The Ex Chronicles

“I hope you’ll at least think about what I said,” Hope presses. “You’ve talked so much about wanting a chance, now here it is—why question it?”

Hope isn’t giving up. “You did something nice for me, Derrick. You’ll never know how much it changed my life. I don’t know you very well, but you seem like a selfless, giving person. I’m in a position to do something for you to repay you, quid pro quo.”

“Hope, you know, I don’t understand half the words you use. We come from different worlds. You gotta be making six figures, right? You run a magazine. I’ve seen you in magazines, even on TV. You’re somebody. You got a town house on 88th and Park; I barely got a small apartment in the projects. I got two kids; you probably got two degrees. I’m nobody. You gonna get tired of having a project brother up in your place after a while, and then I’m back out on the streets.”

He rubs his hand across his eyes. He sounds exhausted. “I’m the type of brother who takes care of his woman, who makes the money; the other way just don’t feel good to me.”

“You’ve taken care of me in ways you don’t even know, Derrick. Your accomplishments rival my own. I couldn’t raise two kids on my own; I wouldn’t even try.” Hope looks out at the passing buildings. “ Yes, I work hard, but I’m here in the backseat of this car because people gave me a helping hand when I needed it, and I was smart enough to take it. But I gave it back.” She looks at Derrick. “That’s what quid pro quo is. You give something, in return for something else. What I’m offering you is in the spirit of cooperation and solidarity.”

Hope puts a hand on his arm. “Derrick, I can do something nice for you and I don’t expect anything in return. My friends and I do things for each other all the time. White people do things for each other—why can’t black people? We always think we’re up to something. I want to see you do well. I want to see your girls happy. I want your mother to be happy. That’s it. I’m just glad I am in a position to help—please let me. At least just take a look. We can get the girls and drive down to my place.” She looks around the neighborhood. They’re almost at 125th Street. “At this point we’re halfway there.”

After telling the driver to wait to take Derrick back uptown, Hope shows them to the basement entrance, which is just to the right of the steps to the front door. As Hope fumbles with the keys like it’s the first time she’s ever gone into her building, Asia and Kenya skip from one foot to the other, anxious to get inside.

Hope finally gets the black wrought-iron door opened, and steps aside to let them in. They walk through the door, but Derrick just stands at the entry.

The small entryway is deceiving. Derrick expected a cramped and dark space; this basement is anything but. He’s looking at an all-white, bright space, with gleaming wooden floors. There’s a low-slung leather sectional that serves as an informal room divider. Its L shape encloses a glass-and-steel coffee table and faces a plasma flat screen. “Look at the TV, Daddy!” Kenya yells, jumping up and down. “Can we live here?”

She takes the bags and puts them back. “It’s okay—it’s leather and it’s stain-resistant. I’m not completely out of touch.” She laughs. “I’ll spill something on it for you if you’d like.”

Hope takes them on a short tour. About one thousand square feet, the basement runs the entire length of the house. Hope had it completely gutted and renovated into one large, open room. Off the entry and across from the living room is the open kitchen, basically a space carved out of the main room with a granite counter dividing the two areas. With its hanging pendant lights over the counter and high-back stools, the counter also serves as an eating area.

At the back is a full bathroom with granite counters and an all-new four-piece bath suite. The bedroom is also at the back and takes up a quarter of the space, with just enough room for floor-to-ceiling closets and a king-size bed that faces a marble fireplace. Access to the backyard is through the French double doors in the bedroom. Two steps up and they are outside in the garden.

Spiral stairs leading to a deck connect the main house to the garden and the basement. The girls run giggling into the yard, plopping into the hammock and laughing.

“You don’t have to imagine; you can come in.” Hope is a little apprehensive about taking them upstairs. If they are impressed with the basement, she isn’t sure what Derrick is going to make of the rest of the town house.

When she unlocks the double-paned, wrought-iron French doors and flings them open, Derrick and the girls can’t believe the size of the town house. With no interior walls except for the kitchen, which is off to the side, and the bedroom at the end of the room, you can see from one end of the space to the other. It’s sparsely but well furnished with leather sofas, more gleaming wood floors, and antique rugs throughout. The light flows in through the large windows, which are framed by sheer white curtains. There are vases of flowers on almost every surface.

“Where would I find the time?” Hope asks. “They’re from a service that delivers fresh flowers once a week, vases and all. They let themselves in and replace them.”

“They just stay and wait for me to use them,” Hope says, trying to gauge Derrick’s reaction. He’s not saying much, just walking around with his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans.

She takes them into the living room, which faces the park. Remembering there are hot-chocolate packets in the kitchen, Hope turns to the girls. “Anybody interested in hot chocolate?” she asks.

Each girl puts up her hand. “Can I get you something, Derrick?” He shakes his head as the girls plunk down on the couch, tossing the cushions at each other. When Hope disappears into the kitchen he looks around the spotless living room. There’s another plasma, this one even bigger than the one downstairs. A sparkling chandelier hangs over a round mahogany table. Crystal candlesticks sit on top. He knows that everything here, from the candlesticks to the sofa, costs more than he has in his entire bank account.

He looks at what must be the bedroom. With one eye on the girls and the other on the kitchen, Derrick walks to the double doors, which are slightly ajar. He pushes them a little and peeks inside. The room is dominated by a king-size bed with a massive quilted white-leather headboard and piles of pillows. The fluffy comforter looks like silk, and another chandelier hangs over the bed.

One wall of the room is taken up with floor-to-ceiling closets; he knows because one door is open and rows of clothing hang neatly inside. The other side of the room has a long console table on which sit a vase of flowers, a carafe of water, and what looks like an overstuffed jewelry box. Behind it hangs a huge mirror. There are more gleaming wooden floors but under the bed is another shaggy white rug.

When Derrick steps outside, Hope is standing in the kitchen doorway with two cups of hot chocolate. He looks down and turns away from the bedroom, then sits next to his daughters.

After a sip Kenya says, “It’s so big here. Is it really just you?” When Hope shakes her head she turns to Derrick. “Why we can’t stay here, Daddy? There’s plenty more room here than at Gramma’s.”

“Seems a waste, all this room for one person. If we stay here it be like recycling—right, Daddy? We’d be helping cut down on the waste of all this room,” Kenya says diplomatically while sneaking Hope a look.

Hope smiles at Derrick. “The studio is for you to use for as long as you’d like. There’s plenty of room and plenty of light to paint by. There is a separate entrance and you’d have your own key. As for the girls, they’re welcome to visit you whenever you want. The sofa pulls out downstairs to a queen-size bed, and the bedroom could sleep three easily. I’d love to have you stay here as long as you’d like—at the very least until your place is renovated.”

“Yes, Asia. If it’s okay with your dad, it’s okay with me. In fact, the garden has been waiting for a couple little girls to play in it.” She turns to Derrick. “The backyard is completely enclosed. I probably don’t need them but there are motion detectors all around the perimeter of the house as well as the backyard, and the entire house has an alarm system; every window and door is wired.” She goes to the front door and opens it; a computerized voice says, “Front door, open.” Hope points to a flat white panel in the foyer. “That security panel controls the system. They’re perfectly safe anywhere in the house.” Kenya and Asia high-five each other and run out to the garden forgetting about their hot chocolate.

Derrick and Hope sit on the couch not speaking. Finally Hope says, “I hope you’ll say yes, Derrick. You can spend all your time painting, and your girls can visit and spend as much time with you as you want. In the summer it’s really beautiful eating outside, though I have to admit I haven’t gotten to enjoy it. My dad died pretty soon after I closed.”

“I don’t want money, Derrick. I love . . . I’d love to have a hand in discovering the next hot painter. I’d be grateful just to have a piece of art signed by you. When you’re a rich and famous painter I can sell it for a fortune,” she jokes.

Derrick doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking around the room. “I don’t know how to make you understand, Hope. Moving in here would change my life to the point where I’m not sure if me or my girls could face going back to the projects.”

They sit in silence for a while. “It’s not that I’m not appreciative; it’s just almost too much like a dream, and the one thing I know about dreams is that eventually you wake up and have to get on with your life.” He stands up and calls to the girls.

Maybe you won’t have to wake up, Hope thinks as the girls run back inside. Out loud she says, “You don’t have to decide now, Derrick.” She takes her card and scribbles her cell number on the back and hands it to him. “Call me anytime.” She looks at the girls and writes her number on two other cards and gives one to each. “The same goes for you two. Anytime; I mean it.”