Getting to the Good Part Read online

  “Money’s money,” I replied, disarmed and confused. “Ain’t no venue gonna say no if you got the cash to make the move. And we’ve got a solid rep now.”

  “A’ight then!!” he exclaimed, leaning forward. “I say let’s do this!”

  I searched his face.

  “Dandre, swear to me you’re not playing some kind of nasty, cruel trick to get me back for hurting you.”

  He looked directly into my face.

  “I swear to you, I’m not playing with you, Teresa Snowden.”

  I looked at him long and hard. He seemed pretty genuine.

  “But, um, I do wanna add something else,” he said, clearing his throat.

  “What’s that?” I asked hopefully.

  He leaned back in his chair and gave me a look that was firm and solid.

  “I need for you to realize that this is just a business deal. I care about your career. You’re extremely talented, and there’s no reason that you shouldn’t have your shot at Broadway.”

  I sat there, listening to him. A ball of lead dropped into my belly.

  “I see my investment as a win-win kinda thing. The show’s already popular. The people are gonna come.”

  I took a deep breath. Wanting to know. Not wanting to know.

  “So what are you saying?”

  Dandre let out a heavy, somber sigh.

  “I’m saying that this is strictly business. And that’s it. There can never be anything romantic between us again. That bridge has been burned. I can’t ever revisit those feelings for you.”

  My insides turned to sawdust. My gut wrenched at his every word.

  I tried to keep a straight face.

  “How can you say that?” I whispered. “I said I was sorry. I realize now how much I love you. I never expected to love you, Dandre. But I do.”

  I reached out for him, but he leaned away, holding his palm out in a gesture for me to stop.

  “Don’t do this, Reesy,” he implored softly, shaking his head. “Don’t do it. Please, let’s not do or say anything where either of us will feel like our dignity’s been compromised. I think we’ve both had enough of that.”

  “You can’t mean what you’re saying,” I half-whispered, half-whined. “I know you. You still love me. I know that you do.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t,” he replied. “I do still love you. But if you really knew me, you’d also understand that when I say I can’t go back, I mean just that. When it comes to you and me, I can’t ever entertain it again.”

  “Why not?!!” I woefully demanded.

  “Reesy, I’m a man. When I saw you at your house…”

  His breathing seemed strained.

  “… Shit!! I don’t even want to conjure up the image. I really can’t even talk about this.”

  “No!!” I entreated, leaning in toward him. “Tell me, please. I need to know.”

  Dandre’s eyes were dark and hurt.

  “Reesy, when I saw you standing there with that man… naked… a big part of me just died. Right there in your house. I can’t ever get that part of me back again. Ever. Do you realize that?”

  “I’m sorry,” I whined, reaching out for him.

  “No,” he snapped, holding up his hand again. “It’s too late for sorry, and that’s not the reason why I came here to begin with.”

  I leaned back in my chair. Dandre kept talking.

  “I’m saddened at the fact that I believed in something that was never really there. I hate to think that a part of me that was once very trusting and very much alive will never be that way again.”

  I began to cry. I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t what I wanted to do, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  “Reesy,” he whispered, “I didn’t say any of this to make you cry. I came here for something good, not for something bad.”

  “How could you not expect me to cry about this?”

  “The time for either of us to cry has passed. It serves us no purpose to do it now. Let’s just take care of business, and get this show back on the road.”

  I sat there whimpering. I looked away, refusing to beg him to give me another chance.

  What was scary was that I considered begging him. I mean, that shit actually flitted through my mind for a minute.

  Now, ain’t that a blip?

  Reesy, of all people, begging a nigga not to go!!

  “So are you down with me on this investment thing?” he asked.

  I nodded, still looking away.

  “All right,” he said, standing. “Well, I’m going to go talk to Gordon. Where can I find him around here?”

  “He’s probably in his office,” I struggled, still looking off. “It’s just down the hall.”

  “Cool! We’re gonna get this thing rolling again. And we’re gonna make a lotta money doing it!”

  “Mmmm-hmmm,” I mumbled, doing my best to straighten my face before I let him see it.

  “Well, I’m outta here. I’ll let you know how things go with Gordon, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I heard him moving toward the door.

  I still didn’t turn around.

  “Reesy,” he called.

  “Yep.”

  “Turn around.”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “All right, then. You gon’ be okay?”

  “I’ll be just fine,” I replied, my voice artificially firm.

  “Okay,” he sighed. “Just remember, no matter what, I’ve always got your back. You may have hurt me, but like I said, I still care for you. And this is your dream. I want to help you make it come true.”

  I sat there, totally confused. I was moved by the fact that he had my back. I was devastated by the fact that I would no longer have his front.

  I couldn’t let him see how I was feeling. As I sat there, I did everything within my power to keep my emotions under control.

  “I appreciate what you’re doing,” I managed.

  “Well, see ya later,” he said.

  “Peace out,” I chirped.

  He closed the door behind him.

  When I heard it click, I collapsed on my dressing table and sobbed hysterically.

  By late that evening, Dandre had talked to Gordon and Julian, and things were once again in motion to relocate Black Barry’s Pie.

  Everybody’s dreams were back on track.

  Including mine, I suppose.

  Dandre had swept into my life like a nightmare at Burch, and now, in matter of minutes, turned my dreams of Broadway into a reality.

  I should have been happy.

  Instead, I was so miserable, I was barely able to breathe.

  ALLOW ME TO EXPOSE MY COLON

  The show went on, as usual, only now Dandre was heavily involved.

  Actually, I didn’t see him very much around the theater. He was more involved from a financial standpoint, and dealt with Gordon and his partner more than anyone else.

  When Helmut realized that Black Barry’s Pie and Reesy Snowden were going to move on despite his threats, he backed off. He called me at home a few times, apologizing for being so hotheaded. He said that he had fallen for me and was driven by resentment to retaliate in some way.

  Fuck that. He was trying to mess with my life.

  I don’t play that, I don’t care who you are.

  What was I talking about? What made what Helmut did to me any different from what I had done to Dandre?

  I had to think about that, long and hard.

  As unforgiving as Dandre was to me, I had been just as unforgiving of Helmut.

  Looking at it in those terms made it easier to understand the position Dandre had taken.

  That still didn’t stop me from loving him, though. What we’d shared was special and real on a whole lot of levels.

  What had happened between me and Helmut couldn’t even compare.

  Every now and then, Dandre stopped by after the show to say hi to me, and sometimes he called me at night just to give me words of praise and encouragement.


  Other than that, I didn’t see very much of him at all.

  I don’t know what he was doing with his evenings, but he wasn’t spending them coming to the theater to see me like he used to do.

  Misty and Rick were still out on the high seas. Probably lying up on the isle of Crete basking in the sun. They’d been gone now for almost a week and a half.

  It’d be two and a half weeks before she’d even be back.

  I’ll bet she was so happy. I’ll bet her life was so complete.

  In the meantime, other than how things were going with the play, my life was as raggedy as a shredded pair of drawers.

  I wasn’t going out with anyone or doing anything after things fell apart with Dandre. I just went to rehearsal every day, showed up for the play every night and for matinees, and then took my ass home.

  I wasn’t even calling Grandma Tyler as much as I used to. I needed the moral support, but didn’t feel like having the conversation that had to take place in order for me to get it.

  Most nights, I just came home. I delayed going to bed as long as possible, because I’d been having terrible nightmares about Dandre with other women.

  Famous, beautiful women.

  The dreams taunted me, and arrived, like clockwork, within minutes after I drifted off to sleep.

  So, to avoid that, I usually just stayed up and watched TV, or I got on my computer. While I was on, I’d always have my Maxwell playing in the CD-ROM.

  Maxwell was my one consolation. I wrapped myself up in his music and did my damnedest to let him sing away my pain.

  Sometimes I surfed the net and hung out in chat rooms. Black Voices and Net Noir on America Online were my favorite places. I’d go there, checking out what people had to say, listening in the background to the crazy conversations as they scrolled across the screen.

  A few brothers tried to pop into my world, sending me instant messages wanting to know about my interests and if I liked having hot butt-naked sex until the break of dawn.

  After experiencing that a few times, I just blocked the instant message feature on my system. I wasn’t interested in getting my rap on with anybody. Hooking up with someone else was the last thing on my mind.

  And I certainly wasn’t interested in cybersex, to say the least.

  What was on my mind was Dandre. All the time.

  One night, while I was on-line, I typed in his full name and did a member search to see if he had an AOL screen address. I was really just playing when I did it. Even though Dandre had a computer, he was certainly not the Internet type.

  But guess what?

  He did have a screen name.

  It was AMackNoMor.

  I looked at the profile.

  It read:

  Member Name: Dandre Hilliard

  Location: New York City

  Date of Birth: Nunna…

  Marital Status: Single, But Officially Off the Market

  Occupation: Whatever I Damn Well Choose

  Hobbies: Pleasing my woman… If you saw her, you’d know why. Enjoying my life.

  Quote: “When I’m sad, she comes to me. With a thousand smiles she gives to me free.”

  The quote was the giveaway that it was him. It was from one of his favorite songs. “Little Wing” by Jimi Hendrix.

  Obviously, he hadn’t updated his profile since our breakup.

  I sat there staring at the computer screen, eyes welling up, a big lump in my throat.

  I never knew he even surfed the net enough to have an online membership. I guess there were a lot of things about Dandre I still had yet to learn.

  Things that I’d never ever get a chance to learn.

  I signed off the computer and crawled my ass to bed.

  I was determined not to cry myself to sleep.

  After all, I was Reesy Snowden. I didn’t do the crying thing.

  Not for no man, and nobody.

  I kept chanting that to myself as I stared up at the ceiling in the darkness, the tears cutting paths down the sides of my face.

  I woke up the next morning, fresh from an awful dream about Dandre announcing to me that he was now dating Robin Givens, with a bright idea.

  I was going to write him a letter. Rather, send him some e-mail.

  It was a way for me to express to him how I really felt, without the burden of having him interrupt me, or give me some look that would make me change my mind about what I was saying.

  E-mail was easy. I could just drop my heart into it. I mean, really put myself out there, and send it on its merry way. Computers always made communicating safer. Perhaps he’d feel more comfortable talking to me in cyberspace anyway.

  The cool thing about having America Online was that if the person you sent e-mail to was a member, you could check the status of when they received the mail. You could even send mail return receipt. That way, you’d get an e-mail informing you of exactly when the person read your mail.

  I dashed over to my computer and wiggled the mouse.

  The screensaver kicked off and my desktop appeared. I double-clicked America Online and signed on.

  First thing I did was check my e-mail. Not that I would have any. The only person who ever wrote me was Misty, and she was gone.

  I just kinda pathetically hoped that perhaps me and Dandre were cosmically feeling each other, and maybe he’d done a search for my screen name and dropped me a line.

  (By the way, my screen name is PnutButr. That was my stage name when I was an exotic dancer. I liked it, and thought it worked well for cyberspace. But it also explained why I got so many instant messages about having hot butt-naked sex. With a name like that, comments about licking were inevitable.)

  I looked at the little icon of the mailbox on my computer. The words underneath it screamed out my answer.

  You Have No Mail.

  Yeah. Story of my life.

  I clicked on the little icon to compose mail, typed in Dandre’s screen name, and tried to begin.

  I didn’t know how I would start, but once I did, I knew it would all just flow from there.

  And I wasn’t going to edit what I said. I was going to tell him I loved him, and why I acted the way I did. I’d talk about how I’d fallen for him in spite of any other intentions I may have had.

  I’d spit it all out, in writing, for him to see it for himself.

  I took a deep breath, and typed Dear Dandre.

  An hour later, when I finished, my eyes were wet with tears.

  That night, after the show, I signed on to AOL to see if he had gotten it.

  I had some new mail, but it wasn’t from him. It was the return receipt, showing me that he had read the mail at 10:15 P.M. that night.

  That was cool. It was now 10:45 P.M. More than likely, he would be calling me up before the night was through.

  I felt infinitely better. I was so glad that I’d decided to communicate with him that way. At least it was insurance that I was heard.

  Being heard, and understood, was what mattered to me more than anything else.

  I signed off the computer, flipped on the TV, and channel surfed, waiting for him to call.

  Dandre was a very fair person. He was always willing to give an individual the benefit of the doubt.

  I watched the news, Mad TV, and parts of Saturday Night Live and South Park.

  I laughed at Cartman’s stupid antics, and wondered what ridiculous way they’d find to kill Kenny this week.

  I was happy. I’d be hearing from my baby any minute now.

  The fact that I was laughing was good. Things were on their way to being right with the world.

  • • •

  When I woke up, it was morning.

  My face was crusty, the TV was still on, and the sun was shining through my living-room windows.

  I got up from the couch and checked my e-mail again.

  Nothing.

  I yawned and stretched, making my way back to the bedroom.

  I realized something. For once, I hadn’t had a bad dream about
Dandre with another woman.

  I smiled. That was definitely a good sign.

  He’d call me before the day was out. I was being too hasty. What I needed to do was give him some time to think. After all, he was entitled to that much, wasn’t he?

  Of course he is, I thought, as I climbed into bed and drifted off to sleep.

  I was mortified.

  It was exactly a week since I’d sent Dandre the e-mail, and still I hadn’t heard from him.

  No phone call, no visit, no showing up at the Nexus to talk to me. No e-mail response, no acknowledgment. No NOTHING.

  He could have at least e-mailed me back and said Bitch, leave me alone.

  Something.

  I had been checking my e-mail frantically, every morning and every night, looking for some kind of sign from him.

  Not nary a peep.

  I felt like a stone cold fool for putting myself and my emotions out there, for him to read, laugh at, print out, show to his buddies, or God forbid, some other chick.

  (I didn’t take the ridiculing thang too well.)

  I wanted to kick myself for being stupid enough to leave a freaking paper trail directly to my heart.

  My first instinct was to want to cry. But no way was I going to indulge that emotion again.

  All I could do was just belly up. The e-mail was out there. He had it. Wasn’t nuthin’ I could do to change that.

  All I could do was just go on with my life.

  As if it never happened. As if I’d never sent it.

  It was Saturday. I’d just awakened from a dream where he and Lela Rochon were having wild sex in a dark hall. He saw me staring, but just grinned and kept on bucking.

  No way could I go to work today, not feeling the way that I felt. I decided to play hooky from Black Barry’s Pie.

  (Tamara could have her pitiful moment in the sun. See if I freaking cared.)

  Gordon wasn’t too happy about it when I called him up, but he knew how hard I worked, so he was totally accommodating.

  I was tired and dragging and humiliated, but I was not going to let that get to me. This day was going to be all about me. I needed to spend a day just doing things to pamper myself.

  I sat down, thinking, and came up with a master plan. I made a quick phone call. I already had an appointment set up for the afternoon, but I called to see if I could push it back a little.