The Eternal Engagement

Ten hours had passed since she’d kicked Katherine out of Lincoln’s hotel room. Where in the world was he? Had Mona escaped being unhappy with one man only to face being disappointed by another? He had to come back; his gun was in the drawer, his backpack on the floor.

Were Katherine and Steven setting her up? Why was Katherine in Lincoln’s room naked? He’d better not have fucked her. Mona felt trapped in the unknown. So many questions, but there was no one to question.

If she left the room, she couldn’t get back in unless Lincoln was there. In case she had to leave abruptly, she refused to get too comfortable. She’d showered earlier, put on a fresh pair of underwear and her old clothes.

She could check into a separate room. Maybe the room next door was unoccupied. Wasn’t like Lincoln knew she was there. If she were in 12124, she’d hear him come in. She could knock on his door. If he asked about Katherine, she could go off on him and say, “Why the hell you asking me about her? You invited her to see you too?”

Kicking Katherine out and staying in his room was her right. He’d invited her. Mona picked up the cordless, pressed the dining button. “Yes, I’d like to order two steak dinners medium, a bottle of merlot. Make that two bottles of merlot. Two large bottles of water. And a pint of strawberry ice cream.”

The ice cream with chilled strawberries could drizzle between her vaginal lips and give her orgasmic chills. If Lincoln arrived in time for dessert, he could taste her stickiness. If not, she’d entertain herself, then shower again. At the moment, Mona was what she hadn’t been in years—bored.

“That’ll be one hundred forty-seven dollars cash.”

Cash meant Lincoln didn’t have a credit card, or like she’d done in Bakersfield, he didn’t give them his credit card to cover incidentals. “No problem,” Mona said, ending the call.

She stood in the window. If Lincoln never showed up, at least she had enough money to leave, but where would she go? Definitely not back to Selma anytime soon. Didn’t want to deal with her mother’s suspicions. Maybe Katherine called Lincoln. They could be cozy and she could be lying naked next to Lincoln at a different hotel or in a different room.

Mona dialed the front desk. “Katherine Clinton’s room.”

The receptionist said, “Hold, please.”

“Aw, hell, no. This can’t be happening.”

“We don’t have a guest by that name,” the receptionist said.

Mona exhaled with relief. But where was Lincoln? He had to come back for his things. “Ughhh!” She’d give him until tomorrow. If he wasn’t back by then, she’d leave.

The keycard lock clicked.

Mona hopped with joy. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to get in the bed, bury herself under the sheet, and surprise him or hide behind the door. Or in the bathroom. She grabbed the white down-feather comforter, wrapped herself up to her neck, then stood facing the window with her back to the door.

The door opened, then closed.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said. “I should’ve been back earlier.”

Mona sniffed the air. The familiar stench of whiskey invaded her nostrils. She heard a loud plop, turned around. He was facedown on the mattress fully dressed.

Standing at the edge of the bed, she turned his head sideways to get a clear view. “What happened to you?”

There was no response. Lincoln didn’t move. His face was covered with dirt. She removed the combat boots from his feet. Undressed him. She checked his pockets—room key, ID, and thirty-six cents. After placing his items on the nightstand, she got the plastic laundry bags from the closet, put his clothes in one. She tossed his filthy shoes into the other bag. Surely they could clean a pair of combat boots. Sitting at the desk, she filled out the dry cleaning slips, then hung the bags outside the door.

Knock, knock, knock. “Room service.”

Mona tossed the comforter on top of Lincoln. Opening the door, she’d forgotten about the steak dinners but was glad food had arrived. “Please be as quiet as possible,” she whispered. “You can roll the table over there.” She pointed at the space between the wall and the bed.

She glanced at the check. An eighteen percent gratuity was included. She gave the delivery person one hundred and fifty dollars, then closed the door, secured the latch.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she poured a glass of wine, then carved tiny pieces of steak. As she sipped the merlot, she stared at Lincoln.

Freshman year at Selma High, he was the sexiest boy she’d ever seen. All the girls were flirting with him, including her. Mona noticed how he walked tall and proud like he was a superstar. Later they’d all find out that William Lincoln was more than a star; he was a savior of sorts. He saved the football program from being terminated. Led their school to championships four years in a row for the first time in the school’s history. He stood up to bullies who picked on smaller kids. He’d always done what was right for others.

On their first date, he didn’t try to go all the way with her. Although her hormones were racing to feel his naked flesh next to her innocent body, he took his time, waited until she convinced him she was ready.

Finally, tenth grade, they went all the way. Afterward, she’d worried if he’d treat her the same the next day. Would he respect her? Would he still love her? Would he tell everyone?

The next day he’d brought her a signed football to school. Said, “Hey, Mona Lisa. Catch.”

She’d caught the ball with one hand, tucked it to her side like he’d taught her. When she looked down, the ball was signed, “Lincoln loves Mona Lisa forever . . . my gurl . . . 09/01/1998. At fifteen she thought love was forever. Now that she was twenty-eight, sitting less than two feet from him, she knew she was right.

Tossing footballs, rolling around on the field, kissing him in the hallway between classes were some of her best memories. When he’d wrapped his arms around her she felt safe, like nothing or no one could hurt her, except him. She still felt that way.

Mona exhaled. Deep in her heart she realized he was still the love of her life. She knew there was a purpose for her being there with Lincoln. She prayed the purpose was positive. Why wouldn’t it be?