LEFTOVER LOVE - A PREVIEW OF MY NOVEL IN PROGRESS

LEFTOVER LOVE

Chapter 1

MAYA

Folks that don't know nothing call it the witching hour. Those that know better call it the moment of truth. There is that time of the morning between darkness and daybreak when reality can be a motherfucker. If you're not careful it can overwhelm you. Big doses of truth are not everyone's cup of tea. An overdose of truth mixed with too much of reality can make you suicidal.

The moment you turn over and realize that the person lying next to you is not there because they love you your truth begins to hurt. It can hurt so bad sometimes that your insides begin to ache in desperation and longing. The tears come easily then. All that pain seeps out in gut-twisting gushes of salty madness. Your brain seems to swell and threaten to burst through your temple as you sink into a sea of desperation. That's when you have two choices. Either you choose to live on and push past the pain, or you choose to end it. It takes bravery to choose life, and today Maya was a hero.

For the first time Maya came face to face with a dark truth that most everyone has to face at some point: No matter how many people you know, no matter how much someone says they love you, the real deal is you are all alone. You can love. You can procreate. You can have a big family and lots of friends. But at the end of the day, in that witching hour you know that no one will ever know, ever really know and understand your pain. It is the only thing that is truly yours. You can share your happiness easily, but it is next to impossible to share your pain. It was in that moment that Maya gathered her strength, took a personal inventory, and chose life.

Life hadn't been particularly hard on her, but it had taken its toll. So she turned and watched him sleep and measured his breathing by the rise and fall of his chest. So quiet and peaceful he looked. It was a false perception, for he could be cruel, bitterly so without meaning to be. She wondered if he really knew how much his words pierced and stung her to the depths of her being. Would he stop? Maya didn't know and was afraid to find out. She wanted to still believe in love, even if it hurt so bad.

She lie there next to him, daydreaming of the life she wanted them to have. It was the possibilities of what she imagined them sharing as a couple that kept them together. At least on her part. The reality of what she did have stuck in the back of her throat like thick, yellow phlegm waiting to be dislodged before you choked on it.

It was a quarter to five. Slowly, she disentangled herself from his grasp. He was in the habit of cupping her breast while he slept. He'd fall asleep stroking her nipple. At first she thought it was endearing. It would keep her on the edge of sexual tension. It gave her that falling effect. Like when you take that leap into love and feel yourself plunging, but never quite reach the bottom. Now it felt more like pincered, steel claws that kept her safely locked in his prison at night. Even when she turned over, he would find her breast and hold it firm within his grasp. Sometimes, when he had a nightmare, she would wake up bruised and hurting from him squeezing and twisting too hard.

Tiptoeing to the bathroom, she shut the door and turned on the light. She gazed at her reflection in the mirror, noticing a few worry lines at the corners of her eyes. Maya reached in the shower and turned on the water. After all, this was her time. It was the only part of the day when she didn't feel rushed or worried. She had no immediate obligations and was free to indulge herself. She washed her face and brushed her teeth then grabbed her shower cap before stepping into the steamy tub and drawing the curtain closed. Hot, beady darts of water stung her skin, gloriously awakening and revitalizing her. It was sublime! Now she could face whatever the day brought her.

Afterward, she stood there toweling off. She was careful to dry off each foot before stepping onto the tiled floor. He hated wet, bathroom floors, yet protested against a shower mat. It had something to do with his theory about moist environments and fabrics acting as germ catchers. Whatever!, she thought. After all, he had no problem using a washcloth that had been left drying in the bathroom. It was ridiculous, but what could she do? Everyone had their quirks, and this was one of his.

After moisturizing, she grabbed her robe from behind the door, and padded softly toward the kitchen. Switching on the light, she surveyed everything. Not a thing was out of place. Just the way he liked it. In the freezer, she found the container of Starbucks and proceeded to make some coffee. With the precision of an expensive timepiece, she placed bacon in the oven to broil, whisked eggs into a bowl, and poured him a cup of freshly brewed java. She measured out exactly the right amount of half and half, added three spoonfuls of sugar, and stirred. Then she took him his morning wake-up.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” she called, with a smile. He stirred. One eye shot open and blinked twice while he focused on the cup in her hand. He pointed toward the nightstand and buried his head in the pillows. The clock said 5:25 AM. He still had five more minutes to doze.

“Come on, baby! You'd better get up! Try taking a couple of sips of coffee. It'll help you get your bearings.”

“How can you be so damned cheerful this early in the morning, Maya?” he asked.

“It's because I have such a wonderful man to wake up with everyday.” she responded.

He reached out, hoping to grab her and bring her back to bed. Quickly, she slipped out of his grasp and glided over to her dresser to get some underwear. Sipping his coffee, he watched her with a trained eye, much like that of a connoisseur of fine artifacts. He placed his half empty cup on the stand and sneaked up behind her, wrapping her in his arms tightly, while snuggling and kissing her just below and behind her earlobe. It was her sweet spot, and he knew it.

Maya felt his morning erection pressing into her back and in one fluid motion, she lowered her body and twisted from his embrace. “Not now, honey. I don't want the bacon to burn.” With that said, she was out the door and down the hall before he could get his second wind. There was nothing he could do except shower and get dressed.

When Maya heard the shower turn off, she put some diced onions into a pan coated lightly with olive oil and began cutting up a potato she had baked the night before. While that was cooking she squeezed some oranges for juice and finally took a breather. She popped some toast in, poured herself a half cup, and relaxed. When the toast popped up, she re-filled it and spread some orange marmalade onto it before taking a bite. Finally, she heard him loping down the hall toward the kitchen, and she put the eggs on. She never cooked her eggs with his. He liked them well done, almost burned. She preferred hers soft scrambled. When the eggs were half done, she popped down the toast. He sat down with his empty coffee mug, and she instantly poured him another cupful. She placed his completed breakfast in front of him and he began eating.

“When did you have time to make home-fries?” he inquired.

“I had a baked potato left over, so I used that.” she responded, while noticing the satisfied expression on his face. The corners of his lips rose as he smiled at her. “Now this is what I'm talking about, sweetheart. A man could get used to this real quick.” She finished her toast. It was cold by now, but she didn't care. She had pleased her man. That was all that mattered. When he'd finished, he grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the chair, kissed her, picked up his briefcase from where he'd left it in the living room, and headed out the door.

Chapter 2

CHANDLER

Chandler Jeffries bounded down the subway steps with a smile on his face. He had everything he wanted. In another year or so, he'd also have the prestige he craved. He was only an associate now at Ogilvy and Dwyer. He wanted to make partner. Then he'd be playing with the big boys! Elizabeth Ogilvy had been giving him the x-ray vision eye lately. If he could play his cards right, he'd have the promotion in the bag. But he wasn't going to be her boy-toy, no sir. He was going to manipulate that dried up bitch into giving him everything he wanted and some pussy. He was going to show those Wall Street smart asses just what a Harlem shuffle really looked like.

The train roared into the 125^th Street station and stopped. Chandler boarded the nearest car and scanned around for an empty seat. There was a distinct advantage to commuting early in New York – you could always get seating. He noticed a lithe, young ebony sister sitting alone, reading a book. Next to her was an empty space. As he headed for it, a muscular, blue collar brother slithered around him and sat down, grinning at his maneuver. Chandler sized him up meeting his gaze, noting his just-released-from prison demeanor, and thought better of making scene. He wanted to slap the smirk off his face though. The young woman felt the ruffian push against her and gave him an aggravated stare. Meanwhile, a seat across from her was vacant. Chandler took it. The train pulled out of the station with a jolt and headed downtown. Barring any unforeseen delays, he'd be at his desk by 7:15.

Finally tired of the young thug getting too close, the woman stood and came across the aisle, grabbing the handlebar in front of him. Chandler rose and offered her his seat, which she took. “Thanks, Mister. Some people just irritate the hell out of me. It's too early in the morning to deal with perverts and low-life’s.” she said, eying the man who'd just sat beside her. Chandler smiled down at her. At 59^th street the seat next to her became vacant, and he slid alongside of her.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

“Temple of My Familiar.” she replied.

“I just love Alice Walker, don't you?”

“You read Alice Walker? I don't know many brothers that do. They all seem to think that since The Color Purple came out that everything she writes about is about putting

the Black man down.” Chandler laughed.

“That's funny!” he said. “Honestly, she's a wise woman. I can't believe they let her say some of the things she says in that book. All the while I was reading it, I thought the editor must have taken a nap during the process. She has some wicked things to say about white folks in that book.”

“You picked up on that too? I can't believe it! I thought the same thing! She has some really insightful opinions about family and the evolution of man in here also. Excuse me, I'm Chara.” she said, offering her hand.

“Hi, Chara. I'm Chandler Jeffries. It's my pleasure to meet you.” he responded, taking her hand in both of his while grinning smartly and showing his pearly whites.

Actually, he hadn't read the book at all, but Maya had. She'd raved about it as if were the modern day word of the Goddess. If there was one thing he'd learned, it was to always listen to what women said, even if it bored you. You either gained some insight into their character and soul, or you learned something useful to use with another woman. It was a win-win situation.

They both exited the station at Wall Street and headed upstairs. When they reached the street, Chandler turned and made his move.

“You work down here too? What a coincidence! Listen Chara, I hope you don't think it too forward of me, but I’d like to see you again. Perhaps we can do lunch sometime soon?”

In an instant, Chara appraised him in his entirety, from his freshly cut Caesar hairstyle which fit well with his baby faced brown skin charm; his meticulously trimmed, full mustache; his disarmingly dimpled cheeks; his starched Egyptian cotton shirt; to finally, his dark blue Armani suit with contrasting baby blue silk tie and matching pocket hankie. His shoulders were broad and muscled, but not overly so, as to make him intimidating. The Stacey Adams shoes on his feet were shined to a spit polish. All six foot two of him seemed perfect.

Before she could respond, he handed her his card. When she noted his profession, she demurred. “Why certainly, Chandler. Take my card also.” Glancing at it, Chandler noticed she was a commodities analyst at Merrill Lynch. He smiled at her. “I'll be speaking with you soon, Chara.”

“I hope so, Chandler.” she winked. He watched her sashay down William St. toward Water, and he sighed. She was absolutely gorgeous! Her mahogany skin glistened and her behind looked better than he could have imagined. The tailored charcoal, two piece suit fitted snug against her hips. He felt a stirring in his loins. He was glad for the jock strap which kept his surging loins caged and tempered. He headed south to his office at 2 Broadway. It was truly the beginning of a fine day.

When he exited the elevator, he swiped his card key and entered the main office lobby. The receptionist didn't come in until 8:30, so it was quiet. The pale gray carpeting muffled his footsteps as he made his way to his office. His was a small, tight, inner office with no windows. He could look across the hall and see sunlight coming up through the window of one of the partners' enclaves though. Some poor souls didn't even have that.

Several files were piled on his desk that needed his attention. They could wait for another hour or so. He set down his briefcase and meandered back to the kitchen in search of another cup of coffee. Most of the junior associates were already at their desks toiling away. Although the majority of the associates and partners wouldn't arrive until after eight, some as late as nine. He thought it was slothful. He figured that the only way to distinguish yourself was to continue doing what got you recognized in the first place. Both Catherine Ogilvy and Emerson Dwyer were there. Why shouldn't he be there also?

The kitchen at Ogilvy and Dwyer was well stocked. Gourmet coffees and teas were in abundance along with pastries, muffins, and croissants. By lunch time there would be an equally lavish spread of cold cuts, salad, and fruits along with fresh baked breads of every variety. Staff didn't usually go out for lunch unless it was for business. There was no need to spend money for what was freely there for the taking.

Chandler filled his mug with the rich brew from the pot and looked over at the pastries. He was tempted to partake of one of the almond croissants, his favorite, but he was mindful of his diet and decided against it.

“Tempted by your desires, Chandler?” He turned to see Catherine Ogilvy standing in the doorway.

“You caught me, Ms. Ogilvy. However, prudence won out in this case. I decided against it.” Catherine Ogilvy was in her mid-forties, but didn't look it. She was five foot eight with shoulder length ash blonde hair. She stood trim and neat in a custom tailored suit with a white silk shell blouse and matching expensive pearl necklace and earrings. With a little more height, she could have been mistaken for an aging runway model. She nudged her way past Chandler, close enough to brush up against his ebbing erection. He would have moved back to let her pass, but the butcher block table with pastries didn't allow him to do

so.

“It's not good to deny yourself too many indulgences, Chandler. Life is about partaking in forbidden fruits every once in a while.” she sighed, while looking into his hazel eyes.

“That might well be true, Ms. Ogilvy. But isn't that what got Adam and Eve thrown out of the Garden?”

“Why yes, that's true.” she responded, smiling coyly at him. “But then, what fun would they have had, stuck in that Garden with no place to go? After all, if they hadn't ventured into the forbidden, we might still be naked and isolated in Iraq or wherever in the Middle East Eden was, wondering what apples really tasted like.”

“You do have a point there.” he piped in. Chandler took in the message she was relaying, but it was too early for him to react. He'd let her stew in her own juices for a while until the fruit was ripe for the picking. Then he would pluck the berry from the vine and partake of the juices. Their eyes locked, and he kept his gaze steady and knowing. When it was time, he would react swiftly and with determined action. Until then he would let her dream of the forbidden.

“Please, Chandler, call me Catherine. You're an associate now. Let's leave the formalities in the past.”

“Okay, Catherine. Let's do that.” he said with a smile. Quickly, to Catherine's surprise, he turned and left, leaving her with only the scent of his Burberry cologne as a faint memory.

Once he reached his office, Chandler sorted through a myriad of folders and began to get down to work. There were the civil litigation cases to delve through. He had to decide which cases could be settled and which would likely end up in a courtroom. Many of them required tracking down all the parties involved seeing that they were deposed. Sometimes, when the litigants were corporations, it involved sifting through layers of dummy corporations to find the truly responsible individuals. Most of this grunt work was usually done by first and second year junior associates. Chandler preferred to do his own research. It took more time out of his day, but in the end he was always satisfied with the result. He learned early on that when real money was at stake, the greedy and selfish went to extremes to hide their assets.

By one o'clock he had managed to sift his way through a couple of dozen files and doled out mounds of material to be typed, copied or faxed by one of the two secretaries he shared with three other senior associates. A gurgle erupted in his stomach that let him know it was well past time for lunch. He made his way down to the kitchen to see what was there. Surprisingly, his favorite – pastrami on rye had not disappeared yet. He made a plate with a couple of sandwiches, some pickles, coleslaw, and a salad. Looking down at all the food on his plate, he opted for a bottled water instead of his favorite ginger ale.

After the first bite his mind went to other hungers. Chandler began to mentally lay out a plan of attack for Chara. Money wouldn't wow her. He knew that. He'd have to captivate her with his mind. Well, he was up for the challenge! While he ate the last of his lunch, the whole plan came together for him. But the hardest part was the execution. He would have to be flawless.

At four fifteen, after the closing bell on the exchange, Chandler dialed her work number. The switchboard connected him immediately, but he was put on hold by her secretary. The three minute wait seemed almost unbearable until she came on the line. Then his anxieties vanished.

“Hello, Chandler. It is such a surprise to hear from you. I thought it would take at least a day or two for you to call.” Chandler felt himself chuckle.

“Chara, I don't play games.” he responded. She laughed. “Apparently you don't, Chandler. I find that refreshing.”

Chara's voice was enchanting. She spoke perfect English with a slight hint of a British accent. He asked her about it, and she told him that she had attended boarding school in London but had returned to the states to attend Harvard Business School. He was impressed. She shared that since her dad was a diplomat, they had traveled quite a bit, but she was born here in New York. Except for summers spent with Ghanian relatives, she spent all holidays here as a youth. Even though her father expected her to return to Ghana and join the diplomatic corps, Chara had opted out and remained in the city much to his disdain.

“And what about you, Chandler Jeffries? What's your story?” she asked. He could hear the playfulness in her voice, and it made him smile.

“Well, Ms. Chara Obani, my life has not been as charmed as yours. I grew up in the Lincoln Projects in East Harlem. My mom was a single parent raising two sons on welfare. Through all of her hardships, she eventually graduated from high school and went to work for the City. Eventually, she got her degree in business management and still made sure we did our homework every night and stayed out of trouble.” He sighed.

He'd never told a woman about his humble beginnings before. Not even Maya. Somehow, when questions about his youth came up, he'd always brushed them aside, but not with Chara. For some reason he found himself being very open for the first time ever, and for the life of him, he didn't know why.

They continued to talk about themselves for the next hour, oblivious to work restraints, which was unusual for them both. Before he hung up, he'd made a date to take her out to dinner the next evening after work. Maya never entered his mind.