“Well …” I give her a stern look.
“Oh, why did I tell you that?”
“Hey, it’s my job to keep you all alive.” We smile at each other again.
“And I wouldn’t be so worried about Tiffany. I used to lick my hand and then touch you with it, remember?”
“Eww, yuck, now I do. Goodness, I had forgotten all about that traumatic experience.”
“Yeah, you’d always threaten to call the police on me.”
“Did I? I was so silly back then.” I take a quick sip of my mimosa.
“It all began when you threw away my last Twinkie, citing ‘enough is enough.’”
“Those things were made to kill you.”
“We had to have been about six or seven,” she says with another smile. “You were the same, even back then.”
“Hmm …”
“What?”
“I didn’t realize that.” Did I, Jasmine, have a personality of my own back then?
“Are you kidding? You were passing out free advice from the moment you learned how to create a prepositional phrase.”
“Here you go with your book talk.” We both laugh. “You’ve been the same too. You were always a book-girl and ardent feminist.”
“Yes and you were always a counselor and health fanatic. Not as bad as Richard Simmons but damn near close.”
“Shut up.” We both take a sip of our drinks. “I saw Laura yesterday,” I blurt out. I’m sure Malcolm told Danielle everything about our car ride. “And I wasn’t even mad. It’s like I know she has problems because Dena told me and, of course, the whole nation knows she used to struggle with depression after her suicide attempt a few years back, which I now know was all over me.” I let out a shudder. To think that Marlon went through hell and back just to protect me. I simply can’t imagine what he must have gone through. “I know Laura has issues, so something in me couldn’t even be mad.” Danielle looks at me before taking a quick sip of her coffee. “What? You look like you want to say something.”
“It’s … just that…”
“What? What happened?”
“You’ve always been that type,” she says quickly.
“What type?”
“You’ve never been one to see the bad in people. You tend to always search for their excuses.”
“Their excuses?”
“Yeah. You seldom ever judge a book by its cover or its contents but by its metaphorical meaning. Sorry, here I go with this book stuff again.”
“I’m listening.” I move closer to her. Jacob was saying the exact same thing to me last night.
“It’s just that you have this gift to see the bigger picture. You don’t see the fact that someone is bad, you see the fact that someone is broken. You then have this insane level of compassion for them that usually clouds your entire judgment of their true nature. And sometimes when it comes to people, they aren’t always broken. Sometimes they’re just plain old rotten. But it’s like you refuse to accept that.”
“Malcolm says that I live life with rose-colored glasses on.”
“You do, very often. But you’re sweet by nature, always have been so I wouldn’t change your entire outlook on life. Because even when you get mad at someone, you’re usually mad that you weren’t able to save them from themselves. So your anger is really frustration. Like when I kept licking you and you threatened to call the cops. If you can remember, that was after you staged an intervention with my parents. And it was after you went to speak to Father Harper who then pulled me out of Sunday school to talk to me about my problem. By the time you threatened to call the cops I remember you saying that you had done everything in your power to change me and though it hurt you to say this, maybe a cool prison cell would be the kick in the pants that I needed.”
“God … I remember that dreadful moment in our lives. You’d do anything to annoy me.” She smiles before we both take a sip of our drinks. “Oh, and I was wrong about Malcolm, Danny.”
“I know you were.” She shrugs. “But I’m wrong about a lot of things. So what do you think about Lola and Laura?” she asks with a grin.
“Sisters,” is all I can say. We clink our glasses and take a sip of our drinks.
“Sisters … they fight to the death, don’t they?”
“We do,” I say with a smile. “But eventually we get over it.”
“Marlon’s dying, you know,” she says suddenly.
“I know.”
“I talk to him every day.”
“You do?”
“Yep. He’s been asking me questions about Jacob, but like I told him, I was just as shocked as he was. It made him feel a little better that I never knew about the Jasmine and Jacob Affair. He reasoned that if you didn’t tell your own best friend, how serious could it have been? I went ahead and went with it. He needed me to do that.”
“Thank you.”
“But do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Shut up, you know what I mean. Do you still love Jacob?”
“I do.” She nods.
“Okay.”
“Can you keep that between you and me?”
“I don’t tell Winnie everything.”
“Thank you.”
“I just thought that maybe you really don’t care about Jacob anymore, considering your pearls are off.”
“Yeah, it was time,” I say as I trail a finger along the path that my pearls would have taken.
“Well, I’m not sure if you know this but he’s mad at Malcolm for some reason. I have no idea why.”
“Really? I had no idea.” Wonder what that’s all about.
“You know, when I married Malcolm I still loved Jon.” What did she just say? Did I just hear her correctly? No, I couldn’t have.
“You did?”
“Yep,” she says as she starts adjusting the beautiful and miniscule globe pendant she wears on a gold chain that she’s had for years. I help her right it because surely she’s about to break the chain.
“Now, stop fooling around with it before you break it. This looks really delicate.”
“So, when you get divorced or end a relationship, you’re normally convinced that it was all the other person’s fault. It’s after you realize that the relationship is officially over that you begin to see your part in the matter. Then the blame shifts altogether; your part in the matter evolves into the failing relationship being all your fault. You begin thinking that you’re fated to repeat failed relationships over and over again. It’s like Sisyphus who’s doomed for all of eternity to roll this huge boulder up a hill only to watch it roll back down. And this is something he’ll have to repeat forever.”
“Who?”
“He’s a Greek guy, look him up. Anyway, I was terrified when I married Malcolm. Sometimes I was just waiting for him to come into the house and ignore me and head towards the boys and stonewall me for the rest of the night. I feared he would turn into Jon. Because sometimes when you don’t learn your lesson the first time around, the universe has a way of teaching it to you one way or another. I was surprised when, night after night, Malcolm would walk in from the office and head straight to the kitchen since he knew I’d be there. He’d pour us two glasses of wine, give me a long kiss, sit at the kitchen island with me, reach into his work bag and then call for the boys. He brings them donut holes to eat before dinner.” She laughs.
Oh no … “Danielle, this is no laughing matter. Fried dough dipped in added sugar before dinner?”
“See, before I married Malcolm, there were times when I thought that I should just go back to Jon because no one was perfect and if I spent my entire life waiting for that perfect guy, I’d keep meeting tons of imperfect people. And I’d keep getting divorced.”
“So how did you get over Jon?”
“I waited it out.” She shrugs. “No miracle needed. I just gave it time. And now I see that Malcolm is not Jon, and no, I wasn’t perfect in my marriage but neither was Jon. I’m not perfect in this marriage and n
either is Malcolm. He may have his faults but his imperfections are easy for me to bear. And I may have my faults but he’s always got my back. If you find someone who doesn’t, he’s not your guy. Jon wasn’t my guy; I was imperfect, he left me but Malcolm loved me. Malcolm’s my guy.”
“I’d never leave Marlon. I feel connected to him in a way that’s indescribable. With Jacob is this distant object that I’m always a fingertip shy of grabbing onto. Jacob’s like … like … Prosciutto and Foie Gras Roulades with Fig Compote. He’s like one of those delicious looking dishes in those fancy French cookbooks. You see it and think, I want to make that. It’s different, it’s challenging and it looks good. But then you realize that you don’t have half of the ingredients to make it. So then you drive all over the city to find the ingredients to make this dish perfect. Soon you realize that there’s nowhere you can find foie gras in Boston so, you’ll have to head out of state to get it. But then you sit in your car as you’re about to cross into New York and think ‘why am I going through this much trouble trying to make this perfect dish when I have my second helping of garlic and angel hair pasta right in my fridge?’ Then you remember that you love garlic and angel hair pasta and it tasted so good last night. And no, it’s not French but what’s wrong with Italian? Sure you have to pick up another loaf of garlic bread and another bottle of wine to go with it but that’s no big deal. You can just head to the corner market for that, that’s easy. And now that you think about it, you don’t even know if you’re going to like this fancy French dish you’re driving all over the country for once it’s sitting on your kitchen table. But garlic and angel hair pasta, well it’s your favorite. Why go through all the trouble of spending so much time on creating something perfect when you have your favorite dish, already put together, waiting at home?”
“Yeah.” She smiles. “You’re right. That’s how I felt about Jon. He was always so distant, so unreachable and completely frustrating.” I nod, now knowing how frustrated Danielle must have been with that kind of man. “And Marlon?”
“Marlon is my guy,” I say without a second’s pause. “I feel him. All of him. Flesh and blood. Skin to skin. Heartbeat and all.” She smiles and nods as I speak. “Is that how you feel about Malcolm?”
“I do. Malcolm is it for me. I love each and everything about the man; even his flaws are redeemable to me. Crazy, but that’s how it is.”
“That’s nice,” I say with a smile for my best friend. Honestly, I’m really happy for Danielle right now. How lucky is she to get a second shot at love?
“You know, Jasmine, I think you can act really pretentious at times.”
Ugh, see this is why I hate her. “Me? Pretentious? Oh, please.”
“Yes, Jasmine, you. The constant comments about my first husband. The fact that you seem to consider Dena a better mother than me just because she’s a stay-at-home.” She waves me off. “I always thought you didn’t respect me because I chose to work outside the home. It’s like I’m not as good a mother as you because of it.”
“Well, that’s because you consider me weak because I chose to work inside the home. The way you used to call me a ‘house-girlfriend’ before I graduated to ‘one of those stay-at-homes.’”
“Jasmine, you being a stay-at-home doesn’t affect me one way or the other. Truthfully, I couldn’t care less.”
“Well, I don’t really believe that with you being a feminist and all. I’m sure you think I’m a loser.”
“Jasmine, don’t give me that. I’ve never rubbed my career in your face. So, don’t even try it.”
“What about choosing Winnie as a friend?”
“Jasmine, Winnie doesn’t work. She’s a stay-at-home just like you. And need I remind you that you never told me that you didn’t like her?”
“Would it have made a difference?”
“Back then? Yes.”
“Yeah, but after you found out about Jacob and me you continued to be friends with her.”
“Jasmine, you and Jacob are married to different people! Jacob is a member of my family, which makes his wife a member as well. And plus, sometimes you’re really judgmental.”
“Oh please…” I wave her off. She’s talking nonsense.
“You’re so perfect with your pearls and French cookbooks and children who are obviously clean enough to lick each other, because let me tell you, Nicky wouldn’t touch Roman with a ten-foot pole. But Winnie’s down to earth. She’s not perfect and you know what? She doesn’t mind telling you that. Quite honestly, if that naked picture would have been of her she would have gotten mad, gotten even and then said fuck it. But you go and desert your entire family and have a nervous breakdown.”
“Right, so I’m weak. Whatever.” I take a sip of my mimosa.
“No, you’re dramatic as hell.”
“And Winnie’s perfect?”
“No, she’s not and that’s the point, Jasmine. No one’s perfect; not Winnie, not you, not me, not Marlon, not Malcolm and most certainly not Jacob.”
“Well… I don’t know what to say.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t say anything else today.” She takes a sip of her coffee.
“I think it’s foolish to continue being enemies, Danielle.”
“I’m not saying that we’re enemies. I’m saying the exact opposite. If we’re getting on each other’s nerves, it’s best if we temporarily separate. Like sisters who lick each other.”
“Fine.” We stand in silence, avoiding each other’s eyes. “Perhaps you and I should have coffee tomorrow at the Starbucks on Tremont. We can sneak away during Christmas Mass.”
“I’m the mother of Jesus and you’re asking me to slip away for coffee during his birthday celebration?”
“Either you’re coming or you’re not.”
“Fine, I’ll be there if you’ll be.”
“Yea, I can attend.” She rolls her eyes.
“Good. Glad you’ll grace me with your presence.”
“There you go again, assuming I’m being pretentious.”
“Whatever.”
“Do I have to bring my pepper-spray tomorrow?”
“I’d come prepared,” she says. Then we silently look at each other, little smirks on our faces. It’ll take some time to resolve our issues, but then again, Rome wasn’t built in a day.
“So the Starbucks on Tremont.” I say to her.
“The Starbucks on Tremont.” She agrees before we both click our glasses together.
Jasmine
(done.)
“Glad to see you two talking,” Malcolm says to me over the sound of laughter and Christmas jazz as we both head to the kitchen for coffee.
“It’ll take a while to get back what we had,” I say, and stop walking to look at him.
“It’ll happen.” And now I see that he’s carrying an envelope. He lifts it up to me and slides it into my hands.
“What’s this?”
“A contract.”
“A contract?”
“Signed by the journalist at The Globe.”
“What does it say?” I turn over the envelope in my hand.
“That he’ll keep that photograph private, that he’s made no copies, that in the folder is the original photograph mailed to his office, that he understands what will happen if the terms of the contract are been breached.”
“Malcolm, how did you do this?”
He gives me a smirk. “My clients normally don’t want to know the specifics of a case, just that it’s been handled.”
I nod in understanding. “How much do I owe you?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks towards Danielle who’s now talking to Angie. The two of them have just stolen a look at Lola, who’s talking with a group of senator’s wives, her peers. Angie whispers something to Danielle and they both start shaking their heads in unison.
“I think I need to get over there to my wife.”
“She’s a handful, isn’t she?” Poor Malcolm.
“Jasmine, she’s the worst
client I’ve ever had.” He winks at me and then walks away.
Jasmine
(first. step.)
“I’m so sorry, Jasmine,” Dena says to me as she puts a hand to her heart.
“I’m not mad anymore,” I say to her as I rub a hand down her arm.
“Do you promise?”
“I do.”
“Good, because I love you. You know that.”
“I do. I love you too.” We give each other small smiles as she reaches for one of my hands to hold. Danielle will always be my best friend but Dena is a lot like a soul mate; she gets me without me even having to explain myself … nor do I ever feel the need to have to.
“So Laura and her husband came and then they were sent home,” Dena whispers to me as we stand in the Blair’s kitchen, crowded with politicos and secret service while the media’s camped outside trying to get just a glimpse of it all. She takes a nervous sip of her tea.
“Were they?” I say, pretending not to know exactly what happened and why it did. Right now I feel like I’m in the Blair Family Club with their attorneys and feminists and Presidents and First Ladies and Ambassadors. Actually, I’m more of a Blair than Dena at this point; Malcolm trusted me last night. I was privy to private information that could forever destroy the Blair and Rossi families. I take a sip of my coffee and scan the kitchen’s perimeter, otherwise known as ground zero. No wonder Danielle likes being a part of the Blair family while completely ignoring her own people and the auction blocks, whippings and heartache it took for us all to stand here today and call ourselves free. Being a part of the Blair family is exciting!
(Speaking of the Blair family, I’ve been avoiding Jacob and Winnie and have been masterfully successful. I don’t even know if they came to the house or not, that’s how good I’ve been doing. That’s just an FYI. Not that I’m thinking about Jacob or anything.)
“I feel horrible,” Dena continues. “Laura asked me what I was doing this weekend and I told her that I was going to Nicky’s play. Then we hung up. She called me back in a huff, wondering why I would go to Nicky’s play when Danielle gave birth to him. I was so busy defending myself that I said that everyone was coming and it wasn’t just me. Well, that set her off.” She takes another nervous sip of her tea. “She came down here, tried to hit Lola with a frying pan and when that didn’t work, Lola said that Laura stuck out her foot and tripped her.”
Forever. (This. Is. Not. Over. Book 3) Page 18