He pulled back and looked at me. The smile was gone, but his eyes still had that warm consoling look in them along with that playful hint of mischief.
“Who says I want to fuck her? She’s drunk and conceited and you’re beautiful and sweet and yes, a little naive when it comes to race, but who isn’t?”
“I was getting you pissed off though wasn’t I?”
“Yeah, well, I tend to get a little worked up when it comes to racial issues. What black man in this country doesn’t?”
“So, then why even bother fucking with white girls? Why not just stick to black women? I’m sure they’d understand you better.”
“There’s a hell of a lot more to me than just the color of my skin. Just because a woman’s black doesn’t necessarily mean she’ll understand me any more than you do. Sure, she’ll get the race thing. But there’s much more to me than that. Besides, that would be playing it safe now wouldn’t it? What fun would it be if we all just stayed in our comfort zones? I believe in expanding my horizons. Besides, I’m taking Dick Gregory’s advice and trying to wipe out the white race by having sex with all the white women I can. I’m gonna breed you right out of existence.”
I laughed.
“You are crazy.”
“It could work though. That’s one crusade I could start without looking like a hypocrite. I could convince every black man in the country to sleep with white women and create a master race of mixed babies.”
“There is something seriously wrong with you.”
I was laughing so hard that tears were coming out of my eyes.
“You’re right. The sistas would definitely hate me. That would leave them with nothin’ but white boys. I’d wind up gettin’ my ass assassinated. So what do you think?” Do you think I should stick to my own kind? You’re not into brothers?”
I looked down at the floor, shuffling my feet nervously. Kenyatta reached out and lifted my chin so I was looking into his intense eyes again.
“I’m into you,” I answered, shrugging. “I’m into whatever feels right.”
“And do I feel right?”
I looked at his massive shoulders and bulging chest, his thick biceps and that flawless smile filled with perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth, the high cheekbones, and smoldering black eyes. He was intelligent and he had a sense of humor. I didn’t care what color he was. He was damn-near perfect.
“Yeah, you do.”
“Then give me your number so I can call you sometime.”
He pulled me close to him again, wrapping his arms around my waist and hugging me, still staring into my eyes.
“You are weird. I can’t really figure out what your deal is. But okay, I’ll give you my number.”
I wrote my phone number down and he took it and placed it in his pocket. Then he took my hand again and pulled me close to him once more.
“Give me a hug before I leave.”
I smiled and almost laughed.
“Are you serious?”
“You don’t want to hug me?”
I wrapped my arms around him and he leaned down and kissed my neck and shoulders then breathed heavy in my ear as he spoke in that deep luxurious voice of his.
“I’ll call you.”
“Yeah, sure you will.”
He did. He called me from work two days later while I was sitting at home in my t-shirt with what looked like a sea of bills spread out in front of me, wondering how I was going to pay off the two payday loans I’d taken out weeks before without taking out another one. When the phone rang I almost leaped for it, eager to have something to take my mind off my finances even if it was just Tina calling to brag about her latest sexual conquest or cry about her latest heartbreak.
“Natasha?”
“Yes? Who’s calling?” I was smiling already. I recognized the voice.
“This is Kenyatta.”
My heart did a somersault. I knew Tina had been betting he wouldn’t call. She was still certain he’d just been fucking with her and that the next time she went to the club he’d be there trying to get into her well-traveled panties. I couldn’t wait to tell her she was wrong.
“Oh, hi. I didn’t think you’d call.”
There was a long pause.
“Where do you live?”
“Excuse me?”
“I want to come visit you. Where do you live?”
“I don’t even know you.” I almost giggled when I spoke, like some shy schoolgirl. Something about his voice was making me crazy.
“Well, you’re not going to get to know me over the phone. I hate talking on the phone.”
“I’m not into booty calls.”
“Then let’s not make this one.”
I didn’t even know what the hell he meant by that. He could have said anything to me and it would have worked. I didn’t care if it was a one night stand or not. I just wanted to look at him again. I wanted to see him look at me again, the way he had at the club, like I was the most desirable woman on earth. I should have been immune to all of this. I’d heard every line by men who just wanted to get inside me and then get out with as little hassle as possible. Men who called you their dream girl one day and then didn’t call you at all after you’d let them in your bed. But no matter how many times I’d been fucked over by men there was always a part of me that hoped the next one would be different. So I gave him the directions to my house.
I almost laughed when he showed up at my door wearing a suit and tie. I had never asked him what he did for a living, but whatever I had assumed certainly didn’t involve a business suit.
“Hi! Come on in.”
He walked into my apartment, removed his suit jacket, looked around, dropped the suit jacket onto the back of one of my kitchen chairs then casually reclined on my couch. If you didn’t know any better you’d have sworn he had been there a thousand times.
“Come sit with me.”
He held out his hand and I took it. His palms were rough and calloused, but the back of his hands were smooth as a woman’s. Even that I found strangely exciting. He continued holding my hand as I walked around from the back of the couch to the front and took a seat beside him. I was nervous as hell. He seemed so casual. Not the nervous excitement guys normally have when they enter a woman’s apartment for the first time and the possibility of sex is there. He was either confident that I would fuck him or he didn’t care either way. I was starting to perspire again.
I sat next to him and he hugged me and kissed me on my neck again.
“I wanted to hang out with you and get to know you a little. Just don’t get offended if I fall asleep. It’s not a comment on your company. I worked sixteen hours straight yesterday and then spent two hours in the gym this morning before going back to work today. I’m exhausted.”
“What do you do?”
“I make money, lots of it. I’m not wealthy, but I’m comfortable.”
“Don’t be mysterious. Whenever a guy in this town gets all mysterious about his occupation it usually means he’s either a drug dealer or a pimp.”
“I’m no pimp.”
“Drug dealer?”
“That would fit the stereotype wouldn’t it? But no, sorry to disappoint you. I’m a real estate broker and I’m also part owner of a boxing gym.”
“I didn’t mean just because you were black. There are white drug dealers too. My brother was arrested for running a meth lab. He was mysterious about his occupation too.”
“Okay, well now there’s no more mystery.”
Every time I opened my mouth in his presence I seemed to step on some racial landmine. I had to do something to turn the conversation back around.
“You box?”
“A little. Nothing serious. I’m not pro or anything. I’m more interested in the business side of things. I’m part owner of a little gym on Sahara and Rainbow. It’s not like a real boxer’s gym. It’s for guys like me who want to learn to box but don’t actually want to fight. Mostly executives who want to let out a little aggression and feel like tough guys and housewives trying to lose weight. I make a lot of contacts there for my real estate business. Anyone who buys a house from me gets one month free membership to my gym. We get a lot of law enforcement guys in there too, cops, military, even Feds. I never get speeding tickets because of that place.”