Burning Desire Page 2

  [TWO]

  THE DAYS THAT followed seemed to drag like a bad dream. The memorable scent of her wasn’t helping things. It was like a knot in my stomach, or in my brain. And I’m thinking it was the raunchy sex; not because the sex itself was raunchy, but because that day I had put in some long hours and didn’t get a chance to shower. Not that she cared, either, because despite all (and that my feet were just funky), this woman had no shame, sucking my toes like Tootsie Roll Pops. Had me squirmin’ around on the bed like I was in withdrawal.

  Above and beyond all that, there were the lingering memories, and finally, she was still calling me and leaving messages as if this was gonna happen again real soon. I found myself, on more than one occasion, talking not on the phone but to the phone, saying, “Bitch, is you crazy?” And while my mind is playing tricks on me, it’s still work as usual— I’m still fixing plumbing, electrical shorts, a soggy-plaster-wall issue, and even replacing someone’s air-conditioning unit. One client’s clothing shelf is coming apart, an el der ly woman needs the doorknob tightened on her bedroom door, and at least one complaint of chipping paint needs my attention. Sure, for some people who paid $30K to $50K a half-dozen years ago, moving to Park Chester might’ve been the achievement of the American dream. But, firsthand, I was one of the handful of people (handymen and superintendents) who got the front-seat view to this crumbling empire. There’s the mildew, the electrical problems, the raw-sewage issues that attract the abundance of roaches and vermin, and so many other realities that middle-and low-income renters have always been accustomed to. But I’m also accustomed to dealing with these realities. So, it’s nothing new to me. If anything, my mind is occupied with immediate goals and dreams of my future. The occasion with Ms. Thomas only gave me more to mutter about, with my mind so busy replaying the hows and the whys. I’m even cursing myself for falling into her trap, and I’m promising myself never again.

  OUT OF nowhere, I stopped in to see Pastor Bishop at St. Raymond’s Church on East Tremont. After Pop passed away I frequently went to see Pastor Bishop. He listened to me, consoled me, and eventually suggested that I keep myself busy. He already knew my work, on account of my coming in to fix pews, a leak in the kitchen, and some bookshelves at the church; not to mention that he’s one of my best-paying accounts.

  “But that’s your work, young Danté.” He always called me young Danté, which felt like words from a wise man, as opposed to the utterance of a local preacher. “I’d like to see you get into some extracurricular activities. Have you seen a good movie lately? Maybe a party?”

  “I haven’t had much time for that, Pastor. Just always working.”

  “But you’ve gotta enjoy life, young Danté. All work and no play makes—”

  “Yes, I heard that before. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. And my life is hardly that. Never a dull moment,” I said, in my own personal “joke moment,” but at the same time not even thinking about what was so heavy on my mind.

  “Well, how about a night of bowling? Got plans for Friday? Maybe you have a sweetheart you could invite to our bowling night?”

  “Friday…” I thought about this, more than sweeping aside the thought of women. “No plans. And no sweetheart.”

  “Then it’s done.”

  I ALMOST forgot the offer come Friday. A boiler broke down in building 13 and Ms. Cornwall’s stove was on the brink. Fixing the boiler took half a day. It took another two hours for me to get a green light from the super to replace Ms. Cornwall’s stove, and by the time I returned from Home Depot it was four thirty. Getting the stove up to her apartment took another hour. I had it all installed and working by six thirty. Exhausted, I left Ms. Cornwall’s apartment with a deep breath and a need for a shower and a meal. It was in the elevator where a woman spoke to me as I tried to manipulate the empty box that had contained the oven.

  “Hey there. I remember you,” she said. “You fixed our tub a month ago. Eighth floor? I’m Stacy. Yvonne Single-tary is my auntie.”

  I managed an uncomfortable smile, knowing how I must’ve smelled and being in such closed quarters with a woman who was obviously dressed to go out somewhere. In the meantime, I also found my face squeezing into its own want for a connection. I’d have been lost if she’d left it at “fixed our tub,” or “eighth floor.” But Mrs. Singletary was a woman you don’t forget. She was always so fashionable (when I did see her), and polite at every encounter. What’s more, she tipped well. I remembered caulking her tub and that it was so sparkling clean, so much different from some other bathrooms, tubs or showers that I’ve had to repair. Some were horrendous and hadn’t been cleaned at all. I mean, what did they think, that these were self-cleaning and that the dirt from their bodies just disappeared? That’s the one thing I had to get used to when doing jobs for people: I’m invited into the privacy of their homes, and sure (set aside the sex-starved Ms. Thomas), it all seems so blissful while I’m there working. But, behind the closed doors of these dwellings was anyone’s guess. Habitats of various ways of life, religions, and practices. Some people maintained a healthy lifestyle but were lacking in other ways. Others lived cluttered lives but seemed to know where everything was at the drop of a dime. And still others were anal about their cleaning and hygiene, forcing me to come out of my work boots whether it was white carpet or tarnished wood floors. Even if the floors weren’t all that hot I’d have to oblige my customers. What ever the case, I was left to make sense of it all, but forced to ignore people’s paranoia and negligence. There was just no winning with people.

  I DIDN’T pick up any anal sensibilities from Mrs. Single-tary. And so far, she didn’t appear to be another Ms. Thomas. She was just one of those people who seemed to have it all together. And here was the product of that environment?

  Not bad.

  “You’re her niece, you say? I’m sorry, I don’t think I remember you.”

  “You didn’t really see me. But I saw you.” The way she said that was so cute. Like she had the upper hand on me, or knew something I didn’t. I smirked some, but I also sized her up within that next second— that moment of assessment that I like to impose. But, just as quickly, I went on with the small talk. “I’m from down south— just outside of downtown ‘Lanta. But I’m stayin’ with Auntie for a while.”

  I took all that in as unimportant information, but I then said, “Be careful out there. The rain is supposed to really come down later to night.”

  “I should be back by then; just going out for a little bowling. Thanks to some coercion from my auntie.”

  Bowling.

  And that’s when it hit me. “That’s right. Today’s Friday,” I said, more or less to myself.

  “Oh, you bowl?” she asked.

  “No, but Pastor Bishop invited me to Harlem Lanes tonight for some kinda bowling event. Something to do with his church.”

  “The pastor from East Tremont? Harlem Lanes? That’s where I’m going.” Then Mrs. Singletary’s niece did some quick calculating. “You know what, that’s why Auntie was being so damn evasive about the details. This is some church event, ain’t it. That’s why—”

  “Well, not necessarily,” I explained. “Harlem Lanes has a lot of lanes. I mean, a lot of ‘em. There’s always a party going on there. It could just be coincidence that the church is there on the night you’re going.”

  She twisted her lips in deep doubt. “Coincidence, huh? I just bet it is.”

  THAT RUN-IN I had with Mrs. Singletary’s niece was more than ironic. I had just arrived in Harlem, rushing down after my shower and a quick bite to eat. And who do I see in the lobby of the building where Harlem Lanes is located, apparently about to leave.

  STACY

  He came sprintin’ through the lobby doors until the sudden halt. Scared the livin’ daylights outta me, until I realized it was Danté.

  “Hey, what’s up?” he announced while brushing the rain off his jacket. “Stacy, right?”

  Okay, I guess that’s a plus. Remembering my n
ame.

  “Oh—hey,” I said. And I could feel my face brighten up to greet him, but at the same time I didn’t feel like explaining to him that I wasn’t a happy camper.

  Still brushing those raindrops everywhere, Danté eventually addressed me.

  “Everything alright?”

  “It will be, as soon as my cab gets here,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “Finished that quick? I mean, I just got here.”

  Okay. And you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that Iain’t been at Harlem Lanes for more than an hour. Hour and a half, tops.

  “I was finished before I started,” I told him, try’na be nice even if my thoughts were scathing. “Turns out it is a church event. With a whooole bunch of skirts and shirts and ties and—”

  “Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad,” he suggested. Then Danté with the jokes: “We could always hop around the corner to One-two-five and pick up a tie and skirt. We’ll fit right in.”

  It was easy for me to make a face to say, Not funny. But somewhere down deep inside I felt his comedy.

  “So, then, you didn’t even get to bowl,” he went on to say. Danté, the rocket scientist.

  “Nope. I was feelin’ real out of place up there. Like the black sheep or somethin’.”

  I could practically see him take a deep breath, as if he was feeding into a whole new plate of responsibilities. I was also smart enough to know that it’s not like you could get to know a person halfway. And it only became more complicated when it was a man/woman relationship.

  “Come on, Stacy. Don’t let me go up there alone. Then I’m gonna be left to feel the way you’re feeling. Plus, you’ll already be in a cab, probably laughing at me all the way back to Park Chester.” I snickered in between his words. “Let’s be two black sheep and make something out of nothing. Whatcha say?” Now his hand was on my arm, encouraging my reply. Cute. And it had to be, ‘cuz he ain’t know me from Adam and already got his hands on me?

  “Ahh, I don’t know. I kinda had my mind set after leaving there. You go ‘head. You can handle it. You’re a big boy.”

  “Okay, well, I won’t force you into something you don’t wanna do. How about we do something you do wanna do? I mean, no sense in me going up there to be the only black sheep. And besides, what would your auntie say if you left her number-one handyman out here all alone, all this hard rain and—”

  With a chuckle, I said, “You know, you really know how to put it on a woman, don’t you.”

  “Is it that obvious?” he asked, and now he was posing with what I guessed was his very best mack-daddy act.

  Finally, a laugh erupted from deep down in my belly, and then we were both laughing, even as another couple was rushing in from the rain. It felt so good to laugh after all the hell I’d been through. Long story.

  “So whatcha say we get wet. My truck is right across the way; or, ahh— I can pull it around if you’re afraid of a few raindrops.”

  I’m sure the face I made could’ve stopped an entire football team. But I like to back my talk with action. I pulled my jacket tight, prepared and game for just about anything a man could do.

  “Which way, Marco Polo.” But as I said this, I was already moving out, practically leaving him behind in my dust. I turned to see the surprised crazy look on Danté’s face. Like I could read his mind.

  Damn. He ain’t gotta prove nothin’ to me. I was only kidding!

  He caught up to me real fast, and we were eventually side by side, practically sprinting. So there was no sense in me backin’ down now. We suddenly got into this lil’ foot race! Really!? This dude don’t really know me!? Now, I’m not the fastest runner in the world in heels, but put Stacy in some Air Jordans and see if I don’t recall my high school track meets, okay? And so what if I never competed or that I was just try’na get closer to Russell Tomlin. Point is, I was hangin’ in there where and when I had to, and even now I was feeling nimble, hopping over puddles just like he was, over the island that separated north-and southbound traffic, till we easily crossed over to the other side of the street. Sure, he was passing me, but at least I was feelin’ good about this first impression: Don’t take Stacy for no sucka. Nothing is gonna slow my stride. It was so good to find that side of me again: the confidence to take certain risks in life.

  Eventually we were inside Danté’s truck and he was (out of nowhere) making excuses about its appearance, reaching to pick up tools and pipe fittings from the floor on the passenger’s side.

  “That’s okay,” I told him. “I’m good.”

  “Not exactly set up for a date here. Sorry.”

  “Uhh, date? No. I don’t think so.”

  “I mean, I really wasn’t expecting to entertain any—”

  “Um, Danté? I’m not talkin’ about your truck. I’m talkin’ about the date part. This isn’t a date. You’re not entertaining me. In fact, we never ran into each other to night. O-kay?”

  “Uh, sure.” His response came out something like a weak sigh.

  And no he is not lookin’ at me like I’m coo-coo?

  DANTÉ

  One side of my brain was saying coo-coo, coo-coo. And there was probably a red flag that I should’ve paid attention to. But there’s this other side of my brain! And sometimes it takes over without warning, like that day in Ms. Thomas’s apartment. This was one of those times.

  Damn, this woman is fine, I thought to myself. The way she just froze; stopped everything, including all the coming in-from-the-rain blues, just to address me and (maybe) my little slip of the lip. Her eyes were so direct and daring, but also so large and beautiful. Her nose was sharp enough to cut me, but at the same time, her nostrils flared some and invited an eyeful of my attention. It was at this very instant that I had a much better look at her copper-tone skin and the shapely body that was now a passenger in my fairly new Chevy Blazer. It was only now that I realized I was attracted to this woman. And maybe that’s even a lie (or an understatement). To be certain, I wanted to experience the hidden side of Stacy and see just how connected we were. I wanted to get my hands on Stacy and get close enough to smell more of her. And yes, I wanted to be inside of Stacy. So what if the timing might’ve been too soon; taking into account my recent swim with Ms. Thomas. I mean, who the hell was keeping track anyway?

  And the other thing to consider was that you couldn’t let opportunity pass you by. One moment Stacy might be available, and the next thing you know she’d be married off to someone (in my opinion) less worthy. And although I feel myself to be that hardworking, worthy candidate, I do have a selfish side. Stacy might just be all the redemption that I needed to let loose my burdens— the residual mental baggage I shouldered from apartment 7B. And now that I think of it, I’m wondering if that’s what drove me to attraction, the comparison between her and—? Naaah!

  Meanwhile, the tongue lashing that Stacy dropped on me still hadn’t worn off, even if I was looking at her much differently than a few moments earlier. Except now, I found myself reviewing my every word and action— like walking on eggshells. And I was left to assume that the mere mention of date had to be the buzz word that flipped her switch. I remained speechless, wondering where all this came from, because surely there was something else other than my being too forward.

  I SHOOK my head to show my understanding. But the faint coo-coo, coo-coo was still there in our midst as I started up the truck.

  “I guess you wanna go straight home?” I mentioned this, but I was hoping that she’d disagree. Why do I play these games? Why don’t I just tell her what’s on my mind?

  Stacy was already checking her lipstick and fixing her hair in the mirror. I couldn’t help noticing how focused she was and how quickly she pulled herself together. That’s when she turned to me.

  “You wanna know what I notice most about men? The majority of men?” She turned her attention back to the mirror as she completed her statement. “You all are straight-up suckas when it comes to the females. Especially if y’all ha
ven’t tasted the ice cream yet.” Still in the mirror and shaking her head as though she were disappointed, Stacy didn’t appear to need a response. And, I was honestly conf’rused. So what was she saying? That I wasn’t aggressive enough? Or that I let down too easy?

  “Danté, take me somewhere for a drink.”

  Turning the truck out of its parking space, I said, “Surely will, Miss Daisy.” Going for a laugh (and a wee bit of risky sarcasm) I uttered the words with a southern servant’s accent.

  WHEN YOU’RE in business for yourself you find a lot of perks to come along with the job. I suppose that’s what it is for any business model. For me, the resources spread far and wide because, although I deal with a lot of our middle-to-low-income families, many of the people I do jobs for hold down important positions. Sometimes people shift jobs, but the resources never stop coming, so long as I am dependable and I do the best job possible. People are generally happy with my work and (besides paying me) they always seem to do something more. Mrs. Taylor always gives me some of her homemade apple dumplings. But she also manages a Foot Locker downtown, which means mad discounts on any footwear I buy. Jim Allen has a fish-and-meat market around the corner. So, even though I’m living the single life, my chicken and fish meals are always healthy. Donald Gilmore and his wifey, Liz, own the gas station around the corner. And while they don’t do diddly-squat for me on the high price of gas, they do break me off major when my truck needs help, all because I’m dependable when they need me to fix something. And for my entertainment, I got at least two movie-theater employees that get me in, but I call Mary Lewis the “big dog of entertainment.” Mary’s another client of mine, who also does the accounting for Cablevision’s executive offices. And since that company owns just about every major venue in town, like Madison Square Garden, Radio City, and The Beacon Theater, I always get offered complimentary tickets to box seats at Knick games or orchestra seats at the Christmas shows, plays, or just about any concert that comes to town. Better believe I be waitin’ for Mary to need Mister Fix-It!