Straight to the Heart

by Michelle Monkou

  She didn’t take the flowers, but continued walking toward her trailer.

  “Thought you’d be out much earlier.” Omar ruefully noted the curled edges of the delicate petals.

  “I’m at work,” Stacy scolded.

  “And it’s definitely not a nine-to-five.” Omar buried his nose in the floral bunch. “These are wilted.”

  “Then you’d better get them in some water.” Stacy reached her trailer and turned to him. “It’s late and I’ve got to grab a few things. Then Brenda is taking me to the hotel. I have another interview in the morning.” She turned and opened her door. “By the way, I’m allergic to lilies.”

  “Give me another chance and I’ll get you something that you’ll like.”

  “Maybe.” Stacy started to close the door.

  “I’d like a chance to talk to you.”

  “Not tonight.”

  “I agree. It’s late. Where’s your interview tomorrow?” Omar refused to be put off by her ready dismissal.

  “I’ll do this one alone,” she declared matter-of-factly.

  “I’m supposed to be your boyfriend. I should be at your side since I’m here in Montreal.”

  “You have your job and I have mine. No one is expecting us to be together all the time,” Stacy argued.

  Omar took another whiff of the flowers. “These flowers need a home.” He offered them to a passing older woman. She took them with a wide smile when he proffered a deep bow.

  “Guess you’ve done your good deed for the day,” Stacy said.

  “I’ll let you get your rest.” Omar turned to leave. “But we do need to talk at some point.”

  “At some point,” she echoed.

  Omar gave up, but only for tonight. He hadn’t acted with malicious intent. Plus she had proposed this bizarre scenario. He looked over his shoulder to see if she had closed her door. He was not disappointed to see her in the doorway, looking at him. “You know, I’m not the enemy,” he shouted to her.

  “I’m staying at the Royal Canada Montreal Hotel, but meet me here at seven. Don’t be late.” Stacy closed the door before he could reply.

  But what would he say? His heart betrayed his cocky retort and reacted with a grateful leap. Heading to his hotel for the night wasn’t so bad; knowing that she was staying at the same hotel was even better.

  Stacy awoke early the next morning when the sunlight pried a blazing path between the heavy hotel drapes. After her shower, she read poetry by Maya Angelou and ate a bowl of oatmeal.

  By six-thirty, she was dressed and waiting in the lobby, which was surprisingly busy given the early hour. Some of the production staff were also heading out. A few who recognized her waved. The principals stayed in another hotel that would cost what she earned from the movie. She accepted a ride to her trailer with the makeup artist. She was already looking forward to seeing Omar.

  “What’s got your attention?”

  “Where did you come from?” Stacy jumped, startled to see Omar next to her. She had been gazing at the brisk pace of the area waking up.

  Omar stepped up beside her. What a pleasant sight he made at the beginning of the day. He was enough to get her creative juices flowing. All he had to do was keep his wide grin in place and he charmed her. But she wasn’t called stubborn for nothing. She didn’t plan to join his female army of converts.

  “Good morning,” she greeted him with a smile.

  “You’re in a decidedly better mood.” He squeezed past her through the narrow door frame of the RV and popped a kiss on her cheek.

  “I have to finish getting dressed. I got a fab dress from the costume department, a mere loan, you see. Have a seat.” She hurried to her room where her hose lay across the bed and two pairs of shoes awaited her attention. She must remember to send the wardrobe ladies a thank-you gift.

  “I bought you a pound of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee,” Omar said.

  “I don’t drink coffee.”

  “What? You’ve got a coffeemaker.”

  Stacy laughed. “That’s for Brenda or Fred. I don’t do caffeine. Makes me too wired. I like to feel in control. Chocolate is a downfall.”

  “This means that I failed again with my bribes.”

  Stacy pulled on her hose, hating the feel of nylons against her legs. She was a pants type of girl, choosing dresses and skirts only for church. However, as a movie actress, she wanted to wear stylish designer clothing.

  She looked down at the two pairs of shoes. Grabbing one pair in each hand, she walked out to the front where Omar studied the bag of coffee.

  “Hey, you want to help me make a decision?” Stacy nodded to the small sitting area. “Don’t know which ones to wear to the interview.”

  “Which would you like to wear?”

  “Neither. I’d rather wear flip-flops.” Stacy wrinkled her nose at the thin heel on the black shoes and the wedge heel on the red ones.

  “I’d say go with the flip-flops. It’ll make you seem approachable, youthful, not stuck-up. Qualities that I found attractive when I first met you.” He approached her and held up one of the shoes. “This is definitely not you. Stay real.”

  Stacy weighed his advice with what she knew Brenda would say. She glanced at her watch. There wasn’t much time to ponder this issue. She really wanted to wear the flip-flops, too. The first thing Brenda would remind her of was to think of her audience. She was going on one of the local channels for a few minutes to plug her upcoming album.

  Sighing, she set down the black shoes and slid her feet into their strappy confines. Her toes protested, then her calves joined in. How did women manage to put themselves through this torture?

  “You don’t take my flowers. You refuse my coffee. And now you dismiss my wardrobe choice. You’re hurting me.” Omar clutched his chest and winked.

  Stacy shrugged and stuck out her tongue at him.

  “Careful, don’t send out invitations unless you’re ready to party,” Omar said with a drawl. “Guess it’s time for us to go?”

  They walked out together to where a car waited. The driver popped out as soon as they emerged. Stacy did the introductions and then climbed into the sedan with Omar sliding in close to her side.

  Stacy settled back as the car entered the rush-hour traffic on the main road. Her arm brushed against Omar as the car jostled them. He sat much closer than necessary, but she didn’t complain. His body warmth felt good against the morning chill.

  Omar broke the silence. “Do you miss home?”

  “Not really. I have an apartment condo that could be called home,” Stacy answered.

  “I know what you mean. I’m like that, too. Home has turned out to be wherever I’m at for that time.” He took a deep breath and looked out the window. “A bit sad that Montreal won’t be home, though.” Omar craned his neck to look as they rode through the old city.

  “Because?”

  “I’m due back in Atlanta by tomorrow. That means I’ll be leaving you.”

  “Oh.” Stacy hadn’t thought about his leaving. She guessed he did have to go back to work. “Are you still interested in…um…being my boyfriend?”

  Omar took her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers. Stacy admired his hands, strong, blunt-fingered, not soft but certainly not rough. Maybe they had seen some hard work. But she’d guess that he probably found an alternative that required less sweat.

  “You think too much,” he said.

  “I’ve been accused of worse. But using my brain has saved me.”

  “Is this where Antonio had a part?”

  Stacy nodded.

  “Tell me about him,” Omar coaxed.

  “Let’s wait until after the interview.” Stacy made a small motion with her hands. “It’s important that I’m thrilled to bits with my life during the interviews.”

  The sedan turned into a lot where a guard waited. Once the driver took care of the details, they were allowed to enter. Omar hadn’t let go of her hand. She took that as a good sign.

  Once th
e door opened and her feet hit the ground, she was swept up with the television staff. Brenda was already in the building talking with the host. Omar followed behind the crowd. Once in a while, Stacy peeked at him behind the frenzy of assistants. He didn’t look abandoned as her conscience had needled her. Instead, he looked very interested in the entire goings-on and the plethora of females who were as busy as termites around him. Maybe it was her only-child status, but she wasn’t into sharing even if he was her fake boyfriend. If they were still around after her interview she’d have to snatch a few women bald.

  Omar didn’t have to look up to sense Stacy staring at him. She didn’t look pleased, especially when the women smiled and flirted with him. Little did she know that he wasn’t interested in the superficial nonsense of model features, brick-house curves and flirtatious foreplay. He wouldn’t say that he’d grown out of appreciating the sexual dynamics. But he was much more selective of with whom he’d play. None of these women could compare to Stacy, neither in physical beauty nor classy personality.

  At that moment, Stacy stepped onto the small stage set designed as if for a fireside chat. Omar studied her as she was fitted with a microphone. Her thick, luxuriant hair shone under the lights. Her wide cheekbones reflected the exotic mixture of her ancestry, which he was sure had a little Native American in it. It would be only a matter of time before she replaced the so-called sex symbols. Then some hypersexed teen would share his admiration of her full-figured body.

  As she shared her journey to being discovered with the host, he listened to what she said, but charged to his memory all that she didn’t say. That was why he considered her a complex but alluring woman who left so much to be discovered.

  And he wanted to learn what turned her on.

  Chapter 4

  Stacy looked down at the long, white envelope in her hand, wishing that she didn’t have to play messenger. She took the remaining pile of mail from the kitchen counter and hastily laid it on the coffee table in the family room, hoping that the letter would give some comfort to her manager.

  “What you got there, kiddo?” Brenda entered the kitchen, heading past Stacy for the family room. “Thanks for bringing in the mail. Probably all bills.” She wrinkled her nose and ran her fingers over the mound of envelopes, setting aside a few to be reviewed more immediately.

  “What time do we need to get on the road to make the concert?” Stacy deliberately tried to focus Brenda’s attention on their plans to take in an outdoor neo-soul concert to celebrate her completion of the movie part and their return to Atlanta.

  “We can leave now and that will give us time to get a good parking spot.” Brenda’s voice drifted off. Her hand hovered over the envelope. Slowly she picked it up and opened it. Stacy saw her shoulders rise and lower from her deep, audible sigh. She’d hoped that maybe Brenda would wait for a private time to read the contents.

  Feeling uncomfortable as an unwilling witness, Stacy moved out of the room and took a seat in the living room. All she heard was a slight rustle of paper. No sound of weeping came from the room. She read that as a good sign.

  “It’s from Valerie.”

  Stacy nodded.

  “She said not to worry about her.” Brenda refolded the letter and set it down on the side table near the door. “Not to worry.” She laughed, a bitter sound. “Still no clue as to what a mother feels.”

  “I’m sure she said more.” Stacy saw the frustration and anger in Brenda’s scowl. “It’ll get better. She obviously wants to keep you informed,” she coaxed, hoping that Brenda could see the positive aspects.

  “It’s like a wound that keeps being reopened.”

  “I’m not going to let you believe that, and you don’t really feel that way. I would want to know how my daughter was doing, even if I couldn’t see or speak to her.”

  Brenda gently touched the folded letter. She looked up with unshed tears. “Guess you’re right.” She stood silently, clearly taking a few minutes to collect herself. “We have a concert to enjoy.”

  “I’m right behind you.” Stacy hurried through the front door as Brenda engaged the security system.

  Stacy maneuvered through the neighborhood. Kids in small groups strolled down the street toward the community playground. Adults jogged and biked along the sidewalks. More conscientious residents washed their cars or mowed their lawns. Brenda chose a radio station of classic oldies. But Stacy couldn’t resist needling her and changed the station to the number-one-ranked R & B station. She turned up the volume in the upper-crust community, and got tickled with the looks of displeasure as Ludacris and L’il John rapped their raucous lyrics.

  Stacy finally gave in to Brenda, who covered her ears.

  “Not in the mood today.”

  Stacy drove a few more miles before Brenda blurted, “She wants more time to think. But she thinks that one day she’d be ready to see me. Soon.”

  “I know it’ll be soon,” Stacy encouraged. She had become Brenda’s rock through the ordeal. “Let’s go and have a good time.”

  Forty minutes later, they arrived at the Chastain Amphitheater, joining the hundreds of others sharing in the outdoor extravaganza. People from all backgrounds and ages gathered in lines leading into the park. The community of fans broke down barriers as people turned to each other to carry on animated conversations.

  Once they were inside the park, the swell of people became chaotic. Those with tickets for the lawn seating rushed to get their prime spots. Stacy had called in a few favors to be seated in the middle lower-front rows. She hoped that Brenda could return home in a mellow mind-set after enjoying the concert.

  “Thanks for this,” Brenda whispered.

  “It’s a small thing that I can do to say thanks,” Stacy answered. She’d love to do more to show her gratitude. Maybe she could help with reuniting mother and daughter.

  As the various bands warmed up between sessions, Stacy headed to the concession area to purchase two slices of greasy pizza, sodas and pretzel bites. By the time the main act came onstage, they were happily munching. Stacy figured she’d eat now and exercise later.

  Brenda suddenly leaned in close to Stacy. “When are you planning to see your fake wannabe boyfriend?”

  Stacy chose to keep her attention on the soulful young singer. It had taken her manager two hours to ask what clearly must have been weighing on her mind like a megaton truck. Ignoring Brenda’s pointed stare, Stacy snapped her fingers to the catchy riff. When the singer led the group to raise their hands and sway to the melodic crooning, she followed suit.

  The song ended before Brenda started in on her again. “I’m only asking from a business manager’s perspective.”

  Stacy hooted at the false declaration. “Guess we’re done talking about Valerie.”

  “I don’t trust either of you not to have cooked up a change to the plan without consulting me.”

  Stacy reluctantly turned her attention from the last song, one of her favorites. The finale drew a thunderous roar from the crowd. “Stop staring at me and at least enjoy the last song, please,” she prodded.

  Brenda’s nagging didn’t cease on the way home. “I’m dropping you off and I’m not coming in,” Stacy declared. “You’ll have to pick my brain some other time.”

  “I’ll tell you what was in my letter if you tell me about that man,” Brenda wheedled.

  “That man is Omar,” Stacy replied crisply.

  Brenda shrugged.

  Stacy didn’t really need to know what was in the letter, figuring that was between Brenda and her daughter. Knowing Brenda, the offer to share meant there was something important that she might share.

  Stacy pulled up in front of the house. She noted the dark interior. Brenda hadn’t left on any lights. The all-brick minimansion stood dark and looming on the slight hill.

  “I’ll come in for a few minutes.” Stacy turned off the engine.

  At least twenty years stood between Brenda and her. Yet they were both single with their own demons to conq
uer. Maybe that’s why they got along. Loneliness was the underlying theme in their lives. This fact motivated Stacy to stick around for Brenda’s sake.

  “Care for anything hot?” Brenda headed for the kitchen, turning on the various lights as she walked through the house.

  “No, I don’t think I can eat or drink anything else. All that junk I ate has me stuffed.” Nevertheless, she followed Brenda and sat at one of the bar stools against the dining counter.

  “Valerie promises that she is okay. That she’s working out her life before she can see me again.”

  “Oh, Brenda, that’s wonderful news, isn’t it?” Stacy walked over and hugged Brenda. “She’s trying to get her life together. I know that must have been uppermost in your mind.”

  “I’m not the kind to hang on to empty promises. But since Valerie left, I will listen to anything, live on hope, even light a candle in the window.” Brenda idly wiped the kitchen counter. “However long it takes, I want to see my baby.” Her voice shook slightly.

  “Valerie will appreciate your support.” Stacy hurried over to Brenda, who was hunched over, head bowed. Her manager was a proud woman who hated to have witnesses to this one thing that seemed to buckle her at the knees. Stacy rested her forehead against Brenda’s head.

  “Some days are better than others when I can believe in miracles.” Brenda pushed away. “What about your young man? I mean Omar.”

  “As a matter of fact, Omar has moved into a new condominium. He invited me over tonight, but…” She shrugged. Never mind that saying no had practically made her ill.

  “I can handle Omar. And I’m not being naive. We’re enjoying each other’s company. It’s been a while since I’ve had a male friend who makes me feel comfortable.”

  “You’re on your way up. Why have the deadweight?”

  “Better question is, why do you hate Omar so much?” Brenda’s accusation pricked Stacy’s dignity. “You know what, I think we’d better say good-night and leave it at that. We had a nice evening. I’d rather your prejudices against Omar didn’t cloud it.”