"Well, let's not get sidetracked!"
"Yes, ma'am!" Jake promptly responded.
Vivian was getting a bit giddy, loose. The whiskey sour was slowly turning her bones to liquid. Her eyes were dreamy and soft, her smile quick to light up. "Thank you. Now back to the white male. Coming to the present, you think the white male's motives are still the same?" She asked.
"To a smaller degree, there are bound to be some - wouldn't you agree?"
"I would hope not, but - knowing human nature, you're more than likely right. So, um, which category do you fit into?"
Jake smiled, thinking, and then laughed, "I shouldn't say this to you, but - my main focus when it came to a woman - was getting in her panties."
Vivian giggled like a little girl told a naughty secret. "That sir, doesn't surprise me one bit. Now having divulged that, tell me, Mr. McPherson, what's your preference?"
"You - you are my preference." He said softly, while his eyes bore straight into hers. Vivian felt herself stirring. He smiled knowingly, causing the little lines beside his eyes to crinkle adoringly, making her tingle worse. She took a deep breath, deciding she'd had enough to drink, which had been only the one. However, since she never drank, that one was plenty enough to alter her inhibitions.
"You okay?" He asked, with a husky voice that was loaded with alarms of,"Danger, danger, danger."
"I - I'm fine - thank you. And - you're sidetracking again." She pointed out.
"Sorry, carry on." He invited.
"Yes - well, although your answer may be, indeed flattering, I'm serious - be truthful, what was your preference - before me?" She asked, trying to get her mind off of what she would really like to do with him right now. Like climb over the table, straddle his lap, and tongue the hell out of him.
"Lil' girl, there are too many beautiful women, to limit myself."
"Oh, really?" That brought her upright in her seat.
"I meant - past tense."
"Better be past tense. Anyway, if you had to select a preference, what would it be?"
"Why do women always ask the kind of questions to trap a man in a corner?" Jake whined a bit.
"It's our nature, answer the question." She ordered with a smile.
"Okay, if you must know - I prefer - older women. I prefer - women with a fuller figure. I prefer brunettes, and an occasional redhead. And in most cases, it seemed that they belonged to someone else."
Vivian sat with her mouth slightly open in surprise. "Really? How full-figured?"
"I don't know - depends."
"Really? So, what would you say is the largest size woman you've been with?"
"Nosy lil' thing, aren't you?"
"Curiosity - come on - tell me - the largest size?"
Jake's eyes rolled up and to the left, running through his memory bank and came up with, "Stephanie Simons - she was a big one."
"How big?"
"Ohhh, 'bout - hmmm, I would say a size 22, maybe?"
"That's a big girl." Vivian returned.
"She sure was."
"So, what exactly is it that you like about big women?"
"Comfort. I like my comfort. There's an unbelievable comfort to be found with a big woman. Which makes them very desirable. I also have long arms, I like 'em filled. It takes a nice size women to do that. I mean, you can really settle in there and, uh -..." Jake grinned, blushing a bit, "...uh - enjoy yourself. I like that. I also think they're a bit more passionate, tender, maternal, and into pleasing the man they're with. Whereas, most slender women are full of themselves." He finished honestly, winking at Vivian.
She sucked in stunned, as he popped in the last bit of his steak, having been eating it as they talked.
"Are you trying to say that I'm full of myself?" She pressed her hand to her chest, eyes blinking rapidly. Jake couldn't help his laughter at her. "Excuse me? Have I told a joke? And you, sir, have a lot of nerve! You're the one that's full of himself!"
"You know what's even better? You - being full of myself... how about that, hm? Think you could handle that, Vivian? Being full of me?"
His words sucked the indignation right out of her. Blinking, trying to recover, she found her place again and asked, "By the sounds of it, why do you bother wondering? I mean, I'm not older - in years that is. I'm not full-figured and I'm certainly not white, as in a brunette or redhead. I'm not your type. So, what's going on?"
Jake sat back in his seat again, studying her. He picked up his tea and took a sip, choosing that over beer or alcohol. He would never drink and drive from La Crosse, especially with her in the truck with him. After two or three sips, he sat his drink down, staring a moment and admitted, "I don't know. Lil' girl, I can tell you this, I've been trying to figure that out for weeks now. I haven't a clue. But..." He was suspended again, stopped by the look of her. His eyes flowing softly, gently over her features, stopping at her lips, where they lingered. Slowly and finally, up to her eyes they rolled. His close inspection of her froze her as well. It made her breathless, the way he could look at her. Sitting across from him, hearing his "preference" gave her feelings of insecurity. Made her feel indeed, like the little girl he had grown into the habit of calling her. They were both silent and absorbing each other. Deeply breathing in the air they shared between them.
"My mother - has certainly named you well. Your hair is so dark, if it's not black, it's the closest thing to it. Gleaming, shining. And your brows... I really like them, they add that certain something to your features, against such dark skin. Black Velvet. I don't know what it is, lil' girl..." Jake leaned forward, turning the intensity of his stare up as he closed the distance between them over the table. "...look at me." He commanded gently, which made it even more powerful a command, making Vivian's heart hammer. She stared into his eyes, as he declared, "I want you - like - I've never wanted - anything - in my life - I want you. You - said to me - "I was meant for you.."you said, "I'm the one...and I just wanted you to know that." You remember saying that?" He spoke to her in soft tones.
Swallowing, Vivian could only nod her head.
"Well - I don't know why I know it ... I just want you to know - that I do. Because what my type may be, and what God has planned for me, is two totally different things. You and I - we are - complete opposites. Yet, you and I - we are both - the same. And that, lil' girl - is more than likely, why."
Jake leaned back to this side of the table.
Vivian had to look away from him, to bring her breathing back under control, glancing down at her salad. She didn't want anymore.
"Salad no good?" He asked.
She glanced back up with a slight smile, "I don't think I'm really hungry." She murmured softly.
"Here, I'll finish it." He reached over the table, pulled it to him, while at the same time spotting their waitress and signaling for their check. Vivian watched him make quick work of consuming her salad, which she'd barely touched. "This is good. Did you even try it?" He asked, cleaning the plate.
"Yes, I did. I'm not used to eating at this time of night." She offered as explanation.
The waitress brought their check. "How was everything?" She asked, noticing that Jake was finishing Vivian's salad and wished to know if she was not pleased with it.
"It was fine, really good. I'm just not hungry." Vivian offered as explanation, with a smile.
"Glad to hear it. Here's your check. You all come back again now, you hear?" The white female waitress winked at Vivian, and turned from the table.
In reflection, Vivian thought that was nice. The atmosphere in the restaurant had been really cozy and comfortable. Them being an interracial couple had not altered anyone's attitude towards them one bit. They'd been received with smiles and immediate service from the moment they stepped into the door. Vivian picked up her purse and left a ten dollar tip. Jake saw it, and his eyes got big.
"What's that? I got it." He commented, with his wallet out.
"I know, it's her tip. When I feel comfortable and have been treated well
, I tip well."
"Ten dollars? How about five?"
"Jake?!" Vivian laughed.
"What? That's a bit much, considering our bill. We didn't hassle her enough to warrant a ten dollar tip."
"How about this for a compromise? When we go out to eat, you can pay the bill, and I will be the judge of the tip, and then pay it. How's that? Considering us, and the service we received - I think that's a fair tip."
Laying the money on the check, Jake asked, "What do you mean, considering us? What do we have to do with how they served us?"
"Isn't it obvious? We are an interracial couple, because of that, the service could have been lousy; it wasn't. We were treated very well, and I for one, was made to feel very comfortable. Considering the man I'm with."
"So, what you're saying is, they deserve a reward for treating us the way weshould be treated? Why should we not expect service with a smile? Why should we not expect immediate responses and first class treatment? This is a restaurant, claiming to be one of La Crosse's best. That should be reflected no matter what type of couple walks in that door. Why does that warrant extra reward?"
Vivian leaned forward, speaking low. "Because, Jake, simple fact of the matter. All they're required to do, is seat us and serve us. From sitting here, I can tell they have plenty of clientèle. Majority white, with an occasional black person entering. They would suffer little were we not satisfied with their service and not return. I encourage and commend this quality of service, which is reflected in the tip. Black people have a lousy reputation for not tipping..."
Interrupting her, was the waitress picking up the money and the check laying on the table. Vivian looked up from what she was saying and smiled at the waitress, pushing the tip towards her, she said, "Here you go, we really enjoyed the food and service."
The waitress' smile was bright, picking up the tip and putting it into her pocket, "Thank you." It showed that she appreciated the tip.
She walked away to leave them talking.
"...anyway, as I was saying-..."
"Let's continue this in the truck on our way." Jake stopped her to suggest.
Vivian nodded and they made their way out to the lot. Jake held the door open for her to climb in, and then walked to his side, climbed in, closing the door turning to her. "Mind if I have a cigarette?" He asked, opening his window on his side.
"No... go right ahead."
He pulled a pack from his overhead sun visor, tapped one out, put it back, took the lighter from the seat, lit it and then turned to her after dragging long and deep from lighting it. "As you were saying?" He blew the smoke out away from her through the open window.
"My comment was simply that we have a lousy reputation. When I can, I like to show something different, something that conflicts with what they believe."
"Based on an assumption that all whites, or waitresses and waiters, think blacks don't tip, right?"
"I guarantee you, were you interested enough to do a survey and question waitresses or waiters of any race, black included, they would tell you, they hate serving black people or couples because they don't tip. That's the general consensus. Doesn't matter where you go."
"That's too much bullshit to be bogged down with. I mean, if that's true, what you're saying - then going in with me, makes that ten you laid down a wasted gesture, because she'll assume it came from me."
"I thought about that. Which was my reason for pushing it to her and saying what I did."
"Em." Jake commented, blowing out smoke again. "Racism is a bitch, isn't it?" He commented frankly.
"Yes - it is."
"I mean, I know plenty of cheap-ass white people who don't tip worth a damn. I, for one, have never tipped over two dollars."
"Well, there are blacks whom they feel don't tip at all."
"Maybe they can't afford to fucking tip!"
"Then waitresses and waiters feel that they can't afford to eat out."
"Oh, so what you're saying is - because they can't afford to leave some money on the goddamn table for tipping, they should deprive themselves of the enjoyment of eating out?"
"Don't get riled at me, Jake! I'm not the one who set the standard, nor the belief. Fact is, waiters and waitresses get paid far less than minimum wage, and so must depend on tips. That is bound to stir attitudes of resentment towards those who don't tip, and if possible, tip well. I can tell you now, the ones who carry on the worse about non-tippers, are black waitresses and waiters - they do not like serving their own people-..."
"What?!"
"...be-cause - they depend on the tips. When you have bills to pay, and struggling to make ends meet, those tips are vital."
"I see... so it's a bitch of a dilemma."
"Yeah, it is."
He flicked his butt out the window and turned to her. It was late at night. People were leaving the restaurant, which was about to close up for the evening. They still had to get back to Hillsboro. Jake was turned towards Vivian, who was likewise turned towards him. They were quiet, the evening working to cast a spell. Jake reached an arm across the seats to touch her hair. Taking a thatch of it to feel. "Still can't make up my mind which way I like it better. With the afro, you have that Get Christie Love, look about you."
Vivian gave a low chuckle, "Get Christie Love, hm. Teresa Graves, wasn't her name?"
"Yeah... she was hot! Oh, how I miss the seventies! And Foxy Brown... emph! Pam Grier - oh, my God! Shawn had a thing for her."
Vivian couldn't believe what she was hearing, and started laughing, "Really?! I didn't think white guys had those kinds of fantasies!"
"Are you kidding me!? Damn right we do! Whether they'll admit it or not, there have been white guys that have wanted to do both of those women! The thing is, while I salivated over them, I never really dated one. There really wasn't any present where I went to school. But every now and again, you'd see a locker open with a page out of the teen magazines with them on it. Now - look at me..." His voice turned husky. "...look what I have sitting right next to me." He was still touching her hair. "Come here." He commanded, leaning towards the middle of the seat, using her hair to tug her towards him. Vivian's heart started slamming in her chest right away, while leaning towards him.
Slanting his head, he palmed the back of her head gently to bring her lips to meet his, his tongue was the first thing to reach her lips, penetrating them to her teeth, and then working them apart to mate with her tongue within. Vivian was dizzy. Just that fast. He was an expert kisser. And by the way he made love to her mouth, she could tell he'd spent a great deal of time kissing, and must have enjoyed it, mastered it. He was drawing her closer. Their breathing was growing deeper. Her heart was slamming in her chest, making her stomach flutter with butterflies. She whimpered and shivered, feeling his other hand against her chest, going down to her breast, that he touched at first gently, cupped, rubbed and then squeezed. She gasped in his mouth. Jake pulled back a bit for a breath. "Let's get a room. I wanna touch you all over. I wanna taste you again." And he attacked her mouth again. Using his tongue to let her know what he was planning for elsewhere.
Vivian whimpered. She was on fire. But she was scared.
"Jake..." She tried talking to him, yet kissing him in return.
"I need to touch you. I need to see it." He gasped, his hand going down the front of her, to the hem of her dress and pushed beneath it to the juncture of her squirming thighs.
"Nooo, Jake... please." She pleaded.
"Let's get a room, please?"
"I'm staying with your parents, I can't do that. I would never disrespect them like that."
"You're a grown woman, you can do whatever the hell you want."
"I will not have your father disappointed in me. I will not. Nor Gert. We should... get going."
Jake pulled away from her and sat back, breathing deep. He was painfully erect. His hands were clasped above his head with his eyes closed, trying to calm his racing heart and his screaming need.
Vivian sat back on h
er side of the truck, biting into her bottom lip, divided in her need, divided with what she wanted, divided by what was right.
"I'm sorry, Jake. I just can't... it wouldn't be right."
"It's okay, just give me a minute to calm down." He spoke calmly. Vivian watched him, and felt an overwhelming urge to reach over, release him and love him the way he had her. What stopped her, was that it might be construed as the same as just having sex. As just giving in to him.
He blew out a breath that seemed to come from deep down within him. He swallowed and then sat back in the seat and started the truck. "Buckle up." Was all he said.
Vivian turned and buckled herself in.
He got the truck on the road, traveling down the I90 to take her back to his parents'. They were quiet. Needing something to do, Vivian reached in her purse and pulled out her cell phone and dialed his parents' home. Bart answered.
"Hi, it's me, Vivian."
"Hey there, where you at?"
"We're on our way back. We saw a movie, went out to dinner. Just left the Freighthouse restaurant, we had a really good time."
"That's good, what'd you see at the movies?" He asked.
"Van Helsing." She answered.
"Never heard of it."
"We enjoyed it. I just wanted you to know where I was and that everything is okay."
"Good girl. We'll leave the kitchen door unlocked for you. He treatin' you right?"
"Yes, sir, he is."
Jake glanced at her upon hearing that, he shook his head. He could just imagine what was being said, now that he knew it was his father she was talking to. At first, he was a bit resentful that she felt a need to call them and report to them. She was, 28 years old, after all. But, sitting and listening to her speak to his father with such respect and consideration, it substantiated the difference in her, from the other women in his life. Her actions added to the pile of reasons building, that he loved her. Yet, it also made him feel that she was indeed, a little girl. His protective instincts rose a notch, gaining on his need to make love to her. She was concluding the call, and Jake decided to address a matter that was plaguing him.
"They're going to leave the kitchen door unlocked for me."
BOMAW 7-9 Page 16
