Chapter 1: A Telephone Call

I switched off my TV and rose from my reclining “lazy” chair. Since I lived alone, I was in the habit of talking to myself.

“There’s nothing in the news except the hurricane. I can’t believe how much flooding...”

My landline phone rang, and I checked the caller ID: “[V]Lisa Clark”. The V indicated the ID was verified, and the name was familiar, so I answered.

“This is Steve Dixon.”

“Hi, Steve, I hope you remember me; we had a few hot dates when I was living in Atlanta.”

“Of course I remember you, Lisa. It’s great to hear from you again. Are you back in town?”

“That’s why I’m calling, actually. I’m about to make a huge ask, and I hope you will understand my predicament. Steve, I’m homeless after the hurricane. I was renting an apartment near Asheville, North Carolina. Flooding destroyed the whole building.”

“How much did you lose, Lisa?”

“I have my truck and the clothes on my back. I was hoping you might be willing to take in a refugee if you don’t have a lover or roommate staying in your house. That is, to stay for a little while. I have a little money in savings I could give you...”

“Yes, right now I’m living here on my own. But aren’t the roads all ruined? How could you get down here to Atlanta when it’s a four-hour drive in normal conditions?”

“They’ve got the old US 25 highway open for going down over the border into South Carolina, and from there I can get to you. Steve, if I can make the drive, will your door be open for me?”

“Of course, Lisa. Glad to have you. And you keep your savings.”

“Really?” she cried. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! (Sniffle.) It’s Friday evening now; I should be there tomorrow afternoon. Remind me of your address, please.”

I dictated it to her, along with a few helpful directions.

“Perfect. I know I was there once before, but I wasn’t sure of the details. Bye, Steve, and thanks again!”

“Shit! I need to clean my house!”

I’m not really sloppy, but Mama would slap me upside my head if she saw the state of my house. I remember when I was little how my dad was always picking up after me (and himself); he warned me about her temper.

As a kid growing up in a mixed middle-class neighborhood, I had a good upbringing with both my parents but no siblings. I say mixed because both white and black kids (like me) lived on our street. Certainly, not every Georgia town was that way in the twenty-first century.

But we lived in Athens, the home of the University of Georgia (Go Dawgs!), where my mom was a schoolteacher and my father worked in the housing office, that is, the dorms. By the time I was leaving high school, he was telling crazy stories from work.

Cleaning my house with part of my brain, the rest was recalling some of Dad’s “war stories” from campus life. I have to give it up for my Dad, he always treated me like an adult after I got to 16. According to him, upon arrival at UGA, some students had changed their majors to the Biology of Human Reproduction in the School of Libido, or the School of Alcoholism, or both.

Reining in those students was a near-impossible task for him. Fifteen hundred college students die every year from alcohol poisoning, and UGA had its share. It was unusual to go through a semester and not see a naked girl in the guy’s shower, and vice versa. This was one of the milder stories he told me.

My parents were unusually open about sex. They went all the way from the birds and the bees to how to pick the best condom to fit me. When I came home for a surprise visit one day, I walked down the hallway and saw them in bed together through their open bedroom door. I couldn’t look away because they were so passionate and so loving. Mama glanced over and saw me watching and just smiled. After a word to Dad, he looked over and gave me a “thumbs up” and just kept thrusting!

Later, she reassured me.

“Steve, now we’re even. More than once, I watched you beating off out in the backyard. I was so tempted to sneak a camera into your room when you were in there with Tamika. I can’t believe she dumped you.”

“I guess I can tell you now. When I wouldn’t buy drugs for her, it was over.”

“Stupid bitch. You’re a good son, Steve.”

Back in the present, it was time to clean my kitchen.

All the appliances worked, except for one of the back burners on the stove. They were all old-fashioned and, worst of all, “avocado green.” To match the appliances, the cabinet finishes matched with a green stain or lacquer. I actually put a little note up on one of the cabinet doors: “The green is not my fault!”

Then, my thoughts shifted to Lisa. I remembered her face and body quite clearly. She kept her hair clipped short to show her earrings. A work friend (male) had urged me to come out to a club. That’s when Lisa simply walked up and introduced herself.

Ding, ding, ding! I was hooked right away. She had on this seductive golden dress, makeup, quirky silver earrings, and a beautiful smile. My work friend, bless him, made himself scarce as soon as he realized what was going on.

I struggled to behave like a gentleman, but I could tell my interest was reciprocated. Instead of staring at her tits, I looked into her eyes and made a request.

“I want to buy you dinner tomorrow night, Lisa. Whatever you like, although I’m not good with shellfish. There are some great steakhouses here in Atlanta; would that interest you?”

“Let’s see, a steak dinner in a nice place with an attractive new man, how can I say no?”

“Great! I’ll call around and see where I can get a reservation. Would you like to exchange numbers?”

The next afternoon around four, I called her. She saw my name and picked up immediately.

“Steve, I’m glad you called. Are we on for tonight?”

“We sure are. I have to advise you, it’s a really fancy place. I’ll be in a suit.”

“Uh-oh. You saw my best dress last night. I have only one other nice dress; if I spill food on it, next time I’ll have to run around in sweatpants and a tank top. If we go out again, it will have to be to Burger King or something ... Steve? Are you there?”

I almost dropped the phone, overwhelmed by my imagination. Lisa jogging braless in a tank top? FUCK!

“I’m sorry,” I squeaked.

“Steven, what happened to you? C’mon, what did I say?”

“Tank top, Lisa.”

“Are you saying that you would like to see me in a tank top? Without a bra, I’ll bet. Jogging?”

“That’s amazing. Yes, that’s it exactly. I’m sorry for...”

“Don’t be a dumb ass, Steve. I appeal to you, certain parts in particular. Don’t apologize for finding me attractive. It’s a compliment, stupid. By the way, I also like looking at you. In a suit, you’re hot stuff, and I can’t wait to see you tonight.

“Now, tell me where we’re going and when.”

After she had the information, she had another question.

“What color were my earrings and lipstick?”

“They were silver and pink.”

“That means you were looking at my face, not only just my tits. Can I trust you? Will you take me back and forth tonight?”