Man of Fantasy

by Rochelle Alers

  Exactly forty minutes after she pushed the snooze button on the radio, it shut off. Tonight she’d fallen asleep before the music stopped.

  * * *

  Nayo sat at a small, round table with a man whose framing shop had occupied the same site for more than thirty years. She’d cropped the photographs that would hang on the walls in Ivan’s house and printed them on the highest-quality photographic paper.

  A heavily veined hand dotted with age spots turned over a matted photo to read the notation on the Post-it. “Do you want metal or wood for this one?”

  “I’d like wood, please.”

  She’d met Sid Wagner her first year in college. Whenever she entered his tiny shop in Alphabet City, tucked between a secondhand bookstore and a tailor, she felt like a kid in a candy store. He’d established a reputation for stretching and framing works of needlepoint, but when art students discovered he offered them deep discounts, they flocked to his shop.

  Nayo pointed to a color chart. “I’d like this color brown for the shadow boxes.”

  Sid, always cognizant of his thinning hair, patted his comb-over. “I don’t have that color in stock. I’ll have to order it, Nola.”

  Nayo had stopped correcting his pronunciation of her name. Sidney had continued to call her Nola even though she’d told him her name was pronounced Naw-yo and was Yoruba for “our joy.”

  “How long do you think that’s going to take?” She wanted to frame all of Ivan’s photographs so they could be hung before the magazine photographer scheduled a date for shooting the layout.

  Pursing his thin lips, Sid squinted at a wall calendar. “If I call it in today, then I should have it back, say, in a week.” Aging blue eyes met a pair of glowing dark brown ones. “These photographs are very good, Nola. Some of the finest I’ve seen in a very long time.”

  “Thank you.” Nayo knew that a compliment from the professional framer was comparable to winning a Pulitzer for photography.

  “Who’s the lucky person?”

  “It’s for someone who just finished decorating their home and needs wall hangings.”

  “I hope she knows what she’s getting.”

  Nayo wanted to tell him that she was a he. “She does,” she said, not bothering to correct him. Not that it would make a difference.

  She’d quoted a figure for the photos and Ivan hadn’t blinked when he wrote the check. He’d also signed the release for the photos she planned to eventually include in her book. They’d concluded all business before sleeping together.

  Her body reacted crazily whenever she recalled sleeping with Ivan. They’d made love the first time on Saturday afternoon, and again early Sunday morning before sharing a shower. She hadn’t packed her hairdryer or curling brush, and so a regular brush and a dab of gel tamed her curly hair.

  Nayo checked her watch. She had less than an hour to get back to Harlem before Ava and Tamara arrived. “Do you have any botanical prints on hand?” she asked Sid. He had a small supply of prints left behind by customers who either forgot or didn’t have the money to pick up their order.

  “I have about a dozen exquisite Audubon reproductions. Which one do you want—birds or plants?”

  “Both.” They would go well with the guest bedroom’s tropical decor.

  It was another quarter of an hour before she selected the prints for the bedrooms, gave Sid a check for half the order, then walked outside to hail a taxi to take her uptown.

  CHAPTER 12

  Smiling, Nayo opened the door, inviting Tamara and Ava into her apartment. “Let me take your jackets.”

  Ava slipped off her short wool jacket, her eyes widening in surprise. “I love your apartment.”

  Tamara handed Nayo a shopping bag from which wafted the most delicious smells. “That’s dinner. And I agree with Ava. Your place is exquisite. I’ve been in studio apartments that are so crowded there’s no place to walk without bumping into things.”

  Nayo took the bag to the kitchen. “I can’t stand clutter.”

  Ava slipped out of her boots, leaving them under the table near the door. “I hope you don’t mind if I walk around in my socks.”

  Nayo raised a leg, wiggling her toes in a pair of thick brown socks. “Join the club. Do you want to eat first or look at photos?”

  Ava pressed two hands to her belly. “I’d rather eat first. I had to skip lunch because of a meeting outside the office.”

  “The bathroom is through that door,” Nayo said as she gathered the coats.

  Her day had begun at dawn when she dusted the apartment, set the table with place settings for three, then sat down to the task of printing photographs. Her pulse accelerated when she went through the frames she’d taken of Ivan. To say the camera loved him was an understatement.

  What she’d suspected when shooting him was verified in the finished product. He had no bad side or angle. Closer inspection revealed vertical lines between his eyes whenever he smiled, and the lines bracketing his mouth were more like slashes in his lean jaw. As promised, she’d called Ivan to wish him a good day, but her call went directly to voice mail. Then she remembered he taught Monday and Wednesday mornings.

  Now, she emptied the shopping bag of containers of a variety of hot and cold dishes when Ava and Tamara emerged from the bathroom. Ava wore a tailored blue pantsuit with a white silk shirt. Tamara had chosen a black slim skirt ending midcalf with a pair of riding boots and matching turtleneck sweater. Both women wore a light cover of makeup.

  “Who does your hair?” Nayo asked Ava.

  Ava smiled. “I do it myself.”

  Nayo blinked. “We have similar hair texture, yet I can’t get my hair to look like yours unless I go to a salon and they set it in rollers, then blow it out.”

  “Do you have a flatiron?”

  Nayo nodded. “I have every hair contraption known to man. I tried flatironing my hair, and it came out crazy.”

  “Do you flatiron it wet or dry?”

  “Usually it’s wet.”

  “Mine always comes out better if I towel-dry it first,” Ava said. “After we eat I’ll show you how to do it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s all good,” Ava drawled.

  “While ya’ll have to wash and blow-dry hair, I have to go and get new growth touched up every six to eight weeks,” Tamara said. “What ticks me off is that I have to make the next appointment before I leave the salon. The owner says it’s for efficiency, while I call it a hustle.”

  “Where do you go?” Nayo asked.

  Tamara sucked her teeth, a habit her mother detested. “It’s some hoity-toity place on the Upper East Side. They claim their clients are celebrities, but I’ve never seen one walk through the door.”

  “What if you want a regular wash and set?” Ava asked.

  “They’ll take a walk-in or give you an appointment for the next day, but not if you need a color or straightening. The only thing that’s worse is the price list. If I knew some young girl in beauty school, I’d pay her to do my hair.”

  “I may be able to help you out there,” Ava volunteered. “I have a client who has a sister who does hair out of her apartment. The only drawback is that it’s not in the best of neighborhoods.”

  Tamara exhaled a sigh. “There are no so-called good neighborhoods anymore.”

  Nayo put out a pitcher of sweet tea to go along with lentil soup, couscous salad with cherry tomatoes and bell pepper, and Mediterranean chicken prepared with a mix of such aromatic flavors as basil, garlic, olives and fennel.

  She liked interacting with Ava and Tamara. Both were friendly, outgoing and totally unpretentious. Tamara disclosed she didn’t wear her ring at the hospital because whenever she had to put on latex gloves, she encountered a problem, so not many of her colleagues were aware of her engagement. Ava, on the other hand, wore her ring, with its cushion-cut center diamond, proudly.

  After dinner Nayo handed Tamara the photos she planned to exhibit at her next showing and include in her coffee-tabl
e book. Each photo was in a plastic sleeve.

  Tamara stared at color and black-and-white photos, unable to believe what she was seeing. The images seemed to leap off the paper. “These are incredible.”

  Ava went completely still when she recognized the face of the man staring intently into the camera lens. “Oh—my—word!” she gasped. “I had no idea Ivan looked like this.”

  Leaning to her right, Tamara saw what Ava was talking about. “Sweet baby boy! When did you take this, Nayo?”

  Nayo chided herself for not putting the photographs of Ivan in a separate folder. The women were staring at the one when Ivan had taken off his shirt and extended his arms above his head. The definition in his upper body was jaw-dropping spectacular.

  Her cheeks burned when she remembered what had followed his uninhibited photo session. “It was this past weekend.”

  Tamara couldn’t pull her gaze away from the expression of pure sensuality on Ivan’s face. “I wonder what he was thinking about when you took this shot.”

  “Don’t even go there,” Ava crooned. “I can’t believe he’s been hiding all this under those Hawaiian shirts.”

  Nayo smiled. “It shocked me, too.”

  “Being a doctor, you’d think I’d be used to seeing a naked body. But looking at a specimen like Ivan Campbell is a reminder of how perfect the body can be if it’s taken care of. I can’t decide whether I like him with or without his top,” Tamara admitted.

  Ava whistled softly. “Do you retouch your photos, Nayo?”

  “Not these ones. But if I shoot weddings or take professional head shots, I usually fix the imperfections.”

  “Well, you’ve just got yourself a client,” Ava declared. “Will you come to San Juan and photograph my wedding?”

  “Yes.” She’d checked her schedule and she was free that weekend.

  “You can photograph mine, too,” Tamara added.

  Things were happening so quickly for Nayo that she found it hard to grasp her newfound success. Ever since she’d picked up her first camera to take a picture of her favorite doll, she’d been hooked. Twenty-five years later she’d turned her childhood passion into a career. Her first exhibition was a rousing success and the art critics were more than generous with their praise. Her photographs would appear on the glossy pages of an international, celebrated, interior-design magazine and she’d just been commissioned to photograph two Signature Bridals weddings.

  * * *

  It was after ten when she closed the door behind Ava and Tamara. She’d washed her hair, towel-dried it and sat, stunned, when Ava showed her how to flatiron her hair. The result was no frizzy ends. Ava also brushed her hair in a circular motion around her head, keeping it in place with large bobby pins.

  The telephone rang and she went to her bedroom to answer it. “Hello.” Her voice came out breathless even though she’d only had to walk a few feet from the bathroom to the bed.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just returning your call.”

  Nayo went completely still. She heard something in Ivan’s voice that hadn’t been there before. “What’s the matter, Ivan?”

  A beat passed. “I had a patient who had an episode today.”

  “I know you can’t discuss your patients, but if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

  Another beat. “I’ll see you before eleven.”

  Nayo ended the call. She’d just invited a man to spend the night. But Ivan wasn’t just any man. He was her lover.

  * * *

  Ivan fastened his mouth to Nayo’s within seconds of her closing and locking the door. He needed her. For the first time in his life he needed a woman—and it wasn’t for sex.

  One arm went around her waist and he lifted her effortlessly off her feet, while his leather backpack slung over one shoulder slid to the floor. He carried her to the bed, easing her onto the mattress, his body following hers down.

  Pain, anger and frustration merged when he took her mouth in a hungry kiss as if he wanted to devour her whole. Nayo Goddard had come to represent all that was good, all that was unencumbered by the tragic events in his past. She was a free spirit living by her own rules.

  He could never predict what would come out of her mouth, never guess her next move. When they’d made love a second time on the weekend, it’d been Nayo who’d taken the initiative, giving pleasure before taking her own. She’d been selfless, and when he lay gasping for breath after the most exquisite sexual pleasure he’d ever experienced, she lay between his outstretched legs and drifted off to sleep.

  “I need you, baby,” he said now. “I need you so much.”

  Nayo heard the desperation in Ivan’s voice, felt the tension in his body. “I’m here, darling. I’ll always be here for you.”

  Ivan left the bed to take off his jacket, dropping it on a padded bench at the foot of the bed. He smiled. Tonight Nayo had pulled back the embroidered mosquito netting, tying it to the decoratively carved posts.

  His gaze met and fused with hers as he took off his clothes, one garment at a time, seemingly in slow motion. His gaze slid lower to her chest. An oversize white T-shirt, doubling as a nightshirt, failed to conceal the outline of her firm breasts.

  Nayo rose to her knees and held out her hand. “Come.”

  Ivan joined her on the bed and she moved into his embrace. They held each other, hearts keeping perfect syncopation. “A patient killed someone today,” he said quietly.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered.

  “He’d returned from his second deployment in Iraq when he began showing signs of post-traumatic stress. He refused to be treated at the VA hospital, so he was referred to me. A psychiatrist had prescribed an antidepressant, but he wouldn’t take them. Whenever he heard a loud noise or loud voices, he’d drop to the floor in a fetal position. He got into an argument with a teenage boy who wouldn’t turn down his music. When the police arrived, they were met with a scene that looked like the inside of a slaughterhouse. He’d used a hunting knife in an attempt to decapitate the teen.”

  Nayo swallowed the bile rising in the back of her throat. “Where is he, Ivan?”

  “He’s in the psych ward at Bellevue Hospital.”

  She closed her eyes. “What’s going to happen to him?”

  “I don’t know, baby. I’ll probably be called to testify at his trial as to his mental state.”

  “Did you get a chance to talk to him?”

  Ivan nodded. “Yes.”

  There was a pregnant silence as he recalled the blank look in his patient’s eyes when he talked about how he couldn’t take loud noises. That the music sounded like grenades and he had to stop it.

  “I’m sorry to drop this on you, but it’s not every day I see what had been a highly functioning young man with his whole life ahead him lose his grip on reality because he had to perform unspeakable acts under the guise of war.”

  Nayo wrapped her arms around Ivan’s head, pulling his face to her breasts. “Don’t apologize, darling. A friend is not a friend if you can’t come to them when you need to talk.”

  “I’d like to believe we’re more than friends, doll face.”

  She smiled. “Well, close friends.”

  “I’d say we’re closer than close.”

  “How close, Ivan?”

  His right hand caressed her leg, then moved between her thighs. “This close,” he whispered, cupping her furred mound.

  Nayo couldn’t control the ripple of desire shooting through her body. Her breath was coming in quick pants as his fingers worked their magic. “Please,” she begged shamelessly. She was on fire and only Ivan could extinguish it.

  Reaching down, Ivan pulled the T-shirt up and over Nayo’s head. Then he fastened his mouth to hers and eased her back to the mound of pillows. Slowly, meticulously, his tongue flicked out as he tasted her throat. Moving lower, he licked her breasts as if they were a sweet, chocolate confection. A low moan followed his downward journey when his tongue dipped into the indentation of her belly button.
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  “Don’t!” he whispered hoarsely when Nayo arched off the mattress in an attempt to escape his rapacious tongue. “Let me taste you.”

  Nayo was afraid, afraid of the strange sensations holding her prisoner to a desire she’d never experienced. “I can’t let you do that,” she gasped.

  Resting a hand on her flat belly, Ivan held her fast. “Yes, you can, baby.”

  He’d come to Nayo seeking succor from the horror of the crime scene, then witnessing the unrepentant expression in his patient’s eyes when he believed he hadn’t done anything wrong. Ivan hadn’t come to make love, and hadn’t brought protection.

  Nayo had been emphatic when she told him she wasn’t ready for marriage or motherhood. After meeting and sleeping with her, he’d rethought his decision to remain a bachelor. He still hadn’t ascertained whether his ambivalence had something to do with the woman in whose bed he lay now or seeing the transformation in his friends, who’d committed to spending their lives with the women they loved.

  Sliding down Nayo’s scented body, he pressed his face to the soft down and inhaled the essence of her femininity. He placed tiny kisses along the inside of her thighs until they parted and gave him the access he sought; then he buried his face in her sex and drank deeply.

  Nayo felt her heart stop, then start up again when she felt the tiny flutters in her body. Ivan’s mouth was doing things to her that left her gasping and praying for it to never end. But he was relentless, his tongue and teeth tasting and nipping her sensitized flesh until she felt as if she were coming out of her skin.

  Ivan made love to Nayo with his mouth when he really wanted to be inside her. He wanted to experience when they ceased to be separate entities, with passion and desire merging and lifting them outside themselves in a shared moment of unbridled ecstasy. He wanted to release his passion in her warm, throbbing flesh, then wait for the runaway beating of their hearts to return to normal.