“Hey Monica, it’s me,” Zola spoke into her cell phone.
“You made it into Atlanta already?” her best friend asked.
“Hell, no,” she responded bluntly.
“Uh oh, what happened?”
“The plane I was to take out of Virginia had some kind of technical difficulties, and no more flights go out tonight.” She heaved a loud sigh. “I had to switch to another airline only to find out they had no direct flights to Atlanta. I had no choice but to fly here to Washington, D.C. and keep my fingers crossed that it will leave on time with no other issues.”
“Both my fingers are crossed, girl.” Monica chuckled. “Weren’t you and Rick supposed to have dinner tonight?”
“Yes, and he was a sweetheart. He picked up Italian and put the good sheets on the bed.” Zola moaned. “I tell you, if this Shirou Tsubasa’s nerd ass doesn’t agree to do this speech tomorrow night, I swear I’m going to rip him a new asshole.”
Zola’s eyes were drawn to the man across from her who suddenly laughed out loud and chuckled like a silly kid. Was he laughing at what she’d said? She couldn’t tell if he was listening in on her call or not. All she could see was short, black, textured hair that looked damp, as if he’d just walked through a rain shower into the airport, over the oversized graphic novel held practically up to his nose.
“Zoë, the only way I see you giving him a piece of your mind is if he’s ugly or old as sin,” Monica said, drawing her attention back to their conversation. “I know you have some odd fetish for those nerdy, brainy types,” Monica pointed out. “I don’t get it. Shouldn’t we big girls stick to the big, husky guys?”
“I’ve been there and done that with my exes because I thought the average-to-thin guys wouldn’t be enough for me. But now, experience has taught me that the small packages can hold some big...big...surprises, and big packages sometimes hold a gag gift.” Zola laughed.
“Plus, the nerdy guys try so hard to please when they have a girlfriend. They are more accommodating and respectful to the fact that I have a career I love too.”
“Whatever! That just leaves more of the brawny, alpha types for me.” Monica let out a soft laugh. “You know, occasionally I do luck up and find a man that has a big, fine-ass body and a big dick.”
A frown puckered Zola’s brows. She would swear that man was staring at her legs and heeled feet from behind the book. His head was bowed so low it practically bobbed on his shoulders. The book started to dip and he straightened, clearing his throat.
“Zola, are you listening to me?” Monica yelled in her ear.
“Ah...sure...you said big men...big dicks, yaddah...yaddah...” She grinned. “But tell me, what good is the outside wrapping if he’s an inconsiderate lout who acts like you should feel blessed that he would even date someone less than the ‘ideal, perfect’ standard men got going on in their heads?” Zola rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Don't even make me remind you that the one you’re dating now likes to fuck you, but has yet to introduce you to any of his friends or family. Haven’t you been dating for six months?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Sorry, Monica, I don’t need a man who is all into hours at the gym and flexing in every mirror he passes. I don’t miss the dude who looks all delicious, yet gets you in the sheets, takes all the loving you got to give, and when it’s your turn, skims over the good parts just to quickly shoot his load and have to leave because he has to get up early to go to the gym.”
“It’s not always like that,” Monica argued.
“You know what I learned? I was lonelier having to masturbate and get myself off after that fucker left than I am getting myself off alone. Being a successful woman alone in this world isn’t as bad as our mothers and girlfriends lead us to believe.”
“Geez, just so fucked up,” the man across from her muttered from behind a book that looked similar to a small and considerably thicker-sized comic book.
“I knew it,” Zola murmured into the phone. “This man is listening to my conversation.”
Monica laughed into her ear. “Girl, you’re crazy. What man is listening?”
“Hey,” Zola whispered in hushed tones.
“What?” Monica whispered back. “Why are we whispering?”
“There’s this nosy ass man sitting across from me pretending to read, but he’s actually all up in ya girl’s business,” Zola murmured into the phone.
“Huh? How can you tell?”
“I’m about to give him something worth listening to,” she spoke softly into the phone with her hand over her mouth and the phone.
“Zola, don’t you even think about it or I’ll disconnect this call!”
Her friend yelled at her, but her laughter bespoke any seriousness in her threat.
She dropped her hand and said, “Oh, baby, you know I’m thinking about it. I’m thinking about it all the time. I’m so horny now even making out with you sounds good to me.”
Zola looked up again at the man across from her. The book started to lower once more, and he jumped as if he’d been startled. He turned a page with long, sexy fingers and cleared his throat. Was she wrong?
“Stop it, Zola Simpson, or I’m going to dial up your mom and do a three-way call,” Monica threatened.
“You want a threesome? I’ll think about it.” She giggled. “But that third person just won’t do. Maybe you should let me choose.”
“Okay, yuck! Are you kidding me? It would be like sleeping with my sister.” Monica made gagging noises over the phone.
Zola giggled, shaking her head. “Hmm… I can’t even imagine it, baby.”
“You know you do have a sexy phone voice, though,” Monica teased.
“Get out of here.” Zola snorted out a laugh.
“No, really.” Monica laughed too. “When Rick always jokes that you should do phone sex for a living I thought he was talking out of his eternal hard-on for you; but seriously, girl, you could retire early with that sexy voice of yours.”
“Stop it.”
“No, seriously, you could seduce a nun into divorcing Jesus.”
“Now you’re just being a smartass.” Zola shook her head with a lingering smile on her lips.
“Whatever.” Monica clucked her tongue. “Oh shit, I’m late! Sweets, it’s been fun. But I, unlike you this evening, have a date to get me some real sex. I’m not into this phone boning shit like you and Rick have been doing.”
Zola moaned her envy. “It’s not like I don’t want it. I’ve been so busy lately. I’m too tired to make the effort. Tonight I was going to make the effort,” she pouted. “Some real sex sounds so good right now. Phone boning is good to get the juices flowing, but there’s nothing like my soft, fleshy body rubbing up against a nice hard body. Hmm, to be buried twat deep in cock...” Groan.
Monica laughingly said, “You’re one twisted puppy torturing that poor man sitting across from you talking this sexy shit. I bet he’s squirming in his seat.”
“Hell, no,” Zola cursed. “Girl, I think he’s gone to sleep. I’ve been tripping all this time for nothing. That proves I need to get laid. I see everything as sexual. I haven’t even seen this man’s face and he’s looking very fuck worthy to me right now. Can you go crazy from being horny too long?”
“Zola, girl, you have a safe flight and call me when you get to Atlanta. If I’m otherwise detained, make sure you leave me a message and I will call you back in the morning,” Monica stated.
“Okay, will do. Have fun and think of poor little me slaving away kissing the ass of some genius in order to keep my job in the coming new year,” Zola whined before saying her goodbyes and disconnecting the call. She eased her cellular phone closed and slipped it back into the side pouch of her purse.
The book was now over his face, as if to block out the bright florescent lights. His hands were interlaced low on his stomach, and his legs now extended before him and crossed at the ankles. It looked as if he had settled in to nap the rest of the evening away i
n the airport. She couldn’t think of a better way of telling people not to disturb him.
In her boredom, Zola started people watching. She would choose a person and proceed to break them down. There was another man two seats down from the one sitting across from her.
She glanced at the “napping” stranger and did a quick comparison study of the way he dressed and lounged in his seat to the man two seats down, sitting straight and erect with the ankle of one leg resting on the opposite knee. His briefcase was balanced on his lap with the lid up.
This man was dressed in a single-breasted, dark blue suit, pale blue button down with a baby blue silk tie, and a leather briefcase, which he continuously leafed through as if he was searching for something important.
He seemed as intent on looking in his briefcase as Mr. Comic-Novel Man had been reading his book, but she noted each subtle time his pale gaze swept the airport terminal area to see who might be noticing him. She looked away before the blond man caught her staring. He would be the type to see eye contact as an invitation to be overly friendly and most likely manage to get a seat next to her and talk her to death on the plane.
In Zola’s current profession, her old FBI training as a criminal profiler came in handy. It made her number one in her field amongst all the other Public Affairs Specialists at NASA. Her career in the FBI had been one of the casualties of her failed marriage.
The man in the business suit she read as “a perpetrator of success.” This man presented the “perfect idea” of a successful American businessman. Only a keen eye would spot that the suit was purchased off the rack and was ill fitted. There wasn’t anything important he needed out of that briefcase. He just wanted people to believe he was someone important with even more important things to do than sit in an airport waiting for a plane.
Zola’s interest didn’t linger on the blond man. It was the lean and mysterious one with the hands of an artistic man who had snared her attention. She was amazed that without any effort on his part, he had managed to make her fantasize about him. Once she saw his face, would he be as attractive as his fit body bespoke, or would he be a disappointment to the illusion of her own fantasies?
He slouched down in his seat as if he didn’t have a care. The reading material he chose was lighthearted entertainment. His indifferent façade was dangerously deceptive and oddly arousing.
“Hello, passengers of flight seventeen bound to Atlanta, Georgia, your flight is now boarding.”
Zola looked at the man, who hadn’t moved at the sound of the intercom. She gathered up her things and started for the line.
With a deep, resigned sigh, Zola turned on her heels and walked back over to the napping man. Lifting the open paperback from his face, she quietly spoke so as not to startle him out of his sleep.
“Excuse me, I don’t mean to bother you but if you’re flying to Atlanta, they just called for passengers to start boarding.”
“Huh?” He stared up at her with confused, sleep-filled eyes through round, black-framed spectacles. He sat up in the chair, arching his back and stretching his arms over his head with a yawn.
It was infectious. “Oh, please don’t do that.” She chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand. “You’re reminding me how tired I am, and I have a long night ahead of me.”
“I do too,” he murmured. “Are they boarding for Atlanta?”
Zola didn’t detect an accent, so she assumed he was an Asian-American. “Uh, yes, that’s why I bothered you.”
“Thank you.” He smiled and stood. She was momentarily mesmerized by the dimples that appeared in his cheeks and his near perfect smile. His bottom teeth were crooked, and she silently thanked God he had a flaw. His features were symmetrically perfect. She would have hated him for standing in the attractive line in Heaven too long if he hadn’t had at least one thing about him that wasn’t physically pleasing.
He leaned down to pick up his dropped novel and stood again, but oddly he seemed to be standing closer than before, and once more she inhaled his wonderful scent. Zola thought it cool and refreshing, like he’d just walked out of the shower.
Zola wondered if he would be a good lover or if all the things she had heard about Asian men were true. From what she’d gleaned when she stared at his crotch earlier, he didn’t look small down there at all. She mentally shook her head. What was she thinking? Even if this man was physically her type in his stature and nerdy sex appeal, she dated black men and she dated Caucasian men and it didn’t work out.
She’d had enough with the complicated relationships. They both thought they were so different from one another, but after dating them, she realized they weren’t all that different. A cheating motherfucker came in all races, and they all sang the same “no one understands how hard it is for a man in this world” tune. She didn’t need to add the Asian man blues to her growing list of failed affairs. Oh, well, he was a nice fantasy while it lasted.
“Uh, no problem.” She took a step back. “I guess I’ll go and get in line.”
“Thank you again,” he stalled her. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately, and one moment I was reading and the next I was having the best dream.” He dazzled her with another smile in his otherwise contemplative expression. “It’s been a long day.”
“Yes, it has been a long day,” she found herself agreeing with a nod. “I flew here from Virginia. Where did you fly in from?”
“Atlanta,” he answered. “I arrived only a few hours ago, although I have a meeting to pull an all-nighter tonight back in Atlanta. You know when I got news that a specialist here could see me, I thought it was a sign of something miraculous about to happen,” he confided.
“Miraculous? How?” Zola could read the abjectness in his expression, the slumping of his shoulders as he spoke, and the strain in his deep voice—all tell-tale signs that whatever it was that brought him here must have been serious.
“I had hoped that this time...this person would...” His voice cracked with tearful emotion and trailed off.
“What?” Zola didn’t know why she should care, but his bereaved expression tugged at her heart and drew her in like an emotional magnet. She wanted to know what he was going through and—to her surprise—she wanted to help if she could.
The Asian man’s face became ruddy and his expression sheepish. “Oh geez, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m going on like this. You don’t know me and I’m taking up your time.”
His face flustered. Zola watched him turn away from her concerned eyes to shove the graphic novel that had been crushed between his fingers into the brown shoulder satchel resting on one of the terminal chairs.
She normally would have walked away, but for some reason she couldn’t. His pained expression gripped at her heart. She didn’t know what had him in such turmoil, but she had been there herself a time or two, and the loneliness she felt during those times was what she remembered most. He shouldn’t be alone, whatever he was going through.
When he turned back to her and slid the shoulder strap of the satchel onto the opposite shoulder, she caught his eyes with hers. “It’s all right. Really,” Zola empathized. She reached out to touch his shoulder in some capacity of comfort but ended up taking his warm, dry hand in hers.
From this simple touch, she deduced the man wasn’t a manual laborer. He didn’t have a single callous on his hands.
“I feel embarrassed,” he confessed. The way that line formed between his eyes, indexing his emotions, made her squeeze his fingers reassuringly.
“When I was going through stuff of my own,” Zola began, “I had this huge support team of my family and friends that I could speak to, but I just couldn’t talk to them. I guess I didn’t want them to worry about me, or maybe I just didn’t know if I could be completely honest with them about how worried I was at that time. I went out to a bar and met a woman who did something for me no one else could. She listened, and you know what? It was what I needed; no more...no less.”
He was silent, but his face reacte
d to all she was saying, and it gave her the assurance to continue.
“I found out I didn’t need advice or help to fix my problem. I just needed to say it aloud so I could put my situation in perspective and start getting beyond it. I was the better for it.” Zola gave him a smile she used when she was being particularly gracious to a distraught business associate.
She saw his eyes drop to his hand resting in hers. The contrast of their skin pigmentation was greatly discernible but oddly harmonizing, like two coordinated pieces of an outfit; her skin a tobacco brown and his a creamy French vanilla.
He kept his gaze unblinking. “You would to that for me? A man you don’t know.”
With a half smile on her lips, she said, “If you need someone to talk to during the flight...” Zola drifted into silence and lowered her hand. She didn’t know what else to say or why she was opening herself to this man.
Beauty & the Geek: Zola's Magic Touch (Mocha Memoirs Presents Beauty & the Geek) Page 2
