Love T.K.O.

by Pamela Yaye

  Sighing deeply, she stared out the kitchen window. How would she sleep without him tonight? She had grown accustomed to cuddling with him and looked forward to their nightly ritual of reading to each other. They took turns reading passages from Bedtime Stories for Lovers and found it was a powerful aphrodisiac. Sometimes they laughed; other times they were inspired.

  The phone rang. Yasmin let it ring. She wasn’t in the mood to talk. But what if it was Rashawn? Dropping the pot, she cleaned her hands on her skirt. She stared down at the caller ID box that didn’t reveal the identity of the caller. “Hello?”

  “It’s me. Don’t hang up!”

  Relief washed over her and mingled with her disappointment. Resisting the urge to yell at him, she exhaled her frustration. “What do you want? I’m busy.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be.”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  Yasmin slid open the patio door and stepped outside. The wind was bouncing the tree branches and the air smelled like barbeque. Her neighbors’ bulldogs barked next door, spoiling the peaceful night. “No, I had a lovely evening,” she said easily. “Imani and I had dinner together and she loved the ribs.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “Where are you?” Her voice softened. “When you didn’t show up, I thought maybe you got hurt during your—”

  “Quit worrying. Like I told you before, everything’s fine. I’m in my car, on the interstate, heading west.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you get your test results back today?”

  Rashawn coughed. “No. It’s gonna take a few more weeks.”

  “Why? Did they find something?”

  “What’s with all the questions?” His voice was sharp, like a jagged piece of glass. “I told you I didn’t get the results. How am I supposed to know what the holdup is?”

  Yasmin didn’t care that Rashawn was evasive and irritable. She wanted to see him, wanted to touch him, wanted to feel the warmth of his kiss. Her mouth softened into a smile and seeped into her voice. “You can still come over. I’ll reheat the ribs and open another bottle of—”

  “No, thanks.” His reply was like a slap in the face. “I need some time…alone.”

  Hurt and frustrated, she blinked away tears. If Rashawn didn’t want to see her, she didn’t want to see him, either. “That’s fine. I have a lot of work to do anyways.”

  “I’ll call you later. Okay?”

  “There’s no pressure,” she told him. “Do what you have to do.”

  “Don’t be like that, Doc. We’ll hook up tomorrow or—”

  In a flare of anger she cut him off. “I wasted my time cooking for you and you didn’t even have the decency to call and tell me you weren’t coming. You’re right, I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you could be hot one minute and cold the next. Maybe you can explain it to me, Rashawn. Go ahead, I’m listening.”

  Silence, followed by a rumble of coughs.

  “I just called to let you know I’m thinking about you.”

  “Whatever. Enjoy your drive.” Fuming, Yasmin hung up the phone and chucked it onto the lounge chair. When it rang seconds later, she didn’t answer it.

  Chapter 21

  Bustling toward her office, Yasmin pulled up the collar on her tweed jacket. Two nights ago, she had sat on the patio reading and now the wind was so fierce she was scared it would blow her away. As she entered A Better Way Counseling Services, her thoughts turned to Rashawn. After a rough couple of weeks, they were back on track. He was more attentive, more affectionate and, aside from the occasional disagreement here and there, they got along fabulously. She felt good about them, their relationship and their love.

  Yasmin only wished her relationship with Niobie was as encouraging. Her assistant had been on time every day since their “talk,” but her productivity had taken a dive. Tasks that used to take her minutes to do now took hours. It was time to let her go and not a moment too soon.

  Yasmin was considering a business partnership with a group of other professional women and for the next few months her time would be split between the clinic and the Health and Wellness Center. Life was full without the added pressure of creating development programs for female parolees, but the opportunity to mix with other like-minded entrepreneurs was too much for her to resist. All she needed now was a new receptionist. Nothing got done unless she was harping on Niobie and she needed an office assistant she could trust.

  Yasmin was heading into her office, a steaming mug of hazelnut coffee at her lips, when she caught sight of Niobie through the front window. She was sitting in her Ford Escort, smacking the steering wheel. Puzzled by her odd behavior, she rested her mug on the desk, marched briskly through the lobby and pushed open the door.

  “Niobie, what’s going on?” she asked, knocking on the driver’s-side window.

  Cleaning her face with her sleeve, she slipped on her sunglasses and stepped out of the car. “Everything’s fine. I’m not feeling good. Stomach flu, I think,” she explained, tugging down the hem of her dress.

  A gut-wrenching odor hit Yasmin between the eyes. Stepping back, she glanced away and took a mouthful of fresh air. Niobie had sunk to an all-time low. Not only was she wearing the same outfit she had on yesterday, she reeked of vodka.

  “I—I think I’m going to be sick,” Niobie croaked, clutching her stomach. “I can’t work today. I have to go home.”

  Ripe with anger, Yasmin folded her arms across her chest. Niobie was easier to read than a picture book. She didn’t have the stomach flu, as she claimed. She had gone clubbing after work, had too much to drink and woke up so hung over she didn’t have the energy to change. A spritz of Chanel No. 5 perfume and she was out the door. Yasmin would rather answer the phones herself than let Niobie work for her another day.

  “I’m terminating your contract of employment immediately. I’ll mail your final paycheck once the keys are handed in and everything at your workstation is accounted for.” With that, she turned and strolled calmly back inside. Niobie followed, excuses flying out of her mouth at lightning-fast speed. Tuning her out, Yasmin grabbed her coffee off the front desk and went into her office. Sipping from her mug, she checked the wall clock. It was nine fifteen. If she called now, the job placement agency would send a receptionist over in the next hour. Tired of her assistant’s incoherent rambling, she asked her to go home. “You’re a mess. I don’t want my clients to see you. Please leave and don’t ever come back.”

  “You don’t understand. I—I—”

  “Grow up,” Yasmin snapped, annoyed. “Quit blaming everyone else for your mistakes and take some responsibility for yourself. Instead of spending the nights in seedy bars looking for men, maybe you should concentrate on getting your life together.”

  “I wasn’t looking for trouble…I just wanted to have some fun…I thought he was a nice guy…” Her voice faded in anguish.

  “Niobie, I don’t want to hear any more of your excuses. Just go.”

  “But it’s not my fault. I didn’t do anything!” she yelled, her tone a fevered pitch. “I didn’t ask…for any of this to happen…I told him to stop…but he wouldn’t…” Sobbing, she collapsed onto the couch.

  Yasmin tried to piece together what Niobie was saying, but her assistant wasn’t making any sense. Staring at the single mother with fresh eyes, she put down her coffee mug. Blinded by anger, she’d failed to see the bite marks on Niobie’s neck and the holes in her nylons. Her hair always looked salon-perfect, but today there were pieces sticking up in the back and specks of fuzz throughout.

  “I told him no…I swear I did…but…”

  Fearing the worst, she sat down on the couch. She reached out and slipped off Niobie’s extralarge sunglasses. Yasmin swallowed a gasp. Niobie looked like she had been in a street brawl. Her eyelashes were clumped with mascara, her bloodshot eyes were puffy and her cheeks were stained with tears. “Who did this to you?�
�� she demanded, anger seeping into her voice. “What’s his name?”

  Sniffling, she used her fingertips to wipe her tears. Her eyes seemed heavy, almost droopy, as if she was fighting to stay awake. “I met this guy.”

  “Where?”

  Niobie sniffled. “W-we met at the charity fund-raiser. Weeks later when I saw his profile on BlackStuds.com I sent him a message. We’ve been trading e-mails since then.”

  “What happened last night?”

  “W-we had dinner at the Blue Water Grill. That really expensive seafood restaurant downtown.” Her gaze strayed to the window. Remorse flashed in her eyes. “I know you think I’m stupid for meeting a man off the Internet, but I have dreams. I want a husband, a house, stability. It’s tough being a single mom and not having someone you can depend on, you know?”

  Nodding, Yasmin reached out and squeezed her hands.

  “He suggested we go to the Grand Hyatt for drinks. Normally, I wouldn’t follow a guy home on the first date, but I felt safe with him, you know? He seemed different,” she explained. “He asked me about my job and was interested in what I had to say.”

  “We’ve all been there, Niobie. You want what every woman wants. It’s not your fault he—”

  “Yes it is! If I hadn’t gone to his suite…he wouldn’t have…have…” fresh tears spilled down her cheeks and splashed onto her crumpled dress.

  Yasmin hugged Niobie. A feeling of protectiveness washed over her. Sexual assault cases were rarely prosecuted. In the eyes of the police department, it was a private matter, a case of he said-she said. Thoughts of sending Rashawn over to the perpetrators’ house to execute a warrant with his fist circled in and out of Yasmin’s mind. Aware of how disastrous split-second decisions could be, but wanting swift justice, she shelved the idea until she could give it more thought.

  Minutes passed.

  “I wanted to leave, but he kept giving me drinks and telling me how pretty I am.” Her hands trembled as she recalled what happened next. “We started kissing and stuff. I wanted him to like me so bad,” she confessed, lowering her eyes. “I gave him a…we had oral sex and then he got rough. He was pawing me and jamming his tongue in my mouth.” Niobie shuddered at the memory. “It was disgusting. I starting screaming and he slapped me hard across the face. He wedged his knees between my legs…I begged him to stop, but he just laughed in my face. He said I’d been asking for it all night, but I wasn’t, I swear!”

  Cradling Niobie in her arms, she smoothed a hand over her clumpy hair. Listening intently, Yasmin made a mental note of all the pertinent information she could pass on to the police. Niobie could cry on cue and knew how to appeal to her sensitivities, but Yasmin believed her. There was no disputing the physical evidence. She had a bruised face, bite marks and a ripped dress. “Did he force himself on you?” Yasmin asked, forcing Niobie to look at her. “Did he rape you?”

  “Well…no…not exactly. We were in bed and all I had on were my panties.”

  “What happened when you asked him to stop?” Yasmin questioned gently.

  The quiet lasted for seconds.

  “He got rough again, but this time I fought him off. Someone must have called the front desk because the hotel manager knocked on the door. While they were talking, I pulled myself together and got the hell out of there. Didn’t even stay to talk to the manager, though he kept calling after me.”

  Yasmin was disgusted. It was hard to believe that in this day and age men were still assaulting and forcing themselves on women. Yasmin was going to see to it that the creep was found and severely punished. Even if it meant hiring a private investigator to find him. Online dating sites were popular because of their confidentiality. A man or woman could log on using a false name and assume a brand-new identity. Criminal records miraculously disappeared, divorces ceased to exist and, with the help of computer graphics and manipulation, Shrek could look like Tyrese. “What’s his name?”

  “I don’t want anyone to know.”

  “But—”

  “People will say I asked for it, that I shouldn’t have been in his hotel room to begin with.” Rocking back and forth, she hugged her hands to her chest. “I just want to forget this ever happened.”

  Yasmin grabbed a box of Kleenex off the end table and handed it to Niobie. “It doesn’t matter what anyone says. You have to do what’s right for you.”

  “That’s why I’m going to keep my mouth shut!” Her voice reverberated around the room. “He said no one would believe me. That I’d shame my friends and family if I went public. I can’t do that to my mom. She’s the only one who’s been there for me and Miles…Miles! Oh, my God, if this got out, the kids at school would…No, I can’t.”

  “Niobie, please reconsider.”

  “No! He’ll label me a slut and ruin my name.” Staring blankly at the window, she released a deep, painful sigh. “I’ve done things in the past, Dr. Ohaji. Things for money. If my mom found out, she’d be so ashamed of me. I won’t hurt her again.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Niobie. He has to pay for what he did to you.”

  Niobie blew into a tissue and balled it up in her hands. “I’m going home. I came straight here because my mom spent the night with Miles and I didn’t want them to see me like this.”

  Yasmin stood. “I’ll take you. You’re in no condition to drive.”

  “No. I want to be alone.”

  “We don’t have to talk. I’ll drop you off at your apartment and leave. I promise.”

  Niobie cleared her throat. “About my job—”

  “It will be here for you whenever you’re ready.”

  The single mother looked wan and tired, like she hadn’t slept in weeks, but she managed a thin smile. “Thanks, Dr. Ohaji.”

  “The most important thing is that you get better. If you need anything or change your mind about going to the police, call me. It doesn’t matter the time. Day or night, okay?” Yasmin eyed her thoughtfully. She had underestimated her assistant. Niobie was a fighter. She had the bruises to prove it. “Is it all right if I come by later to check on you?”

  Nodding, she slipped on her sunglasses. Niobie straightened her clothes and took faltering steps toward the door.

  Something Niobie had said earlier came back to Yasmin. If they had met at the charity fund-raiser, there was a good chance she knew him. At the very least, she would be able to find out who he was. “Niobie, what’s his name?”

  She paused and turned. “Cecil Manning.”

  Exhausted, Yasmin sunk into her armchair. The day hadn’t even started yet, but she felt like she could use a nap. After cleaning Niobie up, she had walked her outside, helped her into the Volvo and driven the thirty minutes to her apartment. Since it was too late to cancel her ten o’clock appointment, she had raced back to the office and awaited the arrival of the Kolodenkos.

  Yasmin stretched out her aching legs. Now more than ever she needed the smooth, calming voice of Anthony Hamilton. Closing her eyes, she prepared to be comforted by the neosoul balladeer.

  The last three hours played over in Yasmin’s head. Surely she was dreaming. Driving Niobie home, photographing her injuries and making arrangements for her to begin counseling immediately were not a figment of her imagination. Physically and emotionally drained, Yasmin had her temporary assistant, Ms. O’Grady, cancel her appointments for the remainder of the day.

  Talking to Katherine had given her some ideas. Her best friend had suggested she call Morgan to seek some legal advice. The phone had rung three times, then a prerecorded male voice had asked her to leave a message. It might be weeks or even months before she got justice on Niobie’s behalf, but Yasmin didn’t care what it took. Cecil Manning was going to pay.

  The city councilman was clean-cut and always dressed in a suit, but Yasmin had learned a long time ago that looks could be deceiving. Cecil had preyed on the single mother’s insecurities and misguided trust. He deserved no less than a long, healthy prison term but because Niobie refused to go to the police, Ya
smin had something else in mind for the Boston native. Politicians were petrified of scandal. One whiff of impropriety and he’d be back in his hometown working at a local car wash. It didn’t matter if Niobie were naked; she had said no and he was bound by law to honor her decision. By the time she was finished with the dapper city councilman, he’d be begging for mercy.

  Line three buzzed. Yasmin lowered the music, took a deep breath and answered the phone. “Dr. Yasmin Ohaji speaking.”

  “Hey, Doc. Got a minute for me?”

  “Always,” she replied, a smile overwhelming her mouth. Yasmin could tell by the hitch in Rashawn’s voice that he was in a playful mood. “How are you?”

  “Better, now that I’m talkin’ to my sexy girlfriend.”

  “Aren’t we full of compliments? To what do I owe this praise?”

  “Can’t a brother tell his woman she’s fine without being accused of wanting something?”

  “’Fess up, Rashawn. I’m onto you.”

  He chuckled heartily. “All, right, all right, you got me. I’m starving and there’s nothing in my fridge but a block of moldy cheese. Wanna grab a bite to eat?”

  Yasmin’s forehead creased. “How come you’re not at the gym?”

  “I had, ah…” The line went quiet. “I decided to take the day off.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Perfect. Are you going to let me take you out, or what?”

  “Um, okay. Where?”

  “Let’s go to City Bar Tampa,” he suggested. “I could go for one of their double-decker cheeseburgers.”

  “Is it okay if we meet in an hour? I have some errands to run first.”