The Vow

by Denene Millner

  “Where in your mind? Couldn’t have been the front, because it’s always seemed like we’ve played second chair to your interests. So explain to me exactly when you made a decision on all of our behalf. Please. Do that,” I said, fast becoming annoyed.

  “See? That’s what I’m talking about, Vivian,” Sean said, his voice rising. “You’ve always jumped to conclusions about me—assumed the worst first. I can’t stand that about you.”

  “You can’t stand what?” I said, incredulous.

  “Your assumptions, Vivian,” he said, annunciating each of the syllables in the words for emphasis. “You assume that every woman I’m either out with or near is someone I’m boning. You assumed that I was the reason why Corey had an asthma attack, even though the doctor said that anything could have set it off. Hell, you even assumed that I didn’t care about my son enough to come see him at the hospital when asthma almost suffocated him to death, even though I had a perfectly logical explanation for why I wasn’t there.”

  “Sean, forgive me if I don’t take you at your word, but I have good reason to assume that caring for my child and me aren’t at the top of your things-to-do list,” I said quietly. “My child has lived a lifetime in a single-parent home because you abandoned him and his mother to pursue your own dreams, without once taking into consideration how we’d fit into them. Don’t blame me if I see only the worst in your actions.”

  “First of all, Corey is our son,” he said. “Let’s get that straight. Second, you never let me explain why I wanted to put the wedding off. You just tossed my ring in my face and walked out.”

  I ignored the “our son” comment. “Okay, Sean, tell me this brilliant reason for why you wanted me to raise my son on my own and pursue my dreams of being a journalist without the help that comes when you’ve got a partner to help you keep your life in order. Come on, I want to hear it.”

  Sean was quiet for a moment. He spoke slowly and clearly. “There was no way that I could care for you and a baby and do well in med school. I figured that if I focused, I could get out and then scoop you and Corey up and make you a doctor’s wife. I would have felt like a failure if I had you both living in poverty and I flunked out of school because I couldn’t concentrate.

  “See, Viv, I thought I was making the right decision for us. What I didn’t realize was that a decision about us should have included just that—us. I was wrong for putting you in the position of having to fend for yourself. I hadn’t thought that part through. And you were so angry when I told you that you wouldn’t give me a chance to explain, and it all fell apart because we were both too caught up in our own points to hear each other’s reasoning. And for that, Vivian Evans, I’m so sorry.”

  He had me at “I thought I was making the right decision for us.” Tears ran hot down my face, dripping off my chin and onto my chest, soaking my bra. What was there to say? I could barely speak. He was saying what I’d always wanted to hear, and he was sincere about it, and I believed him. It was true.

  “Viv? Are you still there?” Sean said.

  “Where’s our son?” I said, gathering my composure.

  “He fell asleep about an hour ago,” Sean said quietly. “I took him to a ball game, and he was exhausted from all that cheering.”

  “He sure does love a good game, huh?”

  “Yes, he does.”

  We listened to each other breathe for what seemed like an eternity. Sean broke the silence. “Viv, why don’t you come over,” he said easily.

  “But it’s raining outside.”

  “I’d come over there, but Corey’s in the bed. Come on, put on your galoshes, grab your umbrella, and come over. We can talk some more.”

  It wasn’t talking that I wanted to do. I pushed back the comforter, hopped out of bed, and made a beeline for my lingerie drawer. I tossed everything out, and considered kicking myself for constantly passing up the bra-and-panty sets for the more reasonably priced big-girl drawers. I thanked the heavens that my nicest black lace bra was clean, and that I’d splurged a couple weeks ago for a pair of those lace short-shaped underwear—Victoria’s Secret was practically giving them away, so I bought one. I stood in the mirror, admiring my purchase: I never realized how cute sets actually looked, especially on my new-and-improved body. The shorts sat low on my ass, providing the perfect showcase for my firm stomach and curvy hips. I slipped into a simple sky-blue cotton wrap shirt, and a gray flared skirt, both of which skimmed me in places I’d long been too afraid to accentuate, and popped on a pair of black stilettos before thinking better of it. Sean wouldn’t appreciate me trying too hard. I threw the pumps back into the closet, grabbed my black thong sandals out the foyer closet, the biggest black umbrella I could find, and my keys off the kitchen counter, and hightailed it over to my son’s father’s house.

  Sean met me at the door wearing a robe and nothing else. His locks hung around his shoulders; the porch light made the green in his eyes sparkle. He pulled me into his arms and I fell happily into his embrace. “I love you, Vivian Olivia Evans.”

  “I love you, Dr. Sean Jordan.”

  We hugged and danced our way into his living room. Anita Baker’s “Angel” was playing softly on the stereo. Sean hummed the melody, and when Anita made it to the chorus, he sang along with her—all off-key, but he sang it from the heart nonetheless.

  I felt the extra hands on my hips, but I didn’t immediately process that Corey had snuck into the room to dance with his parents until he spoke. “I love this song. Daddy says it reminds him of you,” Corey said. I looked at Sean, smiled, then shook my head and turned around to greet my child.

  “I thought you were sleeping,” I said.

  “I’m not sleepy,” Corey whined. His smile stretched from one ear to the other. “Can I stay up for a little while, please?”

  I smiled, too, then looked back at Sean. “You’ll have to ask your dad,” I giggled.

  “Dang, man,” Sean laughed. “Okay, you got fifteen minutes, then it’s time for bed. Fifteen, man,” he stressed.

  “Okay, Daddy!” Corey said before snuggling back into my butt. His arms were just long enough to stretch around my hips and halfway around his father’s.

  YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED TO JOIN

  COREY AJANI JORDAN’S PARENTS

  VIVIAN OLIVIA EVANS

  AND

  DR. SEAN ALLEN JORDAN

  AS THEY JUMP THE BROOM INTO

  HOLY MATRIMONY

  SUNDAY DECEMBER 31, 2006

  8:00 P.M.

  THE GRAND PALAZZO RESORT AND SPA

  ST. THOMAS, VIRGIN ISLANDS

  ATTIRE: BEACH CHIC

  19

  TRISTA

  I have a slight hangover. As the warm sunlight streams into my bungalow, the sea breeze cools the small room. I inhale the salty air and my eyes open slowly and begin to focus on the copper silk dress hanging on the closet door. Sitting up, I push back the sheets. Thankfully I didn’t get so twisted on that wicked Sangria last night that I didn’t remember to take some aspirin and raid the mini-bar for water before I went to sleep. I push back the mosquito netting attached to the canopy and stretch. Glancing at the digital clock on the nightstand I see it’s only 10:30. Good, I’ve got plenty of time to chill before I have to meet Amaya and Elise in the hotel’s garden to take pictures.

  The terra-cotta floor feels cool against my feet as I walk into the tiny bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I’m happy to see that the two-strand twists I got on the beach yesterday withstood the night. The humidity is murder on a sister’s style, so this was my last hope to look cute. Letting the water heat up, I tuck the twists of hair under my shower cap and then call the hotel restaurant to order some breakfast.

  After ordering, I step into the shower and chuckle at the memory of Viv, Amaya, and Sean’s daiquiri-induced limbo contest on the beach last night. Hopefully they can both stand up straight this morning. They had tried to pull me into their wild antics but I was content to watch a very pregnant Elise and Will stroll a
long the surf.

  It’s going to be a small wedding. It’s a special day that’s been over ten years in the making. My girl Viv got her man.

  We all flew to St. Thomas yesterday morning to celebrate with Sean and Viv. And in just twenty-four hours I’ve fallen in love with this tiny island paradise. I planned to stay for a few more days after the wedding because there would be plenty of work waiting for me when I got back to L.A. And who knows when the next time will be that I have a chance to

  take a vacation.

  After my father passed away I stayed with Tanisha and Tyquan to help get things organized. And in addition to Daddy’s affairs there was one other important thing I needed to take care of. Tanisha went with me to the doctor’s office to get the results for my AIDS test. She held my hand as Dr. Woodard read the results: negative. My sister and I hugged each other and cried, repeating “Thank you, Jesus” over and over again. Dr. Woodard recommended I schedule a follow-up test in six months, as it can take six months for HIV antibodies to show up in the blood, then she lectured me for at least twenty minutes about safe sex and the alarming numbers of black women contracting HIV.

  The next day I had called my HR contact at The Agency, Nichelle Edwards, a sister who knows where all the bodies are buried. She told me she would personally put through the necessary paperwork for an extended leave for me. Nichelle said this should buy me some time so that I could get my head together and think about what I wanted to do.

  I talked over the work situation with Damon. He’d gone back to New York for a funeral but called every day. I told him that there was really no way I could stay at the firm. He agreed that by turning me down for partner and stripping me of my clients they were saying I had no future at TA. The question for me, he said, was what was I willing to do about that. I’d worked really hard to get where I was, and I didn’t want to just take their shit. I sat down in the living room with a calculator and a pad of paper and started running numbers. My bonus had been just over $300,000 this year. I then called my private banker to discuss selling my beloved home. Since the condo had been bought in foreclosure and renovated he thought I’d realize a sizable profit. I told him I needed to move quickly and that I would be staying in Compton until we settled.

  Next I went over to Office Max and bought a laptop computer, had one of Tanisha’s friends down at the phone company install a new line in the dining room, and set up shop. My first call was to Adriene to ask her to email me all my contacts. I needed to do that quickly because as soon as TA realized what I was up to, they’d freeze all my files. I told her I didn’t expect her to come work with me and that I was sure that Nichelle would take care of her if she wanted to stay with TA. Within two hours she was at the house with copies of all my files.

  “So what’s the name of this bootleg start-up?” she asked as she popped her gum. Her fiery red curls bounced up and down.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t even thought about it,” I said.

  “You need a name,” she said. “How do you expect me to start calling folks if we don’t have a name?”

  “We?” I asked. I didn’t have the nerve to ask her to sign on to my half-baked plan and was shocked that she’d even think of coming on board.

  “What?” she asked with a grin. “You think you’re going to just ride off into the sunset with the business I helped create and leave me at TA?”

  “I think Trista T. Gordon and Associates has a nice ring to it,” said Tanisha, walking into the room.

  “It’s kind of catchy,” said Adriene.

  “But I don’t have any associates,” I said, looking at the two of them.

  “What the hell am I?” said Adriene. “Chopped liver?”

  “And me,” said Tanisha.

  “And me, too,” chimed in Tyquan, who was sitting on the floor, labeling folders with a list of names I had given him earlier.

  “Are you guys serious?” I asked. Apparently they were. Adriene said she’d defer part of her salary to be rolled into an equity partnership because she hoped to work her way up to full partner and wanted to own a piece of the business. Sounded like a great idea to me. Tanisha couldn’t afford to quit her job but said she and Ty would help out in any way they could.

  Next we began working the phones. By the time I’d finished notifying my clients of my impending departure from TA, only three were willing to leave with me. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to reach Jared directly, so I left a message on his cell phone. I also left a message for Cassidy but didn’t expect to hear back from her.

  Amaya surprised me by stopping by the house the next day. She said she just happened to have a copy of her agreement with Clarence in her bag. I skimmed the document and highlighted several clauses to show her how Clarence was ripping her off. I also took a look at her contract for the Soular Son picture and rattled off a few ways in which she could optimize this new agreement.

  “So it looks like I need a new agent, huh?” she said, smiling at me across the cluttered dining room table.

  “Really, you want me to manage you?” I said, surprised.

  “I like what you’re doing here. Plus, you’re going to get a lot of buzz when you launch, so I figure an opportunistic sister such as myself ought to ride that wave.”

  Finally I got a call from Jared’s mother, Lynda, requesting a meeting. Conscious of the mounting expenses, I asked Adriene to set the meeting up for someplace not too pricey.

  “Are you crazy?” she said. “If you’re going to make money you’ve got to look like money. Especially to these guys. Especially in this town. Jared’s getting wined and dined all over the place. You can’t go out looking like you can’t run with the big dogs.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” I said, coming to my senses. “Book The Ivy.”

  I had expected Jared’s mom to urge her son to stay with TA but was surprised that she wanted to hear my pitch. When they arrived, Heather was with them. I had assumed they’d broken up after all the stuff in the paper linking him with Kimberly and after her suicide attempt (Sloane earned every penny of her exorbitant retainer by keeping that out of the papers). I walked them through my plan for his career and talked about how I saw him growing into a star. Sure, I said, Steven can make the fast money pushing all the predictable projects, but if you want to build a serious career as a respected actor then I was the only one who can help him do that.

  “Look, Trista,” said Lynda as she pushed her Dior sunglasses up into her hair, “we know you can guide Jared’s career. You believed in him from the beginning, and we’re confident in that, but I gotta tell you, the only reason we’re taking this meeting is because of what happened to little Heather here.”

  “My mom’s right,” Jared said as he wrapped an arm around his fiancée’s slender shoulders. “I need the kind of people around me who can help me steer my professional life while respecting and protecting the boundaries of my personal life.”

  “No problem,” I said confidently.

  “Good. Send your agency agreement over to the house by the end of the day. Also, we haven’t signed the Paramount Pictures deal yet, although Steven’s been hounding us every day. Can you take care of that? And of course, we’ll need a new publicist.”

  “That’s for sure,” I said. If Jared hasn’t signed the Paramount papers yet, I’ll be kicking off our new business with a four-million-dollar deal!

  By the time I got back to the house in Compton, Amaya had forwarded an email with an excerpt from Industrywhispers.com.

  TO: Tgordon@yahoo.com

  FROM: Astarisbrn@yahoo.com

  Subject: FW: The Dish

  Is the new action hero Jared Greenway a two-timer? Sources spotted the Hollywood hottie chowing at The Ivy with AWOL TA agent Trista Gordon this afternoon. Hmmm…Somebody better tell TA wonderboy Steven Banks before Gordon the Great steals the $4 million man right from under his nose…

  As expected, TA went crazy when they heard I was opening my own shop. They immediately filed an injunction against
me to keep me from taking any of their clients. But by the end of the second week, we were up and running with Jared’s new $4 million Paramount deal as our first signing. Our plan had been to start off small and grow slowly, but Adriene pushed me to sublease a small space in Beverly Hills so we could post a proper address on our letterhead.

  AFTER I WASH up in the shower, I slather Bobbi Brown Body Polish on my body. The blazing Caribbean sun has given my skin a sexy glow, and the lotion’s hint of sparkle shows it off to perfection. A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts about my new business. I grab the yellow hotel robe from the back of the bathroom door and belt the soft material tightly around my waist.

  “Who is it?” I ask before opening the door.

  “Room service.” The muffled voice has a slight island accent.

  “Wow, that was fast,” I say as I open the door and step back to let the attendant wheel in the cart. But instead of a uniformed waiter standing in my doorway, I see Damon, dressed in dark-blue jeans and an orange T-shirt, standing behind the dining cart. A small brown leather overnight bag is slung across his chest.

  “What the…” I say, suddenly very conscious of being naked under the thin material of the robe. “What are you doing here?” He smiles and wheels the cart past me into my room.

  “Just thought I’d deliver your breakfast,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. “Nice shower cap.” Shit. I rip the plastic cap off my head and try to fluff out my hair. He removes the leather bag and drops it in a corner by the door, then wheels the squeaky cart out onto the small balcony. I follow him out on the small terrace.