Free Knowing by Rosalyn McMillan Page B

she watched Bill devouring his steak.
    “Okay. Dr. Ingram’s speech was far more interesting,” Bill answered between bites. He took short, quick, glances at her over his black-framed glasses.
    Dr. Ingram had been Bill’s professor when he attended Wayne State University, and they had remained friends over the years. Kim loved to listen to Bill speak. He sounded so much like her father. He had most of his qualities: maturity, level-headedness, wisdom. But best of all, he took the time to listen to her whenever she came to him with a problem. The only trait Bill lacked was her father’s sense of humor.
    The smell of sautéed onions and buttered mushrooms hung in the air over the tiny table in Bill’s small apartment. As Bill continued sharing the day’s events, Kim cleared the table and placed a mouthwatering strawberry cream puff before him. His wide boyish smile signaled that he was pleased. He thanked Kim for surprising him with a home-cooked meal. They rarely had time for such luxuries these days, both of their schedules were so hectic. Kim kissed him on his forehead. She knew his weakness for sweets, and had picked up one of his favorites at the bakery when she shopped for their evening meal.
    “A few students even volunteered to help with the refreshments, and clean up during the open house of the clinic and workshop.”
    His own clinic was to open in May, less than three months away, and he was taking great pains to assure that it would be a success. By mailing out flyers to other professional organizations and making personal appeals to neighborhood YMCAs, he’d reached out to the community and explained the long-term effect his clinic would have on the numerous gifted young children who needed a little extra help and guidance. He believed their knowing they had somewhere to go, someone they could talk to, someone who genuinely cared about them, would help the youths who had gone astray, and he wanted to make some changes in their lives.
    Bill admitted that he had gotten somewhat emotional when he had explained to Dr. Ingram’s students the vow he made to a dying youth, killed senselessly by a stray bullet in his apartment building.
    Kim was familiar with Bill’s story of how, while holding a dying nine-year-old in his arms, he’d vowed to dedicate his life to saving Black children. But she never ceased to be moved when he finished.
    Both sat in silence for several moments. Then Kim, who knew she needed love and tenderness tonight from the man she adored, especially after the horrendous afternoon at the nursing home, decided it was time to change the tempo of the evening. Time to talk about the two of them, their love, their need for each other.
    Picking up their after-dinner cocktails, she led Bill to the sofa. Then she casually removed his glasses, his stiffly starched white shirt, and loosened the buckle of his trousers. Kim massaged Bill’s tense shoulders until he relaxed a little. Kissing his shoulder, she whispered that she’d be back in a moment, and went to get her purse. She took out a small vial of aromatic oil that she’d had the foresight to bring with her.
    In the kitchen, as the oil warmed in a small pot on the stove, she stripped down to her underwear. Next, she slipped a classic George Benson cassette tape in the stereo and dimmed the lights.
    Moments later, the evening began to happen just as she’d planned it. She loved taking the lead, rendering her man helpless with her ardent seduction. Yes . . .

7

    I Can’t Get Next to You
     
    After completing her daily production allotment, Ginger cleaned her sewing table and stacked the leather cushions neatly for the next day’s workload. Waving adiós to her sewing partner, Veto, she left her work area and headed toward Jackson’s office.
    She walked down the center aisle past sewing units similar to hers. Each unit was equipped with seventy or more power sewing machines by Singer, Juki, and Adler. The machines were attached to the top