little boy. Your ex seems like a good mother. I could tell by the way your child reacted to her with smiles and hugs. Made me miss being with my son all the time, that’s all.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
She smiled, wide and strong. “That’s where I’m coming from when I creep in late at night. A lot of times, I miss my boy and I cruise down the 605 to Cerritos and stay until my baby boy goes to sleep.”
“Oh, I see. Creeping with your ex husband?”
“Heck, no. He’s remarried. To somebody his own age.”
“How old is he?”
“Sixty-five. I married to get citizenship.”
“You married to get his discount at Denny’s.”
She thought that was knee-slapping funny. “We had a kid, tried to stick it out, but it didn’t last three good months.”
I asked, “Not seeing anybody else?”
“Nah. I’m a one-woman kinda woman, or a one-man kinda woman.” She laughed like she’d told the world’s best joke. “Depends on the season.”
Her laughter was contagious, made me chuckle a while as well.
At first we were strangers, then neighbors. Today I needed a ride, and we were friends.
I wondered if what Dana felt was normal, so I asked Naiomi, “So, how does Juanita feel about you having been married and having a kid?”
“She could care less. She wants me to bring my son to live with us. And I’m not comfortable with that thought.”
“I see. Your problem is one hundred eighty degrees from mine. But your situation puts a little more on your table.”
“Not because I’m living with Juanita. I’m comfortable with who I am.” She bobbed her head. “It takes harmony to raise a family. And my ex would drag me through court. It’s not worth it. The pain, I mean.”
A beat later, she laughed lightly. “Mr. Browne, let’s run away.”
I winked. “Changing horses doesn’t mean the ride’ll get any better.”
“You get Kwanzaa, I’ll get my Otis, and we’ll go to Mexico. I’ll be your señorita, you can be my papi. Enjoy sunsets. We can do this.”
I said, “And live off of beans and corn?”
“And whatever fattening food they eat down there.”
Now we were parents joking about our troubles, expressing a longing. In between the jokes, Naiomi put her hand on my shoulder, got my attention. Gave me soft, womanly eyes. Stared deep, sent a dangerous message, one that couldn’t be misconstrued. When I turned away, she moved her hand.
“You know what, Mr. Browne?”
“What?”
With warm eyes she said, “You’re decent.”
What I saw in her eyes was what I wished I got from Dana.
We went to the Beverly Center, ate downstairs at California Pizza Kitchen. I paid. We weren’t ready to go home to play out our individual dramas, so we rode the Pacific Coast Highway, drifted close to Malibu, ended up parked near Gladstone’s restaurant. We sat on the rocks, right over waves that were wetting the debris in the dirty brown sand. Just like I’d done on my first date with Dana, I closed my eyes and inhaled the ocean’s salty breath. Ocean air, a fading sun, a rising moon. Night was on the way. Naiomi sat close to me, her back to my shoulder, using my body to block the light breeze and keep warm. I needed her heat.
She told me, “No more talk about your ex-wife. Or Miss Smith. No talk about Juanita. Or our children. Let’s let it all go for now.”
“Okay.”
We talked about nothing. Communicated about everything. Had pleasant moments. Which was dangerous for two people with rumpled feelings.
The heat from her breast was resting on my arm. I closed my eyes and ached with that good feeling. My hand eased around her waist. The ocean was spanking the shore when she leaned into me. Seagulls sang when I kissed the silver ring in Naiomi’s eyebrow.
Her lips glowed. She made a pouty face, spoke like her insides were on fire. “A romantic, moonlit night on the beach, and that’s it?”
Her lips parted. I went inside her warmth. Her tongue was stiff at first, reluctant. Her eyes were open. I did a slow move and groove, did the taste test, relished the flavor I savored, was amazed by her rhythm, and hoped my breath wasn’t too funky while I harmonized. Her body relaxed, eyes slowly closed, tongue softened up. Breathing became heavy, her hand on my face, rubbing my beard. She made an orgasmic sound and pulled away.
“Okay, all right, okay.” She fanned herself. “That’s enough.”
“What’s wrong?”
“You kiss like . . . hmmmm . .