by Emily Bourne
She sits a few chairs away as she notices how fragile the woman is and how quietly Adrian is talking to her. His mannerisms are so gentle, and Jazz fixates on the calm movements of his hands and the softness of his lips as he whispers.
Adrian picks up a piece of toast, and as he takes a bite, his eyes meet Jazz’s. Jazz jumps in her seat like she was caught spying. Adrian smiles awkwardly as he chews. He swallows roughly and nods at her. “You ok?”
“Mhmm,” she blurts, peeling the banana.
He gestures to the seat opposite him. “You wanna move closer?”
The pace of Jazz’s heartbeat quickens as she eyes the sad woman.
“It’s ok,” Adrian adds.
Jazz picks up her fruit and moves across the two empty seats to the one opposite Adrian.
“You sleep ok?” he asks, taking another bite of buttered toast.
“Had things on my mind,” she says to the table so to not eye the woman.
“Anything you want to talk about?” Adrian says to his plate. “Did Eddy––”
“––I’m ok,” Jazz interrupts. “It’s just work stuff.”
Adrian looks up with surprise shining in his eyes. “Your family’s business?”
Jazz’s mouth drops and she leans back in her chair, bundling her hair to the right. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
Adrian’s smile is small, but just as warm. He looks to the woman with the child. “This is Myra and Taz.”
Myra fidgets in her seat, hugging the child closer. Taz turns in her arms, courageously smiling at Jazz.
Jazz’s heart swells as she takes in the child’s sweet yet dirty face.
“They just got here this morning,” Adrian says, letting Taz high-five his palm. “Myra and Taz, this is Jazz.”
Myra flicks her eyes up to take in Jazz, and quickly lowers her head again. Jazz realises why no one has recognised her. They barely look up.
“Hi Myra,” Jazz begins, but halts her sentence when realising how inappropriate it would be to ask, ‘how are you.’ She looks to Taz again and finds herself grinning. “Hey there, little one.”
Adrian slides back in his seat and asks Jazz, “D’you mind keeping them company for a minute? There’s just someone else I need to check on.”
Jazz’s heartbeat is in her ears as her face flushes with heat. “Sure. Not a problem.”
“I’ll be right back,” Adrian whispers to Myra, who doesn’t lift her head.
As Adrian moves away, Taz squeaks with despair, throwing his hand out, wanting to keep high-fiving.
“Here, here,” Jazz says, sending her arm across the table for Taz to hit. She watches Myra settle in her seat and she asks, “He’s your son?”
Myra tightens her arms around Taz and nods. “Yes, he’s mine.”
Jazz frowns at Myra’s insecure body language. Keeping her arm outstretched for Taz, she moves a seat over to be opposite Myra. “Did someone try to take him away from you?”
Myra winces and moves her face to the left. Jazz angles her face to keep a view of Myra. Myra turns her face right and Jazz gasps at the large purple bruise under her eye and across her cheek.
“Someone hit you?” Jazz exclaims. Silence sweeps around them and she lowers her shoulders, whispering, “Sorry.”
Myra nods and whispers, “We needed to escape.”
Jazz watches Myra nudge her son. “His father?”
Myra locks eyes with Jazz for the first time, and mouths with her dry and cracked lips, ‘Bad man.’
Jazz swallows dryly.
“Your hair is out,” Myra says.
Jazz tilts her head. “Come again?”
Myra tugs at her hood. “You don’t cover?”
Jazz catches on. “Oh, I’m not Muslim. I’m Jewish, but I have done nothing religious since my bat mitzvah. Are you uncomfortable?”
“My boyfriend is Christian, so I haven’t practiced in a long time. But I want to go back to my community, my people.”
“I have something that could help. Do you want to come to my room with me? It’s ok.” Jazz follows Myra’s eyes to Taz. “He’ll be ok.”
Myra nods, bringing Taz close to her chest as she stands. “Ouch,” Myra winces, falling back to her seat.
Jazz rushes to Myra’s side. “Are you ok?”
Myra releases Taz and rubs her side. “I’m ok. It’s just a bruise.”
“We don’t have to move.”
“I need to fix my hair.”
Jazz rubs her lips together, edging closer. “I can take him. If you’re comfortable.”
Myra’s body language tightens, and she sucks in another painful breath. She nods. “You can take him.”
Jazz smiles at the child. “Taz, you want to come with me?”
Taz turns towards Jazz with arms open. Jazz giggles, pulling the boy into her arms. “Aren’t you the sweetest? How old are you?”
A confused look takes over Taz’s face as he searches his mother for an answer.
Myra pulls herself up, bracing with gritted teeth. “He’s two and a half.”
“Wow,” Jazz says with extra enthusiasm as she carries Taz towards the doorway. “You are becoming a big boy.”
Taz giggles and plays with Jazz’s hair.
“Do you know what rhyming is?” Jazz asks. “You hear our names? Jazz and Taz. They rhyme.”
Taz laughs again. “Taz Jazz. Taz Jazz.”
Jazz laughs, cuddling him. “That’s right. Taz Jazz.” Jazz slows her walk to keep with Myra’s laboured pace. “How did you come up with his name?”
“I planned to name him after my father; Tazbir. But I liked Taz more, and it means crown jewel in Arabic, which I thought was cool.”
“It’s a well-suited name for this little man.” Jazz smiles at the toddler hugged against her body. “My father did a similar thing when naming me. He wanted to name me after my mother but ended up naming me after her talent instead.”
“What do you mean?”
“My mother was an incredible jazz musician. My father said thinking about her music or listening to it was the most peaceful times of his life.”
“Does she still play?”
Jazz clears her throat while lifting Taz higher in her arms. “She died giving birth to me.”
Myra gasps, clasping a hand to her mouth. “I am so sorry.”
Jazz shakes her shoulders, flashing her Collage smile. “It’s fine. It was a long time ago.”
Myra’s brow furrows as her eyes seek an answer. She meets Jazz’s eyes and her mouth falls open. “Jazz? You’re the rich girl from the fitness company?”
“Shoosh,” Jazz hushes, taking Myra’s hands. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“But what are you doing here?”
“I’m just lying low as I think of a plan to counter the man trying to steal my company. It’s a long story about how I ended up here, but no one has recognised me. Please don’t tell anyone.”
Myra nods. “I won’t. Of course.” A cheeky smile plays at her lips. “I’ve just always kinda worshipped you.”
Jazz releases Myra’s hands with a nervous laugh. “Worshipped?”
“I watch you on Collage. I love seeing someone who looks like me doing so well.”
Jazz smiles and nods. “Things like that make my father very happy.” Jazz can’t help wanting to know more about Myra. “So, your boyfriend is white? That’s why you were ok talking to Adrian?”
“He was so manipulative. I couldn’t be there anymore. He took me away from everyone I knew.” Myra smooths over Taz’s hair. “And now that this one is getting older and understanding things, I couldn’t keep him around that life.”
“You are so brave,” Jazz says, showing them into the room.
“I was stupid to wait this long.”
Jazz lowers Taz to the ground. She rubs Myra’s arm. “You are incredible. You took action. You are in control of your mind and body. And you’re a protector of your child. You are a hero.”
Myra smiles, eyeing Taz ru
nning between the bunks. “I thought I was doing the right thing keeping him with his father.”
“I suppose he was a good guy when you met.”
Myra nods, tears forming in her eyes. “One of the best. I can’t believe how quickly everything changed.”
Myra rubs her wrist whilst deep in thought, and Jazz sees the surrounding bruising. Her stomach knots as she imagines the horrific abuse Myra has come from.
Jazz moves to the foot of her bunk where her less-than-perfect dress lays, and picks up her pashmina. “You can wear this over your hair.”
Myra’s chin drops and eyes round. “That’s gorgeous. It would have cost you so much. No. No, I can’t take it.”
“Please,” Jazz says, moving towards Myra. “It was a gift to me and I have others at home.” She sighs, eyes watering. “I have too many things at home. Please. Please take it.”
Myra lets herself smile and shrugs. “Well, sure. It’s very beautiful.”
“There are donated clothes here. Do you want new clothes and a shower?”
Myra pulls at her hoody and laughs. “I smell, huh?”
Jazz laughs with a mix of nerves and relief. “I can show you to them and help you cover your hair.”
Myra pulls Jazz close, pressing her hands firmly into her back. “Thank you, Jazz. You are an angel.”
Jazz’s eyes fill with tears. She blinks them away, but they refill. As she pulls out of the hug, she sniffs and wipes her face. “Oh, it’s nothing. I feel like I should do more for you.”
Myra squeezes her hand. “You have nothing to make up for.”
Jazz shows Myra to the donated clothes, holding Taz’s hand, his curiosity too high to be carried. Looking at the clothes rack, Jazz mulls over her life of tending to the upper class and having a picture-perfect life on social media. Looking and acting a certain way to be accepted. The people in the shelter have nothing and are happy with the smallest gesture. There’s more to life than ‘looking good.’ So many people are in need.
As Myra looks for something modest in her size, Adrian stops by them. “You guys ok?”
With the weight of her emotion hunching her back, Jazz moves to Adrian. “She’s just going to get cleaned up.”
“Thanks for helping out with them.”
Jazz rubs between her eyes. “In another life, she could be me.”
“Sometimes we don’t pick our circumstances.”
Jazz lowers her hands and looks him in the eyes. “But we can change them. I want to help her.” She smiles at Taz. “Help them. What else can I do around here to help more?”
Adrian relaxes his posture, smiling and keeping eye contact with her. “I’m sure you have lots to offer.”
Abandon
ETHAN’S spit flies out of his mouth as he yells into his phone. “Why haven’t you found her?”
“I’m doing the best I can,” Officer Ignacio replies. “I’m still doing my rounds and trying to keep everything covert. I got you phone access and the surveillance footage.”
“I need to know where she is,” Ethan says, heat rising from his collar as he paces the empty board room at Ultimate ME Head Quarters
. “I need to stay three steps ahead of her. What if she’s coming back into the building with a plan to topple me?”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Ignacio says. “The Mayor gave you the numbers. There’s no way you can’t stay ahead with that information.”
“Just find her now!”
Ethan groans and ends the call. Jazz was giving him more work than he bargained for. He leaves the board room and crosses the executive floor to Darius’ office, an updated employee policy in hand as an excuse to check in.
In Darius’ office, his secretary Heather leans beside him at his desk, scrolling through her phone, whispering.
“Am I interrupting something?” Ethan asks, walking towards the desk. “I was just on the phone with Garth Cunningham from Primary Packing. They were thinking of terminating their Employees’ Fitness Scheme. I told him to sit tight, and we’d sweeten the pot. Easy to accomplish, if and when I’m named CEO.”
“Yes, indeed. We can’t lose the Primary Packing account. That’s been very lucrative since you brought them over.” Darius waves away his secretary. “Thank you, Heather, that’ll be all.”
Heather walks by Ethan and asks, “Can I get you anything, Mr Roth?”
“No, I’m fine, thank you,” Ethan says with a wink.
“Heather was just showing me Jazz’s Collage page,” Darius says, as Heather blushes her way out of the room. “You know I don’t get into that stuff, but I know Jazz is very present on there.”
“Sure,” Ethan says, relaxing on a high-backed leather armchair. “She’s head of social media for Ultimate ME. Hashtag Persian Heiress. Social media is her life.”
Darius raises his palms. “But she’s not on there.”
Ethan rubs his clean-shaven chin roughly as he sees where this is going.
“Jazz hasn’t texted me since boarding the yacht. She has not answered any of my calls. Not even a photo on Collage of her on the boat.”
“Darius, her feed is about healthy living and fitness. She won’t publicise she’s gone on a bender. It wouldn’t be very on brand.”
“Who are these girlfriends she left with?” Darius asks, perplexity deepening his wrinkles. “I don’t know any friends of Jazz. She told me she didn’t have time for acquaintances outside of business meetings and corporate events.”
“We always want our parents to be proud,” Ethan says, eyes drifting around the room. “We hide the things we are ashamed of.”
“Ashamed?” Darius stands and moves to the window, crossing his arms. “It’s very odd. Something is not right.”
“Because she’s not fooling you with the perfect daughter act. Now she’s letting her true self show. Did Heather show you the trending photo of her coming out of the bar? I told you, Sir, she needs help. Have you looked into a rehabilitation centre?”
Darius turns from the window, his face creased with concern. “No, something has gone awry. It’s not like her to cut off all communication. Something has gone wrong on the boat. Foul play or...” Darius races to the desk phone, picking it up and stabbing number keys. “Or kidnapping. I need to talk to the police immediately.”
Ethan launches from the chair and slams his hand on the switch hook, ending the call.
“What are you doing?” Darius asks, face reddening.
“Calm down, Darius,” Ethan says, straightening out his blazer. “You need to focus on work. That’s what I came in here to talk to you about. Focus on me.”
Darius’ grip around the handset tightens and his jaw rocks. “I know my daughter.”
Frustration boils inside Ethan and he slams his hands on the desk, yelling, “She left because she doesn’t love you!”
Darius drops the phone, clutching his heart. Colour drains from his face as sounds try to come out his mouth. “Wh... Wh... What?”
“She’s not the one you should focus on,” Ethan yells, looming over Darius. “You’ve been a father figure to me. Why won’t you act like it now? I’m here, standing in front of you, but what? You want to pine for a daughter who spat on your name and abandoned everything you gave her? What about me, Darius? I thought you said you’d show me that not all parents abandon their kids?”
Darius rubs his chest, and with a raspy voice says, “You know I won’t abandon you.”
“Step up,” Ethan urges. “The board won’t accept Jazz. We already know this. Back me.”
Darius blinks rapidly, his hand digging into his chest. He gasps for air and he collapses to his knees. He gasps again, face-planting the carpet.
Ethan fixes his tie, studying the limp body of his mentor. Why must everyone make me yell? He mulls over his options, moving towards the bar and pouring himself a single-malt scotch. He takes a sip and ponders the simplicity of taking Darius out of the equation. He’d lose the charade with Jazz and concentrate on his presentation.
He takes another sip and nods to himself, knowing it will be easier to have Darius recommend his succession to the board. He finishes the scotch, returns the glass, and runs a hand in his hair to ruin the neatness.
“Heather!” he yells, moving to Darius’ side. “Heather! Get help!”
Heather rushes into the office. “What’s happened?”
“Call an ambulance!” Ethan says, on the ground with two fingers to Darius’ pulse. “He’s had a heart attack.”
“Oh my lord,” Heather says, quick to tears.
Heather rushes out of the office and Ethan rolls Darius over. He’s breathing. Ethan smirks at his ageing mentor. “Just hold on a little longer. Just a few more days is all I need.”
When the paramedics arrive and check Darius’ vitals, Ethan’s mind wanders to his game plan. Jazz was a piece on the chessboard taken out early. Darius’ piece almost suffered the same fate. He needed him to cooperate, to keep everything on track.
Work with me, Darius.
Burden
ADRIAN’S stomach churns. “I’m sorry, we don’t have room,” he tells a needy man who turns away from the shelter. He told him to try the church nearby, but he knows they recently hit capacity. Adrian just hopes they have generous parishioners.
Adrian takes his bags of kitchen supplies and food in through the back door of the kitchen. He leaves them for Maria to put away and drags himself to his office.
“Adrian.”
He wipes slick sweat from his forehead, not looking for the face belonging to the voice. “What?”
“You said you would play pool with me.”
Adrian frowns, his jaw tightening. It’s Max. He did promise. But it’s the last thing on his mind. He keeps walking and bats an arm behind him. “Not now.”
He closes his office door behind him and his skin chills with a sickly shiver. He spent more money than he budgeted for and he’s too afraid to look at what’s left in the funds. He sits at the desk and claps his hands over his nose, blowing out a hard breath.
He unlocks the top desk drawer and pulls out the cash box. He opens the box and then slams it shut when he sees less cash than he’d hoped for.
