Good to Me (21 page)

Charity laughed too. “Okay, but if I embarrass you out there, I don’t want to hear it.”

He took her hand and led her first to an usher to deliver their donations, and then to the dance floor. When he found an empty
spot, he turned around to face her. He was doing a simple two-step move.

Charity followed his lead, except that she moved more stiffly than a candidate being led to a baptismal pool full of cold
water. All kinds of questions went through her mind.
When did I get so stiff? Why am I so uncomfortable? Is this really okay?
She then thought back to her college days when she was the life of the party. Parties didn’t get started until she arrived.
She would easily move to the center of the dance floor and dirty dance with the best of them. Men would leave their partners
and stand in line to dance with her. The whole crowd would clear out and watch her as she danced with each and every one of
them. The more the crowd cheered, “Go Cherry, Go Cherry,” the more she rolled, gyrated, or lowered herself to the ground.

“Are you okay?” Minister Adams yelled over the music.

She nodded. She thought of what Michael said earlier about dancing being a gift. She got angry at herself for not being able
to move freely now when she used to dance like a fool. When Michael Jackson’s “Don’t Stop ’Til You Get Enough” came on, she
loosened up a little. Minister Adams smiled in approval. By the third song, they were dancing like partners. Cheryl Lynn’s
“To Be Real,” one of Charity’s old favorite songs, began to play, and she chuckled when she remembered how she used to dance
with her back turned toward her partner and her behind in his groin.
I cast that down in the name of Jesus
. That was her sign that she needed to sit down. She told Michael that after this song, she wanted to go back to the table.
But the DJ slowed the music down and played The Moments’ “Love on a Two-Way Street.”

“You gotta dance with me on this one,” he pleaded.

Charity liked the song, too, so agreed. They kept a safe distance. Minister Adams closed his eyes, and she wondered what he
was thinking. She studied his facial features. He was cute, not necessarily handsome. He always kept his small Afro neatly
combed and cut. She liked his sideburns. His caramel complexion was smooth, and his lips were full. She dropped her gaze when
he opened his eyes.

He watched her intensely. At one point she held his gaze. “Never look a man in the eye if you don’t want him to know what
you’re thinking,” he told her.

She led him off the dance floor without saying anything to him. When they got to the table, she sipped her water; they rested
at the table until the program was over.

Iesha was not used to having doors opened for her. She had already gotten out of the car by the time Wallace got around to
the passenger side.

“Oh no, let’s try this again,” he said. “Tonight, it’s all about you.”

She climbed back into the Navigator. He opened the door and took her hand to lead her out of the vehicle and into the restaurant.
CAMPANIA
.
Iesha read the sign to herself. Wallace opened the door for her and took her jacket. The host welcomed them and greeted Wallace
by name. Iesha sat in the chair that Wallace held out for her. She was smiling so hard her cheeks ached.

“I hope you like Italian,” Wallace checked. “Campania is the best Italian restaurant in the city.”

“If the food is half as good as the ambiance, I’ll agree.” She looked around and admired the golden walls, rich wood, and
candlelight. The starched white table linen and extensive set of silverware made her nervous. She wished she could remember
the etiquette she and Charity learned in charm school.

“The food is exquisite,” Wallace continued. “Probably as authentic as you can get.”

The server arrived and informed them of the chef’s recommendations for the evening. Wallace listened intently and moaned after
each suggestion. Iesha studied the menu, trying to find out what the server was talking about. That’s when she noticed the
prices. She gasped. She put her hand over her mouth, imitated the sound, and made her body jump. “Hiccups,” she explained
to both the server and Wallace. The cheapest thing on the menu was a six-dollar salad. She entertained herself by trying to
pronounce the dishes,
Linguine Posillipo
and
Gamberi Mergellina
. She thanked God for the descriptions under each entrée.

“I’ll give you a moment to decide. Which of our fine wines may I get for you?”

“A bottle of ’94 Chardonnay,” Wallace ordered.

Iesha’s eyes were still on the menu. She was nowhere near ready to make a decision.

“I’m going to order the
Costoletta alla Pompeii
,” he beamed. Iesha must’ve looked confused because he offered a translation. “It’s a charbroiled veal chop that’s smothered
in an herb garlic butter. It’s so good it’ll make you wanna run home and slap your momma.”

“Well, I’mma stay away from that, because my momma don’t play. I’m looking for the chicken dishes.”

He picked up his menu and directed her to the chicken section. “Look on the inside, on the right page, second column. See
all the
pollo
listings? Those are the chicken entrées. I bet the
pollo
cacciatore
is good. That
pollo balsamico
doesn’t sound bad, either.”

She read the descriptions of each. “I think I’ll try the
pollo cacciatore
. It’s chicken sautéed with bell peppers, onions, tomatoes, garlic, and mushrooms. That does sound good.”

Iesha kept trying to relax. She didn’t know if she was nervous because this was her first date with Wallace, or if it was
because she thought Wallace might want to be compensated for the $200 he was going to kick out for dinner. The maître d’ poured
their wine.

“Relax,” Wallace insisted. “You look so tense. I don’t have any expectations of you.” Only the corners of her mouth turned
upward. “You don’t have to worry about using the right utensil. You can even slurp out of your glass if you want to.” He laughed
at himself, making her laugh too. “You don’t have to impress me, I’m already impressed, with’cho fine self.”

Wallace continued talking while they waited for their food. Iesha listened and waited patiently, knowing he would invite her
to talk about herself. During the one week that they’d been communicating, she hadn’t talked much about herself. Mainly because
he hadn’t asked. He was always doing the talking, and it was always about himself. Tonight she learned the rest of his life
story. How he’d grown up poor but was determined to have more as a man than he had as a boy. He went to North Carolina A&T
State University and studied accounting and finance. That’s where he learned to make and manage his money, and that’s where
he decided he wanted to help other people do the same. He was still talking when the server delivered the food. She was so
bored that she found herself wishing she’d gone to dinner with Terrence. Every now and then she looked up from her dish to
nod and say, “uh huh.” He was so self-absorbed he didn’t notice that she wasn’t listening. Even though her meal was excellent
and the chicken melted in her mouth, she couldn’t eat. She wanted to go home.

“How’s your meal?” he asked, carving his chop like he was sawing a piece of wood.

“It’s good. I just don’t feel so hot.”

“Anything I can do?” he asked seductively.

She wanted to scream and tell him that his boasting was making her sick to her stomach. “No.” She forced a smile. “I think
I’m coming down with that twenty-four-hour bug my kids had last week.”

“You have children? How many do you have?”

Finally, a question about her. But it hit her like a ton of bricks—he was only interested in one thing. They’d been talking
all of this time and he didn’t know she had children.

She pushed her plate away. “I have a nine-year-old daughter and a seven-year-old son, Sha-Lai and Raquan.” She paused. She
finally had the opportunity to talk about herself and she didn’t know what to say.

Wallace looked thoughtful. Iesha thought he would guide her by asking more questions. “I don’t have any children. I would
like to have some though,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

Her stomach churned. “I’m sorry, Wallace. I’m coming down with something. Would you mind if we ended our night early?”

He looked annoyed. “No, I don’t mind. I understand.”

He obliged too easily. Iesha thought he must have a trick up his sleeve. She followed his lead and arose from her chair after
he did. He thanked the waiter and left.

“Wallace, did you pay?”

“Did I ask you to?” he snapped. “Of course I did.”

Iesha looked at him like he was crazy. “Just take me home, now.”

He softened. “I’m sorry. It’s just that this evening is not going like I planned. I wanted to wine and dine, and get to know
you.”

“Oh yeah? How well did you get to know me over dinner?”

“Hardly. Our evening was not going to stop after dinner. I had other things planned.”

She picked up her pace. “Obviously.”

He unlocked and opened the door for her. As he walked around to let himself in, she smiled to herself. It was only 8:30. If
she was lucky, Terrence would still be hungry.

“Iesha, I really am sorry. Will you let me make it up to you?”

“Wallace, you don’t have to make anything up to me. I blame myself just as much as you’re blaming you.” She smiled, even wider
when he started the car.

He drove to her house mostly in silence. When he pulled into her driveway, he was barely parked before she opened the door.
“Wait! Can I at least say good night?”

She grabbed her stomach. “I’m sorry, the ride made me a little queasy. I’m trying to get to the bathroom as quick as I can.”

He touched her forehead and then her neck to see if she was feverish. “Let me follow you in to make sure you’re okay. I’d
like to at least tuck you in.”

She realized that she was going to have to turn this up a notch; he was not catching the drift, and time was of the essence.
I’mma have to get ghetto on him
. “Look, I’m not some poor little girl that’s looking to be rescued. Or some ho looking to be paid for. ’Cause if that’s what
you think, you can back this thang up and get on up outta here.”

She stormed to her front door. For effect, she wiped her eye.

Not even a minute after she slammed the door closed, he was ringing the doorbell. She pinched herself and thought of every
bad thing she could to muster up tears. When a steady stream flowed down her cheek, she cracked the door open.

He looked worried when he saw that she was crying. “Oh, Iesha. I’m sorry. What can I do? I mean, what happened? I don’t want
to leave like this.”

She couldn’t believe that he was falling for her drama queen routine. She knew it worked on roughnecks, but was annoyed to
see it work on educated brothers, too. “I just want to be alone. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She slammed the door. She didn’t move until she heard him drive away.

Terrence’s number was the last entry on her caller ID, so she dialed him back. She pounded her fist on the bed when his voice
mail picked up. “Hey, Terrence, it’s Iesha. I was hoping you’d be at home and still hungry. If you get this message within
the hour, call me. Maybe we can catch a movie. If not, give me a call tomorrow. Talk to you later, bye.”

IT WAS EITHER NOW OR NEVER.
Emmitt decided that today was the day to tell his mother about his apartment. He and Shawanda paid his deposit and first
month’s rent yesterday and James was going to help him move in tomorrow. Since his mother was usually in a good mood on Sundays,
he thought that today would be a good day to break the news.

“Ma?” He tapped on the bathroom door. “You don’t have to cook this morning. I’m taking you out.”

“You are?” she hollered from behind the door.

“Yes, you need to get out and get some fresh air. When can you be ready?”

“Uh… give me fifteen minutes.”

The first part of his plan was compete; now on to the hard part. It was difficult to decide if he should tell her about the
apartment before breakfast and take her to see it afterward, or wait until after breakfast and just take her to see the apartment.
He decided on the latter. The last thing he needed was for her to show out at Shoney’s.

He let her do most of the talking on the way to the restaurant. He didn’t want to prematurely break the news. He did take
her on the long scenic route, driving past the apartment complex, hoping she would say something about them. But she didn’t.

“Has Charity gotten them papers yet?”

“No, ma’am. She should get them tomorrow.”

“I should’ve known she ain’t got them yet, ’cause we ain’t heard from her. You talk to the baby?”

“No, I’mma call him tonight.”

“You must have something important to talk to me about, since you taking me out.”

He swallowed hard. “No. I just want to get you out of the house.”

“Boy, please. I carried you for nine months and two weeks, went through fourteen hours of labor, and raised you for thirty-two
years. I know you better than that. What is it?”

He pulled into someone’s driveway, made a U-turn, and went the other way. “I want to show you something.” He pulled a paper
from his glove compartment and looked at it. He drove up to a gated apartment complex and entered the five digits recorded
on the paper. The gates retracted.

Neither of them spoke. He drove past the clubhouse, the mailboxes, a playground, and two complexes before he parked the car.
He hopped out and opened her car door for her. “This is what I want to show you.”

He led the way to a lower-level apartment and with his key unlocked the door. He turned back to invite her in and to see her
response. He was surprised that she was not yet distraught. “Momma, I didn’t know how to tell you this, but the attorney told
me that if I wanted to get Xavier I needed to get my own place. I don’t want to move, but I have to for the baby.” He didn’t
care that he called Xavier a baby, he was treading lightly with her.