. Oomph, he wouldn't be so quick to say that if he actually was one, 'cause too many of y'all are property of the state, doing time. Suddenly a faint memory pushed its way to the front of Grace's. “Pumpkin? Pumpkin? Is she a thick chick, long braids, and runs real fast in high heels?”
“That's her,” Wallace verified, with displeasure. “I think she showed up for our first date wearing high-heeled running shoes,” he mused. Grace nearly fell off the couch because she was laughing so hard. “Sly couldn't catch her either, not in his platforms.”
“You're so crazy, Wallace,” Grace mused, while flirting along the way. “I should have known you'd be witty and charming. Most men are fortunate to luck up on one out of two.”
“Is that what you're looking for, a charmingly witty man who has a working girl's beeper number in his Rolodex?”
“That's a start, I guess,” Grace said, gazing into his eyes. “Seems that our friendly conversation finally made it here, to the good part. Yes, I would like a man who can make me laugh like there's no tomorrow. Not every day is a good one, you know.”
“I concur. Sometimes a woman needs to feel she can be herself without some stiff-backed brotha viewing it as a pitfall.What else?” he asked, seeking additional attributes that might apply to him.
“Umm, I think you have a lot of what I tend to appreciate. You've shown yourself to be thoughtful, considerate, and spiritual. I could go on, but there are some essentials about you that I don't know, for instance, your views on marriage.”
“I'm all for it. God made it, and I have faith that I'll be good at it,” Wallace answered. “What else? This is easy. Keep 'em coming.”
“Okay, Easy, how long do you think a couple should date before getting engaged?”
“Most men see an engagement as a stall tactic while decidingif their woman is worth moving forward with or not. Personally, I view an engagement as the period of time betweena man discovering that he's found the woman he's meant to spend the rest of his life with, and making it a reality.Me, I don't believe in taking too long to make a decision about anything. Either it's my style, in my size, and in my price range, or it isn't.” Grace was pleasantly surprised at his candor, although she had to see if Wallace could walk the walk or if he was just talking.
“Wow, impressive,” she admitted. “With all of that figuredout, why haven't you gotten married?”
“Give me a minute. We just met,” Wallace replied seriously.“Oh, please don't clam up on me. I would have assumedanother question was on deck, ready to be fired, or are you finished?”
“I'm trying to pretend that I'm not stunned after your last answer. Most men prefer a root canal to discussions like this.”
“I thought you'd have caught on by now, Grace. I am not most men.”
“Whoa,” Grace exhaled. “You can say that again. A single man with your qualities doesn't remain single unless he wants to be. That could be construed as a sign of selfishness, a fear of commitment, or greed. Which is it? You a greedy brotha, Wallace? Huh? Or, are you the kind who's prone to run and hide when it's time to see the preacher?”
“Honestly, I've been each of those at some point or another,and then I grew up.”
“One more question,” Grace asked, genuinely interested in what he'd say regarding an extremely personal issue. She observed him closely to note if his eyes shifted left to retrievea lie stored in his head for such an occasion. “Have you ever been in love before?”
“No,” he responded, unfazed, with his eyes locked directlyon hers. Wallace didn't have to guess that another question was burning a hole in Grace's chest, so he took it upon himself to address it nonetheless. “Why not? I've been saving it.” His answer was better than Grace had anticipated. She did notice previously that Wallace knew exactly what to say to get a girl thinking, and she was right.
Lawd have mercy.
28
Babes and Buicks
E
dward was acting edgy when he picked up André for the weekend. The boy didn't catch it but Grace recognized his pained expression from the last days of her courtship with him. Edward often sulked when felt cornered or obligatedto perform beyond his natural desire. With any luck, since some years had passed from the man he used to be, Grace could trust him to do right by André, at least for a coupleof days.
Wallace knocked at the door about a half hour after Edwardleft, but it wasn't soon enough for Grace. She had been pacing the floor, counting the minutes. It required every ounce of fortitude she could muster to restrain herself from leaping into his arms and dragging him into the bedroom. Instead she pouted playfully. “Oh, Wallace, I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me.”
“That would be impossible,” he enlightened Grace. “I couldn't do that if I tried.”
During a brief stop at a convenience store, Wallace dashed in for bottled water and snacks to share on the open road. Grace sat in the car, looking at the world from a new perspective, one which appeared so clear that she couldn't imagine viewing it without Wallace as a scenic backdrop.
“Tell me about them, your parents,” Grace requested, when Wallace guided the sedan safely onto the interstate.
“The folks,” he said smoothly, as if enjoying a sip of expensivechampagne. Grace saw glimpses of admiration in his eyes before he began to talk about them. “They're a fine pair. My mother is a staunch believer in all things working together for the benefit of the family. She does her best to keep my dad in line while he constantly tries to prove who's boss.”
“Your mom,” Grace said as if she already knew.
“Yep, and Dad knows it, but that doesn't stop him from kicking up dust now and again. You'd think after being marriedfor forty years, he'd have figured out there's no use in fighting battles a man can't win in his own home.” Grace was amused. Men she'd gotten to discuss relationships with, in general, were prone to speak of women as second-class citizens after the I do's were done. Wallace's outlook was different. It was a breath of fresh air. Before meeting him, Grace had only read about men so wonderfully well rounded like him. But her Wallace was real, and she craved as much of him as she could stand.
“I'd imagine your father is busting with pride over his son, the successful lawyer-slash-educator. What line of businesswas he in?” Grace asked as she stared longingly at him.
“
Is
in,” Wallace corrected her. “Oh yeah, he's still at the firm, lawyering he calls it, and has been since before I was born.” Wallace went on to divulge how he'd always seen himself walking in his father's shoes, and how he'd pursued law to please the old man. Wallace remembered watching his father circle the courtroom and stab fear into opposing counsel with his capacity to sway undecided jurors by the conclusion of his opening statement.
“He sounds like quite a man,” Grace whispered. “You had no choice but to grow up and be somebody.”
“Like you weren't meant to be a partner in one of the fastest-growing marketing firms in the southwest? Come on, Grace. Your steady rise was done so sweet it had to be a plan.”
Out of nowhere, Grace became somewhat melancholy as she remembered her upbringing. “Afraid not, no structured plan, anyway, although I can understand trying to please parents.I set out to prove to my mother that I could provide for me and Dré without begging a man to contribute financially, so she took it upon herself to needle Edward for child support without my permission. Because of her wisdom and tenacity, her grandson has one-hundred-fifty-six checks deposited in a college fund. You know, I never had the chance to thank her for doing what I had too much pride to do myself.” Grace's mother passed away after battling breast cancer. She would have been thrilled at how well Grace had made out on her own. Joey, Grace's only sibling, was a Cincinnati police officerwho loved his work, and loved women even more. He'd visit her and André about every other Christmas, and always showed up sporting his latest trophy girlfriend. Strong familyties were a foreign entity that Grace had suddenly felt sorry for missing out on. “You know, Wallace,” she continued solemnly, staring at the countryside out of the car window, “André is similar to a lot of your students. His mother has never been married, and neither was hers. Three generations of strong black women trying to prove something, I guess. To whom, I don't know. Maybe to ourselves.”
Wallace stretched out his right arm and rested his hand, palm facing upward, for Grace to interlock with hers. As if it was second nature, she pressed her palm against it and allowedher fingers to fall between his. She felt comforted, cared for, and content, like a woman with the right man is supposed to.
Driving through the hill country of Texas, Grace was amazed how dissimilar it was from Dallas. The terrain displayed red dust–colored canyons and the greenest mountainsimaginable. The varying landscapes were indicative of the life she'd led, not at all aware of other wondrous things to behold, although so close that she could have reached out and touched them. Meeting Wallace removed the veil from her preconceived notions concerning how a real shot at love was supposed to be. Grace stared at him for miles. She was absolutelycaptivated by the view.
While rolling into a gated subdivision laced with million-dollarestates, Grace turned to Wallace and looked at him over the tops of her shades. “Uh, Wallace, is this where your parents live?”
“Yeah, they sold the big house on the edge of Austin and moved inward about ten years ago,” he said without an ounce of pretension. “My mother said she was tired of living in a small part of it while having to care for the entire place.” Grace peered out at a collection of tall stucco fortresses, sandstone masterpieces, and other houses designed with an early European flair.
“If the
big
house was that much bigger than these mansions,I don't blame her.” Extravagant homes didn't usually cause Grace to develop uneasy vibes, but her perception of Wallace's family had just changed. As they unloaded the car in the circular driveway, Grace pictured stuffy, black Republicanswith very little tolerance for commoners. She was ashamed for thinking such a thing the very moment she laid eyes on them.
A beautiful light brown–skinned woman in her late thirties opened the front door, gripping a half-empty cocktail glass. Grace expected her to offer warm salutations but to the contrary,she leaned against the door frame and sneered at the new arrivals. Grace and the woman continually looked one another over until Wallace saw what was happening. His disapprovingglare made the pretty woman laugh. “Yeah, it's him!” she hollered back into the house. “Y'all should come and see this. Pooter brought a woman with him. She's fully grown and everything.”
Pooter? What kind of nickname is that?
“Girl, stop tripping,” Wallace heckled her. “You act like you've never seen me with a woman before.”
“Not at yo momma's house,” the woman teased, an air of invincibility idling beneath her white linen slacks and blouse. Grace watched the strange interaction but reserved her comments as the woman made her way down the elevatedcobblestone walkway. “What you got to say to that?”
Wallace glanced at Grace, then back at Ms. Invincible. “I refuse to answer on the grounds of self-incrimination. Therefore, I plead the Fifth,” he joked, almost face to face with her. “You look good, Bev, real good.” When Wallace reached out to offer a loving embrace, Grace felt severely out of place. “Beverly, this is Grace Hilliard, of the Dallas Hilliards,” he announced playfully. “Grace, I'm pleased to introduce Beverly Ann Peters, my sister and former world-classtattler.”
“Hey, girl,” Beverly said to Grace before going back to Wallace. “If I remember correctly, you were always the one running up in Daddy's face like a back stabbing rat, telling on me.” Beverly parked both hands on those narrow hips of hers and stuck out her chin. “Daddy, Bev is smoking your cigarettesagain,” she mimicked. “Bev was with that boy again. Bev snuck out her window again. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. I'ma tell it!”
“She's got you there, Pooter,” a stately man agreed, also in linen, and leather sandals. “You were quite the little snitch at times, and proud of it too.” The older man's hair was grayingat the temples, but he appeared too young to be Wallace's father, so Grace assumed he was an uncle or older cousin. “So, who's the lovely lady?” the older gentleman asked. He was giving Grace a thorough once-over like Beverly had.
“Dad, this is Grace. Grace Hilliard,” Wallace hailed, awaiting his father's reaction.
Grace smiled at the youngest-looking old man she'd ever seen. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Peters,” she said after he waved from atop the walkway.
“‘Y'all married?” he asked, with an unlit smoking pipe hanging from his mouth.
“Watch your man fold up like a cheap suit,” Beverly whispered.
“Nah,” Wallace answered too quickly for Grace's taste. She was glaring at him when Beverly nudged her from the other side.
“Not married huh?” Mr. Peters restated, his wife now by his side, grinning at her adorable son as if he were still the proud little snitch that Beverly despised so much growing up. “You riding her around the countryside like you married. Son, and I want the truth, did you get this young lady into trouble?” he asked gruffly, while laughing on the inside. Beverly snickered and turned away so Grace wouldn't see her laugh. Wallace looked at his father like he'd stumbled out of the house with his pants down.
“Come on, Dad, don't do this,” Wallace chuckled uneasily,feeling the pressure of a peculiar homecoming. Grace found herself enjoying this odd brand of horseplay among fatherand son. Seeing Wallace go up against a master of litigationproved sobering. At least now she knew he was human.
“Is she with child?” the patriarch barked, from the cusp of the porch. Wallace was about to say something. Then he looked over at Grace as if he didn't honestly know for sure. They'd never talked about it. Grace's hands were on her hips now, and she was looking at Wallace with a you'd-better-speak-up-for-meexpression plastered on her face.
Wallace swallowed hard. “No, sir, she is not with child,” he answered positively.
“Good, then come on in the house. Why do you have this pretty brown thing standing out in the street anyway?” Mr. Peters complained. “Mama, Pooter done showed up at the house with a woman. She must be special.”
“I can see that for myself,” replied the cinnamon-hued, refined prototype of her daughter, Beverly. “Grace, I'm Wallace'smother, Olivia. Please overlook Wallace's father. He seems to have forgotten his manners in the presence of a beautiful lady. Come on in, we'll get acquainted. Leave the luggage. The boys will get it.” Grace eased the bag off her shoulder and then marched up the steps to the front door, flanked between Mother Peters and Beverly.
While Wallace and his father lugged the suitcases inside, Mother Peters started reminiscing, and before Grace knew it, she'd begun schooling Grace on her son and filling her in on some of Wallace's childhood mischief, his young man's follies, and romances that went awry. “He couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen when he said he was runningaway because we wouldn't let him go skating with this little white girl in his class. Pooter didn't know that her fatherwas into some heavy drug trafficking and about to get shipped off to prison for a very long time. Of course, he thanked us for it later on.”
Grace flipped through pages of a thick photo album. Wallace'sface seemed to be in every frame. His formative years were undoubtedly happy ones, as he was always ready to smile for the camera. “Mrs. Peters, I've noticed that y'all refer to Wallace as Pooter,” Grace chuckled. “I'm afraid to ask, why?”
“Give him a cup of milk and you wouldn't have to ask,” Beverly answered on her mother's behalf.
“Ooh-ooh, we couldn't take that boy anywhere for the first three years of his life without getting shamed into leavingeverywhere we went,” Mrs. Peters explained. “We thought he was just being rude until we learned that he was lactose intolerant. He couldn't have diary products and then go out in public. Humph, Pooter was the nicest thing we could think to call him.” Grace was doubled over, along with her new acquaintances. “I'm apologizing again for the way my dear husband is acting, but he's just as shocked as we are.”
“I don't understand,” Grace professed awkwardly. “Beverly,you said something about Wallace not having brought a woman here before. I thought you were just razzing him.”
Beverly poured herself another drink, then sat alongside her mother at the patio cocktail table. “See, when Wallace was in college, he said he'd never marry because there were too many single women who needed his attention,” replied Beverly, with a rueful expression. “He was talking globally, mind you, worldwide. Yeah, he was pretty full of himself for a while, and we had given up on him sticking with a woman long enough to see what she had to offer before moving on to the next one. He was convinced that sexing a sistah up helped him get to know the real her after her guard came down.”

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