by Amanda Boone
It was a quiet, rainy Thursday afternoon, and I was shelving some new books. The warm jingle of the door in front summoned me from behind the shelves, and I saw Lucy with her open umbrella, shaking off the wet and the cold.
“Close that damn umbrella, girl! This place has enough bad luck as it is,” I said, only half-playing.
“Are you serious? Fine, I got you, but jeez, I thought being a business-owner would make you less superstitious.”
“First of all, I’m not a business-owner. I barely make minimum wage. I’m more of a caretaker. And second, this has place has made me more superstitious, if anything. We need all the help we can get. If rubbing a rabbit’s foot and throwing salt over my shoulder isn’t going to hurt, why not give it a shot?”
“I hear you, but you know I might forget, so don’t get mad when I do. A gentle reminder will suffice.”
“Alright then. Give me that wet coat and I’ll throw it on the rack. What you been up to?”
“The usual, mostly. These kids are on one, though. I had to have Dana take over so I could take a walk and check on my girl, Alison. How you doin'?” she asked as she took her coat and hat off, handing them to me.
“As long as I don’t spend too much time thinking about keeping my head above water with this place, I’m good. I’m glad you showed up though. Alphabetizing has me seeing letters everywhere I look. You got P’s and Q’s on your cheeks, and T and A on that fine-ass body of yours,” I said, knowing how much that kind of teasing bothered her.
“Pshh, bitch, don’t even get fresh with me. This body has been getting me into way to much trouble lately anyway.”
“How so?”
“Andre’s tripping. He’s trying to get me to start hitting the streets again. I told him I’m done with that stuff. ‘Never again,’ I said. Be careful talking about money like you are. He might try to put you into business too.” She was shivering a bit from the cold, so I turned the heat up. It smelled like burnt hair.
“I don’t know what you expected when you stayed with him after quitting. You think you can date a pimp and not get pimped?” It wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation. She knew how I felt, but it bared repeating.
“Alison, I get it,” she said in the voice of a teenager tired of being nagged by her mom. “But it’s not that simple. I love him. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help it. And anyway, he’s putting most of the money into the group home nowadays. Nobody on the block has enough ends to donate to charity, even when some of the kids were theirs to begin with.”
“It’s a complicated situation, sure enough. Whenever I start feeling like I need a man in my life, I can count on you to remind me that I’m alright on my own. I don’t need more drama.”
“Well, it’s not like my life is any more chaotic now than it ever has been.” She looked a little distant, reflecting. “To be honest, I feel like I might go a little crazy if things ever calmed down for real. Some of the kids at my home are like that. They finally have a stable home life where someone is cooking and putting them in bed, and they can’t deal with it. They just start messing it up, starting fights with me and the other kids. They’re used to the frenzy.” She looked out the window at the rain, which was finally starting to settle. “But yeah! You don’t need no man. You got ninety-nine problems and a dick ain’t one, right? But you better take care of yourself, girl. We all need somebody now and then.”
“I guess so,” I conceded. “But I got you. You’ll always be my girl.”
“Of course. But I know you got needs that I’m not willing to fulfill. You’re on your own for that stuff.”
“Bitch, you nasty. Ain’t nobody trying get with you like that no way.”
“Sure, pretend you ain’t interested in my fine ass,” she said, turning to show off the goods. “Anyway, I got to be heading back now that the rain's dying down. Would you grab my coat and hat?”
“Yeah, and you better wait 'til you get outside to open that umbrella,” I said, more serious than I allowed myself to sound.
“Yeah, yeah. I love you girl. Talk to you soon.”
“Peace,” I said, and she was already through the door, with it closing behind her.
Chapter 4
I was setting up to close the store a little early when a white guy came in. He was tall with broad shoulders, dressed in a blue polo and slacks. Had I not been in a hurry to get home and curl up with one of the new trade-ins, I would have found him quite handsome. As it was, I was suspicious.
“Um, sir? Can I help you find anything? We’re closing soon.”
“The door says you close at 7. It’s 6:45,” he said, not rudely but firmly.
“That’s true,” I said. “But it’s just me here, and I have some errands I have to get to.”
“I see,” he said. He made his way through the aisles slowly, as if he was inspecting the shelves and books.
“Listen, man. If you’re a cop, you’re looking in the wrong place. Just about every place in this neighborhood has some illegal stuff happening in it, but not this store. I keep myself and my store clean. You’re free to look, but you’re wasting your time. And please don’t make a mess. I just finished inventory and alphabetizing.”
He was behind a shelf, but when he revealed himself, he was grinning, apparently entertained by my little rant. His smile was kind, bright, and I found my edges softening a little. He really was very attractive.
“What makes you think I’m a police officer?” he asked, still grinning.
“Come on. A white man, dressed like you, walking around in this hood? You don’t exactly fit in around here. I know you would’ve been hassled if you were up and down this street looking like you do. On top of all that, pretty much no one comes into this store except a couple neighborhood kids and some bookish older ladies.”
“Business isn’t booming, I can see. What keeps you coming in to work? You can’t be earning much.” This white boy was looking to rub me the wrong way, but he seemed genuine. I calmed myself before answering so I wouldn’t show my irritation at his invasive questioning.
“Who knows? A sense of duty? The kids? The books? Probably all of those things. The owner isn’t doing so well at the moment. He’s taken good care of me over the years, kept me out of trouble. I guess I owe it to him to keep it open, even when business is bad. Plus, this is one of the only places the kids from the group home across the way can come after school where someone isn’t offering them drugs or gang affiliation.”
“You seem like a woman of strong values. I admire that.”
Where is this guy coming from? I wondered.
“I’m James,” he continued. “What’s your name?”
“Alison. It’s nice to meet you, Officer James.”
He laughed, more loudly than the joke warranted. “I’m not a cop. Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m just a book lover.”
“I’m sure you are. You know, most book lovers don’t put themselves into danger just to browse.”
He laughed again. It was charming, musical. It made him throw his head back. “True. Call me an aficionado. I just know that this is the only independently-owned bookstore in the area, and that piqued my interest. I was also curious to see how well a bookstore would do in an area like this.”
“And?”
“It looks like you’re struggling to keep it in one piece. No offense.”
“Nope, you’re right. With Harold sick so much, I’m left to my own devices, and I don’t know much about keeping a building in shape. I’m sure there’s a book in here, a Home Maintenance for Dummies, but I haven’t gotten that far yet. It’s tough enough keeping things tidy and dusted without having to work on wiring and plumbing.”
“You certainly sound like you’re in a spot.” He hesitated. “Listen, I hope I’m not being too forward, but would you like to get coffee or lunch with me? I’d love to talk more.”
It was my turn to hesitate. “Well . . .” I couldn’t help but think about the conversation I’d had with Lucy ear
ly that day. About not needing a man. About those needs only a man could fulfill. “I guess that would be fine. I’m at the shop every day, but I’d be down with doing something after work. Around 7:30?”
“Perfect!” he said, clapping his hands once. He didn’t bother hiding his enthusiasm. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”
I was glad he offered a ride. I didn’t want him to know I didn’t have a car.
Chapter 5
James picked me up the next day, as promised. I closed the shop and turned around to see his Rolls-Royce parked out front, with him leaning against the door in sharp-looking dress shirt and slacks.
“Are you crazy!” I shout-whispered. “Are you trying to get robbed? You do realized people get killed for their shoes in this neighborhood, don’t you?”
He laughed his warm laugh, and I calmed down. “Alison, don’t worry,” he said, seemingly tickled at my distress. “We’ll be fine. We’re right next to the freeway, so we’ll be on the road in no time.”
“Where are we going anyway? I’m a mess.” I hadn’t felt like a mess until I saw him in his tailored outfit. Suddenly, my nicest clothes, which I’d worn for this occasion, were an embarrassing disaster.
“Nonsense! You look lovely.”
I blushed and got in the car, which was cavernous and pristine.
“See?” he said. “You fit right in. You look like a million bucks.”
“It looks like you would know,” I said, immediately regretting my rudeness, but being set at ease by his now-familiar chuckle.
“So, to answer your question, we’re going to a little Italian restaurant in my neighborhood. It’s not too far from here, actually. I know the owner, and he promised to treat us right.”
It wasn’t far at all. Before I had time to worry about what I would talk about at dinner, we were there. It was a small place, in a nice but modest suburban neighborhood, probably not fifteen minutes from my shop. It always amazed me how close the ritzy neighborhoods were to the projects. It was as though a series of bombs had torn apart only select sections of a wealthy, verdant township.
The place was small indeed. Had he not been driving, I would have missed it entirely. It was a brick building with white trim. It looked, actually, like a one-story Brownstone. James parked in the back, and a server showed us in. Immediately, I felt out of place. My clothes and shoes were far too informal, which was to say nothing of the fact that I was the only person of color in the building—and probably the block. Living in my area for years, I had forgotten how it felt to be the only minority somewhere. Anxiety made my face hot and my breath short. Would I spend the entire evening acutely aware of my skin? Would I spend the entire evening worrying about my hair and whether my natural curls would look too radical? Would I spend the entire evening paying extra attention to how I behaved with the knowledge that I was an unwilling representative for my entire race? I couldn’t order chicken—even if I wanted it and even though it’s a perfectly reasonable thing to order—because I didn’t want to confirm any stereotypes. I would be sure to tip well for the same reason. And I would keep my voice down.
Fortunately, my worries were soon pacified. James was talkative enough that I didn’t have time to overthink the situation.
“So!” he said, removing napkin from his wineglass and spreading it over his lap. “Have you always been interested in books, Alison? Were you a born reader?”
“I suppose I was more bookish than the average kid. I was a latchkey kid, so books provided a companion for me when my mom was out working and when my brother was out doing his thing. It became more of a focus for me during high school though. Watching my brother and so many friends drop out because they undervalued education put things in perspective. Having friends and family die because they thought it was more important to build a reputation than to build intelligence helped me to set my priorities. It’s a pretty unexciting life, relatively speaking, but I feel like I’ve had enough excitement already. A little quiet? A little routine? Those suit me just fine.”
“Where is your brother now?” he asked, with a little hesitation, probably wondering if he was one of the dead ones.
“He’s in prison. His street success finally caught up with him. To think that I envied him for his money and friends for years, and like that, it’s all gone. I visit him sometimes, usually on holidays, but we were never that close. My mom refuses to see him. She says she’s angry, but I think she’s ashamed because she did nothing to keep him from that life. If anything, she encouraged him because she benefited from the money and the local glamor.”
I was amazed to hear myself talking so openly with James about my private life. Over the course of the magnificent dinner, I found myself sharing things I had only shared with Lucy. Something about him made me feel safe, made me feel open. His hazel eyes had so much kindness in them, and it was clear that when he looked into mine, he was looking deeply. Those eyes, big and bright, crinkled when he smiled his gorgeous smile and it filled me with warmth in all the right places. When I spoke, he nodded and waited, really listening instead of just hearing me. I dropped all defenses, ones that had been there since childhood, ones that were well-fortified and had protected my heart from ache, but also from closeness, for as long as I could remember.
When he talked, I couldn’t help but focus on his lips, pillowy and pink, peeking out from his well-manicured stubble, which was sandy and turned red in the right light. More than once, I missed what he said because I was so entranced by his mouth, as if I were willing it to find any of my lips and do as it wished there. Too much talking, I thought, as I pictured his lips and tongue fluttering on my panties, which were already growing wet from the imagining. Briefly, I chided myself for being a bad listener after he had been such a good one, but my endorphins won out, and all I could do was nod as I felt my face and neck grow hot. I felt momentarily grateful that blushing is nearly invisible on a black girl, especially in a dimly lit restaurant. I allowed myself to embrace the flow of heat as it moved from my face down to my tingling nipples, which, without a bra, were visibly pressing against the fabric of my shirt. His quick glances at my breasts made me smile, and I chose not to hide my desire. Instead, I removed my right foot from my pump and teased my toes under the cuff of his pants. His smile grew, and his blush was much more visible than mine.
I ran my foot up his leg, leisurely, taking mischievous pleasure in his shortness of breath and increasingly red face and neck. I meant to slide up to his lap, but I was met shortly after his knee by his swollen manhood. Pleased that I had inspired such hardness and in such an impressive package, I felt a current of electricity run from his groin to mine, as though my leg were the conduit. Goosebumps ran over my legs and arms as my toes explored his substantial length, and judging from the pleasurable contortions on James’s face, I was sure he felt his hair stand up too.
When the waitress came to deliver and pick up the check, I delighted in stroking James pulsing bulge, in his inability to keep a straight face or speak clearly. I hoped she knew what was going on, and I hoped she touched herself later to the thought of us.
This was all so new to me. It was unlike me to be so bold with a man, and especially in public. My inhibitions were dissolving. I wanted him, and I wanted him to want me.
Wordlessly, we stumbled out of the restaurant, weak with sexual hunger. Even the movement of my legs against one another, in my tight dress, served to heighten my arousal. I tightened my pelvic muscles rhythmically.
James struggled to keep his eyes on the road as he drove us to my house. I had one foot on the dash board and one on his crotch while I played with myself for both of our pleasures. My panties were pulled to the side, and my skirt was up. He had a perfect view of my pussy, slick and desirous. Two of my fingers parted my lips and cradled my clit. I moved my hand in circles, rubbing the ache that had been building ever since I first got in his car.
At a red light, our faces moved like opposing magnets, drawn powerfully to one another. I finally found my
lips against his. He sucked on my lips, and I explored his mouth with my tongue until the car behind us honked, notifying us that the light had changed. We found ourselves in the same embrace at every red light, feverish as we were with urges, and every time, we needed reminding from annoyed cars to turn our attention back to the road.
Dizzied by desire, I didn’t bother feeling self-conscious about the smallness or the messiness of my house. He couldn’t have seen much anyway, involved as he was in sucking gently on my neck and earlobes. His hands palmed my ass, and I walked backward to the bedroom, where I fell on to the bed.
No sooner had I laid down than he lowered himself to the bedside so he could bury his face in my lap, pressing his tongue against the thin cotton of my underwear. His hands, strong and sure, moved my skirt up to my waist. His fingers hooked my panties on the way down. His kisses charted the landscape of my thighs as he lowered my panties and pulled them over my feet.
Melting waves of pleasure ran over me as he lapped thirstily against my pussy lips. Already wet, my slit was dripping as soon as his tongue probed its way between my folds. He licked in circles before sucking my lips gently between his, the pulling teasing my yearning clit, and making me moan.
I moved my hands through his wavy brown hair as he pressed his tongue against my hole, urging it to want him more, as if that were possible. Gasping with sensitivity, I almost kicked him off when he slurped my clit into his mouth. He pulled it in and out of his lips, causing my hips to churn against the bed. Tapping his tongue against my swollen clit made me hum. It was all I could do keep from releasing all that I’d been holding into his welcoming mouth, but I wanted him to share in my pleasure.
