Dangerously In Love Read online

  Today started off just like any other day. After I showered, I washed my hands with Dove antibacterial soap, using a scrub brush to scour my hands, arms and elbows until I was almost bleeding. I put on my uniform, ironed crisply with starch, and walked to my part-time job at Sally’s Diner. Sally’s is a small, legendary black-owned diner up in Harlem.

  “Three hundred eight, three hundred nine . . .” I counted each step to work. Every day the count was the same. There were six hundred fifty-three steps from my apartment to my job.

  When I arrived, I got right to work. The owner didn’t tolerate laziness. He’d fine you one dollar if he saw you slacking off. On this particular day, I was pulling a double shift because I needed extra money. The new year was approaching and I decided that for my resolution I wanted my own apartment. My identical twin sister, Jada, with whom I shared an apartment, got pregnant eight years ago. She’d had a difficult pregnancy and couldn’t work for a while so I had to foot the bills. I basically went through my savings. Her pregnancy was traumatic for both of us. We both had morning sickness and I felt every labor pain. Some scientists say it is common in some identical twins to feel the exact same emotion at the same time. Whether it was fear, lust, happiness, sadness—Jada and I both experienced it. Jada delivered a healthy six-pound baby girl named Joy.

  The diner smelled of pork grease and pickles. The aroma sometimes made me nauseous. I couldn’t understand how this diner had become so famous. It had the filthiest hygiene standards I’ve ever encountered, and I wouldn’t dare drink a glass of water from there.

  “Hi, Jovie,” my coworker Allison said as I put on my hairnet.

  “What country did the biscuit originate from?” I said in response.

  “Goodbye, Jovie,” she said, and walked off.

  “France,” I said underneath my breath, and began working.

  My first shift was uneventful and slow. But as the night shift began, I started to get harassed by male patrons who wanted more than what was on the menu. Men are such predators.

  “May I take your order?” I asked two male customers.

  “I’d like the fried steak, eggs and your telephone number,” one boldly stated. I didn’t bother to give him eye contact. He continued, “You have the most beautiful lips.”

  “My lips aren’t for sale,” I said, while politely moving his hand away from my behind.

  “What about the hips and thighs,” he retorted.

  I didn’t respond.

  As I walked to get their orders, I could tell they were watching my behind. I took the swish out of my hips so as not to tease them.

  It was 10:30 P.M., and we were going to be closing in thirty minutes when a new customer came and sat in my section. He stood approximately six-foot-four with broad, muscular shoulders, small waist, and tree trunk legs and arms. He had hazelnut-colored skin, full lips and a broad nose. He was wearing a vintage blazer, dark blue jeans and a wool cap pulled low. You could tell that he worked out at the gym from the way his biceps bulged through his jacket. His deep, baritone voice gave him character and presence when he ordered and he looked directly in my eyes. For some strange reason, I didn’t look away. And the moment felt like déjà vu.

  “I’d like the turkey cheeseburger deluxe, extra mayo, and a large iced tea,” he said, then smiled. But you could tell he was just being polite, that he wasn’t actually smiling at me.

  “Does that complete your order?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  I waited momentarily for a flirtatious remark but nothing happened.

  The customer finished his meal, and I placed his $6.85 check on the table. He never bothered to look at it. He just pulled out twenty dollars and said, “Keep the change.”

  With that he was gone.

  For the next week the handsome stranger came into the diner, sat at my table and placed the exact same order. He would always drop twenty dollars on his tab and tell me to keep the change. There was an air of mystery and intrigue surrounding him. On the eighth day, I did something out of character. I said, “What’s your name?”

  He looked shocked that I’d asked. He was reading the New York Times theater section. He stared at me for a long, uncomfortable moment. Embarrassed, I went to walk away, but he grabbed me by my wrist to stop me. He stood up, pulled me in close and whispered, “London. My name’s London Phillips.”

  My heart started to palpitate faster at his touch. There was such a tremendous transfer of energy that I lost my breath. I knew I’d remembered him from somewhere. He was the handsome stranger with the sad eyes who had kissed me as the new year came in last year in England.

  “Ah . . . nice name,” I stammered.

  He smiled bashfully, read my name tag and then said, “Thanks, Jovie.”

  For the next couple of days I waited for the stranger to return. But he didn’t. Maybe I should have told him that we’d met previously in England. But what would that have proved?

  London

  November 2005

  After the breakup between me and Su, I haven’t been able to commit to another relationship. Every morning I get up and look inside the dresser drawer and peek at the engagement ring I bought her. I can’t get myself to return it. I often wonder how the situation would have turned out if I had been more firm and stopped her. If I had said all the things I wanted to say. Maybe expressed how much in love with her I was and how her actions were truly hurting me. Perhaps instead of challenging her I should have pleaded with her not to go. Often I think about contacting her to rekindle what we had but my stubborn pride won’t let me.

  That New Year’s Eve, it’s rumored, she hooked up with Bugsy. He kept her around for a few weeks then dumped her once his wife found out about her. I’ve heard that she’s since finished law school and is working for a top law firm in lower Manhattan. One part of me would have loved to be at her graduation ceremony. I felt I deserved to be a part of that accomplishment in her life. The other part of me will always resent her for doing what she did best, which was fuck . . . someone other than me. But I’m not a sore loser. I can’t knock her hustle. She saw an opportunity and went for it. In the process she gambled and lost a good man.

  Despite my love life being in shambles, things are going really well for me in my career. I have a new client that I’ve been hired to watch. Her name’s Jessica and she’s an elite, pop star diva. My fee has gone up tremendously, and she pays on time. It’s less of a headache than dealing with these wannabe hardcore rappers. They are just illusionists and I’m a bit too old to catch a bullet for someone who instigates violence just to sell a record.

  I’m still waiting for my agent to sell my screenplay. I’ve since written two more that I think are as good as or even better than my first. I’ve had a lot of time on my hands since I’m not in a relationship. I mean, I have women friends who serve their purpose, but that’s it. I’m not looking for anything serious. Besides, I have enough hobbies to keep the average person more than occupied. Between writing screenplays and painting, I hardly have time to do much of anything else.

  Tomorrow I have a big day planned. I have to pick up Jessica and take her over to CBS, where she’ll sing live on their morning show. Then I’ll shoot her over to MTV, where she’ll do a live interview and promote her new album. Last, I’ll drop her off at the airport; she’s flying home to spend her birthday with her mother. But I have today off to do whatever I like.

  I thought about going into the diner to see the pretty Jovie, who was unmistakably flirting, but I decided against it. I see something in her eyes that I can’t satisfy. There’s a yearning in her eyes and sadness, as if she wants to open up but is afraid. Women like her are in Category One. Meaning they deserve more than what I could offer at this time in my life. It’s funny because before Su broke my heart, I’d seek out Category One women. Quality women who didn’t jump into bed with the next hot rapper. Someone with morals and ethics. Career-minded women. I thought I found that in Su. . . . How wrong was I? Now, I love flighty women
. Take-to-bed-on-the-first-night-type women. No kissing, just fucking-type women. That’s the type of man I’ve become.

  Since this new client, I’ve been able to move into a trendy brownstone apartment up in Harlem on 127th Street. I have exposed brick walls, an antique fireplace, cherrywood floors, eighteen-foot ceilings and large storm windows. I’m renting now with the option to buy.

  After I jogged around the park, I headed to the gym on 125th Street to work out for a few hours. I had to keep my body buff and in shape. Women love that shit. After my workout, I noticed the strangest thing. Walking down the street was Jovie, the waitress from the diner, who appeared to be talking to herself. She was so caught up in her conversation she hadn’t realized she was about to bump straight into me. Quickly, I moved out of her way and then tapped her on her shoulder.

  “Oh, gosh!” she screamed and looked at me most peculiarly.

  “I’m sorry I frightened you,” I said. When she didn’t respond and looked at me with a blank expression, I continued, “I’m London. From last week at the diner.”

  “Oh, yes. London, how are you?”

  “I’m doing well, thank you.”

  “Good. Good.”

  “Are you okay? You seem a little preoccupied with something.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Were you just talking to yourself?” I couldn’t resist asking. She turned bright pink, which confirmed what I already knew.

  “Well, my father said it’s okay to talk to yourself. You’re only crazy if you answer yourself back,” she joked. I liked the fact that she could make fun of herself.

  “Your father must be a brilliant man.” I laughed. “So, where are you headed?”

  “I’m on my way to work,” she said.

  Her oval-shaped eyes were inviting. I looked down at her sexy hips and small waist and lied. “I was just heading over there as well. Do you mind if I walk with you?”

  She hesitated for a moment. “Sure . . . sure. That would be fine.”

  As we walked I took the opportunity to get to know her a little better. She had the softest voice, I had to almost strain to hear her. And her cherubic face gave her an angel-like quality, as if she were untarnished by the cruel world.

  “So, what do you do?” I asked. “Besides working at Sally’s?”

  “I just finished my Bachelor of Arts degree. I’m a singer.”

  “Really? You don’t look the type.”

  “I don’t look like the highly intellectual type? I’m insulted,” she joked.

  I laughed. “I didn’t mean it like that. You don’t look like the type of person who’d be able to sing in a room full of people. You seem awfully shy.”

  “Does my shyness exude?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Truthfully, I can only sing in a room full of strangers.”

  “So, let’s hear it.”

  “What?”

  “Your voice. Sing for me. I’m a stranger.”

  “You’re not a stranger. I’m your waitress.”

  “That you are.” I smiled. “And I like it. I like you.”

  I don’t know what made me be so forward. But as we walked, I suddenly wanted to sleep with her. I wanted to feel her thighs wrapped tightly around my waist. I usually know within the first five minutes if I’d like a taste of the peach cobbler.

  “Did you know that banging your head against a wall for approximately one hour burns a hundred fifty calories?” she said.

  “Did I hear you correctly?” I asked.

  “Well, did you know that?” she pursued.

  “No. No I didn’t.”

  “Just a little bit of trivia for you.”

  “Okay. . . .”

  Once we got to Sally’s, Jovie immediately walked in the back to clock in for work. I sat patiently in her area and waited for her to come and take my order. Once I ordered, I watched how she handled herself with the other patrons. I had to control myself a few times from coming to her assistance when men were a little too assertive in trying to get her attention. But she handled them easily. I couldn’t help but imagine Su in the same circumstance. Su loved to be adored. She loved attention. She would have grinned, batted her eyes and quite possibly given a few brothers her number. Thinking about her made me lose my appetite, so I didn’t even want the turkey cheeseburger I had ordered.

  I summoned Jovie and she came over with a smile.

  “You’re leaving already? You haven’t even touched your food. Is everything all right?”

  “It was great. I guess I’m just not hungry.” I sulked.

  “Would you like me to make this to go?”

  “Please don’t bother,” I said as I laid down twenty dollars. When I looked up we made eye contact. “Do you think I could get your number to take you out sometime? I would hate to have to start stalking you by coming here every day?”

  She blushed.

  “I’m really not dating at the moment,” she said softly.

  “Then this wouldn’t be a date. Just two new friends getting to know each other better. No pressure.”

  “I really don’t know if I could,” she said, putting up a front.

  “You can. In fact, you will get a piece of paper and write your telephone number down so I can call you.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Your number,” I said with a smile. I loved being assertive with subservient women.

  Hesitantly, she looked around, then scrawled her telephone number on the back of my check and scurried off. I wondered briefly if I’d even use her telephone number or why I’d even bothered to ask.

  Jovie

  I ran home after work to tell Jada about my encounter with the mysterious stranger, but she wasn’t there. She’d probably taken Joy out for the day. The apartment was a mess. Our small leather sofa was littered with clothing and toys and the area rug had a cranberry juice stain. I went into the kitchen and there were dishes piled up to the ceiling. As usual, she’d left the lights and television on. Jada thinks I’m her personal maid. But rather than complain, I relish the tasks. I’d have this place spotless in a few hours, only to repeat it all over again once Jada returned home.

  After I disinfected the apartment, I went and disinfected myself in the shower. Next, I decided to rearrange my CD and DVD collection in chronological order, a change from the current alphabetical order. As I languished over this task, I didn’t hear my telephone ringing until my answering machine picked up.

  “Jovie, this is Dr. Welch. You’ve missed your appointment this week. Please call the office to reschedule.”

  I decided not to answer that call when the telephone rang again.

  “Jovie, I was hoping—” a man’s voice said. I immediately picked up.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Jovie?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is London. How are you?”

  “I’m doing well, thank you.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you have a baby voice over the phone?”

  I chuckled. “Numerous times.”

  “It’s driving me crazy,” he admitted.

  I was a little uneasy with London. He was so sure of himself. He made me feel like he had the right answer for everything.

  “Ummm, how’s your day going?” I said, changing the subject.

  “Better now that I’m talking with you. Listen, what are you doing tonight?”

  “I don’t have anything planned.”

  “Now you do. Give me your address and I’ll swing by around eight and take you on an informal date. As friends . . .”

  “Well . . . I . . . don’t . . .”

  “Yes, you do know. I know that you want to get to know me better. I can see it in your eyes. You’re just not good at expressing yourself.”

  I felt a hot flash go through my body from his cocky attitude. Nevertheless, I gave him my address, realizing I had less than four hours to get ready for my date. Was this a date?

  London

  I thought I’d res
igned myself to a life of noncommittal relationships after Su and I split up. So I don’t have a clue as to what possesses me to pursue this girl when I know I’m not looking for anything serious. I can only deduce that I’m craving pain. There is something about Jovie that makes me nostalgic for love.

  For some strange reason, I want to impress Jovie tonight. Do something really nice that I know she’ll appreciate. Don’t get it twisted, if I thought I could take her to BBQ’s I would have. But my conscience was telling me to step it up.

  I looked outside my window and saw my brother, Lawrence, coming up the street to visit me unannounced. Usually, I’d be glad to see him, but not today. My brother has a draining personality and I have to be mentally prepared for him. And since I wanted to concentrate all my energy on seeing Jovie tonight, I was a little agitated when he rang the doorbell.

  Reluctantly, I went to open the door and put on a false smile. “What’s up bro?”

  “Hey man, I decided to stop by and see if you wanted to go to the gym tonight.”

  “I already went this morning.”

  “Aw, man. Why didn’t you call me? You know I hate working out alone.”

  “Quit whining and be a man,” I joked.

  Immediately, my brother threw a fake left punch and I ducked, weaving around and tossing a right uppercut to his jaw. He jerked his head back as if I had landed a solid one on his chin and he gave me a succession of body shots. We play-boxed for a few minutes before collapsing on the sofa, totally winded.

  “Well, I guess this was my workout for the day,” Lawrence joked.

  “Looking at that gut of yours, I hope you’ll reconsider.” I went to the refrigerator to get a couple of cold Heinekens. I tossed Lawrence a brew.

  As we sat there drinking, I decided to tell him about my date tonight.

  “I met this new girl, and I’m taking her out someplace special.”

  “Why are you telling me?” he said uninterested.

  “I don’t know. Just because,” I reasoned.

  “Where are you taking her?”

  “Don’t know yet. I want it to be someplace with ambiance. You know . . . special.”