by Tiana Laveen
“Whoa.” Dad’s brow arched. “She’s loaded then.”
Cameron shrugged. “She’s comfortable.”
“Well, how did you two meet?” Mama asked. “You have me awfully curious now.”
He hesitated for a long spell, his heart pumping hard within him.
“I’m not convinced you or Dad are prepared to hear that story, but it looks like you’re about to hear it anyway.” Ten minutes later, after he rolled out the details, one by one, bit by bit, his mother was hyperventilating and Pops had left the room to get some water for them, or so he’d said. When he returned, his complexion looked ashen as he handed them both a glass.
“Thank you.” Cameron took a sip. “I guess I was thirsty after all.” Setting the glass down, he stretched his legs and looked at his parents, seeing disbelief on their faces.
“Who knew that, uh, her race would be the least of the surprises,” Mama said after taking a deep breath. “Cameron, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think this is your way of trying to hold on to Brooke. That’s not fair to this woman, or to you.”
“I thought the same at first, but it’s not like that, Mama. With the way I know her now, I’d be interested in her regardless of whether she had Brooke’s heart pumping inside of her or not. Yeah, that is what probably made me call her, to get close to Brooke, but I had no idea what was in store.” He’d made sure to not breathe a word of how Emily had taken on various aspects of Brooke’s personality, talents, and traits. That was a rabbit hole he wasn’t willing to jump in and travel with them, at least not yet. He did wish he had someone to confide in, however—someone he could trust to not think he’d lost his mind.
“Are you happy?” Dad asked, sadness in his eyes.
“Yeah. I’m real happy with her, Dad.”
Dad nodded, then picked up the remote control and turned the volume back up.
“Then that’s all that matters,” Mama said with a huff. She got to her feet, though he knew she was awfully concerned and not buying it. That was just his mother’s nature. She never kept drilling at him, but her worry always showed on her face. Cameron clasped his hands together, feeling strange and uncertain with what the future held.
Two down, a hundred more people to go.
Chapter Seventeen
Asking for a Friend
Yawning, Emily crossed her ankles and slid her arm behind the fluffy, white pillow. The bedsheets were Egyptian cotton, recently purchased from an online vendor who created one-of-a-kind bedroom accessories and linens. The television was on, broadcasting some reality show. Blinking, she checked it out. Oh yes, a rerun of that Little Women: Atlanta show. She’d never seen it before, but a colleague at work had remarked one day that it was an absolute riot. It was seven in the evening and it had been a long day.
She couldn’t wait for Cameron to stop by later on. He’d been busy. He had a meeting with another vendor and touched bases with a caterer regarding an event he was hosting next month. He also had to fire one of his waitresses after she’d disrespected the patrons.
When he’d offered to take her to dinner and a movie after he was done with work, she’d let him know she wasn’t in the mood to go out, as she felt like death warmed over. So he suggested just chilling for the night with Brooklyn-style pizza delivery, cheesy romantic movies of her choice, and affection galore.
She’d replied that she hoped for sex, though she’d warned she likely wouldn’t have the energy to do more than lie back and receive, like a limp jellyfish. He chuckled, and had even offered to give her a massage. She could stay in her gown all damn night—no complaints. How could she say no to such a thing? That had definitely been an offer she couldn’t refuse.
“Ouch!”
She stretched her leg and winced, then crossed her ankles again. Every muscle and tendon within her was screaming, feeling knotted, tight like a rope and in need of relief. She’d been back in the hospital earlier that day and felt like a piece of steak by the time they’d turned her loose. The doctor and nurses had beaten, poked, prodded, and moved her about with little to no regard. Not her usual doctor, but some brute who’d decided she wasn’t flesh and bone and could be tossed around like a plastic bottle. She’d run on a treadmill with monitors and a host of wires attached to her, then endured an endless battery of tests to ensure all was well. Thus far, she had only minimal complications and she hoped, with crossed fingers, to be able to schedule cosmetic surgery to deal with the scar that started in the middle of her collarbone and drifted down to right above her navel. She hated it, though she had to admit Cameron’s kind words regarding the crucial disfigurement definitely made her feel a bit better. She looked lazily over to the other side of the bed and took note of the stack of international newspapers she’d been collecting over the past couple of weeks.
Her argument with Cameron a while back still haunted her, and she wasn’t certain that some of his words she’d ever be able to get out of her head. She didn’t let him know how irritated she’d been at some of his declarations, the jabs, the way he cut her where it hurt, but he seemed to know all the same, and that made her feel that much more powerless when she was face-to-face with him. Everything she said to him, he had an answer for. She didn’t always have to agree with his reaction or response, but she could not take away from him that his line of logic was often succinct and worth listening to. At the end of the day, this was part of her journey—a time-consuming, cruel, painful expedition, nevertheless. She was only upset for one reason and one reason alone—she’d met her match.
He’d been right. Cameron could go toe-to-toe with her, and he never backed down. It didn’t matter if they were playing an arcade game, making love, or deep in a heated argument regarding racism. He was competitive, observant, slightly arrogant, and intelligent—a deadly combination. She liked being in charge, having no one coming against her and risking a verbal beatdown they’d live to regret, and boy did she enjoy delivering a well-timed punishment. However, just as she was an alpha female, Cameron was an alpha male in every sense of the word. On spiritual steroids. There was an untouchable wisdom about him, and she loved that. Her lips curled as she realized that, in some ways, he reminded her of her father.
Dad. Better call him.
She reached for the phone and dialed her father’s cell phone. Perhaps this would be a good time to return his call from earlier in the day and tell him she was seeing someone.
I’ll gauge the conversation and figure out the answer to that as we go along.
“Hello, Emily. How are you, honey?”
As soon as he answered, she heard what sounded like faint music playing and muted conversation in the back.
“Well, I’m great actually, just a bit tired, winded.”
“You had your hospital visit, correct? I called earlier to check up on you, but my call went to voicemail.” She heard a bit of clanking and moving about in the background, as if he were at a dinner party.
“Yes, and everything went fine overall but Dad, it sounds like you’re busy. Is this a good time? I can call back. Where are you, anyway?”
“I’m at a business dinner with Schultz.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right.” She smiled, forgetting that her father was taking one of his dearest associates to dinner to discuss stock options and such. “Tell Mr. Schultz I said hello. I’ll call you back later tonight or tomorrow, okay?”
“I will tell him, but no need to call me back. In fact, he ran into a friend and is having a discussion with them outside. I have a minute. We’re just waiting on our salads.”
“You’re at Le Bernardin, right?”
He chuckled. “Of course.” It was one of her father’s favorite restaurants. “So, what can I do for you, sweetheart?”
“Dad, remember when I brought up a while ago not remembering a friend that I had as a child? I couldn’t recall her name, but I liked her.”
“Yes, I vaguely remember you bringing that up.”
“Well, it’s still on my mind.” Emily
picked up one of the newspapers written in Russian and flipped it face down. She grabbed another and could see it was written in French.
I don’t know French. Maybe Cameron will teach me.
“Well, if it’s still on your mind then I suppose you can try to ask some of your classmates, see if they recall.”
“She wasn’t a former classmate.”
“Oh. Who was she then?”
Emily took a deep breath and rested her head against the headboard. “The Black lady who used to come over and pick up Mom’s gowns to take to the laundromat, remember her? She had a daughter.”
Dad drew quiet, as if he were tracing his mind for stored memories.
“Oh yes, I remember her. Her name was Stella, correct? Maybe Sally or Sarah. Something like that. She worked for that laundromat and would often bring her daughter along for her errands. How old were you then?”
“Probably fourteen. Do you remember her daughter’s name?”
“I can’t say that I do. Your mother would sometimes invite Stella or whatever her name was, inside and they’d talk for quite a while. You and that girl would go to your room or to the game area and eat and talk, right?”
“Yeah. I liked talking to her. We would have good discussions. I wish I could remember her name.” She beat the side of the bed with her fist as she surged with frustration.
“Well, sometimes we just have an experience for a short time, and it serves its purpose.”
“What in the world is that supposed to mean in this context, Dad? All I’m saying is that I am having a problem remembering her name and it irritates me that I can’t recall it.”
“You’ve always been good with names so I am just saying, dear, that maybe she wasn’t as significant as you think.” She could almost see her dad shrugging his broad shoulders. “Sometimes, when we’re having a hard time, we overthink things.” Emily slumped back against her bed, growing irritated at him, though he may have been right. “Oh honey, Schultz is back.”
“Enjoy your dinner. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She abruptly disconnected the call. Grabbing the heap of foreign newspapers in her arms, she slid off the bed and walked briskly into her living room, tossing them onto her coffee table to sort through later. After fixing herself a glass of sparkling water with a spritz of lime juice, she decided to turn on her record player and listen to some tunes.
I need to relax and get myself together. I’m all worked up now.
Flipping through her ever-growing collection of albums that she kept in an ivory ottoman, she selected “Off the Wall” by Michael Jackson. It had been given to her by an associate at work once he discovered that she was into the whole music thing now. In fact, he’d heard her singing in her office with the door slightly ajar. She had no idea anyone else was in that early and felt a bit embarrassed. Word soon spread that she was some sort of undiscovered songstress, though she’d played it off and ensured such a thing never happened again.
Turning it up to full volume she began to prance about, snapping her fingers, her long blonde hair going every which way as she swayed and sashayed about. After a few minutes of high energy bopping around, she caught her reflection in one of her vast floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city.
She stepped closer, staring at herself as the twinkling city lights sparkled and glowed from near and far like some exploding diamond. Winding several strands of her hair around her finger, she stood there for the longest, tugging and pulling at her mane. A sudden hatred of the tresses that she’d worked so hard to groom overcame her. This had been going on for a few days, a fight she was losing.
No more than ten minutes later, she’d thrown on a baggy sky-blue striped sweater, yoga leggings, her oversized coat, and grabbed her car keys. She hadn’t driven in such a long time, usually relying on an Uber or private driver from her father’s on-call arsenal, but she was in a hurry and besides, what she needed wasn’t more than five blocks away. She’d walk it if her body weren’t so beaten down and exhausted. Glancing at herself once more in the mirror by her front door, she shook her head.
Time to take care of this once and for all.
She left her apartment on a mission she hoped wouldn’t be impossible.
Chapter Eighteen
Throw a Monkey Wrench
“What do you mean? I did call earlier today, baby,” Cameron explained as he approached her dwelling. A man selling hotdogs from a cart tried to wave him over, but he kept moving, not in the mood to be the unlucky guy to get his leftover twenty-four-hour street meats then suffer the diarrhea-like consequences.
“Oh, I must’ve not heard my phone. Sorry.”
“It’s cool, not a problem.”
“Um, are you close?”
“Yeah, about two minutes away.” He looked up at the sky, then his watch, and kept moving. “I parked about a block away. Didn’t feel like dealing with your garage tonight. Last time, they gave me a ticket.”
“I told you to fight that.”
“Wouldn’t have mattered.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t a resident and the visitor parking was clearly marked. I just noticed it too late. Anyway, lesson learned. Hopefully, that’s the only inconvenience tonight because baby, I missed you.” He grinned as he heard her laugh on the other end.
“I missed you too. Sorry I wasn’t in the mood to do anything else but brood in my house. I’m a party pooper.”
“Nah, you’re a woman who had a serious surgery and you need downtime sometimes. It’s not a problem and I’ve been wanting some pizza anyway. I haven’t had any in a while, especially since I try to eat cleaner during the week. We can order whatever you want though. You told the doorman I was comin’, right? He always acts like he doesn’t remember me and tries to be funny. I’m telling you right now, Em, with the day I’ve had, he better not even think about—”
“No worries. Dennis knows who you are and yes, I told him that you were coming. He is just a little more protective, I guess you could say, of the women he knows live here alone.” He rolled his eyes at that, but didn’t say anything else. The guy was an asshole. Period. “I just got back from the drugstore, actually.”
“Condoms? I have some with me. You know I only stick to a couple different brands. Some of them don’t fit me well or leave a sticky film so I have to be selective. You don’t want me busting through and you end up with a baby registry at Saks nine months later, do you?” he teased.
“No,” she said with a chuckle. “I just picked up some beauty products.”
“All right, cool. I see your building, baby. I’m about to come in.”
“Great, I’ll buzz you in when you get off the elevator.”
Cameron ended the call and slid his phone into his pocket. He was happy to hear that Emily’s physical therapy was now over and that her examinations at the hospital went well. He entered the posh building with a revolving golden door and immediately rested his eyes on Dennis, an older White man who seemed to enjoy treating him like some chump. The guy stood with his arms crossed, white gloves on his hands, and a captain’s hat on his head.
Look at this clown. Fuckin’ ridiculous. He is mad corny.
“And who are you here to see?” Cameron grimaced and rolled his eyes before tossing his hands in the air.
“The same woman I saw two days ago, man. And last week, and the week before that, and the week before that, too. The same lady that’s in apartment 7C. The big corner penthouse.”
“What’s her name?”
Cameron pulled out his phone, looking all serious and official. “I’m tired, okay? I don’t have time to stand here playin’ with you.”
“I asked a simple question.”
“Emily Windsor,” he said after a brief hesitation.
The guy looked through his phone and shook his head. “I don’t see you on the list.”
“She already told me that she let you know I was coming. I just spoke to her. Call her then.”
“What’s your name?”
The man who’s gonna
fuck you up if you don’t get the fuck outta my way. That’s what the fuck my name is.
“Cameron.”
“What I can do is have you wait here in the lobby area and I can—”
“I’m not sitting down in this lobby.” Cameron pointed over to the rose gold and burgundy furniture that surrounded a glass table with an assortment of magazines. “I’m supposed to be here. Just call her so I can get out of here, man.”
“You’re supposed to be here?” The man rocked back on his heels, a big sneaky smile on his face. “Oh, you purchased property here? I had no idea.” He chuckled.
“I don’t know what your problem is, but I am sick of this shit. I knew you were going to pull something even before I stepped foot in here tonight.”
“Becoming belligerent won’t help you.”
“You haven’t seen belligerent yet.” Cameron cracked his knuckles.
“Is that a threat?”
“Every time I come over here, you give me the same exact crap. I never see you give anyone else a hard time but of course, no one else looks like me, right?” Cameron smirked.
“This is about safety. If I let everyone in here, I’d be fired and there would probably have been some robberies and homicides due to my lack of due diligence. I need your ID.”
Cameron didn’t take his eyes off the bastard as he reached into his pocket, removed his wallet, and took out his driver’s license. He slammed it in the man’s palm. The son of a bitch looked back and forth between him and the card, checking him out from various angles. Then, he went behind a small counter and began to type into a computer.
“What tha hell are you doin’, man? This isn’t a criminal investigation and you’re not the FBI. I’ve been here many times already, and you know it. Are you trying to be funny?” Cameron approached the desk and rested his arms on the counter, his temper swelling within him. The guy ignored him and kept right on typing. Just then, Cameron’s cell phone rang. He snatched it up and answered.
