While my life has been going in what feels like a million different directions at once, J has been implementing his earlier plan of getting an open mic poetry event going. The three of us have since been throwing ourselves into this idea whole-heartedly. After some brainstorming, we figured out a way to accommodate a small crowd of people and still maintain floor space for our products. J expects roughly fifty or so people to show up. I expect more—more than what I feel we can comfortably accommodate, but I want to see his idea succeed, and I figure having too many people want in is the kind of problem that we’d actually want to have, versus the alternative.
Sitting around allowing our marketing to be anchored by Soul Sista has run its course. We didn’t ask anyone’s permission to exist, and it makes little sense that we would stop trying to push ourselves to the next level on our own blood, sweat, and tears. At the end of the day, if we allow the situation at Soul Sista to sink us, then that’s on us. We can’t spend our days feeling like we have little control over what we’ve created.
As we review our checklist for the event, the store phone rings.
“Hello?” I answer.
“May I speak to Cool Brown?”
I can tell by the sweetness of her voice that it is Denise, and I want to kick myself for even thinking about the sound of her voice in that way.
“This is he. Denise, is that you?”
She laughs. “Yes. You’re good,” she says.
“I just know your voice. That’s all,” I respond.
“I wanted to call you first.”
I shake my head, but I know she can’t see me. “You just wanted to let me know that the final nails have been placed in my coffin?”
She chuckles. “I guess I should apologize for the way things went down the last time we met up. I had a lot if time to think about what you said. So I went back to my boss and told her that we should stand behind your decision to not do the retraction.”
All of this is new to me, so I sit quietly, listening to make sure that she is saying what I think she is.
“I convinced her to let you finish what you started, and the editors will issue a statement acknowledging a respect for your privacy as you make your selection.”
Now I feel like an ass. I can still remember the way I walked out on her, leaving her with those two gigantic Blockheads burritos. I immediately launch into my own apology.
“I never should have walked out on you like I did. I’m sorry I did that.”
“Don’t sweat it,” she says. “I know the situation was tight, so I can’t blame you. No telling how I would’ve felt if it had been me in the same situation.”
“So where do we go from here?” I ask.
“You just pick up where you left off and do the best you can to finish your dates and make a decision,” Denise says.
“They’re all gone.”
“Who? All of the women?”
“Yes,” I say.
“So you’re telling me that none of the three situations has any potential left in them?” Denise asks, her voice beginning to turn.
“Nada.”
“Oh shit,” she mutters in a way that concerns me.
“What? Talk to me,” I say.
“It’s just that I fought for you to get this chance. Now I feel like a damn fool.”
My mind begins to race with different ideas. I definitely don’t want her to catch flack from something she was doing for me as a favor.
“Don’t worry. We can figure out something,” I say, not having a clue as to what I’m talking about. “Do you want to grab a drink after work or something? We can come up with something.”
I can tell she’s pondering this. When she finally opens her mouth to speak, she tells me to meet her at the BBQ’s down in the Village, the same location of my date with Taylor that went awry. I agree, hoping to put her at ease while I discuss a few options with J and Ray-Ray.
It’s already 3:00 in the afternoon, roughly three hours before I’m supposed to meet up with her, and while that might seem like a long time, when you don’t have a clue as to how to fix a situation that seems largely beyond your control, that three hours may as well be five minutes.
After talking with J and Ray-Ray, I’m no closer to a solution for this latest development. J wants me to revisit Taylor for the sake of bringing about a conclusion that at least makes sense on a fundamental level. Ray-Ray suggests that I just argue for three new girls, citing Flavor Flav’s second season of Flavor of Love as an example. I decide that there is another option that no one has thought of yet, and as I find my way to BBQ’s, I have no clue whatsoever of what that other option is.
I actually arrive before Denise does, so I stand outside under the awning waiting and watching people walk by. Standing there feels like deja vu. I half-expect to see Taylor with her curly, fluffy brown Afro walking by. I can still remember the glow of her golden skin and how I had once wanted to be wrapped in her arms and legs. Then I see her with her “friends,” the men she can’t bring herself to call “ex-boyfriends,” and I’m reminded that I would’ve never been able to have a committed relationship with her. Personally, I just don’t think she really wanted one. Another side of me wonders if I could’ve been in a relationship with a woman who didn’t eat anything that I did. On the surface it’s easy to say that something like that is not a big deal, but after a barbecue or two, I don’t know if I would still feel the same way. I could never cook my favorite dishes for her or share my favorite restaurant meals with her. I know it sounds trivial, but food can be sexy to me, and I feel like that would be something we would have missed out on.
Almost completely lost in my thoughts of Taylor, I almost don’t notice Denise easing up on me.
“Hey, Cool,” she says, her voice tired and not as buoyant as it was earlier.
“Denise,” I say, taking in her tired look. “Please give me a smile, or I’ll feel like I have destroyed your week.”
She musters a smile, just enough for her dimples to appear.
“We’re gonna kill some fried wings and a few drinks and come up with something so that everybody is happy.”
Denise shrugs and follows me inside. We are seated near the back of the restaurant.
“I just don’t know how we can fix any of this. You will have to tell me what happened with these women where you ended up empty-handed.”
I start with my last date with Taylor and explain to her why things didn’t work out. Then I explain the Rochelle situation and how it adversely affected my connection with Sarah.
“How do you fix any of that?” Denise asks.
I shrug my shoulders. “I haven’t quite figured that part out yet. Is it possible to get some more selections from your readers?”
Denise shakes her head. “Rachel already didn’t want to spend any more time and effort on this, so I seriously doubt she would give you any more chances. Whatever you choose to do has to be done with the situation you’ve already started.”
“Something told me you were going to say that,” I respond. “Well, what if I just write one last entry saying that I couldn’t find someone from the three women the readers selected?”
Just then, the server appears and takes our orders. We settle on piña coladas with 151 shots and a giant plate of fried wings.
“I thought about that, too. It would be the truth, but it would be awfully anti-climactic.”
I nod. “But it would be the truth, and that has to count for something, especially since I’ve already been accused of being dishonest.”
Denise smiles. “This whole thing is just proving to be much more than I had anticipated.”
“This was your idea?”
She laughs. “I thought you knew that.”
“Well, now I do. I’m curious. Why me and not some other Joe?” I ask.
“You were the one who got the most mail, and from reviewing your bio, you just seemed like a pretty decent guy, someone who could do this thing in such a way that it would be both entertaining and classy.”
I nod. “You know, my cousin told me that I shouldn’t have ever done this, that I was pimping myself by doing all of this.”
“That was never my intention,” Denise says.
I shrug. “Either way, I have to say that this proves to be much more than I think either of us expected.”
The server appears and places our Texas-sized drinks on the table. We lift the 151 shots.
“A toast to making sense of all of this,” I propose.
“Sounds good to me.”
As our plastic tubes clink, I decide to relax and let all of the cards fall where they may.