HELLO ALL OVER AGAIN
Leaning against a column in the thinning crowd, Malcolm sulks. His pride is hurt that Zenbia didn’t follow him. Instead, she’s glued to David’s side. Malcolm sees a tall and stunning woman. He’s developed a taste for models since meeting Zenobia and he can tell she’s one. As she walks past him he stops her, his bravado fueled by his jealousy of David.
“You are quite beautiful.” He takes her hand in his. “My name is Malcolm,” he says, lifting a glass of champagne from a tray and handing it to her.
“Uhm thanks, I’m Portia,” she answers, slipping her hand from his grasp.
“You’re a model, no?”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” Half the time Portia doesn’t believe it herself.
“You’ve got an interesting look—one I’m very attracted to. I hope we can get to know each other.”
“I don’t know about all that. But you look pretty interesting too,” she says, looking at the honey-blond curls spiraling up from his head. His black turtleneck, black blazer, and old jeans make him look sexy and cultured. His precise, clipped speech tells her he is not American. “You’re not from here, right?”
“No, I’m Dutch,” he answers. “You are not American either?”
“I was born in the Dominican Republic, but grew up here.”
“Your skin looks like honey,” he says, running his hand up her arm.
Portia stiffens. “Don’t do that.”
“Why not?” He pulls her closer to him and whispers in her ear, “I think we’re going to be very good friends and I look forward to making love to you.”
Before Portia can knee him in the groin she hears a voice behind her.
“I see you’ve met Portia,” Zenobia says. “I’m representing her at NOW.”
Malcolm abruptly straightens and drops Portia’s arm.
“Yes, I have,” he says stiffly.
Zenobia turns to Portia. “This is Malcolm, my boyfriend.”
Portia looks at Malcolm and smiles. “You are so busted.”
She looks at Zenobia. “He didn’t say nothing about a girlfriend.” She turns to Malcolm. “Right?”
Malcolm stands there not speaking, his charming smile replaced with a tight one. This isn’t the way he’d expected it to turn out. What are the chances the only woman he would be interested in would be one of Zenobia’s models. Malcolm is starting to feel that the stars are lining up against him. With nothing to say, he nods to Portia and Zenobia, then turns and walks out.
Portia turns to Z. “You’re so smart and together—what are you doin’ with him?”
“What do you mean? He’s Dutch; he may seem a little odd.”
“‘Odd?’ Nah Z, your man’s a dog.”
When Zenobia frowns, Portia says, “He told me he wants to fuck me.” She shakes her head. “You way too classy for him.” She takes Z’s hand. “Ditch him, he’s dogging you.” Then she, too, walks away.
Zenobia goes outside to find Malcolm leaning against the plate-glass windows. When she stands next to him he says, “Look, that was nothing—”
She cuts him off. “How could you? And here, of all places?”
“She’s just a passing fancy. I always come back to you.”
“But Malcolm—here, in front of all my friends and colleagues?”
“Because I find her attractive doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you.” He shrugs. “This is how it is. If you want me you have to accept me for the way I am.”
Stunned, Zenobia looks at him. After a few seconds she says, “No, I don’t.”
Malcolm looks sharply at her. “What do you mean?”
“I want you to leave.”
Malcolm laughs. “With pleasure. I didn’t want to come in the first place.”
“I mean we should take a break.”
When he still looks confused, she says it in Dutch. “Do you understand now?”
“Oh, yes, enjoy it. In front of your friends, you show me up, you think?” He is beet red. “When you come begging back to me I will make you very unhappy.”
“You’ve already made me very unhappy, Malcolm. It’s always been about you and your needs.” She puts her hand on her chest. “I loved you, with all my heart. Up until ten minutes ago I would have done anything for you. But you’re not the same man I fell in love with all those years ago. I miss him, but I’m finished waiting for him to return.”
He turns away from her, but she puts a hand on his arm.
“Malcolm, I loved you. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. Everything I’ve accomplished I did with you in mind.”
He pulls away from her. “It has always been about money with you. I can’t always work the way you want me to. . . .”
She shakes her head. “It’s never been about money. If you’d supported me in other ways, emotionally . . . held me, not only when you’re sleeping or we’re fucking, but when I walk in the door, or when you come home—anytime, anywhere. Money has always been your issue, not mine.”
His face is hard as he searches for the right words.
“You never really wanted me. You liked the idea of me, your love story from Amsterdam. I felt like a beautiful scene you could recall, but I am here, flesh and blood. I feel alone here. You have your friends. I have only you, but you are always off doing something, going somewhere.”
“I would have stayed in Amsterdam with you, Malcolm—you wanted to come to New York. But you started cheating on me almost immediately. I gave up a fantastic career in Europe for you and you couldn’t even stay with me long enough to love me.” When he is silent she continues.
“Yes, I am always busy, because I am always working. Instead of helping or talking to me about it, all you do is find fault. I thought it was because you were unhappy with me, but I know now it’s because you are unhappy with yourself. It’s always been about you, Malcolm, never about me. Not really.”
Malcolm slumps against the wall. “I did love you, Z. I did. You were unlike any woman I’d met before . . . or since.” He looks down at the ground.
“I’m still here, Malcolm. You’ve just spent so much time looking at other women that you’ve lost sight of me, and of yourself.” They both stand in silence as the people, traffic, and noise flow past them.
“I want you to leave the flat”—he looks at her with disbelief—“tonight. I want your things gone when I get home,” she finishes softly.
“I’ll pack a bag and leave tonight.”
“All your things, Malcolm. Pack everything. I don’t want you coming back, so please leave your key. In fact, I don’t want to see you, not for a very long time.” Zenobia fights back tears. “It would hurt too much.”
Malcolm looks angry, hurt. Then he laughs. “I will do as you wish. But—how do they say?” He tries to find the right words. “Don’t hold your breath—yes. I won’t be coming back.”
“Actually why don’t you hold your breath? Hopefully you’ll pass out and hit your head. Then maybe you’ll see what a wonderful woman you had.” When he just stands there looking at her, she leans close to him and whispers something in Dutch.
He frowns. “You don’t miss the water till the well runs dry.”
“You’ll understand soon enough, Malcolm.”
After a few moments of silence he turns and walks away. She watches him leave, and then she slumps against the plate glass.
When she looks up David is standing in the doorway. She smiles weakly at him. He doesn’t say anything, just walks to her, puts his arms around her and hugs her as she starts to cry; then, finally, he kisses her.
It’s the end of the opening and the gallery is almost cleared out; only close friends remain. Derrick goes to the front of the room, trying to get everyone’s attention. Finally he yells, “Yo! Yo, listen up. Can we turn the music down? Thanks. Excuse me, can I have your attention?”
When the room quiets and the crowd turns to him, Derrick clears his throat. “I just wanted to say a few words, thank a few people.” He looks around the room.
“I want to thank everyone who came. This is my first show and I’m blessed to have someone like Suki—or, as I like to call her, Sukiyaki, ’cause she sure can talk.”
There are a few chuckles, especially from Suki.
“She took a chance on a nobody. She was kind enough to treat me like I was someone important. She praised me, told me I had a gift, and then she stood back and let me learn it myself. You know, times can be hard when all you know is negativity. There are people in this room who not only told me I had wings but pushed me hard enough so I could fly. I would not be here without their love and support.”
He looks around for Hope and holds her gaze.
“Not that long ago—damn, just three months ago—I was just another brother in the projects, trying to do the right thing, struggling, not quite makin’ those ends meet. I get a call for a gig as a driver. The next day I pick up my ride, and my life changes.”
He gestures for Hope to come to the front. Hope goes to him and he takes her hand.
“When Hope walked out of her door, she changed my life, and the life of my kids. She brought me hope.” He looks at her.
“And she brought me love. I had a dream for so many years and she helped me to see I can make it real. There’s only one way this night can get any better.”
He turns to Hope and gets down on one knee.
A hush spreads across the room. Bella and Precious look at each other.
“Is this what I think this is?” Zenobia asks, a big smile on her face.
Precious nudges her. “Laugh it up—you might be next,” she says, nodding toward David.
“We barely know him,” Bella says.
“Who cares? Look at Hope’s face,” Precious says, grinning.
Though she looks stunned, Hope is beaming. Derrick, still on one knee, slips something out of his pocket. He looks up at Hope, takes her hand, and slips the ring onto her finger.
“Hope, you’re probably more than I deserve, but will you marry me?”
“Oh, baby, you’re everything that I deserve. I would love to be your wife. I love you so much.”
Derrick gets up and kisses her, completely forgetting about the crowd.
Suki walks up to the front, clapping.
“Nice, yes? Very good, now buy art—we have few pieces left and he has to repay me for that ring.”
Walking around her apartment, Zenobia sees that Malcolm’s things are gone. She kicks off her shoes and goes into the bedroom. On her bed is an envelope with her name on it. It’s a note from Malcolm written in Dutch. Sitting down on her bed, she slowly opens the envelope and starts to read.
Zenobia,
You are as beautiful to me as that day I saw you at Dmitri’s on Prinsenstraat. I stood staring at you for so long, unable to believe what I was seeing. You were a gift sent to me from the heavens, and look what I have done with it.
You have always been a better person than me. You kept moving forward while I felt left behind. Instead of blaming myself, I blamed you. I am going to Ghana to spend some time with my father, to learn about all the different parts of myself. Maybe that will make me a better man.
You are right. I don’t deserve you. Not the way I’ve treated you. I must now make my own way. I meant what I told you all those years ago. You are a queen. I will make myself worthy of you.
This is not good-bye; this is hello all over again.
Forever,
Malcolm