Page 88 of Driving Beats

Sounding like Nese, I ask, “Can you do a three-sixty?”

She twirls and the subtle butterfly pattern seals the deal. I’m positive this blue dress will look amazing on Nese. Bonus—my earrings will appear as if they were designed to match.

“I love the hemline,” the clerk notes. “It’s fun and flirty without being overly sexy.”

I stand. “Perfect. I’ll take it.”

“Wonderful. Does your sweetie have a pair of shoes that’ll complement this? I have just the ones here…”

I shrug. “Sure.” What woman doesn’t want to have another pair of shoes in her closet?

When I instruct the clerk to wrap them all up, she brings me to the register. “What about jewelry? I have a great pair of earrings that match this dress.”

“Nope. I have them covered.”

She smiles and rings me up. “Now, you take your sweetie to a fantastic dinner tonight, so she can show off her new dress.”

Dinner. Shit. I better make reservations. I lift the bag. “Thanks for the tip.”

“Have a good night, Sugar!”

I don’t even respond to her, as my mind is occupied with making a reservation. Back in the car, I stow her presents in the backseat and pull up my cell phone to find the best restaurant in Gainesville. A place serving Southern food has near perfect reviews, so I reserve a table for two there at seven o’clock. I hope she agrees.

On the road, I practice everything I want to say to her. How my life is meaningless without her in it, and not merely as UC’s stylist. What she’s brought into my world. Why I will be so proud to have her at my side.

The GPS makes me navigate into a questionable neighborhood. The buildings are close together, with metal frames on the doors and windows. Barbed wire spans some of the fences. I’m instructed to turn right at the stop sign. Given I’m less than a half mile from her address, I hope this will take me into a whole different neighborhood.

It doesn’t.

A few doors down from a bar, the GPS announces: “You have arrived at your destination.”

An available spot sits across the street from her apartment building. Well, I suppose it’s a parking place—I better follow what others have done and park half on the sidewalk so cars can still drive on the road.

After I park, I decide to bring my carry-on and her new outfit into her space, as it seems a bit shady out here. Is this where she lives? I remember her describing this apartment with such pride. Saying how excited she was to be able to move into it with her roommates. Amazing how her description and reality differ. Her esteem rises another few notches in my book.

There’s an empty lot next to her apartment that apparently has been taken over as the neighborhood garden. Yellow flowers are lined up against the fence. I blow them a kiss. “Wish me luck, Harold.”

At the front door, I’m presented with a bunch of names and doorbells. I press the one with her last name included in the list. A guy’s voice answers. “Yeah?”

I inhale. “I’m looking for Nese Dalton.”

“Sure. Come on up.”

The front door’s buzzer goes off, spurring me to launch myself into the foyer. Since her name was next to the number two, I presume I need to go up one flight. A quick scan doesn’t reveal an elevator, so I climb the stairs. When I reach the second floor, one door is ajar. I walk over to it and knock.

The door swings inward a pace. “You’re here for Nese?”

A decent-looking guy, slightly taller than me, greets me on the inside. His hair is on the unkempt side, and he sports a beard. Leaving my small luggage on the floor, I juggle the dress into my left hand and extend my right. “Hi, I’m Coop.”

He leaves my arm hanging—rather, tips his chin upward. “Noah. Roommate.”

I return her bag into my right hand, and replace my other hand on top of the luggage’s handle.

He does a double take. “Wait. Coop as in the guitarist for her band?”

I’ve never heard UC referred to in such a way. But I like it. The band can be her band so long as she’s always with us. Before I get to her, though, I better respond to her roommate. “That’s me.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. Come on in.”