Crazy Love

by Desiree Day

  He glanced at her in the rearview mirror to see how she was faring. She was a far cry from the carefree lady who, thirty minutes ago, bounced on his bus giggling and talking like she owned the world; now she looked like she could crack at any minute. Her eyes darted nervously from her watch to the traffic. “It’ll be okay,” Jackson murmured. His words of comfort sounded inadequate even to his own ears, but he didn’t know what else to say, much less do. If he could make the bus fly for her, he would.

  He relaxed in his seat; it didn’t look like they were going anywhere soon. Suddenly an image of Stacie with her head thrown back and her legs slung over his shoulders burned in his head. It was so realistic that he could almost taste her. He was jarred back to the present by Stacie’s voice.

  “No it won’t,” she said glumly, shaking her head as a picture of Andre handing her a pink slip flashed before her eyes. “I’ma get fired,” she said dejectedly as she glanced longingly down at her sneakers. The urge to sniff was so strong that she momentarily forgot that she was going to be late for work. “Maybe I should walk,” she thought out loud. She peered out of the window. The bus hadn’t moved in five minutes. It would be a good fifteen-minute walk. “But if I ran—” she mulled it over, but stopped when the bus moved forward, then just as quickly stopped again. Stacie groaned out loud. “Is there a short cut we can take?” she innocently asked, and people within hearing distance laughed. Jackson bit back his amusement as he motioned Stacie closer to him.

  “Baby, trust me, if I could get you out of this mess, I would,” he said, gently palming her face.

  “I know, sweetie.” She sighed against his hand. The simple gesture made his heart thud.

  “Would you call this a date?” he blurted out.

  “What?” Stacie asked, pulling away from him. “That’s a funny question to ask. But no, I wouldn’t call my bus rides dates.”

  “How many dates you think we’ve been on?”

  Stacie shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve been keeping track,” she said, but mentally counted off five dates they’d been on since Just Desserts, just as Jackson was doing his calculating. When they were done, they grinned at each other.

  “How come your girl isn’t driving you?” Jackson asked, and the smile fell off Stacie’s face.

  She didn’t answer right away; instead she looked out the window, then said, “We had a fight, well, more like an argument, and we’re not talking to each other. But she did tell me that she won’t drive me anywhere until I apologize,” she admitted in a hurt voice. She missed their talks and the closeness they shared.

  “Deep. So when are you gonna say the words?”

  Stacie crossed her arms over her chest. “How do you know it’s my fault?”

  Jackson reached over and uncrossed her arms. “Don’t hide your breasts from me,” he drawled. “Baby, I’m still getting to know you, but I know the princess caused it. So be a woman and say the words.”

  “I will. I just want to make sure she’s ready to receive it when I give it to her. I said some mean things to her.”

  “I believe it. You can cut a person down with that tongue of yours,” Jackson said as he nosed the bus forward a couple yards.

  “I’m scared…I don’t want to get fired,” Stacie moaned.

  Traffic was still inching along when Jackson said, “Why are you worrying so much about getting fired? It’s not like you’re late every day,” he joked.

  Stacie smiled crookedly and shrugged, then looked worriedly out the window. Time evaporated whenever they were together. Work was the last thing on her mind when they saw each other. She never told Jackson she was in a precarious situation at work. “Well, I am kinda…sorta…on probation,” she admitted.

  “Oh,” was all Jackson could think of to say. He didn’t know how things worked in Corporate America. “Still, I don’t think that they’ll fire you,” he reassured her.

  “I don’t know…” Stacie said doubtfully and Andre’s face flashed before her. “People get thrown out on their asses every day.”

  “Trust me on this, okay? They won’t fire you. The worst they’ll do is write you up. And that paperwork will go into your file where it’ll never be seen again. It’ll be eaten by the big bad Corporate America Boogie Man,” he joked in an effort to make her smile. She managed a weak one.

  “Okay,” Stacie halfheartedly agreed, then gave him a quick kiss. But Jackson’s confidence and lame attempt at humor did little to alleviate her nervousness.

  Thirty minutes later, Stacie jumped off the bus and ran to her office building. It had never looked so beautiful to her. She hopped off the elevator and ran down the corridor as fast as her sneakered feet could take her. She burst through the glass doors and stopped dead in her tracks. Misti was sitting at her desk, answering her phone and using her headset. Stacie’s mouth dropped in amazement. Who gave her permission to use my phone? Nobody has the right to touch my equipment, much less sit in my chair.

  Stacie couldn’t take her eyes off Misti, who looked like she had been doing her job forever. The greeting was flawless, the transferring of a call went effortlessly and she didn’t at all seem frazzled when the phone rang off the hook. A sudden movement made her shift her gaze to the left, where it landed on Andre Peppersong. He was sitting in a chair next to her desk. Stacie had the feeling that he wasn’t sitting there to greet her with a big hug and kiss when she walked through the door.

  He didn’t smile nor did he say hi. He crooked his forefinger and said, “Come with me, Miss Jones.” He turned on his heels and swished down the hall to his office with Stacie in tow. He pointed to a floral-printed armchair outside his office door. “Sit there,” he demanded. “I’ll let you know when to come in.”

  She heard him on the phone and five minutes later Thomas Kimble, one of the senior partners, was walking toward her. She knew immediately that she was in trouble. His usual kind face looked like it was cut from stone. He breezed past her, after acknowledging her with a short nod and a terse greeting. He stepped into Andre’s office and quickly closed the door behind him. Stacie nervously played with her hair as she mentally calculated her bills and her head reeled at the amount. She needed this job, desperately. For the second time in an hour she glanced longingly down at her sneakers. Just one whiff…She was debating whether to slip one off and take a sniff when Andre poked his head out and motioned for her to come in. She slid into the same chair she’d sat in the last time she was in Andre’s office.

  Tom cleared his throat as he opened up the red file folder with Stacie’s name written on it. “Stacie, Andre has given me some disturbing news. I know that he’s spoken with you already. Let me first start off by saying that you’ve done an excellent job. You’ve handled the front desk like no other. I don’t know how you did it,” he rambled on, and Stacie couldn’t help but notice he kept referring to her in the past tense. “You’re such a nice person and I enjoyed our working relationship. That’s why this is so hard for me to do.” He gulped, something that Stacie’d never seen him do and her chest tightened with fear; she knew what he was going to say next. “We’re going to have to terminate your employment,” Tom finished.

  Even though she knew what he was going to say, the words didn’t register at first. But as soon as they sunk in, she felt lightheaded and the blood roared in her ears. I’m fired. I’ve been fucking fired!

  “We need somebody who’s going to be on time,” he hurriedly explained. “And not only that, but they must be reliable and dependable. And,” he nodded to Andre, who was trying very hard to look sad, but was failing miserably, “according to Andre, you’re not. You’re not getting here on time, and this morning is a prime example. And he also noted that on several occasions your lunch breaks exceeded the allotted hour.” He shook his head as he studied the form. Pulling his eyes away, he looked into Stacie’s eyes and she didn’t like what she saw: disappointment, arrogance and indifference. “Your conduct is unacceptable.”

  “It wasn’t my fault,
” she argued. “There was a big traffic jam. The tractor trailer that flipped over on I-75? I’m sure you heard about it. Traffic was jammed up everywhere.”

  Tom continued talking as if Stacie hadn’t spoken a word. “We like you, Stacie. But that front desk position is a very integral part of our business. That person is the first contact ninety percent of our clients have with the company. And if that chair is left empty or the phones are unmanned, it doesn’t bode well for the firm.”

  “Please, can’t I stay? I can’t lose my job. I like it here! My car will be ready soon. Then I’ll be driving again. Until then I can have Tameeka bring me to work. She won’t mind, she’s my best friend.” She knew she was babbling, but she didn’t know what else to do. Her face was flushed and a sheen of perspiration covered her face. Stacie was ashamed of herself for allowing them to see her this way. For allowing herself to beg.

  Mr. Kimble shook his head. “If we break the policy for one, then we’d have to do it for others. After all, we are a law firm.”

  “I’ve been with this company for eight years. Y’all know my work. I’ve always been here and on time, except for recently, when I started having car trouble,” Stacie choked out. The tears were falling now and had melted her mascara and two streaks ran down either side of her face.

  Tom gave Andre an uncomfortable glance. He didn’t enjoy doing this to Stacie, she was the best receptionist the firm had ever had. Eight years ago he had hired her, which made it even more painful for him to do what he had to do. But if Andre reported to him that she wasn’t doing her job, well, she had to be taken care of. He tuned out her pleading as he gazed out of the window at Atlanta’s skyline. He was relieved when there was a knock on the door. Andre popped out of his chair and hurried to open it. Misti stood there holding a box, which she diligently passed over to Andre. Andre closed the door and placed the box next to Stacie’s chair.

  “Here are your things,” was all he said, before slipping back into his chair. Stacie numbly glanced down at the box through swollen eyes and they widened slightly when she recognized that it was filled with her personal belongings. Her eight years with the firm were thrown inside a box. She grabbed the box and bit back a fresh round of tears as she made her way to the door. There wasn’t anything left to be said. “Stop!” Andre called, and Stacie froze in place. “Contact Human Resources about retrieving your last paycheck and information on your health insurance. Now, I need to call Security to escort you out.” Andre reached for the phone and that’s when it hit Stacie.

  “You know what, Andre? I don’t need Security to escort my black ass out. I know my way. Hell, I’ve been walking in and out of this office for the last eight years!” she yelled, and it felt good. She swiped at her eyes, smearing her mascara even more. “And you, Mr. Kimble, firing me? Come down here with your holier-than-thou attitude. All righteous and shit. Your ass wasn’t fired when you were arrested for beating up on your wife.” She gave a wicked laugh at his shocked expression. “Huh, think I didn’t know about that, did you? Well, half the fucking office knows. But of course, this is a law firm,” she snickered. Then she rounded on Andre, who had scooted into the corner. His eyes widened when Stacie turned toward him. “I don’t know what the hell I did to you to make you hate me so much. But I hope you rot in hell. You’re an evil, dickless man,” she spat, then turned on her heels and stalked out of the office and out of the building.

  28

  Single Father’s Guide to Dating Tip #1

  Your first priority in life is protecting your child.

  It was nine o’clock in the morning, a time when most people were just jumping into their day not knowing whether they were going to get popped by one of life’s fastballs or hit a home run. Jackson was up to bat, but he didn’t know whether he’d hit it out of the ballpark or get beaned.

  Jackson glanced furtively around the courtroom as he clasped his hands in front of him to keep them from shaking. He wasn’t having much luck.

  How Michelle’s threat escalated to this point so fast, he didn’t know. He smiled grimly, then cut his eyes at his lawyer, Bryant Duvall. A smooth-faced young man, he looked like he had just passed the bar that morning. His Sears suit and Kmart shoes looked like he picked them up on the way to court. Occasionally he’d shuffle his papers, scribble notes, and clear his throat in an official-type way, but he didn’t say much. Standing next to Jackson, he looked more like his little brother playing dress up than the person who was fighting for his lifeline.

  Jackson glanced down at his suit and prayed that it made him look like a responsible black man. He’d spent three hours last night agonizing over what to wear and finally decided on a charcoal gray suit, striped tie and white shirt.

  The letter ordering him to court was lying on the table in front of him like a billboard, advertising to everyone that a crackhead was out to steal Jameel.

  Jackson glared at Michelle and clenched his hands into fists. It took all the restraint he had not to wrap his hands around her pencil-thin neck and choke some sense into her. Oblivious to his thoughts, Michelle was staring reverently at the judge as if he were God.

  This has got to be the biggest fucking sham in the world, Jackson thought, shaking his head, then turning to get a good look at Michelle. She was aiming for the conservative look and she hit a bull’s-eye. Someone had transformed her into a preacher’s wife. Her hair was slicked back into a neat ponytail, and the navy blue dress she had on resembled a potato sack with two slits for arms. The only sign of makeup she wore was lip gloss. The corners of her mouth were turned up in a little smile and her face was void of any frowns or worry lines.

  Jackson turned his head toward her mother. Sitting directly behind Michelle, Mrs. Jacobs’s face was twisted in a pained expression as though she wanted to be somewhere else. Jackson eyeballed her, willing her to look in his direction. If there was anyone who could stop Michelle, she could. She caught his stare, then quickly dropped her head. What the fuck? Jackson’s brow furrowed in puzzlement.

  His gaze shifted to the attorney sitting next to Michelle and a chill settled over him. Over six feet tall and with shoulders as wide as a doorway, she looked like a defensive back for the Atlanta Falcons. Tousled blonde hair swept over her shoulders and down her back and when she talked, which was often, it whipped wildly around her face. With big, mannish hands and feet, she looked like the type of lady who’d crush a man’s balls. Jackson shuddered as Michelle’s attorney addressed the judge.

  “Your Honor, Miss Jacobs has been clean for six months, she has a full-time job paying ten dollars an hour and she just signed up for classes at a community college.” As she clicked off Michelle’s accomplishments, the shaking in Jackson’s hands increased and he nearly burst when the Nut Crusher announced, “And she’s ready to be a mother to her son.” She nodded, then plopped down in her seat. Jackson could’ve sworn that she smirked in his direction before she turned and whispered in Michelle’s ear.

  Bryant Duvall stood up and cleared his throat for the thousandth time. He hated Judge Lewis—he was from the old school, the very old school. He believed that, no matter what the circumstances were, the child should always go to the mother.

  “Your Honor, sir,” Bryant began, his tone respectful yet firm. Jackson shot him a look of amazement. He has balls. But can they survive the Nut Crusher? “Eight years ago, Miss Jacobs walked out and left her newborn son with Mr. Brown. For the past eight years, Mr. Brown has been single-handedly raising Jameel. Sir, he has steady employment, he’s been a bus driver for the City of Atlanta for the past six years. He owns the house that he and his grandmother live in. Jameel has grown up in a loving, well-adjusted home with people who love him to death. It would be a crime to take him away from that,” Bryant finished.

  “Your Honor, sir,” the Nut Crusher said, standing up and gnashing her teeth together. “Miss Jacobs has a two-bedroom apartment—”

  Bryant interrupted smoothly, “Yes she does. And she shares it with a man to whom she isn’t
married.”

  “Yes,” the Nut Crusher hissed between clenched teeth. “But they’re engaged to be married.” Then, as if on cue, Michelle lifted her ring finger and waved prettily, showing off an engagement ring that looked like it came from a bubble gum machine. “Next month, as a matter of fact,” she sniffed.

  “So she’s marrying a known drug dealer?” Bryant quipped, then calmly reached for his water glass and took a sip. Jackson shot him a look of admiration.

  “Objection! That’s hearsay! There’s no proof that he’s a drug dealer,” the Nut Crusher spat.

  “Cool it. I will not tolerate any outbursts in my courtroom,” Judge Lewis barked. He didn’t bother to look up from his pad of paper, where he was furiously scribbling notes.

  Bryant attempted to hide a smirk, but failed miserably. “Your Honor, all I’m saying is that Jameel will be in an unhealthy and potentially dangerous environment. And no eight-year-old should be put in that situation.” He finished and Jackson wanted to high-five him. He was sure to get full custody of Jameel now. As though a huge weight had been lifted, Jackson happily slumped in the chair.

  “Not any more dangerous than where he’s living now,” the Nut Crusher shot back. “Mr. Brown’s neighborhood has one of the highest crime rates in Fulton County. It’s all right here,” she said, and threw down a three-inch-thick binder on the table. Then she turned to Bryant. “You’re more than welcome to review it,” she snickered.

  Bryant glanced down at his notes and Jackson saw the lightbulb go off in his eyes. “Your Honor, Mr. Brown coaches Jameel’s football, softball and soccer teams. He volunteers at his son’s school and he’s never missed a parent-teacher conference. He’s a very devoted father,” he added.