“Who did Jett believe?”
“Neither one of them. He beat the shit of out them with a hose. They’re both grounded.”
“A hose? Why not a belt?”
“Because it hurts more. Matter of fact, it stings like hell. Those boys were hollering like Jett was cutting off their balls.”
Herman laughs. “My, Lord. I’m sure you don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
“I’m sure we won’t.”
Herman leans forward and whispers, “Did you hear the latest rumors about Lynzee?”
I lean forward too. “No. What have you heard?”
“Word on the street is that Lynzee and her friend Zedra have a lesbian relationship.”
“What? I don’t believe that,” I say in an indignant tone.
“Girl, rumor is that they’ve been getting their groove on for thirty-eight years and it’s the reason why neither one of them ever married.”
“I don’t know.”
He adds more detail to his gossip. “Don’t choke on this, but Lynzee is supposed to be the man, and Zedra is the woman.”
I try to imagine the two of them embracing, and the image makes my stomach turn. I want to dismiss Herman’s news as idle gossip, but then again, Lynzee just bought Zedra a 2010 BMW and gave her daughter, Naja, her assistant’s old car, a 2004 Sequoia.
My cell phone rings. It’s Jett. “Where are you?”
“At the Olive Garden. I’m having lunch with Herman.”
“You need to get your butt home. Ice and sleet is forecast for the remainder of the day.”
“I know how to drive in this weather.”
“Charity, don’t question me. I said get your butt home before I come and get you.” He hangs up.
“Was that Jett?”
“Yes. He thinks I need to head on home.”
“Are you going?”
I shake my head defiantly. “Nope. I’m going to enjoy my soup and leave when I’m damn well ready to leave.”
Herman laughs. “You’re a mess, Charity. Why’s he in such a bad mood anyway? Did you two talk about his daughter the way you promised?”
I admit that I haven’t told him. “I’m too scared to do it, Herman.”
Rather than try to convince me, he merely says, “Okay, but when the shit hits the fan, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
After we eat and head outside, Herman sees the weather conditions and says, “Jett was right, you know. We should have left an hour ago.”
“Be careful, Herman. Call me when you get home.”
We go our separate ways. I start up my car and wait a few minutes for the heat to come on. I turn on the defroster, and then the wipers. Just as I’m about to put the car in reverse, someone slides into my back bumper. There is significant damage to my car, but by now, I just want to get home. I don’t even exchange numbers with the other driver. I will just pay for the repairs myself.
When I make it home, Jett immediately comes into the garage. Rage is written all over his face. When he notices the large dent on the rear bumper, he walks around to examine it.
“What the hell is this?” he demands.
I don’t like his attitude, so I answer with one of my own. “What the hell does it look like? Someone hit me in the parking lot. Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m okay?”
He rolls his eyes at me. “Serves you right for going out in this weather anyway. You’re going to need a whole new bumper. What insurance company does the other driver use?”
“I didn’t get her information,” I tell him as I step into the house.
“What?” Jett shouts as he slams the door. “You said she ran into you. She should pay for the damages.”
“What are you worried about?” I ask. “It’s not like I can’t afford to pay for a bumper, Jett.”
“There you go wasting money again.”
“It’s my money,” I snap.
“Oh, it’s yours now, huh?”
I don’t know what’s brought on this abusive attitude, but I’ve had enough of it. I tell him in a condescending voice, “Yes, it’s mine. I don’t see you out there writing any books. Hell, seems like you stopped working at the Ford dealership the second I cashed my advance check.”
“You bitch!” he yells.
I try to talk some sense into him before this gets any more out of control. “Look, Jett, I don’t know what your problem is. I promised you that we wouldn’t get broke again, and I think I’ve kept that promise.”
He’s not backing down. “Yeah, and then you go and let the other driver off scot-free. If you keep making stupid decisions like this one, we’ll be broke before you know it.”
I turn to face him. “Are you calling me stupid?”
“I call it like I see it.” He pushes past me.
“Don’t piss me off, Jett. I can separate this money any time I get ready.”
“I knew this would happen,” he says bitterly. “You’ve been looking for an excuse to cut me out, and now you’ve found it. Fuck it. Take all of your money. I don’t need it.”
Now I feel stupid. It shouldn’t have to come to this.
“I’m sorry, Jett.”
“I’m sorry, too. I should have never quit my job.” He walks off. I’m left with the shocking realization that my marriage is not nearly as close to being back to normal as I thought. Where is his underlying hostility coming from?
A knock on the front door interrupts my thoughts.
A Caucasian man, wearing a baseball cap, sneakers and jeans is standing on the top step.
“Can I help you?” I ask when I open the door.
“Are you Charity Evans?”
“Yes.”
He hands me an envelope. “You’ve been served.” He hurries down the steps that Jett had the foresight to salt.
I shut the door and go into the kitchen. Standing in front of the island, I open the envelope. I read the contents, getting angrier by the minute.
It’s a court summons. Lynzee has filed a civil suit against me. She’s claiming one million dollars in damages. I grit my teeth and march into our bedroom. Jett is at the sink dying his mustache.
“You won’t believe what I just got.”
He turns to look at me, anger still in his eyes.
“A summons. Lynzee has filed a civil suit against me.”
“For how much?”
“One million dollars.” I try to show him the summons, but he refuses to look at it. There is a long, uncomfortable silence. Finally, I ask, “Aren’t you going to say anything? This could ruin us.”
“You mean ruin you. You’re the one with all of the money, remember?” Jett goes into his closet and picks out a pair of dress pants and shirt. He selects a tie and loops it around his neck. He then removes a nice pair of loafers from his shoe rack.
“Jett, I said I was sorry. You know you’ll be pissed off if something happens to this money.”
“I’m sorry too—for trusting you with the money.” He rinses the dye out of his mustache and then dries his hands.
“That’s not fair.”
He begins to get dressed.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Back to the Ford dealership to see if I can get my old job back.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
He slides a belt through his pant loops and sneers at me. “Do I look like I’m kidding?” He trudges past me.
“I know you’re not going out in this weather.”
“If you can drive in it, so can I.”
I grab his arm. “Please stop this, Jett. I’ll give you money to put in an account in your own name.”
“No, thank you. I’m a man. I can handle my own business.” He walks toward the kitchen and grabs his coat and gloves.
“Jett, I’m begging you. Don’t do this. How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?”
“None.”
“Then don’t go.” I block the doorway. He pushes me aside. “Jett…”
“Go upstairs to your office and write,
Charity, and leave me the hell alone.”
He leaves and slams the door.
I feel like black mud that someone has stepped in and the suction is pulling it in deeper. I feel like slapping the shit out of Lynzee. That ghetto rich bitch has got a fight on her hands. If she thinks that I’m going to let her railroad me and take my money, she’s sadly mistaken.
23
For days, Jett and I keep up a pretense in front of our sons, but when we’re in our bedroom at night, he retreats to his side of the bed and stops all communication. We watch television without saying a word to each other.
I’m hurt that I can’t talk to him about the lawsuit Lynzee has filed. It’s weighing heavily on my mind. I speak to a few friends and my cousin Kai about the lawsuit. Kai tells me I should settle out of court. I’m incredulous. I haven’t done anything wrong. Why should I settle? I’m determined to defend myself against her ridiculous claims of slander. I only wrote the truth. In the meantime, I hope I can keep my family together through all this stress I’m dealing with.
I’m upstairs in my office working on a speech when Javed comes in. It’s after three and he just returned home from school. He looks angry. “Mom, I need to talk to you ’bout somethin’ important. You got a few minutes?” Javed is wearing oversized jeans and a silver Sean John sweatshirt. As usual, his cornrows are neatly braided and his mustache has been trimmed recently. He has an iPod in his pocket and earphones in his right ear. He is nodding to the beat as we speak.
“Always. Have a seat.” My office is not very big, but I’ve got enough room for a blue recliner, television set ensconced in an armoire, and bookshelves that hold about seven hundred books. My mahogany desk is U-shaped, and is usually packed with papers and reference materials. My old office was four times bigger with a kitchenette and bathroom. With the money I’ve made lately, I feel like adding on to our home and making my office larger, but I’m obligated to Jett to not to spend too much money. It’s killing me to keep that promise. A girl needs things.
“Jamone and I been talkin’.”
“Yes?”
“Jamone told me about April.”
“Oh.” I don’t know how else to respond. So much time has passed that I almost thought Jamone really was going to keep April a secret between me and him.
“Have you told Pops about her yet?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“The timing just isn’t right.” I can’t look him in the face, I’m so ashamed.
“Pops is going to be real angry when he finds out. Me and Jamone think all three of us should tell him together. You know, make a united front.”
“That’s an option. I’ll think about it. Give me until the weekend.” I don’t want to tell him that their father is so angry at me right now that there’s no way we could add news of April to the mix.
An awkward silence fills the room. Javed is about to leave, but then he turns back around. “I thought we had money now. Why is Pops back working at the Ford dealership?”
I’m thoroughly embarrassed. I admit, “Because he’s angry at me. He doesn’t have to work. He’s making a point and I don’t like it.”
“Then tell him to quit.”
“I’ve tried. He won’t listen to me.” I lower my head.
“I hate it when y’all fight,” he says.
“So do I, son, but sometimes these things happen. Don’t worry, though. We’ll get through it.”
“You know, Mom, Jamone and I appreciate y’all’s marriage. Both of us want the two of you to stay married forever.”
I wink my eye at him. “Don’t worry. Jett doesn’t want a new partner, and neither do I.” Even though they are practically adults, it kills me to think of how it will hurt my boys if Jett and I can’t repair our marriage. I have to find a way to apologize for insulting him the other day and telling him it’s my money.
A great idea comes to me.
“Hey, Javed, you know your father has been wanting a new Harley ever since he had to sell the other one to pay bills, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, I’m going to buy him a new one. I want you to see if you can pick his brain and find out what color he’d like.”
“That’s easy. I already know. He’s always telling us he wants to get a red Harley.”
Armed with this new information and inspired to improve my marriage, I finish up the speech I was working on, jump in my car, and head to a Harley-Davidson dealership. In no time, I have picked out the bike, specifying that it should be red, and arranged a delivery date.
On the drive back home, I’m bubbling with joy. I know that Jett is going to be happy. But I’m not finished. I plan on getting up in the morning and going to the bank. I’m going to put half of the money in Jett’s name. I know the manager at the bank, and I’m sure that she’ll let me open an account in his name.
Herman calls me before I get home.
“I finished my training and now I have my pilot’s license. I want you to come flying with me to celebrate.”
“Unh-uh. No way are you getting me up in no small plane.”
“Why not? It’s completely safe. What, you don’t trust me?”
“Sure don’t,” I joke. “You might be trying to take me up there to drum up new business.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Uh, you’re a funeral director. What better way to get more dead bodies than to take all your friends flying in some rattling old plane?”
He laughs, but insists again that it’s safe and I should come flying with him. He’s begging so much that I begin to wonder what’s going on. He has been calling a lot lately, asking me to do things with him. Maybe my friend is going through a dry spell and he’s lonely.
I can’t ask him about it, though, because he just keeps talking about that darn plane. He talks so much I don’t even get a chance to tell him about the new motorcycle I just bought. It’s probably better anyway. If I mention Jett’s name, Herman will just ask about April again, and I don’t want to hear it. I am in a hopeful mood, and I don’t want anything to ruin that.
I get off the phone because I’m tired of hearing him beg. The best he gets out of me is “I’ll think about it.” I park in the driveway and head into the kitchen. I’ll make a nice dinner, and maybe Jett and I will enjoy a peaceful family meal with our boys.
24
Jett ends up being his usual moody self during dinner, but I don’t let it bother me. I know I’ll have the husband I know and love back as soon as I hand him his bank book and the keys to his new motorcycle. I head up to my office to begin working on ideas for my next book.
I gather my notes and scan the pages. I’ve got at least five book ideas, but not one of them, I feel, is a bestseller. I know that I’m going to have to dig in and come up with something within the next few weeks so that I can keep my editor happy. Because Revelations made the Times list, Arlene was able to negotiate a much better contract. They will be paying me almost ten times more than what I got for Revelations, so I have to make sure this book is even better than the last.
Music always relaxes me. I pop in an Everette Harp CD, and enjoy the beat. Minutes later, I’m popping my fingers and feeling like I’m making strides. I try to write about subjects that are hot topics on the news and in the newspapers. The hottest topic is the Afghan war, but I don’t want to write about that. Then there’s the Swine Flu virus. That doesn’t interest me either. What about the sex-trafficking industry? Yeah, that could be big if the children have been brought to the States. No, that won’t work. I’m back to square one: the Afghan war. What if I write a story about a female vet who was injured in Afghanistan and comes home to an unsympathetic home life? She could be suffering physically with her lost limb, and mentally with Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. I could go up to the Veterans’ Administration hospital and interview the female vets. And what if she…
The phone rings, interrupting my flow. “Hello?”
“Hello, it
’s me.”
Fucking, Lynzee. She’s got some nerve calling me. “Yes. What do you want?”
“Revenge.”
“Revenge? What have I done to you?”
“You ruined my career. You slandered my name. You’re going to pay for that.”
“Lynzee, I only told the truth.”
“And some of those truths were private. The public didn’t need to know about Heidi.”
“I may have gone a little too far on that. I’m sorry. I didn’t know that—”
“That you would fuck up my life?”
“Lynzee, what are you talking about? You and I both know that your sales were already sliding before I published Revelation. It’s not like your publisher dumped you or something.”
She hesitates for a minute before delivering a comeback. “No, well, uh, it’s hurt my lecturing jobs. The colleges view me as some trashy has-been now that I’ve been splattered all over the gossip pages. Even the late-night talk show hosts have turned me into a joke in their monologues. You fucked me real good. I’m never going to forget this. I would never do you like this. Never in a million years. I thought you loved me.”
“I do. I do, Lynzee. I’m really sorry that things turned out like this. Tell you what, I’ve got some money. What would you think about making a settlement? I’ll be fair.”
“How much?”
“Let’s say two hundred thousand.”
“That’s chump change. I know you can do better than that.”
The CD stops and I put another one on. “How about two hundred fifty-thousand?”
“No. No amount of money can reduce the shame you’ve brought to my name.” I can hear her taking a long drag on a cigarette. “You could say publicly that the book was a bunch of lies.”
“Then what would that do to my credibility? No, I told the truth and you know it.”
“Then I guess we’re back to the lawsuit.” She exhales. “And you’ve forced me to take further action.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going to have a press conference and reveal to the public that all of your books have been written by book doctors.”
“You wouldn’t.” My lips curl in anger.
We Ain’t the Brontës Page 11