Zora and Nicky: A Novel in Black and White (18 page)

Concern and confusion war on her face. “What happened here, Zora,
where’s our stuff?”

The serpent in me hisses.
Our
stuff?

“Unfortunately, it’s not
our
stuff. Daddy decided it’s
his
stuff, and he took
it.”

“Zora, I told you to call him!”

“And say what? I’m sorry I want my own life?”

“Yes. If that’s what it took. What’s wrong with ‘I’m sorry’? People say it
all the time.”

“It’s just stuff. He didn’t take anything I can’t get back.”

“Without yo’ Daddy you can’t afford that stuff. Girl, you had it goin’ on.
And you want to beef with him now? Call him and tell him you sorry and ask
him for yo’ Cheryl Riley hookup back.”

“I don’t want to do that, Mac. I just want to be who I am.”

She takes my hand. “Z.” Squeezes it. “You listen to me, girl. We girls. We
go back a long way. I don’t have to tell you that. You look out for me, and I
look out for you. I know you don’t always agree with the choices I make, but
princess, I don’t always agree with you.”

I nod my head. I’m listening. Or I’m trying to.

“Who you are is a spoiled brat, Zora. Most of the time, you ain’t thinking
about nobody but yo’self, and right now, you ain’t even doin’ a good job with
that.”

Is this what my best friend thinks of me? The person who I’ve been helping
make her dream—my own dream—come true? She thinks I’m selfish?

“I don’t think that’s fair of you to say, MacKenzie.”

She releases my hand. “I know what you thinkin’. You thinkin’ of how
you let me live here. How you helped me with school. How you gave me
your cast-off clothes when we was little. But I’m thinking about how small
your life is, Zora. How you haven’t really had to reach out and get your hands
dirty. Partly because your parents never encouraged that, but the other part
was because, why bother when everything is yours already? You haven’t had
to serve anybody. Not really, sweetie.”

“I’ve always been your friend, Mac.”

“You have. The best way you knew how. But it ain’t perfect, Z. You are not
the perfect friend. You got a lot to learn about being a friend. And I’m telling
you this because I am your friend. I’ve lived with nothing most of my life. It
ain’t good. It forces you to make choices you wish you didn’t have to make. If
I had something I’d have a preschooler right now. You have something. Hold
on to it.”

“You can’t use your mama making you have an abortion as an excuse for
all the bad things in your life, Mac.”

“And you can’t hide behind yo’ daddy because you afraid to grow up.
Paint if you want to. You don’t have to give up everything in yo’ life. You had
a closet full of paint supplies. What’s really the problem here?”

“I’m not afraid to grow up.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Zora.”

“Mac, I know you’re mad, but don’t say something you’ll regret.”

“What I regret is not saying this to you a long time ago. I’m not
The
Bishop’s
daughter. I didn’t have nobody quoting Scriptures over me since
before I took my first breath, but I know enough about the Bible to know
there’s something in there about the wounds of a friend being better than the
kisses of an enemy. I’m gonna say this one more time, Zora. Put things right
with your father.”

Put things right with your father.
Isn’t that what Nicky said?

“But Mac. I’ve been praying that Jesus would teach me what it is to be
poor.”

She starts laughing. She collapses onto the floor she laughs so hard, and
she wipes tears from her eyes. “Zora. Honey, you didn’t have to pray for
that. I been telling you all my life what it’s like to be poor. I guess you wasn’t
listening.”

“I thought I was listening.”

“I don’t think so, girlfriend. Look. I’ll stay. I’ll help you get this
together.”

“No. You can’t stay.”

“
The
Bishop
is even more stubborn than you, Z. I can’t leave you in this
apartment with nothing. You won’t last the week.”

“Jesus is going to teach me how to be poor.”

“Oh, Lord, there goes my scholarship.”

“Mac, you aren’t giving up your scholarship.”

“Maybe I can get another one.”

“You can’t.”

“What do you know about poor, Zora?”

“Nothing. But I know Jesus. At least a little bit. Can you trust me with
Him?”

I sit down on the floor with her. I don’t feel so full of self-righteous
fury anymore. I know with all my heart that MacKenzie just offered me her
widow’s mite. I think about all those dreams. All those hours we spent when
other girls played Barbie, and we used reams of paper drawing all our dreams.
She would have given that up until I felt ready to make a stupid phone call.

I so don’t deserve her.

This time I go to her for the hug, and she doesn’t withdraw her love like
my father withdrew his possessions. She takes me into her big bosom like
she’s the mother she didn’t get a chance to be. In this, she lets me be a little
girl.

“I’m so sorry for not seeing how hard things really were for you.”

“Girl. How were you really gon’ see that? Shoot. I ain’t sure I wanted you
to see it all. Not really.”

She rocks me until that snake inside falls asleep.

“What am I going to do without you, Mac?”

“I’m always gon’ be your girl. You remember that. You promise me you
gon’ remember that I’m always here for you. We girls. A’ight?”

“A’ight.”

We hug for a good, long time.

CHAPTER TWELVE

NICKY

She keeps calling me. I’m not supposed to resent it when my girlfriend calls
and wants to get together, but I do. It’s the freakin’ call I made to her from
the mall. She’s expecting a gift. Which I have for her. And now I have to give
it to her.

What am I talking about? She’s my girlfriend. She calls me. I’m supposed
to call her. That’s a problem, because most days I don’t want to call her.
And man, she’s hanging in there with me. That stupid necklace I bought is
probably the most hope she’s had for us in weeks.

I finally decide to do something decent for a change and go to her house
for dinner.

I get to her house Saturday night. It’s a modest, black-and-white A-frame
near Eastern Michigan University. Her father is disabled. He got hurt on the
job years ago and ended up losing a leg. Her mother teaches at one of the
elementary schools. Rebecca’s family is just under middle class, so I’d be a real
upgrade. Well, not me personally. The Parkers would be.

My dad thinks she’s great. She’s kind. Earnest. Virtuous. I mean, she
really is one of those Proverbs 31 types. Very pretty. You can totally see her on
the cover of
Today’s Christian Woman
. She’s a photo op waiting to happen.

Frankly, I thought she was cute and had a nice rack. I’d spent a long time
being alone, and I wanted a warm body to pass the time with. Not that I’ve
felt her warm body.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t want to feel Rebecca’s warm
body, but I came home to put things right. As it was, Brooke Bennett broke
my heart. I didn’t need to be distracted by sex. And upon the prodigal’s return,
a lot of the handmaidens of the Lord I’d slept with before had fond memories
of our trysts, and after a few painful slips—broken heart and all—I settled
uncomfortably into celibacy. I’ve learned to steer clear of women. If it means
steering clear of feeling, so be it. I’ve even learned to compartmentalize body
parts for pleasure viewing.

Pete had me right. We’ve discussed many a fine rear end in the past three
years. Many a fine pair of twin fawns. That’s a good way to avoid having to
love. Including Rebecca. But even if I didn’t love her, I certainly wasn’t going
to let sexual desire blindside me. It was my way of staying safe, technically
pure.

Her mother answers the door, grinning at me. Maggie Taylor is a robust,
mildly garish middle-aged woman living vicariously through Rebecca, her
only daughter. I’m certain that every time she looks at me she sizes me up for
the tuxedo I’ll wear when I take her Rebecca down the aisle to wedded bliss.

Oh, God, help me.

“Hiya, Nick,” she says. She kisses me on the cheek and spots the Eddie
Bauer box. “Oh, my. Now what’s that you’ve got in your hand? Is that for my
little girl?”

“Hello, Mrs. Taylor.” I step into the house and glance at her husband.
“Mr. Taylor.”

He gives me a curt nod. The man hates me. He would shoot me dead
on the spot if he could. I know he has a gun. He can’t chase me down, but
he can shoot. All the men at my church hunt. They love guns. They are the
scariest bunch of NRA-lovin’, Charleton-Heston-venerating … don’t make
me think about it.

No wonder Zora hates me. She probably thinks I’m just like them.

Don’t think about Zora.

I hold the box up. “I have a little something for Rebecca.” Thank God
it’s bigger than a ring box. But they can tell it’s jewelry. Mrs. Taylor will be
counting the days to our engagement now.

Rebecca comes to the door. “Hi, Nicholas.”

“Hi, Rebecca.”

Why doesn’t my girlfriend call me Nicky? Why don’t I call her Becky or
something?

I hand her the box.

“For me?” she says, grinning.

I grin back to keep something sarcastic from coming out of my mouth.
She really is very pretty. A really nice girl.

I sniff the air. “Something smells nice. What did you cook?”

“I made your favorite. Pot roast.”

I smile. She takes my hand and drags me into the kitchen so we can be
alone. Her mother almost cheers; I can just tell. Meanwhile, her father plans
my death.

What makes her think pot roast is my favorite food? Did my mother tell
her that? My father? I grew up eating pot roast. All the time. I was in pot-roast
hell. When I was in California, I tried to eat everything imaginable other than
pot roast.

“Thanks, Rebecca.”

But it does smell good. She actually makes a fine pot roast. What’s one
more when I’ve had millions anyway?

She stands by the sink, and I’m next to her. She opens the box, and unlike
Zora, Rebecca doesn’t cry. I chuckle thinking of those tearful brown doe eyes,
and her asking, “Do you think I’m a ho?”

I bought Rebecca a fake pearl necklace. They didn’t have the real deal at
Eddie Bauer. They only had costume jewelry. Not that I would have bought
her real pearls anyway.

“Nicholas, it’s beautiful.” She looks up at me with pale blue eyes, and
she’s so happy, I feel horrible. It isn’t beautiful. I paid twenty bucks for it, and
I didn’t even want to. I spent a lot more on Zora, and took more time and
thought doing it. I would have spent even more on Zora if I could have.

“I love it,” she says. And what’s worse, she does.

I take her hands. It occurs to me that I rarely even hold her hands.
“Rebecca?”

“Yes, Nicholas?” Her eyes are shining. She’s full of expectation, and I
don’t want to disappoint her.

“Do you really want to be with me?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“I just care for you. I pray for you all the time.”

“You don’t really know me.”

“We can get to know each other.”

“We’ve been dating six months, Rebecca.”

“You’ve been a gentleman.”

“I’ve been a coward.”

“It’s okay.”

I could end it right now. I could tell her that she’s one of the nicest people
I’ve ever met, and that she makes a mean pot roast. I could tell her she’s
gorgeous, and she has a nice rack, but I don’t feel anything for her. I think
about my father. And my mother. And how disappointed they’d be. And I
think about Dreamy, who can see right inside of me. Who asked me what my
thing was that nobody got, the first time we were alone together.

You’ve got some sense of humor, God.

I do something I’ve never done. I lean down, and I kiss Rebecca.

Her lips are soft and welcoming, even though I surprised her. I shouldn’t,
but I part her lips with my tongue and deepen the kiss, and she allows me. We
stand in her kitchen, kissing over pot roast, and I pray that I feel something
other than my mouth on hers, but I don’t. I felt more just wondering if I
should kiss Zora.

I let her go. She’s so freakin’ happy she squeezes me.

“I love you, Nicholas,” she says.

And I lie. “I love you, too, Rebecca.”

She holds my hand. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Rebecca, I want to be a writer.”

She looks up at me like she’s got this all figured out. “Well, I know you
went to school for that. And I know your father thinks it’s nonsense, but
personally, I don’t think there’s any reason for you not to write.”

For a moment, I feel hopeful. “Really?”

“Of course. You can be just like Max Lucado: a writer and a pastor.”

“Like Max Lucado. Right.”

She smiles at me. Gives me a peck on the lips.

I feel sick to my stomach. “I’m going to go in the living room and sit
with your dad.”

“Okay, honey bunny.”

She just called me honey bunny. Honest to God, I hope that crazy man
blows my head off.

ZORA

I’m lying in the middle of what Nicky called the screaming blue abyss with
my head on the box he gave me. It’s been my pillow all night. Just before dawn
MacKenzie crept into the room and kissed me on the forehead. I pretended to
be asleep. I couldn’t bear to say good-bye to her.

God, I couldn’t bear it.

Maybe I am selfish. Okay, I am. I should have helped her load the few
boxes she had left into her car, but I couldn’t. I’m too sad. I was afraid I might
beg her to stay with me because I’m still not ready to make that call, and I
don’t even know why.

I want my friend. I don’t have another one.

Jesus, have mercy on me. This is the worst time of my life, and as much
as I’ve been trying to forge a solidarity with the poor, I have no idea how
to really do that. What’s going to happen to me? I have no idea how I’m
supposed to grow up, or how I’m supposed to deal with my father.

I just lay here with my head on a box, while my thoughts scream and
wail at me.

Sometime after noon, I hear a knock at the door. It’s not MacKenzie
because she’s gone, and—if she’s smart, and she is—she’s not coming back.

It’s Miles. Finally.

I open the door. “Who buzzed you up?”

“I came in with someone else.” He gathers me in a hug. It feels good to be
in his arms, or at least in somebody’s arms. “How are you, baby?”

“Take a wild guess, Miles.” I step out of his embrace.

How are you, baby? What kind of dumb question was that? He knows
MacKenzie went off to
art
school
, and all my stuff is gone.

He whistles. “You really pissed The Bishop off.”

“Thanks for your insight.”

“Don’t be sarcastic. It doesn’t suit a woman of God.”

“Pardon me, Bishop Junior.”

“Zora, I came by here to see if you’re okay. I didn’t come for your
attitude.”

Man. He really is Bishop Junior.

“Does it look like I’m okay, Miles? And why weren’t you here yesterday
to see if I was okay?”

In fact, why are his hands empty today?

“I thought I’d give you some time to cool off.”

“I’m not the one so angry that I stripped somebody of all their stuff.”