I’d even stood up to my mother. I told her I needed to get away and she agreed I had been working very hard. Still, it hadn’t been easy for her to part with her baby girl at that time of year.
Her attempt at control had gotten old a long time ago because she continued to hold Maria’s life over my head, as if being an obedient daughter would make-up for the wayward one.
She’d always held onto me real tight to compensate for the daughter she’d lost to drugs years ago, as if she were dead. I didn’t know of any way I hadn’t tried already to convince her that my sister’s wanderlust was not a result of any wrongdoing on her part. And to make it harder for me to leave, she reminded me that Phillip had been away for Thanksgiving and I wouldn’t see him for Christmas either. It was nearly my undoing. Joyce Browne was the master of the guilt trip.
I’d almost given in and canceled my trip when my father stepped in and said he wasn’t having it. “Zoë, pay no mind to this nonsense.” My mother rolled her eyes.
“You only get one life and you don’t want to look back and discover that you did everything to please everybody but yourself. Do you?”
“No, Daddy.”
“Then for once, think about yourself. We’re gonna miss you at Christmas, don’t get me wrong, but it’s your Christmas, too. Spend it the way you want. Don’t worry about your mother. She’ll be alright.”
My father was usually a very reserved man. He only spoke when necessary, but when he did, his words carried a lot of weight. I couldn’t imagine him making a sales pitch to sell a car but he’d proven himself over and over. He would let my mother have the last word lots of times just to keep the peace, but when he put his foot down, she got quiet. She’d learned over the years when to not push too hard. That was one of those times.
What he did do though, was walk me to the door and pull me into his arms.
“Now, for my peace of mind, I want his name, address and phone number.”
I looked up into his face with surprise.
“What? You thought I didn’t realize it was a man who could pull you away from your family at Christmas?”
“Daddy…I…uh…”
“You don’t have to say anything else. Just give me the information and I’ll feel a little more comfortable with my daughter traveling to New York alone. I don’t care how old you are.”
I gave him Humphrey’s name and scrolled through my phone for his number.
“His name is really Humphrey?” “Yep.”
“Well, he’d better be pretty damned cool with a name like that.”
“He is awesome, Daddy.”
“I’m gonna take your word for it, Baby girl.”
We shared a big hug and a kiss and I was off with my father’s blessing.
I replayed that conversation in my mind, on the way to New York and it was the main reason for the relief that washed over me when the conductor announced we had arrived.
I stepped off the train into a world of chaos. There were people everywhere, walking every which way. I’d never heard so many foreign accents in one place. This is the epitome of the Great Melting Pot, I thought as I scanned the crowd for him. I’d only brought one bag and was thankful for that, as I was bumped around on all sides.
I spotted him standing still, looking calm in the midst like a port in a storm. And my stomach quivered, at the sight of him. Although he was wrapped up to ward off the cold, I could see the worry in his eyes because he hadn’t found me yet and I started making my way to him. He was the only thing stable within the flurry of activity, the one sure thing.
I tugged on his coat from behind and he turned around with a knowing smile on his face. Lord knows his smile had a way of warming my heart.
“Hey, good lookin’,” I called up to his great height.
“That was the longest two hours I ever waited for anything.” “I’m so glad to see you.”
A warm kiss was his response.
He jumped into his New Yorker mode. He took my bag and told me to wrap up good because it was cold outside. He maneuvered us through the crowd with enough aggression to get people out of the way, climbing the stairs two at a time with nary a pause, giving me an idea of how he got that buffed body of his. But by the time we got out to the street, he was moving so fast I had to remind him to slow down.
“Humphrey, your legs are twice as long as mine and you’re moving twice as fast. I’m skipping to keep up with you.”
“I’m sorry. I’m a fast walker and I have to remind myself to slow down sometimes.”
“Where’s your truck, anyway.” I was trying to breathe and talk at the same time.
“Very seldom do I drive into the city. I usually take the train or ride my bike.” He laughed. “What’s wrong? You’re not up to the walking, eh?”
He put his arm around my shoulders and we walked side by side for two long New York blocks before he made any mention of where we were headed.
“We’re going straight to the gallery, okay? I have to meet an artist who’s coming to pick up his work from the last show. Then we’ll go to my place.”
“As long as I’m with you, I am where I need to be.” He had mercy on me and we took a cab to the gallery.
It wasn’t as fancy as I thought it would be. It consisted of a long narrow room with a cement fl painted battleship gray and had track lighting with white walls. The ceilings were super-high and I noticed the wall separating the backroom from the front, didn’t quite reach it.
The artwork was something altogether different. It removed any doubt of whether or not it was a real gallery. Most of the work was incredible. Every piece on display that day was done by a female artist and would be part of an upcoming women’s art show. There was an assortment of paintings, mostly abstract and quite a few pieces in mixed media form.
I admired a painting done on a slab of wood and a photograph of an old woman sitting in a marketplace in the Caribbean, her eyes, seeming to hold old secrets. It was riveting. I stood transfixed and wished I could attend the opening just to meet the artists who’d produced such great work.
Humphrey embraced me from behind and kissed the side of my neck, “Mmm. Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to touch you, woman?”
I turned to face him and laughed, teasing him about how he would be screaming for me to leave before my stay was over.
“Never. Come on back in the office and get comfortable. Then we’ll see about testing that theory. The artist shouldn’t be much longer. Then we can leave.”
He led me to the backroom and helped me with my coat, peeled off my hat and gloves…unwrapping me from layers of caution and self-denial. He pulled me into his arms and we stood holding each other, appreciating the opportunity to be together again. He stroked my hair and I tightened my hold around his waist.
“Miss me?” He spoke into my hair as his chin rested on my head.
“Like crazy.”
“Good. We can be basket cases together. I was about to lose my mind.”
I pulled back to get a good look because I had to see with my own eyes—this man winning bigger pieces of my heart every time I saw him.
Our gazes locked. “Scared?”
“I’ve never been this impulsive before. What if the one time, I ignored caution I fell flat?”
“I’d catch you.”
He tilted my head back and came in for a tender kiss. His mouth moved over mine with such skill, I couldn’t help but think of how experienced he was. There was a twinge of jealousy for the women he must have practiced on, but it was countered with a reassurance that they could only have been the rehearsal. We were surely the real thing.
“Baby, I don’t want you falling for anything but me.” “Done.” I readily admitted to having fallen. I had no experience with or time for games.
A knock at the outside door broke up our reunion and I wiped my lipstick off his lips before he left to answer it.
I took a few minutes to examine my surroundings. The office was immaculate. There were tw
o huge abstract paintings on white walls that dominated the room. Otherwise, there was a large, plush sofa in ruby red and a kidney-shaped glass table with metal legs. The floor was painted in the same industrial gray as the gallery, but a small area rug in a jewel-toned checkerboard pattern complimented the sofa. His workstation consisted of a wide steel table that served as his desk and held his computer and telephone with plenty of room to spare; there were a few photographs taken in the same style of the Caribbean woman on display in the gallery, hanging just above it. With the furnishings being so sparse, the office was actually very roomy and just like Humphrey, it was stylish.
He soon returned and announced we could leave. The next hour and a half consisted of us walking through Chelsea. There were small family-run markets on every other corner. Most of the bodegas, he’d called them, had fresh-cut flowers outside, which made them look quaint and prompted me to buy a bunch to take back to his place with us.
We finally made our descent into the subway and for me it was like entering another world. First of all, I wasn’t prepared for how grimy it was down there. Compared to our Metro system in Baltimore, it looked like a sewer, but it seemed like I was the only one who noticed. Just like Penn station, there were all kinds of people, from all walks of life. Every one of them appeared to be so intent on their own destinations, they didn’t have time to consider anyone else. We boarded the train heading to Brooklyn and blended into the crowd. In their distinct differences they probably didn’t notice how much they were alike.
We got off the A train at Hoyt-Schemmerhorn and as we waited to change trains, we encountered two of Humphrey’s friends. His employer was hosting a party at a popular Brooklyn bar later that night and they were attending. We parted with the intention of meeting them later and headed off, as the C train pulled into our stop.
His apartment was inside a huge row house that looked like Lucy and Ricky Ricardo could have lived in it. The door was heavy wood with a large window and brass fixtures, well-polished, probably original to the building. However, the hallway was painted a hideous shade of hot pink that served as a reminder that the building was no longer in its glory days. He checked his mail, then we ascended four flights of stairs to his place.
My labored breathing and flushed face incited a bout of laughter from Humphrey and it turned my mood surly. I’d never felt so out of shape, yet I was too winded to say how I truly felt. “Baby, I’m sorry. Don’t be mad,” he said as he pushed the door open to his apartment, no longer laughing but still smiling. “It’s just that I can think of much better ways to get you all hot and panting.”
“Teasing doesn’t become you, Humphrey.” I huffed. “Need I remind you that my tongue can be quite sharp? I’ve been told, it cuts pretty deep.”
He backed me against the door and swiped his thumb across my cheek and my lips with a tender touch. He swooped in, covering my lips with his own, his tongue delving into every sweet spot. Soon, he had me breathless in another way, for a different reason.
“I think I can handle your tongue pretty well, seems harmless enough.”
I didn’t want my tongue to be harmless. I wanted it to leave an unforgettable mark on him, the way his was leaving one on me. His kissed me again.
“You’ll be used to all of this in no time—the apartment and me.”
I wasn’t convinced. I wouldn’t be in New York long enough to build the stamina I needed to make it up the stairs as effortlessly as he. I wished I could. And as far as he was concerned, I was a long way from getting used to the increased heart rate and nervous stomach I experienced, whenever I was in his company. He told me to remove my shoes because he didn’t want to bring any bad ‘chi’ into the house. I wondered what kind of ‘chi’ he’d brought into mine because he certainly hadn’t removed his shoes when he entered. But I did as he asked, untied my shoes, left them at the door and went inside.
His apartment only consisted of the main room, (which included the kitchenette), his bedroom and the bathroom. To me it seemed stark and impersonal, filled with glass and metal and varying shades of white. I didn’t think I’d be able to relax there. His place was so spotless I probably could’ve rolled around the floor dressed in one of those shades of white and not gotten dirty. If its condition was any indication of his personality, then I was the Oscar to his Felix. I wondered if it was a sign we’d most definitely be incompatible—a bona fide odd couple.
In my head, I was already jumping to conclusions about his high standards. Then I asked myself if I would have been more comfortable if he had been a slob. I surmised I had pretty high standards myself. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t still be a virgin, just a few months shy of my twenty-eighth birthday. If I’d disclosed that bit of information to Humphrey, it probably would have shaken him up.
As if sensing my apprehension, he pulled me toward the bedroom, picking up my bag as we went. The warm woods and earth tones, more than compensated for the coldness of his other room. The bedroom catered to all the creature comforts. The walls were adorned with beautiful paintings and photos. A bookcase was filled with books, and a stereo system was set upon it. There was also a television and a DVD player. A plush sandy brown carpet covered the floor and most of all, there was a king-sized oak sleigh bed encased in a bronze quilted velvet comforter and piled high with European sized pillows in the shades of autumn. It dominated the room. It gave me goose bumps, just thinking about lying in it beside Humphrey.
“Well, do you think you could be comfortable in here then?” I realized he was looking for a sign of my approval.
“You’ll probably have a problem prying my hands from the doorframe to get me out of here.”
“No. You’ll have the problem prying my hands off of you.”
Was I deliberately deceiving him by not informing him of my sexual inexperience? I knew if I told him right then, our rapport would change. I wasn’t sure if it would be for better or worse, but I wasn’t ready to chance it. Our closeness and intimacy felt natural. I’d already decided to take the next step with him. We wanted each other in that way and it was going to happen. I didn’t need to announce it like I was the sacrificial lamb.
“There won’t be a problem, if you can’t keep your hands off of me.”
His answer was his brilliant smile. “Come here, girl.”
He pulled me into his chest and I confirmed his suspicion that it was my first time in New York and he promised things were going to get better. I made the final selections on my outfit for later because we would be leaving in about two hours to go to that party. He said he wanted me well-rested and beautiful. That night, I was going to meet his friends. Then he left me alone. While he was gone to get food from a nearby diner, I used the opportunity to unpack and took the liberty of placing my cosmetics and vanity items on his dresser. I put my lingerie away in the drawer he’d provided and decided to rest while I waited for his return.
I lay across the plush velvet of his bed and let my eyes wander around his place. Everything was well-organized and in perfect place but nothing looked personalized and I wondered if the lack of personal elements meant he was impersonal or he had something to hide. As my body relaxed, I gave in to the heaviness resting on my eyelids. The last thing I focused on was the taupe- colored walls surrounding me then I drifted away. I awoke much later with a start to fi the lights dimmed and Humphrey lounging in an armchair in the corner watching me. It spooked me.
“What time is it, Humphrey? …And why didn’t you wake me?”
I’d jumped into a seated position, wiping the sleep from my eyes, hoping they didn’t show how much sleep.
He was totally calm. “Just settle, man.” His accent was a little less British, a little more Jamaican. “There’s no rush. This is New York. The party’s just getting started.”
At his urging, I took a quick shower and emerged from his modern, metal clad bathroom, exuding the scent of oranges. While he answered a phone call in the living room, I slipped into my favorite jeans that hugged my hips perfectly a
nd a black ribbed turtleneck with high-heeled boots. I’d decided to wear my hair down and to keep my make-up to a minimum, applying a little opal lip-gloss and black mascara. And when I turned around, I noticed his clothes had been changed.
His dark indigo jeans, pullover sweater and suede boots made him look hip and rugged, like a rap star. He was the ultimate cosmopolitan man. I got the impression that for him, clothes were costumes and his style was representative of his many-faceted personality: businessman, artist, and rude boy.
We bundled up and set out for the Good Luck Lounge. He said it was a fairly new establishment in the neighborhood and the minute we left his apartment, arm in arm, I realized the significance it represented, our first social outing as a couple. The lounge, located in a red brick corner row house with a fenced in courtyard, had an urban-chic feel. When we pulled up to the curb, a few guys were braving the cold to take a smoke. Two wrought iron stairways connected three floors of separate bars, linen- covered tables, long sofas and a very sociable crowd of artists and young professionals. Candlelight glowed in table top lanterns and when we reached our party on the top floor, Parliament’s “Flashlight” was pumping from the sound system.
“Well look-a-here! Mr. Pearson is making his grand entrance,” announced a short, small-framed man with a bleached short cut and a Southern accent. He was tastefully dressed and sported rectangular black designer frames. He was also affectionately holding hands with another man, just as fashionably dressed in black velour and his hair pulled back into a huge brown Afro puff. Humphrey introduced me to Trey DeWitt, the owner of the Spectrum Gallery, his employer, accompanied by his live-in partner, Bobby Scott. The outspoken Mr. DeWitt took me by the hand and turned to Humphrey. “Pearson, this child is much too tender and sweet for you.” Then he leaned into me saying, “Beware of these men who are just too damned fine for their own good ‘cause they don’t bring nothin’ but pain, Love.” He pulled back and winked hard. Humphrey told me his public display of affection was an indication he was drunk. He gave him a mock look of contempt and whisked me away to the closest bar.
Sometimes Love Page 6