by Sarah Thorn
“I love you,” Anthony said as he went to her. Everyone heard him. “I want to marry you, and I want to raise this baby together,” he added. He took her hands, and pulled her close, and they started to dance. “I’m working overtime to get my ex out of my life. She’s asking for too much, but you’re worth it. I’ll give it to her. The money, the cars, all of it, nothing matters. I want to be with you. Just you.”
Aisha could hardly speak, so she didn’t even try. She simply closed her eyes and laid her head on Anthony’s chest, and they danced slowly to the music while all of Aisha’s new co-workers looked on. She didn’t care if they saw her, and neither did Anthony.
*****
THE END
BWWM Romance - The Russian’s Love Child: Tyra’s Story
''It's okay, Tyra, hold on to me,'' Natalie said as Tyra collapsed into her arms.
Father Smith had told me it would be like this, Tyra thought. But which of the emotions had he meant? The Grief or the guilt? Tyra was experiencing both. Two of the most powerful human emotions were wracking through her at will.
''Tyra, we're so sorry for your loss.'' Tyra lifted her head from Natalie's shoulder. It was Mr. and Mrs. Radley Samuels, Tyra's boss and his wife.
''Thank you for coming. I really appreciate it.'' Tyra didn't think she could speak, but the words came out somehow. Natalie handed her another tissue and for a moment, Tyra could see clearly again. She looked to her left and saw a line of mourners waiting to express their condolences to her.
''If only I hadn't been so selfish,'' Tyra said to Natalie as they walked up the cemetery path. It had taken an eternity to work through the line of those seeking to express their condolences and Tyra was exhausted. ''It was foggy, and I knew dad didn't want to drive that day. It was me. Me moaning that they hadn't been to see me in my new home in the city. Lord knows, I think I even suggested they weren't interested in me anymore.'' She held onto Natalie again as another insufferable wave of guilt rammed at her. ''No, I killed them. Dad would never have taken mom out in the car on a day like normally.'' Natalie didn't know how to comfort her friend. They were both just twenty-three and beginning to make their way in the world. Losing parents wasn't supposed to happen until later in life.
*****
Three weeks after the funeral, Tyra stood outside the jewelry store on West 47th Street and looked at it, really looked at it, for the first time. I've been working here for seven months, and this is the first time I've properly taken the place in, she thought. Grief-stricken and riddled with guilt; she felt her senses had become sharper since the passing of her parents. It was as if someone was making her take notice of the world. Making her appreciate what can so easily be torn away from you, in an instant.
West 47th Street was full of jewelry shops, but none as grand as J.P Samuels. They might as well have called it, 'Jewelers to the rich and famous,' she thought. For that's what it was. A place where the rich came to gorge on expensive stones. The front of the store was imposing. Between the cleanest store windows in New York, there were columns of polished black granite. The entrance was in the middle of the store and it too was surrounded by shiny black stone. The door itself was made of bulletproof, reinforced glass. What Tyra liked best about the facade was the sign. It was made of copper and ran the length of the store. The background was dark and the letters that had been forged onto it were polished and stood out better than any other letters on the street.
''Welcome back Tyra. I'm so sorry to hear about your mom and dad,'' Leon said. ''Thanks, Leon. It's very brave of you to say so.'' She'd found that most people just turned away from her, not knowing what to say. Not Leon. It was his job to stand inside the door and keep out the undesirables. He was perfectly equipped to do so at six feet seven and two hundred and fifty pounds, but it involved hours standing in the same place, day after day.
''Tyra, my girl,'' Radley Samuel's said. He'd been waiting for her. Normally, he didn't stand in the shop.
He had others to do that for him. His job was managing the business that his grandfather had started. ''Come with me.''
Tyra followed him through the store. They walked past glass cabinets filled with beautiful necklaces, rings, bracelets, earrings, and watches. At the back of the store, they went through a door and down a corridor. The first door on the right led to a security room. Tyra had never been in the room, but she had seen inside once when the door had been open. It was full of monitors and the latest lock down systems. It was all hi-tech, and she had no idea about any of it.
Radley pushed open the first door on the left and showed her into his office. How can anyone spend hours in an office with no daylight? she wondered. There were pictures of his ancestors on one wall and a giant flora vase in the corner. What she liked most about his office was the carpet. It was deep red with the company crest woven into it.
''Tyra, please sit down.'' He pointed to a button backed armchair that stood in front of his mahogany desk. ''I want you to tell me how you are feeling. You've been through a lot, and I want to make sure you’re feeling up to working again.'' I wish I had a daughter like her, she's so graceful and kind, yet determined and motivated, he thought.
''Well, honestly speaking, I'm still feeling awful.'' You can tell him everything; he cares for you, she told herself as a moment of doubt crept into her mind. ''I weep a lot, especially in the evening and I feel guilty. So guilty.'' She noticed how closely he was listening to her. The furrows on his forehead were deep with concern for her, and his eyes were looking directly into hers, seeking any sign that a return to work may be too early.
''There is nothing I can say to you that will make you feel better. All I can do is tell you what happened to me when my son was killed.'' Killed? I didn't know he'd had a son, she thought. The thought that someone close to her had also suffered such a loss made her feel better.
''My son was only nineteen. He was studying business at New York University and working here at the weekends.'' He stopped talking for a moment, took out a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped his forehead. Tyra knew him to be fifty-nine. He was quite tall and very thin. It was as if he was so involved in his business he forgot to eat.
He looked at her with a pained expression as he continued. ''One morning, he left home to go to college, and he never came back again. A man who had been drinking all night decided to get into his car and drive to the girlfriend he had left for dead in her apartment the previous evening. When he fell asleep at the wheel, it was my son he hit.'' Tyra noticed a crack in his voice. ''Walking down the street minding his own business.'' He took the handkerchief and blew his nose.
''Oh my God, that's awful,'' Tyra put her hand to her mouth.
He nodded. Perhaps I shouldn't have burdened her with this, he thought. ''At first, everything was a blur. It was only after the funeral had taken place that it really hit me. After the funeral, everyone seems to disappear. All the kind words and supporting arms are no longer there. You are suddenly alone.'' He ran his hand through his thinning gray hair and looked towards a photo on his desk. Tyra couldn't see who it was. She assumed his son.
''The Undertaker had warned me about it. A deep hole, he'd called it, and I fell into it.'' When he paused, Tyra thought about where she was mentally and recognized what he was describing. ''The Undertaker also explained that there is something called the cycle of grief. You go through stages of grief, and if you are lucky, eventually come out the other end. The last stage is called the acceptance stage. You stop all the blaming and come to terms with what's happened. Of course, you're still sad, but it gets easier.''
''It's very kind of you to tell me this. I had no idea. I was afraid I would have this level of pain for the rest of my life.'' Tyra looked at her hands. Her nails used to be so manicured, she thought.
''When I employed you, Tyra, I saw something in you. You are one of life's good people. I can see you care about people. When you talk to clients, you are patient, and most importantly, you listen to them. Did you know I h
ave no relatives?''
Tyra shook her head.
''No.''
''Well, I don't. Not one, and no friends. There's only my wife and me.'' He looked at her, and wondered what he was about to say, would do to her. ''I am going to leave the business to you.'' He stared at her, not wanting to miss her reaction.
''Pardon?' Tyra said. She wasn't really in the mood for jokes.
''I am going to leave the business to you,'' he repeated.
What the hell is he playing at? This isn't funny, doesn't he know I've just buried my parents. She went to stand up, but he put up his hand and stopped her.
''For the last time, Tyra. You will inherit this business.'' Someone knocked on the door; it was his wife. ''Tell her Eliana, she doesn't believe me.''
''How are you, Tyra? We are very worried about you?'' she said ignoring her husband's plea for help.
''I've been better.'' What are they playing at, surely Jewish people don't give things away like this, she thought?
''My husband, as you know, isn't given to pranks. We have decided to leave it to you. Of course, you are young, and you have only just started in the business, but we see you have got what it takes.'' She put her hand on Tyra's shoulder and looked her into her eyes. ''You are intelligent, and you have an enormous appetite for the business. We have never seen anyone with your enthusiasm. We are both sixty next year and all we have done with our lives is sit in this store.'' She looked at her husband and gave him an assertive nod. ''In five years time, we will retire and travel. You will take over as manager, and when we die, it will all be yours. Take the time between now and then to learn all you can about the business.''
''Are you okay to come back to work?'' Radley asked. Tyra looked at him and burst into tears. It was a gesture so great that her emotions overflowed.
Eliana sat on the chair arm and put her arm around her. ''You have been through a lot, but you have us, and we will help you all we can.''
*****
Tyra started up Google and typed in: 'The Hope Diamond' She read: Value $350 million dollars, 45 karats, 9.1 grams. ''Three hundred and fifty million dollars,'' she whispered under her breath.
She and Radley had agreed that she would work in the shop four days a week and spend the other two days shadowing him. He' made a list of things he had to teach her. He hadn't realized how long the list would prove to be. One thing he couldn't teach her was diamond cutting. While he was an expert at grading and valuing gems, he'd never enjoyed using tools. Tyra had told him that she'd go to college in her own time and learn.
''How do you like your desk?'' Radley asked as he poked his head into her new office. Tyra wondered if the room had been intended as a broom cupboard when the place was built, but she didn't want to complain. She was grateful it had a window and more than grateful that the Samuels had seen so much potential in her.
''Lovely thanks. I was just looking up information on the Hope Diamond. It really is quite spectacular.''
He stepped into the office and looked at the picture with her. ''It sure is. One of the best diamonds in the world and it's coming here. I can't quite believe it.''
''Neither can I.'' She'd never heard of the program called, 'Diamonds for All.' It was an initiative set up by the National Association of Jewelers, with the aim of bringing famous diamonds to places where the public go and see them. Based on reputation, Radley had been asked if he would like to house the Hope Diamond when it came to New York. His store had the best security of any in the city, and it had a strong room big enough to house a large show cabinet, four security men, and the viewing public.
''Listen, Tyra, I know I said I'd show you the sales figures this afternoon, but Mrs. Johnson has told me she's feeling ill and would like to go home. Can you fill in for her this afternoon? Tyra nodded.
The shop was divided into departments. Not that the clients would notice. To the untrained eye, the store was one large area full of glass cabinets. To the staff, however, it was different. Usually, there were four sales people on duty at anyone time, and two security guards. Each sales person was responsible for six cabinets. Tyra didn't know why, but she enjoyed working on the cabinets where the most expensive ladies jewelry was housed.
''Wow,'' she muttered when she saw the man talking to Leon. Leon had a great eye for people and was a master at keeping scruffy, drunk or loud people out of the store. The man Leon was talking to was none of these. He was beautifully dressed, six feet tall, and well built. Tyra wasn't an expert on men's suits, but she knew enough to see that it was expensive. Leon pointed to Tyra, and she watched as the man walked towards her. When he got closer, she saw the dreamiest emerald green eyes. She inadvertently adjusted her hair and checked to see her blouse was tucked into her skirt.
''Hi. I have an appointment. My name is Dima Asakov. I'm looking for some jewelry for my mother's birthday.''
''Certainly sir.'' Although she had never seen him before, he was obviously one of the store's high net worth individuals. Very rich people were allowed to make an appointment, during which they got VIP treatment. Why don't you pamper me instead of your mother, I could use it right now, she thought. She was quick to chastise herself for being unprofessional.
He noted her features with interest. Black, beautiful, tall, thin, lovely curves, perfect breasts and beautiful face. His mother always said it was the sign of a classy man, when the man kept eye contact with a woman, despite the size of her breasts. Whenever he met a woman, he reminded himself of this. Most days it was easy, but today it required a Herculean effort.
''Follow me, Mr. Asakov.'' The VIP suite was the most comfortable place Tyra had ever been in, but it lacked atmosphere. It wasn't used nearly as often these days. The financial crisis had seen to that.
''Please take a seat,'' she said. He chose the sofa. In the room, there were two arm chairs and a sofa. Made of velvet, they were red, which gave the room a regal feel. Radley had spent a small fortune getting the lighting right. The ceiling was dotted with tiny spot lights, but around the sales table, they were larger. The sales table was a small glass affair, between the sofa and the arm chairs. Just a coffee table Radley had been advised that displaying jewelry in a homely setting would lead to more sales.
''I'm Tyra, it's lovely to meet you. Tell me about your mother what kind of woman is she? Tyra was the only sales assistant that bothered asking questions about the intended recipient. It allowed her to make better choices on behalf of the clients, she thought.
''Yes. Where shall I start?''
''Well, how old is she?''
''She's twenty-two years older than me,'' he said.
''Thirty-eight then,'' she said playing him at his own game.
''That would make me sixteen,'' he laughed. ''No she's forty-nine.'' Twenty-seven she calculated instantly.
''Sorry, I know it's a lot to ask but can you tell me, what color eyes and hair she has. Is her skin light or dark?''
''She's got blonde hair, like mine and her skin color is the same. Her eyes? Do you know, it's amazing how you think you know somebody so well and still don't know things like eye color.'' He looked embarrassed. ''Is it very important?''
She nodded. ''Have you got a sister?'' He nodded. ''Call her, she'll know.'' After a very short conversation in Russian, he hung up.
''Green,'' he said. ''Do you know what color eyes your mother has?'' When her eyes dropped, he felt awkward. ''Sorry, it's none of my business.''
''She's dead. But most black people have brown eyes, so it's not so difficult in my case. How much do you want to spend today?''
''My budget is five hundred thousand,'' he said it without flinching as if it was the kind of impulse buy mothers make to pacify their whining kids at the supermarket check out.
''Great, well thank you for choosing Samuels. I hope we can find you just what you're looking for.'' Tyra smiled at him. Not the usual friendly smile she reserved for people she liked, but the smile she hadn't used since she fell in love with her English teacher when she was sixteen
.
''Of course, if you really want to make me happy, you can sell me the Hope Diamond at a knockdown price,'' he jested.
''I would, but it won't be here for a few weeks,'' she quipped. They both laughed. There was a silence as they looked at each other. It was one of those settling looks that leaves the participants at ease with each other. ''Where did you read we are hosting the Hope Diamond?''
''It was in the New York Times. They wrote a fascinating story about the life of the diamond, who'd owned it and where it had traveled to. It's been worn by some of the most beautiful women in the world. It would look really good on you.''
He's looking at my breasts, she thought. Get some jewelry in front of him to look at. ''Alright, lets get down to business. How about a matching necklace and earrings?'' When he nodded, Tyra called security and got them to fetch the set that Tyra herself admired more than anything in the store.
''So, tell me about yourself, Tyra?'' he said. She could tell it was genuine interest, not just conversation filler.
''There isn't much to know really,'' she said.
''That can't be true. I'm sorry if this embarrasses you, but you are very attractive. A woman like you must have a lot of stories to tell. I bet you get hit on everyday.''
I do, she thought. In the subway, on the street, in restaurants, almost everywhere. ''No, not really.''
''You're kidding me. In that case, the male population of New York must be blind.''
''Alright, I lied. I do get comments all the time. I can't go anywhere without someone looking at me in an inappropriate manner or whistling at me.''''And do you like it when a man whistles at you?'' he asked in a lower tone of voice.
This isn't the kind of conversation you should be having with a client; she told herself. Not able to help herself, she continued. ''Sometimes. It depends on who's whistling. If it's a group of guys on a building site, I don't mind because I know it's just a bit of fun. If it's a guy on the street next to me, it's too close, and I feel threatened.''