“If I gotta ke ep you company all night while you whine about your woman, then you buyin’ everything else,” Nadia answered. “I don’t whine, darlin’. Let me get another round,” he said to the bartender. “What you havin’, Bishop?” “Whiskey neat?” “Why’d she call you Bishop?” Nadia asked once the barke ep had walked away. “Because that’s my name.” He extended his hand. “Roman Bishop Brown. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Nadia rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have to get back to work?” She nodded toward the door, where the burly bouncer held the line. “He got it,” Roman answered. “What do you do, anyway?” Nadia asked. “I curate experiences. I create ambience and atmosphere. I make people want what they think they deserve, and then I make them wait for it. I’m a master of delayed grati cation.” “Women don’t like waiting for what belongs to them.” “Is that right?” He searched himself with his hands until he pulled his be eper from his waist and stared at the number. Recognition followed by a grimace. Instead of excusing himself to make the call, he shoved the pager back on his belt loop and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “What’s her name?” Nadia asked. “Deborah.” “Want one,” Roman o ered. “No, thank you.” “I’m trying to quit,” he said, tapping out the square. “Sounds like Deborah’s doing to me.” “Why is that?” “Because women always doing shit to make the men in their lives live longer while cutting down on their own life expectancy. Sacri ce kills.” “Is that right?” Nadia r epeated his catchphrase in a mocking tone then took a swig from her bottle. “So, what happened with Deborah?” “We’re going through a rough patch?”
“You cheated?” “Not yet.” That night, Toya’s only instruction had been to “ke ep him company.” And at rst that was all Nadia did. He o ered her a ride home. She declined. He o ered to take her out. She declined. He asked if they could be friends. She hesitated. Though she wanted no part of an in volved man, she gured it couldn’t hurt to have another friend. At least that’s what she told herself. As friends, they browsed the aisles of Woodson Library admiring the Vivian G. Harsh research collection. He o ered her a ride home after. She acc epted. On the way he said he had no plans for her outside of friendship. He liked her, found her refreshing. It was the reminder Nadia needed to remember that to Roman she was not a person but a thing. A mint for bad breath. A cold glass of water on an overly warm day. He sought neither company nor friendship but a distraction. A de ection from Deborah’s demands. As friends they marveled at the exhibits of the Shedd Aquarium. Their bodies drew nearer to each other as they moved from glass case to glass case, intrigued by sh they couldn’t name and lizards they cared less about. As friends, they had lunch at Giordano’s and critiqued the stew-like sauce and extra cheesiness of the heavy pies until his pager buzzed, 9 1 1 . He returned Deborah’s call and that’s when Nadia found out that she wasn’t a wayward girlfriend but a reasonably exigent wife. She decided then she didn’t need any more friends, until Toya called with tickets to a concert. M a y 1 9 8 0 N ADIA STOOD BESIDE T OYA AND Lou beneath the twinkling lights of the smoky club with live sounds of funk lling their souls. She waited for Roman to nish his o cial promotion duties for the Chaka Khan concert, hoping he’d join her at the front of the stage. She knew he could never belong to her, even though when they’d met he’d presented himself as just within reach. And as always, it’s the things a millimeter outside our actual grasp we try to hold on to the hardest. For Nadia, a married man was at the top of that list. So, despite her better judgment,
she stood in the crowd of close-knit bodies bumping up against one another, waiting for him to notice her. The club was tipsy with anticipation. When the bassist freestyled his way into the opening pulls of “Tell Me Something Good,” the crowd roared. “Chicago, are you ready to get down with the Queen of Funk tonight?” Roman’s voice was de ep and smooth as well-aged cognac. When the audience answered with shouts and cheers, he teased them more. “Is that right?” His baritone dragged out the words, gave them melody and rhythm, until they were more notes than syllables. Nadia rolled her eyes at his performance. Pissed at herself for still being interested, for wondering if she was still on his mind because he had been on hers. She knew that there was no reason to act as if she were an ant burned beneath the magnifying glass of his gaze. And yet like a bee to a ower she was attracted, only she didn’t know she was the one in danger of being stung. Roman walked o stage, and Chaka emerged with big hair and a toothy grin decked in a black catsuit and red thigh-high boots. She strutted, sizing up the crowd before she came center, grabbed the mic, and launched into the crowd- pleasing favorite from her time with Rufus. The singing was infectious, the energy in the club inebriating. Nadia gave herself over to the music, dipping low and swinging her hips to make sure she hit all four corners. Chaka sang them through hit after hit from “You Got the Love” and “Do You Love What You Feel” before she introduced the lead track from her new album, N a u g h t y . But it wasn’t until “Clouds” turned into “Get Ready, Get Set” that Nadia felt Roman’s hands around her waist. “You having a good time?” he asked. Nadia danced and sang without answering. He continued, “I was hoping I would see you tonight.” His damp lips tickled her ear. She st epped forward out of his loose embrace and continued rocking to the slowed groove of the music, but he st epped with her. Sang with her. Their voices blended with the rest of the eager club-goers, nearly outsinging Chaka until she slowed the mood more with “Papillon.” The opening strings of the song led lovers for the night to face each other. Arms
wrapped around backs and waists, hands groped behinds, and noses nuzzled into necks dabbed with cologne for such a time as this. Roman pulled her rst by her waist and then her hands. His body urged Nadia to turn around and face him. To slow dance and grind against him. And she did. Perhaps this was her rst mistake. Allowing her mind to convince her that what she was doing was not wrong. That their dance was innocent. That he was not expected to be anywhere else. With someone else. It was one amongst many delusions that k ept her from recognizing she was falling for another woman’s husband. Then “Papillon” turned into “Sweet Thing,” and he pulled her closer. They sang along together. To each other. And it was then she saw that he had slipped into delusion too. That he believed the moment they were having would last longer than the dance. They sang to each other, line by line, as if it were an actual conversation. He said, “I like the way you sing.” “Is that right?” she asked. It was then, when smiles cr ept across both of their faces and teeth pierced his lips as if another row of stage lights had illuminated the club, that they entered waters where delusions were drowned by force. While Nadia basked in the glow of his adoration, she forgot he was a star who didn’t shine for her. When Chaka ad-libbed her way out of “Sweet Thing” and into the dizzying disco opening of “I’m Every Woman,” Nadia’s decision was made. When the concert ended and Chaka had strutted o stage, it didn’t take her long to agree to Toya’s suggestion that Roman take her home. “Let me make sure everything is good here, and then we’ll be able to go,” he said. The fantasy was over. The curated experience had ended. Nadia sat at the bar and watched as everyone who had contributed to the atmosphere of ambiance wiped away the facade like the women would wash o their makeup. The band broke down their instruments, the bartender washed glasses, and a custodian sw ept, mopped, and bu ed the gray concrete oor until it shined. In the empty warehouse of a club, its uorescent lights screaming from the ceiling, Nadia was reminded of the emptiness she held inside. And maybe that’s what emboldened
her further. The knowing that without a dream or purpose she was a shell of her former self waiting for a shell of a man she hoped was in a shell of a marriage. Their large and pristine exteriors easily overcompensated for the emptiness they hid from each other. “You ready to go?” he asked. Nadia hopped down from the barstool and let him lead the way into the cool night air. A shiver sizzled down her spine. He felt it. “You cold?” Roman asked, taking o his jacket. He wrapped it around Nadia’s shoulders before she could answer. Thankful, she pushed her arms through the sleeves and snuggled closer beside him as she walked, tight- thighed and wobbly, drunk on pheromones. A train rumbled overhead as he opened her door. It interrupted the deadly quiet of the street, which had magni ed every sound. She heard every heartbeat and breath until he turned the ignition and the engine growled to life. Roman eased the car into the street sans tra c and made his way from the North Loop to the South Side. Somewhere along the Dan Ryan, overwhelmed by their silence, he asked her how she’d been. “Good. Working,” she answered. Nadia bobbed her head along to the low volume of the car radio. The lyrics were undeterminable; only the mood of the music was intelligible, slow, whining, and needy. Everything she felt in the drone of a song. As they zoomed past the projects, she returned his question. “Getting divorced,” he answered sharply. Nadia choked down the sharp gasp of air that threatened to erupt from her lungs. She didn’t want to respond to his provocation, her earlier hopes come true. Eyes trained out the window, she counted the staggered lines s eparating the lanes of tra c. He cleared his throat. “Did you hear what I said?” “Hmm,” Nadia purred. “I said I’m getting divorced.” “Good for you.” She answered his re ection in the window. “I said I’m getting divorced,” he r epeated, more forcefully.
Nadia snapped her head toward him. “ G e t t i n g divorced is not divorced,” she emphasized, “just like s e p a r a t e d is not divorced. You’re still in the same place you were last time I saw you.” Her high began to dissolve. He sighed. Shrugged. “For what it’s worth. She asked for it. The divorce.” Nadia watched as his mouth folded over the word as if it were dipped in gall. His tongue disgusted by the taste of the verb. “That have anything to do with me?” she asked. She didn’t want to know the truth. But she wanted to know that she mattered. That he cared. As if the only reason a woman divorced a man was because of another woman. He hesitated. “Not entirely.” “Then explain,” she demanded. “Entirely!” He began his story with Nadia storming out of the Hyde Park pizzeria while they were on what was supposed to be a lunch between friends. “Her pages were to let me know my son had fallen and broken his arm skateboarding,” he said, looking out the windshield. “I dropped you o and headed home, but by that time they were already at the hospital. That’s when she said she realized they didn’t need me.” Nadia turned to him and saw the words in the hold of his jaw that he wouldn’t say out loud. Least not in front of her. I s t i l l n e e d t h e m . The unspoken confession fueled the energy owing between them. His broken spirit preyed with the vicious appetite of a vampire upon her needy heart. It was why he had asked Lou to ask Toya to seek her out. She was a match meant to ease his angst. Never did he believe he too would be a salve for her sadness. As he exited the highway at Ninety-Fifth and Stony, the weight of his revelation added to the intensity of the night, the dance, the duet. Nadia asked, “Do you want the divorce?” “I want a lot of things,” he said. “That doesn’t mean I can have them.” It was then she knew that he sensed what she did and didn’t want to do. If she would have him he’d oblige but long for his wife. Nadia sucked her teeth. She disliked the taste of the truth she’d always asked of him. “Stop right here,” she said.
He pulled over beneath a tree on her parents’ block where it dead-ended at the CTA training facility. They were shielded from the honey glow of the streetlights. He cut the engine and let the car settle. Her hand on the gearshift, his hand atop hers, their ngers found one another. Aside from the dance that brought them mouth to chin to nose, this was the closest they’d been. No longer were they trans xed by shining lights and a powerful singing voice. They were sober. Nadia broke the silence rst. “Why did you tell me that?” she asked. He shrugged. “You asked me what was going on with me. I told you.” “Bullshit! You could’ve said anything. You chose to tell me she led for divorce.” “Because it’s what’s happening in my life.” “Because it’s what you wanted me to know.” “So what if I did?” “What do you want me to do with that information? It doesn’t change anything.” “It changes everything.” “Why, because you want it too?” “No, because it’s what s h e wants. We’ve been doing this dance long before I met you. Long before I—” “Before what? Before you were intrigued enough to leave because you found me—refreshing.” “Nadia,” he called. The sound of her name in his voice seduced and r epulsed her. “It’s not like that.” Her emotions warred within her. Nadia snatched her hand from beneath his and popped her own lock. “This was a mistake.” “Nadia, wait.” “I’ll walk from here.” She opened the door. He reached for her. Grabbed her shoulder. Pulled her back. “What!” she yelled. He didn’t respond. Instead, he tugged her chin toward his face, the kiss a foregone conclusion. Their noses bumped, lips met, mouths moved, and
tongues touched. The parts of her she’d forgotten existed, he resuscitated, ravenous. Their bodies moved with the carnal knowledge of what came next. Seat reclined. Belts removed. Nadia climbed over the gearshift. They crudely maneuvered around clothes to allow contact. Uninhibited. Unhindered. He pumped. She bounced. They made music together o -key and in harmony, just as they had in the club—all a cappella until they reached a crescendoed climax. The rushed orgasms shivered through them as realization set in. Nadia swung her legs, hips, and ass back into her seat, where she wriggled her black jeans up her thighs. One glance at him and she caught the tail end of satisfaction dissipating into disgust. It was done. The a air. The one he hadn’t had. Until now. He cranked the car and drove the half block to her parents’ house as she fastened her bra, her buttons, and nally her belt. Belly bubbling with instant regret, she didn’t look at him as she got out of the car. Idling in the middle of the street, one foot on the brake, the other on the clutch, his posture insisted on her d eparture. Their opera had gone from bel canto to seria. The beauty of the act erased by the tragedy of the actors. It wasn’t until she had reached her bedroom in the basement that she turned on a light. The lamp on the nightstand illuminated what she didn’t want to see. Her re ection in the full-length mirror that leaned against the wall just outside the bathroom showed her mussed hair and disheveled clothing, engulfed by his jacket she hadn’t bothered to take o . J u n e 1 9 8 0 N ADIA TOLD HERSELF IT WOULD only be one time, but good dick is hard to come by when you’re starved of a ection and living at home with your parents. Even if it had been mediocre, she was going back for more. A month into what was not a real relationship, Nadia fully abandoned the idea of going back to school, nishing her nance degree, and working at the Chicago Stock Exchange. Instead, she settled on the excited utterance that es caped her mouth in the
middle of the argument with Gladys. She would be a beautician. No. She would be a licensed cosmetologist. No. She would be a small business owner. Armored with her own ego, she left Gladys, Eugene, and her brothers behind with a bag of her belongings and took the bus to Toya’s apartment on Eighty- Third and Crandon. Though her building was in the middle of the block, Nadia had a clear view of all the cars parked on the street, including Roman’s gleaming Cutlass. She hurried toward Toya’s door and found Roman and Lou sitting on the stoop. “Hey, Nadia,” Lou said. “Hey,” she answered. Roman didn’t look up from the cigarette in his hands. In black jogging tights layered with running shorts and a tted white T-shirt, he was foreign to Nadia. She knew him at night. The haggard man who sat on her best friend’s porch with his legs spread wide and his elbows on his knees was a stranger. He didn’t see her raised eyebrows and twisted lips, which opened and closed as she started and stopped herself from asking the questions that ran through her mind. W h a t ’ s g o i n g o n ? W h a t a r e y o u d o i n g h e r e ? W h a t h a p p e n e d ? Finally, she managed, “You get my page?” “Yeah.” “Were you going to hit me back?” “You called Toya. She said you were on your way over here. Wasn’t no need.” Unsure, Nadia moved toward the wrought-iron fence that s eparated them. Roman stood. Met her in the middle. “Let’s take a ride,” he said. “I need to talk to Toya.” “ W e need to talk. I’ll bring you back.” Roman slapped Lou’s hand and clapped him on the back before moving toward Nadia on the other side of the gate. He pushed his way through and marched to his car. He didn’t look back to see if she was behind him. He didn’t open her door. He got in and waited for her to do the same. They were on 57, heading back toward his neighborhood, where they’d begun their day, before he even xed his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Tired of the silence, Nadia asked, “What did you want to talk about?” “Just got some stu going on.”
“Like what?” He opened his mouth as he turned the corner, but only silence es caped. His eyes narrowed as he parallel parked in front of his door, a space he could have driven into and still had his wheels comfortably against the curb. He stalled like a caged bird facing an open door. Roman was ready to take ight but fearful he’d forgotten how to y. “C’mon,” he said, unlocking the door. Nadia followed, injured prey unaware of the circling shark. Up the st eps, through the door, she waited for him to turn around, gnash his teeth, and take a bite out of what Gladys had left that hadn’t already been ground down by words, masticated by chastisement, and regurgitated into a self-righteous mound of uncertainty. But he didn’t speak. In the kitchen, Roman gathered the stack of papers and the manila envelope they were served in and dropped them in the metal trash can against the wall. Nadia’s stomach ip- opped. She knew whatever Roman had to say had to do with Deborah. “You want some water? Co ee?” he stalled. “I’m good,” she said, standing in the doorway. He pulled out a chair. “You wanna sit down?” “I’m good.” He took the church chair and searched himself until he found his pack of cigarettes and lighter. He tapped a square loose and lit it just as quickly. “You’re smoking inside!” She couldn’t hide the incredulity from her voice. In all the time she’d known him, he hadn’t smoked in his car or in his house. But there’s a rst time for everything. He asked, “You sure you don’t want anything?” “I’ll take a cigarette,” Nadia said. Surprise registered on his face, but he didn’t state the obvious. Y o u d o n ’ t s m o k e . Instead, he handed Nadia what she asked for and icked the lighter. She came over to him and retrieved the same solace he sought. After a drag and a teary-eyed cough, she retreated back to her corner. “Anything else?” he asked.
“Stop stalling,” she said. “You said we needed to talk. Talk.” “There’s no easy way to say this.” Nadia sighed. If she had to face serrated teeth, she chose to die with dignity. “You and your wife are getting back together.” “Yeah.” “Good for you.” “Nadia... don’t be like that.” “I’m not b e i n g like anything.” “It’s not like that.” “It’s not like what?” she asked. “You and your wife are getting back together. Good for you two. You could’ve told me that while you were sitting on the stoop at Toya’s. You ain’t have to drive me all the way out here to drop this bomb.” “Nadia, just let me explain,” Roman protested. “I mean, we w e r e getting a divorce, but—” “But what, Roman? You told me you were getting divorced just to get in my pants?” “No. We were getting a divorce, but then she—” “Deborah,” Nadia yelled. “She has a name.” “Deborah.” He grimaced, as if just the taste would erode what was left of him. “She found out that... that... she’s pregnant.” The word exploded around Nadia. Pregnant. It’s the kind of word that obliterated whatever delusion she convinced herself into believing inside his rental house just blocks from his marital bed in Beverly. Truth is, Roman had never been hers. Only at night, on weekends, when they could pretend, but not in the day. Not when Deborah’s pages rang from his hip and he went running. Nadia was the one he found refreshing. The one he cared for. Deborah was the one he loved. The mother of his two, soon to be three, children. “Nadia,” he said quietly. “Say something.” “I ain’t got shit to say.” Anger fueled the ush that spread across her golden skin, shading her natural hue with the red of rage. “I’m... I’m...” he stuttered.
She held up her hand to stop the apology. “What you got to be sorry for?” she asked, her voice gaining volume. “I’m the stupid one. I’m the one out here fuckin’ around wit’ a married man knowin’ you wasn’t over your wife.” “Nadia.” “Save it, Roman. When you told me she led, I told you then getting divorced ain’t divorced just like being s eparated ain’t divorced, and apparently y’all been together the whole time, working shit out, or whatever the hell you do over there all day.” “Why are you mad? It’s not like I planned for this.” “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself. Of course you didn’t plan for this. Men never do.” “Nadia—” “We good. I’m gone.” She headed toward the door, but Roman was at her back before she could reach the handle. “Where are you going?” he asked. “Does it matter?” “If you’re going back to Toya’s or your mom’s, I can take you.” “The bus will get me there just ne.” “Nadia, please, don’t be like that.” “How you want me to be?” She whirled around. “You wanted me to be nice when I met you. To care about your feelings and shit. You wanted to be friends. When your wife was gon’ drop your ass, you wanted to be more than friends. And now that you knocked her up and y’all getting back together—for the sake of the baby, I’m sure—you want me to do what? Not be mad and volunteer to babysit? Fuck outta here.” “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he emphasized. She turned the handle and opened the door. He pushed it closed again. “Stop. Please!” He grabbed her shoulder. “You mean more than that to me.” “Evidently, I don’t. Let me go.” Again, she opened the door, and this time he didn’t stop her. He watched as she stomped down the st eps and down the block toward the bus stop, neither of
them knowing that their lives were already forever connected.
! e ß u ß ą 1 9 1 Ż Nadia wasn’t the rst Dupree woman to fall for a man she shouldn’t have. And she wasn’t the rst to su er the consequences because of it. Jubilee thought all babies came out like little red rats. At least all the ones she’d ever seen born by Emma and Evangeline. Even the dark ones looked red when they came out covered in human cottage cheese. Jubi expected the same when she nally was able to deliver her own, but it was not to be so. Ruby was born black as night, and she wasn’t even a second old. Jubi didn’t have to look at the tips of her ears, elbows, or nail beds to see what color she’d be. She was black like burnt bitter co ee. Too black for Jubi. And de nitely too black for her father, Logan Je erson Danube III. “How did this happen? What am I going to do?” Jubi shrieked from the bed, where Emma was still cleaning her up. “Mama, what am I going to do?” Emma looked up at Jubi. “You talking to me now?” “Mama, what am I going to do?” she shrieked again. “You tell him the truth.” “I can’t do that. I’ll lose everything. Everything I worked hard for. I was careful about it all.” “All exc ept this,” Emma said. Wringing out blood-soaked towels, Emma stared at the daughter she once knew. Though they favored each other from their coloring, they were nothing alike. Emma had stayed on her side of the tracks with George. Jubi had chosen a di erent life. A life she could no longer ke ep. The baby stretching and turning in her arms reaching for milk she still hadn’t provided made sure of that. “You need to feed the baby,” Emma said.