Off to the side of the room was a stereo system blaring out an old sixties island tune entitled Montego Bay by Bobby Bloom. Moving on to the next room, he found his sister Trish alone, on the floor, beside a bamboo coffee table, and about to inject herself with some kind of drug - heroin, he speculated. If it was heroin, then it was true, she was strung out on narcotics again. Trish had been known to indulge in rock cocaine. Never had he known her to shoot up.
"Trish!" he yelled swiftly, emotionally.
"Kurt! Is dat you, brother?" she cried out from her crouch position by the corner wall, her West Indies accent thick. She was not a pretty sight, not the beautiful young woman and sister he remembered. Her eyes had dark rings around them, as though she had not slept in days, her usual coal black hair was nappy and unkempt, almost dreadlock looking, and it looked as though she had not eaten in weeks. She looked thin and burned out.
"Ahh be damned! Ma brothur Kurt in de flesh. Well, how are yah, my lottery rich brothur?" she leered, as she continued to search desperately for a good vein in her arm. "Feel like being ah little charitable todey?"
"Drop it, Trish," he commanded as he approached her.
"Wha' dis? Ma only friend? Ma only peace of mind?" She uttered. "Yuh must be out duv yah damn mind, brothur, if yuh tink am'ma juz going to let dis good shit go ta waste?"
"Drop it!" He said more forcefully. "Please Trish."
"Hell nooo, mon," she slurred. "Kan't let dis go ta waste."
Look, you're who’s wasted Trish," he began. “You know something? Anyone that has ever loved you or tried to help you, you’ve managed to turn against you. Grandma took care of you most of your life and you did not even have the decency to show up for her funeral to pay your respects. Look at you now, Trish…a slave to man-made chemicals.”
"Please go Kurt," she half pleaded, half cried. "Tis good seeing yuh, but I don’t tink ah want yuh meddling in ma life. Ah don't need yah preaching or yah from-the-heart advice. Just lay ah few Franklin’s on me and go. Ah don't need any ting from yuh, except maybe yuh fock'n money," she chuckled like a demented person. “And Grandma, she luv’d yuh, Kurt. It t’was always you Kurt, she luv’d! Not me. Always Kurt dis. Kurt dat.”
"You don't mean that Trish," he replied, closing in on her. "I know you don't. Because that’s not the way it was."
"Ah means every ting ah say, ma brothur, now am'ma politely asking yuh not to come an-ty closer," she warned, pumping her vein by making a fist several times over and extending and retracting her forearm in an upward and downward motion, a narrow band of rubber tied tightly around her bicep. She was about to inject herself when he reached out with lightning speed, with a slap to the wrist, and dislodged her grip on the needle. As the needle went flying across the room, Trish went flying into a rage. "What da hell’s wrong with yuh, mon?" she yelled as she rushed to recover the needle. Kurt dashed after her and grabbed her just before she could secure the needle in her grip. A brief struggle ensued.
Though she scratched and kneed and kicked at him he held onto her with a firm grip. Growing tired of kicking him she balled her small fists and pounded away furiously at his massive chest until she could pound no more. She eventually broke down and sobbed as he embraced her.
"Kurt, ah need help," she cried, hating herself for the hurt and pain she had caused him. "Ah really need help. Ah didn't mean all doze terrible tings ah just said to yuh. Oooh, God! Please forgive me! Ah didn't mean any of doze tings. Yuh know ah didn't Kurt!"
"I know, big sister," he said, tenderly stroking the side of her head. "And I am going to get that help for you. We have got to try to get you through this. And we will!" he assured her.
"Oooh Kurt, am’ma so miserable," she added, her eyes wet with tears.
"Trust me. I am going to get you the help you need, okay?"
"Ah just want ma babies back," she sobbed angrily. "Doze bastards took ma babies!"
"Who took them Trish?"
"Da goddamned State, daz's who."
"Don't worry, I'm sure they are alright. I promise, we'll get them back Trish, as soon as we can get you some help, alright?"
The next day he convinced Trish to check herself into a rehab center, for the fourth time in six years. Again, he promised to do everything in his power to help her regain custody of her children once she successfully completed her drug treatment program.
After ensuring that the mortgage was paid to date Kurt made arrangements to have her house professionally cleaned, from top to bottom. He instructed Earl to lease it out for the six months his sister would be undergoing drug rehab and counseling. Before departing Trenton, he visited Trish’s twins, who had been placed with a family member. That evening he flew back to Florida.
The plane ride was solemn and thought provoking. He was haunted and deeply troubled by the images of his sister in her disheveled state of mind, and her poor physical state. He could not fathom how anyone could succumb to such self-degenerating vices. And of all people, Trish.
Though frustrated he knew Yvette would smooth things out, make him smile again. By talking about it and sharing his feelings with her, he felt he could restore some of his faith in humanity.
When he arrived at his Brentwood estate he quickly settled in. The weekend had been long and emotionally draining. He felt low and longed for the comfort of Yvette's embrace, her wisdom and reassuring smile.
Picking up the phone he called her but she failed to answer. He tried later and again, no response. A sense of frustration weld inside of him. He wanted to leave a message but her answering machine was turned off. This whole scene had déjà vu written all over it. Where was she, he pondered? Surely she remembered that he was scheduled to return home today. Had he not clearly state the time he expected to be at home, the night before, when they talked briefly on the phone?
Setting the phone down, he walked thoughtfully over to the bay window of his study and glanced out of it. Something must have come up, he reasoned. What, though? Minutes later he decided to run a few errands, picking up dinner for two along the way. Surely she would be home by the time he completed his rounds, he reasoned. Not that she had to be, just that she should be. Deep inside, he needed her to be.
As he neared her condo he saw a familiar black sports car pull out of her driveway. The person inside apparently noticed Kurt's approach and waved as the two passed each other. With a slight hesitation Kurt released one hand from the steering wheel and waved back, though half-heartedly. The smiling face belonged to Antwan, as expected. Smirk was more like it. What the hell was he doing here, he pondered anxiously?
Yvette answered the doorbell promptly, greeting Kurt with a warm southern smile. She pushed her face close to his and kissed him with warm lips. Very tenderly, she stroked a lock of his hair and told him how much she had missed him. "Come on in!" she invited. "Boy, does that food smells good!" she exclaimed, glancing into the brown bag. "How was the trip?”
“It was draining, to say the least. But we’ll talk about it later.”
“I understand,” she replied. “I know you’re probably tired and hungry. By the way, there's someone here I want you to meet."
"I thought your company just left?" he said drily, still holding two brown bags, one containing his piping hot Chinese food, the other frozen yogurt.
"Oh, I see," Yvette murmured looking down and away, then back at her slightly perturbed beau.
Having anticipated another chance meeting between the two, Yvette was ready to correct what amounted to be nothing more than a misconception on Kurt’s part, though she would approach the subject matter rather delicately.
"I take it you saw Antwan on your way in," she said politely, hiding her dismay at Kurt's breach of trust. "I don't know why I am explaining this to you, especially after the talk we had and after what we have shared intimately between us.
“Just the same, I can assure you that the person I am deeply mad about is standing right here in front of me," she smiled, her eyes gentle and compelling. "As for Antwan,
I received a call yesterday from a very special person who informed me that she was flying into Tampa today to attend a church convention.
“Knowing that I would be unable to get off work in time to pick her up at the airport, and with you being out of town, I was left with very few other options. So I asked Antwan if he could pick my special guest up for me and bring her here. And if you’re wondering why I did not ask Juanita, she’s out of town, too. Kurt, I just did not have anyone else I could turn to. It's as simple as that."
For a moment Kurt was quiet and thoughtful. He slowly began to realize he had jumped the gun on this one. He felt he should have trusted her more.
Yvette leveled a gaze his way, then shrugged, her eyes uncertain. "Kurt, I still consider Antwan my friend. Please try to understand that. Anyway, why didn't you call me when you got in? I would have told you then sweetheart that I was running behind schedule, and why."
"I did call," Kurt replied softly, with a slight sigh, then added, "but you were not home and your answering machine was not activated."
"Oops! I’m sorry, dear! I forgot that I left my cell phone in the car. Please forgive me."
"Listen, I need to apologize for being short with you,” he said, feeling betrayed by the jealousy he had tried so hard to contain inside. “I've been under a lot of stress this weekend. And I was anxious to see you. When I couldn’t get in touch with you, I grew concerned, that’s all."
"I understand," she said simply. "Like you said, baby, we'll talk about it later, okay?"
"I’m always a little tense after dealing with my sister, that’s all.”
“I see,” she returned, as her eyes studied his face. “Well, how would you like a well-deserved massage later, honey?”
“A massage?" he said with a toothy smile.
"Yes," she glowed. "You look like you can use one. How was the plane ride?"
"Pretty smooth. I’m just tired," he said, his eyes strained, as though he had not slept in days.
"Oh, my poor baby," she cooed, stroking his face tenderly with her hand.
The two stood glaring at each other, like young lovers sharing a visual confidence.
"Did you miss me?" he asked, lowering his face to her eye level. What he noticed most about her were her large and expressive eyes, soft and enchanting.
"Very much," she purred.
"Still care about me?"
"With every beat of my heart," she beamed.
Pulling her into his arms he said, "Then show me how much."
With a warm endearing smile, she snaked her arms up around his broad shoulders, and kissed him long and hard. In return, he tightened his embrace and kissed her back just as long, just as hard.
"My! I guess you did miss me," he exclaimed, gazing into her lovely eyes.
"More than my words can ever convey," she beamed. "And you? Did you think about me? Did you miss me?"
"More than any words can ever convey," he replied, his voice deep and sensual.
"I know you must be starving," she said brightly, teasing his hair with her fingers.
"Now that you mentioned it, I am!" He injected. "Hey, didn't you say you had someone you wanted to introduce me to? Perhaps we ought to go upstairs and meet this special person."
She nodded yes, took him by the hand and together they ascended the staircase to her living quarters where she promptly introduced him to her mother, Ms. WaLinda Roberts and her mother’s friend, Elsie Walker.
Kurt took a deep breath, pushing down the impulse to run. Suddenly he wasn't feeling so enthusiastic. On the contrary he felt ill prepared for such an impromptu meeting. He just wished he had been forewarned. Meeting mothers was as important as meeting heads of state. There were certain protocols to follow. For now, he would have to be his usual charming self without the advantage of advance warning. The three exchanged greetings and said a kind word or two about each other, from information they had garnished from prior conversations with Yvette.
Kurt sat down at the kitchen table, joining Ms. Roberts and Mrs. Walker, as Yvette poured him a cold glass of punch. Ms. Roberts was already sipping from a cup of hot coffee before her.
Yvette walked over. "I - I don't know where to begin...with your trip to New Jersey or mother's usher's convention," she stammered out.
"Kurt you go first," Ms. Roberts insisted. "I've got nothing but time on my hands for the next couple of hours. Besides, the convention begins tomorrow."
Good, Yvette thought. Now she would not have to divide her attention between her mother, Mrs. Walker, and Kurt. One would start off, then the other.
Yvette sat down at the table and joined her guests. As Kurt talked of his recent emotional visit to New Jersey the three women sat forward and listen intently. By the way they hung onto his every word he could sense they were moved by his experience in New Jersey. Afterwards, he apologized for not having a more pleasant story to tell them. They told him that they understood his frustration.
The conversation then turned to Kurt and Yvette’s own relationship. Her mother knew the two had met under heroic circumstances. She thanked a slightly embarrassed Kurt personally for intervening in her daughter’s behalf. Mrs. Walker, and quite mischievously, stunned the two by asking them, rather bluntly, when were they getting married? Near speechless, Yvette quickly explained that they were not even engaged. Mrs. Walker was not hearing any of this. She continued to tease them by saying that the way the two had been locking eyes throughout the conversation, she assumed they had to be at least engaged. Not one for being put off; she made them promise to invite her to the wedding, whenever that might be.
Yvette invited him to have dinner but he politely decline, explaining that he was feeling rather tired from the flight and felt that he needed to go home and get some rest. He thanked the three lovely women for a lovely evening, retrieved his brown bag, and pint of frozen yogurt, from Yvette's refrigerator, and left for home. He definitely wanted a rain check on that massage; he teased Yvette privately before leaving.
Upon arrival at his grand but lonely estate Kurt eased the Chinese food in the microwave oven and set the timer. His cook was out for a couple of well-deserved days off. During this time, he had sunk back into a world of fast foods and microwave dinners.
Kurt was about to call it a day when the phone rang. It was Yvette calling to apologize for not giving him ample warning of her mother's visit. She said she had been caught by surprise too, by the short notice given to her. She did manage to endear him by relaying that her mother and Mrs. Walker were very impressed with him.
As their conversation drew on, he mentioned that he needed to get away. That he needed a mini vacation, of sorts. At that point Yvette suggested that they do something together. The two lovers made plans to travel to West Palm Beach for several days of sunshine, relaxation, and wet beaches. A done deal, he hung up the phone and ironed some clothes for work, watched Fox News, and then called it a night.
The workday came much too soon, for Kurt. The dream he had the night before, featuring Yvette, could have gone on another six hours, if he could have had his way. Arriving at work, he came face to face with another who wanted to be his dream come true. That person was none other than Carlotta Jones. She was his first client of the day. She was as beautiful as ever and dressed provocatively as ever. Talk about temptation. This sophisticated woman embodied it.
"How are things Ms. Jones?" Kurt asked, as he sat down at his desk. It had been nearly seven months since he last saw Carlotta.
"Just fine, Mr. Douglass," she answered in a soft sexy tone. "I see that your office still lacks a woman's touch."
Glancing about the office he said, "Well, I did hang a few posters on the wall since your last visit."
"I see," she almost purred, then added, "but they are agency posters. There's still nothing up there on the walls that's revealing in nature about you the person."
“As I said before, I believe one should cultivate a little mystery about themselves."
"I guess you have a point
there. I can see how a little mystery can make a person more interesting."
"It’s not that far out a concept, Mrs. Jones.”
There was a pause.
"Well, I just stopped by to turn in some forms to Veteran’s Administration and to see how you were doing. As for myself, I am doing fine. I am working at a computer firm, now. The pay is good. The people are pleasant. I really like it. Being a civilian isn't as bad as I thought it would be. It is definitely better than life in the Air Force. By the way, you can call me Carlotta. Please, I insist."
"Well, I am glad to hear about your good news, Carlotta. You are an extremely bright and intelligent woman. I hope everything works out for you. Matter-of-fact, I know things will work out for you."
"Thank you. You always have something positive to say when I come here. That means a lot to me. You know, perhaps I can treat you to lunch one afternoon."
"Perhaps Carlotta, as a friend."
"As friends," she echoed softly. "Sounds like someone’s already in the picture."
"There is."
"Then I must insist that we have lunch, as friends," she said endearingly. "What's your favorite cuisine?"
"Oh, I'm partial to Italian and Chinese, but I like Spanish cuisine, too."
"I love Italian and Chinese myself," she beamed.
There was another pause.
"Well, I didn't come here to take up all of your time. I guess I'll be on my way. Like I said, I was in the area and decided to drop by to see how you were doing," she said rising up from the chair in her tight form fitting skirt, her breasts about to spill out of her low cut blouse.
"I certainly appreciate the thought, Carlotta. Thank you for remembering me and for keeping me updated," he said going around the desk to open the office door.
Glancing back at her he tried his best not to be influenced by the, not so subtle cleavage show she was putting on for him, with the aid of her low cut blouse. As he held the door open, she passed through with a sultry look in her eyes then paused, assuming a sensuous pose, like a fashion model, while he closed the door behind them. He could not help but inhale the sweet fragrance of her perfume, which lingered in her wake, as he quickly joined her at her side. He escorted her to the main lobby. Boy, the hazards of being an agency field soldier on the social front lines, from day to day, he thought.
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