Never Say Never (5 page)

January 26, 1998

I did not
have sexual relations with that woman, Monica Lewinsky . . .

“Oh, my God, he's lying,” I shouted at the TV as I scooted to the edge of the couch.

“So what?” Michellelee said. “I knew what he was when I voted for him.”

I stared down at my roommate, stretched out on the floor with a bunch of magazines in front of her. Michellelee had been my suite mate for a year and a half now, along with Miriam, and in that short time, the three of us, each only a child, had grown to be as close as sisters. But not once had we ever talked about who she—the only one of us who'd had her birthday in time to register—had voted for.

“You actually voted for Bill Clinton?” I drawled. I had been trying to keep the twang out of my voice now that I was in LA. But I couldn't help it. When I got upset, the inner Mississippi came out of me.

Michellelee sat up and crossed her legs, yoga-style. “Uh . . . yeah. Who else was I going to vote for? Bob Dole?”

“Of course. He was going to reduce taxes, and reduce government. The federal government is getting too big.”

“That's what all you Republicans say. The government is your enemy, until you need a friend.”

That was a smart retort, a line I'd never heard before, but I still had to stand up for the man my daddy had campaigned for. “Did you know Bob Dole has two Purple Hearts?”

Michellelee glanced up with a look that told me she thought my words were silly. “That Purple Heart qualifies him to be president as much as being black qualifies Bill Clinton.”

I fell back onto the couch. “Why do black people always say that
Bill Clinton is black? It makes no sense.”

Michellelee shrugged. “ 'Cause he is. We gotta claim him 'cause, trust me, he's the closest we'll ever get to having a black president.”

“Well, then, you go right ahead and claim him, because I don't want him. Just wait. You'll see what's going to happen.” I wagged my finger at Michellelee. “He had sex with Monica and the truth will all come out. Then Hillary will leave him and next will come his impeachment. And then”—I jumped up from the couch and flicked my wrist as if I was shooting a basketball—“Bob Dole will be president!”

Michellelee laughed. “No, you fool. Al Gore will be president.”

Before I could tell Michellelee that I'd move to Canada and play college ball there if Al Gore were ever to become the president, the door to our townhouse busted wide open. “Guess what?” Miriam came in huffing and puffing like she was going to blow our house down.

“What?” Michellelee and I said together.

“I got you a date, my boyfriend's best friend. You're going with me to the Upward Bound Awards program tonight.”

Michellelee and I stared at her for a moment and then Michellelee turned to me with a pointed finger. “She must be talking to you.”

Now, Michellelee knew that wasn't true because in all the time I'd known Miriam, she'd never once tried to set me up.

“You know who I'm talking to.” Miriam set her hands on her wide hips and spoke in that mother-scolding voice that she used.

“First of all, I do not need you to find me a man. I mean, look at me.” Michellelee stopped for a moment, then twirled like the ballerina on the music box that my parents bought me the first time they took me to Paris. “Out of the three of us, who's beauty personified?”

Michellelee's question was a rhetorical one that made Miriam and me roll our eyes, though I couldn't really be mad at Michellelee.
She always said those kinds of things, but not out of conceit. She was simply stating a fact, and my parents had taught me never to be mad at the truth.

Michellelee continued, “So, I don't need your help 'cause I have no problem pulling dudes.” She flopped down on the sofa next to me and picked up one of the magazines she'd been flipping through earlier.

Miriam whined, “But you never pull the right one.”

“Says who?”

I leaned back and closed my eyes. I'd heard this track before. My best friends would go back and forth—Miriam would tell Michellelee about some guy she thought was perfect for Michellelee, and Michellelee would tell Miriam to mind her business. They would keep at it until Miriam stomped away, because that's how it was going to end. Miriam would be mad and Michellelee would shrug her off.

Helping Michellelee find the right man seemed so important to Miriam. I guessed it had something to do with the way she was raised. From the moment we met, she'd made it known that she wanted a husband and a family more than she wanted even her college degree. It seemed to me that she was going to get her wish; her boyfriend, Chauncey, was the only guy I knew who wanted to get married as much as Miriam did. So, I guessed, Miriam wanted the same thing for her friends—well, at least that's what she wanted for Michellelee.

Of course, she probably wanted the same for me, though she never did anything to try to help me. Maybe it was because she thought life was different for white girls. Or maybe she thought life was just different for me.

Actually, she had a point. While I was still in my mother's womb, she and my daddy had already planned for my wedding day. According
to their dreams, I was going to marry Waldorf Astoria the Fourth. That was not his real name; that was just what I called Clarkson Wells, the son of my father's medical business partner and best friend.

“This time, I'm not trying to set you up.” Miriam's voice broke through my reverie. “You'll be doing Chauncey a favor. His best friend in the whole world just came home.”

“Where's he been? Prison?” Michellelee smirked.

“No, that would be
your
last boyfriend. By the way, is Pookie out yet?”

I couldn't help it, I had to laugh.

“His name is Luke,” Michellelee said, as if she was more insulted by what Miriam had called him than by what Miriam was saying about him. “Not Pookie, and he wasn't in prison. He just had to take care of some outstanding warrants.”

“Whatever!” Miriam said. “Look, Chauncey's friend just got back from Mississippi.”

My eyes popped open. “Mississippi?”

“Not your part of Mississippi, Emily.”

What was that supposed to mean?

“He's been in Mississippi taking care of his grandmother,” Miriam explained. “She died two weeks ago, and he's finally back home. Chauncey wants to cheer him up and he thought you two would have fun together.”

“Oh, great. Just what I need, some guy crying on my shoulder all night about his dead grandmother.” Michellelee shook her head. “Not interested.”

“Please, Michellelee! I'm not asking you to marry Jamal. Just do this double date with me tonight and if you don't like him, fine. I will never ever ask you to go out with another guy again in my life.”

Michellelee closed the magazine and laid it flat on her lap. “So you're saying that if I do this tonight, you'll forever give up trying to
hook me up?”

Miriam laid her hand across her chest like she was saying the Pledge of Allegiance. “I give you my word.”

“If I were you, I'd get this in writing,” I said.

Miriam glared at me, but when Michellelee said, “Okay, I'll go,” Miriam clapped her hands with glee.

“But”—Michellelee stopped Miriam's celebration with that one word—“I'll only go if Emily goes, too.”

“What?” I snapped my head toward her so fast I was sure that I'd have whiplash in the morning.

“If I don't like this guy, I'll have someone to talk to.”

“No, thank you,” I said.

“Come on,” Michellelee said. “It'll be like a triple date, only you'll be alone.” She laughed.

I tossed the pillow at her. “I refuse to be anyone's fifth wheel. Plus, I already have plans. I'm going to sit here and wait for KCAL Breaking News and the announcement that Bill Clinton
did
have sex with that woman.”

“Michellelee,” Miriam said, ignoring me and glancing at her watch, “we have to be ready in like an hour and a half.”

“So not only do I have to go on this date, but I have to look like a star in ninety minutes?”

“Yeah, but if anyone can do it, you can.”

The obvious sucking up worked. Michellelee grinned. “Okay. I'll find something fabulous to wear.”

While Michellelee strolled up the stairs to her room, Miriam rushed into hers, which was right off the living room, and I didn't move from the couch. Instead, I turned from channel to channel, watching and waiting for the news to come about the president. Just a bit more than an hour later, a knock on our door interrupted my viewing. I was annoyed; I didn't feel like entertaining Chauncey and his friend until Miriam and
Michellelee were ready, but I had to be the good roommate.

Then, I opened the door, took one look outside, and stood straight at attention.

“Hey, Emily,” Chauncey said.

“Hello.” But I wasn't looking at him. My glance went straight over his shoulder and I took in the most beautiful vision.

Now, one thing you must know—I wasn't one of those white girls who chased black men. Not that I was prejudiced; I just came from a long line of Mississippi Harringtons who preferred the pre–Civil War days. In my family, everyone stayed with their own kind. My grandmother had even told me that was biblical, and certainly, I was going to follow the Bible.

But my grandmother had never seen a man who looked like this. This guy was hot!

“So . . . you gonna let us in?”

“Oh, I'm sorry.” I could feel the heat rise on my cheeks. I stepped aside, but I never took my eyes off Chauncey's friend. Miriam had told us his name, hadn't she?

My eyes followed every step he took as he strolled past me. While Chauncey had on a fake leather coat over his suit, his friend wore a tailored overcoat that was buttoned up but still left a peek of his white-with-black-pinstripe shirt and black diamond patterned tie. My mother had taught me to love a well-dressed man.

As I motioned for them to sit down, Chauncey finally introduced me. “This is my boy, Jamal.”

Jamal!

“Nice to meet you,” I said, holding out my hand. Now, my friends often teased me about my proper Southern ways. But I wasn't so uncool that I shook people's hands. Right now, though, I had an ulterior motive—I wanted to touch him.

Then he opened his mouth. “Nice to meet you, too.”

I had to hold on to the chair so that I wouldn't swoon! He sounded just like Barry White, whom Michellelee blasted from the stereo.

“So, I guess the girls aren't ready.” Chauncey opened his coat and sat down on the chair. Which left only the couch for Jamal.

“No,” I said. “But I'll go check on Miriam.”

“You don't have to,” Chauncey said. “I'm sure she's just about ready.”

“I don't mind.” Moving quickly, I grinned at Jamal, then pushed open Miriam's door without even knocking. Closing the door behind me, I whispered, “I'm going with you.”

“What?” she said louder than I wanted her to. “And why are you whispering?”

“Chauncey and Jamal are right out there and I don't want them to hear us, but I'm going with you.”

“So Michellelee talked you into it, huh?”

“Yes,” I said, thinking that was a good excuse. “But I need thirty minutes to get ready.”

She shook her head. “I have to be there for photos, so if you're not ready in fifteen, we're outta here.”

I leaped out of her bedroom, grinned again at Jamal, then took the steps two at a time to my bedroom, which was next door to Michellelee's. I don't think I'd ever moved so quickly, and before fifteen minutes had passed, I was back downstairs before either Michellelee or Miriam.

“So, you're going, too?” Chauncey asked, looking a little confused.

“Um . . . yes. Miriam didn't tell you?” Even though I was talking to Chauncey, I was looking at Jamal. “I love to support the Upward Bound program. It's such a good cause.” Then, without giving either one of them a chance to answer, I slipped down onto the couch next to Jamal. “Were you with Upward Bound, too?”

“No.” He shook his head.

Not Upward Bound? That was how Miriam and Chauncey had met; I thought Jamal had been part of that program, too. Well, I'd just have to find another way to connect. But before I could switch subjects, Michellelee sauntered down the stairs at the same time that Miriam came out of her room.

Since I wasn't supposed to be a part of this little party, I sauntered off to the side as the introductions were made. I watched Michellelee as she looked Jamal up and down, but her smile was steady.

“We'd better get moving.” Miriam opened the door to the front closet, where we all kept our coats.

Chauncey led the way and Miriam followed him, but before Michellelee could step out of the door with Jamal, I called her back. When Jamal looked back over his shoulder, I said, “I forgot something and I need Michellelee.”

Michellelee frowned as I pulled her back into the townhouse. “What's up?”

Michellelee and Miriam were like sisters to me, so what was most important was my relationship with Michellelee. If she was into Jamal, then I would back away. But if she was not . . .

“What do you think?”

“Of what?”

“Of him? Do you like him?”

“Jamal?” She shrugged. “He's okay; I'm just not into that kind of guy.”

“You're not into the tall, dark, and handsome kind?”

She waved her hand. “He's fine, but in such an obvious sort of way. I like my men with a little more of an edge.” Then she paused. “Wait a minute . . . why're you asking me? Are you interested?” she said like she couldn't believe it.

I nodded.

“He's black,” she said.

“I noticed.”

“And you're blonde.”