Enchanted Heart

by Felicia Mason

  His Gayla had been carefree, almost playful. Her body rounded, full breasts that filled his hands and tempted his mouth. Her hips wide, as one of his aunts would say, perfect for childbearing. He remembered how it felt to have her legs wrapped around him and how he could lose himself in the smell and feel and taste of her for hours.

  What he couldn’t imagine was taking this Gayla anywhere near his bed. She needed a good bath, a shampoo, haircut, manicure, pedicure and some decent clothes. Lance could make all of those things happen. He’d have to find out how many kids she had before he took in the entire package. He might be a trust-fund bum, but at least in this instance, his money could be put to some good use.

  When they left the restaurant, Lance drove straight to the nearest Farm Fresh grocery store.

  “What do you need in here?” she said. “We just ate.”

  He handed her a basket and fell into step behind her. “Get what you need.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “You paying?”

  He nodded.

  By the time they made it to the checkout, the grocery basket was filled to overflowing. In addition to the steaks and cigarettes she’d claimed, Lance made sure there was juice and peanut butter, Vitamin C tablets and tuna in the selections.

  “Why are you doing this?” Gayla asked as they loaded up the back of the Escalade.

  “I want to get to know you again.”

  “Why?”

  Lance didn’t have an answer to that question. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure he knew. He needed time to figure it out. “Because,” he told her, and he left it at that.

  When they returned to the apartment, Gayla hollered for Rique to come help with the groceries. Lance carried in three bags and almost collided with a kid of about ten who appeared at the door.

  “What’s all this?”

  “Food,” Gayla said. “Go with him over to that black Escalade and get some bags.”

  “Bet,” the boy said.

  Lance put his bags down and followed the child outside. When they returned with the last sacks of groceries, the boy started rifling through the bags. He snatched up a bag of Oreos. “Got any milk?”

  “It’s right here,” Lance said. He reached into the bag that held a gallon of milk and a gallon of orange juice. The boy got a glass from a dish drain, rinsed it out in the sink.

  “My name’s Lance,” he said as he twisted the top from the milk jug.

  The boy turned, shook the water from the glass and grinned up at Lance. “Hey, man. I’m Tarique.”

  The milk container slipped from Lance’s hands.

  “Yo, bro!” Some of the milk splashed out, but the boy’s quick reaction saved the container from the floor.

  Tarique poured himself a glass of milk, put the container on the counter and headed with his bag of Oreos back toward the bedroom and his music.

  Lance stood there, stunned, angry, elated. He turned around toward Gayla, the woman who’d betrayed him in incalculable ways. First she’d stolen his heart . . . then his son.

  She stood at the wall, leaning against it, a cigarette propped in her mouth as she watched him, an ironic little smile playing at her mouth.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She raised an eyebrow at him.

  “I had a right to know about my son.”

  “What makes you think he’s yours?”

  “Don’t fuck with me Gayla. That boy is my son, and I don’t need a DNA test to prove it.”

  She raised a brow and took a drag on the cigarette, challenging him.

  “That boy, what did you call him, Tarique? He looks just like me. Just like me, Gayla. His is the image I faced in the mirror half my life. Ten years from now, his face will be the one I have now.”

  Gayla shrugged. “So what? He’s your son. Big fucking deal.”

  Lance reeled as if she’d hit him with a club. He shook his head to clear it. So many thoughts raced through his mind.

  He had a son.

  She’d lied.

  She’d left him.

  He had a son. A son!

  He advanced on her, slowly, like a provoked lion stalking prey. “The big fucking deal is you lied to me.”

  “You didn’t care. You didn’t care about me or us.”

  “I’m not the one who ran away.”

  “Get out of my house. Get out before I call the police.”

  “I want my son.”

  “Go to hell, Lance Heart. That’s where you and all your family belong.”

  Lance headed toward the back bedroom, but Gayla grabbed him, tugging on his arm, scrappling at his shirt, suddenly pathetic in her earnestness.

  “No, dammit. Not like this. Don’t tell him like this.”

  He shrugged her off and whirled around. “What’d you tell him? That I died? That I abandoned the two of you?” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “Tell me, Gayla. What lies have you fed him about me?”

  “Go to fucking hell, Lance.”

  He shoved her against the wall and stormed down the hall to the room where the music blared. He didn’t knock on the door, there was no point. Bow Wow’s rap reverberated off the walls and through the door.

  Tarique sat in the middle of a twin bed counting cash. The package of Oreos was at his side. On a television Ice Cube was icing somebody in a movie.

  Lance stared at the child. He couldn’t be more than ten, but he had the hard look of a youth much older. In the weeks he’d been working with T.J.’s kids at the rec center, Lance had seen a lot of kids like Tarique.

  “Where’d you get all that money?”

  The boy looked up. “You my mama’s new pimp?”

  For a moment Lance was too stunned to speak. Surely Gayla didn’t turn tricks in this apartment, right in front of his son.

  He also realized he couldn’t just roll up into this child’s life and start a Father Knows Best routine.

  “Your mom and I go back a ways. A lot of years.”

  The boy nodded. “Yeah. Okay.” He went back to counting his money, which looked to be about eighty dollars in crumpled ones and fives.

  “You have a summer job?”

  The boy grinned at him and Lance was struck at how much the child looked like he did at that age. Could Tarique, his son, see any familiarity in his image?

  “Summer job? Yeah, something like that. I run a protection service.”

  Lance rubbed his eyes. A headache pounded a steady beat.

  In the space of a few minutes he’d discovered he had a hooker wife and gangster thug kid. What the hell else could go wrong in his life?

  He expelled a long, weary sigh. In this, Gayla was right. He couldn’t just bust in looking for or expecting a long-lost bonding experience from either of them. It would take time to forge a relationship with Tarique.

  “I’m Lance,” he said. “Lance Smith.” He’d leave the Heart part out for now. Things were complicated enough.

  “Tarique Stewart.”

  He shook hands with his son and Lance admired the boy’s firm grip. “I’m going to be stopping by from time to time.”

  The kid shrugged, as if he were used to men coming and going.

  Lance didn’t know what else to say, let alone what to do. He looked around the room. It was, he supposed, a typical kid’s room. Posters of rap artists and athletes adorned the walls; clothes were scattered all over. A gleaming ten-speed bike was propped against the far wall.

  “If you invest part of that,” Lance said, nodding toward the money, “you can make your money grow and work for you.”

  Tarique looked up at him. “You do your business your way. I’ll do mine, my way.”

  Lance nodded. He had nothing to say to this man-child. Nothing at all that would make a difference. He’d been robbed of the opportunity to see his child grow, to help shape and mold him. He’d have given anything to turn back the clock, to be there for this boy, for Gayla.

  “See you around,” he finally said.

  The boy grunted.

>   Lance walked out of the room and down the hall. In the living room, Gayla was on the sofa again. Her head was thrown back and she seemed to be contemplating the ceiling.

  “I’ll be back,” Lance said.

  He got no response from his wife.

  Dinner was a torturous affair in Sonja’s view. The last thing she wanted was to be stuck between Cole and his friend Jack. Yet, she could hardly make a fuss without drawing undue attention to just what she didn’t want to focus on.

  And that, she realized was what, at heart, was the matter with her marriage. Neither of them ever took the opportunity to draw undue attention. Cole was set to leave for Brazil in just days. And then there was Jack, who’d blown in like a tempest, leaving her emotionally drenched. Looking at him now in the soft light of the restaurant she realized he was probably of mixed heritage. Whatever the genes, the combination looked good on him. He carried himself like a man who knew his own strength and power.

  Again, the contrast between Cole and Jack hit her. Cole could make a suit talk. He wore Armani like a shield or a badge, part of the uniform he donned each day. But unlike some men, he didn’t wear it because the label said Armani. He wore only what looked good on him. All the time.

  Jack, on the other hand, usually wore khaki pants and a camp shirt. He’d somehow managed to look appropriately dressed in the restaurant, but also ready to go wrestle a rhino. Since her business was seeing beneath the surface, she knew just how he pulled it off. With attitude and aplomb. Yes, he had on a jacket and the thing at his neck could be construed as a tiepin. She leaned closer trying to make it out.

  Jack smiled at her. “It’s an Andrinka symbol for protection. I figure I could use all the help I can get in some of the places I’ve been. There have been some tight spots at times.”

  “But you wouldn’t give it up for anything,” Cole said.

  As the conversation swirled around her, Sonja continued her study of the two men. A girl could have worse things to do on an evening than have a good meal with two fine-looking brothers.

  “What are you smiling at?” Cole’s own smile was indulgent, rare on both counts.

  She leaned forward, reached for the wineglass that Cole had topped off. “How lucky I am,” she said. “And how jealous all the other women in the restaurant must be of my company.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” Jack said.

  Sonja lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. She sipped her wine and leaned back in her chair.

  “You know this is the first time we’ve really had a chance to sit and relax,” Cole said.

  “Hmm,” Sonja replied.

  “Every time I return to the States it seems there’s a backlog of work waiting for me.”

  “Do you have a home here?”

  Jack nodded. “As a matter of fact I do.”

  “Don’t be modest,” Cole said. “Tell her.”

  Jack grinned. “I have two, is what he’s over there saying. A ranch out West and a place in North Carolina.”

  “Who maintains your property when you’re away?”

  What may have been a cloud passed over his face. “I have caretakers. And,” he said, taking a drink from his own glass, “I’ve been thinking of retiring.”

  “Get out,” Cole said.

  Jack nodded. “It’s true. I’m not getting any younger. It’s time to stop wandering the globe and settle down.”

  “It sounds like you’ve found someone to settle with,” Sonja ventured.

  His gaze met hers and lingered a beat too long. “Yes. I thought I had, but she’s a little skittish.”

  Cole laughed. “You’ve met a woman willing to put up with you?”

  Jack’s gaze dipped to the V in Sonja’s blouse. “Not really. The one I had in mind appears to be off limits as well as skittish.”

  Cole leaned forward and slapped him on the back. “It’ll happen for you. She’s out there. She’s just waiting for the right time and place.”

  Sonja cleared her throat and downed the rest of the wine in her glass.

  “Another?”

  She placed her hand over the top of the glass, declining Jack’s offer. “So, I never did get the story of how you two actually met. You seem an unlikely duo.”

  Both men laughed. “That’s the truth,” Jack said. “A renegade photographer and an uptight mogul.”

  “I’m neither uptight nor a mogul.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  The byplay between them fascinated Sonja. Had she ever called Cole uptight, they’d be having a screaming match right now. What was it about guys and their buddies?

  She also knew that eventually the conversation would turn to Brazil. At least with Jack present it might actually be a conversation, rather than an argument. Reluctant to spoil the easy camaraderie of the evening, Sonja figured she may as well get the unpleasantness out of the way.

  “So you’ve done some work in Bahia?”

  Jack glanced at Cole, the two exchanging a look that spoke volumes.

  “What?” Sonja asked.

  Jack shrugged. “I thought we’d just enjoy dinner.”

  Sonja’s gaze leveled on her husband. For a moment, she didn’t say anything at all. The only movement at the table was the candlelight flickering in a hurricane lamp. Then, she held up her glass. Cole refilled it.

  “Thank you,” she told him.

  He nodded, topped off the other two glasses and motioned for the waiter to bring another bottle.

  Sonja put her hand over his. “No, Cole. I mean thank you,” she emphasized the words. “I don’t know what you told Jack, but . . .” Tears inexplicably welled in her eyes. She blinked them away. “Have you ever been in love, Mr. Spencer?” The question was directed at Jack, but her gaze never left Cole’s.

  “I thought so, a time or two. But it turns out it wasn’t love, just a severe case of lust.”

  “Too bad for you,” Sonja murmured. “Love is terrific when it’s forever. It can be a beautiful thing.”

  “I know,” Cole said. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

  Sonja closed her eyes, reveling in the tenderness and what it represented. She could enjoy this moment, this evening and thank Jack Spencer for being the intermediary. It was probably the wine, but for the first time in a long while she felt at peace, content with what the future might have in store for her even though the path ahead was clouded in shadows and fog. She was okay with it, and apparently, so was Cole.

  After seeing Jack back to his hotel, they picked up Sonja’s car and drove home. That night, for the first time in months, Sonja and Cole talked. They talked as if they were strangers getting to know each other. They sat on their large bed and talked the way they did when they were dating. No harsh words entered the exchange, though hard ones sometimes came up.

  “I know you don’t approve of what I’m about to do,” Cole said, “but it’s something I have to do.”

  “I know that now. Seeing you with Jack, it became clearer to me. He’s an adventurer and you’ve wanted to do something wild and unpredictable. Brazil is your adventure,” she said. “You’ll do well in Bahia. You’re passionate about it.”

  She left unsaid the fact that the passion between them had long since petered out. Their relationship flared like a supernova, then died the slow, but not quite painful death of apathy.

  Cole looked at her. “He’s attracted to you.”

  She hadn’t expected him to notice. Or to care. She started to deny it, to retreat to the safe place where she and Cole had been living for the last six months. “I know.”

  “And how do you feel about him?”

  Sonja took a deep breath. “I was tempted. For a moment.”

  “I see.” Cole stretched his legs out and stared at the ceiling for a moment. “Jack seems to have that effect on women. Particularly married and unattainable ones.”

  “I feel sorry for him.”

  Cole sat up. “Why?”

  “He’s searching for something he’s not likely t
o find.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “His own truth.”

  Cole chewed on that for a bit. “Did he hit on you?”

  “No.” There were, after all, she told herself, degrees of being hit upon. “Jack isn’t a threat or a factor in this marriage.”

  “Yes, he is,” Cole said. “His dynamic got us here.”

  Sonja smiled. “That much is true.”

  “So where do we go from here?”

  She scooted over and got close. He draped an arm around her shoulder. “I think you know,” she said.

  He nodded. “Brazil has just been a smoke screen. A separation without truly declaring one.”

  Sonja placed her hand on his chest. “I’m sorry.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Me, too.”

  They both seemed to know this was the end of the ride. They didn’t have to part as enemies. Some couples were better off as friends.

  “Should we draw up papers? There’s time before you leave.”

  Cole shrugged and settled her warm body closer to his. “I don’t see the point. Maybe the time I’m in Brazil will give us the breathing room we need.”

  “Marriages aren’t supposed to end like this.”

  “At least we don’t have kids. This way is better than the screaming and throwing dishes kind of breakups some people have.”

  “If you break my china I’ll wring your neck.”

  He chuckled. “I think the script usually has the woman throwing the china.”

  She playfully punched him. Then she sighed. “Oh, Cole. What a mess we’ve made of this.”

  “Yeah. But maybe we can be better friends than spouses.”

  She glanced up at him and nodded, then accepted his kiss. “Yes, we can be friends.”

  Julian drove by Viv’s store twice before he decided that the lights he saw were more than just security. Even at this time of night he couldn’t find a parking space. The Naro was showing a double feature and Starbucks was still open, so latte lovers would be there until they were forcibly ejected from the coffeehouse.