No Ordinary Love (G Street Chronicles Presents The Love. Lies & Lust Series)

by Mz. Robinson

  “I was calling to see who was planning to pick up Jasmine.”

  “My wife,” I stated, looking at my watch. It was already 5:30 p.m. Octavia and I never picked up Jasmine later than 4:30 p.m. and we never picked up our daughter after the schools 5:00 p.m. closing time.

  “I tried calling Mrs. Whitmore, but I was unable to reach her,” Sherry informed me.

  “I apologize,” I said, rising from my chair. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  *****

  “Wait here,” I ordered Jasmine who was sitting on the sofa in our family room. I walked through the kitchen making sure the doors leading outside to our pool were not only locked, but secured with the child safety latch before running upstairs to look for Octavia. The scent of fresh paint greeted me as soon as I stepped into the hallway. “What the hell,” I mumbled, as I came to the nursery room door. The bedroom door was covered in red paint; from the hinges to the door handle itself. I knew the door was a sign that what was waiting for me on the other side wasn’t good; but nothing could have prepared me for the scene before me. There were splatters of red paint on the carpet and dripping from the drapes and blinds. The entire room had been splashed in bright red paint, including the crib, changing table, and even the window.

  “Octavia,” I called, rushing into our bedroom. The room was empty. I instantly began to panic. I entered the bathroom and found her sprawled out on the floor. She was snoring loudly and lying next to a half empty bottle of liquor with splashes of paint on her clothes, arms and hands. It took me almost two and a half hours to get Octavia cleaned up and get the paint off her skin. I was sure the task would have been ten times easier if I didn’t have to pause in between the task to hold her over the toilet while she vomited. Six hours later, I sat alone in the home theater in shorts and a t-shirt, staring at the television with the volume so low the sounds were almost inaudible.

  “Where’s Jazz?”

  I turned around at the sound of Octavia’s voice. She stood in the doorway wearing the gown I slipped on her after giving her a bath. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes were bloodshot red.

  “She’s spending the night with Charles and Charlene,” I said. I hit the power button on the remote, turning off the TV.

  “You called them?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I thought it was best.”

  “For whom?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. “You or me?”

  “For everyone,” I said calmly. I knew part of Octavia’s attitude was attributed to the fact that she was still somewhat drunk. I chose to take that fact into consideration when responding to her.

  “So, you make decisions however you want and fuck what I have to say,” she snapped. “I really wish you would learn to respect my wishes! You don’t listen…you never fucking listen!”

  “I come home and one of our bedrooms looks like Jasmine had a paint party,” I said while standing to my feet. “Then I find you passed out drunk to the point that you barely understand your own name!”

  “You told me to relax,” she said sarcastically.

  “I told you to relax,” I said staring at her. “Relax. Why don’t you tell me how you got, ‘get pissy ass drunk to the point that you forget to pick our daughter up from daycare’ out of the word, relax? Hum? Tell me how that happened?” Silence. “But you say I don’t fucking listen? You might want to check the mirror boo.” She looked at me with tears in her eyes then turned and walked out the room. “Damnit!” I huffed. I had let my temper get the best of me and that was the last thing I ever wanted to do with Octavia. I instantly felt bad and the desire to smooth things over with her. “Octavia,” I called after her. I exited the theater following behind her. She ran inside our bedroom and slammed the door closed behind her. “Octavia, I’m sorry,” I said bagging on the door. My apologies were in vain. The door was locked and she refused to open it.

  Chapter 11

  Octavia

  I felt like crap twice laid the next morning. My feelings were not only from my hangover, but from the realization that I had been so caught up in my madness that I forgot about my daughter. I made myself a promise that it would never happen again, and I was determined, come hell or high water, that I would keep my promise. I came downstairs and found Damon sprawled out across the sofa wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt. The sight of him reminded me of when I woke up in the hospital and he was sleeping in the chair next to the bed. I knew I was wrong for how I had spoken to him, and he was justified for his response, but that didn’t prevent me from being angry. Sometimes the truth is the most flammable fuel for a fire. The house phone rang as I entered the kitchen, I frowned instantly when I saw my mother’s name on the caller ID.

  “Good morning mommy,” I said politely.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the attack?” Mama immediately asked.

  “I didn’t want to worry you,” I said, honestly.

  “So your passing out drunk after redecorating in abstract wouldn’t worry me?” She said with sarcasm dripping in her voice.

  I pulled the refrigerator door open and removed eggs and vegetables for an omelet. I slammed the door as Damon came dragging into the kitchen. He maneuvered around me, opened the refrigerator and removed a bottle of apple juice before sitting down at the kitchen table.

  “You weren’t supposed to know about that,” I said, rolling my eyes at him. “I guess honor has taken on a whole new meaning.” Damon looked at me with raised eyebrows then exhaled.

  “Don’t you dare blame Damon,” Mama ordered. “He was right to call us and he was right to want to take care of you.”

  “Why did that require you coming to pick up Jasmine?” I asked, placing a skillet on top of the stove.

  “Did you really want your daughter to see you in that condition?”

  Mama had a point. I didn’t want my daughter to see me inebriated. It was a bad look no matter how young she was.

  “No,” I answered.

  “Alright then, stop being hard on the man who loves you enough to realize that.”

  “Fine,” I said.

  “I love you baby you know this ,” Mama said gently.

  “I love you too.”

  “But I think you may want to talk to someone,” she continued. “Get some therapy.”

  “I’m fine Mama,” I said. “I just need a little time.” There was no way I was going to see a therapist. I didn’t need some over-educated , over-achiever telling me what I already feared inside; that I was losing my mind. Hell, that part I understood!

  “Octavia, you have to talk about what’s happened,” she said. “It’s not good to keep your emotions bottled up.”

  “I’m not Mama,” I said, attempting to convince her. “Just give me a little more time and if I don’t sort things out, I’ll follow your suggestion. I promise.” Mama took a deep breath then exhaled.

  “Okay pumpkin,” she said. “Hold on your father would like to speak with you.”

  I listened as my Dad gave me a lecture almost identical to the one Mama had given me. When he was finished I told him I loved him and to kiss Jasmine for me. I hung up the phone then redirected my attention to the breakfast I was preparing. I could feel Damon watching me out the corner of my eye. His gawking was pissing me off with every second.

  “Do you want an omelet?” I asked, looking him directly in the eyes.

  “Yes please,” he answered.

  I picked up one of the eggs then slammed it against the side of the skillet, causing pieces of the shell to fall inside. I disregarded the shells then dumped the egg in the skillet tossing the remaining shell on the kitchen counter. I didn’t wait for the egg to start cooking before I threw the veggies on top.

  “I can’t believe you broke your promise,” I ranted, staring at Damon. “You told them about what happened at the Ambiance.”

  “Octavia they needed to know,” he said. “And what was I supposed to do? You won’t talk to me.”

  “I’m talking to you now!”
>
  “No, you’re yelling at me now,” he corrected me. “And you’re avoiding the problem.”

  “Oh, I know what the problem is,” I said, angry. I turned the stove off then removed the skillet. I snatched a plate down from the cabinet overhead then I dumped the partially cooked omelet on the plate. I carried the plate over to the table and dropped the concoction in front of Damon. “The problem is everyone wants to fix me,” I continued. “I don’t need fixing!”

  “You need time,” he said, completing my thought. “But if I remember correctly, before when I said you needed time—you said you were fine.” I was once again bothered by the truth that flowed from my husband’s lips. I remained silent while watching. He stared from the plate to me then back to the plate again.

  “I think I’ll just have cereal,” he said.

  “Fix it yourself,” I said, stomping off.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I was planning on it.”

  Chapter 12

  Damon

  “You call this a filing system?” I stared at the three shoe boxes of receipts and bills sitting on my desk in front of me, waiting on Tamara’s response.

  “It works for me,” she said.

  “You know you’re wrong for this,” I said.

  “Don’t knock the method,” she laughed. “I have it color coded. If it’s in the red shoe box it’s business related. The brown is personal.”

  “And the white one?” I asked.

  “The white one is a variety box…you never know what you might find.” She smiled innocently.

  “Do you think we can find a budget and a check book in it?” I asked, lifting the top of the box.

  “Budget? What budget…Checkbook…maybe.”

  “This is going to take more than a couple of hours,” I told her.

  “I got plenty of time,” she said, clasping her hands together. “I’ll even buy you lunch.”

  “Are you sure you can afford it?” I teased. “Look at your filing system.”

  “Ha…ha,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Of course I can. I robbed my piggybank.”

  “Let me just double check my schedule,” I told her. I logged on to my laptop and saw that I had no important meetings or anything on my agenda besides sending my wife flowers. I picked up the phone and asked Louisa if she could handle the task for me.

  “How many dozens?”

  “Two,” I said. I thought about the runny, shell-filled omelet Octavia had made for me earlier that morning. “On second thought Ms. Louisa, let’s make it three.”

  “I gotcha boss,” Louisa advised me.

  “Thank you.” I looked up and Tamara was staring at me smiling.

  “What?”

  “You and my brother,” she chuckled. “You believe in spoiling your women.”

  “I believe, much like your brother believed, that when you have a good thing you show your appreciation.”

  “Your women would never make it with an ordinary man,” Tamara commented. “You get flowers on holidays and when he knows he messed up and he’s trying to get his ass out the doghouse.”

  We both laughed.

  “Wait a minute…what do you mean by ‘ordinary man?’” I asked, leaning forward in my chair. “I’m an ordinary man. I put my pants on one leg at a time just like the next man; and any man that values what he has is willing to take care of that which he’s been given. There’s nothing extraordinary about that…it’s just real.”

  “I feel that,” she said. “But sometimes it’s the extent of how you do it that sets you a part from the rest. That extra little something like, nawh, don’t send her one dozen let’s make it three.” She cocked her head to the side while smirking at me. “That’s what makes you extraordinary.”

  “Thank you for that,” I said.

  “Savoy was the same way,” Tamara said, softy. “He would break his neck to prove his love.”

  “The definition of a good man,” I said.

  “A walking, breathing, example of a good one,” Tamara said solemnly. “We need more like him in the world…more like you.” She had a look of sincere appreciation on her face. An expression of respect that could only come from some who truly knows and understands you. The two of us sat in silence, staring at each other.

  “So, you ready to get this party started,” I finally said, opening the boxes.

  “Let’s do it,” she said.

  I stood removing my suit jacket and hung it over the back of my chair.

  “Wait till you get my bill,” I joked. “You’ll see just how extraordinary I am. Bringing shoeboxes up in here like you going to Pooky’s backdoor tax services...what’s wrong with you woman?”

  The two of us laughed again. In that moment of camaraderie I was temporarily taken from my own problems and put in a place of refreshing peace.

  *****

  I decided to have Bento Box, a local Asian restaurant, cater lunch for the entire office. It had been a while since I surprised my team, and I figured there was no time like the present. Tamara and I sat at the small conference table inside my office enjoying our meals and reminiscing on the past.

  “You remember that hoodrat you and Savoy use to date?” Tamara asked. “What was her name?”

  “Taliyah,” I answered.

  “Taliyah,” Tamara chuckled, shaking her head. “ That’s how the two of you met; right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Whew! She had yours and my brother’s nose wide open.”

  “I was fond of her,” I said, stroking the hairs on my chin. “I’ll admit that, but my nose was far from open.”

  “Whatever! She had both of ya’ll running your little asses over there feeding her and breaking her off bread. That hoe was a pimp.”

  “She had us twisted,” I said, thinking back. “But it was all good in the end.” I smiled to myself thinking about how Savoy and I had ended the night we found out about one another on one of the best notes two straight men could ever share with one woman.

  “Oh, and I know ya’ll ran the train on her,” Tamara said, busting me. “You know me and my brother were thicker than thieves back in the day.” I had been denying the truth about the train since I had left that fact out when telling Octavia about how me and Savoy met. I was unusually surprised to hear it, but not shocked that Savoy had spilled the news to Tamara.

  “We did not!” I said, pretending to be offended.

  “A lie don’t care who tells it,” Tamara giggled. “Don’t worry, he spared me from all the nasty little details, but he said it went down!” She raised her hands in the air then lowered them simultaneously. I erupted in laughter.

  “You know if you mention this to any one I will deny it to the grave,” I warned.

  “Your secret’s safe,” she said.

  “I can’t believe he told you that,” I said.

  “We were cool like that,” she said. “He was your best friend and mine too. At least he was until he met…”

  “Shontay,” I concluded.

  “Yep,” Tamara said seriously. She moved her fork across the plastic plate in front of her, pushing her food from one side to the other.

  “Is that the reason you disliked her?” I asked.

  “Part of it,” she confessed. “I know it was stupid and childish, but you have to keep in mind Savoy was the backbone of our family after my father passed. Then he comes here and falls for a married woman. The next thing we know, he’s chasing her all around the globe…we just felt he could have gotten, and deserved better.”

  I understood where Tamara and the rest of the Breedwell women were coming from, but the decision wasn’t theirs to make on how or whom Savoy chose to love.

  “Shontay was a wonderful woman,” I said. “She was loving and kind hearted. I’m not saying that the way their relationship developed was right, but I am saying that falling in love is never wrong.”

  “You’re right,” she agreed. “I just wish things could have been different.”

  “We can’t change what’s
happened,” I advised her. “All we can do is take what we have and where we are now and make the best of it.”

  “I feel you,” she said. “So, what’s up with D and the family? How have things been for you?”

  “Okay,” I said, hesitantly.

  “Just okay?” Tamara pressed. “Come on D, we’ve known each other for far too long to be giving half-assed answers. What’s been up?”

  “Nothing, I’m good,” I said. Tamara eyed me suspiciously.

  “So, I’ve told you all of my business,” she said. “You know how much I spend on booze and drawls, but you want to keep your troubles bottled up? That’s not how we gets down. We’re better than that.”

  “You know you’re one bottle away from being labeled an alcoholic,” I told her.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah and one g-string away from being a Victoria’s Secret model,” She said matter of factly. “Don’t change the subject. What’s up?”

  “I’ll just say it’s days...no weeks, like the ones I’ve been having lately, that remind me just how much I miss my partner.” I said.

  “We can’t replace him,” she said. “If we could, I would have made it happen a long time ago. Even if a chick had to bounce three hundred checks.”

  “When I find your checkbook, I’m burning it.”

  “Good luck,” she laughed. “But seriously, when you’re ready to share with me, I’m willing to listen.”

  “Thanks Tam,” I said appreciatively.

  *****

  I managed to get somewhat of a grasp on Tamara’s spending trends and even got the mess she brought into my office organized and straightened. The good thing about Tamara being slightly clueless about investments and building her stock portfolio was that I could teach her and help her come up with the perfect plan to make her money grow and give her the greatest returns. Although I teased her about her habits every chance I got, the truth was that in my line of work, it’s better to start from scratch then to try and correct a mess previously created by a so-call expert.

  Tamara hung out in my office for the rest of the day, up until it was time for me to pick up my daughter from daycare. It felt good having a friend around, especially one who reminded me so much of Savoy. Octavia had sent me a text thanking me for the flowers and telling me she would see me when I got home. I was hoping and praying that I would find her and our home in a lot better condition than I had previously. When I entered the kitchen and saw my wife standing over the stove, humming, and cooking, I wanted to fall to my knees and thank the Almighty for answering my prayers!