Three the Hard Way: A Play in Two Acts (23 page)

"No, I insist. It’s the least I can do for you, after you did so much for me."

"You’re right. She gets the check," I said to the bartender and sent him to do his business.

She looked around and leaned toward me again. "Look at him." Pointing with her eyes at him. He was standing at the other end of the bar talking to some guys. "He’s probably over there right now tellin’ his boys not to bother with us ’cause we’re gay." Then she looked strangely at me. "Oh. You’re not, are you?"

"No. Are you?"

"Chil’, no. I’m very strictly dickly," she said casually and picked up her glass. "I hope I didn’t ruin both our evenings."

"Let’s hope. You know how stuff like that gets around."

"Yeah. After a while, they’ll be talking about it in the men’s room," she mused as the bartender returned with our drinks. She paid the check and raised her glass. "Here’s to men; still the only game in town for me."

I raised my glass in complete agreement and we drank to it. "Well, here’s hoping, ’cause I did come here to dance, at the very least." I laughed.

"I did too. But I haven’t seen anybody I want to dance with, much less anything else."

I scanned the room quickly and was about to agree. That’s when I saw him. "But I feel confident that some self assured Black man will step up to the task."

"I’ll drink to that." She raised her glass again.

"To Black men." And I had just picked out the one I wanted. He was a handsome man, but not pretty, if you know what I mean. I looked him up and down from head to toe. But I did it on the low, ’cause my new friend had vulture written all over her face, so I knew better than to point him out.

He was dressed in a black single-breasted suit with a black T-shirt under the jacket, kind of California casual, for lack of a better term. He was at least six feet tall, which I love. Even though I’m only five, five, I love a tall man. And I like a man to have some meat on his bones, without being fat, which this man definitely wasn’t. His hair was cut very short, but not bald, with just a shadow of a beard, and his lips were full. He looked at me. He had the most engaging eyes. I tried to look away, but I couldn’t. He had me.

The DJ played "When Doves Cry," and I was startled when somebody asked me to dance. I love Prince and Doves Cry especially. I looked at him and he looked at me as if he were giving his consent for me to go on and dance. So I did.

After Doves Cry, the DJ broke into, "777-9311," then "Don’t Stop ’Til You Get Enough," all of which I loved back then. So I stayed on the floor, fending off my dance partner’s dancing advances, scanning the club for him the whole time. But I lost him. Once Michael Jr. had had enough, I thanked him very much for the dance. Then I very politely refused his offer to buy me a drink and returned to my seat at the bar. But it was occupied.

It was him.

And the vulture was all up in his face.

"I knew it," I mumbled.

As soon as he saw me he stood up. "I thought you were never gonna come off the floor," he said in a voice so deep that it made my whole body quiver.

"Well . . . I," I babbled, as if I were some Nervous Nellie who hadn’t had a man show any interest in her in years. Probably ’cause it was the truth. This was the first man who’s shown any interest in me in years, and I had no idea what to do next. The club scene sure has changed. But I knew it was me who had changed.

"Why didn’t you tell me you were really waiting for somebody?" the vulture said, eyeing this man like she wanted to eat him alive. Which I could understand since I wanted him too.

"Well . . . I," I babbled again.

"I hope you saved a little bit for me?" he said, reaching for my hand, I nervously accepted.

He led me back onto the dance floor, holding my hand the entire time. Holding it like we had known each other for years. I started to resist, but my hand, not to mention the rest of my body, felt comfortable in his hand.

Once we found, or should I say, made some space for ourselves on the floor, he let go of my hand and he began to dance. Naturally, I followed suit, ’cause after all, we were on the dance floor. I did a simple two step, moving from side to side with the beat of the music as I watched him move. Which he did effortlessly and gracefully. All without breaking eye contact with me. I looked away from time to time, but I felt drawn to his eyes like a bee to honey or a moth to a flame. It was as if his eyes had connected to mine and he was downloading a program into my brain.

When the DJ played LL Cool J’s "Mama Said Knock You Out," it was like something kicked in and took over both of us. From that point on, we no longer danced politely like two people who hadn’t actually been introduced. We were immediately transformed into two people who had known each other and danced together for years. Each step, every move I pulled out of my dancing memory bank, he matched. Then I turned around and he quickly introduced himself to this big butt I was carrying. At first I resisted, tried to dance away, but he wasn’t havin’ any parts of that. He placed his hands gently on my hips and held me in place. Once I felt his body against mine, I knew that my halfhearted resistance was futile. Suddenly I felt comfortable with his body resting gently, yet suggestively, against mine. I began to warm to the occasion and put my body in it.

We danced in this manner for who knows how long or for how many songs. It didn’t matter. I was having more fun than I’d had in years. Then we both got completely off- the-chain and just got plain nasty with it. I began to feel him, and believe me when I say I was very impressed with what I felt.

By the time we returned to the bar, the vulture was gone and somebody else had taken my seat. "I guess this would be a good time for introductions. My name is Xavier Assante," he said with his hand extended, and with a bit of an accent. "But everybody calls me Zavier."

"Carla Edwards," I replied, accepting his hand.

"Do you want to go somewhere," he asked very sexually, "and find a seat?"

"Sure. But I’m goin’ to get a drink first. You danced my throat dry."

"What are you drinking?"

"Vodka Collins."

He leaned close to me, our bodies touched. "Why don’t you find us a seat and I’ll get the drinks," he said in my ear with that voice. My body shuttered and I felt my knees getting weak. I grabbed his arm to steady myself. "How will you find me?"

"The club isn’t that big. And if I need help finding you, I’ll just ask where the most beautiful woman in the club is sitting. That will lead me straight to you."

With that, I walked away. It was a line and I knew it, but it still made me smile. After years of being known as Dennis’s wife and the children’s mother, it was flattering to be thought of as a beautiful woman. "The most beautiful woman in the club is what he said," I said out loud to no one in particular, as I wandered around the club looking in vain for a place for us to sit. I settled on a spot against the wall and waited. Some time had passed before I looked up and saw him talking to some guy. The guy looked around then he pointed in my direction. "No he didn’t."

He maneuvered his way through the crowd, drinks in hand. Seemingly oblivious to the glances he was getting from the sea of women he parted. He handed me my drink. "What did you say to that man?"

"I asked him which way the most beautiful woman in the club went."

"No you didn’t."

"You see he pointed me straight to you."

I was smiling so hard I thought my cheekbones were going to break through my skin.

For the next couple of hours, we alternated between dancing, drinking, and talking. I talked mostly about missing the kids, my job, you know, nothing intense. But mostly we danced. He listened well and spoke intelligently when he did speak, but I got the impression that he had actually come there to dance and not to find someone to sleep with. As the evening drew to an end and the club began to empty out, we filed out with the crowd. I definitely drank more than I should have and was feeling no pain, but I wasn’t drunk.

He walked me to my car and said goodnight, then we talked about this and that for the next half hour. He said goodnight again. "Can I give you a ride to your car?" I asked curiously, and a little put out that he hadn’t even asked for my phone number.

"I’m not driving," he answered. "I took a cab here."

"A cab?"

"Yes, a cab. I’m staying at the Ritz Carlton. I’m only in town for the night. I have to catch a plane first thing in the morning."

"Oh," I said. "That’s it."

"I guess you were wondering why I hadn’t asked for your phone number."

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"I thought about asking you for it, but I don’t know if or when I’ll be in town again, and that wouldn’t be fair to either of us."

"Thank you for being considerate. So you travel a lot?"

"On business. More than I like to sometimes."

"Why is that?"

"’Cause if I were more stable, maybe I’d have time to get to know somebody. Somebody like you."

Once again I was at a loss for words. But this time I didn’t start dabbling like a fool.

"Are you going to be all right to drive yourself home?"

"I’m not that drunk that I can’t drive myself home," I said to him partly to reassure myself. "In fact, I was going to offer you a ride to your hotel. You know it’s not easy for a Black man, even a professional Black man such as yourself, to get a cab."

"I usually do all right getting cabs to pick me up."

"You catch a lot of cabs?"

"Like I said, I travel a lot."

"You never did say what you do."

"No, I didn’t."

"Well?" I asked.

"Well what?" he replied.

"What do you do?"

He smiled. "I do contract work for large corporations."

"What type of work?"

"You ask a lot of questions don’t you?"

"Of course I do. I’m a woman."

"I noticed that very early in the evening."

"But you haven’t done much about it since then."

"No, I guess I haven’t, have I?"

"No you haven’t. But that’s not true. You have made me feel like a woman for the first time in years."

"A very beautiful woman, one who is to be spoiled and sought after, appreciated for her beauty."

"And I’ve felt all those things coming from you. All that and so much more. So I really should be thanking you."

"For what?"

"For making me feel things I haven’t felt in years."

"Well, you are very welcome," he said and kissed my hand.

"Now about that ride . . ." I stepped closer. "Do you want to catch a cab?" And closer still. "Or do you want me?"

I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. I meant to say do you wanna ride with me. But whether I meant to or not, I had just offered myself to this man. I don’t know how he took it, but there was definitely a part of me that wanted him.

"Well, since you put it that way, I accept," he said walking around to the passenger side of my car. Once we were both in the car with our seatbelts on, he said, "By the way, I’m gong to assume that you meant to offer me a ride and not yourself."

"Thank you, that was what I meant to say." Just that quickly he let me off the hook. But I was more than ready to stand by my words. It had been nine hundred forty-three days since I felt a man inside me, so the words more than ready took on a whole new meaning.