Love Lost (Love's Improbable Possibility) (7 page)

Michelle decided against getting anything done. The police officer encouraged her to be tested and file a report as well. She declined saying the only reason she was there was because I was too sick to drive myself.

Michelle never spoke about that evening much for a while. I think she felt that acknowledging it she somehow believed she cheated on Mark, which was incredibly ridiculous because she was victimized. She didn’t consent to shit. Also, they had broken up right after Christmas.

Almost a week later, Mark returned to L.A. from his holiday vacation in Italy, called Michelle and they grew inseparable. I began classes a couple of weeks later and decided to put the ordeal behind me just as I suggested to Michelle while at the hotel. 

I threw myself back into my studies. The funny thing about it was I did better that semester than the previous one. Michelle became engulfed in Mark, so much so that the next time he proposed she accepted immediately. Because I understood how difficult the whole date rape thing was on her, I was extremely happy for her. They set a date for the following year and we started planning her wedding right away.

After my second semester
, I began looking for housing. After all, I was making a decent enough salary to have my own. It’s just that L.A. is so huge that an East coast girl could easily get lost. The terrain is beautiful and widespread leaving so much to choose from. What narrowed down my options was the cost. Michelle lived in a development where we had around the clock security on the grounds and maintenance. I’d love to continue with that but I also wanted to get out and explore the area, in addition to wanting to spend modestly so that I could also purchase my own car. Michelle had been allowing me to borrow her old high school Audi since I arrived in the City of Angels. I had to get my own. After the spring semester ended, I purchased a nice little hooptie, a 1998 black Chevy Cavalier, coupe that was within my price range. I tipped into my savings just a little to get it but didn’t mind because I knew I needed a car and not a note.

A week after the close of the semester
, I flew to visit my brother, Akeem, in prison back in Jersey. Michelle gave me a lift to the airport. As she hugged me goodbye I realized she put on a little weight. I knew she complained of gaining a few pounds over the past few months but now it was in her face. She also quickly withdrew from the embrace. I dismissed it and said goodbye. I flew in and right back out per usual. It was great seeing Akeem, yet difficult parting ways. Of course, I had my usual bout with guilt seeing him confined. Somehow, I managed through it without breaking down and promised to visit soon. After refueling his commissary, I made my way back to the airport.

I found an apartment two weeks after visiting Akeem. I was beyond elated. Mark gathered a few of his friends to help move me out of Michelle’s place and into my own. My new apartment was about
twenty minutes away from Michelle. I couldn’t go any further than that, Michelle saw to it. I settled in a week after getting the place. I hated leaving her at that time because she wasn’t herself. She was moody and isolated.

Months after I moved into my new place
, I was tackled by drama. Michelle learned she was six months pregnant. One morning she let herself into my apartment while I was asleep in my bed and broke the news.

“Na-Na, wake up! I have something to tell you!” she demanded as she annoyingly poked me in the back while I was laid out on my stomach.

“Huhn?” I answered groggily after jumping up. I didn’t hear her come in. She looked like death with bloodshot eyes and huge dark bags underneath. I was scared of her.

“RAYNA, UP!” she yelled.

“Okay!” I struggled to maneuver onto my behind attempting to give her my full attention.

“I’m pregnant.” Her eyes were stapled to mine wearing an impassive expression. If she didn’t look like shit, I would’ve thought she was pulling my leg. As the seconds passed and I’d begun to process her words excitement rose from my belly.

“CONGRATULATIONS, SHELLY!” I screamed after digesting the news. Kids were not for me, but I always knew Michelle would be an excellent mom.

“No! Not good at all
!” she screamed hysterically, reminding me once again that she’s a valley girl.

When she began to cry my heart tore. I hated to see my dear friend so out of sorts. She meant the world to me, was all I had in life. I went to hug her. She let me console her for a few seconds and then pulled away.

“Let me cut to the chase. It’s not good because it’s not Mark’s baby. Na-Na, the bastard that raped me got me pregnant.”

My pulse quickened and bile leaped through my esophagus causing me to cup my mouth. I didn’t know what to say. All that I could formulate was, “How did this happen?”

As I asked the question with my gaze fixated somewhere down at the foot of my bed. Michelle had known for months she was pregnant.
Denial is a bitch.
It allowed her to fool herself. She thought she could force the memory of that New Year’s Day morning to the back of her mind and throw herself into Mark in an effort to erase it.

She explained how
Mark eventually caught on to her secret from their lack of intimacy and Michelle not dressing or undressing in front of him. She could no longer deny it and broke down during the wee hours of that morning telling him the truth. When Mark learned the baby wasn’t his, he left angrily. It was a matter of minutes before her family would know and began to call to try to dig into her.

It wasn’t losing Mark that crushed her, the truth of the matter was Michelle never truly loved Mark. He was just the ideal mate for her as far as her family was concerned. They were afraid that she’d follow her mother’s footsteps and
be with a black man. They thought it was even more of a possibility when she brought me home last summer. She entertained them by dating Mark but she wasn’t really into him at all. This was a mess—a big one.

Overall, I
suspected that Mark grew exasperated by Michelle’s inconsistencies regarding their relationship. He knew she wasn’t giving her all and got tired of the yo-yo act. As cruel as his departure may have been, the pregnancy pushed him over the edge. It was yet another obstacle preventing him from having Michelle in complete totality.

That morning I encouraged her to rethink her situation. She was a wonderful being and could be so much to a child no matter the circumstances surrounding the pregnancy.
Michelle ended up in counseling and eventually decided to keep the baby. She said she didn’t want to just throw or give away a life as if it were her decision. Now, Michelle wasn’t religious to any extent but she believed in a higher power; some BS about Mother Earth or something. I stood by her side just as she always had with me. I threw her a shower and was surprised when quite a few of her relatives showed up even her evil cousin, Amber.

When Erin, who was named after Michelle’s mom, was born that following September I thought she was the most beautiful thing life had to offer next to Michelle. She had wonderfully hazel lit eyes with sandy blonde hair
much like her mother. It was apparent her dad was African American, Erin’s skin pigmentation was richer than her mother’s. Her skin tone didn’t matter to me one bit. I loved her instantly.

Michelle was forever changed
. Her life from that day on was consumed with Erin’s needs. And me—I was Auntie Na-Na.

Azmir

I couldn’t sleep. I had too much brimming in my mind. Restless, I got out of bed and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked out over the city of Los Angeles. I’ve come to know these sleepless nights too well. Life couldn’t be more complicated than it is right now. Not to mention the contempt I felt for this woman that was asleep in bed just a few feet away. I didn’t want to be there, I was fed up with the way I’ve settled in this relationship. There were too many sacrifices made on my part over the years that had begun chipping away at my quality of life. Shit had to get better. Life had to offer more.

Since I was a kid
, I said I would hustle these streets until I’d create an exit from the game. Now that day has come and it’s not as easy as I thought it would be. I’m getting older and want to branch out—spread my wings. And I can’t do that with my hands half dirty. I know Big D won't take this well. But I have to tell him. Once that happens I can deal with his beloved daughter.
Tara.
Tara has been an issue for a while now. She’s starting to let the money and the life get to her. There’s no love for me but for the lifestyle she’s grown accustomed to instead. I’m trying to keep shit together for appearance sake but I don’t know how much longer I can compromise my happiness. 

I don’t know what the hell I was thinking letting people get in my head telling me I should be with her.
Who am I kidding?
I know what it was. It was her father, Big D, who I admired and respected so much I’d do anything for him. I still would. I just can’t sell my soul to this dude. I’m a man now and I need to make changes in my life that I can live with. I know I can no longer live like
this
. I need a fresh perspective…almost like a new start.

I’m successful by many measures. My businesses are doing extremely well. I can have almost any woman of my picking. I have good friends in high places. I’ve traveled the world
—even have friends in distant lands. I have my health and good sense. Who wouldn’t respect this life? What man would turn this down?
I would
. I don’t have family—a family who genuinely cares for me and not because I’m cheese-maker, either. I am thirty-six years old with no children; no one to pass a legacy down to. 

Hell, I don’t even have an old lady that I would want to have children with. I’m tickled when I think about asking Tara to start a family. Even if I were truly interested, which I am not, she’d laugh at the thought of tarnishing her precious body. Oh, and of course that would create the perfect opportunity for her to ask for a ring. That’s a question I’m
tired of hearing from people.
When are you going to get married?
When are you going to marry Tara
?
When are you going to pop the question to my daughter?
When are you going to marry me?
She doesn’t even know how to be a woman. She doesn’t cook, clean, listen, hold a selfless conversation, be financially independent, only fends for herself. I don’t think she knows how to keep a checkbook. She has no career goals other than shopping.

Tara’s a beautiful woman with
smooth golden skin, naturally wavy hair, slit gorgeous brown eyes with long eyelashes, decent body, very polished and knows how to interface with people of affluence. That came from her upbringing. Her parents thought she could counterbalance my coarse nature. Now that I’ve evolved as a man, no thanks to her, she’s more like dead weight. I need change.

“Babe, what are you doing up?” Tara
called out from the bed a few feet away interrupting my introspective thoughts.

“I’m alright. Go back to sleep.” I ambled out of the room needing my space. I was able find my way back to sleep an hour or so later.

I woke up on the couch when s
omething was shoving me disturbing my breathing. I opened my eyes and saw Tara. She was trying to saddle on top of me. I knew what this meant, she wanted to fuck. I wasn’t in the mood.

“What are you doing?”
I barked.

“You know what I’m doing. It’s been so long and you know you
love
it first thing in the morning.” She wiggled her hips on my crotch.

“Not now
,” I grumbled as I managed to turn over on the couch with her still on top of me. I buried my face into the pillow.

“Damn it! What the hell is going on here? Oh, now you don’t want to
sleep with me?!” she jeered viciously as she leaped from the couch.

“What?” I asked as I pulled my head up from the pillow.

“You heard what the hell I said! Who are you fucking now or is there some erectile issues going on that you don’t want me to know about?” She was goading me and knew better than to think I’d fall for it.

“Right now isn’t a good time.
” I turned my head to face the back of the couch and murmured. “I’m not in the mood for this shit.”

“When is a good time? You haven’t touched me in weeks. I’ve been throwing myself on you and you act as if you don’t give a damn. And last night at
dinner, when my parents started making jokes about grandchildren you froze the hell up like someone spoke of murder. And when marriage came up you disappeared from the conversation and didn’t say another word the rest of the evening except for goodnight. I’m no damn fool. Who is she? If you’re going to be out there slinging your dick to all those—” she attempted her first round of shots.

“Hold up
! Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” My voice was harsher than I intended it to be as I rose from the sofa annoyed by her dramatic antics. “You’re the last one around here who needs to be throwing around accusations. You don’t think I know about your indiscretions?”

My
scowl burned her slanted brown eyes. She looked as if she’d seen a ghost. I’d never blacked out on her like that before but she was getting out of pocket and shit was getting out of control.

“What happened between you and
Dwayne?” Tara stilled in place and her eyes turned haunted. This topic was the last thing she had been expecting. “You think that shit didn’t come back to me?” I continued and my voice rose to a new octave as I stood from the couch. “Now what the fuck type of position do you think that puts me in? Niggas looking at me like
you gotta get at ole boy!
You wanna know what the truth is? I ain’t give no orders yet because I really don’t give a fuck. What you did was plain ole’ trashy. And I don’t get my hands dirty with fucking trash!”

I smacked the Hongwu period vase that sat on the side table to the floor. I had to hit something in order not to knock the hell out of her. I seethed as I stormed away. I had to get the hell out of there. But not before I caught her mouth swing open as if I had two heads.
She wasn't expecting my discovery. Because I sat on the information for months she thought she was getting away with it. I quickly threw on the suit I had worn the night before and left her Brentwood Heights apartment.

I drove to Marina Del Rey where I’d bought a hi
gh-rise earlier in the year. I’d just had it furnished. I still had my house right outside of Pasadena but I needed a place where no one could find me, a place of escape and solace. Here, there was no telephone. If I needed to make a call, I could do it from one of my cells.

Turning the key into the apartment brought immediate peace of mind. I walked in and took in the welcoming energy and admired the prestige of the place. It was a spacious 3,000 square-footer with
four bedrooms, five and a half bathrooms, twelve-foot ceilings, a library, formal dining room, and a private terrace. This was more than enough room for me, but I bought it from a friend of mine who was divorced two years ago and bought this place in haste before the ink was dried on the divorce decree. He called this his bachelor pad. He remarried about eighteen months later and moved his new found family to Africa where he’d be working on a movie for nearly a year. I knew how those Hollywood marriages worked. I was so desperate to escape my everyday hum-drum that I would’ve bought a dog house to move into if it brought half of what this place did to me.

I
powered off my cells, showered and jumped in the bed. When I had awakened the clock read six p.m. I couldn’t believe I’d slept so hard for so long. It must be this place; it’s so peaceful. I rubbed my eyes and reached for the cells to power them back on and listen to my messages trying to remember the last time I’d turned off all phones. In fact, I don’t think I’d
ever
turned off all phones.

The first phone I checked was my Blackberry,
which was the business line. There were thirteen messages, most of which were reminder calls about tonight’s feature at my latest club, Cobalt, in Hollywood. We rented it out to some minor dance league. It was a little risqué in my opinion but my manager was eager to book the group. I had to see it for myself to be sure it wasn’t something that went against the image that I envisioned for the place. I try at all cost to avoid micromanaging in hopes for success in earning the trust of my employees. I’d hoped this didn’t prove otherwise.

Next, I checked my iPhone where I take my personal calls.
Just as I imagined there were several calls from Tara. She managed to cry on most of them swearing my accusations had no basis to them. In one message, she offered approaching Dwayne with her by my side as if that would prove anything. That clown wouldn’t admit shit to me. More than Tara, he knew who I was and what the consequences of his actions could do to him and his budding career. I’m sure he was surprised that I hadn’t confronted him yet—
shit, so was I
. Another message from Tara assured me she wouldn’t ask about the “M” word again. She didn’t get it.

What was surprising was the message from her father, Big D. It went like, “Hey man, you know I don’t like getting in the middle of a lover’s quarrel but my wife’s on my back saying Tara called her crying. She never mentioned the cause but I wanted to know if we needed to talk…you know…man to man. Let me know.”

Unbelievable! Does she really want me to talk to her fuckin’ father?
His tone was even but the details surrounding this entire situation was fucking insane.

I returned a few calls and made arrangements to be at the club at around
eight p.m. I showered again and realized I had no fresh clothes to throw on. I forgot that I hadn’t moved any of my personal items in yet. I kept debating when I would; I had no rush other than wanting asylum here at the Marina occasionally. I also needed to decide if I wanted to keep the crib in Pasadena or sell it.

After long deliberation, I came to the conclusion that I had to free-ball it to the house in Pasadena. I’d hoped I wouldn’t get into an accident on the 10 or 405, be taken to the hospital and surprise the nurses.

About forty-five minutes later, I was pulling into my driveway when I noticed something in front of my door. When I got out of the car and approached the door, I saw there were flowers…about six dozen of them. I knew automatically who they were from. I pulled an envelope from one of them and my suspicions were correct—
Tara
. I wasn’t in the mood to even think of her. Leaving the flowers where I found them, I strolled into the house. I checked my home voicemail and again, the same messages from the cells.  I called the club to announce my soon arrival and had them order food, I was starving. I cleaned up—again to feel fresh, dressed and got out of dodge.

Jumping on the 110
, I headed to Sunset Blvd in Hollywood. When I arrived, I was taken by the amount of people out and nearly blocking the entrance. Most of them were gorgeous women. The more I saw the angrier I became.
I knew this wasn’t a good idea!
I went in and scanned the main room. There were three levels at Cobalt but I recalled my manager telling me that only the first floor was being used tonight. I went up to the administrative area that was on the third floor. My office oversaw the entire main room and faced the stage.

From the time I entered the reception area
, all eyes were on me waiting to take cues from my demeanor. I wasn’t in the best of moods that night.
Hell
—I hadn’t been in good spirits in months. Because I was aware of my disposition caused by my life’s unhappy state as of late, I tried to develop a conscious to be as pleasant as possible to the staff.

Tracy, my assistant manager, had Filemina’s Soul Food waiting for me. As I walked into
my office she was unloading the “to go” order onto the plate at the table next to the window that provided the view of the club. My stomach growled louder than a motherfucker.

I greeted everyone and asked for a
rundown of the evening. Tracy, a dark-skinned, petite woman with a punk-rocker Mohawk haircut, informed me that I had quite a few messages—most of them from Tara. To change the subject I asked about tonight’s function and how that was flowing. She assured me everything was running smoothly and on time.  I went into the bathroom located in my office, on the opposite side of the conference area, to wash my hands so that I could eat. I sat down to feast on baked catfish, macaroni & cheese, candied yams and cabbage.

“Ms. Filemina had Johnny put some peach cobbler in there complimentary,” Tracy said while tapping on her electronic tablet.

“Okay, thanks.” Ms. Filemina had always been gracious to
my staff and me over the years. We’ve always thrown her business anytime we could.