The Business of Lovers by Eric Jerome Dickey

Author:Eric Jerome Dickey [Dickey, Eric Jerome]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2020-04-21T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 25

BRICK

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, I parked Miss Mini on Stocker. Not until then did Mocha Latte let my hand go.

Like a gentleman, I opened her car door, let Mocha Latte out. She stood tall, adjusted her clothing, sighed at the world that had been mine for a few years, some judgment about me or her life passed but kept to herself. Mocha Latte stood motionless and beheld the Afrocentric neighborhood where she was squatting. So many thoughts were on her mind. She snapped out of her trance, adjusted her secondhand dress, then took slow steps, moved like a sophisticated lady, like she was Jackie O., as we walked up the worn stairs to my sixty-year-old apartment building.

I asked, “Want to come over and kick it on my oversize classic sofa a bit?”

“Uh, no. No need to ask me to Netflix and chill.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“What happened in Vegas, well, that was Vegas.”

“You can have the bed. I’ll crash on the oversize classic sofa.”

“Keep it professional. I’ll go and let Christiana watch over me.”

“I can watch over you. I know you sleepwalk. I’ll keep you safe.”

“I’d misprize to waketh up from mine own deep catch but a wink with thy cock in mine own that from which we speak, down mine own throat. Or I wouldst waketh up with thee consuming mine own pussy.”

“I wouldn’t do that. Hashtag I support Time’s Up. Hashtag I support Me Too, too.”

“You know my secret. You know how I sleep. It could happen, and it would be my fault.”

I shook my head. “It wouldn’t be.”

“Besides, I need to sleep so I can pick up my Rubicon in the morning. I left it parked before the job with Christiana and Penny.”

“I’ll drive you. No charge.”

“Nah. Uber. I don’t need you. Might kick it in the Valley. Or drive to Santa Barbara to get away. Guy on a dating website wants to meet. He responded to that corny stuff about going to movies.”

“You met somebody.”

“Told him I might do a daytime-brunch thing, just to connect, see what he’s about.”

“Who is he? Okay to ask that?”

“He’s an engineer too. I get to be a nerd again, for a while.”

“Smart, like you.”

“He’s a mechanical engineer at Aim Systems Network.”

“You didn’t say that earlier.”

“I know. Was on a date with you and didn’t want to spoil it.”

“Was it a date?”

“For about five minutes it felt that way. You took me to Sweet Chick. Paid for it. Kissed me. Danced with me in the streets like we were Ginger and Fred. If that’s not a dream date, I don’t know what is.”

I paused. “Hope the rendezvous works out for you.”

“A favor, please?”

“Yeah?”

“Wine?”

She followed me to my crib but stayed in the front door. I gave her the Château Margaux Red ’98. It cost seven hundred a bottle retail. It was my favorite wine. I’d hoped to one day open it and share it with a woman who loved me as much as I loved her. Men fantasized too. We were just as foolish as women.

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