“I can’t tonight. I’m actually going over to my brother’s for a dinner thing.”
A slight frown crinkles the skin between his eyes, and I can almost hear him asking if he can tag along. “That sounds like a good time, maybe I’ll catch you tomorrow.”
I’m relieved that he doesn’t push, and we instead walk to the parking lot in amiable silence.
Terrence walks me all the way to my car, opening the door like a true gentleman. When I’m seated, he ducks down, a hand braced on the hood. “One day you’re going to say yes to me, Jess. Until then, I’m willing to wait.” He plants a quick kiss on my cheek and closes the door, rapping his knuckles against the metal frame with certainty.
It’s different and unexpected, and exactly what I want, just from a different guy. I don’t expect Daniel to be something that he’s not. I’ve always known about his past. That’s not the problem. Our issue centers exclusively on the future. Where we go and how we get there. Daniel is used to having everything on his terms and within reach. Well, I think his terms suck and need to be renegotiated. He needs to remember he reached for me, just like I reached for him.
Exactly. He reached for you, Jess. Maybe it’ll take a little convincing on your part, but every woman knows when a man is sweet on her, and that man has sugar shock. Don’t give up so easy.
I back out of the parking space and roll down my window as I drive home. The excitement in my chest growing with each passing mile. We had an argument. Nothing we can’t get over or fix. I like his solutions and apologies. Those might be the best thing about arguing.
The elevator ride proves to be nerve-racking. I’m not sure what response I’ll get after the way I left this morning, but I come bearing gifts. I stopped by the lingerie store and picked up a sexy little number right before they closed, and as the icing on the proverbial cake, I grabbed some ‘forgive me’ donuts.
The bell dings on Daniel’s floor and the doors slide open. Before I step off the elevator, my ears are assaulted by a cacophony of sound pretending to be music. All the ruckus is most definitely coming from Daniel’s place.
I knock so hard on the door that my knuckles sting, and when no one answers I try the knob. The door opens easily, and I don’t know where to look first because there’s so much going on. Half-dressed women are dancing on his coffee table, and a random man hangs over the kitchen sink vomiting.
No one seems to find my presence odd. As I move through the house looking for Daniel I get a couple of winks and an offer to do a shot.
There’s only one place left to look: his bedroom. Dread and anxiety mix like a toxic cocktail in the pit of my belly. I open the door and, at first, I’m relieved. A half-dressed Daniel is sprawled on his back asleep. Hair wild and all over the place.
I shut the door, bringing the music to a tolerable decibel, and turn on the light.
Then she walks out of the bathroom. The tacky redhead he was with the very first night I met him.
A catlike smile pulls at the corner of her mouth as she takes me in.
“You must be Jessie,” she says with pity. I want to throw the box of donuts at her stupid face.
“It’s Jessica, actually,” I say with confidence, standing my ground. “I’m at a loss. Who are you?”
“Just an old friend.” I deflate at those words. She might as well have said fuck buddy. I’m so stupid. I should have never come here or started this thing between us in the first place.
I capitulate.
I’m not cut out for this.
The sharp gaze glued to my face doesn’t miss a beat. I open my eyes wide, blinking rapidly to clear the tears that sudden blur my vision.
“I’m Kristal, by the way.” The woman is gleeful with the pain she just inflicted. “You want me to tell him you stopped by?”
I don’t grace her with another response. Instead, I walk out dignified, with my head held high. The tears don’t fall until I’m back in my car driving toward my parents’ house.
“Hey, Greg,” I say, pulling to a stop in front of the guard booth at the community entrance to my family home. The elderly man with short gray hair and a donut belly leans out the window, his wide mouth pulling into an easy smile when he sees me.
“How are you doing, Miss Jessica? Been a while since you’ve been home.” Has it? It feels like just yesterday I packed up my room and moved into my first place. Hastily I swipe a hand over my face and hope that he doesn’t notice my splotchy skin and red eyes.
“It hasn’t been that long.” I plaster on what I hope is a convincing smile and reach over to grab a pink box of donuts off the passenger seat.
Except for today, these donuts have worked miracles. They helped me sneak out when I was a teenager. Let boys come over when they weren’t supposed to and paved the way for a kick-ass house party during my senior year in high school when my parents were out of town. I’d been hoping to extend the sugary influence on Daniel when I arrived at his place earlier.
That hadn’t turned out the way I’d hoped. I extend the box out the window and immediately Greg opens it. “You’re too good to me, Miss Jessica,” he says around a mouth full of donuts.
“Don’t tell Gretchen,” I say in a conspiratorial stage whisper. I’ve only met his wife a couple of times, but she seems like an awesome lady. From the information I’ve been able to gather over the years between donuts and childish antics, they’ve been married for close to thirty years and only moved to Las Vegas because Greg had been stationed at Nellis Air Force Base.
“How has she been anyway?”
“Oh, you know how those old broads are. Difficult for the sake of being difficult,” he answers, licking bits of frosted sugar from his fingertips.
“And I’m pretty sure if she heard you calling her an ‘old broad’ things would get even more difficult.”
“That’s why I’m gonna sit here in my nice little office. Eating my favorite donuts and minding my own business. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” The grin he gives is contagious and I find myself smiling back even through the pain.
“We’ll keep this between us.”
“As we always do, Miss Jessica.” Greg winks, finishing off his second donut. “You have a good visit with your mom.”
“Thank you. I will see you later.”
The large, automated black gates slowly open and I wave once again as I drive by. He gives me an absentminded wave, more focused on the box of treats. It’s a quick trip to the front of my parents’ house. Mindlessly, I pull into the driveway behind an SUV.
Please don’t let my momma be in here with a bunch of her cronies. Since her and Daddy separated, she tries to keep the house full of people. Almost like she’s afraid of the silence.
Maybe I am too. Or maybe I’m the little kid everyone proclaims me to be, and I just need the reassurance of my mother after taking my first big loss.
My mother’s whole life revolved around our family, more specifically, the roles she played for each member. The dominant roles of mother and wife, but also the co-chair of the nonprofit branch of my father’s company that handled all the philanthropic endeavors.
Working in gaming is a slippery slope. On one hand, you’re catering to every conceivable vice, but on the other hand, you must be morally above reproach. Momma is a pro at spin and perception.
Is that what Daniel had done? Set me up only to break me down? Maybe I didn’t see it coming because the game of smoke and mirrors was all I’ve ever known.
A child molded in the image of my parents’ expectations. Unlike me, Jake chose to follow his gut, forging a path for himself and the woman he loves. His pioneering efforts absolutely made me believe that I could do the same thing. That I could have the career and Daniel and shake the reputation of being the pretty princess sitting on a hill.
Well, people have finally taken note of me, not my last name or family connecti
ons. Daniel helped me find that confidence.
And then he totally stripped it away.
How crazy is that?
I check out my reflection in the rearview mirror. The hazel eyes staring back are red-rimmed and sad. Salty white tracks of dried tears streak my skin.
For once, I’m just hoping that Momma will pull me into a hug and make me believe that everything will be all right.
“Come on, Jess, you got this,” I say aloud with a hell of a lot more conviction than I feel. My eyes still on my reflection. “You got this.”
I step out of the car and make my way to the front door. Taking a deep breath, I enter the code into the digital lock and instantly notice that something feels off.
All the lights are out except for those coming from the office. My mother’s voice reaches me from the back of the house. It’s a high-pitched falsetto, strained and tight, quavering with emotion.
The thing that stops me in my tracks is the male voice, deep and thickly accented. I can only catch every other word.
“I told you I was done, Marseille. Done. I didn’t sign up for this.” My mother’s voice cracks around a sob.
Softly I walk down the hall, taking care not to let my heels tap against the wooden floors. The door to the office is open and I can just barely make out the figures of Momma and this mystery guy.
“Oh, but you did. You wanted your son’s girlfriend gone and I took steps to make it happen.”
“Is that what you call it?” Momma’s hiss is snakelike. The accusation clear in the sinister tone. “You didn’t take steps to make it happen. You took steps to have her killed. I wanted her gone…not dead.”
“Meh. Six over here. Half a dozen over there.”
“No, it isn’t meh! I lost my son, damn you! My baby boy and my husband. My family is…it’s gone. I have…I have nothing. The police said that man was a stalker. How did you even know…?”
“A man is only as strong as the information he has. No? Si ou te vle lapè kè renmen ou pa ta rele m,” he says in what I recognize as the Patois my mother easily falls into at home, and unlike his English, it’s a quick-fire cadence dipped in the linguistics of Latin and deep-fried in the boiling heat of the Louisiana sun.
“Do not ‘dear heart’ me, Marseille. I called you because I didn’t have anyone else to call. Because Conrad has grown weak and lost his killer instinct. He can’t see that girl is going to destroy our son. Jacob was not born to be some ghetto hood booger’s golden ticket.” She says the last words through clenched teeth, hands curling into tight fists at her sides.
“It’s clear to me that you do not know your son. He wasn’t going to walk away, Danielle. The only way to end it was to end Sinclair James. Now, I admit that pressing a crazy man’s button may not have been a stroke of genius, but if he had done his job, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“That’s the point, Marseille. He didn’t do his job, and now my son is married to that…to that woman. He got married without me there. I didn’t even receive an invitation. Conrad told me that she’s pregnant. I’m going to have grandbabies that I’ll never know. Never see…”
Her words hitch as tears once again fill her eyes. “Grandbabies that I’ll never meet or hold, and you have the nerve to show up here demanding that I help you get access to Jacob’s office? How do you suppose I do that when he won’t even speak to me?”
“The same way you got Ian Foster hired. Your son isn’t the only access point.” The man snaps, the facade of southern civility falling by the wayside.
My mouth waters as bile, acrid and suffocating, rushes up my throat.
I can’t breathe.
I. Can’t. Breathe.
Overwhelming nausea grips my stomach, twisting and turning as anxiety about my mother’s actions and disgust drop like an anchor in my heart.
How could she? If Jake finds out he’ll be devastated.
The blood rushing to my ears cuts off the flow of my mother’s words. I need to hear the rest. What are they saying? Leaning, I get a clearer look at her face. I see her lips moving but I can’t make out the words. Reading lips is a hell of a lot harder than it appears when you watch movies. Dammit!
I place hands on the doorframe and lean even closer, shaking my head to clear the deafness from my ears, and either the movement was too big or I’m too clumsy because from my position I lose balance, catching myself against the doorknob, which rattles under my grip. The sound is loud in the otherwise quiet house, producing a hallowed echo that bounces off the walls and floors.
The conversation stutters to a halt as two heads simultaneously snap in my direction. The man turns eyes to my mother before walking toward me, and forcibly yanking the door open.
If I had any sense, I would move back or at the very least run for the front door and pretend like I didn’t just hear my mother admit to attempted murder.
Jesus. She just admitted to trying to kill Sin.
Instead of a mad dash I remain rooted to the spot. My eyes taking in the man in front of me. I blink a couple of times, startled to be face-to-face with an almost seraphic beauty. His hair, deeply textured with tight coils, is a blond created by hours spent in the sun and the mixed genetics only found in the Creole population of New Orleans. His nose is snubbed, and wide, a link to an African lineage that doesn’t quite show in his light brown skin, and a golden hoop is pierced through his left nostril. The man’s mouth is almost a little too narrow, but when he smiles, the straight white teeth and full lips completely obliterate any appearance of unbalance.
He’s gorgeous but cold.
His presence in front of me is glacial. A dip into icy waters that steals the breath I was only just reclaiming.
I wrap my arms around my upper body, rubbing hands up and down my biceps, trying to combat the chill of his attention, and then I look into alarmingly vacant green eyes. The color oddly feline, pale and feral.
“And what do we have here?” he asks in a slow drawl that elongates the vowels. Eyes tracing my features, malice noticeable even through the wide grin and so-called southern charm.
“I-I-I just wanted to see my momma.” My voice sounds childlike even to my own ears as I stumble my way through an explanation, looking around his shoulder, trying to catch my mother’s eye.
“So, you must be Jessica.” His voice holds a level of knowledge that heightens my fear. I don’t know this man but the couple of minutes in his presence has made it clear he isn’t one to be crossed or treated lightly.
My mother looks at me with large eyes and every fear that I feel is mirrored in her gaze.
What have you gotten yourself into, Momma? The shake of her head is almost imperceptible, but I see it. I take a step back, followed by another, but the man reaches out, wrapping a large hand around my forearm and pulling me back toward the office
“Come now, chère. No need to be timid. We are family, after all.”
Family? I’ve never seen this man in my life. There’sno way I’d forget the way he looks, the way he feels, how small I feel in his presence.
He steps back into the room. A hand still on my forearm so I’m forced to move as he does, step for step.
“Jess, what are you doing here?” My mother’s rushed speech intensifies her normally hidden accent and raises my hackles even more. Danielle Johnson is nothing if not composed and methodical, a renaissance woman garbed in Gucci and dripping in poise, but I barely recognize the female standing in front of me.
Momma has been replaced by a frazzled caricature with coal eyeliner smeared under her eyes. The discolored streaks are vivid against the foundation on her cheeks, and her hair, normally a perfectly coiffed low bun, hangs in loose ringlets over her shoulders and down her back.
She raises a self-conscious hand to the frazzled strands before dropping it back to her side and taking a step toward me, arms open, every ounce of her
being begging me to come to her, but the words stay trapped behind a false smile and an even faker laugh.
I pull my arm away from the man standing between us, and do some weird uncoordinated run and fall across the room into her embrace. Just like when I was five, crying and upset over some perceived injustice, her arms around me make me feel safe. When I look at the man across from us, I know I’m anything but.
“Danielle, as always so secretive.” He makes a tsking sound, shaking his head in disapproval. “You never mention how beautiful your daughter is.”
My mother is shaking under my embrace, but her voice comes out smooth. “There was never any reason to mention my daughter’s beauty. She’s your family, Marseille, not a possible love match.”
“Gade ton Danielle ou. Mwen te pasyan men tolerans mwen an byen vit vini nan yon fen.” He once again speaks in rapid Patois. The sound is musical, a melody of words that belies the menace behind them. I don’t speak the dialect as fluently as my mother or Marseille, but I understand enough to know that he just told her his tolerance is at an end.
My mother’s arms tighten a fraction around me, and I feel her body bracing before she speaks. “Let me walk her to the door and we’ll wrap this up. I’ll be back in one moment.”
She doesn’t wait for his permission to move, instead grabbing me by the hand and briskly walking to the front door, all but pushing me outside.
“Mom, are you okay?”
“No, baby, I’m not,” she says with a shake of her head. Her eyes once again welling with tears. “I made a deal with the devil and now he wants his due.”
“You’re scaring me. Let me call Daddy or Ja—” She squeezes my hand in a tight grip, cutting off the flow of words.
“There’s nothing your father or Jacob can do.” Her voice is urgent. A hushed whisper that I lean in to hear. “I made this mess and I’ll fix it. I promise. Go, Jess. Marseille is…” She blinks back tears. Her teeth sinking into the corner of her bottom lip.
“He isn’t a good man.” Just a few minutes in his presence proved that.
Exquisitely Yours: A Sin City Tale Page 21