by Leigh Lennon
Watching Kendra with Iz’s daughter, I’m left to wonder if this could have been Iz and myself. I don’t have long to ponder this idea when Langston says, “Eliza, I’ll be in touch about the business trip.” I only nod, as I can’t take my eyes off of Kendra Kendal.
“It’s nice to meet you, Liz. I mean, I guess I could call you Eliza, but you have been such a steady part of my life. Actually, you’ve been in my marriage to Iz so much so that I feel I know you.”
I’m lightheaded, instantly I want to vomit on her perfectly manicured nails and shoes so pink they are giving me a headache. We may look alike but our style couldn’t be any different.
“Can we sit for a second? I must be coming off as the selfish ex-wife and that isn’t my intention.” Sitting down, making herself at home in my workspace, she crosses her legs at her ankles, smoothing down her bubble gum pink dress. This girl loves her pink. Her arms instantly drop at her sides and a small smile covers her face when she continues, “Seriously, Liz, it’s good to finally meet you. The bottom line is I could never compete with what you and Iz once shared.” She pulls a bottle of lotion out of her purse and starts lathering her hands with it. “I loved Iz and I know he loved me, but I shouldn’t have ever married him. He wasn’t over you, even if he was in love with me. Now, in retrospect, I see it but I would do it over again. I wouldn’t have Nev and she’s my world.”
I’m a little more at ease. Her words seem sincere but, more so in her eyes, I see the whirlwind love of Iz. And just like she is, I’m still affected by the loss of him in my life, even so many years later.
It’s only when I see she isn’t here to claw my eyes out that I can sit next to her. Still not saying anything, I remain silent.
“My ex-husband is a good man. I still care for him and I was the one that messed up. Sure, I can blame it on him. He always loved you, but he was devoted to me. I found someone who loved me unconditionally and instead of going about it the right way, I stepped out. That’s on me. It wrecked him and I’ll always have to live with the way he looked at me when he found out.” She reaches for my hand. “But I know this man, and fuck, still to this day Iz loves you. It was in the way he spoke your name today when I met with him to discuss Nev. The second the three letters of your name fell from his lips, Liz, he was transformed back to the boy with a football in one hand and the girl who was made for him in the other. And if you both squander this second chance that fate is giving you, because you’re too fucking stubborn to admit you still love each other, I’ll come back and haunt you both.”
What can I say to a woman that’s lobbying for the other girl to get her old man? It’s all so weird; it doesn’t truly feel I’m on earth. “Liz, say something—anything.”
Looking down at her fingernails, I only reply, “Your nail polish is very bright, just like your personality.”
As she stares blankly at me, she starts laughing and I can’t help but do so, too. “I think I’m going to like you, Eliza Parker.”
Somehow, I think the same thing of her also.
With the departure of the beautiful Kendra Kendal, my body seems inadequate knowing Iz probably compared her to me several times. My mind works effortlessly trying to squash all the insecurities I’d had and still have over this supermodel. Yet according to her, she was never enough for him. How can this be? With this question, I’m unable to make sense out of the entire weird as fuck visit I’d just had with Iz’s ex.
Stumbling out to the reception area, I don’t see my sister at all, but it’s after five. Locking up the office, I make my way to our small little apartment as the door clicks behind me. Barely in the thousand-square-foot home of ours, I’m met with the familiar sobs I’ve encountered for years after the mental abuse of the step-witch. Watching Candace whimper and blubber her way through an anxiety attack is a torture I’ve had to incur too many times to count. This is the side she hides from the world. I don’t wait to be invited into her room. I know how to combat the inferiority of what the step-witch heaped on her over the years. Thank fuck, the majority of time, she’d been with me. I’m not sure I can even fathom what she may have done to her if not for my “interference,” as the step-witch called my intervention for years.
I overheard her tell Candy the night of her fifteenth birthday, “Candace, darling. I have arranged for Dorian Graham to take you out after your party. He’s from old money; better money than we are, if that’s possible. Be sure you please him really well.”
I’d stormed in and put a stop to any midnight ride that would lead to her pleasing that boy. Candace didn’t even understand at that early age what our stepmother meant.
Yet I’d not been there to stop it all. Though Dorian was a distant memory, there’d been many more. When I found Candace’s self-worth came from men only after sex, that’s when she stayed over with Neal and myself more often.
The mere sight of my sister created a rage in my ex-husband. I told him on many occasions, “I don’t give a fuck.” I didn’t—it’s not like we had a real marriage anyway. As it always was with Daddy, appearances were everything.
Now, watching my sister’s six-foot frame ball into a cocoon on the tile of our cold floor, I kneel beside her, bringing her into my own side, rocking her tight. “Sweetheart, you’re better than anyone I know.” It’s the same words I always whisper into her ear. “You’re worth everything in this world and one day HE will find you; the man that will make you complete.”
She looks at me as she lies there in just her bra and panties, touching the “fat” of her skin she’d always imagined, but isn’t really there. “Lang is different. What if I fuck it up like I always do?” she asks, pointing to blemishes my own eye can never see.
Still rocking her, I say, “Candace, it has never been you. It was the men, it was the step-witch.” I continue to hold her, whispering anything that will seep into the scared girl who I know is hiding behind the strong woman my Candace truly is, deep down inside.
16 years ago
Four days, that’s how long I’ve been stuck in my room with a fever and chills. “It just has to run its course,” the doctor had claimed. Having contracted the flu so much earlier than flu and cold season normally begins, it has been so bad that my roommate left to stay with friends off campus. “I can’t get sick,” she’d barked in her overly righteous attitude as if I purposely brought this back to our room.
Almost asleep, I hear a light tap at the door and curse the person behind it, unless they’ve brought me some medicine and Gatorade. That’s unlikely because I decided upon coming to California, I didn’t have time for friends. Besides my professors and the staff at the on-site clinic, no one would have reason to know I’m sick.
Opening the door, my eyes adjust to the person standing behind it. As if he’d read my mind, he has Gatorade, a pack of saltine crackers, and a bottle of Advil in his hands. With a silly little grin, it dawns on me this is Iz, the Israel Laita who has tried for weeks to wear down my barriers.
“How in the world,” I say before a barbaric cough overtakes me. He puts his arm around me and brings me into my room, slipping me into bed. “What the hell, how did you know where I was?”
The large hand of his reaches my head when he begins, “Damn, girl, you’re really hot and not in the way I like.” His teeth are so white and his smile is cocky, yet inviting all at the same time.
“You didn’t answer my questions,” I insist.
“I have my ways, Buttercup.” My eyes bearing in on him must make him comprehend that he‘ll have to spill or I’ll force him to leave. “Okay, okay. I went to our professor and told him we were study partners and we’d missed the last few sessions. He informed me you were sick. So, I had a couple favors I cashed in with some people who work at the clinic. They knew you’d been in. Then I bribed them to tell me your address.”
Should I be impressed or scared? With the liquids and medicine in his hands, I decide I’ll stick with impressed. “Now, can you pour me something to drink and get me two Advil
?” I demand. I can’t be mad. This is the sweetest thing anyone has done for me in a long time.
8
Israel
My own eyes are staring back at me in the selfie Lang took of Nevaeh and himself. I’m laughing, stepping outside of my building. Paying no mind to the rest of the world, I’m happy to see my best friend and daughter spending some time together, finally. Kendra took me at my word, and apparently is trying to repair that part of her life with Lang. We were always the three musketeers, making it big in the world. Kendra with her modeling contract, Lang becoming an overnight sensation as a sports agent along with inventing SOFIE, and myself as the number one draft pick thirteen years ago. I was the first to ever win the Heisman and back-to-back MVP of the Super Bowl. We’d seen each other through so much and it did my fragile heart good to watch my daughter with Lang.
I’m in another world when I hear, “Mr. Laita.” Jogging to keep up with me is Jeffery, my favorite doorman. “Mr. Laita, do you have a second?” Nodding my head, he continues, “There was a woman here earlier looking around, and if I didn’t know any better, loitering. At first I thought it was Ms. Kendal, but she remained still. She only stared at the building. She’d asked to talk to you but like you’ve instructed, we told her there was no Mr. Laita here.” He pauses to catch his breath. “The funny thing is she looked so much like Ms. Kendal, but when I saw her closely, she had almost purple eyes.”
He sees the recognition on my face. “Should I call the cops or beef up security?”
“No thanks, Jeffery.” I pat him on the back. “I know her, she’s an old friend. Next time she shows up, please call me.”
Liz was it for me the second she appeared in my life, with her candy bar, a cup of coffee, and so many dreams in those violet eyes. In another lifetime, I could have been very happy with Kendra if I’d not known the epic love that I’d once shared with Liz.
“Do you need me to get your car, sir?” Jeffery asks and my mind is in another world. As long as I’ve known Jeffery, I can’t get him to understand I’m a man, just like him. He’s loyal and a hard worker and always follows protocol.
“If you can get me a cab, it’ll be easier since I have no idea where I’m goin’.” Jeffery gives me a crooked look of confusion, hailing a cab anyway. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I call the only person I know who can get me in touch with the girl I need to speak to. Picking up on the first ring, I hear female laughter in the background. “Lang, where the hell are you?” Looking at my watch, it’s eight p.m. It drives me crazy that he eats this late.
“I’m out for dinner, Iz, you okay?” With female laughter and utensils clanging in the background, I hear him push out of his chair, telling his companion he’ll be right back. “Okay, I’m all ears, what’s up?”
I clear my throat. “I need the address for Liz’s place. Do you have it by chance?” He’s silent and I add to my questions, “By the way, who are you out to dinner with?”
A light chuckle escapes from his mouth. “Do you want me to answer that? I don’t want to get slugged the next time I see you.” The smug bastard went behind my back.
“Shit, Lang, I thought we’d talked about this, you son of a bitch,” I start as the cabbie looks in the rearview mirror at my words. It’s then I see in his eyes he’s just recognized me with a little nod and a pass on my language.
“No, Iz, you told me what you expected me to do. And when have I ever listened to you? Would it matter if I told you Candy is different?”
I take in a cleansing breath. “Maybe if there’s truth to it, Lang, I guess.” But as much as I’m protective of a little girl that I used to cuddle on my lap, there’s a more important reason for this call. “Okay, we’ll discuss this later. Can you get me Liz’s address?”
“I can do one better. Eliza and Candy have an efficiency apartment in the building on the same floor as their office. For security reasons, it’s hard to get into at night. But I’ll get you the door code and the apartment number.”
I sit back in astonishment. With the old southern money of her daddy’s, why is she settling for a small efficiency apartment in her building? Her office space is nice but it’s not up to standard for the Liz Declan I once knew.
“And before you ask, it was all they could afford. Believe me, Candy is tight-lipped about why they are staying there. It’s my understanding, though, that she’s put all she has in her practice but it’s just hearsay, Iz.” He pauses and I’ve known Lang long enough to understand there’s more. “I think I know why Eliza came by today.”
“Spill it.” My tone meets the demand in my voice.
“When Kendra met me to drop of Nev, she called me when I was finishing up with Eliza. They came face-to-face with one another as if they were looking in a mirror. Neither one seemed to handle that revelation very well.”
“Fuck, Lang, you let Ken meet Liz.” Drawing in a long deep breath, I look up and apologize silently. I could pound Lang right now.
“Iz, you know Kendra. When she gets an idea in her mind, it’s like arguing with a Supreme Court judge. Your little one is just like her, by the way.”
“Thanks for the fuck up I’m in, Lang. Text me that information.” I internally groan then remember to ask, “Did you get Liz a client?”
“Yep, Hudson Barrett.” Scrubbing at my face, the little green monster sends prickles of goose bumps down my arms in a jealous rage. Though, this time I silently curse. He was my fucking replacement, had my locker before I could clear it out after my injury sidelined my future in the pros. Plus, he’s the biggest manwhore I know, even more than the man I’m about to unleash hell on. Lang continues to yammer, “I know, Iz, he isn’t your favorite person but he’s solid for Eliza and a great first client. Also, she has Alena Yorkton, the gymnast.”
Well, that’s one last thing to worry about; at least Liz has an income now. I’m not sure what happened to all her money that split us up years ago but I’m about to find out.
Punching the numbers for the side entry isn’t working and I can’t reach Lang. It’s not frustration, it’s fucking ten times worse. The need, the desire, the fucking pull to see Liz after she stood outside my building today is eating away at me, more than if I were to put my hand in a fucking piranha tank.
I turn around to think over my options when a young thirty-ish couple walks to the door and inserts their key and are buzzed in. Turning around, they watch me. I’m still a large black man and people sometimes lose sense when they see me, wondering if I’m a thug. I don’t even call it common sense. They aren’t being racist, just succumbing to the world we live in. When I stop them, their nervousness fades and I know the face of people when they realize it’s me. Before they can say anything, I begin, “I have a friend who lives in the building and was wondering if I could come in after you. Her name is Eliza Parker, she has a law firm on the seventh floor.”
The woman is more excited than the man. “Ah, no problem, and sorry about before. You scared us.” I shake my head in agreement. “I’m a big fan—love the Forty-Niners. This jug head is a Seahawks’ fan.” She swats her significant other playfully. “We know Eliza. She’s right down the hall from us. Not many tenants live in the building, that’s one reason we’re extra cautious.”
Exchanging a little more small talk, I autograph her gasoline receipt—the only piece of paper she has on her—plus I promise I’ll give Liz a t-shirt just for her. They move toward their door and I’m finally on my way to Liz’s apartment.
Making my way down a long corridor and taking in a deep breath, I knock. After a minute, I hear nothing so I knock a bit louder and more forcefully. It’s then I hear, “I’m coming, shit, Candace—give me a second.”
Opening the door, wrapped in a towel, we both are in shock, for different reasons, of course. I have never forgotten how gorgeous Liz is. “Hey, I see you dressed just for me?” I tease. As her eyes narrow and mouth puckers, I can tell she isn’t reciprocating my humor.
“Iz, what the hell?” A towel is wrapped
around the top of her head like a turban and she has a matching yellow one around her body. Yellow, it’s always been her favorite color.
“At least I came up to your apartment, unlike you standin’ outside my building lookin’ like a stalker.”
“Yeah, I’m sure they thought I was your ex-wife,” she spits. I hit the nail on the head. She’s pissed because she thinks I married her doppelganger.
“Lang told me you met Ken today,” I say.
“Did they recognize me as Kendra at first?” Her voice is carrying and if the couple that helped me in was in the hallway, they could hear.
“Can I come in, Liz? By the way, I’m fine with this look you have goin’ on.” I wave my hand toward her towel. “You might want to change, but don’t go out of your way for me.” She finally moves aside and allows me in her apartment. Walking in, I basically see the brunt of her living space. It’s tiny, really small, and so different than the mansion that she lived in off the Battery of Charleston.
Her nostrils flare and it’s not long before she clenches her fists. This is the signature mad as fuck Liz look I'm familiar with. Honestly, I’d half hoped she would lose her towel. Hell, I’m a man so there was no half hoping about it. But as I’m left with her walking away from me, I see her long legs I loved so much in the year we’d been together. They are even more toned now than they were when I’d made love to her, held her, encouraged, and gave her the strength to keep on living after she trusted me enough to share her unease about getting involved with another man.
The entranceway, if that’s what it could be called, opens up to a small living room barely able to hold a sofa and a small galley-sized kitchen. Though, the view from her office is stunning, this part of the building faces the opposite end, into another building. A small television sits against the wall, opposite the couch, with a door on either side. I assume they are bedrooms since Liz disappears into the one farthest from me.
