Private Lessons. Donna Hill

Clarke could talk to you about it. On and on and on. Besides her bedazzling the men with her sheer volume of knowledge, Naomi had this standoffish air about her.

      The sad part was, she was the complete opposite once you got to know her. But she rarely gave anyone the chance. The only man who could even come close to holding a conversation with her were some of the other professors on campus. But that relationship choice was a definite no-no to the college administration.

      “Nay, do me one favor?”

      “What?” she asked halfheartedly.

      “Why don’t you spend the rest of the week pretending to be someone completely different?”

      “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      Alexis groaned. “Playacting. Role playing. Didn’t you ever play ‘pretend’ when you were a kid?”

      Naomi frowned in concentration. “No. I don’t think so.”

      If this was anyone other than Naomi, Alexis would swear that she was lying. “Listen, this is what I want you to do…”

      Naomi took her time dressing for dinner. She’d spent most of the afternoon sitting on the balcony of her room, rereading Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison, and watching with envy the lighthearted frivolity on the beach below. Why she couldn’t unwind she wondered for the umpteenth time. She didn’t “party” as Alexis would say, although that girl made it a point to hook her up with every eligible bachelor she could find, and drag her to every night spot in Atlanta that played music, served drinks and had men. Those were Alexis’s only criteria.

      But Naomi wanted more than a good-time man. She wanted someone with a brain, ambition. Someone who didn’t care that she didn’t know the latest hit on the radio or that she loved movies with subtitles—and spent Saturday afternoons following new Thai, Japanese or African recipes or rereading books that she loved. And he wouldn’t care that she was probably the only black woman in Atlanta with no rhythm. None of those things would matter, because he would simply adore her for who she was, quirks and all.

      She peered into the mirror of the dressing table and applied a light covering of lip gloss. Maybe she should take Alexis’s advice, she briefly mused. Sighing, she placed the tube on the dresser top and stared at her reflection. She could almost see Alexis sitting on her shoulder, and she could hear her whispering, “live a little.”

      Naomi drew in a long breath of resolve, squared her shoulders and unbuttoned the top two buttons of her sleeveless cotton blouse, exposing a lush hint of cleavage. Frowning, she quickly fastened one button, picked up her purse and headed out for the evening, intent on enjoying herself, one way or the other. And if Brice should just so happen to give her another chance, she was going to take it!

      Brice was seated at the outdoor bar adjacent to the beachfront restaurant when he caught a flash of something soft and flowing in his peripheral vision. He turned in the direction of the movement and a knot formed and released in his belly.

      He watched Naomi move like a heavenly body toward the front of the restaurant.

      Was she dining alone? With friends? A man? He finished off his rum punch, hopped down off the three-legged stool and told the bartender to add the drink to his room tab. He left a tip and hurried toward the restaurant before he totally lost sight of her.

      The spacious restaurant was set on the beach, enclosed on all sides with netting, with a thatched roof that had hurricane lamps hanging from its rafters. Circular tables covered in white linen dotted the planked floors in a horseshoe, leaving the center for dancing. The waiters all wore stiff white jackets and black slacks. The waitresses wore all black, with white aprons. Calypso music, mixed with a little R & B, played against the sound of the waves that rolled against the shore and the seagulls that cawed in the distance.

      When he got to the restaurant’s hostess and the check-in podium he saw that Naomi was being taken to her seat. He peered over heads and shoulders to see if anyone was joining her. The waitress gave her one menu. He smiled.

      “How many tonight, sir?”

      Brice blinked at the much-too-young-looking hostess. “Oh, uh, just one.”

      “Someone will seat you in a moment,” she said with a musical lilt to her voice.

      “Thank you.” He stepped to the side and let the couple behind him move up while he kept an eye on Naomi.

      “Right this way, sir,” another young woman said, coming up to his side.

      He followed her to the opposite side of the room from where Naomi sat. She handed him a menu and asked if she could get him a drink.

      “Thanks. Yes. A rum punch.”

      “Right away.”

      Brice settled back against the rattan chair and surreptitiously studied Naomi from behind the protection of his menu.

      A waiter approached Naomi’s table and placed a pitcher of water in front of her. He filled her glass while he spoke. When Brice saw her soft smile and the way her lips moved in thanks, heard the sound of her laughter at something that was said to her, he instantly knew that he’d been silly to have cast such a harsh judgment on her. It was his ego talking.

      The waitress returned with his drink. “Are you ready to order, sir?”

      He looked up at the round, pleasant face. He crooked his finger to draw her closer.

      “See that young lady over there in the yellow?” He raised his chin in Naomi’s direction.

      “Yes, sir.”

      He went into his wallet, and took out a twenty-dollar bill. “That’s for you.” He stuck it in her apron pocket. “I need you to go over there and gently ask her if she would be interested in having a guest at her table for dinner.”

      The young lady smiled. “Of course.” She walked across the room and approached Naomi. They talked briefly for a moment and then Naomi glanced around the room and her gaze landed on Brice.

      Her eyes widened in surprise and excitement. She smiled and he could see her nodding her head. He was halfway across the room before the waitress could reach him.

      He stood above her, feeling like a pimple-faced teen at his first high school dance. “Can we start again?”

      His voice moved through her like a wave of heat. She inhaled deeply to try to still the rapid beating of her heart.

      “I’d like that,” she said softly.

      He pulled out a chair and sat down. “Brice Lawrence.”

      “Naomi Clarke.”

      The waitress returned and took Brice’s and Naomi’s dinner order. They both selected seared salmon and began with the house salad.

      “So, you already told me that you were here on vacation.”

      She lowered her eyes in embarrassment and tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth. “Sometimes I can sound a little curt. It’s not my intention.”

      He waved off her apology. “Forget it. I was being oversensitive. Must be too much sun.” He chuckled and was rewarded with her smile. “How long will you be staying?”

      “Two weeks. What about you?”

      “That works out perfectly. So am I, or close to it. But I plan on enjoying my entire summer. After I leave here I’m off to Cancún, then I’m meeting friends in San Francisco.”

      Naomi thought about Alexis’s counsel, what she’d said about just throwing caution to the wind and relaxing. She was on vacation. She would never have to see him again if things didn’t work out.

      The waitress approached and asked if she could refill any drinks. Naomi asked what Brice was drinking.

      “I’ll have one of those,” she said. Her heart hammered in her chest.

      “One