Also by Mary B. Morrison
SOUL MATES DISSIPATE
WHO’S MAKING LOVE
JUSTICE JUST US JUST ME
Never Again Once More
MARY B. MORRISON
DAFINA BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by Mary B. Morrison
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Poetry Corner
SOMEBODY’S GOTTA BE ON TOP.
Somebody’s Gotta Be On Top
Copyright Page
This novel is dedicated to my soul mate Pernell Bursey, to everyone who does not know his or her biological parents, and to my niece Delisia Melvina Noel. Although another family adopted you, Delisia, we pray one day you’ll know you have an entire family who loves you, especially your mother—my sister—Debra Noel. Your adoptive parents asked that we have no contact with you, and we’ve honored that request. Your birth given name was changed, and unfortunately we don’t know your new name. Delisia, you have a wonderfully humorous brother Omar, four aunts, two uncles, fifteen first cousins, and, of course, your mother eagerly waiting to bond with you, my love.
Acknowledgments
I give thanks to God for blessing me with the courage to pursue my literary passion. Each time the road ahead darkens, the Lord sends my guardian angels to shine a redeeming light, reminding me my humanitarian purpose is forever greater than myself. I express gratitude for Reverend Dr. Elouise D. Oliver and my Oakland East Bay Church of Religious Science family for guidance and motivation.
Thanks to my wonderful son, Jesse Bernard Byrd, Jr., for his unconditional love and support. To the superwoman who catapulted my dream into a reality, I’m eternally grateful for my editor, Karen Thomas. I must thank my agent and backbone, Claudia Menza, for never being too busy. I immensely appreciate my Kensington family: Walter Zacharius, Steven Zacharius, Laurie Parkin, Joan Schulhafer, Jessica Ricketts, and Mary Pomponio, thanks a million.
A special love note is extended to one of the world’s greatest writers, E. Lynn Harris. Thanks for your quote, but more importantly I value your unsolicited kindness and words of encouragement through my former self-publishing endeavor and present novelist career.
When all I had was my poetry book, Justice Just Us Just Me, God sent me a best friend and brilliant publicist, Felicia Polk. After Soul Mates Dissipate was released, He blessed me with Rodrick Smith, and no greater duo than Smith and Polk exists in public relations. I also thank L. Peggy Hicks of TriCom for organizing my tour, because she is the top diva of literary promotions. I thank my supporters: Patrik Henry Bass of Essence magazine, Glenn R. Townes of Upscale magazine, Dr. Jeff of WLIB, Cliff and Janine of KJLH, and a host of others.
I love each of my siblings with all my heart. Thanks for being my foundation: Wayne, Andrea, Derrick, and Regina Morrison, Margie Rickerson, and Debra Noel.
I’m blessed to have fantastic friends. Thanks to Bennie Allen, Linda Gayle Brown, Michaela Burnett, Marilyn Edge, Kendra Hill, Vanessa Ibanitoru, Brenda Jackson, Naleighna Kai, Gloria Mallette, Marcus Major, Karen E. Quinones-Miller, Carmen Polk, Exavier B. Pope, E. C. Rhodes, Ronald Salaam, Joseph Smith, Simone Smith, Carl Weber, Kenneth Williams, and my mentor, Vyllorya A. Evans, for your unwavering support.
Last but sincerely not least, I thank the distributors, booksellers, book clubs, and you the reader because you are the wind beneath my words.
And so it is,
Mary Beatrice Morrison
E-mail: [email protected]
Web site: www.marymorrison.com
Prologue
What did love have to do with anything?
If Jada Diamond Tanner had the answer, she’d be richer. After parting from her soul mate, no relationship was quite the same, including her ten years of marriage to Lawrence Anderson. While her body moved forward pushing her life ahead, Jada’s spirit remained with Wellington. Like a child insistent upon staying with his father after a divorce, her spirit said, “Naw, you go ahead. I’ll wait right here for you.” Although Jada loved Wellington, his infidelity rendered love insufficient to preserve their engagement.
Whosoever said, “If you love something, set it free. If it returns . . .” must have not known Wellington Jones. Not as Jada did. He tasted like a sweet caramel candy square slowly melting in her mouth, trickling down her throat into the depth of her intestines, flowing through her bloodstream into her receptor cells. He was her life-support system. Undeniably, his rib had become a permanent part of her anatomy. Each of her taste buds savored the richness of all his bodily fluids. Whenever their lips merged and their tongues danced to rapid heartbeats, Altoids’ wintergreen freshness iced her insides like frozen sickles embracing a snow-covered roof. With magical touches, Wellington’s mere presence sent chills up Jada’s spine.
If you love something, set it free. Set it free echoed repeatedly. Day after day the words rebounded like a basketball bouncing off the edge of the rim. Less than an inch away from scoring, Jada had desperately wanted to reunite with her soul mate, but couldn’t find the emotional fortitude. Year upon year set it free resounded.
The best sex they had shared came after their first relationship-threatening argument. The warmth of his nine-inch rod penetrating her moist womanhood was all of a sudden a memory. But near the end, Jada had to credit Wellington for trying to keep her when he asked, “Where do we go from here?”
She had already given their unresolved issues countless consideration. The most logical solution remained the same, so Jada stood firm on her final decision and replied, “I’m still in love with you, Wellington. You will always have a place in my heart. I don’t know where we go from here. But I do know I’ve renewed my lease on life. I have a business to start and a plane to catch to Los Angeles. Maybe I’ll call you. Maybe I won’t.” Watching Wellington walk out of her Oakland Hills penthouse for the last time was by far the hardest thing she’d ever done.
Jada was adamant, but when she boarded that plane the next day, she could have worn a white straight jacket instead of a black leather blazer. The more she told herself, “Don’t call him. Be strong,” the weaker she’d become. Both of her Myers-Briggs personality tests—taken five years apart—resulted in an ISTP (Introverted, Sensing, Thinking, Perceiving) rating. Jada was a terrific analyst and businesswoman, and great at following up on unresolved issues. Diva should have been highlighted as one of her qualitative traits. Even the “
Brain Works” test rated Jada perfectly balanced. Maybe she was too balanced. Her left brain discounted the right, and her right conflicted with the left, which explained why she had such difficulty deciding whether or not to stay with Wellington. Professional decisions were much easier than personal choices.
Trying to bamboozle her way out of depression, Jada initiated conversation with the elderly man seated next to her in first class. The moment the aircraft landed and the captain turned off the fasten seat belt sign, she powered up her cellular phone. The left brain keyed in zero zero one to call Wellington so the right brain could tell him she’d be on the next plane back to Oakland to be with him forever, but she was obsessively thinking and couldn’t convince herself to press the talk button. Jada’s heart grew so heavy at times she could hardly breathe. Short, quick, and frequent intakes of oxygen accompanied mucus buildup in her nostrils that intensified tears, migraines, and nausea.
Had she ended their relationship to avoid looking foolish? Jada’s best friend Candice had warned her Wellington couldn’t be trusted. Jada masked a happy face because Candice was meeting her at the gate at LAX, and Candice harbored no sympathy for her breakup with Wellington. Would Candice have accepted the same advice about Terrell? No man had ever slam-dunked Jada, and she wasn’t about to let Wellington set a precedent.
Before Jada could yell, “Time out!” the referee—Wellington’s evil mother Cynthia Elaine Jones—called a foul on her when it should have been a charge because Melanie Marie Thompson knocked her down, ran her over, and literally scored with her man. And Broom Hilda had twitched her nose to cover up a lie because she wasn’t Wellington’s biological mother; the lying bitch was his aunt. Allen Iverson stripped his opponents over a hundred times in the playoffs, but this wasn’t the frickin’ NBA. Stealing was a crime. So why did Jada feel as if she was the one serving the life sentence?
By moving from Oakland to the Los Angeles area—over five hundred miles away from the scene of the crime—hopefully her emotional wounds would mend. As she faced every challenge, Jada had grown secure knowing Wellington was only a phone call away. The distance that existed between them: one hour by plane, five and a half by car, one heartbeat by spirit. Close enough but yet far enough, too.
Jada ignored the voice inside her head that whispered, “Go back. Take that chance on love because life is one huge risk, and each day you screw up, if the Lord allows you to see another, you have at least one more opportunity to get it right. Your entire existence is an audition, and you are forever rehearsing until you take your final bow.” A melody interjected, “Don’t wanna be a fool never again.” Luther Vandross’s lyric was emotionally correct. No way was Jada going to bend her backbone and flop into Wellington’s arms like a desperate woman afraid she’d never find another man to worship her inner beauty as though she were a true Nubian queen and make love to her sweeter than all the chocolate in Willy Wonka’s factory.
Like liquid cement solidifying, Wellington’s renewed loyalty gradually reinforced their foundation. Over time they became very best friends. Secrets that should have been shared only with God, Jada also confided in Wellington—except one thing.
Chapter 1
“Lord give me strength,” Jada whispered as she dropped her cell phone into her purse. Inhaling through her nose, she removed her electronic notebook from the overhead compartment and sighed heavily. Never mentioning Wellington Jones by name, she had posed multiple relationship questions to the stranger seated next to her in row one, since he had been happily married to the same woman for over fifty years.
“Sir, thank you for lending an ear.” Jada took one step back, allowing him to retrieve his belongings. His brown scuffed briefcase was torn at every corner, and the gold-plated latches had turned mostly silver. The black rubber beneath his walking cane was worn to the slanted wood.
The elderly man licked his dentures, scratched his receding hairline, and replied in his raspy voice, “That’s why God gave us two. One so we can listen to how selfish we sound and the other for us to hear. Seems as though you’ve been listening, but you’re so busy hearing yourself, you haven’t heard what he’s trying to tell you. I’ve managed to stay married because my wife, she respects my manhood and doesn’t try to reduce me to being one of our twelve kids.” Then he dug into his butt, relieving himself of a wedgee.
Respect was earned, not given because a man was anatomically correct. “But did I mention to you”—Jada moved closer so the person beside her wouldn’t overhear—“he impregnated another woman?”
The old man wasn’t as kind to speak low in return. “So did the Reverend Jesse Jackson, but you don’t see his wife abandoning him. And if Hillary can forgive Bill, why can’t you forgive . . .” This time he dug deeper into his butt and grunted, “What’s his name?” His hand quivered, touching hers.
Frowning, Jada said, “Wellington,” for the first time during their discussion.
“Yeah, that’s it. Jandra, you’re a pretty girl. I’ll tell you like I’ve told all of my kids, ‘Pride and love is like oil and water. They don’t mix.’ The sooner you realize that, the healthier your relationship will be.”
He still hadn’t pronounced her name correctly; but his wisdom surpassed her logic, so Jada moved ahead of him, impatiently waiting as the exit door opened.
The flight attendant smiled cheerfully. “Thank you for flying the friendly skies.” Absent her smile, the attendant resembled one of the girls from Robert Palmer’s rock video “Simply Irresistible”: pale face, straight black hair slicked back, and red lipstick.
Jada’s lips parted, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she stretched her five-foot-nine frame until an arch formed in her lower vertebrae. When her black thigh-high boot crossed the threshold and landed on the walkway, a gust of cold air raced up the front split in her cashmere skirt and kissed her red lace thong. Briskly tracing another passenger’s footsteps, Jada wished Candice would be late so she’d have an excuse to avoid reliving her best friend’s wedding and honeymoon plans.
Not only was Candice timely, but she was the first person Jada noticed when the attendant opened the second exit door leading into the concourse.
“Hey, girl. I thought you were going to backslide, especially since you didn’t call me last night.” Candice extended a Holy Names prep girl hug, giving Jada three pats on the back. “I like the sexy style. You look like a woman in search of a new man. That’s a good thing.” Rambling on, Candice pinched the edges of Jada’s jacket and peeped inside. “I’m scared of you, Ms. Thang, a split almost up to your clit. Terrell would never allow me to wear this.” She released Jada’s blazer. “But what’s up with all the black? Are we mourning our loss?” Fanning the wind, Candice emphatically said, “Forget Wellington. He doesn’t deserve you.”
The little old man slowly walked by hunched over his cane, “She’s got that right,” he said.
What was that supposed to mean? Jada had taken enough of his insults, and if he wasn’t seventy something, she’d tell him to go straight to hell. Sighing again, she thought, Ms. Thang, not Mrs. Jones. Maybe he was right.
Jada placed her computer bag in Candice’s wavering hand and retrieved the waterless sanitizer from her purse. “Let’s stop at Starbucks; I could use an iced frappuccino.” Sniffing the freshness on her fingertips, she tilted her head back, lifted her smooth straight hair, and gradually released it behind her shoulders.
“How’s Terrell?” Jada raised Candice’s hand, tugged at her clothes, and pointed at her head. “Where are your acrylic nails? What’s up with the Suzie homemaker muumuu dress? And why are you wearing that pent-up out-of-date hairstyle?”
Candice’s flat shoes really made her every fraction of five feet, four inches. Her once lavish nails were now nubs so short her flesh protruded beyond the edges. A soon-to-be thirty-three-year-old diva was retired in her prime because the broom she was about to jump had already swept her raving beauty under the carpet. Candice had once dressed so provocatively she stopped everythi
ng except time.
Terrell wore muscle shirts whenever he wanted and smiled in the faces of gorgeous women, justifying his actions based on his professional image. The most sought after male model, in higher demand than Tyson, had landed his first acting role staring opposite Morris Chestnut, so he’d immediately postponed marrying Candice.
Jada remembered the days—less than six month ago—when she worked at Sensations Communications photographing the world’s finest male models, including Terrell. But once Wellington’s wicked aunt Cynthia landed Melanie a job as her boss, Jada typed up her resignation, handed it to the receptionist, and kept on stepping. As long as Candice Jordan catered to Terrell Morgan’s needs, he was satisfied. That was exactly what Jada refused to do, compromise herself for the sake of having a man.
The airport was overcrowded. Travelers lined the walls and blocked the aisles. “Flight eighty-one has been changed to gate eleven.” Outbound passengers grumbled loudly; some of them dragged kids along. Since Jada had experienced the inconveniences of LAX on numerous occasions, she anticipated the seemingly standard announcement.
Standing in line next to her, Candice replied, “My husband is fine. My husband didn’t like the nails or the body-hugging clothes; but my husband loves this hairstyle, and he loves me.” Candice fingered the chestnut-colored curl hanging alongside her face. “I have our wedding planner in the car. You’ve got to see the fabrics and colors. You’re going to be the most attractive maid of honor.” Candice flipped her wrist to display the diamond marquis her fiancé had recently bought.
Maid not matron. Jada was genuinely happy for her girlfriend. If Candice hadn’t invited her to Will Downing’s concert over a year ago, Jada probably wouldn’t have met Wellington. Neither would Candice have met Terrell. They should have been planning a double wedding and reception. Tension throbbed at Jada’s temples, so she pressed firmly, repressing the pain.
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