Jovie seems a bit conservative and timid, yet there’s a fire simmering in her veins, waiting to be ignited by some inappropriate remark or gesture. I’m starting to wonder if her demure, fragile persona was just an act. Still, I was curious enough to continue to pursue her. Once we got to the restaurant, she seemed to have loosened up a bit.
“Do you drink?” I asked.
“No.”
“Neither do I,” I lied. “I don’t drink, smoke or do drugs. What about you . . . do you smoke?”
“No, but my sister does.”
“And I thought you said you two were identical,” I joked.
“We are.” She laughed, and I realized she had the most beautiful smile and perfect teeth. “My sister is everything I’m not. She’s sophisticated, smart and a risk taker.”
“Tell me about you,” I asked.
“What do you want to know?”
“Your likes. Dislikes. How you were as a little girl. Things like that.”
“I don’t have any history,” she explained.
“What? That’s ridiculous. Everyone has a history.”
“Well, maybe. I just don’t remember mine.”
“I’ll let you get away with that for tonight, seeing how shy you are.”
“Did you know that flutterby was the original name for the butterfly?”
I smiled. This one was definitely cut from a different cloth. She was amusing.
“I must admit that I have never come across that tidbit of information.”
“How unfortunate for you.” She smiled.
“No, how fortunate for me to have met you,” I teased. I could see her get uneasy and shift in her seat.
“Will you excuse me? I need to go to the restroom to wash up.”
“We’ve only been here thirty minutes, and you’ve washed up twice already. Are you seeing someone in the men’s room? Because if that’s it, tell that brother I don’t plan on giving up your company without a fight!”
She smiled politely and walked to the restroom anyway. I watched as her hips seductively swayed from side to side. As if she could tell I was watching, she took the swish from her hips and walked straight. For most, her actions wouldn’t have turned them on. For me, it did just that. I wanted her even more.
When she came back, she started in with a few questions.
“So, now that you know all about me, tell me something about you, London. What do you do?”
“I know nothing about you.” I smiled. “But I’ll answer your question anyway. I’m a bodyguard for Jessica, the pop star.”
“Wow! That must be interesting.”
“It pays the bills. But my real passion is writing. For years I’ve been writing screenplays and having my agent shop them around for buyers. I can almost feel that I’m getting close to closing a deal with a major production company.”
“Awesome,” she said, encouraging me to continue.
“Yeah, my goal is to make quality films starring African-American actors doing more than just being the villain or comedian.”
“You must be so proud of yourself.”
“Well yes and no. Yes, I’m proud that I haven’t quit. And no, because I haven’t made it yet.”
“But you will.”
“How can you be so sure?” I challenged.
“Because you have determination.”
I don’t know if it was the way she encouraged me, her sexy mouth or her mesmerizing eyes, but suddenly I had this strong urge to paint her.
“When we’re done here, I’d like you to come back to my place. I’d like to paint you.”
“Paint me? As in a portrait?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m very good. And when I’m done, just to prove I’m a stand-up kind of guy, I’ll give you your painting.”
“I’m too shy,” she said, resisting.
“I’ll make you feel comfortable. I promise. And if you’re not comfortable, just say the word and we’ll stop.”
Reluctantly, Jovie agreed and after dinner we headed back over to my place. I noticed that inside my car she was counting each traffic light. Nothing loud or piercingly obvious but I noticed nevertheless.
When we entered my place, I took her coat and went around lighting candles and starting the fireplace. I then put on The Very Best of John Coltrane. I felt good about how the evening was progressing.
I walked over to Jovie, who was practically hugging the sofa. I guessed she was nervous.
“Here, relax,” I soothed, and began to massage her tense shoulders. She resisted for a moment, but soon my strong massage soothed her and she submitted to my touch. After about twenty minutes, I walked her over to the fireplace and we sat on the floor. I wanted so desperately to kiss her, but I was afraid that I’d push her away. I didn’t want this to be about sex. I wanted it to be about art. I really wanted to paint her curves. . . .
“Are you relaxed?” I asked.
“A little. Are we going to begin?”
“Soon,” I said, and ran into my bedroom to get a canvas and my paints. When I came back into the living room, in my most nonassertive voice I said, “I’d like to do a nude painting of you. Nothing vulgar or intrusive.”
“Pardon me?” She gasped and clutched her neck.
“I’d like to paint you . . . naked. As I said earlier, you can keep the painting once I’m done,” I replied.
“I don’t even know you, and you want me to take off all my clothing?”
“This isn’t what you think. I’m an artist, Jovie. You’re an artist. It’s all about the craft,” I said and meant it.
“London, I’m sorry but I can’t. This is not what I do.”
“Jovie, you can trust me. I’ll turn around and you can tell me when you’re ready. Please do this one thing for me. I know you can do it because all your life you’ve always wanted to do something spontaneous. Like your sister, Jada,” I said persuasively.
She hesitated for a moment, but I could feel her wrestling with the idea in her head.
“Please turn around,” she whispered, and I did as I was told. Soon, I heard her clothing hit the floor. And it truly wasn’t a sexual thing at that instant. But I had no idea what it would become or what the night would have in store.