Chapter 2-2
1886 Words
She awoke early the next morning. She grabbed her phone and scrolled through junk. Nothing.
“Nia? You in there?” A familiar voice called from the kitchen.
“Yes, Grandma, I’ll be out in a minute.”
She stepped her aching feet into some bunny slippers and walked out to join Grandma.
Grandma Pat lifted her head and raised her eyebrows when Nia walked in.
“What’s been going on Baby Girl? Somethin’ happen last night?”
“Nah, I’m just tired. Long night.”
Her grandma continued her stare, but tilted her head slightly, and lifted one eyebrow. At 78, she still had a sharp mind.
“Alright. Yeah. Last night I was working, right. And this dude comes in…this rich guy named Jake Carlton—”
“The Jake Carlton came into Arnie’s?” Her grandma asked.
“What, am I the only person who never heard of him?”
“He’s a household name around here. Especially since what happened last year.”
“Hold up. What happened last year?”
“Well there was this orphanage…what was the name of it…” Grandma wrinkled her eyebrows, and squinted her eyes. “Oh, I remember. It was St. Mary’s, down in Friendswood. They was almost shut down. Ran out of money. So that Carlton gentleman…he came in and saved the whole thing. All them children. 150 of ‘em. Then he turned around and built a new library for them. All of that just outta the kindness of his heart. He a fine gentleman. They don’t make ‘em like that no more. No sir.”
Sure he was a nice guy. A nice guy with a big tax write-off.
“How nice,” Nia said, and looked away. “Well, I must be his new charity case. Cause he just gave me a thousand dollars last night for doing basically nothing.”
Grandma Pat gasped. “A thousand dollars?” She looked dumbfounded. Then she sat back in her chair and said, “Looks like you have an admirer.”
Nia sighed as she walked into the living room. She looked at the bookshelf where she had stashed the cash. She replayed last night’s events. The way he spoke to her. His deep accent, the way he looked at her. He was the most eloquent man that had ever spoken to her. His lips, the freshness of his face. His hair, the way it nearly came in to a full curl.
She checked her phone. A text.
>Brie: Figured out what to do with the $ yet?
>Nia: Hi Brie :-)
>Brie: Well if u can’t figure it out let me know. I be glad 2 help lol
>Nia: Thanks, I’m sure you would be.
>Brie: What time u working 2nite?
>Nia: 5:30. You?
>Brie: 6.
>Nia: K. See you there girl.
She looked at the notification icons at the top of the phone. When did that come in? She thumbed through until she saw it. Jake Carlton’s name sat in her inbox, like a diamond in the rough. She clicked through to open it.
Sender: Jake Carlton
Recipient: Nia Jones
Date: June 13, 2015
Subject: Re: (No Subject)
Dear Ms. Jones,
I don’t think anyone has ever questioned my ability to fill out a restaurant receipt before.
Please keep the money as an apology for my date’s deplorable behavior. You did exceptional work last night. Your skill has not gone unnoticed.
Sincerely,
Jake R. Carlton
A smile escaped her mouth as she threw herself back on a floral sofa and rested the phone on her chest. She picked up the phone and read it again. Exceptional work? It was just a steak.
Smart ass. She smiled. A billionaire writing wrong numbers on a bill. It would be a first.
She imagined his sexy mouth saying her name…Miss Jones. It would sound so good coming from him. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
She dreamed she was putting on makeup along with a couple of her best girls from Long Beach. All three were decked out in nice dresses…the type of dress you wore to an expensive gala event. She suddenly found herself at a party. She didn’t know it would be his house until she got there. They had arrived to a massively heavy, mahogany door. The door had beveled glass on each side and church windows that reached high to the roof.
He greeted her at the doorway, sharply dressed in black tie. His hair was slicked back, and it looked more gelled and styled than it did at the restaurant. His shoes were expensive, polished Italian leather. He graciously took her hand and kissed it slowly, his lips soft and warm. She wanted them on her lips. She looked around at the magnificent surroundings. Champagne glasses, white marble floors, 18th century artwork placed perfectly on each wall. She once had a friend that introduced her to French and Italian art. She had come to appreciate it, though she had never seen any outside of the cheap prints they sold at Venice Beach.
She traced a long, white pillar that ran from the floor to the ceiling. On the ceiling hung an enormous chandelier that cascaded over the foyer. To the right, a plush-carpeted staircase spiraled down to the marble. To her left, a black Steinway sat, yearning to be played.
When she looked back toward Jake, he was gone. He had completely vanished. Her friends were also no longer there. She could only see a reflection of herself in the mirrored foyer. She was alone on the cold, white floor, in a beautiful white lace gown. Her long, black tresses fell over her shoulders onto the breast line of her dress. The slit in her dress ran from her upper thigh down to her dainty shimmering stilettos. And no one was there to see.
How did she even get there? More importantly, where did he go? She wanted more. Her thighs trembled open and her breathing deepened. She looked for him. The lights suddenly dimmed. Her eyes watered. A single tear fell. She wanted badly to see him. And then she did.
He floated from guest to guest laughing and mingling with each one. He flashed a brilliant smile she had never seen before. His straight, white teeth were almost too perfect. They glimmered in the dark room. She could hear conversations about last summer on the lake, about the new company projections, and about his poor Aunt Lilly that had passed away last year. He never looked her way. Why isn’t he paying attention to me?
She awoke suddenly and looked at the time on her phone. “Fuck.” She ran into the bathroom and threw a hot washcloth over her face, then used the same to soap her underarms. She separated her thighs and peered down between them in disbelief. The v****a oozed a wetness that spread to the small creases of her thighs. How did that happen? She looked up. The party, the kiss, the longing.
She sponged up the moisture. Then she threw on a clean, white work blouse and a plain, black skirt that showed off her lean thighs. She looked at her feet and saw a swollen blister beginning to form on her left pinky toe. She slipped on a pair of easy, black flats.
Grandma Pat sat, hovering over a section of the paper. She looked at Nia over slim golden reading rims. Nia hung on to the door frame, swinging around to give her grandma’s curly head a kiss. “Bye Grandma.”
“Stay outta trouble, you hear?” Grandma Pat half smiled.
She pulled her phone out. 4:38. She scrambled out the door with her purse, keys, and name tag.
She got into her car and placed the key in the ignition. Nothing.
>Nia: My damn car won’t start.
>Brie: Hey. U need a ride?
>Nia: Yes please.
>Brie: K…just barely put my shoes on. I’ll swing by tho
~10 minutes later
>Brie: Omw. B there in 10
She sat in the driveway and stared at the dented garage door. Hope Brie is seriously on her way. Maggie is gonna kick my ass if I’m late again.
Brie and Grandma Pat were her people. She touched the locket on her chest. She grabbed hold of the necklace and opened the locket. Her mother’s unassuming brown eyes were so similar to her own. Her hair shorter than Nia’s, slightly lighter skin tone. She kept her hair short and curled it with a flat iron. Sometimes she would do Nia’s too.
They lived in a modest two-bedroom cottage-style house in Long Beach. They didn’t have a lot of money, but it never mattered much. Where there was absence of money, there was love.
Her parents loved her and it was the type of love that could never be replaced, not by anyone or anything.
Everything had changed on the night of November 27, 1992. They had driven up to visit her Aunt Shirley that lived in Bakersfield. It was only an hour or two from their house in Long Beach. Nia smelled the turkey and cranberries just like it was yesterday.
Nia gasped. The big chrome grill…it came so suddenly out of nowhere.
“No Daddy!” Nia screamed.
The articles all said the same: an 18-wheeler had lost control, driving over the center divider line, meeting its fate with their little Toyota. The truck was so powerful that it had completely wheeled itself on top of the hood and half of the cabin of their car. It reversed the car’s direction completely. Nia plunged backward, falling, falling.
Darkness.
She had no memory of her parents and the wretched machine that crushed them. She wracked her brain for more information, pleading for one more glimpse.
Still, darkness.
Alone.
She sat alone in her car in Houston now, with her eyes closed shut. What if I had never asked for that teddy? What if mama had been awake? If mama had handed the teddy to me instead of daddy, would they still be alive today?
A loud honk of a car horn startled Nia. She looked up and saw Brie’s red Neon. She wiped her last tear to erase evidence. She didn’t feel like answering any questions. She rose from her black, rusty car. She looked at the street as she walked to meet her friend.
Weeds grew out of creeks in the sidewalk. Each house had four to five cars sitting in the driveway, half of them looking trashed.
In front of the neighbor’s house sat a strange car. It was a Lincoln Town Car: flawless, black paint, smooth tinted glass, rims shined to a polish. Too nice to be the neighbor’s car. Are they in trouble?
She circled the car, peering into the front seat, spotting an older, dormant man wearing a cabbie hat. He looked down, as if he was reading something. Weird. She peered at the back window. When she tried to look in, she only saw a reflection of her pretty long locks. They’ll be lucky if they don’t get hustled or jacked by nightfall. How long had it been sitting there? And why do I feel like I’m being watched?
- Writer
