me very happy, and everything worked beautifully.
Chapter Seven
I woke up cheerful, a condition so rare, I didn't even recognize it for a few minutes. I stretched in the bed, feeling a little sore in a most unusual way for me. Since I had had such a good workout the day before (and I smirked to myself when I thought that), I decided to do some push-ups at home rather than trek in to Body Time. I turned on the coffeepot and went into the room with the punching bag, then hit the floor and did fifty quick ones. I showered quickly and pulled on some loose-cut jeans and a T-shirt, my ordinary working clothes.
I have never figured out how other women think they are going to fight - or clean house - in skintight jeans.
After retrieving my paper, I sat down for some cereal and coffee. I was conscious all the time of being extraordinarily relaxed and pleased, a mood so unusual, I hardly knew how to handle it.
I caught myself beaming out the kitchen window at the lovely morning. It's truly amazing what a good screw can do for your outlook, I thought. And it wasn't just the wonderful physical sensation; it was the successful completion of the sex act without a panic attack or a wave of revulsion for my partner.
I found myself wondering if Marshall would call me that day. What would happen at class tonight? I crushed those thoughts ruthlessly. It had been what it was, good sex, nothing more. But boy, it sure was nice to remember.
I glanced at my watch, then reluctantly gathered up my portable caddy of cleaning materials and rags to set out for the first job of the day, Deedra Dean's apartment.
Deedra is supposed to be at work by eight, but today she was still getting ready when I knocked on the door before using her key. This wasn't the first time Deedra'd been late.
She had hot curlers in her hair and a black lace slip on her body. Marcus Jefferson was coming out of his door as Deedra opened hers, and Deedra made sure he got a good look at the slip. I stepped in and turned to shut the door, catching a good look at Marcus's face as I did so. He looked a little... disgusted - but excited.
I shook my head. Deedra stuck her tongue out at me as she flounced back to her bathroom to finish her face. I had to make a great effort not to slap her cheek in the hope of knocking some sense into her head; there must be some intelligence rattling around in there, since Deedra is able to hold down a job where she actually has to perform work.
"Lily!" she called from the bathroom as I stared grimly around the chaos of the apartment. "Are you a racist?"
"No, Deedra, I don't believe I am," I called back, thinking pleasurably of Marshall's ivory body. "But you're just playing - you're not serious about Marcus. And sleeping with a black man is still such a delicate thing that you really have to be serious about him to take the crap you're going to be handed."
"He's not serious, either," Deedra said, peeking out for a minute, one cheek pink and the other its natural white.
"Well, let's do something totally meaningless," I muttered, and began to pile up all the magazines and letters and bills scattered over the coffee table. I paused in midact. Was I the pot calling the kettle black? No, I decided with some relief, what Marshall and I did had some meaning. I'm not sure what yet. But it meant something.
I went about my business as though Deedra wasn't there, and I certainly wished she wasn't. Deedra hummed, sang, and chattered her way through the rest of her toilette, getting on my nerves to an incredible degree.
"What do you think will happen to us now that Pardon's dead?" Deedra asked as she buttoned up her red-and-black-striped dress. She slid her feet into matching pumps simultaneously.
"You're the third person to ask me what the fate of the apartment building will be," I said testily. "How should I know?"
"Why, Lily, we just figure you know it all," Deedra said matter-of-factly. "And you never tell; that's the nice thing about you."
I sighed.
"Now, that Pardon, what a son of a bitch," Deedra said in the same tone. "He sure was a pain to me. Always hovering, always asking me how my mama was,