“Funny. You and Mac love that joke. Pretty soon I’ll be the one saying it to the two of you.” He ends the call.
“Jakie!” Jasmine yells out from the bathroom.
“Yeah, baby.” I toss the phone on the bedside table.
“Let’s go for a ride on the bike! Are you too tired?” She giggles.
“I’m Jacob Blair, I’m never tired,” I say as I drag out of bed. “I’m getting dressed.” Damn. How in the hell am I gonna end this?
“Jake.”
“Yeah.” I say to Nat as we stand outside the elevator doors. I’m waiting to get on as he comes out dressed in sweats and a tee. I look him over like he’s lost his damn mind. “It’s 20 degrees outside—where the hell is your coat?”
“Upstairs. Listen—”
“Upstairs? Don’t you think you should at least put on a light jacket?”
“Jacob did you—”
“What are you trying to prove?”
“Jake, stop trying to distract me.” I let out a deep breath, put my hands in my pockets and
close my eyes. Here we go with Nat’s ‘play-by-the-rules’ ass. “Did you meet Jasmine at Starbucks?”
“Yes Nathaniel, I did.”
“And?”
“And, what?” I open my eyes and look over his ruddy ass. Nat’s a Dane but he’s a red one; auburn hair and light brown eyes. My mother is slightly obsessed with him: I will always be a good Catholic girl, she told me one day, after all, I named all of my kids after characters in the bible. But that Nathaniel March … you know, King David was ruddy. Young, handsome and ruddy. Just like our Nat.
“Jake …” He looks around at the lobby filled with people and then nods for us to move to the side. “That divorce between you and Winnie nearly killed the business five years ago. How in the hell can we be the go-to guys if we don’t have our shit together?”
“Nat, if you give me this same speech one more time—”
“All I’m saying is straighten this out with Winnie, resolve your issues with Jasmine and let’s get back to work. That’s what it’s all about, right? Creating an empire, making money, making sure Blair, March and Blair stays on top.” He smiles. I raise an eyebrow to him. “We need to talk about the name again. I think that after all these years, I can be forgiven for heading to my father’s firm for six months.”
“You sold out. You lost heart.” I slap him on the back before walking back towards the elevator. “If this were the mafia you’d be at the bottom of the Boston Harbor. Both you and Cadence.” Cadence hasn’t been a part of the business since he slept with Laura. After that everyone picked up and moved from London. Within a week, Blair and Associates started its Boston office and made that the headquarters while Cadence stayed in London getting small business owners out of traffic tickets.
“Just listen to what I’ve said about …” He looks around. “You-know-who.”
“I hear you, Nat.” Speaking of Cadence … I take my cell phone out of my pocket to call him. I need a favor. “By the way, where are you headed?”
“Dena just talked to Laura. Looks like they need a referee over at Aunt Angie’s.”
Jasmine
(nostalgia.)
“Is this call necessary, Daddy?” I hear Roman say into the phone.
“I don’t know son, you called me,” Malcolm says in confusion. “Is it?”
“How are the clouds?”
“The weather’s pretty good.” Malcolm smiles as we cruise down Gate Street. I glance up and see a grey cloud passing over the moon. I love when that happens.
“Hmm.”
“That was a loaded Hmm, is there something that I should know?” I look over to Malcolm and see that he’s smiling.
“I wonder if they’re necessary.”
“The clouds? Well, for rain they are. They make sure grass grows so that cows can eat, so that they can make milk, so that you can eat gelato.”
“They’re necessary.”
“They are.”
“Are you driving?”
“I am. I’m actually on my way to Grandma’s right now so I’m about to see you.”
“Is that necessary?”
“Well, uh, your Uncle Carlo asked me to come. So yeah, it’s necessary.” Malcolm stops at a red light and looks at me in confusion. “Are you upset that I’m coming? Should I meet your Uncle Carlo somewhere safe, where you won’t be?”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Okay … is this a new word you’re trying out here?”
“Uncle Cadence taught me it!”
“Ah.”
“Did you hear me say it?”
“I did.”
“And how did it go?”
“It actually went quite well. I’m glad Uncle Cadence taught you that new word.”
“Yeah, it was necessary.”
“So are you excited about tomorrow and your brother singing in a play?”
“Do I have to go, daddy?”
“Yes, you do … it’s necessary.”
“Ahaha!” Roman cracks up in the phone. Malcolm looks at me and I can’t help but laugh with Roman. I may hate Roman’s mother but those kids of hers are a hoot. “Well,” Roman says gaining his composure, “if you don’t mind …”
“Uh-huh.”
“I might like some French fries.”
“Roman, it’s almost ten at night; you should be in bed.”
“But I’m hungry.” Oh Malcolm, don’t do it. The nutritionist in me desperately wants to extol the virtues of children eating meals that are packed with vitamins that keep them full longer, instead of quick fixes such as French fries that leave them irritable and wanting more. I listen to the words that form in my head and suddenly realize that maybe I should be taking my own advice.
“I’ll stop by Chick-fil-A before they close,” Malcolm says.
“Thanks! See you later. Bye!”
“See you when I get there.” Malcolm smiles and ends the call, presumably proud that he’ll be contributing to the obesity problem of America’s youth.
“Oh. Malcolm, starch and grease this late at night?”
“I know, don’t tell Red,” he says as he spots a Chick-fil-A while putting his phone in his coat pocket.
“Danielle doesn’t like the boys eating fries?”
“Absolutely not. She always talks about how fat travels through your bloodstream and leads to half of the world’s diseases among the twelve and younger set.”
“I told her that a couple of years ago. Wow, she listened to my advice?”
“Well, you are a nutritionist, Jasmine.” He pulls into the Chick-fil-A drive-thru line.
“Yeah, but she always teased me about my college major. She had no idea what I would do with it.”
“Look at you now; you’re informing us of the effects of starch and grease on a child’s body, and you’re helping to keep our kids alive … Hi, can I get a large waffle fries, please?”
“I can’t believe she took my advice and actually repeated it,” I say to myself as Malcolm pulls up in the line. I look around the parking lot and shake my head is dismay. Just sad. Parents are rushing in to get a load of greasy waffle fries to kill their kids before the place closes at ten.
“Hi, there,” I hear a guy say. I look over to Malcolm and notice the drive-thru guy batting his lashes.
“How’s it going?” Malcolm says as he reaches in his coat pocket to take his wallet out.
“You’re that lawyer aren’t you?” Gay Guy says.
“I am,” Malcolm says with a smile as he pulls out a ten-dollar bill.
“Um,” Gay Guy says with pursed lips and a grin on his face. He sexily slides the bill out of Malcolm’s hand while trying to maintain eye contact.
“I’m taken,” Malcolm jokes as the ten-dollar bill finally leaves his fingertips.
“Unfortunately,” Gay Guy, or Dustiny, as his name tag claims he’s named, turns to get Malcolm’s fries, switching on his way to the fry bin. Malcolm looks over to me, shakes his
head and then slowly exhales.
“Men,” he whispers.
“Yoo-hoo … your money,” Dustiny says to Malcolm.
“Oh, thanks.” I turn my head to snicker privately.
“Here, the fries are on me.” I look and see Malcolm get his bag and the ten-dollar bill back.
“Thanks,” Malcolm says. “Appreciate that.”
“Uh-huh. Would you like ketchup, Polynesian sauce?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks, have a—”
“That wife of yours is pretty.”
“Yeah, I think so too.”
“You two know what you’re having?”
“A girl,” Malcolm says with a smile. I turn around and notice a line forming but if there’s one thing that anyone knows it’s that a Chick-fil-A parent is much too poised to beep her horn in frustration. That would be the McDonald parent way.
“Got any names picked out?”
“Actually we just have one. Sunday Simone.”
“Sunday Simone Blair! Cah-yute!”
“Yeah, we’ll call her Sunny.”
“Oh, I hope she’s a redhead!”
“You and me both.” Malcolm gives a small wave as he pulls off.
“Come back, Attorney Malcolm!” Dustiny says as we drift off.
“I’m sure Sunday’s name will be in the news next week,” Malcolm says as he merges into street traffic.
“Sunday, huh?” I say as I watch Malcolm loosen his tie. “Danielle didn’t tell me you two had a name picked out. This, of course, is just another way for her to try to hurt me. Befriending Jacob’s wife was the first. Your wife is a terrible human being and is possibly the devil reincarnate with all of that red hair of hers. And I know how you like to defend her, so I hope you don’t take offense to that. I can only imagine how that comment just hurt you.”
“Well, we always knew we wanted to name our next baby Sunny,” Malcolm says as he slows down to make a left hand turn. “We just hadn’t come up with a legitimate first name.”
“Why Sunny?”
“From the Frank Sinatra song,” he says as he stops at a red light and looks at me. “Simone is from Nina Simone.”
“I had no idea that Danielle liked Nina Simone.”
“Years ago, we had Nicky in the car and we were getting gelato and “Sunny” came on that Siriusly Sinatra station. From that day forward, we started talking about that being the next name we use when we had a girl. One Sunday night, after Roman was born, we were all coming back from getting gelato and Nina Simone’s Feeling Good came on. I said we should name our first daughter Sunday Simone. So there you have it.” He begins to ease off as the stoplight turns green.
“She still could have told me,” I mutter as I settle in for the ride to the Blair’s house.
And as I sit back and enjoy the rest of the ride, I have to admit something. I know it sounds bad, but being here without my kids, without Marlon and just sitting next to a guy who talks about something other than Pearl and Tiffany and property is a relief. Malcolm Blair is sitting next to me and we’re just in the moment. He’s turned on some Wale (Marlon’s favorite rapper) and is occasionally whispering the words to Flower Bomb, an old-school song, as he slightly moves his head to the beat. Actually, Jacob and I would label this ‘Romantic Old School Rap’, our favorite kind of music.
Malcolm and I are just … chilling. He’s letting me enjoy the ride, not pushing me to talk, not telling me to go home. I’ve told him some heavy stuff, some embarrassing stuff. He could be trying to shame me right now for saying that I didn’t want to go home. He could be driving me to a loony bin right now for almost walking in front of traffic. He could have shaken his head at me as I talked about loving Jacob. But he didn’t. Tonight, without judgment, Malcolm Blair is letting me be me. Whether I’m behaving admirably or despicably, he’s letting me find my own way here.
“I can see why Danielle married you,” I say as I look at him.
“Why’s that?”
“You probably let her be who she wants to be.”
“I do.”
“I bet she considers me pushy.” He says nothing, just grins. Yeah, she’s been talking about me like a dog to him. “When Marlon asked me to leave, it felt like he was judging me. I think that’s why I’m so mad. He didn’t give me a chance to tell him what happened. He just looked at that picture, came to his own conclusion and considered me intolerable.”
“People do that often,” he says as he makes a right hand turn.
Yeah … I guess they do.
“You wanna hear something stupid?” I ask.
“I’m listening.”
“This is going to be about Jacob, just to let you know. You’re the only person in the world I can talk to about him so I’ll probably drive you crazy tonight.”
“That’s fine.”
“But, I guess I don’t see him for the horrible person he obviously tries to be. It’s funny, he was apparently this vile and disgusting human being but in college I used to call him ‘Sweetie’. I’m pretty dumb, huh?”
“Not at all. Sometimes for kicks, I like to call Red, ‘Angel’. Irony, whether intentional or not, is a part of relationships. No big deal. It’s nothing to feel stupid about.”
“Thanks.” God, I feel so relieved to have Malcolm with me right now. I look him over: dark hair that’s cropped close, eyes the color of milk chocolate, thick lashes that cover them, a Roman nose, a square jaw. I have to admit, he’s really turned into a handsome guy. He’s always been nice looking but for some reason, a wife, kids and that platinum band on his finger really spruced him up. Not to mention that a girl can get drunk off of his smell. I wonder what cologne he uses. I look over to him and see him rubbing his hand over his face, his five o’clock shadow is starting to come in. “Your face was smooth earlier tonight and now it’s full of shadow,” I say with a smile, remembering that Jacob’s face does the same thing.
“Yeah baby, I’ve got testosterone running through my veins.” He looks at me and winks. I laugh as I start looking out of the passenger window.
“Tonight I’ve felt freer than I have in a long time. I’m just cruising through the city, watching the Christmas lights, listening to romantic rap.”
“Are these songs romantic?” He lets out a light laugh.
“Yep. Jacob and I used to listen to this kind of music. We called this ‘Romantic Old-School Rap’.” I inhale deeply. “Danielle’s lucky.”
“Take your glasses off.”
“What? She is.”
“Jasmine, if you were my wife, right now we’d be talking about the bridge to Nicky’s song and how I need to rub your feet for a minimum of twenty minutes apiece instead of ten. You’d be mentioning, for the thousandth time, how you don’t want Lola to attend The Royal After-The-Play brunch tomorrow at my parents’ home and if she comes then you’ll just go home. That would be before you mentioned how you need to stop immediately to head to a restroom and that I’d better not mention that we just stopped because you have a human inside of you and those are the breaks.” He makes a left hand turn. “I’d mention that I have a shitload of clients who need immediate attention. This, of course, would be my subtle way of saying that I need to work overtime in the home office this week. This is also a way of asking for permission to be totally distant and completely unavailable this upcoming week, which would mean the brunt of the boys would land on you.” Now that I think about it, Malcolm may be driving me around the city but let’s face it, he’s at work right now. It’s 10 o’clock on a Friday night and Malcolm is working. “I’d be asking why you stopped making corned beef when you know that’s one of my favorite recipes of yours. That would be a passive-aggressive way of asking you to make it next week. I’d also mention that I need you to pick up a bottle of my cologne for me during your lunch break. This, of course, has to happen next week. And after you asked why I couldn’t pick it up myself, I’d remind you about that shitload of clients. I would therefore be asking for a lot of favors for someone who plans
to be detached and remote next week. And most importantly, we wouldn’t be listening to this romantic old school rap because you wouldn’t be a rap fan. We’d have on Coldplay or Adele and maybe, just maybe, Kanye West. But you aren’t my wife, so that means that you and I can sit here and listen to romantic rap and cruise through the streets of Boston.” He looks at me and smiles. “But don’t tell Red I said any of that.” I smile and look out into the Boston night, enjoying the light show around me. Yeah, Danny’s lucky.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask as You Got Me comes on.
“Of course.”
“And you can say no, I totally get it. Because you definitely don’t owe me anything and I know I have no right to ask you this since I’ve kinda been mean to you for so long. And, let’s just be honest, I’ve been downright rude because I hated you. So I know that I don’t have a right to ask you this but—”
“If you ever need to get away, just call me,” he says.
“You sure?”
“I am.”
And then it feels like a Christmas miracle has happened. The dredge of my life has been lifted not only from my spirit but also from my eyes. The sepia tint that once clouded them, which made Boston murky and dim, has now faded away. All of the colors and lights of the city streets are a little brighter, as vivid and vibrant as farm fresh fruit at the height of summer. The lights strung throughout the city are like twinkling red apples, orange tangerines, indigo blueberries, purple blackberries, green watermelons, and yellow pineapples. I’ve got that good feeling, that fresh feeling, as I sit here with Malcolm.
“Can I ask another favor?” I ask him.
“What’s up?”
“Can we put our windows down and crank the heat up?”
Without saying a word, Malcolm blasts the heat in the car and then points to the controller that operates my seat warmer. He then lowers his window and mine. And now, once again, I’m cruising through the city of Boston, the wind blowing against me. I’m at peace with the person I’m with, I’m downright happy with my freedom. And the good thing is, I’m doing this with my best friend’s guy so it’s totally safe, it’s completely innocent.
Forever. (This. Is. Not. Over. Book 3) Page 10