Knowing (27 page)

She sat in front of the bar as he mixed and poured them drinks. She wondered if he could be in love with a woman his age. What did love have to do with anything, anyway? Not a damn thing, in her mind. Not a damned thing. He looks like he belongs here, she thought. And judging by the signals he was sending her with his body and his mind, he thought so too.

“You sure this is what you want to do, Kim?” asked Randall, closing his hairy, tanned hands around hers.

They sat at a small table near the window, awaiting their dinner, going over Kim’s plans for her future. Kim had called Randall late Friday evening after Bill had left and asked him to join her for dinner tonight. She’d selected a small, out-of-the-way restaurant that she knew hadn’t made it onto his list of the “in” places to dine. She was ready to make some changes in her life.

“I have little choice, Randall. I can’t keep working with George Cameron. He’ll end up firing me. Then where will I be.” She withdrew her hands, leaning back in her seat. “No, I think it’s better that I make a clean break and quit. I typed out my resignation this morning. He should receive it by Monday. I sent it registered mail.”

“Then it’s settled. Where do we begin?”

“Then you’ll help me?” asked Kim excitedly.

“What are friends for?”

Kim smiled at the Black couple seated in the small dining room, who had been eyeing them since the moment they arrived. Hadn’t they seen an interracial couple having dinner before? There were three other tables occupied by two women, a single male, and a young child and grandmother, none of whom seemed bothered or interested.

While they ate, Kim agreed that during the four months she needed to wait to qualify to be a licensed broker, she would shop for her office equipment. She needed two computers, a fax machine, a copier, and a laptop computer. Randall tallied up the figures for the purchases, giving Kim a quizzical look.

“Are you sure you have enough money for all this, and to live on until you get on your feet? I told you, and I mean it Kim, I can make you out a check —”

“I’ve been saving money for years, Randall. Taking risks with my investments, and they’ve worked out. I’m not saying I’m loaded, but by no means am I near needing a loan.” She added thoughtfully, “But if it becomes necessary that I do, you’ll be the first one I’ll come to.”

“Have you thought of a name yet?”

“Jewel Investment Services, Inc.,” she said proudly.

“Has a rich ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“About as rich as this dessert we’re eating. How do you like it?” She frowned. His expression mirrored hers. She lifted the fork from her plate, chocolate filling running through the prongs. “This Mud Pie is just like it reads, muddy.” They laughed together, enjoying each other’s company, making jokes about Cameron, whom they both had reasons to dislike.

“So, you’ve decided to call it quits with Bill?” asked Randall, getting serious.

Pushing her dessert plate forward, she tapped her flamingo-pink sculptured nail along the edge. “I’ve decided to try celibacy for a while. I don’t have time for romance right now. What’s important is helping my father to get well and opening my business. I’ve tried it the easy way, and it hasn’t worked, the only road left is the uncertain one — which I’m traveling alone.”

“You’re on the right road, Kim. You’re heading in the right direction. Just don’t plan on making too long of a journey alone.” He leaned back, extracting a toothpick from his suit pocket. “Believe me, there will come a time, and it won’t be very long, when you’ll feel the need to connect with someone, emotionally, spiritually, and sexually. Someone to share your most intimate thoughts, feelings. Someone to laugh with, cry with, someone you can put your faith and trust in, someone you can lean on for understanding.” Randall’s turquoise blue eyes looked into Kim’s, expressing a pain he was helpless to hide.

“You two still haven’t made up?” Kim asked with sympathy.

“No,” he whispered. “He doesn’t want to make a commitment. Claims I’m suffocating him, he enjoys his freedom.” He issued a halfhearted laugh. “Can you believe he tells me how much he loves me, has never loved anyone as he does me. Yet, he won’t come out and admit he’s gay.”

“Are you willing to do that, Randall?”

He squared his shoulders, sitting up proudly. “Yes. I’ve given it a lot of thought. I’m not embarrassed about who I am or what I am. Why should I hide it?”

“You shouldn’t.” Leaning across the table, Kim caressed his arm. The young couple turned up their noses like they’d sniffed something foul in the air. Kim boldly kissed Randall on his cheek, ruffling his smooth raven hair, before she sat back in her seat, glaring at them.

It was late, and after a long day — she had even played Scattergories with the kids — Ginger was exhausted. But seeing the smiles on their faces was worth it. Jason, who had gotten a rare Saturday evening off work, had opted to break a date with his girlfriend and stay home. He was making the girl suffer, a control tactic a friend of his had hipped him to. As Jason explained the mechanics of dating to Christian, Ginger watched her younger son’s obvious admiration of his older brother’s worldly wisdom.

Ginger kissed each of her children good night as they continued playing. She reminded Jason they had church tomorrow, and they’d all have to be in bed by eleven. Hearing their moaning and groaning, she left them. They turned their conversation back to the game at hand.

“Hey, sweetheart. You miss me?” she called in to Jackson as she changed into her nightgown.

The room was flooded with light. Warm gusts of wind blew in through the open windows behind the sofa, billowing the curtains into poufs of bishop’s sleeves. Soft music rode along the waves of fresh air as Jackson studied the loose pieces of metal spread before him on layers of newspaper. “Hmmmmmm,” was all he managed to say, as he contemplated the gear mechanism.

On the weekends after a hot shower, Jackson loved to work on small objects in the comfort of his bedroom while he watched television or listened to the radio.

“What you doing, honey?” She sat beside him on the sofa. Scooting her body close to his, she fondled the back of his head and felt the dampness in his hair. He’d just taken a shower, and wore only a pair of red undershorts.

“The gauges on my bike weren’t working right. The speedometer wouldn’t move past thirty.” He smiled smugly to himself. “I was doing at least eighty on the freeway this afternoon.”

“Honey, don’t you think you and your friends are getting a little too old to be speeding?”

He gave her a devilish look, moving his eyes in the direction of the bed, at her, then finally at the bulge building between his legs. He smiled at her seductively. “Got any complaints?”

He had a way of looking at her, of lowering his eyes and staring intensely for long periods of time until she was unable to resist him. “Not a one, honey,” she said, contemplating the passion that his eyes suggested. “I see you’ve got on some nice music for a change. It’s soothing, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

She reached over, massaging the length of his bare thighs. “When we’re in bed, and you turn on the soft music you know I love, why do you act like it kills you to listen to it sometimes? I don’t understand why you don’t like listening to anything other than the blues and news.”

He pulled back the insulation, exposing the cable, and looked at her. “You know the reason why I’ve got this station on?”

She shook her head, looping her arm through his, trying to coax him into paying her some attention and putting his toys away.

“I took some screws off the back of the radio to see if they would match the ones missing from the speedometer bracket, and now this is the only station I can get.”

“Sweetie, you listen to that news station all the way to work and all the way home—”

“I like to learn something about what’s going on in the world.”

“If you read something other than the sports section in the newspaper, you might learn something.”

“I can’t learn nothing listening to music.”

“You can learn sensitivity.”

He gave her another seductive smile. “I’ve already got that.”

“Who told you that lie?” They laughed together as he pushed aside the speedometer and guided his wife to their haven of pleasure. . . .

He rode her as long and hard as an adventurous ride on his Kawasaki, and they lay happy, breathing heavily. “You get enough?” he whispered, stroking her buttocks as he pulled her against him.

“I could stand a longer ride, that is, if you’re up to it, old man,” she kidded.

He lifted up the sheet, proudly displaying his growing erection. “Must be all that V8 juice I’ve been drinking.”

Stepping from the shower, Mae Thelma toweled herself dry, lavished her body with lotion, and strolled into the bedroom stark naked. Turning off the lights, she lighted a scented candle and placed it on the nightstand near the bed.

She turned the dial on the bedside radio until she heard a soft, soulful tune. Swiveling her legs from beneath her, she lay back, sinking her head into the soft pillows. She cupped her large breasts, stroking the fullness with the curve of her thumbs. Her dark areolae peaked as she felt a warmth flowing through her body.

It had been so long since she felt a man’s body lying next to hers. Felt the warmth of his love melding with hers. Her breathing became short at the thought of him. She arched her buttocks, drew up her knees, stroking the soft folds of flesh. Flickering her slender fingers across the hard jewel of her womanhood, her body writhed beneath her. She felt the moistness coating her fingers as she offered her body relief from months of celibacy.

Opening and closing like a shell, she felt the throbbing, throbbing, throbbing of her passion, grabbing in need of male penetration. Her fingers worked fiercely, faster, frantically, until at last, with a sweet sigh of relief, she felt herself relaxing, uttering a cry of pleasure.

As she cleaned herself with the white cloth, she felt anger slowly rising from the pit of her stomach. She knew that once a young girl became a woman, that feeling of needing a man and loving a man, sharing the intimacies that transpire between them, was meant by God to be experienced for life. Not just a temporary thing. She’d tried to be faithful in God’s eyes, prayed for strength, yet her needs were as great as ever. She was a woman, and she had a woman’s needs.

Tears sprang into her eyes, tears of guilt and shame from knowing she desired the comfort and love of a man whose golden brown eyes seemed to visit her in the darkness.

Oooo Baby, Baby

The double doors were pushed open wide. Dozens of hangers lay bare, pushed together in the right corner of the closet. Large brown cartons filled with clothing lined a complete wall of the modest bedroom. Smaller boxes taped and labeled with a black Magic Marker read:
Shoes, Hats, Lingerie
. . . .

“Don’t touch that, Autumn,” said Ginger, taking the silver frame from her small hand. Kim and Ginger sat on the floor going through Jewel’s cedar chest. Autumn sat in front of the round dressing table, looking into the mirror.

Kim put an arm around Autumn’s shoulder, explaining, “That’s my mommy, Autumn.” She pointed to the man standing next to her. “And that’s my father.”

“Don’t look like Aunt Jewel or Uncle Ollie,” said Autumn.

Kim kneeled down beside her as Ginger continued removing the quilts packed neatly inside the xyloid trunk. “They were just married, sweetheart. Mama was eighteen, and Daddy was twenty-two.” She smiled at the picture, closing her hand over Autumn’s. “Don’t they look handsome?”

Autumn nodded. She knew her great-aunt Jewel had died not long ago. That was why her mommy brought her over, to help Kim go through her mommy’s old things. She wanted to ask Kim how come Uncle Ollie wasn’t coming home to live with her now, but something told her to just be quiet. “Your nails are pretty. My mommy doesn’t have that color,” observed Autumn, studying Kim’s beautifully manicured nails.

“Would you like to paint your nails this color?” asked Kim, smiling at Autumn. “There’s a bottle on my table in my room down the hall.” Autumn scooted off the chair and was halfway out the door before she peeked back around to look at her mother.

“Is it okay if I paint my nails, Mommy? I won’t make any mess.”

Ginger took her little hand, escorting her to Kim’s room. She placed old newspapers over the rectangular table, stacked two pillows on the chair, and tied an apron she’d found in the linen closet around her daughter’s neck. Then she planted Autumn in the center of the cushions and handed her the opened bottle of flamingo-pink polish.

“Thanks, Kim. She’s getting a little bored. I was hoping she would fall asleep until we finished.”

“The kids gone for the weekend again?”

“Um-hum. Left yesterday. Jackson’s at home watching the Pistons and Bulls playoff game, so I didn’t want to ask him to watch her. He can’t stand being interrupted when the game is on. What time is it?”

“Almost eight.”

Walking over to the dresser, Ginger turned on the small radio to News Radio 95. “The game is almost on. Might as well listen to it. Haven’t listened to George Blaha over the radio in a while.” She sat down, crossing her legs in front of the mounds of quilts. “You don’t mind, do you?”