Blank Slate
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“Do you want to keep recouping your memories?”
“Yes,” she answered with conviction. “I’m curious as to why I would choose a man involved with shady business dealings over a nice, wholesome boy who was crazy about me.”
“Okay.”
“Are we going to do a hypnosis session today?”
Victoria looked at her watch. “We don’t have the time. Tell me what your plans are for the next few days?”
“Well, this afternoon, I have men coming to the house to deliver carpeting and new furniture I ordered Tuesday. Since I’m a bona fide Tampa socialite now, I need the house to look the part. I’m hoping to host a Christmas party this year. And I’m going to go to the gun range with Lacey again on Monday. Over the weekend, I’m going to try some new French recipes that I looked up on YouTube. I’m also hoping to research some PIs this weekend, too.”
“Well, sounds like you got your weekend planned out.”
“Yes, I am completely in control, and I plan on keeping it that way.”
Victoria’s thin brown eyebrows rose. “What does that mean?”
Hell, what do I mean?
****
Keisha was playing with her building blocks on the new thick carpet in the living room. Layla wanted a carpet that was so thick that your feet sank in it. She got the same carpet for the den, landing, and the upstairs hallway.
“You like the new carpet and furniture, baby?” Layla asked as she cut the TV on.
“Yeah,” Keisha answered without looking up at her. She continued to build something Layla couldn’t make out.
The sound of the lock being unlocked got her attention. The door opened. It was Damien, right on time. He took one step into the living room and stopped. He looked around at the thick, dark navy furniture and glass-top coffee table and large, crystal-based lamps, and then he took a step back. Stepping back two more steps, he looked at the outside of the door. It appeared that he was reading the house numbers. Then he stepped inside. “What’s this?”
“I redecorated,” she said simply and turned the TV to the Cartoon Network for Keisha.
“Where’s my recliner?” he shouted as he ran to the spot where the old, worn, and dingy recliner used to be. He stared at the oversized, blue, cushiony chair with resentment.
“Relax. I didn’t throw it away. I had the guys move it into your office,” Layla answered.
Keisha stopped playing with her blocks to look back and forth at them.
“What was wrong with having it out here? It was comfortable and broken in just how I like it.”
“And it looked it. That’s why it’s in your office,” Layla answered sweetly.
“What am I supposed to sit in when I watch the game?” he asked with a horrified expression.
“You can still sit in here.”
He scoffed with disgust.
“Just sit in it. Give it a try.”
Damien frowned as he sat down in the new chair. He was stiff as a board. “It doesn’t recline,” he remarked.
“All right, fine,” she said with slight exasperation. “I’ll get a TV for your office.”
“I don’t understand why you moved it in the first place.”
“Because it was an eyesore, and it didn’t go with the new carpet. Now, dinner will be ready in ten minutes. We’re having chef’s salad, bouillabaisse, and crème brûlée for dessert.”
“Huh?” Keisha asked with a confused look on her round face.
“I think your mother is going to feed us bull testicles,” Damien answered with an awestruck expression.
“What are test—?” she began, but Layla cut her off.
“Don’t worry about it, and that’s not what it is. It’s French cuisine.”
“What’s wrong with the American food you usually cook?” Damien asked with a scowl.
“Nothing. I just wanted to try something new. I would like to start hosting elegant dinner parties, and pot roast and potatoes aren’t going to cut it with the crowd we’re starting to hang out with,” Layla explained.
“All right, but if I don’t like it, I don’t want it on the table again,” he stated.
Layla had half a mind to say he would eat what she cooked whether he liked it or not.
Chapter 20
Because of the Thanksgiving holiday, Victoria had scheduled her on a Monday morning in her St. Petersburg office. Layla hadn’t experienced any new memories in a week. She lay on Victoria’s couch in her office, letting herself slip into the state of relaxed hypnosis.
She didn’t see anything for what felt like forever, and then the sound of glasses and dishes clinking filled her ears. Chattering could be heard as a vision appeared in her mind’s eye. She was sitting at a long dining room table with two black women and three black men. One of them was Hugo Mitchell. The others she didn’t recognize. The tablecloth was thick and white. Red china and crystal glasses were used for the place settings. A large, well-browned turkey was in the middle of the table. Dressing, macaroni and cheese, green beans, and mashed potatoes were dished up as well. Layla was sitting at the head of the table. The other end of the table was empty – until Carter walked in wearing a blue, silk shirt and black slacks. “All right family, let’s dig in.”
The vision faded and slowly started turning into a Christmas tree decorated with string popcorn. There were presents under it. Carols played in the background as people chattered behind her. A pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist. It was Alec; she knew it was.
“How’s my Christmas bunny?”
She giggled. “Wonderful.”
“Are you missing your family?”
“My family is here,” she said as she turned around to kiss him.
Layla could feel her love for him. Why did she give him up for a criminal with money? Yes, she liked nice things like any other woman, but . . . The scene faded. Now, she was walking down a set of stairs in a house she didn’t know. No, she did know the house. It was the Peterson’s house. It was late at night, but she wasn’t sure of the exact time. The patio door was cracked open.
“How can you say that, Hershel? She’s seems like a nice girl. Very bubbly,” Ms. Martha said.
That’s what she called Alec’s mother, Ms. Martha.
“I’m not saying she isn’t nice. I’m just saying . . . she wasn’t the girl I thought Alec would bring home, is all.”
“We’ve been married for over twenty-five years, and you’ve never expressed a problem with black people before.”
“I don’t have a problem with black people.”
“You had to know that he might date a black girl considering the fact that he’s going to a historical black college.”
“I like everyone no matter what color they are. I just said that I’m concerned that she is black. As you know, life isn’t easy for mixed couples. Do I have to remind you what happened to my friend Archie when he started dating a white woman?”
“No, dear, of course not, and that was a different time.”
“Yeah, but not enough time has gone by. People are just more discrete with their disapproval now. What if he does marry her? They might have problems getting a loan for a house. Alec might get passed for a promotion because his wife is black. Yes, it’s unfair, but that’s how life can be for them. I don’t want the boy to have to struggle unnecessarily. It’s hard enough as it is for the working class to survive.”
“He’s crazy about her. And she seems to be from a family that raised her right. She’s very respectful.”
“Yes, and she is pretty.”
“Really?” Ms. Martha inquired sarcastically.
“Not as pretty as you, though.”
“Ha. Nice save.”
The memory faded.
Is that why she really broke up with him? Was it because it was too difficult to be in an interracial relationship?
Voices started talking in her head.
“You go to a school filled with black men who want to make something of themselves, and you bri
ng home one of the two percent whites that go there. Unbelievable,” the man roared.
“Jasper,” the woman hissed. “He seems to be a good boy. And those nappy heads Tina brings home don’t bring me flowers.”
“Flowers? Hell, woman, this ain’t about flowers. This is about our daughter. I ain’t saying he isn’t well spoken or that he’s trash, but . . . this isn’t going to work, Lana. He’s going to stand out like a cue ball at every family function.”
She could feel her eyes rolling.
“You can roll your beady eyes all you want. Be friends with him. Hell, have lunch with him once in a while, but . . . this is crazy. Life will be hell for you two. He’s going to realize that you are the reason that he’s having a hard time, and then he’ll resent you. Turn on you. And then, I’ll end up in prison, because if he does something to you, I’m going to have to kill him!”
Layla winced at the last sentence.
The voices stopped. Then a scene slowly came into view. She was wearing a purple silk dress. It felt like heaven on her skin. A thick . . . white fur was hanging on her shoulders.
The dark-skinned man who had called himself her father in a vision from before tossed a stack of cash at her with disgust. The money was wrapped with a paper strap.
“We don’t need that bastard’s dirty money. And what made you think we were going to take it!” he hollered at her.
“You lost your job. You’re past middle age but too young to retire. You need help paying the bills,” she said.
“Who said we needed your help? Or his?” he shouted.
Layla looked down at the floor.
“I . . . I did, Daddy,” a young girl who looked like a teenager stuttered.
“You talk too damn much, Tina!” he shouted at her.
“Jasper, please. The girl was just trying to help.”
“You know how she can help me? Stop messing around with that fancy-dressed thug.”
She exhaled with exhaustion. “You ain’t never happy. First, you mad because I was dating a white boy. Now, I’m with a black guy, you don’t like him because how you think he makes his money.”
“Shut up!” he shouted angrily.
“No!” she yelled back.
Before she knew it, a large, thick hand slapped her face hard. She yelped with surprise.
“Don’t you tell me no!”
Rage filled her, and before she could stop herself, she scratched his neck like a vicious cat.
“Oh!” the light-skinned woman screamed.
He snatched her by the arm as he balled up his fist.
The light-skinned woman and the girl called Tina grabbed him, begging him to stay his hand.
“Do it!” Layla screamed. “Do it! Carter will kill you if I don’t first!”
The entire room fell quiet as everyone froze.
The madness in his eyes slowly faded into a quiet, shocked outrage. He released her, shoving her backwards as he did. “Don’t you bring your ass back to this house ever again,” he said through gritted teeth.
“You don’t have to tell me that. I already made the decision for myself,” she shrieked as she turned around and opened the door. She didn’t even close it as she stalked out into the darkness.
The last memory left her blood cold, yet she was hot with anger. Prideful and arrogant men got on her nerves. They were so hard to deal with. That’s when she became aware that she did hate prideful men. She didn’t know that about herself before. Her breathing was short and raspy, like she was having an asthma attack.
“Layla, it’s Victoria. Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have a memory?’
“Yes, I had several,” she mumbled.
“I’m bringing you out now,” Victoria said. She began the familiar steps to bring Layla out of hypnosis.
Layla opened her eyes and covered her mouth at the same time.
“What happened, Layla? What did you see?”
She began to tell Victoria what she saw.
Chapter 21
That morning’s therapy session left her drained, so with Damien at work, she asked Izabella to take Keisha to the park at the end of the cul-de-sac so she could nap. Layla woke fresh and full of determination. She decided to make a call that could trigger more memories for her. It was risky, but it was a call she had to make.
“Hello,” the familiar, deep, sexy voice answered.
“Carter, this is Layla Miles.” She fingered the necklace that Alec had given her long ago.
“Hey,” he said with brightness. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I was hoping we could chat for a minute. Are you busy?”
“Hold on for a second.” It was quiet on the line for a minute. “Okay, I got un-busy just for you. What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing. I didn’t mean to interrupt your business. I just . . . needed to hear your voice.”
Was that the right thing to say?
“Oh,” he said with intrigue. “Is this your way of saying you miss me?”
She let out a nervous, breathy laugh. “I don’t know. I just . . . I was alone, and I thought I’d call you. Staying in touch, if you will.”
“All right. Why are you alone?”
“Well, my husband is at work; my daughter is at the park with the nanny. The maid won’t be here for another two hours.”
“You sound like you’re bored.”
“I don’t know. I guess a woman can do but so much shopping, cleaning, and laundry. I spent time with a friend of mind earlier this week.”
“What did you two do?”
“She . . . took me to a gun range.”
“Really?” he said with a slight pitch. “Did you shoot?”
“Yeah, a little.”
“How did you do?”
“Okay. At least I hit the paper.” Layla wanted to play down her sudden expertise with firearms. Her instincts told her that Carter didn’t need to know about it.
“Not bad for your first time. You sound . . . sad . . . lonely.”
“Maybe a little.”
“Is that husband of yours treating you right?”
“Yes. I don’t want for anything.”
“That’s good to know.”
“I just. . . needed to hear your voice. I . . . I enjoyed talking to you during our lunch.”
“I enjoyed talking to you, too, Layla.”
Layla. The name on his lips now sounded foreign to her.
“Sweetheart, do you want me to come down and visit for a few days?” he asked with a sympathetic, honeyed tone.
“What?”
“You need me. I can make time for you. All you have to do is say the word.”
She knew he meant it. She didn’t how she knew, but she knew. “No, I wouldn’t be able to explain . . . if I was gone hours at a time.”
“Then, I can come get you. You can tell your husband that you’re going for a girls’ weekend. I’ll take you somewhere fun.”
She couldn’t do that even if she wanted to. Granted, a lot more ladies invited her over for coffee and out to lunch now, but Damien knew she wasn’t close enough with any of them to go on a girls’ trip. “He won’t buy that. I don’t have many close female friends. Besides, I can’t leave my daughter for the weekend.”
“Bring her with you. I love kids,” he said cheerfully.
She believed that because of his sponsorship of the community center in the Bronx. “Why must you temp me?”
He laughed. “Isn’t that what you really called for? To talk to someone that made you feel wanted and desired for the sexy woman that you are?”
Damn. Now she could see how she fell for him. He could make any girl fall for him. However, something wasn’t right. Why wouldn’t he come out and say that they were together once? Why wouldn’t he say that he knew her?
“Layla?”
“I’m here.”
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he teased.
“I . . . I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah . . . Yes,” she admitted as she rubbed her knee.
“Mmmm,” he groaned. “Can you feel my hands on you, too?”
“Carter,” she whispered.
“You can. Have you thought about me between those lovely, soft thighs of yours?” he oozed through the phone.
She leaned back on the bed as she closed her eyes. “Yes,” she said softly.
“I’ve thought about you, too. My hands are on your breasts right now, squeezing them, making your nipples hard.”
“Uh huh,” she moaned. “Hmm.”
“Touch them, sweetheart. Touch them for me,”
She squeezed her left breasts as her areolas budded with want. “Ah.”
“That’s it. Are you wet down there?”
“Yes.”
He chuckled. “I don’t believe you. Put your hand down there.”
“How will you know if I did it?” she teased.
“I’ll know,” he said with a smile in his voice. “Be a good girl and do what you’re told.”
She slid her hand down her tummy and unbuttoned her shorts. Her fingers slid under the band of her underwear. “I feel it.”
“Thick and wet, isn’t it?”
“Uh huh,” she whined.
“I’m pulling off your clothes and opening your legs, sweetheart.”
Before she knew it, her panties and shorts had slid down her legs and onto the floor. She was breathing heavy. Her legs were high and wide.
“I’m grabbing your ankles. Smelling your sex, and . . . and . . .”
She was rubbing her clit with her middle finger. “And?’ she asked in a desperate tone.
“I go balls-deep.”
Layla shoved two fingers inside as she moaned.
“Hmm,” he groaned.
Is he touching himself, too? He has to be. He is breathing hard, too.
Carter continued to describe what he was doing to her. She could see him in her mind’s eye pumping into her. Giving her what she needed.
Layla felt a small shudder as her body warmed. “Yes,” she cried. “Oh, Carter, take me home.”