Then I receive an e-mail from Lynzee and my euphoria comes to a screeching halt. It says: MY AGENT THINKS I SHOULD SUE YOU FOR A MILLION. I’M CONSIDERING IT. I wonder where in the hell she expects me to get that kind of money. I’m doing well now, but it’s not like I have a million dollars lying around to hand over to her—not that she deserves a damn cent from me anyway.
Besides, from what I hear, her own book is doing okay. Maybe she’s not selling as many books as she used to—and she damn sure ain’t selling as many as I am, I think smugly—but she shouldn’t be complaining. After all, I’m the one who went more than a year without a contract.
So, no matter what Lynzee says, I don’t feel guilty. I feel cocky as hell. Is this what success feels like? I think I’ll send Lynzee a T-shirt with a star on it and my picture in the center. Or maybe I’ll send her a copy of my new book with a loving inscription on the title page in big, bold black letters: Sisters. Jealousy. Envy. Truce?
Maybe I’m more like Lynzee than I originally thought.
21
I’ve got money in the bank now, but have learned my lesson about spending. We put a large chunk of money in the bank before I allow myself to make any purchases. I pay off the mortgage on our home and then we make a few improvements. We build an additional two-car garage on our property. We splurge on an in-ground pool and deck, but decide against the tennis court. I give my close friends five hundred dollars apiece. Of course, Herman doesn’t need it, but he appreciates the thought.
Things with Jett are getting back on track. To celebrate our good fortune and our love, we dance nude to old songs in our bedroom and have heated sex afterward. He surprises me with two dozen yellow roses, candy, a new gown, and a beautiful card.
I buy him silk boxers, a gold wrist chain, and take my time selecting the perfect card. Jett is so sentimental when it comes to cards. He gets all emotional, and reads the card at least three times. I love a man who appreciates the small things in life.
Though I’m trying not to spend like crazy these days, I take a trip to Atlanta to buy new clothes. I love Nieman Marcus, so I apply for a charge card. Twenty minutes later, I’m approved. I purchase several suits, shoes, and three Birkin purses. Trying to be fair to my husband and sons, I buy them each a casual suit, shirt, and shoes.
I can’t wait to get my Neiman’s catalogue in the mail so that I don’t have to drive to Atlanta every time I need a new outfit. I love Memphis, but they don’t have a Nieman’s or a Nordstrom’s. What’s a woman to do?
I come home from my shopping trip feeling great, but Jamone is waiting for me in the kitchen looking concerned about something. He has just come back from a trip to New York, where he was selling his artwork at a large art show. Javed is at a similar event in Chicago. These two are great businessmen; they know how to divide and conquer to attend as many art shows as possible.
“Hey, Mom,” he says, “I need to talk to you.”
I sit my purse down on the kitchen island and take a seat on the sofa. “Talk to me, honey.” I remove my navy pumps. My feet are killing me.
“I’ve got a lot to say, so please let me finish before you make any comments.” He removes the band from his ponytail, combs his fingers through his hair, and then secures it back. His face looks like it’s contorted with pain. I’m getting nervous wondering what could possibly be wrong. Has he gotten some young girl pregnant?
“I promise I’ll wait until you’re finished.”
“Okay. So, you know that art show I went to in New York?”
I nod.
“Well, I’m packing up my stuff after the show is over, and next thing I know, this lady is all up in my face like the Exorcist.”
I fear that I know where this is going, but I hold my tongue and let him continue.
“Mom, this chick was like a mirage. She looked just like dad.”
Oh, hell no. Lynzee had to have been involved to let April know that her brothers were in town. I swallow my response and let my son finish.
“After she introduced herself, she asked me about Pops. Then she asked about Javed.”
I couldn’t resist. I interrupted him. “And what did you tell her?” I asked with my heart in my throat.
“Come on, Mom, I didn’t tell her nothing. This chick could have just gotten out of the psycho ward for all I know.”
I sighed with relief, but then he told me the news I had feared from the start of this conversation.
“Mom, this chick told me that Aunt Lynzee is her mother and our Pops is her natural father.”
“Jamone…”
He holds up a finger for me to hush. “She told me all about the adoption and her quest to find her mother. She said that when Lynzee admitted who her father was, she was shocked that her birth father had married her aunt. You. To be blunt, she wants to establish a relationship with Dad and me and Javed.”
“And what did you tell her?” I’m fuming. This whore has balls.
“I said that my pops would probably demand a paternity test. Knowing him, he wouldn’t want to have anything to do with her. She was high as the neighborhood drunk, and drinking wine like it was a nickel a glass.”
I get up and hug my son, then pat him on the back. My heart palpitates with fear. My worst moment has arrived. The very thing I didn’t want to happen has happened. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you and Javed the truth. I’ve known about April a few months. Lynzee told me.”
His eyes get wide with surprise, but he doesn’t seem angry. “Does Pops know?”
I shake my head and admit, “No, I’ve been keeping it from him.”
Again, my son doesn’t get mad at me. He looks at me with sympathy in his eyes. I think he understands that this has been hard for me too. “What are we going to do, Mom? I mean, should I tell Pops, or wait for April to contact him?”
“Let her make the first move. It’s not your responsibility to tell your father about April.”
Jamone goes to the refrigerator and pours himself a glass of orange juice. “So, I take it that Pops and Aunt Lynzee hooked up way back when?” He says it nonchalantly, as if he’s talking about some teenage friends and not his own father. I decide not to make a big deal out of his seeming lack of emotion. Perhaps this is just his way of dealing with it.
“It was when Lynzee was a senior in high school, but they kept it quiet. I’m not even sure if my mother knew about it.”
“Why didn’t she have an abortion?”
“Jamone! Why would you say such a thing?” I scold him, but then realize I’m being hypocritical because I’ve asked myself the same question countless times already.
“Tyler told me and Javed that her mother has had several abortions.”
“How does Tyler know this?”
“Aunt Lynzee told her about it when Tyler told her she thought she was pregnant.”
“What do you mean, thought she was pregnant? Is Tyler pregnant or not?”
“No, she’s not. It was just a scare.”
“You know, Jamone, I hope you don’t think I condone all of this discussion taking place in front of you boys. And I can’t believe Lynzee discussed all her abortions with Tyler. Lynzee has always had a big mouth.” I sit back down on the sofa. “But it doesn’t matter now, Jamone. I’m just glad Tyler isn’t pregnant.”
“So is she,” he says.
“And as for April, we just have to wait it out and hope that she doesn’t bother us anymore.”
Jamone puts his glass in the dishwasher. “Want me to tell Javed about April?”
“No. Let this be our secret.” This just keeps getting worse. Now I’m asking my son to be complicit in this web of deception I’ve been weaving ever since I learned about April. I stare into the blackness outside. It’s like I’ve got a black hole dead in the center of my heart and I’m powerless to fill it. “Go on to bed, Jamone. You’ve got school tomorrow.”
My son kisses me goodnight and heads upstairs. After I’m sure he’s out of earshot, I get out my cell phone and call
Herman. I need someone to talk to.
“Herman, it’s Charity. Can you come over my house tomorrow around noon?”
“Sure, I’ll be there. Your voice sounds strained. Is something wrong?”
“Yes, but I’m helpless to fix it. Maybe you can give me some good advice.”
“Sure, whatever you need.”
“Tomorrow then.”
The next day, after Jamone leaves for school and Jett goes out to run errands, I wait for Herman to arrive. Jamone seemed fine this morning, as if our conversation never happened. Still, my instincts tell me that he won’t be able to keep a secret from Javed. I’m bracing myself for his numerous questions.
A few minutes later, Herman rings the doorbell. I open the door and hug him. “Hello.” He kisses me on the cheek and makes his way to the kitchen.
Herman is the incarnation of the black McDreamy. He has clear chocolate coloring, a perfect oval face, high cheekbones, perfectly arched thick brows, and an aristocratic nose. His luscious lips looked as if they’ve just been kissed. He’s wearing a tan Adolpho suit, white shirt, and a tan-and-orange tie. Hand-made caramel-colored leather shoes adorn his feet.
“You look handsome, as usual,” I tell him after he’s taken a seat on the sofa. “Can I get you anything? Water? Juice? Coffee?”
He waves a hand and crosses his leg. “No, nothing. Now, let’s get down to business. I barely slept last night worrying over you. I’ve known you too long to know when something is wrong. Now, tell me what the problem is, and we’ll solve it.”
I take a seat beside him on the couch and tell him the entire story about April, Lynzee, Jett, and Jamone. When I finish, I’m crying.
“Stop that, will you?” He gets up and hands me a tissue from the island. “Crying never solved anything. It merely gives you puffy red eyes that would look better on a teddy bear.” He laughs. “Now, give me a smile.”
I break out a smile. “There. Are you happy now?”
He nods. “I’m going to tell you my opinion. You can do with it what you please.” He taps my hand and looks me in the eye. “First, you need to tell Jett the truth about April before he hears it from someone else. He’s already going to be mad that you kept this secret from him for so long. So, get it over with and tell him everything.”
“Oh, I’m not so sure about that. I mean, I don’t want to lose Jett.”
“To who? Lynzee?”
“I guess that type of thinking is stupid, isn’t it?”
“Damn right. Jett loves you, and he expects you to be honest with him. So he’s got a love child. This isn’t the first or last time this will happen to a man. But let him know the truth and give him the option of deciding if he wants to have a relationship with her or not.”
“So, it’s that simple? Just tell him the truth.”
“Works almost all the time.” He smiles. “Besides, you could be just as mad at him that he didn’t tell you about his relationship with Lynzee.”
It’s the almost that’s killing me. What if telling Jett backfires and he ends up hating my guts? Still, I know my friend is right. I’ve waited far too long to tell Jett the truth, and now my secrecy is catching up to me. First April approached Jamone, and who knows what she’s capable of doing next. I should take responsibility before things get even more out of hand. I’ll just have to have faith that my marriage is strong enough to withstand this drama. Maybe now is the right time to do it, since our financial burdens have finally been lifted.
I pat Herman’s exquisite hands. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
“When?”
“This weekend. The twins are going to be in Florida, so we’ll have some privacy.”
Herman rises. “That’s the spirit.” He checks his watch. “Now I’ve got to run. I’ve got two bodies waiting for me at the funeral home.”
I cringe. “I know I’ve asked you this before, but doesn’t it bother you to look at dead bodies all day long?”
“No. It makes me appreciate life. Let me make you smile. Listen up.” He proceeds to tell me this joke: “A passenger in a taxi leans over to ask the driver a question and taps him on the shoulder. The driver screams like hell, loses control of the cab, hits a bus, drives up over a curb, and then stops just inches from a large plate window. For a few moments, everything is silent as a ghost inside the cab, and then still shaking, the driver says, ‘I’m sorry, but you scared the be Jesus out of me.’ The frightened passenger apologizes to the driver and says that he didn’t realize a mere tap on the shoulder could frighten him so much. The driver replies, ‘No, no, I’m sorry. It’s entirely my fault. Today is my first day driving a cab. I’ve been driving a hearse for the last twenty-five years.’ “Herman laughs his ass off. I don’t. His mortuary humor always creeps me out.
After Herman is gone, I walk to the bathroom and look in the mirror. I can envision the anger on Jett’s face when I tell him the truth about his daughter, and I can almost feel the slap that I worry he’ll respond with. In that instant, I know that I can’t do it. I won’t tell him. He’s going to have to find out from Lynzee or April. Not me. Our anniversary is on November ninth, and I don’t want anything to spoil it—especially if it means bringing an alcoholic daughter into the limelight.
Jett comes in later that afternoon. He says he’s going to relax in his recliner and watch a movie. “Can you put me on a bag of microwave popcorn, baby?” he asks.
“Okay.” I reach inside the cabinet and retrieve the package, unwrap it, and pop it into the microwave. While I’m waiting, I stare at my gorgeous, bald-headed husband. People tell me all the time that he looks like Louis Gossett, Jr. I think not. Mr. Gossett wishes he had the shit that Jett has. I love that man so much, sometimes it scares me. I’m guilty of loving that man more than I love myself. I know it’s wrong, and my mother would kill me if she knew the truth, but I’m weak to love. Jett was my first, and I want him to be my last. I can’t imagine being married to anyone else.
Popcorn done, I open it and hand it to Jett.
“Thanks, baby.” He smiles. “You want to watch this Western with me? It’s a new one.”
“Not now, Jett. I’ve got some work to do in my office.” Truthfully, I just don’t know if I can handle being around him while I have so much on my mind. I turn to go, and then turn back. “Jett, I know that you were against us having children at first, but after the twins were born, you loved being a father.”
He gives me a strange look, because to him, my words have come out of nowhere. But he knows how I operate; I won’t budge until he speaks. So, he says, “Yes, I admit it. I was wrong. I love my sons. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“Remember when I got my tubes tied?”
“Yes.”
“You said, ‘Baby, since we did so well on these boys, maybe we should have tried for a daughter.’ Remember you said that?”
“Yes, but I wasn’t serious. Two children are hard enough to raise these days, let alone three.” He eats a few handfuls of popcorn before he says, “You know, if you’d gotten pregnant and we had a girl, I’d bet money that she’d be tall, articulate, love history, and look just like me.”
“Jamone and Javed look just like you,” I insist.
“Somewhat. They’ve got your nose, your forehead, and your hands. My daughter would look just like me in every area. I have no doubt about that.”
I’m so hurt, I’m speechless. Does he already know about April and is keeping it from me?
Desperate, I ask him a question. “Jett, you didn’t get anybody pregnant before you married me, did you?”
“Where are all these questions coming from anyway?”
“Just answer me, Jett.”
“Hell no. I’ve used condoms since I was fifteen. I don’t have any strays out there. I’m positive of that.”
I fight back tears. Then how did you get Lynzee pregnant? Are you telling me the truth? As I consider the possibility that he is lying, I realize that if I don’t tell him the truth about April, I’m guilty of being a l
iar too. Instead of doing what I promised Herman I would, I choose to bury my head in the sand again, and go upstairs without telling Jett about his daughter.
22
It’s snowing cornflake size snowflakes in Memphis. The temperature is twenty-eight degrees. I hate cold weather. It’s the main reason why we moved from Michigan. Now, we’ve had freezing cold for almost two weeks, and it doesn’t look like we’ll get a reprieve for another couple of weeks.
In spite of the bad road conditions, I hop in my car and head for the Olive Garden on Highway 64. I’m meeting Herman for lunch. Driving is brutal because there are splotches of ice on the road. I pass at least two accidents before I get to the restaurant. When I park my car and hurry inside, Herman is waiting.
We hug and say hello. “Can you believe this weather?” I ask.
“No. If it keeps snowing like this, we might have to cut our lunch short and head on back home. The streets are awfully slippery, and I don’t want anyone hitting my car. I just bought it last month.”
“Another new car? I guess the funeral business pays well,” I comment.
He smirks. “You ain’t kidding. I’m getting my flying license now, and if business is still booming, I should be able to buy my own small plane in a year or two—a new one, I mean. I’m already looking at some used ones.”
That’s why I love Herman. He’s always trying something new and exciting.
After we’re seated, we unwrap our coats, scarves, hats, and gloves. I drape my coat over the back of my shoulders. We accept the menus and scan the available choices.
“I’m going to have some hot soup,” I say.
“Me, too. Soup sounds just right on a day like today.”
We place our orders and hand back the menus. The waitress places a glass of ice water in front of each of us. I toy with the lemon slice.
“How are the twins doing?”
“Poorly. Jett found a blunt in Jamone’s car. Jamone lied and said it was Javed’s.”
We Ain’t the Brontës Page 10