Daryl kept his promise. He called two days later. Sheila smiled at his strategic timing. She knew the unwritten rules about follow-up telephone calls. She herself had played the game too well with clients through the years. Calling the day after their date would have been a sign of anxious desperation. Calling three or more days later signaled a hope that something better would come along.
But two days after … well, she thought with a smile, that was just perfect. No matter what was said verbally, the unspoken message was, I’m interested. Let’s see where this might lead.
Since Sheila found herself attracted to Daryl anyway, she was glad he called. And she readily agreed to dinner and a movie with him.
“Only if I get to pick the film,” she said.
He heaved what sounded like a long-suffering sigh on the line, then laughed good-naturedly. “I suppose that means we’ll be watching one of those ‘relationship’ films.”
“You wouldn’t be disparaging chick flicks, now, would you?”
His chuckle was deep, indulgent. “Not at all, Sheila Mae. Not at all.”
“That’s not my middle name.”
“It just sounds right,” he said.
She smiled. He couldn’t know that that was the very nickname she’d grown up with. Only her closest and oldest friends got away with calling her Sheila Mae.
She imagined that he sat in a chair with his feet kicked up as he talked to her. Daryl seemed comfortable with his body, easy in the sense that he took care of himself, but didn’t overdo it. That was something she could appreciate just as much as the fact that he’d unknowingly hit on a sweet spot with her.
“So, what shall we see and what night’s good for you?”
For once, Sheila didn’t have to consult her Palm Pilot or planner to make an appointment. She was free every day. They agreed on Thursday.
The two days seemed to drag by in Sheila’s estimation. After spending the day working on the proposal for the nonprofit organization she wanted to establish, Sheila called it quits. She wanted lots of time to get ready for her date with Daryl Desmond. Four times now she’d decided and undecided what to wear. She listened to messages on the answering machine as she dressed.
“Hey, girl,” Tracy’s voice filled the air. “Don’t forget we’re still on for Friday night. We have box seats at the Met. And remember, we’re double dating. You’re going to love Perry’s friend Todd. He’s a lawyer. He drives one of those new cute little two-seater BMWs. Hope you’re enjoying your first week of freedom. Ciao.”
Shaking her head, Sheila could only smile. Tracy was something else. The date with Todd wasn’t something Sheila really wanted to do. She’d agreed to humor Tracy and her on-again/off-again boyfriend by going out with one of Perry’s fraternity brothers. She’d met Todd once before, briefly, at a cocktail party. He’d struck her as Tracy’s type: wealthy, healthy, and bourgeois.
Her own taste in men had always tended toward rugged brothers, men who worked hard, played hard, and lived life to the fullest. Even though she made the bank that put her in with the country club set, Sheila never let the status, the finances, or the seedy and snooty side of the very well-to-do rub off on her. Unlike Tracy, who hadn’t looked back since college, Sheila maintained ties with the community, with her sense of place and self. She believed in giving back because so much had been given to her. She knew that the success she claimed today came on the backs and through the sweat and tears and the shut doors and barred ways that her forebears faced.
Sheila’s only concession to the income bracket she’d worked her way into were the clothes. A boutique could be stocked from her closets alone. She’d always been a clothes hound—even if her tastes ran toward the conservative.
For the movie date with Daryl, she wanted to be comfortable but fashionable. She reached for her khaki jeans and vest, then remembered she was letting her hair down.
“Wild Sheila wouldn’t even own anything khaki,” she said as she headed to another part of her huge closet. “Wild women wear leopard.”
A pair of leopard-print leggings with black low-heeled mules were perfect. A black off-the-shoulder top and big jewelry rounded out the outfit. A riot of curls exploded from her head when she shook her new hair out. She’d picked up a bit of that glittery eye shadow she’d seen some college students wearing. That at her eyes and kiss-proof lipstick on her mouth completed her face.
When she finished dressing, Sheila wasn’t even sure she recognized herself.
She twirled in front of the mirror and laughed out loud. Not only did she feel incredibly free—she felt liberated, secure, and utterly invincible.
“And sexy,” she added with a Marilyn Monroe pout in the mirror.
A glance at the clock on the dresser told her it was time to go. Daryl would meet her at the movie theater.
When she got out of the cab and saw him watching her, she was glad she’d dressed the way she did. He looked pleased.
“Wow. You look great,” he said.
“Thanks.” She opened a little purse to pay the cabbie, but Daryl leaned down and handed the man some cash. “You didn’t have to—”
Daryl took her hand in his and raised it to his mouth. He pressed a quick kiss on her hand. “Your movie’s about to begin, Sheila Mae.”
She smiled. Hand in hand, they entered the theater.
More than three hours later they sat across from each other at a little soul food restaurant. “I never even knew this was here,” Sheila said, “And I pride myself on knowing this city.”
“Well, that just goes to show that there are a few surprising things New York still has up its sleeve,” he said.
She nodded. “Um-hmm. Like you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You flirting with me?”
Sheila waved a hand and touched her brow. “I must be losing my touch if he has to ask,” she said in a very bad impersonation of Mae West.
They laughed together as the waiter filled their coffee cups. “Can I interest you folks in some sweet potato pie?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Sheila said.
Daryl grinned. “I think that means yes.”
Then he leaned back. “So, what is it you said you do?”
The last thing Sheila wanted to do was talk about work. “Right now, I’m on something of an extended vacation. I’m, as they say, getting myself together.”
His brow furrowed, but he didn’t say anything.
Since he looked troubled by her less-than-forthcoming response, Sheila didn’t want to just leave her explanation hanging as though she were some kind of deadbeat. “I work,” she said. “I just need to get away. And this is my time.”
He nodded. “I can respect that. What—”
“Oh, look!” She cut his inquiry off and pointed toward the center of the restaurant. “They’re going to do a sketch.”
Daryl turned as two people settled on barstools in an open area. “Everyplace in this city has turned into a performance stage.”
She grinned. “Isn’t it great? I read about these sketches. I’ve never seen one, though.”
The restaurant owner made an announcement explaining that the restaurant would be showcasing local drama students, aspiring actors, and new writers every Wednesday and Friday nights.
“We want to encourage our young people.”
Daryl leaned toward Sheila. “This is the sort of thing that takes away from what we’re doing over at Della’s. It’s the same audience.”
Leaning closer so they wouldn’t disturb the performers and the other patrons, Sheila reached for his hand and gave her own assessment. “You’re sounding jealous. This city is big enough for every venue to succeed. Let’s see what they do.” She squeezed his hand.
Daryl looked at their joined hands, then at Sheila before turning his attention to the performance artists.
In the next fifteen minutes, the man and woman acted out an argument and make-up scene that had been set up as the introduction to a one-act play. The actress needed to tone down the shrillness of her voice in places and the actor seemed uneasy in the moments leading up to the kiss and make-up conclusion. While a little rough around the edges, the scene had potential. When it ended, the restaurant patrons politely clapped, then turned their attention back to their meals.
“Now, what was that supposed to be?” Daryl said.
Sheila chuckled. “Creative expression.”
He rolled his eyes. “Well, at least it was free. I’ve seen better—”
“Hi,” Sheila said cutting him off. “Enjoyed your sketch.”
Daryl turned around and faced the two performers, who were working the dining room, presumably for tips. Sheila waited a moment to see what Daryl would do and how he would act.
“You two in acting school?” he asked as he reached for his wallet.
The woman nodded. “I’ve done a couple of bit parts in commercials, mostly background work. I’d like to break into the soap opera market.” She handed Sheila a flier. “We’re doing the complete play at the Madison Theater. We’d love to see you. It’s a Sunday matinee.”
Daryl nodded as he dropped ten dollars into the Kangol cap the man held open. “Good luck to you,” he said.
“Thanks.”
The two moved on to the next table. Sheila sat back and smiled. “You’re an old softie.”
Daryl finished off the last of his pie. “No, I’m not. But I know what it’s like to believe in your art—even when it’s as bad as those two.”
Sheila laughed. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“For being a cute softie.”
Daryl lifted a hand as if to call the two performers back. “Hey, I got a fifty for you,” he said just loud enough for Sheila to hear.
Her delighted laughter echoed around them and earned a few curious glances from other diners.
They shared another piece of sweet potato pie and chatted the small talk of dates. Sheila managed to either sidestep or talk around anything that might hint of what she did for a living. Her date with Todd the next night would be full of that, all of the one-upmanship and status-conscious game-playing that seemed to go along with the turf.
Being defined by what you do instead of who you are was something that bothered Sheila as much as the fact that her coworkers thought she was all business and no fun.
With Todd, she knew she’d be the future vice president of an investment banking firm, valued not for the unique person she was but for the advice and tips she could offer, the contacts and connections she could make happen.
With Daryl she could be normal, she could let her new hair down. She liked being just a regular person, a person who lived, ate, and enjoyed the sights and sounds of the city. With Daryl she could be real. That was something she hadn’t really taken time to be in a long time.
After the bill was paid—by Daryl—he asked if she wanted to go listen to some music. “I know a terrific place.”
The corners of her mouth tilted up in a contented smile. “I get the feeling you know lots of terrific places.”
“Some of the best vibes in the city are in little out-of-the-way holes in the wall. You gotta know the way to get there, though.”
“And you’re the man with the directions.”
“Indeed I am, you know.”
“Well, lead the way, maestro.”
This time they went to a smoky place playing experimental fusion. Daryl got greeted at the door like a beloved brother, then was high-fived every few feet as they made their way to a little table with a RESERVED card on it.
“You knew I’d agree to this?” Sheila asked, pointing toward the placard on the table.
He held the chair for her as she sat down. “If I had, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to admit that, now, would I?”
She chuckled. “Hmm.”
With a grin, Daryl slipped into the other seat. “No, this table is always available for me. You could say I’m something of a silent partner here.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
That was definitely a good sign, she thought.
“Don’t read too much into that,” he said. “When Dray wanted to open this place a couple of years ago, he was a little short on cash. A couple of us went in together and made sure he had the down payment.”
Not only did he work for the city, he tipped well, and was now saying he owned part of a nightclub. Not too shabby at all, Sheila thought as she looked around. The lounge was small but intimate. No more than twenty tables were crammed into the space in a horseshoe around the stage, where the main attraction was a black baby grand piano surrounded by music stands, a drum set, and microphones. A short bar lined the back wall. People who didn’t have seats stood around the bar or up against the walls, where small ledges just large enough for a couple of drinks and a bowl of peanuts had been conveniently installed. The acrid smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the air.
Sheila briefly wondered if her weave would pick up the scent of the smoke. Then she decided not to worry about it. She was, after all, living the life she wanted to experience while on vacation. Jazz joints and smoky bars were all a part of it.
If those judgmental coworkers of hers could see her now, they’d know she wasn’t one-dimensional.
A waitress came by.
“Hey, Daryl,” she said. “Hi ya doing,” she greeted Sheila.
“Whazzup, Keisha? This is Sheila. Who’s playing tonight?”
“Mark Bradley and his crew. They’ll be back for the next set in about five minutes. The wings are slamming tonight, ’specially with some ranch dressing on the side,” she said as she placed two cocktail napkins on the table. “What can I get you?”
He held an open hand to Sheila. “They have some of everything. Want a beer?” Daryl said. “Wings?”
Sheila nodded, looking forward to the treat. She didn’t drink beer, and hot wings weren’t exactly on the menus of the places where she usually had lunch or dinner. So both sounded just perfect.
The waitress left to put in their order. Conversation swirled around them, the buzz not unpleasant. On her left a couple huddled together making that lovey-dovey small talk. To the right sat a table of five women whose conversation whipped all around.
“And I told Jamal get the hell up outta my house.”
“Girl, why you gonna be like that?”
“Hey, look. Joe Dell just came in.”
“Who is that on his arm? I bet his wife doesn’t know about her.”
“You know they have one of those ‘open’ marriages.”
“So what’s Jamal gonna do now?”
“Stop hogging all the wings, Miss Thang,” one of the women said as she snatched a piece of meat from the plates the table shared.
Sheila smiled. Hearing that sort of girl talk was exactly why she liked going to Della’s Place. She learned so much about the things that it seemed other people took for granted. Sheila had never had a Jamal in her life, a man to kick out of the house, because she’d never taken time to get involved in relationships, be they draining or fulfilling.
“You’re awfully quiet over there,” Daryl said.
“Just enjoying the atmosphere. This is a nice place.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
A couple minutes later, the band members made their way to the front—a piano man, a bass guitarist, a drummer, and a sax player. They eased into a tune that put the crowd in an upbeat breezy mood. After the second number, Daryl’s presence was acknowledged. The pianist urged him to join them, then slipped off the piano stool and picked up a saxophone as Daryl made his way forward.
Sheila smiled. She’d never heard him play live music. In the weeks she’d been hanging out at Della’s, he’d just been DJing.
Adjusting the microphone, Daryl looked out over the crowd.
“It’s nice to see all of you here tonight at Dray’s. I thought I could come in and kick back a little. But y’all are putting me to work. So I guess I better get busy, huh?”
The band members chuckled and waited to follow Daryl’s lead. He snapped his fingers, giving the band a beat, then placed them over the keyboard. A moment later, he held the place in awe, zipping through a couple of swinging numbers that had feet tapping all across the floor.
“We’re gonna slow it down a bit now,” he said after the third tune. “And then I’m gonna go back and sit with my lady.”
Sheila grinned and held up her drink in salute. One of the women from the table leaned over and whispered to her, “I bet those limber fingers can do wonders in other places.”
In good humor, Sheila laughed with the woman who’d jumped to a conclusion about her relationship with Daryl. But Sheila had been wondering much the same thing. She didn’t know much about Daryl, but what she did know was that her instincts about him were right on target. Instinctively she liked him—a lot. And her gut feelings had never let her down.
Daryl eased into some mellow Erroll Garner and followed it up with the intro to Nat King Cole’s “Unforgettable.”
“This is for you, Sheila Mae.”
He leaned into the mike and crooned the words of the classic tune to her. The smile on Sheila’s face matched the one that blossomed in other parts of her. She liked the path they seemed to be on, even though she didn’t know where it might lead.
As the final notes faded away, the crowd at Dray’s burst into enthusiastic applause. Daryl took a bow, applauded the band, and made his way back to Sheila after more high-fives and back slapping.
When he took his seat, Sheila was waiting. She kissed him, a move that seemed to surprise him. “That was wonderful. Thank you.”
He sort of shrugged, seemingly at a loss for words. She liked the sudden shyness.
“You are a maestro.”
“I just like music.”
“Have you ever recorded anything?”
He grinned, the shyness gone, replaced by the happy-go-lucky grin that had initially caught her eye. “As a matter of fact, I have. I’ll give you one. I’m hoping to get a record deal. I have a couple of appointments coming up.”
“I’ve never heard you play the piano or sing at Della’s,” she said.
“I’m working on that, too. Right now, Della Frazier’s focus seems to be on building the clientele and getting the word out that the lounge is there. See the people here?” he said, indicating the packed joint. “These are regulars. People who you can always find here once a week at the very least. Della’s is starting to get regulars.”
“Like me?”
He smiled. “Yeah, like you. Oh, man, I should have told them to play some Miles for you.”
“That’s okay. I’m enjoying this.” She paused and reached for his hand. “And I’m enjoying you.”
His eyes darkened and his brow lifted just a little. Though they were surrounded by people, the private moment was intimate, the air around them charged with the anticipation and the knowledge that something was happening between them. Something that could be wonderful.
Daryl leaned forward. She did, too.
“Hey, hey. None of that stuff in here.”
Sheila sighed as she sat back. Daryl didn’t look too happy, either.
“Dray, man, you have the worst timing of anybody I know.”
Since no empty chairs were around, Andre Devreaux leaned down, laughing. “Good set, man.”
“Thanks. Dray, this is Sheila. Sheila, Devreaux here thinks he knows how to run a club.”
Shaking Dray’s hand, Sheila smiled. “I’m having a great time.”
“How could you be? You’re with him. Tell you what, let me go deal with something in the office and I’ll come right back to rescue you from this joker.”
“Man, get outta here.”
The easy camaraderie between the men spoke of a long friendship. Sheila slipped her arm through Daryl’s. “I think I’ll keep him for a while.”
Dray shook his head as if in mourning. “I tell you, the brothers who can sing and play a little get all the pretty ladies.”
Looking at Daryl, Sheila then nodded up toward Dray. “I like him.”
The three laughed together. Dray caught the waitress’s attention. “Keisha.” He held up two fingers and pointed toward Sheila and Daryl’s table, indicating she should bring more food and drinks.
They stayed for two more sets, talking and munching on barbeque wings. They talked about music, about the merits of a small club like Dray’s versus large ones where admission was charged and the entertainment not half as good. Sheila was having such a great time she didn’t realize how late it was until Daryl suggested they call it a night.
“Believe it or not, I do have to work tomorrow,” he said.
They waved to the band and to Dray as they left the club.
Outside, she turned toward him. “Did you take me there to impress me with all the people who know you?”
He smiled. “No, Miss Sheila Mae. I took you there because I wanted to share with you something that means a lot to me.”
Something in his tone made Sheila look up. “You’re getting serious on me,” she said.
Daryl shrugged. “That bother you?”
She took a step toward him and traced the outline of the vest he wore over a white T-shirt. “No. It doesn’t.”
He slipped an arm around her waist. “Are we moving too fast for you?”
She gazed into his eyes, wondering what it was about Daryl Desmond that seemed to answer a yearning inside her. He wasn’t exceptionally good-looking. But he wasn’t what Tracy used to call a “country bama,” either. Everything about Daryl was solid, average, hardworking all-American. Sheila responded to that on a level she wouldn’t have guessed even existed.
“No,” she finally answered him. “We’re not moving too fast.”
“Good,” Daryl said. “’Cause what I want to do most is kiss the daylights out of you.”
Sheila smiled. “Well, I’m waiting.”
It was Daryl’s turn to smile. “Just for that I should make you wait.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.” Then she pulled him closer and pressed her lips to his.
They took the time to taste, to explore, to find a groove. Sheila felt her insides spiral in response to his touch. The warmth of him infused her with heat and with need.
No, they weren’t moving too fast. In one respect, she thought, things were moving too slowly. She found herself wanting him more and more as each moment passed. But she could respect his need to get some rest. Had she been working, she would have already been in bed—with a pile of papers and reading all around her, but nonetheless in bed.
“You’d better get some rest.”
He grinned. “That your way of telling me you’re gonna wear me out?”
Her eyes widened and her cheeks flamed. She opened her mouth, but no words came. She’d had a relationship once, a long time ago. But she’d never considered herself experienced enough or sexy enough to wear a man out in bed.
He chuckled as he took advantage of the moment and planted a quick kiss on her.
“I’ll see you home,” he said.
A second later, her speech returned. She shook her head, setting the weave in motion. She absently noticed that he seemed as equally enamored with her mouth as with her hair.
“That’s all right,” she said. “I can hop a cab. You should do the same. I didn’t realize I was keeping you out so late.”
He chuckled at her spin on their evening as they stood on the sidewalk in front of Dray’s. Even though their words said it was time to call it a night, he pulled her toward him. Willingly Sheila went into his arms.
“I sang that song to you tonight because I meant it,” he said. “Ever since you came to Della’s, I’ve been unable to forget you.”
“Honestly?”
“What? Brothers lie to you all the time?”
A moment later, she shook her head and laughed. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I guess I’m kind of surprised that a man like you would notice me.”
He lifted an eyebrow, then cast an assessing and speculative gaze at her. “What’s there not to notice? You’re beautiful. You got that wild hair going on,” he said as he fingered a long curly lock. “I like it when it’s loose like that. And let me tell you something, just in case you didn’t know.”
“What?”
“I love the way you feel against me.”
At that, she pressed close to him. “Well, that makes two of us.”
This time when their lips met, there were no interruptions and there was no play. He framed her face with his hands and tilted her head. The taste of him was something Sheila wasn’t sure she could ever get enough of. Moving his mouth over hers, he devoured her softness. She moaned and slipped her hands along his waist and up his back.
His lips left hers to nibble at her earlobes. When she leaned her head back, her hair cascaded over his arm.
“You make me want to call in sick tomorrow,” he murmured against her ear.
The soft sound of amusement escaped Sheila. “Are you at Della’s Saturday night?”
“Um-hmm.”
“Then why don’t we plan to continue this after that?”
He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “Let’s continue it tomorrow. Saturday is a long way away.”
She smiled at the compliment and was about to agree when she remembered why she couldn’t. “I have a … an appointment tomorrow night. I promised a friend—”
He put a finger at her lips. “No explanations needed. Saturday night it is.”