Angel's Revenge Page 10
All that, and he was fine.
Dwight wasn’t tall or muscular, but he did have big, strong hands that Nina loved to hold. He had a brown complexion, clean-cut face, brown eyes with bushy eyebrows, and a charming smile that brightened even the cloudiest day.
Her day was going horribly, and she really needed to hear his voice. She picked up the phone but was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Miss Martin,” her secretary asked before entering.
“Come on in, Susan,” Nina sighed, wishing the day was over.
“You have a visitor. It’s Dwight,” Susan teased.
Nina beamed and hung up the phone. Dwight always seemed to have perfect timing.
“Sure, Susan. Show him in.”
Susan giggled as she closed the door behind her. A few seconds later, Dwight walked in and closed the door behind him. He had taken half a day off and was dressed casually instead of in his work clothes.
“Gimme all the money and nobody’ll get hurt,” he joked, aiming a finger gun at her.
Nina laughed.
“On second thought, forget the money. Fine as you are, I’m takin’ you instead,” he charmed as he sat on the edge of her desk.
“Yeah, right,” Nina replied “Me over all the money in the bank? I don’t think so.”
“Well, maybe not all the money,” he said with a grin as she playfully hit him. “So how’s your day been? Lunch on me?” he offered.
“I wish. I’ve already got a lunch meeting scheduled at two-thirty.”
“So cancel it.”
“If only it was that simple.”
“It is,” he answered, staring her down with his pretty browns. He made her wish it was that simple.
“Anyway, I just dropped by to check on you.”
“So you’re checkin’ on me now?” Nina’s eyebrows arched playfully.
“Damn right, ’cause a brother ain’t takin’ nothing for granted when he’s got a woman like you.”
“Excuuuuuuse me,” she replied.
“You heard me,” he said as he studied her, expressing a bit of his concern. “You okay, baby? You look tired.”
“Long day, I guess.” Nina shrugged.
“Long? It isn’t even noon.”
“I know. This day is going to take forever to end.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got the remedy.”
He walked around the desk and got on one knee in front of her then patted his knee. “Put your feet right here.”
“Dwight, what are you up to?” she asked skeptically.
“What? I can’t give my lady a foot massage without twenty-one questions? Feet please, right here. That’s an order, not a request.”
“Yes, sir!” she said, saluting him jokingly.
Nina kicked off her tan leather pumps and placed her stockinged feet on his knee.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” he crooned, using his strong hands to knead and rub the sole of her right foot. “Why keep toes this pretty covered up?”
“Dwight, I’m a bank manager. No one is interested in seeing my toes.” She giggled.
He continued to soothe her spirit as he massaged her foot.
“This is all wrong.”
“What?”
“These stockings. You’re going to have to take them off.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your stockings. I can’t do this right with these stock—”
“Nuh-uh! See, I knew you were up to something,” she said, removing her feet from his knee.
Dwight lifted them back into place.
“No, no, for real. I can’t massage your feet like I could through this material,” he said, lying through his pretty smile.
Nina eyed him, but his gaze melted away her resolve.
“Foot massage, Dwight,” she reminded him.
“Scout’s honor, I’m telling the truth.” He smiled, holding up the two-fingered Boy Scout sign.
“Mmm-hmm,” she doubted, sliding her stockings down from under her blue skirt. “Your ass probably wasn’t even a Scout.”
Dwight chuckled as he slid the stockings all the way off. He began to work his magic, and Nina leaned back in her adjustable chair, relaxed, and closed her eyes. She definitely needed the attention. Her pumps were murder on her feet.
“Feel good?” he questioned.
“Mmm-hmm,” she answered.
The feeling almost made her fall asleep, until she felt his tongue on her ankle, gently kissing along her calf muscle.
“See, I knew it,” she protested, but it felt so damned good. His expert tongue found her most sensitive spots along her inner thigh and made her squirm in the chair. “Dwight, no! Not here,” she said weakly.
“Okay, how about here?”
She felt his breath tickle her flesh. He ran his tongue tantalizingly lightly across her clit.
Nina gripped the arms of the chair. He leaned her back, parting her inner flesh with his thumbs and probed her orally. She couldn’t believe this was happening in her office. She felt like Samantha in Sex and the City.
Nina couldn’t take it anymore. She pulled his head up from between her legs and fumbled with his belt.
Dwight helped her by pushing his jeans down around his ankles and entered her all at once. The moment had her on fire as Dwight filled her throbbing walls. He placed her legs on his shoulders and pounded her incessantly. It took all her will not to scream out and alert everyone in the bank of what she was doing in her office. It was a hot and intense quickie. Nina exploded followed by Dwight moments later. They lay slumped in the chair, huffing and puffing.
“Some foot massage,” Nina quipped.
Dwight laughed. “Hey, I’m a mechanic. All we do is body work, baby.”
For the rest of the day, Nina floated on cloud nine, beaming with happiness. The meeting was stress-free, and before she knew it, it was time to go home. She parked her burgundy BMW in front of her newly purchased home in the Jefferson Park section of Elizabeth. It was a modest-sized house that was just the right size for her needs.
She got out of the car just as two young children rode their bikes down the street. She could imagine herself coming home to her own children. Her blossoming emotions could easily place Dwight in the role of the man waiting for her.
She unlocked the door and let her keys fall into her purse. Her future family thoughts were interrupted when she opened the door and heard music playing. She stopped dead in her tracks and listened carefully. Music was coming from the living room. It wasn’t loud, but it could be heard from the doorway. She entered the living room, realizing the song was Rolls Royce’s “I’m Going Down.”
Time on my hands, since you been away boy, I ain’t got no plans…
Nina mentally reviewed her morning. She was sure she hadn’t left the stereo on because she never played it in the morning. She liked her mornings quiet to help her prepare for the day. She did turn on the television but only to listen to the news and weather as she dressed.
No, she was sure she hadn’t left the stereo on. But if she hadn’t, who had? She lived alone. Despite the mystery, it was a nice surprise to come home to her favorite song. She caught herself singing along.
Sleep don’t come easy… please believe me. Since you’ve been gone, everything’s gone wrong.
The song brought back memories as she traveled back in time to the last time she heard it.
She had been with Dutch.
Nina would never forget the night they stopped at a light in downtown Newark. Dutch had a Cut Master Cee slow jams mix CD playing and Rolls Royce came on.
Nina reached over and turned it up.
“Damn, I haven’t heard this in years!” she exclaimed.
“What you know about Rolls Royce, little girl?” Dutch teased.
“Little girl? Please!”
Then she went into her diva routine, singing the first verse word for word.
That’s when they stopped at the red light. Dutch got out without a word and walked a
round to the passenger door. He opened it and extended his hand to her.
“Show me how much you like it then.”
“What, dance? In the middle of the street? Dutch, the light just turned green,” Nina protested, feeling self-conscious about holding up traffic. But Dutch was persistent and wouldn’t let her get away that easily.
“Fuck a light. These my streets, and I wanna see you dance in ’em,” he replied, pulling her from the car.
He slid her arms around his neck, and they danced right then and there in the middle of the street.
The memory warmed her and depressed her all at the same time. She still missed him and the feelings Rolls Royce unearthed proved it.
What did I do wrong? What did I do wrong? Please forgive me baby… and come on home.
Nina sighed deeply and told herself, Girl, we’ve been there before. Let’s not go there again. She knew that her inner voice was right. The song ended and she waited for the deejay to say HOT 97 or WBLS, but when another slow song came on, she frowned and approached the stereo.
Her heart froze in her chest after it skipped a beat.
A CD was playing. She looked closer and it was the same Cut Master Cee CD she once listened to with Dutch. Where in the hell did this come from? she wondered. Dutch had owned that CD, not her.
An eerie feeling overcame her. She felt like she wasn’t alone. Nina shut off the music and listened to the silence of the house.
Girl, you trippin’, she told herself. Did I have that CD in my collection and just forgot? Maybe I was playing the CD this morning.
Nina shook off her thoughts and attributed the oversight to her hectic schedule. There were times she didn’t know if she was coming or going. This must be one of them. She went to the phone and called Dwight, but got the answering machine.
“You so nasty,” was the simple message she left, giggling like a schoolgirl with a crush. Nina decided to call Tamika, because she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. The phone rang twice before Tamika picked up.
“Who dis?”
“Who dis? Must you be so ghetto?”
Tamika sucked her teeth, “Like yo ass ain’t from Pioneer Homes, bitch,” Tamika shot back.
“What’s up, Mika? What you doin’ tonight?” Nina asked.
Tamika was curled up on her couch watching Jerry Springer. “Why, what’s up?”
“I want you to go somewhere with me.”
“Where?”
“A poetry reading at the Club Paradise.”
“A poetry reading? You really on that boo-gee shit now, huh?” said Tamika, hoping Nina wasn’t serious.
“Fuck you, Mika. Poetry readings ain’t hardly boo-gee.”
“Well, where’s your broke-ass man? Why he don’t take you?” Tamika quipped, referring to Dwight. She couldn’t understand why Nina insisted on dating a mechanic. Dick was one thing, but Nina appeared to be getting caught up.
“My man ain’t broke, okay? He has a job. What about yours? Oh, I forgot. You don’t have one!” Nina teased as she squawked like Morris Day.
“No, dahlin’. I don’t have one. I have many.”
“Slut.”
“Hater.”
The two friends laughed.
“For real, Mika. It’ll be fun. There’ll be a lot of cute guys there,” Nina baited.
“Cute and broke, on some back-to-Africa shit. Give us free!” she said, mocking the brother from Amistad.
“Okay, okay. I got a deal. If you go with me, we’ll go to the club, too.”
“Now you talkin’. Gimme about an hour.”
Nina hung up the phone and looked at her watch. The truth was she’d rather go with Dwight, but he didn’t like poetry readings either. Nina really wanted to go and hear Monte Smith, an acclaimed spoken-word lyricist. Even though she hated clubbin’, she was willing to compromise.
Nina showered and changed into a wool cardigan and a pair of boot-cut jeans, opting for the casual look so she wouldn’t be mistaken for a hoochie once they got to the club.
She drove for five minutes to the South Park section of Elizabeth. Despite the proximity of the two neighborhoods, they were like night and day. The houses were two-, three-, and four-family homes, dilapidated and neglected, not quite the Projects but close. Nina always wondered why Tamika chose to live surrounded by violence, drugs, and despair.
Wearing her man-eating red Gucci tube-dress and black faux fur, Tamika sashayed up to the car and got in. Nina loved Tamika like a sister but sometimes felt that it was women like Tamika who gave sisters a bad name and left brothers with a bad taste in their mouth.
“Let’s get this boo-gee shit over wit’. The rent’s due, and I ain’t wear this dress for nothing,” Tamika huffed.
Nina shook her head.
“Instead of that rose you got, you shoulda got a ‘for sale’ sign tattooed on your ass,” Nina commented, half-jokingly.
“I would have, but your mama beat me to it wit’ her old ass. Drive, ho, and don’t worry about my ass, okay?”
• • •
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you,” said the emcee of Club Paradise over the soft applause of the small crowd. “That was my man, Slim Direction, deep brother. You can catch him Saturday at the Black Moon Café. Now this next brother, what can I say? You know him from Def Poetry Slam, but he was gracious enough not to forget us little people. Seriously though, the brother is an experience. I bring to the stage Monte Smith. Show some love, people, show some love,” chimed the emcee to the small cheering crowd.
Everyone except Tamika applauded. Nina nudged her with her elbow.
“Stop wit’ your bony elbow,” Tamika said, sipping her drink. Nina loved the atmosphere of Club Paradise. The mellow lighting matched the mellow mood. For her, poetry seemed to have a euphoric effect. There was nothing more relaxing for her than to kick off her shoes, sip an apple martini, and feel the deep thrust of powerful words massage her mind.
Monte Smith, a slim, light-skinned brother, stepped to the mic. The applause died away, then he began:
I don’t know about you, but it’s funny to hear
Bush and Ridge on TV
Telling me to keep my eyes open
For the enemy at home.
If that’s the case, I’ll be watching the police.
They’re the only enemy I got.
The crowd laughed softly.
It’s been time to show
The propaganda machine. It’ll
Remain impossible to reach us
As long as his story’s in pieces
It doesn’t make sense like Mary and Jesus.
How many victims of police brutality
Do we have in the place to be?
Individuals silently acknowledged there were some in attendance.
Who remembers
Tompkins Square Park
Kent State
Or Howard Beach?
I debate.
We can’t wait on man’s laws to
Manifest justice for humanity’s sake.
These past acts
Of protectin’ and servin’
Prove the scales will remain unbalanced
Until the pigs find their rights
Burnin’ in the same fire
That’s cookin’ ours in broad daylight.
I’m tellin’ ya,
They’ll bomb ya like MOVE in Philadelphia.
Monte stepped down from the slightly raised stage, mic in hand.
Who remembers
Shaka Sankofa
The massacre at Waco
Talkin’ blues?
Sorry Bob.
Slave driver caught in the fire and threw it back
With plenty of matches, pipes, and crack
All wrapped up in a CIA party pack
With a little tag attached
Reading die blacks.
Nina’s mind pictured her brother, Trick, and then Dutch. Caught up in a game designed for their failure.
So to all the
rich fraternities and sororities
Soon to be judges and DAs
Stop booking reggae bands at your keg parties.
It’s a slap in the face of the starving.
For real
Think about that the next time you’re
“jamming” till the game is through.
Off the record smoking herb with the band
But in five years you’ll be responsible
For building more death camps
To imprison the youth.
Thank you.
The crowd erupted with applause, except for Tamika, again.
“Whack! The shit ain’t even rhyme,” she criticized.
Monte caught her disapproving body language. Her style of dress expressed her state of mind, so Monte crossed the room to address it.
“I see we have some very beautiful sisters in attendance. Give yourself a hand.”
It was the first time Tamika clapped all night.
“And you, you are definitely beautiful.”
Tamika blushed.
Then Monte recited:
Hey beautiful.
I was just looking for someone to screw
When I first met you
And your preabused blues.
And I mean…
Blue like the bruise underneath the black tattoo
Of a past lover’s name
Who came to show you shame and solitude
Rhymes with pain and attitude
And believe me I do strain to understand you