When Pat called me at the old man’s house, he apologized for tracking me down, but he was worried. He’d looked me up in the student directory and called my parents’ house and had a wonderful conversation with my mother. Initially, she’d been suspicious, until he told her his parents had been freshmen during her senior year. She’d given Pat my granny’s number, and Miss Rose had kept him on the phone for a half hour. Before they hung up, she’d invited Pat to visit the farm, any time he liked. Miss Rose had told him I was probably at Uncle Root’s. Here was the number, and don’t be no stranger. He was always surely welcome.
“Ailey, I haven’t seen you since . . . Thanksgiving . . . and everything.”
“Pat, I just saw you on the yard.”
“You know what I mean, girl. Let’s meet up at the Rib Shack. You were looking like you had fallen off some. You need a good meal.”
“Pat, I’m not anybody’s skinny. And we can’t be seen together.”
“Why not?”
“Because people would talk.”
“Ain’t nobody thinking ’bout them niggers.”
“But what about Abdul? He’s your sands.”
“Ain’t nobody thinking about him, neither! You know he tried to get up in my face about you.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything to him. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, baby. I’m glad he knows, but I told him, if he tried to dog you out in public, he’d be the one looking bad, ’cause he couldn’t keep his woman. Plus, I’d beat him up.”
“You’re so sweet. I mean, not that I condone violence, even toward assholes.”
We laughed.
“Don’t you miss me, too, Ailey?”
“You know I do. I’m . . . I’m crazy about you, Pat.”
“Oh, girl! I want you, and not just like that. I want you to be my lady. I’ve been trying to tell you that for three years, Ailey. I’m dead serious.”
“I want you, too, Pat. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Oh, baby, et moi aussi! And I’m not trying to hide that shit no more! Let’s do this.”
I wanted to see him so badly. To have him kiss my forehead and my fingertips. To hold me, whisper his tender, pretentious French phrases, and have sex with me, leisurely, for hours. But I told him I had to think about making us public. Give me a while to get myself together.
That evening, Uncle Root needled me into a chess game, though my skills hadn’t improved. I refused to protect my queen, the most powerful figure on the board, whom Uncle Root called his “Lady Love.” Shortly, he castled me, his hands blurring. On my side of the board, I moved my knight out of harm’s way.
“Ailey, are you going to introduce your new beau to me, or are you keeping him a mystery?”
“Who told you I had somebody?”
“No one. But I assumed it was Rob-Boy’s grandson, because you lit up like a Christmas tree when I called you to the phone. So tell me, is he your beau?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“All right, you’re entitled to your secrets. You are an adult.”
“I am?”
“Yes, you are, and if the sound of Brother Patrick’s voice is any indication, he thinks so, too.”
“We’re not a couple. Not yet.”
“And why is that? Is he not a gentleman?”
“Uncle Root, he totally is. He’s, like, so nice and so wonderful and just perfect. But the way we started seeing each other . . . it’s kind of scandalous.”
“My favorite! Do tell.”
I kept my eyes on the board when I reminded him, I used to go out with Pat’s fraternity brother. Not just his Gamma fraternity brother. His line brother, his sands.
“I remember now. This is that rude boy you brought to the reunion last summer? Raheem or something or other?”
“Abdul.”
“That’s right. I didn’t like him, not in the least. And as I recall, your mother and Miss Rose didn’t, either.”
“I thought you took to him.”
“I just have manners. But if you two broke up, what’s the problem? These intrigues happen all the time. I’m sure that Raheem is pining for you—”
“It’s Abdul—”
“Whatever his name is, I’m sure he’s devastated. You’re a prime catch, but it is not for him to decide your romantic future. That decision is up to you.”
*
Keisha didn’t blink when I told her that Pat was courting me, though I was trying to keep it secret. Even with the reefer smoking and the wine, she’d always thought he was a nice guy. And Keisha acted as go-between when he gave her notes in French in the refectory, whispering to her to pass them on to me. She giggled, “Ooh, girl,” when I pulled out my dictionary and translated for her. I was glad Pat kept his messages Christian-friendly.