Playing Hard To Get (35 page)

“I’m not perfect either,” Kyle said, comforting Troy. “And I don’t ever want to be that. To pretend to be that. It’s dangerous. Yes, you’ve let me down. But the only way Myrtle could even believe that she could come between us is if she thought I might let you down. If she saw a crack she could dig at. If she thought I wouldn’t fight for you. That I wouldn’t pick you up.”

“Would you?” Troy asked her groom, still crying. “Could you still fight for me even after I’ve done such stupid things?”

“You know that, baby,” Kyle said seriously. “You don’t even have to ask.”

The doorbell the two had installed themselves rang and bells chimed throughout the house.

“You want to answer that?” Troy asked Kyle.

“Let’s answer her together.”

Kyle and Troy walked to the front door, the shorter, softer one behind the taller, masculine one, but then they opened the door and when Myrtle looked inside, they were side by side, his arm over her shoulder.

“I thought maybe you two weren’t home,” Myrtle said, looking at Troy, confused. She tapped the envelope she was holding and looked up at the pastor.

“Oh, we were just about to sit down to some Chinese food my wife ordered,” Kyle said.

“Oh.” Myrtle tried to look unmoved. “Well, Troy agreed that I could come by so we could tell you something. Right, Troy?” She looked at Troy.

“Now, I sure did agree to that.” Troy nodded matter-of-factly.

“So, maybe I should come in so we can get started.” She tapped the folder again before trying to push her way into the door.

“Hold up,” Kyle said, standing firm and still holding on to his woman. “Baby, do you still agree to needing Myrtle here for our meeting?”

Troy looked from Kyle to Myrtle.

“Nahhhh,” she said.

“Okay,” he said. “Well, then, I guess we’re done here. See you at church!”

Kyle tried to pull back from the door, but Myrtle stuck her foot inside.

“So you think you’re slick, huh, Troy?” she said. “You think this is going to stop me? This little show? Well, you, no, the both of you, just wait until I go before the board of trustees.”

“There’s no need for that,” Kyle said unaffectedly. “I already called a meeting with the trustees to discuss my wife’s charges on the credit card. So…basically…you can shove it!” Troy pushed Myrtle’s foot out of the way of the door and Kyle closed it a little more before saying, “But we will see you at church. First Baptist is a place for saints and sinners.”

When the door was closed and Myrtle was left outside looking bad and sad, Kyle and Troy stayed together, laughing as they headed toward the kitchen.

“Shove it?” Troy joked. “I can’t believe you said that!”

“I’m not exactly a cursing man. I don’t have a whole list of foul words at my disposal,” Kyle said.

“And what about that thing about having called the board of trustees? You couldn’t have done that. I just told you about the credit card.”

Kyle smiled.

“You lied, Pastor?” Troy said, shocked. “I can’t believe it!”

“It wasn’t a lie,” Kyle said. “I’m going to call them right now. And you, my darling, can go and heat up my Chinese dinner. A brother is starving.”



Working late, overtime, aftertime, and/or extra hours was never an issue for Tamia. Even in elementary school, she’d ask her teacher if she could stay behind in the classroom and study or complete her project after the other students jumped up and hustled out of the classroom like fire, death, and destruction were imminent if they didn’t make it to their school buses in the next three seconds.

While any person who knew her would easily affix this desire to Tamia’s commitment, it was more than that. Working after-hours, working late, gave Tamia more than an edge over the competition. It also gave her vision, understanding, a chance to meditate with her work and consider what her next move might be. When all the other workers had gone home, she could sit in her space and listen to the hum of the vacuum cleaners of the cleaning crew, look out over the empty cubicles, full of ideas, see the expansive hallways and staircases, and smell the leftover bagels in the break room and see her world in a new way.

Most days, this new way meant something good. But these days in Tamia’s life weren’t like most. And just a few atypical days after her distressing meeting with Baba and Malik, as Tamia sat in her office putting the final touches on Malik’s case, working late was turning into something bad, something dark, something finite.

Simply put, though the vacuum cleaner was humming, though she could see the papers and reminders and ideas and contracts feathered out over Naudia’s desk like a deck of Vegas cards, though the hallways and staircases were empty, and though there was the smell of bagels—no, muffins—in the break room, something was different. Something had changed. Whatever fire, whatever connection Tamia had that connected her to her work, to her workplace, seemed less glittery, less inviting than it had just months before. She didn’t believe. After accepting and planning her idea to lose Malik’s case, she thought about how many times this must’ve happened to other people, at other times, within the very walls she was walking. And if that was true, if the law she’d dedicated her life to came down to one man’s mortal decision—if a client was being honest, a lawyer committed, a judge, jury, and justice system free of the burdens of life—then what was she doing? It was all chance. One bad law written by one racist person could put a person away for life. This wasn’t justice. This was cloak and dagger. A magic show. A pipe dream sold from the powerful to the powerless. What place could she possibly have in all of it?

“Working late?” a voice called from Tamia’s office door. She looked up to see Charleston standing there in a track suit.

She smiled cordially.

“Yes. Going to court in the morning.”

Charleston didn’t ask. He came in and sat down.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “I figured I’d be able to catch you. Since I can’t seem to get you any other way.”

Tamia didn’t say anything. Charleston’s words only presented opportunities for lies or excuses.

“It’s been over a month.” He said, taking another jab. “Two—going on. I haven’t seen my girlfriend. We work in the same building. You’d think that’s impossible.” Yeah, it was pretty impossible for most people, but Charleston had always been good at keeping himself busy. He only thought of Tamia when he wondered what might be keeping her busy.

“Well, I guess you should know,” Tamia said. “Your bank account should be about $30K richer. I got the notice from the bank. Thanks for letting me know you weren’t paying anymore.”

“All you had to do was call me and I would’ve given you the money.”

“Charleston, I didn’t ask you to pay my mortgage. You offered. I was moving somewhere else and you insisted I move into that building. And you insisted that you pay the mortgage.”

“And you didn’t want it?” Charleston snickered evilly. “Before you became…this”—he pointed at her clothes, her hair—“you were all about that shit. High class. Everything a 10. You wanted what you deserved. You wanted me to give it to you. And now I’m the bad guy because I don’t want to pay for your dream. What is your dream now anyway?”

“You don’t need to worry about my dream,” Tamia said. “Maybe you should worry about Phae’s dreams—”

“Whoa—”

“Yeah, I know about that. Maybe you should worry about her dreams and half of the other women you’ve been fucking in this city. I never said you had to pay for anything, but you know what you promised me and you know what you owe me. If you wanted to back out of the mortgage, that’s fine, but give me time. Don’t treat me like one of those tricks you trick off.”

Charleston wasn’t so sure he knew or understood the Tamia sitting on the other side of the desk. He knew she was strong. He knew she was smart, but this woman was coming back at him in a way that made him think maybe that was why he needed to be with one of those white girls she was calling “tricks.” Maybe they could respect and accept a man like him. In charge. He didn’t need Tamia and her shit. He could call any one of them right then and tell them to step out on the men they’d married and come be with him. And that’s when he thought about it—they were all married.

“I didn’t come in here to fight with you,” Charleston said.

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“I came here to”—he paused and reached into his pocket, pulling out a little box. He sat it on the desk—“give you another chance. It’s your ring.”

“What?” Tamia asked, looking at the box. And even though she hated Charleston, even though she’d sworn off diamonds and the exploitation of any jewels from nations under duress, the little girl in her wanted so badly to grab the box, pull the ring out, and dance around the room.

“I know Tasha told you,” Charleston said. “It’s the ring you wanted. You can have it. It’s yours. If you come back to me. Be my wife.” His voice was reasonable. Flat. Clear. Like a contract attorney showing his client where the line was to sign. He was so sure of himself.

“Marry you?” Tamia looked past the ring, the wedding, the idea of marriage and saw the man sitting before her. “Marry you? You? Not even if Isis and Yemaya and Coretta Scott King and my own mama got up out of the grave and came and sat in this office and told me to do exactly that would I do such a thing.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, excuse you,” Tamia said with her voice reasonable, flat, and clear now, “for thinking you could come up in here, into my office, and think you could buy me like I’m some stupid, silly whore, who thinks the only way she can be free is to cling to what little of a man is left in you. I can get what I need without you. And I don’t need Trump Towers or a Bentley. I might have wanted those things at one time, but I don’t need them. That was a joke. And now the joke is on you.”

A different man, maybe one with less money or a smaller penis, one with a smaller ego and fewer women at his disposal, might have heard and been hurt by Tamia’s words. And, yeah, some of it did get through to Charleston and scratch at his surface, but he was a showman. And he specialized in not letting what others said stop his show. Luckily for Tamia, she wasn’t saying what she was saying for him. It was for her.

“Fine,” Charleston said coolly. He picked up the ring like it was a tennis ball and shoved it back into his pocket. “Suit yourself.”

With Tamia’s cold eyes on him, he stood, walked over to the door, and turned back to her.

“When he fails and you’re broke and down in the gutter, you remember what you did right now,” he said. “You remember the life I offered you…. What I am talking about…He won’t fail you, because he won’t be with you. He’s just another nigger wearing a loincloth. A nigger in a suit…a nigger in a loincloth…either way, he’s gonna fuck up. But you don’t need to worry about that. You’ll just be another sad, lonely black woman. Scarred by the world and dead-ass broke.” He laughed and shook his head.

“Get out,” Tamia said. “Get out of my office.”



Tamia was so angry after her talk with Charleston, she didn’t notice any of the looks from any of the bystanders peering at her as she got out of her taxi and walked into the doors of her posh and soon-to-be-available pad at Trump Towers. Her knapsack on her back and her flip-flops clacking against the cold marble floor, she trudged through the lobby, head lowered, and ready for sleep. What was coming in the morning? She didn’t care anymore. She didn’t care what was to become of any of this. It was all pointless. All a justice-free dance of chance and lies. Malik. Charleston. One and the same. More men to let her down. More men to walk away from.

“Madame,” Bancroft called, rushing toward her from his office, “I’m so sorry I hadn’t caught you when you arrived.”

“It’s fine,” Tamia said. “Allejandro got the door for me.” She pointed to Allejandro, the night doorman, who was assisting another resident with her Jack Russell.

“No, dear heart,” Bancroft said. “It was to say thank you.”

“Thank you for what?”

“For the felted sticks you left on my desk.”

“The…??” Tamia tried. “Oh, you mean the incense?”

“Yes, they’re quite fragrant. I’d like some more,” he explained, leaving out the part about his lover and him burning all of the sticks in one night to hide the smell of marijuana billowing from their apartment. And, yes, he knew dang well they were called incense.

“I’ll be sure to bring some down to you.” Tamia smiled and started walking toward the elevator.

“Your guests,” Bancroft said, “you won’t be joining them in the ballroom?”

“I’m not having any guests,” Tamia said, pressing the button for the elevator.

“Certainly you are,” Bancroft said, poking his chest out and pointing dramatically toward the Tower’s private ballroom. “Madame Natasha and Madame Troy Helene await your presence at high tea.”

Tamia’s knapsack fell to her wrist.

“High what?” She tried to remain angry but had to smile. “No, those crazy chicks didn’t.”

Oh, but, yes, they did. And well.

Tamia walked into the ballroom to find a table set for three, surrounded by what looked like hundreds of yellow tea roses, and a string quartet and a stack of gift boxes.

“What is this?” she said, looking around for her friends. And then from behind her entered Tasha and Troy, dressed in their
Dynasty,
Diahann Carroll–worthy two-piece suits and floppy hats.

They led their friend and her flowing sari to a seat and kissed her on both cheeks.

Tamia was crying then. Her hand was holding her head up on the table and she just let everything go.

“Oh, Ms. Lovebird,” Troy said, “don’t cry. We came here to cheer you up!”

“That’s right,” Tasha chimed in. “You can’t cry. This is a tea. No one cries at a tea. Not a high tea. Right, Troy? You’re from bougieville. You know the answer.”

“She’s right,” Troy concurred, reaching over and wiping Tamia’s tears.

“You know, I’m supposed to say you guys shouldn’t have done this, but really, you should’ve,” Tamia cried, laughing a little while blowing her nose in the hankie Troy handed her. “I was so down—just a minute ago. Just before I walked in this door and saw all of this.” She looked around again at the floors and strange-looking musicians she didn’t know. “But this just, it just…it made me smile and I’m so happy to have friends like you.”