“Yes,” I confessed.
“Well,” he spoke passionately, “I’ve done it wrong enough times to know when and how to do it right.” He made perfect sense, and I believed him. I felt like a complete moron for allowing my insecurities to bombard a perfectly good evening. I thought back to the night, and remembered how my weight was a factor because I made it a factor. It’s amazing the tricks the mind can play when you allow your weaknesses to have a voice.
“Well, I’m sorry for putting us in that situation to begin with,” I said. “I shouldn’t have approached you like that.”
“Please approach me like that again,” he joked. “This time, there won’t be any morals, respect, or chemistry, just sweaty-butt-bootynaked sex.” He chuckled.
“You don’t mean that.” I laughed.
“I do,” he said. “It was hard as hell being good around you, and then you just leave a brother hanging. I was like damn, I should’ve just gone on and hit that, just kidding.” He laughed. “I’m just kidding.” Then he remembered. “And the funniest thing happened. I was thinking of you the next day at the wedding, just hoping you were okay, and at the reception, I start talking with this guy who selling an almost new saxophone, and his wife, Sandra, works with you at the Chicago office.”
“Wow.” I had an adrenaline rush and a smile. “Small world.”
“Yeah, very,” he said. “She’s supposed to call me this evening to give me the final word. Her brother wants it, but doesn’t want to pay for it, and they need the extra money. So I would say that it’s mine,” he said. “At least I hope.”
“Okay.” I put two and two together and knew what his talk with Sandra was about. I relaxed. “So, you play the sax?”
“Yeah,” he answered lightheartedly. “I used to be in a band, but when I took this position here, I started missing gigs and they voted me out.”
“Okay, so now you need to release an underground track dissin’ them.” I laughed. I couldn’t believe how, in less than fifteen minutes, I had gone from wanting his head in the guillotine to wanting his arms around me again.
“Oh, wow! I didn’t see the time,” he grumbled. “I have a conference call about to start.”
“Okay.” I woke up from my dream. “I’ll talk to you later then.”
“No, wait.” He got my attention. “What are you doing this evening?”
“Nothing.” I quickly became excited, but remembered that he wasn’t in my city. “Why?”
“I’ll text you in an hour or so.” He had to rush. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
An hour later, I received the following text message from Cortez: Let’s cook tonight! Grocery list: Chicken breasts, long grain rice, block of mild cheese, broccoli, and a nice bottle of white wine. Can you handle that?
Handled. I texted back on top of the world, and, as soon as I did, Jason appeared out of nowhere.
“What’s up, gorgeous?” He smiled.
“Hi, Jason,” I said, looking at him and wondering why God would play such a cruel joke by making him so damn handsome, yet so trifling. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing much.” He looked at me as though he could just lick me right then and there. Flashes of his member came to mind, and I had to catch my breath. “I was wondering when we were going to hang out again.”
Just for kicks, I asked, “You came across a few dollars?”
“Nah.” He patted his pockets. “Had some money on Friday, but I’m dead broke now, man.”
I wanted to say, “Then why the fuck is your broke ass in my office asking me out again?” Instead, I just gave him a pitiful stare. “Yeah, I’m busted, too,” I lied.
“Yeah.” He shook his head. “Times are hard for everyone, man.”
“So, what brings you in here today?” I asked.
“You!” He didn’t hesitate with his answer, and smiled down at me. “I don’t think you know, man.” He blushed and glanced away shyly.
“Know what?” I was confused. “You don’t think I know what?”
“How absolutely beautiful you are,” he said, unable to look me in the face. “You’re gorgeous, Garcelle.”
I became warm inside. Even if the compliment was from the handsomest broke guy alive, it still meant a lot. “Thank you, Jason, that was sweet.”
“That was real,” he said. “I wish I had the money to really take you out.” He shook his head. “But it’s like there’s always something with my money situation.”
“I understand,” I said.
“Well . . .” He glanced down at his zipper. “There are things that I can do for you that won’t cost either of us a dime.”
“Really?” I would’ve been offended if I didn’t know just how big his dick was. “And what’s that?”
“Well.” He cleared his throat and moved closer to me in his baggy jeans. “I have this nagging suspicion that your pussy tastes like a peach, and I want to get to the bottom of it.”
“A peach, huh?” I swallowed hard. “Why not strawberries or passion fruit?”
“Well, peaches are my favorite fruit. I can eat ’em for hours and not get tired.” He continued in a whisper, “I already know that you’re delicious. I can see it in the way you walk. I would split your juicy fruit open and suck on you all day.” He added, “And it wouldn’t cost you a thing.”
“Jason,” Ms. Jackson, his immediate supervisor, scolded him from down the hall. “We need you over here.”
“Think about it.” He winked at me. “I’ll holla!”
I took a deep breath and tried hard not to think about his proposition. Lord knew that I needed one knocked out of the park for me, and Jason had the equipment to get the job done. I dedicated the next five minutes of company time imagining how Jason’s tongue might feel licking and sucking on my clit and pussy lips. He was broke, tatted up, and living in his momma’s basement, but there was something about his thug mentality and street swag that told me that pussy eating just could be his strong suit.
On the way home, I talked to Stacy on the phone and caught her up on everything: Cortez, Jason, and Stunna. “I like your nerve. How do you go from having no man to two and a half in a week?”
“Who in the hell is a half?” I asked, laughing.
“The one on that damn computer game.” She referred to Second Life.
I gasped. “Stunna is a great guy. Why did you say that?”
“He’s an avatar, Garcelle, another perfect-looking character in Second Life with flawless brown skin, a six-pack, perfectly cropped hair, and shiny bling.” She laughed. “He might be a redneck in real life.”
“You’re an idiot.” I giggled. “Nah, Stunna is black. We’ve talked on voice chat.” I had to add, “He’s your average Joe in Tennessee. He was laid off a couple months ago.”
“And now he can’t get off that game, so he’ll stay laid off because he’s not looking for a job. Whenever you log on, I bet his li l laid, off tail is right there.”
“Well, he works as a DJ in Second Life, so he makes money there and cashes it out into his Paypal account once a month.” I tried to defend my virtual guy.
“Uh-huh. Hang that shit up, please, it sounds crazy,” she said. “Just go to the grocery store and get the things Cortez suggested. I like him.”
“And what about Jason?” I asked, already expecting the worst.
“Do I really need to advise you on Jason?” she asked.
“Duh,” I joked. “Yes.”
“I’d say make him your toy,” she said.
“Toy?” I repeated for clarification.
“You know how you go to a concert to also enjoy the buildup of the opening acts? Well, big-dick men don’t have opening acts.” She laughed. “The big dick is the show.” She went on, “In other words, you can’t expect a big-dick dude to write you poetry and make breakfast in bed. He has a big dick, that’s what he does.”
“So, what are you saying?” I needed an answer.
“Use the big dick, don’t let the big dick use y
ou,” she schooled me. “No more paying for drinks or anything of that nature, and don’t feel sorry for his situation. If he can’t at least meet you halfway financially, then he can’t do a damn thing but give you that dick, so let him. Just don’t let your feelings get involved. Treat him like a living, breathing dildo, that’s it, that’s all.”
“That’s so cold,” I commented.
“You have to be cold when you don’t wanna get hurt, Garci, she preached. “But we’ll have to finish this up later. Our bowling league meets tonight and I have to get in the shower.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Let me know how your telephone dinner date goes.” She giggled. “That’s very cute, buying the same food items and on the phone cooking it together and eating it by candlelight two thousand miles apart,” she teased. “That cell phone battery is going to burn the shit out of you.”
“You are too silly.” I cracked up. “Talk to you later.”
I rushed into Jewel and grabbed the things Cortez asked me to get, stuff I needed for my diet, and a million things I didn’t need. I got home and listened to my messages, then took a hot shower. At seven he called. We were both starving, so we wasted no time getting started. Simultaneously, we grilled our chicken breasts, cooked the rice, and steamed the broccoli florets, giving each other tips along the way. We sipped our wine and had conversation in between. It was different, and it felt like he was right there behind me at the stove. When the time came, we ended by adding grated cheese to the steaming hot rice, stirring in the broccoli, cubing the chicken, and mixing that in too. It was good, but I would’ve preferred to eat the food separately, not jumbled together.
I sat at my dining room table with him on the phone. At some point, we both had to switch to our home phones, because our cell phone batteries just couldn’t handle our chat. We rudely ate in each other’s ears, and ended up watching the same show on TV. We talked until after one in the morning.
The week went by super fast, and, like two giddy teenagers, Cortez and I talked late into the night every night. The night before, I started my no-meat-for-two-weeks diet. Cortez talked me into cooking and eating a T-bone steak, and I was so glad I did, it was amazing.
The first day I went without meat, fish, bread, and pop, and I thought I would die. It was like meat and Pepsi were walking around the office taunting me, but I stuck to it, and, the next morning, when I realized that I had gone twenty-four hours without meat or a Pepsi, I knew that I could go two weeks. So, each day, I would pack a large Ziploc bag of fruits, vegetables, yogurt, granola bars, and other healthy snacks, and carry it to work with me. I ate every three hours. At night, I would have a grilled veggie burger patty, brown rice, and a small salad. I was also doing aerobics for forty-five minutes each night from an exercise DVD. After a week, I was ready to claw everyone’s faces off in the break room when I saw them eating, but I just dipped my baby carrots in my ranch dressing and kept on truckin’.
“Yay!” I said as I woke up the morning after the last day of my diet. I called Stacy. “Where’s my scale?”
“In the sofa bed, open it up,” she said. “I have to run, it’s busy here.”
I quickly replied, “Okay!”
“Text me the number of pounds lost,” she said.
“I will.” When I first started my diet, she came over, took my blood pressure, and did a few other things to ensure that I was in okay condition to start an exercise regimen. While she was there, I asked her to hide my scale so that I wouldn’t go crazy weighing myself every six minutes.
I located my scale, and was nervous about stepping on it. What if I hadn’t lost anything? What if I had gained somehow? No diet had ever worked for me. Well, maybe that was because I would always stop a day or two into it or modified it to my liking. So, this was the first time I had gone all out with diet and exercise.
I got buck-naked and hopped on the scale. I already knew that if I didn’t lose at least five pounds, I was going to eat a record book-size slice of cheesecake while still standing on the damn scale. I looked down at the numbers, and, at first, thought that it couldn’t be right. I stepped off and stepped back on. It read 204; I had lost fifteen pounds. The way I screamed, my neighbors probably thought I had won the lottery. I ran straight to my cell phone and texted Stacy the news.
It was Friday and I felt like I was walking on air now. I grabbed a pair of size sixteen jeans that I had written off and tried my luck . . . they fit! Okay, maybe the word “fit” was a stretch. They were tight, and, once zipped up, I felt like I needed an oxygen mask, but they looked damn good to the untrained eye. Right as I opened my apartment door to leave, there was a floral deliveryman walking up with an arrangement. “Garcelle Monroe?” he asked.
“Yes.” I was baffled. “What’s this?”
“Flowers,” he replied, as if he really thought I needed an answer.
I signed the paper and took the flowers. “Thank you,” I said.
“Enjoy them,” he replied and walked away.
I rested the flowers on the table, and I wrestled with the tiny envelope until I got the card out. It read: Happy Meat Day! Congratulations! Cortez.
“Oh, wow!” I said, covering my mouth with my hand. “My favorite, he remembered.” During dinner at the hotel, I told him that yellow lilies were my favorite flower. “This is beautiful.” I smiled. I stepped back from the arrangement to admire the yellow lilies, salal, pink roses, snapdragons, daisy poms, monte cassinos, pink carnations, and button poms. I grabbed my cell phone and dialed his number as I headed out the door. I got no answer, but was too excited to leave a message.
It was the middle of January, but inside I was as warm as a summer’s day. I hadn’t been able to reach Cortez, so a part of me wished the flowers would’ve been delivered to me at work. I wanted to stare at them and smile, and also be the envy of the office for a day. “Garcelle.” Rachel, the main administrative assistant pranced into my office. “Bill wants to know if you will take this downtown.” She dropped a binder, MapQuest directions, and a sealed envelope. “He said if you do it, you can have the rest of the day off.” She pointed at the envelope. “Inside the envelope is one hundred dollars. That’s for gas, parking, and lunch while you’re down there.”
I had made up my mind. “Tell Bill I’ll see him on Monday.” I smiled.
“Thank you,” Rachel said. “Have a good weekend.”
“I will,” I said, and, before Rachel could get back to her desk, all of my things were packed up and I was locking up. “Have a good weekend, guys,” I said to all in my area.
Heading downtown, I looked at the address. I knew the area where I was going, but didn’t know exactly which building. I tried calling Cortez while I was in traffic, but there was still no answer. This time though, I left a message. “Hello, Mr. Yellow Lillies. I see that you were taking notes.” I blushed. “The flowers are absolutely beautiful.” Beautiful was an understatement. “You’re an amazing man.” I was thinking it, but wasn’t supposed to speak it. “I’m off work already, so call me whenever you have a moment.” I looked over at my car’s clock. “It’s a little after noon and I normally would have heard from you by now, so let me know that you’re okay. Talk to you soon.”
I pulled up in front of the address and saw a valet parking sign; it was a restaurant. Oh, shit, who am I supposed to ask for in here? I asked myself, but before I could grab my phone, the man was opening my door. “Thank you,” I said, bringing my purse and the binder along. I walked through the front door and the hostess greeted me. “Welcome to Fogo de Chão.”
“Hi.” I looked around for anyone that looked like they were waiting for someone or something. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone here to give them something from my company.”
“Oh.” Something rang a bell to her. “From Blare Corp?” she read from her sheet.
“Yes, that’s me,” I answered.
“Okay, one moment please.” She called another girl over and explained to her where to take me.
> I followed the other hostess to the table, but no one was there. She said, “I see his drink is still here, so he may be in the restroom.” She pulled out a chair. “Have a seat.”
I sat there for a full two minutes before I realized that the centerpiece on the table consisted of yellow lilies. For a split second, I romanced myself with the thought that they were for me, which made my nightly conversations with Cortez replay in my head. As I impatiently tapped on the binder, I looked around the restaurant for more yellow lilies and saw none. I glanced back at the ones right in front of me, and, right on cue, I heard his voice in my ear. “May I join you?” Cortez asked from behind me, taking the Blare binder out of my hand.
“Oh my God!” I mouthed to myself and sprung to my feet. “Oh my God! Are you serious?” He was supposed to be in Jacksonville, not Chicago. I turned to face him, and knew I wouldn’t be able to look away for a while. My hands wrapped around his neck, as his found their place around my waist. Our lips met for a quick, we-are-in-public peck. I wanted so much more, but I promised myself that I would let him steer us in the direction we would go. “What are you doing here?” I asked excitedly.
“Here to take a friend to lunch,” he said.
“Oh my God.” My hands covered my mouth. “You came all the way here to take a friend to lunch?”
“Yeah, she’s been starving herself, not eating meat, fish, bread.” He then joked, “She was on some crazy diet, but it’s over today, so she can eat meat now . . . right?” He looked at me for an answer.
“Yes, but I’m still gonna go easy on the meat,” I informed him.
“No comment.” He laughed. “But, for the record, going easy on the meat is no fun.”
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