Tappin' On Thirty (21 page)

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Authors: Candice Dow

BOOK: Tappin' On Thirty
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38
SCOOTER
A
fter working thirty hours, I should be asleep. Instead, I'm flying down I-95 en route to Taylor. You'd think I'd be tired of the same routine after three months, but to make my baby secure this is what I do. She's a good sport considering my living arrangement. To get away from the war zone I live in, this seems like the lesser of two evils. My income tax return was deposited in my account three days ago. My new apartment was verbally approved and I could move in three weeks. We are so close to our destiny, I can smell it. Once I'm in my own place, Taylor can stay as long and as often as she likes without spending money. I'd hoped that I could surprise her with the approval letter this weekend, but the rental office didn't send it out yet. I'll give it to her on Valentine's Day, her birthday.
I swerved to avoid a pothole. Bang! I felt that one. Suddenly, my car felt like it was riding on a square wheel. Thump. Thump. Thump. This must be a joke. As my car drifted onto the shoulder, I shouted, “Fuck! Shit! Damn!”
I just wanted to lie in Taylor's fluffy queen-sized bed. Damn if I wanted to go back to Connecticut and sleep in that cheap daybed. Shit! I'm still in Connecticut. Rain pounded on the roof of my car. As it registered what was going on, I dropped my head on the steering wheel. Instead of calling for help, I called Taylor.
“Hey, boo-boo. Whatchu doing?”
“Sitting on the side of the road. I got a damn flat and I don't have a donut,” I said dismally.
“Oh no! I'm sorry. Do you have AAA?”
I nodded.
“Do you?”
“Yeah.”
“Why don't you call them?”
I nodded. Why did I even call her? What did I think she could do?
“Yeah, I'll hit you back.”
“I hope you can still make it.”
I huffed. “Yeah, me too. I'll call you back.”
As I attempted to call AAA, a police officer pulled up behind me. He hopped out of his car and tapped on my passenger side window.
“You need help changing the tire?”
“Nah, I don't have a spare.”
“You got AAA?”
With the phone up to my face, I nodded. “I'm calling them now.”
“Do you have anyone to come pick you up?”
Anybody who could pick me up was at work. Akua is post-call, too. We barely speak. Damn if she'll get out of her bed after a long night of work to come get me. I prayed the tow company could drop me off somewhere to get a rental car.
When I spoke to the AAA representative, she asked if I'd be with the car when the tow got there. Where the hell else will I be? She checked on the trucks in the area.
“Sir, it's going to be about two and a half hours.”
This is absolutely unbelievable. Trucks and cars sped past me going twenty miles over the speed limit. The slightest swerve around a pothole could slam one into the back of me. I had to get off of the highway. Putting my pride aside, I paged Akua. I sat there praying she'd call back.
When my phone rang, I jumped. “Ku.”
“What the hell do you want?”
I sighed. “Are you asleep?”
“Do you think I would have returned your phone call if I was asleep? I don't fuck with you like that.”
“No.” I paused. “I need a favor,” I said.
“From me?”
“Yes, from you.”
“What do you want?”
“I'm on 95, right before Southport at Exit 20. I got a flat. I need you to come pick me up.”
“Wait on me, nigga!”
She hung up the phone. I don't even know why I called her. Another officer came up behind me. He asked, “Is someone coming out?”
“Yeah, AAA. But they won't be here for about two hours.”
I hoped he'd offer a solution, but he nodded. “Okay, I'll come back and check on you in about an hour.”
This is bullshit! I leaned my seat back hoping I could at least get some rest while I waited. What a joke. A police officer tapped on my window every ten minutes or so. Don't they have some kind of walkie-talkie system to say that there's some dummy at CT-Exit 20 stranded in a Honda Accord? Don't bother him, he's okay. Obviously not. I pulled out an anesthesiology book and planned to study. My head nodded as my eyes glazed over. Headlights flickered in my car. A horn blew. I looked into my rearview mirror and saw Akua's Ford Taurus.
I quickly called her. “Hey, I have to call AAA to let them know where the key will be. Don't get out of your car. I'll be back there in a minute.”
After I made arrangements for them to take my car to the nearest tireshop, I hopped out. From my car to Akua's car, I got drenched. Unconsciously, I leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Ku. I really appreciate this. I know you didn't have to do it.”
“My father says a man should always have a spare tire.”
I wanted to tell her to tell her father to go to hell. Instead, I nodded.
“Where is your spare?”
“My spare was a new tire. When I got a flat a few weeks ago, I put the spare on and didn't buy a new one.”
“You never think, do you?”
“Nope.”
She huffed. “I guess you were going to see your freak-ass girlfriend.”
I nodded.
She chuckled slightly. “That's what your bitch-ass gets.”
I felt like I hadn't seen her smile in months. We brush past one another in the house, barely sharing two words. We pretend we don't know each other in the hospital. I chuckled, too.
Her eyes inspected my expression. We paused. She turned to the road. “You must love her to ride in all this rain, post-call. Maybe she is the one.”
I felt like I should lie. No. She's not the one. For the sake of not saying anything, I looked out the window.
We rode back to New Haven in silence. When we got in town, we stopped at Starbucks. I asked, “When my car is ready, will you take me back?”
She nodded. At the same small table we used to study at when we were interns, we broke banana bread. The rain trickled down the window. She smiled. “Today is perfect for sleeping.”
I nodded. “Yeah. I should have gone home and gone to sleep.”
“I had a pretty light night last night, so I was wired this morning.” She curled her lips. “You're lucky.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“Don't mention it.”
I felt like I was sitting with a stranger. She obviously had come to accept it was over. She wasn't throwing out her usual slurs. She seemed peaceful. Maybe she's been this way for a while, I just hadn't noticed because I was so involved in my own life.
When we got to the apartment, I turned on the television and she sat beside me. We were zoned to separate rooms. What was up with this? I flipped through the channels. A reality show popped up. She raised her arm about to take the remote. Then, she relaxed. “I'm sorry. I was going to say, I like that show.”
Since she'd rescued me from the highway, she could say and watch anything of her choice. I handed her the remote. “Go ahead. What's this?”
“A group of women that know they have some issues all go to this house and work on their issues.”
As if I cared, I asked, “What kind of issues?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “All of them have different issues. Some are OCD. Some are irresponsible. Just like social disorders.”
I frowned. “You like this show?”
“Yeah, sometimes I feel like I should go on there.”
“You?”
She nodded. “I could lighten up a little.”
“You could.”
We laughed. She smiled more this morning than at some of the happiest periods in our relationship. Maybe she'd come to accept her flaws. I appreciated that. Why couldn't she have done this when we were together?
When they called to say my car was ready, Akua was in the kitchen. She asked, “Do you want a sandwich?”
I kidded. “So, am I allowed to have things labeled Akua?”
“If I'm making it, it's okay. But my stuff is still off limits to you.”
I walked in the kitchen and my hormones pushed me up against her. I wrapped my hands around her waist. “Really?”
She tilted her head and looked at me. She smiled. I expected her to say, “Get the fuck off of me,” but she didn't. Why did I feel a sense of accomplishment? Why did I like knowing that I could hit it despite all I'd taken her through?
I backed up. “I'm just playing.”
“What do you want on your sandwich?”
After we had lunch, we got in the car to pick up mine. Before she started the car, she sniffed. I looked at her and tears started rolling down her face. I'd been in this position once in my life. The person in the passenger seat seemed so heartless. Tears like the ones streaming from Akua's eyes only fall for that one true love. Taylor was mine. I was hers. In all these months, she'd been angry. I didn't think she was capable of this type of emotion. I sat stunned.
“I love you. Please don't leave me.”
It was too late. Why didn't she react like this at first?
“I know I have my faults, but I can change.”
I was speechless. She pleaded, “I have never loved anybody like I love you. I don't care what anyone thinks of me. I don't care if my family never speaks to me again. I want to be with you.”
Who was the girl beside me?
“I love you. I can't imagine living without you.” She dropped her head in her hands. “It just hurts so bad. Please take the pain away.”
I rubbed her back, and she whispered, “What did I do so bad to make you leave me for someone three hundred miles away? Tell me. What did I do?”
Finally, I spoke. “You didn't do anything. This was just something that I never resolved.”
“Don't lie to me. I had to do something. I thought you were happy. I tried to do everything for you.”
I stroked her braids. “I know baby. It's not your fault.”
She started the car. I felt like shit. When she put her hand on the gear, I said, “We don't have to go. I'll stay here this weekend.”
39
TAYLOR
D
etermined to make our relationship work, we were spending about five hundred dollars a week. I am a frequent Friday evening passenger on the US Airways flight number 977. It rolled out of Reagan National Airport at 5:25, and landed me in Scooter's arms by 6:30.
While I waited to board, I sent him a text message: GETTING ON THE PLANE.
He quickly replied: CAN'T WAIT TO SEE U. I MISS U SO MUCH.
The five days separating us always feel like an eternity. I was burning inside to see him too, but I suppressed the desire to tell him. Instead, I stared at the loving note on my screen. As I re-read the message umpteen times, my cheeks stretched closer and closer to my ears. When they called my row, I stood up, rolling my carry-on with one hand and my wide-open flip phone and plane ticket in the other. I bounced toward the attendant taking the boarding passes. He noticed the sunshine beaming on my face in the middle of winter. “Guess this is going to be a special Valentine's Day for you.”
Feeling rather silly, I tried to justify my jolly expression. “It's my birthday. So every Valentine's Day is good for me.”
He nodded as if he didn't ask for so much info. “Well, happy birthday and Happy Valentine's Day.”
I strolled through the terminal in a daze and sat in my seat. Before I turned my phone off, I took one last glance at Scooter's message. As if it would make me feel closer to him, I rubbed the ball of my thumb over the screen. Then, pressed OFF. I snapped on my seatbelt and anxiously awaited takeoff.
My heart sinks each time I arrive in Connecticut. My feelings of anticipation flip-flop back and forth on the security spectrum. As secure as I feel when I'm with him, I feel just as insecure each time we part; knowing he goes to an apartment with his ex-girlfriend.
After I finally got off of the plane, I casually strolled to the airport in no rush, because Scooter will not arrive at the hotel until around eight. When I got out to the shuttle stand, I saw men carrying roses, women accepting them. No one is there to greet me. I take a deep breath. Insecurity again. How could I succumb to sneaking around with another woman's man? Why did it still feel like she was his woman? I stood in her town feeling like I deserved more. I did deserve more. I leaned onto my other leg and reminded myself of why I was here. Plus he was moving in two weeks. What more could I ask for?
Inside my coat pocket, my cell phone vibrated in my hand. My heart beat rapidly as I pulled it out to read my text message.
GOING TO THE MOVIES AFTER WORK. WILL BE THERE BY TEN.
My insides felt like three-hundred degrees in thirty-degree weather. Smoke exited my mouth as I stretched it wide open while re-reading the message. The phone vibrated again in my palm. I slammed the phone shut and climbed on to the shuttle. I plopped down in my seat. I didn't want to hear anything else he had to say.
My heaving caught the attention of the older lady beside me. She peeped at me through her big silver bangs. Her shoulders swayed, tapping her upper arm against mine. I huffed, not because of her, but because of me. I leaned my head on the window and watched the unappealing scenery.
She asked, “Do you live here?”
Swishing the left side of my forehead back and forth on the window, I said no.
“Me either.”
I didn't comment. She continued, “I'm here to see my grandkids.”
I smiled tightly and mumbled, “That's nice.”
“I live in Ft. Lauderdale. It's too cold here for me.”
I nodded absently.
“Are you here for work?”
I huffed. My eyes watered. “To see friends.”
“That's always good. Where are you from?”
If she were ten years younger I would have ignored her, but I felt obligated to answer. I huffed again. “Maryland.”
“Is it cold there?”
I nodded. She finally got the memo, because she stopped talking, and returned to rocking. We pulled up to my hotel, the driver announced, “Westin.”
I got up to climb over the lady when the driver opened the van door. I gave her a fake smile. As if she could read my mind, she said, “Have a good trip honey. Every Valentine's Day won't be like this one.”
I took a deep breath and nodded. “Thank you.”
When I stepped into the hotel alone, I felt like eyes were scorning me. With my eyes lowered, I stepped up to the front desk. “I want to check in.”
Before I could tell her my name, she said, “Taylor right?”
I looked up. The same lady from a few weeks ago smiled eagerly at me. I smiled. She reminded me, “I'm Taylor, too. Remember I told you last time.”
She probably knew I was here every other weekend for a damn secret rendezvous. I felt like a hooker. My eyes begged her to understand this screwed up relationship I had become a part of and nodded.
“What's your last name Taylor?”
I hesitated. Stealing someone's man made me feel like a felon on the run. It was as if everyone I talked to was a security camera. I cleared my throat. “Jabowski. My last name is Jabowski.”
She typed away at her keyboard for another two minutes or so. She tapped her fingers on the counter and smiled. I sensed compassion in her expression. “I'll just need your credit card for incidentals.”
I opened my wallet. Initially, I tugged on my GW Alumni Platinum card, but stopped. How does a perfectly intelligent woman end up here? Instead, I handed her my debit card. She swiped it. As I scribbled my information on the card, she put my key cards in the sleeve. “Ms. Jabowski, you're in room 1015. I think you'll like your Valentine's Day gift.”
Maybe Scooter wasn't being a jerk. Suddenly my anger switched to Taylor, the receptionist. Why did she ruin the surprise? My heart jumped with excitement. When I got on the elevator, I pulled my phone from the holster to finally read Scooter's second message.
I LOVE YOU.
I blushed. When I reached the tenth floor, I skedaddled to the room at the end of the long hallway hoping to find Scooter there wrapped in a bow. I put my key in the door and said, “Hello.”
There was no response in the dark room. I flicked on the lights and entered a massive penthouse. Knowing that I hadn't upgraded anything, I was certain that Scooter was in on this. Thinking that I was playing a game of hide-and-seek, I tiptoed around the room. I looked in the closets, under the bed, in the shower. Out of desperation, I even looked in the dresser drawers. Maybe he wasn't here, but he left a gift. After I exhausted all possibilities, it was clear the only game being played was me. I slouched on the king-sized bed and mumbled, “I am so much smarter than this.”
The answer was revealed to me as I unwound. Taylor, the front desk clerk, knew nothing of Scooter, nor did Scooter prearrange this. She was giving her namesake a gift. Though no one knew my thoughts but me, I was embarrassed.
The Moët in my luggage was screaming my name. I pulled it out and began to celebrate my birthday. After the lecture Courtney gave me before I left, I didn't want to call her. So, I just sipped.
Eight o'clock came and went. Scooter sent his first message. IS EVERYTHING OKAY?
I wasn't ready to respond. Nine o'clock came and went. He sent the next message. ARE YOU MAD AT ME?
Finally, I responded. YES.
Again, he wrote. I LOVE YOU.
Ten minutes later he wrote. BE THERE SOON. WHAT ROOM?
Ten o'clock came and I paced the floor. At 10:30, my phone rang. At 10:45, the hotel phone rang. I contemplated.
I swirled the last of the Moët around in the bottle. In a lovely penthouse, alone, drinking his favorite celebratory drink on my birthday, I started to cry.
After an hour of ringing, I felt unsure of my motive. I looked at my cell phone when it rang again. It was Courtney. After a debate with myself, I answered. Attempting to sound happy, I said, “Hey girl. What's going on?”
She immediately asked, “What's wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Where's Scooter?”
I huffed. “Not here yet.”
I paused to allow room for her ranting, but she just breathed. There were uneasy sighs of communication on the line. So I asked. “What'd you do today?”
“I worked late and Mark took me to dinner.”
“Where's he?”
“Right here.”
Her confidence made me feel worse. Tears rolled down my cheeks, as the hotel phone rang off the hook. Courtney said, “I guess you're not answering, huh?”
I sighed. “No.”
Instead of expressing her real feelings, she jumped to another topic. “This is the first Valentine's day in eight years that we haven't been together.”
I inadvertently sniffed. “I know.”
Mark spoke in the background. “Yeah Taylor, I was looking forward to having two ladies on my arm tonight.”
Courtney shuffled around and I could hear her walking through her long hallway. The pitter-patter from her going down the stairs echoed through the phone. Finally she said, “You feel like talking about it.”
I sniffed again. “How did I get here?”
Blatantly she said, “Arrogance.”
“What?”
She cleared it up. “Confidence.”
“Whatever.”
She said, “Taylor, what happened?”
“He went to the movies.” I huffed. “I'm assuming with his roommate.”
She paused. “Did you think he wouldn't?”
“He claims that she talks to other men and they really don't communicate and . . .”
“But he didn't say he did not want to take her out, right?”
I sniffed. “No.”
“Taylor, this stuff takes time. As long as she's in that apartment with him, she is his woman. No matter what he's told her, he hasn't left yet. She's still in first place.
“So when is he supposed to be out of the house?” she asked.
Emphasizing my doubt, I said, “
Supposedly
the end of the month.”
I waited for her to analyze. She didn't. I added, “He supposedly found a place and was approved. And . . .”
“So why are you tripping?”
“I dunno,” I said.
She continued, “Even when he moves out, it won't be completely over until June or July tops.”
I snapped, “June or July?”
She chuckled at my impatience. “Yes Taylor. People don't break up that easy.”
I pouted. “Why not?”
“Scooter is not going to be blatant about this. Scooter is not a player and never has been.”
“You're right.”
“So are you going to answer?”
“Whatchu think?”
“Taylor you're there now. You may as well.”
When I finally picked up the phone, he sounded desperate. “Taylor, I'm sorry. Please forgive me.”
My heart melted as always. I said, “Room 1015”. Then, I slammed the phone down.
My cell phone vibrated. HAPPY VDAY BEAUTIFUL –D.
Devin? That was a surprise. If he was text messaging me at eleven thirty, he was obviously alone on this lovers' day, too. Then it dawned on me, maybe he was just taking inventory. Maybe I should be doing the same.
Scooter tapped on the door and took my mind off of Devin. A huge bouquet of roses hid his face. He handed them to me and smiled. I smirked. With the bouquet pointed south, I walked back to the sofa and plopped down.
“I'm so sorry. She . . .”
“Save it.”
He stood in front of me. His eyes followed my eyes, hoping to gain access. I denied him by putting my head between my legs. He kneeled down in front of me and tried to lift my chin. I fought him.
He wrapped his arms around my folded body. “Taylor. I know you're mad. I'm leaving in two weeks.”
I held back my tears. “I can't do this.”
“Do what? We're at the finish line now. This isn't the time to give up.”
“If we're at the finish line, why do you feel like you have to please her? Why do I still feel like the other woman?”
He gasped. “Do you know how hard it is to look in the eyes of someone who loves you, someone who has done nothing to hurt you and say I want to leave you because I fell in love with someone else?”
I shook my head. He sat up on the couch and rubbed my back. “Taylor, I had no idea that I would feel this way about you so soon. I mean, I was planning my life with her and you . . .”

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