“I don’t want you to go now.” I looked up at him and stopped as he went on to say,
“It’s just not a good idea to be prancing your body around on some set.”
“But My, you said you would support me like I’ve supported you.”
He flipped me over slowly and dug deeper in me kissing my lips slowly as he suggested, “Then I won’t be sane, knowing you’re out there like that.”
“And who said I would be prancing on some body’s set?”
Myron only heard what he wanted to hear. The word model to him meant fresh meat to obtain and I was not in that category to him. I was to be his only and anything he wanted me to be. Like right now for example—his hoe—as he sucked my erect nipples, flicking his tongue and having his way with my body. This pretense in change of mind was only his ego, the realization that there was another man and he was competition—for real. Little did Myron know, what he was trying to invalidate, me sexing Jase, had already occurred—weeks ago. Check mate.
“Myron if it’s Jase your worried—”
“Jase? Is that your name for him?” he said removing himself from me.
I shook my head and pulled the soiled sheets from my bed as I got up. I could hear my parents pulling in the garage. When I glanced out my window my mother had gotten out the car and looked up at my window smiling. I turned and Myron was standing behind me.
“Move!”
“Looks like ya moms is home.”
“Yeah and it’s pretty fucked up she knows you’re here and happy about it. That don’t seem strange to you?”
“Baby, we’re grown ass people—she knows that.” he said reaching for my arm.
“Let me go! I’m going to the airport with or without your consent.”
Myron pursed his lips and turned his head.
“What about your mother’s consent?”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“You’re bluffing.” I said moving from him. I collected his belongings and threw them at him.
“Alright, then you got me full and completely. I support you on this, just, let’s make this work however.”
He said as he walked to me. I looked in his light brown baby eyes which was my downfall. That being said, Myron would be my driver to the airport.
21
Displaced Emotions
I showered, got dressed, combed my hair back in a sleek ponytail, and called Micah to tell him I was on my way. The airport was packed for a Thursday morning. As Myron and I walked down the aisle to a nearby seat to wait on my plane, I spotted Micah waving from over near the entrance pulling a suit case on wheels in tow. I smiled and stood. He always could make me feel better at the most desperate times. As he got closer I could see red roses in his arms. Micah stopped dramatically and gasped, “Oh, look at you in 1945 vintage Valentino low cut jeans and an adorable baby doll pink halter top! And the shoes girl is killing ‘em. And what did you do to your hair?”
I touched it and a frown crept along my face. Micah rushed to say,
“No baby doll—I love it! Bone straight and a honeysuckle blond. You are naturally a model. What do you need me for again?”
I chuckled at him, we hugged, and we exchanged light kisses of the lips like the people in France do. Myron’s body shifted uncomfortably and then I turned to reintroduce them.
I did my research and with every model was an entourage. I didn’t care who Jase had brought in. Micah was my first choice when it came to a make-up artist. He didn’t wear much but it was always flawless like a regular male actor’s make-up should be. I couldn’t even tell he had any on unless I saw the before face. He only used MAC cosmetics and was always fixing mine anyway.
I hadn’t found a stylist or a hair designer. But ELLE and America’s Next Top Model would hold me down just fine until then.
When we got to the interval Myron pulled out the ribbon he had been keeping all these years and gave it to me.
“I can’t take this.”
“Please, that way you’ll have a little piece of us when you’re away.”
“But aren’t you scar—”
“SHH. I’m not superstitious anymore. I know no matter what happens we’ll be together. If you love something let it go, and if it’s meant for you it will always come back...like we do.”
A warm tear fell down my face. He was starting to get it. I hugged him tightly and whispered in his ear,
“I’ll see you in ten.” This meant ten days from now when he would be coming back to Kansas City from training camp. That would be subsequently the day I would return as well, how ironic. We kissed as Micah looked on with a half curved up smirk.
“I’ll keep ya word to it.” he said back. I began to make my way on to the short stretch of a hall when I turned and looked back. Myron lip synced, I love you, as a tear fell down his face. I was sure he was scared I wouldn’t ever come back again.
* * * *
So here was that flight...the one I’ve always dreamed about that would travel the tens of thousands of miles away from the only land I’ve known and lead me to greater pastures. We were flying first class thanks to Micah’s frequent flier miles, and some tugging and pulling with his “people”. I rested my head back with Micah sitting to my right in the window seat. I just couldn’t call it. But I was so glad I wouldn’t be alone if this plane were to go down. Kansas City, Missouri had a beautiful sunset as I left my worries there. I eventually looked over Micah, who was sound asleep after a sip or two of wine, and out the window of the plane—scared but optimistic of my future.
I decided to define myself by my inner ambition. Not by exterior forces. As my train of thought came to an end I noticed that Jase was not on this flight. I nudged Micah and he popped his head up like a Jack in the Box,
“What!”
“You sleep?”
“Now, I know I snore when I sleep so you knew damn well I was asleep, Chardonnay!”
“All...I just wanted to know—”
“Where big dick Jase is.” he finished.
“You nasty.”
“No—you’re nasty since you’re not denying it and you know it’s true.”
We giggled. Micah sighed and looked at me,
“When you lose your virginity anyway?”
I looked off at the stewardess and ignored Micah.
“You hear me.”
“Earlier this year. I don’t even remember it or its significance.”
“Why not? Who would forget that?”
“Exactly, I was told I was...drugged. I—I did shit that night that is above me.”
“Hump! Well at least you did it with a bang and... Mr. Vonseigneur has been in his native country for about a week already.”
“Native? What do you mean?”
“Well that’s where his family is from. He has a house there.”
I hung my head at Micah and he chuckled,
“Girl, I told you. You were fucking big money. His father is retired there now, back in his home land.”
“I thought he was from New York.”
“I don’t know every damn thing! Ask him—shit! Point and fabulous case—he’s rich—he’s sexy—he’s been there waiting on us for about a week now getting all the final adjustments set for you.”
“What exactly does him being sexy have to do with anything,” I said sitting up in my cushioned seat.
“I don’t know but it sounded good—Miss stuart!” Micah called the young Iranian women over.
“Micah...”
“What, I need other drink! Especially with her ass on here.”
“You wrong,” I said shaking my head.
“And drinking on a plane? You’re already high enough.” I chuckled.
“Oh you got jokes. I can drink on this plane! What they gone give me, an AUI?! Air ported under the influence?”
We both laughed at our corny jokes and fell to sleep shortly after that.
Seven hours later I awoke to the mid-Atlantic. Crystal clear bl
ue waters shimmered off the sun that set in the sky hugged by linen of cozy clouds. It was an amazing sight. We landed in Hawaii only to be chartered in a private jet that had the bold black letters VONSEIGNEUR INC. along it. Inside it was all cherry wood and so lux I slept the rest of the way to Sierra Leone.
Once we landed near a beach in what Micah called the Africana Tokey village, I stepped down the steep steps of the jet looking around at the turquoise blue sky. It was a sky so clean, it felt like Heaven floated over us. We were greeted by two native tourists, coconut palm trees that shaded us, and sand so effervescent white it looked like snow.
“Welcome to Sierra Leone’s Tokey Island!” a man with oily black skin the color of molasses announced. Micah gave him a thank you and we followed them to a shiny stretch limousine. Josh had sent for us a limo and guess who else was in it in when I climbed in the back. Syndi. I smiled and she said,
“Hi Miss Houston—girl I’m glad you’re here! “
“Hey, why such the excitement for her but not me!” lashed out a jealous Micah as the driver closed the door.
“Oh hush—you know I love you!” she said swiping his leg.
The drive was just a few minutes in duration along a dirt road accompanied by tropical trees and birds floating long the airy road. We pulled into a curved lot in front of a colonial white home. Looking at it reminded me of a miniature New Orleans inspired Victorian plantation home. It was huge and the windows were nothing but open sheer drapes flying in the windy breeze the evening provided. A gentlemen dressed in a colorful island attire opened our door and took his hat off.
“Welcome.”
I stepped out, latching on to his sturdy and warm hand as I looked on at the huge house before me. With its historically designed charm the home held a presence so strong, at first blush, I was taken aback. Our things were carried and we were lead up the stone hand carved steps that lead to two huge wooden doors made of an exotic bamboo. Once the doors opened, I was confronted with a familiar but ripened version of Jase’s distinctly attractive and striking features. The aged man was one of the most gorgeous man I had ever witnessed in my life...much like Jase. He stuck his hand out and bowed. I kneeled like I had been taught in charm school and narrowed my eyes innocently up.
“Mon Dieu.Votre stupefiant.”
I stood straight up slowly and said,
“Sorry, but I only speak English. But that sounded beautiful—what did you say?”
“He said, my God...your breathtaking.” Jase said, slowly entering the foyer, turning around the dim corner with his hands in his slack pockets and walking in a stride so sleek and smooth like only he could do. We all stepped in the house as Jase introduced everyone. The foreign speaking man was Jase’s father Jean Vonseigneur. There was small chatter as everyone gathered in the lofty living room including Jase’s mother who was well...attractive as well.
She adorned diamonds in the evening—at home with eye lashes so long she could curl them with an iron. And they were real. Her wardrobe was posh and elegantly designed by Chanel. The woman was all glam. So glam I felt inadequate in my little skinny jeans and vintage Valentino blouse.
Whatever genes these people had—I wanted them. He introduced me to her but it was as if we hadn’t been introduced at all. As soon as he said, “Mother this is Chardonnay.” she smiled and seen someone else more else important to talk to—Syndi. Although put a bit off only to not be acknowledged by her again, I really didn’t care. I knew some mothers were protective of their sons and I saw where Syndi got it from. His mother not only knew I was more than a business associate, but that Jase and I were more than friends, somehow some way. The thing they all had in common was that none of them were speaking English. As Syndi and her mother went on to ramble about something I couldn’t translate, Micah and I were shown around the house. Filthy rich could not describe their home. I was in awe at the possessions it held. There were certain places we couldn’t go in the home, which weren’t outlined exactly the reason why for some reason. Eventually we were all shown to our rooms. In Jase’s family, like mine, there was no such thing as staying elsewhere but home; especially when the home looked like a hotel. While unpacking my things in the room I would be sharing with Syndi I heard soft footfalls glide across the room. I didn’t nudge for I knew who was standing behind me. He came around the other side of the bed and began to help me put things away.
“Supper will begin at six.” Jase said breaking the silence. There was something different about him. I couldn’t place it. Maybe it was the change of scenery and tropical climate. Then I turned my head sideways and shook my head no, it couldn’t have been either. I stared at him for a moment. The look in his eyes, atoned, yet tranquil.
“There something I need to tell you.” he sighed.
“Is it bad because I don’t need any more bad news? And I thank you for bringing me here but why the far away invite?”
“This is business, you know that...”
“That’s the difference, Jase. Why—why are you talking like that?” I said realizing he was speaking with an accent.
“I—I couldn’t tell you back home—or like this. Can we speak over tea? Red Chai tea, maybe?”
“You didn’t answer my question and now that I come to think about it—the first time I asked you why you didn’t tell me you had money, you turned the table on me. What’s up with that?”
His eyes flickered, switching on and off his irises like a candle balancing in the wind.
“It could be a good thing or it could be a bad thing.” he said sounding so damn sexy with his accent—one I was wondering why he would hide.
“Whatever—I don’t want you to pacify me with a tea party, tell me now.”
“Tea will calm you, you should be jet lagged anyway—come on.” he leaned over for my hand. I followed him down the stairs and on to the back patio. It was gorgeous with an outside kitchen and lights that hung above our heads, strung on a line that was translucent, making them look as if they were flying. I watched Jase place two small golden cups on a tray along with the kettle that had been screaming since we stepped on to the patio. It seemed he was preparing me for whatever he wanted to say. I was tired of guys and their true confessions, why couldn’t they be real from the get go. He sat down in front of me and took a deep breath. I leaned over to try and help with pouring the tea but he assured me he wanted me to relax.
“Well,” he said running his hands through his four inch twisted locks.
“I haven’t done what I’m about to do in a while. One of the reasons I didn’t tell you I had a lot of money was because, in the past when I do share that with women, they stay only for that reason.”
My eyes widened with admission to his thoughts aloud. I looked him over and wondered how women couldn’t be so pensive to his charm, overlooking it for the money. I was beginning to wonder why Jase hadn’t been tied down yet as well.
“Chardonnay—before you came along I hadn’t slept with a woman in a year.” he said as his English danced with his foreign language. That statement made me listen more coherently to him instead putting my guard up.
“I don’t know why you...but I saw something in you more than words can say. Even with your problems and all, you have a passion for life in your heart.”
A knock came at the glass door of the patio and Jase and I looked to see who was standing in the door way. It was his butler.
“Excuez moi monsieur.”
Jase walked towards him and began to hold a conversation I couldn’t comprehend. I listened on as I continued sipping on the tea.
“Wei?” Jase inquired.
“Avez-vous besoin de toute autre chose Monsieur Vonseigneur?”
“Merci Neate. Veuillez avoir nos choses envoyees pour la pousse de photo demain.”
When I pulled my cell phone out my purse, an envelope fell out my bag. I picked it up and saw that my grandfather’s letter had somehow gotten mixed in with my huge purse instead of my luggage. I had been looking over that lette
r the entire time I was packing. It hit me that my mother told me it was written in Creole. I looked over at Jase as he continued speaking with his butler.
“Nous patrons pour notre vol mercredi.” Jase finished up with and then his butler was gone.
He turned to look at me as I held the brown edged letter in my hand.
“What was that about?” I asked.
“He wanted to know if we needed anything else. I just told him that we would need our things sent for the photo shoot and that our flight would leave for Wednesday.”
I nodded my head, “What you got there?” Jase asked has he looked down into my distant face.
“Jase...what language was that you were just speaking?” I said unsure I wanted to touch standing waters.
“French, why?”
“That’s you native tongue?”
“No. Krio or Creole.”
No wonder he had those eyes. I sat down slowly and breathed in and out slowly.
“But I thought you were from here?”
Jase looked at me with a humored empathy in his star stuck eyes. He sat down beside me and moved his hand slowly from the crown of my honey auburn tresses down to its tips.
“My family is from Sierra Leone—my ancestors. My father moved to the States when he was a teenager...he wanted more. When he met my mother in Louisiana they decided to have me in their foreign land. I was raised here until I was seven. By that time he was an established business man in New Orleans. Of course we came back for long summers but I always knew I wanted to come back here to live one day.”
“So you can read this?” I said handing it to him.
Jase looked it over with an embellished look and looked back at me.
“Who gave you this?”
“Well, it was to be given to me when my Pal Pal passed...he died a month ago.”
Jase hung his head and tisked his mouth looking defeated.
“I understand a few words but this looks like French Creole—I speak Jamaican Creole. I learned from my mother who is fluent in several languages.”
“But you speak French!”
Chardonnay: A Novel Page 23