by J. D. Mason
Terri picked up the card. “Oh, how nice.”
“Yes,” the white woman chimed in. “This theater season is approaching, and it would be such an honor to have someone with your credentials be a part of this highly coveted annual event.”
Terri plastered on as genuine a smile as she could muster.
“Mavis didn’t want to ask,” the black woman said, looking at a blushing Mavis. “But I figured why not,” she giggled. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“She can say no,” Lanette interjected.
Terri cut her eyes at the woman, but of course, Lanette had proven to be oblivious to eye cutting.
“We certainly hope you’ll consider our little event,” Lucy continued. “It’s not Hollywood or Broadway, but even if you’d consider giving a speech or…”
“Some advice to our burgeoning actors would be appreciated,” Mavis added. “Anything, really.”
“I will certainly consider it,” Terri assured them.
The two women fumbled all over her and each other as they said their goodbyes.
On their way out, Lucy blew Luther a kiss. “I’m still single, Luther.”
He looked up from his paperwork. “I still know it, Lucy.” He grinned.
“You gonna call them?” Lanette asked after the women left.
Terri smiled and tucked the card into her purse.
“You’re not,” Lanette laughed.
“You finished?” she said, ready to drop this woman off.
Terri had done what her conscious had compelled her to do and was now ready to get on with her life, devoid of Lanette Dole.
“Yolanda,” Terri called out to the young woman sitting across from Luther. “Can we get a to- go box?”
“Coming right up, Miss Terri.”
“His son is fine, too,” Lanette said under her breath to Terri.
“Whose son?” Terri held up her credit card for Yolanda.
“Luther’s,” she motioned her head in his direction. “Name’s Nick. He’s a doctor. You met him. That night you wore those dangerously high heels to line dancing and fell and damn near broke your foot. Don’t act like you don’t remember.”
Outside Words
“Can you swing me by Walmart?” Lanette asked Terri on their way out.
“Do I look like a chauffeur?” Terri snapped marching ahead of Lanette like she was leading a regiment.
“I’m just saying, since we’re already out… I can pay you back.”
Luther couldn’t help but laugh. Terri had a friend, or rather, a Lanette, whether she wanted one or not. Luther raised a brow at the unlikely duo and shook his head. Terri glanced at him one last time before leaving. He wished she’d stay.
“I’m heading upstairs,” Luther said to Yolanda, gathering his laptop and ledger.
“Don’t forget. Cee Cee’s coming in early to finish my shift,” Yolanda reminded him.
“How many times you gonna tell me that?”
“A lot, because you forget stuff and I don’t want you blowing up my phone talking ‘bout, ‘Where you at, Yo?’ like last time.”
Luther sighed and headed up the winding staircase in the corner of the restaurant, leading up to his place.
“Leave a note on the counter,” he told Yolanda.
He had a serious crush on Terri Dawson, but she was seeing his son, for God’s sake. Luther had no business thinking of her any kind of way, except maybe that of future daughter-in-law. She was new to town. A fresh face. Ultimately, Luther had to chalk his interest in her to that and trust it to evaporate like steam and leave him to his old, ornery self.
His home was a hodgepodge of art and furnishings he’d collected from around the world, places like Europe, Asia, and Africa. None of it fit in Devastation any more than he did, but he’d made it work. His place had been little more than an old attic when he’d bought the property. Luther had it gutted from top to bottom, turning the lower level into his business.
An hour after balancing his books and grumbling under his breath the whole time, he concluded, once again, that he really needed to hire somebody else to do this. Every week he complained and every week he spent hours hovering over this damn laptop, looking at numbers until his eyes crossed. Eventually, he got up, went to the kitchen, and poured himself a glass of sweet tea.
He stood at the cathedral window staring down at the cobblestone streets below. Luther’s Bar & Grill sat just on the edge of downtown Devastation. He’d opened it because he needed something to do. Pure and simple. He had enough money to last him the rest of his life, as long as he didn’t splurge on Lamborghinis and private jets. This life was a far cry from the one he’d lived. Back when he signed on to play guitar for Whitney Houston’s first tour, not long after graduating high school.
She was touring the south promoting her latest album and her guitar player got sick in Birmingham. One of the managers at the venue knew Luther because he’d sat in with a few other artists who’d come through, and hours later, Luther’s whole life changed.
The call came two weeks later from Whitney’s production manager, “You’re a great fit, Luther. Whitney starts recording a new album in a few months and we’d love to have you.”
“You think I should go?” he asked Ava.
The two of them sat shoulder to shoulder on the back porch of her parents’ house because they couldn’t afford their own porch. She smiled so pretty, and soft curls rested on the tops of her shoulders.
“You’re too damn good at what you do not to go, Luther,” she said.
“I’ll be gone for some months,” he explained, excited about the opportunity, but dreading leaving his new wife behind.
“And I’ll be right here when you get back.”
He’d loved her since the third grade and indicated that fact by pulling her hair on the school bus one day on the way home. She slapped at him, waited for him to get off the bus and slammed her book bag upside his head. He knew then that he’d marry her.
Luther made enough money from that touring gig to buy her a house outright and fill it with everything she could possibly want.
If anyone had told him he’d be standing here, in this old, renovated attic atop the old Crenshaw mansion, turned bar and grill, in his hometown, without her, he’d have called them a liar. Ava passed away nearly five ago, and Luther had tried to move on. He’d tried burying his memories of her. He’d dated, worked double time to let go and move on, but here he was, stuck between a hard place and heartbreak he couldn’t shake, and likely never would.
He had a crush on his son’s girlfriend and that was all kinds of fucked up. In his fifty-four years of living, Luther had come to realize that fate had a sick sense of humor. It wasn’t like he didn’t have options. He just wished Terri Dawson was one of them. A few minutes later, his phone rang.
“Hey, you,” he said, smiling when he answered.
“Guess who’s coming to town and would love to see you?” Cleo Miller, literally sang the question to Luther, sounding like the Grammy Award nominated artist she was.
“Hmmmm,” he responded. “Uh... you in Devastation?”
She laughed, “Why the hell would I go to that pimple on a gnat’s ass of a town? I’m in New Orleans, which is as close as I’ll ever get to your hometown, Luther Hunt.”
Luther sank into his cognac colored, buttery-soft leather sofa. “I think I should be offended.”
“For skipping over New Orleans to live in no-man’s land,” she shot back. “Yeah. That is offensive.”
Cleo had sung background for some of the industry’s superstars; Michael Jackson, Prince, and Luther Vandross. Fifteen years ago, she released her first and only solo album to critical acclaim, was nominated for a Grammy for Best Female R&B artist and went back to background singing.
“Being in the forefront is cool and all,” she admitted to him once. “But too much pressure. Everybody watching, listening and judging your every move.” Cleo shook her head.
“It’s crazy,” he
chimed in.
“It’ll make you crazy. That’s for damn sure and we both know I don’t need no help in that area.”
“How long you in town for?” he asked, glossing over the memory.
“Two nights, performing at a dive on Bourbon Street. You should swing through.”
They’d started out as friends. Stayed friends until after Ava passed, though Cleo had been tempting even before that. She offered a good ear for listening after his wife passed, and a warm, soft, accommodating body for other things.
“I will absolutely swing through, darlin’,” he assured her.
“I’ll text you my hotel info,” she added before hanging up.
Luther let himself get swept away by introspection and memories of him and Cleo, huddled up in the backs of tour busses talking dirty to each other, warding off the temptation to cross lines neither of them had any business crossing. Shit happened on the road that stayed on the road, but he’d sworn an oath to Ava that he’d never cheat and he never did. Came close, but Luther held fast in his commitment to his wife. His right hand had its share of a workout though, from playing guitar and jerking off like a maniac.
Cleo’s phone call had been sobering and set him back to right... and away from getting worked up over Terri.
Terri was a fresh face in Devastation. That was all. And she had nothing to do with him, except that she was seeing his son. It didn’t matter if their relationship was serious or if they were just kicking it. It really was none of his business. She was none of his business.
After ending the call with Cleo, his phone rang again. This time it was Nick.
“Hey, pop,” he said when Luther answered.
Luther sat up, curious as to why his son would be calling. It wasn’t like they regularly shot the shit or anything.
“Is everything alright?” Luther asked, concerned.
“Everything’s good. I just um… thought I’d check on you. That’s all.”
Luther waited for the punchline.
“You there?”
“Yeah,” Luther said, surprised. “Just —”
“Shocked?”
“Pretty much.”
“Don’t be. It’s not that serious. Just doing my part to work on things between us.”
“Okay,” Luther sighed. “Then I’ll let you. And I’m fine. How are you, son?”
“Good. Really good.”
The familiar weight of silence wafted between them.
“How’s business?”
“It’s alright. Keeping me busy. How’s doctoring?”
As he spoke, Luther quietly concluded that Nick had something else on his mind. And sure enough, it eventually came out.
“Yeah… I think I might be catching feelings for someone, though.”
Nausea and elation ballooned in Luther’s stomach. “Oh yeah? Anyone I know?”
He knew.
Nick laughed, “The movie star, Terri Dawson.”
Luther sighed, “You’ve been seeing her, huh?”
“Yeah, for a little over a month.”
“And you’re falling for her already? That’s quick, don’t you think?”
“I’m thirty-five, Luther. Not fifteen,” he said defensively.
“Okay,” Luther quickly added. “I get it. Grown men know.”
“Grown men know.”
After chatting a few more minutes and getting off the phone with Nick, Luther immediately packed an overnight bag and headed downstairs.
“I’m heading out of town for a few days,” he said to Yolanda. “Tell Irene to hold down the fort while I’m gone.”
Have It All
Lanette was an emotional vampire, even after spending four days in the hospital. The woman had picked up where she’d left off, grazing across Terri’s nerves like the jagged edge of broken glass. Terri eventually dropped her demanding ass off at her house and drove off before Lanette had even closed the car door.
“Luther is Nick’s dad,” she muttered, shaking her head, as she paused behind the stop sign at the end of Lanette’s street.
Ever since she’d found out, the words played on repeat in her mind, driving her nuts while she followed Lanette up and down every, single aisle in Walmart. A strange, weighted anxiety ballooned in her stomach, one she’d been tortured by for the last hour and a half.
Terri eventually made it home in time to meet the tile guy before he drove off.
“Sorry! I’m so sorry,” she said, opening the front door. “I lost track of time and—”
“No problem,” he said, pausing while she made her way up the steps to the front door. “My guys are going to unload and we’ll get started straight away.”
“Thanks, so much,” she said in exasperation.
The old black and white tile in her kitchen had, mercifully, been scraped up and in its place, a blue and white swirly patterned tile was being laid. A new subway tiled backsplash was also being installed.
“It’s going to be a little noisy,” Ned, the leader of the tile-guy pack explained.
“That’s fine,” she said. “I’ll be out back if you need me.”
Lanette left her emotionally drained and all she wanted to do was to go outside, sit under her tree, and detox from the residue of the woman’s poisonous energy. Terri grabbed a bottle of sparkling, white wine from the fridge, a bag of Baked Lays, and a book before walking through the house and out the back door.
Terri put her feet up, searched Peloton on her phone and ordered one. Her jeans were getting a little too tight and Terri was getting careless with her eating. Just because she wasn’t on television anymore was no excuse to go crazy and blow up like Violet after chewing the gum, Willie Wonka had warned her about.
After taking some much needed deep breaths and eating a few chips, Terri relaxed into the loveseat, which she hadn’t sat on since sexing Nick nearly a week ago. What the hell had gotten into her? It wasn’t that she regretted it, but the whole thing had been driven by a tidal wave of emotions that needed sorting out. Rather than do that, Terri caved to the weight of those emotions and decided to sex the man.
Luther was his father and before Lanette dropped that bomb on her, she hadn’t been above wishful thinking about him, too. Terri was a single woman, driving hard and fast into an impressive mid-life crisis, open to exploring her once dormant sexuality, so, yeah. Admittedly, Luther had been on that very short list, until Nick. Until she’d given in to the idea of being the other half of a couple with Nick. Until she found out that Luther was the man’s dad.
Not that it mattered. It didn’t matter. Of course, it didn’t matter because Luther was a nice man who owned a bar. That’s all. He’d been patient and kind to Terri when Lanette was in the hospital… which, was nice, but Luther was Luther and no one in particular to her… He was Nick’s father, and so what? What? Why was her brain trying to make it a thing when it wasn’t a thing? None of this was a thing.
What was it about Devastation, Louisiana that made men so devastatingly handsome? She hadn’t noticed a resemblance between Nick and Luther until after Lanette said they were related. It wasn’t a strong resemblance. They were both tall, though Luther was taller. Both broad-shouldered and maybe they even kind of walked the same. And, thinking about it, they had similar smiles. Luther was more brooding, and Nick was Mr. Sunshine and Personality.
“Hell, it doesn’t matter,” she blurted out, spewing chip crumbs onto her lap.
It didn’t. She wasn’t feeling Luther like that and Nick, was… Nick was sitting here on this loveseat, not all that long ago, all up inside Terri, grabbing hold of her ass like it was the buoy that could keep him from drowning, while she had a mini breakdown. He came. She didn’t, but that wasn’t the point. Terri had put that thang on him too damn good, so she didn’t blame him. She blamed herself.
This was about life. Her life. Her identity. Her. Her. Her, damn it. Because didn’t the world revolve around her? She was so sick of herself. Terri shook her head in frustration. She was tired of looking insid
e and coming up with the same old thing. Terri was a piece of cardboard, a plain sheet of paper that someone—anyone could draw a circle, two dots for eyes and a half moon for a mouth and make her whoever the script said she should be.
Who was she, really? She’d never asked herself that question before and damn sure didn’t have an answer for it. Terri was spontaneously combusting on the inside with no idea of how to stop it. It was like, she was unbecoming, being unmade from what or who she’d always believed herself to be. But more and more, she was starting to understand that everything she’d always believed herself to be, was fake.
Ten minutes after she’d sat down, Terri’s phone rang. It was Nick. She thought about not answering but did.
“Hi, there,” she said, regretting picking up that damn phone.
“Hey,” he said, sounding a bit tired, “how you doing?”
Still unraveling.
“I’m fine. How are you?”
“Missing you,” he chuckled. “There. I said it.”
Terri couldn’t help but smile. Dating, for Terri, had never been a priority and it had been years since she spent more than a few hours, maybe a night, with any one, particular man. Nick was dangerously close to becoming a habit.
“Are you in town?”
“Not yet,” he said. “But I will be tomorrow. I was hoping to convince you to pack an overnight bag and let me whisk you away for a night, maybe two.”
“To where?”
“Here.”
New Orleans was a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Devastation. Maybe getting away was a good thing. Escapism, a way to peel her away from the microscope she’d been examining herself under lately might be just what she needed to gain a clearer perspective of… what exactly? She wasn’t sure.
“I think I’d like that, Nick.”
He was a good man. Nick was fine and young, yes. Too young? Perhaps. But, so far, age hadn’t been an issue. He wanted time with her, and Terri had no more excuses for why she couldn’t focus on a relationship.
“I’ll pick you up at five,” he said.