“Nope, not possible,” he denies it again.

  I shake my head. Saying it once was bad enough, I am not saying it again.

  “You know how much I love her. Why would I make something like this up?”

  “I didn’t say that I think you are making anything up. I just think you are mistaken.”

  I know the best way to get through to him is to speak his language, take all emotion out of the equation. He needs facts.

  “I have a witness,” I add resigned.

  He swings his legs off his desk, and sits forward again. “You have a witness? Now you have my attention.”

  “I do. Monica.”

  “Your front door girl?”

  “One in the same.” I nod.

  “And she personally witnessed Delilah screwing another man?”

  “No, I never said that.”

  “Kissing, then?”

  “Hmmm, she didn’t say that either.”

  “So, what did Monica – your star witness - say that leads you to believe that my perfect fiancée is cheating on me?” he asks while looking at her lovingly.

  “She told me that she saw Delilah and Charlotte at a speed dating bar while we were playing poker,” I tell him and hope it doesn’t hit him and then flip out on me.

  “So Monica saw Delilah and Charlie kissing?” That I would like to see. Once. Because I don’t share – with a man or woman.

  I rub my face in aggravation again. What the hell? Does he think this all a joke? I hear him snickering so I look back up at him through my hands.

  “What the fuck, man?”

  “Sorry, Cal. I can’t see you suffering anymore. I knew all about this. She texted me from the bar that night to make sure I was okay with all of it going on.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. I don’t know if I am more surprised that he let her pretend to speed date these guys, or the fact that Charlotte was with her.

  “Fuck, man. You don’t know how hard it was for me to come to you and tell you all of this. You know how I feel about my Little Bit.”

  “I’m sorry, C-dog.” He chuckles. “For what it’s worth, I appreciate you having my back. I mean, I always knew that you would, but it’s good to know that when your loyalty is tested, I can always trust that yours lies with me. Just so you know, I would have done the same for you….”

  “Thanks, man,” I interrupt, but that doesn’t derail him.

  He must be feeling like an emotional pussy after what we just shared, because he continues his train of thought, getting in that final jab.

  “…If you ever get a woman,” he quips.

  “Ha fucking ha ass wipe.”

  I lean back in my chair and stretch out my legs. I extend my neck, cracking first to the left then the right, needing to release all of the tension I have been holding onto. Now that I have his situation under control, and my stomach no longer feels like it is in my throat, I change the focus to my pathetic personal life that Nick so graciously pointed out, and my irrational fascination with one, Charlotte Fisher.

  “Tell me… what’s the story with Charlotte?” I ask, trying to feel out if Nick knows anything that I should know.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What’s her deal?”

  “With regards to what?” the evasive fucker asks.

  “I flirt with her, show interest, attempt to ask her out, but she completely shuts me down. Then she does this whole speed dating bullshit. Is she racist or something? Does she hate black people? I just don’t get it.” I raise my hands, palm to the sky in question.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Charlotte. Is she a racist?”

  “Why would you even ask that?”

  I take a shaky breath and start. I can’t believe I am telling him this shit.

  “A few reasons. First, I am always flirting with her, and she seems responsive. But at your engagement party, I asked her to dance and she completely froze up on me; wouldn’t even look me in the eyes. Then she gave me the ultimate blow off by telling me that she is dating Parker. And I know for a fact she is not dating Parker because I asked him directly.” I pause for a minute to compose my thoughts. I am completely rambling.

  I feel like such a pussy. We haven’t spoken about “feelings” since last year when he told me he was in love with Delilah that day on the basketball courts. Actually, come to think of it, I don’t think I have ever shared my feelings about a woman with Nick, or anyone outside of my parents and sister. I must really like her. Crap.

  Nick doesn’t say anything, so I continue. “I know she is attracted to me, because we… well, let me just leave it at that. I know she is attracted to me…” I trail off, not wanting to tell him that we kissed or that I had the opportunity, albeit brief, to have my hands on her beautiful breasts. Not yet at least. Interestingly, if this were any other woman, I probably would have. But with Charlotte, it just feels different. Special maybe.

  I take another breath and look back at Nick. He is listening attentively.

  “I still don’t understand why that makes you think she is racist. Maybe she just doesn’t want to date you. Attracted to you or not,” he throws out there.

  The rational part of my brain agrees with him. Not that I am anything near being rational at this point. I need a tangible reason for why she won’t go out with me and then lie about dating another man. Between the kissing, and the way her body reacted to mine, I can clearly tell that she wanted me. That she wants me. So what’s the freaking problem?

  “Okay. So what about this? At the poker game… those god damned assholes?”

  “What about them?”

  “Oh, come on, Nick. She fucked the white guy but rejected the black one?”

  Nick “hmms” and I think I got him on that one, but he still disagrees with me.

  “I see your point, and how that could look bad. Sorry, but Charlie is not racist, my man.” He shrugs and shakes his head.

  “How do you know, bro? It’s my turn to need evidence. Something concrete.”

  “Why is this so important to you? If you think she is racist, then move the fuck onto the next woman. You can have the pick of the litter. Every woman you encounter wants you.”

  I groan and swipe my hands up and down my face in frustration. “I can’t explain it. I want her. I want Charlotte. And not for just one night.”

  “Then go for her, man. She is not a racist.”

  I stand up from the chair and start pacing. I feel like we are talking in circles. “But how can you be so sure?” I ask over enunciating each word.

  “Her father is black,” he says as a matter of fact.

  I spin around on my heels and look him dead in the eyes. I didn’t even notice he had stood up as well.

  “What? Her father is…” I don’t even finish my thought before Nick chimes in.

  “…Black.”

  “What do you mean her father is ‘black’?”

  “He’s black. B-L-A-C-K. Black.”

  “Black?” I ask again, shaking my head, unable to process the information properly. I drop back into the seat I was in previously. I am so confused. That was the last thing that I ever expected to hear.

  “Yes, Calvin. Black. African American. Ya know, the opposite of white. Definitely not Caucasian. Her father is black, Cal.”

  I let the information sink in, my brain flooded with more questions. I am struck silent for a minute or so before it dawns on me. My eyes bug open and I look back to Nick who is still quietly laughing at me.

  “Charlotte’s father is black,” I state, no longer questioning him.

  “Mmm hmm. Yup,” is all he mutters, his eyes amused at my befuddled state.

  “So, that means Charlotte is… bi-racial?”

  Nick barks out a laugh. So loudly that I can see Delilah look at us through the glass wall, her eyebrow quirked in question.

  “Sorry, dude. No, she is not bi-racial. Her dad adopted her when he married her mother. Her biological father was killed in the line of duty.”

  I start to ask more questions but he raised his hand at me in a “stop” motion.

  “That’s all I know. And I only found that out because I walked in on the tail end of a conversation between her and Delilah. Charlie is very private when it comes to her past. Delilah told me to leave it and not ask, so I respected that. The rest you are going to have to find out on your own.”

  This conversation has been very serious so I decide to lighten it up a bit. Bring back laid-back, easy-going, Calvin.

  “So she has no black in her?” I ask, setting Nick up.

  “Nope, she has no black in her,” Nick answers, totally off his game. It’s not like him to not pick up what I am putting down.

  “Guess I am going to have to solve that problem!”

  I let out the punch line with a “bada bing” and Nick almost falls out of his chair laughing so hard. I can’t help myself and I just laugh along with him. It feels good. I have been so stressed, confused, and worried, that it feels freeing - cathartic even.

  We are laughing so hard that I don’t hear the door open until Delilah speaks up. “What are you two bitches cackling about?”

  Nick and I look at each other and he nods, knowing what’s coming next.

  “Hey, Little Bit…”

  She doesn’t even let me finish before interrupting. Typical woman!

  “I don’t even want to know what you two perverts are about to ask me. Nick, you have a client on hold. Social time is over,” she says with a big smile.

  “I’m out,” I announce. That was enough emotional vulnerability shit to last me a lifetime. I fist bump with Nick and say a quiet “thanks.” He nods in acknowledgement, knowing how difficult it was for me to spill my guts. I head to Delilah and give her a kiss on the cheek before I head out the door and back to work.

  Time to come up with a plan to make Charlotte Fisher mine. First up, get her to go out on a date with me.

  Chapter Six

  Charlotte

  You are cordially invited to attend a government clusterfuck in which you will have the opportunity to rehash agonizing memories, come face to face with the man who raped you, and then relive the worst day of your life. Oh, yeah, and after you spill your guts, we may let said man free. To roam the streets. With you. Like it never happened.

  Well, maybe it doesn’t say that exactly, but it might as well. I finally received the notice for DeShawn’s parole hearing a few days ago, and I can’t stop reading it. Over and over. Yet, I can’t seem to process it. How could they possibly let him out of prison after what he did to me? After what he did to my family?

  The parole hearing is less than a week away and I haven’t a clue what I am going to do. I am normally so decisive. I am not a hem-and-hawer. I don’t waffle. I make up my mind and stick to it. No regrets. But, now, I just don’t know. I feel lost. I can’t decide if I even want to go. In fact, I have been avoiding Delilah for days now because I know she will sense something is wrong and I am not sure if I want to tell her about this whole thing. She will insist that I go, and then insist on coming with me, and I don’t know if I want her to see or hear what is going to be said. She may be the one person I told about my past, but she still doesn’t know everything. It’s bad enough that I also spilled my guts to Parker. I didn’t tell him the whole kit and caboodle either. I just hope he doesn’t tell Nick or Calvin. I know those three are thick as thieves. And if Nick finds out, shit. He can’t keep a secret from Delilah to save his life.

  I am brought back to reality when my work phone rings.

  “Good afternoon. Top Talent. This is Charlotte.”

  “Hey, sweetie,” says the voice I can never mistake.

  “Hi, Daddy!”

  “I am at work, so I need to make this quick, honey. I am putting in for my time off next week. What time am I picking you up and should I take off any extra time?”

  “Huh?” I am completely confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “Wednesday,” he responds calmly.

  “Wednesday?”

  “Charlotte. The hearing. What time do I need to pick you up to make sure we get to Harlem on time?”

  A cold chill shoots up my spine from simply hearing the word “Harlem.”

  “Daddy,” I whine, “I haven’t decided if I am even going.” If I was standing up, I would probably be stomping my foot like a spoiled teenager.

  “There is nothing to decide. We are going. All of us.”

  “What do you mean, ‘all of us’?” I ask nervously.

  “You, me, Mom, and your brother, Tommy.”

  “You guys don’t have to come. I will deal with it.”

  “I know we don’t have to come, sweetheart, we want to. We want to be there for you. To support you.”

  “Fine, but I don’t want Tommy there. He has been through enough with this shi - stuff- already, and I don’t want him reliving this nightmare. God only knows what is going to happen or come out at the hearing. Plus, he is in his last year of college and I want him focused on his studies.”

  “Charlotte,” my dad grinds out.

  “Those are my terms, dad. Take ‘em or leave ‘em.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, young lady. It’s a deal. I will talk to Tommy.”

  “Okay. See you next week.”

  “Bye, sweet girl.”

  More Charlotte…

  We make it to the courthouse with a little extra time to spare. I need a few minutes alone to get my thoughts together. I excuse myself to the restroom and let my parents know that I will meet them inside. God bless them, but they have been up my ass for the past few days, calling and texting constantly. And driving in with them from The City was exhausting. My mom kept pretending to check her lipstick in the flip down mirror, but I know she was keeping her eyes on me. Like they were worried I was going to chicken out and disappear into the back seat. Or take a flying leap out the window of a moving vehicle. Crazy.

  However, they know it, and I know it. Once I make a decision, I stick to it. And I decided that I am going to go to this stupid meeting, and I am going to tell them everything. I mean everything. And I am sure there will be a few people who are not going to like what I have to say.

  I look at myself in the bathroom mirror one last time, giving myself a little extra pep talk. You can do this, I repeat to myself a few times. I push off the sink and head out. One foot in front of the other, I walk through the doors of the courtroom. It’s not a courtroom per se, but it is set up like one, and we are in the courthouse, so I guess technically, it is a courtroom. Now I am babbling. I scan the room for my parents and they are sitting on the right side of the room, in the front row. Seriously?

  I take a seat between them and take a deep breath. I can do this. I hear the door behind me open and close a few times, but don’t bother to turn around or look to see who is coming through it. It doesn’t matter who it is anyway. I am going to say my peace and get the fuck out of Dodge. I hear a different door all the way to the left side of the room, but as before, I don’t look. I hear chains rattling loud enough to know that DeShawn has arrived from prison. Thankfully, it’s only minutes later when the doors at the front open and the parole board shuffles in. Four men, one woman. Strangers holding my fate in their hands. Again.

  The board member in the middle speaks briefly to the captive audience, letting us know that anyone who wants to speak will have the opportunity. Whether it be in support of DeShawn’s release, or against. As I finally look to my left and to my right, I am hoping that these strange faces are more of those who are opposed.

  A couple of people speak. I am not really paying attention. I just keep reviewing in my head what I want to say. What my point is. What my goal is. I want to make sure that I speak clearly and precisely. I don’t want to get emotional - no crying. I want to state facts. I want to show my strength. I need them to hear me. I need them to see me.

  I know my time has come as the board addresses us again. “Before we open statements to the public here, we would first like to hear from the victim.”

  Before I am able to stand, my mom gives my hand a good squeeze, and my dad leans over, whispers what I need to hear, giving me his strength. I rise slowly from the bench and make my way to the aisle where a lectern has been set up. I straighten my back, hold my chin up high, and begin.

  “Good afternoon, sirs and madam. My name is Charlie Fish…” I stop mid-sentence when I realize my mistake. I clear my voice and begin again. “…Ahem, excuse me. My name is Charlotte Miller. And with all due respect, I am not the victim, I am the survivor. Because that is all I have been doing this past decade. I was barely a teenager when this man raped me. He took a lot of things from me that day, my innocence being one of them. He also took my ability to trust and my capacity to love. And tragically, left me with a fear of black men.”

  I choke up when that comes out of my mouth. I don’t know where it came from. I have never actually said those words out loud. I mean, I haven’t been able to be intimate with a black man since the rape, but I never thought I was fearful of all black men. What the fuck! Then the realization of what I just said devastates me. I turn to my father who continues to look lovingly at me and mouth the words “I’m sorry” to him. He nods in understanding, but then smiles at me, urging me to continue. That man loves me unconditionally, and I could never have asked for a more perfect father.

  “There’s one more thing that disgusting excuse for a human took from me. Something so devastating to a girl, that it alone should keep his sorry ass locked up for the rest of his life. After the night when DeShawn raped me – I keep emphasizing the word rape so no one in this room can forget what he did to me – I started having nightmares. Every night. They were so vivid and so scary, that I started sleeping in my little brother’s room. My poor little brother, who at the tender age of eight, sat through the trial of the man who raped his big sister.”

  I shake my head briefly, getting myself back on track, take a breath, and continue. “After about two weeks, I was able to start sleeping by myself again, as long as the lights were on, of course. Anyway, it was just around that time when one night I started screaming at the top of my lungs, pain searing through my stomach like I had been stabbed. I folded myself in half, unable to tolerate the agony I was in. My loving and supportive parents came running in to check on me, as I was unable to straighten out my body. My father immediately called 911.”