Authors: Curtis Bennett
“Listen honey,” he said, glaring at her intently, “Sure, I’ve made some mistakes in my life and in this marriage. I’ll admit that. But falling in love with you was not one of them.”
For the first time he noticed her relaxing her guard a little, as she took a swallow and murmured, with reddish colored eyes, “I know. And I’m not saying that I haven’t made mistakes too. But understand, this isn’t easy for me, either.”
“Just think about what you’re doing, Leslie. Please, baby!”
Leslie did not reply. She stood there, staring into the far distance…thoughtfully.
For Kurt, there had to be a better explanation for her wanting to leave. And he was determined to get to the bottom of this. After all, their love had been a formidable and passionate love. Their devotion was one that had been built on trust and sharing. And when it all came together, it clicked like mom’s great country cooking. It was like hot melted butter over country biscuits and cinnamon sweetened yams and like hot giblet gravy over sliced oven roasted turkey. Besides, where was he going to find another woman and lover that could rival Leslie, especially in their hay days?
Leaving Leslie to her thoughts, he went into the living room and sat down on the sofa. This was going to devastate his beloved grandmother who had not been feeling well lately. Leslie and she were close, almost like mother and daughter instead of just granddaughter-in-law.
Still dazed, Kurt pondered his seemingly bleak future. As the late and soulful balladeer Donnie Hathaway and songstress Roberta Flack once sang, “Where is the love?”
Kurt was left to ponder,
what in Hell’s name happened to mine?
C
hapter 2
A
sudden loud and piercing sound snatched Yvette Robinson abruptly from a dream world of endless possibilities. In the blinking of an eye she found herself back in the finite world of the living. Strange as it may sound, the last place this ebony beauty wanted to be was among the living, especially after the fiery dream she had just awaken from. Dark and handsome, her breathtaking flamingo dancer stood tall above her vulnerable ravishing form, unaware he was about to experience the erotic tune-up of his life. That’s when her sexually charged dream was abruptly shattered. The culprit was her panicky alarm clock. The deafening tone, which seemed to intensify with each passing thought, brought on a splitting headache. Talk about being sexually frustrated and starting the day off on the wrong foot. To top it off, it was raining outside. Gray skies. Gusty winds in from the bay. A brisk heavy downpour. A mild headache. Not a good combination at all. For a Monday morning, Tampa Bay was not where she wanted to be.
Reaching across the wide bed, she fumbled about, half dazed, until she found the off button and silenced the alarm. The early morning intrusion and the fact that she had been out late the night before partying combined to make her head throb.
Reluctantly, she rose up out of her satin covered bed. Picking up the remote, she pressed a button and the table lamp came on. The television popped on, too. She pressed a second button and the lights on the 55-gallon aquarium across the bedroom lit up also.
Oh, the wonders and marvels of remote control technology. If only I could control a man with one of these
, she mused.
Clad only in a loose, half unbuttoned blouse, she walked groggily towards the tiled bath to start her hot shower. After she adjusted the water temperature, she retrieved a clean bra, panty and linen. As mother always said, “
Cleanliness is next to Godliness
.” Still, it was too early in the morning for an invigorating shower, but she knew she had to get with the program, or be late for work, or so she thought.
Striding halfway across the room she paused, uttering above a whisper, quite slow and deliberately, "Damn! I-don't-believe-this! I really don’t believe this.” More incredulously, she added, “What unearthly cloud was I on when I set that alarm last night? I mean, how could I forget that I’m off today? How?” With her blood simmering just below the boiling point, she quipped, “Leslie, you really know how to screw up a good dream. Somebody, anybody! Kick me in the ‒.”
She never completed her statement.
The phone abruptly rang.
“I’m sorry. I must have the wrong number,” the sexy male voice said and nothing more.
“Why me?” she thought before saying. For the second time in two weeks she found herself in this too-early-to-rise predicament. With dejà vu written all over the moment, she crawled back onto the warm cozy bed and buried her head under the satin covered pillow and went back to sleep.
Hours later, a more benign Yvette stirred and cracked open her dark brown eyes. After a yawn and invigorating stretch she rejoined the living for the second time in one day. On her way to the shower a sheepish grin spread across her face for she had somehow managed to pick up where she had left off in her dream, and was finally able to give that tall dark handsome Latin stud the sex-education of his life. The man was good, she mused. He definitely knew how to please a woman. And she knew she was as equally good to him. Whoever said women were not the “
hot and bothered types”
don’t know the first thing about women. As she often explained to her male friends, “Women got nature too, mind you.”
Not one accustomed to leisure time off from work, she spent the better part of the afternoon updating her recipe files on her personal computer and cleaning up around her three year old Lakeview condo. It was just a week earlier that her refurbished bedroom, and adjoining master bath and shower area, done in shades of cranberry and claret, had been completed. It was the final phase of a two-part makeover. Phase one was the installation of her combination Roman bath and whirlpool, which was partially enclosed by matching cranberry and claret colored drapes with a crescent valance. Phase two was the installation of a wood grain floor in her kitchen. The look was luxurious. Mongolian elegance! And that’s exactly the way she wanted it. Her taste had always registered two or three digits above her normal salary, until recently. Her childhood dream was always to come home to a place that was elegant, relaxing, and pleasing to the eye.
Chic
, as the French loved to say.
A modern day woman, Yvette was an independent professional woman who aspired to become the owner of a five-star restaurant. A single mom, she realized she existed in a man’s world, but she was a woman to be reckoned with, if the circumstances called on her to be. Raising a son on her own helped a lot, too. It allowed her to give back the love she herself had missed and had been denied when her father passed away. It was lung cancer that claimed him. Often times, she felt that her father’s early demise contributed to her less than stellar social life with men. It was the father-daughter interpersonal relationship thing she felt she had missed the most growing up.
As she remembered revealing to her best friend, one afternoon, “I was only ten when my father passed away. And the experience left me unglued for the longest time.”
“I can imagine,” her best friend Juanita had replied as she nodded with empathy.
“Just seeing him lying there still, just void of life, traumatized me. My dad was my heart. I couldn’t believe he wouldn’t be around anymore.”
“Believe me I understand,” Juanita chimed in. “My father died when I was seventeen. It was so sudden. A stroke, I believe. For us girls, adolescence is a time we generally seek the adulation and reassurance and approval of our fathers.”
“You know, I couldn’t have put it better. Sometimes I wished there was a way to reach beyond the grave. Oh, the things I would ask my father about life, about relationships, about love and about sex.”
“Sex?” Juanita shot back, as her mouth dropped open.
“The opposite sex, that is.”
The two smiled.
“Are you and your mother close?”
“Close, but not as close as I’d like to be. I mean, we talk and all. And she’s been very good about sharing what she knows about life and relationships, in general, with me. And believe me, I am quite inquisitive. But the things she rarely elaborates on, or just plain won’t touch, are the subjects of love and sex. I often wonder if it’s on purpose.”
“I know the feeling. It’s like being dropped off in uncharted territory, as far as men and romance are concern. Not that your daily thoughts revolved solely around men, or that you are a playa hater, but if you’ve experienced anything like I’ve experienced, you probably feel like I do, that the men you meet and date rarely looked beyond a weekend of self-indulgence. I’m talk’n partying, gambling, boozing, and a woman’s warm body to satisfy the desires of the flesh.”
“God, you put that so well, Juanita.”
“That’s because I’ve been there…and done that.”
“I guess I expect more out of men, Juanita. And I want my men to expect more of me, not more out of me, if you get my drift. It’s important to me that men understand that I’m more than just someone's pleasure cruise. If there’s anything that gets my blood pressure up it is superficial men with supercilious intent.”
“That’s right! Whatever the hell that word means,” Juanita threw in with a chuckle, as she basked in the afternoon sun. “You know, our parents reared us to be women of good taste and good manners.”
“I agree. And I expect no less in the men I decide to show an interest in. Hell, it’s not like I really need a man right now. I’ve got a good job, a nice pad to return home to, and I can cook, thanks to my dad, who taught me the great cooking skills I have.”
“And boy can you throw down, girlfriend! I’m talking gourmet cooking. Hell, the best I can do is dream about being half as great a cook as you.”
“Thanks, Juanita. I just wished I were as great with men as I am with cooking. One day I hope to find a kind man who’s interested in a wholesome relationship, one I can find comfort and excitement and security in.”
“And you deserve it, Yvette. You’re such a hard worker.”
“Hell, all of my adult life has been dedicated to gaining economic independence and some sense of professional parity with men. I just look forward to the day I can share my success and my love with someone deserving of it, that’s all.”
“And what woman wouldn't?” Juanita replied. “Besides, what man wouldn’t consider you a great catch? You’re young and gifted, attractive, and if you want to ask me, too damn sexy for yourself. You’re intelligent as any man or woman, too, for that matter. You know, I think marriage would suit you well.”
“Why thank you. There’s only one problem, Juanita.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m not ready nor am I interested in a serious relationship at this time. Perhaps something on the casual level, at best.”
“Just a little something on the casual level, huh.” Juanita echoed.
“Yes! Listen, I love my independence and more than anything. And I’ve worked hard for it. I just think men have a knack of getting in the way of that. Honestly, I’m quite comfortable with the way things are in my life now.”
“Am I missing something?” Juanita asked, blinking with bafflement. “And what about those occasional tune-ups, if you know what I mean?”
“Well, it’s been a while since I’ve had a man in my life for that purpose.”
“And?”
“Like I said, I’m quite comfortable with the way things are now. Men tend to complicate things. Besides, I’m too busy for romance at this time of my life. Besides, I’m focused on opening my own five-star restaurant.”
“Yvette, the restaurant part is fantastic. Out of sight! And I admire you for your vision. But the other part…I just don’t believe what I’m hearing. Tell me you don’t really believe in that liberated
who-needs-a-man-bullshit
, do you?”
“What?”
“Do you honestly think you can make it through the rest of the year without molesting some African grown Zulu dick every once in a while?”
“Juanita, I didn’t say that,” Yvette chuckled. “I’m just saying I am not interested in a serious relationship at this time.”
“Now, now! Don’t tell me you’ve become so independent a sista that you’d happily settle for a casual roll in the hay.”
“Well, once in a while, perhaps. You know, when things get desperate and I’m about to crawl up a wall.”
“Yeah, I hear yah, Miss Lonely-And-Desperate-Who-Only-Gets-Laid-Once-A-Year. And of course, probably on your own terms.”
“But of course. Is there any other way?”
“None that I can think of, not in your case.”
“And Juanita, he doesn’t have to be African Zulu. He can be Irish, Mongolian or Latin, even Asian, for that matter. Better yet, all the man has to be is right for me and good to me.”
“What about fine and handsome?”
“He’ll need to be that too just to get in the door,” she smiled.
“So you truly are a modern day woman. As they say, variety is the spice of life. Now I know why men go head over heels for you. It’s the mystique, the promise in your eyes, along with your 100 watt personality.”
“What men and what personality would you be referring to?” Yvette laughed.
“All right Ms. Innocence. I know you remember last week
…
that handsome waiter at Krystal Rock Café who could not ask you enough times if you were enjoying your meal?”
“Juanita, he was addressing both of us.”
“Perhaps, but he was smiling and all dreamy eyes over you.”
“You know, he was sort of cute,” Yvette murmured, as she fondly reminisced.
“Sort of?”
“Well, very cute, if you want to press the damn issue.”
“Cute enough for you to eyeball him every time you thought he wasn’t looking.”
“I imagine I looked once, well perhaps twice.”
“Well, I can’t blame you. Mr. Waiter did serve up a nice looking ass.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“Yeah, right,” Juanita retorted playfully.
The two shared another laugh.
But Juanita wasn’t finished. “As you must know, men are good about going after what they think they can’t have. It’s the challenge. It’s the risk and excitement involved. And may I add, that’s what gets most people, especially married men, into trouble.”