Cafe Romance

by Curtis Bennett

  Rising up off of the chair, Kurt broke into a cheerful smile. It had been a perfect evening and he told her so. She shared his sentiment.

  Kurt was about to leave when her phone rang, startling them both. By the way she clutched the phone in her hand, and by her measured tone and uneasy posture, he quickly gathered that it was Antwan on the other end of the line. A minute later, she politely ended the call but was unable to keep Kurt from hearing her tell the caller that she would call him back in a little while.

  Yvette gazed over at him and saw him biting his lower lip, his eyes belying a thoughtfulness that told her one thing. As a preemptive measure she approached Kurt, with a warm smile, and softly said, "Please, don't even go there."

  Kurt responded incredulously, "Go where? I didn't utter a word," he chuckled, in an attempt to brush the matter off.

  "Oh, but I saw that look in your eyes," she returned in jest, though quite serious at heart. "Look, Antwan and I are just friends, as I've told you before," she noted. "He just happened to have been there for me when I needed someone to talk to and get some things done. I've tried my best to be there for him, that's all."

  Kurt shrugged, almost defensively, saying, "Look, I know where you are going with this but as hard as it may be for you to believe, I understand. Yvette, I'm not the jealous type, believe me." He knew he was lying through his teeth.

  Looking into his gaze a second time, she solemnly said, "Okay, but I’m going to hold you to that."

  Though he put on his best smile before departing, she noticed that the smile he was wearing earlier was now gone. Damn, of all the nights Antwan could have called, she thought. To top it off, Kurt made no effort to kiss her before leaving. Hopefully it was just a minor setback for them.

  After ejecting the movie and replacing it in its protective casing, she walked over to the phone and like the true friend she was, returned Antwan's call.

  In the quiet shadowy confines of his motorhome Kurt contemplated Yvette’s reciprocal based relationship with his rival Antwan. As spirited and true his feelings for her rang, he was not so emotionally absorbed that he could not detect a sense of mutual admiration and trust between them that rivaled his own for her. But was she being entirely truthful with him, he pondered? He was hoping that she was.

  About to call it a day, he paused when his newly purchased cell phone rang. It was his beloved grandmother who helped raised him. She had called to chat and to find out if he had been eating well. He could never convince his Grandma that he was not ten pounds underweight, as she convinced herself he was.

  For the next thirty minutes he reassured her that he was doing just fine. It had been nearly five months since he last saw his grandmother. He missed her and her family famous sweet potato pie. The woman could bake. Could cook too.

  Though she claimed to be doing well, Kurt could detect in her voice something subtle, something not quite right. “Grandma, nothing would please me more than you letting me arrange for you to fly down to Florida for a visit,” he pleaded with her. But she declined his offer in her own small town folksy way, as she said, “Kurt, your grandma’s far too old to start flying, now that I’ve made it this far in life. Naah, I think I’m going to just stay put.”

  No problem. “I’ll just fly up to New Jersey this weekend to be with you,” he told her.

  Switching off the desk lamp he retreated into the bedroom. There he tossed and turned restlessly until he finally sank into a deep sleep.

  Trenton, New Jersey. A mid-size water front city situated along the lengthy Delaware River, just north of the vast metropolis known as Philadelphia. For the first seventeen years of his life this was home to Kurt. Now it had become a place that harbored old friends and loved ones, along with a few special memories. One in particular for him.

  The flight was non-eventful for the most part, though a small pocket of turbulence greeted the DC10 several miles out from its evening approach but overall, it amounted to nothing more than a little rattle. Kurt had forgotten to charge his cell phone, so he made his way through the busy terminal hunting down a pay phone. He eventually found one off to the side of the wide lavender–colored corridor.

  After he fumbled for change in his pants pocket, he hugged the phone between his ear and his shoulder, then rifled through his carryon bag until he found his wallet size electronic organizer. Squinting, he read off the phosphorous green color phone number to Augusta Rental Car services. He dialed it and the professional voice of a woman greeted him and assured him that his rental was ready and that an airport limousine would be there to pick him up inside of twenty minutes. He phoned Yvette to let her know that he had arrived safely. He also gave her the phone number to Grandma’s house. She promised to phone him later in the day.

  The late model Grand Prix Sport Edition handled well, a far cry from riding his bike in Florida. The car had a lot of kick to it. A 350-horse power engine. Six cylinders. Twin exhaust. The sound system was top of the line, too. Alpine.

  Traffic was heavy. It was a six lane crawl for the better part of twenty minutes. Only then did things begin to loosen up. Driving in severe traffic was never a favorite part of his trips up north. It was too much of an unnecessary challenge for him, every damned mile of the way.

  Less than thirty minutes later he pulled up onto the wide asphalt driveway of his beloved grandma, who resided in the eighty-six thousand dollar home he had purchased exclusively for her on her seventieth birthday. The two-story stone cottage house was exactly what she had in mind when the two went out to look for a house after his spectacular windfall.

  Though he would have easily put her in a two million dollar home, she would not hear of such extravagance and self-indulgence. She lived a comfortable life of humble moderation all of her life. She wasn’t about to sell her soul to the devil now just because Kurt got a little lucky at the game of chance. Naah, she was too close to the Kingdom of God, the King of Kings, and the land of milk and honey, to start getting materialistic.

  “Hello, darl’n,” she greeted her devoted grandson with an enthusiastic but weak hug. “Grandma is so happy to see you. How was the plane ride?”

  “Pretty smooth,” he replied warmly as he embraced her frail frame.

  “Here, rest yourself,” she urged, as she ushered him over to the kitchen table. Pine it was. She had gotten it on sale a month earlier using some of the money he had sent her.

  Sitting down, he took a moment to look around to see if anything had changed since she moved in. He also took time to savor the delicious aroma of the sweet potato pie baking inside of the oven. It delighted him that she had remembered his favorite dessert.

  “Man, that sweet potato pie smells good, grandma!” he said, feeling like the young boy who used to stand around her table while she cooked his meals or baked a cake or pie. “One of the things I love about you is that you always remember my favorite pie.”

  She smiled. “That’s because I know how much you look forward to my pies and my cooking.”

  “Well, it’s sure appreciated. I must say, grandma knows how to throw down when it comes to cooking.”

  Joining him at the table she looked him over. “Yes, and it’s a good thing too. It doesn’t look like you’ve been eating well. But that’s alright now. You’re home grandma’s cooking is just what the doctor ordered for you.”

  “Speaking of doctor, how did your last visit go?” he asked.

  “Oh, you can’t put much into what Doc says no more,” she replied in her folksy old way. “Mine says my blood pressure’s been up lately but I feel pretty darn good, if you want to ask me. It’s just near the end of the day when your grandma’s wagon seems to slow down. Of course, I feel great now that you are here.”

  “Well, if ever you need anything, medicine, medical treatment, or assistance here at the house just let me know,” he added, rising up to kiss his Grandma on the cheek.

  “Oh, the day nurse that you hired for me is good enough. She drops in five days out of the week, spending at least
four hours a day with me. On Friday’s we always manage to slip in a friendly game of two-hand Solitaire. That’s more than I can really ask of any one person,” she responded, looking affectionately at him as he peered into the oven to see how the sweet potato pie was coming along. It seemed only years earlier that he assumed the same pose near the kitchen oven as a little boy, she remembered fondly.

  “How do you manage to do all of this at your age?” he asked with endearment. With a bright smile, she replied, “With years of practice. Anyway, I had help today and as old as your grandma is, her memory isn’t quite what it used to be. I almost forgot that my helper was still here waiting on you, in the living room. She wanted to surprise you. It’s someone very dear to you. Someone you haven’t seen in a while.”

  “You know, I happened to notice another car parked in the carport when I drove up and I meant to ask you about it, but just like you, I became absorbed in the moment. Who is it?”

  “Rest assured, it’s not your ex-wife.”

  “That would have been a real surprise,” Kurt mused, wondering who else it could be.

  “Why don’t you go ahead to the living room,” she suggested. “It’s an old friend of yours and we’ve kept her waiting long enough.”

  “Okay, Grandma,” he said turning away from the oven. “Are you coming?”

  “I’ll be along soon. I want to finish my tea and catch the news, honey,” she answered as she picked up her spoon to stir the warm brew in one hand and the remote to the kitchen television in the other.

  With nervous anticipation, Kurt forged onward into the living room, two rooms removed from the kitchen. The L-shaped floor plan included the kitchen, dining room, living room and den; which doubled as the entertainment room. A half bath was off to the left of the laundry room. Kurt remembered the layout well.

  A big screen television glowed softly before an audience of one whose back was turned from his approach. The hair was dark brown with a trace of frost in it. With little else to work with he still was clueless as to who this woman was until she turned to face him. As he took her into full view as his lips parted in surprise. If it were anyone else, his lips would have turned into a wide, open smile. But it wasn’t just anyone else. And it did not matter to him that her enchanting gaze was eager and mesmerizing, alive with affection and delight. He took a moment to absorb it all, though. Here in the flesh was the woman men once referred to as ‘Foxy Roxy’.

  “Kurt!’ the former beauty queen cried out. Though he tried his best to deny it, her ecstatic response still had a way of sending his heart and pulse racing. But something in his past caused him to hold back emotionally. It was his ex-fiancée, Roxanne Polite, whose family had migrated from the tropical island of Barbados in the early sixties. Roxanne and Kurt’s stepsister Trish were best friends. Had been since middle school. Though he developed a crush on her the day he first laid eyes on her it was not until he had graduated from college that the two began to seriously date.

  “Hello, Roxanne,” he said, pleasantly restrained.

  Rushing over to him she embraced him warmly, her perfume intoxicating to him. But he refused to show its effect on him.

  “I am in town for a brief visit,” she began. “When I heard that you were going to be in town too, I just had to come over to see you.”

  “How thoughtful of you," he returned, still numb with surprise.

  Removing a strand of hair from her eye, she beamed, took his hand, and gazed into his dark eyes. “Kurt, you just don’t know how great it is to see you, again.”

  "I have to admit I’m surprised to see you,” he said, taking his hand back. “So, you say you are just visiting. Where are you guys living at now?”

  “Virginia Beach,” she replied, her eyes sending him a private message. “God, you look great! I can’t believe how long it’s been.”

  “Yes, it’s been a while,” he breathed, thinking about the hurt and pain he thought he had gotten over. Quickly changing the dynamics of the conversation he gazed her way, adding, “I must say that you’re still as stunning as I remember you. Still keeping those fingernails painted and manicured, I see.”

  “I do my best to look as good as I can,” she replied as she lifted her eyes to meet his, her gaze soft and enchanting.

  “Exactly, how long has it been Roxanne? Five years?”

  “Six years, I believe,” she sighed. “And far too, long, I must say.”

  “Still married…to Don?” Don as in Donald Middlebrook, though Roxanne had an unflattering name she referred to him when around close friends and it was The Beast. Ex-high school wrestler and basketball star. Honor student. Ladies’ man. Bastard son of a wealthy and handsome Irish investment banker and ex-model Portuguese mother. Raised by his Irish grandparents, Don was voted in high school as the one most likely to be paying child support by age twenty.

  “Yes, if you want to call it that,” she returned in a sinking tone. “Hey, I hear that you’re on the market again.”

  “I’m not sure about all of that. But Leslie and I are separated,” he confirmed, though Roxanne’s pensive response after he mentioned Don’s name did not go undetected. He decided not to probe.

  With round eyes, she stared at him, and then asked, “Any children?”

  “Came close. Leslie had a miscarriage. You?”

  “Two sons,” she replied thoughtfully. “Look, I am sorry about the miscarriage.”

  “Thank you, Roxanne,” he said, drily.

  With a single hand gesture he motioned her over to the sofa where they both sat down.

  For a moment there was absolute silence. And a lot of looking. Roxanne wasn’t the type of woman you could simply ignore, even if you were at odds with her. Slowly, he felt his resistance beginning to erode. Up until this point his own civility surprised him. After all, this was the same cute looking angel who broke his heart many years ago, he kept reminding himself. Perhaps she had changed her earthy ways. Naah, no chance of that, he mused.

  “I can see you’re taking great care of yourself. You must work out,” she said, her painted lips parting into a toothy smile.

  “Yeah, whenever I get the chance,” he answered, taking another moment to reflect.

  “Which must be often because you’re so ripped.”

  Again, he cursed himself as he eyed this woman with interest. He could only resist her but for so long, especially as she followed his gaze with even greater interest. In a strange way, they both seemed willing to revisit the flame that once burned between them so brightly, so intense, so many moons ago. It was a flame that he thought was long snuffed out.

  A longtime acquaintance of Roxanne since middle school, he had long known about her flirtatious ways and hesitated to get involved with her initially, even though completely smitten by her. But the moment he fell for her, he fell hard. In his naiveté, he thought she felt the same way about him, too. But Roxanne had plans of her own. She pursued Kurt relentlessly, and when she won him over, bedded him uninhibitedly, then just as quickly as she pounced on him, leaped off, and doused the flames of his passion for her by leaving him for executive type Donald Middlebrook.

  With her betrayal came great hurt and pain. Though he forgave her years earlier, he could never forget what she put him through. For the moment he would not hold it against her. It was over he kept telling himself.

  Breaking the ice, she said with pizzazz, “So, how does it feel to be a millionaire?”

  “I really don’t give it a lot of thought anymore, Roxanne,” he replied, after a shrug. “I don’t feel all that different. Sure, I can get into doors that were once closed to me, but that’s only because the world understands one color - green.”

  “That’s the best cerebral take on instant wealth I have heard to date,” she said, casting her eyes downward momentarily, adding, “Some things in life will never change. No doubt, the value of money is one of them.”

  Rising up, he walked over to the chimney, leaned against it at shoulder level, and leveled his eyes on
hers. “Let’s not forget about one’s loyalty and commitment. We should all ask ourselves, should such values remain unchanged, tried and true or should they change like the four seasons, or perhaps more like the sheets of one’s bed?”

  His vexatious tone shook her with obvious pain and remorse. And he meant it to.

  There was an acrimonious pause. His words had stunned like no other words uttered to her in their past.

  “Listen,” she hesitated, needing more time to erase the pain, then rose up. “May I take this time to explain something to you?”

  “I imagine so,” he said, softening his tone.

  That he removed the steely edge from his voice calmed her enough for her to make her way over to him, even as she blinked away tears. “Kurt, I know I caused you a lot of hurt and pain but that was a different time, a different place, and a different Roxanne.

  “I am truly sorry for the suffering I brought you then Kurt. It took some years for me to realize how selfish and how wrong I was. Believe me, this bothered me for the longest time. Still does. But it’s because of you that I am a better person now. I know I cannot change the past and what I must have put you through. But please, don’t let the past come between us now. Not now! Please!”

  Extending his arms out to her, and feeling three sniffs lower than a rat’s ass, he pulled her gently into his embrace. “Look, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean that. Hell, I imagine a person’s first instinct is to strike back at those who have brought them great pain.”

  Reaching for the tissue box he withdrew a couple and gently dried her tears away. “Look Roxanne, the past is the past. And I promise not to let it come between us. Please, can we just pick up where we left off a minute ago?”