Free Between Lovers by Eric Jerome Dickey Page A

hatin‘.”
    She extends her middle fingers toward me, then puts the tape in her purse. She collects those.
    I ask, “Why do you want those tapes?”
    â€œBecause they’re you. Because it’s about you. It’s moments in time that will never happen again.”
    After that, I put on Ondine Darcyl’s CD, let that sensuality play soft and low.
    Nicole looks over at me and smiles.
    I ask, “What?”
    â€œLove her voice. That music takes me back to Paris.”
    â€œWant me to turn it off?”
    â€œNo. Love it. I miss this. We used to be like this all the time. Damn near every night.”
    I think about Paris. Think and wish I had skipped that trip, gone to Disneyland instead.
    Soon after that, we’re under the covers, skin to skin. Her hand is between my legs, rubbing, massaging. The room smells like strawberries. Nicole brought oils and a burner.
    I ask, “Where were you?”
    â€œWorked late then went to dinner with Ayanna. Had a long talk with her. This running back and forth between you and her, between both of you and my job, it’s hard, sweetie.”
    â€œWhat does she do when you’re with me?”
    â€œDon’t know.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œThat’s our rule. I can’t ask.”
    I lean forward. “What’s up with that?”
    â€œIf I’m with you, I can’t ask her where she is, or what she does. Fair is fair.”
    â€œThat bothers you?”
    â€œYes. Just like it bothers me when I wonder what you’re doing when you’re not with me. Sometimes I miss you so much it suffocates me. Like all my oxygen goes away.”
    I’m thinking about the things André told me. The fight he saw in Atlanta. What he witnessed around the comer from here in Piedmont. Wonder what Nicole had to go through to get away.
    I ask Nicole, “What have you told your... your friend about me?”
    â€œI talk about you so much her ears bleed. Hell, she can’t get away from you. Just like I can’t. Walk in a bookstore, your books are staring me in my face. Caught her on the toilet reading one last week.”
    I don’t say anything, just wait for her to give me more words.
    â€œIf they make a movie, make sure Sanaa Lathan plays me. Sister has beautiful skin. Nice mouth. I want to be pretty like her for a change.”
    I nod. “It’s all smoke and mirrors. You’re better-looking.”
    â€œThanks.” She gives me that smile. “Me and Ayanna, we’ve talked about first loves. Heartbreaks. Fantasies.”
    â€œFantasies,” I repeat that because of the way Nicole says that word, as if she were cueing me, leading me to ask a certain question. “What kind of fantasies?”
    â€œThis has to do with the solution to our problem. Sure you wanna know?”
    I sit up. Face her. “Tell me.”
    She does the same. The covers fall from her chest. “God, this is scary to say.”
    â€œDid you tell your friend?”
    â€œShe knows. She knows what I want. What I need.”
    I tell her, “Go ahead.”
    â€œI’m not a freak or nothing, you know,” she says, then pauses. She gets up, walks to the service bar, takes out a bottle of water, drinks half of it.
    She says, “You got quiet.”
    â€œYou got quiet. This is where I listen.”
    Then she rambles, “I’ve had fun, but I’ve never slept around. I haven’t had half as much sex as most of the women I know. You should sit in Head to Toes and listen to some of the sisters talking smack while they get they hair done. Men think they are players, but women are the real players. Sisters get over more ways than one. I have not had nearly as much sex as they have. Some of those vaginas have had more traffic than the Holland Tunnel.”
    â€œSex or sex partners?”
    â€œOkay, sex partners. I stand corrected. And outside of listening to women talk, I read all the magazines