A Cold Piece of Work (22 page)

“The second talk you have tomorrow needs to be with Michele,” Ray said. “This shouldn't be the end of the relationship. You've got to talk it through.”

“Yeah, well, I need to hear some stuff from her that shows me that she respects what I'm trying to do,” Solomon said. “Otherwise, what's the point?”

“The point is you're a father and you need to be a father,” Ray said. “The other point is that you love Michele. No way around that.”

“Do you beat little Ray when he's out of line?” Solomon asked.

“Hell, yeah,” Ray said.

“So you see my point?”

“But I also see this: It's been Michele and Gerald for almost
eight years,” Ray said. “She probably tried to compensate for you not being there by spoiling him and throwing her whole life into him. That's basically a woman's nature anyway.

“Then you come along and now you're trying to change what she built for eight years. It's hard for her.”

“That may be true, but it's hard for me, too,” Solomon said. “And I can't bend on discipline. Respect is everything. I was raised that way and that's what I believe in.”

A
t home, Solomon felt strange, alone. He had an evening all mapped out with Michele. She was on her menstrual cycle, but he still planned to nestle up with her on the couch, eat popcorn and watch a funny movie they rented:
Somebodies
by a young filmmaker named Hadjii. And, he had thought, if he was lucky, Michele would give him a little “oral love” before they went to sleep.

It was fifteen after ten on a Friday night and he literally had nothing to do, except ponder the drama that had unfolded. In the past, when a woman disappointed him, he had a simple solution: move on to the next one.

Those feelings did not come over him on this occasion. Well, they did and they didn't. He did think of contacting another woman, but not for the same purposes of the past. Rather, it occurred to him that he should begin the inevitable conversations he had to have with the women who still, however barely, hung on to hope that he would be in their lives.

That thought let him know that Michele held a special, untapped place in his life. Even as he was disappointed in her, the pervasive feeling was that he loved her, which was an emotion he had never, truly experienced. He did, however, consider her position on him disciplining Gerald a real breach of their relationship.

Still, the more he thought about beating Gerald, the more of a funk he sank into. He loved his son, and he hoped that he would react as Solomon had as a child when his father (or mother) beat him. That is, in the morning it would all be forgotten.

The lesson was learned and, even at a young age, he understood that the beating came as a necessary evil of parenting. But would Michele's opposition to his method of discipline make the pain of it all linger with Gerald?

Solomon's mind became clouded with frightening thoughts.
What if he hates me now? What if Michele hates me? How do I overcome this?

He started to call Michele to feel her out. He knew she was upset, but he did not want it to escalate into something really big. Before he could dial her number, his pride kicked in.

“Don't do it,” it said to him. “Calling her would minimize all the points you made. Let her know you mean business.”

And that was that. Solomon discarded the idea of calling Michele and, instead, called Evelyn, one of his stable of four women he “dated” before reconnecting with Michele. He called not to get with her, but to let her free.

“I know this must be a mistake,” Evelyn said when she answered the phone. There was noise in the background, music.

“No mistake, E. How are you?” he said. “Where are you?”

“I'm at Hairston's. I felt like dancing. I'm just walking in,” she said. “Come dance with me.”

She had more than dancing on her mind. Other than running into her briefly at Target a few months before, he had not seen Evelyn in about seven months.

“I might do that,” he said. “Be there in about thirty minutes.”

Hairston's was a nightclub ten minutes or so from Solomon's house. It had been around in Stone Mountain, east of Atlanta, for at least fifteen years. It had staying power because it was a rarity: a nightclub for the over-thirty crowd.

The owners stopped investing money in the space—it had looked virtually the same for the last eight or ten years—but the music
was good, the hot wings were tasty and the crowd was mature.

So, Solomon went upstairs and changed clothes and headed out to meet Evelyn. She got into his rotation one winter night when he pulled up at a Bank of America on North Druid Hills Road, right near Interstate 85, to go to the ATM.

Standing outside her car, shivering, was Evelyn. Her car was running. “You okay?” he asked. She was short and cute, brown-skinned with shoulder-length hair. Her coat was tied tight around her waist, offering a view of a hint that she had a shapely body. Solomon processed all that in a matter of seconds.

“I locked my keys in my car,” she said.

“Ah, man,” Solomon said. “Sorry to hear that. Do you have someone coming with a spare?”

“My phone is in my car,” she said.

“Oh, hell. That's messed up,” he said. “Listen, uh, I'm willing to help you, if you're comfortable with that. You have to be freezing. You can warm up in my car while I get some money out of the bank.”

Evelyn pondered it for a few seconds. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”

He opened the door for her and she jumped in. He went to the other side of the car and turned up the heat.

When he returned from the ATM, he offered his cell phone. “Want to call a locksmith?”

“Well, my cousin has a set of my keys, but she's in Buckhead at work.”

“I'm good with time, so I can take you to her, if you like, to pick up the key and bring you back.”

“Really? You'd do that? Thank you,” she said. “But do you think my car will be okay?”

“Well, someone would have to break in to get it,” Solomon
said. “I'm gonna say it will be all right. But don't hold me to that if we come back and it's gone.”

Evelyn laughed.

“You warming up?” he asked. “How long you been standing out there?”

“Shoot, about ten, fifteen minutes,” she answered.

“Are you serious? That's too bad. Here...” He handed over his BlackBerry. “Call your cousin.”

She did. On the way to Buckhead, they got acquainted. “You know there are no such things as accidents,” Evelyn said. “You were supposed to pull up when you did and meet me.”

“I believe in that, too; to a degree,” Solomon said. “You were out there for fifteen minutes and no one else pulled up?”

“A few people did, but only one person said something; this guy,” she said. “But I wasn't comfortable with how he was looking at me. I told him my boyfriend was almost there.”

“Come to think of it, why isn't your boyfriend on the way?” That was his opening.

“You have to have a boyfriend to call a boyfriend,” she said. “That's a sad story I don't even want to get into.”

“I hear you,” Solomon said. “I won't broach that subject.”

They laughed.

“What are you up to? Where were you headed?” Evelyn said.

“I just came from Loehmann's, looking for a shirt or two and was going to meet a friend out for dinner,” Solomon said. “But she cancelled while I was in the store. So I was going to go to Publix and go home and fix a meal.”

“Well, after helping me like this, you should let me take you to dinner,” she said. “Wait, wow, that
really
sounds forward. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go there like that.”

“It's cool,” Solomon said. “I'd love to. You seem harmless. I'm safe with you.”

Evelyn laughed. After retrieving the spare keys and getting her back to her car, she followed Solomon to Bluepointe, where they dined and had cocktails at the bar.

“And just think,” she said, as a valet pulled up her car, “I had to lock my keys in my car to meet a nice man... The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

They hugged and departed. That was the beginning.

This was the end.

Solomon arrived at Hairston's around eleven and was instantly reminded of his days as a regular there. The place looked the same, smelled the same, felt the same. There was even this same corny guy wearing a box-cut hairstyle and cheap-looking suit still roaming the place.

Solomon took the scenic stroll around the club and ran into some guys he knew from golf, college and from around Atlanta. On the other side of the club, to the left of the entrance, beyond the second bar, was Evelyn.

High heels and short black dress; that was her party attire. She liked to show off her nice legs and small waist, despite having two children. A glass of Oya wine in her hand, she did not conceal her glee to see Solomon.

As he approached, she offered a smile that was as illuminating as the neon light that spun above the dance floor. “I miss seeing you,” she said, hugging him tightly. “Who did you kick me to the curb for?”

That was Evelyn; an arrow-straight shooter.

“You haven't changed, I see,” he said.

“Was I supposed to?”

“You wouldn't be you if you did.”

Solomon ordered a French Connection—Grand Marnier and Courvoisier—and another Oya white zinfandel for Evelyn.

He raised his glass.

“What are we toasting to?” she asked.

“To truth, honesty and a good time.”

“Uh-oh, sounds like a confession is coming.”

“Not a confession,” Solomon assured her. “A good, honest conversation, though.”

“Can we dance a little first? Can I flirt with you before we have this talk? This wine is great and I feel good. I'd like to stay this way for a while.”

“No doubt. We're here to have a good time... You're here by yourself?”

“Well, yeah,” she said. “I finally got tired of hoping for a phone call from you. I came out, hoping to meet someone nice. And I end up here with you? How you like that?”

“I like it fine,” Solomon said. He squinted his eyes some and leaned his head. She considered that flirting and he knew it. Maybe if he made her feel good, she wouldn't feel so bad when he gave her the news he wanted to share.

They found seats way in the back of the club and sipped more drinks, shared some laughs and engaged in superficial conversation.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand. “Let's work up a sweat.”

“Does it have to be on the dance floor? Can we work up a sweat in your bedroom?” She was serious.

Solomon did not answer, not with words. He continued to the dance floor. One of the biggest deterrents to outside sex for a man in a relationship was to not put himself in a position to get it. When Michele reemerged, Solomon shut it down, minimized communication with his quartet of women (and others he had flings with) and focused on what was in front of him.

But here was his first real, live test. Evelyn. Sexy Evelyn. They had a steamy past. Evelyn was ten years older than Solomon but had a youthful appearance and sexual drive. She credited Solomon
for bringing out in her what the other men had not; an erotic nature.

Solomon smiled at Evelyn as they danced; she looked up at him as if he were some chocolate treat. For a moment, he let himself ponder one more intimate night with her.
What could it hurt?
one side of his brain questioned.

But cheating on Michele would not make him feel better, even if she never found out. It had been so long since he even had the option of “cheating” because he had not been committed to a woman for years.

And while he and Michele had never said the words, their commitment was ironclad.

Evelyn did not care what he was thinking. She moved in closer, grabbing his waist and pressing her body up against his as they moved to Jay-Z's and Alicia Keys' “Empire State of Mind.” She grew up in Queens, NY, so that song was like an anthem to her.

And then something strange happened: Solomon felt awkward. He loved to feel a woman's body. On that same dance floor he had ridden woman's booties many times before. Once, a woman, a particularly bold woman, had guided his hand under her dress and between her legs.
Right there, on the crowded dance floor.

Evelyn was angling for something similar. The floor was packed, so there was no room for Solomon to retreat. She turned around and thrust her considerable ass on him. To avoid getting an erection, he started to think about baseball and math and C-SPAN. It didn't work.

When she felt his hardness, she smiled. And pressed harder. She understood a man with an erection was a man vulnerable to her desires. She also recalled the many times she would dance for Solomon at her house and what followed that erection she created.

Solomon remembered, too. They were fun memories. But they
were memories, not his new reality. That was brought home when he felt his phone vibrate in the harness on his hip. He pulled it out on the dance floor. It was Michele.

And his erection deflated like a popped balloon. He leaned into Evelyn's ear.

“Let's go,” he said, and she took it to mean to his house, so she gleefully maneuvered through the crowd, off the dance floor and straight toward the exit. At first, Solomon wanted to keep her in the club, but he decided it was too loud for the conversation he had in mind. He was not sure exactly what he would say, but he was ready to say it.

So, when they got outside, he walked her to her car.

“Where did you park?” she asked.

“Valet,” he said. “But it doesn't matter. I have to tell you something.”

He leaned on her car and folded his arms.

“I called you because I wanted to see you,” he began. “I've been M.I.A. because I reconnected with a woman from several years ago that I really liked and cared about.”