Five Years

by Brooklyn Knight

  I passed the older woman at the desk, but she whipped her head up before I could speed by. “I’ll see you on Monday, but before you go…”

  Damn!

  “Your ten o’clock for Monday called and canceled.” She belted out the comment before I could tug the door open.

  I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to recall who had been scheduled for that time. I had a habit of familiarizing myself with the next day’s schedule before I left the office every evening. That way, I could mentally prepare myself.

  “The Millers,” I recalled after a second. I opened my eyes. “The married couple?”

  “Yes. They said they’d call back when they returned from their Bali trip.”

  “Bali, huh?” I readjusted my purse hanging over my shoulder. “So Mr. and Mr. Miller have decided to put in the work and address their differences. Good job.” My chest pushed out.

  “Well it’s about time,” Sheila commented. “After the way they were shouting at each other in your last session with them, I was sure it was only a matter of time before they came to blows. And neither of them are small men. They’re both alphas.”

  I smiled. “Disagreements happen in romantic relationships.”

  So I’ve been told…

  I continued, shoving the thought out of my mind, “But the fact is, when two people are willing to work hard and overlook one another’s faults, everything comes together nicely.” I inhaled and twisted the knob, but Sheila spoke again.

  She wasn’t catching my hints. “Oh! And you received a couple of calls while you were in your last session.” She reached across her desk and picked up a stack of pink While-You-Were-Out slips. It wasn’t really a stack, but at six o’clock on a Friday evening, it resembled one in my eyes.

  She handed them to me, but I pushed them back. “Monday,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve clocked out, and I need to reinforce my boundaries.”

  “True,” she agreed, but it seemed tentative.

  I frowned. “What is it?”

  “One message seemed urgent,” she said.

  I took the stack from her and eyed them. “Who was it from?”

  Sheila smiled, but it wasn’t a regular smile. It was a slick smile that indicated, very clearly, the thoughts racing in her head. Now, her eyes widened and something like a twinkle made them glitter. “That guy,” she finally said.

  I paused, waiting for more.

  There was none.

  “I’ve seen four of them today,” I said, trying to ignore her expression. “Which guy are you talking about?”

  “Your one o’clock: Maverick Dangerfield.”

  I blinked and pressed my lips together for fear that something wholly inappropriate would come flying out.

  I was also wondering why she’d said his name like that.

  Okay, I knew good and damn well why she’d said his name like that.

  Sheila lowered her voice and slapped her open palms on the desk. She was about to confirm my suspicions. “Okay, so I know it’s completely unethical for you to engage in what I’m about to say, but it sure as hell ain’t unethical for you to listen.”

  “What exactly are you about to say?” I adjusted the purse strap again, this time for no good reason.

  “Mary, did you see that man? He was fine as hell,” she blurted out, no shame whatsoever in her game.

  She shook her head and fake-fanned herself. “Girl, I opened the door to tell him you’d be with him and almost swallowed my words. He was imposing: tall, dark, and one hundred per cent handsome. If I was a decade or two younger…” She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, forcing visuals I’d rather not have to come sailing into my brain.

  But I listened. I listened to Sheila, all the while thinking of how I’d rammed my initial impressions of Maverick Dangerfield into the innermost recesses of my being as I was walking to my office.

  I could literally feel his eyes burning holes through my pants and my entire vaginal wall had come together.

  I hadn’t earned my Master’s degree by ogling clients. In fact, ogling clients was a sure-fire way to lose said credentials.

  And my mother! She’d absolutely disown me if she knew I’d been lusting after a man like that.

  ‘A real lady never chases a man. She lets him find her, as the Bible dictates he should.’

  I frowned, almost hearing my mother’s voice ringing in my ears.

  Still…

  As Sheila had correctly suggested, it might have been unethical to engage in a full-blown conversation about how sexy Maverick Dangerfield was; the way the arms of his custom suit had stretched across his biceps when he’d folded them over his glaring pecs; or the way his dark eyes got even darker when he was emotional. And that goddamn red hair… Like fire!

  No, I could never engage Sheila in such a forbidden conversation, but she was also right when she’d said I could sure as hell listen.

  “He wasn’t exactly dark,” I commented, picking up on one of her descriptors. “Tall, yes.”

  “Tanned.”

  “Like warm sand.”

  “Mmm,” Sheila hummed, and I swear to God, her eyes rolled back. “Like an iced vanilla latte.”

  I frowned. “You think he’s mixed? Iced vanilla lattes can be kinda chocolatey.”

  Sheila shook her head. “Not if you add enough milk and put whipped cream on top.” She pursed her lips and tipped her head to the side, as if to punctuate her point.

  I bristled. “So what about him?”

  She shrugged. “He’s the one with the urgent message,” she informed me. “He asked me to have you call him before you clocked out for the evening.”

  I stared at Sheila, biting at the inside of my lip, but my response was quick. “I’ll call him on Monday,” I repeated. “It’s the appropriate thing to do.”

  Sheila frowned. “And if it’s a suicidal ideation? Those take priority.”

  “Then he can call Downtown Mental Health, because there’s nothing I’d be able to do for him in this moment, if he was; but trust me when I tell you, Maverick Dangerfield killing himself seems like a stretch.”

  Sheila grinned again. “You’re right. He was super confident.”

  “Cocky. Arrogant. He asked about my credentials.”

  “He’s not the first to do that,” Sheila noted, clearly siding with him.

  “You’re right,” I said, resorting to being fair, “but it was the way he asked about them, the look on his face. Trust me, I read people for a living, and Maverick Dangerfield is – ”

  I interrupted myself. I couldn’t bring myself to say what I thought he was, because if I did, I would violate several ethical and religious codes.

  I squared my shoulders and passed the stack back to Sheila.

  She sighed. “You’re right,” she agreed. “He definitely seems like the kinda guy who’s used to having what he wants, when he wants it.”

  “Apparently, his type tends to be that way,” I considered, matter of fact.

  “His type?”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “The iced vanilla latte with extra milk and whipped cream type.”

  “Oh,” she breathed. “For a minute, I thought you were gonna diagnose him.”

  “He’s probably somewhere on Axis II,” I considered with a grunt, “although there definitely seemed to be something else going on with him,” I juggled a few thoughts around in my head, and then let it go. “It may take a few sessions, but I’ll break him down, and he’ll be a better man for it.” I twisted the handle again and jerked the door open.

  Sheila hmphed. “Seems like the breaking down process had already started.” She leaned forward, until she was almost clear over the desk. “Did you see his face when he got here?”

  “Of course I did!” I can’t get it out of my head. “I greeted him in the waiting room and ushered him into my office.”

  She pursed her lips. “And did you see his face when he left? I’m just saying,” she suggested. “Whatever resistance he had when he first got here, you
did a fine job cracking through it. You’re good, Amaris. It doesn’t matter who the client is, or where they’re from, you have a way with people.”

  I released the breath I was holding. “I worked hard for my degrees,” I said. “I followed all the rules and did what I had to do. I’m just glad I can be a part of improving lives. That’s why I went into this business.” I smiled. “Now, if you don’t mind, it’s Friday and I’d like to start my weekend.”

  “Fine, I’ll see you on Monday,” Sheila said, offering me a wave.

  I didn’t make a habit of taking clients home, physically – of course – or in my mind. Day in and out, I listened to people’s issues – their stories of infidelity, anxiety, and depression. I assisted people in navigating through distorted thought processes and debilitating addictions. There was no way I would survive if I didn’t know how to cut them off and block them out.

  But tonight, I wasn’t driving solo. Maverick Dangerfield was riding shotgun, and I wasn’t happy about it.

  Damn Sheila for talking about him like that; talking about how fine and confident he was. She hadn’t mentioned how silky his fire-red hair seemed and how stylish it had been, slicked up into a sexy pompadour – and it was a good thing she hadn’t, because it would have been highly inappropriate.

  ‘Young ladies shouldn’t get caught up thinking about boys. It leads to instability and pregnancy.’

  That’s what my mama used to tell me.

  I gritted my teeth and turned up my favorite jazz song and stepped on the gas. It had been a long week, and all I wanted to do now was relax. Diana Krall, a bottle of Pinot Grigio, my most comfortable jammies and my new leather sofa would be just what the doctor ordered; but alas, Diana and Pinot were no more than pipe dreams.

  As if on cue, the blaring sound of the cell phone sliced through Unforgettable. When I saw my best friend’s face light up the screen, I clamped the inside of my cheek with my teeth.

  Quickly, I activated the call, but before I could say anything, Nichola was chewing my ass. “Girl, tell me you’re on your way…”

  “Of course, I’m on my way!” I flicked on the indicator and veered into the lane that would lead me in the direction of our fortnightly girls’ hangout spot. “Why the hell would you think otherwise?”

  “Because two Fridays ago, you stood me up,” she responded quickly. “And two Fridays before that, I had to bribe you into the streets, like this isn’t what we do, and have been doing for the past fifteen years.”

  I swallowed a sigh, but Nichola had already picked up on my despondency.

  “Mary, what’s going on?” she asked. “Don’t tell me this is about your last date? What was the guy named? Ray?”

  That was obviously a rhetorical question because, “Of course it’s about my last date with Ray,” I bit out. “How in the entire hell did I allow you to bully me into online dating?’

  “Because you’re boring as hell and you need to try something new,” she snapped. “Your mama has done a real number on you, girl!”

  My jaw tensed. “Number one, I’m not boring,” I informed her. Clearly, she didn’t know. “I travel on a regular basis.”

  “To your annual American Counseling Association Conference…” She pushed out a yawn.

  “Additionally,” I continued, ignoring her jab, “I’m always trying something new.”

  “Right,” she agreed. “Like new therapeutic interventions that you learn at said ACA conferences.”

  “You’re such a bitch…”

  “Mary. Let’s be real with one another,” she begged. “Who you are…” she huffed. “You’re a wonderful individual, a virtual woman.”

  “I think you mean virtuous…”

  “No, I meant what I said, bitch. You’re a virtual prude, and like I said, your mama done fucked you up!” She sucked her teeth long and hard. “What was wrong with Ray?”

  “Where do I begin?” I griped. “He was bulky.”

  “Muscular.”

  “Sweaty.”

  “Excited,” she translated. “Remember those messages he sent when you finally agreed to meet up with him? He was like a kid in a candy store.”

  “Right! And he thought he was gonna stick his hand in the candy jar. That was when the night came to an abrupt end.”

  Nichola burst into laughter, but if she was waiting for me to join in, she’d be waiting all damn night. “Oh right, I forgot: you’re a virtual virgin too.”

  I ignored her. “Nichola, this is the third encounter I’ve had with a man who has been a few notches short of Neanderthal,” I whined. “Those dating apps are a waste of time. The whole concept is beneath me. If I can’t find a man, the good old-fashioned way, the way my mama taught me, I’m content to stay single.”

  I was lying, but so what?

  “Mary, that rabbit of yours will only go so far before it burns the hell out,” she muttered.

  “I think I’m done with the dating app,” I asserted, disregarding her prediction related to my self-pleasuring device, the one she’d had delivered to my house in a small, opaque black bag, with hot-pink fur trim. Not even in a box.

  Nichola sighed. “You’re being dramatic,” she accused me. “Not only that, I have a distinct feeling that you didn’t give Ray a fair shot. There’s no doubt in my mind that you diagnosed him the minute he walked into the restaurant.”

  I jutted my chin.

  She was right, but I’d never tell her that.

  I peered into the rearview mirror before switching into yet another lane. I should have been going home, yet I was still allowing Nichola to influence my behavior.

  My mama would have a whole lot to say about this, if she knew.

  Suddenly, a thought popped into my mind. “So wait a minutes, what’s up with you?” I asked, brows pulling in. “The last time we spoke about this, you were preparing yourself to meet a guy of your own.”

  Nichola grunted, and I could almost see her flicking a long strand of expensive weave over her shoulder. “Well, if you hadn’t been avoiding me these past few weeks, you’d know all about Linkie.” I felt her grin.

  “Linkie? Is that his real name?”

  “It’s the name he lets me call him,” she revealed in a saucy whisper. “His real name is Blaine. Blaine Rogers. And Mary, when I tell you that he’s the shit my fantasies have been made of...” She swooned into the phone.

  “So he’s fine?”

  “As hell.”

  My crotch tightened.

  “I think he’s the one, Amaris.”

  “After one date?”

  “Seven.”

  “Seven?” I blurted. “Bitch, you’ve been riding me about standing you up for our girls’ nights, but from the way it sounds, you haven’t been available anyway!”

  Nichola laughed and the tenor of mirth filled my Audi. Damn, had ‘Linkie’ done this to her? I’d known Nichola since I was five years old, and never had she sounded this happy when talking about a man.

  “Girl, just hurry your ass on up over here so I can tell you about Linkie,” she commanded.

  She didn’t have to tell me twice. This was a story I definitely needed to hear.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was easing my car into the only available space in a jammed parking lot. This was where we’d met for the past fifteen years, and though our statuses had elevated, we’d decided to keep coming here… as raunchy and ghetto as it was, it held nostalgic value.

  That’s what we told ourselves.

  I slipped my keys into my purse and advanced towards the entrance, not surprised to find a horde of men loitering. Several curls of cigarette smoke snaked into the air and I held my breath as I passed.

  “Hey, Sexy Black…”

  What?!

  “Where’s your man at?”

  My response came in the form of the door closing in the goon’s face.

  When I saw Nichola’s flailing arm amidst the weekend crowd, my irritation quelled. She met me halfway and we crashed into a hug.

  “Gi
rl, if you’d stood me up again, I literally would’ve disowned you!” she declared through a grin.

  “And there’s no way I’d want that,” I said slowly. “Besides, I was going to stand you up, but the minute you mentioned Linkie, I knew I had to come. There’s no way I’d miss this catch-up for the world!”

  We shared a laugh before heading back to a booth deep in the bar.

  I ordered my drink – an Amaretto Sour, and Nichola nursed the drink she’d already ordered. That was when I noticed the third glass on the table.

  “You’re not even finished the first drink, and you’re hitting a second,” I commented shaking my head.

  “That’s not mine,” she revealed, and then she leaned closer. “I didn’t say anything because I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  Now my brows creased. “A surprise?”

  “Yeah,” she said, shrugging a nonchalant shoulder. “Someone has agreed to join us tonight.”

  Before I could utter a word of protest, Nichola was defending her behavior. “I didn’t know if you were gonna come tonight, Amaris,” she said. “Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was to be sitting at the bar waiting for my best friend to show up? I looked like a complete loser.”

  “You? Looking like a loser? In what universe?”

  We laughed. “You’re right,” she agreed, flicking her hair. “Never that. I’m always on top of my game, but still; you can’t blame me for having a backup plan.”

  “I guess you’re right,” I agreed, sighing. “Just don’t tell me it’s that artist girl you met at the show last month. I tried to like her as much as you do but laughing at her jokes was like pulling teeth.”

  “No, it’s not her,” she confirmed.

  “Then who’d you invite?”

  Nichola didn’t get the opportunity to answer.

  A sudden presence descended upon the booth and my eyes were drawn upwards. Above us stood a very attractive Caucasian man, dressed in a very expensive business suit, with very expensive accessories to match.

  He offered me a glance of acknowledgement, but in an instant, his eyes were drawn back to Nichola.