Frost on My Window

by Angela Weaver

  “Sure thing.”

  By the time I got downstairs, I was beyond curious. But the sight that greeted me as I walked to the area behind the security desk knocked me for a loop. Leaning against the wall holding a large white teddy bear, sporting a baseball cap, jeans, and a short sleeve shirt, stood Sean. I couldn’t keep the look of surprise off my face.

  “What—” I started.

  “Package for you, miss.”

  “Thank you,” I responded automatically as I reached out to take the teddy bear that he offered.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be on a plane to Arizona?” I asked.

  “I’m here to take you with me,” he said.

  I sighed and closed my eyes, praying for patience. “I can’t go with you, Sean.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” he challenged.

  “You can’t…you shouldn’t…” I looked away and for the first time noticed the long looks that were being thrown our way by the people entering and leaving the building. This wasn’t a conversation that I wanted to have in front of an audience.

  He seemed to read my mind. “Marc’s out front. We can talk in the car.”

  I nodded my head and followed Sean through the glass doors. Marc stood by the parked Town Car and opened the door to admit us inside. Once behind the tinted windows, I felt more nervous than in front of strangers’ eyes. The artificial cool air sent a chill down my arms.

  “You’re worried about what happened this morning?” he asked.

  “What?” I questioned, caught off guard by his bringing up the kiss.

  “If you’re upset about the kiss, I promise you’ll be safe as a nun in church. You can trust that I’d never hurt you.” His green eyes looked into mine.

  I shook my head. Shoot, I’d probably taken advantage of him this morning and here he was thinking that I was scared of him? If only he knew. “No, Sean, it’s not that I don’t want to go, but I can’t just get up and leave. I have responsibilities, and Rena needs me right now.”

  He shook his head, and I could already tell that this wasn’t going to be easy. Sean liked to get his way almost as much as I did.

  “What if I said I needed you?” He moved closer and took hold of my hands.

  I smiled and tried to make light of the situation. “Rena needs me more.”

  “What about your needs? When are you going to take some time for yourself?”

  “I know the story,” I said and waved my hand dismissively. He’d given me the same lecture before.

  “Yes, Leah, but you missed the point.” He looked at me, and it was a long, almost sad look.

  I shook my head and reached for the door handle, angry with Sean for pushing the issue. “No, I didn’t miss the point. I got it loud and clear. When Sean Patrick Andrews, lead singer of Exile, needs me then it’s okay. But when other people need me it’s not. Well, I’m sorry but I can’t just run off to some secluded spot in the middle of the desert and leave Rena high and dry.”

  By the time I finished, I couldn’t breathe, could barely hear over the sound of my heart beating in my ears. I threw open the door and tore out of the Lincoln Town Car clutching the teddy bear to my chest. I practically sprinted into the office building, not even bothering to turn around as I heard Sean’s voice shouting my name.

  I barely made it to my office before I collapsed into my chair. It wasn’t like we never fought. We’d go at it for hours over the latest ethical view or political scandal. Yet this time had been different. I hadn’t wanted to fight with Sean and my victory felt hollow. As I sat there staring blankly at the report with one hand clutching a shaking pen and the other holding on to the soft white teddy bear, I wished I’d had the courage to lose.

  * * *

  What does anger look like? If I could paint, what color would it be? Not blood red but moonlit black shadows. It’d be the image of Rena at one o’clock in the morning, shouting at the empty wicker chair.

  The sound of crying had pulled me from my restless sleep and I quietly got out of bed and walked into the living room to see her talking to the empty wicker chair. She’d found the letter. I’d buried it under a pile of mail hoping against hope that she’d just throw it away. Like the change of seasons, this was something I couldn’t stop.

  “I hope you rot in hell. Do you hear me?” Her voice was slightly slurred.

  “Do you know what you’ve done to me? Of course not,” she raged.

  There was a brief pause and I stood in the shadows and watched her raise the half-filled glass to her lips.

  “You want my forgiveness? Never. I wouldn’t spit on your ass if you were on fire. If I could I’d watch you fry, hell, I’d throw the switch. Then again, that’s too easy. I want you to suffer,” she sniffed.

  She waved her glass towards the chair. “You wanted this. Just had to go out and have another drink, huh? My parents are lying cold, so cold, under six feet of earth. They should be here,” she screamed. “With me. They should be lying in bed with pillows and blankets watching the evening news and talking about having grandkids.”

  I crept towards her as she tossed down the contents of the glass and slammed it down on the side table.

  “How do you like that price? The lives of two people for a bottle. You want my forgiveness? Bring them back to me…Just bring them back to me,” she sobbed as I stood frozen by the child-like tone of her voice.

  Always in the past I would tuck Rena into bed, curl up in her green velvet chair, and close my tear-filled eyes. I wanted it to be someone’s, anyone’s, fault, but it wasn’t. The convicted felon whose letters begged for forgiveness couldn’t be blamed for all the bad things life threw at you. Blame wouldn’t lift my aunt and uncle from the grave. Nothing could take away the demons that drove Rena. The hurt stayed and that was the hardest to bear.

  I went over to the table and grabbed the half empty bottle. “What’d you do that for?” Rena asked.

  “Because you don’t need this.”

  “Yes, I do.” Rena tried to stand and weakly sat back down on the sofa.

  I walked over and picked up the phone, thinking to call Mom and Pop.

  “Damn,” I muttered remembering that they were somewhere in the middle of the ocean. Instead, I looked down at the open address book on the table and started dialing.

  “Who are you calling?” Rena asked, her voice slurred.

  “Someone that can help.”

  “I don’t need anyone.”

  “See, that’s where you’re wrong.” I shook the phone. I knew denial like I knew the back of my hand. Rena had lived with it too damn long. I’d lived with it too long.

  “I can’t let you do this anymore,” I muttered to myself while paging though the little phone book. My fingers shook as I pushed the buttons on the cordless phone.

  “Hello?” Trey’s sleepy voice came over the line.

  “Can you come over?” I asked, moving towards the kitchen.

  “Leah? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Rena.” I paused. “I need your help.”

  “She all right?” he asked hurriedly. I could hear the sound of clothes rustling in the background.

  “No, she’s not,” I admitted out loud for the first time. “I’m hoping that you can get through to her.”

  “I’m on my way, okay? Just sit tight.”

  “Thank you,” I replied before hitting the off button on the phone. Turning, I gazed into the living room to see Rena staring out the window. The tears running down her face mimicked my own.

  Later, after Trey had come and promised to take Rena home to Texas the next day, I lay in bed trying to sleep in spite of the sounds of Simba purring on the pillow next to mine. After praying to the Lord to keep her safe, I could only hope that Trey’s mother could help Rena heal. And so as the clock struck three, I closed my eyes, trying to remember the low, sweet music Sean made when strumming his guitar. But the sound of Rena’s pleas haunted me, following me into oblivion.

  * * *

  “What’s up, guys?�
� I asked as my co-workers, Bahni and Tami, came into my office and shut the door.

  “It’s her, Bahni,” Tami declared. I watched as she held up a newspaper picture.

  “She would have said something,” the young Indian woman replied.

  “Look at her,” Tami told Bahni. I put down my pen and looked at the both of them as if they’d lost their collective minds.

  “Did you two get hold of some spiked cappuccino or something?” I asked, rubbing my eyes, trying to rid them of the itchy feeling that came with lack of sleep.

  Tami walked over and laid a newspaper down on my desk. “You read this stuff?” I asked, surprised that the trendy graphics designer had a copy of the popular celebrity tabloid.

  “I have to have something to look at on the train. Besides, my roommate has a subscription. She’s like some kind of celebrity groupie.”

  “So what’s got you guys so hyper this morning?” I asked.

  “Tami thinks…” Bahni started.

  “Just turn to page six,” Tami interrupted.

  I turned the pages and when I got to page six my stomach dropped to the floor and the office seemed to dim. I was staring down at a picture of Sean and me laughing as we walked arm and arm in the park. Against my will, I read the article.

  Bahni’s voice seemed to come from far away. “Tami thinks that’s a picture of you, Leah.”

  Seems as though the media-shy lead singer of Exile has found a new muse. With Delia filming and playing with co-star Nicholas Chapman on the set of her upcoming period flick, Sean Andrews is humming a new tune. This photo, taken at Central Park by a local New York photographer, caught the happy couple at play. Sources close to Sean Andrews say the singer has purchased new Manhattan digs to be close to his new mystery lady love.

  The phone buzzed and I jabbed the button on the speakerphone while gazing down at the newspaper color photo in horror. Millions of people all the world over would be looking at me.

  “Yes,” I said woodenly.

  “Line one for you, Leah.”

  “Could you take a message? I can’t talk right now.” I couldn’t even think at that moment. I couldn’t do anything except breathe.

  “I’m afraid he’s really persistent. He’s called and zeroed out your voicemail every ten minutes since nine o’clock this morning.”

  I felt a pain in the back of my eyes as I looked up into Tami’s smiling face. The young web developer stood there staring at me as if I were Moses come down from the mount.

  “I can’t talk right now,” I said.

  “She’s really busy, Trace,” Bahni chimed in.

  There was a pause before Tracy came back on the line. “Leah, Sean said to say ‘Pick up the phone, darling.’ ”

  My face drained of any color that I’d gained as Bahni’s eyebrow arched and she gave me a curious look. Tami had no shame. “Just a friend, huh? Oh, my God, he’s so dreamy. Can I get his autograph?”

  I gave the auburn-haired Cal Tech graduate a look only a black woman could give. The one that sent men running, kids cowering, and told women that something was about to break loose unless one of them left. Lucky for Tami, at that moment when I really wanted to reach over my desk and wring her neck, Bahni picked up the hint and ushered her toward the door.

  “You are so much cooler than that actress he was dating,” Tami exclaimed. “I heard she was a real bitch. My friend Tom did her makeup for Sundance and she was like completely rude. You know she’s seeing Joan Rivers’s plastic surgeon.”

  As the door closed behind them, I sank down into the chair and picked up the phone. “You knew about the photo,” I accused. The pieces began to fit together. Sean’s persistence in trying to get me to leave with him yesterday took on a new meaning.

  “I had an idea,” he replied. “I thought you’d get upset and I hoped that it wouldn’t be published,” he said in a rush.

  “How?” I just had to ask. Not that it mattered.

  “Rick got a call on Monday morning to confirm.”

  “Oh, God.” I dropped down into my chair and closed my eyes. “I’m in the National Enquirer! Sean, what am I going to do? Two of my co-workers just finished gathering in my office like star-struck teenagers.”

  I almost panicked. “Wait. No one really reads tabloids anymore.”

  “It’s going to be all right,” he said.

  I started to calm down and scanned the article for my name. I breathed a sigh of relief at seeing that I had been labeled as the ‘mystery woman.’ ”You’re right, at least they don’t have my name.”

  When Sean didn’t say anything, I tensed back up. “Sean?”

  “Other papers have picked up the photo and now it’s all over the Internet. Mike started getting calls yesterday morning and the phone hasn’t stopped ringing. Trey called me this morning, so I know Rena’s on her way to Texas. I bought a ticket to Phoenix for you. Just show up at LaGuardia Airport for the 9:30 a.m. American Airlines flight to Phoenix connecting through O’Hare. You’ll get in around 11:50 a.m.”

  “Sean, there are plenty of black women who look like me in New York City,” I said slowly.

  He sighed. “Don’t question this, just be on the flight. I’ll be waiting for you at the airport.”

  “How long do I have?”

  I wanted to run home and hide under the covers and wake up in the morning to find out this was just one long, nasty nightmare.

  “They’ll have your name, address and life history before the eleven o’clock news.”

  I hung my head and rubbed my neck, feeling a migraine start in the back of my eyes.

  “I can’t just up and leave. What am I going to do with Simba?”

  “Bring him along. It’s about time I got to spend some time with him.”

  “It’s not like I’ve been keeping the two of you apart,” I said defensively.

  “I know it’s been my schedule, but that’s in the past. I’m ready and willing to take care of the both of you.”

  “I don’t know, Sean.”

  “Trust me, Leah. Just get on the plane tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Whatever you decide, I’ll be waiting at the airport.”

  I picked up my coffee cup with a shaky hand only to discover that it had turned cold and undrinkable. I closed my eyes and sighed, feeling the start of a headache. Just what I needed, a migraine. Right then it seemed like pink icing on the cake of a horrible day.

  * * *

  I arrived home later that evening to see a furiously blinking red light on the answering machine. I hesitated before pressing down the button: fifteen messages. Half of them were for Rena, the other half were for me.

  “Ms. Russell, Steve Hirsch from the New York Times. We’d like to do an exclusive on your story. We’re doing an expose on the new trends in interracial dating. We think you and Sean should be our feature story.”

 

  “Ms. Taylor, Vanessa McAdams at Newsday. We want to tell your side of the story. Tell us about the harassment. Will there be a lawsuit? Did rapper Nine threaten your life?”

 

  “Ms. Taylor, Entertainment News. We’d like to interview you for our upcoming Sunday night segment.”

 

  “Ms. Russell, Karen Adder from US magazine. How does it feel to be Sean Andrews’s newest leading lady?”

  Chapter 14

  The next morning, I left everything behind as the plane lifted off the ground. It was an escape from thoughts of Rena, telephone calls from the press and excited friends. I was taking my life back. Lance’s face could no longer cause me pain. The boy I fell in love with, the lanky go-getter on the corner, my partner in crime at church, was still alive only in my memories.

  I got off the plane in Chicago and made my way to Gate G for the connecting flight to Phoenix. As I sat in O’Hare airport curled up in one of the tight black seats, I watched life pass by pulling carry-ons, holding duffle bags or pushing carts. I was the unseen voyeur watching
as couples embraced and families welcomed loved ones from far away.

  I turned on my iPod and put the earbuds into my ears. As the smooth sounds of jazz filled my mind the minutes ticked by and the time of my flight came closer. As Simba lay asleep in the mesh covered pet carrier on the seat next to mine, I imagined how I would greet Sean when I got off the plane. What would I say? When the gate attendant announced that they would begin boarding in fifteen minutes, I caught myself laughing at the way pretentious middle-aged business men in cookie-cutter suits herded around the ticket counter to be the first on the plane.

  By the time I stepped off the plane in Phoenix, I never wanted to see anyone under the age of twenty again. Three bad kids with an exhausted mother and a stupid father had annoyed half the plane. It had gotten to the point that even the flight attendants were avoiding our section.

  Holding tight to Simba’s carry-all, I exited the jetway and entered the terminal. It took me a moment but I spotted Sean leaning against the windows. His sunglasses might have disguised his eyes, and the curly brown wig his hair, but nothing in the world could hide that sexy smile of his.

  “Welcome to Phoenix,” he said, taking Simba’s carrier from me.

  “Glad to be here,” I replied, surprised at the happiness I felt.

  “So how was your trip?” Sean asked as we made our way to the baggage claim area. “I tried to book you into first class but all the seats were taken.”

  “That’s okay. I slept most of the way,” I lied.

  “That’s good because we have a long ride ahead of us.”

  We had to wait only a few minutes for my suitcase to arrive, and by that time Simba had begun to wake up.

  Sean placed my suitcase next to a bench outside and said, “Okay, you wait here and I’ll run and get the Jeep.”

  I sat on the bench and took a deep breath of the dry air. Unzipping the top of Simba’s pet case, I stuck my hand inside and rubbed his head, hoping that he’d be okay in the car. I looked up a few minutes later to see Sean jumping out of a dust-covered Jeep Wrangler.

  “Ready to ride?” He smiled.

  Nodding as he picked up the pet case, I followed and jumped up into the open passenger side door. Although the outside of the car was a mess, the inside was spotless.