No Ordinary Love (26 page)

“Art E. plays a synthesis of all that is music, and he plays it like nobody else!”

“Where has this man been? He’s been keeping us from his true musical genius for far too long!”

“Tony Santangelo, aka ‘Art E.,’ made the piano his bitch and taught it a lesson at Johnny Foley’s in San Francisco tonight. . . .”

“Not since the ‘Summer of Love’ in 1967 in Haight-Ashbury has such live musical talent been on display in San Francisco. . . .”

“Look out, San Francisco! There may be another musical renaissance in our future. Art E. is here, and we hope he’s here to stay. . . .”

Trina looked at Tony sleeping.
So do I.

Tony was a hot topic among some of her Facebook friends:

“He’s so cute! I want to kiss him all over!”

“Did you see how big his hands were? I want his hands on me!”

“He is so sweet! And for a white boy, he sure could dance.”

“Aren’t Italian men hot? I don’t care if he’s simple.

That is a
man
.”

Why isn’t anyone specifically talking to me? They saw me on top of that piano, didn’t they? I know I’m “Katrina Woods” instead of “Trina Woods” on Facebook, but they had to recognize me. I wish I could do a new selfie so my friends will recognize me as
the
Trina with Tony. What would I post along with it? “Yes, I’m the one Art E. flew three thousand miles to see. . . . Yes, I’m the one he named a song after. . . . Yes, I’m the one he played his heart out for.” I hate when people toot their own horns on Facebook, selling themselves and all their daily and often hourly “accomplishments.” I need to let someone else do it for me. But who would do that for me? The media outside aren’t doing their jobs! I’m only Tony’s “gal pal”!

She looked at her profile picture.
I had that taken when I could afford to get my hair done regularly. No wonder none of my Facebook friends have recognized me yet. Man, I need a trim.

She returned to the TMZ.com article and read comments rolling in nonstop under the allegedly “updated” story:

“That black woman he was with is so average. You think Art E. could be with someone who at least looked good. Hiking boots, baggy jeans, and an oversized white sweater? Maybe he’s blind or something.”

Hater
.

“That wench has to only be after his money. Art E. is a nut. Who would date a nut but a gold digger?”

Bitch.

“He didn’t even hug her back so they’re not really together. She’s probably a groupie or a hook-up. They can’t really be friends. Hey, Art E., I’m available! You can play your fingers on me all night long!”

Not gonna happen.

“Wasn’t she the same woman who didn’t get voted onto that
Second Chances
show? As if she could ever get on that show. What a fame whore! What an opportunist!”

I’m so glad I didn’t get voted onto that show! I might have had to leave Tony in less than a week!

“This is yet another sad example of a black sister suckered into eternal sin and damnation by the White Devil. When are black women going to learn that nothing good can come of any relationship with our tormentor?”

Troll.

“It’s a dam shame he has Assburgers. Otherwise, he’d be the perfect man.”

Ditz! He already
is
the perfect man. And learn how to spell!

Trina went to the couch to check on Tony and found him sleeping soundly.
I’m an average, opportunistic, gold-digging fame whore of a woman watching a nut sleep on my reclaimed-from-the-curb-and-drowned-in-Lysol purple couch.

And I can’t remember when I’ve been so happy.

She settled a blanket around him.
I don’t mind holding him with my hands and arms as long as he holds me in his mind. Maybe Tony can only love me in his mind. Strange, but that kind of love has to be purer because it isn’t marred by emotions or urges or whims or moods. It just . . . is. Mind love, the purest form of love.

And Tony Santangelo, aka Art E., seems to have this kind of love for me.

She went to her bedroom, disrobed, and put on shorts and a baggy T-shirt. As her head settled into her pillow, she whispered, “Good-night, Tony. Sweet dreams.”

You deserve them because you made this night a dream come true for me.

26

A
t 6:00 AM, Trina awoke to the sound of her shower.
And I’m not in it.

She looked through her doorway at the empty couch.

Tony is in my shower.

What do I do?

She crept to the bathroom door.
Do I knock? I don’t want to startle him.
“Tony, are you okay?”

“I like your soap,” Tony said.

It’s only Dove.

“I like your shampoo, too,” Tony said. “It is thick and smells like flowers.”

I hope he left me some. I need to wash my hair tonight.

The water stopped.

“Tony, there are some towels—”

The door opened to reveal Tony in only a medium-sized purple towel.

He fills that towel completely.
“Oh, you . . . found the towels.”

“Yes,” Tony said. “I need my toothbrush.”

This man is all muscle and hair from his navel to his neck. Look at those powerful shoulders! No piano will ever stand a chance against this man.

No woman either.

Especially me.

“Trina,” Tony said, “I need my toothbrush.”

Sorry, I am sponging you, and you give me so much to sponge.
“I don’t think I have an extra toothbrush. You can use mine if you want to.”
I can’t believe I said that! It must be all those delicious-looking muscles, I swear!

“Thank you.” Tony turned and stood in front of the sink.

I have just seen Tony’s buttocks because my towels are cheap and tiny. I, um, I like his . . . proportions very much. So
those
were dancing in front of me under his pants last night. Very nice.
“My toothbrush is in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror.”

Tony opened the medicine cabinet, found the only toothbrush, filled the bristles with Crest toothpaste, and began brushing.

Look at his legs, all sinewy and long and hairy and only two mere feet from my itching hands—

I have to get a grip on myself.

“I don’t have much to offer you for breakfast.”

Tony continued to brush.

“We could eat some more beef stew.”

Tony continued to brush.

“Or we could go out for breakfast.”

Tony continued to brush.

“It’s up to you.”

Four
minutes later, Tony spat into the sink. “I like beef stew.”

“Beef stew it is,” Trina said.
No wonder his teeth are so white. He is a dentist’s dream patient.

Tony dropped the towel at his feet and stepped over to his clothes, piled neatly on the floor near the bathtub.

I didn’t need to see all that manliness. I have never seen anything so magnificent. If it weren’t for this doorframe, I’d be passed out on the floor.

Tony put on his underwear.

His poor underwear! My God, he’s beautiful. Robert never dressed or undressed in front of me in ten years of marriage, and I see all of Tony in less than a day.

Tony put on his left sock and then his right.

Tony had no hesitation, no shyness, and no worry. Doesn’t he know I’m watching his every move? Doesn’t he know I haven’t had a man in my life—

I have never had a real man in my life.

That’s a real man.

Tony put on a T-shirt, his pants, and his button-down shirt, buttoning it up from the bottom.

I hope this is one of his routines. I am going to like this routine, but I need to be completely awake for the next performance.
“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes,” Tony said. He tightened his belt. “You have to go to work.”

“I took the rest of the week off,” Trina said.
Because I’m sick. Can’t you tell? I almost passed out from what I just witnessed. I’m sure I have a fever. Even my toes are sweating.

“We will go to Cielo Azul tonight,” Tony said.

Is he perseverating?
“But they wouldn’t let us eat there last night,” Trina said.

“It is the best restaurant in San Francisco,” Tony said.

He’s perseverating. I need to get him into a different room.
“Come into the kitchen with me.”

Tony followed Trina into the kitchen.

“We can probably eat anywhere now, and without a reservation, too,” Trina said. “Because you’ve come out, so to speak, all we have to do is show up and we can probably get a table wherever you want to eat.”

Tony blinked.

He doesn’t understand the doors that fame can open—which is cool. Tony will never be an asshole celebrity who thinks he or she is entitled to everything and anything.
“We can go to Cielo Azul,
or
we can go to any restaurant in San Francisco on just your name alone.”

“I want to take you to Cielo Azul.”

That didn’t work. Maybe the kitchen isn’t a large enough change of scenery.
Trina smiled. “We’ll go to Cielo Azul then.”

“Yes.”

Trina fixed Tony a bowl of stew and put it into the microwave. She pressed a few buttons, and it whirred and sputtered to life. “I’m going to take a shower now. When you hear the beep, your breakfast is ready. The spoons are in the drawer underneath the microwave.”

“Okay.” Tony went to the couch, sat, and turned on the television. “I will watch the weather.”

Trina collected a clean bra, T-shirt, and a pair of white underwear with brown polka dots and took them into the bathroom. After spraying away some of Tony’s hairs, she went to the doorway. “What will the high temperature be today, Tony?”

“Fifty-five,” Tony said.

Not exactly shorts weather, but I want to look better than “average” today. The media will likely notice Tony again wherever we go and I’d love to silence some of the haters with my slender, smooth legs.
“Thank you.” She shut the door.
Should I lock it? I don’t want him to think I don’t trust him.

She left it unlocked, took off her clothes, got into the shower, closed the curtain around her, and lathered up her legs. She had just finished shaving her legs when the door opened. She watched Tony step up to the shower, part the curtain, and thrust her cell phone in front of her face.

“A man named Robert is on your phone,” Tony said.

Trina aimed the spray away from her and took her phone. “Thanks.”

Tony turned and left the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Tony didn’t even look at me! His eyes looked everywhere
but
me. I know he tries to be polite, but that was no time to be polite! That was the time to stare!

She pressed the speaker button and set the phone on the edge of the tub. “What do you want, Robert?” She soaped up a washcloth and bathed quickly.

“And you brought him home,” Robert said. “You brought Art E. home.”

“So?”

“You let that mindless robot stay overnight with you,” Robert said.

“He is not mindless and he’s not a robot,” Trina said. “He is a man, and he is a genius.” She rinsed quickly and turned off the water.

“Are you in the shower?” Robert asked.

“Yes,” Trina said.

“And he just brought the phone to you while you were in the shower?” Robert asked.

“Yes,” Trina said. “And now I’m getting out.” She took another purple towel from a stack and began drying off.

“So he has seen you naked?” Robert asked.

Duh.
“What do you want, Robert?”

“I can’t believe this,” Robert said. “You have lost your mind.”

Trina wrapped the towel under her arms and lotioned her legs and thighs. “Actually, I’ve found my mind. It took me two long years, but I’m finally sane again.”

“It isn’t sane to shack up with a mentally defective white man,” Robert said.

“Tony is a genius,” Trina said, lotioning her buttocks, stomach, and breasts, “and he’s more of a man in a day than you were in ten years.”

“Oh, I seriously doubt that,” Robert said.

Trina opened and peeked through the bathroom door.
Tony already finished his stew. I love cooking for that man. But his eyes are glued to that television. Maybe if I stomp my feet as I go from the bathroom to my bedroom, he’ll turn his head to see me.
She picked up the phone and turned off the speaker. “What do you care anyway, Robert?” She gathered her clean clothes, took a deep breath, and dropped her towel. She walked on her heels into the hallway and stopped.
Look this way, man! Slender Trina in all her naked glory! Check out this profile! Look at my perfectly proportional breasts and buttocks!

Tony didn’t turn his head.

Trina sighed and put on her panties and bra.
Over here, Tony! I’m dressing leisurely and seductively for you.

Tony’s head stayed focused on the television.

“I read up on Asperger’s syndrome, Katrina,” Robert said.

Trina sighed and dragged her feet into her room, where she put on a pair of baggy tan shorts. “So reading a page or two at WebMD-dot-com makes you an expert.”