Grace Notes

But on July fifteenth, he was in Memphis. He walked around town that morning. It was hot and humid and he was sweating bullets in minutes. He got off the street and into a diner to cool off, but he wasn't hungry. He drank sweet tea and tried to read the newspaper.

He was in the lobby of the Peabody by one-thirty. He found a comfortable leather chair on the north side of the lobby with a good view of the front entrance.

The next half hour seemed like forever. He watched the businessmen in their suits and the tourists in their shorts and tropical shirts come and go. He looked at the huge grandfather clock nearby about every thirty seconds as time inched along. The closer it got to the time, the tenser and queasier and more fearful he became. When the clock struck two he felt a chill and gooseflesh broke out on his arms.

Nothing happened. He scanned the room, his eyes tracing back and forth again and again looking at every strange face hoping to find the familiar one.

At five minutes after he started to become afraid, even though he knew all along this was likely to happen. By 2:10 he wanted to cry.

"Mister Chili?"

Chili was suddenly in a deep trench of thought. At that moment something dawned on him. Memphis was in the Central Time Zone. Grace lived in the Eastern Time Zone. Memphis is an hour earlier. Maybe that's it. Maybe she's still on East Coast time. He'd have to wait another hour.

"Mister Chili!"

The loud voice broke his reverie. He looked up to see a large black man in a bellman's uniform standing before him.

"Uh, yes, I'm Chili," he mumbled.

"This is for you, Sir." He handed him a letter-sized envelope.

"Oh, uh, thank you," he said. He took out his wallet.

"No need, Sir. It's taken care of," the bellman said, and he walked away.

Chili looked at the envelope. It was the official stationery of the Peabody Hotel.

His shoulders slumped. His eyes glazed over. His sinuses clogged up. 'At least she had enough class to let me know', he thought. He didn't open it right away. He nervously twirled it in his hands for several apprehensive minutes, anxiously delaying what he now knew was inevitable.

He took a deep breath and opened the envelope. There was a single piece of paper inside. 'This is it', he thought, 'My Dear John letter'. He took the paper from the envelope and unfolded it and was surprised to see it was not on the Peabody letterhead. It was not a letter at all; in fact there was no writing at all on the page.

But what he saw was familiar. It was the rudimentary pencil drawing of his face that he'd drawn in Grace's kitchen on the morning he'd left her. But the big downturned mouth had been erased, and it had been replaced with the biggest ear-to-ear grin the drawing would allow. In bright blue ink!

Chili felt paralyzed. He raised the paper to his nose. It was her all right, that clean, citrus sweetness. He looked up and his eyes panned the lobbyscape in front of him, once, twice: The check-in counter, the elevators, the concierge desk, the many faces. He stood up and took a couple steps forward for a different perspective and searched again.

He saw the dress before he saw her face. It was the same sexy floral sundress she'd worn on the day they went to the track. Her hair was shorter, but her deliciously tanned and toned body was the same, and a glorious sight for sore eyes. And even from afar he could see she wore no ring on her finger. Chili's legs started propelling him toward her in a wobbly power walk as tears rolled down his cheeks. Grace moved toward him, more quickly with each step.

It is fortunate there were no serious injuries when they collided. They burst into each other's arms and locked themselves together. Their mouths meshed into one and they kissed and hugged and twirled like a top. With their bodies clutched in a vise they did a thirty-second dance in the middle of the large lobby and performed an unexpected, impromptu floor show for the guests and the help and the ducks. A solid round of applause embarrassed them out of their trance.

They held one another close as they spoke their first words in three months.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you," she said.

"I was afraid you wouldn't come."

"I was afraid you wouldn't want me anymore."

"I've missed you so much it hurts."

"I know how it feels, too."

"Nice dress."

"The answer is still NO!"

Chili laughed. "You cut your hair."

"Yes, I'm starting a new life. We are. It's a wavy bob. Do you like it?"

"I love it. But it's not long enough to cover all the hickies I'm going to give you."

"You'll have to put them on my thighs!"

"I reserved us a room upstairs."

"So did I."

--

They had a hard time keeping their hands off each other waiting for the elevator. When they reached the room they tore off their clothes and fell on the bed and instantly began catching up for lost time.

"I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been here. I've been going crazy thinking about making love and how good it is going to be," Grace said.

"Get used to it," Chili said, and he sucked her tongue into his mouth.

They made love for hours in all the ways they remembered and in some ways that were new. But no part of their bodies, no inch of their flesh went unkissed, unsucked, unfucked or unloved.

During one blissful intermission Grace said, "I have three interviews lined up with three different school systems near where you live."

"Where we live," Chili corrected.

"Right, where we live," she said. "So, you're okay with having me for your roommate?"

"You damn sure better be my roommate!"

"You don't mind if I stay a while?"

"How 'bout forever?"

Grace smiled, cupped his balls and kissed him.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

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