Love on the Rocks

by Pamela Yaye

  “Warrick needs me,” she said, more to herself than Sage. “I’m heading down there.”

  “To New Orleans? But what about your interview? Tangela, I know you love Warrick, but you can’t blow off the most important interview of your career.”

  “I’ll call my supervisor, tell her what happened and hope that she understands why I have to reschedule. Either way, I’m leaving on the next available flight.” After a substantial pause, she broke the silence. “Sage, I was there when they laid the foundation of Bethesda Gospel Tabernacle. No one worked harder or put in more time at the construction site than Warrick did. He’s not responsible for the collapse and I intend to prove it.”

  “Girl, are you sure about this? You and Warrick aren’t even speaking.”

  “We’re just going through a rough time.” The lie tumbled out of her mouth. “We’re fine, really. We just had a lover’s spat. It was nothing.”

  “Warrick told Marshall you were over for good.”

  Inside the closet, she grabbed her suitcase. She was going to New Orleans and there was nothing Sage could say to change her mind. It was the right thing to do. The only thing to do. “I have to run if I’m going to make that flight. I’ll call you when I get there.”

  “I have a bad feeling about this, Tangela. Warrick’s not going to welcome you with open arms. You really hurt him.”

  Her heart rattled around her chest. “He said that?” Realizing she wasn’t fooling her best friend, she told the truth. Tangela craved a family more than anything, and she didn’t want anyone but Warrick. They thirsted after the same things, and he was the kindest, sincerest man she’d ever met. He was her love, her destiny, the person she’d been searching for her entire life. And since the day she’d walked out on him, she’d been beating herself up. What she wouldn’t do to be home with him, sharing a bottle of wine, curled up on the couch in his strong arms. “I have to go down to New Orleans. Warrick needs me now more than ever.”

  “Tangela, you can’t keep playing these mind games. Either you want to be with Warrick or you don’t. How many more times are you going to break up and get back together?”

  “What are you talking about?” she spat, gripping the receiver. “I love Warrick and I want to marry him. That’s what I’ve always wanted.”

  “Then why did you walk out on him?” The silence was long and painful. “Love is hard, Tangela. You have to work at it every single day. Happiness doesn’t come in a can, and if you’re serious about getting married, you have to show Warrick that you’re a hundred-percent committed to him and your relationship. You can’t leave every time you get into an argument or come hide out in my guest room, either. Warrick needs to know that he can trust you. That you’re not going to leave him again.”

  When Tangela hung up the phone five minutes later, she flopped back into the unmade bed and closed her eyes. Sage was right. Going to New Orleans was a bad idea. Warrick wasn’t talking to her, and after the way she’d treated him, she knew his family wouldn’t welcome her with open arms, either.

  Turning toward the wall, her gaze fell across the digital clock on the side table. Should I go to my interview or down to New Orleans? Rescheduling might cost her the Flight Operations position. And someone with more experience could get the job—her job, the one she’d wanted ever since she started her flight-attendant career.

  Up on her feet, she went into the closet and took out her favorite Christian Dior designer suit. Holding the fitted jacket at arm’s length, Tangela inspected the outfit for stains. Forget Warrick. This time, she’d put her career first. She was going to march into that conference room and impress the American Airlines executives with her knowledge of the company’s standards, policies and procedures.

  Entering the bathroom, she turned the water on full-blast. Steam rose from the jet tub and Tangela felt her eyes water. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she slowly undressed. If going to the interview was the right decision, then why was she filled with an overwhelming sense of despair at the thought of not being with Warrick when he needed her most?

  Chapter Twenty

  Residents, city officials and journalists crammed into the recreational facility in the Lower Ninth Ward at seven o’clock on Monday night for a town hall meeting for community development. From her seat at the back of the auditorium, Tangela scrutinized the faces of the people in attendance. His face bruised and swollen, Lyndon sat in the front row, his thick, meaty arms plopped across his burly chest.

  He needs a fat lip to go with that black eye, Tangela thought, sucking her teeth. Word on the street was that Lyndon had decked Warrick in the hospital parking lot. According to eyewitness accounts, it had taken three large security guards to separate them. Warrick was too cultured, too refined to get into a street brawl, but when Tangela saw Lyndon’s swollen jaw, she knew the rumors were true. She only hoped Warrick didn’t look as banged-up as his opponent.

  Her eyes landed on Warrick’s grandmother. The family took up three rows of seats and although Rachael had invited her to sit with them she’d declined. Though it hurt to admit it, she wasn’t a part of the Carver family and she knew Warrick wouldn’t want her there. He’d made that perfectly clear when she’d called him that afternoon. After repeated attempts, she’d finally heard his voice answer his cell phone, and when it flowed over the line, she’d forgotten her well-planned speech and stumbled over her words.

  “Warrick, it’s…Tangela. I heard what happened. If there’s anything I can d—”

  That’s as far as she’d got. He’d interrupted and the harshness of his tone had shocked her.

  “I don’t need your help. I can handle it.”

  “Oh, okay…I just wanted you to know that I’m here if you need me. Even if it’s just to talk. I’m staying at the—”

  “Another call is coming in. I have to go.” He’d hung up abruptly and she’d sat with the phone to her ear for several seconds, thinking about the trouble she’d caused. Wasn’t she the one who’d told Warrick to cut Lyndon and his men some slack? If it wasn’t for her, he would have fired the construction foreman months ago and his family name wouldn’t have been dragged through the mud. Lyndon Siegel was bad news, just as Warrick had said, and now the community was paying the price for the foreman’s erroneous mistakes.

  A hush fell over the crowd as Warrick, the mayor and three suited men took the stage. Thumbs pointed down, eyes tapered in disgust, the crowd broke into boos, jeers and hisses. Wads of paper rained on the stage, narrowly missing Mayor Robinson’s close-cropped hair.

  Tangela’s gaze zeroed in on Warrick. The man was a perfect ten. His crisp black suit was complemented by a white-striped tie. The situation was devastating, but Warrick was the picture of cool. Head erect, back straight, hands clasped in front of him. She was a nervous mess, but Warrick was his usual calm self. Over the years, she’d seen Warrick in some pretty stressful situations, but nothing had ever ruffled his composure. He had always been the type of person to tackle problems head-on and this was no exception. How many other CEOs would have willingly jumped right into the fire? Most would have flown to a secluded island and kept a low profile until the whole matter blew over. Not Warrick. He was here in New Orleans, putting the community’s fears to rest.

  “Citizens of New Orleans, residents of the Lower Ninth Ward and community members, I’m Warrick Carver, president and chief architect at Maxim Designs and Architects.”

  The crowd booed so loudly, the children seated in front of Tangela covered their ears.

  “I’m not here to lay blame, or point fingers. I take complete responsibility for what happened last night at Bethesda Gospel Tabernacle and I’m going to do everything in my power to resolve this situation. I’m going to see to it that nothing like this ever happens again.”

  There was a smattering of applause.

  “Our thoughts and prayers are with all of the victims and everyone else who has been touched by this traumatic event.”

  Unflappable in the midst of adve
rsity, he spoke in a firm, self-assured way, not a trace of anxiety in his voice. Tangela had always admired his quiet diplomacy and as she listened to him, her heart flooded with pride. Though financially devastated, Warrick was handling the situation with class, and she hoped his equanimity would rub off on the belligerent crowd.

  “We are praying for a swift recovery for the victims. My family and I visited with all of them this afternoon, and they were in very good spirits. All of their medical expenses will be covered by Maxim Designs and Architects and every member of Bethesda Gospel Tabernacle will be fully compensated for their pain and suffering.”

  The crowd fell silent.

  “This is messed up,” said a harsh, raspy voice. A teen in an orange bomber jacket popped up in the crowd. “First Katrina, then Gustav and now this. I’m packing my stuff and gettin’ the hell out of here. It ain’t safe around here no mo’!”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, young man, but I’ve been spending the summers down here since I was a kid and I love this city.” Warrick’s gaze panned the audience. “I have a house in the Bay Shore area and I plan to raise my children here one day.”

  Tangela’s ears perked up. Had she heard him right? That had always been her dream, not his. Las Vegas had been her home for the past ten years and although she loved the lights, billion-dollar properties and meeting people from all over the world, she appreciated the slower, quieter pace of New Orleans. Filled with hope, but conscious of the tension circulating around the room, Tangela took hold of her emotions before she got carried away. For all she knew, Warrick was just trying to win favor with the crowd. Feeling guilty, she struck the thought from her mind. No, he’d never do something like that. If Warrick said it, it was true.

  “Maybe the media’s right. Maybe New Orleans is cursed.”

  “Don’t go anywhere, young blood,” advised a silver-haired man. “There’s nothing wrong with our fine city. It’s these money-hungry corporations that are to blame. They pay peanuts, make cutbacks and expect construction workers to perform miracles.”

  Is that what Lyndon was telling people? That Maxim Designs and Architects had short-changed him? It was hard for Tangela to sit there and be quiet. Lyndon had orchestrated this town hall meeting and had obviously worked his magic on the crowd. Infuriated that the audience was turning on Warrick, while Lyndon remained unscathed, she clamped her lips together to keep from screaming out in protest.

  “You people make me sick.” A plus-size woman stood and pointed a finger at Warrick. “Maybe you should spend less time in your fancy downtown office and more time on-site.”

  Tangela didn’t realize she’d jumped up until she saw the wide, inquisitive expressions of the people sitting in front of her. Twisting around, they stared up at her, their lips clamped together in suppressed anger.

  “I was here when the foundation of the church was laid,” she began, her voice firm and strong. “I volunteered three months after Katrina hit and have been back since, most recently this past Christmas. I’ve worked closely with the Urban Development project and can unequivocally say Maxim Designs and Architects is not responsible for the roof collapse at Bethesda Tabernacle.”

  “Y’all don’t know Mr. Carver like we do,” interrupted a teen wearing a green do-rag. “He cares about us and this community. He’s a slave driver, y’all!”

  Laughter broke out.

  The kid continued. “He cornered me and my crew on Lamanche Street and asked us to help paint the community center. We made a deal. He gave us driving lessons every day for a week and we painted our butts off!”

  One by one, volunteers, staff and employees jumped up in Warrick’s defense, and as Tangela listened to each heartfelt story, she felt herself sinking lower into her seat. What have I done? Not only had she walked out on him, she’d yelled at him and said cruel, spiteful things. Things she’d do anything to take back.

  When the town hall meeting wrapped up ninety minutes later, Tangela was still thinking about Warrick and their future. Talking to one of the Bethesda Tabernacle members, but discreetly watching Warrick in her peripheral vision, she wondered what business he had with the attractive brunette in the designer suit. She considered going over, but lost her nerve when she saw the mayor join them.

  “Tangela!” Face alive with excitement, Rachael rushed over and threw her arms around her shoulders. “You were incredible! I thought they were going to burn Warrick at the stake, but what you said turned the whole meeting around.”

  “It was nothing. All I did was tell the truth.” Her eyes scanned the crowd for Warrick. He was talking to the teen who’d spoken earlier.

  “He’s right in front of you, Tangela.” Rachael nudged her forward. “Go get him.”

  “I can’t. We had a fight and I was really nasty to him,” she confessed, head lowered. “Warrick’s never going to forgive me. He probably hates me.”

  “That’s impossible. My brother loves you. He’s always loved you.” Glancing around, she drew Tangela to a quiet, unoccupied corner. “A few weeks ago when you were away, Warrick came by to hang out with the boys. We took the kids to the mall to buy soccer cleats and stopped in at Cartier.” She pressed a hand to Tangela’s shoulder. “He didn’t buy anything, but he asked what I thought of him proposing on your birthday.”

  Her eyes were saucers. Tangela didn’t think she could feel any worse, but she did. Warrick had been contemplating proposing, but she’d messed things up by running her big mouth. When was she going to learn that she couldn’t force him to do what she wanted? Hadn’t she learned anything the first time around? Warrick was his own person, his own man and she couldn’t control him any more than she could a wild bull in the Gap clothing store.

  Her gaze drifted back across the room. A female reporter thrust a microphone in Warrick’s face, and, though taken off guard, he turned to the camera. Begging him to take her back would look desperate and although she was, she didn’t want the whole world to know. “I’m going to go over there and say hi.”

  “Child, please, you have to say a lot more than that.”

  Gathering her courage, she straightened her blouse and maneuvered her way through the crowd. She carried herself with poise, but when Warrick lifted his head and their eyes met, diffidence crept up on her. It was too late to change her mind, and besides, he was watching her. How would it look if she whipped around and ran in the opposite direction?

  “I’m surprised to see you here,” he said as she approached.

  “I wanted to help out. I have friends at Bethesda and I was worried about them.”

  They remained quiet for a time.

  “Your speech was great,” she told him. “What you said really hit home.”

  “How did your interview go? It was this afternoon, wasn’t it?”

  “I rescheduled it.”

  A strange, unreadable expression came over his face. “Why?”

  “I wanted to be here to show my support.”

  “But you’ve been prepping for this interview for weeks.”

  But I’ve loved you for years. Her throat swelled shut. Her thoughts were hazy and when she saw his mouth draw tight, her confidence fizzled. Now was not the time to discuss their breakup. She detected a hint of disappointment in his tone and his tense posture spoke of his unease. Camouflaging her sadness, she tried not to notice him searching the crowd.

  “I have a long day of meetings ahead of me,” he began, gesturing to the men standing beside his father. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

  Stunned into silence, she stood mutely, watching him. I guess I’ll see you around? That was it? After seven years of loving and caring for each other that’s all he had to say? There were hard feelings on both sides, but his coldness shocked her. “Warrick, I’m sorry for—”

  “I have to run. The mayor wants us to sit down with CNN.”

  Crushed, but bent on preserving her dignity, she nodded absently, wishing she’d stayed on the other side of the room. Her face was void of emotion, but sh
e was falling apart on the inside. Compassion was one of Warrick’s greatest attributes, except when it came to her. He could visit the victims in the hospital and invest thousands of dollars in the community, but he couldn’t give her ten more minutes of his time?

  “Take care of yourself, Tangela.”

  Battling tears, she lowered her head, refusing to meet the eyes she loved so much. “You, too.” With a heavy heart, she watched him walk away. It was hard to believe this was the same man whose body used to make her hit notes higher than Mariah Carey could. Had it really been weeks since they’d shared a bed? Images reeled through her mind. It had been a quiet, uneventful night. After they’d cleared the table and stacked the dishes into the dishwasher, they’d climbed into bed to watch House of Payne. During a commercial break, she’d returned to the kitchen to fix a snack and he’d sneaked up behind her. His hands had explored her body, stroking, fondling, affecting. The sitcom forgotten, they’d kissed passionately, breathlessly, with such intensity she’d knocked her bowl of fat-free ice cream to the floor.

  Picking her up with relative ease, he’d set her down on the counter, unbuckled his pants and drove into her like a man possessed. They’d never done anything like that before. Turned on by the thought of doing something so off-limits, she’d looped a leg around his waist and squeezed her pelvic muscles, tightening her hold on his shaft. Sly and teasing, she’d nipped playfully at his right earlobe. In her mind’s eye, she saw them laughing, undressing, stumbling back into the bedroom and making love until the sheets were wet with perspiration.

  Unable to pull her eyes away, she gave herself permission to watch Warrick a moment longer. His perspicacity for business and modern architecture was second to none. His innate intelligence helped him make wise decisions and there was no question the company would rebound from this disaster. Tangela only hoped she would, too. Thinking back on happier times made her heart ache. Cooking for one was depressing. Strolling through downtown held no appeal. And without Warrick, St. Croix was just another tourist hot spot.