by Cydney Rax
“Another man?” he asked in all seriousness.
I nodded and burst out laughing at the same time.
“Stop lying,” he frowned.
“No, seriously, it was a woman.”
“Cheated on you?” he said like he couldn’t even imagine.
“Well, I don’t know that for certain. See, he had this ex-girlfriend named . . . well, that’s not important, but anyway, this woman was always lurking in the background. Steve gave me plenty of attention, most of the time, but I figured she was somewhere in his proverbial closet. I thought she’d just go away. If he was with me, why would he want her, you know what I mean? But this broad never went away. And I think she pushed herself up on Steve so tight that he . . . well, we’re not together anymore.”
“So, you think if it weren’t for this other woman, you and Steve would still be together?” he said.
“Absolutely. Things were fine till she popped her neck through the door.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Huh?”
He leaned forward.
“Tracey, are you positive that this lady—”
“She’s not a lady,” I said, and shook my head like nothing could be more doubtful.
“—was the only reason you broke up? Could there have been other warning signs that you just didn’t notice?”
I set down my fork. “What? Look, I don’t know what you’re implying, but things between Steve and me were wonderful, okay? He gave me all kinds of shoes when he could. He loved my cooking and that’s saying a lot. He’d take me on drives, spontaneous ones sometimes, and we’d talk and just be together. And the sex—you haven’t had sex like that.”
Finally, Aaron flinched. He sat back. Thought.
I thought, too. Maybe I’d said too much. How did I know I could trust Aaron with this kind of information?
“I’m glad to hear that you considered your intimacy with Steve to be—”
“Freaking hellified.”
He smiled, but I didn’t.
“And that’s what makes me pissed, excuse me, Aaron, for going there, but hey, we’ve been going all afternoon, so why quit now? Steve was thick and solid in the intimacy department. And now since that whorish ghetto-fabulous wannabe snatched him—”
“Hey, hey, calm down.”
The ladies in the restaurant had stopped eating and were staring at us. I hadn’t realized how loud I’d gotten and how unnerved I felt. My hands were trembling and my mind felt clogged, like all my thoughts were crashing together and letting me know just how deeply this whole incident had affected me.
I leaned toward Aaron.
“You know, I’m glad you asked me these questions, because now I realize those things that I hadn’t come to terms with.”
“Uh-huh. I’m listening.”
“Now that I think about it, Steve wasn’t always there for me. He was only there when it was convenient for him. Hurts to admit it, but I put my life on hold just to be available for the moment that he could be available. He never went out of his way to meet my schedule. What schedule? He was my schedule, dammit. And I did everything I could, sacrificed time with Lauren, friends, job, personal interests, to be with his ungrateful ass.”
Aaron covered my shaking hands with his steady and warm ones. My torso and legs shook as if I were standing outside naked in the kind of weather that makes you crave warmth, or that makes you wish you had a covering.
Exposed.
That’s what Tracey Davenport was. Not Steve Monroe, but me, because I could finally stop lying to myself about how great our relationship supposedly was. Instead of stretching the truth, I could stare truth in its face, an unflinching, uncompromising reality that forced my heart to see what it never before wanted to acknowledge. That what Steve and I had was just barely okay, and when you wanted more, okay just wasn’t good enough.
“Hey,” Aaron said, staring into my face and shattering my thoughts. “It’s okay, okay?”
I reeled back from his words and did not speak for a few minutes. But when I did, I got up and sat in the empty chair next to Aaron.
“What up?”
“If you don’t remember anything else, Aaron, remember this—women have a strong need to be cherished. If you don’t cherish her, be prepared to lose her.”
He had a blank yet serious look on his face. I couldn’t quite interpret it, so I left it alone.
I hated to disclose so much of my feelings to him like that. On the one hand the revelations seemed too much, too fast, and I wasn’t sure he’d be mature enough to do anything worthwhile with them. But I realized I had so much inside of me and was at the place where I craved that male point of view. I knew it was risky to lower my guard and expose my hurts, but right then the hurt seemed so mountainous, what difference did it make? What good would it do to suppress the pain of Steve not valuing me the way I felt he should have?
Several moments later, Aaron paid the tab over my protests, and led us back into the shopping crowds. This time when we walked side by side, he bumped into me without apology. Shoulders rubbed shoulders. His presence invaded my comfort zone, making me feel comforted.
“BOOKS-A-MILLION? SURE, I’LL GO in here with you,” I said to Aaron, and trailed him through the store’s front entrance. “Hey, you might even find a gift for your folks. It’s one of my favorite stores in the mall,” I added.
“I thought so.” He winked.
Displays of the hottest books filled every conceivable space: T. D. Jakes, John Grisham, Sue Grafton, and more were vying for customer attention.
We walked around the store in a slow trot. Incredibly relaxed. No rushing. No other place to be, except with each other.
“Tracey, what about some Iyanla Vanzant?”
“No. Too deep. Your folks might appreciate something lighter.”
“Okay, I’ll keep looking.”
When he left my side, and I found myself alone in the fiction section, I felt my heart tug. Felt ashamed for becoming attached so fast. Wasn’t good to get attached too fast.
After unsuccessfully trying to get myself interested in some discounted calendars, I swung hesitant fists at my conscience and sought Aaron.
“Hey, now, coffee-table books are always a good choice,” I called to him. Thick hardcovers on every topic you could imagine were stacked on a dozen bargain book tables. We pored over just about everything, from exotic cookbooks to celebrity biographies.
“My dad wouldn’t want to read about Paul Reiser.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Because Paul Reiser is not Aretha Franklin.” He smiled and held up the Queen of Soul’s autobiography.
“Okay, now, what about this book on the history of African-Americans? It has some fabulous photos. And look here, your mom might like this one on decorating.”
“Okay,” he said and grabbed the books.
I was shocked, embarrassed. Acted like I was picking out gifts for my own folks, but Aaron didn’t say a word. We waited in line until he got rung up; he signed the credit card slip, and grabbed his merchandise.
“Now what?” he asked, looking at his watch.
“You got to be somewhere?”
“Nope. You?”
“No,” was my gentle reply.
“Then let’s go around the corner and check out a movie. Come on, let’s go,” he said.
“Aaron, I don’t know about that, it’s—”
“It’s time out for excuses, Tracey. I want to cheer you up. Get you away from it all, from sitting around the house hoping that Steve Monroe might call. Steve ain’t gonna act right. Bump Steve.”
“But Lauren—”
“Lauren ain’t thinking about you or me. She’s at the sleep-over having fun and hanging out with Regis and her crew. Ain’t nothing wrong with us going to the movies. I mean, if there is, let me know and we can part right now. I’ll go back to my lonely apartment and hang out with my roomie Brad, if he’s even there. And you’ll just go home and look at sa
d-ass tearjerkers on cable.”
I broke into a grin and gave a swift and unbelieving shake of my head. And even though I was sure he saw me shaking my head, I wondered if he could tell that my soul was also shaking from deep within.
TEN MINUTES LATER I WAS SO NERVOUS I didn’t notice what movie he picked. Even though I wasn’t hungry, he took the initiative to order hot buttered popcorn, a large Coca-Cola, and plenty of Good & Plenty. Aaron led us down the aisle and let me sit in the chair near the wall in a dark movie theater. The film had started fifteen minutes before, but Aaron kept glancing at me. Made me blush. I liked that attention, yet I felt weird being with him. I wished I could totally relax, but I really didn’t know how to achieve that.
If only this were Steve sitting next to me, and making me feel the way he was supposed to, the way he used to, then maybe I wouldn’t have felt so edgy, and maybe I could let go of fear.
Aaron didn’t seem to be having as tough a time as I was. While he looked at the movie and laughed or commented to the screen, I just sat there going through the motions. I was in the movies, yet I wasn’t. At that point, where we were didn’t seem to matter.
About halfway through the flick, at the part where a couple began making love, my hands started perspiring. I cast my eyes away from the screen to the chair in front of me. Aaron glanced at me again. I felt his arm go around the back of my chair.
“You doing okay?”
“I—I’m fine.”
“Yes, you are,” he said with gentle respect.
“Aaron,” I objected, but warmed inside at his wonderful attention.
“I’m not flattering you. Just telling you the truth,” he said, like he could care less about my little protests.
I felt foolish. Wouldn’t hurt to be gracious.
“Well, thanks. I need that.”
“Hey, did you guys come to the movie to watch it or to hold a conversation?” remarked a loudmouth moron sitting behind us.
Aaron draped his arm across my shoulder and smiled me into a smile. He then surprised me by giving me an exaggerated hug. I’m sure he did it to annoy the people behind us, but I was also wondering if he put his arm around me because he simply wanted to.
Once the movie ended, he walked me to my car. I drove him to another area of the parking lot so he could get his. I wasn’t surprised when his car followed mine to my apartment. But I was surprised when I allowed him to come in.
After putting away my packages, the first thing I did was look at caller ID. Lauren hadn’t phoned. That was good, yet bad. Good if it meant she was so busy having fun that she wouldn’t call. Bad if she decided to take that moment to phone home. What if she asked what I was doing?
The thought of having to make a confession made me want to die.
Aaron, not yet having said one word, made himself at home. He went to the fridge and poured a three-quarter glass of fruit punch. Then he took a seat and wasted no time gulping his drink. His silence unnerved me. It was as if he looked forward to being alone with me in the apartment. I felt warm and warmer. I decided to go change clothes when I felt the wetness of my shirt clinging to my breasts.
I held up a finger. “Be right back.” Aaron nodded and rested his arm against the back of the couch. He looked relaxed and content.
At first I started to throw on my hokey PJs, the ones that cover all your skin, the kind that good ole grandma would wear. But I opened my drawer and retrieved a Victoria’s Secret black satin lace-up gown: High slits with lattice tie-ups on the side, plunging V-neck to showcase the prominent cleavage.
Hey, Aaron had already seen some of what I had to offer. I believed he appreciated what he saw, and the more I thought of Steve’s trifling ways, the less I cared about what I was doing.
So caution was thrown to the wind, completely forgotten.
“Hey now,” he said when I entered the room. I took slow steps; paraded in front of him, twirled around with my hands outspread. Felt myself perspiring. It would have been a great time to blast the air conditioner, but I didn’t think it would make a dent.
He stood up, appraised me up and down, and grabbed both my hands.
“See, I wasn’t lying, Ms. Davenport,” he said with softness. “You do look good. Hell, you look damned good.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Ms. Davenport?” I asked, pulling my hands from his grasp and placing them on my hips.
Aaron blushed as embarrassment scrambled across his face. He stepped back and returned to the couch.
I looked at the ticking clock mounted on the living room wall.
It was eleven-forty.
“Hey, got any good music?” he asked.
“I’m sure I have something you might want to listen to.”
He removed his jacket, exposing his smooth and toned arms. Winked at me and smiled.
I swallowed deeply. Felt a stirring between my legs that couldn’t be denied.
“Let’s see what you got over here,” he murmured, approaching the stereo.
“Hey, Aaron. Lauren tells me you have a lot of CDs. My little collection pales compared to yours.”
“Don’t feel bad. I’m sure you have something we can both enjoy.”
We.
I warmed again. Wiped my eyes. Felt weaker. Especially when he slipped on the Isley Brothers’ The Heat Is On CD. Loved that music when I was younger; still loved it now that I was older. The wailing of “For the Love of You” inducted us into a different realm. He grabbed me and I didn’t stop him. Let him grab my waist, pulling my cleavage against his scorching chest. Felt so bad, so confused. He may have been young, but I swear his body didn’t know it. I laid my head against his neck, enjoyed the strength of his body, and rocked with him.
Outwardly I was acting like everything was legit, but deep inside a battle ensued. For a second I thought I was lapsing into mental instability. I’d go from realizing how great it felt to be in this handsome guy’s arms, and seconds later I’d think of Steve and how he’d brought this on himself. And much less often I’d think of the young lady I’d given birth to, believing that my being with Aaron wasn’t newsworthy. Since Lauren claimed that she and Aaron hadn’t consummated their relationship, she couldn’t miss what she’d never had, right?
Or could she?
Because we were in the living room, every once in a while I’d hear noises outside the door that sounded like several footsteps coming up the landing. I knew Lauren was at the slumber party and wasn’t about to come home, but that little fact didn’t make me feel secure.
Aaron pulled me against his chest, pressing his cheek against mine. God, his skin was sooo soft, so warm, it felt like our bodies were melting together, two entities becoming one.
I heard the patter of footsteps outside, and stiffened like inertia was setting in.
“Are we sure that it’s okay to be doing this, Aaron?” I asked, my voice quivering.
“Ms. Davenport,” he murmured.
“Please call me Tracey,” I said, still swaying.
“Tracey,” he said, and pressed his face against my hair, while his hands gripped my ass. “A dance is just a dance.”
“You sure about that?” I uttered, saying words that didn’t have to be said.
“Why are you afraid?” he asked, and moved his hand to my shoulder, caressing it with one strong fingertip.
“Aren’t you?”
“Nope,” he said. He sounded like he meant it.
“You do lie,” I replied. How could he mean it?
“No, I’m not lying. I can honestly say I’m not afraid because I know we’re just cool like this. I date your daughter and I’m keeping you company while she’s out tonight.”
I froze.
“So if she were here, none of this would be happening would it?”
“I doubt it,” he said, his body still moved by the classic Isley wail.
“Then it must be wrong. If it’s something we can’t do in front of her face, it’s wrong,” I said, more for my sake than his.
I felt his embrace weaken, preparing to give my body back to me.
“Aaron, did I strike a nerve?”
“Nothing’s struck, at least not with me. I’m not worried about me. I have self-control.”
“Oh, really now?”
Seconds later he stepped completely away from me, his touch now in the past.
“Yep, I do, Tracey. I’m personable, but I’m not crazy. You’re an attractive woman, but that’s as far as it will go. Maybe I should leave.”
“Wait a minute, wait. Let me think.”
I cleared my throat and looked at my clothing. Who was I kidding? Giving the poor guy mixed signals. Loving the feeling of him holding me in his arms, yet wondering what would happen if Lauren saw us. I felt awful, like a tease that might not follow up.
“Yep, you’re right. I think you should leave,” I said.
He had already grabbed his keys. That made me mad.
Don’t grab your keys until I say it’s all right to grab them.
“You know your way out.”
“Tracey, it’s a small apartment. Of course I know my way out.”
“Well, goodie for you.”
He stared at me for a minute, then turned to walk out the door, closing it without a sound behind him.
Aaron 8
When I got home and turned on the lamps, my roommate Brad had a rhythmic snore going. He sounded like an eight-hundred-year-old man. Under ordinary circumstances he’s a normal-looking guy: complexion the color of maple syrup, thick waist, round legs, and a robust build. On most days, Brad’s short Afro had an uneven look and he’d wear a metal pick lodged in the back. Oh, one more thing: one of his eyes was bigger than the other, which made some folks think he’s crazy, but that was debatable.
Tonight it looked as if he’d crashed and burned on the living room couch, stretched out lying on his belly with his lips spread apart, a small pool of saliva resting on the corner of his mouth. VH1 was playing music videos for the ultimate insomniac. I grabbed the remote, aimed it at the TV, and increased the volume to maximum.
“What, who, what—?” Brad mumbled, shifted his body to the side, and kinda thumped, then rolled to the floor.
