by Leigh Lennon
I’m fumbling for my words, surprised at the little name he’s just bestowed upon me when I grab my trash from my Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. It was my breakfast along with my coffee. After the last man I’d thought I loved gutted me, I wonder if I’m ready to take a risk on love again.
4
Israel
I’d thought for sure my slimy best friend would be working his magic on a girl who sixteen years ago would climb up on my lap when competing for Liz’s affection. I’d get as close to Liz as gravity would allow. Lang wasn’t in reception with Candy. It’s what I called her as a kid, though Liz hated it. Candy caught my attention and my breath caught again, as though I was seeing Liz for the first time.
“Mr. Laita, Mr. Jamison is waiting for you in his car.” Her voice even sounds like Liz.
I nod as I continue to the double doors leading to the parking garage. Good fucking thing Lang was not sleazing all over Liz’s sister. We’re going to get this settled that Candace Declan or Parker or whatever she’s called now is off fucking limits.
The town car pulls up to the double doors as I emerge outside, and Lang steps out of the car with a cigarette in his hand. “You work with those who are health-conscious and you’re fuckin’ smokin’.” It’s more pronounced when he’s stressed, which throwing him out of a meeting with a potential lawyer will have him chewing my ass out from here all the way home. Actually, he’ll have the driver circle the block in order to take more out of my ass.
“Well, fuck, Iz, it’s not every day I get tossed from an important meeting by my own client and best friend.” He throws the butt on the ground and stomps it out, while I sneer at him polluting the earth for my grandkids. “Don’t fucking look like that. I’m pissed and didn’t get a chance to flirt with the sweet Candy.” Opening up the door, he continues, “Get in the car and tell me what the fuck just happened.”
He gets a pass with his foul language that is directed toward me because he’s my best friend and was the best man at my wedding. He’d seen me through thick and thin when Nevaeh entered the world, and when I said goodbye to my dad for the last time, and when I caught Kendra in bed with her now husband. Lang has held my hand through it all.
Sitting back, I still haven’t fully comprehended seeing Liz after all these years. Fuck, she looked good, too good. In her slender little skirt resting right above the knee, I remember her long legs were made even longer by her tall heels. What I can’t ever forget is how her slender legs would wrap around me, as though they were made just to form against my body when we were in bed.
“Iz, shit, I couldn’t even fucking flirt with the eye Candy of the office.” I swear if he uses Liz’s little sister’s name as a play on words one more fucking time, I’ll deck him. “What’s going on?” he questions.
Leaning into him, I make my stance clear. “First, Candy is off limits. I mean it, Jamison, don’t cross me on this.” As I use his last name to make my point crystal clear, he gives me his “what the fuck” look as I continue, “Eliza Parker, well, I think you’ll know her better as Liz Declan.” The name doesn’t take long to imprint into Lang’s mind and his jaw drops. If he isn’t careful, he may drool.
“The lawyer, the new transplant from out east, is your Liz? You mean this is the woman that no female has been able to live up to, even a supermodel as gorgeous and fun as Kendra? Eliza is Liz? Fuck, Iz, I really didn’t know.”
Scrubbing my face, I don’t look at him, just the background of all the buildings of downtown L.A. as the driver pulls out of the parking deck. “I know, Lang, I get it. But what are the fuckin’ chances?”
“Well, I guess I’ll be looking for new representation. Hell, that means no trip to the Candy store.” He smirks at me and I know in his humor, he’s trying to change the subject, even if he comprehends he may get fucking slugged for it.
“Actually, Lang, I can’t work with her. But there’s no need for some of your clients that need a new lawyer to not use her. If there’s one thing I know about Liz—she’s damn good at anything she puts her mind to. Really, it was so long ago. I’m not out to ruin her.” His shrug tells me he isn’t budging. “I’m serious, Lang, don’t black ball her. Give her a client or two. Please?” I ask.
“Fuck, Iz, I guess, just because you said please and also I really love me a good Candy apple.” This time, I swing hard at his arm, but he doesn’t utter a word. He’s lucky that’s all he got. “I’ll reach out to her later and continue with the other clients I set up. But shit, that means you still need a lawyer.”
As Lang is babbling, I work on ignoring him, especially all his references to different types of Candy things. I think of Liz and wonder what her daddy left her in his will, since she’d sold her future so long ago to make him happy.
Lang didn’t have to chew my ass out since he’d been aware of the shit storm I was after Liz dismissed me like I was yesterday’s trash. I met Lang in my sports broadcasting course during my sophomore year. Since Liz left the end of our freshman year at Stanford, he’d never met her.
In my condo, my mind doesn’t have time to wander long when I hear the ping of my overhead security system alerting me that my girl wants to connect with me. Looking at the time, Nevaeh should still be in school. Before I can speak, my daughter’s beautiful face is in front of me. In the innocence of her chestnut eyes, my first question in my brain is picked apart when Nev starts, “I came home sick with a fever today, Daddy.”
Her hair isn’t as dark as mine and with Kendra’s natural blonde locks lending to Nevaeh’s, the light brown of her ringlets frame her face. She always knows how to work me. But I try to play the enforcer, as I assume she isn’t sick. “With that large smile, it doesn’t look like you’re that sick, Nev.” Who am I kidding? One large concession in granting Kendra our divorce was knowing I wouldn’t wake up to my baby’s face every day. After all I put Kendra through, though, it was the least I could do for her, after years of forcing a marriage where I was not fully invested—with us both. Sure, cheating is cheating at the end of the day, but I was worthless to her so she’d found love elsewhere.
“No, seriously, Israel, look.” She picks up her thermometer when I pitch one eyebrow high, indicating her sassy tone and the use of my first name instead of Dad. I squint at the numbers, pursing my lips together when I read 99.9.
“Barely, Sugar Bug. What was it this time?” I ask. Since switching schools, her anxiety in meeting friends and connecting with someone, even at the young age of nine, is in constant contradiction to what it was when Kendra and I lived together.
Darting her face from mine, she says nothing in her silence but as she twitches her nose—this is her sign to me—I know there’s more to the story. In the divorce, Kendra and I pledged we’d keep a united front and it’s true that we’re closer now than we’d been when we were married. I don’t challenge her a lot but Nevaeh needs help. This was the first time we’d disagreed in parenting because Kendra continues to brush the issue under the rug.
“Kylie Lettle, the most popular girl in school,” she rolls her eyes, “had a sleepover this last weekend and I wasn’t invited.” Little tears stream down my daughter’s face. I’ve been hit by men double my weight, broke my rotator cuff, and tore out my knee. Nothing hurts as much as watching my girl cry for being banned from a sleepover. “I try, Daddy, I really do. It’s as if she’s scared of me.” The last name Laita will do it, but I don’t mention this. “I know you’re big time and all that shit.” She covers her mouth. As sexy as Kendra is, her words have always been naughty. It doesn’t surprise me when my daughter curses. I choose to say nothing and she continues, “Anyway, Kylie says she’s the most popular kid in the school.”
I roll my eyes. I’ve met Roger Lettle and it’s not a surprise his daughter is as big of a pain in the ass as he is. Again, I don’t comment on this and move ahead. “Okay, Sugar Bug, let’s forget about Kylie Lettle for one second. There has got to be other girls you can make friends with.”
Still with tears fl
owing from the chestnut eyes of my baby, she continues, “It’s as if I have been black balled.” This time, those words are my own and I skip reprimanding her.
It doesn’t take long for me to concoct a plan, for Kendra that is. “Your mom is a wonder at throwin’ parties. Why don’t you have a sleepover?”
She smiles, but behind that little sunshine of hers is the devil. “And I won’t invite Kylie either.”
Raising a hand, she’s already aware of what I’ll say for she’s heard it enough. “Crap, Dad, you’re going to tell me to invite her and to be the better person.” Nodding my head, she begins the best Israel Laita impersonation when she lowers her voice and says, “Girl, you must do unto others as you would have done unto you.”
In agreement, I wink when she blows me a kiss and I tell her, “I love you, Sugar Bug, get some rest, and I’ll be talkin’ to you soon.”
Sitting on the couch, having had my heart ripped out twice today after seeing “Eliza” and then watching my baby cry, I don’t have it in me to discuss Nevaeh’s anxiety with Kendra. Grabbing my calendar, I input tasks I need to complete tomorrow and add tackling Kendra’s denial of our daughter’s anxiety at the top.
The past with Liz continues to haunt me because the little slice of perfection known as Liz Declan is out of reach. Just like the touchdown I missed by mere inches for the Super Bowl win, so was catching and holding on to her. It was all I had envisioned as my future.
16 years ago
I’ve been sitting next to Buttercup, as I’ve been referring to her, for a couple weeks now and the most I’ve ever gotten out of her and those violet eyes is a simple thanks when I reached for the pen she’d dropped.
Most everyone on campus knows of me. I get “Go get ‘em,” or “With you, we have a chance this year” all the time, but with her she’s been absolutely cold. If it had been any other class, I’d expect it, but this is the new sports broadcasting program, a course you need permission to enter. Not just anyone off the street could take it. That means it’s a major of hers and she has to know who I am.
At the end of class one day, she stands to let me pass, as it takes her longer to pack up her shit than me. But I don’t move. When it becomes awkward, I finally say, “I’m waitin’ so don’t worry about me.”
Shrugging her shoulders, she sits back down and I watch her pack her stuff. She glances my way as I continue to keep my eyes on her. “Um, you’re making me uncomfortable.”
“Oh, good, you acknowledge me now.” Giving her a little smirk, she twists around, not saying anything more. “Oh, give me somethin’ to go with, Buttercup, I’ve sat next to you for days and can’t get much out of you.”
On her feet, she’s up to take her leave. When she smiles, she replies, “Well, next time maybe you should begin with ‘Hi, my name is...’” she pauses, “that’s how most civilized people introduce themselves.” She turns and walks away. This is the pivotal moment; it’s then that I fall for the woman I’d come to know as Liz Declan.
5
Liz
I battle the urge to retreat within myself. It’s a habit I’ve acquired throughout the years of shame. Shame I’ve allowed to creep inside of me with the first concession I’d ever made with Daddy. Each demand he’d made since giving up Iz had been more and more severe. His last requirement was the charade of marriage with Neal. I gave up so much and I thought it was over. I considered this move as my rebirth but after seeing Iz, I know my connections with Langston Jamison will now be severed.
It’s been two hours since Iz left and nothing from Langston Jamison. Between the appearance of Israel Laita and the crush she has on Langston, Candace of course can’t stop talking about either man. With Langston’s clients being the shoo-in to my firm, I only mope, knowing this office, along with my dreams, will be vacant soon.
“I mean, I can’t believe Israel Laita’s cock was inside of you.” Leave it to my sister to be obscene in her expressions, while my internal calculator is seeing red with all the out-going of money and none coming in.
“Can we stop talking about this?” I plead as I pour wine into each of our glasses. I don’t hear the elevator but I sure as shit mentally fall over when a loud knock sounds on my door. With it cracked open, I see Langston Jamison standing, watching us both pour our thwarted dreams into our Merlot.
“Mr. Langston.” I stand. “Um, I really thought our business was over, since it’s apparent Mr. Laita will not be using me.” Actually, Lang’s exact words were, ‘If you can land my pickiest SOB of a client, the others will fall in line.’
“Well, that’s true, but just because he once had his dick in you, it doesn’t mean you can’t be a resource for some of my other clients.” I punch Candace who only laughs when he uses her words against me.
Nothing else could make this situation anymore awkward so I spout out, “I’m pretty sure no more of your clients have been balls deep in me so I think we’re good to go.” When Candace spits her wine a good six feet on my tile floor, it’s then I’m glad we don’t have carpet. I don’t say anything more as I have made Langston Jamison speechless. Walking over to my desk, I pretend as if I’m really working hard at shuffling my schedule around. Hunched over, I keep staring at my empty calendar when I reply, “I can work you in tomorrow from eight to nine or Wednesday, three to four.”
“Why don’t we do this, Ms. Parker? Let me take both those spots for each client I’m thinking of. Will that work?”
I want to dance when the calculator in my head is now seeing us in the black and not the red. I almost shout with joy as I mentally wish now I’d given him a third appointment date to choose from, too. “Yes, like I said, I’ll work you in so it’ll be fine.”
Langston turns on his heels when Candace stands. “I’ll walk you out, Mr. Jamison.” She gives me the thumbs up as Langston turns to go. I fall back in my seat, relieved now that I’m sure we’ll have enough to maybe, just maybe, make next month’s rent.
It’s an easy walk from my office to the little two-bedroom apartment Candace and I are sharing. Somehow, my office rental space came with an efficiency apartment just down the hall. With almost having to auction off a kidney to live here, I took the offer without thinking twice. Though it’s not anything compared to our digs in Cambridge or in Charleston, it’s ours, away from the controlling, prying eyes of the step-witch.
In my bedroom, I sink into my new bed, which is the one piece of luxury I’ve splurged on in this transition. When Daddy passed away, the contingency in his will stipulated for the step-witch to inherit all his money, leaving the two of us the trust fund of Mama’s she left in her will. At the time of Mama’s death, Candace was so young and I knew she’d need the money to escape the controlling clutches of the step-witch. With the one million that was left after setting aside the rest for Candace, it didn’t leave me a lot of extra cash. Sure, a million looks like a lot on paper but after it’s doled out here and there, in California no less, I can’t go crazy. Good thing all my Louboutins and Tom Ford skirts were bought when I’d made a handsome salary as a partner. Though I’d give up all those frivolities a thousand times over to have always had my freedom from Daddy and Neal.
The step-witch was given controlling interest in Declan and Associates. And though I was a partner, I still had to answer to her and my wonderful husband, who I’d divorced a month before moving out here. She’d made it impossible for me to sell my part of the business. In the end, I ended up with pennies on the dollar for a stake in the company I’d paid for with my own money. It had not been a handout from Daddy as so many had assumed.
It’s been thirty minutes and Candace hasn’t joined me in our apartment. Trying to give her space to make her own decision and in essence her own mistakes, I lie fidgeting for a while. In case she has left with Langston for some reason, and I know that reason is pretty self-explanatory, I gather the energy to go back to the office to lock up for the day. Entering the narrow hallway that leads to the open lobby space of our offices, I startle at a
large shadow from my doorway. Effortlessly swiping my sister’s paperweight from her desk, I take it over my head only to realize I’m face-to-face with Iz. Taking the paperweight out of my hand, he smirks. “What were you gonna do, bludgeon a man twice your size, Liz?”
I back away; even without my four-inch heels, I’m still close to 5’11”. “Um, you’re not twice my size, Iz. And by the way, it’s Eliza now, not Liz.”
Walking around me, brushing up against my waist when he leans down to return my self-defense mechanism to the proper spot, I back up hesitantly. He. Can’t. Touch. Me. I never stopped loving him, even from afar, but with him thinking the worst of me, I can’t put my guard down. Too much is at stake.
Whipping around, expecting to see me where he left me, he looks over to where I’ve given him several feet between us. “You can hide between a new name and a job you never wanted. You’ll always be Liz Declan to me, not this made up Eliza Parker.”
This is where Israel Laita has missed what’s right in front of him. I may always be the Liz he knew but I have never been Elizabeth Declan. The girl that my mother raised is standing in front of him, minus the name that the step-witch called me with such disdain. It was all Neal called me, and with his beckoning cries of Elizabeth, I never wanted to hear my God given name ever again. It will always leave bitterness in my mouth. I’m left with the man who when he says the three letters of my name together, he replaces the shame of my God given name with a drunken feeling of happiness. I may be tipsy but this man will always evoke this emotion within me.
“If you truly think money was the reason I let you go, you never fucking knew me, Israel Laita.” I only called him by his full name when I was either furious or turned on. With Iz now in my zip code—after all these years—it’s a little of both.
