Angel's Revenge

with Nina than it had been with anyone before her. She was beginning to open up with him, beginning to be more sexually expressive and eager and willing to please him any way he asked her to. But he mistook her eagerness in bed, thinking it was about him, when in fact, Nina was pretending that it was Dutch she was fucking. Thinking of Dutch made her climax with ease. All she had to do was let him into her mind. If she was really there with Dwight, she’d be there all night trying. She told herself she wasn’t cheating. Dwight had her body. A dead man had her mind. How was that cheating?

“Girl, you are cheating if you are fuckin’ a nigga and thinking about somebody else’s dick runnin’ up in you. Say what you want, you know it’s true,” Tamika stated matter-of-factly before licking the rim of a walnut caramel ice cream cone.

“Whatever. You’re not cheating unless you’re fuckin’ someone else, period. It shouldn’t have anything to do with who you think about.”

“Well, do you be thinkin’ about the other person when you cum or are you connected to the person you actually fucking?” Tamika asked, trying to get Nina to be precise.

Nina sat back and just smiled. An honest answer to Tamika’s question would only make Tamika right, and Nina didn’t want her to be.

“Ohh, you are a nasty slut!” Tamika exclaimed excitedly, “I fuckin’ knew it. I knew it! You freaky heifer! I knew it! Who is it? Somebody at the bank? Somebody you just met? Girl, who is you really sleepin’ wit’? Tell me!” Tamika rattled.

“It’s nobody,” Nina lied. “It was just a question, gee willikers!” She shrugged and spooned out another bite of Haagen-Dazs into her mouth.

“Bitch, don’t give me the gee willikers routine. Just answer the question. Who do you be mind fuckin’ while Dwight bangin’ you out!”

“Shut up!” Nina giggled, kicking Tamika playfully.

“No for real, for real! It’s cheatin’!”

“How?” Nina challenged.

“Because how would you feel if Dwight told you the same shit like that?”

Nina didn’t respond.

“Well, as they say, if you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you wit’, right?” Tamika replied with ghettoified philosophy that led Nina right back to where she started.

And then it happened.

It was her twenty-sixth birthday. She and Dwight had planned a quiet evening at home instead of suffering the hustle and bustle of the city. A nice quiet evening of dining, courtesy of Mo Beys in Harlem. A bottle of Merlot and two tall white candles were neatly centered on the tablecloth.

The doorbell rang.

“I got it,” Nina chirped as she slid off the kitchen stool.

She padded to the door in her bare feet and T-shirt of Dwight’s that swallowed her like a dress.

“Who is it?” she asked, peering through the frosted glass of her front door.

Standing on her porch was an older white man in a chauffeur’s uniform. Behind him was the creamiest stretch white Rolls Royce she had ever laid her eyes on. She was expecting a delivery boy from Mo Beys.

“Celeste Martin?” the man asked, using her middle name instead of her first.

“Y… yes,” she replied nervously.

“Your limousine is ready,” he said, looking at her doubtfully.

Limousine? Who sent a limousine? Dwight? He’s over there ready to eat Mo Beys. Then she thought of the flowers and the card.

“Who sent you?” she questioned, looking at the driver strangely.

“Are you sure you’re Celeste Martin?” he probed, stepping back to check her house number. “According to the reservation, you requested our services.”

Dwight had come to the door when he heard a man’s voice. He looked out at the limousine and whistled.

“Damn, boo! You just full of surprises, huh?” Dwight smiled from ear to ear.

“Yeah, full of surprises,” Nina said, not having a clue and not wanting Dwight to ask too many questions.

“Well, Miss Martin. Are you ready?”

It was the same question she had asked herself.

“I’ll be ready shortly,” she said politely before closing the door.

After she quickly showered and dressed in a backless black dress and Gucci slingback heels, they drove to Dwight’s to get his best suit. Then they slipped into the luxurious Rolls Royce and glided off into the night.

The surprise had been meticulously planned. The driver had an itinerary. First, they were driven across the water to Manhattan where they were taken to Cipriani’s for dinner. Their next stop was Broadway for the play A Raisin in the Sun, where they had balcony seats.

After the play, they were escorted to Hue, a cozy little spot in the Village. The entire downstairs had been reserved for Nina. All the tables and chairs had been removed except for one in the middle of the room with a bottle of Louis XIII cognac waiting. They were shown their seats, then left alone. A man played the piano softly as a woman in a blue-sequined dress sang Nina Simone.

Someday, I know he’s comin’ back

To call me…

“May I have this dance, birthday girl?” Dwight proposed, reaching out his hand to her.

Why can’t he be Dutch?

The evening was so charming and so elegant, she wished terribly that the man dancing with her was the man she longed to be with. When she took Dwight’s hand, she pretended it was Dutch’s. When she reached around his neck, taking step after step with him, she continued to dream. If only it was him. The entire evening was a dream. For Nina, it really was Dutch who had placed his hand on her knee as they drove through the city streets in the glistening limousine. It was Dutch who tickled the inside of her palm during the play. And it was Dutch who scooped delicious spoonfuls of tiramisu into her mouth at Cipriani’s.

“Tonight has been the greatest night of my life, Nina. I can’t remember the last time I’ve enjoyed myself as much as I have tonight. Never have I known a woman who could compare to you, Nina. And if I had one wish, it would be that you would be my wife.”

Dwight.

His words were the words she had waited to hear her entire adult life. Tears welled in her eyes, tears Dwight mistook for happiness. But Nina cried because the words weren’t spoken by the man she loved but by Dwight.

Dwight unexpectedly dropped down on one knee and slid a two-carat round diamond ring on her finger. Again he mistook her tears for tears of joy and assumed that she had accepted his proposal.

Nina didn’t know what to say. How could she say no? How could she say yes? She glanced at the engagement ring.

“I love you, Nina. Happy birthday.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, unable to sleep. She looked at the alarm clock. The digital display read 3:06 a.m. She looked at the engagement ring in the dark. She had had enough.

Nina slid on her slippers and shuffled down the stairs to the den. She flipped on the light switch and took a seat at her desk. She placed her Rolodex in front of her and began flipping through the cards. Please don’t let me have thrown her number away. She flipped through the Rolodex until she reached the M’s.

Mitchell. Moore. Morgan. Murphy.

Delores Murphy, Dutch’s mother.

Nina grabbed the cordless phone from its base and took a deep breath. She looked at the phone. Should I call her? She’s going to think I’m crazy. She dialed the number anyway, hoping that the number had been changed or even disconnected. She glanced at the clock, noticing the time. It’s 3:22 in the morning. Maybe I should wait to call at a decent hour. It was inconsiderate and rude to ring anybody’s phone at that hour and she knew it, but the thumping in her chest wouldn’t allow her heart to wait. She dialed the number and listened as the phone rang.

“Hello?” a woman answered.

She didn’t sound at all irritated or groggy, especially considering it was the middle of the night. Her voice was casual, like she was wide awake and waiting for Nina’s call.