Past
It was a hot and stifling Sunday afternoon, and Pastor Jenkins was running long. I enjoyed a good message, but if Pastor was going to get up there preaching for an hour he needed to take a special offering to get some air-conditioning. I fanned myself constantly to keep from forming perspiration stains on my new dress.
One of my best friends and fellow armor bearer, Ebony, passed me a note. It read, Someone is looking at you. I smiled, shook my head, and crumpled up the little slip of paper.
Ebony was referring to Marvin Baker. He was the only prospect of a husband that I’d ever had. Things hadn’t worked out at all, but Ebony insisted that he still wanted to change my last name. She always imagined that she caught him gazing at me with longing in his eyes.
I ignored Ebony grinning at me, her gray eyes sparkling with excitement. Although she was eager to marry me off, she never seemed to want the same for herself. She was a beautiful girl, petite and shapely, though no one would ever know the way she covered herself in her “holy” garments. She had hair that came to the middle of her back, but it was always twisted into a neat ball at the nape of her neck. She refused to put on any makeup, not even lip gloss. Personally, I thought it was a waste, but she felt she was called by God to be single.
Finally Pastor Jenkins was saying the benediction, and I was so glad. As soon as we said “Amen,” First Lady Jenkins sent Ebony on some errand. I stood next to her as she greeted the church members.
After everyone had said their hellos, First Lady turned to me and asked, “How are you feeling this fine Sunday afternoon?”
That was, on the surface, a fairly innocuous question. However, did First Lady Jenkins want to know how I felt in the spirit? If that was the case, I would respond, First Lady, I feel good down in my sanctified soul. However, if she was referring to my natural, physical existence . . . well, that was a whole other story.
I’d tried something new with my wardrobe that morning. Instead of my normal blacks and earth tones, I had listened to the advice of a bubbly salesperson and donned an orange dress. She told me that bright colors were really becoming popular for plus-size women (that’s what she called us . . . I prefer big girls). She said that the bright color would draw attention to the dress and away from my weight. I wasn’t so sure about that. I had all my armor on (not spiritual armor, but my serious one-piece body shaper), and still I thought I looked like an autumn pumpkin. Not to mention that my feet felt like sausages, crammed into size nine shoes when I really should have gotten size nine and a half.
I responded, “First Lady, I feel good today.”
“Well, all right. You’re looking good, too, honey.”
“Are you sure this orange looks all right?”
First Lady laughed. “What you doing, girl? Fishing for compliments?”
“No. I wasn’t sure about it when I put it on this morning.”
“Well, you look lovely. So are you excited about the wedding?” She’d clapped her hands together when she asked. Obviously, she was excited about it.
I hesitated before responding. “Um, y-yes. Yes I am.”
The wedding. My best friend was to be married in a week, and I kept forgetting that I was supposed to be thrilled about the event. Lynette and I had been best friends for fifteen years, but I had to question the friendship of a woman who insisted that I (all 260 pounds of me) wear a strapless gown.
When Lynette told me a year ago that she was getting married, I vowed to lose at least fifty pounds. When I started on the Linda Turtle weight loss regimen, I was pumped. Ms. Linda Turtle’s television commercials depicted big girls who had been transformed into svelte fat-free vixens. I knew I was going to be a success story.
About six weeks into the plan, I had lost a grand total of five pounds. I’d followed that diet to the letter (okay, maybe I’d slipped up once or twice or thrice), but my reward was a measly five pounds. That’s what I call invisible weight loss. I couldn’t tell where on my body those five pounds were lost from, and as a matter of fact I don’t think they were lost at all. I think they were just playing hide-and-seek and were readying themselves to reappear at any moment in a new form, maybe underneath my chin or on the back of one of my arms.
Needless to say, I gave up without much of a fight. I didn’t have enough time to lose the amount of weight to actually make a difference. At 260 pounds, even if I lost 50, I’d still be fat. A fat girl in a strapless bridesmaid’s gown.
Now, although I wouldn’t be shapely for the blessed occasion, I still planned to have a smile on my face, because I truly was happy for my friend. Her two sons needed some type of positive male influence in their lives, and Lynette’s fiancé, Jonathan, was the answer to her prayers. From the moment he walked into their lives he was better to those boys than their daddy ever was, and ten times better to Lynette. No, make that a hundred times better. Her ex-husband Brian was a treacherous leech.
I started to ask First Lady Jenkins if she needed anything, but I noticed a smile spreading across her lips. I followed her gaze across the sanctuary to Brother Marvin Baker. First Lady and Ebony were in cahoots on hooking the two of us up. They didn’t care how many times I told her that neither one of us was interested. First Lady waved at him, and he slowly walked over. I knew he didn’t want to come anywhere near me, but I wasn’t hurt. The feeling was mutual.
I spoke first. “Praise the Lord, Bro Marvin.”
“Praise Him,” he said dryly.
First Lady smiled as if she had accomplished something, but Marvin just stood there looking constipated. He was like all of the other brothers I’d ever encountered. He probably thought that I still had a thing for him. I did not. The whole relationship with him was one of my most humiliating experiences.
First of all, let me say that Mr. Marvin was not the best-looking brother around—and that’s being nice. He was overweight, and all his clothing was just a little bit too snug. He had a mundane career—he was a research analyst at a law firm—but at least he did have a job. To top it all off, it was only a matter of time until the brother sported a George Jefferson hairstyle. But with all that going against him, he thought he was too good for me. It never ceased to amaze me how even the most undesirable brothers in the church were searching for the sisters who looked just like Halle Berry.
First Lady had made Marvin and me a team to plan a group outing for the singles committee. I’d thought that we had a lot in common. We both loved the Lord, we both loved the church, and we were both single and looking. I also thought that we had connected, but I was wrong.
Before we were even officially dating, Marvin had the nerve to go around telling members of the singles committee that I was stalking him. He said I was calling him and e-mailing him every day, wanting to pray with him. Excuse me for actually caring about him. And to set the record straight he called me as much as I called him. He didn’t start flipping on me until a new sister joined the church, one whom he thought he was going to hook up with. All I had to take is one look at her and I knew she was out of Marvin’s league.
After the new sister completely dogged Marvin, he had the audacity to come back and try to mend fences with me. As badly as I wanted to be in a relationship, I was not about to be a doormat; nor was I taking sloppy seconds. I told Marvin that we could be friends, so he decided to stop speaking to me.
My story with Marvin was the story of my relationship life. In high school, as big as I was, I was virtually invisible to the opposite sex. It didn’t help that my best friend, Lynette, was in the homecoming court every year and a cheerleader to boot. Lynette never seemed to notice that the boys didn’t like me. She always acted like I had some elusive secret admirer who would soon show his face. When this prince never arrived, I lived vicariously through Lynette’s puppy love ordeals and prayed that it would someday be my turn to experience the giggles and butterflies in my stomach. I ended up spending prom night alone and in tears.
My college years were supposed to be better. If there was a guy on campus who appreciated a woman with a little extra meat on her bones, he was going to find me and we were going to live happily ever after. I even worked on my personality. I didn’t want any hindrances when my prince finally came along. I brushed up on current events, read interesting novels, and honed my conversation skills—only to find that the one brother in town who liked big girls was already happily involved.
By the time I hit my senior year, I was distraught and discouraged. Lynette tried to include me in social functions and convinced me that the only reason I didn’t have a boyfriend was that I’d been making myself scarce. I joined the Black Student Union with Lynette thinking that I’d meet someone who wanted to make a change in the world.
At the first meeting I was introduced, by Lynette, to a debonair young man named Justin. He was quite active in his church and couldn’t help but tell everyone that he was saved. Even though I was nonchurched—my family attended on Christmas and Easter—I was thoroughly impressed by Justin’s zeal and dedication. He invited me and Lynette to his church, and we both accepted his invitation with stars in our eyes. We both found Jesus—and Lynette found a boyfriend. I didn’t hold it against Lynette. She had no idea that I’d hoped Justin would be my first real boyfriend.
I flourished in my church environment. I was a single woman in a sea of many single women. On the surface, it was perfectly acceptable to be single, as long as I was living my life for Christ. Beneath the facade, however, were hordes of single women who craved love, husbands, and children.
It was hard to be a church member and not be married. I felt that married women were validated by the fact that they’d been chosen. I was always hearing about the “virtuous woman” as the epitome of femininity and womanhood. The virtuous woman did it all: ran a business, took care of her household, and of course was the main jewel in her husband’s crown. Most of the women of faith in the Bible had husbands backing them up, and the single women of faith were mostly harlots! I wanted to be a faithful wife and not a faithful woman of ill repute.
Lynette was waving to me from across the church. She started walking over with two of her other bridesmaids in tow. They looked like three models prancing down the catwalk. Lynette was five foot nine, taller than the other women, and weighed probably 140 pounds—and that was after she’d eaten a big meal, wearing her heaviest jeans and a sweater. This morning she was wearing a fitted red suit, the skirt just barely reaching her calves. It was sharp. Now, Lynette . . . she looked good in bright colors.
“Praise the Lord, First Lady. Praise the Lord, Char!” said Lynette in her most cheery, upbeat tone.
“You betta praise Him,” replied First Lady.
“Hey girl.”
“That orange is pretty,” she said after appraising my outfit with a swift glance.
“You think so? I think maybe it’s too much.”
“Not at all. You know, not everybody can wear orange.”
First Lady smiled, but I narrowed my eyes and frowned. Lynette had just affirmed that I looked horrible in the orange getup. She thought she was slick, but I knew her too well. Lynette was one of those people who didn’t feel comfortable talking to others without complimenting them on something. Usually, if there were no redeeming qualities to my outfit, she’d comment on my hair. She had never actually said that she liked my dress. She just said that she liked the color orange. Slick, but not quite slick enough.
Alicia, one of the anemic-looking bridesmaids, said, “Charmayne, the rehearsal dinner is at Shenanigans Seafood House. It will start Friday evening at six thirty. Please be on time.”
“That’s not a problem. I’ll be there.”
I bit my tongue, not once but twice, to avoid saying something nasty to Alicia. The only reason she was even in the wedding party was that she was Jonathan’s sister, but she came in and promptly took over in the planning department. Somehow she’d forgotten that I was the maid of honor. I knew she was getting on Lynette’s nerves, too, because Lynette was flashing her fake grin—the one where she would be grinding her teeth underneath her lips.
Lynette said, “Of course she’ll be there on time. Charmayne, you feel like some dessert? I sure could use some cheesecake.”
I didn’t feel like dessert, but coming from Lynette this was not just a trivial invitation. Whenever she was under stress, or really needed to talk about something important, Lynette had to hash things out with a mouthful of something sweet. She was apt to come over my house at two o’clock in the morning with ice cream and cookie dough, and usually tears in her eyes.
“Mmm-hmm, I’ll go as soon as I’m off duty.”
I ignored Lynette’s very audible sigh, and immediately responded to First Lady’s signal to leave. I quickly collected her Bible and handbag and rolled my eyes at Lynette in the process. My best friend hated it when I was on armor bearer duty. She tried to pretend that I was being abused by our pastor’s wife, but Lynette just didn’t like sharing my attention.
Once inside First Lady’s office, she plopped down in her chair wearily. I neatly placed her hat in its hatbox and handed First Lady her comfortable shoes. Ebony walked into the office right behind us, her errand completed.
“You know,” said First Lady, “Brother Marvin is just playing hard to get.”
Ebony gave First Lady Jenkins a high five. I laughed at their joint attack.
“Am I supposed to chase him?” I asked.
Ebony replied, “Absolutely not! He’s just going to end up missing out on a good thing.”
“I don’t think he’s concerned about that.”
“He should be.” First Lady eased her tired feet out of her pretty high heels. She’d shouted up a storm during service and was definitely paying the price.
I imagined Lynette waiting impatiently outside First Lady’s office. “Do you need anything else before I leave, First Lady?”
“No, Charmayne. I think I can make it from here.”
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” asked Ebony.
“Lynette is having a crisis.”
“Oh, brother! She’s always having a crisis.”
“I know. But she really needs me this time.”
I walked around First Lady’s desk and gave her a hug and planted a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Ebony, I’ll call you tonight.”
“Right after you rescue Lynette?”
I laughed and nodded. Ebony didn’t care much for Lynette. She felt that Lynette was shallow and bothersome. Ebony hated that I was always there to clean up Lynette’s messes and rescue her from her dilemmas. Lynette, on the other hand, found Ebony to be uptight and too deep for her own good. Every time Lynette heard Ebony quote a scripture she would roll her eyes and say something under her breath. Usually I felt torn between the two of them, because I always had to choose one or the other. They never wanted all three of us to do anything together, and if I chose one, I wouldn’t get a phone call from the other for a week or so.
I stepped outside the office door. True to her character, Lynette was standing there with her arms folded and lips protruding.
I laughed at her antics. “Girl, what is wrong with you?”
“Are you finally finished?”
“Yes. Why do you always hate on my ministry?”
Lynette rolled her eyes. “Ministry? Girl, please. I’m sure the Lord has more in mind for you than carrying other folks’ Bibles.”
I shook my head in silent resignation and followed Lynette out of the church. We headed for Lynette’s favorite dessert spot. It was a tiny little coffeehouse called Coffee and Cake. Their coffee wasn’t very good, but they ordered their desserts from someone who had definitely seen the inside of a Down South kitchen. The peach cobbler was heavenly (or should I say hellish? It had to be about three thousand calories per bite), and the sweet potato pie tasted like it was especially prepared to cap off a Thanksgiving feast.
“Charmayne,” lamented Lynette in between huge bites of German chocolate cake, “I just don’t know what it is!”
“Lynette. We’ve talked about this before. It’s cold feet. That’s all it is.”
“I don’t know, Char. I think the Lord might be telling me that Jonathan is not the one.”
It was my turn to sigh. We’d literally had this exact same conversation about fifty times. Lynette was constantly searching for a sign that she shouldn’t marry Jonathan. If the man was five minutes late for a date, or forgot to call when he said he would, or ordered her the chicken sandwich with cheese when he knew she hated cheese . . . it was a sign from the Lord.
“Well, it is important to obey the voice of the Lord.”
“Exactly!” exclaimed Lynette, slamming her fist down on the table for an added touch.
I continued, “I have always made it a point to seek God’s face on a matter until I feel His perfect peace.”
Lynette frowned. “Could you be any more self-righteous?”
“Me? You’re the one talking about hearing from God! I’m trying to help you out.”
“To be honest, I’m not sure if God is telling me not to marry Jonathan.”
“Could you possibly be confusing your own doubts with hearing from God?”
Lynette leaned over the table anxiously and said, “I don’t know. It’s just that sometimes he’ll do something to make me nervous. Like just the other day he bought me yellow roses.”
“Okay . . .” I hoped I rolled my eyes hard enough, because Lynette was being absolutely ridiculous.
“Come on, Charmayne! Yellow roses?”
“What is wrong with yellow roses? They’re pretty.”
Lynette threw her hands into the air as if she were only stating the obvious. “You don’t buy yellow roses for your fiancée. You buy red roses. Yellow roses mean friendship. Maybe the Lord is trying to speak to my spirit.”
“From what I can tell, Jonathan is a good man. You need to go before the Lord and pray, girl. That’s the only way you’re going to know for sure.”
“But what if God doesn’t say anything?”
“You’ve got to go by that feeling of peace. Let your spirit lead.”
Lynette contemplated my words over another bite of cake. “He is a good man, isn’t he? And the boys love him.”
“So do you, crazy lady.”
“Yes, you’re right. I suppose I do.”
“You suppose?”
“Okay, I do, but I can’t believe next Saturday is coming up so quickly. It seems like he just proposed to me last night.”
“Time flies when you’re having fun, right?”
“I guess. Speaking of fun, I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”
I groaned. Why couldn’t Lynette just leave me alone? At age thirty-six I had only ever had one boyfriend, and that was in high school. His name was William and it turned out that he was dating me because he’d lost a bet, so I couldn’t even count him as a real boyfriend. He took me to a football game and I sat in the stands cheering with him, feeling like almost like a normal teenager. When we went to the local hangout after the game, I ignored all the giggles and whispers and held my head up, totally enjoying being on the arm of a somewhat handsome and popular boy.
But then Lynette overheard some of the cheerleaders laughing about William losing a bet to one of the football players. She had tears in her eyes when she’d told me about this. We cried for weeks over that boy. Not because I’d liked him so much, but because he’d made me a laughingstock.
I shook my head adamantly. “Lynette. I do not want to be set up. You know how I feel about that.”
Lynette pleaded, “But, Charmayne, this guy is different. He’s got money and he adores thick women.”
“Girl, I passed thick about ten dress sizes ago.”
Lynette rolled her eyes. “You are not that big! Plus you’re solid. It’s not like you have rolls hanging from everywhere.”
She called me solid. Was that supposed to be a compliment? The fact that I probably could’ve been a defensive tackle for a NFL team had to be an asset.
“I’m not even going there with you, Lynette. You say this guy has money? What does he do?”
Lynette’s big eyes widened with hope. “Does that mean you’re interested?”
“Not yet,” I responded with deliberate indifference. “Just answer the question.”
“Well, he owns a funeral parlor.”
“Oh, God.”
“What? He’s an entrepreneur.”
I wasn’t trying to be funny, and I surely didn’t have room to be too picky, but come on. He owned a funeral parlor and liked big women? There had to be something wrong with the man.
“Lynette, I prefer professional men. You know that.”
“He is a professional!”
“You know what I mean, Lynette.”
Lynette pursed her lips tightly and rolled her neck. “Oh, just because you’re a bank president and all, that means you can’t be bothered with a simple hardworking brother?”
“Of course I can be bothered, but we probably won’t have anything to talk about,” I answered honestly.
“So you’ll see him then? Tomorrow night at seven thirty.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
I walked into the restaurant, and I immediately spotted Lynette and Jonathan. He looked dashing in his tan sport coat ensemble. Lynette, who had her arm linked in his, was wearing a cream-colored linen cocktail dress. Her ebony skin glowed as she stood next to the man she was obviously in love with. As usual, I felt underdressed. I was wearing a black blazer and skirt that I’d purchased from Saks. The outfit was expensive but sensible—something I’d wear to work. I didn’t even own a cocktail dress. Most of the cocktail dresses I’d seen didn’t cover enough flesh to make them practical, and it wasn’t often that I got the opportunity to wear one.
“Hey, girl!” Lynette was extremely bubbly that evening. She was smiling broadly, making sure the entire restaurant got a good glimpse of the orthodontic work she’d spent thousands of dollars on.
I responded apprehensively, “Hello, Lynette. Hi, Jonathan.”
I nervously scanned the room, hoping to get a look at my date before he saw me. Lynette was grinning so hard, her eyes were little slits. There was nothing that amusing going on in the restaurant.
“So are you excited?” Lynette gushed.
I couldn’t help but sigh. No. I was not excited, and Lynette had been my friend long enough to know that. I had pretty low expectations when it came to men—make that doubly low when it was a blind date. I had a theory about blind dates. Anyone willing to accept one had to be operating on some level of desperation.
“I’m not even going to acknowledge that question.”
Jonathan covered his mouth with his hand and let out a miniature chuckle. Lynette elbowed him in the ribs, seemingly more out of playful annoyance than anger. She let out a little squeal as my “date” approached, but all I could do was drop my jaw in shock. Lynette mistook my expression to be one of pleased awe.
She said, “I know! Isn’t he great?”
I had just received more confirmation that my best friend ought to be committed. The man standing in front of me was at least fifty-five, and that’s being generous. He was wearing a brown, tight-fitting, polyester suit that was completely out of style, not to mention too hot for the muggy summer evening. His hair was an alarming, unnatural shade of black, and if my eyes were seeing correctly, his hair color seemed to run right on over onto the backs of his ears and neck.
“Well, well, well, Nettie, you ain’t tell me she was a redbone!” exclaimed my date while smacking his lips. I was thoroughly terrified that he was going to take a bite out of my arm.
That time, Jonathan didn’t even attempt to hide his laughter. I was sure that in a few years, I, too, would look back on the date and laugh. At the time, however, I was horrified beyond words.
Lynette giggled. “Charmayne Ellis, meet Willie Brown.”
I extended my hand for a polite handshake, but Mr. Willie Brown was what they call an old-school Casanova. He took my hand, and instead of shaking it, bent over and planted a juicy kiss on my palm before I got the chance to snatch it away. I wanted to gag!
“Girl, I am pleased to make your acquaints.”
Yes. The man said acquaints. I supposed that he meant acquaintance. If Jonathan laughed any harder, he was going to have an accident. He wasn’t the only one, though. His fiancée was going to “accidentally” come home with a speed knot on her head from where I planned on popping her. I wondered where she knew Willie from anyway. He was probably someone from her mama’s church.
“No, Mr. Brown. The pleasure is all mine.”
He smacked again and rubbed his hands together. “Aww, thicky. You ain’t got to call me Mr. Brown. Just call me Big Willie.”
Before I could reply, the restaurant hostess came forward. She motioned for us to follow her to a table. For some reason my feet weren’t moving. I stood there, stuck in place, lamenting the depths to which my love life had sunk. I wasn’t sure I could make it through the evening—or the rest of my life, for that matter. Not if I could only expect the likes of Willie Brown for companionship.
Lynette pulled me by the arm. “Come on, Charmayne.”
“Girl, I’ve got to go and wash my hand!” I was holding my hand out far away from my body, as if it were infected with the Ebola virus.
“Quit tripping, Charmayne.”
Lynette literally dragged me to the table, and all I could think of was getting Big Willie’s saliva off my hand. When we got to the table, Willie pulled out a chair for me. I sat down and scooted myself up to the table, because I didn’t want him to try to push my chair in. I didn’t want the man to have even the slightest opportunity to touch me again.
Lynette said, “So, Willie, are you going to be at my wedding? You know it’s next Saturday, up at the church.”
Willie grinned, exposing his aged gold teeth. “You know I’m gone be there, sweetie. ’Specially if your friend here is also attending.”
“Charmayne is the maid of honor.”
Willie rubbed his hands together again and winked. “Well, then I’m gone be sitting in the front row.”
It was the second time that evening I had the desire to vomit. I kicked Lynette under the table. Naturally, she ignored me. I had to have a serious talk with my best friend. Her matchmaking days were over.
Jonathan came to my rescue. He asked, “Willie, what’s it like being in business for yourself? I bet it feels good.”
Willie patted his oversize belly. “Man, it feels better than good. I set my own hours. I get up and go when I want to. If I wanted to go to the Poconos one week with my lady, I could just go.”
How come Willie looked at me when he said the Poconos? He couldn’t even take me to the corner store, much less out of state.
Willie continued, “I’m one of those men who want to take care of a lady. I don’t want no woman of mine working.”
Lynette said, “There aren’t too many men like you around, isn’t that right, Charmayne?”
“I can honestly say that I’ve never met anyone like you . . . Big Willie,” I added with a tight-lipped smile.
I sipped my water and looked around the restaurant. It was a Monday night, so the place was pretty empty. It was a good thing, too, because I didn’t want to run into anyone I knew while I was on a date with Willie Brown.
Willie asked, “Charmayne, what do you do for a living?”
“I work at the bank.”
Lynette said, “She doesn’t just work at the bank. She is the president of Grace Savings and Loan.”
I kicked Lynette again. I had no intentions of telling that man all my business. I planned never to see him again.
“A president, huh? So you making the big bucks. I guess you don’t need a man to take care of you,” said Willie, almost looking sad about it.
I responded curtly, “If you’re asking if I need a sugar daddy, then the answer is no.”
Lynette laughed. “Well, I sure don’t want to work. That’s why I’m lucky that I found Jonathan.”
Jonathan said, “I’m the lucky one.”
Any other time I would have been irritated by their showing of affection. But anything was a nice diversion from Willie Brown’s drooling over me.
Willie said, “Well, I’m happy for y’all. It’s so nice to see young folks in love. It’s real nice. I just got one question for you, Jonathan. Can Nettie cook? She look too pretty to be in the kitchen frying chicken.”
“I’ll have you know that my Lynette is very skillful in the kitchen,” announced Jonathan proudly.
I almost choked on a mouthful of water. That was the first funny thing I’d heard all evening. Lynette’s most complex culinary offering was beans and franks. If it wasn’t for me, her sons would have been raised on frozen dinners and bologna sandwiches. She was looking at me with a don’t-even-think-about-opening-your-mouth expression. She didn’t have to worry. Jonathan was going to find out soon enough.
Willie said, “That is a blessing, man. A woman has got to know how to cook a good Sunday meal. I bet Charmayne can put her foot in some collard greens.”
“Why do you think that?” I asked angrily.
Willie ignored my apparent insult and replied, “Girl, you just look like you can cook.”
If I had a nickel for every time I heard that mess, I could’ve been someone’s sugar mama. I didn’t get big eating home-cooked food. I got big eating burgers four times a week. The fact that I could cook had nothing to do with it. I happened to have a grandmother who ran a soul food restaurant. I’d been making biscuits and candied yams ever since I could reach a tabletop. So, yes, I could put my foot in some collard greens, but I still hated people assuming that I could cook.
“I’ll have you know, Willie, that not every big woman knows how to fix collard greens.”
“I don’t know why Charmayne is being modest tonight,” Lynette said. “She cooks better than my mama.”
With perfect timing a perky waitress walked up to our table. The restaurant’s menu consisted of expensive soul food dishes, but I couldn’t muster up much of an appetite. Out of habit, I ordered the chicken and waffles. I rolled my eyes as Big Willie ordered the Cornish hen and jambalaya platter (pronounced coanish hen and jam-bay-layee).
When everyone had placed their order, Lynette resumed the inane chitchat. I no longer wanted to be a part of their conversation, so I let my mind drift. Monday had been a very stressful day for me, and the rest of the week wasn’t looking any better. I had gone against all my good judgment and recommended a friend’s daughter to supervise a group of night-shift proof operators. After working for a few months, she’d started abusing the attendance policy. The girl had a long weekend every week. She, or somebody in her household, was forever getting sick, and it always fell on either a Monday or a Friday.
I guess it was obvious that I didn’t plan on engaging in much conversation, because Lynette started talking about her favorite subject of late—her wedding. I say her wedding, and not their wedding, because the only thing Jonathan had contributed to the big day was his checkbook. Jonathan adored Lynette, though, so he would have probably spent his last dime giving her everything she wanted. I suppose some people would think that was a beautiful thing, but truthfully Jonathan needed to set some boundaries for Lynette. She would spend them right into the poorhouse if he let her. I’d seen her buy an outfit when she knew she should’ve been paying a gas bill or buying some groceries. I couldn’t count the number of times that I’d had to loan (and I use that term loosely) her money to keep her from getting evicted or to get her lights turned back on.
I was glad when our food finally got to the table. It was another useful diversion, and I thought that maybe Willie wouldn’t be able to talk so much once he started chewing on his tough-looking Cornish hen.
Toward the end of the meal, I noticed that it had gotten really warm in the restaurant. It felt like the air-conditioning had been turned off all of a sudden. I didn’t feel too uncomfortable, but I couldn’t say the same thing for Big Willie. He had big beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
Willie said, “It shole is hot up in here.”
“It is kind of toasty,” Jonathan agreed.
Willie took off his polyester jacket, and I was not the least bit shocked that he had huge perspiration circles under his arms. He picked up his white cloth napkin from the table and wiped his face. When he laid the napkin down, it was streaked with a huge black stain. First I thought that it was dirt; then I realized that it was his hair dye.
Lynette looked at the napkin and said, “What the . . . ?”
Willie was mortified, and I really felt sorry for him. He had gone through a whole lot of changes just to impress me, but I was sitting up there dogging the poor man. He snatched the napkin from the table and put it in his lap.
The waitress came back to the table and asked if anyone wanted dessert. Willie said “no” like he was in a big hurry to leave. Well, for the first time that evening, we were on the same page. Willie took the check from the waitress and gave her his credit card. It was sweet of him to treat everybody. He was probably a real nice man.
When we left the restaurant, Willie walked me to my car. I told him that he didn’t have to, but of course he’d insisted. I felt really guilty, because I had no idea how to gracefully brush a man off. I’d never had to do it before. I was usually the brushee and not the brusher. I just knew that I was going to hurt his feelings.
Willie said, “You’ve got a nice car, Ms. Charmayne.”
“Thanks.”
“I guess it’s no need for me to ask for your phone number.”
“Willie, I’m sure you’re a good man, but I don’t think I’m the one for you.”
“Well, you haven’t even given me a chance.”
“At this point in my life, I really don’t have much time to waste on dating. If and when God sends me a husband, I’ll know it.”
“Lady, I hope everything works out for you, ’cause a nice car and a nice house shole can’t keep you warm at night.”
Willie opened my car door and stood outside until I pulled off. He was right in some respects. Nice things didn’t replace having a man. On the other hand, I was not about to settle for a polyester-wearing, hair-dyeing, tired wannabe sugar daddy. It didn’t get that cold at night. And if it did, I’d buy an electric blanket.