“Yep. The story of our life,” Jay muttered, glaring at me.
“Look, I’d love to moderate this argument/discussion/nothing, again, but we don’t have time,” Nicole said, motioning toward the clock. “You have to get over to the bookstore. That pesky publicist has already called here twice trying to make sure you were on your way. The signing is in thirty minutes.”
“Fine.” Jay headed toward the door.
“Can you guys just please play nice?” Nicole asked as he passed her.
The two of us exchanged glances, though neither bothered to answer. We both knew playing nice would be a whole lot easier said than done.
four
The sounds of Anita Baker filled the black SUV as Jay and I rode to the bookstore. The last thing I felt like doing was going to a book signing and faking the funk like all was perfect in my world. Or even worse, having people looking at me with pity. Though the media hadn’t gotten wind of the affair, there’d been some rumblings after some obscure gossip site posted a line item about there being “trouble in paradise for the Lovejoys.” I knew it was just a matter of time.
I glanced over at my soon-to-be ex and instantly cursed the fluttering in my heart. After all this time, after all this pain, that man could still ignite a flame in my soul. But I guess that was understandable. The moment we’d met, our connection had been instant. I leaned back on the headrest as my mind traveled back to that day.
* * *
“Hey, here’s a novel idea, why don’t you stop reading the book and participate? This is for charity, you know.”
I rolled my eyes at my best friend and dropped the stack of papers back in my briefcase.
“When my editor cancels my book deal because I missed my deadline, I’m coming to live with you,” I said.
Nicole huffed as she ran her fingers through her natural tresses. “You work on that manuscript nonstop. Taking a few hours off won’t kill you. You ought to be tired of writing that clinical stuff anyway.”
“It’s not clinical. It’s self-help.” This was my second published work with the American Psychiatric Association. The first had been on mental health. For my field, my first book had done exceptionally well. This one was on the complexities of relationships. Between my practice and what I’d inherited from my absent father upon his death, I was pretty well off financially.
“Whatever, I need some steamy, hot love scenes,” Nicole replied. “But seeing as how you haven’t had any steamy, hot sex in a year, you probably don’t even know how to write those.” She slid a glass toward me across the high-top bar table. “Drink, and let’s have fun. You have got to do better.”
“Look, you wanted me to get out the house. I’m out the house.” I folded my arms and leaned back on my barstool.
“It’s been a year since Eddie broke it off. You need to get out and enjoy yourself.”
I looked around the room. There had to be two hundred people here at the Hilton, most of them desperate-looking women. “And a charity auction event is the place to get out and enjoy myself?”
“Yes. They have some fine men being bid on.”
I took a sip of my drink, then set it back down. “First of all, slavery is illegal. Secondly, I’m not that desperate where I have to buy a man, and I’m sure not competing with another woman trying to buy one.” I slid my auction paddle toward Nicole. “So here, it’s all yours.”
Nicole ignored me as she opened the auction booklet. “Look, they have an NFL player,” she squealed.
“Dog.”
“The TV anchor from Channel 11.”
“He’s gay. His boyfriend does my hair.”
She tapped another photo. “Okay, what about this guy? He’s an investment banker.”
“He looks shysty.”
“You don’t know anything about these men,” Nicole huffed.
“And I have no desire to.” I sipped some more of my martini. I was so over all of this.
“So you’re just going to be an old maid? I don’t think so. You can try to act like you don’t care about having a man and kids, but I know better.”
“It’s all overrated.”
“You just haven’t found the right one. We both know how much you’re itching to have kids.” Nicole flipped through the auction book again. “Oooh.”
“Oooh, what?” I said, leaning over her shoulder.
“Oooh, him.” Nicole pointed to the stage as the mistress of ceremonies returned from the intermission.
“Now, I know we’ll get top dollar for this one,” the emcee began.
“This so reminds me of a slave block,” I said, shaking my head and leaning back in my seat. “Where’s the ACLU or NAACP when you need them?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Nicole pushed my shoulder. “It’s all in fun. It’s a charity auction.”
“It feels rather pimpish to me.”
The emcee leaned into the mic, a huge grin across her face. “You knew him for his hits ‘I Don’t Want to Be Alone’ and ‘Touch My Insides.’ ”
The crowd instantly started screaming. I leaned forward and squinted, since it was hard to see from our seats.
“Is that Jay Lovejoy?” I asked.
“The one and only,” Nicole said, pointing to his picture in the booklet. “That’s who you need to be bidding on.”
I flicked my hand. “Girl, please. Do you see all these women around this room ready to throw their panties at him, even though he hasn’t had a hit in fifteen years?”
“I heard he invested his money wisely. He had several restaurants.”
“Well, it wasn’t too wise because, like you said, the operative word is had. Last I heard, he was penniless,” I replied.
“Well, I don’t know the man’s personal finances. I just know he is personally fine.” Nicole licked her lips to punctuate her admiration.
I’d have to cosign with her on that, though, because Jay Lovejoy might have been on the scene for more than twenty years, but he still had that youthful sex appeal.
The emcee strutted over to Jay; he took her hand, then kissed it, and the crowd went wild.
“Are you sure I can’t keep this one for myself?” the emcee joked to the crowd as nos resonated through the room.
She laughed and turned back to face the excited crowd. “I guess that means one of you will be the lucky one tonight. Ladies, who’s going to give me top dollar for Jay Lovejoy? Starting bid is two thousand dollars.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered, shaking my head. Apparently, I was the only one not enjoying the show, though, as the room lit up with screams and catcalls. I reached down for my briefcase and pulled my manuscript back out.
I tuned the emcee out until I heard: “We’re at five thousand dollars; can I get fifty-five hundred?” The woman rambled off the number in an auctioneer’s voice before saying, “Ladies, this is Jay ‘Three Number One Hits’ Lovejoy; I know I can get fifty-five hundred dollars for the babies in Haiti.”
The chatter continued. Nicole was so into it that she hadn’t even noticed that I had resumed working.
“Y’all would make such cute babies,” Nicole swooned.
“Whatever, Nicole.” I didn’t look up from my manuscript. I knew I should’ve stayed home and finished this. It was due a week ago and I’d promised my editor that I’d have it done by Monday. That left three days to get this finished, and here I was, at this degrading auction.
I was just about to circle an error I’d caught when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nicole raise her paddle and shout, “Ten thousand dollars!”
Several gasps filled the room.
“Are you crazy?” I whispered.
“Ten thousand dollars to the lady in the corner, number forty-two,” the emcee said, excitement filling her voice.
Nicole giggled.
“Why in the world would you do that? You don’t have that kind of mone…” My words trailed off as reality hit me. “Number forty-two is my paddle!”
Nicole doubled over
in laughter, like she found this hilarious. I did not. “You don’t have ten thousand dollars!”
“But you do! You were just complaining that you needed some tax write-offs for that book deal.” She turned her attention back to the stage. “And there he is, Mr. Schedule C Deduction.”
“Sold to number forty-two. Mr. Lovejoy, go meet your date for the evening.”
My heart went into acrobatic mode as Jay sauntered over to my table with a swagger like Denzel Washington and Barack Obama rolled into one.
“Well, I would say I’m honored,” Jay said, his eyes never leaving mine, “but this is nothing but a blessing. My boys were so sure I would end up being auctioned off to some hard-on-the-eyes lonely heart.”
“Well, as you can see, my friend is far from hard on the eyes,” Nicole interjected.
“I know,” he replied. “Wow. Has anyone ever told you that you look like—”
I gathered my words and finished his sentence. “Vanessa L. Williams, the former Miss America? Yes, all the time.”
Jay looked confused. “No, actually, I was going to say the lady from the Mrs. Butterworth commercial.”
My mouth gaped, as I was unsure how to respond.
“I’m kidding,” he quickly added, laughing. “I was going to say Vanessa, but I didn’t want to come off as lame.”
“And you didn’t think the Mrs. Butterworth comment was lame?” I replied.
“Touché.” He chuckled, then stuck out his hand to shake mine. “Jay Lovejoy, at your service, ready to serve you, madam.”
Nicole leaned in over the table. “Ready to serve her… how, exactly?”
I pushed my friend’s shoulder. “Nicole!”
Jay laughed. “For now… in strictly PG ways. But who knows what the future holds?”
“Her future needs to hold some rated-XXX ways,” Nicole said with a wicked grin.
“Oh my God!” I shook my head as I looked at Jay. “Please excuse my friend.” I paused. This man’s eyes were enchanting, like they could suck out your soul. I shook myself out of my momentary trance. “Ummm, she’s just…” Why the hell couldn’t I find my words?
Jay smiled. “It’s all good. Those are the types of friends we need in our lives. Ones who keep it real.”
“Oh, and I keep it real real.” Nicole stood. “But my girl paid good money for your time, so I’m going to let you two have at it.” She hugged me. “Shannon, relax, enjoy yourself. You need it.”
“Nicole, you can’t leave me,” I said when she released me.
“Mr. Lovejoy will make sure you get home.” She smiled at him, and he nodded his agreement.
I jumped up and grabbed her as she was walking out. “I don’t know this dude like that. He could be a serial killer,” I whispered.
“Girl, that man is a superstar. Or was a superstar. Trust, he isn’t trying to kill you. He’s fine, charismatic, and shoot, worst case, just have him sing to you all night.” She glanced at Jay over my shoulder. “Goodbye, Jay. I look forward to seeing you again soon.”
“You will,” he said.
Nicole looked back at me and nodded. “I like him.”
“Nicole.”
“Bye, girl!” she said.
I wanted to run after her, scream about how she was violating every girl code under the sun. But my feet were frozen, until Jay eased up behind me and said, “I left my butcher knife at home, so you’re safe from the possible serial killer tonight.”
I slowly turned around. “Umm, ahh…”
He smiled. “It’s fine. Let’s just sit here and talk. Part of this whole charity thing is that you get me for one date. We can have that date right here. Just sitting and talking for a bit. And afterward, if you’re ready to forget you ever met me, cool. And the little kids in Haiti will still come out winners.”
There was something about his voice that soothed me, and I instantly felt myself relax. “Sorry,” I said, sliding back into my seat. “This… this just isn’t really my thing.”
“Mine either, trust me. I only did this as a favor to the organizer,” he said, before calling the waiter over to order more drinks.
It was five in the morning on Saturday when it dawned on me that I had completely forgotten about my manuscript. We had sat and talked at the hotel until the custodial staff gave us the side eye; then we’d had breakfast on the Navy Pier, gone our separate ways, and been back together by dinner.
And we had been inseparable ever since.
* * *
The memory of how Jay and I had met brought a pang to my heart, especially in light of where we were now.
I glanced at my watch. We’d been riding for fifteen minutes. Jay sat in the back seat next to me, engrossed in his phone. I couldn’t take the silence anymore.
I raised the divider window so the driver couldn’t hear our conversation. “So I guess you’re just not going to say anything?” I asked.
Jay released a heavy sigh. “What is there to say, Shannon?” He looked up at me, exasperation written all over his face. “You’re the one who said you didn’t want to talk to me. I’m tired of fighting with you. That’s all we do, fight.”
“I wonder why,” I said, rolling my eyes as I turned my gaze out the window.
“Hmm, I don’t know. Maybe it’s your nagging, or this bitterness that seems to have consumed you lately. I mean, I made a mistake and I’ve tried everything to make it right. I’ve apologized a hundred times, begged your forgiveness, offered to go to counseling, and it’s like you take pleasure in my groveling. It’s just so exhausting. You wonder why your relationships don’t last. Take a look at yourself and ask whether you beat down every man you love when things don’t go your way.”
I was dumbfounded that he would use something that I’d told him in confidence against me. I’d shared how the only other two real relationships I’d had—with my college boyfriend, Damien, and my last boyfriend, Eddie—had ended because the men had cheated on me.
“So this is my fault?” I spat, my anger rising.
He released a frustrated sigh. “Of course not. I’m a grown man, responsible for my own actions. I made a mistake. No, scratch that, I made a choice. I messed up and tried to do everything to make it right, but you have so much anger inside of you that you won’t even entertain trying to fix us, and you damn sure aren’t willing to take into account any role you might have played in this.”
“This isn’t on me. This is all you.”
“Yeah. All me,” he huffed. “Because men love coming home to bitter, angry women every night.”
“Oh, but you don’t like to address why I was angry.”
“Oh, but I do. The whole world knows you wanted a baby and I didn’t. You tell every damn reporter in North America,” he snapped. “But you fail to tell them that when we talked about that before we got married, you were okay with not having kids.”
My chest was heaving as I replied, “I could tell the reporters how you got fixed behind my back to make sure we didn’t have kids.” Just uttering those words reignited the flame of pain that shot through me whenever I thought about how Jay had secretly gotten a vasectomy. Yes, my husband was right: I’d been okay with not having children before we got married. But I couldn’t help it that the motherhood bug bit me. And he wouldn’t even entertain the idea. He had a child from a previous relationship who had died in a car accident a year after we were married, so he wasn’t the least bit pressed about having another, and that was a constant source of contention for us. I’d only gotten to spend a year with his seven-year-old daughter, but something about spending time with her had awakened my ovaries, and I suddenly wanted a child of my own. And yes, it had left me angry and bitter that he wasn’t interested. That anger went to a whole other level when I found out about his vasectomy.
“And I told you that I could get the procedure reversed if we ever changed our minds. But that was a decision we would make together.”
“Yeah, like we made the decision about you getting fixed together, huh?” I
huffed, then added, “It doesn’t even matter now,” as I swallowed the lump in my throat. This conversation was moot at this point anyway.
“You’re right,” Jay said. “But let me let you in on a little secret for your next relationship. And this is real talk. I was wrong to have an affair. But when you beat a man down mercilessly, someone is going to come along and lift him up.”
As if on cue, Mary J. Blige began crooning about how she wasn’t gonna cry. I pursed my lips and breathed in, then out, through my nostrils. If I was the crying type, my husband’s words would have brought me to tears.
I hated that our road had detoured down this treacherous terrain, though. I’d seen it unfolding ahead of us three years ago. It had started eating at me that Jay couldn’t, or wouldn’t, see that I was passing my prime and desperately wanted a child before it was too late. I didn’t want to be changing diapers at forty. But no matter how many times we’d fought over it, he’d been adamant about his position. I had secretly considered tossing my birth control pills, but I knew that emotionally, that wouldn’t be a good way to start a family. So I’d given in to his desire to wait. And for what? To find out about the vasectomy.
“It’s funny how you place all the blame on me and negate how you wouldn’t even discuss what matters most to me,” I finally said.
Jay released a heavy sigh as the driver pulled into the reserved parking spot in front of the bookstore. The publicist was waiting outside. She removed the orange cone as the vehicle slid into the space, a huge smile across her face as she waved at us.
Jay stared at the smiling woman. “Can we just go in here and do what we’re supposed to do?” he said. “Then, we’ll go home and I’ll give you your divorce so you can go find that perfectly flawless and faithful man.”
“Of course,” I replied, with a faux-cheesy grin. “Let’s put on our happy faces. Forget the real problems, and go greet our fans. That’s what we do, right? That’s the whole reason for all of this. To put on a show and make sure the fans are happy.”
“What does that even mean?” he asked, exasperated.
I let out a long sigh to match his exasperation. “Nothing, Jay. I’m tired. Can we just do this and get it over with?”
A Little Bit of Karma Page 3