The Worst Romance Novel Ever Written

by H. M. Mann

  Gloria looked at her empty plate. Why’d I eat so fast? Oh yeah. I was nervous. And now I’m even more nervous. I’m sitting next to the Holy Grail of men, who now says he used to be a good Christian and obviously wants to leave. “Um, yeah. And, um, you have lots of writing to do.”

  “Yeah.”

  Johnny turned to Gloria, hoping that a bit of egg or toast clung to her lips. He saw nothing but Gloria’s delicious-looking lips. “Well, um, this meal’s on me. I had a very good night.” He leaned his face close to hers. “Thanks to you.”

  And now he’s leaning in for a kiss. “You can kiss me,” Gloria whispered, “but wait till I say when.”

  Johnny held his position. “Waiting, mainly for an explanation.”

  “I want you to kiss me as soon as that old lady—now.” Gloria turned her head to catch Johnny’s lips with her own. “Don’t stop,” she said from the right side of her mouth.

  Johnny wasn’t about to stop, even putting his hands around Gloria’s waist and sneaking in a little tongue.

  Gloria pulled away. Wow wow wow wow … “Um, she’s not having the heart attack I expected her to have.” Surprise kisses are so nice!

  Johnny looked across the dining room for the old lady. “I don’t see her.”

  Gloria kissed his cheek. “There was no old lady, Johnny.”

  “Oh.” Sneaky!

  “I didn’t want our first kiss to be a peck on the cheek.” I just didn’t expect it to be so intense!

  “And it wasn’t.”

  She squeezed his hand. “And if you keep asking me out for breakfast, I’ll get fat.”

  He squeezed back. “I doubt that. I wonder if there are any little old ladies out in the parking lot.”

  Gloria again checked the time on her cell phone. “There might be. I have to catch the bus.”

  “I can drive you home.”

  Scary to say, but the city bus is safer. “I know, it’s just … I’m a creature of habit, I guess.”

  Johnny nodded. “Develop it slowly, no rushing.”

  “Right.”

  “In good time.” He kissed her cheek. “See you later tonight?”

  “You better.” I have to find out how you used to be a good Christian! After I kiss you more.

  Johnny tipped their waitress with some of his tip money, paid the bill, and walked Gloria to the bus stop, which was merely a sign beside busy Colonial Avenue.

  “You don’t have to wait with me,” Gloria said.

  “I want to,” Johnny said.

  “I mean, it’s not as if there are any old ladies I want to shock to death out here.”

  “I know.” He pulled her to him and gave her a simple hug. “I’ll see you tonight, and I’ve always liked the cherry ones the best.”

  “I’ll remember that.” Gloria opened her purse and pulled out the fifteenth napkin, slipping it into his jacket pocket. “Don’t read it until you get home.”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  When the bus arrived and the door opened, Johnny didn’t want to let go of Gloria. A little old lady drove the bus, however, and Gloria laid a long juicy kiss on him. The bus sped away leaving Johnny’s lips drying in the exhaust smoke, leaves and McDonalds wrappers drifting around his feet.

  This, Johnny thought, is real romance.

  16

  Johnny replayed the events of the last six hours and declared them surreal.

  Gloria had replaced the sting of her criticism with the warmth of two sneaky kisses. He had gotten a hug. He had heard Gloria’s juicy, real laugh. He had looked at her face, her entire face. He had also looked at her entire body on their breakfast date and declared it soft, sensuous, and serene.

  And now, she was helping him to write a ridiculous book.

  He lay on his bed and smiled, the “Get counseling, you freak!” sign no longer affecting him as much. She didn’t react like other women when I told them I was a virgin. Other women asked me, “Why?” And I still don’t have a decent answer. I just am that’s all. I’m not trying to make any statement. I’m not in the abstinence movement. I’m just … waiting for the right person to come into my life, that’s all.

  Ah, who am I kidding? I’m still not ready.

  Gloria, though. I have to hand it to her. She didn’t question me at all. She did laugh, though. But it wasn’t a derisive, “Oh, I can see why” kind of laugh. I wish I had said root beer Dum-Dums were my favorite since they’re kind of her color, she’s bubbly and sweet, and she’s even kind of frothy when she laughs.

  Johnny felt content and even happy for the first time in a long time, even though it was obvious that slow and sure would lead to a stronger relationship with Gloria. There would be time for all that and more in the future. The Moment, with a capital M, would present itself, they would agree that the Moment had arrived, and they would enjoy the Moment to its fullest. Then they would rest in each other’s arms, and—

  Johnny remembered the napkin in his pocket. He found it, and as he read it, he realized that Gloria had already described the Moment:

  “Two completely clothed, sober, well-rested people alone in a small space … some small talk, maybe a backrub … a kiss … a laugh … a longer kiss … roving hands … ‘It’s getting hot in here’ … removing one item of clothing at a time, starting with the wedding dress … explorations … skin on skin … to the couch or to the floor or wherever the spirit moved them … steamy …

  ‘Are you ready?’ … ‘Oh yes’ … bliss.”

  Gloria’s simple description wired him, thrilled him, and kept him from even thinking about sleep. He sat at his laptop with his notes, the manuscript, and the last napkin and began to type: “Meanwhile at the Quick-E Mart, Gloria hastily set aside cherry Dum-Dums—”

  He deleted the phrase. Gloria doesn’t do anything hastily. He tried again: “Across town at Señor Pizza, Hector dreamed of Guatemala while Gloria set one cherry Dum-Dum aside on the Quick-E Mart counter for Johnny, the worst romance novelist ever born.”

  Better, Johnny thought. And most likely true.

  “But Johnny couldn’t sleep,” he typed, “couldn’t even drowse, because he couldn’t stop daydreaming of interesting, slow hands, Gloria’s soft body, and the bliss yet to come.”

  That’s not half-bad, Johnny thought. Maybe there’s hope for me yet.

  17

  Gloria avoided the few sets of eyes of the other passengers on the ride across town to Melrose Avenue and her grandma’s little house with the little porch, little rooms, and the little girl named Angel who called her, “Mama.”

  Gloria called her Grandma Marion “Mama,” too, so the word received plenty of airtime in that tiny, three-bedroom, two-story house.

  Gloria’s mother, Nancy, had died of a brain tumor when Gloria was just a baby, and other than studying hundreds of pictures of Nancy in photo albums, Gloria knew little about her beautiful mother. Marion and Nathan, Gloria’s grandpa, rarely spoke of Nancy, transferring the love they had for their only daughter to their only granddaughter. As for her father, Gloria knew of him, had even seen him around with his four younger children and bowlegged wife, but Marion had forbidden any contact with him. “Why?” a young Gloria had asked. “Because I said so,” Marion had replied.

  Eventually, Gloria stopped asking, and many years later, Angel, too, would stop asking about her own father because Gloria had said so.

  They became three women raising each other in a little house on Melrose Avenue.

  Angel met Gloria at the door with a hug and a kiss. “Why are you so late, Mama?”

  Gloria had trained Angel since birth to be on time, every time, and now that Angel was in kindergarten, Angel had become punctual and inquisitive, two very scary qualities for any mother to deal with.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Gloria said, “later” really meaning, “When I decide to tell you.” If I tell her about Johnny at all, Gloria thought. “Where’s your grandma?”

  “In th
e kitchen doing what I always do,” a raspy voice called from down the long hallway. “Getting your child ready for school.”

  Marion Minnick was a wisp of a woman who barely weighed 100 pounds. She had a shocking shock of white hair, which usually stood straight up, and long, skinny legs and feet. She usually wore conservative house dresses, but this morning she wore her favorite purple robe and matching slippers.

  Gloria smiled at Angel. “Did you brush your teeth?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “Put on lotion?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “Your lunch packed?”

  “Peanut butter and grape jelly, potato chips, an apple, and a juice box.”

  “Book bag ready?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “Bed made?”

  Angel frowned. “Not exactly.”

  “Go do it.”

  As Angel stomped up the stairs, Gloria entered the kitchen, a plate of cold eggs and toast on a paper plate at her place on the table.

  “I won’t ask where you’ve been,” Marion said.

  Gloria wrapped her breakfast with some aluminum foil. “I went to breakfast.”

  “My cooking finally getting to you?”

  “No, Mama,” Gloria said, putting the plate in the fridge. “I just wanted something different.”

  “Where’d you go?”

  Gloria sat. “I thought you weren’t going to ask me.”

  “You thought wrong.”

  Thus, the interrogation begins. “I went to the Roanoker and had eggs over easy, wheat toast with strawberry jam, and three strips of bacon.”

  Marion squinted. “What did it cost him?”

  How does she know? “How you know I didn’t go alone?”

  Marion smiled. “You ain’t crazy or old. Only crazy or old people go out for breakfast alone when they know they got a plate of homemade cooking waiting for them at home. So what’s his name?”

  “How do you know I went with a man?”

  “Your neck is flushed, girl,” Marion said. “Now, tell me his name.”

  Gloria sighed. “Johnny,” she whispered.

  “What you sighing and whispering for?”

  Gloria leaned in. “I don’t want Angel to know about him yet, okay?”

  “I ain’t dumb, Gloria,” Marion said. “He got a last name?”

  “Yes.” I just never got around to asking him what it was. “But I don’t want you on the phone all day doing a background check on him, so I’m not telling you.”

  “Like I wished I could have done with that other one.”

  True. “Please don’t bring that up.”

  Marion sipped her coffee.

  Gloria tried to block out the memory, but it kept flashing in front of her eyes. Paul Leffel, the tall, handsome graduate student from UVA, an honest-to-God black Frenchman in the United States studying anthropology, archaeology, and geography. Turning twenty-one and going to a loud, smoky bar near her dorm at the University of Richmond for the first time. That sexy accent of his, too many drinks for someone who never drank. A few hours of passion. Pregnant while he’s off to South America to play a real-life Indiana Jones. No calls, emails, letters, nothing for five years. Having to drop out during my senior year—

  “You kiss him?” Marion asked.

  Gloria rolled her eyes. “It’s none of your business.”

  “You did. Twice probably, as flushed as your neck is. So you like him.”

  “Mama, look—”

  “Just tell me if you like him, and I’ll leave you alone.”

  Gloria nodded.

  “He’s good for your soul and all that other nonsense.”

  She’ll never leave me alone. “Shh, Mama. Angel will hear you.”

  Marion sipped more of her coffee. “Bet he’s good for your heart, too.”

  “Yes, he’s good for my soul and my heart, now leave it alone.”

  Marion chuckled. “Ain’t a man been born that was only good for your heart. He must make your plumbing run.”

  “Mama!”

  “I’m just saying.” Marion checked the stove clock. “Bus is coming.”

  Gloria rushed Angel out of the house to the end of the sidewalk as the bus rolled up. “Be good, be smart, and be proud.”

  “Always.” Angel kissed Gloria on both cheeks. “So why were you late this morning?”

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  “I thought now was later.”

  She’s too smart! “I will tell you … later.”

  “Promise?”

  Gloria nodded. “Promise.”

  After the bus left, Gloria sat on Marion’s straight-backed chair on the porch. Paul and our one time may have been a mistake, but that child—no. Angel is an angel … most days. She’s the reason I work the third shift for the extra ten percent so I can pay for her eyeglasses, doctor’s appointments, and eventually—ouch—her braces. I wish she didn’t have so many teeth! She’s the reason I finished my business administration degree online in between diaper changes and doctor’s visits. She’s the reason I work for a corporation that matches dollar for dollar what I put into a college fund for her. I get to see Angel to the bus every morning, see her off the bus every day, and put her to bed before I go to work every night. I almost feel like a normal mother.

  The front door opened. “Ain’t it cold out there?” Marion asked. “Come inside, Gloria.”

  Gloria went in and sat on an ancient loveseat in the living room, Marion hovering behind her.

  “You didn’t tell Angel about Johnny, did you?” Marion asked.

  “No.”

  “I suppose that’s wise, especially when it doesn’t work out.”

  Gloria turned to Marion. “How do you know it won’t work out?”

  Marion joined Gloria on the loveseat. “You ain’t with him right now, are you? You got off the bus like you always do. Two measly kisses, right? You should know better than that. You got to seal the deal.”

  “Mama, we’re taking it slow.”

  “Taking what slow?”

  There is no use fighting this, Gloria thought. She will eventually get every detail out of me. “Johnny drives a Vega, delivers pizzas for Señor Pizza, and is writing a novel. He comes to the Quick-E Mart almost every night I work to get gas.”

  Marion blinked. “So far he’s poor, smelly, and pays too much for gas.”

  “He’s sweet, and he’s a Christian. I’ve been flirting with him using cherry suckers.”

  Marion clucked her tongue. “What are you, ten? Flirting with a man using sugar? Have you lost your mind?”

  Gloria only smiled.

  “Hmm.” Marion wrinkled up her wrinkles. “Going through his sweet tooth, huh? I did that a time or two. Usually works. Unless he’s a diabetic. That might kill him. Johnny isn’t a diabetic, is he?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You ought to make him some of your double fudge brownies.” She smiled. “Shoot, just make them for me. How old is he?”

  “I don’t know. About my age, I think.”

  “You think?”

  “I haven’t checked his ID, Mama.”

  Marion smiled. “He a good kisser?”

  “Yes.”

  “He got big hands?”

  Not this again! “Mama, I’ve told you that big hands do not necessarily mean he has, um, big glands.”

  Marion shrugged. “I’m just trying to get a feel for this man, that’s all. Is he nice at least?”

  “He’s courteous and polite.” Gloria smiled. “And he’s so shy around me.” For the most part. His leg was getting a little fresh with mine this morning, and when he sneaked in that tongue of his …very nice.

  Marion didn’t speak for a solid minute. “He’s white, ain’t he?”

  How did she … “How’d you know?”

  “One, he delivers pizzas. Only the white boys are crazy enough to do that in this town. Two, he drives a Vega. What in the world is a Vega? Three, he’s writing a novel. I’ve never met
any black man in my life who says he’s writing a novel. Four, you don’t know how old he is. I never can tell with white folks either. Five, you’ve known him for how long?”

  “About four months.”

  “Five, it took him four months to ask you out, and to breakfast of all things. White boys’ blood doesn’t get up and stay up. They’re just too steady sometimes.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  Marion pressed her shoulders into the loveseat. “I lived during the sixties, remember? I did my experimenting. White boys were just different.”

  “Boys, as in more than one?”

  “So I did a lot of experimenting. I kind of liked this one boy from California. Can’t remember his name. He said I talked funny. Wanted to take me home to his family to freak them out.”

  “Why didn’t he?”

  “I didn’t let him. I wasn’t about to travel three thousand miles on a bus just to mess with some white people.” Marion turned away. “Does, um, Johnny got any family around here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “Johnny is like … he’s like a good book, and I’m only to the end of the first chapter.”

  Marion snorted. “You really mean he’s like an onion, and you’ve only peeled back the first layer.”

  “Yeah. Kind of like that.”

  “And the more you peel him, the worse it’s all going to stink, and you’ll be crying.”

  “I won’t be crying, Mama. I’m pretty confident about him.”

  “Uh-huh. So, when do I meet him?”

  Gloria stood and yawned. “Like I said, we’re taking it slow, so you may not meet him for a long time.”

  Marion nodded. “And neither will Angel, right?”

  “Right. I don’t want her to know about Johnny until I’m absolutely sure of him.”

  Marion hummed an old blues song.

  “What, Mama?”

  Marion smiled and folded her hands. “You haven’t told Johnny about Angel, have you?”

  “Not yet.” Gloria sighed. “But I will.”

  Marion threw back her head. “Nathan, it’s me, Marion. You see this child? You see her? A grown woman who still lives with her grandma and is afraid to tell her new man that she’s a mama.”