A Marriage of Convenience

by Jewel Daniel

  She stiffened momentarily, raised her head and looked up at him questioningly. He looked down at her and smiled sheepishly.

  Suddenly she pulled away from him. The song hadn't yet ended. "I'm tired. Maybe it's time we leave," she said quietly.

  Kwabena nodded, embarrassed, and they left the night club. The ride home was quiet and tense. Tamara had suddenly turned cold. The camaraderie built in the last few weeks was gone.

  When they entered the door, Tamara headed upstairs. "Tammy," he called quietly. She turned back and looked at him with eyes of steel. "I crossed the line. I'm sorry."

  She nodded and ran upstairs to her room. As she lay in bed, she reflected on the night. This marriage was a business deal, and she did not want to lose sight of that at all. Yet she felt the attraction. It was not just that he was handsome or physically attractive. But he was the only person beside Jordan who made her feel special and secure. In their interactions of the past few weeks, he had listened to her as if she was the most important person in the world. He looked at her with respect and admiration. Most of all, Kwabena made her feel beautiful and feminine. But she knew in a year's time when he got his green card, they would be divorced and whatever pretend marriage they had would come to an end. She couldn't risk falling for him. She couldn't risk another heartbreak.

  The delicious scent of stewed meat greeted Tamara as she entered her front door, reminding her of just how hungry she was. It had been a long week, and today an even longer day. She'd attended church with Becky and the kids, since Jordan was out working. Church was an all-day affair. Worst of all, she could not get what happened last weekend off her mind.

  For the entire week, Tamara replayed the events at the gala and nightclub in her head. Though she hadn't seen much of Kwabena for the week, she could not stop thinking of the slow dance they shared and his light kiss on her head. She kept seeing the embarrassment on his face when she abruptly ended the dance. Even while at church, she could not clear her mind of the expression on his face as he apologized for crossing the line. But the more she thought of it, the more she realized that she had overreacted. His action was probably just a momentary lapse in judgment, stimulated by the slow music and the ambiance of the moment. Her reaction was not justifiable.

  Yet Tamara recognized that her reaction was driven by fear. Not fear that Kwabena would intentionally try to take advantage of her. In the weeks between her failed job interview and the gala, she had grown to like and respect Kwabena as an honorable and charming person. They had shared a few dinners and conversa tions that left her feeling secure, as if she could trust him. He was easy to talk to, easy to be with. What she feared was herself... that growing attraction she felt for him. She didn't understand it. Yes, he was handsome. Yes, he had a body that could make a woman drool. But beyond that, she felt a growing closeness-a kind of emotional attraction she did not trust. Tamara had to keep reminding herself that their relationship was based on a business deal and nothing more. In a year's time it would be over and he would be out of her life. The most she could hope to get from this arrangement was a new friend.

  Tamara drifted into the kitchen, lured by the aroma of delicious food. As was customary when Kwabena cooked, the kitchen was a mess. Pots, pans and ingredients occupied every bit of counter space. Something was sizzling in a large pot on the stove. Kwabena was nowhere in sight. Tamara draped her long ice blue jacket that complemented her straight sleeveless dress over her arms and headed straight to the pot. She lifted the cover, taking in the delicious aroma of stewed meat.

  "Curiosity killed the cat," came Kwabena's deep voice behind her. She jumped and immediately turned red. She saw he was grinning from ear to ear.

  Tamara returned the smile. "I hope that's not what you are cooking."

  Kwabena laughed lightly, as if last weekend was all but forgotten. "Could be. Taste it and see."

  "Goat I'm willing to try, but I draw the line at cats and dogs... and rabbits."

  They both laughed. "It's just beef and chicken," he said, stirring the stew with a wooden spoon and lower ing the fire beneath pot. "I'm preparing Jolof Rice. Want me to show you how to cook it?"

  "I'd love to, but I've got to shop for groceries. As of this morning the cupboards resembled Old Mother Hubbard's." Tamara opened the refrigerator to see what she needed to purchase. To her surprise, the refrigerator was filled to capacity with many unfamiliar ethnic foods.

  Kwabena glanced up at her. "That's been taken care of."

  "Gee, thanks," Tamara responded. "How much do I owe you?"

  Kwabena moved toward the island, where he began to peel vegetables. "Nothing. Just help cleaning up this kitchen when I'm done."

  Tamara looked around at the messy kitchen and clucked her tongue. "I definitely need to change my clothes for this," she said and exited the kitchen.

  Kwabena looked at Tamara's retreating back. He thought back to the dance they shared. His initial reason for inviting Tamara to the gala was twofold. First and foremost, he wanted to dispel a few myths she held about Ghanaian culture and lifestyle. The second reason was more important: he felt sorry for her. She appeared sad, lonely and vulnerable. He could not help noticing the paucity of friends or her nonexistent social life. That was in stark contrast to him, who constantly entertained friends. On several occasions, he had been tempted to invite her downstairs to join him and his friends for dinner, but was dissuaded by her hostility and hot temper. That night when he found her crying in frustration, his heart went out to hers, especially when she detailed the difficulty she'd faced in the past year. He commiserated with her. It was not too long ago that he faced similar tumults and uncertainty in his life that led him to this desperate marital arrangement.

  Since that night they had eaten together and watched television on several occasions. They'd even played a game of chess, and she'd whipped his butt-no small feat. She was intelligent, witty, easy to talk to and did not take herself too seriously. He enjoyed the time they spent together. He genuinely liked her, but that was no excuse for his actions last weekend. He had no idea what had come over him or why he had felt such a strong desire to kiss her. He was not usually that impulsive. Maybe it was just the night: the high of receiving the award, the song or the dance. Or maybe...

  "Maybe what?" Tamara returned, sweeping into the kitchen in a pair of jeans, a green T-shirt and flip-flops.

  He had spoken out loud. "Maybe ...you can cutup some veggies or chop some seasoning," he said, quickly rebounding from his mishap. "Do you have a garlic press?"

  "No," Tamara answered, grabbing a full bottle of cider from the Lazy Susan and holding it up, "But I have this."

  Tamara began pounding the garlic with the bottle, while Kwabena cut vegetables, only to be interrupted by the phone ringing in the basement.

  "Be back." Kwabena wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and trotted down to the basement, but by the time he got to the phone, the caller had hung up. He looked at the caller ID, sighed and trotted back upstairs.

  When he returned, Tamara was macerating the gar lic, calmly humming a gospel song. Looking at her, he had to admit she was beautiful. Not the kind of obvious beauty that he usually found himself attracted to. He couldn't understand the attraction to her. He always went for the tall, slim, model type. Tamara was anything but that. But there was something about her that had him captivated. Her beauty came from within and radiated out.

  Again his mind drifted to last Saturday night and the urge he had to kiss her. Tamara was several inches shorter, a whole lot heavier and definitely less polished than any woman he'd ever dated. Yet he found her attractive. Maybe it was her sheltered innocence or her smile, which lit up her face and made you feel like you were the most important person in the world. Or maybe it was her simple, sometimes self-deprecating, sense of humor... or her honesty. She was not coy. She did not flirt or throw herself at him like so many women did. Nor was she pretentious. Nothing like the women he dated or the beauty queen he almost married. Tamara was like a brea
th of fresh air.

  "Ow!" she squealed, sticking her throbbing finger in her mouth. She'd missed the garlic and hit her index finger hard.

  "You ok?" Kwabena crossed the room in two quick strides.

  "No," she responded. "I think I just made mincemeat out of my fingers."

  He laughed. Even in pain, Tamara had a sense of humor. "Let me see." He took her hand in his and looked at her red swollen finger, then reached in the freezer for a bag of frozen veggies.

  "What's that for?"

  "First aid," he responded wrapping the cold bag around her finger. "It will reduce the swelling."

  Kwabena held the cold pack around Tamara's fingers, aware of the softness of her hands in his. They stood in the middle of the kitchen silently, her hand in his as he gently nursed her wounded finger. He wrestled the urge to draw her closer. His eyes searched her face. She raised her gaze to meet his and for a fleeting moment their eyes locked.

  Staring into Kwabena's dark eyes, Tamara felt naked, as if he could see into her soul. Nervously, she lowered her head.

  Kwabena placed one long finger beneath her chin. Gently he tilted her face upward. Tamara's heart throbbed as he lowered his head ever so slowly. Tamara closed her eyes, powerless to fight the invisible force that drew them together.

  The scent of burning meat assailed their noses as the pot sizzled noisily on the stove.

  "The meat!" they exclaimed in unison as realization hit them.

  Kwabena rushed to the stove, hurriedly removing the pot from the fire. The spell was broken.

  An hour later, Tamara and Kwabena sat at the table in the breakfast nook over steaming plates of Jolof Rice and fried plantains. Tamara savored the taste of the rice infused with stewed chicken, beef and various veggies.

  "This is good," she said. "It's almost like a dish Jordan's grandmother used to make. I think she called it cook-up."

  "It probably originated from West Africa and crossed the Atlantic during the slave trade. The more you travel, the more you realize the similarity among cuisines. The more diverse a culture, the more blended the cuisine."

  "I guess you must be well traveled." She wanted to know more about him.

  "I did a lot of traveling before living in the U.S.," Kwabena admitted. "Now most of my international traveling is restricted to conferences in Europe or Asia and trips back to Ghana to visit relatives."

  Tamara looked out the bay window of the breakfast nook to the golf course in the distance. "I always wanted to travel outside the U.S."

  "Any country in particular?"

  Tamara smiled and took another bite of her food. "I always wanted to go to the Caribbean. When I had the money, I never had the time. Now I have the time, but not the money."

  Kwabena chuckled, "One day you will." He spooned a generous helping of red pepper sauce over his food.

  Tamara took the bottle from him.

  "I don't recommend it," he warned before she poured it. "It's extremely hot."

  "Hey, I've had Jamaican jerk. I can handle a little pepper sauce!" With that, she poured a generous amount over her rice. With the first forkful, Tamara felt her eyes water and her throat burn. "Water..." she croaked, her mouth on fire. After downing a pint of water Tamara asked, "What in the world is that?"

  Kwabena tried his best to keep a straight face. "It's shito. My aunt Esi made it for me the last time I visited."

  "They should call it fire sauce."

  "My aunt uses it in everything, especially her Jolof Rice."

  "Sounds like a recipe for perpetual heartburn," Tamara muttered, spooning more rice minus the shito into her plate.

  "Believe me, Aunt Esi is a top notch cook. If you think my Jolof Rice is good, you should taste hers. When I was little, each time a man wanted to marry one of my aunts, his elder relatives, usually his uncles, would have these meetings with my uncle Kofi and several of the elder men of the family. After the meetings, there would be feasts and dancing. Aunt Esi would make her Jolof Rice. That thing was so good that my aunts used to say if the man seeking marriage had second thoughts, Aunt Esi's Jolof Rice would erase all doubts."

  Tamara laughed, thinking of her own very small family. "You must have an incredibly large family. How many siblings do your parents have?"

  Kwabena reached for some fried plantains. "They are not all my parents' siblings. Some are cousins, and some aren't even blood relatives. As long as they are within my parents' age group, they are aunts and uncles. Similar to the way your cousin's kids think of you as their aunt."

  "I see," was Tamara's response.

  They sat in a comfortable silence, savoring the sweet taste of the plantains. After a few minutes, Tamara asked, "How is it you've never been married?"

  Kwabena raised one eyebrow.

  "I mean before this... this arrangement," she clarified.

  "Never found the right person." Kwabena looked far off as he reflected on his engagement several years earlier. It had been for all the wrong reasons with the wrong person. She had been more interested in his family status and his potential fame than in him as a person, and it had hurt him greatly. From her and some minor girlfriends, he'd learned not to trust women. For him it was too difficult to distinguish those who wanted him for who he was and those who associated with him for his status in life. It was also one of the reasons why he revealed so little of himself, his family history and his work to the people he recently met. As a result, he'd engaged in a series of noncommittal relationships and had not seriously considered marriage.

  He turned back to Tamara. "Someday, when the right person comes along, I'd like to have a family. Someday..." His voice trailed off.

  Tamara smiled. "Me too."

  The October air was cool and crisp as Tamara stood out on the deck overlooking the pool. The trees in the woods behind the yard were already turning yellow and red, painting a picturesque scene of tranquility. Squirrels scampered in and out of the trees and scurried along the ground, enjoying the last bits of warmth before winter set in. Tamara smiled as she saw a rabbit hop by, and listened to frogs croaking around the creek. She inhaled the perfumed air, enjoying her home. She was thankful she didn't have to sell right away.

  She heard the deck creak. She looked around and saw Kwabena enter the deck from the basement entrance.

  "Hey," he said, leaning against the railing next to her.

  She returned his greeting with a casual smile. In the past two weeks they had adopted the lifestyle of roommates. They split the grocery bill and the utilities. If he cooked, he left food for her. If she cooked, she left food for him. And if they were both home at the same time, they ate together. Other times they cooked together. They respected each other's space. It was a feeling of camaraderie and belonging that Tamara had been missing most of her adult life. Yet, he never went upstairs, and she never went downstairs. At times, she heard him with friends. Other times, she suspected he entertained women. Tamara had to constantly remind herself that what he did was his own business, despite her curiosity-and jealousy.

  Kwabena looked at the sun slowly going down behind the trees across the yard. It left the sky with brush strokes of orange and pink. "This is my favorite time of year," he said, looking far off. "It's not too hot, and it's not too cold."

  Tamara smiled. "Enjoy it while you can. Our first arctic blast moves in next week, or so the weatherman says."

  They stood in silence for a while, enjoying each other's company. "I love this place," he said. "I'm glad you don't have to sell."

  "Who says I don't? Unless I get a J-O-B I will have to sell sooner or later. I hope it's later than sooner."

  "Maybe a job is on the horizon," Kwabena said, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

  "Are you offering me one?"

  "Actually, I spoke to this friend of mine who is looking for an IT specialist to set up and maintain a data communication system. I ran your name by him, and he would like to interview you."

  "Are you serious?" she asked hopefully. "I hope you're not teasing
me."

  "I'm not," he assured her. He fished in his pocket and retrieved a business card from his billfold. "You need to give him a call to arrange an interview. I took the liberty of directing him to your resume online, so he's already familiar with your qualifications."

  She read the card. The location was about ten to fifteen minutes from her home. "Thank you." She smiled gratefully, closing her eyes. Suddenly a mixture of inexplicable emotion overwhelmed her. She looked up at Kwabena with awe. Not only was he an extremely modest accomplished scientist, he was also a very sensitive and generous person. Kwabena was fast becoming her personal hero.

  "It's an academic institution, so don't expect a sixfigure salary."

  "Any salary is better than none," she said. Overcome with emotion, she threw herself in his arms and gave him a big hug. "Oh, thank you, Ben. Thank you so much."

  Her happiness was infectious. Kwabena found himself lifting her effortlessly off the ground and spinning her around. When her feet returned to terra firma, they were both laughing.

  She looked up at him with soft brown eyes, sparkling with happiness, relief and gratitude. Her heart swelled with a strange feeling so strong she could hardly speak. "Thank you," she whispered her voice thick with emotion.

  He looked down at her. Their eyes met and held. Kwabena sighed deeply, his eyes searching her face. Surely she must be feeling the same thing he was feeling. He wanted to feel her soft moist lips on his. With his back against the banister, he bent to bring himself closer to her height and tenderly drew her to him. Slowly he lowered his head, his eyes asking permission to ravish her lips.

  Tamara looked up at him with wide eyes. His eyes were filled with desire that she knew reflected her own. Her heart was racing, her knees weak and shaky. She looked at his generous lips and breathed deeply. She wanted to feel his lips on hers, to taste the sweetness of his kiss. Her lips parted as his face drew close to hers.