Just Jada

by Anna Cove

  "You would what?"

  "Tell me about your practice. You're a therapist, right? And how do you know Dr. Garcia?"

  "We go way back," Jada said. "You would what?"

  "Nothing. I didn't mean to say that." Don't look at her. Don't look at her. Don't look at her.

  "Trust me, honey. Nothing you can say is inappropriate now I have a little fire water in me." Jada touched the rim of her glass with a manicured finger. "I want us to be friends. I really do."

  I closed my eyes to avoid seeing hers. She was so hot and we'd fallen into a conversation so easily—I'd lost track of why I was here. I might only have one opportunity to pick her brain. This could be it. "Tell me what else I have to do. Lobby the committee... what else?"

  "Well." Jada slid her untouched wine glass toward her. "You could seek out interviews. Hm... I'd have to think about some other things. Can we just chill on the business stuff for tonight? I've really had a long week."

  "Sure," I said, disappointed and relieved at the same time. "Do you want to talk about it?"

  Jada laughed. "No. I would rather talk about anything else."

  I set my eyes scanning across the crowd to find something new to talk about. Not that it mattered too much. Even our silence was companionable. When was the last time I had felt so happy? So serene? Just as these thoughts entered my mind, my eyes met those of a woman in a strappy black dress, her hair piled high.

  I twisted around and hunched my shoulders over my empty glass. "Oh shit."

  "What?"

  "Meredith. She's here."

  "Where?"

  "Behind us. In the black dress."

  Jada turned her head toward the door. "She's coming. Go with the flow, okay, Flower Power?"

  Before I knew what was happening, Jada leaned close and slipped her hand into mine and laughed loudly. "Oh, God, Erika. Please. You're killing me here."

  "What are you doing?" I whispered. As I turned my face into her hair, the smell of spice and flowers overwhelmed me.

  "Just go with it," she said, her lips grazing my ear.

  I shuddered and a pang of longing shot through my body.

  "Erika."

  I gasped, pulling away, encouraged in the little ruse by Jada and the alcohol which now flowed freely in my veins. I met Meredith's eyes, acting surprised. "Meredith. What are you doing here?"

  "Who's this?"

  "I'm her new girlfriend. Jada. Nice to meet you." Jada stuck out her hand before I had time to correct any of this. My laughter somehow only added to the game. In some dim way, I knew this was horrible. It was a lie and I should stop it before it got out of hand, but Jada had pulled me into her world. I couldn't stop. Not now.

  Meredith glared at Jada's hand and back at me. "How long has this been going on?"

  "A week? Right, baby?" Jada drew my hand to her lips and brushed a kiss over my knuckles. "I just can't get enough of her."

  Meredith paused for a moment, a sneer coming over her mouth. "You know, she was fucking me a week ago."

  "Must have been before she met me."

  "She sent me a text two nights ago."

  Jada's eyes slid to me, her face lit in a grin. "She's nice like that. She was trying to break it off for good so she wouldn't be cheating on you."

  Meredith narrowed her eyes. "I don't buy it."

  "What's to buy? We're not selling anything, are we sweetheart?" Jada's face was smiling, playful.

  I bit my lip and shook my head, not saying anything for fear I would ruin this. It was like watching the master. Jada painted watercolors and I finger-painted. She was calligraphy and I was a fat Crayola marker.

  I leaned into her, though. That I could do because secretly all I'd wanted to do since I'd met her was touch her. Her warm shoulder against mine sent shocks through my system.

  Meredith lunged forward and took my wrist. "Can I speak with you? Alone? Now?"

  I looked back at Jada. She was right about Meredith. I never should have let her walk all over me. It would end tonight. So, as Jada opened her mouth to speak, I slid off the stool. "I'll be right back."

  I let Meredith weave me around the tables and pull me into the bathroom. She looked under all the stalls before she turned to me. "What the hell, Erika?"

  "What?"

  "You're here with another woman? In public?"

  The bathroom was cool and smelled of perfumed soap. The bright lights made me blink a little, clearing the cobwebs of alcohol from my brain. Under all those cobwebs, all I could find was annoyance. "We're not together. You made that clear a couple of months ago."

  "I didn't mean it."

  "Oh, really? So when you didn't want to take me out on my birthday—"

  "I had other things to do."

  "Yeah..." I hadn't been away from Jada long, but I could feel her absence. She'd made me brave, and I was losing the ability to find that courage again.

  Meredith's eyes, clay brown, practically glowed with anger. "You think you're hot shit, don't you?"

  "I don't."

  "Look at you in that skanky, cheap dress—"

  I closed my eyes. I'm not here. I'm outside, in the forest.

  "—with that whore outside. You're not good enough for her."

  Why does the forest smell like soap?

  "You know she's just using you like a tissue she'll throw out on the way back down to the city. Stupid—"

  The door opened, restaurant sounds pouring in. The sounds were cut by Jada's voice, rasping as she spoke. "You're the stupid bitch. You think you can take my girlfriend in here and abuse her?"

  Though Jada was slightly shorter than Meredith, Meredith cowered as Jada charged toward her.

  "Get out of here," Jada said. "Get out!"

  "Okay. Okay. I'm going." Meredith lifted her hands in the air.

  "And don't talk to her again. Ever. Got it?"

  Meredith muttered as she stumbled her way out of the bathroom.

  The lights made me feel naked, like all the parts of me I didn't want anyone to see were on the display. My fingers trembled as I tugged at the bottom of my too small dress. "Thank you?"

  "Please don't let her get in your head."

  "I'm fine."

  "You're shaking."

  "I'm fine."

  I leaned against the wall because I was shaking, and I wasn't sure I could hold myself up on my own with heels on. Jada glided toward me and stroked the side of my face. I searched her eyes for courage, even though it was too late to actually use it, and as I was searching, she leaned closer.

  She never closed her eyes. She kept them locked on me, looking, searching, as she leaned in until our lips brushed. A shudder ran through me. I began to melt, but Jada held me up, kissing me just as gently, just as sweetly as I needed to be kissed. A rush of feelings surfaced—joy, sadness, hurt—everything I'd felt tonight.

  You're not good enough for her.

  I pulled away and held my lips. "I'm sorry," I said on a breath. "I'm sorry."

  CHAPTER SIX

  JADA

  I tapped my foot and checked my watch.

  They were ten minutes late.

  Ten minutes where I could have been working on my research. Ten minutes where I could have been digging into Erika's life. Ten minutes where I could have been saving my business, or drinking a latte, or at the gym, or doing any number of things instead of standing here waiting. These moments of transition, these moments of waiting—how many days of my life were wasted because of them?

  In the empty space, regret started to tug at my brain. I blamed the Manhattan for that kiss. After that idiot woman Meredith had shattered Erika, I'd wanted to make her feel better. It was only as she pulled away and apologized I'd realized what I'd done.

  If this whole thing wasn't happening, we might have been friends. Our conversation was easy, and though she was a bit of a goody goody, I liked her. She offered just enough spice and surprise to keep me guessing. I hadn't made any friends since college and it was nice to find someone with whom I coul
d converse.

  I couldn't think like that. Not for long. I had to remember what was at stake. My business. My charitable donations. My apartment. My whole life was on the line if I didn't win this award, so I had to be objective.

  Objectively, Erika was falling for me. Objectively, she was vulnerable in her affections due to previous relationships. Objectively, when she found out who I really was, she would be absolutely smashed and unable to perform well for the committee.

  But we were working with gossamer strands of glass. Everything had to go my way for this to work. Erika had to avoid looking me—or Luisa Garcia—up. She had to fall for me. And she had to react as I thought she would.

  Doubt niggled as these thoughts formed. It didn't feel right, but my father always told me feelings were for other people. For our patients. I could never trust my own as they were always so far off base. I had to go with the plan here. I had to win. The Garcias didn't lose. Sure, Erika may be hurt in the process, but I would find some way to fix that, too. For now, the prize had to be my focus.

  I pulled out my phone to see if the Latina Achievement Program woman had emailed me. Instead, I found a text from my friend Julia.

  This was the worst idea ever.

  Six words. But they were loaded. They required a "why" and an "okay, back up" and that would take far too long. When she had dropped by my office weeks before I had encouraged her to go back to our college town, Northampton. I'd sent her to the library. How could that be the worst idea ever?

  I began typing back a message.

  It wasn't coming out right. I looked up and saw a little girl and an older woman. The woman searched the faces of those around us as if looking for someone. We locked eyes and had a moment of are you the person I'm looking for before I quit that, put away my phone, and strode straight to the woman.

  "Are you Laura Gonzalez?"

  "Yes, and you must be Dr. Garcia. I'm so happy you finally found time in your schedule to volunteer with one of the girls. This is Amalia."

  "It's the least I can do... since... you know." The money. The organization had been trying to get me involved for years, but I hadn't had the time. Now, I didn't have the money or the time, but the girl would be helpful in making me look good to the committee.

  I hadn't been around little girls enough to know what age she was, but she was somewhere between nine and twelve. She wore her hair in a ponytail and looked up at me with large round eyes. She would do. Give her an ice cream cone and she would be as adorable as could be. As long as she wasn't annoying, we'd be good.

  I offered my hand to her. "Hi, Amalia. I'm Dr. Garcia."

  The little girl gave me a limp, sticky handshake, never making eye contact, then wiped her hand on her pants.

  The woman who'd brought her leaned close. "She's a sweet girl. A little quiet. I usually take her to the zoo or a museum."

  "Great." I held out my arm for her to come closer. "Are you ready to go, sweetheart?"

  "I volunteered to loan her to you—the organization wanted you to go through the whole vetting process, but I vouched for you."

  I stopped. Laura wanted something. I turned and assessed her for the first time. She was probably in her fifties, a little thick set around the middle. She wore a turquoise pea coat. "Thank you," I said and turned to go.

  "Wait," she said. "I'm a big fan of your father's work. Do you think.... do you think you could get a copy of my book signed for me?"

  There it was... always about him. What about me and my research? Just because I hadn't yet written a popular book didn't mean I had bad ideas. I could feel the weight of the words building up behind my throat. Mean, cruel words. But I had to be on my best behavior. "Give me your book. I'll see what I can do."

  She handed me her book, practically bouncing on her toes. I stuffed it inside my purse without looking at it, bending back the cover.

  "Careful with that!"

  I pasted on a smile to stop from unleashing my retort as I smoothed the cover straight.

  "Have him make it out to me, Laura. And please bring Amalia back here by two."

  She said the words at my retreating back as I hurried the little girl toward the park exit. My mind was a thorn patch of muddled thoughts on which I kept snagging. It was always about him. Always. Even when I was the one nominated for an award. I had to win it on his terms. I had to win this award in this way. Without most of the money from my trust fund. What if I wanted to do something different?

  "Why are you so grumpy?"

  I'd almost forgotten I'd been holding the little girl's hand. I slid her a glance. "I'm not grumpy."

  She jogged to keep up. "Yes, you are. You're frowning."

  "That's just my face."

  "Well it's a grumpy face and I don't like it."

  I shot her a look, but she only smiled, ignoring my foul temper. She swung our clasped hands. I wanted to let go, but wasn't sure if she was old enough to know not to run out into the road or not to pet stray dogs or whatever. I'd gleaned enough about kids to know their parents generally wanted them back alive.

  "Where are we going today?" she asked.

  "On a walk." And now I thought about it, the clasped hands thing was perfect for this particular walk, in case we were surprised by someone special.

  "Where?"

  "Nowhere. Just a walk."

  "We're not going anywhere?"

  "Enjoy the journey," I said, channeling Erika. My voice even grew soft and airy like hers. My mind flitted back to her soft lips, her warm body.

  Whoa. Where had that come from?

  "The journey is dumb," the girl said.

  I stopped, holding the girl's shoulders, bending so I could peer into her eyes. "Look," I said. "I need you to do whatever I tell you for the next few minutes. Then afterward, if you're good, we'll get an ice cream. Does that sound okay?"

  "Two scoops?"

  "Three, if you're extra cute."

  "I want it now."

  "Not now, after."

  "Now. Or I'll cry the entire time I'm with you."

  "What a little..." I looked down the street toward my destination, then glanced the other way to see an ice cream shop half a block away. "Fine. Two scoops of ice cream, then you'll be good."

  "Deal," she said, her eyes growing wide. She actually licked her lips before we turned and crossed the distance to the ice cream shop.

  I didn't have to worry about the time wasted as the girl set a record for how fast she ate that cone. Afterward, she did as I asked, slipping her even stickier hand into mine and strolling down the street with a satisfied smile.

  I searched the house numbers as we went. 655. 657. We were almost to where we needed to be. As we approached the house, the man I was looking for closed a door behind him, a golden retriever leading the way.

  In an adrenaline-pumped move, I turned to the girl faster than a cheetah, picked up her hands and spun her around in a circle, Titanic style.

  "Wheeee," I said.

  It took about three spins for the girl's face to turn green. And another half-turn for me to slow enough to ease us to a stop.

  "I don't feel so well," she said, clutching at her tummy.

  "Breathe," I said, petting the side of her head, aware Dr. McNabb was only a few steps away. Only now I was praying, to whatever gods whose names I could grasp in that moment, he would turn the other way.

  "Dr. Garcia," came his voice, inevitable yet still shocking.

  It all happened in slow motion. Crouched down next to the girl, hand on her cheek, I turned to Dr. McNabb. I opened my mouth and the girl lurched forward. Slime hit the side of my cheek, an unnatural warmth seeped through my blouse. I squeezed my eyes shut and stopped breathing. She heaved again.

  All. Over.

  When I opened my eyes, Dr. McNabb stood nearby. "Oh, you poor thing. Oh, no. Come inside, my wife will help you get cleaned up."

  I wiped the vomit on my cheek with my sleeve and put on a smile. But he wasn't talking to me, or even facing me. He was talking to
Amalia and had his arm around her shoulder and was guiding her to the house. He threw a look back to me and jerked his head as if I was a stray puppy he wasn't sure would follow him home.

  Amalia was crying huge theatrical sobs. I felt a little like crying, too, in the moments between gagging with the smell.

  We walked up the brick steps and entered the apartment. The first floor was classically beautiful, with gilded wallpaper, ornate ceilings, and silk arm chairs. We avoided all of that and headed straight upstairs to a simpler part of the house.

  "Emily," Dr. McNabb called. "Come here for a moment. Bring some old towels."

  Dr. McNabb knelt next to Amalia and dried her tears with his thumb. "I'm Dr. McNabb. What's your name?"

  "Amalia," the girl said, her voice hitched.

  "Amalia, that's a pretty name. It's okay. We're going to get you cleaned up in no time. Does your stomach feel better?"

  Amalia nodded, big fat crocodile tears gathering under her eyes and slipping down her face.

  Give me a break. It was only ice cream. If she didn't learn to hold her tears back, or her food down, she was going to have a lot of trouble in life.

  I had to admit, though, she had gotten us inside the house. I had only thought we would pass by and maybe run into him. Now an opportunity lay before me. I could take it or I could leave it.

  "Dr. McNabb," I said. "I know we're not supposed to speak between now and my interview."

  "It's okay, as long as we stay away from work topics." He wiped at another set of Amalia's tears, never taking his eyes off her.

  "She's a great girl, isn't she? Smart and funny." I crouched down near them both. "Tell him what your favorite thing to do is."

  "I like to eat bugs," Amalia said, her chin lifting.

  "Oh, you silly little"—manipulative brat—"tell him the other thing."

  "You do know crickets are edible, don't you, Dr. McNabb?" She sniffed, recovering herself.

  Dr. McNabb threw a jaunty grin in my direction. "Based on what I just saw, I think I'll pass."

  I smiled back, satisfied with finally being brought into the conversation. "Amalia and I are part of the Latina Achievement Program."