less than two blocks from the precinct.
Beyond the cluster of tables, I spotted Flyin’ Home and his dogs moving down 135th Street toward the Kennedy Center basketball court. I called out and rushed after him, hoping he was in a better mood and more willing to talk about Friday night. But the dogs moved fast and by the time I reached the court no one was there.
By nine o’clock traffic was slow on the Harlem River. I stood on the terrace looking down into the water, wonderingabout Thea. How she had almost won the pageant … almost succeeded in becoming a great singer … almost found a good man.
Almost
had been the recurring theme in her life. What had happened along the way? How had she ended up working as a barmaid in the Half-Moon? Who had invited her into that alley?
“What’re you thinking, Mali?”
Tad had stepped out onto the terrace and I turned at the sound of his voice. “Nothing much. Listening for the next boat. River’s so quiet.”
He moved close behind me and his hands found the place in the small of my back and slowly began to work their way down. He wore only a pair of shorts and his skin was wet and soft and had a just-bathed, warm, jasmine scent. I closed my eyes, forgetting about Thea.
“Muscles are a little tense, Baby …”
“So is yours,” I whispered, leaning into him.
He kissed the nape of my neck, then lifted me and moved through the living room and into the bedroom. In the dim circle of light, he lay back on the bed watching me, smiling as I undressed.
“Ah, girl … the longer I know you, the better you look …” His voice was barely audible as I turned around, dropped my bra to the floor and stepped out of the silk bikini.
“And the longer I know you, the better you feel,” I said.
“Come here,” he whispered. “Baby, come here … walk slow … like that … that’s it.”
I stood near the edge of the bed, looking down, always surprised at the sight of him, surprised and glad at how fast he could get ready for action. He was ready and I hadn’t even touched him. I stood there with my hands on my hips thinking of an old blues riff, wondering how Lettie would have worked it:
… Gimme a hot dog
.
For my roll
.
No mustard, may’naise
.
Oh my soul
.
Just that hot, hot dog
.
From my hot dog man …
I was no singer, and to open my mouth to these words would have destroyed the mood, so I let the other parts of me do the talking. He reached for me with one hand and turned off the lamp with the other. “Tell me, Baby, what I want to hear.”
I leaned over with my legs spread wide on either side of him. He moved down, and in the dark I felt his breath light and easy on my stomach.
Dawn was making its way over the edge of the river when I opened my eyes. Tugboat and barge horns sounded their hoarse notes, then faded off.
I listened for a minute to the smaller clatter of silverware and rose from the bed and wandered into the dining area near the terrace. The curtains blew with the soft scent of the river behind them. I looked at the table.
“Champagne and orange juice. Are we celebrating something?”
“Not a celebration,” he said, stepping from the kitchen to place a platter of bacon and waffles on the table.
He was naked. How could a man stand at a stove with no clothes on? I watched him and my appetite stirred, but not for the waffles. He turned toward the stove again and I prayed that no hot oil would pop from the pan.
“I wanted to do something special,” he said. “Something for you to remember while I’m away …”
“I have a lot to remember,” I said, gazing at him. His skin was like Golden Blossom honey, only sweeter. At age forty, he had an edge of silver at his temples but prided himself for not having one slack muscle. I gazed at him another minute, then turned toward the bathroom to brush my teeth and dip my head in a rush of cold water. When I returned to the table, he was seated. I watched the other muscles move as he
Beyond the cluster of tables, I spotted Flyin’ Home and his dogs moving down 135th Street toward the Kennedy Center basketball court. I called out and rushed after him, hoping he was in a better mood and more willing to talk about Friday night. But the dogs moved fast and by the time I reached the court no one was there.
By nine o’clock traffic was slow on the Harlem River. I stood on the terrace looking down into the water, wonderingabout Thea. How she had almost won the pageant … almost succeeded in becoming a great singer … almost found a good man.
Almost
had been the recurring theme in her life. What had happened along the way? How had she ended up working as a barmaid in the Half-Moon? Who had invited her into that alley?
“What’re you thinking, Mali?”
Tad had stepped out onto the terrace and I turned at the sound of his voice. “Nothing much. Listening for the next boat. River’s so quiet.”
He moved close behind me and his hands found the place in the small of my back and slowly began to work their way down. He wore only a pair of shorts and his skin was wet and soft and had a just-bathed, warm, jasmine scent. I closed my eyes, forgetting about Thea.
“Muscles are a little tense, Baby …”
“So is yours,” I whispered, leaning into him.
He kissed the nape of my neck, then lifted me and moved through the living room and into the bedroom. In the dim circle of light, he lay back on the bed watching me, smiling as I undressed.
“Ah, girl … the longer I know you, the better you look …” His voice was barely audible as I turned around, dropped my bra to the floor and stepped out of the silk bikini.
“And the longer I know you, the better you feel,” I said.
“Come here,” he whispered. “Baby, come here … walk slow … like that … that’s it.”
I stood near the edge of the bed, looking down, always surprised at the sight of him, surprised and glad at how fast he could get ready for action. He was ready and I hadn’t even touched him. I stood there with my hands on my hips thinking of an old blues riff, wondering how Lettie would have worked it:
… Gimme a hot dog
.
For my roll
.
No mustard, may’naise
.
Oh my soul
.
Just that hot, hot dog
.
From my hot dog man …
I was no singer, and to open my mouth to these words would have destroyed the mood, so I let the other parts of me do the talking. He reached for me with one hand and turned off the lamp with the other. “Tell me, Baby, what I want to hear.”
I leaned over with my legs spread wide on either side of him. He moved down, and in the dark I felt his breath light and easy on my stomach.
Dawn was making its way over the edge of the river when I opened my eyes. Tugboat and barge horns sounded their hoarse notes, then faded off.
I listened for a minute to the smaller clatter of silverware and rose from the bed and wandered into the dining area near the terrace. The curtains blew with the soft scent of the river behind them. I looked at the table.
“Champagne and orange juice. Are we celebrating something?”
“Not a celebration,” he said, stepping from the kitchen to place a platter of bacon and waffles on the table.
He was naked. How could a man stand at a stove with no clothes on? I watched him and my appetite stirred, but not for the waffles. He turned toward the stove again and I prayed that no hot oil would pop from the pan.
“I wanted to do something special,” he said. “Something for you to remember while I’m away …”
“I have a lot to remember,” I said, gazing at him. His skin was like Golden Blossom honey, only sweeter. At age forty, he had an edge of silver at his temples but prided himself for not having one slack muscle. I gazed at him another minute, then turned toward the bathroom to brush my teeth and dip my head in a rush of cold water. When I returned to the table, he was seated. I watched the other muscles move as he
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