Geneva
I never thought I’d lay eyes on Dr. Feel Good again, but it
didn’t matter because his image was indelibly etched in my memory. The way wrinkles
formed beside his eyes when he smiled at me, his perfect white teeth, and his kind
brown eyes, as sweet and intense as
salted caramel. I remembered him completely, though I’d only saw him twice. The
first time, the day I arrived at Columbia Presbyterian with bruises all over my
back side. Well apparently, I gave him an eyeful that day. And then two days later,
after they moved me from the ER and he came up to my room to say “hello”.
Something about the way he tucked a few loose curls behind my ear and smiled at
me made me quiver. When I think about it, I can still feel his gentle fingers
on my forehead.
Wait, I’m actually not convinced this man didn’t slip some
root in my IV drip.
After the day I caught a beat-down at work, which may go
down as the worst day of my life, the last thing I wanted to focus on was man. Any
man. I followed Caroline’s tough love and stopped answering the deluge of phone
calls from Paul. It wasn’t easy. Part of me wanted him. Wants him. Always will.
That’s what people don’t get. When you’re in love, sometimes you place your man’s
happiness above your own. I know that without me, Paul is miserable. And who
are we kidding? On some deep, gut level, every woman wants to be needed in that
way.
But I found other things to fill the void. There’s a small yoga
studio in Harlem that I live for. I’m up at 7 AM meditating with other sistas
and even some grandmas that put me to shame in downward dog. I had started an
acting workshop and I was reading everything under the sun. On this fateful day
I had lowered my literary standards enough to read Fifty Shades of Grey. No
offense, but if I’m going to read erotica, I’d rather read Anais Nin. But Noni
had to read it for a book club and I took it from her. Curiosity always kills
the cat.
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1.5 million people in New York, the chance of running into a
doctor who probably pulls 24 hour shifts at Columbia Presbyterian are slim to
zilch. Dr. Feel Good, you see, I never learned his real name, maybe he told me
but I was high on pain meds at the time, certainly doesn’t hang out with the
same crowd as I. I don’t paint him as the bohemian type. But if there is one
place to have chance encounter with anyone, anywhere, it’s Starbucks. It’s the neighborhood
crack spot, attracting any and every fiend willing to grossly overpay for a
fix.
Summer was over and I had a taste for a cozy white mocha
frappe. I made it a venti, handed the barista my card, and slipped through the
crowd of corporate zombies headed downtown to wait for my drink. While waiting
for my drink, I flipped open Fifty Shades.
Firstly, I don’t make
love. I fuck... hard.
Jumping over the edge of one’s pain threshold, for the sake
of a man’s pleasure was sounding all too familiar when the barista called my
name.
I couldn’t resist licking some of the whip that oozed from
the lid right off, so my mouth was literally agape, tongue compromised, when I
felt a soft tap on my shoulder. I jumped and hot, frothy cream slid down my
fingers scorching them in the process. I winced, and turned around, clearing my
upper lip of the cream I could feel was there. Then my stomach sank. There he
was. Clearly on his day off, he was dressed casually in jeans and an Izod shirt.
His hair, lush, jet black and curly like Persian lamb, was slightly longer than
I remembered.
For a second I stood there not knowing what to say, my
fingers on fire, still dripping with cream, and me feeling so unprepared to be
face to face with a man more gorgeous than I remembered. Then again, I’d never
seen him while standing upright. I wanted to run. To dash in the bathroom and
at least make sure there was nothing in my teeth. Damn, I chose today not to
spritz my curls or floss for that matter.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, it’s just you looked
familiar. I think I was your attending a couple months ago. Columbia
Presbyterian?”
“Oh yes, Dr....” I
swallowed my freaky nick name just in time.
“Dick.”
“Doctor what?” I
stumbled, my expression surely betraying me.
“Dr. Dick. Darius Dick.”
“Oh.” What the fuck?
Did this man just tell me his name is Dr. Dick? Wait I can’t. Not right now.
Not when I just finished licking whip cream off my cup and face. Not when I’m
reading Fifty Shades of Grey for God’s sake.
“Here take this for ...” he said gesturing his napkin
towards my now sticky fingers.
“Oh thank you.”
“I can hold your cup and your book while you do it. They
always fill the cups to the brim.”
“Um thank you,” I said embarrassed that of all times, I was
being spotted in public reading a book that everyone knows is about bondage and
S&M.
He handed me my drink and book. “And you are Geneva?”
“Yes,” I said surprised. “You must have a really good
memory.”
“I do. Most doctors do. But I also hate to forget a pretty
face.”
My eyebrows raised. I was standing their looking straight
dumbfounded. All sorts of patrons bumping into as I hadn’t moved an inch since
I turned around.
“I hope I’m not being too forward.”
“No.” Please, keep going.
“After you,” he gestured for me to lead the way out of the
throng. The flow of people into Starbucks had picked up. I headed out of the
door, still in shock that Dr. Feel Good was trailing me.
It was before 8 AM and the morning air was still chill, blowing
my frizzy curls askew. I could sense he was stalling and so was I. There was
more.
“So how are you?”
“Healthwise, good. Definitely better off than when we met,”
I smiled.
“Something else wrong?” He suddenly looked very concerned.
“No, no. Just a lot of change.”
“Which way you headed?”
“I’m going to work. That way
I said pointing in front of me.”
“Well, ummm,” he was turning a crimson shade, “I don’t
usually do this but if you ever have some time I’d love to grab coffee, maybe
drinks. Maybe you can tell me about that change. Or just, a little more about
you.”
“Ok,” I said, a silly grin sweeping my face.
“Okay?” Somehow he’d fetched his phone.
“Okay, I’d like that.”
After we exchanged numbers he surprised me, yet again, with
a warm hug, filling my senses with that familiar Christmas scent. What was it,
so clean, and spicy and warm? Chestnut roasting on an open fire? I didn’t have enough time against his chest.
Before I knew it we were off on our separate ways.
I heard his voice. “Geneva!” I turned back around.
“I just wanted to say most women the same reaction, you
know, to my name.” And then he flashed a Denzel smile and I was done. I grinned
but I was dying on the inside. Dr. Dick? Wait until Caroline hears this.
As I walked away, feeling about ten pounds lighter, I sipped
my white mocha and silently scolded myself for having done the bare minimum
that morning. Yes, I’d showered, but my hair was at its wildest, no lip gloss,
no perfume, nothing remarkable. Yet I felt as if he couldn’t take his eyes off
of me. I wondered if he’d follow through on his offer and honestly nervous
about actually having to sit across from this fine man and not fidget. He wasn’t the type of man that dated women
like me. He was far too pristine, too commercial, and too perfect. Men like him
didn’t have the patience or desire to deal with swings, or too peel back layer
after layer. But perhaps I could enjoy
him until he learned how flawed I was.
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As I continued to walk toward the theater my elation shifted
to paranoia. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. I kept
looking behind me. Everything appeared normal; throngs of people walking with
purpose and looking straight ahead. I tried to remember when last I took my
meds. Yesterday, but it takes more than 24 hours of withdrawal to make flip
out. The hair on my neck was standing on end but I continued to walk, just a
quicker pace. Two blocks later I reached
a light. As I waited to cross the street, I realized I was staring straight into
his dark eyes.
Shit. It was Paul.
I turn on my heels, walking in the opposite direction
immediately. As my pace quickens I soon realize I have broken into a full
sprint. I look behind me, he’s no longer there. For a moment I question whether
or not I’ve hallucinated. I even consider that this morning is all a dream but
none of those second guesses stop me from hailing the first vacant cab I see. I duck in, slam the door, and exhale. Safe.
I spend the work day convincing myself that the Paul I saw
was a figment of my overactive imagination. I don’t know, maybe running into
Dr. Feel Good, excuse me, Dr. Dick triggered it. I haven’t seen Paul since my
injury. Sure, he’s tried to call dozens of times, but I’ve not physically seen
him for close to two months.
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I was exhausted by the time I returned home, climbed three flights of stairs to reach my apartment. All I needed was to close my blinds, switch on my Itunes, and throw myself across the bed. But I couldn’t. Paul was blocking my entry into the door and this time, I could not run.
“How long have you been here?”
“This is for you.” He gets up off the floor where he’s been
resting against my door for God knows how long. He hands me a Susana Baca CD,
Afrodiaspora, and I realize that this is his peace offering. He’s never been a
flowers and champagne kind of man.
“Thank you.”
He still blocks my entry into my house.
“Yo, we need to talk.”
“About what?”
“About the dude I saw you with earlier.”
“What do you want to know?”
His eyes darken and his pupils contract. He is seething at
the sight of me with another man and I instantly feel guilty. What is it about
Paul that does this to me? But I don’t want to fight, so I open the door and he
follows me in. He makes a beeline for my bedroom though I’d been hoping we
could sit on the living room couch. Neutral territory. Too bad the dogs were
barking because they probably need to be walked and my roommate hadn’t yet made
it home. So I follow him into my bedroom and close the door to drown out the
noise.
Bad idea.
Paul pushes me against the wall and locks me into position
with the sheer force of his body. He smells so manly, like irish springs and
salt. And when he kisses me, he draws the breadth from my diaphragm. He’s so
forceful. I can feel his teeth touch mine and bite my lips.
Finally he stops, but he doesn’t let me escape the wall.
“Who is he?”
“He’s a doctor. He was my doctor, when I went to the
hospital. Remember?”
He let go and immediately the room felt as if it dropped ten
degrees.
“Damn Geneva, why haven’t you returned my calls? How many
times can I apologize for something I didn’t even do? When are you going to let
me love you again, like you need to be loved, and stop playing with me? Huh?”
I feel if I can sneak a phone call to Caroline right now,
she’ll save me, because right now I can’t think straight. I am so attracted to
him and it’s been two months since he’s touched me, since anyone has touched me.
“She could have killed me, or really hurt me” I murmur, “and
it’s over you”.
“No, she’s crazy.”
“But was what she said true?”
“Come here,” he says sternly.
I don’t move. I can feel what is about to happen and I know
that once it does, he will once again raise his flag.
“Come here,” he demands again, pointing to the spot next to
him on my bed.
I begin to cry, not loudly, but scorching rivulets are pouring from my face and I can’t find my voice It feels as if someone has me by the throat.
I begin to cry, not loudly, but scorching rivulets are pouring from my face and I can’t find my voice It feels as if someone has me by the throat.
“Geneva,” his voice softens “please sit next to me.”
I do as I’m told.
He wraps his arm around me and nuzzles his nose into my
hair. “I love you. Stop playing these games. Don’t ever do that again.” And his
hands creep so tenderly to the edge of my breasts and I can feel myself growing
in excitement. His kisses fall from my ears to my neck, each one a soft pillow.
And I can feel his stubble against my skin, making me all the more sensitive to
his touch.
He slips his hand into my shirt and undoes my bra.
Answer me.
“What do you want me to say?” I say out of breath.
He picks me up and lays me across my bed and crawls on top
of me. “Tell me you’ll stop playing games with me. Say it.”
He’s busy undoing my clothes. Pulling up my shirt. Pulling down my pants
and panties with one fell swoop and before I can get my thoughts together, I
can feel his bare sex against my clit and he’s hovering, teasing, knowing that
my body has a mind of its own. My hips are rising in spite of myself.
“I love you too.”
“And...” He pushes two fingers deep inside of me. I moan. “I
won’t play games.”
“That’s better.”
And with that, things return to normal. We stop talking. The
cage door swings open and two months of freedom come to an abrupt end. I didn’t
mean for this to happen. He reaches over and turns off the lamp and enters me,
hard, punishing me as I scream out in agony, for every day I didn’t return his
call.
-Geneva