His First Wife (18 page)

S
uccess. Everyone seemed to be saying that word to me when Rake It Up celebrated its tenth anniversary. When our numbers were published in a story in the
Atlanta Journal Constitution
, the company that started with one truck and two hands, and had grown into a fifteen-truck, fifty-man operation servicing most major companies in Atlanta, people could only describe it as a success. I'd never thought about it. Maybe it was because I'd been there working and worrying since day one, but I hadn't had time to really assess my success. Yes, I'd done big things. I was far from the old neighborhood. I'd paid off three houses (including my mother's), completely funded both mine and Kerry's retirement, and had well over a million in assets and investments. I'd even set up a scholarship fund in my name at my high school for any young man seeking to attend Morehouse. I agreed to pay tuition if he promised to keep up his grades and do community service.

Everyone seemed so excited about the company. It was a unique idea that I'd stretched to its farthest potential, and not a day went by that I didn't get a pat on the back or a wave from a car window. While my mother still managed to mention medical school in between the compliments she gave me about Rake It Up, Kerry seemed to be coming around a bit too. She wasn't exactly the biggest supporter, but working with the business helped her see how much earning potential there was and she was good at what she did for Rake It Up. In addition to keeping me organized, she made all of our new contacts, and her mother helped us get big clients who ultimately changed the face of our company. Within three years of working with me, we'd gone from doing okay, to being invited to speak before the 100 Black Men, the Urban League, and Boule, and I was voted Man of the Year for my fraternity. For the first time, when we walked into those gatherings, Kerry was on my arm and I truly felt like she was honored to be with me. She'd cling to my elbow as we entered and while she never broke the rule of spending too much time with her husband at a public function, I often caught her looking at me from across the room.

When
Black Enterprise
called, saying they wanted to do a story and even take pictures of my house, I was ecstatic. Kerry had just left the company to focus on getting the house together and we were talking about having a baby. My life was like a picture and everything in it was in its place. I wanted to share this reality with the world; to show every little black boy in every 'hood that he could be everything I was and then some more on top of that. I'd come from the bottom and now I was at the top and they'd all know. Maybe someone would look at me and say, “I can do that too.”

The day of the interview and shoot, Kerry and I were running around the house like cats on rollerblades. She was trying to get the house together; I was trying to make sure I had on the right tie. Nothing seemed to match and I'd seen so many bad tie pictures in
Black Enterprise
that I didn't want to make the wrong choice. I didn't want to be the man with the cheap tie, trying to look rich, or the dude with the tie that was way too expensive, looking like a complete wannabe. I was who I was and I wanted my tie to say that. I kept asking Kerry for help, but she seemed like she was in her own world. She hadn't really looked at me all morning and whenever I called her, she'd say she'd be right in. But she never came.

When the doorbell rang and Isabella let the interviewer in, Kerry and I found ourselves in the same room for the first time the entire day. We were in the foyer, arm in arm, smiling at the woman like we were completely at ease.

“Marial DeLouch,” she said, shaking our hands.

“I'm Jamison,” I said. “And this is my wife Kerry.”

Kerry smiled pleasantly, but I could tell something was up.

“You two have a lovely home,” Marial said as we headed to the reading room where Kerry had planned to have her take pictures.

“Thank you,” I said as proud as a new father.

When we walked into the reading room, which Kerry had spent all week filling with books from an antique shop, the woman seemed excited, but then after a minute, she asked if there was somewhere else we could go. She said the lighting was poor and that she wanted to see a place that really defined me as a leader, “a powerful player,” she said.

“Well the reading room is dignified and will show that he has a passion for culture,” Kerry said.

“Yeah, but something tells me there's more to Jamison.” She smiled. “I know you've come a long way. I want to show that in the picture.”

Kerry crossed her hands over her chest.

“Well, there's the baby grand in the great room,” I said. Kerry shot her eyes at me. She hated the piano. I'd always wanted a white baby grand, but Kerry thought it was gauche and in poor taste for the style of the house. She said it reeked of the nouveau riche, which I didn't know meant newly rich until I said it to Damien the next day. We fought about it for years and finally my mother bought it for me for my birthday (with money I'd placed in her savings). She had it delivered to the house with a note saying, “A baby for my baby,” and Kerry said nothing else about the thing. She'd learned to play classical piano as a child, but I never once saw her sit down at the piano. And I couldn't play, so it just collected dust. But it sure looked good.

“That'll be great,” Marial replied. When we walked into the room, she went on and on about how great the lighting was and how the piano added to the contemporary edge in the room. To this Kerry gave little more than a lifeless grin.

“So, before we take the pictures, let me do the interview,” she went on. “I'll need some quotes from you first, Kerry.”

Marial opened her bag and pulled out a little digital recorder, which she placed on top of the piano between her and Kerry.

“So, how do you feel about all of the attention Rake It Up is getting?” she asked.

“Oh,” Kerry said, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. I listened just as intently as the little recorder. “It's kind of funny,” she went on. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of her neck. “How so many people care about such a little company.”

Marial and I must've recoiled at the same time. Her answer was clear and plain, but there was just something about the way she said “little” that made me feel like I was wearing the wrong tie. I was dressed like a big man, I'd gone with the black and gold jacquard print bow tie, but suddenly I felt small and my shoulders sank in a bit.

Kerry sounded as if she thought I was running some small-time, worthless company that only managed to bring home a few dollars. That couldn't be farther from the truth. She didn't have to want for anything. And it wasn't because of her parents' money. It was because of what I'd done. I'd made sure that she could be independent and do whatever she wanted without having her mother breathing down her back. Even if it was just sitting in the house all day, having another woman do the work she should've been doing. But I hadn't brought that up. I didn't have the heart to do that. I only wanted to protect Kerry, and I was beginning to see that I was the one who wasn't being protected. I wasn't born a big shot and perhaps Kerry would always see it that way—no matter how big or small my company was.

“Well, it's not exactly a small company,” Marial said, reading off our numbers to Kerry as if she was a common housewife who knew nothing of her husband's work. “It's a pretty big deal. We have companies that are now modeling their business plans on your husband's. A class at Wharton School of Business is studying him right now.”

“Really?” Kerry and I said at the same time.

The woman slid a stack of papers over to us that she'd been holding in her hands. “Neither of you know?”

“Well, we just try to stay grounded,” I said, but I was a bit disappointed that she was now looking at me in the same surprised way she'd looked at Kerry. At first I'd been mad at Kerry, but now I felt ashamed for not knowing. How could I not know that? One of the top business schools in the nation was studying my company and I didn't know? Why was I being so indifferent to my own success? The pats? The waves? I played it off during the interview, telling Marial that I was just humble, but inside I was wondering if maybe part of my indifference was coming from Kerry. Maybe if my only cheerleader wasn't cheering me on, I simply couldn't see myself as the MVP, making the winning shot.

“G
irl, you look like you saw a ghost,” Aunt Luchie said when I came in the kitchen door. I was steps ahead of Jamison and his mother, carrying Tyrian in my arms. “Did Jesus rise at that church?”

“And give me my grandbaby,” my mother said, getting up from the table. I handed her Tyrian and headed out of the kitchen, toward the office where the computer was.

“Girl, you all right?” Aunt Luchie called behind me. I didn't say anything. I couldn't. I had to see it. I had to get to the computer to see if everything Coreen had said in the church was true. My heart was beating fast, my stomach was cramping, anger was boiling so hot within me that I couldn't even feel my hands. I didn't want anyone to say anything to me. I was tired of this. Just done. As I walked through the living room, I noticed that some of Jamison's family members had begun to arrive. Two of his cousins were sitting on the sofa in front of the television watching football, and his uncle was laid out on the chaise longue.

“Hey, Kerry,” someone said.

I simply waved and walked into the office.

“Kerry,” Jamison called from the kitchen. “Where did she go?”

“She seemed like she was in a rush,” Aunt Luchie said to him. “Maybe she went to the bathroom.”

I heard everyone exchange a barrage of greetings. My mother said hello to Jamison's mother. If only she knew what Coreen had told me. I was trying to hold it in, but I was about to crack.

“Oh, you should've seen Tyrian grinning at Pastor. He looked so cute,” I heard Jamison's mother announce to everyone. “Pastor invited him back to the church to be the baby Jesus in the pageant next month.”

I sat at the computer and tried, as I had many times since this whole thing started, to open Jamison's e-mail. I sat there, knowing I had to figure out the password this time. Numbers, names, dates all went through my head, none were right. And then, just like that, a word came to me that I'd been hearing for years, but had never tried.
T-Y-R-I-A-N
I typed, and after a prayer, I pressed the enter key. It worked.

My heart was pounding as I went through the e-mail. I heard talk coming from the living room and I could tell more people had shown up. It was a little after 12
PM
and we were set to begin eating at 1
PM
. Mostly Jamison's family agreed to come. We decided to keep it small, since it was our first time hosting. Only twelve people, enough to sit around the table in the dining room.

I wasn't nervous because of all of the people, though. I could not really care less about what anyone had to say or think at that point. My nervousness was stemming more from fear of what I was going to find. After Jamison and I talked, I reasoned that Coreen was just a fling. I'd been with Jamison for a long time and we'd never had anything like that. Coreen was nothing, I helped myself believe. And when he said it was over, I believed him. I trusted him. But now, here I was, stooping to breaking into my husband's e-mail, because the other woman had told me otherwise.

There was nothing in his “new” e-mail file. Just some stuff from work—employee's invoices, a request for service. I quickly scrolled down and opened the “sent” file. And there it was. The last e-mail he'd sent was to [email protected].

In the outer world, the world my mind was no longer attached to, I heard people talking and the sound of the television in the family room. My mother was calling my name. Tyrian was crying. All of this was happening, but to my mind it was a haze, a soundtrack to a movie playing in another room, something someone else was watching. I was no longer a part of that world. I was in the office, reading e-mail after e-mail, dying and detaching along the way. My spirit sank deeper each time I clicked that mouse. How? Why? I almost wanted to believe it wasn't Jamison, my best friend, the person who knew me like no other, sending those e-mails, but there it was—his name at the end of each message, big and broad as the screen in front of me. I was falling to pieces again. And I wasn't sure I'd be able to get it together.

“Kerry.” My mother scared me. She'd managed to walk into the office and make her way beside me at the computer without me even hearing her. “I've been calling you.” She was carrying a receiving blanket in her hand. “Tyrian spit up on his clothes . . . do you have something you want . . .”

She trailed off, looking at the screen in front of me. My hands were at my sides. In my anger I had no energy to change the screen. I didn't want to hear her mouth, but the last thing I felt like doing was hiding anything anymore.

“What's this?” she asked, reading as she spoke. She dropped the blanket to the floor. “Kerry,” she said, not even looking at me. It was my mother's serious voice. I hadn't heard it many times in my life, but when I did, I knew the woman meant what she was saying. She walked away and closed the door to the office, exhaling deeply as she turned back around to me. She came back to the desk and knelt down beside me in the chair. “Baby, I need you to hear me. I don't need you to say anything . . . I just need you to hear your mother right now. Can you do that?”

I was crying. I just nodded my head.

“I told you I'd be here for you right now. Didn't I?”

I nodded again. She'd called me after Aunt Luchie told her about the dinner and promised she'd come help me. That she wouldn't let me face Jamison's mother alone.

“And I am here,” she added. “And your mother isn't going anywhere. And, Kerry, I need you to know this, because of what I need you to do for me.” She swiveled the chair I was sitting in to face her and looked into my eyes.

“He lied to me,” I said. “He lied.”

“I know,” she said, handing me the blanket from the floor to wipe my tears. “Take a deep breath,” she went on. “Just let some of it out.”

“I just don't understand, you know? After everything we talked about, how he could just do this to me,” I said. “He's still in contact with her. Why?”

“I know, and you know your mother loves to say ‘I told you so,' but now just isn't the time for all of that. Right now, we have to get you through this moment,” she said. “And I know where your head is right now and what you must be feeling, but I also know that there's a house full of people out there. And your baby. I need you to . . .”

“I'm not going out there, Mother,” I said. “I can't.”

“Kerry, hear me out. This is your house and the first Thanksgiving you're having here. You have visitors and everyone is already getting ready to eat. They have all of this food everywhere. You can't just kick them all out, so you're just going to have to hold it together for a little while until people leave, then you and Jamison can handle what you need to handle.”

“I can't, Mother,” I cried.

“Yes, you can, baby,” she said. “And I'll be there with you. I'll stay right with you. After everyone eats, we'll announce that you have a migraine and I'll get you upstairs and then start telling people to go.”

I wiped my tears and tried to focus on what she was saying.

“But until we do that, I just need you to get yourself together and come outside and sit down. You don't even have to do anything. The food is ready and out and I'm going to change Tyrian's clothes. You can sit on the sofa and not speak to anyone. I'll tell people you're not feeling well. Okay?”

I nodded my head again.

“Baby, I know you're mad, but now is not the time. Not right now.” She stood up and kissed me on the forehead the way my father used to do. “I'll get Luchie to help me get people to the table. Just get yourself together and come outside when you're ready.”

 

 

When I finally got myself to a point where I thought I could last the forty minutes it would take to get through dinner, I made my way to the dining room where everyone was gathered, standing around a table full of food. Jamison was standing at the head of the table with his mother, aunt and uncle, cousins and their children beside him; my mother and aunt were on the the other side, leaving a chair for me there, directly opposite Jamison.

“There you are,” Aunt Luchie said. “Thought we'd lost you.”

“Yes she has a little headache,” my mother said.

“Oh, baby, do you—” Jamison started, but when I looked at him, he stopped speaking, I guess noticing the lack of concern for anything he had to say on my face.

“Well, let's go on and bless the food so we can eat,” his mother said as if it hadn't been announced that I was ill. If I was going to give anyone at the table a piece of my mind, it was her. I'd always known she was conniving and shady, but she'd just taken her drama to a new level. I looked in her direction to respond, but my mother caught me just before I tore into her.

“Okay, so I'll bless the food,” my mother said sweetly.

“Um . . . no, I think that's the man of the house's job,” his mother responded.

“Well, if we're going by tradition, it should be my sister Luchie because she's the oldest!”

“No,” Aunt Luchie said, “it should be Jamison because it's his house.”

Both my mother and I looked at Aunt Luchie with our eyes hot.

“What?” she asked.

“Look, I'll say the prayer. I can see everyone is very excited about this moment, so I don't want to prolong it,” Jamison said smugly. He had no clue his little dream holiday was falling apart and about to punch the self-satisfied smile right off his face. “Let's join hands,” he said as I balled up my fist. “Let every eye be closed.”

“Lord, thank you for the food you have so generously provided my family. You have been good to me, better than I have been to myself.” I didn't even bother to close my eyes. I just looked at Jamison as he spoke. “You have blessed me with a beautiful wife,” he opened his eyes and looked at me. “Who I love very, very much. And a strong son who's growing every day. I'm so glad we could all come together, Lord, on this day, as it has been a dream of mine for years—to have my family together and be as one. We're thankful for all of these things and blessings to come. Amen.”

Everyone else said Amen and opened their eyes, chatting as they took their seat, but Jamison and I kept our eyes on one another.

“You okay?” he mouthed. I didn't respond. I just took my seat and nodded my head to Aunt Luchie when she told me that Tyrian was upstairs in his crib.

“So, as I was saying in the kitchen,” Aunt Luchie went on, raising her voice so the rest of the people at the table could hear her, “we really need to support the city's efforts to keep Grady Hospital open. If it closes, where will all of those poor people go when they need good medical care? And where will our black doctors go to do their residencies?”

“Oh, please, Luchie,” my mother said. “The problem is that the doctors from Morehouse Medical School have more choices of where they can do their residencies now. It's not like it was when we were coming up and they had limited options. Not every black person has to go through the old hospital.”

“Well, I'm a Grady baby,” Jamison's cousin said. “And I think it's important we keep the place open. We can't let it be shut down like the rest of everything that's black in the city. It seems like it's a part of that whole gentrification thing, if you ask me. They want the old, poor blacks out of the city, so they can bring some of the white money in.”

“Exactly,” Aunt Luchie said.

“Stop it. I get so tired of people always associating everything that's broken down and poor with black people. That's not a black hospital,” my mother said. “It's an old, broken down building that was poorly managed and that's why it's being shut down, just like every other poorly run business in the ghetto.”

“Oh, no,” Aunt Luchie said.

“I mean that, Luchie. Black people need to stop making all these excuses and realize that if they don't run their businesses correctly, others will come in and get that money. That's the bottom line.”

“Here we go,” Dottie said. “Got to start putting down black people, like you're not black too.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ladies,” Jamison said, looking at me like I was supposed to stop the war that was brewing. I just looked straight at him as if I was deaf. If I even opened my mouth only one thing would come out. “Come on, we haven't even gotten through the first meal. Let's settle down. And we don't need to talk about black businesses failing because we have one that's doing very well right here in this house.”

“That's right, baby,” Dottie said, patting him on the back as she always did. “And that successful black business done bought this house and supports this family. And it's in no danger of breaking up. Right, baby?”

“Right, mama!”

She kissed him on the cheek.

“And it'll make sure it keeps my grandbaby good and healthy and only getting the best, so he can be the first doctor in the family,” she said.

“Now that's a fine idea,” Aunt Luchie said.

“No, we're not choosing his career for him,” Jamison said. “We want him to be able to make that decision for himself. Right, Kerry?” He looked at me for a response. Everyone did.

“Um . . . hum . . .” I managed.

“Oh, he'll be a doctor. It's in his blood,” Jamison's mother said. “Well from my side, anyway . . .”

“Excuse me?” my mother said.

“Well, Jamison is the only person 'round here bringing any money in,” his mother went on, sipping the mimosa in front of her.