Unsuitable Men (2 page)

“You’re waddling,” Tracy lied as she got out of the truck, reaching for the bottle of wine she brought along for the occasion.

Riley laughed. “Shut up. I can’t wait for you to experience the pressure of an infant’s head against your cervix.”

“Ugh. Spare me the details,” Tracy said hugging her.

“Come on in,” Riley said looping her arm through hers. “Don’t worry he’s not here yet. It’s just Chris.”

“Oh.” Tracy relaxed. “Are you sure he’s coming?”

“I’m not sure if you’re hoping he will, or hoping he won’t,” Riley said glancing at her as they entered the foyer.

“I’m not sure myself,” Tracy admitted.

The house was beautiful; worthy of a write-up in a design magazine. Riley had gotten over her aversion to being wealthy at least for as long as it took to get this decorating job done, probably because she was pregnant and too exhausted to do it herself. She had even gone so far as to hire one of the most famous celebrity designers in New York to do the task. The
result was a warm, homey interior filled with craftsman pieces and clean
Shaker lines. Like their Central Park condo, they had chosen earth tones but with the occasional burst or orange and red hues. Riley led Tracy out to the back where under the loggia, Shawn and his friend Chris Scaife
were
sitting, each with a beer in hand. They looked up as she and Riley entered.

“Hey Tracy,” Chris said. “Long time no see.”

“Chris.”

As with Shawn, there was no love lost between Tracy and Chris Scaife. As one of the biggest rap moguls in the world, he was a
walking,
talking breathing symbol of what ailed Black America as far as Tracy was concerned. I mean, as rich as he was, would it kill the man to pull his pants up to the waist? But other than that, she bore him no personal ill will. He was just one of those men who, if he wasn’t sleeping with you or planning to, or you weren’t unavailable to him for some other reason (like Riley was), he really had no inclination to give you the time of day.

“You want something to drink?” Shawn asked, standing.

“Sure,” Tracy said amiably. “A sauvignon?”

Shawn headed for the bar at one corner of the loggia and Tracy took a seat where she could watch the sunlight reflecting off the pool and admire the splendor of the pink tea roses in bloom nearby. She turned and watched as Riley joined her husband at the bar and he handed her a glass of what looked like cranberry juice. Riley took it from him and tilted her head back to look up at him, a slight smile on her face. He gazed back at her and one corner of his mouth turned upward. He reached out and playfully tugged a lock of Riley’s hair. Tracy looked away, feeling like an intruder.

Say would she might about Shawn, he definitely adored Riley. Not just loved, but
adored
. There was almost nothing about his life that had remained unchanged since she had come into it. Despite his fame, money and his considerable physical attractiveness (that even Tracy had to grudgingly acknowledge) he seemed not to see anyone else. Unable to help herself, Tracy glanced in their direction yet again, just in time to see Riley reach out and place Shawn’s hand on the swell of her pregnant belly while sipping her cranberry juice and him smiling, probably feeling the baby kick.

“So what have you been up to, Chris?” she asked, tearing her gaze away from them again.

“The usual,” he said, taking a gulp of his beer. “Defending America against bullshit pop music.”

In spite of herself, Tracy smiled. “Yeah well it’s a dirty job . . .”

“. . . but someone had to do it,” Chris finished for her.

“Well then I’m glad the task is in your capable hands,” she said.

“Don’t listen to him,” Riley called from the bar. “I saw a Lisa P CD in his car a couple weeks ago,” she said naming the latest pop princess to saturate the airwaves.

“Well, you have to know the enemy,” Chris said unfazed.

Shawn returned with her wine and Tracy took it gratefully. She needed a drink, fast. If she was beginning to enjoy Chris Scaife’s humor, she must be lonelier and more desperate for male companionship than she thought.

“You guys want to get that grill started?” Riley suggested. “We’re only expecting a few other people.”

“How few?” Tracy asked.

If it was only Brendan and his girlfriend, she was going to kill Riley. If she had known it was going to be such a small party, she would have brought a date. Either that or she would be stuck with Chris Scaife all afternoon.

“Just another six or so,” Riley said. “Want to come help me get these steaks and stuff together?”

“Still no household help?” Tracy
asked,
her voice disapproving. Riley and her arbitrary austerity measures.

“Nope,” Shawn said. “No household help. I think she’s hoping that going up and down the stairs will bring on an early labor.”

Clearly Tracy had stumbled across one of his pet peeves.

“At this point, if I go into labor it’s hardly
early
,” Riley said. “I’m well within the range.”

“Not for a first kid,” Shawn said.

“Okay Shawn. Whatever. C’mon Tracy . . .”

“Bickering over meaningless crap?” a voice said from the entrance to the house. “I know I’m in the right place now.”

Everyone looked around. Brendan was standing at the door. He was wearing a white polo, chinos with brown loafers and looked like someone who had just come from a cruise; relaxed and at ease. Maybe it was because he was in the presence of old friends, but Tracy feared that it might be something else. Like maybe the young woman at his side. She had a fashionable tousled pixie-cut and the perfectly-even oval-shaped face ideal to pull it off; she was pretty and petite, and wore a denim summer dress and bright white tennis shoes. Tracy expected her to be attractive and she was, though that was not what shook her. What she wasn’t able to process, couldn’t even bring
herself
to look directly at, was the unpleasant fact that Brendan was holding her hand.

He never held women’s hands. On the very few occasions when Brendan had brought women around, Tracy had been relegated to guessing whether they were dates or not. Most of the time, it was the women who staked their claim, touching him in some way to demonstrate that he was with them. But this time, he seemed not to intend to let go of this woman’s hand, even when he realized Tracy was there.

Riley was right. It
was
serious.

“Tracy,” he said, his face breaking out into a smile. “Stranger!”

Tracy stood and returned his smile, maintaining it even when he brought Meghan along as he came toward her. At least he let the girl go long enough to hug her. Meghan was probably only about five-foot four, which to Tracy’s mind made her a ridiculous match for Brendan who was somewhere in the neighborhood of an imposing six-five.

“It’s been awhile,” he said. “At least well before Rae turned into a beach ball.”

“Hey!” Riley said, laughing.

Riley and Brendan were very close, bonded in part by the fact that they were the closest people in the world to Shawn and one of a small handful of people he let in. Only Brendan called Riley by the nickname ‘Rae’.

“It was a few months ago,” Tracy acknowledged, nodding.

“I missed you, Trace,” he said.

Tracy’s smile faltered. “You too,” she mumbled.

“Did you?” Brendan grinned at her. “Miss me I mean?”

Tracy felt her face grow hot with her blush.

“So,” she said briskly, looking at Meghan. “I’m Tracy . . .”

“Tracy’s been Riley’s friend since college,” Brendan explained to Meghan.

“Yes,” Tracy said pointedly, stung by the implication that she was
only
Riley’s friend and not his. “A friend of Riley’s.”

She took Meghan’s hand and shook it briefly.

“Nice to meet you,” Meghan said smiling. “I think I’ve heard Riley mention you a few times.”

Tracy resented the implication that Meghan and Riley, Brendan and Shawn had socialized together in her absence. But clearly that had been the case. And it wasn’t as though Tracy had her own plus-one to bring to these little gatherings. Great; so now Meghan was moving in on her best friend as well as her . . . as well as Brendan. She had slightly crooked bottom teeth, Tracy noted with pleasure, and her lips were a little too thin. She was pretty, but nothing to write home about, for sure.

“Meghan, can I get you something to drink?” Riley asked from behind them.

“If you’ve got a red that would be great. Thanks,” Meghan said.

“Sure. Merlot? Malbec? What’s your preference?”

“Why don’t I come see what you have?” Meghan suggested. She followed Riley over to the bar so that Tracy and Brendan were left alone for the moment. Tracy sipped her wine and looked again out to the pool. She should have brought a swimsuit. She had a brand new white one that made her breasts look amazing.

“So what’s been up with you?”

Brendan reached out and ran a hand down her arm to get her attention. Tracy instinctively jerked away from his touch and his smile faltered for a second. For a moment she felt badly for making him thinking she didn’t like it when he touched her. Problem was, as she recalled, she liked it too much.

“I should be the one asking that,” Tracy said. She cursed herself for sounding like she was accusing him of something.

“Well you know I transitioned at work, right? So now I’m back in NYC. Getting used to being stationary is an adjustment.”

“You seem to be making out just fine,” she said, drinking more of her wine.

Brendan leaned in, his eyes searching hers. “What’s with the attitude?” he asked softly.

Tracy sighed.

She didn’t mean to give him attitude. She meant to be as cool as a cucumber. But she was still a little thrown by the hand-holding. Not that she was jealous or anything, it was just . . . unexpected was all. And Brendan was supposed to be her friend as well. How
was it that he’d never
mentioned that he was serious about someone? How was it that he’d
gotten
serious with someone and hadn’t bothered to try to see her these past few months? Not so much as a phone call to invite her for drinks. Or just the phone call, for that matter. They used to talk on the phone all the time. It was something she had looked forward to, especially with Riley newly married and all. She had missed him. And evidently while she was doing that, he was dating Little Meghan.

“No attitude intended,” she said looking up at him. “And I am happy to see you, Brendan. Even if I . . .”

“
Whew
,” Meghan returned with a glass of red wine in hand. “It’s a scorcher today, isn’t it?”

“Hellish,” Tracy agreed, before Riley came to collect her to help in the kitchen.

For the first few minutes, Riley didn’t say anything, so Tracy was beginning to think she had escaped the inquisition. But of course not. That would have been too much to expect.

“So how did you feel?” Riley asked, cutting to the chase. “Seeing him with her?”

“Fine,” Tracy said breezily. “Why would I feel anything other than fine? Brendan and I have only been . . .”

“Friends, yes. I know,” Riley said, busying
herself
with pulling a tray out of the enormous Viking refrigerator. It was laden with rib eyes marinating in what looked like a garlic balsamic emulsion. “Except for, you know. The one time.”

The one time.
Yes. There was that.

Tracy took the tray from Riley and put it on the center island, turning to await further instructions. Riley’s eyes were searching hers, clearly trying to read her true emotions, as only she was capable of doing. Finding nothing, or more likely deciding to pretend she hadn’t, Riley turned once again to the refrigerator, this time pulling out a bowl of what looked like spinach salad.

“You’re like Little Suzy Homemaker,” Tracy commented. “Making salads, marinating meats . . .”

“Yeah,” Riley said, sounding in awe of
herself
. “I’m telling you, there is something to that whole nesting thing. I wake up in the middle of the night with an uncontrollable urge to start cleaning the bathroom. It’s the craziest thing.” Tracy looked at her and Riley laughed. “I’m serious!”

“And do you do it?” Tracy asked. “Get up and clean the bathroom?”

“No. That would be giving in to the crazy. And no matter what, you can’t give in to the crazy.”

“Well at least you’d be joining Shawn.”

“He’s actually calmed down quite a bit since we spend so much time out here. I even managed to talk him out of that stupid bodyguard idea.”

“Well,
that
idea actually wasn’t that stupid,” Tracy said, taking the salad from Riley and putting it next to the tray of steaks. “People are still really curious about you two. And I bet a lot of women hate your guts because you’re carrying Shawn’s baby.”

“If you feed into it, the next thing you know, you won’t be able to go to Target without a small army,” Riley said shaking her head. “If I ignore them, people pretty much take their picture and go away.”

“Anything I can help with in here?”

Tracy and Riley looked around as Meghan came sauntering in, wineglass in hand.

“You could take these out,” Riley indicated the steaks and smiled at her. “Thank you.”

Meghan put her wineglass aside and took the tray. Tracy watched her as she left, sizing up her figure, and her walk, assessing her general attractiveness quotient. Brendan usually liked his women taller, around five-nine at least, and more overtly beautiful. This understatedly pretty girl was a change for him. So obviously his attraction to her went beyond the skin-deep.

“You’re going to have to stop looking at her like that,” Riley
said,
her voice quiet.

“How am I looking at her?”

“Like you want to scratch her eyes out.”

“You only see that because you know me so well.”

“Ah, so you do want to scratch her eyes out,” Riley said, raising an eyebrow.

“The thought did cross my mind,” Tracy admitted.

“Well banish it,” Riley said firmly. “Right now.”

They both laughed and Tracy nudged her friend in the shoulder.

By the time the festivities got underway, they had been joined by two other couples, the closest neighbors of Shawn and Riley’s and a young attorney who had once represented Shawn and become a friend along with her husband. By default, Tracy was thrown together with Chris who, though he was
pretty amusing company, did not adequately distract her from Brendan and Meghan sitting apart from everyone else, near the pool talking and eating from the same plate.

Riley and Shawn intermittently mingled with their guests and sat on a chaise together, Shawn’s legs wide apart, Riley reclining against his chest. Watching them together Tracy was reminded that men could change. If they loved you enough, and you were willing to hang in there through the growing pains, they could become the man of your dreams. Rarely, but it did happen. And the Lord knew
,
few if any came ready-made.

Shawn certainly hadn’t. Though he was the one who’d pushed the whole marriage agenda, it would be fair to say that he’d been dragged kicking and screaming into the whole monogamy thing. But now that he was there, even Tracy would stake her life that he never even looked at other women in the way he now looked at his wife. Like she was the only one of her kind in the history of womanhood. Because for him, she probably was.

As the sun set, everyone gathered under the loggia for a good-natured argument about politics. Riley was always the instigator of these discussions. She’d started a new publication a couple years back that was quickly building a reputation as the African American community’s version of
The New Yorker
. While Tracy was proud of her friend, it was all a little too intellectually high-brow for her. She liked to think of herself as having exhausted her brain cells for only as long as it took to graduate from college and get a high-paying career started. Riley on the other hand liked to think about things because she, well,
liked
to think about things.

Tracy stayed at the edge of the conversation, not quite a part of it, sipping her fourth glass of wine, feeling a mellow sleepiness begin to overtake her. It was almost nine o’clock and she didn’t much relish the idea of driving back to Brooklyn. She could probably crash in one of Riley’s spare rooms and head out early in the morning if it came to that, or maybe she could say her goodbyes now. She looked up, trying to make eye-contact with Riley, hoping to signal how tired she was when she instead met Brendan’s gaze.

Tracy gave him a half-smile which he returned. Next to him, Meghan was leaning in, engrossed in the conversation, listening to Chris talk about some campaign Riley had roped him into joining to include get out the vote messages on all his artists’ new CD jackets.

“C’mon walk with me,” Brendan said to her. “Let’s get a drink.”

Tracy stood and followed him as he went over to the bar, going behind it to look through Shawn’s considerable array of alcohol. Tracy leaned forward, watching him as he did. Brendan held up a bottle of tequila, his eyes questioning.

“No thanks,” Tracy laughed. “As it is, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to make the drive home.”

“Then don’t,” Brendan said. “From the looks of Riley she could go into labor any second and Shawn might need you to bring him hot water and towels.”

“Hmm. I’m pretty sure all he’ll need is someone to call 911 since he’s going to be a nervous wreck.”

“Yup,” Brendan agreed, laughing. He glanced over at where Shawn was walking around the pool, sipping on a beer. “I don’t think he’s figured out yet that this means he’s actually coming back from the hospital with a kid. But that’s Shawn, all heart but no head when it comes to Riley.”

Brendan poured them each a shot and slid one across the bar to Tracy. She looked at it for only a moment before lifting it. He knocked his glass briefly against hers before tossing back the clear liquid in one quick gulp. Tracy followed suit, enjoying the heat on the back of her throat.

After going clean-shaven for awhile, Brendan had grown a goatee once again she noted. Impeccably-shaped, and smooth to the touch as silk. Unbidden, a memory returned to her, of the scratch of his facial hair against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs and the pleasant burn as it brushed against . . .

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” Brendan was saying. “Damn, I didn’t know you’d pass out from a single shot, Trace.”

She smiled. “I’m not. I was just thinking.”

“About?”

She knew she shouldn’t; and that it was unfair. But she said it anyway.

“I was thinking about that night,” she said, looking him directly in the eye.

That night
. Their code for ten reckless hours spent together over two years ago. Ten hours that Tracy, despite her best efforts, had been unable to get out of her mind. Brendan looked at her now, his eyes hooded. She couldn’t tell whether he was remembering it as fondly as she was, or just annoyed that she’d brought it up at all with Meghan a few feet away.