Frost on My Window (8 page)

“You’re such a spoiled brat,” I teased, wanting to make him smile.

“Hey. I don’t get much time for the fun stuff.”

“You’ll have plenty in two weeks.”

“No, I won’t. Jon doesn’t believe in vacation. The man is a machine.”

Jon was one of Sean’s publicists and he happened to be one of the best in the business. “What do you mean?”

“He agreed for me to go on
The View
and he didn’t tell me until yesterday. I can’t back out of the damn thing.”

“You’ve done lots of interviews before,” I pointed out.

“True. It’s just…” His voice trailed off as his eyes refocused on the television screen.

“Just?” I leaned closer.

“It’s four women, not to mention
the
Barbara Walters.” He shuddered.

I leaned forward and buried my head in the pillow to keep from laughing. This six-foot mega star was afraid of four women. Priceless.

“I’m sure you’ll do a good job,” I encouraged. “Once you give them that smile of yours and throw in a couple of witty answers in that Scottish-American brogue, they’ll be eating out of your hands.”

“Umm,” was Sean’s only reply. I looked down to see his closed eyes.

“I used to be a brat,” he murmured. “Everything I ever wanted, but the cancer didn’t listen to my prayers.”

“I can believe that you were the world’s worst brat,” I teased.

“You would. You know me too well. I feel so comfortable around you. You’re nice to be with…”

“Sean, you make me sound like a favorite pair of jeans.”

“Not a bad idea.” He smiled with his eyes closed, then cracked open an eye. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

“No.” I shook my head.

“It means we fit, darling.” His voice slurred with the beginnings of sleep. “Quite comfortably, if I say so myself.” Before closing his eyes, he gave me a smile that could charm the girdle off a sixty-year-old nun.

I ended up cradling Sean’s head in my lap. Sliding my palms under his head I used my fingertips to massage his temples with small circular motions. I watched
Tom and Jerry
until Sean’s breath came evenly and the arm resting against my stomach went limp. Rubbing my fingers along the nape of his neck, I savored the feel of soft, baby-fine hair.

Looking down at Sean’s sleeping face, I could barely keep from sighing. Whenever his arms wrapped around me, I was reminded of putting on a just-pressed shirt in the middle of winter. I would bury my face in the sleeve and savor the smell of lemon starch as the warm fabric settled over my bare skin.

I managed to move his head from my lap without waking him. I paused in the doorway to look back at him sprawled out on the bed asleep. Turning out the light, I quietly returned to the living room, gathered up my purse, put on my sneakers, and left the apartment like a thief in the night.

As I rode down in the empty elevator, I thought about what Mom would say if she could see me now. I laughed out loud. Truly unbelievable. The doorman didn’t look all that surprised to see me leaving. Then again, I didn’t think there was anything a New York City doorman hadn’t seen or heard before.

Just as I’d expected, I saw Will, Sean’s bodyguard/driver, leaning against the back door of the black Lincoln as soon as I walked through the glass doors. I paused and then let him open the door, take my hand and lower me into the car. I’d never get used to the life Sean led, people who adored him, assistants at his beck and call.

The car pulled away and drove through the still-buzzing Times Square while I stared blankly out the window at the taxis darting through the streets. As the soothing sounds of piano music drifted through the car, I couldn’t get the words I’d read in last month’s entertainment magazine out of my mind.

The gossip reporter had hinted that Sean’s days as a sought-after bachelor might be over. According to friends of model-turned-actress Dalia Deburgh, she hoped so.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, I walked into my dark, stuffy apartment and hit the button on the answering machine.

Saturday, 9:15 p.m.

“Lee, it’s Lance. I just got back in town and wanted to hook up for dinner. Buzz me on my cell when you get this message.”

Beep.

Sunday 1:32 a.m.

“Leah, Hope the concert went well. I’m going to spend the night at Nina’s place. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you, Rena.”

Every feeling of annoyance I felt disappeared at the sound of Rena’s voice on the answering machine. That Nina could leave the hospital was good news, but the heavy weariness I heard in Rena’s voice tied a knot in my stomach. All thought of sleep left to be replaced with worried anger.

Buzz me on my cell.

Like I was some dog brought to heel. Like Lance was so important. I kicked off my shoes and sat on the coach. Picking up the remote control, I flipped through channels and stopped on the Cartoon Network. Wrapping my arms around the paisley pillow, I lay down and stared at the screen. Sleep washed over me as Wile E. Coyote took yet another fall.

Chapter 9

When Sean left for the West Coast Sunday night, I still hadn’t seen Rena since she’d left to look after Nina. I missed my cousin’s solid presence, and, as much as I liked Nina, I wanted the beautiful singer to pick someone else to lean on. I was just finishing the last set of changes to a proposal when the phone buzzed.

“Leah Russell.”

“I’m eighth in line for take-off and can’t wait to see the last of Seattle’s infamous clouds and rain,” came Sean’s voice over the static-filled phone line.

“You loved Seattle that much, huh?”

“Love the people, hate the godawful weather. I don’t think my clothes will ever dry out.”

“So where are you headed this time? Some secluded beach in the Florida Keys?” I teased.

“I’m coming your way.”

“Oh. You’re flying to New York?” I suppressed the small quiver of glee his announcement brought.

“With a little stopover in Chicago. I’ll be landing on Friday morning. How about we hang out and have dinner?”

I played with my pen and stared blankly at the flashing appointment reminder message that scrolled across the computer screen.

“What time?”

“How about two o’clock?”

“I’ve got work. How about later?”

“Play hooky,” he encouraged.

“You’re going to get me into trouble,” I responded, but my mind was automatically rescheduling my regular Friday afternoon meetings to Thursday.

“You, Ms. Leah Russell, are trouble.”

I could hear the revving sound of the jet engine in the background.

“Two o’clock Friday,” I agreed.

“I’ll pick you up at the office.”

That was all I heard before the line went dead. I hung up the phone and turned the chair around to stare out the window, down through the haze to the city below. Reaching over I switched on the headset and dialed Carol’s phone number. I needed the humor and pep talk that only a sista-friend could provide. Anything to push back the memories of Sean’s face as he slept.

“Saunders and Goddard, may I help you?”

“Carol Rogers, please.”

“One moment while I transfer you.”

“Carol speaking.” Her calm voice came though the line.

“Cece. What are you doing?” I asked.

“Trying to keep from taking a gun to this laptop. The damn thing just gave me the blue screen of death and then shut off.”

“Sounds bad.”

“Yeah, and the tech support guy just left after thirty minutes of standing here and scratching his head like a dumbass.”

“Ouch.” Laugher bubbled out of my throat.

“What’s up, girlfriend?” Carol asked.

“I’ve been robbed, girl.” I put all my heart into sounding serious.

“What?” came the loud screech on the other end of the phone. I pulled the headset away from my ear.

“I’ve been robbed,” I repeated, trying my best not to laugh.

“Where?” she asked.

“At the office.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Forget the police. I need to call Johnny Cochran.”

“Huh?”

“I’m suing the IRS, New York State, and New York City.”

“Have you lost your mind? Why in the world are you going to sue the New York government?”

“The IRS took half my relocation bonus, New York State and City took the rest.”

Carol’s laugh came through the phone and set me to giggling.

“Girl, this ain’t funny.” I waved my pencil towards the window. “I’ve been robbed, hoodwinked, bamboozled, tricked.”

“Hold up, Malcolm X. Do you have enough for a pair of shoes?” she asked.

“Yes,” I reluctantly admitted.

“Well, that’s all you need. Look on the bright side. It’s more than what you had.”

“I still feel like I’m working to pay the IRS.”

“We all gotta pay Uncle Sam, girl…”

“Please,” I rolled my eyes. “No uncle of mine steals.”

“That is so true. Hey, love to take longer but the tech man just came back. We still on for Wednesday?”

“Yeah.”

“Houston’s?”

“Sounds good to me.” I leaned back.

“See you.”

“Bye.”

I clicked off the phone and looked out the window. Back to my thoughts about Sean, back to images of a gorgeous man, images of a friend and feelings that had nothing to do with friendship and more to do with late nights.

* * *

Later that evening, I walked in the door of the apartment and started venting. “Rena, you won’t believe what happened at work today. I swear the IRS is out to get me…” My voice trailed off into the silence of the apartment.

“Anybody home?” I shouted. The only response was the familiar thud of Simba jumping down off the windowsill.

Unstrapping my sandals, I turned to check the answering machine and saw a white envelope perched on top with my name on it.

I pulled the paper from the envelope and turned on the halogen lamp to read Rena’s hastily scrawled handwriting.

Leah,

I’m taking Nina home to her parents in Bermuda. I should be back in a couple of days. I left a message for Mom and Dad telling them I was going on a quick vacation. Don’t worry, everything’s okay and I’ll call you when I get her settled.

Love,

Rena

PS. Please don’t tell anyone where I’ve gone. (That includes Trey!)

Sighing, I went into the kitchen and fixed a sandwich. Waiting for the microwave to finish up, I stared out the window, uneasy. Mom and Dad were leaving for their anniversary cruise in two days and Leah was missing-in-action for reasons I couldn’t guess.

Don’t worry, I told myself. That’s about all I could seem to do.

* * *

“I am so tired of that mess,” I growled, losing my smile.

Here I was after having gotten out of the office while the sun was still shining and I was mad at a talk show. Rena had gone with Nina to the Bahamas and I was missing my cousin.

“Girl, what are you talking about?” Carol asked as she took another bite of the artichoke spinach dip. The margarita had done its job and washed away all my desire to think about work. I was with my girl at Houston’s and the only thing on my mind stood ten feet away.

I raised my salt-crusted glass towards the television screen. “ ‘Marry me or else! Baby mommas speak out.’ ”

“I can’t believe you watch that garbage,” she commented.

I raised my eyebrow as Carol took another bite. “Don’t even try it. You were the one telling me about seeing your former classmate on an episode of Ricki Lake.”

She patted her mouth and let out a loud laugh. “Too true. The girl used to be Ms. Thing at our school. I know it’s evil, but seeing her sitting up on stage begging this no-good man to give her a ring made me feel good for a moment.”

“And then…” I waved my hand.

Carol sighed. “Then the embarrassment sets in. I’m just tired of seeing black women degrading themselves on national television. It’s gotten to the point where I’m afraid to watch anything but
Oprah
. Harold likes to watch
People’s Court
sometimes.”

I snorted. A couple of days after moving back to New York had been long enough to let me know that airing dirty laundry on national television had become the new African-American pastime.

Carol shook her head, sending her razor-cut bob bouncing. “I wonder about that man I married. He’ll sit there and watch that stuff like it’s better than the Super Bowl. I have to leave the room sometimes ’cause I get so disgusted.”

I dipped the fresh-baked chip in the thick artichoke and spinach dip. “I know it must be close to impossible for these shows to find black women who aren’t unmarried with three kids, on welfare, fighting with their baby’s father, and sleeping with their best friend’s man,” I sarcastically added.

“Something you want to talk about?” Carol really looked at me. Like I’d grown a new head or something.

No, I wanted to do something. I wished I had a giant eraser and I could wipe out the image of the bitter, angry, young black woman screaming expletives at a just as messed up black man.

I finished off another chip. “Maybe being back on the East Coast is starting to mess with me.”

“Girl, you haven’t been here a hot minute. What’s really on your mind?”

“I’m just irritated. One of the assistants broke down today. I thought it had something to do with her family. I pulled her into my office and shut the door and gave her some tissues.” I sat back on the soft leather bench and crossed my legs.

“What happened?”

“She had an argument with her boyfriend. The man hadn’t paid a dime of rent in the past three months. He told her last night that he was leaving her and wanted her to contribute to the cost of renting a moving truck.”

“You have got to be kidding.”

I took another sip of the margarita, savoring the bittersweet taste of lime on my tongue. “That’s not all of it. She asked me what she should do.”

“Go out have a drink and thank God his sorry ass is gone,” Carol suggested.

“No, she wanted me to give her advice on how to get him back.”

Carol’s mouth dropped to the table and then she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “So that’s what’s got you in such a funk.”

“She’s about five years older than me. Lives in a nice section of Queens and is the best assistant in the whole office. This woman sat there looking into my eyes and expecting me to understand. I don’t understand. The last thing I hope I’ll ever do is to beg a man to stay,” I proclaimed.

I shook my head and picked up my fork and knife to dig in to the entrées the waiter placed on the table.

“That’s because the only man you’ve gone out with recently happens to be stuck on your cousin.”

“True.”

“By the way, what’s up with Rena?”

“She had to go out of town. She should be back this Sunday.”

Rena was going to have her hands full with Trey when she got back. He had called every day that she’d been gone, hoping to hear something about Rena or Nina. I smiled, thinking it was about time my cousin met someone that she couldn’t wrap around her little finger.

“Leah, there’s no shortage of eligible black men in New York.”

“I know this…”

“So why haven’t you taken advantage?”

My lips curled. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, it’s like that? Do tell.”

“Sorry, girlfriend. Nothing to tell…yet. But I’ll definitely let you know if I find him.”

“I just read another article asking where all the good Black men had gone. Makes me glad I got married when I did,” she responded.

“I don’t think there’s a problem,” I said after taking a bite of chicken.

“You know you’re in the minority, don’t you? My hairdresser almost broke her neck agreeing with the writer.”

“Seriously, Carol, where have all the good black men gone? Nowhere.” I waved my hand towards the bar where men milled around watching the NCAA. “I’ve dated them and liked them. They just weren’t
him
. The one that my grandmother told me about, the one Billie Holiday raised hell about. That’s why you see articles like that one. I want more, and so does everybody else. So when we black women can’t find that one man to turn our world upside down and inside out, we think all the good black men have dropped off the face of the earth.”

Carol nodded her head in agreement. “On to more important things. How’s the food?”

The roasted chicken dripping with honey and wine was so tender I could eat it with a fork. I sampled the mashed potatoes and let out a groan. The flavor of garlic and butter made me wanna holler. One of the things I liked about New York, besides its fascinating mixture of people, was that it had the best food outside my mama’s kitchen.

“All I can say is that these dishes put my cooking to shame,” I confessed.

“Not to mention your cholesterol level,” Carol added.

“And the waistline.”

We both took large bites out of our respective mounds of mashed potatoes.

“A girl has to live a little,” I chuckled.

“Shoot. With this,” she waved at the food on the table, “we’re living a lot.”

“Remind me of how good this was when we have to do ten extra minutes on the treadmill,” I laughed.

“All right. You just remember to bring that CD you bought.”

“Which one?”

“The one you picked up on the corner in Chinatown.”

“The studio mix?”

“Yeah…I don’t understand a word they’re saying, but the beat keeps me from thinking about the pains shooting up my legs or the fool that walked into my office this morning.”

“What happened?”

“This sawed-off, baldheaded, big-lipped black man came into my office thirty minutes late for his first appointment.”

“Carol…” I laughed, trying to sound like I was shocked.

“Leah,” she waved her fork, “he strolled in with his about-to-be wife number three and she wasn’t bigger than a fried fart. The girl had watermelon-sized breast implants and unbelievable blonde hair extensions.”

“Your Southern roots are showing, girlfriend. Now what did he want?”

“Fool had finally picked up a clue and decided to get a prenuptial agreement.”

“You are crazy,” I laughed.

“No, I’m not.” She shook her head while taking a sip of her drink. “That big-gold-ring-wearing man was sporting a cowboy hat. This ain’t the Wild West and he sure as hell wasn’t the Lone Ranger. Negro thought he was Big Pimping.”

I laughed so hard tears came to my eyes and my stomach started to hurt. I laid my head down on the cool wood table and just tried to breathe.

“Miss, are you okay?” came the voice of our waitress.

“She’s fine,” Carol replied. “Just needs to catch her breath. Poor girl’s getting old.”

I fell into laughter again and almost choked. I had finished off my drink earlier so instead I sipped on the ice water.

* * *

On my way home, I sat gazing out the subway car window, watching the blue tunnel lights streak by. Single, medium maintenance, independent, successful professional, well-rounded, non-money hungry, heterosexual black woman with a bachelor’s degree, fluent in two languages, no kids, no debt, no obsessions, no diseases, no self-destructive behavioral patterns.

Where did I fit in? Sometimes I felt like a rare exotic animal prowling the streets of Manhattan and Brooklyn. Where was the guide to dealing with my loneliness? I opened the door to an empty apartment wondering when I would get to read
Being Black, Female, Single, and Happy for Dummies?