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Yawning, she turned on the television to watch her DVR’ed show, RHOA, so she could watch the drama unfold among the cast members while she cooked.I’ll go to sleep after I eat a lil’ somethin’ and watch this.
The coffee was percolating, the brew’s lovely aroma filling the air. She sliced an orange and placed it on her plate, then the phone rang.
“Hi, Mama.” She pulled out a fork and knife from the drawer. “Nice to hear from you this fine mornin’.”
“I thought I’d try and see if you were awake. ’Cause I know we don’t normally talk until the afternoon. I want you to get your rest.”
“I’m just makin’ a little something to eat and watching TV. I’m going to bed after this, though.” She flipped the strips of bacon over with the fork. “How are you doing?”
“I’m just fine. I was up early and thought I’d call. I ain’t want nothin’.”
Then, there it was. That awkward silence. Mama’s television could be heard in the background. It sounded like a morning news show.
“You talk to Blue?”
“Yeah… yesterday. She said she had a doctor’s appointment.”
“She all right?”
“Mmm hmm. Just a checkup…”
The quiet reigned once again. The seconds felt like an eternity.
“Well… thank you for callin’, Mama. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Tell Ayanna I said hello, and for her to do right in school.”
“I will.” Iris scratched her head over the silky fabric of her bonnet, curing an itch. Then, just like that, the conversation came to an abrupt halt.
Placing the phone back on the counter, she finished fixing her plate and sat down on the living room couch in front of the T.V. No matter how much she ate, she felt unfulfilled. Starved. Not because of an insatiable appetite, but because she couldn’t feast on a good word, a deep emotion, a feeling other than surface level chitchats with Mama. Every time they hung up, their interaction always left her hungry. Made her crave more…
That evening…
North Italia Restaurantwas a bustling place with an industrial look. White pipes ran along the ceiling and simple royal blue booth seating filled the space. It was nice, not a cheap place, but not intimidating, either. No red and white checkered tables, or old Italian music drifted through the space on low volume. Perfect.
She felt well put together in her jade green jumpsuit, gold choker with matching bracelet, and her hair slicked back in a bun—finally, because her hair had been particularly unruly today, and it had taken about half a jar of Eco-Styler to finally get it under control. Jude was speaking to the host, confirming the reservation.
Surreal.
He’d pulled up to her place in a black ’67 Chevy Impala, the kind with the white stripe, and acted like a perfect gentleman since the moment he opened the door for her. Contemporary jazz tunes played in his car. They chatted a little, had a few laughs, and everything seemed… normal, but with a twist. Jude dripped with sensuality, and she’d caught him cutting his eyes at her more than once, studying her. It unnerved her, but at the same time, made her feel hot all over.
The attraction was mutual, and she wasn’t certain how she felt about that. Something about this man wasn’t right. There were too many unanswered questions. Mysteries. Unfortunately, the same things that worried her drew her all the more to him. What a pickle she was in…
“Right this way,” a server announced, leading them to a back booth that was aglow with candlelight. “Is this fine, Mr. Cooper?”
“Yes. How about for you, Iris?”
“Looks just fine to me.”
They both sat down, and the server immediately draped their laps with linens. He went over the specials of the day, wines, and asked if they’d dined there before.
“I have been here many times. You?”
“Uh, no. I’ve never been here before.”
“Well then, you’re in for a treat.” The server went on to explain the head chef’s expertise, and though she was paying attention, she also noticed the smug look on Jude’s face—an expression tinged with a touch of sinister. He clasped his hands over the table, both of them covered in tattoos depicting money signs, diamonds, skulls and flames. Unlike some she’d seen, however, these were well done and obviously professional. On one side of his neck was a skull pirate’s face sporting a scarf tied along its head and crossing swords beneath its bony chin. On the other side his nickname,Judge, in bold italic letters, with a gavel beneath it.
He ordered them a bottle of wine, and she refused the offer of an appetizer, going straight to ordering her entrée: spaghetti and meatballs. Jude on the other hand, had ordered two appetizers, two salads, and two entrees. That seemed like far too much food, especially for someone as fit as he appeared to be. The man was nothing but muscle. She’d been chewing Jude-i-cious eye candy since she’d first seen him walking into Kroger. The man had sun kissed skin, an intense stare, light amber eyes with flecks of green and gold, a sleek mustache, and a long, thick black beard that was always trimmed to perfection.
