Soulmates Dissipate

by Mary B. Morrison

  Jada felt nauseated. One of two signs that revealed she cared more than she’d admit. At least the migraine headaches hadn’t kicked in. When she was a little princess, Mama called them growing pains.

  “But that’s what he expects. Just because he’s good-looking—”

  “Stunning!” interrupted Candice.

  “He has a nice body—”

  “Glorious!”

  “Candice, would you stop doing that. I’ve made up my mind. If he doesn’t call by this Friday, he can forget it.” Jada’s red manicured nails covered her abdomen.

  “That’s why so many women miss out. You’re expecting to receive more than you’re willing to give. Darryl is a prime example. You took his number. Refused to give him yours. And you didn’t call him for over a month.”

  Candice was right.” Bye, Candice. I’ve got to get dressed so I can pick up Mama. I’ll call you later.”

  “Bye, Jada. And Femember, girlfriend, nothing from nothing leaves nothing.”

  Jada showered for five minutes. She put on her sleeveless sapphire silk designer dress with matching long-sleeve double-breasted jacket. Her genuine pearl necklace with matching earrings was a gift from Daddy when she turned thirteen. A dab of Vanilla Cream behind each ear functioned as an all-day aromatherapy. As soon as the elevator door inside her condo opened, the phone rang. She didn’t wait for it to close. Jada grabbed the kitchen cordless.

  “Hi, Mama. I’m walking out right now.”

  “Big Daddy might be more appropriate if I knew you better.”

  “What! You need to be on your way to church to praise God, Big Daddy. Or whoever you are.”

  “As a matter of fact, I am. Would you care to join me? This is Wellington Jones.”

  Jada’s fingers touched her forehead, chest, left, then right shoulders.” I’d love to but I have to pick up my mother for church by ten-thirty.”

  “Well, I don’t want to impose on your spiritual time, so why don’t I call you tonight,” he said.

  Jada ran her fingers through her hair.” I’d really like you to fellowship with us soon. But Mother should meet you first. That way she’ll have more answers than questions for her inquisitive friends. They’re persistently asking when am I going to get married and have babies.” Shit! She softly stomped her foot and wished she could eat her words.

  “Marriage and babies.” Wellington laughed.” Say a prayer for me. I’ll call you later. Good-bye, Diamond.” He blew a kiss into the receiver.

  “Anytime after six is good. Bye.” Jada pulled out her electronic calendar and scheduled an extra half hour of meditation and prayer before six o’clock. Wellington was truly Mr. Right.

  On her way to pick up her mother, Jada reflected. How perfect—a twofer—Wellington was a churchman and a gentleman.

  The scenic drive along Interstate 580 was beautiful. Above MacArthur Boulevard there were evergreen trees leading from the highway to the top of the Oakland hills. From the freeway, homes appeared sporadically spaced among the evergreen. But the Mormon Temple always stood out, especially at night with all the lights. Luckily Jada’s cellular had caller ID.

  “Hello, Mother. I’m exiting off a Hundred and Fiftieth Avenue right now.”

  “Okay, baby. I’ll wait outside.”

  Jada cherished the moments they shared. She never understood why so many people didn’t enjoy quality time with their parents.” Look at you, Ms. Lady, all decked out in your Sunday best. Let me open the door for you, Mama. Give me just a minute.” Jada’s curls dangled in the breeze.

  “You’re so kind to me.” Her hazel eyes softened.

  Jada kissed her mother’s buttery smooth cheek.” Where did you get that jazzy lavender suit?”

  “Sacramento,” Ruby said.

  “Sacramento? When did you find time to go to Sacramento?”

  “Baby, you know Mama can’t tell you all her secrets.”

  “What secrets?” Jada snapped her head in her mother’s direction.” I’m thirty-two years old, and if I can’t have secrets, neither can you, Ms. Lady.” Jada had her share. She preferred to label them untold stories. Most generated from the temper tantrums she had never outgrown. Mama never knew she left the bathtub water running on the third floor in Stanley’s townhouse. That gigolo deserved worse.

  “So, answer the question.”

  “Well, if you must know, Mr. Hamilton had business at the State Building, and he asked if I’d take the ride. So off we went in his brand new 1998 redhot convertible. We listened to Coltrane, Billie Holiday, Nat King Cole, Diana Ross, and Bobby Blue Bland. Child, we had ourselves a grand old time. Can you believe his CD player holds twelve?” Ruby smiled.

  “That’s great, Mama.” Jada smiled back. It felt good to see her mama happy again. The church parking lot was full. Jada got out of the car and opened the door for her mother.

  “Now don’t park too far away. I don’t want you to have to walk a long distance in these three-inch heels.” Jada remembered how her father always opened the door for them. She missed her daddy.

  “Good morning, Sister Simon and Sister Brown,” Pastor Tellings said. He refused to cut his miniature Don King Afro.

  “Good morning,” they responded together.

  “Good morning, Jada. Your mother’s waiting for you.”

  “Good morning, Pastor.” Jada hugged her Bible to her chest and shook Pastor Tellings’s hand.

  The congregation had doubled in membership over the past five years. The pastor had added two additional services: one at seven o’clock in the morning and the other at seven o’clock at night. Jada and her mother still attended the eleven o’clock service. Stained glass covered every window, and a picture of Christ on the cross hung high upon the wall behind the pulpit.

  Jada enjoyed when Pastor Tellings opened his sermon with a poem. This morning he recited “Ask Why,” which was one of her favorites.

  Heaven on earth

  Hell for some

  depends on whether

  you ‘re smart or dumb

  depends on whether

  you ‘re rich or poor

  or whether you ‘re four feet

  or six feet or ten

  from the floor

  depends on whether

  you ‘re white or black

  skinny or fat

  depends on whether

  you ‘re ugly or cute

  bony or brute

  funny or shy

  please ask why

  Heaven on earth

  is Hell for some

  most smart people

  are really dumb

  Heaven should be for all

  and Hell

  for NONE.

  “Pastor is really hitting home this morning,” Mama whispered.

  Pastor Tellings continued with his sermon topic: “Heaven Should Be for All and Hell for None.”

  “God is the only one who can judge us. Therefore, it matters not what material gains you’ve acquired, or what size you are, or the color of your skin. Christians help those in need. How can you leave your nice cozy home and walk right by a homeless person. Then you walk through the doors of the church, praise God, and ask him to bless you. You walk out of the church, pass the same homeless person, and walk into your home without a conscience.”

  Pastor Tellings hardly resembled Don King. Sister Armstrong always called him Reverend James. He was fifty-five and single. His high-yellow complexion, flat nose, and slender face clashed with his hair. He sparingly accepted dinner invitations from married couples and never from single women in the church.

  “You need to hold yourself accountable and ask why. Don’t you know that if each one teaches one to be self-sufficient, Heaven on earth would be Hell for none?” Pastor picked up his white handkerchief, dried his forehead, then took a sip of water.

  “In closing, I ask each of you to ask why. Ask yourselves why, and the next time you pass a person in need of help or in need of prayer, take a moment. One day it might be you standing in the
need of prayer.” He sang. Pastor Tellings had begun to sing and not a soul in the church reached for the hymnbook that sat in the pew’s bookcase facing them. The choir and congregation joined in.

  Afterward, a lot of the congregation wore guilty expressions. Jada commented on the mother and two children living on the corner of Ninety-eighth Avenue and East Fourteenth Street.

  “Baby,” Mama said, “do you think we can really help them?” Mama’s eyes were slightly red.

  “Well, we can definitely try.” Jada felt obligated.

  They approached the woman. A large-brimmed navy hat and sunglasses hid her face. A scarf was tied around her cheeks and under her chin. She sat on an old blanket with holes. The cardboard sign in her ashy hands read LOST OUR LEASE ON LIFE PLEASE HELP. Tears formed in Jada’s eyes. She felt ashamed for having so much and sharing so little.

  “Hi, my name is Jada Tanner and this is my mother, Ruby Tanner.” The story they heard changed their outlook.

  “My name is Jazzmyne. These are my children. Brandon is three and Shelly is eight. I’m not looking for a handout. But I do need help.”

  The normally busy intersection was fairly quiet. Sister Brown with Sister Simon drove by and tooted her horn. The overcast sky hung low but there was no rain in the forecast. Jada and her mother were shocked to learn Jazzmyne had a master’s degree in social work.

  “My husband almost broke my collarbone and fractured one of my ribs. I know you’re confused, but it’s more commonplace than most folk can imagine. Working in a profession is no guarantee you won’t be the victim.”

  Jada looked at her watch. Only three hours left before Wellington would call. She didn’t want to appear self-centered. A ray of sunshine peeped through the clouds.

  “I promised God if He allowed me to recover, I’d renew the lease on the life He’d given me. I’m glad the Lord opened my eyes. I was putting my husband before all of us. I loved Franklin more than life itself or so I thought until he tried to kill me.”

  The beam of sunshine disappeared. Jada’s feet ached from the three-inch heels. With two and a half hours left she had to take control. Jada and Ruby paid for Jazzmyne and her children to spend two weeks in a hotel. They promised to take the family shopping and help Jazzmyne get back on her feet. Jazzmyne agreed to meet with Pastor Tellings on Wednesday. Before leaving the front desk, Jada noticed the last name on Jazzmyne’s registration was Jones.

  Jada made it home in record time. The meditation and prayer helped her unwind. When she finished, the digital clock read six o’clock. Jada reflected on how Wellington had kissed her hand after the show. She waited. Eight o’clock. No call. She watched reruns of In the House and Fresh Prince. At ten o’clock she watched the news. She double-checked for an interrupted dial tone but it was flat. The lampshade on her nightstand dimmed with each touch. One. Two. Three. Surrounded by darkness and silence, Jada wept.

  Chapter 4

  Wellington picked up his cordless and dialed Jada’s number. He stepped onto the deck outside his bedroom. Below, the Friday morning sunrays glistened atop the water in the pool. Two weeks had passed since he’d promised to call. He dipped his finger into the maple syrup that flowed over his pancakes and sucked it off. His enthusiasm about marriage didn’t match hers. Typically, he dismissed women that dropped hints or spoke in code about having a husband or kids. But Jada intrigued him. Wellington smiled. Jada answered on the first ring.

  “Good morning, my Nubian Queen. How are you?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Wellington Jones.” The dial tone indicated she might have been pissed. He hit the redial button.

  “Hello! “Jada answered.

  “You know, I deserved that. Please don’t hang up again. Mmm. These hotcakes are delicious.” He hoped the sound of his voice would turn her on.” Do you like surprises?”

  “Yes, but not yours. Look, why don’t you stop playing games.” Jada’s frustration lingered.

  “Diamond. I’ve spent the past couple of weeks thinking about you. I apologize for not calling sooner.”

  “I don’t know if I want to accept your apology. I’ve got to go to work. Good-bye, Mr. Jones.”

  Wellington could tell she wasn’t going to make it easy. He sat up in his lounge chair and placed his plate on the tinted rectangular-shaped glass table.” Wait! Don’t leave! Let me pick you up at noon.”

  “Pick me up?” Jada paused.” And?”

  Wellington removed his cerulean Versace robe and laid it across the chair.” If I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise. But I will tell you this much. Pack enough clothes for the weekend. And you need to bring and leave something.” Wellington hoped at a minimum he’d piqued her curiosity. No woman had ever refused his all-expenses-paid weekend getaways.

  “I’m listening.”

  Wellington cleared his throat. He spoke seductively. “The one thing you must bring is your imagination. Then you must leave all inhibitions behind. The rest”—he paused—“is up to me. But I have to warn you”—he paused again—“there is one requirement.”

  “What’s that?” Jada asked flatly.

  “This outing is a mandatory good-time excursion. You are welcome to bring your luggage but please leave all baggage behind.” Stillness lingered. Wellington patiently waited for Jada to respond.

  “I can handle that. But don’t call the game if you can’t bring the same. I’ll see you at twelve o’clock sharp.”

  Wellington walked inside to his nightstand and wrote down the directions and address.” On that note, my Nubian Queen, I’ll see you at high noon.”

  Wellington hung up the phone and proceeded to bust a move like Chris Tucker in the opening scene of Rush Hour. He showered for twenty minutes. Shaved. Flossed. Brushed. He put on his black denim shorts with matching FUBU 05 jersey. With his baseball cap turned backward, he packed two bottles of Dom Perignon on ice. He grabbed his prepacked leather bag and set his home security alarm.

  The digital clock in his Mercedes said ten-fifteen. He promised his mother he’d stop by before he left town. It was a perfect day in the Bay Area. The morning rush hour had ended. He zipped across the Golden Gate Bridge and took the first exit into Sausalito. The zigzag hill resembled Lombard Street. With each curve, he plunged his accelerator uphill as if he were test-driving for a commercial. He parked behind his mother’s silvery Jaguar.

  The house had looked the same as long as he could remember. His friends called it the White House. It was three stories high with six thousand square feet. Often he wondered how it survived the earthquakes. The sunroom on the third floor was where he’d spent countless hours meditating. Wellington walked in and followed his nose. The aroma of bacon trailed from the living room, through the dining room, and into the kitchen. He tiptoed behind his mother and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  “Boy! You almost scared me to death.”

  “Nothing could scare you to death, woman. Give me a kiss.” Her cold thin lips pecked his cheek.

  “Have a seat. I just finished cooking breakfast. And take that cap off in my house.”

  Wellington held the cap in his hand.” I can’t stay. I’ve got to pick up Diamond by twelve. I’m taking her on a surprise trip. We’ll be back Sunday. Where’s Dad?” Wellington sat on the bar stool nearest the stove.

  “Christopher is at the Forty-niners game.” Cynthia paused.” Who’s Diamond? And where are you taking her?”

  “I think she might be the one, Mom. But I’m not sure yet. That’s why I’m taking her down the coast. She’s the most beautiful Black Nubian Queen I’ve laid eyes on.” Wellington grabbed a piece of bacon off the plate. Wellington admired his mother’s beauty and brains but her personality was harsh.

  Sternly she commented, “Well, just don’t forget to ask what organizations she’s in. That way I can do my own research. You’re the only one who can carry on the family name and tradition. I’ve told you—I don’t want you thinking about marrying someone who doesn’t fit. And besides, how black is blac
k?” Cynthia removed her Oakland Raiders apron. Wellington’s mother was still crazy about them. But everyone knew Cynthia liked the team best when they were the roughest in the NFL.

  Wellington stood. He leaned over his mother’s shoulder and kissed her on the cheek.” She’s radiant!”

  “I can’t see radiant. Keep going.” She opened the oven and removed the tray.

  “Okay. She’s Blacker than Whoopi and more beautiful than Angela Bassett.”

  “Nonsense. No one is more beautiful than Angela or Blacker than Whoopi. How are Walter and Deon?” Cynthia placed the hot buttery homemade biscuits next to the bacon.” Oh, did I tell you Melanie called?”

  “Walter’s fine. We groomed his lawn last weekend. Deon and Gina are doing great. And Mom, Melanie’s just a kid. I haven’t seen her in almost twenty years.” Wellington hugged his mother and shouted from the dining room, “You’re gonna love Jada, Mom! Trust me.”

  With his cap turned backward, Wellington flew down the hill. His Byron Lee Soca Frenzy CD bumped hard against the SurroundSound speakers in his Benz.” Who let the dogs out! Ruff. Ruff. Ruff. Ruff. Ruff,” he barked. He chose the back route through Richmond and Berkeley into Oakland to avoid tourism and lunch-hour traffic on the Golden Gate and Bay bridges. His whole body grooved to the Caribbean beat. He sang, “A doggie is nothing if he don’t have a bone. All doggies hold your bone!” Wellington arrived precisely at eleven fifty-nine. He parked his car in one of the spots marked VISITOR. The doorman greeted him. Wellington read the name on his tag.

  “Hello, Edward.” Wellington firmly shook his hand.” Would you kindly let Ms. Jada Diamond Tanner know Wellington Jones has arrived?”

  “My pleasure, sir.”

  Wellington watched the elevator light move. Twenty-one. Twenty. Nineteen … All the way down to the first floor without stopping. When the doors opened, he instantly realized Jada lived in the penthouse. She looked more striking than he remembered.

  Jada was dressed in a simple tropical ankle-length skirt with thigh-high splits on each side. Her pierced belly button wore a small ruby circled by miniature diamonds. The matching exotic scarf wrapped around her protruding breasts. Her hair flowed over her bare shoulders down to her waistline.