Straight to the Heart

by Michelle Monkou

  At the mention of Brenda, Stacy started looking for her cell phone. She moved around the kitchen, lifting up mail, moving dishes to locate her lifeline. Having slept on the issue with Brenda, she knew that she’d acted impulsively. Her feelings hadn’t changed, but she should have done a better job convincing Brenda. She’d let her dictate her behavior.

  “What’s the problem?” Sabrina started looking around the kitchen, copying Stacy’s motions.

  “My cell phone. Maybe Brenda called.”

  “If you dropped that mess on her like you did with me, then yep, she’ll be calling you to see if you’d stop sniffing glue.”

  Stacy headed for her pocketbook and pulled out the phone. Still no call.

  Stacy didn’t want to seem rude, but she hurriedly hugged her cousin and then had Omar escort her and the children to the car with their fresh laundry and toys. She took the few minutes that she was alone to call Brenda.

  The phone rang. Stacy bit her lip, hoping that Brenda would pick up. Any moment, she expected the voice mail to kick in.

  “Yes.”

  “Brenda, it’s Stacy.”

  “Yes, Stacy,” Brenda said in a monotone.

  “Do you have any free time this afternoon? I wanted to talk,” Stacy requested.

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Oh.” Stacy didn’t count on that. Brenda was always available to her, any time of the day, any day of the week. “I wanted to talk about the other day,” Stacy further explained.

  “I bet you do. But you can come by the office on Monday.”

  Stacy could hear Omar’s return. She couldn’t possibly hang up while her relationship with Brenda hung on such a thin thread. “Brenda, don’t do this to me. I’m sorry for saying what I did. You deserve more respect than that.” Omar was almost at her door.

  “Come over at three.”

  “Thanks, Brenda. Bye.”

  Brenda hung up on her without another word. Stacy set her phone down and worked to put on a relaxed, happy face.

  “That Sabrina can talk your ear off.” Omar walked to the window and looked down. “I felt like pulling up a couch so she could play talk show host. She was all up in my stuff.”

  “That’s my cousin. Better you than me.” She walked up behind him and placed her head against his back. “I enjoyed waking up in your arms.”

  “I enjoyed it, too.” He turned to face her, and lifted her chin with his finger. “Where do we go from here?”

  “Now, that’s the multimillion-dollar question. If I said that I wanted you every day and night, when I wake up and before I go to sleep, you’d think I had only lust in my heart. But if I said that I’d like to take things slowly, I’m not in the market for a relationship, then it would sound like I’m giving you the brush-off.” The problem was that a part of her belonged in both camps.

  “I’d say that you worry too much about what other people think.” He placed his fingertips against her lips, preventing her from speaking. “Don’t say anything. The next time that we discuss our future will be from your heart. I know what I want. I can see the indecision in your eyes.” He shook his head as she rose to defend herself. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. I’m too busy trying to climb the corporate ladder,” he joked.

  Stacy gripped his shirt collar and sank her face into his throat. His pulse beat a steady rhythm against her forehead. Though she had a racing heartbeat and a nervous edge, he appeared unruffled. His muscled arms locked her against his body. His voice was like a cool hand on a hot day, providing a soothing comfort.

  “I think you’re a keeper,” Stacy groaned.

  Omar headed to work. It was Saturday, and he had nothing better to do than to go to work. But he wouldn’t let his idea die. Access to the various databases he needed could only happen at work. Maybe while he was knee deep with work, he’d stop thinking about Stacy. She had opened a door for him that unfettered some of the self-doubts that crippled his abilities. He might have gotten only a glimpse of what lay beyond the door, but now he recognized his potential.

  A few workaholics who had their own causes were already in the building. Omar greeted them and headed to his work area. After settling in and logging on to his computer, he checked his e-mail. His piece on Stacy in Montreal had not aired yet. There were more delays than he liked, but the movie studio people were being a pain because they didn’t want her preempting their stars or marketing pitch.

  He had gone in to the editing session and could vouch that anything related to the movie had been taken out. On his end, the company president had created a firestorm that another studio dared tell him what to do. So much for all the preplanning and logistical meetings to land the interview with Stacy. Plus there was Brenda, who played the unhappy manager to the hilt. She didn’t care for some of Stacy’s responses or how he’d edited them. Part of the interview was to highlight Stacy’s transition to movies.

  Omar wasn’t holding his breath that the piece would actually air. He pulled up a search engine on the Internet and typed in Stacy Watts. The results produced information that he already knew. Photos of her in glitz and glamour stared back at him. She was a gorgeous woman with hair and makeup to rival any fashion photographer’s work. Yet he admired her in their private time, with little to no makeup, allowing her natural beauty to shine through with equal strength.

  “I’m like a teen with a big crush,” he muttered. He was moving the cursor on the computer monitor to close the window when he saw a link to a newspaper article with a short description of Antonio Perez. Antonio—the only reason that Stacy was interested in him.

  He clicked on the link and pulled his chair forward to review the article. Antonio had gone ahead with his press conference. What was clear, however, was no one was interested, except for this small newspaper. Omar finished the article, shaking his head. He might not know every fact about Stacy, but he could sense that Antonio had blown things way out of proportion, trying to boost his role in Stacy’s life to demigod status.

  Omar printed the article to share it with Stacy. He didn’t think that she or Brenda had caught wind of this in the press. Once more, he read the article. Now he focused on a couple of lines about Stacy. She had been living on the streets. She had come from a community of homeless kids in the Miami Beach area. She had been associated with a street gang.

  Stacy didn’t owe him an explanation. But they were behaving like a couple and couples talk and share their lives. He had never once cast judgment on her. He knew that Antonio was a threat to a past that she distanced herself from.

  Omar picked up the phone and dialed. Stacy answered.

  “Hey.” His voice softened to match her husky whisper. “Were you sleeping?”

  “No.” There was a pause. “I’m at Brenda’s. We had some things to take care of.”

  “Well, that’s great because I have something that both of you need to know. Can we meet?”

  “Can we do it during the week?”

  “Hey, are you okay?” It sounded as if she was crying. He distinctively heard her sniffing.

  “Yeah.” She inhaled and sighed wearily.

  “It’s about Antonio,” Omar said.

  “Antonio. My Antonio?”

  Omar tightened his grip on the phone. Jealousy had never been a weakness for him. But no one had captured his heart, either. The unfamiliar, sharp jab poked him unmercifully.

  “Omar? You still there?”

  Omar nodded, then, remembering that he was on the phone, answered, “Yes.”

  “Wait a sec.” He heard her talking to someone in the background. “Hey. Brenda said to come on over.”

  Omar got the address and hung up. Yes, he was going over to see Stacy and Brenda, but she hadn’t made it easy for him. Instead of having a meeting where they could all sit and plan how to handle this development, he felt very much the outsider.

  Feeling sick to his stomach, he drove across the city to Alpharetta, Brenda’s home. Most of the article had been committed to his memory. On
the drive, parts of Antonio’s testimony replayed in his mind. The man’s seediness nestled in Omar’s mind and burned with the fuel of his anger. He pulled up to the gated community, identified himself and drove through once the guard received approval.

  Omar noticed the massive mansions, but he was too focused to enjoy or envy. He pulled up to a driveway lined with evergreens snaking up to a large three-story English-manor-style home.

  The front door opened while he parked and Stacy stepped out. She didn’t run up to the car, didn’t wave at him with any excitement, didn’t have the warm, lustful expression that she’d had only hours ago. Did his news, especially about Antonio, mute any feelings she had for him? He grabbed the article and got out of the car.

  “Hi, Stacy,” he said, embarrassed at his own hesitation.

  “Brenda’s waiting.” She offered a smile that one would offer as a polite acknowledgment to a stranger.

  Omar hurried to catch up with her. She’d turned and headed back into the house. Her subdued attitude worried him. He attempted a weak joke. “Can we chat before we go into Medusa’s home?”

  “You shouldn’t make fun of Brenda,” Stacy scolded.

  Omar raised his hand in a semiapologetic gesture. Although he’d planned to include Brenda in the news, he didn’t take it for granted that he had moved off her least favorite list.

  Their footsteps echoed against the dark wood floors. The decorations in the house were dark and ornate as if stuck in centuries past. The furniture and surroundings didn’t fit the Georgian style, nor its owner. He wondered if Brenda could possibly be house-sitting.

  Stacy never slowed her step for him to walk beside her. She kept the physical distance between them. He resisted pushing this point, since she obviously didn’t want to talk.

  Omar entered what he figured was a formal sitting room. Brenda sat in one of the chairs, with legs crossed, her body erect, expression stoic. He expected to see royal lackeys on each side of the chair as he approached.

  “Have a seat, Omar.” So much for “Hi and how are you?”

  Omar followed the command, looking over at Stacy. She sat in a chair similar to Brenda’s. The chair also made her look stiff and uptight. Her expression solidified the look.

  “What do you have for us?” Brenda stared at him.

  Omar handed over copies to Brenda and Stacy. He noticed that Stacy’s hand shook and she played with her lower lip. No matter how hard he tried, she wouldn’t look up into his face. She had shut herself off from him.

  He didn’t take his eyes off her as she lowered her head to read the article. Her body jerked, reacting to the content.

  “I’m going to nail this bastard to the wall,” Brenda declared, a thick vein protruding along her neck. “Let me call Marty.”

  Stacy popped out of the chair and ran out of the room. Omar didn’t wait to see what Brenda’s reaction was. He followed Stacy and saw her hurry down the hall before disappearing in a room on the right.

  “Stacy?” He stood outside the door.

  She ignored him, but had her cell phone to her ear. Omar could only wait until she’d completed the call. He moved slowly into the room, approaching her with certain deliberation, as if he expected her to take flight.

  “Antonio, I want a meeting. Now. I’ll come to Miami.” She paused, her hand covering her mouth. “You’re here? Okay.”

  Omar stopped in midstride.

  She snapped the phone closed, grabbed her pocketbook and swept past him. His arm shot out and grabbed hers. Although she resisted, he didn’t release her.

  “Talk to me,” he pleaded.

  “I can’t,” her reply erupted like a cry. “You can’t fix this.” She shook her head as if having an argument with herself. “I don’t want you to fix this. Just give me space.” She held her head and the tears coursed down her face.

  Omar didn’t wait another second, but pulled her to him. “Whatever you want to do, we’ll do it together.”

  “No. My past is too ugly. I couldn’t bear for you to see any part of it,” she uttered, her words filled with sobbing hiccups. She pushed away and headed out the door. “I have to get to a meeting.”

  “Fine.” Omar followed her down the hallway.

  As she approached the door, she looked over her shoulder. “Are you going to follow me?”

  “If you don’t let me come with you, then yes.” Omar heard Brenda join them and stepped aside. He didn’t want an argument, but neither woman would deter him. Stacy was not going to meet with Antonio on her own.

  “I’ll drive.” Brenda stepped between them and walked out the door.

  Stacy uttered a frustrated groan, but followed. Omar walked quickly to keep up with them.

  “Where are you meeting him? I certainly hope it’s not in a dump.” Brenda sped through the traffic like a professional driver. Traffic lights did little to slow her down. Pedestrians didn’t realize how close they came to serious injury as she honked and sped around stragglers on the crosswalk.

  “Since I didn’t plan on meeting him, I had to go with his meeting place. I also wasn’t planning on having an entourage,” Stacy added sullenly.

  “You don’t have a clue how that maniac will react. And you’re no bigger than a little bit. Come off the tough-girl routine,” Brenda scolded.

  Omar, for once, agreed with Brenda. For his sake, though, he wished that she wasn’t there. He didn’t want to feel censored when he went full-throttle with this man.

  “May I ask what’s the game plan?” He directed his question to Stacy.

  “There is no plan. I want to know why he won’t leave me alone. Why he has set his mind to ruining me. How can I get him off my back?”

  “I don’t think you need to meet with him to get those answers.” Omar sat behind Brenda. He looked between the seats at Stacy’s profile. She refused to face him. “He seems to have a problem letting go.”

  Stacy turned her face to the window. He couldn’t tell if she was blocking out what he had to say.

  “I think that you should introduce me as your boyfriend,” Omar offered.

  “That’s no longer necessary,” Brenda replied, staring at him in the rearview mirror. “You’re no longer needed. Antonio has already gone to the papers. Stacy is doing fine in the news without you.”

  Omar opened his mouth to deliver a blistering comeback. He waited, knowing that Stacy would set her straight. Instead Stacy remained silent, looking out the window.

  “Don’t bother looking at Stacy. She understands where her priorities need to be. She would have told you, but we weren’t finished with our meeting when you called.”

  “What have I done to make you hate me so much?” Omar asked Brenda the question with all the honesty and bewilderment that he felt.

  “No one hates you, Omar.” Stacy finally turned to face him. Although his face was less than a foot away, she refused to look him in the eye. “I’ve been acting with no regard to my responsibility as an entertainer. I have missed wonderful opportunities because I’m consumed by you.”

  “Don’t you sound like a robot? Brenda, this is your brainwashing technique at work.”

  “You amateurs always come into a celebrity’s life with your average taste, average way of life, mediocre goals and force yourself into a lifestyle that is foreign to you. Count yourself lucky that you got to touch the brass ring, but now it’s time for you to move on.”

  “Stop it, both of you!” Stacy placed her hands over her ears. “This isn’t about you, Brenda, or you, Omar. I can’t think. I don’t want to think.” She leaned her head against the window. “Let me get through this night.”

  “Look, we can have a press conference.” Omar touched Stacy’s shoulder. He wanted somehow to transfer his concern and reassurance to her body and take her pain and confusion.

  “Absolutely not!” Brenda shouted. “We did that once and I don’t think it’s necessary to do it again. The media are like vultures ready to invade people’s lives.”

  “Then you be
the one to talk and be interviewed,” Omar pressed on. He didn’t like playing a docile role. He might be in the back seat, but he certainly wasn’t planning to stay there in Stacy’s life.

  “No one is speaking to the media.” Brenda glared at him in the mirror. “And that includes you.” Her mouth tightened with such distaste that Omar felt it, like a physical wall keeping him in his place.

  “I don’t see what the problem is unless you’ve got something to hide,” Omar stated.

  Stacy turned and looked at him, long and hard. “Leave it alone. I don’t want either of you coming in with me. This is between Antonio and me. I’m going to settle this matter tonight.”

  “Fat chance of that happening,” Omar muttered before settling against the seat. He stared angrily out the window.

  No one spoke. Each person concentrated on whatever issue had overtaken their thoughts. The business district, tall buildings and well-lit streets were left behind as they drove into a seedy residential area. As they turned down streets, they burrowed deeper into the community.

  “It’s the third house on the left.” Stacy pointed to an older house with a large porch swing. Several individuals occupied the porch. They were casually dressed and lounging. Music blasted the neighborhood loud enough for a block party.

  Brenda pulled up across the street. She turned off the engine, but didn’t move. “If one of these fools messes with my car, it’s on.”

  Omar stepped out and opened Stacy’s door. She stared across the street at the house. The only movement on her face was the occasional blink of her eyes.

  “I’m right next to you.” Omar leaned forward and offered his hand. She placed her small hand in his. It felt as if she had held on to a block of ice before they got there. He immediately placed his arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry. We’re a team, remember.” She nodded and stepped closer to his body, but her focus remained on the house.

  Stacy was grateful for Omar’s stubbornness. Despite her attempts to keep him away, she couldn’t imagine walking into this house on her own. Already her breath fought to get through her throat. More than a frog was in her throat and more than a cat had her tongue. She had the shakes, and they started with her knees and traveled up her body. She gripped Omar’s hand, hoping that her legs maintained momentum.