Jen might have left Ashton, Ohio, but there was still a lot of Ohio in the girl.
It was time to change that.
Chapter 10
Off the air, Tre let loose with a loud string of curse words.
“Mother…”
He listened distractedly as Boris and the other shirts who’d hung around congratulated him on a fabulous show.
“What a great idea,” one of them said, “Having someone call up and pretend to be that boy’s mother.”
If they only knew.
“Ingenious,” Boris said, swept along by their enthusiasm. “That interview ended on the perfect note.”
“Thanks. I’m leaving. I need to get something to eat,” Tre said, mindful of his rumbling stomach and knowing he had a phone call to make that didn’t require witnesses.
“Can we buy you dinner?” one of the executives asked. “You’ve more than earned it.”
Tre graciously declined. He endured more back-slapping, high-fiving and exuberant compliments before slipping away.
Seated in his car he decided takeout might not be a bad way to go. He was in no mood to deal with a noisy restaurant or running into groupies looking for something more than an autograph. He wanted cool air-conditioning, relative solitude and time to calm down. Marva had just pushed his last hot button and he was sick to death of her embarrassing him. It was she who’d called. He knew his own mother’s voice and at times still heard it in his sleep.
Whatever had possessed her to do something so stupid as to write to an advice columnist? Not any old advice columnist, mind you, but one that lived in his town. He knew she’d been getting antsy about his single status, but to imply that he might be playing for the other team. Well that was outrageous.
Tre had always been an open and fair-minded individual. He respected other’s choices even if they weren’t his. But his mother of all people should know he was one-hundred-percent male. He’d brought home at least two women to meet her although that was a long time ago.
Using his cell phone, Tre ordered fried chicken, macaroni and collard greens, favorites of his since childhood. Tonight would be about indulging. Tomorrow about weights. That last call had come out of left field and now in a surprising turn of events he was the one on the defensive and Dear Jenna had turned into the flavor of the month.
The most important thing that had happened was this third and final interview had been a big hit. He was on his way to the big times.
After picking up his food, Tre decided to hurry on home. As he entered his apartment he noticed the flashing light of his answering machine. He groaned. It was after midnight and he was just too tired to fend off fans or entertain questions. But late hour or not, his mother needed to be dealt with.
He dished food onto his plate, and grabbed a bottle of beer from the refrigerator. He rarely indulged in alcohol after his show but tonight he’d earned it. Then he returned to the living room, placed the plate on his lap, and sat back on the sofa. Cell phone out, he pressed one little button with the programmed number.
As he waited he thought about how times had changed. When he was growing up, no one ever called anyone in Detroit after nine or it was considered rude. But this was his mother, Marva, and after the stunt she’d pulled earlier, she should be expecting his call.
The phone rang a considerable number of times. Tre knew she was home. It was a weeknight and her bingo game ended at ten. He disconnected and punched in the number again.
This time he got a croaky, “Tre is that you?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“You never call me on a weeknight.” She sounded groggy, half-asleep. “Is something wrong, baby?”
“What do you think?”
“Oh, you’re mad at me. I know that voice.”
Mad was an understatement. He took a bite of chicken and figured he’d let her stew.
“Furious,” he said after he’d chewed. “What did you think you were doing calling me on the job?”
Marva Jones-Monroe sighed heavily. “It’s the only time I can reach you, baby. You no longer have time for me.”
“You called me on the air, Mother! And that’s just not true. We talk every Sunday after you get back from church.”
Marva’s tone reached a crescendo. She was fully awake now. “I was on the air? Everyone heard me?”
“Yes, they did, Mother, loud and clear. And now I have to worry about people thinking I’m gay. You need to stay out of my business. I can find my own bride without your help.”
Another labored sigh followed. “I wish you would. It doesn’t hurt to look at the letters and photos I have. These women are seriously marriage-minded. Make your old mother happy, give me grandkids before I die.”
Tre took another huge bite of chicken and spooned macaroni into his mouth. His mother, much as he loved her, at times frustrated him.
“I’m not interested in meeting any of your choices, Mother,” he said. “You’re in no danger of dying any time soon. You’re only in your late fifties. Our family lives long into their nineties. That gives you another forty years of productive living ahead. Plenty of time to play with grandchildren.”
This time his mother’s voice sounded muffled and as if she was close to tears. “That’s not what the doctor says. I didn’t want to tell you this before but I’m not well.”
He felt the familiar tightening in his chest. His mother was the only one he had left in the world. His brother was a waste, just as their father was. His father had stuck around long enough for Marva to get pregnant and then he’d run off with someone else. Who could blame Tre for being gun-shy about marriage? He refused to be like his father. When he married it would be forever and ever.
“What’s wrong this time, Mother?” Tre asked in a gentler tone.
“The doctor says my blood pressure is up and my sugar’s high.”
Tre bit his tongue. What he really wanted to tell her was that she needed to go easy on the sweets, and that would take care of at least one of her problems. And even though he didn’t know whether to believe her or not because her grumblings of illness had become a familiar ploy, he needed to pay attention.
“What did the doctor say? What measures are you taking to get these issues under control?” he probed.
“I’m taking my medication if that’s what you’re asking,” his mother said defensively.
“Are you exercising?”
“I walk when I can. But Mrs. Calhoun isn’t around as much as she used to be since she took up with that man.”
As he thought, poor eating habits and lack of exercise were probably contributing to his mother’s problems.
“Dr. Habib thinks I need a vacation, a break away from all this pressure,” Marva whined.
“What pressure, Mom?”
“There’s pressure and stress just in daily living.”
His mother was retired and living comfortably on her pension and the monthly allowance he sent her.
“So where are you thinking of taking this little vacation?” Tre asked.
“Someplace warm and relaxing.”
Uh-uh! Here it came. Sometimes it was best to play dumb. He got up, taking his plate with him and entered the kitchen and set down the dish on the counter. “Hawaii would be a good choice. You’ve said for quite some time you’d like to go there.”
“True, but I was thinking more like Florida. I haven’t seen my son in some time. I miss him.”
Even though he knew he was being manipulated, put like that, what could he say?
“Uh, Mother, have you removed that ad from the Internet yet?” he asked, changing tactics.
“Of course not, silly. I’ve had so many nice women respond, one of them has to be your Ms. Right.”
God, she was trying his patience.
“I’ll tell you what, Mother,” Tre finally said. “As soon as you cancel the account I’ll send you a ticket to come down to Florida.”
“You will!” Marva screamed so loudly she almost pierced his eardrum. “You’re bring
ing me to Florida? I’ll get to see Flamingo Beach?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“And I’ll be there a minimum of two weeks?”
“Yes, Mother.”
Two weeks of his mom might just drive him to drink, but at least she would be under his watchful eye until the hubbub died down.
“Send the ticket tomorrow.” An unmistakably loud yawn filled his ear. “I need to go to bed now, son. I’m not as young as I used to be.” The phone was then promptly disconnected. Marva had gotten what she wanted from him.
Tre, fond as he was of his mother, was well aware of her shortcomings. Meddling was definitely one of them.
Marva meant well but he really wished she’d think before she acted. He’d have to figure out a way to make her embarrassing call to the station work for him. He could pass it off as a joke, designed to be attention getting and leave the listening audience speculating.
The more Tre thought about it the more he liked the idea. He could make his mother’s call work to his advantage. He’d just have to put a spin on it. Maybe that would be the new hot topic he could pursue. “Meddling mamas and their sons.” It made him chuckle. It was bound to be a sensitive subject and elicit a highly emotional response from the audience.
Deep in thought, he almost missed the envelope shoved under his door. He bent to retrieve it, and not recognizing the handwriting, frowned. Had the neighbors, actually one in particular, resorted to complaining about his music in this manner? He hated anonymous notes.
Envelope in hand he returned to the kitchen to have his second beer of the evening, reasoning he still wasn’t loose. How much excitement could one man take?
Tre uncapped the bottle and used a knife to open the envelope’s flap. He grinned. This was totally unexpected. It helped brighten what so far had been a fairly dismal day. Jen had written to thank him for a lovely evening.
It was the P.S. that got to him. She wanted to reciprocate and was inviting him to her apartment for dinner if he was free some night later that week. Of course he’d make a point of being free. He had a well earned day off coming up on the weekend.
It was too late to call or go knocking on Jen’s door. He planned on responding in the same fashion she had. He would write her a note, something he hadn’t done to any woman in years.
Feeling like a little boy who’d been given his first Game Boy, Tre went in search of the expensive stationery one of his groupies had given him for Christmas.
He would slip his acceptance under Jen’s door. And he would make sure dinner happened on a weekend when they both weren’t rushed. There would be plenty of time to explore Jen St. George and find out her likes and dislikes.
Sleep was impossible now. His imagination had taken over. Tre turned to his trusty stereo and some of his favorite tunes to help him drift off. He was almost half-asleep when he heard a banging on his wall. Surely his music wasn’t that loud? He could barely hear it. He tossed off the covers and using his elbow, banged back.
Regardless of whether he found Jen St. George intriguing or not, he wasn’t about to let her bully him. Reaching over, he turned up the stereo a notch. Then he closed his eyes and drifted.
It had been the right thing to do, writing a handwritten thank-you and inviting Trestin to dinner. He’d helped her out when she was in a bind.
Jen had awakened early that morning, dressed quickly and rushed out the door only to discover the Miata’s front tire was flat. She’d called AAA, the motor club she belonged to, but there would be at least an hour’s wait before they came.
Jen had been frustrated and feeling helpless when along had come Trestin. He’d noticed her visible distress, and overriding her halfhearted protests had gotten the flat tire changed in a matter of minutes. Thanks to him she’d only been a few minutes late to work.
True, there was also an ulterior motive for inviting him to dinner. Jen had begun to suspect he might be employed by The Southern Tribune. After all, working in communications could mean just about anything.
Someone had mentioned the competition was actively interviewing, a psychologist dubbed The Love Doctor. The idea was to have this credentialed doctor compete with her Dear Jenna column. Trestin, if he did indeed work for The Tribune, might be able to confirm that. She needed to know what she was up against.
Jen still hadn’t made up her mind about Trestin. He seemed to be a person of multiple personalities. He could be arrogant and overbearing at times, kind and intuitive at others. They’d had a wonderful dinner filled with interesting conversation. While she wasn’t necessarily looking to get close to anyone in the same building, it was nice to know that in a pinch, like she’d been in a few days ago, he could be counted on. But she’d damn well make sure she didn’t get too dependent on him.
Growing up in foster care with a brother who was different had taught her not to rely on anyone. In the blink of an eye, just when you were starting to feel secure, things changed, and you inherited a new set of parents. Anderson, her ex, had been a man she had trusted and look at how that turned out.
She wanted to see how Trestin handled himself on territory other than neutral ground such as the pool and restaurant. Would he be a gentleman? Dinner would be the test.
Now she waited for him to get back to her.
It was too early for bed. Maybe she would turn on her computer and Google this “Love Doctor.” She’d just booted up the computer when the phone rang.
“You in bed?” a raucous female voice inquired.
“No, Chere, I’m not.”
“Just wanted to report the whole town’s buzzing about how you handled D’Dawg. ’Course I didn’t let on you and me work together.”
Of course she didn’t.
Chere continued in her usual overly effusive manner, giving her opinion that the call from D’Dawg’s mother had been staged. Jen was of the same mind as she. It seemed too much of a coincidence. The outrageous scene had to have been cooked up by the ambitious host to pump up his ratings.
“What do you know about this psychologist The Southern Tribune’s supposedly hired?” Jen asked Chere.
“You mean The Luv Doc?”
“Doctor Love.”
“I heard they been interviewing a bunch of dorks. They would have gotten me cheaper. Betcha I can teach the peoples a thing or two.”
“I bet you could. Listen, I have to go.”
“Wait!” Chere shouted. “You still never told me who you had dinner with. Betcha I know.”
Pretending not to hear, Jen hung up on her.
Jen’s concentration was off as she brought up a list of possible Doctor Loves. The possibilities were endless. One “love doctor” in California wrote a column for a popular e-zine. Another author out of Chicago was a constant guest on The Dr. Phil Show. He helped the popular television personality dispense advice. There was even a porn queen with the name. Her outlandish attire reminded Jen of Chere.
Jen ruled out the porn queen as a viable candidate. The Southern Chronicle wouldn’t stoop that low now, or would they? Jen’s thoughts shifted to her next-door neighbor. He could be charming, arrogant and inconsiderate. But there was still something about him that was exciting and appealing. He was the kind of guy with a youthful outlook who would never grow old at heart, but whom you could grow old with. She wasn’t looking, but if she was, she would opt for—stable and safe. Trestin Monroe was neither stable or safe.
A thump, thump, thumping came from next door. Her next door neighbor was back at it. Jen tried her best to shut out the noise but her skull felt as if a nail had been driven through it. Enough already. She pounded a fist against their shared wall.
“Keep it down, please!”
In reply, the music swelled even louder. The only way to get her point across was to give Trestin a taste of his own medicine. She turned on her surround sound and sat back to wait.
In about ten minutes there was a banging on her door. Jen smiled triumphantly. One point for her. Let the man experience what she did the minute
she closed her eyes. She’d ignore him and pretend not to hear the rapping.
The banging continued, louder this time.
“Security, Ms. St. George!” a gruff voice shouted. “We’ll need you to turn off your music.”
Security? Shit! As unresponsive as they’d been to her previous complaints about 5B, she hadn’t expected this.
Jen turned off her stereo hoping that would be the end of it, and she wouldn’t receive a nasty note from the management company.
Life was so grossly unfair. If anyone should be cited for disturbance it was that inconsiderate jerk she’d felt the need to invite to dinner because of one good deed.
Why, oh why, had she allowed him to bait her?
Chapter 11
“I thought I said seven,” Jen mumbled as one hand of the clock slowly made its way to the half-hour position. “Could I have been wrong?”
Everything was ready. The chowder was in the pot just waiting to be served. The shrimp and scallops were simmering on the stove. She’d serve them in cream sauce with mushrooms over bow-tie noodles. The crisp sourdough rolls fresh from the oven had already been placed in a wicker basket and now sat on the kitchen counter.
In the middle of the dining room table she’d set down a vase holding her favorite flowers. Sunflowers. Maybe it was the color but just one look at them and her mood shifted to optimistic.
When the phone rang, she frowned. “Please don’t tell me he’s canceling at this late date,” Jen muttered out loud, simultaneously grabbing the receiver.
“Yes?”
“Watcha up to?”
Chere. The woman had uncanny ESP.
“I been thinking of taking myself to this new bar that just opened. You want to join me?”
“I’m afraid I can’t. I’m busy.”
Silence. A foreign sound for her administrative assistant. She must be between men. Jen had never known Chere to be available on a Saturday night.
“Busy doing what?” Chere asked through what Jen imagined to be chomping. “Chuck those letters for one night and come out on the town. Please!”
Jen sighed. She’d better nip this right now or Chere would arrive over, trying to convince her to come.
Flamingo Place (Mills & Boon Kimani) Page 9
