A Cold Piece of Work (20 page)

“Yeah, that sounds great in theory. But once you get years together and kids and work and other outside interests in the way, you're lucky to get any kind of sex once a week,” Angie said. “If we do it twice a week, there has to be some holiday that week.”

The other women chimed in with similar stories of being tired and unmotivated to maintain a relentless love life with the men in their lives. Michele wanted to tell them, “Clearly, he ain't hit-tin' it right. If he was, you'd understand what I'm saying and you'd make the time to get it.” But she understood their experiences were different from hers. And if they did not get it from her lengthy open monologue on sex, then that was their loss.

“Well, I understand what you're saying,” she said. “I'm just telling you my experience.”

Her co-members continued the conversation and Michele receded to the background over the remainder of the meeting. She had opened up about herself and her love life like never before, and it felt good. Whether her friends truly understood her or not was really of little significance. She was glad to put into words how Solomon made her feel.

S
olomon basked in the glow of their passion, too, which was pretty significant because before Michele, he had a rotation of four women he bedded at his whim. They all provided different levels of satisfaction, but none was enough to turn him into a one-woman man.

That fact was enough to let him know what he had with Michele was much more than physical. If it were just about sex, he could have settled down with Marie, Cathy, Cheryl or Evelyn.

They were all attractive women who were smart and stable... good women, the kind a man would be proud to introduce to family and his boys. And they all were committed to sexually pleasing him. Still, something was missing, and it was so indecipherable that Solomon could not articulate what it was.

But he knew this much: With them, it was mostly about satisfying an urge. There was not the emotional connection for him that one would think came with all the intimacy they shared.

In fact, after a while, being with them felt like a philanthropic act. The women had become dependent on Solomon—his presence, his mind, his confidence, his wit, his charm and, above all, his body. He made them feel like women.

For all they had to offer—and they had plenty—they found being single difficult to negotiate. They wanted and needed the attention and affection of a man. And yet, identifying one who could hold up his end was a challenge so many women had encountered.

Living as a single woman in Atlanta could be particularly daunting (and lonely) as there was a proliferation of African-American cute ladies with so much going on versus a collection of quality men whose numbers were decreased when you eliminated the married men, the men with women, the arrogant guys, the playas, the gay guys and the ignorant ones.

Left were a relatively few good men in a city full of promising female candidates. The ratio? A whole lot to a little.

So, combine the vast disparity of “quality” women to men with Solomon's personal baggage and it added up to a less-than-promising scenario for his four ladies; especially after his reconnection with Michele.

But they were aware of their plight, or at least the potential of their plight. Solomon did not hedge in explaining his position to them. Each of them accepted Solomon's terms—“I'm not doing the relationship thing,” he had told them, one by one.

But they all believed their virtues would turn his mind and heart—a classic and misguided female position. Like usual, they were wrong.

In fact, he began to view his dealing with them as a community service. “What are you talking about?” his boy, Ray, asked.

“Let me explain,” Solomon answered. They had been throwing down vodka and tonics while watching football, long before Michele reemerged. He had a nice buzz, which sometimes brought out some of the arrogance he usually tried to suppress.

“Here's the deal. These women, I don't have a problem with. But they can't hold me. And if I were a bad guy, I'd straight dump them. I care about them. I do. But I don't want to be bottled up by any of them. I don't want to sound cold, but it's like I have a duty/obligation to be there for them. That's a lot different from wanting to be with them.

“Ray, I'm only saying they deserve to feel good, too. Even though it's not all the time, they deserve to have a man pay attention to them, to make their bodies feel good.

“I treat them with respect. We have great conversation and I compliment them and we laugh. And I've been a true friend to them. They need that to feel like the women they are. I happen to be there to provide that service for them. That's community service; helping women feel like women should.”

“Excuse me while I throw up,” Ray said.

“You telling me, as a man, you don't understand that?” Solomon said.

“I understand you think you're the Messiah or something,” he answered. “You think you're saving women's lives by halfway being there for them? Come on, man.”

Solomon laughed. “I didn't say I'm ‘saving their lives.' I said I'm adding to their lives. Look, they know the deal. I told them all I wasn't doing the relationship thing. I told them I liked being single—and that they could date other men. If they did, I didn't want to hear about it. And if I did hear about it, I'd be gone.”

“Wait,” Ray jumped in. “You want to do whatever you want, but you don't want them to do the same thing? How do you spell ‘hypocrite'?”

“What can I say? I'm territorial,” Solomon said. “What's mine is mine until I let it go... Still, if they want someone else, they can go get him. The thing is, I know they won't find someone else. I'm taking care of business.”

“I'm a hen-pecked old married man at thirty-three, but how do you do all that juggling?” Ray asked. “I guess every man is not built the same. That would drive me crazy. Dealing with my wife is more than enough. To have three more...why put myself through that torture?”

After reconnecting with Michele, Solomon did not have an answer for that question. The value of the other women in his life rapidly diminished. Just seeing Michele cast a different feeling about them.

By the time he learned Gerald was his son, established a relationship with him and gained Michele's trust, his rotation of four women hit a standstill.

It got to where he stopped all communication. He wasn't proud about that, but he wasn't sure what else to do.

“You're not sure what to do?” Ray said. “Here's an idea. Call them. Tell them. Matter of fact, tell them face-to-face.”

“Yeah...yeah,” Solomon said. “You're right. That's gonna be tough, but it's got to be done. You know how I know it has to be done? I came home Thursday from work and there was a note on my door from Evelyn.”

“What?”

“Yes, man. She hadn't heard from me in a few weeks and was concerned; she wanted me to give her a call and let her know I'm okay,” Solomon said.

“Well, did you?” Ray asked.

“I texted her that I was all right and would call her,” he said.

“You sent the woman a text?”

“I know. I know,” Solomon said. “Man, I've been busy with my son and Michele. That's all I've had time to do.

“But don't even say it. I'm going to make time to break it off with them, one-on-one, face-to-face.”

Solomon said it, but he did not mean it. As detached and cold as he was, he did not want to face hurting anyone. He would rather fade away, knowing he hurt them but not having to deal with it.

He also knew that was not the manly thing to do. The manly thing would be to be straight up.

“How did I get to this point?” he said to himself that night after hanging with Ray.

He meant: How did he get to where he was actually, truly, excitedly committed to one woman? It came down to one word.

Trust.

He trusted Michele. He believed in who she was and, most importantly, he believed in who she was to him. And so, he believed in their connection. And for him, “connection” was not about her finishing his sentences or them thinking the same thing at the same time.

It was more organic than that. It was a shared desire to experience life only with each other. It was a feeling of discomfort when they were not together. It was a feeling of exhilaration when they were, even if they were cooking dinner together or walking through Piedmont Park or sitting together at church.

It also was the inferno of passion they shared. Their attraction was “fire,” the way Solomon described it.

“I don't know,” he said to her as she lay in his arms one summer night. “I feel like I can consume all of you. Breathe you in and hold it. Hold you. By nature we are animalistic, but I think the connection we have is special.

“When I go home, I feel like I'm carrying you with me. It's crazy. I'm so attracted to ALL of you.”

That was true, but some of it was purely physical, too. A lot of it, actually. He liked her look and her attitude and her body. Michele had a quiet confidence and a subtle sexiness that made Solomon desire her the way a fish does bait.

On top of that, Michele captured Solomon with her daring. Midway through an evening of watching movies on the couch, he asked her about her favorite color. Instead of answering, she pulled the covers off of her, turned on the light and stood over Solomon.

She then slowly began to unbutton her blouse while staring into his eyes. Michele pulled off her top to reveal a black lace bra that fit snug around her 38C breasts.

“Oh, so black is your favorite color, huh?” Solomon said.

Michele did not answer; not with words. Instead, she loosened the tie of her drawstring pants and wiggled out of them, exposing matching black lace thongs that firmly hugged her body. She slowly spun around to give him a panoramic view.

“So,” she said in a whisper, “what's
your
favorite color?”

Without hesitation, Solomon answered, “It's black now.”

She asked him to stand up, which he did. She placed his arms on her shoulders and slowly, tantalizingly unbuckled his belt, unfastened his pants and let down his zipper.

His pants fell to the floor. They embraced and kissed and spent the next several minutes in a fury of passion.

Another time she did the classic move: drove to his house in a short raincoat and leopard-print pumps. He met her at the front door when she arrived that Friday evening.

“Look at you,” he said. “What's under that?”

She was well aware of Solomon's affinity for lingerie over nakedness, so she donned a leopard print bra with matching G-string. She asked him to untie the belt on the raincoat.

“Ummm, ummm, ummm,” he muttered when the coat came open. “I'll be damned if you ain't sexy.”

He then kissed her deeply and they lay on the floor, right there at his front door and made love.

“I was going to serve you dinner,” he said as they rested on the carpet, trying to catch their breath.

“I don't know about you, but I just had dessert,” Michele said. “So, I'm ready for dinner.”

“And we got up and had a great dinner,” Solomon told Ray.
“That's what I'm talking about. That's how you keep things going in a relationship. That's my girl.”

“Maybe I need to share your stories with my wife,” Ray said. “I can't get her to even wear a gown to bed now. Now, it's big, ugly T-shirts. Not cool.”

“Ah, man, that's a tough one, but you've got to say something,” Solomon said. “I've had women who looked great while we were out. But as soon as we got home she takes off the makeup, wraps up her hair and jumps into bed looking like somebody from
Roots
. And then they want to be all romantic. I'm still looking fresh. She's looking like she's about to pick cotton. That's some messed-up stuff right there.

“But Michele gets it. I never said a word about anything like that to her. I've never seen her in anything other than some kind of lingerie when it's time to go to bed. Some is sexier than others, but it's always appealing; never a big t-shirt or flannel pajamas.”

“She's all right with me,” Ray said. “I need to put her and my wife together. My folks need some lessons.”

“Well, maybe you should give her the lessons,” Solomon said. “You've got to let her know what you want to get what you want. I believe in that. Say what you want. That's your wife. If you can't talk to her, who can?”

“You'll be surprised,” Ray said. “You've got to know my wife. She's super sensitive. If I tell her what I want, she'll go all overboard, thinking I don't like what she's doing.”

“But you
don't
, Ray!” Solomon blurted out. “That's the whole point. How can you expect to be happy if you're not happy? Some things are pretty basic. Sounds like you want more than you're getting. If you don't tell her that you want more, how are you going to get more?

“That's how people end up cheating. Men and women. They
are unhappy with what's not happening at home, so they seek what will make them happy somewhere else. And another thing: Is she unhappy with you? Would she tell you if she were not pleased?

“I'm not trying to be all in your business. I'm just saying that as messed up as I've been to women, I do know you can't get anything without communicating what you want. It could be that you both aren't pleased. So what do you do? Just be miserable?”

“I hear what you're saying, but I ain't miserable,” Ray said. “Wishing I had more in bed with my wife doesn't equate to being miserable. At least, not how I add things up.”

“Well, you're a different guy from me,” Solomon said. “I couldn't be happy—totally happy—with someone who didn't please me in bed. I'm sorry, but that's the truth. I don't care how sweet she is and how beautiful and how smart...if the sex isn't up to par, I'm having some real issues.