“Woman, keep your money. I can take care of you.” He’d started calling her that regularly—“Woman”—and it gave a thrill. Her father called her mother that, and hearing Dante say it made Lydia feel solid in her love.
“This is to keep those other girls away.”
It had been scary when they’d stopped using condoms weeks earlier, because that meant a real commitment to Lydia. Dante told her he wanted to feel her. And she was his lady. He trusted her—he loved her—and didn’t she trust him and love him, too? She told him that didn’t have anything to do with her protecting herself. But they went down to the health clinic and got tested for all the diseases, including HIV. They both were nervous, waiting the two weeks for the tests to come back. And then euphoric when they found out it was okay. The test results were mailed to Dante’s apartment during the week, and when he called her at the dorm, she told him she was skipping classes that day. She wanted to see him right now, and when she arrived at the apartment, Dante had put on his Luther Vandross cassette and had candles lit, though it was the middle of the afternoon and the sun was still shining.
When they made love, Dante stopped Lydia from pleasing him before she took her own satisfaction. He would withdraw and say, slow down. It was her time. He wanted to make her happy, and he would move his mouth down and lick slowly and touch her with his fingers until she shivered. He’d watch her face, begging her, please don’t lie. Was she satisfied for real? Once when they were finished, she asked, how had he learned all that? What to do with a woman, and he kissed her. He smiled and said, let him keep a few secrets. He couldn’t tell her everything; otherwise, she’d stop loving him. Then he asked her to marry him, as he’d done several times before, both in and out of bed, but no, Lydia didn’t want to spoil things. They could talk about that another time.
There was a month of playing house and settling in. Making love until the early hours, so that Dante only had three or four hours of sleep. Cooking for him in the morning and packing him an equally big lunch, because she didn’t want him eating fast food during the day, or worse, chips, candy, and soda from the convenience store where he worked. At the door, Dante couldn’t bear to part from Lydia. I love you, woman. Give me a kiss. I’ll call you on my break. Just one more kiss.
The time without him snailed along. She read her favorite book, The Color Purple by Alice Walker. Her English professor had urged her to try Toni Morrison, but it was too complicated for Lydia. She couldn’t yet grasp what she was reading. If she was feeling annoyed about what she’d seen on the news, she read an essay in her James Baldwin book. That man always seemed mad, but in a smart kind of way. It took Lydia longer to read than other people did; her teacher had told her mother that, when Lydia was in second grade. She was good at speaking, but she had to go back over a page twice and sometimes three times to catch the meaning. The letters raced from her until she caught them, but she still liked to read. When she finally understood what was happening, it was a puzzle she’d solved, and Lydia felt proud of herself.
When she was finished with her book, she rolled a joint from the stash that Dante kept in the top drawer of the dresser. Then she watched public television. She didn’t want Dante to tease her, so she concealed that she loved the shows from her childhood. She waited for Mr. Rogers to relax her, while she enjoyed her weed high. His voice that told her the world didn’t matter. Mr. Rogers told Lydia that she could make it; every human being could.
Sometimes Tim would come by and interrupt her reverie. He would sit on the couch and change the channel from Mr. Rogers and ask for Lydia to prepare him a sandwich. Tim wanted some red Kool-Aid with plenty sugar, too, and a squeeze of lemon in that special way she made it. He followed Lydia into the kitchen, watching as she pulled bread from the refrigerator and dropped it into the toaster, giving her additional directions. That was too much mayonnaise and mustard on the bread, and next time, maybe Lydia could fry his bologna. After sitting on the couch for a while, Lydia would tell him it had been nice of him to visit, but she had to go to the grocery store now. Dante would be expecting his dinner, and Tim would tell her, his partner had a good woman. But Tim never smiled when he said that.
At the store, Lydia would pull out the coupons she’d clipped from the Sunday paper she’d subscribed to in Dante’s name. She’d pick up meat and smell through the plastic. She’d turn fruits and vegetables in her hand. Look for the smallest imperfection marring the colors. When Lydia returned, she would sit and watch more television. She would hear Dante’s key in the door, and she would run to open it. They would kiss and she would lead him to the bedroom, and they would make love, as if they hadn’t only hours before, and while Dante slept, Lydia started on dinner. Cutting onions and garlic and green peppers. Turning on the television to keep her company again. Then calling for him, as Lydia’s mother had called for her father on the nights that he wasn’t moonlighting in the emergency room. Dante, your dinner is on the table, and he would sit down to his plate and smile at Lydia. Woman, this sure looks good. Thank you so much for taking care of me.