Bonus Chapter of "The Only One"

[Cynique]

CHAPTER 3

Relaxing on a plump leather couch, tired from her day’s work, a hungry Carole Everly was the centerpiece of a cozy room where, all around her, tables held lamps, house plants bloomed, a diverse collection of art work lined the walls, African figurines occupied the nooks, and dozens of titles filled the book cases. Home sweet home. Her 4-room apartment.

Forking up the last of her shrimp fried rice before gobbling down her egg roll, as soon as she read what the fortune cookie had to say, Carole would be ready to enter the second phase of a daily ritual which would begin with a phone call to her mother for an up date on the latest family news.

Hanging up after suffering through a rambling report that rarely revealed anything of interest, Carole would then log on to her computer, check her e-mail, scroll down her FaceBook page, skim over The Huffington Post blog, browse through the African American Literary Book Club forums, and maybe Google somebody’s name or consult Wikipedia about a subject she’d come across and was curious about.

After pouring herself a goblet of Merlot, she’d next flip through the channels and decide which TV show to leave on. As for actually watching, this would be an exercise in multi-tasking, sharing attention with her favorite pass-time: reading.

From as far back as 3^rd grade, Carole had established a love affair with the printed word, and over the years, reading had become her love, her passion; maybe even her compulsion. So she read. And read. And read. Everything. Popular fiction as well as best-selling nonfiction, classic literature, biographies, memoirs, historical documentaries, self-help books, magazines, tabloids, newspapers. In fact, her mind was so saturated with knowledge and trivia that she was able to call out an astounding number of correct answers when watching JEOPARDY!

“Carole, Carole, Carole,” was what amazed friends would say, repeating the name that was the only way to define her. She was, who she was. Carole.

Heading up her reading list this evening was her newly-arrived ESSENCE magazine. Skimming its table of contents, then searching through a haystack of high fashion layouts and ads for cosmetics and hair care, she finally found the needle: an article about office romances. What advice would be offered when, upon meeting your new supervisor, your coochie quivered???

A bit later, article finished, question unanswered, daily crossword puzzle worked, wine glass emptied, Carole reached for her phone, ready to touch bases with Wanda Ewing, the BFF who someone had once described as being “Carole on steroids”. An apt observation since the slight resemblance between Carole and her bigger, bolder pal could create that impression.

Working at different branches of the same parent company, Wanda’s specialty was harassing customers who were behind in their bills, something for which she was obviously better-suited than Carole.

“Hey, girl,” Carole greeted when Wanda picked up on the third ring. “What’s up?”

“You,” Wanda replied, taking a drag off her Newport.

“I’m up all right,” Carole confirmed. “In fact, I’m almost levitating because, would you believe, my libido got a jolt today?”

“You're doing what because of why???”

“I was just settling in, tired and stressed.”

“Settling in where?”

“At work!"

“Oh.”

“I told you Lillian Moore is retiring, right?"

“Right.”

“Well, they brought a replacement in today from the north side branch.”

“And?”

“He’s a brotha. ‘Looks to be in his late 20s or early 30s. And he’s fione!”

“Single?”

“He wasn’t wearing a ring.”

“Thought you were on hiatus.”

“I’m on a mission to screen eligible men, not reject them. And you know how I believe in fate. Maybe this Troy Briggs was sent to me by my Spiritual Muse!”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you know what else?”

“What else?”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah. If a twice-divorced male comedian can write a book advising ladies how to ‘think like a man’, then I can write one telling ladies how to masquerade as femme fatales.”

“Something for which you likewise have no qualifications.”

Undaunted by this dig, Carole resumed. “The first step would be to get a guy to fall in like with you! Once you win his fondness, proceed to seduce him with your brain instead of your vagina, - let your smartness clue him to the thin line between intimidation and intimacy, - excite him by making him wonder how this would translate in the bed - turn curiosity into arousal, - surrender into satisfaction, - lust into love!”

Carole closed her eyes. “I just have a feeling this Troy-person would be an ideal guy to test my theory on, and produce not only a best-seller but a hot new boyfriend!”

Wanda grunted. “Maybe you ain’t been divorced twice, but at least you got the comedian part down pat.”

“Very funny.”

“Runnin a game like that only works for ho’s like - Cleopatra.”

“For all you know I might have been Cleopatra in another life,” Carole said, a possibility she’d been fantasizing about, having just finished a book about the Queen of the Nile.

“Yeah, and I was your girlfriend, Nefertiti,” Wanda quipped.

“Or the asp that bit me,” Carole said in reference to the snake that had finished off Mark Anthony's "main squeeze".

“In hopes that you’d forget about wastin your time tryin to intrigue some knuckle head, " Wanda explained. "You know damn well while a broad's brain is talkin, a dude's dick is listenin.”

“Nobody could ever accuse you of being a romantic.”

“Just tryin to keep you grounded, Cleo.”

“Well, - you can’t blame me for wanting to capitalize on the old reliable formula of selling new ways to dispense old wisdom.”

“If this Troy-nigga is all that, he probably already got him somebody,” Wanda said, squashing both her cigarette and Carole’s enthusiasm before changing the subject.

Tuning out Wanda's grumbling, idly staring down at the little slip of paper resting on the end table next to her, the fortune cookie’s message caught Carole’s eye: “Man’s mind is not a container to be filled but rather a fire to be kindled.“

Take that, Nefertiti.

Later, ready to retire, Carole changed into her PJs and while applying cocoa-butter moisturizer to her freshly-scrubbed face, she saw that NIGHTLINE’s lead story was “the prison industry” and as the TV camera panned in on a jail corridor where an assembly line of predominately-black, pumped up, dick-swinging, hot-eyed products of institutionalized racism were shuffling along, going no place but to waste, Carole sympathized with all the lonely losers, in and out of jail, everywhere, each one probably telling himself that if…

…anybody could make a bitch scream it was him, the figure pulling out of a quivering body was thinking as he and the Miles Davis CD finished their performances at the same time. Now, it was getting late. Time to dump his exhausted guest.

“Silly-ass heifas,” he muttered, removing his condom. “Too bad they have to learn the hard way that plain guys can fuck, too.

Settled into her bed, Carole thoughts again turned to the plight of lonely people, - the female ones, all alone, snuggling up with their dreams, each one telling herself that she was just what a good man needed to rock his world!

* * * * * * * * * * *

Don’t miss Chapter 4 when Carole Everly and Troy Briggs have a face to face encounter….