Avenging Alex

by Lewis Ericson

  “Hello.”

  “John, Mama hasn’t come home!”

  “Okay, calm down.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down. That restaurant she went to is closed and she isn’t home yet.”

  “Maybe they went somewhere after dinner.”

  “No.” Alex was on the verge of panic. “Something’s wrong. I know it.”

  “Okay. I’m on my way back.”

  The glare of headlights sweeping into the room drew Alex’s attention to the window. “Wait.” She exhaled. “I think they just pulled up.” She peered through the sheers. “Yes, it’s them. I’m sorry I freaked out again.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to come back?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “Okay, but take it easy. Breathe.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Call me back if you need me.”

  “I will.”

  Alex ended the call and stood a few feet from the door with Cerena in her arms and waited. The door opened enough for her to hear her mother on the other side.

  “I had a wonderful time tonight, Ade.”

  “I did as well, Janette. Will I see you tomorrow?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Alex felt silly listening to the two of them, and quickly dashed to her room with the baby to give them privacy. A few minutes later she heard her mother humming as she made her way up the hall.

  Jamilah tapped on Alex’s door and poked her head inside the room.

  “Well, look who finally made it home,” Alex snapped.

  “Were you waiting up for me, Mother?”

  “Very funny. I tried calling you and you didn’t answer. I told you that you don’t get charged just for having your cell phone on.”

  “I know. I’m sorry if I worried you.” Jamilah stepped inside carrying her shoes and sat next to Alex on the side of the bed. “But, as you can see there wasn’t any reason to be. I’m just fine. Ade is a lovely man. Besides, I knew John was here and I wanted to give you two some time alone. So, after dinner Ade and I drove to Duarte and found this quaint little jazz bar and talked.”

  “Did you have a nice time?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did, despite having to make up most of my past. I almost slipped a couple of times. But, don’t worry. As far as Ade Obafemi is concerned, I’m just a harmless old Nigerian widow.”

  Alex took her mother’s hand. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you light up like this.”

  “It’s been a very long time since I’ve enjoyed a man’s company so much.” Jamilah spied John’s wristwatch on Alex’s bureau and moved to pick it up. “And I see I wasn’t the only one having a good time tonight.”

  Alex blushed. “Yeah, I guess we got a little carried away. I should feel bad about it but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “He’s still a married man and until he divorces her she still has a claim to him.”

  “Don’t be silly, Omolola. He’s not cattle. He has free will. For whatever reason this woman is not the one he wants to be with.”

  “Yeah, so he keeps telling me.”

  Jamilah yawned and laid the watch back down. “Well, I guess I better get off to bed. Do you want me to take Cerena?”

  “No. I’m gonna keep her in here with me tonight.”

  “Okay. Good night.” Jamilah kissed Alex on the forehead and left the room.

  “Good night, Mama.”

  Alex closed her bedroom door, laid Cerena on the bed, and grabbed John’s watch before climbing in next to her. She snapped the band around her wrist and smiled. “No, Chicken Little, the sky is not falling. Get a grip.”

  9

  The next morning Alex was awakened by another bad dream. She looked over to see that Cerena was sucking her thumb and sleeping peacefully, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that if something were to happen to her or her mother there would be no one to look after her baby girl. She couldn’t fathom her being passed around like a football in the foster care system. Tirrell Ellis was not listed as the father on the birth certificate, but there were other safeguards she felt she could take to ensure Cerena would be taken care of should the unimaginable happen.

  She reached for a pad of paper and pen from the drawer of her nightstand.

  Tirrell,

  I hope you’re doing okay. I know I’m the last person you ever thought you’d hear from, but I hope you won’t tear this letter up before you read it.

  You probably thought I fell off the face of the earth, and under the circumstances couldn’t care less one way or the other. Maybe you’re hoping I’m dead. The truth is, if you’re reading this letter I probably am.

  A lot has happened since I last saw you. The biggest thing is that I found out I was pregnant right after I went into protective custody. I know what you must be thinking, but trust me; there was no other man after we hooked up. I had a little girl. Her name is Cerena. She was born last August and she’s absolutely beautiful. I know every mother says that about their babies, but she really is. She has your eyes. I can imagine that this must come as quite a surprise to you. I didn’t find out until a few weeks after I made the deal with the Attorney General’s office and it made me all the more determined to protect her no matter what.

  I’m not the monster bitch you think I am. This little girl is the most important thing in the world to me; that’s why I’m telling you this now. It’s time for you to know the truth. Call it my dying declaration.

  “Shit! What am I doing?” Alex ripped the paper from the pad and wadded it up. “This is stupid. Why the hell would I want my daughter to go to that man? The last I heard he was still in a wheelchair. For all I know he could still be strung out on crack. I can’t do that to my baby. I won’t.”

  Alex stared at the wad of paper and sat in a quandary, imagining the worst-case scenario as she glanced over at Cerena. She was jolted by the ringing of her cell phone when she reluctantly started on the letter again.

  “Hello.”

  “You’re all right?”

  “John?”

  “I tried to call the house phone and kept getting a busy signal. I was just about to head over there.”

  Alex remembered that she’d thrown the phone against the wall the night before.

  “Hey, are you there?”

  “Yes, I’m here. I think I must’ve accidentally knocked the phone over.”

  “Is your mother all right?”

  “She’s fine. I overreacted as usual.”

  “I told you I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  “I believe you.”

  “I want to see you later. I think you have something that belongs to me.”

  Alex smiled and toyed with the band of the watch. “Maybe.”

  “I think you have my watch, too.”

  She blushed at his not-too-subtle implication.

  “Are you going into the boutique today?”

  “Yeah. As a matter of fact I should be up getting ready as we speak. I just didn’t sleep very well last night.”

  “Really, because I slept better than I’ve slept in a long time.”

  The memory of his touch caused the corners of her mouth to turn up.

  “Apparently I didn’t do my job right if you couldn’t sleep. I hope you’ll give me another opportunity.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Can I come by and take you to lunch?”

  “Are we planning to eat this time?”

  “Always. You got me hard just thinking about it.”

  She glowed like a schoolgirl experiencing her first crush. His seductive tone dispelled the doom she’d felt upon waking up. Stroking the fleshy part of her inner thigh her thoughts drifted, recalling the way he felt inside her. His hot, wet tongue. His thick, hard . . . Cerena stirred and forced her to put her lust on hold.

  “Cerena’s waking up. Why don’t we pick this up later?”

  Alex disconnected the call, flung the comforter back, and arranged the pillows on her be
d to keep the baby from rolling off. She headed into the living room and found Jamilah picking up the discarded telephone and examining the indentation in the plastered wall.

  “What in the world happened here?”

  “I, uh, had a little accident.”

  “I can see that.”

  Alex relocated a large potted schefflera to hide the aftermath of her fit. “See! Good as new.”

  Jamilah threw up her hands. “Okay, I won’t ask.” She turned to go into the kitchen. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Can I get you some breakfast?”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Alex responded as she joined Jamilah in the kitchen. “Why don’t I cook breakfast for you?”

  “Well, I like the sound of that.” Jamilah smiled. “I’ll go get the baby. I’m sure she’s about ready to eat something too.”

  When Jamilah went to Alex’s room she noticed the wads of paper on the floor and the pad on the bed. She leaned over to pick the girl up and the words “Dear Tirrell” jumped out at her. She was further alarmed by what she read next.

  She flew into the kitchen with Cerena tucked under her arm, waving the pad of paper in her free hand. “Alexandra, what is this?”

  Alex turned around from the stove, shocked by her carelessness.

  “You’re writing that man a letter,” Jamilah shrieked. “Omolola, what are you thinking?”

  “I . . . I . . . I was thinking about Cerena.”

  Jamilah held up the paper and read aloud: “‘You probably thought I fell off the face of the earth, and under the circumstances couldn’t care less one way or the other. Maybe you’re hoping I’m dead. The truth is, if you’re reading this letter I probably am.’ This is insane. You can’t seriously want him of all people to know about this? What if John finds out? Have you thought about that? We could be dismissed from the program and left to our own devices. Is that what you want?”

  Alex took the baby from her mother’s arms. “I have to have a plan.”

  “Why, Alexandra? Nothing is going to happen.”

  “Anything could happen, Mama. If not Rivera I could be hit by a bus or, God forbid, drop dead of a heart attack.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re perfectly healthy.”

  “Healthy people die all the time.”

  “I don’t like you talking like this.”

  “I don’t like not having a plan, Mama.”

  “And this is your plan. To tell this man who is responsible for this madness that he fathered your child. You’re going to expose yourself to him and then what?”

  “If anything happens I want Cerena to be protected.”

  Jamilah’s breathing became erratic. “Why do you insist on dwelling on the probability that something is going to happen?”

  “Mama, please calm down.”

  Jamilah grabbed her chest and slumped down in a chair at the kitchen table as she began to wheeze and cough. Alex dashed to her bedroom to retrieve her inhaler. She could see the flushed expression on her mother’s face when she returned and handed it to her. Jamilah furiously shook the device before sticking it in her mouth and squeezing out a couple of puffs of medicine. Alex took her hand and held on until her breathing returned to normal.

  “I’m sorry I upset you.”

  “I don’t want you talking about dying, or death, or getting hit by a bus, or anything like that ever again. Do you hear me?”

  A pot of oatmeal boiled over on the stove and distracted them just as Alex started to explain why she felt she needed to let Tirrell Ellis know about Cerena. Alex checked to ensure Jamilah was all right before giving her the baby.

  “Alexandra, let me help you.”

  “No, Mama. I got this. You just sit there and relax.”

  After cleaning up the mess on the stove Alex prepared a couple of fried eggs and toast, as she reconsidered attempting to make Jamilah understand why she needed to follow through with her intentions, for fear of distressing her to the point of convulsion. “I’m going to call the boutique and tell Celeste that I won’t be in today.”

  “You will do no such thing. I don’t need you to sit here and watch over me like I’m some invalid. I had a little trouble breathing but I’m all right now. There is no reason for you to stay home.”

  “Mama, are you sure you’re feeling better?”

  “Omolola, this isn’t the first asthma attack I’ve had and it probably won’t be the last. I’ll be fine. You just get ready and go on to work, and promise me that you won’t be writing any more letters to that man, and you won’t try to contact him in any way.”

  Alex nodded. Lying seemed necessary.

  An accident on the 210 caused Alex to be forty minutes later for work than she thought she might be. After the morning she’d already had, the notion that nothing was going to go right for her today hovered like ominous storm clouds. Her apology was taken in stride as she rushed through the front of the shop teeming with customers, and continued to the back area to secure her purse. She envied the ladies of leisure who had nothing better to do with their time on a Sunday afternoon than to splurge on lavish martini lunches, charity events, and shopping. She fondly recalled the days when she was numbered among them and given the privilege of planning such affairs. Despite her lucrative alliance with drug traffickers, she enjoyed being an event planner, and she was good at it. She thought how mortified she’d be if one of her former clients were to stumble into La Bella and see just how far she’d fallen. She knew all too well if she could be identified as Alexandra Solomon they would all be relocated and the entire process would start over again, new identities and all. Should that happen her biggest regret would be saying good-bye to John Chase.

  “Excuse me, Miss. Can you tell me if these shoes come in a size eight?”

  Alex looked up from the display she was setting and came face to face with Caren Wallace, the woman she remembered John introducing her to. “I’d be happy to go check in the back for you.”

  The woman’s gaze narrowed. “You look so familiar to me. I know you from somewhere, don’t I?”

  Alex saw no reason to deny it should the woman call her on it. “We met at the coffee shop in Monrovia on West Foothill a little over a week ago.”

  “Oh yes. You were with John Chase, weren’t you?”

  Before she could answer Lorraine Chase stepped up beside her. “Caren, look what I found.”

  Caren Wallace pursed her thin lips together as the corners of her mouth curled up maliciously. “Look what I found.”

  Alex’s throat constricted and she clenched her teeth.

  “Lorraine, this is the woman I was telling you I saw with John at that coffee shop. What was your name again, dear?”

  Alex never dealt with being backed into a corner very well. Responding, “Bitch, you don’t wanna mess with me,” crossed her mind. “Adriane,” she answered instead.

  “Of course, that’s right. Adriane Sullivan, wasn’t it?”

  “It still is last time I checked,” Alex snapped.

  Lorraine gave Alex the once-over and snarled, “So, you know my husband?”

  Alex remained poised. “It would seem so.”

  “You waited on me last Thursday when I came to pick up my dresses and never said a word.”

  “I wasn’t aware that I was under any obligation to share any of the details of a chance encounter, Mrs. Chase.”

  “Well, perhaps it was more than serendipity that brought you two together,” Lorraine retorted.

  “Are you implying that there’s something scandalous going on between me and your husband?”

  “Scandalous,” Lorraine repeated. “Interesting word choice. Is there something going on that you’re just dying to tell me about, Ms. Sullivan?”

  Alex stood staring at the woman, wanting to scream, “Yes, there’s something going on. I fucked him and it was good. In fact, it was better than good; it was fan-fucking-tastic!”

  “I guess it’s true what they say,” Caren interjected.
“It really is a small world.”

  Lorraine arched her brow, and combed through her fiery mane with her fingers. “And getting smaller every day.” She turned her attention back to the garments in her hand. “Caren, what do you think of this one? John always did love me in lace.”

  “You wear this and I’m sure he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else.”

  Lorraine cut her eyes toward Alex and smiled cattily to her friend. “What do you think, Ms. Sullivan?”

  Alex sucked in her cheeks before responding, “I don’t really have an opinion.”

  “Somehow I doubt that,” Lorraine asserted.

  Caren Wallace chuckled. “Well, I think it’s wickedly divine.”

  “The question is how long would I be wearing it before John ripped it off me? I should probably buy several. The man does have an insatiable appetite.”

  Alex resisted the urge to add that John also had the stamina of a bull.

  “On second thought, it’s a little cheap.” Lorraine tossed the lingerie on the counter. “Why don’t we go someplace where the merchandise isn’t quite so . . . scandalous.”

  Alex rolled her eyes as Lorraine sailed out of the shop with the disingenuous blonde trailing her.

  “I wanna play,” squealed the freckled tyke, pulling on her father’s pant leg.

  “Hang on, sweet pea. I’m just about to beat your brother,” John replied, looking away from the screen.

  “Score! I won!” John Michael yelled, relishing his father’s defeat.

  John slapped his forehead and fell back on the overstuffed sofa, feigning disappointment of his Wii tennis skills. He surrendered the game controller to his daughter under his son’s protest.

  “She’s too little to play.”