Chapter 23
Nicholas
For the rest of the week, I meet up with Lisa for lunch and spend the afternoons with her in hotel rooms across the city. Some days, I’m out of control and just can’t keep my hands off her. Lisa loves when I take the reins, so she doesn’t resist me.
During the middle of a subcommittee meeting for the Bank of Brooklyn, held on Zoom, I am turned on by the way she directs the meeting.
There’s no mistaking who’s in charge. Unable to resist, I lean over her, press the mute button and cupping her breasts from behind, push her against the table and fuck her hard, while the other committee members ramble on about something to do with interest rate.
“Lisa, what are your thoughts on lowering the rate to five percent?” some woman asks.
“Lisa, you’re on mute,” three to four other voices weigh in at the same time.
After she catches her breath, Lisa unmutes, “Sorry, I’m having internet issues. Repeat the question please?”
“What are your thoughts on lowering the rate to five percent?” the woman repeats.
“Yes, I’m definitely in favour of lowering it to five percent. As I’ve mentioned in previous meetings, we need to offer more competitive rates to regain market share.”
Rubbing her shoulders I playfully nibble on her earlobe, while the others respond to her comment.
Leaning her head back she invites me to go for her neck without having to utter a word.
Say no more. My mouth devours her neck. And when the woman, I assume chairperson for the subcommittee, moves on to discuss exchange rates, Lisa presses the mute button, signalling me to get back inside her.
Other days, I am gentle with her, tenderly holding her as we watch movies in California king-sized beds and go to couples massage — which I had no idea was so relaxing.
“So, are you ready to take the next step in our relationship… and watch The Notebook?” Lisa asks, reaching for my hand as we walk out of the hotel spa.
“Yes, I am, under one condition though.”
“What’s that?”
“You can’t judge me when I start to cry.”
“You’re so silly,” laughing and leaning against my shoulder as we ride the elevator up.
I really love spending time with Lisa, without having sex, more than you can ever imagine. I’m being genuine when I say that. But to be honest, I also make sure to deceitfully cater to her unattended emotional needs because I am exhausted from having sex, relentlessly, with two women every day.
◆◆◆
In the evenings, I go on fun dates with Emily after she finishes work.
She has taught me how to ice skate, although I’m a slow learner.
We have sung not-so-macho songs together at Karaoke night (off the record, I selected Water Runs Dry by Boyz II Men), I let her beat me in mini golf and she challenged me to try yoga when I said it was easy (I can confirm, it is not easy).
On the night before I am to go back to Jamaica, I return early from my other ‘engagement’ to prepare dinner. It took every ounce of will power to cut my quality time with Lisa short, which left her very disappointed, although she hid it quite well.
“Wow, something smells good,” Emily gushes, opening the door and heading straight to the kitchen to look at the entrées.
“What’s that?” she asks six times, pointing excitedly at each dish on the counter.
Going from left to right, I reveal, “Ackee and saltfish, callaloo, oxtail, dumpling, yam, and rice and peas.”
Fascinated by the ackee and saltish, she takes the lid off the Pyrex dish to smell it. “Amazing.”
“I have something for you,” I say, pulling out a bouquet of flowers from the other side of the counter.
“Oh my God, these are so pretty.” She closes her eyes and inhales each rose.
You should have seen her. I’m so glad I had randomly asked three old women in the flower shop for advice on what to get.
It was totally worth it. I really don’t remember all the types of flowers in the bouquet, but I know it has red roses. Every girl’s favourite, right?
“Thank you so much for these. You’re amazing,” wrapping her hands around me and squeezing me tightly, the bouquet still in her hand.
“You’re welcome, babe. Ready for dinner?”
“Yes. Can’t wait to taste my man’s cooking,” she answers, giving me a peck on the lips.
Sitting at the mid-century round table, we fill our plates with each dish and indulge.
“This ackee and saltfish is amazing,” she says, after saying something similar about the oxtail and callaloo. The food is decent, I couldn’t find all the Jamaican seasonings. Describing it as amazing is a bit of a stretch. But Emily can’t help herself, she is on cloud nine because I cooked for her.
And because she is in such a good mood, it set the tone for a heart-to-heart conversation, where we got to know each other even more. It’s beautiful to really get to know someone you like very much.
“Uh. Something just occurred to me. This is the first time, someone other than my mom, has ever cooked for me,” she reveals, helping to pack up the leftovers in sealed containers. “Thanks again love.”
“You’re welcome, babe,” I say, putting the last container in the fridge. “Want to continue our conversation outside? Before we check out the movie you sent me earlier?” I ask.
“Yes, I’d really like that,” she looks at me and smiles. Then declares, “But first, a glass of red wine.”
“For sure.” I pour a glass of wine for us both, and we go onto the balcony and snuggle under a blanket.
Our getting-to-know-you conversation deepens when we begin to really share how we feel about each other. I never knew I would be able to connect with someone like this again, after what had happened all those years ago.
“What?” she asks, catching me looking at her and smiling while in the middle of our conversation.
“It’s nothing really,” I say, feeling slightly embarrassed.
Then imploringly, “Tell me. Please?”
“I was just thinking… it’s really nice to feel like this again.”
Almost on the verge of breaking down, I pause the conversation for another time. For when I’m ready. “I’m going to take a quick shower before we watch the movie,” I say, “Care to join me?”
“Right behind ya.”
In the walk-in shower, the warm water spraying against my hair, my heart racing, I look at her nervously as if this is our first time. With the water running down my face, camouflaging the tears, I search for her lips and close my eyes. The tears flowing a little faster down my cheeks.
“I love you,” I tell her, pausing our kiss a moment to stare into her eyes. Wait? What did I just do? Did I just say I love you?
“I love you too,” she says. Yes, I had definitely used the L word. My lips find hers again. And our passion explodes.
Five years ago, devasted by my girlfriend’s (Samantha Dixon) death. I had closed the door on relationships. Forever.
I swore I would never go down that road again.
At the funeral, for my eulogy, her parents gave me the blessing to place the engagement ring beside the enlarged picture of Samantha on the casket. Just like they had given me their blessing to marry her.
Witnessed by all our friends and family in the oldest Catholic church in Jamaica, I stood on the stage, microphone in hand, nervous, lost and frightened.
My best friend, Mark, was preparing to project a pre-recorded video compilation on the screen in the church — I recalled when Samantha and I had made the individual videos.
“So, I have an idea,” I had said to Samantha as we sat on a bench at the park, two weeks after meeting her.
“Yeah, what’s that?” she asked curiously, crossing her legs and petting Ziggy, her energetic Pomeranian.
“Hypothetically, speaking… let’s assume we get married, have children, grandchildren and great grandchildren… I’d like to record key moments in our lives.”
“Okay, you have my undivided attention. Not even Ziggy gets that privilege.” She smiled, while Ziggy jumped in her lap, competing for attention.
“So, I’m thinking. Let’s call the Series ‘I do’… where I’ll ask you a question like ‘Would you like to go on our first, official date tonight?’ and you’ll respond, ‘I do’.”
“I love it. And do I get to hug you or something?” she asked.
“I’ll leave it up to your discretion. But whatever you decide, you have to stick with it throughout the series.”
Bringing me back to reality, Mark gave a nod and thumbs up, signalling he was ready to play the video for the congregation.
The very same one that had been playing in the background on a projector at the park when Samantha arrived, thinking she was meeting me there for a picnic.
Our closest friends were there to share in what was supposed to be a special day.
After the third scene, the video ended. She had become teary-eyed, covering her mouth with her hands… in anticipation.
While I was bent on one knee, ready to ask for her hand in marriage, Samantha had collapsed to the ground, her face slamming against the pavement. Our friends had screamed and yelled and rushed to try and save her.
I spoke into the microphone, “Good morning, friends and family, please help me with this. Thank you.”
Mark pressed play and the video started.
Scene 1 – November 28, 2014
“Hey, Samantha… Would you like to go on our first, official date tonight?”
“I do.”
And she pecks me on the cheek.
Scene 2 – December 14, 2014
“Hey, Samantha… Would you like me to kiss you for the first time, after dinner tonight?
“I do.”
And she pecks me on the cheek.
Scene 3 – March 21, 2015
“Hey, Samantha… Would you like to be my girlfriend?
“I do.”
And she pecks me on the cheek.
Scene 4 was to have been recorded on May 7, 2019, the day I planned to propose to her in front of our closest friends.
It ends abruptly.
Scene 4 instead was completed on May 28, 2019 at her funeral service.
I got down on my knee, facing the casket. The congregation in the church became silent. So, silent, you could hear the ceiling fans spinning.
“Hey, Samantha… Would you like to spend the rest of your life with me?”
“I do,” the congregation responded.
And her mother, Linsday Dixon, came over and pecked me on the cheek.
Overcome after placing the ring beside her picture on the casket, I fell to the ground.