Street Dreams Read Online Free PDF Page B

name?”
    “My name?”
    “Please.”
    “Cindy.”
    “I am pleased to meet you, Cindy.” Again he smiled. This time, I noticed how his big, straight white teeth contrasted with
     his dark skin. “I am Yaakov.”
    “I know. I read your badge.” Then I realized how
that
sounded. I wanted to crawl into a hole. It had been eons since I had allowed myself to be alone with a man. I had forgotten
     what sparks felt like and how to handle them. “I noticed your name because it’s the same name as my stepbrother.”
    His smile gained wattage. “So you are Jewish?”
    “Yes, I am Jewish.”
    He pointed to himself. “Already we have something in common.”
    It was my turn to laugh. “You’re
Jewish?”
    “I keep forgetting that Americans find this unusual. In Israel, it is nothing because there are many of us. I’m an Ethiopian
     Jew. As a matter of fact, I am not only Jewish, but also a
qes
. That is Kohen in English. Do you know what that is?”
    “Yes. It’s a Jewish priest. My stepfamily is very religious.”
    “Stepfamily?”
    “My father’s family. I don’t want to keep you from your duties. We really should go.”
    “Yes, we should. Do you have a boyfriend?”
    “You’re very forward.”
    “I say curious. Still, you don’t have to answer.”
    I didn’t. He gave me a closed-mouth smile. “I am taking a break as soon as I drop off the tray. Would you like to join me
     in some hospital cafeteria coffee?”
    It was an innocent enough request. Much easier than an actual date.
    And then I realized how long it had been since I actually had a real date. Trust was a problem for me in general. Trusting
     men was the impossible dream, but who could blame me after such a horrendous experience. Ironically, because Yaakov was black,
     it made things easier. All the dudes that I loathed and feared had been white. I said, “Depends on how long a break you have.”
    “Usually five to ten minutes.”
    How much trouble could I get into in ten minutes? I shrugged. “Okay.”
    The man’s grin was abundant. Since he was carrying a tray, I opened the door for him. But he used his shoulder to keep it
     open for me. Standing next to him, he appeared a half foot taller than I was, about six-one or -two.
    “After you,” he insisted.
    I walked out first. “Just being polite or don’t you trust me out of your sight?”
    “I work on my manners.” He let the door close behind us. “Israelis have a reputation of being rude. It is not unfounded, but
     only because we are too honest.” He smiled. “More like blunt.” He spoke as we ambled down the hallway. “You can call me Koby,
     by the way … as in Kobe Bryant. Although I spell it with a
y
and not an
e.
”
    “You know, you look a little like Kobe Bryant.” I frowned.
Jeez, what is wrong with me?
I felt as stupid as a schoolgirl. “You’ve probably heard that before.”
    “Yes. But it is strange. People tell me, but only after I mention my name. Especially in L.A., they hear the name Koby, see
     a tall black man, and automatically make this weird connection. Really, I don’t look like him.”
    His words gave me an opportunity to regard him in earnest. I said, “I think it’s the cheekbones … maybe the nose.”
    “The famous Haile Selassie nose.”
    “You’re both tall, thin, and black. But that’s it. It is bizarre how people make an association to what’s familiar.” I smiled.
     “Besides, you don’t have that little tuft of chin hair.”
    He laughed. “It is funny you say that. Last year, I got it in my head to grow facial hair. I get about three weeks’ worth
     of beard, then change my mind and shave it off—too hot under the face mask. But I shave it off in stages and I wind up with
     a half beard … some chin hair. So one afternoon I get off shift and meet a friend who works in Hem-Onc—oncology is cancer.
     I usually don’t rotate through that wing, so the kids don’t know my face so good. Plus, I was in my regular clothes and