The Beautiful Ones (Arabesque)

by Byrd, Adrianne

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I mean it.” Ophelia shrugged. “Besides, Solomon is a great friend, but dating? I like the strong, aggressive type. Solomon is quiet and sensitive. It would have never worked. We’re better off as friends. Yeah.”

  Kailua’s lips curled upward as she folded her arms. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

  “I’m not trying to convince anybody. I’m just stating a fact. Solomon and I are friends. Period.”

  “Good.” Kailua unfolded her arms. “Then you won’t mind if I just take him off your hands for you.”

  Ophelia blinked.

  Kailua continued. “He’s available. I’m available…and you’re off the market. Right?”

  Swallowing a painful lump, Ophelia croaked her reply. “Right.”

  Chapter 5

  After surviving another week, Solomon was finally tired of being sick and tired. Plus the cops had warned him that if they had to come out to his place for another noise ordinance violation, they were going to start hauling people to jail. So he kicked his beloved uncle Willy and his harem of ghetto-fabulous women to the curb.

  Selma happily hired and supervised a cleaning crew to scrub and sanitize every nook and cranny of the house, while Solomon forced himself back into his old routine. If he just kept busy, he reasoned, then the days wouldn’t seem so long, and his heart wouldn’t feel so heavy.

  Jonas and I have been dating for a while, and last night he popped the question.

  He shook the sound of Ophelia’s voice from his head and pushed himself to complete another mile during his morning run. Yes, yes, he had had plenty of opportunities to tell Ophelia how he felt. But the truth of the matter was there never had really been a good time.

  The moment puberty hit and Ophelia transformed into a beautiful swan, she was the object of desire of every boy in the neighborhood. Yeah, she hung out with him and Marcel, but Solomon honestly believed it was simply because she had the hots for Marcel.

  And no matter what Marcel said now, there was a time when Marcel was smitten by their friend’s long, tanned legs and perfect hourglass figure, too.

  Though he’d promised to stop dwelling on the past, Solomon’s mind replayed the last two and a half decades, particularly the times that included the woman of his dreams. They were about thirteen when Ophelia suddenly was boy crazy. To this day he remembered the names of each boy she ogled or fantasized marrying.

  Attacking a steep hill with Brandy at his heels, Solomon’s thoughts returned to a day he would never forget… .

  Ten Minutes in Heaven

  Chapter 6

  Atlanta, Georgia, June 1982

  “Why do we have to go over to Lisa’s house?” eleven-year-old Solomon Bassett whined, snatching off his baseball cap. “We’re supposed to be going to practice.”

  A sly grin sloped Marcel’s lips as he draped his arm around Solomon’s shoulders. “Didn’t you hear how many girls are going to be over at Lisa’s party?”

  Solomon’s face twisted in disgust. “Girls? Why on earth do you want to go play with a bunch of silly girls?”

  Marcel’s eyes widened. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  Solomon stopped in his tracks and kicked at the dirt. He didn’t want to go. Whenever he got around girls, he turned into a bumbling idiot or a stumbling klutz. He was nothing like his best friend, Marcel, who always seemed to make the girls bat their eyelashes and go on nonstop giggling sprees.

  Marcel leaned closer and whispered, “Lisa promised they’ll be playing ten minutes in heaven.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  Solomon cringed. Ten minutes locked in a closet with a girl didn’t sound like heaven. “I don’t know,” he hedged, and then he remembered something. “I thought Lisa’s father warned you to stay away from her?”

  “He’s away on business.” Marcel slapped Solomon hard across his back. “Besides, Lisa’s mother thinks I’m harmless and adorable. C’mon.” Marcel slapped his back again. “I promise you’re going to have the time of your life.”

  Solomon doubted it.

  Minutes later, Solomon and Marcel arrived at the home of McCarthy Junior High School’s most popular girl—Lisa Simpson. Lisa was a pretty mixed-race girl with what most kids called good hair, mainly because she had Indian in her family—according to her. Most of the boys in the neighborhood liked her; however, she’d made it clear she’d set her sights on Marcel.

  Solomon shuffled into the house and, just as he expected, all the girls flocked around his buddy. Well, not all of them. The new girl, Ophelia Missler, just hovered around the punch bowl and scowled at everyone.

  Solomon didn’t like her. Her family had moved into the neighborhood this past winter, and so far, she spent most her time acting like she was better than everybody else. He liked to call her Miss Smarty Pants because she loved to rattle off useless information like one of those Apple computers his father owned. Actually, she could throw a better slider than Solomon…and she could run circles around him.

  His gaze lowered to her long, bony legs, and he was instantly reminded of a giraffe. No wonder she was fast.

  She pushed up her glasses, which only magnified her strange-colored eyes. As usual, her thick, dusty brown hair was split down the middle, and two large twisted ponytails hung on the sides of her face. It didn’t help that Ophelia also had enough wire in her mouth to fence in Solomon’s backyard. She was no competition for Lisa or her close-knit gal pals.

  Drawing a deep breath, he glanced around the room and spotted a couple of other guys who were doing a great job holding up the walls. No way was he going to have a good time at this place. Everything was pink and frilly and giving him a headache.

  A chorus of giggles erupted from behind him, and he glanced back in time to see his buddy turn up his thumbs like the Fonz. Marcel was the master.

  Shaking his head, Solomon drifted across the room toward Ophelia. “Mind if I have some punch?”

  Her eyes landed on him, and then rolled toward the ceiling. “I guess. It’s a free country.”

  He frowned. What the heck was her problem?

  “Okay, everybody gather around,” Lisa broadcast. “It’s time to play ten minutes in heaven.”

  Solomon didn’t move.

  Neither did Ophelia.

  Lisa grabbed two jars from the table. “Did everyone place their name in the right jar?”

  Solomon relaxed. Since he didn’t put his name in the jar, there was no way he was going to be called.

  “I can’t believe my mom made me come to this stupid party,” Ophelia mumbled.

  “Why did your mom make you come?” Solomon asked.

  Ophelia’s bored gaze once again fell on him. “Because Lisa and I are cousins,” she informed him dully.

  “O-oh.” Solomon nodded and glanced back over at Lisa. He saw no family resemblance.

  Lisa clapped. “Okay, the first boy’s name is…” She reached a hand inside one of the jars. “…Marcel.”

  “No surprise there,” Solomon grumbled. To his surprise, Ophelia snickered.

  “…and Sabrina,” Lisa announced.

  Everyone oohed and aahed the chosen couple and then broke out into a chorus of “Marcel and Sabrina sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

  It was all so childish, but at the same time, Solomon couldn’t help but be envious of his friend. Sabrina, after all, looked like Penny from Good Times.

  The moment Lisa closed the door, everyone else gathered around. After a few minutes, they all started to back away, complaining that they couldn’t hear anything.

  Ten minutes later, Marcel and Sabrina emerged with mussed hair and wide grins.

  Solomon shook his head and just marveled at his newfound idol.

  “It’s sickening how they throw themselves at him,” Ophelia mumbled with disgust.

  “What—are you jealous or something?” Solomon asked, cocking his head.

  “Hardly.”

  He didn’t buy it. All the girls were crazy about Marcel
. And as far as he could tell, she was no different.

  The game continued. Solomon lost count of the number of times Marcel’s name was drawn. Each time he was paired with a different girl. Lucky devil.

  Just when Solomon thought he’d explode if he took another sip of punch, all eyes turned toward him.

  “What?”

  Lisa waved a thin strip of paper. “I pulled your name.”

  “You couldn’t have. I didn’t…” His eyes cut to a smiling and winking Marcel. “That’s all right, guys. I don’t want to play.”

  Lisa balled up her hands and jabbed them into her waist. “You have to play. I pulled your name.”

  This was another reason why Solomon didn’t care for girls. They were always determined to get their way.

  Solomon was not intimidated and was more than ready to lock horns with a potential bully when Marcel and a few of the other guys grabbed him and hauled him toward the closet.

  “Guys, stop. Wait a minute.”

  Lisa beamed happily and plunged her hand into the other jar. “And the lucky girl is…Ophelia.”

  Solomon’s protests were nothing compared to Ophelia’s, and surprisingly, it took more people to get the leggy tomboy shoved into the closet.

  Finally, the door slammed on Ophelia’s menacing threats and wild rantings. However, than didn’t stop her from pounding on the door or rattling the knob.

  Solomon was amused. “You might as well give up. They’re not going to let us out of here until our time is up.”

  “Shut up…and stay away from me.”

  “You got it.”

  On the other side of the door, a loud chorus of “Solomon and Ophelia sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” rang out.

  “I bet you think this is funny,” she snapped.

  “I do now.”

  “Well, I don’t. And I’m not kissing you.”

  “That’s good to know.” He sat on the floor, content to just wait the ten minutes out.

  “Wait until my father hears about this. He’s going to skin you alive.”

  “Whoa. Wait. I’m not happy about this either. You’re the last person I want to be stuck in a closet with.”

  He couldn’t see her, but he could hear her draw in an angry breath.

  “And what is wrong with me?”

  Was she for real?

  “Well?”

  “N-nothing. It’s just that…you’re not exactly my type.”

  “You have a type?”

  Now he was insulted. “I don’t know why I’m even talking to you.”

  “Because I’m the only one in here, Einstein.” She plopped down beside him.

  When her bony legs brushed against his, he flinched and then wondered why.

  “Relax,” she sneered. “I’m not going to bite you.”

  “No. You’re just going to sic your father on me…for not kissing you.” Silence trailed his words. “Not that I want to.”

  “But you’re thinking about it.”

  “Am not.” He rolled his eyes.

  “Uh-huh. My Dad told me that boys think about it all the time.”

  “Think about what?”

  “You know—it.”

  Solomon frowned. “You don’t know what it is, do you?” Her silence was his answer. He rocked back with laughter. “Miss Smarty Pants doesn’t know anything.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Admit it.”

  “No.”

  He rolled his eyes and waited. However, he never knew ten minutes lasted so long.

  “We have about five more minutes,” she said, glancing at a glow-in-the-dark Mickey Mouse watch.

  He exhaled and nodded, but as time ticked on, he wondered what he was going to tell everyone when they were finally out of there. If he came out saying that nothing happened, what would that do to his reputation? Not that he had one. He didn’t want to develop one of being unable to score with someone like Ophelia. “So, what are you going to tell them when we get out?” he asked.

  “Tell them?”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “Everyone is going to wonder what happened in here.”

  “I’m telling them the truth. Nothing happened.”

  “Of course. Right.” He nodded. That was probably the right thing to do, he concluded, and then allowed the silence to stretch between them once again.

  “What are you going to tell them?” she asked almost timidly.

  “Well, I guess the same thing you are.”

  Silence.

  “You think we’ll get laughed at?”

  “It’s almost a certainty,” he said, with a cloud of gloom and doom hanging over his head. Suddenly, this seemed like a no-win situation, and he was going to be the loser no matter what. He heard her turn toward him.

  “Then kiss me.”

  “What? Gross.”

  “Look. The other girls already make fun of me because I like to play sports. I’m not leaving here letting them think that they can do something I can’t. So kiss me.” She grabbed his shirt and yanked him forward.

  Great. She was stronger than he was, too. Whatever protest Solomon had died the moment his lips landed on hers. Surprisingly soft, her mouth tasted like Strawberry Bubble Yum, and her skin was just as soft as his newborn sister’s. Although he had nothing to compare it to, he was fairly certain that she was the best kisser in the entire world…no, the galaxy…or better yet, the whole universe.

  His entire body was doing funny things, and his head…well, it was getting hard to think clearly. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he liked kissing Ophelia Missler. He liked it a lot.

  Neither heard when the door opened, but both sprung apart when a chorus of laughter erupted from the party. Within seconds, they were pulled in different directions. Solomon received his fair share of pats on the back and idol worshipping. However, his gaze kept darting across the room to the person who’d just changed his life—the girl he would love forever: Ophelia Missler.

  * * *

  Solomon stopped running when he reached his front door and tilted forward as if that would help get air into his lungs. His chest hurt to the point that he thought he was having a heart attack.

  “Are you finished trying to kill yourself?” Selma asked, stepping out of the house.

  He ignored the question and tried to massage away the stabbing pain.

  “Whoa. I was just joking,” she said. “Are you all right?”

  He shook his head, but then changed his mind. “I’m fine. My age is just creeping up on me, that’s all.” He glanced at her and could tell she wasn’t buying it. “I’m hopping in the shower and going to work.”

  Selma’s brows lifted in surprise. “Are you up to it?”

  “I need to do something before I lose my mind.” He stepped past her and entered the house. Still panting, he crossed the foyer and was starting up the stairs when he suddenly turned to face her. “If I haven’t said it in the last week, thanks for coming to my rescue. Who knows how far I would have sunk if you hadn’t come over and taken charge.”

  A genuine smile spread across Selma’s face. “Hey, that’s what friends are for. But if you want to reward me, you can take me to dinner. I head back to New York tomorrow. I have a group performing on David Letterman.”

  “You got yourself a date.” He winked, turned, and jogged up the rest of the stairs.

  * * *

  An hour later, Solomon arrived at T & B Entertainment. He rushed in and shared smiles with several of the company’s female employees. Women made up 92 percent of the staff. This was attributable to Marcel’s desire to surround himself with all things beautiful. As long as everyone was competent in their jobs, Solomon didn’t mind the eye candy.

  Before heading down to his own office, he made a detour to visit Marcel’s new secretary, Zandra Holloway. Zandra was sixty-two, and frankly, Solomon didn’t know whether things were going to work out with the new employee. She was much too jumpy for his liking, and she never seemed to remember where she placed anythi
ng.

  “Good afternoon, Zandra.”

  As usual, the fragile-looking woman nearly jumped out of her skin and sloshed coffee around. “Oh, Solomon.”

  He frowned.

  “I mean, Mr. Bassett. I didn’t see you come in.”