Circles the Trilogy (Secrets and Lies)

by Carla Buchanan

  Cover Design Art/Image Contrubutions:

  © Fotoluminate LLC – Fotolia.com

  © Dinamir Predov – GettyImages.com

  Circles the Trilogy

  Volume I: Secrets & Lies

  © 2013 by Carla Buchanan

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events, locales, or persons – living or dead – is entirely coincidental.

  One – Expectations

  Daryn Bryant is the one with whom I am supposed to spend my life. He has the appropriate number of designer suits, nicely pressed button down shirts that he tucks into his perfectly shined expensive shoes. His hair is naturally wavy, what some might call “good hair.” He isn’t an ugly duckling by any means, he is quite gorgeous. He has light skin, lean build, and sparkling greenish-brown eyes that any woman would swoon over.

  He is a star in his career as an investment banker and is set to become a partner at his firm in the very near future. He makes great money, drives an expensive car, dines at some of the finest restaurants, and knows some of the most influential people in Atlanta.

  With a father who sits as a judge and a mother that’s on the board of every charity in Atlanta, his family is among the most influential African-American families in Atlanta. Any woman would consider him the perfect catch.

  Any woman except me.

  So therein lays my dilemma. If there were one word I would use to describe Daryn Bryant, it would be BORING! The man doesn’t have one spontaneous bone in his body. His idea of fun is attending a stuffy cocktail where he could rub elbows with potential clients and show off his socially acceptable arm candy.

  Yes, you would be right if you were thinking that I am that arm candy. My name is Sasha Olivia Ellis. I am the daughter of Judge Ezra Ellis and Winifred Ellis. I am the oldest of three children at twenty-eight years old. I have a younger sister who is twenty-six and a younger brother who is twenty-four. And as ‘they’ say ‘to whom much is given, much is expected,’ much is expected from me and my siblings. Being that we attended the most noted historically black colleges for undergraduate and graduate schools, there are certain things expected of us as the children of wealthy, affluent African-American parents.

  The problem with that is that I took my expectations literally. I made straight A’s, was an officer in every club throughout my school career, and joined the sorority my mother joined as a legacy and was president during my senior year. My plan was to take my degrees from Spelman and Howard and use them to get a position at someone’s anchor desk in Atlanta. I wanted to be the next Monica Kaufman and make a name for myself in Atlanta and beyond. I’d wanted to use my knowledge and networking skills to go far in the business of broadcast news journalism or even Public Relations.

  Boy was I wrong!

  You see, I am a part of Black Atlanta Society that few people know about. When most of ‘us’ think about Atlanta, we think about ‘Hotlanta’, the former home of Freaknik, hot rappers, the originators of ‘Crunk’, and a generally laid back Southern Hospitality. But for me, these things seem like they are a part of some distant Fantasyland that you only see on television.

  You see, I am an Ellis and in the circles I travel in, the mere notion of any of the above mentioned things would get you a front page spot in the society page with a negative caption underneath your picture. You’d be the talk of the Jack & Jill meetings, the Debutante ball, and you’d probably be shunned by your family and friends.

  I’ve always considered myself as different from the status quo. I’ve always wanted to keep my parents happy, but in addition to that, I wanted to be my own person. That is why I left the state to get my graduate degree in hopes of returning to Atlanta as a worldly, independent woman with the grades, as well as the poise to get me a role famous journalist or a sought after publicist.

  Little did I know that my degrees were only to get me a better choice in a husband. They were to be of no practical use, they would only show my pedigree as an elite member of Atlanta society and it was even better that my degree was in communications since that would allow me the necessary skills to hold a conversation and present myself as the perfect wife to someone like Daryn Bryant.

  Wife…Ugh! That word sends shivers up my spine. However, it is the right word. I am Daryn Bryant’s wife-to-be. His fiancée. He proposed one week ago today and there was no way I could have said no. As I said before, there are certain things that are expected of me, especially since I am the oldest. I am the one who is to set a good example for my sister and brother by doing what my mother and father think is best, regardless of if that matches up with what I think is best for me.

  I know it may sound like I’m complaining. Don’t get me wrong, I have a good life with great opportunities and a great man who desires to spend his life taking care of me. He wants to be my husband and give me a life he feels I deserve. The only problem with that is that I have no idea if he loves me. I know he desires me, I know he thinks I’m beautiful, and I know he approves of me as a woman (whatever that means), but his feelings only skim the surface of what a real relationship is supposed to be about.

  Growing up, I never thought I would end up in one of these types of marriages. One that was essentially set up by the parents because it would be a good union and place the two families in greater positions of power in the community. I thought I would date, fall in love, and marry a man that loved me for me and not for what my last name was. I thought I would find a man that gives me butterflies when I see him, makes me melt with his touch, and makes me happy to call him mine.

  Right now, I have none of that with Daryn. He’s a nice enough guy most of the time and is extremely compatible on paper, but as far as deep feelings – there are none. My mother says I need to be patient and the feelings will come with time, but I’m not so sure anymore. Daryn and I have been together since were reunited – well, more like were forced together – at my sister’s graduation party nearly three years ago after not seeing each other since graduating from high school. And I have yet to experience any of the feelings that my mother said I would. Though it was good enough for my mother and father, I’m starting to think that maybe being a ‘good match’ is not enough for me.

  My friend Neesa thinks I am crazy. She wonders how a grown woman would allow her parents to dictate whom she should marry. I try to make her realize that my parents only want what’s best for me and after all that they’ve done for me, I owe it to them to give this a try. Although I have some doubts of my own, I still defend my family and the way they do things by telling her that though Daryn and I may not be in love with each other right now, our love will develop over time. It has to. I have to believe that, don’t I? If I don’t then I am accepting a life of misery with this man.

  Anyway… That line of thinking is not going to get me anywhere. I have accepted the ring and now as I sit here in the lavish sunroom of my parents’ home, the only thing I should be focusing on is the engagement party our mothers are planning. The ridiculously expensive event is being held at the Bryant estate and will host nearly three hundred guests – most of whom I don’t know. Most of whom I wouldn’t want to know since they are probably of the stuck-up, self-centered variety. These are the people who could care less about what the event is for, only that they get to parade around in their designer garb and brag about what they have or who they know. I can’t believe I’m part of this nonsense! How did I end up so different?

  I really don’t know how I ended up so different from that crowd, but I did. I guess being away at school and making friends from all walks of life has given me
a look at our diverse world. There are people who are just as smart and just as capable and they don’t live in a mansion, drive a Mercedes, or attend Teas or Debutante Balls. They are just regular people who are able to enjoy life without all the pomp and circumstance. But I’m not one of those regular people, not that I wouldn’t like to be.

  ***

  Late as always, Mrs. Bryant enters the room in a whirlwind of Chanel No. 5 perfume and a perfectly tailored Chanel pantsuit with a Chanel bag hanging from her shoulder. There isn’t a hair out of place in her salon-dyed shoulder length black hair and she wears the gleaming white smile of a woman who always gets her way.

  “Hello, Mrs. Bryant. You look lovely as always,” I say truthfully. Really she does. She is a beautiful woman with her mixed heritage. Her family is originally from New Orleans and boasts French as well as Black ancestors.

  Two air kisses follow my greeting. “Thank you, my darling. But you know I encourage you to call me Ella. There is no reason to be so formal with your future mother-in-law.” I simply nod as she turns away from me and gives my mother and sister the same greeting.

  I have no idea why my sister is here. If I had known that she would be here, I would’ve invited my best friend Neesa. I’m the odd man out in this situation. Though I didn’t expect to have one, my opinion will surely be null and void as my sister will agree with anything my mother and Mrs. Bryant suggest. My sister, Saleena, is the mini-me to my mother. She is the one who would never think twice about being encouraged to marry someone because of his status. She would thrive on being the trophy wife. The idea of having a man to take care of you, a housekeeper to take care of the house, and a nanny to take care of the children is her ideal life. She constantly admonishes me for even considering that I want to pave my own way. She considers that line of thinking blasphemous! And oh yeah, she hates me.

  “Oh, this is so exciting,” my sister interjects as we take our seats. “I can’t wait until it’s my turn.”

  My mother gives Saleena a reassuring pat on the leg. “Don’t worry yourself, dear. I have no doubt that you’ll be next.”

  Saleena smiles. I roll my eyes. The girl is hopeless. She needs to constantly be the center of attention and I now realize this is why she is here. She cannot stand the idea of my mother fussing over me in any way.

  “Sasha darling, your mother and I have finalized the guest list, the caterers, and the décor with the event planner.” Event planner? What event planner? Why haven’t I met this person? And how did all this happen so quickly, we just got engaged a week ago. My confusion must be written all over my face because Mrs. Bryant answers my unasked questions. “Oh darling, you didn’t think we ever thought you would say no to my Daryn. We’ve been planning this for over a month now. The proposal was just a formality. Every girl needs a romantic story to tell her friends so I made sure Dayrn provided you with yours.”

  This news takes me back a few notches. I am well aware that Daryn is not very romantic, but I was sure that he’d come up with the idea to propose on his own. He’d been hinting at the idea of marriage for a while so I’d figured he had gotten tired of me avoiding the subject and had taken it upon himself to take the plunge. I thought he was ready. Maybe he was. Maybe I’m just reading too much into all of this. Or maybe, just maybe, that promotion is closer than I think and being engaged to the daughter of a judge is the one thing he needs to push open that partnership door a little further.

  I am brought out of my self-deprecating thoughts by my mother calling my name. “Sasha? Sasha sweetheart? Are you okay?”

  “Yes mother. Mrs. Bry – I mean Ella just got me to thinking about Daryn’s romantic proposal.” That is mostly true.

  “Well we want to know when you plan to shop for a dress. Ella says she can get you an appointment with a dress designer that showed her designs in New York’s Fashion Week. Wouldn’t that be great?!”

  My mother’s excitement doesn’t quite rub off on me. For goodness sake, this is just an engagement party, not the wedding. Why do I need a dress designer now? Wouldn’t that be a little excessive, especially with the party only being a month away? I needed to say something, so I do. “Um… Isn’t this sort of short notice for her? I wouldn’t want to disrupt her busy schedule.” Okay… so that may not have been what I wanted to say, but hey…

  Mrs. Bryant waves her hands to dismiss my statement. “Oh nonsense, darling. I’ll set up the appointment for next week. Her assistant will give you a call to confirm. You should also take your maid-of-honor.” Saleena sits up straighter in her seat. I can see her eyes light up at the prospect of wearing a dress straight from the runways of Fashion Week. However, I will be bursting that bubble shortly. There is no way she would ever be my maid-of-honor – like I said, she hates me. “I’m assuming that your sister –”

  “Aneesa Johnson. My best friend. She will be my maid-of-honor,” I say before Mrs. Bryant can finish her statement. This and the actual wedding dress are my only points of contention. I will go along with everything else as long as Neesa is standing at my side and I am able to pick out my own wedding dress. I don’t even have to look in Saleena’s direction to see that she’s transformed into full pout mode. My mother avoids eye contact with her and that alone makes my day. No my dear sister, you won’t be getting your way this time. You don’t even like me.

  The four of us continue to discuss - rather they continue to tell me – the arrangements for the engagement party. I should probably be happier about what is about to take place, but I feel disconnected. I assume that is because I am not the one doing the planning and as the date approaches, I will start to feel the stirrings of excitement.

  As we wrap up our little meeting and rise to see Mrs. Bryant to the door I ask, “Will I get to meet with the planner?” I have no idea why I ask or what I expect as an answer, but my mother, Mrs. Bryant, and my sister stare at me for a second. They give me a look as if they were saying, “Why on earth would you want to do that?”

  Mrs. Bryant wraps an arm around my waist and leans in close as if she is about to reveal a very important secret and says, “Oh no darling, not this time. All you have to do is show up with my Daryn looking beautiful. We’ll do the rest. You’ll have enough to do once the wedding planning starts.”

  “Oh, okay. I see.” I really don’t see. We reach the foyer of my parents’ home and Mrs. Bryant removes her hand. A long breath escapes that I had not realized I’d been holding.

  Mrs. Bryant sashays toward the door, but before leaving she throws this tidbit over her shoulder, “Oh by the way, Sasha…” This can’t be good. She didn’t call me darling, “… my personal trainer will be in touch next week. He’ll work out the training schedule you’ll have from now until the big day. You have a beautiful figure darling, but it takes a certain kind of shape to fit into a designer gown.” Then without another word, she disappears through the front door leaving me standing there with my mouth gaping open at her last comment.

  I turn to my mother and Saleena wanting them to defend me but all I get from Saleena is a smug smirk that I want to slap right off her face. She is tall and thin and could probably be a model if she didn’t abhor work of any kind.

  My mother is no better when I look to her for support. She has the nerve to say, “Maybe it’ll do you some good to meet with a trainer, sweetheart. You know how stress can cause overeating. This way you’ll stay on top of it. It’s more preventative. She wasn’t saying you’re fat.”

  I let out a huff. No doubt it had been the idea of Daryn and his mother for me to meet with the personal trainer. He often complains that, though my butt was perfect, it could stand to be smaller. He says that my butt may be acceptable in the world of thugs and music videos, but being on his arm would require something that draws less attention. I’ve always shrugged it off since he never seemed to be serious, but now thinking back on it I should’ve known better.

  Angry at the turn of events, I excuse myself. I grab my purse, fling it over my shoulder and stomp to my ca
r. I need to get out of this house before I say something to disrespect my mother. She loathes cursing and I am on the verge of making my objections known with the use of some flowery four-letter words. I need Neesa…now!

  Two – Getting Out

  I wheel my all black Mini Cooper Coupe – a car that everyone hates I bought because it wasn’t the luxury vehicle they expected – into the parking garage of my building. I grab my things from my car and proceed to back elevator, deciding to avoid the lobby. When I open the door to my apartment, the door slams against the wall, making Neesa run in from the kitchen.

  “What in the hell…?” Neesa takes in the pissed off look on my face. She immediately calms down and gives me a knowing smile. “That bad, huh?”

  I throw down my purse and a lipstick and fruit bar tumble to the floor. I then kick off my heels and proceed to flop face-first down onto the couch, allowing the cushions to stifle my frustrated scream. Neesa walks over to the adjacent chair and props her feet on the ottoman waiting for me to get through my little tantrum and tell her what happened.

  “I can’t believe that woman!” I say turning over to my back. “Everything was going just fine. We discussed, well they discussed, the engagement party and I listened obediently. I even let her force me into an appointment with some designer - which I’ve volunteered you to go to as well. Then…” I sit up so Neesa can see the fury in my eyes. “…then the woman has the nerve to tell me that I’ll be meeting with her personal trainer starting next week and all the way up until the wedding! She had the nerve to tell me that although my body is ‘beautiful’, but it takes a certain kind of figure to wear a designer dress! What kind of fucking shit is that?!” I say throwing up air quotes as I mimic the sound of Ella’s superior sounding voice.

  Neesa laughs at me. She knows I am mad because I usually don’t start cussing until someone has pissed me off or I have had too much to drink.