After The Dance Read Online Free Page A

been under the impression that Harlequin was the extent of her literary repertoire. But no, come to find out ol’ girl is extremely well versed in the African American literary canon and no doubt could hold her own in Doc Tuck’s class.
    Yeah, just like the time before, me and Faye did a lot of talking. Matter of fact, we didn’t part company until way up in the wee hours of the morning. And this time around, in addition to being much more relaxed, the conversation was also much more personal.
    At one point she asked me straight out about my marriage and the reasons behind its demise. And I came right out and told her. I told her how I strayed one time too many, and ended up getting someone other than my wife pregnant. Told her how at age ten, my twins, Renita and Renee, knew more than I wished they did about things like affairs, mistresses, and divorce. Told her about the pain, man, the pain of having destroyed my family, of having betrayed the trust of my children, of having hurt so many innocent people unnecessarily. Even told her about the other woman, Clarice, and the other child, my son, Benjamin, and how strange it felt to be a man with two families, but no place to really call home.
    After all that emotional retching I should have ended theevening with some soul-cleansing music—some Johnnie Taylor or some Bobby Womack—but instead I opted for a smoother sound—the Friends of Distinction and their “You’ve Got Me Going in Circles.”
    Yeah, she danced with me again that night, man. And I held her a little closer than the last time. Close enough to feel her heartbeat. Close enough to smell the faint traces of the cologne she must have put on earlier in the day. And all the while we danced, her eyes never left mine, her facial expression never once changed. I don’t know, man. I don’t know if it was gratitude, temporary insanity, or just the wine gone to my head, but something made me want to kiss her. And before I could even think twice about it, I had.

HER
    It wasn’t just the kiss. It was the kiss and everything that led up to the kiss that gave me good reason to pause. I guess I should have known better than to think for even one quick second that Carl and I might be able to have a nice, friendly, uncomplicated, platonic relationship.
    Not that I’m excusing myself from any responsibility for what happened that evening. I did make the mistake of asking about the breakup of his marriage. Really, it was an innocent line of questioning that I thought might lead to a general discussion on the current status of male-female relationships. Unfortunately, he mistook it for an invitation to disclose just how big a ’ho he’d been during his eight-year hitch.
    I have to give the brother this much, though, he doesn’t believe in making any excuses for himself or his behavior. He readily admits that what he did was wrong, and acknowledgesthat his lying, cheating ways were what got him thrown out and living all by his lonesome. But even more admirably, not once did he ever blame his ex or attempt to verbally trash the woman. Course now, he did run a variation of that “but, baby, I’ve changed” line on me. I’ll be durned if every man I know doesn’t keep some form of this line shined, polished, and tucked beneath the tip of his tongue, as if this is supposed to make you feel more at ease about all the evil, trifling mess he’s done in the past.
    Then there was the dance and the kiss. Yeah, I know you been waiting on that part. So I danced with him again, okay—shoot me already. I didn’t have the heart to turn him down. You remember how it was back in junior high when the guys were still shy about asking us to dance at the sock hops? Well, Carl kind of reminds me of one of those guys. Guess it’s that boyish charm I told you about. Anyway, he seems to get such a kick out of the whole thing, and he’s not at all vulgar about it—none of those pelvis digs and wandering hands that you have to watch out