by Dara Girard
Elia handed Naomi the now finished corsage. “Why did you wait so long to tell me?”
Naomi sniffed the corsage. “Not now,” she warned under her breath.
“Tell you what?” June asked, gathering some flowers to create her own corsage.
“Nothing,” Naomi said.
“She’s traumatized because she found a man in her bed,” Elia said.
Her mother’s eyes widened. “Was he dead?”
“You watch too many dramas,” Naomi said.
“You leave my dramas alone. Am I right?”
“No,” Naomi said, giving her sister a fierce look. She hadn’t wanted to let her mother know about the situation. She would only worry.
“Did you bring him home and forget his name?”
“Mom—”
June waved her hand. “No, that doesn’t sound like you. I can’t remember the last time you had a man in your apartment, let alone your bed. Did—”
“It was her housekeeper,” Elia said.
“That Jamaican?”
Naomi pointed her corsage at her mother. “Says the daughter of Jamaican immigrants.”
Her mother bristled. “You know what I mean. She was completely uncouth.”
Elia snorted. “More than you know. Naomi found her baking someone’s plantain in her oven.”
June blinked then frowned. “You don’t want her baking plantain in your oven?”
“No,” Elia said with a giggle. “Maya put a man’s plantain in her personal oven.”
Her mother’s frown deepened. She turned to Naomi. “What nonsense is your sister speaking?”
Naomi shook her head and feigned ignorance. “I don’t know.”
Elia released a heavy sigh. “The Jamaican—”
“She has a name,” Naomi said.
Elia lifted a brow. “Does it matter now?”
“Yes, because—”
Elia turned to her mother. “She serviced a man in Naomi’s bed.”
Her mother blinked. “Served him what?”
Elia threw up her hands in exasperation. “Mom, why can’t you understand subtly?”
“What’s the use of being subtle when you can speak plain?” June shot back annoyed. “That’s what your sister is good at.” She looked at Naomi, expectant. “You tell me what happened.”
“Mom,” Naomi said with a sigh and brief shake of her head. “It’s nothing.”
Her mother set her gathered flowers on the table and folded her arms. “Your sister is spouting nonsense about nothing?”
“Yes.”
Elia rested a hand on her hip. “Naomi found her housekeeper having sex with a man in Naomi’s bed. Is that clear enough for you?”
June’s mouth fell open. “She brought her man to your place?”
“That’s where it gets worse. He wasn’t ‘her man’ he was a client. She’s a working girl. A prostitute.”
“I know what a working girl is,” June said, lifting her chin, offended.
“I wasn’t sure,” Elia said with a teasing grin. “Since you didn’t understand my plantain analogy.”
“Because that made no sense. How can you use plantains and ovens as a euphemism for sex?” She tapped her chin, thoughtful. “Although, now I can see the connection. But you know what would have been better? If you said Naomi found The Jamaican spreading her guava jelly over the man’s—”
Naomi held up her hand, wanting to plug her ears. “Mom’s that enough.” It was enough to have to try to rid her mind of brown bottoms and striped boxers; she didn’t want to add plantain and guava jelly to the mix.
June nodded with a knowing look. “I didn’t trust her. Never trust a woman who dusts with her fingers. I once caught her using her palm because she was too lazy to use a cloth and—”
“Well, she’s gone now.”
Her mother suddenly covered her mouth in horror. “Dear God, to think she likely used that same hand on a man’s cucumber. Your house could be covered in seeds!”
It was now Naomi’s turn to look around to make sure nobody heard her. “Mom, please keep your voice down.”
Elia giggled. “No one will know what she’s talking about.”
June clasped her hands together, her voice anxious. “You can’t go home. What if there are other men there waiting? Did she put your address online?” Her eyes widened with renewed horror. “If so, then your address has gone international and you could have men coming from all corners of the globe!”
“I doubt that will happen.”
Elia couldn’t stop a grin. “Two men have already shown up.”
Naomi glared at her sister. “Will you shut up?”
June pressed her hands against her cheeks, distress covering her face. “This is awful.”
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ve changed the lock and I will be moving soon.”
“Just wait until I tell your father. He’ll know what to do.”
“No, wait…” Naomi said, but her mother hurried away before she could stop her. She turned and hit her sister in the arm. “You’re still a little snitch. Why did you have to tell her?”
Elia shrugged unrepentant. “What are little sisters for? At least she’s not bothering you about getting married now.”
“True.”
They both looked at their cousin who was still crying.
“How long is she going to milk the attention?” Elia asked.
“Give her another ten minutes and she’ll be fine,” Naomi said, looking outside. “Plus it seems that the rain is easing up.”
“She better get on the dance floor soon, because I don’t know how high her new husband is trying to get,” Elia said, nodding at the groom and best man whose mood and appetite appeared to have improved.
Naomi frowned. “Maybe Mom’s right and we should go talk to her.”
“There’s nothing to say.” Elia sighed. “Poor thing.”
“I don’t think it’s that bad. The rain didn’t ruin everything.”
Elia shook her head. “No, I’m talking about your mattress. It finally gets some action and gets stabbed and tossed out.”
“I don’t need a man.”
“It’s been eight years. Are you sure it’s not because—”
“You ended up marrying the first guy I ever dated seriously? No, I’m fine. I’ve told you this more times than I can count. You and Barry are perfect together. It never would have worked between us.” She knew that people still felt a little sorry for her. That her younger sister ended up with the first and only man Naomi had ever brought home. But she didn’t need anyone’s pity. She’d met Barry Seagrove at twenty-two after completing her doctorate and saw dating as a new experience to try. He’d been a fellow student a few years older whose interest in biodiversity interested her.
It lasted four months. She felt relieved when they admitted that things wouldn’t work out. She wasn’t too surprised when a few weeks later he and Elia started going out. They’d hit it off at their first meeting with a passion she and Barry had never shared.
Naomi wasn’t sure there was ‘The Right Man’ out there for her and didn’t want to look. Others didn’t understand her real passion—microbiology. They didn’t understand that she felt alive looking at the life that abounded, which was invisible to the naked eye. They couldn’t comprehend that the sight of microbes made her skin tingle, the magnificence of binary fission versus the process of mitosis, made her heart race.
Presently she was researching the correlation between the hepatitis C virus and kidney cancer; her focus being whether a carrier of the hepatitis C virus is significantly more prone to being diagnosed with kidney cancer than those without it. She was also interested in the ranging mutations of elephantiasis. No man could compete with that.
“I’m not like Mom,” Elia said. “I’m not saying you have to get married, but you haven’t even tried to be with someone.”
“I don’t need to. I’m not like you. I don’t need shopping with the girls, wine tastings, book clubs and family v
acations.”
“True, but you do need a life.”
Naomi pressed two fingers to her neck as if searching for a pulse. “You mean I’m dead?”
“I mean you need a life outside of the lab.” She lowered her voice. “You’re not taking care of yourself. You have bags under your eyes.”
“That’s because I haven’t been able to sleep since—”
“No, you’ve had them before. And you’ve lost weight. Have you been skipping meals again? And without a bed, where do you sleep?”
“I have my power shakes. And I sleep on the couch.” She rubbed her corsage underneath her sister’s chin. “You’re starting to sound like Mom. Don’t worry about me,” she said, although her sister’s concerns reminded Naomi of her mentor, Dr. Vera Conklin, who’d urged her to attend the wedding ‘just to be social a bit’. Naomi was known as a ‘no show’ at most family events, either from lack of interest or forgetfulness. She’d missed an uncle’s housewarming party (she’d gotten absorbed in her research and lost track of time), her sister’s baby shower (she’d gotten the dates mixed up) and her parent’s twentieth wedding anniversary (same reason). Although she wasn’t close to her cousin, aside from her mentor’s urging, her mother’s insistence and her sister’s constant reminder, Naomi knew she had to attend the wedding or her mother’s middle sister would have given her hell.
“Don’t you think it’s odd that you’re rarely home; that you rarely pay attention to the real world around you, that your housekeeper could use your place for months without you knowing?”
“No, I don’t. I love my work. And Maya is just…I should have gotten rid of her sooner.” Naomi closed her eyes and groaned. “She worked for me for more than a year. How often do you think she used my place and I didn’t know it?” She waved her corsage. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. I just need to move out and put this all behind me.” She turned to look at her cousin who was now on the dance floor with her new husband. “See? Everything turns out okay in the end. I’ll be fine.” But even as she offered her sister a smile, her words felt like a lie.
Chapter 3
She shouldn’t have come. Her sister wasn’t the only one to mention the dark circles under her eyes or her lost weight. She couldn’t help that she was built like her Ghanaian born father— Dr. Abraham Mensah—all lines and angles without curves. And if they weren’t worried about her appearance they kept reminding her how rarely they’d seen her. Yes, she travelled a lot. Yes, she worked long hours. Yes, she was still single. Was that a crime? Was it wrong to be ambitious?
Not that it was getting her very far since Pete had taken another researcher from her. What was the use of graduating from the University of Pennsylvania at eighteen, getting her post graduate training at the Stanford University School of Medicine if she wasn’t making any strides? Why weren’t people clamoring to work on her projects? Why was she thought of as second best?
Even the lab she’d been using had been shut down due to a mold outbreak. She was working in an interim facility, which housed seven other organizations—one a crystal healing center and the other an accounting firm. She felt like a failure compared to her father, who like his father before him, had graduated with honors from Oxford University, had served on several boards, won prestigious awards and wrote on subjects such as tuberculosis, elephantiasis and the mechanisms of acquired immunity. Although he had retired he was still a much sought after speaker.
Naomi spent the remainder of the night assuring her father that she’d be fine and he didn’t need to escort her home, telling her cousin she made a beautiful bride and twice avoiding a man who thought her doctorate meant she was a physician and who wanted her to look at the suspicious mole on his neck.
By close to midnight she was ready to leave and happily made her escape into the cool spring evening, walking briskly through the parking lot. The rain had stopped, leaving the ground wet, the reflection of the moon shining in the puddles. She was looking at one such reflection when her heel caught in a grate and she stumbled forward.
She caught herself before she fell, but felt her necklace slip from her neck. She scrambled to reach it, but it slid through her fingers and clattered down the grate.
No, no, no. Please no!
Just what she needed. A bad week turned worse. She dropped to her knees, the cold, wet asphalt pressing against her skin.
This couldn’t be happening.
Naomi touched her neck again, her heart sinking. The necklace was gone. Truly gone.
She pulled out her cell phone and used the light to peer into the dark black pit, hoping to see a glint of the gold chain reflected, but she didn’t see anything. She tried to lift the grate, but it was heavier than expected and bit into her skin, causing her to yank her hands away and flex her sore fingers.
Naomi squeezed her eyes shut as her mother’s voice rose in her mind, “I thought you said you finally got the clasp fixed like I told you. Do you know how much that necklace cost? Why are you so irresponsible?”
It wasn’t that she didn’t treasure it, she’d been careless, but it wasn’t the first time. She’d ruined a silk blouse, a gift from her grandmother; a silver tea set she’d received from an uncle. But her aunt’s necklace had been special. It had been a gift she’d given to Naomi when she’d gotten her first job. “A gift for all your accomplishments and the many more to come,” she’d told her that day. And now she’d lost it down a sewer.
“Want me to get it for you?”
Naomi looked up and saw a man in shadow, the lamplight illuminated behind him. She squinted, trying to make out his features. “I’m sorry?”
“You just dropped something, right?” he asked, his voice as deep and dark as the shadows around him.
“Yes.”
“What was it?”
Naomi touched her throat again half hoping it would magically reappear. No, it was still gone. “My necklace.”
“Do you want me to get it for you?”
Naomi pointed to make sure he understood the situation. “It fell down the grate.”
“I know.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Do you want me to get it for you or not?”
She wouldn’t be too proud. She wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t need help. “Yes,” she said feeling relieved. “Please.”
“But I’ll need a favor in return.”
“Anything.” She paused. She couldn’t be too grateful. She didn’t know who this man was. “As long as it’s not illegal, immoral and it’s within my power.”
A smile entered his voice. “What’s your definition of immoral?”
“I won’t sleep with you.”
“You think sleeping with a man is immoral?”
“Only when it’s in exchange for certain favors,” she said, her former housekeeper fresh in her thoughts. But she wished she hadn’t mentioned it. Why were they having this conversation when she just needed his help? She stood to her feet, but still couldn’t make out his features with the light behind him, the darkness still masking his face. “Those are my conditions otherwise you can leave.”
He shrugged. “Fair enough. I’ll get your necklace, if you promise to hire me as your assistant.”
That didn’t make any sense. “What kind of assistant?”
“Someone who helps you with your day-to-day duties. A personal assistant.”
He needed a job that bad? She didn’t need a personal assistant, and even if he’d wanted to be a research assistant, she wouldn’t want to hire someone she’d just met in a parking lot.
Naomi shifted her gaze to the grate. But she did need her necklace back. “Okay.”
He held out his hand. “Promise?”
She recoiled for a moment. His hand was enormous. She looked at what she could make of his shabby tux. Maybe he needed money. At least he was asking for a job. She would give him a good reward instead. She held out her hand. “I promise.”
“Good.” He lifted the grate as if he were lifting the lid off of a paper box and
descended inside.
Naomi adjusted her glasses and paced. She chewed her nails and paced some more. Could he find it? Was it gone forever? How would she explain the loss of the necklace if he didn’t? Her mother would never let her hear the end of it. “Can you see anything?” she called down to him, seeing the light from his cell phone.
“There’s a lot of water, the rain didn’t help.”
She groaned. He wasn’t going to find it. It was hopeless.
“But I’ll get it, Mensah. Don’t worry.”
Mensah? He knew her last name? She didn’t remember telling him. It didn’t matter. He just needed to find the necklace. Naomi paced some more and as time passed her hopes faded. Soon she heard his feet on the metal ladder. She crouched down in anticipation. “Did you find it?”
He held out a slimy, dirty hand. “Here you go.”
Naomi winced and recoiled both from the sight and the smell then gingerly accepted the sewage covered necklace. “Thank you,” she said politely as he emerged, his suit covered in muck. He looked terrible and smelled even worse, but he’d done what he’d said. “I really appreciate it Mr…”
“Sebastian Scott.”
“Thank you Sebastian.”
He cleaned his hands on his trouser legs then reached inside his jacket. “I’ll give you my card. So I can—”
“Naomi?”
She looked past him and saw her mother waving. She couldn’t let her mother see her with this man or the necklace. She offered him a bright smile, snatched the card he held out to her and said, “I’ll be in touch,” hoping he’d accept her generous reward and she’d never see him again.
Chapter 4
His luck was about to change. Sebastian pumped the air with his fist as he walked into his house and headed for the kitchen. He now had a job with the illustrious Naomi Mensah. It had been worth pulling some strings to make sure he got invited to the wedding of the friend of his second cousin once removed.