Angel's Revenge (18 page)

Goldilocks laid her head on Angel’s chest and let Angel play with her locks.

“Every man I met, they always had that same lustful look in their eyes. I saw it in every one of them, and it always made
me feel disgusting. My father made me feel disgusting. Dirty, ashamed, and I’m eight years old again, ya know?” Angel explained,
trying to hold back all the emotions from the memories flooding back to her.

“Except for Dutch. He never looked at me like that. You know what I saw when I looked into his eyes?”

“What?”

“Aristocracy, beauty, and arrogance. They’re the only words that perfectly describe what I saw in him. He was the type of
nigga you either fucked or feared, wanted to die for or despised and wished dead. He was the only man who ever saw me.”

Goldilocks understood perfectly. She, too, knew how it felt to be judged solely on looks and nothing else. She clearly understood
how beauty could sometimes be a curse.

“Do you think he’s still alive?” Goldilocks asked, finally finding the opportune moment.

Angel paused and bit her bottom lip pensively. “I don’t know. But I just can’t believe he’s dead.”

“If he came back, would you be with him?”

“I’ll always ride with Dutch. But be with him like that? Naw, never. With you, always.”

Goldilocks smiled and kissed her softly.

“Besides, me and Dutch aren’t meant to be like that. I would never tell him my true feelings anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Because I, too, am an aristocrat. Besides, his heart belongs to someone else already.”

“Who?”

Close your eyes…

She did.

Imagine yourself in the place you most want to be and when you get there, imagine you see me.

She could feel the warmth of the pristine white sand beneath her bare feet, smell the fresh blue water, feel the mist hitting
her face, and touch the warm frothy water running between her legs.

Now… open your mouth… just… a little… a little more.

She parted her succulent lips ever so slightly, just enough to let her tongue out or his in. He traced her lips gently with
his thumb, causing her to quiver with anticipation.

I thought you… you were gone.

Did you really think I’d leave you?

The feathery touch of his fingertips across her cheek, down the nape of her neck, between her breasts, and to her belly button
made her squirm. His kisses sent fire to every nerve ending in her body, from head to toe, releasing all of her pent-up emotions.

Pleasure.

Pain.

Joy.

Pain.

Ecstasy.

Pain.

Pain…

Where did you go?

She rode the rhythm of his tongue like a wave that engulfed her, threatening to carry her away. Then just like that…

He was gone.

“No!” she gasped and sat straight up in her bed, sweating and breathing hard. “But I lov…” Nina caught herself before she
cried out.

Dwight rolled over.

“You okay, baby?” he asked groggily, still half sleep as he reached for her shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” she answered as he rolled over, too tired and sleepy to realize the distress she was in or what she
had murmured before she woke him up.

In a cold sweat, thighs and panties soaked, she hugged herself and tried to shake off the feeling as she climbed out of bed
and went to the bathroom. It was the third night in a row she had dreamed about Dutch, and she had had enough. Nina had to
know the truth.
Was he really dead? Was he somewhere out there, waiting for her, wanting her, dreaming of her, like she was of him?

She ran her fingers under the cold water and through her hair. Her life, after being so peaceful and tranquil for three years,
had suddenly become one big question mark. It had all started with the flowers.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Nina’s assistant had said, sticking her head through the cracked doorway.

It was ten in the morning and Nina was already swamped.

“If it’s a call, take a message. If it’s a meeting, reschedule it. And if it’s a question, the answer is no,” Nina rattled,
feeling grouchy.

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll say no to this. In here, gentlemen,” her assistant ordered.

Nina’s jaw dropped. Three deliverymen carried in dozens of beautiful bouquets of flowers, from roses to gardenias, lilies
to orchids. Money had obviously not been a factor when the order had been placed with the florist.

“What is this? Am I opening up a floral boutique?” she asked in amazement. When all was done, over thirty floral arrangements
in different crystal vases filled her office. The aroma of the freshly cut loveliness scented her office like an exotic potpourri.
Her secretary wondered how she would be able to come and go with the flowers occupying every inch of space.

“Someone really loves you,” she said wistfully, wishing she had someone special to send her flowers.

One of the deliverymen returned with the last multicolored bouquet of what she thought were roses. When he handed them to
her, Nina noticed they weren’t roses at all, but silk panties in various soft colors, balled up and cupped like roses and
placed on artificial stems.

She took the bouquet of panties and thanked the deliverymen with a twenty-dollar tip. Then she picked up the attached card,
opened it, and read:
Who else?

That was what she wanted to know!
Who would send so many flowers?
The question galloped through her mind like a stampede of horses.
Dwight? He couldn’t afford all of them. He didn’t make that much money in a month!

Dwight loved to surprise her, but he did so in simple, thoughtful ways. And always in person. He was hooked on how she thanked
him. In fact, he surprised her all the time just for his “thank you.”

Nina had dated casually before Dwight, and some of the men had been extremely wealthy. But none of them would ever do this.
None had been that serious about her. Besides, they were months in her past.

No. Whoever sent the flowers was a man sure of his place in her heart. Therefore, there would be no need for a signature.

There was only one man in her life who fit that description.

Who else?

It had been over a month since the CD incident, and Nina had all but forgotten it. She had explained it away even though it
didn’t make sense. She refused to acknowledge what her heart yearned to accept. Now, standing in her own Garden of Eden, the
thoughts she had suppressed sprang from her subconscious and filled her mind with endless possibilities.

We’ve just found the body of Bernard James.
She silently recalled the moment when his death was announced. She had been on her way to the courthouse when she heard the
news. Her body went limp as she heard the words.
Bernard James, Jr., has been pronounced dead. His body has been recovered.

Nina thought of him and of what they shared and of what they would never share. It all died with him that day.

So who else?

“No,” she told herself, refusing to let her emotions take her back to that dismal place in time. Nina had learned to live
without hope. She had learned to fulfill her own expectations. She was a woman who wanted to believe, but life had proven
that believing was too painful. She had accepted her fate and no amount of flowers would ever change it.

I have to get rid of these. What if Dwight comes in here and sees them and they aren’t from him? But what if they are?
she thought.

Instinct took over. She resolved to get rid of the evidence. Hope, in the form of bouquets, was like a dead body lying cold
in the middle of her office. She had once killed it. Now she had to dump the body.

She called her secretary and told her that every desk, every teller station and every office was to have a bouquet. She kept
only three for herself. Her office was back to its normal drab in less than an hour and hope’s body was safely buried around
the bank. The bouquet of silk panties she stuffed in a drawer, mainly because she couldn’t find an appropriate place to put
them.

Nina had always been honest with Dwight, because he deserved it. And she had never had anything to hide. Now she wasn’t so
sure.
Why did I give all my flowers away? Who else, yeah, who else would send me a thousand flowers?
She couldn’t help but ponder.

Dwight loved her. He loved her body, every inch of her. He loved having sex with her. It was so much better with Nina than
it had been with anyone before her. She was beginning to open up with him, beginning to be more sexually expressive and eager
and willing to please him any way he asked her to. But he mistook her eagerness in bed, thinking it was about him, when in
fact, Nina was pretending that it was Dutch she was fucking. Thinking of Dutch made her climax with ease. All she had to do
was let him into her mind. If she was really there with Dwight, she’d be there all night trying. She told herself she wasn’t
cheating. Dwight had her body. A dead man had her mind. How was that cheating?

“Girl, you are cheating if you are fuckin’ a nigga and thinking about somebody else’s dick runnin’ up in you. Say what you
want, you know it’s true,” Tamika stated matter-of-factly before licking the rim of a walnut caramel ice cream cone.

“Whatever. You’re not cheating unless you’re fuckin’ someone else, period. It shouldn’t have anything to do with who you think
about.”

“Well, do you be thinkin’ about the other person when you cum or are you connected to the person you actually fucking?” Tamika
asked, trying to get Nina to be precise.

Nina sat back and just smiled. An honest answer to Tamika’s question would only make Tamika right, and Nina didn’t want her
to be.

“Ohh, you are a nasty slut!” Tamika exclaimed excitedly, “I fuckin’ knew it. I knew it! You freaky heifer! I knew it! Who
is it? Somebody at the bank? Somebody you just met? Girl, who is you really sleepin’ wit’? Tell me!” Tamika rattled.

“It’s nobody,” Nina lied. “It was just a question, gee willikers!” She shrugged and spooned out another bite of Häagen-Dazs
into her mouth.

“Bitch, don’t give me the gee willikers routine. Just answer the question. Who do you be mind fuckin’ while Dwight bangin’
you out!”

“Shut up!” Nina giggled, kicking Tamika playfully.

“No for real, for real! It’s cheatin’!”

“How?” Nina challenged.

“Because how would you feel if Dwight told you the same shit like that?”

Nina didn’t respond.

“Well, as they say, if you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you wit’, right?” Tamika replied with ghettoified
philosophy that led Nina right back to where she started.

And then it happened.

It was her twenty-sixth birthday. She and Dwight had planned a quiet evening at home instead of suffering the hustle and bustle
of the city. A nice quiet evening of dining, courtesy of Mo Beys in Harlem. A bottle of Merlot and two tall white candles
were neatly centered on the tablecloth.

The doorbell rang.

“I got it,” Nina chirped as she slid off the kitchen stool.

She padded to the door in her bare feet and T-shirt of Dwight’s that swallowed her like a dress.

“Who is it?” she asked, peering through the frosted glass of her front door.

Standing on her porch was an older white man in a chauffeur’s uniform. Behind him was the creamiest stretch white Rolls Royce
she had ever laid her eyes on. She was expecting a delivery boy from Mo Beys.

“Celeste Martin?” the man asked, using her middle name instead of her first.

“Y… yes,” she replied nervously.

“Your limousine is ready,” he said, looking at her doubtfully.

Limousine? Who sent a limousine? Dwight? He’s over there ready to eat Mo Beys.
Then she thought of the flowers and the card.

“Who sent you?” she questioned, looking at the driver strangely.

“Are you sure you’re Celeste Martin?” he probed, stepping back to check her house number. “According to the reservation, you
requested our services.”

Dwight had come to the door when he heard a man’s voice. He looked out at the limousine and whistled.

“Damn, boo! You just full of surprises, huh?” Dwight smiled from ear to ear.

“Yeah, full of surprises,” Nina said, not having a clue and not wanting Dwight to ask too many questions.

“Well, Miss Martin. Are you ready?”

It was the same question she had asked herself.

“I’ll be ready shortly,” she said politely before closing the door.

After she quickly showered and dressed in a backless black dress and Gucci slingback heels, they drove to Dwight’s to get
his best suit. Then they slipped into the luxurious Rolls Royce and glided off into the night.

The surprise had been meticulously planned. The driver had an itinerary. First, they were driven across the water to Manhattan
where they were taken to Cipriani’s for dinner. Their next stop was Broadway for the play
A Raisin in the Sun
, where they had balcony seats.

After the play, they were escorted to Hue, a cozy little spot in the Village. The entire downstairs had been reserved for
Nina. All the tables and chairs had been removed except for one in the middle of the room with a bottle of Louis XIII cognac
waiting. They were shown their seats, then left alone. A man played the piano softly as a woman in a blue-sequined dress sang
Nina Simone.

Someday, I know he’s comin’ back

To call me…

“May I have this dance, birthday girl?” Dwight proposed, reaching out his hand to her.

Why can’t he be Dutch?

The evening was so charming and so elegant, she wished terribly that the man dancing with her was the man she longed to be
with. When she took Dwight’s hand, she pretended it was Dutch’s. When she reached around his neck, taking step after step
with him, she continued to dream.
If only it was him.
The entire evening was a dream. For Nina, it really was Dutch who had placed his hand on her knee as they drove through the
city streets in the glistening limousine. It was Dutch who tickled the inside of her palm during the play. And it was Dutch
who scooped delicious spoonfuls of tiramisu into her mouth at Cipriani’s.