Part 6: link
Arthur sits on his couch, listening to Gwen’s phone ringing. Again. She had spoken to Leon earlier, briefly, but as soon as Arthur’s name was mentioned, she made an excuse and got off the phone.
He hangs up. He’s tried calling four times in the last saa and a half. She’s either not nyumbani au is ignoring the phone, knowing he’s trying to call.
She should be mad. I don’t blame her at all. I just wish I could explain. She wouldn’t even hear Leon’s explanation.
He looks at the phone again and sighs. Then he looks at the folders and papers on his table. He sorts through them until he finds what he is looking for.
Arthur puts on a pair of shoes and grabs his car keys.
Ten dakika later, he pulls up outside the address on Gwen’s personal information form. He takes a deep breath and climbs out of his car.
She lives upstairs. Does she have a separate door? I don’t want to walk around the whole house; I’ll look like a burglar. Better just try the front door.
He climbs the steps to the front porch and knocks.
A few moments later the door opens and he is face to face with Elyan.
Oh, shit.
“Go away.”
“Elyan, please, I’d really like to explain—”
“You’re trespassin’ on my property, Pendragon. Get off my porch.”
“May I please talk to Guinevere?”
“No.”
“You can chaperone.”
“No.”
“Elyan…”
“No, Arthur. She don’t want to talk to you.”
“I just want to tell her—”
“What? That her case ain’t good enough for wewe anymore? That you’s just a coward that don’t want to defend a colored girl ’cause it might hurt your reputation?”
“It wasn’t my decision!” Arthur manages to get in. “I didn’t know anything about it! In fact, Guinevere found out about it before I did!” Arthur is nearly shouting now, his voice desperate.
“I’ll tell her that. If she wants to talk to you, she’ll call you,” Elyan says coldly. Arthur wonders if she’ll actually get the message, but he says nothing, choosing to trust his word for now.
“Let me give wewe my nyumbani phone number,” Arthur says, fishing out a card on which he’s already written his nyumbani number.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Elyan says. “She don’t need to be callin’ wewe at home.”
“It’s the weekend, Elyan. I’m not goin’ to be in my office till Monday.” He holds the card out towards Elyan.
“Then wewe wait till Monday,” Elyan doesn’t take the card.
“Please tell her I’m very sorry and that it was my father’s doing. I didn’t know. I swear on my mother’s grave.” The card hovers between them. “Please.”
“Why’s this so important to you?” Elyan asks suddenly.
“Because… because what happened ain’t right. She shouldn’t have to deal with this mess on juu of everything else. It’s just wrong. I’m tryin’ to fix it.”
“I’ll tell her.” He snatches the card resignedly.
“Thank you, Elyan. Have a good night.”
xXx
His lips are warm and soft against mine. His tongue, wet and probing, is delicious inside my mouth.
Our bodies are a tangle of limbs: soft, light brown against golden cream, twisted like a large, decadent cinnamon bun as we explore each other’s bodies on a massive plush kitanda dressed in soft linens and pillows.
His lips trail along my skin, teasing my throat, sending chills down my spine as they trace the column of my neck, the lines of my collarbones, the swell of my breasts.
Chills and heat all at once; moto and ice, dark and light.
I want him to stop. I want him to never stop, ever. I want… him.
Guinevere wakes up Sunday morning in a tangle of sheets, warm. Overly warm. Warmer in some places than in others.
She slowly rises, blinking, picha from the dream flashing through her brain, some hazy, some unsettling in their frank clarity.
“I’m supposed to be mad at him; why’m I havin’ a dream like that?” she muses aloud.
In the bathroom mirror, she tells herself that she definitely needs to go to church.
As she slips out the door to head out, she glances at the phone, which has been deafeningly silent since Friday evening.
“Give up so soon, Superman?” she sighs.
xXx
The lack of ringing from his phone is making Arthur very irritated. And dismayed. Saturday came and went with no phone call. That combined with yet another dream of which he only remembers flashes: taunting, fleeting bits, and Arthur’s Sunday morning is rather morose.
He knows he should be a good boy and go to church. He knows that Guinevere is probably at church herself. But since he doesn’t know what time her church’s services are, he has resolved to stay in his apartment should she call.
He has also resolved that he is not going to try and call her. She’s proven that she is not going to answer her phone. As I suspected, she is stronger than I am.
Arthur looks at the clock again. 9:17. Merlin will still be sleeping, probably, but Hunith should be nyumbani kwa now, since she always goes to early mass. He picks up the phone and dials their number.
“Hello?”
“Good morning, Hunith, is Merlin up?”
“Oh, hello, Duckling! No, Merlin is still asleep, I’m afraid.”
“Um, would wewe mind wakin’ him up? I…”
“You need to talk to him, I know. I, um, heard wewe yellin’ at your da Friday…”
“I know,” he sighs. “Sorry ’bout that.”
“It’s all right, dear. Hold on a moment and I’ll wake Merlin for you.”
“You know what? Would wewe tell him to get up and come over?”
“Sure, Duckling.”
A half an saa later, Arthur’s door buzzes. He goes to the intercom on the wall.
“That had better be you,” he says.
“It is,” Merlin’s voice comes up through the box.
Arthur presses the button to unlock the door downstairs, then pulls the knob on his door, leaving it slightly ajar so Merlin knows he can just come in.
Like he ever knocks anyway.
Arthur flops on the sofa with a fresh cup of coffee just as Merlin strides through the door. He’s got a brown paper bag in one hand and a thermos in the other.
“Merlin,” Arthur says.
“Arthur. Mum told me what happened. She sent some scones.” He holds up the bag.
Arthur smiles. “Hunith’s solution to every problem: food.”
Merlin laughs and shrugs.
“You sure she’s not from the south?”
“Southern Ireland, maybe,” Merlin chuckles, setting his things on the coffee meza, jedwali and walking to Arthur’s jikoni for a mug.
He returns, opens the thermos, and pours his tea, still piping hot, into his mug. He’s already poured a measure of maziwa into the mug. Arthur makes a face.
“I feel the same way about that coffee you’re drinkin’, mate,” Merlin says, sipping his hot, milky, un-sweetened chai with a content smile on his face.
“I just prefer my chai cold and sweet,” Arthur says.
“And I prefer my coffee, um, nonexistent.”
“Gimme a scone.”
“Well, when wewe ask so nicely, how can I refuse?” Merlin smirks at him and passes him the bag.
Arthur opens it and digs through until he finds one of the ones he wants. Hunith always makes some with chokoleti chips in just for Arthur, saying that even though it’s heresy, she’ll do it for her Duckling.
Now Merlin makes a face as Arthur bites into his chokoleti chip scone. “So she won’t talk to you?”
“No,” Arthur says, his mouth full. “I even went to her house Friday night. Was blocked kwa Elyan.”
“O’ course wewe were. Um, Arthur…”
“What?” Arthur asks, knowing full well what Merlin is about to ask.
“Is Uther right? About you? And her?”
“Care to be zaidi specific?”
“Well, I know you’re not… doin’ anything with her. But… would you… if wewe could?”
Arthur sighs. “I alisema more specific, Merlin. Honestly, you’d be a terrible lawyer.”
“Well, you’d be a terrible jazz musician, so we’re even. Do wewe like her?”
“Of course I like her, Merlin. She’s a kind, intelligent, caring girl.”
“Arthur, stop bein’ obtuse.”
Arthur blinks in surprise at Merlin’s choice of words.
“I am educated, wewe know,” Merlin snaps.
“Sorry. I…”
“Arthur, wewe know wewe can tell me anything. wewe know wewe can trust me.”
“That’s not the problem.” Arthur stares into his coffee.
“Then what is the problem?”
“The problem is, if I admit it out loud, to you, then I have to face it myself!” Arthur yells, exasperated. He takes a long drink of his coffee, the hot uchungu, chungu liquid burning his tongue and throat slightly, but he doesn’t care. “I can’t admit that… I feel zaidi for her than I should because nothin’ can happen!”
Merlin sighs, setting his chai on the table. “How do wewe know that nothing can happen?” he asks quietly.
“Merlin, I don’t know what to do,” Arthur says, his voice turning quiet. “I have feelings that I don’t know what to do with. I like her. A lot. I’ll admit it. If she was white, I’d buy her flowers, take her out to dinner. Maybe take her to a show. wewe know, court her up right and proper.”
Merlin nods. “Never figured wewe to be a romantic,” he grins.
Arthur thinks about throwing his scone at Merlin’s head, but decides that would be a waste and takes a bite of it instead. “That’s ’cause I haven’t dated anyone since you’ve been here. Been too busy tryin’ to establish myself as a lawyer.”
“Right,” Merlin says.
“Well, that and I haven’t found anyone all that interestin’ in a while,” he allows.
“Vivian certainly fancies you,” Merlin smirks.
“Guinevere pointed that out recently. I hadn’t noticed, and I don’t much care.”
“Yeah, I don’t think much goes on inside that pretty blonde head o’ hers,” Merlin chuckles. “So…” he indicates Arthur should continue.
“So… that’s just the problem. I can’t even take the time to get to know her, to find out if she’s the one for me. I can’t take her out and hold her hand and give her gifts and make her feel special. I can’t kiss her and see if the fireworks go off inside my head. I can’t do any of that… but…”
“But wewe want to?”
“Desperately,” Arthur admits, closing his eyes. “Even if it doesn’t work out. I can’t even try. Can’t even find out if we even have a chance. We automatically don’t have a chance because I’m white and she’s colored. And that’s…”
“Bloody frustrating,” Merlin finishes.
“Fucking unfair,” Arthur amends.
Merlin sits up straight in his chair, Arthur’s strong language catching him off guard.
“It’s ignorant and wrong and just… stupid. This whole fucking world is just so fucking stupid!” Arthur slumps in his chair, leaning back, looking at the ceiling.
“Arthur,” Merlin says, his voice quiet, calm. Gentle. “You can still get to know her. You’re working with her on this trial, right? So wewe have an excuse to spend time with her. Just… slip in personal bits from time to time.”
“Our conversations already wander off-topic,” Arthur admits. “She’s really smart, Merlin. And quick; clever. I hear she got Gwaine speechless inside o’ five dakika the other night.”
“Yeah, I heard that, too. He couldn’t stop talking about her,” Merlin slips that last bit in just to needle him.
“What?” Arthur sits up straight now. To say he does not look amused would be an understatement.
“Oh, yeah, he was going on about how she was funny and pretty…”
“Merlin…”
“Look. wewe need to figure out if wewe want to be with Gwen au not, because Gwaine isn’t nearly as careful with the rules as you, and he was awfully impressed with her. That’s all I’m saying.”
“You don’t need to poke my jealousy, too, Merlin. I’m twisted up enough inside already.”
“Sorry. But I thought wewe should know.”
“Well, tell Gwaine she’s off limits,” he grumbles. He grabs a sekunde scone. “Okay, genius, tell me: supposin’ I decide that she is the one for me. Supposin’ I decide that I don’t want to stay away from her. That I don’t care about the rules because I can’t stay away from her. What then?”
“We find a way,” Merlin says simply. “It might not be easy, au convenient, but if you’re meant to be together, a way will present itself.”
“Easy for wewe to say. She’s still speakin’ to you.”
“Well, obviously, you’ll need to fix that first.”
xXx
Arthur is distracted Monday. Leon notices, but knows better to say anything. Plus he knows why. It didn’t take him long for him to figure out that Uther was indeed correct about Arthur and his feelings for their client. It is as clear as siku if wewe even half pay attention.
They work on planning their strategy for the trial, the order of the witnesses they want to call, when to spring what bits of evidence au information. Leon was in complete agreement that they need to beat Aggy to the punch, operate on the offensive with sensitive details, exposing them themselves and spinning them to their advantage.
Arthur’s constant clock-watching after lunch starts to get to Leon, and finally he sets his pen down and looks at him.
“Just go,” he sighs.
“What?”
“It’s 2:30. She’s done with school in fifteen minutes.” Leon looks at him pointedly.
Arthur is surprised. He knows Leon fairly well, but he wasn’t sure about how the other man felt about this whole situation that he suddenly found himself thrust into.
“Really?”
“We won’t get anywhere with this case if she won’t speak to you, Arthur,” he sighs.
“Oh. Right.”
“Plus, I’m tired of lookin’ at your mopey face.”
Arthur actually laughs. He gets up and leaves the office, patting Leon on the shoulder as he passes.
Arthur drives to Gwen’s house to wait for her. He pulls up and sees Tom’s Impala still parked in the driveway. He does not see Elyan’s truck anywhere.
Thank God for that. He gets out of his car, and walks up to the house. Is she nyumbani already? He looks at his watch. 2:42. She’s not even done with school yet.
Arthur stands on the sidewalk, thinking. Dummy. She probably walks to school. It’s just up the street. He looks at his car, then decides to leave it there.
He hears the school kengele ringing as he approaches. He decides to stay hidden, not wanting to embarrass her au draw undue attention, but he also doesn’t want to look like a criminal, skulking in the shadows. He opts for leaning against a tree. He hopes he looks casual.
Arthur watches, looking for her familiar shape, listening for her voice, her laugh. He spies her finally, exiting the school, talking with another teacher, an older woman, taller and heavier. He can see even from a distance that her smile is a mask over her own hurt, and it makes his moyo ache.
A few dakika later he sees her approaching, walking quickly and purposefully. She is wearing a light green sleeveless dress and black heels. Her hair is pinned up and she has a bag full of vitabu on her shoulder. She looks adorable.
She strides right past him, not even glancing his way.
“I’m not talkin’ to you,” she says, hearing his footsteps behind her.
“Guinevere…”
“Don’t use that Superman tone with me, Mr. Pendragon. I’m not listenin’ to it today. And stop followin’ me.”
I wasn’t aware I was using my Superman voice. I only alisema her name, Arthur puzzles over this tidbit. “I’m not followin’ you. I just happen to be walkin’ the same direction.”
“Well, walk on the other side of the street, then.”
“Did Elyan give wewe my message?”
She stops. “What?”
“I came kwa Friday night. I talked to Elyan. He didn’t tell you?”
“I haven’t seen him much,” she says quietly. “He’s been makin’ himself scarce, and I’ve been hidin’ in my apartment.”
“And not answering your phone,” Arthur adds, stepping up beside her now, turning his head to look at her down-turned face.
She starts walking again. “Not that you’ve tried to call since Friday night,” she mutters.
“I left my nyumbani number with Elyan.”
“And what else was he supposed to tell me?”
“That it was my father that gave my case to Leon. That I didn’t know about it. That wewe actually found out Leon was aliyopewa your case before I did.”
Gwen says nothing, knowing he wouldn’t lie to her, but not knowing what to say to this apart from “why?” and she’s not sure she’s ready to face that answer yet. She stops walking when she sees an unfamiliar car parked outside her house. A very nice car.
“I gave him a business card that I wrote my nyumbani phone number on. He was supposed to give it to wewe with the message.”
“He didn’t. That your car?” She points to the red Corvette part, stingray at the curb.
He nods.
“It’s a nice car. Too nice for this neighborhood,” she says, looking around.
“Guinevere, I really want to talk to you.”
“We’re talkin’ now.”
“No, what I mean is I need to talk to you. About the case, kinda.”
“Kinda?”
“About why my father felt the need to take me off of it.”
“…All right…” she says, hesitantly, sighing heavily. “But I ain’t havin’ wewe in my house alone. The neighbors are peekin’ already.”
“Then come to Gwaine’s with me. We can talk there. It’s practically become my sekunde office anyway.”
“I need to go inside first, put this away,” she indicates her bag.
“I’ll wait here.” He leans against his car.
Ten dakika later, Gwen emerges, her hair now back in a low ponytail, white tennis shoes on her feet, and a piece of paper clutched in her hand.
“He made a half-assed attempt,” she says, inaonyesha Arthur the paper.
Blonde Mr. Charlie stopped over. Says his daddy gave away the case + he didn’t know. Wants wewe to call him. The business card is taped to the paper with a piece of silver duct tape.
“I found it on the jikoni table. His jikoni table, not mine,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know if he left it there thinking I would see it au if he forgot to bring it up. Either one’s possible.”
“Are wewe down there much?” he asks, handing the paper back to her.
“Depends. He likes me to make him dinner. I do sometimes, but not always, ’cause I’m not his mama, his wife, au his maid. But like I said, he’s been makin’ himself scarce lately.” She tucks the note into her purse. “Wonder why?” she adds sarcastically.
“Hmm. Doesn’t matter now, I guess,” Arthur says, bending to open the passenger door of his car for Gwen.
She looks at it, then him. Get in, she tells herself. Then she drops down and into the low car.
“So much for not goin’ to a tavern with a white man,” she mutters while Arthur makes his way around to his door.
xXx
“It must be my lucky day,” Gwaine comments, smiling at Gwen.
“Don’t count on it, Gwaine,” Arthur shoots, giving Gwaine what he hopes is a meaningful glare.
He ushers Gwen to a meza, jedwali in the corner, holding her chair for her while she sits.
“Thank you,” she mutters, setting her mfuko wa fedha, mfuko on the table. It is early, so there aren’t many people there yet and it is relatively quiet.
Arthur waves at Gwaine, indicating he wants some drinks for them.
“So, what, am I just supposed to guess, then?” Gwaine yells across the barroom.
Arthur sighs and rolls his eyes. “What would wewe like to drink, Guinevere?” he asks.
“Just some water. Unless he has lemonade.”
“I’ll find out. Knowing him, he’ll start squeezin’ lemons special, just for you. I’ll be right back,” he says, standing again.
“Usual for me,” Arthur tells Gwaine. “Do wewe have lemonade?”
“No, but I can make some quick if that’s what Miss Gwen wants,” Gwaine grins.
“She alisema water was fine if wewe didn’t have any,” Arthur says pointedly.
“Here,” Gwaine plunks a bottle of Dr. Pepper down on the bar for Arthur and fixes a tall glass of icewater for Gwen. Arthur tosses a few coins on the bar and takes the drinks back.
“I was right. He was ready to go whip wewe up some lemonade,” Arthur says, setting her glass in front of her.
“So… um…” he hesitates now, taking a long drink of his soda. Gwen inspects her fingernails and takes a delicate sip of her water.
“He did put a lemon, limau in the water, at least,” she says quietly, smirking.
“Worth something, I guess,” Arthur says. He laces his fingers together and sets them on the meza, jedwali in front of him. Talk, dummy. “Guinevere, like I said, my father felt the need to pass your case over to Leon. I’ve talked to him, and as wewe know, I’ve talked to Leon. Leon and I are both taking your case now, as… as Leon already told you, and actually it’s probably a good thing, because Leon has a few years zaidi experience than me, and so this is actually a good thing… for… for me, I guess… help me learn to walk before I can run…”
“Arthur, you’re rambling,” Gwen says, but her tone is gentle.
“I know. I’m tellin’ wewe things wewe already know.” He runs his hand through his hair, and Gwen watches the golden strands as they lift and fall back, almost exactly in place.
His hair looks very soft, she finds herself thinking, wondering what it would feel like if she were to run her fingers through it like that. Stop it.
“Um, the reason Pop pulled me from your case is, well, because he thought that wewe and I were… um… sleeping together.”
Gwen’s eyes widen. “Where did he get that idea?” she asks. “You haven’t been anything but a gentleman, and I know I haven’t…”
Arthur holds up his hands. “It’s all right, Guinevere, I’ve set him straight. He just… when he met wewe last week in my office, he just interpreted some of our actions a certain way, and drew some conclusions.”
“I see,” she says. What actions?
“Do you? wewe look confused.”
“I guess I just don’t see which actions he could have interpreted to lead him to the conclusion that I was welcomin’ wewe into my bed.”
“I don’t either. Not really,” he admits.
Gwen angles her head at him.
“He’s not entirely wrong, Guinevere. I have Lost whatever shred of objectivity I had when it comes to you.”
“Oh,” she says, lifting her glass again. She sets it down and drops her hand on the table.
“I’ve come to realize… well, rather I’ve allowed myself to admit that… I… I care for wewe zaidi than I should. As your lawyer.”
“And as a white man,” she says, unable to look at him.
“That, too. Which is the worst part of it.”
She nods slowly, her fingers idly picking at a spot on the table. Arthur reaches mbele with his hand and hesitantly touches hers. Her fingers still immediately and her eyes fly to his.
No one breathes. Arthur strokes the skin on the back of her hand once, feather-light, then hastily withdraws his hand.
“Sorry,” he says, blowing a long breath of air out before downing the rest of his Dr. Pepper.
But the damage is done. Gwen sits blinking, stunned at what one single, fleeting touch stirred within her.
Why did wewe do that, man? Now wewe know. Now wewe know that her skin feels like velvet. wewe saw her holding her breath. wewe saw the color rise in her cheeks. wewe saw her eyes darken. wewe saw the fireworks in your head and wewe didn’t even kiss her!
“If this is all one-sided, if wewe don’t have any feelings at all, just tell me now and I’ll maintain a professional distance,” Arthur finally says, softly.
Gwen hesitates, knowing that the inayofuata words she says could potentially change the course of her life permanently. She looks at his face, at the longing in his eyes. “I wish I could. I wish I could say that I don’t feel anything past friendship for you. I wish I could lie to wewe and tell wewe that I don’t care about you, that I don’t dream about wewe at night. I wish I’d never met you, sometimes. Other times I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You dream about me?”
She nods, looking at her fingers. “Can’t control what we dream about.”
“I know that all too well,” he says. She looks up to see him actually blushing, and she knows immediately that she has been visiting his dreams as well.
“What is it wewe want, Arthur?”
“I want…” You. “I want to get to know wewe better. I want the chance to find out if… if wewe and I…”
“We can’t, Arthur,” she says, squeezing her eyes shut, pinching back tears.
Those three words feel like a hot kisu stabbing Arthur in his belly.
“I know.”
“It may be dangerous for us to even be friends,” she says.
“I know. Every time I think about you, I know that if the wrong people knew what my thoughts were wewe could be hurt. au worse. If wewe think about someone like young Emmit Till, and all he did was talk to a white woman…”
“I’d like to think that we have come some ways since then,” Gwen says.
“It was only eight years ago,” Arthur says. “But you’re right. And this ain’t Mississippi,” he allows.
“You’re not entirely safe, either, wewe know,” she says. “I do have a brother.”
He exhales heavily. “I remember,” he nods.
They actually laugh a little, the tension momentarily broken.
“Would wewe at least have a bite to eat with me, here, on neutral ground?” Arthur asks. “Even if it’s just this once. Merlin should be here soon, too. We can listen to him play. We don’t even have to talk about anything important. au anything at all.”
His face is so earnest and sweet that Gwen cannot say no. “All right. I’d like to see what all the fuss is about with Gwaine’s fried chicken, wewe know,” she grins.
Part 8: link
Arthur sits on his couch, listening to Gwen’s phone ringing. Again. She had spoken to Leon earlier, briefly, but as soon as Arthur’s name was mentioned, she made an excuse and got off the phone.
He hangs up. He’s tried calling four times in the last saa and a half. She’s either not nyumbani au is ignoring the phone, knowing he’s trying to call.
She should be mad. I don’t blame her at all. I just wish I could explain. She wouldn’t even hear Leon’s explanation.
He looks at the phone again and sighs. Then he looks at the folders and papers on his table. He sorts through them until he finds what he is looking for.
Arthur puts on a pair of shoes and grabs his car keys.
Ten dakika later, he pulls up outside the address on Gwen’s personal information form. He takes a deep breath and climbs out of his car.
She lives upstairs. Does she have a separate door? I don’t want to walk around the whole house; I’ll look like a burglar. Better just try the front door.
He climbs the steps to the front porch and knocks.
A few moments later the door opens and he is face to face with Elyan.
Oh, shit.
“Go away.”
“Elyan, please, I’d really like to explain—”
“You’re trespassin’ on my property, Pendragon. Get off my porch.”
“May I please talk to Guinevere?”
“No.”
“You can chaperone.”
“No.”
“Elyan…”
“No, Arthur. She don’t want to talk to you.”
“I just want to tell her—”
“What? That her case ain’t good enough for wewe anymore? That you’s just a coward that don’t want to defend a colored girl ’cause it might hurt your reputation?”
“It wasn’t my decision!” Arthur manages to get in. “I didn’t know anything about it! In fact, Guinevere found out about it before I did!” Arthur is nearly shouting now, his voice desperate.
“I’ll tell her that. If she wants to talk to you, she’ll call you,” Elyan says coldly. Arthur wonders if she’ll actually get the message, but he says nothing, choosing to trust his word for now.
“Let me give wewe my nyumbani phone number,” Arthur says, fishing out a card on which he’s already written his nyumbani number.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Elyan says. “She don’t need to be callin’ wewe at home.”
“It’s the weekend, Elyan. I’m not goin’ to be in my office till Monday.” He holds the card out towards Elyan.
“Then wewe wait till Monday,” Elyan doesn’t take the card.
“Please tell her I’m very sorry and that it was my father’s doing. I didn’t know. I swear on my mother’s grave.” The card hovers between them. “Please.”
“Why’s this so important to you?” Elyan asks suddenly.
“Because… because what happened ain’t right. She shouldn’t have to deal with this mess on juu of everything else. It’s just wrong. I’m tryin’ to fix it.”
“I’ll tell her.” He snatches the card resignedly.
“Thank you, Elyan. Have a good night.”
xXx
His lips are warm and soft against mine. His tongue, wet and probing, is delicious inside my mouth.
Our bodies are a tangle of limbs: soft, light brown against golden cream, twisted like a large, decadent cinnamon bun as we explore each other’s bodies on a massive plush kitanda dressed in soft linens and pillows.
His lips trail along my skin, teasing my throat, sending chills down my spine as they trace the column of my neck, the lines of my collarbones, the swell of my breasts.
Chills and heat all at once; moto and ice, dark and light.
I want him to stop. I want him to never stop, ever. I want… him.
Guinevere wakes up Sunday morning in a tangle of sheets, warm. Overly warm. Warmer in some places than in others.
She slowly rises, blinking, picha from the dream flashing through her brain, some hazy, some unsettling in their frank clarity.
“I’m supposed to be mad at him; why’m I havin’ a dream like that?” she muses aloud.
In the bathroom mirror, she tells herself that she definitely needs to go to church.
As she slips out the door to head out, she glances at the phone, which has been deafeningly silent since Friday evening.
“Give up so soon, Superman?” she sighs.
xXx
The lack of ringing from his phone is making Arthur very irritated. And dismayed. Saturday came and went with no phone call. That combined with yet another dream of which he only remembers flashes: taunting, fleeting bits, and Arthur’s Sunday morning is rather morose.
He knows he should be a good boy and go to church. He knows that Guinevere is probably at church herself. But since he doesn’t know what time her church’s services are, he has resolved to stay in his apartment should she call.
He has also resolved that he is not going to try and call her. She’s proven that she is not going to answer her phone. As I suspected, she is stronger than I am.
Arthur looks at the clock again. 9:17. Merlin will still be sleeping, probably, but Hunith should be nyumbani kwa now, since she always goes to early mass. He picks up the phone and dials their number.
“Hello?”
“Good morning, Hunith, is Merlin up?”
“Oh, hello, Duckling! No, Merlin is still asleep, I’m afraid.”
“Um, would wewe mind wakin’ him up? I…”
“You need to talk to him, I know. I, um, heard wewe yellin’ at your da Friday…”
“I know,” he sighs. “Sorry ’bout that.”
“It’s all right, dear. Hold on a moment and I’ll wake Merlin for you.”
“You know what? Would wewe tell him to get up and come over?”
“Sure, Duckling.”
A half an saa later, Arthur’s door buzzes. He goes to the intercom on the wall.
“That had better be you,” he says.
“It is,” Merlin’s voice comes up through the box.
Arthur presses the button to unlock the door downstairs, then pulls the knob on his door, leaving it slightly ajar so Merlin knows he can just come in.
Like he ever knocks anyway.
Arthur flops on the sofa with a fresh cup of coffee just as Merlin strides through the door. He’s got a brown paper bag in one hand and a thermos in the other.
“Merlin,” Arthur says.
“Arthur. Mum told me what happened. She sent some scones.” He holds up the bag.
Arthur smiles. “Hunith’s solution to every problem: food.”
Merlin laughs and shrugs.
“You sure she’s not from the south?”
“Southern Ireland, maybe,” Merlin chuckles, setting his things on the coffee meza, jedwali and walking to Arthur’s jikoni for a mug.
He returns, opens the thermos, and pours his tea, still piping hot, into his mug. He’s already poured a measure of maziwa into the mug. Arthur makes a face.
“I feel the same way about that coffee you’re drinkin’, mate,” Merlin says, sipping his hot, milky, un-sweetened chai with a content smile on his face.
“I just prefer my chai cold and sweet,” Arthur says.
“And I prefer my coffee, um, nonexistent.”
“Gimme a scone.”
“Well, when wewe ask so nicely, how can I refuse?” Merlin smirks at him and passes him the bag.
Arthur opens it and digs through until he finds one of the ones he wants. Hunith always makes some with chokoleti chips in just for Arthur, saying that even though it’s heresy, she’ll do it for her Duckling.
Now Merlin makes a face as Arthur bites into his chokoleti chip scone. “So she won’t talk to you?”
“No,” Arthur says, his mouth full. “I even went to her house Friday night. Was blocked kwa Elyan.”
“O’ course wewe were. Um, Arthur…”
“What?” Arthur asks, knowing full well what Merlin is about to ask.
“Is Uther right? About you? And her?”
“Care to be zaidi specific?”
“Well, I know you’re not… doin’ anything with her. But… would you… if wewe could?”
Arthur sighs. “I alisema more specific, Merlin. Honestly, you’d be a terrible lawyer.”
“Well, you’d be a terrible jazz musician, so we’re even. Do wewe like her?”
“Of course I like her, Merlin. She’s a kind, intelligent, caring girl.”
“Arthur, stop bein’ obtuse.”
Arthur blinks in surprise at Merlin’s choice of words.
“I am educated, wewe know,” Merlin snaps.
“Sorry. I…”
“Arthur, wewe know wewe can tell me anything. wewe know wewe can trust me.”
“That’s not the problem.” Arthur stares into his coffee.
“Then what is the problem?”
“The problem is, if I admit it out loud, to you, then I have to face it myself!” Arthur yells, exasperated. He takes a long drink of his coffee, the hot uchungu, chungu liquid burning his tongue and throat slightly, but he doesn’t care. “I can’t admit that… I feel zaidi for her than I should because nothin’ can happen!”
Merlin sighs, setting his chai on the table. “How do wewe know that nothing can happen?” he asks quietly.
“Merlin, I don’t know what to do,” Arthur says, his voice turning quiet. “I have feelings that I don’t know what to do with. I like her. A lot. I’ll admit it. If she was white, I’d buy her flowers, take her out to dinner. Maybe take her to a show. wewe know, court her up right and proper.”
Merlin nods. “Never figured wewe to be a romantic,” he grins.
Arthur thinks about throwing his scone at Merlin’s head, but decides that would be a waste and takes a bite of it instead. “That’s ’cause I haven’t dated anyone since you’ve been here. Been too busy tryin’ to establish myself as a lawyer.”
“Right,” Merlin says.
“Well, that and I haven’t found anyone all that interestin’ in a while,” he allows.
“Vivian certainly fancies you,” Merlin smirks.
“Guinevere pointed that out recently. I hadn’t noticed, and I don’t much care.”
“Yeah, I don’t think much goes on inside that pretty blonde head o’ hers,” Merlin chuckles. “So…” he indicates Arthur should continue.
“So… that’s just the problem. I can’t even take the time to get to know her, to find out if she’s the one for me. I can’t take her out and hold her hand and give her gifts and make her feel special. I can’t kiss her and see if the fireworks go off inside my head. I can’t do any of that… but…”
“But wewe want to?”
“Desperately,” Arthur admits, closing his eyes. “Even if it doesn’t work out. I can’t even try. Can’t even find out if we even have a chance. We automatically don’t have a chance because I’m white and she’s colored. And that’s…”
“Bloody frustrating,” Merlin finishes.
“Fucking unfair,” Arthur amends.
Merlin sits up straight in his chair, Arthur’s strong language catching him off guard.
“It’s ignorant and wrong and just… stupid. This whole fucking world is just so fucking stupid!” Arthur slumps in his chair, leaning back, looking at the ceiling.
“Arthur,” Merlin says, his voice quiet, calm. Gentle. “You can still get to know her. You’re working with her on this trial, right? So wewe have an excuse to spend time with her. Just… slip in personal bits from time to time.”
“Our conversations already wander off-topic,” Arthur admits. “She’s really smart, Merlin. And quick; clever. I hear she got Gwaine speechless inside o’ five dakika the other night.”
“Yeah, I heard that, too. He couldn’t stop talking about her,” Merlin slips that last bit in just to needle him.
“What?” Arthur sits up straight now. To say he does not look amused would be an understatement.
“Oh, yeah, he was going on about how she was funny and pretty…”
“Merlin…”
“Look. wewe need to figure out if wewe want to be with Gwen au not, because Gwaine isn’t nearly as careful with the rules as you, and he was awfully impressed with her. That’s all I’m saying.”
“You don’t need to poke my jealousy, too, Merlin. I’m twisted up enough inside already.”
“Sorry. But I thought wewe should know.”
“Well, tell Gwaine she’s off limits,” he grumbles. He grabs a sekunde scone. “Okay, genius, tell me: supposin’ I decide that she is the one for me. Supposin’ I decide that I don’t want to stay away from her. That I don’t care about the rules because I can’t stay away from her. What then?”
“We find a way,” Merlin says simply. “It might not be easy, au convenient, but if you’re meant to be together, a way will present itself.”
“Easy for wewe to say. She’s still speakin’ to you.”
“Well, obviously, you’ll need to fix that first.”
xXx
Arthur is distracted Monday. Leon notices, but knows better to say anything. Plus he knows why. It didn’t take him long for him to figure out that Uther was indeed correct about Arthur and his feelings for their client. It is as clear as siku if wewe even half pay attention.
They work on planning their strategy for the trial, the order of the witnesses they want to call, when to spring what bits of evidence au information. Leon was in complete agreement that they need to beat Aggy to the punch, operate on the offensive with sensitive details, exposing them themselves and spinning them to their advantage.
Arthur’s constant clock-watching after lunch starts to get to Leon, and finally he sets his pen down and looks at him.
“Just go,” he sighs.
“What?”
“It’s 2:30. She’s done with school in fifteen minutes.” Leon looks at him pointedly.
Arthur is surprised. He knows Leon fairly well, but he wasn’t sure about how the other man felt about this whole situation that he suddenly found himself thrust into.
“Really?”
“We won’t get anywhere with this case if she won’t speak to you, Arthur,” he sighs.
“Oh. Right.”
“Plus, I’m tired of lookin’ at your mopey face.”
Arthur actually laughs. He gets up and leaves the office, patting Leon on the shoulder as he passes.
Arthur drives to Gwen’s house to wait for her. He pulls up and sees Tom’s Impala still parked in the driveway. He does not see Elyan’s truck anywhere.
Thank God for that. He gets out of his car, and walks up to the house. Is she nyumbani already? He looks at his watch. 2:42. She’s not even done with school yet.
Arthur stands on the sidewalk, thinking. Dummy. She probably walks to school. It’s just up the street. He looks at his car, then decides to leave it there.
He hears the school kengele ringing as he approaches. He decides to stay hidden, not wanting to embarrass her au draw undue attention, but he also doesn’t want to look like a criminal, skulking in the shadows. He opts for leaning against a tree. He hopes he looks casual.
Arthur watches, looking for her familiar shape, listening for her voice, her laugh. He spies her finally, exiting the school, talking with another teacher, an older woman, taller and heavier. He can see even from a distance that her smile is a mask over her own hurt, and it makes his moyo ache.
A few dakika later he sees her approaching, walking quickly and purposefully. She is wearing a light green sleeveless dress and black heels. Her hair is pinned up and she has a bag full of vitabu on her shoulder. She looks adorable.
She strides right past him, not even glancing his way.
“I’m not talkin’ to you,” she says, hearing his footsteps behind her.
“Guinevere…”
“Don’t use that Superman tone with me, Mr. Pendragon. I’m not listenin’ to it today. And stop followin’ me.”
I wasn’t aware I was using my Superman voice. I only alisema her name, Arthur puzzles over this tidbit. “I’m not followin’ you. I just happen to be walkin’ the same direction.”
“Well, walk on the other side of the street, then.”
“Did Elyan give wewe my message?”
She stops. “What?”
“I came kwa Friday night. I talked to Elyan. He didn’t tell you?”
“I haven’t seen him much,” she says quietly. “He’s been makin’ himself scarce, and I’ve been hidin’ in my apartment.”
“And not answering your phone,” Arthur adds, stepping up beside her now, turning his head to look at her down-turned face.
She starts walking again. “Not that you’ve tried to call since Friday night,” she mutters.
“I left my nyumbani number with Elyan.”
“And what else was he supposed to tell me?”
“That it was my father that gave my case to Leon. That I didn’t know about it. That wewe actually found out Leon was aliyopewa your case before I did.”
Gwen says nothing, knowing he wouldn’t lie to her, but not knowing what to say to this apart from “why?” and she’s not sure she’s ready to face that answer yet. She stops walking when she sees an unfamiliar car parked outside her house. A very nice car.
“I gave him a business card that I wrote my nyumbani phone number on. He was supposed to give it to wewe with the message.”
“He didn’t. That your car?” She points to the red Corvette part, stingray at the curb.
He nods.
“It’s a nice car. Too nice for this neighborhood,” she says, looking around.
“Guinevere, I really want to talk to you.”
“We’re talkin’ now.”
“No, what I mean is I need to talk to you. About the case, kinda.”
“Kinda?”
“About why my father felt the need to take me off of it.”
“…All right…” she says, hesitantly, sighing heavily. “But I ain’t havin’ wewe in my house alone. The neighbors are peekin’ already.”
“Then come to Gwaine’s with me. We can talk there. It’s practically become my sekunde office anyway.”
“I need to go inside first, put this away,” she indicates her bag.
“I’ll wait here.” He leans against his car.
Ten dakika later, Gwen emerges, her hair now back in a low ponytail, white tennis shoes on her feet, and a piece of paper clutched in her hand.
“He made a half-assed attempt,” she says, inaonyesha Arthur the paper.
Blonde Mr. Charlie stopped over. Says his daddy gave away the case + he didn’t know. Wants wewe to call him. The business card is taped to the paper with a piece of silver duct tape.
“I found it on the jikoni table. His jikoni table, not mine,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know if he left it there thinking I would see it au if he forgot to bring it up. Either one’s possible.”
“Are wewe down there much?” he asks, handing the paper back to her.
“Depends. He likes me to make him dinner. I do sometimes, but not always, ’cause I’m not his mama, his wife, au his maid. But like I said, he’s been makin’ himself scarce lately.” She tucks the note into her purse. “Wonder why?” she adds sarcastically.
“Hmm. Doesn’t matter now, I guess,” Arthur says, bending to open the passenger door of his car for Gwen.
She looks at it, then him. Get in, she tells herself. Then she drops down and into the low car.
“So much for not goin’ to a tavern with a white man,” she mutters while Arthur makes his way around to his door.
xXx
“It must be my lucky day,” Gwaine comments, smiling at Gwen.
“Don’t count on it, Gwaine,” Arthur shoots, giving Gwaine what he hopes is a meaningful glare.
He ushers Gwen to a meza, jedwali in the corner, holding her chair for her while she sits.
“Thank you,” she mutters, setting her mfuko wa fedha, mfuko on the table. It is early, so there aren’t many people there yet and it is relatively quiet.
Arthur waves at Gwaine, indicating he wants some drinks for them.
“So, what, am I just supposed to guess, then?” Gwaine yells across the barroom.
Arthur sighs and rolls his eyes. “What would wewe like to drink, Guinevere?” he asks.
“Just some water. Unless he has lemonade.”
“I’ll find out. Knowing him, he’ll start squeezin’ lemons special, just for you. I’ll be right back,” he says, standing again.
“Usual for me,” Arthur tells Gwaine. “Do wewe have lemonade?”
“No, but I can make some quick if that’s what Miss Gwen wants,” Gwaine grins.
“She alisema water was fine if wewe didn’t have any,” Arthur says pointedly.
“Here,” Gwaine plunks a bottle of Dr. Pepper down on the bar for Arthur and fixes a tall glass of icewater for Gwen. Arthur tosses a few coins on the bar and takes the drinks back.
“I was right. He was ready to go whip wewe up some lemonade,” Arthur says, setting her glass in front of her.
“So… um…” he hesitates now, taking a long drink of his soda. Gwen inspects her fingernails and takes a delicate sip of her water.
“He did put a lemon, limau in the water, at least,” she says quietly, smirking.
“Worth something, I guess,” Arthur says. He laces his fingers together and sets them on the meza, jedwali in front of him. Talk, dummy. “Guinevere, like I said, my father felt the need to pass your case over to Leon. I’ve talked to him, and as wewe know, I’ve talked to Leon. Leon and I are both taking your case now, as… as Leon already told you, and actually it’s probably a good thing, because Leon has a few years zaidi experience than me, and so this is actually a good thing… for… for me, I guess… help me learn to walk before I can run…”
“Arthur, you’re rambling,” Gwen says, but her tone is gentle.
“I know. I’m tellin’ wewe things wewe already know.” He runs his hand through his hair, and Gwen watches the golden strands as they lift and fall back, almost exactly in place.
His hair looks very soft, she finds herself thinking, wondering what it would feel like if she were to run her fingers through it like that. Stop it.
“Um, the reason Pop pulled me from your case is, well, because he thought that wewe and I were… um… sleeping together.”
Gwen’s eyes widen. “Where did he get that idea?” she asks. “You haven’t been anything but a gentleman, and I know I haven’t…”
Arthur holds up his hands. “It’s all right, Guinevere, I’ve set him straight. He just… when he met wewe last week in my office, he just interpreted some of our actions a certain way, and drew some conclusions.”
“I see,” she says. What actions?
“Do you? wewe look confused.”
“I guess I just don’t see which actions he could have interpreted to lead him to the conclusion that I was welcomin’ wewe into my bed.”
“I don’t either. Not really,” he admits.
Gwen angles her head at him.
“He’s not entirely wrong, Guinevere. I have Lost whatever shred of objectivity I had when it comes to you.”
“Oh,” she says, lifting her glass again. She sets it down and drops her hand on the table.
“I’ve come to realize… well, rather I’ve allowed myself to admit that… I… I care for wewe zaidi than I should. As your lawyer.”
“And as a white man,” she says, unable to look at him.
“That, too. Which is the worst part of it.”
She nods slowly, her fingers idly picking at a spot on the table. Arthur reaches mbele with his hand and hesitantly touches hers. Her fingers still immediately and her eyes fly to his.
No one breathes. Arthur strokes the skin on the back of her hand once, feather-light, then hastily withdraws his hand.
“Sorry,” he says, blowing a long breath of air out before downing the rest of his Dr. Pepper.
But the damage is done. Gwen sits blinking, stunned at what one single, fleeting touch stirred within her.
Why did wewe do that, man? Now wewe know. Now wewe know that her skin feels like velvet. wewe saw her holding her breath. wewe saw the color rise in her cheeks. wewe saw her eyes darken. wewe saw the fireworks in your head and wewe didn’t even kiss her!
“If this is all one-sided, if wewe don’t have any feelings at all, just tell me now and I’ll maintain a professional distance,” Arthur finally says, softly.
Gwen hesitates, knowing that the inayofuata words she says could potentially change the course of her life permanently. She looks at his face, at the longing in his eyes. “I wish I could. I wish I could say that I don’t feel anything past friendship for you. I wish I could lie to wewe and tell wewe that I don’t care about you, that I don’t dream about wewe at night. I wish I’d never met you, sometimes. Other times I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You dream about me?”
She nods, looking at her fingers. “Can’t control what we dream about.”
“I know that all too well,” he says. She looks up to see him actually blushing, and she knows immediately that she has been visiting his dreams as well.
“What is it wewe want, Arthur?”
“I want…” You. “I want to get to know wewe better. I want the chance to find out if… if wewe and I…”
“We can’t, Arthur,” she says, squeezing her eyes shut, pinching back tears.
Those three words feel like a hot kisu stabbing Arthur in his belly.
“I know.”
“It may be dangerous for us to even be friends,” she says.
“I know. Every time I think about you, I know that if the wrong people knew what my thoughts were wewe could be hurt. au worse. If wewe think about someone like young Emmit Till, and all he did was talk to a white woman…”
“I’d like to think that we have come some ways since then,” Gwen says.
“It was only eight years ago,” Arthur says. “But you’re right. And this ain’t Mississippi,” he allows.
“You’re not entirely safe, either, wewe know,” she says. “I do have a brother.”
He exhales heavily. “I remember,” he nods.
They actually laugh a little, the tension momentarily broken.
“Would wewe at least have a bite to eat with me, here, on neutral ground?” Arthur asks. “Even if it’s just this once. Merlin should be here soon, too. We can listen to him play. We don’t even have to talk about anything important. au anything at all.”
His face is so earnest and sweet that Gwen cannot say no. “All right. I’d like to see what all the fuss is about with Gwaine’s fried chicken, wewe know,” she grins.
Part 8: link
