The front door rattled. The dull, thumping sound of flesh tapping glass quickly followed. A middle-aged, black man had his hands cupped to the door glass peering into Terri Jenkins’s book store.
"Great!" Terri whispered to no one in her frustration. It seems that her reading was always disturbed right in the middle of the good parts, especially in the middle of the steamier Harold Robbins romances. Terri put the paperback down on the top of the sales counter. She'd just have to get back to her adults only lesson in preparing banana splits.
Apparently, Harold's writing had gotten her a little more excited than she'd first imagined. Walking toward the door reminded her of just how excited she'd become. The moisture from within her seemed to have collected at the apex of her legs giving her a slippery sensation as she moved.
Standing outside the big wood and glass storefront door was a very large black man. He had turned, and was looking out toward the street. He took a few last drags from a cigarette before flipping the butt away. A tool belt hung from his hip. A van was parked beyond the man on the street. The words “Wilson's Electric Company, Inc." were painted brightly on the sides. Below, in smaller print was a phone number and promises of bonding, licensing and insurance.
"Finally," she whispered under her breath. The electricians were supposed to have been here this morning. It was now after four in the afternoon on a Saturday!
Terri just wanted to go home.
At least, she wanted to go. Home just didn't seem like a real warm place, lately.
Terri Jenkins turned the key in the lock, and swung the big door open, determined to give this guy a piece of her mind. It didn't matter why he was so late. Half the day was shot, and Terri was frustrated. "It's about time," she snapped as the man turned to face her.
When the tall man looked into her eyes, Terri's irritation seemed to melt away. His eyes were a deep, penetrating brown. His smile was warm and reassuring. His demeanor seemed relaxed and friendly. "I'm sorry I didn’t get here earlier," he offered. "My crew got held up over at the water plant...Working with some pumps. I left them to finish up themselves."
"That's okay," she replied, suddenly embarrassed by her impatience.
Though his gaze lingered a bit too long on her chest, the man's voice seemed genuinely sincere. Terri relaxed.
"Mrs. Jenkins?" he inquired politely.
Terri smiled, and nodded slightly.
The man offered his hand. "John Wilson."
Terri took his big, rough hand, and nodded, again. His touch seemed warm and gentle, yet almost electric in Terri's banana split obsessed mind. She wondered if the room was getting warm.
Arms crossed, she released his hand, and leaned against the door deliberately appraising the man. The realization that this guy was actually attractive had completely taken her by surprise. He was tall, with broad shoulders. His arms were big, and rippled with muscle. His skin was very dark. His face was pleasant, giving him a non-threatening appearance. She guessed that he must be in his early forties. She, also, guessed that she'd recover from her romance novel inspired horniness no time soon. 'No more Harold Robbins,' she told herself.
John Wilson continued in a very businesslike manner, "So, where's this problem light fixture, ma'am?"
She smiled, and directed him inside "It's right over here" She walked toward a row of track lighting which should have been illuminating a rack of today's best-sellers in the front window. Instead, the books were lit only by fading sunlight.
John watched as the woman turned toward the display window. He'd already noticed how pretty she was, and how full her breasts were. The thin sweater she wore revealed just enough cleavage to make him want to see more. Once she turned, he felt free to admire her perfect little ass. She wore polyester slacks that hung in such a way that they accentuated those little round globes to perfection. Just looking at her fine ass made him hard.
'Man,' John mused silently, 'I gotta find a woman...soon!'
Memories of his ex-wife came flooding back, as they typically did when he started to get a little excited. This technique usually worked better than a cold shower.
This time, though, it didn't. Suddenly, John was looking for ways to hide his erection.
He wondered if Mrs. Jenkins kept the bookstore this warm all the time. Or, was it just him?
Mrs. Jenkins stepped back, and John easily slipped back into his professional mode. He had years of experience to fall back on.
While looking for a light switch, he mused about the fact that he had never had sex with a customer in over twenty years in the trade. Hell, he'd never been with anyone but his ex since he was nineteen.
Then, twenty-five years later, the bitch left him for that little white prick of a business partner!
No, John wasn't bitter. Just because he fantasized about strangling the skinny, little slug, and his fat-assed ex-wife several times daily, he wasn't bitter--Just pissed!
John Wilson saw no switch or exposed cord on the track light fixture. He looked around for a wall switch, and found one at the far side of the window case. "Is that the switch?" he asked as he walked toward it.
Mrs. Jenkins said, "Yes," and reached for the switch at the same time as the electrician. They bumped into each other, before they both backed off. They excused themselves simultaneously. Terri felt embarrassed, but noticed Mr. Wilson acting much the same way. They both laughed nervously.
Finally, Terri said that was the correct switch and John turned it on and off a couple of times. "This is going to be easy," he said. "The switch feels a little loose. Kinda like my ex-wife!"
Now, it was John's turn to be embarrassed. He had no idea why he said that. He was beginning to feel like an idiot. He pulled a screwdriver from his pouch, and started to work on the switch plate screws.
"Recently separated," Terri asked.
"Ah, yeah." John felt a little self-conscious, but the woman seemed sincerely sympathetic. "She decided she liked my partner a little more than me," he explained.
"That's too bad. You seem like you really cared."
"I did, but I feel much better, now." He pulled the cover plate from the wall, turned and smiled at the pretty, white woman just behind him.
Terri Jenkins smiled back, then added, "My husband cheated on me once, but ..."
"Let me guess...He apologized, and you forgave him?"
"Yes, but I really do love him...He's been faithful since...I'm sure." Terri wondered who she was trying to convince.
"I'm sure he has," John consoled her. "You're a very beautiful woman." He had the switch mounting screws, and pulled the device from the box in the wall. Pieces of plastic fell to the floor. "That's it," John confirmed. "Bad switch." He bent down to pick up the little pieces.
Terri stared at his round bottom. She was making mental comparisons with her husband. Her husband was about the electrician's age, but he was falling apart physically. Her husband's butt was flat, and very unattractive. The more Terri thought about it, the more she was convinced that her husband didn't compare to John Wilson physically. Mr. Wilson simply looked good, and so far, he seemed much more sensitive and understanding than the man that she married fifteen years ago.
John stood and turned back toward the door. Terri realized that she was still staring. John smiled as Terri tried to regain her composure.
"You have another?" she asked.
"Sure do. It'll be a few more minutes." He brushed by her, and out the door. The smell of her perfume stayed with him. He recognized the scent from years back. He remembered the white girls he knew in his hippie days. He remembered the essential oils--Jasmine...No, Patchouli! The scent brought a thousand memories flooding back--A thousand good times.
He found himself fumbling around in the back of his van with absolutely no idea what he was looking for. He had to stop and clear his head. He had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. It had been years since he felt those butterflies. It felt good, but at the same time it made him nervous. He rubbed the palms of his hands across his pants legs, continually trying to keep them dry.
Terri walked back to her stool at the sales counter. She picked up her book, but found she had absolutely no more interest in banana splits. She could still smell the man that just walked out of her store. He smelled of musk. The same scent that her boyfriend in school used. 'God,' she thought, 'that was so long ago.' Her mind was turning with memories, and the good times before she was married--Before mortgages, kids and all the things she looked forward to back then.
Suddenly, Terri no longer felt those things were very important. She wanted the old times back. She wanted to party, again. More than that, she wanted to feel what it felt like to be in love and to be loved. She wanted to feel those first nervous caresses of youth.
She looked out the front window to see John Wilson hopping like a kid out of the back of his work vehicle. Her husband hadn't hopped out of, or into anything, in so long she couldn't remember. But, why should she care? Her husband was good to her. He was a good provider. After all, he helped her purchase this bookstore.
She watched John Wilson nearly skip to the door where he hesitated to straighten his perfectly pressed work uniform.
When John had reached the door, he stopped to check his appearance. Then, he wondered why. This woman wasn't interested in him. She was married, and probably lived out in the suburbs with the perfectly manicured lawns and the swimming pools. Most likely, the only black man they ever saw was the guy that cut the grass.
Nevertheless, he found that his hands were damp with perspiration and he was trembling slightly. He felt like he was sixteen years old, again.
John pulled himself together, and went back into the bookstore. He looked around the store, but at first didn’t see the woman in the dim light. He finally spotted her sitting behind the counter, smiling coyly.
He held the switch up, and said, "Five minutes, Ma'am, and I'll be out of your hair."