Dangerously In Love
Page 20
Reed wondered if he could find one on the Internet. No, fuck that! That kind of search could take days or even weeks. For the time being, he’d have to find a hooker from Philly. He needed someone he could connect with tonight.
Reed let out a loud guffaw. Finding a playmate should be easy enough; it was his world. His money could buy anything.
He pushed a button and music blared from the speakers. He turned a dial to put his music on blast. Feeling good, feeling powerful, Reed accelerated out of the lot.
Chapter 30
“Spirit!” The beautiful forty-something yoga instructor dramatically spoke the word while moving with the grace of a dancer. “The word spirit means breath.” She paused, seeming to look Dayna in the eyes. “And together, spirit and breath create life.” The woman was convincing. She looked strong, lean, and healthy, as if she’d never ingested anything inorganic in her entire life.
“You cannot imagine the power of proper breathing,” she concluded. “Now, remember…breathe through your nose. Take a long, slow, deep breath, hold it, for ten seconds, then exhale.”
A collective intake of breath sounded in the large gymnasium. Sitting on her mat, her spine erect, Dayna took a deep breath, but couldn’t hold it longer than a few seconds. She wondered why a simple thing like breathing was suddenly so hard. She cut a curious eye at her mother, who sat next to her. With her eyes closed, wearing an expression of inner peace, her mom seemed to be doing just fine. Good. At least one of them was feeling peaceful.
“Maybe we should take a yoga class. We could both benefit from the relaxation,” Pamela Hinton had said the day before. Wanting to support her mother in anything that would distract her from pining for Dayna’s dad (who had recently confirmed that he and his wife were expecting a baby), Dayna had agreed to take the class in the gymnasium of a local high school.
Surprisingly, Dayna’s mother did not fall apart. The news that her ex-husband was starting a family seemed to give her closure and the strength to rebuild her life.
Dayna closed her eyes again. She tried to concentrate on breathing, but rapid eye-blinking became a problem. She gave up, opened her eyes, and peeked around. She noticed that everyone else in the class seemed to have the hang of it. The instructor smiled at Dayna, her eyes radiating patience and understanding.
Suddenly her cell phone squawked. Dayna was mortified; she’d thought the phone was on vibrate. Startled eyes popped open and stared at her—the peace-breaking culprit. Embarrassed, she fumbled through her bag to shut off the blasted thing, but unable to find it, she grabbed her bag and rushed out into the corridor.
“Hello,” she said in a breathy whisper after she retrieved and flipped open the phone.
“Gurrrl…” It was Cecily, sounding typically exuberant as if she had the most exciting news in the world to share.
“What’s up? I’m in a yoga class,” Dayna whispered with a tinge of annoyance that she hoped would encourage Cecily to quickly get to the point.
“A yoga class! Stretching into those painful positions?”
“Yes, I’m with my mom. We’re working on breathing right now. I’m out in the hallway, but I think I’m disturbing the class.”
“Can you go outside for a second?”
“Why?”
“Gotta run something by you.”
Dayna sighed, but started walking toward the exit sign. Actually, talking to Cecily was a better deal than the impossible task of deep breathing. “Okay, but make it fast. If I don’t hurry back; my mom is gonna have a conniption fit.”
“Okay, listen. Kendrick asked me to call you because your new friend…” Cecily paused and made the sound of a drum roll with her tongue, “Ammon Abdullah,” she said with a lilt in her voice, “has been anxiously awaiting your call.”
Dayna’s heart did a pleasant flip at the sound of Ammon’s name. His full name, Ammon Abdullah, which she was hearing for the first time, had a very nice ring to it.
“Ammon painted a mural on a wall somewhere in West Philly…”
“Uh-huh,” Dayna said, indicating Cecily should continue.
“On Haverford Avenue, or was it Parkside Avenue? I forget, but anyway, his mural won an award. He’s being honored by the mayor at a really glitzy affair downtown at the Bellevue Stratford. He wants to take you as his date.”
Suddenly incapable of breathing, Dayna inhaled deeply and held her breath until she felt her chest expanding. “Are you serious? He wants me to be his date?” She felt lightheaded and giddy.
“Yes! We’re all going together. Me, you, Kendrick, and Ammon! Isn’t that exciting?” Cecily began to scream like a teenager. Had her mother not been within earshot, trying to achieve a state of nirvana, Dayna would have broken into a happy dance and harmonized with Cecily’s joyful scream.
“Now hurry up and call him so we can go shopping to pick out something fabulous to wear.”
“I’m scared,” Dayna whispered. “I can’t remember the last time I called a man. Anyway, I gotta get back to the class.”
“Gurrrl…” This time there was the hint of a threat in the word. “If you don’t call that man right now.” Cecily paused and chuckled. “I’m gonna drive over to that class and twist your body up like a pretzel! And I guarantee you that yoga teacher you’re so eager to get back to won’t be able to undo the damage.”
“All right, Cecily. Tell Kendrick I’m gonna give Ammon a call in an hour.”
“An hour! Come on Dayna, call the man now!”
“The class doesn’t let out for another half-hour,” Dayna explained. “Cecily, I have to go. I’m gonna call him at two o’ clock. I promise.”
After the class, parched from all that inhaling and exhaling, Dayna and her mother bought tall Styrofoam cups of fresh carrot juice from a man who had set up a stand in the back of the gym. Sipping the juice, which was surprisingly tasty, Dayna stood in the background while her mother mingled with the other lingering participants.
Pretty and petite, Pamela Hinton had long, gray-streaked black hair. Dayna observed her mother as she interacted with people she’d just met. She felt satisfied in the knowledge that with or without the status of being the wife of prominent attorney Joshua Hinton, her mother would always be the quintessential social butterfly.
Dayna gave her mother a proud smile. She glanced down at her watch and was shocked that it was already one-forty-five. With only fifteen minutes to make the scheduled phone call, Dayna’s heart did a double flip. Should I call at two o’clock sharp or wait until about two-fifteen? Although she didn’t know the appropriateness of calling a man at the exact appointed time, she knew one thing with certainty…she wasn’t going to call Ammon until she was in a private place, preferably in her own bedroom or somewhere where she could close a door.
Dayna shot an impatient look at her mother, who was now chatting with the yoga instructor and appeared oblivious to her daughter’s anxious frame of mind.
Dayna finished the juice and then traipsed across the room to toss the empty Styrofoam cup. She caught her mother’s eye, gave her a long anguished look, and began to wring her hands in anxiety.
Mercifully, her mother bid her new yoga friends farewell and hurried to her daughter’s side. “What’s wrong, honey?”
Hmmm. She hadn’t prepared an excuse. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she blurted, sounding like a two-year-old.
“There’s a bathroom at the top of the stairs, Dayna.” Her mother sounded slightly annoyed.
“I know, Mom. But I really have to go,” she said, telling a little white lie.
“Oh!” her mother said, finally getting it. Dayna would never move her bowels in a public place. “Come on, Sweetie, let’s get you home. I don’t want you to get constipated.”
Sliding in her mother’s car; Dayna maintained a facial expression of extreme discomfort. To get her mother to really press down on the gas pedal, Dayna winced and rubbed her stomach. Admittedly, there were certain benefits to being the child instead of the parent.
&
nbsp; She looked at Ammon’s business card. Home phone, cell phone—which one should I call? It was ten minutes after two and Dayna still hadn’t made the call. She decided to call Cecily instead.
“Help me out.”
“Out of what? Have you talked to Ammon?”
“No. I need you to call him for me.”
“Why?” Cecily balked. “You’re a grown woman, stop acting like a child.”
“Cecily, I can’t. Please do this for me. Just call him and make up some reason why I can’t call him. Give him my number and tell him to call me.”
“This is so pathetic. I’ll do it, but I’m only doing it because I want to get dressed up and go to the ball.”
“The ball! I thought we were going—”
“That’s just an expression. Calm down. I don’t even think there’s such a thing as a ball anymore. We’re invited to an event held in a hotel ballroom. Relax, Dayna. Jeez!”
Dayna exhaled and gave Cecily Ammon’s number.
Then the gnawing thought that she hadn’t disclosed her marital status began to bother her terribly. He didn’t ask! she reminded herself.
The deep breathing technique she’d practiced in yoga class came in handy while she was waiting for Ammon to call. The sudden ring of her cell phone jolted her, but she said, “Hello,” in a voice that was calm and clear.
“How are you, Dayna; this is Ammon.”
“Hi!” she said, sounding surprised and happy.
“This is kind of embarrassing, being that it’s so last minute and everything…” Ammon lapsed into silence and Dayna didn’t know what to say to fill the gap. “Your friend Cecily said she told you about the award ceremony…”
“Oh yes,” Dayna piped in.
“Uh, I don’t usually attend those types of events, but Kendrick thinks I could use the publicity to sell more of my paintings. You know what I mean?”
Dayna nodded as if Ammon could see her. “It can’t hurt,” she said, unable to come up with anything clever or profound.
“So, do you think you can make it? It’s next weekend, Saturday night at seven.”
“Sure, I’d love to,” she said sincerely. “Oh, by the way, where exactly is your mural?”
“Ah, the mural’s on the corner of Forty-Sixth and Haverford.” Ammon laughed self-consciously; Dayna found his modesty endearing. “It’s painted on the exposed side of a multi-story apartment building. You can’t miss it,” he said with a chuckle.
“I can’t wait to check it out.”
“Thanks. So…I guess I’ll see you next week.”
“All right, thanks again for inviting me.”
“Uh, thanks for accepting,” he stammered.
Aww. Ammon seems almost as shy as I am, Dayna thought wistfully. She was surprised; he’d seemed so self-assured when they met.
“I guess I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Okay, bye.”
The day couldn’t have been more perfect. She and her mother were working through their pain together, supporting each other, becoming friends, and talking to Ammon was the icing on the cake. Dreamily, she recalled the sound of his voice, hearing him say. I guess I’ll talk to you soon.
Maybe this thing called life wasn’t so bad after all. Did she dare to hope for a happy ending? Dayna cast a glance in the mirror and smiled. For the first time in years she was truly satisfied with her reflected image.
Born and raised in Mount Airy, Dayna wasn’t too familiar with West Philly. Following directions she’d downloaded from Mapquest. She exited the Expressway at Thirtieth Street, then drove along Market until she reached Forty-Sixth Street, the heart of the inner city. She made a right, which would take her to Haverford Avenue.
Her breath caught the moment she made the turn. She experienced a small thrill at the sight of Ammon’s work—a larger-than-life-sized mural painted on a three-story building of a black man with strong arms embracing a woman and child. It was a beautiful but heart-wrenching reminder of Dayna’s most cherished dream.
Repressed emotions instantly began to bubble to the surface. Dayna wanted to make a quick U-turn, afraid a closer look would bring on the pain and the awful yearning. But she swallowed her apprehension, bit her lip in determination and bravely continued on—though at a very slow crawl.
When she finally reached the building and parked the car, the beauty of the mural was so astounding that she quickly got out. Standing before the exposed wall with her mouth agape, Dayna was awestruck by the intricate details in the painting that were now revealed.
Cars whisked past with music blaring from open windows, horns honked, brakes squealed, screeching tires made sharp turns, laughing children passed by, the wheels of a shopping cart piled high with freshly folded laundry rattled by. These sounds of urban America sounded muted and distant as Dayna stood transfixed, interpreting the mural.
The eyes of the man in the portrait were closed as if in ecstasy; his face buried in the woman’s braided hair as if intoxicated by the scent. The woman’s face, the picture of pure bliss, smiled down at the child, which she held close to her breast.
The man’s closed eyes spoke of a love supreme; his bulging muscles declared him the protector of this woman and child. The woman appeared to be in a state of rapture…peaceful and secure in the knowledge that she and her child were loved beyond measure. In the background was a magnificent landscape—the sun beaming brilliantly through tall leafy trees; pebbles and rocks washed by a running stream.
Nothing this extraordinary could be accomplished by man alone. Surely, God and his angels had inspired this painting.
Dayna approached the wall, taking tiny, awe-inspired steps. Kneeling on one knee, she read the caption: “Family” by AMMON 2005.
Tears streamed down Dayna’s face. Her heart ached for what she’d thought she’d found in Reed. She mourned the loss of the child she would never have.
Chapter 31
“Sensation!” Hershey said with a smile in her voice. “I got another date for you.”
Chanelle wasn’t so sure this was good news. If Hershey was calling to tell her about a date with someone other than Marc, she might as well just hang up the phone.
Why didn’t Marc ask for my number? she wondered, brooding. She couldn’t understand why he insisted upon using Hershey as the middle man. Didn’t he know she’d see him in a heartbeat; it didn’t matter whether or not he paid the required fee?
That’s right! she boasted to herself, feeling the cockiness of a dick-whipped woman who didn’t give a damn what other people thought. Fuck Hershey and fuck her commission; if she could get her hands on Marc right now and if he permitted, she’d climb on him and ride him like he was a horse named Trigger, all day and all night long, absolutely for free.
Chanelle shook her head incredulously. What the hell was happening to her? As much as she loved and needed money, how could she even entertain such a crazy thought?
Maybe she was in love? If so, love was nothing like she’d imagined. Over the course of the past three days, she’d been lying in bed with the covers pulled over her head, feeling hollow and lost and keenly aware of each hour that ticked past without a word from Marc.
“Hellooo, are you there?” Hershey asked, snapping Chanelle from her musing.
“Oh, yeah…I was just thinking about something. So tell me—whassup?” she asked, hoping to sound indifferent.
“I’ve got a client lined up for this evening. He’s so sweet; the hour session is so easy; girl, dealing with him is a piece of cake.”
Chanelle was instantly deflated, anyone who was described as being easy couldn’t possibly be Marc. However, holding on to the thread of hope that the client might still be Marc, Chanelle muttered, “Uh-huh…” in a tone that came out sounding as if she were only vaguely interested at best.
“His name is Wes. If you’re smart, you’ll grip him up and keep him as a regular.”
Overtaken by disappointment, Chanelle wanted to bang on Hershey, but reality had begun to set in.
“Your version of easy isn’t necessarily the case,” Chanelle said saucily. “That guy, Barry, turned out to be a real jerk. Dressing up like a damn woman…umph, umph, umph. What an asshole!”
“If I remember correctly, you liked that asshole’s cheddar and his generous tip,” Hershey hissed. Chanelle had forgotten about Hershey’s short fuse and her sharp tongue. “Shit,” Hershey continued her harangue, “I let that shit slide when I could have easily taken my money off the top before I paid you for the date you had with Marc Tarsia.”
Her money! This was the second time Hershey had mentioned Barry’s tip. Chanelle made a mental note to address the issue at another time. At the moment, however, she was in the throes of severe lovesickness. Just hearing Hershey speak Marc’s name made Chanelle weak in the knees, while at the same time giving her an inexplicable glimmer of hope that the mention of his name would compel Hershey to start spillin’—to give up the tapes and reveal that Marc had admitted he had fallen hard for Chanelle.
But no such luck. Hershey went on jabbering about Wes. “He claims he’s a doctor, but who knows, who cares. As long as he’s spreading money, he can tell me anything. He can claim to be a fuckin’ brain surgeon,” Hershey said, giggling.
Chanelle failed to see the humor. “Where am I supposed to meet this guy?”
“At his house; he lives in Bensalem.”
“His house!”
“Yeah, it’s cool. I’ve sent dozens of girls there. Girl, trust me…I wouldn’t send you anywhere if I didn’t think it was safe. But safe or not, you should still pack some heat. I mean, in the world we live in, you never know.”