by La Jill Hunt
Scorpio was dazed, and everything was obscure. The more she tried to think, the more confused she became. Her body continued to ache with each breath she took.
“Sarena? Do you understand what he’s saying to you? Please nod if you understand.”
Scorpio looked over and saw her mother standing beside the bed. As usual, she was impeccably dressed in a pantsuit and matching heels, not a hair out of place on her perfectly coiffed head. With a touch of rouge on her cheeks and her favorite shade of Fashion Fair lipstick perfectly applied to her lips, her mother looked the exact same way she did four years ago when she made a surprise appearance at Scorpio’s wedding. Not thinking that her mother would even show up, Scorpio sent her an invitation because Marcelo, who was her makeup artist and one of her best friends, told her it was the right thing to do.
“What’s that?” she heard her mother asking the doctor, who was now injecting something into the IV in Scorpio’s hand.
“Just something to settle her down and make her rest easier,” the doctor told her. “Her blood pressure is elevated, probably due to the trauma she’s sustained and the pain she’s in.”
“I don’t need for you to give her anything that will make her a junkie. The last thing I want is for my daughter to end up addicted to narcotics as a result of this ordeal. She is strong. She knows how to handle pain.” Her mother shot him a warning look.
“Ma’am, your daughter has been through hell and back in the last forty-eight hours. The fact that she is even conscious at this point is a miracle. I am going to do whatever and give her whatever she needs to feel comfortable, rest, and begin healing,” the doctor responded.
Thank God, Scorpio thought as she looked over at the doctor and wondered if he could read the gratefulness in her eyes. She knew if Yolanda had her way, Scorpio would be given two aspirin and told to get up out of bed and shake it off.
“I will be back in a couple of hours to check on her. Why don’t you leave and let her get some sleep? You look like you can use some yourself,” the doctor told Yolanda.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yolanda snapped.
“I’m just saying that you’ve been here all day and haven’t left this room. You should take some time, get some food, and come back in a little while,” the doctor said.
Scorpio knew before her mother even responded that he probably pulled a trigger. She hated being told what to do, even if it was only a suggestion. That’s how much of a control freak she was. The look on Yolanda’s face told it all, and as much as Scorpio wanted to giggle, the pain wouldn’t allow her to. Instead, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, praying that when she woke up, her mother would not be anywhere in sight.
“Sarena . . . Sarena . . .”
Scorpio drifted into a deep sleep, her mother’s voice becoming fainter as she did.
* * *
Yolanda Powell was smart, educated, well raised, successful, attractive, articulate, and talented. She was an amazing seamstress who had a natural eye for fashion. She dreamed of becoming a successful designer and was pursuing her goal when she met Howard Crawford, a tall, athletic, handsome lawyer who taught part-time at the college Yolanda was attending.
As soon as Yolanda laid her eyes on Howard, she knew he was special. The first time she held a conversation with him, she knew she liked him. The first time she kissed him, she knew she was in love.
For months, he shared stories with her of cases he was working on, while she shared sketches of her latest designs in between classes at a small sandwich shop near the college. It was innocent at first, but the more time they spent together, the more intense their relationship became. Soon they no longer met at the sandwich shop to swap stories, but instead, they shared afternoons full of passionate lovemaking in the bed of her one-bedroom apartment.
Howard fulfilled her. He was everything she had ever wanted in a man. Not only did he satisfy her mind, but he took her body places that she never dreamed possible. He savored her, touched and tasted every part of her. She couldn’t get enough of him. It was as if he had her vexed on every level.
After the sex, he would hold her naked body close to his and whisper in her ear about how much he enjoyed her. They would lie there for hours, laughing and talking.
Then, one Saturday morning when Yolanda was looking for inspiration for a design she was working on, she decided to venture out to a local flea market. Normally, she slept in on Saturdays, but she was just getting over the flu and decided the fresh air would be good. While walking through the crowded booths, she was bumped by the cutest little girl she had ever seen.
“Oops, sorry.” The little girl smiled at Yolanda.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Yolanda said, reaching down to pick up the teddy bear the little girl dropped. She passed it to her.
“Monica, didn’t I tell you to stop running?” the little girl’s mother called out.
“It’s okay, she’s . . .” Yolanda stood up and couldn’t finish her sentence. In front of her was a pretty woman reaching for the little girl . . . and standing alongside Howard. Yolanda’s first instinct was to look at the woman’s left hand. To her heart’s disappointment, there was a wedding ring. Her glance quickly flew to Howard’s hand, where there was now a gold band.
“What do you say to the lady?” The woman nudged the little girl.
In an effort not to look at Howard, Yolanda stared at the teddy bear in the tiny arms of the girl.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Yolanda managed to say before rushing off, hoping the woman and little girl didn’t see the tears that had formed in her eyes. She barely made it to the car when she allowed herself to break down. For nearly fifteen minutes, she cursed and screamed at the steering wheel, angry that she had allowed herself to be used, to be played, but more importantly, to fall in love with a man who did nothing but lie.
There was a tapping on the car window, and she looked up to see Howard.
“Get the fuck away from me!” she hissed at him.
“Yolanda, please open the door. Let me explain,” Howard pleaded.
“Get away from me, Howard! I mean it!” Yolanda started the ignition and put her foot on the brake. She was about to put the car in gear when a wave of nausea overcame her. She quickly opened the car door and vomited. Howard jumped back, barely escaping the yellow liquid pouring from her mouth.
“Sweetheart, are you okay?” he asked.
“Please don’t act concerned. I will be okay when you get the hell away from me,” Yolanda told him, reaching into the glove compartment and grabbing a napkin to wipe her mouth.
“Just give me five minutes, Yolanda, please,” Howard said.
Yolanda shook her head in disgust. She slammed her door and pulled away. For days Howard called and begged for her to talk to him, even stopping by the apartment various times throughout the day and night, knocking on the door. Yolanda continued to ignore him. Every time she thought about him, she would vomit and feel ill for hours afterward. It was as if his existence was making her physically sick.
Almost two weeks went by with her barely able to eat, drink, or get out of bed. Finally, she went to the doctor, who confirmed that it wasn’t Howard who was making her physically ill. Instead, it was the child he had fathered that she was now carrying.
Now, she had no choice but to speak with him. Refusing to allow him back into her apartment, she agreed to meet him at the sandwich shop where their friendship began.
“How are you?” Howard asked when she sat at the table across from him.
Yolanda looked at him and hated herself when she felt her heart race as she stared at his handsome face. She realized she missed him, and that angered her because she didn’t want to miss him. She wanted to feel nothing for him.
“I’m pregnant,” she said icily, her heart pounding as tension filled her body.
His eyebrows rose in surprise. Yolanda had prepared herself for his reaction, ready to go word for word and cuss him out.<
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“Okay.” Howard nodded.
“I’m keeping it.”
“Okay.” Howard added a shrug to his nod.
“That’s all you have to say? Okay?” Her voice cracked slightly and her brows furrowed.
“Yes, and to tell you I’m sorry.”
This was not the reaction Yolanda was expecting. She had imagined him lecturing her about her decision being unreasonable and a bad one that he didn’t agree with. The truth was she really hadn’t decided whether she would be keeping the baby. She was only six weeks along and still had a month to make a decision. However, she wanted Howard to sweat and be afraid the same way she had felt the past few days. She figured that her telling him that she was having his baby would be the last thing he wanted to hear and cause him to panic. Instead, here he was sitting across from her, acting as if she’d made some minuscule confession, and being calm about it.
“I don’t want your apologies.” Yolanda shook her head.
“I love you.” Howard reached across the table and took her hand.
Yolanda snatched it away from him. “I’m having this baby.”
“Okay, I love you. If that’s what you want to do, then that’s what we will do.”
“‘We’? Who might that be, Howard? Me, you, and your wife?”
“Yolanda, please, it’s not what you think.”
“Are you married?”
“Yes.” He nodded.
“Then it’s what I think it is. You’re married. You have a child. It’s not that hard to comprehend. I am your pregnant mistress. Well, correction, I used to be your mistress. I just didn’t know it. I’m no longer willing to hold that title. I hold a new title: the mother of your illegitimate child.” Yolanda had told herself that she wasn’t going to cry, but she couldn’t stop the tears that were now falling.
“That’s not what you were, and that’s not what you are now. You are so much more than that to me. I need for you to believe that.”
“I don’t know what to believe. Really it doesn’t even matter. I have to go. The only reason I agreed to meet you was to tell you about the baby, that’s it. Goodbye.” Yolanda stood up. Before she could walk off in the dramatic exit she had planned out in her head, Howard grabbed her and pulled her to him. His hand cupped her face, and he leaned down and kissed her so passionately that she nearly lost her breath. Without saying another word, they walked hand in hand and exited the café together.
An hour later, they were lying naked in her bed, a residue of sweat from their satiating lovemaking covering their bodies, and Howard quietly told her the truth.
The truth was he was married and had been for the past eight years. The truth was the practice he worked at was owned by the father of his wife, who was an only child. The truth was he was being groomed to take over the thriving practice because his father-in-law was dying from cancer. The truth, Yolanda knew, was that he was not going to leave his wife.
Eight months later, Yolanda gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, whom they named Sarena, after Howard’s mother Sara, whom Yolanda had never met. Howard was an excellent provider for them, though the two transitioned from lovers to friends. He never promised to leave his wife, and Yolanda never asked him to.
She graduated with her degree, but instead of following her dream of becoming a fashion designer, she chose a more practical career for a single mother: a sewing teacher at a local high school. Although she loved Sarena more than anything in life, she raised her with an uncompromising level of discipline, grooming her to be resourceful, be independent, and succeed at whatever it was she wanted to do: dance, gymnastics, academics, anything. Sarena excelled at it all. Yolanda made sure she positioned her daughter to never need or want a man for anything.
After Howard, she never dated anyone else. Whenever Sarena tried to bring up relationships or love, Yolanda told her to focus her energy on things that were more important and sent her off to her room to study. “Love will do nothing but hold you back from your dreams,” her mother constantly told her.
Growing up, Sarena was teased relentlessly. She was blessed with every good characteristic of both parents that God could have given her. She had their good looks, their powerful minds, their charm, and unfortunately, their height. In elementary and junior high Sarena was taller and thicker than most of the girls in her school. She was called everything from “Sarena the Hyena” to “Sarena the Slug.” By the time she was in high school, although she had lost nearly thirty pounds, the teasing continued because now because she was tall and slender. It didn’t seem to matter to those who bullied her that she was a straight A student with the potential to be a track Olympian. They weren’t drawn to her long black hair, which reached the center of her back, or her dark hazel eyes, which were framed by the exotic features of her beautiful face, the product of her half-Persian, half-Nigerian mother and Italian father. She became a recluse and closed herself off from everyone because no one seemed to like her.
That was until she met Bilal Mauldin her senior year.
Bilal was a transfer student who was also in all the honors classes along with Sarena. She really didn’t pay him much attention until one day, while they were both attending an SAT prep class after school, he asked her if she was a model.
“No.” She looked at him as if he were crazy. She thought he was trying to be funny like all of her other classmates had been over the years.
“Really? That surprises me,” he told her. “You’re very pretty, and you’re tall. You should try it.”
“Thank you, but I don’t think I’m cut out for that kind of stuff.” She tried not to blush.
“I think you’d be a natural at it.” Bilal smiled at her. “You’re beautiful.”
She floated home and thought all night long about what he’d said. No one other than her mother had ever called her beautiful. She wondered if he was serious or setting her up for some cruel joke, like in the horror film Carrie. She was tempted to tell her mother what he said and ask her thoughts, but she knew better.
“Hey, were you serious yesterday?” she asked him the next day.
“About?”
“What you said when we were talking.”
Bilal put his finger on the side of his face and pretended to be deep in thought. “What were we talking about?”
Sarena suddenly felt embarrassed for asking. There was no hiding the blushing today. She turned away and said, “Forget it.”
“Stop being so sensitive. Yeah, I was serious. I think you’re beautiful.” Bilal laughed, sending shivers down her spine. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. They were the same height, both standing at about five eleven. Bilal was stocky, but he had a sense of style and personality. They were both quiet and unassuming in class, but unlike her, people gravitated toward him. When Bilal spoke, people listened. She didn’t even think he even noticed her.
“Thank you.” She smiled back at him.
“The question is, do you think you’re beautiful?” He leaned against the lockers. The hallway was crowded and filled with loud students, but to her, it was as if they were the only two people in the world.
“I guess.” She shrugged.
“Come talk to me when you know, so then maybe we can make something happen.” Bilal slung his backpack over his shoulder, winked at her, and left her standing in the hallway.
For the first time ever, she felt self-conscious about her looks, and it wasn’t in a negative way. That night when she got home, she stared at herself in the mirror, paying attention to exactly what she saw. Her eyelashes were long and curved, and her eyebrows were thick and naturally arched. Her nose was keen like her mother’s, and her plump, slightly puckered lips were exactly like her father’s. Although she’d never seen him in person, she’d seen a few pictures her mother thought she kept hidden in the bottom of an old jewelry box.
She removed her clothing and looked at her naked body. She was slim, and her breasts were small but perky. Her arms and legs were long but fit her frame. She t
urned and admired her hips and butt, and she thought, not bad. Then she did something she had never thought of doing before. She snuck into her mother’s bathroom and grabbed her blush, mascara, and lipstick, the only makeup Yolanda owned. Carefully, she applied them to her face, and she smiled, suddenly seeing for herself that maybe Bilal was right.
“Is that lipstick?” Bilal asked her when she saw him.
“No,” she lied. “It’s lip gloss.”
“Fine, lip gloss.” He smiled. “It looks nice, cutie.”
“Don’t call me that.” She wrinkled her nose and shook her head.
“What? Cutie? What’s wrong with that?” Bilal frowned.
“I’m not a cutie.”
“So, tell me, what do you think I should call you?” He took a slight step back and waited for her answer.
She flashed the smile she perfected the night before in the mirror and told him, “Call me beautiful because that’s what I am.”
Chapter 12
Eden Rodriguez
Eden was sitting in the sunroom enjoying brunch with Riley and Peri when they heard the doorbell ring.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Eden asked her sister.
“The only person I was expecting is sitting here with us, and he wasn’t even invited.” Riley nodded toward Peri.
“At least I brought good champagne and fresh-squeezed orange juice, heffa. If I hadn’t, we woulda been sitting here sipping on Andre and Tropicana.” Peri rolled his eyes and poured himself another mimosa.
“You’re so bourgeois,” Riley told him.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Peri smiled, holding up his glass.
Eden shook her head at the two of them and hurried to answer the door. She was praying that it wasn’t anyone from the media. Although the police had been doing a pretty good job of patrolling the area and keeping the paparazzi away since the recent fire, there were a few who had gotten past and tried to sneak pictures and get information. She peeked out and recognized one of the neighbors they met the night of the fire.
