Sharp Curves Ahead

by Allison Hobbs

  “In today’s society,” Lorraine continued, “there’re far too many middle-aged women trying to get pregnant. I’m here to tell all of ’em that that ship has sailed. They should have crossed that bridge long before they started suffering with hot flashes.”

  “Now you’re talking age discrimination.”

  “I’m not discriminating. I’m speaking facts.” Lorraine took a deep breath. “Frankly, I don’t want any grandchildren that have to be cloned in order to come into the world. I wouldn’t be comfortable with a test tube baby underfoot. I’d be too scared to turn my back on the strange little thing.”

  Jayla couldn’t help from laughing. “I hope you’re not serious, Mom. Children that are conceived outside the womb and then inserted into their mother’s uterus are not clones.”

  Lorraine snorted. “My point is, babies shouldn’t be the product of something scientists concocted. When you tamper with the natural order of things, you’re likely to get strange results. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Well, I’m not middle-aged. I’m far from it and you don’t have to worry about having weird grandchildren.” Jayla chuckled, hoping to bring some levity to the discussion. When Lorraine got on her soapbox, the conversation had the potential of quickly turning ugly.

  “Yes, you’re still young, but the years zoom by fast after thirty. You need to find yourself a man while you’re still in your good, childbearing years. Don’t wait until you’re all dried up with overcooked eggs and have to find a fertility specialist to inject some youth into your womb.”

  Jayla suppressed a groan. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not looking for a husband? I enjoy being single. I love having the freedom to live my life the way I want to. When the time is right, I’ll settle down. If it doesn’t happen until I’m forty, then so be it—I’m good,” Jayla asserted, knowing full well that she wanted marriage and children in the worst way.

  She was lying through her teeth with her little spiel about not wanting to give up the single life. But she couldn’t very well tell her mother that she was an utter failure in the relationship department.

  “Well, baby, I’m going to do my best to pray you out of this debt. But in the meantime, you need a concrete plan.”

  “You’re right. I’m weighing my options. Filing for bankruptcy might be my best bet.”

  “I hope you don’t have to do that. You don’t want that mess on your record for the next seven years.”

  Jayla took a deep breath. Her mother was really starting to irk her, and it was time to get off the phone.

  “Uh, I have another call and I have to take it. It’s the lawyer I contacted regarding consumer fraud,” she lied. “He thinks there might be a way to get the retailers to bear the debt. After all, they’re the ones that let the transactions go through.”

  “That’s true! It makes much better sense for the stores to eat the costs rather than you. Go ahead and talk to the lawyer, baby. Call me back and let me know what he said.”

  “Okay.” Jayla hung up, marveling once again over her ability to lie through her teeth.

  Sadly, her ability to lie convincingly didn’t change her dire situation. The smart thing to do would have been to talk to the debt collectors back when they’d first started coming after her. Back then, maybe they would have set up an affordable payment plan, but she’d foolishly let too much time lapse while waiting for Sadeeq to come up with the money and pay the bills.

  It was too late to get any sympathy whatsoever from the creditors. They hounded her constantly through the mail and over the phone, talking to her real greasy and making outlandish threats that often scared her out of her wits. She wouldn’t be surprised if those malicious bastards started talking shit about having the rights to her firstborn.

  Her life was pathetic. She was so worried that Sadeeq might get mad and renege on taking her to Bailee’s party that she didn’t pester him as much as she should have. He had no idea of what those hateful debt collectors were putting her through.

  Her mailbox was stuffed with letters from creditors that she was too afraid to open. She felt immobilized by the intimidating letters and harassing phone calls. Blocking their numbers didn’t do any good; they simply called back from a different number and became even more aggressive with their demands and abusive tactics.

  Needing a break from her distressing thoughts, she logged into her fake Instagram account, and was instantly assaulted by posts from Radiance. There were pictures of a girls’ night out. In the photos, she posed with two other man-looking bitches that were wearing cheap clothes.

  Jayla came across more postings from Radiance: pictures of the children playing in the snow while they were upstate visiting her sister and there were pictures of the kids at home.

  There were no photos of Sadeeq alone or cuddled up with Radiance. And no recent family portraits that would give the impression of a harmonious household. From the posts, it appeared that Radiance was embracing her future as a single parent.

  Maybe Sadeeq had been telling the truth when he said that he and Radiance were on the verge of splitting up.

  Chapter 11

  Bailee’s relationship with her mother had been fraught with challenges for as long as she could remember, and it worsened after her father died. Her father, thirty-five years older than her mother, was nearly seventy at the time of his death when Bailee was only nine.

  Despite his advancing years and failing health, he’d doted on his only child and Bailee had adored him. Her mother experienced newfound freedom when he died and began dating men her own age, traveling the globe, and partying with an elite group of new friends. It appeared to the young Bailee that her mother was celebrating her father’s death instead of mourning the loss.

  Grief-stricken, Bailee felt completely abandoned. She grew up resenting Giselle and it was apparent that Giselle resented her, too. She detested having an overweight daughter and didn’t bother to hide her feelings.

  After years of bickering and sometimes going months without speaking, Bailee and Giselle agreed to get help. Fortunately, family therapy had strengthened their bond. They still had disagreements and occasional misunderstandings, but they’d learned how to communicate their feelings instead of shutting each other out as they’d done in the past.

  One of the best things that had come out of the therapy sessions was having a safe forum to let Giselle know how much it had hurt when she criticized Bailee about her weight, making her feel that she wasn’t good enough. Giselle acted surprised to learn that her dietary suggestions were viewed as criticism.

  During the sessions, she also brought up how unfair it was for her mother to exhibit such contempt for Trent. Giselle had expected her daughter to marry someone from a prominent family, someone she could brag about.

  Unfortunately, despite Trent’s fine education and career success, he didn’t fit the bill. With a father who was doing a thirty-year bid for drug trafficking and other charges, Trent would never meet Giselle’s standards, no matter how much he accomplished in life.

  Although neither Bailee nor the therapist could convince Giselle to fully accept Trent, Bailee considered it a minor victory for her mother to simply be civil toward her husband.

  Part of maintaining their healed relationship was making an effort to carve out time for mother-daughter activities once a month. Bailee was so busy with work and organizing the anniversary party, she had come close to cancelling joining her mother at the Academy of Music to see a local ballet company perform Le Corsaire.

  Draped in incredibly realistic faux fur and dripping in jewels, Giselle had arrived at the theater looking as elegant as ever. Despite the icy pavements and snow-slushed streets, she wore heels. The woman refused to age. At fifty-one, she could pass for thirty. She was often mistaken as Bailee’s sister, which drove Bailee mad.

  If fifty was the new thirty, then Giselle was the poster child. It was unusual for a mother to turn heads while the adult daughter was virtually ignored, but that’s ho
w it was with Bailee and her mother. Giselle was the stunner, the gregarious socialite getting all the attention, while Bailee was treated like the homely sidekick. The public’s reaction to her mother left Bailee with a confounding mix of jealousy and pride, which over time, had morphed into a puzzling blend of hatred and love.

  Living in her mother’s shadow was extremely difficult, but with the help of therapy, she was conquering her demons.

  Long-limbed and lissome, Giselle glided into the lobby with the demeanor and grace of a noblewoman, and Bailee stepped forward to greet her. “You look lovely, Mom,” she said, feeling dumpy as she went in for a hug and air kisses.

  “Thank you, darling,” Giselle replied, cutting a disapproving glance down at Bailee’s comfortable Ugg boots.

  In the past, prior to family therapy, Giselle would have verbalized her displeasure at her daughter coming to the theater in drab work attire, but she’d learned to hold her tongue and Bailee was grateful.

  Bailee planned to glam it up for her anniversary party and other pending social events throughout the year, but it wasn’t her style to go full-diva with a beat face and her hair coiffed for the sake of sitting in a darkened theater.

  Arms linked, mother and daughter chatted as they walked, giving the impression that they were dear friends. But as they made their way to their box seats, anyone listening closely would have realized that their conversation was stiff and awkward.

  The moment the curtain rose, revealing the spectacular set, Bailee forgot about her marital problems. She was so captivated that the pressures of her job also rolled away.

  The performance, a masterwork of classical ballet, took her breath away. The flamboyant costumes of glittering gold, sky blue, and soft pink were mesmerizing. The energy between the dancers was contagious and Bailee was riveted by the impressive jumps that they performed effortlessly.

  At the conclusion of the amazing three-act show, Bailee found herself applauding enthusiastically and alternately wiping away tears.

  “Oh, darling, you’re crying,” Giselle exclaimed. “I never realized you were such a ballet enthusiast. As you know, I’m a member of the American Ballet Theatre, and my contributions allow me exclusive seats, invitations to ABT dress rehearsals, private backstage tours, you name it,” Giselle exclaimed with a sweeping wave of her hand. “Misty Copeland will be performing in in a few months. Would you like to see the performance and meet her?”

  “Sure, I’d love to.”

  “Great. We could spend the weekend in New York. Do some shopping and relax at my favorite spa. Do you think hubby will let you go?” She had spoken the word, “hubby,” with affection, as if she actually approved of her son-in-law. But Bailee realized her mother’s feelings about Trent hadn’t changed. She was merely making an effort to acknowledge him; something she’d never done before they’d started therapy.

  “I don’t need my husband’s approval, but I couldn’t possibly go away for an entire weekend.”

  “Why not?” Giselle sounded genuinely disappointed.

  “I’m bogged down with work. My position requires working at home most weekends,” Bailee explained, struggling not to sound annoyed. Giselle was taking the mother-daughter time a bit too far. One evening per month was all that either of them could tolerate. Any longer than that and Giselle would revert back to her old programming and begin bringing up Bailee’s weight and other perceived flaws.

  “I think a weekend together would do us both good,” Giselle insisted.

  Bailee could feel a spark of defiance igniting inside her. She didn’t intend to put up with Giselle’s sly comments ever again. And she’d be damned if she would put up with the amount of shade her mother was capable of throwing over the course of a long weekend. “It’s not a good idea, Mom,” Bailee said in a tone that told Giselle to drop the subject.

  “Fine, let’s have dinner. I made reservations at Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse.”

  Giselle guided Bailee outside where her hired car was waiting at the curb. During the ride, Giselle steered the conversation to ballerina Misty Copeland, and she spoke of the dancer as if they were close friends. Giselle was such a shameless name-dropper, which annoyed Bailee to no end.

  “I thought I led a regimented lifestyle with my strict low-carb diet and my punishing daily workouts, but Misty is much more fanatical than I am when it comes to her body. She has a new book that details how she keeps her body lean and strong.”

  It took all of Bailee’s strength not to roll her eyes in irritation. Giselle was a total narcissist. How could she even begin to compare her workout to that of a prima ballerina?

  “I can order a copy of Misty’s book if you’d like.”

  Misty! So, you’re on a first-name basis with her, are you? “That’s okay; I already have it,” Bailee lied, hoping to change the subject. In a short amount of time, Giselle had reverted back to her old behavior of trying to fix Bailee.

  At the restaurant, while Giselle dined on a juicy rib-eye steak and grilled asparagus, Bailee stuck her fork into a boring salad.

  “It’s great that you’re eating healthy. Good for you, honey.”

  “Thanks. I’m trying to lose a few pounds for the party.” The thought of the upcoming anniversary celebration made her want to gag. What a farce! Yet, she couldn’t cancel.

  First of all, too much money had been spent and secondly, cancelling would seem like she was throwing in the towel on her marriage, which she wasn’t.

  She planned to talk Trent into going to marriage counseling with her. If at the conclusion of counseling, they discovered their marriage was worth saving, then she’d consider going off the pill. However, in her heart of hearts, she felt that Trent’s terrible attitude had nothing to do with starting a family. She had no idea why there was venom in his tone on the rare occasions that he spoke to her.

  And she dreaded learning the truth.

  Giselle inspected Bailee with penetrating eyes, and then said, “I can tell you’ve lost a little; your face is smaller. I wanted to mention it when we hugged earlier tonight, but you’re so sensitive, I didn’t want to bring up anything that might make you uncomfortable.”

  “I’m not sensitive to compliments. I just don’t like being told how I should eat or what kind of workouts I should do.” On the defensive, Bailee’s voice climbed in pitch.

  “Why’re you getting so worked up? All I said was that I could tell you were slimming down.” Giselle shook her head as if she couldn’t win for losing when it came to her temperamental daughter.

  A familiar tension filled the air and the two women ate in silence.

  Bailee stole a glance at Giselle, admiring and envying her beauty. At a hundred and twenty pounds, she was dainty and elegant with long, slender fingers that were tastefully bejeweled. Compared to Giselle’s hands, Bailee’s were short and stubby.

  She’d inherited her mother’s delicate facial features, but her robust body type came from her father’s side. Having a beautiful, swan-like mother hadn’t been good for Bailee’s self-esteem, but she’d fought like hell to become comfortable with her weight, even during the days when her mother used to look at her with repugnance. On many occasions when her snobbish friends were visiting, Giselle had gazed upon Bailee with embarrassment.

  Bailee didn’t know what hurt worse: her mother’s resentment or her mortification.

  Trent’s love and acceptance of Bailee had been the primary reason she’d been able to experience self-love, but now that he was behaving erratically, giving her the silent treatment and talking to her disrespectfully, she was rapidly losing the confidence that it had taken years for her to build.

  “I’m wearing Oscar de la Renta to your anniversary party,” Giselle said, her voice cutting into the silence. “It’s a white, off-the-shoulder gown made of silk brocade. It’s understated and elegant—very refined and tasteful, not glitzy at all. As you know, I abhor gaudiness,” she said, her lips pursed.

  Bailee knew her mother’s many aversions all too well. G
rowing up, she’d been reminded of what was tacky, gaudy, and ghetto on a regular basis.

  “Who are you wearing, darling?” Giselle inquired.

  “A new designer—someone you’ve never heard of.”

  Actually, Bailee’s dress was being made by a seamstress in nearby Roxborough. Giselle was well aware that Bailee wasn’t built for the fashions of popular designers.

  “Did you love my father?” Bailee blurted, surprising herself and Giselle with a question that seemed to have come completely out of the blue.

  Giselle put down her fork. “Why do you ask?”

  Bailee shrugged. “Now that I’m grown—eleven years older than you were when you married him—I wonder what it must have been like to be a twenty-year-old girl married to a fifty-five-year-old man.”

  “It was difficult at times, but it was also thrilling. Daniel was a wealthy investor and a very powerful man. I was attracted to his power.”

  “Were you physically attracted to him?”

  Giselle wrinkled her nose. “Not really. I had trouble getting through the physical aspect of our relationship. Though I loved his brilliant mind, his exquisite taste, and his commanding presence, I was never sexually attracted to him.”

  “What turned you off—his age?”

  “It wasn’t his age, per se. What turned me off was the way he looked without clothes.” She smiled apologetically. “His body was flabby from neglect. And his big gut…” She drew her lips together tightly and wrinkled her nose as if she smelled a terrible stench.

  “I see.” Bailee speared a chunk of romaine lettuce and chewed miserably. Giselle was describing her body, fat-shaming her on the sly. She wondered if Trent now saw her in a new light. Was he repulsed by her extra padding and the “cushioning” (as he called it) that he used to rub and touch in a way that seemed close to reverence?

  Had it all been an act? Can someone fake that kind of devotion? Bailee wondered.

  Glumly, she wrapped her arms around herself. It was a movement that suggested insecurity, a demonstration of how completely unloved she felt.