Doin' Me

by Wanda B. Campbell

  Instead of answering the question asked, Peyton said, “Let’s not ruin the evening with work talk. I don’t want to think about anything but you.” He leaned back and rested his arm against the leather. “You are so beautiful, and I want you to enjoy the evening.”

  Her mouth was dry, but she swallowed, anyway. This white boy was saying and doing all the right things.

  “You still haven’t told me where we’re going,” she said.

  He took a few sips of champagne before responding, “Don’t worry. Stick with me, and I’ll take you for a ride you won’t forget.”

  Reyna wanted to respond but couldn’t think of a flirtatious comeback. She decided to sit back and enjoy the moment. Thirty minutes later, she stepped from the limo, awestruck. Peyton had taken her to a historical restaurant that stood on Ocean Beach in San Francisco. The city known for fog was uncharacteristically clear. The dark blue sky and the deep blue water ran together and met in a kiss. Slow waves with white-foam caps slammed against the rocks at the base of the structure. She inhaled, and the salt water tickled her nose.

  “This is beautiful,” she said once they were seated. The glass window provided an unobstructed view of the Pacific Ocean. “Thank you for bringing me here,” she said, at the same time calculating how much money was in her checking account, just in case Peyton acted a fool, and she had to pay for her own meal.

  “Order whatever you like,” he said after the waiter explained the specials for the evening and took their drink orders.

  Reyna scanned the menu. She couldn’t decide between the prime rib and the Dungeness crab cakes. Peyton settled the dilemma by ordering two of each.

  “Now who’s hungry?” she asked when the waiter left.

  He rested an elbow on the table and closed the gap between them. Reyna leaned back against the window. Peyton was handsome, but his eloquence reminded her of the Claremont. Under no circumstances would tonight be a repeat performance.

  “This is not your first time here, is it?” he asked.

  She took a sip of water with lemon. “Actually it is,” Reyna admitted.

  “Really?” Peyton appeared surprised. “Where do you normally take your high-end clients?”

  Before Reyna could explain she wasn’t a broker, the food arrived. Before tasting the food, she paused. Peyton picked up his fork and began eating. Tyson would have blessed the food, she thought, then scolded herself for thinking about Tyson. She was on a date with a handsome man who obviously had resources and respected her. She was not going to ruin the evening by thinking about a man she didn’t want or need. She picked up the fork and dug into a crab cake.

  During the meal, Peyton dominated the conversation with questions about the real estate market. Reyna evaded most questions and manufactured answers from conversations she’d overheard at the office.

  “What happened to not ruining the evening with work?” she finally asked, putting an end to his questions.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just hard to turn off at times. Excuse me. I’ll be right back.” Peyton left the table and returned ten minutes later, wearing a radiant smile.

  After dessert of hot lava cake and vanilla ice cream, they enjoyed a walk along the pier before heading back to the waiting limo. The door had barely closed when Reyna felt Peyton’s breath against her cheek and hand on her thigh.

  “Mind if I kiss you?”

  His breath was hot, but a shiver ran down her spine, and not from passion. Before she completed the nod giving her consent, Peyton crushed his mouth against hers. Right when she started to pull away, his tongue pushed her lips apart and freely explored every crevice of her mouth. “Ouch,” she wanted to scream but didn’t. When he finished, her hand covered her now aching lips.

  Peyton must have thought she enjoyed it, because he said, “There’s more where that came from,” with a satisfied grin.

  “You can keep it right where it is,” was what she wanted to say but didn’t. Instead, she turned and stared out the window for the remainder of the ride. Peyton took the opportunity to get acquainted with her body parts.

  She wanted to stop him from touching her, but found the attention, although rough, refreshing.

  “We’re here,” she announced when the limo turned into the subdivision. She pushed him away and replaced the lace straps on her shoulders.

  Peyton ran his index finger down her arm. “Aren’t you going to invite me in? I have the perfect way to end a perfect evening.”

  She found his smile sexy, and the attention he lavished on her appeared genuine. But after the last mistake, she needed more.

  “Why would you want to spend the night with me?” she asked and waited for him to confirm what she assumed: Peyton wanted a return on the money he’d spent that evening.

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “I enjoy being with you, Reyna. I know it hasn’t been long, but I’m starting to care about you . . . a lot. I want to be with you.”

  His answer sent shock waves through her. No one had told her anything similar to that before, except Tyson, but he didn’t count. She stared at Peyton long and hard, debating if she was making the wrong decision. On the surface, Peyton was everything she wanted, but what did she really know about him? He could be serious, and her indecisiveness could ruin something special. Or he could be a dog like Chase. She decided there was only one way to find out.

  Chapter 12

  Tyson switched on the hands-free Bluetooth device, then touched the icon on the touch-screen phone. The beads of sweat accumulating on his forehead and wet palms had nothing to do with the interior temperature of his home. A central heating and air-conditioning unit kept his home at a comfortable sixty-eight degrees. He hated making this weekly phone call. He gulped down nearly half the bottle of water, trying to lubricate his parched throat. He’d tried numerous cases before some of the most difficult and uncompromising judges, but only one judge caused him to second-guess sound decisions and doubt his ability. Repetitive vows of affirmation and declaring deliverance hadn’t left him secure with the judge. On the third ring, the judge answered the phone.

  “Good morning, Attorney Stokes,” the stoic voice greeted.

  Just once Tyson wished the judge would drop the legal image and be Fredrick Stokes—his father. “Good morning, Father. How are you and Mother?”

  “The trial is taking much longer than I anticipated. I can’t believe the antics of these young lawyers. Their ambition gives leeway to sensationalism.” Judge Stokes was currently presiding over a case involving a local businessman accused of murdering his wife and then hiding the body. “I can look at that man and tell he’s guilty as sin, and the evidence supports it. His money has bought him enough legal muscle to make him look like the victim. The media is having a field day.”

  Tyson nodded in agreement, as if his father could see him. Listening to his father’s complaints about the injustices in the criminal legal system, Tyson affirmed his decision to practice civil law. He’d announced the decision over dinner with his parents after passing the bar. Judge Stokes’s disappointment was evident when he stood and walked out of the restaurant, leaving his wife and son behind. His father didn’t speak to him for an entire month. According to Tyson’s mother, Judge Stokes had been boasting to his colleagues that his son would one day follow him on the criminal bench. Tyson could still sit on the bench one day but presently didn’t have the desire.

  Tyson opened the refrigerator and removed a takeout carton from the previous night’s dinner and placed it inside the microwave. “Father, you’ve been on the bench over twenty years. You know the press thrives on cases like this.”

  “I’d bet the house the jury is not as slow as they look.” Judges Stokes chuckled at his own dry humor. “Once they convict the imbecile, I bet he’ll try to cut a deal by offering to disclose where he hid the body.”

  When the microwave beeped, Judge Stokes was still on his soapbox. Tyson twirled the chicken chow mein around the fork and savored
the taste.

  “Anything else interesting?” Tyson interjected after the last forkful. He’d grown tired of his father’s work talk. Would they ever share simple father-son conversation? Normal topics, like the score of a basketball game or the NFL draft, were never discussed. New books came up on occasion, but the subjects pertained to the law.

  “What else is there?” the judge asked.

  Tyson opened his mouth to point out the obvious and then decided against it. For the Honorable Fredrick Stokes, there wasn’t anything else. His life had revolved around the law since childhood. His father had helped organize the local Association of African American Lawyers in the early sixties. The law was in his blood.

  Tyson changed the subject. “Brian Culbertson is coming to town. I have tickets. Would you like to attend with me?”

  If the question caught the judge off guard, he didn’t show it. Without missing a beat, he answered, “Maybe next time. Your mother has my free time booked solid with those charity events she loves so much.”

  Tyson took measured swallows from the water bottle. He should be immune to his father’s rejection, but it still hurt. He didn’t give up. “What about dinner?”

  The offer piqued the judge’s interest. “You have a case you’d like to discuss with me? I’m a little rusty on the civil side, but I’m sure I could help you.”

  “No, Father,” Tyson answered, defeated. “I thought we could just hang out.” During the long silence that followed, he prayed his father would finally hear the longing of his only son. Tyson needed more than bland weekly telephone conversations. He would give anything to gain some insight on his latest dilemma: Reyna.

  “I’ll get back to you on that,” Judge Stokes finally answered, his voice less brisk. “Hold on. Let me get your mother.” There was a pause. “Bev,” he called.

  Tyson tossed the empty plastic bottle into the recycle bin. The Honorable Fredrick Stokes was a leopard who refused to change his spots.

  “Hello, son,” Beverly Stokes sang into the phone.

  “Hello, Mother,” Tyson replied dryly.

  “Are you available on the twenty-first?” Beverly was never one for idle chitchat. Every conversation had a purpose, usually raising funds for an organization. “I’m chairing a benefit for the Autistic Children Fund. The president of the group, Mylan, is a delightful young lady. No children, single, and around your age.”

  From the giddiness in his mother’s voice, Tyson suspected she had already committed him to attending. “I’ll have to check my calendar,” he answered, in anticipation of his mother’s rebuttal. She didn’t disappoint him.

  “It’s six o’clock in the evening on a Saturday. I’m sure there’s nothing on your schedule. Unless”—she paused—“you’re dating someone and working on some grandchildren before the judge and I are too old to enjoy them.”

  Ever since his father’s bench appointment twenty years ago, his mother had addressed his father by his judicial title. Before then Tyson couldn’t recall his parents using endearing terms for each other. It was either Fred or Bev. No wonder I’m so emotionally constipated, he thought, but said, “No, Mother, I’m not dating anyone.”

  “Good.” His mother sounded relieved. “Bring your checkbook, and I’ll let Mylan know you can’t wait to meet her.”

  Tyson nodded rhythmically while his mother raved about how great and beautiful Mylan was, and then said good-bye.

  Tyson disconnected the call and lamented that neither of his parents were interested in his life outside of the law and his checkbook. Being a glutton for punishment, Tyson phoned Reyna.

  Chapter 13

  Reyna hadn’t noticed there were exactly twelve tan panels covering the master bedroom ceiling until today. She’d been too busy in the mornings rushing to the shower to leisurely lie in bed and take note. This morning was different. It was Saturday, her day off, and a snoring mass of tanned flesh held her stationary.

  After little contemplating, Reyna had invited Peyton inside last night. She had offered him a seat on the couch, but he’d helped himself to her bed without much resistance. A few kisses here and a stroke there, and Reyna had succumbed to his demands. “At least I know his last name,” she’d mumbled when it was all over.

  While the experience had left her with many emotions, satisfaction wasn’t one of them. Peyton had showered her with glorious words and promises but had failed to deliver on any of them. In many aspects the experience was similar to her first encounter—painful. The only difference was Peyton cared about her. She’d basically yielded and allowed Peyton to have his way with her. She’d never admit it to Jewel, but Reyna now understood why her mother rationed out physical activity to her father.

  Reyna stretched and brushed Peyton’s black waves from her chin, then attempted to squeeze out from underneath him. With her every motion, his grip tightened. Frustrated, Reyna gave up and wondered how she’d ended up in bed with a white man and in what direction their relationship was headed. Peyton hadn’t expressed love but had repeatedly told her how beautiful she was. Reyna certainly wasn’t in love. After all, she’d known the man only a week. Yet she trusted him enough to spend the night with him.

  She frowned as drool from Peyton’s mouth moistened her skin. “Ugh! Get up,” she shrilled and vigorously shook him.

  Peyton braced his weight on his elbows and raised his head, shaking it as to clear it. Reyna watched as thick eyelashes gave way to those piercing blue eyes.

  “Sorry. Was I too heavy for you?” he asked, at the same time using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth.

  Not the picture of sophistication from the night before, Reyna observed. In fact, the second he’d stepped back into the town house, the word class vacated the premises. He acted more like a starved animal than a refined investment banker. He’d practically ripped off her clothes with more energy than the Energizer Bunny.

  “You’re not too heavy, but I need to use the bathroom,” she answered with her head turned away from him. Peyton took morning breath to a new dimension.

  He rolled over onto his back and stretched, but before Reyna could gather the sheet around her, Peyton jumped from the bed and trotted into the bathroom.

  “Selfish—” The ringing telephone cut off the choice adjectives she had for Peyton. She rolled her eyes at the closed bathroom door before answering the phone. “Hello.”

  “Good morning, Reyna.”

  Shock waves flowed through her at the sound of Tyson’s voice. It took her a moment to gather her bearings.

  “Reyna?” he said when she didn’t respond.

  “I’m here,” she said, recovering. “What do you want?”

  He cleared his throat. “I just wanted to see how you’re adjusting to the town house. Is everything in working order?”

  How lame, she thought but said, “Everything is fine. If it wasn’t, you’d be the first to know, Mr. Landlord.” After an extended pause, she added, “Is there any more of my business you’d like to know?”

  “No. Sorry to bother you. Good-bye.” The line went dead.

  She felt a pang of guilt for being rude but didn’t have time to dwell on it. Peyton exited the bathroom, wearing her robe.

  “Hey, what’s for breakfast?” he asked. “I’m starved.”

  “Excuse me?” Reyna was stuck on the fact that he had the audacity to wear her clothing. They weren’t that close, were they?

  Peyton stepped over his clothing, which was heaped on the floor, and plopped down on the bed. “I know you have some food in the house. Go find me something to eat.”

  “Why don’t you get back into that limousine of yours and find your own food?” The words poured out before Reyna’s feet hit the floor.

  “You’re kidding, right? The limo is long gone. I only rented it for last night.”

  Her head snapped up.

  He reached over and pulled Reyna toward him. “Come on now. After all, I gave you last night. Don’t I deserve some pancakes and eggs or something?”

&nb
sp; “I don’t feel like cooking,” she stated, digesting the fact that he’d rented the limo and that it was now gone. Then she realized he’d planned all along to spend the night. That explained the pack of condoms in his pocket. Fighting a feeling of déjà vu, Reyna tightened the sheet around her. “How are you getting home?”

  “I was hoping you could give me a ride,” he stated while scratching his forearm.

  Reyna stepped back and planted a fist against her waist. “You live in the city, and I’m not fighting weekend bridge traffic to take you home. You better take a cab or catch BART.” Her neck rolled with every word. “You should have thought about that before you dismissed your driver.”

  This time when Peyton reached for her, he pulled her to him and used his legs to hold her stationary. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t be mad at me for wanting to give you the best.”

  “So it’s my fault you don’t have a ride home?” she snapped.

  “It’s not your fault.” His fingertips stroked her cheek. “You’re a special woman, and I care about you. I wanted our first date to special. You deserve that and more.”

  Peyton’s deep sea–blue eyes transformed into a soft sky-blue shade and mesmerized Reyna. His gentle tone relieved her misguided agitation. She was irritated at Tyson for calling and disturbing her imagined peace. All night she’d been trying to convince her conscience that Peyton was the man for her, but hearing Tyson’s voice had squashed her efforts. His voice across the phone wires had touched her in a place Peyton’s physical presence hadn’t. But she didn’t want Tyson.

  “I want to give you everything.” His arms opened and he gestured at the expansive master bedroom suite. “You have so much already, but I’m willing to work hard for you.”

  Reyna’s tense muscles relaxed, and imaginary music sounded in her ears. Peyton planned to stay around. “Okay,” she said, surrendering with a smile. “I’ll feed you, but you can find your own ride home.” She gave him a quick peck, then skipped into the bathroom.