Any Way the Wind Blows - E. Lynn Harris [22]
I was in my kitchen sipping some coffee when Bart walked in with just his jeans on. I looked down, not wanting to look at his face or that fabulous fat ass of his. I had broken not only one of my mofo’s rules to live by, but a second one when I allowed him to spend the night. Yeah, he was sexy as fuck (as dudes go) and knew how to please, but after I had gotten off twice, I was ready to say, “Would you like a glass of water before you leave?” When I looked out the window and saw a fast driving snow, I guess I felt sorry for old dude, knowing it would be days before a black man got a taxi on a night like that. But I can’t figure out what made me begin a conversation that make it sound like I was concerned about his life. I even quit doing that shit with females a long time ago. What got into me? I can’t drink anymore on work nights. I’m gonna have to leave those concoctions of cognac and Alizé called Thug Passions alone.
“So did I get the job?” Bart asked as he walked over toward my kitchen counter.
“Yeah, you got the job,” I responded, even though I didn’t know what he was talking about. I supposed he meant head jimmie sucker for the next three months or so.
“I enjoyed talking with you last night. I mean, great-looking and smart, too. I hit the jackpot,” Bart said.
“You think so?” I mumbled under my breath.
“When I woke up this morning and I was looking at you, I thought for a moment I knew you from somewhere,” Bart said.
“I used to do television. Maybe you saw me there.”
“Maybe. Besides, it’s not a good memory, so I’m glad it wasn’t you.”
“If I was a bad memory, you would have remembered,” I said.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“So when can I see you again? I mean, like a real date,” Bart quizzed.
“Bart, I should tell you something: I don’t date dudes. I might hit it with a hardhead every now and then, but I don’t date,” I said firmly.
“Cool, then when can we ‘hit it’ again?”
“Leave me your number and I’ll get back with you,” I said. Bart walked over toward my phone, where I kept a notepad and a pen, and wrote something down. He took a piece of paper and pen and handed it to me, asking, “Can I have your phone number?”
“I’ll give you a call. You see, my shit is on the down low. I’m dating a female pretty seriously,” I lied.
“I don’t date bisexual men,” Bart said.
“Then we’re on the same page,” I said.
“But sometimes I make exceptions when they look like you,” he said.
“Hey, let’s just take it slow and see if we gel. But you’ll have your chances,” I said as I walked toward the bedroom. I went to my closet and pulled out a dress shirt and began to put it on. I figured if old dude saw me getting ready for work he would finish dressing himself and hit the road.
Bart walked into the bedroom and watched me dress for a moment. Then he said softly, “I have my own place, and you can come see me anytime.” This was beginning to feel too deep for me, so I decided to lighten things up.
“Dude, Bart, I only give the fellows three coupons. You’ve really used up two, but I am willing to count last night as one.” I laughed.
“Coupons? I don’t understand.”
“Three times to ride the jimmie, and then I move on.”
“Is there any way I can earn some bonus coupons?” He grinned.
“What do you mean?”
“If I want to see you more than three times? I think you had a good time last night. That was just the beginning. It gets better,” Bart said.
“I don’t think so. Every time I break my own rules, trouble follows. So for now I think we better just say you got two coupons remaining. Besides, I mean, a good-looking brotha like yourself can have your pick of the dudes and bitches,” I said.
“Don’t you remember what I told you last night? I don’t date women,” Bart said.
“Never?”
“Never. So what about the job? If you think I’m so good-looking, why don’t you make sure I get the modeling job?” Bart said.
“I’ll talk with some people,” I said.
“Judging by the size of