First Date

First Date

The Queen's dinner was designed like the fanciest ballroom - crystal chandeliers, golden walls decorated with diamonds, a golden ceiling and golden floors. On top of that, it had the most delicious foods, with proper speaking, sophisticated, butlers. Only the wealthiest could afford it. But, while he saw the beautiful restaurant out of the corner of his eyes, Wilson Madison couldn't take his eyes off of Fatimah Mubarak. A restaurant such as that was the only type of place he would ever think of taking such a lovely woman. The feelings she put in his soul were, unmistakeably, the attributes of love.

He gazed at her in amazement. She was as beautiful as the restaurant; and he felt he had no choice but to pay attention as she stared at him with her bright eyes past her diamond earrings, and black, curly, hair. The diamonds she wore were from him; since, he wanted to see a woman as beautiful as her in such expensive and beautiful jewelry. And diamonds hung not only from her ears but around her wrists, and around her neck. They went perfectly with her black dress and black high heels. Her flawless makeup was always done by her to perfection; but it, still, could only be what complimented but did not complement her beauty as her beauty was already complete without it.

Fatimah stared back at Wilson for a long time before her head dropped as she blushed due to the way he stared. "You're making me nervous," she said.

"I can't help it. You're gorgeous."

"Well, look what I have to compete with. You are so handsome, yourself," she said. The, brown skinned, Black man was so handsome. And she had never been with a Black man before. This one stood out so much he could not be ignored. That's one of the reasons why it was so hard for the Black woman (Tayana Ross), of the same complexion as him, to bare that Fatimah had away.

She, herself, was of Arab decent; and the women in her family were among the most beautiful of the race from the features of their face all the way down to their, curvy, body shapes.

Tayana had a beautiful body shape and a pretty face; but she could not compete with the thing about Fatimah that promoted curiosity and greater interest in a man such as Wilson. Fatimah was different from what he was used to seeing - in his home, his neighborhood, his life.

"What about her?" asked Fatimah.

"What about who?" said Wilson. They both knew that he knew who she was talking about. And, not long ago, he'd been way more protective of Tayana. He'd hated that this Arab woman could rip his heart and support away from the, beautiful, Black woman who was from the same background as he was. He had wanted to hate Fatimah. But, in a fit of desparation, she had sat Fatimah up to look like she'd cheated on Wilson long before she ever came along, producing false pictures, fake witnesses, and a man to claim he cheated with her. After that, Wilson had dropped any love or respect he had had for Tayana. And it was so easy for him to do with the passion he had for Fatimah. And, after that, he was the one initiating there gatherings while, previous to that, Fatimah had always been the one approaching him.

And she was so bold but still, sometimes, wondered why she felt a coldness towards Tayana, why she was willing to take her man and laugh and mock her inside about it. She wondered why, at times, she was willing to tease her about her advantage with Wilson - touching him, kissing him, or showing some form of affection towards him when Tayana was looking. But she, still, felt guilty; and, even though, she felt guilty, she wondered why she couldn't feel more sympathetic? And would she one day pay the price? Would karma ever find her?

She thought about the pleasures she had with Wilson - all the love making and romance; and he was so good in bed. And, previously, since he'd felt that he belonged with another woman, nothing was ever planned about their gatherings. Fatimah would just seduce him, mainly, in his office in a building where they both worked; and they would make love there. Sometimes, they'd see each other somewhere. She'd, eventually, approach him. They'd end up in her car, or his talking and laughing. Then, eventually, they'd be at her house, or his...... in bed. But now that he was with her guilt free, with nothing to come between them, they were, finally, having their first date.

"You know who I mean, Wilson."

"Have you noticed how beautiful the night is - the stars, the silver moon, the air?"

"What does that have....."

"Don't spoil it!"

Fatimah lowered her eyes humbled by her thoughts and feelings and unable to look at Wilson and say what she was about to say.

"I set her up."

"What?"

"I set Tayana up to look like she cheated on you. I paid fake witnesses, and a man to claim she cheated with him. The pictures I took of them holding each other and kissing was fake and altered, for me, by a photographer."

Wilson sat there staring at her for around thirty seconds. She stared back at him to watch his reaction. Once her words sunk completely into him, he slapped her. His eyes never left hers until he began to rise from his seat to leave. Fatimah grabbed his arm begging and pleading.

"No, Wilson! Don't go! Please! I just didn't want to lose you!"

The feelings inside that made her tell the truth didn't make her ready to let Wilson go back to Tayana. And, somewhere inside, she'd told the truth to see if he would be willing to forgive her, accept something so awful about her, to see if he'd still love her. How deep was his love for her? Only the more apparent reason for her telling the truth was because it was wrong to have lied on Tayana.

Wilson made it to his car. But from there he just sat thinking as Fatimah pleaded with him with her face and hands up against the window. Suddenly, her face went blank as she watched this one tear trickle down his cheek and took in that he was crying. This strong, powerful, man was crying. She had really been powerful enough to drag him out from under a Black woman of such beauty, perfection, and strength. She stood there staring in awe, amazement, and guilt. But, if that wasn't going to make her let him go, then she knew she wasn't going to.

With his head lowered in sadness, Wilson was the only one who could hear the sound of his crying as tears began to flow following what he'd thought would be the only tear. No one could ease his pain. Fatimah would never be able to make it go away - the pain that went along with failing to protect, love, and cherish what was his, beautiful, Black queen and mother of his children. All he could do was see her and his memories inside his mind - memories of when they'd first met, of there first night together, and of different experiences they'd shared that had made them fall in love over and over again.

Then, suddenly, he saw her face. She'd just driven up and was exiting her car right in front of his. There was no telling how she had found out where he was.

The same look on her face that he'd been seeing in her for a while now was still there - red eyes due to constant crying and stress, a tear stained face, an expression of defeat and despair. She grabbed a stick and approached Fatimah. As usual, no one around - not even Wilson - would let her reach Fatimah. In a split second he was near enough to grab her.

In Wilson's arms, where he held her back, she struggled to break lose making threats, "You want to take my man! You want to take my man! I'll stick this stick up your.......!" Her words stopped in mid sentence as she replaced them with a stronger struggle to break free and reach Fatimah. One lick to Fatimah's head would be more effective than the words she left out.

But she would never break free she knew somewhere inside. She sunk back into Wilson's chest with a minor cry coming from her chest and her head to the sky as if she could, somehow, finally, find an answer. She pushed free from Wilson to turn and look at him. "Why? What's so good about this tramp? How could you be letting her come in between us?"

His face was free of the tears but not what allowed her to see what she'd seen many times before; and it was that he had given his all to avoid it. He never meant to leave her; and that made her pain worse. She had failed to be enough to stop this Arab woman from being able to win his heart. But what allowed this Arab woman to have such an advantage over her?

"I love you. I need you, Wilson."

That's when the pain beat against Wilson's chest again as if it wasn't already deep enough inside. Fatimah just stood back watching. She never fought Tayana. Whatever powers she had worked without that. But she could still guess what would come next.

"I love you too, Baby," said Wilson. He grabbed Tayana and dragged her towards her car. "Let's go, Baby. I'll come back for my car later."

Tayana stepped in front of Wilson and, falling against his chest, she wept, holding him tightly. He embraced her tightly; but she could feel in his energy the absence of something that she used to feel. So, now, part of her cries were not that of compassion but that of despair. Still she and Wilson made their way to her car full of crying children peeping through the window at their mother and father. They entered the car. Wilson got in the driver's seat.

"Hand me the keys, Baby."

Tayana grabbed the keys and placed them in his hand as she gazed at him with her heart rising and falling in desire and desparation. Wilson started the car and drove away with his family.

Fatimah watched as the car rode away and then disappeared. But the likes of it had happened many times. She was powerless if he really wanted to leave her. And her nightmares were that he one day would. But, during the day, it just never happened; and those nightmares proved to only be dreams.

In less than four minutes, the car was coming back; and Tayana's screams of emotional pain and torture could be heard on it's way. As Wilson parked the car and got out, the young woman screamed and cried in defeat like always. Standing before Fatimah, Wilson just stood there to let her see........ Let her see the expression that he could not help but let be upon his face and part of his energy. It was an expression of defeat, powerlessness. She had won and taken him from his family. He was gone from his former woman. He was gone despite her cries.

Fatimah just wondered, "Would there ever be consequences?"

To all those people who will wonder

why a Black woman would write this:

It was a fantasy I had from my creative mind

that was like having a nightmare during the day.

I was NOT the woman in the fantasy; but it was a woman

I had created in my mind to stand for how beautiful,

strong, intelligent, etc. that Black women

are. No matter how much the fantasy used to

upset me, it's a very interesting story.

THE END