Excerpts from the novel Next Time

v v A Perfect Gentleman... v v

His name was Gary Mount, a native of Virginia . He worked at a Fortune 500 company for years before being downsized. It was then that he decided to pursue his dream of owning a video pro­duction company. The generous severance he received enabled him to return to school and stay on his feet financially during a rocky first year. As Kahara listened to him describe the slow pro­cess of building his customer base, she could tell that, after strug­gling for years, this man would let little stand in the way of his success. Through word of mouth, he built a network of regular cus­tomers in Norfolk , Chicago , and Los Angeles . She sensed a fierce determination lay underneath his cool, almost aloof, exterior. He had a quiet intensity about him, a sureness of purpose. That inten­sity unnerved her a little. His eyes followed her every move, and she felt at times as though she were being sized up.

“You like to scrutinize people don’t you?” she asked.

His gaze softened a little. “Depends on who it is. Why?”

“The way you look at me. Especially when I asked you to dance. It’s like you’re trying to figure out my motive or something.”

He rubbed his chin a little and looked at her. “Did you have a motive?”

“Yeah,” she said, leaning forward a bit. “I want you to support me financially for the rest of my life.”

“Is that right?” he said, laughing softly. “And just how do you intend to do that?”

“I have my ways,” she said. “I don’t know. You seem like the conservative type, so throwing my body at you would probably be a turn-off.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’m not real into sisters that put themselves out there like that.”

Kahara smiled to herself. She wondered what Gary would have thought about her dashed plans to jump into bed with Julius.

“So what do you do?” he asked.

“Take a guess,” she said.

“I don’t know, what are you—a stunt woman? Porn actress?”

“Try financial analyst.”

“Damn, and I was going to guess that next,” he said.

Kahara told him a little about her background, and about the film she would be shooting when she returned to Chicago .

“So, it’s a film about a stormy relationship,” he said, grinning at her a little. “You seem like you’ve been in a few of those.”

“What?”

“You seem high-maintenance. Yeah,” he said, “I’d bet money you’re high-mainte­nance.”

“Why would you say that?”

“What’s the longest relationship you’ve ever been in?”

Kahara frowned. “I’ve had a lot of long-term relationships,” she said lying, trying not to look as uncomfortable as she felt. He had read her right. Her hot temper had driven away many of the men in her life. She could count on her hand the number of relationships she had that lasted over a year. “Anyway, know it all, we were talking about my film—not my love life.” Non-existent as it is, she thought. 

“Do they make it? Are they still together at the end of the film?” he asked.

She looked at him and smiled. “You’ll have to see it when it’s finished to find out.”

He looked at her and nodded. “Is that an invitation?”

“You’re good at reading people. I’ll let you figure that one out,” she said a little coyly. She enjoyed the subtle dance they were doing.

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v v Oooh That Dog... v v

He smiled down at her. “It’s Taylor . Marshall Taylor.”

He spun around, then grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close again. She edged away from him, but he crept closer, leaving only about an inch between them.

“You are awfully mannish,” she said.

“Mannish? What’s mannish?”

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“ Birmingham , Alabama .”

“They don’t use that term there, huh?”

“No.”

“It means fresh, forward, hungry.”

“Turn around,” he said, trying to turn her body.

“Why? What are you trying to do?”

“Turn around.”

She turned around slowly. He edged up behind her, and held her hips against his mid-section. She turned back around abruptly.

“Mannish! See what I mean.”

“Aw, come on. Nobody knows you here. I’m single, unattached, and you’re…”

“Yeah, I’m single too, but I don’t dance like that.”

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“ Chicago .”

“Ah heck yeah, you should know all about it then. I’ve been there. I’ve seen them do it. It’s all we do in Birmingham . We call it dirty south. Women grind up against the brothers—be breaking them off on the dance floor.”

“Well I’m not into that.”

He grabbed her face gently with his large hands and pulled it against his. “Get into it.”

“ Marshall ,” she said, trying to pull away. “ Marshall !”

He let go of her face but grabbed her shoulders again and pulled her close. What was she going to do with this man? He held her close and began to slow-dance with her even as the fast beat thumped on. She became embarrassed, wondering what others were thinking of their strange behavior. “I hope no one thinks we’re involved,” she said.

“Why not? Nobody here knows you.”

“How do you know that?”

“You have that lost look about you. I can always tell,” he said, spinning around. He came back toward her. “Where are you stay­ing?”

“The Avenda,” she said, caught off guard by his assess­ment of her.

“Me too. What’s your room number?”

“What’s yours?” she asked.

“647.”

He danced with her for a moment, giving her a little more room than usual. “What’s yours?”

She looked up at him coyly. “I’m not telling you.”

He shrugged and continued dancing. How brash and forward he was. It annoyed, but tickled her at the same time. He was like a big mischievous puppy that needed to be trained. How completely opposite he was from Gary —who never leered at her once, never moved closer than ten inches, and never said anything out of turn. How completely different—but fascinating. After being ignored all night, she found all this attention a little overwhelming, but in a way titillating. This experience reminded her of how she felt the first time she watched the Q’s step—both repelled and aroused at once.

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