Almost Crimson (23 page)

“Nah. I had a roommate in grad school who worked at these high-end joints,” Dub said. “He hipped me to the basics. Trial and error from there.”

“You consider yourself a connoisseur, then?” she teased.

“I'd just as soon have a beer or vodka sour,” Dub said.

“Vodka sour?” CeCe said, propping her elbow on the table then quickly removing it. “I would have pegged you for a cognac or scotch guy. Something to put hair on your chest.”

“Shit, it only took one night curled next to a toilet to learn my lesson about dark liquor,” he said. Dub told her about his fraternity brothers challenging him to “upgrade” his liquor to the tune of a dozen shots and how he'd spent the rest of the night hurling in the bathroom.

Laughing at his antics, CeCe said, “I can't imagine you huddled in the bathroom, let alone sleeping on the floor.”

Dub shrugged his shoulders. “Even Batman has a rough day.”

The waiter came to take their order and CeCe was impressed at Dub's knowledge about cuts of meat, seasonality of vegetables, and seasoning in Béarnaise. Once their orders were placed, Dub raised his wineglass to her.

“Here's to brand new,” he said.

“To brand new,” she repeated, clinking his glass.

They chatted about college and the mall and diets and Walter Mosley books and Terri's art and vacation dreams and birthday wishes. Their meals were delicious and filling. Her anxieties were relaxed and quiet.

“This was really nice, Dub. Thank you,” she said.

A familiar mischief appeared at the edges of his grin. “Are you thanking me for choosing this place or for treating you to dinner before I sex you down?” he said.

The waiter's cheeks reddened as placed the red portfolio on their table. CeCe's face hardened. This version of Dub was familiar. Still, they'd had a great evening so she tried to process his crass statement as a reasonable question.

“Both, I guess,” she said. “I didn't really know what to expect. It was really nice.”

Dub sipped water as she spoke and watched her for a steady moment over the edge of his glass.

“You're surprised I'm not an asshole all the time?” Dub asked.

CeCe flushed and commanded her body not to squirm. She cocked her head to the side and looked Dub directly in the eye. “Yes,” she said. “I was even more surprised you agreed.”

Dub was signing his name to the bill. “Why?” he asked, without looking up.

“I had the impression you only date tall, glamorous women.”

“You've seen me with these tall, glamorous women?”

“Well, no, but you always go out of your way to broadcast your high standards and your premium tastes and your trendy friends and your tailored clothes,” she said. “A guy like you is only going to have high-end women.”

Dub measured her and she cursed herself for letting Terri talk her into this. CeCe had witnessed Dub dismantle more than a few debaters, including herself, and knew this conversation was about to take its fatal dip.

“How would you describe a guy like me?” Dub asked, reaching for his wineglass.

When CeCe had experienced Dub's verbal challenges in the past, she always bailed from the exchange before he could fillet her pride. Tonight, she had nothing to lose. She was at a fancy restaurant, dressed up in sexy clothes, full of wine and leg of lamb, holding her own with a worldly, sophisticated, bona fide grown man. Even if the sex part didn't happen, she was already ahead.

“You're an ass,” CeCe said. “That's how I describe a guy like you. You're rude, self-absorbed, self-inflated, and cruel. An ass.”

Dub spun the base of his wineglass, and his eyes landed on hers as she continued to speak.

“I listen to you talk down to Terri's friends, like you're doing them a favor to be in their presence. You even treat me like peon most of the time. ‘Did you mean to wear two different shades of black, CeCe?' ‘Are you still letting that white girl talk crazy to you at work, CeCe?' ‘Why don't you get some real hip-hop in your life, CeCe?' What makes you think you know every fucking thing?”

Dub leaned back in his chair. CeCe wondered if he was crafting a response or letting her vent without listening to her at all. He reached for the bottle of wine and poured what remained into her glass.

“I didn't think you'd get all that out. Impressive,” he said, smoothing the front of his slacks as he crossed his legs. “CeCe, I've known you for almost two years now and this is the first time I've heard you stand your ground on anything. I've heard you whine. I've heard you bitch and moan. And I've heard you ask questions you already knew the answers to, but you've never spoken your mind. Congratulations.”

“Kiss my ass, Dub,” CeCe said, her brows furrowed with irritation.

“Bonus point,” Dub said with a smirk. “Now, back to me. CeCe, I know how I come off to people, but I can't concern myself with your perception, can I? If I don't think I'm the shit, who's going to? If I don't define standards for myself, how can I complain about the quality of my life? If I can't give people pure, unfiltered truth, how can I expect to hear it? If all that makes me an ass, I'll be that. And I sleep like a baby every night. You know why, CeCe? Because I'm not fake. I'm not shady, and I put in the effort to try and be fucking phenomenal at everything I do. Do I know ‘every fucking thing'? Of course not. But what I
do
know and what I
do
believe, I stand on it.”

CeCe waved away his response and said, “That's not how you act, Dub, all noble and shit. You act like you're never wrong.”

Dub sat up, anchoring his elbows on the table. “That's what I'm talking about,” he said. “I didn't say anything about never being wrong. I said I stand on what I know. You learn shit when you know how to shut up and pay attention. You should try it.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” CeCe asked. She pressed against the chair back with her arms crossed.

“It means you should spend more time listening to what people are saying instead of being so afraid somebody might hurt your little feelings,” Dub said. “You're not in high school anymore, CeCe. Why would you give a fuck what I think about your clothes or your job or what CDs you buy? Just because somebody has an opinion doesn't mean you have to make it yours. You decided I was an ass who wouldn't think much of you because you're an ass who doesn't think much of yourself.”

CeCe sat motionless in the fancy chair, in her pretty dress, fighting the tears that wanted to spring from her expert eye makeup. She could not cry. She could not deny the truth in what Dub had said. CeCe felt an anchor lifted from each shoulder. He was right. She still felt people's eyes staring through her rainbow dress, reading some other little girl's name written on the tag. CeCe had not been protecting her story from the world; she'd been hiding behind it. She leveled her eyes on Dub, who watched her coolly.

“So,” she began, “you admit to being an ass?”

Dub laughed aloud, ignoring the heads turning their way. “I don't just admit it; I embrace it.”

The waiter breezed past their table, sweeping the portfolio as he went.

“Know who the fuck you are, CeCe, and stand on that shit,” Dub said. “Never, ever, ever discount yourself. To anyone. Not a man, not a friend, not a supervisor, not a cashier at McDonald's, not anyone. Not ever. You are worth everything you've decided you're worth.”

“I guess I deserved that,” CeCe said as the weight of his words framed themselves around her thoughts.

“I don't know about what you deserved, but I know what you needed to hear.”

CeCe looked at Dub and nodded somberly. “Thank you.”

Dub unleashed a sly grin. “Don't thank me yet,” he said. With a full smile Dub stood and walked around the table to extend his hand. His eyes were locked onto hers and CeCe felt tiny explosions begin to pop and tickle beneath her skin. CeCe took Dub's hand and rose to her feet.

“Thank me in the morning,” he said. He held her gaze while he planted a tiny kiss on the back of her hand. CeCe inhaled his skin, his bravado, and the sweet smell of wine on his lips.

“I hope you give me reason to,” CeCe said. She heard Dub chuckle as she turned to walk away. His eyes were on her hips, she knew, and so she worked them. CeCe didn't look over her shoulder for him when she reached the elevator. She pressed the call button and smiled when Dub's baritone rumbled behind her just before the doors slid open.

THIRTY-EIGHT

CINNAMON

 

 

CECE CLASPED AND UNCLASPED HER hands underneath the table. Her mother sat on the other side, arcing her head back and forth to look at the hanging sculptures and exposed-pipe decor of the restaurant. CeCe marveled, instead, at the two of them. When her mother noticed CeCe's stupefied expression, she raised her eyebrows.

“We're at a restaurant,” CeCe said, amazement continuing its dawn over her. “I'm twenty-eight and this is the first time you and I have gone to a restaurant.”

CeCe's mother curled the edges of her mouth, less of a smile and more of a nod. Evolution, they knew, was not a speedy affair.

“Glad you asked,” her mother said.

They each squared shoulders. CeCe shifted in her seat, bracing for an annoyance to ripple through her small joy. She felt nothing, no irritation, no reflexive flair. Like unfaithful lovers, CeCe and her mother gazed at one another as silent accusations passed.

“From your date?” her mother asked. “The flowers?”

CeCe had started to tell her mother about Eric back at their apartment. She found herself wanting to gush to her mother for the first time in a long time and suggested they go out for dinner. Her mother had accepted easily, simply. CeCe filled their ride with radio songs and nerves.

Their waitress had a sprawling tattoo that screamed in full color from beneath her folded, white sleeve. Her smile was honest. Her eyes were sharp and heavily lined in charcoal. She said her name was Pearl. CeCe hadn't expected a name so polished, so smooth. She didn't carry an order pad. CeCe ordered a shrimp skewer appetizer and a glass of Riesling. Her mother ordered coffee.

“Would you like a cinnamon stick for your coffee?” the waitress asked.

CeCe and her mother both opened their mouths to speak, CeCe to dismiss the suggestion, but her mother's soft voice clung to the air more firmly.

“Sure,” her mother said.

All three women grinned a little.

THIRTY-NINE

JAZZ

 

 

CECE KEPT HER EYES ON the seam that halved the elevator doors as Dub stood behind her. The elevator pulleys began to hum and CeCe watched the winks of steel, cinder, and fluorescent light as the elevator passed each floor. Every other cell in her body and her full attention were focused on Dub, standing close, like a floating neutron. He didn't speak or touch her, but simply exhaled against her skin.

Eighth floor. Seventh floor.

An electricity surged from Dub's body to hers. His breath across her neck and bare shoulders was titillating. CeCe felt his breath close enough to kiss her nape, but his lips only hovered there. He made her curves vibrate beneath the plum dress.

Sixth floor. Fifth floor.

Dub traced her forearm with his thumb—slowly from her elbow to her wrist—resting his hand on her hip and brushing that kiss across the back of her neck. When Dub touched her, a bolt rocketed from the tingle beneath her skin to the gasp in her chest to a flash of fire between her thighs.

Fourth floor.

The elevator car slowed, suspending them in place. CeCe closed her eyes and tried to will her heart to stop its thumping. The doors slid open and they stepped onto the carpet. Dub fished the keycard from his jacket pocket, checked the numbers against the wall placards, and took CeCe's hand.

“This way,” he said. “We're in room four-sixteen.”

CeCe let Dub lead her down the carpeted hallway, defeating the urge to crowd their quiet walk with comments on the hotel decor, trivia about hotel housekeeping trends, compliments on his shoes.

410. 412.

Dub's thumb stroked the outside of her palm.

414. 416.

Dub gave her hand a small squeeze. He slid the keycard into the lock, swinging wide the door.

“Miss Weathers,” he said with a bow. CeCe intended to laugh walking in, but giggled instead. She did not want to be juvenile tonight, even if she was a rookie. CeCe walked across the room to look out the window. Gazing at the view of the mercantile docks and the river dancing with the neon lights from the jazz district, CeCe gave herself a quick pep talk. She was ready, she kept thinking. She was ready.

“Take off your clothes now,” Dub commanded. CeCe spun around with her eyes wide, catching the window sheers.

Dub trotted the length of the room to rescue her from the curtains.

“I'm kidding, I'm kidding,” he laughed, moving her from the window. “Come over here and relax.”

“See?” she said, pointing an accusing finger up at him from the sofa. “Ass.”

Dub laughed again. “I earned that one,” he said. “I apologize.”

CeCe took in the room while Dub hung his jacket and turned the knobs and dials on the stereo. The suite had a kitchenette and a cozy sitting area. She tried to ignore the king-sized bed recessed behind them. The lights were off in the sleeping area, but the white pillowcases and folds of the sheets still seemed luminescent. CeCe would be sprawled across that bed soon. Or pinned to it. Or dangled over its edge. Or curled in a fetal position.

Dub found a jazz station, filling the room with snare drums, trumpets, and bass. A knock sounded at the door and Dub moved across the room to let in room service. The waiter carried a bottle of wine and two glasses. Dub directed him to the dinette table where the young man uncorked the bottle for them. Dub thanked him, tipped him as he left, and locked the door behind him.

“Join me?” he asked, pouring two glasses.

“Yes,” CeCe said. This was happening. Maybe she should have lots of wine.

Dub brought CeCe her glass and sat in the red chair to the right of the sofa. She waited to see if they were going to toast again, but when Dub sipped she nervously sipped, too. CeCe wasn't sure what to say. At the restaurant, it was easy to forget why they were on this date in the first place. The conversation was effortless, as usual. It wasn't like Dub was a stranger. They'd logged hours of dialogue in the past few years, even if they were tense at times. CeCe tried to regain the ease they'd enjoyed during dinner, but found herself distracted by the
500
thread-count elephant looming in the space behind them.

“Oooh, baby, that's good,” Dub said, breaking the silence. He looked at the glass of wine in his hand.

“This is the same wine we were drinking earlier?” CeCe asked.

Dub nodded.

“Yeah, I like this,” CeCe said, grateful to have actual words hanging in the air.

“Where could you imagine sipping this wine?” Dub asked, leaning deep into the chair. “Where would you like to travel?“

“Greece,” CeCe said.

“Take a minute and think about it,” Dub said, teasing.

“Don't need it. I've wanted to visit Greece since I was thirteen.” CeCe told Dub about discovering
The Odyssey
in middle school and reading all of the mythological stories attached to the tale. Dub admitted he hadn't read either of Homer's epic works and only had a surface knowledge of Greek myths. He asked CeCe to summarize the story and by the time she'd woven in the tangential tales of Aphrodite's apple, sirens, Cyclops and Lotus-eaters and the rest, they were pouring out the last of the wine.

As Dub walked the empty bottle to the trash, CeCe dropped her head into her hand. She had rambled for more than forty-five minutes about mythical creatures when she was supposed to be having for her first sexual experience.

No wonder nobody's ever asked for any ass from me
, she thought.

Dub took her wineglass and said, “Maybe we're all good with the wine.”

CeCe cradled her head with both hands then, tears trying to push through her fingers. She wanted to speak, to tell Dub that it wasn't the wine, that she wasn't drunk, but she feared her voice could make the tears spill. She did not want to cry. Not now.

She heard the coffee table move and felt Dub lower himself to the carpet. He circled two fingers around each wrist and gently pulled her hands from her face. CeCe stared down at her feet. Pam had scolded her into getting a salon pedicure and CeCe was comforted by the ten glossy, peach toenails gleaming back at her. Still, a tear tumbled onto her bare foot.

Why do I keep trying?
CeCe thought.
Why?

New tears dotted the tops of her feet, and CeCe couldn't fight back the onslaught. She cried and heaved and sniffled and cried some more. After a moment, she found her forehead resting against Dub's chest. She straightened to pull away from him and sit up, keeping her eyes on their hands. Dub stroked the tops of her fingers and walked away from the couch. CeCe didn't look up, not wanting to watch him flee their posh hotel suite. When his gray shoes returned, Dub straddled her small naked feet and lifted her head. He held a pinch of tissues and her glass of wine. CeCe accepted them and blew her nose.

“Better?” he asked once she'd wiped her eyes and calmed her heaving shoulders.

CeCe nodded, holding their silence. Instead of pressuring her to speak, Dub reached for his wineglass.

“Toast,” he said. CeCe raised her glass reluctantly. Dub held her weary gaze for a long moment.

“To the long version,” he said. “My favorite kind of story.”

CeCe inspected Dub's face, and his smile was warm and not the least bit mocking. She felt her chest patter.

“To long stories,” CeCe said in a small voice. “Probably the only kind I have.”

They both sipped from their glasses, Dub drinking until his wine was gone. CeCe emptied her glass, too, following his lead. Dub placed their glasses on the end table. When he turned to face her again, his eyes were certain and inviting. CeCe watched his eyes get closer and closer until her own eyes crossed and closed. Dub pressed his lips against hers slowly, again and again.

CeCe opened her eyes to look down at his mouth when Dub stopped planting kisses. His lips were moist, plump and waiting. CeCe leaned in to kiss him first and felt his mouth smile. Dub kissed her hard, his tongue finding hers. CeCe's plum dress had rolled back to her hips and Dub wedged between her knees. CeCe was sure he could feel her thong panties beginning to throb. She kissed him like soul food, losing herself in the rhythm of their consumption. The pricey plum dress bunched around her waist and CeCe didn't care. Instead, she pressed her bare legs back against Dub's hands as they gripped at her waist and thighs and he gnawed hungry kisses into her neck and cleavage. Tiny firecrackers exploded along her skin wherever Dub touched her.

Dub tore away from her, his chest heaving a bit. CeCe breathed heavily, too, almost forgetting she didn't know what she was doing. She was not immediately aware of her legs wrapped around his thighs, her champagne-colored thong exposed, warm with wanting, and one cup of her matching convertible bra peeping above the dress bodice.

Dub pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to an armchair. He still wore an undershirt, the mark of a well-groomed man, her Aunt Rosie had once told her. He leaned in for a quick kiss before standing to peel away his T-shirt. CeCe hoped her mouth wasn't actually gaping open at the sight of Dub's body. He was fit without being obscenely muscular. His skin was rich and supple, in deep hues of violet and brown. She wanted to touch it, trace her fingertips along the precision of his abs and biceps. CeCe expected him to be toned, but she couldn't have imagined wanting to put her hands and mouth all over him.

Dub took CeCe's hands and guided her to her feet again. He led her away from the sofa, toward the king-sized bed. Dub took CeCe's face in his hands and placed the softest kiss to her lips. She returned Dub's kiss, covering his hands with hers. He flowered petal-soft kisses to her nose and forehead, turning her away from him to plant more slow kisses at the nape of her neck.

CeCe felt the zipper on her dress slide open. Her head bowed, she flung open her eyes.
This was really happening.
Her shiny peach toes rooted into the carpet, keeping her steady. Dub's hand appeared at her hip. CeCe watched his fingers outline her silhouette. His body was solid against hers, and it felt good. He held the top of her bodice between his fingers and folded the dress down from her body, over her waist and thighs, and into a collapsed hoop around her feet. Stooping next to her, Dub kissed CeCe's thigh. He was unhurried and deliberate, making a pattern of kisses around to the front of her knee and up her inner thigh. As his mouth reached the champagne-colored patch of satin, CeCe held her breath. The kiss he planted there seared through fabric and skin.

CeCe looked to the top of Dub's head, holding his shoulders. When he looked up to her, she panicked. She didn't know whether to return his gaze or look away.
What's the etiquette here?
she thought.
Do I say something? Pet his head? Close my eyes?

Dub smiled and returned to his work, laying down his kisses along her other inner thigh, knee, and hip. As he made his way around to the backs of her knees, CeCe caught sight of their blurred reflection in the flat-screen across the room. Her body was taut and compact, like a sprinter's, and the thong-and-bra set she'd purchased flattered her curves beautifully. CeCe had thought her physique too short or too stumpy at times. Tonight, she felt perfect.

Dub stood and helped CeCe step from the crumple of her dress. He navigated them closer to the bed, guiding her onto her stomach. CeCe felt the weight of him depress the bed next to her. He caressed the muscles in her back, the roundness of her backside, the back of her thigh, and her back again.

CeCe drifted away with the jazz music floating above them. When Dub unhooked her bra, she didn't jump or startle. The mattress shifted again and CeCe heard the light clink of his belt buckle, the yawn of his zipper, and the soft tumble of pants down Dub's legs.

Really happening.

CeCe squeezed closed her eyes, but was too enveloped in bliss to be afraid. She listened to the lift and pulse of the music. Dub's hands were on her ass again, groping and caressing, hard and soft. He turned her to her back and his hands were firm on her small breasts, squeezing and caressing them between his nuzzles and kisses. CeCe's eyes remained closed. Her confidence was not strong enough to look him in the face. Not yet. Maybe not at all.

He felt good against her, the heat and strength of his hands and bare chest. CeCe floated her hands to his back, but Dub would lift them above her head each time, leaving them to hang over the edge of the bed. CeCe wasn't accustomed to receiving, but liked the task of trying.

Dub hooked a thumb into the side of her thong and, reflexively, CeCe lifted her hips from the bed. He slid the panties down, down, down, over her peach toes. She heard him step down from the bed to remove his own briefs. In that instant, CeCe was utterly naked and ashamed. An Eve moment, she thought. Dub's hand graced her stomach and a kiss brushed her breast, before CeCe heard the crinkle of foil and the stretch and smack of latex.

Really.

Her stomach tightened and his body slipped next to her. They were naked, skin to skin. Dub folded CeCe into the curve of his body, curling his arms around her and kissing the back of her neck. He molded her body into a loose letter S, scooping her hips with his. CeCe got lost in their body music, breathing and rocking together, and the inside of her thighs went from moist to wet.