My foot got real heavy on the accelerator.
16
Holy Wedlock, Batman!
Jewel—Saturday, August 14, 3:08 p.m.
You know how in a movie you get a sense of impending doom? That feeling that something was about to go horribly, terribly wrong? I glanced around and felt the tickle of unease again. A director could not have set the scene better.
Suspense was building as Stacie refused to tell anyone what happened between her, Patrick, and Oliver last night. Today, she was quiet, subdued, and ill at ease. Beyond a terse, “Let’s do the damn thing,” she hadn’t had much to say. Personally, I think that approaching your wedding with a let’s-do-the-damn-thing attitude was less than optimistic, but I was keeping my mouth shut.
Renee had been cheerful to the point of annoying, Roni Mae was practically catatonic with depression, Keisha seemed more nervous than the bride, and Tammy was Tammy, gleefully sharing the details of last night’s conquest with anyone who would listen. Unfortunately, the only person listening was little Marie. This weekend alone will probably scar the child for life.
As for me, I’d like nothing better than to forget this whole wedding thing and go home. Hey, sister girl was in need of some serious nap time. Roman and I might have topped our personal best as far as the sexual frolicking scorecard went. True, I had been a bit tipsy, but, really, that just added to the experience. Came home, put my old-school Chante Moore’s “Sexy Thang” on repeat, lit some candles around the living room, and had a funky good time. Last I thing I could remember, he carried my limp body out of the shower at around 3:00 a.m. That boy could do things that I never ...
Sorry, off track. I was explaining the scene here. The first thing I should have said was that while I was doing all this thinking, I was standing in the vestibule watching everyone walk down the aisle. Arthur and I were set to go next, then Stacie and her trifling father. I hated to speak ill of anyone’s folks, but he had been argumentative, hardheaded, bitter, and difficult from the day I met him over twenty years ago. Sad to say, today was no different.
The rain that let up a little last night was back with a vengeance. So strange for August, when we’re usually begging for rain. Didn’t I read somewhere that rain on your wedding day was like God crying for you or something?
I’ve always had this fairy tale in my head of what my wedding day would be like. Simple, elegant, everyone smiling and happy. Sprays of flowers. Me in a beautiful dress with some beautiful groom at my side. Family and friends welled up with joy. Sunshine beaming in—you know, that whole Cinderella-glass-slipper thing Disney messed up our heads with. Looking around—this wasn’t it.
Anyway, it was my turn. I turned to Arthur and smiled. Since I saw him plastered against Keisha last night, we’ve been real at ease with each other today. He was a good-looking guy, a little pale but tall and well built, with curly black hair and the same little British accent that Oliver has, however, on him, it sounds natural, not affected. You would think I didn’t like Oliver. Well, shit, I kinda didn’t but if he was what Stace wanted ... Actually, that wasn’t even it. Basically, it wasn’t going to be me waking up next to his plastic, superficial ass, and it was way too late to change Stacie’s mind. I was a friend to the bitter end, damn it. As she so eagerly said not so long ago—let’s do the damn thing.
Okay, we’re walking. I looked up the aisle and saw Roman grinning like I was walking for his entertainment purposes solely. I grinned back. He winked and mouthed, “You go, girl.” Straight stupid, just as crazy as a loon. Just the other day, I was thinking that he might just be it for me. Yes, IT. Could be the One. Let me put it like this: If he’s not IT, I really don’t know what it is. Sorry, my mind keeps wandering!
I turned, stepped into place, and looked. Music cued up. Audience rose to feet. Bride entered. Audience oohs and aahs. She did look gorgeous. Was it normal for her to be shaking like a leaf? So much so that she looked ready to pass out. Residual hangover maybe? I looked over at Oliver. He looked pretty sickly too. She stopped before him and a loud ominous clap of thunder rolled above, shaking the church. I was waiting for the creepy organ music to pipe in. Jesus, was this happily ever after or a horror flick?
I glanced over at Roman. He smirked and shook his head. Reverend Moss cleared his throat. Did I mention the good rev was sick? Caught some cold bug and had been wheezing and sniffling all over the place. Before the rev could instruct the father of the bride, Stace’s dad lifted Stace’s arm and shoved it at Oliver before stepping back to his pew.
“Lord have mercy,” Renee muttered behind me, and I had to resist kicking her.
Reverend Moss frowned, coughed, and began. “Friends, we are gathered together in the sight of God and man to witness and bless the joining of Stacie and ... achoo! Oliver in Christian marriage. The covenant of marriage was established by God, who created us male and female for each other ...”
I tuned him out. I had been to so many weddings, I could recite the ceremony verbatim. This was my second time as maid of honor, though. First time was for my sister. Now, she and her husband had a “love thing” if ever there was such a thing, and they still struggle to make it work.
That was probably one of the reasons why I was so concerned about this marriage. If I really thought it was the best thing for Stacie, I’d be overjoyed. But I’ve seen marriages fall apart that had a whole lot more going for them than these two.
And that whole Patrick thing last night? Unbelievable. When Patrick came back to Texas, he hit the ground running in dogged pursuit of me. But Roman was no dummy. I don’t know how he did it, but I’ve been so wrapped up in him, I couldn’t think straight, let alone think of any other guy. Didn’t really even want to. Why blow a good thing? The grass was not always greener. Particularly grass I had already trod upon.
When Pat saw that it was nothing doing, he slipped into this “good friend” role. Fine by me. Of course, Roman didn’t like it, but what could he do what with Jaquenetta popping up like the proverbial bad penny every time I turned around? I’ve spent some quality time with Chase, making sure he understood that I wasn’t a threat to his time with his dad. Not trying to take his mom’s place but hopefully establishing a role that balanced friendship and authority. But try and explain it to Jaquenetta’s threatened ass. It was worse than trying to talk Stacie out of marrying this joker.
I wanted to say that last night and all the soap-opera-like shit that went down was just a wild and rare episode with everyone overindulging in champagne and overcome with prewedding jitters. But I still had this feeling. And it didn’t bode well at all.
“In the name of God, I, Oliver, take you, Stacie, to be my wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part. This is my solemn vow.”
All eyes turned to Stacie. In a shaky voice, she repeated her vows. The pastor signaled me and Arthur to step forward with the rings.
“These rings are the outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace, signifying to us the union between Jesus Christ and his church.”
Stacie and Oliver swapped rings with more vows and walked over to the unity candle. Oliver picked his up and it went out. Stacie lit his with hers, and they lit the big one in the middle. When they turned to come back, thunder rolled again, a blue-white streak of lightning zagged directly over the church, and the air went still, then thick, humid, and staticky. An angry thunderclap boomed, shaking the entire structure and rattling stained-glass windows and wall hangings. The large middle candle tumbled off the holder onto the carpet. Renee gasped audibly as we stood watching.
The meager flame must’ve brushed a flower petal on the way to the ground, because the entire silk arrangement of white roses and purple irises was blazing. Naturally, a flame-ridden flower fell to the carpet where the candle wax was pooling and ignited another fire. In fascination and horror, we all stood and watched the fire jump onto the long train of
Stacie’s gown. Funny how you never think of flame-proofing a wedding gown until an instant such as this.
“Stacie, look out!” I managed to gasp out.
She whirled around as the fire swept up the train. She screamed and started spinning around in circles. Which only caused the material to wrap around her, bringing the flames closer. The audience saw the bride running around like a Roman candle and commenced to shrieking and panicking. Gregory was closest to her, so he threw her on the ground and started stomping on the dress and rolling her around. Roman ran to take care of the sparking flowers, and Patrick grabbed the urns of ceremonial water and starting dousing her with them. Oliver stood there with his mouth open.
Stacie looked up at me from the floor with wet hair falling into her eyes, her veil askew and charred, and her dripping train wrapped around her. Our dazed eyes met for a brief eternity before I saw it coming. I snickered, couldn’t help it. She put her head down before throwing it back to roar with laughter. After a brief moment, when I was sure everyone thought we were crazy, quite a few people joined in. The reverend shifted from foot to foot, torn between concern for Stacie and concern over his scorched pulpit area.
“Have you ever seen the like?” Roni Mae asked me.
I tried to answer but I was still laughing. Finally, Stacie put a hand out. It was Patrick who helped her up. She flashed him a charming smile, despite the circumstances. “Thanks, Trick.” My eyebrows flew up. Trick? I shot Tricky Rick a narrow-eyed look and he shrugged.
Stacie unraveled the train, brushed her hair out of her eyes, and faced Oliver. She smirked at him. I knew the smirk—it meant trouble.
“Are you okay?” he asked belatedly.
“Peachy.” She rolled her eyes. She looked down at the band on her finger and pulled it off. “Here, baby, this ain’t gonna happen.”
A collective gasp from the audience. Sighs of relief from the bridesmaids. Grunts of disgust from the groomsmen. Muttered prayers from the pastor.
“Stacie Ann!” Her mom was flabbergasted.
“Mom, God sent me floods, a burning bush, and baptism by fire and water. Do I really need another sign?”
I giggled again. It did sound downright biblical.
“I say, what God has put asunder, let no man join together.” She laughed. “But I do feel in the mood for a party.” She looked at me and raised a brow.
I stepped forward, reading her mind. “No need for all that food and entertainment to go to waste. Why don’t we all go over to the Westin and celebrate the ... uh ... the ... ah ...” I looked at Stacie.
“The first day of the rest of my life.” She snatched the veil off and tossed it to her mom. “Save that for me, will you, Mother?” She put an arm out for Patrick. “Trick, shall we?”
She recessed out with Patrick, and I followed with Roman. Renee and Gregory were fast on our heels. Would you believe that the sun was shining when we stepped outside? Yeah, I thought you would.
17
Do NOT Burn the Ribs
Roman—Sunday, September 8, Noon
Miss Jewel slammed the wooden spoon down and turned to glare at me. “What’re you implying, Roman LaChayse?” She put one hand on her hip and tapped her left foot impatiently.
She sounded just like Madere with that tone. Even worse, I’ve heard her take that tone with li’l Chase. Still, I stood my ground. “All I’m saying is, seem to me like you ain’t too happy ’bout Stacie bringing Patrick. I’m wondering why that is?” Truth be told, homegirl has been tripping over this whole Stace/Trick thing. The two of them have been a duo since the wedding-from-hell weekend. In the beginning, Jewel was like, cool, whatever it took for Stace to get through. Then, when they kept hanging tight, her attitude started getting a little tart.
She looked at her watch. “My mother is going to be here any minute and you want to talk about Stacie and Patrick?” She went over to the refrigerator and took out some barbecue sauce. She could get real busy when she didn’t want to talk about something. She already had two bottles of barbecue sauce out.
“Yeah, I happen to think now is a perfect time.” I stepped around the counter and began seasoning a platter of chicken.
“Did you start the coals?” She stirred the beans on top of the stove.
“Are you jealous ’cause Stacie’s sleeping with the love of ya life?” There, I threw it out in the open. Let her break that on down.
“Who said he was the love of my life?”
“Overheard Renee and Tammy talking to you. Yeah, I started the coals, and I noticed you didn’t answer my question.” Now, I hadn’t thought Patrick was that big of an issue. Was there something I needed to be worried about? What was really going on?
She turned and looked at me. “Love ’em though I may, Renee and Tammy aren’t the best sources of truthful information. Want to put out the ribs first?”
Jewellen Rose was a master in the art of verbal tap dancing. I really wasn’t trying to have it today. Particularly hated it when she ignored me like I was stupid. “Jewellen, don’t push me.”
“Pardon me, player, but I’ve got twenty people due here any second. Could I get some help?” She turned her back on me like she was dismissing a damn servant. “Check and see if we’ve got enough chairs around while you’re out there. And check the heat in the pool, could you?”
“That’s how we’re getting down today?” I turned away, went outside, and slapped a slab of ribs and some chicken quarters on the grill. Because I was still too pissed to continue the conversation, I poured the bags of ice into the two igloos and started loading ’em up, one with sodas, the other with beer and wine coolers. I was pouring potato chips into a big bowl on the back porch when Jewel came out.
“I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”
“Doin’ what, Jewel?” I was going to man up on this one. Cut her no slack. Be ruthless. Don’t let her get to you. Stoic, silent, let her do all the talking.
“Treating you like—”
Stoic went out the window and I cut her off. “Like I’m your amusing li’l playmate from the ghetto? Yeah, you are. Acting like I won’t realize you can’t answer a direct question? Umm-hmm, you are. Pretending that my concerns aren’t valid? Definitely. Let me set some shit straight here, Miss Jewel. If all you wanted was some corporate thug for stud services, a li’l excitement, you really shoulda said something a lot sooner. So, what, is it like a bonus ’cause I’m what you consider respectable? Gotta degree, a business, little bank, house of my own. Am I supposed to be honored you giving a brother the time of day? You gotta know it’s not gonna work that way.”
“Well, damn, Rome, where’s all this coming from?” She looked confused. “Is this all about Patrick, because if so—”
“Did you love Tricky Rick, Jewellen?” I stepped closer to her. I wanted to see every expression cross her face.
She looked away. “At the time, I guess—”
I wasn’t having that half-assed shit. “Either you did or you didn’t—don’t give me that North Dallas psycho shit. Come clean with a straight answer for once, for Christ’s sake.”
“Okay, I did. I did, okay? It has nothing to do with you and me. That’s in the past.” She walked over to me.
“Is it?” We stood toe-to-toe.
“Is Jaquenetta?”
I scowled at her. “Now, every time we get in an argument and you get into a tight spot, you throw Jaquenetta up in my face. Okay, I was married and I have a child. I won’t start apologizing for that. I never said I was a perfect knight in shining armor. I’m just me—either it’s enough or it isn’t.”
She waved her hands all round the place when she was angry. Right now, she looked like she was directing traffic. “And I never said I was a damsel in distress. I’m supposed to just ignore the fact that Jaquenetta exists, is that it? She had your ring, your name, and your child, Roman. I can’t forget that.”
“You’re jealous? Of Jaquenetta?” This was new. Never occurred to me that she’d be jealous of something I consider
ed history.
“I’m NOT jealous. I just find it hard to ignore, that’s all.”
“I never asked you to. But I divorced her. I told you where I stand with her. Can you do the same?”
“She was your wife. Patrick was just a boyfriend.”
I look right at her. “He was a fiancé. Someone you considered spending the rest of your life with. I’m just a boyfriend.” Bingo, baby.
She huffed in frustration. “You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. Whadaya mean? Help a brother understand.” The way I saw it, six months from now, she could be having this conversation with some other brother talking about me. I needed to know what was different now than with Patrick. Why was she still all secretive and flustered about this boy? What was it I didn’t know? What was it about me that made it different? Yeah, a brother was trying to find out where he stood. Been around too many times before to take things like this for granted.
“What’re you getting at? What’re you asking?”
“All I ever asked was to be with you and have you be with me.” Simple.
She threw her hands out. “I am with you!”
“One hundred percent, Miss Jewel. I want all or nothing.” Mind, body, and soul.
“But you know I love you!” She was missing my point—deliberately, I thought.
“You love me like you loved him? ’Cause you let him walk away without a fight or a look back. You say you love me, but I wish I knew why and for how long. Hell, I wish you knew why! You act like you are surprised to be with me. Like you are just along for the ride.”
Her mouth fell open and she looked scared. “Roman!” she whispered in a shaky little voice.
Anger or no, I couldn’t help it. It was the Y-chromosome knight in me, reaching out to that damsel in distress. I wrapped my arms around her and drew her close. “What, Jewellen?”
“You’re scaring me,” she mumbled into my neck.
“You’re scaring me, babe.” I ran my hand down her back.
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