Chapter Four
The Date
A week later, she found herself walking into Joaquín’s classroom. A nude male model was posing in the middle of the classroom. Mozart played lightly in the room. Joaquín was standing a couple of feet away, scrutinizing the man and drawing on his canvas. He was wearing thin-framed glasses now, and they gave him an air of intellectual propriety, making him even more handsome. He wore a plain, white shirt that was stained with charcoal and paint. He smiled when he saw her and walked toward her. “Hello, I am glad you could make it,” he said softly.
He led her toward a bench with an easel-like part attached to it. “I’m afraid all the easels are taken. You don’t mind using a horse, do you?” He asked.
“You were serious about dressing in something old and working with charcoal?” She hadn’t really expected to come to his class and draw; she thought he had been joking. She came to observe not participate. He bit back a smile and gave her a large drawing pad and a piece of charcoal. He was serious.
“I will be right back to check on you.” He walked off and started glancing at some of the students’ drawings. Every now and again he would stop and say something to one of the students.
Ororo straddled the horse as she saw a couple of other students doing. She placed her pad on the easel and looked at the model. He stood so still like Michelangelo’s David, except the tint of his skin betrayed life, and every so often, the model’s eyes would flutter as if he just realized what that he was standing there nude and his chest would move slightly when he took a breath. She held the charcoal awkwardly in her hands and debated on where she should start. A couple of minutes later with no progress whatsoever done, Joaquín appeared at her side.
She heard him chuckle while looking at her blank paper. It wasn’t a derisive laugh, but an amused chuckle. “I will help you get started.” He said and sat behind her on the horse. She wanted to move away from him, but there was nowhere to go. There was something sensual about the way they were sitting “ him behind her, his thighs enfolding hers, his chest on her back moving steadily as he breathed, the way he breathed on her neck. Snap out of it, she said to herself.
He gently pulled her hand away from the paper. “Let me show you the right way to hold the charcoal.” He chuckled, taking the piece of charcoal from her. He told her to put three fingers over the top of it and use her thumb to secure it. Then, he directed her hand back to the paper and showed her how to pivot her wrist so that the lines flowed. He placed his hand over hers, helping her to draw the contours of the man’s body. It didn’t look too bad, but then again, she hadn’t drawn it by herself.
“Do not look at body parts; look at his body as if it were just lines and angles.” He whispered, his breath tickling the skin of her neck, causing her to goosebumps to rise on her skin. She fought the urge to lay her head on his shoulders and try to melt into him. He moved closer to her, and she sighed as images of him kissing her neck while they sat like that invaded her mind. She blinked rapidly, trying to concentrate on the task at hand, but she couldn’t concentrate on what he was doing because she was aware of him.
He left her, again, a few minutes later, and she continued the painstaking task of trying not to see body parts but “lines and angles”, as Joaquín had said, but she found herself thoroughly distracted, now. Once the class was over and the students were gone, she walked around the classroom looking at the various drawings that decorated the wall. A man and a woman locked in an embrace, a modern day Adam and Eve. A mother holding a child in her maternal embrace. A young woman in a shy, virginal pose. A group of men and women who were nothing more than a tangle of limbs and body parts.
She turned to him. He was leaning against the sink in the far corner of the room watching her, wiping his hands with a towel. “Which of these are yours?” She asked, waving her hands at the drawings.
“None. I take my artwork home. This isn’t a place for me to exhibit my talent; this is a place for my students’ work to shine through.” He walked toward her and stared at some of the drawings. “They are quite talented, aren’t they?” She could hear the obvious note of pride in his voice like a father bragging on his children’s accomplishments.
“Yes, they are all so beautiful.” She said with earnest admiration.
He reached for her suddenly, touching her face gently. She thought the might kiss her, but then, she felt his thumb swipe gently across her skin. “You had charcoal on your face.” He said. Disappointment welled in her. So much for that assumption. “Do you like the blues?”
“Yeah, why?” She said absently.
“Because I am going to a blues club tonight, and I was wondering if you like to be my date.”
“Look at me. I looked like I just finished sweeping a chimney.” She joked. She had successfully managed to get more of the charcoal on herself than she had the drawing pad.
“And you think I look much better?” He laughed, motioning at his paint-splattered shirt and jeans; he looked like a breathing swatch. “How about you go home and get cleaned up, I’ll do the same, and I can pick you up from your house.”
She gave the idea some thought. Why not? It could be fun, as he often said. “Sure.” She finally said.
She went home and cleaned up. She went through numerous outfits and mulled over whether she should wear her hair up or down. She finally decided on pair of dark blue jeans and an oversized, beige boat neck sweater with her hair down. Then, she called Jean at the club, and they squealed like a couple of schoolgirls for a few minutes. “I don’t care how late it is I want to hear every detail when you get home if you get home!” Jean added slyly before Ororo hung up the phone.
He was punctual. He even called to confirm her address before coming to pick her up. He was dressed similar to her. Jeans and a turtleneck. You could never go wrong with that combination. They made small talk, laced with private jokes, in his car, and once, he touched her hand while they were talking. She had smiled at him shyly.
The club was smoky and intimate. It reminded her of the juke joints she saw on television. A man was on stage with a guitar lamenting the reason why his baby left him. They sat at a table near the small stage, and Ororo looked down at her hands, suddenly interested in her fingernails. This was the first date she’d had in a long time. She was starting to feel a little timid, and he didn’t make it any easier when he stared at her.
His stare was bold, and it made her face warm. Maybe that was why he did it, to see what kind of reaction she would have to it. “Let’s play a game.” Joaquín said. She was becoming used to the abrupt way he said everything. He was astute and desultory, and he didn’t beat around the bush. If he had something to say, he just said it, and that was that.
“A game?” She said, looking up from her hands. She raised her eyes at him in curiosity.
He nodded. “Yeah, we’re going to make up lives for people.” He said.
“What?” She asked, a smile playing on her lips. “I don’t think I follow you.”
He pulled his chair to her side of the table so that they were sitting side by side. He leaned toward her, saying in a low voice. “It’s easy. I’ll show you. See that woman over there, the one running her hand nervously through her hair?”
Ororo looked in the direction of his eyes. She saw a woman looking around nervously, running her fingers through matte-black hair that fell just below her jawbone. The woman could have been pretty, but right now, it was obvious that she was a nervous wreck. “Yeah,” she said.
“She’s waiting for someone, her lover maybe. He’s married, and she’s nervous because she’s pregnant. She plans to tell him tonight, but she’s afraid that he might not accept her news or accept their baby. She’s afraid that he will deny it, deny her.” Joaquín said, looking at the woman as if he were in deep concentration.
“But you don’t know that.” Ororo protested.
“Of course, I don’t. That’s the point. Because I don’t know, I’m allowed to speculate on what her life might be like. You try.” He said.
Ororo thought it was a bit silly, but she took a deep breath. “She’s conflicted. She doesn’t know what to do. She’s been sleeping with a man that she knows doesn’t care about her. He treats her like a whore, his personal sex slave. Now, she wants out, and she… she doesn’t know how to end it because she thinks she loves him. And now she’s thinking maybe she deserves it, to be treated that way.”
She looked at Joaquín, her eyes burning. He had a look of understanding, and she was sure that he realized that she really wasn’t really talking about the woman but herself. He didn’t say anything about it, though. He just nodded, and said, “Does she really think she deserves it? Has she ever stopped to think that we might not always deserve what we get?”
“But she would argue that we might get what we deserve, and maybe she has done something to deserve it.” Ororo countered.
“I don’t think she deserves to be treated in such a manner. Maybe she deserves to be cared for and revered for her beauty, not just her physical beauty, but her inner beauty as well.” He said. Ororo was sure that they definitely weren’t talking about the woman with the matte-black hair anymore.
She wanted to laugh derisively in his face and ask him what did he know about her inner beauty. What kind of inner beauty did she possess when she let another person debase her, use her for his personal pleasure? And would he think she was so beautiful on the inside if he knew she enjoyed it? Instead, she used her usual survival tactic and steered the conversation to something different. “What kind of life did you make up for me the first time we met?” She asked.
An impish grin spread across his face. “I decided that you looked so sad because you recently broke up with a boyfriend and that you needed someone to show you that there was plenty of life waiting out there for you, and who better to show you that than me? Am I right?”
“You’re a real charmer, aren’t you?” Ororo said, barely able to contain a smile. “For your information, you were close, but not close enough. And that’s all I’m telling you.”
“Ah, but I was close. That’s what counts, right?” He chuckled.
“I want to ask you something.” Ororo asked him, suddenly serious.
“Anything.”
“Of all the women in the club, why me? What made you show interest in me?” His eyes flickered to her hair, and she ran a hand through her snowy tresses. “The hair. I should have known. It’s always the hair.”
“It’s unusual, but it’s very beautiful. It contrasts nicely with your skin. It’s subtle in the sense that it isn’t a bright blue or red, but at the same time, it’s not subtle because it is an unusual color.”
“Sometimes, I wish it was a little more subtle.” She said, and he looked at her questioningly. “I don’t dye my hair this color. It grows this color. This hair was the cause of many childhood fights.”
She waited for the normal questions people asked when they found out her hair was naturally white. “How did that happen?” “What did the doctors say about it?” And her all-time, personal favorite, “Does it hurt to grow white hair?” which she always responded with did it hurt to grow whatever color their hair was. But he just shrugged, taking her answer as is.
“Well, I think it is simply stunning, but your hair is only part of the reason you intrigued me. You are an intriguing woman. If I hadn’t noticed your hair, I think I would have still noticed you.” He said.
She didn’t know how to respond to his compliment. She didn’t think what he said was entirely true. He probably would’ve never given her a passing glance if it hadn’t been for the hair. He turned his attention toward the stage. A man was strumming his guitar, his eyes were closed, and he was moving his head around slowly. “You know I talk to my baby like a mother talk to her kid. You know I love that woman, but I just can’t keep it hid. She got the devil in her. Yes, that woman got the devil in her. She got the devil in her ‘cause she says she feel like doing something wrong…” The man sang in a raspy voice.
A couple of people “amen”-ed and “yes, Lawd”-ed at the man on stage including Joaquín who had his eyes closed bobbing his head to the beat and tapped his foot on the hardwood floor. He opened his eyes and turned his attention to her. “Would you care to dance?” He asked.
Ororo looked around the smoky club. “No one else is dancing.”
“So? We’ll be dancing.” He grabbed one of her hands and pulled her to an empty space on the floor and she didn’t protest. He put one hand on her hip and rocked her body to the beat of the music. When he was sure she got, he put one hand on the small of her back while they swayed to the music. No one else in the club seemed to notice them dancing. All eyes were still turned to stage and the man singing about the woman who had the “devil in her”. She didn’t look at him. She could feel his eyes fastened on her as if she were the only woman in the room. He pulled her closer to him and leaned his head against hers, and she closed her eyes.
Her hand had unwittingly crawled up his chest and was now nestled in his hair, and it felt just as she suspected like satin beneath the fingers. They moved as one, and she forget to be apprehensive about the fact that no one else was dancing. She no longer heard the music. She concentrated, instead, on them; the feel of her heart beat against her breast, the feel of his sweet breath on the side of her face, the feel of their bodies against one another. She buried her face in his chest; she felt safe in his arms.
This was it. This was the way things were supposed to be. She didn’t care that this could’ve been a false sense of protection. All that mattered was she felt secure; she felt desirable; she felt wanted. She could’ve stayed like that forever. She opened her eyes and dazed dreamily around the club while they swayed in a circle. Then, she stiffened against Joaquín when she thought she saw Logan standing by the bar. Joaquín turned her from that direction, and she pulled away from him, turning back toward the bar. She saw no one.
She cursed herself silently for thinking that Logan had actually followed her. Now, the spell was broken. “Are you okay?” Joaquín asked, his voice holding a hint of worry.
“Yes,” she answered. “I just thought I saw an old friend, but I think I was mistaken.”
“Do you want to leave?”
“Yes, please.” Ororo said.
Joaquín gathered their jackets. He helped her jacket on, and they walked out into the brisk, cool night. The sharp sting of the cold air against her lungs seemed to make things more lucid. There was no way that she could’ve seen Logan at the club. She realized her eyes were playing horrible tricks on her, and she didn’t know why.
“Ororo, are you sure that you are okay?” Joaquín repeated. They started walking toward his car. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and she leaned into him.
“Yes, I’m quite sure. I just felt a little disoriented thinking I saw my friend.” She said softly.
“Do you want me to take you home?”
“Oh no, I’m having a wonderful time with you.”
He beamed. “What would you like to do, now? Are you hungry? Do you want to catch a late movie? Would you like to go to your friend’s club?” The questions came out his mouth as a definitive blur.
“Whoa, slow down. I’m not hungry, but I would like to stop by the club.” She wanted to stop by the club to make sure he was there. That was the only way that she would be able to quell her fear that he had been following her. Once she saw him at the club, there would be no question that she was seeing things.
The Phoenix was packed as usual when they arrived and more people were awaiting entrance to the club. Victor nodded Ororo and Joaquín into the club while he told a girl gruffly that she had to be 18 to enter and 21 to drink, and she wasn’t either. The girl uttered a few curses at Victor, which promptly ended when he told her he wouldn’t hit a woman, but he sure as hell would shake the hell out of one. The girl finally relented and left.
Ororo scanned the bar area where she saw the new guy, Remy LeBeau she believed his name was, and Yuriko making up drinks for the customers. She didn’t see Logan, though, and her blood rushed to her ears. Yuriko waved, and Ororo waved back halfheartedly. She walked with Joaquín to the bar and seated herself in front of Yuriko, who leaned against the bar, leisurely. “Hey, Ororo. Even when you’re off, you can’t keep away from this place, huh? And who’s the hottie?” Yuriko teased, patting Ororo’s hand, making a “rawr” sound in Joaquín’s direction.
“This is my friend, Joaquín Allende.” Ororo smiled despite herself.
Yuriko turned her attention toward Joaquín. “Since, you’re already obviously taken,” Yuriko cut her eyes slyly at Ororo and then back to Joaquín, “tell me you have a twin brother who looks just like you.”
Joaquín laughed. “Nope, me disculpo. I mean, I apologize. I am one of a kind. But I do come from a family overrun by men.” He said mischievously.
“There is a God. I’ll leave my name and phone number with you. Just send one of your dashing male relatives my way. Yuriko will take good care of him.” Yuriko joked with a wink. “What can I get you two lovebirds?”
Ororo started to protest at the mention of them being “lovebirds”, but Joaquín said, “A water,” before she could reprimand Yuriko. She found herself echoing him, asking for a water as well.
“Where’s Jean?” Ororo asked when Yuriko sat their bottled waters in front of them.
“Hell, I don’t know. She came up front and told Logan that she needed to speak to him in her office.” Yuriko said with a wiggle of her eyebrows. “Logan don’t seem like the talking type, so I’m not convinced there’s a lot of talking going on in there.”
Ororo tried to ignore it. She wouldn’t allow herself to believe that Logan and Jean were sleeping together. Jean would never do that to Scott. Yuriko had a bad habit of blowing out a lot of hot air. If you let Yuriko tell the story, everyone was sleeping with everyone else in that club “ except her. However, now her fears were quieted. Logan had been at the club the whole time.
“Yuriko, you should be ashamed of yourself for implying something is going on between the two. You know Jean is hopelessly devoted to Scott.” Ororo chided.
“Don’t give me that fairytale love shit. Ororo, he’s obsessed with her. Haven’t you ever noticed how his eyes follow her around everywhere? It was a lot worse before you started working here. I guess he figures with you being friends with both Scott and Jean, you’ll snitch on him to Scott or something. There’s Vic. You can ask him.”
Yuriko waved him over and gave him the rundown on what they were talking about. Then, he told Ororo, “He’s got it bad. He sniffs after that piece of ass like a dog sniffs after meat.” Ororo didn’t say anything as Victor made a few other crude remarks about Logan and walked off. She had never noticed, and she knew she shouldn’t be listening to Yuriko, but even Victor confirmed it. Joaquín shifted beside her; she had forgotten that he was sitting there. Obviously, he was uncomfortable listening to them gossip about their friends.
“Hey, new kid!” Yuriko suddenly yelled down the bar. That kid wasn’t too much younger than she was. “Stop flirting and get to working! What do you think we’re running here? A dating service?”
“Remy sorry, Yuriko.” He flashed a flirtatious smile her way. He laughed a little longer with the women before sending them on their way.
“I swear he worries more about trying to get laid than working.” Yuriko complained to Ororo with a roll of her eyes. Ororo tried to appear interested, but she was bothered by this new information. There was a crash of glass, and Remy let out a string of French words that Ororo was sure was unfit for virgin ears. Yuriko turned to Remy, clenching her teeth, making angry clawing motions at him. She didn’t even say goodbye as she charged to his end of the bar.
She drank her water, silently, and then she started a conversation with Joaquín, not wanting to think anout Logan and Jean anymore. Eventually, she settled into a nice conversation with him. They turned in their seats toward the dance floor and laughed at some of the more outrageous club goers, and she mentioned something about being interested in Flamenco dancing. Then, he asked her if she liked to salsa or mambo, and she said she didn’t know she had never really done it. He asked her how did she know she would like Flamenco dancing, and she said she just knew. And that was a good enough answer for Joaquín.
Then, she saw Logan walking across the club and she looked down at her shoes.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Joaquín said. “Restroom break.”
She watched him disappear in the direction of the restrooms. She tried to ignore the fact that Logan was behind her. Instead, she concentrated on the noises of the club. The music blasting out of the loudspeaker mixed with Yuriko’s shrill scolding of Remy who was answering her back in his broken English mixed with French. “You need somethin’?” Logan said behind her. He made it sound as if she had no right to be there. She shook her head, not turning to look at him.
She saw Joaquin walking toward her. He stopped on the fringes on the dancing crowd and motioned her toward him, and she was more than happy to comply. Logan grabbed her hand before she could leave the bar. That was the first time he had made actual physical contact with her in the presence of others. She didn’t know whether she should feel honored or alarmed. She turned to him surprised. “I know what you’re tryin’ to do, and it ain’t workin’.”
“What are you talking about?” She asked, pulling her hand away from him.
“You skip in here with him, and I’m supposed to be jealous, huh? Well, like I said, it ain’t workin’.” He said, his voice low. She could have laughed. He thought she was trying to make him jealous, and it was obvious he was jealous, even though he said it “ain’t workin’”. She was sure that she wasn’t using Joaquín to get back at Logan. She honestly liked Joaquín’s company, making Logan jealous was just an advantage of being Joaquín’s friend.
“I am not trying to make you jealous. Everything isn’t always about you. No matter what you may believe. It is possible for people to do things in their lives without worrying how their decision is going to affect you.” She said scornfully. It was one of the few times that she had used such a contemptuous tone with him.
“You can’t really like him.” He said; his voice was still low and cool.
“And why is that?” She shot back, offended. “Is it so wrong for me to like someone who will be there when I need them, to be in a relationship that isn’t hidden in the dark? Am I not allowed to be happy?” They stared at each other a moment, angry eyes flashing between the two. He couldn’t seem to come up with a rebuttal to that accusation, and he seemed to let out a resigned sigh.
She spun on her heel and joined Joaquin on the dance floor where she made a great show of grinding her hips against his and running her hands over his body, her former reserve fading, while a female voice wailed, “I can’t help this longing. Comfort me. I can’t hold it all in. If you won’t let me. Heaven holds a sense of wonder, and I wanted to believe that I’d get caught up when the rage in me subsides…” Every now and again, she would glance in Logan’s direction. He stood stoically with his arms crossed over his chest.
*
Song(s) mentioned in this chapter: “She Got the Devil in Her” by Buddy Guy and “Silence” by Delirium ft. Sarah McLachlan (DJ Tiesto remix)
