by H.H. Fowler
The unobtrusive ring of her phone eased Jasmine’s gaze from the window. She glanced at her wristwatch before moving over to her desk to answer it – she had been expecting the call.
“Hi, Mummy. You feel any better since we spoke yesterday?”
Sharon’s coughs preceded her response. “Jasmine, I am as sick as a dog,” she groaned. “I’m vomiting all over the place.”
“Well, did you go to the hospital to check things out?”
“I’m a nurse, Jasmine,” Sharon said mulishly. “I should know whether or not I need to go to the hospital. Besides, I don’t think it’s that serious. There’s a stomach virus going around –”
“Mummy, stop. Listen to how you sound. You’re wheezing with every breath. I’m surprised that Daddy didn’t drag you out of that house by now.”
“Your father?” Sharon’s cough exploded in Jasmine’s ear. When she finally recovered, she gave in to a weak sigh. “That man doesn’t care if I puke my guts to death. Everything’s changed between us. He never stays home.”
Jasmine pulled the swivel chair from behind her desk and then sat down in it. Everything’s changed between us…That line brought a slew of suppressed memories back to Jasmine’s mind. Ever since her father shipped her off to New York, her parents’ marriage had suffered terribly. From the moment the idea had been suggested, Sharon never agreed that Jasmine should go to New York. But Karl was forceful on controlling the situation.
It was the only way he thought he could salvage his daughter’s good name. Karl felt that after a certain number of years, people would forget the rumor that his daughter had ‘lied’ about being raped. The truth was that Jasmine and Wynton, (Paul’s wayward son) had indulged in consensual sex, and as a result, Jasmine ended up getting pregnant with Wynton’s child. Of course, Karl had wanted to give the child up for adoption, but in a twist of fate – Jasmine had a miscarriage at eleven weeks.
“It’s been twelve years, Mummy,” Jasmine reflected. “I have forgiven my father, but he is still treating you as if it is your fault.”
“You are his only child,” Sharon said. “He wants nothing but the best for you – remember that.”
“It amazes me how you still stand up for him.”
“Regardless of what happened in the past, Jasmine…” Sharon paused as she waited for her coughs to subside. “Karl is still your father and he loves you.”
“So you have told me a million times. It’s just that –” Jasmine was interrupted by yet another spell of her mother’s dry cough. That was it. Jasmine could no longer ignore the anxiety she felt building over her mother’s condition, and with her father not being around, made her want to drop everything and take the next flight out to Brandon, Florida. “Mummy, I really don’t like how sick you sound. I think you should go and see a doctor – maybe I should come home and stay with you for a few days.”
“I’ve been trying to get you to come home for years,” Sharon said. “Maybe it’s best that I visit you.”
“No way. I think it’s best that I come. You don’t sound well enough to travel.”
“I have visited you in New York for the last seven Christmases. I should be fine.”
“Mummy, I want to do this – you were there for me during one of the most difficult times of my life. I think it’s time for me to come home. It’s been long enough.”
“I know,” Sharon said quietly. “I just want to know if you’re ready to take that step.”
A good question, Jasmine thought as she placed the receiver into its cradle. Her mother had a point. Was she really ready to go back to Brandon, Florida and face the fragments of her past? The answer had eluded Jasmine for months and even now, she could not say for sure if she would ever satisfy that question with an answer. However, Jasmine was not the same sixteen-year-old girl who’d left home covered in shame.
Through God’s strength, she had endured and had morphed into a successful, well-assured businesswoman. Renewing her faith in God had been the key to her rediscovering her self-worth. It was one of those decisions she’d made at a spot in time when she realized she had nothing to lose. And, she was glad she had, because the experience had been rewarding ever since.
But in life – no matter how well a person seemed to have adjusted after a trial – there were always a few mountains left to climb and a few rivers left to cross. Jasmine still had not completely won the emotional battle of losing her baby. Every now and again she wondered what it would have been like to have a daughter – or a son—who would have turned eleven years old this year. It would have been Wynton’s first child. The thought sent a cold shiver down her spine. It had been twelve years and Wynton did not know that she had gotten pregnant. She wanted to keep it that way. They had been teenagers – too young to understand the far-reaching effects of their actions.
Jasmine stood up again, and instead of heading back to the window, she walked over to the office of one of the agents. There were three agents all together – all sharing a space big enough to be an eight-bedroom mansion.
“Hi Julie, please take my messages,” Jasmine said. “I’m going out to get some fresh air.”
Julie did not glance up from her computer. “Okay, will do. Bring me a turkey on rye when you’re coming back. I’ll reimburse you.”
“Sure, but I don’t think I’ll be back within the hour.”
“That’s fine, Jasmine. I’m working on something anyway,” Julie said. “I’ll take a break when you come back. Thanks!”
Jasmine took the elevator to the ground floor and exited the building into the August heat of the city. She flagged down a cab and instructed him to take her to Brooklyn. There, she would seek the company of a woman who had helped her back on the road to wholeness.
Chapter Seven
Wynton had finally given Tara the green light to move her things into his apartment. Now, she knew without a doubt that he was serious about making her his wife. For weeks, she had been pleading with Wynton to let her move in with him, but so much of his mother’s training was in him that he had often brushed her suggestion aside. Tara sensed that Wynton did not want to lose her.
It was no secret that Wynton’s mother was a sore pain in the butt, but at least, Wynton did his best to keep her happy. That fiasco in Jamaica had actually worked out for Tara’s benefit. Doreen demanded that Wynton get rid of the ‘hag’, but in response, Wynton decided to bump up the wedding date by two months. Doreen would be the last one to find out about it.
Tara sauntered into Wynton’s studio wearing nothing but one of Wynton’s tee shirts. She straddled his lap and then pressed her lips against his. “About five weeks to be exact and I will be Mrs. Wynton Lakatos,” she announced. “Are you sure you want to do this, babe?”
Wynton enjoyed a passionate kiss with Tara before he responded with a quiet, “Yes.” Then he added in a husky voice, “That’s why I’m in the studio this morning. I’m working on a new tune for you.”
“Oh, wow, babe. You know just how to make a girl gush.” Tara could feel Wynton’s muscles contracting beneath her gentle strokes – it was a sign that she had awakened his sexual appetite. It didn’t take much to get Wynton going. Her man was a ferocious beast in bed and Tara knew if she didn’t get up off Wynton, the movers would meet them ‘frolicking’ in the middle of the floor. “I don’t know what to say, Wynton. You are an amazing man…”
“I’m glad that I have succeeded in making you realize that,” he said. “How much time do we have?”
“For what?”
Wynton smirked as he stared at Tara through eyes that were half closed. “You don’t come in here kissing me and stuff and expect me not to react.”
“Oh, that…” Tara paused and let loose a seductive giggle. “I was just showing you how grateful I am for the way you stood up to your mother. I’m proud of you, babe.”
“I don’t want to talk about my mother right now,” Wynton said. “You are the only thing on my mind at the moment.”
“You mean
sex is the only thing on your mind,” Tara said and then added in a playful voice, “Sometimes, I feel you are just using my poor body to satisfy your selfish ‘needs’.”
Wynton kept his gaze on Tara. “Make up your mind, girl. You want a lover or a eunuch?”
Tara’s laughter exploded from her stomach. “You are such a fool,” she said, placing one of her fingers on his lips. “I’m only making sure that you love me more than you love my body.”
“How could the two be separated? Your body is you.”
“I’m serious, Wynton. I don’t want us to always use sex as the only way to settle our arguments.”
“Am I doing that?” he asked her in a genuine tone of concern. “I love you – I thought you understood that by now. I’ve never let a woman move into my place…”
“It is complicated.” Tara saw Wynton’s grey eyes dithering with confusion, so – to keep things flowing smoothly between them – she decided to ditch the subject for the time being. While she loved the way Wynton was able to express himself in such a ‘physical’ manner, sometimes, she would prefer for him to just ‘talk’ about their problems, rather than ‘push’ his tongue into her ears.
It fixed things temporarily, but at a different time, the same problem would rear its ugly head. Her man was not big on communication, per say, but she did her best to make him see that being in a relationship was more than sex. “Tell you what, babe, why don’t I let you get back to putting the finishing touches on that song. I want to unpack my suitcases before the movers show up with the rest of my things.”
Wynton held Tara’s legs down and asked her, “You sure this isn’t a fight?”
“I’m sure, babe.” She planted a small peck on Wynton’s lip before she wiggled out of his grip. “You just made me the happiest girl alive by moving up our wedding date. Why would I pick a fight now? Doesn’t make sense, does it?”
Wynton responded with a smirk. Who would have thought that he would be marrying his hairstylist within the next month? One of his boys in the music business had recommended Tara as being one of the hottest female barbers in Brandon. For a ‘white’, successful boy like him, that was important. He could not simply walk into one of his local barbershops like he used to do back in the day. He had become too famous for that and he did not want to make himself an easy target. He’d had two stalkers in the past who’d tried to get into his apartment. His ‘normal’ routine had been altered dramatically. So, he arranged for Tara to bring her services to him. One look in the mirror at the wonders she had done to his hair won her huge points with him. It was the sharpest-looking buzz cut that he’d ever received.
“…stop staring and get back to work,” Tara said, pulling Wynton back from his ‘walk’ down memory lane.
He observed Tara’s long, dark legs gliding beneath his white tee-shirt. The image of vanilla ice cream, sprinkled with melted dark chocolate began to mess with his thoughts. It was the perfect picture of their bodies intertwined. Wynton could not let Tara know how much she really satisfied him. She would truly think that sex was the only thing that he wanted from her. “Just so you know,” he called after her, “I’m just about done with this song. So, don’t think you will be unpacking all day – I have other things planned for you.”
****
Doreen never went to bed before she had scribbled in her ‘black’ book, lengthy paragraphs of organized thoughts. She trusted no one with her private musings, which included her husband, Paul, to whom she’d been married for nearly thirty-one years. Doreen could not even remember the last time she’d entertained Paul with a bit of ‘church’ gossip. He was an extreme bore who usually resorted to jamming scriptures down her throat. His favorite verse was found in Galatians 5:15, “But if you bite and devour one another, beware lest you be consumed by one another”. It was Paul’s way of a rebuke over the way she treated Wynton’s fiancée.
Of course, Doreen would ignore Paul – just as she was doing that night. Her head had been down in her black book ever since Paul entered their bedroom. He knew not to bother her when she was busy writing in it. So, in silence, Paul proceeded to change out of his linen slacks. That would have been fine with Doreen if his movements hadn’t been accompanied by grunts – which sounded as if Paul had swallowed a blithering hog.
Doreen looked over the plastic frames of her eyeglasses – evidently pissed. She watched him pull his V-Neck T-shirt over his head – revealing the fuzzy grey hairs on his chest. The excessive fat that had been held in place by the rigid material, bounced free and settled unattractively over his boxers. When Paul turned to face Doreen, she almost gagged.
“When are you going to lose that disgraceful-looking stomach?” she snapped at him. “It looks like a sack of potatoes!”
“Excuse me?”
“Just look at that body, Paul. You’re sixty years-old, but you look like a dratted eighty-year-old slob.”
Paul’s heart sank at the words of his wife. “Doreen, say something nice for a change,” he said quietly. “Because if you take a careful look at your body in the mirror, you would realize that you are not twenty years-old anymore. You’re aging as well.”
Doreen brushed off Paul’s response with a flick of the wrist. “I don’t like that bastard you call a friend, but at least, he stays fit. Karl is fifty-five, but he looks fifteen years younger than his age. Why don’t you ask Karl for some pointers on how to get rid of that fat? You could die soon for being obese.”
“Then, let me die, Doreen,” Paul spat, no longer able to fight off his irritation. “I’ll have peace in heaven – away from you and your disparaging woes.”
“You know I’m right,” Doreen pressed. “Your father died of a heart attack when he was fifty-two. Your brother died when he was –”
“Oh, for hell’s sake, Doreen, drop it!” Paul walked off to the bathroom and slammed the door.
Doreen swallowed two Vitamin B12 tablets and then resumed writing in her black book. Outside of the columns she scribbled, Tomorrow morning, I will empty the refrigerator and restock it with bottles of Noni Juice. I’ve heard it has laxative properties – great for bowel movement. Paul needs a good pass. Below that she wrote: I will pay Wynton a surprise visit tomorrow afternoon to reinforce my demands. I have huge plans for both you and your brother…She closed the book and hid it in a special spot. Just before she shut off the lamp on the dresser next to her, she slid to her knees for a five-minute prayer.
The greatest gift that you can give another is the purity of your attention.
- James Arthur Ray
Chapter Eight
6:24 a.m.
Sharon woke with excruciating pains in her lower back. She tried to sit up, but ended up rolling to one side and onto the floor. She stayed there until the pain subsided to the point where she felt as if she could crawl to the bathroom. She managed to push her face in the toilet and almost immediately, her stomach began to heave violently. Her moans were loud enough for Karl to have heard her; however, there were no sign of him coming to her aid. After a few minutes, she relaxed against the porcelain and soon felt herself losing consciousness.
An hour later, in a cold sweat, her eyes flung open. Parts of her body had grown numb and her skin felt clammy to the touch. These are no ordinary symptoms, Sharon feared. Something is really wrong with me…She needed help if she wanted to go to the hospital, and Sharon could not remember if she’d seen her husband lying in the bed. It had been dark when the pain struck. Maybe Karl was in his office, which was far away from their bedroom. That could explain why he hadn’t turned his attention to her by now. How unfortunate that the week she decided to take a vacation from her job as a registered nurse, these symptoms had come upon her. She hadn’t any warning signs and she hardly ever was sick – circumstances too unusual for her to make a reasonable assessment of her condition.
For sure, she could rule out pregnancy. She had gone through menopause more than five years ago, and even if she hadn’t gone through menopause, Karl hadn’t
touched her in months. And, if it had been a twenty-four-hour bug or some stomach virus – as she told Jasmine the other day – then, she should have recovered by now and should not feel as if she were on the brink of death.
Sharon managed to hobble down – one step at a time – toward the living room, in an attempt to find her husband. Maybe if he saw how sick she was he would not think that she was trying to put on an act in an effort to win his affection. However, the pain inside of her was so severe that she doubted she could even make it to Karl’s office. She was better off scribbling her final words of instruction on a piece of napkin and let her body be found sprawled in the middle of the floor.
She leaned against the wall to catch her breath when suddenly she heard the start of a lawnmower. It was Tuesday. The gardener showed up every other Saturday. Her neighbors, who lived on both sides of her home, had mulch-covered landscapes – so they did not need a lawnmower. So, what other reason was there for the noise? With her curiosity getting the best of her, Sharon ditched her attempt to get to Karl’s office, and instead, turned left into the dining room and dragged her steps to the bay window.
Her eyes connected with the back of a man who’d taken his shirt off to reveal a well-toned body. He wore a blue bandanna on his head. If I’m not hallucinating, Sharon thought, I could swear that man looks just like my husband. Now, she was not only doubled over in pain, but she was also confused. The last time Sharon remembered Karl mowing the lawn was when Jasmine had been a little girl. Why, after all those years, had Karl decided to mess with the gardener’s job?
