Chapter 5
Khenji
We only get one great love in life. Most likely, she’s yours.
Those words from Delton haunted me for two weeks. Now, I’m finally doing something about it. After I asked Livia out this morning – well, not exactly, but she coached me through it so together, we asked her out and when I walked out of her business, I sat in my car and breathed a sigh of relief for a moment. A smile even came to my face at the thought that she may even like me the same way I like her.
I searched for the most expensive restaurant in Encino because I refused to take her to any place I deem ordinary. I should’ve known it was Westfield’s. I’ve entertained clients there before, but it never crossed my mind that this would be a good first-date spot. It may be a little over the top, but my goal is to impress her where I lack the ability to with my demeanor. I’m lacking a lot in that department. Hopefully, this fancy place will bridge the gap.
I take a deep breath and slowly release it through my mouth, waiting for the moment she walks around that corner to this private nook where our table is situated. It’s cozy, the lighting is just right, and the music is relaxing enough to calm our spirits and keep this laid back and lighthearted. While I’m usually more comfortable at home, I can work with this. I have no choice but to. My one great love is on her way.
Livia finally makes her debut, wearing a sleeveless black blouse that sparkles beneath certain angles of light. She paired it with black slacks and there’s a strapless purse tucked beneath her right arm. Her skin is glazed again. She looks warm and soft. I bet my fortune she is.
Her collarbone serves as a necklace since she doesn’t have one. I desperately want to put one there. In my mind I can see a platinum herringbone – it will look beautiful with her complexion.
Her hair is in a single braid that stops mid-back with a small gold clip on the end. She has small diamond earrings in her ears and deep red lipstick on her lips that I wish she didn’t apply because it will surely draw my eyes to them the entire night.
When she sees me, she smiles big – her face lights up like I’m a prize when I’m the one who hit the lottery.
I stand up to welcome her. I read that women like that.
“Hi, Livia.”
“Good evening, Khenji.”
Right. I should’ve said good evening instead of hi. I’m taking mental notes.
“Good evening, Livia. How was the ride over?”
“Good. I’ve never ridden in a Wraith before. I felt like an A-list celebrity.”
You are an A-list celebrity – my A-list celebrity.
“I trust my driver was professional,” I say, pulling out her chair.
“He was. Amos is great.”
Amos is more than my driver. He’s also a bodyguard and commands a team of elite bodyguards to watch my property and follow me whenever I make a move. When I’m at work, they’re at work. They’re at my home though my security system is so top-notch, I’ve never worried about a breach. I requested Amos keep them out of sight and he has, but I always know they’re there.
Livia sits and scoots forward and I return to my seat across from her, swallowing the lump in my throat. I take a deep breath. I got this.
She looks around the place and says, “Wow, Khenji. You didn’t have to pick such a ritzy place. I bet the appetizers here start at a hundred bucks.”
“They do.”
Her breath hitches in her throat. “What? I was joking. This is way too expensive. We can go someplace a little more reasonable.”
“Don’t concern yourself with prices, Livia. I haven’t looked at a price tag in years. I see something I want, I get it. What do I care if the appetizers are a hundred dollars?”
She frowns a little. I must have offended her.
I quickly made the correction by saying, “I’m sorry if that sounded arrogant. It wasn’t my intention. I was just—just stating facts. I—” I sigh heavily, frustrated with my lack of inexperience.
Resting my elbows on the table, I hold my head in my hands. I can’t do this. Who am I kidding? I’m already blowing it. I’m blowing it! So much for a second, first impression.
“Khenji.”
“Yes?” I say, but don’t change my position to look at her. I just stay closed off to myself.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“I’m trying to breathe.”
“Okay, you’re scaring me. Do you need a doctor?”
“No, I don’t need a doctor,” I say testily. “It’s you. I was fine before you got here. I—I don’t need a doctor.”
“I’m confused. You asked me to come here. Do you want me to leave?”
“No, I don’t want you to leave, Livia!” I say, lowering my hands, looking at her now. “I invited you here. Why would I want you to leave?”
“Because you—” She pauses. “Tell me what I can do to make you more comfortable.”
I stare at her. I’m helpless to do anything else. I don’t move. I just sit here and stare at her.
She frowns. “Khenji?”
I get up and say, “I’ll be right back.”
I seek refuge in the gentlemen’s room, pacing back and forth, attempting to coach myself through this.
You can do this, Khenji. Just talk to her. Do something before she leaves. She’s probably already left. A woman of her caliber surely won’t put up with this level of incompetence when there are men out here who already know how to woo her. How to impress her. You’re an amateur. You don’t know anything about impressing a woman. So, while you have her complete and undivided attention, do something!
“Right. I have to get myself together. She’s my woman. No other man can have her.”
I dash cold water on my face, dab it dry and head back to the table, hoping she’s still there.
She is.
Thank God.
I sit down and say, “I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s fine.” She flashes a casual smile.
I tell her, “I didn’t think you were going to be here when I returned.”
“Is that what you wanted?”
“No,” I answer, my eyes on her lips before I check myself and return them to her eyes. “I’m glad you stayed, Livia, but you should know I’m completely out of my element.”
“I know. That’s why I’m still here. I didn’t believe you when you told me you didn’t talk to women, but I believe it now. So, let me help you.”
“How are you going to do that when you’re the problem? Wait—didn’t mean it like that.”
She chuckles. “I get it, now stop explaining. It’s not necessary. Now, listen—I’m not a celebrity. There’s no reason for you to have palpitations around me, Khenji. I’m just lil’ ol’ me.”
She gets up, slides her chair closer to mine, and takes my right hand into her left. “See—nothing to worry about, right?”
I look down at the joining of our hands and say, “Right.”
She squeezes my hand and says, “Now, let’s order an appetizer and some wine.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling a bit more comfortable even though I know she can feel the nervous twitches flowing through my hand. “Do you have any diet restrictions?”
“No. What about you?”
“I eat a normal diet.”
She grins. “What’s normal in Cali? Mostly everyone I know outside of my family is vegan.”
“When I say normal, I mean meat, vegetables, seafood, bread—everything.”
“Okay. That’s cool.”
She looks at the menu.
I look at our joined hands again.
She says, “Hmm…what about the garlic butter shrimp and the lobster bites?”
“Whatever you want is good with me,” I respond, taking the opportunity to look at the side angle of her face while she studies the menu. Her jawline is exquisite. I imagine my tongue tracing it to her earlobe. I instantly feel my heart rate increase. Why am I having these thoughts about her?
“Khenji?”
I blink out of my trance to see that she’s all smiles.
“I’m sorry…did you say something?” I ask.
“I told you to pick the wine. I don’t know anything about wines.”
“That’s easy. When in doubt, always go with a Bordeaux. You’ll like it.”
“Then it’s settled. See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“No, it wasn’t,” I say, feeling a little more at ease. I believe it’s the connection she’s established with our hands that has me mellow. My hand isn’t shaking any longer.
I order the food and wine and while we wait, she looks me up and down and says, “You changed clothes. You had on a blue suit earlier when you came to my office.”
“After work, I showered and changed into something more appropriate for dinner.”
She smirks. “Another fly suit.”
I grin. “Yes. Another suit, but it’s not as baroque as the other one.”
“If you say so.”
She glances at my lips then shies away and says, “You looked me up.”
“I did. I needed to see you again. I shouldn’t have left the café the way I did. I’ll never do that again. Leave you, that is. I’ll never leave you again. That’s a promise.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Khenji.”
I look at her. Our eyes hold and bend time. We only look away from each other when the server places a bottle of Bordeaux on the table, along with the appetizers. I don’t know about her, but this would suffice for dinner for me. Being here has me completely unnerved. I doubt if I can eat a full meal.
I tell the server, “Could you please pour us some wine? This woman sitting next to me is holding my hand and she won’t let me go.”
“Oh, really?” Livia says, amused. She attempts to free her hand, but I won’t let her. I grip her hand tighter so she can’t release it.
After the server pours us two glasses, she leaves the bottle on the table and tells us she’ll be back to check on us.
I look at Livia. She’s tickled. “You have some nerve,” she says.
“What do you mean?”
“This woman next to me won’t let my hand go.”
She grins while using her right hand to pick up a shrimp by the tail and holds it in front of my mouth. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
She smacks her lips. “Wait—you think I’m going to eat all this by myself? Come on, Khenji. Take a bite. It’ll help you to relax and trust me, you need to relax because you’re going to talk to me about your life. Eat.”
I glance at her, then open my mouth and grab the shrimp from between her fingers. When I’m done, I ask, “Was that satisfactory?”
“Yes.” She eats a shrimp and then says, “Now, tell me a little about yourself.”
“How old are you?” I blurt out, ignoring what she just said. I had asked her age before, but she never got around to answering me. It’s something I’ve thought about constantly and I desperately need to know.
“I’m twenty-five.”
Her answers punch me in the gut. I knew she was younger than I was, but I didn’t think she was that young. There was a twelve-year gap between us. It instantly makes me feel like I would be doing her a great disservice by pursuing her if you call this pursuing.
“Why are you frowning?” she asks.
I look up at her and use my left hand to take a much-needed sip of wine and say, “I’m a lot older than you.”
“A lot? Please. You’re twelve years older than me, Khenji.”
“In just a few years, I’ll be eligible for Social Security.”
She laughs until her eyes fill with happy tears. “You’re not that old, Khenji.”
She uses the cloth napkin to dab her eyes and as she comes down from laughter, I can feel her squeeze my hand. Yes, we’re still holding hands and I don’t plan on letting hers go anytime soon.
“I’m glad you think that’s so funny,” I tell her with a straight face, though I’m amused as well. I never thought I could be this comfortable talking one-on-one with a woman, but she’s making it easy so far.
“Tell me this, Livia—what experience do you have with older men?”
“I don’t need experience. Life is one big, chaotic experiment. We wake up, take it one day at a time, and then keep on repeating that. If you’re lucky enough to find someone to hold your hand through the journey, then consider yourself lucky.”
Settling into comfortability with her, I pick up a shrimp and hold it in front of her mouth this time. Her tongue strokes my fingers like a match to a matchbox. I instantly feel warm all over.
I say, “I want to talk to you about myself and my life, but I don’t want you to judge me.”
“I won’t.”
“How do I know that?”
She looks me dead in the eyes and says, “You can trust me, Khenji.”
I believe that wholeheartedly. I see it in her eyes. I feel it in her touch. I know she’s a woman I can trust. Her maturity level – her conversation, understanding, compassion and intellect – far surpasses that of a twenty-five-year-old.
I like that. It means she’s much more than a pretty face. She’s the full package.
“I live alone,” I tell her.
“I figured that much, Khenji. What else?”
“I work every day, Monday through Friday.”
“Ooh…so many revelations,” she quips.
“I’m trying.”
“I’m sorry. I know you are. Go ahead. I’m listening.”
“Okay. I—”
I want to tell her I’ve never been with a woman. That I’m a thirty-seven-year-old virgin who’s never been touched. Who’s never desired touch. That I’m a product of abuse. I was homeless before. I was a nobody. Surely those things will have her judging me, and I can’t have that because I need her to want to be with me – not running away from me.
“Have you ever been in love?” she asks.
“No. You?”
“I thought I was. My mother used to always tell me that I would meet my husband in college, since that’s where she met my dad. Anyway, I met a guy and my parents liked him. I did, too, in the beginning, but then he went nuts and started trying to be a player. He was dating other girls behind my back and tried to make me believe I was the best thing that ever happened to him. I wasn’t about to be made a fool of, so—yeah. That was the end of that. Since then, I’ve been flying solo and loving the journey.”
“Whoever that man was must’ve been a fool to do that to you. What woman can hold a candle to you?”
She blushes. “Thank you for saying that, Khenji.”
“I meant every word.”
Our eyes meet again. This time, I open myself to the feeling. To the heat. I allow it to infiltrate my mind and my entire person. I’m starting to get the hang of this now.
“I have a question for you,” she says. “What woman broke your heart because I know someone did?”
How am I going to answer this?
My heart is broken, but it’s not because of the reasons she thinks. Life broke my heart. Losing my mother broke my heart. I can’t get this deep with her, so I say, “I told you, I don’t date.”
“You did tell me that, but how is that possible?”
I grin. “It’s simple. I simply don’t date. I don’t know how else to put it.”
“Then what do you call what we’re doing?”
“Dating, I hope, but you’re the first.”
“I truly find that hard to believe, Mr. Halifax.”
“Why?”
“I mean, look at you. You’re the full package.”
“Why am I the full package, Livia? Because I have money?”
“Who said anything about money? I don’t know how much money you have. I said you were the full package because you’re brilliant. You have a way about you that I find refreshing.”
“Explain.”
She takes a sip of wine and says, “I mean, look at the way you’re handling this date with me after you’ve expressed how difficult this is for you. You haven’t let go of my hand and even though this is uncomfortable for you, you’re trying. And to add to that, you dress nice and you carry yourself with the utmost professionalism.”
I frown and mumble, “If you only knew the man beneath this suit…”
“I’m trying to know him,” she says.
I’m bummed that she was able to make out what I said because the man beneath the suit is a man I’m ashamed of, so why would I want her to know him? She can never know the real me. Never. So, what am I doing courting her?
I release her hand. She looks at me and asks, “Why’d you do that?”
Crossing my arms, I lean back in my chair and answer, “I’m giving you a chance to walk away from me.”
She shifts her body toward me. “Are you serious? Again with this?”
She sighs. She’s still trying to understand all of my idiosyncrasies. It’s a tall order – I’m aware of my limitations. That’s why I’m grateful she hasn’t given up on me yet.
She says, “Khenji, nobody has a perfect life. We all have secrets, bad habits and things we don’t like about ourselves. That doesn’t make you less than. It makes you human. I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to get to know you. You can tell me as much or as little as you want, but I’m not walking away and you said you would never leave me again, so you’re either a man of your word or you’re not. Which is it?”
I take her hand again and we sit here in silence for a few minutes. Then, out of nowhere, she says, “I’m the youngest of three. I have a sister named Hope and a brother named Hayes. My parents are still together. I guess I’m fortunate since so many people are divorcing these days. My mother is Dominican and black. She’s feisty and thinks she’s the same age as me. My father is black. He’s stern—rules with an iron fist. I think he’s a little nuts, but he’s my father and I love him. Anyway, we are a close-knit family. We have family dinners once a month, well, the planned one. Sometimes we just show up and my mother whips up something. She likes to cook.”
“Do you cook?”
“Yes. My mother made it a point to teach me and Hope how to cook so we could get a husband, she said. It worked for Hope. Me, on the other hand, not so much.”
“Then, you’ll have to cook for me and we’ll see how it goes.”
“I’ll be happy to cook for you, but please, don’t feel obligated to marry me.”
I take a long swig and finish the rest of my wine. The waitress comes back over to take our entrée orders, but we both decide to forego dinner.
I say, “It sounds like you come from a good, solid family.”
“I do.”
That makes one of us.
“My family is my world. We’re very close.”
“My parents are deceased,” I tell her, “And I have no siblings.”
I could tell her about Delton. He’s the closest thing I have to family. However, to tell her about him would be opening up conversations I’m not ready to have with her. I don’t know if I ever will.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says.
“They’ve been gone for a long time. I’ve made my peace with it.”
Actually, I wouldn’t call it peace. It’s more like I’ve been struggling to get over the fact that they’re gone and the circumstances surrounding their deaths. It’s nothing like the storybook life she describes. So far, she is everything I thought she would be.
Perfect.
Perfect, and too good for me.
“So, you have no family?” she inquires. She’s genuinely interested in my answer. I can see it in her eyes. In her soft expression. Beautiful features.
I answer, “No. It’s just me.”
“Then, who do you talk to everyday?”
Myself. I can’t tell her that, now can I?
I say, “My clients—they’re the only people I know how to talk to. The people I’m the most comfortable with.”
“Well, now you’re comfortable with me,” she says, smiling brightly.
She takes a pen from her purse and an old receipt. She appears to be writing her number on the back of it, then lowers the pen to the table and hands the paper to me.
“There you go,” she says. “Now you have someone to talk to. Call me anytime, day or night.”
“It’s a kind gesture, Livia, but you don’t mean that.”
“I do mean it—mean every word. Anytime, day or night, call me.”
I take the paper and slide it into the breast pocket of my suit jacket.
She says, “Well, it’s getting late.”
“Yeah, it is.” I release her hand so she can prepare for our departure. Then I summon the waitress for the check, hand her my black card and stand up.
Livia stands too. She looks good beside me. She fits. She’s almost at my shoulders.
The waitress comes back with my card and wishes us a good night.
“Thank you,” Livia tells her. Then she looks at me and asks, “So, are you taking me home, Mr. Halifax?”
“Of course.”
I follow her out the door. The scent of her is delightful and agonizing because when we part ways, it will remain with me. How can I endure having her smell, but not her? It’s torture, but it’s one I’ll have to endure until the next time we see each other.
“Which car is yours?” she asks.
I walk over to valet and hand them my ticket, then say, “The one he drives up in. It’s a silver Bentley Flying Spur.”
“I’m sure I’ve never ridden in one of those before, either.”
“You’re enjoying many firsts today.”
“Yeah, I am.”
Once the valet brings my car around, I open the door for her then walk around to the driver’s side and get in. I say, “Where are we off to?”
She gives me her address and I key it into the car’s navigation system. To my surprise, she only lives eight miles from here, which means she’s about twelve miles from my house.
The drive to her place is a quiet one. I glance over at her to notice her eyes are closed. She’s not sleeping – just resting. She’s relaxed thanks to the Bordeaux, I imagine, because I’m sure I had nothing to do with that.
When we arrive at her place, her eyes immediately open as I shift the car into park.
“We’re here,” I say, shutting off the engine. “I’ll come around and get the door for you.”
“Okay.”
I open the door, take her hand and she steps out. Then she clutches my left hand with her right and says, “My apartment is through the courtyard.”
“You’re on the ground floor?”
“No. Second.”
“Good.”
“Why is that good?”
“I personally don’t like ground floor units. It’s easier access than necessary, especially for a single woman as beautiful as you.”
She smiles beautifully. I can tell she’s spent and ready for bed. She told me she didn’t go out during the workweek. Now, I understand why.
As we cross the courtyard, I say, “This looks like a decent place.”
“It is. I’ve lived here for the last three years.” She releases a long, drowsy yawn. “There’s a pool, hot tub, fitness center and party room.”
“That’s everything you need, isn’t it?”
She laughs. “I don’t use the party room because I’m not a party thrower. That’s my mother’s specialty. As for the pool—I’ll pass. I think the kids be peeing in it. And the hot tub may as well be a breeding ground for germs.”
Amused, I ask, “Why do you say that?”
She shrugs. “I just don’t like sharing hot tubs with people because I don’t know their level of cleanliness. It’s like sitting in a boiling cesspool of germs. One minute you’re drinking wine and relaxing your muscles and the next, you’re diagnosed with Legionnaire’s disease.”
“Someone got that here?”
“No, but I’m not trying to be the first.”
I grin and then ask, “Are you in a one-bedroom unit?”
“Yes. My apartment is small, but it’s cozy. I spent a lot of time making it a retreat. Do you want to see it?”
“Uh…”
“Yeah. Come on,” she says, pulling me toward the door. “You already kept me up late. You may as well see it while you’re here.”
She unlocks the door and upon stepping inside, I’m greeted with the smell of cinnamon like she’s been baking.
“Why does it smell like a bakery in here?”
She takes off her shoes and says, “It’s potpourri.”
I hear her, but I’m too busy studying her toes to respond. She has beautiful feet and her toenails are painted white.
“What did you say?” I ask since I wasn’t paying attention.
“I said it’s potpourri.”
“What is that?”
A smile grows on her face when she looks at me. “Oh my goodness. You’re such a man. Potpourri is like an air freshener. It’s dried petals, leaves, cinnamon sticks, orange slices—anything that can be dried out and infused with a scent.” She picks up a wooden bowl from a table by the door and holds it in front of my nose.
I get a whiff and say, “Nice.” It’s just more scents to add to my repertoire of things that remind me of her.
She puts the bowl back and says, “Anyway, this is my humble abode. The kitchen is over there, there’s one bathroom and one bedroom. Simple.”
Simple, yet it’s cozy and has a feeling of home. The way she lives tells me a lot about her. She’s neat and orderly. Nothing is out of place. The cream color pillows on the beige sofa match the drapes and the six pictures on the wall above the sofa. A free-standing, full-length mirror is surrounded by fairy lights. It sits next to a tall plant. There are two lanterns on the floor next to it with flameless candles flickering inside. The TV is mounted to the wall above a white wooden entertainment system with glass cabinets. There’s a small square wooden coffee table near the kitchen with white and chestnut brown chairs. There are no dishes in the sink. Mail is stacked neatly on the counter next to where she drops her keys.
On the countertop is a black Keurig, a toaster and an electric can opener. The microwave is above the range.
“Do you mind if I use your bathroom for a moment?” I ask.
“Go right ahead.”
I head down the short hallway where I see a picture on the wall of her and her family. I look at it for a moment, thinking about how fortunate she is to have a family because I know how it feels to not have one. It’s not a good feeling. It’s made me feel alone my entire life, so I like it for her that she gets to experience the togetherness of a family unit.
I walk past the bathroom and continue to her bedroom. It has the same color pattern as the living room – beige and white. She has a white, metal-frame bed with matching white dressers. White, tan and light brown pillows are on the bed. The curtains are a khaki color as well as the blanket that’s draped across a chair that sits next to the window. Again, nothing is out of place. Everything is neat and orderly.
I leave her bedroom quickly before she catches me and go into the bathroom to see this room has its own color pattern. The rugs are yellow. The shower curtain looks like some weird abstract art. It’s mostly white, decorated with black and yellow patterns that look like paint splatter.
On the counter next to the sink, I see a bottle of lotion. I pick it up, unscrew the top and pull in the scent that’s captivated me all evening.
“Ah,” I gasp as I inhale her favorite fragrance.
I flush the toilet so she thinks I used the facilities, then turn on the sink to wash my hands and dash cold water in my face, using it as a method to calm my beating heart.
I come out and say, “You have a nice place. It suits you.”
She smiles. “I like to think so. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She yawns again.
I say, “I had a wonderful evening with you, Livia.”
“I had a wonderful evening with you as well,” she says, taking steps closer to me. Just when I think she’s about to hug me, I reach for her hand to prevent it. I don’t want a hug. Can’t handle one. Holding her hand at dinner was risky enough, but since I already know what it feels like, I know what to expect.
“O-kay,” she says, smiling, settling for my hand.
We shake.
Her eyes narrow. She asks, “Why does this handshake feel so final?”
“Trust me, it’s not.”
“Are you sure, Khenji?”
“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”
She smiles again. “Okay, then. I’ll see you later.”
I release her hand and take one last gander at her face that I’m aching to touch, but I probably couldn’t handle that either, so I turn away. I grab the door handle, pull the door open and exit. I jog down the stairs and walk swiftly across the courtyard to my car, feeling a level of accomplishment.
I did it.
I got through a date with my angel.
I get into my car and sit there, reliving the night. It sends a chill through my body as I recall being so close to her. I still can’t believe it happened, but I’m glad it did.
I take the bottle of strawberry pound cake lotion out of my pocket. Yes, I took her lotion although I don’t see it as stealing. It’s a way I can have her with me at all times. That’s the way I want her. With me.
Always.
I remove the receipt she gave me – the one she scribbled her phone number on – and text her:
Khenji: Now you have my number.
Khenji: You can call me day or night, too. Goodnight, angel.
Livia: Goodnight, Khen. kissy face emoji>