Her hand shook as she reached for the cold metal door knob of the coffee house. The unusual Memphis winter had brought snow earlier in the day. The cold appeared to have been collected in this one door handle and it scalded her hand with it's fiery coldness through her gloves.
Lydia was more nervous than she had ever been in most of her life. As the door swung open in the January gust, a dozen or more faces turned to glare at the violator. Lydia quickly realized that there were about two dozen blacks sitting in this coffee shop, huddling over drinks and each other. She was the only white person she could see. Lydia was cautiously looking around when she heard a voice in her ear.
"Are you hear for the reading tonight?" a young, Afro-centric woman asked.
"Um, y-yes, ma'am," Lydia stuttered.
"Then jot down your name and number of pieces and titles," the young woman handed Lydia the clipboard.
As Lydia began to write her information down, she noticed that there were nine other acts in front of her. Lydia wrote down her name and her poem titles and handed the clipboard back to the impatient woman at the door.
"Have a seat, the show'll start in about ten minutes," the woman said to Lydia over her shoulder as she spoke quietly to another woman who had come up.
Lydia glanced around the small cafe and found an empty table in the middle of the room. She quickly headed in that direction. However, as soon as her hand landed on the back of a chair she saw someone else going for the chair opposite of hers. Lydia paused, not quite sure what to do. She looked up to see a black man staring at her.
"We can share," the man smiled, "as long as you're here alone."
"Yes, I'm," Lydia paused. "Alone."
"Are you here to read, or to listen?" the black man took his seat as Lydia removed her overcoat and gloves.
"I'm here to read," Lydia finally dropped herself into her chair. "And you?"
"I'm here to read too," the black man smiled a Hollywood smile. "My name is Hunter."
"My names is Lydia," she took Hunter's outstretched hand.
"What brings you to the African poetry spotlight, Lydia?" Hunter asked, giving her the once over.
"Well, I am looking for an outlet to get my work out. I heard you guys get a good crowd. And I think that maybe you can appreciate my kind of work," Lydia said shyly, glancing at her book.
"Really?" Hunter folded his hands on the table and cocked his head. He knew right where she was going.
"Well, I'm hoping, anyway."
"Can I get you two anything?" a teenage waitress suddenly appeared between the two of them.
"Yes, we'd like two coffees," Hunter winked at Lydia. "And I'd like cream with that."
The waitress left, giving Lydia her view of Hunter back. His presence was giving her chills. She wasn't sure if it was a menacing chill or a chill she didn't want to recognize.
The waitress set down their coffee cups and dropped a few packages of cream on the table. She turned and left once again.
The coffee house was beginning to get crowded and she was beginning to feel like she was lost in a sea of people. And to make things worse, it had been months since she had had a boyfriend, and she was dying to get a hold of some black cock.
The same black woman she had talked to earlier climbed up on the small platform stage in front of the picture window. She turned the microphone on and tested it. Lydia watched the woman, needing something to focus on.
However, he attention was drawn from the black woman to two guys who had walked up to their table. Apparently they were friends of Hunter. They greeted each other and chatted in a whisper because of the woman on stage was about to speak. Vaguely, lydia heard one of them make a comment about "getting a hold of some white pussy" from one of the men who had walked up. Lydia glared at him as Hunter earnestly fought off his reproach.
The two black men slipped in past their table towards the back of cafe as the black woman on stage raised her hand for attention.
"Welcome, all my brothas and sistahs, to this week's poetry reading. So far, we have ten acts lined up for your pleasure," the woman said glancing at her clipboard that she held in her arm like a child. "The first act is a poetry reading by Alicia Williams."
The woman on stage stepped down as the crowd cheered for Alicia. The woman now on stage was a tall, athletic looking woman wearing baggy jeans and a tight cut-off shirt. Her braids were in a do-rag. She was the twenty-first century's Nubian goddess. And judging from the first few lines of her poetry, she was a lesbian.
Lydia lost interest in Alicia and decided to take this chance to get a good look at Hunter. He was a tall man. He apparently worked out because Lydia could see his big arms and chest muscles under his black, fitting shirt. His black jeans fitted him in the waist, and were baggy around the legs. However, she saw them clinging to Hunter's ass that was hanging slightly off the seat of the chair.
Lydia tore her eyes away from Hunter's ass and drug them back up to his face. She watched his profile. He had a nice complexion. For lack of words you could call him caramel. His hair was recently cut into a low fade that looked good on any man. His beard was trimmed close and he had a light mustache. His eyes were almost black.
Hunter felt Lydia's eyes on him. He slowly turned to see her staring at him. When she saw him, Lydia blushed and darted her head back towards the woman on stage. Hunter smiled. Hunter figured that if she was going to look him up, then he could take a look at her.
