Bittersweet Chocolate (18 page)

“I don’t know. Does this lesson involve touching?” Hand on his thigh, fingers caressing taut muscles...
mmm,
nice. Perhaps he could teach her a few things.

His mouth inches from hers, he whispered, “Open for me, Marissa.”

Famous last words, girl, don’t even go there.

With a mental shrug, she watched him take a long drag on the joint. She pressed her slightly parted lips against his, allowing him access to her mouth. He exhaled and she inhaled. They exchanged questioning looks before he masked his by lowering his eyelids. Instead of moving away, he put his hand to the back of her head.

“Ah, Marissa.” His tongue slipped into her partially open mouth, tasting, exploring, touching all the right places.
Holy shit.
Taken aback by his sudden move on her, he managed to reawaken forgotten feelings, leaving her in no doubt of his expertise, extracting just the right effect.

Impressive.

Pulling away, he moved his mouth along her jaw to her ear. “You’re too much,” he murmured, tongue teasing her lobe. “Warm inviting mouth, taste intoxicating...tell me you want me, make me believe you want me.” He nipped her ear. “I want you.”

She didn’t know what she’d expected, but didn’t think...white men didn’t go around kissing colored―
damn
―African American women, did they? It was not what she’d grown up believing, not what she’d heard, the stories of hatred. Yet Carl wanted―wait. He wanted more than kisses, wanted
her,
but Vi was there.
What’s up with that?

Eyes narrowed, she leaned away and stared into his eyes. What kind of twisted shit did this man have in mind? She didn’t know anything about white men, in general, and damn sure didn’t know if they had kinky sexual proclivities. More confused than before, she looked at Vi.

“You okay, Marissa?” Vi asked in hushed tones, eyes half closed.

“Sure, I’m fine, just surprised.” She turned back to Carl. The tingling sensation of his touch didn’t take the edge off her suspicions. Eyes narrowed, concealing his expression, he studied her as though reading her thoughts.

Grin shameless, he said, “I know, and I still want you.”

She glanced at Vi leaning back against the sofa, eyes glazed and unfocused, and realized Vi was stoned.

“She can’t help you,” he said, reading her accurately. He grabbed her chin and tilted her face toward him. “Have you ever participated in a three-way before?”

“Hold it, let’s back this ride up. What do you mean a
three-way?
” She jerked her chin from his grip. “I’m not into women.”

Laughing, he said, “No, of course not, oh, hell no, nothing with you and Vi, just you and me,
maybe
Vi and me, I work the two of you, the two of you work me. But Marissa...I. Want. You.”

He ran his index finger over her parted lips before slipping it into her mouth, then a slow calculated extraction. “I’m going to have you.” He slid his moist finger into his mouth, and eased it out. His intent couldn’t have been more explicit.

Marissa shivered. “What about Vi?”

His voice, low and seductive, had a hint of warning. “Marissa.” They exchanged predatory looks. “Vi will be okay on her own.”

“I’ll try anything once,” she whispered. Clearly, white was no longer an issue.

Welcome to integration.

* * * *

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

“It’s too damn hot,” she screamed into her pillow, muffling the sound.

Another hot, humid, summer day, and Marissa lay on her bed in front of the fan, trying to get relief from the sweltering heat. Well, she should be thankful it wasn’t as hot as last year, and not just temperature wise.

The civil rights movement had burst into full swing last year. Sit-ins, demonstrations, rallies, and sporadic riots had cropped up everywhere, which affected most Negro communities of the big cities in some way. The violence in Philadelphia hadn’t erupted into the full-scale destructive force of some of the Southern cities, which reflected the difference in the way the movement affected different Negro communities. And there had been the huge rally in D.C. where Martin Luther King, Jr. had given his
I Have a Dream
speech.

Looking across the room at Brittany lying facedown on her bed as still as a corpse, Marissa threw her pillow at her sister. “Brie!”

“Rissa... Girl, it’s entirely too hot. Don’t start with me.”

“Okay, don’t move, but listen. Do you ever think about the civil rights movement and all the demonstrations we see on television?”

Brittany turned over and looked at her sister. “What’s brewing in that bratty mind?”

“Just thinking about where we live, and how it’s unlike what’s reported in the news. We live in this middle-to-upper middle-class neighborhood and white folkes still live around here. Yet we’re considered a segregated community.” She sighed. “I don’t know about you, but racial inequality never occurred to me before the recent incidents reported in the South.

“You ever experience anything like what we’ve seen on television?”

Brittany sat up. “Nothing I couldn’t handle with the richer snots who go to our school.”

“Yeah, I hear you, but they don’t count. They treat the poor white girls the same way.”

Racial inequality as problematic as what she’d seen on television hadn’t touched Marissa’s young life. Nonetheless, it disturbed her. She often discussed it with her dad, who had been born in Alabama. As a child, he had experienced some of the cruelest forms of bigotry, but he never encouraged his children to adopt an attitude of racial hatred. If her dad didn’t harbor animosity, she couldn’t fathom the depth of stupidity it took for others, who never had experienced prejudice, to be so hateful.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I don’t have any aspirations to mix with the white folke any more than necessary. Heck. If we didn’t have to go to Hallahan High School, except for a few neighbors, I doubt we’d have continuing social contact with them.”

“I know what you mean,” Brittany remarked. “But you know they think they’ve cornered the market on being separate, totally missing the point. Having the same opportunities does not mean actually being with them. Just give us the appropriate tools. We attended Saint Elizabeth Elementary, where all the kids were Negro, and we managed to acquire an excellent education, thanks to the nuns and priests.”

“True. Provide the tools and the folkes can take it from there without commingling. No social interaction needed.” Marissa laughed. “Can you imagine dating a white guy? I heard Mrs. Williams and Mrs. Dorsey talking about a colored woman in the South who had married a white man. They made it sound like a curse had befallen the woman. Ooo, scare me. I expected them to say a witch doctor used voodoo, or a priest had been summoned to perform an exorcism to straighten the poor woman out.”

“Rissa, stop!” Brittany fell back on the bed laughing. “You watch too much television.”

“Yeah, but think about it. Would you date a white guy?”

“I doubt the situation will ever present itself.”

“Well, not me...never happen.”

“Careful, Rissa, you know what they say about never say never.”

“Uh-huh.” Marissa flopped back on her bed, and as usual she brushed aside her sister’s dire warning. She had more pressing issues to contemplate than being with a white man.

Eww
.

Conscious, but refusing to open her eyes, she acknowledged Brittany had been right—
never say never.
Geez, would she ever be at peace, would her every future action be linked to her past stupidity?

She heaved a sigh. At least she didn’t have that creepy feeling hovering over her like the last time, which must have been an aberration. She’d been feeling sorry for herself then, but she wasn’t alone anymore, now that she’d met people she liked. If the connections worked out, turned into real friendships, she could recover, finally let go and allow the past to be just that.

Opening her eyes, she groaned and turned over, squinty-eyed gaze settling on the illuminated clock face―seven in the morning, and Saturday. Why couldn’t she sleep late? Why didn’t her internal clock work like everyone else and adjust to her days off? And shouldn’t she be hung over?

Laughing, she remembered she’d stuck with her usual practice of one alcoholic beverage, then nothing but Pepsi. Hell, she didn’t know Vi and Carl, and wasn’t about to become drunk and vulnerable with strangers. Not that she had ever been much of a drinker.

And the doobie?

She snorted. Weed fell into munchie territory, not hangover terrain.

Yawning, she stretched. Since she’d awakened full of good cheer and shit, she might as well get up and clean away the residue of Vi and Carl’s visit.

What a fiasco, but Carl did say he wanted her
.
What
was
a woman to do? Besides, Vi had been stoned, so she missed out, but she’d be surprised if Vi ever spoke to her again. That would be a shame because she liked Vi. She seemed different from other young women Marissa had known. She could see the possibility of them becoming good friends, but it would mean never letting a man come between them.

Marissa hopped out of bed and stripped off its sheets. She’d let the bed air and remake it later. Tossing the linens in the hamper, she went into the bathroom, brushed, gargled, then showered, anxious to get started on the housework.

Slipping on a pair of dungarees, a t-shirt, and a pair of socks, she strode into the living room and noticed the lingering semi-sweet odor of the previous night’s activities. She turned on the stereo and hummed along with the music as she gathered ashtrays and empty glasses, taking them into the kitchen. As soon as the stores opened, she’d do her grocery shopping, and she needed panty hose.

Hmm. In her current frame of mind, the weekend had potential, and she owed her present attitude to last night. Carl had opened up a completely new world to her, had helped her let go of a few restrictive hang-ups like segregation, integration, and discrimination. She was looking forward to a life of endless possibilities.

The sudden ringing of the phone startled her, and for several seconds she stared at it while nibbling her bottom lip. Only family and the job had her number. She wasn’t expecting any calls. On the sixth ring, she picked up, said a hesitant
hello,
and smiled when she recognized Vi’s muffled voice.

“What the hell happened last night?”

“Hey.” She giggled. “Some friend you turned out to be, leaving me alone to fend off Carl.”

“
Whoa
...wait one happy damn minute. The one thing I
do
recall about last night, you weren’t doing much
fending.
”

“Oh. How can you remember anything? You were spaced out most of the night.”

“Hey...never mind. What do you have going on today?” Vi asked. “Want to come over and just laze the day away?”

“Sure, why not. I only have grocery shopping on my agenda, nothing critical.” She looked at the clock. “What time―are you even out of bed, you sound half asleep.”

“Not half asleep, hung over. What time is it?”

Marissa chuckled. “Girl, get your
bee-hind
out of bed, I’ll be there in an hour.” She hung up, walked into the bathroom, shucked out of her cleaning gear, and stepped into the shower. Until she looked in the mirror to fix her hair and saw the smirk on her face, she hadn’t realized she’d been smiling.

Dressed in dark blue Bermuda shorts and a sleeveless light blue-and-white checked blouse, she slipped her feet into a pair of white sandals, then headed toward the garage. She had reached the kitchen door when she paused, walked back to the refrigerator, grabbed a six-pack of Pepsi and the leftover onion dip. Pulling a bag of potato chips from the cabinet, she stuffed everything into a large paper bag, snatched her keys off the hook by the door, and headed for her car.

Feeling good, can’t stop smiling.
Oh yeah, her future had promise.

The front door opened and Marissa burst out laughing.

Vi’s hair seemed a tangled mess, but she had dressed, somewhat, in a pair of cutoff denims, a baggy t-shirt almost completely covering the shorts, and no shoes. Marissa didn’t find Vi’s outfit as funny as Vi’s eyes being just narrow slits.

“Girl, wake up,” she admonished.

“Marissa. If you don’t stop shouting, I’ll close the door and go back to bed.”

“In your dreams, missee. I didn’t drive over here, bearing gifts, mind you, for nothing.” She lifted the bag and waved it in Vi’s face.

“Nourishment, thank God. I knew I was going to like you.”

“Yeah, we were destined to be friends. And not only am I here for the long haul, I’m bigger than you are. Trying to close the door in my face, a waste of what little power you have.” She smirked. “Girlfriend, you don’t look like energy is your thing today.”

“Okay, come on in, if you’re going to get all huffy.”

Marissa shook her head and stepped inside. “You know, your hostess skills leave a lot to be desired. You invited me, if you’ll remember.”

“Girl, sit, open that bag.”

Once they had settled on the couch, Marissa opened the conversation. “After last night, I think we need to talk, really talk, get to know each other, and reveal
all
our deep, dark secrets.”

“Well, there’s not much for me to tell.” Marissa gave her a skeptical look. “Honestly, I have no family. I wandered through foster care until I was ten and a nice colored couple adopted me.”

“Are you part colored?”

“I have
no
idea. The consensus is I’m Hispanic. I might have been mistaken for part Negro because of my coloring and full lips,” Vi explained.

“True. You’re only half a shade lighter than me, but my grandmother was Native American, so I’m probably not a prime example of total African American.” She frowned. “There must have been some family history about you passed on from foster care.”

Vi snorted. “Yeah, right. It’s obvious you’ve never been part of the bureaucratic snafu. So here’s the shortened version.

“Twenty-four years ago, I wasn’t wanted, was abandoned on the doorstep of an elderly Negro couple. Rumor had it the couple’s last name was Johnson, but never verified. The couple was too old to care for me properly. I went into the foster care system.