A Cold Piece of Work (23 page)

Evelyn looked at him like, “
And
...” She knew Solomon had at least one other woman in his life. So why was this such news?

“I'm in love with her,” he added. “As much as I like you and care about you—and I hope you know that I do—I have to do right by her.”

“I see,” Evelyn said. “One question: What's wrong with me? I'm not mad about it and I'm trying to be happy for you. But all this time... What, more than a year? You never gave us a chance to really have something. You told me from the beginning that you didn't want a relationship. Now you're telling me that you're in one? What's that about?”

“I don't know,” Solomon answered. “With this woman, I left
her eight years ago when I moved from D.C. to here. The—”

“Wait! Eight years ago?”

“Yes,” Solomon said. “We dated back then and I abruptly ended it when I moved here. I ran into her several months ago and I realized right away that there was something special there.”

“So all we had were good times and sex?” Evelyn said. “That's all it was to you.”

“That's not a bad thing,” he said. “All my memories and thoughts of you are good ones. How many people can say that about someone? I hope you know the kind of woman you are.”

“The kind that's not good enough for you.”

“I wanted to talk to you in person. It was important and I respect you. I'm sorry I didn't talk to you before now; instead of basically disappearing. It actually was—and still is, I guess—a complicated situation.”

“Complicated? Why?” Evelyn asked. “Is she pregnant?”

“Actually, she's not,” he answered. “But she has a seven-year-old son... And he's mine. I'm a father.”

“Oh, come on, Solomon.” She stepped back. They were standing in the parking lot, so she tried to keep her voice at a controlled pitch. “Are you serious?”

“I'm a daddy,” he said with pride in his voice. “It's a long story. The short version is that when I left her in D.C., she was pregnant. I didn't tell her that I was moving; I just left. It sounds terrible, but that's who I was then. She had no way to reach me, so I never knew.

“So, here's the crazy part: She shows up out of the blue at my youth basketball banquet at the rec center. One of my players I coached actually was my son.”

“Solomon, you'd better stop lying,” Evelyn said.

“Seriously. That's exactly what happened. I'm not asking you
to be happy for me. One day you will be since that's the kind of woman you are. You have a good heart. I do hope you understand.”

Evelyn stared at him. He stepped to her and hugged her. “Thank you for being my friend.”

She hugged him back. “It doesn't have to end. You can still let me dance for you.”

Solomon smiled. “I wish I could; you're a good dancer.”

“I'm going home; better yet, I'm going back in the club,” she said. “I don't need a man to validate me. But I do, after this, need someone to make me feel wanted...”

They stared at each other. “I'm sorry, Evelyn,” Solomon finally said.

She nodded her head. “Good luck ... Daddy. And I mean that.”

Evelyn smiled at Solomon, turned and headed back into the club. Solomon retrieved his cell phone as he watched her walk off. A sense of satisfaction came over him. Instead of being the cold Solomon who would vanish on a woman, he had a meaningful, heartfelt conversation to explain his actions. And while she wanted different results, she did respect Solomon for being upfront.

It reminded him of how he felt when he was a teenager after a classmate showed interest in him, but he rebuffed her because he already had a girlfriend. She thanked him for being honest. He was proud to do the right thing. This time, too.

S
olomon was surprised but happy that Michele had called him. He had never seen her so upset than after he had beaten Gerald. And when he thought about it, it actually scared him. He wondered how far her fury would take her.

But he was relieved when she called. He thought perhaps she had calmed down and wanted to talk rationally about the situation.

He was wrong.

He called her back while standing in the parking lot at Hairston's, eager to get on the proper page with the woman he connected with like no other. Turned out, she was as hostile and adamant about how her son would be disciplined by Solomon.

“I'm sorry I got so upset, Solomon, but I'm so serious about this,” she started. “I don't believe in beatings. Kids have to be talked to and taught behavior. We're the adults and we have to be able to control ourselves and teach through means other than beatings. I can't take that.”

“Clearly, this is something we should've talked about, Michele,” he said. “Like you, my parents beat me when I was out of line. Not every time, but when they thought I was outrageous, they beat my behind. And it was a deterrent for me.

“I believe in talking, too. I believe in both, actually. I want to talk to Gerald and let him understand why it happened and why he should be obedient. That's one of my roles as his father; to instill discipline in him. There's going to be a time when he's going to be as big and strong as me. But he should still fear and
respect me. I can't have him thinking he can do or say whatever he wants to me. That has to be under control now to set the pattern for the rest of his life.”

“You don't have to get that through a whipping,” Michele said. “You—”

She stopped speaking because she could hear Solomon greeting someone. It was hard to make out exactly what they were saying, but she could hear particular words, like “jail” and “probation.”

“Sorry about that, Michele,” he said.

“Who was that? Where are you?” she asked.

“I'm standing in front of Hairston's, waiting on my car from the valet.”

“Hairston's? So you left here and went to a club?”

“I didn't want to stay home and think about what happened. I needed to do something to occupy my mind.”

“So being around a bunch of women was your choice?”

“Michele, it's not like that,” he said. “Not at all. In fact...”

He contemplated telling her about his talk with Evelyn, but thought better of it.

“Anyway, can I come over, if that's okay with you? Can we talk about all this?”

“I was about to go to bed,” she said.

“How can you sleep when this is hanging over us? You won't be able to sleep.”

“You're right,” Michele answered. “Are you coming now? Or do you need to get one last dance?”

He ignored her sarcasm. “I'm on my way.”

En route, Solomon considered bending on his position for one reason; he believed his message had gotten through to Gerald and that he would not have to go there again. Then he thought about how his first beating did not prevent him from getting into more trouble that forced his dad to pull off his belt.

It was late, nearly 12:30, but he decided to call his father for some direction.

“You know how we raised you,” his dad said. “But that's how
we
raised
you
. You have to do what you believe is best for your son as his father. I did tell you to make sure he grows up to be a man who respects you. Bottom line, it's a different time. You can't even yell at a kid anymore.

“Remember Ms. Shaw, your biology teacher at Douglass? I remember your hand being red from her spanking it with a stack of rulers because you talked in class. And she told us about it. And we gave her permission to do it. You can't do that today.

“So, it's different, son. But not so different that you shouldn't beat your child if you believe that's what he deserves.”

“Would I be a punk if I told Michele, ‘Okay, you win. I won't beat him again'?”

“You'd be a liar,” he said. “You beat him because you believe in that form of discipline. From what you say, you didn't really hurt him; you were sending a message that he must respect you and what you tell him to do. So, while I appreciate you calling me for advice, I believe you will do what you think is necessary in that moment. If the little knucklehead gets out of line, you might have to physically put him back in place. He is, after all, his father's son.

“Maybe the thing to do is to do your best to assure Michele that you won't hurt him. He's your son and it's all about instilling respect in him. Tell her you're at a seven-year disadvantage and you're trying to make it up. But you can't make it up effectively by letting him think he can do whatever he wants.”

“Dad, thanks,” Solomon said. “I tried that, but maybe she was too angry to really hear me. We're going to sit down now and hopefully hash this out. I'll let you know how it turns out.”

He arrived at Michele's threshold and immediately learned of how pissed she was. She opened the door and turned and walked away. Always, without fail, she greeted Solomon with a hug upon his entrance into her home. This was not good.

He entered the house and went directly to the kitchen and took a seat at the bar, facing the oven. This was a psychological move. The kitchen was Michele's haven, the place she felt most comfortable and was the most at-ease.

“You don't want to sit on the couch?” she asked.

“Nah, I'm good right here,” Solomon said. “I like sitting up on the stool.”

Michele came over and stood on the other side of the bar, next to the sink. Her arms were folded. Her facial expression and body language said she was uptight and upset.

Solomon noticed and tried to loosen her up with some levity.

He grinned. “You should unfold your arms before you give yourself a blood clot.”

Michele did not budge—or smile.

Instead, she got right to it.

“So what are we going to do about this, Solomon? This is something I can't bend on.”

The cold Solomon would have tried to impose his will on the matter. This Solomon, well, he tried to remain poised and noncommittal.

“I'm not some maniac who wants to beat a child all the time; that's what you make me feel like when you get this upset and take this strong a stand,” he said. “Are you telling me that there's nothing he can do that you think would warrant a whipping, beating, spanking? Nothing?”

“Nothing,” she said without hesitation. “All conflicts can be resolved with words or some other form of punishment. That's what I believe.”

“I'm not trying to be funny, but how did you come to this way of thinking?” His smile irritated Michele, who started to say something but Solomon did not allow the opening. “You told me your parents beat you growing up. You turned out fine, from what I can tell. The way I look at my youth, the things I experienced helped shape me into who I am.

“My mom made sure on Saturday morning I cleaned up my room and the bathroom. That's what I do now, as an adult. My point is you learn things as a kid that you carry over into your adult life. How is it you can go in the other direction now?”

“Because I didn't like getting beatings,” she said. “I didn't understand it.”

“Come on, you had to understand it,” Solomon interjected. “Tell me you didn't like the pain, but don't tell me you didn't understand why you got a beating. Did you do something they thought you shouldn't have done, that you should have known not to do?”

“Yes, but I still didn't like it. And I do carry over things from my upbringing into my life now,” Michele said. “But I don't bring the things I don't agree with. Like eating pork. We ate pork— bacon, ham, chitlins, whatever—growing up. But I don't now and I don't serve it to Gerald.”

“I understand, Michele,” Solomon said. “I want you to understand this. Please hear me on this: I wasn't trying to hurt him. I love that boy. If he were a girl, I would probably look at it differently on how to discipline him. And so would you. One of the things you told me was that you always wanted a man in his life to help teach him on how to be a man.

“Well, this is part of it. Respect. You give respect and you earn it. As his father, I cannot have him telling me ‘no' about anything, ever. That can't happen. I believe if this was traumatic enough for him, I won't have this issue again.

“But I'm old school, Michele: Part of being a male growing
into a young man is to handle whatever comes your way. That's why I got him in boxing. What's going to happen when he has to really engage in a fight or has to protect himself? He can't shy away from physical contact.

“Listen, that's a small part of it. I'm not trying to toughen him up through beating him. The bigger issue is respect. He's a kid. If we allow him to dismiss what I say—or even what you say— what are we teaching him? What will he do next? We've got to control that right now.

“He's a great kid, but he's a kid, and kids will test you to see how far they can go. And they'll go as far as you let them. It's human nature for them. I let him know that's not the way to be with his father.”

Michele sighed. “Solomon, we're not getting anywhere with this.”

“Well, what do you want me to say? That I'm not going to give him a whipping again? Well, I never thought I'd have to give him a whipping. I never wanted to give him a whipping,” Solomon said. “But you can't have it both ways. You can't tell me about how glad you are his father is in his life but then try to handcuff me when I have to do the tough things that fathers do.”

“You said you love him. You said you love me,” Michele said. “If you do, then you'd do this for us. I don't want to see him resent you. And I don't want to resent you, either.”

Before Solomon could answer, his cell phone rang. He had placed it on the counter, near where Michele stood.