Chapter 11

Monday, two days later

With a nervous tap of his pen on the oak credenza, Drew sat behind his desk, silent, absorbed and alone.

He gazed out the window of the office, which was a vast improvement over the first home of Andrew Patrick Staley and Associates. It was in the Millhopper area of Gainesville, which was the town’s version of Park Avenue. While it was small, the sienna and burgundy office was tastefully decorated with artwork from Senegal, pampered plants, and Steven Scott Young prints. In the closet was a cot that Drew used on occasion when his days extended into nights and then mornings, a fully stocked nonalcoholic bar, and a small stereo that played continuous jazz.

As he watched the cars stop for the red light at the intersection of Thirty-ninth and Forty-third Street, Drew remembered the first time he took in the view. He remembered how he’d felt when the realtor told him the price, but he’d also known the location had an unseen benefit. Not only would it be easy for his potential clients to find him, he would also take pride in being at his desk before dawn and getting comments from other planners that they’d seen him after dusk as they’d taken their families out to dinner. No other African-American financial planner had survived beyond three years in Gainesville. Many thought it was because white prospects weren’t trusting enough to give them large sums of money to invest, and black prospects invested elsewhere. Regardless of that, Drew’s image in the window was a constant reminder to his colleagues that he had in fact survived and prospered.

Felicia had never liked him to go to work so early. Her biggest complaint about him had been the fact that she hated going to sleep alone and waking up by herself. But after several months, she understood that his firm was as much a part of him as she wished to be eventually.

After the initial rough spots of learning what each other liked and did not like, they became more than a couple. They walked and spoke alike, and appeared to be married in many ways. They had a connection that transcended a band of gold, although they both knew a church was in their future. When Drew was in the mood to take the leap, she always found reasons to say let’s wait. When she wanted to say I do, Drew did not feel he was at a point to walk down the aisle. But marriage was never as much an issue with them as it was with their friends, because they knew one day they would be together and so they simply continued to enjoy each other for what it was worth.

Felicia took on the mantle of Mrs. Staley in many ways to assist Drew. She devoted each afternoon to riding around town with his mother to look for a house. She did the research, took notes, and often even took photos; then on the weekends she and Drew looked at selected homes together. Her search ended when she took him to a house that was painted eggshell white with a patchwork lawn in need of work.

“To be sure, this is not the house you want to look at,” he asked with disbelieving eyes.

“Before we go in, just listen to me. Okay?” she asked. And then she allowed Drew to see the house through her eyes. Felicia proceeded to paint Drew a picture in his mind of a house with a vaulted ceiling and a crystal chandelier. She shared with him a home with Italian stained glass in the front door, hickory floors, and a kitchen with hanging pots over an island. A home that could be practical and beautiful. That could be both informal and elegant.

“Baby,” he said, “I see where it could be improved. I love the subdivision and all, but I’m not really interested in a fixer-upper. I just don’t have the time or patience for it.”

“I understand that. Trust me, I do. But,” she said, and then looked at him, “I’ll do it. I don’t mind. I’m off early every day and I don’t have anything to do on the weekends. I can make this work, Drew.”

Drew looked at the bent mailbox held to its post with a single rusty nail, and the flower bed which was overrun with weeds, as the venerable owner of the property stuck his head out the door. “Why don’t we do this?” he said as the man walked toward their car. “Why don’t you just move in with me? If I get this place, I wouldn’t need all of the room, and besides, I wouldn’t want you to work here helping me with this and not live here.”

Felicia returned his smile, reached down and squeezed his hand, and said, “Let’s go look at the house. Okay?”

It took Drew three months to negotiate the price of the house, and Felicia another two months of working with subcontractors to get it up to move-in condition. But on Christmas eve the movers pulled into the driveway with only Drew’s furniture. Felicia had told him a week earlier that she had decided not to give up her own house.

“Why?”

“Because I want it all,” she’d replied. “I don’t want half now and half later. When we get together, I want it all. Including the name.”

On the night of the move with the clock ticking toward Christmas, Drew sat on an imported rug, exhausted from unpacking. He had just taken his bath, more to relieve his tired and aching muscles than anything else, when Felicia smiled at him from the island in the kitchen where she was chopping vegetables. “You know you’re getting old, don’t you?”

“I’m not getting old,” he said as he looked at “Moneyline” on television. “What’s that smell?”

“It’s a surprise. I wanted the first meal here to be something different. You always say you like trying new dishes, so let’s see how this grabs you.”

Drew took a deep breath and released an old-man grunt as he lifted his achy body from the floor. “Whatever it is, it smells good. Are you broiling steaks?” he asked as he rubbed his football knees and moved toward the kitchen.

“No! Don’t come in here!” she said with a smile and a knife pointed at him.

“I just want to get something to—”

“Shhh,” she said with the knife still aimed in his direction, and blindly reached into the fridge for a can of Coke. “Here you are! Now, go back in the living room where you came from.”

Taking the can with a smile, he said, “You don’t scare me, you know. I can come in there if I want to. I just happen not to want to.”

“Try me,” she said slowly with a scowl on her lips and a twist of the knife in the air. “Just try me, Mister Man.”

For their first dinner Drew and Felicia had roast beef covered with horseradish sauce surrounded by brown rice and English snow peas. The meal was complemented by pear and tarragon soup, and she served a red wine that was given to them as a Christmas gift from Peggy and Walter. For dessert there was a strawberry soufflé waiting in the oven. As she set his plate in front of him, Drew said, “Now, you know you’re spoiling me with a meal like this. How am I supposed to go back to eating Boston Market after dining on something like this?”

“Be quiet,” she said, barely above a whisper, as she scanned the table to make sure it was perfect. It was candlelit and she had used his special sterling silver and black china as well as the crystal wine glasses. Felicia had also used touches of garnish to make the dish as beautiful as it was appetizing, and in the background from the stereo was “Some Enchanted Evening” to hold the mood. “Just be quiet,” she repeated, looking into his eyes, “and let’s just enjoy the moment.”

Drew reached across the table for her hand, and together they silently blessed the meal. As their eyes opened, they both looked at their hands in the middle of the table. Drew loved how soft her hands were, and as his thumb grazed the outer surface of her palm, he smiled and then looked at her over the blushing flicker of light as if everything else came in a distant second.

“Felicia? I’m not telling you this because of this meal. I’m not even saying it because of all the work you’ve done in this house. Actually, I really don’t have a special reason to say what I am about to say at all.” Then Drew looked into her dark brown eyes as he had never looked into them before and said softly, “I love you. And I just want you to know that.” Then with a glance back at her hand, he repeated, “I love you.”

Felicia stared at their hands as they held them firmly together in a connection that extended beyond the physical. “Drew, I’ve never told you this, and it never occurred to me until I was talking to my sister on the phone today. But you are the first man to send me flowers.”

“Ohh, baby. I had no idea.”

As she covered their joined hands with her free hand, she gazed at a spot just above his head and continued. “You are also the very first man to write me a poem. I know it sounds childish, but that means a lot to me.” Then Felicia took a deep breath in and released it as she looked him in the eye. “But, Andrew, you are the only man . . .” And then her voice trailed off. Whatever it was she wanted to say, she could not.

“What, baby?” Drew asked, seeing the desire on her face to share whatever was in her heart.

Felicia had stared back at Drew, and whatever had been in her heart had not shown in her eyes, because her expression had been stoic. It had not been on her lips, because they had not moved. She’d sat the same and her impassive body language had given no clues as to what she’d wanted to say. But as Drew had asked her once again what it was she wanted to share, a single tear had found its way down her cheek.

While it had been a couple of months since her death, he often thought back to that warm Christmas eve. Not so much for the meal or the atmosphere. Not so much for the board game they’d played afterward when she’d beaten him for the first time at Monopoly. He didn’t recall that evening for the way they’d played with high-powered water guns in the chilled waters of the pool or the way she’d made him laugh.

“Drew!” Felicia had screamed. “Boy, you know I can’t swim, and if you drop me, I swear I’ll kill ya!” She’d added, “Whatever you do, don’t get my hair wet. You know we gotta go to church tomorrow.” He did not recall that night for the way she’d looked after she reached her peak in the pool or how she’d felt when she pushed him away and dipped her hair in the water. That night was remembered for such simple words. Not the words she hadn’t said, but the words she had. Words Felicia may have never thought twice about after saying them. When she’d looked at him over dinner and said, “Drew, let’s just enjoy the moment.”

He repeated the words aloud to himself over and over again. His shoulders slumped in his chair as he watched the traffic light turn green and he wished he could have understood fully what she’d so desperately tried to tell him. Now that she was gone, it was hard going back to Boston Market in so many ways. As the cars passed outside his window, the simple words stung like the winter’s sun and were just as unforgettable.

The small TV in the comer of Drew’s office played more for noise than anything else, and with a glance at his watch he clicked it off so he could concentrate on the solicitation of new business. Although he had received a call from the insurance underwriter informing him that the program he’d designed for Murphy, Renfro and Collins was partially approved, he felt uneasy about it. He had made several calls to Franklin Renfro regarding modifications, but the managing partner of the firm had not returned his calls, instead delegating the task to his administrative assistant. This was not an uncommon practice with people in his position, but knowing Renfro the way he did, Drew felt especially perturbed.

“Come in,” Drew said in response to a knock at the door.

With a look inside before entering, Grace asked, “Why you got the door closed? I thought you were on an important call or something.”

“Just thinking. Did they deliver lunch?”

“Got it right here,” she said, and set the red and white Wing-A-Lidous container on the edge of his desk. “So what are you back here thinking about, with the door dosed no less?” she said, and took the first wing tip from the aluminum foil.

“Ah, they got this new thing now’days? It’s called asking for a person’s lunch before you start eating it?”

“Oh,” she said between chews, “can I have some of your wings, Drewww?”

“No,” he said, and pulled the box closer to his side of the table as Peggy walked in.

“What are you all doing back here all huddled up? Dag, why didn’t anyone tell me we had wings?” she said as she took one out and pulled the container back to the edge of the desk.

“Because we are not having wings. I’m having wings,” Drew replied.

“Anyway,” Peggy said, and sat in the leather chair across from him with her legs crossed. “Listen, Grace. What’s up with you and old boy? You know? The football player?” She took a bite and looked at Drew with disdain. “Damn, Drew! Why don’t you ever order spicy? These don’t have any kick! I hate mild!”

Drew could only look at her and shake his head with a smile, as Grace said, “We’re doing fine. We’ve been going out three weeks now, and so far he’s been totally not what I expected.”

“Grace? You dating a client?” Drew asked.

“Naw. Well, at least not yet,” she said. “But possibly in the future. He’s going to renegotiate this spring and he thinks they’re going to give him a seven-figure deal. At least that’s what his agent says. So if he gets it, I’ll see if I can get him to invest a little with us.”

“Seven figures. I like the sound of that,” Peggy said.

“Tell me about it. But he’s not what I expected at all,” Grace said, and took another wing from the box. As soon as she did, Drew pulled it back to his side of the desk, which left a greasy skid mark. “When we first met, I thought he was just looking for a hootchie. You know, just a little bit of fun. But I didn’t give it up and I think it threw his game off. Now he’s cool. We have a lot of fun together.”

“Do you all go out much?” Peggy asked, tugging the box away from Drew and cleaning the spot with a tissue from his tissue box. “I mean dancing and all?”

“I know what you’re getting at, and he’s cool with it. I thought he just had a brown-sugar fantasy myself when he first spoke to me, but he’s not like that at all. Deep inside Jason wants to be a brother. He grew up near South Central, you know. Actually, I don’t think he’s ever even dated a white girl.”

“So you’re dating Jason Riggs?” Drew asked. “Who plays for the Jaguars?”

“Damn, Drew, you work too much. They’ve been dating about a month. But tell me this,” Peggy asked as she spread out her tissue and took three drumettes from the box. “This is your first time dating a white guy, right? How is it?”

“Actually, there’s no difference. I thought there would be at first. I mean he’s cute and got a butt just like a brother. But I won’t lie, I saw the dollar signs at first. I saw all the brothers who left sisters after they made it and I thought, I’ll string this white boy out and score one for the sisters, right? But then, well, after a while . . . I dunno.”

“You falling in love, Grace? Not you. Not Mrs. A-White-Boy-Can’t-Do-Nothing-But-Bring-Me-a-Brother!” Peggy laughed.

“See, that’s the part I don’t understand. No, I don’t love him. Let me set that straight. I love the lifestyle, I love the cars and the attention. And hell, I’ll admit it, I love the sex. But right now that’s about it.”

“Well, take it slow is all I can say,” Drew replied, and looked at Peggy’s tightly crossed legs. “You know, you shouldn’t sit like that, Peg.”

“Why?”

“Because it causes varicose veins.”

“Child, please,” she said, then looked back at Grace. “I’ve been crossing my legs since I don’t know how long. My momma used to sit like this for years and . . .” And then she looked at her legs and back at Drew and slowly uncrossed them. “Grace, as I was going to say, forget all that other stuff, honey. What’s happening in the bedroom? Is what they say about white guys true?”

“I don’t know about white men, but as far as Jason is concerned, the man is the bomb. He has no—and when I say no, I mean no—inhibitions, girl. And to me that’s new. But you know what he does that just kills me every time? Whenever I sleep over, he always wakes me up with kisses on my face.”

“Ohh, I love that,” Peggy sighed. “Walter used to do that too. To me that is so romantic.”

With a look up from his lunch, Drew said, “Kisses on the face, huh? I’ll have to remember that one.”

“I know!” Grace shouted like a teenager at a slumber party. “Know what else?” she said in a lower tone. “He always kisses right here,” she said, and pointed to her chin. “And then again here,” she said, pointing to both cheeks, “and the last two kisses he saves for my eyelids. There is nothing, and I mean nothing, like a soft kiss on the eyelids after making love the previous night.”

“Well, if you all continue, remember one thing. Don’t ever let him stop dating you. Men forget that after they got you. I must admit that for the most part, Walter and I still date. We just don’t allow it to get old.”

“You guys have been married how long?” Grace asked.

“Sixteen years in about three months. And I love him more now then I did when we got married.” As she spoke, Drew glanced up from the memo he was reading. “I used to hear people talk about how they had kids and then the romance stopped, but with Walt it was never like that. I guess because he was married before or maybe because he’s so much older. If anything, we fell deeper in love than ever before once we had Todd and Tray.”

“Really?” Drew asked.

“Without a doubt. I think it’s because we fell in love so slowly. It took forever for him to believe I loved him for him. That I didn’t give a damn about his money and all. You know, because of his weight, he had very low self-esteem that you would never realize unless you knew him well. But he has worked hard on the weight. In fact, just this morning I looked at the scale,” she said with a proud smile, “and he’s less than three hundred for the first time in years. I know it means a lot to him to lose the weight, so I am happy for him. But you know,” she said, looking through the wing tips for another drumette, “I didn’t marry him for the way he would fit in a Speedo or for his money. I married him because I loved him. Point-blank.”

“That’s sweet. You know Mr. and Mrs. Shepard?” Drew asked as Grace sighed.

“No.”

“Yes you do. Bill and Gladys Shepard? Live out on Seventeenth Street, next to that restaurant that’s so raggedy you need to bring your own chair if you want to dine in?”

“I know the restaurant. The food there is hitting, but no, I don’t know them,” Peggy said as she ate another drumette and then stared at Drew’s Coke.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, and moved the can to the credenza. “You know Mr. and Mrs. Shepard, who had a son that got in an accident a few years ago?”

“I don’t know any Mr. and Mrs. Shepard, Drew, damn!” She looked at Grace and laughed.

“Yes, you do. But anyway, Mr. Shepard had three strokes and a heart attack within the past three years. He’s mean as hell, can’t control his bowel movements, sleeps about four hours a night, can’t walk without his walker and somebody watching him, blind in one eye, and on top of that, he tries to get physical with his wife. He even smacked her one time in front of me. But,” Drew said, “although she complains about not sleeping, she’ll tell you in a second, ‘That’s my husband. We’ve been married forty-five years and that’s my husband.’ Now, that’s love. The words ‘till death do us part’ really meant something to her. That’s the kinda love I wanted to have one day with Felicia,” he said, and looked at the picture of them on his desk taken in the Cayman Islands.

“You’ll find it, sweet pea. I know what you’re going through. You remember how many trifling brothers I had to sort through to find this one. And when I met the old man I had no idea I would not only love him, but like him as much as I do. Now we’re best friends. Can you imagine standing in front of God and saying to your very best friend, ‘I will love you until the day I die’?”

After another sigh, Grace said, “I always like hearing you talk about Walt. It’s nice to hear about a marriage that works every now and then.”

“I feel blessed. Very blessed.” Then looking at Drew, Peggy continued, “Drew, you know something? I never heard how you and Felicia met.”

“Me either,” Grace said, grabbing two more wings and settling in for the story.

“I thought I told both of you. I was working on that proposal for the city, and she worked in the clerical pool. I saw her that day and I never said anything. Later that day I saw her shopping in Ann Taylor with her friends. I just sorta walked by because she had her back turned and I waited to get something for dinner in the eatery before an appointment later that afternoon. So that same night, I’m in a club and she walks up behind me and tells me I should stop following her. We started talking and next thing I knew, it was three in the morning. She was a little aggressive at first, but later I thought it was cute.”

“Meaning?” Grace asked, and flicked a small pile of bones wrapped in a tissue into the trash can.

“Well, she gave me her number on the back of a business card. She made the first move. I usually don’t like that. But thinking back, if she had not, we may have never gotten together.”

“So it was like fate, huh?” Grace said with another sigh in her voice. “You guys have fairy-tale stories.”

With a stretch as he stood, he said, “Yeah, and in a way I guess it was just that.” Then he opened the door to go to the rest room to wash his hands. As he walked down the hallway, he noticed a lady admiring the awards the firm had garnered on display in the reception area. “I’m sorry, ma’am, we didn’t hear you walk in. Let me get the receptionist.”

She was professionally dressed, average in height and size, and her hair was pinned up. She looked at Drew and said with a smile that made him weak, “Thanks.”

Drew cracked the door to his office, where Grace and Peggy were laughing, and said, “Shhh, we have company in the front.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Grace said, and leaped up to greet the prospective client.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Drew asked Peggy as he returned to his side of the desk.

“No. Not until two.”

“Umm, well, there’s a sister in there.”

“Real big eyes? Dark-skinned? Kinda long hair?”

“Yeah. You know her?”

“Sounds like it could be my two-o’clock. She must have gotten the times mixed up.”

“Umm. She’s cute,” Drew said as he moved his mouse slowly along the pad and gazed into his computer screen.

“You think so?” Peggy said with an inquisitive smile. “I know for a fact that she’s available.”

Drew tightened his lips and shook his head with a not-interested gesture and then said, “I just got a letter that I need to meet with Felicia’s attorney in a few weeks for a reading of her will.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I never knew she had a will. I didn’t think she took the time to get one. I wonder what she had to disburse.”

“Well, sometimes there could be small things like books or her clothes. Sometimes people just leave their last thoughts to their loved ones.”

Grace opened the door and poked her head in. “All right, guys, break it up in here. Peg, you have a guest. A Miss Zelma McGrady?”

With a look at her watch, Peggy said, “Yep, that’s her. She’s an hour early,” as Grace went back to the front of the office.

“Who is she again?” Drew asked. “Is she from Con-National?”

“Yes. She’s the comptroller I’ve been telling you about. Con-Nat recruited her from a big-six firm in Manhattan and she’s sharp. They use about ten firms for their benefits programs and they need a few minority contracts, so she’s giving us a shot.”

“How good are our chances?” he said, breaking eye contact with the monitor.

“Ahh, she’s sitting out there an hour early, isn’t she? And soon enough I want to introduce you to her. I think you’ll really like her. Just your type. Petite, sophisticated, and intelligent.”

Drew smiled. “Go take care of your customer, Peggy.”

Drew sat in his office talking on the phone with a client in Jamaica, with his back to the door, taking notes. As he swiveled around toward his desk drawer for a Post-it note, he noticed Zelma standing in his doorway. “One second, Mr. Abracromibi,” he said to the party on the phone, and with a smile he said, “Can I help you, madam?”

“Go ahead,” she said, twirling her thick gold and silver Mont Blanc around her fire-engine red fingernails. “I’ll wait.”

“It may be a while.”

“Don’t worry, I have time.” She smiled.

I don’t have time to deal with this now. “Okay,” he said with a smile, and went back to his conversation.

As he spoke, she walked into his office, sat in front of him, and looked at each certificate and degree on the wall. There was a photograph of him and several local celebrities as well as one of him and a U.S. senator. She also noticed the picture on his desk turned toward him. With a motion for his attention, she mouthed the words May I? as she reached for the lacquer frame.

Drew nodded his head with a respectful smile and then swiveled in his chair and looked again outside the window at the passing cars while he spoke to his client. Drew could see in the window’s reflection that Zelma smiled at the photo of Drew and Felicia, and then placed it softly back on the desk in the spot from which she had removed it.

As he spoke of going to Washington, D.C., to lobby for a change in the tax codes regarding his industry, all he could think of was a delicate way to tell her to back off, that he did not want to get involved with anyone until he got over Felicia. He wanted to think of a way to tell her that although their relationship had at times been strained, she had left a void in his life, that since she had died, she was never far from his mind. Maybe it was the guilt of the last words on her lips being, “You’re so selfish. Leave and don’t come back here any damn more!” Whatever it was, the pain of life without Felicia was too deep for him to consider starting over before he could somehow close this door to his past.

After she looked at her watch, Zelma got Drew’s attention with her smile and waved her business card in his direction. When he looked up, she left it on the desk and waved good-bye.

As the door closed, Drew reached for the gold-embossed card and noticed she was in fact the senior comptroller for the large conglomerate. He also noticed she had left just a wisp of her perfume on it, and on the back she had written her home, beeper and, cellular phone numbers with the words “I think you have a really nice smile. I’d love to see it again soon.” Damn! Here we go.