by Nia Arthurs
“Outside, he quiet; intimidating. Inside, he soft; marshmallow. He has never brought chicas aqui.”
I still wasn’t quite grasping her meaning, but before she could explain further, Spencer motioned for me to get into a waiting cab. Hugging Isa goodbye, I darted toward the yellow taxi. Spencer opened the car door, but stood in front of it, barring my entrance.
“I had a great time tonight.”
I looked down shyly, but teased, “Eh, it was okay.”
Spencer laughed lightly. “You won’t ever give me an inch, will you?”
“Nope,” I bounced on my tiptoes. “This is war.”
“Oh Melody,” he crooned in that velvety baritone, “this war hasn’t even begun.”
He leaned down and our breaths intermingled in the chilly night air. Before he could fully kiss me, he whispered, “If I kiss you, you’re not going to start hiding from me again, right?”
Hardly daring to breathe, I teased, “You never know.”
Grinning softly, he pulled back and held my hand instead. He grasped it gently, turned my wrist and pressed a kiss to my palm. I gasped at the touch, moving on auto-pilot when Spencer slid out of the way and allowed me into the vehicle.
“Just in case,” he said, before stepping back toward the sidewalk. I could only sit in stunned silence. If this was a war of the sexes, it was so on… as soon as I figured out a way to get Spencer Braden out from under my skin.
CHAPTER TWELVE
For the past three weeks, I’d relegated Spencer to the ‘look-but-don’t-touch’ cabinet in my brain for self-preservation. His sweet words and attentive actions tonight threatened to shake him loose from that particular shelf.
Ugh, boys. They were complicated whether you lived in a little country by the sea or a fast-paced city in the heart of America. And as the weekend progressed, my resolution to treat my date with Spencer as one random casual encounter, died a slow, torturous death. I found myself carrying my cell in my pocket wherever went. I didn’t leave the apartment Saturday through Sunday, and even when I had to pee or shower, the phone was somewhere in the bathroom with me, on its loudest, most obnoxious ringtone. My pathetic excuse for a social life left me unhinged. I felt restless and self-appraising, wondering if I’d come off as too abrasive. Had my inexperience shown through on our date?
The cell phone’s silence left me morose and sullen when I tumbled into bed Sunday night. It seemed only a few minutes later, my alarm reached out, clanging cooking pots together as my self-appointed Vine ringtone sang: I don’t get no sleep cuz ah you! You’re not gon get no sleep cuz ah me! The classic Vine gif used to bring a smile to my face every morning. Unfortunately, it only grated on my nerves on this particular Monday. I groaned as I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Stupid Mondays. Stupid work. Getting cautiously out of bed, I padded to the bathroom and brushed my teeth.
I had fully given up on Spencer Braden contacting me. And so what? Good riddance. He was too good to be true anyway.
After showering and getting dressed, I went downstairs and hailed a cab to take me to the office and my oh-so-comfortable 5 x 5 cubicle. The dazzle of this job had worn off long ago. A fifteen minute metro bus ride later, I sat in my comfortable swivel chair and flipped through the files on employment statistics in Belize for the past five years.
“Good morning!” A cheery voice called out. Susan, my “assistant” popped her head into my cubicle. For a girl who’d been out sick last Friday with the stomach flu, she looked disgustingly chipper. Ugh, today was not the day for her lethal doses of optimism. Normally, the sight of my adorable bi-racial intern bearing steaming cups of Jasmine tea from our favorite café would perk me up immediately. Susan was my self-proclaimed L.A. best friend, even shorter than me but with twice the cheeriness. The first day on the job, she’d popped into my cubicle and ambushed me with her quirky liveliness. We connected immediately over the torturous journey of transitioning from relaxed to natural hair. When I found out that she was majoring in law, I was truly astounded. I’d have pegged her for a teacher or realtor. Though Susan’s chosen profession was not reflected in her happy air, her sharpness and astute work ethic betrayed her intelligence and determination.
Susan paused when she got a good look at me.
“Woah, what did you do this weekend?”
“Geez, how bad do I look?”
Susan pursed her lip and gave a thorough appraisal.
“Like crap. And I should know. That’s what I was doing all weekend.”
“Ew, TMI.”
I rolled my eyes and swiveled away from her. Make that my ex-best-L.A.-friend.
“I’m just telling you like it is.”
“Well, whoop-de-do.”
“No, seriously, what’s wrong?” she pressed.
“Nothing. Just drop it and get to work, okay,” I said sharply.
Susan blinked, as a wounded look pierced her eyes. I’d successfully de-cheerified her. In the midst of my satisfaction, a prick of guilt hit my conscience.
Rats, stupid moral compass.
Grumbling to myself all the way, I stepped into Susan’s office to feast on the crow prepared there.
“Look, I’m sorry,” I shot unenthusiastically at my cork-screw haired assistant.
“You don’t mean that.”
I gaped. Of course not, but she didn’t have to point it out! Gosh, did no one learn social decorum nowadays? Doing an about-face, I prepared to storm self-righteously out of her cubicle when Jiminy Cricket tapped violently on my cerebral lopus with his stupid little umbrella. My face in the most twisted scowl in the history of Disney Villains, I reentered Susan’s cubicle and drummed up a bit of sincerity to my apology this time.
“I’m sorry, Susan.”
She turned, peered up at me, and analyzed my face as though sizing up a criminal. Finally, her trademark wide-toothed grin grew on her lips.
“Okay!” she said happily. “Now spill, Melody.”
I pleaded the fifth. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
Susan’s disbelieving glance needed no words.
“I don’t!” I insisted.
“Me think the lady doth protest too much.”
“You butchered that, Susan.” I yelled as I returned to my own cubicle, “Now, get to work!”
We worked in tandem on the statistics for hours. I was only aware it was lunchtime because Susan and the rest of the office cleared out to the lunch room or the café a few blocks from the building.
“Want anything?” Susan had offered.
“I’m good.” I returned, totally focused on an unemployment trend in the South side of Belize City. That had been fifteen minutes ago. Susan had since returned and the mouth watering scent of a greasy burger wafting over the five foot walls soon called to me. My stomach answered with an ancient gurgling whale call.
I should have asked for the café’s famous greasy hamburgers with a side of curly fries. I’d soon discovered that the world was a better place with curly fries.
Suddenly, the aroma grew stronger, just before the lucky consumer of said fries burst into my cubicle.
“Mel (gasp) lody (gasp),” Impatient, I glared at the present envy of my existence, the holder of my most desired fries.
“What?”
Susan floated closer to me and whispered, “There is a sexy man standing in our office asking for you.”
My eyes widened. Spencer!
Susan grabbed my shoulders and repeated just as lightly but with more urgency.
“Why is there a sexy man in our office asking for you?”
Mutely, I shook Susan’s curly-fries-scented hands from my shoulder, and rose to peek over my cubicle wall. Oh my gosh! It was him!
“What is he doing here?” I panicked.
Susan was bouncing up and down and up and down like a friggin’ energizer bunny. She so did not deserve the joy of curly fries.
“He’s coming this way! He’s coming this way!” she whispered, excitement lacing her quiet tone. With the
royal herald over there proclaiming his movements, I had no time to fix my hair or anything before Spencer’s handsome face appeared in the doorway of my cubicle. At the sight of him, I forgave Susan’s exuberance. Dressed in a teal blue button-down and gray slacks, Spencer was the epitome of the business casual. His tall, lean frame seemed to fill the entire room and command attention.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” I said.
“Oh my gosh, you’re hot.” Susan said.
Shocked, I turned my attention to Susan, who looked completely horrified that those words had been voiced aloud. Spencer smiled and I literally saw when his face changed to “charming” mode. He turned to face my friend.
“You must be Susan.” He held her hand and shook it loosely.
Susan’s gaze ricocheted between me and Spencer, her face reddened.
“Ugh, yes, that’s me.” She stuttered.
“Well, Susan,” Spencer released her hand and leaned toward her as though to share a secret, but when he spoke I could easily overhear, “I was hoping I could steal Melody away for lunch. Do you think she’d like that?”
Struck mute, Susan nodded and bit her lip, probably to keep from blurting out “Take off your shirt!” or “Marry me!” next.
“I don’t know.” I piped in; thrilled that he was here, but annoyed that he hadn’t called, I decided to make him earn this date.
“She might be busy.” I turned away from my short, beautifully creamy assistant and the sexy Asian to type nonsense on my computer. But I was completely blank. My brain was on Spencer overload. There was no room for thought. My mind typed the first bit of information careening through it, something I knew by heart: the Serenity Prayer. When I was younger and my sisters and I misbehaved, we were punished by writing fifty lines of the serenity prayer. It was either the prayer or we’d have to kiss each other on the cheek. My sisters and I chose the prayer every time. Now many years later, in an attempt to appear busy, I typed:
LORD GIVE ME THE SERENITY TO ACCEPT THE THINGS
I CANNOT CHANGE, COURAGE TO CHANGE
THE THINGS I CAN AND THE WISDOM TO
KNOW THE DIFFERENCE. LORD, GRANT ME…
On the one hand, I hoped Spencer ignored my bluff and left me alone. I knew instinctively that pursing anything with him would inevitably lead to a broken heart. On the other hand, I wanted Spencer to call me out on my flimsy excuse and whisk me away to whatever fate awaited us.
I felt the chair creak as Spencer caged me in with one hand on each bar of the swivel chair. Warmth flooded my chest as his now familiar scent lured me to arch my neck a bit closer to him. I felt his lips press on my hair and thanked the Lord above I’d washed my mane this morning. Spencer’s lips moved to my ear and he spoke, low and smooth,
“She’s too busy typing the Serenity prayer? Has she decided? Will she accept or change?”
Having Spencer this close to me, so near to me, completely threw me off guard and suddenly referring to myself in the third person was the most natural thing.
“Maybe she’s waiting,”
“On what?”
As our eyes connected, I whispered, “on the wisdom to know the difference.”
Spencer twirled my chair so that I faced him without arching my neck. Bending low at the waist, he stooped so that we faced each other.
“Why didn’t you call?” I asked, genuinely wanting to know.
He peered into my eyes. “I tried. You gave me your Belizean phone number.” He pulled out my business card from his pants pocket and sure enough, it was my Belizean contact number. To say I felt stupid was an understatement. I had no comeback for that. Sensing my discomfort, Spencer graced me with that slight upward curve to his lips. I wilted a little from the sheer gorgeousness of it.
“So,” he asked looking both confident and apprehensive as he asked, “go to lunch with me?”
“y-” I began, but a loud clatter from the cubicle next door startled me.
“Crap,” a soft voice cursed before Susan emerged into view. “Hi, I –uh- slipped off my desk.” She explained. What she left out was that she’d been on her desk to spy on us.
Shaking my head, I ignored my whacky friend/assistant and returned my attention to Spencer,
“Yes.”
That sexy ghost half-smile bloomed into a full-on grin and Spencer helped me out of my chair and tugged me from the cubicle. I quickly grabbed my purse and gladly followed after him.
“I’m going to lunch, Susan.”
“I can, uh, see that,” She remarked still smoothing out her dress after that fall from the desk. “Have fun.”
“When should I have you back?” Spencer inquired as we got on the elevator.
I wanted to say I’d ditch work and spend every minute with him, but that sounded a bit too desperate, even for me.
“By 1:30 or so.”
Spencer nodded as though an hour was more than enough time.
“Okay, I think we can make it.”
I shrugged, unconcerned with the details and content to just be with Spencer. We alighted from the elevator and Spencer led me through the lobby and to the parking garage where we found his car. He drove fifteen minutes away to an upscale bistro, parked, and helped me out of the SUV. Spencer held my hand lightly as he led me into the building. The hostess greeted us with a smile, though I could tell she did a double take when she noticed our clasped hands. Spencer and I got another glance or two from the patrons inside the bistro as we maneuvered around the white linen covered tables. Thankfully, no one stared at us or made any comments. Somehow, I’d expected a bit more of a reaction.
In Belize, the saying goes “yuh noh wan see wan ugly jankro with eagle. Yuh noh wan see black bird with white.” Though some inter-marrying did occur, these cases were rare and controversial. People did stare at interracial relationships, especially in the villages. I was glad that, at least in this part of America, people of mixed race were not taboo for relationships.
After we were seated and given our menus, Spencer leaned toward me.
“So, Susan was everything you described.”
I laughed, thinking of her stunts in the office. “She’s a character, all right.”
“Don’t get offended but I can see why you two became such fast friends. There’s a lot of you inside her.”
“I beg to differ. I have learned to hide my awkward a lot more than she has.”
Spencer scrunched his nose playfully, “Doubtful.” He muttered.
At that moment, the food arrived and we waited for the waiter to leave before continuing our conversation.
“You know, you’ve constantly insulted me for the past fifteen minutes. I was going to pretend to insist on paying for lunch but now, buster, all this-” I pointed to my huge Angus beef double burger and curly fries, “is on you.”
Spencer visibly held back a grin as he said, “Yeah, okay. I think that’s fair.”
We ate and chatted and the more I hung around Spencer Braden, the more time I wanted to spend with him. I was coming to learn however, that the more time I spent with him, the more looks we received.
“Ugh,” I groaned in the middle of Spencer’s recounting of his favorite Veggietales episode.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, Spencer. It’s this man,” I nodded my head at a black man that sat around the bar a few feet away, “He keeps staring at us.”
Spencer turned in his seat to see the man I’d indicated. The gentleman didn’t even bother hiding his disdain and continued to stare us down as if we had done him some bodily harm.
I apologized, “I’m sorry. I’m trying to ignore him. He’s just creeping me out a bit.”
Spencer’s jaw worked as his muscles tensed with anger.
“Excuse me,” he said, before getting up from his chair and storming over to the man. Shocked, I followed after him.
“Hey,” Spencer was saying, “I’d appreciate it if you’d look somewhere else. You’re making my date uncomfortable.�
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“Well, she’s making me sick.” The man accused, “There are good brothers out there, but they can’t get a good woman because all you white men are taking them.”
He’s Asian, I wanted to point out, but didn’t.
“Come on, Spencer; just leave him to his ignorance.” I tugged on Spencer’s arm.
“You’re lucky she’s here,” Spencer threatened before allowing me to pull him away.
“Yeah run away.” The man heckled, “Hey, honey, when you’re finished with Ching Chong Chang over here, come hit me up, I’ll show you what a real man looks like.”
In three long strides, Spencer was in front of the guy and punched him squarely in the nose. It all happened so fast. One minute Spencer was beside me and the man was spouting nonsense and the next, Spencer was standing and the guy was on the floor, holding his nose, and moaning.
To my surprise the restaurant erupted in applause. The manager arrived asking,
“Is there a problem here?”
An elderly Caucasian woman stood and explained, “This man here,” she pointed to the man lying on the floor, “was bothering this nice couple. The gentleman was simply defending his lady’s honor.”
The restaurant rumbled in agreement. The manager eyed the scene and then addressed the heckler who had found his feet, “Sir, I’m going to ask you to leave.”
“Yeah, take the side of the white guy. Ya’ll are always trying to keep a black man down.”
At his words, a tall NFL looking African American man stood, “No, you’re keeping yourself down. Let the couple eat and get outta here.”
Cursing as he went, the heckler did as he was told.
Spencer returned to my side and put his arm possessively around me. “By the way, I’m Asian!” he corrected before the guy was out of ear shot. The diners chuckled.
“I’m sorry, everyone,” The manager tried his hand at damage control, “please retake your seats and enjoy your meal.” He then came to stand before us, “I’m sorry sir, ma’am. This meal’s on us.”
“It’s fine.” Spencer insisted, “You shouldn’t have to pay for the ignorance of others.”
