Jerome smiled to himself as he envisioned his future, one that until ten years ago he wouldn’t have thought possible.
Jerome Kimbrough was a man of many talents and dreams, and equally as many hardships. He was born and raised in southeast Washington, D.C.—the wrong side of the tracks—in one of the city’s most notorious housing projects, nicknamed The Hole, because once you lived there, getting out was like trying to climb out of a bottomless pit. Each day spent in his neighborhood was a test of one’s will. Living was a game of survival for every resident, young and old, weak or strong, shiftless or determined. One had to be on the lookout for trouble at all times, because one was either avoiding it or in the middle of it. Jerome usually found himself mixed up in the latter.
By the time he’d turned nine, he was skilled at shooting craps and was an aficionado at three-card monte. When he reached his son’s age, he’d graduated to running drugs for the neighborhood dealer, before moving on to selling on his own. His mother had worried day and night about his safety, hoping he wouldn’t succumb to the deadly streets. Mabel Kimbrough had been the only person in Jerome’s life besides his sister, Clarice, who he felt truly cared about what happened to him.
But despite his mother’s prayers for him to clean up his act, and his desire not to disappoint her, the streets and their dangerous allure had held Jerome in their grasp. His father had been largely absent from his life until just a few years ago, so he’d never had a male figure to look up to. The only role model he’d had was the neighborhood pusher, who’d steered him to the way of wrong. So he continued on a course leading to certain disaster.
The death of his sister, the birth of his son, and the promise he made to his mother a few years later were the events that had finally changed him. It had been a rainy Wednesday afternoon, and Jerome was supposed to pick up his then three-year-old son from day care. But instead, he was at a buddy’s house, smoking a joint, trying to erase the pain of losing his sister to cancer just one month earlier. Because he was nowhere to be found, his mother had to shoulder the responsibility of picking up Jamel. On their way back home a truck slammed into them on the slick road, spinning grandmother and grandchild head-on into oncoming traffic.
By the time Jerome arrived at the hospital later that evening, blurry eyed and with alcohol on his breath, his son had just finished getting the cut on his right leg stitched, and his mother was coming out of emergency surgery.
That night, after sobering up on weak-tasting hospital coffee, he stood over the bed where his mother lay with tubes leading to her nose, mouth, and arms, and made a promise to get his life together. Ever since that day he’d been faithful to his word.
Every now and then when Jerome looked back on the things he’d done over the years, he wished he’d made different choices in his life. He knew if he had, he wouldn’t be so far behind today. But he also realized that life was about the slow and steady race, not the quick and easy finish. Quick and easy had led him down dark alleys and into unseemly situations with unsavory characters. But taking things slow and steady had pulled him up from a life that was heading nowhere and had put him on a path that, he now knew, was full of infinite possibilities.
He was excited about what his future held, about the new people he was destined to meet, the faraway places he planned to travel to, and the exciting things he was going to learn. As he thought about a world teeming with new experiences, his mind once again took him back to yesterday, and to the woman in red who had mesmerized him at first sight. He hadn’t wanted to serve on jury duty, but after encountering her, a pack of wild dogs couldn’t keep him from being the first one at the courthouse Monday morning. She was part of what he envisioned in his new world of possibilities, and he was anxious to see where it would lead.
Several hours later it was early afternoon, and Jerome had just replaced the last shingle on the roof. He was glad that he’d finished so quickly, but more important, he was pleased with the job he’d done. He prided himself on the detailed craftsmanship of his work, and he knew his clients would be impressed.
Jerome reached in his pocket and pulled out a small tin of cinnamon-flavored Altoids. He popped one in his mouth and then walked across the roof to double-check that he hadn’t missed anything. After surveying his work one last time, he packed up his equipment and carefully made his way down the extension ladder, descending to the ground. But once his size thirteen Timberlands hit the grass, he was startled to see the lady of the house standing just a few feet away from where he’d landed.
He was normally very observant about his surroundings—the streets had trained him to be—but he hadn’t seen her on his way down, and it seemed as though she’d popped up from out of nowhere. He hoped she wasn’t going to bombard him with a million questions about the work he’d performed, or ask to climb the ladder to inspect it for herself. He was used to overbearing clients and knew exactly how to handle them with his calm and relaxed manner. But today he didn’t have the time or patience for it, because he needed to hit the road so he could go home and change clothes before heading to Jamel’s birthday party.
He was prepared to tell the woman that if she wanted to view his work, she and her husband could easily gain access to the roof through their skylight. But he didn’t have to say a word, because her lips held a smile, rather than the inquisition he’d expected. He was about to return her friendly gesture, but then he quickly stopped himself. Apprehension spread through his mind when he noticed the gleam in her eye and her outstretched hand holding an ice-cold glass of lemonade.
“I thought you might be thirsty after being on the roof all day,” the woman said with a come-hither smile.
Jerome recognized trouble when he saw it, and he knew that the woman standing in front of him, holding the refreshing beverage, was danger and drama all mixed up into one deadly concoction. Her husband had left shortly after Jerome had arrived, so he knew she was home alone, which put him on alert. He immediately felt uneasy and looked around to see who else was within eye- or earshot, just in case he needed witnesses if something funky went down.
He’d seen the woman watching him when he came over to inspect the roof and do a repair estimate a few days ago, and then again when he first arrived this morning. But both times she had stayed in the background, letting her husband run the show and give direction. But now that she was all alone, she’d decided to come out and play. Jerome knew he had to proceed with extreme caution.
“It’s not freshly squeezed,” she said, “but it’s all-natural, organic.” This time she licked her thin, pink-colored lips as she made the offer.
“That’s very hospitable of you, but no thank you,” Jerome responded. “I was just about to let you know that I’m finished repairing your roof. Your husband said the check would be ready when I’m done.” He chose his words carefully, and spoke without a smile or any gesture of nicety, because he didn’t want to engage the desperate housewife beyond what was strictly business.
The coy look that she aimed at him confirmed what he suspected. Damn, he said to himself. She was bolder than he’d thought, and he didn’t like it.
Jerome had encountered her type before: lonely suburban housewives who saw him as fresh eye candy they could have a little fun with on the side. He watched her eyes as they traveled over his smooth face, roamed across his broad chest, swirled around his bulging biceps, and ventured down to his slim waist, before finally resting on an even lower region, which she had no chance of reaching.
She was attractive, he would give her that, and he could see by the way her knee-length skirt and cotton shirt fit that she was in good physical shape. But as much as her body belied her age, the subtle streaks of gray in her stylish strawberry blond hair, the tiny crow’s-feet that flanked the sides of her blue eyes, and the faint age spots dotting the tiny hand holding the lemonade were all telltale signs that she’d been intimate with Father Time. Jerome also knew that not only did she have a little age on her, but she also had a lot of experience unde
r her belt as a woman who was used to getting what she wanted.
“You sure you don’t want to taste just one sip? I promise it’ll be the best you’ve ever had,” she purred seductively.
Jerome shook his head. “I’m good. All I need is my check.”
The woman pouted her thin lips. “Oh, come on. Just take a little sip. I know you’ve got to be thirsty.”
Jerome was always cool under pressure, but the brazen woman was starting to make him lose patience. He didn’t like the game she was playing, so he decided to end it right then and there. “I know your husband left a few hours ago. Should I call him to get my payment? Because I really need to get going.” He reached for his phone and pulled it out of its leather holster.
The woman frowned and quickly changed her approach. “He left it with me. Why don’t you come inside and I’ll get it for you.”
Jerome followed her up to the back door, but once she opened it, he didn’t go any farther. “I’ll wait out here.”
He could tell that she was becoming frustrated, and that she wanted him to give in to her demands.
“You’re perfectly welcome to come inside,” she said with a cunning smile. She paused, leaned against the doorjamb, and eyed him. “As a matter of fact, there’s some other work I’d like you to do for me. A few things that need fixing with a personal touch,” she said and had the nerve to wink as she gave him a seductive smile. “I think you know what I mean and what I want. And don’t worry. What you and I do will be our little secret.”
Jerome wanted to tell her that there was no way in hell they’d be sharing any kind of secret, and that he was completely uninterested. But again, he knew he had to handle this situation with a calm, level head. “Like I said, I’ll wait out here. If you’d like me to do additional work for you and your husband, I’ll be happy to come by at another time, take a look around, and then give you an estimate.”
The woman pursed her lips, threw her head back, and chuckled. “Well, I guess I’ll go and get that check now.”
Chapter 8
Jerome was in his truck, headed back to his apartment with a nice-size check in his wallet. He was tired but happy because he had finished the job early and would have enough time to shower and take a quick nap before going over to Jamel’s birthday party.
He turned up the volume on the radio and sang along with Al Green’s “Let’s Stay Together.” He knew he’d just been very lucky, dodging a deadly bullet in the form of a wealthy housewife with an appetite for trouble. She wasn’t the first woman he’d worked for who had come on to him, and he knew she wouldn’t be the last. Jerome hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with her again, but he had a feeling she’d soon be ringing his phone with another request for work. She was just that bold. “Son of a bitch,” he said aloud. “I’m not gonna let her trip me up into some bullshit.”
Women had been both a source of strength and weakness in Jerome’s life. There were many times he could point to when women had been at the center of some of his greatest highs and scariest lows. From the wonder of his son being born, to the deranged lover turned stalker who’d left him in the hospital with a near-fatal bullet wound, women had played a major role in his past and present. And although he was currently unattached and was not seeing anyone at the moment, he was ready for that situation to change.
He chuckled to himself, thinking about life’s irony. At thirty-five years old, he was finally ready to settle down in a serious relationship, yet he was alone. Even though the state of his love life was by choice and no other reason, he longed for someone special who could walk with him on his new journey. He wanted a soldier by his side. A ride-or-die partner who had his back. A woman whom he could grow with and share life’s sweet experiences.
Part of the example Jerome wanted to set for Jamel, in addition to being a man of his word, was to show him what a healthy, loving relationship between a man and a woman looked like. Jerome had never seen that growing up, and he knew that if he had, he would have probably been a better boyfriend to the many women he’d dated. He didn’t want drama or dysfunction in his life, because he’d had enough of that with Kelisha. Their up-and-down relationship had been plagued by strife and doom from the very beginning.
Kelisha was a hotheaded, badass, round-the-way girl who popped off at the mouth without the least bit of provocation or care. Usually opposites attracted, and many times worked to balance people out, but Kelisha’s loud mouth and fiery temperament had never jived with Jerome’s cool, calm demeanor.
But Jerome had to acknowledge that he’d played a big part in his and Kelisha’s troubled relationship. He had been unfaithful more than a few times, and he’d continued to run the streets with his boys, despite the fact that just like his mother, Kelisha had begged him not to.
He’d done many things he wasn’t proud of, but he had few regrets because he knew all his decisions and their outcomes had led him to his present state, a place he was learning to appreciate more and more each day. He was ready to experience so many things, and he wanted a good woman in his life to share them with.
As Jerome thought about his ideal partner, his ride-or-die soldier, his mind returned to the woman in red. Stanford 145 was imprinted on his brain. He remembered every sensual inch of her, and especially her scent, which was soft and bold at the same time. Never had a woman impacted him so completely without even a simple hello. He didn’t know her full name, where she was from, where she lived, how old she was, or even if she had a man. All he knew was that she’d made him want Monday morning to skip past Sunday so he could see her again.
“Damn, she was fine!” he said out loud, his mind taking him back to yesterday.
Being summoned for jury duty was something he had been dreading. Like most black males he knew, Jerome had a serious aversion to police officers and white men in black robes sitting in courtrooms. But when the juror notification came in the mail, he couldn’t ignore it—by law.
Missing a day of work from his job of picking up smelly trash and hauling away overstuffed super cans had actually been a welcome reprieve for him. But he hadn’t wanted to be stuck at court all day, either, and he’d hoped they would release him early so he could finish up a repair job for another client.
Jerome had shown up at D.C. Superior Court a half hour later than the 8:00 a.m. printed time on his summons. Being prompt wasn’t one of his strong suits, and it was one of the shortcomings he was working to erase. He’d been sitting in the back of the room, bored out of his mind, when a woman spoke up, answering the court clerk’s roll call. She had instantly grabbed his attention and hadn’t let go. Her sweet-sounding voice and the confidence in her tone had held him in a state of intrigue.
Even though her back was facing him, Jerome knew by her crisp diction, erect posture, and sophisticated hairstyle that she was a woman of class and distinction. He wanted her to turn to the side so he could at least see her profile, but she didn’t budge an inch. She simply bent her head down, concentrating on whatever she appeared to be reading in front of her.
His name had already been called, so he knew he’d get a chance to see her once the clerk finished the list, because they’d all have to step outside. He was prepared to wait patiently, but to his surprise and relief, he didn’t have to. Less than thirty seconds after the thought had crossed his mind, the woman in red stood up and blew him away. He thought she was nothing less than stunning.
Jerome quickly studied her, taking in everything from the rise of her perky breasts peeking out beneath the base of her V-cut neckline, to the gentle curve of her round ass and full hips, which hugged the delicate material of her dress. He could tell she was above average in height, even without the sexy high heels she sported as she breezed by the aisle where he sat. He inhaled her sensual smell, which awakened his senses.
He watched her closely as she walked toward the back of the room, making her way outside. Her graceful stride was seductive, and her femininity appealed to his manhood. He knew she was a self-assured woman
, given the fact that she’d chosen to wear a sexy bright red dress to a place as drab, conservative, and uninviting as a courthouse. That simple act let him know that she wasn’t one to conform to the rules, and that maybe she was on her own journey, too.
As he slowly rose from his seat, he thought about his next move, anticipating what he would say or do if he had the opportunity to interact with her once he was in the hall. Given that he’d pegged her to be a sophisticated woman, he knew he couldn’t approach her without having something interesting to say.
Jerome walked into the hall and spotted her right away. He focused in and locked eyes with her as he approached the line where she stood. The closer he got, the more he couldn’t believe how nervous he felt inside, much like he had when he was eleven years old and asked a girl for his first real kiss. He became excited when he saw Stanford 145 give him a slight smile, but as soon as she’d graced him with what felt like sunshine, she turned her attention back to whatever she was reading on her phone.
He wasn’t a man who was easily swayed or impressed, but the woman in red had literally left him enraptured. He wanted to say hello and grab her attention again, but somehow his mouth wouldn’t cooperate with his brain. The only connection his body was able to make was the one that resulted in a hot sensation below his waist. I can’t believe this woman has me trippin’ like this, he thought.
Jerome was no stranger to beautiful women, or to the art of approaching and seducing them. He was a handsome, naturally confident man who’d possessed a certain type of magnetic sway since he was a young boy. As he’d grown into manhood, he’d delighted and indulged in the fact that women from eight to eighty couldn’t get enough of him. He’d had his share of them across the board—women of varying sizes, shapes, colors, and ages. So the fact that the woman in red made him feel slightly nervous was as unsettling as it was exciting.
Breaking All My Rules Page 7
