A Greek God In Harlem (17 page)

If only they knew who and what the cheers were 
really
 for. 

Inside, on the stage, a man and a woman were able to ask for forgiveness and be forgiven, love and be loved right back.

That was the true test of any relationship.

Human 
or
 Greek god.

---

3 YEARS LATER

Allure Bar,
Times Square, New York

Donyelle poured the patron another shot and handed it to him. He winked back at her. She sighed.

Ever since moving to the heart of New York she found that she could not go anywhere without being propositioned or winked at. Harlem had pushy guys, but this area had over-confident, cocky white guys with a point to prove.

She had moved here when she had attained a scholarship to study at New York Arts Academy. Something she had been working on for a long time. Only Morris knew how much she had wanted this.

She felt her heart drop as she thought about Morris. Her thoughts of him were becoming less and less frequent, it had been 3 years since his death.

She felt guilty when she was having fun, out with her multicultural set of friends. Morris should have been there, with her. Kissing her, pinching her.

Then one of her friends Sara, a bubbly blonde from Minnesota, would notice her sadness and nudge, telling her to move on.

But how could she? Whenever she looked into Marissa's beautiful eyes she saw Morris staring right back at her. Haunting her.

She couldn't just move on. Not just like that.

Sara tried her very best to set Donyelle up with all sorts of guys, and they had all been failures so far. Now they were about to graduate and go out into the real world, yet Donyelle still had not met anyone she felt was worthy.

"One Bloody Mary please!" A chirpy voice said as Sara sidled to the busy counter, pushing some college guys over. They looked at her irritably and left the counter, where they had been positioned perfectly just to stare at the hot black chick.

Donyelle looked at her best friend exasperatedly, "Sara! You don't just shove people away from a counter..." as she poured her friend a drink. Donyelle's boss looked over at her curiously. He didn't like it when his bar ladies had their friends over. 

Sara twirled her hair and ignored her friend's scolding, "Okay seriously. Donyelle, there's this guy that goes to Metropolitan..."

"Sara! I told you! No more dates for me. And don't make it so obvious we're chatting," Donyelle said as she looked at her suspicious boss through the corner of her eye. A thin white guy with bald head and impeccable fashion sense, he was looking to see if Donyelle would give her friend a free drink.
Which was against the rules.

Donyelle held her hand out for Sara's money. Sara giggled and dropped some coins in Donyelle's hand. Way less than what she was supposed to pay. Also, a piece of paper with a number on it.

"Call him. You won't regret it!" Sara said excitedly as she downed her cocktail in record time.

Donyelle looked at the name and number curiously. 
Duncan.

"Is he white?" Donyelle asked cautiously. She had to ask these things. Her friend Sara seemed to think that was the only race of guys out there for her.

"Errrm. Not exactly, half Irish, half Scottish-American." Sara said, with a mischievous smile.

Donyelle rolled her eyes, "So which part is supposed to be the ethnic part?"

Sara laughed as she slid the empty glass back to her friend, "Stop being racialistic and call him. You have this whole weekend to get to know him. Tell me how it works out on Monday. I'll be in Minnesota over the weekend. Ciao hun." She leaned over the counter and kissed her friend's cheek.

Before Donyelle could object she found herself staring at the number. 'Duncan' was a preppy, by the sounds of it. Who names their son 'Duncan' unless he wears pink blazers and plays polo with the lads?

As it turns out, Duncan was a tattoo artist obsessed with Asian/African culture and liberal politics.

He also had brunette hair and sharp green eyes. A striking combination if Donyelle ever saw one.

However there was one flaw. He was a motor-mouth. Something Donyelle noticed on their first date.

They sat across from each other and from 9 to 10 pm he talked about the Cambodian Revolution of 1972.

They ordered salad. Duncan talked. They ordered steak. He was still talking. They ordered dessert. He was now on the topic of Iran and how he believed Benazir Bhutto was killed by her own people.

He was extremely good-looking. Tall, muscular enough for a college student and he had those rare green eyes.

Still... he talked! And talked. And did some more talking.

Donyelle placed her fork on her plate and it clanked quite loudly, in order to interrupt him. She sighed loudly.

She was dressed in dark purple halter top and black jeans, complete with a black corduroy coat. Her jet black hair cascaded down her face and her brown skin had the lightest touch of blush.

Why did I even bother? She thought. Truthfully, Duncan was dressed down.. but this must be how he always dressed. A grey flannel shirt and blue jeans. It's like he hadn't even tried.

When she interrupted him he looked up and seeing her expression, it suddenly dawned on him. She hadn't listened to a single word.

He mentally crossed his fingers and hoped to God his nervousness hadn't shown. He talked a lot, too much, with girls he was 
incredibly attracted to
. And it always ended up badly.

And Donyelle... well... this girl looked like a young Janet Jackson. She probably wasn't into him the way he was into her.

Donyelle smiled at him sweetly, "This evening has been great Duncan." A waiter came and took their plates away. He gave her a winning smile that hid his nervousness.

"I had fun too Donyelle..."

"You're a great talker..." she said. Duncan's heart dropped. Well, there she goes. I talk too much. I knew it.

He took a sip of water and cleared his throat. This date was just about over and he suddenly remembered to ask, "So.. what about you?"

Donyelle shrugged, "What about me?" 

Duncan nodded, egging her on to talk. The first things he had noticed about her, apart from her baby-like beauty, were her sad eyes.

"I go to New York Arts Academy. I moved here from Harlem three years ago. I have a three year old daughter." She said all in monotone voice.

Duncan nodded slowly as he took this all in. Okay....

"Any more questions?" a tired Donyelle asked. Duncan thought long and hard. Should I say what I really want to say?

"Can I kiss you?" He asked.

Donyelle looked at him shocked, "It's only our first date Duncan."

"You're right. Sorry. Forget I asked." And he looked back down. Donyelle then leaned forward in her seat and caught his lips with hers. At first shocked, he deepened the kiss and stood up slightly as well. He cupped her face as he felt her warm tongue roll with his.

They then both let go and stood back, breathing hard. Donyelle finally said, "I don't usually do that."

Duncan licked his bottom lip, "Then why did you?"

The cute black girl smiled, "Some things are inexplicable. Goodnight Duncan." She then got up and waved him goodbye sweetly as she exited the restaurant. He looked at her leave, a one million dollar smile on his face.

Later that night Donyelle lay on her bed in the apartment she shared with Sara, who was at her home for the weekend. Her mind was on Duncan's green, sparkly eyes when her phone rang. And it was none other than him.

"Hey, Donyelle."

"Oh. Hey"

"I just wanted to say that kiss was really great and I can't wait to do it again... I'm sorry I bored you with my politics and all."

Donyelle couldn't help but smile, "It's okay Duncan. By the way, I liked the kiss too."

"Seriously- it's just something I need to grow out of. Always talking. I don't know why I'm telling you this, shooting down my chances."

"Haha. You do talk too much Duncan." 

"Geez! That was direct. Not that I wasn't asking for it. I'm very self-deprecating, especially around pretty girls. Even over the phone. Something I need to work on, seriously, I know." he said all in one breath. 

Donyelle giggled in spite of herself. He was actually fun to talk, or rather, listen to.

"What's your daughter's name?" He asked curiously. Donyelle paused long and hard. No guy in his twenties ever wanted to talk about her daughter.

"Marissa-Jean. Why?" she asked, an edge to her voice.

"I think she goes to the same school as my son... Gray." He figured he should drop this little piece of information.

Donyelle almost gasped. 'Gray' was the little boy Marissa always sat next to, according to Sara anyways. Sara was the one who always took Marissa to the kindergarten, since Donyelle was often still asleep from her night shift at the bar. 

Also, Sara was the one who often picked the girl up since she had a car and passed by there all the time, while Donyelle was still taking classes.
Donyelle's cheeks flushed. She knew what Duncan was wondering. How comes he had never seen her there at the kindergarten to pick up her own daughter?

That's probably where Sara probably got Duncan's number from. At the kindergarten. Donyelle placed her face in her hands.

Duncan sensed the quiet and said, "She looks exactly like you. Your friend always takes her to school right?" Donyelle let out a soft 'yes'. Duncan thought not to ask any more questions about that. Instead he dared,

"So when am I taking you out again?"

Donyelle kept quiet for a bit and looked at Marissa sleeping soundly in Sara's bed.