The Bottom Line. Wellington laughed. They really did get around. “Yeah, I didn’t want Jada driving by herself.” Wellington’s cellular phone rang. It was Melanie, so he hit the end button to silence the musical tone. Then he leaned over to see if Jada was headed in his direction. “Man, Melanie won’t stop calling me.”
“You know the best way to stop a woman from calling you?” Robert burped. “Don’t excuse me. More room out than in.”
Shaking his head, Wellington asked, “Naw, what’s that? I sure could use your insight, man.”
Ever since his last visit to the hospital, Melanie was relentlessly blowing up his cell and home phones. And when he did answer, she acted as if the triplets she miscarried after her car fell from the cliff had never existed. If he hadn’t read the doctor’s report Christopher delivered to him personally, Melanie wouldn’t have told him he had been framed. He wasn’t the father. The ultrasound proved Melanie had been into her second trimester—fourteen weeks—when her body involuntarily aborted the kids. Less than eight weeks had passed between their first encounter and her automobile accident. Jada would have slapped fool all over his forehead if Wellington had told her. So he didn’t.
“Sometimes you can’t treat a woman like a lady. That’s why Christopher left Cynthia. I don’t know how he stayed with her as long as he did. Cynthia is half beast, half bitch. Says he’s filing for his divorce, too.” Robert reclined, elevating his feet. His black slip-on corduroy house shoes with Raiders patches sewn on the top fell to the floor. “Tell the bitch to quit calling you. Then block her numbers. She’ll stop directly. Now, if you haven’t asked her to stop, that means you still want her around. Eventually, she’ll getcha at the right time when you’re horny and bored. Then you’ll get caught up in the moment. Next thing you know, you’re rolling around in the hay with her again.” Robert shuffled through the Sunday morning Oakland Tribune, retrieving the sports section. “The sports section isn’t as exciting when my Raiders aren’t playing. Let me see what these Warriors are doing.”
Robert had a little OG, original gangster, in him. Wellington had never heard him cuss. “I guess you’re right. I’ll wait until she calls back. Then I’ll tell her.” And he would. He just wouldn’t curse her out. What would using profanity prove? When he returned from L.A., Wellington would call his sister and confidant, Jazzmyne, for a second opinion. He already knew and was happy Christopher had walked out on Cynthia. The grapevine gossip had the facts twisted, claiming Cynthia kicked his stepfather out of the house.
“I know I’m right.” Robert continued reading, shaking his head. “The Warriors are giving an appreciation party. What for? I should have brought back some of them brown paper bags the Saints fans wear to give them.”
Robert stopped talking because Jada was heading his way.
“What are you two talking about?” Jada asked, lowering Robert’s newspaper. Hugging his neck, she said, “Don’t get up. We can see ourselves out.”
“Be careful on the highway and call us as soon as you tweetie birds get in.” Robert whistled like a bird.
“Bye, baby.” Mama’s eyes swelled with tears. “I sure wish you weren’t moving so far away.”
“Bye, Mama. I love you.” Blowing her mother a kiss, Jada paused in the doorway.
Mrs. Tanner was a fox. Her silver precision cut was striking. Considerably shorter than Jada, she was five feet, four inches; almost average height for a woman. Maybe she’d shrunk an inch with age. The emerald green casual pantsuit accented her slender figure.
“Bye, Mrs. Tanner. Mr. Hamilton. Thanks for the advice, man.” With the eighties, nineties, and new millennium, more and more women were maintaining their last names. Wellington was proud Jada had once wanted to carry his last name. No hyphen. No Jada Tanner-Jones. She was going to be Jada Diamond Jones.
“It’s cool. But the next round will cost ya. Ya know what I mean?” Robert pointed his finger at Wellington’s privates and said, “Bang!”
Walking to the car, Jada asked, “What was that all about?”
“Guy stuff. You know how Robert is. Relax. Take a nap. I’ll get you home safely.” Wellington reset the trip mileage to zero.
Jada retrieved her latest issue of Upscale magazine. “I’m not sleepy. I just woke up.”
The sunrays dissipated behind the dusky gray clouds. Small raindrops beaded on the windshield. Wellington turned the wipers on low and merged out of the fast lane. “When was the last time you changed your blades?”
Defensively, Jada answered, “I never change my blades. The dealer—”
Boop! Boop! The cop couldn’t be signaling him to pull over, because he was driving the limit in a fifty-five mile-per-hour zone. Boooop! Wellington merged again, and the patrol car followed.
“What’s wrong? What’d you do?” Jada asked.
Wellington cut his eyes at Jada and gritted his back teeth as he pulled over, praying he wasn’t a victim of Driving While Black. “I didn’t do anything.”
The Highway Patrol officer flashed his spotlight as if it was eleven o’clock at night. “Let me see your license, registration, and insurance.”
Wellington remained silent and handed him the information.
“What did he do wrong?” Jada asked.
“I told you I didn’t do anything wrong,” Wellington grumbled angrily.
“Miss, be quiet. This is official business. You were traveling sixty-five in a fifty-five mile zone. I’m going to have to run your driver’s license.” The officer walked around the car twice with his hand steadily on his gun.
When Jada opened her door and stepped out of the car, he swiftly drew his pistol from the holster and aimed directly at her heart. “Get back in the car! Now!”
Jada eased into her seat and closed the door. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. Wellington’s chest rose and fell, but he kept his eyes on the dirty cop, contemplating his next move. The officer resumed his walk. He zoomed in on the front bumper while suspiciously peeping over the hood at them. After about three minutes, he strolled to his car.
Pounding on the steering wheel, Wellington said, “I hate this shit! He knows damn well I wasn’t speeding, so why is he treating us like fucking criminals?”
Jada buckled her seat belt and remained silent.
The officer returned and gave Wellington his license, registration, insurance, and a speeding ticket for doing seven miles over the limit. “I suggest you drive fifty in this area, boy. A person fitting your description was identified in a pedestrian hit-and-run.” He slapped the roof of the car and said, “Have a nice day.”
Wellington waited until the officer drove off first. “Can you believe this shit? He had the fucking audacity to call me boy, and he’s blacker than me. I swear that’s the kind of confrontation that’ll land an innocent man in jail.”
Staring straight ahead like a zombie, Jada whispered, “Baby, let’s go back. I can get my car later.”
“No. He does not intimidate me. I’ll be okay.” The small raindrops had grown to the size of quarters when they splattered on the windshield. Wellington drove twenty miles per hour. Not because of the officer, but because visibility was steadily decreasing, and his blood pressure was steadily rising. Gusty winds whistled about the convertible top. He glimpsed at his trip gauge. They had traveled fifty-two miles. Interstate 5 South was ten miles away, but it would take at least thirty minutes to get there. “Let’s pull over and find a hotel.” Wellington grumbled, “I can’t believe I checked everything except the weather report.”
“Okay,” Jada calmly responded.
Apparently other motorists shared his view. The last available parking space was at the end of the lot. Wellington dropped Jada off at the lobby entrance and hurried to the vacant space. He didn’t try covering his head or drying himself off once inside the lobby.
“We got the last room, too,” Jada said, pressing two on the elevator. “Are you upset about the ticket?”
“Of course I’m upset. But I’m
glad Christopher taught me by example how to keep my cool. That’s why I hit the steering wheel after he left and before he returned.”
The room smelled damp and stale. Wellington turned on the air, and Jada sprayed a dash of her perfume into the vent.
Jada turned on the TV. “We can watch a movie.”
“What’s on at eleven-thirty in the morning?” Wellington diagonally stretched across the bed. His arms hung over one edge and his feet over the other. “Come here. I want to hold you in my arms. I’m sorry, ba. I didn’t know how to react when he pulled his gun on you. But I do know if he had pulled the trigger, both of us would be dead.”
There was nothing Wellington could do to that asshole who made him feel less of a man in front of his woman. Friend. Whatever. Today was the first time Wellington realized he was willing to lay down his life to protect Jada. Thankfully, he could quickly turn to her for solace. The scent of Jada’s hair, the warmth of her body, and softness of her skin calmed and comforted him. He hoped he provided the same compassion for her.
Chapter 3
Three days of moping over Wellington after he’d left had practically driven Jada insane. The time had come for her to adapt to her new environment in Baldwin Hills, California. Spring’s sunshine reigned outside. Snapping her fingers, swinging her hair, and dancing wildly, she sang ahead of Pattie LaBelle. “He’s the right one baby. Sure nuff he’s got the stuff . . .” A private victory because she’d decided earlier to call the good-looking guy who handed her his business card while she and Candice were at LAX Starbucks. Unbeknownst to him, he was going to cure her heartache and her coochie ache.
Jada skipped to the bathroom. She stopped and stared at the test tubes lying on the white marble vanity. Daddy used to say, “If you confess with your mouth and believed in your heart, your sins will be forgiven.” On bended knees, Jada propped her elbows on the toilet lid and prayed, “God, if you let me out of this situation, I’ll never do this again.” The Lord must have been busy, or maybe He’d heard her whisper “Never again” once more since she’d made the same promise at twenty years old when she was in college.
From her five-pack First Response, the first, second, third, fourth, and last window each framed double pink stripes. Every damn test reminded Jada she’d not only fucked but also slipped up. One of her two lovers’—Wellington’s or Darryl’s—sperm had won a race and left her pregnant with a baby like a happily single female who had just reluctantly caught the bride’s bouquet. And if Jada could have tossed her bundle to a woman who desperately wanted a child, she wouldn’t have batted an eyelash.
“This can’t be happening.” Jada talked to herself in the mirror. “Okay, God heard your prayer. You’ve been late before and you weren’t pregnant. Maybe you’re stressed because of the move. Girl, what are you going to do with a baby if you are pregnant? Think positive. The home kit was defective. The only thing you’re expecting is having a fabulous time with Mr. Wonderful.”
When the phone rang, Jada dashed out of the bathroom, hoping it was her new acquaintance. “Hey, hey,” Jada answered, grooving to the beat as she lowered the volume.
“Hi, Jada. This is Dr. Bates.”
Picking up the remote, Jada turned off the stereo and said, “Tell me it was only a bad dream and my blood test result is negative.” Slumping in the oversized chair, Jada stared at the ivy plant that hung as an accent across her living room drapes as she kicked her feet up on the ottoman. Then she crossed her pointing and middle fingers on both hands. “Lord, I promise. I really mean it this time.”
“Negative. No can do,” Dr. Bates replied. “You’re going to be a mother, my dear.”
“Thanks”—Jada paused—“for what? I’m not sure.” Jada’s voice was low and flat. Mother warned her about people who answered their own questions. They supposedly had psychological problems. Hell, sometimes it was appropriate to find one’s own solution. Silent. Aloud. What difference did that make? Jada’s condo had enough space for her, but her baby would need a backyard to roam around and play games. She’d focus on finding a new place later.
“Well, you know there are other alternatives,” Dr. Bates commented.
Picking up her new beau’s number, Jada ripped the card into tiny pieces, then dropped the pieces inside the burning candle on the tall brass stand. “Yes, there are. But not for me.” A lump formed in Jada’s throat as she swallowed. “I could never kill a living soul, especially not my own child. I guess I’ll just have to fly back to Oakland for my checkups.”
If she were going to have a baby, her mother was definately going to be involved. That meant Jada would have to temporarily move back to Oakland, but she could stay in L.A. a few more months then return after her baby was born. “I want you to recommend the best OB/GYN who freelances as a counselor. Oh, my gosh. A baby. Whew!” Jada followed with contrived laughter. Black folk didn’t go to counseling, because that certified to their friends and family they were crazy.
“Are you okay?” Dr. Bates asked.
“I will be.” One mesmerizing ivy leaf stood out above the rest, accented with more ivory than green. Jada tiptoed to reach the top of the blinds, plucked it off, and set it on her marbled coffee table. Mama had mentioned a pregnant woman should never reach above her head because she could strangle her unborn. No disrespect intended, but Jada believed it was a myth. She’d preserve the leaf, giving it to her child on the first day of school to represent his or her Ivy League college of choice. The sooner she planted the seeds of success, the better.
“Well, Dr. Carl Watson is the best in the Bay Area. I’ll set everything up for you. You’ll be just fine. I’ll call you next week,” Dr. Bates said. “Remember, Jada—”
Jada finished the sentence because Dr. Bates ended every conversation the same. “Yeah, I know. Love myself first. Goodbye.”
Just like that. Jada’s whole life had taken a turn down the road she never envisioned traveling. Single parenthood. Daddy always said, “The things you fear the most shall come upon you.”
Daddy was always afraid to go to the doctor. He said, “Once those doctors start cutting on you, they never stop.” He feared going under the knife, so he suffered tremendously with his abdominal pains. Everything he ate came right back up, including his favorite vanilla ice cream. Mama couldn’t take watching him suffer and lose more weight; so they drove him to the hospital, and sure enough, he had to have an emergency operation. Stomach cancer had destroyed Daddy’s organs beyond salvation, so the doctor stitched him back up and sent him home to live out his last days. Seeing her father slowly deteriorate was so disturbing, Jada decided to only reminisce about the good times and never talk about how her daddy might still be alive if he hadn’t delayed going to see his doctor.
Jada dreaded and debated whether to tell Wellington or Darryl. The one person Jada knew she could tell—the person who wouldn’t judge her—was her mother. “Baby, if you don’t know which one is the father, you’ve got to tell both Wellington and Darryl,” Mama insisted. Mama’s advice was honest and direct. Unlike Robert—who comically judged everyone—Mama never labeled anyone. Robert said, “What you crying for Diamonette? They both rich.”
Jada instantly decided to defer her dream of opening the doors to her company until after her child started school. Between her Mutual Funds and her inheritance from Henry Tanner, she and her baby could live a moderate lifestyle on the interest income. Within five years she could complete her business and operating plan and lease adequate office space downtown. Black Diamonds’ mission statement, “To build a better America one community at a time by insuring low-income areas become educationally, technologically, and financially sound,” had been developed before she moved from Oakland and would remain the same.
Not mentally prepared to tell either of her exes face-to-face, and writing a letter seemed so distant, Jada did the next best thing—she phoned Wellington and then Darryl.
Nervously Jada dialed Wellington’s number. Heartbeats pounded in her throat as though
something was trying to escape—that was an outward sign of pregnancy, Mama had explained. Immediately after he said hello, Jada blurted out, “Wellington, I have something to tell you.” Jada didn’t wait for a response. “I’m pregnant.” At first it didn’t seem real, but Jada could no longer pretend. Her pregnancy was very real. So real, it frightened her. Not having a child, but having someone totally dependent upon her. Shitty diapers. No husband. Soiled bibs. No man. Sleepless nights. No lover. Well, theoretically she made love to Wellington, in her dreams.
Jada sighed, but not from relief. She became quiet. If Wellington didn’t say something soon, she wouldn’t be able to tell him anything else, because her body was on the verge of lying horizontal and unconscious.
Wellington’s silence seemingly lasted forever. He finally whispered, “Ba, that’s great.” Wellington gasped for air. Then he shouted with joy, “Yes! We’re going to have a baby!” He never questioned the paternity.
No easy way existed for Jada to tell her soul mate—the man she would have married had it not been for that bitch Melanie—the truth. So she didn’t. Wellington’s vote of confidence gave Jada the comfort she needed, realizing he’d be there for them.
Before Wellington spoke another word, Jada hung up the phone, fearing she might provide too much information.
Jada reclined in the chair and imagined “The Ruler” between her soft thighs. That was what had gotten her in her predicament in the first place. Her libido. High. Wellington was nine inches. Darryl was ten. The thought of Wellington made her juices flow. Tugging on each end of her drawstring, she slipped her hand inside and massaged her clit. Her index finger rotated in tiny circular motions. The lubrication saturated her G-point. The apple spice scent of her candles became an aphrodisiac. Partially spreading her legs, thoughts of Wellington’s strong hands massaging her breasts brought Jada to the edge of orgasm. She envisioned him clinching her nipples. One between his teeth and the other inside his fingertips. Jada’s vagina pulsated from the inside out.
Never Again Once More Page 3