“Jasmine was there when I graduated high school and college and she put up with all my shit. I don’t give a damn how she treats Danielle, Rena or even you. That shit has nothing to do with me. Jasmine and I are a completely separate entity. So you fucking with that picture—with that life that I had with her before I married you—means that you’re fucking with me. Now do me a favor and get the fuck out.”
Jacob has spoken.
“I’ve been kicked out of better places than this,” she says as she looks around my office.
I won’t even respond to that. Instead, I pick up the picture, walk to my safe and begin to unlock it before placing it in there.
By the time I turn back around, Winnie’s gone.
Good.
Jacob
(worlds.)
“I’m proud of you,” she says leaning over and kissing me on the cheek as we sit on the hood of my truck, our backs against the windshield.
“Four years of torture,” I say as I pick up my graduation cap and toss it in the air before catching it. “But you know me, baby, I make it do what it do.” I wink at her. I, Jacob Blair, graduated summa cum laude from Princeton with a bachelor’s degree in Government.
“Well you darn near drove me crazy. Just so you know.” She rolls her eyes at me and looks up at the moon. This is what we do, Jasmine and me. We drive up to the edge of Cliff Landing, park my truck dangerously close to the edge and then look out over the entire city of Princeton, New Jersey. We’re in our own world up here; over hell, below heaven. The city lights below, the moonlight above. Yeah, this is our world.
“And to think I have law school to go through.”
“Oh God!” she screams out before laughing.
“Yeah babygirl, another four years of misery.” I take her hand in mine and kiss the back of it. She kept me sane these four years at Princeton, so I feel bad as hell that my family is at Elements restaurant waiting for me and I’m up here with Jasmine in our world. Jasmine came to see me graduate but she knows that she can’t be with my family. My mother and father have plans for me, and they don’t include me ending up with a potential Miss Black Massachusetts. (A pageant that Jasmine will be entering this fall.) The pageant puts the qualifier ‘Queen’ in front of the winner’s name, so I’m up here with Queen Jasmine. Her skin, her hair, the way she walks, the way she speaks, those dimples, that royal attitude of hers. Yeah, I’m up here with Queen Jasmine and we’re in our own world.
“Hasn’t been so bad with you Jacob Blair,” she says as she turns to look at me. She snuck into town to see me graduate, stayed at the Ritz to hide from everyone and then secretly came with me up to this cliff to help me celebrate. But for her, this isn’t so bad.
“One day, we’ll be able to tell our parents about each other.” I assure her.
“You think so?”
“I do. But to tell you the truth, I’m not too sure Boston’s black society is ready for their next Queen to come home with a Dane, when I’m sure they had an African king in mind.”
“Oh shut up! An African king…”
“I’m serious. Your parents might disown you. I may be a little lighter than what doctors Harlow and Harlow hoped I’d be.”
“And I’m darker than what Mayor and First Lady Blair expect.” She smiles … damn, those dimples. I brush a finger over them.
“Fuck ‘em, Jasmine Harlow.”
“You said it, Jacob Blair.”
I watch her down the entire glass of rum in one easy gulp.
“Thirsty?” I say to Dena as I slide into an empty seat at her table. She gives me a drunken smile and nod before lifting her glass towards the waitress, requesting another. “Put the both of us on my tab,” I say to the waitress.
“If I were that girl, I’d be an easy lay tonight,” Dena says to me.
“And I guess I’ll have what she’s drinking,” I say to the waitress while pointing to Dena.
“Double shot of Jack Daniels,” Dena says through a hiccup.
“What’s the occasion?” I ask as the waitress nods and walks away. I didn’t necessarily expect to find Debutante Dena getting wasted alone at McCormick & Schmick's.
“Aside from my best friend not talking to me?” she asks as she smooths over the bun she’s worn in her hair since the moment I met her. Her bun, her dark hair, her white silky shirt, her blue eyes and her diamond earrings— all staples of Dena March. Tonight they look the same as they always have but the makeup around her eyes, whatever it is that’s black, is smudged. Crying?
“Jasmine or Laura?” I slide my coat off.
“Both, but in this instance, Jasmine.” She gives me a playful shrug and smile as she looks like she’s trying to stop herself from crying. I drape my coat over the back of my chair and loosen my tie. I have a feeling I’ll be playing therapist tonight, which is normally Malcolm’s job. I usually don’t care enough about someone to help them through their problems but I’ll give it a go. I square my shoulders like I see Malcolm do when he’s about to advise a client, and then decide to ask a probing question that constitutes me actually caring.
“Why is Jasmine mad?”
“I didn’t tell her about that picture of you and her.” She closes her eyes, gives another bitter smile and shakes her head before opening her eyes again. “But I know Jasmine, we’ve been best friends for five years. I knew that picture would kill her so I didn’t mention it. It wasn’t like I held it over her head. I wasn’t happy about it. I wasn’t laughing at her. I never talked about it with Laura.” She hiccups. “I’m a good friend!” She slams the table with her fist.
“You are,” I say as I turn to look for the waitress. I’m going to need at least two drinks before I’m able to care about this conversation.
“But she’s not talking to me now, just Malcolm and her family.” She hiccups again as the waitress comes over with our drinks.
“Thank you,” I say to the waitress eyeing Dena, who’s now biting her fist and sobbing. Jasmine and Dena are both queens. Jasmine of the beauty variety, and Dena of the dramas. The waitress gives me a wary eye before dropping our drinks off at the table. Thankfully, McCormick & Schmick's has a privacy policy.
“And then Laura swears to me that she didn’t mail that picture so I call Jasmine and tell her over her voicemail. Well, that was the wrong move; she texted me back telling me to suck a cock!”
“Shh …” I say as I look around. Damn, Dena is in rare form. “She’s upset that’s all. After we get her out of this, it’ll be fine.” I take a sip of my Jack. God … where is Malcolm when you need him?
“And you know what, Jacob?”
“What’s that?”
“I never in my life thought I’d be friends with Jasmine.” She takes a sip of her drink. “I’m ashamed to admit it now but I didn’t grow up around a lot of … color.” She raises an eyebrow at me. I nod; I understand. “I grew up in Boston; all I knew were Catholics, Irishman, Danes and Italians. I had no idea that I could be best friends with a black woman. A friendship that surpasses any other sorority sister or Junior Leauger in the greater Boston area.” She takes a deep swallow of her drink. “And the truth is that when I talk to Jasmine, when I’m with her, all I see is this woman whom I absolutely adore. This girl who likes her pearls, loves to cook healthy food, likes to listen to her neo-soul music—that is what you call it, right?”
“Yeah.” I take a long swallow of my drink.
“Jasmine is just a good fucking person!” She lets out a sob.
“Yeah, baby, we’re gonna have to keep it down a little bit.”
“And now,” she hiccups, “she’s not talking to me. But she’s my best friend!”
“Alright, come on.” I down the rest of my drink. “I’m taking you home.”
“But do you get me, Jacob?” she says before emptying her drink. “Do you get that I finally found a woman who is like a sister to me? Someone who I don’t have to force feed medicine to and try to keep sane. Someone that I can just enjoy as a friend and not
have to be her savior. And then bam! I lose her. All because of this piece of shit guy who married another woman!” She sobs again. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that to you.”
“Come on.” I stand and take my coat off the back of my chair.
“I didn’t come up with that ‘piece of shit’ line, Winnie did.”
“It’s okay, come on.”
“But do you get me Jacob?” she says as tears start to run down her face.
“I get it, baby.”
“I spent my whole life searching for a Jasmine and now bam! she’s gone. Do you get me, Jacob?”
“More than you know, Dena.” I reach a hand out for her. “Come on. Let me take you home.”
“God, I miss her.” She reluctantly stands and smooths over her bun. “Where do you think she is now?”
Jasmine
(danny.)
Malcolm’s on the phone and he’s talking to my arch enemy, Danielle, otherwise known as Next on my Hit List. (Right behind the journalist from The Globe and right in front of Laura Rossi.) Malcolm lets out a laugh. I let out a sigh. Danielle’s been a lot of things in life, but she’s never been funny. A bitch? Yes. A two-timing former friend? Certainly. An adulterer? Of course. Humorous? Never. Malcolm laughs again. I sigh again. When are we going to pull away from this curb already? Why save my life just to have me die of misery in this truck? Why can’t they talk later? Don’t they live together? Then again, knowing Danielle, they probably don’t anymore. If Danielle were to leave Malcolm, she would be embarking on her third marriage. I’ve been keeping count.
“Yeah, baby … yeah … well can he wait until I come back?” Malcolm laughs. I sigh. “Okay, put him on … I’m in the truck with Jasmine right now … Trust me, I’m with Jasmine … Really, Red? … So I’m stupid enough to sleep around on you now? As crazy as your ass is? … Yeah … funny …” He lets out a light laugh. I let out a heavy sigh. “Baby, you don’t have it all, but it’s okay. I love you anyway … Tell Rena, don’t start that shit.” He lets out a louder laugh this time. I sigh. “Put Rena on the phone … Rena, listen up, I’m not taking you and Red’s shenanigans tonight … Rena … put down the damn match, Rena.” He laughs. I sigh.
“Are you with Jasmine?” I hear Danielle ask loudly for my benefit.
“Yeah, she’s–” And before he can say anything else, she starts spouting something in French just because she knows I don’t understand it. I hate her!
“Ask her yourself,” Malcolm replies back in English. Malcolm puts his cell phone in front of me.
“What?” I look at him like he’s lost what’s left of his lovesick mind. “I don’t want to talk to your wife.” Jasmine! Get on the phone! I hear Danielle scream through it. I snatch the phone from Malcolm’s hand and throw it up to my ear. “What.”
“Are you coming to Nicky’s Christmas play tomorrow?” she asks calmly. Oh, I hate her. She’s probably looking all carefree, checking out her nails right now.
“I most certainly am not,” I answer with wicked abandon.
“You do know that he’s Jesus, right?”
“So what, now you’re the Virgin Mary? Puh.” I hate Danielle for many reasons. Most recently my hate for her stems from her condescending attitude towards me ever since I called Malcolm about that picture. It’s like she finally has one up on me; I have a naked picture making the rounds around town and she doesn’t. It’s like this is what she’s been waiting for her whole life.
“Well, don’t get mad at me. Father Harper was the one who gave Nicky the role. So actually our priest considers me the Virgin Mary; and why wouldn’t he? I’ve always been the apple of his eye.”
“Oh please, Father Harper hates you more than I do. I’ve seen the looks he makes behind your back—like he wishes you would drop dead so he won’t have to see your face anymore! Or keep having to marry you off to different people! Or christen all of these babies you’re having by different people!”
“You want to grab a bite to eat?” Malcolm asks me.
“No,” I snap back at him.
“Father Harper gives me those looks because he and I share a secret. We’re close like that. If Father Harper and I, the Virgin Mary, were close to one more person like we’re close to each other, we’d start our own trinity. You, on the other hand, always sucked up to him, though we all know that he can take you or leave you.”
“Oh fuck you and Father Harper!”
“Ladies …” Malcolm says.
“All I’m saying,” Danielle says, “is that my child is playing the Greatest Man Who Ever Lived and it would be nice for everyone to witness the second coming.”
“I don’t care if your child was playing God Himself.”
“Well, technically, he is. See, this is why Father Harper can take you or leave you, you don’t even know the basics.”
“Shut the hell up, Danielle Francine Rouge-St. John-Blair! You damn self-righteous sack of you-know-what! You’re the very reason I’m in this position right now.”
“Excuse me? I don’t recall being at the Jasmine and Jacob Uncut photo shoot.” Danielle, stop, I hear Rena say in the background.
“If you would have told me about Laura five years ago, we could have prevented this now! You know what? You have turned into the worst friend a girl could have. You are nothing to me. I curse the day you were born.”
“Oh really, Jasmine? So you now have the ability to authorize curses?”
“I will never forgive you for knowing about that picture for five years and never telling me about it. Never. And you have the audacity to sit here and ask me if I’m going to come watch your son play my Lord and Savior? I think not.”
“Suit yourself. Will you be coming to my baby shower next month?”
“No!”
“Would you like to know where I’m registered?”
“I hate you! You already have two kids by two different men! You don’t need to be registered anywhere!”
“You sure you don’t want to grab a bite to eat, Jasmine?” Malcolm says. “Because McCormick & Schmick's just started offering their new crab cake and I’ve yet to try it.”
“No, Malcolm. I do not.”
“Hold on,” Danielle says peacefully. “Nicky wants to speak with his Aunty Jazz.” I close my eyes, inhale deeply and then let out a slow exhale.
“Hi,” Nicky says. “This is the voice of God.”
“Sorry, Nicholai, but I won’t be coming to your play tomorrow. Don’t take it personally but I won’t be coming due to personal reasons,” I say, my eyes still closed, my voice softer.
“Do you know that I have a solo?” he asks quite frankly.
“No, I didn’t know you had a solo.” I hear Malcolm sigh. I look at him and watch him close his eyes and drop his head back against the headrest. “I haven’t been to church in a few weeks.”
“Pop has been helping me practice it for four weeks now.”
“Pop?”
“Oh, umm, Mac. My mom says that I have the voice of an angel. But since I’m Jesus, the voice of an angel just won’t do. That’s what Uncle Cadence said.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll do fine, sweetie.”
“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. Can you hand the phone to Pop—umm, Mac?”
“Sure, hold on.” I nudge Pop on the arm and pass him his cell phone back. So Nicky calls him dad? Interesting. Way to go, Danielle. Not only do you have the perfect ex-husband who forks over wads of cash to take care of Nicky, you also have the perfect husband that Nicky loves enough to call Pop. I, on the other hand, am the ex-girlfriend of a complete and utter liar by the name of Jacob Matthias Blair and the wife of a man who asked me to leave our home. I’ve done things the right way but Danielle seems to have all the luck.
That’s what bothers me about her. I know she thinks that it’s because she and Jon didn’t work out but it’s not that. I could never be mad over another couple’s marriage failing. Sure, I loved them together because I loved our original group of six,
but I was willing to get over Danielle tearing it apart by having an affair with Malcolm. So, Danielle doesn’t get on my nerves because she dumped an unsuspecting Jon and left him broken hearted. She gets on my nerves because no matter which way she turns, the luck just never stops with her. She was the first one to get married. She was the first one to have a baby. She met a guy she thought was better than her husband. She dumped her husband for the new guy who seems to dote on her. She lives the life of luxury with this new guy. She has this amazing little boy by him. She gave birth to a little boy, who would one day play Jesus. She’s pregnant with the little girl that’s missing from her perfect life. She’s a frequent guest at the White House. She’s the most popular feminist in Boston. No matter who she’s with or what happens, she always floats to the top of the deep end.
What bothers her about me is that I’m a stay-at-home mom. I see the looks of derision she gives me when she walks into my condo and I’m creating my own recipes for this cookbook I’ve been wanting to write. You’d think she would be more encouraging since she owns a literary agency. You’d think she would take an interest in what I have to say since I’m her best friend. But no. If I’m not parading around with a cell phone to my ear, a work bag under my arm and a Starbucks cup glued to my hand, I’m just a pathetic housewife. You know what I say to that? I’ll be a pathetic housewife and she can keep being a man-hating feminist. And since she’s a feminist, by design she’s also a horrible wife and mother, which is probably why Danielle lost her first husband, is currently on her second and is possibly on her way to the third. Because Malcolm surely wants to leave her.
Forever. (This. Is. Not. Over. Book 3) Page 3