Man Enough For Me (5 page)

“So what do you think?” Germaine murmured close to her ear. She turned to see him watching her nervously. For the first time since she had met him he seemed a bit unsure of himself. “From the way you talk about music, and the songs I saw in your iPod, I figured you might like this place, but I wasn’t sure….”

“I love it,” Jules said, squeezing his hand. Her eyes shone brightly with excitement, and she looked like she could barely stand still.

A slow smile crept onto Germaine’s face, and he squeezed her hand before leading her to a small table at the side of the room.

Jules couldn’t take her eyes off the stage. They had started playing “Midnight Train to Georgia,” and, even though the soloist didn’t have any backup singers, she was rocking the house.

“How did you even find this place?” she asked, tearing her eyes away to look at Germaine.

“See that guy over there?”

“Who? The drummer?”

“Yeah. I used to go to school with him. He introduced me to this place about a year ago, and I’ve been coming here ever since.”

Jules raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, so this is where you carry all your lady friends,” she said teasingly.

Germaine laughed and shook his head. “No. You’re actually the first woman I’ve ever brought here.”

“Oh, really,” Jules said. “How come?”

Germaine shrugged. “I don’t know many people who would appreciate a place like this.”

Jules opened her mouth and then closed it. She couldn’t think of a single smart comment. Not even one.

“Wow. Speechless twice in one evening,” Germaine said. “I’m on a roll tonight.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get too used to it,” Jules replied, trying to hide her smile. “It doesn’t happen that often.”

Germaine chuckled and signaled the waitress. When she had taken their order and brought their drinks, he turned his attention back to Jules.

“So how come a young thing like you is so into sixties music, especially since you were born long after that era?” Germaine asked.

Jules smiled and swirled her root beer.

“When I was little, both my mom and dad worked. So after school me and my brother used to stay home by ourselves. We never had cable or anything, so most of the time we would spend the afternoons listening to the radio. They used to play sixties music every day between three and five o’clock, and that’s how I got to know all those songs.”

She laughed as she remembered something else.

“I used to buy those little sixty-minute audio cassettes and tape my favorite songs off the radio. By the time I was fifteen, I had shoe boxes full of mixed tapes I’d made.” She smiled to herself. “Those were good times.”

“Your brother, he’s younger than you.”

“Yeah, how did you know?” Jules asked in surprise.

“When you talk about him, you get this protective vibe,” Germaine said, his eyes still watching her. “You two are close?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jules said laughing. “Our parents used to say we would gang up on them all the time.”

She looked down at her drink, which she was stirring thoughtfully. “He’s away in the States in law school,” she said, looking up at Germaine. “I’m so proud of him. So glad he didn’t get caught up in the gangs and the drugs, like so many black guys here do. I think that would have broken my heart.”

Just then the waitress arrived with their order.

“So tell me about your family,” Jules said a few moments later, after they had blessed the food and started eating. “Brothers? Sisters?”

“One sister,” Germaine answered. “Her name is Soroya, and she’s the most beautiful ten-year-old in the entire world. She’s got a mouth on her, though,” he said with a raise of an eyebrow. “Kinda reminds me of you.”

“Funny,” Jules said with a wry smile. “What about your parents?”

“My mom is a teacher; she teaches second grade.” He paused. “My dad died when I was fifteen.”

Jules didn’t miss the dark look that flittered over his eyes for a brief moment.

“I’m sorry,” Jules said, reaching across the table to touch his hand. No one that close to her had ever died. She didn’t know what to say.

“He was a cop,” Germaine said, shrugging. “He died on the job.”

“That must have been hard for you,” Jules said, watching him sympathetically. It was clear that his father’s death still affected him, even though it had happened so many years ago.

“That’s life,” he replied, picking up his fork again. “Not much you can do about it. You accept that God lets everything happen for a reason, and you move on.”

Jules nodded and took a sip of her drink.

“So you get to see your sister often?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Not as often as I would like to,” Germaine said, brightening at the mention of his sister. “Mom has her in every activity under the sun. Swimming, dance, piano lessons. Two weeks ago she started singing lessons. Since then she’s been trying to get Mom to let her wear an Afro so she can be Jill Scott.”

Jules let out a laugh. “Jill Scott, huh. That must be a trip.”

“It is,” Germaine said, shaking his head. “Mom blames me of course. She says ever since I let ‘Roya borrow
Who is Jill Scott?,
she’s been trying to be the next queen of neo-soul.”

“Whoa, hold up,” Jules said, putting down her fork. “You think Jill Scott is the queen of neo-soul?”

Germaine raised an eyebrow at her. “Of course she is. Who else would be?”

“Uh, Miss Erykah Badu?”

“No way!”

“Yes way! She’s a legend,” Jules protested. “Jill Scott is a newbie by comparison. Erykah was doing neo-soul before they even came up with a term for it.”

“Exactly,” Germaine said, opening his hands as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “She was singing some other pop-blues-jazz business. Jill Scott defined neo-soul. Everybody knows that.”

“Are you sure?” Jules said dryly. “ ‘Cause the people who ate up Erykah’s six albums—three of which went platinum I might add—seem to think differently.”

Germaine grinned smugly. “She’s still a bit short of Jill’s seven albums, though. And let’s not forget Ms. Scott has three Grammys.”

“Okay, first of all,
Collaborations
does not count as an album,” Jules said, gesturing with her fork. “And it’s all about quality over quantity. Don’t let me even start on how many more Grammys Erykah won over Jill.” She shook her head. “I might have to come over and school Ms. Soroya on the music tip. I’ll help her put in some dreads too.”

Germaine laughed. “Oh, yeah, Mom would love that.”

His laughter was contagious, and Jules couldn’t help but
chuckle as well. The vision of a ten-year-old girl wearing an Erykah Badu-style turban to school made her laugh even harder.

“I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree for the sake of Soroya’s hair,” Jules said when she had stopped laughing.

“Okay,” Germaine said. “But you know what you’re getting for your birthday, right?”

“What?”

“The Jill Scott catalogue, complete with all seven albums, including
Collaborations,”
Germaine teased.

Jules bit her lip. “I already have it.”

She laughed at the surprised expression on Germaine’s face.

“What? I didn’t say I didn’t like her; I just said she wasn’t the queen,” Jules said mischievously.

Germaine shook his head and pushed away his almost empty plate. “Jules, I think you’re too much for me to handle.”

“Nah, you’re doing fine,” Jules said, leaning back in her seat. “In fact you really surprised me tonight. I thought you would go all high roller on me and take me to some fancy downtown restaurant. But this …” she said, motioning to the stage and the food. “This I didn’t expect.”

“This is what I’m about,” he said. “I want you to know who I am from the start so you know what you’re getting into.”

“I get that,” she said. “But why did you have to go and be all awesome? I was prepared to not like you, and you totally ruined it for me.”

“That’s too bad,” he teased. “ ‘Cause this is only part one of my plan for completely winning you over.”

Jules sighed in mock defeat. “I guess you win this round, Mr. Williams. But this isn’t over. I won’t go down without a fight.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less.”

He opened his hand to her, and Jules let him lead her to the small dance floor that had been created in front of the stage.

Miss Thing on stage was now singing a slower Roberta Flack song, and the floor was crowded with couples swaying to the music. Jules and Germaine had to squeeze past a few of them to find a space.

Germaine’s hand rested comfortably on the small of her back, reminding Jules that this was one of the few times she had been this close to him. Though they’d been hanging out a lot lately, they had kept it pretty causal. But the warmth radiating from his body, and the scent of him swirling around her, was making her mind think of things. Things she hadn’t been motivated to think of in a long time.

“So you and Truuth are cousins, huh,” she said, trying to distract herself from her own thoughts.

“Mm-hmm,” Germaine murmured.

“So how come I’ve never seen you two together before the other day? I think I would have remembered that.”

“I was living in Vancouver for a couple years.”

“Vancouver? Who moves from Toronto to Vancouver? Usually it’s the other way around,” Jules said.

Germaine was looking at her strangely. It was probably because she was babbling. But she couldn’t help it. The more her mouth was moving, the less her mind did.

“I suppose the weather there is better,” Jules continued. “But I don’t know if that would be motivation enough. You’d have to leave your friends, and everything you know. It would be like starting o—”

“Jules,” Germaine said softly.

“Yeah?”

“I need you to stop talking now.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to kiss you.”

For the third time that night Jules was speechless. But that was okay, because the next thing she felt was Germaine’s full lips on hers. Her mind went numb while her hands, on reflex, reached up to slide around his neck. She couldn’t remember ever being kissed like that before. It was sweet, it was gentle, and it was over way too soon.

“Wow,” Jules murmured softly. The golden flecks in his eyes had become an intense shade of bronze, and no matter how she tried, she couldn’t seem to look away.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he murmured back, his words tickling her lips.

He raised his eyebrow questioningly, and she nodded. And in no time at all, she was speechless again.

The strong smell of disinfectant and cleaner wafted into Jules nostrils as she walked down the hallway of the Pearson Wing at Toronto Grace Hospital. It was the oldest part of the hospital, and was named after Canadian Prime Minister Lester B. Pearson, who was said to have stayed there once during a nasty spell of pneumonia. The story was that he was so appreciative of the care he received that he made a huge donation to the hospital, which was used to do renovations. When the structural improvements on this wing were complete, they renamed it the Lester B. Pearson Wing, and thus it had been ever since. A large, framed black-and-white photo monument was mounted on the wall in the lobby entrance of the hospital to remind everyone of the area’s history.

That was part of what Jules loved about the hospital—the rich history. Knowing that she got to be a part of that, and knowing that she worked for an organization that was making a difference in the lives of so many, was what made coming to work worthwhile for her. And it was the thought of this that brought a smile to Jules’s lips as her heels clicked against the hard ceramic tiles that covered the hallway. That and the memory of her date with Germaine.

Even though it was more than a week since the event, she still got a light, heady feeling when she thought about what it was like being with him. Besides, even though they had chatted over the phone almost every day since, their busy schedules hadn’t left any time for a second meeting. So the memory of the first date was all she had—and what a memory it was.

“Get a grip, Jules,” she muttered to herself, as she caught a glimpse of her silly grin in the reflection of a glass door. But though she tried, she couldn’t keep the smile off her face.

“Well, someone’s in a good mood,” Derek said from behind the counter in the print shop.

Jules smiled wider but ignored his comment. Derek ran the hospital print shop, but as far as Jules was concerned that was just a part-time job. His full-time gig was finding out everything that was going on with everyone in the hospital and passing that information around. It wasn’t news until Derek heard it, and if Derek said it, you knew it was true.

“Hey, Derek, are my newsletters ready yet?” Jules asked, referring to the monthly executive newsletter that the public relations department put out for the hospital’s major stakeholders, and which Jules had sent down to be printed the day before.

“Yes, Miss Sunshine, they’re ready,” Derek said dryly, just a bit cheesed that Jules wouldn’t share the juicy contents of her life. “But let me just finish printing this job, and then I’ll get them to you.”

Jules nodded and slid onto the bench against the wall, just as a tall, slim woman walked into the small print shop. She was pale, with her straight brown hair pulled back severely into a bun at the nape of her neck. There wasn’t a single crinkle in her black business suit, and her black low-heeled pumps were so shiny that Jules was sure she saw her reflection in them. Like everything else about this woman, her face was straight, not showing an ounce of emotion.

“Are my forms ready?” she asked Derek in a clipped tone.

“Uh, yes, ma’am,” Derek said, scrambling to retrieve a pile of papers from the back of the shop.

Jules raised an eyebrow in surprise. She had never seen Derek look so flustered. Usually when people came into the print shop, they had to wait on Derek to do things when he was good and ready. He might not be a doctor, but he was chief in this little part of the hospital, and he made sure everyone knew it. But this time it was different. Clearly, this unfamiliar woman was the one in charge today.

The woman watched undisturbed as Derek scuffled to get her order. During the two minutes of painful silence that ensued, she did not glance at Jules even once.