She wanted desperately to be out and away from that small space.
Donovan jumped in front of her just as her hand was about to catch hold of the restaurant’s doorknob. “Can you let me be a gentleman?” he said, his voice full of amusement as he yanked the door open.
“Certainly,” she retorted before she stepped over the threshold.
“I don’t think we’re going to get a table!” Campbell screamed over the music.
“Yeah, we will—there are more tables in the back,” Donovan said, and pressed his hand firmly into the small of her back to guide her. “You’re not going to be mobbed by dozens of adoring fans, are you?” he whispered into her ear.
When was the last time a man whispered in her ear? She couldn’t remember. “Oh please,” Campbell laughed. “Nobody knows me.”
“I do,” he said, and she could have sworn his eyes sparkled.
“Two,” Donovan mouthed, and held up two fingers.
The woman, a large busty Latina, smiled warmly at him. “Sure, Don,” she said before giving Campbell a quick once-over and turning to indicate that they should follow her.
Campbell made a face at her back.
She seated them in a dark corner adjacent to two other couples who were too engrossed in their meals and conversation to pay them any mind.
Donovan pulled Campbell’s chair out for her.
That was nice, she thought to herself. Chivalry was something she appreciated; she checked off one point for Donovan.
Campbell ordered a glass of white wine, and Donovan, a Heineken.
“So, how long have you been making collages?” he asked after they’d placed their dinner orders.
“Oh, on and off for the past few years.”
“Elaine tells me you used to work for the airlines?”
“Yep.”
“Flight attendant?”
“Ticket agent.”
“Oh.”
There was a quiet moment when both of them allowed their eyes to survey their surroundings. Donovan called for another beer and without asking ordered another glass of wine for Campbell.
“That’s, uhm, cute,” Donovan said suddenly, pointing at the pendant.
Campbell’s fingers went immediately to it. “Oh, thanks,” she said as her index finger stroked the metal.
Donovan leaned his head in and squinted. “What is it?”
Campbell leaned away from him. “A penguin.”
“Huh,” Donovan sounded, and leaned back into his chair. “You like penguins, do you?”
Campbell just shrugged her shoulders. “They’re okay, I guess,” she lied. She had been collecting penguins since she and Andre had split. Collecting them and hoping that they would somehow influence her love life.
There was another lengthy silence as Campbell fingered the pendant and tried hard not to look at him.
“So you have children?” Donovan finally broke the silence.
“One. A girl. Eighteen.”
His eyes went wide. “Eighteen? Well, how old are you?”
She still got defensive when people reacted that way to the fact that she had a grown child. She remembered the women, women her mother’s age, looking at her with disgust, pity, or both whenever they happened upon her pushing Macon in her stroller.
“You know you don’t ask a woman’s age.” Campbell tried to make her voice sound light.
“Sorry, I guess her age just took me off guard.”
“You’re apologizing to me again,” Campbell joked before taking a sip of her wine.
“I am, aren’t I?” he laughed, and shook his head.
“Well, I’m thirty-four,” she said.
Campbell could see Donovan doing the math in his head. “Wow, you were really young.”
“Yeah, I was.” She bit her bottom lip and looked around the room.
Donovan watched her thoughtfully for a moment. “Well, I don’t have any. Kids, that is.”
Good, the spotlight was off her for the moment. “How come?” It was a stupid question, and she wanted to kick herself for asking, but she hadn’t come across a lot of men in their mid-thirties who hadn’t had at least one child. Maybe he can’t have any. Maybe he’s sterile, did you ever think of that? her mind chastised her.
“Good condoms, I guess.” His response was so matter-of-fact, his face so serious when he said it, that it was comical, and Campbell burst out laughing.
The tension and uneasiness slipped away after that, and they were able to converse on a more comfortable level.
Their conversation moved along to his job and her new career, places she’d been and the ones he hoped to visit one day, her parents and his. Music, sports, and everything else in between.
They were studying the dessert menu when Donovan looked at Campbell, folded his hands, and asked, “So why aren’t you married?” The question was so abrupt that for a minute Campbell thought she hadn’t heard right.
“Oh, uhm . . .” She snatched a quick look at his eyes before peering back down at her menu. “I guess I just haven’t found the right person yet.”
Again his question rekindled that defensive feeling that had crept through her earlier in the evening. Her eyes moved between the crème brûlée and apple tart as her mind tried to ignore the questions she had often asked herself over the years.
Is something wrong with me? Am I not pretty enough, thin enough? Are my breasts too small, ass too big? Teeth not white enough, skin too dark, too light? Is it me, is it me, is it me?
Campbell put the menu down and excused herself to the ladies’ room.
Donovan stood up when she stood.
That’s what a gentleman does, although it wasn’t something he often did when he was with a woman. And doing it now, without even thinking about it, surprised him.
He watched Campbell move away. He liked her walk. It was an easy and unhurried stride. Sexy, he thought.
He found himself standing and staring long after she’d pushed open the door marked Women and disappeared. She was well built—thick would be the street phrase used to describe her. Wide hips, round behind that rode back. Juicy is what came to Donovan’s mind.
He’d kept his eyes focused on her face during dinner, the sleepy bedroom eyes and pouty lips. But he’d managed to treat himself to her ample cleavage at the gallery when her attention was focused elsewhere.
In the bathroom, Campbell examined her face in the mirror as she washed her hands.
There were specks of mascara caught on her eyelids, and—surprise, surprise—the lipstick she’d applied just three hours ago was faded away. Long lasting, my foot, she thought as she dug her makeup case out of her pocketbook.
She turned Donovan’s questions over and over in her mind. They were just questions, she told herself. That’s what people do when they’re trying to get to know you. Didn’t she ask him a few of her own? Stop being so damn sensitive, he wasn’t judging you, just trying to know you.
She powdered her face and put on a new coat of lipstick. She wanted to take down her hair. Her head was beginning to pound beneath the tension of the rubber band, but then she decided just to deal with it. A glance at her watch told her that they wouldn’t be there too much longer anyhow.
He stood up again when she came back.
“Hello again,” she breathed before sitting down. “So why aren’t you married?” The question shot out of her, surprising both of them.
Donovan laughed so hard tears came to his eyes. “Damn,” he said, and wiped at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t know. Same reason as you, I guess.”
He was about to say something else when the waitress approached and set two more drinks down on the table.
“We didn’t order another round,” Donovan said as the waitress cleared away the empty glasses.
“From the gentleman at the bar.” She pointed over her shoulder to a brown-skinned man with salt-and-pepper hair. He was smiling at them and holding his glass up in salute.
Both Donovan and Campbell nodded
their heads in acceptance and thanks.
“Do you know him?” they asked each other in unison.
A pause.
“No,” they announced together.
Campbell glanced over at the man again. He did look a bit familiar, but she was having a hard time placing him. The man was still smiling, his head moving between Campbell and the group of people that stood alongside him.
“Oh,” a sigh of relief escaping her, “he was at the gallery tonight.” Thank you, she mouthed, and the gentleman saluted her again.
“Well, that was nice of him.”
“Yes, very,” Campbell agreed, and picked up her fourth glass of wine for the evening. “You were about to say something before the waitress came over.”
Donovan twisted his mouth and rolled his eyes up into his head. “Let’s see, hmmm. Oh, yeah, what I was going to say was that I think I’m ready now.”
Campbell stared at him.
“You know, ready to get married, settle down, have a few kids?”
Campbell had never heard a man admit to being ready for a commitment. “Really?” is all she could bring herself to say.
Suddenly, Donovan reached over and grabbed her hand. “Do you want to dance?” he asked, and his face lit up.
“To this?” Campbell laughed, and nodded her head toward the band. “This is not dancing music.”
Donovan grinned. “We could go someplace else. Someplace close.”
Campbell was really enjoying herself, but she’d had a long day too. She mentally counted off the number of beers he’d consumed, and felt it was the alcohol talking and not him. She looked down at her watch. It was close to one. “Can’t we do it next time?” she said sweetly.
Donovan looked down at his own watch. “It is kind of late, huh?” A small yawn escaped him. “Remember when one o’clock was early?” He laughed and motioned for the check.
“Yes, I do.” Campbell laughed as well, and rested her chin on her hands. “I must have been twenty-five years old.”
The ride home was quiet, but the silence was comfortable now.
“I really had a good time, Donovan. Thanks so much,” she said as she clutched her keys in her hand.
“Me too.”
“Well,” she started, and reached for the door.
“So when can I see you again?”
The car door was open just a bit, and she pulled it shut again and turned to face him. She wanted to say, Anytime you want. Me, I’m always available. I like you and would love to see you again. Is tomorrow too soon? But instead she said, “Call me.”
“Can I have your number, then, please?”
“Sure.”
Donovan leaned over her and opened the glove compartment. He fumbled for a pen and then found a slip of paper—a parking ticket he’d neglected to pay—and for the second time that night Campbell was privy to an up-close and personal view. She thought his hair was wavy, but now on closer inspection, she could see that it was actually a mass of tight curls. His neck was thick and smooth; he had dabbed cologne there too; it wafted up and around her and she inhaled it like air.
Donovan wrote his number down first. Home and cell phone.
Wow, Campbell thought to herself, he really didn’t want to miss her call. She wrote down her home number and handed it to him.
“Do you have a cell phone?” he asked after scrutinizing the numbers and reciting them to make sure he was reading them correctly.
Campbell nodded.
“Uh-huh, I see. You don’t want a brother hunting you down, huh?” he said slyly.
Campbell just grinned. “Well, thanks again,” she said. “Have a good night, and drive safely.” She stepped out and shut the door.
Donovan waited until she was inside the house and waving before he honked his horn once and drove off.
I wonder if I should have given him a kiss goodbye, Campbell thought to herself as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom.
Damn, Donovan thought as he took the corner, not even a kiss good night.
* * *
A week passed and then two, and Campbell still hadn’t heard from Donovan.
She was sick with herself for frequently checking the caller ID, jumping when the phone rang, and then feeling sorry that it wasn’t him when she answered it.
Hadn’t they had a good time?
She thought they had.
Wasn’t he the one to ask when he could see her again?
Yes, yes, she’d heard right.
Men could be so damn frustrating!
“Well, why don’t you call him, Campbell? It’s not the 1800s, you know. Women can be assertive—it’s acceptable—hell, it’s expected!” Laverna had advised when Campbell complained to her.
She’d tried a dozen times to do just that, had picked up the phone and dialed six of the seven numbers and then hung up.
Why should she have to call?
Why not? the voice inside her asked.
“Later for him,” she said aloud to herself one day when all she could think of was him and that night.
“Jerk,” she said as she crumpled the paper that held all his numbers and dropped it in the garbage.
* * *
Donovan had been working nonstop.
Double shifts during the week, Saturdays and some Sundays too. All he could do when he did have a day off was sleep.
Every day he promised himself he’d call Campbell as soon as he got home from work, call while the sun was still up and his mind alert. Every day became tomorrow, and tomorrow stretched into two weeks and then Christmas.
“You still haven’t called her?” Elaine screeched from her home in Hempstead.
“I’ve been busy,” Donovan said as he stared into his empty refrigerator for the third time that day. “You want to come over and do some shopping for me?” he teased.
Elaine let out a long sigh. “No. Busy doing what, working?”
“You know it.”
“Donovan, this is why you don’t have any woman. Work will always be there. You’ve got to give yourself a break, enjoy yourself sometimes.”
He did. His break came on Sundays when he lounged around the apartment all day watching satellite television or listening to music.
“What are you doing with all that money you’re making? You’re not enjoying it.”
“Yes, I am, I have a good ol’ time looking at my bank statements.” Donovan laughed.
Another sigh. “You know, you’re making me look like an idiot. I told her all these great things about you. My brother this and my brother that. You’re making me look like a liar. If you didn’t like her, then I understand. But you said you had a great time and wouldn’t mind seeing her again.”
“Has she called you?” Donovan questioned Elaine.
“No, we never exchanged numbers.”
“Oh.”
“Call her, Donovan!”
“Okay! Damn, Elaine, is she paying you?”
“Call her today, Donovan, today.”
“Okay, damn.”
JANUARY
Like every New Year’s Eve before that, Donovan found himself surrounded by family, a little less than sober, wearing a colorful, pointed paper hat, his lips moving from plastic horn to Hennessy-filled plastic cup in short intervals, his ears filled with the sounds of music, conversation, and laughter.
Paper plates heavy with chitterlings, black-eyed peas, and collard greens littering everything with a flat surface. Not a dirty piece of clothing in the house and the seventy-eight of “Auld Lang Syne” ready and waiting on the record player.
Everything had been done just so, in order to secure good luck, health, and fortune in the New Year.
He wondered as he wandered through the crowd of relatives if this would be the year that the dreams would stop and the voice would die.
Would this be the year the fear and uneasiness that had settled itself on him like a second skin was finally shed?
He was a grown man, but he still got the sweats and shakes whenever
he had to go down into that basement.
The chair was still there and the small table next to it. The twin bedframe, skeletal without the mattress, had been propped upright against the wall.
Donovan would stand there, trying to catch his breath and keep the sweat out of his eyes, but his hands would shake and his lips tremble, and he had to fight with everything in him to keep from running back up the stairs.
He talked to himself while he searched for whatever it was Grammy wanted from downstairs. He needed to hear the sound of his own voice, because without it, Clyde’s whispers would fill his ears.
“Ain’t you got no woman yet?” “When you gonna get married and make some babies, man!” “You ain’t getting any younger.”
His relatives pelted their questions and smart-ass comments at him like stones.
That was the other problem with these gatherings. He wondered if that problem might be attached to the first, but wasn’t sure about that and couldn’t bring himself to find out from a professional, a psychologist, because that might mean he was crazy or something worse, and maybe the doctor might want to prescribe pills or electric shock or hypnosis to unearth this thing that had him terrified of the basement, this thing that didn’t allow him to trust or to love.
That’s what Delia had told him. She’d screamed, “You don’t love me completely!”
Donovan pretended not to understand what she meant, but he knew. Three years earlier, Sandra had accused him of not fully loving her.
Nina had never had that complaint. Donovan had relinquished himself to her, and the wall that he lived behind had crumbled the first day he’d laid eyes on her.
He’d truly thought that she was the one.
Long, leggy, and copper colored, Nina was a wet dream in high heels.
He’d said hello to her one day as she passed by him on the sidewalk. He hadn’t expected a response; a woman who looked like that wouldn’t give him a second thought. But he’d spoken to her anyway, just because.
He had the wind on his side that day; a sudden October gust caught hold of her hair and lifted the back of her skirt. She giggled, grabbing her long black tresses with one hand and the hem of her skirt with the other, losing hold of the hot dog she’d been carrying, and so it ended down at her feet.
Loving Donovan Page 14
