Can't Get Enough of Your Love

by J. J. Murray

He looks at the ceiling. “I … No, I don’t think so. We discussed every inch of your body in detail. It made me right horny. Looking at you now …” He grunts. “Your body is talking to me again.”

  I know I am blushing under all this makeup. “But did y’all have anything nice to say about me?”

  He squints. “Other than about your body? Hmm. Let’s see … After all the cursing died down, we said lots of nice things about you, but we agreed right here at this table not to—”

  “I know, I know,” I interrupt. “Not to be with me again.”

  He sits back and squirms a bit. “Oh. I do have it.” He brings a folded napkin to the table.

  I try to snatch it, but Roger pulls it back. “Let me see it, Roger.”

  “Why?”

  “I need closure or something.”

  “Why? What’s being closed?”

  “Look, y’all have gotten on with your lives, and … I need to start mine over. So, show me the damn napkin.” The classy lady has officially left IHOP.

  He unfolds the napkin and spins it around to me.

  Above the signatures, I read: “We the undersigned agree on this day not to be with Lana Peanut Cole ever again unless one of us doesn’t have a lady in his life.”

  My hands get a little sweaty. Does this mean what I think it means? “This isn’t what I expected.”

  “Life rarely is,” Roger says. “Let’s see … Karl has Izzie, or is it the other way around? Hmm. They have each other. And Monique definitely has Juan. I already pity him. So that leaves … me. Again. I’m once again the last possible choice, the bronze medalist.”

  Who isn’t bronze! Well, his freckles are kind of bronze, but… “What about Lisa?”

  “Oh, I’m afraid I’m much too old for her. She likes ‘em young.”

  I re-read the agreement. “So you don’t have a lady in your life.”

  “Nope. I’m single. The name’s Roger.” He sticks out his hand.

  But my hand is too sweaty! I shake his hand quickly. “Erlana Joy.”

  “Erlana Joy?”

  I can’t look at him. “My daddy’s name was Earl, and Mama’s name is Lana. Earl-Lana. Erlana Joy.”

  “Nice to meet you, Erlana Joy.”

  “Nice to meet you, too.”

  Silence. It’s as if we’re starting completely over. I don’t want to take this slow. I want to jump back in where we were before. I mean, we have a history, right? We have plenty to talk about, and here we are listening to the sound of forks and spoons hitting plates around us. I’m sure if we listen really hard, we’ll hear old people pooting.

  “You know what?” he asks suddenly.

  “What?”

  “I’d like to ask you out on a date, Erlana Joy.”

  Oh, my heart! “A date?”

  “Yeah. That’s how folks usually start relationships, you know.”

  Hope? Is that what I’m feeling? “Yeah. I guess they do.”

  “Not that we’ll have a relationship. We’ll just have to, you know, take it slow, see what happens.”

  “Right.”

  “I mean, how would it look if we just suddenly, oh, I don’t know, made love on the floor of my apartment on our first date while people are walking by outside?” He smiles. “You know, I don’t think we ever really had an official first date.”

  “No,” I say, “we didn’t.” I look up into those hazel eyes. “Roger, do you still want to be with me after all that’s happened?”

  “Well … Yes and no.”

  I hold my breath.

  “You see, I once knew this woman named Lana. She did me wrong. She hurt me bad. She broke my heart. She ruined my life. She made my life a living hell. She made me—”

  “I get the picture,” I interrupt.

  “No,” he says, “I’m not sure you do. I was down on my knees in front of this woman with an engagement ring, and I was so sure she was going to say yes. Instead, her other two boyfriends showed up.” He stares hard at me, and I look away. “You can imagine how … lost and how hurt I felt. I never want to feel that way again.”

  “I’m so sorry, Roger.”

  “Why should you be sorry? I was talking about a girl named Lana. Your name is Erlana Joy, right?”

  I nod. “Right.”

  “And while I don’t agree with your methods, I am willing to give you another chance.” His voice catches. “Yeah. I’m willing to … to try again, but only if we take things slow, okay? I’m not going to be in a rush to get on my knees again.”

  I nod, though my heart hurts.

  “But, if I ever had to get on my knees again for anyone, it would be for you.”

  My eyes well with tears. I think I’ve finally found the man of my dreams.

  “Now, I know all this is a big step for you, Erlana Joy,” he says.

  “What is?”

  “Settling for just one guy.” He wags a finger at me. “I’ve heard an awful lot about you. I know all your secrets.”

  There’s a scary thought. He probably knows more about me than I do.

  “But, I want you to know that I’ve been practicing my Spanish.”

  Huh? “What?”

  “I’ve been practicing my Spanish. I bought some tapes and everything, and I listen to them every night. Juan helps when he can, too, and now I’m pretty sure I can ask just about anyone in Mexico where the bathroom is. Donde esta el baño?”

  I laugh, and a tear spills down my nose onto the table.

  “I even listen to Led Zeppelin. I play a mean air guitar, let me tell you.”

  “Roger, you don’t have to—”

  “And Karl’s going to help me be a better plot salesman,” he interrupts. “He’s going to help me talk people into buying ‘eternal real estate’—that’s what he calls it. And if I cut your grass enough without my shirt on all next summer …” He pauses and looks into my eyes. “If I do that all next summer, all my freckles will congeal into one dark orangish-brownish color, which you seem to like so much.”

  I stand and slide in next to him, taking his hand. “I love you just the way you are, Roger.”

  Damn. I just said the word “love” to a man. I need to wring out my hands!

  “And I love you any way you are, Erlana Joy,” he says, and then, well, we make out right there in the booth at IHOP.

  With lots of tongue and some, um, wandering hands.

  When I let him catch his breath, I ask, “Can you please get my ring back from Lisa?”

  “You want her ring?”

  “It was meant for me, not to be worn by Old Lisa Lou, a woman serving pancakes at an IHOP.”

  “But why would you want her ring”—he pulls out a black velvet box from his back pocket, popping it open—”when this is the ring I wanted to give you?”

  I look into the box, and I’m looking at the only bling I’m going to need for the rest of my life. “Then what ring is Lisa wearing?”

  “Some ring Karl had in his pocket that night.”

  I squeeze the life out of his hand.

  “It wasn’t a ring Karl planned to give to you, Lana. It was cubic zirconia or something, and I tipped Lisa with it.”

  “Oh.”

  The ring is still in the box. It shouldn’t be in the box. It should be on my finger.

  “Aren’t you going to put it on me?”

  Roger sighs and sits back. “I don’t know. I mean, I’ve just said I want to take it slow, and if I suddenly just… gave it to you, then I’d be contradicting myself. I don’t like to contradict myself.” He shrugs. “Maybe someday, but … not right now.” He closes the box.

  Oh no!

  “But I have been looking at it for so long, imagining how it would look on your finger.”

  “So stop imagining!” I shout. I stare the other diners back to their omelets.

  Roger sits back. “You’ll forgive me if I hesitate, I mean, I have to know about a thousand things about you first.”

  A thousand? “I thought you knew everything about me.” />
  “I know a lot, but I don’t know everything.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “I wrote down everything I need to know about you at the apartment, right on the back of that list we made. Do you remember that list?”

  I nod. “I have a few more places to add to that list.”

  “You do?”

  I nod. “This booth, for one. Have you heard about something called the ‘Mile High Club’?”

  He nods.

  “I haven’t decided whether I want to do it in an airplane or a hot air balloon.”

  “Why not both?”

  “Yeah, why not?”

  He exhales a long, slow breath. “Well. Hmm. Well, I’ll have to remember the new list I made from memory.” He looks at the ceiling. “Oh, the first one was: Do you have any more men in your life? For all we knew that night, we might have been only three of maybe six or seven in your life, like maybe you had one for every night of the week.”

  I cradle his face with my hands. “I am looking at the only man for my every night of the week and for every one of my dreams. Any more questions?”

  He looks up at the ceiling again. “Uh, that response answered the other nine hundred ninety-nine.” He squeezes my leg. “You’ll need to stand up for a second.”

  I stand, and he slides by me.

  Then he kneels—here it comes!—and he …

  He picks up a napkin.

  “Scoot down,” he says. I do, and he digs back into his breakfast.

  What the? It was the perfect time! I would have said yes! And he picks up a damn napkin? The nerve!

  “I talked to your mama about all this the other night, and she told me how difficult you might make this.”

  No … he … didn’t! And no she didn’t!

  “Remember the night you called your mama about getting a makeover?”

  I nod. Mama knew the whole … damn … time! She was making me over just for this moment! She was making me over for Roger!

  “I was there when you called, and your mama and I, um, well, we came to an agreement of sorts.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, and it wasn’t easy. She’s a tough lady.”

  I nod. She is. And I’m as tough as she is. Now.

  “She says that as long as I let her visit us out in the country, and that I make and keep you happy, I can marry you one day. I hope I can do all that. If I ever did ask you again, would you marry me, Erlana Joy?”

  There’s only one possible answer to this. “Yes, Roger.”

  He’s fidgeting in his seat. Oh, he’s trying to dig out the ring, I just know it!

  He pulls out his wallet.

  “Have you paid for your breakfast yet?”

  Damn, my heart is jumping up and down. “Uh, no, not yet.”

  He pulls out a twenty. “My treat.”

  I’d rather have the ring!

  He kisses me tenderly on my newfound lips, and then … he begins eating his breakfast again!

  “Roger, what the hell are you doing?”

  He shovels in another mouthful of omelet. “Finishing my breakfast. This is some good stuff.”

  If I blink any harder, I’ll blink off my eyelashes. “But you just … You almost just asked me to marry you.”

  “Yeah.” He drinks more of his coffee. “And?”

  “And?” My jaw is scraping the table. “And you’re finishing your breakfast because it’s ‘some good stuff’.”

  He nods. “Yeah. And?”

  “Well, Mr. McDowell, I got some good stuff, no, some better stuff back at my house.” And if I give it to him properly—and I will, oh yes, I will—I will get that ring today.

  He stops chewing. “Got any eggs? You could make an omelet or something with lots of mushrooms, cheese, and green peppers. Or you could make me some pancakes. Or, you could make me—”

  “A baby,” I interrupt.

  He swallows. “Oh. You have those kinds of eggs. How many eggs do you want to spare?”

  “How many do you need?”

  “Well, for the omelet I’m planning, at least … eleven. I want us to field a football team.”

  Oh yeah.

  I have found the right man for the job.

  Now, in the movies or on those dopey sitcoms, I would be wearing that ring. Juan Carlos, Karl, Izzie, and even Monique would be just outside the window clapping or something. Lisa would be leading cheers with the other waitresses inside, and I bet all the diners would give us a standing ovation. My mama and maybe even my daddy would come out of hiding, the music would swell, and Roger would carry me to a convertible with me holding on to my ouchy shoes. Then we’d drive off into the sunset as the credits roll.

  I used to hate those kinds of movies.

  I might actually like them now.

  So, instead of all that drama, I walk out of an IHOP—barefoot, somewhat crusty toes and all, and ringless—with the man of my dreams, my earth brother, my Mr. Meat ‘n’ Potatoes, my soul, tears drying on my face, ouchy shoes left under the table where they belong, wondering about our future, our future that will one day—maybe this time next year—involve another threesome.

  Just me, my man, and our child.

  Ah, who am I kidding? I’m not wondering about any of that at all, really—except for the ring. I mean, I haven’t had any good loving in five months, six days, and two hours (I’ve been counting), and I can’t wait to get back to Jenny’s dollhouse so we can make us a milk chocolate baby girl.

  I hope it rains all weekend.

  Maybe we can work in a little football, too.

  It would be so cool to say that we made our first baby during a football game.

  At twenty-one, Katharina Minola had an Oscar, adoring critics and fans, and was on track to be the most successful black actress of all time. Bad luck, bad choices, and a reputation for being a world-class diva stripped her of everything. But her new role for her old movie studio, Lucentio Pictures, could be the comeback she’s waited for.

  Pietro Lucentio knows how much courage and fire Katharina possesses. It’s why he fell in love with her years ago—and it’s why he’s agreed to his movie mogul brother Vincenzo’s crazy scheme. By luring her out into the bleak Canadian wilderness and secretly filming her every word and gesture, they plan to recapture the Katharina of old and make her a star all over again. But reviving Katharina’s career won’t be enough for Pietro. She the one—the only one who’s ever been able to tame his heart. And it’s time he returned the favor …

  Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of

  J.J. Murray’s

  SHE’S THE ONE

  now on sale at bookstores everywhere!

  Vincenzo Lucentio, the CEO of Lucentio Pictures, stared in awe at the thick file his staff had compiled on actress Katharina Minola.

  Geez, he thought. And I think this woman will be a match for my younger brother, Pietro? I must be crazy. This might never work.

  Unless we have some nasty weather, the muddier and snowier the better, and just a little bit of luck.

  He weighed the file in his hand, a good pound of newspaper and magazine clippings, glossy and grainy photographs. He even had a list of links to Web sites that still carried some of Katharina’s infamous interviews and stories of her notorious exploits.

  He sighed often as he read the cover sheet written by Penelope Bishop, his senior production assistant and executive secretary, the real power behind Lucentio Pictures since his grandfather’s time. Vincenzo frowned here and there, but mainly he cringed at Penelope’s acidic and far too accurate prose.

  “A scold,” “a fury,” “a spitfire”—the press has had a field day with Katharina “Kate the Cursed” Minola (born Dena Hinson in Roanoke, Virginia), 36, a DIVA (Dismissive, Insensitive, Villainous, Audacious) fully immersed in her “divatude” since winning the Academy Award for best actress (My Honey Love, Lucentio Pictures) in her first major role when she was only 21.

  Katharina has yet to repeat what Time c
alled “a breakthrough performance for women of color,” cranking out eighteen consecutive mediocre movies (three for Lucentio Pictures) and one so infamously bad (Miss Thang) that she won a Golden Raspberry Award (the dreaded “Razzie”) for worst actress. Miss Thang currently ranks sixth on the ten worst movies ever made, behind Plan 9 From Outer Space or Glenda, Santa Claus Conquers the Martians, Gigli, and Catwoman.

  Katharina did not show up to claim her “Razzie.”

  (Note: Oscar-winner Halle Berry did show up to claim her Razzie for Catwoman, saying, “I never in my life thought that I would be here, winning a Razzie. It’s not like I ever aspired to be here, but thank you … When I was a kid, my mother told me that if you could not be a good loser, then there’s no way you could be a good winner.” Berry also said, “First of all, I want to thank Warner Brothers. Thank you for putting me in a piece of shit, God-awful movie … It was just what my career needed.”)

  At least Halle Berry had the class to show up and make it work for her, Vincenzo thought. Berry did Their Eyes Were Watching God right after Catwoman to considerable acclaim, has never been out of work since then as far as I know, and now she’s doing some producing and enjoying her greatest role as a mother. If we can’t laugh at ourselves and our mistakes, especially in this business, what good are we?

  What followed was a list of Katharina’s rumored, alleged, and factual diva-like behavior since her success with My Honey Love:

  • During the only Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade she was asked to co-host, Katharina yelled at a musician for “playing way too close to my face” (New York Post).

  • Only days after getting engaged to Ward Booker, an up-and-coming black actor, Katharina ran off to Paris with Booker’s best friend, David Stanley, a bodybuilder, for “a restful holiday and shopping trip away from the stress of daily life” (People).

  • Upon her return from Paris, Katharina watched “in utter horror” (Los Angeles Times) as Booker and Stanley had a fistfight at Spago, both men arrested for “fighting over little ol’ me” (Us).

  • Katharina has consistently made “worst dressed lists” for ten of the past fourteen years but says the compilers of those lists are “all incredibly, horribly wrong, beyond stupid, and very, very blind” (Vogue). Her favorite “worst” outfit is tiger-striped from head to toe including headband, sunglasses, blouse, pants, handbag, and stiletto-heeled shoes.