Justice at Risk Read Free

you wrote a fine piece, Alex.”
    “I really appreciate your support.”
    “Don’t mistake it for support.”
    “You are mad at me.”
    “Don’t mistake ambivalence for anger.” I sipped more of the rich, dark coffee. “Now, tell me about this person who’s having dinner with us, this Oree fellow, before I begin to suspect I’ve been set up with a blind date.”
    Her eyes flickered defensively. She reached across and placed her hand on the magazine.
    “You’ll read the article and tell me what you think?”
    “Quit stalling.”
    “You’re not going to be upset, are you? Even if, just by the slightest coincidence, he turns out to be gay and unattached.”
    “Damn you, Templeton.”
    “Promise me you won’t be unpleasant.”
    “I wasn’t put on this earth to please people, Templeton, any more than a self-respecting author writes books to please critics.”
    She sighed heavily, settled back in her chair, picked up her wine, frowned, put it down, selected her coffee instead.
    “I met him at a conference of African American journalists.”
    “I thought you said he was an academic.”
    “He does some freelance writing on the side. High-level stuff Harper’s , The American Scholar , the New York Times op-ed page. He’s younger than you, only thirty-six, but he can be just as intimidating. Somehow we hit it off right away.”
    “Let me guess—you were on the rebound.”
    “I’d just broken up with that point guard from the Lakers.”
    “The one with the big hands.”
    If Templeton had been fair-skinned like me, I’m certain her face would have been a raging wildfire.
    “Right.” She smiled sheepishly. “The big hands.”
    “So you broke up with the point guard, and ran into this Oree fellow.”
    “Oree Joffrien. I believe it’s French. His father’s Creole, from down around New Orleans. Mother’s Malaysian. He has an interesting look.”
    “If he’s as cute as Tiger Woods—”
    Templeton put up a hand.
    “Please don’t mention Tiger Woods, Justice. It’s a touchy issue with Oree. You know, the Asian thing.”
    “I’m afraid I don’t.”
    “Certain people make a point of emphasizing that Tiger Woods is half Asian, as if that might be the reason he’s so smart and personable. They never do that when it’s a black guy who’s in trouble. You never hear them say, ‘Oh, that murderer has light skin. Must be the white blood in him that made him kill.’ Oree says they only question your blackness when you’ve accomplished something, never the other way around.”
    “Anything else you need to tell me?”
    “When he gets here, try not to drool.”
    “He’s that good-looking?”
    “Spectacular would not be overstating it.”
    “Let me take a wild guess, Templeton. Being on the rebound, which is most of the time, you fell immediately in lust, and you still haven’t quite come out of it.”
    “It wasn’t like that, I swear.”
    “What was it like?”
    “I really liked him, Justice. We got along so easily. He’s interested in politics, social issues, race, all the things that matter to me. He’s even a fan of straight-ahead jazz, like me.” She laughed awkwardly. “And, well, like you.”
    I tried to keep my voice from grating.
    “Go on.”
    “We went out a few times. Dinner, a movie, coffee afterward. We became friends very quickly—that should have been a tip-off right away that he wasn’t straight.” She shrugged, and sighed again. “Not with my luck, anyway.”
    “He sounds perfect.”
    She sat forward, brightening.
    “He is, Justice! Did I mention that he’s quite good-looking? Not that it would matter to you, of course.”
    “As a matter of fact, you did. Twice.”
    “I hate it when you get that edge in your voice.”
    “I hate it when you attempt to engineer my life.”
    “I think I’ve done a pretty good job so far. With Harry’s help.”
    I wasn’t amused, and didn’t pretend to be. I finished my coffee, fixing Templeton with my most malevolent stare.