Title

South of Harlem Books

Atlanta, Ga.

INCLUDING THE RIGHT OF REPRODUCTION

IN WHOLE OR IN PART IN ANY FORM

BOOK COVER DESIGN BY Keith Saunders

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ISBN: 0-9754201-8-6

This novel is a work of fiction. Any reference to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales is intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Other names, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination.

For Thomas Maxwell,

Friends...How many of us have them?

CHAPTER ONE

Djuana Pioneer stood on the stoop of 657 Tudor Street. The brick, six-story building where Djuana grew up was the only structure standing on the south side of Tudor between 23rd and 24th Avenues. The opposite side of the street had a perfect string of tenement buildings.

Djuana was awaiting her man. As a treat, she was wearing his favorite dress; a blue lycra-knit, that hugged the curves of her plump thighs and shapely hips. A ballerina neckline highlighted her well-rounded, small breasts. She had a beautiful body. In that dress, she was radiant.

Djuana glanced at her watch; the gold timepiece was a gift from her man this past Christmas. It was now April, and that watch still had the sparkle of new in Djuana's eyes. True, she had only worn the watch a few times in the four months but it was a special gift. The seven diamonds that encircled the face represented her seven-year relationship with Dexter Forns. Her man.

Seven years. Djuana and Dexter met in the Galleria Mall when she was 18 years old and he was a mature, well-liked 20 year-old. He was gorgeous and just about every girl in Djuana’s high school wanted him; the boys at Hamilton paled in comparison. Dexter was tall, light and slender. He wore clothes well, expensive clothes. His voice was always a faint whisper and the correct words flowed off his tongue.

Dexter became Djuana’s first lover two months after meeting her, and technically, her only. Djuana met other men during the seven years, but none could steal her heart from Dexter. She knew of his variety in women, yet hung on to the hope that he loved her as much as she loved him, and that she would be the one he married.

Dexter treated Djuana gallantly. He would pour money and gifts her way. He was always patient and showed respect. He wasn’t a good listener, but liked to share his dreams. Djuana believed that once he committed, he was going to make a good husband.

Dexter loved Djuana's body. Well, no man could resist looking. He could not find her eagerness to please him in other women he slept with. She was also a devoted, loving intelligent woman.

Yet, Dexter Forns did not choose Djuana to settle down with. He thought he had no choice but to pick someone else.

Djuana glanced at her watch. A second later she looked again. In another few seconds she didn’t know what time it was. She was nervous; she had to tell him tonight. For three weeks she had instigated arguments by declaring he spend more time with her. She went as far as to tell Dexter to be a man and pick her or let her go. She never said what she really should have. That night was her deadline.

It seemed right to tell him that night. It was exactly a week since she found out for sure; a month since he had been out of reach. For some reason, suddenly, he did not answer his phone or return her calls.

A brisk, Oregon spring breeze ran a chill up the skin of Djuana’s arms. She had on the navy colored collarless cardigan style jacket she had bought earlier, yet the wind still gave her goose bumps. She folded her arms and checked the watch again.

Dexter’s burgundy Mazda pulled into the empty space in front of Djuana’s building. She came down off the stoop and approached the sports car. Dexter opened the door from the inside. The sound of the Whispers on his cassette tape deck guided Djuana into the car. She sat quietly after a weak hello kiss. Dexter was not much of a kisser, and that bothered Djuana.

At a traffic light, Dexter took a full view of Djuana’s soft, round face. He smiled. Djuana had the most inviting eyes; they weren’t cheerful, but warm. While still driving, he moved her dress up her leg with his right hand and gripped the inside of her thigh. Djuana didn’t mind his hand; she wanted her body to be his. Also, she knew he would be turned on by the dress. She moved closer to shorten his reach. The more pleased he was, the easier it would be to talk to him.

Before dinner arrived Djuana had sipped down two mixed drinks. Her courage would come from the Pina Coladas, she bargained. She found herself looking beyond Dexter into the wall-to-wall mirror at the back of the quiet soul food restaurant. She gazed at the other diners; her eyes fixed on a pretty light-skinned young lady holding a rose, cuddled across the table with her date. The guy, not handsome enough, Djuana thought, held both of the attractive, light-skinned woman’s hands. He was kissing them finger-by-finger. The pretty lady’s nice smile warmed Djuana.

Djuana sipped her drink. She felt a buzz after the fourth colada, yet couldn’t resist when the waiter asked if she would like another. She looked into Dexter’s eyes. Was he ready for this? Was she?

Dexter enjoyed seeing Djuana drink. He would try to get her to drink whiskey, rum or gin without the additives. Something strong. Two drinks would bring a glossy glow to her olive-brown eyes. Her smile would seem dreamy; a large blush, as he laid any bullshit he thought up on her. Sex that night would be great because all her silly inhibitions would dull. But when Djuana ordered her fifth colada through dinner Dexter became suspicious. He inquired, and Djuana flatly answered she needed to drink.

After a pause, she noticed the suspicion in his deep stare had not died down. She complained that it had been a long week at work and that she needed to unwind. It had been.

Dexter nodded, looking forward to some good sex. Djuana’s dreamy look aroused him.

“You know something,’’ he began, taking her soft hand and rubbing her knuckles. “I want to take you to the Bahamas this summer.’’

He went on to say more, about how nice he heard it was down there, but his words floated by Djuana. Now she was ready to talk. She gulped the remains of number six. The mixture shivered the non-drinker. The bartender had been making them stronger with every request, she believed. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head to regain her composure. She bit the piece of pineapple from the edge of the glass and waited for the perfect time to cut in. She only waited less than a minute before speaking softly, almost in a faint whisper.

“I have something to tell you,’’ she forced her eyes to meet his. “I’m two months pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.’’

She did it. She felt both relieved and scared. Her eyes watched her fingers part another slice of pineapple, then she bit it. Her eyes refused to look at Dexter until he replied to the bombshell she had dropped.

Dexter’s upper body tilted back in his chair. He stared through Djuana. His sniffed his upper lip to his nose. Djuana had pictured many different responses, but silence was not one of them.

Finally Dexter tossed his napkin over his near empty plate of food. With his elbows perched on the table he leaned toward Djuana.

“What do you mean you’re pregnant?’’ He forced his voice into a whisper, his face distorted. “I thought you were on the pill?’’

“I guess it didn’t work,’’ Djuana could have kicked herself. She reminded herself of the seemingly thousands of times she rehearsed her come back lines to muff them in the heat of the first questions.

“I can’t believe you. How could you pull some shit like this?’’ Dexter’s voice remained contained in a low vibe, and his fiery temper controlled. Djuana watched him stand. He continued, now raising his voice slightly. “What you’re tryin’ ain’t gonna work. Get rid of it.’’

“It?’’ Djuana shouted. She rose and met him eye-to-eye from across the table. “I’m having our baby!’’ Her voice carried throughout the eatery.

“No you’re not!’’

Forks dropped, diners looked in their direction. Dexter stood, sifted through his wallet and tossed money on the table. Without another word, he turned to leave and Djuana sprinted after him.

She grabbed his arm, “We need to talk.''

In a rage, Dexter spun Djuana from behind him and grabbed her face with his right hand and slammed her head into the wall near the restaurant’s entrance. The sound of the back of her head hitting the plastic wood wall covering brought astonished cries from diners. Nobody moved toward the arguing couple, though.

Dexter held Djuana by her arms in a tight grip. She did not try to move. “Listen. ‘Cause I am only gonna tell you this once. I ain’t having no fuckin’ baby. And I ain’t getting married to you right now. Got it?’’

With a shove, Dexter let Djuana hit the ground. He smoothly walked out.

Djuana was stunned. For a moment she thought she was in bed at home. Some men helped her up. Tears gathered in her eyes and drained slowly. She felt a thousand eyes upon her.

“Are you okay? Can I call you a taxi?”

It was the waiter that had served her all those drinks. Djuana struggled to get on her feet. Once standing she made her own way out. The Maitre d held the open door for her. She began the long walk home, staggering a bit on the wet pavement, immune to the soft drizzle for two blocks. Her legs guided the way and her mind followed. Tears? Only a few. Djuana Pioneer had done no wrong, she told herself.