LITMIR.BIZ

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“And how do you know that?”

      My eyes immediately went to the briefcase, then back to him. “A woman knows these things,” I said, rolling my chair back away from him just a tad. He’d gotten a little too close for my comfort.

      “Just as I suspected. You’re one of those women who will never give a good man a chance. That way, you can have your beliefs validated about all the men who have hurt you and feel justified without those beliefs ever being challenged.”

      What did he do that for? I was just about to say something smart like “Is that right, Dr. Phil?” when he suddenly took off his glasses. It’s amazing how glasses can change a person’s looks entirely. Right before my eyes, in just that instant, Marcus Peeples was transformed from Clark Kent into Superman—I kid you not. I noticed for the first time his hair, cut low and sort of wavy, most likely with the help of a wave cap. I took note of how perfect his hairstyle fit his caramel-colored face. His goatee, which I hadn’t paid attention to, was perfect for his triangular jaw. But it was those long, thick, black eyelashes framing those gorgeous, twinkling brown eyes that now had me completely fixated and, quite frankly, at a loss for words. Dr. Phil who?

      I scooted my chair back a little bit more, smiled, then shook my head to emphasize that his assessment of me and my situation was totally wrong as I tried to right my ship. He’d gotten me a little off course.

      He placed his hand on his briefcase. “One date,” Marcus said. “Come on. What do you have to lose?” He flashed me a big smile. Near-perfect white teeth, and I declare one of them appeared to have twinkled.

      I maintained my coolness, breathing evenly as I began to speak. “One, huh?”

      He held up his index finger. “One. And you can choose the time and the place. If you find we have nothing in common or that you don’t like me, then no harm, no foul. So, what do you say?”

      I had to snap out of this, and quick. I had to take back control. “Okay,” I said slowly, not wanting to answer too quickly. “How about tonight?”

      “Tonight?” He sounded as though that had caught him completely off guard. I sensed I was definitely interfering with some already laid plans.

      Good! Last-minute dates usually get the ones who aren’t really serious every single time. “I’m sorry. Is that a problem for you?” I projected a look of true concern and sincerity. “Do you already have something planned for tonight? Because if you do…”

      “I did, but for you, I’ll change it. Tonight works for me. So where would you like to go?”

      I couldn’t help but grin. “How about Bible study, my church? And we need to be there by seven o’clock.” I crossed my arms. Body language experts would likely say I was putting up a barrier between us. I’d classify it as expressing my confidence as I had officially regained control.

      He began to chuckle. “Oh,” he sang the word, “so, you’re one of those kind of women, huh?”

      “Those kind? Is church a problem for you?” I could tell despite his smile and chuckle that I’d unnerved him slightly. Double good!

      He continued to grin. “No problem. I said you could choose the place. I want you to see that I’m a man of my word.” He took out his business card and handed it to me.

      “I’m sure Dr. Brewer already has your card on file,” I said.

      “He does, but this card is for you.” He took out his Black-Berry. “Now, if I could get your home address?” He looked at me and saw what I imagine had to be a defensive expression on my face. “Miss Melissa Anderson, I need your home address so I can pick you up tonight. That’s what real men do.” A boyish grin broke across his face again.

      I looked at his card before glancing back at him. He put his glasses on and he was instantly transformed back into the harmless Clark Kent. The information on his card was personable enough. He had his home address and both a home and a cell phone number listed. A home number given—not fool-proof by any means but a positive sign—was generally a good indication that he wasn’t some married man trying to find a way to sneak around on his wife. I don’t play that other-woman stuff. Got burned once accidentally. I vowed never again if I could help it.

      Still, I weighed whether or not I should give him my home address at this point. After all, there are plenty of crazies running around in this world. On the other hand, I did sort of know him, so he wasn’t a total stranger. He’d been in here at least ten times that I know of—sometimes when patients were here, most times before office hours began. He seemed a decent enough guy.

      I rattled off my home address as he keyed it into his Black-Berry.

      All right now, Mr. Marcus Peeples. Let’s just see how much you like Bible study at Followers of Jesus Faith Worship Center as a first date. I already sensed, based on the way he had reacted when I mentioned the word “church” that this was going to be fun.

      Chapter 2

      There was a man in the land of Uz, whose name was Job; and that man was perfect and upright, and one that feared God, and eschewed evil.

      —Job 1:1

      Any woman who will be truly honest knows at least one good man who’s gotten a bad rap about something. And this is coming from a woman who has met some real jerks in her day.

      Like my friend Nae-nae, I started developing pretty early in life. My grandma said it was due to all those fast-food meals we ate all the time instead of home-cooked ones like she cooked for her children back in the day.

      “When you grow chicken legs and wings the size of a turkey in that short amount of time, you know there’s something unnatural,” Grandma would say. “If you grow food on steroids and you feed it to your body, what other results do you expect to get? Back in my day, we used to say, ‘You are what you eat.’ Well, the result is gonna really show up later in life if you young folk aren’t careful and don’t stop eating so much junk.”

      My mother never paid much attention to what her mother had to say, at least not on that subject. “Mama, fast food is called fast food for a reason,” she’d say.

      My brother Diddy-bo, who is two years older than me, and I would sit quietly and listen to Grandma and Mama as they argued about stuff like that. I believe that’s why Mama worked so hard to help get Grandma married off and out of her house.

      Diddy-bo and I would find ourselves confused about the two of them, mostly our mother. When we were in church singing, “Give me that old-time religion,” Mama would always sing the part about it being good enough for her mother therefore it was good enough for her. Diddy-bo brought that to Mama’s attention after a church service once when Mama and Grandma were going at it big time about something they didn’t agree on. Mama told Diddy-bo she was talking about Jesus when she sang about it being good enough for her mother, and not Church’s Chicken versus chitterlings or collard greens cooked with hog jowls or fatback.

      “Ewww!” Diddy-bo and I said in unison. “Chitterlings!”

      The thought of chitterlings still causes my nose to turn upward. Grandma lived with us for about two years, and in that time she cooked chitterlings for each of the three New Year’s Days she was at our house. Apparently, chitterlings were just one of many New Year traditions or superstitions Mama allowed that Grandma religiously subscribed to and practiced.

      We had to have our Christmas tree completely down before New Year’s Day to ensure that bad things didn’t come to the house during the year. Grandma would cook either collard or turnip greens because if you eat something green on the first day of the year, it brings green (money). Black-eyed peas (what Grandma called black folks’ caviar) were for good luck. No female could step foot into the house until a man had crossed the entryway first. That, according to Grandma, was to ward off bad luck from entering the house for the brand-new year. You couldn’t wash clothes on New Year’s Day, because if you did, “You’ll wash someone out of your life,” Grandma would say. “Wouldn’t want to lose

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