by Love Belvin
“Don’t sweat it. It’s probably forgotten about already,” he called out softly and pushed himself off the wall, turned and walked off toward the kitchen for the garage door.
seven
I cracked my lid again.
It’s still dark out. I expelled my grief through my nose.
I’d been up tossing and turning for almost two hours, awakened by another nightmare. I’d been having them for so many years, they no longer scared me when I was fully roused, and out of the dream. The perspiration had stopped minutes after awakening along with my sprinting heart rate. My sodden sheet stopped sticking to my trembling limbs after I kicked off my comforter over an hour ago. But prayer… Prayer never came. What was the point? This was my hell to dwell in. I was still here. Still breathing. So what if I had to deal with being haunted by ghosts of my past. No need to cry about it, nor would I ask for relief. It was my misery to own. I deserved it.
Oddly, this was my second nightmare since accepting the new role on Dynamic Branding. Maybe work had been a pleasant reprieve. My thoughts then turned to my clients. I still hadn’t turned over an angle for Dale, but Erika was well on her way with Macho. My plans were to stay ahead of the fray with a response to her mother and sister for when they learned of our agreement. Right now, Erika seemed to be pleasantly distracted.
This thing with Dale was killing me. I’d even been able to throw Marie a few pointers on Blackboard Scratchers for her subsequent proposal meeting with them. I had to come up with something or kiss my winning streak with Jackson and the rest of my team goodbye. I earned this job. I could deliver. Damn that Dale for his penchant for romancing older women. How in the hell could I address that? Perhaps Jackson should have taken the lead on Dale’s file. From the looks of his friend at our luncheon before I left for California, he had some experience with older women as lovers.
Sigh…
But my life was anything except for neatly packaged. I had to deliver.
A scratch at my window just above my headboard woke me from my reverie. Though I jolted, the cause came as no surprise. I rolled over to the side of my bed and planted my feet on the floor to reach over to the window above my nightstand. My room was micro-sized along with the motif of the studio. The moment I lifted the window just inches, Midnight dashed inside the frame with swift precision, landing on the floor. With her long jet black tail swaying seductively in the air, she went straight to her bowl that I kept in the living room area. There was no food there. She hadn’t been by in weeks.
“I thought you moved north,” I spoke futilely for a response as I watched her scratch at the black porcelain bowl, demanding it be filled.
“Okay…okay!” I huffed my way over to the light switch and stopped at the small pantry. “Will it be dry or moist food for the queen today?” I glanced back at Midnight to see her sitting on her hind quarters, waiting to be fed.
“Where’s your owner? You don’t even belong to me and you demand food on a whim?” My hands were planted firmly on my hips.
She meowed with petition in her vocals. I went for the pouch of gourmet Fancy Feast and laid it on the counter, then bent down for the bag of Whiskas, but noticed that she’d jumped on the countertop and began licking the can before I could grab the bag.
“Hey, you know the rules! No jumping on my counter—”
Midnight, launching at the bag to the point of knocking it over, caused me to leap in place to catch the used 15 lb. bag to keep it from falling onto the floor.
“Okay! I see it’s been rough out there. Your cocktail is on its way.”
I mixed the wet with dry food and watched her devour it ravenously. I’d often wondered where Midnight kept herself. She’d typically visit three times a week, though over the past month or so she hadn’t been on her usual schedule. It made me wonder if she had a family out there. In my sick mind, I began to believe she used my place as an escape from an arduous family life of meeting the demands of a feline partner and several kittens. Possibly, her infrequent trips here were her refuge. Her temporary abscond. That was reasonable.
I met her two years ago, during a snow storm when she scratched and cried relentlessly at my window. I tried shooing her away for hours, to no avail. Finally, I gave up and cracked the window with reluctance. She jumped onto my nightstand, scaring the shit out of me. I’ll never forget how she shivered, cried and fussed. I never liked cats: had always been grossed out by them, in fact. But in that moment, I jumped into action by throwing on my snow boots and a down goose, storming out of my apartment to the nearest—open—corner store. I returned in a flash to feed her. She’d licked the bowl twice for more before curling up in the corner and sinking into a deep sleep. I offered her an old clean towel I used to shine my hardwood floors. She lurched up and scratched me and I cussed her out seven shades of hell. Since then, we’d had an agreement. I wouldn’t coddle her, and she’d keep her claws to herself.
Midnight reminded me of myself. Some people don’t need to share their crippling stories. They just want to get on with life on their own terms without being dissected and cossetted. Some of us choose our paths, the lone journey.
This revelation made me think back to my drive back into the city with Jackson after his mother caught him feasting on my most private treasure on her marble countertop. I still cower at the memory. He was surprisingly quiet the entire ride. He didn’t seem remorseful, just deeply brooding. His last words to me were, “I’m sorry for the slip in control. It won’t happen again.”
My ego sagged at the comment. Why? Maybe it was because since working with Jackson, I’d viewed him as the master of self-control. He never let himself go. He had the most rigid internal locus of control I’d ever seen.
My phone pinged. As my head flew in the direction of my bed, I noticed the sun pushing its way into the day. I padded over to my nightstand and noticed it was from Candice.
Candice: I need 2 talk really bad. Please cum by this afternoon?
Ughhhhh! I don’t exactly own a car, Candice!
Me: Is everything okay? I’d have to arrange for transportation. You’re not drunk and stranded are you?
Candice: Drunk? No. Stranded? I’ll fill u n when u get here.
Me: What time are you talking? I have to figure out how I’ll get there.
Candice: 4 wud b perfect.
Me: I’ll see what I can do. No promises.
Candice: Danxs ;-)
Was that ‘thanks’?
Kids!
After taking on the most exhilarating morning run in Riverside, I hesitantly reserved a car via CareShare as I did much needed laundry. I dressed in black fitted Joe jeans, a silver silk blouse, a tailored black blazer, and threw on my lace Bridgette Louboutin booties. I swept my golden locks into a ponytail and went light on the makeup. As I paid a final glance to my appearance in the mirror, I shrugged my shoulders in response to an internal question of being overdressed.
Yeah, #TeamOverdressed in full effect.
On my way out, after locking up my apartment, I knocked on Michael’s door. After a few moments, he answered, or should I say he appeared. His thick jet black hair was a tousled display atop his blue eyes and his chest was bare. Michael stared at me with empty eyes. He was in a mood.
“I have a work function I need you to escort me to.”
He dropped his left ear closer to his shoulder. “When?” droned lazily, coming off annoyed.
“Next Friday. Some place in the Meat Packing District.”
“Attire?” he asked, using the same tone.
“Semi-formal.”
“Shit. I’m going to have to hit up the cleaners for this one.” He pivoted to close the door, and then issued the warning, “This will require some type of compensation, perhaps a dry humping session in the back of the cab.”
I rolled my eyes and gaited off. “Considering that last doozy of an affair you drug me to last month, you’ll still be in debt after mine on Friday. I’ll text you the details.”
“Hey!”
he shouted after me. “You only got groped twice…and the last one was an accident. The boss said so himself!”
I arrived at a small French café with a minute to spare, but as soon as my eyes began to scan the place, I located him. Attempting a smile, I strode over to him. Anthony stood and greeted me with a one-cheek peck.
“Wow!” His eyes lit with delight. “You’re even more gorgeous than I recalled.”
“Thanks.” I tried to offer a blush on my way to my seat. Isn’t that what normal girls did? “You don’t look half bad yourself.”
And he didn’t. He wore a long charcoal wool coat with a dark blue v-neck sweater and black slacks, a bit business casual, which I assumed was normal for an attorney. Anthony was a beefy guy, but not muscular, per se. He even had a small bulge of a belly, but not in a disgusting manner. His head was shiny bald, further displaying his cool toffee skin tone. His smile was slightly crooked, but in a cute way. I could live with it.
“Thanks. I’m just relieved to finally spend one-on-one time with you. It’s only been…what…three months?”
Anthony motioned for the waiter, who came over with a menu.
“Things have been crazy at work. I’d been applying for a coveted”—I used air quotes—“position and that’s been consuming all of my time,” I slightly embellished. “I’ll take a chai tea.” I handed the menu back.
Anthony ordered an espresso of sorts and returned his menu as well. It took him no time to jump back into the generic babble of getting to know one another. The bullshit I loathed.
“So, how’s it going with the application?” he asked inclining over the table.
I popped a tight smile. “It went.”
Why did I agree to this again? Oh, yeeeah! That’s why. Because I couldn’t get a certain tot out of my system. Said tot was also someone I had to work closely with. And did I mention this teen was my boss? And when you can’t get one man out of your system, you get another in the mix. Hence my coffee date with Anthony. I met him during the summer at an outdoor concert in Brooklyn. He was with a few friends and I was with Clarice. I surprised myself and shocked the hell out of Clarice by accepting his number. He seemed to have been a busy man, not harassing me with excessive texts, and that earned him this date.
“And?” he probed.
“And what?”
“Did you get it?”
Nosey much?
“Oh, sure.”
“You don’t sound very excited. What exactly do you do?”
And here we go…
I hit traffic on the Long Island Expressway, but had the old school tunes of the radio to distract me. Driving through the neighborhood here always intrigued me. Many of the homes were set well off the roads, but the elegant manicured landscapes and impressive art deco steel gates were captivating alone. Finally, I turned into the open gates of the Hunter estate. A sprawling homes sitting center of meticulously manicured greenery. Its grand intimidation hadn’t lessened.
Helen answered the door, just as graceful as always.
“I’m glad you’ve finally arrived. Miss Candice is expecting you in the dining room,” she spoke welcomingly with a warm smile. I quickly realized I didn’t know the route there. I’d never been in the dining room. But before I could ask, I heard, “It’s over to your right, just down the corridor.”
As I made my way in that direction, something felt off. Why would Candice want to entertain me in her dining room? Why are you even here? She’s a kid. Why are you entertaining her?
It was too late to examine those questions because when I pushed open the flip door to the room, all the reasons I shouldn’t have been there hit me in the face.
“Oh?” chimed from the head of the table.
“Elle!” shrieked from the side. “I’m so glad you made it! I didn’t think you’d show!”
As Candice literally leaped for me, I observed the confusion and discontent on her mother’s face. But that’s not where the company ended. Also at the massive table sat, two women: one older with an oxygen tube roped across her face, and a younger one, that I’d recognized from the office, with thick, gorgeous wavy mahogany tresses down to her shoulders. Her warm coffee skin tone was flawless, long eyelashes coiled perfectly around minimal makeup, and her full lips were set in the Cupid’s bow. Why was I able to quickly gain this assessment? Because she sat underneath the arms of Jackson.
What in the hell…
Per usual, he sported a scowl, but this time it was deepened with anger. I peered down at an elated Candice, feeling just as confused as everyone else in the room.
“You said 4 o’clock,” I reminded her. I knew I wasn’t mistaken. “I can go. I don’t mean to disturb dinner.” I pivoted to leave.
“No!” Candice yelped, halting me in my tracks. I heard a gasp behind me. “This is why I invited you!” Candice grabbed me at the shoulders, attempting my attention.
“Candy! This is a weekly Sunday dinner,” her mother warned.
“And she’s my guest,” Candice rebutted.
“It’s a private family dinner.”
Candice turned, dramatically scanning the table. “Two of us are not blood.”
“Yes”—her mother batted her lashes in embarrassment—“but the majority of us are.”
“And Elle, here will balance that.” Candice used her hand to direct me to the seat near where we stood. It would be across from her and Jackson.
Candice didn’t understand. This woman walked in on me with my legs in the air atop her countertop and her son’s face busy in the apex of my thighs. I couldn’t blame her for not wanting me in her home again. Once again, why did I come? After a few seconds of biting my lips together, contemplating etiquette, I decided on, “I think it’s best that I go, Cand—”
“Have a seat, Elle,” Jackson growled authoritatively.
Things got quiet. I peered directly into his eyes and something in them told me he wasn’t taking no for answer. After taking a half a moment to decide on explosion or docility, I settled on the latter and pulled the chair out to sit.
In the next beat, Helen entered the room from another door that I assumed was connected to the kitchen. She served a roast, potatoes and carrots.
“So, were you super busy today?” Candice asked, across from me.
I glanced up at her, thrown askew. The room was quiet and I could feel all eyes on me.
I cleared my voice and I licked my lips nervously. “Just a bit,” my throat heavy. “Why do you ask?”
“You look dressed for the runway,” she gleamed.
“I had a few things on the itinerary when you texted me about coming over this afternoon, but was able to move them around.” I had to mention her invitation to save face.
“Well, aren’t you going to introduce your friend, Candy,” the older woman with the oxygen tank wheezed, lightly scolding her.
I guess it was rude.
Jackson chuckled over his plate and all eyes went to him. That was a first. Jackson never expressed humor—at least not in my presence. But it was a bit comical for my old ass to be referred to as Candice’s friend.
“My bad, whodie.” Whodie? “This is my friend, Elle,” Candice explained.
Friend?
Jackson couldn’t keep a straight face, but he never uttered a word of correction. Neither did I. I was borderlining mortification from eating at her mother’s table after defiling her son on her counter.
“Elle, this is my mom, Valerie.” She gestured to her mother, who gave a soft nod, hardly showing her eyes. “And this is Mom’s whodie, Magreen. They’ve been down since like sixth grade, or something.”
OMGeee!
The young girl next to Jackson covered her mouth in a giggle at that one.
“And this is Stephanie, Magreen’s daughter—”
“And Jackson’s girlfriend.” Valerie added.
“Ummm…whatev.” Candice replied.
“Stephanie is just fine. Hi, Elle.” Stephanie smiled and waved sweetly across the table.
>
She was young, beautiful and polite. A damn kid herself. So, she is Jackson’s girlfriend? I felt sick.
I returned a soft nod and reached for the glass of water Helen had just placed on the table for me.
“And you know this guy,” Candice blurted, referring to her brother.
“Oh?” Valerie indirectly asked for an explanation.
And here’s where I knew things would turn awry.
“Yeah, Candice works at the firm with Jax, Mom.”
Valerie’s neck erected and brows peaked. What she was turning over, I could only imagine.
“You’ve never met Elle, Mom. You’ve been in Jersey when the team’s been over for meetings.”
That’s when I realized Valerie’s eyes were glossed over in a complete blank. She hadn’t recognized me. Jackson was right; she’d forgotten about it immediately. But this felt different. It was almost as if she was never present in the kitchen that night. However, that wasn’t true. I was there. I’d seen her myself!
“Oh,” Valerie hummed.
“So, what do you do with Jackson, Elle?” Magreen asked.
“Yeah. Are you his assistant?” Valerie amended.
My lids stretched in total disarray. How does one come back from that insulting question?
“Magreen, we don’t discuss work off-hours,” Jackson declared before I could muster an answer.
“Oh, okay,” Magreen straightened in her seat, affronted.
“I just thought it would be nice for Stephanie to know who you’re working with, is all, honey,” Valerie explained, cutting into her beef. “And you could sure use an efficient assistant to…keep you on track,” she uttered slickly into her plate.
“Mom, Jax is an executive over there. He knows what he’s doing,” Candice defended her brother with pinched brows.
Valerie dropped her fork and knife in her plate, making a clash of it as she gave her daughter flesh-cutting eye action. “Young lady, he’s my son. I was married to his father for twenty-eight years. I knew that man inside and out. He was defective at the core of him. Work was his passion, but nothing came before his vices. He could never concentrate on anything more than a firm set of legs, preferable playing between them. Loose men beget loose men. Idle minds perpetuate idle minds.” Valerie picked up her fork and continued. “Don’t tell me how my son—”