Waiting to Exhale (29 page)

"You're for real too, aren't you, Robin?"

"Yeah, why?"

"So what am I supposed to do if I want to eat out but don't have a companion? Stay home? Go to the drive-up window of Taco Bell so I can save face?"

"You're making it sound ridiculous. I'm just telling you that I've never done it because I would feel awkward, like I was on display."

"On display for what?"

"Everybody would know I don't have a man to take me to dinner."

"That is the biggest bunch of bullshit I've ever heard in my life. You ought to stop."

"I can't help it."

"Yes you can. All you need to do is take your black ass to the restaurant, get out of your car, go inside, sit down, order, and then proceed to eat the goddamn food. This is the nineties, Robin. Eating by yourself is not an admission of loneliness. And who gives a shit if it is. So go."

"I can't."

"Try it."

"I'm too chicken."

"Then fuck it," I said.

The steam had disappeared. Now I could see Robin's face, and especially those colossal breasts, clearly. She picked up her towel, tiptoed under the shower, squealed when the water hit her, and jumped back. Her boobs didn't move. I grabbed my towel and walked toward the door. I was at a loss for words. Women who think like her really piss me off.

When I got home, I dropped the mail on the kitchen table and went into the bedroom to see if I had any messages. Two. That's ho
w p
opular I am. Yasmine was curled up at the foot of my bed. As soon as I walked into the room she stood up on all fours, stretched, and twirled her tail in the air. I listened to the machine rewind, flopped on the bed, and kicked off my shoes.

"Savannah, this is your mother. Haven't heard from you in a while. Hope you're all right. Give me a call. I saw it was a hundred and two degrees there the other day. Are you meeting lots of nice people? Any nice men? Call me. Love you."

Beep.

"Yeah, Savannah, this is Kenneth. Remember me? I'll be out your way next month for a medical conference and would love to see you while I'm there. I'll call you back later on. Hope you're well. Bye-bye."

I stood there in a daze for a minute, then rewound the tape to make sure I heard right. Kenneth Dawkins was calling me after all this time? I wondered how he got my number. Mama. I bet it was Mama. When I first told her I was going out with him, she was so impressed that he was a doctor, she said she liked him, and she hadn't even met the man. She was sickening as hell when she did meet him. Cooked him collard greens, corn bread, candied yams, and fried chicken. Kept his glass of Kool-Aid filled. Won him right over. The next thing I know, she's told everybody in the whole family all about him, like I was marrying him in the next few days. I think Mama was more disappointed than I was when I told her I wasn't seeing him anymore.

It was after eleven in Pittsburgh, so I decided to call her from work tomorrow. Where it was free. I'd already taken a shower at the gym, so I opened what I called my Victoria's Secret drawer and sifted through all the sexy stuff to find something cute but not so sexy. Lord only knows when I'll get a chance to wear some of this shit. Sometimes I wonder why I bother buying it. They're probably all dry-rotted by now anyway. I decided not to wear anything from that drawer, so I pulled out the one full of old T-shirts, lotioned my body from head to toe, then put one on.

I stuffed my bras and undies inside the lingerie bags and put them in the washer on the gentle cycle. I ate my chicken and some leftover pasta while I flipped through the mail. Nothing but a few bills. I la
y d
own on the couch, punched Power on the remote, and picked up the first magazine I put my hands on, which happened to be New Woman. I heard Aretha Franklin singing the score for A Different World. I thought about Robin when I saw the article "What Men Don't Tell Women" heading the table of contents in red. That's when the phone rang.

The deepness of his voice told me it was Kenneth. "Savannah?"

"Well, this is a surprise," I said, and put my magazine down.

"You're a hard person to find."

"I haven't been hiding."

He chuckled. "How are you, Savannah?"

"I'm fine. How about you?"

"Fair to middlin'. You're the one out there basking in all that sunshine."

"Where'd you get my number?"

"Your mama gave it to me."

"My mama," I said.

"She said you've been out there since February."

"That's true. What else did she tell you?"

He chuckled again. Kenneth has always been a good chuckler. "Why, is there something you don't want me to know?"

Then I chuckled. "No. My mama's got a big mouth. She tells everybody's business but hers."

"So do you like it out there?"

"I can't tell yet."

"What about your job? You still in publicity?"

"Yep, at a TV station."

"That's good," he said. "Well, you sound good."

"You do too. I heard you got married and have a kid and everything."

"That's what they say. How about you? Why haven't you made some man lucky yet?"

Mama and her big mouth. "Haven't met Mr. Right yet," I said.

"I'm glad to hear that."

I didn't know how to respond. "So are you happy?" I said, and looked around for my cigarettes.

"I'm happy to be a father," he said.

"I assumed that much, Kenneth."

"Look, I'm coming out there for this conference next month. Are you gonna be around?" "When?"

"Well, the conference is the twenty-sixth through the twenty- eighth. But I'm thinking about skipping the last session." "I'll be here."

"I'm staying at the Phoenician. I hear it's a nice hotel."

"Nice is putting it mildly. It's beautiful."

"Tell me something: Are you seeing anybody?"

"What has that got to do with anything?"

"I'm just curious, Savannah."

"I just got here, Kenneth."

"Well, let's have dinner when I come. Is that possible?"

"It might be possible."

"Good. Have you ever been to Sedona?"

"No; not yet."

"You have any idea how far it is from Phoenix?" "I think a little more than an hour's drive. But I could be wrong." "I saw pictures of it in National Geographic. And man, those red mountains are unreal."

"It's not that far from the Grand Canyon, that's why." "I'd like to drive up that Saturday and see it. Would you go with me?"

"I don't know, Kenneth. Why don't we wait until you get here. I'm not sure what my schedule's going to be like then."

"I can do that," he said, and paused. "So are you still buying all that beautiful art?"

"Not as much as I'd like."

"Not to change the subject, but to be perfectly honest with you, Savannah, I'm relieved to hear you're not married." "Why?" "Because." "Because why?"

"I'll tell you when I get there. I'm just glad to know I'll get a chance to see you. And for what it's worth, Savannah, I have fond memories of you. As a matter of fact, I think about you quite often."

"
Sure, Kenneth."

"Did you get the Christmas card I sent you last year?"

"No," I lied. I got his card, but what was I supposed to do? Write him a thank you note? Call him up?

"
You didn't?"

"Nope."

"Weren't you living in Denver then?"

"Yep."

"Anyway, there's a lot going on in my life these days. I'll tell you about it when I see you. How's that?"

"Look, I wasn't trying to act like the FBI. I just asked if you were happy."

"And I wasn't implying that you were. I'm not in a position to talk about it right now."

"No problem," I said.

"Well, look, dear. It's late here."

"Are you still in Boston?"

"I'm over in Brighton now." "Oh."

"I'll call you when I get there. Can't wait to see you. And you take care."

"Good hearing from you, Kenneth."

I jumped up to find my cigarettes. My magazine fell to the floor. I hopped back on the couch and sat there for a few minutes. I used to crave this man. God, did he make me feel special! Like I was one of a kind. He said I was stimulating company. So was he. I lit my cigarette. How many Saturday mornings did he call me up and say, "Let's drive out to the Cape"? And when we got there, he'd have smoked turkey, Brie and crackers, wine and fresh fruit, and a tablecloth stuffed in the trunk of his car. We'd lie on a blanket at the edge of the shore, read articles in Newsweek or Life, and talk about world affairs while the waves crashed in front of us. He made it feel romantic. We saw a slew of plays and always spent half the night discussing why they worked or why they didn't. He was the only man I ever knew who didn't mind going to foreign films. He told me I was one of the smartest women he'd ever met in his life. And the sexiest. He was also the most sensual lover I've ever had. To this day.

"I assumed that much, Kenneth."

"Look, I'm coming out there for this conference next month. Are you gonna be around?" "When?"

"Well, the conference is the twenty-sixth through the twenty- eighth. But I'm thinking about skipping the last session." "I'll be here."

"I'm staying at the Phoenician. I hear it's a nice hotel."

"Nice is putting it mildly. It's beautiful."

"Tell me something: Are you seeing anybody?"

"What has that got to do with anything?"

"I'm just curious, Savannah."

"I just got here, Kenneth."

"Well, let's have dinner when I come. Is that possible?"

"It might be possible."

"Good. Have you ever been to Sedona?"

"No; not yet."

"You have any idea how far it is from Phoenix?" "I think a little more than an hour's drive. But I could be wrong." "I saw pictures of it in National Geographic. And man, those red mountains are unreal."

"It's not that far from the Grand Canyon, that's why." "I'd like to drive up that Saturday and see it. Would you go with me?"

"I don't know, Kenneth. Why don't we wait until you get here. I'm not sure what my schedule's going to be like then."

"I can do that," he said, and paused. "So are you still buying all that beautiful art?"

"Not as much as I'd like."

"Not to change the subject, but to be perfectly honest with you, Savannah, I'm relieved to hear you're not married." "Why?" "Because." "Because why?"

"I'll tell you when I get there. I'm just glad to know I'll get a chance to see you. And for what it's worth, Savannah, I have fond memories of you. As a matter of fact, I think about you quite often."

"Sure, Kenneth."

"Did you get the Christmas card I sent you last year?"

"No," I lied. I got his card, but what was I supposed to do? Write him a thank you note? Call him up?

"
You didn't?"

"Nope."

"Weren't you living in Denver then?"

"Yep."

"Anyway, there's a lot going on in my life these days. I'll tell you about it when I see you. How's that?"

"Look, I wasn't trying to act like the FBI. I just asked if you were happy."

"And I wasn't implying that you were. I'm not in a position to talk about it right now."

"No problem," I said.

"Well, look, dear. It's late here."

"Are you still in Boston?"

"I'm over in Brighton now." "Oh."

"I'll call you when I get there. Can't wait to see you. And you take care."

"Good hearing from you, Kenneth."

I jumped up to find my cigarettes. My magazine fell to the floor. I hopped back on the couch and sat there for a few minutes. I used to crave this man. God, did he make me feel special! Like I was one of a kind. He said I was stimulating company. So was he. I lit my cigarette. How many Saturday mornings did he call me up and say, "Let's drive out to the Cape"? And when we got there, he'd have smoked turkey, Brie and crackers, wine and fresh fruit, and a tablecloth stuffed in the trunk of his car. We'd lie on a blanket at the edge of the shore, read articles in Newsweek or Life, and talk about world affairs while the waves crashed in front of us. He made it feel romantic. We saw a slew of plays and always spent half the night discussing why they worked or why they didn't. He was the only man I ever, knew who didn't mind going to foreign films. He told me I was one of the smartest women he'd ever met in his life. And the sexiest. He was also the most sensual lover I've ever had. To this day.

Now that I think about it, Kenneth is probably the reason why I expect so much of men. When I was with him, he treated me like a lady. Once you get used to being treated well, you can't go back to bullshit. I was sure that what we had going would lead to something long-term. But it didn't. Weeks would go by, and I wouldn't hear from him. Then he'd call like we'd just seen each other yesterday. We spent hours on the phone, talking about everything except how we felt about each other. By the time I realized I was in love with him, I was too scared to tell him. I knew what he thought about me, but I didn't know how he felt. I'd never been in this position before. I didn't know if he was going out with other women at the same time, or if I was considered recreation, a pastime, some temporary form of entertainment. I got tired of guessing. And I didn't feel comfortable questioning him about it. So one day I wrote him a letter and told him I didn't want to go out with him anymore. He couldn't understand why. I lied and said I had met somebody else. I haven't heard a word from him until now.