Linda Hudson-Smith - Indiscriminate Attraction

Tonight when it’s over, I’ll be exclusively yours, and you’ll be all mine. My darling, raise your head and take a sip of this sweet, aphrodisiac wine. Better yet, let me pour it all over you to taste it from your dark skin so fine.

Tonight is over and now it’s time for us to fall into a dream-filled sleep.

The evening’s been fulfilling, what’s between us has grown so deep.

For some, tonight may be just another insignificant time of the week.

For us, the burning memories of this delicious night are forever ours to keep.”

Waiting for the thunderous applause to die down, Laylah bowed at the waist numerous times. Just when she thought it was all over, everyone began standing up, continuing to applaud her. This was her very first standing ovation at Bella’s Café.

Unable to believe the avid response, Laylah felt overwhelmed as she stood stock-still. “Thank you for your undivided attention and your kind generosity,” she said into the microphone, though she knew no one could hear her. The loud clapping hadn’t stopped; her emotional response had just begun. Laylah discreetly wiped away her tears.

Seeming to appear out of nowhere, Chancellor was at the very edge of the stage, holding out his hand for Laylah to take. She didn’t know how long he’d been there or how much of her poem he’d heard; she was just beside herself with joy at seeing him. If he could hear her heartbeat, then he already knew it sounded like a runaway freight train. But she didn’t care if he heard it. All she cared about was that he’d kept his word.

There were several men who hadn’t kept their word to Laylah. And it felt darn good to have one man who’d had enough integrity to keep his. He hadn’t said when he’d get there; he’d just said he’d be there to support her. And so he was.

Laylah gently laid her delicate hand inside his. “Glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world. You were great. Loved the poem.”

So, he had heard her, she thought, happy he’d gotten there in time.

Chancellor gave her hand a gentle squeeze as he led her to the back of the café, where she pointed out the dimly lit table she’d occupied before her performance. Once they were comfortably seated, he pulled out a thin wad of cash and showed it to her. “I got enough work today to be able to buy you a drink. Name your poison.”

Laylah would have ordered a ginger ale, but she somehow felt he might see through her desire to keep the check fees to a minimum. “White wine, please.”

Grinning broadly, Chancellor summoned the waitress.

Tracee, a waitress Laylah knew well, crossed the room to take their order.

“Two white wines, please,” he said to Tracee. “One with a twist of lime.”

“How did you know I like to drink my wine with a slice of citrus?” she asked.

Chancellor shrugged. “I didn’t. I just happen to take mine the same way.”

Laylah threw her head back and laughed. “I’m sure we’ll probably discover we have a lot more in common than taking our wine with lime.”

Chancellor winked at her, smiling suggestively. “I think you might be right.”

Tracee came back with their drink order and quickly took off again.

Laylah was hungry, but she hadn’t ordered any food because she didn’t want Chancellor to feel he had to pay for it. It would do her no good to wish she had eaten dinner before coming to the café. She hardly ever ate before performing. A host of butterflies normally resided in her stomach to keep her somewhat nauseated. Once she got offstage, though, she always immediately ordered a personal-pan pizza.

As though someone had read Laylah’s mind, Tracee showed back up at the table with two personal-pan pizzas and a basket of hot wings. Before Laylah could ask about the food, the waitress pointed out a man seated at the bar. His back was turned to them. “Compliments of that gentleman, Laylah. He said to tell you he thoroughly enjoyed your hot poem. He thinks you’re a great poet. He also said you’re hot, too,” she whispered.

“I guess I’ll have to thank him myself. Thank you for the food delivery, Tracee.”

“You’re welcome, girlfriend. Talk to you later. By the way, the poem was the bomb! Everyone in the house seemed to enjoy it. All the lovers in the house surely did.”

Laylah glowed all over. “Thanks again. Your nice comments are appreciated.”

“You are so welcome.” Without further comment, Tracee rushed off.

Laylah found it interesting that Chancellor hadn’t bothered to turn around to take a look at the man Tracee had pointed out to her. She believed a lot of men would’ve done so in an instant. They may have also felt threatened by a man sending a gift of food to their date, but she didn’t see this as such. It hadn’t seemed to bother Chancellor in the least.

Laylah was intrigued. His attitude was that of a very confident man.

Her attention was drawn to her generous benefactor as he slipped off the bar stool. When he turned around, her jaw dropped. Seeing March wasn’t a very pleasant experience. She had to wonder what he was doing there, since she’d never seen him in the café before tonight. No doubt it would be very interesting around the workplace on Monday. He would see to it. Laylah was certain of that.

March probably would try to keep Laylah from living this down, but he had no idea what she could or couldn’t live with. She wasn’t ashamed of her poetry or any of her other creative writings. She wouldn’t let him make her feel shame. If he thought he could break her down or embarrass her, the brother was in for one rude awakening.

Laylah pushed the basket of wings to the center of the table. “Would you like to help me eat some of the food? I’m sure one of these pizzas was ordered for you.”

“I doubt that. But since I’m a little hungry, I don’t mind helping you out. How often do you come here?” He took a slice of pizza and put it on one of the small plates the waitress had delivered along with the food.

“Practically every Friday night. The only time I don’t come to the poetry session is when I have to put in overtime at the office. This is a great place to hang out.”

“I like it here. It’s not loud and noisy like most clubs. The atmosphere is pretty laid-back. How long have you been writing poetry?”

Laylah rolled her eyes back. “Since I was a teenager, maybe even earlier than that. I love to write. I’m also a journalist. I work as a reporter for the L.A. Press.”

Chancellor hid his displeasure in her profession. He didn’t like reporters. His experiences with them hadn’t been very good ones. Arrogant, pushy, beyond nosy and downright rude was how he saw the majority of them. He had dealt mostly with the dreaded paparazzi, whom he felt were largely responsible for some of his more serious woes. The band of renegades had given his family a lot of grief over the years.

No matter what he personally thought of the unethical journalists he’d once encountered on a regular basis, he vowed not to let his bad feelings about them spill over onto Laylah, not without just cause. Why she was so interested in him had suddenly taken on new meaning. He quickly decided he needed to be wary of her just in case she had ulterior motives. Chancellor wished this kind of damper hadn’t been put on their evening. Perhaps he should make his exit right now, as opposed to much later.

Laylah restlessly flipped through the television cable channels until she came upon Sarafina, starring Whoopi Goldberg. The movie was set against antiapartheid riots. She had seen parts of the film before, but never in its entirety, and decided to watch it.

As much as Laylah wanted to watch the movie to hopefully take her mind off Chancellor, she couldn’t seem to concentrate. She didn’t know why things had suddenly gone wrong for them down at the café, but they had gotten terribly out of whack. He had begun to withdraw into himself right after she’d mentioned what she did for a living.