I’d managed to work something out with the old lady Ida knew. She was in no hurry to go into an assisted living facility and we planned to talk again after my two months of living rent free at Jen’s was up.
Screams now came from the people surrounding me.
“Holy shit!” Dickie said, kicking the seat in front of him and causing the large red-faced man with the beer belly to turn around and glare at him.
“Sorry,” Dickie said before the man really got going.
I shot to my feet, joining Dickie, wondering what all the commotion was about. I saw one car up in smoke. It had skidded off the track and was spinning around in circles. The driver was a favorite. The people in the stands, an interesting group, were screaming hysterically and people were running toward the burning car from the pit.
Around me, women of every shape, size and age were dressed in outfits with everything hanging out. The short shorts left little to fantasize about. I’d never seen so much tattooed skin and piercings in my life.
An underdog won the race with two favorites coming in second and third. I knew next to nothing about Nascar racing so most of what was going on had to be explained to me by Dickie.
Afterward we took the long way back to Flamingo Beach. Dickie drove one of his Mercedes with the sunroof open and we tooled down A1A where all the rich people lived.
“Imagine having that kind of money,” I said, gazing out at the big houses that sat on the water, and wishing I were with Quen.
“I’m getting there, babe.”
I knew that was to tempt me. Dickie still couldn’t get over the fact that I didn’t want to sleep with him and that I wasn’t overly impressed with the green-backs he threw around. Quen had spoiled me for the Dickies of the world.
We were still working out together and Quen called occasionally, supposedly to chat. But there had been no movement forward which led me to believe he was still confused. My patience was wearing thin.
I had a rapidly ticking biological clock and didn’t want to wait around until some man got to me. I loved Quen but I wasn’t about to be any man’s lady in waiting. Especially when I didn’t know what I was waiting for.
Dickie pulled over to the side of the road and parked behind a line of cars.
I raised my eyebrows. “What are we doing?”
“Taking a walk along the beach.” He ran his fingers through what used to be called a Jheri curl back in the day. Now it was some other kind of processing. I just hoped he wasn’t planning on getting romantic.
We walked down a steep flight of steps and toward the beach. Several other people had the same idea because the sands were fairly crowded. There were teenagers flying kites and toddlers holding on to parents and wading in the water. They looked so cute. I wanted one of those rug rats.
I looked enviously at the handful of couples sitting on the sand and those walking hand in hand. It was a mistake coming here with Richard when I only wanted to be with Quen. The setting and the couples reminded me of what I didn’t have—a relationship with someone who loved me.
“Richard, I’m not feeling well,” I lied. “Would you mind taking me home?”
Richard looked over at me and frowned. “Must be sunstroke from all that time out in the sun.” At times he could be dense.
Let him call it whatever he wanted so his ego wouldn’t get crushed. We made a U-turn and headed up the steps.
Give Dickie Dyson credit, he was a good sport. He headed west and picked up I95 in order to get me home fast. As luck would have it, no sooner had we pulled up in front of my building, guess who was coming out? Quen.
“Feel better,” Dickie shouted from the convertible Mercedes as I crossed the lot and headed for the lobby.
“Thanks. I had a nice time,” I shouted back. “See you soon.”
Richard took off burning rubber.
At the front door Quen stopped me. “I came by to see you,” he said, placing a hand on my arm. Where he touched me tingled.
“Any particular reason why?”
“Can I come up and talk?”
“Sure.”
I was playing it cool but my stomach was fluttering like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon.
“You look nice,” Quen said.
I thanked him. I knew I looked good. I’d just gotten my hair straightened and I’d brushed it back off my face and put in those little pins that sparkled. I had cute black walking shorts on with cuffs that came in a size sixteen, and made me look trim. And I had a hot pink T-shirt on that came down to my thighs. Pink looked good against my dark skin.
We rode the elevator in silence to the fifth floor.
Inside the apartment, Quen said, “Tell me you’re not seeing Richard Dyson.”
I stared him down. “What’s it to you?”
Quen crossed to the sliders and looked down on the boardwalk. “It’s just that I don’t want Richard playing you. The man gets around.”
I sank onto the couch, kicked off my black sandals and put both feet on the ottoman. “I’m a big girl. I can handle Dickie.”
“I don’t like it that you’re seeing him.”
I cut my eyes at him. “What’s it to you?”
“I’m just not happy about you spending time in that man’s company.”
“And just why is that?”
Quen turned around, and I swear I’d never seen so much pain in a man’s eyes. It almost made me feel guilty. “Let me break it down for you,” he said. “I didn’t realize how much I cared about you until we stopped hanging out.”
That got me off the couch and walking toward him. I practically got in his face. “What are you going to do about it?”
He squared his shoulders. “I’ve already given it a lot of thought. I think we should start dating exclusively.”
My heart jumped but I didn’t want to appear too anxious. Besides he still hadn’t told me he loved me.
“Hmm. I’ve been thinking, too,” I said, “And thinking maybe we shouldn’t waste each others time if you’re not serious. I’m of the age where I am looking for marriage and babies.”
Quen gulped a bit but to his credit pulled himself together, “Got to start somewhere, sugar. And the first step is dating.”
That was enough for me. When he reached an arm to pull me close I didn’t stop him. And when he dipped his head and those full lips captured my mouth I just about melted. Our tongues touched, mingled and our hands explored, groping each other’s skin. Quen cupped my buttocks and pulled me closer. I felt how much I excited him.
He still hadn’t said what I wanted to hear. So I pulled away from him when he was breathing really hard.
“You’re forgetting to tell me something,” I said.
He gulped again. “Good lord woman you drive a hard bargain. Haven’t I shown you enough?”
“Not good enough.” I wanted more. Needed more.
We stared at each other.
“Is it I love you, you need to hear?” he asked.
“Exactly right, and mean it, too.”
Quen gave me a great big squeeze. “Sugar, I have loved you from the moment I realized that you weren’t my sister. You had discipline and drive and were bent and determined to get your weight in check, regardless of what that took. You put a lot of energy into improving your life and you took the necessary steps to do so. I don’t just love you, baby, I respect and admire you.”
My eyes watered and I let the tears flow. Quen had said much more than I’d expected of him. I’d never had a man respect me, nor accept me for the person I am. Heck, it had taken me awhile and a few hard knocks to accept the real me, and I was the person who thought she knew who she was. Big, bad, bold, beautiful, Chere.
It had taken Quen’s loving to help me find the inner strengths that I didn’t know I had, and to realize beauty was far more than your outer appearance. It came from deep within.
While Quen might not know it yet, I planned on marrying the fool. I couldn’t think of anyone who would make a better husband and f
ather.
“I love you, Quen Abrahams,” I said between tears.
“And I love you.”
He handed me his handkerchief and I wiped my eyes. Then he took me by the hand and we headed for my room.
Life just didn’t get much sweeter than this.
ISBN: 978-1-4603-7070-4
ALL ABOUT ME
Copyright © 2007 by Marcia King-Gamble
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All About Me Page 18
