Monty

by Tina Martin

  Now, that these nightmares are haunting me, I don’t even know if I can trust them anymore. Don’t know if I can stand the thought of Monty holding my hand, kissing me or touching my face like he likes to do because how can I ever truly trust a man when all I can think about is how the man who was supposed to care for me and be a father figure for me ended up on top of me in my bedroom while my mother was asleep down the hallway?

  It sickens me.

  I’m so sick, I run to the bathroom to vomit. I have no idea what to do about this. I don’t know when the feeling will go away. Even when it does, another bad dream will set it off all over again.

  I rinse out my mouth and brush my teeth. Afterward, I stare at myself in the mirror. I’m damaged goods. I’m certain once Monty finds out what happened to me, he won’t be so thrilled to be with me. To be honest, I know I was never his type. I don’t fit the mold of the kind of woman he should be with. I don’t know which fork is the salad fork. I don’t swish wine around in my glass and sniff it before I drink. I don’t put a napkin in my lap when I eat. I don’t know rich folk etiquette. I don’t wear big fancy hats and go to tea parties for fun. You won’t catch me fake-laughing or pretending I like someone that I can’t stand. I’m not uppity. My clothes don’t cost thousands of dollars. I don’t buy cars for fun and I don’t have people to tend to my every need.

  I’m just the woman who cleans Monty’s residence and makes sure he looks like Montgomery St. Claire, the billionaire, when he leaves the house.

  * * *

  In the morning, when the sun illuminates the outdoors and I hear birds chirping and singing their favorite songs, I get in my car and drive. I have no idea where I’m going. I just need to get out of the house. I start with breakfast then work my way over to the nail salon. A little self-care should help relax me and take my mind off of everything, so that’s what I do. I get a manicure.

  I’m not ready to go home when I’m done so I go to the AMC at Concord Mills Mall and watch a movie, stuffing my mouth with popcorn, sitting off to the back where no one is near me.

  I’m safe here. Safe from my own thoughts. I just eat and distract myself by following the plot of this movie.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Monty

  I pull up in the driveway, crushed when I don’t see her car. It’s a Sunday night, already close to nine. She’s usually home on Sundays since she goes to bed early for work. Somehow I doubt she has plans to come to work tomorrow.

  The house is dark. The porch light isn’t on. That tells me she left during the day – doesn’t give a clue where she might have gone, but she’s not here.

  I think about calling her, but she hasn’t called or talked to me since Wednesday. She’s not going to take a call from me.

  Major seems to think I may find some answers from Ms. Kettleworth, so I get out of my car and walk over there to Ms. Kettleworth’s house. I tap on the door. It opens a little – makes a creaking noise.

  “Who’s there?” I hear the old woman ask.

  “It’s Montgomery St. Claire, ma’am.”

  “Oh,” she sings, comes to the door and says, “Well, looky-looky. How you doin’, Montgom’ry?”

  “I’m—I’m doing good,” I tell her, trying not to be distracted by the pieces of food in the corners of her mouth. “Hey, uh—I’m looking for Cherish.”

  “Yur lookin’ fo’ Sherrish? Don’t tell me you done up and lost yur girlfriend.”

  I smile. “She’s not my girlfriend,” I tell her since technically she’s not. We never got a chance to confirm what we were.

  “Ain’t no need in you trying to pull the wool over my eyes, Montgom’ry. I know you fancy dat gal.”

  “Ms. Kettleworth, do you have any idea where she could be right now?”

  “No. That chile high-tailed it out of dat house so fast, I bet you she didn’t even take a piss fo’ she left.”

  She chuckles.

  “Has she been gone all day?”

  “Yes, Sir—since ‘round ‘bout nine sum this mornin’.”

  “Let me ask you something—ah—have you noticed anything strange going on with her lately? Has she talked to you about anything?”

  “Sherrish like to keep her business to herself.”

  “Right, but since you’re her neighbor, I thought maybe you would know something.”

  “Well, I can tell you this here—her stepfather been driving by here back and forth. He saw her car in the driveway Monday night—pulled up right behind her. Next thang I know, she’s yelling at him telling him to leave her driveway. He’s yelling back at her, telling her to stop lying on him ‘bout sum. Sherrish called him a child molester and he got so mad, the man balled his fists like he was gon’ charge at her. So, I reached in the back of my truck and pulled out my shotgun—told him to leave. He ain’t been back since. I told Sherrish she might want to get herself one of dem ‘straining orders. Ain’t nothing but a piece of paper, but I believe harassment should be documented.”

  And now I know the reason for Cherish’s sudden change of behavior. I don’t want to think it but what other conclusion am I to arrive at given the play-by-play from Ms. Kettleworth? If Cherish called her stepfather a child molester, most likely she was one of his victims.

  It would explain a lot. It would explain why she’s never had a boyfriend. Why she doesn’t date. Why she hides herself behind loose clothes, aprons and head ties. It’s because she is hiding. She doesn’t want to be seen. She has issues with men because of the act of one man – someone she thought she could trust. A man who’d—

  I can’t bring myself to think it. I hope it’s not true but I don’t see how it can’t be. I’m so lost in thought that I completely forget I’m standing on Ms. Kettleworth’s porch until she says, “Now, Montgom’ry, you best get on back in dat Mer-shay-dees of yurs fo’ dem skeeter hawks come swimming ‘round you for blood.”

  I don’t know what the old lady is yapping about but I thank her for the information and go on back to my car, waiting for Cherish to return home.

  * * *

  It’s a little after ten when she pulls into the driveway. She almost breaks into a sprint to run to her house where she unlocks the door and enters before I can reach the porch.

  “Cherish.” I reach for the screen door. It’s locked.

  “What do you want?” she asks me from a small crack in the main door.

  You’d think I was a stranger by the way she was acting.

  “Can I come in?”

  “No,” she answers quickly. “What do you want?”

  “I want to talk to you.”

  “About what? Work? I’m not coming back.”

  I can see fear and pain in her eyes. She’s scared to death. Of me. I’ve never done anything to hurt her and I never would, but she’s afraid. I say, “I know what’s wrong with you and I want to help you.”

  “I don’t need help. I just need to be left alone.”

  “You need to talk to someone, Cherish. I know what your father did to you.”

  “You don’t know anything!” she yells. “Just leave and go back to your life.”

  “I know he hurt you.”

  “Go, Monty! You’d be better off,” she says.

  “How you figure?”

  “You don’t need anyone to pick out your clothes or tell you what to eat for breakfast.”

  “Is that all you think you do for me? Is that all you think you are to me?”

  “That’s what I’ve always been. I’m your personal assistant. Nothing more.”

  “You know that’s not true,” I say feeling like I’ve been stabbed in the heart. I love this woman and she’s killing me with her words. She’s killing herself by refusing to acknowledge what happened to her.

  “I have to go,” she says, her voice distorted. She’s on the verge of tears. She closes the door. Locks it. Shuts me out like I’m a stranger.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Cherish

  A few days later, I get a call from
Sylvia. She’s full of questions. She’s asking me where I am. What’s going on? Why am I not there? What’s wrong with Montgomery? She wants to know if we got into a fight. If he did something or said something slick. She tells me to remember he’s a work in progress. Reminds me to not give up on him.

  “Sylvia—”

  “And he’s come a long way in such a short period of time, Cherish. A long way.”

  “Sylvia.”

  “Yes. Please tell me something.”

  “I can’t work for Monty anymore.”

  “Why not? What did he do?”

  “It’s not him. It’s—it’s me. I’m going through something right now and I can’t see my way out of it yet.”

  “What is it? Do you need money?”

  “No, I don’t need money,” I tell her. “Why do people with money think money solves everything?”

  “I don’t think it solves everything but if you need it—”

  “No, I don’t need money.”

  “Then tell me what you need, Cherish.”

  “I don’t know what I need. I just know what I don’t need and right now, I can’t work. I can’t function. I need some time.”

  “Okay. I don’t understand, but okay. Just please make sure you come to the charity event on Saturday. Major put it together. It’s something Monty suggested. Please tell me you’ll make it.”

  “I don’t know, Sylvia. I don’t want to tell you I’m coming and then I change my mind. Look, I need to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Over the next few days, I stay held up in my house reading articles about how to cope with traumatic experiences – articles I’ve read before. Remedies I already know about like exercise, not isolating myself, taking care of my health, breathing techniques, getting plenty of sleep, eating a good diet and avoiding alcohol.

  Alcohol has never been a problem for me, so I’m not concerned about that one. The thing I need the most is sleep. So, I sleep during the day when I feel safe and at night, I’m up watching TV. It’s what I’m doing when I get a call from Major.

  I don’t answer. Haven’t talked to him in a while. I’m sure he’s calling on Monty’s behalf.

  He calls again. I answer this time.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, girl. What’s up?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I haven’t seen you at work. Mom said you quit. Monty’s irritable—slowly creeping back to his old self again.”

  “Oh, no,” I say.

  “He misses you, Cherish. We all do. Me, Mom, Naomi, Isidora, Minnie, even the landscapers been asking where you are. What’s up with you?”

  “It’s personal, Major. I feel like I need this mental break for myself before I have a freakin’ breakdown.”

  “You mean like my brother had.”

  “Yeah. Like that.”

  “He exposed so much of himself to you. Did he not?”

  “He did.”

  “So, whatever’s bothering you, why are you having such a hard time talking to him?”

  “Because it’s not easy to talk about.”

  He blows a breath, becoming frustrated with me. He’s never been frustrated with me. “Look, all I know is my brother has taken a liking to you in a way I didn’t think was possible. He’s changed. I’m sure this charity benefit he had me put together this Saturday was your idea, was it not?”

  “He came up with it. I just told him the company should do more to give back.”

  “So, basically, it was your idea.”

  “It—” Just when I thought I had it in me to argue against it, I digress.

  “My brother respects you. He loves you and I truly believe if you don’t show up Saturday it will crush him. Tell me you’ll be there.”

  “Major—”

  “Just tell me you’ll be there, Cherish.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Are you saying that just to be saying it, or—?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Good. I hope you find peace in whatever you’re going through, but just remember you’re not alone. I don’t want you to ever think that. If you don’t want to talk to Monty, I’m always available. Or mother. Or Naomi.”

  “Thanks, Major.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll see you on Saturday.”

  “Okay. See ya.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Monty

  There are about sixty people floating around the bottom level of the estate dressed in gowns and tuxedos. Most are wearing black like this shindig is an all-black affair. They’re mingling and drinking champagne. Eating appetizers. Networking. The salad bar, drink stations and live jazz band are nice touches. In such a short period of time, Major came through with an amazingly well-planned evening.

  There’s no stage so I climb the staircase about halfway up to make an announcement concerning donations. Before I do, I scan the room looking for Cherish. Major said he thought she might make it. Mom wasn’t so sure. An hour into the evening, her attendance doesn’t look so promising.

  I signal the band to kill the music.

  “Good evening, everyone,” I say to get people’s attention. “I hope everyone is having a good time and enjoying themselves this evening.”

  They clap and cheer, confirming they are.

  “I want to thank you all for coming out to the first charity event hosted by the St. Claires at The Hawthorne Estates. All donations tonight will go toward cancer research and I’ll triple whatever money is raised this evening. Many of you don’t know this but my father, Caspian Hawthorne, the great man who started Hawthorne Innovations died of cancer. He—”

  I pause when I see her – my angel – walking into the room. She’s at the back of the crowd, in a strapless black gown. With such pretty skin and a beautiful collarbone, she doesn’t need jewelry. Her braids are pinned up, exposing the shape of her face. She’s breathtaking. Literally. I can’t find my breath to form words.

  I take my gaze away from her and rack my brain to remember what I was talking about.

  Right.

  My father...

  I continue, “He would still be alive and well today if he didn’t have the disease. Cancer affects millions of people globally. Cancer doesn’t care how rich or poor you are. It just happens. It can happen to any one of us.”

  I glance over at Cherish again. She’s as attentive as the rest of the crowd is.

  “I never considered doing anything like this before, mostly because my father who was my mentor thought charities like this were a front to collect money and not to actually help people. But he was wrong. My father was an intelligent man, but on this particular topic, he was wrong. We can do good by helping others with our generous donations, and that’s what I want to accomplish this evening. So reach into your pockets and dig even further into your hearts and let’s help someone win their battle with cancer. Thank you very much.”

  I take the stairs back down as the guests clap, but my mind is on one thing – getting over to Cherish’s table. It’s why when I see Paige coming my way carrying two glasses of champagne, I cringe.

  “Well, hello there, bachelor,” she slurs. “I got a lil’ something for you.”

  She tries to hand me a glass. I don’t accept it. I’ve had one glass of champagne already and don’t plan on having another.

  “No, thanks,” I tell her. “I’ve reached my limit.”

  “Then one more ain’t gonna do you no harm. Believe it or not, this is my fourth one.”

  Oh, I believe it….

  She’s already wobbling in her heels. “I would advise you not to have anymore.”

  “Oh, stop being such a party pooper.” She laughs wild and crazy – makes a few guests uneasy.

  I walk over to mother and say discreetly, “Find a way to get Paige out of here.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s a lil’ tipsy.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Why’d you invite her, anyway?” I ask.

  “I thought it would be
good for her to mingle and meet some of the area’s elite professionals.”

  “Well, she’s not behaving like an elite professional.”

  “Okay. I’ll call her an Uber.”

  “Good.”

  “By the way, I know you really wanted Cherish to be here. I thought she would make it, but—”

  “She’s here. She came in while I was addressing the crowd. Excuse me,” I say walking away from her. Major steps in my path and says, “Nice speech.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Ay, listen, I tried my best to get Cherish to come.”

  “Then, like this charity ball, you did a good job, bruh. She’s here.”

  “She’s here?”

  “Yes—came in during the speech. That’s where I’m headed. To find her.”

  The jazz band plays a song that fills the floor with dancers. I weave through them.

  “Nice work, Mr. St. Claire,” one lady comments.

  “You have a lovely home,” another one says.

  I thank them and keep it moving.

  Finally, I make it to the back of the room but I don’t see Cherish. I look to the right, to the left and finally, my eyes have the pleasure of landing on her. She’s sitting at a table alone like she’s lost. In a way, I think she is.

  I walk her way knowing I’ve pretty much left the ball in her court. Told her to come to me when she wanted to talk. But I eat my words and go to her instead. It’s how I know I care deeply for her.

  She looks up, sees me. She frowns a little.

  I stretch out my hand and say, “Dance with me.”