by Love Belvin
I surprised myself when out came, with ease, “You know, I’d like to share that with you. Care to break out of here early for coffee?”
Though she tried to hide it, Rayna’s face expressed her shock. With incessantly blinking eyes she nodded her head then gestured for the door. We left immediately and headed over to a small coffee shop in Long Beach City on her husband’s property where we enjoyed a cup of java in the privacy of a curtained off corner. The prestige of Rayna Jacobs’ world wasn’t what surprised me most.
What totally astounded me was once we were settled in our plush seats with mugs in our hands, Rayna gave me the nod of attention and out came, “I, too, birthed a set of twins…”
It was like the dam broke and the reputedly guarded and awfully reticent Elle suddenly transformed into loquacious Elle with so much ease. I shared with Rayna every detail of my life that I believed brought about my emotional limitations and disturbing regards to simple companionship. I talked about my mother, Eugene, the Bishop, Henry, my babies, and of course my promiscuity. Damn me if I didn’t even share my affair with Jackson. I could tell by her body language that bit of information wasn’t news. By the time I made it to the topic of falling in love with Jackson I broke down in tears.
Yeah…
Me…in tears. Again!
Rayna asked questions here and there, but for the most part, she just let me unload. When I was done, I had no breath to speak from regurgitating my entire damaged life. And when I was done, I didn’t know what to expect. I mean…other than with Jackson, I never shared so much about my past.
Rayna reached across the table and palmed my hand. “You’ve uncovered it, now you have to let it go. I can’t guarantee any miracles, but I can show you the path that worked for me. I have someone for you to speak to. Would you be willing?”
Damn me if I didn’t find my head nodding in ascent.
Rayna paired me with a licensed, Christian professional who was one of several counselors for L.I.P. And after a few private sessions with her, I was assigned to a small group that really tapped into women with promiscuous pasts. These were closed discussions where there were no recordings or notes taken. There was only absorption of messages of self-acceptance and healing, scientifically and spiritually.
That led me into my second month in California. I worked during the day and now being a recipient of Rayna’s organization, I had renewed passion to push its success. In no time, the introduction of L.I.P. was everywhere: radio, local television commercials, Internet blogs, in print, local church bulletins—everywhere. I tapped into all of the hefty resources I had, Dynamic Branding, J.G., Wizer and Hunter, A.D. Jacobs Enterprise, even the local church circuits.
I still worked out rigorously, ran blissfully around the marina every morning. I found a treasure when I learned of Azmir’s Optimal Health Recreation Center. His facility was state of the art and I exploited my free membership, spending countless hours there when I wasn’t working or being counseled.
On the second month anniversary of my arrival to California, Rayna and I were outside, sprawled out in plush oversized chairs at a restaurant, just having finished a shopping spree. Countless designer bags resting around our heels, bushed from a day of frenzied shopping. Our lemon drop martinis had just been delivered and food ordered.
Completely fatigued, we took a moment to catch our breaths from beating the streets in five-plus inch heels, engaging our inner-divas. It was nice participating in the same energy ambiance as a woman you feel an odd connection to. I’d learned recently that Rayna didn’t have many friends. She’d only introduced me to two: April and Britni. I understood that as a mother of two small babies, a professional, now a philanthropist, and being married to a mogul, Rayna had a lot to balance and protect. Those reasons alone left little room for a social life. Therefore, I was honored each time she called with an invitation to hang out or come by for dinner.
I, too, was limited in the girlfriend department, never valuing the significance of relationships with other women. I didn’t get the power in exchanging with someone who could relate to you and your lifestyle on varying levels. The closest I had to that was with Clarice since leaving West Virginia and that was only by former association. My ability to share with her was restricted. I didn’t understand, that if you chose the right woman to exchange with, you empower and push each other toward greatness. I didn’t get that it isn’t about spilling your business to her so much as it is having an alliance with someone who is to balance you and hold you responsible for your dreams and goals.
I don’t know how long the silence stretched between the two of us. It was too easy. Too agreeable. I’m sure we both reflected on the damage we did to our credit cards. Our heads were both back, eyes facing the perfect blue sky, outside of the parameter of the umbrella.
“I miss the shit outta him,” out of nowhere, I heard spill from my mouth.
After a few seconds of silence, Rayna, paid much deliberation and obvious hesitance to her response before following up with, “Jackson.”
“That would be the one.”
“What do you mean by the one?”
“The one who stole my heart although I guarded like hell against his ass.”
Rayna chuckled, sat up and grabbed her drink.
My eyes found her. “What’s so funny?”
After taking a sip, she snorted. “That visual rings so familiar.” Then she straightened. “Elle, I know it’s only been a few weeks of counseling and under godly instruction for you, but I’m sure you’ve been able to gather even with your past—be it the promiscuity, the betrayal by your stepbrother, guilt of losing your husband and children—you have to know you’re still worthy of love.” Rayna sat back in her chair, her eyes fell below in obvious rumination. “A good friend of mine, who I lost prematurely once told me, ‘You have to give love a try. Your wellbeing depends on it. You cannot go through life alone. If you’re planning to, you’re taking a detour to an early grave. You deserve to be loved.’” Rayna scoffed, shaking off her trance. “I swear I didn’t get the essence of that message until I almost lost my husband. Right after my friend died, he almost left, exhausted by my antics of resistance.” Then her regard landed on me. “At that point, I was just getting to know Azmir. I think you’ve surpassed that point with Jackson. That man is very capable of loving you in spite of the age difference and I think you know it. I also don’t think you’ve done him a favor by “setting him free like a bird”—she used air quotations—“so he can find someone to give him something your crazy mind believes you can’t. You need to get over yourself and go with your heart.”
I took a moment to consider her words.
“Uup,” I heard from across the table. “I think your lease is up at the marina,” Rayna announced with a wrinkled forehead. “You need to move out. Maybe you can start looking for places back in New York. At this point in the campaign you can work remotely.”
Though delivered coldly, I caught Rayna’s ploy. It was slick.
As I swallowed my martini, I shook my head. “I spoke to my team from New York. I know Jackson is dating someone. They say it could be serious.”
“Well, then you better come up with a darn good plan to snatch up what’s yours,” Rayna scoffed. I shook my head at the overwhelming prospect of strategizing my way back into Jackson’s life. “Shoot! Can you fight?”
My mouth dropped as I caught Rayna’s deadpan expression. “Huhn?”
“Can you fight?”
“Fi-fight? Like in a physical sense?”
“Ummm-hmmm,” Rayna qualified on a nod and arched brows.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a fist fight—”
“You want some lessons? Just in case the one he’s now dating doesn’t get the message.”
Adrenalin shot through my veins and my heart began to race.
“You think it’ll come to that?” I trilled.
Rayna burst out laughing uncontrollably. After a few moments of realizing she was kidding, I j
oined her. It was a good moment…to laugh together, even at my expense.
“Hey,” I sat up in my seat, mind churning with an idea I’d been courting for months, but that quickly decided on. “I need to have a procedure done. You think you can support me on it seeing that I’ve been deemed homeless in the past five minutes?”
“I know you’re not thinking of nip and tuck’ing to get Jackson back? You’re crazy—”
“Girl, no! I needs no nipping or tucking for Jackson to get to fucking.”
Amused, Rayna shook her head. “I’m going to miss that mouth of yours.”
nineteen
Perspiring profusely, my palms were clammy and mouth pasty. My pulse raced as an Indian man just shredded Whitney Houston’s “I’ll Always Love You.” He was finishing up the last note, failing miserably.
How in the world will I change the climate after this dreadful performance?
“Lady,” the stage guy called over to me. “You’re up next.” He spun his index finger as a follow up gesture, reminding me of the proficiency of this karaoke pub.
I was at Q’s Karaoke Joint. The place was packed and bursting with raving energy. I’d stealthily entered just a few minutes before from the rear with the help of a certain Jacobs. The crowd went up expressing mixed reviews of the performance, the minority applauding. Then he waved me on with great impatience. I don’t know how I made it to the microphone. I just put one foot in front of the other and the next thing I knew, I’d arrived.
After a short search around the modest sized room, I located Jackson. He sported a thick beard while his long arm was wrapped around a woman who looked to be his age. I wanted to forget this stupid corny attempt at winning him back through song and run to once again put some distance between the two of us. But some small yet powerful voice inside told me to see this through.
Besides it was too late. When the music director cued my start, which was just seconds after my arrival, my mouth opened and eyes closed.
I belted Anita Baker’s “Angel.” It was only right. The track keenly revealed my feelings for Jackson in many ways. Singing had never required me to conjure the nerve. This was because I’d always been able to transform into someone else, another state of mind to achieve my agenda. Singing this number along with the few I had before for Jackson had been difficult because it required me to lower the mask. Tonight, I was removing the damn thing. I wanted to expose it all to him, for him…for us.
My angel…
Hardly three months after leaving the city, my life had undergone a miraculous transformation. Revelations were met and old wounds hand begun to heal. Rayna jokingly referred to it as a midlife crisis. And though she was kidding, in many ways it had been. I was 36 years-old and tired of living in the bowels of misery. I needed my fairy tale…liberation from the ghosts, demons and nightmares I’d given myself over to thinking I deserved it in spite of my poor choices as a child.
I even came to terms with my mother. Urged by my counselor and settled in my heart, I called her up to confront my grievances with her for not protecting me all those years, never stepping in to address my brokenness to try to prevent me from many of my mistakes. She couldn’t control me as a kid, but she could influence. Instead, she turned the reins over to my stepfather a limited-minded, religious, severely-conservative disciplinarian who used condemnation and an occasional hand to address my cry for attention and acceptance.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” she cried audibly, something I’d never seen of her. “I’m so sorry, precious. I knew I needed help with you, but didn’t have the courage to do it myself. I just kept thinking things would get better with you. I’m sorry.”
Her apologies may have seemed insufficient, but it was only the start on the road to healing. Just as important as her turning a blind eye to my painful plight was her keeping the identity of my father anonymous. That only hurls a child into a deeper realm of confusion.
“Your dad, Kumi Jarreau, was a French and Ghanaian musician I met in N’awlins when I was a kid.” That explained my pigmentation and unusual texture of hair. “We had no business getting married; we didn’t know each other. He drank away all his gig earnings…couldn’t even remember your name when he saw you as a baby. He called you Elgin, held you shakily in his misty drunken arms.” Her words were delivered tautly and seemingly without regret, but at least I had my answer about my heritage.
I wasn’t made whole, but again, certainly on the road to healing, just having made a decision to forgive myself. Ezra Carmichael’s insight came to mind when I realized I was holding on to sins God had already forgiven. I was inflicting pain by picking at old wounds God had been trying to heal. Encountering Jackson was when I finally got it.
I found a real dream…when I found you…
Jackson made me feel alive. He created an environment—a fairy tale—for me to feel secure in when he brought me aboard Dynamic Branding. And what he did when he invited me into his bedroom was an invaluable add-on. Odd as it may sound, yielding to Jackson’s lovemaking cleansed me of the debris left by former haphazard lovers and guilt from them that I struggled with for years. Jackson made love to me, not just used my body as an instrument for his pleasure. He made me love me for the first time in my life.
Hold me tight…make it real…only you can make it all right…
There I was making my plea through song. I soared through each note with purpose and ripped every melody with heartfelt measure. I loved Jackson. I wanted to be free…with him. He alleviated so many weighty things in me. He was my angel.
While coming down from my emotional flight after finishing the lyrics, I could see Jackson hastily making his way toward the back of the club and burst through the service area doors with Rayna on his heels. I wanted the stage to open up and swallow me whole. But I stood there gracefully until the live music ended then made my way off stage. The stage guy didn’t have to rush me, I was done.
I grabbed my clutch and as I started out into crowd for the front door, I caught Rayna approaching me. Her talk with Jackson must’ve been that short because she was back out in the main room that quickly. Her familiar presence jolted emotions, making me want to cry, but I didn’t. I’d been doing too much of it lately and certainly wouldn’t in Jackson’s club full of strangers. When I reached her she smiled warmly.
“I’m proud of you, girl,” Rayna spoke over the music. I tossed her a dejected expression. She’d caught his angry exit. “You knew this wouldn’t be easy,” she warned.
“Yeah, but I didn’t expect pain from the rejection, though.”
She rubbed my arm encouragingly. “Well, now it has to be your decision to fight. You want this? You gonna fight or run away, crying and have to look for a new place and job? ”
“But I can’t force him.”
“But you can demonstrate your new determination.” She mouthed “FIGHT!”
I wanted to say much more, but here wasn’t the time or place.
“Listen, I gotta catch that redeye. I promised Mr. Jacobs a turnaround trip. I’ll call you when I land.” She was saying goodbye. “I’m vouching for you.”
I watched my friend, Rayna, leave and felt even more dejected. As dramatic as it sounds, I also felt abandoned…by Jackson and now by my new friend. I wasn’t far behind her when I left myself, flagging down a cab to my hotel.
It was well after midnight and I was depleted after the long flight here, working up the nerve to sing, fighting the anxiety of laying eyes on him again after nearly three months, surviving his ultimate rejection tonight, and grieving the departure of my girlfriend. I was back to zero; in a land where I had no anchor, no connection. I showered and cried myself to sleep.
Urgent knocks roused me fearfully from my slumber. I wiped the sleep from my eyes and smoothed back my straightened locks from my face. I glanced for the time on the nightstand. It was just before 6:30 in the morning. Hearing the knocks again, I drug my heavy body from the bed and skulked in the bathroom to grab the hotel robe. I tied it on my
way to the door, still struggling to fully awaken.
“Who is it?”
“Room service,” I noted a thick accent.
Hesitantly, I opened the door and saw a lined tray with coffee accessories. Then he came into my line of view when he bent to lift the lid of the stainless steel coffee pot. My breath caught in my chest at his recognition.
With a full glower in place, he regarded me. “It’s fresh for that boost of energy you need for your incessant morning runs,” he grated.
I didn’t know how to take that? It was bitter.
“Hi,” was all my pathetic self could produce.
Jackson stood, nodded a dismissal of the room service staff and grabbed the edges of the table. His amber eyes were still hard, his lips in a thin line, reflecting his behavior last night.
“I figured I’d get you a cup and join you on your run this morning—unless, you don’t want the company. I know how much you enjoy solitude,” his tone was incredibly mocking.
Jumping into action, I swung the door open wider, hopped back for him to wheel in the tray and then I leaped deeper into the room for my suitcase.
“No! No solitude needed this morning at all. In fact, I was just about to head out when I heard the knocking.” I lied as I rummaged through the suitcase in a vicious search for my running gear. “Just grab a seat.” I called out from behind me. “I’ll be ready in two minutes.”
When they were located, I snatched the robe off, pulled the shirt over my messy hair and started with my pants. Those were tricky. I danced on one foot trying to place my feet in the correct leg. In my disarray, I caught Jackson’s wrinkled face. That’s when I realized I was almost naked in front of him. With a few minutes of struggle, I got into the pants. Next were my sneakers that complied. When I was done I stood, out of breath with my hands on my hips. That’s when I noticed Jackson was in full gear himself with a dri-fit shirt, displaying all those frontal muscles that I was losing memory of, running tights, basketball shorts, and sneakers.
