“Thanks, Malcolm,” I say as I close my eyes and feel the relaxing blend of heat and cold.
“No problem,” he says as the next song comes on. Yet another old-school jam; Outcast’s, “Prototype.”
Jasmine
(sisters.)
“What a beautiful home.” I say to Malcolm as he uses his key to open the front door, the Chick-fil-A bag in his hand. As expected there are dozens of secret service agents around and while Malcolm didn’t have to be cleared to walk to his parents’ front door, I most certainly did. They frisked me, made me touch some handheld device to record my fingerprints, then entered my social security number into the device and waited for the results like was I was some kind of criminal. How exciting! “It’s like I’ve stepped into war time Boston!” I said as I linked my arm in Malcolm’s. “I thought they were going to ask me if I was a Patriot or a Loyalist and whether I support the British taxation on tea. And your parents’ home! Just look at it!”
The thing about owning a home in the heart of the city is that you can have a bucket load of money but your home will never upstage the house next to it. Even Danielle’s childhood home, as beautiful as it is, is just as fabulous as the home next to it. So though the Blairs have tons of money, they live in a Colonial Revival home with white siding and black shutters. It’s more nostalgic than it is grand.
“I can just imagine a fireplace lit inside and tea brewing in a glass tea kettle. And I’m sure your mother has some fresh scones on the table and a framed painting of our Founding Fathers somewhere in a mahogany wood frame. I’m even imagining there may be some secret meeting going on inside that the Brits don’t know about. And your parents are living double lives as residents of both the UK and America, the home of the free and the brave. Oh God, your parents are probably American spies posing as ambassadors! At any moment, they could be assassinated in the UK because of it, shot right in the back of the head while dining on fish and chips … and this is Danielle’s family. God, she is so lucky.”
“Jasmine, what the hell?” Malcolm says as he looks at me like as though I could have possibly just lost my mind.
“I’m just saying … it would be nice if that were the case.”
“Don’t get me wrong, it probably would be, but still.” And then he slides the door open and … it’s just like I imagined. The beautiful foray, the paintings of famous American battles, the smell of vanilla in the air, the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee, the sound of a tea kettle whistling … oh wait, that’s not a tea kettle.
“My brother,” Malcolm says as he closes the door behind us.
“Well, he sounds amazing,” I say as I try to decipher what the familiar tune it. Oh, I know this song … I know this song. What is it?
“Silly of me to take the time to comb my hair and pour the wine, and know you're not there…” President Carlo Rossi appears from another room, singing along to Cadence’s whistling as he walks into the kitchen, his back turned towards us.
“Is that the President!” I whisper as I grab Malcolm’s arm.
“It is,” he says as he locks the door behind us.
“I saw him at your wedding but that was before he was the President!” I’m excited like a kid! “And here he is singing, “Silly” and passing right in front of me! I can’t believe he knows that song! Oh, I’m sure he’s everything he says he is and more.”
“Uh-huh. He is,” Malcolm says as he guides me further into the house.
“Wow, Malcolm, you and Danielle have the life. A kid playing Jesus, another one learning new and exciting words, a sweet and caring mother-in-law, the President just walking through your childhood home with a pair of track pants, t-shirt and socks like it’s normal. And the vanilla smell—probably the fresh scones I knew your mother would be making … and the coffee and the—”
“Get the fuck out of here!” a woman screams. The whistling stops. What in the world? Who was that?
“I’m not going anywhere!” another woman shouts back.
“Is this necessary!” I hear Roman ask.
“I want you to stand in the doorway,” Malcolm says as he points to the kitchen.
“Okay,” I say as we walk towards the kitchen where it seems everyone is congregated. I’ve gotta admit, I’m a bit startled. Such language.
“I’m taking Roman upstairs,” I hear Malcolm’s father, Wynston, say before passing by the kitchen door.
“I just want to know why I wasn’t invited to the play! Dena told me that everyone was invited so why wasn’t I?” I hear a woman say. I walk into the doorway with Malcolm and see that everyone’s turned away from us and standing near the kitchen island. I can tell by her profile that the woman who’s mad about her missing invitation is probably Laura Rossi; she’s the one holding up a skillet. It appears that her husband, Senator Lorenzo Gallo, is holding onto her free arm as he tries to pull her away. The woman who probably wants Laura to ‘get the fuck out of here’ is Lola Rossi, who appears to be hiding behind Cadence while looking up at the skillet.
“Laura,” First Lady, Eva Rossi (the First Lady of the United States!), says, “This is a production starring Nicholai, Malcolm’s son.” Wow, she looks so old in person. That isn’t how I imagined her looking; on TV she always looks so well put together. Right now she’s just wearing a white fluffy bathrobe with matching slippers and her hair is in pin curls. “Why would we invite you, dear?”
“Maybe because it’s not fair that I have to sit in Maryland when the rest of the family gets to come to Boston for Christmas and get all of this media attention,” Laura says, her voice almost whiney. Hmm. That’s kind of annoying. “You know that my husband has an election coming up next year and it would be nice to get some press,” Laura says. “But then again, I should have expected this snub. It’s like ever since that little incident six years ago, you all want me to disappear!”
“We do! Good-bye!” Lola says. Laura raises the skillet higher. Lola ducks behind Cadence lower.
“Ladies,” Cadence says quite eloquently. “If I may offer some insight into this situation. Laura is upset that she was not invited to Nicholai’s play; Lola is upset that Laura is here.”
“No shit, Cadence,” Malcolm’s mother, Angie, says. Doesn’t she normally have a slightly haughty accent that sounds somewhat British? Odd … I always thought she talked kinda regal, now she’s talking really normal.
“I am tired of being the third wheel in this family!” Laura shouts. “It’s as if I can do nothing with you all if Danielle is involved.” She sneers Danielle’s name and something inside of me wants to run over there and wallop her across the head with that fry pan. Let’s not forget that Laura is the woman who ruined my life and now she’s sneering Danielle’s name. That witch. “And just because the play is featuring her child, singing off key, that doesn’t mean—”
“Laura!” First Lady Eva screams.
“I think that came out wrong,” Laura’s husband, Lorenzo, says as Laura raises the skillet higher at Eva.
“Oh, put that down, now,” Eva says in annoyance.
“And I don’t want Laura to get a bad rap here,” Lorenzo, says, “because I believe her heart’s in the right place. She just feels left out of this weekend, considering that Nicky isn’t even family and yet—”
“What the fuck did you just say?” Malcolm says as he nudges me out of sight and off to the side of the door. From the side of the wall, I watch him leave the doorway and walk towards the scene until he’s out of sight.
“Shit,” I hear President Rossi mutter.
“I, I’m…” Lorenzo says. “I didn’t mean it like—”
“I got it, Malcolm,” Cadence says.
“Relax, son,” President Rossi says. “You know what we’re dealing with here. He’s just trying to help his wife out.” I hear the sound of Roman’s Chick-fil-A bag collide with a countertop. The sound is immediately followed by the clatter of the frying pan crashing to the floor.
“Malcolm …” Cadence says.
“What’s going on down there?” Wynston screams.
“You’re in for it now,” Lola says. “You’re about to get your husband murdered.”
“Malcolm, let your brother handle this please,” Angie says. “Wynston! Come down here this very moment and tell Malcolm to let Cadence handle this!”
“On my way,” Wynston says. Oh my God … what is Malcolm about to do? Should I call Danielle? Yes. I have to text Danielle.
Me 10:45 pm: Emergency. Laura and her husband bad mouthed Nicky, Malcolm is about to go off on her husband! At Angie’s house. Do something.
“Malcolm, you know me,” Lorenzo says. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” He lets out a nervous laugh.
“I’m really sorry,” Laura says. “I was just—”
“Malcolm, let’s just have Lorenzo and Laura go home,” First Lady Rossi says, her voice almost pleading.
“Absolutely,” Lorenzo says. “Come on, Laura. Let’s gather our belongings.”
“What the fuck did you say about Nicky?” Malcolm says. Oh, shit … my scalp starts to get prickly and my heart races. I’m really no good with confrontation. I just wasn’t created to deal with it. Oh great … now my stomach is starting to turn.
Me 10:46 pm: Danny! Do something!
“Malcolm,” Angie says. “Get out of the kitchen now. Let your brother handle this.” She’s nervous. I can hear it in her voice.
The house phone rings. Please let this be Danielle.
“Laura, Lorenzo, I think perhaps you should return home to your children,” Cadence says. “Your language is offensive not only towards Nicholai but towards all of us. We’re Nicholai’s family.”
“Hello?” Angie says. “Yes, dear! … Malcolm, the phone.”
“What. The fuck. Did you say?” Malcolm says slowly, methodically. He’s no grenade, he’s a slow winding gas leak carefully set to explode. Oh. God!
“Well,” Lola says, “I knew she’d up and get herself killed one day.”
“Malcolm…” Lorenzo says, his voice piteous but trying to maintain the dignity of ‘Senator Lorenzo Gallo’. “I’m sorry, I was just trying to help out Laura. That’s it. I swear. She’s my wife, ya know? I’ve gotta do something to help her out when she gets like this. If anyone understands that it should be you.”
“Yes, Cadence and Carlo are blocking him … Malcolm,” Angie says. “It’s Dun-yell and she says come to the phone now.”
Silence.
I hold my breath. Please let Danielle have some rank with Malcolm.
“She’s says now, Malcolm,” Angie says, her voice a little less confident than what it normally is.
Silence.
And it feels like an eternity.
Suddenly I hear footsteps … walking slowly… The gas leak slowly changing direction under the influence of the wind. Explosion averted.
“I just don’t know where I went wrong,” First Lady Eva says. “I did the best I could with my children and just look what I got.”
“I know,” Angie says. “Mine are disappointments too. Malcolm is starting to backtalk.”
“Yeah …” I hear Malcolm say into the phone. “Yeah …”
“Lorenzo, Laura,” First Lady Eva says, “gather your belongings please. I’ll have an agent escort you back to Maryland. And Laura, I expect you to behave along the way.”
“Yes,” President Rossi says. “And don’t try anything silly.”
“Laura, let’s get back to Maryland,” Lorenzo says. “I believe we’ve worn out our welcome.”
Laura says nothing.
I sneak a peek into the kitchen and see that she’s holding her head up high as First Lady Eva escorts her and Lorenzo out of the kitchen and into what I presume is the living room.
So this is the woman who released the photo of me to The Boston Globe? Well, Dena’s right; I walked in on her assaulting people with a frying pan—she certainly isn’t working with all of her God-given abilities.
“We need to up her meds,” Lola says as she straightens her dress. “That or murder her and say it was an accident.” Lola looks around for support.
“I’d expect as much from you,” Angie says to her with a sideways glance. “I swear, I do believe that Dun-yell is the only sane daughter-in-law I’ll ever have.” She walks to the coffee pot as Malcolm hangs up the kitchen phone. “And where the hell were you?” she says while looking into the all-white living room.
“Roman and I were having a conversation, I couldn’t very well leave in the middle of it,” I hear Wynston say. “Son,” he says to Malcolm as he walks back into the kitchen from the living room, “do you have Roman’s fries?”
“Yeah, here,” Malcolm says as hands his father the bag off of the kitchen counter before stretching his neck. I notice that he’s clenching his jaw. Wynston opens the bag and ruffles through it, shaking it around a bit.
“Did you bring Polynesian sauce?”
“No, he’ll have to use ketchup.”
“But he says Polynesian is necessary.”
“Pop …” Malcolm says as he stretches his neck again, giving his father an exasperated look. His blood is probably boiling. At the insistence of his wife, Malcolm Blair just backed down from a fight, and since he’s a Blair, I know that wasn’t easy. I know this because I’ve seen Jacob in a bar fight before and let me tell you, it was absolutely dreadful. So if Malcolm has any of Jacob in him at all, this truce with Lorenzo is crippling for him.
“Well, don’t let Lorenzo and Laura get you all uptight,” Angie says as she walks over to Malcolm and rubs his back, a cup of coffee in her hands.
“I’m fine,” he says and takes a deep breath.
“What did they say?” Wynston asked.
“Something negative about Nicky’s pitch and tone,” Cadence replies, walking over to Lola then rubbing her back. Malcolm looks at Cadence as if he’s gone crazy.
“I thought he sounded good when I went by to see him,” Wynston says in confusion.
“Perhaps if Malcolm worked a little harder with him on the bridge we wouldn’t be in this situation?” Angie asks as she looks around for support. Cadence nods in agreement.
“As Laura’s parent,” President Rossi says as his phone begins to ring, “I am just astounded that she would say such a thing about a child. And now I’ve come to the realization that I just won’t rest until I do something to help Laura’s bitterness and …” He looks at the phone, smiles and answers it. “Well, hello … with the family … Cynthia says hi,” he whispers to everyone before walking out of the kitchen and into the living room. Who’s Cynthia?
“I’m gone,” Malcolm says as he heads towards the kitchen door where I’m sneaking a peek. I hurry and slide out of the way lest anyone see me.
“Well, don’t drive upset,” Angie says. “Just sit here for a while and have some coffee and calm down.”
“I’m good,” Malcolm answers.
“Son—” Wynston says.
“I’m good.”
“Malcolm, I don’t want you driving upset,” Angie says.
“I’m fine, Ma.”
Wow, Danielle’s new family isn’t so perfect after all.
Jacob
(falling.)
Winnie and my wedding is a month away. I’m supposed to be here cutting things off with her, going the moral route. Being true to my own self, as Cadence suggested. When she opened the door to her loft, she smiled, rolled her eyes and said ‘I can’t believe we’re getting married in a month. Who said I was done getting dicked down?’ That made me laugh. That’s how she gets me. She makes me laugh. So here I am now.
“I used to date a black guy,” she says to me as she raises her leg in the air and inspects her toes. She’s wearing beet red shiny polish that matches her nails. “I feel like I should tell you that before we marry, just in case I scream out his name during an orgasm.” I laugh as I run a hand over her stomach. I’m lying on my side, next to Winnie. My future wife. She lowers her leg back onto the bed as the sound of Boston street cars
honk below. “But it was puppy love. He and I were basically raised together; both born in Italy to military families that were from the East Coast. And no matter what, our families always seemed to get stationed together. From Italy to California to West Point. Never failed. To this day, he and my brother are best friends. The two of them used to go to Martha’s Vineyard during the summers with his family. From what I hear he’s stationed in Charleston now. Turned military. Navy.” Damn, she smells good. I kiss her on her shoulder. “Demetrius. That’s his name.” I watch her smile. Damn, she has nice lips. I turn her head towards me to kiss them. “Hung like a horse.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Mm hmm.”
“Bigger than me?” I run a hand down her stomach and trail my fingers along her lower lips.
“Surprisingly, you two are roughly the same size.” She spreads her legs.
“That’s a surprise?” I slide a finger onto her clit.
“Well, I’ve never had any luck with white guys in bed. None of them could surpass Demetrius.” She says frankly and with a shrug. She takes her hand and slides it between her legs, placing a finger over mine, moving it in circles over her clit. I do as suggested as she slides her hand away. “I was seriously about to give up on white guys and head down to Charleston is pursuit of D. West until—”
“D. West?”
“That’s my pet name for him.”
“Oh, you two have pet names for each other?”
“Absolutely.” She says as she closes her eyes and smiles, fondly remembering D. West as I circle her clit. “Demetrius Westlake. He calls me G. Yates.”
“D. West and G. Yates, huh?”
“G. and D., when referred to separately.” She says seriously. “But when referred to as a couple, we go by Got-Damn.” She continues to smile fondly.
“Yeah, whatever.” I slide my entire hand over her lower lips and enter her with three fingers. She spreads her legs wider.
Forever. (This. Is. Not. Over. Book 3) Page 11