by Zuri Day
Isis came up and pulled on Gwen’s dress. “I’m getting sleepy, Mommy Too.” Gwen smiled down at the little girl she loved like a daughter. On their drive down to Palm Springs, Isis had made up the name “Mommy Too” for her stepmother, and Gwen was still amused by it.
Ransom picked up Isis and hugged her to him. “I think your grandma is about ready to go, too. You’re going to have fun in Phoenix. But will you miss me?”
Isis nodded.
“I’ll miss you too, Princess. Now, before you go, aren’t you forgetting something?”
Isis put her head down on her father’s shoulder, then pulled it back up with a jerk. “Oh, yeah!”
She hurried out of her father’s arms and took off toward Ransom’s mom.
“What’s that about?” Gwen asked.
Ransom simply smiled. “You’ll see.”
“Ransom…”
Before Gwen could grill him, the clinking of crystal turned everyone’s attention to Carlos.
“A toast if I could,” he said, holding up his glass. The other guests found their glasses and held them high. A waiter appeared, handing Ransom and Gwen fresh glasses of champagne. “To the most honorable man I know, and the warmest, most kindhearted woman on the planet. You can buy beauty here in la-la land, beauty on the outside. But these two people have it where it counts most—on the inside. I love you, man,” Carlos said to Ransom. “And I wish you, Gwen, Isis, and the baby on the way all the happiness in the world.”
“Hear, hear,” the crowd responded, amid clinking glasses and murmurs of approval. A few other toasts followed, the cake was cut, and then Isis walked to the front carrying a hatbox.
She took the microphone from Carlos and turned to address the crowd like a seasoned pro. “One day, Daddy asked me if I wanted a queen to come live with us. And I asked him if I would still be the princess.”
A spattering of laughter filtered through the garden.
“And then he asked me if I thought Gwen could wear the crown. And I said…yes! Then he asked me if I could keep it a secret until he was ready to give her the crown. And I said ‘I promise.’ So now…”
Ransom walked over and held the bottom of the box while Isis pulled off the top. “Remember that day when y’all were headed to LA, when Isis was upset and you asked me what I’d said? Well, Butterfly, you just got your answer.”
Tears came to Gwen’s eyes as a beautiful tiara, encrusted with Swarovski crystals and a row of pink diamonds, was pulled out of the pink velvet box. “For my queen,” he said simply. The butterfly became Gwenderella as he gently placed the crown on her head. As if on cue, the sun began setting behind a purple-tinged mountain. It was time for the first dance.
“Mrs. Blake,” Ransom said as he reached out a hand to Gwen.
“Mr. Blake,” Gwen responded, as she took his hand lightly.
He swept her in his arms and they moved as one, letting the lilting voice of Al Jarreau take them into the bliss of the moment. They were here, together, married, expecting…a family. Ransom had found his queen, and Gwen, her king, knight, protector, provider, lover, and redeemer all rolled into one.
“Teach me,” Gwen whispered as the song ended. Her heart flip-flopped as she thought of the night ahead, a night in which they would once again recreate the magic of their first coming together, even while they soared to new heights of ecstasy. As she danced around the garden in the arms of her man, there were two things, no, three, that Gwendolyn Marie Blake knew for sure. One, her life had indeed begun at forty. Two, it had begun with some unexpected lessons from a younger lover; and three, when it came to matters of the heart…you are never too old to learn.
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Body by Night
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Turn the page for an excerpt from Body by Night…
1
D’Andra Smalls gazed at the entrance to Bally Total Fitness as if the doors led to a gas chamber. Her dread at entering couldn’t have been much worse than that of a woman doomed to die, since that’s exactly what she thought she’d do the minute she positioned her hefty behind on a treadmill.
With a slight twinge of guilt, she eyed the empty spicy-hot pork rind bag that along with hospital memos, a Bally pamphlet, a workout towel and a bottle of water occupied the tan-colored passenger seat of her recently purchased maroon Suburban. Her favorite snack had tasted good going down, especially with the sixteen-ounce diet soda that accompanied it, but now she wasn’t so sure about the wisdom of this hastily eaten pre-workout meal. Her stomach growled its disagreement and called for more, still angry from smelling but not tasting the bacon, eggs and fried potatoes D’Andra had fixed her mother for breakfast. In stark contrast, D’Andra had opted for a single can of Slimfast, just as her co-worker Elaine had suggested. Elaine had recently lost twenty of the fifty pounds she was trying to shed after having two babies in as many years. Seeing how much better her friend looked had been a motivator for D’Andra to lose weight. Not to mention the most literal wake-up call she’d experienced in her twenty-nine years: recently waking up to find herself in Martin Luther King Hospital’s emergency room.
Thinking about that brush with death reenergized D’Andra. Picking up the towel and bottled water, she looked again toward what instead of her doom was hopefully a pathway to good health and a noticeable waistline, both of which were currently lacking. Just then two size-fours walked into the gym, laughing, talking and looking fit as fiddles. One, a curvy Latina with thick black hair, could have modeled in a commercial on how to gain weight. Her friend, a rail-thin blonde who D’Andra thought could blow away in a two-mile-an-hour wind, looked picture perfect in her tight-fitting top and boy shorts.
D’Andra sighed and dropped the towel back on the seat. She rolled down the window, perched her elbow on the doorframe, and rested her head on her fist. This is never going to work, she thought with resignation. Her mother’s earlier question, posed as D’Andra prepared to leave the house, echoed in her mind. What do you look like taking yo fat butt to a gym? People who go there are already in shape. It looked like her mother was right.
“Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow,” D’Andra said out loud, pulling the seat belt back over her sizable belly. She should have known that Saturdays would be busy. Especially now, the beginning of the year, when millions of people had undoubtedly made resolutions to lose weight. The Sunday crowd, especially if she came in the morning around church time, should be much lighter. At least this was the rationalization she used for backing out of her workout. “That’s it. I’ll come back tomorrow with Elaine.”
“How can you leave before you even get started?” a male voice asked. The sound was as deep as the ocean and its silkiness matched the flawless onyx skin stretched over the perfectly sculpted six-pack abdomen filling her seated, eye-level view. So far, the only thing D’Andra could find wrong with the man standing next to her car door was his timing, walking by at the exact moment she was blabbering to herself.
“Uh, excuse me?” D’Andra stuttered, shielding her hazel eyes from the sun as she looked up. Granted, she garnered a fair share of testosterone-laced attention but rarely from someone who looked like the man standing here. He was gorgeous.
“Didn’t I hear you tell yourself you were leaving? Looks like you haven’t been in yet.”
“I haven’t but—”
“No buts,” Six-Pack stated firmly, his hand reaching for the car handle and opening the door. “Come on, doll, I’ll walk you inside.”
D’Andra was horrified. After seeing America’s next top models walk inside the gym, not to mention the ebony Adonis holding her door, she felt inadequately prepared to exercise and inappropriately dressed in her hot pink oversized T-shirt and black leggings. How in the world had she imagined herself cute when she tried the outfit on in Ashley Stewart’s dressing room? Now, she thought she looked like the proverbial pink elephant getting ready to walk into the room.
�
�I like Betty Boop,” Six-Pack said, nodding toward the cartoon character gracing the front of D’Andra’s T-shirt. “That color looks good on you.”
D’Andra exited the car but made no move toward the gym. “Thanks,” she answered, convinced he had said that just to be nice.
Still, she became self-conscious of how Betty rose and fell with her 42DDs every time she took a breath, which was more often than normal since the man in front of her was taking her very breath away. This fine specimen was definitely not good for her blood pressure. D’Andra guessed that if she wasn’t careful she’d end up back in emergency before midnight. Yet she risked her health to take another look at the dark chocolate standing next to her. Yes, she quickly deduced, he was still as fine as he was the first time she saw him, a whole sixty seconds ago.
“My name’s Night. What’s yours?”
“D’Andra.”
“D’Andra…that’s a pretty name.”
“Thanks.” D’Andra knew her simple, monosyllabic answers were belying her intelligence but any form of smart, casual banter eluded her. A thousand thoughts of things that might impress him ran through her head but not one of them came out. Sometimes it took her a minute or two to warm up to people, but it wasn’t like her to act shy. This man had her all discombobulated.
Then she remembered something. She hated men. Something else, or rather someone else, came to mind. Charles, the reason she hated them. What did her friend Elaine call them? Walking dirt, in reference to the biblical story of God forming man from the dust of the earth. D’Andra used this analogy to try and temper the flutters in her stomach. But she couldn’t lie to herself. If this man beside her was terra firma then she’d like nothing better than to get her hands dirty.
But that’s exactly what she’d done with Charles, literally, when she spent two grueling weekends—two weekends more than she should have—helping him with his so-called professional cleaning service. The dirt she’d cleaned from the office floors was nothing compared to the mental and emotional filth left behind by the dirty deed she witnessed the night of their breakup. D’Andra stopped the memories abruptly, before pictures from that nightmare night could crystallize. But that wisp of a memory had done the trick: stilled the flutters and renewed her resolve. She hated men. But the least she could do was be polite.
“You said your name is Night?”
“Yeah, that’s what they call me.”
Ignoring the obvious, she continued. “Why do they call you that?”
Night laughed. “You can’t guess?”
“I might guess it’s your skin color,” she said honestly. “But that could be an offensive assumption.”
“It could be,” he admitted. “But in this case it would be at least partly accurate. Skin color, scrawny body, big eyes and a small head; my friends back in Texas said I looked like a type of worm, a night crawler, and stuck me with the label when I was around six years old.”
D’Andra stifled a laugh. “That’s mean,” she said while trying to imagine scrawny or small ever describing the man before her.
“It is, but you know how kids are. Then my aunt started calling me Night. But she said it as a term of endearment, saying that the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice. I started wearing my color like a badge of honor. The final approval came from Sabrina, the prettiest second-grader in all of Dallas. She declared to the playground in the middle of recess that Night was the ‘coolest name ever.’ That did it. I went from pitiful to popular before the back-to-class bell rang. You might say I grew into my moniker, which now has a whole different meaning.”
His voice dropped to a near whisper. “I do some of my best work at night.”
D’Andra smiled but remained silent. Is this brown sugar brotha actually flirting with me?
“I meant working out, of course, in my home gym.”
No, he’s not flirting. “Of course.”
“What else could I have meant, right?”
What else indeed! D’Andra felt Night’s eyes on her but refused to meet his gaze. She could just about imagine what type of work he was referring to and since it had been a while since a man had gainfully employed any baby-making skills in her bedroom, felt it best not to speculate too long. Besides, the long lashes surrounding those dark brown orbs were bringing back her flutters and making her forget to hate.
“Do you work here?” she asked, nodding toward the gym as she consciously changed the subject.
“I teach a kickboxing class on Wednesday nights, but other than that, their environment is too restrictive for me. I don’t like to follow rules.” He licked a set of thick, perfectly proportioned lips. “I am a personal trainer though and pretty soon I’ll have my own gym. I’ve got my eye on a prime spot in a strip mall over in Ladera Heights.”
“The one with Magic Johnson’s Starbucks and T.G.I. Friday’s?”
Night nodded. “That’s the one. The mall gets good traffic, customers who work out and care about their health. Plus, people who live in that area will more than likely be able to afford my rates. My prices will be slightly higher than some of the chains but I believe my customized workout programs, personal consultations and full-service approach to fitness will make it worth the higher fee.”
D’Andra nodded but again remained silent.
“I’m sorry,” Night said, realizing he was going on and on about his dream. “Get me started about my business and I can talk all day.”
“I don’t mind. I like your enthusiasm. I’m really into fitness too. I mean, I’m not fit yet but I’m determined to get there.”
Night raised his eyebrows. “Oh, really?”
“What do you mean oh really?” she asked with as much attitude as she could muster while looking at an unexpected display of dazzling white teeth against his dark skin. She thought about Night’s nickname and concluded that it suited him. Only someone as fine as he was could pull off a name like that though, and not have it sound funny or insulting. On him it was neither; it fit perfectly. But that didn’t mean he could talk to her any kind of way!
“What I mean is, you could have fooled me,” he said, matching her attitude with his own. He’d seen that façade before, attitude that covered fear, and in her case, fear of working out or worse, of failing. He wasn’t known as the motivator for nothing and decided to put his skills to work.
“If you were really serious about getting fit, we’d be in the gym by now. Let’s go.”
Before D’Andra could react, Night gently grabbed her elbow and steered her toward the doors. She didn’t know whether to be pissed or impressed. On one hand, who did this stranger think he was to treat her like this? On the other hand, he was right. She’d been in no hurry to go into the gym and while she was genuinely interested in health and fitness, she’d been even more interested in delaying her own, happy to pass the time talking about nicknames. And truth be told, she liked the firm, authoritative way Night had taken control of the situation. She’d probably never let him know it but his actions were a welcome change from those around her who were content to let her do everything: family, co-workers, her sorry ass ex-boyfriend and backstabbing former best friend.
D’Andra shifted her thoughts. She didn’t want to think about any of them right now. While lying horizontal and staring into bright white hospital lights, D’Andra decided life was too short to pay attention to or worry about a-holes. She needed to focus on making herself happy, and that involved flipping the script on almost every thing in her life. Joining a gym was the first of many changes she’d vowed would happen this year, and getting in shape just part of the plan to turn her life around.
She listened as Night continued to make small talk, asking what she did for a living, about where she grew up. Maybe this man can help it happen, she thought. But could she be around him on a regular basis and not fall in lust? Lost in thought, D’Andra’s foot caught in the door’s rubber jamb and she stumbled into the hard body that was the source of her distraction.
“Careful now. You
don’t want to hurt yourself before you even get started.”
D’Andra froze against Night’s hard frame. Physical injury was a possibility she hadn’t considered. With a strenuous full-time job at a nursing home and physical rehabilitation facility, and an equally demanding mother who mistook her daughter for a personal maid, she couldn’t afford to get sidelined.
“I never considered hurting myself,” she said, forcing herself away from Night’s warm body and taking a step backward, out the door. “Maybe I’d better not…”
Night stopped D’Andra’s retreat with a firm hand. “Come on now, you’ll be fine. I’ll take care of you, doll, all right? So stop trippin’ and yes, the pun is intended.”
Once inside the gym, Night walked a couple steps ahead of her and approached the turnstile. In that instant she took in his close-cropped hair, wide shoulders, strong muscular legs, and a butt that looked as hard as it did round, even encased as it was in baggy pants that rode just below what she later saw was an inward navel. Then and there she determined it his best feature, the best bootylicious she’d ever seen. His tight red T-shirt had been ripped to show off the perfect set of abs that had caught her attention from the start. The arm that had guided her through the door was thick and strong, his Nike shoes long and wide. D’Andra gulped. Nobody had to tell her twice about the meaning of a man with big feet…
Night’s physique had shifted D’Andra’s attention from her body to his, but only for a moment. The sights and sounds inside the gym quickly brought back her purpose for being there, to get in shape, something that now seemed impossible as she looked at all the fit bodies around her. Not one person looked more than ten pounds overweight, twenty tops; there was definitely no one in there big as she was. Her heart sank. She wished Elaine were here. It seemed simple enough when, at her co-worker’s urging, she’d signed up online. Then it had been easy, fun even. But where was Elaine now, when she needed her? Home nursing two kids with the flu. How she’d allowed her friend to talk her into coming by herself, she’d never know.