After Hours (6 page)

“No, I just find it amusing that we somehow ended up with matching scars.”

“What?”

He tapped the side of his cheek. “I tripped too, figuratively speaking.”

Amera stared at him. She didn’t understand what he was talking about. She turned up the lights and looked at him again, this time seeing the tiny scar on the side of his face. She hadn’t noticed it before and he’d cleverly covered most of it with some makeup, but there was a slight swelling that gave it away.

“Well it was bound to happen,” Amera said with an air of nonchalance.

“What?”

“One of the workers punching you.”

To her surprise the corner of his mouth kicked up in a quick grin and he nodded. “Now choose a ring.” Curtis called to the jeweler to join them. “He came all this way, let’s make it worth his while.” He lifted a glass of wine. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to marry me.” A malicious grin crossed his face. “Though that would annoy the old man, wouldn’t it? I could just imagine his face if I showed up with you as my fiancée.”

“That’s something you’d only have the pleasure of imagining because I’d never marry you.”

Curtis sipped his wine, unfazed by her words then set the glass down. “Go on. I said choose one.”

“But--”

“I thought women liked large sparkly things. Especially when they’re expensive.”

“Sir.”

Curtis picked one up. “I think this one looks nice. No, wait,” he said putting it down and picking up another. “This one is better.” He shoved it on her ring finger then held up her hand. “Mrs. Curtis Bishop,” he said to himself in a low, grim tone.

Amera pulled her hand away, a shadow of unease coursing through her. “Sir?”

“Okay,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You’re free to go now.”

“But, sir--”

“Good night, Em.”

Amera bit back a sigh of frustration. “Good night,” she said, getting her coat. She briefly wondered who’d he’d select as Crystal’s replacement, but then cast the thought aside. She wouldn’t be around to find out.

“I told you not to try. The man has a heart made of ice.”

“Hmm,” Amera said, hanging up her thick winter coat in the tiny office her friend Florence Dean used at Peale House. After the ruined proposal dinner, and Curtis’ cryptic behavior, Amera didn’t feel like going home just yet and decided to visit her friend. Meeting her had been fortuitous. She’d met the attractive brown skinned woman with elaborately designed tight braids and a big smile at a holding facility, when she had first arrived in the US, and then lost touch. They had only been there for two days, before they were separated, and sent to different parts of the country.

Florence’s upbringing had been harder than hers. Amera had the benefit of a good education. Amera had no memory of living anywhere but in an orphanage, and being told stories of how she was left on the doorsteps of the first orphanage at about three years old, with a note: “This is my daughter, America, please take care of her.” She was called Amera for short, and given the surname Thurston, when she was christened by the people who ran the orphanage, an independent Christian organization. She later learned she was one of five children to be dropped off that day. Her memory of the orphanage didn’t stand out, but she didn’t have any terrifying tales either. Amera lived there until she was about seven, then it closed and all the children were transferred to Wenthrop Children’s Home, a privately run facility. This was where she got a solid education. The founder of the home believed in strict discipline, not cruel, and education was paramount. She stayed at the children’s home until she was eighteen, gaining experience working with the younger children, as she took on the role of being a big sister to most of them. Then the war came. Florence wasn’t so lucky. She had been raised in a small West African village, and had been the only girl, amongst six brothers.

Her mother was a sickly woman, so by the time Florence was six, she was forced to do most of the chores, and soon found herself taking care of the family. She was unable to go to school on a regular basis, but had been able to get some schooling, on and off, until she was forced to drop out when she turned thirteen. That’s when she was promised in marriage to a man three times her age, and decided to run off to the main town to make a better life for herself. Unfortunately, she found things more difficult, and eventually ended up using her body to survive on the streets, before she was taken in by a Christian Humanitarian AID organization, where she eventually finished her high school education, and got an opportunity to go to America.

After losing touch, Amera had come across Peale House quite by accident, after seeing the artwork of one of the residents featured in a local newspaper and then spotting Florence’s face. Amera contacted her right away and they had had a heartfelt reunion, taking care to only talk about the present instead of the pain from the past. Amera was eager to help her friend with her efforts, wanting to give back the advantages she’d had at the orphanage and Wenthrop Children’s Home. She knew the importance and power of education and hard work. So for the past three years she’d tried to get the additional funding Peale House needed to expand and provide better services for their clients.

But she had become frustrated. Over the past three years, she had helped them try several approaches to get funding from Curtis’ company and others like his. Trying to gain interest through different means such as a newsletter, writing articles, having an on-line blog, and even creating several videos featuring the services they offered. But each year the answer was the same—no--and interest in the facility remained negligible. She couldn’t gain the extra funding they needed, which didn’t make sense to her. She was used to succeeding.

On several occasions, Florence tried to persuade her to stop. She told her that Peale House was getting by and doing what it was committed to, in spite of the lack of funding, but Amera wouldn’t give up. She wasn’t used to failing and wouldn’t start now.

“Thanks for the food you sent. It really made the volunteers happy.”

“I caught him during a moment of weakness. Not that he has many,” Amera said thinking of Curtis’ refusal to fund the proposal. She took off her gloves and sat down.

Her friend stared at her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Amera blinked confused. “Tell you what?”

“That you’re getting married?” Florence said, her gaze fixated on Amera’s hand.

Amera glanced down at the ring. She’d completely forgotten about it. “No, Curtis gave it to me. As a joke,” she quickly added when Florence’s eyes widened. “It’s nothing serious.”

Florence came around the desk and lifted Amera’s hand. “It looks pretty serious to me.”

“His marriage proposal, or rather non-proposal, went south and he wanted to spend money. It’s nothing.”

“No, don't take it off,” Florence said covering Amera’s hand before she could remove the ring. “It looks so good on you. You chose the right one.”

“I didn’t choose it, he did.”

Florence clicked her tongue. “He’s a bastard, but he’s got great taste.”

“If it weren’t for the nosebleeds, I wouldn’t even think he was human.”

“The what?” Florence asked returning to her chair.

“Never mind,” Amera quickly said, ashamed that she'd even mentioned them.

“How long is he going to be the only man in your life?”

“What?”

“Aren’t you even interested in having a normal life and relationship? You’ve been working for him for five years!”

“I have a normal life and relationships are not on the agenda.” She didn’t want to tell her friend about being let go.

Florence pointed at her. “That’s your problem, you should stop living by agendas.”

Amera looked at the ring, thoughtful. “I wonder how much I could get for this?”

“Don’t sell it.”

“Why not? You could use the money.”

“True, but I don’t want it that way. Keep it at least until the New Year. It’s a gift, you should accept it. It’s the holiday season, remember?”

It’s something I try to forget
. “Hmmm.” She stood. “Well, I just came by to tell you the status of things.”

“I wish you wouldn’t worry about us. We’re managing.”

“You should be thriving,” Amera said putting on her coat. She felt her friend settled for too little. She left the office and headed down the hall when a flash of pink caught her eye. She stopped and looked inside the dining room and saw the same little girl from her video wearing a tutu, sitting in the corner.

“Shouldn’t she be in bed?”

“Yes, she should. Maya!” Florence said and the little girl’s head snapped up and her eyes widened with fear.

“Wait,” Amera said before Florence could scold her. “I want to talk to her.”

“She’s being--”

“Just give me a second.” Amera walked over to the little girl, Curtis’ words echoing in her mind.
Why isn’t she dancing? Get her to dance next time and maybe I’ll be interested.
She didn’t believe him, but it was worth a shot. “Would you dance for me?”

The little girl’s eyes lit up with joy then her expression grew wary.

“You don’t believe me?”

She shook her head.

Amera knelt down to her level. “My name is Ms. Thurston and I work with a nasty old grouch who likes to see little girls dance. That’s the only way to get him to smile. Would you help me get him to smile?”

“Is he sad?” Maya asked.

Amera paused, surprised by the question. She never thought of Curtis being sad or really being anything. “Yes,” she lied, deciding to be simplistic.

“Okay.”

Amera grabbed a chair and pulled out her cell phone so she could videotape her.

“I’m ready.”

“Don’t you need music?”

“Nope.” Maya stood still a moment then closed her eyes. She slowly opened them then started to dance. She moved to a sound only she could hear, her motions were at times childish and awkward, but her intent was pure and beautiful. She danced with joy and it echoed in every step.

“Thank you,” Amera said when Maya stopped and bowed.

“Now it’s time for bed,” Florence said.

Maya pulled off a bracelet made of pink plastic beads. “Give this to him. I made it.”

“It’s lovely. Thank you.”

“And I--”

“Didn’t you hear me? It’s time for bed,” Florence said.

“It’s okay,” Amera said taking Maya’s hand. “I’ll take her. Goodnight.” She smiled at her friend then walked Maya upstairs to her room.

***

Florence’s smile quickly disappeared once Amera was out of view. Damn, she didn’t need this. Seconds later, she felt, rather than heard, the man who walked up behind her. The man who shared both her business and her bed.

“I thought I told you to cuts ties with that woman,” he said.

“It’s not that easy.”

“We can’t have her looking too closely at what we’re doing here. We had it good before she--”

Florence turned to him and touched his cheek. He wasn’t a good looking man, but he didn’t need to be to please her. They thought alike and had a bond she’d never had with anyone else. “I know. Don’t worry, she’ll give up soon.”

“You said that two years ago.”

Florence kissed the hard lines of his mouth. “She won’t find anything,” she said in a soft purr then flashed her winning smile. “I’m very careful.”

***

She still didn’t feel like going home. Amera wandered around the mall thinking about Maya’s dance and the gift she’d given her. The thought of the bracelet made her both angry and sad. Curtis wasn’t worth it, but Maya didn’t know that and the thought of helping someone had made the little girl happy. She’d told Amera that she didn’t believe in Santa Clause, but she did believe in magic and that dancing made her feel magical. Amera didn’t quite understand what she meant since she’d never believed in such things.

She looked down at the ring on her finger. She really should sell it. It would be a great surprise for Florence and help Peale House. How could she let so much money just sit on her finger? The answer to that question left her mind the moment she collided with a woman glancing down at her phone. Amera hit the woman hard and stumbled back. So did the woman, losing her grip of her cell phone and it clattered to the ground.

“Are you okay?” Or at least that was what she was about to say, but a man rushed up to the other woman’s side first, eager to be her rescuing knight.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, as if he’d come across a trauma victim.

“No,” she said with a slight laugh. “It’s my fault.”

The man helped the other woman to her feet. Amera saw the woman’s face and stared amazed--the angel stealer. How could she have met her twice in two days? She picked up the woman’s phone and handed it to her. “It’s not broken. I’m glad you’re all right,” she said then started to walk away.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“I was sorry about--”

Amera shook her head. “It’s okay.”