Excerpts from "Noni Jones In Harlem, The Written Confessions of Three Harlem Ladies" (596 hits)
New African-American blog-fiction revolving around the personal lives of Noni, Caroline and Geneva. http://www.nonijonesinharlem.com
Caroline I opened the door. He rushed over gallantly and held it open. “There you are. I was hoping you wouldn’t chicken out on me.”
“Oh Lance,” I grinned. “I’m not that cold. You’d never recover.”
“You’re right.” I caught floating gaze as he took me all in. “Well come on, give the old man a hug.”
He held his arms out and I fell inside. Oooh. He felt so good. Smelled so good. He had a fresh hair cut, a tan blazer, dark of jeans and fine leather shoes. It was a fly, very New York ensemble, but he still looked a bit older than I remembered. His cognac eyes were still capable of looking through me. I swear, as I took a step back and looked into them, he could read my thoughts. I looked away. “Smoke,” I said, smoothing my dress. “Great choice, I love it here.”
“Yes, I uh… ” he held the door open for me. “I asked around, places a respectable man could take a smashing lady on a Saturday night. You been here before?”
“Yeah, my friends boyfriend, he plays jazz.”
Inside, Smoke was more like a living room than a night club. It had laid back, s*xy atmosphere. It was the kind of place where noise forced intimacy. When the band picked up, you had to lean real close to hold conversation. I like that. We were standing near the door of the waiting to be seated at one of the small tables. They were almost to capacity, even though the music wouldn’t begin for another hour or so.
“Nice dress,” he whispered and then boldly placed his arms around me, and pulled me toward him and held me by my waist.
“Thank you,” I called over my shoulder, a little flabbergasted.
When the music began we were half way through our meal, and working on a second round of drinks. I needed that Cab to chill. All these years later, I still enjoyed his company and the quartet was slamming. I grew bold.
“So…”
“Yes…”
“What do you want to do?”
“Now… tonight, tomorrow?”
“You know what I mean.”
“With you.”
“I mean, yes. Lance, we haven’t dated in forever and I’m just thinking to myself, does he want to start where we left off or… You know, we’re in completely different places in our lives now.”
“I feel like with a busy woman like yourself, that’s not my decision to make. But honestly, I just want to take it easy. I’m not really looking for anything serious.”
I nearly spit out my drink. It was the last thing I expected to hear. Actually, my face was suddenly and unexpectedly- tight.I mean this is the man that practically kissed the ground I walked on when I was fresh, naive twenty-something. And now that we’re reunited he wasn’t looking for anything serious? Let me not trip.
“Yea…” I nodded. What was I supposed to say?
But he continued. “I just got here from London. I’m about to get my son. I’m trying to just enjoy the city… see whats out there. So… you don’t have to worry Caroline. I’m not going to rain on your parade.”
I laughed… one of those luke-warm te-he’s you let out when you have no clue how to react. Was he serious?
Geneva
Cut to the encore performance. Paul and I didn’t talk much on the way to catch the subway. He held me by my waste, his thumb making small circles in my flesh, and I became engaged with the smell of his cologne. When we opened the door to my place, thank God, my roommate was gone. Good thing. Because if she was there, she would have learned more about me that night than she cared to find out. He picked me up in one fluid motion (because his upper body strength is actually ridiculous). He pulled off every article of my clothing, he even undid my bun allowing my hair to fall softly at my shoulders. He licked and kissed and nibbled me everywhere…. My collarbone, my ear, the spot to the left of the nape of my neck that makes me quiver… He ate me out for a good twenty minutes until my thighs were soaking and I was screaming for him to stop. And it wasn’t until then that he removed his clothes and asked me how badly I wanted him. In which I could only utter in slurred syllables… “I want you”. He put on a c*ndom and took me missionary, entering deeply and slowly and with the skilled rhythm of a conga player on the Havana streets.
We connected. Together, he became the what to my who. The predicate to my subject. The verb to my noun. He was the -ing, bring every intense wish to life. We were buck-ing, rock-ing, kiss-ing, suck-ing, explod-ing… finishing each other’s sentences in a primordial love language.
Noni
“ How lovely.” Beat. “Well it was wonderful chatting with you Carter. Thank you for the drink” It was a tried and true tactic. Finish the conversation first and unexpectedly. A Goddess doesn’t linger. He looked surprised. I rose from my seat, touched his shoulder, and leaned into to air kiss him on the cheek. It would give him a final dose of my intoxicating scent and an outward sign that I was indeed interested.
“Hey Noni” he called. “What’s your favorite song?”
“Green Dolphin Street.” I said stepping back. He grinned. A jazz connoisseur, he knew exactly what that implied.
Lover, one lovely day, love came, planning to stay. Green Dolphin street supplied the setting. The setting for nights beyond forgetting.
His band reassembled and I recognized the intro to the Coltrane classic immediately. I could see his eyes searching for me in the dark room and when they met mine, he nodded. I was done at that moment. Literally. At that moment, I was his to have.
Carter found me after the show, and slipped me his card with instructions to be not a stranger. Always coy, I waited. But when I finally reached out, I discovered that my instinct had been spot on. He and I spoke for hours and hours about music, politics, history and everything else that we could our ears to phone a moment longer. I appreciated his intelligence. It was a connection unlike any other I’d experienced before.
Those close to me are still in shock that we live together. Understandably. We haven’t dated that long, about four months. Carter is 15 years my senior. He is newly divorced, and he has a daughter. It’s enough ‘baggage’ to scare most of my Betty girlfriends off, but I refuse to pass up on the man I believe God has set aside for me.
