Grip Trilogy Box Set

“God, yes.” Bristol sits on the arm of the couch and gingerly takes off her boots like her feet might come off with them. I owe those boots new soles, a spit shine—something to express my gratitude. If it weren’t for them, Bristol and I might still be snapping and snarling at each other on a New York sidewalk.

That’s not to say we don’t have to finish our conversation. We do, but with calmer heads and hearts back in alignment.

“Meet me in the greenhouse,” I say, heading for the kitchen to grab a bottle of whatever is already chilled. When I get out there, she’s curled up on one of the thick-cushioned outdoor couches. Her legs are folded under her, and her head is tipped back as she stares up at the stars through the tinted glass.

I pour us both a glass of Bordeaux and take my place beside her. There are many kinds of quiet. The kind we shared the last block of our walk home needs nothing added. Then there’s silence like the one we’re sitting in now, one that’s primed for confession.

“That white pussy,” I say, barely loud enough for her to hear. I don’t want her to.

“What?” She turns her head, still tipped back on the couch, to watch me. “What’d you say?”

“That white pussy,” I repeat. “That’s what Clem Ford whispered to me. He said the thing we have in common is that we both love that white pussy, and that fifty years ago I would already be dead for fucking you.”

I suppress the anger that immediately ignites in me again at the words he said, at the way he looked at Bristol before he said them. I’m such an idiot. I knew he was setting a trap for me, but he used the only lure I would never leave in his snare. As much as I told myself not to respond, my hand had a mind of its own as it wrapped around his fleshy throat, and in the moment, it felt like my hand had the right idea.

“Oh, my God.” Bristol gulps, indignation stealing her breath. “I can’t even . . . That’s awful.”

“Yup.” I sip the Bordeaux, waiting for the expensive liquid to settle me, not feeling the effects yet. This situation may require weed.

“As much as I want to kick his ass myself,” Bristol says, anger straining her features, “you know he was just provoking you, trying to get a rise out of you. You can’t let him.”

She turns her body to face me, but leaves her cheek against the cushion.

“And I’m just concerned. I didn’t mean to lecture you.” She holds my eyes with hers, takes my hand, and weaves our fingers together. “You know I would never presume to tell you anything about being Black in America.”

“That was a stupid thing for me to say,” I interrupt. “I was angry and frustrated. I’m sorry.”

“Maybe I was being . . . I don’t know, presumptuous.” She fixes her eyes on our fingers twisted together. “I just wanted us to both see what he was doing and not fall for it next time.”

Bristol grimaces delicately.

“And I’m afraid there will be a next time. There’s something about you that offends him. Actually, I think it’s everything about you. When there are guys like you running around, how is he supposed to sell his false superiority bullshit? Men who are smarter than he is, rich like he is, more accomplished. Famous. Well respected. He wants to think you’re an aberration, but he’s scared there’s more where you came from.”

Her assessment is spot-on. Now I have to wade into what is sure to be one of the toughest conversations we’ve ever had.

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sp; “When I first started at the performing arts school,” I say, studying our hands caressing, mine darker and rougher than hers, “I’d never really had a white friend. Your brother was the first.”

She watches me, not making a sound, so still I wonder if she’s breathing.

“There were pretty much no white people in my neighbor- hood,” I continue. “Not at my school, not in the stores where we shopped. The only white people I ever saw on a consistent basis, who were in my life, were cops, and I’d been conditioned to fear them.”

I take a gulp of wine.

“That’s how separate we felt. I’d go as far as to say sometimes we felt forgotten.” I pause to laugh. “When I showed up at my new high school, I’d never seen an episode of Friends, and who the hell cared about that show? The kids’ jokes weren’t funny, but I was the only one not laughing, and when I tried to be funny, they didn’t get it. None of it made sense to me. It was foreign, like a parallel universe where up was down.”

I glance up to find her eyes fixed on me in complete concentration.

“If Rhyson and I hadn’t become close, I probably would have quit. He’d never seen Friends, either. He knew less than I did in a lot of ways because he’d been on the road busting ass like a grown man, playing piano since he was eleven years old.”

I shrug, trying to remember why I thought I should tell her this.

“I just . . . Tonight, you asked if it was a Black thing and you wouldn’t understand.” I sigh, unsure how to approach this, but needing to say it all without a filter, the way our other conversations have always been. We’ve never done eggshells, and tonight sure as hell isn’t the time to start. “Is that how you feel when you’re at my mom’s or . . . wherever with me? With my friends?”

“Sometimes.” Her voice is soft, but her eyes remain undaunted. “Like everybody understands something I don’t. Like at any given moment, I’ll make a fool of myself and not even know it. It’s a very vulnerable feeling—that you don’t even know what you don’t know. I think that’s why I let Jade’s words get to me. You know me, I’m not the girl who gives a fuck, but around Jade, in situations like that, I find myself trying so hard—not trying to be Black, just . . . trying, because I want to understand.”

“I’m sorry if I make you feel excluded sometimes. I don’t mean to.” I tilt my head to peer into her eyes. “Some things are specific to my cultural experience, and I don’t know if you’ll ever fully grasp them all. Real talk, I don’t care if you don’t. Ethnicity is just one part of who I am, a very important part, yeah, but just one, just like it’s only one part of who you are. There are things about your job, your past, your experiences that I won’t completely get, either, but I want to know about them because they make you who you are.”