Her aunt Ida mumbled a few words under her breath. “No, I can do it. Ron’ll be mad.”
It took a few minutes for Khan to convince her aunt to take a nap. When Khan tried to help her to the bedroom, Ida said that she had to use the bathroom first.
Khan was positive that her aunt hadn’t gotten the rest of her cry out.
The oven was turned up to 450 degrees for the baked beans, which weren’t ready. She checked inside the refrigerator and noticed that the cole slaw was chilling and covered it with Saran Wrap. Cole slaw and barbecue weren’t enough for a meal. Khan knew that with as many people as there were outside, they’d be ready to chow down soon.
When she heard her aunt Ida exiting the bathroom, Khan left the kitchen to help her. Ida continued to mumble as Khan forced her tired body into her bed. “He promised, Khan. Ron promised we’d be married before the Fourth.” Her voice was heavy and filled with pain. Even though it was hellishly hot, she pulled the covers over herself before closing her eyes. “He lied. I can’t live like this no more.”
Forty years together, and they weren’t even married!
Oh, my God!
Just when Khan was about to leave the room, Ida reared up and whimpered, “That son of a bitch brought his low-down tramp to our party.” Tears rolled down her face and she closed her eyes and fell back against the pillow. “Does he take that much pleasure in humiliating me?”
After Khan got Ida to sleep, she cut up the onions and finished the potato salad. Next, she cut up the broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, and zucchini. She breaded and fried half of them, and used the other half for a vegetable tray with ranch sauce. Afterwards, she placed everything in ceramic dishes, then put the food on the picnic table outside. She ignored her uncle Ron’s questioning eyes.
When Buddy waved to her, Khan used his appearance as an excuse to cut away from Uncle Ron; otherwise she might have been tempted to ask him about his bogus promise of marriage to her aunt.
“Hi, Buddy. How’s your aunt?” Khan couldn’t help but stare at his clothes. Didn’t he own a decent outfit? But on further inspection, she noticed the brilliance of his smile. Every tooth in his mouth was even and perfectly shaped. She wanted to ask him if they were real. One thing was for damn sure: apparently he spent all his cash on his mouth.
He was a bit odd, but he definitely had more sex appeal than Julian.
She and Buddy talked for a while, and their conversation turned to a subject they both loved: movies.
When everyone else had served themselves, Khan dug in. Ida never appeared. By late afternoon the food was gone and the guests had left. On her way home, Khan felt lonesome. She missed the sound of Buddy’s laughter. Watching the wandering clouds that floated high above valleys and hills, she felt an inner longing to connect with someone. It wasn’t just sexual; it was more out of need to be a part of someone else’s world. Even if it were just for a moment.
When she got home, the branches outside her door whipped in the wind as though they were dancing. R.C. seemed a bitter memory.
__________
“I love to hear you say my name when you reach an orgasm.” Thyme slowly released her fingers from Cy’s buttocks as he lay on top of her. Sweet joy rushed through her as his lips closed over her breasts, still swollen and sensitive from their lovemaking. She felt his soft breath against her bosom as he buried his face in her cleavage, then rolled over on his back.
As he turned toward her, his face was aglow with a sweet smile of affection and understanding. “I know,” he said in a sultry voice.
It was late Sunday night, and Cy had just returned from his trip to Mexico. Thyme was so relieved to have him home again that she’d seduced him as soon as he walked in the door.
“Cy? Can we get serious for a minute?” She felt nervous but she was determined to go ahead.
“Mmmm, I feel too good. Getting serious might spoil my mood. Especially if it’s about Champion Motors.”
Her voice was low. “Please, there’s something I really need to talk to you about.”
“All right.” He folded his arms behind his head and raised a brow. “Go on. I’m listening.”
“I’m filing a lawsuit against the company claiming discrimination. Some of the people you work with will be subpoenaed next week. They might not be so friendly toward you.”
“What? How could you? You did this behind my back?” He swiveled his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up straight. He sat there silently, then stood up, revealing his toned buttocks. He walked swiftly to the chair in the corner of the room and gathered his clothes in his arms.
“Behind your back? I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks. You’ve been away for the past month. It’s as if you’ve been avoiding me!”
Thyme stared deeply at the pearl blue walls, the silver carpeting, her pastel portrait. They seemed a collage. Her eyes burned, straining not to blink. Tears filled them.
“I can’t believe this. Do you know what you’re doing? You’ll put both our jobs in jeopardy!”
It was like their union had never occurred. Suddenly Thyme felt vulnerable in her nakedness and pulled the sheet to her shoulders. “That’s all you care about. You can’t for a minute think about my side of it. I’m beginning to wonder if you colluded with Champion and stopped them from promoting me!”
“You sound like a crazy person. You’re totally paranoid.”
Crazy for marrying you?
“I would never do anything to hurt you or your career. How could you think that? Don’t we have any trust in one another?” Cy continued.
Thyme looked at Cy, her eyes brimming with tears. She wished she could say yes, that she still loved and trusted him as she always had, but something deep inside had been shaken.
Instead of answering Cy, she turned and looked out the window at the starlit sky. When she heard the sound of the shower jets in Cy’s bathroom, she dragged herself into her own, trying to believe that he loved her enough to support her, that he would come around, hoping against hope that she hadn’t put too great a burden on too small a soul.
* * *
When Thyme finally called Khan the following Monday, she was glad she did.
“What’s up, girl?” Khan asked in a cheery voice.
Thyme felt relieved. “How was Ron’s barbecue?”
“Fine. Is that why you called? Why do I sense you have something on your mind other than slabs of meat on a grill?”
Thyme said quietly, “I finally told him.”
“You told Cy about the lawsuit?”
Thyme felt tears filling her eyes. When she trusted herself to speak, she said, “I told him last night when he got home. All he seemed concerned about was Champion.”
Khan kept silent.
Say something, Khan. I don’t care if you call me a fool. Just tell me your true thoughts. I need to hear them. Please!
“I know you think I should never trust Cy, but you don’t know him. He’s always been there for me before.” Thyme was glad that her friend couldn’t see her tear-streaked face. She never wanted her to see her so humbled. Especially by a man.
“Thyme, I’m sure he loves you very much. But this situation is complicated. I don’t think there’s any getting around the race issue.”
“You’re right. I’m not sure how I’ll feel about our marriage if Cy won’t support me in this.”
“Cross that bridge when it comes. For now, remember where you are in your career: right at the top. And remember that you’re a strong, smart, proud black woman. Can’t no man take that from you. Even a white one.” Khan paused. “And most importantly, Thyme, I want you to remember that you’ve always got a friend. I love you, Thyme. You’re doing the right thing.”
“I am?”
“Sure you are. It’s just that the right thing isn’t always easy.”
That afternoon, Thyme met Cy at their financial planner’s office to discuss their investments. Removing his Mondo di Marco sunglasses, Cy embraced his wife. He kissed her lightly on her cheek as she sat in the seat beside him. What a day for it, thought Thyme.
As they waited for the financial planner, Thyme admired her husband’s clothing as she glanced down at his slamming chocolate alligator shoes. Again, she felt a pang of contrition. He was so fine, but how come he couldn’t be more supportive? He wasn’t like the typical white male. Dressed in a chocolate brown Hugo Boss suit, silver pink shirt, and silver print tie, he looked like a mannequin in a Saks Fifth Avenue window.
When they had dated in the late sixties, Cy had only worn moderately priced clothes, but once he started earning money, his attire reflected it. His ties were always Fumagali or Robert Talbertt, his suits by Hugo Boss, Armani, or Richard Tyler, shirt and shoes by Gucci. She remembered kidding him about his three pairs of alligator loafers—unheard of for a Caucasian male.
“Tired?” Cy said gently.
“Exhausted.” She wanted to stroke his face and plant a kiss on his soft lips.
Luckily, before last night’s argument came up, the door opened and a young woman called their name. She led them to Mr. Aldinger’s office.
Expensive artwork was the backdrop for expensive furniture. Keith Aldinger commanded high fees, and he was worth it.
He handed each of them a prospectus for how to diversify and invest heavily into more retirement programs. Thyme listened with one ear. Based on their past history with Keith, they had nothing to worry about. She was certain that he would protect their money the way he did his other clients’ who left his office smiling like angels.
Then he handed them a two-page statement, listening their incomes so far this year. Thyme snapped to attention.
“Let’s get down to business, Cy and Thyme. You both know why you’re here.”
Thyme nearly choked when she read the bonus that Cy had listed beside his name. He had lied to her by twenty thousand dollars. Why? He knew she’d find out eventually. She gulped hard as she read the rest of the report, not daring to look at her husband.
“It’s clear that you two need to move some investments around. Champion stock is declining fast, given its shift to Mexico. My suggestions are as follows. . . .”
Afterwards, Keith walked them back to the reception area. “You know, if you two could adopt a couple of kids, you’d come out a lot farther ahead,” he said jokingly. “Uncle Sam loves couples like you.” He shook their hands and was off.
When Thyme looked at her husband, he looked away.
That same night Thyme longed to slip into a pair of pajamas and sip on a glass of wine. But no, Cy had already made a commitment to have dinner at Sydney’s house.
When they arrived at Sydney’s, it was jet black outside, but her home was lit up like a palace. Located on Southlawn Avenue just two miles from Woodward in Birmingham, her home was a showcase with over fourteen thousand square feet of living space.
Situated on 4.34 acres of professionally manicured grounds, the house afforded privacy as well as security. A Gunite swimming pool, spa, and tennis court complemented the lush grounds. Inside, there were five bedrooms, five bathrooms, and four half-baths. The master suite alone was over twenty-five hundred square feet.
Cy parked the car on the outer curb of the driveway and they walked to the entrance. When they rang the doorbell a black maid opened the door.
“Hello, Mr. Cyrus, Ms. Thyme. It’s so good to see you two. Ms. Sydney is in master Graham’s room.”
Master Graham! The boy was only three years old and already she was calling him “master.” How low would Mildred go?
“Thanks, Mildred,” Cy said.
Before they could take a step, Graham ran toward them and hugged his uncle around the legs. “Hi, Unc C.” Graham could only say a few words. Yet “Unc C” was one of the phrases he loved to roll off his tongue. And Cy adored him.
Cy had explained to Thyme the feeling of immortality Graham provided. There was nothing Cy wouldn’t do for him. Even though Sydney could afford it, Cy had already put aside a considerable amount for Graham’s education. Thyme felt no resistance whatsoever to her husband looking out for his nephew. If she hadn’t presented him with a child, how could she prevent him from loving his own blood?
As Cy picked up his nephew and swung him around in his arms, Graham instinctively reached out for his aunt Thyme. His color blindness was only one of the things Thyme loved about him. Most children don’t know about prejudice unless their parents teach them.
Thyme couldn’t help being drawn to Graham, despite her less than warm feelings toward his mother. Graham’s innocence was accentuated by his chubby little arms and legs and his soft cheeks.
Just as Thyme reached out to hug the child, Sydney came down the hall. Quickly and awkwardly, Thyme withdrew from Graham, who looked a bit bewildered.
“Cy,” she said, hugging her brother tightly. Her voice lowered an octave when she said, “Thyme, it’s so good to see you.” Sydney placed her arm through Cy’s and led him toward the dining room, leaving Thyme to walk behind them.
“I’m starved. What’s for dinner?”
“I thought we’d start with onion soup, then Caesar salad, and the main dish is pheasant with wild rice stuffing and curried beets.” Sydney, who wore no lipstick or any other makeup, blew back a lock of hair. “I’ve been cooking all day. But what other way could I show my brother how much I missed him while he was away?”
“Mmm and strawberries, Unc C,” Graham said, holding up his red-stained hands for Thyme and Cy to see.
Graham’s tiny chubby hands were covered with red blotches. Well, Thyme thought, maybe Sydney made dessert, but I’ll be damned if she cooked the rest of the meal. Thyme knew that Sydney’s lack of makeup and dress-down attire was a ruse, a costume to make her fib about cooking credible.
As they dined on course after course of soup, salad, breads, shrimp appetizers, and pheasant, Thyme became more and more convinced that Sydney hadn’t spent more than ten minutes cooking. Mildred, she bet, had cooked it all.
Just to check it out, Thyme said sweetly, “Sydney, how did you ever learn to make pheasant? Why, it’s superb.”
Sydney hesitated and said, “Ah well, our mother used to serve it at her fancy dinner parties. Isn’t that so, Cy?”
Cy grunted noncommittally and filled his mouth with food.