8
A Strange Encounter

While dialing the number on the back of the traffic ticket, I pulled out onto Broadway hoping it hadn’t gotten too late. I anxiously waited as the phone rang the fourth, fifth, and sixth times when the echo of an angel was heard on the answering machine. The soothing sound of Ernestina’s greeting had me momentarily spellbound.

I was mesmerized when her voice beckoned, “Hello, this is Ms. Lady. You’re not speaking to me because I can’t talk to you right now. You know what to do...Beep!”

At first, I was thinking how much I hate answering machines and would normally have just disconnected as soon as the recording started. The tone caught me off guard because I was holding the phone listening to Ernestina’s captivating voice. It had prompted me to begin thinking of our encounter earlier this evening.

At the point of me trying to organize my thoughts, I realized the tone had sounded, “Uuugggghhhh, yes Officer…umm Miss Lady… It’s Willie from earlier this afternoon. You gave me a ticket because I parked at the corner of 133rd Street and Broadway. Well, you didn’t actually give me a ticket; you did, but took it back and then gave it to me again with your info...”

Suddenly, the recording was interrupted by what sounded like someone fumbling with the receiver, “Hello…hello. Wait one second.” There was a momentary silence, then a series of short beeps. I started to hang up. “Hey Willie, I’m glad you called,” Ernestina summoned.

I felt the need to explain, “Sorry it’s so late. I’m just now leaving my godparents at 133rd St. I didn’t want to not call you though.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “I really wasn’t expecting to hear from you today anyway. When we ran into each other this afternoon, obviously, you already had plans. Meeting me was an unexpected thing.”

I laughed, “That’s one hell…uh…heck of an explanation for it. So, do you often give your address and phone number to guys you just happen to ‘run’ into?”

“No, actually, I don’t. But you’re different,” she said.

“That’s not exactly safe; giving your address to a total stranger,” I cautioned.

“But, like I said, you’re different,” she stated again.

“Still…I am a total stranger.”

“Not a total stranger. You forget, I’m a police officer,” she reminded. “I’ve already had you checked out. You know, to make sure you were okay. Just standard issue stuff like what you do, where you live…that sort of thing.”

“You know what, you’re not right,” I commented. She couldn’t have any idea how much that troubled me. “Is that why you were screening your calls?”

She paused. “I’m not right only if you’re not right. And it’s not a point of screening my calls. I actually just finished up in the shower. It always feels good to wash this city off me when I get in.”

With it already getting late, I planted a seed, “Well, we can get together whenever you want to discuss who’s right and who isn’t. Matter-of-fact, I could stop by in a few minutes on my way home, if it’s okay.”

“Well, my place is on your way to the Village,” she said.

Optimistically, I started the engine and put the car into gear, “I’m leaving from 133rd and Broadway right now. Be over by you in less than ten minutes.”

“On second thought,” She unknowingly dismantled my hopes. “Maybe we could get together another time. It is a little late in the evening and I have roll call at five forty-five.”

“Five forty-five A.M.!” I exclaimed.

She giggled, “Yes, A.M… When you think?”

I was doing the math in my head, “So, you have to be up and out the house…”

“No later than four-thirty,” she interjected.

“In order to leave home by four-thirty, that means you have to be getting up about, what, half an hour before?” I asked.

She laughed. “You forget, I have to do more than just pee and put on my pants. I am a female. Or did you not notice?”

I thought to myself, Daaammmnnn, how could I not notice? How could any healthy Neanderthal not notice? As I merged onto the West Side Highway, I posed a question, “So, while we’re on the subject of waking up, what do I call you first thing in the morning? Unless you’re going to be okay with me calling you baby?”

Clearing her throat, she asked, “And just what makes you think you’ll be waking up with me first thing in the morning…on any morning?”

“Natural progression,” I replied.

She instinctively began reconstructing that wall of security, “That’s assuming a whole lot of progression isn’t it? We just met. In fact, we haven’t really met; we just ran into each other out on Broadway.”

“Well, that’s the part I’m trying to get around to; meeting you,” I suggested.

“It’s not my fault you waited until nearly ten-thirty at night to see if the number I gave you was really mine,” she said.

“You’re right,” I conceded. “Guilty as charged.”

“Speaking of guilt—what exactly is it that you do to make ends meet?” she asked.

Given my choice of careers, her word selection was a little unsettling which caused me to lose my grip, “Uh…a…What do you mean, guilt? I haven’t done anything.”

“Dang! Calm your nerves, why don’t you?” she said. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you’ve done anything wrong. That’s just a little cop lingo. What is it you do that can be verified? A simple play on words.”

“Well, where I’m from, we don’t play like that. Only time you point your finger is when there’s something to be seen,” I explained. “That could cause a lot of trouble.”

“All right, fair enough; I can respect your viewpoint,” she apologized.

My mind had begun to wander off in the direction of a number of possibilities the distant future might hold. I imagined her; a lieutenant or detective heading an investigation in which I had become the prime suspect, or an incident that had us on opposing sides during a shootout. Several crazy and unsettling scenarios ran through my head. It’s difficult to know exactly how long I’d been daydreaming because, when I woke from the daze, the car was parked on the street in front of my building.

The melodious sound of Ms. Lady’s voice beckoned me back to reality, “Did you even hear what I said? Are you ignoring me or have you changed your mind about coming over?”

“Um…no, I haven’t…changed my mind. Uh, pardon me, but changed my mind about what?” I truly had no idea what she was talking about, what I had said, or how I’d managed to get back down to the Village. “Baby, I’m sorry,” I apologized.

“It appears that your day has been a lot longer than you realize,” she reasoned. “Maybe the best thing would actually be to try getting a good night’s sleep. We’ll talk more about you visiting me another time.”

I only half listened to what she’d said because I was still trying to piece together the past hour and a half it had required to drive from Harlem, “Okay, perhaps I’ll just speak to you tomorrow. Good night, baby.”

“Ernestina,” she offered.”

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“Ernestina Lady; my name…its Ernestina Lady. You can’t call me ‘baby.’ At least, not yet, anyway. Good night,” she whispered.

Still a little baffled as to how I’d gotten from where I last remembered driving to where I realized finally ending up, I slowly unfastened the seatbelt and pushed the car door open. I made my way to the second floor with the door key in hand, and a much deserved forty-year-old bottle of cognac. The unwitting companion had been picked up at Julio’s earlier when I’d stopped in to snatch up Poppy’s Butter-Me-Nots. I unlatched the deadbolt and then the bottom lock before turning the door knob; suddenly becoming aware of the husky but feminine Polish accent that belonged to my neighbor who lived directly across the hall. No matter what time of the day or night I came in, she always seemed to be there with a warm greeting to welcome me.

Wearing a silk teddy, standing in the frequently partially opened door, she asked, “Vaas for chu come in dis earlvy?”

While checking the time on my signature Movado timepiece, “Hi Natasha,” I returned the greeting. “It’s after eleven; that’s not early.”

Pointing at the bottle in my hand “For chu, dat be bery earlvy,” she said. “Vaast dat?”

“Company,” I replied.

Looking at me with eyes I had seen too often today, she was more direct than usual, “Vaas for chu needs dat botle zu kept chu compaanee vven me vvright heer?”

Her English was sometimes difficult to understand, but I understood enough. Replaying the events of my incredibly long day, I immediately began craving female companionship. The female I would’ve preferred be at the apartment had just kept me company on the ride from Harlem but couldn’t come upstairs. The one who would’ve liked to come down to the Village with me, I had to leave uptown. That series of unfortunate events brought me to the door of my apartment where I found temptation in black lingerie.

Opening my door, I asked, “So, where is Uri?”

She seemed surprised, “Vvere ist who?”

“Your man. You know, the guy who lives with you,” I said.

It wasn’t clear whether Natasha was searching for the right words to tell me the truth, or just searching for the right words. None-the-less, she pieced together a viable explanation, as well as her broken English would allow, “He go avaay. I means, out. Him hab olde friend fvrom ouver kuntry stop zu zee he. Dey goes ouvt.”

Thinking to myself, what the hell ever! In the process of uncorking the bottle, “Guess one drink won’t hurt,” I said before informing, “I’ll have to get some glasses.”

Turning to enter my apartment, the door was intentionally left cracked just enough that Natasha could see inside. On the way to the kitchen, I hit the remote to summon some smooth jazz and turned the dimmer on the lights to one notch above pitch black. I removed two crystal glasses from the cabinet over the sink and turned for some ice cubes from the refrigerator-freezer. There she was in the soft light from the street lamp that had found its way through the blinds covering the kitchen window. Natasha stood next to the dining room table wearing nothing but a black satin lace bra and matching thong panties. I almost dropped the ice pail but quickly covered my blunder by appearing to tilt it just far enough that a few cubes found their way to the tabletop. Gently, I sat the pail upright and put one into my mouth while moving closer. She never uttered a word; her body was quietly screaming for my desire to be unleashed and allowed to tame the inferno that now raged within.

Natasha moaned, feeling the chilled moisture from my tongue on her neck. “Oooooh, zat veels zo gute.”

Her body tensed...then relaxed at the realization she was no longer wearing a bra as I allowed the lace restriction to fall softly at her feet. With each hand resting on either shoulder, she guided me until the flesh of her 38D’s was captured by the contrasting coolness of ice and the heat of my warm lips. The floral centerpiece fell to the floor, as my neighbor reclined and laid the full length of the cherry table.

I whispered to her navel, “Natasha.”

She responded, “Jes?”

I asked softly, “What do you like.”

Raising her legs to rest both feet on the corners of the table, “Me zinks chu allveddy knows,” she answered.

I was thinking to myself, Yeah, that might be what you’re thinking, but I’ve never been too interested in gourmet dishes unless I know a little something about the chef. Nonetheless, I proceeded to test the boundaries of my neighbor’s erotic anticipation, passionately kissing the area below her navel and allowing my tongue to peruse the upper-most parts of soft inner thighs. The gyration of Natasha’s hips became more intense as swells of anxiety rose and fell like the surf on the shores of the Pacific.

“Me vaant chu,” she whispered. “Natasha vaant chu.”

I retreated and gingerly kissed my way the full length of a craving body to the vicinity of her ear, “Come,” I simply whispered. Helping my visitor from the table, I took her by the hand and slowly led to the bedroom.

Natasha stopped in the doorway, pulling back as I entered. Peering into the darkness, “How chu zee?” she asked.

“This is my apartment,” I said. “I just know my way around.”

Reluctantly, she followed my lead until we ended up beside the raised queen-size bed. There came an impulsive giggle, “I’s too szort,” she commented.

Turning to lift her onto the bed, “Let me help you,” I replied before stating, “I’ll be right back.”

Already a little on edge, she questioned, “Veere chu goes?”

I reached for the small lamp on the nightstand at the head of the bed. The shaded, already dim twenty-five-watt bulb cast barely enough of a glow to make out what lay in the shadows and large pieces of furniture. “Just right here.” I opened the drawer of the nightstand before asking, “Do you mind; safety first?”

“Vvy no, of koorse not,” She smiled through the inadequate light. “Dis ist gute ting.”

In the process of undressing, “Glad you think so,” I said. “Do you prefer the light on or off?”

“Es ist gute,” she responded. “I vaant luuke szee chu.” Natasha began to kiss my chest and ushered me beneath the comforter to join her, “Es ist bery gute.” she quietly repeated, “Me vaant chu.”

My neighbor and I spent more than half an hour composing a sweet song of seduction alongside one of the all-time musical greats. When Miles Davis’ tribute to my sex life finally ended, Natasha collapsed into the plush king-sized pillow and lay face down on the bed beside me.

I rolled onto my back, searching for much needed oxygen to avoid passing out from exhaustion. The thirst now quenched, we lay side by side with me feeling the heat radiating from the substitute while secretly wishing hers was a body that belonged to someone else. At that moment, gratification was in bed with me but my mind had never left Harlem.

With much concern, “Chu okvaay?” Natasha asked.

While still staring at the ceiling, I replied, “Yeah, just tired.”

Panting to catch her breath, “Vvy vee vait zo long?” she asked.

I remembered having lounged on the bed for quite some time sipping cognac and conversing with the neighbor but, the nature of our discussion, I could only vaguely recall. Some time later, I was startled awake by the intrusion of my cell phone. BBBRRRIIINNNGGG, BBBRRRIIINNNGGG… I searched the night stand in the darkness with no luck, BBBRRRIIINNNGGG, BBBRRRIIINNNGGG, before eventually remembering the phone at the foot of the bed still clipped onto the belt of the Levi’s I’d worn until a few hours ago.

Glancing over at the digital clock, and still half asleep, I answered, “Yeah, what?”

I could barely make out Cherish’s voice, “Damn, that’s how you answer your phone?” she convicted.

With a serious display of attitude, “That’s the way I answer my damn phone at two-thirty in the bitching morning,” I said. “What the hell is it?”

Seemingly unaware of my intentionally nasty disposition, she said, “Oh, I was just checkin to see if you made it home a’ight.”

I wasn’t in the mood for friendly conversation and snapped, “If something had happened, my body would be at the damn morgue by now…Do you know what the hell time it is?”

“Well, after I left you out in the car, I ran into somebody I ain’t seent in a while…” Cherish started.

I was still trying to get back to sleep, “I don’t care.”

She either didn’t hear me, or disregarded my comment altogether and simply continued, “…And we got to talkin ‘bout all the shit done happened since I left…”

I tried to stop her lips from flapping but she wouldn’t take a breath, “Cherish...Cherish.” Finally, I said in a very stern but quiet whisper to shut her up, “…Cherish! I don’t give a broken damn!”

“What’s your problem?” she asked. “A sista just tryin ta check up on yo ass. The way muther…”

The need for sleep had me unconcerned with bothering to argue my point and I really couldn’t care any less about the one she was trying to make. I gently pressed the end button on the phone before trying to find my way back off into dreamland. Only seconds after closing my eyes, I sprung straight up in the bed, looking around to see whether I was by myself. Exiting the bedroom, I slowly walked through the apartment skinny-creeping while checking for anything that appeared to be out of order. The refrigerator was closed, there was no ice container on the table, my centerpiece was in place, and the stereo was off. After giving the apartment a good once over, the only thing I discovered to be a little unusual were the ice chest and two glasses upside down on a dish towel spread across the counter. That, and the fact I’d forgotten to engage the chain lock on the front door. I wondered for just a second but didn’t want to expend the energy trying to figure out how that happened. Since the bottom lock latched automatically, and it wasn’t the first time I’d been so tired when getting home I’d forgotten it, that wasn’t a big deal.

“Natasha? No! That was one hell of a dream,” I reasoned aloud on the way back to my room. “Damn, it seemed so real.” The statement came without thought. From start to finish, the day had been tremendously challenging and I welcomed the fact that it was finally over, en route back to slumberville.