Never Been to Me Page 6

  “Well, well, well,” Doxie intoned. “Thank you, my friend. This is who you spent your birthday with and I’m just seeing him? Umph. Hallelujah.”

  A mesmerized Persi didn’t respond.

  At the edge of the stage, Nick casually perched on a stool and aimed his dark obsidian eyes on the two women at the front table he’d reserved. He nodded, winked and smiled at Persi.

  Persi couldn’t define the unidentifiable shiver that went up her spine. Okay, I must be drunk. She crossed her legs, took a celery stick, drug it though blue cheese dressing, chomped down on the vegetable and blushed.

  “What is this?” Doxie asked, noticing her friend’s eyes riveted on Nick’s body.

  “Tsk. I got a man,” Persi said defensively.

  “You got a piece of man,” Doxie retorted.

  Persi blew out the steam Nick generated within her. Maybe I miss my man, she thought. Yeah, that’s all this reaction to Nick is.

  As the trio took their repertoire though musical paces, the crowd went wild. When Nick Betancourt rose and began jamming with his sax, the experience was apocalyptic. He removed his jacket and the black knit clung across his broad shoulders and down his svelte upper body. He remained in total control as his hands executed furious licks, drawing out hot, magical notes from the cold gold brass. A thin veil of sweat coated his manly face, his movements like harnessed power, and those lips; firm, kiss-ready lips devoured the reed . . . he oozed sex from the stage. Nick and his sexy sax. He slowed it down and played “Song For You” and Persi placed her face in her hand, her eyes shining sheer admiration as she smiled.

  Doxie was as enraptured as the audience until she looked over at her friend. Doxie smiled. Other than Brad, Doxie had never seen Persi enthralled by any other man the way she seemed to be with this Nick Betancourt. Was he the savior Doxie had been praying for the past five years? Was he the one to finally draw Persi away from Brad the cad? She scrutinized Nick as he performed and, when he finished his solo, the way he let his sax dangle and hang casually between his legs as his eyes combed the audience. Confidence, that’s what he has, Doxie thought. When the trumpeter finished his solo, Nick clapped for him before resuming his playing. And kindness. A rare combination, Doxie surmised. After Nick finished his last song, he looked directly at Persi. They held each other’s gaze and Doxie wanted to whoop for joy. Thank you, Jesus! she exclaimed to herself.

  Persi glanced at Doxie and asked, “Isn’t he good?”

  “Exceptional,” Doxie agreed. She knew not to push or coax her friend. While Doxie had waited for an opportunity like this, she was unprepared on how to assist in it. Persi Sinclair was willful, goal-oriented, and one of the smartest women she knew and admired with two great careers already, a gorgeous house, a paid-for car, healthy stock portfolio, a year’s salary in savings, and no credit card debt. Persi was solid, grounded, and not into ostentatious jewelry or only designer clothes, although she owned three full-length fur coats, (one had been her mother’s), and a short coyote jacket. Besides splurging on her house with the fifteen-year mortgage and her car, Persi lived below her means. Practically solvent. Suppose this guy was a ne’er-do-well. A player. A gigolo?

  As Nick launched into another song, Doxie decided on caution. She knew too little about this guy to promote him and risk her friend getting hurt by him as well as Brad the cad; jumping from the frying pan and into the fire. She’d wait and observe.

  At the break, Nick mopped his brow, sauntered offstage, and Doxie asked, “Tell me about him? What does he do?”

  “Well, he plays sax—”

  “Yes, he does. No question about that ... what else?”

  “Goes around the country setting up karate tournaments for youth, I think.”

  “That explains that body and the way he moves,” Doxie said. “Umph!”

  “I need to leave some things for you to find out about as you date him,” Persi said, giggling.

  “Hey, Persi,” Nick said, approaching from the side.

  “Hey,” Persi said and braced herself awkwardly. “You are really good. I had no idea!” Not knowing what to do with her hands she began pulling her short-cropped hair down on her neck.

  “Thanks.” He smiled, his eyes never leaving hers.

  “Ah-hem,” Doxie said feeling like a third wheel.

  “This is my friend, Doxie Fitzhugh. Doxie, Nick Betancourt.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” he said evenly as he shook her hand.

  “The pleasure is all mine. Believe me, you’ll never know.” Doxie smiled, showing all thirty- two of her pearly-whites. “So how long you been playing that sexy sax, Nick?”

  “Long as I can remember. Picked it up seriously in middle school and never put it down.”

  “It shows. You’re exceptional,” Doxie said.

  “Thanks. It helps pay the bills.”

  Persi smiled, looking at the two as if she had made the match of the century.

  “And you’re a karate man?” Doxie continued.

  Persi looked horrified. She didn’t know what the proper term was, but she was sure it wasn’t karate man.

  “Yeah. Got into that about the same time. Maybe a little earlier.”

  “I guess that accounts for the way you move. Like a panther. Like a cat. Rrrrr,” Doxie roared and Persi held her head.

  “Nick?” A man called him from the bar.

  “Excuse me,” Nick said.

  “Okay, no more for you,” Persi said, removing Doxie’s drink from arm’s reach.

  “No. What? Why? You wanted me to get to know him.”

  “You are growling at him.”

  “We’re Googling him when we get home.”

  Four AM found the three of them at the club’s front door. “I’m glad you came, Persi.”

  “Me too.”

  “And it was good meeting you, Doxie. Where’d you park?”

  “In my driveway. We walked.”

  “What?” He laughed.

  A charming chuckle, Persi thought, which dimpled his cheeks. “I’ll take you home. And you, Doxie?”

  “Oh, we’re staying together. A little pajama party. Do you have sisters?”

  “No. Only a brother.”

  Oh, Lord, what the hell does that mean? Persi thought. He’s going to think she’s a lesbian.“Well, this way, ladies.” He opened the car door for both of them.

  Persi climbed in the back so Doxie could sit up front.

  Nick drove the few blocks and when he reached Persi’s house, said, “Here you are.”

  “Thanks again,” Persi said. “We really enjoyed it.”

  “We don’t get out much,” Doxie offered. “But we make the best of it when we do.”

  “Great. I’m here for a few weeks. I’ll give you a call, if that’s all right.” He looked at Persi, then Doxie, then back to Persi again.

  “Fine. Good night.”

  “You know the drill,” he said to Persi with a smile.

  Persi said, “Yes. I remember. Night.” She turned and walked right into Doxie.

  “Night, Nick,” Doxie said, leaning in for her own goodbye before following Persi up the stairs to the front door.

  We must be the most dufus women he’s ever encountered, Persi thought as she started up her stairs.

  Just like the first night he’d dropped her off, he waited for her to get inside her vestibule. She flashed the light. He tooted and drove off.

  “Well, well, well . . . knew where you lived and you all got this little horn-tooting ritual going,” Doxie teased. “What else did you all get going that night?”

  “Okay, my friend, do you want coffee or to go straight to bed?” Persi asked Doxie.

  “I ain’t mad at you, girlfriend. In fact, I have a new respect for you.” She kicked off her shoes and followed Persi to the kitchen. “That brother is f-i-n-e! In that rugged, masculine kind of way. He could hold me any night of the week.” She grabbed herself. “I do want to fire up the computer and Google him. Did you see that tore-up car?” r />
  “I’m sure it’s a rental. But I’m glad you’re interested. He seems like a nice guy who, if you haven’t chased him off with your less-than-attractive behavior, could put sparkle in your life.”

  “Razzle-dazzle is more like it.” Doxie stopped at the newel and looked soberly into Persi’s eyes and said, “But it’s not me he’s interested in.”

  “Of course, not in your current state, but he’ll succumb to that Doxie Fitz charm in no time.”

  “He’s not looking at me, Persephone May Sinclair,” Doxie pronounced as she sashayed up the backstairs to the guest room. “Baby, it’s you!”

  Persi set her alarm, cut off her lights, and headed upstairs. It would be daylight in a few hours. She hated when Doxie imbibed too much; it only happened when Drew was out of town and Doxie was on her own. Besides, Doxie was drunk and wrong. Nick Betancourt could not be interested in her. He had to know that she was Brad’s girl. Right? Surely he must know that there was no business meeting set for the night of her birthday. Monkey business, maybe. How could a man like Nick be interested in her, knowing that she was... not available? “Pst,” Persi scoffed and dismissed as she changed into her pajamas.

  She slid into her sheets and had to admit she’d never known a man who could play an instrument like that. In the last remnants of the night she wondered what else he could play.

  “Is the gazebo already in place?” Persi asked into the phone and listened at the explanation. “I was there yesterday and marked it off.” She listened again while rubbing the doorjamb free of grime put there by her visiting nephew. “Great, then cut and lay the stone around that. Okay. Call me if anything else comes up.”

  She looked out over Logan Circle at the flow of traffic. Waves of heat rippled up from the asphalt like a waterfall in reverse, as D.C. was in full-fledged summer. Tourists-laden buses, mosquitoes, and heat . . . suffocating, unrelenting heat that begged for a rainy relief that afterward would render the Nation’s Capital the largest sauna in the world.

  “I love the smell of D.C. in the summer,” Persi paraphrased aloud. She went into her office off the kitchen and filed an invoice. The phone rang. Absently, she yanked it up and said, “Dr. Sinclair.”

  There was a chuckle. “Persi?”

  “Yes.” She stopped to indentify the voice. “Nick?”

  “Yes. Sounds like both Dr. Sinclair and Persi need a break.”

  Persi chuckled. “You got me.” She hadn’t seen or heard from him in over a week. Neither had Doxie. Persi supposed he had other women to work through before he got to either of them again. “So how’s D.C. treating you?”

  “Hot. And you? You sound a little preoccupied.”

  “It’s that time of year . . . when my two jobs collide. Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “I’m sure. How about taking a ride with me? Either today or tomorrow. I have a house I’m thinking of buying on the Severn River and I’d like you to look at it.”

  “Why?” This is an invite for Doxie, she thought.

  “Well, not only could you use a ride out of the city, but you’re into architecture, right?”

  “Hat number two—landscape designer.”

  “Great. I need a professional to factor what I need into the cost of the property.”

  “Today’s not doable.” Brad was coming home and over tonight. It had been over three weeks and she was beyond horny.

  “How about tomorrow? In the afternoon?”

  Brad would be long gone and she’d be ready for a distraction as her own house chaffed her after one of his quick visits. “Sure. That’d be nice.”

  “Great. Then I’ll see you tomorrow, Persi.”

  That evening, Persi waited up well past the appointed hour. He finally called, whispering that he wouldn’t be able to get away tonight, but tomorrow afternoon was perfect. “I’m dying to see you, Bruce. God, I missed you.”

  Persi hung up, slipped out of her gold teddy, kicked off her high heel sandals, and blew out the candles for the elaborately set table. Persi thought after roughing it for three weeks on a family vacation, she’d give him an elegant fantasy. As usual, the joke was on her. She put the lobster salad and the chilled champagne in the refrigerator along with the cake celebrating his belated birthday. She went upstairs to bed.

  That morning she was awakened by a thunderous rap on her back door. She pulled on her robe, flew down the backstairs, pushed back her curtains, and stared into honey-sage eyes.

  She looked a fright but all Brad was worried about was her opening the door before anyone saw him on her back steps. “I couldn’t wait to see you, Bruce.”

  “Wait!” she screamed. “I haven’t showered or brushed my teeth. I look a mess.”

  “Hey, it’s just like when we get married. Right?” He was removing his clothes.

  “Let me go freshen up, at least.”

  “Your funk is better than most women’s perfume.”

  “You are full of it, Brad Shelton. Give me twenty minutes.”

  “I don’t have that kind of time.”

  They made time and love, and fell asleep. The phone rang.

  “I’m on my way,” Nick said.

  Persi bolted from the bed, next to a sleeping and satisfied Brad. She watched him scratch and turn over as she scurried to the guest room.

  “I’m so sorry, but something came up,” Persi said to Nick. It wasn’t a lie; it was Brad’s gi–normous hard-on.

  “Oh?”

  Persi hated this; she felt if a person committed to something, they ought to do it. She could hear the disappointment in Nick’s voice. As a visitor to D.C., he was probably looking forward to something other than the club scene.

  “Can we go tomorrow?” Persi suggested into the empty silence.

  “I’ve got a karate tournament practice in the morning but we can go in the afternoon.”

  “Great. Okay.”

  “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  “In the morning? I thought you had a karate thing to go to.”

  “I do and you’re going with me.”

  “Oh. Okay.” She chuckled. “Eight it is.”

  “I’m not calling first thing tomorrow. I’ll be there at eight.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Have a good evening.”

  Persi climbed back into bed beside Brad and glanced at the clock. The alarm would go off in fifteen more minutes and he’d leave her to go home. She lay nestled against his chest, playing pretend; pretending that she was his woman—his only woman. She was with him now but would be alone for the rest of the evening, while Mr. and Mrs. Shelton attended a charity function and danced the night away with family and friends. Declining an invite from Jean-Luc and Doxie out with her sparkless man, Persi would be home with movie and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s for company. She rationalized that her life was still better than most . . . most of the time.

  The alarm sounded and Brad looked into her eyes.

  “Don’t be sad, Bruce. I’ll be back. I always come back, don’t I?”

  “Maybe one day, Brad, I won’t be here.”

  “What? Don’t even play like that. I’d stay and talk it out, but I got to go.” He climbed into his clothes. “No time to call a cab. I’ll walk down to M Street. If I get a chance, I’ll text you. Love you.”

  And he was gone, taking most of her pride with him.

  Leaving her with perplexed wonder, she questioned why she stayed with him. Why, where professionally she’d always been number one, she put up with being relegated to third, fourth, and fifth priority in his life. Was she an undercover masochist? She looked out of her window and watched his image fade away from her and disappear down to M Street to hail a cab back to his car parked in his office garage downtown.

  She had no answer. No intelligent, soul-soothing answer. She only knew that, after they made love and he held her in his arms . . . she was a teenager again, she was in high school again when her world was upright and ordered; her mother was alive, cooking dinner in the kitchen, he
r father read the paper in his den’s easy chair, Diana listened to music, and Athena was on the phone. When he held her in his arms, she knew her place in a secure world.

  CHAPTER 7

  The sun peaked over the Nation’s Capital, dousing the city in its scorching, golden glow. Nick double-parked as he ran up the steps to get Persi. Seeing him pull up, she locked her front door and met him on the concrete steps.

  “Good morning,” she said brightly, actually glad to be going somewhere new and not semi-waiting for Brad to call and recap his splendid evening with the wife before asking to come over for a quick visit.

  “You look great!” Nick said, eyeing her white slacks, colorful tunic top that grazed her hips, and thong sandals, revealing perfectly manicured feet.

  “Oh!” Persi exclaimed and giggled, seeing the vintage 1965 burgundy GTO convertible waiting at the curb. “What fun!”

  “We’ll be tearing up some road today, so I thought, what better way to travel on a hot summer day than with the top down?”

  “My mother would have loved this. She went to her prom in this car.”

  “Her date had taste and money. Your dad?”

  “No. She did have a life before him. Her class was the first black class to have their prom at the Washington Hilton Hotel.”

  “A little D.C. history.”

  He opened her car door; she sat and swung her legs around as he closed it. Persi watched him round the hood of the car, dressed in tan slacks and a charcoal-gray knit that clung to his form. Despite how good he looked, she decided not to comment on his attire. He was just a friend and was to remain one. Complications ruled her life, besides—this was Doxie’s man.

  Nick up-shifted and sped away from the curb as they zoomed toward the Baltimore Washington Parkway. Persi thought, When Nick picks up Doxie at her Kensington house, they’ll take the Connecticut Avenue exit onto the Beltway to 95 North into Baltimore. In seemingly minutes, she and Nick passed the Inner Harbor, then John Hopkins, into the hood, stopping in front of the Ulysses Thigmont Boys and Girls Club. Nick parked, grabbed his black jacket from the backseat, and opened her car door.

  “My hair must look a fright,” she said, running her fingers through her short do.