Disappearing Acts by Terry McMillan Page B

my head back down against his chest. At first his heart was beating fast, but after a few minutes, when I put my arms around his neck and stroked it, the beats slowed down.
    “Franklin, what exactly do you want from me?” Now, why’d I ask such a stupid-ass question?
    “Nothin’ you ain’t willing to give.”
    “What are you willing to give?”
    “As much as I need to, baby.”
    “Is that a little or a lot?”
    “I’d say it’s a lot.”
    “Franklin?”
    “Yeah,” he said, running his fingers through my hair.
    I didn’t want this to be just another good lay. Not this time. “I’ve been in this situation before. Where everything feels right, but then something goes wrong and I live through another sad ending. I’m tired of diving in headfirst, then swimming back to shore and it’s empty, you know?”
    “You been choosing the wrong men,” he said.
    “What makes you say that?”
    “Because I wouldn’t be here now,” he said.
    “How’re you supposed to know who’s the right one?” I asked.
    “You gotta learn to trust your instincts.”
    “My instincts have made some bad decisions before.”
    “Do I feel right?”
    “Right now you do. But I can’t lie, Franklin: I’ve been here before too. This time I want something that’ll be good for a long time, something that’ll last.”
    “I hear you, baby.”
    I was wound up now. “And I want to be an asset to somebody—a man—but up to now it hasn’t worked both ways.”
    “Like I said, baby, you been picking the wrong men. And since we spillin’ our guts, I gotta be honest. I ain’t got no money, so if you lookin’ for some dude with a big bank account, I might as well leave now.”
    I started laughing. “I can’t hug and kiss a bank account, and if I could, I’m sure it wouldn’t make me feel like this.”
    He just kept stroking my hair and my right cheek. I swear, he felt like an easy chair I never wanted to get out of. Then he squeezed me tighter. “You wanna know something?” he asked.
    I pushed my head deeper into his chest and nodded yes.
    “Sounds to me like we members of the same club.”

4
    “Say, Franklin?” a voice called through the door. “Could you turn it down a little, blood?”
    “No problem, man. Sorry about that.” I couldn’t tell who it was, but it didn’t matter. Shit, I felt good. Sometimes life can be sweet as hell. All that shit about being by myself until I got my constitution together went up in smoke. What I mean is, the plan is the same, the rules just changed. Hell, when you meet a woman who likes you ’cause you you, not because of how much money you bring home, or how big your dick is and how good you use it; tells you she wants to be in your corner a hundred percent and means it; asks you about your dreams…. I mean, she asked me what did I see myself doing five, ten years from now? Ain’t no woman never asked me no shit like that. I told her the truth. Damn, it felt good being able to tell somebody. Felt good being able to talk to a woman about some real shit for a change. To tell the truth, we ended up doing more talking than fucking. Which was cool. A real nice change. She just sat there with those little bird legs of hers crossed like a Buddha and let me ramble. I told her my dreams, all right. That I was tired of working construction, never having no money. That one day in the near future I was planning on being my own boss. And she listened. Asked questions. Didn’t laugh or think I was beingoutrageous and shit. A man needs a woman who makes him feel like he can do anything. Shit, when you find one who can cook, knows how to make real love, is pretty and smart, knows what she wants outta life and is trying to get it, you see her as a asset, not no liability. You don’t find
all
this in a woman every day. Which is why I ain’t letting her get away.
    I could see that she was a little scared at first. I mean, sparks was flying so fast and everything, and I was just waiting for her to