Broken Glass

by J. D. Mason

  In Devastation, Terri could breathe. The mental exhaustion weighing her down all these years, had been rising from her like steam since leaving Atlanta. Terri was alive again here. She had no idea what tomorrow held and that was okay.

  Terri had no idea how long Lanette Dole had been yelling and waving to get her attention over the roar of that mower, but she pretended not to see the woman for as long as she could. Not that it mattered. Lanette had hiked along the narrow trail through the woods from her property to Terri’s the way she’d done every day since Terri had moved into this place, making it her mission in life to indoctrinate Terri into the community of Devastation and to dig in as Terri’s new BFF.

  “Hey, Lanette,” Terri yelled, back, forcing a smile and turning off the engine. “How are you?”

  Those three words were all it took for Lanette’s enthusiasm to take over, sending her bounding like a child in Terri’s direction, with a smile broad enough to split her whole head in two.

  “You look so cute on that thing,” she said, wrapping arms ladened with beads, bangles and bobbles around Terri, damn near knocking Terri off her seat.

  “Thank you, Lanette.”

  Lanette drew back, eyebrows raised in surprise, an entanglement of lavender braids piled on her head like a nest. Intense, wide, amber eyes bore into Terri’s.

  “You are amazing. Most people don’t work in the yard in the heat of the day. That’s insane. They mow the lawn early in the mornings or before sundown. This heat will melt your brain, make you have a sunstroke or something, Terri.”

  “Well, I— “”

  “Stop being stupid and get in the house, girl.”

  The pained expression in the woman’s eyes bordered on a weird mix of an irrational and demanding fear. Madness. Yeah. That was the word.

  “I’m fine, Lanette, and far from stupid.”

  “Oh, of course,” she blurted out, lacking the essence of an apology. “Maybe lacking common sense, though. A vegetable garden would be nice, right over there in the corner.” She pointed. “Some turnips, carrots, tomatoes, onions, maybe even some potatoes.”

  “I’ll certainly think about it,” Terri said, hurriedly.

  “You got a hoe?”

  “A what?”

  Lanette laughed. “Silly. I’ll bring mine over next week and we can get started. It’s a little late in the season, but something ought to come up.”

  “No, thanks, Lanette,” Terri hurried and said. “I’ll wait until next year.”

  “We gonna have to get started a whole lot earlier in the morning,” she continued, as if Terri hadn’t said a word. “I’ll bring sunscreen because I know you probably don’t have any. Dark skin folks don’t ever think they can get sunburn, but they can.”

  “I have plenty of sunscreen.”

  Lanette’s biracial ass had just crossed the line of unacceptable with that dark skin comment.

  “And like I said, I’m not planting a garden this year.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind,” the woman responded. “I’m thinking six in the morning ought to be a good time to start.”

  Terri was just about to snap back, but Lanette interrupted, “Have you made up your mind about tonight?”

  “Tonight?” Terri feigned ignorance.

  “Line dancing class at Luther’s? Duh,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Boss Man’s teaching this week and he’s got new choreography.”

  “Oh, yeah, no. I’m not going to be able to make it. All this work on the house has me exhausted.”

  “Mowing the grass in the middle of a hell hot day ain’t helping. Get inside, shower, and take a nap so you’ll be nice and rested for tonight.”

  “The sooner you leave the sooner I can finish.”

  Leave it to Lanette to ignore the rude implication behind Terri’s statement.

  “We need to get there early to get a table. Half the town shows up every time he comes to town to teach. I’ll see you tonight. Get some rest.”

  Terri turned the key in the ignition to drown out the inevitable retort from the woman, mouthed the words, “It was good seeing you,” and drove off, leaving that crazy broad to swim alone inside the chaos of her own crazy mind.

  A shower and a few hours later, Terri donned a cute, floral, spaghetti strapped sundress, Tori Burch flip flops, slathered her body with lemongrass scented shea butter, and picked her fro to perfection, all for a trip to the grocery store.

  “The famous Ms. Dawson.”

  It’s impossible not to get all weak kneed over a baritone that intentional. Terri looked up into the stunning face of a god and suddenly flashed a red carpet worthy smile.

  “Hello,” she practically sang, extending a limp wristed hand to shake.

  He was leading man handsome, tall, six-two or six-three, strong, square jaw, close cut salt and pepper beard, dark, broad shoulders…

  “And you are?” Terri asked.

  He gently wrapped that big, paw of his around her dainty hand and said, “A fan. I read the article about you in the paper a few weeks back. Needless to say, it was impressive.”

  Her cheeks flushed warm, but not because of the compliment about her career. A man like him simply raised temperatures.

  “Well, thank you very much. My career has been rather interesting, to say the least.”

  She was a big deal in this town, and Terri relished it.

  “From Hollywood to Devastation.” He grinned. “Sounds like a movie title.”

  Was he being sarcastic? Funny? Terri resisted the urge to laugh or to cry. If her career had gone the way she’d hoped, she’d be living large and in charge in a high rise condo in Manhattan or in a fabulous Malibu beach house. Instead, Terri was standing in the grocery store of a town she’d never known existed until the day she grabbed breakfast one morning at a dive off the highway.

  “Everybody needs a change from time to time,” she explained, making sure to maintain the smize in her eyes.

  “We all do,” he agreed. “Moving to a place like this is a big one, though. You got family here?”

  She wasn’t looking for a man. In fact, it had been years since Terri had been in a serious or semi-serious relationship. She’d always had an unnatural aversion to the “M” word. Marriage.

  “I need to be related to someone in this town to live here?”

  “Absolutely not.” He shrugged those massive shoulders. “Forgive my short sightedness and welcome to Devastation.”

  “You’re forgiven,” she said, with a wry smile. “And you never told me your name.”

  “Luther Hunt. I own a bar and grill here called Luther’s,” he continued.

  He was that Luther? The one Lanette had told her about?

  “You should stop by sometime. I’ll buy you a drink.”

  “What makes you think I haven’t stopped by?”

  “I’d have remembered if you had.” He grinned.

  Score!

  “Maybe I will pay your place a visit.”

  “Tonight? Unless, you have other plans.”

  Line dancing night. Lanette night. No. No. No. Luther night? Well…

  “I’ll think about it,” she said with the coyness of a character she might play, before turning back to her cart and pushing it away.

  Terri made it to the end of the aisle and glanced back over her shoulder one last time, pleasantly not so surprised to see him standing there, watching her.

  Looking For Something

  Luther watched appreciatively as the beautiful woman exited the condiments aisle. The flowers on that dress undulated against hypnotic swaying hips. Pretty, chocolate, toned calves, flexed with each step she took in those high heeled sandals.

  Without a doubt, Terri Dawson was a welcomed addition to Devastation. Standing in front of shelves lined with bottles of ketchup, Luther dared to contemplate possibilities. When was the last time that happened? His wife passed away five years ago. Since then, Luther skirted encounters with women, meaning sometimes there was conversation, dinner, sex… but never
more than that before he’d conveniently become too busy to get together or “forget” to return a call. Not that ‘more’ was on his mind now, just admiration of a gorgeous little movie star with pretty legs.

  Luther lived in a loft apartment above his bar. He still owned the house he’d shared with Ava but rented it to a family of five. He couldn’t bring himself to sell it, though. He’d bought it outright with the first check he’d made from touring with Tina Turner. Back then, Luther and Ava had been married for a few years. He begged her to move to Los Angeles with him, but six months later she told him she wanted to go home.

  “Me and Nick don’t belong in L.A., Luther,” she argued, incredulous, nursing their three-month-old-son. Her beautiful, shoulder length hair was parted down the middle and braided on both sides. “I don’t know anybody. People are rude, and I miss my family.” Her beautiful, brown eyes blinked back tears.

  “I need my family close to me, Ava,” he reasoned. “I’ll be spending a lot of time in studios when I’m not on the road, baby. I need to come home in the evening to you and Nick just like any other working man.”

  Ava challenged him with a look. “And that’s the problem. You’re always working or on the road, and we’re stuck here in this apartment or trying to navigate a city so big it makes me feel like a minnow.”

  Luther understood. Hell, he was small town too, but the work was here. Luther wasn’t good at shit else but music, and he made damn good money playing. The kind he’d never make back home. Ava looked as if she could read his mind.

  “We’ll be fine, Luther. You come home when you can.”

  “I can buy you that house you been wanting, baby,” he said, kneeling next to her, “I can fly home on weekends when I’m not on the road.”

  It was a shitty arrangement, but he couldn’t think of another one.

  “When ain’t you on the road, Luther? My momma’s there,” she said. “My family and your family are all there, and I need all the help I can get with this boy.”

  Luther ended up being on the road eight, nine months a year, and the truth was, he felt better knowing she was safe at home with family.

  Yolanda had spent the last three hours creating a chalkboard mural at the entrance of the bar, complete with colors, swoops, swirls, flowers, butterflies, and an image of a fancy glass full of the drink special for the evening; Elderflower and Herb Cooler.

  “What the hell is an Elderflower Herb Cooler?” Luther stood back, folded his arms, and asked.

  She took a few steps back to admire her own work. “It’s delicious. That’s what it is,” she answered with pride.

  “What’s in it?”

  When it came to alcohol, Luther was basic. Beer, wine, gin, vodka, or whiskey. Yolanda’s creative little brain took shit to a whole new level. Most of his customers seemed to appreciate it.

  “Thyme and rosemary, which I grew in my garden,” she said, counting off on her fingers. “Edible flowers, posies and rose petals, elderflower, cordial, and liqueur.”

  He looked at her. “We have that?”

  “We do now. All mixed together and topped off with sparkling water.”

  “The cheap kind?”

  “Of course not. We’re all about class around here, boss. Trust me. People appreciate it.”

  Line dancing wasn’t Luther’s thing, but it drew big crowds and was great for business. Luther was old school and preferred one-on-one dancing with a woman. That group shit was too damned impersonal. Doors opened at six. By six-thirty the place was packed and waiting on what’s his name to come in and show everybody his latest dance steps, which all looked the same to Luther.

  Luther split his time between greeting customers, helping to wait tables and serving up drinks. Stella and Ronnetta, line cook duo of any restaurant owner’s dreams, flawlessly managed the kitchen, serving up a native Louisianan’s dream of gumbo, red beans and rice, boiled crawfish, fried catfish and snapper, étouffée, alligator tail, and whatever other delicacy they decided to conjure up.

  It did his heart good to see his son in the mix. Nick drew women like flies to shit and was loving every minute of it. He might never give a damn, but he did his old man proud. But then, Luther had always been proud of his kid. No matter how many times he said it, Nick never bought it. His son, the doctor, was blessed with his mother’s charisma and good looks. Through the years, Luther was out of Nick’s life more than he was in it, doing a better job of bankrolling his family than being an active participant.

  Chris Ardoin’s lyrics and Zydeco sound filled the room, creating a magnificent wave of dancers moving in a fluid sway. Luther stood behind the bar and took a moment to marvel at the beauty of the scene unfolding here in his place. Every once in a while, his life still held wonder and even a little bit of awe.

  Speaking of wonder and awe…

  Lanette Dole abruptly dropped out of her place in line on the dance floor, squealing, and making a bee line for the front door.

  “Terrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiii!”

  Luther’s own heart, surprisingly lurched a little at the sight of the woman as Lanette grabbed hold of Terri’s hand and dragged her across the room to a small table near the dance floor. All eyes fell on the two women, or rather, the newest resident of town.

  “Is that her?” one of his bartenders, Amanda leaned in and asked Yolanda. “She looks famous.”

  Luther cocked a brow. “What does that even mean?”

  “Expensive. She looks… expensive,”—Yolanda looked Luther up and down— “kinda like you.”

  “Luther,” Stella called to him from the kitchen doorway. “That door’s stuck again.”

  He groaned in annoyance and reluctantly headed back to the kitchen. Duty called.

  “Man, told you this is where all the honeys are,” Nick’s friend, Donny explained. The dude huddled over their small corner table, gawking like a vulture waiting for one of them to pass out so he could swoop in and start pecking at her.

  The two of them grew up together. Donny was one hell of an artist, capable of creating museum quality shit. Every now and then somebody would pay a ton of money for one of the pieces posted on his website. Dude had even done a few years at NYU before dropping out and moving back home.

  “Man, they play a different kinda game on that East coast. Tried to talk to females and they walked away before I even finished telling ‘em my name. I couldn’t even buy a phone number.”

  The truth was, in New York, Donny was an amoeba in a city that stomped his ego like a grape. But in Devastation, he didn’t have to lift a finger for women to fall at his feet, despite knowing he was a dog. Donny’s ass was lazy, but not so lazy that he hadn’t left some babies in his path. At last count he had four.

  “I thought we were meeting up with Joe and the boys to play poker,” Nick retorted. It wasn’t that the ladies in the room didn’t look lovely, but Nick had grown up with most of them or had been babysat by a few. So, no. He wasn’t interested in any woman on the dance floor.

  Donny shook his head. “Joe and his cousin cheat. I don’t play with them fools no more.”

  “I ain’t staying long.”

  “That’s cool, Doc.” Donny shrugged. “Get yo’ high and mighty ass back to N’Awlins, Dr. Nick.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  All of a sudden, Donny’s eyes stretched so wide Nick feared for the man’s health. “Whoa—” he reached out and slapped Nick’s arm— “Check it out.”

  She was petite, five-four, maybe. She came in rocking a perfect fro and showing off a lovely figure. Without saying a word, she caused a commotion. People bumped into each other staring at her, but dude leading the class just snapped his fingers and barked orders.

  “Y’all keep up!”

  Crazy Lanette Dole possessively dragged the woman across the room behind her, and Nick’s heart immediately went out to her. Everyone in town knew better than to get too close to Lanette. Her crazy could spread like a curse if you weren’t careful.

  “
Yo, that’s that movie star who just moved here, man,” Donny announced. “Damn, she fine.”

  Without saying another word, Donny was up and making a beeline for the woman, rubbing his hands together and licking his lips in that creepy way he did when he was about to pounce.

  Nick bowed and shook his head, glancing up a few moments later, just in time to see Lanette’s scowl, the movie star’s confusion, and the lame lip licking, squinting game Donny had been throwing since the seventh grade, collide. All of a sudden, Lanette stood up, grabbed the woman by the hand and dragged her out onto the dance floor, placed her in line, and commenced to following the lead of the big dude leading the class. Donny sat there, watching, waiting, the wheels spinning behind those crazy, obsessed eyes of his, considering his next move.

  She was cute and did look vaguely familiar. Maybe it was because she was cute or maybe it was because she was a new fixture in town, but Nick found himself staring too. Irritation started to mask her pretty face. An angry glance at Lanette, a jerk of her arm, and catastrophe!

  “Oh shit!” someone yelled, before bodies scattered, some toppling like dominoes.

  “Terri? Terri are you alright?”

  “No, I’m not all right, Lanette,” she snapped, from somewhere on the floor of that crowded dance floor. “Get away from me.”

  “I’m just trying to help,” Lanette snapped back.

  “Come on.” Donny magically appeared, emerging from the crowd with the woman limping at his side and carrying a blue, high heeled shoe with a lethal looking heel. Donny eased her into her seat and the doctor in Nick bolted to action and hurried to her side.