Noni Jones in Harlem

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Caroline

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I parked my luggage in the middle of the living room and started dialing. Now come on Caroline, you know better than this. But at this point, I didn’t. No shame. Dealing with Mr. Smart Ass’ attempted coup de tat had done a number on me. I needed to unwind, in the purest sense. Not with a bottle of wine. Not with Sade nor a vibrator. But with a real, live, male body.

His voice mail answered. “Hi. You’ve reached Lance. Leave a message.” I wanted to obey that deep, sexy recorded voice on the other end of the phone, but I clicked off, stressed, too stressed to sound enticing.

I was on edge. Needed to do something productive to shake it off. I started hanging my suits in the closet, put a load of laundry on and turned to CNN. The anchor was saying something about Ted Kennedy’s funeral.

I heard my phone rattling on my night stand and I ran to answer it.

“Hello.” Could barely breath.

“You finally home.” His bajan cadence seemed more pronounced now that he was in the states. Funny.

“I am. Just got in today– I was calling to see if you were busy.”

“I was wondering the same thing on your end,” he shot back.

“What do you mean?”

“Last few times I reached out to you you didn’t return my calls.”

He wasn’t serious.

“Are you being serious?”

“Of course.”

Apparently in my not responding to his every call I had broken an unspoken rule. Woops.

“Well then Lance,” I swallowed (pride). “I’m sorry. I had a rough time in Paris. You know I wasn’t there on leisure. It was business.”

“No need to explain. How are you now? How was your flight?” Clearly he caught himself, tripping.

“I’m doing well now, happy to be home. Happy to be talking to you,” I told him, letting my voice dip one sexy octave. I could play his game.

But he called time-out. “Wait can you hold on a minute?”

Lance wasn’t home alone. He was going back and forth with an adolescent boy. I know because the other voice still had the screech of puberty.

“I’m sorry. Nelson’s having trouble with the wireless in here. We’ve been trying to get it to work all day. Do you mind holding on for one more minute.”

I was so un-prepared for that interruption I hesitated. “Ummm… do you need to call me back?” Really, I was the one who needed a moment. Hell, I needed a Snickers bar.

“Yes, that would be best. Hang by your phone, okay sweet heart?”

I agreed. My limp body promptly slid down the wall. All the sexual energy just oozed right on out of me. I crouched down on the living room floor, pulled my knees to my chest, and shit, I blanked out. Had one of those moments where the only thing on your mind is what’s right in front of you. In my case, the living room windows. The sunlight was beaming on my skin, feeling good. But it was deceptive sun light. It was chilly outside. Autumn had arrived early in the City.

It was the season of change.

A month ago we lived an ocean away. A month ago we were nothing to each other than a memory, albeit it a pleasurable one. And in one fall swoop, in the amount if time it took to have one Parisian adventure, my perfect fling had acquired feelings and a kid.

Better put, this fling was having an erection. Within two weeks time it had become bigger, deeper, and far more complex than I was prepared to handle. I could feel my vaginal muscles tightening up at the thought.

The anchor was talking about health care. I’m so tired of this debate. Let’s do already. I got up. Changed out of my bra and beige suit pants that I was crazy for sitting on the floor in.

When the phone buzzed a second time, I collapsed on my bed and answered it.

“Hey sorry about that. Where were we?”

“Oh it’s okay. I think we were trying to sync our schedules.” I still wanted to see him. I still had my own selfish needs.

“You were saying Paris stressed you out, right?” He was putting it on me with his voice. He must have been out of his son’s earshot.

“It did.” I closed my eyes, focused in on our conversation. Wanted his words to wrap me like a cashmere throw.

“So what can I do to make you feel better?”

“You can start by making your way over here.” Note, I suggested my place as I would for now on. God forbid his son walk in on us. That would be a lesson in sex he’d never forget.

“And then what? What do you want me to do to you after I arrive?” Lance was killing me softly. Knowing that every word sent shivers up my spine. Made me cross my legs and cringe. Damn. Every word an invitation to sex. “Hello Caroline.” “How are you, Caroline?” “Lay down and spread your legs, Caroline.”

I told him, in great detail, what I wanted to him to do to me, where, and how. I didn’t want to make love. I didn’t want to waste time gazing into his eyes. I wanted to fuck. I wanted him to pump me until sweat dripped of his chin and chest. I wanted him to turn me over and take me from the side. I wanted to get on top and go buck wild. I wanted to close my eyes and see the colors of the rainbow. I wanted to fuck the stress of Paris away and fuck until we cleared the air of all this emotion mess. I wanted to fuck the relationship raw. I wanted to fuck until it was just fucking sex.

He doesn’t take direction well.

He came over an hour after our phone call and the first thing on the agenda was a shower. And we laughed hysterically. He was poking me in all the places that he remembered I was ticklish. Do you know how good it feels to laugh out loud, in the shower? And then when he mounted my damp body, he didn’t go hard. He went slow and deep. Kissed every part of me, prolonged his own orgasm until he watched me shudder. It was good. So good. Too good. Suicide dick. So good, I didn’t want to repeat it. We fell into an easy sleep, interrupted abruptly by the sound of his pockets rattling. It was after 11. He was leaving.

“You heading home?” I asked, looking up at him. I was groggy. My body limp.

“Yeah sweetheart, you know I got to to get back”. I was fixated on the sexy region where his groin met his belt buckle. He was fastening his pants. Still hadn’t pulled his shirt on. I wanted to mount him all over again. But I couldn’t. I had to respect that this man had grown-up responsibilities.

“So Nelson? That’s his name.”

“Yehp. Uhhh his grandmother named him after Nelson Mandela. He’s a handful, ” he laughed as he sat on the foot of my bed. He stroked my legs through the covers.

“I bet. But you can handle it, dad!” I smiled.

“That’s big daddy to you!” he laughed. Then he got quiet. ” You going to keep in touch with me?” Something about the way he looked at me when he said it, like he was pleading. I detected something fragile in his tone. Something he’d never forgive me for breaking.

Suddenly we’d gone from a playful tryst, to a tryst that was not to be played with. I was nauseous.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said. It felt like a lie. I wanted him, but I didn’t want his emotions. I didn’t want to carry his baggage. Hell, I have my own. I didn’t want to worry about hurting this grown man’s feelings every time I had to cancel on him because I was working late, or because I had other plans, or hell, because I just didn’t feel like it.

He kissed me, passionately. It felt like a thank you. Like he was saying, thank you for accepting me, all of me, back in to your life. Wait. Let’s be real. Thank you for not destroying my ego.

I miss the London days, when it was care-free. At the end of all the love mess, I was going back home. I had an ocean and youth on my side then.

I don’t get why I have such a hard time staying out of relationships. Seriously. Can a woman have sex with a man she likes, maybe loves, and enjoys spending time with, without the commitment? Minus the sentimental shit. Men do this all the time. A man can screw a woman for years, and amidst all the screwing, she not realize she’s being screwed. We live in a sex with no strings attached society. Women take dicks over commitment every day. Too bad for double standards.

I had a hard time going back to sleep. Even a nymphomaniac like me enjoys waking up in a man’s arms.

-Caroline

Caroline

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I tell you, this shit is getting old. Old and tired. I mean if I had a nickel for every time some Tom, Dick and Mr Charlie tried to steal my idea, I’d own half this company by now. I could retire before thirty and not have to put up with this shit.

It’s been a long day. I’m trying to unwind. I’m on my third glass of Merlot this evening. Probably should have chosen something stronger.

I knew that this  time around Paris wouldn’t be the city of romance, the city that I, a self-proclaimed Afro-Dite, love to turn out. This time around Paris was work  and a crazy hectic mess.

The company’s developing a new celebrity fragrance that we’re passing off as being ‘created’ by a  young actress that you all know.

Originally we wanted the scent to be bliss in a bottle, an up-beat  chypre targeting single twenty somethings with dreams of big weddings and autumn walks through Central Park in Manolos.  You know what, perfume is very cheap to make.  You  pay for the bottle and the dream.

We thought we had it. The lab put together an amazing rose-peach-cedar scent. Something sophisticated yet sweet, with a brush of naughty. Something I’d even wear.  I projected that this scent would have a broader appeal, maybe even reach into the older demographic. We had the ad campaign approved  until a sample group of ‘average’ Joes and Janes sat around a dry room in New Jersey, sniffed a  dozen viles, different variations on the scent, and checked ‘no’.

Shit.

Emergency overhaul.

I mean, I find out I’m going to Paris on a Monday, and by Thursday my team (meaning I) need a brand new marketing strategy. I worked my ass off. Grabbed maybe 5 hours of sleep (cups of jamal*) over the course of 48 hours. Took an Ambien on the plane and slept the whole way there.

This time around we directed the perfumers to take out the nuance. No room for coquetry, just girlish. Obnoxiously sweet. Something for the woman with sling backs, lace bras, and tea cup dogs. A blend of  Bergamot, lavender, cedar… a hint of apple martini. Nothing I’d ever where, but a guaranteed hit.

All this work so Mr. Smart Ass could present my idea before the board this afternoon as if they were his own. The day before the meeting he agreed to do  the first part of the presentation– the numbers. Then he’d  leave the strategy, the magic, up to me. So when I heard my words leaving his lips– I nearly choked.

Me and the other guy just stood there, like he was Gladys and we were the Pips. Needless to say, the board loved my game plan.  He was congratulated personally by the company heiress for saving the day

And what was I supposed to do? Smile and be grateful they even let a colored girl in the room. No, maybe fly into a rage, confirming suspicions that I’m nothing more than an angry Black woman in Prada.

Hell if I know.
I swallowed the loss.

I’m listening to Shirley Bassey sing “I am what, I am” (loves it), feeling light headed, tipsy, like I might be sleep in the next half hour.

I’m so frustrated I could scream.

But who am I kidding? I want to get laid.

I miss Lance like crazy. It’s times like this I just wish he was hear to hold me.You know those really long hugs that last a zillion minutes and leave you feeling like of all the places in the world you’ve traveled, the cove between his right and left arm is your favorite.

Besides a few text message and one short conversation, we haven’t talked much. Haven’t had time to be sidetracked.Yesterday morning, he wrote “I miss you.” Sweet.

I need it right now. Need it badly . And I want only him. Two more days.

Bisous,

Caroline

Caroline
Honestly, I must be on that same stuff as Noni.

Lately I’ve been acting more like a teenager with a crush than a grown woman with a job, a very important job. Work? Right. I took the week off and spent 3 days straight in Lance’s apartment.

My friends all know that its easier for me to express what I’m feeling with song lyrics so this is my life, in a single verse, as expressed by Ms. Badu

Like a wave I am free
Going places, being things I wanna be
Settle down, is oh so hard
But I will grant you that one chance
So pick the right card
And don’t miss it, take your time
You’ve only got one chance

In my last entry , I told you about our reunion. At dinner he told  me he wanted to explore other options and I nearly spit out my wine. First of all, not slick. The only thing Lance is trying to explore is me. And I don’t mind. The morning after that date he was still sleep when I first woke. I nodded off and woke up again as he was stepping into his  pants. I asked him if he was heading  home. No. He was about to grab us breakfast. It was crazy deja vous. He remembered that there’s nothing I like better in the morning than a quickie black coffee (no cream) and a croissant. It was a nice gesture.
I think we were both trying to play it cool on the first date but that got old fast.  I don’t know.  It really feels  like we just picked up where we left off all those years ago.

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So Sunday night I was prepared for work the next day. Actually, I was about to get in bed when he called me. He’d met up with an old buddy and was in my  neighborhood….right. But in spite of my eight hour sleep requirement, I invited him over. He slipped into bed with me and watched some old black and white on Turner Classic Movies.  He had his arms wrapped around me and any time I shifted or so much as moved an arm, he began  rubbing me and kissing me every where a woman wants to be kissed.  I could just melt. It’s the difference between sex and intimacy. I’ll finally admit that I’ve been indulging in one, and denying myself the other. In spite of  the obvious sexual tension,  we actually stayed up catching  up until about 3 AM. And then, tired to the point that we were slurring our words and forgetting our thought mid-sentence, we stopped beating around the bush.  We had sleepy sex, but it was good no less and woke up later than I planned. Lance and I began kissing and his warm body felt so good next to mine, I suddenly felt flu-like. At least that’s what I told my  boss.
Hell, I was suffering from romance deprivation  and I needed Dr. Feel Good to take care of me. He did. We ended up shifting our rendezvous to his place. It was barely furnished, but he has a wonderful sleigh bed and an entertainment system, which of course was the first thing he set up, so we were good. I’m going to need for him to get some plates though. I brought an over  night bag with one change of clothes in it.  So when the one night stay turned into a two, and then to  three… I wore his sweat shirts with my stretch pants, when we weren’t in the nude.

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Yesterday Noni threw a last minute “Bon Voyage” dinner for Geneva and I.  She’s heading to the Martha’s Vineyard with her family and I have to go to Paris for a two week trip. I wouldn’t say this out loud, not even to Lance, but I hate leaving.  My friend Noni is becoming quite the entertainer. Yesterday she ordered pizza and calamari and served wine. Yes, I was being sarcastic, but I don’t blame her. She was still trying to pack.
Geneva is hurting and I hate to see her like that.  She feels that she’s in a stale mate with Paul and she’s scared to reach out to him,  but honestly, if it were me, it would have been over last week. I mean…

Nonetheless off to Paris, the city of romance,  but I’m leaving my romance at home. Bittersweet.

Bisous,

Caroline

Caroline

Saturday was the first Saturday in a while that I didn’t get up and head to the office. Instead, I went to the gym. Lord. I’ve started going to this 24 hours place and I even found the nerve to get me a personal trainer. He’s fine too. I’m mad he started the session telling me how good I looked in my fitness gear. I was like, “Thanks. So let’s get started”. I wasn’t even trying to get side tracked. If he can work me out in bed like he did yesterday morning, hmph. Nonetheless, we did some intense rounds of circuit training, cardio, some crazy work with a medicine ball…Lately I’ve been on a fitness/health kick. We’ll see how long that lasts.

After I got home, took a shower and answered some emails. I had to focus on the night ahead. The last time I had seen Lance was maybe four summers ago. I was visiting some of my family in London and he and I connected. I remember he met me at my cousins house when no one was home, and let’s just say, we shamelessly made love on the floor of the guest room. Yes… this man has that effect on me.

So I was scared. I had no idea what to expect. I mean, did he think he was just going to move to the states and take control over my life? Hell no. I have too much going on. But to be painfully honest, I know I have a weakness… and that weakness happens to be his strength. Lord help me.

He called around 4 and let me know that he’d made dinner reservations at Smoke, a jazz club, that for me is just a quick subway ride away. I got myself together, eventually. Went into my closet, stood there for a good 5 minutes and eyed a chocolate brown off-the-shoulder number I’d never worn. Now was as good a time as ever.

I decided I looked to damn good to ride the subway. I wasn’t trying to swear at every Tom, Dick and Harry that would take one good look at the West African figure in a skin tight dress and loose all sense that God gave them. I took a town car and as my driver swerved over toward the curb, there he was standing. Ready. I payed the driver, took my time doing so, and then I took a very deep breath. Come on girl. Get it together. Caroline, this is just a- a date. A meeting of two old friends.

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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, sexy 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?

The band finished and the crowd erupted into applause. I was happy for the interruption. When they resumed, I changed the subject to something more pleasant. Music. And as we discussed Maxwell and Sade’s rumored comeback, I let his remarks slide to the back of my thoughts.

He asked if I was ready to go around 11. Not knowing what I was doing, I nodded yeah. We stood outside looking at one another. Was he about to get one cab or two.

He shrugged. “I’d have you over, but my place is barely furnished. Is yours close to here?”

Not slick. “It is.” What was I doing? Thinking with my damn vagina was what I was doing. “You want to have a night cap?”

He just smiled and stepped forward to hail a cab.

The foreplay began during the ride home. There are some lovers with whom you will always have an instant rapport. You can spend years apart, but the moment you see each other it’s like those years collapse into a single day. He held me close, kissed my neck and nibbled on my ear. He told me how nice it was to see me and how he’d prayed for this day. I was the one he couldn’t shake. It was so romantic and left me feeling like the 21 year old junior that was sprung for this incredible older man.

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I opened the door, praying he couldn’t see my hands shaking as a I turned the key. He closed it and locked it behind me.

“Nice place.” My Harlem apartment was my second move since grad school. It was a one bedroom condo on the periphery of Hamilton Heights. We were standing in the large foyer, where my living space had the essentials; a flat screen tv, creme leather couch and chair, a glass coffee table, a stack of fashion and Fortune mags. A black lacquer Chinese screen separated the living space from my work space; a teak desk, my Mac, and the collection of books I call my library. There’s an African mask against the wall, as soon as you walk in. I bought it while I was visiting family in Nigeria a few summers ago. I love my high ceilings and I don’t want to ruin the effect, so the white walls are practically bare. I’ve hung two abstract works and a painting of a black woman that I fell in love with instantly. The frame cost me a fortune.

“Can I offer you something to drink.”

“No, but you can come here.”

I walked toward him, pressed my body into his. He ran his hands down my arms and looked deeply into my eyes. Finally, after what seemed liked minutes, he kissed me. He took his time, slowly moved his tongue, sucked on my bottom lip, ran his hands along my back and butt. And before I could wrap my mind around what was happening, he lifted me up and carried me into my small kitchen. It was there he hiked up my dress and placed me on the counter. He pulled my dress completely off, in between kisses. He unsnapped my bra and, took my breasts in each hand, and sucked them too.

“I want to give you a massage,” he whispered.

“Now?” I was throbbing.

“Yeah… I want to rediscover all of this.” At this moment, he looked so gentle. So sober. So much like the man a put together woman trying to have it all, dreams of.

He found the lotion, and I laid across my bed. He took of his blazer, shirt and shoes, and started to rub my body, section by section. He had me lay on my back. He said nothing while his fingers moved expertly between my legs and inside me. The next thing I know, I’m calling out his name, begging for us to have sex, as he ate me out. We finally did, all night. It was slow… and magical.

The next morning, I awoke before he. I turned over and watched that familiar back laying next to me. I wanted so hard to stay in control but in a matter of hours, somehow, I found myself– sprung.

Bisous,
Caroline

Caroline

Lance re-entered my life with hurricane force and arrived precisely during… a dry spell… that could only be quenched by a the rapture of a fine West Indian man. Me and artist friend for all intents and purposes called it quits and work kicked it up a notch. I was pulling over time at the office every night and even coming in on Saturday mornings. Sometimes that’s what it takes to get the  job done.  Anyways, as always, Lance has impeccable timing and charm that can sooth the most stubborn demeanor.

The week began with a shy text message. “Hey there… flying in tomorrow”.

I mean, what was I supposed to do with that? Except maybe, ignore it. Which I did and I pressed on with work. Went out, met up with Noni for martini’s and couldn’t hold it in.

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“Heffa are you crazy?” she teased, when she found out I was playing hard to get. “Don’t you know that when that  fine ass Black man touches down he’s actually going to be  viciously attacked by packs of wild thirsty women.  I’m going to need for you to claim him!”

I wasn’t convinced I didn’t want him to date other women. “I don’t know if I’m prepared for his drama, his baggage, for the commitment.. girl everything makes sense right now. Finally.”

“Well  are you scared he’s going to get on his knee and force a ring on your finger  the moment he sees you?” she laughed. “Just do it Caroline… And I do mean that in both ways.”

There’s no quieting Noni.  She’s thought Lance was the one since we were in undergrad. But now that I’m a grown woman, I rightfully have my reservations. No man is perfect.

Lance settled in , and then a few days later, took a second chance. He called.

You see a call is so much different than a text, especially when it arrives at 11:12 PM, while I’m laying in my bed, listening the Quiet Storm on WBLS.

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His voice… oooh… was like an ice cube being dropped down the back of my shirt.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I’m here.”

“I know.”

Clearly, we were both grinning on the other end. I was getting arroused by the sound of his voice (and the Luther Vandross in the background) and the thought of him sitting in a scantily furnished apartment, in his boxers.

“So when do I get to see you? You playing hide and seek.”

“No, just busy.”

“Ouch. I feel like I’m getting played.”

“Oh please, Lance.”

“You busy this Saturday?”

“I’ll have to–”

“Let me repeat the question. Are  you busy this Saturday.”

I took a deep breath. Held back, the smile that wanted to burst all over my silly face.

“Saturday when, Lance?”

“Saturday, night. Maybe we can hit up a jazz club, grab dinner. I want to take you out and catch up.”

“Yea, that sounds nice. Just let me know what time.”

“So where do you live?”

“Harlem,” I said, inflecting that he knew this already.

“I know that.”

“Hamilton Heights.”

“Oh okay.” He was breathing closely to the receiver.

“And what are you wearing?”

“Lance!”

“It’s a simple question. Answer it.”

“My night clothes.”

“Silk, cotton, flannel, panties? I remember you used to sleep in lotion.”

“Actually, I’m hanging up.” Again, clearly, I was playing. I wasn’t hanging up anytime soon.

“Come on.  Don’t leave me hanging… play along.” He poked.

“Okay. I am wearing a black silk gown and a matching robe.”

“Are your toe-nails painted.”

He remembered I keep a serious pedicure. “Yes.”

“What color?” He was making his voice as Billy Dee-like as he could and it was killing me.

“Fuschia pink.”

“Oh.” He said nothing for a few seconds. I sighed deeply into the phone and waited for what I  knew was coming next.

“So is the sound of  my voice making your nipples hard.”

“How dare…”

But let me not kid you. I wasn’t bashful. We had phone sex, just like we used to do when we lived an ocean away and his words worked me up into such a fit, I was ready to have him come  over, that night. Forget Saturday. He wanted to, but something inside me didn’t want to spoil the reunion. So I held off, and after 20 minutes of his vocal erotica, bid him good night. As you might imagine, it was difficult going to sleep.

And no shit, this song was playing on the radio.

Bisous,

Caroline