But secrets long hidden shook Jessa’s very foundation, and she knew if they were discovered that she may very well lose.
Chapter 12
Two months later
Jessa looked in the mirror at the changes to her face now that her pregnancy was fully blossoming on her body. Her natural hair was fuller and thicker. Her face was glowing—she hardly needed bronzer. Even though she thought she had the cheeks of a chipmunk, the nose of a bulldog, and her neck was slightly darker than the rest of her caramel complexion. Her belly was swollen with life, her titties felt as heavy as punching bags, and sometimes her feet were too pudgy for her fabulous collection of designer shoes.
Still, she was loving every minute of it. She was glad to be in the moment and old enough to realize the gift of motherhood.
And that’s why she would move out of the country and stay on the run before she let ANYONE else raise this child.
She hadn’t heard anything from the Halls, and her attorney, Lincoln, assured her they were probably waiting for the birth of the child to confirm paternity. And because she had denied risking her pregnancy for a prenatal paternity test, she had, in turn, put her lawsuit against Eric’s estate on hold as well.
Everything was in limbo as they all waited for the birth of her baby.
“You ready?” Myra asked as she walked up to Jessa as she sat in the makeup chair.
“A little nervous about an inspirational talk show, but I think I’m ready,” Jessa said, splaying her fingers on her belly.
“Don’t be nervous. We talk all the time and you honestly have increased the presence of spirituality and religion in your life, and that’s what you’re here to speak about,” Myra crossed her arms over her shoulder as she leaned her buttocks back against the Formica counter.
“A friend of mine from the church has been really helping me to focus and see things different, and it’s been good. I feel more connected and aware of God’s presence, you know?”
That day after the Halls left her home with their threats still resting heavily on her mind, she had made her way to the church and Henry was there volunteering to help clean the church as a part of his tithing.
She had surprised herself when she confided in him about the threats of a custody battle from the Halls. That man had immediately set aside his broom and gathered her hands in his to seriously pray for her and then taught her how to pray.
And in the weeks following, Jessa called on him. To pray. To talk. To be counseled. To help her do physical things around the house. To laugh.
Henry had truly become her friend and she was grateful for him. Although many of the church members speculated that there was more between them, Henry had never stepped to her that way. And she was grateful for that.
If only I hadn’t crossed that line with Eric.
“They are ready for you on the set, Ms. Bell,” a stagehand said.
Jessa rose to her feet in her heels (three inches instead of four) and smoothed the peach metallic maternity trench coat she wore over a silk ivory cap sleeve sweater and wide-leg wool pants of the same color.
Once Jessa was seated in the leather club chair on the stage, she was glad that there was no studio audience and just lots of brilliant lights to make her sweat. Franklin Cash stepped his tall and wiry frame onto the stage and extended one of his large hands to her.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, his voice surprisingly deep for his thin frame.
“It’s nice to meet you as well,” she said politely, when in truth she had never heard of the man.
Myra assured her that he was the minister of a mega-church of more than ten thousand members in New York, and his talk show was one of the highest rated shows on The Christian Network.
According to Myra, this interview could possibly be just as major as the ones she did on Kerry Kay and other national talk shows.
Jessa let Myra adjust her hair as Reverend Cash was equipped with his mic pac. “Thanks,” she told her, as she shifted her body to a comfortable position in the chair that was not as comfortable as it looked, especially for a six months’ pregnant woman.
Suddenly everyone cleared the stage as the director counted them down.
“And welcome to back to Total Insight,” Reverend Cash said.
Jessa fixed her face into neutrality as she faced the camera and prepared herself to tell her story—and relive it—all over again.
Over the next twenty minutes Jessa felt herself relax as the minister not only interviewed her but delivered words of encouragement.
“I think it’s a wonderful testimony of God’s ever increasing presence in your life that you survived and used that terrible act to attend church and study the Bible,” Reverend Cash said. “To me, I think God was in your life before then and you just didn’t recognize it.”
Jessa nodded in understanding even though she thought, How much longer is this interview? She was feeling tired and had woken early to get to the station for hair and makeup.
“Jessa, when I was thinking about your story and the path you traveled during your journey and in researching you a little bit ...”
Jessa tensed and fought to keep her face neutral.
“We learned you were raised by your grandmother,” he said.
Jessa felt her left eye twitch. “Yes, I was, and she made sure I was in church every Sunday, and I’m grateful for that foundation even though I strayed away from it once I was on my own and in college. It feels good to be back in touch with my spirituality,” she said.
“And you were raised by your grandmother because ...”
Jessa crossed her hands in her lap as she flipped her hair behind her shoulder. “No disrespect, but it’s not relevant to my story. That’s very personal and I prefer not to discuss my mother,” she said with what she hoped was finality in her tone.
“I can understand that ... and her absence may very well be a part of some of the decisions you have made, and so we thought the best way to strengthen your walk with God would be to correct the lack of a mother-daughter relationship.” Reverend Cash rose to his feet.
Jessa hated everything about that moment. Everything. I know they did not ...
Her heart was pounding as she leaned past the minister’s frame to see an older and overweight version of herself walking out onstage. Jessa gasped as her façade broke. Her usual perfectly placed control was shot as she rose to her feet as her mother, Darla, pulled her into a tight embrace.
“My baby,” she sighed with tears in her eyes.
For a moment, Jessa was transported back to a time when she was six and her mother was her world. She pressed her nose into her mother’s now fleshy neck and inhaled. She was hoping that familiar scent of her flowery perfume was nestled there. But it wasn’t.
Instead, she faintly smelled alcohol.
“I missed my little girl,” Darla whispered.
The scent of alcohol doubled.
And that brought all the warm and yummy feelings crashing to an end.
Jessa leaned back to look into her mother’s eyes, and she found them to be yellowed and aged and glassy. As a little girl she didn’t know that the clear liquid that looked like water but burned her throat was alcohol. And she didn’t know that the little pills her mother swallowed were drugs.
She was all grown now and Jessa knew that standing before her was an addict. And she wasn’t having that fact exposed on television.
“Revered Cash, I thank you for this moment and this reconnection with my mother, but this is definitely a private moment that I do not want to happen on television,” Jessa said as she removed both her and her mother’s audio.
“What? Why?” Darla whined dramatically as Jessa guided her off the stage.
“Cut!” someone barked over the loud speaker.
“Ms. Bell, we still have one more segment to record,” Reverend Cash called behind her. Myra scrambled to catch up with Jessa’s long strides. Several producers followed them down the hall leading to her dressing room. Her mother je
rked away from her in anger.
“You been all over television!” Darla screeched, her eyes wild and big as she pointed her finger in Jessa’s face. “Why can’t I be on TV just like you? Huh? Are you ashamed of me? Or ... or ... are you afraid that they’ll like me more than you? Or is being some man’s mistress a bigger deal than your mother?”
Jessa stiffened from the attack. “Mother?” she said snidely.
“Jessa, don’t,” Myra said in gentle warning.
“A mother doesn’t leave their child behind for a life of men, liquor, and drugs,” Jessa said coldly, all the years of pain, disappointment, and rejection surfacing in a rush that made her heart pound and her head spin. “How dare you question me when I haven’t seen you in over twenty-five years?”
Darla pushed up off the wall of the hallway and swung, slapping Jessa harshly.
Everyone gathered in the hall gasped as Jessa’s head swung to the left as she pressed her hand to her cheek where it stung.
“I am your mother and you will respect MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” Darla screamed at the top of her lungs, drawing the word out for what seemed all eternity, before she suddenly broke into a maniacal laughter that was eerie.
Jessa stepped back from the craziness she saw in her mother’s eyes. She felt weak and confused and a little a dazed from the slap.
Everyone watched Darla with their mouths slightly ajar and the area around them was library quiet.
“I see now the best thing you did for me was stay the hell away,” Jessa said in a soft voice that was still loud with her pain.
With one last look, Jessa turned to walk away. Everyone pressed their bodies against the walls of the halls to let Jessa through the melee.
“No, Jessa. Please don’t leave me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Jessa paused at her mother sounding like a five-year-old child. She turned and her eyes widened as Darla’s eyes flittered wildly from left to right as she dropped to her knees with tears already in her eyes and flowing down her cheeks.
“Jessa, please don’t leave me,” Darla begged, moving forward on her knees to pull at Jessa’s legs.
What the hell?
Darla’s sobs echoed in the hall.
Jessa reached for her mother’s pudgy hands and motioned for her to rise to her feet. “Stop crying, Mama. I won’t leave you. I won’t,” she said, the switch in her mother’s affect and demeanor completely shaking her. This was more than the emotional swings of a drunk.
Darla continued to sob as she rose to her feet. Jessa wrapped her arm around her mother’s broad shoulders and hugged her close. “Come on, Mama. Let’s go home,” she said softly, motioning for Myra to get her things from the dressing room.
“This, Jessa. My baby Jessa. See. I told you I had a daughter,” Darla said, patting her daughter’s hand. “Y’all thought I was lying about my Jessa.”
Jessa led her mother out the studio, the bite of early winter nipping at them. Who in the hell is she talking to?
After motioning for her driver to pull up and help her mother into the rear of the SUV, Jessa turned to find Myra on her cell phone.
“If I see one word of this in print, your ass is mine, Myra,” Jessa warned her.
Myra ended her call. “Jessa, please don’t question my integrity. Your mother is obviously in need of care.”
“Were you in on this?” Jessa asked, taking her tote and a rolling carry-on she assumed was her mother’s from the publicist.
“No, definitely not. I would have prescreened everything before,” Myra said. “I honestly think they were trying to do something nice for you.”
Jessa arched a brow. “And no one saw she was drunk?”
“They claim she wasn’t when they escorted her to the green room. They’re thinking she must have brought it with her.”
Jessa nodded in understanding.
“Well, I asked them to give you whatever info they found on her,” Myra said, reaching in her briefcase for a thin green folder that she handed over to Jessa.
She pursed her lips and breathed deeply, pressing a hand to her lower back before she reached for the folder.
“Not the reunion you dreamed of, huh?” Myra asked gingerly.
Jessa opened the folder and looked down at its contents. “I can’t say that because I never thought I would see my mother again,” she admitted. “I better go.”
Myra opened her mouth to say something and then seemed to change her mind. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Jessa closed the folder and tucked it under her arm before she turned and climbed into the back of the SUV before the driver even had a chance to leave the driver’s seat to help her.
The heat was on and the interior was toasty. Jessa was glad for that. Her mother was slumped in the corner and her head was tilted back with her mouth ajar as she snored.
“You ready, Ms. Bell?” he asked.
“Yes, I already checked out of my hotel this morning. Thank you,” Jessa said, reopening the folder. “Could you take me to One Hundred Tenth Street in Harlem, please?”
“Harlem?” the driver asked. “They have me routed to take you back to New Jersey.”
Jessa flexed her shoulder a little bit as she felt her irritation spike. “Well, they aren’t seeing that she gets home. I am. So you should let whoever “they” are know that we are most definitely headed to Harlem first and then Jersey on their dime. Clear?”
He said nothing, but he reached for his cell phone.
Jessa focused her attention back on her mother, eyeing her carefully as she mumbled in her sleep.
Gone was the stylish woman who was always impeccably dressed. Her bright red lipstick was smeared around her mouth, and her mascara ran in black tracks down her cheeks. She resembled a scary clown. Her fingernails were bitten down, and what little polish she wore was peeled and faded.
Jessa’s eyes filled with tears. She was shell-shocked by all of it, and seeing her mother still under the effects of drugs and alcohol—and maybe much more—had her nerves shot to hell.
Had her mother been in Harlem all this time?
When Jessa was small enough to allow herself to care about her mother’s whereabouts, she had imagined that the man in the red car carried Darla so far away that she couldn’t get back to her. Harlem, New York, was barely an hour by car.
Feeling her anger rise again, Jessa looked back down at the folder, but there was no other info except her phone number and travel itinerary. Jessa slid the folder into her patent-leather tote.
In a perfect world, a perfect daughter would take her long-lost mother home, but Jessa was beyond hesitant to do that. She didn’t know the scope of her mother’s addiction and didn’t know if she cared enough to help her fight any demons—and that’s if Darla even wanted to.
No, I’ll take her home where she’s been hiding from being a mother any damn way and I’ll call her later to make sure she’s okay. Baby steps.
Jessa felt like she didn’t really know this woman, and how could she after more than twenty-five years?
“Let me see my baby. Please just let me see her,” Darla mumbled in her sleep.
That made Jessa suck air between her teeth. Darla knew damn well where she left me and there I stayed until college. If she wanted to see me, all she had to do was come home.
For the remainder of the ride Jessa sat quietly in the back lost in her thoughts of her past and future. Just where does my mother fit into all of this now?
“Stay away from me. Leave me alone,” Darla mumbled.
Jessa started to call Henry and get his take on everything but decided against it. She was too busy trying to grapple with all of her emotions and getting a firm grasp on what she thought to take on someone else’s advice yet.
The only thing she knew for sure was that she needed to get the hell away from everybody and everything and regroup. Period. Point blank.
They were in Harlem when Darla stirred awake, smacking her lips as if she couldn’t stand the taste of her own mouth. She s
tretched and cleared her throat.
Jessa immediately put on her guard, not sure if Darla was about to show anger, paranoia, or histrionics.
“It’s really good to see you, Jessa,” Darla said, reaching over to pat her hand.
Jessa instinctively covered her belly.
Darla’s eyes filled with anger. “You think I would hurt my grandbaby?”
Jessa stiffened her back. “I never thought you would leave me behind,” she said, then regretted showing any sign that her mother had left her behind wounded.
The driver pulled the SUV into a parking spot in front of a brownstone.
Jessa sat up on the edge of the car seat and lowered the window as her mouth fell open. The entire tree-lined block was lined with renovated brownstones. It wasn’t at all the ramshackle hood she was expecting.
“Home sweet fucking home,” Darla said, picking up her purse. “You coming up or you have to get back to your fabulous fucking life?”
And the sarcasm was back. Jessa felt tired, but she allowed the driver to help her out of the SUV after he helped her mother.
Darla sniffed a dozen different times as she struggled to retrieve her keys from her purse as she climbed the stairs. Jessa motioned for the driver to help her mother, feeling like she couldn’t risk her mother falling or stumbling and causing Jessa to fall backward down the brick stairs. She cupped her hand to her round belly in full protective mode.
As soon as Darla unlocked the door, their driver set her carry-on on the step and stepped back. But Jessa barely noticed because she was completely taken aback by the total disarray of her mother’s home.
Dirty dishes. Piles of clothes everywhere. The smell of rotting garbage. Flies and gnats cruising through the air. A cat suddenly jumped from behind a couch and on top of a floor-model television.
Jessa screamed out and stumbled back.
Darla moved around like her life was not total chaos. She didn’t even flinch at Jessa crying out.
This is madness.
Jessa covered her nose and mouth with her hand and swatted away gnats and flies with her other hand.
Darla swatted the cat away and then picked up a photo album. She whirled to hand it to Jessa and dust flew. “See all the pictures I have of my pretty baby,” she said, opening the book.
Mistress, Inc. Page 16