by Vera Roberts
He quickly jumped in the shower to refresh himself before he headed out. Five miles, that was his goal for today. Maybe he’ll do five miles tomorrow. He might do six the day after. All he knew was he had to do five that particular morning or those eleven miles he just made up in his head wasn’t going to happen.
He packed his keys, cell phone, and a pocketknife for protection. Jameson may have had a renewed sense of self but he was wise enough to know not everyone was a child of God and he was not about to let the Devil have a field day with him once again. His past was full of foolish mistakes and Jameson was in no hurry to repeat any of them.
The jog was peaceful as expected. It was him, God, and the beginning sunrise. It was a time where Jameson could collect his thoughts, mediate, and pray for everyone whether they were in the struggle or not. He believed everyone needed prayer, some more than others. Pray when things are going well, he once reminded to his past parishioners, it’ll help you just as much when things are uncertain or bad.
He’d just came back from a wonderful vacation with Sarah. They went to Fisherman’s Wharf, ate at Ghirardelli Square, and canoodled under the blankets as they watched horrible but addicting reality shows. Amidst of it all, they made out like horny teenagers. When they added dry humping in the mix, Jameson almost felt his resolve jump into a cab, head to the nearest airport, and fly to another country. He wanted her badly and didn’t know how much longer he would be able to contain his promise. It wasn’t a groupie or some nameless fling; he loved Sarah and wanted to be with her for the rest of their lives. He didn’t know how much longer he wanted to wait. While Sarah was patient with him, Jameson struggled.
He finished his jog back at his home and quickly glanced at the time. Not bad, he smiled. He would freshen up again, eat a quick breakfast, and make his way to Father Donaldson for their first meeting and finally meet all the children at St. Martin’s Church. It was going to be a great day.
****
“As you can see here,” Father Donaldson walked with Jameson around St. Martin’s, “we have a game center for all of the children to use. That is, after they have completed their homework.”
“Do you check to see if it’s done?” Jameson asked.
“We go by the honor system here,” Father Donaldson nodded, “if they lie, well, that’s between them and God.”
“Ah, smart plan.” Jameson smiled.
“Yo, what’s up, Father D?” Christopher walked up to him and slapped hands with the priest.
“And this is one of our brightest, yet precocious young ones, Christopher.” Father Donaldson introduced the child to Jameson. “Christopher, please say hello to the newest member of our staff, Mr. Jameson.”
Christopher leaned back with a thumb on his chin as he sized Jameson up and down. “Yo, you kinda young to be a priest in training.”
Jameson was used to that assessment. He was young, only in his early twenties, and he was sure his appearance made him look even younger. Good genes, a healthy diet, and being a fitness fanatic all played a role in his looks. “Is that a bad thing?” Jameson asked.
“Nah, not really.” Christopher relaxed his stance. “I’m just glad there’s someone close to my age instead of the Ice Ages.”
“You do realize I’m right here,” Father Donaldson interrupted.
Christopher grimaced. “Sorry, Father D.” He turned his attention back to Jameson. “So what do you do? What are you into? Are you any good at foosball? I bet I can I beat the prayer out of you!”
“Well, I’m the newest guy here. I’m into anything that’s not illegal. I say I’m probably the foosball king since I’m undefeated.” Jameson slightly bent down until he was eye-level with Christopher. “And I double-dog dare you to beat the prayer out of me.”
“Ooh…” Christopher’s eyes lit up. “I see we have a challenge here. All right, Father J, I’ll take you up on your offer. I need to beat some other kids at b-ball. Talk to you later!” He then ran off.
Father Donaldson shook his head as he watched Christopher join the other kids and head to the court. “A year ago, he was a different kid. He was lost in many ways. Very argumentative. Very combative. Always wanted to fight someone about something. All of the other priests tried to reach out to him to no avail. All of the volunteers tried to mentor him with no success. No one thought he would still be here. We all thought he would be on the streets.”
“So what happened?” Jameson asked. “He seems like a great kid now.”
Father Donaldson started walking again and Jameson followed him. “The same reason you’re here.”
Jameson was confused. “Which is?”
“God.” Father Donaldson turned to Jameson with a smile on his face. “You’re not here to talk to me about Him, though. What’s going on, kiddo?”
“I don’t know the most polite way to say this,” Jameson began.
“God doesn’t want us to hold back our feelings,” Father Donaldson commented, “if something is that strong on your heart, you need to just come out and say it.”
“Okay,” Jameson pushed out a breath, “I want to fuck my girlfriend and a purity ring ain’t doing the trick to stop those feelings. Can God help me with that?”
****
Sydney was in heaven.
As “Sister” blasted through the speakers of her shared home with Dean, she danced around the living room with a paintbrush in one hand and a glass of Mangoscato in the other. She occasionally stopped to work on her painting of four animals with human features. They all wore long coats with business suits, and an air of swag with each animal. A leopard, a wolf, an ocelot, and a pitbull were the unnamed characters.
She named the drawing The Revolution.
“I know I’m not supposed to like this song,” Sydney swayed to the thumping bass line, “but it’s so incredibly funky.”
Nancy unabashedly mouthed the lyrics as she watched her daughter perform her magic on the canvas. “He could’ve been your father, you know?”
“I don’t want to hear that,” Sydney shook her head and swiped a small patch of red on the canvas. “Nope, don’t want to hear it.”
“Man, the eighties were the best. It was all love. The best acts. The best music. If you wanted to hang out with someone, you just went over to their home. You didn’t have to text, IM, DM, or whatever else people do nowadays. You just went over to see if they were home. You stayed up all night, listening to music, going to the hottest clubs, and just…wash, rinse, and repeat. It was a glorious time.” Nancy swooned as she fell back on the sofa, smiling brightly at the ceiling. “Did I ever tell you what I had to do to get backstage to meet some of my favorite rock stars?”
“Mother,” Sydney shuddered. The thought of her mother dressed up in skimpy clothing, doing her best Marilyn Monroe-impersonation, and giggling like a lovestruck teenager almost made her gag. “Please stop.”
“Prince was a tiny man, but honey, he had a very big talent.” Nancy sighed. “Did you know he made love to me in heels?”
“So, you wore heels?” Sydney humored her mother. “No big deal.”
“No, he was the one wearing the heels!” Nancy smiled. “He had great taste in them.”
“Mother!” Sydney was tempted to throw her glass at Nancy but didn’t want to waste good wine.
“Honey, we’re home!” Dean’s loud voice boomed in the living room.
Sydney quickly put the song on silent and wiped her hands on her apron. Coming in behind Dean was a tall woman with shiny blonde hair that reminded Sydney of corn silk and a figure that suggested she might have been a former beauty queen.
“Syd, this is my mother, Melissa. Melissa, this is the woman of my dreams, Sydney.” Dean introduced the women.
“Sydney!” Melissa gave her a big bear hug. “My darling, Sydney! What a pleasure to meet you!”
Melissa smelled like sunshine, fresh laundry, and homemade apple pie. Her hug was all encompassing, filling every square inch of Sydney’s small frame. Sydney loved her alread
y. “I’m good! So great to meet you finally!”
“Great to meet you!” Melissa pulled away and looked behind her, recognizing a familiar face. “Oh…my…God!”
“Don’t tell me…” Nancy stood up with an equally shocked expression. “…is that Sinderella I’m seeing?”
“Is that Cherry Poppins in front of me?” Melissa shrieked.
The women raced towards each other and gave each other a big hugs as they danced around. “Oh my gosh! I had no idea Dean was your son!” Nancy commented.
“I had no idea Sydney was your daughter!” Melissa exclaimed.
“You two know each other?” Dean asked.
“Sin and I…” Nancy cleared her throat. “…excuse me, Melissa and I go back a long time ago. We used to hang out together.”
“We went to a lot of concerts!” Melissa smiled. “We saw a lot of big acts back in the eighties.”
Sydney quickly began to put the mental pieces of the puzzle together. Their cookie-cutter-not-a-single-hair-out-of-place-wearing-their-finest-pearls mothers were former rock groupies. She didn’t know whether to laugh, be proud, or shudder at the thought her mother was a sexual beast. She didn’t have to wonder where the moniker “Cherry Poppins” came from. “Oh my goodness,” she muttered.
Nancy gathered her bag and interlocked arms with Melissa as they headed out the door. “So, tell me what you’ve been up to…”
Dean stood beside Sydney and smiled. “Your mom was known as Cherry Poppins?”
“Well, your mama was known as Sinderella,” Sydney turned to him, “and I’m sure it’s spelled with a S.”
The smile on Dean’s face quickly disappeared. His own interactions with groupies reminded him of what his mother was capable of doing before she became a boring housewife who was known for knitting and cookies. Dean grabbed his car keys and headed out. “Don’t be talking about my mama.”
Sydney followed behind him. “Don’t be talking about my mama.”
****
It was all coming together.
Both of Ian’s restaurants were going to cater the affair. Eli D’Amato of the world-famous Madre’s flower shop was coming out to do the décor, filling the Ferguson with roses, hydrangeas, and calla lillies. A local DJ was going to spin the hottest tunes. And already, an impressive guest list of A-listers lined up.
Ian went above and beyond to make Sydney’s debut the hottest ticket in L.A. and so far, he’d succeeded. It was going to be a spectacular night and not one anyone shall forget anytime soon.
Sydney was hard at work, completing a drawing a day. Some were good, others were better, but there wasn’t a bad picture in the bunch. It didn’t matter if he liked the pictures. It made Ian satisfied knowing he made the right choice in getting Sydney to make her debut. He had many big plans for her and only hoped it was the start of a long-lasting partnership between them.
It also meant he had to put personal feelings aside. As much as he wanted Sydney, he also knew the feelings he had for her were superficial at best. If he wanted her to be the biggest artist in the world – and she was very capable of becoming so – he would have to keep their relationship professional only.
It was proving to be a problem.
Sydney was a free spirit who still watched Tom & Jerry, and nursed a bad indy film addiction on Netflix. She saw no problem with eating Fruit Loops for dinner and starting her day with Bailey’s in a wine glass. She could class it up to go to a five-star restaurant and tone it down to shoot pool at a dive.
She held some strong opinions that she expressed through art but mostly had a ‘whatever’s clever’ way about her he’d found enchanting. Nevertheless, Ian focused on Sydney’s art. He would deal with his conflicting emotions about her later. It was imperative her show was a major success not only to the art world but to finally shut up his instigating younger brother.
“Well, well, well…” Gerald’s voice boomed as he stood in the doorway of Ian’s office. Ian’s eyes shifted to his brother and back to his MacBook. He figured if he didn’t pay Gerald too much attention, he won’t be around for long. “…it seems Dad finally lit a fire under your ass. I hear the preparations are coming along very nicely.”
“They are,” Ian replied back, “now you can home to your wife.”
“Not so fast,” Gerald closed the door behind him and sat down in front of Ian, forcing him to close his computer screen. “I need to talk to you about Sydney.”
Ian removed his black frames. “What is it about her?”
“She’s very talented and I think she’ll do a lot for the Ferguson. I was wrong in doubting her talent. I see her doing a lot of big things in the future.” Gerald conceded.
“Good,” Ian grinned. “We’re done here.”
“Not so fast, big brother,” Gerald matched Ian’s grin with a snarky one and Ian rolled his eyes. “Listen, I may have been wrong about Sydney but I’m not wrong about your intentions with her. Don’t mess this up for the gallery.”
“Whatever do you mean, little brother?” Ian mocked.
“Cut the act, Ian. You know what I mean. Your interest in Sydney goes beyond just art. And that little purchase of the loft? You’re skating on really thin ice, brother.” Gerald narrowed his eyes. “Do not mess this up. I won’t repeat this again.”
“The loft purchase was a wedding gift for her and her fiancée.” Ian defended.
“If that’s the case, how come neither of them are on the deed?” Gerald asked. He picked up his messenger bag. “Father wasn’t kidding, Ian. You mess this up and you’re cut off and honestly, rightfully so.”
“You can see yourself out, Gerald.” Ian advised.
Gerald grabbed the doorknob before he turned around to address Ian one last time. “Put your dick away for the sake of art. Just this one time.” He left.
Ian silently fumed at the audacity of his brother barging in. Why in the hell did Gerald care about who Ian slept with? He never cared before and always chided his playboy ways. Ian knew better to mix business with pleasure no matter how tempted he was with Sydney.
He had commitments, businesses, and other responsibilities to take his mind off Sydney and diving in between her thighs to taste her heat. He needed to ignore his urges and focus on business only.
And of course, there were moments where Sydney was all he thought about. It was going to be a long summer.
Ten
Rebecca MacDonald looked as primped and poised as ever before the camera.
With a fresh set of veneers and her blonde hair dyed to a shiny perfection, Rebecca was ready for her exclusive at the Stanley Cup Finals. With the Kings and Penguins tied at three a piece, it was a nail-biter for all of hockey. Dean’s performance has been lauded as one of the best of his career and with Jameson’s return on the ice, the two were unstoppable.
All of the news agencies were on-hand to see Dean possibly break the first of Wayne Gretsky’s records.
It’d been long assumed that no one would ever break The Great One’s records for it was just too impossible of a task. Yet, Dean’d proven his naysayers time and time again, that he was a legend and in a league of his own.
Rebecca loved she had up-close and personal seats to the action. She reported from a celebrity perspective – commenting on the fashion choices and A-list celebrities who made their way to the hottest game in town. The series could’ve gone either way with both teams giving their all on the ice. Dean, however, was the true star of the show. He averaged two goals every game, regardless if the Kings lost.
The groupies came out in full force, wearing the tightest jeans and outfits, advertising they were available. She had to admit she was quite impressed with the anorexics and bulimics impressive boob jobs and their hair weaves and wigs that distracted one from looking at their bones jutting out from their skin. Rebecca wanted to ignore them, silently chiding how desperate they were, but she remembered her own role. She was there not too long ago.
Her eyes searched all over the Staples Center, ho
ping to spot Sydney, who had been mysteriously absent for all of Dean’s games. Even the news commentators questioned if things were okay between Sydney and Dean because of her well-noted absence. Poor little girl, Rebecca smirked. She knew Sydney wasn’t going to last long and she was proven right.
She would worry about Sydney later. It was time for her close-up. She paid a lot of money for her Brazilian blowout and she was not going to spend another moment thinking about anyone than herself.
****
“This is very nice,” Melissa commented as she looked around the private suite. A catered chef prepared fresh food alongside a buffet filled with fresh fruit, assorted petite fours, and plenty of side dishes and artisan breads and cheeses.
“I hope it is to your approval,” Ian escorted Dean’s and Sydney’s families inside the room. “I felt this was better for everyone.”
“This is fucking nice, bro,” Chris commented to Ian, “really nice.”
“Excuse my son’s potty mouth,” Melissa elbowed Chris in the stomach, “he means to say thank you.”
“You don’t need to censor yourself in front of me,” Ian winked, “I can understand English just fine.” He looked around for Sydney and found her in a quiet space off in the corner. He quickly joined her. “you doing alright, Sydney?”
“Yeah, just nervous and excited for him,” she referred to Dean, “it’s crazy to see everyone out here. If you saw how Dean was in person, you would’ve never thought he was a hockey player. He’s just so humble and mellow. There are times he studies hockey performances – his and others – and will be locked away in his room for hours. And then there are times he wants to think and talk about anything but hockey. It’s like he has the perfect balance of it all.”
“So, here you are along for the ride,” Ian replied, “how does that make you feel?”
A variety of emotions went through Sydney. She felt like she was dangling from the edge of a cliff. “I hope I don’t mess up.”
“What?” Ian thought he’d misheard. “You don’t mess up? What does you have to do with him?”