Having always been
fearful of being hurt, Abasha Celine shunned love and relationships. She found
herself in situations, which meant she had random sexual encounters with a
couple of her friends who provided benefits. However, the day she walked into
the art gallery and Shaka Fortune spoke to her, things changed.
"Hello...I'm
Shaka Fortune, welcome to my work."
Color suffused her mahogany face as her eyes
drank in his tall, ebony countenance. Usually very verbose she said nothing for
several minutes. His face opened in a grin as he rubbed her hand, sending
colorful shock waves through her.
"And you
are?"
"Love makes your
soul crawl out from its hiding place." flew from her mouth. She felt as if
she would collapse from desire and embarrassment. Staring into her eyes, he
willed himself not to lick her face. He'd never enjoyed such a visceral
reaction to any woman.
“So, it does. I love a
woman, who loves Zora."
Finally, pulling her
hand away Abasha maneuvered her way through the gallery. Shaka was known for
his ebony nudes, highlighted by swirls of color. Most of the canvases were huge
but a medium one caught her eye. The woman was in recline, her skin the color
of teak with shades of orange showing as veins. Her natural hair covered most
of her face, but her orange lips showed prominently.
Watching Abasha, Shaka
held his breath. At thirty seven and having travelled the world selling his
paintings, his confidence in his work was notable but there was something about
the woman staring at them that made his insides pulse and undulate. Her stance
was provocative with her curly head thrown back and her legs slightly apart.
She was wearing faded blue jeans that weren’t necessarily snug but it was clear
she was well formed and her curves screamed Africa. He also loved that she was
above average height with no slumping. She would fit perfectly in his arms.
Abasha was startled by
how the painting resonated within her, what she couldn’t immediately see were
the similarities. It was as if he had painted her.
“Ma’am, is that you?”
Sliding out of her
spell, Abasha turned to the cultured French voice. Standing next to her was a
man of indeterminate age dressed in a suit with a beret. He wasn’t very tall
but something about him indicated wealth and power. Her coffee colored eyes met
his olive ones.
“No it isn’t. She is
stunning.”
“So are you,
Cherie."
Bowing, he made his
way down the aisle. Having watched the exchange, Shaka made his way to Abasha.
“He is right you know.
That woman came to me in a dream. She begged me to paint her and I could only
do what I was asked. When you materialized, I knew I had painted you and here
you are.”
“I was born thirty two
years ago and I am no dream, I am real. Nice work Mr. Fortune.” Throwing her
scarf around her shoulders, she walked into another room, leaving Shaka with a
smile on his face. He still didn’t know her name.
Scene One
Abasha walked into her apartment in
a state of bemusement. She spent several hours in the gallery, mostly checking
out the extensive work of Shaka. She had known of his work for years and had a
few small prints, but his paintings were well out of her range. Her salary as a
guidance counselor did not allow for purchasing paintings costing in the tens
of thousands. There had been rumors he was now living in Fernandina Beach but
there had been no sightings of him. He was known to be reclusive. When the one
day notice had appeared about his showing, she knew she would attend. It never
occurred to her she would actually meet him and say something so inappropriate.
She was the biggest Zora Neale Hurston fan and was always thinking of her words
but that had been highly inappropriate and embarrassing. She had also had no
idea he was so damn fine. He looked like an ebony god and the way he filled out
those jeans and the black jacket had her insides, still in a dither. Shaking
those thoughts from her mind, she kicked off her boots, making her way to the
kitchen. There was nothing she wanted more than a glass of cabernet and quiet.
Her life was filled with demanding students and study. Her mom and younger
brother lived across town but there were days she simply had to avoid them. She
loved her mom fiercely, but for some reason she decided eighteen years ago to
have another child at forty and now at almost sixty, Reginald was driving her
nuts and she wanted to take Abasha along for the drive but she wasn’t going.
Undressing and wrapping herself in a
thin robe, Abasha took her full glass and made her way to the porch. She loved
the night air and quiet. Trying to keep her mind still, she took a sip of her
beverage of choice but her mind wandered back to the man who had her shaken and
stirred.
Damn Shaka.
ΩΩΩ
Shaka stood in the parking lot after
the showing, looking around. He wanted to see the woman he met earlier in the
night. His assistant told him, her name was Abasha Celine and she worked in
Jacksonville as a high school guidance counselor. He was trying to reconcile
her job with how he saw her. Everything appeared to him as colors and she was a
nice mix of orange, reds and yellows. In his mind, a counselor should give off
blues and greens. Chuckling at his absurdity, he pulled open the door of his
truck. He felt rather than saw someone walk up behind him. Turning, he looked
into the eyes of Drita, the woman who took care of his shows, scheduling and
formerly his physical needs. It had been months since he had been inside her
and he recognized the look on her face. Drita was a short, curvy, buxom sister
who was open and honest with her desires.
“Are you interested in company
tonight Shaka?” Her voice was low and husky. He looked down at her, with a
smile.
“Not tonight. I am drained. That
show was a smash and it has left me tired. It took months to prepare for it and
now in a few hours, most of the paintings are sold.”
“True, but that’s a lot of money for you.”
“And you, my plucky assistant. Your
seven percent should be considerable.” Throwing her hair back, her eyes never
left his face.
“True but a woman cannot live by
commission alone.” His grin grew wider at her provocative words. She had earned
over fourteen thousand dollars in a few hours.
“True, but you can purchase what you
want. I am heading to the hills now but we will talk soon.” Getting in his
truck, he honked the horn as he pulled off into traffic.
Pacing like a naked panther around
his home, he stopped to stare out at the ocean waves and the black night. It
had been a long time since a woman had gotten under his skin. A few years ago
he had been involved with a woman he was growing to care about but when she
gave him the ultimatum of choosing her or his art it ended. He smiled to
himself at the thought of Sara. She had been older than he and had money with
which she thought she could purchase things, including him. Sara was a
beautiful, sexy woman but Shaka Fortune had never been for sale, not even when
he was a poor black boy living in Beaufort, South Carolina wondering where his
next meal was coming from. He learned at an early age to work and make it
happen for himself. His dad left when he was born and his mom cleaned hotel
rooms to feed him and some nights they ate what she brought home that people
had thrown away but she taught him to work and work hard and once she learned
he had a talent for painting she had done everything she could to help him
realize his potential. She died five years earlier in her early fifties from
leukemia but lived to see him successful and reap some of the rewards. At that
moment an unbidden picture of Abasha entered his brain and he knew, even as
tired as he was, he needed to paint. Racing to his studio, he locked the door
and turned up the music. He knew he wouldn’t stop until he had a perfect rendering of the woman in his
mind.
Scene Two
Reggia Celine stared at her son and
rage bloomed in her chest.
“Reginald,
I don’t have money for that. You need to
get a job for stuff like that. I am a secretary and it takes all I have to keep
a roof over our heads. You are barely passing your classes and you expect a new
phone, it isn’t happening.” Reginald was a tall handsome kid and was spoiled by
Regina. She had fallen in love with his younger father when she was forty and
he thirty and gotten pregnant. She hadn’t seen his father since but every month she received a check
for a couple hundred dollars. At fifty-eight, she was wondering what the hell
she had been thinking about. But she knew. She was lonely and horny and the
first sexy thirty year old who showed interest had ended up in her bed. She
refused to listen to anyone, including her fourteen year old daughter at the
time. She was convinced Reggie Brown was her man. As soon as she told him she
was pregnant, the hot sex and date nights ended and by the time their son was
born he had fled the city. The only thing in his favor was the checks.
“Moms, you get two hundred dollars
for me and I only get one of them. If you give me the other hundred, I could
get me a phone.” Staring down at her, he put on his charming face that always
worked with his mom but for some reason she didn’t budge.
“Reginald, it isn’t happening. My car needs new tires
and I just don’t
have it.” In an instant his face changed.
“Get it from Abasha. She makes good
money.”
Shaking her head, Reggia sat at the
table. She was exhausted. It recently occurred to her she was almost sixty and
had been working forty years and had very little to show for it. Her modest
home was paid for but had very little in the way of savings. After Abasha’s dad died in a car accident she
used the insurance policy to pay off the home but nothing was left. Her salary
covered their expenses and a few things beyond that. Abasha had never craved
expensive things and once she was in tenth grade she always had a job. Reginald
on the other hand was lazy and spoiled and she knew it was her fault. She had
taken her last to try to make up for what his dad didn’t’t do but she knew she wanted to
retire in four years and it was time to start saving extra to supplement her
retirement.
“That’s her money Reginald. Abasha has her
own home, car and expenses and if you want a new phone, you need to get a job
and pay for it.”
He stared at her for several minutes
before grabbing her keys and speeding away. She knew she should have called
after him but she was glad for the peaceful moments. Getting up, she went to
undress before starting a meal. Abasha always stopped by for dinner on
Thursdays. Reginald sped off fuming. He couldn't wait to graduate and leave
Jacksonville. His sister was always on his case about being responsible and his
moms was becoming just like her. His grades were okay but he didn't have a clue what he wanted to do
with his future. He knew he was tired of hearing about Abasha graduating high
school at sixteen and graduate school by twenty-two. He wanted more than a nine
to five, a condo and a Honda Accord. He wanted it all.
ΩΩΩ
There was something different about
Abasha, Reggia immediately noted. She was dressed in a long flowing dress
instead of her usual jeans and boots and her head was covered with one of the
many scarves she collected. Abasha was very frugal but spared no expense when
it came to her travels. She saved all year to go somewhere she never visited
and always came home with either scarves or bolts of fabric to create scarves.
Throwing her oversized bag on the sofa, she leaned over to kiss her mom. Her
daughter’s
affection always brought a smile to Regina’s face.
“Abasha you look mighty casual in
that emerald green dress and that beautiful head rag.” Throwing her head bag,
Abasha started preening.
“This scarf, my lovely mother is not
a rag, this is a one of a kind scarf from the hands of the women of Senegal, I
would have you know.” She plopped down to the floor near her mom’s feet. “Where is your son?”
A sigh expelled from Regina’s throat.
“He left in a huff because he wants
a note phone or some such and I told him he needed a job. I need to save more
for my retirement. In four years I will be sixty-two and I am retiring. My
company will pay a bit, my social security a bit more and if I can save I will
be good and won’t
have to work at all. He is eighteen now.” Nodding at her
mom’s words, Abasha agreed but she knew
it was more than that. Their mom had waited to eighteen to try to teach him
things she should have been teaching at birth. He was now wired to think the
world owed him something.
“It is about time. Is he in your
car?”
“He is. I was too tired to chase
after him. I am sure he is with that girl he is fooling around with. She isn’t a girl really; I hear she is twenty-three.
She will probably buy him the phone.”
“That seems to be how it works
nowadays. Their mamas spoil them and when that dries up they find a sugar mama
they can get sex and gifts from. That is why I’m single; I don’t have time for any baby boys raised
by mamas who miss the daddies.”
Pushing her daughter away, Reggia stood. They
had been having the same conversation for the past ten years. Abasha giggled,
following her mom to the kitchen. The scent of basil and garlic wafted to her
nose. Making her way to the sink she washed her hands before peeking in the
pot. She started dancing at the sight of pasta with chicken, garlic, herbs and
spinach.
“Get out of my pots. After all your
sassy talk, I might not let you eat any of my food.” Balling up her fists and
taking a stance, Abasha pretended to box her mom, knowing it would delight her
and smooth away the words she had spoken.
Once they were seated and eating,
Reggia asked about the art show. Abasha had tried to get her to go along but
she had refused as usual. She worked, went to church and stayed home.
Immediately she noticed a light come on in her daughter’s eyes.
“I did, it was something. The artist
was actually mixing and mingling.”
“Is that why you look like you just
slid honey on your tongue?” Reggia’s words caused a huge swell of
laughter to gather in Abasha’s belly and spew forth. She laughed uproariously for several
minutes.
“What’s so funny?” Reginald's voice cut through the feminine
conversation. Glancing at him, Abasha nodded and started laughing again. Reggia
held her breath because she didn’t want Abasha to start in on Aaron and him to get defensive.
“Just girl talk Reginald, did you
eat?”
“I did, my old girl hooked me up. I’m going to my room so y’all can continue talking about me.”
The laughter dried in Abasha’s throat.
“Reginald, you really take yourself
entirely too seriously. You are not the highlight reel in anyone’s movie but your own. Now be a good
little boy and go to your room.” He scowled at his sister.
“I got your
little boy.” He hissed.
Abasha stood up, moving closer to his face. He was at least several inches
taller than her but he knew Abasha didn’t’t play with him.
“Watch your mouth Aaron; I am not
impressed with you, at all. Don’t disrespect me, ever. You got it.” He looked to their mom
who was eating before nodding. “You had better. What you need to focus on
instead of old girls is graduating and getting a job. I told you I will send
you to community college if you work and handle your own. Otherwise in a few months you need to be
employed full time.” Nodding again, he walked down the hallway. He would talk
back to moms but he knew his sister wasn’t the one to disrespect. Sitting down, she continued as if
they hadn’t
been interrupted.
“Yes, Shaka Fortune is some kind of
fine but I’m sure I’m not his kind and I don’t have a kind.”
“You never know child, stranger
things have occurred.”
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