Theresa started to blow him off. She hadn’t forgotten how she felt while watching him with that Table Wine girl at the Washington Duke Inn. But the irresistible smile radiating from Lamont’s face stopped her from saying something ugly.
“Santa, Santa, Santa,” Theresa began lightheartedly. “For you to even contemplate whether or not you and Mrs. Claus can work together is a travesty. In my humble opinion, Mrs. Claus has to be the quintessence of the concept of ‘helpmeet.’”
Lamont opened his mouth to retort but nothing could come out that was on par with what had just been said. Theresa grinned and then signified by lightly flicking some imaginary dust off her right shoulder.
Uncle Joseph took a big gulp of his orange juice and said, “Girl, if you gonna be a pimp, just gone and dust you shoulder off,” to the surprise of everybody in the room.
Nina, who was twenty-nine, said, “Gone, Uncle Joseph, with your bad self. Didn’t know you liked Jay-Z.”
“Me neither,” James mouthed to Lamont, wondering if there might be some extra-frisky stuff blended in with that fresh-squeezed orange juice their uncle was so busy slurping out of a mayonnaise jar.
Theresa clasped her hand on Lamont’s shoulder and said, “So, you game for working with me, Santa?”
“Ready and willing to handle anything you want to throw my way, Miss Thang,” Lamont answered with so much heat in his voice, Theresa felt warmth starting to spread across her cheeks. But the progress of that warm flush was quickly chilled with disappointment when the lobby door opened and Lamont’s ex-wife, Gwen, along with Nina’s oldest sister, Lauren Rhodes-Ramirez, walked in.
Lamont gave Lauren a big smile and then turned toward Gwen, who came and stood next to Theresa and gazed into his eyes like they were about to go out on a date. Theresa moved back a few steps, not quite sure what to do, and Gwen quickly absorbed her spot, commandeering all of Lamont’s attention.
“Hey you,” she said, not making any attempt to speak to anybody else.
“Hey yourself,” Lamont answered.
Theresa walked over to the table and retrieved her purse. It was time to go. There was no way she was going to stand here and watch Lamont let his ex-wife monopolize his attention at her expense.
And to add insult to injury, the girl had come up in here to have a detailed and serious discussion about her trip to the Super WalMart store in Raleigh. From the way she was going on, it would make you think Wal-Mart was some exclusive department store and Raleigh the only location ritzy and exotic enough to host such an establishment.
Theresa made her way toward the door.
“You leaving?” James asked her.
“I have to get to the store. But I just wanted to thank you for keeping the ring safe.” Up until this moment, she’d forgotten that she was supposed to be returning it to Parvell. “Too bad,” Theresa thought. She really didn’t want to talk to Parvell again, and giving the ring away would be the perfect excuse for not calling him.
“Well okay,” James said and kissed Theresa on the cheek right before she walked out of the door. He glanced over at his brother and frowned. Lamont hadn’t had any romantic feelings for Gwen since they parted ways ten years ago. But he had never learned how to draw the proper boundary lines with the girl. And that had cost him dearly by running away good women who refused to be second-placed by Gwen. Women like Theresa Hopson.
As soon as the door closed behind Theresa, Lauren went over to Uncle Joseph and whispered, “I’m going to have to use that mack approach with my husband.”
“Girl, what you talking ’bout? Who up in here mackin’?” Uncle Joseph asked, all loud and unconcerned about who heard him.
“Shhh,” Lauren said and nodded at Gwen and Lamont.
Uncle Joseph drained the mayonnaise jar and said in a slightly lower voice, “I don’t know why that boy won’t put that girl in her proper place.”
“Who?” Nina asked, coming from the kitchen nursing a cup of hot tea.
“Them,” Uncle Joseph stated, with a finger pointed boldly at Lamont and Gwen. His nephew may feel it necessary to handle Gwen with kid gloves but he didn’t.
“He won’t do it, Uncle Joseph, ’cause he allows Gwen to make him feel guilty about filing separation papers and carrying out that divorce when he came home that time and found the locks changed and his good suits strewn across a wet lawn,” James said.
“Yeah, I think you right on that one, son,” Uncle Joseph said. “But Lamont needs to give that up, and Gwen, too, for that matter. It’s over with and that boy ain’t coming back to her no matter how much she calls him, and finds ways to talk on and on about nothing when she ’round him. And when he finally decides to remarry, Gwen is gonna get her feelings hurt, and so will Lamont. ’Cause no wife worth her salt is going to stand by and let that girl be all up in her husband’s face without kicking up some dust.”
Uncle Joseph leveled a firm eye on both Nina and Lauren.
“You two heed what I’m saying. Don’t you ever let your girlfriends talk you into being cold and mean to your man when you are going through a few bumps and bruises with him. If you love the man, and you know he is a good man, you better sit down and work it out with him. But if you listen to your friends, you’ll end up losing your man. And when he is gone, you’ll have to watch him be happy and in love with somebody else. And mark my words, that new woman will not be interested in catering to you and your feelings simply because you let a good man walk out of your life.”
“Y’all better listen to Uncle Joseph,” James said, “because he’s right. I’ve seen it happen too many times. And good brothers do not come back when you lead them to think you don’t want them anymore.”
“So, you think Bossman is interested in Theresa Hopson?” Nina quizzed, more eager for info on her boss’s future than a lingering past that should have been laid to rest a long time ago.
“You a nosy little something, Nina,” Lauren scolded.
“Forget you, Lauren,” Nina countered. “You not the boss of me.”
“Stop it,” Uncle Joseph commanded. Those Rhodes sisters ran the best architectural and contracting firm in the state. And their work was exceptional. But sometimes they made him want to go outside and get a fresh switch and use it to whip their behinds.
“Well, she started it,” Lauren said and made a face at her sister, who said, “You ’sposed to be somebody’s mama, and here you are acting like you are the child.”
Lauren backed down. She took great pride in being what she thought was a mature mother of her three boys.
Finally, after the uncalled-for drama subsided, Uncle Joseph answered Nina’s question.
“Lamont likes Theresa—and a lot more than he is willing to own up to. But he has been so contented with bachelorhood for so long that he, despite a rich arsenal of playa skills, has forgotten how to woo a woman like Theresa Hopson.”
“What you mean, Uncle Joseph,” Nina said, in what everybody who knew her always called her “old woman” voice, “is that Boss-man can put a smooth move on a temporary ‘shorty.’ But he is out of his league when he runs into that brick wall we call commitment.”
“I hear you, li’l sister,” Lauren said. “That’s why Gwen gets away with so much. She runs off all his ‘temps.’”
“Yeah,” Uncle Joseph said. “But that ain’t a good thing by any means. Lamont has just let Gwen help him run off Theresa. And that fool boy, as smooth and cool a player as he thinks he is, doesn’t even know it.”
Lamont gave Gwen a kind pat on the shoulder and stared at his watch, hoping that she took the hint and left. He didn’t remember a word she’d said to him and was piqued with himself for allowing his ex-wife to run off a woman he was interested in. Sometimes he could kick himself for letting Gwen do that to him.
“Is Theresa gone?” he asked, realizing that the members of the huddle before him were all up in his business.
“Yeah,” James stated. “Left as soon as you let Gwen monopolize your time with tales of he
r travels to the land of Kmart.”
Lamont frowned and said, “Target, James.”
“No, I think it was Super Wal-Mart, boss,” Lauren said.
“Well whatever it was,” James replied, “Theresa left because you let another woman push her off to the side over some nonsense. Gwen isn’t your wife and not eligible for any special privileges where you are concerned.”
“Gwen is Monty’s mother,” Lamont said with a hard edge in his voice. “Furthermore, she is a good person, a great mother, and deserves to be treated with respect.”
“You are absolutely right, big bro. Gwen is a wonderful person, and she definitely deserves your respect. But what she doesn’t deserve is the right to think that she can be treated special like the two of you are still a couple.”
At that point, both Lauren and Nina thought it best to go to the conference room and prepare for their meeting, as much as they would have loved to stay and watch the colored brothers’ showdown. Uncle Joseph, on the other hand, sat down on the couch and waited for the show to begin.
“You didn’t have to go there, James, and you know it.”
“Yes, I did. I hate to see you guilty over hurting Gwen when you realized that you couldn’t go back into that marriage after she put you out, told you that she wanted a divorce, then changed her mind after you believed her and left. Your divorce is a decade old and you need to let that go. When you do that, you’ll find that Gwen will act better and not expect you to shout her up and down simply because she dropped Monty in the doctor’s hands.”
“But I’m not angry at Gwen, don’t have any issues with her,” Lamont said defensively, deliberately skirting the issue of guilt.
“No one said that. And no one in their right mind believes that foolishness you just threw at me, either. All I am asking you to do is to let go of guilt over a decision you believed you needed to make. Because if you really believed that you were wrong to divorce her, you’d been back with her years ago. But you are not with her and that speaks volumes in my book.”
“And,” Uncle Joseph added from his chair, “the first thing you need to do to help put this matter to rest is rededicate your life to Christ. When you do that and get the Holy Ghost, you’ll find your relationship changing for the better with Gwen. Because then you will have forgiven yourself because you’ll know that God has already forgiven you. And you will feel comfortable about insisting that Gwen respect the boundaries you need to establish between you and her, and not care whether she likes it or not.”
Uncle Joseph got up and started walking back to the conference room. He and Queen both knew that when Lamont put the Lord first in his life, God would see him through this and his struggle to get that contract for the Cashmere.
Lamont sighed heavily. Sometimes he got tired of hearing about him and Gwen and wished folks would just leave this matter alone.
“You think Theresa will still play Mrs. Claus?” he asked his brother, hoping to change the subject.
“I know she will. And if you want to have a great time with her doing this, I suggest that you get over to her store as soon as you can and try to make amends.”
Lamont nodded. James was right. He had to remember that women didn’t take too kindly to a man teasing and flirting with them, only to cut the interaction short to talk to another woman.
“I’ll drop by before our meeting at church.”
“Sounds good,” was all James said, as they both went down to the conference room to try and figure out what to do to build their case for that contract.
Chapter Eight
JETHRO HADN’T EVEN REALIZED THAT HIS TELEPHONE was still off the hook until that annoying sound kept buzzing in his ears, reminding him to put it back on the receiver. Lately, most of his conversations with Parvell Sykes ended on a very expensive and sour note. As he sat there fuming, he realized that tonight was no better—no worse—than the last time he did a round with that black, jackleg preacher.
“Twenty-one freakin’ thousand dollars,” Jethro exclaimed. “And this is on top of the first eighteen grand I’ve thrown that nnn . . . man’s way.”
“What twenty-one, eighteen thousand dollars,” his latest mistress, Patricia Harmon, asked. She had never been one to miss out on any mention of money—intentional or otherwise.
“Patricia, why are you so concerned about my money?” he snapped.
“Yeah, it might be your money,” she thought, “but it came from that same petty cash flow you use for me.” Twenty-one thousand dollars would have paid her mortgage for seven months.
Patricia held her left hand under the light on Jethro’s desk to admire the monstrously expensive ring he told her was for his wife. It had to be worth at least $15,000. She wanted that ring for herself, to prove to her close girlfriends that she was the one other woman capable of luring Jethro out of his marriage to Bailey Catherine.
Jethro held out his hand for the ring. Patricia slipped it off her finger and tossed it in his hand, with what she hoped was a lot of attitude. Sometimes she envied black women’s ability to convey a thought without so much as moving a tongue muscle. Those sistahs could say a “mouthful” with something as simple as the snap of their necks, or a flick of the wrist.
“You’re going to have to spend a little more time over on Fayetteville Street, to perfect that kind of body language,” Jethro said, and then gave a harsh laugh when Patricia sent him a frosty glare.
“Naa . . . scratch that thought,” he said. “I’d hate to see one more misguided and totally unnecessary news report on our historically black Hillside High School because one of those teeny-bopping ‘sista-girls-in-training’ put you in your place with a dress-down you’d never forget.”
Patricia was seething, her faux, coconut bosom heaving fiercely with each breath, face so red, it looked like Jethro had slapped her. She snatched up her purse and car keys, signaling that their evening, which had only begun thirty-five minutes ago, had come to an abrupt end.
Jethro really didn’t care what she did. Patricia thought she was far more important to him than she was and needed to be put back in her place. He picked up the telephone and dialed the number for his building’s security office, and said, “Send Anthony up here to escort Mrs. Harmon to her car,” and hung up.
“May I ask just one question?” Patricia spat out.
Jethro nodded calmly, hoping that this wasn’t going to be one of those diatribes women went into when they were insulted by a man, and were too concerned about losing him to really get him straight.
“When did you ever care anything about the blacks in this city?”
“I beg your pardon,” he said icily.
“I find your concern for poor, little black Hillside High School interesting,” she went on. “Because if you have your way, not one of the parents of those little mouthy ‘sistah-girls-in-training’ will be able to afford to live in what used to be their own neighborhood.”
Jethro walked over to Patricia, who was now standing at the open door. He lifted her chin with his fingers and held her eyes to his. When she tried to pull away, he tightened his grip on her.
“I’m rich, I’m greedy, and I don’t put much stock in ethics and morality. And even though I love to twist the truth to suit my needs, I do know the truth when I see it. And these things are true. Hillside is not the jungle some people in Durham try to make it out to be. Parvell Sykes successfully defrauded me of thirty-nine thousand dollars. Charmayne Robinson is smart, I need her to get what I want from the blacks, and I intend to ahh, hit that, as the ‘brothahs’ would say, first chance I get.
“And you know what else, Patricia? The truth is that you are going to help me win over the DUDC because you want to keep me in your bed, along with all the money that goes into your account throughout the duration of this affair.”
Patricia bristled.
“You know something,” he said cheerfully, while clenching her jaw so tightly it felt like it might crack in his hands. “If I didn’t want to go home and make
passionate love to my wife, I’d sit back in my chair and treat you to a mouthful.”
Patricia managed to wrench her chin away and raised her hand. But Jethro reached up and grabbed her wrist with the speed and dexterity of the conference title quarterback that he used to be. When she tried to lower her arm, he relaxed his grip and said, “Go home, take a long, hot soak, and ask yourself if you can handle this affair, Patricia. It can last as long as you want it to last. But know that this is all there is and all there will ever be.”
Tears welled up in Patricia’s eyes and Jethro handed her a monogrammed handkerchief, just a teensy bit remorseful that he made her cry. It was never a wise thing to get your mistress so upset she felt a need to seek revenge on you. And Patricia Ann Harmon was just the type of woman who would get you in the messiest and the most inconvenient ways.
Her last lover almost lost everything—his wife, family, million-dollar home, and a chunk of his income to the astronomical spousal support payment his wife’s lawyer was asking for if she divorced him. Desperate and fearing bankruptcy, the fool managed to patch things up with his wife, and remained in what Jethro always secretly believed was a horrid marriage to an ugly, boring, no-leg-shaving, Birkenstock-wearing woman.
To make a wretched situation worse, the clown still lost money when his lawyer recommended an out-of-court settlement, when Patricia threatened to put all of his business in the street with a vicious and very public civil suit. No, it was not wise to let this woman leave this room mad, hurt, disappointed, crying, and feeling rejected. Jethro took the handkerchief out of Patricia’s hand and gently wiped a tear off her face, leaving a pale streak where her “natural tan” makeup used to be.
“Babe,” he said softly, and kissed the spot where the tear had been, wishing he didn’t want to rush home to Bailey, who had called right before Patricia walked into his office, whispering a naughty tale about what she was and wasn’t wearing. “I’m sorry. Can I make it up to you this weekend?”
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