Daylight was beginning to peek into my bedroom, but I hadn't closed my eyes since I climbed into my bed a little after one. My insomnia had started with the text that had come about ten minutes after I laid my head down.
What is going on? You know Tamara is gonna want out and I won't be able to stop her. Call me.
I'd read Maury's text and just laid back down. He wasn't telling me anything that I didn't already know. How would I even ask Tamara to go on stage after what happened? Even if I postponed the show for a few weeks, that was going to cost me a lot of money.
It was those thoughts that had kept me awake, those thoughts, along with the feeling that at any moment, police would come banging on my door. They had to be unfolding Randy's history and as they did, they'd discover that I knew all about his past. So their question would be, why had I hired him?
I had my story ready, though. Randy had been accused, but never convicted. Hell, he'd never even been arrested! So I was just one of those good people who believed in giving bad people a second chance.
That made me sigh. Because no matter how I spun the story, the star of my play had killed my band director. It would be in all the trade papers, all the tabloids, on all the blogs, and would probably make mainstream media, too.
Rolling over and facing the door reminded me that Eli hadn't even come back to the room. I wasn't even sure if my husband was still in Charlotte. Not that I wanted to complain too much about this. I couldn't even imagine what it would have been like if Eli had walked into the hotel with me last night. And I didn't want to imagine what he was going to say about this now. Especially if what I believed came true - if I had to cancel the play now, I wouldn't be able to pay Eli back his money. And if I couldn't pay him back, would he ever be willing to fund me again?
It was amazing that I had to ask that question when Eli was the one who had made pursuing my dream part of the deal. He'd woven that all into his marriage proposal....
April 4, 2009
"I know you may not feel about me the way I feel about you, but I want to take care of you, Gwen."
I shook my head, but I wasn't doing that just because of his words. It was the ring that he held in front of me that had me shaking my head to make sure that my brain and my senses were still in place.
"Uh," I began, not looking at him; how could I when there was all this bling shining in front of me, "I don't want anyone to take care of me."
"Well, maybe I'm not saying it the right way," Eli said. "Maybe what I want to do is help you achieve your dreams. You inspire me, and this is what I want to do."
I couldn't believe this was happening to me. Not that I didn't enjoy being with Eli, these past seven, eight months (I wasn't sure, I'd kinda lost track) had been so much fun. But I think it was more about how much he liked to talk about me: always asking me questions about how I'd grown up (I always thought people from Brooklyn were the coolest), why I wore my hair the way I did (So what's the difference between braids and Sister Locs?), and his fascination with my clothes (You don't go to Africa to buy them, do you?)
Even though some of his questions made me ask -- are white people really that out of touch -- I knew that Eli questioned me with the best intentions. He was just a curious white man who'd never had to walk inside a black world.
That was all there was to it because whenever he stayed away from my race, our conversations made me feel wonderful: You're as talented as any of those playwrights on Broadway; that's where I want to see you one day -- on Broadway.
But even with all the time we spent together, it wasn't like I'd ever imagined us as a couple. I mean, I guess we had been dating if you called going to the movies and dinners, and kissing and making out afterward, dating. But we hadn't even slept together.
And now, he wanted to get married? How could I say yes? First he was older (by ten years), then he was richer (by at least ten zeros) and finally, he...was...white! I couldn't marry a white guy - I was the one who had thought about changing my name to Adaeze, my favorite West African name.
I hesitated, but that didn't indicate a denial to Eli. He talked me into taking the ring.
"Just hold onto it, for a day or two. And then, we'll talk about it some more."
There didn't seem to be any crime in that.
I couldn't wait to get home and tell Sheila. I expected her to be excited, but when I told her about Eli's proposal, she looked at me (and the ring) in horror.
"Gal, tell me that you are not going to marry that man," she said, her West Indian accent thicker with her appall.
Her attitude made my own enthusiasm dip. "I don't know. I haven't decided. But why would you say it like that?"
She tsked, then said, "Because that man doesn't want to marry you."
"Uh...." I held the ring up in front of her face.
She slapped the box away. "He doesn't want to marry you ." My frown made her continue. "Think about it. Look at that man. Why would he, with all of his money, want to marry you?"
"Gee, thanks," I said, plopping down on her couch.
"I'm just keeping it, how do you say, real...I'm just keeping it real. I think he's just fascinated by you. He gets to take a trip to Africa without getting on a plane. You're exotic and he's black-curious, you're his forbidden fruit."
"Black-curious?" I was both insulted and fascinated by that expression that I'd never heard. "If that was all I am to him, then he wouldn't have to marry me."
She nodded. "Oh yes, he would. He doesn't see you as a whore, he sees you as a Madonna."
"Huh?"
"Look it up on the Internet, but I'm telling you, he will marry you, but when the newness of it all wears off, when he finds out that you are just a black woman, and even worse, just a woman...."
She sure knew how to mess up a good marriage proposal. "Why does it have to be all of that?" I folded my arms. "Why can't it be that he just loves me?"
She mimicked my stance. "Did he say that he loved you?"
"Yeah," I said, though that was a lie. I couldn't remember. I scrolled through the words that I knew he said...that I was special, that he'd never met anyone like me, that he wanted to take care of me and help me achieve my dream.
"And let me ask you this?" Sheila stepped all over my thoughts. "Do you love him?"
I pressed my lips together, saying nothing. If she had asked me this question first, before she'd gone off on me, I might have told her my truth. That I didn't really love, Eli -- yet -- but I really did like him. But what I did love was the thought that I wouldn't have to struggle anymore. I had been struggling for so long, since I was four really. When my mother had me shipped from Haiti because the wife of the man who was my father, threatened to have me taken away from her.
It didn't seem to occur to my mother that she lost me anyway, since in my three decades on this earth, I'd only seen my mother twice since she'd sent me to live with one relative then another in New York. I was an orphan, always in a place where I was only half-welcomed, always feeling like I was on my own. Now, that I was right at the beginning of making my mark in my profession, it would be a beautiful thing to have someone like Eli willingly taking this journey with me.
"You don't love him." She stated that as if she knew for sure that were a fact.
I lifted my chin, daring her to say that again.
And she did. "You don't love him. You love his money and I'm telling you, Gal, this will have a no-good ending."
Turning around, I stomped out of Sheila's apartment, determined never to say another word to her again in life. She hadn't walked in my shoes, she didn't know my struggle or my story, so how could she tell me that I didn't love Eli and that he didn't love me?
But the next day, I went straight to Eli's office and was grateful when he was alone. Closing his office door behind me, I didn't even say hello. I just walked right up to his desk and slammed the box with the ring on top of it.
What I really wanted to ask was whether or not he was black-curious. But what came out was, "Do you love me? Eli, do you really love me?"
He didn't even hesitate. "Of course, I do."
With a nod, I said, "Then, yes! I'll marry you."
He stood from his chair, came around his desk and then shocked me when he lifted me off the floor and spun me around the way white guys did to all of the girls in the movies. When he sat me down on my feet, he said, "We're getting married!"
"I know," I said. "And I can't wait."
Then with another one of those movie moves, he got down on one knee and slipped the ring onto my finger and this time when he gave me a gentle kiss, I felt something stir inside of me. Maybe I was getting close to love already.
When we pulled apart, he took my hands and said, "My parents are going to be so happy. My mother will want to plan everything."
I nodded. I was cool with that. I really like Bina Weinstein.
"And my father...."
When he paused, I frowned. Was there a problem with Aaron? I thought he liked me, too.
Eli said, "My father...he's going to ask...I hope you don't mind because it doesn't mean anything...."
"What?" I tried to go over in my head all the things that Aaron could possibly ask me - to meet my mother? Or my father and his wife? Or did he want to see where I lived? Or maybe get me to take extensive medical tests?
Eli stopped my imagination from doing that running thing. "Well, my father is going to want us to sign," he stepped away from me, returned to where he'd been sitting, opened a drawer, and pulled out a folder, "a prenuptial agreement."
I stared at the folder, then looked up at him with the question in my eyes.
He explained. "You know my father, it's always about business. And this is just business."
A prenup? That was kind of shocking. And sudden. It kinda felt like with one hand he was giving me a ring, and with the other hand, he was telling me how he might one day take it away.
"I just wanted to get this out of the way so that we can move full steam ahead." He handed me the folder and I took it because I didn't want it to just drop on the floor. He added, "It's just business, Gwen. You and I are going to be married forever. Just business."
That made me nod because if there was one thing that I knew about the Weinsteins, it was always about business. Isn't that what Eli was teaching me? Isn't that what I loved about him?
"You don't have to sign this now. Our attorney will go over everything with you."
"Okay." And then, I reminded myself: Just business....
Lifting my left hand, I stared at the symbol that I'd accepted from Eli that day. And then just a few months later, in a small ceremony in his parents' Fifth Avenue Penthouse, we promised to love and honor each other and that came really easy for me. I'd never had anyone in my life care about me the way Eli cared. So...what happened?
He gets to take a trip to Africa without getting on a plane. You're exotic and he's black-curious. You're his forbidden fruit...but it will wear off.
I hadn't spoken to Sheila much since that night and it was a good thing. Because I hated told-you-sos. But it was true, and there was nothing that I could do - except do what Bina did. I could accept it and just keep the money.
The notification signal on my cell chimed and I reached over, wondering if Eli was finally contacting me. But the text wasn't from my husband.
Do you have my money?
I wanted to throw this phone across the room, but that would only cost me more. Why was Justin up so early? Was he just roaming the earth, like Satan, searching for where he could make the most trouble?
My first thought was to not respond. The clock hadn't even ticked to seven yet, and this dude was up, extorting me? I tossed the phone onto the side of the bed where Eli should have been, but the moment it hit the mattress, another text came in.
I hope ur not ignoring me. Blogs r always looking 4 a good story.
This time, I did throw my phone across the room, though I tossed it more than giving it a good wind-up. I couldn't believe this. Whenever people were caught doing anything: cheating on tests, robbing banks, cheating on their spouses - they always said it was their first time and no one ever believed them.
So, I knew no one would believe me. I couldn't go to Eli with the story of being so sad and lonely for years and finally, I gave in to one temptation. He would say, "First time, yeah right. Let me call my attorney."
I pushed myself up from the bed, crossed the room, and picked up the phone. Thanks to the hard case, my cell had no crack, no scratch.
For a moment, I thought about telling Justin that I had to wait until tomorrow, since banks weren't open on Sundays, thinking that I'd give myself just a little more time to find a way to get out of this.
But there were two problems with that story - as my Merchandising Manager, he knew that I had cash. And secondly, what would more time buy me besides more grief? I was sure that Justin would not allow me to have Sunday as a day of rest from his blackmail. So, I decided to pay this price.
I texted: I will have your money in an hour. I'll bring it to your room and then, I laid the phone on the nightstand.
Another text came in, but I didn't bother to check it. I was going to give Justin this money and to make sure that he didn't come back for more, I had a plan of my own.
I headed into the bathroom; inside the shower, I would work out every single one of the details. Justin might win this battle, but I was going to make sure that if this turned into a war, I'd be the one on the other side claiming victory.