Un-Nappily in Love

by Trisha R. Thomas

  “And you met Sirena by way of Jay, and you two made beautiful music together. A platinum album.”

  And here’s where things got dicey.

  The story had three sides. Tommy’s side was that he knew Jake had written “Taste Like Honey,” but took the money and ran with it anyway. But it was never about the money. The only side Jake knew was that he caught his girl with his friend. No matter how much they both claimed it was nothing more than her giving him a massage, he’d never been able to shake the image: Sirena straddled on Tommy’s tatted back with her hands stretched across the dark ink scripted with the name of his label, Tommy Prince. She disappeared while the sales of the song kept rising. When she finally surfaced asking for a second chance, Jake had nothing to say. It took him ten years to forgive her, right up to the moment where they were standing.

  “Do you think there’s something down the pike for the three of you? That would be awesome.”

  Seriously?

  Hell, no.

  “You never know what fate has in store for us,” Jake said cautiously. Hoping he was doing his part. Always the stand-up guy, the one to do what was right. Sirena’s arm brushed up against him for only a second and he could feel her heat. She was nervous.

  “Thanks for coming and showing your love. May I say”—Sonny took Sirena’s hand—“you are indeed a true beauty. In theaters, everybody, True Beauty. Download the soundtrack today. It’s smokin’.” The closing music cued.

  Jake watched the green light on the camera switch to red. He dropped the fake smile. He stuck out his hand to Sonny. “Thanks, man. Good interview.”

  “Anytime, Jay. Anytime.”

  Tommy stuck out his hand for a shake and shoulder embrace. Jake jolted forward with a fake punch, making him stumble back. Tommy landed on his ass. The microphone he was holding dropped like it had surged with an electric jolt. The clang of the speaker made everyone else jump too.

  “What, Jay?” Tommy swallowed hard still on the ground. “You still beefing over some bullshit?” He got up, embarrassed. “Ain’t my fault you couldn’t control yo girl. That’s some bullshit, Jay.” He moved toward Jake with an open palm. “Squash this shit, man.”

  “Stay down,” he warned. If he got up, Jake would have no choice but to put him down.

  “Yeah, whateva. You need the facts, Jay. That’s what you need, just the facts.”

  He felt a gentle hand on his back. “Come on. Take a breath.” The producer was at his side, wondering what had just happened. “You can cool off in the greenroom.”

  Jake had already walked it off, moving swiftly toward the glowing red exit sign.

  Sharing Is Caring

  The recital was held in the cultural theater a few blocks down from the ballet school. That meant plenty of seating, and everyone should’ve had a good view no matter the row. Didn’t stop the woman in back of me from complaining. I heard the exhaustive sigh meant for me. “Oh, great. How am I supposed to see over all this child’s hair?”

  There was a time when I would’ve spun around and cussed and spat my way into a fight, but I’d made peace with my hair a while ago and refused to spend the rest of my life apologizing for my official afro diva status. There was no retooling once the leave-in conditioner was in place. I scooted down best I could and that would have to do. Paulette came and sat next to me, leaving one seat open. I placed my purse there to save it for Jake. His flight should’ve already landed and he promised he would be driven straight over.

  “Hey, isn’t that Miriam?” My mother pointed at the woman standing a row in front of us. I shook my head without hesitation. This woman had long straight hair, whereas Miriam wore her hair short and curly.

  “Mom, how would that be Miriam?”

  “I’m not blind. I know what she looks like.” Paulette stood up and reached out her arms. The next thing I knew she was hugging the woman. It was Miriam. The long dark wig with bangs hung in her eyes. She blinked a smile but it was obvious she was in a strange frame of mind.

  “Well, what do you think?” She stroked her hair before taking the seat in front of us.

  Thank goodness the pianist began to play so I didn’t have to answer the question. The lights dimmed.

  I checked my phone, still nothing from Jake. I put in a text and told him to let me know when he arrived. I’d come get him and show him to our seats. The pianist was a striking replica of the ballet instructor—perfect posture, elegant neck and shoulders; only her vibrant red hair was streaked with gray. I took a long cleansing breath, ready to enjoy the show.

  The first set of children—including Mya—made their entrance on the stage.

  The enjoyment was short-lived. I saw Airic, and with his new family in tow after I specifically threatened his life. I started to chew on the inside of my jaw. The nervous habit had followed me through childhood, teenaged angst, college, right into adulthood. It helped me take my mind off things. A nice bite-size amount of pain in exchange for focusing attention on details like my mother’s breast cancer, or Jake’s arrest two years ago. And now my anger at Airic. He and his young bride had found two seats together like magic. I was sick of him getting things his way.

  I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around, ready to snap at the woman who’d already huffed and puffed about my hair blocking her view. Robert Stanton’s smile turned into a frown when he saw my mean mug.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “No. I thought you were someone else,” I whispered.

  “Is that seat open?” he asked, pointing to the one I was holding for Jake.

  “No. Sorry. Holding it for my husband.”

  The audience excitedly whispered as the children began to dance. Mya was in her bright yellow tutu and stockings. Her sweet face was framed by huge white petals made of felt and wire that I’d worried might come out and poke her. She was the cutest daisy flower. Her big round eyes and long dark lashes shined bright even under the spotlight.

  “Aren’t they adorable,” Paulette said proudly.

  “Ahuh.” I kept my eyes focused straight ahead but my hand was gripped around my phone, waiting for the vibration of a text or message. It wasn’t like Jake. He’d never miss the recital, at least not if he could help it. That was the part that worried me. Was he in an accident? Did something happen?

  “Did you bring the camera?” my mother asked.

  “I completely forgot.”

  Lizzie and Mya scooted around, graceful as five-year-olds could. The older girls were lighter on their feet. I pictured Mya in a few years being just as good. She had long slender limbs like a future dancer. I hoped the instructor had the video cued up like she’d told Mya, as if she could read the future and knew her daddy wouldn’t be here. I craned my neck to check the door one more time.

  Lizzie suddenly crashed into another daisy, sending the smaller girl skidding across the floor.

  “You go, baby,” Miriam called out. “You’re beautiful.” A few parents turned to give a nasty glare. “That’s my baby, she’s going places,” she said, undeterred.

  I put my hand on her shoulder. “She’s doing wonderfully.”

  Without warning, the music stopped. Parents clapped while others whistled. I followed suit, realizing that just when I’d decided to stop looking for Jake and focus on the show, the entire thing was over. I’d make it up to Mya at the next one, rapt with attention, camera lens angled. I checked my phone one final time before dropping it into my purse, angry with myself as well as Jake.

  Miriam’s whistle was loud and distinct enough that Lizzie knew and recognized it immediately. She waved excitedly in our direction and took a bow. I’d always wanted to whistle like that and the best I could do was blow hot soundless air.

  “I’ll go get the girls.” Miriam was already scooting out past the cheering, grinning parents with her fancy tresses flowing side to side over her shoulders. I didn’t want to begin to know what was going through that head of hers.

  I could see Airic navigati
ng the sea of bodies going in the opposite direction of everyone else, coming toward me. His baby was strapped to his chest with her tiny legs extended. He waved. I shuddered.

  “Mom, I’m going to the bathroom. Can you wait here for Mya?”

  “Oh no … you’re not leaving me with him.” She knew me too well.

  “That was great,” he sang out. “Got it all on tape.” He held up his video camera as exhibit A. “Paulette, I didn’t know you were in town.”

  “I’ve been here for a few weeks. Guess we missed each other. And this must be the new missus and your new baby. She’s just adorable.”

  I sneered at my mother, wondering what her angle was.

  “Mommy, Mommy,” Mya called out before I caught her running jump.

  “Hey, princess. You were amazing.”

  “Yes, you were.” Airic reached behind to his little woman. She handed him a small bouquet. “And these are for you.”

  Mya’s mouth opened wide with excitement. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you … Daddy,” Airic instructed.

  Mya stayed silent. I rolled my eyes before beaming them into his like laser darts. The child was conflicted enough.

  “Okay, are we ready to go?” I hoisted Mya off my mother’s hip and onto mine.

  “Mommy, Daddy didn’t come.” Mya wrapped her arms around my neck.

  “I know, sweetpea. I’m sorry. He probably got caught in traffic.”

  “Caught in something, all right,” my mother mocked in my ear.

  The awkwardness of the moment required intervention. Robert Stanton answered the call. He appeared seemingly out of nowhere and extended his hand. “Hello, there. I’m Jory’s father. I’m sure you’ve heard Mya talk about her best bud, Jory.”

  “Ah … no, but nice to meet you. I’m Airic Fisher, Mya’s father.”

  I coughed and cleared my throat. If he introduced himself as Mya’s father, dad, daddy, or any other loosely thrown around term describing one’s ability to donate sperm and monthly checks one more time, I was sure my hair was going to catch on fire. Heat was steaming from my scalp, ears, and coming out of my eyeballs. He knew it was infuriating me. I’d asked him to stay back, out of sight and out of mind, and here he was the life of the party.

  “We better get going.”

  Airic scooted his arm around my shoulder. I was pinned next to his cooing baby. “Too bad your husband couldn’t be here to see Mya’s first dance recital. Him being the good father and all. Guess he’s too busy traipsing around the country with the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  Right then the sweet cherub hawked up her milk. White globs landed on his black shoes.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” I said to the baby. “Let’s go, Mom.”

  Mya reached out and touched her baby sister. “Let’s have a baby, Mommy.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. If it were only that easy. Men could procreate until their ears fell off and turned to dust, but women sadly had only a limited time slot. Along with the complications I suffered during my miscarriage, the odds had diminished. Jake and I couldn’t afford to spend thousands on fertility and in vitro treatments. Maybe now it was an option. Or … “Sometimes it’s just not in the cards,” I whispered to myself. “See you all later.”

  “Hey, wait.” Robert Stanton caught up. “Let’s all go get something to eat. Come on, the kids deserve a reward for their great performance.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Please, Mommy.” Mya squirmed off my hip, which wasn’t a great distance. She was gangly and long, compliments of Airic’s six-three frame.

  “Yeah, please,” Robert mimicked.

  “I’m up for a good meal I didn’t have to cook myself,” Pauletta added. “I’ve been working like a slave in that kitchen. No one’s offered to take me anywhere.”

  “Mom, I need to get home. I don’t know what’s going on with Jake. I just need to get home,” I said as gently as possible.

  “Then I’ll at least walk you ladies to your car?” Robert offered.

  My mother elbowed me. “I’ve been in town almost three weeks and I’m just now meeting Jory’s father. Why’d you keep him from me?”

  “I feel the same way, Pauletta.” He gently pulled her hand to his face and kissed it. “You are just as beautiful as your daughter, and your daughter’s daughter.”

  Pauletta giggled. I hadn’t heard her giggle before. My mother had always been hard around the edges. Even lately, her tolerance for bullshit had reached an all-time low. I could see her brain thinking overtime.

  “Is your wife here?” I asked specifically to shut down whatever wild ideas she was rolling around.

  “No, she’s in D.C. attending a charity event. Standing in for me. No way was I going to miss this little guy’s first big show.”

  Jory looked up and smiled. Pauletta reached over and patted him on his curls. “You are such a cutie, just like your dad.”

  Oh brother.

  “We have to get going.”

  “Can I go too?” Lizzie’s cherub face, surrounded by her daisy headpiece, was almost angelic. She’d been standing there the whole time. Only then did I realize there was no Miriam in sight.

  “Sweetie, where’s your mom?”

  “I don’t know. She said to stay with you.”

  I covered my face and shook my head before leading the way to the car.

  Walk Like a Man

  “There he is.” Sirena slapped at the door handle, trying to lower the automatic window. “Unlock this fuckin’ thing. Pull over.”

  The driver came to an abrupt stop at the curb. Strictly a no-parking zone. Cars honked. Drivers yelled.

  “Manhattan during this hour is the wrong time to have a lovers’ spat.” Ramona sighed. “You want to tell me what this is about?”

  Sirena got out of the car, ignoring her inquiry. Thank goodness Jake was held up by a corner light. “Will you please get in the car? Really, the thing with Tommy was so 1998.” She was freezing. No coat. Only jeans, the white silk top that surely showed every ridge of her now frosty nipples, and barefoot.

  “Go back to the car,” he said, surprisingly calm.

  “You’re a better man than that. You can’t be pissed about something that silly. Let it go, Jay. It’s over.”

  Though it was obvious it wasn’t over. Even while he stood stoically, she could see his jawline tighten and release. This was the answer she’d wanted to hear, even if it was unspoken. He still cared. Obviously, or he wouldn’t have reacted to Tommy that way.

  “Look at me, I’m freezing my ass off. Please. We’ll talk about it in the limo.” What’d she say that for?

  A young girl in a pink puffy jacket faced her, then pointed and squealed. “Sirena Lassiter, ohmigod.”

  The minute everyone waiting at the light began to recognize them, Jake was practically hauling her back to the car, her feet barely touching the ground.

  The shiny black car sat idling with humidity dripping from the tailpipe. He swung the door open and shoved her inside. He hadn’t planned to get in until screaming fans started moving toward them. He jumped in and closed the door as cautiously as possible, trying not to slam any limbs in the process.

  Still shivering, she tossed her jacket over the front of her like a blanket. “Thank you.”

  He still hadn’t said a word. Brooding.

  They were stuck in traffic. The airport was only a few miles away, but it would take close to an hour just to get over the bridge.

  “I had no idea about Tommy. I was just as surprised as you were.”

  “When’s the last time you spoke with your old friend?”

  “I haven’t spoken to him in ten years,” she said calmly. “Probably, same as you.”

  “Really, what is the big deal?” Ramona interrupted. “The senior producer of the show called to personally thank you and Sirena. Let me tell you, whatever chemistry you three had up there came through. They had a huge ratings boost.”

  This seemed to
silence him, but only for a minute. “Yeah, a real ménage à trois.”

  Ramona sighed, accepting the fact she was dealing with something bigger than what she’d witnessed. “Why don’t we stop and get some dinner instead of sitting in traffic. By the time we get through eating, the bridge will be clear. It will also give you both time to cool off.”

  Sirena didn’t respond. Jake said nothing as well.

  Ramona pushed and clicked on her BlackBerry. “Fine. Airport food it is. Yummy, delicious.”

  Food for the Brokenhearted

  I was famished. The day had taken its toll. I wrapped my robe around my exhausted body and made my way to the kitchen. Pauletta was in the kitchen throwing away McDonald’s trash. I’d showered while the kids ate. Lizzie was still in my possession. Miriam had called and asked if Lizzie could stay the night. I didn’t ask a single question. I had enough drama on the brain.

  “I can’t believe you’re feeding my grandbaby that kind of mess. You’d rather feed her that than go out with the senator. Weren’t you the one lecturing about the hormones and additives in the foods?”

  “Yep, that would be me. Bad mother of the year.”

  “I’m not calling you a bad mother, but really …” She raised her brows to say much more than those few words ever could.

  “You’re right. I’ve just been so rushed. Seems like there’s never enough time in the day.”

  “Why are you working this hard anyway?” Question of the week, month, and year. Her eyes squinted with no resolution. “Your husband is making plenty enough money. You should have a maid, a cook, someone to take Mya to school … I don’t understand your need for servitude.” She opened the window and tried to fan out the distinct smell of Mickey D fries.

  “I have always worked hard. You taught me that.”

  “I didn’t teach you to be an easy target.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re too tired and too worn out to pay attention to what’s going on around you.” She walked over and turned on the television. She picked up the remote and pushed play on the DVR where she’d saved a lovely episode of TMZ just for me.