“Girl,” Jamie said, grabbing her close, “we have some serious talking to do.” His stomach growled and they laughed. “Let’s do it over something to eat ’cause I’m starved enough to eat a horse after that fine lovemaking session with my woman.”
Still feeling lazy and sated, Lyla pried herself away from Jamie and rose from the bed. She padded to the closet to get her short silk robe, gliding it on and tying it closed at her waist. Fluffing her hair as she stepped back into the bedroom, she watched the muscles of Jamie’s broad back and arms bunch and cord as he shrugged into his jeans. A warm thrill suffused throughout her belly as she remembered the look of love in his eyes when he admitted his feelings for her. She was indeed a very lucky woman.
“You have your choice of leftover Chinese, peanut butter and jelly or an omelet,” she announced. “That’s about all I’ve got until I go shopping. Oh, and I’ve got Snickers, of course.”
“The candy bar?” Jamie asked.
“Mmm, my favorite.” She nodded. “I practically panic if I don’t have them in the house. And I’ve also got one or two of their ice cream bars in the freezer. And maybe half a bag of their mini-bars.” Lyla laughed at his odd expression. “Hey, I’m addicted,” she admitted, “so shoot me.”
“An omelet sounds great…uh, as long as you don’t fill it with chocolate.” He winked.
“Ooh, you haven’t lived ’til you’ve had a chocolate-filled omelet, Jamie. I can whip one up for us in a jiffy.”
“Jesus…” He cocked his head, gaping at her. “You really eat that? I was kidding.”
Lyla nodded. “They’re almost as good as my chocolate chip crepes filled with butter pecan ice cream, sliced Snickers bars and topped with hot fudge sauce and whipped cream. Mmmm…the perfect weekend breakfast or late night snack.”
“Oh no…no, no, no.” His hand shooting up in a halting motion, Jamie shuddered. “Just thinking about all that cloying sweetness makes me want to hang my head over the toilet.” He laughed. “I’ll just let you keep your chocolate all to yourself, okay?”
“Aha!” Standing in front of Jamie, hands balled against her hips, Lyla tsked. “So now that you have me firmly in your clutches I discover that you’re a yellow-bellied chocolate resister, huh? I knew you seemed too good to be true.” She hooked her finger in one of the belt loops of his jeans and tugged. “Well, I guess a girl can’t have everything. Come on.” She started walking with Jamie in tow.
“You know, baby, I’m going to have to brief you before you meet my mother and sisters,” he said as they headed for the kitchen. “Just to make things easier there are certain things you should probably avoid saying.”
Lyla stopped dead in her tracks as she entered the kitchen, turning on her heel to give him an incredulous look. “Oh, puhleeze,” she said, followed by a huff. “Give me some credit, okay? I know what to say and what not to say. For instance,” she began with a teasing tone, “if I’m there for dinner I won’t ask when the watermelon’s being served. I won’t mention flesh-colored crayons, and I give you my word of honor I won’t try to rap or refer to you as my homeboy. Satisfied?”
Jamie laughed at that. “Sorry. It’s just that I know it’s going to be tough on you. Just don’t tell them you think I look like Denzel.”
“Washington? The actor?” Lyla asked as she opened the refrigerator, gathering eggs, butter and cheddar. Jamie nodded. “Why would I say something like that? You don’t look anything like him.”
“Because my sister has a thing up her butt about it,” Jamie explained. “Francine hates it when white women are always saying any handsome brother looks like Denzel. She says they’re trying to show they’re cool and not prejudiced but it only makes them sound silly and square.”
“Okay, if they ask me who you look like I’ll tell them I think you’re the spitting image of Sammy Davis Jr. No, wait…how about Louis Armstrong? Better?” Lyla couldn’t help grinning as she whipped the eggs. “Or maybe I should tell them I think you look just like a black Cary Grant.”
“Oh yeah, that’ll work. About as good as me telling your mama I think you look just like a white Lena Horne.” Jamie laughed. “You are so bad, woman. I’m trying to be serious here, Lyla.” He watched as she took plates from the cupboard and pulled a couple of forks from a drawer. “Want some help?”
“You can cut up some cheese while I get these started,” Lyla answered, slipping the first omelet into the hot frying pan. “And I promise to listen as you coach me. But Jamie?”
“Hmm?”
“Just so you know, sometimes I am a silly, square white woman.” She offered an apologetic smile.
“Silly and white, maybe, but never square. Not with those ripe, round curves.” He slapped her ass and Lyla whooped a surprised holler.
“Now who’s being bad?”
“Sorry, baby, I couldn’t resist.”
A moment later Lyla served up the omelets with some of the cabernet they’d had earlier with the chocolate truffles. “Here’s to Project Colorblind,” Lyla toasted, holding her glass aloft.
A broad smile stretching across his face, Jamie nodded. “Hey, I like that. To Project Colorblind,” he agreed with gusto.
They clinked glasses and drank, sealing their future together.
Chapter Six
“You cunt.”
Lyla popped her head up from her work, aghast. Barbara was standing just inside her office. She’d been so wrapped up in preparing her three new house listings that she hadn’t even been aware Barbara was there—which was pretty amazing, considering the cloying stench of her perfume. And she knew she couldn’t possibly have heard the woman right.
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t play innocent with me, you backstabbing bitch,” Barbara spewed, reaching behind her to slam the door to Lyla’s office. It closed so hard that every picture frame on the wall rattled.
“Barbara, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Trust me when I tell you that none of these new listings,” she patted her hand against the paperwork on her desk, “came from your customers, so I don’t know what you’re getting all riled about.”
“And here I thought you were my friend. Hah! All this time you’ve been conniving behind my back. What I can’t figure out,” Barbara continued, arms tightly folded beneath her silicone-saturated sacs, “is what he sees in a fat sloppy pig like you when he could have me instead.”
All of a sudden the stark realization hit Lyla like a splash of ice water in the face. Of course. She was talking about Jamie. “Oh…look, Barbara, I’m sorry that Jamie didn’t—”
“You must suck cock really good,” Barbara went on, clearly determined to state her point. “Of course, I’ve heard that black guys like their women big and fat, so maybe that’s it, huh, Lyla? You’re just one big-assed booty call to Jamie. That’s all a man like him could want from someone like you, so don’t bother thinking you’ll get your hooks into him for anything more. Once he’s finished chewing on bacon, he’ll be tossing you aside for leaner white meat.” Unfolding her arms, Barbara smoothed her hands over her perky boobs and bony hips.
Feeling a rush of color flooding her cheeks, Lyla sprang to her feet. “I can’t believe I’ve always defended you to the others, Barbara. Or should I say Barbie the Barracuda?” She saw Barbara sneer at that. “I never really believed you could be as crude, crass and vindictive as I’ve heard. But you know what? You’ve just succeeded in proving me wrong.”
“Oh look who’s playing the role of Miss High and Mighty,” Barbara said, planting fists against her sharp-edged hips. “I have news for you, cunt, I don’t need you or anyone to defend me. Got that? And as far as my being vindictive…” Her gaze landed on the wall behind Lyla’s desk—the one lined with sales awards. “You can be sure I’ll let everyone know how you really got all those awards.” She turned on her heel and left the office, slamming the door on the way out. This time the most recent salesman of the month plaque fell to the floor.
Closing her eyes and e
xpelling a sigh, Lyla’s shoulders slumped a bit, releasing some of the tension she’d been holding during Barbara’s tirade.
“And so it begins,” she said softly.
It had been more than two weeks since she and Jamie became a couple. While they’d done their best to keep things strictly business in the office, there were the occasional looks of affection between them, deliberate finger brushing as they passed in the hall and lunches together whenever they could manage.
It didn’t surprise Lyla a bit that word of their relationship had gotten out. That’s the way it happened in offices. It wasn’t as if they’d tried to keep it a secret. She and Jamie simply wanted to maintain a level of professionalism at work, rather than act like a couple of lovesick puppies.
They figured there’d probably be gossip and perhaps even the occasional fleeting looks of disapproval, but neither of them had expected vehement hostility from anyone at Macklin Real Estate such as Barbara’s vicious diatribe.
How interesting that Barbara’s nasty display had to happen today of all days—just a few hours before Lyla would be meeting Jamie’s mother and sisters for the first time. She couldn’t help laughing when the monumental sigh escaping her lips seemed to fill the room with a sickly, melodious moan.
* * * * *
“I guess you could say Dad was a pillar in the community,” Jamie said with a wistful expression as they drove through winding tree-lined streets dotted with impressive homes. “He was the first black attorney in the neighborhood, which was quite an accomplishment at the time. It’ll be five years next month since he’s been gone.”
“I’m sorry. It must be hard on your mother without him now after they’d been married so many years,” Lyla said.
Jamie relaxed his handsome features into a sly half smile. “Yes and no.” He chuckled softly as he pulled into the driveway of his mother’s home, a stately two-story with immaculate landscaping.
“They weren’t happy?” A nervous zing prickled down Lyla’s spine as she gazed at the imposing façade. Jamie had coached her well but her stomach still churned with anxiety.
“In the beginning they were. I remember lots of happy times and laughter when I was a kid. I noticed the change about the time I went off to college. In the later years, let’s just say that Mama was very happy with all the accoutrements my father provided her. However, she was a whole lot less thrilled with his dallying, as she calls it.”
“Oh…he cheated on her.”
Jamie nodded. “It was all very hush-hush. They kept up appearances because she wasn’t willing to give up the prestige of being married to a man of his standing and he didn’t want a messy divorce affecting his career. But as much as she tried to keep it a secret, it was whispered about within her circle.”
“That’s terrible…and so sad,” Lyla said. “So they lived together in the same house pretending to be happy while actually being miserable?”
“More or less. Underneath the animosity there was still love, but it became less and less apparent as time went on. Importance went to my father’s head and bitterness found its way into my mother’s heart.”
“No wonder she became bitter. That gives me some insight into her personality. Thanks for sharing that with me, Jamie.”
“Uh, well, there’s just one more thing.”
Lyla watched as Jamie sucked in a deep breath and let it out. He suddenly looked more nervous than she felt. “What’s that?”
“The nastiest bit is the night Dad died.” Jamie rested his hand on top of the steering wheel and looked directly into Lyla’s eyes. “He keeled over with a heart attack in another woman’s bed.”
“Oh my God.”
“A white woman.”
“Oh shit.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me this before?” Lyla asked, tempted to leap from the car and run all the way home.
“Because I wanted to make it easier for you.”
Lyla chortled.
“I knew it would make you extra nervous,” Jamie explained, “and I didn’t think it was good for you to be stewing about it for too long.”
“Mmm-hmm. So you figured it was better just to drop it on me like a bombshell two minutes before I meet your mother, huh?”
“I, uh…yeah, I guess so.” Wincing, Jamie offered an apologetic smile. “Bad idea?”
“Yes, very.” Lyla breathed out a sigh, reached over and patted Jamie’s knee. “But I understand your intentions. Now let’s go before I completely lose my nerve.” It took several attempts before Lyla succeeded in swallowing her heart back into place from where it had been lodged in her throat.
Before they reached the front door it swung open wide and an attractive woman stood leaning on the doorjamb, beaming a smile. “You’re right, Jamie,” the woman said. “She’s a doll.” Extending her hand to Lyla, she added, “Welcome to our happy home, Lyla. I’m Julie. The one you don’t have to fret about.” She broke into easy laughter.
Lyla remembered Jamie telling her that Julie was the open-minded sister. Immediately reminded of Dawn, Lyla felt more comfortable. “Delighted,” Lyla said. “To meet you and also to have one less person to worry about.” She sucked in a deep breath and smiled.
“You look a little white,” Julie said.
That caught Lyla off guard and she laughed. “Oh gee, you noticed that, huh?”
“No,” Julie laughed, “I meant you look faint, you know, nervous.”
“Really?” Lyla said, listening to the pulse roaring in her ears. “I can’t imagine why.”
“You’re gonna be just fine.” Julie winked. “I can tell.” She turned her attention to her brother, “Let’s lead this poor little lamb to the slaughter, Jamie. Mama’s in one of her moods,” she added softly, looping her arm through Lyla’s and guiding her into the house.
“I figured as much,” Jamie said, placing his hand at the small of Lyla’s back and walking alongside her. Lyla suddenly had the sensation she was being marched to face a firing squad. “You’ll get through this just fine, baby,” he whispered in her ear. She didn’t find his wobbly voice at all reassuring.
“Don’t worry, I promise we won’t let Mama and Francine eat you up alive.” Julie winked.
“James, dear.”
Lyla’s gaze lifted at the sound of another voice to see an older woman poised at the top of a long graceful staircase. As she floated down the stairs with an elegant air Lyla felt her knees knock.
“Mama likes to make a grand entrance,” Julie whispered to Lyla with a chuckle.
Just as the toe of Catherine Donlon’s shoe left the last step to touch the marble floor, a younger woman entered the foyer from another room to join her. The move was smooth and perfectly orchestrated.
“That’s Francine,” Julie whispered. “She’s the one with the sharp tongue.”
Looping arms with her mother, Francine and Catherine approached unhurriedly, making a stylish, albeit formidable, duo.
“You must be Lydia,” Catherine said, holding her hand aloft in such a way that Lyla wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to kiss it or shake it. She chose the latter. “It’s always a pleasure meeting one of my son’s employees.” She gifted Lyla with a perfunctory smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Thank you, Mrs. Donlon,” Lyla said. “And it’s Lyla, actually.” She wasn’t about to correct the woman about the employee thing because she was pretty damn sure Catherine had chosen the term deliberately.
“Of course,” Catherine said. “I see that you and my youngest child Julie have already met. This is Francine, my oldest daughter.” She gestured to the petite, slender woman at her side. The one whose smile was closer to a sneer. Unlike the taller Julie, whose shape was close to Lyla’s, both Francine and her mother were small and thin.
Feeling like an elephant next to the pair—a big old white elephant—Lyla suppressed a rising nervous giggle at the thought that if she were guilty of bigotry it was aimed at skinny women rather than a particular r
ace or culture.
“Nice to meet you, Francine.” Lyla extended her hand.
Answering only with a nod and an almost imperceptible murmur of acknowledgment, Francine lightly grasped the tips of Lyla’s fingers and moved them in the briefest flutter that couldn’t possible be mistaken for a handshake.
Yup, it was going to be a fun night.
The group made semi-polite small talk as they sat in the living room.
“Marcia just returned from Europe,” Catherine said to her son. “The third picture from the left,” she said to Lyla, gesturing to one of the framed photos on the piano, “is when James escorted Marcia to her Debutante Cotillion.”
Lyla followed Catherine’s hand, her gaze alighting on the photo of a gorgeous younger James all dolled up in a tux and looking good enough to eat, and his stunning, slender date outfitted in a flattering formal gown. The first thing that popped into her head when she looked at Jamie was that he looked like a black Cary Grant. Not that he actually did, it was just the whole suave dinner jacket thing, she supposed. The thought almost made her giggle when she imagined sharing it with his family.
“Marcia and my brother dated all through college,” Francine offered helpfully. “Everyone always expected they’d get married. James was crazy about Marcia, weren’t you, James?”
“Oh he simply adored her,” Catherine assured.
“Well…that’s…that’s very nice,” Lyla said, wringing her hands in her lap.
“That’s ancient history,” Jamie said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I haven’t seen Marcia in years.” He turned to Lyla and winked. “Nor do I care to.”
After the maid announced dinner and they were seated at the dining room table, the evening really got interesting.
“I ran into Marcia at one of the designer boutiques last week,” Catherine said, clearly not ready to move on from her favorite topic of the evening so far. “She asked after you, son.” She turned to Lyla. “Marcia’s father is a prominent cardiovascular surgeon.”
Wednesday Nights With Jamie Page 8