by Roy Glenn
“I know I’m fucking up, Chilly. But you know it ain’t always been like this. I made money for you,” Bruce pleaded his case.
“Made money for me? What, you think you the man ’cause you move an ounce or two every once in a while? Is that what you think? Shit!” Chilly screamed and slapped Bruce in his head. Everybody in the room laughed. It made Bruce feel like a fool—a fool who was about to die for four thousand dollars, most of which he and Natalie smoked themselves.
“I ain’t the man, Chilly. I know that. All I’m saying is give me a few days to make my money back on what I got in the street. Chilly, please, that’s all I’m asking is for you to do that for me,” Bruce whined.
Chilly looked at Bruce for a long time without speaking. He looked around the room, knowing that everybody was waiting to see how he was going to handle this matter not of money, but of respect.
Chilly stood over Bruce. Without a word, he punched Bruce in the face, knocking him out of the chair. When Bruce tried to get to his feet, Chilly stepped up and kicked him in the gut. “Help him up,” Chilly commanded, and his orders were obeyed. “Hold him.”
Chilly hit Bruce again. “I’m gonna give you a few days to make back the money on what you got in the street,” Chilly whined the way Bruce did to the sound of more laughter. He hit Bruce again. “But this is a far as I’ll carry you. Next time you fuck me,” Chilly said as he hit Bruce again, “you die for it. And by the way, you can consider this money the interest on what you owe me. Next time I see you, you need to be handing me four grand. You understand me, Bruce?”
“I understand.”
After hitting Bruce a few more times, Chilly instructed his men to drag him out through the crowd to the front door and throw him out in the street.
Bruce lay in the street, thankful to be alive. He had counted on Chilly remembering his loyalty. What he wasn’t counting on was the ass kicking he got, but he should have. There were too many people in the room for Chilly to just let Bruce walk out still owing him money.
Bruce made it to his feet and moved slowly to his car. Once he got inside, he knew what he had to do.
Chapter Eleven
Early Saturday morning, Travis was back in his spot outside the grocery store waiting for Me’shelle. It had been a very long week, one filled with questions not only from himself, but from Ronnie and Jackie as well. They weren’t blatant with their questions or their accusations, but Travis knew they were thinking that he had lost his nerve. And maybe he had.
Even before he had seen Me’shelle, he knew that something had to change, but now things were different, much different. He had sacrificed not only the money but his honor and his integrity with Ronnie and Jackie for Me’shelle. It wasn’t because he was in love with her or anything like that. It was simply because he couldn’t risk anything happening to the woman that he dreamed of every night before he got a chance to know her.
So he waited.
This time, Travis didn’t have to wait long. At nine-forty-seven, he saw Me’shelle driving her car into the parking lot. He immediately jumped out of his car and hurried into the store. He wanted to be in there when she got in, instead of having to walk up on her like he was following her. Of course he was, but she didn’t need to know that. Maybe one day he’d tell her, but it wouldn’t be that day.
But where should he wait for her? The magazine rack? He turned his cart and started down the aisle. Nah, he thought, too obvious. And suppose she doesn’t come down that aisle. Then it hit him.
He could hear the smile in her voice as she said, I see you have plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables.
Travis turned around and walked as quickly as he could, still remembering the discipline of looking down each aisle as he passed. Once he reached the produce aisle and turned, Travis ran his cart right into Me’shelle’s.
“In a hurry to get somewhere?” Me’shelle asked.
“No,” Travis said. He was embarrassed, caught off guard and happy all at the same time. “Just trying to see you again.”
“See that. I knew you were following me,” Me’shelle said and smiled.
“Huh,” he said quickly, looking guilty. “How did you—I mean, I’m not following you.”
Me’shelle looked at Travis strangely and then to his empty cart. “I was only kidding.”
“Oh.”
“So, how’ve you been?” Me’shelle asked.
Travis paused for a second and looked in Me’shelle’s eyes. Then he smiled and said, “Do you really want to know?”
“Yes, I really want to know.” Me’shelle smiled back.
“So, you want me to tell you the truth?”
Me’shelle laughed. “Yes, I really want you to tell me the truth.”
“Are you sure you can handle the truth?” Travis asked as he stepped toward her.
“Yes, Travis, I really can handle the truth,” Me’shelle said, loving the fact that Travis seemed to have a sense of humor.
He took another step closer. “Well, Me’shelle, the truth is that ever since you rammed your shopping cart into me, I’ve thought about nothing but you. Each time I close my eyes I see your face and I dream the most delightful dreams of you each night when I sleep. The sound of your voice echoes in my ears all the time. So please, Me’shelle, tell me, can I take you out to dinner, could we go to the movies, take a walk in the park, have a cup of coffee together? Anything, Me’shelle, as long as you let me get to know you.”
“Wow,” was the only answer Me’shelle could come up with behind all that.
She had to admit that in the last week she had spent more time than she believed she should have thinking about Travis. If she wanted to be honest with herself, and at times like this she usually didn’t, she came to the store that day hoping to see him. It would only be fitting to tell him the truth since he broke out with his own little confession. But that wasn’t about to happen.
All that stuff was probably just a line anyway.
“Dreaming about me, huh?”
“Every night.”
“What kind of dreams?”
“You’ll have to go out with me to find that out, Me’shelle.”
“I don’t know, Travis. Like I said, I really don’t like going out with men who try to pick me up in grocery stores,” Me’shelle told him, even though she remembered how he walked off the last time she said that.
“If it’s being in the grocery store that’s bothering you, we could go outside,” Travis said and smiled.
“You know what I’m talking about, Travis. I don’t go out with guys with pick-up lines. Even really good ones like yours.”
“You know, Me’shelle, I can understand why you would say that. A beautiful woman like you probably gets guys hitting on her all the time.”
If you only knew, Me’shelle thought.
Me’shelle was a very beautiful woman. Most men were afraid to step to her for fear of rejection. That was the reason she had been alone these last 583 days. She didn’t want to be Sister Mary-Me’shelle, but she was a lady. And her aunts had taught her that not only doesn’t a lady allow men to pick her up in grocery stores, she never approaches a man.
“A lady waits for a strong, self-confident black man to approach her, and always in a polite and mannerly way,” Aunt Miranda always told her.
It was a policy that she agreed with in principle, but it was that policy that earned her the name Sister Mary-Me’shelle. The truth of the matter was that she was lonely. And besides, it was getting cold outside and Me’shelle missed feeling the warmth of a man’s body to curl up against on cold winter nights—or summer nights, or any nights, for that matter.
“I tell you what, Travis. Are you doing anything this evening?”
“No,” Travis said quickly, though he promised Mystique he would come to the club that night since he’d been avoiding her all week.
“Do you want to meet me somewhere?”
“Yes, definitely. You pick the place and I’ll be there.”
“Ok
ay. Why don’t you meet me at the Starbucks on Metropolitan Avenue?”
“What time?”
“Is six good for you?”
“That would be perfect,” Travis said gladly.
“Good, then I’ll see you at Starbucks at six.”
“Six o’clock it is. I’m looking forward to talking with you, Me’shelle,” Travis said as he started to walk away, leaving his shopping cart behind.
“Travis,” Me’shelle called to him. Travis stopped and turned around. “You forgot your cart.”
Travis walked back toward her. “Seeing you made me forget what I came here for. But I guess I can put it back where I found it,” he said and walked away again, leaving Me’shelle with a big smile on her face.
For the first time since Trent told her that he thought they should start seeing other people, Me’shelle had a date. As she continued her shopping, Me’shelle thought about what she would wear on a date to Starbucks.
It’s only Starbucks. That means it’ll just be coffee and maybe some pastry. What does a lady wear to meet a gentleman for coffee and pastry? She giggled to herself.
Travis arrived at Starbucks a little before six and stepped up to the counter. He looked over the menu of coffees and ordered a Mocha Valencia then waited impatiently for Me’shelle to arrive. Six o’clock came and went without incident. By 6:30, he had finished his coffee. He stood up and was just about to leave when Me’shelle walked through the door.
“Have you been waiting long, Travis?” she asked as if she were only a minute or two late.
“About a half an hour,” Travis said. He wasn’t sure which emotion was stronger, the anger he felt about waiting half an hour for her to show up, or joy that she was standing in front of him. Travis settled on the combination. “I hate waiting, but you are worth the wait. You look incredible tonight.”
Me’shelle had decided to wear tight black jeans, a white turtleneck and her black leather jacket. “Thank you very much, Travis. You’re looking very handsome yourself. What time did you get here?” she asked.
“About a quarter to six.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” she said, looking at her watch. “It’s only five after.”
“Who taught you to tell time? It’s six-thirty.” Travis held out his arm so she could see his watch. She glanced at it and took a very deep breath. Hearing her breathe like that aroused Travis, but he maintained his composure.
“I’m sorry, Travis. My watch must be slow.”
“It’s cool. You’re here now. Don’t sweat it.”
“You forgive me?” Me’shelle asked.
“Only if you promise to be a fascinating conversationalist.”
Me’shelle smiled. She took another deep breath. Each time she did it, a chill ran through his body. Her sexuality was overwhelming. “I tell you what, Travis. I promise to be as fascinating a conversationalist as you are. You see, it takes two to tango. Just like it takes two to have an intelligent conversation. But I think it’s only fair to warn you that I’m a sucker for an intelligent conversation.”
“So am I,” Travis replied, trying to sound intelligent and sure of himself. They walked to the counter together and ordered. “I’ll have another Mocha Valencia.” Travis looked at Me’shelle. Her eyes were driving him insane.
“And the lady will have?”
“Caramel Macchiato.”
Once the coffee was prepared, Travis and Me’shelle took a seat at a table by the window. “I never had Caramel Macchiato before. What’s in it?” Travis asked.
“Foamed milk with espresso, vanilla and real caramel. It delicious. Have some?”
“No, thank you. I may try one next time I’m here,” Travis said as he watched Me’shelle take a sip of her coffee. The sight of her lips on the cup moved him in ways no woman had ever moved him before; not even Mystique, and she had ways of moving a man. This was different.
Travis tried to rationalize that he was probably feeling this way because he had dreamt and fantasized about this woman so much. Now that he was finally here, he was probably just making more of it than there actually was. Travis quickly dismissed that thought.
Me’shelle is different.
“So talk to me, Travis. Tell me who you are.”
“There’s not much to tell. I came up right here in the Bronx. I went to college at the University of Connecticut and became a programmer. Now I work for myself,” Travis said, telling her as much of the truth as he could. He didn’t think it was a good time to tell her that he was the leader of a robbing crew. “So, who are you, Me’shelle? I want to know everything about you.”
“Well, let me see. I’ll give you the short version. How about that?”
“Okay.” Travis smiled.
“I was born in Queens, and my family moved to the Bronx when I was young. I’m a teacher. A third grade teacher, to be exact. But to be honest with you, Travis, I really don’t like talking about myself. If you stay around me long enough, you’ll find out everything you ever wanted to know.”
“I hope it’s a very long learning process. I think I’d enjoy getting to know you slowly.”
“So, you’re not one of those men who expects to have sex with me tonight? Who, after I sleep with him, slowly loses interest in me because my body is really all he was interested in?” Me’shelle asked, motioning with her hands as she said, my body.
Travis smiled and leaned forward, taking in with his eyes all of the body he could see above the table. “Was that a question or a statement?”
“It was definitely a question and a statement,” Me’shelle said and smiled.
“Can I answer you honestly?”
“I think that you should.”
“Me’shelle, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. And I’ve known some bad ones.”
“Why thank you, Travis,” Me’shelle beamed.
“You’re welcome, Me’shelle. And to be very honest with you, I would love to make love to you. I’ve dreamed of making love to you.” Travis let out a little laugh. “And a few other things that I can’t and don’t want to explain.”
“But in time, I wanna hear about those too. I think that our dreams are an expression of what we really think and feel.”
“I think so too. That’s why I’m sitting here with you. But like I was saying, I would love to make love to you right here, right now.”
Me’shelle closed her eyes for a second and quickly got a mental image of herself seated on the table with her arms around Travis’s neck, her legs wrapped around his waist and Travis pumping it to her slowly. She opened her eyes and smiled.
“But I think that I want to know you,” Travis continued. “I want to know more about you than you know about yourself. And I want you to know all about me, so when I do make love to you—and I am going to make love to you—I’ll be making love with you and to you. Not just Me’shelle’s body.”
“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you, Travis?”
“You said be honest. And besides, if I don’t believe in myself, how can I ever hope to get you to believe in me and what I say?”
“I guess you can’t.” Me’shelle raised her coffee cup. “Here’s to getting to know each other. I just hope that you mean what you say.”
“Trust me. I mean everything I say,” Travis said, pressing his cup against hers. “To getting to know you slowly.”
With the flirtation and statement of intentions out of the way, they talked their way through coffee, doing much more talking than drinking. After a second cup and more conversation, Travis walked Me’shelle to her car. She unlocked the door but didn’t get in. They talked at the car for another hour or so until Me’shelle attempted to drag herself away.
“I have to go.” She laughed as she leaned against the car. Travis leaned shoulder to shoulder on the car next to her. Standing this close to Me’shelle excited him.
“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll make it easy for you. I’ll say good night. I enjoyed my evening, Me’shelle.”
&nb
sp; “So did I,” she said.
“Can I call you sometime? I’d like to see you again.”
“Why don’t you give me your number and I’ll call you,” Me’shelle said. Travis quickly wrote down his number and handed it to her. “Well, Travis, thank you again. I really have enjoyed talking to you.”
“So, does that mean you’ll call me?”
Me’shelle smiled and opened the car door. “Maybe sooner than you think,” she replied and got in.
As she drove away, Travis looked at his watch. They had been talking almost non-stop for more than three hours. Travis walked to his car thinking, Now that was an interesting conversationalist.
Chapter Twelve
Sunday went as all Sundays did for Me’shelle. She got up early and hit the treadmill. She didn’t fall this time, even though her thoughts were of Bruce. She hadn’t seen or heard from him since she told him she wouldn’t give him any more money to support his habit. His words rang in her ears once again.
How you gonna live with yourself when I’m dead?
Me’shelle pushed the thought out of her mind. She went to her aunt’s house for Sunday dinner and while she was there, Bruce called to speak with her.
“What’s up, Me’shelle?”
“Bruce, where have been? I was worried about you. Is everything all right?”
“Worried about me, huh? But not worried enough to help me out, huh, Me’shelle? Anyway, I’m fine. We’re all fine. We’re down south.”
“Down south? Down south where?”
“We’re in Columbia, at Grandma’s house,” Bruce replied.
“Good. That’s where you should stay. It might keep you out of trouble for a while.”
“Yeah, maybe. But we’ll just be down here for a couple more weeks until I get my shit back to where it needs to be.”
“So, you’re coming back?”
“Yeah, Me’shelle, I’m a New York City boy, and it’s a little too country down here for me. Some of these niggas still rocking Jheri curls. The women are cool, and fine as hell, though.”
