“Please, Mom. I can’t stomach that gossip.”
“You’re going to stomach this.”
On the television Jake was getting close into some guy’s face. I covered my mouth in shock. She let it play but I couldn’t hear the woman’s assessment of the situation.
“So,” she let it hang in the air. “Story goes, Mr. JP attacked the man who broke him and Sirena up years ago. Did you know about that? Did you know this woman and your husband used to be an item?”
“I think I may have heard something about it.” I filled up the kettle with water for tea. I then opened the refrigerator and searched for leftovers that I knew were in there. I was sure my mother would point out that I was willing to feed Mya fast food, but wouldn’t eat it myself.
“Taking the high road?”
“Yes, the very high road.” I stuck the leftovers in the microwave and turned it on. “Are we talking about the food, or Jake and Sirena?”
“Jake.”
“Whatever they had or didn’t have doesn’t mean a hill of beans. And if Jake punched a fool in the mouth, believe me, the guy deserved it. Obviously that’s why Jake hadn’t made it to the recital.”
I peeled the Glad sheet back. Steam rose and my mouth began to water. I took a fork full of meatloaf and gravy. It didn’t matter what she was serving, it always gave me warmth and satisfaction. I moaned a little. “This is so good, Mom.”
“Only thing we agree on, is that I can cook.” She went back and slammed the microwave door closed. “You need to find out the details of their past relationship. Don’t sit up there and pretend you are not hurt.”
“I’m not hurt.” My mouth was full. I had one thing on my mind, food, and—well, two … going to bed with a full stomach. I’d already worried enough. I’d even missed watching Mya’s dance for checking my phone every five seconds.
“Listen, you need to get to the bottom of this.”
“Yes, right away.” I shoved another fork of mashed potatoes and gravy into my mouth.
Pauletta leaned over the kitchen table with determination in her eyes. “I’ll admit, Jake wasn’t my first pick for your husband and Mya’s father. Young, too pretty—those things are dangerous signals. But he’s a good man. I don’t want you to lose him.”
“Huh?” I put my fork down. “Lose him?” I shook my head. “Do we really have to talk about this while I’m eating?”
She picked up my plate and started toward the sink.
“Mom, give me back my food.”
“I thought you couldn’t talk and eat at the same time.” She brought it back and set it down.
This time I shoveled a buttery heap of mashed potatoes in my mouth. I wasn’t letting her take my plate until it was clean. When I’d finished, just short of licking it spotless, she picked up the plate. She slapped her hands together. “Can you listen now? Are your ears working?”
“Yeah, but I wish they weren’t.”
“Everyone wants what they can’t have. You need to put some safeguards in place. First you need to make him jealous. Create some invisible boyfriend. Make him nervous.” She coughed out a laugh. “Make him think Clint is back. Dr. Clint Fairchild. Who better than the doctor who got away?” She was proud of herself. “That’s it. I’m a genius.”
“You’re deranged.”
“Did you see how you devoured that plate? You wouldn’t have eaten that food like it was your last meal if it was old hat. You see what I’m saying?”
“I don’t see what you’re saying. I love your food, woman. Hate to eat and run.” I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m going to bed.” Her copper-brown skin was still smooth and wrinkle free. All those years of telling my father and my brother, Timothy, to go on without her; to the park, the beach, or barbecuing in our own backyard. She wanted no part of the sun. No one knew a thing about sun damage back then, but Pauletta wasn’t having it.
She liked to remind me and my brother that we were lucky to have her. We wouldn’t have to suffer unnecessarily with trial and error. All we had to do was ask her and skip going the long way. She already knew everything. Which made asking questions a whole lot easier.
“If that’s true, if all men want is what they can’t have, how have you and Dad stayed married for forty-three years? It doesn’t add up. No one would stay married if that were the case.”
“Play hardheaded if you want to. I’m trying to tell you plain and simple. You’ve got no time for playing stupid. This girl is trying to take your man. Find out the truth. If he and she already spent time together, the wanting is dead and gone.” She pointed a finger and narrowed her eyes. “But if they haven’t, I’d say it’s time to put up some major CB.”
“CB?”
“Cock blocking.” She made a matter-of-fact expression. “Girl, where’d you grow up, in a fish tank?”
“Would you stop with the slang, Mom.”
“CB is not slang. That’s been a saying since you were in pink rollers and bell-bottoms.”
“Thank you, oh great swami. Once again you’ve enlightened me on the ways of the world.”
She’d taken care of me and Mya for the last few weeks. It was the longest she’d ever stayed away from my dad, who she’d first said was on a fishing trip with some retiree buddies. Unless he’d sailed to Alaska and back, I was sure he was back home by now. Now it dawned on me that she really hadn’t talked to my father, at least not while I was within earshot.
“Mom, I think we’ll be okay. You should go back to L.A.”
“What? That’s just plain rude. Because I make an observation, you want to kill the messenger?”
“No. I’m concerned. You always said Dad wouldn’t eat unless you fed him. Is there something going on with you two?”
“Nothing’s going on. After nearly half a century, sometimes you just need a break.” She headed out. “See you in the morning.”
As I was entering my bedroom, the phone began to ring.
“Baby,” I finally exhaled. I stayed quiet, not sure what good etiquette said about asking one’s husband why he’d punched someone out on national television.
“You have no idea how much I miss you.” He sounded so tired. “I’m sorry I missed Mya’s recital. I missed my flight.”
“It’s okay. There’ll be more. She’s quite the dancer. Are you okay? Is everything okay?”
“You saw?”
“Yeah, on TV. My mother couldn’t stop rewinding and playing it over and over. The news reporter said it had something to do with Sirena. What happened?”
“I’ll talk to you about it when I get home. I promise. I’ll tell you everything.”
“Everything?” I squeezed back the lump in my throat. “I’m just worried about you. I don’t want you to get in trouble again.”
He sighed. “Babe, it’s over. I never hit him in the first place. It just looked that way. I promise, we’ll talk when I get home.”
Up and Away
“I’m just sayin’, like I’m gon’ take any old deal. I’m Sirena Lassiter. I earned the right to say kiss my ass.”
“Miss, you’re going to have to turn off your phone.”
The plane was ready to take off. Seat belts buckled. Trays upright. Jake was seated beside her, staring out the window like a lost child. It was his fault they’d missed their original flight. Bottom line, she already told him she had nothing to do with Tommy on the set of their interview. She’d been just as shocked and disturbed as he. But no, Mr. Holier Than Thou always wanted to blame somebody.
He was seriously getting on her nerves. Get over it already.
“Ms. Lassiter, what would you like to drink? We still have a few minutes before takeoff.”
“What? First you’re rushing me off the phone, now we got a few minutes.” Sirena huffed. “Orange juice,” she said loud enough for anyone listening, and she’d come to accept someone was always listening. Then quietly, “And a Smirnoff.”
“You got it. And sir, for you?”
She nudged Ja
ke. He pulled out the iPod speaker from his left ear.
“What do you want to drink?” Sirena enunciated like he still couldn’t hear.
“Water. No ice.”
“Just one big bowl of fun, aren’t you.” But then she had to admit that was part of the attraction. He had a foundation. He didn’t give in or take the easy way. He held fast and steady to what he believed to be right. Like him holding on to his marriage vows for dear life when it was obvious he could have her. At some point she was going to have to play her last card. The ace she held close and ready. She wanted to give him a chance to come peacefully.
He kept his gaze out the window onto the tarmac. What was taking so long anyway? Sirena opened her purse and took out a new script. She was behind in her reading. Her agent would be expecting an answer as soon as she was back home.
Where was home anyway? The word for normal people implied the place where she could lay her head and finally breathe a sigh of relief. There was no such place for her. Constantly on edge. Looking for the bigger better deal. If she slowed down, she feared sinking into the quicksand of irrelevancy like so many who came before her. Every blossom must fall. She’d read that someplace and understood the full meaning. No flower could last forever. It eventually would shrivel up and die, petal by petal, until there was nothing left. But while she was in bloom, she would take advantage of every ray of light, every drop of rain. Taste every bee and delight in the search for her honey.
Bottom line, she had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Because eventually, she was going to lose it anyway.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re sorry for the delay. We’ve been grounded by the flight control. We’re currently looking at an hour before we’re cleared for takeoff, so feel free to use the restrooms or move about the cabin.” As soon as the announcement was made the noise octave went up with chatter, folding newspapers, nervous babies, businessmen and -women on their cell phones.
“Shit. Great.” Sirena received her drink and snapped the top off the mini vodka bottle. She took a quick sip before pouring the entire contents in the glass of orange juice.
Jake didn’t budge or fidget like the rest of the plane. Maybe he really hadn’t heard the announcement. The more time she got to sit next to him, the better. To smell him. Watch his every move. What she really wanted was to be in private so she could ask all the right questions. Make him admit why he was so angry. Admit that after all this time, he hadn’t let go.
She tapped him on the shoulder. “We’re delayed.”
He pulled the earpiece out. “What?”
“We’re delayed for an hour. I want to talk to you.” She couldn’t wait any longer. The noise would drown out her voice. Keep her secrets from carrying too far.
He simply stared straight ahead. Then pulled out the second earpiece. His forearm flexed with such a simple movement. Goose bumps rose on her skin. His hands, his touch. She didn’t want it to be acting next time. They could make their own love scene.
“Life is too short to be angry over some bullshit, don’t you think?”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“So that’s it, one little flashback down memory lane and you’re going all ballistic.”
He licked his bottom lip. He gave what he wanted to say a second thought, then decided to say nothing at all.
“Say it. Say what’s on your mind. Let’s just clear the air here and now.”
“The air has never been more clear.”
It was a gut reaction. She snapped her wrist and orange juice and Smirnoff flew. “I’m sorry. I … didn’t mean …”
He hardly reacted, as if he expected no less. He smoothed a hand over his dripping face and pushed the earpieces back in one at a time. He did a slight bounce and nod to the beat and stared out the window.
Sirena pressed the attendant button. “I need a towel. I spilled my drink … on him.”
The flight attendant rushed with paper towels in hand. Sirena held a handful of ice she’d already picked from his lap while he pretended she wasn’t even there.
If that’s how he wanted to play it.
She dived her hand in the crotch of his pants, simultaneously pulling the earpiece out with the other. She breathed heat into his ear and whispered quickly, “I will never stop wanting you. I know you feel the same about me.” She backed away and gave him his space. In fact, she could do one even better.
“Is it okay if I move to that seat?” she asked the attendant after handing her the wet paper towel.
“Sure,” she said with more of a questioning tone than agreement.
Ramona’s eyes followed her from where she was sitting a couple of rows back. She’d missed the melee and now was dying to know what had happened.
There was no upside. No way to spin it. Sirena simply ignored the inquiring minds and took her new seat. She pulled her long hair to the top of her head and clipped it, slipped on her reading glasses and opened the script.
Fade in. She was starting from the beginning, for the tenth or so time. The story was set in the early 1920s, in Harlem. Prohibition, gun runners, and juke joints. The director wanted Sirena to play Sarah Diamond, a beautiful singer in the famed Savoy nightclub who witnessed the murder of Duke Washington, her kingpin boyfriend. She’s caught between the detective who wants to solve the case and her loyalty to who she is and where she came from. After all, the police and authorities are the real enemy. What happens on the streets, stays on the streets and gets handled between them. But the city mayor and police are determined to make her testify by any means necessary, threatening her and her family. The second-in-command to the notorious Harlem rackets is Max Vondrell, who quickly takes control and offers her protection.
Sirena’s eyes looked up from the script and involuntarily trailed to where she’d left Jake. He sat unmoved. Unfazed by his crotch and shirt soaking in vodka and OJ. This character reminded her of Jake. This strong character, Max Vondrell, had a weakness. When he saw someone in need, he had no choice but to protect them.
She’d done it once, she could do it again. Make him think she was helpless, useless without him. Make herself vulnerable beyond recognition. He would rescue her like a knight in shining armor. A long and hard-fought love stronger than even before.
All she had to do was start the ball rolling. The press and their insatiable need to make a story out of nothing at all would do the rest.
Then it dawned on her … he was married. For some reason that little fact kept slipping her mind. It was the wrong thing to do. Yet, she knew in the deepest part of her soul they were meant to be together.
“Ladies and gentlemen, unfortunately, we’ve been informed that no flights will be leaving LaGuardia. We have been instructed to remain on the plane for a few more hours.”
Moans and angry groans fluttered over the voice of the flight attendant. “What the hell is going on?”
“There’s been a bomb threat.” Three more flight attendants appeared, one a male in case things got really ugly. The main one did her best to control the situation. “We have arranged for all passengers to receive a hotel voucher for one hundred dollars to be used at your choice of stay.”
Sirena scowled. “A hotel voucher for a hundred dollars. Goodness. We’ve hit it big now.” She cut her eyes to Ramona.
“I’m on it.” Ramona had her BlackBerry out, locked and loaded. She was speed-dialing hotels. Apparently so was everyone else. After five solid minutes, she laid the phone down in her lap. “Booked. Every hotel in Manhattan is sold out.”
“There’s no such thing as booked. Okay. Did you say who the room was for?”
“Sorry, sweet britches, there’s a bigger name on the line. The president is here. He’s having a huge tribute with the American Symphony and African American Ballet Company. All the bigwigs have descended on the island, leaving no room for the little people.”
“Who you calling a little people? Being a little person sounds like a personal issue. I don’t have that problem.” Sirena was f
uming mad. First of all, why wasn’t she invited to this … American Tribute? “I need to get off this plane.” She dug into her purse and pulled out her own cell phone.
She was engaged to a multitasking billionaire. Surely he could finagle a private jet.
The phone rang only a couple of times before going to voice mail, which meant he’d pressed the ignore button. Her ears were burning with disgust. Earl was probably getting his dick sucked by some wannabe starlet. He could at least answer the phone.
She left a polite message explaining her predicament. She needed to escape New York and their tiny bungalows and lumpy beds. No way could she stay without the level of care and bedding she was accustomed to. Been there, done that.
Meanwhile, Jake sat silently, continuing his pretense of being unaware while she fought the obscenities from breaking from her lips.
Get me off this plane.
Blame It on the Boogie
Once the doors swung open, the passengers moved toward the fresh air like hungry cattle finding fresh pasture.
“Once again, thank you for your patience,” the same attendant announced. Her hand quivered as she handed the vouchers to each customer as they exited the plane. A telling sign that she took the bomb threat seriously. The glamour of the job out the window. Her line of work had changed drastically after 9/11.
“Jake, wait.” Sirena hobbled up the ramp to catch up with him. Her feet had puffed too big for her platform high-heel boots and they hadn’t even left the ground. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To a hotel to wait,” he answered as if they’d not spent the last few hours ignoring each other.
“Which hotel? They’re all booked.”
He held out his smart phone. “Confirmation for the Renaissance, one night.” A smirk rose on his face. His chest rose and fell in triumph. The airport was packed with people sitting and stretched out on every available space on the icky flooring. It looked like a refugee camp. He strolled as if no one was in his way.
Un-Nappily in Love Page 9
