by Nia Arthurs
“Sweet mother of wedges, it’s a hickey.” I whirled on him, “Spencer, you gave me a hickey!”
He looked panicked, “I’m sorry. I must have gotten a little carried away earlier.”
I turned back to the reflection of the harlot standing in a t-shirt and jeans. Oooh that would be a doozy to cover up.
Spencer’s face came up behind mine in the smooth glass, “I’m really sorry, Melody. I should have gotten your permission before…”
“Before you what? Branded me?”
He looked sheepish, but pleased. I returned my gaze to the bruise and started freaking out.
“How am I supposed to go to work tomorrow with this?” I shoved a finger at the mark.
“Oh come on, it’s smaller than your thumb.”
I put my thumb by my collarbone to compare it. It was bigger. I groaned.
“Okay, okay,” Spencer amended, “it’s smaller than my thumb.”
I threw a glare his way. The smirk disappeared from his face. “Don’t worry. It isn’t obvious and if you wear your hair down and apply some concealer, it should be unnoticeable.”
I turned to him, amazed at his knowledge and cool head. Had he given a lot of women hickeys?
“Spencer,” I probed, “how do you know all of this?”
He stepped back, “It doesn’t matter.”
I recovered the distance with a step forward, “It does to me,” I said firmly.
“I’ve had some experience with this before, okay? It’s not a big deal.”
His confession astounded me. I don’t know why. Spencer never professed to be a Kingdom citizen or a saint. He was a man of the world, and I knew this even before getting involved with him. But to have such a blatant testimony of our closeness on my person, and knowing that more than one woman had been in my position, made me uncomfortable. And then, it made me jealous.
“What do you mean you have experience? Like from a brotherly point of view?”
He looked distinctly uncomfortable, “Not necessarily,”
I stood before the mirror again, infusing disinterest into my voice, pretending that it wasn’t a big deal.
“How many women have you been with?” I asked.
Spencer appraised me with surprise. “What?”
“What’s your number, Spencer?”
“Are you serious right now?”
“It’s not a big deal,” I faced him, “Just tell me how many women you’ve slept with.”
“That isn’t important, Melody. I’ve been faithful to you. I care about you. The past is in the past.” He reached for me.
I drew out of his grasp, “How many naïve little virgins have you used those lines on.”
“That’s not fair, and you know it.”
“How many, Spencer?” I kept on.
He stalked to the door then walked back, “Why are you insisting on this? What possible answer that I could give would ever satisfy you. I’m already losing here!”
“I just… I need to know.”
Spencer grasped my shoulders and spoke with urgency, “All that matters is that you are the only one in my life right now. Isn’t that what you convinced me of just a while ago? To focus on the present?”
“Why won’t you just tell me?” I felt close to tears. “My imaginings can’t be worse than the truth.”
Spencer drew me close, and though I stiffened, I allowed his arms to hold me, “Nothing good can come of discussing my past now.”
“It’s not fair,” I sniffed, “You already know my past. I mean, this was my first hickey-”
“I was your first hickey?” Spencer cracked a smile.
“You were my first kiss,” I pointed out grudgingly, unsure if right now Spencer deserved that honor.
He froze, “Repeat that? I thought I heard you say…”
“You heard me.”
“But you’re so beautiful, the boys in Belize-”
“Were all scared silly by my father and his shot gun.”
“So, not any kind of lip contact at all?”
“Nope. Yours was the first these ever touched.” I pointed to my lips.
“Whoa,” His flabbergasted expression made me feel exposed, especially given his less than celibate past.
“I had no idea,” he brushed my face with his thumb, “you’re so engaging.” The sexy ghost smile appeared, “you’re witty and fun and intelligent. And you’re telling me no Belizean guy picked up on that?”
“Well, if they did, they kept it to themselves.” I quipped.
“Whoa,” Spencer said again.
I huffed, “Hey, you can get over it already. You were my first kiss, big whoop. Now I know how to do it properly in the future.”
Spencer’s face darkened. “Yeah, I guess you do.”
I picked up on that look, “I don’t want to argue with you anymore.”
“Then don’t,” snapped Spencer indignantly.
“Fine!”
He left not long after that, kissing me firmly on the forehead at the door as he said good night. I wondered at the distance I read in his eyes as he left. Maybe my innocence had turned him away. Feeling uncertain and fed up with my pathetic-ness, I try to keep myself together. I didn’t want to be that girl… the one that obsesses over a guy, the one that runs to insecurity and cloaks herself in jealousy the moment she feels the distance. But as the night deepened and sleep eluded me, I realized that I cared more about Spencer than I wanted to admit. A weird thought crept into my mind.
Is this love?
I’d never been in love before. There had been tons of crushes, starting with Stanley, but love was not something that I understood or ever thought I’d find. At least, not like this. In my dreams, I found my love in Belize. He’d sweep me off my feet. I’d introduce him to my father who would approve of him immediately, and then I’d marry him and live happily ever after. It wasn’t supposed to be this complicated.
Stubbornly, I shook those thoughts from my mind. Even if I did love Spencer, he didn’t love me back. Apart from the more obvious obstacles like living in different Americas and our ethnic divide, his failure to profess any sort of love was the most obvious stumbling block.
I tossed and turned for hours battling with my thoughts until finally sleep came to claim me and I delved into much welcome unconsciousness.
CHAPTER TWENTY
At work the next day, I tried my best to ensure that my hair was always hanging down over my right shoulder. Apart from the constant awareness to cover up my neck, I managed to push Spencer completely out of my mind. Time was running out on my deadline and Susan and I worked non-stop gathering our information and converting them into spreadsheets in Excel. We were both so engrossed in our work that the hours flew quickly. When I finally dragged myself home Monday night, I was at least satisfied that it had been a productive albeit frenzied day.
The silence of my apartment greeted me when I unlocked the door. I switched on the light and appraised the stark emptiness of my six-week home. The cream walls were naked, begging for a splash of color or a large family frame. The one bare sofa facing the mounted television was the picture of loneliness and despondency. I thought of Spencer, how he seemed to fill a room no matter the size. I imagined his laugh and how right it felt when I prompted one. I missed having him around.
How could I feel so connected to someone that I’d just met?
It was unlike me to take those kinds of risks. I believed in deliberate planning and proactive maneuvers. I had a Man-list. My daddy taught me to find the right partner with my head not my heart.
“The heart deceives.” Daddy always reminded.
I knew what I was supposed to look for. And I also knew that Spencer didn’t meet half of those requirements, beginning with his lack of faith and ending in his worldly experience. Thinking about Spencer was giving me a headache.
I tried to drain out my discombobulated feelings by watching a Disney Channel movie on T.V. As the white haired fairy princess sang “Let it Go”, I shoveled
Ben and Jerry’s rocky road into my mouth.
“Yes, gurl! I’m going to let him go. The cold ain’t never bothered me!”
That was true. Living in a tropical country meant that cold showers were a blessing, not a curse.
Let me tell you, I got caught up in that movie. When the heroine was dying and her sister stepped in to save her… well, let’s just say that I was wiping snot all over my t-shirt. During the ending credits, the “Let it Go” song played again. I turned it up and allowed myself to check my phone for any notifications from Spencer. There were none. And why would there be? Our pairing was so strange. What would a man like him truly want with a girl like me? Lord knows he wasn’t getting any kind of benefits. I checked my phone again. Still nothing. His silence spoke as loudly as if he were rejecting me to my face.
I felt something building inside with a restless energy, forcing me into a standing position. I had four more days left in L.A. and Spencer chose to ignore me! Anger infused my cheeks and I threw the phone away from me. It landed face down in the plain green couch.
Reason tried to intervene. Calm down, Reason reasoned, Spencer’s a busy man. Maybe he just got busy with work.
Anger fought back with a left hook, would it take a second for him to type a message into his phone and send it? How inconsiderate!
Reason threw Anger to the floor with an intricate hand-cartwheel movement; You and Spencer have no special understanding. He is not obligated to report to you.
Anger writhed under Reason, but the weight of logic crushed its movements. Reason won but I was truly rooting for anger. Drained, I pulled out my laptop and worked on my visual presentation for Friday, hoping that busyness would keep my mind occupied.
Tuesday soon dawned bright and clear. I’d fallen asleep on the couch with the laptop on my lap. It was a miracle the thing hadn’t fallen asleep and crashed on the tiled floor. I stretched and padded to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I pulled back the hair that had disguised my unwanted mark. Spencer’s suggestion had come through and the mark faded by Tuesday morning. The whole hickey shenanigan reminded me of Mia. Speaking of, I really needed to check my personal e-mail to see if she’d responded to my message yet. I sighed as I traced the faintly visible outline of the bruise and felt a wired mixture of anger and despair rise in the pit of my stomach. Somehow, I’d allowed this man to brand me. Not just my skin but also my heart. It was NOT love, but it was surely something like it.
I showered and dressed before slipping into navy blue pumps, heading downstairs and hiring a cab to take me to work. When I got into the office, Susan rushed up to me.
“Melody, thank goodness you’re here!”
Alarm filled me, “What’s going on?”
Susan’s beautiful hazel eyes widened.
“Mr. Maladon is leaving the country on Thursday. The presentation has been moved up.”
My eyes bugged and my heart rate quickened, “To when?” I prodded, horrified.
“Tomorrow.” Susan groaned.
I started hyperventilating. I could feel the disgustingly processed breakfast sausage links I’d consumed earlier coming back to bid me good morning. A rush of information flooded my mind, taunting me with the impossibility of the task before me. I couldn’t summarize all our research and create a captivating visual presentation in less than two days!
Susan gripped my hand and held firm, “We can do this, Melody. I know we can.”
“But the company summaries-”
“I’ll get right on that.”
“And the visual aids-”
“We can handle this. Just breathe and tell me what to do first.”
I allowed Susan’s level head to guide me into work mode. Within the next fifteen minutes, Susan when out to collect all that we needed for a fifteen minute project pitch and I was behind my computer typing up a storm. For once I was glad for the Spencer drama, which had driven me to work overtime in order to distract myself. If I’d been a bit more consumed by him, I would have had to give up on life and return home a failure. Once more, Susan and I were headed for a work through lunch with a sandwich in one hand and reams of research in the other. At least that’s what I thought. Around 12:30 pm, a shadow cast over my little cubicle. Assuming it was Susan, I spoke without looking up,
“The Dorothy Menzies numbers look a bit unbalanced. Could you look into that for me?”
My voice trailed off when I looked up to ensure that she’d gotten my message. Except she was a he.
“Spencer.” I said, breathlessly. Did the room get stuffy all of a sudden?
He stepped in, “Hi, I hope I’m not interrupting. You look busy.”
I bit my lip and surveyed my desk through his eyes. Files of information were stacked up all over every conceivable space.
“Busy, yes, I’m busy.” I said. An NGO file that we were looking into slipped to the floor as if to punctuate my statement. I bent to pick it up, taking the moment to try to slow my heart beat enough to face Spencer.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. Of all the days he could have chosen to magically show up, why today? He cast his gaze to the pack of papers in my hand and the sandwich in the other.
“I came to take you to lunch, but I can see you have a lot on your plate already.”
I eyed my plain BLT sandwich that I ran out to purchase fifteen minutes ago.
“Today’s not a good day for me.” I said.
Why haven’t you called me? I wanted to say.
“Oh, okay.” Spencer said.
No, we need to talk. I love you and no matter the distance or our differences, I want to make it work. I wanted him to say.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t the Melody version of the famous soap opera ‘The Young and The Skanky’ and Spencer wasn’t the hero to my buxomly-overdramatic character. Life obviously had not given him the script.
“Well maybe we can talk later.” Spencer added as he awkwardly shuffled out of my cubicle.
“Yeah, sure,” I said, non-committaly, picking out the tomato in my sandwich. Spencer left and I felt more bereft and confused than ever. I was leaving on Saturday morning. The ticket had been bought and paid for. But was it fair to prolong the end of Spencer and my relationship when we both already knew it would end up to be a fling, a blip on the radar screen of our love lives? I mean, sure it didn’t feel like a fling right now, but what did I know? I was the insecure church girl. I didn’t expect Spencer to be The One. I hadn’t come to the US looking for a relationship. Everything that had happened in my life and every person I’d met had felt divinely inspired. Ugh. I had no idea what the Big Guy was up to and I had no intention of trying to figure it out today. One disaster at a time, Lord, thank you very much!
Mercifully, Susan was out during Spencer’s brief visit to the office so when she returned her serious determination, usually all focused on me and my personal life, helped to push me back into the work mode Spencer’s visit had disrupted. Susan and I stayed late at the office, Starbucks coffees before us for added energy.
When we finally called it a night, I returned to the apartment, bone weary. I had a message from Spencer but I turned off my wifi so I wasn’t tempted to talk to him. I truly didn’t have the energy to fight with him on top of worrying about how the presentation would go down tomorrow. I closed my eyes and prayed for a quick deliverance into slumber.
I woke up suddenly. The room was pitch black, weird. I was sure I left on the bathroom light before I fell asleep. I swung out of the bed, only the bed wasn’t a bed anymore. I was in a chair that looked like the ones in the Maladon conference room. The light came on in a burst of illumination and I covered my eyes.
What the …
As my eyes adjusted to the light, I noticed the long glass table sitting squarely in the middle of the wood paneled room. Each seat was occupied though I couldn’t make out any faces.
Hey, I was in the Maladon conference room!
I heard a low hum and walked to the hazy figure sitting at the head of the table.
As I drew closer, the image cleared and revealed Mr. Maladon. The hum became more distinct. It sounded like “failure”. The entire room was chanting the word.
“Failure, failure.” The choir came to a crescendo of shame and outrage.
“No, no, no.” I backed up into a hard chest and turned to find Spencer, gazing at me with void expressionless eyes.
“I can’t believe I was ever interested in you.” Void Spencer said creepily.
“Spencer, don’t say that!” I pleaded.
“You’re not even that good looking! Why would I continue to waste time with a woman that won’t even put out.”
He spat the hateful words at me. I slapped him, skin meeting skin with a loud ‘thwack’. As the hand print reddened on his cheek, Spencer gave me a look of disdain and stalked to join the Choir of Shame in their chant.
“Failure! Failure!” The words whispered across my skin, burrowed into my soul, filling it with inky darkness.
I DON’T GET NO SLEEP CAZ AH YOU!
Gasping and sweating, I rose up out of bed, clutching my blankets to my heaving chest. I scrambled to collect my phone and turned the alarm off with trembling fingers. Whoa. That was an incredibly weird dream. An incredibly uncanny dream. Despite having my red-polished toes firmly in the real world, a shadow cast by the dream world hovered over me.
Was the dream an omen for the day?
I surely hoped not. My life was messed up enough without introducing psychic abilities into the mix.
“God, please help me today,” I prayed as I went about my daily routine of bathing and getting dressed. Padding to my small little closet on bare feet, I selected a smart gray dress with a banded waist – so no one forgot I was a woman – along with a straight lined tan jacket. I completed the look with cream stilettos. Mom always said that there was nothing a woman couldn’t do if she was confident. And my office attired infused me with a huge boost of confidence. The outfit said, “Hey, I’m a capable and efficient woman. Not a failure.”
I did my makeup with a bit more care this morning too, adding powder and foundation to my normally skeleton routine. The woman in the mirror was not the same cowering figure in my dream.