Greed, page 2
part #3 of Seven Deadly Sins Series
He twisted, turning his torso toward me long enough to give me a peck on my cheek. Then his attention, his focus returned to the canvas.
With a sigh, I stepped back. I wasn’t annoyed or anything like that. Stephon was already at his office, and the truth was, I needed to get to mine.
So, after another long stare at my man, I returned to our bedroom. It was a quick ritual for me, and in less than forty-five minutes, I had showered and was dressed in a cream suit (my nod to the beginning of spring) and was once again standing in the middle of our living room.
I kissed the top of Stephon’s head. “Have a great day, babe.”
He twisted once again to give me another quick kiss, then lowered the music playing through his iPhone. When he lifted the envelope from the sofa, I couldn’t believe that I’d forgotten about that check.
“Oh, yeah. That’s my commission.”
He nodded. “I hope you don’t mind, I took a peek.” He grinned. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” I took a breath. “It’s less than I expected, though. I’m sorry.”
“Babe.” He frowned a little. “What do you have to be sorry about?” Standing, he crossed the living room to where I was, pressed me back against the door, leaned into me, then covered my lips with his. “This check is great; it’s your best one yet, and I know it’ll only get better.”
“But our vacation with Audra and Joseph.”
He shrugged a little as he backed away. “Well, we won’t be able to go this time around.”
My shoulders slumped. We hadn’t been able to go the last time around, nor the time before that, nor the vacation before that one.
He said, “But those two take so many trips, we’ll catch them on one of these islands.”
As Stephon slipped back onto the stool in front of the easel, I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth. “I was thinking,” I began.
He looked up at me.
“I know we don’t have much in savings, but I was so looking forward to this vacation.”
Now it was his shoulders that slacked a bit. “I know, I was looking forward to it, too, but the only way we would’ve been able to go was if . . .”
He stopped short of telling me that I’d failed, even though I knew he didn’t see it that way. Those were my feelings I was projecting.
“I know,” I said, and now my words rushed out. “And I’ll figure out a way to make it up next quarter, but we can take a thousand from savings and go to the Cayman Islands just this once.”
I took in a breath, and Stephon blew out one as if he thought that was better than speaking the words he wanted to say. Words that he’d told me before. Instead, he said, “Zuri, we barely have three thousand dollars in the bank, and you want to take out a third of our savings? Not to mention the spending money we’d need once we got there.”
“But it’s not like we won’t be able to put that money back. We’ll have the rest of the money you’ll receive from this painting.” I pointed to his easel. “That’ll be five thousand, right? And my commission next quarter . . .”
“But we don’t know what your commission check will be,” he said in a tone that sounded like he was explaining this to a two-year-old. “We have to have a backup. We’ve had to take money out of savings for the last six or seven months to pay our bills. It would be crazy to go on vacation and then come home and not be able to pay our rent.”
I crossed my arms and wondered (not for the first time) how I’d ended up with a man who was an artist, but acted like an accountant.
Bouncing from the stool, he pulled me into his arms again. “Come on,” he started, “you know I wanted to take that vacation, too, but the fact is we can’t. But that doesn’t mean we will never go on vacation; we’re just not going right now. Our time will come. For lots of things.”
When I closed my eyes, he kissed my eyelids.
“Don’t be mad,” he said.
“I’m not mad; I’m just . . . I feel stuck. We never go anywhere; we never do anything. We’re always concerned about money.”
“Correction: I’m always concerned about money.”
Even before he smiled, I knew he was trying to make a joke, but I found no humor in being told we couldn’t take this trip that I’d been looking forward to since my best friend had told me about it last month. I’d worked hard, brought in two new accounts to the advertising agency, and now I was standing in the middle of my living room, blinking back tears because I was way too old to cry over this.
“This is just the season we’re in right now.” Stephon’s voice was softer, as if he knew my emotions needed to be soothed. “We’re doing what we’re supposed to do now so that . . .”
“We can do what we want to do later,” I finished the quote he always said to me.
“Exactly. So you go out there and make that money. I’ll be right here painting up some money. And then soon, we’ll have lots of it to do whatever.”
I nodded. “Okay.” I tried not to sigh as I turned away from Stephon. Right before I got to the door, I said, “Oh, I’ll be a little late tonight. Remember I have that appointment with the woman from the Girls First Foundation.”
“Oh, yeah. Great. I’m so glad you’ll be doing that. Have a great day, babe,” he said as he came to the door to give me another quick kiss on my forehead. Then he slid back onto his stool, turned up the music, and now The Marriage of Figaro filled the apartment with notes so crisp, it felt like the orchestra was in our living room.
Stephon didn’t even look at me when he picked up his brush, and I’d been dismissed. I left Stephon to his passion and hoped one day I’d actually pursue mine.
3
The quick knock startled me, made me sit up straight in my chair and swivel toward the door.
“Hey,” my supervisor said as he peeked his blond-spiked head into my office. “You’re gonna have those forecasts to me this afternoon?”
I nodded, then tapped a couple of keys to awaken my computer. “Working on that now, boss.”
He gave me a thumbs-up and a grin, and I returned the gesture, holding the pose, until he stepped away. Then my smile faded and I stood and closed my door. That was something I should have done hours ago, when I walked into Silver Sky, the advertising agency where I’d worked for the last year.
Returning to my chair I plopped down, feeling as if my energy had been drained even though I hadn’t flexed a single mental muscle since I’d walked into this building. It was hard to get my professional juices flowing when all I was doing was calculating forecasts and scouting new clients. What was creative about that? My sales account job here wasn’t much different from my last job in medical equipment sales, and the one before that in textbook sales, and the one before that in skin-care sales.
It was all the same, including my boss, always a blond-haired white boy (that was why I called all of them boss, never bothering to commit their names to my memory), ten years or so out of college like me, but already running things while I was still skipping along, trying to find my place.
Pushing myself from the chair, I wandered to the window, taking in the downtown Atlanta skyline. I had such dreams ten years ago, always imagining myself on the thirtieth floor in one of these high-rise buildings, conquering the world (or at least Atlanta, since I’d never even been on a plane).
I sighed. There seemed little right with my life—except for my man. That thought turned my sigh into a smile. My shirtless artist of a boyfriend . . . who never budged from our budget. But even with not being able to convince him to take this vacation, there was little I could find wrong with that man. He was the blessing that God had chosen for me. It was so clear that he was God’s gift, beginning with the way God had brought him into my life—or should I say the way God had brought him back three years ago . . .
My eyes were blurry and the Riesling was sweet.
And this sweet wine was the reason why I wasn’t slumped over this table wallowing in my misery.
Audra said, “See? You’re having a good time. And you didn’t even want to come out.”
I had to squint a bit to bring her into focus even though she was sitting right in front of me on the other side of this small round table. The blue light made her look like a ghost, and that made me giggle.
We were at a club called Blues—and it was either a corny name or the best marketing ever. Audra had chosen this place because she and Joseph loved the local blues performers who were here on weekends, mostly students from nearby colleges.
I’d agreed to come because the place matched my mood. The only light inside was blue, and that was how I felt tonight—just blue, just pathetic.
“See, this isn’t a bad birthday.” Audra leaned across the table and squeezed my hand before she settled back into her husband’s arms.
Didn’t she realize how crazy this was? Her words and then the way she was able to snuggle back into her man’s arms? She was having a better time than I was, and this was my thirtieth birthday. But my celebration options had been few—either dinner with my father or hanging at this club with my best friend. Since I was older than twelve, dinner with my dad on my birthday was out.
For a while, this wine had made the night great. Then Audra made me remember what I was trying hard to forget. My eyes were blurry again, but now the haze was from the heat of my tears that pressed behind my eyelids.
Just pathetic.
But I, at least, needed to be happy that my best friend had dragged me here so I wasn’t with my dad or in my bedroom, wallowing in my latest breakup, this time with Chris. I was only thirty, and I’d had more boyfriends than I had shoes—and my closet was filled with those.
Someone from the outside might think I was doing a poor job of searching for my father. But my theory was that this was all about my mother. I didn’t remember her, not really since she’d passed away the day before I turned five. I was doing all the things she’d never been able to teach me not to do.
The thought of that made a tear drip right into my wineglass.
“You want another drink?” Joseph asked.
At least there was a man here to ask me that.
Before I could wipe away my tears and tell him, Yes, get me two more glasses, Audra said, “Babe, let’s get something to eat.” She gave me one of her hard, full-of-knowing side glances, a look that was meant to say she thought I was on the way to drinking too much. Not that I did this very often, but she’d been my college roommate, so she knew secrets, the kinds of things that all college roommates knew about each other.
Joseph glanced over his shoulder and looked at the line for the food. This was one of those old-school clubs where the waitstaff served drinks, but there was a buffet line for the soul food that went along with the soul blues. “Okay, I’ll get us plates.”
“I’ll go with you.” Audra pushed back from the table, and I sipped the last of my now-tear-flavored wine. When Joseph reached for Audra’s hand, I sighed. That was what I wanted in my life.
“Zuri?”
I glanced up at the sound of a man’s voice and again squinted through the fog of the blue light and my wine haze.
“It is you,” the voice said with what sounded like a bit of glee.
Now like I’d said, it was dark in Blues, but it wasn’t dark enough to hide the black Adonis who stood before me.
“Hell . . . oh!” I leaned back in my chair to get a more unhindered view, my tears totally gone for the moment.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. “I was standing over there”—he paused and pointed to the opposite corner—“trying to figure out if it was really you. Wow, it’s good to see you.”
If I hadn’t already had two glasses of wine, I may have tried to play this off until I could figure out how I knew this hunk. But because wine always loosened my tongue (and other things, which was why I’d had so many boyfriends), I said, “Do I know you?” and right away, I wanted to take those words back because of the way his shoulders slumped.
“I mean”—I added a lie—“you look so familiar, but it’s dark, and this . . .” I held up my empty glass.
The explanation must’ve been good enough, because he said, “Yeah, I guess it’s hard to see in here, and it’s been quite a few years since you last saw me—twelve, to be exact,” he said as if he’d been counting the days. But there was no way that I knew this man; someone like him, I wouldn’t forget.
I squinted, trying to think. He’d said twelve years. That would put me all the way back in high school. Was he a dude from school? Nah, there were some serious guys who strutted through the halls of Stone Mountain High, but no one this fine.
He lowered himself onto the seat next to me. “I’m Stephon Smith.”
“No!” My loosened tongue spoke ahead of my mind. And since it had started, I let it keep going. “No way. Stephon?”
He bobbed his head.
“I don’t believe it,” I said, the words coming out of me a little louder, and a lot faster than I wanted. “Stand up again so I can see if it’s really you.”
Now I didn’t actually expect him to do that, but when he did, I took full advantage of the sight. This man couldn’t be Stephon. Not with those shoulders that were the top of the frame for the rest of the perfection that was his body. He was fully clothed, but I felt like I had some serious magical power going on, because I could easily imagine each one of those muscles that gloriously folded together into his six-pack and his thick but toned thighs.
Whew! I shook my head to shake that image.
Looking at my empty glass, I wondered what brand of wine I had been drinking. This was some good stuff, because there was no way that lanky kid who always sat in the back of every classroom with headphones covering his larger-than-average ears could have developed into the man who stood before me.
He said, “Yeah,” as he sat back down. “I guess I grew into my skin, grew into my ears, grew into my body.”
I laughed, not remembering him having a sense of humor. “That’s one way to put it.”
He did that bobbing-of-his-head thing again, like there was music playing in his mind, then said, “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Really?”
He shook his head. “You still say whatever you think.”
“I guess.”
“And you’re still really beautiful.” He shook his head. “I always had such a crush on you.”
“Get out of here.” I waved my hand, though I scooted my chair a little closer so that he could tell me more. “I never knew that.”
“Hello?”
I looked up at Audra and Joseph as she placed a paper plate in front of me and Joseph lowered the two he held onto the table as well.
Stephon stood like a gentleman, and I said, “This is a friend of mine from high school.”
As Stephon introduced himself and shook hands, I studied him. No, it hadn’t been the wine. The white crew-neck sweater he wore told the truth about his shoulders and even revealed just a bit of the muscles that bulged beneath. And his jeans. Yeah, well . . . he’d found the jeans that did his body (and my eyes) good.
Still standing, he glanced down at me. “Well, I don’t want to interrupt you guys.”
“Oh, no, please join us,” Audra said, and I wanted to bump fists with my girl. “We’re celebrating Zuri’s birthday.”
If I’d bumped fists with her, I would’ve taken it back. Really? She put me on Front Street like that? What would Stephon think? My birthday, Audra and Joseph together . . . That meant that I was alone—just pathetic.
“Really?” He sat down again. “Well, then if it’s just the three of you . . .”
Oh, God! Embarrassing!
“I’d love to join you.”
Now I smiled. It wasn’t that I was interested in Stephon. I mean, yeah, he looked good, but from what I remembered, we had little in common. He was one of the rougher guys in school. Not in a gang-rough sort of way, because he was more of an introvert than anything else. But he was always in trouble—coming to class late, drawing in class instead of listening to the lesson . . . and every teacher had to tell him multiple times to remove his headphones, which he always had plugged into a CD player. He’d been suspended more than a few times for that, I recalled. I wasn’t even sure if he had graduated with our class.
But having a common link or not, I was glad he’d decided to stay. With him sitting next to me, I wouldn’t look—so pathetic.
Stephon said, “I just happened to drop in. I don’t live far from here, and I love coming and checking out the new talent.”
“I remember you were into music,” I said. “You and your headphones were always getting kicked out of class.”
He shrugged and looked a little embarrassed. “Yeah, that was me.”
“You were into music and art, right?” I asked.
But before he could answer, Joseph said, “Oh, really? What kind of art?”
“All kinds. Everything intrigues and inspires me, but what I paint are portraits.”
I leaned back. “You’re a painter?”
He chuckled. “An artist. If I said I were a painter, you might ask me to come over tomorrow and paint your house, and if I did that, oh, what a mess that would be.”
We all laughed, and Stephon went on to tell us what he’d been doing since high school. Painting African American portraits, some posed, some not. “I try to tell a story through my art. Of black people’s struggles and our progress. I’m hoping to leave a footprint, a picture of this time in history through my paintings.”
He spoke with a passion and a knowledge that was impressive. And in between, we listened to performers stand before the mic and sing their stories. Through each performance, Stephon moved his head closer to mine and, in whispers, explained the blues to me: its origins in the Deep South, the twelve-bar sequence, and its influence on other genres of music and in our lives overall.
I listened with fascination, not because I was interested, but because of the way he sang to me. He was just speaking, but there was a musicality to his voice that made me want to . . . dance with him.
