Baby Brother's Blues (7 page)

The microwave dinged loudly.

“Fifteen minutes?”

“Bless you!”

Joyce Ann appeared in the kitchen door. “Dinner ready?”

“Let me speak to my granddaughter,” Precious said, hearing the child’s voice.

“Speak to her in person when you get here,” Kwame said. “She’s having her dinner.”

“I’m on my way.”

Kwame clicked off the phone and turned to his daughter with a smile that said all was right with the world again. “We’re saved, Little Bit,” he said, lifting her into her high chair and clicking the tray into place. “Mommy’s
cuckoo,
but Granny’s on the way!”

“Cuckoo train,” his daughter sang out. “Mommy’s on the cuckoo train!”

He laughed, even though he hoped his precocious daughter wouldn’t share the joke with her mother. Somehow, he didn’t think Aretha would find it funny.

12

B
y the time Kwame arrived at Paschal’s twenty minutes after the agreed-upon hour, Teddy had already taken a booth in the back of the restaurant and ordered a soul-food feast. Kwame was so surprised, he forgot to be disappointed in the change of his unspoken plan for the evening. He had wanted to have drinks with Teddy here and then cook a meal for the two of them at his newly renovated loft space. Last time Teddy’s travels had brought him through Atlanta three months earlier, the place was a raw shell. It had since taken shape under Kwame’s careful design and construction. He’d even brought in some basic furnishings just for this occasion to give Teddy the full effect of his efforts. He was looking forward to a chance to show off the place. Other than the guys who had helped him with the parts of the renovation he couldn’t do alone, Teddy would be the first person allowed inside.

Kwame wondered, with a sudden pang of guilt, what Aretha would say if she knew he had bought and refurbished a space she didn’t even know existed. He had intended to tell her when he first started looking around for what he told himself were investment opportunities. But when he found a place he really liked outside of West End, he knew she would object, so he didn’t mention it. After all, they had a modern marriage with separate bank accounts. He was making enough money to cover it, so the whole thing was really none of her business. Why should he tell her? He needed a private space, a place where he could just be alone with his thoughts and his dreams. A place where he could bring a friend for dinner and drinks without having to be anybody but himself. Nobody’s husband. Nobody’s father. Nobody’s son. Just
Kwame.

The person who knew that Kwame better than anyone was Teddy Rogers. They had been friends since Teddy came to speak on a panel at Howard University when Kwame was a senior in the school of architecture. Although just a few years older than the students he was addressing, Teddy had already opened his own firm and was billing over three million dollars a year.

His fellow students were only half listening, but Kwame looked at Teddy and saw his future; a bright, young black man, polished, articulate, ambitious, Morehouse undergrad, Yale architecture degree with high honors. In addition to all that, Teddy had great contacts in both the government and corporate worlds and a confidence that was contagious. Kwame had learned the art of networking at his mother’s knee and he recognized an opportunity when he saw one. He waited until the program was over and then went up to introduce himself.

Teddy had been wearing a beautiful blue suit that complemented his slight frame. Kwame suspected those shoulders were the result of artful tailoring as much as hours at the gym. He told Teddy he appreciated his take on doing business with municipal governments and asked if he could have a copy of the remarks to share with his mother, who was an elected official herself and would probably find them interesting. Teddy apologized for not having a prepared text, explaining that he enjoyed the challenge of speaking off-the-cuff, and invited Kwame to dinner.

By the time they finished their coffee, Teddy had become both a mentor and a friend. Two weeks later, they became lovers. It was, in fact, Teddy’s generous offer of a place in his firm that Kwame had to turn down when Aretha wouldn’t consider moving to D.C. She had told him he didn’t have to marry her. She wanted a baby, she said, and she had a strong—
what did she call it?
A
sisterhood support network
? She’d be fine having the baby without him if that’s what he wanted.

Like that was a possibility. It was his fault as much as hers and he was going to be an honorable man, no matter what. His father had told his mother to have an abortion and disappeared when she refused. He wasn’t going to be that kind of daddy. He called Teddy in D.C. and told him he couldn’t take his offer because he was getting married and moving back to Atlanta.

Teddy, being Teddy, didn’t beat around the bush. “Is she pregnant?”

“Yes,” Kwame said, feeling like a high-school boy confessing to his father.

“Is this what you want?”

The question was so unexpected, he’d almost answered it honestly, but he didn’t have to. The hesitation told Teddy everything he needed to know.

“Yes.” Kwame said the lie softly, like it pained him to have to tell it.

“I see. Does she know about you?”

“Of course not.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

“Did you tell Genevive?”

“Genevive is from Northampton. Everybody she knows is bisexual.”

“Even her husband?”

“We’re not talking about me, brother, but I guess in a way we are. Long-distance relationships are always difficult.”

“Everything is difficult.”

“No, it’s not,” Teddy said soothingly. “The fact of the matter is, everything is disarmingly simple. This isn’t a problem. I’m in and out of Atlanta all the time. We’ll meet, we’ll have drinks, we’ll talk. We’ll be two good friends with hot wives at home who sometimes meet for dinner when business brings us together.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kwame said, relief flooding his body as he realized his friend wasn’t going to judge him harshly for making a mess.

Teddy chuckled on the other end of the line. “Admit it. A part of you wanted this to happen. A beautiful wife. A cute kid. You want that respectable Atlanta
lifestyle.
” Teddy’s sarcastic tone caressed the words contemptuously. “In D.C. you’d be an outlaw, undefined, making yourself up as you go along, as
Miss
James Baldwin put it so succinctly.”

“Fuck you.”

“Claim your dreams, brother!”
Teddy said cheerfully. “Just play safe and don’t get caught with your pants down.”

“I’ll do my best,” Kwame said.

After the wedding, Teddy had been as good as his word. Business brought them together once or twice a month. They’d meet at whatever restaurant was currently the place to see and be seen and then let the evening proceed at its own pace, but what Kwame saw before him tonight was a first.
Teddy was eating pork chops!

On all the times before this one, Kwame had never seen a morsel of meat pass his friend’s lips. After his wife’s dramatic conversion to a strict vegetarian regimen six years before on the promise of perfect skin and eternal life, Teddy had been strongly urged to follow the same path. At first he refused. The idea of life without even the possibility of a steak in it was inconceivable to him. It was only when his wife made it clear that sex with a nonvegetarian would be considered unclean by those adhering to her particular discipline that Teddy reluctantly became a vegan, too.

How, then, was Kwame to explain the two giant, center-cut pork chops on the plate in front of his friend? Not to mention a liberal assortment of side dishes, including macaroni and cheese, candied yams, and collard greens cooked in the traditional Southern style with some ham hocks thrown in to sweeten the pot.

Terry wiped his mouth and stood up as Kwame approached so they could engage in that handshake, chest-bumping thing that brothers use for greetings in the ritualized way Italian men sometimes kiss each other on both cheeks to say hello. Kwame slid into the booth across from Teddy, who grinned over the meal he was in the midst of enjoying.

“Sorry I had to start without you, brother,” he said. “I’ve been on Genevive’s damn diet for so long, when I came in here and smelled this outstanding soul food, I had to have it, man. I was powerless to resist the lure of Paschal’s world-famous pork chops.”

“Paschal’s is famous for their chicken,” Kwame said, relieved and happy finally to be sitting across from his friend. Precious had Joyce Ann until morning and Aretha could go to hell for all he cared. He was out for the evening and the first thing he needed was a beer.

“That’s only because whoever took the damn survey didn’t taste the pork chops,” Teddy said as the white-jacketed server glided over to the booth. Kwame order a Heineken.

“You’re not eating?” Teddy said as the waiter headed to the bar. Kwame leaned back and spread his long arms out on the back of the black leatherette booth. His friend looked good. At thirty-five, Teddy already had a sprinkling of what he called “distinguished grays,” but otherwise he hadn’t changed. Still handsome. Still curious. Still Teddy.

“Actually, I’m sorry you got dinner,” Kwame said. “I wanted to cook for you at the place so you could see it.”

Teddy smiled. “So if you don’t cook, I can’t see it anyway?”

Kwame smiled back and tried to relax. His mind was still racing from the mad rush to get here. Calm down, he chided himself. Everything’s cool. This is what you’ve been missing.
Just let it happen.
Isn’t that what Teddy used to tell him at first whenever he’d get tense.
Just relax and let it happen.

“On my best day,” Kwame said, “I can’t compete with Mr. Paschal’s kitchen.”

“Genevive wouldn’t fuck me for a month if she knew I was eating all this pork,” Teddy said, taking another bite of the succulent chops.

“Does her guru know that the bodily fluid in question is protein-rich and fat-free?”

Teddy snorted contemptuously and smeared butter on a huge slab of corn bread. “Last time I ate some barbecue, I didn’t get any head for two weeks. Finally, I asked her what she was so worried about. She never swallows anyway.”

Kwame couldn’t imagine Teddy’s slender, elegant wife having any kind of sex, much less
oral sex.
He gave the obligatory chuckle to indicate he understood the many challenges of dealing with a beautiful, high-strung wife and watched the young server pour his beer carefully down the side of a tall, frosted glass to discourage foam. Kwame took a long swallow of the icy brew and felt it cool his throat and erase any remaining bad temper. He sighed out loud.

“Sounds like you needed that one. Rough day?”

“They’re all rough, brother.”

Teddy put down his fork and took a sip of his iced tea. “Okay. Here’s how we’re going to do this one. I’m going to finish my dinner before it gets cold. Since it’s rude to talk and eat at the same time, although most Negroes think it’s required, that leaves the floor open for you to tell me what’s on your mind, unimpeded by my probing questions, on-the-spot analysis, and other friendly distractions from your narrative, which I’m guessing is pretty much on the negative side, right?”

Kwame didn’t want to admit that his outlook was “on the negative side,” but his friend was correct.

“I just feel like I’m stuck,” he said. “Like I’m going to be thirty in two years and my life is flying by without me.”

Teddy nodded and picked up his fork. “Start there.”

Kwame looked confused. “Where?”

“With being stuck.” Teddy popped another piece of pork chop into his mouth, followed by a forkful of greens.

Kwame took another sip of cold beer. He didn’t know where to begin. Teddy chewed slowly, appreciatively, waiting for Kwame to fill the conversational void with his tale of woe. Kwame, still silent, took another swallow of beer. He was waiting, too, although he couldn’t have told you for what.

Teddy smiled encouragingly. “Don’t sweat it like that, man. In lieu of other jumping-off points, we can always start with my favorite state senator, your mama and my biggest fan. How’s Miss Precious doing?”

“She’s doing fine,” Kwame said, relieved at a question he could answer directly. “The only guy who had a chance to beat her in the mayor’s race head-to-head just got indicted for money laundering. She’s a shoo-in.”

“Good for her,” Teddy said. He knew Precious didn’t like him, but he admired her accomplishments anyway.

“So that can’t be the problem. Even a moody fuck like you must know that puts you in the catbird seat.”

Kwame snorted. “So far, all my mother’s political connections have gotten me is a contract with Blue Hamilton.”

“You could do a lot worse,” Teddy said, savoring his macaroni and cheese. “West End is an architect’s dream laboratory. It needs
everything
and any idea you come up with will be fully funded by your current employer, a progressive sort of guy, who has an overall vision of a peaceful paradise for black folks right here in southwest Atlanta. What’s not to love?”

Kwame sat back and shook his head as Teddy polished off the second pork chop. “Why does it sound so much more fabulous when you describe it than when I do?”

“That’s my great gift, remember?” Teddy said. “I see you more clearly than you see yourself.”

“Well,” said Kwame, “what do you see?”

“I see an unsatisfied mind, a restless spirit, and a lot of sexual tension,” Teddy said as easily as he could have outlined the current weather conditions.

Kwame sat back and tried to smile, but succeeded only in looking like the beer had given him gas. “All that and you haven’t even finished your cobbler.”

“That’s because you’re ruining my appetite with this ‘I’m stuck’ crap. Just tell me one thing, and
don’t bullshit a bullshitter.
Is my description pretty close?”

An unsatisfied mind, a restless spirit, and a lot of sexual tension.
Kwame had to admit that pretty much summed up his current sorry state.

“Too close for comfort.”

“Well, this is your lucky day. Sit back, relax, and let Dr. Feelgood cure your doldrums for you.”

“Heal me if you can, brother.” Kwame had to smile at Teddy calling himself Dr. Feelgood. “But I warn you, this shit is serious.”

“What if I was to tell you that Bob Watson is interested in you?”

“Say what?”

In his dreams, Kwame had imagined having lunch one day with Watson at some exclusive Atlanta watering hole or other, just to shoot the shit about being an architect in Atlanta and making it work. This was not a dream he had shared with his mother. Precious found Watson almost as much of a disgrace to the café au lait crowd as she did Teddy. She accepted campaign contributions from him, but never solicited his support. Kwame could only imagine her reaction to his dream of one day working for Watson’s firm.

Suddenly a sickening thought occurred to him.
What if Watson’s interest wasn’t professional, but personal?