My Soul Cries Out (22 page)

I
tried not to make a big deal of getting dressed for my non-date with Alex. I kept in mind what Alaysia said about conquering my fears about fine men. That's all I was doing. Conquering for the fat girls. I put on a pair of jeans and a burgundy turtleneck sweater. I dusted on some face powder, put on eyeliner, frosty mauve lipstick, and some silver hoop earrings. I wasn't trying to look like I made an effort.

I arrived fashionably late and scanned the restaurant. It had a contemporary Zen decorum with the pungent fragrance of lemongrass and Asian spices filling the air. A waitress led me to our table, where Alex was already nursing a mixed drink. Alcohol? I mentally subtracted a point from his perfect ten-ness.

He stood and gave me a kiss on the cheek. He smelled wonderful. Some sort of earthy, musky scent like the Muslims sold in those little oil bottles. I silently added back half a point. He looked great in a pair of jeans and a black sweater that hugged his chiseled chest. I added back another half point, and he was back to a ten.

As we chatted through dinner, he kept losing and gaining points. He lost a point for making a face when I ordered the curry tofu with vegetables and brown rice. He got the point back for agreeing to be open-minded and taste it. He lost two points for ordering pork, then got them back for his really cute laugh when I said something silly. He lost three points for cursing several times, but got four added when he told me how great I looked in my jeans. He lost three points for interrupting our conversation several times by answering his cell phone and staying on it for long periods of time. He got one point back when I reminded myself we were just hanging buddies. I added one more back for the cute way he held up his finger to let me know it would be one more minute, and another point when he made silly faces at the phone to let me know the person on the other end was droning on and on.

He got two points when he finally said, “Enough interruptions. I'm turning this thing off.”

He leaned over and said, “So, tell me more about you. What made you decide to go into this whole health thing in the first place?”

Minus one for leaning too close into the personal space zone. Plus five for asking me about me. “Before I moved to Atlanta, I worked for about six years as a nurse.”

“A nurse? You mean a real nurse?”

“Yep, a bonafide registered nurse.”

“What made you walk away from that?” He propped his head in his hands and looked genuinely interested. Plus two.

“It just got old. It didn't feel like we were helping anybody. And it was the same thing over and over, every single day.”

“What made you go into nursing in the first place?”

The spikey blond waitress brought Alex another mixed drink and set a teapot and cup in front of me. I dumped a couple of packages of Splenda into the pot and warmed my hands over the steam.

“My grandmother. She moved in with us when I was twelve. She was really sick—high blood pressure, diabetes, and she'd had a mild stroke and had real bad heart disease. I made sure she took all her pills several times a day and took care of her feet. Over the years, she got real bad ulcers from the diabetes and had to get her toes amputated, then part of her foot, then her lower leg. Then her other leg. Seemed like she was always going to the hospital and coming back with a little more of her body cut off. My mom had a weak stomach, so I did her dressing changes. She always said I was going to be the best nurse one day.”

I took a sip of my ginger-peach tea. “I watched her die every single day. Every time she came home from the hospital, a little bit of the sparkle would be gone from her eye and a little bit of spunk from her spirit. Right before the last time she went into the hospital, she called me into her bedroom and pulled me real close. She said she loved me, was thankful for me taking care of her, and was proud of the nurse I was going to be. I was sixteen, so I didn't get what she was doing. She never came home from the hospital.”

“Sorry. She was lucky to have you.” Alex squeezed my hand. “I bet you were a great nurse. What made you quit? Didn't you enjoy helping people?”

I didn't pull my hand away from his. The strength of it around mine felt good. Six more points.

“That's just it. You never really help people. The people like my grandmother, with the multiple diseases on multiple medications? They never get better. You feed them pills and watch them deteriorate until they finally die. Most people aren't willing to make the lifestyle changes it would take for them to get better.”

“Is that why you decided to do the alternative health thing?”

I shook my head. “I wish I could say that. Truth be told, when I first got here, I was becoming one of my patients. I was overweight and had just been diagnosed with diabetes and high blood pressure. If I hadn't made the changes I did, in about thirty years, I'd probably have started losing my toes and having heart attacks. Alaysia saved my life. After a few months on her program, my doctor stopped my meds.”

Alex's eyes were huge. “I can't believe you didn't tell me this before.”

“Why would I have told you all that personal stuff?”

“Monica, it's not personal stuff. Don't you see? What a huge marketing hook for your business. Not only can you be a gym, but you can market yourself to local doctors' offices as a lifestyle program with a registered nurse who does health counseling that can cure high blood pressure and diabetes.”

“I wouldn't say ‘cure'.”

“Maybe that's a bit strong, but . . .” I could see the wheels in his brain spinning. Being brilliant at business made him even more attractive. Four points.

“You could probably set it up so you can bill health insurance companies. That gives you a broader client base and much more income. Do you have your nurse's license here?”

“No, but it shouldn't be too hard to get.”

“Great. Start working on it and we'll put together a database of medical practices and do a brochure specifically for patients with the diseases you mentioned.”

I smiled. “You never stop working, do you?”

He shrugged. “It's who I am.”

The waitress came and set our plates in front of us. Alex looked over at my tofu. “I promised to taste that, huh?”

“Yep.”

We spent the rest of dinner mapping out our new business strategy. While Alex was writing, his arm kept brushing against mine, and he kept touching my hand when he got excited about ideas. His touches intoxicated me, and I had to remind myself we were just hanging buddies. I kept adding up the points and Alex, with his good-looking, good-smelling, brilliant, funny, sweet self, was up to about thirty by the time we finished eating. I had to stop myself from thinking about what kind of husband and father he would make. I was doing that “black woman with a plan” thing he talked about.

Finally, the waitress gave us the “get out of my section so I can serve someone else and get another big tip” look, so I tapped my watch and hinted that maybe we needed to bring our non-date to an end.

“Are you serious? We're just getting started. I thought we might go to the salsa club in Buckhead. That is, if you can dance.”

“Is that a challenge, Mr. Thompson?”

“I do believe it is, Ms. Harris.”

“In that case, you're on.” It just so happened that the Latin dance class at the gym was my favorite. I had learned how to salsa, merengue, mambo, and cha-cha.

I followed him to the club and we parked. He took my hand and led me inside. It was getting harder and harder to think of him as a hanging buddy.

The club was packed to capacity, and the thick air pulsed with the infectious heartbeat of the conga drums. I knew I was the envy of every woman and a few men in the club. Alex was not only gorgeous, but he moved like he had some Cuban in his hips.

I should have known better. Latin dance was way too sensual for hanging buddies. We gyrated and twisted to the Latin rhythms. I rationalized that we were just dancing, but I felt the Holy Spirit tapping me on the shoulder saying, “Excuse me, Miss Thang. What do you think you're doing?” I figured with everything I had gone through the past year, I deserved to have some fun with a beautiful man, so I ignored Him.

After we worked up a sweat, we decided to get some drinks. I ordered iced tea, and Alex got a Long Island Iced Tea. I frowned at his drink order, but after the dancing, I stopped subtracting points. We sat at a table in the corner, hugged up, talking some more. I rationalized that we had to sit close so we could hear each other over the music. I couldn't rationalize his hand on my thigh. I could almost see the Holy Spirit sitting across the table from me, shaking His head, tsk-tsking my bad-girl behavior, but I didn't pay attention. He had to understand how much I needed this.

Alex was at a solid fifty points and counting. After we finished our drinks, Alex fanned himself and suggested we go get some air. He put an arm around my waist and led me outside. I felt like I was the one who had been drinking alcohol.

When we got outside, the March evening air chilled the sweat on my body. Alex held my hand and looked down at me. My heart pounded. Before I could blink, his full, sweet lips were on mine. We kissed until I couldn't breathe. I could hear the Holy Spirit telling me to stop, but I didn't care.

I kissed Alex again, shocked at myself. He pulled back and smiled.

“What happened to rational adults making a conscious decision?” I asked.

“You're right. We should go back inside. One more dance and we'll call it a night.”

Everything was going so well until . . .

This
person
approached Alex on the dance floor. He wore tight jeans and an even tighter muscle shirt, and I could swear he was wearing foundation and eyeliner. “Hey.” He stared at Alex too intently.

I looked at Alex to see if he really knew this person. I was shocked when he gave him a hug and said, “Don't you look good.”

Forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-seven . . . Alex's points were plunging by the second.

“Monica, this is Shawn, an old friend of mine.”

Forty-six, forty-five, forty, thirty-five, thirty . . .

Shawn shook my hand, but looked at Alex. “Old friend? Is that what I am now?” He paused dramatically and looked at me. “Oh, I'm sorry. Shhhh, my bad.”

Twenty-five, twenty, fifteen, ten . . .

Shawn slipped Alex a card. “Call me.” He walked off.

I looked at Alex. “I'm ready to leave.” I didn't wait for his response.

When we got into the parking lot, Alex grabbed my arm. “Whoa, you aren't on a treadmill. Slow down. Let me explain.”

I turned around, sure I didn't want to hear his explanation. Last time a man said, “Let me explain,” it changed my whole life.

Nineeightsevensixfivefourthree . . .

“I didn't tell you because we were supposed to just be hanging buddies. I didn't expect us to . . . you know, hit it off so well on our first outing. I guess now is a good time to tell you. I'm bisexual.”

Negative 100, negative 1,000, negative a million . . .

I nodded and walked to my car, pulling my keys out of my purse.

He followed me. “Monica, wait. I didn't think you'd have such a problem with this. You seem so intelligent and open-minded.”

Negative ten to the ninth power, tenth power, eleventh power . . .

I didn't look at him. “Sorry, Alex. I gotta go.”

I slammed my car door and drove off before he could say another word.

 

 

When I came in the door, Alaysia came running to hear about my date. “Soooooooo?”

“Sooooooo much for you picking me out a man.” I slammed the front door. I stormed into my bedroom. I took off my shoes and threw them into the closet. One of them missed and put a small black mark on the wall.

Alaysia's eyes widened. “What's wrong with you? Did he try something?”

I mimicked her voice. “Choose well, Monica. Just go out on a date and try him out, Monica. He's fine, he's smart, he's successful. Forget your two-year wash-out period, Monica.” I threw my purse on the bed.

“Calm down. What happened?”

“What happened? I'll tell you what happened.” I described our run-in with Shawn at the salsa club. “Mr. Gorgeous, Mr. Perfect, Mr. Brilliant is bisexual.”

Alaysia's hands flew to cover her wide-open mouth. “Alex is bi? Who knew?”

“You certainly didn't. ‘Let me pick out your next man, Monica'.”

Alaysia laughed.

“Please, help me understand what's funny.” I stomped into the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth and some soap and scrubbed my face and lips where he kissed me. “That's it. I'm swearing off men forever. I will never look at another man, never go out with another man, never marry another man. NO MORE MEN.” I came back out and paced around the room. “How does this keep happening to me? Am I a gay magnet or something?”

“Technically, Monica, Alex isn't gay. He's bisexual. When you think about it, Kevin—”

Alaysia jumped when I let out a loud scream. “This is not the time for a lecture on the different categories of sexual preferences.”

“Sorry.” Alaysia sat down on the bed. “It doesn't mean you should give up on men altogether. There are plenty of men at Khalil's church you might be interested in.”

“Do I look like I'm interested in meeting anyone else?” I gave her the evilest face I could muster.

“Can't say that you do. Not at this minute anyway. I don't want you to give up. You just got the nerve to date again, and just because things didn't go well with Alex doesn't mean—”