by Day, Zuri
Self-pep talk over, she placed her uniform and other essentials for work in a garment bag and stowed her midnight munchies, a bag of fresh veggies—carrots, celery, radish, and red peppers—along with her Lean Cuisine, a bag of popcorn, and sparkling water in an insulated carrier. She took her cell phone off its charger, found her purse between the covers and was off.
D’Andra hesitantly rang the doorbell. Between her reservations about being anyone’s spokesperson and the images of Night in her erotic dream, she was a nervous wreck. Her face was flushed before the doorbell was answered.
When it opened, a kindly gentleman with graying hair and a humbled spirit greeted her.
“You must be D’Andra. Come in.”
Her relief that Night wasn’t the first person she faced was evident in her greeting.
“Hi,” she gushed, a little too breathy.
The man narrowed his eyes as he looked at her, and then spoke.
“My name is Frank. I’m the photographer. You’re a little early. Night just finished a workout session. He’s in the shower. Come on into the living room where we’re set up.
“My, my, my,” he continued, looking back at D’Andra as he walked. “Night was right, you’re a fine one. We’re going to get some nice pictures here, yes indeedy.”
D’Andra followed Frank into a nicely decorated and decidedly masculine living space bathed in hues of deep blues and browns. A suede navy blue sectional anchored the space on the room’s far wall, while two chocolate brown leather recliners framed a cocktail table made of ebony wood. These colors, along with brighter hues of rust, grays and tans were reflected in the rug and accent pillows placed strategically on furniture around the room. Stainless steel accessories, including lamps and picture frames, furthered the masculine concept as did the abstract black-and-white photos encased in those frames: the clean body lines of abdomens, arms, legs and backs. Frank’s camera equipment was set up in the corner across from the large picture window.
Frank’s sunny personality immediately put D’Andra at ease. As he fiddled with and readied his camera equipment, he kept up a lively monologue. She learned he was a semi-retired photographer who’d been a friend of Night’s family for decades. His photos had landed in several national magazines, including Jet, Ebony, Black Enterprise and Life. This job he loved had taken him to dozens of states, several countries in Europe and across the plains of Africa. By the time he was ready to shoot his first roll, D’Andra felt she’d known him a lifetime.
“Okay, doll, just place yourself over by that plant,” Frank said, “and act natural.”
So this is where Night gets that corny word, she thought, even as she breathed a sigh of relief that the photo session was beginning without Night’s presence.
“Just relax, doll,” Frank said, “and show me those dimples.”
D’Andra walked over to where he had pointed and struck a pose as stiff as wood. She held it and waited.
“Smile for me now, and move those curves around.” Frank clicked a few frames.
D’Andra placed her weight on the other leg, placed a hand on her hip and one behind her head, trying to imitate the girls on Fat Chance. It wasn’t working.
“Wait a minute,” Frank said. “We need to get you in the mood.”
He walked over to Night’s entertainment center, which among other things held stereo equipment and a massive collection of CDs. After careful examination, he pulled one out.
“Oh, yes; we’re getting ready to see some sexy now. I want you to feel this music babydoll, and move!”
After a couple seconds of silence, a rock and roll legend blasted out of the stereo speakers. Oh, Maybellene, why can’t you be true? You’ve started back doing the things you used to do.
Before D’Andra could react to the loud, obnoxious and unexpected blaring, Frank grabbed her hand and began twirling her around the room. Both were agile and light on their feet, surprised at each other’s skills. After one particularly dizzying spin, Frank released D’Andra, grabbed his camera and started barking instructions to the beat of the song.
“D’Andra!” He crooned, interchanging her name with Maybellene. “You are fabulous, you are the cat’s meow, you are the most beautiful woman in the room! Get it, girl. Show me what you’re workin’ with!”
D’Andra twirled and danced and laughed and posed. Frank’s joy was contagious, his words convincing. She was fabulous, beautiful, the cat’s meow. And datgummit, she would show him what she was working with, and then some!
Frank urged her on as the camera flashed. “You keep on like that, doll, and I’m gonna have to sop you up like a biscuit with molasses.”
A freshly-showered Night stood in the hallway, mesmerized, the heated conversation he’d just had with Jazz about dissolving their business partnership forgotten. Who was this confident kitten stirring it up in his living room? Gone was the uncertain, self-deprecating wannabe. In her place danced a poised, self-assured woman who was sexy as hell! He watched as her body, large and in charge, swirled to the sounds as the CD went from Maybellene to Johnny B. Goode and found himself reacting physically to her low, throaty laugh and coy expressions. No one was more surprised than he. D’Andra’s happiness was contagious, her beauty tangible. Her attractiveness didn’t fit society’s narrow standards, but came from an attribute that could not be bought in a clothing store or at a makeup counter.
D’Andra tossed her head back and laughed, uninhibited and free. The sexy heels she wore with the tight denim pants and baby doll top emphasized her curves in all the right places as well as her well-formed calves. The top dipped to show ample cleavage and when she turned around, baby had enough back to cause a heart attack—juicy and round, prime choice pound for pound. When she placed her hands on her hips and stood with head held high, legs firmly planted beneath her and a look of triumph on her glistening face, Night knew he had his shot.
He sauntered into the room as soon as the flashes stopped and Frank announced, “It’s a wrap.”
D’Andra fairly glowed as she ran over and hugged Frank. “I’ve never had so much fun in my life!” she exclaimed. “Who is that crazy man singing on the CD? He plays a mean guitar.”
Frank halted his actions as if he’d been shot. “Who is it?” He looked at Night. “Did baby doll just ask me who is playing on this here CD?”
“I believe she did,” Night solemnly answered.
D’Andra’s smart comment was swallowed as she noticed Night for the first time. How long has he been standing there? she thought. Did he see me acting crazy? D’Andra suddenly felt self-conscious and vulnerable. He looked like an African angel, his stark white drawstring pants flowed over his hips like water, tied just below that rock hard sculpted abdomen and inverted navel. He wore no shoes or shirt.
She tried with little success to pull her attention away from what she could have easily mistaken for a chocolate lollipop. How was she supposed to keep her mouth from watering when all she wanted to do was take a lick?
Frank helped her out of her dilemma. “Girl, stop eyeing that boy like he’s a rib slathered in barbeque sauce!”
“I wasn’t,” she said, licking her lips.
Frank chuckled, even as he noticed D’Andra’s discomfort. He took off his glasses and cleaned the lens with a handkerchief.
“Girl, I’d have handled it better if you’d cussed an old man out. To answer your previous question, that’s Chuck Berry, Mr. Rock and Roll himself!”
“Oh, right,” D’Andra mumbled, trying to regain her composure. She wanted nothing more than to glide her hands over the rock-hard chest of the man standing in front of her. Instead she refocused her attention on Frank.
“Thank you, Frank. I don’t like to take pictures, but you made it so much fun.”
“That’s my job, baby doll,” Frank answered. “It’s easy when I have a fine specimen like you in front of the camera.” With a wink, he turned and began placing his camera equipment back in its box.
Night’s eyes scanned
D’Andra’s body. D’Andra warmed at his innocent perusal. “You were great,” he said, after a moment.
“You saw me?”
“Yes, I did.”
Their looks lingered on each other for only a moment, one that was charged with unreleased sexual tension that neither of them understood.
“Are you ready—”
“I should go—”
They both spoke at once, and shut up simultaneously.
“I should go,” D’Andra began again, her eyes downcast, her countenance demure. She looked at her watch. “I have to be at work soon and still need to get changed.” Actually, she didn’t have to be at work for two more hours but didn’t trust herself to be alone with Night once Frank left. And he expects us to exercise one-on-one, with him touching me? D’Andra…what have you gotten yourself into?
Night couldn’t explain the dejection he felt at the thought of her leaving. He wasn’t at all comfortable with the feeling and worked to rid himself of it. “I thought we’d get a chance to work out but all right then. Go on to your job. I’ll see you Thursday, four o’clock sharp.”
D’Andra smiled and shook her head. “Are you always this bossy?”
“Yes,” both Night and Frank answered simultaneously.
“Don’t hold it against him, child,” Frank continued. “Been like this as far back as I can remember, and I’ve known him since he was knee-high to a grass-hopper.”
At D’Andra’s curious expression, Night interjected. “An old southern saying that means since I was young.”
“Oh.” D’Andra enjoyed the obvious camaraderie that existed between Night and Frank, and in an unexpected moment of emotion, she missed the father she never had.
“Well, I’d better go.”
Night walked her to the door. “Thursday, four o’clock, be ready to work out.”
When Thursday came, D’Andra was more than ready to work up a sweat. She’d been through the wringer on her job, where the employees continued to bare the brunt of higher-ups and their unwise administrative decisions. One of the head nurses had quit, along with a clerk, lab technician and nurse’s aide. D’Andra loved working at Heavenly Haven, but didn’t need the added stress. Fortunately, as a nurse, she could always get a job somewhere else. If things continued the way they were at the nursing home, that’s exactly what she planned to do.
Adding to the stress were the close quarters on the home front, compounded by Cassandra’s frequent male visitors. When home, her mother spent much of her time in her bedroom, and Cassandra entertained her guests upstairs. Unfortunately D’Andra’s “room” was the living room, the room one had to walk through to reach any of the others.
Less than ten minutes after Night answered the door, she was down in his home gym, sweating.
“Okay, you’re going to lie down, place your feet under the roller and then pull the roller up as close to your butt as you can. Like this.” Night pulled the leg weight up to demonstrate the controlled movement, deftly touched his butt with his feet and slowly brought the weight down. “Not like this.” He brought the weight up quickly, using gravitational force instead of muscle to lift the weight. “See the difference?”
D’Andra nodded, even though for her the difference was minimal. Whether his legs moved fast or slow, Night had one of the roundest, tightest, best-shaped pair of buttocks she’d ever seen. His legs were sculptured works of art, his back a dazzling display of sinewy, rippling muscles. She could have watched him work out all day. But Night had other plans.
“Okay, your turn.”
D’Andra was self-conscious as she lay face down on the bench of the leg curl machine. After ogling Night’s perfect physique she was more than a little self-conscious of sticking her large gluteus maximus in the air. She did it anyway, reasoning that she didn’t have time to be shy when it came to her personal trainer. She was with Night for one reason and one reason only, to lose weight. The more she stayed focused on this and the less she focused on his ass-ets, the better off they’d both be. Sure, Night often flirted. But D’Andra knew he viewed it as harmless fun.
“Are you going to lay there daydreaming all day, or are you going to try and work these leg muscles?” Night’s question was pointed but not said unkindly.
“I’m sorry,” D’Andra answered. She slowly curled her legs into the air and towards her butt.
Night studied D’Andra’s execution and her “apple” as well. For all of her excess weight, she could still make an outfit look good. Her body’s curves were in all the right places and he guessed that more men than she knew had appreciated the view as she walked past. Night was experiencing this same appreciation as D’Andra raised and lowered the cushioned bar slowly, mimicking Night’s movements and, as he’d instructed, keeping a tight hold on the hand grips.
“Stay focused,” Night said, even as he tried to stay focused on D’Andra’s leg movements and not the large, luscious booty that tightened with each lift. “You’re almost finished, just one more set of ten. Then we’ll turn over and work on your quads.”
As she neared the end of the third set of ten lifts, thoughts of Night’s butt had been replaced by those of the pain in her muscles. She wondered if she’d ever used these particular butt and leg muscles before.
“…nine, ten. Okay, good. Turn over.”
“Ooh,” D’Andra said as she sat up. “That hurt.”
“No pain, no gain, doll,” Night answered, even after he reached down and kneaded D’Andra’s lower legs. He resisted kneading the other area he guessed was hurting.
“Come on, let’s work those quads.”
They did three sets of leg lifts on D’Andra’s quads, followed by sets on a leg sled, inner/outer thigh machine and lat, for her arms. By the time they got to D’Andra’s stomach, one of the areas she wanted most to firm up, she was exhausted.
“Night, I’m tired. I don’t know if I can do the rest.”
“That’s okay. I know you can do it. Now let’s go. Get down there and give me twenty sit ups.”
“Twenty?! At the gym I only did ten.”
“Yeah, but that was two days ago. Let’s push it.”
“No,” D’Andra answered softly.
“No, what do you mean no? You are remembering to do these every day, right?”
“I forgot.”
“What do you mean you forgot?”
The truth of the matter was after getting laughed at by her mother, sister and her sister’s kids when she tried sit-ups at home, D’Andra abandoned the effort. She knew their mocking was no excuse and that she could have gone to the gym, but she’d chickened out.
“Look, let’s get something straight right now, D’Andra. My normal personal training sessions are a hundred dollars an hour, minimum. My time is too precious to waste on someone who isn’t serious about what I’m doing. This isn’t extracurricular for me; this is my job.”
Night was normally cool under pressure but being fit was the one area where he didn’t mess around. Though his voice was soft, his seriousness was unmistakable.
“I offered my services to you because you seemed to have the determination needed to make real change in your life. If I was wrong about that, let’s stop this right here, right now. I’m putting one hundred and ten percent into your workout; I expect no less from you. Now give me twenty, let’s go!”
Night’s chiding caught D’Andra unexpectedly and immediately pissed her off. Who was he to have expectations of what she should and shouldn’t do? And who was he to talk to her like that? She took it from her family, and she’d taken it from Charles. This fool didn’t even know her. She couldn’t get off the floor fast enough.
“Look, nobody asked you to take your precious time to teach me anything! I was minding my own business when you stepped up to me at the gym.” She snatched her towel and water bottle off the nearby bench press, brushed past him and headed toward the steps.
“Damn, that’s as fast as you’ve moved all day,” Night said from his position behind her. �
�Looks like you’ve had plenty practice running away.”
D’Andra kept moving. I don’t need this asshole trying to get in my business! He doesn’t even know me! She rushed up the steps and to his front door and slammed it behind her. She was almost to her car before she realized she’d left her keys on the coffee table in the living room.
“Damn,” D’Andra said, busted. What am I going to do now? She had an extra car key but it was on top of her dresser at home. She would have taken a cab to go get it rather than look at Night’s face again tonight but her purse was locked in her trunk.
She crossed her arms in a huff and leaned against the car. “Come on out with my keys and the smirk on your face,” she said to Night’s closed front door.
He’d come up the steps behind her and couldn’t possibly have missed seeing her large key ring with a rubber Betty Boop decked in fluorescent yellow, pink and green. D’Andra stomped her feet even as she consciously kept her breathing slow. “This fool ain’t worth my pressure rising,” she warned herself.
D’Andra checked her watch, waited a couple minutes, and then checked it again. She looked up and down the street for who knew what, and then inside her car, as if the keys would magically appear in the ignition. Even if they did, her car was locked. As chagrined as she was, there was no delaying the inevitable. She had no choice but to add an encore to her dramatic exit. She had to go back and get her keys.
“I knew you had too much heart to stay away,” Night said with a smile as he opened the door. “I’m going to add ten more minutes to your workout though since your heart rate has probably slowed some.” He paused when she made no move to enter the house. “Then again, maybe not.”
