A Cold Piece of Work (5 page)

So, he did not even excuse himself from his friends, who were engaged in idle chatter about one thing or another. He eased away from his boys and trailed Michele and Sonya into the ballroom. After he found them standing near the bar, he approached.

“Excuse me,” he said to both ladies. “How are you? I'm Solomon. Solomon Singletary.”

The ladies looked at each other and smiled. He extended his hand. “I'm Michele Lynn. This is my cousin, Sonya.”

“I don't mean to bother you,” he said, looking into Michele's brown eyes. “I really felt compelled to meet you. Can't say why, either, other than the fact that you look wonderful tonight.”

“Really? Well, thank you…Solomon, right?” Michele said.

“Yes, that's right, Michele Lynn,” he said.

“You're good with names, I see,” Michele said.

“I pay attention to things that matter to me,” he said.

Seeing where Solomon was going, Sonya excused herself. “I'm going to get in this drink line,” she said.

“I'm impressed, Sonya,” Solomon said. “Most women almost instinctively try to pull their friend away or block when they see a man is interested. But you are willing to give Michele room to converse—very commendable. I'm impressed.”

“That's my cuz,” Michele said. “Always trying to peddle me off.”

The three of them laughed. “If you don't mind, I'll get your cocktails for you,” he said. “You shouldn't have to do that.”

“I could've sworn chivalry was dead,” Michele said.

“Burned and buried,” Sonya added.

“Well, I'm resurrecting it,” Solomon said.

“I heard that,” Sonya said.

Solomon took the drink orders, excused himself and returned a few minutes later with the cocktails. He had a hotel worker bring them on a platter.

“How about a toast?” he said, raising his Tanqueray and ginger ale. The ladies elevated their mojitos.

“To the beauty of meeting good people,” he said.

They all tapped glasses and took a sip of their respective drinks. The three of them chatted for the next several minutes; lighthearted conversation that gave Michele a chance to get comfortable with Solomon, to embrace his charm and wit. And vice versa.

After about twenty minutes, he said: “Michele, I realize that you're with your cousin and she's visiting, so I really don't want to break up your bonding opportunity. But I'd love to meet you for lunch tomorrow. Both of you. I know of a little Latin place on 14th between G and H called Ceiba. Very good food—and far better mojitos than those, I'm sure.”

“What do we have planned tomorrow?” Michele said to Sonya.

“Whatever it was, it just got changed,” Sonya answered, and Solomon could not help but laugh.

“I like you,” he said to Sonya. “You're too much.”

He was well aware that getting the friend's endorsement was like winning Iowa in the Presidential primaries. Her seal of approval meant everything.

“Well, I guess we're available then,” Michele said, smiling. She was interested but not anxious. And Solomon respected that. It
showed that she was sure of herself. She gave no sense of desperation. Still, she was skillful enough to not discourage Solomon, either.

“Good,” Solomon said. “And thank you.”

“Thank you,” the women said in unison.

He reached inside his suit pocket to pull out a card. He turned it over and wrote his cell phone number, the name of the restaurant and its location.

“Is one o'clock too late?” he asked. “I figure that should be enough time for you to sleep in a little, lay around and gossip and still make it to the restaurant.”

“You've got it all figured out, huh?” Michele said.

“Pretty much,” he answered without smiling, and Michele was then really intrigued.

He had a confidence that the men previous in her life lacked. They were either intimidated by her height and strong presence or insecure or lacking in chivalry or unaware of how to treat a woman or just plain uninteresting. Something.

Solomon walked outside the ballroom into the lobby with Michele and Sonya, where Solomon's boys were still hanging. “If I know my friends, they'll be over here in about fifteen seconds,” he said to the women.

Before Sonya could get “really?” out of her mouth good, all four of them were in their space.

“Okay, okay, gentlemen,” Solomon said. “Put your tongues back in your mouth.”

“I'm checking to see if these ladies are all right,” said Brad, Solomon's fraternity brother and golf partner. “You like to snatch purses.”

Everyone laughed.

“You're right,” Solomon said. “I did snatch your purse earlier.”

Everyone burst into laughter again. And Michele instantly became more intrigued.
And he's funny, too,
she thought to herself.

Over the next thirty minutes or so, the seven of them ended up conversing about the CBC, the Redskins, Atlanta vs. D.C., the seemingly overabundance of black gay men and on and on.

When Solomon noticed Michele moving to Jay-Z's and Alicia Keys' song “Empire State of Mind,” he sidled over to her. “How about we get a dance or two in?” he said into her ear. “I hate to let a good song go to waste.”

“Same here,” she said. “I'd love to.”

They chatted and smiled at each other while they danced. But even as he watched Michele, Solomon prospected the worse.
There's got to be something wrong with her,
he actually thought on the dance floor.
Why doesn't she have a man? Probably crazy.

Michele's thoughts were different.
Could I be so lucky to actually find a man who has something between his ears? Who knows how to act? Who is tall enough?

“This turned out much different than I expected,” Michele said at her car; Solomon walked with her and Sonya at the end of the event. “I expected my feet to be hurting and to be ready to go home and to bed. But my feet feel fine and I'm wide awake.”

Solomon laughed. “That's funny because my feet hurt.”

“I couldn't see your shoes in there.” Sonya glanced down. “Nice. You know you can tell a lot about a man through his feet?”

“His shoes or his feet?”

“Both,” Sonya said.

“I'm not even going to ask you to explain what it means,” Solomon said.

“Oh, I'll tell you,” Sonya said.

“No, you won't,” Michele interjected.

Solomon grinned. “I'm sure I have an idea.”

Sonya winked. “You have on a nice pair of shoes.”

“Thank you.”

“What size do you wear, Solomon?”

“These are a 13—and they are a size small,” he said, and they laughed.

“I heard
that
,” Michele said.

“It was a pleasure; you ladies made my night,” Solomon said.

Sonya extended her hand for him to shake.

“We've had drinks together, talked about everything under the sun, including the value of a man's shoe size… We've graduated beyond the hand-shaking stage,” Solomon said.

Then he opened his arms and leaned in and hugged Sonya. “Goodnight,” she said.

He turned to Michele. They hugged. With her in his arms, he said, “Thank you. Ah, and you smell good, even at the end of the night. I guess you aren't wearing Avon.”

They laughed.

“Please call to let me know you all made it home,” he said.

“The chivalry never ends, huh?” she asked.

“Why would it?” Solomon answered. “Why should it?”

That was their beginning. From there, they dated hard, but it was more than two months before they were intimate. He wanted her in bed long before then, but he was patient and unwilling to rush something with someone he felt so good about. After that first time, though, they were physically drawn to each other as if by magnets.

“Seems like the more I have of you, the more I need to have you,” Michele said to him a month after they first slept together. “I realize that I used the word ‘need' instead of ‘want.' Being with you has become something I need to feel good physically and mentally. It's become a part of my life.”

All that, and it did not prevent Solomon from leaving her with any notion he had accepted a marketing director position with Coca-Cola at its headquarters in Atlanta. And that thought—eight years later—haunted him.

“Damn,” he said as he lay in darkness on his bed. “Damn.”

T
he serenity of a quiet morning brought no peace for Solomon. He woke up feeling cold on the outside and empty on the inside. So he lay there in bed, under the covers, unable to sleep, thinking, reminiscing. It was 5:24 a.m.

Solomon was ambivalent about mornings as it was. “Is it more the end of a good night or the beginning of a not-so-good day?” he liked to ask.

Uncomfortable physically and mentally, he still managed to come to a personal truth he never before pondered. It wasn't as if seeing Michele aroused feelings in him that he did not know existed. Seeing her
confirmed
a connection he had with her, one that he actually…feared.

He did not disappear on her because he believed she would disappoint him. He did so because he was afraid she could hurt him. And for Solomon, like most men, to feel vulnerable in a relationship with a woman was unbearable.

It also was undeniable. They were together only six months, but it was 182 days of fun, enlightenment, adventure, calm and even growth. In that time Solomon found himself doing things he had no interest in doing—and enjoying them.

Like cooking. Michele loved to eat and was stellar in the kitchen: “Ah, excuse me, but I prefer to be called chef,” she said to Solomon after the first meal she prepared for him.

It was so delicious that Solomon accepted an invitation to cook the next meal with her, and ended up not only enjoying the process,
but he eventually became an outstanding cook himself. “You don't have to call me a chef,” he told Michele after he made stuffed trout, pesto risotto and sautéed peppers for her. “As long as you like it, you can call me Julia Child if you want.”

He was enlightened and impressed that Michele had the courage to eschew a solid career as a lawyer to pursue a new business as a caterer. He, at first, thought it was a silly notion. Then he listened to her talk about the joy and reward she received in creating dishes in the kitchen and the satisfaction she gained from people enjoying her food.

“I can actually hear the passion and commitment in your voice,” he said. “This is what makes you happy. There's a lot to be said for pursuing your passion.”

Michele also influenced Solomon to skydive—something he never even pondered. She tried it once with a lawyer friend who regularly “jumped,” and the thrill was addictive.

“If you're afraid,” she said to Solomon, “I understand.”

She knew what buttons to push with him. “It's not about being afraid,” he said. “I'm not afraid of anything. It's just that I don't see the point.”

“I think you're afraid,” she insisted. “It's okay to be afraid; admit it. For me, I get a great thrill. It's the most liberating thing you can do. But if you're afraid…”

“Set it up,” Solomon said, almost defiantly. “Let's do it.”

And so, they drove to Chantilly, Virginia that following weekend and “jumped.”

On the small plane, as it headed to the height of the flight, Solomon looked over at Michele. She was calm, smiling. “You okay, Solomon? You're going to love it. I promise.”

“What if I don't? What do I get?”

“Whatever you want.”

Solomon flashed a devilish smile.

A few minutes later, they were at the drop zone. “I'll go first!” she yelled. “Just do what you were taught to do! You'll be fine!” Then she jumped out of the airplane—and that daring was a turn-on for Solomon.

Fearless
, he thought to himself.
Fearless
.

He, meanwhile, was fearful. In a matter of seconds, all the predictable questions surfaced: What if he panicked and forgot to pull the rip chord? What if the rip chord didn't come out? What if the parachute malfunctioned? How would it feel to crash to the earth?

Then another thought hit him:
Jump.

And he pulled the goggles over his eyes, gave the jumper assistant the “thumbs-up” and they dropped through the hole in the plane.

All the training he had kicked in. He could see Michele just beneath him, arms and legs extended. She looked to be flying. He did the same and, after the initial stone-cold fear wore off, he took in the majesty of the view, and a sense of calm and exhilaration collided to create a once-in-a-lifetime stream of emotions.

The world was below him. Nothing mattered. He was at peace. Solomon waved to Michele and she waved back and, at thirteen thousand feet above the earth, he felt closer to her.

When the time came, he released his rip chord, the parachute came out and he shot up in the air. The breath in his body came out for a moment. He was no longer flying; he was floating.

Solomon was astonished at the feeling that came over him. He felt closer to God. He felt revived. Below him was a world that had no idea he was hovering above it. He felt free and more alive than ever.

When they careened onto the earth and pulled off their parachutes,
Solomon hurried over to Michele. He didn't say a word. He ripped off his goggles and threw them to the ground. Then he embraced her and delivered the most passionate kiss he ever had shared. They fell onto the ground, and he continued to kiss her.

“Wow,” Michele said, when their mouths finally parted. “We should jump every day, if that's the reaction I'm going to get.”

They were lying on their backs, panting, looking up at the sky. “Girl, that was…incredible. I mean, unbelievably incredible,” he said. “My heart is still racing. But not really from fear. From excitement. Amazing… Amazing.”