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The Only One Chapter 11 Much to her dismay, as days passed, Carole Everly found herself begrudging Debbie Marlowe her “happy gene”. Of course it didn’t help that if the attention of Troy Briggs was what made Debbie happy, she didn’t need a gene to keep her smiling, - something Carole wasn’t doing much of thanks to the glumness caused by her fixation on Troy Briggs. Troy Briggs - Mr. Contrariness, himself; the heart-throb who was giving her heart-burn, turning her into a smoldering spy. True, there was nothing brazen about their interaction but Carole discerned that a subtle flirtation was going on between Troy Briggs and Debbie Marlowe. She detected this because while pretending to read, she was able to keep these two under surveillance in the cafeteria, able to notice how at the crowded lunch table where Troy had become a regular, he and Debbie always managed to sit together and how they only had eyes for each other. She observed the private laughs they shared, and the touchy-feeliness of their physical contact. Sickening. And because Carole’s dying hopes were on the verge of becoming a fatal attraction, her survival instincts responded to a “911 call” when pulling out of City-Wide’s parking lot that evening. On sudden impulse, she did a U-turn and headed for the place where she needed to be; next to the window with ruffled curtains, seated in the dinette chair at the kitchen table that was lodged between the fridge and the stove and situated across from the sink which was surrounded by a wall of cabinets. She needed to partake of some comfort food, and bask in the healing warmth of unconditional love. It was time to go home. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Alma Everly asked, peering through her glasses at Carole. An attractive woman who had aged well, with her soft voice and sturdy build, Alma embodied both gentleness and strength and the unexpected appearance of her daughter obviously put these traits on alert. “My ESP told me you were havin greens tonight,” Carole kidded, helping her plate and settling into a seat, noticing how gray her mother’s hair was becoming. “There’s some left-over pound cake, too, if you want dessert,” Alma offered as she rested her elbows on the formica-topped table, fondly watching her daughter dig in. “Since I’m makin such a pig of myself, I might as well go ‘whole hog’,” Carole quipped, munching on a piece of ham. “Cut me a slice. Oink-oink.” “A few extra pounds wouldn’t hurt you,” Alma observed with a frown. “But they sure would put my clothes under a strain,” Carole said. “You look kinda drawn,” her mother persisted. “ ‘Wish you’d let your hair grow back.” “Long hair is high maintenance.” “Are you gettin enough sleep?” “Yes, Mama,” Carole assured, forking a sweet potato. “And the way this food is living up to its name, in no time at all, - my soul will be resurrected!” Alma was quiet a moment, continuing to scrutinize her daughter. “I’ve always felt the reason you were so comfortable in your skin was that you’re an ‘old soul’,” she finally remarked, “and I know you ain’t reached the point where you’re lettin’ something kill your spirit.” I’m OK,” Carole reiterated, digesting the food for thought her mother had just added to the menu, feeling more and more nourished.“Sounds like Daddy just came in,” she added, glad she would also get a chance to chew the fat with… …Robert Everly was a stable, hard-working man, glad that in a few more months he would be able to hang up his mail bag and begin collecting a pension from the Post Office. Once well-groomed, husky and full of pep, Robert was now balding, paunchy and worn-out, ready to take life easy and enjoy the fruits of his labor, proud of the accomplishments that included owning his own home and raising 4 children who had managed to survive all the pitfalls that confronted black youngsters growing up on Chicago’s south side. There was his married daughter Catherine now living in Atlanta, doing well on her managerial job the Coca Cola Company, and an older son Richard also enjoying success out there in Los Angeles, employed by the publicity department at Warner Brothers studios. And, yeah, there was the boozing, pot-smokin, lackadaisical Bobby, the black sheep of the family, maybe not thriving but getting by, pestered by a “baby mama”, collecting a paycheck on his latest job as a broom pusher at the hospital where Alma worked part-time as an admitting clerk. Last, but not least, was his youngest child. “Did you tell Carole to call and let us know she made it home OK?” Robert asked his wife, who had just to returned to the kitchen after walking their daughter to the door. “You know there’s a serial killer on the loose out there!” “She promised to phone,” Alma sighed. “And I hope she’ll be all right. I think she’s got man trouble.” Robert gnawed on a toothpick and burped. “Carole will be fine,” he said. “She’s a strong young lady. Any man who messes with her will be the one who’s in trouble.” Where his 4 children were concerned, Robert had tried to avoid favoritism, but Carole had always been his pet, from as far back as her pig-tailed, book-worm days. Carole who was so curious about everything, so well-informed, always so interested in his opinions, the daughter with the great sense of humor who everyone said took after him. Now she was even getting into jazz, his kind of music. Man-trouble, hell. Any of them young cats out there would be lucky to make some time with a fine lil chick like… …Carole couldn’t sleep. She’d been tossing and turning, still trying to make sense of her mind-set, finally concluding that her preoccupation with Troy Briggs was as much about pride as it was about infatuation, and it was now beyond the stage of being a school girl crush; it had become a grown woman’s calling. Troy Briggs had become a symbol. And what he represented was bringing out her competitive instincts, dredging up the demoralizing rivalry that she, as a black woman, fell heir to – a nemesis that had many faces, but whose skin color was more often than not, white. White women were put on pedestals. Black ones were at the bottom of the heap. And anytime they tried to rise, they were dismissed for being too overbearing, or feared for being too angry, or avoided for being too critical and demanding. Their only hope was to channel their strengths in the right direction, cloak it in a different style. Carole wasn’t ready to concede that a “brotha” couldn’t be repossessed! If she wanted to strike a blow for Black Sisterhood and get over on Debbie Marlowe, she needed to get her mojo working. And she needed to do it soon because… …the days were winding down, Troy Briggs thought as he fluffed his pillow and settled under his down quilt, glad he would soon be moving into roomier digs. Glad, too, that his job detail was about to be up, and back to his home office he’d be going, leaving behind a possibility he hoped would culminate in reality. The stage was being set, and once his status changed, once he was relieved of his supervisory duties, discretion could be waived and the waiting game would be over. The time would have finally arrived for phone calls to be made, eye promises to be kept, body language to be translated, smoldering desire to be ignited! Troy thought about Debbie Marlowe, and he had no qualms about his intentions. How could he not go for it? Especially since she was sending all the right signals. Yeah, he could just hear the catty comments of his 2 sisters and picture the raised eyebrow of his mother, - just feel the glares of others, but screw all that! Why was he obligated to resist a white woman? He wasn’t some kind of a slave. He was an emancipated man, free to follow his color-blind desires. Free to exercise choices. That was what being liberated was all about! Wasn’t this the post-racial century??? Then, just as he was about to drift into fantasyland, a detour gave him pause, taking the form of someone he invariably snagged on. That doggone Carole Everly. Always pushing his buttons, challenging his confidence, whetting his appetite; her and her snappy comebacks, parading around in a tight red skirt and black leather boots. And he just wished he could’ve created an opportunity to let her know that he’d recently read a Walter Mosley book. But later for all of that! He’d had enough drama with the Coreens and Ashleys and - Caroles of the world. He wanted to try a new brand, taste a different flavor! He wanted to be able to just let down his guard, and have some fun! Convinced more than ever that he was ready for a change, Troy Briggs visualized a naked Debbie Marlowe reaching up to him, her pink nipples erect, her ivory thighs spread wide, her blond snatch throbbing, just waiting for him to drop down, and slide into… …the entrance that had been blocked, the jack-off thought, lying in the dark, wishing, and listening to the soaring lushness of a Sarah Vaughn ballad about unrequited passion. to be continued; only a few more chapters to go until…