The Crossover (2 page)

“Clay, do you mind if I take a shower, I’ve been in these clothes all day?” Monet said as she dropped her overnight bag next to the coffee table.

“Shower? Ah yeah. I mean no. I mean of course. The shower is just to the right over there,” I replied anxiously.

There were few sights in life that were more beautiful than Monet stepping out of the shower. Those images were burned and seared into my subconscious years before. My biggest question was this...
Was this a prelude to lovemaking?

I followed her into the bedroom area and opened the en suite door. I narrowed it down to just two options. In the morning, I would either be the happiest man in the world or the most tormented man in the world, depending on how the night went.

Monet kissed me on the cheek as she walked into the en suite and shooed me away so she could close the door.

As I heard the water running, I thought to myself, why did she close the door? I’d seen all parts of her gorgeous body a million times before. I sat on the bed fidgeting with my hands and tapping my right foot waiting for what seemed like an eternity. A part of me wanted to get undressed and wait for her under the covers.
No.
That would be too bold and assuming. As I heard the shower subside, I decided to open a complimentary bottle of champagne and poured two glasses.

Monet opened the door and came out with just a white terrycloth towel draped around her. Once again, I had to keep in mind that we had not been intimate in over twenty years. Her being half-naked in front of me was not a license to thrill, or was it?

As she sat on the bed next to me I handed her a glass of champagne; in the background I could hear Luther Vandross singing
So Amazing.

“So Ms. Dawson, what should we toast to?”

Monet scooted even closer to me and put her leg over mine like she used to back in the day.

“How about we toast to Robert having an uneventful and safe tour in Afghanistan?” Monet said with the glass tilted in my direction.

“Cheers. To Robert, our son. May he have an uneventful and safe tour,” I toasted as we touched glasses.

“Monet, we have a son together? Wow, I can’t believe it. I remember we practiced safe sex in the beginning, but we stopped for some reason.”

“Clay, we used condoms at first but they kept breaking, remember? It was pointless.”

“That’s right. I remember now.”

“I can’t believe we took such risks back then. But we were in love and love is… well you know. Clay you gotta promise me that no one will ever find out.”

“Monet, I promise. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I understand.”

“So, Clay, what do you remember most about the time we spent together?” Monet asked as she placed her head on my shoulder and her arm around my waist.

Reminiscing about the good old days really eased my mind. I went there effortlessly.

“There is so much that I remember, but what I remember most is the intensity of my feelings and how my whole world hinged on us. I remember hypnotizing you and seeing you coming out of trance. I knew something happened to you during the session, something that gave you an instant connection to me. Monet, I remember everything there is to remember about you. You never left my mind, not for a second.”

“Hmm. I find that hard to believe, it’s been a long time. Let’s play a little game. It’s a game that I think you’ll like.”

“Okay, sure. What kind of game?”

“I will ask you four questions, and if you answer all four questions right I will lose my towel and I will be yours all night and all morning,” Monet said seductively.

“Well, you might as well drop the towel now because I remember everything.”

Monet took a big sip of her champagne and I followed suit. This would be fun.

“Okay, remember the
Jeopardy
game we use to play?”

“Yes, Ms. Dawson.”

“Okay, first question. What is my favorite color?”

I over-dramatized my confoundedness. Pretending not to know the answer. Monet gave me a sassy look.

“Ah, Alex, that’s a tough one. How about… purple for 100 please.”

Monet nodded with approval. One down, three to go.

“What was our second favorite song back then?”

“Hmm, that’s a hard one. I know our favorite song was Johnny Gill’s
My, My, My,
but it’s a toss-up for second place. It’s between Alexander O’Neal’s
If You Were Here Tonight
or Keith Washington’s
Kissing You.
Alex, I will take
Kissing You
for 200 please.”

Monet caressed the side of my face and smiled. It was the right answer.

“Okay, Mister. Besides the obvious, where is the most sensitive part of my body?”

Her question did not require a verbal answer. Immediately, I moved her wavy hair behind her shoulder and passionately kissed her neck just inches below her earlobe.

She shuddered and her head tilted to the side exposing her neck. We lost ourselves in passion to soft music and dim lighting.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Monet, I got a little too carried away. I think there was one more question.”

Monet’s eyes were glassy and she was moving in slow motion. She looked at me with lust in her heart. I could have easily continued and progressed into pure decadence.

“Whew Clay, that brought back memories. Okay, one last question for the night. Are you in a relationship?” Monet asked as she sat back up.

“Monet, my final answer is, I am not in a relationship.”

I stood and turned the lights completely off. I began to undress but her mood suddenly changed. For some unknown reason she just snapped out of it. She tightened the towel around her midriff and stood in front of me.

“Clay, I want to make love to you, but I can’t. At least not right now. Things are happening too fast. I need to take it slow.
Yawn.
Look, it’s almost 1am. I’m tired, really tired. I think I’m going to sleep. Goodnight,” she said as she kissed me on the cheek.

Monet walked into the closet and reached for an extra blanket before lying down on the sofa in the living room. Something was wrong and I had no clue what it was.

“Clay, can you kill the lights, please.”

I killed all the lights all right, including the flicker in my heart.

My alarm was just about to go off, but I hit the button just seconds before. I was already up. All night I replayed memories of Monet and me from the past. Despite our lack of intimacy, I was falling deeper for her. I spent all night analyzing things in my head. I think I figured it out. Monet fell for me at a time when I was almost penniless and unsure of my path in life. She never had a hidden agenda; all I could offer her was love. That was enough for her.

Over the years as my situation improved I met a few women who shared a very different perspective and boldly stated:

“So, how do I get my name on the mortgage?”

“We love Marines everyday; we love our husbands on payday.”

“I really don’t care about a man’s wallet; I just care about what’s in it.”

I think what bonded Monet and me together more than anything was absolute trust. I never looked at another woman when I was with her, I didn’t need to. Monet ticked all my boxes and gave me new ones.

While I showered I decided to ask Monet if she could extend her stay a few more days so we could spend time together. She was in town to see our son Robert off, but then she was headed back to Indiana.

As I stepped out the shower I saw Monet in my bed under the covers and I could smell the aroma of hazelnut coffee.

“Good morning, Gunny,” Monet said as she sat up.

“Gunny? Okay, then I order you to be here at 17:30 when I return. Is that clear?” I commanded in jest.

“Aye, aye, sir,” Monet replied, with a firm salute.

“Monet, could you stay a few days with me? The room is all paid for and feel free to order anything you want. Just put it on the room.”

Monet motioned for me to join her on the bed. Now it was my turn to cover up with a towel after showering.

“Drink your coffee, it’s getting cold. While you were in the shower, I rescheduled my flight back home. I leave when you leave.”

As I got dressed for work, I kept thinking about how I could make this better than before. I needed to take some of the emphasis off sex and focus more on her. I wanted to date her properly.

“Clay, I’ve seen you get dressed so many times for work. But it’s strange to see you put on a suit and tie, and not your Marine uniform.”

“Don’t let my appearance fool you. I haven’t changed, I’m still me.”

Monet followed me to the door still wrapped in her towel. But when she kissed me, it fell to the floor. It was hard not to look.

W
hile checking into visitor control, I saw several retired Marines behind the counter checking in newly-arrived personnel. When I was on active duty I remember the old retirees that hung around base. I never understood why they felt it was so important to make a beeline to active duty Marines. It was always the same routine.

“Hey devil dog. Whatcha know good? What are they paying sergeants these days?”

No matter what you said, they had the same response.

“I’ll be damned. Back in the old Corps we only got…”

I made a promise that I would never be like that. One of them.

It wasn’t until I retired that I truly appreciated retirees and understood their desire to connect with the younger generation.

While waiting in line I overheard a woman Marine (also referred to as WMs back in the day) talk about her next assignment in the counter-intelligence field. I was pleasantly surprised because when I retired from Marine Corps counter-intelligence, women were not permitted to sign up.

“Excuse me, Sergeant.”

“Sir?” replied the tall and slender female Marine.

“Are you an 0211, counter-intelligence specialist?”

“Yes, I am,” replied the sergeant.

“That’s great. Glad to see they finally opened up the field to WMs. Back when I was in it was male only.”

She seemed to take offense to my comment. It wasn’t until lunchtime did I find out that the term WM was no longer PC or acceptable as it was considered offensive to women. The new Marine Corps no longer distinguished between males and females. We were all Marines, period. I suddenly realized I had become one of those old fogies that I resented during my time in.

The food court at the Russell Knox Center was upscale compared to any other Marine base I had been stationed. There were so many choices, Italian, Southern, Chinese and subs. I ordered the baby back ribs with mac and cheese as a side. Although I had acquired an English palate from being in the UK for so long, I never forgot my first love, American-style cuisine.

As I took my last bite, I was kindly interrupted by a pat on the back.

“Gunny T?”

“Ramirez? Is that you?”

Ramirez and I served together in Mogadishu, Somalia during
Operation Restore Hope
in 1993. Ramirez was a distinguished marksman and was one of the best shooters in the Armed Forces. During an assault on a warlord’s stronghold in Mogadishu, Ramirez took out a sniper from about 600 yards with one shot. It was rainy and cloudy that morning and we were getting sprayed with rapid machine-gun fire from an unknown location. Ramirez took the shot standing from behind the corner of a building. The sniper never saw it coming. I believe he saved a lot of lives that day. I put him in for a medal but it was denied for political reasons.

“Congratulations on your many promotions. Master Gunnery Sergeant,” I said.

“Thanks, Gunny. Lots of changes since you retired. It’s always something new. But, I’ve got two more years to go then I’m putting my papers in for retirement. So what brings you here?”

“I work for INTERPOL in the UK now. I’m here for a seminar on African organized crime. It’s really interesting so far. Our last guest speaker just came out of the Moroccan witness protection program six months ago. So what are you doing here at Quantico?”