Silent Nights Read online

  Zora shook her head and smiled. “You’re persuasive, I’ll give you that.”

  Summer said nothing, knowing to leave well enough alone when Zora was actually smiling at her.

  “Email me your … parameters,” Zora said finally. “And I’ll talk to Deuce. I mean, there’ll be all these other people there, Summer. People who want their privacy maintained. Not just me and Deuce. So, I think he’s going to have to make that call.”

  “I understand. And I respect that. I’ll take that into consideration when I draw up the guidelines.”

  Sighing, Zora reached for her cup again and clasped it in both hands. She nodded.

  “Cool.”

  “Cool,” Summer echoed, trying not to look too pleased with herself. “Now tell me … besides being the bride in Black America’s Wedding of the Decade, what else is new?”

  Zora made a gagging sound.

  “Well, parameter number one? Please do not call it that.”

  Summer shrugged. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

  2

  Lloyd turned the envelope over in his hand and frowned. It was made of heavy, expensive stock, and dove-grey in color. He rarely got snail mail of any kind. This one was addressed by hand, the script well-balanced and precise, sitting at the bottom of a pile of grocery store circulars and other junk mail.

  Sliding a finger under the seal, he opened it.

  “What is that?” Allison asked, as she slid off her heels.

  Sliding off her heels meant she was planning to stick around for a while. Or maybe more than ‘a while’.

  Last week, she had contrived to sleep over for three consecutive nights with some implausible story about her apartment smelling like “toxic paint” because the neighboring unit was being redone for new tenants. While Lloyd wasn’t mad at being able to roll over and have middle-of-the-night sex, he did feel it was a little much for someone he had only been hanging out with for two months to post up in his spot like they were “going steady” or something.

  If she had plans to spend tonight, he was going to shut that down with a quickness.

  “It looks like a wedding invitation.” Allison plucked the envelope from his hands and opened it the rest of the way.

  Lloyd stood stock still, mouth slightly ajar. Did she just snatch his mail out of his hands?

  She was definitely not spending the night.

  “Oh my god!” Allison, looking down at a card she had pulled out of the envelope, clapped one hand over her mouth.

  “What is it?” Lloyd took everything back from her and read the card: Together with their parents, Zora Aissa Diallo and Christopher Dylan Scaife, Jr. request the honor of your presence on the day of their wedding …

  Rolling his eyes, Lloyd handed Allison the card and toed off his shoes so he could go grab himself something to drink before possibly going to the gym. If he changed and went to work out, Allison might decide not to stick around after all, and he could get some much-needed solitude to work on the letter to piece he was thinking about pitching to his contact at The Atlantic.

  For a publication that was founded in part to publish commentary on the abolition of slavery, they could do a much better job when it came to diversifying their pool of contributing writers.

  But that was white progressives for you. Say the right things, and maybe no one would notice they didn’t actually do them.

  “Are you seriously not excited about this?” Allison was following him into the kitchen, waving the invitation in front of her. “I didn’t even know you knew them!”

  “Why would you? They’re not good friends or anything. Just people I went to college with.”

  “Just people you went to … Then how come you’re invited to their wedding? I wouldn’t invite ‘just people I went to college with’ to my wedding.” Her voice had taken on that slightly screechy tone it assumed when she was excited, or angry. Or having an orgasm.

  Lloyd remembered wondering—while listening to her come—if he would be able to tolerate that sound over the long haul. If a woman annoyed you while you were having sex, it did not bode well for the longevity of the relationship.

  “Good question,” Lloyd said, opening the refrigerator.

  “No, seriously.”

  He offered her a bottle of water and when she waved it away, opened it for himself.

  “Only thing I can think of is, they’re inviting people from our graduating class who they know are in New York. And I was in a couple classes with both of them.” He shrugged.

  “And you’re not excited …” Allison sounded incredulous. “They’re only the …”

  “Hottest Young, Black Power Couple in NYC,” Lloyd said. “Yes, I know.”

  Deuce and Zora had been featured—along with other young couples from all around the country—in an Essence magazine online piece about emerging Black power couples. The link to the article had been on their graduating class’ Black Alumni Facebook page, posted by Summer, one of the page’s moderators. The post had come accompanied by lots of heart and clapping hand emojis. Only one couple was chosen to represent each major city, including New York, Los Angeles, Chicago and so on, and the short blurbs about each couple were accompanied by various shots of them looking … well, hot, culled from social media pages and online publications.

  It was the kind of fluffy piece that passed for lifestyle journalism these days. The kind that Lloyd never read and planned never, ever to write. Even if his life and livelihood depended on it. But it was also the kind of thing that easily went viral as all of young, Black America shared and re-shared it, making thirsty comments about how gorgeous the guys were, how sexy the women. So, it was no surprise that Allison had seen it.

  Deuce and Zora had been getting that kind of attention from way back when they were all in school, so Lloyd was no longer impressed by it, if in fact he ever had been. They were both cool enough as people, but celebrity culture just wasn’t his thing.

  Zora had been interesting, but only because he loathed her politics. And Deuce was the resident pretty boy who managed to pull the chick most guys were too intimidated to even step to.

  “So, are you going?” Allison whined.

  “Don’t know. Where is it?”

  Lloyd leaned back against his kitchen counter, watching as Allison went rifling through all the other enclosures and fished out of the dove-grey envelope.

  “It doesn’t say. I wonder if you get to bring a date. There’s apparently a login page … where you get details. They sent you your username and a passcode.” Allison’s large brown eyes had grown larger still. “I’m getting my iPad.”

  Whirling around, she hurried back to the living room where she had dumped her pocketbook. Lloyd followed.

  “Whoa! I don’t think so,” he said, taking the smaller card, the one he assumed had his code, from her. “The point of them having a code and all that is probably to be extra careful that only the person they addressed the invitation to can see the information.”

  Allison looked insulted. “What d’you think I’ll do with it?”

  “I don’t know,” Lloyd said.

  She folded her arms. “Are you serious? You think I would …”

  “I have no idea, Allison. All I’m saying is, they’re public people who want to keep their private information private. So the least I can do is not share it with all my friends. I’m pretty sure there’re people in media right now who would pay good money to know where this wedding is gonna be.”

  “And you think I’d … what? Sell that information to TMZ?” The screechy voice was back.

  Lloyd sighed. “That’s not the point.”

  “That’s precisely the point. You don’t trust me.”

  “No. They trust me. To keep their information private.”

  “Wow, Lloyd.”

  “What?” he asked. “You don’t think that makes sense?”

  “It makes sense. I just would have thought you’d know me better than to think …”

  “Let’s not go overboard. I’ve known you three months.”

  Allison’s mouth fell open.

  Lloyd shrugged. “I mean, to be real …”

  Allison showed him her back and without another word stalked over to the door and stepped into her heels. Thinking he should at least make a token show of wanting to stop her, Lloyd sighed.

  “C’mon, Allison …”

  “Whatever.”

  Reaching for her pocketbook on his entryway table, she paused only to yank open his door and flounce out, tossing her hair over her shoulder just before she let it slam.

  Glancing with indifference at the card in his hand, Lloyd tossed it onto the sofa and went back into the kitchen.

  ~~~

  Later, when the words for the piece he was writing didn’t come as easily as he’d hoped they would after his workout, Lloyd reached for the card, partly crushed from him having sat on it. It listed a web address, his username, LWinston2016 and a complicated alphanumeric-with-special-characters password.

  Out of idle curiosity, he first logged onto Facebook. He didn’t even have to go to the alumni page for his graduating class. Just on the homepage, most of the recent posts and comments were about the impending nuptials.

  Riki Flores ► BlackLions2016. Okay, so who got one?

  December 1 at 6:57 p.m.

  PimpYoMamaGot what? What I miss?

  Patrice WilkinsIf you gotta ask, you ain’ get one.

  Terri ParksWedding invite. DS and ZD

  Dean CobenWord?

  Summer Daze► BlackLions2016 Summer’s in da house!

  December 1 at 7:23 p.m.

  Dean Coben Y’all thirsty as shit. They can see this. Duh.

  Summer Daze So? I’m excited!

  Terri Parks No shame in my game! My thirst
is real.

  Riki FloresSo who else going?

  PimpYoMamaNobody. I guess Summer is special.

  Summer Daze I really, really am.

  The conversation went on from there, with more ‘thirst’ comments and Summer engaging in some more good-natured gloating. From what Lloyd could see, no one else had weighed in to say they had been invited as well.

  Lloyd smiled. It figured that Summer would have been. She was everywhere, and some level of friend, associate or acquaintance with just about everyone. They’d been in student government together and collaborated on a few projects for one of the school papers and that chick was indefatigable. He liked that about her. And she was also cute, but her energy was just too … frenetic for him sometimes, like a Corgi. Small but high-strung and excitable.

  Because of that frenetic energy he nicknamed her School Spirit, which always made her roll her eyes and turn her back to him. Which only made him want to say it more.

  Smiling, Lloyd reached for his phone and found her number. He hadn’t seen her in over a year. Come to think of it, not since that mixer she had put together where he found out Deuce and Zora had broken things off.

  A few months later, they were publicly back together, because Lloyd had seen pictures somewhere of them holding hands at Deuce’s mother’s funeral. Next to them had been Kal Carter, who Lloyd heard was married himself now. And had a kid. Apparently, his wife was someone from their graduating class that scarcely anyone knew. Asia, or Ayanna someone.

  That’s what made the wedding invitation even more perplexing. He wasn’t, nor had ever been, part of Deuce Scaife’s circle, and Zora Diallo, beautiful though she was, was a pain-in-the-ass knee-jerk, overly-woke nouveau-progressive who never met a protest she didn’t want to engage in. They butted heads frequently while in school, mostly because she and her crew thought Black conservative was just another way of saying Uncle Tom.

  Summer’s phone rang four times before she picked up.

  “What’s up, School Spirit?” Lloyd greeted her.

  “Hey Lloyd,” she drawled.

  She had this way of saying his name, like it was ironic. Like, ‘No one is actually named Lloyd, are they?’

  It made him smile when she did it, because Summer was the kind of girl who couldn’t even pull off sarcasm correctly. The cuteness trumped all that. She was like a kitten jumping from behind a bed calling themselves scaring you.

  “You got me in your Contacts, huh? I’m flattered.”

  “I neglected to delete you during my last purge,” she said dryly. “So … how can I help you?”

  “I was just in the Facebook group. You got invited to the wedding, huh?”

  “Yup. And no, I can’t take you as my plus-one, because I wasn’t given one.”

  Lloyd laughed. “What makes you think I’d want to go as your plus-one?”

  “I got like two dozen calls since I put that post up, from people giving me their pitch for why I should take them with me. I might have to delete that.”

  “I got my own pass thank you very much. So nah, I’m not hittin’ you up for your plus-one that you don’t even have.”

  “Wait. You got invited?”

  “Don’t sound so shocked, School Spirit.”

  “Did you get a plus-one?”

  “Nope.”

  “Oh. Okay. Because Zora doesn’t even like you.”

  “Well … I was a worthy adversary, so …”

  Summer’s tinkle of laughter came over the line and Lloyd couldn’t help but smile. She had dimples. Two little dents in apple cheeks.

  “Call it what you want. She did not like you, Lloyd. So, I guess Deuce must have added you as a sympathy gesture.”

  “You know doggone well they don’t need to invite anyone, much less me as a ‘sympathy gesture’.”

  “So, you’re confused, too, huh?” Summer laughed again.

  “Kind of,” he admitted. “I’m not even that interested in being there, to tell you the truth. All that hype and nonsense.”

  “Are you serious? You don’t want to go to Deuce Scaife’s wedding. Where you’ll probably see a who’s who of Black America, or at least the Black entertainment industry?”

  “Yeah, I’m serious. ‘Cause I don’t care about the entertainment industry.”

  “Well then you’re being stupid. Didn’t you tell me you want to be the United States Congressman representing New York’s Fifth Congressional District someday?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “These people are your future donors. Black folks with money. Who’ll want to keep representation for that District Black. Even if it’s by a Black … Republican.” She said the last word with something akin to disdain.

  Lloyd sat up straighter.

  “I mean, right now you’re a lowly writer at a second-rate rag,” Summer said, only half-facetiously. “But one day, when you’re running for Congress, it’d be cool to have all these people say they knew you when, wouldn’t it? And then donate to your campaign?”

  “Y’know what, School Spirit? You may have a point.”

  “I know I have a point. Now, why’d you call me?”

  “No reason. Just to see whether you’re going and if you had any idea why I was invited.”

  “Well, don’t worry. I don’t think you’re being punked or anything. They’re nice people and for some reason, at least one of them likes you enough to want you there to see them get married.”

  “Maybe that’s all it is,” Lloyd said, shrugging. “Anyway … I’ll see you there I guess.”

  “Wait!” Summer said, probably hearing in his voice that he was about to end the call. “And you’re sure you didn’t get a plus-one?”

  “I told you. Nope.”

  “Okay. Good.”

  “Why ‘good’?”

  “Because I would hate to find out that your stock is higher with Deuce and Zora than mine. And because unlike you, I do care about the entertainment business.”

  “Since when?”

  “For my blog and YouTube channel.”

  “You have a blog and YouTube channel.”

  “Yes, Lloyd.”

  “Why you say it like that? Like it’s something I should know?”

  “I posted about it on Facebook!”

  “School Spirit, I’m not a slave to social media. I have no idea what got posted on Facebook or Instagram or SnapChat or TikTok. I’m out here doing real news.”

  “Yawn,” Summer said, feigning one.

  Lloyd laughed. “What’s your jawn called? Your blog.”

  “Did you just saw ‘jawn’? Oh my god, that so does not suit you. How do you even communicate with all those folks over there in the Young Republicans Club talking all … ghetto like that?” She added sarcastic emphasis to the word “ghetto”.

  “Bye, School Spirit,” he said, stifling a grin. “Thanks for the intel.”

  “Bye Lloyd.”

  When they hung up, he went in search of the Facebook post about Summer’s blog and YouTube channel. Just because.

  3

  “You will never believe who else got invited.”

  Summer tossed her bag onto the banquette seat ahead of her and slid into the booth, across from Claudia.

  Every Thursday, they met for lunch at Golden Bowl, a Chinese restaurant they both agreed was the cheapest and best kept secret in Asian cuisine in Midtown. It had old-fashioned decorations, and dark red tiles on the floor and lots of gold and red brocade decorating the walls. A sign on the front door, above which gold bells tinkled, boasted that they had been in business since 1967.

  “Who?” Claudia asked.

  She already had a pot of tea in front of her that smelled like jasmine. The menus had been shoved aside, since both she and Summer practically knew them by heart and were unlikely to order anything other than their favorites anyway.

  “Lloyd Winston.”

  A look of mild interest crossed Claudia’s face.

  “The Jamaican Stallion?”

  Summer rolled her eyes. “One, that’s just a rumor, and two, he’s more like a Ja-fakin’. He’s not even actually Jamaican, his parents are.”

  “Probably why he’s so conservative. Those people from the islands always think they’re better than everybody. But the big dick thing is legit. I heard from this girl in my junior year Soc class whose roommate used to hook up with him.”