She rode up, shifting from foot to foot, twisting her hands. “I’m so nervous,” she cried when Daney opened the door and pulled her in.
“You’re scared,” he said, shocked as he looked down into her frightened eyes.
“Of you,” she whispered.
“Don’t be,” he told her, and they kissed.
Fiona held him so tight her arms hurt. Daney grunted, but he clutched her just as hard.
“Was it bad?” he asked, taking off her clothes.
“No,” she whispered, rushing with the ease of long practice through his shirt buttons. “No,” she said again, as they began to make love. “He made it easy.”
“You feel bad.”
She nodded, sniveling as tears fell. “He’s a good man,” she said quietly. “It hurts me to hurt him.”
“I don’t like it either,” he admitted, and it was true. He knew how much he loved Fiona, how much it hurt him while they were estranged. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone else, even a rival. “But he can’t have you,” he said flatly, clutching her possessively close. “You’re mine,” he whispered against her lips.
Chapter fifteen
Fiona and Daney spent a week in each other’s arms. They could hardly stand to be apart for the studio sessions and rehearsals she had to attend, the conference calls and meetings he couldn’t get out of. His hand never failed to tighten when he felt her moving out of reach. He’d look, and she’d smile and point to the bathroom or the kitchen or her wrap across the room. She’d rub her arms and shiver, and he’d still grab her close, pull her down and part her legs with a hairy knee. He’d sniff and snuggle his way around her ears and neck. Then he’d rub her down with big warm hands and slide in.
The girls got used to seeing Daney in the house again, making arrangements to get Daney from the airport or pick up something from the store for him. But they tiptoed around the reunited couple. The future was not as easy to forecast as the past had been.
Fiona felt it too. Something was off.
Weeks went by. They were back in the tabloids. Fiona had to chill on the studio as shooting began on her movie. She managed to sneak in and clean up the last few tracks on the album and put down a collabo with a hot young male R&B singer. Daney spent some time in the studio with her on that one. She knew he wanted to go when she worked with Natty too, but he never said so, and in the spirit of avoiding trouble, she never offered.
Natty had reverted to the way he treated her before they slept together, more or less. The casual touches that were a part of their relationship pre-sex had been circumspectly removed. Fiona assumed that was out of respect, but she was only part right.
Natty wanted to touch her, but he couldn’t stand to now that he couldn’t touch her the way he wanted to. He knew too much, and wanted too much. Not to mention the fact that touching her brought the man who was really touching her to mind, and that he absolutely couldn’t stand.
Daney was back and forth between Chicago and wherever he was working, but when they were together things were smoke-free comfortable and fun. He managed to drag Fiona sightseeing, and she managed to be in bed before 11 every night even when they were traveling.
When in Chicago they shopped together, hung out with Flora, and rented movies. They went on outings with Cleo and the girls. When in New York, Daney was often too busy to entertain her, so she let Andrea have her way and made radio and TV appearances. She also adapted scheduling for things like her album photo shoot so that she could stay in town longer. She even did an impromptu show at a friend’s club. There was no promotion, but the spot got so hot, the NYPD had to escort her and Daney out.
“I don’t want you to go to work tomorrow,” Daney said the next day. He’d just got off the phone with Paul. The machine behind the Clinique gig was churning into motion, and he was pissed he couldn’t come back to Chicago with her.
“How long you need?”
“Two more days. Then we can leave for at least a week.”
“I’ll send everybody home, and stay here with you. But only for two days. I gotta work in LA for at least two weeks. Can you come with me out there?”
“Yes.” He would whether his schedule allowed it or not.
He didn’t just kiss her goodbye at the door in the morning. She went along to fittings and read magazines in restaurants with one hand in his lap while he had meetings. They spent entire car rides kissing. He ate at her mouth, pulling her between his legs and grinding against her until she was a wreck, clothes wrinkled and gaping, lips swollen, panting like there was no air left.
When she would have met the girls out or gone home to sleep, he’d beg her to wait in the car while he went in somewhere. She always teased him before she agreed. Sometimes with her hands, others with her lips and tongue.
“A half hour,” he promised, moaning softly as he tightened his grip on her hair. Her face was in his lap. “Fiona, please.”
She ignored him, hollowing her cheeks then relaxing just a bit to let the crown of his dick slide easily to the back of her throat. She didn’t want to speak. She wanted to listen to the noises he made. He always sounded so vulnerable when she had him like this. His breath would catch adorably, and sometimes he’d bite his own hand to keep from crying out. She smiled against his salty flesh, and swirled her tongue so fast he couldn’t help but groan, his attempts to stifle his pleasure forgotten just that quick.
“In you,” he rasped, tugging her reluctantly but firmly away. “I want in you, Feef.” And they made love in the back of the car.
Fiona helped tidy him, spritzing him with her atomizer, and finger combing his hair. She kissed fruit scented gloss from her lips onto his.
“Wait for me,” he ordered. He looked into her eyes until she nodded, then kissed her hard and left.
And Fiona sat there. For almost an hour she sat right where he left her and barely moved. She could still taste him. Her lids drooped, and her head fell back against the seat. Her fingers drifted to stroke between her legs. Then she reached for a joint and lit it. She cracked both windows and the sun roof. She thought of the pleasure, the near perfect moments in his arms when the world’s noise disappeared like a seed in the brisk Chicago wind, but that strange feeling wouldn’t leave her.
At first it was just a whiff of unease, the slight compression of a cat whispering around your ankles. But as they made love everywhere between Chicago and New York, LA and one fabulous trip to his home in Miami, Fiona increasingly felt like something was about to blow up in her face.
“What’s up with you?” she asked him one night. He was fresh out of the shower, standing at the end of the bed drying his head with a towel. She licked her lips over his beauty, as she always did, and resisted the urge to reach for a joint. Between filming and the studio, she’d all but quit, again.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, are you waiting to see if I’m gonna cheat on you?”
He threw the towel in the hamper with more force than was necessary. He stood naked to pat on beard cream Fiona had bought to soften his whiskers overnight and make it easier to shave. It worked great.
“No.”
“Then what?”
He glared at her through the vanity mirror. “I don’t fuckin’ know!”
Fiona gave up the struggle and reached for her bud tray.
“Don’t you do it.”
She subsided, watching him.
“Just talk. Don’t smoke.”
“Fine,” she said softly. “Talk. Tell me what’s goin’ through your fuckin’ head, ‘cause I don’t have a clue.” Her voice broke slightly. “And I used to.” Her eyes wandered sadly over him, and despite himself, Daney felt his cock stir. “I knew everything about you. Now?” She shook her head. “I feel like I’m waitin’ for some fuckin’ axe to fall, ‘cause you’re on some ole’ crazy game torture shit that you won’t tell me about.”
“Calm down,” he said, not wanting her to build up a good head of steam. He’d seen it before.
Fiona’s eyes narrowed, and he remembered too late how much she hated being told that. If she heard anything resembling ‘you need to relax’ she shut down faster than Fort Knox on code red.
“I want you to leave.”
“What?”
“Get dressed, gather your things, and go home.”
“I live in New York.”
“Downtown’s fulla hotels. You got money for a room ‘til you can hit the airport.”
“Are you serious?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” She cocked her head and smiled. It was both beautiful and scary. “Who you think you are?” she asked, in such a normal tone of voice, his eyes got wide. “Better question. Who you think I am?”
“You want me to leave.”
“Cleo! Netty!”
They stared at each other.
A minute later Netty poked her head in the door. A few seconds later Cleo appeared.
“Daney’s leaving. Help him with his things, please. See that he gets a ride to wherever he needs to go.” And she went into the bathroom and closed the door.
They stared at him. He stared at the door, flabbergasted. What the hell had just happened?
“You want me to call you a cab, or can I drop you somewhere?” Netty asked.
She liked Daney, but there was no way she was taking his side over Fiona’s. Neither was Cleo.
He dressed while they packed his things. He did not, however, leave. He had a little talk with the girls, and sent them off to their rooms though he knew they’d stay in the kitchen to eavesdrop.
He kept his packed bags in plain sight. When Fiona came in she’d see them and know that he would abide by her wishes, but first he’d have his say. His little songbird was warbling out of control right now, but he knew just how to clip her wings, at least for a while.
Daney wasn’t stupid. He knew things weren’t right between them. He knew he was acting out of character, jealous and stiff, but he couldn’t help himself. He was suspicious when she was in the company of other men. He had to hold back questions he’d never thought to ask before. Sometimes he woke in the middle of the night with her sleeping peacefully in his arms, and he’d clutch her close, wanting simultaneously to squeeze her into his body and to push her off the bed.
He’d repeat the affirmations he’d learned years ago to quiet his mind and bring his thoughts back to the source. It usually worked, but doubts had a way of creeping back. They wound themselves around the coils of his heart so slow and stealthy they were hard to notice until he couldn’t catch his breath.
He got hot sitting there in a jacket, so he took it off and laid it over his suitcases. Exactly an hour after Fiona had shut the bathroom door, she opened it.
She’d showered. She looked plump and shiny in a sheer white gown and smelled of spiced fruit. She froze when she saw him. Her eyes ran over the luggage. She sauntered closer.
“Cabs used to be better in this town,” she rasped.
She’d been smoking.
“Netty said she’d give me a ride, but I wanted to give you this.” He pulled a black velvet ring box from his pocket.
He patted the bed beside him. She sat, and he fought not to smile as she caught her breath. The ring box had hypnotized her. She knew what it meant.
Daney wasn’t silly enough to believe his diamond had brought on this type of reaction. Fiona had some of the most fabulous jewels money could buy. He clearly remembered reading an interview where the journalist commented on some trinket she was wearing and she said –
“I subscribe to the Marilyn Monroe school of thought when it comes to jewelry. Diamonds are an investment, and the more solid investments you make, the better.”
A diamond ring had been the first purchase she’d made with her first big check. She’d told him the story when he complimented the ring on her finger. She’d done a three-day video shoot, and after she paid her rent and put most of her bills at zero balance, she’d gone straight to her favorite jewelry store on Wabash and bought 3 carats of VVS quality goodness so bright she stuck it out the cab window on the way home just so she could watch it catch the light.
“That sucker had me struck,” she’d laughed.
Now he opened his box.
Fiona’s eyes got big, but she dropped her head so he couldn’t see. She didn’t even allow herself to move.
He wanted to crow and dance around the room. She couldn’t take her eyes off it! This was better than sex, word of God. Okay, blatant lie, but this was pretty damn good. He cleared his throat to mask a chuckle.
“Fiona,” he said.
She didn’t respond.
“Fiona,” he said, louder.
“Hunh?”
“Will you marry me?”
“Hunh?” she said again.
“Will you marry me?”
She swallowed. “You wanna marry me?”
He nodded and held out the box.
She stared at the ring.
He reached for her hand and was surprised to find he had to pull it. When he’d finally wrestled it forward and put the ring on, he could no longer restrain his laughter. “Is that a yes?”
She nodded.
“Answer me, please.”
She nodded again, still staring at the ring.
“Fiona!”
“Yeah!” Her eyes flew to his. She grinned. “Yes, baby?”
He laughed and snatched her close, tumbled them on to their sides on the bed. “Yes or no, right now.”
“Yes and no,” she answered.
“What?” He yelled, grabbing the placatory hand she laid on his chest.
“I won’t marry you unless you make me believe that you’ve forgiven me,” she told him calmly. “I keep tellin’ you I didn’t do anything, but I know you think I did.”
Daney opened his mouth to object, but Fiona waved him silent.
“I understand why you think like that. It did look fucked up, but after a while, when my story never changes, and nothing else happens to make you suspicious, you’ll let your guard down. Then I’ll have my Daney back, and I’ll marry you.”
“When?”
She shrugged. “That depends on you.”
He didn’t like this. It sounded too iffy. “So what happens in the meantime?”
“I wear the ring.”
“And we stay together.”
She nodded, and looked at the ring again.
There was silence then he grabbed her wrist and held her hand up in front of his face. “You know I love you, right?”
She looked up from the ring into his solemn green eyes. “I love you too. That’s why I’m gonna give us time to get right.”
******
The press had a field day with her new jewelry, though Fiona wouldn’t say a word beyond, “Isn’t it fabulous? A beautiful, five-carat monster.”
“You gon’ marry him?” Netty asked.
Fiona shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
******
The album was released three weeks after shooting on the movie wrapped. She’d deliberately chosen that date so she could chill for a minute before the press tours began. She had the video for the second single ready. They were doing pre-work on the third, and a series of promotional appearances had been scheduled for two months solid all over the world. She would work both album and movie simultaneously, and during the brief lull in between stay home with Flora, rest, think and re-get to know Daney.
He had taken her comments about Natty to heart, and he talked to her more. Before he’d call in between appointments and during snatched meals which hadn’t changed, but now he rang more often, and they spoke longer.
Once he called her while sitting on a hotel toilet in Las Vegas. He’d gone to meet some property investors, and they fell asleep talking to each other. Fiona woke up the next day with a sore ear from holding the receiver between her head and the pillow. She whispered good night, not expecting a response, but he responded in his late night rumble, the one that made the ache from missing him swell insi
de her like blood in a bruise.
Daney also told her he loved her more, and she said it too. He seemed more confident once he gave her the ring, more at ease. Cleo had cynically replied that he was happy because he knew she was at home staying out of trouble like a good little girl.
Fiona doubted that. Trouble could just as easily find its way to her door as she could leave to seek it out. Daney knew that better than anyone.
The media followed her story closely, though the Tino and even the Natty pieces of the saga had mercifully died a natural death. Now there was intense wedding speculation, and she and the girls laughed themselves silly reading the stories that circulated about when, where and who would design her dress. The only wedding preparation Fiona had made was to ask Peter if he’d like to design a wedding gown.
There had been a noticeable pause on the other end of the line, and then in a gruff voice, he said, “I’d be honored, honey. Just tell me when.”
Her album made it to number one in two weeks. It was the latest triumph in her comeback. The second single “The Journey” had stayed at number one for nearly eight weeks.
Fiona was laughing when she found out. “Lani, you are a fool. Lemme talk back to Natty.”
“Yeah, whatever. You know you gotta stay small for a good three more months,” that lady warned. “You were a little snug in that fitting this morning. You need to drink more water.”
Something clicked in her mind, and her eyes narrowed as she rose from her bed. She walked to the desk drawer and the oversized calendar there. She flipped to the last month. There was no red number circled. She flipped again. There it was.
“Lemme call you back,” she said vaguely, and hung up.
Fiona put on a pair of jeans and a black cotton sweater with big wooden buttons. She pulled her hair down and mashed a hat with a brim down over her eyes. Then she found her car keys and rolled a joint to smoke on the way to a Walgreens in the suburbs where no one would recognize her. There she bought a pregnancy test.
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