Straight to the Heart

by Michelle Monkou

  Like a five-star general, Brenda led this dismal parade. She practically marched through the gathering on the porch, her head held high. The people on the porch didn’t stop talking to acknowledge the strangers, and Stacy and her group didn’t offer any greetings as they ascended the stairs, maneuvered past the swing and paused in front of the open door.

  A shirtless man with shorts hanging low on his hips stepped into their path. A thick beard covered the lower part of his tanned face, but his dark eyes glittered back with open animosity.

  “We don’t want any of your religion-toting garbage. And don’t bother to say anything. I don’t trust any of you not to put a curse on me.” His thick West Indian accent would have enlightened any missionaries who stopped to visit about his feelings.

  “Young man, we are here to meet with Antonio.” Brenda stepped around the man, although he hadn’t moved.

  Stacy didn’t move. Her feet remained glued to the ratty mat that was missing the letters W and L in Welcome. It was just as well. Nothing about the house or its owner could ever make her feel welcome.

  Chapter 8

  “Stanley, step aside. Let them through.”

  Stacy recognized that deep, raspy voice dulled by heavy cigarette use. Coldness crept over her body. Her feet moved, taking her closer to the man who had befriended, used and controlled her. She walked through the untidy living area, bypassing a mattress propped against a wall.

  A musty odor permeated the room. Antonio could only exist in an environment where he fulfilled a leader’s role. He would play the generous benefactor and have all sorts living on the premises.

  “Come to me, Stacy.”

  Stacy followed the voice, but only the voice.

  Ahead was another open room, which would have originally been the dining area. Its mood lights cast a pineapple-yellow color around the room. She stopped in the doorway, looking to find Antonio in the room and get a quick gauge of the situation.

  “Looking better than ever.” Antonio smiled.

  Unlike his fellow residents, he was impeccably dressed in his favorite color—black. He leaned forward in the chair, but didn’t stand. He still wore his hair low to the head, but now the sides were more peppered with gray. A die-hard vegetarian and health buff, he still looked taut and toned. His sleek dress style acted like a magnet for unwary souls, such as her.

  “Ah, I see you are not alone.” Antonio steepled his fingers under his chin. His eyes never left her face. But she knew that he was displeased to see Brenda and Omar.

  “Antonio, we really need to talk and come to an agreement.” Stacy’s stomach churned and she was glad that she hadn’t eaten anything for hours. Right now her heart pumped so hard she was afraid that the longer she talked, the more chance there was of her heart popping out of her chest.

  He waved toward a sofa on his right. His gaze, however, fastened on Omar. “Introduce your new crewmates.” Then his head snapped in her direction.

  Stacy opened her mouth to make the necessary introductions.

  “I’m Omar, Stacy’s boyfriend, and this is Brenda, her manager.”

  Stacy’s mouth snapped shut.

  “You, I’ll talk to later.” Antonio pointed at Omar, but didn’t offer him a seat. “And you, the wicked witch who came in like a vulture and swooped my baby girl out of my nest.” His voice remained calm and restrained. “You, childless heathen, came onto my turf to find a new child to suckle on you.”

  “Antonio, stop, I’m asking you.” Stacy closed her eyes, hoping that’s all he said and all he could say.

  Brenda brushed past Stacy to stand before Antonio. One hand was firmly planted on a hip and the other jabbed inches from Antonio’s face. “Listen here, buster, you may sit there like the King of Pimps, but I’m not buying your crap. Stacy is a person, not a thing, not a possession, not one of those wannabe stars that you have dazzled sitting on your doorstep. If you were doing right by her, she would still be with you. I don’t have to tell you what you lacked, because you don’t have the good sense that God gave you to reflect on the empty shell of a man that you are.”

  The West Indian giant, Stanley, roared into the room, his eyes narrowed into slits with total focus on Brenda’s back. Stacy jumped up and threw her body between Stanley and Brenda. She closed her eyes, steeling herself to absorb the physical blow.

  Omar was quicker and pushed her back down. He performed a martial arts move with a throat chop that crumpled Stanley to the floor. The oversized man fell to his knees holding his throat and wheezing. Antonio hadn’t moved, but Stacy knew that the flare of his nostrils, the hooded look of his eyes, the working of his lips spelled pure rage.

  “Are you going to give my girl the respect that she deserves or do I have to give you the same treatment?” Omar threatened.

  Antonio blew out a breath. His hand uncurled and he rubbed his knees. A toothy grin appeared. “Glad to see that you didn’t align yourself with a punk.”

  “Stop the name-calling, Antonio. I want to know why you won’t leave me alone. You have moved on. I have moved on. Why do you torture yourself?” Stacy touched Brenda’s arm and guided her to the sofa.

  “I read all your interviews. I see you on the different talk shows. Not once do you give me any credit. You don’t give me any credibility. And that makes me angry and sad.” He slapped his heart.

  “I’m sorry. But I’m trying to focus on my present and future.”

  “You weren’t so ashamed of your past when I got you all the local gigs.”

  “But then I had to be your girl before that happened. It wasn’t enough that you signed me to a contract that took everything. Am I supposed to be grateful? Am I supposed to say thank you, Antonio, for stomping over my self-worth? Brenda picked me up. She cared for me, sent me to school, taught me my business. I’ve built myself up.” Stacy didn’t mean to unveil her personal business to Antonio. She hadn’t done that much for Omar.

  “Stanley, stand up and be a man. Go put ice on that.” Antonio waited until the man left the room. “Now he’s a punk.” He shook his head, disgust written all over his face. Then he crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair. “Omar, is that your name?”

  Omar nodded.

  “Let me tell you a thing or two about your girlfriend.” Antonio’s look dared Stacy to object.

  She knew better than to try to stop him. He knew too much about her past, and that made him dangerous.

  “Your little girl here had a mother with questionable habits and a father who played musical beds with several women. Then he up and disappeared. Her mother wigged out on drugs and went on a journey. No one knows where, or they aren’t saying. Then baby girl had to go live with her cousin. In a single-parent environment, she became one mouth too much to feed. She ended up in the foster-care system by the time she was twelve.” He looked at her. “Am I right so far? Wouldn’t want to give the wrong facts and screw up your man’s perception of you.

  “Two years later, she got bounced to another family. The foster parents were only interested in the money. They had strict rules for the foster children and corporal punishment for any offenders. She lived under threats that, if she told the social worker, they would never find her body. I met her where I hung out during the day at the boys’ and girls’ club. She’d come there for a break. One day a family friend came over to the house and got drunk. By the end of the night, he was making sexual advances toward her. She clocked him in the eye and ran. She ran to me.”

  Stacy grimaced.

  “I got her in a shelter, but you can only stay there for a short while before they have to let your guardians know. But she wouldn’t have survived on the street. Sometimes we were outside with no place to stay. I knew the street kids were a tough bunch with limited options and a dismal future. I didn’t want that for her.” Antonio’s eyes shone with a zeal that showed him obviously stuck in the past. Stacy shuddered at his retelling of their shared history.

  “I worked to get her out there. Get the people to know S
tacy Watts. I sacrificed everything to make her who she is now.”

  “Antonio, maybe I couldn’t have got my career started without you, but you couldn’t get what you had without me. I do believe that if this was my destiny, it would have happened anyway.” Stacy took a deep, stabilizing breath. Saying the thought that was in her head gave her strength. She had a future. She didn’t need to feel guilty or scared of Antonio. His clothing, his mannerisms, his thought processes were products of the past. Now she saw him as a pathetic creature who reacted out of fear—fear of her success.

  Stacy looked over to Brenda and Omar. “These are the people in my life now. These are the people who will protect me and who have my best interests at heart. It’s over. I don’t want anything to do with you. And you no longer can threaten me with my past.” Stacy turned to Brenda. “I’m ready to go.”

  Stacy touched Omar’s arm, encouraging him to leave. Antonio, who had seemed larger than life, now sat in his make-believe empire on a worn armchair in a house that he probably didn’t own.

  “I’m sorry for you,” she said with a small wave.

  “Don’t you dare pity me.” Antonio shot out of the chair. Omar stiffened, but placed a hand around Stacy’s waist as they continued out. Stanley remained in the background, not giving any of them eye contact. “Since you claim that these people have your back, let’s hope you have theirs. Omar? When you least expect it, you’ll feel a sharp stab in your back and in your heart. It won’t be a mystery who is the cause of that crime.”

  Omar tightened his arm around Stacy’s waist. She walked out into the dusky night. Her chest hurt, aching for a breath of fresh air. People still lingered, uninterested in them. They headed for Brenda’s car, lost in their own thoughts.

  Stacy slid into the front seat without looking at Omar. Despite her tough words, she was afraid to face Omar’s judgment, especially with Antonio’s parting shot about injuring him.

  “Stacy, you made me proud.” Brenda reached over and patted her hand. “Let’s move on. Let’s look at this as closing the curtains.”

  Stacy nodded. Exhaustion flooded her. She couldn’t wait for Brenda to get to the house so she could head home. The day had been long and emotional. What she craved now was quiet.

  As soon as Brenda parked, Stacy hopped out of the car. She ran toward hers, hoping Brenda and Omar would understand that she was not up for a prolonged analysis of the evening. After spending time with Antonio and being reminded of the hellish life she’d had to live, she now craved her home. It was more than shelter or refuge. Her home allowed her to regenerate and regain whatever life had taken from her.

  “Call me when you’re ready,” Brenda called from her doorway. Stacy heard her, but didn’t respond. Her goal was to hop in her car and get home. An overwhelming need to cry grew more powerful and threatened to break.

  “Stacy,” Omar called, drawing her attention to the driveway. She looked over the top of the car to where he stood. For the first time that night, she looked at him without avoiding his eyes. Omar didn’t deserve to be compared to Antonio, for there was nothing comparable.

  His legs were slightly apart, hands dangling at his sides, his face partly shadowed by the lengthening darkness of the night. She didn’t need a protector. She didn’t need a guardian. She didn’t need a man to run her life. Omar would fill any of those roles, if she let him.

  “Don’t run,” he said.

  “I’ve always been running.” Then the hot tears surfaced and she bit her cheek to shut that emotional pain off. “Let me run one more time.” She got into the car and started the engine. She wanted to drown out anything else he had to say. Her willpower couldn’t hold up against anything that he wanted from her. But she didn’t want to be with him as a way to escape the pain.

  She sobbed openly as she drove out of Brenda’s neighborhood. Grabbing a tissue, she wiped away the tears as quickly as they came. Her breath hitched and her nose ran. All she wanted was a quiet oasis to settle old demons that tortured her conscience.

  As much as spending the night in Omar’s arms appealed to her, she couldn’t do it. He didn’t deserve to be used as a pacifier. Her cell phone rang. Omar’s number flashed on the tiny window. She ignored the persistent ringing. Once it went to voice mail, she turned off the phone. It was times like this that she wished she had a brother or sister to confide in or a mother who could hold her hand and tell her that everything would be all right.

  Sabrina, her cousin, didn’t fit that bill. Her cousin could pretend that their childhood was normal. But Stacy could vividly remember the nights of eating crackers soaked in milk and sugar as the dinner meal.

  In her condo, she dropped her keys on the counter. Then she walked into the bathroom and filled the tub with painfully hot water. She didn’t plan to get out anytime soon and needed the water to stay comfortable for as long as possible. With the right amount of bath oil, bath beads and other concoctions, she allowed the water to fill. She debated on a glass of wine, but changed her mind. Alcohol and her mood didn’t mix.

  Her home phone rang. She paused in disrobing. Omar’s voice played over the speaker.

  “Stacy, I’m worried about you. Don’t ride through this alone. I may not have lived the life that you did, but I do know a thing or two about running from who you are or were. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I can just be there with no demands, no obligations.”

  Stacy walked nude into the bathroom. “I’m sorry, Omar,” she said to the small space. She lowered herself into the tub, wincing at the heat. “I don’t think you can be with me without demanding a commitment eventually.” She leaned back her head with her eyes closed. “Everyone wants a commitment.”

  Omar waited in the lobby of Stacy’s condo, hoping that she would relent. Regardless of his deep feelings for her, he recognized that she had dealt with a lot of emotional baggage for a long time. His own inadequacies frustrated him. Yet he was sure that he should be there with her. He snapped closed his cell phone, tapping it against his head for inspiration on how to reach Stacy, then opened it again.

  “Hi, Brenda, could you do me a favor?” Omar explained what he needed. He trusted that their mutual experience earlier that day had melted some of the ice around their relationship.

  Then he dialed another person whom he hoped was an ally. “Hi, Sabrina, could you do me a favor?”

  Omar sat in the chair opposite the elevator doors, praying for success. Less than thirty minutes later, the doors opened. He stifled a yawn and looked up. Most would have given up and gone home.

  “Omar Masterson, you are a real pain.” Stacy stood her ground near the elevator, glaring at him.

  Omar didn’t wait to exchange any words. He didn’t trust her not to head back up to her condo alone. Instead, he gently guided her into the elevator, asking, “Are you going to press the button?”

  “Oh, shut up,” she said crossly.

  “Your sweatsuit is becoming.”

  “No, it’s not and don’t try to sweet-talk me. I’m trying to have a quiet moment alone. Do you know what alone means? Then you call, then Brenda and the final pain was Sabrina. I can’t believe that you got them to play your silly game.”

  Omar accepted her irritation. It didn’t matter. He was heading up to her condo with her. He had imagined all kinds of sordid things about her mental state and what she might be up to. From her feisty demeanor, he needn’t have worried.

  “You’re not staying.” Stacy poked him in the chest.

  Omar followed her into the condo.

  “Water?” She opened her refrigerator, which was dismally empty.

  “How do you survive?”

  “I order in. I also have my groceries delivered. I’ll get them tomorrow.”

  “You don’t even have milk? So when you had the kids over, did you buy it specially for that occasion?”

  Stacy nodded. “You’re beginning to annoy me.” She walked past him and headed toward her bedroom. “Why are you so insistent on seeing me? T
onight?” She spoke through the closed bedroom door.

  “I’m sorry. Thought you might need a friend.”

  “Sure. You got any ideas who?”

  Omar stopped in his pacing to stare at the closed door. Then he broke into a grin. “Nice one. I see you got back your sense of humor.” Stacy emerged from the room wearing a long cotton nightdress. The oversized shape muted hers, but he didn’t need a visual to know what was under the designs of moons and stars. A frill at the bottom had a peekaboo effect with her manicured toes. All in all, she looked sexy.

  “Don’t give me that look. I’m tired and I want to go to bed.” Stacy pulled her hair into a ponytail. The effect was to highlight the beauty of her face. “I allowed you to come in because you ganged up on me and I wanted a little peace.”

  “I hear you and understand. I only want to sleep with you.” Omar walked toward her and gathered her up in his arms. He pushed the bedroom door wider with his foot and carried her into the room.

  “Omar, what do you think you’re doing?” Stacy protested, with her arms laced around his neck.

  The fresh, clean scent from her body made him think of an open prairie scented with wildflowers. She nuzzled his neck and he came dangerously close to breaking his own plan. Her cotton nightdress reminded him of his mother, but his arms holding her body, with only the thin material between her skin and his hands, fueled all sorts of images.

  He eased her into the bed. With deliberate action, he pulled the comforter over her body and then tucked it in on the side. He kissed her forehead and turned off the lamp near her head. “Sweet dreams.”

  She looked perplexed, but didn’t speak. He walked to the other side of the bed and pulled off his shirt.

  “What are you doing?” Stacy sat upright in the bed.