Man of Fantasy

by Rochelle Alers

  Ava waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Why don’t you guys go back and watch your game? I’ll bring you a plate.” Waiting until the men retreated, she flashed a grin. “It worked, Tamara.”

  Tamara gave Ava a soft fist bump. “What’s up with Ivan?” she whispered. “I’d expected him to step up and offer his house for next week, but he didn’t.”

  Ava gave Nayo a long, penetrating stare. “I think Miss Nayo here has something to do with that. What’s up, girl?”

  Nayo felt her face suffuse with heat as she sat down again. “Nothing.”

  Tamara sucked her teeth. “Don’t be so modest, Nayo. Your man is whipped.”

  Nayo did not respond to Tamara’s quip, because she didn’t have a response. Ivan wasn’t her man just because they’d slept together, and she didn’t know him well enough to determine if he’d mellowed.

  “I know how to make buffalo wings without deep-frying them,” she said, instead.

  “How?” Ava asked.

  “You can use the same oven-bake method as you would with chicken. I usually coat them with Japanese panko bread crumbs after spraying them with a garlic-infused peanut oil. Panko crumbs are lighter than traditional bread crumbs, stay crisp longer and are healthier because they contain less salt and calories.”

  “Okay,” Tamara drawled. “You could be onto something, Nayo. Maybe the guys can have their wings while eating healthier at the same time.”

  “Tamara’s right,” Ava said. “Nayo, why don’t you convince Ivan to host next Sunday’s football outing and you make your panko buffalo wings?”

  “Where did you learn about panko bread crumbs?” Tamara asked Nayo.

  “My parents own a restaurant.”

  “Where?” Ava asked.

  “It’s upstate.”

  Tamara squinted at her. “How far upstate?”

  “It’s about forty miles from Lake Placid.”

  Ava whistled softly. “Really upstate. How would you get there if you’re not driving?”

  “I fly into the Adirondack regional airport and someone picks me up from there.”

  Tamara reached for the bottle of wine and topped off everyone’s drinks. “How long have you known Ivan?”

  Nayo had been anticipating the question. If she were to bond with the fiancées of Ivan’s two friends, then she had to be honest. “A week.”

  “A week,” Ava repeated. “It’s only been a week and he’s deferring to you. Nice going, Nayo.”

  “What are you talking about?” Nayo knew she sounded defensive, but she hadn’t wanted the two women to misconstrue her relationship with Ivan.

  “You’ve turned your man into a teddy bear,” Ava said, smiling. “I’ve heard Ivan is an excellent therapist, but when he’s not being Dr. Campbell, the man can be quite formidable. The first time I met him I felt as if I was being interrogated. It didn’t take long for me to realize he was just being protective of his friend.”

  “Don’t you mean brother?” Tamara asked. “Ivan, Duncan and Kyle are tighter than most brothers.” She set her wineglass on the countertop next to the double sink. “I better stop drinking or I’ll mess up dinner.”

  Tamara, wiping crumbs off the granite surface with a napkin, asked, “What’s for dinner?”

  “I decided to go down South tonight. We’ll start with a seafood gumbo, collard greens, blackened red-snapper filets and corn bread,” said Ava.

  Nayo slid off her stool. “Do you have filé powder?” she asked Ava.

  “No, I don’t. Why?”

  “Gumbo is not gumbo without filé powder.”

  Ava grimaced. “I’d send one of the guys out to the supermarket to pick up some, but I don’t want the proverbial mess to hit the fan.”

  “I’ll ask Ivan,” Nayo volunteered.

  “Good luck, girl,” Tamara muttered. Once Duncan zeroed in on the sports channel, nothing short of a nuclear explosion could distract him.

  Nayo made her way past rooms filled with exquisite furnishings selected for comfort and entertaining. She approached the room where the three men sat on a leather grouping watching football on a large, wall-mounted television. Pockets doors were closed, and although she could see their mouths moving, she couldn’t hear what they were saying. It was obvious the room had been soundproofed.

  She opened the door and the surround-sound system came at her like the roar of a jet engine. The volume was turned up so high that Nayo felt as if she were in a movie theater. Somehow she managed to get Kyle’s attention and he used a remote control to lower the volume.

  “I’d like to see Ivan for a minute.”

  Ivan rose to his feet when he heard Nayo’s voice. He went over to her. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need you to go to the store and buy some filé powder. I’m making gumbo.”

  He stared down at the woman who within the span of a week had turned his life upside down. What he was beginning to feel for her was so intense it was palpable. Ivan didn’t want to admit that he was falling in love with Nayo Goddard, but that was the only word he could come up with to identify the sensation he had whenever they occupied the same space. Reaching out, he brushed a curl off her forehead.

  “Is there anything else you’ll need?”

  “No. That’s it.” Nayo gave him gentle smile. “Thank you.”

  Cradling her face in his palms, he lowered his head and brushed a kiss over her parted lips. “You’re welcome.” He watched Nayo retreat, and then turned to see Duncan and Kyle staring at him with more interest than they had in the game. “I have to go to the supermarket.”

  Kyle gave him a questioning look. “I thought Ava and I bought everything she needed yesterday.”

  “Nayo said she needs some filé powder to make gumbo.”

  “And you’re going in the middle of the game?” Duncan asked.

  “Stay out of it, Gilmore,” Kyle warned softly. “Somebody told me that your woman sent you to the store to pick up a home pregnancy kit.”

  Ivan chuckled. “Now that’s where I draw the line. I stay out of the feminine-products aisle.”

  “You and DG are still whipped,” Kyle crowed.

  “And you’re not?” Duncan countered. “Face it, brothers. We are all whipped!”

  Duncan and Kyle touched fists, silently acknowledging that falling in love with the right woman was worth wearing the letter W around their necks.

  CHAPTER 11

  Nayo hummed along with the song coming from a built-in speaker in the kitchen as she melted butter in a heavy skillet before adding flour, then liquid to make a roux. She concentrated on stirring the mixture until it was light caramel in color. It’d been a while since she’d made a roux, and she’d forgotten how long it took to make it perfectly smooth.

  Tamara had washed three bunches of collard greens. She’d stacked the leaves, rolled them together lengthwise in a tight bundle and cut them crosswise into one-inch strips. “Ava, do you want to cook the greens in the pressure cooker?”

  Ava glanced up. She’d just finished shucking oysters and peeling shrimps for the gumbo. “No. I prefer the longer, stove-top method. Kyle told me they plan to watch two games, so it’s going to be a while before we sit down to dinner.”

  Nayo took the pot with the roux off the heat and set it aside. “Should I make the gumbo mild or spicy?”

  “How spicy is spicy?” Tamara asked.

  Nayo smiled. “I can either use this whole can of diced tomatoes and green chilies or half.”

  “I don’t know about Ivan and Duncan, but Kyle likes heat,” Ava said as she washed her hands in one of two stainless-steel sinks.

  “Ivan has Tabasco sauce in his house, so I assume he uses it.” Nayo knew she’d opened herself up to endless questions about her and Ivan, although she’d admitted to meeting him a week ago.

  What Nayo found puzzling was that she hadn’t experienced guilt after sleeping with Ivan, then realized it wasn’t the length of time two people kne
w each other, but how they related to and respected the other.

  She’d known Jerrell all her life, yet she hadn’t actually known him. If she’d been aware that he wanted to use her for financial gain, she never would’ve consented to go out on the first date.

  There wasn’t much she could say about her duplicitous married lover. If she’d looked harder, she would’ve recognized the signs that indicated that a so-called single man was just the opposite: he only gives you his cell or office number, you can’t reach him on weekends—because he’s probably with his wife and children—and all of the liaisons are conducted at your place. Nayo had called herself the fool of fools, but it had been too late. For the second time in her life a man had used her.

  However, she didn’t intend to repeat the mistake with Ivan. He had two important things in his favor: he didn’t need her money and he obviously wasn’t married.

  “Turn that up,” Tamara said, snapping her fingers in time to “In da Club,” the catchy, classic, hip-hop club favorite.

  Ava swung a dish towel above her as she cut a step. “I lost track of how many times I danced to this record.” Nayo joined her, and soon the three women were gyrating and sliding across the black-and-white vinyl tiles on the kitchen floor as if they were in a dance club.

  The chiming of the telephone penetrated the driving bass beat, and Ava turned down the radio to answer the call. Reaching for a pen, she made notes on a nearby pad, then hung up. The call had lasted less than a minute.

  She ran a hand over the short hair on the nape of her neck. “Ladies, if you haven’t already, please don’t plan anything the Saturday of the Thanksgiving weekend.”

  Tamara rolled her eyes. “I think I’m scheduled to work that weekend.”

  “Can you get off?” Ava asked.

  “What’s happening that weekend?”

  “Signature Bridals’ floral designer is renewing her vows. Simone Whitfield and her delicious-looking husband got married in Vegas in August.”

  “But that was only three months ago,” Nayo said.

  Ava smiled. “That would be all right for people who aren’t in the wedding business. The Whitfields have been in the business for more than thirty years, and getting married at a Vegas chapel with a James Brown or Elvis impersonator as a witness doesn’t sit very well with the elder Whitfields.”

  “I can see why,” Tamara said softly. “Where’s the wedding going to be held?”

  “Right here in Harlem. To be exact, in East Harlem. Faith and Ethan McMillan are hosting it at their brownstone. Tessa, she’s the wedding planner, is sending out invitations tomorrow. Nayo, are you going to be in town that weekend?” Ava asked.

  Nayo felt two pairs of eyes fixed on her and looking for an answer. Had Ava assumed that because Ivan received an invitation he would automatically take her with him? She returned to Beaver Run to visit with her family every Christmas and every other Thanksgiving. This year she planned to share Thanksgiving dinner with Geoff and his family.

  “Yes, I’ll be here.”

  Tamara pressed her palms together. “Good. You’ll get to see up close and personal a Signature Bridals wedding.”

  Nayo bit her lip to keep from telling Tamara that she was making too many assumptions. She may have slept with Ivan, but they were not a couple. She was no more committed to him than he was to her. One thing she did know, and that was she couldn’t sleep with him and another man at the same time.

  She turned her attention back to cutting and dicing ingredients for the gumbo. Soon the kitchen was filled with the delicious aroma of sautéing celery, onions, peppers, okra, oregano, thyme and bay leaves.

  Tamara stood at the stove beside her browning diced onions, cubed smoked turkey and minced garlic in a Dutch oven for the collard greens. The differing smells were incredibly tantalizing.

  Ivan returned with the filé powder. He threw it on the table, then ran to the rear of the house to get back to his football game.

  * * *

  Ivan, carrying Nayo’s camera equipment, followed her up the three flights of stairs to her apartment. He’d tried convincing her to spend another night at his house, but she’d refused, claiming she had to get up early to print out the photographs he’d chosen, mat them, then take them for framing.

  As soon as he stepped off the stair onto the landing, a streak of blue-gray darted past his feet. “What the…” His voice trailed off when he saw the cat winding its way around Nayo’s legs. He assumed the cat had come from the neighboring apartment. The door was ajar and a television could be heard through the opening.

  Nayo unlocked the door to her apartment, and the British shorthair kitten scooted inside. “That was Colin,” she said, smiling. “He’s one of the males in my life.”

  Ivan forced a smile he didn’t feel. He would’ve preferred Nayo to say the kitten was the only other male in her life, not just one of them.

  “Is he named for Colin Powell?”

  Nayo tossed her keys on the table near the door. “No. Mrs. Anderson named him after Colin Firth.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “A British actor. He played Mr. Darcy in the television production of Pride and Prejudice.” She gestured to the closet. “You can put the bag right there.”

  Ivan lifted his broad shoulders in a gesture that said he couldn’t care less who Colin Firth was. What he wanted was to spend more time with Nayo. They’d spent most of the afternoon and evening at Kyle’s house, but most of that time he’d been watching two football games. During the second game’s halftime, he’d apologized for neglecting her. Nayo shrugged off his apology, saying she was enjoying herself cooking and talking with Tamara and Ava.

  And when he’d observed the women together, he realized they were the quintessential football widows. They’d bonded because their men were too involved in the game to interact with them.

  He’d counseled women who’d had affairs because they felt unappreciated and neglected by their sports-obsessed husbands or partners. Unfortunately when their indiscretion was uncovered, the men never accepted blame. One man told him at least his wife knew where he was when he wasn’t with her: in front of a television at home or in a sports bar.

  After he’d gathered and analyzed the data on women who cheat, he discovered most of them shared similar attributes: all were mothers, married for a minimum of five years, three worked at home and seven worked outside the home, which provided them ready access to other men. Closer analysis revealed none had careers, not even the women who’d graduated from college.

  This was how his patients in the research study differed from Nayo, Tamara and Ava. Nayo was making a name for herself as a photographer, Tamara was a medical doctor and Ava was a licensed social worker. Not once had the three complained they were being ignored. They’d hung out in the kitchen, talking, cooking and bonding.

  Fortunately Ivan hadn’t become a sports junkie. He knew some men who were rabid fans of baseball, football, boxing, basketball and hockey. Whereas baseball and football were enough to feed his sports appetite.

  Nayo slipped out of her coat and hung it in the closet. She turned to find Ivan watching her. “I’m going to try to get your framed photographs back to you before the end of the week.”

  He took a step, closing the distance between them. “There’s no rush.”

  Tilting her head, Nayo regarded the brooding expression on the face of the man, a stranger, who made her want him when she hadn’t wanted to, when she couldn’t afford to let her heart rule her head.

  In the past, because of her unorthodox lifestyle, she’d believed there was no room in her life for romance. But that changed when she found an apartment, secured a position with the auction house and held her first photographic exhibition. Her professional life was on track, and she had a lover for the first time in years. In other words, life was beautiful, and would remain beautiful only if she was able to balance her personal and professional life.

  Ivan had asked her to spend another night with him when she�
��d already given him Friday and Saturday night. When she declined his offer, he hadn’t said anything because he didn’t have to say anything. His expression said it all: he was upset.

  Nayo knew why she’d been reluctant to get involved with a man when she watched his dark eyes change, hardness replacing the tenderness that had been there seconds before.

  Resting her hands on his chest, she leaned into him. “I’ll call you.”

  Ivan buried his face between her scented neck and shoulder. “I’ll call you back.”

  She smiled. “I’ll miss you.” Her voice was muffled in his sweater.

  “I’ll miss you, too.”

  Easing back, Nayo gazed up at Ivan “Good night.”

  His head came down and he gave her a kiss that brought tears to her eyes and left her feeling weak and confused. What, she wondered, was Ivan doing to her? Was he using silent persuasion to wear her down till she was helpless to resist him and his lovemaking?

  Somewhere, somehow she found the strength to end the kiss. “Go home, Ivan.”

  A knowing smile tilted the corners of his mouth as if he knew exactly what he was doing and what she was feeling.

  “Good night, doll face.”

  Nayo walked him to the door as Colin rubbed against her legs. Bending over, she picked up the kitten, cradling him to her chest as she watched Ivan descend the staircase. She waited and watched until he disappeared from her line of vision. Carrying the feline, she pushed open her neighbor’s door and placed him inside, closing the self-locking door behind her.

  Nayo then returned to her apartment, closed and locked the door, sliding the safety chain in place. She planned to brush her teeth, shower and go directly to bed. Dyana had given her Monday off, but that didn’t mean she would have a day of rest.

  Her to-do list also included developing the pictures she’d taken of Ivan and meeting with Ava and Tamara to show them her portfolio. She’d promised the two women she would prepare a light dinner, rather than go to a restaurant, but they overruled her, saying they would bring dinner.

  Nayo went through the ritual of turning on the radio before she walked into the bathroom. She stripped off her clothes, leaving them in a large wicker basket that served as a clothes hamper. Twenty minutes later she flipped the switch for the track lights and slipped into bed.