Trick

I’ve only been married a year. It’s been a happy year.

You didn’t ask but I’ll tell you why.

Not once in the past year have I had an internal debate over whether to shoot somebody… OK there was that one time when little Andy let his dog loose in my backyard… again. The mutt ate my apple pie, wasn’t the first time. I guess it is my fault for setting pies in windows to cool. You didn’t ask but the first pie was peach. There was nothing left of either pie after Andy’s dog was through, save for empty pastry pans.

I suppose I should have been flattered, seeing as how I’m not much for baking, or cooking. Those were projects of mine. I was trying new things, like baking pies, learning to drive, getting a legit job… getting married. I did all those things hoping that by doing so, it would change me, change me for the better. Those things are what happy women do, or so I’ve read.

I like to read. It’s been a recent passion of mine. Before he was murdered, my dad used to take me to the library everyday after home school. No internet back then, at least not in it’s current incarnation. He used to pick books for me to read that were more mature than those read by other kids my age. We would sit there for what seemed like hours. Afterwards we’d stop by Dairy Queen and I would have one scoop of chocolate ice cream, always on a cone.

Come to think of it there was joy back then too.

My dad was a magician, an illusionist. He used to show me all sorts of magic tricks. He was one of the first to popularize street magic. I loved it. I was happy. Then there was that fourteen year gap between eleven, when my dad was murdered in the library parking lot, and twenty-five, when I met my husband.

You didn’t ask but I met my husband at a library.

I hadn’t been to one in years because… well, because there’s an internet now. I can even access it on my cell phone and everything. So why was I at the library? I was trying something new. No, not going to the library, but going to school, college specifically. I had connections and they got me in, despite not having gone to high school. Why I didn’t go to high school is a different tale. This one is about my husband, my gorgeous wonderful husband who I met at my college library.

You didn’t ask but he’s black or is it African American? I forget which.

I only point it out because I never pictured a decidedly white girl, like myself, being attracted to a black guy. I’m not prejudice or anything it’s just up to that point the only black guys I ever met were… not my thing. Then again most any guy I’d met fell into the same category. I definitely wasn’t gay so I don’t know. It just never occurred to me that I would hook up with a “brotha”, or that one would ever want to be with me. Besides at the time, I had no room for a love life. That was until I met my husband.

It wasn’t that I was looking for love. He just smelled good.

Cole, my husband, smelled good. He always smelled good. The day I met him, at the college library, he sat across the table from me going over a biochemistry text book. I could just make out his nice athletic build beneath that close fit, black, t-shirt he wore, the name of some band stenciled on the front. He wore nice gray slacks and had close cropped hair. He looked clean and smelled it. I had to say something.

“Biochemistry, that’s a tough subject.”

He ignored me. Normally that would get you a smack upside the head, but I was trying new things. I wanted to say he smelled good.

“You’re very clean.”

That got a response. He looked up at me, puzzled.

“Clean? Are you trying to hit on me?” He said.

“Uh… no.” I lied.

Christ, was I really trying to hit on him? “You’re clean?” What a wonderful thing for a white girl to say to a black guy. Embarrassed, I left before I had to kick his ass.

I don’t respond well to embarrassment.

The next day I saw him at the gym with his shirt off. God, I was in love. You’d think I’d never seen a half naked man before. Believe me I’ve seen plenty, not that I’m a whore, but I’ve come across shirtless men over the years, some you might consider better looking than Cole. So what was so different about him?

No, this wasn’t about his skin tone.

There was a presence about him, a confidence that wasn’t cocky… and something else.

Whatever it was he had my attention.

Oh crap! He had my attention! He saw me gawking at him and was coming over.

Crap!

I awkwardly pretended not to notice him. I found an empty treadmill, and contrary to my normal workout routine, I decided to make use of it first. Reaching to plug in the ear buds from my MP3 player, he caught up to me before I could close myself off to him and the rest of the world.

“Did I see you in the library the other day?” He said.

“It was yesterday, and yeah… sorry about that?”

“For what? Saying I was very clean?”

“I’m sure I didn’t say you were “very” clean.” which was exactly what I had said.

“That’s exactly what you said.”

I resisted the urge to smack him. I’m such a moron.

“For the record you’re not as clean now as you were then.” a statement of fact.

“Well I just finished my workout.” He countered.

Cole then flashed me a smile which had the effect of both stealing my heart, and shutting down my brain. Damn it! Say something!

“Uh… Really, you don’t smell like it. I mean you don’t stink, that is… you smell good. That’s what I meant to say to you yesterday.”

“What?”

“You smell good.”

“Oh so, logically that would mean I’m clean.”

“Yeah, I’m a moron.”

“I’m Cole.”

“I know it’s like thirty degrees in here.”

“What, no, my name is Cole. C.O.L.E”

“Oh Cole, nice to meet you. I’m Trixia, with an “x””

“Trixia?”

“I promise you I’m not a stripper.”

“No?”

“Hey! You don’t need to sound disappointed.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

He didn’t have to and I don’t know why I suddenly cared.

“I don’t know what my parents were thinking.” I said self-consciously.

“It’s ok. My real first name is Percy. Cole is my middle name. Percy Cole Hammond.”

What a beautiful name.

“There’s nothing wrong with Percy.” I offered

“Are you kidding me?” He jibed “I was teased so much as a child.”

“I like Percy.”

“Only my momma calls me Percy. You can call me interested.”

“Interested? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh don’t act like you don’t know.”

“I don’t know.”

“You were hitting on me yesterday.”

“I was not.”

“Yes you were, even if you aren’t good at it.”

“I guess I’m better at it than you think since you’re standing here talking to me.”

With a wry grin planted on his mug, he let that thought marinate.

“Touché” he concluded.

“You didn’t ask, but the answer is yes. I’ll meet you tomorrow at one PM for a late lunch”

“How did you know I was going to ask you out?” He queried.

“Actually, you were going to ask me to dinner tonight, but I have plans so I figured it would be better if our first date started tomorrow.”

“What are you, psychic?”

“No. I am kind of a magician.”

“Oooh really?”

“Yeah my dad taught me when I was young. He was a magician, an illusionist actually.”

“Seriously?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow” He repeated “Okay. I look forward to it. What plans did you have for tonight, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I have to buy something nice to wear for lunch tomorrow.”

He flashed me that gorgeous smile again. We exchanged numbers. Then he walked away with my heart.

I missed him. God, what the hell was wrong with me? I had never fallen for someone this hard, this fast.

The next day we had lunch, saw a movie, and walked along the Potomac River while cherry blossoms fell all around us. Then I went back to his place. That was not like me.

He lived in a modest apartment just off of DuPont Circle. A lot of gay men live around DuPont Circle and with Cole being so clean and all, the stereotype had me thinking. Not that I’m a homophobe, but I was not in this for friendship. We were up half the night talking about a lot of things. I didn’t tell him everything about me though. We talked mostly about him. He was a professor at the college, which shocked me because I could have sworn he was a student. He had ten years on me and looked barely a year over twenty-five. I had no problem with his age though. I had no problem with his neat apartment. I had no problem with him. I was in love, unbelievably, irrefutably in love.

God I hope he wasn’t gay.

Any worries I had about that were extinguished later in the evening. I had fallen asleep in his arms, on his couch, with Poker After Dark playing on his TV. I woke up, looked into his eyes and he kissed me.

Our first kiss

I was no magician. Cole had the magic touch. It was soft, moist, and glorious. I don’t know how else to describe it.

Wait a minute. Yes I do.

You ever been outside on a particularly hot summer’s day and walked into an air conditioned room, the cool air enveloping your hot and sweaty skin? Afterwards you feel refreshed. Mostly you feel relief.

That’s what I felt when Cole kissed me.

Relief, what a curious thing?

It wasn’t because this proved he wasn’t a homo. It was just the first time, since my dad was killed, that I felt like I would be okay, that I had felt joy in a real visceral way. It was the first time since that painful day I felt like I actually wanted to live. Not that I wanted to die, mind you. It was just, I didn’t care. Before Cole kissed me, I didn’t care much about what happened to me. That attitude has served me well. It has gotten me out of tight predicaments time and time again.

Cole and I made love that night.

A month later he asked me to marry him. In continuing to try new things I said yes. Saying yes necessitated my flying to North Carolina to meet his parents.

Oh joy. That’s sarcasm in case you missed it.

His mom, Cecelia, owned a restaurant in Charlotte. I discovered that I love soul food. Cole was a great cook, but he’d never made me smothered chicken, black eye peas, or collard greens. I did find out, however, how he made such fantastic mac and cheese.

Cole’s dad, Benjamin, was a minister at Pleasant Union Church of God. Cole had two younger brothers, Odel, who was around my age attending grad school at Wake Forest, and Ty, a professional wrestler.

That’s right. His brother gets paid to wear tights, and fake fight, in a squared circle, as it’s called. He’s pretty popular in town too. The day we arrived in Charlotte he had a bout, at a large venue, for the USA championship. He was booked to lose, but assured me later, that his bosses had him slotted to win the title at an upcoming, Pay-per view showing, which meant a larger venue and a bigger payoff. It seemed exciting.

Rounding out Cole’s siblings is his baby sister, Nell, eighteen, who still lived with her parents.

She hated me.

I’m sure it was because I’m white, though Cole was adamant that wasn’t the case.

Compared to Cole’s, my side of the family was… nonexistent. My mom left us when I was three… and you know about my father. I had one uncle who took me in after dad was murdered.

I’d sooner shoot myself before I invite that bastard to my wedding.

Turns out the lack of folks sitting on my side of the sanctuary, wasn’t really that awkward. I was a little bit self conscious being the only white person in the church. Cole’s friends flew in from DC, some of them white, so that eased some of my insecurity. Cecelia instructed folks to start filling up the “Friends of the Bride” half of the pews, after giving a touching speech on how we are all family and friends.

I love Cecelia. She’s the only mom I’ve ever known. As far as I’m concerned, the only one I’ve ever had.

It was a beautiful ceremony. I didn’t know a choir could sound like that. Cole was his usual magnificent self. His dad was the one to marry us. All was right in the world. I thought if it all ended that day, the hell I went through getting to that point was worth it.

It didn’t end that day.

Every day for a year Cole made me happy. We got back to DC. He went on being a professor and I continued to try new things. At Cecelia’s prompting I took up baking cakes. At daddy Ben’s encouragement I tried my hand at gardening. I wasn’t particularly good at either but I enjoyed the process.

All was right with the world.

So when I woke up yesterday and Cole wasn’t lying next to me I was curious. When I got up, took a shower, and discovered he wasn’t in the house I grew concerned. He never left without a kiss goodbye.

I dialed his cell and from upstairs I heard Bon Jovi’s Living on Prayer, its midi tune, danced down the steps. Cole made the song his personal ring tone for whenever I called him. He did so after catching me embarrassingly belting out the ballad, decidedly not in sync, with the band blasting out the stereo.

What can I say? I like eighties rock.

Still, Cole didn’t have his phone on him. I picked it up thinking how unusual it was for him to leave without it. Using my cell, I called the University where he worked, and they said he hadn’t made it in yet. Now I was starting to worry.

Cole’s phone rang again, just the standard ring, no Bon Jovi this time. The display showed me it was Nell. She had started to warm up to me, during the preceding year, so I felt I could risk answering her call.

“Hi Nell”

“Trix?”

“Yeah it’s me. Cole forgot to take his cell with him to work.”

“I was expecting an email from him this morning. He’s proofreading my resume.”

“I saw him working on that last night. He didn’t send it back to you?”

“No. And I need it right now. Is he at work?”

“I called there a minute ago. They said he hadn’t come in yet.”

“Well could you get on his computer and send it yourself?”

“Sure. Hold on Nell.”

After Cole and I got married, we bought a bigger place in Adam’s Morgan. I have plenty of money, which didn’t come from my job at the Coffee shop. I told Cole my small fortune was an inheritance, which wasn’t exactly a lie.

Professors with Cole’s credentials made pretty good money, so we were able to afford a pretty nice town home. In it Cole had his own office complimented with a high end computer that he used mostly to play games. I played them too, now and again. The computer was still on, again unusual because Cole always shut his computer off after he was done. I moved the mouse to clear the fish tank screensaver… and the image displayed had me nearly drop the phone.

The webcam was on, and displayed on the screen was my husband. It looked like he had been beaten. Blood trickled down the side of his raw left cheek. His right eye was swollen shut. Cole was tied to a chair in a darkened room, a single light bulb shining down on his slumped body. His mouth was taped shut. A man I didn’t recognize walked into frame from behind Cole holding a sign. It read “turn on your speakers”.

The man gestured to emphasize the point. I turned on the speakers.

“Mrs. Hammond… we have your husband.”

I told Nell I would have to call her back.