Читать книгу Visible Lives: - Terrance Dean - Страница 15

Quincy and I have lunch at my favorite Italian restaurant, Tony’s DiNapoli, on Forty-third Street between Broadway and Sixth Avenue.

I watch Quincy’s body react to the food each time he takes a bite. His eyes close and he seems to be savoring every morsel in his mouth. I imagine his luscious lips tasting me. Exploring parts of my body and devouring me.

“This food is really good,” he says. His words break my trance. I shift in my seat. I feel an erection coming.

Quincy scoops up another piece of his breaded salmon. “I am definitely going to come back here.”

I smile and say a silent prayer, Lord, please keep my mind off this beautiful man. I am weak right now. Just let me make it through this lunch.

“I got to bring my mother here.” He smiles, taking a sip of his iced tea. “We are very close. She’s my best friend.”

Hmm, he has a good relationship with his mother. “That would be great,” I say. “Your parents are from Brooklyn, right?” I ask.

“Yeah, Fort Greene.”

“Oh, really. I am from that area.”

“I didn’t know you were from Brooklyn. I thought you were from Mt. Vernon or Westchester.”

I laugh. “No. I grew up not too far from the Fort Greene Projects on Adelphi Street.”

Quincy’s head jerks back. “My parents grew up in that area. My mom lived on Vanderbilt Street and my dad grew up in the Fort Greene Projects. He is much older—I am sure you wouldn’t know him. He was in his early thirties and my mom was only eighteen when she got pregnant with me.”

Oh, great. I am old enough to be his dad, I think.

“After I was born my parents split. Well, basically because my mother’s parents pressured my dad to marry her, but he wouldn’t. So, they never married, but my dad came around a lot.” Quincy takes a sip of his iced tea. “Me and my mother moved to Bed-Stuy when I was around three or four. She went back to school and got her degree and then her master’s. She is the head of human resources for Macy’s.” Quincy smiles.

“That is wonderful,” I say. “Your mom sounds great. Are you and your dad close?”

Quincy lets out a heavy sigh. “Not as close as I would like. When I became a teenager my dad stopped coming around. I rarely saw him. I don’t know what happened. My mother doesn’t say much, and when I do talk with him he’s always busy.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. Not sure if I should hug him or change the subject.

“It’s all good, though. I mean, he’s come out to California to see me play before. He played ball at the University of North Carolina and then went overseas for a few years. When he returned he went out for the major leagues, but never got picked up. He moved around a lot and finally got a job as a sanitation worker. I don’t think that was his dream. I wish we were closer. I love him, but only because he is my father.” Quincy picks up his fork and stabs a piece of salmon.

I shift in my seat nervously. I don’t want to make him appear uncomfortable or uneasy, so I change the subject.

“How is it living in California?” I say.

“I love it. The weather. The beaches. It is beautiful. It’s a complete contrast from Brooklyn and the New York winters.”

“Yeah, I know,” I laugh.

I glance around the restaurant trying not to appear nervous and suspicious. Sitting across from Quincy, a beautiful specimen of a man, I feel guilty. I don’t know why. I am not doing anything and it is only an innocent lunch meeting with my department’s intern.

But Quincy’s presence makes me uncomfortable. His politeness, cute gestures, and warm innocence make me yearn for him. I want to leap across the table and rip off his clothes. But that is my body talking. My rational, thinking, self quickly reminds me that I am a vice president. I am a professional. I am clearly much older than he and I have no time to be involved with young boys.

“You went to Vanderbilt, in Nashville?” he asks.

“Yes. I did.”

“Vanderbilt was on my list of top ten schools. I chose Stanford because they have a great business program as well as a great film curriculum. I also wanted to be in a hot, sunny place with beaches.”

“You chose a great school.” I smile. “Stanford has one of the best film programs. You should feel proud of yourself.”

I do not want to have idle chit-chat with him. I just want to do this lunch.

Get it over with.

“I do have a question that I hope won’t be offensive.” He looks into my eyes.

“Shoot,” I say, laying my fork into the salad.

“I noticed there are no other black men in your department. As a matter of fact, I noticed there are very few black men at the company. I also noticed I am the only black male intern. What are the hiring practices of the company? Is it really hard to get into the company or into your department?”

It is a question that catches me off-guard. I know there are not too many people of color in the company. There definitely are not many of us in executive decision-making roles. There is myself, George Irving in Creative, and Tammy Altmore in Ad Sales.

We are the Three Musketeers. We often laugh and joke about being the token Negroes. I, of course, am the house Negro since I am friends with the president of the company, Richard Goldstein.

“Well, that is a good question, Quincy.” I smile. I take my napkin from my lap and wipe my mouth. I proceed to tell him what I have told so many other interns and prospective employees. “We are always looking for qualified candidates. We do our best to bring in those who can contribute to the company. We are growing and looking for ways to become more diverse.”

“I see.” He picks up a piece of bread and butters it. “What are you looking for in a potential candidate?” He grins and pops the bread into his luscious mouth.

Is he being slick? I think to myself. I know there is a double meaning in that question. Is he sizing me up? Wait a minute; I am out to lunch with Quincy. My intern. This is not a date! I have to remind myself.

“I need someone who has tenacity and insight into what the company needs.” I lean forward and look him intently in his eyes. “I need someone who can help us maintain our number-one spot in homes across the country. More importantly, I need someone who can get the job done without having to be to told what to do and how to do it.”

Quincy moves forward, inches away from my face, clasps his huge hands on the table, and with a big smile on his face he says, in his sultry voice, “I’ve been working since high school. I am very independent. I also follow direction well. I am a fast learner. And, I have no problem in performing well.”

He then leans back with a perplexed look on his face. I follow his eyes. They are staring slightly above me. I whip around to see what he is glaring at, and, lo and behold, Ashley is behind me adjusting her breasts in her red leather corset.

“Hey, Chase.” She smiles and wiggles her body.

“Ashley!” I stumble out of my chair, fumbling with my napkin. It falls onto the floor as I rise. Quincy quickly reaches for it.

“What are you doing here?” My eyes grow wide.

“I just stopped in to pick up my lunch. I have to rush over to the theater before the afternoon show.” She squeezes past me and sashays up to Quincy. “I’m in the production of The Lion King. I am playing Simba’s mother,” she growls at Quincy.

I quickly step between Ashley and Quincy. “This is my new intern, Quincy Thornberry.” I gently nudge her in her side because I don’t want her to give away that she and I have been discussing him.

“Hi, I’m Ashley, a friend of your boss.” She smiles and leans around me, revealing more of her cleavage, and extends her hand.

“Nice to meet you.” He flashes his beautiful smile toward her and shakes her hand.

“So you’re Quincy.” She smirks at me. “I’ve heard some good things about you. I am sure that I will be seeing more of you this summer.”

I squint my eyes and give her an evil glare. If only I had some daggers in my hand she would feel every last one of them.

“I don’t know. I am sure that I will be busy with Mr. Kennedy and helping to keep the office running smoothly.”

“I’m sure you will.” Ashley takes a deep breath and further pokes out her chest. “Well, if you would like to come by and see me in The Lion King I would love to have you as my personal guest,” she purrs and strokes his hand.

“That would be great.”

“Here’s my number.” She reaches into her black purse and pulls out a pen and small slip of paper. “Just call me when you are ready to come.” She coyly smiles. She pushes the piece of paper into his hand.

The maitre d’ walks over and hands Ashley her food.

I gently grab her by her arm and usher her toward the front door. “I hate to rush you, Ashley, but I have very little time and I need to finish my lunch meeting with Quincy.” I turn and smile at Quincy. “He needs to get back to the office for his next appointment.” I try to hold my composure. I do not want Quincy’s first impression of me to be Ashley and her sexually flirtatious antics. The quicker I get rid of Ashley, I can save face.

“It’s truly a pleasure meeting you,” he practically yells to her as I pick up the pace.

She waves her fingers toward him and blows a kiss. When she does this, I lose it. I keep pushing her toward the door.

“Damn, he is fine!” Ashley peers over her shoulder at Quincy. “He is finer than you said.”

“What are you doing?” I look at her like she is crazy.

“I was only introducing myself since you didn’t seem like you were going to do it.”

“He is too young to be played and toyed with.” I step into her face.

“Too young for me or you?” She rolls her neck.

“Don’t you dare put me in this.”

“You were the one who called me and told me how fine he was, remember?”

I just look at her and laugh. That’s all I can do. She has me. I did call her when Quincy first sauntered into my office. What was I thinking? I should have known better than to call Ashley and tell her about a new man in town. I definitely should not have told her I was having lunch with him at my favorite place. It would have been unlike her not to show up unannounced.

“Like I told you before, he is only twenty-two. And, he is my intern…”

“Chase, please.” She waves her hand dismissively at me. “Age has nothing to do with it. Besides, he looks like he has a big dick. You sure know how to pick them.” She laughs.

“Ashley, I’ve told you, I am not interested in that boy.”

“So, why were you biting your lip?” She delicately places her finger on my mouth.

I push her hand away.

“And you brought him to your favorite restaurant?”

“Because it’s close to the office.” I tilt my head.

“You only bring men you are interested in to this place,” she quips.

“Bitch!”

“A damn good one.” She adjusts her breasts. “And, welcome to the family.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The cougar family.”

“Cougar family?”

“Yeah, but you are a cougay.”

“A what?”

“A cougay. An older gay man who dates younger men,” Ashley laughs.

“We are not dating, and I am not a cougay.” I try to prevent my voice from escalating. “Besides, he’s not gay.”

“Whatever.” Ashley begins to push her way through the door and out into the Manhattan streets. “Did you notice he never once looked at my girls?” Ashley adjusts her large breasts spilling out of her corset. “I’ll call you later,” she yells as she struts toward Broadway.

I go back to the table where Quincy is finishing the last of his salmon.

“Sorry about the interruption,” I say, taking my seat.

“No problem.” He flashes his award-winning smile at me. “She sure is a feisty woman. But I’m sure that you know lots of celebrities.”

“It comes with the territory. Besides, Ashley is a good friend of mine.”

“Well, for the record, and so you’ll know, she’s not my type at all. I am not into people who throw themselves at me. I get that all the time at school.”

I nod my head and smile at him.

“I like a smart and mature person.” Quincy grins. “I also like to be the chaser.”

“Well, I am sure there are plenty of young women back at Stanford waiting for you.”

“Naw. I think the person for me is here at home in New York,” he smirks.

With that said he motions for the waiter and asks for the check.

I am impressed.

No, I am floored.

And, did he just say what I think he said?

Are my ears deceiving me?

Quincy is not impressed with Ashley’s overflowing titties or gestures of affection and the stroking of his ego.

This twenty-two-year-old sounds more mature than some thirty-year-old men I know.

“Thank you for the lunch,” he says. “I don’t want to waste too much more of your time. You’re a busy man. Besides, I have the entire summer with you. And, I plan on making the most of it.”

I smile on the inside. My body temperature rises and my heart races. Something in the way he says those soothing words eases into my ears and soul. God, are you trying to tell me something? I whisper.

As we leave the table I notice out the corner of my eye that Quincy has left the piece of paper with Ashley’s number sitting in the remnants of the salmon oil on his plate. I feel the exhilaration of joy rush throughout my body as we walk out of the restaurant and back to the office.