Straight to the Heart

by Michelle Monkou

  A few minutes later, a knock on her door caused her to frown. “Yes,” she answered, hesitating. “Who is it?” she asked with more force.

  “Omar.”

  She immediately opened the door. Her mood lightened considerably to see him standing before her. “Did I leave something in the car?”

  “No.” Instead he held his cell phone out toward her. “My brother, Pierce, wants to chat with you.”

  “Your brother?” Stacy managed to say. Her legs felt weak.

  “Don’t look so scared.” Omar chuckled. “He wants to personally extend an invitation.”

  Stacy heard Omar, but still didn’t understand. She took the phone and turned her back on Omar to hide her discomfort, as she gnawed on her lip. This was his older brother. The last thing she wanted was to sound like a teenager. She cleared her throat.

  “Hello, this is Stacy.”

  “Stacy, how are you? This is Pierce. Omar has talked a lot about you. I think that you’ve been good for my little brother. You’ve obviously helped him think about his future. I would love to have you come and meet the rest of the family.”

  “Oh.” Stacy looked at Omar, who was trying to seem interested in her wall art. He was no help. Meeting the family was a big deal. Meeting the family over a weekend could prove to be traumatic.

  “Don’t worry. We are a harmless bunch. Here, talk to Haley, my wife.” Stacy heard the noisy exchange of the phone. She felt as if she were in the middle of a tag team. But there was no one on her end to pass the phone off to. Looking at Omar leaning against her bookcase, trailing a finger over her hardcover collection, she categorized him as a double agent.

  “Hi, Stacy, Haley here. Let me apologize for Pierce’s heavy-handed invitation.”

  “Oh, it’s okay,” Stacy lied. She immediately relaxed at the soothing quality of Haley’s voice.

  “A family celebrating a birthday could be overwhelming, but it is when we are all together. Laura and her husband will be joining us, which is a big deal since her husband is often competing. I promise not to let them overwhelm you. I was once in your shoes.”

  Haley laughed and Stacy could only join in with the simple show of empathy. “Thanks for the double invitation. Yes, I won’t lie. I am a bit intimidated by all of it. However, I would love to come and meet your family.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll let everyone know. Well, I won’t keep you. Give my brother-in-law a kiss. I’ll chat with you later.”

  Stacy ended the call, took a deep breath and handed the phone back to Omar. “Looks like I’ll be meeting the Mastersons.”

  “Thanks for agreeing to come.” Omar looked down at his hands. Stacy felt that he had more that he wanted to say. He hesitated, then opened the front door. “I know they will like you and I hope you will like them.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  He kissed her softly on her cheek and left.

  Stacy leaned her head against the door. Meeting the entire family scared her. The possibilities of what could go wrong seemed limitless. Her mind played with several excuses that could give her an out, but still let her save face.

  Then she’d be starting with a lie. She secretly felt honored to be invited by Omar’s big brother. More than ever, she wanted them to be impressed by her. Could they accept her? Not the celebrity image, but the girl from the streets with the blood of her dysfunctional parents running through her veins?

  Chapter 12

  “Brenda, the doctor hasn’t released you to go back to work.” Stacy rushed over to Brenda’s chair to assist her as she got shakily to her feet. “Even if you’re working from home, you’re still working.”

  “Girl, when did you become such a fusspot?” Brenda clucked her tongue, irritation plain on her face. “You’re not my only client, although you act as if you are.”

  Stacy didn’t bother to respond. She might not be Brenda’s only client, but she was the only one who would take care of her.

  “You know, you should get your hairdresser over here,” Stacy suggested, fingering Brenda’s hair.

  “Think I need a touch-up on the color of my roots?” Brenda ran her hands over her short hair.

  “At the very least,” Stacy remarked drily.

  “Fine.” Brenda noted the fact on a writing pad. “I’ve got tons of stuff to work on.” She set the pen down with a decisive snap. “Now, young lady, we have to get you busy again. I’m so sorry that things got slow for you.”

  Stacy shrugged. Granted, she was still earning an income, but she didn’t miss going on those awful auditions and facing rejection. “I’ve been writing a few songs—”

  “Why? We have three songwriters working with you. You’ve never written songs.”

  “But for this album, I’d like songs that speak to all the feelings trapped inside me. And no one can say it better than me.”

  “Sometimes you frustrate me.”

  “And sometimes you smother me.”

  “Ever since that man walked into your life, you have not been able to concentrate. You act like the first woman to fall in love.”

  “That’s not fair.” Stacy desperately tried to restrain her anger. After all, she didn’t want Brenda to suffer again.

  “You’re letting your career flitter away.”

  “They’re still playing my songs. Still showing the music videos. The movie is slated to come out next winter. We’re not in a race.” Stacy’s chest heaved as if she had run a marathon.

  Brenda’s housekeeper appeared quietly in the room. With minimal fuss, she set down a glass of water and Brenda’s midday pills.

  “I’m tired of fighting with you. Next month, we have to start talking about the marketing plans for your upcoming album.”

  “I want to sit in on the talks from beginning to end.”

  “Of course. I’ve never prevented you,” Brenda said crossly.

  Stacy had to agree. Maybe she hadn’t taken the initiative, easily feeling overwhelmed. No more.

  “But I don’t know what theme I want yet,” Stacy said.

  “Then I guess you’d better get to work. Otherwise, the marketing department will be only too happy to create one for you.” Brenda chuckled. “Remember when they wanted you to do the Christmas collaboration album?”

  “Don’t remind me. I was supposed to wear a Christmas Santa suit that looked like a hoochie-mama outfit and strut down Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard.” Stacy rolled her eyes. “I don’t think so.”

  “Use that thought when you need incentive to work.” Brenda looked up at the clock on the mantel. “I need to make a few calls.”

  “Sure. I’ve got to head out, anyway. I need to go shopping for gifts.” Stacy bit her lip. She had not meant to hint about her upcoming trip to the Mastersons’.

  “Someone’s birthday?” Brenda looked up at her.

  “Um…not really. I’m meeting Omar’s family.”

  “Really! They’ve come to Atlanta?”

  “No. His brother invited me. To their house. In Maryland.” Stacy forced herself to be quiet. Or maybe it was the angry vein protruding along Brenda’s throat. “Before you begin insulting my intelligence again, I am going.”

  Brenda opened her mouth, but then shook her head, closed her mouth and turned away.

  Stacy read the signs of dismissal and took the cue. Lately she and Brenda could not agree on too many things. Omar was a topic that definitely couldn’t withstand a coherent conversation.

  “I’ll call you later this evening,” Stacy said.

  “No need. I’ll probably be resting.”

  Stacy lowered her head and left Brenda’s house. Once she exited, her spirit felt lighter. She was afraid to think that she no longer wanted to be around Brenda. For some unknown reason, Brenda seemed bitter and dissatisfied, especially with her.

  As she drove away, she looked at the huge, palatial home. Despite its shiny white siding and forest-green shutters, manicured evergreens and lawn and cobblestoned driveway, the residence lacked life, a family.

/>   She personally could identify with that void.

  Omar studied his notes after the Monday-morning status reports had been completed. He needed to seclude himself so that he could concentrate on what still needed to be done on his project. He had passed the excitement stage when he’d finally received approval from the powers-that-be to go ahead with his idea.

  “You didn’t come to get me.” Rosa stepped into the room, hesitating only briefly before approaching him at the other end of the table. She looked over his shoulder.

  “I would have called you. Decided to grab a few minutes of quiet to go over this last piece.”

  “The finale? You need to leave with a message.”

  “I know that,” Omar answered impatiently. “I just don’t think that it should end with you.” Henderson had grudgingly given him the green light to start his project. Their biggest disagreement was Rosa. Omar figured he’d fight the battle later.

  “I see.” Rosa’s voice took on an edge. “I suppose you think you should be the one.”

  Omar returned his gaze to the papers laid out in order of the sections. Though Rosa irritated him, he also recognized that she could bring a lot of attention to the documentary picture. But this project had to end with someone who had lived the experiences highlighted in the ninety-minute piece.

  “I’m going to leave the draft of your script for you. Review it and if there is no problem, then start learning it. I don’t have the luxury to cater to numerous outtakes.”

  Rosa took the papers and nodded. “When can I expect the endnotes?”

  “This is it for now.” Omar needed her as the interviewer. He didn’t need her input to mar his inspiration. Time wasn’t on his side, but with quiet to think, he would have it all figured out. His reputation depended on it.

  Rosa looked down at the notes and then up at him. “Why do we have to be at the location so early in the morning?”

  “We need to be able to get in and out of the downtown area before rush hour begins,” he explained. He glanced through the glass walls at the clock over the staff assistants’ cubicle. “Darn it. I have to scout another location, then check to see if one of our sources came through for an interview.”

  “You don’t have to do it all. I know you see me as a minor participant on this team. But that’s your perception, not the reality.” Rosa walked out of the conference room.

  Omar watched her walk past with her chin pointing outward. Her displeasure practically oozed off her stiff walk. Frustrated, Omar tossed down his pen and tried to rub the fatigue off his face. He reacted with a tired yawn that had him stretching his long limbs.

  This was no time to indulge in his exhaustion. He headed out, willing his mind to focus on the tasks ahead. For the remainder of the morning, he chatted with his producer, then drove to the location, before deciding to call Stacy for a possible lunch date.

  Unfortunately, her voice mail came on immediately. He left a message, hoping that she would check in soon. In the meantime, he would work on his main source. Using the computer-generated directions, he drove into Cypress Hills. The area wasn’t the best, but he had seen worse.

  He parked his car on a side road and offered a quick prayer that it would be intact when he returned. After one last look at his car, he headed for the apartment building.

  Kids milled around the front of the renovated-warehouse apartment homes. The girls sat on the wide concrete railings. The boys strutted at the bottom of the stairs on the sidewalk. Their bad boy images weren’t too far from their lives. Omar didn’t know if they would allow him to pass without verbal harassment. He wasn’t physically intimidated by them, but that didn’t mean that he shouldn’t be aware.

  “Hey, cutie,” prompted one of the young girls.

  “Good afternoon.” Omar deepened his voice to ward off any further quips.

  “You don’t have to rush off.” Another girl took up the baton to harass him.

  Omar provided a tight smile, but didn’t respond. Maybe that had been his first mistake that drew their attention.

  “Hey, man, didn’t you hear my girl talking to you?” a young man’s voice scolded.

  Omar did his best to bulk up, tightening his chest and straightening his shoulders. He erased any trace of a smile and tightened his face with a scowl. “Maybe if she was really your girl, she wouldn’t be sitting up here while you’re down there.”

  His peers screamed their approval of Omar’s put-down. The young man wasn’t amused, especially when the girl stood and taunted him that he’d better not come up before her brother kicked his butt.

  Omar used the diversion to head into the apartment. Now that he’d riled the young man, he would probably have to look both ways after he exited. His car, however, was unprotected.

  The hallway was dimly lit as a result of several light fixtures without working bulbs. A pungent, clinging odor that turned his stomach hung in the air. Smells of foods native to a multitude of cultures seeped out from under each door and collided in the common area of the building. As Omar climbed the stairs, the smell stayed with him, filling his lungs. He couldn’t wait to exit the building and take a deep breath.

  After two flights of stairs, he walked down the hall looking for the number that Antonio had given him. If what Antonio had told him was true, several pieces to the puzzle surrounding Stacy would fall into place. He promised himself that no matter what he discovered she would always claim his heart.

  “I thought you weren’t coming. I was about to change my mind.” A young woman stood in her doorway with one hand on her hip. Instead of being glad for the attention, she didn’t hesitate to show her irritation with this interruption in her life.

  “Valerie?”

  “Who else would it be?” She motioned into the apartment. “Come on in before my nosy neighbors think that I’m sociable.”

  “Don’t want to screw with their minds,” he muttered, full of sarcasm.

  From her mere appearance, Valerie couldn’t possibly be the person he needed to talk to. He’d expected a woman who looked as if she had been slapped around by life’s disasters. Instead, Valerie was dressed in a slinky number that glued itself to her skin as if she was about to hit a nightclub. Only problem was that it wasn’t even three o’clock. The getup made her look cheap.

  Omar stepped over the threshold, suspecting that he would never forget this moment. Valerie closed the door behind him, applying the three locks on the door. Her security measures only served to make him feel like a prisoner.

  “Don’t have much of anything in here. Move those clothes to the floor and you take the seat.”

  “That’s okay. He leaned against a countertop that divided the kitchen from the dining area. Instead of a dining area, Valerie used the space for a bedroom of sorts. There was a daybed along one wall, a stack of Sunday newspapers and clothing heaped in a corner.

  “Don’t get much visitors, so didn’t bother to clean up.” Valerie pointed over the room with no hint of an apology to be seen.

  “I’m fine. I won’t keep you. As I mentioned on the phone, Antonio gave me your information.” Omar cleared his throat. He was surprised to see that she looked well groomed and satisfied, despite the odd clothing choice, considering that she lived on the streets. But within the hour, he hoped to learn more about her.

  She pulled over a chair from a two-seater card table and sat. Since she didn’t invite him to do the same, he took the initiative and made himself comfortable.

  “What burning questions do you want to ask me?” Valerie folded her arms and leaned back with enough attitude.

  Omar saw the street edge that she wore as a second skin. Her defenses were raised. If he didn’t win her over fast, she would end this conversation right now. “Why did Antonio tell me to ask you about Stacy?”

  Her eyes narrowed, suspiciously studying him. “Don’t believe that dog.” She unfolded her arms and slid her hands along her thighs, flexing and unflexing her fingers. “He tried to get with me after Stacy left him.
” She paused. “What’s it to you?”

  “Like I said, I’m working on a documentary for young kids about homeless teens and young adults. I want to use Stacy Watts’s story as inspiration for these kids. Antonio said you could shed some light on her beginnings.”

  Valerie stood and walked around the small apartment with her head lowered to her chest. Every other step, she chuckled.

  Omar didn’t say anything since he wasn’t privy to her source of amusement. “I would like to capture your thoughts on tape.” He crossed his fingers that she wouldn’t freak out about that since he hadn’t given her any forewarning. If she agreed, he had his two-man crew in a van in the area, awaiting his call.

  Valerie stopped pacing and returned to her chair. She was no longer chuckling. Instead, she looked sad or maybe bitter. Omar sensed a moment of great revelation about to be made.

  “Go ahead, tape me.”

  Omar wanted to hoot at his success. But he only took out his phone and dialed the number, summoning his team. His pulse revved with subdued excitement as his vision unfolded to reality.

  Half an hour later, Omar had the place staged for the interview. Valerie had cleared an area, aided by his prompting, and now sat against the wall with a poster of Stacy on it. They’d had to scramble to find tape to create the backdrop.

  “Please tell me your name and relationship to Stacy.”

  “Valerie Marie Buxton. Guess you can call me a childhood friend.”

  “You don’t count yourself as her friend any longer?”

  Valerie shrugged. “It’s not like we had a fight or something. I mean, she went her way.” She looked around the room. “Guess I stayed.”

  “How did you come to meet her?”

  “We met at a homeless shelter in Miami. You get to know the people around you. We’d hang out, dodge the cops, stay away from those social worker types.”

  “So you became instant friends?”

  “You could say that.”

  “How long did you live on the streets?” Omar gestured to their space. “You do have a roof over your head now?”

  “I lived on the streets for about three years. Sometimes I did end up back at home, but not for long.”