I’m shaking like I’ve got the shingles. “It’s a–a–a rat…in my…car.”
He releases me and gets into my car. In seconds he’s found the rat. He exits the car, goes into the back of his truck, and gets a rag. He goes back to my car and picks up the rat. He walks over to the edge of the property and tosses it over the fence.
When he comes back, I’m still shaking. “I’m not getting back in that car, Jett. Who could have done something this nasty?” I start crying.
“I’m not sure.” He holds me tight. “C’mon, get in my truck.”
I let him lead me to his truck and he helps me get inside. People behind us are blaring their horns. Jett puts his hand up like a stop sign and hurries to get in my car. He drives it to an empty space and parks it.
“Take me home, Jett. Please.” I can’t stop crying. I’m terrified of rats and mice. How could someone be so cruel?
Jett puts the pedal to the metal and we arrive at my house in twenty minutes. He walks me to the door. “Please come in, Jett. I don’t want to be alone.”
He follows me back to our bedroom. I sit on the edge of the bed. Jett sits next to me. “I’m not getting back in that car. You’re going to have to get rid of it.” I’m dead serious.
“Baby, it’s all right. I’ll take care of it. I’ll catch a taxi to the club tomorrow and bring it home. Then you can decide if you still want to trade it in.”
I grab his waist and hold him tight. “I don’t want to be alone tonight. Will you stay with me?”
He pushes me back and looks me in the eye. “Are you sure?”
I nod. “Take me in your arms, Jett, and show me how much you need me.”
“All you had to do was ask,” he says and begins to unzip my dress.
54
Jett turns out the lights. “No, leave them on,” I tell him. “I want to look at you.” I clasp his face with my hands and guide him to my lips. I kiss him lightly, and then it deepens to a long, fencing match of moist tongues. Jett has kissed me many times, but somehow this feels new.
Gently, he releases himself from me. He stands, but my languid arms refuse to release his neck. He lifts my lithe body and my mouth covers his. As he begins to disrobe me, I help him, squirming in his arms to remove the loose mini, with an eagerness that feels irresistible.
“Let me help you,” I say, and begin to remove his clothing. There is no rush, no hurry. We both know what to expect, how we will feel.
He allows me to kiss him again as his eyes worship my face. His elongated finger outlines my full lips. The flat of his palm strokes my cheek. The tip of his long fingernail traces my hairline from beneath one ear to the other. All the while, his eyes remain transfixed on mine. I look deep into the eyes that look like bronze crystals, bewitching me until I have no independent thought, no feelings other than those that begin and end with him.
We take our time exploring each other’s bodies with such freedom and intensity and eagerness that instead of exhausted, we feel energized and enraptured. My hunger for him at this moment has grown into a greedy, insatiable desperation.
It’s so quiet, yet I hear the music inside of my head: jazz, rhythm and blues, and reggae. I want to move my body to the beat of the music and take Jett on a journey to the Milky Way and back.
I feel my body slipping into a trancelike state where intelligence and wit are rendered powerless, becoming enraptured, humble slaves to the magnetic rule of emotions and sensitivities. When his hands slide behind my neck and he entangles them in my tousled hair, I tilt my head back and open my eyes wider, allowing the exotic sensations to wash over me and bathe me in a pool of anticipation.
We fall into the bed.
Jett takes his time loving every pore of my body. Though I try to reciprocate, he gently pushes me back so that he can take the lead. Then he moves back up to my breasts and slowly but masterfully caresses every millimeter with his artful tongue.
I can feel the moisture on his manhood that mirrors the moistness between my legs. I am ready to feel the mahogany log that is wedged between us. Inspired, I grab a hold of it, and gently guide it inside of me. Slowly he probes, sliding, slipping just an inch in and out of me. I groan and arch my buttocks up higher to feel the length of him. He begins a rhythmic dance of his hips that leave me breathless. I work my hips in the exact rhythm of his. The thrusts increase and deepen. Then abruptly, I feel his legs tense, and then suddenly he slams inside me all the way. His thrust is so deep, so fast, my heart skips a beat. Seconds later, I feel a convulsive orgasm slice through my languid body.
Then he lifts himself up and begins a new dance, this one more methodical, more heated, and more stimulating for this physical aphrodisiac. His breath becomes short as he picks up speed. He begins to push harder and harder, faster and faster, until he stiffens. I hear a catch in his throat, and with every quiver that stabs through me, I begin to feel each pulse as he comes inside of me. He collapses his elongated body on top of mine. Our breaths mingle together. Our hearts bounce each beat back and forth and back again. We exhale, and surrender to the magical moment that wraps me in the solitude of his loving arms. I feel strangely calm.
“Are you satisfied, baby?”
“I’m good—no, great.” I smile to myself, knowing that I am coming back to me, the way I used to be. Mainly because I’ve made love to my man and today is Monday, not Friday. Call me corny, but Lord knows that I love this man.
Jett wakes up first the next morning, and kisses me tenderly. He rises and heads for the shower. When he returns, he changes back into his clothes, minus the boxers, which he throws in the hamper. I love the thought of him drawer-less, with his love muscle free to flip-flop this way and that. I eke out a feline smile.
“Baby, I called a taxi to take me to get your car. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Okay. I’ll be dressed by the time you get back.” He kisses me again and exits the room.
After Jett leaves, I stretch out, rubbing the sheets where we made rapturous love, burying my head in the pillow, and breathing in his erotic scent. I close my eyes and envision his handsome face. I imagine his long body lying like a suction on top of mine. I try to reproduce the sensations that he unearthed in me, try to imagine the sensations that I produced in him. My heart feels full.
I finally rise at nine. I take a long, relaxing bath and turn on the Jacuzzi. I allow the jets to massage the muscles that Jett caressed late last night. I exit and clean the oversized tub.
I dress in pale blue sweats and put my hair into a short pony tail. I apply a tad of blush and put on a smidgen of lipstick. I make up the bed and head into the kitchen. Thankfully, Jett already has the coffee on. I fix a cup and sit down at the desk.
I’m still daunted about the rat last night, but try not to dwell on something so depressing. I made love to my husband last night. I have a lot to be thankful for.
As I sip my coffee, I text Moses, Enrique, and Heidi. The four of us plan to meet at the bakery at 4:00 P.M.
After I finish my third cup of coffee, Jett comes home. He rings the doorbell since he no longer has a key. I make a mental note to give him one today.
He’s changed into jeans and a white sweatshirt, and looks irritated. He says, “The more I think about who put that rat in your car, the madder it makes me. I think we should go downtown and file a complaint against both Marla and April. At least the police can stop by their apartments and interrogate them. The police really don’t handle matters like this one, but maybe they’ll do us a favor because of your celebrity status.”
“I’m game to go downtown, but I’m not budging on that car. I want to get rid of it. Today.”
“I’ll take care of the car.” He takes a sip of my coffee. “Are you about ready to go?”
“Let me get my purse.” Knowing I’m going to the police station, I tuck my gun beneath the mattress.
I gather my purse and meet him at the back door. When I hand him a key, his smile is enigmatic.
Jett drives my
car, and I drive his truck. We drive down to 201 Poplar, go down to the lower level to the Citizens Disputes Office, and file a complaint. Jett shows the supervisor pictures of the rat. They really seem indifferent, but they take the complaint because I am somewhat of a celebrity.
The supervisor assures us that someone will speak with Ms. April Tempest and Ms. Marla Lawson today. A policeman will stop by our house later and give us an update.
That done, we head for the BMW dealership. I find Seymour and tell him about my problem. He’s happy to get another sale and helps Jett and me pick out a silver-blue 2011 model. They appraise my car, and allow for the insurance to fix the damage. Less than ninety minutes later, I drive down Germantown Parkway in my new car.
It’s noon when we get home. Jett calls the twins and asks them to help him get his clothes from his apartment. They are overjoyed.
For the next two hours, Jett and the twins move Jett’s clothes and personal items back into our bedroom closet. I take a moment and look at the closet when they finish. His clothes look like they belong there. It makes me smile.
Bringing the Harley back takes another hour. After they finish, the twins want a play by play scenario of last night’s happenings.
We are all in the living room. The Christmas decorations are in a big box in the corner. The fake seven-foot tree is lying on the floor beside it. The twins are going to help me decorate the tree and staircase this weekend. Right now, the television set is turned to the news.
“Where was Pops when you found the rat?” Javed asks after I tell them what happened.
“He was behind me. After I jumped out of the car, he came to my rescue and threw the dead rat across the fence.”
“Dag, Mom. I wish I could have seen that,” Jamone says, shaking his head.
“Why?” I ask.
“So I could’ve helped you. I’ve never shot a gun before.” Jamone makes a trigger out of his finger and thumb.
“Okay. It’s over. I’ve got a new car, but we still don’t know who did it. It could be Marla. It could be April.” I shrug. “The police are speaking to both of them today.”
“I think it was Marla,” Jamone says, “that ho is crazy.”
“I think it was April,” Javed adds. “She ain’t got good sense either. Plus, she gets high. She was probably laughing her a—”
“Javed?”
“You know what I mean.” He changes the channel on the TV.
“How’d they get in? I heard you have to use a laser key code to get inside of one.” Jamone looks at me and then at Javed.
“These thieves out here now are high tech. Or the perp could have bribed the valet.”
I frown. By now it’s three-thirty. “I’ll see you two later. I’ve got a meeting with my new crew at the bakery.”
They both say, “See ya.”
I pull up to the bakery and admire the new sign for Just Desserts that was put up this morning. I open the door. The crew is already there. We all say hello.
Moses is an imposing figure. He weighs about three hundred twenty pounds, has a bald head, average features, and a Santa Claus belly. He won’t be thirty until next spring. “Looks like we’re going to be good to go on the sixteenth, Charity.”
“Remember, our trump card over the other bakeries is our pies,” I say.
“I believe my Tang pie will be a favorite,” Enrique says. “It tastes like a Creamsicle. It’s real popular in the summer, but since the weather is so nice, I’ll think it’ll work this season.”
Heidi has a chocolate strawberry pie recipe that’s been in her family for sixty years. She also has a honey walnut pie that’s equally appetizing.
Moses has a lemon icebox pie. He says the recipe came from a can of Eagle brand milk. He also chooses to share his mother’s secret recipe for a hot fudge pie.
“Remember, we beat a little egg white and brush it on the bottom of the crust to keep it flaky and keep our filling from soaking in,” I add.
To make our customers happy, Moses suggests that we give our customers a baking tip once a month. This month is making perfect pie crust. The secret is in the use of ice water. Two hundred recipe cards are on top of one of the glass cases that will showcase the bakery items. The cases are shiny and well designed.
“Yes, I think we’re fine. The only thing left to do is to check the appliances and make sure they’re in working order.”
“Charity, do you think we need to purchase a van?” Heidi asks. “You know, just in case we start catering.” Heidi is Caucasian. She has wispy brown hair, large eyes, a pointy nose, and narrow lips. Heidi has been baking for almost twenty years. She has a wonderful recipe book handed down from her great grandmother.
“Maybe later. Not right now.”
“I think we’ll be catering by next summer,” Enrique says. Enrique is Italian. He’s got wavy black hair, with a Christmas tree head, sharp features, and a goatee. He’s a handsome rascal, and should bring plenty of young girls into the bakery.
“Possibly.” I scan their faces. “Now, does everyone have their lists?” I’ve asked each of them to prepare a list of special ingredients that they need.
“Now, you guys look around and see if there’s anything else that needs to be done.”
Moses goes off on his own. Heidi and Enrique naturally gravitate to each other. They speak in low tones and check out everything in the shop.
Heidi turns on the ovens and makes sure that they’re working properly. She checks out the industrialized mixers that are on the counter. They work just fine.
Enrique is more concerned about the baking utensils. He goes through the cabinets, one by one, making sure that we have everything that was on the initial list.
Then Moses checks the linen. “We don’t need to run out of dishtowels when we’re halfway through with our pastries. I really think that we need to order a dozen more, just to be safe.”
A washer and dryer are also located in the back of the shop, so that we can keep the linen clean and fresh. We agree that we will take turns each week washing and cleaning the pots. Every one of us loves to bake, but we’ve all agreed that we hate to clean up the mess.
“I’m still considering hiring Javed and Jamone to wash out the pots and bowls. They can clean up after we finish baking. That way they won’t be in our way,” I say.
“That’ll work,” Moses adds. “Your sons seem like good kids. We welcome the addition to our new family.” They all nod and smile.
Thirty minutes later, we all meet in the entryway. “Everything looks cool,” Enrique says. Heidi nods.
“I don’t see anything out of place,” Moses says. He rubs his thick hands together. “I’m just ready to get started.”
“Okay, everybody. I’ll meet you guys back here at 4:00 A.M. Thursday morning.”
Satisfied that all is well, I leave the bakery and say good-bye to my crew. On the way home, I hear about my rat incident on the radio.
“Breaking news: Local New York Times bestseller, Charity Lavender,” the DJ says, “and her husband, Jett Evans, were enjoying a night out at Tryst last night. It seems that someone wanted to spoil their evening by putting a live rat on the floor-board of Charity Lavender’s car. Fortunately, she noticed the rodent before driving off, and exited the car. Thankfully, she’s doing fine. The police are investigating.”
When I arrive home, the police are there talking with Jett in the driveway. He waves me over.
“This is Lieutenant Chalmers and Lieutenant Samuels. They spoke with Marla and April.”
Lieutenant Samuels speaks first. “My partner and I interviewed both women. Neither one of them have alibis for last night. We warned them that this is a misdemeanor and if something like this happens again and they’re caught, they will be prosecuted.”
Both lieutenants look dead serious. “I see you have a new vehicle, Mrs. Evans,” Lieutenant Chalmers says.
“Yes, I bought it today.”
Lieutenant Chalmers writes down my license tag number. “We’l
l put your car into our system and advise the other officers to be aware of anything unusual happening to your vehicle.”
“Thank you.” I shake their hands.
When they leave, Jett hugs me. “How’s my baby?”
“Now that you’re here, I’m perfect.”
55
I’ve been ripping and running like crazy, making sure that I don’t forget a single item for the grand opening.
The twins put their artwork up last night, and it looks spectacular. The colors in the paintings bring out the lemon sherbet coloring of the walls. I love that the bakery is so bright and cheery. It’s like bringing the sunshine inside.
The alarm wakes me up at three-fifteen on Thursday morning. I dress in jeans and a Lakers jersey. I kiss Jett good-bye, grab my purse and keys, and head out to my car. I’ve started walking all around my vehicle and looking inside before I get in. Everything looks okay.
I get in and start up the engine. I back out of the driveway and lower the garage door. Twenty-five minutes later, I park my car right out in front of the bakery. I go inside and turn on all of the lights.
My crew arrives one by one, five minutes apart. The menu is scripted on two white boards behind the glass cases. A duplicate is listed inside the kitchen area. The four of us wash our hands, put on our aprons, and get to work.
We make five kinds of cobblers, ten pies, fifteen cakes, bread, rolls, donuts, and crepes. We even have a small section of French pastry.
In less than ninety minutes, the bakery smells heavenly. None of us are tired. We’re gaining energy as we fill up the glass cases and stock the shelves.
The helium-filled balloons are already in the bakery section and some are blown up outside as well. There’s a “Grand Opening” banner beneath the “Just Desserts” sign. In the righthand side of the bay window is a large photo of Lynzee.
Jett calls me at noon. I give him an update on our progress. He says that he’ll order pizza for dinner. He tells me he loves me for the third time that day. I tell him how much I love him too.
We Ain’t the Brontës Page 27