Body By Night (17 page)

Night held D’Andra’s hand as they sat in Orlando Dobbs’ living room, just one week after receiving his wife’s phone call. It had been an emotionally draining whirlwind weekend, from the time they arrived on a red-eye Saturday morning until now, Monday, almost noon.

It started with the first meeting on Saturday, after Night and D’Andra had gotten a few hours sleep. They agreed to meet at a Starbucks near the condo where Orlando lived with Sylvia, his wife of almost twenty years. D’Andra guessed the meeting had gone as well as could be expected, but she was unprepared for the bluntness of it.

Night and D’Andra had approached the older Black couple who were already seated and sipping coffee when they arrived.

“Are you Orlando Dobbs?” D’Andra asked the sixtyish-looking man. She tried not to be obvious but couldn’t help staring hard at this stranger, trying to find herself in his face.

The man stood, hand outstretched. “I am. And you’re Mary’s daughter, D’Andra.”

“I’m your daughter too,” D’Andra replied, openly staring now. He looked nothing like she remembered, not that her memories were of much. He wasn’t a really tall man, around five-nine, but he was big. His stomach hung over the brown leather belt of his navy pants, and his jowls puffed out his face. D’Andra subconsciously placed a hand to her own round face.
Okay, I’ve got the shape of his face.
His salt-and-pepper short afro framed large, bloodshot eyes. Like D’Andra, it seemed Orlando had slept little in the past few days. Aside from a medium-sized mustache and a mole on the left side of his mouth, his face was clean-shaven.

“I’m Sylvia,” the woman who’d remained seated offered. She was not smiling but the words were not said unkindly. She appeared younger than Orlando, with deep brown skin that was smooth and clear. Her hair was short and curly with minimal streaks of gray. Her brightly colored sweater stood in stark contrast to her subdued personality. She motioned to the other side of the table. “Why don’t you two have a seat?”

A moment of awkward silence followed after introducing Night and before Orlando spoke. “So how is Mary?”

“She’s okay,” D’Andra said. She breathed and released, feeling comfort in talking about someone familiar. “I’ve been trying to get her to lose a little weight, eat healthy, but overall she’s doing pretty good. When was the last time you saw me…us?”

Orlando cleared his throat and fidgeted before answering. “I think you were around two or so. But…just what did Mary tell you about my leaving?”

“Mama hasn’t told me hardly anything about you. I asked repeatedly when I was younger, but gave up after I…when I was nine years old. And there’s so much I want to know. Aside from the obvious questions that any child might ask an absent parent, there are some specific health questions I need answered. A few months ago, I was thirty pounds heavier, suffering from diabetes and high blood pressure. When the doctor asked for a family history of these illnesses, I could only give one side. That’s when I became determined to find you.”

“Well, I do have high blood pressure; but no diabetes as yet thank the good Lord. That’s probably due to Sylvia here. She tries to keep me eating right. If I get fried chicken, it must either be a holiday or my birthday.”

D’Andra smiled briefly before abruptly changing the subject. “Why did you leave?”

Orlando squirmed again, clearly uncomfortable. The tension at the table became palpable as all their coffees sat cold and untouched.

Sylvia cleared her throat and broke the silence. “D’Andra, we feel that you should have a DNA test done to prove that you’re Orlando’s child.”

This suggestion, while valid, caught D’Andra totally off guard. It took her a moment to respond. “Of course that’s reasonable,” she began slowly. “I just never expected to…I mean, you lived with my mother until I was about two.”

“It’s just to be sure, baby,” Sylvia said. For the first time since meeting she showed true compassion. “This is a lot for all of us to take in, and if you’re Orlando’s child, we will welcome you to our family.” She looked at Orlando briefly, warmly. “We have three children between us, one I brought in from a previous marriage and two we’ve had together. If you’re his daughter you’ll be number four, and the oldest. But we want to be sure before we start reestablishing family ties.”

Unbeknownst to D’Andra, Sylvia had used connections with a doctor friend and set up an afternoon appointment for her and Orlando to get swabbed for DNA samples, which would then be delivered to a research lab for analysis. They guaranteed results within forty-eight hours. Now, come Monday, the envelope that held the answer was lying on the coffee table that separated Orlando and Sylvia, who were seated on the blue-and-white pin-striped couch, across from Night and D’Andra, who were perched anxiously on an oversized matching love seat in the Dobbses’ living room. The envelope had been delivered less than an hour before Night and D’Andra had arrived.

“Well, do you want to open it?” Sylvia asked Orlando.

“I could,” he responded. He smiled tentatively at the couple sitting opposite him and reached for the envelope.

“I’ll do it,” D’Andra said, grabbing the envelope before Orlando reached it. She was excited. For her the verification of his fatherhood status was merely a formality. She had a feeling she was going to like getting to know the man sitting across from her. He’d been distant until now, but she believed there to be a kind, lighthearted man underneath his guarded exterior. She smiled at Night briefly before tearing open the envelope.

“Here, you read it Night.”

“Are you sure?”

D’Andra smiled. “Of course.”

Night pulled the paper from the envelope and scanned its content.

“Well?” Sylvia asked.

Night looked briefly at Orlando and then at D’Andra. “Baby, this says he’s not your father.”

D’Andra glared at Mary, who sat nonchalantly on the couch. Her mother had danced around the question ever since D’Andra had returned from Chicago on Monday after getting the results of the DNA test. Now it was Saturday and after five days of “I don’t want to talk about it” D’Andra wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“How can you sit there and say you don’t know?” D’Andra repeated. “If Orlando Dobbs isn’t my father, there had to be somebody else, or was it more than one?”

“Who do you think you’re talking to? What I do in my bedroom is none of your damn business,” Mary retorted defensively. “I knew that fool would lie; he’s never owned up to anything in his life.”

“It’s the DNA test that didn’t lie, Mama. For thirty years I’ve thought a man named Orlando Dobbs was my father. Now I find out he isn’t. I also found out the reason he left, at least according to him. He said it was because of another man; and that that man might be my father. Was he talking about Sam or someone else?”

Mary eyed her daughter quietly. For a second, D’Andra thought her mother might cry. Just as quickly, the vulnerability left, replaced by a steely resolve.

“I’m sorry you didn’t hear what you wanted to in Chicago,” she said without emotion. “But I can’t tell you what you want to hear right now. There’s a lot of pain surrounding those early years with you and your sister. And I’m just not strong enough to dig around in that pain for the answer you need.”

D’Andra wondered about the pain of which her mother spoke, but wondered more about the man whose DNA she shared, the one who now she might never know.

Twenty minutes later, D’Andra was out of the house and on her way to the gym. Shortly after she started her car, her cell phone rang.

“Is this D’Andra Smalls?” a perky sounding voice asked.

“Yes.”

“This is Jenny with Palatial Apartments. We called you last week about a one-bedroom that was coming available. You’d listed with Place Finders saying you were looking. Are you still interested?”

“Who is this?”

In all the drama surrounding her trip to Chicago, D’Andra had forgotten all about the message she received the day she and her mother had argued about finding her father. All she remembered from listening to it is that it had said something about “finders.” She’d automatically connected it with Peoplesearch.com, the Web site that had helped her locate her father, no, the man she’d thought for nearly three decades was her dad. She was grateful the woman had called her back. A move was exactly the fresh air she needed.

“It’s Jenny with—”

“I’m very interested,” D’Andra cut off Jenny’s reply.

“When can you come take a look at the unit?”

“Right now. What’s the address?”

Two and a half hours later, D’Andra left Culver City and headed to Inglewood, and Night’s house. She’d decided on the cozy, yet comfortable one-bedroom apartment as soon as she’d stepped into the living room. The layout was open, with a simple bar separating the kitchen from the combined living/dining area. The bathroom was nice-sized and the bedroom had a walk-in closet. It was perfect. She’d filled out the paperwork on the spot and left a check for deposit pending her application’s approval. Since it was the third week in March, the manager even offered to let her move in immediately but not charge rent until April first. That offer helped seal the deal. The faster she moved from the chaos, the better. D’Andra’s heart still felt heavy, but she was beginning to breathe again.

Night, as always, was a welcomed sight.

“Where are your gym clothes?”

“Hello to you, too,” D’Andra responded before kissing him fully on the mouth. She had open access to his lips now and still couldn’t get enough. Nor could she believe her luck in finding a man like Night: kind, trustworthy and fine on top of that.

“I wasn’t thinking about working out when I came here,” she said in response to his question. “Besides, it’s Saturday.”

“I don’t know why not. You know you’re my favorite workout partner,” Night said. He filled his hands with her buttocks, and squeezed them as if they were ripe fruit.

“Doll…you feel so good,” he said after placing several kisses across her nose and cheeks. “I love how tight this is getting. But it’s still juicy.” He squeezed her buttocks again and moaned as he reclaimed her lips.

D’Andra explored his body in kind. She ran her hand over his close-cropped black hair, relishing the feel of its nappiness. She ran her hands along his back and across his hard, tight butt…her favorite feature. She felt him harden as she continued to massage his gluteous maximus.
Well, almost my favorite,
she thought as he began a slow grind in the middle of the living room.

“We’re going to work out,” Night whispered. “And then we’re going to
work out.”

“I told you, I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Don’t worry about that…I have everything you need.”

Night took her hand and began to lead her toward his bedroom.

“Wait,” D’Andra protested. “We need to talk. I’ve got some things to tell you.”

Night’s face quickly turned from playful to concerned. “What’s the matter? Is this about your real father?”

D’Andra relayed the conversation she’d had with her mother. “I don’t know if I’ll ever know who he is,” she concluded. “And I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“There’s nothing you can do but let it be, at least for now.” Night waited for what he felt a respectful time and then said, “Okay, let’s get changed.”

“Wait just a minute, Mr. Impatient. I have something else to tell you.”

“What? You’re not pregnant are you?”

“Why would you ask that question? You’ve always used protection and I’m on the pill.”

Jazz.
“I’m just teasing you,” Night said. But he wasn’t. Jazz had used that line on him more than once, and to this day he didn’t know whether she’d ever really carried his child.

“I’ve got a place,” D’Andra said. Her eyes shined with excitement. She paced the room as she told Night about it.

He didn’t share her enthusiasm. “I wish you would move in here with me.” He’d given the invitation more than once, after conversations about her less-than-happy living environment.

“You know how much I care about you. But I’m going through a lot of different feelings and emotions right now, making changes in myself, my life. I just need a little space to sort it all out, and after living with five other people in a two-bedroom for months, a little solitude.”

“I understand, but you know you’re going to pay for this decision, don’t you?” He reached for D’Andra’s hand and began leading her toward the bedroom.

“How so?” she asked coyly, her body already tingling in anticipation.

Night reached the bedroom, walked over to his closet and after a few moments pulled out a pink-and-white baby doll T-shirt, D’Andra’s favorite kind, and a pair of pink shorts.

“By getting into your workout clothes and meeting me downstairs. You’ve put me in a mood, doll. And I’m going to make you sweat.”

Put him in a mood?
D’Andra wondered what that meant. Was it a good mood or a bad mood? She couldn’t tell from his expression. Was he joking? She sure hoped so. Her stomach was still slightly sore from the last round of crunches and even though her core, leg and arm muscles were stronger, she still didn’t look forward to thirty minutes of lifts, squats and stretches.

She dressed quickly in the workout attire Night had purchased, admiring his taste and attention to detail in remembering what she liked. When she walked down the stairs into the home gym, Night was busy doing pushups on the blue rubber mat. She stopped and quietly noted a body of perfection. How his chiseled arms bent and straightened, causing his back muscles to ripple as smoothly as a song. She eyed the slight curve of his back and the valley at the small of it before it expanded to reveal two dimples above a firm, round behind. His thighs could have been sculpted by an artist, so expertly proportioned was the design. His thighs bulged as his legs helped hold his weight and his calf muscles bulged their participation as well.

“Are you going to stand there ogling me all day, or are you going to join me?” Night asked, without stopping his exercise and without looking up.

“I wasn’t looking at you,” D’Andra said.

They both laughed at that lie. Night stopped, went to his knees and motioned D’Andra over.

“Let’s start with push-ups.”

Forty-five sweaty minutes later, they were done. Night had pushed D’Andra physically farther than he’d ever done before: a fast-paced ten minutes on the stationary bike, a ten-minute run on the treadmill followed by kick-boxing, core work including crunches and squats, and exercises to tone her glutes and quads. Both she and Night were sweating and the gym, which Night purposely kept on the warm side, felt a bit similar to a low-heat sauna.

D’Andra sprawled onto the blue mat. “Night, my abs hurt.”

Night stood above her with outstretched hands. “Come on, doll.”

He guided her gently up the stairs and to the bathroom where he stripped her out of her wet workout clothes. Without saying a word, he turned on the water, hot, and then stripped as well. That’s where the loving started.

Soaping her front to back, he used his own body to massage the healing scent of chamomile into D’Andra’s skin. He then sat her on the seat Night had installed into his extra wide tub-and-shower unit, took emu, a healing oil for sore joints and muscles, and worked it into D’Andra’s tissues. As the water poured over them both, he worked from her toes to her shoulders, around to the back of her neck and back to her thighs and calves, massaging, kneading and releasing tension with every stroke. By the time he finished, D’Andra was as limp as a noodle, and as horny as the brass section of California’s Symphony Orchestra.

Night was getting ready to take care of that too. After using a large, fluffy soft towel to dry off D’Andra, he led her into the bedroom.

“Get on the bed,” he said, the first words he’d uttered since saying “Come on, doll.”

D’Andra hadn’t spoken either, partly because she’d initially been too tired to think and partly because she was mesmerized at Night’s tender ministrations. She felt cared for, protected, something she hadn’t had the chance to feel often. And she was loving every minute of it, her tiredness now replaced by ardent desire.

Night turned D’Andra onto her stomach. For a moment he did nothing, which only heightened D’Andra’s anticipation. Then came the feel of cool, soothing lotion and the smell of something delicious—strawberries and white chocolate—as Night began at D’Andra’s shoulders and lotioned her body down to her toes. D’Andra loved the way he handled her thick body, as if he were in total control. She’d slimmed down from a size twenty to a size sixteen; and Night treated her extra pounds as if they were cotton candy: licking, nibbling and enjoying the sweetness.

He turned her over and did the same thing on her other side, paying special attention to her breasts and inner thighs. D’Andra moaned softly as beginning at her ankles, Night placed feathery soft kisses along the inner side of her leg before parting them and deeply kissing her passion paradise. She moaned louder now as Night secured her ample hips in his hands and made love to her with his tongue. Just when she felt she would explode he lifted himself up and reached for the protection lying on the nightstand.

“Um, let me,” D’Andra breathed. She took the condom out of the package and, with her eyes never leaving Night’s, placed it on his massive manhood, using her mouth to unroll it up the length of his shaft. He turned her around and entered her swiftly, forcefully, authoritatively and completely, as if their lovemaking was a matter of utmost importance and urgency. After their initial climaxes they settled into a slow, thoughtful rhythm, memorizing each other’s bodies, dancing the timeless, ageless dance of love.

The candles had burned down long ago, the open balcony allowing in a welcomed ocean breeze. The couple lay side by side, settling their breathing after a torrid bout of steamy sex. The man turned onto his side and with a tanned, tapered finger made lazy circles on the woman’s bare bottom. She turned and threw her café au lait-colored leg over his.

“That was amazing,” he said.

The woman was silent, but simply cuddled closer to the man’s slender back.

“Are you going to do it for me?” she finally whispered.

“Do what?”

“You know, make sure that little thing we talked about doesn’t happen.”

Brad turned over to face Jazz fully. He kissed her again, reveling in the feel of her soft, full lips against his harder, thin ones. Already, he could feel himself once again becoming aroused. He’d wanted Jazz for a long, long time and now here she was, in his bed, and it felt incredible.

“Yes,” he answered, as he turned her over on her stomach and knelt over her from behind. “I’ll do anything you ask.”