I picked up my cell phone and hastily dialed Trevor’s number.
“Hey,” I spoke when he answered.
“Good morning to you, sir. Shouldn’t you be making your way to the shower, getting ready for work?”
“The shower isn’t going anywhere,” I said. “Listen, do you have any plans after work?”
“Nope. Well, I had planned on calling and chatting with Denise. We have some catching up to do, and you know how long those can last.”
“Well, like my shower, she can wait, right?”
“Yeah. There’s always tomorrow. What’s going on?”
I told Trevor it seemed we hadn’t had an evening with just the two of us in some time. I shared the blame, blaming work for keeping us busy. We agreed on 7:30 for dinner, but he said he would come right after work. I left it at that, not bothering to ask what time was right after work.
I spent the day working from home, catching up on Obama news and getting dinner ready. DC was bracing itself for the biggest inauguration crowd ever in the next couple days, and it was expected to be very cold. Official and unofficial inauguration balls were planned to celebrate the historic moment. It still brings tears to my eyes every time I think about waking early election morning and going with Trevor to the polling station. We listened to women as old as our grandmothers who’ve always voted admitting to never seeing the line as long as it was. That night I stayed up late with Trevor, Natalie, and Mr. Harrison, watching the results as they came in.
I took some time thinking about a special menu. I remembered the steak I had marinating in the refrigerator in a blend of olive oil, light brown sugar, red wine, soy sauce, onion powder, honey, green onions, garlic and garlic vinegar, ground ginger, and garlic powder. My mouth watered just thinking about the aftertaste. I added baked garlic potatoes and a bottle of Cabernet Franc I had chilling in the wine cooler—it was a gift from Mr. Harrison. They say the best way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, but today, Trevor’s stomach was going to be my best way to the truth. Hopefully.
When I opened the door, Trevor stood leaning to one side with a wide smile on his face. He probably went home and changed since he showed up wearing black Levi’s cords and a black and white crewneck cashmere sweater, replacing his usual slacks, dress shirt and tie. I leaned in and kissed him, and then turned and walked away. I headed back towards the kitchen.
“So that’s it? You’re not going to invite me in?”
“Stand out there if you think you need an invitation.” I didn’t even turn around.
“Smells good,” he complimented, walking behind me. “What are we having? Whatever it is, I hope you made a lot of it.” He walked into the dining area and sat.
“Hungry or greedy?” I asked, laughing.
“Whatever. I skipped out on lunch after your invitation. I wanted to save room for whatever is in that kitchen and whatever comes after.”
I looked at Trevor and smiled, thinking, if this letter has some truth in it, dinner is all you’re going to get.
After placing our dinners on the table and pouring the two glasses full of red wine, Trevor and I talked about work. Every now and then silence interrupted. The sounds and words of Patti, Toni, and an occasional song from Eric Benet played in the background. Eric’s “You’re the Only One” echoed sentiments I was beginning to question.
“This is good,” Trevor said, as if I needed his approval. “You should cook like this every day.”
“Only if it means you’ll be here every day eating, ‘cause I definitely don’t need to cook like this for just me.”
“Sure. Just as long as I don’t have to clean up afterwards.”
“You do know that’s not fair, right?” I was waiting for the best opening. I was drinking wine to settle my nerves.
“You cook, I’ll eat. You don’t think that’s fair?”
“Ok, Trevor.”
“I’m joking. Stop looking so serious.”
I was sitting on the letter I had placed in my seat earlier. I wouldn’t need it if he were going to be honest. But just in case, it was right there.
As Chantay Savage’s “This Time” began, I looked across the table at Trevor and I saw the faces of Ethan, Landry, Teric, and Gavin staring back at me. Like the end of Michael Jackson’s “Black or White” music video, Trevor seemed to morph into one and then the other. Everything I felt for them and after them came rushing back. Everything they never gave me and all I wished from them were vivid flashbacks, and I couldn’t hold my tongue anymore. Here we go again! I thought. I knew I wasn’t about to head down this familiar road again, not if I could help it.
“I haven’t heard you say too much about Dexter. How’s he doing?”
“Not much to say about him. I haven’t spoken to him in a while.”
“How often have you spoken to him?” I paused.
“I haven’t…” Trevor began.
“Since Chicago?” I added. My question surprised him. I surprised myself, too. Trevor had just cut a cube of steak and was about to place it in his mouth. He stopped with his fork mid-air and looked at me with his eyes wide open.
“When was I in Chicago?” he asked.
“I was hoping you could answer that question, and while you’re giving answers you can tell me who went with you.” I hadn’t looked at Trevor because I didn’t want him to see the disappointment in my eyes.
“I was never in Chicago.”
Trevor had just lied to me.
I sat back in the chair and stared at him. My pulse increased,
and I felt a quiver in the side of my top lip. He stopped eating,
and stared back, not blinking.
“So maybe you can explain this.” I sat up and removed the letter, slowly opened it and placed it in front of him, setting it in his plate, on top of his steak and potatoes.
“Why did you do that?”
I picked up my plate, walked into the kitchen and over to the trash can. I had lost my appetite. “’Cause you’re lying to me, Trevor.” I scraped the remaining steak and potatoes into the trash. “I thought I was done dealing with liars, and here you come again. Why is it so hard for people to tell the truth?” I wasn’t expecting him to respond, but he did.
Hook.
Line.
Sinker.
I watched him squirm in his seat. I stood in the kitchen, waiting for his confession.
“And are you going to tell your truth?” he asked. I didn’t know when I had lied to him. I walked back over to him and picked up the letter. I ignored his question.
“I got this in the mail over a month ago. I didn’t say anything because I thought there was nothing to be said.”
“No, you said nothing because you had no proof.”
“But then I got the phone call telling me to ask you a question I already knew the answer to and see if you were going to lie. Then, on Christmas, when I answered your phone, the caller, Bran, said he told you if you weren’t going to tell him yourself, he would make sure he knows what you’ve been up to. Now if the ‘he’ he’s talking about in that call isn’t me, then your trip to Chicago isn’t the only thing you have to explain.”
“You spoke to Bran?”
“What’s going on Trevor? What are you not telling me?”
He stood up. “You want to know about Chicago?”
“Everything.” I walked back into the kitchen, stood against the counter and listened.
Trevor followed.
“Dexter,” he said. “I went to Chicago with Dexter. It wasn’t a
trip I planned. Since you were away at your conference, I didn’t see anything wrong.”
“So when I asked you that same weekend what you were doing you told me everything, but you never told me where you were or who you were with. Why didn’t you?”
“Because…”
“You’re lying,” I interrupted. “What happened in Chicago, Trevor?”
“I slept with him.” He walked back to the table and sat staring out the win
dow. “If you wanted me to love only you, you should have loved only me. I had my justifications. Caela told me she saw you. I saw you.”
I thought I had prepared myself for the worst, but here I was hearing the worst and it had taken my legs from under me. I watched my heart being torn to pieces and scattered over the dining room floor.
“You slept with Dexter?” I didn’t know if I was asking a question or confirming what I heard. Then I thought about Trevor’s questions, his accusations. “And what do you mean you and Caela saw me?” I was still leaning against the counter.
“Yes,” Trevor said adamantly.
“Is that what you do? So, not knowing if what you saw, or thought you saw was true, you decided in order to right my supposed wrong you had to do wrong yourself. Tell me this, Trevor, are you satisfied? Did it make you feel better that you
were doing to me what you thought I was doing to you?”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like that?”
“How exactly was it supposed to happen?” I asked, knowing no explanation would satisfy my curiosity.
“I don’t…”
“And please don’t tell me you don’t know,” I quickly interrupted. “Were you supposed to just sit there beside him, feeling hurt and vulnerable, and Dexter was supposed to just stroke your back and send you on your way? Do you always seek comfort in another man’s arms when you think the man you’re with is seeking comfort, too?”
“You have some damn nerve,” Trevor shot back. “If I remember correctly, it was you who waltzed your way into my space that night we met. I wasn’t looking for anything, and I wasn’t looking for you. Why didn’t you just tell me everything?”
I stood with my eyes wide in disbelief. “Is that how you feel?”
“Had you just been honest with me, none of this would have happened.”
“Oh get the hell outta here! Don’t sit there trying to convince me things or people in my life you think I left out…”
“Conveniently,” Trevor broke in.
“Regardless, that didn’t give you reasons to sleep with him. If you went to him to be comforted about what you thought I was doing, you should have settled for his shoulders. But what do you do? Have sex with him after your first tear.”
“It wasn’t after…”
“Spare me the fucking details. Now is not the time to indulge me with intimate particulars,” I warned.
“So I guess this means you don’t love me anymore?” Trevor asked. I didn’t know if he was ready to hear my response.
“I’m not going to say I love you any less,” I paused. I stared at Trevor with the disappointment I tried to hide earlier etched in my face. “But I can’t exactly say I can love you anymore. Tell me this. Did it at least make you feel better? I hope it was an amazing time for you.” I finally walked over to him and stood with my face inches from his. My eyes were dry because, unfortunately, I had been here before. “I’m curious. What did you do with me while he made love to you? Did I not matter as long as you were getting your fix?”
“Is that what you want me to say?” Trevor questioned.
“How about you continue telling the truth, or have you forgotten what the truth sounds like? It’s what you say so you won’t have to keep track of lies.” I walked back into the kitchen and stood leaning against the island. Trevor followed behind me.
As much as Trevor was willing to accept his wrong in what he did, he obviously wasn’t going to sit there and pretend I didn’t have my faults in all that had happened. He wasn’t going to sit there on the chair and be chastised by me. He needed me to see my own reflection in the mirror I was holding up to his face.
“Since we’re handing out accusations and telling our truths, you can tell me who you were with at Java House the day…”
“The day I ran late to dinner with your father and Natalie?” I offered.
“Yes.”
“The day Caela saw me?”
“Yes. The day Cae…” I guess Trevor wasn’t expecting that either. I had defused the bomb he thought he was going to drop on me. “The truth is, you lied, too, Jackson. You lied when you didn’t tell me about the man Caela saw you with, the same man I saw you having a mid-afternoon heart to heart with in front of Java House.” Trevor paused. He poured his glass full of wine and emptied it in what seemed like one swallow. “What was I supposed to think? You running around having these secret meetings with this man didn’t exactly leave me with many options. Right! Now the question is why did you feel the need to leave out such information? What or who else are you hiding? And let’s start with Bran.”
“I don’t know anyone name Bran. I have nothing to hide. I
saw Caela, and I knew she saw me. I also knew she wouldn’t think twice about telling you. I didn’t say anything to you because I thought you knew me better than that. I waited for you to ask. I could’ve told you who I was with.”
Trevor was quiet.
“Why didn’t you tell me without me asking?”
“It’s complicated,” I explained.
“Simplify it, like you’ve simplified everything else you’ve told me. Whatever! But you need to tell me something.”
“You wouldn’t…”
“Don’t tell me I wouldn’t understand. The brain has a way of figuring things out. What you need to figure out is where you want to start this story.” Trevor sat in the chair by the window and waited for me to begin.
I began telling him about Ethan. I wanted to tell him this soon after we met, but I was too busy listening to his own story of the heartache Kelvin was putting him through.
The only person important to Ethan Angelo Overstreet was Ethan Angelo Overstreet. I saw intimations of Ethan’s selfishness, but against my better judgment, I ignored them. The morning I met Ethan, I had carpooled with a friend, Seth Crandall, something we often did when I didn’t feel like driving. Seth was an older respectful sportscaster. To the ladies, he was sexy and sweet, and for whatever reason, his cavalier attitude towards their advances kept their interest. To me, Seth was the best friend who only visited when an arctic wind blew him out of Ohio, where he now calls home, continuing to earn the respect of other sportscasters on WLWT – TV, an NBC affiliate.
When Ethan stepped from his silver Lexus IS 350, I wasn’t supposed to give him the attention I did. I wasn’t supposed to notice those black custom calf Allen-Edmonds shoes he carefully placed on the sidewalk, avoiding the makeshift stream skillfully making its way to a nearby drain. He was supposed to just walk by, smelling as good as he did, looking as good as he did, and I wasn’t supposed to be affected by him, not in the least bit.
His suit jacket was swung over his left shoulder and a leather attaché case was held firmly in his right hand. He was suave and had a rhythm to his walk. He must have felt my eyes piercing him in his back, since he paused, looked in my direction with intent, and then continued his climb up the steps at Eighty Two Waltham Avenue.
When he reached the first platform that separated the two long flights of stairs leading up to the Pavilion, he stopped as if someone had interrupted his ascent and stared at his silver watch that sat tightly on his left wrist. I walked by him, resisting all temptation to look this man over one last time. We’d crossed path several times before, but I never gave Ethan the attention I was giving him now.
Mr. Ethan Angelo Overstreet, Marketing Management. His name and title displayed in bold black letters on gold brass. Mr. Overstreet was a reputable sports agent, gracing the pages of Essence magazine as one of America’s most eligible bachelors. But who was he eligible to? The jury hadn’t rendered a verdict on that. He was partner, agent, and majority owner of Starpower Sports and Entertainment Agency, which he started five years earlier with Alena Mallory. He was in the area orchestrating a contract deal for basketball power-forward Kenyon Anthony.
Ethan entered the Pavilion and stared at the elevators busied by the morning rush. Business men and women filled the elevators seeming
ly to capacity, eager to start their morning, hopefully quickly making their way to the office breakfast room, avoiding the morning charge to freshly brewed coffee. To avoid the chaos, the wrinkled business suits and scuffed Horatio oxfords, I turned left and headed up the marble stairs that curled upwards along the interior architecture of glass and steel.
My cell phone was already an active hotbox that morning. As I answered, I glanced over my right shoulder only to notice Ethan giving me the once-over. He was bold. I smiled innocently, acknowledging his examination. Ethan nodded as he stepped on the elevator, his image disappearing behind the closing doors.
When I walked into the office and greeted McKenzie, she gave me a look wrapped in mystery. She had become one of my best friends since my first day as an intern. After I walked a few steps passed her desk, she demanded my attention. McKenzie handed me a pink message slip.
I unfolded the message and read as I walked. Surprised by the details, I stopped and turned, looking back at McKenzie and thought, He actually asked you to take this message? McKenzie shrugged her shoulders and smiled, as if she knew exactly what I was thinking. It was a lunch invitation with none other than Mr. Overstreet. Before I knew it, I was in a restaurant waiting to have lunch with him.
“So, let me get this straight,” Trevor interrupted. “This man winked at you, left you a message, and you were already waiting to have lunch with him?”
“Don’t judge me. You wanted me to tell you about him, and that’s what I’m doing. If you don’t like what you’re hearing, I can stop. This wasn’t my idea.”
When I saw him, something told me I was never going to be the same. I eventually fell in love with the man I met that morning. He fell in love with everyone else. While he was setting my heart on fire with his pretentious affections and broken promises, he was also sharing himself with men and women who never bothered to listen to how his heart beat. It took me a while to realize that the Ethan I met was nothing but an avatar, a misrepresentation of his true self. He wasn’t ready for love, and the kind of love he was ready for wasn’t mine.