If Only For One Night

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  There was no need to turn back when this was just coffee.

  Stepping inside, I glanced at my watch, then my eyes roamed through the coffee shop. It was filled with patrons, even though it was about an hour before noon. But there was no one in here who even resembled Blu.

  Once we’d started messengering each other so seriously, I’d taken to Google to do my homework on Barry — his real name — Logan. But still, Catfishing was real and who knew if the pictures on his Facebook page were current or even his?

  I was pretty confident, though because I’d found other photos that he couldn’t have manipulated — one in the Defender of him accepting an award from Houston’s Urban League, and the other was on his firm’s website. So, I was sure that I would know him the moment he walked through this door.

  Now, my decision was whether I should order coffee or wait for him. It didn’t take me more than a couple of seconds to figure that out. I grabbed the table in the back, in the corner, almost in the dark. My hands were shaking too much for me to even carry a cup across the room and I needed to get settled before Blu arrived or he would think I was some kind of nutcase.

  And then, my choice of tables…it looked the most comfortable.

  That was what I told myself.

  But sitting down didn’t help at all. Those butterflies in my stomach that had been fluttering around, now started doing cartwheels. I remembered feeling this way once — on my first date with Preston.

  Why was I thinking about my husband when I was about to meet this man?

  Because it’s just coffee.

  “Angelique?”

  The richness of his voice brought me from the memories of my past into this very present moment. I blinked, I gasped, I prayed that I would find my voice. That was going to be difficult because truly, the man who stood before me was a vision of loveliness. I knew that wasn’t a normal description for a man, but I had no other words.

  As a gymnast, I was astute, taught to use every one of my senses. So, I kinda knew that right now, all eyes in this shop were on me. No, that was a lie — the eyes were on him. Because Blu made heads turn, women and men alike.

  I wasn’t sure where to begin. Should I start with the sexiness and silkiness of his skin? Oh, my goodness. He’d told me that he’d gotten the nickname Blu because the bullies in school used to say he was so black, he was almost blue. So, even his friends started calling him that and Blu hated it. But his mother had turned that insult into the greatest compliment. She’d convinced him to embrace the beauty God had given to him and then, she’d had him do some modeling in the JC Penney catalogue. Blu said even at the age of ten he knew that wasn’t going to be his thing. But it had accomplished what his mother had hoped — given him confidence and helped him to not only accept, but come to love the skin he was in…and his nickname.

  It was a wonderful story, but his mother had been wrong. She should have changed the name from Blu to Black Silk — that would have been more appropriate. And by the time he was a teen, they should have added ‘sexy’ to that name. Yes, Black Sexy Silk. Or maybe they should have dropped his skin color altogether and called him Smooth Sexy Silk because that was who Barry Logan was now. There was not a blemish on his skin, and that smile that was illuminated by his perfect teeth was only made better by the dimple in his left cheek.

  Oh, and then there was the sexy part…this man had swagger even though he was standing still. Part of it was the suit that he wore, clearly tailored, no Men’s Warehouse end-of-the-year sale. The suit that showed broad shoulders that gave way to a slim waist. I stopped my eyes right there because…whew!

  “Angelique?”

  He said my name like he’d called me more than a couple of times. And when I took my eyes back to his, he smiled, only it was like half a smile. With just his left cheek and that dimple.

  I had to inhale before I said, “Yes,” and then held out my hand for him to shake. I wasn’t even sure how I had the composure to do that, but I guess it came from the poise I’d learned as a gymnast. “Nice to meet you,” I had to pause because I had twisted his name so much I had to pull his real name from my memory, “Blu. Nice to meet you, Blu.”

  He glanced at my hand for a moment, and then he took it, but not the way I expected. He pulled me up and into his arms in an embrace that hardly let me breathe. Not that he held me too tightly. It was just being that close to him was an assault on my senses. He’d already given me so much to see. But now, the way he felt — I relished the hardness of his chest. The way he smelled — I loved Issey Miyake.

  Then he pulled back, looked into my eyes, and said, “So, we finally meet.” And he had that voice, too? He’d told me he was a music buff who loved to sing — Luther was his favorite. Now the way he spoke, I had no doubt that he could rival one of my favorite singers.

  I was glad when he released me because I wasn’t sure how much longer my knees would be able to take it. And how embarrassing would it be if my wobbly knees gave way?

  So, I sat down and he did the same, taking the seat right across from me. That was good because if he’d taken the one next to me, it would have sent ripples through my blood stream and I would have been done.

  “You just walked right up to me,” I said. "How did you even know you had the right woman?"

  He laughed, a chuckle that had been designed by God. And those ripples….they went right through me.

  "Oh, trust me. I know DivineDiva." He glanced down at the table. “You want some coffee?"

  "Yes, I was going to order a cup."

  "I’ll get it for you.” Then, he stared and studied me, and all of my blood rushed right to the center of my body. He said, "You look like a dark chocolate mocha type of woman."

  I grinned and hoped that I didn’t look giddy. “No, what I am is all-black. No cream."

  He gave me that chuckle again and this time, I was rewarded with a wink before he stood and headed to give our orders to the barista. The moment he turned his back, I exhaled and almost collapsed. It took effort to be in his presence.

  My goodness!

  I watched him for a moment, then turned my glance to others in the shop, especially the women who watched him move (with that swagger) to the counter. Most were respectful with their stares. They looked up, then down, then back up again.

  Well, all except one woman who sat at the table closest to the counter. She might as well have worn a flashing sign around her neck: I want you, right here, right now, right on this table.

  I understood.

  If Blu were fazed, he showed no signs. He took care of his business, glanced back at me, winked again, then brought over our coffee and set mine in front of me.

  He wasn’t even fully in his seat when he said, “You’re even more beautiful in person.”

  “That’s original.” I smiled.

  He shrugged. “I’m a lover, not a writer.”

  I laughed.

  He said, “And it’s the truth. I mean, I expected you to be beautiful. I knew that, even before I checked out all of your pictures.” When I raised an eyebrow, he did the same and said, “Don’t trip. You know you did your homework on me, too.”

  Again, I laughed.

  He leaned forward on the table. “And after all of your research, I guess you liked what you saw.”

  Then, I did something that was so out of my comfort zone, so out of my character, but then, just being in this Starbucks was so different from who I thought myself to be. But since I was here, I decided to play along. I placed my arms on the table, leaned forward and mimicked his pose. “I guess you liked what you saw, too, or else you wouldn’t be here.”

  He didn’t even blink. “I liked it before I saw it.”

  That made me sit back and frown a bit. I couldn’t play the game if I didn’t understand the language. “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged, but with only one shoulder. “I liked it, you, before I even walked into this place. I liked your personality. I liked our online connection."

  Th
is time, I stayed back when I said with more boldness than I’d ever had, "Is that what we have? A connection?"

  Now, he mimicked me. He sat back, though the way he leaned into the chair, he was far more comfortable than me. Or maybe it was just his swagger that he had even sitting down. “What would you call it if not a connection?”

  Oh, it was a connection all right. It was an electric connection.

  “Are you gonna answer me, or just leave me hanging? What would you call this?” He pointed at his chest, then at me.

  A dangerous connection. That was what I would call it, but not what I said. “I call it friends getting together.”

  He said, “Friends with a connection.”

  I smiled, then sipped my coffee.

  “Friends with a connection…who are married.”

  His words dimmed my smile. “Wow!” I put my cup down. “Just put it out there.”

  “It’s already out.” He held up his hand, showing his wedding band. Then, he glanced down at the four-carat diamond that shined from my finger, an upgrade from my two-carat engagement one. The upgrade — a gift for our fifth anniversary.

  My eyes glanced downward.

  “The reason I mentioned our marriages,” his voice made me lift my chin, “is that I want it out there. And I want you to know that I’ve never done anything like this before.”

  I spoke without thinking, just told him what was in my heart. “Yeah, right. That’s what they all say.”

  “Well,” he paused long enough to sip his coffee, “I could say the same thing about you.”

  Touché.

  He held up his hands. “Just sayin’ that I could. But I wouldn’t because I have a feeling that you’ve never been in a place like this.”

  “A Starbucks?”

  He grinned.

  But then, I got serious. Shaking my head, I said, “No, I really haven’t. And to be honest, I don’t know what I’m doing here now.”

  “You know why you’re here.” When I looked at him blankly, he said, “It's because…we have that connection.”

  We laughed together.

  “No, seriously,” he said. “We have all these things in common. You’re a gymnast.”

  “And you like watching gymnastics on TV.”

  He nodded. “See? And then, there’s the fact that you majored in French and Italian.”

  I frowned. “Wait. I thought you majored in accounting.”

  “I did, but I speak a language. I speak English.”

  Another shared laugh before I said, “And I went to UT and….”

  “I went to Texas A&M.”

  “Boooo!”

  More laughter and Blu said, “And don’t forget the music.”

  “Yeah, you love Luther, and while he’s a fave, Prince will always reign.”

  “But, we both have the same favorite Luther song,” he said.

  “Yup.”

  Then, together we said, “If Only For One Night.”

  Now, we laughed together…again.

  He said, “And then, there’s this. This connection. Where we laugh all the time.”

  That was true. In all of our conversations inside the app, we laughed. I guess that really was why I was here. Because there was nothing sexier to me than a man with a sense of humor.

  “Seriously, though, Angelique.” He paused and reached across the table for my hand.

  I hesitated. I’d agreed to this meeting because it was just coffee and anyone who might have seen me, wouldn’t think anything about it. I was the creator and founder of Black Girl Magic. I was always out, holding meetings, but not holding hands. How would I ever explain that?

  That was my question, but my action — I gave my hand to him.

  He was silent for a moment and then, squeezed my fingers. “This is nothing more than two friends who connected, getting together and talking. So, there is no guilt, just honesty, okay?”

  I nodded.

  He said, “I don’t ever want it to be awkward with us. That’s what’s so special about us now. We hadn’t even talked on the phone, but we could talk about everything. I want it to stay that way. Let’s talk about anything and everything, anytime.”

  His words made me think that he’d want to get together again. And not just one more time. He was talking like this was a long-term…friendship with a connection. I wondered if that was what he meant.

  But I asked no questions. I just let him hold my hand for another moment before I reluctantly pulled away. Still, I said, “Another thing we have in common, we like to talk about any and everything."

  "And where I'm from that's the basis for an amazing friendship," he added with a smile.

  A friendship, I thought, and my stomach did one of those triple backflips, double twirl in the air that had been my signature move on the floor exercises in my gymnastics competitions.

  Coffee. Just coffee, a little voice reminded me and I quickly pushed aside that desire to know this man as more than just a friend. That was never going to happen. I was going to work hard to make sure it never did.

  CHAPTER 5

  Blu

  I had a great time today. It was so nice meeting you in person.

  The grin that had been on my face since I’d met up with Angelique this morning was still in place, even as I read her message.

  I typed back: Ditto. Looking forward to doing it again soon.

  She had to be at home (or wherever) just waiting for me because her response came in seconds: Can’t wait.

  "What's so funny?"

  Before I could even look up, Monica leaned over to get a glimpse of my phone. We were sitting close together, each on one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter, but I twisted just enough so she couldn’t see my phone’s screen.

  “I just read something on Facebook,” I told her. “It’s no big deal.”

  She shifted back to sitting up straight, but frowned her disapproval as she shuffled through mail that had been piling up for days. “Why do you spend so much time on that mindless thing?”

  “What? Facebook?”

  She nodded. “They call it social media, but I think it makes people less social. It shocks me that you’re sucked into that.”

  I was about to respond, but then paused. What I wasn’t going to get sucked into was another fight. In fact, what we should have been doing was celebrating. This was the first time that Monica had ventured out of our bedroom in over a week.

  So, I put down my phone — even though I couldn’t wait to talk to Angelique — and I talked to my wife.

  “I’m glad to see you’re up.”

  She shrugged, then looked at me. “And I’m just pleasantly surprised, that's all.” She glanced up at the clock that hung above the sink. A Boy Scout project that Tanner had made when he was twelve. “It’s not even five and you’re home.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I…got finished early and thought I’d come home so we could all have dinner together.”

  She shrugged again and I wasn’t sure what that meant. Was she telling me that she didn’t care?

  It was true; I hardly came home before seven or eight in the evening. Not because I was a workaholic, though my position as a Senior Associate in the Auditing department was important to me. It was just that I preferred working to arguing.

  But after my meet-up with Angelique, I was no good in the office. It was hard to concentrate when all I could think about was that woman. That face, those lips. And then, there was that shape. It had been my pleasure to walk behind her as we left the coffee shop together. She was lean, but shapely. Those legs, that butt….

  “Did you hear me?”

  I blinked myself back to our kitchen. “Huh?”

  Monica sighed. “I don’t know why I bother.”

  I shook my head, hoping that would get me back into this conversation. “I’m sorry. I was thinking about…something that happened today….” That was true. “At work….” I sighed with that lie. “What did you say?”

  "I asked, since you’re ho
me, are you cooking?”

  I just stared at her. From the moment I came home and found her downstairs (though she was stretched out on the couch in the family room, using the remote to flip from channel to channel to channel), I’d been hopeful that the fact that she’d gotten out of bed, had showered and dressed, then had made her way downstairs meant that my wife was trying to make her way back to herself.

  I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, so I’d just kissed her, then come into the kitchen. When she followed me, my hope expanded. Maybe she would do something — like cook dinner. That would be another step.

  Finally, I said, “What if we cooked dinner together?”

  She looked at me and then did something she hadn’t done in weeks, maybe even months — she smiled. But then, she said, “Nope,” and went right back to the pile of mail.

  “Awww, come on.” I was encouraged by her smile. “This is something we can do side-by-side like we used to.”

  She didn’t even bother to look up. “You like to cook. I don't.”

  “Well, what about if I bake some chicken and you put together a salad. That’s not really cooking.”

  When she kept sifting through the mail, I said, "What are you looking for?"

  "The decision letter for my disability appeal."

  I pushed back the words that wanted to come out. Monica's disability had run out last year, and she was on her third appeal. She found the letter she was looking for it, then tore it open in anticipation. The way her shoulders shrank told me she'd been denied. Again.

  I did what I'd done on the last two denials, I took a step forward and rubbed her back. Just like I rubbed Raven's back when she was upset. "It's okay, Sweetie. We're gonna be fine."

  Tears had filled her eyes. It's not like we were hurting for money, so I'm not even sure why she desperately wanted this approval. I almost think it served as some kind of validation that she really was sick.

  I didn't need the state to confirm that.

  I didn't want to upset her any more than she already was, so I kept my voice low and calm as if I were talking to our six-year-old rather than to my wife. “I’m going to go out and pick up something to eat. For all of us. For dinner.”