After The Dance (38 page)

I breathed a sigh of relief when she finally arrived at our agreed-upon meeting place, looking fit and trim and even finer than before. The only thing was she had on these dark glasses. It wasn’t until she reached me that I realized they were in fact the very same shades I figured I’d either misplaced or lost at Bet’s sister’s wedding. It was drizzling and the sky was way too overcast for her to need sunglasses, so I didn’t know if she was trying to make fun of me or just being her usual coy and manipulative self.

I frowned, snapped up my raincoat’s collar, and was fixing my mouth to say something nasty when she smiled, said hello, and thanked me for coming. I’m saying, the dimples alone almost did me in, man. And she sounded so soft, sweet, and delectable—not only did I have to lick my lips to keep from drooling—but it took every drop of determination in me not to just grab hold of her and start laying on both the lines and the moves.

But the warrior in me wasn’t fixing to have it. Sounding for all the world like Mr. T, the voice in my head barked, “Have some balls about you, boy! After all ol’ girl put you through, I know you’re not ’bout to let her off that easy.”

That’s right, it was at Mr. T’s insistence that I returned Faye’s warm, friendly greeting with a somber face and a
stiff nod before I said, “Here’s your book. You got my tape?”

After we’d finished with the fake formality of the false exchange, I said, “Cool. I guess maybe I’ll see you around sometime,” then turned and started back to my car.

“Carl,” she called after me. “I thought if you had a moment, maybe we could talk. You got someplace you need to be?”

I stopped, turned around, looked at her, and said, “Nope. I just figured we were done here. You got something you wanna say?”

She shuffled her feet, thrust her hands in the pockets of her jacket, and said, “Well, I was just wondering—you know—how you’ve been?”

Far as I was concerned, she may as well have shoved a thorn bush up my behind and given it a good twist. With my arms folded across my chest I stared at her long and hard before I asked, “How the hell do you think? Listen, Faye, if you’ve got something to say, come on and spit it out already.”

I thought for sure she’d react defensively to the undisguised venom in my voice. Instead she just stared back at me from behind the shades for a moment before saying, “My mama asked about you.”

“Yeah?” I said, as I walked back toward her. “You tell her I’d already used up my three humps and been sent on my merry little way?”

Rather than curse or even curl her upper lip at me, Faye turned her face toward the river and in that same quiet voice said, “She wanted to know if you were coming down on Monday for the Labor Day barbecue. I told her I hadn’t asked you yet.”

I reached out, slid my hand beneath her chin, and tilted her face back in my direction. “So what’s up?” I said. “You asking or just making polite conversation?”

She brushed my hand off and shuffled her feet again.
“Come on, Carl. Don’t you see me trying? Why you got to be so hard? I mean, didn’t you once tell me if I ever had a change of heart to let you know?”

“That’s funny,” I said, “‘Cause last time I checked, you didn’t have a heart.”

Bull’s-eye! I could tell by the way her jaws tightened and her lips twitched I’d finally hit her where it hurt.

She said, “Fine. If that’s how you feel, Carl, fine. Just forget about it.”

“Besides, it’s too late,” I said, aiming my words at her back as she walked away from me. “As of last night I’m officially seeing someone. But just out of curiosity, what kind of game were you and I supposed to play next? Isn’t baseball season just about over?”

She picked up her pace and toughed her tone. “Like I said, Carl, that’s fine. Are you through? Is there anything else?”

“Yeah, one more thing,” I said, still hot on her trail as she hoofed it back to her car. “Give me back my damn glasses.”

We nearly bumped noses when in midstep she swung around and said, “What?!”

I backed up a bit and said, “You heard me. The glasses. Give ’em to me. They’re mine and I don’t want you having any more excuses to call me up and waste my time.”

Her hand flew up, and thinking I was about to get the taste smacked outta my mouth, I’m not ashamed to say I flinched. But instead of lashing out, she slid the shades from her face and held them out to me. Stunned, I watched as her eyes blinked, her lashes fluttered, and a couple of big, fat tears rolled down her reddened cheeks. “Here,” she said, tossing the glasses at me. “You happy now?”

Call me stupid, but the last thing I’d intended to do was make her cry. As she stood there with tears streaming and her nose starting to snot, all the anger I’d ever felt toward
her melted. “Faye, wait,” I said, reaching for her as she turned away. “Listen, baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” she said, slapping my hand away and resuming her done-had-enough strut. “You’ve more than made your point, Carl. I really don’t care to hear anything else you have to say.”

I could feel myself falling like a water-filled balloon tossed from the top of some tall building, and in a last-ditch effort to keep from going splat, I said, “Well, what about your mama then?” Of course, ol’ girl didn’t take it quite the way I meant it.

This time when she swirled around there was some sho’ ’nuff hellfire in her eyes. “My mama?! What about my mama?!” She took to emphasizing her words by poking me in the chest with the book she was holding. “Man, I know you’re not about to stand up here and play the durn dozens with me ’cause if that’s what you think …”

“Faye, Faye, Faye,” I kept saying until she finally stopped her yapping and hollered, “What?!”

I said, “When you talk to your mama tonight, tell her that I’m looking forward to seeing her on Monday, if not before then. Tell her I’d take her daughter anywhere on God’s green earth that she might want to go. I mean, assuming we could get there and back on a tank of gas or two.”

Her face softened for a moment, then soured again. “Right. And what about your girlfriend? What’s she gonna be doing? Riding in the backseat giving directions and pointing out landmarks?”

“What girlfriend?” I asked. “I made that up. I’m not seeing anyone. I’m not.”

She rolled her eyes and said, “Carl, I saw you with her. Last Saturday? Audubon Park? You, her, and the kids?”

I started laughing and said, “You’re right. That was me you saw in the park—me, my kids, and my sister Sheila.
She was visiting from out of town. It’s true. Okay, where’s your phone? I’ll call her and let her tell you herself. You believe me?”

She flipped the pages of the book—
Jungle Passions
—over her thumb a couple of times and looked toward the river again before turning to me and saying, “I want to.”

“So do,” I said.

She nodded and pursed her lips.

I started to kiss her, but then I got a better idea. After tossing my shades, the video, and her book into the grass, I started unzipping her jacket.

“Carl, what are you doing?” she said. “It’s raining out here.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” I said, unfastening my own coat and pulling her against me. “If I don’t do anything else, I’m gonna keep you safe from the storm.”

When I wrapped my arms around her, pressed my cheek to hers, and started rocking from side to side, she responded with an “Uhumpf. I should have known. And what, pray tell, are we supposed to be dancing to?”

I said, “Oh, I don’t know. What do you say we try a little ‘Carl and Faye, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g …”

She looked at me and cracked up.

I circled a finger around one of her dimples and told her, “You know, baby, all I want, all I’ve ever wanted since that very first night we danced together was to make you happy and give you a reason to smile like that.”

Her face turned serious and she said, “I know and I’m sorry, Carl, about everything, especially not telling you about my son. I wanted to—a lot of times. But when I realized how much you loved and were willing to sacrifice for your own children, it only made me that much more ashamed …”

“Stop,” I said. “You only did what at the time you thought was best for you and the kid. Now, as far as you going outta your way to hide the situation from me—
yeah—you should have damn well known better than to think that I’d ever try to stand in judgment of you. Me? ‘Mr. Sho’ ’Nuff Less-than-Perfect himself? Come on, baby, I thought you knew me better than that. The fact that you didn’t think that I could be a man about the whole situation is what really hurt me more than anything, Faye.”

She told me, “I was scared, Carl. Too scared to trust you. Too afraid to even let myself want you. To tell you the truth, I’m even more afraid now than I was before.”

“But you’re here anyway,” I said, holding her a little tighter. “And I want you to know that means a lot to me.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?” I asked.

She was like, “You know … for wanting me, in spite of …”

I looked at her and said, “Baby, I want you because.”

She said, “Because?”

I told her, “Yeah, because you’re beautiful, because you’re smart and sexy, and because right here and right now, you’re all the woman I’ll ever need.”

That’s when she went all the way out and broke one of her unspoken rules. She reached up, cupped my face in her hands, and kissed me. I’m saying, in the past, I’d always been the first to initiate any of the tongue-twisting that kicked off between us. And if that in and of itself wasn’t shocking enough, after easing her lips from mine she ran her hand over my chest and said, “I missed you, Carl. And first chance I get, I’m gonna show you just how much.”

I was like, “Well, damn, girl, what are we wasting time ’round here for? Let’s go do this.”

And so without further ado, we did.

And thus far, man, it’s been good, real good. ’Course I know this ain’t no fairy tale we’re talking about here. Like me, Faye’s still very much a work in progress. There’re bound to be a few challenges on the long road ahead of us—if only because we’re both two extremely prideful,
passionate, headstrong individuals who’ve yet to properly deal with our own private pains. But I’m not finna let any of that have me punked and running scared like I did with Bet, man. You know?

I’m saying, on the real, son, I want this. I want to be the man in this woman’s life—the one she picks up the phone to call in the middle of the day; the one she reaches across the bed for in the middle of the night; the one she lets love away some of the emptiness in her arms. I want to be all those things to her and more.

And if that makes me whupped, man, then hey, so be it. I’m whupped and loving every doggone second of it, ’cause when all is said and done, player, it beats a brother laying up somewhere butt-naked and by himself. It beats that by a long shot.

After the dance? Well, after the dance we kissed, we agreed to leave my book and his tape on the riverbank where we’d dropped them, and before the day was done we ended up at his place making … well, let’s just say, making up for lost time.

I’m sorry, girl, as much as I really do adore Carl, it’s going to take some time for me to get accustomed to using the “L” word in reference to him. I suppose in that regard I could take some notes from Nora. Yeah, girlfriend doesn’t seem to have any reservations when it comes to expressing to some of any and everybody the fact that she’s head over heels about her boy Squirrel. Excuse me, I mean Nigel.

But as far as Carl is concerned, one of the things I’ve come to treasure most about him is his willingness to accept me as I am—big hips, bad attitude, and all. Seriously,
being with him has taught me that I don’t always have to come so hard with it. I can be soft and sweet and tender sometimes if only because he makes me feel safe and secure enough to do so. He’s the first man I’ve dealt with who’s ever cared enough to confront me about my issues, much less flat-out call me on my selfishness. He’s the first to ever make me wanna stop, look at myself, and as a result turn around and do something altogether different.

Scoobie? I still run into him at church every now and then, even though I switched from one service time to another in an effort to keep our paths from crossing as much. It’s not like I don’t hate that there’s bad blood between us. One day, not too long after I gave him back his ring, I tried mending the rift by calling him and letting him know that I hadn’t meant to take all of Tariq’s pictures and that I’d be happy to have copies made for him. He told me not to worry about it. “You go ahead and keep them” is what he said. “I’m sure they mean more to you then they probably ever will to me.”

And if that wasn’t bad enough, when I asked if he was still in touch with the detective, all he said was, “When and if there are any new developments, I’ll let you know,” before coldly rushing me off the phone by informing me that he was right in the middle of something important.

Carl, on the other hand, has been incredibly supportive. Lately he’s been encouraging me to do what I’ve been absolutely dreading for the longest—to sit down with my parents and tell them about Tariq. He’s even offered to come along with me just to rub my back and hold my hand.

Lord knows I never thought I’d be saying this, girl, but yeah, I think this one’s a keeper—if not forever, then at least for a little while. And I’m okay with that, really, ’cause right now all I want to do is maintain the courage to keep stepping out there on faith, instead of running as fast as I can in the opposite direction. I, at least, want to be
open to the possibility that Carl has it in his heart to do right by me and that he actually means what he says when he tells me I’m beautiful or that he thinks we could make pretty babies together. I’ve been missing that kind of sweetness in my life, you know?

So yeah, girl, I guess the plain and simple truth of the matter is, I do love him. And I think I’ve finally made up my mind to go ahead and do this thing and enjoy it. I’m talking the strawberries, the frosting, the cake, and all that, for however long it lasts. I’d be crazy not to, don’t you think?

Lori Johnson