Over. (This. Is. Not. Over. #2)

by Dianne, Shannon

  Fun fact! Did you know that Jacob’s parents named their home Jacob Land, since he’s their only son out of four children. (Jacob is spoiled to the core because of it. But he has generously matched each of his sisters with great husbands: a leading Boston surgeon, a Massachusetts State House of Representative, and the youngest sister is set to marry a mayor’s son.) Malcolm’s parents named their home Kingdom of Blair. It’s not odd to hear Malcolm’s mother call Malcolm by his official title during their summers here: Crown Prince Malcolm. That of course is a slap in Cadence’s face because he’s the oldest. Malcolm’s mother really is a handful. Goodness, between you and his mother, I really feel sorry for the man.

  But aren’t those homes the most gorgeous beach homes you have ever seen in your entire life? I mean, the second floors have their own balconies, the winding staircases inside, the blond wood, every room is decorated in a shade of white, the open floor plans, every window is floor to ceiling and … curtain-less. Think about that.

  You’re nasty. Oh Danielle, the way you allowed Malcolm to toss you against a window, the heat from your bum steaming it up. The way you were being slid up and down against it, the way your hair was pressed against the glass, completely disheveled. You were totally shameless. It was uncalled for. You should really think about your neighbors. We don’t want to see that.

  So as I was watching you, can you believe that I was caught by Cadence at that very moment? He walked out the front door of Kingdom of Blair and right over to me.

  “I was gazing out of my window, dreaming of you, praying that you’d return to me, when I saw you. I’ll tell you, it reminded me of the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet: But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.” He said to me as he held me close.

  “So what’s everybody doing tomorrow?”

  “I’m, uh, not sure. Were you about to throw pebbles up at my window? How were you planning on getting my attention?” He whispered in my ear. At that moment I could see that your breasts, palms and forehead were now pressed against the window. Your eyes were closed and your mouth was distorted into a large O. Malcolm’s hands were grabbing your waist, but I couldn’t see him behind you. I assume that he was using his tongue to enter that firm ass of yours. (You really do have a round ass Danielle.) But oh, back to Cadence, he asked me about how I was planning on getting his attention.

  “I was just planning on walking into the house.” I answered. The Blairs never lock their doors while here. They’re on private land, they normally wouldn’t have anything to worry about. But that’s before Malcolm burned up my trophies.

  “You were planning on walking into the house and into my bedroom and declaring your love, right in front of my wife?” Cadence pressed my body against his. “My god! You would risk everything for me?”

  “Risk everything? Cadence, it’s because of you and Lola that I have nothing left to lose.”

  “Oh, yeah, well, about Lola–”

  “And it’s because of you and Lola that I don’t have Malcolm.”

  “Malcolm?” I pushed off of him.

  “And it’s because of you that I’m standing outside of Jacob Land, instead of inside of it, getting fucked against a window!”

  “Huh?”

  “You heard me!” I yelled out.

  “You’re talking a little crazy.”

  “I’m not crazy, I’m disturbed!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

  “Oh boy, okay, uh, do you have your medicine.” He began walking me across the street, putting my arm in his and patting my hand, like I was 90 years old.

  “I have something better than medicine. I have memories.” I said, referring to the diary hidden inside of my hotel room.

  “I see. Maybe we should get you to a doctor and see if we can fill a prescription for you. Because you’re acting a little moody … one moment you’re standing outside my window looking for me, the next you’re talking about Malcolm.” He looks at me and smiles. “Those pills will fix you, they’ll stop all of those swinging emotions of yours … they’ll balance you out.”

  “Balance! As in the balance beam! As in the Summer Olympics of ’96!”

  “What?”

  “I want my trophies!”

  And, well, you can just imagine how things went from there. Cadence covered my mouth, ran me into the house and grabbed a set of car keys. He managed to get out of me where I was staying and so he drove me to my hotel. I kicked and screamed the entire way about my trophies. When we snuck up to my room, he called Dena’s cell and she came running over.

  “What is this about the Olympics?” Dena asked as she was tucking me into bed.

  “I could have gone Dena, I really could have.” I said to her while Cadence was feeding me orange juice through a straw. “And I’ve still got it Dena. Cadence, tell her how you just recently gave my routine a 9.4 out of 10. Tell her!” Dena gave Cadence a reproachful look while Cadence dropped his eyes.

  All throughout the night and better half of the next day, as I drifted in and out of sleep, I heard Dena and Cadence whispering about me:

  No one can know she’s here.

  Pills.

  Been out all night.

  Lola’s going to kill me.

  Be right back.

  Gotta check in with Lola.

  Stay with her.

  Getting Evan.

  Nat, I’m going to Savannah.

  Dinner?

  I’ll stay with her.

  He gave me these.

  Thank goodness!

  Danielle and her people.

  Get ready for dinner.

  And that made me wonder:

  Was My Agent wondering where I was? (I totally missed our 3 o’clock appointment at Oyster Bar … they’re probably worried sick.)

  Why didn’t My Agent tell me about this dinner? (They’re keeping secrets, I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands)

  Where is this dinner?

  “I’ll leave Italiano’s as soon as I can.” I heard Cadence say before leaving.

  Bingo.

  So it’s about 8 o’clock now, Cadence just dropped back in to check on me and guess what he had in his hands? A bottle of champagne.

  “Thought we’d have a little bubbly before I meet my parents for dinner.” He smiled at Dena and me as he poured champagne into three coffee mugs. He’s such a liar, I already knew he was meeting you and your people, but I didn’t say a word. I just sat on the couch with Dena and her son, Evan, wondering why Cadence was offering me alcohol. Everyone knows that I don’t drink since I’m on Lithium. I haven’t had a glass of champagne since college.

  “I’m not sure Laura should be drinking alcohol.” Dena said.

  “Oh, it’s fine.” Cadence answered with a smile.

  “No, she really shouldn’t. It doesn’t mix well with her Lithium.”

  “Oh, stop it.”

  “Mood stabilizers don’t mix well with alcohol, Cadence. Alcohol is a depressant and we want to normalize Laura’s mood, not bring it lower.”

  “Dena, relax it’s just champagne.”

  “Cadence–”

  “Everyone deserves a mug of champagne Dena! No matter who they are or what mood they’re in!” This was getting peculiar. My alarm bells started sounding. Cadence was trying to force champagne down my throat, but why?

  Anyways, he poured the champagne into the coffee mugs and I really had no choice but to drink. I naturally assumed Malcolm had ordered him to poison me but I figured I’d rather be poisoned than strangled. So we all drank together, while Cadence nodded and smiled at us. He had a look of pride on his face, I had no idea what that was all about.

  “Very good.” He said with satisfaction after he made sure we all drank our champagne to the last drop. “So I’ll come back and visit after I leave my parents.” He walked over to me and kissed me on the forehead. “Rest well, my love.”

  Dena and I said our goodbyes and then I sat back on the couch, waiting to die.r />
  Funny thing is that while Dena, Evan and I were all watching Madagascar (for the thousandth time), I heard Evan laughing and Dena … snoring. She had fallen fast asleep without so much as a warning. Without even a proper ‘goodnight’. I tried to wake her up by calling her name, shaking her, clapping my hands in front of her face, but she was out like a light.

  So while she’s here, asleep on the suite’s couch and Evan is eating muesli bars and watching Madagascar, I’m going to shower, shave, powder and primp myself for tonight. Because guess where I’ve decided to go?

  Oh, you’re a smart girl; I don’t have to tell you.

  See you soon,

  Laura

  Jon

  8:15 p.m.

  “It’s nice here.” I say as I look around Italiano’s. It’s a dim, candlelit spot, with paintings of Italian seaside towns on the wall. The harbor’s right outside, boats are docked on it, rolling up and down on waves. It’s full of people but it’s cool. Not too loud. Peaceful. “You’ve been here before?”

  “Just once.” Danny says before taking a slow sip of her scotch. Real … easy …

  She’s laid back today, chilled out, relaxed. She’s been giving lazy smiles, taking the long way around the couch, ignoring her cell phone, giggling with the Rena (kind of ignoring Jasmine, I think), and sitting in the kitchen, playing the same jazz song over and over:

  “I think I like this.” I said to her after the tenth time that it was on repeat.

  “Do you?” She smiled.

  “I do … it’s smooth.” I said and smiled back. “Real lazy.”

  “It is.” She whispered before pouring herself another glass of white wine.

  And that’s the mood she was in all day. Wiping the countertops off slowly, humming along to her music as she did it. Her hair is just pinned up, nothing fancy, a few strands are hanging down. She has on jeans, an ivory sweater, her earth chain and black heels. Real simple. I heard her mother comment on how soft her sweater looked. ‘Cashmere’, Danny said as her eyes were scanning a book, idly fingering through the pages. An hour later, she gave a breezy ‘sure’ when I asked her to come with me to Italiano’s to grab a drink before everyone else showed. Today, she’s just chill.

  Something’s up.

  “It’s not so bad down here.” I say before taking a sip of my Captain Morgan. The ocean water in the air is thick tonight, it’s all I can smell. Only on Hilton Head can salt water overpower the oregano in an Italian restaurant.

  “Yeah, it’s my new favorite hangout.” She gives an easy smile and then takes a sip of her scotch. “So when’s the big date?”

  “What big date?”

  “When you move to Boston.” She raises an eyebrow at me.

  “Marlon has a big mouth.”

  “You know he can’t keep anything from Jasmine.” She takes a sip of her drink.

  “Soon, before February. Marlon says he already knows the perfect place for me.”

  Danielle

  8:20 p.m.

  I’ve been pissed off all damn day.

  I’ve tried to keep my peace. I really have. But you know me, it was hard. I had to literally press my lips together and when they threatened to open, pour white wine down my throat, just to shut the hell up.

  I’ve been itching to smack the shit out of Jasmine all day. Itch. Ing. But after that attempted murder stunt, I’ve been trying to turn over a new leaf. The last thing I need is a history of violence if my time in court ever comes: Your Honor, the defendant, Danielle Rouge, burnt down a house on Friday and smacked the shit out of somebody on Sunday. This is the type of person she is. I wanted to pop her so bad that I’ve been walking in the direction opposite of her just to restrain myself. So if she was sitting on the couch, I’d have to walk the long way around it to get to the kitchen. If not, there’s no telling what I would do.

  Earlier today, when Jasmine told me that Jon was moving to Boston, I was livid. Beyond livid. I’m so tired of the men in my life making plans and doing everything without my consent or participation that I just want to say the hell with Malcolm and Jon. Maybe I should just start over. Maybe I should just cut my losses and move on because this is ridiculous. First Jon didn’t come home for months, like he was running shit. Next, he’s in New York trying to knock my boyfriend out. Then Malcolm has Laura in a house he owns like he’s the fucking man or something. Because of his lies, I burn down that house only to find out that it was Lola harassing me. Next, my name is being dragged through the mud as an adulterer. Enough is enough! I’m done with Jon and Malcolm and their constant need to manipulate lives and circumstances, and their need to be gods and heroes, instead of the mortals that they were born to be. I’m just done with it! Lies and manipulation and lies by omission and all this secret shit going on … I’m done!

  But I’m still trying to play it cool here.

  “Boston, huh?” I say with a grin and a nod.

  “Here we go.” He grins and nods back at me.

  “What?”

  “You’re giving me that Danielle Rouge voice.”

  “What Danielle Rouge voice?”

  “You’re upset that I didn’t tell you about Boston first.”

  “You don’t owe anything to me.”

  “Danny, don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” He shakes his head and then gives me an exasperated look. “Will Marla be joining you when you move there?” Mind as well keep the ball rolling. Jon noticeably tenses at the question and then evades my eyes. I smile. “You’re allowed to date, Jon. No matter if you don’t afford me the same respect.”

  “She … we … may have mentioned that.” He looks into my eyes and then away again.

  “Hmm … is that when you two were in Disneyland together with Nicky? Or was it when you all were playing spades at your mother’s house afterwards?” Marlon told Jasmine who told me about Disneyland and spades. So I wait for an answer yet no answer is forthcoming. Even more interesting. He takes a long sip of his drink. “So, you came to New York to fight my boyfriend when you’ll be moving your girlfriend to Boston with you?” He looks me dead in my eyes.

  “I’d be back with you in a heartbeat, Danielle.”

  “Don’t try that syrupy shit with me Jon,” I say as politely as I can, “you’re evading the topic at hand. You want to have a life yet you don’t want me to have one. You’d never catch me driving to Philadelphia to fight Marla. Never.” He nods and then takes another sip of his drink. “Actually I think it’s nice that you and Marla have reconnected.”

  “Don’t start Danny.”

  “What?”

  “Your sarcasm.” He shoots me a ‘warning’ look. Oh, please.

  “You and Marla have been in the works a long time, I’m happy you and that bitch finally worked things out.” Wow, how bitter am I? And I was doing so well today.

  “She wasn’t my first choice, Danielle. You were. You still are.” We share a moment of silence over that declaration. We also share a moment of silence over the death of the union of Jon St. James and Danielle Rouge. May their marriage rest in peace. Oh boy, I shouldn’t have said the bitch thing. There’s goes my new leaf.

  “I’m sorry for calling your girlfriend a bitch.” That was rude of me and I’ve really been trying to be a better person since I tried to murder Laura.

  I suppose my emotions are all over the place now. I’m frustrated at my love life and the storybook ending I hoped it would have. I’m upset that my divorce from Jon and my union with Malcolm wasn’t as glorious as I imagined it to be. As crazy as it sounds, I still have a small thing for Jon. He was the first man I’d ever slept with. He was the first man I said ‘I love you’ to. He was the first man I stayed the night with. He was the first man I’d ever been on a date with. I was seventeen when I met Jon; he was all I knew for years. I think of our younger days, our mutual friends, our little boy and I get all nostalgic. When I divorced Jon, I was on the high of new love with Malcolm and hatred towards Jon. But now that things have simmered down from
a boil, I’m more rational. And at this moment, I realize that Jon and I are over. There is no chance of us ever getting back together. Jon and I will only be a memory. The thought of such finality is sad. The college memories, the campus parties that we’d sneak Everclear into, us sneaking into each other’s dorms, eating Doritos for dinner when the cafe was closed, him crossing his frat and me standing on The Lawn watching ‘Seven Footer’ (his line name) unveiled to the world, proud of him for wearing his black and gold, and me my green and pearls. Young black love at its best. We were so promising, so motivated and at times inspiring. Cliff and Claire. Jon and Danielle. But he and I didn’t make it. Our life wasn’t funny. My husband wasn’t attentive. I wasn’t patient with him. Our marriage ended … Damn, Jon and I are over.

  But should we have ever started? I’ve manipulated my entire life, especially when it came to Jon. I stole him from Marla, conceived Nicky and then required marriage. I’ve been my own puppet master. I allowed no room for Fate to step in and mold my life into what it was intended to be. It seems that Fate had an entirely different life in mind for me. I can just hear Fate right now:

  Twelve years ago, you were right not to turn around in that theater. You and Malcolm weren’t mature enough. Right person, wrong time. And,

  You should have went to New Orleans for school but,

  You should have left Jon to Marla because,

  You would’ve met other guys to date, love, hurt, be hurt by, obsess over, and have fun with. And,