by H.H. Fowler
She opened the door and leaned against the doorpost for support. She did not have the strength to call his name, but Karl, who made a U-turn with the lawnmower, spotted her almost immediately. The look in Karl’s eyes was one of undiluted shock. He leaped over the garden tools toward Sharon – not certain if his eyes were seeing correctly. He’d been pulling weeds for almost half an hour in the blinding sun.
“Sugar Plum! What’s wrong?” Karl moved his sweaty body in behind his wife. “You look as if you’re about to pass out…”
“Karl, I feel so weak…” Sharon’s knees buckled, causing her heavy frame to drop completely into her husband’s embrace. “I feel like I’m about to die…”
Karl shook her gently, trying not to give into his jittery nerves. “Sugar Plum! Sharon! Honey…” When Sharon didn’t respond to any of the names he usually called her, Karl shook her a little harder. “Come on, honey, wake up! Don’t you dare leave me this way! Sugar Plum, open your eyes…”
Sharon weighed more than two hundred and fifty pounds, but Karl held her as if his muscles had grown accustomed to lifting her over the years. He needed to call an ambulance and with no one in sight to assist, he eased her body to the floor and bolted for the nearest phone.
****
Brian traipsed behind the hostess as she led him to a corner booth in an Olive Gardens restaurant. He glanced at his watch and noticed that he was fifteen minutes late. His ‘date’ had promised to meet him there at one in the afternoon, but it looked as if both of them were running late. Either that, or his date had gotten cold feet. Brian was grateful for the opportunity to gather his nerves. Internet dating was nerve wracking, especially for an introvert like himself. He hadn’t intended for things to go this far, not from just reading one email that popped up on his iPhone. It had succinctly read, “Do you want to do lunch tomorrow? Let’s meet at Olive Gardens for 1pm. I think it’s time that we meet…”
Several months ago, Brian joined a Christian dating site, simply wanting to satisfy his curiosity, along with a desire to drive away his loneliness. The site boasted about having over twelve million members. Certainly, with that number of prospects his chances of finding a wife should be pretty good. Karl had always warned him about marrying a girl from the church. And when Brian asked him why, Karl would shrug and say that church girls were all the same – clingy and overbearing – not wife material. Of course, Brian knew that Karl always had a complaint when it came to the church. Finding the right woman was important to Brian, and the casual way that Karl treated the matter left Brian wary of Karl’s intention.
Unless, Brian thought, Karl’s actions had an underlying agenda. There had to be a reason why Karl was pressuring him to work for his real estate company. Karl knew such a request would create bad blood between him and Brian’s father – yet, Karl showed no regard about the negative impact on their friendship. Everything now had become centered on Jasmine – about how Karl had given her control over the real estate office in New York.
About how smart and how beautiful Jasmine had turned out to be. A totally ‘changed’ woman, Karl bragged – a woman he was proud to have as his daughter. The way Karl had been going on about Jasmine made Brian feel as if Karl was making a case for Jasmine to become Brian’s wife. No wonder Karl was against Brian marrying any of the girls at the church.
Brian was beginning to see right through Karl’s Machiavellian ways – a master manipulator of people’s feelings, who didn’t care who he hurt in the process. Brian was much wiser than Karl thought. If Karl thought that Brian and Jasmine would ‘hook’ up and saunter down the aisle of Brandon View, Karl had better think again. There is no way, Brian thought, I would get together with a girl that Wynton had taken to bed. Brian did not care how long ago that ‘incident’ had happened between Jasmine and Wynton, he was not about to be suckered into anyone’s game. Karl was delusional to have even brought up Jasmine’s name during the discussion about the job.
When Brian peered up from his table, he was not expecting to see a woman eyeballing him as if she had come to settle a score. Her unflinching gaze startled him to his feet.
“Hi, you must be Marcia?” Brian offered his hand nervously. When his date did not make any effort to shake his hand, he gestured for her to sit, and then tried to make small talk. However, Marcia’s stare felt as if it had created a hole in his face. Brian could not sit down with this woman until he found out if all was well with her brains. For all he knew, Marcia could have just shot a guard and escaped from the Looney bin. He should have listened to his intuition. Internet-hookups were not God’s plan for his life. “Is everything okay? Why are you staring at me that way?”
Suddenly, Marcia broke into a warm smile and then whispered to Brian, “I’m blind. Can’t you see that, silly?”
Brian observed her closely and it was only then that he noticed her cane. Her fingers opened and closed gracefully, as if waiting for him to respond to her unexpected announcement. “You did not tell me that –”
“What? That I’m blind?” Marcia began feeling for a chair with her cane. “Would you have met me here if you knew that I was blind? You sound effortlessly handsome, by the way. Your tones are very cultured.”
Brian did not know if he should say thank you, or make a quick break to his car. She would not see him sneaking away from the other end of the table. The only thing that kept him glued to his spot was Marcia’s toothy smile. Apart from Marcia’s disability – and Brian felt uncomfortable even saying that – she seemed like a normal person.
“I could feel you staring,” Marcia said. “I might be blind, but my other senses are alive and kicking.”
“I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting…” Brian paused when he noticed Marcia was still struggling to sit down. He was so knocked off balance that it took him a few seconds to recognize his discourteous behavior. He reprimanded himself while he assisted Marcia into her chair. A gentleman should remain a gentleman – no matter the circumstance.
Marcia seemed to appreciate the kind gesture. She groped for Brian’s hand across the table, and having brushed against it, she said in a small voice, “Thank you”.
“For what?”
“For not running away…”
I almost did, Brian thought, but instead he answered solemnly, “That’s not the Christian thing to do, is it?”
Marcia sniggered, making her cheeks flush with a flash of anger. “These days I wonder what it means being a Christian – just a fad for many people – nothing all that serious. You’re just nicer than all the others who have hurt my feelings.”
The others ? Even though Marcia was blind, Brian was sure she could see the confusion swathing his expression. A hundred questions bombarded his mind, but he could not decide which one to ask. How long had Marcia been meeting guys on the Internet? How many times had she been hurt? How had she been able to communicate – without the ability to see the computer screen? Did she drive here? How did she know he was sitting at this table? And why had she deceived him? The questions went on and on…
“…I could sense that you’re uncomfortable,” Marcia was saying. “It takes some getting used to – talking to a blind, beautiful woman, like myself.”
“How do you know you are beautiful?” Brian could have slapped himself for asking such a dumb question. He tried to retract it with an explanation, but he failed miserably. “What I meant was –I didn’t mean it the way – well, I meant, um, well, never mind...”
Marcia giggled at Brian’s nervousness. “I don’t need to look into a mirror to know that I am beautiful,” Marcia said, her voice as graceful as the word itself. “I wasn’t always blind. Besides, beauty opens from the heart– it’s a virtue that lasts forever. Not some superficial features that will fade away with time …” She paused. Her smile melted right through Brian’s suspicion, and for a brief moment, it caused him to ignore her disability. “I don’t need eyes to discern that you are a nice person, Brian.”
“Why do you insist that I’m n
ice?” Brian said, a bit annoyed. The shock of seeing Marcia for the first time had worn off and he now felt confident enough to tell her how he felt. “You can’t make me stay by saying things like that. You deceived me. How do you know that I don’t want to leave now?”
“I don’t know that –”
“As far as I’m concerned,” Brian continued, cutting Marcia off sharply, “I have a right to be teed off right now. We talked for several months…how have you been able to communicate on the computer in your condition?”
“Well, I –”
“Don’t worry about it. The point is – you should have told me that you had a disability.”
“You’re right…”
“You don’t even look like the same person who is in that photo you sent me.”
“I know. I had my hair out and I wore shades…”
“You should have told me –”
“– that I have a disability – as you have so ably pointed out,” Marcia said, and then added in a soft, but buoyant tone, “I should have told you, Brian. And I’m sorry. I really am. Why can’t you get past that and just have lunch with me?”
“Because you were dishonest.”
“No, I believe it’s because you can’t imagine yourself being married to a blind woman.”
Brian felt his heart pumping mightily in his chest. The sensation caused him to spring to his feet. Marcia did not just use the word, ‘married’ in an attempt to tell him how to choose a wife. No, he was not going to sit and listen to a blind, deceiving woman do that to him. God forbid that he should ever talk to her again. Marcia had certainly shown him that she was absolutely not his type. What a total waste of my time, Brian thought.
“Please, don’t take this personal,” he said. He pulled his coat from the back of the chair and walked out of the booth and into the aisle of the restaurant. “Let this be a mutual understanding between us. We are not right for each other. I pray that you will find happiness, Marcia. Honestly. Because you really seem like a decent, young woman. I am sorry that this did not turn out the way we had hoped.”
Marcia’s tears gushed out of her eyes at the sound of Brian walking away. Her shoulders heaved and her world felt as if it were falling to pieces. What was she going to do now? The man she thought that God would have given her for a husband had just walked out of her life. She really thought Brian was different from the previous men who’d made her heart bleed. How could Brian do this to me? Marcia thought. To us? She dug out a piece of napkin from her pocket and blew her nose into it. Soon after, a young woman gently wrapped her arm around Marcia’s shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, honey. I saw him walk out of the restaurant.”
“Oh, Phoebe, he did not like me,” Marcia sputtered while she leaned her head against Phoebe’s shoulder. Even her previous job as a social worker – where she had encountered dozens of sad stories dealing with abuse and neglect – hadn’t softened the blow of rejection. “He thinks I’m ugly. Am I ever going to get married? I wish that I had not been born, or I wish I could have my sight back because no man will ever give me the time of day…and here I am thinking that Brian was different from the rest of them…”
Phoebe was accustomed to such situations. She was Marcia’s hands, feet, ears, and eyes – the only true friend that Marcia had ever had since becoming a Christian. She had warned Marcia about taking this route, but when Marcia made up her mind to do something, there was no stopping her.
“Come, honey,” Phoebe said, as she helped Marcia to her feet. “Let me take you home. We’ll talk about it over a cup of warm chocolate. God has not abandoned you, remember that, darling.”
Chapter Nine
Wynton’s two-bedroom apartment reeked of Tahitian Vanilla oil – jars of scented candles that Tara had placed throughout various rooms. The aroma had a creamy, caramel odor and when Wynton smelled it, he knew instantly that his life as he once knew it was over. The days of his bachelorhood were quickly dwindling, and now, having to incorporate a woman’s flavor into his regimen was like experiencing culture shock. His eyes fluttered open and came to rest on a pair of chocolate mounds, positioned in the way his lips had left them last night. He could not complain. Tara’s breasts tantalized him senseless, and if he wanted enjoy them whenever he wanted, he had to keep her pinned against his chest.
Wynton had a habit of naming Tara’s body parts after different kinds of food. That way he could speak to her in codes when they were in public, and avoid getting into a tangle with the paparazzi. They were hungry to make a headline story out of nothing. Even the lyrics of Wynton’s songs, “My Yellow Strawberry”, and “Suga Pineapple”– which were now inching their way to the top of the music charts – droned about a woman’s body, based on the sensation of a delectable fruit.
Wynton did not want to admit to anyone that he had a sex addiction. The term did not even make sense to him. As far as he was concerned, women were twice as wild as men when it came to having their bodies pleasured. He should know. He’d had multiple partners since he was fourteen, and he’d seen just how wild a woman could get.
How often was too often for a person to have sex? Wynton did not know, but he certainly didn’t think nine times a week constituted an addiction. He was about to back away from Tara’s breasts to prove his point, but when her bosom began to rise and fall – almost in a hypnotic kind of way, his lust came roaring back to full life. It seemed as if Tara sensed the familiar change in his mood, and with her fingers, she pressed gently against Wynton’s chest.
“No, babe,” she groaned. “You will kill me, I swear. I need to get up so that I take care of my clients at the boutique. I haven’t seen them for over two weeks.”
Wynton pinched her cheeks. “That’s because you work for me now. Don’t worry, though. You will be compensated for your services in Jamaica…”
Tara rolled her eyes in jest. However, she loved the husky quality in Wynton’s voice. She turned to face him and said, “Don’t get it twisted, big boy. You didn’t need me to tag along. There were tons of hairstylists in Jamaica –”
“I would have not been interested in anyone else.”
“Don’t kid me…”
“No kidding. You’re better than anyone I’ve ever had. Much better in many respects. The way your fingers work my scalp…”
“Hey now, are we still talking about haircuts?”
“You tell me,” Wynton smirked. “You’re the one kissing my body.”
Tara giggled, but deep down she prayed Wynton’s statements would not come back to haunt her. It was becoming difficult keeping up with a man who possessed such a voracious sexual appetite. “In that case, I had better take control of this situation.” She stood up and wrapped a sheet around her naked frame. “Ta-ta, my handsome Hercules …”
“What are you doing, girl? Come back here!” Wynton reached for her but he was not quick enough to catch her. He ended up falling face down into a pillow. “Awww, baby, forget those silly clients. They are only jealous of you anyway...”
Tara popped her head back into the room. “I will have you to know, Mister, that I have made many good friends at that place. I can’t just drop them, like you so foolishly suggested. Besides, having sex all day is not all that I’m good for.”
One thing Tara was happy about was that Wynton had a spare bathroom that was off his gourmet kitchen. That way she could have at least twenty minutes alone – without the constant caressing of Wynton’s hands. The bathroom door that was in his bedroom could not lock and she dare not take the chance of sitting in that Jacuzzi. For obvious reasons, Wynton would want to join her. Not happening, she thought. If I let this man control me this way, soon I’ll be no good to myself. Apart from my mother, I have allowed this man to wash away my Christian upbringing…
In passing the laundry room, she grabbed one of Wynton’s shirts and then pulled it over her head. A hot cup of tea seemed more appealing than taking a shower at the moment. As soon as she slid a cup of water into the microwave, Wynton
’s front door came alive with an annoying buzz. It frightened Tara every time it buzzed. She did not care that the sound was part of Wynton’s security system; all she knew was that she wanted it to stop before it gave her a heart attack. Then again, when she thought of how her man had been shot at recently, she immediately gathered her senses and thanked God for such wonderful technology.
Normally, she would have waited for Wynton to open the door, but the delay in Wynton’s response told her that he was probably occupied with something else. She wished she knew how to work the buttons on the security keypad. Wynton had shown her several times how to do it, but she did not pay attention. Now it was to her detriment that she had to play the guessing game by air.
“Is that you, Tiger?” Tara called. One of Wynton’s bodyguards would usually show up around this hour. “Could you give me a few minutes?”
“This is Doreen, Wynton’s mother,” the voice called back. “And I would hope my ears are deceiving me.”
Tara froze. She could not even pretend that she was someone else. Doreen had recognized her voice immediately. That was Doreen’s MO – to mentally program every detail about a person she wanted to bury in the sand. Tara wanted to cry, because she had seen enough of that witch during Wynton’s music tour. Why in the world was she troubling them now?
“Doreen, could you wait for a few minutes, please –”
Doreen kept her finger glued to the buzzer, making Wynton’s place sound as if there had been a prison break and all the alarms had been turned on. “You unrighteous slut! How dare you keep me away from my son? Open this door this instant!”
Tara fumbled with the lock, not aware that her heart rate had risen to toxic levels. She was convinced Wynton’s mother had been enlisted in the army from hell – who’d been pulled from the Maximum Security division because no human being was as evil as Doreen. The door swung open and hit Tara squarely in the face.
