A Love of My Own
Page 9
Friday evening, Kai pulled off another one of her surprises that I am certain took her weeks to plan. The three of us had met at Lola’s, a restaurant in lower Manhattan, for drinks. As soon as Justine and I walked into the bar area, Kai whisked us off into a waiting limo. We headed to Kai’s apartment on the Upper East Side.
When we arrived, Hayden had on a pastel-blue robe, drink in hand and greeted us by saying, “You bitches holding up progress.”
Kai had arranged a pamper party. She had hired a masseuse, manicurist, an aesthetician and a handsome Brazilian waiter to cater to our every need. Each of us received massages, facials, manicures and pedicures while drinking cosmopolitans and listening to Diana Krall.
The tuxedo-clad waiter served caviar-covered deviled eggs, crab cakes, and shrimp wrapped in bacon and flirted with the four of us.
“Does he have his papers?” Hayden asked. “’Cause I think I want to marry him if only to see if there’s any bite in that bulge in his pants.”
“Leave the hired help alone,” Kai said.
“Bitch, you sure do know how to spend money, and I’m not hatin’, especially tonight,” Justine said.
“Right, right,” Kai said.
Deliciously exhausted, we retired to Kai’s terrace with champagne replacing the cosmopolitans. I was enjoying the soft summer night air on my skin and I gazed at the streetlights, brighter than the tiny stars in the sky. I was thinking how lucky I was to have such great friends who shared not only material gifts but who offered me a love I could depend on.
I was getting ready to voice my appreciation when Hayden said, “I sure wish my daddy could see me now, laid up and made up with you three beautiful grown-ass hoes.”
“Why is that, Hayden?” Justine asked.
“So I could show him the difference between love and lust, cause I sure do love y’all.”
“I don’t know if that’s a compliment, Hayden, since you’re a full-fledged homosexual,” Kai said.
“Baby, we’re just like Visa, we’re everywhere you want to be,” Hayden said, laughing.
“Tell her, baby,” I said.
“Hayden, how can I be a ho if I’m not having sexual relations?” Kai asked.
“Being a ho ain’t about getting dick on a regular basis. It’s an attitude. I’ve been a ho for as long as I’ve been Hayden.”
“Sweetheart, I appreciate all the effort you’ve gone to. But just think, if you did this for a man. You’d have dick lined up in your lobby,” Justine said.
“I don’t know if I agree with that. Men don’t know how to appreciate being pampered.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, girl. I can’t tell you how many men I’ve gotten giving facials and braiding hair,” Hayden said.
“Do you think they’ll ever invent a robot that can give you an orgasm?” Kai asked.
I should have ignored Kai’s question, but I couldn’t resist and said, “They have, sweetheart. It’s called a vibrator.”
Hayden and Justine were laughing so hard, they both ended up spitting out their champagne.
After we had regained our composure, I asked each of my friends to share a moment from the previous week that they would always remember.
Hayden asked, “Does it have to be something serious?”
“It can be whatever you like,” I said.
“Then that’s easy,” he said. “I kicked out this fine man I’ve been dating for about two weeks, perpetrating like he was all man, construction-worker type, when lo and behold, he started kissing me all over my body, and girls, I do mean all over. It was nice when it was my neck and chest, but when he got down around my navel, I pulled his head up and said, papi, ain’t no poo-nanny down there. I told him he had to put on those dungarees and get out. I’m strictly dickly.”
“I did something really bad this week,” Kai said.
“What did the princess of the East Side do?” Justine said.
“I was having lunch at Le Cirque the other day, and this white man kept staring at me. At first I didn’t know if it was one of those what-is-this-black-bitch-doing-up-in-here-alone stares, but when he smiled at me, I knew he was trying to make a move. A few minutes later the waiter brought over a bottle of Veuve Clicquot with a business card. He was a CEO of some company.”
“Did he come over to your table?” Hayden asked.
“No, I don’t think he was quite happy with me.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I sent the bottle back and had the waiter bring out a bottle of Cristal instead. Did he think because I was black I was going to go for the cheapest bottle of champagne on the list?”
“Girl, that’s not what he was saying. He just probably thought you were a cheap ho. It didn’t matter if you were black or white,” Justine said.
Then Hayden turned to Justine and said, “What happened in your little life?”
“I bought my mom a linen suit from Saks Fifth Avenue.”
“What was the occasion? Was it her birthday?” Kai asked.
“There was no occasion,” Justine said.
I looked at Justine and smiled, and she smiled back. I wanted her to tell Kai and Hayden that her mother had never had a suit from a store like Saks.
Hayden playfully hit Justine and said, “You trying to make us look bad, aren’t you. Come on, Miss Zola. Don’t you go Goody Two-Shoes on us.”
“My most pleasant memory of the week won’t be over until we kiss each other good-night and I’m back at home, turning the key to my door.”
Justine and Kai affectionately touched my shoulder while Hayden smiled at me and mumbled, “Bitch.”
14
__________________
Bristol walked into my office with a file and said, “Davis wants to talk to you about this.”
“What?” I asked as I looked into a file with the name Sasha Cartwright printed on the folder. Sasha was one of my former students from the University of Washington Law School whom I wanted to hire for the legal staff. She was one of my favorite students. Sasha was one of those friendly white Southern girls who never met a stranger she didn’t like talking to. When I first met her I could tell she was from the South because of her thick accent. When I asked her how she landed at the University of Washington, Sasha told me her education had carried her to several parts of the country. She’d spent her first two years at Valdosta State in Valdosta, Georgia, and then a year at the University of Wisconsin, a summer at Harvard, and finally graduated from UCLA. Sasha told me she knew there was a big world waiting after she discovered New York City when her high school band had been selected one year to participate in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. Sasha boasted about how the Bainbridge Marching Bearcats band had beat out several other large high school bands in the state for the honor.
When my new position at Bling was announced in the Law Journal, Sasha had called to congratulate me and then asked if I had any openings because she was finally ready to work in the city that had opened her eyes to what the world offered.
“Has the offer package been sent out?” I asked Bristol.
“No. I was getting ready to do it, but I got word from Davis’s office that he needed to talk to you before he could sign off,” Bristol said.
“Then get Davis on the line,” I said.
A few minutes later, Bristol buzzed me and told me Davis was on line one.
“Good morning, Davis. How are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m doing just great,” Davis said.
“Bristol said you have some questions about Sasha Cartwright,” I said.
“Sasha?”
“Yes, we sent her information up to your office. I really want to get an offer to her before somebody else snaps her up,” I said.
“Where did she go to law school?” Davis asked.
“The University of Washington. She was one of my students, a really sharp young lady,” I said, wondering if Davis had even looked at her résumé.
“Is she the one from Georgia?”
“I don’t think it’s a good plan,” Davis said.
“Why not?”
Davis paused for a moment and said, “I don’t think we should hire your former students. Besides, I think we need to be looking at Ivy League grads with some big-firm experience,” Davis said.
“I agree we should go for the top candidates, Davis, and I feel Sasha fits in that category. I still need to hire a few more lawyers, and I will definitely look at candidates with an Ivy League background,” I said.
“Then that’s what you should do. I know I told you that hiring your staff would be up to you, but something about this girl doesn’t feel right. I reserve the right to use my veto power, and I’m going to use it here,” Davis said.
“I don’t understand. Will you at least sit down and meet with Sasha? I think she’ll change your mind,” I said.
“Raymond, we’re wasting time here. I’ve made my decision. Have the headhunter send you more candidates. I’m sure you’ll find some soon. I’ve got to run,” Davis said, and then he hung up.
I was pissed and didn’t know what I should do. I had given Sasha my word, and now it looked like I had to call her with bad news after I had told her to expect the offer package before noon.
Bristol stuck his head in the door and said there was a woman on the phone who didn’t want to give her name and that he was taking some files to the corporate conference room. He wanted to know if I wanted to get someone to cover the phones.
“How long will you be gone?”
“Five minutes at most,” Bristol said.
“No, I’ll be fine,” I said as I picked up the phone. I was hoping it wasn’t Sasha.
“Raymond Tyler speaking,” I said.
“Good morning,” a cheery female voice said.
“Good morning. With whom am I speaking?” I asked.
“You don’t know me, but I just wanted to call and congratulate you,” she said.
“Congratulate me on what?”
“I read in The Wall Street Journal and Adweek that you’ve taken the job as CEO at Bling Bling. I just love seeing good looking brothers working it out and heading companies,” she said.
“That’s very nice of you. You say I don’t know you, but you just wanted to call and congratulate me?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Who are you?”
“Let’s just say I’m the fairy godmother to the talent tenth. You know the press would have us think today that we don’t even have a tenth of our people who know how to do anything but act a fool on television or play sports,” she said.
“Do you have a name?” I asked, wondering why I didn’t just hang up the phone.
“Yes, sir, I do, but that’s not important.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t worry, I’m not some kind of crazy stalker who is going to be calling or following you around. I have a life. Although from that picture of you, I bet a lot of women will be on your heels. But they don’t know what I know,” she said, laughing.
“What’s that?”
“That you don’t really feel us that way, but you might want to rethink your position.”
“Who is this?” I demanded. This call suddenly wasn’t encouraging or funny.
“Now, baby, I told you. You sound like you’re getting a little hot under the collar, but before you hang up on me, please, for your own good, listen to this little bit of advice. Don’t be foolish enough to hook up with Basil Henderson again between the sheets. If you do, wear double rubbers or you’ll be receiving a call from the health department with the message ‘welcome to the world of HIV,’” she said in a voice that sounded unstoppable. Then she hung up before I could.
* * *
From Bling Bling Confidential
Although Zola met Jabar at the gym, she still hides her jewelry, credit cards and cash in a safe in her closet when Jabar visits. It’s one thing for a man to try and steal her heart, but material possessions are entirely different.
Zola had another rule about the men she dated. Never date a man who didn’t know every inch of the female body was a treasure that always needed polishing or any man who would be intimidated by her collection of vibrators.
* * *
15
__________________
Mondays are usually boring, but now I live for them because they mean Jabar and the sheets. He is always on time. Eight o’clock straight up. I had left the office a little early and come home to take a leisurely bath in warm, scented water. Afterward, I put on some light makeup and pulled my hair up and back. I was wearing a pale sandy-pink panties and bra set that Davis had bought me from La Perla. Davis liked seeing me in the set; Jabar loved taking them off slowly with his teeth and large hands.
I lit the candles in my bedroom and brought a silver tray with fresh orange juice for Jabar and a glass of Chardonnay for me. I didn’t know why, but I was feeling a little wicked that evening. I’m not into whips and chains, but I wouldn’t mind a little tap on the ass, a little controlled forcefulness by Jabar. I’d tease him, resist him at the right moment, and refuse to give him what he wanted. That, I hoped, would be his cue to take charge. While Jabar was no rocket scientist, he usually picked up on my clues as to how I’d like the evening to go. When I wanted him gentle and tender, I invited him into the bath with me. Jabar knows how to lather a sista up and down and then pat me dry gently, taking his time at just the right spots.
In many ways Jabar is like Play-Doh to me. I can mold him any way I want to fit my desires for the evening. With Jabar there are no pretenses, no token declarations of love, and very little romance. That’s why I have to be totally in charge of foreplay. Once I jokingly ragged him about his youthful “slam-bam” technique of lovemaking. I told him I wished he’d engage in a little more foreplay before the straight-up in and out. Maybe, I suggested, he could treat me like one of his workouts: a little stretching, some warm-up exercises before, and then on to the heavy stuff. He looked at me like I’d just asked him to recite the Declaration of Independence. So I showed him what I wanted. Great thing Jabar was good at following demonstrations.
The doorbell rang and I could feel my body getting warm with excitement. I sprayed a little fragrance between the twins for good measure and walked slowly to the door. I was ready for my slumber party for two.
I opened the door and I felt blinded by Jabar’s dazzling white teeth when he smiled upon seeing me. He had on a tight-fitting white T-shirt and a warm-up suit that wasn’t black but the darkest possible navy blue, with “Phat Farm” in crimson. I looked him up and down and I was a happy girl. I couldn’t wait for Jabar to be naked and magnificent in my bedroom. I’d spent the last couple of weeks mulling over photos for Bling Bling’s Sexiest Brothaman Alive contest, but I knew I had him right here in my home. If I were the sole judge, the search would be over.
“’Sup, Z. You ready for a brotha?” Jabar asked as he walked past me without a kiss, carrying a black leather gym bag.
“Jabar, how are you?”
“I’m fine, boo. What up?” Jabar asked without looking in my direction. He unzipped his bag and started rummaging through it. A few moments later he pulled out his portable CD player.
“Jabar!” I shouted. He turned around quickly.
“What up, Z?”
“Come here,” I said.
Jabar dropped the CD player back into the bag and walked toward me with a quizzical look on his face, and when he was standing a few inches from me, he asked, “What I do?”
“Baby, let’s start over,” I said as I took his hand and moved him toward the door.
“Hey, Z, you not fixing to put a brotha out. What’s up with that?”
“No, I’m not putting you out. We’re just starting over.”
“Starting what over?”
“Repeat after me. Damn Zola, you look fly or hot;
use whatever word your boys are using. Tell me how my panties and bra make you feel,” I said.
Jabar looked at me and licked his full lips and gently took my hand and kissed it.
“Damn, yo, them panties makes me want to do some things. Yo, that’s what’s up. How you feel ’bout that, boo?”
“Now kiss me,” I said.
“Where?”
“Anywhere you want,” I said.
Jabar kissed my forehead, then my cheeks, neck, and lips as he squeezed my nipples gently. I felt like my legs were going to give out on me.
“How does that feel?”
“Wonderful,” I moaned.
“Thought so,” Jabar said.
“Follow me,” I said as I grabbed Jabar’s hand and headed toward the bedroom. I was literally pulling him like he was a toy with wheels. Once I reached the bedroom, I turned back the bedspread, hit the CD player button, and took a sip of my wine. When I turned around, Jabar was naked, and not only could I smell his excitement, I could see it.
“Yo, sweetness. ’Sup?” Jabar’s voice had almost a childish triumph, like it was the first time he realized how large his manhood could grow.
“Jabar! You look great. I’ve been waiting and thinking about you all day.”
“Waiting?” he says, a little startled. “Am I late?”
“My body says yes but the clock says you’re right on time—as usual. I was just anxious to see you, feel you.”
“Yo, Z, you know I ain’t even trying to be late, not to see you.” He came close to me and placed his hands on my behind, pulling me close to him. I smelled citrus and masculinity, a potent aphrodisiac. He leaned down and kissed me lightly, barely brushing my mouth. He pulled me firmly, gently, to his chest and massaged my lower back. I could feel his erection against my abs. He slid one hand between us, under my bra, and fondled my breasts. His hands were huge, like the size of a clothes iron. I felt like I was on fire. I had never known a man whose mere presence made me feel like I could make love 24/7.
I placed my hands on his heavily muscled shoulders. Jabar’s body is layered with muscles like hot butterscotch on French vanilla ice cream. Pure perfection, I thought. I looked at him with a half-smile playing on my lips.