“Merry Christmas, Ailey!”
“Scooter, I regret to inform you that you’ve missed half of the holidays. We are in the Kwanzaa portion of our celebrations now. Today is ‘Umoja,’ youngblood.”
I gave the Black Power salute.
“Ailey, don’t you see me holding this big-ass box? Let me in before I have a heart attack.”
I tried to say what was required when receiving an inappropriate, wildly expensive gift from a married man. I told him a television was too extravagant, and damn, I didn’t get him anything in return, even as I picked up the little TV off the cherry dresser I’d bought at the thrift shop and set it on the floor.
Scooter didn’t even give me a chance to ask why he was in town, instead of at his parents’ house in D.C. with Rebecca. He began talking about his marital problems, saying he’d spent the holiday alone. Rebecca’s family had invited her to come home, only without him. He couldn’t believe that she would accept the invitation, but she’d wept and told him that she needed it. Scooter had been too embarrassed to go back home. He didn’t want to hear his mother’s mouth.
I patted his shoulder. “It’s all right, youngblood. You two will make up.”
“You think so?”
I told him, if he was patient, I’d fix him some coffee. There was sweet potato pie, too, but my mother had baked it two days before. I was hoping a sugary dessert would keep him from crying, but when I returned from the kitchen, he didn’t seem upset. There was a playfulness to him, as there’d been the evening of the graduate reception. And I found myself relaxing as I had then, but this time, I didn’t disrupt the ease. I smiled when he told me, my mother sure could burn. This pie was fantastic.
He asked me about my life before I’d moved to North Carolina. Why wasn’t I married yet, a great catch like myself, and I laughed. I told him about the boy I’d desperately loved in high school, David James. Then the rebound Negro I’d settled for, Chris. Then Abdul and Pat. And after I’d moved to Chicasetta before grad school, I’d had several flings with country brothers, but I never allowed anything to get serious.
Somehow, I wasn’t embarrassed, talking to Scooter about my sexual history. He was a married man. I didn’t need to impress him, or pretend to be a good little virgin. And I didn’t turn away when he moved closer, or when he kissed me. Even when things got heated, I didn’t stop him. In my bedroom, he begged to make love. I told him I didn’t have any condoms, and was surprised when he assured me he’d brought his own.
I pushed at him, ordering him to lie on his back, and when I settled on top of him, he started moaning. I was so wet, so tight. I leaned down, whispering in his ear. How long had he been thinking about this? How long? And he confessed, since the very night he met me. When I hadn’t called, he’d driven all over town, looking for me. That’s when he found me, out at Shug’s. He couldn’t get me out of his mind.
We made love twice, and afterward, when his eyes started to close, I shook him. He needed to leave. I didn’t want anybody to see him in the early morning. God forbid Eddie and Mike came back to town early and saw him creeping out my door.
The next night, he came by without calling, and I told him this wasn’t a good idea. This couldn’t continue when school started back up, and he kissed me, pulling at the band of my sweatpants.
“Whatever you want, Ailey. Whatever you need.”
I didn’t mention his wife’s name or ask when she would be back in town, because Scooter’s hand was already inside my panties. I tugged at his belt, ordering him, go into the bedroom. Get ready for me to fuck him. When he reached for me, I reminded him, pay attention to me. Go in the bedroom and wait.
Song
The Worthy Lineage
When Aidan Franklin settled his second wife and his many children in the cabin he built on top of that flower-covered mound, he continued a legacy that had been established by his grandfather, a man by the name of Gideon Franklin. In 1733, this man had found sea legs on a ship baptized Anne, along with one hundred fourteen others, including James Oglethorpe, the founder of the Georgia colony. It was the ship that had been anointed by Oglethorpe’s lofty prayer of the worthy poor.
In England, Gideon Franklin had been in jail, in anticipation of his hanging. He had been a young man with opinions about the monarchy; he was angry King George the Second had allocated property for rich men, carving it out from the land that common people had freely roamed in centuries past. These commoners had picked fruit from trees, fished in ponds, and hunted deer that roasted deliciously on spits hovering above fires. Then the king had taken this land, parceled it into gifts for his noble friends, and the common fellow—and his family—was expected to scrabble or starve, even as he stared at food that hung over his head, or that swam or ran within his sight.