by Hannovah
“You’ve got to be patient, man.” Brandon suggested.
“I have been very patient. I’m trying to meet her more than halfway, but she keeps doing her own thing. Sometimes she goes out with her girlfriend, and I know that she and that girl are lovers. I just know it.”
I almost missed the smirk on Brandon’s face, but I let it slide as Joshua continued his tirade.
“I have no problem with that; I’m getting used to it. But when she’s going out without me, she needs to dress decently, not like a whore.” He slapped his thigh sharply with his right hand.
“Listen to this. She likes the reggae clubs, and a few Sundays ago, she went downtown to The I-and-I Yard, in her little piece of shorts. Without me.
“Then she came home complaining that the guys at the club pinched her butt and touched her boobs after she accepted drinks from them. I hate that!” He slapped his thigh again.
Brandon tried to console him. “Think about the good stuff, son.”
“I can only think about how she embarrasses me.”
“Embarrasses you?”
“Butt-cheeks don’t have to be out at every occasion!” Joshua sighed. “I work at the Quickie Mart, and she comes in there almost every day with her body exposed, and the young guys working in there keep trying to hit on her. When she leaves they talk among themselves: ‘I want to hit that.’ ‘You saw that butt?’ ‘She showed me her boobs.’ ‘I think I could get some.’ ‘She’s a stripper.’”
Joshua rubbed his forehead like a man in pain. “I’m so embarrassed that I never let anyone know that she’s my wife. I try not to attend to her when she comes into the store, and I told her not to talk to me when I’m at work. If I sense that she really needs to talk to me, I take it outside . . . and no touching, no babe, no honey, or anything like that.”
Joshua took a deep breath. Then he made a phone call to Ashley. “I need some alone time. I would be spending the night in a hotel.”
Apparently, Ashley agreed. I was surprised.
But when he hung up, he asked, “Is it okay if I spend the night in your guestroom?”
“I have no trouble with you spending the night here, son,” Brandon replied, scratching his bald head, “but that will not do you any good. You can’t solve your problems by running away from them. Give yourselves some time to cool off, but you should go home tonight and have a good talk. Don’t give up on the marriage until you exhaust all avenues; you must try.”
Joshua took my husband’s advice, and left us after a while to return to the bungalow.
But soon we heard them yelling at each other, and Ashley cussing at the top of her voice. Then there were crashing and banging noises, and a little later we heard the squealing of tires as Ashley drove away.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I should have been leaving at 3:00 p.m.
But instead, I sat grading papers in the lobby of the admin building of the north campus. I had received an email that morning, inviting me – no – instructing me to meet with the dean, after my last class. So here I was, killing time until my appointment.
It felt good to see my portrait on the lobby wall along with those of the who’s who of the university, and while I acted all proud to be showcased with my leaders, it was only an act. I much preferred to be recognized in the monetary way instead of with pictures, trophies and plaques; in fact, legal tender would be ideal.
“Dean Joseph would see you now,” Vickie, the secretary, said to me.
I took a few seconds to pack my papers into my briefcase before getting up.
When I walked into Dr. Joseph’s luxurious office, he stood and shook my hand. As usual, he looked and smelled damn good.
“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing with an open palm towards a brown, well-conditioned, leather sofa under a large, expensive-looking art piece on an accent wall. I sat at one end of the couch with my knees together and my feet flat on the glossy tiled floor, and he sat at the other end and angled his body to face me.
He asked, “How are you?”
“Great.” I turned my head to face him. “And you?”
“Much better now.” There went his playful smile and seductive wink again. Then he roped in his flirtation with “Let me get right to the point. The state of Florida has had a transfer student program for some years now and has recently invited DSU to participate, giving us a primary partner in South Africa. They’ve been advertising, and a few students have actually contacted us. So we’re putting together a committee for this campus and I would like you to serve on it.”
Lately, I had been respectfully declining most demands by my administrators because I was already tenured. But I guess North saw me as somewhat of a new kid on the block and figured they could try something. Also, my formal evaluation here was still upcoming, and I didn’t want to start off on a bad foot, so, smiling, I answered, “Oh yes-yes, I don’t mind at all. That should count as Service to the Institution.”
Service to the Institution was one of the categories for my evaluation, and I was glad I brought it up because I had to let him know that I don’t do extra work for nothing. I was not looking for more duties, and especially not duties that earned only a thank you. Years ago, all extra assignments for faculty came with a stipend, but not anymore.
“True,” he said, nodding at my smarts. “But there should not be too much work involved. I’ve also asked Dr. Alvarez.” He leaned towards me and continued, “You remember Jennifer – right?”
“Oh yes, of course.”
“I’ll plan for the three of us to get together soon . . . maybe on a Friday.”
Oh no. I really preferred to spend my Fridays with Brandon, away from DSU and their nonsense, but again, I replied, “Sure-sure. That would be fine.”
“Okay then.” He got up and shook my hand, saying, “Vickie will contact you with the details.”
Two days later, just after eight in the morning, Dr. Joseph stopped by my office, and after his usual compliments on my appearance, he asked, “Has Vickie sent you the info about the committee meeting?”
“No, not yet.”
“Write this down: Luncheon at 1:00. Hibiscus Restaurant, South Beach. Next Friday.”
That was the Friday before Thanksgiving. Who wants to be meeting on that day to plan work-related stuff for next year? Suppressing the urge to suck my teeth, I draped on a smile, wrote it down, and said, “Okay.”
That Friday, the weather was chilly, so I dumped my usual short-sleeved pants suit for something warmer: a long-sleeved, knee-length denim dress and black boots. And I let down my shoulder length hair to help keep me warm.
I got to South Beach on time, but had a nightmare of a time finding a parking space. Miami has many tourist hot spots, but South Beach is the most popular – it never sleeps – but its one drawback is that it comes with minimal parking. The Hibiscus had a parking garage, but it was for valet which was twenty whole bucks. And a tip was expected on top of that. No thank you. I kept on searching for a spot along nearby streets, and fifteen minutes later, after three go-arounds, I found one two blocks away.
In a frenzy, I walked- ran towards the restaurant, and when I got to its front balcony, I saw the dean posing leisurely for pictures with patrons, and scribbling on napkins what I assumed was his autograph. He was dressed in casual attire: an Indian cotton, gray-and-black long-sleeved shirt and starched designer jeans. And just to warm us ladies up on this cold Fall day, he had the top few buttons of his shirt undone, drawing attention to a gold chain that lay sexily amid soft black hairs on his chest.
“I’m so sorry for being late,” I said as soon as we greeted.
Before I could offer an explanation, he waved his large manly hands and said, “Not a problem. Don’t even apologize.” Then he paused to admire me. “I’ve never seen you with your hair down.” He touched my hair, whispering, “You’re so beautiful.”
I should have protested or at least flinched at his touch, but a blinding flash from a camera inadvertently sent me closer to
him. When I recovered, I politely replied, “Thank you.”
A waitress with a hibiscus flower in her hair to match her hibiscus-flowered shirt, led us toward the more secluded-looking rear of the place and, throughout the journey, the dean kept his fingertips on my back right between my shoulder blades.
I could feel the ritzyness of Hibiscus as we wound our way amid the patrons. The place was filled to capacity it seemed, and I thought I recognized our Police Chief out on a side balcony dining with a weatherman from one of our TV channels. I was right. Hmmm. Then I did a double take at an actress from the old TV show, Love Boat; she was sitting at the bar. Back in the day, Brandon had a severe crush on her, and out of jealously, I had memorized her face. My heart skipped beat after beat as I recognized a few other people from the movies . . . but I didn’t know their names. I was in awe. But while my inner-self was bubbling with excitement to be among celebrities, I knew better than to stare. I kept my face blank and walked on like no big deal, though I wondered if I should request an autograph or two.
“Jennifer isn’t here yet?” I asked as we got to our table and sat on chairs with bright, flowered cushions.
Dean Joseph picked up his menu, apparently not hearing my question.
“The new Speech professor,” I tried again. “Is she coming?”
He hesitated, “Oh. She . . . will not be joining us. Something came up.”
Maybe he was telling the truth, but suddenly this whole situation was beginning to make me feel uneasy. I felt like I had been suckered into a lunch date, and if that was really the case, I certainly did not appreciate it.
I picked up my menu card and began to scrutinize the entrees for something different that sounded delicious. But the more I read, the more my eyes ballooned; these prices were outrageous. And although I would not be paying, it concerned me. So, I quickly found the chef’s specials and meals of the day, but those prices were ridiculously high as well – meant for the rich and famous. I don’t care what fancy name you give to a piece of chicken, and in what lavish sauce you claim to marinate it, and on what rare coals you grill it, it is still a piece of chicken – not worth fifty-something dollars. I could have been persuaded to pay ninety dollars for exotic meats like gator tails and frog legs, but chicken is chicken: the cheapest meat anywhere.
“Excuse me for asking,” I cleared my throat, “but is the lunch on DSU or on you?”
Lowering his menu card, Dr. Joseph responded sweetly, “Why? What difference does it make?”
I kept my eyes on the entrée descriptions and said, “Well, if it is DSU’s treat, I’ll go all out.” Then I engaged his avocado green eyes and finished with, “Otherwise, I’ll be modest.”
“It’s my treat. And my pleasure. You order whatever you want. Everything if you want.”
“Modest it is then,” I said, and focused on the appetizers.
He chuckled, “I’m beginning to like you.”
Hah! I did not even so much as look up at his statement.
The waitress returned with our drinks and we placed our orders. Then Dr. Joseph pushed the bouquet of flowers to the side, rested his elbows on the table, and cushioned his chin on his knuckles to gaze into my eyes.
I became uncomfortable. I had to do something before I fell under the spell of his hypnotic greens that seemed to change color depending on the surroundings and his mood. At that moment, they were a mesmerizing emerald, and my temperature began to rise. Rapidly.
Wiping the moisture under my nose, I reached for my briefcase and asked, “So what exactly is my role in this committee?”
He didn’t answer, but kept staring.
My heart fluttered a few. So for a further distraction, I pulled out my yellow notebook and my blue pen, and asked again, “My role in the Student Exchange Program?”
Relaxing, he sipped on his drink and took a while to answer. “Nothing for now. There’s time yet. The students would not be here until the start of the summer semester.” Leaning back into his chair, he asked, “Do you want to host a student? I plan to host one.”
My response came quickly, “Oh no.” I was already hosting two young people at my home, with regret; I definitely did not need any more drama. I put my supplies back into my briefcase because there was not going to be any DSU committee work right now.
“You fascinate me,” Dr. Joseph said from out in left field somewhere. “I can hear a slight accent, but I can’t place the nationality.”
Am I out on a date? I thought. Trevor may have been right. “Born and bred in Toronto. Came to Florida to study and get away from the cold. I fell in love, got married, and stayed.”
“It’s a pretty accent.”
Holding my hair, and raising it off my neck to cool off, I asked, “And you?”
“I’m a mixture. Grandparents on my father’s side left Morocco and wandered the world, eventually settling in Belize. My mother’s family came from Spain and I grew up with the multi culture. I came over here when I was nine.”
“The name Joseph does not show your heritage,” I played along.
“My grandfather changed his name numerous times.” He half-smiled, “I guess he liked Joseph best.”
Thank God, the waitress appeared with our food. After placing the goodies on the table, she asked Dr. Joseph to autograph her name tag and while he obliged her, I gawked at the giant-sized portions of food. My twelve garlic shrimp were humongous; I didn’t know shrimp could grow that big. Chemically mutated, I thought. And they were served with celery sticks and half a loaf of freshly baked bread. Although it was just an appetizer, it could easily have been dinner for Brandon and me. Checking the dean’s gator tails, wild rice, and Greek salad, I estimated that his meal could feed five of me.
We got to eating with the dean smiling at me every time our eyes made four.
“Do you cook?” he asked.
“Every day.”
“A variety of food?”
“I try.”
“How about church? You go?”
“Not often enough? Two or three times in the year.”
“What hobbies do you have? Do you work out?”
Am I on another goddamn interview or what? I put my fork down and was about to ask him why all the questions, but I remained civil and answered, “I sew.” Then I cleverly thought to slow him down by interjecting, “And I take jogs and walks on the beach with my husband.”
He smiled. “You like to party? Can you dance?”
“My husband and I get out sometimes.” I refused to answer the other question.
“Hmmm,” he said thoughtfully, “You’re beautiful, smart and talented. Your husband is a lucky man.”
I smiled as I delivered, “And he knows it, too.”
We were almost through eating our main course when he asked, “What are your plans for the long weekend ahead?”
“We had planned to be in Atlanta, but that got cancelled. And you?”
“Staying right here.”
I will admit that it was nice to be out with a celebrity – a handsome celebrity at that, but I hoped he knew that this was heading nowhere.
“How about dessert,” he asked while dusting his lips with the hibiscus-painted napkin and pushing away half of his food.
“Oh, no thank you.” I touched my belly. “I’m full.” I had stuffed down eight ginormous, tasty shrimp and three slices of the delicious bread. “Thanks for the meal,” I remembered to say.
“Any time.”
He gave the waitress his credit card, and it seemed like she took forever to return, since I really wanted to get away from this pretend date. When she came back, he asked me, “How about we walk off some of this food on the beach?”
“That’s a nice suggestion, but I do have to be going.” I stood up with my briefcase in hand.
“Hmmm,” he exhaled, rolling those pretty greens to let me know that he did not believe me. He got up, and placing his arm over my shoulders, he led us out to the front balcony of the restaurant.
“Beaut
iful day for a stroll,” he said, still hopeful.
Easing my shoulders from under his arm, I faced him and said, “Thanks for lunch, Dr. Joseph.”
“It’s JJ. That doctor and dean crap don’t work for me.” He held both my upper arms and aimed his green eyes down into my brown ones. “Now let me hear you say it.”
Suddenly my voice became hoarse, but I muttered, “JJ.” Thank God another camera flashed and created a distraction.
“Good! Music to my ears.” His eyes fell down to my lips, and his head slowly lowered towards mine. And I just knew what he was about to do. In public? In broad daylight? I’m married . . . and so are you.
I ducked like a boxer and avoided his attempt. “I must be going,” I said, and hightailed it out of there faster than Speedy Gonzales. When I crossed the first street, I looked backed and saw a few patrons chatting him up. And he saw me looking at him.
Trevor was right! Jamus Joseph was definitely interested in me. Why? I don’t know. I had not been seriously pursued by a man in ages. But that did not matter because I did not want to be pursued; I already had a man.
I took the long route home to think and clear my head. This goddam dean was well aware that I was in a good marriage because I had woven that into most of our conversations. But that had not deterred him. If I told Brandon, he would take matters into his own hands, and perhaps get himself beaten up by the more physically fit dean. Then I would be treated like crap at work. I will handle this dude – I can. Gosh, I felt like venting to somebody – maybe my cousin, Cynthia – but she was at work right now.
When I arrived home that afternoon, I met Brandon seated on a bench in the garage, fiddling with a plumbing snake. He asked, “So how was the meeting?”
“Boring as usual. But the food was good.” I sat next to him, unzipped my boots and kicked them off my feet.
He kissed me. “Did they gave you plenty extra work to do?”
“No, not much.”
“Good.” He put an arm around me and stroked my shoulder. “I was waiting on you. I want to check on the empty upstairs apartment and clear the tub drain. Can you go with me . . . or are you too tired?”
