Caramel Eyes

Those of you who have read my 3-part

Sandalwood

series will recognise Mark Vasquez as one of Cole Gundersen's oldest friends. This story is a prequel to

Sandalwood

, featuring both Mark and Cole when they were in their late 20s. The town of Viero, Ontario is entirely fictional. And milk is, indeed, sold in plastic bags in the Canadian province of Ontario.

"You know, you're doing those lifts wrong," Denise Ramdas faintly heard the stocky blond man tell her as she lifted her 7 lb dumbbells straight up over her head in an effort to strengthen her shoulders. She put the weights down and took out her earbuds.

"Pardon me?" she asked, her caramel brown tresses bobbing back and forth in a high ponytail. Her mocha skin glistened while she furrowed her brow and brushed her damp palms against her sweatpants.

Maybe she should have opted for a baggy t-shirt instead of a sports bra, she wondered. Maybe baggy anything for young women was a better choice at most gyms.

Nah, it wouldn't matter if I were wearing a potato sack,

she reasoned.

These guys are relentless.

"You're going to get cramps in your shoulders if you keep doing them that way," the man continued.

"Well, I had a trainer instruct me that this is the right way to do them," Denise replied, miffed that too many men didn't understand earphones were the universal indicator that a woman didn't want to be talked to.

"Suit yourself, but I didn't get these biceps doing what you're doing," he said, flexing his arms. "I'm Brad, by the way."

There it is,

Denise thought with a wry smile. She didn't want to be rude, but basic courtesies like introducing yourself often encouraged these guys.

"Hi Brad," she said, picking up her earbuds again. "I'm not doing bicep exercises right now anyway. Thanks for the advice, but I need to get back to my workout."

"What is the world coming to when we're not even comfortable giving each other our names?" Brad persisted.

"I'm seeing someone," she said, quickly becoming less and less comfortable.

"I don't see a ring on your finger," Brad countered.

"Because I'm seeing someone; not married," Denise said a bit more tersely.

"That's good enough for me."

"I'm flattered, Brad, but I'm just here to exercise, not to date," Denise replied, shifting on the bench she sat on.

"Look, I understand you

might

have a boyfriend but unless he shows up any time soon, I'm not inclined to believe--" Brad suddenly stopped talking as Denise noticed a shadow loom over her on the bench.

"Hey, sweetie," the muscled, dark-skinned man with a shaved head said as he sat down beside her. "Just let me know when you're ready to go and I'll grab my stuff." He winked at her and Denise simply gaped back at the huge stranger in surprise. Brad, noticing that this man was easily taller and broader than him with bigger arms, stepped back.

"Sorry, guy," he muttered. "You two have a good evening." Denise and the stranger watched as Brad not only walked back to where he'd been working out but passed the spot and kept going right out of the gym.

"Are you alright?" the man asked, to which Denise nodded in response. "Pardon my French," he continued, "but it's bullshit that guys like that respect you more when another man says you're his, than when you turn them down of your own accord. I'm Mark, by the way. Mark Vasquez."

"Thank you, Mark," Denise told him, her voice full of gratitude. "I'm Denise. I was about to leave, myself. But I was also afraid he might follow me outside or..."

"Don't worry about that," Mark waved her off. "I'm here at this time most days and so is my buddy over there, the white dude." He pointed back toward a bearded guy with chestnut brown hair and hazel eyes walking toward them, also looking to be in his late 20s like Mark.

They were both big men, Denise noticed. She estimated they were each at least six feet and maybe 190 lbs, although Mark's larger muscles likely added more weight to his frame.

"Hi, I'm Cole," Mark's friend said to Denise as he reached them. "Everything okay, Mark? You scare off so many assholes you should have been a proctologist." Denise burst out laughing, the tension melting from her shoulders.

"Man, you know I didn't have the grades for that!" Mark shot back with a grin. "That's why I'm just an amateur proctologist for assholes harassing women at the gym."

"I hate those guys," Cole said, shaking his head. "You looked kind of scared there..."

"Denise," she told him, holding out her hand. "I was, only because you don't know for sure every time this happens whether they'll walk away or wait until you leave and then follow you to your car. Which... actually happened last time with another guy." Both Mark and Cole paused.

"We're... we're clearly not sending you our best," Mark said.

"Look, my faith in humanity is restored after meeting you guys," Denise told them. "Let me buy you both dinner if you don't have plans tonight." Mark and Cole looked at each other, eyebrows raised. "Have you ever had Caribbean food, like West Indies?" she continued. "My family owns the little place at the other end of the plaza."

"I'm in," Mark said.

"Let me text Janice first," Cole told him, reaching for his phone in his shorts pocket.

"Come on, she didn't even make concrete plans with you tonight," Mark chided his friend. "And you've only been casually dating for what now, six months? She's not your wife." He paused. "Thankfully," he murmured under his breath.

"Okay, fine," Cole said, putting his hands up. "For background, Denise, I'm seeing this gorgeous and sweet woman, and Mark hates her."

"I don't know, I mean, Mark seems to be a good judge of character," Denise said, standing up. She noticed she barely came up to Mark's nose at her full height of 5'8". He had to be about 6'1".

"See? Denise hasn't even met Janice and she already hates her!" Mark grinned.

The two of them met Denise in the lobby of the gym about a half-hour later. She pulled the hood of her winter coat up over her head and led the way to her family's restaurant, Leela's Doubles, through the frigid Canadian January wind. As soon as she pushed the door open, she saw her mother finish taking an order at one of the front tables.

"Finally," she told Denise, coming up to the three of them. "But my dear, you've overdone it. I've been asking you to bring just one handsome man home, not two." She beamed at Mark and Cole as she continued to drawl in her Trinidadian accent. "So which one is yours?" � � � � � � � � � � � � �

"Mother, this is exactly why I don't bring friends here," Denise rolled her eyes.

"Friends?" Leela Ramdas feigned disappointment in her voice. "Baby, you're 26 and you're still just making friends? Tie one of these gorgeous boys down!" Mark chuckled to himself while Cole turned slightly pink. Denise introduced the two men to her mom and directed them into a booth.

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess you're from the Islands?" Mark asked rhetorically.

"Trini," Denise replied. "I was born there but my mom and I came to Canada when I was about nine. I guess I do still have a bit of an accent."

"Oh hey, my nan was from there," Mark said. "My dad's side is all Cuban, but I was born and raised here." He gestured to Cole. "No one ever asks where you're originally from, huh, man?" The three of them broke out in low snickers. Denise checked with the men before ordering three plates of doubles for the table, then turned to Cole.

"How are you with spice, my friend? Like, heat level?" she asked.

"Oh, what a wasted opportunity," Mark lamented. "You should have turned the heat up to 15 on a 10 scale, and then told him it's the mildest thing you serve."

"Have I mentioned Mark's a jackass?" Cole said, glowering squarely at his friend while answering Denise. "I'm going to be safe and ask you make it mild, but I'm crazy about Indian food and I can take the spice level there so..."

"And yet you're with Janice, who probably thinks plain snow is flavorful," Mark mumbled.

"I think you'll be fine, Cole," Denise smiled. "But don't be shy if you want a glass of milk or an ice cream to calm down your tongue, alright?"

Mark told her that he and Cole met in teacher's college a few years back, and were grade school teachers now.

Damn, school sure has changed since I was a kid,

Denise thought, her face growing warm. She glanced away from Mark's square jaw as if worried the men knew what had just crossed her mind.

"By the way, you were doing those reps correctly," Mark added. "It's only if you overdo it that your shoulders will hurt, but your execution was fine. That was my first clue Brad was an asshole."

"In case you couldn't tell, Mark teaches gym," Cole said. "I teach first and second grade."

"Were you two friends right away in your courses?" Denise asked. The two of them looked at each other and grinned, then Cole closed his eyes, anticipating what he was sure Mark was going to say next.

"Cole actually saved my life," Mark declared, his face the picture of solemnity.

"Stop talking about it like that," Cole protested, shaking his head.

"I have to hear this story," Denise told them.

"Well, we were in the same classes but the semester just began and we didn't know each other," Mark started. "Then one day, I'm driving along and I get pulled over by a cop at a 'routine' traffic stop." Denise nodded knowingly, understanding the terror that most Black men feel when they see those flashing lights behind them.

"By the way, we're doing school in a town so white it rivaled the mayonnaise aisle in the supermarket," Mark said while Denise and Cole snorted. "I have my license and registration ready on the dash so I don't have to reach into any pockets and my hands are on the wheel, just like my dad always told me to do in this very situation.

"And I'm trying to stay calm and answer his questions but I'm noticing the cop's hand is first touching his gun holster, then resting on it." Denise drew in her breath. "Then," Mark smiled, "The cop turns past the car and yells at someone, but I'm not going to dare turn around and look."

"That... that was me," Cole took over. "The cop noticed me standing and watching and told me there was nothing to see. I said if there's nothing to see, he shouldn't care if I was standing there or not."

"Only a nice-looking white boy can get away with that," Mark interjected. "Can you imagine if it was the other way around?" He smiled sardonically to himself. "No, of course not, because Cole never would have been pulled over so I wouldn't have had to sass off to a cop."

"Anyway," Cole continued, "that was a bit before camera phones or I would have been recording the whole thing. I told the guy that's my buddy in the car and we were doing school together. Then," he started chuckling, "the cop says if he's my friend, what was his name? I couldn't remember."

"Oh my gosh, how did you answer that?" Denise leaned forward.

"I just told the cop I called him 'asshole' so much I forgot his name."

The three of them erupted in raucous laughter just as Denise's mom approached their booth balancing their plates on her arms. She shot her daughter an approving glance as she left, which Mark caught but Cole missed. His eyes were instead devouring the steaming plates that each held two fried

bara

flatbread, filled with a curried chickpea sauce.

"Luckily," Cole went on, dragging a plate toward himself, "I made the cop laugh and he let Mark off with a warning."

"And then after he left," Mark filled in, "Cole here turned the air blue with how I shouldn't have been stopped because the cop didn't even tell me what traffic law I violated. That filthy mouth alone told me I'd found a kindred spirit."

"I got in the car, Mark took me out for a beer to thank me, and that's how I've been saddled with him ever since," said Cole.

Denise giggled, then observed each of her new friends rip off a piece of bara and take a bite of it with the curried

channa

. Both sighed approvingly, and it flickered across her mind what a lower, deeper sigh from Mark would sound like. Her eyes widened in alarm at the racy thought, which Mark saw.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Uhh, nothing," Denise looked at him, her eyes still wide. "My mom forgot the tamarind sauce. Be right back." She hopped up and scurried toward the kitchen.

"It wasn't that much of an emergency," Cole said, his mouth full. "I am fucking inhaling this food whether there's tamarind sauce or not." Mark was silent, his eyes following the willowy young woman toward the kitchen door.

"Dude, ask her out," Cole urged. Mark's attention snapped back to his friend, surprised. "I do occasionally notice things," Cole went on. "Not very often, but you two checking each other out is kind of obvious."

"Nah, I can't, man," Mark replied, tearing off another piece of bara. "We just saved her from Brad at the gym and then I come on to her? How does that look? For all she knows we could have set up the whole thing with him."

"It's different," Cole objected. "You're not hitting on her out of nowhere. We all sort of know each other now and I'm here, third-wheeling my ass off." Mark cracked a smile.

"A woman being friendly to me doesn't necessarily mean she likes me," he said. "For all we know she could like you."

"She knows I'm attached, though," Cole said between mouthfuls. "And Denise has been friendly with me, but you're the one she's been staring at since we left the gym." Mark chewed silently, glancing back at kitchen door.

"You don't even have to do it now," Cole added. "You know where her family's restaurant is. Come back on your own a few times until you figure out I'm right." Mark smiled again, partly at Cole, and partly because he saw Denise emerge from the kitchen's swinging door. In her hands were more steaming dishes.

"I didn't want to bring out too much at first in case you didn't like it or couldn't handle it," she teasingly glanced at Cole who happily had his mouth full again. But I knew the first order wouldn't be enough for growing boys like you." She put down a wide plate with a large, folded piece of floppy flatbread.

"This is

dhalpuri

," she explained. "It's super flimsy and there's ground yellow split peas inside. Don't worry if you pick it up and everything falls out; it's supposed to be messy." She pointed to the two larger bowls on the side of the plate holding fragrant curries for dipping. "This one's potato and this one's pumpkin," she said, before pointing to two little cups, "and of course, tamarind sauce."

"Thank you so much, Denise," Cole said, "but you have to sit down and eat with us." As if she just remembered, she slid into the booth beside Mark. Cole, alone on his side, smirked across the table at his friend.

Mark, usually the more outgoing and effervescent one between the two, had grown quiet in his newfound self-consciousness. Cole noticed.

"So Denise, what else do you do besides attracting jerks at the gym?" he asked.

"That's my main occupation, actually," she joked, deftly ripping a bite-sized piece of dhalpuri using just three fingers of one hand. "I'm a licensed paralegal by day and restaurant closer by night."

"No kidding," Cole said. "One of Mark's sisters is a law clerk. Right, Mark?"

"Umm, yeah," Mark nodded, wondering what was suddenly wrong with him. He felt like he'd gone back in time to the scrawny, awkward teenager he'd been 15 years prior.

"Oh yeah, where does she work?" Denise asked, turning toward him, their faces inches apart. Mark couldn't help but notice the caramel brown hue of her eyes matched her thick, shoulder-length hair. Cole shook his head in disbelief at his friend after an extended pause with no answer.

"She's in corporate law, isn't she?" he filled in when he couldn't take the silence any longer.

"Oh, I feel bad for her, then," Denise replied, looking back down at her food. "They work crazy hours and lawyers just squeeze them dry. A lot of them work extra even after they get home." While her eyes were turned downward at her plate, Cole made a face at Mark as if to ask him what the hell he was doing.

When they eventually finished their meal and thanked Denise for dinner, Mark realized he had to say something in order to not feel completely disappointed in himself later.

"Can we walk you to your car?" he asked, at a loss for any other ideas.

"Remember earlier when I said I'm a restaurant closer by night?" she smiled. "Tonight happens to be one of those nights." She touched Mark's arm and looked him in the eye. "Thanks again for helping me out at the gym. I truly appreciate it." Mark swore he felt a tingling sensation where her fingers briefly rested, but simply told her goodnight and followed Cole out the door.

"What the fuck, man?" Cole all but exploded when the two of them had walked beyond the periphery of the restaurant parking lot. "You suddenly realize you like her and you lose your personality?"

"Might I remind you of one of the first interactions between you and Janice?" Mark retorted.

"Okay, fine, fine, I'm sorry," Cole quickly backtracked, cringing at the memory. Mark reminded him anyway.

"She was cutting your hair and asked what you did for a living. You said, 'I'm a teacher, what about you?'" Mark chuckled, already feeling better about his awkwardness with Denise. "Not only did I look over in horror from my chair; so did my barber."

"Hey, I already said I was sorry," Cole put his hands over his eyes. "But despite that glitch, I still asked her out eventually." He pulled out a business card from his pocket that he'd just picked up from the side table by the front door.

"Maybe you don't want to go back to the restaurant because let's face it, we just ate five times the calories we burned at the gym," he said, handing Mark the card. "If I'm being honest, I'll probably do it again. But maybe call the place and see when she'll be in?"

***********

A week later after school, Mark paced around his living room slapping the dog-eared business card of Leela's Doubles against his phone. He dialed the number twice, only to close his phone each time. It was a Tuesday evening and about the same time he'd first seen Denise last week.

He'd taken to working out later in the evening since they'd met in order to avoid her, which Cole gave him hell over. After a few more minutes of pacing, he shoved his phone in his pocket, grabbed his gym bag, and left.

From the moment he entered the weights area, he scanned the mats for her while stretching. The irony wasn't lost on him that he was doing the exact thing he'd intimidated other men for doing in the past.

It's different,

he rationalized.

You're not hunting a random woman and bothering her.

Shit, what if I am?

He scrunched his face as he loaded 30 lb weights on either side of a barbell.

She wouldn't want to be bothered by anyone at the gym, probably not even me.

He was absorbed in a world of his own as he did his regular reps on autopilot while barely noticing an hour pass.

As he lowered the dumbbells he held in each arm after his last set, he straightened up and leaned back on the bench to catch his breath only to see Denise standing before him.

"You had to show up when I'm at my sweatiest, huh?" he blurted out with a faint smile, reaching for his towel. The surprise of her sudden appearance made him forget his nerves.

"Sweaty or not, I'm in awe of your dedication," she smiled back while sitting on the floor mats to stretch. "Either you had a lot on your mind or you have a focus most of us can only dream of."

"I... I just get lost in thought sometimes," he replied between sips of water.

"Care to share?" she asked. "I'm sorry I missed you, by the way. I had to work late. If you're on your way out, no worries, we'll see each other next time."