Avenging Alex

by Lewis Ericson

  “I should be going.”

  “It’s only a little after nine,” Lorraine said. “Can’t you at least have one drink with me?”

  John scratched his forehead and took the glass.

  “To our prima ballerina,” Lorraine toasted.

  “All those dancing lessons paid off.” John laughed. “At least she knows stage right from stage left, which is more than I can say for the Thompsons’ kid.”

  They both laughed. Lorraine casually poured more brandy into John’s glass. He didn’t object. “Thank you for recording tonight. Mom and Dad would really be upset if they didn’t get a chance to see Chloe’s debut.”

  “Are they still in Belize?”

  “They should be back tomorrow.”

  John nodded and tossed back the brandy. Lorraine seized the opportunity to make a move. Her fingers delicately traced his brow and down the side of his face and she kissed him. His reaction wasn’t immediate. It wasn’t until she tugged at the buttons of his shirt that he moved away.

  He shook his head. “Lorraine, don’t.”

  “You still want me. I know you do.” She stepped back in front of him and stared into his eyes. The room was still and thick with tension. The light was dim. There were yet unresolved emotions that had not been dealt with and they both felt it. Her fingers caressed his lips and he yielded to her, promptly pulling her sweater up over her head and kissing her neck and lips and face. She threw her head back in ecstasy and nimbly undid the buckle of his belt. His breathing grew more intense as she massaged his erect penis. She slowly sank to her knees and took its fullness into her mouth. He gasped and quivered. After a few seconds, as if snapping out of a trance, he pushed her away.

  “Stop,” he insisted.

  “You don’t want me to. I know you don’t.” Ignoring his protest she skillfully sucked his erection back into her mouth.

  “Mommy, my stomach hurts.”

  John and Lorraine jumped in tandem. He pulled away and stumbled backward as he yanked his pants back up and fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.

  Lorraine stood, grabbed her sweater, and wiped the corners of her mouth with her index finger and thumb. “Chloe, sweetie, don’t come downstairs; Mommy’s coming up.”

  John cleared his throat. “I should go.”

  “No, wait. Just give me a minute.”

  “We can’t do this, Lorraine.”

  “Mommy.”

  Lorraine’s look implored him to stay.

  He nodded toward the staircase. “Go ahead, Chloe needs you.” He grabbed his keys from the bar and swiftly left the house.

  “Mommy.”

  Lorraine smiled and teared up simultaneously. There was the tiniest crack in the façade. His body responded and she felt, if given the time, she would have had his heart again as well. “I’m coming, baby.”

  John sat in his truck, thinking about what just happened. He looked down at his flaccid penis and shook his head. “Boy, you need to calm that shit down. You were about to get me into some serious trouble.” He glanced back up toward the house before driving off, and exhaled.

  John woke up the next morning beating himself up for allowing things to get so out of hand with Lorraine the previous night. He sat up on the side of his bed and contemplated calling Alex but guilt changed his mind. He pulled at his boxers and went to the bathroom to relieve himself. He then plodded barefoot into the kitchen, scratching his chest as he slipped into a T-shirt. He looked into the refrigerator for something to eat and started a pot of coffee. As the coffee brewed he checked his brother’s room to see if he was asleep, and discovered that he wasn’t there. A knock drew his attention to the door.

  “Hank, what are you doin’ here?”

  “Good mornin’ to you too.”

  “Sorry, it’s early. Come on in.”

  “I was on my way to the pier to do some fishin’ and your mother wanted me to stop by and bring this extra lasagna she made. She was sure you and your brother were up here livin’ off In-N-Out Burger and Pizza Hut.”

  “You detoured up here from Inglewood on your way to the pier to bring me lasagna?”

  “You know your mother.”

  “She was tryin’ to be slick.” John took the lasagna into the kitchen, dug a spoonful out, and shoved it into his mouth. “She just wanted to know if I was home and if I was alone.”

  “You figured that out, did you?”

  “It didn’t take a whole lot of effort after last night.”

  Hank laughed. “You know your mother told me that Lorraine was actin’ all cozy with you.”

  “Yep, that’s the reason for the lasagna and the unannounced visit, right?”

  “Sorry I didn’t get to make it last night. Your mother showed me all the pictures though.”

  “Yeah, Chloe did her thing.”

  Hank glanced around the unkempt bachelor’s lair. “Is that fresh coffee I smell?”

  “Yeah.Want some?”

  “Sure, just as long as the cup’s clean.”

  “Huh?” John looked through the portal separating the kitchen from the living room to see his stepfather pushing aside a pile of clothes from one end of the sofa in order to sit. “Sorry about the mess. I’ve been meaning to straighten up, just haven’t had the time. You want cream and sugar?”

  “No, just black.”

  “When did you start drinking black coffee?”

  “When your mother decided that I needed to cut back. It’s an acquired taste.”

  John chuckled as he grabbed two mismatched mugs from the cupboard and filled them. He went back into the living room, gave his imposing and distinguished stepfather one, and sat in a chair facing him.

  “Where’s Anthony?”

  “I don’t know. He wasn’t here when I came in last night and he wasn’t here when I got up this morning. Probably spent the night with some woman.”

  “Speaking of women, what’s goin’ on with you and Lorraine?”

  “Nothin’, but that hasn’t stopped her from wanting to get back together.”

  “I take it you don’t want to?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  Hank scratched at the grayed temples of his faded haircut and took a sip of his coffee. “Complicated, huh? Sounds like there’s another woman.”

  “What would make you say that?”

  “Look, I’m almost sixty-three years old, and if I ain’t learned nothin’ else in all this time I know that nothin’ can complicate a situation between a man and a woman more than another woman.” Hank’s dark brow furrowed. “Unless it’s another man.”

  John caught his meaning. “Hell, no. Not up in here.” He pressed his lips together and stared off. “To be honest with you there is this woman.”

  “Is she married?”

  John exhaled. “No. She’s uh . . . she’s in the program.”

  “Aw, hell. You gotta be kiddin’ me.”

  “I didn’t plan on it. I didn’t expect it. It just sort of happened.”

  “Johnny . . .” Hank scratched his head again and planted his face in his large, calloused hand.

  “I know what you’re gonna say, Hank. Believe me it’s nothing I haven’t said to myself over and over again.”

  “You have feelings for this woman?”

  John put his cup down on the table in front of him and vigorously rubbed his face. “Yeah . . . God help me I do.”

  “Walk away, son,” Hank admonished. “Maybe you should concentrate on some of your other cases. No good can come of the situation with this woman.”

  “I have to finish the job I started. She’s counting on me.”

  “Johnny, I can’t tell you how to feel. You’ve always been as stubborn as your mother. And you always did like the rush of livin’ on the edge. But, are you sure this woman is worth you puttin’ everything on the line you’ve worked so hard for? Have you thought about passin’ this one off on somebody else?”

  “Yeah, I thought about it.”

  “But you’re not doin’ a
nything to change it? This must be one helluva woman.”

  John retreated to his bedroom, and when he reemerged he passed Hank a picture of Alex.

  Hank removed his eyeglasses from the inside pocket of his skiff jacket and slid them up his nose. “Is this her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t tell me you sleep with this under your pillow.”

  John snatched the picture back. “Not funny, man.”

  “She’s good-lookin’, that’s for sure. I can see why you might be tempted.”

  “And that’s not even a good picture of her. Man, this woman is somethin’ else. There’s just something . . . I can’t really explain how I feel when I’m around her.”

  “So, it’s more than sex then?”

  “I haven’t slept with her.”

  “Are you going to?”

  John shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

  “Is it the danger of being with this woman that appeals to you?”

  John shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe.”

  “You need to figure it out, son, and soon. I think what you need is to step away for a minute and get a fresh perspective. How about a drive to Santa Monica? We can do some fishin’ and you can do some thinkin’?”

  “I can’t today.”

  Hank stood up and his six foot four inch frame towered over John, making him feel like that hapless fourteen-year-old again. “All right. Watch your step. I don’t want your mother throwin’ another fit because of another woman she thinks you’re ruining your life over.”

  “You can’t say anything to her about this, Hank.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t. But if this thing with this woman blows up, your mother and her prayer group are gonna be draggin’ your tail to the altar and drowning you in holy oil.”

  Even though he laughed John knew Hank was right. As much as Barbara Mitchell resented Lorraine for what she’d done she tolerated her for the sake of the grandchildren. His involvement with Alex would carry no such amnesty.

  7

  Jamilah sat on a bench in a neighborhood park, reading and soaking in the afternoon sun, rocking Cerena back and forth in her stroller. She lowered her reading glasses and smiled as she spied the older gentlemen she’d met in the market approaching. He smiled too.

  “I was hoping to find you here.”

  “How are you, Mr. Obafemi?”

  “Ah, ah, ah . . . Please, call me Ade.”

  Jamilah nodded politely. “How are you today, Ade?”

  “I am much better now that I’m seeing you.”

  Jamilah’s eyes smiled as she readjusted on the bench to allow the man to sit. He removed his cap and his sponge of white hair sprung up from beneath it. He sat, boyishly twirling the cap in his hand as if wanting to say something but not sure how to begin.

  “What are you reading?”

  Jamilah turned the cover of the book over to show him. “It’s a collection of poetry by Phillis Wheatley.”

  He looked off in the distance. “My Busola loved poetry. She was a schoolteacher, you know.”

  “Is that right?”

  “I used to love for her to read to me. Her voice was so calming. Much like yours.”

  “Thank you.” Jamilah smiled amiably, closed her eyes, and turned her face upward toward the radiance of the sun. “It is a beautiful day.”

  “Yes, it is very nice,” Ade responded. “Your granddaughter seems to be taking advantage of the time to have a nap.”

  “You should be glad she’s sleeping, otherwise, she would be trying to talk your ears off.”

  “I would welcome the conversation. How old did you say she was?”

  “She’ll be nine months this May. She started taking her first steps just recently.”

  “You must be very proud.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I have a two-year-old grandson who I have not seen since he was born, but my daughter sends pictures.” Ade gazed off over the park. “I miss my family very much. My daughter and son-in-law have tried many times since my wife died to get me to move to Chicago to live with them.”

  “Why didn’t you go?”

  “Because my Busola is buried here, and I wanted to stay close to her.”

  “I understand.”

  Ade cleared his throat and turned back to Jamilah. “Would you mind terribly reading something to me from your book?”

  Jamilah girlishly brushed the loose strands of silver behind her ears and leafed through her book for an appropriate passage.

  O Thou bright jewel in my aim I strive

  To comprehend thee. Thine own words declare

  Wisdom is higher than a fool can reach.

  I cease to wonder, and no more attempt

  Thine height t’ explore, or fathom thy profound.

  But, O my soul, sink not into despair,

  Virtue is near thee, and with gentle hand

  Would now embrace thee, hovers o’er thine head.

  Fain would the heav’n-born soul with her converse,

  Then seek, then court her for her promis’d bliss.

  Ade turned to her as if he’d summoned the courage to ask what it seemed he’d wanted to all along. “Miss Janette, I would be most honored if you were to join me for dinner tomorrow night.”

  Jamilah sat contemplating the invitation. She hadn’t had a suitor in quite some time. He was alone and so was she. They were both from Nigeria and appeared to have a lot in common despite the fact that he was almost ten years her senior. She welcomed the companionship and why shouldn’t she? With the exception of the three elderly women she met with on occasion to play bid whist, all the friendships she’d cultivated over the years were now dissolved back in boroughs of the Bronx. There was no telling what was made of her disappearance. And there was absolutely no reason she couldn’t try to make the best of this fortuitous encounter.

  “Ade, I would like very much to have dinner with you.”

  “Where would you like to go?”

  “Where would you like to take me?”

  “Well, there is a very nice restaurant not too far from here. The Café Mundial. Have you been there?”

  “No, I haven’t as yet.”

  “I have a car. I could pick you up. Is six o’clock too early?”

  “My daughter has to work. I don’t think she will get home until seven.”

  “Then shall we say seven-thirty?”

  “That sounds lovely.”

  Jamilah’s acceptance seemed to put Ade at ease. He leaned back on the bench and she opened her book and found another sonnet to read to him. He closed his eyes and was quieted by the warmth of her voice.

  8

  It was nearing closing time at La Bella. Other than a few words about various business transactions, Margot had done her best to avoid conversing with Alex for most of the day; which had not gone unnoticed by Celeste, the silver-haired, cosmetically enhanced trendsetter who owned the boutique. She cornered Margot in the stockroom when she went to collect her purse from her locker.

  “Margot, are you feeling all right?”

  “Yes. I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

  “You’ve not been your usually bubbly self today, that’s all. There seems to be quite a bit of tension between you and Adriane. Is there anything going on that I need to know about?”

  “No. Everything’s fine. Do you need me to hang around until you lock up?”

  “It’s all right. I’ll take care of it.”

  The two women emerged from the back room as Alex was headed for the door.

  Celeste waved. “Good night, Adriane.”

  “Good night, Celeste. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Margot hurried to catch up to Alex as she stepped out onto the sidewalk. “Adriane, wait up.”

  Alex stopped and turned toward her.

  Margot fidgeted with her chunky necklace. “I, uh, I wanted to . . . I wanted to apologize for the other night. After I thought about it I felt so embarrassed about the way I acted. I
thought that you might have said something to Celeste. I really can’t afford to lose this job.”

  “You don’t have to worry about anything like that with me. What you do when you’re not at work is your business. I thought you were giving me shade all day because I skipped out.”

  “That’s funny,” Margot responded. “I thought you left because of the things I said to you.”

  “I’m a big girl, Margot. Why don’t we just chalk this up to miscommunication and leave it at that?”

  “That works for me. Thanks for being so cool about it. So, I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

  Alex nodded and proceeded to her car. She was surprised to find John waiting for her there. “Two Chases in one week,” Alex scoffed. “I must’ve hit the lottery.”

  John’s brow furrowed at Alex’s sardonic comment. “What do you mean two Chases?”

  “Your wife was here shopping a couple of days ago.”

  “Lorraine?”

  “Unless you have another one hidden away somewhere. Petite, red hair, blue eyes. I have to say she was not quite what I expected.”

  “You mean because she’s white.”

  “It does seem to play into every stereotype I ever heard, a good-looking black man, a perky white trophy wife.”

  John flashed back on what had transpired between him and Lorraine in the middle of the living room floor. He thought he could push the incident down somewhere in the recesses of his mind, where such things are more surreal than reality.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Huh?”

  “Why are you here, John?” Alex looked upward into the sky. “No Bat-Signal. So, feel free to take the night off.”

  “Maybe I’m not here to protect you. Maybe I need you to protect me this time.”

  “From what exactly?”

  “Myself. I’m afraid that not seeing you every day makes me feel a little bit crazy.”

  “Oh, please.”