Your Love Is King (6 page)

Seven

“Smooth Operator”

We’d been living and working in St. Louis for exactly three weeks. Well, truthfully, I use the term “living” loosely, because all we’d really been doing was working, eating, and sleeping. After twelve hours in the ER, it was all I could do to drag myself to Carla’s car in the morning and then into my bed once we made it home. In those three, short weeks, I’d seen several stabbing and gunshot victims, a few guys who’d ended up on the wrong end of a fist fight, more than my fair share of motor vehicle accident injuries, and several cases that were more than suitable for an episode of Untold Stories of the ER. I was emotionally drained and physically exhausted, so when Carla brought up the idea of us going out for drinks, I jumped at the chance.

She’d heard about Charmaine’s, a popular “grown and sexy” club located downtown, and we’d made plans to meet up there with a couple of ladies who also worked at the hospital.  So, with me dressed in a silver, off-the-shoulder blouse and black slacks, and Carla in a tight, red dress and black stilettos, we headed out for an evening of relaxation and fun.

 As Carla pulled out of our building’s parking lot, I checked my cell phone and saw that I’d missed a call from Tiffany. I decided to call her in the morning and tucked my phone away as I took in the images of St. Louis nightlife that flashed through the window.

Ten minutes later, we arrived at Charmaine’s.  I smiled as we entered the club. It was small and cozy and filled with round tables covered with black table cloths and accented with centerpieces of vibrant, red roses. The dim lighting added a sense of intimacy to the place.

It didn’t take long for us to find the two ladies we were meeting. Carolyn and Ronda waved at us from their seats right in front of the small stage. I was happy that they’d managed to get us a good table.

The ladies greeted us with bright smiles and a promise that the band slated to perform that night, The St. Louis Kingsmen, would be good. I took a seat, ordered a strawberry daiquiri, and anxiously awaited the show while chatting with the ladies. Thankfully, we didn’t have to wait long at all.

“Welcome to Charmaine’s, everyone!” proclaimed the short, stocky man with a booming voice, seizing our undivided attention.

The crowd applauded in response. I looked across the table and smiled at Carla. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been out and it felt
great
.

“Thank you for coming out tonight. You will not be disappointed,” the announcer continued. “Back by popular demand, we give you,
all
The St. Louis Kingsmen!”

He left the stage and the lights brightened to reveal the full band—a drummer, keyboardist, two guitarists, a saxophonist, and a trumpeter. I took a sip of my daiquiri and clasped my hands before me on the table as they began to play a mid-tempo song. It was one of my favorite Sweetback tunes.

They were good,
very good
. I leaned over to share the sentiment with Carolyn.

“I told you they were good. We heard them a couple of weeks ago. The lead singer is
awesome
,” she said.

I nodded and returned my attention to the stage where the lead singer was now approaching the microphone as he continued to strum his guitar. His voice was smooth and rich and the music they provided was nothing short of aural beauty. I swayed and snapped my fingers and thoroughly enjoyed myself. They played a satisfying mix of smooth jazz and R&B and, by the time they took their break, I didn’t think I could take anymore, but the second half of the show proved to be even better than the first.

Through the second half of the show, I found it hard to take my eyes off of the lead singer. He was tall, dark, sexy, and
very
handsome, and his voice had me absolutely mesmerized. He sang with so much emotion and soul. I sat there and watched him perform and wondered if he smelled as good as he looked. I was really feeling him.

I leaned over to Carolyn again and asked, “Who
is
that guy?”

“Who, the lead singer?”

I nodded but didn’t take my eyes off of him. I could’ve sworn he was looking at me, too.

“Quinton Farver. Gorgeous, isn’t he? Women come from miles around to see him perform. He’s gonna be a big star one day.”

“Yeah,” I agreed and then continued to enjoy the show.

The last song was an instrumental tune that featured solos from each individual musician. I was especially impressed by the trumpeter, who was the only non-African American in the band. He was a tall, white guy with short, dark-blond hair. He played that trumpet like he was full of the soul of a black man.

After two encores, the show ended with a standing ovation from the entire crowd. Carla and I decided to stay a little while longer, both of us hating to see the evening come to an end. We’d really enjoyed this night out with Carolyn and Ronda and were discussing plans for our next weekend off when a waitress approached me.

She placed a fresh daiquiri in front of me. “Here you are, ma’am.”

“Oh, wait,” I said, stopping her in her tracks as she turned to leave. “I didn’t order another.”

She gave me a knowing smile. “Complements of Mr. King.”

I frowned. I didn’t know any Mr. King. “Um, who is Mr. King?”

“A member of the band,” she replied and then walked away.

I sat there with a confused look on my face as the other ladies at the table broke into a refrain of “oh’s” and “ah’s,” along with verbal speculations as to who Mr. King could’ve been. After much deliberation, the consensus was that Mr. King was probably the keyboardist since Carla claimed to have seen him looking at our table more than once. I had no idea who Mr. King was, but I did want to thank him for the drink. I decided that if he
was
the keyboardist, it wouldn’t exactly be a bad thing. He wasn’t as handsome as Quinton, but he was cute.

The other ladies continued to chatter on. I continued to sip my drink and was shocked to see the trumpeter from the band approaching our table a few minutes later.
Maybe he’s
relaying a message from the keyboardist
, I thought. He pulled a chair from the table next to ours and sat down beside me.

“You enjoying your drink?” he asked. I was taken aback by the fact that he sounded like a black man.

“Um, yes, I am,” I answered.

He smiled, revealing two rows of perfectly white teeth. His blue eyes sparkled as he spoke. “Good, I thought you might want another one.”

I nearly choked. “You mean
you
bought this drink for me?”

He nodded. “Yeah. And I’d like to buy you dinner one day, too.”         

I looked around at my table mates and smiled. Were they pulling a fast one on me?

“Oh no, is this a joke?” I asked.

His brow furrowed. “No, why?”

“Well, I haven’t ever been approached by a guy like you before,” I replied, choosing my words carefully.

“What? A trumpet player? Don’t tell me you’ve got something against dating musicians,” he said with a serious look on his face.

Damn, I’m gonna have to just come on out and say it
. “No, I mean a… a
white guy
. I’ve only ever dated black men, you know?”

He leaned closer to me. “Oh, so you have something against dating white men?”

I leaned back and frowned. “Well… no, that’s not what I’m saying. I mean, I’ve just never dated outside of my race before. That’s all.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really? Well, I’ve never dated inside mine.”

I tilted my head to the side. “Really? Never?”

“Really.
Never.
So, what’s your name?  Mine’s Chris. Chris King,” he said and then gave me a lopsided grin.

I returned his smile without even realizing it. “Um, it’s Marli.”

“Marley. Like Bob Marley?”

I nodded. “Yeah, but it’s actually short for Marlena.”

“Oh, that’s cool, like the actress.”

“Yeah, but spelled differently.”

“I like it. So about that dinner..." Boy, was he persistent. He seemed nice enough and he was cute, but I just couldn’t see myself dating him. I had a thing for brown skin and huge features, neither of which he possessed.

“Look, Chris. Thanks for the drink, but—”

He held up his hand, “But you don’t date white men. Okay, okay. I get it. Well, enjoy the rest of your drink and the rest of your evening, Ms. Marli,” he said, then stood to leave. He leaned over and whispered, “By the way, you have no idea what you’re missing.”

He looked me in the eye, flashed that smile at me again, and then left the table. As I watched him walk away, I couldn’t help but notice that he had a pretty nice body and he oozed confidence.

“Wow, Marli,” Carolyn said. “I didn’t see that coming.”

“Me, either,” I replied, never taking my eyes off of Chris King.

“He seemed nice, though, and he has a certain swagger about him. You know what I mean?” Carolyn added.

“Yeah, he does.”  

I finally took my eyes off of him and looked across the table to find Carla engaged in a lively conversation with none other than Quinton Farver. Well,
that figured.

Eight

“Flow”

I arrived at work with only seconds to spare. Carla had decided at the last minute to call in sick. So, of course, she wasn’t in any particular hurry to get me to the hospital on time. This situation really made me regret not bringing my own vehicle to St. Louis. Anyhow, while she was back at the apartment with a queasy stomach, I was poised for another exciting night in the ER. What would I walk into this shift?

No sooner than I’d swiped my badge and entered the trauma unit, I was herded into a room and instructed by the attending physician to begin chest compressions on a patient whom I knew nothing about. As I, along with another nurse, performed CPR on the elderly woman, I could see an elderly man standing outside the room with a concerned look on his face.

“What’s going on here?” I asked the other nurse, Kerry, who was bagging the patient.

“Husband found her unconscious, lying in the backyard at their home. By the time EMS got her here, she was breathing but had a weak pulse. She’s in full cardiac arrest now,” she said as she squeezed the Ambu bag, allowing the oxygenated air to enter the patient’s lungs.

I nodded and continued with the chest compressions. There were several other nurses in the room as well as Dr. Freeman, the attending physician. Behind me, I could hear him barking orders for different drugs to be pushed—atropine, epinephrine, lidocaine. All the while, we took quick breaks to check for a shockable heart rhythm. After thirty minutes of a valiant effort by all involved, the patient was pronounced deceased.

I watched as Dr. Freeman informed the patient’s husband. The man’s face fell and he hung his head in despair as he listened to the doctor. Then he silently walked away from the emergency area.

My heart ached for the man and, as we prepared the body for transport to the morgue, I silently prayed for him and his family. I hated to think of anyone losing a loved one.

And so began my shift. As usual, the twelve hours seemed to zip by, and by 7:00 A.M., I was more than ready to get home and into bed. My feet were throbbing, and I was truly exhausted. One thing was for sure, if I had never done so in the past, I was
definitely
earning my paycheck at University Hospital.

I gave my report on the patients that remained in the ER and then stepped outside into the warm June weather and took a seat on a bench. I expected Carla to be there any minute to pick me up, so I didn’t mind waiting outside. I’d been sitting there a few minutes before I realized that I was sitting next to the elderly gentlemen who’d lost his wife the previous night. Had he stayed at the hospital all night?

“Sir,” I began. “Sir, are you okay?”

He looked up at me with the saddest expression. “No, I… I lost my wife last night.”

I nodded. “I know, sir. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

He hung his head. “Thank you. Millie and I were together for fifty-four years. I don’t know what I’m gonna do now. There’s a piece of me that’s gone forever.”

I looked down at the sidewalk for a moment, not exactly sure of what to say. Finally, I said, “Have you been here all night?”

He nodded. “I can’t go home. I can’t go home knowing Millie’s not there.” His voice broke.

I placed my hand on his shoulder. “Do you have any family you could stay with for a while? Is there anyone I could call for you?”

He wiped his eyes. “Um, we’ve got a daughter, Sarah. She lives across town. I’ve been so upset, I haven’t been able to call her.”

I offered him a smile.  “Okay, let me call her for you.”

The man gave me his name and his daughter’s number. I called and informed her that her father was at the ER and needed a ride home. I decided to let him be the one to break the news about her mother to her. I sat with him and helped him to his daughter’s car once she arrived. It was as they drove away that I realized Carla still hadn’t arrived to pick me up. It had been exactly thirty minutes since my shift ended when I dialed her cell phone number—no answer. I left a message and continued to wait on the bench.

Another twenty minutes passed and I could barely keep my eyes open as I fumbled through my purse for my phone, having decided to try and call Carla again. I’d finally fished my phone out of my purse when I was startled by a voice coming from the driveway in front of the ER.

“Well, if it isn’t Ms. Marli,” a man said. I raised my head to see that it was Chris King.

He was speaking to me from the driver’s side of a shiny, black Mercedes Benz, complete with some very expensive-looking chrome rims. Trumpet-playing must have been a lucrative career for him.

“Hi,” I said unenthusiastically.

“You work here?”

Well that was stating the obvious. I was sitting outside a hospital wearing scrubs.

“Uh, yeah. Just got off,” I said, rather curtly.

“Oh, okay, well, have a good day.”  I’m sure he sensed that I wasn’t in the best of moods.

“Yeah, it’s been lovely so far,” I replied under my breath.

He drove away, and I dialed Carla’s number again. This time it went straight to voicemail. A voice inside told me that I should’ve asked Mr. Chris King for a ride, but I didn’t really know him. What if he was some kind of psycho?

After another ten minutes of waiting, I looked up and noticed a familiar black Mercedes pull back around the driveway.

“Do you just like hanging around hospitals or something, or are you a stalker?” I asked sarcastically as he pulled his car to a stop in front of me.

Chris smiled and shook his head. “No and no. I was here dropping off my sister for her shift. She’s a nurse. Her name’s Ava King. You know her?”

I shook my head. “No, but I’m new here.”
And I don’t know many white people, period.

“Oh, okay. Well, anyway, after I drove off earlier, I thought to myself that you looked like you needed a ride home. Do you?”

“I’m okay. I’m sure my friend will be here any minute,” I said and glanced at my watch. Now, of course I was lying, because at that point, I wasn’t sure if Carla was
ever
going to show up.

“You sure? How long you been out here waiting?”

I cleared my throat. “About an hour.”

“Man, that’s a long time, and you look tired. Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

I frowned. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just catch a cab…”

“Come on, Ms. Marli. Why you gotta be so mean? I’m trying to help you, here. You got something against riding in cars with white men, too?”

I sighed, grabbed my bag, and walked over to his car. At that point I was so tired, I couldn’t even argue anymore.

Chris jumped out of the car and opened the passenger’s door for me. Even through drowsy eyes I couldn’t help but notice how nicely his jeans fit him. And he smelled
so good
.

Once I climbed inside, he closed the door behind me and returned to the driver’s seat. His car’s interior was immaculate. The heavenly aroma of a vanilla-scented air freshener filled my nose and Marcus Miller’s “Boomerang” was pouring softly from the car’s speakers.

As we exited the lot, I looked over at him and smiled. “Thanks,” I said.

He glanced at me with a grin. “No problem, Ms. Marli. Where to?”

I gave him my address and said, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Why do you talk like that?”

He gave me a confused look. “Like what?”

“You know, like you’re black.”

His eyes widened. “Oh… uh, this is how I’ve always talked.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. Why?”

I shrugged. “I was just wondering.”

Chris shook his head. “Wow, you
are
prejudiced. Where are you from, anyway? Selma circa 1954?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not prejudiced. I was just curious. And I’m from Arkansas.”

“Oh damn, no wonder. They probably still got segregated schools and ‘whites only’ restaurants down there,” he said with an exaggerated Southern drawl.

I bugged my eyes. “No, they don’t!”

“Well, that’s how you’re acting. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were from the Jim Crow era instead of Arkansas.”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.”

“I’m serious. I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman as racist as you before.”

“I’m not racist!”

“If you say so…”

A silence fell between us for the remainder of the ride. And all the while, only one thought ran through my mind:
Am I being racist?

As we approached my building, I said, “Well… thanks again. I really appreciate the ride.” I paused for a moment. “Look, I really didn’t mean anything by asking that question. I wasn’t trying to be a racist or anything, seriously.”

He smiled. “I know. I was just messing with you.” He jumped out of the car and opened the door for me. “I’ll walk you to your door.”

“Okay, but you don’t have to.”

He shot me a sly look. “Maybe I want to.”

As Chris walked me to my apartment, the urge to twist my hips was overwhelming. As tired as I was, I still found it almost impossible not to flirt with him.

Once we reached my door, I gave him a groggy smile. “Um, well, this is it. I’d invite you in, but I’m so tired, it’ll be all I can do to climb into my bed.”

Chris nodded. “No problem, I got you. But you know, there
is
a way you could repay me.”

I tilted my head to the side.  “Really? And what’s that?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Dinner?”

I sighed and shook my head. “Look Chris, like I said before, I don’t date white guys.” But I was kind of thinking about it at that point.

“I know, but you said yourself that I don’t sound white. You could just close your eyes and pretend that I’m black.”

I had to laugh at that. “I don’t think I can eat dinner with my eyes closed, Mr. King, or do you plan on feeding me?”

“I will if I have to. Come on, Ms. Marli. One dinner, no strings attached. That’s all I’m asking.”