(6 months later)
"Well look who we have here," I said, hand on my hip, facetious grin all on my face.
He returned the act, crossing his arms and sizing me up like he had some swagger to him. He couldn't hide his excitement. I couldn't hide mine. For 15 years, my face has flushed red like this. It still felt like the first time.
"Miss Beyonce," he said cool as a cat.
I continued grinning.
"No, no Mr. Carter. You can't address me so informally. Not Miss Beyonce. It's Miss Knowles."
"Oh that's right," he laughed. "My apologies for such disrespect, Miss Knowles."
"Very disrespectful," I grinned.
"I wasn't sure if you were changing that last name or not. I'm trying not to step on any toes, Miss Knowles."
"Whatever," I laughed as we embraced for a hug that was a long time coming.
Though brief, the hug was full of emotional energy. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he squeezed me hard. The hug was nostalgic. Sending me back in time when his touch and aroma was common place in my life. Now it was only in memory.
"Dr. Fenty?" Carter smiled, arms open for a second hug.
"Nigga I ain't respectable," she grinned as they hugged with far less energy than we did.
"So what should I call you?" he asked her.
"By my name. Duh."
"Miss Rihanna then."
"How about I call you Mr. Knowles?" Rihanna spat at Carter.
"Nah, nah. That's all Wallace," Carter joked back.
"Hey now. Be nice Rih," I said to that feisty girl. "And you too Carter."
I grabbed Rihanna's hand and we made our way down the sidewalk, chatting, joking, laughing. We were in Los Angeles for a meeting with a movie director, but that was the easy excuse. I was really only there to see Carter.
My ex roommate Michelle had been in contact with the director for the past few months. He was in film school around the time the FAMU scandal happened and followed the incident with rigorous interest. Now that he had money to shoot his own independent movies, he was interested in making a documentary about what happened.
Michelle contacted me a month back about the idea. I contacted Carter. We had a conference call, exploring the possibility, but from the start I wasn't very interested in revisiting that scandal. I was in a better place. I had recently been elected to the local school-board after so much success on the teaching front and would be starting in the fall. I didn't need those headlines brought back up.
The only reason I had agreed to fly out to L.A. was because the director paid for our flights and hotel room. I figured I would hear his pitch, politely decline, and then spend the rest of the trip catching up with my professor.
Me and Carter was friends, supposedly. We talked on the phone weekly. We sent each other funny text messages and emails. He congratulated me when I told him me and Rihanna were getting married. I had my doubts about how genuine it was. But the nature of our friendship remained the same, at least from the surface. Still short conversations on the phone. Funny emails and text.
I still wondered if his pride would stop him from being a friend to me if I was with someone else. It always got in the way any other time. We were much older now. Were suppose to be more mature. Have more wisdom, and all of that shit.
