DARK FRUITS – EPISODE #7 By Eva Mae Ramble Ebony stepped out - TopicsExpress



          

DARK FRUITS – EPISODE #7 By Eva Mae Ramble Ebony stepped out into the cold, pulling the lapels of her red Prada trench coat up around her ears. Her small white gold hoop earrings caught on her coat. She adjusted them with umber fingertips. Fallen licks of soot black hair poked out over her upturned collar. She adjusted the bobby pins in her hair. Ebony bit her red painted lip and breathed out a visible cloud of warm air. “Here goes nothing…” she murmured to herself. “Hey, you!” She smiled. Her tricolor Jimmy Choo heels clicked on the pavement as she rushed toward her live-in boyfriend. She greeted Malcolm with a hug. Enveloped in his big muscular arms, Ebony glanced sideways at the mirror-like window. From the outside the tint was reflective, allowing Ebony only to see the other offices and stores, cars in the parking lot – Malcolm’s truck was backed up in front of her office – Malcolm-the-giant and the pieces of herself that weren’t hidden by his arms and coat. She knew too clearly that she was being watched from the other side of the glass. She was not accustomed to being watched. She always played the voyeur peering into other people’s private moments, never the exhibitionist. She felt exposed even as she hid her face in Malcolm’s corduroy lapel. Naked. Stark. Publically discovered. Could Jackson get pleasure from watching her with another man? Could she get pleasure from Malcolm, while she knew another man was watching? “What are you doing here?” She smiled falsely up at her tall, tall lover. Ebony was only five-three. Malcolm was a whole foot taller than her – a giant amongst Lilliputians. Ebony twirled a stray lock of hair nervously, trying not to look at her reflection. Would Malcolm notice the out of place hairs that had once been in place? Would Malcolm notice how faint her lipstick had become when it had at first been thick and bright? Did she smell like Guilty and taste like menthol because Jackson did? Could Malcolm? Could Jackson see that she was uncomfortable? She dropped her hands from her hair and dug them into her coat pockets. “I’m cold…” she lied. She was burning up. “I wanted to bring you flowers.” Malcolm presented her with the roses. “I’m sorry about this morning.” Ebony removed her hands from her pockets and received the “grocery store” flowers bashfully. She blushed for many reasons, the least of which because she was touched by the gesture. Ebony smelled deeply of the roses’ stale day old refrigerated scent, very aware that both Malcolm and Jackson would notice the slightest wrinkle in her nose or the tiniest downturn of her mouth so she smiled. Grinned actually. “Oh Malcolm they’re beautiful,” she lied on top of a lie, noting the brown frostbitten edges on the almost maroon red buds. They were already dying. Who knew how long it had been since they had been picked or how long it had been since they had touched water. “This morning was nothing,” she lied again. “It would be nothing to me, baby, but to you – I know you – it was something.” Ebony yielded a lopsided smile and patted Malcolm’s chest with her free hand. “You know me.” Malcolm chuckled. His victories came few and far between, and were usually small if at all notable. But Ebony knew he liked to be right. He especially liked to be right about her. She heard his baritone rumble out “I know you” almost as much as she heard him say “I love you.” The latter of which he said frequently and without inhibition. Ebony smelled her “grocery store” roses and thought that they smelled a little bit sweeter. “They called me in for work today.” He raised his chin. “Grady called out sick. Said he broke his leg trying to kick start a dirt bike. Looks like I’m going to be pulling doubles all week.” “Malcolm!” Ebony cried, “That’s great!” “I told ol’ Leslie to gimme his hours. I’ll work doubles. I’ll work triples. Just gimme the hours.” Ebony smelled her flowers. “What shifts?” “Second and third.” “I’ll have to sleep alone,” she said thoughtfully. “But we’ll have our mornings.” “Yes.” He smiled proudly. “We’ll have our mornings.” Ebony felt her heart strings pulled taunt as if tuned by a skillful old hand. Sometimes Malcolm could be so sweet, she thought. God, there Ebony went almost forgetting. Almost forgetting that she was falling out of love with this man. Almost forgetting the loneliness of being in a relationship with someone who shared none of her interests. Almost forgetting about how boring and backwards this town was compared to Chicago. Almost forgetting about the man on the other side of the storefront window and how he knew the names of labels about which Malcolm could care less. Almost forgetting. Almost forgetting that “grocery store” roses smelled stale. Almost forgetting that her panties were wet because of another man. Almost forgetting. Almost forgetting. If she went almost forgetting anything else she might just find herself married to Malcolm, because wasn’t nothing “almost” about money in a man’s pocket and pep in his step. Money. Made. Her. Coochie. Wet. And Malcolm knew how to treat a wet coochie. He gave a knowing smile and pulled her to his chest. Wrapping her in his arms, he rested his cheek atop her head. “I know you, Ebony. I knew you would be happy for me. You’re like my old high school football coach.” “Except for I’m not old, white or male, and I don’t get paid for it,” Ebony said smartly. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of Gold Bond talcum powder, Gillette aftershave and Old Spice deodorant. The smell reminded her of rainy Saturday afternoons cuddled up with Malcolm beneath their hunter green comforter in the living room on their loveseat watching “A Thin Line Between Love and Hate” on VHS for the twentieth time, eating greasy slices of the best New York style pepperoni pizza that Eden had to offer. “I pay you in other ways.” He kissed her crown. “You know, I don’t have to be at work until three, maybe we could…” He looked down at her. “Fool around a little bit.” Ebony shivered. “We can’t. I have a client.” “No, actually, you don’t.” A refined Northern tenor. Ebony’s eyes flew wide open.
Posted on: Sun, 17 Nov 2013 02:00:00 +0000

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