Authors: Victor McGlothin
Down On My Knees (11 page)
Still a touch embarrassed, Grace smiled peculiarly. “Talk about getting your face cracked.” Since Corporate Grace had always been the one she could count on, that's what she dished out to Allen, as best she could. “Mr. Foray, Allen, hopefully I haven't ruined an extremely profitable business relationship by tripping all over my assumptions. With that said, perhaps you should tell me where I figure in with your hesitance to autograph the contract that you seem to approveof?”
“No doubt, no doubt. I get along fine with the numbers. It's just that I'm used to women coming at me with their hands out, on the take for everything they can get. Other than my moms, you're the only woman who's been looking out for my best interest and expecting nothing in return.”
“I take it you don't get along fine with that?” Grace joked, using the same wording he had. When Allen caught it, his bright smile uncovered every one of his pearly whites.
“Oh, you got jokes too? I find a sense of humor very appealingin a woman.” He let that comment hang in the air longer than Grace was comfortable with. “But I know when I'm out of my league. I just wanted to say thanks for being the kind of sistah that any man would be proud to have on his arm and build a life with, even if that brotha ain't me.” Allen's heartfelt words stunned Grace. She was utterly floored by his honest, albeit sophomorically home-boyish, display of endearment.
Blushing, her face lit up like Times Square. She noticed indications suggesting that in time, he'd mature and become the man she knew he could be, just not now. “Wow, Allen,” she said eventually, as Corporate Grace stepped aside long enough for her to accept his gratitude in the sincere spirit with which it was presented. “You're very welcome, althoughwonders never cease. I'll try to remember those kind words during the next full moon, when I wake up reminded that the world does not revolve around me.”
As the multimillionaire stood to leave, he extended his long arm, at the end of it the biggest hand Grace had ever seen. The hardest thing she'd done all day was chasing away her own visions of that hand of his working the magic she fell short of conjuring up for herself the night before. “Allen, just this once, I feel that a warm, nonintimate hug would be more fitting for the occasion.” After she walked around her large desk to meet him, Allen smothered her with a gentle embrace, then backed away.
“Maybe things could be different between us further on down the road?” he suggested, in parting.
“I'm afraid that's a million-to-one shot,” she answered with utmost sincerity.
“Good, then I still have a chance,” Allen jested. “See, I got jokes too.”
Grace was actually glad Allen had stopped by unannounced. He was both a pleasant surprise and more than likely the sweetest regret of her life. “See you, Allen. Take care of yourself out there, and sign that contract before I'm forced to drop in on you for a good talking-to.”
“No doubt, I'll take care of it today. With you watching my back, it'll be gravy now that I know what the real deal looks like up close. Much respect, Miss Hilliard, much respect.”
During the better part of the day even with the conviction in mind that she'd made the right decision, Grace couldn't help but wonder if she'd made a huge mistake. Sure, Allen was unpolished and rough around the edges, but so were diamondswhen initially carved out of the earth. Grace was well aware that she'd passed up a good thing, one perfectly crafted for someone else.
12
Pretty Ricky
G
race's Prada pumps hadn't touched the ground since All-World Allen Foray made her day. She was a bouquetof pleasantness throughout the afternoon. When Marcia tapped on her door just before quitting time, with a brand new replacement for the mug she'd copped for herself, Grace apologized if she'd implied that an in-kind gift was warranted. Marcia wouldn't take no for an answer, offering to wash and hide the mug away where it would be available whenever her boss needed a caffeine fix. Since it wasn't worth arguing over, Grace decided not to. She nodded thank you, as Marcia stood across the desk studying Grace's expression.Once feeling comfortable that she had properly made amends, she smiled, then cheerfully bound out of the office like a child whose world was perfect again.
race's Prada pumps hadn't touched the ground since All-World Allen Foray made her day. She was a bouquetof pleasantness throughout the afternoon. When Marcia tapped on her door just before quitting time, with a brand new replacement for the mug she'd copped for herself, Grace apologized if she'd implied that an in-kind gift was warranted. Marcia wouldn't take no for an answer, offering to wash and hide the mug away where it would be available whenever her boss needed a caffeine fix. Since it wasn't worth arguing over, Grace decided not to. She nodded thank you, as Marcia stood across the desk studying Grace's expression.Once feeling comfortable that she had properly made amends, she smiled, then cheerfully bound out of the office like a child whose world was perfect again.
The sun still shone brightly on Grace's world, too, as she harnessed the seatbelt on her way out of the company parkinggarage. During the drive home, she traveled along the freeway, humming a few bars from one of the hits as India Arie's
Acoustic Soul
CD played on her car stereo. Another man had affectionately told Grace how wonderful she was. It was strange at the time, because those words didn't hurt one bit when Allen said it. Not like the searing sensation she sufferedafter fooling with Goofy Greg and his African rhino powder, only to be dismissed when she mentioned a serious “let's take it to the next level” relationship. And it was nothinglike feeling that her confidence had been chipped away piece by piece as Tyson saw fit to let her down easy at the park. No, this was different. Allen was kind, thoughtful, and well, yes, he was fine. Grace smiled as she passed by a humongous billboard with his picture plastered on the one-hundred-footsign. It was a broad illustration of him slam-dunkinga basketball with one hand while displaying a Dream Cream snack cake in the other. The caption read,
MUNCH TIME IS MY KINDA CRUNCH TIME.
Grace chuckled at the shiny blue short set she'd convinced him to wear. Admittedly,Allen was a real cutie even when zooming by at sixty miles an hour. Before she'd passed through the busy downtown area, Grace counted thirteen additional billboards, all using sexy men and women to sell products ranging from mobile homes to expensive jewelry. The last one depicteda half-dressed male-model type on the beach, intertwinedwith a scantily clad beach bunny, her bathing suit too small to adequately cover her breasts and other assets. The tie-in between jewelry and nearly nude suntannedhotties was lost on Grace, but the jewelry company didn't care about making logical connections. They wanted to persuade as many drivers as possible to catch a glimpse of the company's name and trademark, strategicallyplaced just below that skinny chick's behind. Grace found herself laughing out loud right after she'd passed the jewelry store billboard because all she could think about were plump breasts and thighs from KFC.
Acoustic Soul
CD played on her car stereo. Another man had affectionately told Grace how wonderful she was. It was strange at the time, because those words didn't hurt one bit when Allen said it. Not like the searing sensation she sufferedafter fooling with Goofy Greg and his African rhino powder, only to be dismissed when she mentioned a serious “let's take it to the next level” relationship. And it was nothinglike feeling that her confidence had been chipped away piece by piece as Tyson saw fit to let her down easy at the park. No, this was different. Allen was kind, thoughtful, and well, yes, he was fine. Grace smiled as she passed by a humongous billboard with his picture plastered on the one-hundred-footsign. It was a broad illustration of him slam-dunkinga basketball with one hand while displaying a Dream Cream snack cake in the other. The caption read,
MUNCH TIME IS MY KINDA CRUNCH TIME.
Grace chuckled at the shiny blue short set she'd convinced him to wear. Admittedly,Allen was a real cutie even when zooming by at sixty miles an hour. Before she'd passed through the busy downtown area, Grace counted thirteen additional billboards, all using sexy men and women to sell products ranging from mobile homes to expensive jewelry. The last one depicteda half-dressed male-model type on the beach, intertwinedwith a scantily clad beach bunny, her bathing suit too small to adequately cover her breasts and other assets. The tie-in between jewelry and nearly nude suntannedhotties was lost on Grace, but the jewelry company didn't care about making logical connections. They wanted to persuade as many drivers as possible to catch a glimpse of the company's name and trademark, strategicallyplaced just below that skinny chick's behind. Grace found herself laughing out loud right after she'd passed the jewelry store billboard because all she could think about were plump breasts and thighs from KFC.
The next morning, long after Grace had slept off the bucket of extra crispy she shared with André, she was draggingherself out of bed again, stumbling into the restroom again, and doubting her conviction to sustain her vow of celibacy. The sun outside was shining, but her immediate forecast called for scattered showers of the most wicked kind.
For the second consecutive morning, Grace found herself back in the break room with an increasing need for caffeine. Days of riding her natural high, which infused significantly more pep to Grace's step than she would have guessed, were gone now that her frequent gratuitous sexcapades had becomerelegated to her past. Learning to live without them presented the kinds of challenges that sent her friend Shelia racing back to the car wash for a low-budget buff and shine.
Marcia was delighted when she entered the small room to find Grace adding half-and-half to the Colombian blend in her new mug. “Wow, Miss Hilliard, two days in a row,” was her cheerful salutation. “That's got to be a new record for you.”
“Morning, Marcia,” Grace mumbled, behind her warm concoction. “Don't go calling the Guinness book people to send off my plaque just yet.” Grace was in a miserable and lonely place, but it was a necessary stopover if she really wanted to rehabilitate her constitution. And yes, she would eventually come to understand the importance of enduring the storms of life so that she'd truly be grateful when God saw fit to open up the treasures of Heaven and rain down His blessings of sunshine abundant. Until then, she'd have to settlefor early
A.M.
sugar rushes while concentrating her effortson sweetening herself.
A.M.
sugar rushes while concentrating her effortson sweetening herself.
“Hey, Ricardo,” Marcia said in the flirtiest voice she could get away with while on the clock, as her daytime daydreampassed by the break-room door. Ricardo Diaz, a good-lookingExpress Supplies delivery-route driver, stopped his dolly and poked his head in to see whose voice begged to be acknowledged. When he strolled into the break room, his hazel eyes darted back and forth between Marcia and the company's newest partner, Grace. By the time he'd blinked twice, there was no doubt who had called him. Marcia often made excuses to meet him at the elevator, and she'd even gone as far as intentionally omitting an order or two until he was ready to leave, and then springing it on him. Ricardo was accustomed to Marcia's antics, harmless as they were, but he didn't know what to make of Grace,
Ms. Wet Paint
, as in do not touch, as her eyes roamed all over his tight navy shorts that stopped at midthigh and his well-developed chest, and the studying of his bad-boy magnetism that went on for days. Grace hadn't bothered paying attention to Ricardo'sstunning attributes before then. Despite his chiseled body, thick dark hair slicked back in a ponytail, and the infiniteenergy of a seventeen-year-old, he was merely the deliveryguy, as far as Grace was concerned. Ricardo from the route, the other women called himâthose who had noticed their daily dose of Puerto Rican flavorâwas built for speed and logging long hours.
Ms. Wet Paint
, as in do not touch, as her eyes roamed all over his tight navy shorts that stopped at midthigh and his well-developed chest, and the studying of his bad-boy magnetism that went on for days. Grace hadn't bothered paying attention to Ricardo'sstunning attributes before then. Despite his chiseled body, thick dark hair slicked back in a ponytail, and the infiniteenergy of a seventeen-year-old, he was merely the deliveryguy, as far as Grace was concerned. Ricardo from the route, the other women called himâthose who had noticed their daily dose of Puerto Rican flavorâwas built for speed and logging long hours.
The delivery guy fought back a tattling grin when he caught Ms. Wet Paint slipping. “Marcia, my love, how's tricks?” he said suspiciously. “Got any last-minute orders today?”
“Wouldn't you like to know?” Marcia teased, with a lift in her voice and lust in her eye. She continued lusting until Ricardo'sgaze drifted back to Grace, who was trying to look away. Marcia cleared her throat. “Huh-hmm. Now that you've mentioned it, I do have an order for you
on my desk
.” She didn't try to hide the fact that she was a bit jealous.
on my desk
.” She didn't try to hide the fact that she was a bit jealous.
“All right then, I can handle that,” Ricardo answered her. “Catch you next time,” he added with a friendly wink.
“Miss,” he bid goodbye to Grace as an afterthought on his way out.
Grace straight-faced Ricardo's good-bye as if he was never there. She wasn't interested in him past just looking at an endless supply of Latin machismo, regardless of how easy on the eyes he happened to be. Ricardo was the delivery guy, period. At least that's what Grace kept telling herself as she strolled out onto the floor, thinking that if she timed it right, she could get a bit closer when he waited for an elevatorgoing down.
As soon as Grace made it to her office, she placed an immediatecall to the mailroom, urgently requesting a ream of Express Services labels, and then sauntered through the minefieldof workstations toward the reception area. She caught the same types of glances she'd received when sneaking a peek at André's teacher that night at the school, sly contemptuousglances that seemed to insinuate she should have waited her turn to schmooze with Ricardo like everyone else.
After Grace engineered her simply-by-chance run-in, she sidled up behind Marcia at the elevator, who was already there to hatch her own scheme to do the same. When Grace's assistant realized who was standing there, she panicked and made herself scarce by bolting for the ladies' room. On cue, Ricardo rounded the corner with an empty cart. Grace began tapping her shoe on the carpet when it appeared her plan was going to work. She had no idea what to do when the opportunitypresented itself. However, she was sure of one thing; there was no way she'd do anything scandalous at work, with so many of her employees looking on.
Seconds before Ricardo eased up next to her, the elevator doors opened. An intern from the mailroom stepped off hurriedlywith a shrink-wrapped bundle under his arm. “I believethose are for me,” Grace informed the freckle-faced college student.
“Miss Hilliard?” he asked, nervous and surprised that she was so attractive. “They said you needed these right away.”
“Thank you,” she answered, with an expression that screamed, “You can run along now!” The intern recognized that look all too well, and he hastened to comply just as Grace's expression strongly suggested. The young man disappearedlike a shot down the side staircase, leaving the bundle of labels with Grace.
Ricardo allowed the elevator doors to close while watching their strained interaction. A thought crossed his mind, but he let it pass so as not to open his mouth only to say the wrong thing. With a woman like Grace, he'd learned the hard way to speak only after being spoken to or risk being subjectedto a devastating outcome afterward.
Grace tore at the thin, transparent plastic covering the stack of shipping labels. “Excuse me,” she said finally. “Can I use these for next-day delivery?”
“No, ma'am, those are for regular mail only, but I can run down to the van and get plenty of the ones you need if you want.” Grace studied the way he smiled, a little too accommodatingfor her taste. Momentum had shifted to his end of the court, and she didn't like the way it felt. Ricardo was overly cocky, and flexing as if she was a sex-starved secretary.He had the sex-starved part right, but he'd underestimatedher ability to turn the tables and walk away.
“No, that won't be necessary,” answered Grace as she spun on her heels to demonstrate just how easy it was to do. The Devil was stalking Grace, just like her girlfriends had predicted he would. Previously, she wouldn't have wasted her time chasing a delivery man. Desperate times had pushed her further than she'd intended to go already, so she popped her collar and shook off Ricardo's mojo as best she could, before finding herself in the worst kind of compromisingposition, one she'd be repenting over.
Chandelle came out of nowhere with a gang of attitude. “Humph, I saw that. It's a shame that a man can't do his job without trying to get his freak on while he's at it.”
“Chandelle, what are you talking about?” Grace asked, praying that her ill-advised elevator rendezvous hadn't been detected.
“I saw what was going on, Grace, with Ricardo Diaz. Uh-huh,Pretty Ricky's what they call him. He used to deliver officesupplies to the firm I clerked for when I was in college. Good thing you didn't get too close because he'd have been trying to hit that. Yeah, girl, the word is out on him. He's been known to tap a sistah in the back of that van of his. Not that he's your type, Grace, but you have to watch out for playas like him, he's nasty.” Chandelle held out her left hand, proudly inspected her wedding ring, then flounced down the hall in the other direction.
Grace stood there, wondering what was really happening, all the way around. She had allowed herself to traipse behind a delivery guy, and if that weren't bad enough, a younger employee was cautioning her against it. Grace was still tryingto figure out how she'd fallen so far and so fast. Linda tried to warn her but she wasn't ready to be told anything at the time. Soon enough, Grace had to come to grips with the incontestable truth that the best lessons learned were the ones causing her to get jammed up after having been forewarnedin an I-told-you-so fashion. Those always left a mark.
A few hours later, Grace needed to get away from the office,so she took an early lunch and made a beeline to the mall. She exchanged a pair of shoes at Nordstrom's after purchasing them the week before and discovering she alreadyhad the same pair when putting them away in her walk-in closet. On her way out of the department store, she passed by an interesting underwear display in the men's department.She caught herself imagining Tyson in a pair of designer boxers, as she studied the male mannequin over the top of her sunglasses, before heading down to the lower level for salad to go. The food court was bustling with noonday traffic, mostly young mothers pushing baby strollers and businessmenscouting out their next ex-wives. Grace was paying the cashier when a familiar voice called out to her.
“Miss Hilliard, I thought that was you.” The voiced belongedto the office supply delivery guy, Mr. Rico Suave, the same one who'd inconceivably managed to pitch a temporarytent in her head. “I didn't think you wasted time shoppingfor yourself. Thought rich chicks had somebody to fetch stuff for you.”
“Excuse you?” she sneered. Grace was attracted to him, but refused to be mistaken for a common hoochie.
“I figured, since we're both off the clock, we could speak freely. No titles, no stress.”
“Oh, is
that
what you figured?”
that
what you figured?”
“Yeah, and I'm never wrong about these kinds of things,” Ricardo answered proudly.
“Humph, there's a first time for everything,” she fired back, in a defining manner.
“Oh, it's like that? Tell you what, lemme ask you one question, then I'll bounce.” When Grace didn't shoo him away like a bothersome housefly, he grinned eagerly. “Cool, cool. Question, I've been riding this route for three years, and this morning was the first time you ever had two words to say to me. Why is that?”
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