We laugh, but I laugh harder and longer.

I start back singing my duet with Bonnie.

Blue listens.

When I'm done, I rest in my thoughts and desires. I say, "I've never had an o.r.g.a.s.m."

"You're joking."

"Why does everybody think that's a d.a.m.n joke?"

"That's another wow."

"I want to have one with you."

"Whenever you think you're ready, we'll try again."

"Thanks."

"I more than 'like' you, Tommie."

"I know."

Silence.

I tease my fingers through my wild mane. "I've been reading stuff like 203 Ways to Drive a Man Wild in Bed, Kama Sutra, Unleashing the s.e.x G.o.ddess in Every Woman-"

He repeats, "Unleashing the s.e.x G.o.ddess in Every Woman?"

We laugh.

Laughs change to light chuckles. Chuckles evolve into erotic stares. To light touches.

We kiss. The fire returns and we drink each other. I float away.

I inhale his heat, kiss him, and whisper, "Guess I've been studying for the big moment."

"Some things a book can't teach you."

Another blistering kiss and everything becomes . . . ethereal. Haunting. Heavy breathing creates evocative sounds. Intoxication quilts me. My fingers play in his wooly hair, move down his back. All that is cold turns warm, and all that is warm catches fire. In this moment, I have no scars, no old wounds. And I feel it, like in my dreams. My heartbeat moves from my chest, down my stomach, and settles between my thighs, blends with fire and wetness.

I'm wet. G.o.d, I'm so wet.

I feel him against me. He's firm.

Erotic desires decorate my rising moans. He kisses me like I'm delicious.

I take his hand, move it between my thighs.

I whisper, "I'm not scared anymore."

PLEASURE PRINCIPLE.

The theory, not the song.

Livvy.

My photo smiled at everyone the moment they came into the lobby. There I was, Miss Happy to Work Here, in my gray-and-white uniform advertising Dermalogica products, my image on a white wall decorated with purple blocks. The quote under my picture jumped out at me. THE FACE IS A MIRROR OF THE SOUL. Employees were in the poster-sized ads up and down the hallway. We always joked that this place looked like either a clinic or an asylum.

"What are you doing here, Livvy?"

"Hey, Jenny." I took my sungla.s.ses off. "Came to buy products. Making baskets."

"Want to help with a European skincare cla.s.s while you're here?"

"Short-handed?"

"Need someone to work as a student. I mean . . . no pressure . . . up to you."

I smiled. She had read my face the way some specialists examined organs to diagnose patients. Didn't matter. Everyone knew. Coworkers had been at the dinner party, witnessed my humiliation. My business echoed in these halls, another reason I kept working on the road.

I ended up being at work half the day, first helping out with the cla.s.s, then sitting in the break room, reviewing articles on aromatherapy treatments and Chinese diagnosis on the skin.

I finally broke free and made it to the cashier, paid for all of my goodies, everything from cleansing gels to daily microfoliants to skin renewal boosters. A group of us were jaw-jacking near the window that faced the parking lot, talking and laughing with a couple of the other instructors, when I looked out and saw a red-haired woman jogging away from the building. Could've been one of the students. We trained several hundred women a week.

If I hadn't turned my back, I would've seen her speed away in a red Miata. I would've seen that the back window of her car had been torn, then repaired with duct tape. If I had seen her face, I would've remembered her from that club in San Diego.

Frankie.

Frankie! Come back, Frankie!"

I was so livid that as soon as I saw his a.s.s, I turned around and stormed out of the friggin' restaurant, pushing people out of the way and kicking down doors. The only reason his a.s.s caught me was because I had to wait for d.a.m.n valet parking to bring me my d.a.m.n car.

"Frankie! Frankie!"

"What the h.e.l.l do you want?"

"What did I do?"

"Besides looking under my d.a.m.n dress?"

"I didn't look-"

"Then you started cracking jokes. 'I didn't know Bush had a Hitler mustache on his lips.' That was . . . I should kick your a.s.s."

"It was a joke."

"Pervert."

"It wasn't intentional, besides . . . one look at me and you got an att.i.tude-thought a little humor would make it-"

"d.a.m.n right I have a f.u.c.king att.i.tude."

"What did I do?"

I snapped, "Your profile said you were six-two and your picture looked like Taye Diggs."

"That was Taye Diggs."

"You sent me a friggin' picture of Taye Diggs?"

"Can we just finish the date?"

"Tell ya what, I'll e-mail you. We can meet and get a Happy Meal. Booster seats on me."

"You're racist."

"You're fugly."

"Discriminating against short people."

"Oh . . . grow the f.u.c.k up. You ain't tall enough to get on this ride, baby."

Valet pulled up in my car. I pushed Mini Me out the way.

I got in my car, revved the engine, and fought the urge to make his little a.s.s roadkill.

He yelled, "Whoooo hoooo! Bush does have a Hitler mustache!"

I sped away, top down, heater on full blast, my middle finger saluting him in the wind.

"That was a short date."

"Tommie, you just don't know how short it was."

An hour later I was at Tommie's crib. She was in her living room with a little girl. The girl was pretty, had on Old Navy sweats, her hair in braids, she had on gla.s.ses. She looked like a genius in training. The little girl was a straight-up type-A, bouncing all over the place, doing cartwheels in between laughing and watching Tommie wrap presents.

I looked around and asked, "Somebody break in and steal everything?"

"Ha ha."

After I got over how clean her s.p.a.ce was, how beautiful her living room looked with the Kwanzaa setup, I went to the bathroom, walked into her bedroom, saw three empty condom wrappers in her trash can, then came back into the front room feeling like a s.p.a.ce invader.

I smiled, asked the little girl, "What's your name?"

She smiled. "My name is Monica Mitch.e.l.l."

"My name is Frankie. I'm Tommie's big sister."

"Tommie, I didn't know you had a big sister."

"I have two big sisters."

"You're really, really, really tall, Frankie."

I smiled. "You're pretty tall too. You're taller than my date was."

"Wow. I want a sister one day. I want her name to be Nia."

"Really?"

"Uh huh. Nia means purpose. I used to want my sister to be named Keisha, but I like Nia better now, because Nia means purpose and I don't think Keisha means anything."

She went back to running and flipping.

I asked Tommie, "Where's Livvy?"

"Called her. Got her voicemail."

I nodded. "Soooo . . . you're baby-sitting?"

"Not really. Just hanging out, e-mailing Santa, stuff like that."

"Uh huh."

"Her daddy needed to go s-h-o-p-p-i-n-g for a B-a-r-b-i-e and other stuff."

I raised a brow. "Creamy Vanilla with the LL thang? . . ."

She blushed. "Yeah."

"Something going on I need to know about?"