As I looped around the embankment and headed for the highway, I noticed the heavy gray cloud, then a loud boom of thunder. But just over the horizon there was a slither of orange where the sun refused to be outdone. I agreed, there were too many beautiful colors in the world to try and distinguish.
Kiss My Blessings
By the time I pulled up to In Bloom, the little flower shop that could, the street was showered with rain. I had two employees and one volunteer, Trevelle Doval, the most unlikely addition. She was my ex’s ex. Normal circumstances could have made us compadres, having once loved the same man and then hating him jointly. However, that was not our case.
Trevelle was in the business of rubbing people the wrong way and I’d taken the brunt of it on one too many occasions, making it difficult to be pleasant in her company. Which was the reason I almost hated coming to work.
As expected, her white Jaguar sat in the one and only spot in front of my store. Kind of where paying customers were likely to park instead of out-of-work televangelists.
When she was married to our ex, Airic Fisher, she encouraged him to take me to court for full custody of Mya. Jake and I had been married for three years, raising Mya together. In that time Airic hadn’t made one appearance as Mya’s biological father. Jake was the only father Mya knew. Yet, out of the blue, along came Airic like a spider with his new wife to show us what real parents looked like. The custody battle turned ugly.
The holy duo pulled out Jake’s past—his arrest for the murder of his accountant—and mine: my short visit on the psychiatric floor at St. Francis Hospital after I’d accidentally overdosed on antianxiety medication. Anyone on the outside looking in would’ve agreed that Jake and I were unfit parents. The cards were stacked against us. However, the real motivations were soon revealed. It had never been about us being bad for Mya. Trevelle wanted Mya for her own selfish reasons, to replace the child she’d lost long ago and complete her new perfect family. We almost lost Mya to a bunch of scheming manipulative tricks by everyone involved. For the first time in my life, I was sure God was on my side … regardless of what Trevelle’s Jaguar license plate said—favored. Divine intervention was the only way to explain Jake and I keeping Mya. Keeping our family together. And every morning I am reminded of Trevelle’s high jinks with her presence.
“Good morning,” she sang out as she saw me enter. Trevelle’s long spindly fingers held on to her steaming cup of coffee. “I saw your hubby on the Entertainment channel last night. He’s just a regular Will Smith about to happen, isn’t he.”
I ignored her.
I set my purse and keys under the granite workspace, hidden away safe. I didn’t want another incident where my car keys were accidentally taken by Vince Capricio and I was left to drive Trevelle’s car. The last time turned out to be the most traumatic night of my life: kidnapped last summer by hit men, hired criminals who thought I was the famous televangelist since I was driving her car at the time. The memory of the ordeal was as vivid as if it were yesterday. I’d fought for my life, and not in some metaphorical context. I mean kicking, biting, scratching, and punching like my life depended on it—and it did. Every swing I got in sent a message that I wasn’t giving up. The night ended with my eye blackened and bruises all over my body, but the other guy looked far worse.
I gave as good as I got.
The kidnappers suddenly dropped me off at the same place they’d originally snatched me. I figured they thought I was too much trouble; only later I learned the reason. They’d simply realized their mistake of taking the wrong woman. I secretly wished they’d gotten the right woman. Nothing Trevelle did, even to warrant a carload of hired hit men, would surprise me.
“Hey li’l lady, I caught a glimpse of you in that red number. You were looking hot.” Vince spoke up coming from the backroom carrying beautiful floral arrangements in each hand. He set them down and gave me a welcome-home hug. He was the one and only reason Trevelle wasn’t banned from my sight. For whatever reason, he and Trevelle’s unholy union was working. And if Vince was happy, we were all happy. He was the glue that kept In Bloom together.
“Yeah, like a hot chili pepper. My dress was atrocious.”
“Hey, I wouldn’t have seen you if you didn’t stand out.” Vince had finally let the gray hair show through around his temples. I liked it so much better than the jet-black dye. Now his eyebrows matched his hair.
“You need to hire a stylist and stop winging it,” Trevelle interjected. “You obviously have no fashion sense.” Trevelle leaned over and picked up one of the many bridal magazines stacked nearby. “I’m going to show you what you should be wearing. Then we’ll talk about your hair.”
She cleared her throat, preparing us for her amazing words of wisdom. We were her only audience these days. Her following had dwindled after a public scandal. After our ex had been caught cheating with an underaged girl, along with news of a sex tape, Trevelle was painted as the wayward wife. Had she been a committed servant in the marriage, her husband would never have strayed, or something completely off base. She was cast out like a leper, while our ex got off scotfree.
Airic got half ownership of Doval Ministries Incorporated, which he quickly liquidated. He got a boatload of Trevelle’s millions in the divorce settlement, but she still had a good enough share not to be stressed, or be forced to take up gainful employment. The very reason she had time to grace us with her presence every single day. It made one question the whole forgiveness platform of the big Christian picture. The minute one of our angels fell from grace the churchfolk stomped all over her helpless body. If it were a man who’d fallen from grace, say for being caught with another man, or female prostitute, he simply would’ve repented and quickly been put back in the pulpit. But no … the powers-that-be left Trevelle Doval on my doorstep like an abandoned child and simply forgot about her.
“You see, you need to accentuate your positives. That would be your legs … they’re short but they have great definition. You can make them appear longer and leaner by showing more thigh, like this.” She held up the open magazine to a gazelle-limbed model. “You see how it elongates the leg?”
“For your information, the publicist picked out that dress,” I said, trying to harness my frustration.
“Obviously this publicist thought very little of you. This is not a time to let yourself be deemed irrelevant. The significant other can become insignificant when all the light is shining on your beloved hubby. Airic was so insecure in our relationship. No light shining in his direction. That’s why he found comfort in another woman’s arms.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that was the reason.”
Vince caught me before I could elaborate and gave a disapproving glare. He was very protective of his lady friend these days, constantly reminding me that she was vulnerable and deserving of some tender love and care. “She needs our patience. One day you’ll be rewarded for your good deed,” he’d said after I’d threatened him with my either her or me speech.
Ignoring my contempt she continued, “Try not to be bitter. But trust me, you don’t want him to dim his light just to make you feel better. I did that with Airic and you saw where that got me.”
“Trevelle, do you really want to give me advice on how to keep my husband happy?”
This time, a sharp cut of the eyes from Vince. “I’ve got deliveries to make. Coming, my lady?” Code for, we’re leaving you alone to stew in your rudeness.
But she started it, I wanted to say.
Trevelle stuck out her hand like a true damsel and let Vince escort her out the door. She looked back at me as if to say, kiss my blessings.
I just shook my head. Regardless of how she tried to hide it, she was hurting, and it wasn’t fair to kick her when she was down. Even more cruel was leaving her to find solace here with me and Vince. I’d taken this up with God on countless closed-eye, clenched-teeth prayer sessions, asking Him to restore Trevelle’s career so she could get back in the pulpit and I could once again be at peac
e.
When they left, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Jake’s number. He was still in L.A. He and Sirena had an early-morning interview, the one I’d made sure to miss. Jake answered on the first ring. “Hey, baby.”
“Hi there, Mr. Superstar, you doing all right without me?”
“Never. I miss you like crazy.”
“Really? I’m surprised Ramona hasn’t lassoed you up in her Wonder Woman rope to make you forget about me and focus only on promoting the movie.”
He laughed but added nothing to the conversation.
“So where’s the party tonight?”
“Party? Come on now, I told you. It’s all work and no play.”
“Yeah, right. You’re forgetting I was there.”
He got quiet again on the other end of the phone.
“Babe … everything all right?” I asked.
“Guess who just walked by? You’ll never believe it. Angelina and Brad.”
“Oh … first names and all.” I smiled into the phone. “So you’re still at the news studio?”
“Yeah, but we’re about to head out to get something to eat. I’m just ready to sleep in my own bed. I’m officially whooped.”
“Well, you don’t look tired. You looked great on the interview,” I said, even though I hadn’t watched a second of it. “So when will you be coming home?” I remembered my mother’s endearing words of advice: “Then you say, ‘You need to bring your ass home.’ I think he’ll get the message real quick.”
“I’m planning on tomorrow. But you know how everything’s last minute when these interviews come through.”
“I understand.”
“Babe, you know I miss you. You know I love you. Say it with me …”
“You are my starship.” I smiled into the phone again.
“That’s right. I’m out here in the sea and there’s only one light that will always lead me home.”
“Don’t overdo it, mister.” Still smiling.
He was silver tongued and clever. I was no match for his swift attention to detail. He knew I was nervous about his spending so much time with Sirena. He knew my every fear. He saw me coming a mile away and always knew how to head me off.
“You’re all I need, baby.”
“Okay, well, I better get to work. I’ve got a business to run.” I snapped out of my love trance.
“Babe, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”
I already knew the next thing he was about to say.
“You know we only moved to Atlanta because I was running from demons. Well I’m not running anymore. I think we should pack it up, make L.A. our home again.”
I stayed quiet. I should’ve been ecstatic to hear those words. I’d wanted to move back to Los Angeles the day we set foot in our new house in Atlanta. Too much space. Everything was so spread out and never ending, including our mini mansion with six-too-many bathrooms. But now Mya was at a good school, my business was doing exceptionally well, and I’d signed a new lease on the building.
“Please, just think about it.”
“It’s just hard now to uproot Mya.”
“I never in a million years thought we’d be having this conversation. I thought the minute I said, let’s move, you’d have a truck in front of the house, loading it up like Jed Clampett.”
“Funny. Just let me think about it, okay?”
I busied myself clipping stems, relishing in the quiet. A quarter inch off every couple of days kept the flowers fresh and ready for presentation. The bell rang, signaling a customer had come through the door. I usually kept it locked when I was alone but I’d forgotten to lock it after Vince left. I felt safe when he was around, making his worth far more important than how many flowers he could arrange and deliver.
The afternoon sun was harsh in the front of the building, so anyone who walked in looked like a Hitchcock silhouette. Except for this woman. Her broad bony shoulders were held up with a pencil-thin body. I hated to make assumptions based on appearance, but she was definitely not a bride-to-be. I could spot a happy future wife by her rosy attitude, the relief of the search being over. This woman was flat and dull, reeking of stale cigarette smoke. “Hello.”
“Welcome. How can I help you?”
She put out her hand. “I’m Melba Dubois from Life ’N’ Style magazine. You’re JP’s wife, right?”
“Yes. Did we have an appointment?” I gulped nervous air. Ramona had a clear policy on talking to the media—never speak with anyone without her screening. No ifs, ands, or buts. Clear enough. Besides, Jake’s past was easy enough to investigate. They hardly needed me for information.
One Google punch of his name and his life appeared. Chronicled perfectly starting when he went to Morgan State University at eighteen and ended up with a demo after spending all his waking hours rapping on his roommate’s makeshift studio equipment. A record deal and an album followed that went platinum. He then parlayed his popularity and money into a lucrative line of urban clothing. When his company began to show signs of going under it was due to his embezzling accountant. The accountant and his crooked pen nearly destroyed everything Jake had built.
When the accountant was found dead Jake was the likely suspect. Jake was eventually cleared, but his business partner and former best friend, Legend Hill, was still sought after for questioning. The story was all upward from there—a contract modeling for Calvin Klein, shortly after his movie with Sirena, and here we are. So whatever Melba Dubois had come for wasn’t on the up and up.
“I’m sorry you came all this way. I’m really not supposed to talk to anyone from the media, as much as I’d love to.”
“Our magazine wants to find out who you are, what kind of woman snags a catch like Jake Parson. Do you mind if I have a seat?” She had a husky British accent. I presumed a pack of cigarettes a day in lieu of food. Her thin legs crossed while she pulled out a copy of the magazine’s current issue and handed it to me.
This month’s glossy cover featured Sirena Lassiter, no surprise there. I’d read the gripping article in its entirety in the grocery checkout line, letting people with less items go in front of me just so I could absorb every word. The story revealed another side to the pop princess who’d been abandoned by her mother when she was a young girl. She’d had a bout with drugs and abusive boyfriends before going into rehab and coming out of therapy all shiny and new. There was no mention of her loveable co-star, Jake Parson. When the article had been written, no one knew of Jake’s rise as an actor, or that the song he’d performed and produced on the soundtrack would be number one on the Billboard chart.
“I can’t talk to you without an okay from the publicist, even if it’s about me. Strict orders. Sorry.”
“Ramona, correct? Assigned by Rise Records. She’s a hard nut—and I mean that literally.” She sneered. “Trust me, she’s not working for you or your husband. Once the buzz wears off about this movie, she’ll be a puff of smoke. People have to care who you are, who your husband is, if he expects to sustain a career in this business.”
“Really, even if Ramona called right now and said, go ahead, talk away, I don’t have anything to tell you. I’m uninteresting. I don’t have a great Hollywood tale. I’ve never been on drugs or had to overcome the urge to put my finger down my throat after a big meal.” I raised my hands with nothing else to offer.
She smiled slyly. “But you did try to end your own life after losing a child, correct?” She slipped her tape recorder onto the antique coffee table. She pushed the red button, which was a waste of time seeing as how I was speechless. “Incidentally, it was around the same time Jake was arrested and charged with homicide.”
“This is not news,” I said coolly.
“Exactly. Our readers want to be connected. They already have the news. The human emotion, what you went through, how you were there for each other in a time of sadness and stress—that’s what’s missing. Stress … probably contributed to the loss of your baby, correct?” She sang out like she was on
a game show and it wasn’t my life she was talking about.
“You know, it would be nice to rehash all of those wonderful emotions, but like I said, I can’t.” My throat felt tight and dry. It took everything I had to keep my voice even and steady.
“I understand. I’d be cautious too if my husband and his first love were gallivanting about exotic locales, rekindling old feelings and being paid, to boot. Lovely.”
I bit the inside of my jaw to stop from making a fool of myself. First love? If I uttered a single word I might even appear shocked by this revelation. Which was how I felt—shocked, mortified, ready to pick up the nearest object and hurl it in her direction, and scream, Get out, like a raging poltergeist. “I think you should go now” came out instead, with surprising calm. I stepped back, giving her room to exit.
Un-Nappily in Love Page 3