4 comments/ 9785 views/ 13 favorites Black Historical Romance 1940s Ch. 01 By: mich80 She took the spotlight, in her silver and white resplendent dress. It was a nice contrast to her mocha complexion. Her short, boy length hair was adorned in elegant finger waves, and she wore a small white flower in her hair. Grant Wellington, sitting at one of the tables near the lip of the stage was so close, he could see the outline of her face. She looked frightened, and green, and he half wondered if she'd make it through her set. How his life had changed since he'd moved from his elite Philadelphia neighborhood where he was reared around a cloistered little circle of upper crust black families, and enrolled in Howard University for law-school. Though he was summering with his parents in New York, he couldn't stand the cloistered environment any longer, and so he snuck away from everyone for this weekend, carrying only a few of his suits in a hang-up bag, and his trumpet in a black leather case. It was silly that he bought the trumpet, it was back in a hotel room in one of the few hotels that would allow blacks to spend the night; but somewhere in his mind he held the fantasy that he would stumble upon a band who needed a trumpet player, and he could show off the Charlie Parker inspired licks he'd labored on in secret. The chocolate girl at the microphone stand really wasn't half bad looking, in fact her shy demeanor and the way she stood askance from the Microphone rendered her cute and charming. He took a cigarette from behind one of his ears, lighting it up. He could be so free here, back at home, his parents would have scolded him for looking like a goon, with a cigarette behind his ear. A cigarette behind the ear was not a badge of honor for an upper-crust black boy, according to his mother. Grant was waiting for the little chirp to start singing, holding his breath, when he did something out of character, beginning to heckle "Don't choke little Mama," She glanced side long at him, and as though she'd hired him as a stage prop to utter the previous expression, she brought her hand down a signal to her band to begin playing; simultaneously opening her mouth to sing. He was wholly unprepared for the sound that came forth. Grant thought she would sound like a nervous little ingénue, but he should have known better, after all the patrons paid big money to sit in the club, and be entertained. He was blown around by the richness of her tone, the ease with which she was able to float her voice around the structure and melody of a song. She used a fluid and full bodied contralto to push and pull the band. Tiny as she was, she led and commanded them, not the reverse. That was a rare quality indeed for a female singer. Even in the first song, she demonstrated the ability to make her voice reach the heights of the heavens, or simulate the depth of plunging into a well. All this big voice pouring out of a cute, charming little slip of a woman astonished him. He wasn't sure when he decided that he wanted her, if it was at the start of the number, when she stood awkwardly behind the microphone, or when she controlled the tempos of the band with her spastic little arm movements, or if it was when he heard her open her mouth and rock the very heavens with her throaty contralto. But he knew that he wanted her, and thought he should at least take the opportunity to get her autograph, if only as a ruse to get to talk to her. He brought extra liquor during her set. He'd heard about the way these things worked, and he hoped she had negotiated with the club owner to get a percentage of the liquor tab during her set. She was painfully shy. This was becoming apparent. Rather than talk between sets, she went off to the wings and smoked a cigarette, her cheeks puffing away like an adorable little chipmunk. But when she stood before that band, she lit up, and came alive. When they played something she found particularly inspiring, he would see her whole face light up. She would break into a wide grin, and that was when he noticed that she had very prominent dimples, and he was thoroughly smitten. *** It wasn't as easy to get backstage as he thought it would be. They positioned a big bouncer back behind the stage, and in addition to that, the area was crowded with members of the band. Also, they were boisterous. "What chu' doing back here pretty boy," said her pianist. "Yeah, can we help you boy?" said the trumpet player, and he stood toe to toe with Grant, actually touching his wing tip with one of his own. Grant, who was normally confident, articulate, and used to getting his way in most situations became flustered. His complexion, was very pale, so pale that in certain lighting he could be mistaken for white, he always hated it, and especially now when he blushed. "I um...the girl singer...I came here to err...get her autograph," he said wringing his hands. "Autograph, you jive fool...Thelma, there is some hustler out here who says he wants your autograph," he said banging on her door while opening it at the same time not necessarily offering her any courtesy. Clearly he startled her by announcing Grant's presence. She was in the process of removing her makeup and playing solitaire on the dressing room counter. "An autograph?" she said incredulously. "Are you okay Thelma. Because if you don't want this boy back here...if your parents owe him some money or something, we can get him out of here, and he will never come back," added the Piano player glancing meaningfully at the bouncer, who nodded with righteous indignation. Grant Wellington knew that his fate rested in the petite little woman's hands, they would truly love to rough him up. "Let him alone," she said softly waving Grant into the dressing room. The piano player started to pull the door shut to give them some privacy, but Thelma nodded no vigorously. "No, leave it open," She took a long drag of her cigarette and glanced at him long and sideways. "Autograph? You gotta be joking. I've only been playing here for a month, nobody knows me yet. I'm hoping they can extend the engagement for at least another month" she said glancing at her feet shyly. He could see she'd already removed another vestige of the onstage glamour, her high heels. Now, seeing her face up close, he became acutely aware that she must not have been much older than nineteen. Quite a bit younger than him, seven years at least. She was too young to be singing in a night club like this smoking and drinking. She was just a baby. It made him think about the cloistered existence that the other women in his life led, how they were pampered and coddled from the cradle to the grave. "I'm not joking. I really would like to have your autograph. This way when you hit the big leagues like Bessie Smith, and Ella Fitzgerald, I can say, hey I know her. Maybe I can sell it, it'll be worth a lot after you have your first hit record," he added with a smile. "You definitely don't look like you need the money," she said in a manner that was both curt and shy. "I don't have nothing to write it on but a napkin Mr.," she said softly. That was the first time he noticed her adorable thick and heady Brooklyn accent. He'd been too nervous to notice it with the first few sentences that she spoke. She was so different than anything he'd ever known, and he wanted to possess her madly. He could see that he made her nervous and somehow this made him feel a little aroused, even though her dressing room was wide open, and her band members stared menacingly at their shadows in the dressing room. "A napkin is fine little lady, very fine" he said grabbing her hand after she'd finished writing the autograph. She quickly shook her hand free of his and began puffing like mad on her cigarette, another adorable nervous habit to him. "I don't bite. I can see that your band protects you. They really ought to protect someone as precious as you. Listen, I'm not that kind of guy, but there are lots of men who are." He turned the cocktail napkin over on the other side. On that napkin, he wrote the telephone number to his parent's summer home in the Hamptons. "You can call this number collect and reach me anytime," he added. "Why would I want to call you Mr.," said Thelma eyeing him suspiciously. She was aloof, and a tough little nut to crack. Normally when he turned up his charm a few watts, women were flattered. Not so with this little Thelma. He was thoroughly intrigued now. "You don't have to call me Mr. I'm not that much older than you. My name is Grant. Grant Wellington," he added. "Wow. Grant Wellington. Your name sounds like money. Like a bank or something. That explains the GW cufflinks," she said. "You're quite the observant one, about the cufflinks..." he said . She pulled out another cigarette, and before she could light her own match he was lighting it with his lighter. "You get to be observant if you grow up in the big apple. Look Mr., I gotta split and catch the train in about an hour. It's the last train going back to Brooklyn. Appreciate your time. That was the first autograph I've ever signed, I won't soon forget it. Thank you. Come back and see us again. Come back here to see me back stage too, but next time, bring me some cognac as well," she said beginning to massage her own feet with her hands. If they hadn't just met...he would have been glad to massage her feet for her. "You look too young for me to be bringing you cognac, I should be bringing you a milkshake or a malt," he teased. She said, with her tounge still in her cheek literally... "If I'm too young to be bringing a cognac, I should also be too young for you to give me your number telling me to call you collect," For the first time, he burst into laughter. "You know what, you are a feisty person. I like that. You'll go far in your chosen business if you keep that razor sharp little wit you have. Never let them take that from you, no matter where your travels take you. Don't lose my number. Fold it up and put it someplace safe. You ever need something, you, or your band, give me a call. I can help make things happen for you. I promise. Grant Wellington," he added. He wanted her to remember his name. Actually it wouldn't be him to make the things happen, but his father, Grant Wellington the second. But it was no matter to him. He was definitely used to using his connections to attract gorgeous women. But she was much, much, more feisty than the women he was used to. She was also the first woman outside of his social circle that he had ever tried to court outside of his boudoir. It was an interesting experience indeed. *** As soon as Grant left, Marlinda burst into Thelma's dressing room. Marlinda was Thelma's best friend. "Who was that white man that was in your dressing room Thelma," said Marlinda. "He wasn't white. But he sure did almost look it. He was...I dunno, he came back here for my autograph," added Thelma. "Little old ordinary me. Still sleeping on my parents couch. This stuff is happening too fast. I've been making twenty dollars a week for the past month. Daddy makes ten dollars a month. And I've gone from looking in the flaps of my pockets to try to get together some change to go to a lindy hop to this. It's happening way, way too fast. He was just a slickster, but still," added Thelma. "He didn't look like a slickster to me. He looked rich," said Marlinda. "Oh, I didn't mean that kind of slickster. He sounded like money. Like he was from Hah-Vard, or something," said Thelma putting on a hilarious Boston Accent. Marlinda giggled. "But I can tell he's used to women falling over him. That autograph business. That was an act so that he could give me his number. Pretty slick. He's smooth, but also slick as that pomade he is using to slick down that pretty soft looking hair of his," said Thelma distastefully. "He came all the way back here to see you. He must like you, even if he's slick. You're a smart girl. You know how to keep your wits about you," added Marlinda. "I do. By staying away from him. He's dangerous. Starting with how white he looks. I thought he was white when he first appeared in the doorway too. Italian, or Jewish or something, that kind of white. It was only really after he sat down, and I started to listen to him talk and stare at his coloring that I was sure he was black. Walk around at night with him in the wrong side of town and it could be trouble for a woman as dark as me. Those wingtips he had on, and those cufflinks he was wearing. Sheesh, probably more than we pay per month in rent on the south side," said Thelma. "Come on. Live a little. You're so shy. Scared and mousey to try anything. That's all it is for you. Music, music, music and nothing else. Live a little. Call him," said Marlinda. "And you are fresh and fast. I don't wanna be no rich man's bedroom experiment," said Thelma. "Suit yourself. Let me tell you something, if that fine looking man was interested in me, I would experiment away. We already had the talk about what you can do...so that you...stay out of trouble," added Marlinda. "Yeah. Yeah, I know," said Thelma. She poured herself and Marlinda some Gin out of a decanter. She then folded up Grant's telephone number and placed it in the bosom of her evening gown for safe keeping. Grant Wellington was fine, but Thelma had no plans to call him anytime soon. Still she kept his number just in case, like a lucky charm, nestled safely in her bra. Not only was she extremely shy, but the nightclub engagement kept her busy. After her sets, she would hide in the dressing room and play solitaire. Sometimes she would take a table in the corner with her girlfriends, drink smoke, cut up and watch the other bands. Sometimes they stayed late after they were sweeping up the club and played cards. *** Grant was not one to be deterred. Sure his social card was filled with the elite, young fair-skinned black girls who were the daughters of his parent's friends, members of their exclusive country club. And being quite the rouge, he slept with a few of these women discretely. Still none of them made fire course through his veins like that brown skinned chain smoking Thelma, with her soft, wavy boyish hair cut, and chain smoking ways. When an entire week went by and she didn't call, he decided to pay an appearance at the club. He definitely wasn't used to women ignoring his overtures, and he found this intriguing. He also bought a bouquet of white roses to give to her, he knew the power of flowers in softening a woman's resolve. He was surprised to find that she was wearing the exact same evening gown that she'd worn the previous week. This time, he had far too much respect for that gorgeous voice that he knew she possessed than to dare heckle her during her breaking the ice period, while she stood nervously askance the microphone before she started to sing. It seemed like thirty seconds, though he knew it was probably only around ten seconds. She sang with all her heart, her contralto so moving and thrilling, that the crowd came to a relative hush, amazing for the noisy Jazz club. He actually felt butterflies when she made eye contact with him from the stage, and that made him blush. "I see there are some lover men in the audience tonight. So we're going to do Lover Man, a tune made famous by Billie Holiday, for the gentleman in the beige suit, and tan fedora," said Thelma. Her putting him on the spot like that both embarrassed and delighted him, and he was truly thrilled to be getting her attention, though he did not want the attention of the audience. He already knew that he stood out from them drastically, and they could tell that he didn't ordinarily frequent jazz clubs. After her set was over, the audience applauded. She went back to the wings of the stage, and he loosened his tie, took a long swig of gin, and prepared to steel his nerves to face that big burly bouncer who was posted backstage at her dressing room. Then he saw Thelma again, she'd changed into a cute little gray suit with a peplum, and an elegant gray pillbox hat. Clearly she was ready to paint the town red. She'd flagged down a table in the back, and her girlfriends began their rowdy smoking, drinking, and joking in the corner. He didn't care if she was with her friends, he made a quick beeline over to her table with his flowers. He would only be in New York for the summer, he was going back to his Washington D.C law school in the fall. "Thelma, you were really swell up there. And...you never called," he said brazenly sticking the flowers under one arm. He interrupted the people at the table next to the girls, politely asked to borrow their chair and wedged it between Thelma and Marlinda sitting down. Thelma exhaled smoke right under his nose and said, quite curtly- "Well you could have asked for my number. And then you could have done the calling. Who knows, I might have answered," she said with a wry grin. The women sitting at the table with her burst out laughing. "Nice Thelma. Nice. I can't figure out what to make of you. It's cute that you pretend to be mean and all that, but I think you do it to keep people from getting close to you. I actually came to bring you some flowers. That's what fans do to show their appreciation to women singers after a great set like that, you know that right," he added handing her the flowers. She blushed. Sure her skin didn't flush like his, but he saw the clear delight in her expression when she took the flowers, and the adorable dimples made their inroads on her mocha cheeks. He wanted to stick one of his fingers into her dimples, but he knew that would not be appropriate. "Thanks very much GW. Really. This is swell. No one has given me flowers. So you are the first to ask for my autograph, and also the first one to give me flowers. You are becoming my number one fan," she said. Everyone at the table again giggled in unison. "I think I am your number one fan. I am your number one fan little Mama. Okay. Okay, I'm going to try it again little lady. This time I want to get your number. If you would be so gracious so as to give it to me. I should have asked for your number in the first place. That's how you treat a lady. I'm sorry," added Grant. "Really that's OK. I'll give you my number," said Thelma writing it on a cocktail napkin. He was surprised at how neat her handwriting was. "What time is your set over? I'll call you then," he asked. "Really late. I don't make it back till midnight. Please don't call that late. I don't want to awaken my parents from their sleep. My father works very hard at the factory," added Thelma. "Okay, Okay, what if I call you at 3:00 PM," said Grant. "That's fine. Let's talk tomorrow. I really want to hear some more music before I catch the train," added Thelma. *** Grant did call as promised. And they had quite an intriguing conversation. She learned much about his background, his law school ambitions. From the start, she wanted to be honest with Grant. Only because he was so different than her, and if he wanted to court her, she didn't want him to have any illusions about her own social status. So she let him know that her mother was a day housekeeper, and her father worked in a scrap iron factory. She also told him about the music lessons she'd been taking since she was five, along with piano and flute lessons. And she did have a dream of becoming a recording star. Then the subject of hobbies came up, and she confessed that she loved to play golf. He seemed to be both surprised and intrigued by her playing golf. He even quipped that he knew no women who played golf besides her, while confessing to being an avid golfer himself. Thelma, always rising to a challenge, then arranged their first date. They would meet at a golf course of her choosing. She would bring a picnic lunch. He would bring himself. Black Historical Romance 1940s Ch. 01 So she dressed in her cutest little A-line dress, her saddle shoes, and her polo shirt. She'd learned to compliment the rich chocolate complexion she was blessed with using the slightest amount of tasteful makeup, and painted her lips a deep crimson that she thought would compliment her skin tone. She borrowed her father's buick for the occasion. Her father had no problems with her borrowing the family automobile now that she was making so much money in the club, as long as he had no plans, and she topped the tank off full. She also paid careful attention to what she was putting in the picnic basket. She'd fried some chicken, and made some potato salad and biscuits. Thelma's mother had taught her the way around the kitchen since she was a very young girl. And while Thelma relished her independence, and didn't have the normal ambition of getting married and raising a family that most women were already doing by nineteen, she was proud of her accomplished cooking. She thought it might impress Grant in some way. She'd taken to calling him GW. And he seemed to like it. He chuckled immensely when she called him "GW". When she finally made it to the golf course, she put the car in park, and she was startled when she went over to the passenger's side to retrieve the golf clubs, and the picnic basket. "I couldn't let you carry all those heavy things yourself. I've got the clubs and the basket. Looks like you've got quite a spread there," added GW. And my, was he handsome. He had on crisp beige slacks, brown belt with a GW monogram, white golf shirt and saddle shoes. He'd parted his wavy soft light brown hair down the middle and slicked it down with lots of pomade. He was trying to imitate the hairstyles that were worn by those with coarser hair, and this served to highlight how soft his hair was, and how delicate his facial features were. His beige face, very chiseled, and a nice compliment to his greenish gray eyes, his reddish brown eyelashes so long they looked like they belonged to a girl. Though his features were neat, his lips were full and sexy, complimented by the prefect clef in his chin. The dim lighting in the club hadn't done him justice. He was too sexy for words, broad shoulders and hands clutching at the items so that she didn't have to struggle. "Well it was just a little something I fixed up. I think I'm pretty handy in the kitchen, but I'll let you be the judge. You're going to work up quite an appetite playing with me. I'm good," she said as he escorted her to the golf cart. She was already prepared for his retort. Golf was a man's game, and most men didn't think she would be any good until she showed them otherwise. "Sure I'll bet you're good. Well you at least look the part. Really cute. Adorable even. You look like a little golfer. But looking like a golfer, and playing golf, well those are two different things," he added placing one finger under her chin, trying to deliberately bring her gaze towards him. His touch of her chin made her tingle with pleasure and she felt herself drawn into his gaze as though it was a current. But while he made her feel the butterflies she was also very competitive and a rougish tease, and so she said... "Well GW, I know you are a regular old Money Bags, so why don't you put your money where your mouth is. What's your top score," she asked. "one-hundred," he added. "Are you serious? I can golf an eighty, which I'm sure you know is way better. Whoever plays the best game owes the other 10 bucks," she said pulling a cigarette out of her purse, striking the match and taking a long puff. "Ha, Thelma you are on. First off I don't believe you can golf an eighty. And second, I think it's cute you play golf and gamble and just...you're just a tomboy. I love it. It's adorable," he said grinning enthusiastically. *** After the game was over, Thelma had golfed a 90, whereas he'd golfed a 110, which was one of the worse games he'd ever played. Granted, he'd been distracted by her. She was so cute when she would lean over, waddle her shapely little physique and assume the golfing position. Also, he couldn't see her legs in her evening gown those first two nights, but he could see her legs in that A-line skirt, and they were amazing. And all the more intriguing was her beautiful deep cocoa complexion. He wanted to get lost in her skin and wondered what she tasted like. So he'd pretty much blown it, ogling at her. On the other hand, she'd used this to her advantage to win the game. That was how he saw it. She knew he was watching how she thrusted out her rear to line up the shot and she did it on purpose. "Cheer up money bags. Surely you've lost more money than ten bucks before. That ten bucks was really going to hurt me if I lost it," she added chuckling, running through another cigarette. "I have lost more money than ten dollars, but really, what you've hurt Thelma is my pride. And...well...you knew what you were doing. Being all cute and stuff...I was distracted," he said rubbing his chin. They were now spread out on a picnic blanket about to devour the lunch that Thelma had packed. "Well thank you for the compliment, but I did win fair and square, so you may as well pay up," she said emphatically exhaling a cloud of smoke. He gently slipped his arm around her waist. "I'd like to pay my debt back to you in another way," he whispered, pulling her close to him, and it wasn't hard, she couldn't weigh but ninety pounds, so that her lips were but a breath away from his own. *** When GW pulled her close like that, she was unnerved. He smelled like old spice, aftershave, cigarettes, and butterscotch candies. She was so close to him she could feel him breathing. She smoke, drank, cursed, gambled to beat the band, sang her heart out, but she'd never done this. Never kissed another person romantically before. She closed her eyes, it seemed natural to do this, and she felt the warmth flooding her lips as soon as he pressed his firm, shapely lips to her own. He cupped her cheek, as though he wanted to seal her lips further to his own. Then he began to twirl his head just a little as though he was searching, trying to find the arch where she would open her lips. She may be naive to kissing but it was fairly easy to figure out what he was doing. Suddenly though, her lack of experience rendered her shy, and she broke of the kiss, turning her face away from his own, giving him her cheek instead. "It was just starting to get really wonderful Thelma. Why do you let me get so close to you and then pull away, I like you so much," he added. He truly looked in that instant like a wounded little boy instead of a twenty-five year old man. This vulnerability made her feel close to him, and able to confide in him. "I like you too Grant. Too much really," she added softly, shyly. "Why, what is it? What's wrong with that? I know you are shy. I won't hurt your feelings. I promise, if that's what you're so afraid of," he added softly. He took her hand, and kissed her knuckle. Things were moving fast and heady. She'd never been kissed, and it wasn't so much that she was saving her kiss for someone special so much as she didn't want to look foolish and naive. She'd done so much growing up too fast in the last few years, but it was not hard to remember what it was like back when she'd been a shy, nervous wreck. She wasn't much to look at, very homely, horned rimmed glasses and a smile with ever tooth in her mouth looking like they were having fights with each other. Then she'd met Marlinda, who taught her how to fix her face and apply makeup. Once Marlinda heard Thelma sing she was astonished at the beauty of her voice, she introduced her to her cousin, who eventually became Thelma's bass payer. Marlinda had given her that first cigarette, and her first nip of liquor. Then Thelma started playing regular club dates and, the glasses were discarded. And soon there was money to see the only colored Dentist in town and get shiny new white caps to fix the crooked teeth. Her profile in the neighborhood had risen. She was now cool, a part of the jet set, smoking, drinking, clubbing, experimenting with refer sometimes, and now she found herself often being flirted with by young suitors. She wasn't a fool, and knew she was ugly before, and that the cosmetic improvements, along with a figure that was beginning to take on a very feminine flare with curves in the right places though she was rather slender, was now rendering her good looking. However, because the boys in her neighborhood had treated her so unkindly when she was an ugly duckling, she held a huge chip on her shoulder, now that those very same men were friendly, opening doors for her, and trying to take her out on dates, and talk to her. She remembered when she was "homely Thelma." So it was difficult for her to imagine someone loving her for who she really was, and not just because she sang like a thrush, and had turned cute almost literally overnight, with the help of mother nature, and some dental treatments. "I...GW...Grant, there's something I must tell you," added Thelma softly. "What? What is it? Christ you aren't married are you? Engaged? Boyfriend? You should have said something sooner," he said narrowing his eyes slighty. "Oh no way. I just...Grant, I've never been kissed before, is all," said Thelma. Grant began to chuckle. "That's a good one Thelma. Really," he added laughing some more squeezing her hand. "No I'm really serious," said Thelma freeing her hand from his own. "Come on Thelma. I don't want to play games with you. I find it hard to believe that a dame as cute as you has never been kissed," said Grant, and he actually turned away from her as though he was offended. "Well I'm flattered, but I'm telling you the truth. I...Well. I wasn't always I guess what guys would call cute. I was...not...I was rather homely. And I'm telling you this because...well I really don't know why...but I like you, but if you kiss me, I want you to know that...I wasn't always cute, and I want you to kiss that girl, the ugly girl, and not...not me now. Or I want to know that you would have wanted to kiss her, and....I'm makin' a fool of myself," said Thelma. "Oh Thelma. I don't think I ever liked you so much as I like you now. Just think, you are wild in every way but that way. I would have thought the opposite...that's precious indeed. You...I understand what you are saying. I like what I see inside you now. If you weren't cute I certainly wouldn't have treated you badly. I was raised right. I would hope I would be able to see inside you like I can right now...see how very cute you are inside. I'm going to try it again. And I don't bite, and I won't hurt you. Just trust yourself, let your lips melt into mine," he added. He toyed with the pad of her lip with his thumb, just gently caressing her lips, the action caused her mouth to water in anticipation. Again he was close to her, and it was butterscotch, aftershave, and cigarettes. This time, when he cupped her cheek, she cupped his as well. When he kissed her lips softly, she was powerless to resist him this time, allowing her lips to part, and letting him have entry inside her lips, and it was rapturous, and everything she dreamed it would be, back when she was a homely little girl. The tingles, the fireworks, he tasted so sweet, felt so strong and solid, and she felt warm and funny everywhere. *** The lust, taking over Grant, at kissing the young lass was incredible. Her lips were so full and sensual, fuller than any lips he'd ever kissed before. He did truly believe her bashful confession that she'd never been kissed, but she was a quick study. While he could taste the innocence in her kiss, there was fire there, more fire than in the anemic little kisses that the elite girls gave. She followed his lead like a perfect dance. He sucked her bottom lip, so she sucked his. He flittered his tongue around the tip of her own tongue, so she did the same in his own mouth. He retreated, she retreated as well, then they started back in again, as though unable to quench their own fire. He felt the need swell in his groin and he released his grip on her face. He didn't want to scare her just yet, and...because she'd never been kissed before, if she saw him getting an erection, she would probably grow frightened. The contradiction thrilled him. She was much more experienced and worldly wise than the women in his elite circle, in every way, except the ways of men. Those elite girls were the opposite, just trying to cover up their "dirt" when they found a respectable suitor, but boring in every other way known to man, no passion, no fire about them, and certainly not playful, roughish, and funny like Thelma. Feisty Thelma. "GW...I'm glad it was with you first. I know it wasn't your first. But I'm glad it was with you first," she added, grabbing his face and pecking his lips gently. "I'm glad too Thelma. See...it wasn't so bad...it was actually rather nice," he added his own eyes sparkling like hers. "I'm hungry," he added, not trusting himself to linger on the idea of kissing her longer. He wanted to spread her out on the blanket and show her how nice it could be if he kissed her other places, but he knew it was much too soon for any of that. This was happening fast, and he was getting a little nervous now. He hadn't depended on truly liking her, and having such an incredible crush on her. When he saw her at the club that night, his thoughts were on experimenting with the cute girl, in the nightclub, from the wrong side of the tracks. But now he really liked her! So it was no longer an experiment at all. It couldn't be just an experiment. He was mad for her. One date and he was mad for her. Christ! What would happen when he tried to invite this woman into his cloistered, snobby little elite world? *** They ate. He was both amused and entertained by her banter, and the way she smothered everything with an orange kind of hot sauce. The food was spicy enough to him as it was, but he found it fitting that she would be looking for more spice. She was so lively, and he couldn't help wondering how much more lively she would become when she knew the ways of a man. He felt guilty, but now that he knew how innocent she was, it intrigued him all the more so, and he wanted to be her first lover. But with that confession he couldn't break her heart. What a clod he would be in that instance. She also, though she ate demurely and lady like had quite an appetite, which was refreshing, unlike those stuck up young women he hung around with who pretended that they could barely eat a bite. "Hmm, I want something sweet. I bet you do too. I should have baked a pie," said Thelma. Grant chuckled uproariously. "You have quite an appetite for someone so small. I think it's adorable. You're so adorable. I can't eat another bite Thelma. But pie sounds good. How about tomorrow? I'll take you out for an apple pie and ice-cream. Coffee and whatever else you can cram down. The whole tab on me! Whole restaurant if you can wolf it down. Finally a woman not scared to eat. Refreshing," he added with a chuckle. "Are you calling me greedy, because I love to eat and I don't have those hoity-toity rich ways," she said playfully punching his arm. "Ouch. You pack a wallop too! No, I'm not calling you greedy. I'm saying you are fun to be around. It's my excuse to see you again tomorrow," he added gently his voice filled with laughter and delight. "You don't need to have an excuse. I'd like to see you again tomorrow too," she said bashfully looking at her feet. "So it's a date," he added. "Yeah. Now what about my ten dollars? I did put a hurting on you out there on the green, and a bet is a bet" she said sticking out her hand. "Oh no, no, no, I don't think lovers should gamble any longer Thelma," he added chuckling uproariously. "Who said we were lovers yet Grant, it's only our first date, a bet's a bet, and it's time you pay up," said Thelma, lighting up her post meal cigarette. He exhaled a heavy sigh, and reached into his wallet fishing for a ten. She grabbed his hand. "I just wanted to see if you'd be a good pay. I think...I think you can give me another payment like the payment you gave me before to say goodbye and we'll call it square," she added softly. She was so darling, all that to trap him into giving her another kiss, the same trap he'd used on her to get to kiss her in the first place. She was creative and witty like him. He never shared that with another soul. He loved it! And this time she led the kiss, and while she was very shy at first, it didn't take long for passion to consume the two of them. He had to be careful not to kiss her in the vulgar and lusty way that he wanted to. It was a struggle to keep it sweet, and not nasty and sensual. He found her more attractive than any other woman he'd ever courted. Perhaps she wasn't the most beautiful woman on paper, but she was definitely extremely physically cute, and her spirited personality and those dimples made her the most attractive woman in any room to him. "I had a great time. Grant I gotta run. I've got some records I gotta pick up. Gotta keep practicing you know. I have to be able to do all the hit tunes that are on the radio," she added. He helped her pack up the spread and she was on her way. He waited to make sure that ancient Buick that she was driving started safely. He missed her the second she pulled away from the lot. That was when he knew just how much he'd started to care, and just how fast. *** Thelma did manage to make it safely home, though she ran two stop signs thinking about Grant, and did know that her father would have killed her if she'd gotten in an accident in their old Buick. It was all the transportation her family had outside of the train, which they all used most often. As soon as she got home, she rang Marlinda, and told her all of the dirt. Marlinda said that Grant sounded like a dream. She also warned her, to be careful, and remember that she and Grant came from two different sides of the tracks, and not to take it too seriously or she might get hurt. She heard her best friend, but she didn't want to internalize that thought. She just wanted to think and remember the delightful kisses that they shared, and she did feel warm and tingly everywhere, even there, and she felt embarrassed that she was surprised that a man could have that effect on her. Obviously he was the first man she was ever really deeply attracted to in a sensual way. But now she felt like a mess, and like she wanted to rock against the corner of the sofa like she did about once a month when she was alone in the house, and it culminated in a firestorm of joy. Although Thelma was inexperienced she didn't have hang-ups about her sexuality. She felt like this was a valid physical need, and when the urge occurred and she was alone she had no problem satisfying it. However it frightened her that GW made her feel so strongly with just a kiss that she did it three times in a row that day on the corner of the sofa. Then she, ever the dutiful daughter whipped up dinner, so that all her parents would have to do would be to heat it up in the oven. She never saw them anymore, she was always performing, gigging, and clubbing. One day it would be all worthwhile. She would get her parents out of this hovel, and into a house. And maybe she would have her own bedroom. She didn't care how old she was...if she ever made it she was going to take care of her mother and father. But for now...all she could think about was that handsome, white looking GW. He seemed to be so intrigued by her, because she was so different than him. She bet one room in his parents summer home was bigger than her tiny apartment. And surely he had contacts with lots of rich and attractive women. She didn't want to be fool headed. Maybe Marlinda was right, she should play it cool with Grant. But she didn't know if she could be of divided mind like her best friend. Her best friend seemed to think that she could experiment romantically with Grant and not get her feelings all caught up. But what Marlinda didn't understand was that, she never kissed a man before Grant. She couldn't just fool around with him, she was falling for him. Black Historical Romance 1940s Ch. 01 *** He couldn't stay away from her. He thought that she might get tired of seeing him if he made himself too available. But before he recognized what was happening, his feet, knowing that she would be at that nightclub, led him out of that hotel he was staying at over the weekend, and right back into the club where he knew that gorgeous little Thelma would be singing tonight. He took his seat near the lip of the stage, again. Although he'd just seen her this afternoon, she was more adorable than he remembered, even though she was in the same evening gown for a third time. He finally realized that this was the only evening gown that she owned. It was probably all she could afford. A stage wardrobe was much more expensive than regular clothes. He wanted to buy her a gown for every night of her engagement, and deliver them to her doorstep. That would make her smile, and flash those adorable dimples. He still hadn't touched them, even when he'd shared those sweet kisses with her. He was falling for her. He'd never kissed another with such tenderness. It was so odd, the respect he felt for her, when he felt sort of the opposite for many of the women that he knew of elite standing. There was something about her, something so special as he watched her from the stage. It was her style, her way. Again, she was shy so she didn't communicate with the audience much, but she communicated with her voice, and she commanded that band, with a swivel of her hips, a twirl of her hand. She held them in the palm of her hands, and in that moment he envied her for having found her purpose, and her destination in life so early. He was still searching. Sure he wanted law school, but not the particular path that his father had lain out for him. But she belonged here. She needed to sing like she needed water and air. And he wanted her to need him as well, the same way she needed that crowd. Finally she noticed him. "My biggest fan is back again. Does he have any requests," she said, holding back her ear as though trying to hear him. "Just keep singing like a songbird gorgeous," he called out loud. It was out of character for him, the display of affection, but he was falling for her more, moment by moment. She blushed profusely after he said it, and he wanted to pull her into his arms and hug her and kiss her again. She ran through a few more tunes, and he was sure, half a pack of cigarettes at the wings of the stage. When her set was over, she ran back to her dressing room again. He went to the bar, ordered a cognac for her, and a neat scotch for himself, taking the bounty back to the dressing room. "You again," said the bouncer as soon as he approached the vicinity of the dressing room. Apparently Thelma had not made this bouncer aware of just how much had changed since the previous week, and it unnerved him. "I just came to deliver.....the lady....some refreshment after the show," explained Grant. His voice cracked a little. Sure he fenced, was an avid tennis player, and was fairly solid, and rugged in his own right, but this bouncer looked like he should be a heavy weight boxing champ. "Oh let him through you big brute," said Thelma. He heard giggling, and figured she was back there with Marlinda. She'd already changed, she was a fast mover, this time into something he rarely saw the women in his circle wearing, a very cute crisp pair of slacks. To make the look feminine, she was wearing a very ruffled top and cute low heeled shoes. She looked scrumptious. She was more than cute. She was sexy too. He wondered if she was aware of just how sexy she was. Maybe she'd been shy and homely before, but she was vivacious and busting with life now. "I'm glad you came back to see me tonight. I didn't know you would come back again so soon. I'm flattered! I was just sneaking a quick smoke before I head out there and watch the other bands," she added softly, shyly. "Take your time, you can smoke. You were great up there, you probably need to wind down before going to watch some other bands, after you give off so much energy. And I brought that cognac you asked for...the first time, when I came to see you, remember," said Grant. "Yes I do, I said come backstage to see me anytime but bring a cognac. This is heaven sent," she said chuckling, taking the drink and the c0cktail napkin, sipping profusely. He chuckled at the spirited way she sipped the strong liquor. Clearly she could handle her alcohol. "You're so darn cute Thelma. I like your slacks," said Grant, kneeling next to her to drink his own neat scotch. "You're darn cute yourself GW. I'm surprised you said that...I don't know, lots of men have problems with women wearing slacks. But I think that as long as a woman dresses them up right, and she still looks like a woman, they are very attractive and comfortable," added Thelma. He knew it was wrong that he liked the slacks because he could see even more how curvy her little legs were, and how round and shapely her little backside was, and that was probably why slacks were not popular with women, most didn't have the shape for them. She was a woman who had the shape for slacks, but my oh my how they teased and taunted his male nature. Maybe, he thought roguishly that the modern woman wore slacks at her own risk, they may cause men to be tempted beyond all restraint. "I hope I'm not wearing out my welcome Thelma, I know I wasn't supposed to see you until tomorrow, but I couldn't wait to see you again. Really. I hope I'm not intruding," said Grant. "You aren't wearing out your welcome. I missed you too. You would never be an intrusion with me or my friends. We did plan to hang out most of the night tonight, but you are welcome to join us," said Thelma, and she nodded towards Marlinda. "Yeah, not just me and Thelma, there's a whole gang of us, Thelma's whole band, and we are going to cut a rug. Having Thelma's new friend Mr. Moneybags around is going to make it more of a gas," said Marlinda. "I don't want to intrude on you and your friends, I don't want to be an imposition, I didn't think you would have plans. I should have known you would have plans. You are a very popular young woman, because you are so charming," he added finishing his scotch. "You're not an intrusion. You're my gentleman friend, and any gentleman friend of mine is welcome around all my associates, so long as he treats me right," said Thelma. Thelma was very gracious and welcoming to him now that she trusted him. He liked that about her. "God Marlinda, hurry up and finish that gin, you drink so slow," said Thelma, starting another cigarette. "No, I don't drink like a fish like you, is the problem, I need time to digest my liquor," said Marlinda. He chuckled uproariously at their antics, and playful bickering like sisters. Thelma was a fascinating creature. He was beginning to adore her. Thelma took Grant around and introduced him to everyone. There was a sweet shyness in her introduction that warmed his heart. Her friends were a rag-tag group and a colorful cast of characters. Mostly women, a few men, but most of those men were in her band or other music associates. She took her usual table near the back, and the band members, plus Thelma and Marlinda proceeded to play cards. They asked Grant if he would like a hand, but he said he would rather watch. Thelma, besides being an avid golfer was quite the poker player. Although very lady like, she also teased and cajoled those male opponents in her band, told them they were holding trash hands and she knew it. She was actually the one with the trash hand, so she fooled them and basically won a game by bluffing. Then after she won, she didn't want to play anymore, refused to give her band mates an opportunity to win their money back. "I get sick of you bluffing Thelma," said the bassist. "I know, and if she ever wins, she never wants to play another hand. She'll loose five times, want to keep playing with those sad little puppy dog eyes. The minute it starts to look good for her, and she starts winning she takes her money and runs. Darn Thelma," said her pianist. "Oh quit bellyaching, and just give me my two dollars," she quipped. They all rolled their eyes and sighed, and gave her the two dollars. But Grant could tell that the band members were charmed by her as well. But the difference in the charming is that the band mates were charmed by her platonically, but Grant was adoring Thelma romantically. With the card game over, they listened to the next band. After the last band played it was time to close the shop. "Any other spots we can hit," said Thelma. "No, not now, those cops are out thick since the last time," said Marlinda. "Oh. Right. I wish there was some other place we could hit up," said Thelma. "I've got a hotel out there. On fourth, you and your friends are welcome to come back there for a bit. I've got a record player and a mini bar," said Grant yawning. He was having the time of his life around Thelma and all of her craziness, and excitement, with her fun loving personality, but she was also wearing him out physically. He would have been in bed by now if she was not entertaining him. Still he could never tire of the gorgeous creature and her fascinating personality. Besides, having her in his hotel room, even if she was with her group of associates was better than not being around the cute little thing at all. Maybe he would get a chance to kiss her again. As late as it was getting they would be able to drive straight to their chosen second apple pie date together, without having to part company over night. They couldn't leave their car at the club, and because of this, they all piled into the car of one of the band mates. Actually there were too many of them to fit in the car, so Grant said, "I can walk, it's really not that far, by the time you find a parking space and get situated, I'll be at the lobby," He was overjoyed when Marlinda looked at him, conspiring and said... "Everybody can fit. Thelma can sit in your lap," said Marlinda. He knew what a deep effect she had on him when he tingled with pleasure just thinking about holding the sweet little thing so close to his own body, even if it was only for two or three blocks. "I....sure, as long as it's OK with Thelma," said Grant, smiling at her. "I don't mind at all," said Thelma. She was looking down at her own feet and blushing. His face flushed pink with joy now, because he knew that the thought of sitting in his lap had her tingling with pleasure too. So they all squeezed into the Basisst's car. It was clear that they all hitched a ride with him so they could stay out later than the midnight train, the last train into Brooklyn. Grant sat down on the right hand passenger's seat. He realized that Marlinda knew that he had quite a bit of affection for Thelma. He whispered to her. "Thank you," And she said "Not a problem. She's really cool. She's really laid back and funny. Just don't lie to her. Be upfront. Be a man," said Marlinda. Grant nodded. He took both of Thelma's tiny hands and helped to escort her into the car. Grant's legs were so long, and she was so tiny that he struggled to make her comfortable. And finally the wriggled around, and she ended up seated between his legs, quite an accidentally intimate positioning. Now he could really feel what a tiny little slip of a creature she was. And she was soft, and her hair smelled so wonderful. "I...um....don't want anything to happen to you dangerous while he's driving," he added, and this was an excuse for wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. "Thank you for protecting me," she added coyly linking her hands over his. "Thelma, you're so soft," he whispered quietly, pressing his fine featured nose into her hair and inhaling the sweet scent of her hair. She wore her hair so short, she probably washed it every day. In fact her hair was probably shorter than his own. But it looked so cute on her, and it looked soft as a baby's hair to the touch. But he wouldn't dare muss up her hair without her permission. He could tell she paid careful attention to each of her natural ringlet curls, and sculpted her hair with pomade. She wore it very feminine although the length was boyish. "Are you smelling my hair Grant," whispered Thelma giggling. "I guess I am," he said backing up from her hair a bit, embarrassed. He hadn't realized it was so obvious. "It's OK. I just hope it smells good," chuckled Thelma. "Never smelled anything so sweet before," he said, and there was almost a dreamy quality to his voice. *** Yes, she'd wanted to sit in Grant's lap, but now that she was there she couldn't think straight, the feeling of being in his arms was overpowering, the strong solid warmth of him, the old spice smell, and again the butterscotch candies. He must inhale those things. She wanted to taste his lips again, to savor the flavor of those candies, but she wouldn't dare do it in his car in front of all of her friends. She could feel his breath along the nape of her neck and her ears, and it made her tingle everywhere. And then he was smelling her, which had a sensual context of its own. He held her so tight it was as though he wanted to inhale her. This was what passion was like, and it was quite an elixir indeed. It almost felt like getting high. It was strange that she'd been high on reefer many times before, but never intimate with a man. Leave it to her. She always approached things in the wrong order. Her lack of experience coupled with liking him so much made her feel so nervous around him. He shifted his body and discretely pecked her ear. Just a little nibble, but she felt those tingles course through her body and it made her uncomfortable. She was frantic to put a little distance between them. She didn't want to melt in a puddle right now, not necessarily because of her friends being right in the car, but also she felt so green and naïve, and she had a true distaste for feeling foolish, after having spent so long as homely Thelma. She tried wriggling free of his grasp, but when she wriggled free, he seemed to want to hold her tighter. When they were one stop light away from his hotel, the bassist, who was driving, started to want to run the yellow light, then thought better of it, and so slammed on the breaks. As this happened, her buttocks went sliding back into his manhood. It was the first time she'd ever felt a man's erection, and while she was flattered, she was also frightened of how fast the feelings were flourishing between them and turning heatedly sexual. And she wasn't one to be easily ruffled, but she let out a startled little "Oh my," And he whispered very softly. "I'm sorry. I know you are a lady. I never meant for you to feel that. I'm attracted to you. I can't help that. But I will not do anything to you that you don't want to happen. I won't take advantage of you. Do you understand," he asked with a hint of tenderness. "Yes, yes I think so GW," she added, and he shifted his body to shield her from his erection. She knew it was naughty but part of her missed the feeling of him poking her backside, but she was also relieved that he was not so close to her right now. *** They piled out of the car, and headed up to his room. Grant showed him his record collection, and the mini bar. Thelma noticed the trumpet and asked him if he played. He was too shy to let her know that he did indeed try to copy the licks he heard in jazz records, but did say that he learned to play the trumpet when he was in high school with the marching band. "Grant, you've got some swell records," said Thelma. She loved music more than anything. He could tell. She poured over the records, and separated them into two piles, the ones she owned and loved and the ones she had yet to hear. He wanted to give her all the ones she didn't have. He wanted to give her everything. He felt guilty that, while she was looking at the records, he was looking at her sexy little body in the ruffled blouse and the male inspired slacks. "You've got some great ones for dancing here. Benny Goodman, and my favorite conductor, Duke Ellington," said Thelma. "Put this record on," said Thelma, handing it to him and lighting up another cigarette. "You light those things, and smoke them so fast Thelma, you don't even give me a chance to light them for you. A man should light a woman's cigarette. I'll put the record on right away. Would you like another drink" he added thoughtfully. "I'll have some gin if you have it," said Thelma. "I should have known you wouldn't refuse the liquor," he teased, as she laughed. "Nope, I never refuse a drink. Not most of the time anyway. You're getting to know me quite well," she teased with a laugh. He put on the record, and Thelma, and her friends started to do swing dances and lindy hopping all over the place. He was over in the corner, trying to dance with Thelma. He knew all the greatest ballroom moves that the elite did, but he wasn't up to date with the swing dances. His cloistered little circle of friends and family looked down on the wilder forms of jazz. Plus his rhythm wasn't so hot, he wasn't a natural dancer, even ballroom dancing took some work. It took a lot of work for him to learn what to do with his feet. Thelma's friends began to look at him oddly. He became acutely aware that he was the one who was odd and different here, in Thelma's circle of friends. Then they started to laugh and chuckle a little. But Thelma didn't laugh at Grant. She smiled at him. Then she assumed the role of patient, and gentle teacher. And he liked being led by her. "Try to keep your arms and legs doing the same thing, on the same beat. At the same time," she said grabbing his waist. She was not mocking him, but trying to help him, smiling at him like a teacher with a prized pupil. And he had to admit that he enjoyed being taught by her. The feelings, when she touched him and tried to get him to move made him wrestle with the idea of dancing like a fool forever, just so she would guide the small of his back with her lovely hands. Finally, her pianist said. "You sure you not white, you've got the coloring and the rhythm," And Thelma said, "Charles, he's just as colored as you and I. And you aren't being polite," cutting her eyes at Charles. Her eyes were like daggers. Grant knew at that instant he never wanted Thelma angry at him. "And apologize. Now Charles you know that wasn't right," she added storming over to the record player and picking up the needle bringing the music to a halt. She also had a temper on her. And though she was very cute when she was angry, Grant never wanted to see that side of her. "I'm sorry Thelma. I didn't mean it. Hey Man...I'm sorry," Grant could tell that, as far as the pianist was concerned, he was not too popular, though the pianist did apologize. "I don't feel much like dancing right now, let's play a hand," added Thelma. This time everyone played Spades. Grant had no idea how to play the game and so he watched. But he could tell by Thelma's adorable little expression, the way she crinkled her forhead and pursed her lips, and whistled under her teeth that her hand was horrible. And Thelma lost four dollars, and her pianist and bassist started teasing her and calling her Crazy Eight's. She called the bassist a blockhead. Her pianist laughed, and the bassists retort to Thelma was calling her an "old jailbird". Marlinda looked as though she wanted to strangle the bassist , while Thelma looked mortified and said "Pay him no mind Grant, for Andy has lost his mind," It left Grant wondering about Thelma and the jailbird business. He didn't really know her that well, and yet he was so taken with her. Perhaps he should be more cautious. She lived a fast, and crazy lifestyle, and he hoped it wasn't a dangerous one as well. She looked too innocent to have done hard time. How could she be a virgin on the one hand, and a criminal on another? He needed to talk to her and sort things out. He hoped she hadn't done anything too terribly illegal. She was just a young woman. The fact that he wanted to talk to her and sort her out about this jail business helped him see how much he'd started to care about the young creature.