“Worked?” I was completely lost. “You had a job when you were eleven?”
“Sort of,” he replied, untying the blindfold and letting it fall in my lap. “I was working on this.”
My mouth fell open in awe at the vision before me. We were by the railroad tracks in SWATS beside an old, deteriorated and abandoned warehouse. Quinton’s headlights were on, illuminating the most magnificent mural I had ever seen. I covered my mouth to keep my tongue from falling out while I climbed down off the hood to take a closer look.
“Oh, my goodness, Quinton! You did this when you were eleven years old?”
“I started it when I was eleven,” he replied. “It took me almost five years to finish it, though. It’s the first mural I ever painted,andthe most special.”
The mural was of an African-American family sitting around a gigantic wooden table eating dinner— everything from a big, juicy turkey to corn on the cob to collard greens. A huge fire blazed in the background, both a cat and a dog were sitting on the hearth, playing with aball of red yarn together. The features of the people were so intense, so descriptive, right down to the wrinkles on the mother’s brow. There were five people in the picture: a man, a woman, and three beautiful children. The youngest little boy resembled Quinton so much, there was no mistaking it was him.
“Is this a mural of your family, Quinton?”
“No, my family was fucked the hell up.” I turned around in astonishment, not expecting such a negative response. The pain was written all over his face. “My father left my mother for a white woman when I was five. My mother let herself go after that until there was nothing left. When I was nine, she killed herself. She slit her wrists over the kitchen sink while she was washing dishes. Just decided she had endured enough bullshit from everyone, I suppose.”
I rushed back over to him and drew him into my arms, letting his head rest against my shoulder. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
I kissed him on the forehead and he drew away. “Why are you sorry? You didn’t have a damn thing to do with it.”
An uneasy feeling began to wash over me. There was anger in his voice, bordering on hatred. I began to wonder what I was doing there in the first place. I should’ve been home with my husband and kids, where I belonged. “Why did you bring me here, Quinton?”
“Because I wanted you to see it,” he answered in a low, husky voice. “I’ve never shown this to anyone before. Not ever.”
“It’s beautiful,” I stated cautiously. “Who are the people-in the picture?”
“They’re the family I wished I had. They’re the family I should’ve had. Instead, my older brother and sister and I ended up living with our grandmother. She tried thebest she could, but her heart was broken after my mother’s suicide. I think every time she looked at us, it reminded her of her own failures. She always blamed herself for my mother, but it wasn’t her fault. It was that bitch-ass father of mine who did it.” He walked over to the wall and started fingering his mother’s eyes lightly. “Do you know that bastard didn’t even have the decency to come to her funeral? He was off in Hawaii with that white bitch of his, lying on the fucking beach!”
“I’m so sorry, Quinton!”
“Stop saying you’re sorry, dammit!” he screamed at me. I started trembling in fear. He must’ve recognized it, because he came over and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I’m okay,” I replied hesitantly. “I just can’t think of any other words.”
He looked me deep in my eyes. “Then don’t say any more words.”
Our kiss began, and to this day, I’m not sure where the passion in my lips came from. All I know is it did, and it was earth-shattering. Before I knew it, we were both naked, making love on the hood of his car. We didn’t say another word to each other. The whole time I kept staring into the eyes of the woman in the picture, wondering how much pain she must have been in to take her own life that way.
Quinton and I exploded in unison. I struggled to breathe because I had never had an orgasm like that before, not even when I masturbated, and trust me, I had that shit down to a science.
Quinton finally broke the silence. “Zoe, I know that this is wrong,” he whispered, sucking gently on my left nipple. “I shouldn’t have these feelings for another man’s wife, but I do.” At that point, I didn’t know what my truefeelings were, so I remained mute. “I just want you to know
that I don’t have any great expectations. I just want to be with you whenever and wherever I can.”
My mind flashed back to Jason. I pictured him sitting at home in his drawing room, waiting patiently for me to come home to him. I pictured my kids tucked snugly in their beds, dreaming of faraway lands and fairy princesses. I sat up abruptly and started feeling around for my clothes so I could get dressed.
“Quinton, I don’t know what to say right now. Something special just happened between us. I realize that, and just so you know, I’ve never cheated on my husband before.”
He ran his fingers through my hair. “I know you haven’t.” He started sucking on my earlobe, and my body yearned to give in to his desires all over again. “I know this is confusing, but we can make this work, somehow.”
I got lost in his eyes and I could have sworn my heart stopped beating for a brief second. “Can we go back to the theater to get my car now? Please?”
“Sure thing.” He put on his clothes, and we rode back to the theater in silence. He rewound the Marvin Gaye tape and sang the words so low they were barely audible.
When we were pulling into the parking lot, I asked him, “What ever happened to your brother and sister, Quinton?”
“I’d really rather not discuss that right now,” he replied, taking my hand and kissing my fingers one at a time. “We’ll talk about it later.”
I let it go. He saw me to my car and made me promise to be in touch soon. I reluctantly promised. What I should’ve done is told him to stay away from me. That I was no good. That we were no good together.
When I got home, everyone was asleep. I took a quickshower to rinse away my sins and joined Jason in bed. He draped his arm and leg over me and whispered, “I love you,” in my ear, halfway between being awake and being asleep. I kept my back to him and stayed awake for the remainder of the night, letting the tears trickle down my cheeks onto the pillowcase.
chapterfifteen
Quinton and I started seeing-each other on a regular basis after that, and while I felt guilty, I couldn’t stop. It felt too damn good. I stayed away from him for about three days after the little movie theater/train yard episode, and then I decided to go over to his place. I must admit I knew he and I would end up fucking if I went over there. That was exactly what I wanted, and that was exactly what I got.
It was about dusk when I showed up at Quinton’s loft. He answered the door wearing an apron, and the aroma of his cooking hit me as soon as I got off the elevator.
“Zoe, what a pleasant surprise! Come on in!” He moved aside so I could enter his loft.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, not at all. In fact, your timing is perfect. Now I don’t have to eat alone.”
“Well, I’m not really that hungry, but I could use a glass of wine if you have one.”
“Sure! Have a seat, and I’ll be right back.”
He went into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a bottle of red wine and two wineglasses. He poured me a glass and walked over to the sofa to hand it to me. “Zoe, take your shoes off. Make yourself at home.”
“Thanks, I will.” I kicked my black high-heeled pumps off and leaned back on the sofa to sip on the wine. “So, what you got cooking?”
“I decided to try this recipe for lasagna I saw on a cable cooking show earlier today.”
I started giggling. “You watch cooking shows? Wow, you are full of surprises.”
“Yes, I do.” He starting eyeing me all over again, and for the first time, it didn’t make me feel uncomfortable in the least. After sucking his dick with nacho cheese on it, among other things, shyness was no longer an option. “Let me go take it out of the oven so we can talk.”
“Okay!”
I decided to be nosy again and took a peek at his easel. He had removed the portrait of the governor and replaced it with a portrait of a beautiful African-American woman. I was immediately jealous. “She’s the wife of a friend. She asked me to paint her portrait as an anniversary gift for him.”
“That’s cool.”
He walked up behind me and covered the portrait back up with the oilcloth. “Don’t worry, baby. This dick’s for you.”
“Hmm, is that right?”
He started blowing in my ear. “Damn skippy.”