Bittersweet Chocolate (4 page)

February weather could get extreme, in a heartbeat, and it had become colder while she’d been inside. Joel put his arm across her shoulders and pulled her against his side. She didn’t object, and he tightened his hold.

“How old are you, Marissa?”

“Sixteen. And you?”

“I’m seventeen, eighteen in six months.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Oh, why is it good?” he asked.

“My parents won’t give me any grief if you want to see me again, since we’re more or less the same age.”

“Hmm, you’ve dated older guys before?”

“Once.”

He didn’t respond and she could imagine what he was thinking. Younger guys assumed she would be an easy conquest, thinking she must have lost her virginity, because she’d dated older men. Wasn’t he in for a surprise?

“What are you thinking about?”

Musing interrupted, her response was off the wall. “Uh, how cold it is now.”

He laughed. “Oh-kay, tell me something about yourself.”

She looked up at him. “And then quid pro quo.” He frowned. “Tit for tat.”

“Right, agreed.”

He was charming and articulate, had a good sense of humor, and she was impressed. They liked the same types of movies and music, laughed, talked, and exchanged phone numbers as they strolled along Diamond Street. It seemed like no time at all before they reached the corner of her block. Joel walked her to her front door and seemed surprised to find the house dark.

“All the lights are off. Isn’t anyone waiting up for you?”

“You have to be kidding.” She glanced at her watch—one thirty a.m. “My family gave up waiting for me a long time ago. I can take care of myself.” He regarded her curiously, but made no further comment. She unlocked the door, stepped into the vestibule, and he followed.

“When can I see you again?”

“When do you want to see me again?” she asked, backing up as he moved closer. During the walk home, she’d anticipated his kiss. This was the perfect opportunity, and he didn’t disappoint her.

With his hands braced against the wall on either side of her, his head lowered, warm breath caressed her face, and he whispered, “Open for me, Marissa.”

His tongue slipped between her parted lips and she tasted the distinct licorice-y flavor of Sen-Sen coating his tongue. She slipped her hands inside his leather coat and snuggled closer. A low moan escaped her when he placed his hands on the sides of her face, his thumbs gently stroking the corners of her mouth. She wanted more. He pulled back.

“Goodnight, Marissa.” He buttoned his coat, opened the door, and stepped outside.

That’s it, goodnight. No, I’ll call you.

Face heated, she stomped out the door and down the steps. Brow furrowed, she stared openmouthed, watching his retreating form until he turned the corner.
Ooh
-kay, calm down, it’s not the end of life, as you know it. She retraced her steps, went inside, closed the door, and leaned back against it.

Breathe.

Tranquility restored, she grinned and pushed away from the door. Making her way upstairs, she outlined a plan to make the first move to see him again, sadly, disregarding that instinctive apprehensive reaction to him when they met.

Graduation day

1965

Pomp and Circumstance blared from a public address system at Philadelphia Convention Hall as the graduating class of John W. Hallahan Catholic Girl’s High School moved toward the hall’s entrance. Sporadic applause accompanied the periodic flicker of flashbulbs exploding around her like fireflies flitting here and there.

Dressed in a white robe with a squared-off, puritan-looking, sky-blue collar, Marissa wore a white cap, tilted rakishly to the right, with a sky-blue tassel bobbing frantically before her eyes. She marched down the aisle of the cavernous room with her diploma, enclosed in the folds of a sky-blue satin-covered binder, clutched in her left hand. The outfit together with the entire procedure added credence to the finality of four years of discontent, and it wasn’t that the school had been a disappointment, far from it.

She had received an excellent education, years ahead of public school curriculum, but she’d wanted to attend Dobbins Vocational High School, wanted to learn a trade. The parents insisted she follow family tradition―her older sisters had attended and graduated from Hallahan.

Moving on to happier thoughts, she considered what graduating meant to her relationship with Joel. They’d been dating for a little over a year, had talked about getting a place together when she turned eighteen, and marriage. Albeit, her vision of the marriage idea was for the distant future. Sure, she was ready for the sex experience, but marriage...not ready for that much of a committed relationship. And yes, they had discussed the possibility of pregnancy.

“Marissa!”

She flinched, focused on her surroundings, and realized she was outside the Hall with her mother staring up at her expectantly. “Sorry, Mother. My mind had wandered.” Her mother’s lips curled into her familiar tight-lipped expression, and Marissa fought the urge to laugh.

Glancing over her mother’s head, she saw her dad shake his head, and she bit down on her bottom lip to keep from smiling. “Yes...Mother?”

“I asked, where’s Joel?” Elise snapped.

“He’s getting the car. His dad let him have the car for the day. I’m riding back to the house with him.”

“Marissa—”

“Elise,” Stephen cut in. “Today is Marissa’s day, cut her some slack. She graduated.”

“Like I said I would,” Marissa retorted.

Her father frowned at her and remarked, “Here’s Joel. I’ll see you back at the house, honey.” He brushed his lips across her forehead, grabbed her mother’s arm, hustling away before Elise could say another word.

“What was that about?” Joel asked.

“My mother being her usual self, never missing an opportunity to stir up friction between Dad and me.” Marissa smirked. “She thought I’d get pregnant, not finish school, because I had a few boyfriends. Heck, none of them lasted long enough to get to first base.”

“Don’t I know it,” he stated. “I’ve been your main man for the last year, and I’ve had nothing more intimate than kissing and frustration to speak of.”

She grinned. “That’s because you’re a gentleman. You understood my sentiments on the topic of sex, and I thank you. But enough about my mother’s skewed assumptions. As Dad said, this is my day. Don’t I deserve a kiss?” Leaning forward, she gazed into sexy blue eyes, outlined by the longest, thickest eyelashes she’d ever seen on a man. A woman should be that lucky.

“Marissa, stop. The nuns are watching.” He squirmed away when she tried to kiss him.

“Hey, when did you become so modest?”

He didn’t answer, just grabbed her arm, strolled toward his car idling at the curb, and opened the door. “Get in, brat, where to?”

“Home first. The parents have a party planned and I have to be there. Afterward, I’ll change, and it’s up to you.”

Shaking his head, he said, “You know my house is out. No privacy there.”

“Okay, I’ll confiscate a few goodies from the party, and we can go to the park, have a private celebration. Later, former classmates are having parties. We’ll check out a few.”

“Sounds good.” He leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on her mouth before starting the car.

“I hope you’re planning on doing better than that later.”

“We’ll see,” was his laughing response.

Three weeks later, she attended Joel’s graduation at Simon Gratz High School. Soon after, drastic changes disrupted their relationship.

From an upper middle-class family, her father didn’t want her to work or leave home until she was eighteen. She’d just turned seventeen, months before graduation. Joel wasn’t as fortunate.

In his family, he was the oldest of six kids. To help out, since starting high school, he’d been working downtown after school as a part-time dishwasher at the Horn and Hardart food automat. Now he had to find full-time work.

He appeared to welcome the prospect of earning his own way. It didn’t take long for him to secure a job with a long-distance trucking company. Hired as a driver’s helper, with the potential to become a driver, the job took him away for weeks at a time. With the two of them still living in their parents’ homes, time together dwindled to a minimum. More often than not, they spent their time at her home because his family lived in a small apartment. Even her place didn’t allow for privacy, with the constant presence of April, her snooping, tattletale younger sister.

Adding more stress to sustaining a long-distance romance, before graduation, the relationship had been mellow. Joel’s attempts to make love with her had been half-hearted. If petting became too hot and heavy, he’d concede graciously when she’d called a halt, making her love him more. Considering some of the tactics she’d used to fend off previous boyfriends, his control had been refreshing. After graduation, at first, changes were subtle. Then he applied not-so-subtle pressure.

“Marissa, don’t you believe I love you?”

“Joel—”

“No! You said after graduation. What are you afraid of...getting pregnant?”

Damn. After years of restrained curiosity, and chomping at the bit to know the ultimate sexual experience, wasn’t it time to go for the real deal. She loved the man, didn’t she? They’d talked about a life together. Yet her nagging sixth sense continued to urge caution. Why, wasn’t clear.

“Joel...” He started to speak. “No, let me finish. I believe you love me, I hope you believe I love you, but we don’t have any privacy. It has nothing to do with getting pregnant, because you can use protection.”

“True, but condoms aren’t one hundred percent foolproof. If you become pregnant, we’ll get married sooner than we planned.”

“Joel, you’re missing the point. I refuse to have my first experience on the back seat of a car.”

* * * *

One Year later

At last, eighteen.

They had decided to move in together. It hadn’t taken long for him to save sufficient money to purchase a used 1963 Chevy Impala and move out of his parents’ home. He’d been lucky to acquire a second-floor duplex in East Falls, within walking distance to the Schuylkill River and Fairmount Park. The Philadelphia College of Textiles and Science was part of the community.

In a predominately white upscale neighborhood, the duplex had two bedrooms, two baths, and powder room. Master bedroom, at the front of the place, had a door to a balcony overlooking the street. Joel’s duplex connected to the other five duplexes on the block. Commercial businesses were on one side of the duplexes, and private homes lined the opposite side of the street.

The apartment had hardwood flooring, but its main appeal was a spacious, airy living room. It had three windows arched at the top and sills wide enough for seating, evenly spaced along one wall. A large eat-in kitchen with a small laundry alcove came in as an appealing second.

Jazzed about the move, after a quick walk-through, she had color schemes and plans for the décor mapped out in her mind. The place came with a refrigerator and a stove. Joel had bedroom furniture and not much else. Her dad purchased the necessary furnishings she needed to fill in the blanks, and she purchased a small portable washer and dryer.

She’d wanted to move in a few months ago, but Joel kept giving her grief about getting a job. He didn’t want her to work, making her suspicious of the motivation behind his attitude. Why would he want her dependent on him?

Always a self-sufficient soul, since the age of twelve, she’d had babysitting jobs and had run errands for the elderly in her neighborhood to supplement her allowance. Uh-uh, she refused to play the needy dependent role. Furthermore, she’d had a year of leisure, time to put her costly education to good use and start a career.

He conceded, ungraciously, when she told him she wanted something to do with her time while he wasn’t there. Not that he could have stopped her from getting a job. She only consulted him because she thought relationships worked that way―sharing, no secrets.

Her first try at job hunting, she secured a position as a secretary/accounting clerk at Garrett Industries, an aluminum prefabrication company out on Roosevelt Boulevard in Northeast Philly. Dad had bought her a used 1964 beige Volkswagen bug for her eighteenth birthday and promised to supplement her income if she needed help. She doubted she’d need monetary assistance. The job paid a decent salary, another point in favor of going to work, being able to share expenses associated with renting the duplex.

More to the point, she continued to have nagging qualms about Joel.

Move-in day arrived and her exhilaration constituted more than obvious reasons of having sex with Joel. It was about autonomy, having her own place and paying her own way.

The moving men delivered and arranged the furniture. She accessorized the rooms, hanging curtains, drapes, and assorted framed Afro-American art she’d acquired from street artists, then unpacked her clothes and other personal items.

Exhausted, she knew if she sat down, she wouldn’t get anything else done, and she had grocery shopping to do. Joel spent so much time on the road that, by her standards, nothing in the apartment was edible.

Showered and dressed, she dragged her wheeled shopping basket from the hall closet and walked to the corner market to get something special for their first night together. As she moved through the aisle, making her choices, it occurred to her that Joel didn’t know she could cook. He thought her a pampered, bouzhe princess, so her cooking skill wasn’t a topic he’d have thought to initiate. Wasn’t he in for a surprise?

She’d been cooking and sewing since the age of ten, and to augment those skills, she’d taken HomeEc the last two years of high school.

Uh-huh.

Okay, becoming a perfectionist at cooking and sewing wasn’t the reason she’d taken the class. Her purpose had been to get out of trig and chemistry, classes her counselor was insisting she take. But she wasn’t planning on an academic career, so those courses would’ve been as useless on a resume as twelve years of catechism―didn’t intend to become a nun, either.