by Cheryl Faye
“I already told you. There may come a day when I will, but this ain’t that day. Even if I do forgive you, I still don’t want anything else to do with you. So please, leave me alone and get on with your life.”
Tossing aside the remnants of his guilt, his desperation led to anger. “You’re supposed to be a Christian, but that’s only when you in there, huh?” He jabbed a finger toward the edifice she had exited. “I thought Christians were supposed to forgive people when they make a mistake. You’re nothing but a hypocrite, like all the rest of these holier-than-thou people.”
At that, her brother said, “Yo, Stefàn, you need to check yourself.”
“No! You need to tell your sister to check herself. I might have messed up this time, but I’ve been good to you, Janine. You can’t tell me I didn’t treat you right.”
Janine was fed up by now. “You call running around with other girls behind my back treating me right? You think just because you spend money on me, you can do whatever the hell you want to do and everything’s supposed to be fine? No! I’ve given you chance after chance and listened to your apologies long enough. You’re never gonna change because you think the world revolves around you!” Janine was yelling by now and a small crowd had gathered to witness the spectacle.
“Calm down, J,” Sean said to his sister. Taking her arm and attempting to lead her away, he added, “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
“Yes, please, let’s,” she said, shaking her head in disgust.
As they started to walk away, Stefàn thought about going after her, but when he looked into the faces of the people who stood staring back at him, he decided against it. Banging his fist on the roof of his car in anger, he yelled, “To hell with you then.”
Before he could duck into his car to get away, an older gentleman who had been standing near his rear door, empathically said to him, “Son, if it’s God’s will for you and that young lady to be together, you’ll get her back. But you’ve got to surrender your will to Him.”
“I don’t need her and I don’t need your God, either!” Stefàn yelled at the old man.
Slamming the door as he sat behind the wheel, Stefàn immediately started the car and recklessly peeled away from the curb and sped off.
I don’t need her! I can have any chick I want. Later for her. Janine’s rejection and unforgiveness tore Stefàn’s heart in two. Realizing too late how much he truly loved her, Stefàn, nevertheless, refused to take credit for the demise of their relationship. Yes, he’d made a terrible mistake and had been called to task for it, but the way she completely disregarded his feelings and dismissed his pleas was so wrong. He had never begged anyone for anything, but he had pleaded with her to give them another chance in front of her whole congregation, practically.
I must have looked pathetic to those people, he thought.
Stefàn’s attempts to assuage his bruised heart and ego were unsuccessful. He’d reached out to the girl he’d ignored that day outside of Janine’s house, as well as several others who had offered themselves to him, and he still hadn’t been able to purge Janine from his heart and mind.
When he was alone in his bed—after all the drinking, partying and carousing was done—Janine filled his every waking moment. There were several nights when all he had were his tears for her, but that was something no one knew, not even Julian.
After a month, he made up his mind that it was time to stop crying over Janine and start living. From that day on, Stefàn decided that he would spend the rest of his life in pursuit of the best of everything the world could offer, be it fame, fortune or females. The only love he would allow himself to feel was that for his family and maybe a few friends. Women were to be kept at arm’s length and never again given an opportunity to get into his heart. He would never expose himself to the pain of rejection again.
CHAPTER 1
AT FIRST SIGHT
It was a perfect day for a wedding. The temperature may have been in the high-nineties, but there wasn’t a cloud to be seen in the cerulean blue sky and the air was free of humidity.
Charisse Ellison was happy about that. She had spent three hours at her best friend’s salon yesterday getting a manicure, pedicure and facial, plus a new cut and perm and would have been fit to be tied if she’d had to worry about her style shriveling up.
Standing among the throng at the bottom of the steps of First Canaan A.M.E. Church in Queens, New York, Charisse took in her surroundings. Most of her large family had turned out for the mid-July wedding. Watching them as they all waited for the bride and groom to appear, Charisse realized that the only time they got together nowadays was either for a wedding or a funeral. During her childhood, her parents, uncles and aunts did not need a reason to get their collective families together on a fairly regular basis. Most lived in the New York, New Jersey area, and others were spread out between there and Baltimore, so it was never difficult for them to get together. Sadly, as the elder members of the family got older and died off, the younger generations seemed to be too wrapped up in their own lives to make time for simple family gatherings. That was probably one of the reasons the turnout for Jewel’s wedding was so large.
As Jewel and her new husband, Terrance Wilson, emerged from the church, the crowd in front broke into applause. Remembering the conversation she’d had with Jewel the night before, and knowing how happy her cousin was to finally be married to the man of her dreams, Charisse’s face was lit by her bright smile.
Still, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy because God had yet to send her husband-to-be. Charisse looked forward to the day she would start her own family. Unbeknownst to most of the Ellison clan, Jewel and Terrance were already on their way to becoming parents. Jewel had confided in Charisse at the end of her bridal shower last weekend that she would be three months pregnant this coming week. It didn’t matter that she was thirty years old; Jewel’s parents were old school and legalistically religious. Aunt Jean was the eldest of Charisse’s father’s siblings. Charisse and Jewel both knew that she would not have been happy about her daughter being pregnant on her wedding day.
Charisse’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her mother’s voice. “Johnny, why’d you bring your camera if you’re not going to use it?”
“I’m getting the pictures, Barb. Besides we’ve got all afternoon to take pictures of them,” her father said.
“But you should at least get a shot of them leaving the church.”
Charisse smiled as she watched her parents’ playful bickering. Having tied the knot right after high school, they had been married for thirty-eight years. They were both quite youthful looking fifty-six-year-olds and they made an incredibly handsome couple. Childhood sweethearts, the elder Ellisons had met in the ninth grade when John had been assigned as a math tutor to Barbara.
Always thrilled by watching them together, Charisse’s heart swelled with pride and joy. Even after all these years, her parents’ mutual adoration, admiration and affection were still very evident. She believed their loving playfulness was what kept them so young looking and young-at-heart.
Dressed today in a Christian Dior gown, Barbara presented a striking picture of maturity with her stylishly coiffed silver hair. Looking polished in his Armani tuxedo, John got many second looks from women in the crowd—young and old alike—but he had eyes for no one but his comely wife.
“Mommy, stop picking on Daddy. David’s getting the shots. He’s right up front,” Charisse playfully scolded. Her oldest brother was a professional photographer and, with the help of his crew, was recording the entire event on film and video as a gift to his cousin.
“That’s right, Barb, so stop fussing. You know we’ll get copies of all the best shots.”
John turned to his youngest daughter, placed his arm around her shoulder, and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, baby.”
Frowning, Barbara said, “You need to mind your business, Risi.”
Sidling up to her mother, Charisse purred, “I love you, to
o, Mommy,” and wrapped her in a quick embrace as she kissed her cheek.
“Get off of me,” Barbara said as she smiled and playfully shrugged Charisse off before turning back to the happy couple. “Jewel looks so beautiful.”
“Doesn’t she?” Charisse agreed as she turned and gazed at her cousin.
“He’s quite a handsome fellow,” Barbara added.
Cutting her eyes at her mother, Charisse said, “Mommy, brotha’s fine.”
“Oh, no, I missed the ceremony.”
Turning simultaneously when they heard the female voice behind them, Charisse and her parents were joined by her sister.
“I was wondering where you were,” Barbara said.
“Joe was late picking up the girls,” she replied as she kissed her mother’s cheek.
“Hi, Daddy. Hey, Risi,” she said and kissed them both in turn.
“Hey, Star,” Charisse greeted her older sister.
“Why didn’t you bring them?” John asked, referring to his granddaughters.
“Because I want to have a good time. It’s so seldom I get to go out. I’m going to enjoy myself today.”
“I heard that,” Charisse muttered.
Known to family and close friends as Star due to her childhood aspirations of becoming a world famous model and actress, Angelina James was five years older than Charisse and the divorced mother of two young daughters upon whom she had transferred her aspirations. Dressed in a simple, but stylish red tank dress, Star was almost the mirror image of their mother save her long, blond-tinted hair.
Star asked, “Did they start on time?”
“Five minutes late,” Barbara answered.
“I was hoping Jewel would have taken her time getting here.”
“Jewel was too eager to get married to be late to her own wedding,” Charisse stated.
“Hey, Risi!”
Charisse and her family turned at this new voice.
“Hey, girl!” Charisse was thrilled to see her best friend making her way through the crowd. Embracing, the women exchanged pecks on the cheek.
“Ooh, your hair looks great! And I love your dress.”
“Thanks,” said Charisse.
A portrait of walking elegance, Charisse was wearing a crystal-blue raw silk strapless knee-length dress that flattered her hourglass figure. Her feet were ensconced in ice blue Ferragamo sandals with three-inch heels that exposed her freshly pedicured toes.
“Connie definitely hooked me up, but look at you.” Taking her friend’s hand, Charisse spun her around as if in a dance.
Almost a full head shorter than Charisse’s five feet, six inches, Myra Lopez wore a stunning lime green print halter swing dress—the colors of which blended splendidly with her dark, Mediterranean skin tone—and gold t-strap sandals. Her waist-length hair was styled in loose, flowing curls.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Ellison. Hey, Star.” Reaching out, she hugged both of Charisse’s parents.
“Hey, Myra,” Star answered.
“How you doin’, sweetheart?” John asked.
“I’m good. You’re looking sharp,” she said, gingerly touching his lapel.
“Well, you know, I can’t have my children looking better than me,” he said smugly.
Everyone laughed.
“Were you inside?” Charisse asked Myra.
“Yeah, I got here right after they started. I was in the back. I saw you when you were leaving the church, but I didn’t want to be yelling in there, you know.”
Turning back to Jewel and Terrance, who were still standing at the door of the church, Charisse sighed. “Doesn’t she look beautiful?”
“She sure does. She looks so happy, too.”
“I know.”
“I forgot how fine Terry is,” Myra said.
“Yeah, isn’t he? I was checking out his groomsmen, too. There’s some good looking brothas on his line.”
“Well, you know I was checking them out.”
“How’re you getting to the reception?” Charisse asked, changing the subject.
“I was hoping to bum a ride with you. Do you have room for me?”
“Of course.”
STEFÀN WAS DECKED OUT IN A STEEL BLUE, five-button single-breasted suit, which was accessorized by a pale gray Italian cotton shirt monogrammed with his initials, its French cuffs boasting white gold knotted links. A silver lattice silk tie expertly knotted at his throat, and midnight blue snakeskin shoes completed the ensemble.
Equally eye-catching in a light olive, four button, single-breasted suit with an ecru cotton shirt and olive silk jacquard pattern tie was his best friend, Julian, whose outfit was complemented by brown calfskin oxfords.
Suddenly intoxicated by the smoothness of dual auras, women of varying ages turned to get a better look when the two men entered the reception hall during the cocktail portion of Jewel and Terrance’s reception.
Walking with a rhythmic bravado that bellowed as if he was stepping to theme music, Stefàn knew he looked good. He also knew the females were checking him out. They always did. Notoriously vain, the slender six feet, four inches tall, butterscotch complexioned man took great pains to maintain his impeccable appearance. His hair—worn about a quarter inch in length and gradually faded on the sides and back to the hairline—was always freshly cut as he had a standing appointment every Friday with his barber of ten years. Flawless skin and a pencil-thin mustache and goatee complemented his uncommonly handsome face. As the quintessential finishing touch, Stefàn’s smile gleamed, exposing a row of perfectly straight white teeth, and brought to light a single dimple in his left cheek.
By contrast, Julian, who was a very handsome man in his own right, but did not possess the “pretty-boy” good looks or self-satisfied demeanor of Stefàn, was quite subdued. One might even say he was slightly bashful. Standing about four inches shorter than Stefàn, but more solidly built, he sported a shiny baldpate and his skin was the color of creamy peanut butter. Julian’s only facial hair was a neatly trimmed mustache, but it was considerably thicker than Stefàn’s. Whereas Stefàn had a somewhat untouchable countenance, Julian’s eyes were warm and very welcoming. An appreciative, playful smile danced across his lips as he slowly scanned the room, taking in the variety of well-dressed female attendees.
Both men were single and enjoyed that status. The difference was that Julian had a respect for the fairer sex, which would not, in good conscience, allow him to be but so much of a Casanova. Having been married once, Julian could actually see himself walking down the aisle a second time, if the right lady came into his life. Stefàn, on the other hand, was a bona fide bachelor and not interested in being yoked to anyone. As an object of desire for numerous members of the opposite sex, he reveled in the fact that he had his pick of so many.
As Stefàn stood checking out his prospects, Julian said, “I’m going to get a drink,” before walking away.
Stefàn eyes veered in the direction Julian was headed. Scanning the scene briefly, he was about to turn back when he had to do a double-take.
The woman was stunning. She was laughing at something her friend had just said and although she was too far away for him to hear the sound, he knew it would be music to his ears. He could not have been happier when he noticed that Julian had paused right near them.
CHARISSE AND MYRA WERE STANDING AT THE BAR, sipping their drinks and chatting when they were interrupted by a stranger.
“Excuse me, ladies. Could one of you get the bartender’s attention for me?” he asked kindly.
Turning and quickly giving him the once-over, the girls gave him a silent stamp of approval before facing the bar again to summon the bartender.
Charisse suddenly turned back to the man. “What are you drinking?”
“Remy Martin,” he said with a smile.
Myra waved the bartender over to their end of the bar.
“What can I get you ladies?”
“Remy Martin, please,” Myra stated.
Charisse then asked the stranger,
“Straight?”
“On the rocks,” he replied.
“On the rocks,” she added.
Smiling, the man said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Charisse replied in a preoccupied tone as her attention was directed beyond the gentleman at the gorgeous man whose dark eyes were locked on hers. As he moved toward them—in slow motion, it seemed—Charisse suddenly and inexplicably felt butterflies in her stomach.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” His smooth baritone voice was accompanied by an interested gaze that lingered on Charisse a moment longer than was necessary.
“Good afternoon,” they chorused.
“You’re both looking quite lovely this afternoon.”
In unison again, “Thank you.”
“Are either of you related to the bride or groom?”
“Jewel is my cousin,” Charisse answered.
Nodding, he replied, “Now that you mention it, I do see a bit of resemblance around the eyes. I’m Stefàn Cooper.” Offering his hand, he asked, “And you are.…”
“Charisse Ellison.”
Extending her right hand, a quiver ran up Charisse’s spine as Stefàn firmly but tenderly grasped and softly kissed it, without breaking eye contact.
“Pleased to meet you, Charisse,” he seductively whispered. Turning then to Myra, he again offered his hand.
“Myra Lopez.”
He kissed her hand as well, but not nearly as demonstratively.
What a smooth operator, Charisse thought.
“I see you’ve already met my man, Julian.”
“Actually, we haven’t been formally introduced. We were just helping him order a drink,” Charisse stated.