Chapter Thirty-Two
Fulton Ferry. My pier. I’m so glad to be back—the dock an anesthetic
to sooth any inner beast. But tonight,
instead of sitting near the barge, I detour to sit beneath trees close to the
restaurant’s entrance. I find a dark,
secluded spot, probably not smart, especially in my state, but what the
heck. I’ll be careful, while enjoying
the mysterious allure of the East River and Manhattan through the lighted
branches.
Loving the solitude, I promise: I won’t take this for granted, thinking maybe I had, when a blast
of cold air causes me to choke inducing another coughing fit. Quickly unzipping my bag I rummage inside and
withdraw the cough syrup. Those were the last two bottles, I
remember regarding the airport store which provided my supply. I swallow repeatedly coating a raw throat as
I rethink the last couple of weeks.
I wonder, what progress I
did I make?
The obvious answer, none
that I could see. Failing Madame
first with Seneca; then Mom, since we aren’t any closer. I can’t
convince Madame this way. Pulling my
leather coat tighter, I glance down at myself, underneath the dim lights of the
yellow bulbs threaded through the trees, reminded; I never changed. The black
wool pants suit still packed in my piece of carry on from this morning,
forgetting to change in haste.
Mr. Riley. My face I feel flush with thoughts of him
bringing back my embarrassment. But, he was wonderful, I thought causing
a heat to spread through me.
After a couple of minutes, I watch a few romantic couples who
somehow slipped onto benches opposite me.
Suddenly out of place I stoop to grab my bag.
“Hello, again,” the voice familiar bolts me upright.
Squinting up into the lamplight, I try to recognize the man
standing in front of me.
Oh! The tweed-coat stranger. I feel as if my smile will connect in the
back of my head, wondering, why is he
causing my heart to race?
“Hello again,” he says in his beautiful warm voice, a question in
his eyes.
Yes, I’m
very happy to see you.
“Hello yourself,” I say with more confidence, yet feeling silly
not knowing his name. “I remember your
face, but I never got your name. What is
it?”
“Sky. Sky Blue at your
service.”
“You’re kidding. Right? . .
. I mean . . . I love it, but did you change your name or something?”
“Actually, I didn’t. My mother
felt pretty positive about me during her pregnancy, even though her boyfriend
left her. She felt like I was her blue
sky, especially since her last name was Blue.
So there you have it. Sky blue.”
“I love it. Sky. Well nice to formally meet you, Sky. I’m sorry that I didn’t recognize you that
last time.”
“Oh. It’s okay under the
circumstances. You looked pretty
distraught. I should have said who I was
right off the bat. But my vanity wants
to believe that I’m the kind of man women don’t forget,” he said laughing.
Though teasing, he’s
probably right. Dark slacks and a
heavy gray sweater under his leather jacket—he
makes quite an impression. Even his
smell you couldn’t forget—faint and familiar.
He was definitely good-looking.
“You were my hero. How
could I forget you? You proved that
chivalry is not dead.”
He sits down beside me saying, “With a beautiful woman it’s never dead.”
His wonderful words don’t distract me from his habit of sitting
very close; though, do I really want him
to move? inhaling his woodsy scent.
He continues, “I always seem to come across you when you’re
feeling down. Are you okay? Aren’t you happy?” he asks sounding
sincere. “You should be happy. . . What
do you think?” he concludes tilting his head.
“Give me a chance; I’ll make you happy.”
Wow. With anyone else that line would be corny;
but wouldn’t I like him to try? though I don’t answer. Instead I ask; smiling, “So, Sky. What do you do?”
“You didn’t answer my question, but I’ll get back to it. . . I’m a
journalist. At least, that’s my
attempt. Why I happened to be at the
club that night? I wanted to do a short
article on jazz for a college course, so I wanted to interview the band, when I
saw you. A beautiful woman in
distress. I was sorry that you needed my
help, yet more than happy to oblige. . . But, mystery woman, you’re very hard
to keep up with. Where have you been
hiding?”
Finding him easy to talk with, I explained, “I went on a
mini-vacation. I just needed to get
away.”
“Why? . . . Oh! I guess I’m
prying. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean
to. It’s just . . . well, I want to get
to know you better. Though that
shouldn’t be difficult. I kind of feel
as if I know you already.”
Do you? This seems impossible. A handsome hunk saves me twice and I question getting to know him better? while
something causes me to realize how dark the area has gotten. Maybe
the trees. Maybe I should be heading
home.
Standing up I thank him again wanting something more, but
thinking; maybe it’s not a good idea.
“Again, you don’t answer me.
Why?”
Yes. Why?
Finally I come up with it; my perfect safe answer. “Why don’t you walk me home; you can get to
know me as we walk. How’s that?”
“Now we’re talking.”
I grab hold of his arm, his arms strong through his dark leather
jacket, though mainly to steady myself.
It seems that every time he’s around I’m dizzy. An unexpected moan escaped me. However I manage to stabilize myself, while
he takes my bags.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes. Yes, I think so. It’s just I’ve been running around since
early this morning. I flew in from
Chicago, but I went to work this morning; my car got towed and I don’t think my
Mom is feeling well. Plus I didn’t eat. So it’s probably the stress of everything,” I
explain as we exit our secluded spot.
“If your mother is sick in Chicago, why are you here?”
Wow! I wasn’t prepared for that; I think
glancing up at him.
“Well, she’s not extremely sick.
And this is just a quickie necessity trip for my job. I’m a dawning designer. Fashion,” I say dropping his arm, but picking
up my pace. “I must eat.”
“And a saxophonist.
Wow. Talented. So.
You going to be here tomorrow?
Maybe you can eat with me. How
about lunch?” he asks hooking my arm through his again.
Inwardly skipping, I contain my smile, angling my head to look
past him up at the stars. I finally say,
“I think I’d like that.”
Well onto Columbia Heights, walking separate but close, we slowly
stroll the promenade towards the hotel falling into a comfortable silence,
while watching boats along the river.
Every few steps my arm brushes his.
This small gesture makes me catch my breath; tosses me into
light-headedness. I wonder, is it just me?
I sneak a quick glance up at him and find him looking down at me.
Again breathing, actually parting my lips to exhale, I thrill to
the irregularity of his breathe, finding his eyes not exactly on my face. Following his gaze, I watch the front of my
fitted white shirt rise and fall rapidly.
I raise my eyes drawn first to the strong line of his jaw, but resting
on his soft mouth. Suddenly I tremble,
oblivious of any others strolling along this same path, the wind casting me a
whiff of new leather.
How my legs managed to carry me to the hotel’s portico I’m
clueless. My immediate concern? How do
I invite him up without raising any eyebrows among my neighbors? Four years I’ve lived here and I’ve never
brought a single man into my apartment.
Never even gave it much thought.
But now I’m torn. More than
anything I want this man upstairs, but I don’t want to give these really
religious people the wrong impression of me.
Standing facing him, our eyes level with me two steps above him, I
gaze at the slight hollow at the base of his throat. I don’t/can’t move.
Sky tilts his head; catches my eyes; asks, “Do you have some
coffee? I would love a cup.”
Yes! Yes I should invite
him up for coffee. That’s perfect, my
body still not moving. It knows; it’ll
never work, though I find myself staring at his chest. From me the small voice whispers, “Why don’t
we just stand here a second. I haven’t
been up to my apartment yet. I need to
see it first,” desire designing a plan.
“So you want me to stand here and just look at you for a
while?”
I blink confused as he continues, “The pleasure is all mine.” He leans past me placing his arm against the
hotel. The tiny brush against my face
lights a fire, the intensity of his stare raging the embers. Needing to strip, my brain blurred knowledge:
late October, Indian summer, a street crowded with window-shoppers, used
bookstore browsers or people just sitting, eating or talking at the sidewalk
cafés, while restaurants interiors house people enjoying their cozy
warmth. Okay. Cliché; but I fought screaming, “Forget my neighbors;” thinking:
Tonight is for us, as his eyes travel me beginning with my face. The journey takes in the length of my body.
Tightening my hands into fists in my pants pockets, I watched his
pleasure increase, surprising myself with my boldness. His faltered breathing gave me power. Taking an exaggerated breathe, I removed a
hand to touch his face. Instead, I reach
behind me and take his hand. No longer
concerned. My fingers entwine with his;
gazes not broken, I back up drawing him with me, not hearing outside sounds
with my heart a raging ocean; thundering.
Pounding—“Diamond!”
What?! . . .
Who!
Swinging around, I twist to a cold shocking douse of
Prudence. Prudence Nobles leaning
heavily on her walker.
Lord no! I
cringe. Of all the wet blankets.
Her sharp pronunciation of my name forcefully killed any desire I
felt. Here I stand now erect, cursing
her timing, but managing, “Oh hi, Mrs. Nobles.”
While I look at Prudence, she’s staring at Sky with that direct
piercing stare. I felt she wanted him to
explain himself, but Sky’s gaze is just as unrelenting. Even though his arm is still propped against
the hotel’s wall, his other hand clenches and unclenches tightly. I also notice him gritting his teeth.
Mrs. Noble’s eyes shift to me and back to Sky.
“How have you been Diamond?” she asks me her eyes not leaving
him. “I’ve missed seeing you. Is everything all right?”
I myself wish that Mrs. Nobles would just disappear, but I answer
her. “Everything’s fine. Thank you for asking.”
Mrs. Nobles continues, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you, Diamond;
so when you finish here I’ll be waiting inside.”
Inside?
Waiting? Why?
I want to shout, “No! I’m
grown and I’ve been on my own for four years.
I can make my own decisions.” But
I don’t. I sneak a quick peek at Sky and
he’s looking at me as if to say, “Yes.
Tell her.” Instead, I say,
“Okay. Give me a few minutes.”
“Sure. Take your time,” she
said; but I knew she meant, “Rap it up.
Quickly.”
All of this couldn’t have taken more than a couple of minutes, but
the downshifting of my emotions takes forever.
Then I notice a woman escorting Mrs. Nobles. She holds the door while Prudence slowly
pulls herself along.
When I turn back Sky looks furious.
“Who was that?” he asks.
Actually I sympathize with his anger, because we were reprimanded
like children caught playing “naughty doctor.”
She turned the fire hose on us! That would’ve been fun if we wanted the hose.
I answer him, “That’s my neighbor Mrs. Nobles.”
“Neighbor? Not
grandmother? Godmother? Older aunt?”
“No. None of those.”
“So why--?”
“It’s hard to explain, but I will . . . Just not tonight.” I smile.
“How about me explaining tomorrow?
Are we still on for lunch or even dinner?”
His whole countenance lightens up.
“Most definitely. What time shall
I pick you up, Madame?”
Funny he should call me that.
“How about five?”
“Five it is.”
As he turns to leave he lets his arm drop lightly along my arm and
I almost forget Mrs. Nobles. He leaves
me hungry for tomorrow.
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