A Past Refrain

by Brenda Barrett

  She was pretty and petite and she had him mesmerized. When she placed a hand on the door handle and then pulled it open, he breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't even realized that he had held it in, waiting for her to make up her mind.

  "I live at the Golden Gate Apartments," she said to him after she sat in the car. "Happy birthday."

  "Thanks." He nodded. "My birthdays are not usually the heights of happiness. Aren't you wondering why you haven't seen me around the restaurant?"

  She shrugged, turning her expressive brown eyes toward him, and once more he felt a pull of familiarity with her when she looked at him.

  "Not really. Obviously you were on a diet," she said. "You look slimmer."

  Jayce grinned. "Thanks for noticing."

  "Hard not to." She grinned. "So how did you spend your birthday?"

  "My friends threw me a party," Jayce said. "It was surprisingly good."

  She nodded and looked through the window.

  He cleared his throat uncomfortably several times, hoping that she would look in his direction and say something. He did not pick her up for them to drive in silence; he wanted to get to know her better. Obviously, with Abigail he would have to do all the talking.

  "So," he asked, "do you have a boyfriend, husband or partner?"

  She shook her head. "No. None of the above."

  "Is it okay if we see each other sometimes? I mean, I only see you at the restaurant and I would like to get to know you better."

  "No," Abigail said, glancing at him. They drove under a streetlight and he could see her expression. She looked slightly appalled and fearful, as if he had asked her something more involved. His curiosity was piqued, and so was his disappointment.

  "May I ask why?" He reached the entrance to the Golden Gate Apartments. It was a low-income apartment complex with two-story apartments. The wall surrounding the complex had surprisingly good artwork of various beach scenes, though. There was no golden gate in sight and he wondered how it got that name. He drove onto a graveled driveway that snaked around the complex.

  The building looked like it was once painted a beige color. Even in the night, he could see that the walls were peeling and the place looked depressed. A few stray dogs were fighting over a garbage bag in the middle of the pathway leading to the apartments, and he slowed down for them to slink away with bits and pieces of garbage hanging from their mouths.

  He waited for Abigail to speak but she only mumbled, "Right here. This is my block."

  He dutifully stopped and looked at her curiously as she clutched her handbag to her side and sighed. "Look Jayce, it has been a long day. I am tired. I am really hot and bothered right now."

  Jayce released the master lock on the car and watched as she opened the door.

  "That's it?" he asked. "You are just going to blow me off like that without an explanation? It's because I am fat, isn't it?" he asked, all of his insecurities coming to the fore.

  "You are not fat anymore, remember?" Abigail said swiftly. "Besides, you were always handsome, fat or slim. It's not you, it's me."

  Jayce nodded. "I see. You know, I was shot the other day. I could have died. That's why you haven't seen me for months. I thought that since God spared my life, maybe it was time for me to do some things that I have always wanted to do. Like ask you out."

  Abigail turned around and looked at him swiftly, such stark concern in her eyes it gave him hope this wasn't the look of a woman indifferent to him. He felt ashamed, though, that he had to resort to shamelessly mentioning that he had been shot to gain her sympathy.

  "Are you okay now?" she asked breathlessly.

  "Yes." Jayce shrugged. "I am fine."

  Her shoulders slumped slightly. "I can't date you Jayce. I am sorry."

  He watched as she jumped out of the car and walked toward her apartment door. She opened the door in haste and slammed it closed.

  His body jerked with the slam and the anticipation with which he started out the night died like soda fizz.

  "Happy birthday to me," he growled, irritated that he had expected a different outcome.

  Chapter Two

  Abby took the badge from her shirt and placed it on the chipped counter in the bathroom. She looked in the mirror at her face intently. Since the surgery, her scars had healed and were no longer visible but she was still obsessed with her face. She usually wondered if people saw them but her plastic surgeon had done good work—so good, in fact, that she sometimes stared in the mirror at her reflection as one would stare at a stranger.

  She was feeling especially disassociated tonight after she had left Jayce in the car looking hurt and downtrodden. She wished she could date him because the instant she had seen him, she had felt a connection. He was pleasant and jovial and handsome and had the most amazing bedroom eyes—it was as if they drew her in. She had responded to the attraction in his eyes but her life was in a flux.

  Her life right now was bogged down with baggage; it wouldn't be fair to him to include him in her mess. She was damaged goods, and she was not only thinking about her face. Her past, and the baggage that came with it, were not worth dragging Jayce into. If he knew her story he would run from her, not ask her out.

  She had wondered why she hadn't seen him in the last five months and frequently thought about him and was contrarily happy and sad at the same time that he was no longer coming to the Searock café, but she had no idea that it was because he was shot. He could have died.

  The thought made her feel squeamish and slightly nauseous. She wouldn't have seen him again. A part of her wanted to think that Jayce would always be around, even if she couldn't be a part of his life.

  As usual, whenever she thought of Jayce she had conflicting thoughts. She knew he liked her—who could miss the way his eyes lit up when they saw her or the way he was always making funny quips to get her to smile?

  She pulled off her t-shirt and jeans, put them into the hamper in the tiny bathroom and stood under the shower to cool down. The day had been unusually hot and she had been tempted, more than once, to leave the restaurant and apply for a job somewhere else where she wouldn't need to be on her feet all day, but anywhere else would want information about her, like previous jobs and references and all of that. She didn't have any of that to offer, which was why the Searock had been so perfect. The manager, Kevin, had just asked her if she had a food permit. Since she had gotten one in anticipation of getting the job, she answered yes. He had told her the dress code and told her to report to work in the morning. That had been the interview.

  She poured body wash on her bathing sponge and gently rubbed the sponge across her scars. She now had only three that were visible. Like Jayce, she had escaped death. She wondered where he had been shot. She now had an appreciation for life that she didn't have before her traumatic event.

  She sighed. People thought that life was unpredictable. It wasn't. Trials were predictable. It was naive to believe that there would be smooth sailing for anyone. Rich, poor, Christian or not, everybody had problems.

  She stepped out of the shower and into her cramped bedroom. The space was so tiny that she tried to spend as little time in it as possible. It was a furnished studio apartment, with a little kitchen area, a bedroom/living room combo, and a tiny closet. It was furnished with the basics: a small settee, which was once red velvet but now had many bare spots and was uncomfortable to sit in, a temperamental countertop electric stove and a hip-height fridge which made a loud buzzing sound in the night. It had taken her a few weeks to get used to the buzzing.

  "It could be much worse," she said out loud. "Much worse." She lay on the lumpy mattress that had a sink in the middle. She tried to keep to the right side, which was closer to the door and was firmer.

  As usual, she had a hard time powering down. The couple next door, to her right, were quarreling, and she heard a crash and then a scream and then silence. The couple to her left was having sex. She heard their headboard rhythmically hitting her side of the wall. She put her p
illow over her ears, hoping that they would stop the knocking soon.

  A car pulled up outside and the person driving honked the horn. She breathed in and out deeply; she wished she were not on the ground floor with its paper-thin walls. It was noisy and every vehicle that drove up in the night jerked her out of her sleep.

  She turned on her fan. Whenever she did that she could imagine that the low humming sound it made was rain.

  Rain—she loved when it rained. The sound effects that the rain made on the rooftop always made her think of her youth, being cocooned inside and safe. She drifted off to sleep while the breeze from the fan wafted over her, taking her to dreamland...

  *****

  Abigail was walking on the terrace of a luxurious house in Kingston. She could see the city spread out below her from her vantage point in the hills; the sea was a hazy blue in the distance. She sniffed the air, holding her head to the breeze and giggling as her hair, which she had recently cut to her chin, tickled her nose as it flirted with the breeze. She was feeling carefree, happy, and rich. She wished she could see her father's face now. He probably thought she was suffering without him in her life.

  She laughed out loud; she had more things than he could dream of in his miserly existence. She could snap her fingers and people came running, catering to her. She wished Oliver would allow her to feature their house in the Rich and Famous magazine. She would ship it to her father with a note. I triumphed. I survived. Did it without you, you sexist pig!

  She laughed. It would totally blow his mind. Maybe he would froth at the mouth for days. Her mother would probably, in that spineless, gentle way of hers, try to calm him down, while secretly looking at the magazine and envying her lifestyle.

  Her mother was not as pious as she tried to appear. She would envy her daughter's lifestyle, but envy was a sin so her mother would take her mousy self and pray about it. She was happy that she escaped their super strict, rule-laden loony bin, but why did she think about them so much if she was so happy? The thought wasn't worth exploring.

  "Hon," Oliver called to her. He had on khaki chinos and a white cotton shirt that was opened down to his navel, his protruding belly on display. His sparsely grayed hair was whipping in the wind.

  She waved to him. At sixty-six years old, he was forty-two years older than her and looked it. His florid features reflected his party lifestyle.

  He had married her on a whim, mainly because she was young and was in the age group he preferred. She had worked in his company as a receptionist for five months before she was recruited as wife number five. All four of his previous wives had developed some flaw or the other the closer they got to forty.

  She knew that she had at most ten more years with Oliver before she reached her sell-by date. Unlike the others, who were constantly begging him for money, she had started saving in a secret account the day she married him, three years ago. She thought of that fund as her insurance money. Oliver was generous with his things and credit cards but he was somewhat tightfisted when it came to raw cash. He needed to track everything. So she saved everything she could get her hands on.

  "Hon," Oliver gestured for her to come over to him.

  She glided toward him, in her floaty, knee length powder blue dress.

  Oliver smiled at her lasciviously. "You are a gorgeous woman." He wrapped his arm around her loosely. "I am having some friends over. We'll be entertaining out here. Don't show yourself until they are gone."

  She looked at Oliver with curiosity, but she knew better than to ask him why. She had known for close to a year now that Oliver had a shady life that paralleled his legitimate businesses. She didn't want to ask questions because she didn't want to know.

  She nodded and Oliver kissed her on the forehead.

  "Tell Hunter to get out here," he said slapping her on the bottom playfully.

  She went inside the mansion and headed toward the kitchen where Hunter was hastily preparing drinks.

  "Mr. Hillman needs you," she said to Hunter, who was agitatedly walking around the room.

  He looked up at her, his eyes slightly red. "Don't come upstairs," he said to her in the most impolite tone of voice she had ever heard from him. Usually when he spoke to her, he tried to be polite.

  She inclined her head slightly and shrugged. She had long come to realize that Hunter Saunders had a higher ranking than any wife that was in residence.

  He was Oliver's right-hand man in all things business and personal. She had long worked out that he was also Oliver's henchman and chief confidant and looking at him now, with his bulbous nose and big frame and light almost-red skin and squinty pig eyes, he had more than a passing resemblance to Oliver. He could be his son. He was never acknowledged as such so she didn't ask.

  She went to her sitting room. It was a floor below the upstairs balcony and her innate curiosity made her open the balcony doors. She grabbed her phone and put it on ‘record’ too. She didn't have long to wait before Oliver and his friend were in a discussion.

  "I need your side of the government to grant permission for the contract," Oliver was saying to a man who laughed heartily.

  "The contract is yours for two million dollars. I can arrange it."

  "But the last time you arranged it," Oliver said gritting his teeth, "you had the contractor general investigating my company. I don't forget these things, Findlay."

  The man laughed. "It was not my fault."

  "It was," Oliver said ominously. "I heard that Cartwright got it instead of me. He paid you more."

  Findlay sputtered, "I... I... don't know what you are going on about."

  "I have a new inside man," Oliver said ominously. "So the way I see it, I don't need you anymore."

  "Listen here, Oliver. I have the prime minister's ear. I am too invaluable for you to even think of getting rid of me."

  "Kill him," Oliver said.

  Abby gasped and turned off the recorder. She ran inside her sitting room, but not before she heard a thud. Her heart was galloping with fear when she headed to the kitchen area for a drink and saw Hunter Saunders with a sheet wrapped around what looked like a body. Blood was seeping through the sheet. Their eyes met and Hunter growled at her, "What are you doing in here?"

  Abby looked at the body in his arms and the ever-spreading stream of blood and shook her head. "I came for a drink."

  She turned shocked eyes to Oliver, who was walking behind Hunter, a lilt to his step. "Just taking out the garbage, Hon," he said to her winking. "You can't go up to the balcony now. It needs to be cleaned."

  He followed Hunter to the car and the next thing she heard was the car door slamming.

  *****

  Abby jumped up out of her sleep, her heart racing and her hands sweating. Somebody slammed a car door outside and she could hear the car retreating.

  She looked at the clock; it was two o'clock in the morning. She sat up in the bed, shivering. At least she got five hours' rest tonight. Usually she got less. It was hot and yet her hands felt clammy.

  She sat up and stared at the blank wall in front of her. When would she forget? When would her mind stop looping the same scene? She closed her eyes and tried to think about something soothing. It wasn't working so she grabbed her Bible instead; usually an hour or so of reading it would settle her mind.

  Chapter Three

  Jayce entered the Owl Security offices with a scowl on his face after a shower downstairs in the gym. The General had him doing kickboxing this morning, though he had been sluggish. He barely made it through the workout. He hadn't slept much the night before either; he kept remembering Abigail's face when she said, "No, I cannot date you Jayce." Somehow, he hadn't expected that reaction. Women were tripping over themselves to date him now that he had slimmed down. He had half-expected her to do the same; how wrong he was. His confidence had been taken down a notch.

  "Hey Jayce." The General walked up behind him. He had showered after gym, as well, and had changed into one of his power suits. "I just got a reminder on
my phone that it is your birthday."

  "It was yesterday," Jayce said, heading to his office.

  "Oh," The General said. "I don't know why I always get the dates wrong."

  "Because it is the same day that your wife left you," Jayce said mercilessly. He knew The General was not prone to forget anything; he chuckled at The General's grimace. "It is also the same day that bad things happen in our family. Houses burn down, cars get wrecked and freak storms happen."

  The General chuckled. "Well it's gone, thankfully, and it's a new day, so happy belated birthday. Did you send me that report from the bank?"

  "No," Jayce said grumpily. "I have a million and one technical things to work on. I need a personal assistant. I am going to be out of the office for a while today, too. I am working on a prototype with Xavier."

  "Oh yes, the prototype," The General said. "Come join me in my office; let us discuss that."

  Jayce followed his father into his office. It was pristine—clean and neat. The General liked order, a trait left over from his army days. On his walls were several plaques that celebrated his various business milestones. He had gotten the Chamber of Commerce Employer of the year award last year, and there were several pictures of him with the country's movers and shakers. Whenever prospective clients came to the office they were usually duly impressed by them. Jayce took a seat and watched as The General pushed his hands into his pockets.

  "I know the business is growing by leaps and bounds, thanks in part to you. This new technology that you are working on with your friend Xavier, if it materializes into what you are describing, will be really something else."

  Jayce smiled. His father rarely gave him credit for anything but since his near-death experience his dad had been doling out credit and compliments left, right and center.