Herman turns on the radio. Of all the songs to hear, “Since I Lost My Baby” comes on. Call me a romantic, but the words bring tears to my eyes. I know that a part of me still loves Jett. A part of me wants him back. But there is a part of me that is crazy about Herman. I don’t want to give him up. We have so much in common. He makes me laugh. He makes me strive to be the best I can be.
He understands my desire to open up the bakery. He’s given me several good ideas. He’s even accompanied me to put down a deposit on a building that I found. He thinks the location on Cooper Avenue is the perfect spot for a bakery too.
For the past week, I have been cooking some of my special desserts and trying them out on Herman. Since he watches his weight, he only samples forkfuls. But he is very satisfied with the cobblers, cakes, and rolls. He even suggests the name of a contractor that can renovate the building and get it up to code.
I’ve been Twittering and blogging like crazy. I love this invention. I’ve been keeping up with the three people who I think can turn my business into a successful venture. The tentative general manager is Moses Landon, and the two bakers that I’m most impressed with are Heidi Hefner and Enrique Faison.
I’ve had the three of them over to my house on two occasions to show me their stuff. I must say, I made wise choices. As a businesswoman, I had the good sense to interview five more potential employees, but they were not up to par.
I’m thinking that if everything goes as planned, I can open the bakery the week before Christmas. It’s perfect timing. After most women have cooked up a storm for Thanksgiving, they will be all worn out for Christmas and will probably be overjoyed to buy their confections from a good bakery.
Advertisement is key to making my bakery known to the public. I find the ideal young man who’s Internet savvy, as well as being the owner of one of the best advertisement agencies in Memphis.
And now, we’ve made it to the Peabody. Herman valet parks the car and we go inside. Hundreds of bejeweled men and women crowd the lobby. Overhead signs directing guests to the auction room are displayed in bold purple paint.
“I’m getting nervous, Charity,” Herman says while guiding me through the crowd. “I really want that poster.”
I pat his arm. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it. Times are hard out here now, and people’s wallets aren’t as thick as they used to be. You happen to be in a business that is recession-proof.”
He smiles. “That’s true. I’ve got more business than I can handle. I’m thinking about hiring an assistant. Do you think Javed or Jamone might be interested?”
“Heck no. No offense, Herman, but I don’t want them involved in that type of work.” I feel bad for a quick minute, but Herman’s known me long enough to know what I really mean. “If everything works out the way I plan, my sons will be working for me.”
We follow the crowd to the auction room and find seats. People are talking and laughing, and making several trips to the wet bar.
“Would you like anything to drink?”
“No. I stopped drinking.”
“Good for you. Then I won’t have anything either.”
“No, go on. I’m not tempted. I’ve prayed about it, and I’m straight.”
“Believe me, I don’t desire alcohol either. I only drink on special occasions, like weddings or New Year’s Eve. You caught me off guard when we had that champagne at your house a while back.”
“Sorry about that.” The seats are beginning to fill up. The auction is set to start in twenty minutes.
“You know, Charity, I’ve got a business plan too.”
“Oh. What type of business?”
“A charter plane service to the casinos in Tunica, Mississippi.”
He goes on to explain that there’s a wide open market for charters. The profit potential is ridiculously lucrative. He wants to get in before the market becomes oversaturated.
“I don’t plan on being a mortician for the rest of my life.”
“Wow. You’ve stunned me. I thought you loved your job.”
“I love the money.” He smiles. “But the charter service will allow me to do what I love and make money. It’s a win-win situation.”
“I’m very impressed. How soon do you think this will happen for you?”
He shrugs. “I’m thinking I can have everything up and running by next summer.”
The auctioneer beats the gavel. “Ladies and gentleman, Gazelle Auction Galleries are proud that you’ve selected our company to purchase some of our most valuable items tonight. If you will look at your pamphlets, you can see the order in which each item will be auctioned.” He smiles. “Is everyone ready to begin?” He pounds his gavel again. “The first item is a rare collectible. It’s a poster of one of three hundred to four hundred printed for a march on City Hall. The ‘I Am a Man,’ poster is something that transcends being a mere placard. Those words are basically the quintessential thing that the civil rights demonstrations were about.” He pauses and assesses the crowd. “Can I get an opening bid of five thousand dollars?”
A few people raise their hands. Herman is one of them. I scan the crowd, checking out Herman’s competition. Since there are almost four hundred items to be auctioned, not everyone is interested in the poster.
“Thank you to the gentleman in the seventh row. Now, can I get a bid of seven thousand five hundred?”
Again Herman raises his hand. Hesitantly, the other gentleman raises his hand too.
“I’m getting a little edgy,” Herman admits. “I can afford to go a little higher, but I want to save money for the Bible.”
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I can see that gentleman counting his duckets with his fingers. Trust me. He’s on a budget too.”
The bidding continues, and now I’m getting nervous. I didn’t know that Herman had such deep pockets.
It turns out that Herman is able to buy the poster for thirty-four thousand dollars. He’s blissful. He was prepared to spend thirty-five thousand.
We wait patiently until his next item of choice comes up for bid. It’s the two hundred twenty-fifth item. The bid starts at five thousand dollars. A bidding war goes on between four people. In the end, Herman loses. He’d budgeted for thirteen thousand dollars. The Bible was sold for fourteen thousand five hundred dollars.
“C’mon. Let’s go,” Herman says after the Bible is gone. “Unless you want something.”
“No, I’m fine. My house is filled with trinkets and such. I don’t have any more room for artwork, sculptures, masks, or Bibles.” I tug on his arm. “I’m ready to go.” I check my watch. It’s ten-thirty. I text my three employees from my cell phone.
The poster is wrapped gently in plastic and secured with yards of strong string. Herman puts his prize in the trunk. We head home with little traffic to slow down our drive. Herman and I talk about our businesses until we reach my house. He drives to the back door and parks. Then he turns to me.
“Since you don’t drink, Charity, can I come in for a soda? I’d love to finish our conversation. I have so much more to share with you.” He kisses my hand.
My heart races. I know that if I let him in, it could possibly lead to something else. My heart says yes, but my instincts say no. “Not tonight, Herman. Maybe another time.”
“Okay. I won’t push it.”
He walks me to my door. After I unlock the door, I turn my head to say good night, and he kisses me dead on the lips. I’m hungry for love, so I kiss him back. The kiss deepens. I feel myself standing on my tiptoes to enjoy every moment. He wraps his arms around my waist and I find myself giving in to him. Then I see Jett’s face and pull back.
“Um, I think we better call it a night before one of us gets in trouble.”
“I enjoyed that, Charity. You and I would be good together.”
Don’t I know it? I didn’t miss the bulge in his pants grazing my inner thigh. I’ve seen him dance. I know that he can work his pelvis like a provocateur. But I’m still a married woman,
and no matter how low Jett stooped, I won’t renege on my marriage vows.
“I enjoyed it too. We’ve got a lot to look forward to. Now, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” I slip inside the door. “Good night.”
He waits for a beat and then leaves. My heart is palpitating like an ingénue’s. I know it’s too soon to think about a new relationship, but could the therapists possibly be wrong about dating before a year? I feel that Herman and I would be good together. I’m going to sleep on that thought tonight.
I turn out the porch light and walk into the kitchen. I ignore the wine that’s calling my name and elect to enjoy a cold glass of apple juice. I chug it down and put the empty glass in the sink.
I take a deep breath, sit down at the desk, and turn on my computer. I type in Twitter.com. In minutes, I’m enjoying a conversation with my crew. Heidi and Enrique have come up with five new recipes. Moses likes the choices and has a few ideas of his own.
Afterward, I head down the hall to my bedroom. I remove my dress and hang it in the closet, put away my shoes and jewelry, and hop into the shower. I still feel heated from Herman’s kiss and find myself caressing myself. I hold my head back and imagine Herman making love to me. The image is so clear, I can almost touch it. I’m wondering if it’s the newness or the excitement of another man’s touch. Am I really over Jett? The phone cuts off my reverie.
I jump out of the shower, grab a towel and answer the phone. “Hello?”
“It’s me.” Jett’s voice is husky.
“What is it, Jett? It’s late.”
“I hate to bother you with this, but I feel I need to tell you. Have you heard from Marla?”
“No. Why should I?”
“She tried to commit suicide. She took an overdose of sleeping pills.”
I’m stone cold. “I don’t know why you’re telling me this. Why should I care?”
“Because Marla blames you for our breakup.”
“Oh, so you stopped seeing her?”
“Over a month ago. She won’t accept the fact that it’s over.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but I can’t do anything about it.”
I hate myself for being so cold, but I feel scorned. I don’t give a hot damn about Marla. Maybe she should see a therapist.
“Just don’t be surprised if she calls you.”
“Thanks for letting me know, but I think I can handle it.”
There’s a long silence. “By the way, since you didn’t call Allene, I decided to see her. I’ve been going to counseling for a month now. I wish you would agree to go with me.”
I have to say that I’m impressed. I didn’t think he had it in him. The love I still feel for him makes me want to tell him yes, but the bitch in me argues, “Hell no!”
“I’m sorry, Jett. I appreciate you’re trying, but I feel that it’s really too little, too late.” I hang up.
I fall on the bed and let the towel drop to my sides. I lay back and think about Jett. He’s the only man that ever made love to me. I have to admit that the sex has always been great. More than great. Fantastic. What he does with his hands and hips is magic. It would be so easy for me to let him back in. It would be so easy for me to tell him to come home. But the devil is amused and tells my heart no.
I wonder, how long can I allow the devil to reign over my heart?
49
Usually, the temperature is still in the seventies or eighties in November. However, we’re having a bit of a cold spell. For the past three weeks my leg has been killing me. Dr. Robinson prescribed some Motrin 5, but that hasn’t helped. The pain is excruciating.
When I speak with Kai, she tells me about her friend, Gail Norman.
“Gail told me that it felt like ice picks were coming through her neck and shoulders. She tried every massage therapist she could find. Nothing worked.”
“Damn. That’s not encouraging news.”
“The therapist told Gail that she had a tendency to fibromyalgia. She told her that if she didn’t do something about stretching and relaxing, she was heading in the direction of full blown fibromyalgia. I think that’s what you have.”
“What solved Gail’s problem?”
“Yoga. She does it five or six times a week. Why don’t you try it? I’ll drive down and come with you.”
“Okay. That sounds like a great idea.”
“I’ll locate the best yoga instructor and give you a call back.”
“Thanks, Kai. I owe you one.”
One Saturday morning, the twins come over. They wake me up from a deep sleep. I don’t usually hear them when they’re working in their studio. Painting is a quiet hobby and requires very little running around for inventory. The twins have enough paint in the storage shed to last them for two years.
“Mom, get up,” Javed coaxes. He’s nudging my shoulder.
“Geez.” I prop myself up on my elbows. “What got you guys up so early? What time is it?”
“Seven-thirty,” Jamone offers. “I’ve already made coffee.”
I throw back the covers. “Okay, you two get out until I get changed. I’ll meet you in the kitchen in five.”
Stretching, I lumber into the bathroom and wash my face. I brush my teeth, and then scrounge through my drawers for jeans and a sweatshirt. I put on a pair of socks and scurry into the kitchen.
Jamone hands me a cup of coffee. “It’s just how you like it. Plenty of cream.” He smiles.
Javed is sitting at the table twiddling his fingers. I look back and forth between the two. They have an odd twinkle in their eyes.
I take a seat at the table. “Jamone, sit down.” I wait. “Okay, you two, what’s up?”
“We were wondering…” Javed says.
Jamone hits him in the arm. “We were wondering if you’ve spoken with Pops lately.”
I sip my coffee. It’s perfect. “Yes. Why?”
“He told us about the marriage counselor,” Javed states.
“Yeah, so?” So, now Jett’s got the boys on his side. I’m intrigued.
“We think you should go with him to see Ms. Allene. The two of us have been there already. She really knows her stuff.”
I’m taken aback. “You two saw her?”
“Yes, Mom.” Jamone rubs my elbow. “Dad wanted us to give Ms. Allene your perspective about y’all’s marriage.”
I jerk my head back. “So, you two spoke for me?”
Jamone says, “We did the best we could, but we think that you should talk to her. Javed and I want you to give Pops another chance.”
Javed says, “We know you still love him, Mom.”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “And who told you that?”
They nod their heads together and speak in unison. “We know.”
“I appreciate you guys trying to get me and your dad back together, but this is my choice, not yours. I have no plans to see Ms. Allene. I have no plans to reunite with your father. I’m sorry. Too much damage has been done.”
Jamone refills my coffee cup. “Just hear us out. Pops is sending April back home. And that beyotch is not happy about it at all. She likes it here.”
“And how would you know?”
“I spoke to her last week.” Javed looks contrite. “She came over to our apartment. She wanted us to be friends. Jamone and me told her that we didn’t want to have anything to do with her skank ass.”
“Boy, was she pissed,” Jamone says. “She blames you for making Pops send her back to L.A.”
“Your dad can’t make her leave.”
“I think so,” Javed says. “Dad found out that she’s an alcoholic and smokes marijuana. He threatened to tell her boss at the airlines if she doesn’t leave.”
“So, now I’ve got two broads that hate my guts.”
“Two?” Jamone asks.
“Didn’t your dad tell you about Marla?” They look confused. “She tried to commit suicide recently. She blames me for breaking her and Jett up.”
“Word, Mom. Me and Javed can put fear in those broads f
or you. We can threaten to F them up if they come anywhere near you. For sho’.”
I shake my head. “Don’t bother. I’m not in the least bit worried about those women.”
“Good,” Javed says. “Now, back to Pops. Can’t you give him a second chance? He loves you like his shadow, Mom.”
“He should. I’ve never done anything to hurt him.”
“And he’s sorry for hurting you,” Javed says. “Everybody deserves a second chance. My English professor married her husband five times.”
I laugh. “Fool. Is she still with him now?”
“Yep,” Javed says. “They’re getting ready to go on a honeymoon to Hawaii. My teacher is even thinking about having another baby.”
“I’m happy for them. But you two are wasting your time.”
“Mom?” Javed says. He comes to sit down before me and puts his head on my lap. “We just want you to be happy, and we know that Pops always puts a smile on your pretty face. You just can’t throw away thirty years. Heck, you two are more like brother and sister than husband and wife.” He hugs my waist. “Please promise us that you will go see Ms. Allene. Please.”
I really am touched. One session wouldn’t kill me. Why the hell not? “Okay, I’ll go. But I want you two to do something for me.”
“Anything, Mom,” Jamone says.
“Wash my car. I went through some mud when I went to see a contractor two weeks ago. I haven’t had time to take it to the car wash.”
“It ain’t no thang. I’ll get right on it,” Jamone says.
“And I want it detailed inside and out.” My windows need cleaning. I can’t stand a dirty car. Especially one that I’m paying notes on. “Okay, and do a good job on my wheels too.”
Javed says, “We know how you like it, Mom.”
I get up. “Okay, I’ve got to make a few calls. Call me when you finish.”
From halfway down the hall I can hear the boys laughing and getting silly with each other. I’m glad that I could put a smile on their handsome faces.
I go back into my bedroom and make up my bed. When I finish, I sit on the edge and pick up the phone. I call Kai.
“Hello, lady.”
We Ain’t the Brontës Page 24