Zora and Nicky: A Novel in Black and White (21 page)

“What’s going on this time, lover boy?”

“Zora is here. And Rebecca is here, and she’s in love today. And in case
you didn’t hear me, Zora is here.”

“You’ve got two gorgeous women. Sounds like you’re having a really good
day.”

“I’m afraid I’m not.”

“You more pathetic than I am, Nicky, and that’s real pathetic.”

“I know. And what’s worse, you’re the person that I talk about this with.
And even worse, God won’t kill me.”

“I wish I could help you, but I’m a little intoxicated, and not quite at my
best. Go with God, my friend.”

“Oh, that’s helpful, Richard. You know what? I will never buy another
of your books.”

“Let me know how you get out of this, and I’ll start buying your
books.”

“Richard, I need you.”

“I’m sorry, my friend. I know I’m a disappointment to you. But I’m not
going to be much help right now.”

“You suck, Richard.”

I hang up on him.

I can’t stay in the bathroom for the rest of the day, but I stay there until I
hear my father close out the service. Finally, I take a deep breath and surrender
myself to my fate.

I make my way back into the sanctuary and see Zora scurrying away from
the back of the church. I can’t help it; I have to go to her. I know Rebecca
needs reassurance, but I don’t have any for her. She’s surrounded by people
who love her, but no one is here for Zora.

I notice not one person has spoken to her. No one has welcomed her to
our fold.

“Hey, Dreamy.” I gather her into my arms. I don’t want to admit to
myself how right she feels there. I want to freeze us. Keep us right there for
as long as I can.

As if on cue, Rebecca appears. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your
friend, Nicholas?”

Man! Rebecca has her arm in mine before I’m completely disengaged
from Zora.

She’s a trouper, that Zora. She extends her hand. “You must be Rebecca.
Nicky has told me all about you. I’m Zora.”

“That’s funny. Nicholas hasn’t told me anything about you.”

They give each other the most insincere smiles imaginable. I stand there
with my own completely mystified expression—quite possibly something
between a grimace and a good likeness of Edvard Munch’s silent screamer—
and notice my parents hightailing it from the front of the church so fast they
nearly knock down a few members to get to me.

I’m telling you. They would have nothing to do with me if Zora wasn’t
there. Especially my dad, who claps me on the back. My, my, isn’t everybody
touchy feely today?

“Nicholas, you have a guest today?”

“This is my friend.”

I don’t want to introduce her. I just want to keep her to myself.

“Her name is Zora,” Rebecca says.

Zora, the good politician, stretches forth her mighty hand again.
“Reverend Parker, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Zora Johnson. I
voted for you when you ran for office the very first time I voted.”

He actually recognizes her. “Are you the Reverend Jack Johnson’s daughter,
Zora?”

“Yes, sir. I am. I’m honored that you remembered.”

“Of course. You and your father came to several of our antiabortion
rallies. How is Reverend Johnson?”

“He’s Bishop Johnson now. And uh, he’s …”

I have to rescue her. “He’s
prosperous
!”

Zora tries to suppress a smile. At least I hope that’s a smile she’s trying to
suppress. “Anyway, I know you guys would love to stand here yakkin’ but I’m
sure Zora has to go.”

“Actually, I have nothing to do. At
all
.”

Wicked, wicked woman.

My father is pleased as punch. “Well, Zora, why don’t you come to our
home for dinner? We’d love to have you.”

Not with my grandfather. Might as well ask her to a Ku Klux Klan rally!

“You know, Dad, Zora probably is vegan. And we’re probably having
pot
roast
.”

Mom and Rebecca already look uncomfortable, no doubt wondering if
Zora has strange leftist sociopolitical leanings because of the vegan thing,
even if she is antiabortion. Will she pull a can of red spray paint out from
under her skirt and write
meat is murder
on the Crock-Pot?

Zora reassures everyone. “I’m not vegan. Remember we had chicken at
that lovely restaurant you took me to yesterday? What was it called, The Love
Nest?”

“That’s not what it was called.”

I do not look at Rebecca or my parents. I wonder why Zora wants me
killed.

“Pot roast it is,” I say.

I tried to warn her. She deserves whatever happens. At least that’s what I
tell myself.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ZORA

I walk into that sea of white faces, and it is almost okay because really, there’s
only one white face in the whole crowd I’m looking for. And when his eyes
finally meet mine, he doesn’t look happy to see me.

He sits all the way in the front. I figured he’d be near the front, but in the
very first row? A good son. I don’t even sit in the front row at LLCC. She sits
with him. She almost sits on his lap, she sits so close. Even from across the
crowded church, I can see she’s everything he said she was.

She loves him. Almost worships him. She’ll be a good wife. Perfectly
acceptable.

I try to concentrate on the message, but I want to leave. It’s almost over,
though. Reverend Parker is preaching. There can’t be too much left. I can’t
even concentrate because all I can see is that tripped-out look on Nicky’s face
and him putting his hand over his mouth.

What is he trying to keep from saying? I feel so excited about the prospect
of him seeing me I can’t hear past my own heartbeat.

Not much later he gets up. He walks right past me. I should get up and
disappear while he is wherever he went, but I sit here frozen in place. The only
black person in the entire building. He doesn’t come back into the sanctuary,
and I watch his girlfriend looking for him. Looking at me. She must be
wondering who the lone black woman is who’s gotten her man’s attention.

You don’t have a thing to worry about, honey.

I decide to go ahead and bounce. Reverend Parker is closing the service
out. I leave the sanctuary, thinking I can get out of here before anybody has to
deal with the discomfort of having to greet me. And I find myself in Nicky’s
arms.

He smells like our cologne. He’s holding me, and it feels so good that I
bury my face in his neck and just stay there, thinking everything I thought
was all wrong, because he calls me Dreamy, and he is welcoming. He’s the guy
who writes me poems and buys me art supplies.

Then Rebecca swoops in to break up this little party.

Before I know it, the inquisition starts, and Nicky breaks into a sweat.
His parents descend and oh, Lord. This is awful. I shouldn’t have come. And
now, for the rest of the day I get to live through
Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner?
What have I done? I just want to be with Nicky so bad. I can’t think straight,
or talk straight. Everything keeps coming out of my mouth all wrong. The
look Nicky gave me when I called that restaurant by the wrong name let me
know that this was not going well.

Logistics have to be worked out, which Nicky apparently has a pathological
need to control.

“Okay. Rides. Zora, how did you get to church this morning?”

“I walked.”

“You walked?”

“From my apartment.” I look at his parents. I’ve done pastoral politicking
all my life, but I’m a nervous wreck. Too much information shoots out of my
mouth. “It’s pretty far, but I really wanted to see Nicky.”

Nicky makes some kind of humming, groaning sound.

But I keep going. “Nicky knows where I live, right off Ellsworth and
Shadowwood. He came over last night.”

I probably shouldn’t have said that. Rebecca’s face collapses. She finds her
voice. “He was with me last night.”

Nicky’s father raises his eyebrows and looks at Nicky. “You must be
exhausted
.”

Oh, no. That’s not how things happened at all.

“No, Zora is probably exhausted after all that walking. She walked about
seven miles to get here, Dad. And I think that’s extraordinary. Why don’t you
ride with me, Zora?”

“I’ll ride with you,” Rebecca says. She loves him. She really does.

“I think you should drive your own car, Rebecca.”

I look at her face. Man, is she brave. I’ll bet she’s not certain of anything
having to do with this man. Maybe she never was, but right now, I’ll bet
everything is beginning to crumble because this strange black woman showed
up. And she sees it happening. And how is she going to stop it? He should let
her ride with us.

I try to reassure her. I feel sorry for her. “I think it would be great to ride
together. I’d like to get to know Rebecca more.”

“You can talk with her during dinner.” Now he’s politicking. He wants to
talk alone. I shouldn’t have come.

Rebecca says, “I don’t see why a little ride to your parents’ house would
make a difference.”

Nicky tries—and fails—to charm her with his smile. “That’ll be
inconvenient, honey bunny.” I can tell his parents are mortified at our little
triangle. So am I. “I’ll need to take Zora home later, and then we’d have to
pick up your car.”

Rebecca puts one hand on her hip. “I’m sure that won’t be too much for
you to do for your
girlfriend
.”

“It would be today, Rebecca. Like Dad said, I’m exhausted.”

Nicky runs those longs fingers through his hair. He takes a deep breath
and grabs hold of my arm. “Let’s go, Zora. And Rebecca, just drive your own
car like you do every freakin’ Sunday. Okay?”

He practically drags me to his truck, saying absolutely nothing.

NICKY

I seat her inside my truck and get in myself. The space feels oppressively
small. My eyes look at everything but her face, where I know I’ll see a myriad
of emotions far too deep for me to process right now. I just want to get her
out of here.

Zora’s falling in love too. Nobody walks seven miles to church unless
they love Jesus or somebody in that church, and she could have loved Jesus
in any number of churches. At least that’s what I tell myself. I want to think
she’s falling in love with me. The thought fills me with a deluge of hope so
extravagant I can hardly breathe.

I’m quiet, and so is she, but I can’t hold my need to hear her voice for
long. After a few moments, I speak, but keep my gaze toward the windshield,
as much as I want to look in her face. “Long way to walk, Dreamy.”

“I’m a dancer. I could do it.”

“Why here? Lots of churches closer.”

“I wanted to see you.”

“Why?”

“To say thank you.”

It’s still not what I want, but I’m gonna keep fishing until I’m closer. “Is
that all? You didn’t have to walk all that way to say thanks.”

I’m surprised at how quickly her pretense dissolves.

“I wanted to see you for you, Nicky. I got makeup.
Cheap
makeup that
my mother would disinherit me for if I weren’t already disinherited. I wanted
to look pretty so you would like me like I like you. I thought things were
different between you and Rebecca.”

“Things are different between us, despite how it looked today.”

“I’m not convinced.”

I just sigh. There’ll be a time for this conversation, and a time for one about
her boyfriend. But this isn’t that time. “Don’t do this, Zora. Don’t try to figure
this all out right now. And please, don’t come to dinner at my parents’ house.”

“Why not?”

“They don’t deserve to know you. They already think you’re something I
know you’re not.”

“Myth of the black whore?”

I can’t bring myself to tell her what she knows is true, and then she starts
blaming herself.

“I bought right into it. The restaurant comment and flubbing the name.
Saying you stopped by last night.”

“No, Zora. It was me. I’m the one with the bad reputation, famous for
running around, trying to see how many women I could conquer. I laid the
groundwork for that one. But you shouldn’t have to be a casualty of my past.
Let me take you home. That’s why I didn’t want Rebecca to come with us. I
just wanted to tell you not to come. And I wanted to hear why you walked to
church. That amazes me, Zora.”

“The things you put on my door amazed me. You amaze me, Nicky.”

“Let’s get out of here. Nobody but Rebecca will miss me.”

“Don’t let this be the day she misses you. Please don’t do that to her. Do
you love her?”

“No. I mean, I do, but only in a ‘love thy neighbor’ way. Not in the way
she needs me to. I’m not in love with her at all.”

“She’s in love with you.”

“I know.”

“And now they all think you have jungle fever.”

I snicker. “I may really have it, God help me.” Then I give her a shy look.
“Any ideas about what to do about that?”

She starts singing the Jungle Fever theme song, only she changes the
words to match our alleged pairing.

“I’ve got jungo feeeva, heeee’s got juungo feeva, we’ve got jungo feeeva. We’re
in love!”

“You are so wrong for that.”

“She’s gone white boy craaazy, heeeee’s gone black girl haaaaazy, ain’t no
thinkin’ maaaaaybe we’re in love!”

I know she’s clowning, but the lyrics convict me. Not the white boy crazy,
or the black girl hazy part. The part where she says, “We’re in love.”

“Cut it out, Zora.”

“Are you trying to get sensitive on me now? Did that one ethnic-sensitivity
training class you took at Berkeley just come to mind?”

“It might surprise you to know that maybe the fever I have burning for
you is not about sex. And maybe I want to take you away because I don’t
really want them to think you’re my little black plaything.”

She narrows her eyes, but they’re sparkling and playful. “Are you sure you
just don’t want them to know you got you a little chocolate swirl to go with
that vanilla
ice
.”

I tease her back. “I would never have guessed such a sweet girl, a
bishop’s daughter like yourself, would have such a wicked sense of humor.
The stereotype that white women are frigid—I’m appalled by your lack of
sensitivity, Zora. I shouldn’t encourage you.”

“You didn’t encourage me.”

“Maybe that’s because you aren’t my chocolate swirl.”

I want to add, “but you
can
be. Have mercy!” But I don’t say it aloud.