Vulnerable
Page 31
All Rawn could think about was her mouth; how visually soft and luscious it appeared to him. It was like when he was a child and they sliced open the first watermelon of the summer. Rawn could not wait to take his first bite.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“I-I’m…”
“Let me. To make up for this morning at Café Neuf.”
“What do you mean?” Imani said, tilting her head to one side.
“You know what I mean. I noticed a bar around the corner. It’s probably crowded so we might not get to sit. Come on.”
“Okay, sure.” She was stunned at how eager she was, for she did not waver, not for one split-second.
The bar was packed and there were groups of loud and excited people trying to forget about how their precious time was being compromised. She watched Rawn graciously waiting at the crammed bar, and a few lingering glances came his way. It had been nearly six months since the charges against him had been dropped. Still, Rawn garnered such curiosity. Imani knew it was based upon multifaceted reasons, including his elusive nature and his good looks; but perhaps more so, his deafening silence. Just by the success of talk shows, these days everyone wanted to get on television and be a part of the popular narrative.
By his presence at Café Neuf that morning, she knew more than anything else he wanted to be ordinary. Strangely, ordinary was not something many people chose to be. The whole experience he suffered through had to be raw. Yet it was remarkable because it was the quintessence of a journey that required him to have hope, faith, and to forgive. A poignant life lesson required strength and courage. The contradiction of his circumstance—it was all so complicated, and she understood that more than she cared to. A friend, a lover, was killed. He had been accused of causing her death. Still, he had to move on; to live his own life. What motivated Imani to reach for Pricilla Miles’s best seller was due almost entirely on the information that was printed on the bond pages. She, like so many, was curious about the details that sound bites could not fully convey, of course.
When she first saw Rawn, probably shortly after they both moved to Washington, the comparison she made of him to that of Blaine was swift. He had the same naturally good looks and polished manners. No doubt, it was why she could not dare be interested. The risk was simply too great for her to fall for the same type yet again. But gradually, when they had polite but small chats at Café Neuf, and on an occasion or two in public places like PCC and Street Two Books and Café, she knew it was unfair to compare him to her ex. Yet Imani did not trust her judgment. Once, she mentioned Rawn to Dante and she told him that Rawn was so elusive and unreachable and those traits were much too dangerous. Dante told Imani to stop using him as an example. It surprised her, because Imani never realized that she was using her father as an example.
Unconsciously, she stood erect off the wall when a man, seem-ingly aggressive, approached Rawn at the bar. He had ordered but still had not gotten their drinks from one of the two overworked bartenders. The man who approached laughed, as did Rawn, and they shook hands. Before she could go and rescue him or under-stood what was happening, the man walked off and disappeared in the crowd by the bar. Did he know the man, or was he a stranger? Closely, curiously, she studied Rawn while he tried to seek her out amongst the many people stranded at the airport. With a generous, happy face, Imani waved. Rawn’s handsome face lifted into an open, carefree look, and he waved back with a casual hunch of his shoulders and rolled his eyes about everything that was happening: delayed flight, crowded bar, fifteen minutes spent trying to get a drink, and the curious nature of fate! She made out that he was chuckling as he reached for his wallet in his jeans pocket. In that moment, he touched something inside her unexpectedly. Imani pantomimed, “I know!” And Imani mimicked him by facetiously hunching her shoulders and rolling her eyes. Content, and so present time was elusive, she laughed back at him. I like him, Dante. What do you think?
Her cellular broke the imaginary conversation she had with her father. She dug into her tote and felt for the cellular antenna. “Imani!” she answered. “Oh, Pearl.” She grinned. “You got my message? Yes, it looks like we’ll be here a bit longer. I would guess we won’t leave for at least another hour. The fog’s lifted a bit. They announced that a runway is opened for flights to land, but nothing about when we can fly out. Yes, I’m excited too. Change my life; how so?” Imani, not aware of her action, looked over to Rawn at the bar. At last, he got their orders and was paying the bartender. “Yes, maybe.” Imani was glowing; her body even trembled. “I’ll call you prior to us boarding so you can know when my flight leaves. A driver? No, please, Pearl. That’s embarrassing. It’s not necessary. I can rent a car.” With an unconscious blush, she gave in, “Okay, okay!” Happily, she laughed. “I promise. See you soon.”
“Here you go,” Rawn said, holding out her drink. “A champagne split.”
“Thank you. I love champagne.”
“What’s the story behind that?”
“My father. He was born on New Year’s Eve. We always had champagne to celebrate. I think I was…I might have been about ten when I had my first glass of champagne.”
“So what’s—or is it who’s—in L.A.?”
“You first.”
“Why should I go first?”
“Because, that’s why!”
“All right, okay. My friend Khalil celebrates thirty-five tomorrow. His girlfriend is a corporate planner in London, and she’s throwing this extravagant party.” Rawn took a long gulp of his imported beer. “Hey, you should come.” He nudged her playfully.
“I should?”
“And bring your friend …”
“Wait, there’s no friend. I’m going to L.A. on business.”
He met her eyes and stayed with them long enough for her to pick up on what he was feeling. But her expression alone suggested to Rawn she had no clue. “Good. So you’ll come.”
Yeah, I’ll come. “We shall see.” She tasted her drink for the first time. “Mmmm, this is great! Oh, wait! We should toast.”
“Toast to what?”
“Uhhhh…” Imani attempted to come up with something. “I know!”
Rawn’s forehead creased, accentuating his curiosity.
“Timing! To timing!”
No sooner than they clicked their beverages to make a toast, an announcement was made that runways were reopening.
“Timing!” they said in chorus, laughing.
His look turned somber. “I was actually going to leave and take the first flight out tomorrow morning. I’m glad I changed my mind.”
“I was going to do the same thing. Heck, this temperamental weather—who knows!” With an expression solemn but tender, she said, “My father would really have liked you.”
“Why do you say would have?”
“He’s not with us anymore.” Imani noticed it right away: the first real sign of letting go. Since his death, she always spoke of Dante in the present tense. “In spirit, I feel him every single day. But in the physical sense, I will never get a chance to feel his loving embrace. Or smell the cigarette smoke on him. But wherever he is, he’s happy. I—I know it!”
“You sound pretty confident.”
“He’s with my mom.”
Rawn could not help but see her eyes tear up, but he was not going to mess this thing up by insulting her with an attentive gesture or soft-spoken words that she was too strong to accept. Instead, he spoke what he wanted to say. “You’re parentless. That must be tough. I mean, you’re still young.”
In a faint voice, she said, “Yes.” She bowed her head briefly. “But I’m good because I’m blessed.”
“Of course you are. It’s a good thing that you’re aware of that.” He reached over to touch her shoulder gingerly. When her hand caressed his, he sensed an internal moment of reckoning: where there had been a void, he now felt the boldness return in his heart.
In a quiet voice, she said, “Thank you.”
“I understand…”
“Yes, I know you do.” When her lips spread, her soulful eyes softened, and subtle lines which gently touched the corners gave her face depth.
“You were very close to him.”
“Very.”
“Then we should make another toast.”
“For, to?…”
“Your father.”
Cheerful, Imani exclaimed, “Oh, how apropos!” She lifted her glass. “He would love that. He was a wonderful man, my father, but I must confess, he was very conceited. So, to Dante!”
Rawn was about to click his beer bottle against Imani’s toasting flute and it occurred to him what she said. “Dante?”
“Yes, Dante. Dante Godreau? He was my father.”
The End
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bonita Thompson is the author of The New Middle. She currently resides in Los Angeles. Visit her blog at http://www.bonitathompson.wordpress.com
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The New Middle
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2016 by Bonita Thompson
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ISBN 978-1-59309-624-3
ISBN 978-1-4767-8323-9 (ebook)
LCCN 2015957694
First Strebor Books trade paperback edition May 2016
Cover design: www.mariondesigns.com
Cover photograph: © Keith Saunders/Keith Saunders Photos
Cover design by Marion Designs
Cover photograph by Keith Saunders Photography
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