Monty

by Tina Martin

  “About my keys?” I ask as I dig around in my purse for my cell phone.

  “Yes.”

  When I find it, I see a text from Monty that says:

  Monty: Good morning, sexy. Your car is in the garage. Keys are already inside. Love you.

  “What?” I say quietly. I glance up at Naomi. She’s smiling. Now, I know something’s up.

  When I go to the garage, I’m greeted by a shiny, red Mercedes with a massive white bow on the hood. My mouth falls open. “Oh my gosh, Monty!” I scream like he’s actually here. I check it out, take off the bow and dial his office number.

  “Please tell me you’re here already,” he answers.

  “No. I’m still home, standing in the garage looking at the car. You bought this for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh my gosh, Monty! Thank you.”

  “Is it to your liking?”

  “Are you kidding? It’s so—wow! I love it!”

  “Okay, then get your pretty lil’ self in it and come on over. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Okay, I’m getting in now. I’m so nervous.”

  “Why are you nervous?”

  “You bought me a freakin’ car.”

  He chuckles. “And that makes you nervous?”

  “A little bit. And I’ve never been to your office. Nobody there knows me, well besides Hannah.”

  “There’s nothing to be nervous about. Just come on over here.”

  “Okay.”

  I plug the address into my GPS and back out of the garage. The building is only twenty minutes away from here. I’ll be there in no time.

  * * *

  When I arrive, I see Monty standing at the main entrance, as fine as he wants to be.

  Lawd have mercy…

  I still can’t believe he’s mine.

  I park in visitor parking, get out the car and nearly break into a sprint to get to him like I haven’t seen him in ages. Like we didn’t just make love in the shower last night until we both had trouble standing upright. I embrace him. Squeeze him. He squeezes me and then we kiss for what seems like an eternity. After he’s satisfied, he takes my hand.

  We get on the elevator to go up. There’re a few people on here besides us, but that doesn’t stop him from cornering me, kissing me more while the bell dings, letting people on and off.

  He doesn’t care who’s getting on. Doesn’t care who sees us. When I’m with him, the rest of the world ceases to exist.

  On the tenth floor, we exit hand-in-hand. We walk toward his secretary’s desk. He says, “Hannah, this is my wife, Cherish.”

  She stands, greets me with a smile and says, “It’s nice to put a face to a name finally. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cherish.”

  “Nice to meet you as well,” I say.

  We continue on to his office. I’m amazed when I step inside. Don’t know why because I should be accustomed to elegance by now. His office is immaculate. It’s decorated with the finest quality Cherrywood furniture. I gravitate to the pictures on the wall – images of him that will add to the story in my mind of who he is. I see a picture of him and an older man. I’m sure it’s his adoptive father – the only father he’s ever known. Mr. Caspian Hawthorne. I find it interesting how they look alike but aren’t related by blood. Being together for so long probably made them that way.

  I see pictures of him and Major. One with him and his mother. Others with him and other businessmen and famous people – football players and prominent figures in the community.

  “What are you doing, girl?” he asks, his arms swallowing me from behind.

  “I’m admiring your pictures.”

  “You can admire me in person. I’m right here.”

  I turn around to look at him. “Yes, I can but now that I’ve finally made it to your office, I want to know exactly what you do.”

  “I told you that already,” he says narrowing those enchanting eyes at me. “You’re not paying attention, Mrs. St. Claire.”

  “Okay, okay. You told me, yes. Now, show me.”

  For a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me but he says, “Okay. Come on.”

  I follow him to his massive desk. It’s spotless. There’s no clutter. It looks like the thing was polished with some Old English.

  Instead of pulling up a chair for me, he pulls me onto his lap. I’m wearing pants, so there won’t be a repeat of yesterday evening at dinner but Monty can be pretty slick when he wants to be.

  He opens his laptop. It looks top-of-the-line like he had it specially designed for his use. He pulls up a picture. Tells me it’s a taser and how he came up with the concept of making government grade tasers that vibrates when you touch the handle to help police officers distinguish between their gun and the taser. He says these types of accidents happen too often and as a society, we need to do all we can to show the world that black lives matter besides marching whenever there’s a ‘new’ news story. He wants to remove the excuse of an officer reaching for the wrong weapon. As he talks, I listen closely. I can tell he’s passionate about his work. He finds great meaning in what he’s doing.

  I ask, “What made you come up with the idea for the vibration aspect of it, though?”

  “Just thinking outside of the box. The key to any good invention is asking yourself if what you want to invent will solve a problem. If the answer is no, it’s probably not a good idea. All the greats would tell you the same if they were still alive. So would my father.”

  “This is very interesting.”

  “You think so?”

  “I do. It takes a lot of creativity. Right off the bat, you don’t really come across as the creative type. Business, yes, but not creative.”

  “It does take creativity to come up with this stuff. It’s one of the things my father was a master at. Whenever I was with him working on a project, I could see his brain firing off ideas. He kept a portfolio of them.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “Sure,” he says. He takes a notebook from the bottom desk drawer and hands it to me. I page through it and see the incredible ideas and sketches. “These are nice.”

  “Yeah. They are.”

  “Did he make all of these?”

  “Most of them. There are about five or six he didn’t get a chance to complete.”

  I place the portfolio on his desk and ask, “Are you going to complete them?”

  “I thought about it, but I’m not sure. It’s too soon. I wanted to work on these with him. It’ll be difficult to work on them knowing he’s no longer here.”

  “But I’m sure it’ll bring you great satisfaction knowing you completed something he started.”

  “Yeah. Maybe one day.”

  He smiles and says, “Let me show you around.”

  I stand and he puts the portfolio back in the drawer. We walk down the hallway. He shows me a prototype of the taser. I grip it by the handle and it automatically vibrates.

  “Ooh…this is neat,” I say, then release and grab it again.

  “Okay, okay…that’s enough. Give it here. I’m getting jealous.”

  “Jealous how?” I say, securing the taser behind my back.

  He flashes a wicked-sexy smile and says, “You’ve never grabbed my handle like that.”

  “Yeah, that’s only because I need to use two hands to grab that monster.”

  He chuckles. “Let’s test that theory,” he says reaching for his zipper.

  “Don’t you whip that thing out in here.”

  He laughs. “Nobody’s here but us,” he says, stepping in front of me. He kisses me. Slow. Methodically. I hear myself whimper. Hear him moan. “Alright, let’s go before we tear up this lab,” he tells me.

  “Yes. Let’s go.”

  We proceed down a level. He takes me by Major’s office but he’s working from home today.

  We visit various departments – accounting, sales, logistics and marketing. He shows me the gym, tells me his father was passionate about exercise and fitness, but unfo
rtunately, his good health was no match for cancer. He’s always mellow when he talks about his dad. I never know if I should chime in or not.

  We leave the office and go straight to the dentist office where my mother works – on McCullough Drive in University City. Monty is riding shotgun. He left his car at the office.

  We pull up and park. Monty has on a pair of gold-lense Cartier sunglasses, laid all the way back in the passenger seat like he’s about to do a drive-by. Looks like a sexy assassin.

  He looks over at me and asks, “Are you ready?”

  “No. I’m not ready. Not at all. I wish I didn’t have to do this.”

  “You can do it. If you can deal with me, you can deal with and handle just about anything.”

  He definitely has a point there…

  “You’re right,” I say, my sweaty palms still gripping the steering wheel even though we’re not driving anywhere. We’re just sitting here. On a stakeout…

  I glance at my watch growing antsy. “She should’ve been out by now.”

  “Do you see her car?”

  “Yes. That black Honda Accord right there.”

  “Is that her?” he asks looking toward the front doors of the building.

  I look to where he’s looking and see Mama walking fast to the car with a bag on her shoulder.

  My stomach is in knots. “Yes. That’s her.” I get out of the car. I hear Monty’s door open and close, but my head is so cloudy, I don’t tell him to wait in the car. I meant to. I don’t want him to witness this conversation because I know it’s going to be a bad one. My mother has never had my back. Only Webster’s. There’s no reason for me to think she’ll have it now.

  She looks my way, sees me walking toward her and frowns – not the reaction a mother should have upon laying eyes on her child – her only child.

  Since I already know this isn’t going to go well, I snap out of my fogginess and say to Monty, “Hey, why don’t you wait in the car?”

  “No, I’m not waiting in the car. I’ll try to stay quiet, but if I say something you don’t like, just tell me to be quiet.”

  “I can’t tell you to be quiet. You’re my husband,” I whisper back at him.

  “What are you doing here?” my mother asks like I’m a stranger. Like I have no right to visit her, or like the parking lot is off limits to me.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “I said, what are you doing here?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “If it’s about your stepfather, I don’t want to hear it.” She reaches for the car door handle.

  “Ma, just wait a minute.”

  “Why! I refuse to listen to this—this rubbish you’re spewing. I told you, lil’ girl…I’m sick of it! Sick!” She grabs the door handle again.

  “Excuse me,” Monty says, stepping closer to me. “Please let her speak.”

  Mama throws a hand on her hip. “And who are you supposed to be?”

  “I’m her husband, and she’s not a little girl. She’s a grown woman and you’re supposed to be her mother.”

  “I am her mother.”

  “Then listen to what she has to say, you know, like a loving mother would.”

  My mother glares at him, then looks back at me. “You done got married?” she asks as she looks Monty from head to toe.

  “Yes.”

  She returns her gaze to me. “Go on and say what you gotta say so I can go.”

  “Ma, I hate to keep bringing this up. I just don’t understand why you don’t believe me. Webster is lying to you. All those things I said he did to me, he did them and I think you know it. You’re just covering for him like you’re scared he’s going to leave you. You’re willing to put up with a man like him just to say you got somebody because you can’t stand the thought of losing another man after dad.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is true. You’ve never been able to get over dad. In a way, neither have I because if he was still here, at least he would’ve protected me. I would’ve never crossed paths with Webster.”

  She looks sad. Just when I think I’m getting through to her, she shakes her head. “I hear what you’re saying but he’s my husband, Cherish. He says he didn’t do anything to you. Who am I supposed to believe?”

  “How about your own flesh and blood? I’m telling you the truth, Ma. And recently, he came to my house and threatened me. My neighbor had to run him off with her gun. Then he kicked in my front door in the middle of the night. The police haven’t arrested anyone for the break-in yet, but my gut tells me it was him. And he stole—” Tears come to my eyes no matter how hard I tried not to cry, but the fact is, I can’t find the photo of me and my dad and I know he took it. Took it to hurt me.

  I get myself together enough to finish talking but I garble my words when I say, “He stole my picture. The one of me and dad. I can’t find it anywhere. I know he took it. Why don’t you check his car? Or in the garage? He took it, Ma.”

  “Yeah, look, I gotta go,” she says. She gets into the car and drives off.

  I stand there, frozen in time, watching her leave.

  My mother.

  She’d abandoned me a long time ago. I lived with her, and still, I know what it’s like to not have a mother.

  “Cherish,” Monty says.

  I turn to look at him. I’ve lost my mother and it’s time I come to the realization that she’ll put the interest of Webster ahead of mine every single time.

  “Come on, baby. Let’s go,” he says. He takes the keys out of my hand and drives straight home.

  I go upstairs, sit on the bed and hang my head. I feel much worse now. I shouldn’t have gone through with it. Should’ve left things like they were – her not talking to me and me not talking to her. That was our comfort zone. Pretending nothing ever happened and living our lives.

  Monty sits beside me. He says nothing at first, just feels out the moment then asks, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I say, although I know he doesn’t believe me. In his defense, I don’t sound believable. I sound miserable and confused. Broken and disoriented.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the picture?”

  I shrug. “I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

  “Bother me? It wouldn’t be a bother. You know that.”

  I am aware of that, but he’s done enough for me already. Certainly he’ll grow tired of always catering to what I need as if he doesn’t have a billion-dollar corporation to run. He has his own share of problems to be carrying the additional weight of mine on his shoulders.

  “When did you realize it was missing?”

  “When I went over there to get some clothes.”

  “That was after the break-in, right?”

  “Yes. When I was over there, I looked for the picture. I think Webster came and took it. We didn’t know anyone was in the house because the alarm wasn’t set after the door got fixed.”

  Monty takes my hand and assures me everything will be alright. He tells me to take a hot, late-afternoon shower so I can relax for the rest of the day.

  After the shower, he pampers me with a foot rub that feels so good, it nearly puts me to sleep. He massages my legs, my back. Shoulders. Arms. Tells me I’m still tense and he wants me to relax. Then, when he’s rubbed and squeezed every part of my body, he tucks me in.

  “Get some rest,” he says. “When you wake up, I’ll have dinner waiting.”

  “Thanks, Monty.”

  “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Cherish

  I open my eyes to see his peering back at me. I’m groggy but so relaxed, I don’t want to move a muscle.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hey.”

  “What time is it?”

  He glances at his watch. “It’s a little after seven.”

  He leans over to kiss my forehead then asks, “How do you feel?”

  “I feel relaxed. I so needed this after the conversation with m
y mother.”

  “I know.” His thumb brushes across my cheek like a flutter. “Dinner is waiting for us in the dining room.”

  “Just us?”

  He smiles. “Yes. Just us, this time.”

  “Okay.” I stretch my arms above my head and extend my legs as far as they can go. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

  I fix my hair, throw on a pair of leggings and a crop top then head downstairs. When I walk into the dining room, Monty eyes me up and down. His gaze lingers on my belly button before our eyes meet.

  He smiles. “New top?”

  “No. You’ve just never seen me wear it before.”

  “I like it,” he says. He stands, pulls out my chair. I sit adjacent to him.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The food is already here. I have no idea what it is. Something fancy that smells good with salad, rolls and a bunch of other stuff we probably won’t get around to. Monty likes variety.

  “What is that for the main course?” I ask.

  “It’s veal parmigiana.” He points to a long, square dish and says, “That’s risotto and to complement that is sausage, roasted shrimp and fried chicken.”

  “This is a lot of food.”

  “It is, but I like to keep my bases covered in case there’s something you don’t like.”

  He places a roll on my plate then picks up a dish of what looks to be butter formed in little balls and infused with green herbs.

  “Butter?” I say.

  “Yes.”

  I take a few pieces and try it with the bread.

  So good…

  I could sit here and eat bread and butter for dinner and be completely satisfied. I take another roll and butter it.

  He chuckles.

  “What?” I ask with a mouth full.

  “All this food on the table and you’re stuffing yourself with bread.”

  “It shouldn’t be so good.” I take a sip of water to wash it down.

  “I’m teasing. Eat all you want. It’ll keep that round butt of yours nice and thick the way I like it.”