Less Than Perfect Circumstance (10 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

YOU STILL MEAN THE WORLD TO ME

Trevor

Nothing I did settled the nervous feeling I felt in the pit of my stomach when I awoke. Sleep, especially, wasn’t easy since I had spent most of the night thinking about seeing Kelvin again for the first time in months. Too much time had passed, and even
though time had no affect on my
feelings for Kelvin, I worried that there might by some change in how Kelvin felt about me.

The thought of sleeping with
Kelvin’s arms wrapped around me
doused any worries I had.  The thought of not spending another Friday night alone, wishing Kelvin
was
next to me, was comforting. Whatever happened next, after he left, I would deal with another time. I smiled at the thought of having Kelvin so close to me, all to myself, and I never stopped smiling.

I drove up to where Kelvin stood waiting. My heart was beating as if it were trying to escape from my chest. I had arrived at the airport on
time.  Kelvin was comfortably dressed, and he stood with his luggage draped over his right shoulder. I was smiling endlessly.

“What’s wrong with you?” Kelvin asked as if didn’t already know.

He smiled as he threw his luggage in the back seat. I had no other reason to smile besides my gladness to see Kelvin again.

On the drive to the
house, I spent most of the time looking at Kelvin and rarely paying attention to the road. I might as
well have been driving with my
eyes closed.

Damn he looks good
, I thought.

We weren’t quite inside
the door, but just outside my
neighbors’ view, before we were lips apart. It was the closest we had been in months, and we could feel the sexual tension between us.

“I’ve missed you,” Kelvin whispered.

Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t respond. Kelvin was already kissing
me. Everything I felt for him
, up to that moment, showed all over my face: the love, the lust,
the
fears, the yearning to be with him again. I felt the emotions roll from my eyes and down my cheeks. The tears were bitter, salty even, but the moment was ever so sweet. Kelvin never questioned the tears. Instead, he held my face in his hands, kissed me again, and stared into me.

I saw the care in Kelvin’s eyes and, again, I found myself asking, why? Why did he have to leave? Why didn’t I trust our love and leave
with him? Once inside, I rested my head on Kelvin’s chest, and as if he knew what I was thinking, Kelvin hugged me tighter, providing whatever reassurance I needed.

I missed Kelvin so much. I had taken the day off from work to prepare for his visit. I had hired a housecleaner, which allowed me to focus on preparing one of Kelvin’s favorite meals: Salmon couscous and steamed broccoli, salad with homemade balsamic vinaigrette dressing. I wasn’t a chef, but I could read a good cookbook.

Thank you, Oprah and Maya
, I thought.

Dinner was quiet, but our stares and smiles spoke louder than any crowd at a championship basketball game. When we finally made it to the bedroom, there was tenderness in Kelvin’s touch that I had longed for.

Maybe Kelvin had missed him just as much,
I thought
.

“
So…,”
Kelvin spoke with tender.

He
brushed his index finger gently against my face.

“So, what? It’s so good to see you,” I said.

I was lying down with my naked body exposed to the dimly lit room.

“It’s good to see you
,
too. I’ve missed you so much. I hate that I can’t see you when I want.”

As Kelvin spoke, his eyes wondered, tracing the contour of my body. I had already begun pulsing for him.

“I know, but guess what?”

I looked at Kelvin with lustful eyes.

“What’s that?”

“We have the entire weekend to make up for all the time we’ve lost,” I
said, smiling
, looking deeper into Kelvin eyes.

I took a deep breath. The thought of Kelvin lying so close was fulfilling, but I yearned for more. Before I could completely exhale, Kelvin was on top of me.

Kelvin’s six-foot plus, muscular frame covered me completely.
Ou
r kisses exuded passion. Hi
s breath was warm. His breathing was long and hard, much like his manhood that I felt rising between my legs. I could feel it pulsing against my naked skin, and I was immediately filled with excitement. I closed my eyes in anticipation and soon I felt the warmth of Kelvin’s mouth as he consumed my erect shaft.

With my mouth open from pleasure, I inhaled, stretched out my arms and held Kelvin’s h
ead firmly between the
palm
of my hands. I exhaled slowly as I assisted Kelvin in the up and down motion he was fully engaged in. As he pleased me, Kelvin reached back, held his fully erect penis in his hand and began to pleasure himself.
The built up
excitement that ejaculated from our bodies left us sweaty and breathless, but still wanting more.
It felt like old times as we lay there. It’s as if we had never been separated.

It wasn’t easy concentrating on work as I anticipated Kelvin’s visit, and I didn’t know how I was going to concentrate when I got back.
I had been so anxious
,
I couldn’t sleep
. At night I would lay awake thinking about how long it had been since I last saw Kelvin and how I felt saying goodbye to him, knowing how badly I wanted to go with him. I thought about having to say those dreaded words again when our weekend was over, and I hated that thought just as much. For now, I just wanted to enjoy the fact that Kelvin was there.

Kelvin was lying in bed with my head resting on his chest, his arms wrapped around my waist.
Oh, I’ve missed this,
I thought. Kelvin felt so good. His chest was hard. His hold was secure. Kelvin had fallen asleep and as much as I wanted to join him, I couldn’t. I was too happy to sleep. Like a baby, Kelvin slept, smiling like most babies did as they dream. He woke for a brief moment, looked at me and smiled.

“I love you,” he said, and sunk
his head back into the pillow.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

GUILTY AS CHARGED

Dexter

It was a hazy, windy Tuesday. I made my way across the parking lot, dodging raindrops that had been threatening to fall all morning. I wasn’t exactly soaking, but the wet was uncomfortable. I stood in the entrance of the District Court, allowing time to dry before removing my personals and passing through the detectors. It was a familiar routine I had repeated several times in the past two weeks.

Mrs. Inez Davidson sat patiently on a long wooden bench in the hall just outside the courtroom, engaging in a conversation with a very attractive young man. As I approached, she stood, gave me a hug, and then introduced me to a Mr. Giovanni Dawkins. As tall as I was, Mr. Dawkins stood and dwarfed us both.

“You remind me so much of my grandson. Who dragged a handsome guy like yourself into court?” Ms. Davidson questioned Mr.
Dawkins. She continued her conversation with him as I discreetly checked my wristwatch.

Mr. Dawkins pulled the door open for his new friend and me to enter. With confidence, Ms. Davidson and I walked into the courtroom.  

“All rise. The Honorable Judge Maxine D. Pennington residing,” the bailiff announced.

He was a slender, clean-shaved man, seemingly no older than forty-five. He spoke with command and with clarity.

“Please be seated,” he continued.

Judge Pennington’s hair was pulled back in a braided wrap. Her judge’s robe was midnight black. Her make
-up highlighted high cheekbones. H
er lip-gloss brightened full lips. Judge Pennington climbed up the three steps and sat gracefully behind her oversized oak bench that, along with her credentials and history, gave her so much power. She sat facing a room of established lawyers, many of whom she probably recognized by name, if not by face.
Their
clients were no stranger to her, either.

“Good morning,” she addressed the court.

Judge Pennington explained she was filling in for Judge Zachary Dean, and that she would be in and out of the courtroom since she had several cases on her schedule over which she had to preside.

A cell phone interrupted her flow and the silence in the courtroom. She immediately addressed the distraction.

“Before I continue, please take this time to silence all cell phones.”

The room shifted. All its occupants made sure their phones were on some form of silent mode.

“If your cell phone causes any interruption following this warning, it will become property of the court, and you will be inconvenienced in order to retrieve it,” Judge Pennington continued.

She looked up to address a bald headed, round-belly white man who had arrived a few minutes earlier and sat in the front of the court.

“Council, was that your phone?”

He was surprised by her question.

“No, Your Honor,” he responded as he placed his cell phone in inside pocket of his suite jacket.

The folders were piled high on the clerk’s desk.

“All rise,” the bailiff commanded.

The courtroom rose in unison as Judge Pennington descended from her desk and exited the courtroom through the door just to the left of her desk.

To the right of the judge’s bench, a lady with a neat Afro and glasses resting daintily on the brim of her nose sat facing a computer screen. Her pen raced effortlessly across a notepad. An interpreter for the hearing impaired sat tight-faced just in front of her.

Sitting behind his desk, the court clerk picked up the first file, and before beginning roll call, he instructed the court to wait until he was finished before making any request to file a motion.

“Harvick versus Briscoe Management?”

The courtroom was silent.

“Harvick versus Briscoe Management,” the clerk repeated in a much louder tone. “Is either or both parties present?”

“Delores Harvick here,” a female voice responded from the rear of the courtroom.

Her breathing was heavy. She seemed uncertain about her attendance and raised her hand to question. The clerk acknowledged her and reminded everyone to hold all questions until roll had been completed. She removed here overcoat, revealing a shirt cut too low for any proceeding. She was dressed for an occasion, but the courtroom wasn’t it.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, if you are just arriving, you are in the small claims court. We do not want to enter a judgment against you.
We are on roll call. Please answer present if you hear your name. All others, we will see you after roll call,” the clerk loudly instructed.

“Mrs. Wheeler-Peterson versus Mr. Peterson?” he continued.

“Plaintiff’s here.”

“Defendant’s present.”

“An arbitrator will be provided for this case as requested.” He paused. “Arden and McKinley vs. Davidson.”

“Counse
l for Mrs. Davidson present,” I responded.

“Counse
l for Arden and McKinley also present, sir,” a husky male voice from the right corner of the crowded courtroom responded.

Arden and McKinley Rebuilding was a construction company Mrs. Davidson had hired to remodel the kitchen of the Davidson family home.

It was standing room only. There were more young faces than old faces among the courtroom occupants. The clerk had reached the last of the cases in his pile. Immediately, a long line formed on the left side of the courtroom. Strangers conversed with each other. Some had arrived late and wondered if their names were called and they had simply missed it. Some just didn’t show up. Other cases were granted request for continuance and some hadn’t received notification. They had wasted their time and their morning.

The representative from Arden and McKinley approached Mrs. Davidson and introduced himself as Mr. Darren Coppedge. He wasn’t especially cordial, but I excused his rudeness as an acceptable part of his personality.

“Excuse me, Mr. Coppedge. I’m Mrs. Davidson’s attorney, Dexter DeGregory,” I said, extending my hand, which Mr. Coppedge shook with some reluctance.

Mr. Coppedge had light brown eyes and a light-brown chocolate complexion. He spoke with a heavy Caribbean accent. He couldn’t have been older than thirty-five, and had a child-like, almost infectious
,
smile.

“Arden and McKinley would like to settle, if that’s ok with you, Mrs. Davidson?” Mr. Coppedge began seeking the quick resolution I’m sure he was instructed to obtain by those he represented.

“Mr. Coppedge, I don’t mean to be rude, but I would appreciate it if you address me and not my client. If what you are proposing is deemed acceptable, I will advise my client and proceed accordingly.”

I had dealt with attorneys whose behavior resembl
ed those of Mr. Coppedge, and I
was going to deal with him just the same. What I wasn’t going to do was allow this man to continue dismissing my presence or my purpose.

“If you can’t follow that simple instruction, then any resolution will be left up to the judge. And I am quite sure it will be in Mrs. Davidson’s favor,” I continued.

“Fair enough. Can we step outside to a more private area?” Mr. Coppedge requested.

Unless we were heading to a bathroom at either end of the long hall, there was no privacy to be had. The hall was filled with other attorneys and clients making deals, proposing payments and rescheduling court dates. After walking to the last empty bench at the end of the hall, we sat and began our own dealing. Ms. Davidson was stern. She would accept nothing less than what she had requested several times before:  a refund of all her money
,
plus any interest it would have earned if she had left it in her savings, court costs, and attorney fees. When Mr. Coppedge realized that Mrs. Davidson wasn’t going to budge, he conceded.

Satisfied that the ordeal was finally over, we rejoiced in our victory. Ms. Davidson removed her checkbook from her moss-color Dooney and Bourke suede slouch Hobo. I’d never requested payment for my services, and I certainly wasn’t observant to what s
he was attempting to do since I
was too busy exchanging glances with Giovanni Dawkins.

Ms. Davidson looked up for a moment, glanced in the direction of Mr. Dawkins, then in my direction, and smiled. She knew what was
happening. She tugged at my jacket to get my attention. When I acknowledged her, she stood and handed me a check.

“Ms. Davidson, I can’t accept that,” I responded, putting both hands in my pants pocket.

“I don’t see why not. You earned it,” Ms. Davidson urged.

I was focusing on Giovanni again.

“Look, Ms. Davidson. I promised Wyndell this was pro bono, you know, on the house. Plus, getting you what they owed was payment enough. Thank you.” 

“Thank you,” Ms. Davidson said.

She smiled and began closing her bag.

Ms. Davidson and I turned and began making our way to exit the building.  When we were near Mr. Dawkins, he extended his hand and handed me his business card. When Ms. Davidson was certain she wouldn’t be noticed, she skillfully dropped the c
heck in a pocket on the outside
of my briefcase.