CHICCHERIE: I’m not a lot of women. If you can’t be real with me, don’t bother to be with me at all.
GH0ST30: All right. Fair enough. Okay, I date. I see women all the time. I don’t have a committed relationship, though. I’m seldom online and I never cyber. This is a new thing for me.
CHICCHERIE: Then why are you doing it?
GH0ST30: I’m looking to hook up with the right one. What I’ve been doing isn’t working.
CHICCHERIE: What’s wrong with the woman you’ve been seeing?
GH0ST30: Women, plural. Nothing’s wrong with them. But nobody has moved me to want to commit. Nobody’s come close.
Except you, I thought.
CHICCHERIE: Have any wanted to commit to you?
GH0ST30: Hell, yeah.
CHICCHERIE: A bit cocky, aren’t you?
GH0ST30: More than a bit, the ladies say.
CHICCHERIE: Bad boy.
GH0ST30: I can be very bad, if that’s what you want.
Her pause was way too long. Damn it! I’d scared her. But my replies had been automatic, hormone-generated. I’d have to be more careful.
CHICCHERIE: I’m an RN. What do you really do? Entrepreneur sounds a little shady. You’re not in the mob, are you?
She’d changed the subject. I’d started treading on ground too dangerous for her. How much or how little should I tell her about what I did?
GH0ST30: I own a heath-care-supply company. Not nearly as glamorous as Tony Soprano, I’m afraid. I only get to fantasize about shooting people.
CHICCHERIE: What about your family? Have you ever married? Are you widowed? Divorced? You know, if you wrote this in your profile like you were supposed to, I wouldn’t have to ask.
GH0ST30: I’m divorced. It was a brief interlude.
CHICCHERIE: I’m sorry. How long?
GH0ST30: Don’t be. I’ve been divorced for about three years now. I was married two years.
CHICCHERIE: Do you want to exchange sad stories?
My story wasn’t all that sad. But I really wanted to know her story. I’d have to show mine to see hers.
GH0ST30: Sure. You first. Are you divorced?
I’d never thought about her past. But she was twenty-five; she had a past.
CHICCHERIE: I’m more of an abandoned-at-the-altar girl.
GH0ST30: Really?
CHICCHERIE: Sort of. I called off my engagement less than a month before my wedding. We were supposed to get married last week. We thought a winter wedding would be nice, with the holiday season and all.
GH0ST30: Last week! You’re a recent veteran of a broken heart.
She was on the rebound. Damn.
CHICCHERIE: I’m more mad than brokenhearted. Mad enough to wonder if I ever loved him in the first place and why I was insane enough to agree to marry him. I should be hurt, but where is the pain?
GH0ST30: You have cause to feel hurt?
CHICCHERIE: More than enough cause. He cheated on me with not only my best friend but four other women I knew. There might have been more.
The man must have been stone crazy to cheat on a woman like that.
GH0ST30: How could he do that to you?
CHICCHERIE: That’s what I wondered. Can you imagine if I’d married him? It would have been awful. He would have tomcatted through the entire neighborhood—no, make that the entire city. I’ve been tested for every sexually transmitted malady under the sun and I’m clean, thank goodness. That’s my sad story. What’s yours? GH0ST30: My marriage collapsed because we were young and I was stupid. It’s not a very sad story. We’d been dating for about a year. I went along for the ride. She had a strong personality and made things easy for me. Then all of a sudden she decided she wanted to be married. I think that’s exactly what it was—she wanted to be married, not necessarily that she wanted to be married to me.
CHICCHERIE: That’s tough.
GH0ST30: I’m not guiltless. I added up the pros and cons and decided she’d be suitable. I settled for suitable and I don’t want to make that mistake again. We had a big wedding, went to Hawaii on the honeymoon, moved into a big house. Then we discovered we didn’t like each other very much. By the end of a couple of years, we couldn’t stand each other’s guts. We decided to split before we got any deeper. I think our divorce was more fun than our wedding. We threw a nice party.
CHICCHERIE: But isn’t the breakup of any marriage a disappointment?
GH0ST30: Not really. We both decided that the best was yet to come.
The pause between us lengthened and I felt compelled to end it.
GH0ST30: So what are you doing for the holidays?
CHICCHERIE: Not much. My brother’s flying into Atlanta with his family this year because of Mama’s stroke—we usually fly out to California, mainly because we like the weather. We prefer palm trees to a cold Atlanta Christmas.
GH0ST30: It’s just you and your brother? No extended family?
CHICCHERIE: Nope. My mother’s an only child.
When they made her mother, they broke the mold, thank God. I’ve never chatted with anybody before. I didn’t know what to do. Was this what chats were supposed to be like? I’d heard about cybersex, but revealing things about ourselves and innocuous banter would get old soon. This was going nowhere fast. I wanted to come out from behind the computer. I needed Sharyn to know the real me.
GH0ST30: My office throws a big Christmas party every year. Ours is coming up next weekend.
CHICCHERIE: Oh?
GH0ST30: I have to show, but I’m not really the party type.
CHICCHERIE: I know what you mean.
GH0ST30: Our party is at the Palace downtown.
CHICCHERIE: The Palace? Your company shells out big dough for this party, huh?
GH0ST30: It’s expected for the making of friends and influencing of people. Actually, a lot of agencies get together and throw it. Anyway, I’d love it if you’d show. It’s in the Grande Ballroom, formal dress. Hundreds of people will be there. It’s a safe place for a first meet, and you can protect me from the hordes of partygoers.
CHICCHERIE: I’ll think about it. We can discuss it later.
GH0ST30: All right. Same time and same place tomorrow?
CHICCHERIE: Same time, same place.
The next day all I could think about was Sharyn. I moved a few meetings around and took the Dragon lady’s session myself, lovesick fool that I was.
I knocked on the door at the stroke of ten. Sharyn’s big brown eyes widened at the sight of me. “No fancy suit today?” she asked.
“No sexy bathrobe?” I regretted my words when a slight look of irritation crossed her lovely face.
“No sexy bathrobe,” she said. “Mother’s waiting for you. She was excited to hear you’d be her physical therapist today.”
“Me, too.”
She let that one go with a raised brow.
“Hurry up, boy, I don’t have all day!”
“Do you have something to do, Mrs. Silvers? Maybe an appointment?”
“Get smart with me and what I’ll have to do is whup your butt.”
“Butt whupping is a bit on the kinky side,” I said, rubbing my upper lip. “But I suppose it’s good for range of motion and an excellent upper-body exercise.”
Mrs. Silvers’s eyes narrowed as she stared at me. I steeled myself for the dragon blast to come but was surprised at the roar of laughter that emanated from her throat instead.
“Good one, boy, good one,” she said, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands.
Sharyn caught my gaze and winked. I caught my breath.
If I could tame the Dragon, would she grant me her daughter as a boon?
As I worked through the therapy session with Mrs. Silvers, I could hear Sharyn moving around in the kitchen. I was surprised at how pleasant the Dragon was today. She only called me “boy” a few times.
I got her settled into bed. “Okay, boy, get yourself to the kitchen and make me some cinnamon toast and sweet, hot tea.”
&nb
sp; “Sure.” Cinnamon sprinkled on toast. How hard could that be? I headed for the kitchen.
“I have the cinnamon toast ready,” Sharyn said. “If Mama is on schedule—and she always is—she sent you in here to get it.” Sharyn smiled at me, and all was right with the world.
She pulled a cookie sheet out of the oven. Two fat slices of Texas toast lay there, with a rich sugar and cinnamon glaze.
My mouth watered. “Baking is involved in making cinnamon toast? I was going to sprinkle some cinnamon on some bread I put into the toaster.”
“Mama would have a fit. It’s not hard. You mix real butter, sugar and cinnamon together, spread it on the bread, set the oven on broil and brown the toast in the oven for a few minutes.”
It sounded pretty damn hard to me. Putting a Pop-Tart in the toaster was about the level of my cooking skill. But I nodded as if I understood exactly what she was telling me.
“Take one of these to her. Here’s the tray. I’ve already set up the teapot, too. Then come on back to the kitchen. The other one is for you.”
That sounded better. “Thanks a lot.” I infused the words with as much meaning as I could, because I meant them. Really. If Mrs. Silvers wanted cinnamon toast as a part of her PT session, from now on I’d simply have to stop at the bakery on the way.
I set the tray on Mrs. Silvers’s table in front of her and adjusted her electric bed, feeling more like a nursing assistant than a physical therapist.
“Pull up a chair. I like company while I eat,” the Dragon ordered.
“Uh, I have to go the bathroom.” I grabbed my lower belly and did a little dance. “I have to go right now.”
The Dragon frowned, obviously not wanting her repast disturbed by any intestinal unpleasantness. “Well, get to going, then.”
I got.
Her Fifth
Nick Cohen was adorable sitting across the table from me, trying to restrain himself from cleaning up every last crumb of cinnamon toast from his plate. I could tell by the longing in his eyes.
“Do you want another slice?” I asked.
“Please,” he said.
I grinned. I like an honest man. I’d made a batch of cinnamon-butter, and it only took a second to slather it on the toast and slide a piece in the oven. Sure enough, as soon as I returned to the table, Nick’s plate was as clean as if somebody had washed it.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“One moment. The toast is done already. It only takes a second.” I slid the toast on his plate with a spatula and topped off his glass of milk.
I sat down across from him. “Ask away.”
“I don’t want to offend you, but I want to know. Is the reason you turned me down for a date because I’m white?”
My eyebrows shot up. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
“You can be honest,” he said.
“I usually am.” I slid back into my chair, adjacent to his. “Maybe a little, but it wasn’t most of the reason.”
I looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes. “White men are basically men like any other, no big deal. If I’m ever hesitant, it’s because I don’t want to deal with this society’s race baggage. But usually I don’t care about society much. I figure the most important society is the one you make for yourself, you know?”
He nodded. “So what was it then?”
“It’s you. I’m coming off a bad relationship and I sense it would be heavy between us. Our vibes are very strong.”
“You think that’s a bad thing?”
I shrugged. “It’s a scary thing.”
“I think if you know beforehand something is going to matter, it’s going to matter. And you shouldn’t let it pass you by.”
His voice had lowered to a whisper and his face was close to mine, his ice-blue gaze intense. I couldn’t breathe in for the sudden sexual tension that descended, but I could smell him, sharp, musky, clean and very masculine.
I wanted him to touch me, to kiss me. And he wanted to kiss me. I was certain of it.
We breathed each other’s air, and our hearts beat a fast, staccato rhythm as the space between us grew smaller.
He stood, pushing the chair back in a sudden motion and grasping my shoulders, pulling me to him. I was boneless, more than willing to be crushed against his hard body.
Yes. I looked up into his eyes, surrounded by his arms, sinking into him, every nerve vibrating. It was as if I’d been waiting forever for this moment.
The feeling was strong, so that I had no hope of controlling it. Nick Cohen could hurt me for real, not merely bruise my pride.
I didn’t care. The moment between uncertainty and surrender was only an instant. His head lowered and his lips neared mine. My eyes closed. My body quivered like a string waiting to be played.
“Boy, come here!”
Nick growled out a low, savage curse.
“Boy! What are you doing? You better get your behind in here before I call the po-lice.”
He grazed my lips with his, like a thirsty man denied water. Then he strode away toward my mother, his steps wide and angry.
Mama, my bane and my salvation. I fled to my bedroom and started a bath.
I planned to retreat behind locked doors until Nick left. I shook with desire from a mere almost kiss.
This man could kill me. He could. I admit it, I’m a wuss, but the power Nick Cohen had over me terrified me.
GH0ST30: I was afraid you weren’t going to come.
CHICCHERIE: Why is that?
GH0ST30: Maybe that I said the wrong thing or scared you off.
CHICCHERIE: I’m not that easily scared.
GH0ST30: That’s a good thing to know. So have you thought about attending the party?
I hadn’t, but why not? Another man might be just the ticket to dilute the frightening power of Nick Cohen.
GH0ST seemed pleasant enough. Meeting in a public place was safe enough. I’d been to a party or two at the Palace before, and the Grande Ballroom was very grand indeed. It was right off the main hotel lobby, as public a meeting place as any restaurant.
CHICCHERIE: Sure. Since we haven’t done pictures, shall we exchange them now so we can recognize each other?
GH0ST30: Let’s surprise one another. How about flowers? A red-green-and-white carnation on the lapel or shoulder would be Chrismassy. We can meet at the bar next Saturday at seven sharp.
CHICCHERIE: Is it a pay or an open bar?
GH0ST30: Would I invite you to a party with a pay bar? It’s an open bar. The best thing about an office party is the opportunity for your coworkers and colleagues to embarrass themselves.
CHICCHERIE: But it works both ways.
GH0ST30: True. So we’re on?
CHICCHERIE: Guess so. Oh, did I mention I’m a black chic?
GH0ST30: Your profile did. Did I mention that I weigh four hundred pounds?
CHICCHERIE. No.
GH0ST30: I’m kidding! But I am white. Do you have any problem with that?
CHICCHERIE: Whiteness was the default choice on Match4Luv, surprisingly enough, with only other races having to specify their race. So I assumed you were white. It’s okay.
GH0ST30: Good. I want to let you know that you’re going to be surprised. I don’t want to say any more for now. But you’re going to be surprised. I only hope you find it a pleasant one.
CHICCHERIE: What? No hints?
GH0ST30: Maybe you’ve heard of me before.
CHICCHERIE: Are you telling me you’re famous? A celebrity?
GH0ST30: You haven’t told me much about your family other than your mother is an only child. My mother passed away about five years ago. My father sold the house and went to live in a retirement apartment. He likes it there.
CHICCHERIE: Right. So you’re just going to change the subject and leave me hanging. No fair.
GH0ST30: Saturday will be here soon enough for you to find out. The reason I was telling you about my father is what you said about your mother and maid service.
I think she’d like a place like where my father lives. It comes with maid service, activities and people to order around 24-7.
CHICCHERIE: Really? But we could probably never afford it.
GH0ST30: I don’t know. I just thought I’d mention it. Maybe you can bring it up with your other relatives when they get here for the holidays.
CHICCHERIE: You mean my brother.
GH0ST30: Is he married?
CHICCHERIE: Yes, and he has five children. They’re biracial. He married a white woman.
Given the amount of time GH0ST30 paused, I gathered he was surprised.
GH0ST30: Your mother was fine with this?
CHICCHERIE: Not like she had much say. And she’s crazy about her grandchildren. I think her daughter-in-law gets on her nerves less than my brother. He’s a minister.
GH0ST30: Really? And that gets on her nerves?
CHICCHERIE: He’s a minister of the Church of the Glorious Inner Light of Free Earth Beings in Space. That’s the GILFEBS Church for short. Yes, that gets on her nerves a bit.
12 Stocking Stuffers Page 113