Give Me One Reason

Several of us who are friends off site decided to get together and post stories reflective of a theme. The theme is taken from the Foreigner song, "I Wanna Know What Love Is." If you know the song, it is about love rising from the ashes of heartache, a longing to know. We hope you enjoy our little anthology. Mine was also inspired by Tracy Chapman's blues number, "Give Me One Reason."

I must thank my team. Harddaysknight is my mentor and gives me critical review. My editors and readers are Stev2244, SBrooks103x, Cagivagurl, Hooked1957 and Hale1. I thank you all. Ne prenez pas la peine de commenter si vous êtes un connard. Je vais juste te supprimer. Tu sais qui tu es.

*****

"God, you're a cold bitch," she said.

"What? Dude is obviously a tool," I said. "Look at him."

She watched the retreating form for a few seconds, then laughed. "Okay, what gives him away?"

"Damn, girl, isn't it obvious? Long hair can be snatched, but his isn't. It's not long enough to look hot, it just looks like he needs a haircut. His belt buckle is off center, he's too old for the bracelets and his belt shouldn't be brown."

Cindy laughed again. "Yeah, but did you have to crush him like that?"

I shot her a smile. "No, I'm just tired, Cin. I'm tired of being hit on by losers, I'm tired of men, I'm tired of fucking life."

She held my hand. "Well, I hope you're not tired of me."

I gave her hand a squeeze. "Noo, sweetheart. I'm never tired of you. I am tired of you trying to set me up with dates all the time, though."

"I just want you to be happy," she said.

"I know, but I am happy," I said. "Jesus, Cin, I just want to hang out with you, Paul, too, if you guys will let me. You won the lottery with him, babes. If you give him to me, I'll be happy to date."

"No way, bitch," she said. "If you make a play on him, I'll poison your coffee."

We both laughed. She knew I was joking. I mean, she had hit the lottery with Paul, but the man was besotted with her, and she was my friend. Friends don't fuck over friends. Not in my tribe, anyway. I would rather have cut off my arm than hurt this little angel who masqueraded as my friend. She was also my personal assistant, and she could easily poison my coffee.

At work on Monday, we both giggled insanely as I made a show of sniffing suspiciously at my coffee when she brought it in. "I didn't poison it, yet," she said.

"What we got this morning?" I asked.

"You are meeting with Angus and the Torpon Group at 10, lunch with the people from ARCO and you have a 2:30 with a James Cross."

"Who the fuck is James Cross?"

She laughed. "You really should pay more attention to me. I've told you like ten times that he's the junk guy."

"Junk guy?"

"Yeah, he founded a company that hauls away junk. Big junk, like appliances, cars, furniture, stuff the trash collectors won't take, industrial debris."

"Can he afford us?" I asked.

"Carter, his firm had profits of 137 million last year."

I made a low whistle. "Well, who knew there was so much money in junk? What does he need us for?"

"He wants us to negotiate with the union," she said.

I wrinkled up my nose and she laughed. "I know, you hate dealing with unions."

"Who's the union rep?" I asked.

She checked the file. "Some guy named Landan Drake."

"Never heard of him."

"No, me either. He's with the Teamsters, though."

*****

I met with my clients, and it was okay. Some dude from ARCO who imagined he was God's gift to women the world over tried to hit on me at lunch. He was obviously new to the team. I put up with his innuendo for about 10 minutes, then pulled Randleman aside.

"Thomas, are you looking for new representation?" I asked him. "Maybe you're just looking to have a scene here in the restaurant?"

His face went pale. He was black and pretty dark, at that, so it was an interesting phenomenon. "We aren't looking for either," he said. "Is Shaw bothering you?"

"You're about to find out," I said.

"Please, Carter, I'll handle it. I'm sorry. Please don't do anything embarrassing. It would be worth my ass if we lost you."

"That would be a shame, it's a nice ass," I said.

Now he went from pale to blushing. Who knew we could be so versatile? I would have to see if I could change colors like that. "I'll give you a minute," I said.

He hurried back to the table and I saw heads turn my way. I waved and they quickly swiveled back. The twatwaffle got up, plainly angry, and stormed away. He glared at me and I gave him the one-finger salute. He hesitated, then left the restaurant.

Other than that, it was a typical day. I met with junk guy. He was... interesting. Not interesting in a good way. He wanted to tell me all about his politics, which fell somewhere between Vlad the Impaler and Genghis Khan. I finally had enough.

"Look, Mr...." I had to think for a minute to remember his name: it wouldn't do to call him "junk guy." "...Cross, I'll be happy to represent you. It's my professional responsibility to see to it that you get the best representation I can possibly provide. If you retain our firm, I will get you the best contract I can ethically provide. I will be professional at all times. Your politics have zero to do with your contract or with me, personally. Do you understand?"

He didn't. He insisted on "explaining" a bunch of shit I thought was appalling, atavistic and not in a good way. I loathed the man. I doubted he'd ever had a date in his life, and every time he opened his mouth, he confirmed my suspicion.

After the third time I interrupted him and he refused to stop, I stood up, smoothed out my skirt and extended my hand. "I'm sorry, Mr. Cross, but this firm will not be able to represent you," I said.

He blustered around a bit, but I buzzed Cindy and politely, but firmly, showed him the door. As soon as he was gone, I walked over to Cindy's desk.

"Cin, what was the name of the union rep guy?"

She looked. "Landan Drake," she said.

"See if you can talk to him," I said. "If you get through, tell him I want to represent the union."

Her jaw dropped. "Jesus, what happened, Carter?"

"He was an asshole," I said.

"He must have been if you want to represent a union," she said. "What did he do, let a really big fart in your office?"

I cracked up. "Yeah, but it was verbal. He spouted a bunch of shit about 'didn't we have a man on staff to handle his business?' He was sure I was a good attorney, but he preferred a man. That was just the beginning. It got steadily more condescending and insulting from there."

She looked shocked. "I'm sure he knew you're the senior partner and owner. Why didn't you give him to Noah?"

Noah was one of our associates, and a good man, but the dude pissed me off. "See if you can get Drake," I said. "They probably have their own team, but I've done this before and they know who I am. Maybe they'll be down."

"Well, that would be nice," she said. "He may have been an asshole, but he was an asshole with money."

I laughed. "Trust me, Cin, that's the worst kind."

We weren't hurting. We were one of the top two law firms in the region, and if I didn't care about the sort of attorneys we hired, we could have been number one. We had some huge corporate clients, and probably, if Cross talked as much shit to other people as he did me, having him as a client wouldn't have been a good look for us, anyway. He was fucking embarrassing.

It was 5:30, and I was packing my bag when Cindy buzzed. "I have Mr. Drake on line five," she said.

"Damn, Cin, good work," I said. "I may have to give you a raise."

"I'm holding my breath," she said.

I answered the phone.

"Carter Blackwell, imagine me talking to you." His voice was a deep, resonant bass, very low pitched. If bears could talk, he was what they would sound like. "What's the shark doing trying to swim with the minnows?" he asked.

I smiled. "I'm hungry," I said. "Feed me."

"You mean like... dinner?" He was unsure of himself.

I laughed. "I mean I'd like to be point on your negotiation with the junk dude," I said. "Do you want to talk about it over dinner? I can do that, too."

"Umm... okay, I'll have to... yeah, I can do that. Where, and what time?"

"Mémé Mediterranean, one hour?"

"I can do that."

"Can you get a table?" I asked.

"Is it hard?"

"Very," I said.

"Probably not, then," he said. "Can you? I'm just a flunky."

"I can," I said. "Wear a tie. And a jacket."

He laughed. "I happen to own both a tie and a jacket."

"Good man," I said. "Every girl crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man."

"Oh my God, you're a ZZ Top fan?"

I laughed. "Who isn't? See you in an hour."

They knew me at Mémé, and promised to have us a table. I went home, took a quick shower, put on a nice dress and my driver dropped me, only five minutes late.

I checked in with the hostess, who told me my "date" was waiting for me at the bar. She took me back and I, of course, had no idea what to expect, never having met Mr. Landan Drake. I was in for a shock.

He was a shaggy giant. He looked huge sitting at the bar, but when the hostess said, "Mr. Drake," and he stood, I realized how big he actually was. I was wearing three-inch heels, and my six feet without the heels usually left me towering over people like a tree. I felt, somehow, small and a little intimidated by this man.

He stuck out a huge paw, which totally engulfed my long slender one. "Carter Blackwell, in the flesh," he said. "I'm Landan. It's a pleasure to meet you."

It took me a minute to recover from his sheer physical presence. His hair was long, down on his shoulders, and as curly as mine.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Landan. You can call me Carter."

We followed the hostess to a little table next to the window. I liked the view. We ordered drinks. He had a Manhattan and I had a mango margarita. We looked over the menus and made small talk until the waiter came back and took our order.

He got down to it. "Why would you want to get involved in a peanuts labor contract?" he asked.

"What, you think that's beneath my notice?" I asked.

He made a rumbling chuckle. "Well, yeah, I kind of do. I know who you are, Carter, and while it's a deal to us, we don't have the kind of money Cross has. What's your interest?"

I gave him a rueful grin. "You got me. He came to my office to hire my firm to represent him. He pissed me off, so, here I am."

He laughed, the bass rumble very pronounced. "Remind me not to piss you off."

"I'm in a very good mood," I said, "which will only be improved if you let me break it off in his ass."

"What did you have in mind for that?" he asked.

"Give me everything you have," I said. "I'll do my best for you. My best is pretty good, you know."

"So I've heard," he said. "Carter, I don't have the authority to make decisions like this. I can move it up the food chain, though."

"Charm them," I said. "How charming are you, Landan?"

"Oh, I'm right up there with the best," he assured me.

"Do you mind if I ask how old you are?" I asked.

He grinned. "Do you?"

"Not if you tell me first," I said.

"I'm 33," he said.

"I'm older than you," I informed him.

He laughed. "Oh, no. I told you, and you promised."

"You'll never be a good attorney," I said. "What I actually said was, I didn't mind if you asked. I never mentioned that I'd tell you."

He looked intently at me, giving me an up and down. "I'm going to say 35," he said.

"You shouldn't do that," I told him. "What if I was 30, and you said I was 35?"

"You said you're older than I am," he said. "If you hadn't, I would have said you were in your late 20s."

"Ohh, you are charming," I said. His 35 estimate was off by 10 years.

"Are you going to tell me?" he asked.

"I'm 45, Landan."

He actually looked shocked.

I laughed. "You ever hear the expression, 'Black don't crack?'"

"I think so," he said. "What does that mean?"

"It means black people don't show their age," I said. "Our skin doesn't show wrinkles as much because of several factors. I haven't changed much since I was in my twenties."

"I believe you," he said. "Don't take this wrong, but you're a gorgeous woman, Carter. You wouldn't believe the looks we got walking back here. Are you married?"

I wiggled my fingers at him to show I didn't have rings. Well, not wedding or engagement rings. "I got married when I was 24," I told him. "It lasted three years. I've been in two long-term relationships since. What about you?"

"Nope, never been married," he said. "I was engaged once, but that kind of fell apart."

"I thought you were charming," I said.

He laughed. "Yeah, but I found out in the nick of time that you didn't have to be all that charming to get with her."

"Well, you escaped," I said. "The people you represent probably wish they could escape Mr. Cross."

"Yeah, nothing would make us happier than for him to sell the company," he said. "You weren't wrong about him. He's a pain in the ass, and he did a bunch of illegal shit when his drivers were organizing. He intimidated the drivers, made it hard to vote, promised them pie in the sky. We actually lost the initial vote, but the courts gave us a do-over, the NLRB got involved and ran the election. It was a landslide."

"He seems like the type," I said. "I have to tell you, Landan. I'm not a personal fan of your bunch, the leadership, I mean. I think they're corrupt as fuck, but I'll be professional and get you the best contract I can. I'll work my little ass off."

"I figured you'd hand it off to someone else," he said. "It's personal, huh?"

"It is," I said. "Cross didn't think a woman could handle the job. I probably would have handed it off, but not after that. Set me up with the big shots. I'll take it from there."

"I think I wouldn't want to be sitting across the table from you," he said. "I'm glad he's an asshole."

Landan was a very pleasant dinner companion. He was open, seemed honest and he was very funny. I suspected many people took a look at him, thought he was a muscle-bound jock and underestimated him.

We finished our meal and he asked me if I wanted to go to a club, have a drink and maybe dance a little. "Can you dance?" I asked.

"Well, I'm no great shakes at it," he said. "I do know how, but I'd guess you're much better."

We went, and he turned out to be a good partner. He kept away the players, just by being himself. No one in their right mind was going to ask me to dance when I was obviously with this giant.

He was better at slower numbers, and the DJ was playing some old-school stuff. It was Tracy Chapman's "Give Me One Reason," and it hit me different.

I leaned forward so he could hear me, and said, "Give me one reason, Landan."

He looked down at me and smiled. "Because you're having fun?"

I was, too. He was a fun guy. The fact that he was hot as fuck didn't hurt anything, either. We had two more dances and another drink. I messaged John, and Landan walked me out and put me in the car.

"Need to be dropped?" I asked.

"I'd love to say yes," he said, "but my car is back at Mémé."

"You have my number. You can call me anytime," I said.

We both laughed at my using Tracy Chapman's lines from the song, and I was on my way. I sat back and relaxed, a little buzz going, cool air blowing over me and reflected.

I realized that I hadn't had a reason for a very long time. I enjoyed my life, did what I wanted, went where I wanted, whenever I wanted. I worked when I felt like it, and didn't if I wasn't feeling it. My life was pretty much the way I wanted it. I wondered why I felt this vague sense of disquiet. I laughed and shrugged off my introspective mood.

I heard music playing when I walked in. Tai was home. I took off my shoes and walked down the hall to her room. The door was open and I peeked in. She was sitting cross legged, books spread all over the bed. She noticed me and paused her music.

"Hey, Mom. Sup?"

"Hey, baby." I admired her. God, what a beauty. It was hard to believe she was mine, and hard to believe she was all grown up. My little cutie with the Bantu knots was a grown-ass woman, long, graceful, slender gorgeousness.

"Had a late business dinner then went to a club with my client. Well, I hope he's going to be my client."

"Was he a stud?" she asked.

I laughed. "Yeah, I guess he was. You'd probably think so anyway."

"Too bad he's a client," she said. "You could ask him out."

"Maybe I'll fire him," I said. "That's how I get all my dates, you know."

"You have dates?" she asked, like that was the biggest shock she'd ever had. "Who knew? I thought you were waiting for someone to crash their car into our living room, then you could ask the dude out."

"Ha-ha," I said. "We live on the 19th floor. Unless he's Batman, no such luck. My baby have a good day?"

"The usual," she said. "Working on personality assessment class, now. I'll prolly get a C, if I'm lucky."

"I'll believe it when you show me," I said. I couldn't ever remember her getting a C in her life, and very few Bs. The girl was scary smart. "You still playing tomorrow?"

"Yeah, you still coming?" she asked.

"That's my plan," I said. "When do we need to leave?"

"Around 10," she said. "I'm not playing until 11, but traffic and warmup, you know."

"I'll be ready," I promised. She held out her arms and made a kissy face. I went over and gave her a hug and a kiss. "Night, Tai," I said. "Love you."

"Love you, Mom."

I took me a bubble bath, and fell asleep easily. If I had any dreams, they were good ones, and when the alarm went off at nine, I was rested and ready.

Tai wanted to take my car, so we got her bag and rode down to the garage. She was sitting there: my other baby. The yellow and black gleamed on my Demon.

"Wanna drive?" I asked.

She squealed like she had since she was a tiny little brown bundle of joy. "Oh, yeah. Imma yeet my bag in the back." She got out her keys and popped the trunk while I buckled into the passenger seat.

She was a very good driver, but she insisted on snapping our necks at every light, and she was doing 70 by the time we were 50 feet up the entrance ramp. Once we hit the highway, she kept it close to the speed limit, and we didn't hit any major traffic.

Tai was a very good tennis player. She'd started beating me on a regular basis at about 16, and she'd improved ever since. We still played two or three times a week, and I'd improved a lot just trying to keep up with her.

This was a club tournament, and she played well. I was enjoying myself, watching my girl, and then Dan showed up. Of course, he had to sit by me and I had to put up with his unwelcome obnoxiousness. The man couldn't shut his mouth. I was civil to him, but we weren't friends. We never would be. The only thing good he'd ever done in his life was father Tai. He was good at sperm donation, but he even sucked at being a father. Tai's two half-siblings were a testimony to his ability to spread pollen, but she was closer to them than he was.

I'd been a child with stars in her eyes when we got married. I lost them quickly. He was emotionally abusive, and physically, once. A girlfriend had sent me a picture of him out at a bar with some hoe, and we had a big fight. He'd slapped me, and I'd put him in the hospital. The lamp on the table I'd fallen across did enough damage that he had been afraid of me, since. That was it, for me. Tai was two when I divorced him, and although he was always hanging around, he always had a shady motive. She tolerated him and would occasionally consent to doing something with him.

"Dan," I nodded as he took his seat.

"Carter, I think you get more gorgeous every time I see you," he said.

"Well, thanks, but the comparison to the strippers and hoes you usually see isn't flattering."

"Jesus, Carter, why do you always have to be so rude?" he complained.