Temptation's Kiss

He must have been fond of his parents because his eyes lit up at the mention of them. “Yes, I finally talked them into moving here about five years ago. We’re from Brooklyn.

“My parents have deep roots there. Both were born there. Both were teachers for nearly thirty years. Most of their friends and family still live in Brooklyn.”

“What did you say to convince them to move here?” she asked, very curious. She couldn’t imagine her parents living in Beverly Hills. It would be a worse situation than that old sitcom The Beverly Hillbillies. Her folks were ranchers, through and through.

“I told them that I didn’t care when the desire to go back to Brooklyn hit them. I would make sure they got on the next plane flying in that direction,” he said with a laugh.

“You’re a good son,” Patrice complimented him.

“I try to be,” T.K. said sincerely.

Chapter 3

At The Grill on the Alley, commonly called The Grill, T.K. gave his key to the valet and then helped Patrice out of the car. He enjoyed the sight of her long, shapely legs but was careful not to ogle. Patrice noticed anyway and felt a tingle of excitement.

Inside, they were immediately shown to a secluded table in the back of the packed dining room. T.K. didn’t let the maître d’ have the pleasure of pulling Patrice’s chair out for her. He did it himself and then sat down across from her.

The maître d’ snapped his fingers at a passing waiter. “See to Mr. McKenna at once.”

He smiled at T.K. and Patrice in turn. “Please call on me if I can be of any further service.”

When he had gone, T.K. laughed softly. “Every time I see him I’m reminded of the butler in that remake of Mr. Deeds Goes to Town.”

“He does look like John Turturro. He’s one of my favorite actors,” Patrice said enthusiastically. “In everything I’ve ever seen him in, he’s done a good job.”

T.K. nodded in agreement. “He’s a fine character actor.” He looked at her intently. “What did you think of the remake?”

“Adam Sandler makes me laugh, and it had some touching moments, but to be honest, I don’t believe any remake can compare with the Frank Capra original. The script’s fabulous, and Gary Cooper is wonderful as Mr. Deeds. Good try to Adam Sandler, though.”

T.K. smiled at her assessment. He liked the original a lot better than the remake, too.

“You like Capra, huh?”

“It’s a Wonderful Life, You Can’t Take it With You, and Mr. Deeds Goes to Town are my favorite Capra films,” she told him, her eyes shining with excitement. “The scripts were excellent, and the leads and supporting casts were, too. Plus, I liked the dignity Capra imbued his black characters with. Yes, they were servants, but they were treated with respect and got actual lines to say instead of standing around rolling their eyes and grinning.”

“You have a problem with the way blacks have been portrayed in films?” T.K. was curious. He wanted to know if she had a fire in her belly to see her people portrayed accurately on film, as he had.

The waiter arrived and introduced himself. They promptly ordered and sent him on his way, eager to continue their conversation.

“You were saying,” T.K. prompted Patrice after the waiter had gone.

“What black actor wouldn’t have a problem with the way we’ve been portrayed by some filmmakers?” she asked. “But I’m not going the route of blaming the performers of the past. They had to play the buffoon in order to put food on the table. I respect them because they survived during a very unpleasant time for blacks.”

T.K. smiled at the way she punctuated her words with her hands. Fleetingly, she reminded him of Shiva, the many-armed Hindu goddess. He didn’t know where that thought came from. She stimulated his mind, he supposed.

“What about black filmmakers today?” he asked. “Do you think they’re doing everything they can do to bring accurate depictions of blacks to the silver screen?”

Patrice pursed her lips and squinted at him. “Don’t get me started on that subject. My actor friends say my opinions are unusual to say the least.”

“Go ahead and shock me,” he coaxed. “This goes no farther than this table.”

“All right,” she said, leaning toward him. “I won’t name names because you already know them anyway. But I don’t think a certain director should be throwing stones at another one simply because they make different types of films. So what if the newcomer’s films are sometimes over-the-top and melodramatic? Hollywood has been producing melodramatic films for ages. One of the most beloved films by black folks, Imitation of Life, is extremely melodramatic. But that doesn’t mean we don’t watch it, raptly, whenever it comes on Turner Classic Movies.”

T.K. laughed. “You’re right. The scene where the daughter barely makes it to her mother’s funeral on time and makes a spectacle of herself is a seminal scene. And I believe, to this day, that Juanita Moore should have won the Oscar for her role.”

“She was robbed,” Patrice agreed heartily. “I can’t watch her final scenes without crying.”

“Okay,” T.K. said, “we agree that the way blacks were depicted in the past was largely not their fault. And Tyler Perry is definitely doing something right.”

“We said no names,” Patrice reminded him, pretending to be scandalized that he would name one of the parties they were discussing.

“No harm in acknowledging someone who’s making a difference for black actors in the industry. Critics might not get him, but I assure you out-of-work actors love him.”

“T.K.!” exclaimed a booming male voice as a tall, slender black man approached their table. Patrice peered up—and up—at Los Angeles Lakers forward Farrell Faison. Farrell was six-seven. T.K. stood up and shook his hand. “Hello, Farrell, how are you, man?”

“Cool, cool,” said Farrell. He looked at Patrice with interest. Patrice smiled up at him. She admired his skill on the court. When she was in town, she tried to go to all the team’s home games. It was the off-season now.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” he asked T.K.

“Why don’t you sit down first,” T.K. joked. “I’m getting a crick in my neck from having to look up.”

Farrell laughed and took the seat closest to Patrice’s. He didn’t even glance in T.K.’s direction anymore, just looked at Patrice with a smile on his face.

“Farrell, I’d like you to meet—” T.K. said.

“Ms. Patrice Sutton,” Farrell said with a contented sigh. “I just saw you in She Fell. Wow, not only was the science-fiction story line kickin’, but you were awesome as Victoria.” He shook his head as if he were amazed that he was sitting across from the warrior-woman Victoria. “How long did it take you to get in shape for that role?”

“Six months of grueling aerobics and weight-lifting,” Patrice told him, happy to meet someone who had enjoyed She Fell. It was the film she was proudest of. A friend who was a writer had specifically written the character of Victoria for her. In the story, Victoria was sent through a man-made black hole to a warlike planet by her evil but brilliant physicist husband who got rid of all his enemies by sending them God-knows-where via the black hole. He had drugged and sent Victoria through because she was going to divorce him for infidelity. The film follows Victoria as she rises in power as a warrior. In the end, she returns to Earth and exacts revenge on her husband.

“Who’s your trainer?” Farrell asked.

“Jose Baltodano,” Patrice happily supplied. She was always willing to refer anyone who wanted to get into shape to her friend.

T.K. cleared his throat and playfully glared at Farrell. “Let me get this straight, you came over here to monopolize my date’s time?”

Farrell grinned at him. “Turnabout is fair play, my brother.”

Patrice smiled at that. T.K. had obviously flirted with Farrell’s dates in the past. Then it hit her: T.K. had referred to her as his date. She looked into his eyes. He winked at her.

“I have to protest, my brother,” he said to Farrell. “I just met Patrice myself. You could have at least given me a twenty-four-hour head start before you began poaching on my territory.”

Patrice laughed and rose. “I’ll let you fellas figure out the proper poaching etiquette while I visit the ladies’ room. Excuse me.”

She overheard Farrell say, “She’s too young for you, old man. She’ll give you a heart attack.”

“I’m willing to risk it,” said T.K.

Smiling, Patrice kept walking.