Black Buck(109)

“I know.” I wrapped my arms around her, trying to fight my way back to the past. “I know.”



* * *





It was exactly as Sandra had said it would be. The next day, I was all over the internet. My face was on every major newspaper, with some people even calling me a terrorist. Texts and emails caused my phone to overheat so badly that I just shut it off.

“Good morning, Chauncey,” I said, climbing into the back seat. “Let’s go to Sumwun.”

He swallowed hard and looked at me in the rearview. It was only after we crossed the Williamsburg Bridge and made our way up First Avenue that he spoke. “I read the newspaper, Buck. Are you okay?”

I looked out the window at Black nannies pushing white kids in strollers, food cart owners stacking blue paper cups, dogs shitting on the sidewalk without a care in the world. “I’m not”—I closed my eyes—“but I will be. Nothing lasts forever, right?”

“Yes, that is true.” Chauncey smiled at me. “But you are one of the strongest people I know, Buck, and strength lasts forever.”

“Thanks, Chauncey. I hope so.”

I pushed the revolving doors open and looked into Starbucks; everything was just as it had been a year ago except I didn’t recognize anyone working. People were frantically shouting at one another and spilling drinks as they tried to keep up with the morning rush. Fuck, everything’s falling apart.

I exited the elevator, paused in front of the frosted doors, and took a deep breath before pushing them open. The floor was bubbling with chaos—balls flying in every direction, people screaming, slamming their phones, dogs sprinting, salespeople pacing around the rows—a fearsome cacophony for anyone not used to it.

But when I walked in, everything stopped. It became so silent that I could hear the wall clocks ticking in a dozen different time zones. Well, the cat’s out the bag. At least now I won’t have to denounce the Happy Campers.

Rhett’s door opened, and he stepped out. “What the hell is going—” Seeing me, he stopped, then said, “Everyone get back to work.” But no one did. Their eyes followed me as I walked past their desks toward Rhett, a few of them coughing out “traitor” as I traversed the floor. Only when the door shut behind me did the deafening roar return.

It was a Wednesday afternoon, but Rhett’s office had the feeling of that first Deals Week when he’d been a nervous wreck, sure of Sumwun’s demise. He sat on his leather couch, a glass full of gin in his hand, ice clanking around like rattling chains.

“Hey,” I said, standing in front of him, unsure if I should sit. His button-up was wrinkled, which could only mean the worst.

He silently nodded, peering into his drink like he was trying to find an answer in it. Seeing him like that, deflated, sucked all of the confidence right out of me.

“Rhett,” I said, finally sitting next to him. “Look at me, man. Please.”

He wouldn’t. He took a sip and turned toward the window, squinting in the bright September light.

“Where did I go wrong?” he finally asked. He stood up and walked to the windows.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what did I do to you, Buck? Where did I mess up?”

I got up and stood next to him, watching boats glide across the East River and the tips of buildings reflect the sunlight like diamonds. “I don’t understand, Rhett.”

He shook his head and emptied his glass in one shot. “Me neither. I gave you everything, Buck. Every opportunity I never had at your age. The sun, the moon, and the stars. But now look at you.” He finally faced me.

“‘If an enemy were insulting me, I could endure it. If a foe were rising against me, I could hide. But it is you, a man like myself, my companion, my close friend.’ Psalm 55, Buck. Verses twelve and thirteen.” He grabbed his bottle of gin and took one long gulp directly from it. “Do you know what it means?”

“Rhett, I—”

“Go,” he said, turning away from me, pain rising in his voice. “Just go, Buck. I don’t want to see you again until the conference. After that, you’re free to leave, like I know you want to. So please, just go.”

I felt like shit. Rhett had given me the opportunity of a lifetime, but it came at the cost of my freedom. And it was then, as I walked out of his office past the hundreds of salespeople laughing as they saw their fearless leader fall, that I realized it was freedom that had motivated me from the very beginning. Not money, power, the need to prove myself, or even to make Ma proud, but the freedom to breathe where I want, when I want, how I want, and with whom I want in my beautiful brown skin.

Reader: By this point, you should know nothing in life is free, especially freedom.





33





“Buckaroo! Buck-a-fucking-roo!”

I opened my eyes. Rose stood in my bedroom. Light fought its way in through the drawn shades.

“Why the fuck aren’t you answering anyone’s calls?” she asked, throwing a T-shirt and pair of pants at me. “Get dressed,” she shouted. “Now!”

“What? What time is it?”

“It’s Thursday afternoon, and someone fucking lit HQ on fire. Chauncey’s outside. Get up, now!”

I got dressed and jumped into the elevator so quickly that Rose had to chuck a pair of shoes at me.