“I’ll be staying at the hospital tonight,” Stacy told Omar.
“No, you won’t, at least not in my room. I don’t need you blabbing at me all night, nor do I want to listen to your snoring,” Brenda continued to complain.
“I’ll leave if you do what needs to be done.” Stacy held her hand over the phone’s mouthpiece.
“I would call you a name if the doctor wasn’t here.” Brenda looked at the attending nurse who entered the room to take her vitals.
“I want to hear you say you’ll have the angioplasty,” Stacy pressed.
“Fine. Do whatever you want.” Brenda threw up her hand in surrender.
“Good decision.” Stacy resisted the urge to pump a fist in the air.
“Now, you, go away.” Brenda pointed at Stacy. “I’m tired.”
Stacy turned her attention to her phone. “Sorry about that. Looks like I’m heading home.”
“I’ll meet you there,” Omar replied.
“See, Doc, as soon as he calls, she goes running.”
Stacy ignored Brenda’s ribbing. Instead she focused on the doctor’s plan of action.
Omar couldn’t help feeling pleased that Stacy wasn’t gone. Brenda might be prickly, but he couldn’t get over the fact that such a strong woman had a vulnerable heart. He walked down the hallway to Stacy’s door, a little disconcerted that he found himself planning his schedule around her. Was he turning into a whipped boy? His friends would kick him out of the club if they ever got wind of how hard he’d fallen for this woman.
“Hey, I’m heading to the trash room. Make yourself comfortable.” Stacy popped a quick kiss on his cheek and rushed past him.
“I can do that,” he offered.
“That’s okay. I’ll remember to save the heavy stuff for you.” Stacy continued down the hall, her ponytail dancing with each step.
Omar stepped into Stacy’s condo. A spicy scent greeted him, making him think of pumpkin pie or cinnamon toast. The curtains were drawn and the room was lit with muted white light. With her beige and natural furniture colors, the general atmosphere elicited an instant sense of calm. His stressful day slipped further away. He settled on the couch, listening for Stacy’s return.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” Stacy handed him a cup of coffee. “Just brewed for you.”
Omar stretched and miserably failed at stifling a yawn. “Can’t believe I dozed. I sat, waited for you, then zoned out while looking at the lighted candle on the coffee table.”
“I’m cool. I wasn’t giving you a hard time. Are you sticking around for dinner?”
Omar tested the air, frowning.
“I’ve only started on the noodles.” She punched his arm playfully. “I’m making spaghetti.”
“Wow, this’ll be the first time that you’ve cooked me a meal.” His stomach growled with full appreciation. His taste buds watered at the thought of a hot meal.
“Don’t push your luck,” she called over her shoulder, as she headed into the kitchen.
Omar listened to the sounds of pots clanging and cabinet doors closing. The quiet whoosh of the refrigerator introduced the sounds of plastic bags rustling. He was too young for domesticity. Yet a part of him liked the thought of long-term commitment. He reached for the remote. There had to be a game on somewhere.
“Nope. No TV tonight. As a matter of fact, you can help me with the vegetables.”
“Vegetables? I thought we were having spaghetti.” Omar didn’t relish the thought of eating a plateful of veggies.
Stacy had her hand on her hip until he walked into the kitchen. “Now I know you have got to be kidding. Don’t you eat mushrooms, green peppers, onions and a little green onions in your spaghetti?”
“Good grief, no. If you buy the high-end brand, it has all of those ingredients in there without me having to see big chunks floating in my spaghetti sauce.”
“Get to work. I can see that I’ll have to teach you a few things.”
“Promise.” Omar winked, always ready for a little verbal foreplay.
“Keep your mind on your task. Here’s an onion for you to chop.”
He might not be the best cook in town, but he knew the effects of chopping onions. He pulled out the largest knife, set the onion on the cutting board, closed his eyes and randomly attacked the vegetable. When he thought it was safe, he opened his eyes. As far as he was concerned, it was a job well done. He slid the board toward Stacy, who had stopped washing the mushrooms to witness his culinary skill.
“Anything else?” he asked, preening from his accomplishment.
“Green peppers next.” She tossed him two large peppers.
In under an hour, Omar helped Stacy prepare a pot of thick sauce bubbling on the stove. She tended to the garlic bread warming in the oven. Now familiar with the kitchen, he grabbed plates and silverware to set the table. Instead of placing them at opposite ends of the table, he set their places side by side. He wanted her within reach, to feel her body warmth next to his, to remark on her light, crisp perfume and to play with the soft tendrils of hair near her ears.
No sooner had he set down the glasses than the phone rang. The answering machine picked up the call, playing Stacy’s standard greeting and request for a message. She paused in taking out the bread, her head cocked to one side as she listened. Omar found himself also waiting to hear the mysterious caller.
“Stacy, are you there? Stacy, pick up.” A voice that clearly belonged to a man insisted on Stacy picking up the phone.
She hadn’t moved from her position in front of the stove. Her hands gripped the oven mitt, clutching it close to her chest. The phone rang again, startling her.
Omar walked over to the phone. He’d had enough of this person. He didn’t like to think that there was another man interested in Stacy. But more than that, whoever this man was he was clearly upsetting Stacy.
“No. Don’t.” Stacy pulled back his hand from reaching the phone. “It’s Antonio.” She wrung the oven mitt like a three-year-old with a rag doll.
“Here, I’ll deal with him.” Omar took the phone, his temper soaring at this man’s tenacity. Through gritted teeth, he barked, “What is your problem?”
“Who’s this?” Antonio asked.
“Never mind. Keep up this harassment and you’ll end up in court.”
“Oh, it’s lover boy. Are you going to ride in on your horse to save the poor little rich girl?” Antonio laughed.
Omar realized that this idiotic man was drunk. The fact didn’t relax him, knowing that Antonio could brashly do something stupid. “Sleep it off.”
“Here, let me talk to him. I can calm him.” Stacy reached for the phone.
“I think the bread is burning.” Omar motioned toward the oven. When she turned to tend to the stove, he slammed down the phone.
“Darn it. The bread is ruined.” Stacy tossed it into the trash. “This meal sucks.” She threw up her hands in frustration.
He detected a slight quiver in her voice. “It’ll be all right. I won’t let him hurt you.”
“You don’t understand.” Stacy sank down into the chair at the table. She lowered her head into her hands.
Omar bit back his frustration. He grew tired of the mysterious pull that her ex had on her. Did he have to worry about Antonio, the ex-manager, or Antonio, the ex-boyfriend? “Why don’t you make me understand?”
Stacy took a deep breath and dragged her hands down her face. “Antonio is that part of my life that I want to set aside. I want people to see and judge me for me. Instead, my background is the topic of conversation in the media.”
“You can’t change who you are or where you came from. I know, I’ve tried,” he joked weakly. “Find something good about your life to focus on.”
“That’s priceless.” Stacy got up and headed for the refrigerator. “Want a drink?”
“Sure.” Omar could use a stiff drink. Much to his surprise, she offered him a glass of milk. He took it, choosing not to be picky.
Stacy resumed he
r seat, her fingers wrapped tightly around the glass. “I want to work with an organization that focuses on homeless youth.”
Omar nodded, sensing that she wasn’t finished talking. He sipped his milk and fought the urge to gag. Milk wasn’t his favorite beverage.
“When I was on the street, I tried to live with the other street kids, scraping a living working odd jobs for pay under the table.” She shook her head, her lips turned down with distaste. “It’s not for the fainthearted, let me tell you. Those kids had a higher chance of using drugs. I guess they had to dull the emotional pain that ultimately drove them to leave their homes and families.”
Slowly Omar approached her and slid his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s sit over here.” He didn’t know how to comfort her other than to literally offer his shoulder for her to lean her head on. She complied, her body molded to his as they walked. Once they were settled, with Stacy resting her head against his chest, he stroked her hair, tracing the strands from the top of her head to the curled tips. “I’m listening,” he said.
“Compared to the other kids, I wasn’t homeless for a long time. Guess I knew that I could submit to the foster system if I needed. Otherwise I felt like I was a faceless, nameless character in a macabre play of life.”
“And rapping?” Omar coaxed.
“Hip-hop is on the rise, as you know. Every street corner is littered with colorful flyers with talent shows, agents advertising, promoters highlighting key clients. I dragged my feet about writing down the information, then time passed before I actually followed up on the addresses.”
“That wasn’t very smart,” Omar scolded before he could stop himself. “Sorry.”
“Hey, now that I look back at that and various other things, I’m lucky to have come out relatively normal. So I headed to auditions and got slammed. Television audiences complain nowadays about that acid-tongued British music producer being cold and heartless. They haven’t seen anything. The men, and they were all men, wanted me to rap dressed as if I had an identity crisis. When I started to sing, then they wanted me to dress and act like a Vegas showgirl. That wasn’t happening, either. I may have been lacking in social etiquette, but it only took one fight with an all-girl gang to make me realize that only I could care for me.”
“That sounds so definite.”
“What is there to consider?” She turned to look at him with raised eyebrows.
“Me.” Omar met her eyes. He made no attempt to hide that he deeply cared about her. “You’ve been the tough girl ever since I first met you. I admire that trait, but it’s not always necessary.”
“Have you ever been let down? Has anyone ever broken your heart?” She barely waited for his response before she continued. “See? Just what I thought, you have no idea how hard it is to let someone take control.”
“I’m not asking to take over running your life. You’ve pretty much done that with Brenda.” Omar didn’t mean to sound as though he was launching accusations, yet Brenda’s objections had seemed narrowly focused on men or more specifically, against him.
“Look, I don’t want to fight over this. I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me. Although it appears that I can’t appreciate it, that’s not true.” She took his hand and placed it against her upper chest, covering his hand with hers. “You have a special place in my heart.”
Omar didn’t wait for her to phrase her rejection of his overtures as a confidant. His arms engulfed her and scooped her into a sweeping embrace before his head descended to meet her upturned face. Shock gave way to a subtle moan as Stacy returned his kiss with feverish abandon.
“You make it so difficult for me to make sense whenever you kiss me.” Stacy pushed away from him. “What are you doing to me?”
“Loving you.” No sooner had the words left Omar’s mouth than he buckled under all the weight and pressure of such an admission. “I don’t mean love in the sense of Shakespeare.” He felt his ankles sink in the quicksand and he struggled to pull himself free. “I like you as a friend. I’m not trying to take advantage of you with empty words about love. I’m certainly not ready to love,” he scoffed. Stacy’s frown grew deeper. His anxiety escalated. No longer ankle deep, he’d sunk knee deep into this one. “Maybe I should start over.” His brain refused to come to his rescue with a funny quip to ease the tension.
“It’s okay,” Stacy reassured him, as she backed away. She looked over to the table. “Looks like dinner is over.”
“I’m waist deep now.”
“Excuse me?” she inquired, her frown returning over his remark.
“Talking to myself. I’ll head out now.” Omar hoped that she would tell him to stay. It would soothe the guilt at bungling his feelings in a manic way.
Omar got his coat and headed for the door.
“I want to work with homeless teens, especially girls. I want to catch them before they rush into decisions where they use their bodies,” Stacy blurted.
“Nothing wrong with that.” Omar remained standing near the door. He honestly didn’t see anything wrong with the idea, but from the hesitation in Stacy’s voice, something bothered her. “Can I help?”
Stacy shook her head. “Sorry, I have to work out my demons with my own steam.” She waved goodbye. “And I’m not sure that I want you all in my business.” She pushed him through the door.
“Too late.” He grinned.
Stacy closed the door. Her dinner with Omar had fallen apart, along with everything else in her life. And with regard to Brenda, what a mess she had made of that situation!
Guilt drove her to sit at her desk and write a letter. She poured her heart into each sentence, hoping for a happy outcome. Even after she reread the page, her confidence did a tap dance between disaster and traumatic experience. But she had put off the inevitable for too long.
The only way to complete her self-imposed mission was to call the one man she’d hoped never to call for anything, much less a favor. She dialed star-69 and waited for the computerized voice to provide the telephone number. As she wrote the number on a slip of paper, she agonized over what reopening the door to the past would bring forth.
“I can’t believe it,” Antonio mocked after she identified herself. “The princess must want something awfully bad for her to chisel the ice from around her heart and call me.”
Stacy tried to focus on what she needed from him. Otherwise, she would slam down the phone at his taunting. “I need to find someone.”
“Oh, so that’s it. You didn’t call to tell me that you’d made a mistake with your choice of management.”
Stacy squeezed her eyes shut, wishing that he wouldn’t rehash their public breakup and his cruel remarks about her worth. “I need to find Valerie.”
“Well, isn’t that interesting? All this time and now you want to find Valerie. What happened? Your conscience biting a chunk out of your cute behind?”
“Look! Do you know where she is or not?” The one thing about insults was that she had heard them so many times when she worked under Antonio that she had built thick defensive walls.
“Yes, I know where she is. Meet me at Ferentino’s and I’ll give you the information.”
“I’m not making any deals with you,” Stacy replied crossly.
“Eight o’clock tonight.”
His timing meant that she had less than an hour before meeting him. “I want us to meet in the daytime at a place of my choosing.”
“And I want to be your man, instead of that young boy you string along.”
“That’s not happening.”
“And neither is your wish. Be there at eight.”
The phone line disconnected. A whirlwind of emotions rolled around and bounced off each other. Each reverberation had an effect as if a thousand bees hovered over her head aimed to do damage beyond what she could handle.
Against her better judgment, she grabbed her car keys and left her apartment. Her pulse hurried along with her uneven pace, while she prayed for a happy ending, but dreaded w
hat she might have to endure.
Chapter 11
Omar sat in his car, staring up at Stacy’s condo. He knew that he should go to her and hammer out whatever their problems were. His hesitation crippled him and any attempt at a relationship. He had turned off the engine and opened the car door when he saw Stacy’s light go out.
He paused, a bit surprised that she could go off to bed with no apparent deliberation. Maybe he should follow suit and head home and stop acting like a lovesick teen. He restarted the engine, and waited for traffic to go past.
The condo-building door swooshed open and Stacy stepped out, pulling her jacket closed against the night breeze. “Where the heck is she going?” Omar questioned aloud. He looked at the time displayed on the radio panel. It wasn’t technically late, but if they had continued on with their dinner plans that night, she wouldn’t have been stepping out, unless an emergency had cropped up about Brenda.
Either way, he waited until she got into her car and pulled off. He felt like a stalker driving several car lengths behind her. When she turned onto Peachtree Street away from the hospital, he stopped feeling guilty.
Now he was just plain curious. He kept a hold on the jealous twinges poking at his ego. No need to jump to conclusions unnecessarily. However, he definitely wasn’t going home now. Following Stacy’s actions, he parked his car and headed for the Italian restaurant she had entered.
Omar had seen enough movies of one person spying on the betrayal by another in a restaurant setting. Although they had not officially declared themselves as boyfriend-girlfriend, he and Stacy certainly had enjoyed each other’s company exclusively. Even in his more active dating period, he’d ended his relationships before embarking on the next journey, no matter how short.
Standing on the sidewalk looking in on the busy, hectic scene of diners and waiters, he was reduced to spying on Stacy. He followed her path, escorted by a chatty waitress, as they weaved among the scattered tables and diners to the far end of the expansive room. Omar craned his neck to see whom she greeted, but the person remained in the shadows. For a few seconds, he contemplated going into the restaurant, then he walked into the well-lit lobby.
Straight to the Heart Page 14