A Cold Piece of Work

by Curtis Bunn

  “I locked my keys in my car,” she said.

  “Ah, man,” Solomon said. “Sorry to hear that. Do you have someone coming with a spare?”

  “My phone is in my car,” she said.

  “Oh, hell. That’s messed up,” he said. “Listen, uh, I’m willing to help you, if you’re comfortable with that. You have to be freezing. You can warm up in my car while I get some money out of the bank.”

  Evelyn pondered it for a few seconds. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”

  He opened the door for her and she jumped in. He went to the other side of the car and turned up the heat.

  When he returned from the ATM, he offered his cell phone. “Want to call a locksmith?”

  “Well, my cousin has a set of my keys, but she’s in Buckhead at work.”

  “I’m good with time, so I can take you to her, if you like, to pick up the key and bring you back.”

  “Really? You’d do that? Thank you,” she said. “But do you think my car will be okay?”

  “Well, someone would have to break in to get it,” Solomon said. “I’m gonna say it will be all right. But don’t hold me to that if we come back and it’s gone.”

  Evelyn laughed.

  “You warming up?” he asked. “How long you been standing out there?”

  “Shoot, about ten, fifteen minutes,” she answered.

  “Are you serious? That’s too bad. Here...” He handed over his BlackBerry. “Call your cousin.”

  She did. On the way to Buckhead, they got acquainted. “You know there are no such things as accidents,” Evelyn said. “You were supposed to pull up when you did and meet me.”

  “I believe in that, too; to a degree,” Solomon said. “You were out there for fifteen minutes and no one else pulled up?”

  “A few people did, but only one person said something; this guy,” she said. “But I wasn’t comfortable with how he was looking at me. I told him my boyfriend was almost there.”

  “Come to think of it, why isn’t your boyfriend on the way?” That was his opening.

  “You have to have a boyfriend to call a boyfriend,” she said. “That’s a sad story I don’t even want to get into.”

  “I hear you,” Solomon said. “I won’t broach that subject.”

  They laughed.

  “What are you up to? Where were you headed?” Evelyn said.

  “I just came from Loehmann’s, looking for a shirt or two and was going to meet a friend out for dinner,” Solomon said. “But she cancelled while I was in the store. So I was going to go to Publix and go home and fix a meal.”

  “Well, after helping me like this, you should let me take you to dinner,” she said. “Wait, wow, that really sounds forward. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go there like that.”

  “It’s cool,” Solomon said. “I’d love to. You seem harmless. I’m safe with you.”

  Evelyn laughed. After retrieving the spare keys and getting her back to her car, she followed Solomon to Bluepointe, where they dined and had cocktails at the bar.

  “And just think,” she said, as a valet pulled up her car, “I had to lock my keys in my car to meet a nice man... The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

  They hugged and departed. That was the beginning.

  This was the end.

  Solomon arrived at Hairston’s around eleven and was instantly reminded of his days as a regular there. The place looked the same, smelled the same, felt the same. There was even this same corny guy wearing a box-cut hairstyle and cheap-looking suit still roaming the place.

  Solomon took the scenic stroll around the club and ran into some guys he knew from golf, college and from around Atlanta. On the other side of the club, to the left of the entrance, beyond the second bar, was Evelyn.

  High heels and short black dress; that was her party attire. She liked to show off her nice legs and small waist, despite having two children. A glass of Oya wine in her hand, she did not conceal her glee to see Solomon.

  As he approached, she offered a smile that was as illuminating as the neon light that spun above the dance floor. “I miss seeing you,” she said, hugging him tightly. “Who did you kick me to the curb for?”

  That was Evelyn; an arrow-straight shooter.

  “You haven’t changed, I see,” he said.

  “Was I supposed to?”

  “You wouldn’t be you if you did.”

  Solomon ordered a French Connection—Grand Marnier and Courvoisier—and another Oya white zinfandel for Evelyn.

  He raised his glass.

  “What are we toasting to?” she asked.

  “To truth, honesty and a good time.”

  “Uh-oh, sounds like a confession is coming.”

  “Not a confession,” Solomon assured her. “A good, honest conversation, though.”

  “Can we dance a little first? Can I flirt with you before we have this talk? This wine is great and I feel good. I’d like to stay this way for a while.”

  “No doubt. We’re here to have a good time... You’re here by yourself?”

  “Well, yeah,” she said. “I finally got tired of hoping for a phone call from you. I came out, hoping to meet someone nice. And I end up here with you? How you like that?”

  “I like it fine,” Solomon said. He squinted his eyes some and leaned his head. She considered that flirting and he knew it. Maybe if he made her feel good, she wouldn’t feel so bad when he gave her the news he wanted to share.

  They found seats way in the back of the club and sipped more drinks, shared some laughs and engaged in superficial conversation.

  “Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand. “Let’s work up a sweat.”

  “Does it have to be on the dance floor? Can we work up a sweat in your bedroom?” She was serious.

  Solomon did not answer, not with words. He continued to the dance floor. One of the biggest deterrents to outside sex for a man in a relationship was to not put himself in a position to get it. When Michele reemerged, Solomon shut it down, minimized communication with his quartet of women (and others he had flings with) and focused on what was in front of him.

  But here was his first real, live test. Evelyn. Sexy Evelyn. They had a steamy past. Evelyn was ten years older than Solomon but had a youthful appearance and sexual drive. She credited Solomon for bringing out in her what the other men had not; an erotic nature.

  Solomon smiled at Evelyn as they danced; she looked up at him as if he were some chocolate treat. For a moment, he let himself ponder one more intimate night with her. What could it hurt? one side of his brain questioned.

  But cheating on Michele would not make him feel better, even if she never found out. It had been so long since he even had the option of “cheating” because he had not been committed to a woman for years.

  And while he and Michele had never said the words, their commitment was ironclad.

  Evelyn did not care what he was thinking. She moved in closer, grabbing his waist and pressing her body up against his as they moved to Jay-Z’s and Alicia Keys’ “Empire State of Mind.” She grew up in Queens, NY, so that song was like an anthem to her.

  And then something strange happened: Solomon felt awkward. He loved to feel a woman’s body. On that same dance floor he had ridden woman’s booties many times before. Once, a woman, a particularly bold woman, had guided his hand under her dress and between her legs. Right there, on the crowded dance floor.

  Evelyn was angling for something similar. The floor was packed, so there was no room for Solomon to retreat. She turned around and thrust her considerable ass on him. To avoid getting an erection, he started to think about baseball and math and C-SPAN. It didn’t work.

  When she felt his hardness, she smiled. And pressed harder. She understood a man with an erection was a man vulnerable to her desires. She also recalled the many times she would dance for Solomon at her house and what followed that erection she created.

  Solomon remembered, too. They were fun memories. But they were memories, not his
new reality. That was brought home when he felt his phone vibrate in the harness on his hip. He pulled it out on the dance floor. It was Michele.

  And his erection deflated like a popped balloon. He leaned into Evelyn’s ear.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and she took it to mean to his house, so she gleefully maneuvered through the crowd, off the dance floor and straight toward the exit. At first, Solomon wanted to keep her in the club, but he decided it was too loud for the conversation he had in mind. He was not sure exactly what he would say, but he was ready to say it.

  So, when they got outside, he walked her to her car.

  “Where did you park?” she asked.

  “Valet,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter. I have to tell you something.”

  He leaned on her car and folded his arms.

  “I called you because I wanted to see you,” he began. “I’ve been M.I.A. because I reconnected with a woman from several years ago that I really liked and cared about.”

  Evelyn looked at him like, “And...” She knew Solomon had at least one other woman in his life. So why was this such news?

  “I’m in love with her,” he added. “As much as I like you and care about you—and I hope you know that I do—I have to do right by her.”

  “I see,” Evelyn said. “One question: What’s wrong with me? I’m not mad about it and I’m trying to be happy for you. But all this time... What, more than a year? You never gave us a chance to really have something. You told me from the beginning that you didn’t want a relationship. Now you’re telling me that you’re in one? What’s that about?”

  “I don’t know,” Solomon answered. “With this woman, I left her eight years ago when I moved from D.C. to here. The—”

  “Wait! Eight years ago?”

  “Yes,” Solomon said. “We dated back then and I abruptly ended it when I moved here. I ran into her several months ago and I realized right away that there was something special there.”

  “So all we had were good times and sex?” Evelyn said. “That’s all it was to you.”

  “That’s not a bad thing,” he said. “All my memories and thoughts of you are good ones. How many people can say that about someone? I hope you know the kind of woman you are.”

  “The kind that’s not good enough for you.”

  “I wanted to talk to you in person. It was important and I respect you. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you before now; instead of basically disappearing. It actually was—and still is, I guess—a complicated situation.”

  “Complicated? Why?” Evelyn asked. “Is she pregnant?”

  “Actually, she’s not,” he answered. “But she has a seven-year-old son... And he’s mine. I’m a father.”

  “Oh, come on, Solomon.” She stepped back. They were standing in the parking lot, so she tried to keep her voice at a controlled pitch. “Are you serious?”

  “I’m a daddy,” he said with pride in his voice. “It’s a long story. The short version is that when I left her in D.C., she was pregnant. I didn’t tell her that I was moving; I just left. It sounds terrible, but that’s who I was then. She had no way to reach me, so I never knew.

  “So, here’s the crazy part: She shows up out of the blue at my youth basketball banquet at the rec center. One of my players I coached actually was my son.”

  “Solomon, you’d better stop lying,” Evelyn said.

  “Seriously. That’s exactly what happened. I’m not asking you to be happy for me. One day you will be since that’s the kind of woman you are. You have a good heart. I do hope you understand.”

  Evelyn stared at him. He stepped to her and hugged her. “Thank you for being my friend.”

  She hugged him back. “It doesn’t have to end. You can still let me dance for you.”

  Solomon smiled. “I wish I could; you’re a good dancer.”

  “I’m going home; better yet, I’m going back in the club,” she said. “I don’t need a man to validate me. But I do, after this, need someone to make me feel wanted...”

  They stared at each other. “I’m sorry, Evelyn,” Solomon finally said.

  She nodded her head. “Good luck ... Daddy. And I mean that.”

  Evelyn smiled at Solomon, turned and headed back into the club. Solomon retrieved his cell phone as he watched her walk off. A sense of satisfaction came over him. Instead of being the cold Solomon who would vanish on a woman, he had a meaningful, heartfelt conversation to explain his actions. And while she wanted different results, she did respect Solomon for being upfront.

  It reminded him of how he felt when he was a teenager after a classmate showed interest in him, but he rebuffed her because he already had a girlfriend. She thanked him for being honest. He was proud to do the right thing. This time, too.

  CHAPTER 19

  MORE TROUBLE IN PARADISE

  Solomon was surprised but happy that Michele had called him. He had never seen her so upset than after he had beaten Gerald. And when he thought about it, it actually scared him. He wondered how far her fury would take her.

  But he was relieved when she called. He thought perhaps she had calmed down and wanted to talk rationally about the situation.

  He was wrong.

  He called her back while standing in the parking lot at Hairston’s, eager to get on the proper page with the woman he connected with like no other. Turned out, she was as hostile and adamant about how her son would be disciplined by Solomon.

  “I’m sorry I got so upset, Solomon, but I’m so serious about this,” she started. “I don’t believe in beatings. Kids have to be talked to and taught behavior. We’re the adults and we have to be able to control ourselves and teach through means other than beatings. I can’t take that.”

  “Clearly, this is something we should’ve talked about, Michele,” he said. “Like you, my parents beat me when I was out of line. Not every time, but when they thought I was outrageous, they beat my behind. And it was a deterrent for me.

  “I believe in talking, too. I believe in both, actually. I want to talk to Gerald and let him understand why it happened and why he should be obedient. That’s one of my roles as his father; to instill discipline in him. There’s going to be a time when he’s going to be as big and strong as me. But he should still fear and respect me. I can’t have him thinking he can do or say whatever he wants to me. That has to be under control now to set the pattern for the rest of his life.”

  “You don’t have to get that through a whipping,” Michele said. “You—”

  She stopped speaking because she could hear Solomon greeting someone. It was hard to make out exactly what they were saying, but she could hear particular words, like “jail” and “probation.”

  “Sorry about that, Michele,” he said.

  “Who was that? Where are you?” she asked.

  “I’m standing in front of Hairston’s, waiting on my car from the valet.”

  “Hairston’s? So you left here and went to a club?”

  “I didn’t want to stay home and think about what happened. I needed to do something to occupy my mind.”

  “So being around a bunch of women was your choice?”

  “Michele, it’s not like that,” he said. “Not at all. In fact...”

  He contemplated telling her about his talk with Evelyn, but thought better of it.

  “Anyway, can I come over, if that’s okay with you? Can we talk about all this?”

  “I was about to go to bed,” she said.

  “How can you sleep when this is hanging over us? You won’t be able to sleep.”

  “You’re right,” Michele answered. “Are you coming now? Or do you need to get one last dance?”

  He ignored her sarcasm. “I’m on my way.”

  En route, Solomon considered bending on his position for one reason; he believed his message had gotten through to Gerald and that he would not have to go there again. Then he thought about how his first beating did not prevent him from getting into more trouble that forced his dad to pull
off his belt.

  It was late, nearly 12:30, but he decided to call his father for some direction.

  “You know how we raised you,” his dad said. “But that’s how we raised you. You have to do what you believe is best for your son as his father. I did tell you to make sure he grows up to be a man who respects you. Bottom line, it’s a different time. You can’t even yell at a kid anymore.

  “Remember Ms. Shaw, your biology teacher at Douglass? I remember your hand being red from her spanking it with a stack of rulers because you talked in class. And she told us about it. And we gave her permission to do it. You can’t do that today.

  “So, it’s different, son. But not so different that you shouldn’t beat your child if you believe that’s what he deserves.”

  “Would I be a punk if I told Michele, ‘Okay, you win. I won’t beat him again’?”

  “You’d be a liar,” he said. “You beat him because you believe in that form of discipline. From what you say, you didn’t really hurt him; you were sending a message that he must respect you and what you tell him to do. So, while I appreciate you calling me for advice, I believe you will do what you think is necessary in that moment. If the little knucklehead gets out of line, you might have to physically put him back in place. He is, after all, his father’s son.

  “Maybe the thing to do is to do your best to assure Michele that you won’t hurt him. He’s your son and it’s all about instilling respect in him. Tell her you’re at a seven-year disadvantage and you’re trying to make it up. But you can’t make it up effectively by letting him think he can do whatever he wants.”

  “Dad, thanks,” Solomon said. “I tried that, but maybe she was too angry to really hear me. We’re going to sit down now and hopefully hash this out. I’ll let you know how it turns out.”

  He arrived at Michele’s threshold and immediately learned of how pissed she was. She opened the door and turned and walked away. Always, without fail, she greeted Solomon with a hug upon his entrance into her home. This was not good.