His lips felt like mink. Mink—hmm.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“I can see that. More than fine . . . extraordinary,” he said, taking a step back to admire me. “You wear white well,” he said.
“So do you,” I returned, with a big sparkling smile.
The maître d’ approached. “Mr. Lenguele, your table is waiting, if you’re ready,” he said.
“I am at the mercy of the beautiful lady, Marco,” Abimbola said, bowing his head at me.
I think I’m melting. That’s so unlike me!
“Sure, I’m ready to eat,” I said.
“After you, my queen.”
I grinned so hard, my cheek muscles screamed.
I don’t think a man had ever called me a queen before. I liked it.
Anything else?” Abimbola said as he touched the linen napkin to the corners of his mouth.
I shook my head no and leaned back contentedly in my chair. I couldn’t eat another bite and didn’t think I could drink another drop, but I don’t believe in the wasting of good champagne, so I tipped the crystal flute to my lips and drained its contents.
I’d already been to the ladies’ room twice. The champagne was just running through me for some reason.
Now, sitting there, belly full, I reflected on the past two hours. As always, our conversation was wonderful. Abimbola was truly an interesting man, funny, lighthearted, and full of compliments—which I love.
When I set my flute back down, he was staring intently at me. My head was swimming, and I felt warm all over. I smiled at him and reached into the empty chair for my purse. “Excuse me,” I said as I scooted my chair back and stood up. Abimbola rose as well. The room swam around me and I quickly sat back down.
Abimbola frowned, came around to my side of the table, and rested his hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.
I touched my head. “I think I’ve had a little too much champagne.” I giggled.
“Can I help you to the ladies’ room?”
I looked up into his eyes. “No, no, thank you. I can make it alone.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes,” I said and gave my head a good shake before standing up again. The room was still swimming, but not as much this time, and I managed to cross the dining area and make it into the ladies’ room without bumping into anything or anyone.
Once inside the stall, I struggled with the clasp of the halter. My fingers didn’t want to cooperate, so finally I just pulled it over my head.
I was doing the pee-pee dance, hopping from one foot to the other and willing my urine to stay contained until I got my thong pulled down. After a thirty-second struggle, my will lost out and my bladder burst. I quickly dropped down onto the cold toilet seat, immediately aware and disgusted that I had just exposed my behind to a billion microscopic germs.
Revolted that my bare ass was on a public toilet seat and on top of that I’d pissed through some very expensive silk and lace thongs, I proceeded to remove my shoes. I stood and worked my limbs the best way I could in the small stall in order to slip my jumpsuit off without the white material mopping the floor.
Afterward, I stepped out of my soaking wet thong and tossed it into the sanitary napkin bin on the floor by the toilet.
I needed to wash up. I couldn’t go back out there smelling like piss!
I eased the stall door open and peeked out into the restroom. Currently it was empty, but I knew that someone could walk in at any second. And if I’m correct, being nude in a public restroom is considered a “lewd and lascivious” act punishable by law.
I had to risk it.
I dashed out, naked as the day I was born. Rushing to the sink, I quickly snatched up a handful of paper towels, turned on the hot water faucet, and shoved the towels beneath it, all the while keeping my eye on the door. I then pushed the wet towels underneath the soap dispenser and gave it two good whacks with my hand, forcing the creamy liquid soap out and onto the towels.
Luck is on my side, I thought as I was about to grab up some more paper towels, but just as quickly as I’d thought it my luck changed and the door suddenly swung open.
I froze like a deer in headlights. The women who were coming in looked, blinked, and then threw their hands over their eyes in terror before screeching in surprise.
“S-sorry,” I managed, dashing back into the stall. “I had an accident,” I yelped from behind the door as I quickly tended to myself.
All I heard were whispers laced with revulsion.
Clean, or as clean as I could get, I stepped back into my jumpsuit, slipped my feet back into my sandals, straightened my back, pushed the door back on its hinges, and walked as proudly as I could into the lions’ den.
The women, three of them, were huddled together at the sink, where I joined them and said, “Wonderful food here, don’t you think?”
They shrank away from me, careful not to make eye contact in the wall-length mirror, as I reapplied my lipstick, flipped my hair, and then washed and dried my hands. I gave myself one last look and then strutted out.
Abimbola was impatiently checking his watch when I returned. “Hello,” I said as I reached for my chair. He hurriedly jumped up, ran around to my side of the table, and eased the chair out for me. I thanked him.
Once back in his seat, he shot me an awkward look before uttering, “Are you okay?”
I waved my hand at him. “I know I was gone for a while—you know how these ladies’ rooms are: they never have enough stalls, so there’s always a line.”
Abimbola gave me an unsure smile.
There was a fresh glass of champagne waiting for me. My mouth watered, but I looked at him and said, “Oh, really, I couldn’t.”
“Oh, please do. I know how much you like it.” He lifted his own glass of cognac up to me in salute.
“To many, many more evenings like this.”
“Yes, many, many more,” I said and turned the flute up to my lips.
Twenty-Four
I was standing in front of the full-length bathroom mirror, examining my nude body. It was my ritual, twice a day, every day.
I decided, as I reached for the Neutrogena sesame oil, that, yeah, I still looked good.
After dousing my wet body with the oil and then patting myself dry, I walked through the connecting door that led to my bedroom.
I loved being naked. There was something so freeing about it. It’s even better being naked after a few martinis, I thought and then laughed out loud.
The phone rang, cutting through Toni Braxton’s “Unbreak My Heart,” which was playing softly in the background.
“Hello?”
“Sweetheart,” Kendrick’s sexy voice came across the receiver.
“Well, hell-o, stranger,” I replied and stretched myself across my king-size bed. I hadn’t seen Kendrick since he’d returned from London or the subsequent trip to Montreal, but he’d sent me three vases of red roses.
“I tried to reach you at the office today, but Kayla said you were in meetings all day and couldn’t be disturbed,” I said as I slid one of my legs back and forth across the silk comforter.
“Yeah. It was a long, hard day,” Kendrick breathed. “You sound very relaxed, lady. What are you doing?”
“Lying here naked and growing hornier by the minute.”
“Oooh, that’s a great visual. Tell me more,” he purred.
I wasn’t one for phone sex. But what the hell, right?
I flipped over and onto my back and used my free hand to play with my nipples. “Well, right now I’m rolling my nipples between my fingers.”
“Umm. Does it feel good?” I could hear the change in his voice. His breathing was becoming labored.
“Oooh yeah, baby. It feels soooo good,” I said, really getting into blue movie mode.
“Touch yourself,” Kendrick whispered, and so I let my hand leave my breasts and move down my body, across my taut stomach and down between my legs.
“Oh,” I moaned as my finger brushed my pulsating clitoris before heading down to my hole.
“What, what? Is it wet there?”
“Oh, baby, it’s so wet there,” I crooned.
“Push your finger up inside your cunt,” he ordered, panting now. Shoot, we both were.
So I did. But that’s where the magic ended. My finger was no substitute for my man’s big black dick, and I told him so.
“I need you here, baby.”
“I’m coming,” he said and there was a rattling sound as the phone missed the base once, twice, and then finally—eureka—dial tone.
It seemed like only a few minutes had passed before the buzzer sounded.
I jumped up, grabbed my green silk robe resting on the bench at the foot of my bed, and skipped to the intercom.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Greene is here to see you,” the doorman announced.
“Send him up!” I said, sure that the excitement in my voice was not lost on the doorman.
When Kendrick walked in he swept me up and into his arms. “I missed you,” he murmured as he fumbled with the belt of my robe, frantically trying to undo it.
“Kend—” I tried to talk, but his mouth was on mine before I could utter a word.
He laid me down on the couch and the robe fell open, revealing my still moist nude body.
“You are so beautiful,” he said as he kissed me softly on my eyelids, the tip of my nose, and my neck. Slowly he moved down to my breasts and lovingly suckled my nipples.
Then he inched down to my stomach and allowed his tongue to trace half circles there before moving his head low enough so that his lips brushed my pubic hair.
I moaned and squirmed and dug my nails into his shoulders.
When his tongue found my clitoris I thought I would go mad with pleasure.
“P-please,” I groaned as he pushed his face deeper.
Finally Kendrick opened his mouth and took in all of my womanhood. I wrapped my legs tightly around his head and bucked. My hands were locked in his hair, and when the thunderous climax shot through me, I screamed his name: “Kkkkkkkkkendrick!”
My body was still trembling when Kendrick lifted me and carried me into the bedroom, where he gently placed me down onto the bed.
There I watched him slowly remove his clothes.
When he was finally naked, he mounted me and I curled my arms and legs around his beautiful body.
“Oh, so sweet . . . sooo fucking sweet. It’s so wet . . . so sweet and wet, Crystal . . . oh, shit shit . . . ohhhh, Crystal.” Kendrick moaned into my neck as he expertly moved in and out of me.
My body was still recovering from the first orgasm when I felt another building up. Where I got the strength, I don’t know, but suddenly my hips were moving in rhythm with his.
The tempo grew and swelled until my headboard sounded like a beating drum against the wall. Pleasure climbed through me, and then Kendrick’s body stiffened and he went into light speed mode. We were both there, both on the edge of mind-boggling pleasure— one, two, three, and boooooooooooooooom!
We came together. Our bodies shuddered and we both let out a long, pleasurable “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”
It’d been so long since we were last together that we had to go for another round. This one was shorter, calmer, but just as sweet. Later on, famished, we found ourselves naked in the kitchen, feeding each other Godiva chocolate ice cream straight from the container.
I glanced over at the clock on the stove. It was going to be a long day tomorrow. I had an important meeting and needed to have my wits about me.
I yawned and spooned another glob of ice cream into Kendrick’s mouth. “If I don’t get some sleep, I’m going to be puffy-eyed and cranky in the morning.” I yawned.
“Okay, baby,” he said and pressed cold lips against my forehead.
“So did you get a lot accomplished in London?” I asked as I placed the ice cream back into the freezer and then dropped the spoon into the sink.
Kendrick wrapped his arm around my waist and we started toward the bedroom. “Yeah, I guess. The move to the new office went smoothly. We’ve installed a new director . . . a woman, you’ll be glad to know,” he said with a wink. “And I took your suggestion and commissioned that sculptor you liked so much to create a piece for the main lobby area.”
“Really!” I squealed.
I loved Akamafula’s work. I owned three of his pieces and always received fabulous compliments on them. The brother was seriously talented and the world was finally beginning to realize that.
I’d met him personally at a gallery showing of his work three years earlier. We even tried to date for a minute, but he was just too eccentric for me. We decided that we would just be friends but weren’t even able to sustain that. Not that it bothered me; I still promoted his work and supported him.
By the time Kendrick and I climbed into bed, the small hand on the clock was edging toward two. I curled myself into Kendrick and thanked God a million times before I finally dropped off to sleep.
Twenty-Five
My Friday-night ritual consisted of me, a small pepperoni pizza pie, a six-pack of Corona, a pint of ice cream, and a movie rental.
I’d already had four slices of pizza, making my already mammoth-size gut bulge out even further.
Tomorrow, I told myself. I’ll go back on my diet tomorrow. Oh, wait a minute, tomorrow is Saturday, I thought. Saturdays aren’t good days to start a diet. Maybe Sunday?
No, Sunday is the Lord’s day. No room for the diet deities.
Well, Monday it is, I told myself and gulped down my second Corona.
Immediately after I drained the bottle I felt guilty. It seemed as though I worked hard at everything except me. I worked hard at my job, worked hard at keeping my son in school and on the right track, I worked hard at keeping my home comfortable, but I always seemed to neglect myself. My feet were in need of a pedicure, and as much as I hated to admit it, Chevy was right: I needed to do something with my hair besides pull it back into a ponytail.
But right now I had no money for those luxuries. I had to save every penny because I knew within the next few days I would be receiving a letter from my son begging for one thing or another.
I tugged my T-shirt down over my bulge and had to laugh at my circumstances. It’s funny, I thought, how all four of us came from the same place, all with parents who hadn’t made it out of high school but behaved as if landing a city or government job was as big as hitting the state lottery.
They instilled in us the importance of education. Prayed that we’d all find a way to get into college—and pay for it too. But being black in America had turned them into staunch realists who made sure to drop a copy of the Chief on our pillows every Thursday, every city application and federal examination deadline circled in red.
If they had had any dreams, they never commented on them.
Some of us did make it into college. The some of us being Crystal and Noah.
Chevy felt she didn’t need college. She believed her brains, beauty, and street smarts would carry her as far as she wanted to go. And so far they’d carried her practically around the world and had gotten her into some pretty interesting social circles along the way.
She was smart and savvy. And Crystal and I both agreed that she could have so much more if she used her powers for good rather than evil.
As for me, I was an average student, more Cs than Bs, but always my teachers would comment on the back of my report card, “. . . a joy to be around.”
Not that that did anything for my average. But they were also fond of saying, “Geneva displays great effort.”
And I did. I worked my ass off when I did go to school. I liked school, to tell you the truth, but at fifteen when the cutest boy in the senior class approaches you, takes you by the hand, calls you a “fox,” and then says, “You wanna go with me?” all thoughts of education goes right out the window. I know that happened for me. All my energy w
as turned to doing whatever it was I had to do to keep Eric interested in me. Including cutting school and using my lunch money to buy him sappy “I love you” greeting cards, and letting him have me “raw dog” on my childhood bed, on my mother’s bed, and, when we had no place else to go, on the top-floor stairwell in the adjoining building.
Needless to say, those reckless sexual acts disqualified me from participating in the race for a college education, as well as the one I’d barely been running for my high school diploma. It was all over the minute the little square box on the plastic stick I pissed on indicated that I was pregnant.
But I persevered. Yeah, I was a single teenage mother on welfare, struggling to make a home for my newborn son in a space that was already overcrowded and slightly dysfunctional. But it seems to me that any family has to have at least a splatter of dysfunction to be considered normal. Whatever that is!
I took GED classes at night while my mother watched Little Eric, and even though she bitched and moaned the whole six months I went, when I passed with flying colors she was the happiest I’d ever seen her.
It’s been an uphill battle ever since that day. Taking the best I could get job-wise meant a three-year stint at the local McDonald’s and turns as a cashier girl at a five-and-dime, Key Food, and Food-town. Finally I landed a job at the Macy’s perfume counter and then my present position as a receptionist at AIW.
I’ve worked hard as hell to get this far, and while this far may be nowhere to some people, it’s everywhere to me right now.
I’ve started thinking seriously about college. At first the thought of going to college scared the hell out of me—I just didn’t think I was smart enough. But I’ve met enough degree-carrying stupid people in my life to change my mind about that!
Ring, ring, ring.
My thoughts were interrupted by the telephone, and I answered with a full mouth.
“Hello?”
“Are you eating pizza?” Nadine’s voice floated through the receiver. At first I felt guilt, but that was short-lived. “Bitch, get a life!” I screamed into the phone and slammed it back down onto the base.
Just for that, I snatched another slice of pizza out of the box and greedily inhaled it. That’d show that size-six bitch!
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