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“I’m not mad at you, Paul.”
He looked relieved. “Good. Now let me help you get a taxi.”
We walked to the corner of Eighth Avenue and stood there shivering in the frigid air until an empty cab appeared. Paul promised to find Alyssa’s number, kissed me good-bye, and I got in. My thoughts immediately returned to my dream man. Why wasn’t Victor attracted to me? Did he prefer tall women? Light-skinned sisters? What could I do that I hadn’t already done to let him know that I wanted him? The questions went round and round in my head, the liquor sent me into a crying jag, and I wept all the way home to Harlem. I should have saved my tears for something more worthwhile—like the two nights I would spend in police custody.
