Friends and Lovers (16 page)

Jackson and his woman left, her following.

Leonard had his hands in his pockets, rocking side to side.

I said, “You cool?”

He closed his eyes, shook his head, said, “Gimme a minute.”

He went out into the wind and darkness, stood on the other side of the lot by himself. Lowered his head. Hands folded.

When he came back he wasn’t smiling. But he wasn’t frowning. Some serious positive energy was pumping from his body.

Leonard went on stage, cool and calm. Focused. The first thing he did was look around the crowd, smirk, then say, “Sounds like my jokes got here before I did.”

The crowd howled.

He said, “I didn’t know I was a ventriloquist, but I had his dumb ass talking.”

They howled again, loud enough to make the earth tremble.

He dogged out the brother for having such a weak show and jacking his act, gave him a verbal ass-kicking, then got a standing ovation for doing his routine the right way.

Leonard took the wheel on the way back. We talked about what had gone down in the lot. I thought we should’ve kicked that thief’s ass. We argued, then agreed to disagree. Leonard sounded like he felt sorry for the brother.

Leonard said, “It ain’t worth coming to blows over. If
I fought every time somebody stole a joke, I’d be battling the rest of my life.”

Rationality came back into my life, cruised my veins, reminded me I wasn’t in high school anymore. “He’ll end up either being judged by twelve or getting carried by six.”

I put my mind back on Shelby Janine Daniels. Hanging out with my buddy was fun, but I couldn’t wait to get home to my woman. The woman who was living in my space, jingling the three keys I’d given her every chance she got.

Two more miles of freeway were behind us before Leonard made a pent-up sound. A noise that made him sound old.

I asked, “What wrong, bro-man?”

He made a face, puffed, and said, “I’ll just have to write two more routines for every one they snatch.”

“Three more.”

“Yeah, three.”

Days turned into weeks. Those weeks into months. And it was a new March in the blink of an eye. Another colorful spring was on the way. For the last nine months I’ve held Leonard’s hand and enjoyed more live jazz concerts and movies and comedy than one sister ever thought she could in a lifetime. Some of it with Tyrel and Shelby at my side, most of it with Leonard.

I didn’t get to see him as much as I would’ve liked, because he worked days in Watts doing the computer thing, and kept late nights doing the comedy thing. I didn’t want to have the kind of relationship where a brother grew used to coming by in the middle of the night, crawling in between my sheets, and leaving before the sun came up.

Which was part of the reason I hadn’t shared myself with Leonard. I had promised myself I wasn’t going to have premarital sex ever again. If Leonard wasn’t in my life, my promise wouldn’t seem so much like torture.

Leonard had been busy the last week. He was blessed with a part in an Al Pacino movie and was in Alberta, Canada, for three days. He called each day, whenever he took a break in his fourteen-hour-day schedule. We had to miss the George Benson concert at Universal because of that. Leonard was supposed to open the show at the Amphitheater but had the opportunity to do the movie. He was only supposed to be there one day, but the director loved him and expanded Leonard’s part, let him improvise most of his lines. Then he had audition after audition. And a show in Ventura, and another one in Barstow. Not much time to spend with me. I was wondering where I fit into his life. If I fit in his life in any major kind of way. Or if I was just a convenience.

“Why do you keep doing the small shows in the boondocks?”

“To work on my new stuff and polish my old stuff. There’s no pressure when you leave Hollywood. Not like you feel on Sunset.”

My hand was on his hand as he moved the stick shift from gear to gear. He was so sincere when he was with me. I liked that.

He asked, “You have any more gum?”

“Yeah.”

I took out a piece of Care Free, licked it, teased it around his lips, then put it in his mouth. He liked it when I did that.

I said, “Where are we going?”

“Just looking at some houses. You said you liked looking at houses, right?”

I smiled. “You remember everything I tell you?”

“That’s my job.”

“It’s the little things that impress a woman like me.”

Leonard parked his Celica in front of a beige stucco house on Don Diego. We were on a narrow street that had no lane markings, and the tracts were intimately
close. The house was at the end of a cul de sac, situated at what felt like the highest point of Baldwin Hills. I could see downtown L.A. and the mountains behind the Hollywood sign. In the sunset, African-Americans were coming in and out of their homes. Palm trees and evergreen trees and shrubbery in about thirty different variations and shades of greens blended in with outdoor plant life. Heaven on earth.

We sat in the car for a while, enjoyed the view, soaked up the unmistakable enchantment brought on by each other’s presence, windows partway down, a Joshua Redman tape playing old-style instrumental jazz. We got out and stood at a spot that let us look down on La Brea toward Hollywood and see glittering city lights for miles. Leonard pulled me around in front of him, in a very gentle way. I snuggled my butt against him, rested my backside against his front. I wiggled to get comfortable. Felt part of him swell. I loved that I could arouse him like that. And that raising awakened slumbering parts of me. I shared his warmth while he enjoyed mine. I relaxed my neck, let my head rest against his chest. He pulled my hair back and put his face next to mine, his mouth on my ear. I felt his warm breath on my cool face. He seemed so at peace with himself. So quiet. I was at peace with him.

I asked, “What are you thinking?”

He whispered, “Reading poetry. Kite-flying. Storytelling.”

His words trickled through me, gave me so much ease. It felt like we were in a place where nothing mattered but us. And of all the things in life that had bothered me, I couldn’t think of one negative thing. At least none that mattered. Having him in my life made me feel lighter, gave me the freedom to walk with an obvious sway of happiness. Had me glowing so brilliantly I had sister after sister smiling at me with an I’m-so-happy-for-you grin. And it had brother after brother drawn to me, trying to find out why I was so exhilarated. Leonard had ignited me. I was on fire. I was the fire. Deep inside of me, I felt the heat of life. And I knew what all of
those feelings added up to. I was losing the control I had struggled to keep in my life.

I said, “What do you want from me, Leonard?”

“I want you.”

“That’s a bit much.”

“You can cover it, no problem.”

“Been in love before?”

“Not like this. You?”

“Not like this. What makes this so special?”

“The makings of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“If I knew what I loved about you, if it was your smile, or your walk, or your voice, or whatever, then that could change or be taken away, and I wouldn’t love you anymore. I just love the makings of you. Everything you represent.”

“Makings of you. That’s an old Gladys Knight song.”

“Yep. I play it and think about you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Love the makings of you too.”

“Cold?”

“Just on the outside.”

“Want to go?”

“No. I want to stay right here in your arms.”

“How do you like it up here in the hills?”

“I like it.”

“Would you live up here?”

“Yeah. I would.”

“Which house?”

“Stop all the questions.”

“In a minute. Which house?”

My eyes went up Don Diego, perused over the different, beautiful Spanish-style homes, from single-level to the two-story stucco houses. Then my heart settled on the yellow stucco house right next to us. The one that offered a view of Los Angeles from on high, almost like we were on Mount Olympus. It looked like the most important spot on the block to me. Not to mention the
safest. It looked almost as safe as I felt in the arms I was being sheltered by right now.

I said, “This one with all of the greenery around it.”

“Let’s take a look at it.”

“We could get in trouble.”

“Then let’s get in trouble.”

Leonard took my hand and we went toward the yellow house with all the greenery. A Red Carpet real estate sign was posted in the yard. It was a four-bedroom home with a den.

We went around back to the two-car garage. Peeped at the swimming pool and Jacuzzi. The yard was large enough to throw a nice gathering in. Room for friends and family, and friends of family. Plenty of yard, which was unusual for the city. Orange and lemon trees that lit up the air with a beautiful fragrance.

Leonard peeped in the backdoor. He said, “Kitchen looks nice. Marble counters. Has an island. The works.”

I wiped dirt off part of the window and peeped inside too. I said, “That kitchen is nice. Plenty of cabinets. Plenty of room to move around. Three or four people could be in there at the same time and not be in each other’s way.”

“You make it sound like a restaurant.”

“Might as well be.” I turned the doorknob. “It’s open.”

“Serious?”

“Yeah. Want to go in?”

“I don’t know. We’re already trespassing.”

“Come on, scaredy. Let’s be nosy.”

The place was hollow, echoed a little. Sounded the way a house did before it became a home. We went room to room. Held hands and went in every chamber and mental-shopped and imagined what furniture we would put inside if it was his house or my house. From foyer to bedroom to den we talked about everything from chandeliers to ceiling fans to Oriental rugs. Even in an empty house, going into a bedroom with a man seemed inappropriate.

Somewhere along the tour we switched from hand-holding,
to hugging, to rubbing our hands over each other, then shared kisses in the dark. Walked the arabesque carpeting. Reciprocated touches. Shared tongues underneath the Bohemian crystal chandelier, from the French doors to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Room to room. In an empty house we filled it, kiss by kiss, with emotion. We were intense. So intense. And he gave me a look that scared me. Underneath the skylight the moon showed all.

What was revealed on his face scared me.

He was focused. His breathing sang that he wanted me. The way his mouth was almost open. The way he looked into me. I knew what he saw. What I couldn’t hide. How I felt about him. I wanted him in so many ways. And in one particular way.
Now.

I was scared of the weakness brought on by what I felt. I wasn’t ashamed to let him see the drops of fear. Because now the line, that line seemed so obvious, where it had been thick and wide, now it felt so thin and narrow. Easy to cross. Too easy to cross. We were standing on top of it, waiting to fall one way or the other.

What I felt was so basic. Couldn’t be intellectualized. It was too primitive. Too much of what we were made of. Too much of what I wanted but was afraid to allow. A tingling in my stomach was so severe it felt like my abdominal muscles and extremities were out of control. I was about to rip in half or burst into flames. I felt all the things I had taught myself to control. Things that if I wanted to control, it would be too late.

First my back was to the wall. Then I was on the floor. On the carpet. On my back. Kisses on my neck and his hands feeling my breasts. His mouth on my nipples. This wild courtship and foreplay lasted until I was stimulated to the right pitch. I felt savage, like I was in the middle of a mating ritual.

Then I slipped into a zone, a sweet zone, and I was no longer a person. Every nerve on my body came to life and made me an emotion. He slipped his hand under my jean skirt and touched me there and it felt good, but
I was embarrassed because I was so wet, too wet. I didn’t want Leonard to know he had this effect on me. But now he did know. Especially when I unzipped his jeans. Set him free. I stroked him like he fingered me, and I knew I had the same effect on him. Extreme, intense. He moaned with the movement of my hand.

What terrified me was that I didn’t have condoms and I didn’t care and I didn’t think he had one single condom or Saran Wrap or a sandwich bag and I know I know better, but I’m weak and I didn’t care, and I’m hoping he’ll be strong enough for the both of us because right now I’d submit to whatever he wished to do, no matter how wrong I felt about it because I didn’t care and I’m not in the mood to be the voice of reason. I didn’t care about anything but the damn passion that had me shivering and aching in between my heavy breathing and sweating out my mushrooming desire that felt like it was about to become reality.

Then his hand is under my jean skirt. His finger slips inside my panties. He plays with me. Then his finger tries to open the skin. Part of me wants to push it away. A bigger part of me doesn’t. Skin opens. Slides inside me like a whisper. Inside of me. I sigh. Moving on the sensitive spot that swells. Circles. Playing a tune. First one. Then two. I purr with pain at three. Murmur a tender sound of contentment that sounded like nothing but love.

I started off fighting what I felt, putting my hand over my own mouth to muffle my pleasures, then releasing soft sounds that matched his depth. We both had passion, but it felt like we were being polite lovers. Loving the way people did at first before they let it all hang out. I was trying to subdue moans that would not be subdued. I was being devoured—the kisses, the way his free hand touched me here and there and everywhere he could reach—and when his fingers crossed my face, when they touched my lips, I was starving and I relished his fingers one by one, over and over. He did the same for me.

The better I felt, the less I moved him up and down.

A sound came from me. A panting like I was in so much pleasure and labor. When I thought it couldn’t feel any better, it swelled inside of me. And he slowed his slow hand, slowed to tease and I wished him not to be slow, struggled with him to not be slow, not be so gentle, to take me there. All the way. Now.