BOMAW 1-3

by Mercedes Keyes

  mcharley60: Sylvia? Sylvia, please…don’t go!

  Second bird, to scare him into check. His hold on her was much too strong. His words, far more powerful than the distance between them. She should have turned her computer off. Not doing so made her lose the battle she was waging against his assault. Her need for him was deep, harsh, soul-shaking and raw. How much longer could she hold out was the scary reality plaguing her mind.

  mcharley60: Ah, come on, Sylvia…I said I’d change the subject. Don’t go! I’m sorry.

  He included that lie for good measure.

  Quiet_Storm: So, how did the visit with your daughter go?

  He sighed. Okay, lady…I see. You’ve got the power…for now. So enjoy it. Because when I return, it’s back to me. But for now, I’ll play by your rules…for now.

  mcharley60: So far, so good. She’s still with me. In the other room watching TV.

  Quiet_Storm: Oh, I didn’t know you still had her.

  mcharley60: Yeah, she’ll stay with me until the day I leave. She’s...one of the most important women in my life. Although she’s still a baby to me, she’ll be a woman one day.

  Sylvia was dying to ask who the other women were. But that would be too much nerve. Especially with how she’d been rejecting most of his advances. Knowing that, she craved with an intense hunger to be placed in that category. Trouble was, is that where he wanted to place her?

  Quiet_Storm: Yes, she will be. But she’s lucky to have you as her father.

  mcharley60: You think so, hm?

  Quiet_Storm: Yes, I do.

  mcharley60: Why, thank you!

  Quiet_Storm: You’re welcome.

  Quiet_Storm: So, how’d your meeting go?

  mcharley60: Pretty much as I’d expected. I got to meet Mercy James finally. The famous author who has hired me as the illustrator of her novels and I'll be signing a contract with them, for their publishing house. along with this current trilogy she’s releasing the first of the year.

  Quiet_Storm: Wow, so…what’s she like?

  mcharley60: She could be your sister.

  QuietStorm: Really?

  mcharley60: You two are very similar. She’s not as dark as you are. But attractive, she even wears your same perfume.

  Quiet_Storm: LOL...and how do you know what kind of perfume that I wear?

  mcharley60: I smelled it enough times!

  mcharley60: And, I confess, I saw it in your bathroom.

  Quiet_Storm: Ooooh, and what do you mean, you smelled it enough times?

  mcharley60: I think it's called, Listerine...

  Shocked, Sylvia gasped, then threw her head back and cracked up laughing.

  Quiet_Storm: LOL...very funny!

  Quiet_Storm: So, you're in a joking mood tonight, I see.

  mcharley60: Got no choice, the mood I was in gets me left in the cold. So, laughter is the next route. I hear, get a woman laughing, you can get her into bed. Problem is, once you get her there, how to stop her?

  And laugh Sylvia did.

  Quiet_Storm: LOLOL…do you ever give up?

  mcharley60: With a woman like you as the prize? No way…no way.

  Quiet_Storm: Well, let’s get back to Mercy James.

  mcharley60: I’d rather talk about us.

  Quiet_Storm: So, does she seem like a nice person?

  mcharley60: I think she is.

  Quiet_Storm: Wow, so you’ve met Mercy James!

  mcharley60: So I take it you’ve read her novels?

  Quiet_Storm: Well, yeah…I don’t know many who haven’t.

  mcharley60: You sound excited. Is that what it’s going to take to lift you…as you lift me?

  Quiet_Storm: You sure about that? That I lift you? Seems to me, I always make you mad…

  Shawn rolled his eyes, shaking his head, letting go a deep sigh.

  mcharley60: Oh, boy, this lady…always cruising for a bruising.

  Quiet_Storm: Not I...this is why I am free.

  Quiet_Storm: No more bruising for me.

  Quiet_Storm: Just cruising!

  mcharley60: My saying that just means wantin’ an argument.

  Quiet_Storm: Oh, and that interprets a need for bruising to you?

  mcharley60: Not in the way you may be thinking…ah, well, that’s okay, I'll tame you...

  mcharley60: In time.

  Quiet_Storm: Hmmmm? Tame me? Yeah, right.

  mcharley60: It'll be just like roping a steer.

  Quiet_Storm: Excuse me?

  mcharley60: You're welcome.

  Quiet_Storm: LOL...yeah, right.

  mcharley60: Tell me, what are you wearing?

  Quiet_Storm: Huh?

  mcharley60: I want to picture you.

  Quiet_Storm: Oh...ummm, well...I'm...ummm, wearing...my night shirt.

  mcharley60: I see...

  mcharley60: through it.

  mcharley60: LOL

  Quiet_Storm: No you don't! You just cut that out, Shawn Styles!

  mcharley60: Everett Styles, or Shawn McPherson, for you, Shawn - period.

  mcharley60: Something else, I got you a gift.

  Quiet_Storm: Oh, yeah...why?

  mcharley60: Well, just cuz.

  mcharley60: Look out the window.

  Quiet_Storm: Huh?

  Quiet_Storm: Out the window?

  Quiet_Storm: Why?

  mcharley60: Look out your window, lady!

  Quiet_Storm: That's silly...why, what's out there?

  mcharley60: Up there, in the sky...I give you the moon and the stars.

  Quiet_Storm: Awwww, *giggle* problem is, they're not yours to give.

  mcharley60: No, but they’re ours to share.

  Quiet_Storm: Oh...yes...wow. Thanks...*gulp*

  mcharley60: We can both look at the same moon...that brings us closer together.

  mcharley60: The stars look like pearls.

  Quiet_Storm: Shawn...*sigh*...yes, I guess they do.

  Quiet_Storm: But...well, maybe we should just...slow down a bit.

  Quiet_Storm: I mean...you don't have to say those kind of things to me.

  mcharley60: I know that, but...

  Quiet_Storm: Besides, it's probably a line you've used on others.

  mcharley60: Yes, but a long time ago...

  mcharley60: LOL…I mean it with you!

  Quiet_Storm: Ummm, excuse me, but your current "unsure relationship" isn't from a long time ago.

  mcharley60: Sylvia…no one honks my horn like you do.

  Quiet_Storm: Honks your horn? Lmao - you callin' yourself a honky?

  mcharley60: Hey! LOL, be nice

  Quiet_Storm: Sorry, that was your line -you need to get a new one, and a new pole while you’re at it!

  mcharley60: My old pole works just fine!

  Quiet_Storm: LOL…well, your line needs replacing.

  Quiet_Storm: 'Cause this fish ain't like any other.

  mcharley60: Lady, you will bite.

  mcharley60: I've got just the right lure, your kind'ah bait!

  Quiet_Storm: Well, I guess this fish, just ain’t hungry!

  mcharley60: You’re gettin' there. When you’re ready to bite…I’ll be pulling you right in.

  Quiet_Storm: Yeah, well, I think we should close this for tonight.

  mcharley60: Yes, I agree. But tomorrow, I’ve decided to call you. I want to hear your voice.

  Quiet_Storm: Oh, really? You’ve decided, hm? And if I’m not here to take the call?

  mcharley60: You’ll be there. Because you’re ready to hear my voice as well. I’ll call at nine tomorrow night...your time. Goodnight, sweetheart.

  And he signed off, leaving Sylvia with her mouth open, which slowly closed into a smile, followed by a sigh. She closed her Yahoo chat-box and other open programs,finally shutting down her computer and turning off the light in her office; walking through her dark house as she flicked off lights. With an incredible, tenacious, and handsome man on her mind she climbed into bed, pulling the covers to her chest, she nestled he
r head deep into her comfortable pillow and smiled on her way to sleep.

  Chapter 18

  During the day in the days that followed, Shawn spent it entertaining his daughter.Spoiling her with his time, attention, and gifts. Scuba diving and exploring the water world, something they both enjoyed. Taking a boat out for fishing…and shopping. Tolerant and grinning, he endured being loaded down with bags and boxes because as any young woman did, his Angela loved shopping too. Not to mention being saddled with two of her friends who often came along for the ride. Every movie out in the theatres, he’d seen. All the dance clubs for sixteen and under where no alcohol was served, he was coerced into taking her and her friends with him present to watch over them, of course. Weekdays, he’d take her to school, and then did the photo sessions with the selected models who stood for the novel characters. Arranging them in various groups for the cover of the trilogy. Then gathering props and backgrounds, he started doing the layout. First a rough sketch drawn in pencil, doing a set of three for each book of the trilogy. Contacting Mercy James, he set up an appointment for her to select from the nine rough sketches.

  Again, her husband was present, giving his viewpoint. They met at their condo, where he was surprised to see they had five children. Three in their teens, a 15 year old daughter, a 14 year old son, and the youngest 13. A big space, then 2 year old twins, a boy and girl, both blondes with dusky, dark skin—who were all over the place,forcing Lowell to call out to the older ones to retrieve them. They were mesmerizing to look at, and so beautiful. Their youngest teen daughter poked her blonde head in…she, too, looked like her father.

  “Can you please watch them until this meeting is over?” asked Lowell, who held each under an arm like a sack of potatoes against his side, both grinning and kicking to get down. Smiling, Lisa grabbed one, then the other, much as her dad held them. Being that she was much smaller than her father, the twin boy, hyper as a wiggle-worm, slipped to the floor and took off at a toddler's sprint, laughing in eager excitement to be free. Only to be spoiled by the older daughter, Erica, who scooped him up before he could make a sure escape.

  Lowell drew in a deep breath, sighing as he closed the door, turning back into their small study office to see his wife’s grinning countenance. “I swear, those two are going to be the end of me,” he complained lightheartedly. She rose from her chair and sashayed over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, devilry in her eyes as she promised him, “The end? You sure? Well, I’ll have to help you with that later…won’t I?” Blushing and shaking his head, Lowell looked up from his wife to their guest. “See what I have to put up with? That’s how those last two up and surprised me!” He grinned.

  “Lowell!” Mercy exclaimed.

  Shawn smiled.

  “Eh, it’s true! Now, behave yourself, you. I’ll take care of you later.” He winked, looking down at his wife, slapping her bottom. “Now get over there and get down to business.” Grinning, she winked a promise to him and did as she was told.

  Pulling away from their condo summer home, Shawn couldn’t help but think about his own life. What the James’ had, he’d always wanted. A close-knit, happy family. A house filled with noise, children, and excitement. Husband, wife, and children who admired, respected, and obeyed their parents…all from a foundation of pure love. Not too different from the life he’d had growing up in his family. Yet all he had to show for it was a divorce certification. Considering his lovely daughter, not all was a failure.

  This only brought Sylvia to mind. She was tough, but he knew he could handle her. She was just unsure of him. But he knew that there were feelings there. Just as he’d asked, she’d been there for his phone call. They’d stayed on for two hours, him talking about everything and nothing. She had done the same. Mainly about her children, and her marriage of so many years to a husband that never quite got the picture of how to handle a woman such as she. After the first conversation on the phone, he’d called her twice more. Leaving her with a means to contact him for any reason should she find one fitting, besides the obvious one, that being, to hear his voice. To assure herself that he indeed still found her to be utmost in his mind. A week had gone by. It was Friday, and he’d been instructed by Angela to pick up an outfit belonging to a friend who needed it for some event that evening. As he stood on the doorstep of Deidre’s parent's grand mansion, he felt completely out of place as he always had, hearing the echo of the cathedral-like chiming doorbell. The door opened with a smiling Anthony to greet him, as usual.

  “Afternoon, Mr. Styles.”

  “Afternoon, Anthony. My daughter has a package here for me to pick up to deliver to a friend. Would you know anything about that?”

  “No, sir, but perhaps Ms. Deidre would, hold on while I get her.” Shawn smiled. “Thank you.” As the butler turned to do so, Oscar T. Wherrington stepped into the foyer from his den, its door not far from the entryway. He stood there, staring with obvious displeasure at the unwelcome visitor. Shawn felt a tightening in his stomach, not of fear, but of discomfort. He’d just as soon not be bothered with this man. Standing there watching Oscar watch him in return, brought back many unpleasant memories. Oscar had had plans for his daughter - none of which included Shawn's act of impregnating her, and filling her head with idealistic dreams of a happy marriage and home life; of having babies in some northern hick town, where she would have no doubt learned to milk cows.

  “What could you possibly want now? You have your daughter, isn't that enough?”

  “Calm down, Oscar. Just here to pick up a little package. Nothing to get all worked up over. I’ll be gone in no time,” Shawn returned calmly.

  Oscar turned to the side with an arm open and out to invite him into his den.

  “No, thank you. I’m fine where I stand.”

  “Maybe so, but there’s something I wish to discuss with you. It won’t take much more of your time. Please.” Again he gestured for him to enter the den. Inhaling deep, Shawn finally stepped forward down the hall a bit, turning to enter. “Have a seat. Would you like a drink?”

  “No. I’d just as soon you get on with it,” Shawn requested from the diamondback leather chair positioned before Oscar’s desk. Oscar stood across the room behind him, fixing himself a drink. “I hear you’re an illustrative artist for romance novels,” he opened, the disdain and distaste obvious in his pitch.

  “It’s a living,” Shawn answered simply, not caring to get into a discourse apparently contrived to make him feel like cow dung.

  “I suppose, but, what about Angela? I’d think you’d want something better for her.”

  “That’s for Angela to decide, and whatever that is, I will support it. Just as my parents tried to support me.”

  Oscar chuckled. “Ah, yes, a cover maker for romance novels…I see.” He walked towards his desk with drink in hand, and circled it to take a seat in his throne-like leather chair. “Seems to me, your lot in life has already been cast. But Angela…well, I’m thinking there can be something better out there for her. As her father, I would think you would want the absolute best for her. I have the means to offer her that. All I need is a little cooperation from you…with something in return for you as well, of course,” Oscar suggested. Shawn sat back with an incredulous lifted brow. “What exactly are you getting at?”

  “That you leave Angela’s upbringing to us. Let us steer her in the direction for a future career that any father would be proud of.”

  “Pride, or being proud of my daughter, does not hinge upon her career choices.”

  “I would expect such a comment from you, considering where you come from. But I know that in this world—”

  “You mean in your world! And I might interject that your world is small, a minority.”

  “Perhaps…but it is here, in my world, where power—true power—and control stems from. Here is where the template of standard and acceptance originates. So, small? No. Few…the privileged? Yes. That’s the difference in our understanding. All depends on your place
of origin,” Oscar added.

  “Look, I don’t have time for this. Nor am I interested in whatever scheme you’ve concocted to get your way. Fact is, Angela, is my daughter. I will decide what is best for her,” stating that, Shawn stood. Oscar followed, growing impatient.

  “Wait a minute, McPherson! Hear me out. I’m willing to support your talent of painting…artistry. You can pursue a more worthy place in society as a respected artist,instead of wasting it on five dollar drugstore, paperback romance novel - nonsense!”

  “Oh, really? And all I have to do is sacrifice my daughter to you.”

  Deidre walked in the room after standing outside to eavesdrop on the conversation. “Father, what are you doing?” Oscar looked at his daughter then back to Shawn. “Trying to salvage something of your life by making a better one for your daughter.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my daughter’s life,” Shawn defended.

  “To you, no. You can’t see that there is because you’re too busy riding thecountryside with your hooligan Harley gang. And in between, you get to paint a few naked women, have a few affairs and fly in to pick up a check. You drop in on your daughter, who spends most of her time pining for your presence, by the way, because you seduce her…just as you do any other woman who crosses your path, including my daughter!”

  “Daddy!”

  “You shut up! Let me handle this!” he shot out to quiet her, then turned back to Shawn. “A million dollars will support you comfortably in the way you like to live. You can use it as you see fit. Maybe even use some of it to become a real artist…one worthy of attention and praise.”

  Shawn stood steaming, trying to fight down an equal hatred for this man, as he no doubt felt for him.

  “Think about it, McPherson. End that child’s misery. Erase all of this nonsense of you trying to be something you’re not! You really care anything about her, you’ll turn her over to our care—entirely. That way, you can get on with your life.”

  Shawn turned his angry stare away from Oscar to Deidre, who stood lividly shaking as well. She turned from her father to her ex-husband.

  “I had nothing to do with this, Shawn. Nothing. Please believe me!” she cried, holding the plastic store bag that he’d come to pick up in her hand. With nostrils flared, Shawn stepped from between the two chairs where he’d stood and walked pastDeidre; who turned to follow him.