He hardly slept that night, tossing and turning as every single word of their conversation played in his head. He played one of Mrs. Perry's book CDs to put him to sleep. An Impossible Love was the title, but the book was captivating enough that he didn't sleep a wink. It was another thought-provoking story from Noah Ess.
He woke up the following morning to overcast skies outside, but in his head there was sunshine.
He debated the story heatedly with Mrs. P and this time he was on the side of love. The story was about two people from two vastly different cultural backgrounds meeting in the middle.
"I think it was unrealistic," Mrs. Perry said, twisting her fingers around her tea cup. "What woman in her right mind would become some man's third wife and move from her modern job, boss of a large corporation, to be some man's submissive wife in the middle of the African continent?"
"But love conquers all," Slater insisted. "Backgrounds and social standing can't cool love."
"Love doesn't conquer all," Mrs. Perry snorted. "This story irks me more than anything else. The female protagonist lived happily ever after in the bushes of some small village with no phones, no potable water and no contact with the outside world? Come on, I hated that book."
Slater chuckled. "But why? You prefer if they die together in the end?"
"No." Mrs. Perry snorted. "I understand that it is fiction but I can't buy this one. People by and large marry their own kind,” Mrs. Perry insisted. “They date and cohabit and socialize with people in their own social class or religious and economic backgrounds. It just makes sense.
“So Noah Ess is trying to convince the reader this lady would give up her whole life for a guy. A guy who delivered her mail who was about to be deported from her country because he broke the law? Come on! Why risk it?"
"Because they can work! Opposites attract. People who are not all that similar make it work all the time." Slater dredged up that protest from the bottom of his heart. He wasn't arguing about Noah Ess' book anymore. He was arguing about him and Amoy.
"If it were the other way around," Mrs. Perry said contemplatively, "maybe it would work. If the man was the rich one, but it just doesn't really work when he is not the breadwinner, does it? Love is a bit more practical than Noah Ess' romance drivel."
Slater was left shaken after his conversation with Mrs. Perry. Because he was so worked up over the book, he had read a whole paragraph without one mistake after their argument.
Mrs. Perry had dismissed him for the day with a proud little gleam in her eye.
And he had walked right into the break room at work and asked for his route back.
He would make it work. He didn't know how. Yes, he and Amoy were in different socio-economic brackets, she was a little older and well-educated and...
He stopped listing their differences. She liked him and he liked her. There were probably a million things that they had in common in addition to physical attraction, and he was going to explore them.
Carlos looked at him after his request for the route switch and nodded.
"Today is your lucky day. I am getting too many complaints about Noel on that route: late packages, being discourteous...so good for you, you guys can switch places again."
And that was how he ended up back on Amoy's route, delivering a package near lunch time because he wanted to officially ask her to lunch. Cassandra's was an inexpensive little place near her office where he could take her, and the food was well within his budget.
And this time he didn't tentatively ask for her when he delivered the packages.
Lydia looked at him grudgingly. "So you are back?"
"Seems so," Slater muttered. "Is Amoy in?"
"Yes," Lydia grinned, "and she'll be so happy that you are here. She asked for you every day last week. I can't believe that I have lived to see the day when lawyers and deliverymen are hooking up in public!"
She said it loud enough that the few people who were walking through the lobby glanced at them inquisitively, but he wasn't going to be intimidated, not now. He stood his ground.
"Can you tell her I am here?"
"Sure, Mr. Blue Collar." Lydia shook her head disparagingly. "You are in way over your head, Mister, but I am here for the next two months. I'll just sit back relax and watch this train wreck with my popcorn."
She called Amoy and Slater didn't have to wait long. Amoy came around the corner of the lobby and her face lit up like she was really happy to see him.
His sense of unreality struck again. Was this for real or was he hooked up somewhere on a machine having a lucid dream? He had watched a show like that once.
"Hi Slater." Amoy came closer to him. She smelled like she looked, exotic and expensive, in one of her well-fitting suits. This time it was a green pantsuit. She was in high heels ,which made them appear to be the same height.
He looked directly in her dark eyes; they were ringed with mascara and had a slight catlike curve at the end. His gaze strayed down to her naked pink lips. He liked her lips without lipstick. They were full and bow-shaped and made her look less like an ice queen and more vulnerable.
"I came to ask you to lunch." He became a little self-conscious because Lydia was looking between the two of them with her eyebrows in the air. He suddenly wondered if he should have called first. Was he too presumptuous to be coming to her workplace to ask her for lunch?
"Sure." Amoy smiled. "I have a two o'clock, though…got to be back for that.”
He looked at his watch. It was only twelve thirty. "Sure. I was thinking of Cassandra's down the road."
"Never heard of it," Amoy frowned.
"Because that is where the poor people eat," Lydia said behind the desk. "That's where my lunch gets delivered from every day. You will look so out of place there, Boss Lady!"
"Shut it," Amoy gritted out to Lydia. "Do we need to drive, Slater?"
"No, we can, er, walk it. It's just two blocks from here."
"She'll sweat." Lydia grinned. "You don't want the Boss Lady to sweat."
"You don't want to be fired, do you, Lydia?" Amoy asked conversationally.
Lydia shook her head. "No ma'am."
"Good." Amoy smiled at Slater. "I am just going to change my shoes if we are to walk."
She went to her office and was back in no time, looking a lot shorter than when she left.
He grinned at her.
"What?" Amoy asked.
"Nothing." Slater walked with her to the elevator. "Nothing at all."
*****
Amoy had to admit that she was pleasantly surprised by Cassandra's Place. It was a beehive of activity but it had a sit-down section, which was clean, and a friendly wait-staff who were polite. She glanced at the menu board doubtfully. They named their dishes from Jamaican sports stars.
There was the Curry Gayle, named after cricketer Chris Gayle, and then there was the Bolt Stew from track star Usain Bolt.
She found it funny.
Slater explained what they had in them. Somebody had forgotten to write what was actually included in the quirkily-named dishes.
"You come here often?" she asked, grinning at him.
"Very often," he said solemnly. "Lydia was right; it is a poor man's joint but the food is highly recommended. I can't believe that you don't know about it."
"Most times I pack a lunch from home. My helper, Kathleen, is a very good cook. She knows what I want. And when I do eat out it is usually at meetings, high-end hotels and boardrooms."
Slater nodded. "I get it. So this should be a new experience."
"It should." Amoy grinned. "And I am happy to be here with you. Yesterday I realized that I don't know where you live."
"I live in Beverley Hills," he offered as they took their seats.
Amoy grinned. "Be serious."
"I am serious." Slater waited for the waiter to serve their bread and water before he continued. "I live in the pool house of a mansion. I keep the yard clean and in exchange I live there for free. The lady I live with goes to E
dwin's church."
"Ah," Amoy nodded. "Edwin, your father figure."
"And occasional savior. You are happy that I don't live in the ghetto, aren't you?" Slater said solemnly.
"No, I would have loved to see what that is like," Amoy said with a serious expression.
Slater laughed. "Yeah, right, you speak like a person of privilege. Nobody wants to see the slums. It is the worst representation of what it is to live like human beings."
"What was it like?" Amoy asked, "You said that you spent your childhood in one, didn't you?"
"Yes." Slater grimaced. "You really want to hear about that?"
"Sure." Amoy sipped her soup and gave a surprised nod. "One point for the broth."
"Yes. Wait until you taste the stew." Slater tasted his and nodded. "My first memory of the ghetto was when I was three or four. There were a lot of children around. We would run around barefooted, play games in the middle of the streets.
“I went to school pretty late. I can recall walking to a church school near where we lived. It wasn't a bad life as a child. It was fun to play in the puddles when it rained or to play silly games with the other kids. We spent most of our time outdoors; there was no space in the houses anyway. They were tiny and hot. Houses were for sleeping. And then sometimes not; at one point I even slept outside when my mother had over her customers. She, er...she was a part-time lady of the night, part-time hustler. Whenever she had a busy night I would go outside with my cardboard box and sleep. If it rained, I slept under the bed. I could hear everything—every grunt, every word."
Amoy had stopped eating and was looking at him with disbelief.
Slater grinned. "Told you it would be too much."
"No, go on," Amoy whispered.
"It didn't seem bad when I was a child. Looking back now, it was far from ideal. I lived in pretty gruesome conditions but that was what I was used to. My mom was what she was and I was an inconvenience from a non-starter relationship. The good news is, she knew who my father was; the bad news is I don't know who he is because he didn't stick around. My mother hardly had those kind of relationships. Her house was a revolving door and the one relationship that lasted more than a month got her killed."
"Wow." Amoy rubbed her neck. "You were exposed to so much at a young age. Studies show that children who were exposed to that kind of lifestyle become initiated into sexual relationships at an earlier age than normal. How did it affect you?"
Slater grimaced. "The opposite way, I guess. I have had two girlfriends so far in my entire life."
"Tell me about them." Amoy put her hands under her chin.
"Like what?" Slater shifted in his seat uncomfortably.
"Like how old were they? Did you live with any of them? Sex? Protected or no?"
Slater smiled. "You do realize that you are going to have to share too, right?"
"Yes." Amoy squinted at him. "You be candid, I'll be candid."
"How candid?" Slater asked.
"Spill it," Amoy said roughly. He was staring at her, transfixed. He had the most mesmerizing eyes. She could look into them all day. Only two girlfriends--he must think she was born yesterday.
"Be honest, Slater; don't lie to me. I hate lies."
"Okay." Slater sighed. "My first girlfriend was Kayla. High school, I played football. She did my homework. I lived with the Wilsons then. She was not only a schoolmate but a neighbor—pastor's kid. Yes, we had sex, pretty frequently. To be honest, I always used protection and I always felt guilty. I went to her church, played the piano. When her father preached, I felt itchy inside. But Kayla was not very satisfied with just me as a partner so she stepped out. Her dad found her with the other guy in bed. He was devastated. Shipped her off to boarding school in the country. That was the end of Kayla.
"Girlfriend number two was Vera; she was a waitress at Firefly, where I worked as a waiter for a brief time. We never had sex. She was the definition of fun. We hung out together. We were friends and then she found somebody who got her more excited than I did. She married him in like a week."
"Really?" Amoy was skeptical. "One sexual relationship? Ever?
"Yes." Slater shrugged. "I'd like to think that my next sexual relationship will be with my wife. I am not the sleeping around kind of person. And that is as a result of what I grew up with, I guess. Sorry to disappoint you."
Amoy laughed. "I am not disappointed!"
"Now it's your turn." Slater nodded. "Fair is fair. First, where you grew up and then your sex files."
Amoy snickered. "You don’t want to hear about me."
"Of course I do. I want to know everything about you."
"Okay, you asked for it. It was easy street growing up. My dad and my mom got married pretty young. They met in law school and got married right away. Then they had me and Zack. We had a great childhood. My mom decided that motherhood and cosmetics were a better fit for her than law, so she started her own business and she raised us. In our earlier years she was always at home, helping with homework, doing mom stuff.
"Where you played the other day at Zack's wedding—that's where we spent our childhood summers with our cousins. We had horses and a private waterfall and loads of space to run around. It was idyllic and fun."
Slater nodded. "It's good to hear that."
"No growing up envy?" Amoy asked jokingly.
"No, not at all. I am who I am because of how I grew up, and you are who you are because of how you grew up. I like who you are."
"Aw." Amoy eyed the Curry Gayle, which was a curried vegetable stew. The waiter served their table and then gave them a thumbs-up. "This will knock you for six; enjoy your meal."
"Thank you." Amoy picked up her fork doubtfully.
"It's good." Slater urged, "Try it and you will be having meetings down here with your high-end clients."
Amoy tasted the food and nodded. "Six points for this stew. Meetings, though? I don't know."
"You never know." Slater grinned, "But then again maybe Cassandra will start raising her prices and then us normal folks can't afford lunch again. And now for your sex files."
Amoy inhaled. "Now I am sorry I asked you about yours. It is very uneventful compared to mine."
"Just spill it." Slater smiled, "I am repeating what you said."
"College, final year, I moved in with Jaylon. Yes, we had sex. My parents were very much against us moving in together without marriage; they hounded me every day to get married. We talked about it and we almost did, and then he got a scholarship and we broke up."
"Jaylon, the guy who you were with at Jazz in the Gardens, was your first?" Slater frowned. "Now I am jealous."
"No need to be," Amoy said contemplatively, "and then there was Shawn, my ex-husband. He lied a lot; he had affairs. It was a disaster. I was literally anti-men after him, yes. I reluctantly dated after that but people have issues, I tell you. I have seen them all. Earlier this year I got serious about somebody but that did not pan out—he loved somebody else."
"Hence the no relationships thing that you told me about?"
"Yes," Amoy nodded. "But we are going to give our relationship a decent try, aren't we?"
"Nothing beats a trial but a failure. One of Edwin's favorite sayings," Slater said, squeezing her hand.
Chapter Eleven
Amoy was enjoying Slater as he talked about his life, his delivery route, and his stories about Edwin and Edmond. His love for Edwin shone through his conversation. It was just good to hear him talk and watch as he expressed himself.
She was coming to the realization that he was a very socially aware and intuitive guy. It was a startling reminder to her that she had judged him horribly wrong from that letter.
People could not be pigeon-holed into a little box, like Slater was not just the guy who couldn't read. Or the guy who had a pretty face. He had a full life, filled with friends who were family, music—a life that was as fascinating and different from hers as it could be.
He was just telling her about his volunteeri
ng stint at the Good Samaritan Inn when they were interrupted near the end of the meal by Yuri and his cousin Reuben.
Amoy suppressed a groan. She had long gotten over Yuri but seeing him gave her a little jolt of pleasure.
He spotted her and came over to their table with Reuben in tow.
"Amoy Gardener," Yuri smiled at her, "at Cassandra's? As I live and breathe, this is alternate reality."
Amoy grinned. "I know. I prefer a different kind of restaurant but Slater took me here. It is our first lunch date and I have to admit the food is deserving of two thumbs up."
Yuri turned to look at Slater and gave him a broad smile. "Hello Slater. You must be a miracle worker of no mean order."
"Oh, stop it." Amoy blushed. She looked between the two men and Reuben and realized that she was surrounded by handsome overload. They were the cynosure of all eyes in the vicinity.
Especially the ladies. One girl had stopped eating and had her fork mid-way to her mouth.
"Come join us." Amoy looked at Slater. "That okay with you? I only have a few minutes left here anyway."
"We don't want to interrupt your date," Yuri said, backing away.
"No, it's cool." Slater nodded. He was feeling especially good that Amoy wasn't keeping him a secret. She introduced him to her friends. She even told them that this was their first date.
The guy she introduced as Yuri was quite pleasant, extremely good-looking in that urbane, sophisticated way that he was used to seeing around this section of town. His friend, who he was later told was his cousin, was a bit harder to read. He wasn't dressed as formally as Yuri but he wasn't looking too casual either.
They sat down at his invitation and were extremely friendly and laid back.
Yuri owned a business that did computer stuff, he had a wife, Marla, and a son, Malik, and they were the joy of his life. The guy was actually beaming when he talked about them.
Slater observed Amoy's face when Yuri started talking about his son and he saw a dreamy, unfocused look in her eye.
Scarlett Love (The Scarletts Page 9