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Authors: Terry McMillan
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asked.
I just looked at her and smiled. Was I being persistent? The truth of the matter was, this wasn’t even my style. Women usually come to me. But there was something kind of mysterious about this one. Ain’t nothin’ like a little mystery to arouse my curiosity. I wanted to know where she came from. What was she doing in Brooklyn? Did she or didn’t she have a man? And if she did, where the fuck was he? Why didn’t
he
help her? Naw, she didn’t have no man, or shewouldn’ta spent the first night in here by herself. But why should I care? All I wanted to know was if she could really sing, or was this just a front. Some of ’em’ll tell you anything to impress you. But Zora didn’t sound like she was concerned one way or another about what I thought. I liked that shit. And she’s the first woman I met in a long time that ain’t leaning on nobody. I liked her for that alone. We
could
just turn out to be friends—if I can keep my perspective. But like I said, women don’t know how to be your friend. They either wanna be your woman or they don’t want to be nothin’. I’m just glad I ain’t in the market.
She handed me another cup of coffee, in some fancy ceramic-type cup. I could tell she had good taste from all the shit I carried up here. She actually got real artwork, not those tacky, outdated posters most of the women I’ve known had on their walls—if they had anything. And she was right—this coffee was good.
“Look, I’ve got to get ready for work,” she said.
“What kinda work? I thought you said you was a singer.”
“I do sing. I just don’t make my living at it yet. I teach music at J.H.S. 189.”
“You mean to tell me you
teach
junior high school?”
“I do, and I also need to take a shower. So thank you very much for the coffee and offering to help, but would you mind leaving now? Please?”
“I’m not finished with my coffee yet.” I wanted to mess with her, see if she really wanted me to stay. She probably did. Why would she let me in this time of morning if she didn’t wanna see me? I was just testing her, and so far she was passing with flying colors. She looked like she was trying to look pissed off, which was cute. She probably just embarrassed ’cause she ain’t all made up and shit. And I’m glad. “What time you get home?”
“Why?”
“I told you, all I wanna do is help you get some of these boxes outta here so you can at least move around, sit on that pretty couch.”
She rolled her eyes at me, but then they softened. “I’m lying,” she said.
“Finally, a woman who admits it!”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing. What was you about to say?”
“I
do
teach, but not summer school.”
“Look, I don’t mean to come across like I’m macho or something. All I’m trying to do is be a nice guy. Don’t women like you know how to accept help from a man?”
She looked at me all weird again. “What do you mean, ‘women like me’?”
“Independent, that’s
all
I meant—I swear it.”
Then she started smiling—shocked the shit outta me and damn, what a sexy smile. “I’ve got a lot of running around to do in Manhattan, but I’ll be home by six.”
“I’ll be here.”
“So now that that’s settled, would you mind leaving? I really do need to take a shower.”
I laughed. “Would you be needing somebody to wash your back for you?” She rolled those pretty brown eyes at me, but I was convinced that if I hadda walked in that bathroom behind her, she wouldn’ta made me leave. And if we was both tigers, we wouldn’t be playing this stupid-ass game. “Look, I didn’t mean to say that. Thanks for the coffee. You have a nice day, and I’ll see you later.”
* * *
The fuckin’ day dragged. I spent two hours at the gym—worked out, played some handball, steamed, took a nap—and came home and tried to do some woodworking. I looked at a tree stump I had dragged in here a few weeks ago, that I had planned on making a table out of.
I just looked at her and smiled. Was I being persistent? The truth of the matter was, this wasn’t even my style. Women usually come to me. But there was something kind of mysterious about this one. Ain’t nothin’ like a little mystery to arouse my curiosity. I wanted to know where she came from. What was she doing in Brooklyn? Did she or didn’t she have a man? And if she did, where the fuck was he? Why didn’t
he
help her? Naw, she didn’t have no man, or shewouldn’ta spent the first night in here by herself. But why should I care? All I wanted to know was if she could really sing, or was this just a front. Some of ’em’ll tell you anything to impress you. But Zora didn’t sound like she was concerned one way or another about what I thought. I liked that shit. And she’s the first woman I met in a long time that ain’t leaning on nobody. I liked her for that alone. We
could
just turn out to be friends—if I can keep my perspective. But like I said, women don’t know how to be your friend. They either wanna be your woman or they don’t want to be nothin’. I’m just glad I ain’t in the market.
She handed me another cup of coffee, in some fancy ceramic-type cup. I could tell she had good taste from all the shit I carried up here. She actually got real artwork, not those tacky, outdated posters most of the women I’ve known had on their walls—if they had anything. And she was right—this coffee was good.
“Look, I’ve got to get ready for work,” she said.
“What kinda work? I thought you said you was a singer.”
“I do sing. I just don’t make my living at it yet. I teach music at J.H.S. 189.”
“You mean to tell me you
teach
junior high school?”
“I do, and I also need to take a shower. So thank you very much for the coffee and offering to help, but would you mind leaving now? Please?”
“I’m not finished with my coffee yet.” I wanted to mess with her, see if she really wanted me to stay. She probably did. Why would she let me in this time of morning if she didn’t wanna see me? I was just testing her, and so far she was passing with flying colors. She looked like she was trying to look pissed off, which was cute. She probably just embarrassed ’cause she ain’t all made up and shit. And I’m glad. “What time you get home?”
“Why?”
“I told you, all I wanna do is help you get some of these boxes outta here so you can at least move around, sit on that pretty couch.”
She rolled her eyes at me, but then they softened. “I’m lying,” she said.
“Finally, a woman who admits it!”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing. What was you about to say?”
“I
do
teach, but not summer school.”
“Look, I don’t mean to come across like I’m macho or something. All I’m trying to do is be a nice guy. Don’t women like you know how to accept help from a man?”
She looked at me all weird again. “What do you mean, ‘women like me’?”
“Independent, that’s
all
I meant—I swear it.”
Then she started smiling—shocked the shit outta me and damn, what a sexy smile. “I’ve got a lot of running around to do in Manhattan, but I’ll be home by six.”
“I’ll be here.”
“So now that that’s settled, would you mind leaving? I really do need to take a shower.”
I laughed. “Would you be needing somebody to wash your back for you?” She rolled those pretty brown eyes at me, but I was convinced that if I hadda walked in that bathroom behind her, she wouldn’ta made me leave. And if we was both tigers, we wouldn’t be playing this stupid-ass game. “Look, I didn’t mean to say that. Thanks for the coffee. You have a nice day, and I’ll see you later.”
* * *
The fuckin’ day dragged. I spent two hours at the gym—worked out, played some handball, steamed, took a nap—and came home and tried to do some woodworking. I looked at a tree stump I had dragged in here a few weeks ago, that I had planned on making a table out of.
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