It wasn’t okay, not under any circumstances. But this was the man she loved with all of her heart, and a child that might very well be his son. Many people felt she chose her career over Brent when she took the job in D.C. at the beginning of their relationship. She wasn’t making that mistake twice. “Okay,” she said, and Brent, knowing what he was asking of her, pulled her into his arms. He knew she would never let him down. He knew it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Jenay Sinatra sat in the middle of her housekeeping staff and listened attentively to every excuse they had to give. They were inside the Jericho Inn Bed and Breakfast conference room and the excuses were flying like birds from a nest. One of the maids had been sick. Another one was new. Another maid thought the other maid had cleaned the rooms and therefore didn’t clean them herself. And on and on they went.
Charles entered the conference room quietly, unbeknownst to Jenay, and remained in the back as the meeting continued. He leaned against the wall, folded his arms, and watched his wife as she listened to her employees. Before he allowed her to take over the running of the Bed and Breakfast, it was one of his worse acquisitions. Not only had it been failing financially, but it looked like a dump too. Now, under Jenay’s leadership, it was the premier hotel in town. But as he looked at her, and after hearing from Donald about the long hours she’d been putting in whenever he was out of town and not around to stop her, he was beginning to wonder if he had put too much on her.
He looked at the staff. Why she was involving herself with mundane housekeeping matters made no sense to him when Donald or some other employee could have easily handled it. But there she was. Right dab in the middle. Listening as her staff continued excusing their own laziness. Patiently encouraging their feedback and criticisms. Until it became a broken record. Until even Jenay had had enough.
“I don’t care why it happened,” she said to the entire housekeeping staff and their supervisor. “All I know is that it happened. A third of my guestrooms were poorly cleaned. Not one or two, which would have been bad enough, but a third of all of these rooms. That is not acceptable. Not today, not ever. Not here.”
Charles could see disapproval all over the narrow, pinched face of Wanda Dancy, the Housekeeping Supervisor. And sure enough, she spoke up. “That’s what I don’t understand,” she said. “You’re claiming the rooms are so horrible, but I didn’t see anything like that. I double-checked every room just like you told me to do, and they all were clean. Every single one of them. They were perfect. So I’m wondering is it just me? That’s why I checked the website. There were no negative comments from guests at all. They said the rooms were fine.”
“What’s your point?” Jenay asked her.
“My point is that I don’t get it. I don’t understand where all of these unclean rooms could be, since I didn’t see any of them.”
“What are you saying?” Jenay asked her subordinate. “Are you suggesting I’m making this stuff up?”
The supervisor smiled. “No, ma’am. I just didn’t see what you saw.”
“That’s because you didn’t look where I looked,” Jenay pointed out. “You don’t walk into a room, glance around, and declare it’s clean. You put on gloves and finger check every surface beneath the surface. You pull the shower curtains back, you lift the rugs, you finger check every fixture. Then you tell me if it’s clean or not. Our guests have to live in those rooms, they don’t just do a cursory glance. I don’t want one of my patrons lying in bed, looking up at the ceiling late at night, and he sees a cobweb in the corner, which is what I discovered in one of the rooms. I even pulled back a couple bedspreads and found spots on the sheets!”
“But those sheets were washed, ma’am,” one of the maids pointed out. “The spots you’re talking about won’t come out.”
“Then throw the damn sheets away!” Jenay blasted back, and Charles frowned and nodded his agreement. What was wrong with these people? And Jenay continued. “If they’re spotted in any way, you do not put them on any bed. You toss them and get more. I’m telling you now I will not tolerate short cuts and excuses when it comes to something that vital. People sleep on those sheets. And many people sleep in the nude.”
Charles smiled when she made that comment, because that was the only way he allowed her to sleep.
“But if we have to throw away any sheets,” another maid spoke up, “we were told you’ll take it out of our check.”
Jenay couldn’t believe it. “I’ll what?”
“Miss Wanda said you’ll take it out of our check,” yet another maid spoke up.
Jenay looked at Wanda. “Did you tell them that, Miss Dancy?”
“I told them not to waste supplies like toilet tissue and soap. If a guest is only staying for one night, don’t overstuff the cabinets. That’s what I told them.”
Charles looked at Jenay. She had better not accept that dishonest response. And she didn’t. “Did you tell them that if they threw away a soiled sheet I would dock it from their pay?” Jenay asked the supervisor. “Did you tell them that?”
Wanda didn’t want to respond, it was obvious, but all of the maids were looking at her. She had told it to each and every one of them. So she nodded her head. She had no choice. “Yes,” she admitted.
“You’re fired,” Jenay responded without hesitation. Charles inwardly voiced his approval. “Get out and get out now,” Jenay added.
But Miss Wanda was stunned. “I’m fired? Over sheets?”
“That’s right.”
Wanda couldn’t believe it. Neither could her all-white staff, Charles noticed.
Wanda looked at Jenay. “You think you’re better than me,” she said. “You think you’re better because you married Big Daddy Sinatra. You think that makes you superior to the rest of us. But you’ll never be better than I am. You’ll never be better than the lowest maid. Because you’ll still be black.”
“That’s right,” Jenay said with a nod of her head. “I’m still black and very proud of that fact. And you’re still bitter and very jealous of that fact.” Jenay lifted the Walkie Talkie she used for staff contact. She was always amazed at how people showed their true colors when they felt they had nothing left to lose. “Mason,” she said into the speaker, “come to conference room C. Miss Dancy will need to be escorted from the premises.”
Mason, her chief of Security, responded forcefully. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’m on my way.”
“Is that supposed to scare me?” Wanda asked, rising to her feet. “Am I supposed to be afraid now?”
But when she began to move closer to Jenay, as if she was teeming for a confrontation, Charles unfolded his arms and was about to move toward them.
But then Jenay stood up too. “Whether you’re scared or not, I don’t give a damn. But you’re leaving here.”
“You don’t have the authority to tell me what I will and will not do,” Wanda said. “I’m not afraid of you. Mason either.”
Jenay wasn’t afraid either, even though Wanda towered over her. “You can leave on your own,” she said, “or I will have Mason throw you out.”
Wanda was offended. “You’ll have him throw me out?” she asked angrily. “Wanna bet?”
“She does,” Charles suddenly said and all eyes flew to the back of the room. Nobody realized he was there. Charles began walking toward his wife.
“Mr. Sinatra,” Wanda said with all respect and reverence in her voice. She had no clue Big Daddy had been standing there, and was looking none too pleased too. She, like every human being in Jericho, knew what he was capable of. “I didn’t realize you had come in.”
“I know you didn’t,” Charles said harshly. He walked beside his wife. “Are you okay?”
He knew she didn’t like the fact that he was interfering, but he also knew she wouldn’t discuss her displeasure in front of her staff. “I’m fine,” she said. “I just fired Miss Dancy, but she seems to think my decision is up for debate.”
“I didn’t say anything about no
debate,” Wanda shot back. “But I do feel I’m being wrongly terminated, sir.”
Mason, from Security, entered the room.
“I can dismiss you summarily,” Jenay said, “and I am doing just that.” She looked at Mason. “Take her to her desk, make certain she only takes what belongs to her, and escort off of these premises.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mason replied. “Let’s go, Wan.”
Wanda gave Jenay another one of her crude looks, glanced over at Big Daddy, and then left the room.
“This meeting is adjourned,” Jenay said to her remaining staff. “Everybody get back to work.” The staff began to rise. “You’ll report to me until I find a replacement,” she added, they nodded or voiced their understanding, and then they all left.
Jenay looked at her husband. “Don’t you have a business to run?”
Charles smiled. “I thought this was my business.”
“Nope. Sorry, bud. It’s mine now.”
Charles laughed. “You heard from Brent today?”
“Not since this morning, no,” Jenay said. “Why?”
“I wanted to talk to him.”
“About the boy?”
“About Robert. That boy is such a disappointment. You know I haven’t heard from him at all since he left the police station with Porter.”
“Why he would want to have anything to do with a snake in the grass like Porter Keith is a mystery to me,” Jenay said.
“It’s that daughter of his. She’s got that boy’s dick so whipped he can’t hardly see straight. But he will one day.”
“Unfortunately,” Jenay agreed.
“And Brent had suggested I put Robert in charge of that nightclub. Yeah, right. But I do hope Brent will come around.”
“Brent has enough on his plate. Marcus and Makayla the main two.”
Charles exhaled. “Yeah. But it can’t be true. Not that murder part. That boy wouldn’t do something like that.” Then he looked at Jenay, as if he wanted her to confirm it too.
“Let’s pray not,” he said. And then she changed the subject. “Why did you decide to interfere with my staff, Charles? I can handle the likes of Wanda Dancy.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t. But I wasn’t going to stand idly by and let her handle you. Why are you concerning yourself with all of this housekeeping stuff anyway? Make Donald help you.”
“He does help. That boy has come a mighty long way. But I have to stay on top of my maids. Nobody’s coming to our hotel without being one hundred percent comfortable. It’s my job, not Donnie’s, to make sure that happens.”
Charles walked closer to her, and placed his arms around her waist. “This place is so fortunate to have you.” He kissed her. “As am I. But I do want you to slow it down.”
Jenay smiled. She loved his kisses. “Who says I’m speeding it up?”
Charles kissed her again. “I say you are.” When his eyes looked into hers, a swell of emotion coursed through him and he pulled her against him and fully into his arms. “I say so,” he said, and when he began kissing her this time, capturing her mouth with his, she wrapped her arms around him too and felt his penis began to stiffen.
And then Donald Sinatra, Charles’ youngest son, walked in. “For the love of living!” Charles said angrily as he and Jenay moved apart.
“Interrupting something?” Donald said with a smile.
“What is it, Donnie?” Jenay asked.
“We’ve got a situation.”
“What situation?” Charles asked.
“Brent is on his way, with Denise and her son.”
Jenay was surprised. “Denise? Denise Donahue?”
“That’s right. Only her full name now is Denise Donahue-Stravinsky.”
“Who’s Denise?” Charles asked.
“My friend from Hospitality school all those years ago. The one who came to town and fell for Brent.”
“Oh, that Denise!” Charles remembered her. Unflatteringly. “What does she want?”
“That’s what I want to know,” Jenay said. She and Denise became friends before she met Charles and his sons, but that friendship ended when she left Jericho with another man. And she had many questions. “Why would Denise be coming back here?” she asked Donald. “And why would Brent be bringing here after how she treated him?”
And then it dawned on her. And on Charles too. “Marcus?” he asked. “She’s his mother?”
“It could be,” Jenay said, thinking. “It’s been about that long ago.”
“I’ll be damn.”
“And what about Makayla?” Charles asked.
“What about her?” Jenay asked.
“Brent better not ruin that excellent relationship for some piece on the side like Denise.”
“I have no answers for any of your questions,” Donald said. “Brent just wanted me to give you the head’s up. I have done that. Now shall we go and wait on their arrival in the lobby, or stay back here and complain?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, boy,” Charles said, but he and Jenay began heading out of the conference room. Donald smiled. By whatever means necessary, he thought.
Brent’s truck drove under the portico at the Jericho Inn and stopped at the front entrance. Behind his truck was a cab filled with Denise’s assistants. They hurried out of the smelly cab before Denise, who sat on the front seat with Marcus in the middle, could open the door. And when she opened the door, Brent grabbed her by the arm. She looked at him.
He looked at Marcus. “Wait outside for your Mom,” he said to him.
He unbuckled his seatbelt, crawled over his mother, and waited on the sidewalk with the staffers. Denise looked at Brent. “I know I thanked you before,” she said, “but I want to thank you again for looking out for my son.”
“Is he my son, Denise?” Brent asked her flatly. No games, no cute way of saying it. He asked it to her straight, and he wanted a straight answer.
But Denise, being Denise, smiled. “What in the world would give you that idea?” she asked, and then she got out of his truck.
Okay. Enough of this shit. She wanted it rough. He was going to give it to her rough. He unbuckled his seatbelt, got out of his truck, walked around to the passenger side where Denise was standing with her staffers, and took her hand. “Excuse us,” he said, and hurried with her into the Inn.
The staffers, sensing excitement, took Marcus by the hand and hurried inside too.
But Brent had already made it across the lobby with Denise. His parents, Charles and Jenay, and his baby brother Donald, were all sitting in the lobby when they came in. They stood up. “We’ll be back,” Brent said as he hurried Denise around the check-in counter and into Jenay’s office. He slammed the door behind them.
Once inside, he slammed Denise against the door. “Stop playing games with me,” he said to her. “I know this is a tough time for you, and I know the last thing on your mind is me and my concerns, but stop acting as if this is some gotdamn game! Any fool can see that that boy is mine, Denise. He looks just like me.”
Brent said that with such feeling that even Denise was affected by it.
“Is he my son?” he asked, refusing to move on. “Tell me the truth.”
And all of Denise’s swagger, and her smiles and cute phrases, were gone. A serious look appeared on her face. She looked into Brent’s eyes. “Yes,” she admitted. “Marcus is your son.”
Brent felt as if he could barely stand when she confirmed what was obvious to him all along. Marcus was his. And then he looked back at her. “How could you? Why did you keep it from me for so long?”
“Because I was in love with Mark! I wanted Mark. When I found out I was pregnant, he said he wanted me back. What was I supposed to do, Brent? So I pretended he was the father.”
“He died thinking Marcus was his child?”
She shook her head. “He knew all along. And he dangled it in front of me throughout our entire marriage. He used it against me to keep me. He was a sick bastard.”
“You
weren’t too well yourself if you stayed with a man that sick.”
Denise knew it was true. “That may be so,” she said. “But I stayed.” She turned around and lifted her shirt. “And I have the scars to prove it,” she added.
Brent’s heart squeezed when he saw the extent of her injuries. Bruises, old and new, littered her back. “He did this to you?” he asked.
“And worse,” she said.
Then he had a horrible thought. “And Marcus?” he asked her.
“He never laid a hand on him,” she said. “I made certain of that.”
Brent appreciated that she protected their son. “But Denise,” he said, “why would you stay?”
“I told you why,” she said, pulling down her shirt and turning around. “I loved him.”
But Brent wasn’t buying it. If she would have said she stayed because he offered her position and power, he would have believed it.
Then another thought, a much more sinister thought, occurred to him. “What happened to your husband?” he asked.
There was hesitation. “What do you mean?”
“Who killed him?”
She looked at Brent. “You know who did it.”
Brent was stunned. He frowned. “How could you,” he said.
“What are you talking about?”
“You know that boy didn’t kill that man. How could you fix your mouth to even insinuate---”
“Wait a minute now,” Denise said. “Hold on right here and right now! I didn’t insinuate anything. Marcus said he killed him. Marcus doesn’t lie.”
“Did Marcus drive them to Jericho? And didn’t leave a car behind for us to trace? Did Marcus do that too?”
Denise felt tripped up, but she gave a different explanation. “I hadn’t thought about all of that.” She looked at him. “I guess he didn’t do it after all,” she said.
Brent stared at her. What in the world was going on? Was she trying to blame her own child for the husband’s death? Did she kill him? “Did you kill your husband, Denise?” he asked her pointblank.
Brent Sinatra: All of Me Page 17
