Courting Miss Thang, page 1
COURTING MISS THANG
Table of Contents
Title Page
Courting Miss Thang
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
31
32
33
34
35
37
38
39
By
Thomas Green, Jr.
South of Harlem Books
Atlanta, Georgia
COPYRIGHT © 1998, 2003 BY THOMAS GREEN
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
INCLUDING THE RIGHT OF REPRODUCTION
IN WHOLE OR IN PART IN ANY FORM
COVER BY Marion Designs
This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Other names, characters and incidents are product of the author’s imagination.
Acknowledgments
Almighty...you first, and you know why
To Michael George, the first person in the journalism/writing for dough world to believe in my skills. The realest brother in this bullshit business.
To Dr. Roshanda Clemons, an M-III at Morehouse School of Medicine back in 1998. I hope I used your invaluable insight correctly.
To all the teams and individual players I have ever played with. If my stories sound familiar, don’t look at me!
Salsa, Murderers Row, Old Timers, Harlem Vikings, Brooklyn Bears, New York Titans, Bronx Jets, Dirty Dozen, Brooklyn Cobras, Bronx Blue Jays, Mike’s B-Boys, Young Pros, Queens Scorpions, TDS, Bucs, BP and last but not least, The Bronx Warriors...the greatest team ever assembled that didn’t win a championship.
ALSO BY
THOMAS GREEN, Jr.
Love’s Home Run
Player No More
When It Hurts So Bad
Tabu Social Club
The Christmas Party
Larry’s Girls
Purple Lipstick
Change For A Dyme
Decatur Cab
When two people love each other, they don’t look at each other.
They look in the same direction.
- Ginger Rogers
For Jason Benning
Father, Innovator, Statesman, Emperor...
And a man who raised four daughters in a house with one bathroom.
ONE
Frences Walker could not get those three little words out of her mind. She heard him right, she knew she had because when she searched his eyes with that stupid, stunned look on her face he repeated it: “Yes, Frences, I love you.’’
Frences grinned and sat back in her red Isuzu Trooper, guiding the four-by with her left hand. She was cruising east on up Ontario’s Highway 401. It must be the sex, she was now imagining. Why else would the well-to-do and handsome Doctor Terry Puhl be in love with a third-year? Everyday Frences believed she saw doctors and nurses all around Toronto General with better bodies.
Her reasoning for allowing a white man to court her was a cop out. She actually thought that a white man would be less likely to recognize who she had been in Los Angeles. She also drew strength from the fact that she thought a large number of African American males were exclusively dating white women.
At times, before Dr. Terry Puhl had said those three little words, Frences did feel guilty. Like she had let down her ancestors. She had read all about the men hanged for looking at white women the wrong way. She had read the true stories of sisters being raped and ravaged by white men who never faced trial or retribution. Dr. Terry Puhl was different, not just a white man. He was powerful, privileged and confidant.
It had to have been the sex that made him say he loved her. Sex with a sister, she tried to reason. Their relationship had quickly evolved from wonderful dinner dates where they shared his knowledge of the medical field to pure sex-no more, no less. She had given it to Doctor Terry Puhl in many ways, in many places. She had enjoyed sex on his lap in his office, on her back in his Mercedes, and on her knees in his bed. He was freaky, and Lord knows it had been a while since Frences had had some.
He damn sure wasn’t a brother, though. There was no passion, no real tenderness. Filth flowed off his tongue like no other. And if it wasn’t for oral sex, Frences might not have ever felt ecstasy with the man.
It was too soon, Frences assured herself. But it would be nice to be loved by a man who seemed to care and seemed like he would treat her the way Frences felt a man should treat a woman. The way her father treated her mother. Those were the days. Back when Frences was in her teens she could get the best advice from Ann Walker, then the most understanding mother on earth. Too bad she couldn’t stretch her sense of understanding to still be there for Frences.
Frences had met Dr. Puhl at the one-on-one orientations the University of Toronto’s College of Physicians and Surgeons asked her to have. UT was the first medical school to send a reply. The day after she had selected Toronto as her new home, she began phoning for applications from med schools throughout Ontario-there weren’t many, she found-and Buffalo, New York. UT was the one she wanted. It was where Doctor Michael Rosenthal, the dean of UCLA’s medical school, suggested she go. Dr. Rosenthal would have loved to have Frences in his program; she had been an exceptional undergrad student, and the daughter of a good friend. But he understood she had to leave California.
The day she met Dr. Puhl was an unusually warm January day. Frences was in the admissions dean’s spacious, comfortable waiting room. She was standing, fidgeting with her briefcase, and fighting panic. She could not fight the fear that she may not be one of the 300 chosen to be interview; she might not be of the selected 40. The numbers were getting to her even though she survived the cut down from 5,000 applicants.
The first things Terry Puhl noticed were her eyes. It was her eyes that held the key to Frences’s attractiveness. Her deep, smoke-gray irises were behind long, thick eyelashes. When she batted those eyelashes, it caught the hearts of both men and women. Women, though, seemed not to like her upon first meeting her. Women often doubted Frences sincerity. Men assumed she was helpless, no matter if she was in a supermarket or finding the key to open her car door. And, right off, Dr. Puhl thought she was nervous about her chances to be a student at UT.
He approached with a seemingly innocent line. “Good morning,’’ his smile was bright. “Think you’re about ready for your interview?’’
“I think so,’’ Frences replied meekly.
His lab coat and nametag were as intimidating as his stature. He was big-boned, standing at an even six-foot, yet he was slouched, making him seem much shorter. Terry was pale-complexioned with a thick, full beard and what Frences would notice right off, clear, smooth skin. His eyes, unlike hers, were dark and set deep into his features.
He buttoned his jacket and offered a very relaxing smile. “Let me tell you,’’ he began, “You are a shoe in.’’
“How you figure?’’ Frences asked. She was becoming relaxed.
“It’s simple. Look around you. You are the only person of color here, and you are a woman.’’
“No,’’ she shook her head, fighting the urge to be offended. “I still need to be qualified.’’
“You must be. Or, you wouldn’t be here for an interview.’’
They spoke until it was her turn; Dr. Puhl had put her at ease. She thanked him, and he kissed her hand and gave her his card before he left. It nearly knocked her off her feet. He was the head instructor in clinical pediatrics at UT Med. Just the person Frences needed to get with. She wanted to work with children as badly as she wanted to be a doctor.
She had survived the cut by being herself. Frences was a very motivated, personable, and prepared. She asked just about as many questions as her interviewer. She also displayed her natural empathy and respect for those in need with a sterling account of her two months as a volunteer nurse in an AIDS ward.
During her first week on campus, Dr. Puhl was always there, and very helpful. He showed her around, introduced her to fellow doctors and professors at the school; even giving her the low down on who was who, and what was what.
Then, he asked her out. He had great timing. The summer component course for the Biostatistics and Epidemiology was kicking her butt. To her surprise, Terry had planned a full evening, which included a play, dinner and drinks. She enjoyed his company, and his seemingly genuine respect for her as a lady.
A lady.
He once called her a lady. Damn, she never thought the title would mean so much.
Without labels or confirmation, they began dating seriously. Frences separated her life into three major parts. She was his friend and lover third, a diligent student second, and first of all she was the mother of a bright and feisty six-year-old, Misha. The reason she divided the three in to sections was because she had to keep her life in perspective. She came to Toronto to raise her daughter away from the glare her life in Los Angeles had become. She wanted very much to be a doctor. And, e
It was her idea to separate her life, but she did sense that Terry was interested in only two components: the schooling and the courting. He seemed very distant from Misha. It was not her intention, but it turned out to be the best. She didn’t have to worry about Misha being too involved with him if they had to break up or worse.
Frences eased the truck off the exit and into an endless line of traffic and the thought of love left her mind. She instead quickly studied the cars in front of her. The snow-covered streets were frozen, and nobody was eager to do more than 10 miles per hour. She had to be the one in love, she suddenly figured, to have been crazy enough to drive on a dull bitterly cold night like that one.
The Trooper rolled into the man-made bedroom community of Shorthorn, Ontario; a suburb of Toronto located on Lake Ontario, where doctors, lawyers and politicians lived free of mere mortals. None of the houses in the town masquerading as a city were built small, or one level, and each had at least an acre of land surrounding the house. And, none of them cost under a million dollars.
Frences envisioned herself living there once she became a full-fledged pediatrician. In that built up community was a huge mall on Shorthorn Lane, the main thoroughfare. It was under Toronto’s rule, for the most part, but it was a place that held very much clout in Ontario’s politics because of its financial contributions.
Doctor Terry Puhl had a wonderful house, a very modern and very large cozy dwelling with nine-foot high ceilings and hardwood floors. It was a combination of brick and beige siding with a large front door he rarely used. Like most people in Toronto, he used his garage as an entrance and exit. It was often too cold to be outside. The house was three stories high, topped with a one-room attic he used as a library. He had a sunken family/greeting room with a fireplace off the kitchen–Frences loved the kitchen. She always wanted an island. There was a breakfast room with a Bay window.
The house had a terrace level with two bedrooms, a fully equipped recreation room–Frences and the doctor played pool often. Outside was a glass-enclosed multilevel deck with a hot tub overlooking the backwoods.
On his second floor was the private master suite with a sitting area, fireplace and wet bar.
Puhl’s house was on Roy Street, the last block before the imaginary boundary at the most northern point of the village became Oshawa. His driveway, covered with thick layers of salt on top of ice, was at least thirty yards long, after a foot or two it bent behind thick shrubbery and became hidden.
Terry met Frences at the door of her truck in his garage with a wide grin. So wide a grin that Frences at first thought he was being phony. She mindlessly exhaled a long blow of breath as she emerged from the Trooper. It had been a long day, a long week, and she could use the relaxation a Friday night date with Terry usually was. Frences accepted his light kiss from his thin lips; would she ever get used to those? She reached back in and took her textbooks out. He took them out of her hand and led her into the house. She knew they wouldn’t get around to him helping her study.
The second thing she noticed, after the smile, were the suspenders with the yellow happy faces. They were holding up the pants to his steel gray suit. His tie was bright yellow, with gray dots.
“I was worried,’’ he said, breaking his smile to give her another kiss. “How was the drive over?’’
“It was okay,’’ Frences mumbled, following the sound of the television, figuring that was the room being used. It was. Besides the TV, the living room was also the only room lit.
She walked in to find a man sitting on the oversized leather sofa, with a drink in his hand. He was wearing corduroys and a blue and white Rugby shirt. When the tall man got up and unfolded his long legs Frences noticed he was not wearing shoes or socks. She felt Terry’s hand at the small of her back.
“This is a good friend of mine from Buffalo, Doctor Jon Derek.’’
Jon Derek said hello, revealing a deep French accent.
“Take your coat off,’’ Terry said, putting her books on the credenza.
As Frences hung her coat and scarf on the coat rack near the garage door, she sensed Terry in motion behind her, and she looked back in time to catch his arm movements freeze and smile.
“What are you doing?’’ she asked with her first relaxed smile.
“Nothing, my dear,’’ he relaxed his grin. “Nothing. I’ve got you some slippers so you can get out of them boots. We’re drinking cognac, you want some?’’
“No. No cognac. You have any more of that cocoa?’’ Frences turned back to the armchair near the coat rack and sat to untie her Timberlands. She had on tights under her corduroys, so she stuffed her sweat socks into the boots and slid her feet into the pastel pink slip-ons. The slippers were like the cheap kind her mother loved so much, the ones they sell in Woolworth’s, yet they were of better quality.
“Do I have any cocoa? Of course I do. You want to take a shower first? Maybe get relaxed. I bought you something to wear. It’s on my bed. Put it on for me.’’
Frences entered the living room slowly. The difference in the warmth from the fireplace and the foyer was intense. A relaxing shower could wait, she thought. They had company, when he left; they’d both get comfortable. She sat in the winged chair at the head of the glass coffee table, with the couch on her left and the television on her right about 10 feet away and against the wall-a 72-inch projector style model. The fireplace was crackling at the other end of the coffee table, about another 10 feet from Frences. Her toes were wiggling, as if enjoying their freedom from the stuffy socks and boots.
Terry returned with a steaming mug and a grin. Frences loved his easy smile, so she watched him come to her, smiling herself. “You’re in a good mood,’’ she said, carefully taking the red mug.
“Definitely,’’ he said. “First, I’m out of that godforsaken hospital. And, two, I have two of my better friends to enjoy an evening with.’’
Frences sipped the hot chocolate and felt easeful. She glanced across her body, to her left and saw the Toronto Raptors playing basketball on the television. Uninterested, she glanced back over at the men. They were sitting apart on the sofa, and Terry patted the spot between them, “Come sit here.’’
Frences moved slowly, gliding to his side of the couch and moving in between them.
“Damn, she’s beautiful, eh?’’ Terry said, bending to meet Dr. Derek eye to eye across Frences.
“Much better than you described.’’
Terry took her hand and guided her closer to him. Frences turned her body and gave him a short kiss, she felt a little awkward with Terry’s friend sitting next to her, but she needed the cuddling.
Terry kissed her, holding her with his left hand on her shoulder and around her neck. He reached across her with his free hand and put his friend’s hand on Frences’s thigh.
Frences pushed Terry then removed Jon’s hand.
“Excuse me?’’ she glared at him.
He nervously smiled at her, and then gazed up to Terry. Terry also smiling, stood up, took Frences by her hand and guided her to the dining room, in the opposite direction from the garage door Frences had entered in.
“Your friend put his hand on my thigh.’’
Terry led her to stand at the base of the table. He had even pulled the chair away from the head of his solid oak dining table. He nodded a reply and kissed her lightly on her forehead. His hands cupped her breasts and then they slowly moved down her sweater to her pants. He unbuckled her belt.
She held his hands. “What are you doing?’’ Her voice flashed with concern and her eyes searched his.
“Let’s stop playing innocent, here, Miss Thang. This is what I want. I want you to do both of us. One at a time, together, whatever, you are doing it.’’
Oh my God, he called me Miss Thang. Frences’s eyes never left his. He knows.
Terry pushed away her hands and got back to opening her pants.
“Why you doing this to me?’’
“Cut the acting. You didn’t do any in those movies.’’
Yeah, he knows.
Hurt seeped into her soul, saturated her bones. Her eyes watered. “This is how you treat somebody you love?’’
Terry yanked her pants down, then her blue tights and panties in one tug. He pulled them down from the crotch to her ankles.
“You are here,’’ he stood to meet her eye to eye, “and you were going to have sex with me anyway I wanted it. This is how I want it.’’
