Cheaters (23 page)

“Hadn’t heard of Micheaux. Says he made over forty films.”

“Me either. Tammy knows all about stuff like this.”

“Hell, I thought Spike was the first brother to make a film.”

“Wasn’t Melvin Van Peebles the first?”

We laughed. Both of us were living in Joke City.

He was so warm. So easy to talk to. So polite. Those almond eyes, thick brows, curly lashes, those strong features

that sang of eroticism and intellect had me staring at him like he was the best piece of art in the whole building.

I loved wit and sarcasm. Conversations that flowed as easy as the Nile. And there was nothing like a connoisseur of culture.

We were maneuvering around a crowd when somehow our hands ended up side by side, then intertwined as we stopped at exhibit listening stations.

We passed by a collection of photographs from the Negro League—Baltimore Black Sox, Atlanta Black Crackers—and I asked him, “What’s your favorite sport?”

He responded, “Kissing.”

That caught me off guard.

I came back, “What position?”

“Sixty-eight plus one. What’s yours?”

Again I came back, “Eighty minus eleven.”

Walking and having fun, slipping in double entendres, indulging in intellectual conversation that masked erotic desire made me feel like Europa and he was my tall caramel Zeus, wanting to carry me to the island of Crete and do some freaky-deaky things to me.

Stephan checked his watch. “I need to stop by Baldwin Hills.”

“What’s up there?”

“My momma. If I come out here and don’t stop by to say hello, she bitches.”

“So, Stephan No Middle Name Mitchell, you have parents.”

“A mother and a stepfather. Three brothers. A sister. Me and my oldest brother’s daddy died a long time ago.”

A volleyball net was up in the backyard. Music was blasting from a boom box. About eight kids were having fun.

Three children ran to Stephan before he made it into the backyard. He introduced them—Akeem, Ronda, and Nathan Junior. Stephan told me the rest were the neighbors’ children.

All the kids ran back to their fun. All except for Akeem. He stared like he was viewing a rare flower, smiling like he had a crush on me. He was an elementary-sized brown-skinned boy with teeth too big for his narrow face. He said, “Whussup, Uncle Steph?”

“‘Sup, ‘Keem?”

“That crazy girl from Palm Springs been calling out here—”

Stephan cut him off. “Go play, ‘Keem.”

The little boy smiled at me. “Uh-oh, Unca Steph done pulled him another hottie.”

I corrected him, “My name is Chanté, and your uncle and I are just friends. We live by each other.”

“Baby, you all that. Can I be your man? I got a Big Wheel parked out front, and we can roll down to Crenshaw and get a bean pie.”

“Go play, ‘Keem.”
Stephan raised his voice at him, then popped the rugrat upside the head. “Nathan Junior, come get your brother before I hurt him.”

We walked around back, following all the jubilant noises from the ghetto blaster. This peach stucco, Spanish-style home was real nice. Tucked in a cul-de-sac, so they didn’t get any traffic. They had a serious view of L.A., from La Brea all the way out to the H
OLLYWOOD
sign.

Even with that, the air was so cool it felt like a different world. Shit, I almost hated that I’d have to drive east, because once we made it on the other side of downtown and crossed the 710 freeway, the heat would be on like Donkey Kong.

We went in through the back, and from what I could see, all of their furniture was heavy oak wood. Polished to sparkle. Comfortable country living. An old black-and-white TV was in the kitchen, a coat hanger for an antenna.

I followed Stephan to a sunken den and met his stepdaddy, two of his aunts, and an uncle. They were eating. His stepdad had a serious presence. Dark, bald, and sporting a goatee. He was on a big, plush sofa, an unlit cigar in his mouth.

Stephan spoke to everybody, introduced me to Aunt Edwonda, Uncle Glen, and Aunt Anabelle, then asked his stepdad, “Where’s Momma?”

“Price Club down on Rosecran. You just missed her. She’ll be back directly.”

Stephan told his stepdad, “Tell Momma I came by.”

“You gone already?”

“Yeah. Momma’ll be shopping all day.”

“You stop by the barber shops and holler at your brothers?”

“Too much traffic on Crenshaw. I’ll hit ‘em later.”

His big-bellied Uncle Louie asked, “Where you off to?” “I’m heading back to no man’s land.”

When we made it back to Diamond Bar, I invited him to come up for a few. I turned on the central air, set the ceiling fans on high to help speed up the cooling, then turned on my big-screen television and slid the remote to Stephan. He was on the rugged section of my parquet floor, craning his neck, looking around at my family pictures, at my parents’ wedding picture, and my other art, most of which depicted African Americans in love. I was still an idealistic fool when I bought those paintings.

I smiled and said, “You can look around if you like.”

He rose and meandered from room to room, stepped into my bedroom. Something about him being in that intimate space both made me uncomfortable and thrilled me at the same time. All day, little things he’d done, little things he’d said, had excited me.

He said, “You have a helluva lot of romance novels.”

I said softly, “My Harlequin romance days are over.”

“You do taxes?”

“Sometimes. Why?”

“Tax-prep and accounting books are on your headboard.”

That set off another train of thought. “Stephan, I have a new laptop. Can you set it up?”

“Won’t be much to do. Just plug and go.”

“Can you make sure?”

“Yeah. When?”

“Not now, just whenever you have a moment.”

Stephan came back into the living room and sat on the part of the floor the farthest away from me, like he thought I would bite him.

“I’m sweating,” I said, and fanned my arms. “I’m going to take a quick bath before I melt.”

“I’ll leave.” Stephan stood.

“Chill out. Watch the idiot box till I’m done. I like your company.”

“Want me to wash your back?”

I smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

“I was just kidding.”

“I wasn’t.”

I pulled back my golden shower curtains, ran my water, and dropped in strawberry- and champagne-scented beads. When I passed by to get a robe out of my walk-in closet, I saw that Stephan was glued to the television. I had to turn the light on to find my robe; that was when I realized it was dark. I wondered where the day had gone. I’d been in a daze, using Stephan as my guide.

I threw my robe over my shoulder, then headed into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of Asti Spumante out of the pantry.

“Thirsty?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I’m straight.”

Back in the bathroom, I pinned my hair, slid down to my neck in the warm water. The bathroom door was halfway open. Music videos were playing. I sipped my Spumante, slipped into a mood, listened to the Queen of Soul chanting that a rose was still a rose. I closed my eyes, let her talk to me, sang along and kept affirming, kept telling myself that no matter what I’d been through, no matter what I’d go through, I was still a flower.

I ran some more hot water in the tub and heard comedians on BET doing their routines. Stephan was cracking up.

I thought, “Cute laugh. Kinda country, but cute.”

Stephan said, “That D’Militant is funny as hell.”

“Stephan!”

“Yeah?”

I hesitated. “I’m ready.”

“For?”

“My back washing.”

I hadn’t expected to go there, but that boldness had popped out of me. I was daring him, waiting for him to back down.

A second later Stephan stood at the door. In the shadows. I smiled, covered my breasts with my palms, then quivered when I turned my back to him. The hall light was turned off, and the sensor for the automatic night light was activated, yielding a delicate light without stealing all of the charming darkness.

He asked, “Ready?”

“Only if I can trust you.”

I closed my eyes. When he touched my flesh, rubbed my back, everything tingled. What was I getting myself into, inviting him into my bathroom while I sat booty naked in a tub of soapy water? Months ago this would’ve terrified me. Not now. My blood rushed. Underneath my coolness, I was nervous.

Stephan reached past me, moved his grubby paws like he was reaching to cop a feel on my 36Cs. I jumped a little. But he took the bar soap from the holder, soaped my wash cloth, then gently washed my back, circling clockwise, then counterclockwise. He scooped water into his hands and rinsed my skin. Slow and easy, taking his time. He moved into more personal territory and massaged my shoulders.

He hit a spot that made me
mmmm
and slightly arch my back.

He asked, “Why’re you smiling so hard?”

“Why didn’t you ask me for my number again, partner?”

“I asked once.”

“Ask again.”

“Once is asking, twice is begging.”

“You’re not going to beg?” I turned so he couldn’t see, moved one hand from my bosom and sipped my hooch. If he saw, he couldn’t see much anyway, only the round of my C-cups.

“If I begged, you’d never respect me.”

“Some things are worth begging for.”

“Some things are worth giving when asked for.”

Stephan stopped massaging my back and sat on the floor. He filled my wineglass, took a sip, handed it back to me.

I slid down to my neck in the water, imagined I was a queen on the Nile, placed a heel of my foot on the rim by the wall.

I asked, “Where’s your woman?”

“We broke up.”

“Too bad.”

He asked, “For who?”

I shrugged. “For whoever regrets it.”

“I’ll adjust. She’ll get over it.”

“Love her?”

“Infatuated beyond reason.”

I’d never heard that response before. It sounded so real.

Infatuation, not love.

I asked, “Rub my shoulders again?”

This time I didn’t cover my chest. I held my Spumante, pretended I was at Glen Ivy getting a rub down, and sipped my sin juice as he kneaded the kinks out. Moans came out of my body as he patted my skin, stimulated me.

“Better?” he asked.

“Mmmmmm. Yeah. You should do this for a living.”

“Thought you were about to nod off.”

“Could have.” I had floated into another life. “You have strong hands, but they are so gentle at the same time.”

“You have soft skin.”

“Oil of Olay keeps me that way.” I enjoyed the soft, kittenish tone of our conversation. I asked a silly question: “So, Stephan No Middle Name Mitchell, are you flirting with me?”

“I’m not your type.”

I flicked wet fingers at him, splashed water on his face.

Stephan asked, “Where’s your man?”

“You saw.”

“You two going to get back together?”

“Fuck no.”

“Getting a little hostile.”

I responded. “Men make me the way I am.”

“And how are you?”

I hunched my shoulders, asked, “Even when you have somebody, do you ever feel like you don’t have anybody?”

“Yep.”

“Like the relationship just ain’t all that?”

“Yeah,” Stephan said. “I can be with somebody, just finished, you know…”

I filled in the blank and said, “Getting your freak on.”

“Yeah. And still feel alone.”

I offered him my glass. “Want more?”

“No. I don’t drink much.”

“Neither do I. Mainly when I’m pissed or stressed.”

He asked, “Which are you now?”

“I’m not sure.”

I used my toes to grip the chain connected to the stopper and pulled it out of the tub. Listened to the sound of the water whirling out of the tub. Naked. Soap on my body, my eyes on Stephan. I stood, felt like Josephine Baker.

Water and suds rained from me. I enjoyed watching him watch me.

I said, “Hand me my robe from behind the door.”

I took my time about putting my robe on, and when I did, I let the belt hang loose. The fabric clung to my damp skin, outlined my body, gave the appearance of being nude.

Satin against soft and wet Nubian flesh.

I was exhilarated but kept my feelings in check.

Stephan asked, “What’re you thinking?”

I hadn’t had a decent lover in a while, and my body was starting to crave satisfaction the way a crack head craved crack.

“I’m thinking…” I took a breath and eased away. “It’s getting late. Maybe I’ve had a bit too much to drink. And…”

Stephan waited. “And what?”

I dropped my head, took my eyes off his, blocked him out of the gateway to my soul. “C’mon, partner, you know the rest.”

“Feeling’s mutual.”

Stephan invited me closer and kissed my forehead. He kissed me like he was kissing his little sister. I rose on tiptoe and kissed those thick brows, those curly lashes, then sprinkled light kisses on his lips, testing. Then I opened my mouth and invited him to relish my flavors. I’ll have to admit, it was awkward at first, but the second kiss had a natural flow. I felt him adapting, slowing and tasting. I did the same, adjusted to his rhythm. I pulled him closer, felt him start to get hard, moved closer to feel what he had for me to feel, felt that bump growing. Then I eased away in the middle of the kiss. I hoped he’d resist me moving my body away from him, but he didn’t.

He stared, mouth open like he was ready to whisper.

If only he knew, I wanted more, some more, and then some.

His passionate thoughts rose into his eyes.

He swallowed whatever he was thinking.

Stephan gave me another kiss on the forehead. “Good night.”

“Thanks for everything.”

“Welcome. I’ll look at your computer some other time. I have a ton of software that you might want to check out.”

“Okay. Sounds like a plan.”

He headed out the front door.

A hurricane was swirling inside me.

I licked my lips, gazed at him through my living room blinds, watched him as he adjusted the stiffness in his pants and strolled toward his green car. I adjusted my robe over swollen nipples that were harder than what he had to offer.