A Natural Woman

by Lori Johnson

  Aliesha laughed. “And what kind of women would those be? The type your own two, willful, high-spirited daughters are likely to grow up resembling?”

  “God forbid,” Shelton spat.

  “I bet that’s your nightly prayer, too, isn’t it? I suppose only time will tell how and if that works out for you. Of course, you could always save yourself a wait and ask Peaches. . . .”

  CHAPTER 24

  She should have driven straight home. Or, better yet, called Monica or Pat to come and pick her up. Push come to shove, she could have even asked Cliff and his wife if they wouldn’t mind dropping her off. But she hadn’t been thinking straight enough to weigh all of her options or even realize the necessity to do so. Had Nelson’s Barbecue not already been on her route, she probably wouldn’t have thought about the coleslaw until that next morning.

  “Even though Nelson’s is known for their barbecue, their coleslaw isn’t half bad either,” is what Mrs. Phillips had told her. “If you don’t feel like making any, I suggest you go by Nelson’s and pick up enough to feed twenty for the women’s meeting on Saturday.”

  As soon as Aliesha spotted the sign, Mrs. Phillips’s words flooded her ears and she responded with, “Okay, let me save some time and do this now,” before cutting in front of a car and making a hurried right turn into Nelson’s brightly lit parking lot.

  The thick aroma of hickory-smoked barbecue that greeted her walk across the parking lot in the cool night air only intensified on her entrance into the establishment. The smell made her mouth water. But she knew given all of the liquor she’d consumed she probably wouldn’t be able to enjoy it or keep it down.

  Still, while waiting for the person in front of her to finish placing his take-out order, she began debating the merits of purchasing a sandwich and saving it for later. She was weighing the pros and cons when an unexpected voice startled her.

  “That’s quite a dress. No doubt, tonight, all eyes will be on you.”

  Mrs. Phillips it wasn’t, thank goodness. Wearing a big smile, and smoothing out her dress, Aliesha turned toward Dante. “Actually, this was in honor of an excruciatingly boring work-related event, which thankfully just ended. But I’ll gladly take the compliment and any others you feel like doling out tonight. “

  Dante chuckled and said, “In that case, you look absolutely fetching, Madame.”

  She cut her eyes at him. “Uh-huh, for a matronly schoolmarm, I’m sure.”

  They both laughed and he said, “You dining alone this evening?”

  “I’m here to pick up some coleslaw for a women’s group meeting at my church tomorrow. What about you?” She peered around him. “Here with one of the lucky ladies from your friends with benefits list?”

  “You don’t plan on letting me live that down, do you? I’m just grabbing a bite before I take on some of the fellas in the back for a round or two of pool.”

  A moment of awkward silence passed between them as they stood staring into each other’s eyes. Before Aliesha could decide where to take the conversation next, Dante said, “Well, I’ll leave you to your coleslaw. It was nice seeing you.”

  When he turned, both his natural scent and that of his cologne cut through the barbecue’s hickory-thick fog and grabbed Aliesha like a pheromone elixir. “I take that to mean you’re not in the mood for any female company,” she heard herself say aloud.

  He stopped and looked back at her. “Oh, I’m sorry. No, by all means, you’re welcome to come join me if you’re not in a hurry. I’m in one of the booths near the poolroom.”

  When he turned again and began walking away, Aliesha got so caught up in the view of his wide, muscular back; thick, tight thighs; and perfectly sculpted ass, she almost didn’t hear the attendant behind the counter call out, “Ma’am? Excuse me, ma’am, are you ready to place your order?”

  She carried a large tub of Nelson’s coleslaw and a wine cooler with her to the booth where Dante sat alone with a half-eaten meal on the table in front of him. When she reached him, he stood and helped her with her items.

  Before she sat down on the cushioned, semicircular bench, she spied Dreams from My Father lying cover-side up on the table. “No Kafka tonight?” she teased.

  He shook his head. “No, I do give it a break every now and then.”

  She looked around. “Is this where you generally come to unwind?”

  “Yeah, Nelson’s is cool. Not too crowded. Not too trendy. And the food, hey, you can’t beat it. The barbecue is good, no lie. But the pound cake, the pound cake is what I really come here for. You ever tried it?” He wiped his fingers on a napkin, then broke off a piece of his cake. When he raised the morsel, she scooted closer and let him guide it to her lips.

  She nodded and said, “It’s good. But mine is better.”

  He grinned. “Oh yeah? You cook?”

  “Now why’d you have to say it like that? Yes, I cook. And if you’re nice, maybe I’ll bring you a sample by the shop one day.”

  While Dante picked over what remained of his dinner and appeared slightly uncomfortable, Aliesha turned up her wine cooler and took several long swallows. On quenching her thirst, she said, “Can I ask you something? Why is it you’ve never hit on me?”

  Dante jerked up, like a driver who’d just slammed on the brakes in order to keep from hitting an object in the road. “Woah! Awfully forward tonight, aren’t we?”

  She reached over and pinched off another piece of his cake. “Where I’m from, if there’s something you wanna know bad enough, you ask.”

  He relaxed a bit and pushed the cake closer to her. “I’ve got this rule about mixing business and pleasure. Typically, it’s something I just don’t do. The risk of losing a customer is just too great. Say, for instance, in the event that things didn’t work out between us, then what? I lose both your friendship and your business, right?”

  Aliesha paused and gave his explanation some serious thought before she said, “Yeah, sure.... You only date White girls, right?”

  He leaned over and peered into her face. “Oh, you’re on a roll tonight. Where on earth did that come from?”

  She laughed. “I’m just asking is all.”

  “Well, to be honest, I don’t encounter a whole lot of White girls in the circles I run in. Man, those folks at the university must really be doing a job on your head.”

  “Umm,” she said before finishing what remained of the cooler. “In more ways than you could probably ever imagine.” She set down the empty bottle. “Listen, it’s been real, but I’d better be going.”

  When she made a move to rise, he said, “Wait, did you drive here?”

  She looked at him. “Yes, why?”

  He slid toward her. “Maybe you’d be better off sitting here awhile longer. Let me order you some pound cake and some coffee or something.”

  She shook her head. “Nah, I’d better call it a night.”

  He reached across her lap. “Wow, that’s a really nice bag. May I see it?” He plucked it from her grasp. “It’s got a pocket for your phone, too, doesn’t it?” On locating her cell phone, he took it out and flipped it open.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Dante started pressing buttons. “I’m looking for your man’s number. What’s his name again, Juan?”

  “Give me that!” She snatched the phone back. “His name is Javiel. And why do you need to know?”

  “So I can call him and have him pick you up. You really shouldn’t be driving.”

  Aliesha shoved her phone back into her purse. “Oh, so now I’m drunk?”

  He nodded. “You look and sound pretty damn lit to me. Why don’t you call him? I’m sure, given the circumstances, it’s what he’d prefer.”

  “No, see, that’s where you’re wrong. Calling Javiel is out of the question for a lot of reasons, the primary one being that we’re no longer together.”

  “How about a cab?” Dante fished out his own phone. “’Cause as much as I hate to, if you walk out of here and try to ge
t behind the wheel, I’m calling the cops.”

  Her face contorted and her voice rose a notch. “A cab? I don’t need a damn cab. So what, you’re supposed to be like my daddy or something all of a sudden?”

  He leaned toward her and in a calm and steady whisper said, “Where is it written that I’ve gotta be your daddy to be concerned about your well-being?” He took her hand and peeled her keys from them. “Look, Aliesha, I don’t want to see you get hurt, all right? Now, tell me your address so I can see that you get home safely.”

  It was the first time she could recall him ever using her given name, Aliesha. The sound of it tumbling from his lips tore deep into the hurt she’d been trying to bury beneath the alcohol. She stopped resisting and after a moment quietly told him what he wanted to know.

  When Dante handed over his own keys to one of his buddies from the poolroom and assigned him the task of trailing behind Aliesha’s car, an alarm sounded in her head. “Isn’t this the way a lot of bad B movies start?” she said. “Some chick who’s had one too many puts her trust in a couple of seemingly kind strangers only to have them take advantage of her?”

  She saw the anger her comment evoked beneath Dante’s mask of cool, but rather than explode, he said, “What’s that supposed to mean? You actually think I’d try to hurt you or stand by while someone else did? Tell you what, why don’t I just call you that cab?”

  Rather than respond, she climbed into the passenger side of her car and fastened her seat belt. Without another word, he did the same on the driver’s side and started the engine. For several minutes, they rode in a tense silence. She closed her eyes and leaned into the headrest.

  “You okay?” He reached over and pressed the back of his hand to her cheek, as if checking her body temperature. “If you start to feel sick, let me know and I’ll pull over.”

  Stifling the sudden urge to cry, she pushed his hand away and turned her face toward the passenger side window.

  “You wanna talk about it?” he said softly

  “Talk about what?”

  “Whatever it is that’s got you so upset. I’m saying, if you wanna talk about it, I’m more than willing to listen.”

  “No thanks.”

  After a few more minutes, she gazed over at him and said, “I’m sorry, you know, about what I said earlier. It was mean and totally uncalled for.”

  “We’ll attribute it to the liquor and leave it at that,” he said without taking his eyes from the road. “You mind if I listen to some music? You got any CDs?”

  She reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a handful. He plucked Phrenology by the Roots from the batch and slid it into her car’s player. He skipped over the songs he didn’t want to hear and listened to the ones he did, which she noted included the ones she too most preferred: “The Seed,” “Break You Off,” “Water,” and “Complexity.”

  After they arrived at her house, he parked in the drive and accompanied her to the front door. When he offered her his arm to steady herself, she took it without a word of protest. On reaching the porch, she thanked him and waved at the guy seated behind the wheel of Dante’s idling Jeep. But rather than enter the front door that Dante had taken the liberty of unlocking, she turned to him and said, “So what are the chances of me convincing you to come in for a while?”

  He shook his head as if to clear it. “Wow! Well, see, I can’t, not tonight.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down at his feet. “Maybe, maybe some other time.”

  She stared at him. “Yeah, right, right, some other time. You know what? I don’t get you.”

  He peered up at her with a smile. “Maybe that’s because I’m not trying to get got.”

  Rather than see any humor in his words, she suddenly saw red. “Tell the truth,” she said, hurling her words at him, one after the other, as if they were sharp-edged stones. “Even if I was totally sober, you wouldn’t come in, would you.”

  His face grew somber. “And what makes you say that?”

  “Because,” she said. “You’re scared, aren’t you? Tell the truth. That’s what’s wrong with brothers like you. You wanna blame everybody and everything for your sorry lot in life, for all of your shortcomings as well as your permanent state of unhappiness. But the real deal is, you’re just scared. Scared of life. Scared of women like me. Hell, scared of your own damn reflection . . . Am I right?”

  “Yeah, Miz Professor,” Dante said. He withdrew his hands from his pockets, ran one across the dark stubble on his cheeks, and nodded. “Maybe you’ve got a point. Maybe that is my real problem. I mean, it’s either that or White women, right?”

  The first thing Aliesha did after she stormed inside of her house and slammed the door shut behind her was race to the bathroom and throw up. As she clutched the toilet seat and emptied the contents of her stomach into the commode, she still owned the presence of mind to hope that come Saturday morning, she wouldn’t remember any of it. Unfortunately, it must not have been a prayer the Lord felt particularly inclined to answer.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t shake the awful memory of the mean, angry, hypersexual monster the liquor had coaxed out of her. She remembered verbatim every nasty word she’d hurled at Dante and, even worse, the look of hurt and disbelief on his face. Not a day went by that she didn’t contemplate calling the shop and apologizing.

  But in the end, she’d listened to Monica. “Don’t you think it’s best to just leave it be? You know he’s probably told all of the fellas down there. If not to your face, they’ll certainly be laughing about it behind your back. And the next time you decide to get your drink on, just call me, okay? Instead of allowing not one but two men you barely know escort your drunk ass home.”

  Aliesha decided her friend was probably right. The schoolgirl crush she had on Dante wasn’t liable to lead her anyplace she really wanted to be. So why bother? She prayed for the strength to just let it and him go and marveled at how difficult it proved. She’d had a far easier time detaching herself from Javiel, a man whom she’d dated for all of five months.

  Her outburst had blindsided him in much the same manner as the career-ending hit he’d taken in high school. While he’d donned the brave face, it would have been a lie to say it hadn’t rattled him. In fact, as he’d stood on her porch, he’d been gripped by a pain in his leg so sudden and severe, for a few split seconds he’d feared it would again crumple and collapse beneath him.

  But as agonizing an experience as witnessing her coming apart had been, he understood enough about women to know better than to take it personally. He sensed something was eating away at her in much the manner of an aggressive cancer that was rapidly spreading and metastasizing at will. She wasn’t the first woman to assume he owned the cure for what ailed her. But like so many of the others who’d pinned their hopes on such, she’d been wrong about where to find it. There wasn’t any black magic in his wand. It was his heart that held the key to her recovery, the same heart he’d vowed never again to fully unveil for any woman, deserving or not.

  He knew the pain she felt. The gnawing ache of rejection. The intense longing to be wanted, to feel worthy of another’s desire. He recognized and sympathized if only because he’d felt it, too. He could have slept with her that night and granted her the temporary comfort and refuge she sought and his body longed to offer. It wasn’t for any lack of desire that he’d declined. Nor had it been out of any overt sense of respect or allegiance to Laylah.

  With Laylah’s full knowledge and silent consent, Dante routinely bedded other women. On several occasions, he’d even fallen in deep enough to maintain a steady girlfriend. Not that any of those relationships had ever, in the end, mattered much or lasted very long. Laylah’s unrelenting presence in his life had a way of trumping all, and over the years she’d had become so confident of her grasp, she’d stopped caring with whom he slept, as long as he found his way back to her bed whenever she beckoned.

  So, in part, Aliesha had been right. Fear had kept him from stepping
across her threshold that night—a fear tied and bound to the very real possibility of losing her, Laylah, and himself in a sobering wave of regret the morning after.

  CHAPTER 25

  On the Sunday morning following his painful and perplexing Friday night exchange of words with Aliesha, Dante rose, showered, and dressed earlier than usual. After a few bites of toast and a quick cup of coffee, he flung both his sports jacket and a tie over his shoulder and headed out the front door of his South Riverton condo. He was on his way to Roads Cross and eager to see the look of surprise and delight on his Big Mama’s face when he showed up unannounced at her church that morning.

  Typically, he spoke with his Big Mama by phone every evening and drove out to see her every other weekend. Over the past several weeks, he’d become even more diligent about checking up on her. She hadn’t been the same since Reuben’s foolish and ultimately fatal walk across the river. Gone was most of the feistiness Dante had come to associate with the big-hearted woman who’d raised him and his cousin Reuben as if they’d spun from the loins of her husband Mack and spent a full nine months in her own womb.

  Often times, those who didn’t know Vivian Lee very well were shocked to discover that for all of her bragging, doting and spoiling, she wasn’t even blood kin to the two young men who knew her as “Big Mama.” Reuben and Dante were, in fact, the children of her husband’s two troubled sisters, Helen and Miriam. Reuben, the elder of the two boys, had come to live with Mack and Vivian Lee as an abused preschooler. Dante, on the other hand, had drifted back and forth between his Big Mama and uncle’s stable home and his mother’s chaotic one, until age nine—the age he was when, for a brief spell, his mother became sober and lucid enough to commit the merciful act of leaving him in the couple’s care for good.