Ma’Kentu looked at her but said nothing. His mind was obviously at work.
“Listen, my car is parked just down the street,” she added, taking him by the hand. “I can take you to her. I promise, you won’t be disappointed.”
Though uncomfortable being alone in Charlotte’s studio apartment with her, Ma’Kentu put on a brave face and slurped the milky cream topping off the cappuccino she had prepared for him. It wasn’t his intent to hang around longer than he had to. But he had indicated to her that he’d wait just a few more minutes for the sitter to show up with the child in question. Besides, she had put on a Sonny Rollins CD. It was one of his favorite CD’s.
Glancing over at Charlotte, who sat across from him, sipping at her own steamy cup of cappuccino, he wondered how he’d ever allowed himself to be coerced into coming here. But then, she always had a certain way with him. If ever there was a seductress, it was her. So far she was behaving quite civil, and to his surprise.
Slowly rising up from the table, she continued to watch him work on his foam management technique, then said, almost apologetically, “Pretty hot, I see.”
He nodded but said nothing, as he continued to carefully sip at the frothy white coating. Glancing about the well-furnished apartment, he could not help but be impressed with her stylish living quarters. The woman had good taste. Her business success obviously spilled over into her cushy surroundings and posh lifestyle.
Again, he carefully sipped at his hot drink and avoided looking her way as much as possible.
Going over to the refrigerator, she appeared happy to have this opportunity to fuss over him. “That’s very hot, I can see. Honey, I’ll get you some cold cream to cool your drink off before you burn yourself. I don’t want you suing me.”
Though he said nothing, he gave her a sidelong, covert glance, and hesitated, as though he was about to say something. Silently he watched her withdraw the pintsize carton from the refrigerator and approach him. As she poured a small amount into his cup, her cell phone rang loud and abruptly, startling her in the process. Turning, she inadvertently bumped into his cup with the carton of cream, spilling the hot blend onto his wrist and hand. “Oh, dammit!” she cried out. “I-am-so-sorry!”
Leaping up, he asked that she not fret, that he was going to be fine. He then urged her to answer the screaming phone. She obliged. In the meantime, he grabbed several paper napkins and frantically wiped the hot liquid off his wrist. Not on the phone ten seconds, she hurried into the bathroom then returned carrying a first aid kit. Setting the kit on the table she retrieved some ice from the freezer and placed a handful of the frozen cubes into a cloth hand towel and made a compress of it. Placing it against his wrist, she looked at him affectionately. “Here, hold this. It’ll keep the swelling and blistering down,” she added, averting her eyes momentarily.
“I’ll be alright,” he assured her for the second time.
Opening the first aid kit, she pulled out a few items, then took the ice pack away from him. She then began to wrap lengths of bandage around his wrist, her hands moving deftly and efficiently. Next, she wrapped bandages around his knuckles and under his palms, tearing strips of adhesive tape with a ripping noise. As she leaned over him, her voluptuous breasts at eye level, he had to admit that she was still a woman worth looking at. Still, he wished it was Margo who was there to comfort him, pamper him, and mother him.
“There!” she sighed, leaning back to inspect her handiwork. “That ought to do it.”
“Thank you,” he felt obliged to say, then more anxiously, “Look, I thought you said the babysitter was on the way with the baby?”
“She is! Matter-of-fact, that was her on the phone,” she replied airily. “She was calling to tell me she was less than a mile away.”
Feeling uneasy, Ma’Kentu stood up and paced around the room. He knew he was about to face what could possibly be of his own creation. With a heavy-laden heart, he pondered whether or not he would be able to recognize his image in her little face. Some clue to point to his paternity.
“Hey, you want a cold drink or something?” she asked softly. “I’m talking Scotch…Bourbon?”
“No thanks,” he answered, sitting down at the table, again. “But I am curious about something. How is it that you are hanging out at nightclubs when you have a newborn to raise?”
“Ma’Kentu, I spend a lot of time with our daughter, mind you,” she shot back defensively. “Between the business and child rearing, I believe I deserve a night out once in a while.”
“All right. I can understand that. But tell me…how can you be so sure this baby is mine?”
“Ma’Kentu, you were the only man I was intimate with during that time,” she said, her voice showing some strain. “That’s how I know.”
“Well, you sound sure enough.”
“That’s because I am sure!” she snapped back. “Hell, if you would just take the DNA test you would know too.”
Ma’Kentu shied away from a response.
“The DNA test! So, that’s why you are here in DC. Isn’t it? You came here to take the DNA test.”
“Look, if the results show that I am the father, I will do whatever I have to do to support this child. But it doesn’t mean that you and I will be getting together.”
“You really know how to prick my heart,” she said brusquely.
“I’m just being up front and honest with you,” he replied, drumming his fingers nervously on the tabletop.
Standing up, she stepped away from the table. “You know, one day honey, you’ll realize that I’m all the woman you’ll ever need,” she quipped, as she showcased her voluptuous brown body before him. With a sassy expression and her hands resting on her hips, she added, “And when you finally realize how wrong you were, you will think about all of this good stuff you could have had over the years.” With that, she turned slowly until her firm round bottom was just inches away from his sullen face.
“Charlotte, I’ve tried to be diplomatic but I guess I’m just going to have to put it to you bluntly. I’m in love with Margo, not you.”
Quite agitated, she turned away from his words and away from him and hugged herself, as if to smother a sudden chill. In silence, she agonized. These were not the words that she had hoped to hear come from his lips. She loved him deeply and loved him dearly. Why would he not love her back, she pondered? “You know, I just don’t understand what you see in that bitch friend of yours.”
“That’s it!” Ma’Kentu erupted. “I told you not to call the woman I love a bitch again. I’ve warned you! Now, I’m out of here.” With that he stormed towards the door. But before he could reach out to open it, there came a loud knock, which startled him slightly. Pausing, he stood by and watched as Charlotte walked by to open it, though not before she tossed him a tense-impaling glare.
It was the sitter, young and pleasant looking, carrying a hefty bundle in her arms. And the bundle was little Charlene. The child stirred momentarily, but did not awake. The two women greeted one another. Though the sitter normally came in for a chat, having spied Ma’Kentu, she stayed just long enough to place the sleeping tot into Charlotte’s awaiting arms and be introduced. Then she left.
Closing the door, Charlotte faced Ma’Kentu then offered the sleeping child for him to take. Slightly hesitant, he took the child in his arms and gazed upon her. It was a poignant and emotionally charged moment for him. With a trace of a smile, he kissed the child’s soft warm forehead, then returned her to her mother.
“Well, what do you think?” Charlotte asked, boldly meeting his eyes.
Fumbling for the right words, he replied, “She’s a very beautiful child. Look, I will be in touch with you the moment I learn the results on the DNA test.”
With that, he walked pass her and out the door.
Chapter 12
Something was different. He knew the moment he gazed into Margo’s moist eyes. Though her kiss was passionate and electrifying as ever, she appeared thoughtful, but he brushed it
off as nothing more than tiredness on her part. After all, he was tired, too. Unsettled by his confrontation with Charlotte, he got very little sleep the night before.
Pulling off from the airport, the two caught up on the events of the past few weeks, as they headed south towards St Augustine. Along the way, she inquired about the wrapping on his hand. He said something about spilling hot cappuccino on his wrist then quickly changed the topic of conversation. When asked about his legal matters, he replied that he had stopped in Washington DC to take the paternity DNA test. Quite conveniently, he neglected to tell her about his brief visit with Charlotte’s and that he had finally met the child in question. He had learned early in life that some things you just keep to yourself.
“So, what did you think of the gifts I sent you?”
Once again, as she had on a prior phone conversation with him, she put on her best face.
“Thank you so much, Ma’Kentu. The dress was lovely. That is so me. I really appreciate that.” But she wasn’t out of the woods yet. There was still the lingerie. And he had mentioned that he couldn’t wait to see her wearing them.
“And the lingerie?” he asked, his eyes taking on that familiar twinkle. “What did you think of them?”
“Exotic, I must say,” she replied, turning away.
“So you like them?”
“Of course,” she resented lying. Though she longed to have him take her into his arms and kiss her tenderly and ravish her body with abandonment, she could not stand the thought of wearing the skimpy, sinful, whorish looking lingerie he had sent her. Only hookers and strippers and women of little or no scruples dared to do that kind of unlady-like thing, she reminded herself. If only she could talk to D’Sandra about her neurosis but that was unlikely. Her friend was out of town and unavailable for the next few days. What was she to do, she thought? And how was she to navigate this obstacle course?
After a quiet evening out on the town, which included a scrumptious Greek dinner, the two returned to Margo’s house. As the powerful ocean waves rushed the beach, then retreated, both became quite anxious about the activities they anticipated to unfold between them later. As for Margo, she put on a good act. She was careful not to let on that she loathed lingerie.
Slipping up from behind her, Ma’Kentu pressed his hard form against her soft form. And what she felt pressed against her bottom aroused her, sending wave after wave of passion and excitement coursing throughout her attention-starved body. Wanting her even closer, he embraced her around the waist. Smitten by her beauty and fragrant fresh skin, he whispered tenderly into her ear. “You can’t imagine how much I want you Margo.” Spinning her around, he pressed his lips to hers and kissed her tenderly and repeatedly. “Hey, why don’t you go and slip into one of those sexy outfits I bought you,” he suggested.
Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes briefly. Then she looked at him and answered, “It’s kind of cool for that right now, don’t you think?” To which he undauntedly replied, “Honey, don’t you worry. I’m about to warm things up around here. And I’m starting with you.” Again, he pressed his lips to hers and desperately so.
With her head spinning, she turned away from him and wrapped her arms around herself tightly. Going over to the sofa, she sat down and let her aching head slip forward, her gaze fixed towards her knees. She could feel her heart pound loudly against her ribs. The nightmare she had put off the past few minutes was about to begin.
“What’s wrong, baby?” a worried Ma’Kentu asked, approaching her cautiously.
At that moment, her eyes crept up and met his curious gaze. Her expression was grim. “Ma’Kentu, please, don’t take this personally but I have this thing about wearing lingerie. I know you had no idea about this before you went out and bought these items for me.”
As she spoke, his breath froze in his chest. He could not comprehend, at first, what he was hearing. However, with the speed and rapid realization of a freshly pricked finger, especially the accompanying pain, her quivering words quickly set in. “I’m not sure I understand,” he murmured. “You’re saying a beautiful woman, as yourself, don’t care for lingerie?”
“That’s the gist of it. But please be patient with me,” Margo pleaded; her heart thundered a more maddening beat in her chest. “It’s something I’m working on, though.”
Kneeling beside her sullen form, he smiled and told her that it was all right. He assured her that his desire for her was not based on lingerie alone but rather on their love for one another. He told her that it was no big deal. But this was a half-truth. Deep down inside, he knew the thought of her wearing skimpy lingerie turned him on. But he could not bring himself to tell her this. His sense of rejection and embarrassment was immense. Her anguish…far too great.
“Are you sure it’s no big deal?” she asked, taking his hands into hers.
“I’m sure,” he answered, again less than truthful.
The two embraced but unlike their previous embraces, embraces shared with closed eyes, the two unknowing stared blankly into space, each trying to determine the extent of the damage. For the moment they felt like complete strangers in each other’s arms. What else did they not know about one another, both pondered clinging to each other?
Neither had slept well through the night. And though they made love, it was not with the intensity or abandonment or security they had experienced before. What expectation existed before she bared her inner soul was circumvented by her untimely and unexpected revelation. Margo knew it. Ma’Kentu knew it. And for that reason he could no longer lie by her side not knowing the reason for her distaste for lingerie. Deciding he would not hit her head on, he would use the back door approach. Turning to face her, he folded the large pillow and propped it under his upper torso. With his head resting against his left hand and his head slightly tilted he began a conversation. “Your fragrance. It’s a real turn on. What is it?”
“Organza by Givenchy,” she replied quietly. “And you’re wearing Armani.” With a smile, he replied, “You’re right. It’s Armani by Giogio Armani.”
“I get such a rush when I inhale that fragrance,” she said with dreamy eyes.
“That’s good to know.”
“It is?” she murmured, thoughtfully.
“Yes. I’ll wear it more often.”
“That will make my day,” she said, shooing away a pesky fly that somehow got in the house.
Returning her attention back to him, she leveled her soft gaze upon him and looked pass the smoke screen he had set up and decided to cut through the chase. “Ma’Kentu, why don’t you just tell me what’s really on your mind? Fragrance isn’t the only thing, I’m sure.”
Ma’Kentu did not immediately reply. But now that he had been ousted, he wisely opted not to dispute her. Sitting up, he ran his fingers through his dark hair, quite anxiously. “Look, I am just curious about what you have against wearing lingerie? I mean, you are an attractive woman, Margo. And if anyone has the body for wearing lingerie, it’s you. I’m sure you’re proud of your youthful looks. If it’s a religious thing, I can respect that. I just want to know.”
Leaning forward, on her elbows, she replied, “No, it’s not a religious thing. I don’t know. I guess I just don’t see myself being that kind of woman, Ma’Kentu.”
Determined to get to the bottom of this, he pressed on with his inquiry. He felt she owed him an explanation and one better than the one just offered. Her ‘not that kind of woman’ remark was not cutting it. “What do you mean by ‘that kind of woman’?”
Tilting her chin upward, she looked at him, pondering what her next words were going to be. This was definitely not a subject she felt comfortable going into with him. “I guess I’ve always associated lingerie with hookers and loose women. I would like to think of myself as being above such things.”
“Above such things,” Ma’Kentu echoed softly, with an incredulous smile.
“Yes,” she returned. “Anyway, why are you into women who wear lingerie?” Good for me, she thou
ght, having taken herself off the defensive.
Rubbing his chin, he tossed her a thoughtful gaze, then said, “I don’t quite look at it that way, that I’m into it. I see it in a more artistic light, like jazz. Now, hear me out. You see… jazz is daring and spontaneous. Jazz is also exciting and fun. It’s full of life, anticipation, and accentuation. And jazz, as an art form is soulful and liberating.
“Now, you take a very attractive woman, such as yourself, and put her in lingerie and what you have is a very jazzy woman. She’s daring, she’s spontaneous, exciting and fun. She’s a woman who creates anticipation. Even the way she walks is accentuation in actual motion. Like jazz, she’s liberating. When you think about it, jazz is sexy! Need I break it down any further?”
There was no immediate verbal response, just an amazing stare. The man was simply incredible. She had no idea he would come at it from a musical perspective. But he did and quite convincingly. Still, in spite of his noteworthy efforts, she could not or would not follow through on an acceptable response for him. No acceptable response meant no lingerie. “Like I said, I’m working on it, baby,” she reminded him.
Margo snapped her laptop shut then stood up to greet D’Sandra, who had just pulled up in her Sport Utility.
“Hey, girl!” D’Sandra shouted back with a wave of the hand. When she exited the vehicle the two hugged.
“Here, grab that,” Margo added, pointing to a folded aluminum beach chair. “We’re going on the beach.” Carrying her laptop and her folded beach chair, she led her friend around the side of the house and onto the hot beach where the two parked themselves. Not one for direct sunlight, D’Sandra said that she was glad the sky was overcast.
The two gazed out over the salt-scented ocean.
“Where’s Mr. Musician?” D’Sandra asked, putting on sunglasses.
“He went into town to look for an acoustical guitar.”
“I see,” D’Sandra murmured, somewhat miffed. Opening her tote bag, she retrieved a small plastic container of sunscreen. Pouring the solution onto her hand she applied it generously to her arms and legs. “So you didn’t go with him, I see,” she said, handing the container to Margo.
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