A Natural Woman

by Lori Johnson

  Already he’d shared more with her than he had with any number of others, men and women alike, whom he’d known longer. He’d even gone as far as to tell her about the football injury that had ripped his dreams out from under him and marked his descent into an extended period of chaos. But what he’d stopped short of revealing, what he still couldn’t summon the words or the courage to say aloud, was the role a conspiracy, the traitorous one forged by Reuben and Laylah, had played in the deepening of his despair.

  He thought it significant that Aliesha had asked about his books and had appeared impressed when he’d shown her his utility-room-housed collection. He couldn’t remember the last time Laylah had made the most basic of inquires about his literary pursuits. Her interest in such had waned years ago. Even his recent preoccupation with Kafka’s Metamorphosis had yet to draw her attention.

  Hours later, long after Aliesha had driven away, a smile would creep across Dante’s face whenever his thoughts drifted back to their conversation and the wonderfully odd way his body responded to her presence before settling on her bold attempt to lure him from the safe confines of his silence.... “I’m kind of partial to a certain amount of softness in a man myself.”

  He’d heard the claim before and had learned the hard way that rare was the woman or man who viewed softness as anything beyond a character flaw, a deficit of some sort. And then there were those, like Laylah, who viewed softness as little more than an invitation to manipulate, to squeeze, knead, mold, and pinch from like so much Play-Doh or putty. A part of Dante wanted to believe that Aliesha was different. Like him, she was one of the rare ones. He yearned to fully embrace and openly reciprocate her interest in what they might be together. But another part of him, the part of him that still belonged to Laylah, wouldn’t allow it just yet.

  PART III

  CHAPTER 23

  Shelton Beale reminded Aliesha of a boy named Kevin Piedmont who’d come up through the grades with her in middle school. There had only been a handful of African American students in the private school in which her aunt Mildred had seen fit to enroll her. But somehow, every year, Aliesha and Kevin always landed in the same class. As the two lone dark specks set adrift in the churn and swirl of an overwhelming white sea, surely at some point their paths should have intersected. But they never did. They were both smart, articulate, capable students, who in all their years together never found an occasion or compelling reason to work on a classroom assignment together or even sit on the same side of the room. The two barely exchanged ten words in the entire time they knew one another, despite Aliesha’s occasional effort to reach across the divide between them.

  “Don’t worry, it doesn’t rub off,” she’d assured him one day during eighth-grade P.E. class, when he appeared to recoil at the mere prospect of having to mesh the fingers of his sweaty, coconut-husk-colored hands with the blackberry glaze of her own.

  It was almost as if Kevin had concluded that an association with her could only lessen his lot in life, if not taint him further. The same appeared to be true for Shelton, whose modus operandi, like Kevin’s, generally involved either ignoring or outright avoiding her. On the rare occasion they did speak, it was only because they’d both failed in their attempt to maneuver around it. So Aliesha wasn’t too surprised when, upon his return to Wells on Monday, Shelton didn’t immediately approach her about the change in the children’s hair or the club outing she’d only recently learned about herself.

  Tamara had overseen all of the schedule juggling and coordination associated with the children’s hair-braiding appointment. She’d also been present when Peaches spun her magic on the defiant quills adoring the two little girls’ heads. Surprisingly, they’d all hit it off fabulously. While Peaches had politely passed, Kristen had eagerly accepted Tamara’s invitation to hang out with her one night at her favorite Neo-Soul dance club.

  Upon her discovery of the additional details, Aliesha had asked Pat if she’d heard word of any negative fallout. Pat, who lived only a few houses down from the couple and who surpassed Monica when it came to keeping up with the latest campus-linked gossip, said, “According to Kristen, he’s surprisingly okay with the braids. So much so, he wants to visit the shop where Peaches works and personally extend his thanks.”

  Even though Aliesha would have paid good money to see the expression on Shelton’s face when he finally got a good look at Peaches, she knew his visit to the shop wouldn’t likely result in a happy outcome. She’d been doing her best not to stoke the tension between them. But rather than continue trading the fake smiles and curt nods whenever they encountered one another while trekking down the winding corridor where their offices and classrooms were located, a part of her wanted to confront him and just get it over with once and for all. On the other hand, she secretly enjoyed the thought of him stewing over that which he had so little control.

  Shelton and Aliesha managed to keep up the pretense until the Friday night in the same week of his return, when, at Shelton’s insistence, members of the Anthropology, Sociology, and Social Work departments convened for food, drinks, and small talk at a nearby bar and grill.

  Aliesha had hoped not to be the lone Black woman at the event. But when she’d dropped by the Social Work Department and asked the only other African American female among the invited guests if she’d, in fact, made plans to attend, Dr. Francine Cummings, a heavyset, older woman, had snorted and leaned back in her chair until it begged for relief. “You’re trying to be funny, aren’t you? Wanna know what I’m doing Friday night? Same thing I do most every Friday night. I’m staying home, turning on the Lifetime Channel, ordering a pizza, fixing myself a nice, hot bubble bath, and painting my toenails. That’s what I’m doing. You might be wise to follow suit.”

  Unlike Francine, Aliesha hadn’t earned herself enough clout or formed enough of the right alliances to pull a flat-out no-show without having to pay for it later in some form or fashion. But she couldn’t help but ponder Francine’s advice as she grabbed herself a large apple martini and smoothed out the low-cut, sunburst-colored dress Monica had insisted she purchase on one of their rare shopping excursions. Though more Monica’s style than her own, the dress flattered and showcased Aliesha’s toned physique and lean curves, a fact she doubted few at the gathering would notice. She downed a couple sips of her drink before slapping on her game face and marching off to make the required rounds.

  Exhausted and ready to call it a night after forty-five minutes of grinning and greeting, gabbing and glad-handing, she’d worked her way back over to where Pat and her husband, Michael, stood, the latter of whom looked as spent as and even more agitated than Aliesha. She smiled at her friend’s handsome silver fox of a mate, who at the moment resembled a sad-faced teddy bear.

  “Tsk-tsk-tsk,” Pat said, waving a finger between her husband and Aliesha. “You both know it is far too early to speak of leaving. How would that look?”

  “Like we’ve got better things to do,” Michael grumbled before turning to Aliesha. “Hey, how come you didn’t bring your guy, Javiel? And why does he get a regular pass on the torment, but I don’t?”

  A frowning Pat spared Aliesha the effort when she addressed her husband. “I could have sworn I’d told you. Don’t you remember? It seems as if poor Javiel went and got himself issued a permanent get-out-of-jail-free card.”

  “Oh,” Michael said. “I’m sorry to hear it. Well, who’s to say you won’t get lucky and land yourself one of the fine specimens here tonight?”

  Aliesha held up an arm, as if trying to block a physical assault, and said, “Stop right this moment or I’m leaving now!”

  Before her smile could fade, Shelton stepped into the happy circle of three and brought the dark clouds hovering over his larger-than-average head with him. “Aliesha, did I hear you say something about leaving? You were only kidding, right?”

  “Well,” Aliesha hedged.

  “Because there are a couple of issues I’d hoped to discuss with you before the night’s e
nd.”

  “Sure,” Aliesha said. But before she could utter another word, Shelton stroked her back and said, “Lovely. I’ll catch up with you again shortly.” He then seized Michael’s hand. “Mike, Patricia, good seeing you both. Glad you could come.”

  Aliesha muttered under her breath and threw imaginary daggers at his back as she watched him waltz to the other side of the room.

  “What the heck was that all about?” Michael asked.

  Pat squeezed her husband’s arm and whispered, “Trust me, dear, you don’t want to know, nor would you even remember if I told you.”

  In the hour that she awaited what felt like her pending trial, already-formed decision, and prearranged execution, Aliesha treated herself to a couple more apple martinis. Instead of taking the few minutes required to verbally sever her head, Shelton appeared intent on letting her sweat it out for as long as possible.

  Aliesha watched as he drifted from one group to another, looking for someone who might yet be impressed with the pompous B.S. he so freely served up and distributed in huge chunks, as if it were in fact diamonds or nuggets of gold. “If only we could get the kids at Wells to share the kind of zest for learning I witnessed among the students at Harvard, my alma mater . . . Now that Obama is in office, I sincerely hope the message to African Americans and other minorities will be one of no more lame excuses.... The problem, you see, with most of the Black youths who grow up in communities like Riverton is their lack of drive coupled with a maddening inability to see the big picture.”

  For the first time, she noted with some alarm how much larger his head swelled whenever he landed a female audience. His philandering was no secret in or outside of the department. To hear Pat tell it, before his marriage to Kristen, he’d earned quite the rep for bedding a host of young, impressionable grad students and the gullibly ambitious first-year professors. Such information only fed Aliesha’s long-held suspicion that the periodic faculty get-togethers Shelton insisted they all attend, but to which he never saw fit to bring his own wife, were just his way of sniffing out new prey.

  When she tired of eyeballing and eavesdropping on Shelton, Aliesha turned her attention to some of the other fine specimens populating the room, focusing in particular on the three other African American males in attendance. The bearded and bespectacled Dr. Clifford Myers of the Sociology Department shared her interest in Tamara, as well as the other half a dozen or more African American students who drifted back and forth between their separate but somewhat similar fields of academia. They got along well and often traded notes about the progress and peculiarities of individual students. Although he was not the best-looking guy in the world, Aliesha viewed him as an earnest and likeable sort, though one totally off-limits in any romantic sort of sense, given his legal and emotional ties to the lovely and equally likeable native of Hong Kong he’d met and married while attending grad school at the University of North Dakota.

  While Aliesha had spoken on occasion to the other two Black men present, she didn’t know either very well. Neither had been in their respective positions in the Sociology and Social Work departments for more than a year. Nor had either seemed particularly interested in getting to know her better on either a professional or a personal level. But based on what she observed, they’d already become chummy with quite a number of the other single women present at the gathering, several from her own department.

  As she studied the four men of color, she thought about the question she’d once admonished Tamara for posing: Why is it they get to choose, but we have to settle for whatever? but now found herself pondering, only with a slightly different spin, Why is it when you get to choose, you seldom if ever choose someone who looks like me? She reached for another drink to offset the melancholy she felt trying to take root only to find herself being scolded.

  “Exactly how many of those have you had?” Pat asked, her voice infused with motherly sternness and concern. “You do want to have all of your wits about you when ole shithead finally finds time to read you the riot act, don’t you?”

  Aliesha lifted her glass and said, “Not necessarily.”

  Pat shot a glance at her husband. “Maybe we ought to hang around just a little while longer.”

  Michael threw up his hands, stamped his feet, and let out a yelp that sounded like that of a tired, frustrated puppy. Aliesha went over and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dare let her do that to you. You two go on home. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay,” Pat said, sounding doubtful. She hugged Aliesha. “But call me first thing in the morning.” She pointed at Aliesha’s glass. “And take it easy on those.”

  Not long after Pat and Michael disappeared and Aliesha settled on a seat at the bar, Shelton’s deceptively friendly mug materialized in her slightly affected line of vision. Good Lord, the pickings must have been pretty damn slim in Kristen’s neck of the woods if she thought this fool was a catch is what she caught herself thinking before Shelton opened his mouth. While he was far from outwardly unattractive, aside from his pumpkin-sized head, Shelton’s devouring T Rex of an ego made his the worst kind of ugly.

  “Aliesha, I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting. I hope you haven’t been too terribly inconvenienced. Did you by chance get an opportunity to speak with Rosa before she left?”

  Personable, laidback, unlike Shelton, Dr. Rosa Rodriguez of the Sociology Department was extremely popular among the students on campus. The fact that she, like Monica, owned a body more becoming of a member of the Dallas Cowboys cheerleading squad only enhanced her appeal for some students and faculty alike.

  As she often did with Shelton, Aliesha started having an inner monologue that coincided with her actual one. No, I didn’t get a chance to chat with Rosa, but I noticed you did. At one point, you were scoping her cleavage so hard, I thought you just might lose your contacts, your partial, and your drink in there is what she thought. “Rosa? No, why?” is what she said.

  “Well, from what I understand, she and her partner, Joan, recently went their separate ways.”

  Aliesha’s eyelids twitched. And this would concern me, why? “Really?” she said. “Gosh, that’s too bad.”

  “You know, a nice-looking girl like Rosa is probably not going to be on the market for too long.”

  Aliesha swirled the contents of her glass. Do you just sit at home and work at being an asshole, or is this something you come by naturally? She swallowed a sip before she said, “I don’t mean to be rude, Shelton, but what would make you think I would be at all interested in that particular aspect of Rosa’s personal life?”

  “Well, I just thought—”

  “Ah, no, actually, it doesn’t sound as if you thought through that little quip at all.”

  “Aliesha, come on. It’s not like I’ve ever actually seen you in the company of a man. And there is the curious matter of the way you choose to wear your hair.”

  Is that what you plan on telling those wild-haired daughters of yours, you f-ing moron?! She stopped biting her tongue and said, “My hair? Oh, so the way I choose to wear my hair is supposed to be an opened window into my sexuality?”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. Do forgive me for being so presumptuous. To be frank, I’m glad we cleared that up. It certainly eases my mind, to some extent, about your relationship with Tamara.”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t think it was possible, but this conversation has truly gone from bad to worse.”

  “You must admit, you do spend an awful lot of time with her. Do you really think it’s appropriate for the two of you to be attending church together?”

  Aliesha felt a surge of warmth flood her face. “Look, we don’t go to church, okay? On her own and purely out of curiosity one day Tamara dropped in on the Sunday school class I teach and discovered she enjoyed it. Most times, she doesn’t even stay for service. Why am I attempting to explain this to you? Obviously, you’ve already made up your mind that I’m some sort of nappy-headed, proselytizing jezebel who sl
eeps with her students, right? When everyone knows that last little item is more your cup of gruel!”

  Shelton crossed his arms. “I don’t know why you’re getting so upset. I’m just trying to gain a bit of clarity on a situation that’s long puzzled me.”

  Maybe if you tried pulling that big hog head out your ass sometimes . . . “Seriously, Shelton, is this what you had me hanging around here all night for? Or is this just your own messed-up way of getting back at me?”

  He moved his hog-sized noggin closer to hers and, wearing a grin that made him resemble the Joker from the Batman series, said, “See, you are a smart woman, aren’t you? Which is why I still can’t fathom why you’d ever think it proper to invite that freak of nature you call a friend into my house and around my kids while I was away.”

  Aliesha sat down her empty glass. “Okay, first off that wasn’t my idea. Second, the name-calling isn’t necessary. Peaches is one of the gentlest, kindest, most soft-spoken souls you’re ever likely to meet. She doesn’t have it in her to hurt a fly, much less somebody’s kids. Furthermore, if you don’t want her around your precious little ones, I suggest you speak with your wife, instead of—”

  “And that’s another thing,” he said. “In case you haven’t figured it out already, one of the many reasons I discourage Kristen from spending too much time on campus or at university functions is because I don’t want her falling under the influence of women like you and Monica.”