Black's Magic

Everybody kind of knew there was something . . . off with me, but . . . no one ever really asked, and I never told."

"Till now," he added . . . somewhat hopefully. This could be the beginning of something . . . meaningful, or maybe she'd leave and never want to face him again, the only "witness" to a previously unknown crime.

"Youcan'ttell anyone. I'm not shitting you;no oneknows. What happens in Pennsylvania, stays in Pennsylvania. It was a long time ago, and I don't do that shit anymore. And, with my mom, she'd probably say I got what I deserved, anyway, and I really,reallydon't need to hear that. People have their perceptions of me, you know. And Ilikethe way most people look at me these days. I'd really hate to have to leave because people, you know . . . talk. I mean, it's hard enough to keep my head up with a convict uncle, a shut-in grandma, and, well, there's no end of jokes about my mom and how many kids she has. Forget the fact that she was married when they were all born and they're all by the same man . . ."

He placed his hand flat against the door, trying to send some sort of comfort to her. "People are just dumb, you know. And . . . I wouldn't do that to you. That'd be really fucking low. Saying I wouldn't say something then goin' out and saying it, anyway. I don't get down like that."

She was quiet again, then he heard her draw in a deep breath and push it out. "Good to know. Now, if you'll kindly step away from the bathroom door, I'm gonna stand up, wipe off, zip up and wash my hands."

Part of him wanted to know how she knew he was just outside the door, but he supposed it had to be because of the shadows or something. "Right on." He rolled back to his previous position in front of the TV.

Water ran, the door opened, the light went off. "You know," she said, "you never struck me as the sentimental type."

Daniel scoffed, lightly scratching at the reddish-brown undergrowth between his chin and neck. "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?"

"Apparently, a guy who likes roses," she smiled.

"Get the fuck out of here."

She laughed and disappeared on the other side of the curtain.

He chuckled to himself and tried to get back to work. "Nosy!"

* * *

Which brought him back to the present, three years after that fact. He'd told her more things about himself, she'd told him a few things about herself. He wasn't seeing anyone else; she wasn't seeing anyone else, yet neither one of them seemed secure enough to lay some type of . . . claim upon the other. On a rare occasion he'd have to introduce her to someone she hadn't already met, he'd simply refer to her as Mecca. And aside from a few . . . awkward occasions when he happened to stop by her new place of employment, and she attempted to give him a hard time, as she was apt to do in her old establishment, at leastoneof the employees would take the time to askwhohe was.

"Is that your boyfriend?" they'd ask.

"That's Daniel," she'd laugh, saying no more on the subject.

Anytime he'd come close to making anything more out of the situation, he'd remember who he was, he remembered the things he'd done, and he remembered Alicia. He would never consider himself racist, he loved his mother, his sisters, his cousins, and his aunts more than anybody's business, but white women were just plain crazy, and he'd dare say over his 30+ years, they'd done him more harm than good. With the exception of his mother, they were loud, rude, selfish, conniving, self-absorbed, money-grabbing, ballbreakers. His mother had been a little on the loud side, but she was always good-natured, self-sacrificing and high-spirited . . . As his father had pointed out to him, kind of like Mecca.

Alicia, on the other hand, had been the epitome of everything he hated about them. If he were to be honest with himself, the only reason he "wanted" her was because she wanted him first. He didn't really have to do anything. He was so inexperienced back then, he mistook manipulation for consideration. Every move she made towards him brought her to her desired end. She was coming off a bad bit with some other guy and, basically, wanted a place to crash, food to eat and whatever booze/drugs she could lay her hands on. If she had to blow him every now and then, so what? If she had to let him fuck her once or twice, big deal. What she gave him was far, far outweighed by what he gave her.

Forget the free rent, the booze, smokes and . . . whatever else she wanted and he was stupid enough to buy. Not to sound sentimental, or sappy or anything, but what was the going rate for the human heart?

But, then again, that was all in the past when he was young, impressionable, and completely naive of the ways of the world. He was older and wiser, now . . . or, at least, he certainly hoped so. He couldn't say that he didn't feel sort of . . . "ruined" by all of it, though . . .

Since then, he'd basically steered clear of women in general, and possible romantic entanglements, altogether. Except with her, with Mecca. He kept getting confused. There were certain days he could look at her and feel completely drawn in, but there were other times when she'd say something or do something or justlookat him the wrong way, his blood would run cold, his dick would go flat and his balls would recede.

Which reminded him of his hairline . . . Hisbrotherstill had a full head of hair, hisfatherstill had a full head of hair, but somewhere along the way, his genes had gotten all screwed up, apparently. He wouldn't consider himself a vain man, but he refused to be seen in public without some type of head covering. And the one day Mecca knocked his hat off . . . not to be mean; she was only playing, but, he knew she had to have seen it, and he couldn't bring himself to face her till he'd gone to the bathroom, tied a bandana onunderthe hat, then put the hat, itself, back on.

She was laughing when she'd done it, but when he returned, she seemed somewhat somber and genuinely apologetic. "You can knock my hat off if it'll make you feel better."

She wasn't even wearing a hat . . .

Then there was the fact he'd put on about 30 pounds in the past three years. Between work, his family, andher, he was smoking more, which meant he got the munchies more, which meant he weighed more.

But the converse was true of her. Four years ago, she'd taken the notion to cut off all her hair, and she did. It looked just like a boys'; he hated it. Not that she didn't have a pretty face . . . girls just didn't do that sort of thing around here . . . especially not the black ones.

"You hate it, don't you?" She swept her hand through her non-existent hair, and for the first time since they'd become reacquainted, so-to-speak, she looked troubled. Not only had she chopped it all off; she'd bleached it blonde.

"No, " he shook his head trying to think of something elseremotelypositive to say.

"My grandma hates it."

"Well, who cares what she thinks? If you like it, that's all that's important, right?"

"I guess," she shrugged. "It'll grow back, anyway. I mean, it's just hair."

And it did grow back. She preferred to keep it curly, but when time and patience allowed, she straightened it and it reached just past her shoulders. Far longer than it had been when she'd first cut it. He hated to say it; he wouldn't try to change her in any way (except for the one thing shedidchange for him) but he liked it better straight. It just looked more . . . touchable. The lord knew that if he ever did decide to make a play for her, things would be awkward enoughwithoutgetting his fingers caught in her hair.

But, if she could tolerate him and his "male pattern baldness," he was certain she would tell him what he could and couldn't do withherhair. And then there was the rest of her . . . how she could be so muscular, yet look so feminine was beyond him. Any fat she had on her was purely T and A, and she had both in amazing proportions, as he could clearly see in that short, denim mini and that almost see-through hippie top. She did love to wear white . . .

"You onlythinkI'm a prude," he scoffed, continuing to price things behind the confines of the three glass showcases that housed the DVD latest releases, all the handheld systems and games, and the higher-end XBOX, PlayStation and Wii games.

"It's not just me."

"Yeah, well . . ."

"Let's examine the facts, shall we? You don't own any skin flicks, you don't download porn on the Internet, you don't read Playboy, Penthouse or any of that shit . . . You won't go to the tittie bars with any of your friends. You turn bright red if I justmentionthe word 'masturbation,' and you fly into a semi-blind fury if I say 'dildo,' 'anal beads' or even the word 'lube.'Anddespite the fact that you claim to buy, sell and trade games, systems, CDs and DVDs, you won't take in any adult movies, and you won't even order them if a customer requests them."

He watched her back through the semi-sheer fabric with mild irritation/amusement as she continued to alphabetize the VHS shelves. He hadn't asked her to do it; he'd simply mentioned that he was thinking of doing it a couple of days ago. She showed up today and just started moving things around. She'd only done two things he didn't approve of: mixing the Wrestling tapes in with everything elseandputting the numbers before the letters.101 Dalmatianswent before8 Mileand both of these were supposed to go beforeAll About Eve. Which was just plain wrong. One-hundred and one began with an "O," so it should be with the other O's. Eight began with an "E," so it should go with the other E's. She was fit to fight him tooth and nail that numbers went before letters, but she finally conceded to him. "It's your shop, after all. I'm just here to help."

"So?" he asked.

"Don't get me wrong. I respect the fact that you have morals and ideals, and you do your best to uphold them and stay true to yourself, but," she peered over her shoulder at him.

"But what?"

"You're a guy!" she laughed. "You're supposed to be interested in that shit. The more naked women you can see in shortest period of time, the happier you should be."

Daniel shrugged. "I don't claim to be on some moral high ground or whatever, but this is a family-friendly type business, and you can't have stuff like that out on the shelves."

"I understand that, but what about for yourpersonaluse? Straight guys are supposed to like to look at naked women."

"What's the point of looking if you can't touch?"

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"It's bad enough the real things get you worked up, and then refuse to follow through. But to torture yourself with hollow images of fake women . . . I don't see the point in that."

"Hmmm," she turned back to her sorting and shelving. "Guess I never thought of it that way."

"What about you?" he asked. "You're an admittedly avid porn watcher. What do you get out of it?"

"Wet," she shrugged.

He swallowed hard.

"It's nice to know that even though I'm forced to live a celibate life, there're plenty of people out there who still enjoy an entertaining and exhilarating sex life."

"Entertaining," he laughed.

"Not to mention educational. Half of the things I know about sex, I learned from watching porn."

"And the other half?"

"Actually, one quarter from blind experimentation and one quarter from women's magazines."

"You lie!"

"What've I got to lie for? It's justyouhere. Like I'm trying to impress somebody."

He laughed, averting his eyes when she bent over to move a couple of videos from the lowest shelf to one of the upper ones. He'd already made three trips to the bathroom since she'd come in. He didn'tdoanything with it; simply let it air out and cool down. But she was wearing red panties. His favorite color was black, but there was something about a woman in red.

He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, finally putting the pricing gun down to again make a trip to the back of the store. The way those long, lean legs came together and seamlessly melded into that perfectly molded ass . . .

"Shit." He knocked over a small stack of Game Cube games he kept on the end of the counter.

She stood and turned around. "Want me to help you with that?"

"No," he answered a little too quickly. Besides the weight gain, there was another reason he liked to wear his clothes so baggy. Contrary to popular belief, not all white guys were hung like gnats. But, if she came too close, even a blind man could make out the silhouette of his "little soldier" at full attention.

She looked down at the mess that he'd made then back up at his face. Her eyes were honey-colored today. Sometimes they were hazel. Sometimes they were sapphire. Sometimes they were blue. And sometimes they were her natural, every day dark brown color. He found her natural eye color easier to take. The pupils were so dark it was difficult to tell where she was looking exactly. But with the honey ones, there was a clear delineation between iris and pupil, and one only had to look to know exactly what was on her mind. Shehadto have seen it, and instead of shrinking beneath her scrutiny, it seemed to swell in pride.Itwanted her to see, which meant part of him wanted her to see.

She smiled at him. "So," she said, "gotta go to the bathroom again?"

He felt his mouth go dry, his throat constrict. "No," he finally croaked out.

"You know, it's been over a month since I've had one. Cleaned my car out, washed all my shit, tossed all my lighters and ashtrays. If someone just met me, they'd never know I used to be a smoker."

That had been the one thing he'd wanted to change about her. It was nothing personal. Being a former smoker, just thesmellof cigarette smoke made him sick, and, unfortunately, she always seemed covered in it . . . till about a month ago. "Good for you," he nodded.

She maintained her distance, but continued to stare, her weight shifting from one hip to the other, her upper teeth lightly gnawing on her lower lip. Offhandedly, he wondered if her lips were as soft as they looked and if her lip gloss was flavored. She took her eyes off him long enough to glance up at the wall clock over her shoulder, then once again focused her attention on him. "Half an hour," she said.

It was 6:30. He locked the door at 7 and, unless there was a late-coming customer, he was out of here by quarter past. "Yep."

"Guess I better hurry up, then." She turned on her heels and again saw to her sorting.

He swallowed hard then tried to will away the growing tightness in his groin.

"Horny, little devil."

"What!"

"That's what they say." She kept her back to him, her hands on the tapes, her eyes on the shelves. Her voice was cool and even, but there was something else . . . as if she held a secret she'd soon share with him. "They're red, and the writing's in black. The front says 'Horny' with one horn on each side, the left cheek says 'Little,' and the right cheek says 'Devil.'"

He forced a laugh, trying to hide . . . whatever it was bubbling up inside him. "What? No tail?" he shifted himself in his pants, chortling lightly. "Devils are supposed to have tails."

She stopped shelving. "I've got all the tail you could possibly want." Then she started again. "If you want it, that is."

The stack of new acquisitions went crashing to the floor.

"Do you?" she asked.

"Mecca . . ."

"No conversation necessary. It's a yes or no question. Yes, I wanna take you to bed, or no, not really."

Was he actually . . . panting? Man, maybe men really were dogs . . .

"I won't get pissed if you say, no, you know? Like I'm not gonna start throwing things and trash the place or whatever. I just thought something needed to be said, and I was really hoping that you'd be the one to do it, but, youarea total prude, man." She glanced over her shoulder and laughed. "I mean, I can't ever imagine you saying, 'Hey, Mecca, why don't you come over here and sit on this cock?' or anything remotely sexual, for that matter . . . which is probably why I'm so interested . . . or maybe curious is a better word . . ."

His racing pulse slowed, and his thoughts cleared. "So, you're just fucking with me, I get it."

"No, I'm serious. In all honesty, I haven't let a man touch me in over five years." She stood in profile, now, her eyes to the ground, her head tilted to the side. "Partially, because of . . . you know . . . and the other well . . . I mean, I'm a girl, I can get ass anytime I want. But, as I've said, there are things I just don't do, and spreadin' my shit all around town is one of them." She turned completely towards him. "Yeah, I talk a lot of shit, but when it comes to put out or get out, unless it's you, I'm getting out."

He laughed, yet again, trying to think of a way to talk himself out of this increasingly odd situation.

"I mean, this shouldn't come as a complete surprise . . . should it? I mean, your dadlovesme. He . . . surprised the hell outta me. Like, no offense or anything, but people are pretty uptight around here and, I fully expected him to freak out when I showed up at your mom's wake . . . I mean, I didn't even wanna go. I didn'tbelongthere; I'd never even met her, but your dad was like . . ."

Was she . . . tearing up?

"I've never had anybody be that accepting of me straight out the gate, you know. People always wanna hate on me and start senseless shit . . . and, I don't know. It's just hard sometimes . . . not knowing who you can trust, and who's just trying to use you and . . . But your dad was totally cool. I mean, he'd never even met me, and he was puttin' his arm around me and shit, showing me family pictures, and then when I said I had to go, he was like, 'No. Sit down. Talk to Terri.' And I'm sitting there in the front on the family's side, trying not to have a total panic attack because I think at any second somebody's gonna start being really rude to me, and I'm gonna get pissed off, and everything's gonna get totally fucked up even though I don't want it to because this hasnothingto do with meeverythingto do with your mom, and . . ." She drew in a deep breath and pushed it out. "Sometimes I get really nervous and forget to breathe. Isn't that stupid?"

He felt himself slowly returning to normal, and he, too, took a deep breath.

"When it comes down to it, even though I really hate it, and I do my damndest to try to hide it; I'm just country girl. Yeah, I'm black. Yeah, I'm educated. Yeah, I got to go to Europe for a couple of weeks one summer, but the moment I sit back and relax that country drawl just comes spillin' out my mouth, and I think if my professors could hear me, they'd be so ashamed. But then I think, I'm not in that stage in my life any more, am I? I'm supposed to have taken their teachings and integrated them into my daily life as it applies to me." She looked at him and laughed. "So what if I say 'y'all' and drop my G's?"

He looked up at the clock again. Somehow, it was 6:58.

She followed his gaze and came to the same conclusion. "Where did the time go?" She sighed and wiped at the corners of her eyes. "Guess I'll go. I think I've made both of us equally uncomfortable enough for today." She straightened the top shelf one final time, then walked over to the window seat to retrieve her fur-lined jacket and chenille gloves.

"Don't put those on just yet"

She looked over at him as she slipped one arm inside her coat, then the other. "Why not? It's time for you to close, and time for me to go home. Alone." She stifled a laugh. "Don't you wish you could see into the future, so you could avoid entirely embarrassing situations like that. I mean, despite what I've said, I'm sure you think I'm some sort of tremendous whore, now, with red devil panties, and wouldn't condescend to fuck me with the proverbial ten-foot-pole, let alone your actual dick. Don't you just hate the smell of desperation?"