'Til It Happens to You

by Kristofer Clarke

  “What?” I asked, smiling.

  “Nothing.” He stood up. “I’m going downstairs to get something to drink. Do you want anything?”

  “Just some water. Oh, and bring up a movie.” I began rubbing baby oil on my still wet skin. I walked into the bedroom pulling up my boxers and stepping into some gym shorts.

  Jackson came back upstairs with a bottle water for me and a glass of wine for himself. He placed the DVD in the player, grabbed the remote, and slid up on the bed. He sat with his back against the wall.

  “Have you seen this?” he asked.

  “What’s that?” I walked to the bathroom, dimmed the light to off, and was back in the bed, lying on my back.

  “Definitely, Maybe.”

  “Huh? Definitely, maybe, what?”

  “That’s the name of the movie. You know, with Ryan Reynolds.”

  I didn’t respond. I propped my head on two pillows, tossed my legs over his, and settled into watching the movie until sleep found its way into my eyes.

  “What time does your flight leave on Sunday?”

  “7:15 a.m.,” Jackson answered.

  “So, how much are you going to miss me?”

  “Do you want me to show you or tell you?” Jackson asked, grabbing and pulling my body closer to his.

  Hmmm, I thought, but my mind was already made up.

  “Do I really have to tell you?”

  “You really don’t.”

  That’s the last thing I remember him saying to me. I was making love faces as he touched and stroked me like he knew how. I kept thoughts of not feeling his touch for a week out of my mind, and I allowed his lovemaking to take me to ecstasy. My body quivered and shivered as his tongue glided down the length of my spine. His fingertips dug deep into the small of my back. He felt weightless on top of me.

  “I love you,” Jackson whispered softly in the dark.

  “I love you, too,” I said. I relaxed and braced my body for his hard pleasure again.

  15

  Eyes Better Not Wonder

  Jackson …

  I spent most of Saturday getting ready for Sunday. By 9:00 p.m. I was packed and ready to go on a trip I wasn’t looking forward to. I placed my suit bag with the two suits I planned on wearing and a medium-size trolley garment bag by the front door. I packed a small bag of toiletries in the morning after I took my shower and was dressed. The attendant promised the Blue Van would be at the house between 3:45 a.m. and 5:00 a.m. to pick me up. Of course it was ten minutes to five before my phone rang, with an operator telling me they were outside. My flight, which was scheduled to depart at 7:15 a.m., didn’t hit the runway until thirty minutes later after waiting for a connected flight from Philadelphia that was held on the runway until the dense fog had lifted. Since I was in Miami until Sunday, I called on Saturday and left a message for my best friend, Colton Merrick, asking if he would fly up for the weekend.

  Colton Jamal Merrick was my straight-talking straight friend who loved the ladies and loved me like a brother. When we met, Colt, the name I had given him, lived in a house filled with women. I guess I was his escape from all that estrogen. He was a Southern boy, an army brat who spent most of his teenage years in Fort Jackson, SC, off interstate 70. His father was an army officer. As soon as he was old enough to get away, Colt hopped on Interstate 20 to Georgia, settling in Atlanta and on the campus of Morris Brown College. It had been three days since I left that message, and here I was still waiting for him to call back. For now it looked like my plans to enjoy the weekend in his company weren’t going to happen.

  It was a sunny Sunday morning when I arrived in Miami at approximately 10:45. I made my way through baggage claim to my rental car. I was heading East on 836 towards the downtown area. The traffic on the 95 looked like normal Sunday morning traffic—church, or an early morning at the beach was my guess. I had reservations in the grand Epic Hotel on Biscayne Boulevard Way. My room overlooked Biscayne Bay and the Miami River and the picturesque Miami Skyline, something I don’t get to see much of living in the District.

  I stood staring at the sky and its color of cool orange and black, and the few stars I could see on this clear October night. Earlier, I had stood in this same place watching boaters make their way down the waterways and I could imagine a much busier Bay as shirtless men and women dressed in bikinis showcased their beach bodies and Miami Beach tans as they smooth-sailed on blazing hot summer days.

  I had been able to get out on the town. I checked out the Heat/Pistons exhibition basketball game at the nearby American Airlines Arena, and dining at Lombardi’s was enthralling. I enjoyed a striking conversation with a native brunette who offered to show me around the town if I weren’t too busy. After telling her I only had a few days left, she said that was plenty of time for her to convince me. I never asked her about what I needed to be convinced.

  I spent Tuesday morning listening to a panel on stem cell research and then Wednesday afternoon hearing about the latest advances in breast cancer research. I still hadn’t heard from Colt and I wasn’t sure I was going to be hearing from him before my week was over. There weren’t any meetings or conference events scheduled the following day, so an early night sleep wasn’t a must have. I sat front and center in the bed, browsing through the channels. I had spoken to Trevor since speaking with him during my slow walk to the Heat game, and then again during a lunch break on Wednesday. I reached back and stretched for my cell phone that was sitting on the bed close to the headboard.

  “You’re in beautiful Miami and you’re sitting there thinking about me?” Trevor asked, teasing.

  “It’s never out of sight, out of mind when it comes to you,” I said, and lay back in the bed, smiling.

  “So what are you up to?”

  “Lying here contemplating going downstairs to get a drink or two. I just wanted to call before I got too carried away.”

  “Carried away? Whatever! I think you got sharks beat.”

  “I’m not going to own that?”

  “You don’t have to. But who’s going to tell, but you, if you don’t show up to your seminar on time and sober?” Trevor said, laughing quietly at me.

  “I may not like traveling, but I love what I do too much to even chance that happening,” I paused. “Hey, this is definitely a room with a view, and I’m not talking about a ten-dollar view, either. Opulent doesn’t even begin to describe it,” I complimented, tilting my head towards the window, looking out into the night that stretched out as far as my eyes could see.

  “Oh really? I remember when they started transforming that area. I wondered how they were going to survive the economic bust, but I guess they had a way.”

  “Don’t they always.” I removed the phone from my ear, looking at the clock displayed on the screen. It was 11 p.m. I had exactly one hour to quench this alcoholic thirst I was having. “So, how was work for you?”

  “Work went well. It’s Wednesday, two more days to the weekend. I went to happy hour with Wesley and Caela. Jory looked like he needed a middle-of-the-week pick me up, so he came along, too. I’ll just say he was half past tipsy before we left, so I won’t be surprised if his Thursday starts later than usual. He’s probably lying in his bed now watching the room spin.”

  “I guess it always works in your favor to have it in good with the boss,” I said, smiling at my remark.

  “And I guess it’s even better when you’re sleeping with him,” Trevor countered.

  I wasn’t expecting his comeback. His comment took my mind to a place I had avoided since getting on the phone with him.

  I looked at my watch again. “I’m going to get that drink now,” I said, adjusting the bulge that had formed in the front of my pants. All it took was the sound of Trevor’s voice to get me exited.

  “Don’t drink too much,” Trevor warned. “Love ya.”

  “Love ya back.”

      

  “What can I get for you, sir?” The waitress asked, looking at me.


  I was standing at the bar lost in thought about that very question. I hadn’t given much thought to what I wanted to drink. I wanted to ask the bartender, a gorgeous female with a close fade, to surprise me, but those words can be interpreted as “get me something that’ll have me hung over when morning comes.” I took my chance and ordered something I was sure she could mix, something that could get me close to nice.

  “Sir,” she called again.

  “Huh?”

  “What can I get you…to drink?” This time she smiled.

  I smiled back. “I’ll have a citrus smack,” I requested, sounding as if I knew what I wanted all along.

  While she busied herself with my request, I took the opportunity to scrutinize my surroundings. Besides the bartender and me, there were four other people who had the same craving for a nightcap. A man and his lady friend sat in the corner exchanging a little more than a few words and laughter. An older patron sat close by at a table by himself, frequently checking his wristwatch and cell phone. And then there he was, standing at the far end of the bar as if he were waiting for me to notice him, and even if I didn’t want to, it was hard not to. He stood with one hand in his pocket and the other hand wrapped around the stem of his wine glass.

  His presence demanded my attention. I tried looking at him from the corner of my eyes, but my second glance caught him with his eyes locked on mine, and I couldn’t help but nod, acknowledging that I had noticed him noticing me noticing him. I wasn’t sure if I was embarrassed that he had caught me staring at him. Surprisingly, he nodded in kind, and even added a smile.

  His skin, the color of an evenly brown pear, looked as smooth as melted chocolate. Neatly dreaded hair was braided on top of his head, glistening under the hanging lights. His very thin sideburns extended down his face and under his chin. An even thinner manicured mustache extended across the top of lips that he never seemed to close completely. His face had a familiarity to it, and when I looked at him one last time, I realized who he was.

  Dr. Tenerio Denard Beaumont was a keynote speaker at the Annual Forum and Childhood Obesity Congress earlier this year. His presentation, Childhood Obesity and the Future of America, held the audience’s attention, and he even received an earsplitting round of applause that I definitely thought he deserved. I thought he had one of those unforgettable faces with an unforgettable voice to match.

  “Late night pick me up?” he asked. I saw him walking over to me, but I purposely pretended to give him none of my attention during his approach.

  I looked at him. “I guess you can call it that,” I said. I acknowledged the waiter who was placing a coaster and my citrus smack in front of me. “But it’s not that late,” I said, looking at him again. I took a sip of my drink and took a peak at my watch. This is good, I thought.

  “I hope I’m not intruding on your evening.”

  “Conversation is never an intrusion in my book, man.”

  “Cool. The name’s Denard,” he said, extending his hand.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said. Since we were never formally introduced before tonight, I decided to keep that I had seen him at least once before to myself. “Jackson Bradley.” I shook the hand he extended to me. His hands were soft. His grip was firm. He stared into me.

  “Are you here on business or pleasure?”

  “Business,” I said. “A conference for the job.”

  “At the Convention Center?”

  “Yes. You too?”

  “I am.”

  I enjoyed the conversation Denard and I had. Just like the time before, he was also a keynote speaker at this conference. He wasn’t staying at the Epic, but had a small suite at the Marriott Hotel across the street, which allowed easy access to the Convention Center. Like me, he also had a clear schedule tomorrow. He spoke to me as if we were old friends who hadn’t spoken in years and had some catching-up to do.

  By the time my second glass of citrus smack arrived, I knew much more about Dr. Tenerio Denard Beaumont. He was an undergraduate at the University of California, Berkeley, a graduate at the University of Michigan, and earned his Doctorate from the Ohio State University. He was a Virgo two months removed from his thirty-second birthday and was between relationships. In summary, Dr. Beaumont was educated, not too much older than me, single, and according to his zodiac, modest and shy, meticulous and reliable, overcritical and harsh, perfectionist and conservative all rolled up in one fine-looking human being.

  He placed his empty cocktail glass on the counter.

  “Would you like another?” The waitress removed the glass and placed it in an under-counter washer. She removed the coaster and wiped where it was.

  “No. I think I’m done.”

  “You think?” She paused, looking at him.

  “I’m sure,” he corrected. She turned and busied herself at the register behind her. Denard reached into his back pocket and removed his billfold. He placed a $20 bill and a credit card on the bar countertop. “Looks like my night’s coming to an end.” He looked at his watch and then at the waitress who was handing back his card and the receipt for his signature.

  “It’s not that late. Guess I’ll have another one of these before heading back upstairs.”

  “Well, here,” he said, handing me his business card. “Call me. We should do dinner or something before you leave.”

  I stared at his card, thinking over my response. “Dinner tomorrow, if you have nothing planned.”

  “Call me,” he said, winking.

  So I may not be spending my weekend with my best friend, Colt, but maybe my new friend, Dr. Tenerio Denard Beaumont, could entertain me while I’m here.

  I spent the next thirty minutes at the bar being entertained by Nicolette Kerr. She’s been in the area for four years now, moving to Miami after separating from her husband of two years. He asked for a divorce after deciding married life wasn’t for him. She wished he had come to that conclusion before her long, slow ass walk down the aisle, smiling at people she hadn’t seen in years who only came to see if she had lost the weight needed to fit perfectly in a dress she knew was two sizes too damn small when she bought it. She was young, ready to start over, and Miami was among the best places for single women.

  “So, are you here tomorrow night, too?” I asked.

  “I am. I get here around 3,” Nicolette said, placing my bill in front of me.

  “Maybe I’ll come by and keep you company.” I handed her my credit card.

  “Before or after dinner?” she mumbled, turning around to

  the register.

  “What was that?” We were the only two left in the restaurant.

  “Nothing.” She turned, handing me my receipt, a pen, and my credit card. I left her an impressive tip for making my drinks like she did and for sharing a few laughs with me.

  16

  Lately I

  Trevor…

  Would I still be complaining if every weekend were a three-day weekend? I didn’t know where this weekend went. I spent Saturday morning with Jackson, the evening with my father, and Sunday evening having dinner with Caela and Kellen at her house. The kitchen had made my list of least favorite places, and since cooking was my least favorite activity, I happily accepted her invite. Plus I got to spend some time with my godson, which was icing on the red velvet cake Caela and I had for dessert. Late came early, and I still had my drive home. I still had to prepare for a week front-loaded with meetings. And of course, I had a few other things to get done before my private conversation with God before falling into deep sleep.

  When the alarm on my cell phone first sounded at 6:10 a.m., I pressed the snooze button, giving myself thirty extra minutes of sleep. I wasn’t tired. I just didn’t feel like waking up or getting out of bed. I had decided a long time ago I wasn’t a morning person and I wasn’t going to start pretending to be one now.

  On my way to work, I called and spoke briefly with Jackson before he had to rush off the phone and into his first scheduled seminar for the day.

>   It was like I lived with Caela, walking into the office and seeing her face, again, only a few hours after having dinner with her. She was standing behind her desk, her morning cup of coffee in one hand, her other hand dancing over the keyboard.

  “Good morning,” I said. I stood beside her desk.

  She printed and handed me the day’s schedule even though I had access to it on my desktop and cell phone. “I haven’t gotten a call back from Mr. Millington,” she said.

  “I’ll try reaching him myself today.” I thanked Caela and began walking towards my office.

  “Hey, Trevor,” she called out. “Any plans for lunch?”

  I looked at my watch. “Only greedy people think about lunch when breakfast isn’t even over yet. You greedy?”

  “Call me what you want as long as you call me to let me know what you’re doing for lunch.”

  I walked into the office, sat behind my desk, and glanced at my schedule. I had a meeting immediately after lunch with Wesley. There was a 2:30 with Rory that was put on there by Caela. I wonder what he wants to talk about, I thought. I walked over to the coffee pot with a fresh brew Caela always started whenever she made it in the office before me, just in case I didn’t have a chance or wasn’t in the mood to stop at Daily Grind. I was stirring cream into my coffee when my cell phone buzzed.

  “How’s this Monday treating you?” I answered.

  “I’ve had Mondays that have treated me better.” It was Dexter. “Just trying to work through this hard case. This guy has to be the most noncompliant client I’ve ever worked for.”

  “What’s he doing?”

  “You know I can’t tell you that.”

  “I know. I was just testing you.”

  “So listen, are we still on for dinner tomorrow?”

  “It’s Tuesday already?”

  “Did you forget?”

  “No, man. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

      

  I didn’t know what Dexter had on the dinner menu. When I entered the house, stepped inside the entryway, walked past his study to the left, and into the rotunda, something smelled heavenly. On each wall of the rotunda was an 18 x 24-inch picture of each member of his family, including his godson Sha’len. A picture of his father was missing. I remembered it being there the very first time I visited.