The Heart is a Lonely Hunter (7 page)

afraid of was being lost in time and reverting back to the months she lost staring, daydreaming and laughing to herself.

“The hell with Peter Townsend,” she said aloud, now angry that she had given him the time of day and even angrier that she was talking to herself. “I’ve got to get out of this house before I go stir crazy. I’ve got to find something to do with my time.” There it was again. She was talking to herself once again but this time it didn’t bother her quite as much.

This time she had devised a plan. She smiled. relaxing now she curled back up on the loveseat and turned the television back on but left the volume on mute.
There!
Now she had company in the house but the voices on the television could not distract her as her thoughts quickly returned to Peter and his unusually low sex drive.

CHAPTER 5
 

Sill smiled as she remembered the warm night in April when the two of them were sitting on the rusty old porch swing in front of the house. Peter sure was old to be twenty-three, she mused. In many ways, he acted as old if not older than her father and daddy was in his sixties. Nothing made her father happier than to grab his pipe after the end of a long day and a good meal than to sit out there on that old, rusty swing and just let life pass him by.

Maybe that’s what it was that attracted her to Peter. He reminded her so much of her father. Peter liked to sit there after an evening out and just listen to her go on and on about her co-workers at Penney’s or her sorors. But on that particular evening, she was going to find out just what Mr. Man was made of. She remembered the night as if it were yesterday and began to smile at the thought as she remembered their conversation.

“Peter, you don’t mind if I run upstairs and change do you?” Sill asked. “This skirt is killing me. I think I ate too much.”

“No, not at all Sill. Go ahead. Take your time,” he replied. He was used to Sill changing after a night out since he usually picked her straight up from work before she would have a chance to change.

“Do you want some popcorn or anything?” she asked as the screen door slammed shut behind her.

“No baby, I’m fine,” he said, then added. “You can’t possibly be hungry after the meal you just ate. I swear I don’t know where you put the food, little as you are.”

And he was right about that. Standing no taller than five-four in her stocking feet, she would always insist she was five-six. Whether five-four or five-six, Sylvia did not have an ounce of fat anywhere.

At one hundred and thirty-two pounds she was a knockout. Her cocoa brown skin looked as if it had been poured on, so rich was it. Her eyes suggested an Asiatic slant, uncommon in Southern Blacks. And her thin Roman nose also suggested mixed blood but her full lips countered any misconception of her African heritage. Sylvia’s perfectly proportioned hips and round buttocks were in sharp contrast to her tiny waist and though they would never allow her to grace the cover of
Vogue
or
Cosmopolitan
magazine they kept heads turning. They weren’t so large as to seem obscene but were just large enough to make a devoted husband walking with his wife do a double take. And her legs only made men beg for more.

Always subtle in her attire, Sill never wore a dress above knee length but the shapely calves that protruded from beneath her skirt suggested an abbreviated high school track career that only managed to firm what was already too firm. All in all, Sylvia Shipp had the power to make most men leave home without so much as a glance back. But not Peter.

Peter stopped daydreaming long enough to check his watch. It was already a quarter past nine and he had to get up and be on the lot by seven. He could smell the popcorn but still there was no Sill. And then, she appeared like a Black Scarlet O’Hara in
Gone With the Wind
. Sylvia stood before him wearing a red floral evening dress that stopped just above the ankles. Gone were the fashionably faded jeans and blouse with the Penney’s badge. Gone were the panty hose that masked her golden, brown skin. Decked in red pumps that said I’m ready for anything, Sylvia watched Peter for any signs of an irregular heart palpitation. When she noticed no change in his demeanor, she immediately went to Plan B. “Popcorn, sweetheart?” she asked, turning to place the pitcher of lemonade on the wicker end table to her right. As she turned and readied herself for their long kiss goodnight, Sylvia made it a point to cross her leg purposely revealing much of her long chocolate thighs. And when Peter didn’t notice she brushed her arm ever so gently against the bowl of popcorn. Popcorn scattered everywhere, Sill smiled.

“How clumsy of me,” she said in her best Scarlet O’Hara impersonation. Bending down on one knee, Sylvia began picking up the kernels of corn as slowly as she could. Realizing that she would not allow him to leave without their goodnight kiss, Peter bent down to help her. Hearing him gasp and breathe heavily she dropped her head hoping he wouldn’t see the smile now spreading across her face. Mission accomplished she whispered to herself.

Sylvia never liked the dress she now wore, always figuring it was too Southern, too debutante ballish. That night however, it was just what the doctor ordered. She’d worn it because it showed more cleavage than all her other outfits combined. And tonight she made sure that she wore no bra to cover her thirty-six double D’s. Aside from that it had always been a size too large giving her plenty of room to move around inside. And when she knelt down to pick up the popcorn, she made sure the shoulder strap fell giving Peter a full view of her breasts, nipples and all.

“Sill, sweetheart, I’ve really got to run,” he’d said, now breathless and almost panting. Before she knew it, she heard the modified engine of the F-150 crank up and the low roar as it headed down the road.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Sill, said on the way into the house to get the broom. Her parents were sitting in the kitchen watching the news on CNN when she walked in and burst out laughing for no apparent reason.
What a chicken,
she thought.
Probably still a virgin. Poor little mama’s boy, I guess we’ll have to learn together.

Sill thought of Peter’s expression as he’d eyed her breasts, thought of him gasping and then broke out laughing again. Her parents looked at each other and then at their daughter.

“Are you OK, Sill,” her father asked. They were always so worried nowadays.

“Yes, Daddy, I’m just fine,” she replied somewhat sarcastically.

“Where’s Peter?” her mother inquired.

“Now that’s the person you should be asking about,” Sill replied. “I bent over to pick up some popcorn I spilled and I guess he saw a little too much cleavage. Next thing I knew, Peter’s up in the truck and flyin’ out the driveway. I think the twins scared him away,” she laughed, referring to her breasts. They all had a good laugh about Peter that night. Her father, glad that nothing more had transpired, called Peter a “good ol’ boy” while her mother warned her about wearing something so provocative. Little did they know that Peter’s rejection of her that night would stick in her craw, gnawing at her until she’d convinced herself that Peter Townsend was the man for her.

In reality, Peter Townsend was no more the man for Sylvia than RuPaul was but his rejection of her made him that much more appealing and she suddenly became obsessed with the thought of his making love to her.

On Monday morning, Sylvia parked her car at the bottom of the hill and made the long trek up to Community Elementary School 73X. Anyone that paid any attention at all had to notice that Sylvia Shipp had a new air about her, a new spring in her walk. Stopping at the local
bodega,
she grabbed a bagel with cream cheese and a large regular coffee. She often wondered why she

made the long trek up the hill each morning for exercise and then nullified it all by eating such fattening foods as cream cheese and sugar-laden coffee.

Unlike most Monday mornings though, she was early. This gave her time to browse the tiny store and pick up a few dollars worth of penny candy for her kids, a newspaper and a couple of meat patties for her lunch. The
bodega
owner always made her feel welcome and had endeared himself to Sill from her initial visit. She could always count on him to throw in a
Corn Frito
or
a plate of arroz con pollo
that his wife made especially for her. When she was running late he would send one of his sons out to stand in front of the store with her breakfast so she wouldn’t have to stand in line.
And there was always a line.
But there was no need for that this morning. This morning, she was not only on time, she was early. When he recognized her, he shouted out, loud enough for all his customers to hear:
“Tu te ve linda, hoy, Senorita Shipp
.” Whenever Mr. Ramirez became excited he would inevitable switch, going back and forth between his native Spanish and broken English. This usually happened when he was angry or one of the local drunks tried to shortchange Mrs. Ramirez around a bottle of wine, but not today. Most of the people in the
bodega
were Hispanic and all turned to see the young woman who commanded such attention. Mrs. Ramirez agreed.”Si,
Senorita, muy bonita,”
she said. “Thank you, Mrs. Ramirez,” Sylvia replied. Any other time Sill would have been embarrassed to no end. But not today. Any other time she would have been ready to crawl up under the counter but not today. No, this was just the response she wanted. Her kids greeted her with the same enthusiasm telling her that she looked ‘really nice today’, when she arrived in the schoolyard for first bell.

Sylvia had made it a point to call Mr. Cooper at home the previous night so he could arrange to have a substitute cover her class that afternoon. The disappointment showed in her students’ faces when she informed them that she would be leaving early. Not since the first week of school had they been this unruly. She was almost afraid to leave them with the substitute. But after a good tongue lashing they appeared better but there was no question that her leaving left them feeling abandoned and unwanted. After hugging each and promising to be there bright and early Tuesday morning, she left. She understood their fear. She too felt abandoned at times but in a little while she would remedy those same feelings that had haunted her while in college, in her final days in Elizabethtown and for most of her life.

Mr. Cooper, who was usually rather close-lipped, looked wearily at Sylvia as she was leaving the school that fall afternoon. Suddenly fearful that he might be losing another promising young teacher, Mr. Cooper walked her to the front door of the school and held the door for her. She knew he wanted to ask her if she had an interview but was reluctant. The best he could do was to tell her she looked nice. A single, simple compliment from him was worth a thousand from anyone else. Well, almost anyone else. One more would make her day.

Sylvia stepped out of the blue, Ford Escort looking like she belonged on a fashion runway. The brown tweed, Christian Dior suit she had purchased the day before at the quaint little consignment shop downtown brought out a quality that even she didn’t know she possessed. She didn’t just look rich. She looked elegant.

Crossing the campus of Morehouse she was hardly oblivious to the stares. Smiling inside, she watched heads turn and slowed down to soak it all in. It had been several years since she’d walked across a college campus and never one quite as prestigious as this.

Morehouse, with its historical buildings, bookish profs and preppy students, was a far cry from Tech or the tiny little girl’s college she’d attended. Well, just the fact that it was all male made it a far cry from Winfrey College but there was that elitist ambience of the intellectual bourgeois she’d become so accustomed to at Winfrey. She could feel it in the air. Bright, beautiful Black men from every walk of life crisscrossed the inner city campus the same way they would later cross the country, the world, making an impact as they went. There were some stares but the people here seemed far too sophisticated to punctuate the crisp fall air with catcalls and wolf whistles. Sylvia wondered why she hadn’t thought about attending Spellman, which was right across the street. She was by no means elitist but Morehouse appeared to have a better class of people, of men. Never one to have regrets she quickly dismissed the thought and managed to find the School of Graduate Studies without too much fanfare. Once there, she inquired about a dear friend enrolled in the Civil Engineering Program. Over time, she explained to the admissions secretary, she had somehow lost contact with him but since she was now working in Atlanta, she thought she would look him up. His name, she informed the woman was Peter Townsend. For the first time since she entered the office the woman looked up from the jumble of papers that cluttered her desk.

“Oh, do you know, Peter?” she asked smiling. “Why yes, he’s on our faculty. I believe if you hurry you just might be able to catch him. I believe he has a class in—.” Again, she rifled through the heap of papers that made up her tiny desk. “Oh, yes, here it is. Professor Townsend has a class over in the Engineering Building, Room 203.” Relieved, Sylvia thanked the secretary whose head dropped once again, lost in the jungle of paperwork before her.

In the Engineering Building, Sylvia found the elevator and stepped in. She was glad no one else was on the elevator and immediately took out her compact. She found that she was more than a little nervous and her hands trembled slightly as she attempted to put on her lipstick. The elevator came to an abrupt stop, making her stomach even queasier than it already was and for the first time since she decided on visiting Peter the possibility of him not wanting to see her loomed large. But it was too late now. Besides, she had nothing to lose though at that very moment she truly wished she were back in front of her third graders who always made her feel at home and wanted. And she
was
making progress with her lesson on adjectives although poor Angela was still having some problems. Sylvia’s thoughts ended abruptly as the elevator came to an abrupt stop and the doors slowly opened.