He’d say, “What’s up, babe?”
I’d ask him twice—no, three times—if he was seeing someone else. He’d deny it, of course, then ask me where I got such a silly idea.
Then I’d say, “I have my sources.”
I’d let him panic for a few days, then I’d drop his text blunder on him before heading back to Bayford. He’d deny it, but I’d have proof and he’d eventually have to confess. Then I’d promptly break up. For the record, the official reason for our demise would be his cheating. His guilt would give me a while to figure out the logistics of this breakup. I needed a place to stay. Needed a moving date.
Kevin could live the rest of his life feeling like an idiot. The end. Well, unless he found Jesus or something, which I wouldn’t bet on considering his distaste for all things religious.
My heart pounding with adrenaline, I flung the door open. Then my heart came to an abrupt halt. There was Kevin. Naked Kevin. Naked woman. They both jumped from the couch, reaching for blankets, pillows. She screamed, “Oh my God! Kevin, who is this?”
I wanted to ask the same question, but I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. She ran back to my bedroom, her plastic breasts barely bobbing. She was short, blond, and thin, from what I could gather of the flickering image blurring past me.
Kevin, too, fell speechless. Eyes fixed on each other, we both knew this was the end.
The end. For some reason, the realization of finality unleashed a fury of tears. All the good times we’d had together flashed before my eyes. The cruise. His brother’s graduation. Logging hundreds of miles around our block. Maybe we weren’t the most romantic, sentimental couple, but we were a couple. Or so I thought. The end.
“I’m sorry, Tori,” he apologized. “I’ve wanted to tell you, but the opportunity never presented itself.”
“Well, you sure couldn’t have planned a better unveiling than this one here.” Sarcasm to the rescue.
He lowered his head. “You’re right. I’m—I’m a dog. I’m a dog, okay? You deserve better.”
Miss Stiff-Breasts appeared again wrapped in my terrycloth bathrobe. “What’s going on here, Kevin? Why does this woman have a key to your apartment?”
“It’s our apartment,” I corrected her. “And that’s my robe you’re wearing.”
She flashed a smug grin. “Oh no. See this T on the pocket?” She pointed at the embroidery. “This stands for Taylor.”
“Well, my name is Tori, which also starts with a T. Kevin gave me that robe last year for Christmas.”
She flipped her hair back and landed her gaze directly on Kevin. He secured the blanket under his elbows and buried his face in his hands. I’d never seen anyone look so stupid.
Pity took a backseat to anger, however, as I continued the interrogation. “So where do you live, Taylor?”
She answered me but continued staring at Kevin. “N’Orleans.”
Even better. “So, who’s in Phoenix, Kevin?”
“Everybody out,” he muttered.
“Are you crazy? I’m not leaving. I live here.”
“I’m not leaving, either,” Taylor huffed. “Not until I get to the bottom of why my son’s father has a woman living with him in Texas.”
My mouth gaped open. “You two have a child?”
She smacked her lips. “Yep. Five months old.” Now it was her turn to cry. “How could you do this to us, Kevin? You know how much I love you!” She snatched up the lamp from the end table and threw it at his head.
Lucky for him, he ducked just in time. He lost the blanket, though. The lamp crashed against the bar, showering glass on the bar stools and floor.
“Hey! Get a hold of yourself!” he yelled. Standing there in the buff, his command seemed almost comical.
“Don’t tell me to get hold of myself! I hate you! I hate both of you!” Taylor grabbed one of Kevin’s dress shoes from the floor and pitched it at me this time.
Her force was sapped by sadness, and I easily dodged the shoe. “Kevin, you betta get your baby’s momma.”
“I’m not his baby’s momma. I’m his fiancée!” She lunged toward me, but Kevin stepped between us. His bare backside blocked my view of Taylor.
“You’re engaged, Kevin?”
“Yes, we’re engaged!” Taylor screeched.
Suddenly, her knee appeared between Kevin’s legs. He went down with a strident moan and a few choice cuss words for Taylor.
She and I were face to face now. I hadn’t fought anyone since second grade (when Amy Crawford dunked my shoe in a toilet) so I was rusty. This Taylor girl was obviously well-practiced in hostility.
Calm words turn away wrath. “Look, I’m not going to fight you.” I pointed toward Kevin’s body, curled up in the fetal position. “He’s not worth it.”
Taylor kicked him square in the behind.
“Yowwww!” And another string of expletives.
She spit on him. “You’re right. He’s trash.”
She stomped off to our bedroom again. Kevin had barely struggled to his feet when the deafening sound of a single gunshot rang in my ears and I watched him tumble over again.
Taylor stood at my bedroom door’s entryway looking like a straight-up Charlie’s angel.
“Are you crazy?” he bellowed, grasping his arm as blood spilled onto our hardwood floor.
“Taylor, think!” I reasoned with her from behind the bar. Don’t even ask me how I got there because I can’t tell you.
“He doesn’t deserve to live.” She cocked the gun again. “I could kill you and claim postpartum depression on top of temporary insanity.”
Wait until I leave, Taylor. “Think about your son, Taylor. He needs a mom. I know. I have . . . a son, too.” Anything to make her give up the gun.
Kevin cried out in sheer terror, “Listen to her, for the love of God. Don’t shoot me again!”
God, please don’t let her pull the trigger.
The faint resonance of police sirens caused Taylor’s arms to shake. She dropped the gun, grabbed her purse from the love seat and left the scene of this crime she’d committed.
I sank to the floor, catching my breath as the sirens drew nearer.
“Tori,” Kevin called to me. “Help me.”
“The police are coming.”
“I know,” he winced. “I’m freakin’ naked.” His warped sense of priority eased any doubt that he’d survive the injury.
“You’re also bleeding, Kevin. Stay where you are.” For real, I wasn’t blowing my cover until officers secured the premises.
“Will you . . . will you go with me to the hospital?”
Every ounce of common sense within me said this was the perfect opportunity to give Kevin a taste of his own medicine. I could leave him high and dry. And hurt.
When I didn’t answer immediately, he begged, “Please. I don’t have anyone else I can call.”
Stay.
Once the police were sure I wasn’t the trigger woman, they wrapped up their investigation quickly. I followed the ambulance closely, wondering why on earth I’d agreed to help Kevin through this ordeal. Maybe he could get his Arizona woman to fly out and tend to his needs. Or maybe he had one in New Mexico. Might have had one down the street, for all I didn’t know about him. This was a hot mess.
Tears poured again, though I wasn’t quite sure why. Hadn’t I been planning to break up with him in a few days anyway? Confusion, utter confusion.
I called Lexa and told her I might not make it in today after all.
“What the heck?!” she practically shouted at me.
In my most professional tone, I requested that she lower her voice before we proceeded any further with our conversation.
“I . . . I can’t believe you’re not coming in today.”
“You act as though we’d been planning this meeting for weeks. We spoke this morning,” I reminded her.
“Ugh. How soon can you get here?”
“I’m caravanning with an ambulance right now, Lexa—I have no idea how l
ong I’ll be at the hospital. My guess is late afternoon.”
“Oh my gosh, an ambulance?”
Finally, she’d shown a sense of humanity.
“Yes, I’m behind the ambulance.”
“Well, if the sick person’s already in an ambulance, they don’t need you. I need you!”
Wrong on so many levels. “Good-bye, Lexa.”
“No. Fine. I’ll wait here all night if I have to.”
“Have it your way.”
X-rays showed the low-caliber bullet missed all major blood vessels and bones. The doctor simply sewed up both sides of Kevin’s arm and sent him away with a prescription for antibiotics, an anti-inflammatory drug, and pain medication.
Kevin whined for his pain medication all the way home. I had to stop at CVS and fill the prescription before we even left downtown. He swallowed the pills with the warm water—my water—stationed in the console.
After the day’s events, him taking my water without permission was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “Did you ever love me, Kevin?”
“Of course.”
“When?”
“I still do.”
“Your drugs haven’t kicked in yet, but you’re talking crazy.”
He reached up and fingered my afro.
I shirked away from him. “Don’t touch me.”
“I seriously do love you, Tori. These other women . . . they just happened. I’m always on the road working. Talking to people, wheeling and dealing. Sometimes I want someone to listen to my heart, not my sales pitch.”
“I don’t listen to you?”
“You listen, but you don’t adore me. You don’t drink every word that drips from my mouth. You don’t make me feel proud of myself.”
“And Taylor does?”
“Yeah, but she’s crazy.”
“Agreed.”
“I’ve been trying to get rid of her.”
I glanced at him through the corner of my eye. A spacey expression set on his features. Perhaps I could get the truth from him under these circumstances.
“How many girlfriends do you currently have, Kevin?”
“Three. You, Taylor, and a friend in Phoenix.”
“How many children do you have?”
“Just one.”
I breathed heavily. “Are you engaged to Taylor?”
“I’m engaged to two women, actually.” He rolled his eyes to a close.
Process of elimination—he was engaged to everyone but me. I had to know. “Why didn’t you ever ask me to marry you?” The more the merrier, right?
“Because I do love you.” His words came slower now. “Honestly, you’re the only one I would seriously consider marrying.”
“You’re not making sense.” I slapped his knee.
Startled, he snapped back, “What?”
“I want to know why you asked everyone to marry you except me?”
“I was going to one night. A long time ago. Before we even moved in together. I asked you to fly with me to New Orleans, but you said you couldn’t leave work. That was the weekend I met Taylor. She dropped everything for me.”
“So you hooked up with her.”
“Yessss,” he admitted. “But I never stopped loving you.” He leaned against the headrest.
“You know what the saddest part is, Kevin? You actually believe your own lies.”
No response.
“Did you hear me?”
Nothing. Once again, I’d been wasting my breath on him.
By the time we walked in the door of our apartment, it was almost three o’clock. Kevin’s drugs had taken full effect. I helped him onto the couch, where he drifted off again with his injured arm slung across his chest.
I texted Lexa to see if she’d really meant good on her threat to meet with me any time I became available.
Preston and I still here.
Gr8. On my way.
Why did she always need someone else there when we met? Since we met last, plans for Inner-G had shaped up nicely. The numbers worked, the projections were promising. Our meeting today shouldn’t be a groundbreaking experience.
As I swept up the glass in the kitchen, a sense of thankfulness in turn swept over me. Only a few hours earlier, I’d been trembling in this same area, hoping Taylor wouldn’t kill Kevin right before my eyes. Praying she wouldn’t get extra crazy and kill me, too. I’d even considered the fact that she might kill herself and leave Kevin and me to our guilt. “Thank You, Jesus, for protecting me.”
For some odd reason, I wanted to call Jacob, but I knew better. No need in exposing him to my craziness, putting my sanity on trial.
I shelved the situation with Kevin the way I’d learned to push people, and pain, aside in order to function. A normal person would be seething, yelling, screaming, boo-hooing. Not me. I was raised by Margie Carolyn James. She taught me how to activate the little “disconnect” switch in my head that immediately released me from all emotional turmoil. Off to work.
Jacquelyn felt it her duty to fill me in on the latest office gossip while I waited for Lexa to get set up in the conference room. Two people in accounting were pregnant by a married man. One of our newly hired employees was fired for visiting questionable Web sites. “Getting crazier by the day, I tell you,” she said, laughing.
“We’d better get to praying,” I commented. Maybe, before all the drama with Kevin, I might have been slightly amused. Suddenly other people’s misfortunes weren’t so funny anymore.
Don’t go there with her. Jacquelyn did an about-face. “You are so right.” She changed tunes almost immediately. “Yesterday, my pastor preached about the power of prayer. He had everyone jumping out of their seats! We shouted for thirty minutes, I tell you!”
I gave her a flat-lipped nod. “And while you’re at it, could you pray for me, too?”
“What’s wrong?”
I wasn’t foolish enough to share my business with Jacquelyn, but I did want her to know that some of us were no longer on the gossip mill. “Just pray God’s will be done in my life.”
“That’s the best prayer ever.”
“Amen.”
Lo and behold, the foundation for Lexa’s panic presented itself in the first minutes of our meeting. Lexa, Preston, and I would meet with Inner-G’s VPs Wednesday morning.
“Okaaaay. This is certainly useful information.” What is this—surprise Tori day?
Preston asked, “I thought you knew?” He faced Lexa.
She fumbled through an explanation. “I . . . thought I sent you an e-mail.”
“Nnnooo. You didn’t. If you had, I would have probably come in a day or two last week.”
Preston’s eyes traversed between Lexa and me. One of us was lying and he knew it. “Each time I’ve texted or e-mailed Tori, she’s replied within a day.”
Yes! Tell her, Preston!
Lexa touched her phone’s screen. “I don’t understand what’s happening with this thing.”
“I do.” He shut her mouth.
Me, too! She’s not using it!
“Lexa, you need to get to the bottom of your communication problems or any other problem you might have with Tori.” Preston stood. “I’ll be in my office until at least six. Let me know if you need my help with anything. Inner-G is finally on the right track, but we’re not out of the woods with their execs yet. We need to look sharp Wednesday.”
Preston excused himself. Lexa followed suit. I sat there wondering what she expected me to do with all this paperwork but no partner.
Ten minutes later, Lexa returned with puffy eyes and a red nose.
I leapt from my seat and closed the conference room door. We couldn’t afford to be seen as the emotionally unstable women behind the wheel of this reckless account. Preston might have our back to some degree, but there were always sharks like Brian lurking in the water. One whiff of blood and he’d strike to take both our spots.
“Lexa, calm down.”
She leaned forward until her forehead thopped on the
table. She thopped again and again.
I reached across her body and pulled her shoulders upright. “Lexa, this will all work out. It is not that serious.”
“How can you say such a thing? This is everything—my life, my whole career!” she croaked.
“Your career is not you.” Look who’s talking.
“Yes, it is.” She escaped my grip and settled her head on the table again. “I’ve given everything—I mean every single part of me—for this account. And now the whole thing’s backfiring.”
I didn’t have the nerve to ask her to run that “every single part” by me again. Suffice it to say, her actions told the complete story.
“Lexa, I’m gonna tell you something that changed my life.” This time, I swiveled her chair to face me. Mascara etched a river of sadness down her face. She struggled to maintain control of her bottom lip.
“Listen. The day of your funeral, what do you think your coworkers are going to do after the ceremony?”
Her droopy eyes questioned. “I don’t know. Cry, I guess.”
“No. They’re going to go to lunch.” I stated the facts just as Ms. Sanchez, the hospital social worker, had done for me. “Then they’ll come back through the office, rummage through your desk for fresh stacks of Post-it Notes. The next week they’ll welcome the new girl.”
She sniffed, wiping her face. “But you guys are like my family. I got passed around when I was a kid—this is the first time I’ve ever really fit in. Are you going to lunch after my funeral, too?”
“I mean, I’ll be sad, but, yeah . . . I will probably go to lunch with them. What I’m saying is, come in, do the best you can at work. But do not give this job every single part of you. We work for companies whose goal is to manipulate the general public into buying their products—good or bad. In the grand scheme of life, what we do is not that serious. Save some of you for Lexa.”
A trancelike expression covered her face. “But I did some . . . really, really bad things to land this deal.”
“Lexa, if it helps, we’ve all done really, really bad things for wrong reasons.”
“Like what? I mean, how many people do you know who’ve slept with a ratty-looking hip-hop rapper’s manager just to get a tentative appointment with his agent?”
Someone to Watch Over Me Page 23
