Love's Inconvenient Truth

by Love Belvin

  “I know what it’s like to not fit in with your household. I also understand the power of familial secrets. I guess in some sick way, we’re kindred spirits, Michael.”

  Our eyes met.

  “So, you’re not offended that I couldn’t take you home under the guise of being my woman?”

  “Not if you aren’t that I wouldn’t exactly go without double takes if I walked through my parents’ home with you on my arm either. Jet black hair isn’t the same as skin.”

  His nose twitched, fighting his laughter. Instead he reached for my hand and kissed it tenderly.

  “My parents head up a small church in a small town in West Virginia. What is that your family does?” My voice was rigid, as I was getting into intimate territory; a place I resented.

  “Heard of Quality Foods?”

  My brows arched. “Yeah. Who hasn’t? They’re all over the boroughs.”

  I didn’t know if that was asked in sarcasm or what. Quality Foods was a large chain of grocery stories. It’s where I went when I did big grocery shopping, which was rare because I could barely fry an egg.

  Michael gave a slight bow while stretching his right hand on the window pane. “That’s my family’s legacy. It was started by grandfather in the early sixties and is now headed up by my old man. He’s getting up there and is trying to pass it down.”

  “To who?”

  “My brother. To my father, I’m just gay. I’ve never come out to my family. I doubt if my mom ever told him about catching me on my knees with an anaconda down my damn throat, but there’ve been whispers. And besides, I’ve not fit the mold of future CEO like my younger brother, Liam.” He shrugged again. “He can keep that shit. He’s a fucking dweeb in a suit. Fits him perfectly anyways.”

  My goodness! I knew Michael possessed a level of class and culture from the few times I’d been out with him, but who knew he was well-heeled? That fact drummed up my curiosity tenfold.

  “So, what do you do for a living?”

  I’d never asked, not really caring. But now I found myself super inquisitive. He’d paid for the Town Car we were in, insistent on not taking a cab to midtown. Michael looked beyond dapper in a black suit, cut to precision. His apartment across the hall from mine was a one bedroom, unlike my efficiency.

  “I basically run my uncle’s tailor business in the Bronx.”

  I busted out in the most gut-wrenching laughter. I mean…it was one felt in my soul.

  “What the fuck is so funny, Elle?” he growled.

  “No-Nothing!” I sputtered as I tried reeling in my amusement. That took some time. When I was able to, I explained. “I just got a quick visual of you feeling up the clientele; men and women alike!” I fell into another cackling fit from verbalizing that.

  “Shit!” he spat calmly. “I don’t need to sneak feels, Elle. You must not know me very well.”

  “No, I don’t,” I rustled as I calmed. “But I’m sure measuring folks doesn’t exactly pay the bills. You must prostitute on the side.” I tried to lighten his mood.

  “Wrong!” he pouted. “I collect rent from people in my building like you.”

  My amusement dropped to the car floor. Michael owns the building we lived in?

  “Yeah, I thought that’d shake the humor from your chipper ass,” he advised with stretched eyelids. “Anyway, baby girl,” he quickly reached across the car and kissed my forehead. “We’re here. Let’s go.”

  I glanced around the outside of the car. We were indeed at LaChateau. Michael was out of the car before I could gathering my bearings.

  He reached back inside for me. “Bring your pretty vanilla bean ass on, Elle.” And there was my impudent Michael returning.

  So much for our heart-to-heart moment just minutes ago.

  As I stood and smoothed out my dress, he asked lowly and yet seriously, “Am I your date, boyfriend, or lover tonight?”

  Michael and I played roles when we went out parading falsities to hide our real selves. We’d done it a half a dozen times already.

  “Let’s go for boyfriend…but new relationship,” I cautioned.

  “Oh, perfect!”

  I winced. “Why?”

  “That’s because the sex is most incredible when it’s new. And if I’m your man, it’s exclusive at this point, honey,” he answered cynically, as though it was common knowledge.

  “O-okay.”

  I straightened on his arm as we journeyed into the restaurant.

  From the moment we strode through the door, I experienced opulence in the glowing color scheme softly bouncing from the generous lightening of the facility. There were elegant chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, varying in designs and sizes. We were ushered into the tasting garden, otherwise known as a cocktail room where I saw several familiar faces. The place was packed, so much so, I had to check the time and confirm we were on time.

  “Excuse me a moment,” Michael uttered politely. “I’ll get us drinks. Red or white for you, lovely?”

  “Red would work. Thanks.”

  I watched as he padded handsomely over to the bar, musing about his masculinity. Michael must come from good stock. I’d be interested in seeing what the rest of the Rosco clan looked like.

  “Elle, isn’t it?”

  I turned to find James Goldberg, one-third partner of J.G., Wizer and Hunter. I rarely run into him around the office. I couldn’t even recall seeing him at the firm’s social function when Dynamic Branding was introduced. John Wizer took the lead in that. Goldberg was a decent looking Jewish man, fairly tall with a long Grecian nose and thin lips. He wore rimless framed glasses and his hair was slicked back, giving him a smart and kempt appearance.

  “Yes. Elle Jarreau. It’s a pleasure to formally meet you, Mr. Goldberg.” I extended my hand to him.

  “I’ve heard about the strides Jax’s team has been making in no time in Dynamic Branding.” I gave a soft curt nod. It’s always preferable to hear raves about your work from your boss—all your bosses, considering I worked directly with one of them. Jackson. “And I hear you’re at the head, navigating the crew along with Jackson.” His thick swarthy brows knitted in implication, I thought. Then in the next instance his lids extended as he did a swift inventory glance at my person. I caught it as quickly as it was issued. Oddly, it didn’t seem like a salacious move. His eyes didn’t slant with priapic thrill. It appeared to be pure observation. I could surmise that Goldberg was assessing my physical availability to Jackson. “How are things getting along with your exemplary leader?”

  Exemplary leader? Was he checking up on Jackson? Is Goldberg the cause of his paranoia regarding his role at the firm?

  “Here you are, doll?” Michael appeared behind me, a tad off to the side, an intimate position to my person.

  “Oh, thanks,” I smiled courteously at Michael, warmed by his perfect timing. I returned to Goldberg with a similar beam. I noticed his puzzled expression, but could guess what caused it. Not only did Michael’s presence mute his accusation of the possibility of Jackson coming on to me, but the fact of him being a white man had narrowed that possibility even more. “He’s been…exemplary.”

  Goldberg seemed to not be able to help his extended gaping at Michael and me. And Michael, I was sure, couldn’t help exercising his liberty in fondling me when he pulled me into his side and kissed my head. I fought rolling my eyes and the rigidness my body was naturally inclined to do at that close a proximity to a man.

  “You’re going to introduce us, doll?” Michael asked delicately.

  I gasped, realizing my lapse in manners.

  “Of course, honey. Mr. Goldberg, this fine man is Michael Rosco, my boyfriend.” I glanced behind me to Michael. “Michael, this is James Goldberg, one of three partners here at J.G., Wizer and Hunter.

  Michael went for his hand. “One of the bosses. Good to meet you.”

  “The pleasure is mine. Elle has been with the firm for about two years now, and is making a name for herself in our subsidiary.”


  “Well, we aim to please,” Michael gleamed. “Don’t we, doll?”

  I twisted my neck back to him, smiling with my mouth, but warning with my eyes. Michael was really milking his role.

  “Well, look who we have here. We must have spoken you up!” Goldberg shrilled.

  I turned to find Dale with Patience on his arm, almost equal in height. Dale sported his usual ceaseless smile and some new age ensemble resembling gear for space shuttle activity. He didn’t dress formally and that was okay. Because of his artistic profession, Dale was exempt from normal etiquette.

  “Dale,” I greeted. “Patience.” I offered a bow of the head. “So glad you were able to make it considering your unforgiving schedules. Welcome to J.G., Wizer and Hunter. It’s a pleasure to have you.”

  Dale’s embrace included a peck on the cheek while Patience and I air kissed. She was a good looking woman, arguably extremely beautiful. Her style was bland in my opinion. Her attire was rustic, a fitted top with an oversized skirt and insipid heels. To each his own. So long as she played her role, we were all gravy.

  “The first face we see here is a familiar one,” Dale noted with a grin.

  “That was the plan.” I lied. “Great timing, too. Dale, Patience, this is James Goldberg, one of two of Jackson Hunter’s partners at the firm. Although he’s not on the Dynamic Branding wing, it’s good to know who holds the bag for those corporate partners we’d like to see you paired with soon.”

  “Nice,” Patience spoke up, not missing a beat. “I hope sooner rather than later.”

  “Same here.” I agreed. “Jackson hopes to have you as a permanent client soon to explore that avenue and more.”

  Patience’s expression turned crestfallen.

  “Oh, sure. I know exactly who Dale is. My daughter swore she’d marry you, had your posters all over her bedroom walls, to my wife’s dismay.” Goldberg seemed to have missed the power play exchanged between Patience and me. “I’ll have to tell her we’ve formally met. I’m sure she’ll remember you.”

  “Of course she will!” I trilled to cover Goldberg’s epic misstep of aging a client. “Dale isn’t an act that will ever be forgotten. He’s contributed that much to American entertainment history. And as Jackson has made clear to our team, it’s our job to make sure he gives his legions of fans even more to write about in centuries to come, isn’t that right, James?”

  I referred to him by his first name to present a united team front. He’d quickly lost sight of a major provisional client in a barrel of those serviced by J.G., Wizer and Hunter. A major no-no.

  “Yes, you’re right.” Goldberg must have come to his senses. Thank God! Jackson couldn’t afford any traction in what we’d been able to accomplish in such a short time. “Oh, and here’s the man of the hour!” Goldberg gushed.

  I turned to find Jackson gaiting into the palatial room with Erika Erceg on one arm. And as soon as I started to feel some level of relief for her presence to serve as creditability for Dale and Patience and notoriety for Dynamic Branding, all of the elation conjured in the span of seconds came crashing down at the sight of the other dame on Jackson’s arm. Ashley.

  What the fu—

  “Jackson!” Goldberg called out. “Over here.” Jackson scanned the area until he spotted our cypher and charted over to us. As he did, he offered to Dale and Patience, “Once you’ve said your hellos to Jackson, I’ll take you around to meet a few of our corporate clients. How would you like that?”

  Of course Patience’s shoulders rose at that. Dale’s persistent smile was on full display. I glanced over my shoulder to check on Michael only to find his mouth collapsed in the direction of Jackson, et al.

  As they neared, I couldn’t ignore Erika’s perceptible beam. She was flawless per usual, dressed in Balmain, one of her favorite designers. Ashley’s animated eyes couldn’t stop their intermittent glances at Erika. And Jackson’s penetrative eyes were stapled to me. My pulse sped, breathing altered and breasts suddenly felt heavy in my gown. I made sure to roll my eyes at him, but he didn’t flinch.

  “Elle!” Erika hailed excitedly before they exactly made it to us.

  My lips flipped up in a smile as I understood it was time for me to work and not waste time trying to figure out Jackson.

  “Erika, you look amazing,” I noted before clasping palms with her and participating in the air kiss. With Erika it was an essence act to preserve makeup.

  “I was so nervous, coming alone. Well, I’m not by myself, I brought one of my assistants with me, but you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah. I get it.” I agreed. “But I’m pleased you came and hope you know you’re not alone when Jackson and I are around. We’re you’re team.”

  “I know. I’ve known Jackson for like…forever. He’s so cool!” she smiled and took me at the arm, issuing a squeeze of excitement, opposite from where Michael was.

  “Hey, Jax, man!” Dale moved to give him a shake and manly hug, to which Jackson reciprocated, dragging his eye from me.

  “Glad you and Patience could make it, bruh,” Jackson returned.

  I was able to gain a better vantage of Jackson. He looked recklessly handsome, as always exuding confidence and grace beyond which a man his age should. He was among society’s elite—corporate and celebrity—and moved with style and composure.

  Ashley caught my attention when she squeaked as she took to Erika’s side again, opposite of me, both women to my right. It was…odd. Simultaneously, Jackson greeted Patience with a noncommittal hug. It was a rapid move so as to spend as much time as possible sending me seizing gapes. Things slowed for a minute, no one spoke or moved much, but wore expectant smiles, waiting for someone to make the next move of formalities.

  “There’s one more person I’ve not met,” Jackson noted as his eyes glimmered with mischief.

  My forehead wrinkled as I wondered who he was referring to.

  That’s when I heard, “Oh!” from over me. “I’m Michael Rosco, Elle’s boyfriend.”

  I stiffened in Michael’s fold. Jackson’s face turned expressionless. I didn’t express anger, shock or confusion, I was just…stoic.

  After a beat Jackson asked, “Your boyfriend, Elle?”

  I perked up, popping my lips together, trying to match the pace of the freight train. “Yes,” I trilled as I turned to the petite girl. “As in Ashley. Michael, this is Ashley, my boss, Jackson’s girlfriend. Ashley, this is Michael.”

  Her eyes went large and mouth collapsed in astonishment as she gulped in air. This maneuver caught poor Ashley off guard, but she was sure of her good senses.

  “Oh, no! I mean, yes!” she sputtered. “My name is Ashley, but I’m not Jackson’s girlfriend.” Her eyes flickered nervously to Jackson as she extended her hand to Michael. “We’re just long time friends is all.”

  That response made it perfectly clear to me that Ashley and Jackson had had this conversation before. They were indisputably in agreement about their status. They would not be posing as boyfriend and girlfriend.

  “Oh,”—Goldberg waived his hand dismissively in the air—“but you guys’ll be getting married in like six months,” he scoffed. “These two have been running around together since they were in elementary school. It’s bound to happen sooner or later.”

  “Oh,” flew from my mouth.

  Ashley giggled nervously while others in our party chuckled. But Jackson didn’t respond at all. He was eyeing Michael and then me again.

  “Well, I promised Dale and Patience I’d take them to meet a few of our sponsors,” Goldberg chimed. “Ah! And there’s Jim Winthorp, President of Horselake Water. I hear their piloting an energy drink to compete with Gatorade. I’m sure they can use the crossover appeal.” He winked at the couple, offering again to take them.

  Dale and Patience took off with Goldberg, leaving the rest of us behind. I had to get away from Jackson or I’d scream. He had some nerve bringing Ashley knowing Stephanie had it bad for him. Why I cared was beyond me, but there was something
wrong about that to me. To relieve myself of Jackson’s penetrative glare, I called over to Erika.

  “Hey, I see a chairman of Payless over at the bar.”

  “Payless?” her thick perfectly laid brows narrowed. “Why would I be interested in meeting someone from Payless?”

  “Because she’s recently divorced and has been seeing the head designer over at Calvin Klein.” I inched closer to her. “And while we know Erika Erceg is above Calvin Klein, your line isn’t at the moment, and I so happen to know he’s unhappy and might be persuaded to jump ship given the right pitch from his current lover.” I shot her a conspiratorial grin. “It’s called using your influences influences.”

  Erika sighed her understanding and I took her at the arm and led her away with Michael on my heels. I didn’t even pay Jackson a parting glance as I sashayed away leaving him alone with his buddy—future fiancée—Ashley.

  I spent the next twenty or so minutes of the cocktail hour introducing Erika to clients who may benefit from her impending fashion line, being sure to impress her with the remarkable client roster at J.G., Wizer and Hunter. At first, Erika was nervous, not doing much communicating outside of beautiful smiles and amenable nods. I applied patient understanding acknowledging that she was on her own for the first time. Not even her husband was with her, vetting major corporations to do business with. After a while and with the assistance of Michael’s covert flirting, Erika warmed up and produced her own questions to gauge interest in partnership. I was proud of her.

  When guests got the call for dinner, we retreated to our respective tables. I learned Dynamic Branding had its own table. There were only three of us from our small group. Bridgette brought her fiancé and the nine of us sat together. I was reminded of how this event was exclusively for power players of the firm, which was why Clarice was absent. Her role didn’t require her to bring in clients, just to service the ones we had. I didn’t want to invite her as my plus one because it would be tacky and bringing Michael as my “boyfriend” would hopefully deter any possible rumors of my relationship with Jackson, or my overall sexuality.