Bittersweet Chocolate (17 page)

Refreshed and relaxed, she donned a nightshirt, stepped into the closet, and stood poised before clothes racks, contemplating what she’d wear in the morning.

Gone were the days of the casual dress style she’d worn to work as just another clerk. She’d relegated those clothes to after work and weekends. In her position as administrative assistant, she limited herself to nine-to-five outfits, or her three-piece suit collection, which allowed her to alternate between the slacks and pencil-slim skirts that matched the vests and jackets.

Even though the popularity of the mini hadn’t faded, for work she kept her skirts and dresses knee length. No one from her past would believe how conservative she’d become. Days of skintight Wranglers with indecent bustiers were history.

Several meditative moments passed before she decided on the charcoal-gray pinstriped suit with the slacks and vest. She paired them with a pale gray, long-sleeved blouse with a self-tie neckline and dark gray pearl buttons down the front and at the cuffs. Turning to her racks of shoes, she chuckled.

For someone who despised wearing shoes, she owned about ninety pairs in different varieties of pumps, flats, sandals, and sneakers, in a multitude of colors. Given a choice, and when the opportunity presented itself, she would discard her shoes. If anyone ever peeked at her feet under her desk at work, she would be shoeless.

Marissa pulled her dark gray pumps off the shelf, and from a dresser drawer she retrieved a package of taupe panty hose, which against her skin looked gray. In her dreams, one day, the stocking manufacturers would make shades to accommodate the variety of Negro skin tones. She chuckled.

Perhaps she was being pushy, and wanting too much, too soon, considering manufacturers just gave them panty hose. That new style relieved women of wearing a garter belt that added extra restriction around their waists. And Lord knows, not having to wear those garters that felt like tourniquets around the thighs, cutting off circulation, was a welcome reprieve.

Satisfied with her selections, she went back into the bathroom and sat in front of the vanity. She removed the hairpins holding her hair tucked into a neat French twist, and with slow even strokes, she spent a few minutes brushing the soft waves. Combing her hair back away from her face, she loosely tied it with a ribbon, grabbed the jar of Noxzema, and smeared the creamy concoction over her face and neck. Using a facial brush to scrub and massage her skin, she rinsed with hot then cold water and patted her face dry with a towel. She applied a daub of Pond’s cold cream to forehead, cheeks, and chin, smoothed it evenly over her face, patted away the excess with a tissue, and so concluded her nightly ritual.

Marissa climbed onto her four-poster bed and released a long, exhaustive sigh.
Damn those dreams.
The traumatic experiences from her past had no place in her new life.

She turned out the light, fell back on the pillows, and closed her eyes.

Marissa woke earlier than usual, anxious to get to work. She showered, dressed, and went into the kitchen to fix breakfast. Three hardboiled egg whites, half a ruby red grapefruit, a mug of chamomile tea, and she was good to go.

During the drive to work, she contemplated the overall benefits of the job transfer. Her new position as administrative assistant to Hal Brody, the controller, could be demanding, but she enjoyed the challenge, and the position came with a substantial salary increase.

For the first month, the rigors of learning the new job kept her isolated. The only employees she’d met were the management staff who interacted with Hal on a daily basis, and a few of the accounting department personnel. There were no warm and fuzzy feelings on either side of that intermittent contact. She fell into the habit of bringing her lunch and eating at her desk while she read a book, or flipped through magazines she’d brought from home.

Today was different. From her desk, she had a view of Hunter Park across the street. While she nibbled on her sandwich, book forgotten, her pensive gaze observed the arrival of several big yellow school buses. They pulled to a stop in the parking area, the bifold doors opened, and boisterous kids bounded down the steps, scrambling to be first in line for a ride on the miniature train that ran the circumference of the park.

She smiled when she heard the whistle and saw the train puff away from the station platform, an exact replica of the many train stations she’d seen as a child.

Back in the day, her family had gone to Atlantic City every summer on trains powered by coal and she remembered they had to keep the windows closed because of the smoke and soot.

God, how old had she been back then, not more than five or six years old, yet the memories had remained indelibly imprinted in her mind. At that age, she’d thought the things she enjoyed would remain the same forever. Knew someday she’d grow up, and take her kids... Her wistfulness evaporated.

Interest in the laughing, jostling kids waiting for their ride on the train only led to painful memories. With a slight hitch in her breathing, she wrenched her gaze away from the mock train station and focused on the Garrett employees scattered throughout the park. They sat at picnic tables eating their lunch, enjoying each other’s company along with the cool winter air and sunshine.

While she cleared the remnants of her meal from the desk, she promised herself that she’d begin to circulate. Once she organized herself and had a handle on her duties, she’d mingle with employees outside the accounting department. They might turn out to be useful as acquaintances, although, even minor associations might be a burden on her recently depleted social skills.

Previous experience cautioned her not to be so accepting.

A few weeks later she made good on her promise. Venturing out on her lunch break, brown bag in hand, she headed for the park. From her peripheral, she noticed a young woman walking in the same direction, moving toward the one unoccupied table. They reached it at the same time. Logically, they decided to share.

“Hi. I’m Villia Leon, but I prefer to be called Vi,” the woman said, holding out her hand. “I work in Information Services.”

Marissa stared, mesmerized by the animated features of one of the loveliest women she’d ever seen. Compared to her five-foot-eight-inch physique, there was a significant contrast to Vi’s petite stature. Rounded in all the right places, she had long, slightly wavy, charcoal-brown hair that hung freely down her back almost to her waist, with curly tendrils framing her features. A high-bridged nose, full sensual lips and almond-shaped, dark brown eyes completed the picture.

She remained quiet, trying to discern Vi’s ethnicity, suspecting either Mexican American or Native American ancestry. Of course with her sun-kissed, golden brown skin tone she could be a light-skinned Negro...
oops,
African American, of mixed heritage.

“Nice to meet you, Vi,” she blurted out after the prolonged silence. “I’m Marissa Wells.” She took the proffered hand. “I’m Hal Brody’s new admin, recently transferred from the Philadelphia office.”

“Yeah, I’d heard. You don’t think another minority on the premises would go unnoticed, or not talked about.” Vi laughed. “They had to let their number one token know another token had come onboard.”

“Oh, that bad, huh?”

“No, don’t get me wrong. It’s not bad at all, just the opposite. Everyone seems sincere. They go way out trying not to offend, or come across as recent slave owners bestowing favors.”

Marissa grinned. Vi had a wry sense of humor as wicked as Marissa’s own.

With the introductions out of the way, they shared small talk while they ate. Marissa learned she and Vi, two years older at twenty-four, had mutual interests that eliminated any disparities of age. The subjects they discussed varied from cooking, sewing, world issues, men, and both liked bowling.

Marissa enjoyed talking to Vi, but remained wary. She’d had only one female friend in her life. Not that she considered Darien a friend in the true sense, since Darien had doubted her when she needed a friend. If only Darien hadn’t sided with Rick.

“Marissa?” Vi interrupted her introspection. “We’re starting up our bowling league tonight. Would you like to join? It could be fun. There are a lot of nice-looking single men in the group.”

“Oh, I’m not sure,” Marissa muttered, then felt foolish for vacillating. Wasn’t she supposed to be starting a new life? “You know what, that sounds great. Where and what time?”

Except for Vi, she hadn’t met anyone she even wanted to consider an acquaintance. Joining the company’s bowling league might be the opening she needed.

“Tryouts are tonight,” Vi said. “We’ll be making up teams. Can you meet me at the bowling alley?” She gave directions. “Think you’ll be able to find it?”

“Sure. Tava Lanes on Arlington. I’m practically around the corner. Thanks.”

She arrived at the bowling alley a bit late. Vi rushed through the introductions to the other employees, and the group chose teams―four members to each, two men, two women. She and Vi lucked out when teamed with two men from Vi’s department at work.

Vi leaned over and whispered, “Jeff and Carl are good. They can pick up our slack.”

“Good, because I don’t know about you, Vi, but I’m only a mediocre bowler. I haven’t bowled since I lived with my parents.”

Marissa liked Jeff and Carl.

Jeff Corey was a married, fifty-year-old, pudgy African American. While Carl Stills was a different proposition altogether. Single, he was a little over six feet tall with an amazing physique, had dark brown hair, intense blue eyes, and dimples. Except for the movies, to date, he was the best-looking white man she’d ever seen. Handsome, but not conceited, he had a casual down-to-earth attitude.

During tryouts, Marissa managed to avoid embarrassing herself, but it didn’t stop Carl from designating himself her coach in a too friendly fashion. He wouldn’t keep his hands off her. After qualifying for the team, she put some distance between them. She removed her bowling shoes, cleaned her ball, and returned everything to her bowling bag.

“Thanks, Carl.”

“My pleasure, I enjoyed it.” He grasped her hand and she sat staring, transfixed like a starstruck fan meeting a movie idol. Damn if she wasn’t grateful for Vi’s timely intervention.

“Hey girl, we’re going to hang around, have a few beers. Are you up for it?”

She eased her hand from Carl’s grasp. “Yeah, count me in. Who’s staying?”

“For sure, Carl, Jeff, me, and now you, maybe some of the others,” Vi said over her shoulder as she moved toward another group.

Marissa looked at Carl. He winked and she chuckled. Hell, she wasn’t a naïve adolescent. She should be able to handle one white man’s flirting.

Her coworkers appeared to be a fun group, people she wouldn’t mind hanging with, now and then. It seemed like such a long time ago that she’d laughed and had fun...she thought she’d forgotten how. As the evening wound down, she, Carl, and Vi were the last ones in the bar.

Nursing their drinks, and learning a little more about each other, their desultory conversation turned to drugs. Marissa wasn’t surprised considering the times they lived in, with the hippie subculture, free love, and communes continuing to thrive.

Carl introduced the drug topic. Marissa and Vi glanced at each other, and both said they didn’t do hard drugs. “I smoked a joint, once,” Marissa said, and Vi said she’d tried it a few times, but she wasn’t into it.

“Hey listen, I’m not into the hard stuff either, and the pot isn’t a habit.” Carl’s steady, narrow-eyed gaze focused on Marissa. “I have a few joints with me, so why don’t we go some place and enjoy.”

Marissa hesitated. She didn’t know Vi or Carl well enough to put herself out there like that. On the other hand, when had she become so prudent? “Okay, my house is the closest.” With her mind made up, her house seemed the logical choice. “I’ll meet you there. Taking our own cars, nobody will have to come back here.” She gave directions and left.

By the time Vi and Carl arrived, Marissa had showered, changed, and fixed a few munchies. Even though she wondered why it had taken them so long to get to her house, a ten-minute drive, she didn’t question them about it. But she couldn’t shake the thought, and that made her uneasy.

“What will you have to drink?” she asked and walked behind the bar.

“Gin and tonic,” Carl said.

“Rum and Coke for me,” Vi said as she looked around the room. “I like your place...the setup, and color scheme.”

“Thanks.” Marissa fixed their drinks, pulled a Pepsi from the mini fridge, and maneuvered her way around Carl, trying not to touch him. “Let’s get comfortable.” She picked up the Pepsi and left the other two drinks for Carl to carry.

Gathering the large cushions from the back of the sofa, she tossed them on the floor between the coffee table and the couch. She dropped down on the cushion next to Carl, which put him between her and Vi.

They made small talk while Marissa covertly watched the interaction between the other two with speculation. There wasn’t anything specific, but she sensed a tension between them, and it had to be about something more than getting together to smoke a little weed.

Carl must have noticed her curious glances, because he edged closer, leaned against her shoulder, and trailed his fingers down her arm. “Marissa, tell me about you.”

“Thought I already had,” she countered, smiling up at him. “Carl, what’s this really about?”

“I want to know about the real Marissa. The Marissa I keep catching glimpses of behind the measured smile...the bewitching Marissa, the oh-
soooo-
lovely, but suspicious woman.”

Carl inhaled from the joint pinched between his thumb and index finger, put it to her lips, and she took a drag. He put it to Vi’s lips only long enough for her to take a quick pull before he took another drag, turned, and nuzzled Marissa’s neck.

“If you’re up for it, I want to teach you something.”

Teach me.
Marissa chuckled, surprised by his familiarity but excited by his touch. Her gazed roamed over his face, down the length of him, returning to look directly into his eyes.