Carry-on Baggage: Our Nonstop Flight

by Bailey Thomas, Cynthia,Thomas, Peter,Short, Rochelle,Saunders, Keith

  I’d been working like a maniac since moving to Georgia, and I had enough cash flow put back to visit Cynthia in New York as often as I wanted. My dad had placed a second mortgage on his home and cosigned for major credit lines totaling about $200K to support my business ventures. He was a loyal, silent partner who always put his money where his mouth was, but trusted me to make all the decisions. I was sitting on another $120K in the bank and preparing to move into a downtown condo that I’d just signed a lease on. I was rubbing shoulders with the right people and had started the process of reinventing myself in Atlanta. My hope was that the woman beside me would want to ride out with a brutha.

  At Melrose’s place, I tried to give her and Cynthia space to reconnect. I waited around since it would’ve been a two-hour drive to go home and come back. Plus, I wanted to spend every second possible with Cynthia, even if I was just watching her from afar. The visit was brief and the interaction between the two of them seemed forced. Their drama wasn’t my business, though, and I wasn’t about to stick my nose in it.

  On the drive from Melrose’s, Cynthia told me her favorite food in the whole world was Japanese and that she could eat it every day. I figured I could monopolize more of her time by offering to take her to Geisha House for dinner. After dropping her off, I was back in the routine of racing home to shower, changing clothes and returning to chauffeur her. The distance and turnaround was a pain in the ass, but she was worth every mile I clocked. I was getting excited, realizing she was everything I’d imagined in a wife and soul mate.

  She looked unbelievably edible when I returned to get her later that night. I made sure she sat right next to me at the restaurant, with Melrose’s ass on the other side. Cynthia had extended her the invitation to join us earlier that day. Why was this girl all up under me? If anything, I thought she would’ve rather sat next to Cynthia to continue their girl talk. Instead, I was sandwiched between the two, and Melrose was hooked to my side like a Siamese twin.

  I positioned my back to Melrose in an effort to get closer to Cynthia and create some privacy. Once the mood was right, I placed my hand on Cynthia’s leg and gave her thigh a gentle rub. She responded by putting her hand on top of my mine. It was aggressive too! I felt like she was doing some subliminal voodoo shit to make sure my hand didn’t move from her thigh. Not a chance.

  We talked smack, drank and laughed all the way through dinner. I gazed at Cynthia the whole night. I was still looking for a bad angle but there wasn’t one to be found. I didn’t want the night to end and suggested that we go to my friend Lloyd’s nightclub. As with the night before, I called my boys and brother Earl to join us. They were my safety net to break the fall in case anything went down that provoked Cynthia to kick me to the curb.

  We entered the club through a VIP, back door entrance, where we bumped into Cee Lo Green. He was staring a pothole through Cynthia. I clutched her hand to let him know she was rolling with me. Cynthia laced her fingers tightly between mine, and for the first time I knew she was feeling me. I think I may have grabbed Melrose’s hand too, in a brotherly way.

  The rooftop was standing-room-only, so we found a spot to chill out on the second floor. I knew she was leaving the next morning and it felt like the night was moving in slow motion. I was taking in every detail about her. All I could see were her high cheekbones and those perfectly bowed lips that curled at the ends when she smiled. I needed to kiss her the first opportunity I got.

  Before the thought could leave my mind, opportunity prevailed and I went right in to steal one. When I pulled away, she had a look of astonishment on her face that made me check myself. I felt like I was about to catch a brick in a club full of people. In my mind, I could already hear her shrieking, “What the hell?” Her mean mugging didn’t crush my confidence, though. My chest was burning for more of her, and I quenched the heat with a second helping of her deliciousness. I must have misread her facial expression because that time, she kissed me back. I knew she wanted me all along.

  It was a long shot for me to make a move on this ridiculously beautiful woman, but when she returned the gesture, I was reassured. It was then I knew the deal was officially closed. Throughout the rest of the night, I kept my hand on some part of her body, but always in a respectable place. I wanted her to know I was into her and there were a thousand possibilities that awaited us.

  We left the club around two in the morning and between dinner and clubbing, we’d thrown back a small distillery. She was a little lit and immediately reclined her seat when she got into the truck. She threw those long legs up on the dashboard like she was posing for one of her sexy billboard ads. Unfortunately for me, her legs weren’t the only raised body parts in the vehicle. I was having some serious biological changes with my third leg. Her short skirt hiked up to her cream-colored panties, coupled with an unintentionally suggestive posture, gave me a boner out of this world. My shit was crazy!

  The 1990 Peter Thomas would’ve pulled over on the side of the road and tried to make something jump off, but I just watched her sleep the whole ride. The sight inspired me to turn what should have been a twenty-minute ride into forty-five minutes. I stared at her every stoplight, but I maintained my cool. I just knew this woman would one day be my wife, and I wasn’t about to let a hard-on fuck it up.

  When we reached Boris’, I sat there admiring her beauty for a good minute before waking her. I didn’t want her to catch me gawking, because I knew it would spook her out. Eventually, I nudged her softly until she opened her eyes. After walking her to the door and waiting until a light came on inside, I headed back to the truck. I immediately began thinking about picking her up later that Sunday morning. I was down to do everything in my power to make her mine.

  Knowing that she had a mid-day flight back to New York, I called her early to request one last date. She answered the phone in an angelic, seductive, half-asleep voice. As I started forming the sentence to invite her to brunch, she accepted before I could finish, as if she knew the invitation was coming.

  During brunch, she didn’t flinch once when The Ritz-Carlton staff repeatedly addressed her as Mrs. Thomas. By the end of our meal, she’d been labeled with the Thomas brand at least a dozen times. Baby girl was wearing it too. Her face showed that she was trying it on to see how it fit and how it felt. She couldn’t even play it off! She was made to wear the title, and I could feel that we were both down to take things in that direction.

  I was already feeling lonely, knowing that we were only a ten-minute drive from the airport. It wasn’t a trip I could stretch out because I didn’t want her to miss her flight. When we reached the airport it felt like she’d just arrived hours before. I didn’t want her to go. I wanted to kiss her really badly, but I was too spazzed out. It took everything I had to give her a hug and hold it together. As I watched her enter the airport, her butt cheeks were speaking my language as they shifted from side to side like they were performing an interpretive dance. I couldn’t even front – I felt empty seeing her walk away. My supermodel jetted off like a superhero. Damn, I forgot to ask her if she was still interested in selling me the truck.

  CHAPTER III

  Frequent Flyer

  Our Courtship

  Cynthia’s Emergency Deicing

  Even as my plane touched down in New York, I was stupefied over how smitten with Peter I’d become during my visit to Atlanta. Shortly after landing at LaGuardia, I called to let him know I’d made it back safely. I was excited when he picked up after half a ring. We spoke my entire cab ride home. I wanted to talk longer but I was eager to relieve my nanny and spend some quality time with Noelle.

  Returning to the familiar hustle and bustle of the city, I thought the spell of Peter would’ve diminished. However, being home only proved that something had transpired during my trip that had me losing my New York state of mind. For the first time, I started to see my once-perfect metropolis differently. The very city I’d always loved for it
s imperfections was now an island of flaws to me. The people didn’t seem as nice as those in Atlanta. Georgians were completely at home with casually greeting strangers and striking up random conversations.

  The streets of New York looked dirtier than what I’d remembered and traffic was a bitch. Atlanta was clean, filled with southern hospitality and seemed like an ideal place to raise a family. It’s beautiful, spacious and affordable houses were another added benefit. Most importantly, it was home to the Jamaican gentleman I was apparently falling for. In the words of Ray Charles, Peter Thomas and Atlanta had Georgia on my mind.

  Later that night on the phone, Peter and I reflected on our weekend together. The time we shared had undoubtedly been significant for both of us. I could tell he’d started to genuinely care for me. He was opening up more and sharing personal things that he’d not revealed during my visit. He told me about the trials of his last relationship that had left him in a tailspin and living back home with his parents.

  His living situation wasn’t a deterrent for me, and it was refreshing seeing how much his mom and dad supported his entrepreneurial spirit. It was clear why he felt comfortable staying with them until he could regain financial traction. In a relationship, that type of circumstance was trivial and didn’t bother me. If I liked a man – I liked him. I felt l knew Peter before I’d ever met him. The intersecting pathways in our lives had given me an inside track on his work ethic and determination. Everything about him convinced me that he was headed back to the top of his game.

  For the next few weeks, we talked on the phone regularly. Our discussions were bottomless – sometimes lasting past four in the morning. Even if there was nothing substantial to talk about, we were content with simple phone banter. The topic of our next and much-anticipated rendezvous came up every time we spoke. Where would it be? New York? Atlanta? Miami? Admittedly, I was opposed to the idea of him visiting New York. I felt it was too soon for me to introduce him to Noelle, and it would’ve been weird for him to come and not meet her. One month after my trip to Atlanta, we finally agreed on the date and spot for my second layover. I booked a ticket and was heading back to the A-T-L.

  On my first visit, the fact that Peter and I never discussed the sale of my truck was mint proof of my temporary insanity. Even though I was really digging Peter, I knew I’d like him more once we sealed the deal on the vehicle. I forced myself to complete our transaction as quickly as possible. My personal feelings were bleeding into my business rationale, and the deeper I fell for him, the less comfortable I became with our negotiations. If I’d waited any longer, I would’ve probably given him the damn truck. Not really. Well, maybe. Before my return trip to Atlanta, we managed to agree on a price for the truck. He had his attorney draw up the paperwork and overnight the money. I was relieved to have the deal finally closed and eager to return to Atlanta to close other unfinished business.

  I arrived in Atlanta on a bright Saturday morning. That time, I flew pretty. I was more comfortable, less nervous and undeniably ready for whatever the weekend had in store. Always the gentlemen, Peter offered to pick me up. Waiting for him outside the airport, things had already begun to feel surreal. I knew I wanted to spend as much time as possible with him, and there were no foreseeable obstacles standing in the way this time. I wasn’t planning to kick it with a long-lost girlfriend or looking to sell a vehicle. This trip was all about Peter and getting to know him.

  Peter had booked a hotel room for me in the city, and I initially believed he’d reserved it especially for me. I soon learned we’d be roommates that weekend. I didn’t mind him being in tow because the three-day trip was strictly a strategic endeavor. I wasn’t checking for a long-distance relationship, and I wanted to know if I was really into Peter (minus the shots of liquid courage). It was my turn at the wheel and I was more than ready to conduct The Cynthia Bailey Inquisition.

  I needed to get into his headspace the way he’d trampled into mine like a rodeo bull on the loose. The mountain of curiosities he had about me, were now stirring in my head about him. Outside of the physical attraction, how did he really feel about me? What was the deal in the intimacy department? I knew he could give a soft peck on the lips, but could he bring the tongue action? I wasn’t putting sex on the table like a buffet option, but I wasn’t going to deny myself either. I was open to whatever curiosities needed to be satisfied and whatever temptations we unleashed.

  He pulled up curbside at the airport, stuffed my bags in the truck and gave me a man-sized hug. I wanted to jump on him and hump him like a spider monkey, but I maintained my cool. It’s my nature to never to be the aggressor in a relationship. I enjoy allowing things to play out naturally, without limitations. I don’t remember what Peter was wearing that day; I can only recall that he looked good. It seemed each encounter got better than the time before. He was morphing into an Idris Elba-Denzel Washington hybrid right before my eyes. I’d never been a woman to fall for a guy strictly over the physical. In my book, conversation and mental depth always trumped physicality.

  Not more than five minutes into our ride, he asked if I’d mind stopping by the car wash with him. I thought, “Oh hell, here we go again with his errand shit! Couldn’t he have figured this out before I arrived? Why didn’t he wash the damn car before picking me up?” I simply wanted a hot meal and a freakin’ cocktail. My wants aside, I appreciated a clean car and was easily sucked into Peter’s carwash errand. He took the truck to one of those fancy, hand-wash places. While he gave the washers explicit instructions, I took a seat inside the deserted waiting room. I sat on a couch that looked like a recycled back-row seat that was stripped right out of the Partridge family van. When I saw the odd lobby seating, I smiled on the inside. I was coming to terms with the reality that Peter’s aura attracted unusual, comical things.

  He joined me in the waiting area, sat next to me and with no holds barred – proceeded to tongue me down. Truth be told, we exploded on each other. He was definitely getting some before Sunday. I had not had sex in almost a year and my conjugal interactions had strictly been with my little pink buddy who slept next to me (in the nightstand drawer). Even if Peter and I decided not to become an item, I was certain two epic things would happen as a result of my second trip to Atlanta – I was getting laid and double frequent flyer miles.

  Leaving the carwash, Peter’s carnivorous attack on me continued. It was pretty obvious we were both hungry, but not for food. Though I was starving and could’ve eaten, we passed two dozen restaurants and headed straight to the hotel. All the way there, we percolated, like two pots of water near boiling point. Being hit with the opportunity to have sex after so many months of celibacy, I recognized parts of my body had been asleep.

  I guess I’d grown numb to how much I missed the foreplay and intimacy that preceded sex. Cell by cell, my hot pocket was awakening, and Peter was about to reap the benefit of all the life that was flooding back into it. He was just the one to break my dry spell. I knew by the way he kissed me that he was a grown man who could put down some mature loving. I was about to get some action and no gas station pit stop to buy batteries would be necessary!

  Lead-footing it to the hotel, Peter almost ran every car within fifty feet off the road. I don’t even think he put the truck in park when we arrived. He just jumped from behind the wheel, threw the key at the valet and made a bee-line for the lobby. It was my second trip to Atlanta, I hadn’t been on the ground for an hour and I was already giving up the goodies. The only explanation I could offer is that there was a blazing fire in me that needed to be put out, and Peter was the fire chief on the scene. I felt like all eyes were on us and everybody knew we were about to have sex. We were as transparent as onion skin. Having gone without the sexual gratification of a man for such a long time, part of me felt I deserved a Weekend Hoe Pass.

  There were no formalities once the door of our hotel room closed. Peter tossed our bags on the floor and started tearing me apart. It wasn�
��t often in my life that I didn’t overthink a situation, and that time was no exception. Even in the throes of passion, I wondered if I was making the right decision. Would he respect me the next day? Did I need an Altoid? Was I wearing matching underwear?

  After our first round of intimacy was over, I felt like a caged bear that had been awakened from a long winter’s nap. Everything felt perfectly normal. It wasn’t until after the second (or third) helping that I was back to questioning my actions. What the hell had just happened? Was Peter going to leave money on the night table and be out? I was going one flew over the cuckoo’s nest crazy! When he was still lying next to me an hour later, something told me all was well and he would still respect me in the morning. I allowed myself to be extra greedy and went back in for another round. That time, I was in full-floozy mode and made up my mind to be the best one to ever hit Atlanta.

  After our extraordinary sexual intensity had been put to bed (literally), I could form intelligent sentences again. My mind was clear and all I could think about was having a nice meal and enjoying the next few days together. I’m a list girl, and from the time I’d landed in Atlanta, I’d been crossing things off a running tab in my head. I now had another item to scratch off, “Have great sex with Peter.” Done! Five stars. Exclamation point.

  Peter’s Emergency Deicing

  Following Cynthia’s first visit to Atlanta, we talked on the phone seven nights a week. More often than I could count, I woke up with the phone buried under me after dozing off. She would call me before, during, and after her photo shoots – and always after putting Noelle to bed. She relaxed me and it felt natural sharing intimate details about where I was in life – my kids, their moms, the build out of my new supper club – and where I eventually hoped to be.