"So you’ve decided to call it quits with Antwan," Juanita sounded out.
Yvette nodded and said tightly, "Yes, it's over."
"Any chance of you two getting back together, again?"
Yvette shrugged, withheld a frown, and said, "It's over, Juanita."
"I see," Juanita replied, chasing her hair again with her fingers.
"We had a long talk and this is what we both decided on," she said numbly, shifting her eyes from the bay to focus on her friend. "Juanita, Antwan had more than enough time to decide where he wanted to take this relationship. And I have tried my best to accommodate him. I even loan that asshole money to help get his business started. To date, he has yet to pay me back one dime of my money. Anyway, it’s apparent that he was not as committed to this relationship as he initially put on to be. Right now, I consider him a friend, if that. We can still talk and he can stop by to visit but other than that, I'm through with him. Besides, since he owes me, I don’t want him to get too comfortable being out of my presence."
“Girl, if you don’t mine me asking, how much money did you loan him? I mean, what are we talking here…one grand?” Juanita asked, with arched eyebrows.
“Try four,” Yvette answered.
Juanita’s lips parted in surprise. After swallowing hard, she finally managed to say, “Four grand? Girl, what were you thinking?”
“I was only trying to be the supportive woman, that’s all.”
“But that was part of your money you were saving to open up your own business, I thought,” Juanita shot back.
"Look, I’m going to get it back! Every damned penny of it!" Yvette leered sarcastically, then apologized to Juanita for being snappish.
"That's alright, dear," Juanita said, resting a reassuring hand on her distraught friend's shoulder. "Obviously, this man has really touched a nerve with you."
"Yes, he tried me," Yvette replied with utter contempt in her voice, then added, "but you know, I am not going to give him another opportunity to hurt me. I'm so tired of letting myself get close to men only to get hurt in the process."
"Well, I can't say that I blame you," Juanita retorted.
"I am just going to keep to myself, from now on," Yvette almost sobbed.
Juanita reached down into her purse and withdrew a clean tissue and handed it to Yvette so that she could dab away at the tears that were beginning to well in her eyes. Yvette thanked her friend, then collapsed in her arms, sobbing quietly. And like the good friend she was, she was quick to comfort Yvette with a warm embrace as she watch several seagulls fly out to meet the blue horizon.
Don ‘The Beast’ Middlebrook was livid. It had been nearly three days since he last saw his wife, Roxanne. Scheduled to depart for the oilrigs the following day, he returned to his bungalow with Lynn Dupree, his voluptuous secretary, whose hotel suite he had camped out in, the past two days. Almost, as if on cue, Lynn had arrived in Tampa the evening before Roxanne walked out on The Beast.
As he had in the past, in Virginia, Don found comfort in the arms of Lynn, who was more than eager to be his significant other, his soft pillow in times of turmoil. Still, he was anxious to know Roxanne’s whereabouts. Something did not quite add up with her disappearance. He had already called back home to see if she had returned there but no one had seen or heard from her. It was becoming more apparent to him that Roxanne must have met someone here during her stay who was possibly harboring her. She just did not have the clothing, personal effects, and money to sustain herself more than a day or two, he concluded.
Arriving at the bungalow, he exited the car, as a nervous Lynn waited on him, and walked up to the front door. Unlocking it he disappeared inside the one story stucco covered dwelling. The phone was ringing loudly upon his entrance. Coming to life he hurried over to answer it before it stopped ringing. It was Roxanne.
“Where the hell have yah been?” He shouted, angrily into the mouthpiece. “I was just about to call law enforcement to file a missing person’s case on yah.”
“My whereabouts is of no concern to you at this time,” she returned calmly, though anxiously.
“Dammit woman,” he snarled, “tell me where the hell yah are or yah will regret the day yah ever laid eyes on me.”
“Don, I’ve long regretted the day I laid eyes on you,” she snapped back, then more calmly, “Listen, I need to come over to collect my belongings. I’m not looking for any trouble. You hear me? I left my key to the bungalow and I need to get in. Now if I have to, I’ll wait until you leave for the oilrigs. I know you will be leaving in a day or two. But I want to get my belongings as soon as possible.”
“So yah want ya’r stuff!” Don growled. “Come anytime! Ya’ll find them outside on the front lawn.”
“Please Don,” she pleaded. “I just want to get my stuff. Please, I’m asking you not to do that. Please, I don’t want any problems.”
“Well, get ya’r ass home by five tonight and I’ll think about let’n yah in,” he said flatly, adding, “I’m over it.”
“I’ll be there before five, okay?”
“Yeah, whatever,” he said in a hoarse voice.
“No more trouble, Don….please!”
“Nope, no trouble, lassie,” he promised, picking up a nearby cigarette and lighter. “Now get yah ass back home.”
Kurt parked his 40-foot motorhome alongside of his newly purchased two-story home. A week earlier his bricked carport had been modified to accommodate and service Moonbeam and two mid-size cars comfortably alongside the house. Just beyond the carport was a huge three-car garage. The house was in suburban Tampa Bay, an area featuring six-foot high ivy-clad concrete security walls with wide wrought-iron security gates at the entrances of each home, and beyond the gates, bricked or asphalt driveways that were banked on either side by vast immaculate green lawns. His $520,000 home was situated on a two-acre plot of land. There was a garden area, with several statuettes, a fountain, and two ponds stocked with tropical fish and water lilies, and a clay tennis court. There were several huge oak, maple, popular and dogwood trees about the property.
Lining the brick driveway were eighteen-foot tall Italian cypress trees, six on either side of the driveway. Closer to the twelve-room house were several pear shaped western red cedar trees, two European white birch, tree ferns, and an abundance of Boston Ivy, Virginia Creeper, Rocky Mountain Columbine, and Trailing Periwinkles. Two sago palms guarded either side of the bricked entrance to the home.
The two-story house was a cinnamon brown colored brick house, with several dormers and wood shingle roof tiles. In the rear section of the house was a split-level wooden deck that housed a built-in Jacuzzi and below that, on the next patio level, an in-ground pool. A large smoked glass-plated Florida room led out to the heavily wooded pool and patio area, which was also screened in. On staff were a housekeeper, a gardener and a part time cook.
He had resisted moving into such surroundings. Though he grew up in a poor family setting and lower class neighborhood, and though he had turned his fortunes around, long before he struck it rich with the lottery, he was always afraid of losing touch with those he had left behind in the Hood. Trappings, like this luxurious house, could possibly spoil him and make him self-centered, he feared. All he ever wanted to do with his winnings was position himself to help others in need. For the past year, he had done exactly that, and quite generously. Deep down inside, though, he realized he could not possibly solve all of the problems of the world. But he did want to do his share.
It was only after some thought on the matter, and a lot of prodding by family members and friends that he decided to make this purchase. And he only did so after pledging on his mother's grave that he would not allow the trappings of wealth to envelope him to such a point of blindness that he would forget where he came from and those that helped him get where he was in life now. Earlier that week, he happily picked up his restored maroon colored 1963 Corvette Stingray, which had been in a body shop the past four months, and parked it alongsi
de of Moonbeam. He was extremely pleased with the restoration work done on it. Everything seemed to be going just fine…outwardly. Inside, however, he was missing someone very dear to him.
Roxanne found the door key in the brush in a small envelope just as Don said it would be. Entering the vacant bungalow she began to collect her belongings. She had no idea where her husband was at the moment. And though she was thankful that he had decided not to be there when she arrived, she still did not feel completely at ease inside there, alone. What if he was on his way there now? She began to wish she had informed Kurt of her decision to return, though brief it was meant to be.
Trying hard to concentrate on her purpose for being there, she threw her clothing and personal effects into two luggage bags she had retrieved from the cedar-lined closet. Wasting little time, she began in the bedroom and worked her way into the living room.
Just then, from behind, she heard a key turn in the door lock. A subtle squeaking could be heard as the door slowly opened. Turning anxiously she found The Beast towering over her, watching her, analyzing her, probing her with yellow stained eyes. She could not tell if he had been drinking or not, though it did not matter at this point, she felt. Suddenly, a wave of apprehension swept through her, leaving her heart jumping in her chest.
“Hello Roxanne,” he uttered, his voice emotionless.
“Don, I thought you said you were not going to be here when I arrived.”
“I wasn’t here when yah arrived,” he answered, grinning sinisterly.
With knees that clicked nervously together, Roxanne decided to carry on as if he was not there. Turning, she resumed her packing.
“So, where have yah been?” He spat, stepping forward. “And with whom?”
Pausing, she answered, “What difference does it make? It’s over between us, Don.”
Drawing closer Don fired back, “Says who?”
Says Who?
Says Who?
Says Who?
The words seemed to reverberate throughout her head like a misguided bullet ricocheting throughout a metal-clad chamber. In a vain effort to squash the intrusive noise she raised her hands to her ears. Coming here alone was a big mistake, she realized. She should have never trusted his word. Once again he grilled her, “Says who, Roxanne, I’m asking?”
Clenching her hands so tightly together that her nails dug into her flesh, she dropped to her knees, in panic and in tears. Raising her eyes upward she felt impaled by his steady gaze. Her heart was thumping big time now as his expression darkened with contempt. How did she ever manage to get involved with such a monster? she pondered.
Raising his hand high above her, as if to strike her, Don’s raspy voice sent another wave of chills throughout her spine, as he declared, “This is the last time I’m going to ask yah this before I knock you senseless. Who says this relationship is over? Who says?”
“If I’m not mistaken, I think the Lady said it was over!” A strong and powerful voice bellowed from behind. Standing larger than life, at the entrance, was Kurt.
Turning, Don demanded to know, “And who the hell are yah?”
“Don’t you worry about who I am,” Kurt answered, walking towards Roxanne.
Assisting her up from the floor, he smiled and assured her that everything was going to be alright.
“Thank you, Kurt,” she replied, breathing a sigh of relief.
“Kurt!” Don stammered, obviously trying to put two and two together.
“Yes, I am Kurt,” he said briskly.
“Kurt Douglass from Jersey?” he said, as he turned and faced him. “That’s it. Ya’r her former lover. What the hell are ya’r doing here in Tampa? And why are ya’r here… visiting with me wife? ”
“What’s it to you?”
“I just want to know how it is that ya’r here in this area. I thought yah two haven’t been in touch fer years?”
Ignoring Don, Kurt strolled pass him and assisted Roxanne with her luggage.
“Tell me, Kurt, how does it feel bedding my wife behind me back like the low down ghetto scumbag yah are. She’s not as ripe and tight as you may remember her being, uh? Thanks to me. Yah know, you ghetto scumbags are not the only ones well-hung.”
“Excuse me,” Kurt said, with eyes that said he had had enough. “What did you call me?”
“Yah heard me, yah dirty low down ghetto scumbag. Now take yah dirty hands off my -“
Don never got a chance to complete his statement. Kurt had spun around with a force and speed matched only by a tornado, his clenched fist connecting with Don’s jaw like lightning and thunder during a storm. It was a definite and uncontested knockout!
“Don’t you ever call me a low down ghetto scumbag again, you spineless pig!” Kurt said forcefully, as Don lay stretched out across the floor nursing his swollen, aching jaw.
Grabbing Roxanne’s luggage, the two left the house and a dumbfounded and demoralized Don.
“How did you find me?” she asked, as they drove off.
“I called you several times at the suite but you never answered. I decided to see if you had a change of heart. I actually thought you had decided to go back to him. It never crossed my mind that you may want to retrieve your belongings on your own. Roxanne, that was a very unwise thing to do, you know.”
“Yes, I know. I’m sorry,” she answered with a blink.
“Just promise me that you will never pull a stunt like that again.”
“I promise, Kurt.”
“Good,” he smiled.
“Kurt, you do know that Don’s a very powerful man? He’s not going to let me go that easily, you can rest assure of that. It’s a family thing.”
Turning to face her, Kurt gave her a look of resolve, saying, “He has no other choice but to let you go, Roxanne. We’re getting a restraining order on him first thing tomorrow. And remember, he’s not the only one with power and influence. But most of all, remember that I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
With that said, Kurt returned Roxanne to her suite.
Though normally a low-keyed person, and a private one, at that, it was becoming much harder for Kurt to maintain that privacy. And it was bound to happen sooner or later.
Because he was already up, Kurt arrived at work a little earlier than usual, and greeted his co-workers warmly, which was his daily routine, and made his way to his office. As he waited for his computer to boot up he leaned forward in his chair and reached for the phone to listen to his voice mail. One of the three awaiting messages instructed him to promptly report to his supervisor's office upon arrival.
Rising up out of the chair, he headed out of his office, turning the corner at the end of the corridor, until he stopped in front of Mr. Brad Lancaster's office, his stiff by-the-book immediate supervisor. Kurt knocked lightly on the door and was told to enter. Before him sat his supervisor, Mr. Lancaster, who greeted him, in a mollifying tone of voice. Also in attendance was his supervisor's boss, Mr. Trevor Reid. By the grim look on their faces Kurt knew that he had not been invited there to socialize. Kurt's curiosity was at an all-time high. Finally Mr. Lancaster spoke and asked Kurt to be seated.
Clearing his throat, Mr. Lancaster began, “Kurt, I’m going to cut through the chase and just say that it has come to our attention, since your recent address update, that you are now residing in a very affluent neighborhood, known for its pricey dwellings, fancy gardens and chauffeured driven limousines.
“Now, being a State employee, myself, for over twenty years, and top management at that, not even I can afford to reside in such an upscale section of town. By state employee standards, you are living better than most businessmen I know, and far better than any of your supervisors, and I’m talking combined.
“We thought perhaps that you were just renting a room out there. Then we thought that perhaps you just may have had a little income on the side. We didn’t know. Anyway, we checked with the county and the house is registered in your name, and is paid for in full. Care to enlighten us
?”
A troubled and pensive Kurt said nothing, at first. Talk about Big Brother. "You guys are actually serious, aren’t you?” The two managers nodded. “Gentlemen, I am really surprised by your inquiry," he began, and added, "Look, I am not sure I fully understand your concerns, but I can assure you that I am not some hustler, or some Mack Daddy pimp, nor am I a drug dealer. And no, I don't have a rich uncle or aunt who left me a fortune.
“First of all, the house in question is my house, as you have discovered. And I must tell you, respectfully, that I am offended by this inquiry. I cannot believe I’m sitting here talking about where I am about to live.”
“Kurt, no one is accusing you of anything,” Mr. Lancaster said, looking up from beneath craggy brows. “We just wanted you to clarify your living arrangement, that’s all.”
“Gentlemen, I have worked here just a little under six months but you should know by now that my reputation is impeccable. I am a hard worker...and an honest worker. Hell, I was even recognized as worker of the month...twice. I have always been on time and I have never taken a day off due to illness.
“As to the matter, for which I have been brought here for, I am going to give you my attorney's phone number and he will answer any and all of your questions about my living arrangements. Please, let us leave it at that, for now."
He immediately pulled out his attorney's phone number from his swollen wallet and handed it to his supervisor to record. "Now, may I please return to my job, that is, if I still have one?"
The call was made that afternoon. The response they got from Kurt's lawyer duly confirmed Kurt's windfall, leaving the two higher ups pie-faced. They were reassured that the necessary verification would be sent by confidential overnight delivery. The two administrators were stunned beyond belief. They actually had a multi-millionaire in their midst.
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