The Eternal Engagement (21 page)

CHAPTER 52

Mona

 

T
en hours had passed since she'd kicked Katherine out of Lincoln's hotel room. Where in the world was he? Had Mona escaped being unhappy with one man only to face being disappointed by another? He had to come back; his gun was in the drawer, his backpack on the floor.

Were Katherine and Steven setting her up? Why was Katherine in Lincoln's room naked? He'd better not have fucked her. Mona felt trapped in the unknown. So many questions, but there was no one to question.

If she left the room, she couldn't get back in unless Lincoln was there. In case she had to leave abruptly, she refused to get too comfortable. She'd showered earlier, put on a fresh pair of underwear and her old clothes.

She could check into a separate room. Maybe the room next door was unoccupied. Wasn't like Lincoln knew she was there. If she were in 12124, she'd hear him come in. She could knock on his door. If he asked about Katherine, she could go off on him and say, “Why the hell you asking me about her? You invited her to see you too?”

Kicking Katherine out and staying in his room was her right. He'd invited her. Mona picked up the cordless, pressed the dining button. “Yes, I'd like to order two steak dinners medium, a bottle of merlot. Make that two bottles of merlot. Two large bottles of water. And a pint of strawberry ice cream.”

The ice cream with chilled strawberries could drizzle between her vaginal lips and give her orgasmic chills. If Lincoln arrived in time for dessert, he could taste her stickiness. If not, she'd entertain herself, then shower again. At the moment, Mona was what she hadn't been in years—bored.

“That'll be one hundred forty-seven dollars cash.”

Cash meant Lincoln didn't have a credit card, or like she'd done in Bakersfield, he didn't give them his credit card to cover incidentals. “No problem,” Mona said, ending the call.

She stood in the window. If Lincoln never showed up, at least she had enough money to leave, but where would she go? Definitely not back to Selma anytime soon. Didn't want to deal with her mother's suspicions. Maybe Katherine called Lincoln. They could be cozy and she could be lying naked next to Lincoln at a different hotel or in a different room.

Mona dialed the front desk. “Katherine Clinton's room.”

The receptionist said, “Hold, please.”

“Aw, hell, no. This can't be happening.”

“We don't have a guest by that name,” the receptionist said.

Mona exhaled with relief. But where was Lincoln? He had to come back for his things. “Ughhh!” She'd give him until tomorrow. If he wasn't back by then, she'd leave.

The keycard lock clicked.

Mona hopped with joy. She wasn't sure if she wanted to get in the bed, bury herself under the sheet, and surprise him or hide behind the door. Or in the bathroom. She grabbed the white down-feather comforter, wrapped herself up to her neck, then stood facing the window with her back to the door.

The door opened, then closed.

“I'm sorry, baby,” he said. “I should've been back earlier.”

Mona sniffed the air. The familiar stench of whiskey invaded her nostrils. She heard a loud plop, turned around. He was facedown on the mattress fully dressed.

Standing at the edge of the bed, she turned his head sideways to get a clear view. “What happened to you?”

There was no response. Lincoln didn't move. His face was covered with dirt. She removed the combat boots from his feet. Undressed him. She checked his pockets—room key, ID, and thirty-six cents. After placing his items on the nightstand, she got the plastic laundry bags from the closet, put his clothes in one. She tossed his filthy shoes into the other bag. Surely they could clean a pair of combat boots. Sitting at the desk, she filled out the dry cleaning slips, then hung the bags outside the door.

Knock, knock, knock
. “Room service.”

Mona tossed the comforter on top of Lincoln. Opening the door, she'd forgotten about the steak dinners but was glad food had arrived. “Please be as quiet as possible,” she whispered. “You can roll the table over there.” She pointed at the space between the wall and the bed.

She glanced at the check. An eighteen percent gratuity was included. She gave the delivery person one hundred and fifty dollars, then closed the door, secured the latch.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she poured a glass of wine, then carved tiny pieces of steak. As she sipped the merlot, she stared at Lincoln.

Freshman year at Selma High, he was the sexiest boy she'd ever seen. All the girls were flirting with him, including her. Mona noticed how he walked tall and proud like he was a superstar. Later they'd all find out that William Lincoln was more than a star; he was a savior of sorts. He saved the football program from being terminated. Led their school to championships four years in a row for the first time in the school's history. He stood up to bullies who picked on smaller kids. He'd always done what was right for others.

On their first date, he didn't try to go all the way with her. Although her hormones were racing to feel his naked flesh next to her innocent body, he took his time, waited until she convinced him she was ready.

Finally, tenth grade, they went all the way. Afterward, she'd worried if he'd treat her the same the next day. Would he respect her? Would he still love her? Would he tell everyone?

The next day he'd brought her a signed football to school. Said, “Hey, Mona Lisa. Catch.”

She'd caught the ball with one hand, tucked it to her side like he'd taught her. When she looked down, the ball was signed, “Lincoln loves Mona Lisa forever . . . my gurl . . . 09/01/1998. At fifteen she thought love was forever. Now that she was twenty-eight, sitting less than two feet from him, she knew she was right.

Tossing footballs, rolling around on the field, kissing him in the hallway between classes were some of her best memories. When he'd wrapped his arms around her she felt safe, like nothing or no one could hurt her, except him. She still felt that way.

Mona exhaled. Deep in her heart she realized he was still the love of her life. She knew there was a purpose for her being there with Lincoln. She prayed the purpose was positive. Why wouldn't it be?

CHAPTER 53

Steven

 

W
hat a difference one woman made in his overall attitude toward women. His wife made him hate women. He'd invested too much in her. Trying to make her life his life, he realized work, Mona, and conversations with his parents were his only constants.

The woman who gave him a ride home yesterday made him want to fall in love with her. He thought he loved his wife, couldn't live without her. His wife made him laugh, but she didn't make him happy.

Steven clapped his hands, stomped his foot, nodded his head while singing aloud, “I'm gonna have a little talk with Jesus . . . Tell Him all about my troubles . . .” He sat in church between Katherine and Jeremiah. Ms. Clinton was seated three pews in front of them.

Although his visit to the house of the Lord was an unanticipated first date, it brought him back to his childhood roots. He knew a lot of lyrics to quite a few of the spiritual hymns he'd learned growing up. Would God really forgive him for
all
he'd done? There was only one way to find out, but Steven wasn't ready to fully repent for his sins and he did not get up when the pastor said, “The doors to the church are open.” He had a few more premeditated sins to commit before giving his life to the Lord.

Katherine whispered in his ear, “Thanks for coming with us.”

He smiled, nodded. The pleasure was truly his. Funny how one person could have a positive impact in his life. Katherine made him want to be a better man. Though he'd admit he led Mona down a crooked path, Mona never made him want to detour.

“Do we have any visitors with us today?” the pastor asked.

Three people stood. Katherine tapped his knee. He shook his head.

No way.
The way he saw it, they were all visitors, transients. He wasn't different from the so-called members that showed up every now and then or on holidays. Maybe he'd be back next Sunday. It was too soon to make that commitment.

“Will the church stand for the benediction,” the pastor said, lifting his hands to the congregation. “May the Lord watch between you and me, when we are absent one from another . . . Amen.”

When church ended, Steven said, “Jeremiah, why don't you come with me while your mother talks with her church members. We'll be outside,” Steven told Katherine.

Katherine smiled. “Make sure you keep an eye on my baby.”

A way to a mother's heart was through her kids. For Steven, that was common sense. He heard what she said, but his thoughts heard, “Baby, keep an eye on my baby.” Twenty-four hours in and they were off to a decent start. At least he hadn't done anything she hadn't approved of.

Deciding to let Katherine take the lead on establishing their relationship, he chose to do things that he hoped would make him irresistible. Unlocking his car, Steven told Jeremiah, “Look at what I have,” holding up a football. “Let me see how good you can catch.”

Jeremiah threw his suit jacket on the seat. “Let me see how good you can throw. And don't be afraid to go long,” he said, running into the open field next to the church.

Steven motioned for Jeremiah to go farther back. “Keep going. A little more.” He threw the football about twenty feet.

Jeremiah snagged the ball with one arm. The same way his dad used to do in high school. “Told ya! I'm good! Let's go for thirty!” he yelled, firing the ball back.

Steven threw the ball about thirty feet, and Jeremiah jumped in the air, caught the ball with two hands this time. Steven was impressed.

They got about two dozen throws in before Katherine came to the field. “Okay, that's enough. Let's go.”

“Mom, Mr. Cunningham is great! Can he come to my game Saturday?”

“Have you asked him?”

“Mr. Cunningham, can you come to my game on Saturday? Please,” Jeremiah asked, tossing the ball in the air and making it spin.

“If it's okay with your mom, I'd love to come.”

The part about “I'd love to come” applied more to Katherine than it did to Jeremiah.

Katherine smiled. “We'd love for you to come.”

Hopefully he wouldn't have to wait until Saturday to find out if Katherine tasted better than Mona Lisa. “Let's go get something to eat,” Steven said, leading the way to his car.

CHAPTER 54

Mona

 

 

“W
ake up! Wake up!”

Mona Lisa sprang forward, sat up straight. Her heartbeat felt like a snake's tail rattling in her chest. Her neck stiffened, eyes stretched wide. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?” She closed her eyes, fell backward onto the pillow. “Please don't point that gun at my face.” Heaving, she held her chest.

The memory of Davis lying in his own blood flooded her mind. What had Steven done with Davis's body? What would Lincoln do with her body if he killed her? “Mama, I've got to make my own mistakes” echoed in her head. If she died right here, would her mother care enough to have her body flown back to Selma? Would she have a respectable funeral? Would Steven find out about all her money and get it?

“Sit the fuck up!” he demanded.

She sat in a slumped position, praying he wouldn't pull the trigger that his finger touched. His naked flesh stood before her. His manhood hung low. Maybe she should've left his boxer briefs on him.

“Where the fuck are my shoes? My clothes? My laptop? My drawers? And where the fuck is Katherine?” he asked, pointing the gun at her head. “Don't fucking lie to me or I swear I'll shoot you.”

Mona Lisa scooted back on the bed, leaned against the headboard. She pulled the covers over her naked body. “I . . . oh, damn.” That was his laptop she'd tossed in Katherine's luggage. “Katherine took your laptop when she left.”

Lincoln shook his head. “She wouldn't do that. You're lying!” He moved closer to her, shoved the tip of the gun deep into her temple. “Where the fuck are my shoes? My shoes, bitch. Where the fuck are they?”

Bitch?
If he didn't have that gun to her head, she'd have his bitch, all right.

“Those boots stunk up the place. I put them outside the door last night so they could be dry cleaned.”

He ran to the door, snatched it opened. “There ain't shit out here! Why you fucking messing with me? Why are you here?”

Okay, trying to explain things to him wasn't working. “I'll go get your shoes and your clothes,” she said, getting out of bed.

Slam!
He closed the door with brute force. The framed picture above the bed fell flat onto the mattress.

“Damn! What's wrong with you?” She escalated her voice, hoping someone would hear them arguing and report their disturbance. “Obviously you invited me and Katherine here. You're trying to play the both of us and maybe you're the one who got played. I told you, she took your laptop. And she left you that ring that she claimed you gave her the same day you gave me mine.” Mona pointed to the nightstand next to the bed. “And you know what? You can have this one back too!” Mona said, throwing her ring to the floor.

She wanted to pitch the cheap silver band at his stupid head, but that might make him hurt her. “I'll go get your clothes,” Mona Lisa said, quickly putting on her pants and shirt, no underwear. Getting out of Lincoln's room alive was her priority.

He started crying like a baby, then abruptly stopped. He shook his head, picked up the cordless. “Yeah, do you have a dry-cleaning order for me?”

Regretting she'd ever touched his clothes, Mona eased toward the door. If she couldn't escape, at least she could lock herself in the bathroom and call for help.

He hung up the phone, then ran to her. “Where do you think you're going, soldier? You don't leave until I say so.” He snatched her biceps, pulled her an inch from his face. “You're not going anywhere until somebody brings me my clothes, and that's an order.”

Whoa.
His mental instability was frightening. Did he know who she was? Did he know who he was?

“I can buy you more clo—”

His massive hand choked the remaining words down her throat. She couldn't breathe. Clawing at her own neck, she struggled to wedge her fingers beneath his. Suddenly her feet were no longer touching the floor. She tried kicking, but her legs barely moved.

“You'd better pray my boots come back, or I'll have your head on a platter,” he said, releasing her to the floor. “You won't be so lucky next time, Mona Lisa Ellington.”

Her body slid to the carpet. Afraid if she got up he'd flash again, she decided to lie there until his clothes were delivered. What in the world happened to him? She wished it was all a game of flag football, but this was real. Now she understood this might be the reason why he hadn't contacted her sooner. She almost wished he hadn't called her at all. She thought about sitting up slowly.

Poop, poop, poop, poop, poop, poop, poop.
The familiar nonstop puttering of a helicopter hovered over the hotel.

He ran to the window. Peeped between the curtains. Looking over his shoulder, he yelled at her, “Stay down, soldier!”

Tears clouded her vision. She blinked them away. The man who always wanted to do what was right for others no longer knew the difference between right and wrong.

His naked body dove onto the carpet, then crawled toward her. He whispered, “We have to stay quiet until it's safe to fire back. The one thing we never do, soldier, is retreat.”

There were so many things she wanted to say but didn't dare mention. His upper body covered hers. His palm pressed against the nape of her neck, forcing her to kiss the carpet.

Knock, knock, knock.
“Laundry service.”

Lincoln's eyes widened. He sat up, braced his back to the wall, pointed his gun at the door.

Mona lifted her head, then whispered, “It's okay. It's your shoes.”

“My shoes?” he said, sounding like a two-year-old.

First she wanted to escape from him. Now she realized she had to protect him. “Yes, baby. Your shoes. I'll get them for you. You sit right here on the floor.”

Slowly, Mona got up, cracked the door just enough to take his belongings, then shut the door. She opened the heaviest bag first, held up his clean combat boots, sat them beside him.

He snatched them, peeped inside. Shoving on his left boot, then his right, he cried, “Randy, I thought I'd lost you, man. I promise I won't ever let this happen again.”

Lincoln got up, sat on the bed with nothing but his shoes on, stared at the black flat screen. He spread his feet six inches apart, interlocked his fingers, then stared at the floor. He whispered, “I need help, Mona Lisa. The things I've seen and the things I've done . . .” His words trailed off. Tears fell, staining his newly cleaned boots.

Mona sat beside him. “I'm not here to hurt you. I'm going to help you. You want me to call Randy?” she asked, holding his hand.

Again in a childlike voice, still staring down, he answered, “I can't. Randy is dead.”

She knew a part of William Lincoln was dead too. His sadness made her sad. Quietly she sat beside him, held his hand. Mona had no idea what it was like to lose a best friend because she'd never had one.