by Carl Weber
“Well, let me try to wake this girl up so we can get into my car,” I said, taking off my seat belt.
“It’s late, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to see you and your sister home.”
I gave him the side-eye. “You trying to find out where I live on the sneak tip?” I asked.
He sucked his teeth. “Woman, no. I’m a gentleman. What would I look like sending you two off in the middle of the night?”
I looked at the clock on his dashboard. I couldn’t believe it was almost midnight. “Wow, it is late.” I looked back at Brielle. She was a feisty one when she was clean and sober, but right now, she would be no good helping me out in a carjacking.
“You’ve already done so much,” I said, looking over at Isaac.
He cupped my chin in his hand and spoke sincerely. “And I want to do so much more.”
Whew! It was about to get hot up in there. I turned back around in my seat. “Well, okay. If you insist.”
“And I do.” Isaac smiled before getting out of the car and helping me wake Brielle and escort her from his truck to the back seat of my car.
She simply sprawled out back there while I drove to the house, Isaac following close behind. I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that I loved the fact that Isaac was such a gentleman. It felt good to be cared for, instead of always being the caretaker.
Before I knew it, we were pulling up in front of the house. I got out of the car, and Isaac got out of his and started walking toward me.
“You need help getting her out?” he asked.
“She’s waking up. Give her a minute. I think she’ll be all right.”
Brielle stretched and then opened the back door to get out of the car. She stood there for a moment, catching her bearings, then wiped her eyes and looked up at Isaac.
“Thanks for the ride,” Brielle mumbled before stumbling toward the door.
I watched her, hoping and praying she didn’t land flat on her face. Once I saw that she’d made it to the door and was fumbling with her key to unlock the door, I turned my attention back to Isaac.
“Yes, thank you so much, Isaac. I really appreciate it.”
“You are most welcome. It was no problem at all,” he said. “So when can I take you out for dinner?” He stared into my eyes, his just a-glistening like he was looking at the most beautiful sight ever.
I suddenly became very self-conscious about the way I looked. I hadn’t even changed out of my gym clothes after our workout. I nervously ran my fingers through the sides of my hair.
“You look beautiful,” he said as if he’d read my thoughts.
“No, I don’t,” I said as I looked into my hands. “I look a hot mess right now. I really need to get inside and take a shower.”
“Jamela, you are a naturally beautiful woman. You really should give yourself a little more credit.”
“Thank you,” was all I could muster without turning into a blushing puddle. I wasn’t very used to getting complimented like this, so it felt very strange for me.
“Now back to my question,” he said. “Dinner?”
“My goodness, you are persistent!” I exclaimed. “This Friday night after my shift.”
“Okay, great,” he said happily. “Friday night it is. I will meet you at the restaurant. You let me know which location,” he said with a big smile on his face.
“I’ll do that,” I assured him, then turned toward the house. My stomach began doing somersaults. I was both excited and scared all at the same time. I hadn’t gone out with a guy in a long time, so I was nervous about it. Earlier it was just a spur of the moment thing, but now it was a real date-date, where he would expect me to be dressed to the nines. I became filled with anxiety, wondering if I even had anything decent in my closet to wear—or anything in the closet that fit me right, for that matter. Right then and there, I decided to go out and buy myself something nice. To hell with Glendora if she didn’t like it.
I entered the house and closed the door behind me. I was so deep in thought that I hadn’t even realized someone else was in the room with me.
“Where the hell have you been?”
My euphoric feeling quickly dissipated when I heard her voice. Next I heard her feet padding on the carpet as she stomped over to me. My stepmother was in my face before I could even reply.
I took a step back, not comfortable with her being in my face. The last time we were that close, we ended up fighting so badly that we gave my father a stroke—literally.
“The last time I checked,” I said to Glendora, “I didn’t have a curfew. But if you must know, I was picking up your junkie of a daughter from jail.” Damn, I hated that I had thrown Brielle under the bus like that, but Glendora just made me so damn mad.
“Don’t you dare call my daughter a junkie. She’s been clean for a while now. And you know what? If she is on anything, whatever it is, maybe you should try it too. It might just help you lose a little damn weight.”
Usually I didn’t care what my stepmother said to me, but this whole weight thing was starting to sting a little bit. I didn’t need her making comments about my weight. I felt bad enough about it as it was. I’d finally given her something to hold over my head when it came to comparing me and Brielle, who had lost all her baby weight years ago. She’d managed to keep a nice slim figure. I don’t know if it was from the drugs she was doing or her body had just thinned out naturally; either way, if I put her in my pant leg, she’d still have room left.
“But this isn’t about Brielle,” Glendora said. “Your father is sick and you’ve been out gallivanting all night.”
“What? Sick?” I wasn’t expecting her to say that. I didn’t wait to hear anything else. I ran past her and into his room so his nurse could fill me in on what was going on. I didn’t trust what Glendora had to say.
“Nancy. What’s going on?” I asked the nurse, who was sitting in the corner. Nancy had been his nurse for almost two years now. She was a real sweetheart and always took great care of him.
She put down the book she’d been reading and walked over to my father’s bed. “He complained that he was having trouble breathing earlier, and his oxygen saturation levels had dropped, so I put the oxygen mask on him. He’s had the mask on for about an hour, and his levels are staying steady now.”
I looked over at my father. His chest was rising up and down hard, as if he was struggling to breathe even with the oxygen tank on. “Have you called the doctor yet?”
“Of course she called the doctor. She’s not a total idiot,” Glendora interrupted as she entered the room.
“Yes, I did call the doctor, Jamela,” Nancy replied. I was glad she hadn’t acknowledged Glendora’s outburst. “The doctor said we need to monitor him closely and if his condition worsens, we are to take him immediately to the hospital.”
“Okay, Nancy. Thank you,” I said, moving toward a chair to settle in for the night.
“You know you don’t have to stay,” Nancy said. “He’s resting comfortably right now, and you look like you could use some rest.”
“It’s that obvious, huh?” I asked. After dealing with Brielle’s nonsense and then coming home to drama with Glendora, I truly was feeling exhausted. On top of that, I was starting to feel the aftermath of my workout creeping into my muscles and bones. I knew I would be aching by morning.
Nancy nodded. “Yes, it’s obvious. Go to sleep. I promise I’ll come get you if anything changes.”
I got up. “Thanks again for everything, Nancy. You’ve been a godsend,” I told her as I brushed past Glendora, fighting the urge to add, “unlike my wicked stepmother here.”
I headed to my room, eager to take a long, hot shower after which I would fall into a deep sleep, hopefully filled with dreams of Isaac.
CHAPTER SEVEN
GLENDORA
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Long,” the black lady with the huge Diana Ross hair said, accompanied by a smug look of self-importance. “But the bank cannot extend your credit line anymore.
Your home already has two mortgages, the second of which is behind on payments.” She cleared her throat. “We’ve allowed you to use your husband’s restaurants on your individual loans.”
I cut her off right then and there before she could go any further. “They are my restaurants too. I’m his wife. By law we are one person.”
She gave me this “are you finished yet?” look and then proceeded as if she was not moved one bit by what I’d just said. “Either way, your loan has been denied.” She shuffled her pile of papers, avoiding eye contact.
I gasped in shock. No loan meant no money. How the hell was I supposed to pay bills with no money? I guessed I should have thought about that while I was spending Victor’s money all these years. I should have known that eventually the well would run dry. I couldn’t even tell you how many of hundreds of thousands of dollars were in Victor’s three bank accounts combined.
After he had his stroke, I went through his home office and retrieved the information for his bank accounts, including the checkbooks. After all, I was the one who would have to write the checks to pay the bills, especially the credit cards that I always managed to keep at max.
I really had no idea how much I was spending until that day my credit card was declined when I was trying to purchase shoes. Humiliating. I raced home and immediately started going over all the account information. The money wasn’t gone, but damn near. I was in trouble, and I had no idea what to do. But I guess that’s what happens when the only thing being made with the accounts are withdrawals and not deposits. Now that’s something I hadn’t thought about before.
“That fucking Jamela,” were the first words that came out of my mouth. She was running the restaurant, so she should have been making some type of deposits. I immediately went to her room to get to the bottom of things, but I knew I wouldn’t get anywhere with her, so I went to see Victor’s attorney.
That was a waste. All he told me was that the majority of the money Victor would deposit was his salary, which had been quite large, but it was mostly from sources other than the restaurants. He’d made money from appearing on shows and traveling as a consultant to hopeful new restaurant owners. There were so many other things Victor had been doing to bring in income that I had no idea about. Hell, I’d never cared where it came from; all I cared about was how much of it I could spend.
“Well, the restaurant itself must be making money,” I told his attorney. “Victor owns the restaurant.”
“True, but he does not have one hundred percent ownership. And he’s being penalized for the time you took over the restaurant and ran it into—” He stopped himself once he saw me give him the side-eye. He knew better than to bring up the brief time after Victor became disabled that I tried to run the business. Hell, was it my fault if I didn’t have a good head for numbers? Plus, how was I supposed to make it to the bank to make deposits when I was spending so many hours running the damn place? That place could suck the life out of anyone.
I stood to my feet. I wasn’t going to sit there and listen to this bastard tell me the reason I was broke was my own fault. “Look, I’m his wife and we have children who still need to be taken care of. There has to be some type of proceeds coming in.”
“They are,” he said.
Now that’s what I was trying to hear. I perked up.
“But they all go toward the salaries of his nurses.”
I wanted to spit fire. Again, that fucking Jamela. It was her idea to hire them.
“Mrs. Long, have you ever thought about getting back into the work force?” the attorney asked. “If I recall correctly, weren’t you yourself a nurse? Why not take care of him yourself and you get paid to do it, versus some strangers?”
This prick actually had a point. I mean, it wouldn’t really be work, and I’d make sure I saved all the shitty diapers for Jamela. My stomach was too weak for that. After all, I guessed as his wife I should have tended to him a little more, so maybe this whole financial situation was just wake-up call. “You’re right. I could do that.”
“Good, then just talk to Jamela and have her replace the current nurses’ information with your own, and the money will start coming to you.”
“Jamela!” I shouted. “What does she have to do with any of this?”
He began shifting through papers. “She has this to do with it.” He handed me a paper.
Damn it! I’d forgotten all about this stupid power of attorney affidavit thingy. I let the paper fall between my fingers and float back onto his desk. “Have a good day.” I smiled. “And thanks for nothing.” I walked out of his office door and stepped my ass right back into square one.
I know that Victor was a good man, but this caregiver shit was wearing me out. I’d convinced Jamela to give the nurses a two-week vacation. For those two weeks I was going to go above and beyond in taking care of Victor. I figured I could show her better than I could tell her. Once she saw how well I was tending to her father, she would have no problem replacing those nurses with me. As soon as I convinced her to do that, I’d slack up and let her eventually do everything. Hell, her and my own entitled brats. I never thought the day would come where I would say this, but I was really starting to get tired of my kids.
I had just sent Brendon to stay with his father to keep him out of trouble. He’d gone to jail twice already. Some gang-related shit. I don’t know how he got involved with the Bloods . . . or maybe it was the Crips; I can’t keep up with gang names and turfs. But all I know is he got involved with a gang in Compton and his car got shot up. How he got into trouble in Compton is beyond me considering we lived in Bel Air, but he somehow managed to piss off the wrong people and almost got himself killed. I believe it was drug related, too.
I didn’t understand how both of my children wound up with drug problems. I gave them everything they ever wanted. What void in their lives did they possibly have to fill with drugs and gangs? It didn’t make sense.
After learning that he had survived the shooting, I knew Brendon had to get out of here, and so I sent him to his father in New York. I put him on a Greyhound at one in the morning, and now here he was in trouble again. I needed $5,000 right away so I could pay the attorney handling the case for Brendon in Las Vegas. I still didn’t know how he had managed to get himself in trouble when he was supposed to be on his way to his father’s in New York.
I had been able to get him out on bail, but I had used the last stash of cash I had at the house. Now, his court date was coming up next week, and if I didn’t pay the attorney fees immediately, they wouldn’t be able to get all the paperwork done in time, and Brendon would be shit outta luck.
If having to deal with Brendon wasn’t bad enough, I had to worry about dealing with Brielle. Two years ago, I’d sent her to a rehab facility for thirty days after they found marijuana in her locker at school. Marijuana leads to bigger drugs, and so I needed to nip that in the bud.
For a while I thought the rehab had helped, but lately I’d been noticing a change in my daughter. She had been acting nervous and fidgety. Some of the things she said at times were so strange that the night Jamela claimed to have picked Brielle up from jail, well, I believed her, even if I would never admit it to Jamela. Poor Brielle. She was still convinced she didn’t have a problem.
The only one doing well was Victor’s little black princess. I hated to say it, but she was really doing well in managing college, working full time at the restaurant, and taking care of her dad in her spare time. Speaking of her working at the restaurant, I thought that perhaps it was time she started chipping in on the bills. After all, she was a grown woman now. She’d been living for free for years, so no telling how much money she had been stacking, money that would come in handy right about now. Hell, I might even charge her ass back rent.
I needed this money to pull through our latest crisis with Brendon being in trouble. What I really wanted to do with the money, though, was get some more work done on my face. With all the stress of having a sick husband and unruly kid
s, I could use a touchup. Botox alone wasn’t cutting it anymore.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I deserved to do something nice for myself. Even if Jamela started contributing some of her income to the household, though, I knew her uppity self would want me to account for where it was going. I was not about to have to answer to her, so I had to come up with another plan to get my needs met.
I walked into the bank and went to the manager’s desk, sitting down in the chair across from her without waiting to be greeted.
“Good morning. I need to deposit this check, and I need it to clear immediately,” I said to her as I slid the check across the desk.
“Good morning, Mrs. . . .” She hesitated.
“Long. Mrs. Long,” I reminded her. She knew damn well who I was. I didn’t know why she was trying to act as if she couldn’t remember.
“Yes. Mrs. Long. I will be glad to help you deposit your check. Just to let you know, in the future you can go to any of the bank tellers at the windows and they can help you with your deposit transactions as well.”
“I know what the tellers are there for. I just wasn’t sure if they are allowed to work with large checks such as mine,” I replied.
The Diana Ross wannabe grabbed my check and started working on her screen without saying anything further to me. I noticed her cheap weave was starting to show wear and tear, and her edges were looking a hot mess. I could never let myself go like that. I always made sure I looked good wherever I went.
“Mrs. Long, I can deposit the check today, but because the check is written from a different bank, it will take three days to clear.”
“No. That is unacceptable. It is a check with my name on it. That is my money, and I need it right away.” I was desperate. I had taken a check from Victor’s credit union account and written it out to me. I figured by the time it cleared, bounced, or did whatever it had to do, I would have come up with a way to cover it, even if I had to start selling stuff out of my home. Brendon needed my help—and my face needed some work. I would do whatever it took to meet our needs.
