Episode Eleven: Purple Rain

Part II (Fitz)

"I don't know. She's in a weird place right now— "

"Uhn, uhn, uhh. No Olivia, remember? I'm talking about you."

"What about me?"

/Mid-December/

Fitz had done as his father had asked, if threatening could be defined as asking. Under his eyes, every sip of scotch Fitz imbibed was a Band-Aid over the gaping wound of being a 42-year-old man who still allowed his father to bring him back to adolescent insecurities. The receiving line. Meeting Xi Jingping & his wife, Peng Liyuan. The politicians and the billionaires to whom Big Jerry had boastfully introduced him. Watching from beside him as Fitz so expertly piloted his charm, as well as his political and legal knowledge to suit the expectations of each person he engaged. He did it all, and brilliantly so.

It was exhausting, though no one could tell by looking at him.

Lillian, thankfully, was not exhausting. His father had picked well this time, he had to admit. A slim, and athletically attractive, age-appropriate woman, her sparkling conversation that night had been dotted with sometimes wild journalistic adventures. Whether she was regaling him with adventures in interning for Christiane Amanpour, or off-the-record anecdotes of the likes of Dick Cheney, Mitch McConnell, and Jeff Bezos, Lillian was never without a story. She was entertaining consolation. The more Fitz opened himself up to enjoying her company for the evening, the less he wallowed in the emotional lacuna left by Olivia. He and Lillian laughed easily that night. Big Jerry looked to be pleased. Fitz had begun his effort under the watchful gaze of his father that night, but at some point, that imperative faded away and he let himself enjoy Lillian's company. Until he found himself at her door, thanking her for the evening and confessing that he had enjoyed it, in large part, because of her.

"Fitz, I'm no fool. I know it's barely been a year since the very public ending of your marriage. Your father is very eager for you to find a new wife. I'm not interested in that, but I am interested in you. When Ambassador Grant said you needed a suitable date, I couldn't help myself."

"And?"

"Well, let's just say the evening has not been a disappointment. Not yet." Her words lingered suggestively between them, punctuated by her hooded eyes. Lillian dotted her point by fishing out of her bag, the keys to her home, fingering them as she waited.

Lubricated and in need of soothing, Fitz offered, "Far be it from me to start disappointing you now."

With a smile, she turned to open her door and Fitz followed her in. Nothing would change the Sam Cook song Fitz carried in his heart for Olivia. Their love would never be water under the bridge, but he needed to find a way to go on. Lillian's bed was not going to be Olivia's, but he would bet it was warm.

/

/Mid-January/

Fitz walked into Alvin's office to find him seated, his attention rapt with the monitor sitting on his desk. One Bluetooth earbud flashed intensely.

"I'm a little early. I can come back if you need more time?" Fitz suggested.

Silently Alvin waved him in, pointing to the chair in front of his desk, all the while never removing his eyes from the screen. As Fitz sat, Alvin held up a finger indicating he would be with him shortly.

Fitz was negligibly annoyed since it had been Alvin who requested their meeting. It was mid-January, and the University had shortly reconvened for the second semester. Having been at Howard Law for several months, Fitz had made himself useful on any committee that struck his interest. He set up legal writing workshops on Wednesday evenings and was now adding two Saturdays a month, to support those with childcare responsibilities or evening jobs. He had set up these workshops after noticing inconsistencies the previous semester with some of his first-year students. What a tragedy it would be for brilliant minds to be disadvantaged when submitting for law journals, or in the rest of their careers. Nailing legal writing was crucial, and the earlier students grasped this the better. Even those who did not take the Bar would find this type of writing skill advantageous. Busying himself, of course, made Fitz a valuable colleague, helping to dispel any fears over the incongruence between his wealth, political pedigree, stake in a very profitable NoVa firm, and his taking on an Associate Law Professor position at Howard Law. But filling his time with work served more than one purpose. The more he could focus on being useful, the less it hurt to feel utterly useless in matters of the heart.

"My apologies, Fitz," Alvin finally spoke. "I don't mean to be rude. It's just that this brotha Davis' speech was almost done and I wanted to finish. I've been following him since his campaign, and I missed his speech last night. I'm lucky if I can make it to ten o'clock these days without dozing off. Have you heard him speak?"

Fitz gave a conciliatory smile. He was doing his best to grasp the reality in front of him. But merely hearing that name punctured holes in his heart. The man that stood between him and the woman with whom he was certain he belonged. Fitz did much to avoid thinking of that man. "Can't say that I have," he lied.

"Well, he is something. His team has done an excellent job with him. Everything's lined up for him to go far. Now that I think about it, my wife is friendly with his fiancée," said Alvin, absently nodding his head. "Mark my words, I think this guy could be the one to finally make it all the way to the White House."

"It would be long overdue." That part Fitz meant.

A fleeting silence passed between them affording Fitz the opportunity to pivot toward the reason for his meeting. "You wanted to see me, Dean Seville?"

"Fitz, it's just us. No need to be formal. Besides, this isn't a very formal meeting."

"Oh?"

"Indeed. When I started here, twelve years ago, long before I became Dean, people were only concerned with how folks were getting on with the mechanics of the job. How you were progressing with the goals set for yourself and the ones that had been set for you. That's the job, but there was far less concern about wellness. I mean, how are folks coping? I don't mean that in a way a counsellor would, but, you know, checking in on people. I didn't have that when I started. You know what they say—change yourself and watch the world adjust."

"Good old Gandhi," Fitz added. He wished he hadn't. Because then came flooding in memories of watching Olivia lick the taste of red wine from her lips between stories about her year in India. She and her friend Chandani had trekked to Pune to visit Gandhi's burial ground. That's when she discovered that Ghandi had never said 'be the change you wish to see in the world', but as with so many things, his longer elegant words were shortened to something pithier and Hallmark-ready. He remembered thinking he wanted to hear every story she ever had, every adventure she ever experienced. And when these were done, they'd make new ones together. The bulb behind Fitz's eyes flickered off and on at the memory.

"Fitz? Earth to Fitz," Alvin snapped his finger.

"I'm sorry. What you said took me down a winding road."

"Oh, yeah? How so?"

"Nothing to do with work. It's a long story." Fitz waved off casually. He did not want to unburden himself in Alvin's office. As he said, this wasn't therapy. Instead, he chose to focus on how well he was getting on with his colleagues. Most of them. Kester Kilkenny was tepid toward him at best, dubious at worst. Fitz talked about how surprised he had been to discover the stunning racial and gender diversity of the HU Law faculty. Fitz said he felt challenged by perspectives students had about business law, a discourse more textured than what he engaged during his guest lecturing at UVA. The students and his colleagues, at HU, were making him better. Alvin joked that Fitz was not a diversity hire, before congratulating him on making himself so integral to the team and the Center in such a short space of time. Student feedback, which stood at the 70% mark, was also very good for a first-term professor, Alvin assured. But with that came a warning about overly ambitious starts leading frequently to burn out. Fitz said he was focused, that was all.

Alvin accepted his word, letting Fitz get on with his morning, returning to his own schedule.

/

/The next evening/

Fitz was having a pleasant exchange with Elise Dunbar, who—as it were—was locking up her office, two doors down, at the same moment he was. And not for the first time. It seemed to happen a couple of times a week.

"We've got to stop running into each other this way, "Elise said, with an affected air of breeziness.

"You'd think it was intentional," Fitz returned, flashing a crooked grin. He grabbed his satchel and gym bag before adding, "Take it easy, Elise. Maybe we can do this again tomorrow," he joked.

"Or tonight?" She said, tucking her barrel curled raven hair behind the gleam of her small gold hoops.

"I'm sorry?"

"I…I meant…maybe we can be intentional and do something tonight. Together. Maybe…happy hour? I know a great place near me," Elise pointed with her thumb towards the building's exit. I live by the National Zoo, so I'm close by. It would just be as colleagues, of course." She laughed nervously, her hand moving to touch her neck.

Fitz could sense her awkwardness and wanted to spare her. Trying not to allow his face to betray what was in his mind and his heart, he began, "Listen, Elise— "

"Fitz!" Alvin came jogging up to them. "I'm glad I caught you. I'm sorry that call took so long. We didn't finish our discussion from earlier." He mopped his bald head. "You got a minute?"

Noting the slight squint in his eye, Fitz's eyes traveled back and forth between those of Alvin and Elise. "Uhhh, sure," Fitz finally answered.

"Next time," Elise smiled reluctantly before turning towards the door. "Good night, Dean Seville," she shouted behind her, keeping her head forward.

...

There was no discussion to finish, that much Fitz knew. After convincing him to ditch his gym routine for a game of basketball down by the main Shaw campus, Alvin asked if Fitz wanted to go for a drink. Anywhere but Maroon had been Fitz's reply, which Alvin made a note of to ask about later when Fitz was more relaxed.

"By the way, thanks for rescuing me back there. Elise seems like a great woman, but not for me."

"Not your type?

"Not only that, but I also don't want to send the wrong signals. Let's just keep it strictly professional."

"You don't know how happy I am to hear that," Alvin confessed. "It makes my life less complicated. Between you and me, Elise thinks I'm a little heavy-handed where… fraternizing, shall we say, is concerned. This woman has tried it with three other hires in the last two years! I told her to try finding a romantic partner outside these walls. Come on, there are a million dating apps and even more happy hour spots in this town. I'm sure she can meet someone."

They both chuckled.

"I just want everyone at work to keep their hands to themselves. Why is that so hard?" Alvin bemoaned playfully.

"I sympathize with Elise. It's hard finding someone," said Fitz.

"Are you?" Alvin sipped from his Heineken bottle. "Trying to find someone? What's your dating life been since the divorce? We've been so busy with the job situation since April, I don't know how post-divorce life is treating you."

Fitz raised his eyebrows at the memory. "Initially, very…busy. But the novelty wore off and I wasn't necessarily looking for another relationship immediately."

"Sounds like one found you?"

"Not exactly," he said. The warm waterfall of scotch raced down his esophagus. He looked down into its amber depths and saw into the pools of her eyes. They stared back at him, just like that moment when they had both decided it was for the best that he leave her apartment.

"Fitz, man, talk to me. You're holding something back. Have been since our meeting yesterday. Lay it on me."

Fitz considered for a moment how for so much of his life he had witnessed the easy lies men tell each other. Through obfuscation, hyperbole, threats of violence, the lies stack up easily. Hiding becomes second nature, and unfettered vulnerability becomes braver than most can handle. Fitz thought about how he truly had no one with whom he could talk about this. He let his disappointment in himself translate to unbecoming behavior—the week before the election and election night itself. He had not wanted to be alone that night, but he really should not have gone back to Maroon. He could not yet face Kenny but knew that he soon would. He had been thinking a lot about what Kenny said to him. Then there's Andrew whose loyalties were now with Mellie. Fitz had left friends in Virginia who would never understand why he was wasting his time. Or remind him how common it now was to have a mistress. Or two. Could he not just become a 'mister'? And then there was the great patriarch, Big Gerry. His father never truly cared about him beyond being a bearer of his family's legacy. Fitz frequently wondered how it would have been if his mother had been able to birth more children. Perhaps he would have been under far less scrutiny, far fewer expectations. He doubted is father ever truly loved his mother, who deserved so much more than she received. Considering that list of men, Fitz opted for revelation over concealment.

...

When he finished telling Alvin about the last seven months of his (unrequited) love affair with Olivia, Alvin asked, "So what are you going to do about this?"

"I thought you supported Edison?"

"Sure—his politics. And of course, I love that his fiancée is also Black. But, unless she's the reason for his political stances, his love life has nothing to do with me. You said yourself she admitted there was something between the two of you. So, at least this is not a fever dream."

"She admitted it, sure. But in the same breath, she told me that it was all too much for her. That she couldn't hurt Edison."

"Ouch," Alvin returned. "So that's it? You're done trying? No big romantic gesture? I got it! You could pull a Dwayne Wayne at the wedding. When is it?"

That reference he knew. Fitz laughed. Really laughed, maybe for the first time that night. When the levity of the moment settled between them, Mellie popped into his mind. "I prefer that a woman isn't coerced into being with me. It's corny, but I want the love story, Alvin. When I think about the kind of life I want, I see Liv there with me. Not as if I've dropped her into my life, but like we're living life together. If the stars never align to make that happen, then I don't know. I'll have to give up that dream and figure out the rest."

"That's beautiful, Fitz." Alvin thought about his wife, Simone, and their two children. "Don't give up hope."

/

/One week later, January/

Fitz knocked on the door, the one that looked like it led to a closet. When Kenny opened it, he seemed both surprised and annoyed by who stood before him.

"Is this a bad time?" Fitz asked.

"Who let you back here?"

"It doesn't matter who. Let's just say they were tipped very generously."

"Rich people love a bribe, chile," Kenny said to himself, turning back to his desk. "It's been a while, Geraldo. What brings you here? Or should I say who? Actually, I shouldn't ask because it's obvious."

Fitz didn't bother asking about the strange nickname. He supposed Kenny's assumptions were only natural given his last two appearances at Maroon. Instead, he asked "Do you have a moment? May I come in? It's not about her, I promise."

Kenny wanted so much to remain marginally friendly with this man. He had seen a side of him that he had trouble reconciling. Though Fitz was harmless enough, he only knew him as someone who seemed good to Liv. But he also knew his friend was engaged to another man. Kenny had caught moments of their weekly conversations, watched them that time on the dance floor, which had plucked a string in his heart, one that took him back into memories he guarded closely, privately. Though he had watched Fitz like a hawk in the beginning—protective of Olivia— he began trusting his presence at the bar. Even so, knowing Olivia the way he did, he waited for the inevitable to happen.

Kenny recalled the day Olivia sped down the stairs and out the door so fast, that he barely had time to call her name. The day Fitz came down, with stained shards of glass in his hand, so dazed, that Kenny had to snap his fingers in front of his face because he would not answer to his name. After that day, he called Olivia and she was no help. True then and true now is the shadow that remains over what happened on that rooftop, though the aftermath is clear. But only a fool would deny it was the inevitable. What Kenny had stopped acknowledging would happen, did start to happen. Fitz disappeared from Maroon. Kenny had expected it, but he had not expected to care. Did not expect to find himself, on the odd night, looking at the door, expecting to see him come in. As white people turned more and more of DC's neighborhoods into glistening boroughs of culture-free banality, they loved to find a unique gem and when they had emptied it of its cool or tired of its charm, they would christen a new 'it' place. He shouldn't have expected Fitz to be any different. Kenny thought that after a couple of weeks, things would be back to normal. But they never were. Instead, Fitz showed up again, looking and behaving like a mess, expecting Kenny to console him like some bartender mammy. Kenny had felt insulted. Only recently did he admit to himself that he was also a little hurt.

…

"May I sit down?" Fitz requested.

Kenny's hand gestured lazily to the small chair wedged between the wall and the front of his desk. His face conveyed a lack of investment in whether Fitz sat or stood. "If you must."

"You and Liv have more in common than I realized," Fitz began, undeterred by Kenny's unaffected attitude.

"That you won't leave us alone?"

"I seemed to have driven away the both of you."

"We weren't ever in a car together, so I don't know where you think you've driven me. It must be so nice to think everything is about you. That when your little fee fees are hurt, it's because of what somebody else has done to you and not because of your own actions."

Fitz's eyebrows furrowed, his face a canvas of confusion. Where was this coming from?

Kenny read the look on his face and took a deep breath. "I don't want to be rude to you, but I was working. Please just say what you gotta say."

"Do you ever leave this place?"

"Excuse me?"

Fitz had done much soul searching and less drinking in the last month. He realized Kenny was right. He did not know him. "When are you not working? I'd like to know the person, not the business owner."

"They're not that separate."

Fitz sighed and crossed one thigh over the other. Kenny's warmth hid behind mildly deprecating humor. When the humor stopped, the chill set in. Fitz noticed and found that he did not like it. Found that in nursing his hurt and confusion away from Maroon, he missed Kenny's humor. Missed their interactions. And he wondered about the anger he had glimpsed back in October. It landed on Fitz, but it felt like the target was somewhere else. He wondered if Kenny would ever answer that question.

"Look, Ken. I…I can't say the man you saw back in October wasn't me. It was me in a hole. I was in a dark place and was not at my best. I want to apologize for that. And— "

"Ah. That's why you're here. Sure, apology accepted. You're fine."

"And I thought maybe we could do something outside Maroon. Get to know each other. What are your interests outside of this place?"

"I have a lot on my mind, and on my plate. You really don't gotta do all this," Kenny said, offering excuses.

"All of what?"

"This," Kenny gestured with a swirl of his hand. "Charm me. Friendship with me isn't a consolation prize. I haven't seen you since election night, when—once again—I had to tell you to leave. Now you just show up expecting to what…take me on a date and woo me into your good graces again?"

"A date?"

"You know what I mean."

It was apparent to Fitz that he needed to give Kenny a reason to trust him. He did disappear and he wanted the opportunity to tell him why. More than that, he liked Kenny—not because he was a connection to Liv, but because he would like to be friends.

"I'm not trying to woo you, Ken— "

"I didn't mean that word."

"I know. I know," Fitz reassured. "The time I've spent away from this place proved to me that being here wasn't just a meeting place for me and Liv. I had to lose her to appreciate that I missed this place for you, too. "

Hearing his words and the tone of his voice, Kenny softened. "Joni Mitchell never lies."

Fitz cracked a smile. "She does not. Don't know what you've got 'til it's gone."

He leaned onto Kenny's desk, now that the tension had dissipated. "But I hope that's not true, he added."

Kenny thought for a moment before answering. "I don't know. She's in a weird place right now— "

Fitz raised his finger. "Uhn, uhn, uhh. No Olivia, remember? I'm talking about you."

"What about me?"

Fitz eyed a piece of scrap paper on Kenny's desk. He reached inside his suit jacket to a pen and began to write. If he had to go old school, he would. Hopefully, Kenny would be humored and know that Fitz saw him as his own person. A person who was good. Fitz was courting goodness into his life right now as he freed himself from the eternal suffering of wanting the impossible.

Kenny fought it but the smirk was visible on his face when he opened the piece of folded paper. "You're a whole fool, you know that?" He shook his head as he marked off one of the boxes on the paper and slid it Fitz's way.

~I'm a good friend, I promise. What do you say? [ ]Yes [ ]Pass~

Fitz's smile was full when he saw the answer and the two men immediately began making plans for what sort of activity they would do on Sunday, and where they would go afterward. They settled on a compromise: indoor rock climbing followed by a drag brunch.

/

/Early February/

The R Street flat in Dupont Circle was not a flat at all. The four-story Victorian row home—like so many others—was no longer a single-family home. But it was the rare building that was divided into two units instead of four. Fitz rented the bottom two-story unit so that he could continue gardening. What he regarded as punishment when he was ten years old developed into a pastime of contentment long after his mother, who taught him, had passed.

Bundled in a waxed Barbour jacket, a stay against the icy rain, Fitz attempted to catch the last of the waning afternoon light. He slipped into the small greenhouse, which he kept artificially warm to protect his perennial favorites until spring, when he could re-pot them out in the open. Fitz watched water rain down on the glossy verdant leaves of the hardy plant with the delicate blossoms. Its red buds were closed tight, but would soon bloom in warmer weather, and when it did it would fill the space with an intoxicating, jasmine-like aroma.

His mind wandered to the same subject that occupied most empty spaces inside him. Months had now passed, and he was firmly ensconced in a new year, trying not to be the same old him. At first, he thought of Olivia as a perennial occasion to which he would gladly rise to meet her every desire. He would be better than good enough for her. His wanting turned to craving in her absence. Though it now receded in size, its intensity blazed just as intensely. Her face crowded his every dream. And how he wished that his love could haunt her so, knowing that his wanting would only grow.

But.

Fitz wanted nothing that was not freely given to him, nor lacking reciprocity. There is no greater freedom than being loved; no greater wickedness than seizing from someone that which they do not will to you. She had not willed him anything but her rejection. In the face of that rejection, it was up to him to decide how to move on. Could he move on whilst honoring what he felt or would that make him pathetic? He was many things, but pathetic was never one of them.

The new year had brought not resolution but resolve for Fitz. He had been experimenting with moving forward without denial. Dating was a new resolve; one he had not done in a very long time. What was the harm, seeing as he was not at all invested in any outcome. Freeing. He thought about his date, who he would meet at her apartment in a few hours and wondered if she would be like the last one. She was a nice girl, Fitz thought. He was always sure to begin with that when he took each of them home at the end of the night, or the beginning of the night if he had insisted on a daytime date because, gosh, wouldn't you know it, I have an early morning lecture. They would always be understanding, until he started to say, 'You're a nice girl, _, but…'

Many of them had been nice girls, that part was always true. Some of them wore headbands as if they had just stepped out of Stepford, on their way to a PTA bake sale, though they had no children. Girls whose hopes and dreams consisted mostly of merging their lives with his, and in the process making his dreams theirs.

That, he did not want.

Fitz thought of those women as 'girls' because they were like maps with no oceans: incomplete. In the place of oceanic depth were detailed blueprints for precisely when, in what manner and under which circumstances they would suck his dick. Wedding plans to which the groom simply needed to be added. Those girls he could not bring himself to invite back to his place for what he knew would be a first, last, only occasion. Because these nice girls—despite their dick-sucking plans, and demure performances on dates—would betray all of that if he hinted at wanting them. So, he never did hint because he never did want. Though he was certainly not a nice guy, Fitz would rather let them think something in him was amiss than take easy advantage.

Principles did not have much to do with it, Fitz was tired of this game with his father. These empty Trojan horse girls Big Gerry insinuated into his life. They were his plan C, which started several weeks after Big Gerry had seen his Plan B out with another man. He had promptly called to berate Fitz for having no sense at all.

Plan A was Mellie. Between Plan B (Lillian) and Plan C (Gaggle of girls), Fitz had had a very good time with his choice of handfuls of women. Not all at once, of course. A fantasy of many men, group sex was not one of his. Not that he told any of these very game women any of his actual fantasies. Too intimate. Intimacy was not one of the things he wanted from them. Company, relief, entertainment, those things he could invite into his life, at least for a short while. These women had careers, not stars in their eyes. They had compelling things to say at dinner, though they could never hide in their eyes that they were negotiating, in their minds, whether it would be their place or his for the nightcap. Always theirs, except for Lillian. He liked her for four weeks until she wanted more than he could, or would, ever offer. Though she said she was not interested in marriage, she wanted to be his girlfriend. Fitz realized that he could not give her that. His heart wasn't there, and it would not be fair.

/

/Mid-April/

Orange blossomed, and pink blushed, too, but purple reigned in the dawn sky. Still frosty at six o'clock, the plant Fitz carried was covered in a fine protective netting. His hand felt below the pot to make sure the folded paper was still taped there.

It had been one year since he walked into Maroon Lounge that fateful evening, the beginning of falling in love with her—his ex-wife's divorce lawyer.

Six months since she fled the rooftop.

Five months since he dropped off her jacket at Wannamaker and Beene, feeling a sense of finality enter him in a way he struggled to understand but was trying to reconcile.

Seven weeks since he opened his door that evening to see an envelope with her handwriting on it. He had been afraid to open it, recalling what she said about text messages. Far from cavalier, letters are full of intent—one she felt she could not deliver to him in person. No good news would be in such a letter. Its contents confirmed the awful feeling that washed over him the afternoon he separated himself from her jacket.

~Dear Fitz,

I meant to thank you for returning my jacket to me. If only you would have followed my instructions and left it with Kenny, my life may not have unraveled the way it did. But I can't blame you for that. I'm not blaming you for that. I did this. I left a door open, and you waltzed right in. Yes, I liked you being there and came back for more. But the longer I let you be there, the more space you held. Until I began to feel claustrophobic. I need to breathe, Fitz. Let me breathe. Please.

Sincerely, Olivia~

Twenty-four minutes ago, he began walking to her apartment, in flagrant disregard of her wishes. It was the last time. In fact, he hoped she would still be asleep. He did not want to see her. He had to read about the demise of her engagement in the Posts' Style section. Kenny avoided telling him that one but was sure to share her good news. He was happy for her and wanted to leave a token of congratulations as well as a reply to her letter. This time he did not knock, instead placing the pot down in front of her door, careful to remove the netting. He did not want to buy her flowers, cut from their source of vitality only to die days later. No, he would leave her with a reminder of what they shared, hoping its fragrance would fill her apartment as she breathed. Though she was the only living thing in her apartment that he had observed, he thought it would be a warm and striking addition when in bloom. The last time he had come there looking for answers; this time he was making a statement. What she made of it was up to her.

A/N: I hope you liked this second part of Fitz's chapter. Olivia is next. It will be interesting to see what you guys think once you have Olivia's side as well. Let me know what you think. I love reading what you have to say. Eeek, the beginning of Geraldo & Ken's friendship...I love it. What kind of plant do you think he left? Don't worry, you'll find out when Olivia finds it. But the flower has already made an appearance in the present storyline ;o).