by H.H. Fowler
****
Doreen entered her home and blew kisses on both sides of her husband’s cheeks. She then hung her Louis Vuitton bag on his shoulder. She looked refreshed in a charcoal two-piece suit, which had been tailored to fit her pear-shaped body. If Paul hadn’t been contending against Doreen’s stubborn streak, he would have complimented her – as he’d always done during the earlier years of their marriage.
“My darling, Paul,” she greeted enthusiastically. “It has only been ten days, but I’ve missed you nevertheless…the rest of my luggage is in the car, do you mind getting it for me?”
“I’m busy now. I’ll get it when I’m done,” he said dismissively. “Why didn’t you use your keys instead of ringing the doorbell?”
Doreen patted Paul on the face. “Come now, darling, aren’t you the least bit happy to see me? Hmm? I could have gone missing…what would you say then?”
“Ten days wasn’t long enough,” Paul mumbled. “I would do fine without you for a month.”
Doreen laughed. “Not a one of you can do without me for any length of time. I’ll prove it.” She twirled away from Paul and inspected her home. “Did you have someone look at that window in the sun room?”
“What window?”
Doreen turned and faced her husband. “Ah, do you see what I’m saying to you, Paul? You don’t have a clue about how to maintain this home. Have the floors been mopped since I left?”
Paul’s grey eyes became like steel. “How many Bloody Marys did you drink while you were in Jamaica making a fool out of yourself?”
“You know I don’t drink alcohol, darling. Pastors’ wives should always be levelheaded…” Doreen’s thoughts suddenly transitioned to the next concern on her mental list. “Where’s Brian, by the way? I have a job for him to do.”
“Wynton called me,” Paul stated. “Didn’t I forbid you to go on that trip with our son?”
Doreen said sharply, “Somebody has got to do the dirty work, Paul. Wynton doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into with that girl.”
“Wynton and Brian are grown men!” Paul flung Doreen’s Louis Vuitton bag to the floor. “Let our sons decide what is best for their lives.”
“Jump over a cliff, Paul! My sons are Lakatos – a royal bloodline – and they will marry within their class. That black heifer Wynton picked up from the streets will never be accepted as one of us.”
“That girl did not come from the streets –”
“Her family is nothing but a bunch of blithering crack heads!” Doreen stomped her foot in anger. “Tara had better skip back to wherever the hell she came from or else she will have me to deal with for the rest of her life. Your heart is weak, so I would advise that you stay out of this.”
Paul glared at his wife for a while before he spoke again. “You will not get your way forever,” he said quietly. “Our sons will be men and they will live their lives the way they choose. I promise you this one thing, Doreen – God is not mocked. Whatever you sow, you will reap.”
Doreen shook her head at her husband in a pathetic kind of way. He would bring God into every conversation they had. It was time for him to shut up, so that she could enjoy a moment of quietude. She swiftly turned her back toward him. Paul knew when Doreen did that, it signaled the end of a discussion. Soon, Doreen heard Paul’s footsteps trotting in the distance. Some time later, she heard a car engine roar.
Doreen smiled. Paul was probably going to the church to languish upon that poor carpet –as he usually did when things didn’t go as he wanted. She, however, didn’t give a hoot about his juvenile behavior. He would come around and realize how stupid he had been to challenge her.
She picked up her Louis Vuitton bag from the floor and placed it on the kitchen counter. Her stomach ached for something hot to drink. Hot chocolate made her vomit. Coffee gave her headaches. Her choice of tea had always been chamomile, but she hadn’t any desire to put the kettle on. Instead, she drank in the silence surrounding her, and allowed her thoughts to become embittered at the way Wynton had treated her in Jamaica. Doreen blamed Wynton’s fiancée for his actions because she had groomed her sons to be pleasant. Soon, my precious baby boy, Doreen mumbled to herself, Tara Lamont will be nothing but a faded memory.
Chapter Five
Brian felt a surge of depression tugging at his heart. Usually, he experienced such bouts during the eve of his birthday. However, since he’d turned thirty last December, he could not use getting older as the reason for his current mood. Then again, he could be feeling the aftermath of turning thirty. Men his age generally had a sense of direction about where their lives were headed – at least the ones he knew. For instance, by his age, his father had been married with a new business on the way, and had been installed as the church’s first Deacon. In addition, his father and Karl Benton had invested some of their profits, and within eighteen months, their returns were astounding.
His brother, Wynton, had built his fame from scratch, and had become the new ‘face’ of dancehall music, both in Florida and in the Caribbean. Last month, he proposed to his hairstylist while they were in midair, flying to Brazil to one of his concerts. Brian was jealous of his brother’s success, because his brother had done it all before he’d turned twenty-eight. Well, Brian thought, I should not feel like a total failure. I’m in line to become the next Bishop of Brandon View Baptist Church. To the secular world, Wynton might appear successful, however, according to 1 John 2:16, Wynton was wasting his time playing on the devil’s team.
Brian’s Christian faith assured him of the promise of eternal life – where he would bask in the best that heaven had to offer. Should that make him feel better? Maybe when he’d lived to the ripe, old age of eighty. Brian wanted to enjoy life now – while his body was still young and vibrant. He did not want to go around ‘spilling’ his seed – like his brother, Wynton, had been doing ever since they were teenagers. Brian recalled how he used to watch in horror as Wynton fondled the young girls while sitting next to them in church. Their father would be preaching against sexual perversion, and Wynton would be plotting ways to ‘pluck the cherries’ of unsuspecting virgins.
Some, Wynton had managed to seduce within a few hours. Brian saw firsthand how those naïve girls were taken in by Wynton’s deceptive charm – he’d wooed them as if he’d mastered the art of seduction. Those girls fell so easily that Brian wondered if they were mentally challenged. As disgusting as it had been to witness such debauchery, Brian still wrestled with one truth he could not refute – those girls, however naïve, or however stupid they might have been, those girls wanted his brother. They flung their bodies at Wynton as if he were the god of fertility. The more sex Wynton had the more sex he wanted. If that situation with Karl’s daughter hadn’t taken place, Brian was convinced that Wynton would have ruined his life and the lives of those poor, impressionable girls.
What did Wynton have that I didn’t? Brian thought, as he pulled his mind back from the past. Did black women these days prefer white men with grey eyes? Brian had even heard women say that white men had a tendency to be more affectionate. Brian didn’t think so. Black men could be just as stimulating as white men, or men of any race for that matter. In his assessment, a good man was a good man, and having certain qualities should not be bound to a certain ethnicity.
Brian was not ‘white’ like his brother. But he had height, a smooth, caramel complexion, and lips that would make a woman stare for hours. Some thought that he looked a little like Chris Brown. He was not muscular, but well-toned and could throw a football to the North Pole. But most important of all, Brian had a strong faith in Jesus Christ. What woman would not want a man like him?
At precisely ten-fifteen in the morning, Brian exited the ramp that would lead him into State Road 60. He was scheduled to meet with Karl Benton at his real estate office. Despite the fact that Brian’s father owned a steel plant, Karl had offered him a job. Brian, however, had not turned down the offer, but had asked Karl to give him several weeks to
think about it – especially after recently completing his Doctorate at Florida Christian College. The only thing that bothered Brian about the job offer was why Karl wanted him to keep it a secret.
“Good Morning, Mr. Lakatos!”
The brisk greeting stopped Brian dead in his tracks. His gaze leveled on an auburn beauty sitting behind the receptionist’s desk. He’d visited Karl’s office several times since returning from college, however, this was the first time he’d seen her. Very attractive, he thought, probably not wife material, though. Looks too independent…too worldly…He watched as she stood and left her cubicle to meet him.
“Mr. Benton is expecting you,” she gushed. “But he’s wrapping up a meeting at the moment…would you like a cup of coffee while you wait?”
Brian could not stop staring at how vivacious the woman seemed. “No, I’m fine, thank you,” he managed.
“Would you like a magazine?” she said. “Mr. Benton told me that you love staying abreast of current events.”
“He did? I mean, when I have the chance to…” Brian knew that his brows showed his puzzlement. Why on earth would Karl inform his receptionist of such a personal detail? Brian’s father had trouble remembering his birthday – much less, what he loved to read. Moreover, Brian had never mentioned this part of his life to Karl. So, how did Karl find out about it?
“…my name is Sheila, by the way,” the woman was saying. “What magazine do you prefer?”
Brian decided to indulge her. “What magazines do you have?”
“We have tons in the sitting area.” She flashed Brian a warm smile as she gestured to her left. “Follow me and I’ll show them to you.”
“I’ve never seen you here before,” Brian said. Sheila’s strides were long and fast, which made Brian feel as if he were in a competition to keep up.
“Then you must not have been here within the last three months. For two years, I worked at Mr. Benton’s office in New York. I’d had enough of the cold weather…” She glanced at Brian and gave him another warm smile. “You’re cute. Mr. Benton did not tell me that.”
Brian let loose a coy grin. “You seem enamored with whatever Mr. Benton tells you,” he said.
“Karl is a wonderful man,” Sheila said pragmatically. “You should be proud to have someone like him willing to show you the ropes.”
Again, Brian felt his brain scrambling to understand what he had just walked into. Karl is a wonderful man…Brian wondered if Sheila realized she’d just referred to her boss in a way that suggested a deeper, personal relationship of some sort. Definitely not wife material, he mentally concluded. Sheila was saying some weird things – like –he should he be ‘proud’ to have Karl show him the ropes.
Brian’s father had operated a steel plant for over twenty years and Brian believed that his father was just as capable of showing him the ropes. He didn’t need another man to take the place of his father. Truthfully, the only reason he had decided to meet with Karl was because the man had been so persistent. Karl always wanted to ‘show’ him stuff and always made him feel as if he was behind the ‘eight’ ball.
“The world of choice is before you,” Sheila stopped in front of a rack of magazines and bent her body so that her tight, miniskirt revealed the curves of her thighs. She looked over her shoulder and smirked at Brian. “All you have to do is select whatever one you want. It’s all yours…”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that mind,” Brian mumbled. He felt dizzy all of a sudden. Sheila’s suggestive vibes were ringing loud and clear in his face – too bad he wasn’t interested in a woman who appeared too worldly for his taste.
“I will come back to you in a few minutes,” she told him before walking away in long strides. “I can see why Mr. Benton is so fond of you – you’re adorable…”
Brian tried not to look at Sheila’s hips as they swung slowly from side to side. However, the temptation was too strong. One look wouldn’t harm me, he thought. Just one, quick look…Their eyes met instantly. Brian knew he had been caught in the act of ‘perversion’. “Oh my God, I am such a sinner!” he spat under his breath.
****
“Have a seat, Brian,” Karl said. “I’ll fix you something to drink. What do you like? I’ve got scotch and soda, Hennessey…”
“I don’t drink,” Brian said. “You know that.”
“Oh, right…” Karl grinned facetiously. “If you ask me, temptation is a bit overrated, don’t you think?”
I didn’t ask you, Brian thought, but instead he said, “I don’t agree.” He recalled how he’d miserably failed the ‘eye’ test several moments ago. He should have resisted the urge to look at Sheila’s swinging hips. “For a Christian, temptation is to be respected for what it is – you play with fire and you will get burned.”
Karl’s grin turned into a guffaw. “Brian, you are such an old soul. A good axiom, nonetheless, but Oscar Wilde says it better, ‘The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it’ – and that, my boy is the most sensible thing I’ve ever heard someone say.”
“That is why the world is in the mess it’s in,” Brian countered. He wondered why Karl wasted his time coming to church when all he did was disagree with everything that was preached from the pulpit. “Everyone is doing what seems ‘right’ in their own eyes. Oscar Wilde should have read the Bible before making such a disparaging statement.”
“Spoken like a true preacher.” Karl took a swig of the scotch he’d poured into a shot glass. He then patted Brian on his shoulder. “I’m betting your father did not waste his money when he sent you to those fanatics – excuse me – Bible College…you seem to have grasped whatever it is you studied. However, you should be doing something more fulfilling with your talents. There are too many Bible Thumpers in the United States – if you ask me. That is the only difference that separates your father and me. He’s a better businessman than the preacher he tries to be…just don’t tell him I said that…”
Brian stood up, visibly injured by Karl’s words. “This is not a good idea, Karl, I shouldn’t be here. You should not disrespect my father’s legacy –”
“Oh, come on, Brian. Don’t take life too seriously.” Karl gently pushed Brian back down into the chair. “Your father, Paul, has dealt with my ‘imperfections’ all these years. You should try to do the same. Your father knows where I stand on the issue of religion.”
“Imperfections? That is what you call them?” Brian shot Karl an exasperated look. “I’m not interested in the job the offer. Coming here has made me realize that.”
Karl knew it was a lie, but he would not consent to Brian’s whimsical sentiments. There were other ways of attaining what he sought. He stared at Brian a good while before he shrugged and said, “Okay. If that is what you want. I will just inform my daughter of your decision. She will certainly be disappointed to know that you’ve turned down such a great opportunity.”
Brian’s brows furrowed so deeply that he felt his facial muscles throbbing in pain. “What does Jasmine have to do with this?”
“But you just told me that you’re not interested in hearing about the offer. Did you change your mind?” Karl crossed both his arms and his legs as he leaned against a huge entertainment center. The tidbit about his daughter seemed to have pinned Brian to his chair – exactly as Karl had anticipated. “Look, all I need is fifteen minutes of your time – you never know, Brian – it could be the most important fifteen minutes of your life.”
The past is behind, learn from it. The future is ahead, prepare for it. The present is here, live it.
– Thomas S. Monson
Chapter Six
Battery Park City – New York
“We could make another counter-offer, Mr. Boston,” Jasmine explained to her irascible client. “But bear in mind; the appliances were included with a six-month warranty. Trying to move down here to New York in the winter could be cumbersome. It will definitely save you a trip to Home Depot…”
Jasmine leaned back in her swivel chair
and then switched the receiver to her other ear. She’d been on the phone with Mr. Boston for nearly an hour and she was ready to dismantle her fresh hairdo. The man was intolerable.
“…you want the seller to pay the closing costs, as well?” Jasmine rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Mr. Boston, we have counteroffered three times. The seller made it clear that she doesn’t want to pay the closing cost. Can we meet for dinner this evening? Because we really need to sit down and make a decision. Time is running out…okay, Mr. Boston, I’ll meet you at six this evening…”
Jasmine disconnected from the line as soon as her client had agreed. She would call him later about the location. She was just anxious to get off the phone so that she could regain some peace and quiet. She would rather get a tooth pulled than spend fifteen minutes explaining “real estate” to Mr. Boston. Wealthy people believed the world revolved around them – at least, the ones Jasmine had been dealing with in her six years as a real estate broker. Money was not an issue for Mr. Boston. He could purchase that villa by the lake with the interest he made on his millions. He just chose to drive a hard bargain, which Jasmine did not have the patience for.
She eased to her feet and moseyed over to the window of her elaborate office. The scene overlooked the Hudson River. Battery Park City was smack in the middle of the financial hub of lower Manhattan. The World Financial Center stood across the street on West Street, and behind it, Jasmine could see the new, partially completed One World Trade Center. For months, she’d been watching the towers rise gracefully in height. Her office was located in one of the finest buildings in Battery Park City – a two thousand square-foot room, high on the thirteenth floor. Her father had acquired the office space when he found out that she had decided to ‘follow’ in his footsteps.
Karl Benton’s Real Estate had become a household name. While Jasmine’s father had strayed into property development, she preferred the role as real estate agent – where she toiled as the person between sellers and buyers. Her persuasive skills had always gotten her clients the best offers, and for now, Jasmine felt she should keep her focus on her area of strength. Property development, on the other hand, was a multifaceted business – consisting of a range of activities – from the renovation and release of existing buildings to the purchase of raw land. Her father was proficient at converting ideas on paper into monuments of beauty. Maybe someday, Jasmine mused briefly, she would acquire the courage to broaden her business acumen. However, it was her father’s dream that she would eventually take over the family’s business.
