Inside Out (5 page)

She looked up, startled. “I thought you hated jazz.”

Sometimes when Tracey was caught off-guard, she clamped her teeth over her lower lip. It was pretty damn hard for Rett to concentrate when she did that. “Truth is,” Rett turned to a safer subject, “I don't know much about it. I do know that I like this song, though.”

“It figures.”

“Funny. It doesn't have anything to do with the Von Trapp family. I just like this song. I can get it better than a lot of that other stuff.”

“Well, after classic jazz, I mean, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, it becomes an acquired taste. To get the hard-core, avant-garde styles, you kind of have to get schooled on where they come from and what the artists are trying to do, same as for any medium of expression. Listen to this.” She scooted over to the stereo and changed CDs. “This song is one of my favorites and I hated it the first time I heard it. What you gotta look for is the sheer unexpectedness of it. It wants to take you by surprise, it wants you to know that it's off key at all times, but that every move is right for the music; it's all on purpose, methodical. It forces you to be at odds with it and to see how the voice of the piece is ambivalent and almost trapped by itself. Ornette Coleman, the guy who composed this, is a genius when it comes to this stuff. It's not exactly atonal, but, at the same time, it is. Coltrane's on this piece, also bringing his own special melancholy to the mix.” She was silent through the rest of the song, then seemed to wait for his response. Rett smiled. Tracey noticed and said, “This song has never made me smile. I just stay still and kind of brace myself as I travel it like a roller coaster.”

“That's poetic.”

“Why were you smiling?”

“Because I can see it. You know, see what you see,” he answered. He could also see the way the song made her feel. “I know that sounds corny, but I can. What's the name of it?”

She stopped the CD. “ ‘Lonely Woman' ”.

Whatever they had shared was apparently over now.

Later, Tracey was bragging about her skill at playing cards. Rett decided he ought to show her how it was really done. She brought out a deck and they started off with poker. After graciously offering to deal, Rett decided to deal himself a hand just a shade better than Tracey's a couple of deals in a row. The phone rang, and Tracey, deep in thought, rose from the floor, still concentrating on the hands that had just been shown on the table. She picked up the phone.

“Hello?… Oh hey, Monica…y-no, no, I'm not doing anything. What's up?… I was planning to be there around eight…” Rett started to deal again but Tracey held up a hand to halt him. He shrugged and left the cards alone, sitting back in the armchair. “No, nothing before then… Okay, about one? Yeah, I can swing that. Uh-huh. Okay… Okay… See you tomorrow.” When she hung up, Rett asked her what that was all about. “I've been volunteering at this center on the west side of town. That was one of the counselors. She wants me to help her get ready for her anniversary party tomorrow.”

“That's really nice. I see that you do indeed have a soft side.” Rett tried not to think about the fact that he had seen that side the night before and wouldn't mind experiencing it firsthand again.

“Not really,” Tracey responded, sitting at the table again. “I just want to have something civic on my résumé.”

“Girl, you don't fool me.”

“No?” She smiled kind of bashfully and shook her head. “No, I guess I don't, even though you try to fool me.” Garrett gave her his best “who me?” look. She went on. “For example, before I got on the phone, I was sitting here playing poker.”

“Oh, really? And what do you think I was doin'?”

“Cheating.”

Not born with any shame, Rett winked at her.

Tracey stood for at least twenty minutes in front of the mirror in her bedroom. She wasn't used to this. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she had actually gone to a party. Just getting dressed was taking forever. She didn't know what was appropriate. Jeans and a nice shirt? Slacks? Her tea-length dress with silver threads shooting through it? Who knew? Finally, she had to get on the phone and call Moni to ask what she was wearing.

“A little black dress.” There went Tracey's standby. “What are you wearing?”

“I don't know. I can't find anything.”

“I've seen your closet, honey. There's something up in there you can wear.”

“I don't know, I just can't decide on what style I want.”

“Well, I say wear something tasteful and sexy. It's gonna be some family and some friends, professional types, but everybody's real down to earth.”

“If that's the case, I should wear some shorts and flip-flops.”

“I won't let you in my house. It's dressy. Not formal, but dressy.” With that she hung up the phone.

Tracey finally decided on an apple green, short-sleeved dress. The neckline scooped softly. It was long and fitted, but flowed around her whenever she turned. There was a calf-length green and violet cover over it. The ensemble, clearly Indian-influenced, had been a gift from her mother. She hadn't worn it yet. But God, it was pretty, and Tracey felt pretty in it. She donned some authentic Indian gold jewelry and parted her hair down the middle before slicking it back. She rolled her thick ponytail into a bun. With soft violet makeup, she almost looked like an Indian woman. Tracey smiled, and amended her thought: a very dark Indian woman.

She stared at herself, remembering her mother saying all the time when Tracey was a child that she was going to be a beautiful woman when she grew up. Tracey didn't know about beautiful, but that night, at least, she was almost there. Her eyes, dark brown, were wide-set and slightly slanted, her nose long and narrow like her mother's. Her lips were full, like her father's. Her cheekbones were high, which came from both sides of the family. Yes, she was fairly pleased with the way she looked, but she would never say beautiful.

Tracey was satisfied with her body. She wasn't fat, but she was no supermodel, either. She touched her tummy. It wasn't flat but slightly rounded. Her hips—her mother's hips—flared from her narrow waist. Good birthing hips, her grandmother would have called them. Her legs were long; those came from her father, and were well muscled from years of ballet. She had her mother to thank for her heavy bosom. On this night, all that was working for her. She really did look good, but even that was making her nervous.

Tracey grabbed her keys before she decided not to go at all and headed toward the front door. When she opened it, there was Garrett.

“You're going out?” He didn't even try to hide his disappointment.

“Just to a party my friend from the center's throwing. It's her anniversary.”

“Oh, that's right.”

“Yeah, I helped her get everything ready earlier. So what have you been up to today?”

“Not much. Just studying some. I was planning to get some more done tonight anyway.”

He hadn't mentioned it, but she should have known he would come by. For a moment, she considered calling Moni. That was ridiculous. “Look, I don't think it's going to last that long. Probably no later than midnight. In fact, I'm sure I'll be home by midnight. If you want to hang out here and study, you can.”

“Cool. I mean, if you really don't mind.”

“No, I don't. There's an extra key in the medicine cabinet in case you need to leave or something.”

“Thanks,” he replied, seeing her to her own door. As she stepped out and smoothed her hair, he stood watching her.

“What?” she asked.

“You look incredible. You really do.” His eyes slipped over her like heavy silk and she nearly tripped down the stairs as she left.

* * *

It was near eight by the time she got there and her stomach was fluttering. Already there were cars parked in the driveway, on the grass in the front yard, and on the street in front of the house. The balloons on the mailbox were silver and navy blue, Monica and Maurice's wedding colors. Tracey parked and warily wound her way up the walk. There were way more people there than she had expected, although they had made enough food for a small army. Tracey neared the front door and got cold feet. She could see tons of people squeezed into the living room. She went around to the kitchen and knocked on the door.

Maurice opened it. He looked great in a pair of black slacks and a warm chocolate brown button-down. He leaned over to give Tracey a kiss on the cheek and let her in. He called for Moni. She wasn't far behind.

“Hey, Trace!” She came over to hug her friend. As she held on to Tracey, she whispered into her ear that she looked great. Immediately, Tracey asked if she was overdressed. “Yeah.” Moni snickered. “But let's go make everybody else feel underdressed. Hold your head up. Square your shoulders. Take this.” She put a bubbling flute in Tracey's hand and led her towards her living room. “Girl, let me tell you. I don't usually drink, but this punch Rico made has been calling to me for at least an hour and a half.”

“And where are your children in all this?”

“Down in the basement playing video games, pool, doctor, and God knows what else with everybody else's kids. But I am not thinking about those children.”

“Who's watching them?” Tracey inquired, aware that Moni's babies were never far from her mind no matter what she said.

“Nobody, honey,” she whispered to Tracey. “I personally am hoping they pull a
Lord of the Flies
. That way we'll have fewer expenses.”

“You're a mess.”

“I know. Actually, my oldest, your buddy Tamia, is taking ownership of the younger kids. She'll come find me if she needs me.” She stood back, taking another close perusal. “I'm not getting over this. You look so good, Tracey. Come in and meet my young eligible guests.”

“Well, what do I look like the rest of the time? You haven't tried to introduce me to any eligible bachelors before now.”

“Child, please. That doesn't have anything to do with anything! This was all a set-up, you see, something like a job fair, the job being finding Tracey's husband-to-be. Now, you can just pick one and stop being by yourself all the time.”

Little did she know Tracey wasn't exactly by herself all the time. She thought of Garrett at her house at that very moment, studying and waiting for her. She bit her lip and surveyed the crowd gathered around. A wide range of ages from young up-and-comers to silver-haired retirees filled the room. They were all laughing and joking and singing and dancing and having a good time.

“Oh, and over here is my cousin Alex. He might as well be my big brother.”

There standing before her was Alexander Burke.

Tracey smiled, genuinely happy to see him. “Hey, Alexander! Small world!”

“Tracey! I wasn't expecting to see you here.” And this very stern, very serious man leaned over and hugged her hard with a big grin on his face. Tracey hadn't really seen him smile big like that before, and she was a sucker for a great smile. This one came from big, luscious, berry lips pulling back from two rows of the straightest, whitest teeth ever. His smile was really quite nice and Tracey was shocked this particular smile had never been shared with her before. But he was her advisor, substantially older than her, someone her father associated with from time to time… And—plainly speaking—he wasn't at all what she wanted.

“I wasn't expecting to see you, either,” Tracey responded.

“I take it you two have already met.” Moni preened, looking from one of them to the other. Tracey knew what she was thinking.

“Monica, Tracey's in one of my classes, and I'm her faculty advisor. Not only that, I was actually lectured by her father several times before and after I finished law school.” Tracey was glad that he was the one to disabuse Moni of her amorous notions. She never would have listened if Tracey had told her there was no future to this particular match.

“Interesting.” She raised an eyebrow. Obviously, Alexander's explanation of their relationship wasn't good enough for her.

Moni never missed anything. And, unfortunately, that meant that she had witnessed Tracey's first reaction to Alexander's smile. “My cup's empty,” she whined. “And your glass is, too, Tracey.”

“I can take a hint,” Alexander said, taking her glass and Moni's cup to refill it.

“Don't start,” Tracey warned her.

“But Tracey, just listen.”

“Un-unh!”

“I'm serious. Granted, he's older than you, but hey, Rico's older than me.”

“Four years as opposed to fourteen!”

“Is it really that many?” she asked, wrinkling her brow. Tracey's friend was certainly tipsy. “I keep thinking you're as old as me. Oh well. But you should consider it anyway. I saw that look you gave him. And it's
okay
. Sometimes a brother that black and sexy deserves a look like that.”

“First of all, Maurice is so light, and his hair is so fine, people call him Rico like he's Spanish or something, so don't start—”

“Just 'cause Rico is somewhat pale,” Tracey nearly choked on that one, “does not mean I can't appreciate a dark brother. It's apparent you can, too. And there are the added bonuses: the brother is smart, the brother is sweet, and the brother is paid.”

“You can't hold your liquor well,” Tracey told her disapprovingly.

“Maybe not,” Moni giggled, “but I know this: he has had a thing for you for awhile.”

Tracey was very smart sometimes. Smart enough to add two and two together. “If you knew that, then you knew he and I were familiar with each other before this party.”

“I told you it was a setup,” she announced brightly. Alex returned with their drinks.

“Don't let her have any!” Tracey motioned toward Moni. They all laughed and that set the mood for the night. Though Monica had to attend to all her guests, she, luckily, hovered around Tracey for much of the evening. She ensured that Tracey had enough to drink, to eat, and that she was forced to talk to every single person there. And in a suspicious way, Alexander was forever on hand to make Tracey feel at home, as well. She was too entertained that night to be annoyed.

Sometime during the night, the DJ broke out with an old-school song that just took everybody back, Earth, Wind, and Fire's “Groove Tonight.” Even though the song was before Tracey's time, she and everybody up in the place knew it. Everybody got up to dance, partner or no partner. At the end of that song, someone played Al Green's “Let's Stay Together,” and Moni grabbed her with one arm, singing the song. With arms linked they sang loudly and badly together until Maurice came up on the other side of Moni, dancing and singing, and Alex was next to Tracey doing the same. By the end of that one, Tracey had laughter pains shooting through her sides from those Al Green high notes Rico was attempting… and it was already half-past midnight. She nearly tripped over her dress. The crowd was definitely thinning out some, but she'd just had no clue that it was getting so late. Tracey excused herself to Moni, Maurice, Alex, and even the kids downstairs, then started to make her way home. Against her wishes, Alex walked Tracey to her car. He held her door open for her and closed it when she got in. He watched until she was down the street. What was she going to do about that?

When she got home she was still smiling. Her expression faltered slightly when she walked into her living room. Rett looked up at her expectantly. “Did you have a good time?” he asked. Barely noticeable was his glance at the clock on the wall that read 1:10.

“I did. I really did.” She pulled off the shawl and took the binding from her hair, shaking it out. Probably not very attractive, but Tracey didn't care. She laid the items on the sofa and sat down. “How about you? Did you get anything accomplished?”

“A little, but I'm tired of it now. I'm up but I don't feel like studying.”

“Well, I'm wide awake. You want to see what's on television?”

* * *

For the longest, Tracey blamed him, blamed him for being so intrigued by their differences. That night, they watched a movie about mutant, killer vegetation eating its way down the West Coast and sucking the blood out of cheerleaders too buxom to run effectively. They lay down on their stomachs next to each other on her bed—the only television was in her bedroom—their sides touching as they nudged each other with their elbows and legs, saying something to the effect of, “I got you last.”

Sometime during this high quality film, the smarter of the busty coeds found solace in the arms of a ranger. Solace had never looked so acrobatic. Embarrassed to say the least, Tracey turned her eyes away from the screen. It wasn't that she was a prude. It wasn't that she had some messed-up relationship with sex. It unnerved her to watch something like that with him.

Tracey could sense Garrett watching her. She looked over at him. “You know,” he said, “I find this most interesting.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Garrett touched her hair. At first, she wanted to pull away quickly. She'd seen more than one white person touch the hair of a black woman and wipe their hands on their pants leg immediately after. At least if there was oil on the hair. There were other adverse reactions she'd seen as well. But he didn't do any of that. He just stroked it. Tracey waited, holding her breath, to see what he was about. “It's so soft.”

“I do try.” Tracey smirked. “It's a little nappy right now, though. For your understanding, let's say nappy means extra coarse. That's why I pulled it back. I need to get a perm, but my point is that it looks like steel wool at the roots right now.”