Getting to the Good Part Read online

  “So all of that is true? I thought it was a bunch of bullshit that Rick had been feeding Misty.”

  He laughed again. We were still embracing each other.

  “Why would he feed her bullshit? It is all true.”

  I let go of him, leaned back, and looked at his face.

  “So that’s your pussy pad for real?”

  “Yeah. It was for years. I took lots of women there.”

  “And now you wanna take me?” I snapped. “Talk about a damn pattern!! And you’re not even trying to lie about it!!”

  “Would you prefer I deny that I used the place for that?”

  I turned my head away and stared out of the window… fuming.

  Son of a bitch. So I really was just another hoe.

  Dandre gently rubbed my arms.

  “That’s not why I want to take you,” he said. “I mean, on one level, it is. I want to make love to you everywhere. But on another, it’s for something totally different.”

  I threw my legs over the side of the bed.

  “I gotta go.”

  “Reesy. I haven’t taken anyone there in a year. That lifestyle gets kinda old after a while, you know?”

  I searched for my panties and bra. I put them on. I didn’t have jack to say to him.

  “I go to Martha’s Vineyard sometimes by myself, and I sit out by the water and meditate on my life. I do it a lot. Have been ever since I got the place.”

  I pulled on my jeans. Dandre kept babbling. Where the heck was my T-shirt?

  “That’s something I’ve never done with anybody,” he prattled. “Not a woman, not Rick, not a soul.”

  I found my T-shirt and slipped it over my head.

  “That’s why I wanted to take you,” he said. “I wanted the two of us to go out by the water. Just to sit. Maybe hold hands. Contemplate the sea.”

  I stopped what I was doing. I turned around and looked at him.

  “Okay,” he grinned. “And maybe sex a little.”

  I smirked.

  “All right,” he laughed. “A lot.”

  “You are so stupid. Why do I even bother with you?”

  He was sitting up with the covers around his waist. His golden brown body was tight and ripped.

  “Could it be that you’re falling for me?”

  “Don’t be so cocky.”

  “I thought you just said I was deep?”

  “I lied.”

  A few seconds of silence hung in the air.

  “Are you really leaving now?” he asked.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “Yup. Got things to do.”

  “Will I see you tonight?”

  He rubbed my back with his big toe.

  “Maybe.”

  I did have things to do. I needed to give Misty a call.

  “After the show?” he persisted.

  “Perhaps.”

  His big toe drew designs on my back, sending unexpected chills of passion through my body.

  “Be in my dressing room by the time the show’s over.”

  “Sure,” Dandre agreed. “I’ll wait for you backstage.”

  “No. I want you in my dressing room when I get there.”

  “All right.”

  “And I want you ready. You never know what kind of mood I might be in.”

  “I’m always ready when it comes to you, baby.”

  I raised up off the bed.

  “Just make sure you are tonight. But for now, I gotta bounce.”

  “All right. I’ll see you this evening. I’ll bring condoms. And honey.”

  “What’s the honey for?”

  “The better to trap you with, my fly,” he said with a leer.

  As I walked down the stairs, I smiled to myself.

  He was clearly mistaken about who was the spider, and who was the fly.

  He’d know soon enough.

  But by then, it’d be much too late for him to pry himself loose.

  LIKE WHITE ON RICE

  I couldn’t get Misty to return my calls for the next two weeks.

  But that was cool. I could understand her being upset and not wanting to deal with the situation.

  Dandre mentioned that Rick was also acting kinda moody.

  From what I could guess, that meant things were not so great at home.

  Good. Misty needed to ditch that loser. It was two weeks away from the wedding. There was still plenty of time for her to get out.

  Better late than never. Who knew how many times he and Tamara had kicked it by now.

  Things were going really well for me with the show. We had a full house, night after night. Standing ovations became the norm. I began to look for them, and welcome the adoration.

  Word got out about the show being Broadway-bound, and the crowds just kept on coming.

  I officially had an underwear drawer and an area in the closet for my shoes over at Dandre’s house. He was growing more and more serious by the day.

  I did my best to keep things arm’s length. I wasn’t trying to get serious with him.

  But, goodness knows, the sex we were having was slamming.

  I was sitting in my dressing room, killing time.

  Taped to my mirror were the rave reviews I had clipped from the papers. Every now and then, I ran my fingers across them, just to confirm that they, and my success, were, in fact, real.

  It was just shy of noon, and I was leafing through a copy of Vibe magazine. I had my feet kicked up on the table.

  “May I come in?”

  I looked up. It was Helmut, standing in my doorway.

  “Sure.” I smiled, closing the magazine, and subtly slid my feet off the counter.

  He stepped inside, looking around.

  “This room… it’s very small.”

  I glanced around. It seemed fine to me.

  “Small is relative,” I commented. “This is the biggest dressing room I’ve ever had.”

  “Really?” he asked, his eyes growing wide with disbelief at first, then returning to normal. “Oh yes, I remember. Gordon did say this was your first show. That’s still hard to believe. You’re such a professional.”

  He moved over to an empty chair.

  “May I?” he asked again, pointing to the seat.

  “Sure. Sit down, please.”

  Helmut settled himself graciously into the seat, and studied me for a few quiet seconds.

  “You deserve a much bigger dressing room than this. We’ll make sure your new one is sprawling. You’re doing a wonderful job in the show. The critics are madly in love with you.”

  I folded my arms on the table in front of me, resting my chin on them.

  “Really?” I grinned. “Are you hearing good things?”

  “Teresa… Reesy… don’t be insane!” he exclaimed. “They’re practically bursting with excitement over you!”

  I felt giddy. Helmut was in a position to hear far more than I would, so if he said it, it must have been true.

  Still, you never knew with white folks. I wondered if he was blowing smoke.

  “All I saw was a couple of articles. Have there been more than that?”

  Helmut nodded, flicking that heavy lock of hair that hung over his eye out of the way.

  “I’ve got stacks,” he said. “I’ll bring them in and show them to you.”

  “That would be cool,” I replied with a smile.

  Helmut smiled as well, his gaze deep and penetrating. He was looking at me as if I was transparent. It didn’t make me uneasy. But it did give me pause.

  “Are you excited about what’s happening?” he asked.

  “Very. Having this role is a dream come true.”

  He abruptly got up from the chair and began to walk around. He riffled through the dresses on the costume rack, and examined all the different pairs of shoes.

  “Nice,” he said, glancing over at me. “But we’ll get you better. We’ll get you the best.”

  He worked his way over to where I was sitting.


  I raised my head, watching him with suspicion.

  Helmut began to pick up things from my dressing table. The first thing he grabbed was the copy of Vibe.

  “I subscribe to this,” he said, flipping through the pages. “Quincy Jones, right?”

  “Yeah,” I replied, impressed.

  Helmut studied a picture of Biggie Smalls.

  “Quincy is a very powerful man. I’ve worked with him before.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Yes. I’ve worked with a number of stars over the years.”

  I wondered how old Helmut was. He looked to be in his late thirties. Maybe he’d gotten into the business at a very young age.

  He was standing a little too close. Closer than I’d ever allowed a white guy to get.

  He glanced down at me.

  “So, would you like to have lunch?” he asked in his usual, out-of-nowhere manner. As though the question had been posed already.

  “Uh… cool,” I responded, somewhat startled. “Yeah. That would be fine.”

  He held out his hand to me.

  I stared blankly at him, not quite understanding the gesture.

  “Let me help you up,” he offered, after he realized that sistah-girl just wasn’t getting it.

  I gave him my hand.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled.

  “You’re more than welcome,” Helmut said with a smile. “Have you been to the Rainbow Room before?”

  I chuckled.

  “Why are you laughing?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

  “Because, I’ve been trying to go there since I moved to New York. I haven’t made it yet.”

  Helmut led me to the door.

  “Good,” he smiled again. “Allow me the pleasure of introducing you to the finer side of the city that never sleeps.”

  We sat in a darkened corner and chatted all afternoon.

  If anybody had told me that I’d be conversing with a white man from Germany for four hours with nobody around but us, I would have laughed in their face.

  Helmut was very intriguing. He knew something about everything that had to do with the theater. He was particularly knowledgeable about a number of black productions.

  “I’ve always found the darker culture much more alluring,” he admitted. “There’s so much depth, an intensity that’s just not present in other races.”

  “That’s an odd thing for a white guy to admit, don’t you think?” I boldly commented.

  Helmut held up his hands as if conceding a point.

  “What’s true is true,” he replied.

  I sat across from him, listening to him talk. I wondered if he was always this open, or if it was just because he was with me.

  “How did you and Gustav hook up?” I asked.

  Helmut took in a deep breath and rolled his eyes to the side, considering.

  “We were children together in Berlin. Then his family left Germany and moved away to Vienna. We lost contact for many years. I ran into him again here, when we were both twenty-one. I was fresh out of Juilliard. Gustav was putting together his first production for the stage. A larger-than-life version of Faust. It failed miserably.”

  I sat there, drinking in his words. He was so deliberate with the language, that I could picture everything as he was saying it.

  “We decided to put our wits, and our monies, together and see what we could do. It was an uphill climb, but, soon enough, we learned to make it work.”

  “And now you put on major theatrical events,” I said.

  “Yes. That’s what Gustav and I do best. We know how to create a showstopper. And, if we’re not the creators, we certainly have a knack for spotting a winner.”

  I smiled and took a sip of water.

  “No misses?” I asked.

  “Not in the last eighteen years,” Helmut declared.

  Wow. The translation was that Black Barry’s Pie was a shoo-in. With Helmut and Gustav behind it, it was destined to be a runaway hit.

  And I had the starring role.

  Luck didn’t get any better than this.

  Helmut’s limo drove us back to the Nexus.

  “What are you doing after the show tonight?” he asked.

  I sat in the car, pondering what I had lined up. Other than Dandre, which was not so much plans as it was an always-open invitation, I didn’t have anything.

  “Not much,” I replied. “Why?”

  “Would you have cocktails with me? I’d like to take you somewhere special.”

  The hairs on my arm stood on end.

  Helmut put his hand on my arm.

  “Will you have a drink with me tonight?” he asked again. “After the show?”

  Oh Lord. This man was asking me out on a date.

  I couldn’t go out on a date with him.

  He was white.

  I didn’t do white.

  End of subject.

  Besides that, Tyrone and Tyrene, whose favorite refrain was Don’t trust whitey, would bust two guts.

  I mean, don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t like I found white folks unattractive as a whole.

  There were lots of good-looking white guys. Brad Pitt. Tom Cruise. Richard Gere. They were easy on the eyes, no doubt. But they weren’t people I fantasized about. Whenever I dreamed, it was always in Technicolor. My men didn’t have to be colorized. They already came that way.

  I sat there, having a major dilemma. How was I going to tell Helmut no and, at the same time, try not to alienate him?

  After all, he was backing the show. I couldn’t afford to have him at odds with me. The success of my career practically rested in the palm of his hand.

  Speaking of hands, Helmut’s was still on my arm. He continued to press me for an answer.

  “I won’t keep you out long,” he assured me. “I know you have to get your rest.”

  I looked into his eyes, trying to find a flicker of intent.

  I saw nothing but pleasantry. Perhaps I was reading him wrong.

  I thought about it.

  It couldn’t hurt me to have a drink with him. I’d allow myself an hour to chitchat, then I’d insist that I had to go home.

  “All right,” I consented. “I’ll have cocktails with you.”

  Helmut was beaming.

  “Fantastic! I know just the place to take you! Trust me, you’re going to love it!”

  I laughed nervously, trying to feign enthusiasm.

  Inside, I was hoping that there wouldn’t be any black folks there.

  Especially not any brothers. I wouldn’t be able to deal with the looks I knew they’d give me once I rolled up in the house with Helmut. It would be like dying a slow death.

  Way too much drama for me to wanna deal with.

  Helmut picked me up at exactly 10:30 P.M. at the Nexus.

  The show had ended at ten, giving me just enough time to change clothes and relax my mind for a minute.

  The limo whisked us away, off into the night.

  “Where are we going?”

  Helmut offered me a glass of champagne. I took it, tossing it back with lightning speed.

  I wanted to dull my senses so I wouldn’t have to really deal with what was happening.

  He poured me another. I tossed it back with equal alacrity.

  “You’re going to get dizzy,” he warned, smiling. “Those bubbles will go straight to your head, and then what will we do?”

  Then you’ll take my ass home, that’s what, I thought.

  I was reminded of Donovan on the night of my party at Nell’s. He kept telling me what and how I should drink. I ignored his advice then, just as I was ignoring Helmut’s now.

  The car pulled up in front of the Four Seasons Hotel.

  “Why are we stopping here?”

  Helmut smiled.

  “This is where I’m taking you, Reesy.”

  The limo driver stepped out of the car and walked around to open my door.

  “You’re bringing me here?!”

  “Yes. I’m taking you to 5757.”
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  My heart began beating fast and loud. He had to be kidding. No way did he pick me up to bring me straight to a hotel.

  “Is that your suite number?” I asked.

  The limo driver was standing there, holding my door open.

  “Noooooooo!” Helmut cried. “I don’t live in hotels. I have a huge apartment on Central Park West. 5757 is the name of the bar.”

  My shoulders went limp. I was never so relieved in all my life.

  “Madam, may I help you out?” the driver asked, offering his hand.

  “Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that.”

  Helmut exited on the other side of the car and walked around.

  He extended his arm, waiting for me to attach myself to it.

  Shit. That meant I was going to look like I was with him. I mean with him with him. People would naturally assume that we were a couple.

  Lord! What was I going to do? I couldn’t get out of it. I had to take his arm.

  I did.

  The doorman smiled at us pleasantly as we passed into the lobby.

  I prayed to God that I didn’t see any colored people.

  See, it was one thing to go to lunch with Helmut. That was safe. It could always be construed as business.

  But to go out with him? At night? In a limo? With him holding me by the arm? That would be interpreted one way, and one way only.

  I knew this. I had come to that conclusion about many a sistah I assumed had defected, just because I saw her with a white man at night.

  Lord Jesus.

  I knew I hadn’t been the most religious person of late. I hadn’t been as in touch with the Almighty as I should be. But, just this once, I hoped that God would hear my prayer. I needed Him to cut me a little bit of slack.

  Just this one time.

  We followed the stairs and rounded the corner. I could hear a lively buzz as we approached.

  The place was with thick with people.

  Instantly, God’s message to me was revealed.

  He had given me the finger.

  Right off, I spotted five brothers, and I’m talking good-looking black men, standing by the bar. They were all in suits, and were obviously of impressive ilk, as Tyrone would say.

  A smattering of other black folks were speckled around the room.

  The host, a dark-haired man with a grim face, responded familiarly when we walked up.

  “Good evening, Mr. Wagner,” he greeted in a gravelly monotone voice. “So good to see you again tonight. Will this be all in your party this evening?”