Lift Me Higher (16 page)

M
onte lay staring up at the ceiling, silently wishing it would just fall in on him. He immediately chided himself for that thought because, no matter how desperate and grim his life seemed, he knew that his boys and his mother needed him. He could not give in to depression or gloom. As he reminded himself of this fact, however, a part of him resented having to shoulder so much responsibility for other lives on his own. He loved his boys and he loved his mother unconditionally, no doubt. Yet, being strong for them had left no room for him to be weak. He likened the feeling to the athlete playing through his injuries because his team needed a win. Even more appropriate is the civil-rights leader marching his people on to victory even through times when all he wanted to do was just be a regular guy and go golfing with his buddies.

No such concrete words had been shared between him and Torie, but it was understood that the relationship was over. Torie was not willing to make a commitment and Monte was not willing to continue without one. He had never been one for casual dating and, now that he’d been married and widowed, nothing could be truer for him. He’d met a woman, begun
spending time with her and he’d fallen hard for her. Monte felt that either they were headed toward something or they weren’t.

As the days turned over into weeks without contact, Monte tried to cover up his wounds and prayed that time would heal his broken heart. Unlike when Shawna died, however, there was no sense of finality, no closure. At least back then he was able to stop himself from expecting her phone call or waiting to feel her tossing in the bed beside him. He’d been able to harden himself against hope and dreams because he had the tangible evidence of her departure from his life in the form of an obituary and a death certificate.

The knowledge that Torie was still out there, that her smile was still lighting up the world for everyone but him to see, was a source of great agony. It did nothing to help him forget her. But Monte was skilled at tucking away his feelings and getting on with the business of living. He was a pro, in fact. All he needed to do was to focus on his sons, the care of his mother and his work. If he busied himself enough, he would not have time to think about her, or so he reasoned. Nor would he have time to acknowledge his pain.

“I still can’t believe you screwed that up,” Brent said.

Monte tossed him a warning look, to which Brent held his palms faceup in surrender.

“Okay, okay. I know you said the subject is off-limits, and I respect that. I just can’t believe—”

“That I screwed it up. I know. You can’t believe it, Brent, but frankly, I don’t really care. It’s in the past. I’ve moved on, so why can’t you?” Monte snapped.

Brent held his tongue and focused his attention on the carburetor laid out on the garage floor in front of them. Monte had come over to help him work on the 1967 Chevy Impala car he’d been restoring for the past year.

“Look, man. I didn’t mean to bite your head off. It’s just that it’s been hard enough…you know. I’ve got to keep my mind pointed forward, not backward. Feel me?”

“Yeah, man. I feel you.”

The men worked on, falling into comfortable chatter about the kids and work. They both looked up at the sound of a car pulling up the driveway. It was Pam, Brent’s wife, and her friend Chelsey.

“Oh, no. Monte, please don’t tell me my husband has roped you into playing around with that hunk of junk in there, too?” Pam said.

Monte stood, rubbing his oil-stained hands on his jeans.

“Hey, Pam, how are you?” he asked, embracing her. “He didn’t rope me in. I just thought that I’d better come by here and help him out, or else he’ll be working on this car for the rest of his life.”

“Well, in that case, how about I fix you some lunch to show my gratitude.” Pam laughed. “How are the boys?”

“They’re getting bigger and bigger by the minute.” Monte chuckled.

“I’ll bet they are. Why didn’t you bring them with you? You know we love having them. My husband could use some practice at not being the only baby around here.”

“I won’t touch that one.” Monte laughed. “But, anyway, the boys are actually at a birthday party today. I’ll bring them next time.”

“You’d better. Oh, how rude am I? Monte, I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Chelsey Farmer. Chelsey, this is Monte Lewis.”

Monte reached out and took the hand Chelsey offered. He gave it a warm squeeze. Chelsey’s warm eyes met Monte’s as she offered a smile.

“Chelsey, nice to meet you,” Monte said.

“Same here, Monte.”

“All right, I’m going to head in and scare up some sandwiches. You two get cleaned up in the next few minutes and come on in.”

Pam and Chelsey moved through the garage, entering the house through the door adjacent to the kitchen. Monte watched Chelsey walk away, the sexiness of the woman not lost on him. When the door closed behind them, Monte turned to find Brent studying him, a grin on his face.

“What?”

“Mmm-hmm. I saw that,” Brent said.

“Saw what? Man, you’re losing it.”

“Yeah, okay, tell me I didn’t see you checking Chelsey out. It’s okay, man, it’s just us guys out here,” whispered Brent conspiratorially.

“Please.” Monte dismissed Brent with a wave of his hand. “Where can I wash my hands?”

“Follow me,” Brent said. “By the way, she’s single.”

Brent smiled innocuously when Monte glared at him.

Over lunch of turkey breast sandwiches and garden salads, Monte allowed himself not to think about Torie. The casual banter at the table created a comfortable mood and Monte found himself laughing for the first time in days.

“So, Chelsey, do I detect an accent—French, maybe?”

“Ah, very perceptive. Actually, it’s Creole. I was born in Brussels. My parents and I moved to America when I was seven. I hated it. Promised them that as soon as I turned eighteen, I would be on the first thing smoking back home.”

“And what happened?” Monte asked.

“I guess the same thing that happens to most young immigrant girls—I fell in love with pop singers, sports figures and Big Mac burgers. I became an American girl. Thought I’d given up my accent, too.”

“It’s there, just a hint. It’s nice,” Monte said.

Brent and Pam had moved into the kitchen, clearing the
dishes and remaining food from the table. Monte and Chelsey sat across from each other in the sunroom and fell into easy conversation.

“So, Monte, besides negotiating the terms of contracts for your showbiz clients, what else do you do for fun?”

“Well, there’s work and then there’s my two boys—they’re a handful. Other than kicking it with Brent and helping him out with that clunker out there, that’s about it. Why do you ask, Chelsey? Do I look like I need more fun in my life?”

“I wouldn’t say that. Although I think a person can never have too much fun.”

Monte had not been out of the game so long that he didn’t recognize flirting when he saw it. Both he and Chelsey were having a good time with each other, sharing long, lingering looks as well as appreciative sneak glances. He asked himself, why not? Why not get back out there? The alternative was a depressing one that he’d rather not consider.

As evening wore on and Monte prepared to pick the boys up from their party, he decided to bite the bullet. When he asked Chelsey if she’d like to have dinner with him sometime, it was as if she’d been anticipating his question. Her response was quick and delivered with a smile, and after an exchange of telephone numbers, Monte said good-night. He drove home reaffirming to himself that he was doing the right thing. It was time for him to move on.

D
ays merged into weeks, passing quickly as Torie submersed herself in the show and in reading scripts for other acting parts. She told herself that work was the cure for what ailed her and she was determined to be cured. Unfortunately, the mind cannot always convince the heart to feel the same way, and her thoughts and desires had remained in New York City with Monte.

But Torie had suffered at the hands of love before, and this time she felt stronger and more capable of moving on. When Kevin, who she’d believed to be her soul mate, had stomped on her love, she was young in more ways than one. She’d had an idealized view of commitment and faithfulness. This time she was able to view the situation from a standpoint of maturity. She understood how two people who seemed so right for each other, who’d opened up and discovered incredible passion and connection, would have to put those feelings aside if the circumstances warranted. Geographics, logistics, goals and life plans did not always mesh seamlessly with love. Torie accepted that intellectual reasoning as an almost perfect anecdote for her distress. Almost.

Then there was Martin. Despite her fierce independence, Torie found herself leaning on Martin more and more. For his part, he was a willing confidant and friend. There were days when Torie thought she wanted to be alone, but the moment she closed the door from inside her apartment, she would be filled with nervous energy. Neither hot showers, bubble baths in the hot tub or a pint of rum-raisin Häagen-Dazs ice cream would do it for her. She’d find herself picking up the phone to call Martin, or else he’d already be knocking on her door.

One evening, as they sat on Torie’s couch watching
X-Men
for the fifth time, Martin felt as if the moment was finally right to show Torie just how much of a friend he wanted to be to her. He studied her profile, loving the way her jaw moved as she crunched on buttered popcorn. He hesitated momentarily, before reaching over and began rubbing the back of her neck.

“Your muscles are so tense. You need a massage,” he said.

“Yeah, I was actually thinking about going to that spa Lana’s always talking about.”

“You don’t have to do all that,” Martin said, wiggling his fingers. “I’ve got you.”

He placed his hands on either side of the base of Torie’s neck and pressed down firmly.

“Ouch,” she exclaimed. “You’re supposed to work the tension out, not break my neck.”

“Sorry, T., but no pain, no gain. Now sit still,” Martin commanded.

Torie closed her eyes as Martin worked the muscles in her neck and shoulders. She could literally feel her body loosening up beneath his touch. She’d always been a firm believer in the philosophy that the human body needed human touch in order to stay at peek performance. No amount of elliptical machines and treadmills could do what the touch of a pair of
hands could. Her mind quickly flashed on Monte’s hands and the way he used to work magic on her body. She immediately pushed that thought out of her mind.

“Feels good, huh?” Martin whispered in her ear.

“Mmm-hmm. You should go into business,” Torie answered dreamily.

She felt Martin’s breath coming in short bursts against her ear as his fingers moved around her shoulders and down her arms. She squeezed her eyes more tightly, allowing the soothing sensations to flow through her body. Martin’s lips brushed her neck and an image of Monte’s lips on her body caused her to tremble. Torie pulled away from Martin, shame flushing her cheeks. She jumped up from the sofa, smoothing the front of her disheveled T-shirt.

“Oh, my God, Martin—,” she stammered.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Martin said, rising to his feet.

He took Torie’s hands in his and attempted to pull her back into his arms.

“No, it’s not okay. This…this is not okay.”

“T., really, just come here. Let’s just sit back down,” Martin said.

“No, Martin…I’m sorry, but I think you’d better leave.”

“Come on, Torie, don’t do this. We were having such a good time. We can just watch another movie.”

“No, Martin, it’s late…I’m tired. I need to go to bed—alone,” she added when a hopeful glint showed itself in Martin’s eyes.

Martin moved toward the door. He stopped, keeping his back toward Torie.

“T., you know how much I care about you. I’d do anything for you…have your back whenever you need me. But I can’t pretend that I don’t want more than friendship.”

“And I can’t pretend that I’m not still in love with Monte. I’m sorry, Martin.”

Without another word, Martin opened the door and left, closing it softly behind him. Torie stood staring after him for a long time. Finally, she turned the television off, locked the door and went to bed. As she pulled the covers up over her body, she wiped away the tears that had begun to flow down her cheeks and hugged herself tightly.

“God, I should be happy right now. This is my dream, this is what I’ve worked for. Why can’t I just be happy?” Torie whispered in the dark of her room. She fell asleep as she waited for an answer that would not come.

“N
ah, Torie, I can’t agree with you on this one,” Darius said.

Torie held the phone away from her face for a moment, releasing a sigh of frustration that was not intended for her brother, but that needed to come out of her all of the same.

“Darius, I know that you don’t like to talk about him, and I know that you never even really knew him, but he wasn’t always the way he is now. The way you knew him.”

“I don’t care, Torie. Look, sis, this is your thing…your struggle. Whatever you’re going through, or think you need to find, you’re going to have to do it without me,” Darius said, a bit more harshly than he’d intended. “I’m sorry,” he added.

Torie considered her brother’s words, empathizing with them even through her disappointment.

“I understand,” she said at last.

“It’s just that I’m about to become a father, Torie, and when I lay my head against Sheila’s belly, listening to my baby move around, I know that not even the devil himself could keep me away from that baby. I will never understand why he left us,
Torie. No matter what his excuses are, they will never be able to make me understand that.”

Darius’s heartfelt statement was more than he’d ever expressed to Torie before. It hurt to hear how pained her brother still was over their father’s abandonment. Torie realized that as the eldest there was more that she should have done to help Darius address his anger and his pain as they were growing up. Yet, intellectually she knew that she was too hurt and wounded herself to have been much of a comfort to him.

“Like I said, I do understand, Darius. I might be tricking myself into believing that I need to talk to him or that it will do me any good, but I guess I won’t know until I do. I’m out here in California with nothing but a few miles separating me from knowing,” Torie said.

Her brother wished her good luck before they hung up. While she was disappointed that he would not accompany her on this trip, she truly did understand and respect his reasons. She called her father and, as if he knew this day was coming, he invited her to his home in Englewood that afternoon. During the drive out there, Torie practiced what she would say, the questions she would ask. She couldn’t think of how she would express to him how his absence had shaped her life and was still affecting her.

When she arrived, he was standing on his front porch. Although she had not seen him in years, she recognized him immediately. He was older, seemed a little smaller than she remembered, but that was about it. She parked against the curb and approached the house slowly. It was a small, colorful bungalow-style house, with potted plants lining the short pink-and-purple gravel-filled driveway. It was just after noon and the sun was shining brightly above the houses.

“Torie,” he said.

“Daddy,” she answered.

They stood in awkward silence for a couple of minutes.

“Come on in,” he said.

Hanif Turner led the way into a small, sparsely furnished living room. Torie took a seat on the brown tweed sofa while he settled into a brown leather La-Z-Boy recliner chair after offering her a cool drink, which she refused. Torie glanced around the room, which contained a floor-model wide-screened television, an ottoman in front of the La-Z-Boy and a small bookshelf. When she turned her attention back to her father, he was studying her.

“You look just like your mother,” he said when she caught his eye.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Man, she was something. I used to watch her up on stage, singing songs like the words were born inside her…She was something to see. We would hit one, sometimes two, clubs in a night and, no matter how dirty the dive or how long the drive, she would be smiling and chatting up a storm. She loved being on the road and loved watching her perform.”

“Daddy, I, uh, I didn’t really come here to talk about all of that,” Torie said.

“I know, I know. I guess I’m just an old man always wanting to reminisce about stuff nobody else cares about anymore.”

Again, silence fell between them. Torie felt her resentment rising to the surface as Darius’s words came to mind. She swallowed those feelings, not wanting to let herself be clouded by anger.

“Daddy, I don’t really know what I expected when I came here. I guess I just need to understand what happened, really. I mean, why you haven’t tried to stay in touch with Darius and me. It’s, like, when you and Mama split up, we split up. Didn’t you ever want to know about our lives? How we were doing?”

Hanif turned away from his daughter. He stared down at
his hands, which lay on his lap. He looked across the room, toward a window through which a beautiful clear day was visible. When his eyes returned to his daughter’s face, his own stoic expression crumbled.

“Anita, my wife—my second wife—left me five years ago. I guess she got tired of being alone, too.”

Torie’s face was a ball of confusion. She looked around the room, understanding finally why it was so sparse and almost uninhabited looking. It was clean but barren, as if not much living actually went on there.

“What do you mean?” Torie asked.

Hanif sighed, trying to find the words to have the conversation with his firstborn child that was long overdue but difficult all the same.

“I’m not a very wise man. Not a very smart one, either—book smart or otherwise. I’m just a man. Never really had dreams or big plans. That’s what I loved so much about your mother. She knew how to dream big. But it didn’t rub off on me.”

Torie sat silently, listening to her father and trying to make sense of what he was attempting to convey to her.

“When Brenda’s dreams soured on her, falling apart right before her eyes, I should have been able to pick her up and help her put them back together. But I didn’t have a clue how to do that. Didn’t know the first thing about saving a dream. Eventually, I couldn’t stand to look in her eyes and see darkness where there used to be so much light. I left because I knew that she would be better off without me. I had nothing of value or substance to give her—not the ability to dream, not hope.”

Torie’s breath caught in her throat and remained there. Hanif chewed his bottom lip, staring past the glass of the window into another time.

“You had that same light, that same dreamy look, in your
eyes that your mother had. I never wanted to watch that light go out.”

Torie looked around the room again. This time she noticed that on the bookshelves there were no books. Instead, there were three large photo albums.

“Figured the best I could do was to send money to your mother every month and keep my distance.”

Torie began to breathe again, filling her lungs with air, one deep gulp at a time. Her heart raced and her throat felt dry.

“Torie, I’m not a man who knows how to really be with another person. I’m not going to blame my own upbringing or the things that my own parents did or didn’t do. I just know who I am and who I’m not,” Hanif said.

His gaze fell on his daughter’s face.

“When you’re onstage, you look just like your mother did when she stood in front of a microphone.”

Understanding slowly spread across Torie’s face. None of the questions she’d practiced mattered anymore; they no longer seemed to fit into the scenario as it existed. She rose to leave, her mind swimming.

“Hear I’m going to be a grandfather soon. Darius is going to be a good father—better than good,” he said to Torie’s back.

He opened the door for her and watched her walk out of the house and down the driveway. She turned around a few feet from the curb. Tears now flowed freely down her cheeks.

“Never let anybody steal your dreams,” Hanif said.

Torie nodded slowly before getting into her car and driving away. She knew that she would never ask her mother why she’d kept her father updated on their lives over the years and had never let on. She understood all that she needed to understand. She also realized that, while the ability to dream was not a right but a privilege, the opportunity to realize one’s dream was a blessing. Sometimes the cost was dear, more than you
were prepared to pay. Yet, the real challenge came from trying to differentiate between your real dreams and those that were nothing more than smoke-filled illusions.