She knew her youthful appearance shocked a lot of people, but she wasn’t a girl. She’d had a long-term relationship that ended in a broken engagement; she’d spent several summers in Europe, avoiding the advances of men who saw her as easy prey; and she’d put more than one hundred thousand miles on her car when she’d crisscrossed the continental United States shooting more than a thousand pictures.
Ivan had admitted he’d been flirting with her, but Nayo Cassandra Goddard wasn’t biting. Growing her career, not becoming involved with a man, had become her priority.
“I’m not going home. I’m meeting someone for dinner.” She’d made plans to meet Geoff at a seafood restaurant on the Upper East Side. “I’ll call you,” she said cheerfully.
Ivan nodded numbly like a bobble-head doll. Nayo was there and then she wasn’t as the door closed quietly behind her departing figure. He’d detected a subtle defiance in the photographer, defiance he saw as a challenge.
Many of the women he’d dated failed to hold his interest for more than a few weeks, but there was something about the petite photographer that intrigued him, intrigued him enough to want to see her again.
He hadn’t realized that until he’d opened the door to find her standing there. Ivan knew he could’ve asked Carla to purchase or rent the requisite art, but after seeing Nayo’s photos and meeting her, he realized he didn’t want or need Carla’s involvement.
He liked Nayo, but what he had to uncover was why.
What was it about her that made her different from other women?
And how had a little slip of a woman managed to get to the man who’d earned the reputation of “love them and leave them”?
Nayo hadn’t outright rejected his advances, but Ivan knew she wasn’t going to be easy. And that was the difference between her and other women—they’d been too easy.
CHAPTER 4
Ivan picked up a piece of chalk and began drawing and labeling columns on the chalkboard. “Today we’re going to talk about culturally mediated belief and practices as they pertain to different racial and ethnic groups. We’re going to cover five ethnic groups—Russian, Native American, Mexican, Asian and African-Americans. Each group, although American, relates differently to birth and dying, religion, role differences and communication.”
Turning, he stared at the students staring back at him. The course was open only to juniors and seniors, and was a favorite of Ivan’s; the dozen students came to class with the intent to challenge him at every turn.
A male student who’d bleached his jet-black hair a shocking flaxen color raised his hand. “Dr. Campbell?”
Ivan turned, noticing that the young man had applied black polish to his nails. “Yes, Mr. Hernandez?”
“You have Mexicans, but you didn’t include Puerto Ricans.”
“We’ll discuss them separately. With more than four hundred ethno-cultural groups it is virtually impossible to cover every group in North America. As therapists it is incumbent on you to familiarize yourself with the customs and characteristics of most of the groups you’ll work with. Sensitivity to any customs that aren’t your own will determine how effective you’ll be with your patients. I always require an ethno-cultural assessment during the intake process.”
“What are some of the questions on the form?” asked a female student who always came to class with her head and body covered.
“Don’t be afraid to ask the patient their ethnic origin, the primary language spoken at home or if they require an interpreter. Religious beliefs, restrictions and practices are important for understanding and perception of mental-health therapy.”
“I am Muslim, so how does dying differ from someone who is African-American and Christian?”
Ivan moved over and sat on the edge of the desk. He never liked the traditional classroom seating, so he had his students rearrange their chairs in a U formation.
“Muslims believe death is God’s will,” Ivan replied. “They always turn a patient’s bed to face the East, or Mecca, and read from the Koran. There are no cremations or autopsies. The only exception would be for forensics and organ donations.
“African-Americans are reluctant to donate their organs, and family members will usually make the decision when it comes to the deceased. Their response to death is varied, so you may get a lot of different ones. Funerals and burials may take as long as five days to a week after death. It is very important to ascertain the patient’s religious affiliation during the interview process and know the importance of religion or church in his or her life.”
Ivan made certain not to make eye contact with his Muslim student. He’d learned that some females avoided eye contact with males and strangers. He wasn’t a stranger, but he was male. “Islam instructs you to pray five times each day, fast during Ramadan and take a pilgrimage to Mecca at least once during your lifetime.”
He gave the students an overview of the ethno-cultural differences before giving each a handout of the assessment tool. This was Ivan’s first year teaching a humanistic view of a course that covered selected psychological literature on non-white Americans, and most of the data was derived from his published doctoral dissertation.
A lively discussion ensued until Ivan glanced at his watch, noting he’d gone ten minutes beyond the time for dismissal. “For those of you who have another class, you’d better hustle or you’re going to be late. Have a good weekend, and I’ll see you Monday.”
He gathered the extra handouts, slipping them into a leather case, then checked his cell phone. Someone had sent him a voice-mail message. Punching in his PIN, he listened to the soft, feminine voice coming through the earpiece.
It was Nayo, and this was the first time he detected an inflection in her speech pattern that was different from those living in New York City. Pressing a button, he replayed her message: Ivan, this is Nayo. Please call me when you get this message. She left the numbers for her cell, home and work.
Ivan wrote down the numbers, then dialed the one for her cell. “This is Ivan,” he said after hearing her soft greeting.
“Oh, Ivan, I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to cancel Friday. I just remembered that a friend is hosting a pre-Halloween party and I promised her I would attend.”
“What costume are you wearing?”
“Costumes are optional. Is it possible for us to meet tonight?”
“I can’t give you an answer until I check with my office. Hang up and I’ll call you back.”
Ivan had purposely kept busy so he wouldn’t have to think about Nayo Goddard, but just hearing her voice again conjured up the image of her doll-like, wide-eyed gaze. He didn’t know why, but he remembered every curve of her petite body as if she were standing in front of him. He dialed his office, counting off the rings until his secretary answered the call. It rang six times, followed by a distinctive click that indicated the call had been transferred to the reception desk.
“Counseling Center, Demetria speaking. How may I direct your call?”
“Demetria, this is Ivan. Can you check my calendar and tell me who’s scheduled to come in this afternoon?”
He, Duncan and Kyle had set up a synchronized computer program where the building’s reception desk knew all their schedules at a glance. His offices took up the top floor in the renovated brownstone, Kyle’s law practice the second floor and Duncan’s tax-and-financial services the first floor. The street-level space was converted to include a kitchen, dining room, games room and gym for the building’s employees. He shared equally in the salaries for the receptionists and cleaning staff.
“You had Ahmed Daniels for five, but he called to say he had to meet with his probation officer.”
“Did he reschedule?”
“No, Dr. Campbell.”
“Leave a message for Chantal to call Ahmed and reschedule ASAP.”
“Chantal didn’t come in today. She called to say she had a fight with her baby’s daddy last night, and he wouldn’t take care of Kassim, so she had to try to find an
other babysitter.”
Chantal came with excellent office skills, but it was her personal life that was in disarray. Her on-again, off-again relationship with her son’s father was beginning to affect her job performance. Her punctuality and attendance had received a less than favorable rating on her last evaluation.
“Don’t schedule anyone else for today, and if there is an emergency, refer them either to Dr. Kelly or the hospital. What does Thursday look like?”
“You have a full calendar. Your first appointment is at ten and your last is scheduled for eight.”
Originally Ivan had set aside Tuesday for his late night, but then switched to Thursdays because patients tended not to keep their Friday appointments, which prompted him to work late and take Fridays off.
“If Chantal calls, please tell her that I must talk to her before I go into session tomorrow morning.”
“Okay, Dr. Campbell.”
Ivan hung up, then called Nayo back. “I’m free for tonight.”
“What time do you want to get together?”
“I’m still at the college. It should take me about half an hour to get home.”
“Why don’t I plan to see you in, say, an hour and a half?”
“That works fine,” he agreed.
“Ivan?”
“Yes, Nayo.”
“You don’t have to cook.”
He affected a Cheshire-cat grin. “What if I order in?”
“That’ll work. I’ll see you ninety minutes.”
Ivan pressed a button, ending the call. He would get to see Nayo sooner than planned, but there was still the problem with his secretary he had to resolve. Chantal’s salary was comparable to someone working for a major downtown corporation, because she was the sole support for herself and her son. The young woman complained that her son’s father was unemployed, so he wasn’t able to contribute to the child’s support. The man supposedly made up for his lack of funds by babysitting the child when his mother was at work. Now that that arrangement had soured, Ivan knew it was time for Chantal to see about enrolling two-year-old Kassim in day care. Either she followed through with his recommendation, or he would be forced to terminate her employment.
Unlike Duncan and Kyle, he ran a bare-bones practice. An intern enrolled in the psychology program at City University New York’s Graduate Center came in twice a week to do intakes and assessments. Chantal was responsible for scheduling, inputting case notes and following up with patients mandated by schools and the court-and-criminal-justice system.
Kyle and his law partner, Jordan Wainwright, had expanded their thriving practice, adding a law clerk to a staff that included an office manager and full-and part-time paralegals.
Duncan Gilmore, his part-time accounting student and full-time executive assistant had established a reputation in the Harlem community based on good faith and honesty.
Ivan teased Duncan that he never had to worry about an IRS audit or losing his investments to fraudulent trading, because he had him monitoring his resources. Projected income from his private counseling practice was far below what Kyle and Duncan derived from their firms, but his year-end revenue was comparable because of the income from renting the apartments, his position as an adjunct professor and his speaking engagements.
He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Kyle would marry Ava in February, and Duncan his doctor-girlfriend in June. They would become husbands and fathers, leaving him to take on the role as godfather to their children.
Despite having dated a lot of women, Ivan could honestly say that he hadn’t slept with a lot of them. For him a physical entanglement was tantamount to an emotional commitment. And for those he did sleep with he was forthcoming when he told them that he wasn’t the marrying kind. Some accepted it, and many didn’t. Most women he knew wanted to marry and have children. He’d found himself drawn to those who professed they didn’t want marriage and motherhood.
Ivan knew that his reluctance to form a permanent bond with a woman came from his losing his twin. Not only had he and Jared been identical in appearance, they’d had an uncanny ability to read each other’s mind. They’d played jokes on family members and teachers when they switched identities. The only one they couldn’t fool was their mother, Winnifred Campbell. Winnie, as she was affectionately called, had decided from the moment she was told she’d given birth to identical twin boys that she wouldn’t give them names that sounded alike or even began with the same letter, and that she would never dress them alike. When he asked his mother how she could tell them apart when their own father couldn’t, Winnie said it was a mother thing.
It wasn’t until after they’d buried Jared that Winnie told Ivan that she saw something in Jared that was missing in him—trust. Jared had always been quick to smile or tell a joke. He’d been more outgoing and willing to befriend someone, while Ivan had remained aloof. Jared had always had more friends than Ivan, but unfortunately following his friends had gotten Jared killed.
Picking up a lightweight raincoat, Ivan slipped it on over his suit. When he’d gotten up earlier that morning, meteorologists were predicting rain, with temperatures in the low forties. Fall had come and he’d looked forward to an Indian summer. Halloween was five days away and the temperature had dropped steadily with the waning daylight hours.
Grasping his leather case, he tucked it under his arm and left the classroom. He hadn’t planned to teach, but a former professor had asked him to fill in for a colleague taking a sabbatical. The first time he walked into the classroom and introduced himself as Dr. Campbell, he felt as if he belonged there. It’d taken years for him to go from a college freshman not knowing what he wanted to study to graduating with an honors degree in the social sciences.
He attended graduate school as a psychology major, then followed as a postgraduate, working toward a PhD. He took a year off before enrolling in a postdoctoral program in psychotherapy and psychoanalysis. His sister, Roberta, teased him, saying he’d become a professional student, but the education and training had given him expert status in his field when it came to understanding the psyche of African-American youth.
Ivan stepped out onto the sidewalk and was met with an onslaught of icy pellets. The rain had turned to sleet. Turning up the collar of his raincoat, he ducked his head and walked toward the West Fourth Street-Washington Square subway station.
* * *
Nayo rang the bell to Ivan’s brownstone, chiding herself for walking, instead of taking a cab. The temperature was just above freezing, but with the sleet it felt colder. “It’s Nayo,” she said into the small intercom speaker affixed to the side of the building when she heard Ivan’s smooth baritone ask who it was. There came a buzzing sound and she pushed open the door and stepped into the cloaking warmth of the vestibule. She smiled when she saw a pair of men’s shoes on a thick straw mat under the credence table. Sitting in the leather chair, she bent over to take off her boots at the same time the door to Ivan’s apartment opened.
Her head came up and she met his mesmerizing smile. He looked as if he was dressed for the tropics: colorful Hawaiian shirt, khaki walking shorts and sandals.
“Hi.”
Ivan winked at Nayo. “Hi. Come in where it’s warm.”
Standing, she placed her shoes on the mat, then walked into the apartment. The air throughout the entryway was redolent with the sweet, fragrant smell of burning wood. Shrugging out of her coat, she handed it to Ivan.
Hoisting a leather tote over her shoulder, she rubbed her palms together. “It feels good in here.”
Ivan closed the closet door and turned to Nayo. She hadn’t worn gloves or a hat, and moisture shimmered on her curly hair like diamond dust. Reaching for her hands, he cradled them. “Where are your gloves?”
Nayo met the gaze of the man whose image she couldn’t get out of her head. She was fascinated not only by his face but also the man himself. And did he look good. He also smelled scrumptious. She wanted him with a desire that bordered on obsessio
n.
“They’re packed away with my winter clothes.”
Lowering his head, Ivan kissed her icy fingertips. “I think it’s time you unpacked your winter clothes. Don’t you know you could get frostbite?”
Nayo sucked her teeth. “Now who is being dramatic? I grew up in a little town near the Adirondack Mountains where we had two seasons—summer and winter.”
“I thought I heard an upstate inflection in your speech.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Do you have something against upstate folks?”
“Not in the least. In fact, I find them more laid-back than people from downstate.”
Nayo tried extricating her hands, but she was no match for Ivan’s strength. “I never knew what ‘flipping the bird’ meant until I came here to go to school.”
Ivan smiled. “Have you ever given someone the finger?”
Her smile matched his. “Yes. In fact, I did the other day when a cab driver came within inches of hitting me. Not only did he get the finger but also a few choice four-letter words.”
“No!” Ivan’s expression registered shock.
“Oh, hell, yeah,” she drawled, rolling her head on her neck. “You’re going to have to let go of my hands so I can give you dessert before it melts.”
“What did you bring?” he asked, releasing her hands.
Reaching into the tote, she took out a plastic container. “It’s homemade pistachio gelato.”
Ivan took the container. “Who made it?”
“I did.”
With wide eyes, he stared at her, then the container of frozen dessert. “You make gelato?”
Nayo rolled her eyes. “Yes, Ivan. Now please put it in the freezer before it gets too soft.”
Standing at attention, Ivan saluted her. “Yes, ma’am, sir.”
“Which one am I?” Nayo asked, smiling.
His gaze moved slowly over her face, down to her chest and still lower to her hips. A black sweater and matching jeans could not disguise the curves that made for a lush, compact body. He smiled at seeing her tiny feet in a pair of thick, black socks.
Man of Fantasy Page 5