And last-- you know what's going to happen, I know that--
let me just say this.
When I read this part, you will hear the thoughts
of the other person.
OK, this is Zora's--
the point of view of this chapter
is Zora's But you will also hear Franklin's thoughts.
And I'll just sort of pause so you'll know that, OK?
It's kind of obvious.
I stood outside the apartment I have come to look at.
And my first impression was that it was a--
[GIBBERISH]
I stood outside the apartment I have come to look at.
And my first impression was that it was a beautiful building.
That is, until I walked inside and saw that stairwell.
Talk about old.
The railing looked as rickety as the ones
you see in horror movies and so dusty
that when I put my foot on the first step,
a clay-like powder puffed up like a cloud under my dress.
And I could have sworn it was going to collapse.
I was making a mistake.
I knew that already.
Something told me that the ad sounded too good to be true.
Large one bedroom, fully renovated brownstone,
10-foot ceilings, all-new appliances,
exposed brick, southern exposure, 10 minutes
to Wall Street, close to shop, subway, $500?
I heard the sound of drilling coming
from the top of the stairs.
So I took my chances and ran up.
Sawdust was flying around the white room like gold snow.
I looked down, saw a curved red back,
then a long arm flying up, thick black fingers grasping a hammer
firmly.
And when it swung back down, the sound I made
scared me and I gasped.
He looked up.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
Then he stood up.
Lord have mercy was all I heard inside my head.
I could not move, let alone speak.
I really couldn't believe what I was seeing.
This man had to be six-foot something because he
was towering over me.
His eyes looked like black marble set in almonds
and he wore a Yankees baseball cap backwards.
And when he lifted it from his head to shake off the dust,
his hair was jet black and wavy.
That nose was strong and regal and beneath it
was a thick mustache.
His cheeks looked chiseled.
His shoulders were as wide as any linebacker's.
And those thighs were tight, and his legs went on forever.
There was a film of dust all over his skin.
But when he pushed the sleeves of his sweatshirt
up to his elbows, his arms were the color of fudge brownies.
"Did you come to look at the apartment?" he asked.
I cleared my throat and heard a word come out of my mouth.
"Yes."
Then he smiled down at me, as if he
was thinking about something that had happened to him
earlier.
Just what the fuck I need.
Something as fine as this moving down the street.
I thought she was going to be fat and ugly.
At least skinny and ugly.
Vinney he said she was a schoolteacher.
This chick don't look like no damn school teacher.
He must have made a mistake.
She wearing the hell out of that pink dress,
I swear to God she is.
Franklin, cut the bullshit, man.
Get her out of here.
"Running a little behind schedule, as usual.
I don't know when we're going to be finished,
to tell you the truth.
Been trying to figure out how all these mice been
getting in here.
Ain't found it yet and I don't know how to roaches
and water bugs got in here either.
Tribes of them.
We're going to have to fumigate this place good
before anybody even think about moving in here."
Mice, water bugs, and roaches.
He had to be pulling my leg.
This place is brand new.
"Are you the owner?"
"I wish I was.
He's back there," he said, pointing down a long hallway.
"Hey Vinney," he yells.
"Somebody's here to see you, man."
Before I started in that direction,
I could see that the living room was
very large and shaped like an L. Three tall windows extended
from the ceiling almost to the floor, which meant sunshine.
The kitchen was over in a corner,
but I could live with that.
So far the ad hadn't lied.
Everything was brand new.
Halfway down the hallway was the bathroom.
I peeked in and turned on the light.
A sea blue bathtub, toilet, and sink, clean white tile
on the floor and walls, and one of those orange lamps
in the ceiling to help you dry off.
So far, so good.
When I entered the doorway at the end of the hall,
I was standing inside a sunny bedroom with three more
windows.
"Hi, I'm Vinney.
You're Ms. Banks, right?"
He didn't give me a chance to answer.
"Let me say first off that we'll be finished in a day or so.
What do you think?"
"The man out front said he didn't know.
When you'd be finished."
"The tall black guy?"
"Yes, and he also said there was a host
of rodent problems in here."
"That's bullshit.
Excuse me, miss.
First of all, like I said we'll be finished in a day or so.
And we ain't seen nothing crawling around
in here except men.
The place has been completely gutted.
Everything is brand new, for God's sake.
Frankie's known for being a jokester,
but today he's pushing it."
Frankie?
What a stupid name for such a handsome man.
He didn't look like a Frankie to me.
"What's this room over here?
This little room over here," I ask.
"Well, that's just sort of an extra large closet.
It's too small to call it a bedroom.
That's why we didn't put it in the ad.
Perfect for a kid, though.
You got a kid?
No, you said you didn't have kids.
Use it for storage.
Whatever."
It was a tiny room, but it still had a window.
I stood there for a moment and pictured myself
playing the piano which would just barely fit in there
I walked over to the window and looked out.
There were real trees back there.
Flower and vegetable gardens and other people's yards.
With all this light, I could finally
have house plants that would be able to live.
I walked back into the other bedroom
and look down the hallway.
The floors were now just wooden planks.
"What are you going to do with the floors?"
"We're laying the finest carpet available in every room
except the kitchen area and bathrooms.
Sort of a beigey color, neutral.
You know.
That suit you?"
"There's no way you could put in hardwood floors?"
"You want the apartment?"
"Yes, if you can lay wood floors and assure me
that the stairwell won't look like it
does for too much longer."
"First off, when you renovate a whole building, miss,
you always save the stairs til last
so they'd be worse off with all the ripping and running the men
do up and down 'em.
Know what I mean?
And hardwood floors, it'll cost you a few dollars
extra for the labor.
And it'll add a few more days to the job."
"How much extra?"
"Not much, if you get pine.
Don't worry.
We can work something out.
You positive you want wood?
They collect dust like ain't no tomorrow."
"I'm positive."
I didn't care about the dust.
When I first walked in here, I'd already
pictured shiny wooden floors, not some drab carpet.
And I hate beige.
It is so boring.
"Frankie!
Frankie!"
he yelled.
"Come in here a minute, would you?"
He walked back into the room, ducking his head
under the arch.
I tried not to look directly at him
because I was thinking that I wish he came with the place.
I tried instead to look indifferent.
"What's up, boss?" he asked in a very sarcastic manner.
"Why'd you tell this here young lady all those lies?"
He threw his arms up in the air and grinned.
And he has a nerve to have dimples.
"I was just kidding, boss."
"One day, all your kidding's going
to cost me money, Frankie.
Anyway, she wants wood floors instead of carpet.
I want you to get over to Friendly Freddy's and get
a estimate today.
Can you have this finished in four or five days?"
"Maybe," he said, lighting a cigarette.
He blew the smoke upwards and my eyes
watched his lips close around the filter again.
I wished I was a cigarette.
"He'll have it done in five days," Vinney said,
"if that's soon enough."
"That's fine."
"Come on down the street to my office and we
can tidy up the particulars.
Oh hell, I ain't got any lease forms.
I have to run to the stationery store and pick up some.
You can help yourself to a cup of coffee.
This won't take but a minute."
"Watch him," Frankie said to me.
"He's Italian."
I followed Vinney down the hallway
and had to brush past Frankie because he
acted like he didn't have any intention of moving out
of my way.
I wanted my breasts to brush against his chest
just for the warmth alone.
But instead, I did just the opposite.
Tried not to let any part of my body
touch his, especially after he flung his arms up over his head
and pressed himself stiffly against the wall.
Something told me I spoke to soon.
Women.
I should have known she was going to run back
and blab it to Vinney.
Why can't she find some place to live in Manhattan?
She don't even look like the type to live in Brooklyn.
I gave the place another once over.
Yep.
I could picture myself living here.
"See you in three weeks," Frankie said.
Now he was back in the living room
driving more nails in the floor.
When the mover pulled up to my new home,
Frankie was sitting out on the stoop, smoking a cigarette
and drinking a Heineken in a tight white T-shirt that made
him look like a bodybuilder.
Orchards of soft black hair were peeking out from the V,
but I didn't want to stare.
I couldn't tell if he actually worked out or just worked hard.
His face was drenched with sweat,
and it looked like black tears were falling from his temples.
I had to stop myself from walking over and patting
them dry.
Just once in my life, I'd like to live out a fantasy.
But not now, Zora.
Not now.
"Your bedroom floor is still wet,
so you're going to have to put all this stuff in the living
room," he said.
"What?
Vinney told me it was finished."
"It is finished.
It just ain't dry."
I turned to the driver of the truck
and explained the situation to him.
He got out to open up the back, and I put my hands on my hips
and looked up at my new windows.
Well, I'm here, I said, to no one in particular.
Frankie just kept on smoking.
When I'd hired the guy to help me move,
he told me there'd be two of them.
But when he showed up [AUDIO OUT] where I was moving.
So I didn't ask him to come to Brooklyn.
I had carried quite a few things, too,
and now I was tired at the thought of hauling
all this stuff upstairs.
"Moving sure is hard labor," I sighed.
"Yes, it is," he said, and took another sip from his beer.
I thought maybe he'd at least offer to help.
But he didn't.
"Would you mind giving me a hand?"
"I don't work for free."
I've been busting my nuts for the past four days,
trying to get these damn finished
so she could move in like she planned.
And she show up with a scrawny looking white boy
and want my help?
Fuck her.
If this is what she's fucking, I swear to God.
That's what's wrong with Black women
today, running to these white boys for everything.
Women like her don't even give a brother a chance, so fuck her.
Not only was he a handsome creep, I thought,
but he had a nasty, even hostile, attitude.
I still couldn't carry all those boxes up those stairs,
so I said, "how much?"
"Not much," he said, and flicked his cigarette
about three feet away and at the same time jumped off the stoop.
For the next hour, I watched him lift and pull things
off the truck.
Muscles popped up in his arms and shoulders out of nowhere.
He was sweating profusely.
All I kept thinking was, I bet some woman loves to roll over
in those arms at night.
It took close to two hours for us
to get everything except the trunk upstairs.
It was full of records and I knew
it was entirely too heavy for one person to carry.
So I offered to help him, but Frankie refused.
He slung it up in the air then balanced it on one shoulder
as if it weighed 20 pounds.
I paid the driver and ran back upstairs.
Frankie had pushed the larger things against the living room
wall and boxes were stacked everywhere,
including on top of the couch.
I walked to the bedroom and stood in the doorway.
Sunlight was streaming through the windows.
The floors look like strips of gold.
When I felt his presence behind me, I turned around
and my nose grazed those soft black trees on his chest.
My lips felt moist, my heart was about to jump out of my chest,
so I inched backwards and almost fell on the floor.
He grabbed my elbows and pulled me back into the hallway.
"Don't you mess up my floor," he said.
I was nervous, but I willed my mouth to talk.
"You did a wonderful job on the floors, Frankie, really.
I didn't expect them to turn out this beautiful."
"Thanks," he said, turning back down the hallway
and winking at me.
"I try to do everything good."
I guess this was supposed to be his way of flirting.
And it must have been working because all
the air in this place seemed to be disappearing.
[LAUGHTER]
I took a deep breath and prayed I
could say what was necessary without sounding
like I was going through any major changes.
"How much do I owe you?"
"How much did you pay the white boy?"
I wanted to embarrass her because I know
she didn't pay that white boy.
"I gave him $100."
Now why did his eyes light up like that?
"Why, was that too much?"
I asked.
"All the other ads in the Voice ask for about the same."
I felt like a fool for jumping to conclusions.
Something told me she didn't look like the type that
went for white boys.
"I've only got about $30 in cash left.
But if there's a cash machine in the neighborhood,
I can go get more.
I really did appreciate your help."
"Keep your money."
"No, really, you earned it.
You said yourself you didn't work for free."
"I know what I said.
A little charity every now and then ain't going to kill me.
So tell me, are you a Miss or Mrs.?"
He sat down on a box and crossed his arms.
Before I could tell him it was none of his business,
I blurted out a "Ms."
"Oh, so you one of them feminist?"
"What if I am?"
"I just asked.
Does that mean you like women?"
"Give me a break, would you?
Do I look like I like women?"
"Looks don't mean nothing in this day and age.
But to answer your question, no."
"Then you have your answer."
I started looking at box labels to see
which one had the dishes in it.
Not that I really needed a dish right then.
He was making me nervous.
And I had to do something, anything, to keep
moving because he didn't act like he
was getting ready to leave.
And I sure didn't want him to yet.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Only if it's personal," he said.
"Is your real name Frankie?"
"No, it's Franklin.
Why?"
"You just did not look like a Frankie to me."
"You can call me Franklin, if you want to."
Have I already given him the impression
that I planned on seeing him again?
[LAUGHTER]
Men.
Not only are they presumptuous, but this one here
can read minds.
"You ain't never been married?" he asked, lighting a cigarette.
"No," I said tartly, and started looking for something
he could use for an ashtray.
Something must be wrong with a fine-ass woman like this
and ain't never been married.
"Don't get so touchy.
I was just curious.
What are you going to do with all this space?"
"Put it to good use."
"By yourself?"
He would have to make it sound like I'm
a damn spinster or something, wouldn't he.
"Yes," I said, and handed him a rusty can
I found under the sink.
It already had ashes in it, which
meant it was probably his.
And here, this was my new home.
"How?
Why?"
I ask.
"Because it seems awful funny that a single woman would pair
this much rent with all this space and liberty by herself,
that's why."
"I sing and play the piano and I need all the space I can get
and compared to Manhattan, this is cheap.
Does that answer your question, Franklin?"
He smiled at me.
"A singer, huh?"
"Yes, a singer."
I knew she wasn't no school teacher.
Vinney always getting shit mixed up.
It's surprising he know how to get to work every day.
I spotted a box that looked like whatever was in it
would look like I needed it.
As I went to lift it up, Franklin jumped up to help me.
"What's your name again?" he asked, placing the box
on top of the counter.
"Zora.
Zora Banks."
"That's a hell of a name.
Suits you."
"I know you heard of Zora Neale Hurston then, right?
The writer?"
As much as I hated to admit it, I
was becoming more impressed by the minute.
"I was named after her," I said.
"You recorded any albums?
I'm pretty up on all kind of music,
and your name don't ring no bells."
I know one thing.
His grammar was terrible.
But everything else so far seem to be compensating for it.
"Nope.
No albums yet.
I'm working on it."
"Well, what kind of music do you sing?"
"All kinds," I said.
"Is that what you're going to tell a record producer?
That you sing all kinds of music?"
"You know, you sure ask a lot of questions."
He smiled.
"How else you supposed to learn things if you don't ask?"
God, his teeth were white.
"Well, to be honest that's exactly what I'm working on.
Developing my own style.
I always thought it was about feeling the music."
"Sing me a few notes."
"Sing you a few notes?
Be serious.
First of all, I just barely got inside the door
of my new apartment.
I don't even know your last name.
I'm not in a singing mood, and I'm tired."
"My last name is Swift.
I can understand you being tired and everything, but promise me,
you'll let me hear you sing one day.
I don't meet many singers."
I hope she don't take my curiosity
the wrong way because you can't be too curious with women.
It don't make no difference what kind of questions you ask them.
They always think you've got other motives.
All I want to know is, can the chick sing.
Franklin got up from the box and stood directly in front of me.
He was doing this on purpose.
I just knew it.
Probably just wanted to see how long it would take me to melt.
"Oh," I said.
"So you think I'll be seeing you again after today?
Is that it?"
"I can guarantee it," he said, walking towards the door.
"We getting ready to start on the building
right next to this one."
Then he was gone.
I stood there looking at the door like a fool, like I'd
been hypnotized or something.
I swear I could not move.
That door kept opening and closing.
And each time it opened, he would just stand there,
looking straight through me.
I had to shake my head back and forth until that door finally
stayed closed.
Then I went over to the sink, dangled my fingers
under the water until they could feel that it was too hot.
I wanted to unpack my books, but I needed toggle bolts
to put the shelves up.
I'm not very good when it comes to doing things like that.
There are things-- some things--
I just don't want to learn how to do.
I couldn't put the stereo together, either,
because there's too many wires.
I'm hoping one day they'll color code them
so a three-year-old can put one together.
But until then, I'll just have to pay someone to do it,
like I've always done.
The phone company was supposed to have been here by now,
but of course, they're late.
So I couldn't call anybody.
And last but not least, I was starving.
I walked down the dirty stairs and noticed
that the door to the other apartment was cracked open,
so I peeked in.
I saw that beautiful neutral shade
of carpet Vinney was talking about,
which was a disgusting shade of yellow tweed shag.
The heat was piercing and the humidity was thick
when I got outside, and I was trying
to decide which way to go.
When I looked to the far right, I
saw lots of traffic, which meant business so I went that way.
At the corner was a fish market where I bought a half
a pound of fresh scallops.
Right next to it, a vegetable stand that sold everything
from vegetables to Pampers.
I bought broccoli, fresh mushrooms, scallions,
a large bunch of flowers, paper towels, toilet paper,
and white grape juice.
I decided to walk home in the opposite direction
to get a better feel for the neighborhood.
Some guy was standing out in front
of this gorgeous little gourmet shop trying
to entice people to come in.
"Free coffee samples to celebrate our grand opening,"
he said.
"You look like a lady with good taste.
Come on in, honey.
Try some.
It's divine."
"Thanks.
Maybe another time."
But after I'd gone only a few steps,
the rich scented coffee lured me back.
He handed me a finely printed piece
of peach-colored paper that described the store
specialties.
All kinds of delicacies, imported foods, breads,
every kind of cheese you could think of,
dried fish, and pickled everything.
I went inside and staring me in the face
were samples of white Scandinavian chocolate.
"Go ahead, it's fabulous," he said.
[LAUGHTER]
My fingers itched with desire.
But I said, "no, I can't."
"Oh, come on.
One little piece won't hurt.
Go on.
Splurge."
The next thing I knew I'd not only eaten the piece,
I'd bought a quarter pound which I vowed
to stretch over a week or two.
I also got some dill, Havarti cheese,
liver paté with some kind of crackers
I'd never even heard of, and a pound of Vienna Roast mixed
with Mocha Java.
"Come back again," he said.
And I assured him I would.
Parts of the neighborhood were still run down.
And although there were scaffolds everywhere I looked,
It would be years before this area was pretty.
"You moved here at the right time," Vinney had said.
"In a few years, everybody and their mother
will be flocking to Brooklyn from Manhattan.
Who can afford that rent?
This is what you call a change in neighborhood.
It's the pits now, but stick around a few years.
You won't even recognize it.
And you're getting this place at a steal, you know."
By the time I got home, I was drenched.
I found the box with the towels in it and took a cool shower.
Afterwards, I located the box with all the cleansers
and scrubbed the kitchen shelves inside and out.
I didn't care that they were brand new.
I never, ever wanted to see another roach.
Then I pulled out the pots and pans, cooked dinner, and sat
down on top of a box to eat.
I sure wished I had some music.
I put the flowers in my coffee pot
and sat them next to my plate.
Lord only knew when I'd be able to afford a dining room set.
My piano comes first.
That night, I slept on the floor.
The couch was buried in boxes, and my platform bed
wouldn't do me much good because I had thrown the mattress out.
I made a pallet of three blankets
and flipped one of them over me like a sleeping bag.
Sometime during the middle of the night, I woke up.
I heard a sound, like movement.
But I couldn't tell where it was coming from.
I was afraid to move, so I just laid there as still as I could.
This was the worst part of living alone.
When you're afraid and you don't have anyone to turn to.
The noise was coming from the refrigerator.
Please, God, I thought.
Don't let it be a mouse.
I got up slowly and went and knocked on the refrigerator
door.
If it was in there, it could run and I wouldn't have to see it.
I waited a few seconds, then opened the door slowly.
But there was nothing inside except my leftover dinner
and the things I'd bought earlier.
I felt relieved, but to be sure, I opened the freezer.
A plastic box was filling up with oval-shaped ice cubes.
I have completely forgotten about that damn ice maker.
I laid back down and stared at the white walls, which
now look blue because of the street lights
shining through them, the windows.
I closed my eyes, but they wouldn't stay shut.
They kept seeing blue.
I got back up and went over to the counter
and broke off a piece of chocolate and laid back down.
This is how it always starts, Zora, I thought,
then stomped to the bathroom and flushed the entire contents
of the bag, including what was in my mouth, down the toilet.
I turned on the fan and stood in the middle of the floor
and listened to it oscillate.
The blankets felt cool on my bare feet,
but it was hot in here.
I laid down on top of the blankets
and tried to go to sleep.
But when my breasts began to rise and fall,
I knew my body was waiting for something.
Not tonight, I thought.
But my nipples were hard and throbbing.
This was their way of letting me know
they needed to be touched, kissed, something.
Without realizing it, I had cupped both hands over them
and began massaging them in circles.
But they weren't my hands.
They were his hands.
A heart started beating between my legs
as his hands slid down my belly and rubbed inside my thighs.
My whole body felt like an electric current was flowing
through every vein, and I couldn't help it
when my legs flew open.
And by the time his hands found the spot, moved, and pressed,
I couldn't stop shivering.
My body jerked.
It felt like a hot wet sponge being squeezed.
And I had to grit my teeth, squeeze my eyes tighter,
so I wouldn't lose his image.
Then I felt the tears easing out from my lids,
and my hands dropped to the floor.
I'm so tired of this, I said out loud.
And I wiped my eyes, slid them under the sheet,
and pulled it up to my chin.
And that's when I thought I heard Franklin say,
"don't stop now."
So I pulled the pillow and set it inside my arms
until it felt like a man again.
"Come on, baby," he said, "give it all to me."
And that's exactly what I did.
In the morning, a knock at the door woke me up.
I was in front of the stove.
The blankets were overrun by a stack of boxes.
I looked at my watch.
It wasn't even 7 o'clock.
I got up from the floor, put on a cotton bathrobe,
and opened the door without even thinking to ask who it was.
Franklin was standing under the arch.
I wipe the sleep from my eyes.
"You drink coffee?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
And let him in.
Thank you.
[APPLAUSE]