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I call my friend Shelly Parker from my desk phone and excitedly tell her about my tantalizing encounters with Bishop. Between the whispering and fragmented code words, she gets the gist of my news.
“Connie, that’s a trip. You gotta stop by after work and fill me in on all the details. Girl, you’ve only been at the job six months. Does he have a brother or a friend I can get some from ’cause you know a sista got needs?” We laugh at her playful desperation.
“I’ll try to stop by if I have time. But I gotta go now. Chat with you later.”
It’s three p.m., the bewitching hour at work. I try not to hit the snack machine, but I’m always hungry around this time. Three hours after lunch and three hours before dinner. Almost daily, I walk to the snack machine and think I’ll bring a piece of fruit for the next day. I never do. And to make matters worse, the company only has snack machines on every other floor. You gotta really want some sweets to go through the trouble, but a lot of people do, myself included. In goes another seventy-five cents. I’ll get a bag of unsalted pretzels this time. They’re better than chips. Normally, I take the stairs, but Bishop wore me out so much this morning, I think I’ll take the elevator. Today, I’ll be the lazy ass that I often complain about. Damn, I’m beat.
I stand waiting for the elevator on the thirty-seventh floor. The door opens. There stands Bishop and that damn nosey lady.
“Connie, what a pleasant surprise.”
“Hi, Bishop. How are you?”
Ms. Claire pretends to watch the red numbers above the door, but I know she’s hanging on to our every word.
“Fine. You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you, would you like to join my carpool? I’m driving this week. Friday is my last day. Then we rotate. We had three people, but the third just resigned from the company. You can take her place.”
“Sounds like a good idea, but I—”
“You live in Sandy Springs, right?”
How the hell does he know that? I never told him. I hope his ass ain’t no fatal attraction. If he knows the suburb I live in, I wonder if he knows my address. Oh hell, I wonder if he knows I live with Keith. Let me calm down and just answer the question.
“Yes.”
“Well, so do I.”
“Stop playin,’” I say surprised.
“Seriously. You can park at the Nort Springs Marta station. I’ll pick you up there with the other rider.”
“I’ll think about it and let you know,” I respond.
I already know my answer is “yes,” but I’m not saying anything in front of Ms. Claire. Something about this woman unnerves me. The elevator bell dings and I exit to the thirty-fifth floor.
“Connie, let me know soon.”
That baritone voice sends desiring chills through me. How can he have such an effect on me? I turn and say, “okay,” with an appealing smile. The look that Ms. Claire gives me makes me wonder if she knows something.
I walk to my office thinking about Bishop’s offer to carpool. The freeway traffic is horrible and the commute would be better with others. Maybe it will lessen my stress at the traffic congestion, not to mention the cost of gas. I tell Keith all the time that I don’t need to drive the Acura MDX every day. But he insists because he says we can afford it. I know we can, but I still like to save whenever possible. That extra money could come in handy for something else. But as long as we’re not feeling the pinch, I guess we’re okay for now. How in the hell can I explain carpooling to him? And suppose someone sees me at the station? Nope. No way, José. I can’t carpool. It isn’t worth the argument. I sit at my desk and dial Bishop’s extension. Butter-flies dance in my stomach to a Terrance Blanchard jazz tune on my radio as I wait for his sexy greeting.
“Clark and Howard. This is Bishop Thomas.”
“Hi, Bishop. It’s me, Connie.”
“Hey. Hold on a second. Let me close my door.” He quickly returns to the phone. “So did you think about my offer?”
“Yes, and regretfully, I have to say thanks but no thanks.” I hear him sigh into the receiver.
“May I ask why? Does it have to do with this morning? ’Cause I—”
I interrupt him. “Bishop, this isn’t about you. It’s about me. I just don’t think it’s a good idea and it doesn’t meet my needs.”
“What do you mean, your needs?”
“It doesn’t fit my lifestyle. I really don’t need to carpool and I can afford the commute.”
“Connie, everybody carpools or uses the Marta, even senior management. Most of us can afford the commute, but think about how much you can save in gas, time, and effort. If you carpool only once a month, the cost for gas is split three ways, and you don’t have to deal with the stress of maneuvering through all the traffic. You know I’m right, so what’s the real reason? Is it about us?”
