by S. Ann Cole
To Moore, he ordered, “Dial Ralph.”
Moore did as told, and seconds later, Ralph’s disembodied voice came over the car speakers. “Boss.”
“Where is she? Is she safe?” The agitation in his voice couldn’t have been omitted even if he tried.
“Yes, Sir. There was a bit of a pass out due to exhaustion, I’m sure. But they’re inside the apartment now and safe.”
A rush of hoarded breath gushed through his nostrils and he instantly relaxed. He’d barely managed to get the word “Okay” out.
“Anything else, Sir?”
“No, that’s all.”
As soon as the call with Ralph ended, he instructed Moore to take him home. Dropping his head back on the leather headrest, he closed his eyes, trying to fight the sense of powerlessness that had descended upon him. Apart from his brutish father, she, Sadie Elizabene Francé, was the only living human that made him, Natalio Nellandi Nelson, seem weak and defenseless…
Chapter Seventeen
Nelly careened his Chrysler 300 onto 3rd Street and cruised to a slow stop at her gate, while dialing her number on his cell with one hand. All he said when her soft, virginal voice answered was “outside” then he hung up. Buju Banton’s rugged voice chanted Make My Day in his ears. He quickly ejected his favorite reggae artist, nevertheless, and shuffled in the glove compartment for Pink’s album. He didn’t care for the freakish, pink-haired woman’s music, but she loved her music, and he’d made it incumbent upon himself to make her smile in whatever way he could.
After slipping in the CD, he sat back and turned his eyes to the shabby, grassless, gardenless yard. The small, crooked bungalow looked as if it hadn’t been painted in over a decade, because he could never tell exactly what color it was. Broken chunks of stones led up to the porch, and only about three of the wooden steps seemed safe enough to walk on; he’d always noticed that she hopped over them when she exited the house.
It pained him to the core that she had to live in the decrepit thing, but what could he do when she was only seventeen? His wait for her eighteenth birthday to come was an impatient one. God, the life he wanted to give her. The love he wanted to give her. She probably resented her state each day. Not knowing that she was already wealthy. He was a young millionaire on the rise, and everything that was his, was hers. That bit she didn’t yet know. But she would know. Soon.
Most people would say that he was too young to know if he was in love or not. They’d say it’s just infatuation and that it will pass soon. They’d say it’s teenage affair, summer love, young fling. As much as his father would disagree, he knew he was in love. At his age, he’d been with oodles of girls. The beautiful and the ugly. The fake and the ‘real’. Blondes, brunettes and redheads. Hispanics, Italians, French. You name it, he’d had them all.
But never in his time had he laid his eyes on a girl once, just once, and fallen in love on spot. The way his heart had constricted, his palms had grown instantaneously sweaty, his hairs had stood upright on his skin, he’d just known. With every string of his heart, he’d known that she was the girl. And he was resolute that he had to have her, and that he’d allow nothing to encumber him. Not even his father.
The domineering brute had absolutely no idea he was hanging out on this side of LA. If that sucker found out, he would never see this side of town again. To keep his secret, he worked harder and longer during the week so that he could have the weekends to play in LA; using his brother’s real estate business in the west as cover-up. Because that man he called ‘father’, he feared him no end.
As his heart was wonted to do when his eyes caught sight of her, it skipped a beat. With her abundance of long, wild curls billowing down her shoulders, she was dressed in a yellow sundress, that revealed far too much of her cleavage, and strappy white sandals. A bright smile was plastered on her face as she skipped down the steps and headed straight for his car, her smooth, sun-kissed complexion glowed, making her as radiant as the sun that shone above.
She was his. His.
Theresa, her mother, walked out on the porch and waved at him in the same time Sadie opened the car door and slinked in. With a honk of his horn, he waved back, then turned his eyes back to his heart, who was concentrating on buckling her seat belt. When the belt clicked in place, she lifted her face to his with a smile that instantly melted when she saw that he was scowling at her.
“What? What did I do?”
His eyes lowered to her breasts that were pushed up in the V-cut dress. “Your mother couldn’t have pointed out that that dress is showing off too much of your cleavage?”
Frowning, she looked down at her dress then back at him. “Nothing’s wrong with my dress, Nelly. As a matter of fact, my mother made this dress for me.”
“I like the dress, but I don’t. You’re a maid. So dress like one. Not like this, skipping around showing your delicate, intimate swells to everyone.”
She quirked her lips and tilted her head to the side, which had him biting down on his lip to hide a smile, because he always adored it when she made that cute face. “Seriously, dude, how old are you? You sound like a grandfather.”
“Old enough to know that you’re showing too much skin for your age…”
Sadie’s cheeks reddened, her nostrils flaring as she narrowed her eyes at him. He had precise knowledge of what her next words would be. Protecting what’s his was all he ever tried to do, but she only saw it as ‘treating her like a child.’ “I’m not a goddamn saint and I’m not a goddamn child! So stop treating me like one! And I’m not changing if that’s what you’re intimating. This is what I want to wear, so this is what I’m wearing. If you have a problem with that, then you’re free to go and scoop up one of those desperate whores that keep chasing your insipid ass!”
His brow arched up, “Insipid?”
Keeping her stubborn eyes on him, she crossed her arms. “That’s what I said. Insipid. I’m not changing.”
Injecting as much sternness in his stare, he held her gaze. But he knew she was as stubborn as a horse and could hold his gaze as long as he could he hold hers. Hence, knowing a stare off would get him nowhere, he turned and shifted the gear in drive, pulling the car away from the curb. “Have it your way, Sadie.”
He crept down the streets of the lively neighborhood he’d grown to love. Busy-bodied residents roamed the streets, men gambling on the corners, women gossiping in their yards, flirts tossing and short skirts swaying…
“Why the long way?” Sadie asked when she noticed that he was driving straight ahead instead of making a U-turn which was a more expeditious route to the main street. Going straight ahead would have him turning through all the streets just to get on the main.
“Because that’s what insipid guys do, they take the long way,” he dourly responded. Telling her his real reason was out of the question. That he was driving the longer route to prevent her from seeing her degenerate of a father who was barefacedly jacking up his blonde mistress on a column just three blocks away. He knew if she saw that scene, it would ruin her day. The man sickened him.
Ignoring his rotten answer with a sigh, she withdrew her cell phone from her handbag and started texting; her slim, undefiled fingers sweeping gently over the keypad. He had to tighten his twitching hands around the steering wheel to stop himself from grabbing the damn thing and tossing it out the window. When she was around him, all her attention belonged to him, and he wasn’t getting it. But he knew that would only fire up another argument, and he could only afford one squabble at a time. An upset Sadie wasn’t easy to cajole, so he knew when to keep his mouth shut. Who was she texting anyway? The blood beneath his epidermis simmered, forcing him to take a deep breath in the effort of calming down.
His indignation was mitigated when she slipped her phone back inside her handbag, but spiked up again when she turned her head and directed her gaze out the window. Again, he wasn’t getting her attention, he thought, just as his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Steering the car with one h
and, he dipped his free hand inside his pocket and withdrew his phone, and a smile tugged at his lips when he saw that it was a text message from her. His eyes darted over to her, but she still kept her gaze out the window, her fingers fiddling with the straps of her bag. He opened the text:
Babe,
Happy Birthday.
It should’ve been the first thing I said to you, but your pugnacious character had to pick a fight with me.
Anyway, you know if the world was mine, I would place it at your feet.
But as I am, I can only offer you myself. I hope my company is worthy enough to make your birthday a pleasurable one.
X
P.S. You are anything BUT insipid. Sapid is the correct description of you…and palatable, and stimulating, and savory, and fascinating, and delectable…the list is endless, baby.
On a smile, he slipped his cell back into his pocket, then his hand reached across and found hers. Lacing their fingers together, he squeezed her hand, prompting her to look at him. The swells on her chest heaved as she took a breath before turning to face him. Captivating cognac-browns, shadowed with superbly long lashes, peered at him with utter passivity.
She was his.
“Sadie, there’s no other being in this world that is worthy of bringing me pleasures, but you. You were made for me. Designed by the hands of a higher being to make not just my birthday, but my entire life, a pleasurable one. I love you.”
Her eyes glossed over but she immediately closed them and sighed, bringing their joined hands up to her delicate cheek. He tried to ignore the disappointing sting that he always got whenever she didn’t return the words. He knew she loved him. The look in her eyes said it all. But she would never say the words, and he wanted her to say them. To discharge of her cynicism and fears, and just trust him. Trust his words and trust his love.
Seeing the broken family that she emerged from, he knew trust was difficult for her. But he would never be able to feel like she was his, wholly and completely, if he didn’t have her trust, if he didn’t hear her love as well as he could feel and see it. He wanted all of her.
A familiar figure walked out in the street, gesturing for him to stop. He couldn’t put a name to the face, but he knew it was someone hailing. As he pulled up next to the man, Sadie opened her eyes, checking why he was stopping, then gave an irritated sigh and sat back in her seat. He powered down his car window and looked at the guy expectedly.
“Whatcha’ sayin’, Nelly? How you do?” asked the stout Mexican, while bending and waving to Sadie who returned a fake smile.
Nelly smiled good-naturedly, knowing what was coming next. In fact, his hand was already making its way to his pocket. “I’m good. You?”
The guy scratched his forehead and then his ears. “Well, ah, not so good. I got a booklist for ma’ little girl, and I could only manage to buy just two from the list. You know, she’s missing out on a lot without ‘em books and stuff. I was wondering if—”
“This should help,” Nelly said, handing the guy five one hundred dollar bills. He’d been peeling off the cash whilst the guy scratched and fidgeted with his winding story.
The guy’s eyes smiled when he saw the bills and so did his lips. Taking the cash, he clasped Nelly’s hand tight. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Nelly nodded and drove off, side-eyeing Sadie who was shaking her head as he stared out the window. “What are you so miffed about?”
She was snappish. “You know they don’t annoy the politicians this much when they come around?”
“Maybe that’s because the politicians only give them empty promises instead of substance?”
Sadie rolled her eyes and he smiled. That was another cuteness of hers that he liked. “They’re annoying!”
Before he could answer, a fair youth stepped out in the street, signaling for him to stop. Sadie threw her hands up and scoffed, which only made him smile as he powered down the window. This youth’s story was that his mother’s medications were out and funds to restock were non-existent, which meant his mother was growing weaker each day. After handing the youth a reasonable amount of cash and gassing off, he addressed, “It’s not easy for them to ask, Sadie. They ask because they really need it.”
“I wouldn’t. I’d rather suffer,” she muttered.
“That’s because you’re full of pride. And it’s easy for you to say that now when you’re young and free of responsibilities. Pride doesn’t befriend the suffering man; the man who has not only to feed himself, but others. They don’t care who they ask, they just ask with the faith that they’ll receive.”
Nothing about helping others annoyed him. On the contrary, it gave him peace knowing that he could, in one way or another, lend a helping hand to those who needed it. Especially at his age. What little he gave away was chicken feed to him and his family. The thousands of dollars that they spent on simple pieces of jewelry, pieces of clothing or any inconsequential fad that was all for show, was sometimes ridiculous.
He was born rich. For him, wealth wasn’t a choice or a position he could deny. It was like being born into a royal family. Or as the heir to a throne, where even if you didn’t want to, you had to assume the position of that throne and become King once the sire died. A lot of people have sobering stories about the hardship of their journey to prosperity, but some were just born into it.
Nevertheless, he was thankful for his fortunate state. He was blessed, and he enjoyed being blessed. You’ll never hear a rich man wish that he wasn’t rich. And even if such a man did get emotionally caught up in the moment and yammered such gibberish, there’s no doubt that he’d be retracting that statement in the morning. The advantages of wealth far outweighed the disadvantages.
Sadie did that quirked lip, tilted head thing again as she looked up at him. “Again, I ask, how old are you?”
A chuckle was all he could afford as he leaned over and smacked her a kiss. Sweet sins, he loved her.
Nelly lay sprawled and shirtless on the gray L-shaped sofa in his rented flat as he watched Scarface on the flat-screen television—well, actually, he was pretending to watch the television. On the real, he was surreptitiously watching Sadie as she puttered about in the kitchen balancing a cookbook in one hand as she tried to bake him a cake. He knew she had no idea what she was doing, and when he offered to help, she shooed him away. His fiery little missy was hell-bent on getting that cake baked. And he was enjoying watching her making a flustered mess of herself.
When he’d picked her up earlier, his plan was to grab something to eat, then take her shopping on Robertson Boulevard and later see a movie. Of course, her selection for food was pepperoni pizza—she was a pizza maniac. But as soon as they’d finished at the pizzeria and he’d mentioned what the next move was, she’d began whining that it was his birthday and she wouldn’t feel comfortable taking from him on his day. That she wanted to do something for him, like baking a cake. At first he’d been piqued, and tried to convince her otherwise, because she always, always seemed to find a reason not to take stuff from him, and all he wanted to do was give her the world. But she wasn’t having it.
Sometimes he had to remind himself that this was Sadie Francé he was dealing with, and not those uppity, fake-nosed, Barbie doll rich brats that his father deemed worthy of him. Those chicks that spoke only of the latest brands, the next new car, the current hip restaurant or club et al. Sadie, on the other hand, was real. All of her. She had a dream, she had a passion, she had a direction. And he could see that those dreams were what she held onto, with unyielding hopes.
Though she had no reason to be, due to her state, she was prideful. It wasn’t attractive…but, in some ways, it was.
Many a time he’d wished he could read what was going on in that beautiful head of hers. What she thought of him. What she thought of them as a couple. What she envisioned their future to be. Did she believe, like he strongly did, that they’d be together till death? Or did she merely view him as a teenage crush? Did she know, like he ind
ubitably knew, that she was the one? Or did she hold the expectation of him leaving her one day for someone else?
Reading Sadie wasn’t simple. Often times she’d just shut down, the wheels churning in her head, and he’d drive himself barmy trying to figure things out.
To the cake baking suggestion, he’d capitulated. They’d fetched the ingredients along with a cookbook and headed back to his flat. Now he took entertainment in watching her as she stirred the batter in a large stainless steel bowl, flour spots on her nose and forehead. She’d changed from her sundress and into one of his white T’s and boxers, her mass of curls pulled back with a hair tie, revealing that long, graceful neck he loved so much. He wanted to run his tongue all over it, sucking gently on her smooth, soft skin, leaving behind a mark that would identify her as his…
The feeling he had as he watched her in his kitchen, in his clothes, wasn’t a feeling he could fathom. The emotion he had at the moment was far more powerful than ‘love’. Love, however, was the strongest word out there to describe his feelings, so he had no choice but to call it love. The intense, burning, searing feeling, he also knew was insalubrious. As young as he was, this, too, he most assuredly knew: he wanted to marry her.