by Jewel Daniel
"Oh, Mommy, I'm so sorry you had to go through that," Tamara whispered, becoming the comforter now.
"I was so ashamed, I quit school. I couldn't face my friends. I only told Momma what had happened to me a few days before she died. You were already two years old then."
"Where is he now? Charles."
"He's your congressman, in Washington, D.C."
Tamara held her mother's hand comfortingly. She finally understood why she was so mistrustful of men. No wonder Carl had pursued her for so many years before she finally agreed to marry him.
Leyoca looked Tamara straight in the eyes. "Tamara, don't think for a moment it is easy being a single mother, even if you have help. Momma died thinking she failed us because we both got pregnant and dropped out of high school. On her deathbed she told Leticia and me that even though we made mistakes in life, we could still go on to accomplish whatever we wanted to and be good mothers. Leticia and I interpreted it differently. I sacrificed spending time with you and got an education and financial security. Let sacrificed financial security to spend time with her children. I failed you as a mother, because though I provided for you, I was never there in person for you." She squeezed Tamara's hand. "Please, Tammy, let Ben be a part of his child's life."
"Oh, Mommy, I don't know if I can. But please, don't tell him. This is something I have to do myself, when I'm comfortable with it. I'm afraid if I tell him, he'll come back strictly for the sake of the baby and not because he loves me. I can't do another marriage of convenience."
Kwabena sat in a darkened corner at the far side of the bar. Tonight he wanted to get drunk. He wanted to drown his memories in a bottle of wine; no, make that scotch. He wanted to forget how she looked, how she felt in his arms, the strawberry scent of her hair. He wanted to forget what happened a year ago today. He wanted to forget the song they danced to beneath the tropical plants of the indoor garden. He wanted to forget the sound of the Jacuzzi bubbling invitingly, or the sound of Kenny G's saxophone, or the scent of the lavender votive candles. He wanted to forget how she felt lying in his arms as they'd made love. He wanted to forget what happened this time last year when Tamara gave herself to him.
He indicated to the bartender to replenish his drink. "Scotch straight up."
Thanksgiving had been tough. He spent it at Mike's house, but his mind was elsewhere. All the talk turned to last year and the snow storm, the blackout and impromptu sleepover. He had taken it in stride, smiling, laughing as if it didn't bother him. But deep down the memories were painful, because he knew he would never have that feeling again. Today, the Saturday after Thanksgiving, was worst. The memories were all too vivid, the loneliness too painful.
"That bad, huh?"
"Uh huh," he responded without looking up. He didn't have to. He smelled her before he saw her: her signature scent-Elizabeth Taylor's White Diamonds. Seemed she bathed in it.
"Anniversaries and holidays are always the hardest," she said, slipping onto the stool next to him. She ordered a strawberry daiquiri. "Make it a virgin."
"What are you doing here, Adeola?" Kwabena asked.
"I guess misery loves company," she responded in her throaty voice.
He ordered another scotch. "What do you know about misery, besides how to inflict it?" He downed the scotch in one gulp and ordered another.
"I guess I know what it feels like to want something really bad and know that I can't have it, because I didn't appreciate it enough to protect it when I had it."
He shrugged, drained his glass and signaled the bartender for another drink.
"You must be quite ecstatic," he said, slurring his words slightly. "It happened just as you predicted, or is it orchestrated? I'm free, I'm single, I'm disengaged. You must be quite proud of your handiwork."
"I like you better when you're sober. You're a miserable drunk.
"So what?" He signaled the bartender again.
Adeola waved the bartender away. "He's had enough." She asked the bartender for the check and got up from her stool. "Come on, let's get you home. You drink any more, you'll die of alcohol poisoning."
Kwabena slapped down a bill on the bar, got up unsteadily and reached for his car keys. Adeola snatched them out of his grasp. "I'll drive you home. Friends don't let friends drink and drive."
"What do I do with my car?"
"I'll give you a ride back tomorrow to get your car. Let's go."
The first thing Kwabena did when he got home was fix himself a stiff drink. Adeola came up to him and removed the drink from his hands. She poured it down the sink and fixed him a cup of strong coffee.
"You think you're my mother, do you?" he asked.
Adeola smiled. She didn't need him drunk for what she wanted. Tipsy maybe, but definitely not drunk. "I'll go freshen up," she said and slipped into his bedroom.
Kwabena leaned against the couch, sipping his coffee. Maybe drinking is not the answer It certainly didn't make me forget anything. He was still standing there when Adeola stepped out of the bedroom dressed in red lacy boy-shorts thong panties and a matching bra.
She walked up to him slowly, sensually, smiling seductively and placed a long shapely leg between his thighs. Without a word, she unbuttoned his shirt, dropping it on the couch behind him. She reached up and kissed him, caressing his chest in the process.
Maybe this is what I need, Kwabena thought. There's nothing like a hot, sexy woman to take your mind off another.
He returned her kiss hungrily, grabbing her exposed backside and pulling her close to him. It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman. Three months to be exact. Even though he'd had more than his fair share of willing women throw themselves at him, he didn't have the desire. All he could think of was Tamara and how lonely she must have been without him. Hell, he had more friends than he could count, and he was lonely without her. He sighed. He wished Tamara had at least returned one of his calls or e-mails. Well, he rationalized, it's not like we're together anymore.
"Mmmmmmm," he moaned as Adeola took his hand and led him to the bedroom.
Tamara drove slowly, uncertain how she was going to do this. She had decided since talking to her mother that she would tell Kwabena, and whatever the consequences were she would live with it. She mentally rehearsed what she was going to say to him. She would admit that she had misjudged him and allowed herself to be manipulated. She would admit that she'd been wrong in not giving him a chance to explain himself. She would apologize for mistrusting him and ask his forgiveness, ask for a second chance. If he was willing to give her a chance to work things out between them, she would tell him about the baby; but only if he gave her a second chance.
She pulled onto the little two-lane road lined with leafless oaks. Her heart raced as she approached his condo. She scanned the neatly parked cars at the side of the road for Kwabena's Civic but didn't see it. The only car parked in his assigned space was a red Acura Integra with a Nigerian flag hanging on the rearview mirror. Maybe he's not home.
She double parked next to the Integra and waited, deciding what to do. Though his car was absent, his bedroom and living room lights were on. Then she saw him through the partially open blinds, standing in the middle of his living room, sipping from a cup. Tamara's heartbeat quickened. She felt her face flush. She prayed for the courage to do what she needed to do.
Tamara closed her eyes. When she opened them, she saw the almost naked woman approach him. Adeola! She saw them kiss and walk toward the bedroom. Tamara's heart sank. She was crushed. Any hope she'd had of reconciling with Ben was gone. She had allowed Adeola to manipulate her and strip her of the man she loved.
She took one last look at the empty living room and made her decision. She would be a single mother, no matter the consequences. If Kwabena wanted to be with Adeola, there was nothing she could do about it. But she sure as hell was not letting that woman anywhere close to her child, even if it meant that her child may never know his or her father. Tamara did an illegal U-turn in the middle of the street
and headed home, tears running down her face.
Kwabena looked at the naked woman lying before him. Not a spot or blemish was on her body. Every curve was perfect, everything in the right proportion. Yet he couldn't get aroused. All he could think of was Tamara.
Adeola kissed his body, letting her tongue play along his chest. Her hands touched all the places that at one time would have had him moaning with pleasure, but it just wasn't working. He wanted to. He needed to. He needed to move on. He needed to desire another, but all he could think of was Tamara.
"Oh, Tammy," he whispered softly.
Adeola froze. She looked down at Kwabena lying still on his back, his eyes closed. "The name's Ade," she snapped. "I'll attribute that to the liquor talking." She resumed touching him. Kwabena remained unresponsive.
"I'm sorry, Ade," he whispered. "I can't do this."
Adeola got up from the bed, and began dressing. Never once in her life had her sexual advances ever been rejected by a man, especially Kwabena. She knew him. She knew his body. She knew what brought him up and what sent him down. Yet he'd chosen a fat, short woman over her.
"Where are you going?" Kwabena asked.
"Home," she answered in frustration, adjusting her bra straps.
"Listen Ade, I'm really sorry. It's not you, it's me." "Save it." She dressed rapidly, replacing her skintight pants and low-cut sweater. "I tried, but now it's time to admit what I should have admitted a long time ago. I'll never get your heart. Even if I use all the trickery and deceit in the world, you'll never look at me the way you look at Tamara."
She grabbed her purse, leaving him lying naked on the bed. She turned to face him. "Go to her, Kwabena. Go to Tamara. It's clear you love her. I'm the one who pushed her to divorce you. I'm the one who gave her the impression that we were still a couple and that you were using her only for the green card. I wanted you, Kwabena. I really did. But not like this. Go back to her." With that, she left.
The dreaded party: Independent Labs's Christmas party. Tamara was reluctant to attend, but knew she had little choice. Mike expected all his lab members to be there. She knew Kwabena would be there, most likely with his Nigerian beauty queen. So she'd worn her finest: a red empire-waist dress with molded cups that hung loosely in front but clung close enough to the back to accentuate her rounded behind. The low-cut top molded to her perfectly round breasts, accentuating her now triple-D cleavage. Below her breasts was a rhinestone clasp that held a red satin sash. The sash hung loosely, concealing her growing bump. The dress highlighted all the right curves and concealed what she didn't want others to see. She wore her hair in tiny curly twists. She knew she looked good, but for her own comfort, she had dragged along Jordan.
This year the party was held at a cocktail lounge in Annapolis. The place was elegantly decorated with crystal chandeliers and mirrors all over the spacious hall. There were multiple balconies overlooking the famed Annapolis Harbor. A live band played cocktail music as guests mingled. It was a semiformal shindig, with current and potential investors in suits sipping wine and champagne with the PIs of the individual labs. Beneath the soft music and dimmed lights, business transactions that determined the direction of Indepen dent Laboratories were being conducted. Pledges for the support of scientific endeavors were being solicited.
Tamara stood talking to Jordan, sipping cranberry juice and munching on a delicate shrimp cocktail.
"I think your ex just made his grand entrance," Jordan observed.
Tamara's eyes turned to the door, her heart attacking her sternum with a vengeance. Kwabena stepped in, wearing a dark gray suit and striped tie, his tall frame filling the entire doorway. His presence filled the room as he greeted the guests with his ever-present, everpleasant smile and firm handshakes. Tamara observed him silently, her heart doing somersaults, as several people gathered around him. His presence seemed to attract others-and he looked good. A few seconds later, Adeola walked in, decked out in her most elegant African finery. She stood next to him as he met and greeted guests, oftentimes introducing her to them. Even Tamara had to admit, they looked good together. Tamara turned back to Jordan. A twinge of jealousy shook Tamara's soul. She should have been at Kwabena's side.
Tamara walked around, mingling with the guests. Fortunately she knew most of the postdoctoral fellows, staff scientists and technicians and some of the graduate students at the party. She was talking to a Japanese postdoc when she felt herself being watched. She looked over her shoulder and her eyes locked with Kwabena's. He smiled brightly, revealing his beautiful, even white teeth, and waved at her. She smiled timidly and waved back. Kwabena strode toward her, but was waylaid by Mike and a few potential investors. Soon he was whisked off in another direction to attend to business.
For the next few hours, Kwabena, Mike and several of the PIs were busy courting investors. Jordan had taken the opportunity to network, pitching his business to many potential clients. Tamara hung around with her coworkers, wishing the party was over.
By ten, most of the suits and the family men were gone. According to ten-to-whenever happy-hour winers, this was when the real party began. Champagne and wine were disappearing off the waiters' trays faster than they could be replenished. The open bar got more frequent visits. The dance floor was finally put to use. The music changed in tempo, the conversations got louder, the laughter grew more raucous.
Tamara was talking to a Korean staff scientist from one of the affiliate labs when she saw Kwabena for the first time in hours. He was headed for the dance floor with none other than Adeola. Tamara's heart sank once more. She tried keeping up the conversation with her colleague, but couldn't concentrate. It didn't help that his English was poor.
"I'll go get a drink," she said to her colleague and walked off before he could respond.
She stood at the punch bowl, ladle in hand, about to pour the peach-colored punch into her glass when she heard, "Maybe I should taste it first, make sure it is not spiked. We wouldn't want any tabletop dirty dancing tonight would we?"
Tamara's heart flipped at the sound of Kwabena's accented baritone voice. Despite the calm tone, she could tell he was as nervous as she was. His accent deepened considerably when he was nervous or anxious. Right now he sounded as if he just stepped off the plane from Ghana. She smiled and looked up at him. He stood, observing her, his glass outstretched, waiting for her to pour him the drink, a flirtatious smile on his lips.
"Hi, Ben," Tamara said softly, pouring the drink into his glass.
He tasted the drink. "All clear."
Tamara laughed nervously and poured herself some of the fruit punch.
"So how have you been doing?" Kwabena asked, looking her over. She looked wonderful. From the soft rise of her chest, to the glowing smoothness of her delicate golden skin, to her soft curly twisted hair, she looked good. He could see she had been able to maintain her weight. Whatever she'd gained back was minimal and seemed to be seated on her breasts and backside. He felt a twinge as he thought about her breasts and butt and all the parts of her he had enjoyed just four months ago. He tried not to stare.
"I've been fine. Classes are going well. I do some of my work out of the lab at College Park. That way I can take daytime classes. It's been all good."
"You look good," Kwabena responded. "In fact, you look absolutely gorgeous tonight. I like your dress."
"Thanks." Tamara blushed.
Kwabena smiled. He loved it when she blushed. "So any plans for the holidays?"
"Not really. I've been toying with the idea of going to San Diego, but I haven't made up my mind as yet. Y?"
"Maybe I was planning to ask you out."
Tamara smiled coyly. "And maybe I would say yes."
"Even if that date involved a trip to Vegas?"
Tamara smiled and met his eyes. "Not as exotic as St. Lucia, but it beats the cold and the quiet."
Kwabena laughed. They began chatting easily, like they had so many times in the past. They spoke about Chris and Darlene's engagement and
their plans to wed next September. They reminisced about last holidays and the famed Thanksgiving dinner. They reminisced about St. Lucia. Just talking to him felt right. It felt like coming home.
Just then the band began to play "Lady in Red." Kwabena extended his hand. "May I have this dance, m'lady?
Tamara placed her hand in his and they walked hand in hand to the dance floor. They danced together slowly in the dim light. Tamara laid her head on his chest as she had done so many times before. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She loved his masculine scent: fresh Irish Spring mixed with Obsession, the cologne she had bought him for his birthday-or was it their anniversary? She had missed him so much. She wanted to hold him forever.
Kwabena leaned his cheek on her head. He loved the scent of her hair: the smell of fresh strawberries and some other fruit, which he knew came from her shampoo and the moisturizer she used at night. He closed his eyes and pictured her standing before the mirror, brushing her hair, performing her nightly ritual. He loved the feel of her in his arms moving slowly against his body. He knew without a doubt, he wanted her back in his life. He wanted to wake up next to her every day. Tonight was his chance to win her back, and he was going to do anything in his power to win her back, even if it meant groveling at her feet.
The song ended, but they remained on the dance floor, swaying slowly to imaginary music. Kwabena gently kissed the top of her head. Instead of bolting, she looked up at him and smiled. Their eyes met and held, their hearts beating in unison. Tamara slowly released the breath she was holding.