Date With Destiny

by Mason Dixon

  She was finding it increasingly difficult to divorce herself from her feelings. To think of Rashida as a pawn instead of a person. Tonight, she needed to put Destiny on the shelf and let DaShawn come out to play.

  She took a shower and dressed to go out. Levi’s, a form-fitting white Henley, and a pair of battered brown Doc Martens. She tied the outfit together with a wide leather belt she carefully threaded through the loops of her low-slung jeans. When she looked in the mirror again, she felt like quoting one of Will Smith’s famous one-liners from Men in Black. “I make this look good.”

  She drove to Jefferson Street, paid for one of the few remaining spots in the parking lot, and walked toward the nightclub with a blue awning above the entrance. She paid the entry fee and popped for a ticket to the drag show. Even if Rashida didn’t plan on staying for the entertainment, she certainly did. Tonight wasn’t about chasing Rashida. It was about letting her go.

  She bought a beer from the bar and made a slow circuit of the main floor. The music was loud, throbbing with an insistent beat. She bobbed her head to the rhythm. Several women attracted her attention. She made eye contact with them but didn’t try to strike up a conversation. She wasn’t on the prowl for company. Between Harry and Rashida, she already had more than she could handle. She headed downstairs before any of her prospective suitors could ask her to dance.

  She bypassed the finger foods and turned to the pool tables, all three of which were occupied. She focused on the one that seemed to be attracting the most attention. Two muscle-bound Army Rangers were flexing and flirting over a game of eight ball while three-quarters of the men and a much smaller percentage of the women drooled into their drinks.

  The Ranger in the Abercrombie and Fitch T-shirt, leather flip flops, and loose-fitting designer jeans had stripes. His identically dressed companion with the barbed wire tattoo circling his bulging left bicep had solids.

  Destiny placed a quarter on a corner of the table, reserving the right to play the winner. The Ranger with the ink on his arm was clearly leading. If he sank three more balls, including the eight, the game was his. Five striped balls littered the felt-topped table.

  “Are you sure your stick’s big enough to play me?” the tattooed Ranger asked with a dimpled grin.

  “I’d put mine up against yours any day.” She took a long sip of her beer. “I haven’t had any complaints yet.”

  “You go, girl.”

  He sank the six ball in a corner pocket and held up his hand for a high five. She slapped her palm against his and leaned against the brightly painted concrete wall. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone out with no goal in mind except having fun. Tonight almost qualified. Almost. Because as soon as Rashida walked into the room, she could practically hear Harry urging her to get back on task.

  Rashida looked slightly out of breath. The way she drank greedily from the bottle of water in her hand, she must have hit the dance floor pretty hard. Her work clothes had been replaced by a bronze silk shirt and a pair of black slacks. Her black stack-heeled ankle boots looked comfortable enough to cut a rug in but sturdy enough to prevent having her toes crushed by other dancers’ misplaced feet.

  Destiny waited for Rashida to meet her eye. When Rashida finally looked her way, she went against her natural instincts. Instead of walking over to say hello, she gave Rashida a wide berth. She raised her bottle of beer in greeting but stayed put. Rashida looked initially relieved. Then her expression slowly changed to surprise followed by confusion. By the time Harry appeared with her arm draped across the shoulders of a hot blonde, Rashida looked completely out of sorts.

  Destiny wanted to back Rashida into a darkened corner and kiss her breathless. She wanted to take her upstairs, lead her to the dance floor, and move with her to the music. She wanted to sweep her into her arms, press her lips against her ear, and whisper an invitation to leave. She somehow willed her feet not to move.

  Feigning nonchalance, she turned back to the Rangers. She asked them a few questions about military life but barely listened to the answers. Her attention, if not her gaze, was focused on Rashida.

  Harry and the blonde were leaving. Rashida trailed them out of the room. Before she disappeared from view, Rashida turned and looked over her shoulder. Just once and only for a few seconds, but long enough for Destiny to see the regret etched on her face.

  I’ve got her.

  Instead of lifting her spirits, the thought left her utterly depressed.

  I’ve got her. Now what do I do with her?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Saturday, March 11

  12:15 p.m.

  Savannah, GA

  Destiny waited until the next morning to press her advantage. After Harry pried herself away from her new conquest long enough to give her the name of Rashida’s favorite restaurant, Destiny went there and asked the staff to prepare Rashida’s favorite meal—the one she ordered so often everyone in the place referred to it as her usual. The way the cashier went on and on about “Miss Rashida,” Destiny half-expected to see the order listed under her name on the menu. Right between the General Tso’s chicken and something called the Happy Family.

  She left her piece of shit Honda parked in front of the house on 37th Street and took a pedicab to Rashida’s apartment. The unusual mode of transportation reminded her of a rickshaw, which felt fitting considering the bag of Chinese and Japanese food in her lap.

  The weather was pleasant enough for shorts and a T-shirt. The spring sun warmed her arms and legs. The birds’ cheerful songs were in stark contrast to the mournful dirge playing in her heart. She climbed out of the pedicab after the driver lurched to a stop. She was about to be with Rashida again. She had been looking forward to this moment for days. Until the moment finally drew near. Seeing Harry’s car in the parking lot reminded her she wasn’t in Savannah of her own free will. She was here because she had been hired to do a job. A job that no longer held the same appeal as when she had agreed to take it on.

  How could she possibly go through with the plan when she was developing feelings for the woman whose life and reputation she was supposed to ruin? Rashida was supposed to be just another victim. Destiny hadn’t expected to like her. Maybe even love her. She hesitated outside Rashida’s door. How was she supposed to do what was right when all she knew how to do was wrong?

  She slowly raised her arm and rang the bell. While she waited for Rashida to answer, she tried to determine how to perform the scene to follow. Should she go back to playing games or keep it real? The time for playing games was over.

  Rashida opened the door as if she expected to see Harry standing on the other side. Her smile faltered slightly when she saw Destiny there instead.

  Destiny wondered about the personal history between Rashida and Harry. Was there something in their shared past both women had conveniently forgotten to mention? If so, it could explain the ax Harry was grinding. But what was Rashida’s angle? She didn’t seem like the type to hold grudges, and she spoke about Harry as if they were just acquaintances, but what if they had once been more than friends? Imagining them as lovers brought Destiny’s possessive instincts to the fore. She couldn’t stand the idea of anyone touching Rashida, but especially not Harry. Harry had it all. A high-paying job, a big house, and a fancy car. Did she have to have Rashida, too?

  Not if I can help it.

  Destiny held up the bag of food. “I’m here for my lesson.” Displaying more confidence than she felt, she pulled a set of chopsticks out of her back pocket. “Can you teach me how to use these?”

  Would Rashida toss her out or let her stay? Her arm bar across the door gave Destiny her answer, so Destiny decided to ask a different question.

  “The kitchen’s that way, right?”

  In the kitchen, she unpacked the bag of food and spread the containers on the counter as if Rashida had welcomed her in instead of giving her the cold shoulder.

  “Did you have a good time last night? You left before I had a chance to say
hi or to tell you how hot you looked in that outfit you were wearing.”

  Rashida’s answer, although vague, made it clear she wished Destiny had bridged the distance between them instead of maintaining it. “You were busy meeting the members of your fan club.”

  Rashida drew doodles in the condensation on her can of soda. She was thinking much too hard. Why couldn’t she just give in? Destiny led Rashida to the dining room, where they took their seats at the sturdy mahogany table.

  “You don’t make it easy to say no, do you?” Rashida asked.

  “Why say no when yes works so much better?”

  Destiny was in her element. Flirting with Rashida was easy. It was everything else that was hard. Lying about her past. Hiding who she really was. She wanted to come clean. But how could she? Rashida was attracted to Destiny not DaShawn. She wanted the character not the actress playing the part.

  Destiny looked around the room. The decorations were simple and understated, dominated by a pair of colorful oil paintings that hung side by side on the far wall. In one, an elderly African-American woman shelled butter beans on the front porch of a whitewashed house. In the other, several children cavorted in the spray of an open fire hydrant on a stifling summer day.

  “Do you like those?” Rashida asked.

  Destiny nodded. She didn’t have the words to describe the effect the paintings had on her. They made her feel as though she had found a part of herself she had once considered lost. Rashida made her feel the same way.

  “When we were kids, my brother, sister, and I used to spend every summer at my grandmother’s house.” Rashida rested her chin on the heel of her hand. Her voice was as dreamy as her posture. “Each year, she’d buy a bushel of purple hull peas and make us shell them. She had so many bags of frozen vegetables in her freezer she could barely close the lid. Half the time, my parents didn’t have to go to the store for food. All they had to do was make a list and send me to Grandma’s house like I was Little Red Riding Hood. I’m surprised my fingers don’t have permanent stains from the shells.” She looked at her hands, which were perfectly manicured and so smooth they looked like they hadn’t seen a hard day of work. “Those paintings take me back to a time that was simple and unhurried. I miss those days.”

  Destiny wanted to relive them with her.

  “Which one speaks to you?”

  “That one.” Destiny pointed to the painting of the children playing with the fire hydrant. “I was one of those kids. I can still remember the feel of the cold water rushing between my toes as I stood on the sizzling pavement. I can hear the laughter of my friends, the music thumping from cars riding by, and the curses of the cops dispatched to the scene.” She took a sip of her beer. “I had forgotten how much fun that used to be.”

  “Isn’t tampering with a fire hydrant a felony?”

  “Maybe, but who’s counting?”

  Destiny’s good mood soured at the unexpected reminder of her criminal past.

  “What did you want to be when you grew up?”

  Destiny told Rashida about her one-time dream of becoming a track star. Then she told her something she had never confided in anyone. “I want to run my own business one day.”

  Instead of laughing at her dream, Rashida offered ways to make it come true.

  “If you get a business plan together, you could apply for a small business loan. I know several lenders who might be interested in backing a venture like yours. When you’re ready, I could give one of them a call.”

  Destiny didn’t know how to react to such a generous offer. No one else had ever expressed such confidence in her abilities. Rashida’s show of faith prompted a confession, one even closer to her heart.

  “I’d love to open a homeless shelter so a young girl or boy who’s in my old situation could have a place to lay their head at night without worrying about someone trying to chop it off.” She heard herself drift into the language of the streets, the place that had been her home away from home for far too long.

  “The people who tried to hold you back aren’t in your life now,” Rashida said. “Your ideas aren’t pipe dreams. They’re goals. You can achieve them if you try.”

  Hearing Rashida say nice things about her made Destiny want to cry. “How do you know I won’t prove you wrong?”

  Once again, Rashida was unfailingly honest. “I don’t.”

  Destiny had had enough. She couldn’t play this game for another minute. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Perhaps I should go.”

  She tried to leave, but Rashida stopped her before she could. Destiny looked at her, wanting to believe what was happening was genuine.

  “I don’t want to miss out on being with you because you don’t match my preconceived idea of what I’m looking for in a partner,” Rashida said. “It doesn’t matter how much money you have or what kind of car you drive. You’re a good person with a good heart. That’s all that matters.”

  For a second, Destiny allowed herself to imagine Rashida had shared the sentiment with her instead of the person she was pretending to be.

  In the kitchen, Rashida pulled the salads out of the refrigerator and poured ginger dressing on top. When she splashed some of the dressing on her finger, Destiny slid the digit into her mouth and licked it clean.

  Rashida pulled her hand away. The muscles in her jaw crawled beneath her skin. Her eyes flashed with what looked like anger. Destiny feared she had gone too far. Then Rashida’s cloudy expression cleared. She took a step forward and captured Destiny first with her eyes then her lips. Destiny’s body responded favorably to the unaccustomed shift in power. She was used to being in control, but Rashida had effortlessly wrested it away. Destiny wasn’t sure she wanted it back.

  “Whoa. Time out,” she said when she came up for air. “If you keep that up, we won’t make it to the main course.”

  “Good point.”

  They returned to the living room. Rashida tried to show her how to eat with chopsticks, but Destiny couldn’t manage the feat.

  “Here. Let me help,” Rashida said with the patience of someone used to showing others how things were done. She put her hand over Destiny’s and guided her fingers into the correct position. “Like this.”

  “I’m going to drop it,” Destiny said when the clump of lettuce precariously clutched between her chopsticks began to slip from her clutches.

  Her fear and uncertainty were real, but neither emotion was brought about by her inability to grasp her food between two thin pieces of bamboo. Both were byproducts of the other lesson Rashida was teaching her—how to fall in love.

  Rashida loosened her grip, letting Destiny take control. “No, you aren’t.”

  The lettuce slipped even further. Destiny drew it into her mouth a fraction of a second before it fell free. Rashida beamed with pride in Destiny’s accomplishment, not her own. If she weren’t a banker, she’d make a wonderful teacher. An excellent mother.

  For a brief, absurd moment, Destiny pictured the two of them raising a family. Like that could ever happen. You couldn’t pay her to change dirty diapers. But why did the idea of cradling a little girl with a smile like hers and eyes like Rashida’s sound so good?

  Destiny caressed Rashida’s cheek. “Are we really going to do this?”

  Rashida didn’t hesitate. “Yes, we are.”

  “How?”

  Rashida leaned into her. “We’ll figure it out.”

  “Come with me.”

  “Where?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Destiny pulled Rashida into the living room. She chose a CD from the vast music collection and slipped it into the player. Rashida moved into her arms as if she belonged there. Destiny hoped she’d never leave. When the doorbell rang, she felt the real world intrude on her fantasy.

  “Am I interrupting something?” Harry walked into the apartment like she owned the place. A small smile crossed her face when she saw Destiny and took in the scene. She turned back to Rashida. “Romantic music. A table set for
two. Are you two together?”

  “I was telling Miss Ivey about an idea I had.” Destiny reluctantly turned off the music. “I brought some food by hoping I could bribe her into helping me draft a business plan.”

  Harry laughed as if Destiny had made some kind of joke

  “I don’t know if we can trust her,” Destiny said after Harry left.

  Rashida kissed her forehead. “We don’t have any choice.”

  “We always have a choice. And I choose you.”

  She took Rashida’s hand and led her to the bedroom, where she made love to her with infinite slowness. She wanted to make sure all of Rashida’s needs were met. Every desire fulfilled.

  “Any regrets?” she asked when they were done.

  Rashida flashed a lazy smile. “You asked me that the first time, too.”

  The first time, Rashida had said the only thing she regretted was waiting so long to give in to desire.

  Destiny spooned her body around Rashida’s. “Has your answer changed?”

  Rashida guided Destiny’s hand to her warm, wet center. “What do you think?”

  Destiny drew her fingers across Rashida’s opening, eliciting a moan. “I think I want you.”

  “Show me.”

  The words were more of a plea than a command. Destiny pulled Rashida tight against her. She wanted to feel her when she let go. She wanted to ride the wave with her, which, until this point, she had not allowed herself to do. Her pride kept getting in the way. She wanted to hear Rashida call out for her. She wanted Rashida to come for her. Each time she didn’t—each time Rashida climaxed with the wrong name dripping from her lips doused the flames of Destiny’s libido. But each time Rashida looked at her, the fire built up again.

  Destiny sighed when Rashida shuddered and cried out. Rashida’s body was loose, her limbs slack with pleasure. Destiny kissed the nape of her neck. “Why can’t every day be like this?” she wondered out loud.