Black Burlesque

by L. C. Castillo

  “All right, Vincie.” She grins playfully and saunters away.

  “What do you feel like having, Lenore?” he asks, letting go of my hand and placing his elbows up onto the bar.

  “I don’t know, Vincie, what do you suggest?”

  He arches a brow and smiles at me. I can’t contain my face-splitting grin.

  “I’m getting steak and eggs, but their pancakes are pretty good, too.”

  “Ok, pancakes it is. With bacon,” I add.

  We grin at each other like idiots until Gale returns with our coffee.

  “Ooooh, well if that’s not the look of love, then I don’t know what!”

  Thanks, Gale.

  That earns us another look from the cook along with a wolf whistle. Vincent shakes his head at Gale and rolls his eyes, clearly amused. My smile vanishes as he puts in our order. I stare out the window to my right.

  Look of love? What the fuck?

  This is a mistake. I should have gone to work; I’m in over my head. I told him I didn’t want to do the dating thing, but here I am, grinning like a fool, having breakfast with him.

  Vincent tugs my hand once Gale has gone, and I turn back to look at him. His expression is stern as his eyes plead with mine, and he very subtly shakes his head and mouths, “Don’t.”

  “Don’t, what?” I ask, even though I know damn well what he means.

  He scans my face, “Don’t pull away.”

  I can’t help it. The word love…it worries me. No. It makes me feel panic. I offer him a tight smile. I do my best to ignore the creeping feeling of dread forming inside of me.

  How does he have that uncanny ability to read me so well? He’s so attuned to my moods, or thoughts...I’m still working it out. The only person who can read me this well is Maggie. Jordan and Kazumi both say I’m self-contained, guarded and hard to read.

  Gale quietly brings our breakfast a few moments later. I wish she could be like this all the time. Quiet, that is. I’m sure Vincent gave her a reproachful look to shut her up.

  My mood instantly lifts once she sets our plates down. Everything smells incredible! The bacon is thick and crispy, and steaming hot. I dive into that first. I have had such an appetite lately, for everything, I think with an internal grin. I blush as I take in a mouthful of pancakes sprinkled with just a bit of powdered sugar. Everything tastes wonderful, and I understand why it is so crowded in this small unremarkable diner. I catch the cook’s eye and I smile at him and give him a thumb’s up, my cheeks full of food. He smiles back and nods humbly.

  I quietly watch Vincent as he devours his steak. I can’t help but stare at his mouth and well-defined jaw as he chews. His mouth looks as delicious as the steak. The corner of my mouth lifts and I hurriedly swallow my pancakes. He smiles when he catches me staring, but I quickly turn it on him.

  “What? Can’t a girl enjoy her food?” I say and take a sip of coffee that Gale has quietly refilled. Mmm… The coffee is great too.

  “By all means, I enjoy watching you devour—I mean—enjoy your food.”

  The feeling is entirely mutual. He pops another piece of steak into his mouth, and I’m slightly dazed as I watch him, he swallows and licks the corner of his mouth. My eyes dart to his. Without taking his eyes from mine, he slowly opens his mouth and takes another bite of his steak.

  I inhale and close my eyes. Fuck, I want his mouth. When I open my eyes again, his expression has darkened. Sexual tension fills the space between us. He’s turned in his stool, his body facing mine, and his blue eyes darken further as I mirror him and turn in my stool to face him as well.

  He swallows once again and I’m on him, quick as a cat. I lean forward with my hands firmly on my knees and slowly lick the corner of his mouth. Steak sauce never tasted so good. We’re nose to nose, green eyes to blue.

  “There. I think I got it for you,” I pant against his lips, not backing up an inch. I hear his fork clatter onto his plate as his hands fold over my face and skull. He invades my mouth with his tongue. He tastes delicious. I bite his lip, roll my tongue around his, and suck the tip of his tongue gently.

  I want him, right fucking now. Someone clears his or her throat, I think it’s Gale, and we’re snapped back to reality. Oh, right, we’re in a diner. I blush and turn back to my pancakes with a smile, and enjoy another mouthful. I will my body to come down from its high.

  I hear Vincent exhale as he rotates his stool so that he’s facing his plate. What is it about him that completely possesses me? Have I no self-control whatsoever?

  I stifle a laugh. I really do want him—right now; so badly I can taste it. I try and shrug the thought out of my mind, and focus my attention on finishing my breakfast. I ignore and fight the twisting sensation blooming inside my belly.

  We make small talk for the remainder of our breakfast, both of us trying to diffuse the heavily laced sexual tension mounting between us. Mostly we discuss some of the places I’ve been to in Downtown L.A. The conversation is pretty limited on my part, but he does tell me of a few bars and restaurants that I think I’d like to visit. He mentions a few boutiques and consignment shops that I make a mental note about as well.

  After breakfast we walk back to the parking lot hand in hand. The morning has given way to the afternoon and the streets seem to have quieted down. Nothing like the hustle and bustle typically experienced in the evenings in Downtown. When we get to the Triumph, Vincent places our helmets on the seat of the bike and takes me by complete surprise as he scoops me up, lifting me by my ass.

  I wrap my legs around his waist and cup his jaw in my hand. We kiss as he presses me against a white work van. His lips press firmly against mine, and his tongue gently strokes my swollen bottom lip. His hands are splayed out wide over my behind; he squeezes me gently before setting me down.

  Hmmm, that was nice. I disregard the soreness between my legs. I really hope we go back to his place now.

  “I apologize for the ungentlemanly behavior,” he smiles and clears his throat playfully. I giggle at him. His mood is infectious. He straps our helmets back on. This time I insist he take his own sunglasses. I wouldn’t want to wreck this gorgeous bike because the sun blinded him momentarily. He takes them from me begrudgingly.

  “So where are we off to now?” I jump onto the back of the bike and wrap my arms around him. I’m very aware of how sore I am as I sit with my legs wide open on the bike. But it feels so good to be in such close proximity to him, to have an excuse to wrap my arms around him. My heart starts to pitter-patter quickly inside my chest.

  “Hollywood,” he replies without elaborating, and the engine comes to life before I can ask anything else. I really was hoping to go back to his place…

  It’s a nice drive. I’ve become more relaxed on the Triumph, and am really enjoying darting around cars. We take the streets, and arrive at our destination in about 30 minutes or so. Vincent was driving quite a bit faster this time. We pull into a large parking garage.

  “What is this place?” I say a little too loudly, my voice echoes off the walls. I giggle and cover my mouth. Vincent smiles a big, genuine smile.

  “Amoeba. You’ve never been here?”

  “Um...no. I’ve never heard of it.”

  He takes my hand and raises his brows.

  “Come on, you’ll love it.” He tugs me along out of the parking garage, and we cross the street. The building is tall and full of eccentric people. We step further inside and Vincent shrugs off his jacket. I take a special moment to appreciate his muscular arms and build in his thin t-shirt. Then I notice my nail marks on the back of his arms. I touch them softly as I trail behind him. He stops and I look up to meet his eyes. He takes my hand and presses his lips to the tips of my fingers, then tucks my hand back into the crook of his elbow again. I feel my chest swell with some unnamed emotion.

  “This is it. Shall we divide and conquer? Or do you mind if I tag along?” His question throws me.

  Then I take a look around. Oh, crap! It’s a music store! And
it’s huge! Two stories in fact! My eyes widen, and my jaw drops. Yes! I quickly spot the Blues section and let go of Vincent and walk away towards it. I quickly start rifling through the expansive selection of new and used CD’s. I don’t know where to start!

  “There’s a vinyl section just back there, too.” Vincent says from somewhere behind me. I’ve tuned him out. I can hear him start his search. I quickly find a compilation, Electric Blues, for a whopping $80. I don’t care though, Sister Rosetta Tharpe, T-Bone Walker, and Muddy Waters. I am all over this. I smile to myself and then make my way to the Reggae & Rock Steady section and start flicking through stacks of CD’s there, too. I know I live in the era where people download their music. I have an iPod that was handed down to me from Jordan. But I still like getting CD’s and records. I like looking at the album art and lyrics. I like holding it in my hands.

  Time slips and I get in my zone, the same kind of zone I get into when I visit a thrift or consignment shop.

  I’ve lost Vincent. He’s gone off to the vinyl section I think. I nab an album I’ve been searching for by Alton Ellis, and another by Prince Buster. Ok, I’d better stop before I go broke. I clutch the CD’s to my chest and go in search of Vincent a short while later. There is so much to see here, they have an amazing selection of music, new and used!

  I find him, 30 minutes later, deeply intrigued, staring at the back of an album. I glance around and see that all the girls, and even a young man, are staring at Vincent. My stranger. His leather jacket is strewn atop a stack of records next to him. I’m added to his list of admirers. I stare at him fondly.

  I really need to cut this shit out.

  He looks up and locks eyes with me, and I blush. I see a girl make her way toward him, she’s ready to make her move. Clearly she thinks I’m about to make mine and she’s trying to beat me to the punch! She’s a chesty girl with way too much makeup. Vincent doesn’t take his eyes off of me.

  He puts the record down; the girl is two feet away from him as he walks toward me. He takes my hand in his and pulls me to him. The girl stops in her tracks.

  Ha!

  He pulls me in; I stand on tiptoe as he kisses me softly. My eyes close as I relish the invasion of his tongue brushing and stroking against mine.

  When I open my eyes again, the damn girl is still there. Eyes wide. Clearly shocked.

  You can go away now; I’ve clearly won this prize!

  I walk back to his stack of vinyl with him and the girl makes herself scarce; finally. I look around and everyone looks away from us, trying to look busy. Vincent is completely oblivious to all the attention that was just surrounding him. I smile inside.

  “I can’t decide if I should get this...” he says more to himself than to me. It’s Johnny Cash and the Tennessee Two -Live At Town Hall Party 1959. “I love the way he sounds live,” he mutters.

  “Get it,” I say and smile. He grabs another two records from his stack, and his jacket, and then turns to face me.

  “Ready to head to the second floor, look at some movies?”

  My eyes pop. “They have movies here, too?”

  He laughs, and we head up.

  The upstairs is a fraction of the size of the main floor below. Even still, it is cluttered and packed to the brim with movies upon movies. He chooses a foreign horror film, Spanish, and when he does, it almost looks as though he’s looking at me, waiting for a reaction. I don’t remark, but I do find it curious. On our way back down, I spy a documentary on Cuba. I pause, and slowly walk over to it. It has a classic car on the cover. The cracked pavement and palm trees in the background fill me with nostalgia.

  I’ve never visited my parent’s country, but I feel it is a part of me, like it’s my true home, like it’s imbedded in my roots. When I was a little girl, I used to stare at pictures my mother had from her childhood in Cuba. She managed to bring only a few with her. But I’d stare at them for hours. I could almost feel as though I were there with her. Her memories became tangled with my imagination; each photo had a made-up story in my minds eye.

  When I was old enough to walk to the library, I’d go and pull books about Cuba off of the shelves and pour over them, I’d absorb the images and facts as if I were a detective searching for clues; clues about my mother and about my father whom I’ve never met. I’d try to solve the mystery of the home I never knew.

  I couldn’t bring the books home. It would make my mother depressed to talk about the past, of the home she abandoned. One day, while at the library, I began to read a book about Santeria. I asked my mother about the Santa Barbara, and her eyes widened in fear, she actually slapped me! It was the first time she ever slapped me.

  “Con la Santa Barbara, no se huega!”

  She left me standing there, stunned.

  “You don’t play with the Santa Barbara,” those words echoed in my mind for days. After that, I never asked her anything like that again. I did often hear her tales, when she’d get lost in thought. We’d be at the sewing table, cutting, and stitching... She grew up in a home full of fear and superstition. Some experiences clearly scarred my poor mother. I didn’t learn until much later, just how deep those scars went. I didn’t know what my mother had lived through, or would continue to live through, until the price was paid. She didn’t tell me everything, but she told me enough...towards the end.

  “Lenore, are you okay? You look pale.” Vincent searches my face, concern forms a crease above his brow. I nod and put a fake smile on my face.

  “Yes, I’m good. Ready to go?” I don’t wait for his reply; I start down the stairs and walk toward the registers to get in line. He comes up behind me and I shake off the cloud I carried with me from upstairs.

  “So what do you have?” Vincent asks, taking my CD’s. “Nice,” he says after he’s looked them over. He doesn’t return them. We’re called to the register. I extend my hand to retrieve them to give them to the clerk, but Vincent shrugs me off and walks past me, handing the cashier all of our loot. I dig through my small clutch to produce some cash. Vincent is quick, and hands over his card without so much as a backwards glance. I roll my eyes.

  “Rude,” I mutter. He turns to me, shakes his head and smiles.

  “$235.03,” the clerk says. My eyes widen, and he swipes the card.

  Damn it. I should have insisted. Just one of my CD’s was $80 after all! He grabs the receipt, and my hand, and we walk toward the end of the row of cashiers. Once we’re past the security alarm, the clerk hands us our bag.

  “Vincent, please let me pay you back,” I say with indignation. He looks at me sternly, obviously insulted, but I really don’t want him buying things for me, it makes me feel uncomfortable. I’ve always taken care of myself.

  “No.” His tone is clipped, but he softens the blow when he winks at me and grabs hold of my hand and presses his beautiful lips against my knuckles. I instantly forget my irritation and discomfort.

  “Well—thank you. You didn’t have to.”

  “Anytime, Lenore. Besides, I want to borrow your Eclectic Blues compilation,” he says with a grin.

  We make our way out of the store and toward a beautiful, and modern, movie theater. We walk inside and look at the titles that are displayed on giant screens above us.

  “Anything interest you?” He asks politely.

  I flick my eyes back to the titles and shake my head. “I’ve never heard of any of these. You pick.” Oh, gosh. We’re on another date aren’t we? The realization is just dawning on me.

  He squeezes my hand and walks over to a kiosk. Two tickets print out.

  Great, another thing he’s paid for. I roll my eyes.

  We make our way to the snack bar after he presses the freshly printed tickets into the pocket of his jeans. The smell of popcorn makes my stomach rumble. I’ll make sure that at the very least, I pay for my own popcorn. While Vincent reads the menu I quickly pull some cash out of my clutch and palm it.

  “Lenore, what will you have?” Vincent asks as we pull up to the cashier
.

  “Small popcorn and water please.” I smile at him pleasantly. Vincent turns to the cashier.

  “Large popcorn, two waters and…Red Vines.”

  The cashier punches it all in and reads our total. I thrust my cash at her before she finishes reading it off. She takes it before Vincent can object. He narrows his eyes at me and I smile sarcastically and retrieve my change. He looks so sexy when he’s angry. He takes our popcorn, water, and Red Vines and glares at the cashier. Like it’s her fault. She looks to me and I shrug. The total at the concession stand still doesn’t make us even, but I do feel better knowing I contributed to our date—or whatever this is. He’s already paid for breakfast, my CD’s and our movie tickets.

  The theater is nice, very plush compared to the old one we have in Uptown. It’s quiet and not very crowded. That’s my favorite thing about a matinee. He leads us to the furthest row tucked in a corner of the stadium and we take our seats. There is no one around us. I smile inwardly. My thoughts go directly to that dark and now familiar place. Will I always desire him like this?

  I look over at Vincent as he silences his phone and places it into his pants pocket. I envy him. He has a lazy confidence that most men strive for and almost never achieve. He looks young, but carries himself like a man who truly knows himself. I also love that he is comfortable with silence. He isn’t constantly trying to make conversation and fill the quiet pauses that bubble up between us. He’s prone to quiet introspection, like myself.

  The theater darkens and the previews begin. Vincent raises the arm separating us, and pulls me closer to him. The popcorn rests between us. I’m strangely aware of how intimate this is. How comfortable he is with himself, and with us. What disturbs me even more is how comfortable I feel. I feel natural, as if I’ve known Vincent for years.

  I study his profile in the dark. I’ve never been to the movie theater with anyone except for Maggie and Jordan. This is so much more...exciting. The vibe between us slowly begins to change. I know he can feel it.