SBF Seeking …
By La Toya Hankins
Published by JMS Books LLC at Smashwords
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2012 La Toya Hankins
ISBN 9781611522372
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Cover Photo Credit: Jason Stitt
Used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
Cover Design: J.M. Snyder
All Rights Reserved
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No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
SBF Seeking…
By La Toya Hankins
Chapter 1
The dream should have been a tip-off nothing was going to go the way I planned. It was always the same; me slipping on my wedding dress, the shiny satin slipping down my skin as Yolanda, my twin sister and maid of honor, zipped and buttoned. I could hear her smoke-tinged voice in my ear, “Yvette, I told you to lay off those BBQ sandwiches or else get a better girdle.” My mom’s heels tapping out an impatient song as she walked back and forth in the kitchen making sure everything that should be there was not here and vice versa.
Then the dream would change; my uncle Ross and I standing in the foyer of Friendship Missionary Baptist church listening to the wedding march and each other’s breathing. His Old Spice giving me an olfactory kiss of assurance on the forehead as we waited for our—my moment. The doors of the church open and we start to walk and then—I wake up. If that is not a foreshadowing of bad things to come, I do not know what is.
* * * *
Let us start four months before my wedding. I am sitting on the couch in my Raleigh apartment with the patio door half open, enjoying the balmy June night. Armed with my drink of choice for the evening, cranberry juice with a little something extra added, I was yet again shocking the hell out of my best friend.
“Yvette, you did what?” Danita’s astonished tone contrasted with the smooth jazz playing in the background. We were in the middle of one of our standard nightly phone conversations. They usually started around 8 P.M. and lasted until our sides ached from laughter.
“I put an ad in the paper to meet a white man.”
“Why in the name of all that is right in the world would you put an ad in the paper for another man, least of all a white man? Aren’t you and Martin supposed to be getting married in a couple of months?”
In the background, I could hear her two children, eight-year-old Nia and six-year-old Devon, bicker about whatever kids bicker about. Why do kids think when their parents get on the phone, they lose the ability to hear?
“Exactly, I always wondered what it would be like to be with a white man, and this is my last chance to do it before the big day.”
“That doesn’t make sense. You never cease to amaze me. I thought you participating in the Civil War re-enactment in Johnston County for a story last year was a little off. Honey, this trumps that like a big joker.”
I could almost see Danita roll her lime-colored eyes and shake her head. Our friendship sprang from a letter to the editor she wrote three years ago about my first big feature for NC Magazine. The story focused on basketball rivalries across the state and quoted fans and alumni of Atlantic Coast Conference schools. After all, when people here dream of basketball they dream in color—black, gold, red, white, and two shades of blue. Mrs. Danita McSwain Wallace took us to task for forgetting about other collegiate sport rivalries in the state, such as the one among the member schools of the Central Intercollegiate Athletic Association.
Most of the historically black colleges and universities in the state belong to that conference, including my parents’ alma mater, Johnson C. Smith University, my sister’s North Carolina Central University, and Danita’s Fayetteville State University. My omission of the CIAA in my story was even more embarrassing, as Raleigh hosted the final games of the conference for several years running. From that point forward, the 5’10” Irish-African-American registered nurse became my reality checker.
“Girl, in all the years I have known you, I would have never thought you would put yourself out there to hook up with a stranger just to satisfy some curiosity. Now don’t get me wrong, if it was not for an Angela Davis Afro wearing sister named Ella Hooper stopping to give directions to a redhead dude named Ian McSwain some thirty years ago, my black ass might not be here to talk to you on the phone. Still, you are getting ready to get married. Y’all have been together for a while and you just now getting an itch?”
“How are your mom and dad doing,” I asked, trying to divert which I sensed was going to be a lecture of the dangers of sexual impropriety.
“Tom and Helen from The Jeffersons are doing fine,” Danita said, laughing. “Now back to what we were talking about.”
“I see your point, D. I have been with Martin for a while now; maybe I just want to make sure I got the best catch before I retire my fishing pole.”
“Well hell, maybe you should have thought about that before you committed to just fishing in Lake Martin Davis. But girl, let me let you go so I can do something with my hair before I go to bed and it’s way past my children’s bedtime and I know I still don’t hear the TV on,” Danita said, her voice rising as she finished her sentence. I hope that Nia and Devon got themselves together because if they didn’t it was not going to be pretty.
After I got off the phone, I realized I should have better explained my motivation for seeking another man. I always fantasized about integrating my dating pool. In high school there were always a few classmates in my advanced placement classes of different racial backgrounds who caught my eye. There were also the frat boys in my political science classes in college seeking to diversify their co-ed scorecard, but I never gave myself permission to date outside my race. As the big day of October 7 loomed closer, I decided to freak now before I forever vowed my piece.
* * * *
“Wake up, Triangle, this is Karen and Kareem telling you to get up out of bed and get ready to start your weekend.”
I reluctantly rolled over and turned off my clock radio. Another day in the salt mines. Don’t get me wrong, I like my job, but sometimes I wish I could loll around in bed all day, looking at soap operas and eating popcorn. After getting dressed in a pair of jeans and a nice silk blouse, I spent my usual ten minutes putting in my contact lenses. I recently decided to part with my glasses for a more natural look, but the knack of putting those pieces of plastic in my eyes sometimes escaped me. I started wearing specs in second grade and my collection of frames varied according to my moods. Since I did not want my wedding pictures to capture the glare of my glasses, I decided to transition into a more natural look.
After winning the war to see better, I went outside to crank up the hand-me-down Volvo my mother gave me as a graduation present, otherwise known as Bette Blue. As I drove down New Bern Avenue, I applied my lipstick and turned up the radio. They were playing the ‘Mama I Can’t Breathe’ mix of house music and I was giving it all I got. As I passed my favorite Cajun chicken spot, I considered swooping in to get breakfast since I skipped my usual bagel at home, but I decided not to yield to temptation even though the thought of those greasy potato chunks and that southern liquid crack was making my stomach protest.
Pulling into the office parking lot, I reflected on my time at the magazine. I started there just out of college. Me, a 22-year-old whose biggest choice three months prior was whether to have pizza or Chinese for dinner, had a say in which stories ran in a monthly magazine.
“Hi Yvette, ready for another day behind the computer?” Sandi Artenberry asked as she stepped out her silver Honda Accord parked beside me. True to form, my favorite fellow reporter was dressed in her signature pink, from her ballet flats to her artfully applied eye makeup. In spite of our background differences—she was a Southern belle whose family tree included those who fought in the War of Northern Aggression while mine include those who followed the North Star to freedom—I considered her my closest professional friend. We started at NC Magazine on the same day and shared a love of reporting, vampire novels and the healing properties of pasta.
“Ready as I’m ever going to be. What are you doing this weekend?”
“Andrew and I are going to visit his folks in Knoxville,” she said as we walked into the welcoming embrace of our office’s air conditioning.
“I guess I should get used to the idea of visiting the in-laws myself. The wedding isn’t that far away.”
“Have you gotten your dress yet?”
“No, I figured I will do it next month when I go home and visit my mom for the Fourth of July,” I said.
“Well, have fun. I remember how it was trying to get a wedding dress. It seemed like at every fitting I either gained ten pounds or lost ten pounds. I was afraid on the big day my dress would either fall off or I would burst through.”
“Well, I have seen the pictures and you seemed to have filled your dress nicely.” Sandi smiled at the framed picture of her big day she kept on her desk along with the pictures of her twin angels, Ashton and Ashley.
“So what are you doing this weekend?” Sandi asked.
“I’m going to see Martin. He leaves on Sunday for his two weeks’ Air Force reserve drills, so I figured I would go up and give him a good going away present, if you know what I mean,” I said, giving her a wink.
“Yvette, you are too much,” Sandi said with a slight laugh as her Tennessee twang got the best of her.
“Sugar, is there any other way to be?” I replied, laying on my best Dolly Parton sassiness.
After eight hours of making phone calls, returning phone calls, and typing stories, I picked up my purse and headed down I-40 into the arms of my lover boy. As I listened to the radio, I mentally created a playlist for my big day.
Martin and I met at a party during my first year in college. He was a junior and vice president of the campus chapter of the first black fraternity to established roots on campus. I was young and impressionable. He fit my demographics to a tee; country boy from a big family, a fraternity member, good-looking without being too fine, a hard worker, and most importantly, worshipped the ground I walked on. The fact he was easy on the eye helped keep my fires burning. At 6’1”, he was tall enough to keep me looking up from my 5’6” height, but not so tall that I got a neck sprain kissing him. A coffee-colored brother with strong, cable-like arms and legs, I just knew he would make all my dreams come true.
We kept our relationship going after he graduated and moved to Greensboro. Trust me, I’m sure I helped fund a lot of road projects in Alamance County because I always managed to get a speeding ticket in Burlington while I was rushing up I-85 to see him or rushing back to make it to class. After I moved to Raleigh after graduation, we amped up our together time. Finally, after three years of the back and forth he asked me to marry him. I said yes because I didn’t know what else to say.
I stayed with Martin because I didn’t think I could find someone who could give me what I wanted in a relationship. He was the poster boy for stability and based on the widowed household I grew up in, his way of life looked attractive.
“Hi Muffin,” Martin said as I walked into his apartment. He was in his usual Friday afternoon position, sitting on the couch with a remote in one hand and a beer in the other. Despite my best efforts, Martin’s apartment looked like a typical bachelor pad; an obscenely large TV was mounted on a wall, facing a seen-better-days couch. Copies of sports and men’s magazines lay scattered on the coffee table. The faint whiff of day old pizza clung to the furniture.
“Hey baby, you missed me?” I asked, leaning over to kiss his forehead. One thing about me is I’m a sucker for a smell-good man. Catching a whiff of the residual Cool Water he wore each day to work, I felt myself getting a little weak at the knees.
“Yeah baby, whenever when we aren’t together, all I do is think of you,” Martin said, using the same words he used every week.
Sitting beside him on the couch, I asked, “Well, what do you want to do tonight?”
“I don’t know. What do you want to do?”
“Martin, why do I always have to make the social decisions for us?”
“Because you are the one who likes going out all the time; all I need to be happy is a beer, a game and some food.”
“Well I’m sorry, it takes more than that to make me happy. And when I’m happy, you are happy.”
“Don’t I know it?”
“So what do you want to do tonight?”
“I don’t know, what do you want to do?”
I just sat there. We went through this every fucking week. Would it kill him to have a plan for once? Finally, I suggested we go out to eat and catch a movie. Then we, or rather I, decided what we were going to eat. Though I enjoyed being able to make decisions about our social life, I hated Martin always giving in to me. Some people would say he was being accommodating. I would say he was being weak-minded. After dinner, we headed to the theatre. He saw an action flick and I watched some film set in Spain in the 1950’s. My friends thought it strange; when we went to the movies, we rarely saw the same one. I saw it as seeing two movies at the same time since we always described the movies to each other afterwards.
As we headed to his apartment, Martin commented in between shifting gears, “You would have liked this movie, Muffin. The hero’s girlfriend went both ways and he was cool with that.”
“Now why would I have been okay with girl on girl action?” I asked, cutting my eye as we crossed over Battleground Avenue.
“Remember when you said in college you saw nothing wrong with a little cunnilingus between friends. I just figured you would have enjoyed that part of the film.”
Usually Martin found it hard remembering what I tell him from day to day, but that little comment I made while slightly intoxicated ingrained itself into his memory banks. I always felt there was nothing wrong with being gay and empathized with my gay and lesbian friends in high school and college. Mind you, there were no lesbian experiences in my closet, except once during a sleepover when I was fifteen years old. It did not count. Well, not really.
“Well dear, I’ve always said whatever a man can do; a woman can do better and with less fuss.”
“Humph,” was all Martin said. After we got back to his apartment, he took it upon himself to hold up the banner for men everywhere by partaking of my goodness and mercy. With him, sex usually lasted twenty minutes. Martin lived and died by the clock. Three minutes kissing me, two minutes to suck my left breast, two minutes for the right, seven minutes to perform oral sex, then the remaining six minutes was spent thrusting inside of me. By the time I got wet enough to enjoy what was going on, it was over. Sex with him was like running to catch a 5:10 bus and getting there at 5:11; sometimes the bus driver saw you in the rear view mirror trying to get there and wait for you. Sometimes the bus driver pulled off just as you slowed down to catch your breath.
As he fell asleep as if drugged, I laid beside him questioning if I could stand being slightly satisfied sexually for the rest of my life.
The next day, we decided to compromise on our entertainment options. We spent half the day at the mall and the other half at the bowling alley. After we left the bowling alley, I managed to drag him to a formal store to look at tuxedos. Of course, he agreed with whatever I showed him.
I guess the frustration was showing on my face, because after he changed back into his regular clothes and walked out to where I was sitting he announced, “Everyone, the most beautiful, smartest, funniest, sexiest woman that ever came from Pitt County has agreed to marry me and as God as my witness, if I have to try on every tuxedo in the Triad area to make sure the day I say ‘I do’ is special as her, I will do it gladly.” As he concluded, it seemed everyone in the store stopped and applauded. Even though my cheeks burned with embarrassment, his declaration turned me on.
Even though some days this man frustrated me to death with his set ways, he really did love me. Still, I needed to see what else is out there.
* * * *
Chapter 2
After a night filled with “I’m going to miss you” sex, Martin and I parted ways at 4 A.M. He headed west to meet up with his platoon and I headed east back to the City of Oaks. Usually, Sunday morning saw my butt in the ninth pew from the front during the 8 A.M. service at Johnson Road Baptist Church, but I needed some shut-eye. After getting my nap on, followed by my standard coffee and the Sunday paper, I decided to check my date ad mailbox. After listening to a series of duds, my ear perked up at one recorded only two hours before.
“His name is Neil. He is a paralegal from Albany, N.Y. Big hockey fan. Enjoys reading. He is the oldest of four children and has lived here for three years,” I told Danita the next day as we cooked dinner at my house. We were having an It’s-too-damn-hot-to-cook-inside cook out and while we were in the kitchen fixing salad, our steaks and hamburgers sizzled on the grill outside on my patio.
“He likes black and white movies and jazz, just like me. He’s went to Syracuse and majored in poli sci.”
“Damn, girl what’s his blood type,” Danita asked, sipping her rum and coke as she cocked a knowing look at me. I can be a real fact gatherer when it comes to getting people’s backgrounds. Some people may call it nosey; I say it is just a matter of wanting to know whom I am dealing with. One of the lines I used to get my first internship in college was I am genetically engineered to be nosey. I came from a long line of women who valued gossiping on the phone with a neighbor from across the street more than taking a call from a long distance relative.
“B-negative, Hell, I don’t know. When I got back from Greensboro yesterday, I checked my phone mailbox from the ad and his message was on there, along with three other messages from guys too weird to waste my time calling back. Neil’s message made him sounded intelligent and fun so, I called him back.”
“So when are y’all going to meet?” Danita asked, stepping outside to check our dinner.
“Wednesday at Pandora’s Box on Hillsborough.”
“A coffee bar in June for a first date, that’s so you, Vet.”
“Remember what my ad said, ‘Black coffee looking for some cream to add to her cup.’ I figured a coffee bar would be the right place for us to meet. Plus they sell Snapple and tea.”
“Alright, Juan Valdez.”
“Well, you know what can I say,” I said stroking my invisible mustache a’ la Jimmy Walker from Good Times.
“I still think you shouldn’t do this but then again, what do I know. It’s not as if I have the best record when it comes to men. Did I tell you Keith called to tell me he is moving in with this gal he met at the Biker’s Rally,” Danita asked, lowering her voice so her kids playing video games in my living room wouldn’t hear.
“No,” I said, my eyes open in astonishment at her soon to be ex-husband’s nerve. The two split last year after she caught him with another chick. He tried to play, ‘baby it wasn’t me,’ but Danita has 20/20 vision and a damn good attorney so, three months later, Mr. Double Timer received papers indicating a need for his presence in divorce court. I guess it was somewhat ironic as I planned my happily ever after, my best friend was trying to figure out her right here, right now.
“Yeah, but the kicker is the bitch lives down the street from you in the Arbors.”
“I’m sorry, D.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it. Just get ready for the Wonder Twins to be bopping down here more often to get goodies.”
As if on cue, Devon and Nia raced into the kitchen to check the status of dinner, which fortunately was ready. After blessing the food, we took our places around my small dining room table and proceeded to enjoy the fruits of the grill. Typically, beef wasn’t for dinner in my house. My crack food of choice leaned toward pork. I joked with my friends my ham, sausage, and barbeque consumption secured many hog farmer’s children a chance to secure a higher education. After all, if I didn’t buy the product, Daddy couldn’t contribute to the college fund. Still, sometimes a good steak seasoned, seared and served with a good catch-up session with an old friend did the heart good, even if does lead to clogged arteries later down the line.
After we finished eating, I left the kids to the video games and Danita and I went upstairs to pick out proper attire for my venture across the color line. As Danita and I talked, she kept an ear peeled for what her kids were doing downstairs. It seems every fifteen minutes she yelled, either “Y’all too quiet, what ‘cha doing?” or “I can hear the TV up here, turn it down please”. One thing I love about my girl, she can multi-task. Be an attentive friend and still make sure her kids don’t tear down my house.
The practical, type A part of me figured since it was an interracial thing I should wear black and white. Danita thought the idea was hooky but said my white silk shirt and black linen pants looked suitable.
“But then again, you know how linen gets in the heat. No need to be wrinkled when you meet this man for the first time.”
“Okay, point taken. How about my white cotton dress with the flowers on it? You remember I wore it to the concert downtown last year,” I asked, pulling it out the back of the closet. As I held it up to my body, Danita nodded her approval.
“It will work, plus it makes you look like you got an ass which we both know is not true.”
“Ha-ha, we all can’t be built like an Amazon, Ms. ‘She’s a brick house,’” I said, doing my best 70’s funk band imitation.
“Don’t hate the player, hate the game,” Danita said tossing her ponytail and smiling wide enough you could almost see her invisible braces. “But you know you be giving the boys fever Ms. ‘Brown Sugar with the cocoa eyes and dem there talented thighs’.”
As I looked at our shared reflections in my bedroom mirror, I reflected on how my friend came out with a good hand in the game of interracial offspring. You know when the races combine sometimes things go horribly wrong. Danita ended up with the best of both worlds. From her father, she got her eye color, hair, and height. From her mom, she got hips, boobs and ass. Standing five inches taller than I do, she need not worry about me raiding her closet. She had good fashion sense so I trusted her opinion. White dress with the black flowers it would be.
Tuesday was heaven. At work, all my sources returned my phone calls so I was able to complete all my assignments. When I came home, I managed to get a parking spot right in front of my door. Dinner was a delicious steak salad from the batch of meat we grilled the night before. On TV was my favorite movie, Some Like It Hot, and after the movie I finished off another reading of my favorite Zora Hurston Book, Tell My Horse.
* * * *
Then Wednesday came and it was back to reality.
After oversleeping, almost slipping in the shower as I rushed to jump out to get dressed, and managing to drop my contact lens in the bathroom sink, I discovered the extra pounds I put on since last summer stood in my way of getting dressed in my perfect black and white combo. I was going to have to wear the linen and silk after all. Once I get a color scheme in mind I try to stick with it. With a sigh, I started ironing my outfit. In the middle of my war against wrinkles, the phone rang.
“Vet, are you up? Have you read the paper,” Sandi asked as I heard the frenzied melodies of morning cartoons in the background.
“No, why,” I asked, cradling the phone in the crook of my neck as I draped my shirt over my bed and moved on to the pants.
“Your favorite sheriff in the whole wide world got busted last night for accepting drug money. It is all over the front page and the local stations are leading with it.”
I put down the spray starch with a smile. Yes! My first week at the magazine, I did an interview with a chicken-shit sheriff of some piss-poor county who thought he was the authority when it came to law enforcement. He was the kind of good ol’ boy never without a toothpick in his mouth. His way of moving through the world meant too much belly, not enough pants, and calling all women ‘darling’, and ‘sugar’. As the president of the state sheriffs’ association, he always made an excuse to come by the office when he was in Raleigh to drop off press releases and grin up in my face with his tobacco stained teeth.
Finally, he sank so low as to ask me out on a date. He called me at home and suggested a little out-of-the-way motel in Johnston County. Somehow, in his haste to get with me, he forgot his wife and four kids. I did not forget, so I turned him down. I was like Ewww and then I got uncomfortable. My home phone number is unlisted so I wondered how he managed to get it. Then I realized being in law enforcement could be helpful when you are trying to stalk someone. He probably called some of his friends saying he was ‘investigating’ me and they rolled over with the digits.
He did not take kindly to my rejection of his offer to give me some down home loving. From then on, it was as if an iron curtain slammed down when it came to the association. To get good news from the group was like pulling teeth and forget about getting a comment when it came to something bad. So hearing about the arrest really made my morning.
“What happened?”
“Well, it seems this drug dealer he arrested four years ago ran this money laundering scheme for some dealers out of New York. Ashley, eat your breakfast. Ashton, put your dish in the dishwasher. I’m sorry, where was I? Oh yeah, the drug dealer offered Billy Ray a cut of the action if he could get some of his deputies to turn their heads when the group used the roads in his county to get from point A to B. Well, one of the officers developed a conscience and turned the boss in.”
“Well, thanks for the tip! This has certainly gotten my day off to a good start.”
“Anytime I can help. I will see you in the office after I drop my kids off at the baby sitters.”
Driving to work I thought maybe this day will not be so bad after all.
Boy was I wrong.
“Yvette, I take it you have seen the paper? That source of yours at the sheriffs’ association has gotten arrested and I want you to work on a story for next month’s issue about cops who break the laws instead of enforcing them,” Kimberly Cleaver said as she barreled toward me.
K.C., the Queen Bee, ran the newsroom with a sheer force of will. Standing 5'1”, her thirst for excellence and disdain for excuses dominated the newsroom. Copy editors dating back to the Carter administration shook when she approached with corrections. Nothing was more dreaded than The Look—when those piercing ice blue eyes stared at you over her glasses. I have received more than my share of those glances, so hearing my new story assignment did not cause the scrambled eggs and cheese biscuit I inhaled for breakfast to sit well in my stomach. Shouting instructions to my co-workers who happened to be in her vocal line of fire, she quickly closed the gap between us as I reluctantly moved toward my desk.
“Kelly, go down to Photo and see if we have a recent picture of this man. Brian, check with advertising. We are going to need space so we will need to move some ads. Charles, I want a time-line graphic about this man’s career. Yvette, devote as long as you need today on this story, but since this is going on the cover next month, I need it ready to go by tomorrow. Make it sparkle and by all means, get a comment from the low-life,” Kimberly said, while roaring past me and heading into her office.
By five o’clock everyone I needed to talk to had either commented or declined out of a sense of ‘There but for the grace of God go I’, except the one person who counted—the infamous sheriff.
“Sandi, I am supposed to meet three of my bridesmaids at six for a fitting. It has been like putting a camel through a needle to get these three in the same place at the same time. But I haven’t heard back from the sheriff,” I said, sitting on her desk as she played Solitaire on her computer.
“Say no more. I am waiting on a few late calls myself so I can catch your phone. When he calls, if he calls, I’ll let you know.”
“You are a godsend. I will come back by the office tonight if he doesn’t call so I can add it into my story,” I said grabbing my purse and shutting my computer down.
“I owe you one.”
“Don’t mention it,” Sandi said waving her hand as I rushed past her desk. “Just remember this when I need a baby sitter.”
As I jumped in my car and merged into the downtown traffic, my heart kept pace with the go-go music playing on the radio during the afternoon traffic jam.
Finally, I arrived in front of the coffee shop and by the luck of the draw, found a parking space just a few feet away from the door. Once I walked in, I looked around to find Neil. As far as I could tell, I arrived first, so I got a drink to calm my nerves.
As I cased the joint for a seat, I realized this wasn’t a bad meeting spot after all. The aroma of coffee mixed with the low hum of students, professors, and professionals who make their livings up and down Hillsborough Street. Despite this being my first time inside the place, it made for an environment where a black woman and a white man meeting for the first time would not seem too out of place.
I found a spot. Midway between the counter and the entrance, it marked a way for me to see him before he saw me and if needed, make a dash. When we agreed to meet, I described what I would be wearing, so when this cute guy with the neat goatee approached, I felt at ease.
“Yvette, I’m Neil from the paper,” he said, smiling shyly as he sat down at my table. I was the only chocolate sister in the place so it was not too hard for him to pick me out the crowd. Matching the voice with the face was a pleasant experience. His curly brown hair cut in a short style framed a handsome, rugged face. The fact he wore glasses also earned him some points. Looking at him put me in mind of the country singer who did the duet with a rapper from St. Louis a few years back.
“Hi, nice to finally meet you in person; I feel like I know you already.”
“Same here. Do you want something to drink? Oh, I see you have something already. I’m going to grab a latte.”
As we sipped our drinks, the resident artist tuned up her guitar and started to play. Then to break the ice, I guess, Neil asked how my day went.
From that point on, the sound of my voice dominated the conversation. Let us just say when I am nervous I tend to talk. I tend to talk a lot. I was really nervous. After fifteen minutes, I stopped for a breath and asked how his day went.
“Not as exciting as yours.”
“What exactly does a paralegal do?”
In a voice that hinted at his upstate New York roots, Neil told me the bulk of his job was doing the legal legwork for the five attorneys in his office. He briefed clients, researched cases and made sure, when the attorneys went to court or negotiated settlements, they were well prepared.
“How did you get interested in law?” I asked
“My sister Catherine and I are two years apart and both wanted to get advance degrees after college. She wanted to become a vet and I wanted to become a lawyer. Since our parents could not afford to help us both, we flipped a coin. She won and I decided to take classes at a community college in New York to become a paralegal. I can learn the business and save up some money to pay my way through law school.”
A man with a good fiscal head on his shoulders. I like him, I like him.
“Well, how did you hear about Raleigh?”
“A fraternity brother of mine in college married a girl from here and when I came down for the wedding, I ran into one of her father’s friends who has a law firm. I followed up when I got home and he offered me a job.”
We talked for a few more minutes, then my purse began vibrating. We both stared at it for a few seconds until it hit me it was probably Sandi. I walked outside to take the call. Sandi said the sheriff would fax over a statement in an hour. She added, with a smirk in her voice, he did not plan to comment to anyone but me.
“Listen Neil, I had a lovely time but duty calls,” I said back at the table.
“No problem, I have to head home anyway,” Neil said, getting up to walk out with me.
“Let me give you my home number in case you want to see me this weekend,” I said, as he pulled out his cell phone to input the numbers.
When I called him back from the ad, I used my cell. I have to put a face to the name before you get the home digits. After the data exchange, we stood there staring at each other for a few minutes trying to determine the best way to part ways. I am a hugger so after a chaste embrace; I got in my car and pulled out onto the busy road. As I drove home, I felt a twitch in my stomach. I actually went out with another man! It bothered me for about a minute, then I decided there was no need to worry myself over something that might not go beyond a simple cup of coffee.
Of course, when I got in, I filled Danita in on all the details. She voiced her approval of my physical description of Neil and chuckled with me about my workday. I considered for a minute calling Yolanda to tell her about my escapade, but reconsidered it. She can be a little long-winded, especially when it comes to matters involving men. So, deciding to hold off on sharing my adventure, I popped in a frozen dinner, flicked on the TV, and reflected on a Wednesday unlike any I have ever experienced.
* * * *
Chapter 3
“I thought we really hit it off, so why hasn’t he called? It’s been almost three days,” I wondered as I sat on my couch watching the six o’clock news. Danita sighed into the phone as yet again I expressed my frustration at the world not revolving around me.
I knew this time of the day Danita would be in her car cursing the other drivers on US-70 as she headed home from work. While I spent my day shaping words, she spent hers saving lives as an oncology nurse. Her outlook on our lines of work was, when I make a mistake, they make a correction in the next issue. When she makes a mistake, the family makes arrangements and notifies the next of kin.
“Maybe he decided he didn’t want to do black girls after all. Sisters can be a lot to handle for any man and if you are thinking about coming across the color line, you need to come strong or don’t come at all.”
“True, but Neil seemed really interested and I was really hoping to go out again. Oh well, you know its Friday night and I just got paid,” I said, singing a little snippet of the universal payday jam.
“Far be it from me to deny you a chance to spend money. Why don’t you come over and maybe we can go out and do something. Give me an hour to get home and get myself together.” Keith has the kids; or rather, his mother has the kids while he is out catting around with that tramp. After the day I have had, a night out will be just fine.
“Cool, see you around seven-ish.”
As I drove down I-440, I wondered if the expectation of Neil calling made sense. Meeting someone face to face is different from a phone conversation. Maybe he did not find me attractive. Maybe he realized he preferred white potatoes instead of yams. Maybe he had not paid his cell phone bill and they cut him off. Hell, it could happen.
Once I made it to Danita’s we consulted our wallets and considered our dining options. We ended up at a pizza place off Peace Street with a killer outdoor seating area.
Being an Army brat and trained to adapt quickly to new situations, Danita never met a stranger. By time our meal came, she, our waiter, and the three men at the table next to us were fast friends. After dinner and a round of drinks brought by the tableful of admirers, we headed over to a karaoke bar where Danita drunkenly tried to sing “Private Dancer.” There is nothing like seeing your best friend teetering on heels while trying to shake her hips like Tina to bring a smile to your face.
When I went home, I thought about calling Neil, but decided it wouldn’t be a good idea. After all, 2 A.M. is not the best time to call someone you just met just to say hello. Instead of drunken dialing, I waited until the next day. After finishing my Saturday ritual of cleaning, I called him. In a voice I hoped sounded light, I left a message with my home number. I hoped my efforts would be successful. If not, que sera, sera.
So as not to sit and wait for the phone to ring, I headed out to do some shopping and get a bite to eat. When I walked in three hours later, my answering machine welcomed me with Neil’s request to call him. After pouring a glass of iced tea to settle myself, I picked up my trusty cordless and let my fingers do the walking.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s me Yvette. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, just sitting here. You are a hard person to catch. I tried calling you at home Thursday and yesterday but I kept getting this person with a funky accent who said he did not know anyone named Yvette Thurman. Of course, the piece of paper with your cell number is nowhere to be found.”
“That’s odd, what number did you call?”
“555-5902.”
“That’s not my home number. Oh snap, the first three digits are my home numbers, but the last four is my cell number. I must have been so nervous I combined them when I gave you my number Wednesday.”
“Well I’m glad you called me back. What are you doing tonight?”
“Nothing, why?” I said, smiling with anticipation.
“I was wondering if you would like to come over and watch a movie.”
“Sure, let me get your address.”
He gave it to me and we agreed I would come over at eight. As I twirled around my kitchen in glee, I noticed the time. I did not have much time to get ready for…whatever.
First order of business—get cleaned up. Hanging-out with the girls or heading to work only required a quick shower. Going over to a man’s house for possible stuff and such called for full body immersion in the tub.
After soaking and scrubbing, I stood nude in front of my closet trying to figure out what to wear. Should I go for casual with a pair of jean shorts and a sorority shirt or the sexy siren look with the tight tank dress and platforms? I was planning on see another man four months before my wedding and I did not have a thing to wear. Finally, I settled on simple comfort and picked out my favorite sundress and sandals. Thank God my pedicure was still holding up.
Then I called Danita.
“Danita, guess what I’m getting ready to do,” I shouted into the telephone.
“What?”
“I’m going over to Neil’s for a movie and maybe some nookie.”
“What? Hold on let me tell Deidre to turn this music down,” she said, yelling to her sister to turn down the stereo.
“Girl over here ‘bout to blow out my speakers, what did you just said you were going to do?”
“I called Neil this morning and left a message for him to call me back. Well, he did and he invited me over. He has been trying to get in touch with me but somehow when I gave him my home number, he entered them wrong in his phone. That is why he had not called. Oh D, I’m so nervous.”
“He invited you over to his house? Vet, you just met this man and you are going to his house? He might be a serial killer or something. Get you over there and we never hear from you again.”
“Neil is not a serial killer. You remember that as soon as he gave me his full name, I ran a background check on him. I do my due diligence. He has no criminal records.”
Sounding like a worried mother, Danita said, “Still this whole thing just makes me itch.”
“D, don’t worry. I have been a big girl for a while and nothing will happen without my say-so. If it makes you feel better, I will give you his address so you know where I am.”
“Okay. Well the bottom line is to be prepared. If you think you might be getting your freak on, take some condoms. To ease my troubled mind, take the pepper spray I gave you. If he starts acting the ass, give him the gas face for real,” Danita said laughing. “I was going to invite you to bust some spades since my sister and her boyfriend don’t seem to want to go home, but it seems like you have other plans.”
“Thanks for the advice. Shit, it’s almost eight and he lives way in Briar Creek. I better hit the road.”
“Not before you give me his address.”
After giving her the details and promising to call her later or else she would send Raleigh’s finest to his front door, I headed to my car. I know it may seem strange for my best friend who was going through a divorce due to infidelity to be so nonchalant about my stepping out. But Danita had said on more than one occasion since my engagement that she didn’t think I was ready to walk down the aisle. I guess she thought sex with a stranger would cause me to see the light since her words had not done the trick.
As I drove to Neil’s house, I blasted the radio to silence the doubts in my head. I am a black woman engaged to a black man, but I am heading to a white man’s house I have laid eyes on only one time, to watch a movie. The option of having sex could also arise as part of tonight's get-together.
My pondering soon took a backseat to DJ Ambitious kicking off his usual Saturday set, Origins. The show involved him playing a song, say ‘Flashlight’ by Parliament Funkadelic, then play every song which sampled it. One time, I swear his entire four-hour program featured “Sex Machine” by James Brown.
After what only seemed like ten minutes, I pulled into Neil’s apartment parking in one of the more upscale complexes in the city. Where the parking lot of my digs off Capital Boulevard featured Buicks and Hondas, this parking lot housed Benzes and Hummers. As I scanned the apartment buildings, I wondered how much did being a paralegal pay. Finally, I found it and after a minute to calm my nerves and pop a mint, I got out and made my way to his door. I stood in front of Apt. D and with a nervous hand, rang the doorbell.
He opened the door, wearing a pair of soccer shorts and an NYU shirt. Neil smiled as he said, “Hi. I hope you found the place okay.”
“Sorry I’m late. I got a little turned around when I was looking for the complex.”
“Don’t feel bad. All my friends end up driving past it at least twice when they come see me,” Neil said, walking into his apartment. As I took a seat on the couch, I checked out his space and its inhabitants.
“I hope you don’t mind cats. I got Probate in college and Malpractice just showed up on my doorstep two months ago,” he said, as the cats leapt up on the couch on either side of me.
Legal terms as cat names, how cute, I thought, watching the cats watch me. The one called Malpractice was a nice healthy tabby but the other one was a true fat cat who looked like a meow would kill him.
“Do you want something to drink? I have some pop, beer or wine.”
“Wine will be fine,” I said, checking out the nice leather furniture, impressive stereo system, and a picture of two little white boys with their arms around each other hanging on the wall beside the sofa.
“That’s me and my baby brother Philip. He is a junior at Penn State. You know my older sister is in vet school in Boston and my other sister Sarah is a ‘tress’ in New York City,” Neil said handing me a glass of white wine and sitting down beside me.
“A what?”
“A tress, a wannabe actress supporting herself as a waitress.” Neil said smiling, showing off nice even white teeth.
He has a sense of humor. Brownie points for him.
Neil popped “To Have and To Have Not” into the player and drew us into the world of hard-boiled detectives during the 1940’s. While we sat in the near darkness staring into the screen, I could feel Neil looking at me.
After the movie finished, the lights came back on to reveal the time, 9:30 P.M. Neil had invited me over for a movie, which we just watched. I did not want to go home. Maybe we could order a pizza or go out for a bite. The last time real food passed my lips was eight hours ago and the chips we munched during the movie was not going to cut it.
“Do you want to listen to some music? I remember you said you were a fan of jazz. I have some Coltrane we could listen to.”
“Sure,” I said, glad he was not going to kick me out. I hoped my stomach growling would not drown out Trane tenor sax.
With a click of the remote, A Love Supreme filled the air. As I settled back and let the music wash over me, Neil got up to refill our glasses. When he came back, he sat closer to me than before. It made me a little nervous, so I tried to cover up by engaging in conversation. From the start, I began on the bad foot by talking about one of the three major no-no’s of first date conversation: sex.
“I consider myself to be an open-minded person. Hell, else I would not be here. I believe attraction does not see color or gender. It just happens.”
“I agree,” Neil said, leaning towards me with a hungry look in his eye. While having his attention fed my ego, it also made me a little uneasy. Mentally, I calculated how many moves it would take for me to get my hand in my purse to grab my spray.
“Yeah, I guess you do,” I said, smiling nervously.
To cover up my jitters, I talked more, digging myself a bigger hole. For lack of sense or anything else to say, I launched into my own sexual experiences. I ended up telling him more than even my doctor knew. I even told him the story about the honey, men’s briefs and the melon baller.
As I stopped to catch my breath, it seemed Neil’s eyes were just inches from my face.
“What?”
“I was just wondering if I should ask you for a kiss.”
“Sure ask me. I might say yes.”
“Can I have a kiss?”
“Yes, you can have a kiss.”
We have a winner! Neil’s lips were so soft, like new pillows. He did not try to put his tongue in my mouth or slobber on me. His effort left me impressed and a little bit moist. After all, kissing well is not one of Martin’s strong points and the keys to my kingdom starts with being able to smooch.
“God, you’re good. Let’s do this some more.”
Like two teen-agers on their parents’ couch, we necked passionately. His two cats lazed on the floor and stared up at us as if they were watching a feline version of Wild Kingdom. Blame the alcohol and the Neil’s lip-tastic performance, but soon I heard a voice saying ‘let’s take this to the bedroom’. Amazingly, this voice sounded like mine.
Trying not to run, we entered a relatively neat bedroom with the standard bed, computer and posters on the wall. Unlike my fiancé’s bedroom, Neil’s room did not smell like stale ass. Instead, it put me in mind of fresh laundry. This thing is getting better and better, I thought as I sat on his bed.
“Oh, you play the trumpet?” I asked catching sight of the music stand and instrument located in the corner.
Shucking off his T-shirt and shorts to reveal a pair of purple silky-looking boxers, Neil followed my stare, “Yeah, my mom made me take it when I was younger. When I got older, I quit as part of my teen rebellion. Recently, I realized I like playing so I decided to get back into it. But don’t ask me to play anything, I’m not that good.”
As Neil stood there half-naked and looked at me, I realized one of these things do not look like the other. Slowly I removed my clothes and soon I stood there clad in my good bra and panties I broke out only for special occasions. Neither one of us said anything as we climbed under the sheets. Feeling my sober mind taking over, I wondered if I was making a big mistake. Scratch that, maybe a bigger mistake.
“Are you sure you want this?” Neil asked as he turned off the light beside his bed.
“Yes,” I said in a small voice.
Without another word, he rolled on top of me in the darkness and began kissing me. At first, his kisses were a little hesitant, but he soon got into the flow of things as I gently moaned and twisted my body as he sent shivers of pleasure up and down my spine. He touched my skin as if handling merchandise in an expensive store when all you have is $10 in your pocket. I was slightly annoyed and appreciative at the same time. I was sure his hesitation stemmed from having never touched a black woman before. It felt nice to have someone pay attention to me like I was new-issued instead of same old, same old. As we explored each other’s nooks and crannies, our underwear soon found its way onto the floor. Lying on Neil’s cotton purple sheets, I relaxed as the roller coaster of the evening chugged upward.
Neil took his time kissing his way down my body. I could feel him moan softly as he sucked my breasts, first the right then the left. Instead of Martin’s rushing to get the task completed, Neil savored the experience. His mouth felt good on my body and he knew how to use his tongue to my advantage. As he explored the contours of my breast with his mouth, I swooned. Oh my God, take me now; this is feeling some kind of good.
The real test came as he moved further down my belly toward my altar of Venus. Now, any woman will tell you nothing is worse than someone attempting to drive downtown who doesn’t know how to read a roadmap. Involuntarily, I flinched as he penetrated my vagina with his tongue. I soon relaxed as I realized Neil knew the highway, byways, and a few shortcuts. As both pair of lips parted with satisfaction, I smiled and reflected on the poster of the Milky Way on his ceiling.
As he flicked his tongue back and forth over my clit and licked me like an ice cream cone, his tongue unlocking secrets no had ever thought to unlock, I fought to keep from screaming too loud. Time slowed down as I basked in the glow of someone really focusing on meeting my needs. I felt like I was floating on air. Martin never made me feel this good. I was glad I gone through with this.
Then Neil put on his condom, entered me, and the fun ended.
“Oh, I’m sorry. This has never happened to me before,” Neil said after five minutes of trying to bust open my piñata with a toothpick. My first experience over the color line and lasted less time than it takes to boil an egg. While the appetizer satisfied, I had looked forward to the main course and this patron was not pleased.
“Don’t worry about it. It is probably just nerves. Why don’t we wait a little while longer and try it again.”
We soon went back to kissing and thankfully, I did not have long to wait until his little soldier was standing at attention and ready to go back into battle. Unfortunately, he ended up waving a white flag after ten minutes on the front line.
This time the silence in the air was heavy. The only sounds were his cats scratching at the door and the rustle of a cigarette package as Neil took out a cigarette.
“You want one?”
“No thanks, I don’t smoke.”
“Well, I guess we should get dressed,” Neil said, putting his shirt and shorts back on without putting on his boxers. Not knowing what else to do, I got dressed as well.
Clothed and silent we went back into the living room and sat on opposite sides of the couch. We sat there for at least five minutes without either one of us saying a word. “Listen, this has been fun, but I guess I should be turning in. I have an early meeting at the office in the morning so, I need to get some sleep,” Neil said.
A Sunday morning meeting at a law firm? Give me a break. My momma did not raise a fool. I gathered my purse, told him thank you for the movie and the other things and went on my way.