by H.H. Fowler
“You’re weak and impotent! That is why you are running away! You can’t stand up to a woman who has more sense than you!”
Doreen slammed the front door so hard it appeared as if the entire house shook. When she spun around, Brian was in her face. The disappointment in his eyes told Doreen that she was about to be reprimanded for her churlish behavior. She tried to push him to the side, but Brian blocked her at every attempt.
“Now that I think of it,” he said somberly, “you are the reason why I am probably not married as yet. I’m terrified of bringing my dates home to meet you. And, soon, if my brother doesn’t be strong, he will never get the chance to walk Tara down the aisle. Your actions were despicable. I heard Dad telling you that you are not setting a good example as the First Lady of Brandon View. I agree with him. Charity begins at home and I would add that you are not setting a good example even as a mother.”
“Oh, don’t be foolish, my son –” Doreen’s voice had suddenly mellowed into a casual tone. She pinched Brian’s cheeks, as if he were a chubby five-year-old kid. “Don’t let your father poison your mind, Sweetheart. We live in an uncaring world and only those with backbone will survive. Your father doesn’t have a backbone…”
“Stop belittling Dad in my presence,” Brian spat. “No matter what you think of him, Paul Lakatos is my father!”
“But you are nothing like him,” Doreen persisted. “You are the total opposite. You don’t even have his skin color – that dingy white leathery skin. It has wrinkles and it is covered with spots –”
“Are you listening to yourself? Describing my father as if you picked him up from off the streets. Why did you marry him if you hate him so much?”
“I did not have a choice.”
“There is always a choice, Mother!”
“Don’t you raise your tone with me,” Doreen warned. “And don’t tell me I had a choice, because you were not around during my early years…” She walked a little ways off as a sign that she was finished discussing the subject. “Let me retire to my room, Brian, because fighting with your father drains my strength.”
Brian had a whole heap of things to discuss with his mother, but trying to have a civilized conversation with Doreen was as difficult as trying to get a cat into a hot tub of water. His mother would not allow anyone to question her past. “There is one thing I want to ask,” he said, as Doreen resumed her stride toward her bedroom. “However, in respect to Mrs. Benton’s death, I will bring it up at a more appropriate time –”
Doreen stopped and turned promptly at her son. “What is it, Brian? Don’t stall.”
“I want you to try to get along with Wynton’s wife,” he said.
“I thought you had something sensible to say.”
“Marrying Tara is important to Wynton. The amount of time they spend together; she’s practically his wife –”
“That hyena is not his wife!”
“Well, mother, you had better get used to the idea, because Wynton is in love with that girl.”
“No, he is in love with her body! You know from early on your brother has always struggled with a demon of lust. It eventually got him into much debauchery with Karl’s daughter. Thank heavens she’s not around to spread her poison.”
“In any event, Mother, Wynton wants to marry the young woman, and the last time I checked, it was his choice to make. So get over it.”
“We will see about that,” Doreen huffed. “My sons deserve better than hood rats looking to cheat them out of their inheritance. And that is exactly what Tara plans to do. I can sniff a gold digger from a distance.”
“You leave me with no alternative,” Brian said, trying his hardest to ignore his mother’s warped perception of Tara. “I’m going to side with Wynton on this issue. How does a four-day trip to the Bahamas sound?”
A wide smile pulled Doreen’s lips upwards, and with an air of daintiness she responded, “Why Brian, I have never been to the Bahamas. Mother’s Day has already passed. Has it not?”
Brian rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. He wondered how his father made it through three decades of being married to his mother. “This has nothing to do with Mother’s Day,” he said. “You know exactly what I’m getting at. The trip and the organization behind it are about building relationships between women, which I see as the perfect opportunity for you and Tara to start the bonding process as mother and daughter...”
“Very interesting–”
“And don’t even think about turning me down or I won’t speak to you for the rest of my life.”
Doreen chortled at Brian’s shallow attempt at coercion. “Darling, I will go at once.”
“That’s it? You’re not going to put on your boxing gloves?”
Doreen released another one of those wide smiles. “Don’t be silly. I heard much about that exotic island. As I have said; I will go at once.”
“You are missing the point,” Brian said. “This is not some pleasure trip. The focus is on you and Tara coming together to –”
Doreen silenced Brian by placing one of her fingers on her lips. “Don’t go on and on about it. I know what you’re trying to do. I will do my best to accommodate that hyena – excuse me, I meant, Ms. Tara Lamont.” She concluded with another smile, “In the meanwhile, I will go to my room now and regroup. I’ve had quite an unusual day.”
Brian watched his mother exit the room, her movements as smooth and as vibrant as a woman half her age. He could not get over at how quickly she had consented to his suggestion. It was almost as if she had been waiting for an opportunity to get Tara alone. Suddenly, Brian felt sick to his stomach. Literally speaking, he had stuffed a poor, innocent lamb between the teeth of a lioness. This was not the picture he had in mind. Lord, please,” Brian prayed. “Do not let this plan backfire.”
Chapter Fifteen
Thursday 8:11 a.m.
“Wynton, you are at the top of your game now, this is not the time to make your fans upset. Where are you?”
“Stop stressing, Miss. Edna, I’m on my way,” Wynton croaked into the phone. “I forgot that I had to perform this morning…”
“I texted you three times,” Edna said. “You did not respond. That’s why I’m calling. And by the sounds of it, you haven’t gotten out of bed as yet.”
Edna was right, but Wynton wouldn’t dare tell her that. He and Tara had spent the first part of the night quarreling over Doreen. The night ended with them having sessions of ‘makeup sex.’ Now, Wynton could barely keep his eyelids open. “Just tell me where I’m going and I’ll be there in twenty minutes,”
“The TV station is almost thirty miles away. It is impossible for you to be there in twenty minutes, especially in this morning traffic.”
“Well, what time do I have to be there?”
“The interview starts at nine o’clock, Wynton,” Edna said. “Get up and be there not a minute after!”
Wynton heard the sudden ‘click’ in his ear, which told him that Miss Edna was ticked off. The way she acted sometimes made Wynton wonder who was in charge. By and large, she was a very aggressive woman – a trait that was extremely vital in the music industry if an artist was to survive the competition. Though Wynton appreciated that quality about Miss Edna, he did not appreciate being disturbed from his sleep. He sat up in the bed and tried to rub the lethargy from his eyes. His alarm clock said that he had roughly forty minutes to get dressed and be out on the road to fulfill a silly nine o’clock interview. Who the heck got up this early anyway, to talk about themselves? Wynton thought. Being famous was so overrated.
Tara had gotten up thirty minutes before and had used the shower in the guest bath. She was not one of those women who took two hours to get ready. She could run alongside any man and not get left behind. However, by the time she returned to Wynton's bedroom, he was pushing his feet into his shoes.
“That was quick,” she told him. “Did you even wash your stinky skin?”
“I washed what was important,” Wynton said.
“I don't have ten minutes to waste in a full shower. Are you coming with me?”
“No way!” Tara pointed to her forehead. “Do you see this ugly thing? Not even makeup can hide it. Besides, I have a few clients that are coming into the boutique today. I would rather be there than in front of a dozen cameras.”
“Come on, baby, it doesn’t look that bad.”
“What are you smoking, Wynton? Your mother put a gash in my face. And I still can't get over the fact that you want me to spend four days alone with her in the Bahamas. I might be shipped back to Florida in a wooden coffin.”
“Again, I’m sorry, baby. But you did tell me last night that you were gonna think about it.”
“That was after you pushed your tongue in my ear. I've had time to sleep on it and I have come to my senses. I'm not going.”
The buzzer sounded and delayed Wynton's response for a moment. He knew it was one of his bodyguards who had come to pick him up in the limo, but he did not want to leave his fiancée with such a negative reaction to what they'd discussed last night.
He planted a gentle kiss on her cheek, and simultaneously inhaled her fruity fragrance. “Promise me that you will keep an open mind, because I really want you and my mother to get along. This nonsense has got to stop between you two.”
“But your mother is the one doing all of the hating...”
“That is all the reason to consider my suggestion. It would be the perfect opportunity to talk to her and get her to open up to you.”
“I'm not a miracle worker, babe,” Tara said. She pulled Wynton's face toward her lips and returned the kiss on his cheek. “Get out of here before you really are late. I'll give you my decision when I get back from the boutique.”
Wynton gave Tara an affectionate stare and said softly, “Just remember that I love you and no matter how things turn out with my mother, I want you to know that you will always be my utmost priority.”
“Thanks, babe. I really needed to hear that.”
****
As Wynton’s limo glided to the front of the TV station, he did not expect to see a throng of people stretched along the sidewalks. If Wynton had not noticed the huge posters with his name on them, he would have thought the Queen of England was getting ready to make her show. He could not believe the level of recognition. These people are crazy, he smiled inwardly. However, he could not take all of the credit. Miss Edna was good at what she did, especially at getting the word out about his live appearances.
The excitement was contagious. Wynton now felt the urge to jump out of the limo and high-five as many of his fans as possible before entering in the building, but he did not have sufficient time to do so. He even felt guilty complaining about the ups and downs of being famous. Almost as an automatic reaction, he dipped his head and sniffed his armpits. He then checked the freshness of his breath by blowing in the palms of his hands – just to make sure his personal hygiene was in order. It would not be cool if it were discovered that his fans fainted because of his odor and not because of how much they loved him.
Miss Edna collided with Wynton and his bodyguard in the corridor of the studio. Smartly attired in an army green business suit, Miss Edna began to rattle off a slew of instructions that she thought Wynton should follow.
“Remember to keep those pearly whites in front of the camera,” she spat. “Pay close attention to the questions being asked. If you freeze up, make a joke out of it….” And on and on she went with her ramblings. In their discourse, they kept a brisk pace, but Wynton, already fighting back his frustration, had heard enough. He paused briefly and shot Miss Edna a look that did little to hide his annoyance.
“Miss Edna, chill out,” he told her quietly. “You are making me nervous with all of these rules. Just let me be myself.”
Because Miss Edna went out of her way to satisfy her clients’ needs, she was careful not to become easily offended. Her lips pulled back into a reassuring smile. “You’re right, kiddo,” she said and gave Wynton one of her motherly stares. “You are going to do great – you always do. Go in there and knock ‘em dead.”
Wynton’s thanks were swallowed up by the shouts from the set’s director. He hastened toward them with an incredible sense of urgency. The man wore leather pants and they were so tight that it looked as if they had been painted on him.
“C’mon people,” he lisped. “Get into position; we’re coming back from commercial in forty seconds. No hanky panky; just action, people! Roll with the punches and let’s do this! Oh my God, you are so much more beautiful in person…”
Wynton looked behind him and wondered who the heck this fellow was talking to. Compliments from other men were red flags in Wynton’s book – especially compliments coming from men who looked as if their hipbones had been kicked out of joint. However, he played it cool and kept his expression as friendly as possible. Just as long as the fellow did not touch him in any inappropriate manner, they would not have a problem.
“This way, honey,” the director said to Wynton. “Katie Donnahue is dribbling to meet you. Ooohh, I can’t wait til’ you get up on that stage and shake your thang. You are one sexy, white hunk…”
Wynton swore if that dude had said one more word to him, he would have released one those of Mike Tyson blows and locked his jaws in three places. Thank goodness, he was whisked into the studio before he slipped and pulled a scene. Immediately, he heard Katie Donnahue announcing his name with great enthusiasm – exciting the crowd with the lyrics of his music. The only thing left for Wynton to do was to strut toward the front as if he owned the TV station. If Tara saw him now she would shake her head and tell him he was ‘overly’ full of himself.
The only other woman who had ever used the same expression was Jasmine Benton. This is so strange, Wynton thought as he eased his butt into a black and white sofa, that I would be thinking of you, Ms. Benton, especially when half a dozen cameras are staring down my blessed throat. Now, what does that mean?
Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.
- Sir Walter Scott
Chapter Sixteen
It had been just under thirty hours since Jasmine flew in from New York, but it felt as if she had been in Brandon, Florida for an entire week. The stress of her mother’s death weighed heavily on her and she could only imagine how the coming days would affect her equilibrium. The worst had been when her father announced that he wanted to have Sharon’s body cremated as soon as possible. It was her mother’s wish, and her father seemed hell bent on carrying it out. If Jasmine had anything to do with it, her father would have a difficult time getting what he wanted, because there was no way she was going to let her mother’s body ‘cook’ to a spoonful of ashes.
Her father did not even care to find out the cause of her mother’s death. He seemed listless and out of touch with his emotions. They had fought last night about the way Sharon’s body should be laid to rest. How cruel of her father to suggest that her mother’s body would be better off burned than to be subjected to a senseless autopsy. Dr. Peter Abdul did not even have to convince Jasmine that an autopsy needed to be performed. It was naturally assumed that a person who had died so suddenly, without any prior medical conditions, would need to undergo the ‘butcher’s knife’ – if only to obtain conclusive results.
“I need to go into the office for a short while,” Karl said. He stood behind Jasmine, who had fallen asleep on the chaise at three o’clock that morning. “Do you need anything before I leave?”
“I don’t want my mother to be cremated. Besides that, there is nothing else.”
Karl’s muscles stiffened at Jasmine’s words. It took almost a minute for his anger to subside before he responded in an even tone, “We discussed this at length last evening. I’m not changing my mind. In fact, it is what Sharon wants. I have sent instructions for your mother’s body to be picked up from the morgue and taken to Crest Hill Mortuary and Crematorium. They are the best in the business.”
Jasmine turned to
face her father and glared at him with her puffy, red eyes. “At least let the hospital do an autopsy on her. Aren’t you interested in finding out how Mummy died?”
“Of course, I’m interested,” Karl snapped. “I just don’t see the sense in such a procedure. Your mother is already dead. Preliminary tests showed that her kidneys failed. Having an autopsy done is simply unnecessary.”
“And setting her body on fire is even worse, if you ask me.”
“I am not asking you, Jasmine. I’m telling you what I’m going to –”
Jasmine stumbled to her feet, interrupting her father. “Is that how you want to remember your wife? As a handful of dust, which you are not sure would even be hers? I have never recalled Mummy ever having problems with her kidneys. Something is going on here and we need to get to the bottom of it.”
“Jasmine, my decision is final! The sooner we get closure; the better for everyone involved.”
“Why are you rushing through this process? You are not even thinking about my feelings –”
“Why should we delay it?” Karl said. “Only poor people do that.”
Only poor people do that? It was a statement that Jasmine had heard all through her childhood years. Her father had always depended heavily on his affluence when it came down to making any decision. It was Karl’s measuring stick that he used to determine the success of a person’s influence. Jasmine knew it would only take one word from her father’s lips and he would get exactly what he wanted.
“All these years I’ve been away from this place and you have not changed one bit,” Jasmine said, her fight obviously deflated. “You are a very controlling and manipulative man. God saw my mother’s pain and decided that it was best to take her to heaven. If you want to cremate my mother – after I’ve begged you as your daughter to reconsider – then go ahead. I will not stand in your way. You’ve made me learn the hard way not to go against your decisions. But know this: Don’t hold me responsible if I don’t ever speak to you again.”
Karl nodded his response and got out of Jasmine’s presence as quickly as he could. It felt as if he was about to have a meltdown and he did not want Jasmine to witness it. Five minutes into his commute on the Interstate, he was sputtering on the phone to the only person who had the competence to quiet his nerves. They agreed to meet at their usual spot, and within minutes of arriving, their lips came together into a hungry kiss. Karl wasted no time in stripping off his clothes and dropping them to the floor. The woman followed suit and before long, they were nibbling and fondling each other like two, lively adolescents. After a short while of passionate sex, they lay spent on top of each other.
