BOMAW 1-3

by Mercedes Keyes

  Coming to talk to him on and off, attempting to take his mind off of his fears with landing.

  Experiencing feelings of failure within his marriage sent him off on trips like the one he was taking, which led him to having the one affair he was indeed guilty of. When that was disclosed in court at his divorce hearing, he was convinced that her parents must have truly hated him, and had been waiting for him to make a false move to use against him. Well he delivered it right to them. Believing at the time that Erica had been a part of it, finding out that she hadn’t been, left him with her on the rebound. Now here he was trying to think of a way to dump her. He’d been with her on and off for two years, and unlike Deidre, she was willing to do whatever it took to make their relationship work. Problem was, of course, he didn’t want it to work. He was ready to move on.

  Fiery, sultry, and independent. Sleek, caramel-toned and stunning. A writer…an artist of literature. Mother of two, grandmother of two, yet young and very much alive. Sylvia Payne…owner of the home he wished he’d purchased when he first sought property and land. His father had selected the house he owned now because it came with a larger lot of land; ten acres, whereas the home which Sylvia now owned had only a 2 acre lot of land. Having moved in upon her absence, he’d inquired about it at the title and lands office in town.

  “You’re late asking on that one. It was sold a little over a year ago. Shoulda scooped it up when you bought that one across from it.”

  “Doesn’t seem to be anyone living there now. You think they’d be interested in selling it?”

  “Oooh, she’s just out of town, is all. She be back."

  “She?” he’d asked.

  “Ms. Sylvia Payne. She’s a widow. Moved here more than a year ago, ‘bout your age. She lives there alone. Spunky, audacious, lil’ thing. You’da thought she’d been fearful of moving to a little town like this. But not a ounce a fear in her.”

  “Well, why would she be afraid?”

  “She's Black…or…African American. We don’t have many of them here, and she’s one that’s here all by herself.” The older male clerk had filled him in on that fact. Shawn didn’t know where the comment came from, or why he asked, but had blurted it before he thought about it. “Does she have reason to fear?” The clerk looked up from the file cabinet.

  “Where, here? Naaaw…I don’t much see too many here that would care. Long as they come with peace and decency in mind. Leave that drug sellin’ and gangin’ to the city. That’s all we don’t want here."

  At the hardware store where he purchased tools and various other odds and ends, he asked the girl at the counter while checking out and had received comment from all the men standing around shooting the breeze. “You know anything about my neighbor across the way from me?” She looked up at him and smiled, about to answer, when from one of the men came the question, “You the one buy the ole Fay Clark property a while back?”

  “My father bought it for me in my absence. I’m just now getting around to moving into it,” he offered. The one inquiring nodded as the others remained silent in thought. Then another fellow spoke up saying, “That house across from you was a much nicer place. Ain’t got as much land as you, though.”

  “I know. My father opted for the land, versus the home."

  “That’s 'cause you can always build on. You gone be farming on it? Got anything in mind?”

  Shawn smiled patiently. “Not at the moment, but I have time to decide.”

  “True, true,” another responded.

  “So I take it none of you have met my neighbor?”

  “She comes in a lot when she’s doing stuff on her house. I like her, she’s real nice,” the young woman behind the counter finally responded.

  Then one of the men added, “’Cept she don’t care for men much. For a black woman, she’s pretty easy on the eyes. So Dick Haire—”

  “Dick Haire?” Shawn repeated, with a grin of disbelief.

  “Yep.” Everyone chuckled. “His name's Richard, but we all call him Dick; his last name is Haire.”

  Shawn had chuckled as well. “I see, and anyway…you were saying?” One of the other men picked up the story. “

  Well, Dick decides to welcome her to our humble town. He’s got a bit of a reputation, you see, wants everyone to know where he’s been and who he’s been with. When she move in and he gets a look at her, we could all see what was coming next. Oh, he was offering to cut her grass for her. Gave her a tour of her own property. Give her a history on that house. Tell her about everyone that live there before her. What she should fix, how she should fix it…you name it. He found a excuse to be on her doorstep,” this offered with a chuckle.

  “Didn’t do him no good. She come in here and had it up to here with ’im!” the woman supplied, gesturing with her hand over her head. “Plum flustered to the end, she asked me, 'Jean, how in the world do I get rid of this man? He’s drivin’ me nuts! I don’t wanna hurt his feelings, but enough is enough already! I am not the least bit interested in him, nor any other for that matter! They all hang out in here enough, can you let them know—I am not looking for a man! Not anytime soon!'. Whooooeee was she hot! Dick Haire got the message loud and clear, seein’ as how he was on the other side of that aisle and heard every word she said.” They all broke into laughter then.

  Next informant was the owner of Maggie’s Market. He learned that she enjoyed Sylvia's company as well. She filled him in on the other information, including the fact that she was a writer. Maggie felt she should be an actress, model, or maybe a comedian, because she always made her laugh whenever she paid her store a visit. They always talked past fifteen minutes of her shopping and bill pay. “She’s different, that one is,” she finished as he left the store.

  He sighed deep. Yes, indeed she was. So back to his dilemma…what was the attraction? He didn’t know, but he knew it was a sure thing. He still remembered the day she returned from her little vacation or time away. His friends were all throwing him a party in celebration of landing a contract with a top novelist. Her novels were always number one on the bestseller's list, and she chose him and his work to be her regular illustrator from now on. The contract meant big money for him and nonstop work. They would be re-releasing five of her biggest sellers from years back, with his artwork to illustrate the characters. Recycling her top sellers as they prepared the release of a new trilogy. He’d just finished the covers for the recycled works and now he was on his way to see and hear the ideas for the trilogy, but his mind was on Sylvia.

  He’d wanted to invite her to his party as a neighborly gesture, but changed his mind. After all, she was single, and Erica was present. Plus, at the time, they hadn’t exactly known each other. Even so, his curiosity had been sparked by the townsfolk and he was itching to catch a glimpse of her. On and off during the party, he’d glance across the road, hoping to catch her going in or coming out of her house. All he managed to catch was her silhouette in her living room picture window and the glowing illumination from her TV. He chuckled to himself suddenly…and then, of course, that night he’d gotten the bite of her ire when the police showed up about the volume of his music. He knew he did that on purpose, hoping to flush her out. Thinking that maybe she would show up on his doorstep and complain, or join the party. Well neither had been the case. She’d sent the police. That next morning, he needed to send off his signed agreement on the contracts, and so happened to luck out and run right into her leaving the post office. Having gone from stirred curiosity, to looking for her—or an opportunity to meet her—to stepping right before her, was forever branded into his memory.

  Even now, he remembered her fresh, clean fragrance assailing his senses as he abruptly stopped not to run her over. To look up into eyes so bright, vivid, and dark…obsidian, coal black eyes. Large and captivating. Delicate, full classical brows arching above them. Skin the color of smooth, caramel candy. A slight, perfectly ridged nose above very full, sumptuous lips. Framed with shoulder-length, dark brown—almost b
lack, swirled, waved, and loosely curled glossy hair. Their eyes had locked. She had taken in all there was to see about him, just as he did with her. In his anticipation to see and meet her, he had not been disappointed. Right then, right there…he knew he would do whatever it took to know her. Now that he was slowly getting to know her, he knew that he wanted more. Much more. He didn’t feel a need to stop coming anywhere to mind, except in his relationship with Erica. Shawn sighed.

  His flight was about over, they would be landing real soon. Strange as it was, he felt a calm within. A calm that somehow told him there was more to come for him, more to come with Sylvia Payne, and this flight would be successful. As he hoped, it was, landing without a hitch. Now to get through the airport and rent a car. Following that, he needed to contact his daughter first, and Gerald second. He always made it a point to make it to town a day before his business to give his daughter his first day when visiting.

  The tropical-like airport was teaming with tourists. Family and friends, greeting family members who had just arrived, lining the corridors. Almost every public phone bay was occupied. Departure/Arrival monitors were in open display every ten feet, yet all that was on his mind was collecting his luggage, calling his daughter, and hoping Deidre was feeling considerate. He wondered whether Sylvia would be online tonight when he went online? His stride through the airport was familiar and business-like. He’d traveled through this airport enough to know the routine, the route, the best restaurant/bar. The bookstore/gift shop of his preference and the car rental agency that offered him his preference in a car with a price that was not as extravagant as he could go. His manner wasn’t one that showed a man who had just traveled six and a half hours from a climate of 38°F, to an incredibly warm one of 74°F.

  His leather hung over one arm and his suit jacket open as he made his foot-flight through. After waiting twenty minutes for his luggage to roll around and then the golf cart ride over to a car rental, another ten minutes passed before he was in the car of his choice, an Oldsmobile Alero. He owned trucks and SUV’s; no sense in renting one. When he made these trips, they were primarily all business, except for Angela. He preferred to jump in and fly. Flying through curves to the onramp to merge onto Interstate-10 is what he did. In no time at all, he was at his condo. Tossing his leather on the sofa, he made quick steps to the dining room and placed his laptop on the table and carried his luggage upstairs, to his room. He would unpack in a moment; taking off his suit jacket and kicking off his shoes, he started unbuttoning his shirt as he made his way to the bathroom. After emptying his bladder and quickly washing his hands, he pulled his shirt free and off to land on the chair in his room. He went straight back downstairs to the table and began unpacking his laptop. The convenience of having his computer mobile was counter-balanced by the pain of having to unpack it and reset it everywhere he worked for the period of time he was there. Having done it so many times, he made quick work of it. First thing he did after it powered up was to sign-on to his instant messenger. After closing the ad, a message for him to authorize the addition of his name to the friend list of Quiet_Storm. Upon seeing the name, he began chuckling. “Ooooh, my god, Quiet_Storm…you’re anything but, lady…anything but.” To make sure it was her, he checked the profile of Quiet_Storm; sure enough, it was Sylvia. A good sign that brought a smile to his face. He gave his authorization and accepted her to his list. It was a little after 6pm, his time, after 4pm her time, he had plenty of time before they met online. He couldn’t believe how eager he was to do so, but in the meantime, he’d change and call his daughter.

  “Daddy?"

  “Hey, pum'kin. I’m in town; how about dinner with your ole man tonight?”

  “Yes! Wait, I mean…well, I better check with mom first. Hold on, okay?” With a sigh, he nodded then answered, “Sure, darlin’, go on.” He listened as the phone was laid down and his daughter took off through the house. A few moments later, “Shawn?” Resigned at having to speak with his ex-wife, he answered, “Hello, Deidre.”

  “Why do you always do this? We had no idea you were going to be in town tonight, and you expect me to just up and get her things ready to come with you. As if all I have to do is wait for you to show up to collect your daughter for a day or two.”

  “Don’t get anything ready, Deidre. I can pick her up as is, and whatever she needs, I’ll get for her.” The tension between them was almost instant.

  “What if I have something already planned?” she returned stiffly, irritated.

  “Do you?” he shot back, having no time for this. It was a waste of the time he could be spending on the way to get her.

  “Fortunate for you, I don’t. Why do you continue to do this? You’ve yet to follow a plan, you just pop up! We never know—” Deidre gasped, hearing the phone on the other end click. He'd hung up on her. Hanging the phone up with a harsh bang, she turned to her hopeful daughter. “I should not let you go anywhere with him. He’s unreliable and irresponsible, and if he thinks he’s going to just pop up when he wants to, be rude and brisk with me—”

  “It’s because you always start a fight with him! Why do you always have to be mean to him?”

  “Angela, the judge gave him every other weekend! Is he here every other weekend? Or does he come for you when he’s in town?”

  “I don’t care! Maybe he would come more often if you would stop being so mean! After all, you divorced him, he didn’t want it!” Angela fired back at her mother angrily. Deidre stood steaming, with her arms crossed over her ribs. It never failed, every time he showed up, she and Angela couldn’t get along. She was all her father and nothing of her mother. Her hair, dark like her father’s. Her eyes, the same changing hazel-blue. A moment in the sun tanned her darker than her mother’s entire time spent in tanning booths and the summer sun. Angela was Shawn Everett’s feminine duplication, who would one day grow into a stunning, blue-eyed dark beauty. “Angela, have you forgotten that it was your father who cheated on me? That it was your father, whochose to move away? Instead of staying here and near you, so that he could see youevery—other—weekend!"

  “It’s your fault he cheated!”

  “How so?”

  “Because he wanted to move away from here to the country, but you wouldn’t go!” Angela fired out, upset. She loved her father with a hero worship, with a "daddy’s little girl" strength and bond that could not be broken. Deidre knew it and didn’t understand it. After all, look at all her family had done for them. Angela wanted for nothing. She tried to be a good mother to her. In the absence of Shawn, they got along just fine. Yet consistent to the rule, the very mention of his name changed everything. Exasperated, Deidre stood shaking her head. Tired of the argument, she turned away from her daughter. “I don’t understand you, Angela. He shows up once a month or less, and you can’t wait to defend him. I’m here for you everyday, and you act as if you hate me.” The clicking of her heels followed her down the hall from the phone table in the foyer. At the end of the hall she turned, framing herself dramatically in the doorway to the dining room.

  “Go! Get ready for your father.” She turned away again and disappeared into the room. Angela swallowed the heavy feeling in her chest. Her stomach hurt. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her mother, it’s just that she couldn’t forgive her for chasing her father away. For breaking up their family. She finally moved, making a mad dash for the stairway, eating them up quickly, with her waist-length tresses bouncing as she climbed.

  Fifteen minutes later, she sat in the window seat of her bedroom waiting. The front gates started swinging up; she sat straighter with her full attention on them until she spied the silver sports car coming down the curving driveway. It had to be her father. She leapt up from the window seat, grabbed her bag, and flew through the house to meet him at the driveway. Down the stairs and past her grandfather, who was on his way up.

  “Hey, what’s the hurry?” he grumped.

  “My dad's here to get me!” was all she spared him, taking the corner aro
und the bottom railing, no brakes needed, and straight for the door, leaving Oscar T. Wherrington standing on the stairs with a look of dread on his face. His daughter was marching down the hall towards the door.

  “When are you going to put a stop to that? He might as well not come at all!”

  Deidre carried on as if she hadn’t heard him. She wasn’t in the mood for another argument. Out the door, she gracefully floated down the front steps, around the back of the car where her daughter was already inside, kissing her father on the cheek and hugging him. Stopping at his window, she leaned down. “What time will you have her back here?”

  Shawn straightened up behind the wheel. “In a couple of weeks.”

  “A couple of weeks! What about school?” she demanded.

  “I know the way there. I’ll be there to pick her up.”