A Natural Woman Read online

  Indeed, as her talkative church member, Mr. Phillips, has so perceptively put it, “there was something different” about her. That something was her hair. It had finally been restored to its full glory. Everyone from her friends and colleagues to her students and casual acquaintances had noticed it. Likewise, everyone seemed to have something to say about it, even if they couldn’t exactly pinpoint what the “it” was. Everyone that is . . . except for Javiel.

  CHAPTER 7

  Javiel was one of the sweetest, gentlest men Aliesha had ever dated. That was part of the problem. Had he been a womanizer, a pathological liar, a kleptomaniac, a non-bather, an obsessive-compulsive hand-washing neat freak, anything other than the good-looking, soft-spoken, nice guy that he essentially was, she would have felt justified in having ended things between them months ago. How do you leave a man most women would consider a great catch? A man with a respectable career, his own car and house, and damn good credit. A man with no kids, ex-wives, or baby mamas and whose reverence and adoration makes you feel as if you are his very own wall-mounted Picasso. What kind of woman would seriously contemplate walking away from such a man, especially after having spent the sixteen months prior to meeting him unnoticed, unappreciated, unloved, and all by herself?

  So what if they had almost nothing in common and even less to talk about. So what if their relationship lacked the passion, the plus/minus connection, the umpf factor of her last one. Who was she to be so damn choosy?

  Not wanting to hurt Javiel or appear less than appreciative of his finer qualities, for weeks Aliesha had been stuffing back her feelings and swallowing her frustrations, hoping in time, perhaps, they’d all simply fade away. But in the days after her visit to Wally’s Cool Cuts, Javiel’s silence about her hair puzzled and annoyed her like nothing he’d previously done or neglected to do ever had. She might have broached the topic, as she sat beside him in the car that Saturday night, had they not been on their way out to the suburbs where dinner and her first meeting with his parents awaited.

  Rather than address either subject, Aliesha squirmed in the passenger’s seat and bitched about the latest gathering her department’s chair had insisted his colleagues attend. “Hell, I’m not sure who benefits from those damn things, besides Shelton.”

  Javiel pulled into a long driveway and shifted the car into park. “So next time you oughta let me come and keep you company.”

  She clenched her teeth and stared out the window. “Javiel, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a big girl. I don’t need you or anyone else to hold my hand.”

  Javiel sighed. “No, what you are is a mean girl. You won’t let anyone hold your hand.”

  They turned and glared at each other, but rather than trade heated barbs, they laughed. He leaned over and kissed her. “You’re nervous. Don’t be. It’s just dinner, baby. Okay?”

  She nodded and exited the car. On joining him in the middle of the driveway, she cupped a slightly moist palm against one of his cool, dry ones. He’d called it right, at least as far as her nerves were concerned. She’d been dreading the meeting ever since Javiel had first presented her with the idea a couple of Saturdays ago.

  She didn’t understand his excitement about the pending introduction, especially given the role he’d played in fueling her concerns about his parents’ less-than-positive reaction to her involvement with their son. Time and time again, throughout the five or so months they’d been together, he’d spoken disparagingly of the joy his mother derived from bragging about her French heritage and Creole bloodline. Aliesha would never forget how he’d nearly dissolved into tears while describing his mom’s disdain for his dark-skinned Puerto Rican grandmother. And via words that had tumbled like stones from the hardened edges of his tightly drawn lips, he’d shared his feelings about the favor he claimed his folks had always shown his three lighter complexioned sisters.

  Before Javiel could insert his key into the wrought iron front door of his parents’ Tudor-style home, it opened. Aliesha seized his arm and braced herself for the shocked look or frowns of disappointment and disapproval. But nothing could have prepared her for the winning smile and friendly embrace of the stunningly gorgeous woman who ushered her and Javiel inside.

  She had anticipated a woman much shorter, thinner, and Caucasian in appearance than the woman who’d introduced herself as Javiel’s mother, Julia Malveau Perez. In truth, a stereotypical cafe au lait–colored Creole and one bearing all of the over-the-top haughtiness of Diahann Carroll’s Dominique Deveraux from the old Dynasty TV series is what Aliesha had imagined. But within seconds of meeting the vivacious and youthful-looking 60-some-year-old, Aliesha’s mind had filled with images from the 1950s movie classic Carmen Jones. While Julia’s beauty and stylish form were reminiscent of Dorothy Dandridge’s Carmen, her earthiness and searing wit were more on par with that of Pearl Bailey’s Frankie. When Javiel’s father, Juan, joined them in the foyer, Aliesha wasted little time in casting him as an older and grayer version of Harry Belafonte’s Joe, the clean-cut, handsome soldier who’d been Carmen’s love interest in the film.

  It relieved Aliesha as well that the free-flowing conversation over their trout amandine, artichoke risotto, steamed carrots, and their glasses of Chablis had borne none of the strained awkwardness that she had suspected it might. Certainly, there had been a couple of those “almost” moments, those points at which things could have easily deteriorated into something unbelievably ugly, like when Juan said to Aliesha, “Dr. Eaton, Javiel tells me you’re a Presbyterian, not unlike our illustrious former secretary of state Condoleezza Rice, who also, I might add, hails from the bright halls of academia. She’s quite the brilliant stateswoman, don’t you think?”

  Before Aliesha could finish chewing her food and render a polite but honest response, Mrs. Perez laughed and spared her the effort. “Brilliant?! Oh, sure in some frighteningly awful, truly diabolical sense, I suppose. Aliesha is a bright, forward-thinking woman. I’m sure the last thing she wants is to be cast into the same ideological cesspool as that right-wing, fashion-challenged, conservative lackey.”

  At another point, Juan again looked at Aliesha and said, “Has our son told you that he was once on the path to priesthood?”

  Javiel frowned and shook his head. “I was a monk, Dad, not a priest.”

  Aliesha didn’t flinch. Though he had yet to give her a full account of the experience, Javiel had spoken to her about the three years he’d spent in a monastery and his participation in a dog obedience training program the monks ran in order to lead them to a deeper spiritual plane as well as help finance their monastic way of life.

  Julia said, “Yes, dear, there is a difference. A huge one, actually. Were you a better Catholic, I’d suspect you’d know that.”

  Javiel’s father said, “Ha! I’m afraid on some level, the same could very well be said of you, my dear.”

  “Oh really?” Julia said. “How so?”

  Juan seized his wineglass. “Had you been a better Catholic, you most certainly would have never married me.”

  Without missing a beat, Julia raised her wineglass and bumped it against her husband’s in a resounding click. Aliesha smiled as she watched the couple complete their toast in a raucous round of laughter.

  Having cleared the table, the two women were in the kitchen preparing coffee and gathering the bowls and utensils needed for the New Orleans–styled dessert—bread pudding with rum sauce—when Julia interrupted their lighthearted banter with, “So, what do you think? Could you possibly bear the thought of having someone like me for a mother-in-law?”

  “If what I’ve witnessed tonight is any indication, I’m sure having you and Mr. Perez as in-laws is an absolute riot. I think you’re both great. But need I remind you, Javiel and I haven’t been dating long. Unless you know something I don’t, marriage isn’t even a blip on the radar just yet.”

  Julia let her slightly quizzical smile do the talking.

  Aliesha said, “In any case, the better question migh
t be, could you fathom someone like me as a daughter-in-law?”

  Julia stopped moving and focused on Aliesha. “Fortunately for me, my son is attracted to women who are very much like his mother—smart, strong-willed, opinionated, and fiercely independent. You and I would get along splendidly. What’s unfortunate for Javiel is that the combination I just mentioned isn’t one I’ve known him to have much long-term success with in the past.”

  Aliesha searched Julia’s eyes for a glint of hostility, and failing to find it she said, “I take it then that my relationship with Javiel gives you some reason for concern?”

  Julia lowered her voice. “Aliesha, make no mistake, as far as I can tell you are a beautiful woman both inside and out. And it’s obvious that my son adores you. My chief concern is whether you feel the same way about him. Javiel has always been the most emotionally vulnerable of all our children. I won’t have him hurt again. The last time that happened he ended up in a monastery chanting, praying, and training dogs for three years. For the life of me, I still don’t know how that ever came to pass. Javiel doesn’t even like dogs. Anyway, who knows where he’s liable to end up should it happen again.”

  “I’m sorry,” Aliesha said. “But where’s all this coming from? What did I say or do tonight that would give you the impression that I’m out to break his heart?”

  Before Julia could respond, Juan poked his head into the kitchen. “Ladies, do you mind? I betcha the former Madam Secretary never kept her man waiting around for his hot coffee and pudding.”

  Julia shook her head and picked up the tray of dessert servings. “As much as I’m tempted, I’m not even gonna touch that.”

  CHAPTER 8

  They’d exchanged warm good-byes with Javiel’s parents and were almost out the door when Julia said, “Javiel, are you planning on sleeping in tomorrow or do I dare expect to see you at St. Peter’s for morning Mass?”

  Javiel said, “Well, actually, I was thinking about attending morning services with Aliesha tomorrow.”

  The heel of Aliesha’s shoe got caught on the threshold and had she not been clinging to Javiel’s arm she might have tripped and landed face-first on the brick porch landing. Attend services with her? It was the first she had heard tell of such.

  Not unlike his father, Javiel was at best a lapsed Catholic, or what the good folks who worshiped at Aliesha’s Big Mama’s Missionary Baptist church commonly referred to as a backslider. His apparent lack of interest in matters of faith had never been a point of contention for Aliesha. Unlike a lot of “churched” folk, she wasn’t inclined to question other people’s relationship with God. She respected Javiel’s spiritual journey and didn’t feel it necessarily had to mirror her own. Even when he’d explained the three years he’d spent in a monastery during his early twenties by saying, “I needed some time away from all of the worldly distractions,” she’d elected not to press him for details. If at some point he wanted to tell her more, she figured he would.

  A few minutes into the long drive home, Aliesha glanced over at Javiel’s smiling face, listened to the happy hum springing forth from it and thought, Damn, why’d he have to go and pick this Sunday of all Sundays? It wasn’t like he’d never been a guest at her house of worship before. He, Jesus, and Monica had all sat in the pew next to her one Sunday morning after having spent an entire Saturday assisting with one of the Habitat for Humanity projects in which Garden View was involved.

  She revisited her private conversation with his mother. If Julia’s quip about in-laws was the unveiled hint Aliesha thought it might be, then perhaps Javiel’s sudden interest in accompanying her to church was an indication of his deepening feelings. She frowned and closed her eyes as she contemplated Julia’s stern warning about her son’s delicate emotions. What did that mean? Was Javiel subject to nervous breakdowns? On medication? Did he possess an unstable, dark side that he’d somehow managed to keep from her? Aliesha shuddered and wondered what she’d inadvertently gotten herself into this time.

  She put off confronting him longer than she should have. She let him walk her to her front door. She invited him inside. She even agreed to help him finish off another serving of his mama’s bread pudding.

  They stood in the kitchen, Aliesha with her rear backed against a counter and Javiel positioned directly in front of her, cradling the porcelain bowl like a raised offering. While watching him lower his lids and savor a bit of the dessert she’d eased into his mouth, Aliesha decided to seize the moment. “Javiel, about church tomorrow—”

  “Babe, you worry too much,” he said with his deep brown eyes suddenly stretched wide open again. He took the spoon and set it and the bowl aside. “It’ll be fine, just like dinner tonight. You’ll see.”

  “I’m sure,” she said. “It’s just that—”

  “Shhh,” he said, before pressing his lips to her.

  She felt the start of an involuntary tingle and stir. “Wait,” she said, in hopes of keeping herself from being enticed any further.

  “No, you wait,” he said. “Before you say anything, I have something for you.” He left the kitchen for a moment. On his return, he presented her with a small gift bag.

  She reached inside the bag and pulled out a DVD. Earlier in the week, she’d joked about the dinner date with Javiel’s parents turning into a disastrous Black/Latin/Creole 1967 version of Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. She chuckled and said, “Why, thank you. I’ve never actually seen the entire movie from beginning to end.”

  He moved his hands to her waist. “So, what do you say we climb into bed with what’s left of our dessert, pop that baby into the DVD player, fool around a bit, and talk about all that other stuff in the morning?”

  She said, “Yeah, right. You know once we get into bed we’re going straight for the fooling around and all of that other stuff is gonna fall by the wayside.”

  “Mmm-hmm, I do,” Javiel said. “So, what are we waiting for?”

  The next morning, Aliesha awakened to a quiet room and an empty bed. She stretched to her right and rubbed her hand against the bare, fitted sheet. Atop the plush fullness of the mattress, coolness reigned even in the spot where only hours before they’d both lain, warm and wet and on the verge of sleep.

  She rose and stumbled into the bathroom, praying all the while that Javiel had really left, either earlier that morning or else at some point during the night. Maybe he’d never intended to accompany her in in the first place and had only been trying to either irk or appease his mother. On leaving the bathroom, she hurriedly slipped into her robe and headed for the kitchen, where upon entering, all of her optimism cracked and splattered like so many dropped eggs on a tile floor. He hadn’t left after all. He was there, smelling freshly bathed and clad in what she knew weren’t the same boxer-briefs she’d eased over his narrow hips the night before. In one hand, he clutched a tumbler of orange juice, and with the other he eased an iron over a shirt.

  “I would have fixed coffee, but I figured the smell would wake you,” he said. “You look so peaceful when you’re asleep.”

  She shuffled over and stole a sip of his juice. After kissing him, she stood pondering the best way of softening the blow.

  “What’s wrong?” he said. “You look tired.” He chuckled. “Papi didn’t wear you out last night, did he?”

  “Javiel, if you don’t mind, I really would prefer that you didn’t go with me this morning.”

  “Why not?” he said, the expression on his face teetering between stunned and hurt.

  She placed the coffeepot in the sink and turned on the water. “This just isn’t a good Sunday. Maybe some other time.”

  He reached over and shut off the water. “Not a good Sunday. What’s that mean?”

  She emptied the partially filled pot into the coffeemaker. “Look, I’m just saying. It would have been nice had you asked before you just up and invited yourself.”

  “Man, if this doesn’t take the cake. What kind of a Christian tells somebody not to come to their church?” He
walked over and yanked the iron’s cord from the wall. “Maybe I oughta clue you in on a little something. In case nobody’s ever told you, this, my dear, is the Bible Belt. And down here, sweetie, every Sunday is a good Sunday.”

  They’d seldom argued in the brief time they’d been together. But when they had, the bitter sarcasm and biting vitriol of which he was capable always shocked her. She stared at him as if trying to determine what portion of him was Jekyll and how much was Hyde. “Be that what it may, that’s just how I feel,” she said. “And I don’t need you to mock or patronize me about it. . . .”

  He stared back at her through partially slanted eyes and with his chest rising and falling like a drunken polka player’s accordion. “Yeah, well, I’m starting to wonder if you need me at all. Who’s ever heard of making a got-damn appointment to show up at somebody’s church? You embarrassed to be seen with me or something?”

  “Of course not. And you’re a fine one to question somebody’s faith. I doubt they taught that you that in the monastery.”

  “What’s my stay at the monastery got to do with anything?” He started gesturing with his hands—waving and thrusting them about in the tight, breath-filled space between them. “You know what, if you don’t want me going to your church, fine. You wanna go to mine? I mean, really, that’s not what this is all about, is it?”

  She took a couple of steps away from him. “Look, Javiel, I’m not trying to insult you or offend you in any way. I’m just not ready to take our relationship to that level yet.”

  “I don’t understand. What level? The ‘going to church together’ level?”

  “Sure, if that’s what you wanna call it.”

  He moved toward her. “Okay, so let me get this straight. You can sleep with me within the brief span of two weeks after having met me. But we can’t go to church together after having spent five months as a couple?”

  She tilted her head and pressed the fingers of one hand against the smooth countertop to her right. “So, now all of a sudden I’m a ho? Is that what you’re trying to say?”