A Cold Piece of Work

by Curtis Bunn

  “Oh, wow,” she said. “I thought I lost this… You kept this all this time?”

  “I did,” Solomon said. “Let me put it on you.

  “Looks good. Just like I remember it,” he added. “In fact, you look just as I remember you from back in the day. Your hair is different, a little longer.”

  “Yeah, well, there are some other things different, too,” she said. “But anyway, you also look the same.”

  She wanted to add, “You look damn good, edible good,” but that would’ve been her depraved body talking, which her conscious mind knew wouldn’t have been right. So she left it at that.

  Solomon got up from his seat and went to her side of the table and offered a hand to help her up. “I forgot you are Mr. Chivalry,” she said. “Thank you. Trust me, it is much appreciated.”

  When she got to her feet, he hugged her again. This time, it was an extended hug, a more sensual hug. Michele tried to catch her breath; a man’s body had not been pressed up against hers in quite some time. Solomon kissed her on the left side of her face.

  “When can I see you again?” Solomon asked.

  “When do you want to?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah, tonight,” Solomon said. “I want to take you someplace where we can hear some music, be around people, have a few cocktails—”

  “I’m sold. Let me call my cousin, Sonya, to see if she can keep Gerald. You remember Sonya?”

  “Of course, I remember her,” Solomon said. “I’m surprised I never ran into her. How is she?”

  “She’s great. Still flying. But she’s here this weekend—and she’s going to be my sitter tonight.”

  And so it was. Solomon picked up Michele at 7:30. She opened the door and the intoxicating scent of her perfume rushed to Solomon’s nose. It was going to be a good night.

  “You smell wonderful,” he said. “And you look great.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “I didn’t know what to wear since you didn’t tell me where we’re going. So hopefully this is alright.”

  She wore an orange blouse that complemented her mocha skin color; a silk brown skirt that hung delicately above her knees.

  “Perfect,” he said, smiling and slowly nodding his head. “Perfect.”

  On the way to Craft restaurant in Buckhead, Michele called Sonya to check on Gerald.

  “What do you want?” Sonya said when answering the phone. “Aren’t you on a date? It’s been a while, but I thought you’d remember how to act.”

  “Girl, I wanted to say goodnight to my son. What’s wrong with that?”

  “You already did,” Sonya said. “We’re busy. Go have a good time. Matter of fact, he’s going to spend the night. That doesn’t mean you need to make your date all night, though.”

  “Ah, I know that,” Michele said. “You sure about that?”

  “I’m sure,” Sonya said. “He has clothes here. I have a toothbrush for him. He’ll be fine.”

  “Okay, well, just tell my son I love him.”

  “Bye, Michele.”

  “You’re not comfortable leaving him with anyone, are you?” Solomon said.

  “He’s in good hands, but he’s my baby,” Michele said.

  Solomon did not respond; he kept driving—and thinking. He wanted to clear his conscience some more, tell her about everything: how he became cold enough to move away without telling her; how he came to regret that decision; who he has grown into; how having her back in his life would ignite his soul.

  He just didn’t know when to do it. The plan after dinner was to go to Drinkshop at the W Hotel downtown for cocktails. “Sounds good to me,” Michele said. “I haven’t been out in so long, we could go to Waffle House and I’d be good with it.”

  They made it to the restaurant and went to the bar as their table was being set up.

  “Don’t think because I’m here with you that everything is all great,” Michele said. She was smiling but she was serious.

  Solomon smiled back at her. “I understand,” he said. “Everything takes time… Can I hug you?”

  “You’re something else,” she said. “Looking for sympathy? From me?”

  “Just a hug,” he said.

  They embraced. In her ear, Solomon whispered, “Thank you. Now let’s have a drink.”

  “How about some water? We’re getting drinks afterward, right?” Michele said. “I can’t have but so many, so I’d rather wait until later.”

  “Cool. Water it is,” Solomon said.

  A few moments later, they were placed at a table at the window overlooking Peachtree Street.

  “I read about this place but never really thought about coming here,” Michele said. “Very nice.”

  “Why didn’t you think about coming here?” Solomon asked.

  “Well, everything costs money,” she said. “And while my catering business is going okay—all my clients love what I provide— not enough people are using caterers right now for me to not have to work part-time to keep things going.

  “Gerald’s in private school—Johnson Learning Center—which costs a pretty penny. So, I read about all the great restaurants here, but I don’t get to go to many.”

  “We could change that. We should change that,” Solomon said. “Maybe once a month pick a place and go experience it.”

  “You say that now,” Michele said. “Let’s see what the bill is tonight before committing to that.”

  They laughed. Finally, they scanned the menu and ordered.

  When the bread arrived at the table, Solomon said, “I’ve been trying to figure out when I should get into why I did what I did to you, and there’s no time like the present, as they say.”

  “Is it going to spoil my appetite, spoil my mood?” Michele said. “I haven’t had a really nice night like this since…well, I can’t exactly recall when. I have a lot of emotions around what happened. Maybe we should talk about it tomorrow.”

  “I really don’t think you’ll get angry, Michele. Hopefully, you’ll be enlightened,” Solomon said. “You’ll learn a lot about me.”

  “Maybe I should order a drink,” Michele said sarcastically.

  Solomon appreciated her attitude. She easily could have been contrary at best, ornery at worse. Her disposition helped his comfort level.

  “This could really be a long talk, but I’m going to cut it down as much as I can,” Solomon began. “I wasn’t cold to you like that because I was born that way; something happened to grow that in me. A lot of things happened. I started off liking girls but not sure how to relate to them. So I did what was natural, which was be nice to them.

  “My first real girlfriend came when I was in the eighth grade. I liked her so much that I used to have imaginary conversations with her. We were doing our thing—at least that’s what I thought. Then one day I saw her kissing this guy I knew. My heart dropped. I was embarrassed and angry, but mostly disappointed.

  “I got over it and the next year in high school, I had another girlfriend. Of course, that turned out badly—she started dating someone else. I was hurt again. But I was angry this time because I had another girl, Sharon, who asked me to date her. I told her—and I’ll never forget what I said— ‘If I didn’t have a girlfriend, I would date you. But I do, so I can’t.’ She was like, ‘Wow, you are so different from other guys. Other guys would’ve tried to date both of us.’

  “I felt good about doing the right thing. And then she does that to me? Yeah, I was angry. I went the rest of high school without a true girlfriend. But in college I met this really nice, sweet girl from North Carolina. Things were going great. Then one day, I came home to my apartment, and all my stuff was gone. TV, VCR, clothes, watches. It was crazy.

  “After I called the police, I called her. She didn’t answer. I couldn’t find her, which was strange. Then I went over to her apartment and her roommate had this look on her face. I was like, ‘What’s wrong?’ She said, ‘Solomon, I’m sorry. But my girl stole your stuff. Sh
e’s somewhere now trying to sell it.’ Needless to say, I was dumbfounded.

  “The police grabbed her—she had some guys with a truck take the stuff—but I couldn’t find it in me to press charges. At first, I assumed that I was the reason for girls doing me wrong. But when I really thought about it, I realized that I hadn’t done anything to make them act that way.

  “The clincher came when I got older. I had dated this girl, Lauren, for almost a year. I was one of those ‘I’ll never get married’ kind of guys, but I started thinking about it with her.

  “So I come home one day from work and she’s sitting in my living room with this guy who begged me to stay at my apartment for six months until he got on his feet. I was about twenty-three at the time. I didn’t think much of it at first. But there was this awkwardness that I sensed after a few minutes.

  “I stopped what I was doing and I just stood there. He was sitting in the single chair to my left. She was sitting on the couch in front of me. I looked at them carefully and they both seemed uncomfortable.

  “I said, ‘What’s going on?’ Neither of them said anything. Nothing. My heart started beating fast. ‘What’s up?’ I said.

  “When they looked at each other, I realized what was coming next.

  “She burst into tears: ‘I’m sorry, Solomon. I’m so sorry.’ I was unmoved—I wanted to hear it come out of her mouth before I’d believe it.

  “The guy started to speak. ‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘I’m talking to Lauren. I’ll get to you in a minute.’ Then I turned back to her. I said, ‘So what are you so upset about?’

  “She looked at me with those eyes I used to think were innocent and said, ‘We should talk. I don’t know what happened. I like you. But…’

  “She didn’t finish her thought, but I did. ‘But you’ve been messing around with this guy, right?’

  “‘It just happened,’ she said. I was done. Another woman I cared about had disappointed me.

  “And it happened a few more times—a disappointment of some sort. And, really, to be totally honest, it ate at my soul…until it was gone—or close to gone. I dealt with women without any trust and with a lot of bitterness. I became cold.”

  “I don’t want to sound insensitive,” Michele said. “But what you experienced—women being less than you expected them to be—is what millions of women have had to go through with men all our lives.

  “That’s what men do: hurt and disappoint women. Scar us. Take advantage of us. Use us. And, in the end, you wonder why we don’t trust or why we’re guarded? So, I understand about being disappointed and hurt.

  “But the way you handled it with me…”

  “I know,” Solomon said. “I admit that in some ways women are stronger than men. Men have damaged women, but you—well, some of you—bounce back stronger. Some of you, a few of you, don’t let it break you. I wasn’t strong enough to bounce back. It broke me. I decided I wouldn’t get close to anyone and that I’d leave her before she left me.”

  Michele fought getting angry. Solomon could tell by how she leaned back in her chair and folded her arms.

  “I can look back on that now and see that it was wrong and I’m embarrassed by it,” he said. “I had what I thought was a legitimate reason to do what I did to you. I liked you a lot, which equated to me thinking you were going to hurt me. The way to avoid it was to protect myself by running.

  “Before you, I left a few women and I didn’t look back. I was just cold like that.

  “But with you, there always was the feeling inside me that made me wonder if our connection was as real as it seemed. It was hard for me to walk away from you. But I did it for one reason: I was scared. It almost was like I wanted embrace that time together and walk away from it rather than have you ruin it by doing like other women did me.

  “It sounds crazy, but that’s the truth. I wasn’t trying to leave you at that time. The job here came up and I had no idea I would get it. When I did, I couldn’t turn it down. And then I had to go.”

  Solomon’s voice drifted off, almost as if he were falling asleep. It was the shame of it all. It ate at him.

  Michele was proud of herself that she did not blurt out obscenities. The emotion of wanting Solomon to want her was greater than any residual anger remaining from him leaving her. Her reality was not complex: She desired not just a man, but Solomon Singletary. So she did not pounce on his excuses. She didn’t like his reasons, but she understood based on what he explained.

  For all those eight years, in her honest moments, she prayed for him to return to her.

  “Well,” she said, ending the silence, “I’m glad you told me that. At least I know now that it wasn’t me. That’s something I lived with for a long time before I finally decided, ‘This man is not going to make me think I did something wrong.’ I knew I hadn’t.”

  “Actually, you were great,” Solomon said as their meals arrived.

  The server placed their plates in front of them. “You were great,” Solomon repeated.

  “Looks delish,” Michele said, studying her plate. A stellar “chef,” she started her catering business only after completing culinary school. She wanted to learn all the intricacies of cooking, from food preparation to nutritional value to storage temperatures to presentation and on and on.

  “You see how our dishes look? Looks good, right? That’s an important part of the experience,” she explained. “It must look appealing.”

  Michele ordered the swordfish with celery root, fennel, tangerine and oil-cured olives. Solomon had the hangar steak with potato puree and mixed vegetables.

  “Can I say grace?” Solomon said. Michele smiled and nodded.

  “Dear Lord, we thank You for this food we are about to receive for the nourishment of our bodies. And we thank You for our reconnection after so long. We know this is Your will. Bless the hands that prepared the food. Amen.”

  When Solomon opened his eyes, he could see that Michele was staring at him with a quizzical look.

  “God’s will?” she said, offering a smile.

  “His will in His time,” he answered. “I’m not the most religious guy, but I know us meeting as we did after all this time wasn’t something we made happen. It was divine intervention.”

  “It was pretty incredible,” Michele allowed. “I—”

  She took her first bite of food. “O-M-G,” she said. “Tastes as good as it looks.”

  “Mine, too,” Solomon said, in between chomping down on his steak.

  Michele took a few more bites and then completed her thought.

  “I was saying that when I saw you walk up there at that banquet, I almost swallowed my tongue,” she said. “I’ve never felt like that before: excited, angry, uncertain, happy, relieved, shocked—all at the same time. I was hoping all that wasn’t showing up on my face. If it did, I looked like some creature.”

  “Oh, you played it off well,” Solomon said. “All I saw was one emotion on your face: hostility. You were steaming. At the same time, I was like you, with all kinds of emotions running through me: shock, excitement, fear, surprise, regret.

  “I was shocked not only to see you but to learn you were Gerald’s mom; scared because I didn’t know how you’d react to me; surprised at being excited to see you. I guess, in that very moment, all the denying went away and I admitted that I regretted leaving you like I did.”

  They stared at each other for a few seconds and then continued to eat.

  “This is great, but from what I remember, you can create dishes like this—or better,” Solomon said.

  “I definitely think I’ve improved from when you last had something I prepared.”

  “Me, too,” Solomon said. “I’ve improved my skills in the kitchen. And if you’ll hang out with me again, I’d like to cook for you. Let you sit back and be served.

  “I see you’re still the same.”

  “The same?”

  “The same. Charming.”

  CHAPTER 11

  OH, WHAT A NIGHT />
  That dinner date with drinks afterward turned into their routine. For almost two months, they took on Atlanta’s restaurant scene and grew closer and closer. Michele still had a trust issue with Solomon, but that sheath came down bit-by-bit.

  Solomon, meanwhile, was catching heat from the rotation of four women he juggled before rediscovering Michele. He could not find it in himself to tell them he wanted nothing to do with them anymore. Instead, he used work and travel as an excuse to be unavailable.

  Springtime came and his romance with Michele blossomed. However, they had not been intimate. One night, Solomon tried, but Michele rebuffed him.

  “I remember how we were together,” she said. “And please don’t think I’m trying to tease you. But I think we should wait. For what, I don’t know. But when the time is right, it will happen. It will feel right.”

  She was honest, but she also was imposing a test. If Solomon really wanted her, sex would not matter. Well, not that much. Besides, if he left her again, it would be easier to deal with without missing his intimate touch.

  Still, her attraction to him was bubbling like volcano lava. It wasn’t just the physical. It was more about how he made her feel in their talks and his manners and, significantly, how much he seemed to genuinely adore her son, Gerald.

  He talked to Gerald several times a week, took him to movies and taught him basketball while Michele worked events she catered. He even picked up Gerald from school for her a couple of times.

  “Coach Money, do you like my mommy?” he said one day as they sat in the square at Atlantic Station. Michele’s business picked up and she was working a wedding reception.

  “I do like your mom.”

  “Are you going to marry her?” Gerald asked.

  “Marry her? Well, Gerald, I don’t know about that. But I know this: I’m going to be around to hang out with you all the time. You’re my buddy, right?”

  Gerald nodded his head. “I like you, Coach Money.”

  “Give it up,” Solomon said, holding out a clenched fist. Gerald tapped it with his tiny fist. “I like you, too, Gerald. A lot.”