If This World Were Mine - Rilegato

Harris, E. Lynn

Rilegato

ISBN 10: 0385486553 ISBN 13: 9780385486552

Casa editrice: Doubleday, 1997

Riassunto

Reuniting for a weekend nearly a decade after their graduation from Howard University, four friends--and their spouses or significant others--play a game called "If This World Were Mine," a diversion that brings to light sexual tensions, dark secrets, failed dreams, and hidden animosities. 150,000 first printing. Tour.

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Recensione

"So much humor is sprinkled through E. Lynn Harris's warm and timely new novel that we almost miss the pain lying underneath or the significance of its theme: Harris, who has written poignant love stories about African-American life before, turns eloquently again to the question of how people--black people in this case--learn to love in a tough and toughening society.  What we don't miss is the complicated political dilemma that Harris weaves quietly and seamlessly through the lives of the four protagonists, all of whom, as the book opens, find that their star is rising."
--Pat Holt, San Francisco Chronicle

"A breakout bestseller that features a sizzling mix of fast-paced storytelling...and lyrical sexuality."
--Paula L. Woods, Dallas Morning News

"It is rare to read a novel with African-American characters as refreshing as these.  Harris keeps the dialogue lively and the action zipping along while fully developing story and characters.  Ultimately both fun and moving, the book has something to impress nearly any reader."
--Booklist

Estratto. © Riproduzione autorizzata. Diritti riservati.

I've just stepped out of the shower and I'm standing in front of the full-length mirror on the bathroom door of my junior suite at the Omni Berkshire in New York City, near Fifty-second and Madison.  I like what I see.  Thanks to a steady regimen of diet and exercise, plus enough vitamins and beauty aids to keep a small drugstore chain in business.

Everything is just as it should be--firm and tight on my tall frame with just enough hips to keep the boys looking.  My red linen suit with pearl buttons should do the trick.  Red looks good against my chocolate-colored skin.  I'm meeting another potential client for lunch, but to be honest, my red suit isn't just to impress a client.  I don't want to be caught short like I was last night.

My name is Yolanda Diane Williams, and I'm from Chicago.  Well, that's not totally true.  I live and work in Chicago, but I grew up in Des Moines.  Now, how many Black people do you know from Iowa?  Like I always say, it's a good place to be from.  I get defensive when people ask me where I'm from.  I'm afraid I sound like a white girl, so I lay some ebonics on them: "Whatsup wit cha dippin into my buziness?"

I'm presently single, and, unlike most of my female friends, I haven't been looking for a man.  Besides, I get more than my share of date requests, and I've got a great ex-husband, Chauncey, for conversation when I'm feeling a little blue or when my batteries are low.  The only reason we aren't still married is because Chauncey wanted a life of traveling all over the world, playing his saxophone.  Which, when I was younger, seemed exciting.  Me, I need something a little more stable, like a regular mailbox to receive my letters and bills.  I want a home, not a different hotel room every night.

After working for over ten years in the advertising field at Burrell Communications, Inc., I started my own business about five years ago, called Media Magic, A Consulting Concern, Inc.  The years I spent at Burrell were among the best in my life.  I learned a lot there from people like the founder, Tom Burrell.  But I wanted a job where I could call me the boss! I figured out a way to get paid doing something I absolutely love: preparing entertainers and aspiring artists to deal with success.  I advise them on how to deal with the press and their adoring fans.  I handle special events like musical showcases when they come to the Midwest to promote their latest project.  And I do crisis management when some of these music stars get their celebrity butts in a sling.  And I'm good at what I do.  I have several major record and video companies under contract.  I come to New York twice a month to meet with regular and prospective clients.  New York is my second favorite city--after Chicago, where I feel safe and have several good, make that great, friends.

Around the time I started my business, me and five friends from college renewed our friendship at a Hampton alumni reunion.  We had such a good time, we decided to start getting together socially and writing journals like we had in an English class at Hampton.  Keeping the journal and meeting with friends at least once a month couldn't have come at a better time for me.  I had just lost both my parents within a year.  My daddy to a heart attack and Mama, nine months later, to a broken heart.  So now it's just me and my baby sister, Sybil, who lives in Iowa City.  I was nervous about stepping out on my own, and more than money, I needed friends I could count on and who believed in me.

Right now the group includes me, and my best friend in the whole world, Leland, make that Dr. Leland Thompson, single and gay.  Then there's Riley (poetic justice) Woodson, who could best be described as a BAP (Black American princess) from the day she was born.  I call her my high-maintenance soror.  She's married, but I'm not convinced she's still in love.  Her husband, Selwyn, used to be cool, but now he's strictly business.  And there is Dwight Leon Scott, a computer engineer, divorced and mad at the world.  He was married to one of our former members, Kelli, who left the group when Dwight wouldn't.  I think Dwight stayed just to spite Kelli.  We lost one of the original members, Dana, to marriage and Atlanta, Georgia.

Our monthly meetings are big fun.  We eat, drink a little wine, listen to music, and read from our journals.  We talk about our lives and our dreams, then share affirmations that might help us in times of need.  Most of my journal entries that I share with the group (I also keep a private journal) have been about my career, good dirt on some of the celebrities I've worked with, and my dreams for the future.  Dreams that, quite frankly, have not included a Mr. Right.  Like I said, I have a great ex-husband and a wonderful male friend who listens to every and any thing I have to say.  And I had a wonderful relationship with my deceased father.

I've already exceeded my goal for this trip by landing not one, but three new clients.  Pretty soon I'm going to have to hire someone to help me and Monica, my assistant, with the extra workload.  I've got a whole file of rÚsumÚs from recent college grads looking to get in the media music business.

Today is Thursday, and I've been in New York for four days.  Usually by day five I'm ready to return to my adopted hometown.  Day four and suddenly I'm not in such a hurry to leave the Big Apple.  In fact, I'm standing here humming Toni Braxton's "I Love Me Some Him," and thinking about this truly over man I met last night at the Motown Cafe.  I'm still trying to figure out exactly what happened.  Now, it's not like I'm a believe-anything-you-tell-me type of woman.  I mean, I'm in the twilight--make that pitch black--of my thirties.  In other words, I'll be forty in February.  I've been to the Male State Fair a few times, rode a few rides, then got off.  In fact, I'd forgotten what the tunnel of love looked like, when Mr. Fine walked into my life.

I was feeling tired and probably looked like it after three days of meetings and presentations.  I'd spent about an hour on the phone with Sybil.  It was her thirty-fifth birthday and I was telling her what she had to look forward to.  But Sybil already has her stuff together.  My little sis is working on her Ph.D. in social work while raising two children and a husband.  Sister got it going on strong.

I could've ordered room service, but I'd been in the suite most of the day and figured fresh night air would do me some good.  It must have been fate, because I wasn't planning on eating at the Motown Cafe.  It's not the kind of place I would choose to eat alone, something I hardly ever do, since I usually find a way to combine my meals with meetings.  I wound up there because I couldn't get a reservation at my current favorite restaurant, CafÚ Beulah in the Flatiron District.

So there I was, sitting in a booth and enjoying some tasty catfish fingers with a little macaroni and cheese on the side.  I was gazing up at this huge ceiling, at a platter of the Supremes' single, "Stop! In the Name of Love," and listening to the Motown Moments sing all the hits I love.  I have to admit I wasn't looking all that cute; like I said, I was real tired.  It had been a week since I'd seen my hair technician.  Although I'm wearing a short, curly Afro, I still need my salon time.  I had on a simple V-neck top and a wide black silk skirt.  I was licking catfish juice off my fingers, when I felt a strong presence approaching my booth.  Up walked one of the most gorgeous men I've ever seen!  He leaned into my booth and said something (Don't ask me what 'cause I don't know) and then I said something (Again, don't ask me 'cause I don't know that either) and then he kissed me like I've never been kissed before.  Yes, he did, he did! I do remember the kiss being sensual, and him whispering in my ear in a smooth and dreamy voice, "It's so great seeing you again.  Please, don't make me wait so long ever again." I mumbled, "I won't." His lips were warm and gentle--and the kiss felt whisper-soft.

I swear I've never seen this man in my life, but I went along to get along.  I don't do drugs.  Maybe a glass of wine or champagne every now and then.  But I would have remembered this man.  He had this great smile, startling winter-gray eyes, and a body that was bumping.  He was tall.  I like tall.  He was fine.  I love fine.  And like I said, the man could kiss!  I don't even remember his name, I'm not sure he even told me what it was.  But I did manage to give him my card.  I hope it was my card and not one of my clients'.

As I watched him walk out of the restaurant alone, I realized I still had a catfish finger in one hand.  The Motown Moments were still singing, and the scent of his cologne hung like a promise in the air.  I walked back to my hotel humming "I Hear a Symphony" and floating through the summer air.  I've been in a daze ever since.  But I've got to come back, get on the first thing flying back to Chicago tomorrow.  On Sunday I've got a meeting I just can't miss.  My friends aren't going ...

Su questa edizione

• Editore: Doubleday
• Data di pubblicazione: 1997
• ISBN 10: 0385486553
• ISBN 13: 9780385486552
• Rilegatura: Copertina rigida
• Numero di pagine: 318