Jaded

by Rhonda Sheree

  “What am I looking at?” Jade demanded.

  “I can explain this,” Rodney said. His voice was collected; color returned to his face. He was becoming a politician again.

  “You’d better start talking,” Jade said. “Fast.”

  “This is a little stash I put away for a rainy day.”

  “Most people put their rainy day stashes in the bank, Rodney.”

  This is gonna get ugly . . .

  “I understand that, Jade. You think I don’t know that?”

  “I don’t know what you understand.” She looked at Syeesha. “Where was this money?”

  “In the locked drawer in your office.”

  “In my office?”

  “Yes,” Syeesha said.

  “I told you it was our rainy day stash.” Rodney shifted on the bed. “I didn’t think you’d mind if I left it in your office.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

  Yeah, Rodney. Why didn’t you tell her about it?

  “I was going to.”

  “When?” Jade demanded.

  Rodney grimaced and touched his stomach.

  “Are you in pain?” Jade asked.

  He nodded; his face was contorted like a scary Halloween mask.

  “Good, you little shit,” Jade said. She took one of the stacks and slapped him on the chest with it.

  “So I’ll just be going now,” Syeesha said. She eased a stack from his leg. “I don’t think you’ll be needing this one. Wouldn’t want any of this conversation to leak to the reporters, now would we?”

  Jade, standing on the opposite side of the bed, reached over and snatched the money from Syeesha. “Go ahead and tell reporters my husband was hiding money from me. I’m sure wives all over America will be shocked.”

  Syeesha felt like that fictional character, Dr. Banner, who turned into a big, green ugly monster when provoked.

  “Then there’s the matter of the divorce,” Syeesha said. “Surely you wouldn’t want me to tip the reporters about that.”

  Jade looked at him. “I only talked to a divorce lawyer. I haven’t filed papers or anything.”

  “You’ve been talking to a divorce lawyer?” Rodney asked.

  “Only talking. I don’t want a divorce.”

  Syeesha remarked, “Too late for that.”

  Rodney gave Syeesha an intense look. She knew the whole truth and they both knew it.

  “Take one and only one,” he said. “I never want to hear from you again. If any of this gets to the press . . .”

  “If any of this gets to the press,” Syeesha said, putting two stacks into her purse, “you can contact Maria. She’s the one who told me the story.”

  Syeesha turned to leave. Feeling was starting to come back into her legs.

  “Two more things,” she said at the door. “I left the other envelope with Maria so don’t come looking for me if all you find left behind is her dust.”

  “Other envelope?” Jade said to Rodney.

  “And. . .” Syeesha took a deep breath. This would be the punch that would land in Jade’s gut. “Don’t forget to tell Jade about the bankruptcy.”

  “What?” Jade yelled. “What?”

  Syeesha slipped out the room before she could be considered a witness. She reached inside her purse and took out the two stacks. Ten thousand dollars each.

  “Lucky girl,” one of the officers said, admiring the cash.

  “You think?” she said.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Here,” she said. She gave him a stack, then turned to the other cop. “And here’s one for you. Happy Veteran’s Day.”

  Syeesha began to walk down the hall to the elevator.

  “But it’s not Veteran’s Day,” one of the officers called.

  “And we’re not veterans.”

  “I won’t tell if you won’t,” Syeesha replied.

  A loud crash could be heard coming from Rodney’s room. Syeesha didn’t turn around to see what the guys did with the money, but just before she stepped on the elevator she noticed they were gone. She assumed they’d gone inside Rodney’s room, probably to stop Jade from killing him.

  That night, Syeesha, broke as usual but at peace with her life, would sleep like a fat and full baby. Jade and Rodney, on the other hand, not so much.

  ***

  Chapter 42

  The Problem with Money

  So, based on the number of comments my last article received, lots of you are wondering, what did my friend do? Did she take the pint-sized socialite up on her offer? Or did she run from the penthouse with her high morals and low savings intact?

  I don’t think the details of her plight matter as much as the lessons she learned. Money could not give her peace or a sense of security. Isn’t it true that a poor monk living in a monastery can have both? Although money is an inanimate object, the power we assign to it can change us. It can make the meek manipulative and the cowardly confident. Our infatuation with money can make us lose our sense of our selves. And who are we if not our selves?

  Money won’t give us ethics, but it will test them. Money can’t give us love, but it can buy us a lover. Sometimes, instead of making us feel secure, the desire for money can make us become unhinged.

  I will say that my friend made choices that she can live with. Happily live with, which is an important distinction.

  Next week I’ll be writing an article on revenge. Believe me when I say what you’ve heard about it is true. It’s better than drinking sweet tea on a hot August day under the Georgia sun. And it is so good going down.

  ***

  Chapter 43

  Two months later, on a sweltering August afternoon, Syeesha finally got up the courage to visit Christian. Her life had taken on a sense of calm, for which she was grateful. She felt ready to expand her life and see if there was a chance for them to get together again. Do it right this time.

  Meanwhile, the New York press stayed in business by reporting round-the-clock on the McCann’s, who were locked in a contentious divorce. There was plenty of mudslinging to keep their lawyers’ kids in private schools for years to come.

  As for Syeesha, she worked for a great boss at a small literary agency. Her day was spent reading query letters, mailing rejection letters and reading manuscripts, some of which were submitted by promising writers. During her downtime, Syeesha tirelessly polished her own manuscript.

  Trina had been more than accommodating while Syeesha crashed at her place. The two enjoyed Saturday mornings eating breakfast at a nearby café and then hanging out at the local bookstore. Sunday afternoons, they usually caught a movie or rented a DVD.

  It had taken a lot for Syeesha to swallow her pride and ask Trina for help. In return, Trina had opened her home and her heart as wide as Central Park. Well . . . make that Battery Park.

  Life was good.

  But it can always be better.

  When the bell beeped, Syeesha stepped off the elevator. Directly in front of her was SJC and Associates.

  She looked down at the dozen white roses in her hand.

  Maybe this was a bad idea.

  Nonsense. Christian had come to her the last time. If there was any chance of them getting back together, it was her turn now to initiate a reconciliation.

  “Christian Chambers, please.”

  The pretty receptionist asked, “Who may I say is calling?”

  Perhaps the strange note in her voice would have made a more attuned woman run, but Syeesha was single-minded in her focus. After she gave her name she took a seat. The receptionist called his office.

  No answer.

  “Billy? Do you know where Christian is?”

  She hung up the phone after listening to the answer. “He just left his desk, heading to lunch. He should pass by here any minute.”

  “Thanks.”

  Will he be happy to see me? she wondered. Would he take the roses, kiss her passionately, and apologize for being a presumptuous cad? Whatever happened, she hoped it ende
d with a kiss.

  Laughter traveled from down the hall.

  “I think I hear him now,” the receptionist said. “Christian, you have a visitor.”

  He stopped when he saw Syeesha.

  Slowly, she stood up. The hand that held the roses quivered a bit. She hoped he didn’t notice.

  “I figured I owed you some roses.”

  He looked at the flowers.

  A hint of a smile crossed his lips.

  God, he looks so good with that five o’clock shadow.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

  She felt the receptionist’s eyes on her. It was as though she were standing naked in front of a window.

  Syeesha said, “Maybe we can step outside?”

  He turned to the woman standing next to him.

  The woman said, “I didn’t want pizza anyway. I think I have something in the freezer. Go ahead.”

  Syeesha hadn’t noticed her before. Tall, brunette, thick brows, toned thighs.

  Christian liked toned thighs.

  And that’s when it hit her.

  He’s moved on.

  Syeesha didn’t wait for him to respond. She just needed to get out of there. How could she have been such a fool! Of course he’d moved on. He hadn’t called her once since he’d visited her at Jade’s house. And before that horrible day? How long had they gone without speaking?

  Finally, her feet listened to the command her brain had been channeling. She rushed from the office. Her finger punched the down button, but she didn’t have time to wait for the elevator. She needed to escape now.

  She turned toward the exit sign and pushed through the door. Two at a time she ran down the stairs. Why had she worn those stupid red heels Jade had bought her? She rushed-no, wobbled-down the stairs, wondering in her haste how she’d ever make it down all fifteen flights.

  “Sy! Wait!”

  But she couldn’t wait. She didn’t want to hear him make any lousy explanations to her. It didn’t matter. Their short-lived relationship would be buried in the same coffin as her memory of Jade and Rodney.

  “Wait, dammit!”

  She felt him tug at her sundress. Syeesha lost her balance and slipped down the last step.

  Whomp!

  The roses flew against the wall.

  An audible snap pierced the air.

  She cursed at the pain.

  “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

  “My ankle. I think I heard it snap.”

  “I can call an ambulance, but I doubt if I’ll have reception in here. Let me look.”

  “No. Don’t touch it. It hurts.”

  He lifted her leg. “I don’t think it’s broken. Maybe you just sprained it.” Gently, he pulled off the shoe. “I’ve never seen you wear shoes like this before.”

  “They were a gift from Jade.”

  “Very sexy red shoes. They’ll turn any guy on.”

  “I left Jade and Rodney a month ago. So I guess the only guy I was hoping to turn on is—”

  He looked at her and waited for her to continue.

  When she didn’t he said, “How ‘bout I carry you to the elevator? We can catch a taxi to the hospital when we get downstairs.”

  Pain ripped up her leg when he touched her again. Tears began to flow without warning.

  “I don’t want you to see me like this.” She tried to cover her face. Why she did she wasn’t sure. It wasn’t as if he didn’t already know what she looked like.

  “Like what?”

  “Broken.”

  “You’re not broken. Confused, yes. Broken,” he shook his head, “no way, baby girl.” He reached up and touched her hair. “I like this too. Long, straight.”

  “It’s the new me.”

  “I like the new you. And I liked the old you.”

  She looked up at him.

  “Then why didn’t you come to me?”

  “Because I couldn’t stand the idea of sharing you.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Didn’t look that way to me.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  He nodded, closed his eyes, opened them again.

  “Come, let’s get you to a taxi.”

  He leaned down and picked up the flowers before he helped her up.

  “Don’t forget the shoes.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t forget the shoes.” Christian balanced them in his fingers then scooped her into his arms. “I have every intention of seeing you slip these on again. These and nothing else.”

  Heat shot up her chest and flooded her face. He leaned in close. She swooned at that familiar scent of his: ocean and sand. The urgency of his kiss made her forget about the pain.

  She forgot about the bent roses.

  And as she felt the rising intensity of his heartbeat, she forgot that she had ever been broken.

  The End

  ***