The Appraisal

by Brielle Montgomery

  “What about your family?” Derrick’s voice sounded like he was on the edges of sleep. “And your job? Jayla, you got a lot going on here.”

  “I have you,” Jayla said. “That’s all I need.”

  “Well, I’m not totally opposed to it,” he said with a smile. “So we’ll see.”

  The doorbell had both of them frowning and jerking themselves into a sitting position. It wasn’t so much the doorbell itself, but the multiple rings in rapid succession, followed by fierce banging on the door.

  “The hell?” Derrick was on his feet in an instant and almost tripped over a table leg as he glanced at the digital clock on the cable box. It was 10:34 p.m. Derrick’s phone rang again, the urgent jingle piercing the air.

  Jayla grabbed her shirt and bunched it to her chest. “Babe,” she whispered, fear lacing her voice. She didn’t know why her mind immediately turned to Tracy and her damn threatening notes. How the hell had she found her over here? “Should I call nine-one-one?” she asked.

  “I got it, babe. Hold on.” Derrick shoved on his boxers and basketball shorts and was at the door in one long stride. He peered through the peephole, and confusion had him looking at Jayla.

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  “It’s Tara,” he said, and he was already sliding the locks out of place.

  “Where is that trifling-ass bitch!” Tara’s voice was menacing as she stormed into the room. Her hair was wild and her eyes were glazed over with pure hatred as she locked in on Jayla, huddled on the floor.

  Jayla felt the rounded knuckles of Tara’s fist, the sharp ridges of her princess-cut wedding ring before she could even process that the woman had crossed the room. The punch knocked her sideways against an end table and left her with searing pain in her jaw. Tara’s steady stream of curses did not let up, and Derrick attempted to calm her down. Jayla’s whole face stung, and a hesitant touch to her cheek had droplets of blood staining her fingertips. She felt dizzy, and as she tried to pick herself up off the floor the toe of Tara’s boot hit her in the stomach and had her recoiling once more. Jayla gasped, struggled to take a breath.

  “Tara, what the fuck is your problem!” Derrick yelled, and Jayla looked over to see Tara struggling in his arms. “She’s pregnant!”

  “Get the fuck off of me, Derrick!” Tara was beyond frantic, apparently fueled even more by his tight grasp. “This shit ain’t got nothing to do with you. I’m gone kill that bitch.”

  Jayla’s arm was weak as she lifted it in surrender. The pain was nearly unbearable. “Tara . . .” she managed to choke out between gasps.

  “Don’t ‘Tara’ me. How could you, Jayla? You were my fucking friend!” Exhaustion managed to calm her down, and she stopped struggling, the tears coating her face.

  “What are you talking about?” Derrick asked as he let go of Tara, and Jayla shut her eyes.

  “Ask her, Derrick.” Tara turned to face him, gesturing wildly at the limp body on the floor. “Ask her how she fucked my husband a few weeks ago.”

  Jayla said nothing. She heard Tara’s ragged breaths in the tense silence, but she couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes.

  “He told me everything,” Tara went on. “Said he saw her stripping at K. Sutra with some twins, and then she took some guy upstairs to the VIP room to fuck. She paid another guy to fuck her. Then, when he confronted her, said she offered him sex not to tell me or you.”

  Jayla winced at the mistakes, but she was too weak to bother correcting her. It wasn’t like the truth was any better.

  “And get this.” Tara was clearly on a roll. “I talked to Jackie, trying to see what the hell was up, and apparently, this nasty bitch has been prostituting herself for years. Sleeping with men and women for money.”

  Jayla fought to sit up on her elbows as the first few tears fell. “It wasn’t like that,” she said, still not bothering to look at either of them.

  “Oh, really?” Tara’s voice was closer, and Jayla braced herself for another hit. “It wasn’t like what, Jayla? You didn’t fuck my husband? You weren’t caught stripping and fucking niggas in the VIP room? Or you ain’t been fucking everybody for money? Which is it? Because I must be confused!”

  Confusion had Derrick’s face creased in a heavy frown, and the emotion expressed in his eyes verged on anger as he stared at Jayla, who was crumpled on the floor. He couldn’t see her anymore, just saw a soiled mess, someone used up and completely filthy.

  “Even tricked her own niece out, Derrick. Yeah, that’s what kind of woman you are about to marry. Oh, and get this bullshit! The bitch ain’t even pregnant! She lied to you, boo-boo. Told you that so you wouldn’t find out what the hell she was up to, and instead of the truth, she was just going to tell you that she had miscarried. Ain’t that some shit?”

  Jayla remained quiet but for her sobs. Her quick intakes of breath were harsh and jagged. No words. No explanation. She had nothing.

  “You are pathetic.” Tara’s words sliced the air once more. “A nasty, fucking, pathetic-ass bitch. If it wasn’t for my child, I would kill your trifling ass. I probably need to get checked for STDs.”

  Her muffled footsteps faded, and then came the sound of the door opening and closing with a violent slam. Then silence.

  Jayla managed to open her eyes and ease a look at Derrick.

  He just stood there. She expected anger; she expected upset. She even expected hurt. Sure, somewhere deep down, he felt all of the above. But the prominent glare on his face reflected pure disgust.

  “Get out.”

  She didn’t see it on his face, but she heard the menacing hatred in the two words. “Derrick.”

  “Get your ass out.” He paused between each word, letting the threatening command linger.

  Obediently, Jayla stood, grimacing in pain, dragging her clothes with her. She dressed as quickly as the pain would allow, feeling his eyes like daggers on her body. When she was dressed, she shuffled across the floor, willing him to say something, anything. She turned, opened her mouth to speak again, but let out a scream when he rammed his fist in the wall beside her head.

  The sound of cracking plaster echoed in her ears, and she looked at the hole from the impact. Jayla’s heart skipped several beats from the punch. She turned, and after quickly opening the front door, she stepped into the night air. She didn’t bother turning around or even flinching when she heard the harsh slam at her back and the click of the lock, like a signal of finality, as it slid into place.

  Where would she go now? Whom could she turn to?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The distant hum of a vacuum pulled Jayla from a distorted sleep. She pulled the comforter from her head, had to squint at the sun coming in through the open blinds.

  Jayla hadn’t thought loneliness would make her ache. Leave her feeling like a forgotten memory, so hollow inside that it was a wonder she didn’t cave into herself. She didn’t even realize she’d been crying again until she touched a finger to the damp pillow. Numb. That was it. She felt completely numb.

  It probably didn’t help that the room was so stuffy, so unfamiliar. Not that it wasn’t nice. Patricia had decorated every room in her mini mansion with rich colors, abstract art, and elaborate furnishings. This one had walls painted a deep teal and a canopy bed accented with purple and mustard linens. The room was big enough to accommodate a full sitting area, which included a stone fireplace and a tan chaise with purple throw pillows. Not that Jayla had made much use out of it. Or anything else, for that matter.

  She had tried calling Derrick several times, to no avail. Once Joi had picked up his phone with her usual seduction and had claimed she could make Jayla feel better. Jayla had instantly grown nauseated and had hung up.

  The vacuum stopped, and slightly comforted by the quiet, Jayla leaned back on the upholstered headboard and ran her fingers through her disheveled hair. The gesture had light catching the engagement ring she still wore. Jayla sighed, held her outstretched hand out in front of her, and allowed t
he memories to swallow her once more.

  It was ridiculous to wear it still, she knew, but she couldn’t bring herself to take it off. Part of her, though a small part, still clung to some shred of hope. But as the days had progressed to weeks, and her phone had gone cold from inactivity, it seemed that her sanity had slowly diminished. She’d been able to catch only snatches of sleep since everything happened, and this had allowed her plenty of time to reflect and regret.

  Jayla glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. She saw that she needed to drag her ass out of bed and get to her appointment.

  The in-suite bath was just as elaborate as the bedroom, with a Jacuzzi tub, and slate and marble floors that carried up the walls of the glassed-in shower. Jayla washed up in one of the dual sinks, not bothering to so much as glance at her reflection in the framed mirror. Between the lack of food and sleep, she could only guess how hideous she looked. Even more so with the slight discoloration of her jaw, which had only recently healed.

  Though this was her third week at Patricia’s, Jayla hadn’t even bothered to unpack, so now she fished through a few suitcases before settling on some jeans and a T-shirt. She tossed her hair into a ponytail, slipped on some canvas sneakers, and headed downstairs.

  Patricia was settled at the marble island in the kitchen, thumbing through a magazine. She hadn’t changed from her pajamas; she’d just tossed on a robe, but it was open, revealing a burgundy pajama set with a tank top and patterned bottoms that flirted with her calves. She didn’t bother glancing up when Jayla entered the kitchen, merely poured some apple juice in a carafe into a glass and slid the glass over to the empty space opposite her. Jayla eased onto the seat and took a sip from the glass.

  “You need to eat,” Patricia said. “There is some cereal in the pantry.”

  Deciding it was better to oblige than to risk arguing with her, Jayla got up and began preparing her breakfast. She felt Patricia’s eyes on her as she shuffled about the kitchen.

  “You headed somewhere?” Patricia asked.

  “Yeah, I have somewhere to be.”

  Patricia nodded. “I’m surprised. You usually stay up in that room all day and night.” She paused for a response, then continued when she didn’t get one. “How are you feeling?”

  Jayla thought about the previous night’s contemplation, the razor blade she’d held in her hand for three hours before deciding to put it away.

  “One day at a time,” she said.

  For a while, it was quiet. The only sounds that could be heard were the sporadic rustling of glossy pages as Patricia flipped through the magazine and the crackling of cereal as Jayla poured milk into the ceramic bowl. Jayla sat down at the island once more, and Patricia looked up.

  “You need sleep,” she observed.

  “Can’t sleep.”

  “Listen, I know this is easier said than done, but you got to get your life together. What are you going to do with yourself?”

  Jayla used her spoon to toy with the cereal, her eyes lingering on her ring. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

  “Have you considered what we spoke about the other day?”

  Jayla frowned as she thought about the suggestion again. She could see where Patricia was coming from, but she didn’t think moving to another city was quite the answer. Besides, what if Derrick . . . ? She sighed, ignored the tug of doubt about the idea.

  “I have a friend in Chicago,” Patricia went on. “She owes me a favor.”

  “An old client?” Jayla mumbled, not really sure why it was relevant. Patricia didn’t seem to care about the off-wall question.

  “Something like that. Either way, she works for a marketing company out there. I could make a call. Get an interview set up for you.”

  Jayla thought of the thousands of dollars she had saved up in the bank. That was one good thing about the Heartbreaker business. Sure, it had gotten her in trouble, but it had set her up lovely. “I don’t see why. I don’t need a job.”

  “I’m not saying you should do it for the money,” Patricia said. “I’m saying do it for the distraction. And because that’s what normal people do. I don’t know how much you got saved up, but no need to touch it right now. Especially if you’re not going back into business anytime soon.”

  “Or ever.”

  “Or ever,” Patricia repeated. Jayla couldn’t tell if her nod was approving or doubtful. “But still. I really want you to think about it. Seriously. It’s time to pick up the pieces.”

  Jayla didn’t bother responding as she ate a spoonful of the now-soggy cereal, just for compliancy’s sake. She didn’t taste a thing, only felt the disintegrating bits of flakes in her cheeks before she forced them down her throat. After standing, she carried the bowl to the sink to flush the contents down the garbage disposal. She flicked the switch, listened to the grind and whir of the gears for a moment before switching off the disposal.

  “Patricia.” Jayla didn’t bother turning around. “Thank you.”

  “For?”

  “For not saying, ‘I told you so.’ For not turning your back on me. I know I sounded like an ungrateful bitch the last time we spoke. I know you told Gloria because Derrick needed to know me.” The thought still had her bitter, but not so much about Patricia anymore. More so about herself. “I’ve always cherished our relationship and appreciated everything you’ve done for me.”

  Silence, but she could’ve sworn she felt Patricia smile.

  “Well, I feel I need to thank you as well,” Patricia finally said.

  Jayla turned. “For what?” she said.

  “For telling me what was on your mind that night. And for having some elements of truth in it.” She lifted her glass in a mock toast.

  Jayla felt herself smile for the first time in a while. It felt good to still have someone in her corner. Someone who hadn’t banished her to the depths of hell. Maybe there was some hope left. She caught the clock out of the corner of her eye.

  “I’ll be back a little later,” Jayla said, heading for the front door, grateful Patricia didn’t bother stopping her.

  * * *

  Jayla took the elevator to the third floor and stepped into the familiar waiting room. She headed to the reception desk to sign in.

  When Melanie called her back, Jayla went in and made herself comfortable on the couch, as comfortable as she could in a psychiatrist’s office. Never would she have dreamed of going to a shrink, but after she had gone back to the doctor and they had confirmed her HIV, she’d known there was no other way to keep her sanity. She’d been lost. How would she tell everyone that she had possibly infected them? Derrick, Kevin, Tara, and so many others? She’d had to find a way to make amends.

  “How have you been holding up, Jayla?” Melanie asked.

  Jayla nodded. “It’s difficult as hell, but I’m trying. Every day is a struggle.”

  Melanie nodded. “In our last session, you touched on your HIV, attempted suicide, your relationship with your family and ex-fiancé, but you never told me the why behind how everything spiraled out of control.”

  To Jayla’s surprise, embarrassment was the first emotion she recognized. But better to get it out and over with. “Well, I was a Heartbreaker.”

  “And what is that exactly?”

  “I was paid to evaluate men and women to judge if they were faithful to their partners. Evaluating their value, much like an appraisal on a house.”

  “Oh, I see.” Melanie nodded as she began to jot notes.

  Jayla let the words hang between them, waiting for the judgment, for the disgust, the disapproving words. She relaxed when only compassion registered on Melanie’s face as she continued to write.

  “You said was,” she said. “You don’t do that anymore?”

  “No. No, I don’t.”

  “And why is that?”

  Jayla’s eyes fell on the ring. It still glittered on her finger, a constant reminder. “I got into some trouble,” she said. “I was being stalked. And I hurt a lot of people, menta
lly and physically. My best friend, my daughter, my sisters, my fiancé . . . everyone who ever meant anything to me.”

  “And why do you think you did that?”

  She didn’t have an answer. Jayla stood, crossed to the window to study the downtown traffic. Pedestrians dotted the sidewalks below. A woman rushed toward the train station in heels and a skirt that was extremely tight. A teenager covered in tattoos, and earphones on his ears, nearly broke his neck to turn and look at her. A man in a business suit with a cell phone fastened to his ear didn’t even break stride when he bumped into the brunette with the pregnant belly bulging from a floral dress that kissed her ankles. Life. Life went on.

  “Okay, tell me about the stalker,” Melanie said, shifting gears when Jayla remained silent. “Is that whole thing over with?”

  “I guess.” She really didn’t know. She hadn’t been home to find out. Hopefully, the psycho had gotten tired and left her alone.

  Jayla turned from the window; the lingering remnants of fear had her crossing her arms over her chest. “I started getting death threats at my house. I didn’t pay attention to it at first. Little notes, then packages. Phone calls. I made a lot of enemies with my job, so I just knew it was one of my clients. One in particular came to mind, for some reason. I was concerned with the fact that she was showing up at my house. I never brought any clients to my house, so I wasn’t sure how she found out where I stayed. Then whoever it was broke in to my house.” Her voice cracked at the memory. “When I went out of town one weekend, whoever it was broke into my house. My sister was there. She was pregnant. Fell down the stairs trying to get away . . .” She trailed off, and Melanie waited patiently before speaking again.

  “Do you feel responsible for that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you feel your sister holds you responsible?”

  Jayla’s eyes fell. “Held,” she said softly. “She’s gone.”

  Melanie remained quiet.

  All that could be heard were Jayla’s jagged breaths as she struggled to remain calm. “Joce hated me for what happened,” she went on. “She found out about the stalker and the threats. She was scared. Wanted me to go to the police. I told her no.” Jayla bit off each word with disgust. “I wouldn’t go, because my selfish ass didn’t want cops all up in my business. So I told her not to worry. And then she . . .” In her mind’s eye, Jayla saw Jocelyn’s body swinging from the banister, the overturned chair beneath her feet.