“All you fine bitches who want a nigga to beat that thang up, hit the floor right now, ho!”
Zaria’s mouth fell open in pure shock at the disrespect, but what shocked her even more were the young women flocking to fill the dance floor—including Peaches and Lashaunda! The lyrics to the song that blasted made her stop dancing, and she got jostled about in the crowd as more profanity than real lyrics filled the air.
Zaria took a deep breath and then regretted it because she just knew she had inhaled some of the weed smoke in the air. Surrounded by pure foolishness, the music faded for her and she felt like she was in the middle of a distorted dream as she had one of those “aha” moments Oprah seemed to cherish.
She felt alone. More alone and lost than she ever had in her life.
She felt out of place. Like a gay man at a female strip club.
She missed Kaleb. Missed him and wanted him and loved him.
She felt like the club was getting smaller or more people had packed in as the crowd seemed to swell in on her. She wouldn’t want her children partying at a spot like this. So why am I?
She looked for the girls to throw up a deuce before she left, but she didn’t see them and she was ready to go. Hell with it. They ain’t riding with me.
Zaria worked her way through the crowd, ignoring all the young men pulling at her.
Pow-pow-pow.
The music screeched to a halt, and all hell broke loose at the sound of gunfire. As Zaria felt her body being pushed forward with the crowd as everyone tried to fit through the one door in the joint, she crossed her fingers and prayed like she never prayed before. Out loud and proud!
“Oh God, if you can hear me over this foolishness, pleeeeeease get me safely to my car so that I can take my black behind home and be in church early Sunday morning and pay my tithes,” she prayed at the top of her voice over the screams and commotion.
She felt the heat of the bodies. Feet pressed down on hers as some men pushed women out of the way. Body odors she preferred not to inhale nearly choked her. She could have sworn she felt tugging on her bag like someone’s hand was in it. She jerked her bag forward as hard as she could and heard two cries. One from behind—the pickpocket—and one from the girl in front of her she accidentally rammed the bag into.
Zaria shook her head as her heart beat faster than a racehorse reaching the final stretch. “And, God, please, guide me out of this mess. Lawd please,” she wailed, drawing the odd stares of people near her.
She could hear police sirens, and she honestly didn’t know if they were going to make it better or worse. All she did know was it was just like her third strike in a baseball game and she was O-U-T!
She saw the door ahead and started pushing with the rest of the crowd. As she neared the door, she got jammed between someone’s body and the door frame until another push from the crowd made her burst out the door and fall to the ground. Zaria rolled out of the way and then scrambled to her feet, feeling every rock and pebble that had pressed into her body. She took a deep breath and started to run for her vehicle as the tires of people racing away squealed against the road. It took a minute for her to realize the heel of her boot was gone, giving her a lopsided Hunchback of Notre Dame run.
Just before she made it inside her car, she saw Lashaunda and Peaches headed toward where they parked. The dips and dimples of their behinds jiggling in a thousand different directions. Zaria pointed her fingers to the heavens in thanks, started her car with shaking hands, and reversed out of the parking lot, almost into oncoming traffic. Almost.
Zaria didn’t settle down until she was almost home. “Whooo,” she sighed, shaking her head.
She thought about that last argument she had had with Kaleb and his condemnation of her partying ways. She could only imagine what he would say if he knew about her night.
Zaria was still feeling nervous anxiety when she finally pulled into her yard. She was surprised to see her daughters’ joint vehicle parked there. As she left her VW, she fought the urge to crawl up the stairs and into the house because her legs were as wobbly as Jell-O.
Both the girls were sitting on the sofa when she entered the house. They both looked at her with wide eyes. “What happened to you?” Meena asked.
Zaria glanced at her reflection in the mirror by the front door. Her hair was disheveled. Her black clothes dusty and dirty. Her once-fluffy faux fur looked more like roadkill. Her makeup smudged and destroyed by the sweat that poured off her from the heat of bodies. “I had to change a flat. Long story. I’m home safe. End of story,” she said, setting her keys and bag on the wooden end table as she hobbled past on her destroyed boots.
“Oh my God, there was a shooting at Club Nine-eleven,” Meena said.
Zaria froze and looked over her shoulder as her daughter used the remote to turn up the newscast. Sure enough, a picture of the death trap she had escaped was on the screen.
Neema looked up and saw Zaria still standing there. “We came home to go to that club tonight,” she said, tucking her feet beneath her the way Zaria always did.
Meena nodded in agreement. “Good thing we didn’t go, huh?” she asked, glancing at her mother. “They keep something going on at that club.”
The fact that her children had more sense to steer clear of the foolishness made Zaria feel all the more idiotic for being there. “Thank God my babies got good sense to steer clear of trouble,” Zaria said as a spasm radiated across her back and made her wince.
“You sure you all right, Mama?” Neema asked.
Zaria just nodded and waved her hand before walking into her bedroom and closing the door securely behind her. She barely peeled off her boots and chucked her flat fur across the room before she dropped onto the bed. She hugged one of her many pillows close to her.
You actually believe everything you do is some show of liberation and claiming yourself and all that crap, when all you’re tying to do is prove to him that you could have been what he wanted.
Was Kaleb right?
Her life had flashed before her in that death trap.
She couldn’t let her legacy end with a life of trying to party away the pain of her divorce. There had to be another way.
Zaria felt herself drifting to sleep, and she slid her hand inside her pillow and pressed her fingertips to the photo of Kaleb she kept there just before her soft snores filled the air.
The next night, Zaria and her daughters walked into Oscar’s Restaurant in Summer ville. As soon as they were seated at one of the booths, their waiter, a tall bald-headed brothah with long lashes, appeared at the table and they ordered sweet tea and their favorite appetizers of crab cakes on fried green tomatoes.
“It’s been a while since we all went out to eat,” Meena said, already reaching for the sweet butter and basket of rolls on the table.
“Yes, this is nice,” Zaria agreed, looking across at her twin girls who shared the seat across from her.
“I don’t need a menu. I already know what I want,” Neema said.
The three ladies eyed each other before saying in unison, “Short ribs.”
They all laughed.
Zaria licked her lips before she eyed them again. “I know you girls hated the new Zaria. It’s just that the divorce from your father kinda knocked me a little bit and, um . . . I did what made me feel better.”
They looked at her.
“I’m not going to say that I will give up going to an occasional party here and there, but, um, I’m definitely cutting back some,” she admitted to them, taking a deep sip of her sweet tea.
They shared a look. “Is this because of Kaleb?” Neema asked.
Zaria arched a brow. “Kaleb and I are no more,” she said, her heart feeling like it was pierced with a knife.
Meena shrugged. “When you cut out all the partying when you were with him and seemed so happy and all of that, we kinda thought maybe he wasn’t that bad for you.”
“It’s nice seeing you happy—not just having fun but really being h
appy,” Neema added.
Zaria looked at them in surprise. “He was good for me, but I wasn’t the right woman for him. So I ended it. It was my decision.”
They shared another look. “We’re not trying to get all in your business or nothing. It was just nice seeing you happy, and now you look sad a lot, that’s all.”
Zaria reached across the table and cupped one of their hands with each of her own. “I really liked him but sometimes like—”
“Love,” they corrected her in unison.
Zaria smiled. “Sometimes it’s not enough.”
“Like you and Daddy?” Neema asked. Zaria just forced a stiff smile and nodded. Bless their hearts. They have no clue just how much of a dog their father truly is.
Thankfully the waiter came with their appetizers and the girls’ attention switched from her tortured love life to their appetizers.
Zaria’s thoughts were filled as she pushed her crab cake around on the plate, not really hungry. Mostly she wanted to spend time with her daughters. She was glad that their relationship had made a smooth transition from mother-daughter to a blend of motherhood and friendship.
Thankfully she was the one who went through the growing pains instead of them.
Two hours later, Zaria watched both of her daughters sit back against their booth and hold a hand to their flat guts. They were truly identical.
“I am so full,” they both said before sharing a look and laughing.
Their waiter, dressed in all black, began to clear their empty dishes. “Any dessert for you ladies?” he asked, his eyes lingering on Meena just a bit longer.
Zaria watched as Meena gave him a long look in return.
“None for me,” Zaria said, rising to her feet. “I’m headed to the ladies’ room.”
He offered directions, but Zaria waved him off, knowing the way. She relieved herself quickly and then left the stall to wash her hands and splash water on her face. She felt achy in her joints, especially her ankles and her lower back. She knew her days bartending for eight- to tenhour shifts at a time might be coming to an end. The idea of a simpler way to make money sounded appealing.
She made her way back to the table and pushed cash into the black leather billfold awaiting her. The table was empty. “Your daughters are waiting for you outside,” their waiter said politely.
Zaria nodded. “Thank you. We had a good time as always,” she told him. “Keep the change.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “You have a good night.”
Zaria was digging in her purse as she walked into the waiting area. She looked up just as Kaleb and the cutie from outside the club—the attorney—were led into the dining room. He turned and looked back at her over his shoulder.
Zaria knuckled up and gave him a short wave before turning and rushing out the door before one tear had a chance to fall.
Kaleb appeared to be studying his menu but truly his mind was on Zaria. Although she had no right to question or judge him, he knew what she had to be thinking of him at that moment. He hated the thought of that because even though she never asked for exclusivity, Kaleb had given nothing less.
And he saw the look of surprise and hurt in her eyes before she tossed him that fake wave and left.
“I don’t think she’s too happy about seeing us together,” Heather said, closing her own menu and gently setting it down on the table.
Kaleb shifted his eyes up to look at her. “I didn’t think you saw her.”
Heather nodded. “She’s really tall and pretty and hard to miss,” she said.
Yes, yes she is, he thought to himself.
“Nice restaurant,” Heather said, looking around. “I’ve never been here before.”
Kaleb nodded. “We come and watch sporting events in the bar sometimes,” he told her, his thoughts still elsewhere.
Any fool can see that you still care for Zaria, regardless of whether you’ll be together or not. Your heart is full and until it’s empty—or at least emptier—you don’t have room in it for someone else....
After seeing Zaria, he knew his mother had hit the nail on the head regarding his feelings for her.
“You know, if seeing her has put a damper on the evening, I’d rather we call it an early night and come back another time,” she suggested.
“I’m sorry,” Kaleb said. “I didn’t mean to ruin the evening. It’s not like I’d rather she be sitting here, because we didn’t work out. It’s just that—”
“You don’t want to go back but you’re not ready to move on. Not yet, right?” she said.
Kaleb struggled for words and could find nothing but the truth. “I’m sorry,” he told her honestly.
“I’d rather you tell me now than later,” she told him.
As they gathered their things and left the restaurant, Kaleb knew he had done the right thing by being honest with Heather.
When it comes to matters of the heart—yours and others—you have to be fair or karma can and will bite you deep in the ass, Kaleb. . . .
He was doing bad enough in the love department without karma adding fuel to the explosion.
CHAPTER 11
Zaria loved her daughters and enjoyed their company, but the last thing she wanted was for them to see her fall completely to pieces. And that’s what she did as soon as she was alone. As soon as the front door shut behind them and they carried their laughter and their light with them, she crumbled to the floor and wept like a baby. Long after the sun faded from the sky and a chill filled the house, Zaria remained there, feeling lost and alone until she shivered from the cold and forced herself up to drag to bed.
She pulled the covers over her head and balled her body into a tight knot, wishing that when she closed her eyes, she didn’t see images of the man she loved with another woman—especially that particular woman.
Zaria didn’t know her and couldn’t care less about her, but the younger and smarter woman who shared things in common with Kaleb obviously had made an impact on him. She was the one he ran to for comfort after she broke his heart.
I love you, Zaria. I love you.
She was filled with regrets. As he made love to her with a fierceness like nothing she had ever known, Zaria wished with everything inside of her that she could have just told him the truth. She wished she could have just let her emotions slip from her tongue and let the chips fall where they may.
But she was too old to even think of having children, and starting a family was so important to him. How could they overlook such a huge obstacle and the fact that she didn’t want to remarry?
The next morning, she forced herself out of bed, determined to get on with life and to make some changes for the better. Her better.
Kaleb was finding his forever after she’d turned him down. She shed her tears, she still carried around the numbness, but she had to move on with life.
Just like everyone else around her.
Her best friends were happily in love.
The man she loved had found someone new.
Even her ex-husband was happily wed to another.
Maybe she had taken on a younger persona to be everything she thought he wanted in a woman . . . like Kaleb said. And the thought of any truth in that type of subconscious crap on her behalf didn’t rest well on her shoulders.
It was time to figure out why she couldn’t get her act in gear—and she knew just where to start. She grabbed her phone and made a few calls, feeling a bit more satisfied when she was done.
After a long and hot shower, Zaria took her time to get dressed. She applied her makeup, slid on an all-winter white ensemble of a V-neck sweater dress that clung to her curves, nude suede boots that gave her a few more inches of height, and an ivory wool trench coat that finished it off nicely.
Zaria left the house with her head held high and climbed into her car. She dug out the sheet of notepad paper with directions on it and steered her car toward Beaufort.
It took forty-five minutes and way too much time reflecting on some of h
er actions after her divorce before she finally parked on the street in front of a pretty blue and white Cape Cod–style house.
For a minute she sat with her eyes locked on the matching blue and white business sign in the front yard.
JULIA DENNISON, PHD THE FIRST STEP TO YOUR WELL-BEING
Self-discovery wasn’t fun or easy, but most times it was very necessary. Zaria climbed from the car, and walked up the short walkway to the front door, shivering a bit from the slight chill in the air. The wooden sign said OPEN and Zaria turned the knob and stepped inside.
The house had been turned into a true office. What was once a living room was now a waiting room with a glass-enclosed receptionist station. It was empty.
A door opened and a petite woman in her early sixties with a low-cut Afro, a bright smile, and deep dimples stepped back to allow Zaria to enter. “Zaria?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Come on back.”
Zaria nodded as she worked her clutch in her hands as she stepped into the back offices. “Thank you for agreeing to see me today,” she said over her shoulder.
“First open door on the left,” the woman said from behind her.
Zaria felt nervous as she stepped into a sizeable office complete with bookshelves and African artwork. The muted gold on the walls and the dark wood of the furnishings made her feel comfortable as she took a seat on the leather love seat, crossing her legs.
She watched the woman pick up a notepad and pen and slide glasses onto her face before taking a seat across from Zaria in an oversized club chair that seemed to dwarf her. “I am Dr. Dennison,” she said. “I am very happy that you are here and that you came on your own, because it means you are open to the process. You are free to find balance in your life. You are welcome to peace of mind,” she began. “Now, do you have any questions for me?”
The Hot Spot Page 14