Dmitry's Closet by Nelson, S. (read people like a book .txt) 📕

could smell his cologne floating around her nose. She stepped away, careful not to fall into him.

He chuckled and walked closer to her. “That is where you are wrong. I make time. And no, I am not gay. If I were, the gay community would be extremely lucky,” Dmitry said quickly. “As matter of fact, a female friend of mine is here in town now for dinner, a show and some personal time.”

“Okay…maybe you’re not gay or too busy, but I am,” Royal said half-laughing.

She was close to having him all figuredout. He was swaggering around Memphis with a walk that somehow tooted that his big feet may be a definite sign that he was somehow more than blessed in all the right departments. Women probably threw themselves under buses to get to him. Not her. She liked him tremendously, but not enough to jump in the bed with him. She reminded herself of that fact daily to keep her focus and her fleeting sanity.

He backtracked. “No, Royal. I am not gay. Perhaps, I should have made that clearer to you before. In there lies the problem, eh?”

Royal brushed off his statement. “Poor little woman. She doesn’t know what she’s getting into then.” She picked up a couple of hangers off the ground and placed them on the rack.

Dmitry watched on quietly. His thoughts multiplied too fast to process. “You know, you should come too.”

“What?” Royal stopped. “Your accent got in the way that time.”

“You should come to dinner with us. You need to get out of house.”

“I thought that’s what you said. The answer is no,” Royal said, shaking her head.

“But why, I don’t understand.”

“So you can look like a pimp with a white girl and black girl on your arm for dinner? No.” Royal put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. “If you want to take me out for dinner, cool. But it won’t be with your girlfriend, because I don’t get down like that. One woman at a time, Dmitry.”

“Who said that she was my girlfriend, and who said that she was white? You southern Americans are so ridiculous about race,” he scoffed.

“Whatever. It wouldn’t matter if she was the Mother Teresa, I’m not going.”

“Because it would be with me?”

“No, because I wouldn’t be the center of attention.”

“Oh, you’d like to be the center of my attention?” his interest sparked.

“Who wouldn’t?”

“Huh,” Dmitry puzzled. He bit his lips to prevent him-self from uttering one more word.

“So, do you want to look over the numbers again?” she changed the subject.

“No.” Dmitry stood up and kissed her on her forehead. “Since you won’t have dinner with me, I’ll leave you here to make love to your boxes,” he rubbed her back. “Good night.”

“Stop pouting,” she yelled as he walked out of the room. “And enjoy your date.” She giggled at his frustra-tion.

Chapter 4

By eleven o’clock that evening, Royal had retired ups-tairs to her apartment. Rain tattered at the windows and thunder shook the foundation outside, but inside she was so very comfortable that she barely paid attention to the bad weather. After showering, she crawled in her bed to watch reruns of the Family Guyand eat Ben & Jerry’s ice cream out of the box.

The diamonds Dmitry had given her that afternoon in-spired her to also purchase a pair of French lace panties and bra that a year ago would have paid for her tuition. She layin bed now wearing them and enjoying the very exciting, uneventful life that she had only recently acquired.

During a quick commercial break, she jumped up and dashed out to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, when the doorbell rang. She stopped in her tracks and looked at the large wooden doors.

In the last month that she had lived there, the doorbell had never once rang. Now, when it was not supposed to be ringing for any reason, it was. She looked down at her lack of clothing and sighed.

“Who is it?” Royal asked. Agitated, she peered out of her peep hole.

“It’s Dmitry,” Dmitry said, leaning against the door. “Who else would it be?”

Royal wondered if Dmitry ever stood all the way up. Every time that she saw him, he was leaning on something, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

Slowly, she opened the door just enough to see his face. He looked down at her and smiled softly. “Hello, Royal.” His minty breath floated down to her.

“What do you want, Dmitry?” she asked, looking him up and down. He was soaking wet. His blonde tendrils were trenched in rain and his body made a small pool of water under him.

“I’m here to take you out,” he reasoned, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever she was hiding behind the door.

“What?”

“Your exact words earlier today were that I could take you out, but not with my girlfriend,” he smacked his lips and raised his eyebrows. His accent was even heavier now that he had been drinking. It was almost impossible to understand what he was saying when he spoke quickly. Finally, he stopped his rambling. “Hey, what are you wearing in there?” His train of thought jumped when he saw bare skin.

“None of your damned business,” Royal said, moving away from the door. “Well, I meant that you could take me out at a decent hour, not now.”

“What’s wrong with now? You don’t look busy,” he leaned down further to her and smiled. “There had better not be anyone in there.” His voice was deep.

“Of course not. Stop being stupid.”

“Only you would think that was stupid,” he shook his head. “Okay, then why won’t you go out with me now?”

“It’s too late at night,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“For whom?”

“Me.” Royal tried to keep from laughing. “What hap-pened? Did your girlfriend get tired of you?”

Dmitry rolled his eyes. “No, I got tired of her. I sent her away, and she is not my girlfriend for the umpteenth time.” Dmitry sighed. “Royal, I