BOMBSHELL (2 page)

SAMANTHA:

“Can I get a tall macchiato caramel? “ I asked the Starbucks barista.

“Is that all?” she asked.

I nodded and opened my purse that was hanging off my shoulder and rested on my left hip. I needed to call my best friend Roslyn. She was my sister from another mother (not by blood or marriage, but we are tight) that I just met five years ago at ‘the dunce.’ Roslyn worked in another department and had been at the firm one year longer than I had. She was a Dominican-American woman with a brown complexion, long flowing hair and a smile that stopped most men in their tracks. She was married to her high school sweetheart, Hugo, and he has spoiled her rotten. They do not have kids yet because Roslyn wants to be made partner first, so she can cut her hours and delegate, as she often said. She is no delegator, so I have no idea when she’ll have kids. I also questioned whether they will make her partner, because they are sexist pigs at ‘the dunce.’ She and I have had this conversation over and over, but she is determined. My hat goes off to her, because those people there were too much for me.

Roslyn always said I have no tact and there are better ways to address my concerns. She felt like I blew that thing out of proportion starting with my response to the junior executive. She and I went round and round about this. I kept explaining how it needed to be said, and she kept explaining that it didn’t need to be said like that. She said I needed to use more tact. I told her that was me using tact. She ended our disagreement by stating that this was why I didn’t have a man. I sat there looking at her with my mouth open that she would hit me below the belt like that.

Granted, it was partly true. Over the past ten years, I dated three guys. One smoked marijuana a little too much for a grown man. One was a Rastafarian wannabe, who tried to convert me every time he got a chance and the other one was married. He hadn’t bothered telling me this, but some things didn’t add up. So once I verified that he didn’t graduate from college and that he co-owned his business with his wife, I let him have it. These were all valid reasons for dumping those guys. However, Roslyn argued that I didn’t need to tell the weed head that his smoking impacted his stamina in bed. Or tell the Rasta wannabe that just because his great-great-grandfather was half-Jamaican didn’t mean he had to talk with a fake Jamaican accent. She also said that I shouldn’t have shown up to the married guys business to explain to his wife that she was with a cheating, lying no-good dog. Roslyn thought this was over the top and since word got around that I had done those things, guys stayed away from me.

Besides Roslyn, I didn’t really have any other friends, except my buddy Elliot. My parents moved to Florida to retire and I moved out of my old neighborhood so I was more accessible to the airport, trains and bus. Which meant I didn’t see most of the people I grew up with and most of them were associates anyway and not friends. Elliot was a colleague of mine that I met a few years ago. We were almost instant friends. I contacted him about starting my business because he was recommended by another colleague of mine. It was said he was the best when it came to new startups. Elliot and I worked very close those first few months. He never hit on me, could take my verbal blows and give them back just as quick and right on cue. He didn’t think like Roslyn who thought I needed more tact when communicating. He was of the same thinking as me, I already exercised my tact. That’s probably why he and I hit it off, our sense of humor and wit were very similar. The things Elliot and I got into it about were based not my approach, but our differences in business models, execution of projects, etc. So, I guess between Elliot and Roslyn – I’m balanced enough.

“Make that two,” a deep voice said from behind me.

I whipped around and almost hit him with my head because he was so close. He was leaning over me to pay the barista for the drinks.

What the hell?

Here’s the thing, I’m 5’9 and I had on 3” heeled boots, so I’m a pretty tall lady. This guy was leaning over me, so he had to be around 6’5 or taller. When he stood up to his full height, I saw it was the guy from the elevator.

What the hell?

“Sir, what are you doing?” I was annoyed.

His eyes slid down to mine. “Treating a beautiful lady,” he smoothly responded.

“I didn’t ask for this,” I shook my head at the barista and went to hand her my card.

She looked confused, but went to grab my card. He snatched the card out of my hands and commanded, “I got this.”

Well, I’ll be.

At that point, the barista took his twenty dollar bill and deposited it in the register, gave him his change and asked, “Your name?”

“Joshua,” he replied.

I could play this one of a few ways, I thought as I stared at him with my mouth open.

Option 1: I could be a total bitch and tell him where he can go, how I can pay for my own coffee and how dare he have the nerve to try and bend me to his will.

Option 2: I could thank him politely, get my coffee and go home.

Option 3: I could smile and say thank you.

I couldn’t tell if he was good looking or not, because I was now thoroughly pissed. He no longer had the scowl on his face, but a smirk. I felt like he walked over me and disregarded my wishes, but that didn’t mean I needed to act on that feeling. I didn’t want to make a scene at the Starbucks, because I frequently came here as many of my clients were in this area. However, I did want to make it clear to him who he was dealing with. As I was preparing myself to go with Option 1, but a more civilized and modified version, he reached his hand up to my mouth and closed my lips with his thumb and index finger. Then he slipped my card back in my purse with his other hand.

WHAT THE FUCK!

I jerked back from his hand and he quickly moved into my space, which caused me to step back out of the line. I gasped and could not believe his boldness. He started directing me towards the corner near the restrooms. His two fingers were now over my mouth, like he wanted me to be quiet. My back hit the wall and he was in my personal space, leaning over me with his fingers gently on my lips. Then I really looked at him.

He had gray eyes, medium sized eyebrows, tanned skin, short-cropped black hair and faded facial hair. He also rocked a dark navy tailored suit, a yellow striped shirt, and a blue spectrum patterned crisscross tie. He was muscular, not on the lean side, but more like a quarterback. Hmm, he could have been a quarterback with how fast he moved me to the corner. The smirk on his face was gone and now his face was wiped blank. I was still too stunned to respond to the entire scene. Fully aware of my current state, he decided to take advantage by first placing his fingers on my lips and then keeping them there. I stared at him in shock, but my mouth was closed.

“My name is Joshua,” he said with a low voice.

I continued to stare.

“Have coffee with me,” he stated. It wasn’t a question, but a demand.

I continued to stare. He removed his fingers slowly from my lips and brought his hand down to his side, as if this issue had been settled.

“Joshua,” one of the barista’s called. He looked up and then looked back at me. Like he was trying to communicate “stay” with his eyes. He smiled, turned and went to retrieve our coffee.

I, on the other hand, am not a dog. So I took this as my opportunity to make my exit and made it quickly. Thank goodness that place was crowded and right near the subway, because my escape was flawless. I left, ran for the subway stairs, and the Red line train pulled right up as I passed through the turnstile. My scarf didn’t get caught, I didn’t fall and I was safely on my way home, away from crazy good looking men. Especially ones that followed me to local coffee shops, barricaded me in a corner and put their hands on my lips. My lips were still tingling from his soft touch. I probably have more cooties. Did he wash his hands? What in the world?

I walked to my apartment thinking about the man with the tailored suit. I ordered my take-out salivating about the man with the short-cropped haircut, I took a shower fantasizing about the man with the gray eyes, and I went to sleep dreaming about the man who touched my lips. What I didn’t think about was my diagnosis or how even if I stayed for coffee, once he found out that major tidbit, he probably would run to wash his hands and pray he wasn’t infected.

…One year later…

SAMANTHA:

Roslyn looked at me like I had two heads. She has known me to do spontaneous things before, but I guess this was enough for her.

“Roslyn, don’t look at me like that. You don’t know what it’s like. I haven’t been on a date in one year, which means I had to buy another vibrator because mine ran out of juice.” I held up my hands in the air and emphasized my helplessness. “Ran out of freaking juice. It just died!”

“So, you are going to let this thing condemn you to a life of hell?”

“No, I’m going to go another route,” I replied.

Roslyn shook her head and gave the blow, “That’s your problem Sam, you walk around like you’re this strong independent woman, but in actuality, you’re a scared little girl. And when something frightens you, you run, escape and hide in the closet. You did it at ‘the dunce’ and you are doing it now.”

I could not believe her!

“And you say I’m the one that needs more fucking tact,” I fired back and walked out of the coffee shop.

“Sam, wait” she called back, but I was gone.

She’s got all the fucking nerve to tell me I’m scared and I run. Who the fuck does she think she is? I’m not scared, I’m a realist and I do not run, I create and innovate.

Fuck her.

I stormed towards the church, where the Herpes Anonymous meetings were held twice a month. It was in walking distance to the coffee shop and I met up with Roslyn to tell her that I was going to meet up with someone else who had herpes, well other people who had the disease. That’s when she started in on her ‘what was I thinking, how could I, I’m blowing this out of proportion, etc.’ She has no idea. She is fucking married to a hottie and has been forever, he dotes on her and she doesn’t have to worry about meeting a guy, telling him she has an incurable disease and have him look at her like she just said she was from outer space.

The past year had been hell in my love life. I dated two guys and one of them I told up front, after he kissed me on the third date, that I had herpes. He all but wiped his mouth and stuttered, “R-really?”

I told him that I wouldn’t joke about something so serious and he gathered enough sense to finish his good night outside my apartment door by patting my shoulder. Patting my freaking shoulder and that was the last I heard from him. Roslyn said that I shouldn’t have told him outside on my steps, but that I should have explained to him in a more intimate setting. Elliot thought I should have waited until he got to second base at least. However, I’m one of those people that second base means we’re coming home. If a man gets to second base, he will have to finish what he started was my philosophy.

The second guy that I dated, I told him about my issue when we were beyond second base, which meant it was time to get the condoms. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was our fifth date and we were at his townhouse in Suitland, Maryland. He was a real-estate broker and easy on the eyes. I started the conversation off by asking him if there was anything sexually that he needed to disclose before we moved further. I kept kissing and grinding on him. At that moment, I was on top of him with my skirt hiked up around my waist, blouse open and shoes were off. He was in his t-shirt and pants, grabbing my butt to pull me down on him harder. He was big too. I couldn’t wait. I was wet and ready.

After he shook his head in the negative to my question, I told him that I did have something I needed to share. Abruptly, he stopped and asked if I had HIV. I told him no, then he asked if I had AIDS. I said no. Then he said, well what? So, I explained that I had herpes. After my explanation, he asked if I had any bumps on my vagina. I told him no. Then he asked if I got bumps on my lips, I told him no. He asked where I have seen the bumps, I told him on my back. Then he made a face, like he smelled an odor. I took that as my queue to leave. Quickly, climbing off his lap, I pulled my skirt down and put my shoes back on. He tried to get me to stay, blocking the door, apologizing, and whatever. However, I calmly buttoned my shirt, slipped on my suit jacket and asked him to move out of my way.

He called and texted for a whole week after that, but I blocked his number, so he kept using an unknown number and leaving messages. He eventually got the hint and so did I. I started looking online for Herpes Anonymous groups in the DC metropolitan area and to my surprise there were a lot of places. That was comforting. Not according to Roslyn, who thought all this wasn’t necessary. She said it was like dating your own race and it wasn’t diverse. Whatever Roslyn. I’m all for dating outside of my race, but honestly, sometimes you want to be around people that will accept you, everything about you and where you don’t have to explain anything. I’m not saying you can’t find people outside your race to have that, but sometimes it was harder. That is how I felt about herpes. Dating someone with herpes would allow me to just avoid the awkward revelation part and just be me with the disease and all that came with that.

I was so caught up in my thoughts, I walked right into something hard. I bounced back and focused my eyes to see I had run into someone. I started apologizing, “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

I looked up to see a familiar scowl. Wait, I know this dude.

“Ah, I was wondering if I’d ever see you again,” he said with a smile.

“Where do I know you from?”

“You ran into me in the elevator and left me in the coffee shop.”

Oh shit.

“Uh, umm.”

He smiled wider.

“Oh, she’s speechless.”

I had my mouth wide open again, because he lifted his hand to my face, took his index finger and thumb to gently close my lips. I stared at him, not knowing what to do or say. What is with this man and touching my lips? Well, he must have read my mind, because he said, “You have such succulent lips.”

Well.

He then took those same two fingers and put his index finger in his mouth and sucked on it. My eyes became huge and my panties grew moist. What in the hell was going on with this man?

“So, you’re plotting to run from me again, road runner? Especially before I can get your number.”

“W-what?” I stammered.

“Are you plotting to run from me again before I can get your phone number?” he repeated slightly slower.

I couldn’t say that I didn’t run from him, because I actually did run.

“I don’t date.”

“Good, because neither do I,” he replied as he pulled out his phone. It was some sleek black phone that I’d never seen before. It wasn’t like the rest of the smartphones, but it had a touch screen.

He looked at me and I could see that he wasn’t playing, so I asked, “Well, then what do you do?”

“Would you care to find out?”

“It depends.”

“On what?” he asked.

“On what you are offering.”

“How about for now, I just offer dinner and movie.”

“I don’t date,” I responded.

“So, let’s just call it dinner and a movie.”

I adjusted my bag on my shoulder and sighed.

“Look, Joshua, you seem nice and forceful and all, but I really don’t date, I have a meeting to go to and I’m running late, so if you’ll excuse me.”

“Forceful, huh? You remember my name?” he smiled slyly.

“Uh, I guess.” Oh crap, I misspoke.

“Yeah. Well, since you won’t give me your number, can I get your name?

“Look, I really have to go,” I said as I walked around him.

He started to follow me, so I turned and asked him, “Where are you going?”

“Wherever you are going. I lost you once, I won’t lose you again. So, I’ll just wait until your meeting is over.”

What in the world. This man is crazy. Why do I attract the crazy ones?

“Look…”

He cut me off and said, “I’m not crazy, I just don’t think it’s a coincidence that I ran into you twice, not once but twice. I really wanted to talk to you then, but you ran from me and now a year later, you run into me again, literally.” He moved into my space again, licked his lips and continued, “You are very beautiful, but you still have sad eyes. A woman with your beauty shouldn’t have sad eyes. Let me take you out. It doesn’t have to be a date, but the best way to get to know someone is by spending time with them.”

My shoulders relaxed. He must have noticed, so he continued, “Okay, what do you do for work?”

“I’m a consultant,” I replied.

“Oh, well then we definitely should talk, because I know a lot of people.”

“You don’t even know what field I consult in? Plus, it’s not good to mix business with pleasure.”

“I know all types of people. What field?”

“Media and Marketing,” I replied.

He reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a black card. It was a business card, but it was vertical and had a light gloss over the front and a felt-like texture on the back. I immediately put it in my purse.

“Can I have your card?”

I pulled out my card and slowly gave it to him. He took it with a smile on his face.

Wow, he really did look good, like a young Tom Cruise or George Clooney.

“Now, was that so hard?” He laughed.

“Yes, you could be crazy, deranged, a stalker, killer or anything. I just let you know where I work and how to contact me.”

He looked at me intently and said, “I’d never hurt you.”

I stared back at him. Why was he so intense now?  He was laughing a second ago, but now he was so stern. He looked at my card and said, “Samantha Wilde, Founder of S & W Consulting in Marketing. An entrepreneur, I see. I knew there was something about you that I was drawn to. You have this duality going on inside and you are looking for balance.”

Really?

“How do you figure that?” I asked.

“You display your strength with power suits, pinned up coiled hair, heels to use your height as more of an advantage when you are already tall. You also have a seriousness about you that is always displayed on your face, except the times that you’ve literally run into me. The first time you had been crying and this time you seemed upset. Always guarded, except for those moments.”

“How would you know that, if this is only the second time you’ve seen me?”

“Oh, I’ve seen you plenty of times especially when you enter my building.”

“W-what?” I stammered.

“Look at my card.” He gestured towards my bag.

I opened my purse to retrieve his card. His name is Joshua Kelly and the CEO/Founder of Kelly International. What the hell? This couldn’t be. I stared at his card and then looked up. “You aren’t the founder of Kelly International? That guy is a recluse and older than dirt.”

He chuckled, “A recluse, yes, but I don’t consider 40 to be older than dirt.”

“You own the Kelly Building?” I exclaimed.

The Kelly Building is a 40 story high rise for small businesses, branches, facilities, etc. My doctor’s office is in there, I have several clients in there and even thought about having my offices in there, but I couldn’t afford it at the time. My business is doing much better in its fifth year, but room for expansion is always welcome. However, having a space in the Kelly building was just out of the question. Prestige comes with being in that building. Anyone can’t just rent space there, you need to show a steady stream of income, be a part of a larger network, or have enough capital and references. 

“Yes, it’s mine,” he said proudly.

“Wow, that’s nice for you. I have to go now. Have a good evening,” I said and started to scamper away. I turned to see if he followed me, but he just watched me and took a picture of my business card. A second later, I heard my cell vibrate. I pulled it out and saw I had a text from a random number that read, ‘
this is Joshua, have a lovely evening road runner
.’

What have I done?