Joy

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  Two short knocks at the door interrupted her thoughts. Before she could utter a word, the door opened and David Montgomery strolled in. Anya hated when he did that, just walked in without her permission. But no matter how many times she brought it to his attention, he continued doing it.

  “Alaister finished all the numbers for the presentation.” David sank into one of the cream-colored leather chairs in front of her desk and crossed his legs. “I've looked it over, but you can glance at it before tomorrow's meeting.”

  Anya gazed at him, sitting so casually, decked out in one of his tailored suits that looked like it had been sewn directly onto his muscular frame.

  “How does it look to you, David?” Anya asked in her most professional voice.

  “It's fine, I'm just giving you this professional courtesy.”

  Anya cringed, took a deep breath, and willed herself not to blow like an over-inflated tire. David had been working with her for a bit more than a month, but this wasn't the first time he had spoken to her in a tone bordering on insubordination.

  She had to remind herself why she had hired David in the first place—University of Virginia M.B.A., certified financial planner, ten years of financial-planning experience with American Express in the Dallas office, national top-producer awards. Anya knew that David could help Mitchell & Associates Financial Services achieve all of her objectives.

  Still twisting her ring, she stared at him, hoping her eyes delivered her message. She took off the ring, placing it on the desk before she spoke.

  “Is this the complete report?” Her voice was stiff.

  “Yep, all numbers have been triple-checked. You know I never bring you anything unless it's perfect.”

  Anya pursed her lips, leaned across the wide desk and took the report from David's outstretched hand, tugging at it just enough for him to feel it, and just enough for her to regret it. She shouldn't be acting this way—it wasn't David's fault she was in a bad mood.

  “I'm getting ready to leave, so I'll take this home.” She tried to soften her voice.

  David raised his thick eyebrows. “You're leaving? I thought you'd review this right now. The meeting is set for nine. So if you have any changes …”

  Anya lifted her chin. “If I have any changes, I'll handle them in the meeting.”

  David held up his hands in surrender. “Whatever you say, Boss.” He walked to the door, then turned back suddenly. “You know we're going to get this account. All of the numbers show that we can save them almost $100,000 a year on their benefits. I know Linden will be ours.” He grinned, his deep-set dimples becoming even more visible.

  The moment she was alone, Anya stuffed the report into her briefcase. He probably thinks I'm suffering from PMS or something, she thought. But she didn't have time to think about that now. If she hurried, she would still be on time for Braxton. She picked up her briefcase and rushed out, without saying a word to her flustered assistant.

  Anya leaned into the soft seat and the tension of the day began to ebb from her shoulders. The traffic flowed easily down Wilshire—a surprise because shed expected the trek from Wilshire to Melrose to be, at best, sluggish and stressful.

  She popped the CD of her church's choir into the player and started swaying as the melodious sounds filled her car. This is what I should have done before, she thought. Praising the Lord always took her back to where she was supposed to be.

  She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel pretending she was Sheila E., when she was jolted by the shrill ring of her cell phone. She debated whether to answer. It was either Braxton checking on her or Dianna calling with an urgent message that she didn't want to know about. “I'm not going to answer!” she yelled at the portable phone. On cue, the ringing stopped.

  With a wide smile, she continued tapping her fingers to the music, but groaned a few seconds later when the phone rang again. She picked it up on the second ring. “Yes!”

  “Anya?”

  Who else would be answering her cell phone? “Yes, Dianna. What is it?”

  “God, I thought I would never get you. You ran out so fast and you didn't tell me where you were going. So I figured the only way to get you would be on your cell phone and I am glad—”

  Anya rolled her eyes. She loved Dianna, who was more than competent. But sometimes… “What is it?” she interrupted.

  “Oh, you left your ring.”

  Dianna spoke so casually, it took a moment for Anya to realize what she was saying. Confused, she looked down at her left hand as her right one clutched the steering wheel. The third finger was bare.

  “Oh, no,” she groaned, vaguely remembering when she'd taken it off.

  “I went into your office to straighten your desk and your ring was just sitting there, sparkling. I still think it's one of the prettiest rings I've ever seen. I can't wait until—”

  “Di-an-na!”

  “Sorry.”

  Anya considered her options. “Look, I'm supposed to meet Braxton”—she glanced down at the clock and moaned—“in five minutes. And I'm five minutes from the restaurant.”

  “I'll bring it to you! Where are you and Braxton going to be?”

  “No!” Anya shook her head at the thought of Dianna popping into the restaurant saying “Surprise! Here's your ring.” What would Braxton think?

  “I'll turn around and drive back down Wilshire. Meet me at the corner of … Wilshire and LaCienega. I'll be waiting for you right in front of the Red Lobster.”

  “Okay.” Dianna seemed to sing the word.

  “And, Dianna”—Anya softened her voice—“thank you.” Anya clicked off the phone and looked at her naked finger once again. How would she have explained it?

  She made an illegal U-turn and headed back toward her office, shivering as goosebumps rose on her arms despite the closed car windows. Just the other day, she had found her ring on the edge of the kitchen sink.

  Is this a sign? she asked herself. She shook her head and sighed deeply. The tension of the day was gone, but replacing it was a feeling of deep uneasiness.

  By the time Anya pulled up in front of Crossroads, she was thirty minutes late. She jumped from the car and tossed her keys to the valet. “Thanks, Michael,” she called to the young man who often parked her car when she and Braxton came to her favorite restaurant.

  Her heels clicked against the brick walkway as she rushed through the entrance, then stopped short behind a couple talking to the waitress. She squinted into the dark room and, seconds later, saw Braxton waving at her. She tried to read his expression, but he was too far away for her to discern his mood. The hostess motioned for Anya to follow her.

  Heads turned as Anya made her way to the table. She strolled with the confidence of royalty, gliding by the restaurant's packed tables.

  Anya kept her soft brown eyes fixed on Braxton and never noticed the admiring glances from men and women alike. When she was close enough to see Braxton's smile, she exhaled.

  Braxton took her raincoat and handed it to the hostess. “I got a call from my editor just as I was leaving, so I just got here myself.”

  Anya was relieved when Braxton pulled her close, hugging her. He was a head taller than she was, and he had to lean over slightly to rub his smooth face along her cheek. She eased her hand up his back, feeling the toned hardness, and closed her eyes trying to enjoy the moment. Braxton had a way of contacting her emotional nerve-endings with one gentle touch. But she didn't feel it today, and pulled back.

  He hesitated for an instant, then brushed his lips against her cheek.

  Anya responded with a smile. “How are you?”

  “Wonderful, now. You sound like you had a tough day.” He pulled the chair out for her, then moved his chair closer to her. With gentle fingers, he massaged her shoulder.

  She nodded and closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of her muscles relaxing. “We're jamming in the final changes for the presentation tomorrow, and I got stuck on the 405 and then I got into a little thing with David
.” Anya's words rolled over each other. She opened her eyes, glanced at the ring, then said a quick, silent prayer of thanks.

  “Another little thing with David? What was it this time?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Anya said, waving her hand and ring in the air.

  “Just the usual …” She left the sentence unfinished and picked up the menu. The aroma of the Creole spices teased her, reminding her just how hungry she was.

  “Well, I don't want you to think about work. I have something that will take your mind off it.” He reached to the chair next to him.

  A bunch of yellow roses suddenly appeared on the table. She dropped the menu and brought the bundle to her face. “Thank you!” She smiled. “But what's the occasion?”

  Braxton kissed her fingers. “The same as every day. I love you.”

  His light brown eyes enveloped her. She did love this man.

  “Oh, those are beautiful!” the waitress exclaimed as she came to their table. “Are you guys celebrating something special tonight?”

  Anya looked directly at Braxton. “We're celebrating our love.” She laid the flowers on the table.

  “Hey, now, that's a good reason. Would you like something to drink?” the waitress asked Anya.

  “An iced tea.” The waitress nodded and left them alone. Anya picked up the menu again. “I think we should order.”

  “I already ordered, honey,” Braxton said, taking her hand. “When I realized you were running late, I thought I'd better. That's okay, isnt it?

  It was a moment before Anya responded. “What are we having?”

  “I ordered the Georgia salad for you. I didn't think you'd want anything heavier.”

  Her smile drooped, and she pulled her hand away. From a nearby table, the aroma of the crawfish stew drifted over to her. She inhaled, then picked up her glass of water and took a long sip.

  Braxton took her hand into his once again. “Anya, there is something we need to talk about.”

  She chewed on a piece of ice. “What is it?”

  He sighed and dropped his head, dropping her hand at the same time. “I've been thinking about this marriage counseling.”

  It was Anya's turn to sigh. “Braxton, not again.”

  “I don't want to fight,” he said, holding up his hands. “But I think we should really think about this before we start. It will be harder to get out once we begin.”

  Anya shook her head, but remained silent.

  “Counseling is going to be a waste of time,” Braxton continued. “You haven't gone through this before, but I have.”

  Anya closed her eyes and held her head in her hands. Around her, glasses and silverware clanked and laughter rose. But all she could hear were the words of the many discussions they'd already had on this subject. Some time passed before she opened her eyes.

  “Braxton, just because you think counseling didn't work for you before, it doesn't mean it won't work now. If that were true, then you shouldn't even be thinking about getting married again, because your first marriage didn't work out.”

  He shook his head. “I'm not saying that. I'm saying that counseling is for kids just starting out.”

  “This has nothing to do with age. This is about taking time with our pastor to discuss all of those issues that come up in marriage. It's about being prepared, Braxton.”

  “We don't need outside help with our relationship.”

  “Obviously you could have used some help before.” She softened her tone when he winced. “Braxton, just look at this for what it is—a way for us to learn how to keep God in the center of our lives. Why are you so against this?”

  “Honey, I'm not against anything. I'm just saying that we already have God in our lives. We're two born-again, spirit-filled, committed-to-God people. That's all we need. We don't need counseling.” He paused. “But if you're going to force the issue …”

  She sat straighter in her chair. Her voice went up an octave. “You do remember that Pastor Ford requires this counseling if we want her to marry us.”

  He nodded.

  “So, maybe you're saying something else.” She twisted her ring with her words. “Maybe you don't want to get married at all.”

  Braxton shook his head. “That's ridiculous. We don't agree, but you know that I want to marry you. All I'm saying is that we can tell Pastor Ford that we're too busy right now, get out of counseling, and she'll still marry us.”

  “I can't believe you are actually willing to lie to Pastor,” she said through clenched teeth. “We keep talking about this—going over the same thing. How can taking one hour a week, talking about putting God in the center of our lives, be a bad thing?”

  “Here we go,” the waitress sang, silencing their argument. The plate in front of Anya was filled with lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and carrots, while an overflowing dish of pasta topped with peppered jumbo shrimp sat in front of Braxton. Her eyes darted between her plate and Braxton's, and her stomach growled.

  Braxton took Anya's hand, and they bowed their heads while he blessed their food. When he lifted his head, his smile had reappeared.

  “Okay,” Braxton said, motioning with his fork, “if I have to live with counseling, then I want you to do something for me.”

  Anya stabbed at a plump cherry tomato.

  “I want to set our wedding date,” Braxton continued, not noticing Anya's silence. “Let's go in there tonight with an announcement. I think we've put off setting the date long enough, don't you?”

  Anya swirled a piece of lettuce in the vinaigrette dressing. Ever since their engagement, Braxton had been pushing to set a date. But she had continually put him off, saying that there was no need to rush. She was just too busy with her business and he was too busy with his writing.

  She looked up at him. Now, as Braxton looked into her eyes, Anya knew there were no more excuses. What was she waiting for anyway? “Do you have a date in mind?”

  “Tomorrow,” Braxton chuckled.

  Anya flinched. “Can't do it that fast.”

  “Just kidding—and hoping. How much time do you think we'll need? It's not going to be a big affair.”

  “It will still take time to plan, Braxton,” she said coolly.

  “Let's do June. That gives us six months, and Junior will be out of school so he could spend some extra time with us.” Braxton smiled widely as he mentioned his son.

  Anya hesitated. “That's fine,” she replied, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

  Braxton leaned over and kissed her, leaving the savory taste of the peppered shrimp on her lips. “Great! We'll tell Pastor tonight and then we can tell Madear.”

  Anya couldn't help but smile when he mentioned her grandmother, the woman who had raised her since she was thirteen. Madear was so happy that Anya had found herself “a good Christian man.”

  “You do know how much I love you?” Braxton ran his palm across her cheek.

  “I know,” Anya said honestly. She never doubted his love.

  Braxton talked throughout dinner, while Anya smiled and nodded. She watched as Braxton swept the last shrimp through the sauce on his plate and popped it into his mouth.

  He smiled at her. “Are you finished?”

  She munched on one last piece of flavorless lettuce. “I've had just about enough.”

  “Great, let's get to church!”

  Anya wasn't surprised at Braxton's newfound eagerness. After all, she had given in. Well, she thought, as she backed away from the table, isn't that what a relationship was about … compromise?

  The wheels of the metal cart creaked along the carpet. The cleaning lady paused outside David's door.

  “Good night, Mr. Montgomery.” With her thick Spanish accent, she always spoke slowly, drawing out every word to make sure she was understood.

  David raised his head and squinted through tired eyes. “Good night, Gina.”

  Since he'd joined this firm, it had been this way—even the late-night cleaning people came and left before he did.


  “I will lock the doors.” The older woman gave David a toothy grin, then ambled toward the front of the office.

  David knew what would come next. He waited, counting the seconds and her steps, and then heard her voice.

  “Don't work too late, Mr. Montgomery. It's not normal for a handsome young man like you to be working so late. You should be home right now, taking care of a wife and some children. You shouldn't be alone.” Gina tisked and continued mumbling indecipherable words.

  David massaged his temples, trying to relieve the headache that had taken up permanent residency there. He waited to hear the office doors close and lock, the signal that Gina had completed her nocturnal soliloquy. Finally, he leaned his tall, ex-tight-end football player frame back in his chair, as Gina's words played in his head.

  She'd said he was young and handsome. Young—that was hard to believe because he felt well beyond his thirty-two years. He moved forward so that he could glance at his reflection in his oversized glass-and-chrome desk. Many people said that he was good-looking, at least in recent years. When he was younger, girls preferred the fair-skinned boys. With his dark skin, he was the last one anyone looked at. But times had certainly changed. He was one of the handsome Black men of the new millennium. Chocolate brothers were in demand, and his smooth dark complexion was disturbed only by the close-cut beard that he'd recently started wearing. He guessed he could be considered good-looking, if the way women now reacted was any indication.

  But Gina was right about one thing: He was alone. And going home to his Huntington Beach condo served only to remind him of decisions he'd made. It was there that he seemed to remember all the things he tried so hard to forget.

  Mitchell and Associates was another attempt for him to start anew. But though he had been in Los Angeles for more than a month, he felt like he was still in the middle of Manhattan.

  He glanced at the Linden presentation laid out before him. Seven-day weeks filled with fourteen-hour days had delivered what he knew was a flawless proposal. The office's atmosphere had been electric today, charged with expectation as everyone felt this million-dollar account was about to become part of Mitchell and Associates.