by Lori Johnson
For a moment she had a flashback of being with Kenneth in Vegas. But when she peered into Dante’s eyes and saw a clear reflection of herself staring back, she let go of her fears and clung to her faith.
When she turned, he eased the robe off her shoulders and down one side of her body. He planted his lips on her exposed shoulder and on her collarbone before moving to a spot behind her ear. After the robe’s fall into a puddle on the floor, he placed his hands against her waist, glided them over the curve of her hips, and muttered, “You’re beautiful.”
A rush of air escaped her lips when he pulled her against him. In addition to the searing hard-on, she felt first his breath and then the swirl of his tongue on the back of her neck. As he kissed her hairline and eased his tongue in and out of the indented area on the back of her neck that Ms. Margie used to call “the kitchen,” Aliesha felt the tension slowly leave her body and pleasure take its place.
When Dante moved his fingers to her breasts, she was struck by the near-perfect blend of his skin against her own. She cupped her hands atop his and guided his gentle squeeze and pull.
“That’s right, Miz Professor,” he said. “Show me how to keep getting those As. Wait and see if I’m not your best student ever.”
She thought to herself, Well, I’d dare say you’re doing a damn excellent job of it thus far.
He eased a hand into the moistened area between her thighs and said, “Why you so quiet, Miz Professor? You trying to hold back on me? Am I doing something wrong?”
“Of course not,” she whispered while fighting against her desire to break into a whimper. “You passed the first lesson with flying colors. But if you keep calling me Ms. Professor, I’m going to start taking off points.”
He chuckled. “So how’s Aliesha? Is that better?”
She turned and looked at him. “Much better, thank you.”
He touched her face. “What about baby? Can I call you baby? Can I call you my woman?”
“Yes,” she told him, prior to kissing him and pulling him onto the bed with her. “But only if you really mean it.”
Dante’s uninhibited bedroom banter amused her. He whispered, panted, and moaned about how beautiful she was, how wonderful she felt, and how good she tasted—“one part honey, two parts heaven” according to him. She found him a dangerously unselfish lover. While he declined to enter the pulsating warmth of her body or the soft pucker of her lips without the benefit of a condom, he insisted on foregoing the placement of any kind of barrier between his tongue and her clitoris.
But she had no complaints and had been only too happy to oblige when in urging her to straddle him, he’d said, “I want to see your face when you come.” She’d opened her body and bid him entry, like a queen intent on determining if he was fit to reign in her dark world as king. And he hadn’t disappointed. He’d made her hear and feel both the beat of the drums and the call to prayer. In his sweat she’d tasted the waters their souls had crossed together—not the Atlantic or the Mississippi—but the ancient ones Langston had immortalized in verse, the Niger and the Nile. He’d made her behold and cross backward through the point of no return.
On her arched back slip into ecstasy, he’d lifted his own back from the mattress and kissed her neck and her face before gently seizing a fistful of her hair and saying, “Whose world is it, baby? Whose world is it?”
“Whose world is it?” she teased the next morning when he awakened next to her.
He smiled, snuggled against her, and with his face pressed to her breast, he muttered, “The correct response to which is, ‘It’s our world, baby. Yours and mine.’”
She laughed. “You, sir, are something else.” She caressed his head and ran her fingers over the stubble on his cheeks. “Dante . . . is there really any chance of this lasting?”
“Yes, if you want it to.”
“So, why’s the burden on me?”
“Because you’re the highly educated and much-respected professor who teaches at Wells. And I’m just that brother who cuts hair down at Wally’s.”
She pulled away from him to get a better look at his face. “For what it’s worth, right here and right now, you’re the only man this highly educated and much-respected professor wants in her bed and in her life. Doesn’t that count for something?”
He raised up on an elbow. “Is that what you live for—the here and now?”
“Yes, don’t you? If nothing else, I think we can both agree that tomorrow isn’t exactly promised.”
When he finally made his groan-filled and reluctant rise from her bed, he apologized for having to leave her and run off to work. She told him she’d fully expected as much and asked if he wanted or had time for any breakfast. His only request was a cup of coffee, black, no sugar, no cream. Upon his exit from the shower, she had a steaming cup waiting for him, along with a tray of sliced fruit and some warm cinnamon rolls.
While he drank his coffee at her kitchen table and thumbed through the morning paper, she ran a sink full of hot, sudsy water for the dishes she’d left there the night before. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so much happiness and satisfaction churning through her every cell. She lifted her head toward the heavens and silently prayed, Oh, dear God, please let it last.
When Dante rose from the table and brought his empty cup to the sink, she raised her wet, bubble-covered fingers to his face and rubbed her nose against his. “If you could spare a minute, I’d like a chance to play something for you.”
After drying off her hands, she placed a CD into the player next to her microwave. On returning to the sink where he still stood, she said, “Now, close your eyes and don’t say anything until the song is over.”
Wearing a grin, spawned by her mimicking of his instructions to her the night before, he folded his arms over his chest before lowering his eyelids and bowing his head.
The lines and muscles in his face fell smooth and slack as Aretha Franklin’s “A Natural Woman” filled and energized the space between them. Sister Ree’s soulful litany and testament about a man whose kiss helps a woman place a name on what’s been ailing her had long been one of Aliesha’s favorites and lent voice to some of what she herself didn’t yet own the words to say.
At the song’s end, Dante drew her against him and buried his hands in her hair. “You really feel that way?”
She pressed her lips to his shoulder and said, “Yes, I’m afraid so,” she said.
“I’m glad. But I think you should know that what you said before about me being a scared little boy still holds true.”
She knew he was referring to something she’d said the night they’d run into each other at Nelson’s. It pained her to know that in spite of all his reassurances to the contrary, he might never forget or truly forgive the awful way she’d treated him. She pulled back from his embrace and peered up at him. “You know I didn’t mean any of that, Dante. It was just the liquor talking.”
“No, to some extent you were right. I have been running scared from a lot of things and for a long time. It’s time I faced some of those fears.”
She stroked his chest. “Okay, but if last night is what scared looks like on you, then I hate to tell you, babe, but you wear it well and I’m not so sure I want you to change.”
He moved her hand from his chest to his face, and in a lighter tone he said, “Well, far be it from me to brag, but when it comes to what we did last night, I can assure you that’s one place where I ain’t never been scared.”
She laughed. “That’s good to know because the next time I see you I’ll definitely be expecting an encore performance.”
“Oh yeah?” he said while backing her against the counter. “Well, how’s this for a sample?” He kissed her deeply and with a raw and unabashed passion similar to the kind he’d displayed with in her bed the night before.
When he finally stopped, and her racing heart slowed a bit, she whispered, “Now that was truly worthy of its own standing ovation.”
He grinned,
then glanced at his watch and said, “Good, because it’s gonna have to hold you until I get back.” He put on his cap. “As much as I’d love to stay and finish what we’ve started here, I’d better go before Wally sends either the bloodhounds or Yazz out looking for me.” He planted a parting peck on her lips and said, “I’ll call you.”
PART IV
CHAPTER 29
He didn’t call. At first she thought little of it. She knew from personal experience how chaotic any given Saturday at the hair salon could be and suspected the barbershop wouldn’t be much different. She also knew from personal experience that an “I’ll call you” coming from a man was typically more of a sweet exit line than a genuine promise to do so. She figured Dante had probably gotten busy with the Saturday crowd and by the end of the day had been exhausted and simply put off placing the call. If nothing else, the rationale proved plausible enough to get her through Saturday night and into Sunday.
She blew a cooling breath over the steam circling from her coffee mug. She’d awakened on the Sabbath with a strong sense that she was about to embark upon a journey to a place she’d never ventured before. Unable to shake the feeling, and unsure if she ought be rightfully concerned, she’d arrived at Garden View early and spent a few minutes mediating in the quiet of the empty sanctuary. Upon centering herself and reclaiming a bit of peace, she’d made her way into the church’s kitchen and prepared enough of the morning brew for the other members of her class, many of whom, like her, needed that extra jolt to properly launch them into the day.
She stole a few quick sips of the still hot beverage before entering the conference room and pulling out her notes for the morning’s lesson. With her mother’s worn Bible opened to the Song of Solomon, Aliesha had assumed her position at the head of the table. But her backside had barely graced the seat of her chair when in walked Tamara.
“Hey, Dr. Eaton, what are you doing here so early? We were hoping to surprise you.”
Her eyes widen at the sight of the other half of the “we” who came strolling in behind Tamara. Even had she been granted twenty guesses, Aliesha never could have predicted Kristen’s presence at Garden View.
“Good morning, Dr. Eaton,” Kristen said with a pronounced twitch in her smile. “I hope you don’t mind my showing up unannounced like this. Tamara insisted it would be all right.”
Tamara giggled and fell into the seat next to Aliesha’s. “Yeah, Doc, try not to look so shocked.”
“No, it’s fine,” Aliesha said, glancing at the door and wondering if Shelton and the two wild-hair girls would come trooping through it next. “I am, quite naturally, somewhat surprised. Pardon me for asking, but did Shelton know you were coming here this morning?”
Kristen took a seat directly across from Tamara’s, which put her on the other side of Aliesha. “Dr. Eaton, I know you and Patricia believe I’m somehow obligated to have Shelton approve my every move. But I assure you, that is not at all the case. He knows exactly where I am. That’s not to say he necessarily likes it—”
Tamara laughed. “I’m gonna go grab some coffee and see if anyone’s arrived yet with the doughnuts. Can I bring either of you anything?”
Both women declined. After Tamara’s exit, Aliesha turned to the young, ruddy-cheeked woman, who appeared engaged in a quiet, visual assessment of the room. Aliesha cleared her throat and said, “Do you mind me asking what brings you here today?”
“Several things, actually,” Kristen said. “First, Tamara has only had wonderful things to say about your command as a teacher—here and at the university. She’s also shared with me some of the fascinating research in which she’s engaged with your guidance and assistance. From what I understand, you’ve published quite a bit of research in the area of sexual commerce.”
“Yes,” Aliesha said. “Up until this point, my specific area of interest has been on what many refer to as the world’s oldest profession. I spent a couple of years studying a group of prostitutes who work some of the meaner streets of Chicago’s South Side.”
“Well, I’ve been dying for an opportunity to speak with you in-depth about some of your and Tamara’s research and how I might get involved.”
Had Aliesha been drinking her coffee, she might have choked or spewed it everywhere. “Excuse me?” she said.
“After I return to school, of course, which I’m aiming to do sometime in the next year or so. And I certainly hope you won’t let Shelton’s bombastic nature stop you from serving as one of my advisors.”
Kristen went on to shock Aliesha even further when she brought up the research in which she herself had been involved with a group of prostitutes in Paris and prior to her marriage and subsequent move to the States with Shelton. As sincere and enthused as Kristen sounded, Aliesha couldn’t help but wonder how Shelton felt about his wife’s plans, specifically as they pertained to her, a woman he viewed as a nappy-headed, proselytizing, same-sex-inclined seductress. But her concerns didn’t prevent her from expressing her full support of Kristen’s desire to resume her education and academic pursuits.
It wasn’t until Sunday rolled into Monday without her having heard a single word from Dante that Aliesha started feeling slighted. Okay, I can understand and fully accept the passage of one day. But two? That, in her book, was pushing it—especially given the time and energy she’d put into the dinner preparations and the truly wonderful night they’d spent together afterward. Why hadn’t he called, if only to say, “Hey, babe, I’m too busy or tired to talk or come and see you. But I’ll get back with you soon.”
She knew she didn’t dare raise the subject with Monica, unless she wanted to hear some version of the “What I tell your ass?” lecture. So she hid her growing anxiety and only let Monica in on those things that cast Dante in the most favorable light—his promptness; the darling brown-skinned baby doll he’d given her; the healthy appetite and appreciation he’d shown for her food, her conversation, and her body. She even went as far as to share some of the tender and provocative things he’d whispered while in her bed.
“Well, I’m glad to hear it and I hope it continues to work out for you,” Monica told her. “’Cause you know, I still have my doubts. . . .” Yes, I know. That’s why I’m dishing you the gravy and keeping the bullshit portion to myself, Aliesha thought.
By Tuesday she’d reached her breaking point. Okay, fine. So I’ll call him and see what’s up. But when she reached for the phone, she realized the only number he’d ever given her was for Wally’s Cool Cuts. She found the shop’s business card and examined the days and hours Dante had scribbled on the back. According to the information, on Tuesdays he worked until nine PM. Her watch read seven, so she picked up the phone and dialed the number.
“Hello? May I speak to Dante?”
“He’s not here,” the voice replied.
“Wally?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said.
“This is Aliesha Eaton. Would you mind leaving Dante a message? Would you please tell him that I called.”
After a pause, Wally said, “Ah, sure, Dr. Eaton. I’ll leave him the message.”
She waited, figuring surely at any moment Dante would call, anxious to beg her forgiveness for having behaved so rudely. She sat next to the phone for a full hour before acknowledging that she was only making herself crazy. What was going on? Later that night while tossing and turning in bed, she asked herself a dozen different versions of that question. Had Wally given him the message? If so, why hadn’t Dante called? Was she missing something? Had she said or done something that might have upset him?
She racked her brain and reviewed the details of their night together and the morning after. The last words she could recall him saying were, “I’ll call you.” So why hadn’t he? Unless of course, that had been the whole point all along . . . Oh hell, was this some kind of freaking game to him?! Or worst yet, part of some elaborate scheme to get back at her for insulting him the night he’d escorted her home?
She woke up the next morning t
ired from mulling all of those things he’d said in the hours before his disappearance and angry because she couldn’t understand how a man could go from, “Can I call you my baby?” to pulling something so insensitive. Her regularly scheduled appointment wasn’t until the following week. But she knew she wasn’t about to wait that long before breaking him off a piece of her mind. She double-checked the days and times on the back of the card before driving to Wally’s.
She tried to steel herself as she sat in her car outside of the shop, feeling as if at any moment a hot blast of steam would burst forth from her ears. I’m not going to curse. I’m not going to get loud and ignorant. I’m not going to cause any kind of a scene. I’m just going to ask him one question: “Why?”
But on entering the establishment, the first thing she noticed was that the spot in the rear where Dante should have been was vacant. She turned to Gerald, the only barber in the immediate vicinity, and said, “Where’s Dante?”
Gerald, who barely looked up from the customer in his chair, said, “I don’t know. He ain’t here.”
“So what time do you expect him back?”
“I don’t. Only somebody’s hours I keep up with around here are my own.”
“Thanks!” Aliesha snapped. “You’ve been so incredibly helpful.” When a laugh behind her caught her attention, she spun around only to see the gray-haired antagonist from her very first visit to Wally’s.
Like the time before, Ray sat with this razor-creased khakis gapped wide open and his hands folded behind his head. “Hey there, Miz Chicago, how you be? I reckon by now you’ve discovered that the nights around here can get just as chilly as they do where you from, huh?”
She shot him a heated glare and before she could catch herself spat a terse, “Kiss . . . my . . . ass!”
The man seated next to Ray and the one in Gerald’s chair roared with laughter.