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“I didn’t know where I was going—not for a long, long time,” I said. “Once I got out of that house and was in my car, all of the big talk had folded up inside of me and I was just driving. At first, I was on my way to see Dame in Atlanta, but then I realized how nuts that sounded. He wasn’t expecting me; I’d just turned my back on him to be with Evan and I’d deleted every number I’d had for him from my phone. I was going nowhere.”
Kweku’s face had gone from displaying a measure of inquisitiveness and concern to empathy. His suit jacket was off. His knees were digging into the seat of his chair, and he rested his chin contemplatively in the palm of his hand.
“So for a long time I was driving in circles,” I continued, “wound up on this idea that I was free anyway and I didn’t care where I was going. I was just free. And I didn’t know what I was free from ... It was like all this time I’d been riding up on the edges of my life with training wheels. And suddenly, I felt like someone had kicked them off. Kicked them off and kicked me down and dared me to ride again without them. It felt kind of good. And then—”
“That feeling ran out?” Kweku asked.
“Either that or you were out of gas,” Pete said.
“It was a little bit of both. I was on 20, headed east. My cell phone was in my hand and so many times I wanted to just call someone, but every person I thought I could call ... I just didn’t want to speak to anyone. I needed to be alone.”
Kweku stood up and went to sit in the empty seat beside Pete.
“After an hour, I ran out of gas, so I stopped at a little out-of-the-way gas station off the highway. There were two pumps and no credit card slots on the machines, so I had to go inside,” I said. “There was this old Hispanic woman working the register and after she swiped my card, she looked up at me and in the most surprising Southern voice said, ‘Too late for you to be on the road, hon. ’ I looked at my watch. It was only a bit after eleven. ‘We don’t have no place for you to stay here, but if you go about ten miles up the road, they got some fancy hotels where you can rest for the night. Cost you about thirty-five dollars,’ she added. ‘No, thanks, ma’am, ’ I said sweetly at the idea of a fancy hotel costing only thirty-five dollars a night. ‘I’m just passing through. ’ I took the card, pumped my gas and got back on the highway. By this time I’d decided maybe I was going to see Justin. I could call him when I got into the city in the morning and go by his place to make sure he was all right after the blowup at the house. Then, when the lights on the highway went from dull and sparse to bright and frequent, I started seeing these fancy hotels the old woman was speaking of. It was a clump of two-star inns with light that shone onto the highway. I thought of maybe stopping and as I tried to decide which one was the fanciest—the one advertising free Internet or the other with HBO—I wondered when the big hotels would come charging down 20 into Tuscaloosa. And then I remembered something.”
“What?” Kweku asked.
“A conversation Dame and I had once where he admitted he’d spent nearly a million in the past year at the Ritz-Carlton in downtown Atlanta. He had a big, fifteen-bedroom mansion with a pool, movie theater, and basketball court out in the suburbs of Atlanta, but he only stayed there when he had company. Otherwise, he said the house always seemed lonely and just too big. So, he spent most of his time in the penthouse at the Ritz-Carlton. It was in the middle of everything, the place was never quiet and it came with maid service.”
“I wish I had that kind of money,” Pete said. “I’d let my wife have the house and go live at the Days Inn!”
“Did you go to the Ritz?” Kweku asked as we chuckled at Pete’s remark.
“I sure did. But by the time I got into Atlanta and the time change switched from Central to Eastern, it was after two in the morning.”
“What happened?” Pete asked.
“I called the hotel for directions and after getting lost a few times, I ended up asking people on the street for help. And then when I pulled up outside of the place, my heart was beating so fast that I was sure I was about to go into cardiac arrest. The thought of him being so close, and me being so far and unable to touch him, made me ill. I was so nervous, so on edge.... I didn’t even get out of the car. I sat there for hours, thinking of what he’d say when he saw me—if he’d see me at all. If he cared. If I’d just walked out on my life for nothing. Then the sun came up and I was sitting in my car half-asleep and half-awake trying to decide what I was going to do next.” I wiped a tear from my cheek.
“The street sweepers came and went. People started walking up and down the sidewalks on their way to work. A couple of cop cars went by,” I remembered. “I realized then that everything was still changing. I’d been in that car for hours, stuck in this limbo in my mind—not knowing if I should move forward or turn back—but the rest of the world was still going. Even after everything had changed for me, the rest of the world was still moving. And I had to as well.”
“You left?” Peter sighed. It was as if we were both watching the same sad movie.
“No,” I said with a slight grin. “I got out of the car.”
Both Peter and Kweku were silent now. The two looked up at me leaning over the seat as if I was a film unfolding to the climax. Their eyes were wide and shiny. Their mouths just cracked open a little.
“I went into the lobby, sure I was going to be turned away, knowing there was no way the staff would just let me go up to the penthouse suite or even admit that Dame was staying there. But I had to see. At least try. I walked to the front desk, trying to remember my story—I was Damien Mitchell’s sister, visiting from Alabama. I wanted to see him. I was still wearing a pink church dress and heels from the graduation, so this was a believable tale. I didn’t exactly resemble one of the groupies from the club. ‘Can I help you?’ one of the receptionists asked cheerfully. ‘Yeah, I need—’ I started, but at my side, I saw a familiar profile trudge to the counter.”
“It was Dame!” Pete said triumphantly.
“No,” I said. “It was Naima. Her hair was everywhere and she looked like she’d just crawled out of bed. I was happy to see someone that could connect me to Dame and tell me I was in the right place, but then I realized it was Naima, a woman I knew wanted to be with Dame at his hotel at six in the morning. My mind leaped into suspicion. The Wiz Billie had talked about was already being uncovered. Naima stood there, fumbling with her purse. It was as if she couldn’t see me standing beside her. Or didn’t care to. ‘Naima?’ I said. She looked at me, grinned emptily and said nothing. But I could tell she knew who I was. ‘I’m looking for Dame,’ I added. ‘He’s gone,’ she said and then she looked at the receptionist. ‘I need a cab. ’ Naima locked her eyes on the woman, dismissing me. ‘Look,’ I said, laboring not to sound defeated, ‘I don’t know what kind of relationship you and Dame have, but I was just wondering... . I just needed to see him.’ Naima grunted and looked at me. ‘There’s no relationship. I pretended I was drunk and couldn’t drive home last night from the club, but he made my ass sleep on the couch. ’ She exhaled and looked down at her nails pensively. ‘Of course I tried.... But once again, all he could talk about was you... . Journey! Journey! Journey! Jesus!’ she added drily. ‘Really?’ I asked. ‘I thought he hated me ... that maybe he’d moved on. ’ Naima looked back up at me. ‘You try telling that to all of the women he’s been cutting off lately. It’s like a graveyard around here. ’
“Naima and I walked out of the hotel together. And while she was still working overtime to convey that she had no desire to be in my company, I could tell now that she was just a woman trying to get the attention of a man. I was learning that was how it could be sometimes. But I wasn’t going to let that faze me. And after melting Naima’s ice away, I was able to charm her into giving me Dame’s cell number. After telling me it was pointless to call because I’d probably already missed Dame, because he, Benji, and one of his assistants left to go to the airport at 5 a.m., she made it a point to warn me never to tell anyone about her Southern hospitality that morning. ‘I don’t make it a habit to help strangers,’ she said. ‘This is a cutthroat business and you get hurt if you don’t watch your back. But Dame’s a good guy. The most real I’ve met in the business, so you can consider this a favor to him—not you. If I can’t get what I want ... someone should. Tell him I said good-bye. ’ ”
“Naima is a good enemy,” Kweku said, getting up and coming back to our
row. “You need those.”
The flight attendants instructed us to return to our seats and buckle up in preparation for landing.
“So how did you end up in Ghana?” Peter asked, comically pushing his face between our seats.
“That’s the best part of the story,” I said. “It was an unexpected arrival and departure.”
PART THREE
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