Friends and Lovers (17 page)

He did.

And I was so wet it was a shame.

After I crossed that threshold, I found the part of him I’d released before my release, squeezed him, moved him, teased him, found a rhythm of rise and fall, and took him to that same place.

Then we sat in the quiet. Part of me was ashamed because he saw me orgasm. That was very personal for me. And since we’d just had some kind of digital sex, some outercourse, I wasn’t sure if he’d respect me anymore. Men do change their minds after they’ve conquered. And part of me felt defeated. I knew better than to do what I just did. But I have to pretend that it was business as usual.

Leonard kissed me. He asked, “You okay?”

“Yeah. We’re messy. Your children are all over the floor.”

We both laughed. That made me feel better. But my laugh was a forced relief.

He asked, “How do you feel?”

I knew a difference in my attitude showed. That feeling of uncertainty and insecurity that came after the fact had arrived. That what-now? sensation. I was stunned by what I had done in an empty house on a cul de sac on Don Diego in Baldwin Hills.

Leonard held me. Tight. But not too tight. I was glad I didn’t have to ask to be held after the fact. Couldn’t remember if I ever didn’t have to ask to be held after the fact. My emotions felt like they were overflowing from my seat of passion. I loved that. And I resented it too. I felt frustrated and powerless. Where did we go from here?

I said, “Aren’t you supposed to tell a joke or something?”

He kissed my forehead. “Nope.”

I didn’t want to waste my emotions. I knew too many women who had wasted their emotions over the years. I didn’t like what they had evolved into. They were some mean black women. Disillusioned. Frustrated. Powerless in their own lives. Settling for another woman’s husband or another woman’s boyfriend or their teenage son’s best friend. Exhausted to the point of being emotionally indifferent. Jaded to the point of being numb. Living with wounded souls. And most of them were under thirty.

I wanted to talk to him about it, but I didn’t want him to devalue what I said. Make what I feel seem like less.

“Leonard? Does anybody ever see this serious side of you?”

“Few people.”

“Would you share this side with a man?”

“With Tyrel. He’s real. We have real conversations.

Talk about how we feel. That’s why he’s my ace.”

“Can we talk about how we feel for a while?”

“Okay.”

“I mean about us. Not Tyrel or Shelby or your family or my family or anything else.”

“Okay.”

I sat us face-to-face so I could see his Asian eyes in the light we had. I needed to see his reaction to what I said.

“Leonard, just listen to me.”

“As long as you need.”

“I hope my words have a point.”

“Okay.”

“I need to define what we’re doing so we can call it what it is. If it’s nothing, we’ll call it that. If it’s this week, we’ll call it that. That way I’ll know how much of me to invest in this, whatever we’re doing. I mean, I don’t know if I’m supposed to just be dating you, or seeing other people, or what. I don’t know if I have the right to think about you as much as I do. I think about you, it feels good, and that bothers me because I don’t know if I have the right to think about you.”

“I love you.”

I said, “Saying it doesn’t make it true.”

“Where would you like to see this go?”

“You’re sounding frustrated.”

“Well, yeah. If I tell you how I feel, and you doubt it, that tells me what I say ain’t being taken seriously.”

“I want to believe you. Okay, I do. Just with reservations. I’ve brought some baggage into this, so it’s hard.”

“Once more again, where would you like this to go?”

I hesitated. Barricaded my feelings. “I’m afraid to say.”

“Do you know?”

“Yeah,” my voice lowered, “I know.”

“Say it. I’m here for you.”

“I’d like to get married one day. Eventually.”

He didn’t say anything. Left me hanging out there by myself.

I said, “I’m not saying that because—Well, I don’t want you to think I’m trying to back you into that corner. But I’ve been thinking about you and wondering and imagining it. I think it’s a natural process. Part of the evolution of a relationship. Maybe more for a woman than a man. Where do you go after intimacy? Either the relationship dissolves or moves to a higher plateau.”

He smiled. “You’re sounding intellectual.”

I laughed. “Guess I listen to too much Dr. Laura.”

We sat in silence for a moment. I smelled the sex we had left in the air. Wished I could wake up to that fragrance every morning. Then I wished I didn’t wish what I just wished.

Leonard said, “I would too.”

“Would what?”

“Like to get married. Actually, I was thinking about it. But it scares me, so I’ve been sitting on it.”

“So what are you saying?”

“Maybe we should think about it. Be open with what each of us wants. Talk about it. We could make an appointment with a minister and talk it over. Find some direction.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“Serious. I’m gonna need somebody to share this house with.”

“What house?”

“This house.”

“This house?”

“I’m gonna buy it.”

“One more time, what house are you talking about?”

“The house we’re trespassing in.”

I laughed. “You’re going to buy this house? This house has to cost at least a quarter million.”

“Damn right. You said you would live here.”

“Yeah. I did. But that was hypothetical. Stop talking about stuff like that. We hardly know each other.”

As soon as I said that I felt stupid. The kind of stupid that made me feel twelve years old. Made me realize how little people knew about each other, even after sex. Knowing isn’t a qualification for intimacy.

He said, “Then let’s know each other. Tell me something.”

“What?”

“Tell me all about your boyfriends. Tell me about what they’ve done to you.”

I shifted. “That’s an eerie request. Why you want to know my personal business?”

“That’s the only way I’ll know you, so far as relationships are concerned. If I know what you’ve been through, what brothers have put you through, I can make sure I don’t go there with you.”

And I became more afraid of this man than I was before I let him touch my private parts and see me make faces I couldn’t hold back. I said, “Brothers don’t like to hear all that.”

“You don’t think you’re worth listening to?”

His voice was smooth, trusting. Nothing like the man I’d seen on stage or with Tyrel and Shelby. And I was nothing like the woman he had seen with Tyrel and Shelby. Nothing like the woman he had met at Denny’s. We were beyond that. Only a few could say they had ever seen me this exposed.

I scooted up to him, put my back to his chest, pulled his arms around me so he couldn’t see my face while I contemplated.

And I told him. Without names, I told him about those who left without a good-bye, told him about something I thought was real but ended up a one-night stand, about one who hit me, about being date-raped, about one who left because I felt uncomfortable with premarital sex. Another thought I went to church too much; one said I worked out too much, studied too much. About a couple who didn’t listen to what I needed, so I left them. I didn’t talk long, just five minutes or so. Long enough to bring up bad memories. Enough to make me wonder if there was a pattern.

Shelby had experienced much of the same. Different faces, different times, still the same. And I hoped she didn’t earn any more pain from Tyrel. He came across nice, but sometimes those were the worst kind. But I didn’t tell Leonard any of that paragraph of thought. I’d never tell my friend’s personal business. Never. That’s why we’re buddies for life.

I asked, “Are you ready because you lost somebody?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, did you get busted and now you’re trying to straighten up the way men do after they’ve lost their true love?”

Leonard said, “Nope. Not at all. I broke up with a few people because my priorities were wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had put entertainment in front of relationship.”

“Typical entertainer.”

“Yeah. At times when I should’ve been cultivating what I had, I assumed what I had would be there when I got offstage.”

“But it wasn’t. She wasn’t.”

“Nope. After a while you end up with nothing but a script in your hand and a bagful of jokes. That’s not what life is about.”

“What’s life all about?”

“Friends and family.”

I smiled. “Sounds like an MCI commercial.”

Leonard laughed. “Cracking jokes, huh? I’m the comedian.”

“And I’m the butterfly. I’m sorry”—I laughed—“I didn’t mean to cut you off. Go ahead, baby.”

I surprised myself when I called him
baby.
Surprised because I didn’t know if I had the right to use that term of endearment.

Then he said, “My oldest brother is forty and still out there playing the dating game. Forty is kind of old to be chasing twenty-year-old women and keeping up with the latest dances. Running three or four women.”

“Kind of disrespectful too. Very disrespectful.”

“That’s all he knows. He acts like he’s happy running women, but he’s lonely as hell. He’s the first one to get to the club, the last one to leave. I don’t want to end up like him.”

“Does he have any kids?”

“A handful.”

“Same woman?”

He shook his head. “A handful.”

I was quiet. Thinking about the frustrated women I knew.

Leonard’s voice softened and he said, “I don’t want to end up an old man, living alone, sitting on a porch, watching other people’s kids walking home from school.”

I dropped what he said about wanting to marry me. I let his words and promises be just that—words and promises. I devalued it in order to keep my expectations from changing.

Leonard said, “I’ve got a friend in a dilemma. Help me out.”

“What?”

“My friend’s in love with this dream woman.”

“Uh-huh.”

“If the brother was going to ask the dream sister to marry him, to be with him until three days after forever, how would you recommend he did it?”

I swallowed. Tried to be cool about it. I said, “He could always take her out to a nice restaurant. Over a candlelit dinner. Just the two of them.”

“Would he have to have the ring then?”

“It would help. That’s usually the way it goes.”

“What if he wanted to shop for it with her?”

“That would work too. He could be ceremonious and ask after. But I guess he could always ask before. Depends on the couple.”

He kissed the side of my face. Again I was on fire, but I made my mind subdue the flames.

He said, “What’re you doing tomorrow after work?”

“Nothing.” My voice was softer than it had ever been. I’d never heard myself sound so sweet. So scared. “Why?”

“I want to take you out to dinner. Candles. Flowers. Maybe we could go shopping after I get back from Arizona.”

I paused. “Shopping for?”

“Just for a little something to keep your finger warm.”

My eyes watered up. And my throat tightened.

He said, “Can you make it?”

I couldn’t even talk, couldn’t find a simple word. Overwhelmed is what I was. Head to toe I was stupefied, in a good way. All I could do was nod my head a couple of times.

I said, “Let me check my day planner. I might be free.”

Leonard kissed my face again. “If not, I’ll understand.”

I said, “About your friend who wants to marry this girl.”

“Yeah?”

“He could just ask her. The restaurant thing is old. If he loved her, and he meant his words, and she loved him, and she wanted him too, that would be enough. More than enough.”

“Maybe at sunrise on the beach. Watch a dark yesterday become a bright today. Sunrise could represent the start of something new. Leaving old pains behind.”

“That would be beautiful. Most women never get asked to marry by the man they’d love to marry. I’m sure.”

He held me for a while. Rocked us side to side in warmth.

“Debra?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you go watch the sunrise with me in the morning?”

“Yeah. I’d love to.”

More tears rolled down my face. I didn’t touch them. Contentment had never been as kind to me as it was that moment.

Neither of us mentioned it anymore. We talked about everything else, about other people, about Tyrel and Shelby, about his family, about my family. We talked about everything but what was on our minds before we cleaned ourselves and left.

At home I’d shower. Be restless. Avoid sleep. Wait. Be so afraid. Bounce back and forth between the words
yes
and
no.

At sunrise Leonard would be with me on the beach. Just as the darkness faded and the sunshine eased over the top of the mountains, when the coal-black morning sky turned to gold, Leonard would kiss me. He would bow, lower himself to one knee just as the brightness lit up his face. Just as it lit up my face. He’d tell me how much he loved me. And he’d have a ring in his pocket. A ring he’d bought weeks before.

Before he could get the whole question out of his mouth, I’d kiss his trembling lips and say the word
yes
so many times, in so many ways it would become funny. We’d both laugh with more tears of joy. Then we’d go to Denny’s. The place we met. Tyrel and Shelby would already be there, with Faith and other friends.

I was on the back row of a 767 with Chiquita. She’s an attendant, but she wasn’t working. Outside was pitch-black and it was raining like crazy. Lightning was flashing all around the plane. The night reminded me of that
Twilight Zone
episode when the man looked out a window
and saw a crazy gremlin on the wings, ripping up the engine.

I was working a late-night flight back into L.A. from D.C. with a quickie layover in Atlanta. Georgia was where my flight attendant friend Chiquita hopped on, dressed in violet slacks and a colorful jacket, bow earrings, double golden bracelets. She was off work, in civvies. She was bumped off her direct flight from Atlanta to San Diego and had to fly into LAX and catch a hop down to San Diego so she could be on time for work tomorrow. Just because we flew for damn near free didn’t mean it was convenient.