Nappily in Bloom

by Trisha R. Thomas

  I turned around to see Airic standing a foot taller than Marcella. She looked uncomfortable.

  “Thank you, Marcella,” I said, to ease her mind and excuse her at the same time.

  “If you need me . . .” She gave me a knowing eye before she left Airic and me alone, closing the door behind her.

  We stood facing one another. Silence. Had Marcella known what either one of us was capable of, she never would’ve left us alone.

  “What now?” My arms crossed over my chest for no other reason than to get ahold of myself. I still wanted to rip his eyes out of his head. “Say what you have to say.”

  “I don’t want us to end.”

  “I know—you mentioned that, but in the same breath you asked me for five million dollars. So which one do you need? Me or the money?”

  “You.” Airic sounded like a prisoner with no real choice in the matter, since the confession had already been signed. Only thing to do now was await sentencing.

  “Okay, then we’ll stay together.”

  “Just like that?” His questioning tone said he didn’t trust me. We were even in that regard.

  I raised and lowered my shoulders. “What else do you want to hear?”

  “Nothing, I guess.”

  “I do have one caveat. If you ever raise your eyes or so much as glance at another woman, I will cut off your—”

  “Stop it. I get it.”

  I pushed the intercom on my nightstand. “Marcella, please get Mr. Fisher’s room ready. He’ll be staying.”

  He left with his shoulders hunched, defeated if not downright crushed. I don’t know if Airic really understood why our sleeping arrangements had to be that way, but it’s the only thing that made sense. I didn’t know what I was capable of while ensconced in a bad dream. Afraid I’d pick up something and hurt him, not able to tell what was a real danger from within my nightmares. Especially now, while I was seething over his betrayal.

  I’d killed a man once. The man I killed all those years ago had beaten me one too many times and destroyed my spirit long before the first punch. I would never be that person again. No man would raise a hand to me, let alone crush my heart with unkind words and ill intentions. I’d vowed a man would never lay violent hands on me and live to tell about it. I made that promise years ago and had made good on it. Thank God I was living my new life through the Holy Spirit, or Airic would’ve paid dearly. The embarrassment alone was reason enough.

  From the Grave

  Jake

  Jake counted his blessings: He had a ridiculously large house, and was grateful to have paid cash for it up front.

  He had his freedom, something he knew most people took for granted. He understood fear and uncertainty and never took for granted the value of each day, savoring the highs right along with the lows. The threat of spending your life in jail for a murder you didn’t commit could do that to a man, humble him to his knees.

  He saw his wife peek in his home office to say good-bye. She wore an IN BLOOM T-shirt with white jeans that were fitting kind of close. He rose and beckoned for her to meet him halfway for a kiss. He’d gotten home late from the Atlanta Hawks basketball game while she was already sleeping so they really hadn’t spent any time together.

  The Bluetooth headset in his ear signaled a call. He held up a finger before their lips could touch. He looked at the phone ID. “I gotta take this call, babe.” He blew her a kiss and watched her round bottom exit. She’d put on a few pounds, he noticed, and he appreciated the change. Still, the jeans might be too tight for public consumption. He hadn’t decided whether to trust the old school dude she was working with just yet. Men, gay, straight, or indifferent, all had one thing on the mind, booty. Respect was the only thing that could conquer the urge. He didn’t know if Vince knew who he was dealing with.

  Legend had been calling all week. Now it was time to put a lid on it and squash the subject for the last time. “Look, I’m through with L.A. That’s all I have to say about it. You want to sell your interest in the company—do it. I got nothing for you.” Jake pushed the button to end the call. He kept the conversation short.

  He was sick of Legend whining about being burnt out on JP Wear—the company Jake had started nine years ago—when all he had to do was show up and be in charge. He’d handed it over on a silver platter, having signed the urban clothing company over to protect it from lawsuits. The arrangement suited both of them just fine. Every six months, Jake received a nice check toward the full buyout price, while Legend kept the business running smoothly.

  It wasn’t enough money to make him a rich man anytime soon, but it kept mouths fed, lights on, grass cut, and his wife satisfied. At least he hoped so. He was content, but any man who thought one person happy in a two-person deal was enough was dead wrong.

  It was Legend again. “What now, man? I’ve already said everything I got to say. I like our arrangement. I’m not coming back to L.A.” He paused briefly to listen for the garage door to open and close, then said what was really on his mind: “If you didn’t spend all your time chasing tail, you might have some energy left to run the business. Seriously, though, why the need to drop this thing like it’s hot? What’s wrong with our arrangement?”

  “I can’t stay here.” Legend’s voice lowered almost to a whisper. “I need to leave Los Angeles. Hell, take a trip outside of these here United States, and yesterday wouldn’t be too soon.”

  “You messed with the wrong man’s wife or what?”

  “Were it that simple.” Legend sometimes sounded like a thespian on a stage. He had the dramatic flair and good looks. He mostly used them for seducing and conquering women, as if the sport were a dying art. There was no fun in simply bedding them; he had to make them believe he was a leading man, their knight in shining armor.

  Jake leaned forward in his chair. “You need to tell me what the hell is going on. Straight up, no bullshit.”

  “Need face time. Technological advances won’t do. I can be out there on the next flight.” Again Jake had to strain to hear. He was about to be dragged into some mess, but Legend was his friend—one of the rare and few. Friends were hard to come by and even harder to get rid of. Like an arranged marriage, commitments were made. Time was vested.

  “I’ll pick you up at the airport. Just tell me when, I’ll be there.” Jake hung up and leaned on his elbows.

  His wife wouldn’t be happy about Legend’s visit. Hopefully whatever Legend needed face time to talk about wouldn’t take more than a day. He didn’t like being the buffer between his best friend and the woman he loved. Most would assume the two had some secret relationship go bad. But Jake knew better than that. There’s was a genuine disdain for each another—bad blood, bad chemistry—and he was in the middle, always trying to keep the two from touching, and setting off an explosion.

  The doorbell chimed loudly through the empty house. It was too early in the day for salespeople or Jehovah’s Witnesses. He meant to talk to the Homeowners’ Association about the supposedly private gate that seemed never to close. The fees weren’t high, but he was one to expect what he was paying for.

  Jake saw a man and woman standing at such a distance, he wondered who’d actually rung the bell. He swung the door open. “Yeah, how you doin’?”

  “Mr. Parson.” They looked like a sharply dressed black couple here with an invitation to their church. On the contrary, the visitor flipped open his badge case. “I’m Agent Peterson, and this is Agent McDonald.”

  “Tonya McDonald,” she said, offering a handshake as if they had just met at a networking seminar.

  Jake read the badge closely. “Federal Bureau of Investigation . . . What can I do for you?”

  “We’d like to come inside, if that’s all right?”

  “Not really. Like I said, what can I do for you?” Jake stood firm.

  “Mr. Parson, we have something you’re going to want to see, and I seriously believe you will want to sit down for this one.” The male agent held up a portable DVD pla
yer as proof of his statement. “It won’t take long.”

  Jake stepped inside, allowing them to follow. Agent McDonald remained standing while her partner took a seat and opened the player. Jake wanted to stand, but as soon as he heard the voice sail from the screen, he took a seat. On the clear tiny screen was the man who’d killed Byron Steeple, or at least one of them. He’d remember their voices until the end of time. He heard it in his dreams. If he was thinking hard enough, he could hear the two of them while he was standing in line at the grocery store, behind him when sitting in a dark theater, occasionally on the other end of the phone. He’d learned it was all a figment of his imagination. But this time the voice was real.

  “Try these—they help.” Agent Peterson handed him a huge set of headphones.

  The interviewer wasn’t on the screen. With the high-tech headphones, Jake could hear him clearly. “You work for the same company that employed Byron Steeple. Besides that, what was your connection?”

  “No connection. I didn’t know him. I work at JP Wear, in the warehouse. Since when is that a crime?”

  “DNA at the scene of the crime, yours. Come on, all you have to do is tell us who hired you to do it. Why take the fall when it wasn’t even your idea. Make a deal and walk away.”

  Jake slung the headphones. “What the . . . Don’t even try it.” The DVD player would’ve gone flying, too, if the agent hadn’t gripped it tight in his lap.

  “Jake.” Agent McDonald spoke calmly, pulling her dark ponytail from one side of her shoulder to the other. “It’s not you we’re after. We do need your help, though.”

  “I had nothing do with Byron Steeple’s death. Nothing.” The man had been long dead and buried and was still causing havoc in Jake’s life. When is this nightmare supposed to end?

  “This isn’t about his death. He was a clever money magician. He knew how to make money disappear, but he wasn’t only stealing from you, but from just about every midlevel criminal from here to L.A.”

  “Oh, so now I’m lumped in with the criminals.”

  “On the contrary,” Agent McDonald said, “You were the only one who actually operated a real business. He laundered money, and he began slicing off the top for himself.”

  “Please understand, this is very serious. We have never been able to locate the money, or the disk that would show us exactly who his customers were.”

  “I can’t help you. I don’t know a damn thing about this, and honestly don’t want to know.”

  “Mr. Parson, what happened to your cell phone, the one you had on the night Byron Steeple died?” The square-head agent had said very little since he arrived. He’d obviously been holding the highest card in the deck, and he played it.

  Jake shook his head, thinking back to that night and wishing he could make it all disappear. He had dropped his phone somewhere in the crucial seconds of holding Byron’s limp body. “So what do you want me to do?”

  Shaken Not Stirred

  Venus

  “The fountain has to be eight-tiered. Not six, not four. Uh-huh, uh-huh. Well, unless we’re breaking some kind of fire code, how high it stands is not an issue.” Before I could close out the call, the call-waiting chimed in. I saw it was Judge Delma and was going to let it ring, but since she was about to pay my rent solid for the next six months, I couldn’t avoid talking to her.

  “In Bloom, how can I help make it a fantastically floral day?”

  “Venus, I have another urgent favor.” With Delma, everything seemed to be urgent. The nerves of a mother-of-the-bride were usually the first to go.

  “That’s what I’m here for.” I tapped my pen, ready to take direction.

  “Do you think—well, is it possible for Mya to be the flower girl? It would be such an honor, but truly the little girl who was supposed to do it now stands taller than me, with breasts to match.”

  “It would be an honor. Yes, I’m sure Mya would love that,” I said, mostly thinking of Jake’s disapproval. But what the heck, none of my friends were having any nuptials anytime soon. What little girl doesn’t enjoy dressing up like a princess and tossing rose petals all over the floor?

  “I appreciate everything you’re doing. You’ve been so diligent.”

  “I appreciate you, too.”

  Mostly I appreciated the check I’d just deposited. Jake didn’t like to talk about it, but he considered my little business a serious drain on the resources. Partly true, but doesn’t every business need a little start-up capital? After this job, I would be in the black and able to prove to him everything was coming up roses—excuse the pun.

  I hung up after the last call, realizing I was going to be late picking up Mya. “I gotta get out of here.”

  I heard Vince filling vases behind me. “You know you’re better than all of this.”

  I turned around and gave his shoulder a squeeze. His broad arms were more intended for a boxing ring than for playing in roses and daisies, obviously not his intended career choice.

  “Sometimes you don’t know what you’re meant to do until you fall headfirst into it.”

  “I’m just sayin’. You seem more like the type could’ve been a CEO making big dollars.”

  I grinned ear to ear. “I was just thinking the same about you. Why don’t you ever talk about your life before this one? What did you do before you came to this great peach of a state?”

  “Put it this way: I was in the wish-making business. You made a wish, I made it happen.”

  Chills ran up my arms. For some reason, I knew Vince wasn’t talking about a new pony or other childhood wish. “I better get moving. Mya is waiting.”

  Mya called for me when she saw me enter her preschool. “Mommy!”

  “Hey, baby.” I kneeled down and waited for her to push past the other children. She flew into my arms. “How was school today?”

  “Good. Look what I drew.” She held up her work of art—two wild splashes of brown and black. My hair, I assumed. In the center was a spot of red. My lips, I also assumed. “It’s you, Mommy,” she said proudly.

  “You definitely got the hair right.” I kissed her, then took her hand. I signed her out and walked through the throng of parents picking up their kids before the clock struck 6 P.M. One minute after, and there was a ten-dollar charge added to the bill. Worse than a late credit card payment, they continued adding up until double zeros appeared on a pay-or-quit notice. Good care costs good money, so I did my best to follow the rules.

  “Wait, Mommy.” Mya loosened her grip and took off toward the playground, where some children remained calm and happy with no idea about late fees.

  I followed Mya to the iron fence where she stood, her hands wrapped around the bars. “Bye, Jory!” she yelled. “See you tomorrow.”

  A mop of blond hair and big dark eyes, cute as he wanted to be, rushed to the fence, landing directly in front of Mya. Before I could comprehend what was happening, they stuck out their lips and smooched between the octagon wire.

  “Mya! What’re you doing?” I took a hold of her hand, pulling her backwards.

  Jory waved then rushed back to the jungle gym while Mya pitched a small fit.

  “Stop it, Mommy.” She tugged her hand away. “You’ve got about three seconds to turn your fast behind around and start marching to that car, do you hear me?” In that instant, I had turned into my mother. It had always worked when she did it. “One, two . . .”

  When we were secured in the car and driving off, I finally exhaled, not quite over the shock. “Mya, don’t you ever do that again.”

  She blinked confusion.

  “Don’t give me that look. Kissing a boy . . . Geez, what kind of place are they running?” Then I heard her hiccupped sob.

  “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

  I pulled out of the gate of the preschool then pulled over. I reached in the backseat and stroked her cheek. “Oh, sweetie. I know you see Mommy and Daddy kissing, but that’s because we love each other. Adults are allowed to kiss, not children.” Somehow that had
n’t come out right. “It’s okay to love, just not with your lips.” There, that was better. I’m sure I’d bought ten good years of not having to deal with the birds and the bees.

  I must’ve traumatized the child. By the time we pulled into the garage, Mya was sound asleep. I carried her inside while her long legs and feet brushed against my calves.

  Inside was the distinct sound of men’s voices echoing through the high ceilings. I carried Mya to her bed, pulled off her shoes and socks, and decided she could sleep just until dinner.

  I went downstairs to see who Jake was entertaining. Outside of the rare visits from his brother, Jake didn’t have any visitors. His home, he said, was off-limits to the music-industry guys he’d met since moving to Atlanta. I was curious. And then I heard that voice and stopped in my tracks. Legend. The booming overarticulated words of a man I’d pretty much hated at first sight. As much as Jake loved him, I felt the exact opposite.

  I paused near Jake’s office, but he’d already heard me coming.

  “Babe, is that you?”

  “Hello,” I said, cautiously stepping into the doorway. “Legend, what a surprise.”

  “Well, if it isn’t the most beautiful woman in the world.” His neat and long dreadlocks were pinned back like a girl, but the rest of him was all man: overbearing, sarcastic, and extremely full of himself.

  I hugged him back, not as hard. The kiss on my cheek made me want to run screaming to the shower.

  “Legend’s staying—”

  “For dinner,” I finished. “No problem. I’ve got some cutlets in the fridge.” I turned to rush out.

  “No, babe, for a couple of nights.”

  “Oh, okay. Like a boys’ sleepover,” I said, knowing anything referring to nonmanly behavior would get under Legend’s skin.

  “More like, we have a lot to talk about and there’s nothing like the privacy of a man’s home.” Legend opened his hands like the surveyor of all things great. “And it’s lovely, by the way. Did you decorate it yourself?”