Authors: Sylvia Hubbard
The thought was extremely frustrating to not know if she meant that or not.
* * *
“Be mine . . .” echoed in her brain the next morning as her eyes popped open. Looking around frantically, she saw she was in her bed, not some candlelit bedroom.
The bedside neon clock read 6:02am. It was early, but it felt like she had not slept a wink. Getting up, she went to the bathroom and without turning on the light she washed up. Going to her computer she put her headphones on, turned on her computer and began to type. Along with the new work she had gotten from Newman Enterprise, she still had to keep up her other accounts.
This was not difficult with Sheila and Margaret’s help, but taking on new work gave her little time on her hobby, which was the basis of her retirement fund.
After about three hours of typing, she decided to take a break.
E-mailing her reports in, she made coffee for herself, then put out two pork steaks for dinner. Just as she was coming out the kitchen the phone rang.
Answering, she was surprised to hear Trisha’s voice on the other end. Usually, clients never called on Sunday.
“Mr. Newman dropped off five tapes of a proposal and I’m kind of in a bind. Do you do rushes? We just found out the deadline is tomorrow at three?”
“Of course. Do you want me to come get the tapes?”
“Well, I’m driving around now, I can come drop them off.”
Skye gave her the address and directions, and then took two more pork steaks out. When Trisha arrived she noticed the haggard appearance on Skye’s face.
“Someone didn’t sleep well, did they?” Trisha teased with caution not sure of Skye’s mood.
“Actually,” Skye said, “I don’t feel like I did. I’m not usually restless even when I don't sleep."
“Well I do appreciate you doing this for me.”
“Why don’t you stay for dinner? I rarely have guests. Matter of fact, you are the first at my new home.”
“I am honored.”
Between working on the proposal, Skye cooked. Even Trisha went to the kitchen a couple of times to stir something or take something out the oven.
By ten that night, they had finished and decided to sit down at the dining room table and eat.
“Mr. Newman will be so pleased. What do you charge for rushes?”
“This is a first for your type of account.”
“He said to pay you whatever you requested.” She took out the copy of Skye’s price list. “The usual proposal is about twenty dollars when we add the extras and sorts, so how about seventy per proposal. Same day rushes should be greatly compensated.”
“Does Mr. Newman plan to make me a rich woman with his account alone?”
“Whatever Mr. Newman plans to do, I have no control over it.” She changed the subject. “You are a great cook.”
Skye flushed not used to compliments. “Thank you. It might be from all those cooking shows I watch.”
Casually, Trisha suggested, “You should definitely invite Mr. Newman over to taste some of this.”
“Oh really? As if a man in his position would accept.”
“He loves good home cooking. His mother never was one to cook. He came over my mother’s home one Thanksgiving and it was interesting to watch a grown man indulge so much. He was like a kid in a candy store.”
“Mr. Newman gets invited to the mayor’s house, or even the governor’s house for dinner. Not a little, plain typist's home.”
“You’d be surprised. He would accept.”
“I doubt it, plus he’s a client," Skye pointed out. "I don’t invite clients to my home.”
“I’m part of the client.”
“You work for him. That really doesn’t count, plus I kind of enjoy your company. Trust me, I don’t have a lot of friends. Matter of fact, you’re my first in Detroit.”
“You’re a nice girl, Skye. Why are you so alone?” Trisha asked solemnly.
“To be honest? I’m afraid of disappointment. I guess growing up in places that never gave me what I needed made me so independent. I use to wish for a doll, but I never got it until I got a newspaper route and bought it myself. People use to tell me I couldn’t get things or they’d promise me things just to shut me up. I got use to the disappointment, and promised myself that I would just not want things from other people.”
“That included friendship and love?”
Skye nodded. “I don’t think I could take disappointment in my life back then, but now that I’m not in Davenport anymore, I’m finding that I do need friends and even more. Does that sound strange?”
Trisha shook her head earnestly. “It doesn’t make you weak, Skye. It makes you normal and human. The fact you know what you need in order to make you happy makes you a stronger person. You’ll pick good friends. You’ve waited so long to get them.”
To make the mood lighter, Skye teased, “Did anyone ever tell you your second calling was a psychiatrist?”
Trisha laughed. “No, but my mom says I have a good outlook when it comes to people's problems. Unfortunately I don’t use my own advice.”
Skye stretched, feeling the soreness in her back because she was still feeling the grogginess from this morning all over her body. “So you aren’t married?”
“I will be getting married next month. He’s a great guy and he doesn’t mind my long hours of work, which I enjoy.”
“That’s the kind of guy I like.”
“What other qualities are you looking for?”
Skye thought for a second. “I don’t know, the usual ones. Thoughtful, sincere, honest. It’s so many and I know for sure I’d be disappointed in that department.”
“What about Mr. Newman?”
Skye blushed all over and began to protest, but Trisha interrupted her. “I saw the way you were looking at him when he wasn’t looking. You can’t tell me there isn’t interest there.”
“Alright, there is, but I don’t think it will be reciprocated. That man could have any woman in the city. Heck, the nation if he wanted to, so there would be no reason to choose me.”
“You aren’t as bad as you think, Skye. You’re kind of extraordinary if you ask me. As long as I’ve known Mr. Newman, he hasn't been attracted to ordinary woman, yet the women who do seem extraordinary usually are fake. When I say ordinary women I mean the kind who have the nerve to tell him they intend to use him for his looks or money. You are the genuine article and I think in a way he sees this, but is hesitant about expressing his feelings. You should at least try. What’s the worst that could happen? He just says no and then what? Life goes on. You’ll be a rich woman.”
“Well this isn’t exactly how I make all my money.”
“It isn’t?”
Skye shook her head wickedly getting up from the table and going to a bookcase in her living room. Trisha followed close behind her watching as she pulled out a small romance book. Handing it to Trisha she asked, “Do you read these?”
Examining the book in awe, Trisha said “Yes. I love these books and I love the author, Sybil Howard. She’s great and I’ve read all ten of her novels. You hardly meet a woman who can express the black woman’s anguish in love situations. Do you read her?”
Skye shook her head. “I write her.”
“You what?” Trisha’s big brown eyes grew large as saucers.
“I write her,” she repeated again flushing as Trisha's eyes couldn't get any wider, but they sure were trying. “It started four years ago. I guess I was frustrated about myself as a woman. I was afraid to express my feelings toward men I liked, but in the back of my mind I would make love to them. So I begin to write about how I could meet Mr. Right and soon my writing grew book lengths and my doctor in Davenport, Dr. Welch, said instead of just writing for myself, I should let others read it. I took a chance. My manuscript was accepted by a romance publisher. I couldn’t believe it when they sent me an acceptance letter and they asked me to write another one. All the money I’ve earned I’ve reinvested in stocks and bonds. I use the transcription money to pay the bills.”
“Oh that is just fascinating. I would never guess you were Sybil Howard.”
“You wouldn’t? Heck sometimes I can’t believe I’ve written about these things myself." Leaning forward as if telling a big secret, Skye said, "I had to research extensively to understand lovemaking — if you know what I mean — because I’ve never been with a man intimately, so it was real difficult, but I based it all on my imagination, which I find that I have a lot of.”
She mumbled under her breathe, “Especially of late” then resumed what she was saying a little louder, “I learned a lot about myself writing these books and I think writing made me overcome my rape. I know making love isn’t bad, I just can’t find a man like the one I’ve imagined to really satisfy me mentally and not just physically — although that wouldn’t be a hindrance on his part either.”
"Oh my gawd, you were raped?! That's why... Oh Skye, now I understand you so well," the assistant said sympathetically. "That explains so much about how you act."
"I don't dwell on it... much, but like I said writing these books has really been a healing experience." She fondled the book lovingly.
Trisha looked touched and concerned. “So I take it you haven’t had the Jan Brady life, huh? You really have no other family?”
Looking realistically, Skye shook her head. “Far from it. I was separated from my siblings or I think who I thought were my siblings a long time ago when I was real young. I remember very little about my real family because the tragedy struck us hard. All I know was that I was separated and that since then it’s been worse than Annie.” Thoughtfully, she said, “I do remember that I played a lot with… a girl and I think a boy, but the memories are so vague, I don’t dwell on them, but then it could have been when I was being moved around so much.” She shrugged it off and decided to change the subject. “Maybe I’ll make a story about that, huh. Do some family saga to get away from all the romance which I know nothing about.”
"Don't worry about the researching thing. I'm not a virgin and I still buy the books. You write very well." Trisha was really impressed. “I just can’t believe it. Promise when you come by the office tomorrow you’ll sign my books?”
Skye smiled honored. “I promise, but why would I be coming by the office?”
“To drop off the tapes that I'll forget tonight and then to invite Mr. Newman out to dinner.”
Looking as if Trisha had lost her mind, Skye asked, “Are you still on that trip, girl?”
“Yes. Just ask. You might be surprised.”
Huffing in amusement and rolling her bluish eyes heavenwards, Skye played it off as if it was ridiculous.
Trisha was playing cupid and Skye could see she enjoyed it, but the assistant didn’t see that Skye and Thaddeus Newman would never be an item.
He was too different and so was she.
Trisha began to gather her things up and Skye gave her a disk of the work.
After Trisha was gone she worked about three more hours on her other account, before going to her bedroom.
Immediately she noticed some black markings on her pillow.
Inspecting the pillowcase closely, she was confused about the identity of the black markings. Going into the bathroom, she noticed there were some more black markings on her washcloth. Lifting the washcloth to her nose carefully, Skye inhaled around the markings immediately picking up the scent. It was makeup.
But she didn’t wear dark makeup. Only lipstick. Going to her dresser she looked at the mascara she hardly ever touched. Opening the bottle she saw the brush was dry and hard. So how had make up gotten on her pillow?
That was the same question she was asking Dr. Carter when she went to therapy the next day. He gave her several suggestions, but none of them hit the mark.
“It bothers me a lot," she admitted.
“So not only were you exhausted Sunday morning, but you’d somehow put makeup on your pillow and washcloth?” Dr. Carter questioned baffled. Since she had come in to tell him what happened he had been taking a lot of notes.
“No, I somehow put makeup on my face, but I don’t know how or when.”
“Have you experienced a sleep walking experience before?”
She perked up not at all thinking that sleepwalking could have been the solution to the problem, but just maybe... “No," she answered. "No I haven’t. I don’t dream, so I know I don’t sleep walk.”
“But you said you awoke remembering something . . .” he read his notes.
“Be mine? Is that it?”
She nodded, still confused. Even hearing it said out loud like that made hot quivers run through her body. “I’ve still never known anyone to put make up on when they are asleep.”
“Maybe you rubbed it on your face in your sleep and since you paid no attention that morning you didn’t notice that you’d done so until late that night.”
The possibility didn’t sit with Skye to well, but she decided to take Dr. Carter’s advice until she figured it out on her own. True, she could have had a sleep walking experience, but she highly doubted it even if it included trying to put make up on, which she didn’t possess. That was too strange, but she could not disprove anything yet and didn’t want to until she had proof.
* * *
After the session Skye decided to go by Newman Enterprises and Trisha was glad to see her, except that Mr. Newman had left on his appointment downtown. Skye tried to seem upset, but she was a bit relieved. It was much too soon to invite him to dinner.
She went home from there to do more work. When a couple of hours passed she found her mind could not stay on her work. She gradually started just blanking out. Getting her mind off everything, she decided to wash clothes.