Aphrodite's Stand

by Sandra Scott

  “Thanks,” she said, moving toward the bathroom. She left the door ajar while she took care of business. “And I was asleep, hence the mess!”

  “Girl, the way you’re looking, the word mess should be thrown out the window as an understatement,” Racine called out. She grew quiet, the sound of her voice replaced by vague shifting noises, leading Andra to believe Racine was probably straightening something in the next room. “So where’s my gorgeous, albeit naive, brother-in-law? I thought you two would be in here knocking glorious boots together.”

  “Don’t be crude—it isn’t pretty on you,” Andra said. With an unsteady hand, she tore off toilet paper and wiped herself. “George told me Jay’s gone to the village to speak with a priest at his family’s church. He won’t be back until later this evening.”

  “A priest?” Racine asked. “Has Jayson gone to ask for an annulment, I hope?”

  Not bothering to answer, Andra flushed the toilet, washed her hands, and, as an afterthought, splashed water on her face. She straightened to review the damage in the sink’s mirror. Not surprised, she took in puffy eyes, their whites sporting spidery blood vessels that made it appear as if she’d been awake forever. As far as her body was concerned, it seemed as if she had.

  Her exhaustion was so great that she wanted to eject her sister from the room, return to bed, and extend her nap for a week. Instead, she rushed back to the toilet and threw up.

  The bathroom door exploded inward, the force of it banging the panel against the bathroom wall. Frantic, Racine sprinted to her side. “Sis, what’s going on?” she asked. She reached out to rub along Andra’s curved spine. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Unable to answer right away, Andra remained bent over the toilet until her frame produced nothing more than residual dry heaves. Sluggishly, she straightened and returned to the sink. After rinsing her mouth thoroughly with tap water, she snatched a face towel from the wall rack and wiped her ashen face. “Oh, nothing seven months won’t cure,” she finally said. Not bothering to rehang the towel, she let it drop directly into the sink. “Give or take a month.”

  Racine took a step back, her mouth wide open in horrified surprise. Andra couldn’t decide whether her sister’s reaction was from her baby news or the fact that she hadn’t hung up her facecloth.

  “You mean you’re …” Racine’s words trailed off as she moved toward the discarded towel.

  So both. “Pregnant,” Andra said, finishing for her. Not bothering to linger for a response, she turned from Racine’s towel folding and headed for the bed.

  “How could this happen?” Racine said, entering the bedroom seconds later.

  Andra stopped her crawl onto the mattress to look over her shoulder and throw her sister a “Really?” look.

  Chuckling mirthlessly, Racine caught up with her. Gently, she helped Andra get under the covers and neatly tucked her in. She quickly circled the bed and sat on Jayson’s side. “Okay, so I know how it happened,” she said. “But tell me. With everyone passing out birth control pills like they’re candy and condoms like they’re chewing gum—and for goodness sake, you’re a doctor—how could you allow this to happen?”

  Again, Andra blinked at Racine.

  “Stop with the looks, Andra!” After kicking her sandals from her feet, Racine swung her long legs up and sat cross-legged. “Jayson’s a babe and all, and if I was married to him, I probably wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off him either. Maybe. Still.”

  Andra closed her eyes and exhaled. She knew Racine was right; they had been careless in their lovemaking and their attempt to naturally prevent a pregnancy from happening. Yet the odds always had been stacked against them from the start. Jayson, being a future minister, didn’t believe in man-made contraceptives.

  Now the inevitable had finally happened.

  Involuntarily, her mind flashed with racy images of their many lovemaking sessions together and varied erotic positions. Her respiration accelerated at the memories.

  Once she actually thought about it, she was surprised she hadn’t gotten pregnant much sooner. Like maybe our first night together.

  She jumped at the nudge to her side.

  “So what are you gonna do?” Racine asked, poking her again for good measure. “Have you told Jayson? You gonna tell Mama anytime soon?”

  Feeling bombarded with too many questions, Andra reached over to the nightstand and retrieved her damp cloth. Its previous coolness had downgraded to an uncomfortable ickiness, but she didn’t care as she replaced the compress over her eyes. All she wanted was relief.

  Andra cautiously shook her head. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  Racine shifted, her next words coming forth softly yet clearly. “Have you thought about, you know, getting rid of it?”

  Andra remained calm beneath her towel; she’d already prepared herself for the question she’d known someone would eventually ask. “No! Never in a million years.” She placed her hand tenderly atop her flat tummy. “There’s a living, breathing human being growing inside me. He or she is a person created by me and the man I love. No way.”

  “Get off your soapbox, Mother Earth—I hear ya.” Racine paused reflectively. “However, there are those who, once they find out, might not agree with you.”

  Stefano’s face quickly came and went inside Andra’s head. “I know. Listen, Racine.” She lifted a corner of the sodden rag to peek out at her sister with one puffy eye. “No one but you know about this. I’m counting on you to keep your trap shut until I can at least tell my husband.”

  Racine laughed, this time a little more carefree. “Trust me, I won’t have to say a word. If Mom gets a peek at you right now, she’ll guess.” The room grew quiet as both contemplated the situation. Racine nudged her again. “So what are you gonna do now? Is it still your plan to cut and run?”

  Andra winced at the word run, for it sounded even more cowardly when it slipped from someone else’s tongue other than her own. She snatched the rag from her face. “No, I will not! Jay’s my husband, and I love him.” It was a struggle to sit up, but with Racine’s help, she managed it. Out of breath, she rested her spine against the headboard. “I’m not going to let him go—especially now.”

  Abruptly, Racine’s expression darkened. “Why him, Andra?” she asked, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Why did you have to choose a white man?”

  Andra paused to truly consider the question, knowing deep down Racine didn’t have anything against Jayson per se, just the idea of him. “What is it that makes someone fall for one person and not another?” Within the quiet pause, Andra shrugged philosophically. “I fell in love with my husband not because he was black or white, rich or poor, handsome or ugly. I fell in love with him because he’s Jayson.”

  Racine remained quiet, glaring down at her hands in her lap.

  “I love Jayson because he gets me. He makes me laugh.” Again, she paused in an attempt to go deeper. “Who he is makes me want and need to be a better person. And I know I am with him. I think that’s the greatest gift anyone can give another.”

  Andra braced herself, believing she would have to further champion her reasons for marrying someone outside their race. Instead, she was shocked to witness Racine’s nod.

  “Okay. I hear ya.” Brushing away a fallen tear, Racine leaned against the headboard. “You know, at first, I believed you had made a terrible mistake, mixing your Kool-Aid flavors and everything.” She held up a stiff palm at Andra’s wide-eyed expression. “And the jury’s still out on that! But I do have to admire your guts for taking a stand for what you want, and I can see how much you care for Jayson. So.”

  At her pause, Andra nudged Racine. “So, what?”

  Her sister’s shrug was careless. “I guess you have my blessing.”

  Despite her nausea, Andra produced a lopsided grin. “Finally! I’m so glad!” She rolled her eyes upward
. “I couldn’t have gone on with this sham of a marriage without it!”

  They both giggled until Racine abruptly sobered again.

  “What?” Andra asked.

  “Now here lands a fly in your ointment.” Racine paused, poker-faced, until Andra nudged her again. “I had a talk with your little friend Ms. Thang—or, more accurately, she had a talk with me. She asked for my help in breaking you and Jayson up.”

  Her nausea forgotten, Andra leaned forward. “What! That little bit—”

  “Whoa, watch your language, Miss Prim and Proper. Let’s just slow your roll—I’m not going to do it.”

  “You not going through with it is not the point,” she said, huffing in anger. “Who made Sly the universe’s queen goddess, giving her permission to come between—”

  “She didn’t invent this little scheme by herself,” Racine said quietly, interrupting. “In fact, it was Stefano’s idea. He recruited her.”

  Andra blinked at building tears, and for a second, she didn’t understand their sudden appearance. At once, understanding rushed upon her: the tears were a product of her mounting hurt against Stefano.

  “How could he do that to Jay and me?” she whispered.

  “Easy. He wants you gone. He wants us all gone.” Racine rotated toward Andra. “But now it’s up to you.”

  Not wanting Racine to decipher the meaning behind her accumulating tears, she kept her eyes lowered. “What do you mean me?”

  Racine let out an impatient sigh, as if she dealt with an imbecilic child. “Come on, Sis. You’ve so elegantly declared you’re not gonna throw Jayson away—and the baby has tightened that resolve. You’ve got to make up your mind.”

  Not knowing how to defend herself, Andra kept quiet. She sensed rather than saw Racine shake her head in admonishment.

  “You’re gonna lose Jayson if you don’t fight for him. Stop being such a scaredy-cat.”

  Racine’s harsh words pushed Andra to lift her eyes. “You’re right—I have been living in fear.” Drying her tears, Andra directly met her sister’s gaze. “But so have you.”

  “Whatever. We’re not talking about me.” Guilt radiated from Racine’s orbs as she looked away and batted the air as if to deflect Andra’s boomerang truth. “Come on, Andra. You know as well as I do it’s always up to us women to do the right thing. Men can’t. They’ll hurt you and abandon you.”

  A tight silence hung in the air, replacing further words Racine chose not to say.

  Andra covered Racine’s fist and gently squeezed. “Hey, sweet pea. Have you ever considered that whether or not Daddy was alive, what happened to you might’ve still happened?”

  Racine reclined her head against the headboard, closing her eyes. Her fist coiled tighter. “I’ve considered that every day since it happened.” She opened her big brown eyes, which shone brightly with tears. “I try hard not to blame Daddy and to stop asking him why he wasn’t there to protect me, knowing he can’t hear me.”

  Andra drew her near and rocked, softly humming a made-up tune.

  After a good while, Racine pushed her away. “Stop, Andra,” Racine said, sniffling. “I’m not a baby.”

  “I know. It’s just that I love you.”

  “And you can keep that to yourself.” Her expression slipping in its sternness, Racine stood and slid her feet into her perfectly aligned sandals. “Save the emotional crap for your brother-in-law. Heaven knows he needs it—him and that sourpuss of his.”

  “He called me Aphrodite once.”

  Racine twisted to stare at her. “Who? Stefano?” At her nod, Racine’s expression turned thoughtful. “Hey, isn’t she the goddess of sex or love or something?”

  Embarrassed that she’d let that piece of information slip, Andra could only nod again.

  “Why would he call you—” An indignant hand on her hip, Racine stopped. “Okay then, Aphrodite. Stand!”

  From nowhere, Andra’s brain downloaded her favorite Janet Jackson video featuring the song “Love Will Never Do (Without You).” Her smile wistful, she pictured Janet’s playful romp on a beach with a fair-skinned actor hired to portray her lover, who, coincidentally, looked startlingly similar to Jayson in color and build. The black-and-white pair were simpatico in their beauty as the upbeat melody swirled around them, their bodies laughing, hugging, and touching and their outlooks determinedly free.

  The lyrics to the beautiful melody communicated an us-against-the-world attitude; no matter what people said or thought about their eclectic relationship, they would weather the storm called prejudice and stay together.

  “You’re playing that Janet Jackson video in your head, aren’t you?”

  Andra gaped at Racine. “Race, how did you know?”

  Displaying a mysterious smile, Racine leaned across the bed and placed a finger under Andra’s chin, closing her mouth. “What else would you be thinking of? I guess you gotta do what you gotta do to keep hope alive.”

  At Andra’s silence, Racine straightened Jayson’s side of the bed; once done, she stepped back, hands on hips, to survey her efforts. “Well, if you don’t want Mom knowing anything about the baby, I’d better head her off at the pass. If she comes in here and sees you, man, the jig’s up!”

  Her long legs propelled her toward the door; however, halfway there, she stopped to bestow a grin on Andra. “Still, you won’t have to worry about Jayson knowing you’re pregnant; men are totally oblivious to anything outside their own pleasure zones. Catch ya later.”

  Andra frowned as she watched Racine disappear beyond the closed door.

  Although she believed Racine’s last statement was mostly due to residual feelings from the aftermath of her rape, Andra had to admit there was truth to it. Lately, Jayson couldn’t see beyond what was happening outside himself, his family, and the business.

  Determined to shut off unpleasant thoughts, Andra yawned loudly as she nestled inside her covers. She closed her eyes only to pop them open again when the door cracked open.

  Racine poked her head inside the room. “You know, I can’t wait to see Stefano’s and Sly’s faces when they finally get wind of”—she peeked over her shoulder in a covert fashion before continuing in a whisper—“the baby.”

  Her giggles were cut off by the closing door.

  Wide awake, Andra decided to ignore her exhaustion and slid off the bed. With her hands on her hips, she searched for her jeans, only to discover they were not on the floor, where she’d kicked out of them, but folded neatly atop her dresser.

  Racine. “That girl’s got issues,” she muttered.

  Purposefully, Andra jammed her legs into them while Stefano’s brooding face and Sly’s smirking expression emerged inside her brain.

  She didn’t know exactly what she was going to do about them, but she knew she had to do something.

  35

  Andra shifted on anxious feet.

  She stared at the closed door, her uncertainty rooting her to the spot. Wiping sweaty palms on her pants, she realized what she was doing and uttered a small groan. Disgusted, she assessed the water damage to her jeans, only to sigh in relief upon realizing there was none.

  Inhaling deeply, Andra lifted a fist and knocked softly, hoping no one answered.

  “Come in.”

  Her exhalation came out in one nervous puff. Blast it.

  Throwing back her shoulders, Andra twisted the knob. The office door swung open, and she paused within its threshold. Her eyes immediately traveled to Stefano, who sat at his desk with his back to her.

  In the background, classical music flowed from the small CD player on his desk. Rimsky-Korsakov’s “Flight of the Bumblebee” softly played.

  Stefano swiveled in her direction, and his face registered surprise; the emotion was replaced a second later by a pensive watchfulness.

  He rose and gave a slight nod. “Please, come in.�
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  Andra hesitated. Silently, she debated whether to shut the door for privacy or leave it open for propriety. She decided to take a chance and opted for the privacy. “We must talk,” she said, closing the door. His eyes deliberated on her mouth. Nervous, she nodded as if he’d denied her. “Yes, we do.”

  Stefano politely swept his hand toward an empty chair.

  Moving past him, Andra felt an energy surge like an electric current flow from him to mix with her own. Her brain painfully reminded her that his eyes watched her every step, causing her stride to feel stilted, as if she walked on mechanical legs.

  Doubting she would be able to sit down gracefully once she reached the designated chair, she instead chose to stand and study a family portrait hanging above the chair.

  Andra scrutinized it, taking in first her husband’s adolescent smile and then Papa George’s proud patriarchal expression, only to move on to the lovely woman she knew to be their mother and wife. Lastly, her gaze landed upon the face of a twenty-something Stefano.

  Her eyes lingered on a face youthful in beauty. Yet his outer attractiveness wasn’t the sole reason she stared at his image. A lightness in spirit poured from his arresting features; his aura projected an irresistible happiness he now lacked at his current age.

  Music from Mozart’s Symphony No. 40 jolted Andra from her mesmerized reverie. She cleared her throat, shifting her focus to the solitary female in the picture. “Your mother,” she said, pointing at the older woman’s likeness. She tilted her head to study her deceased mother-in-law’s expression. “She was extremely beautiful.”

  Stefano strolled over to stand next to Andra, his face passive as he too stared at the wall photo. “Yes, she was,” he said. He lifted his hand as if to touch the portrait, but midway, he let it drop. “She was fairly young when she left us.”

  Surprised, Andra turned to him. “Left you? I’m sorry. I understood she died.”

  After pivoting, he returned to stand at his desk and said, “She did.”

  Once Stefano left her side, Andra experienced a weakening in her body, as if his nearness had somehow sapped her strength and took it with him. Grateful for the space between them, she gripped the armrests behind her and, with trembling hands, lowered herself into the chair.