Loose Ends (17 page)

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Authors: Electa Rome Parks

BOOK: Loose Ends
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Once in the restroom, I washed my shaking hands in the sink and wiped my flushed face with a paper towel. I was somewhat composed after that and slowly walked back to the lobby with a smile plastered on my face.
 
 
By the time I made it back to the tropical-looking lobby, our names were called. Brice and I followed the tall, dreadlock-wearing waiter to a booth over in the far left corner. There were lit candles on the table, and, as Jamaican music played slowly in the background, a cozy, intimate atmosphere was created. After taking our drink orders of bottled Perrier for me and a bottle of Jamaican beer for Brice, the waiter left us to study our menus for our entrée selections. Brice remembered that appetizers always filled me up too quickly, so we passed on those. He didn’t even have to look at the menu. It was obvious that he had been to the restaurant many times. He knew what he wanted. Brice proceeded to give me his recommendations, which consisted of jerk chicken wings, shrimp skewers, Caribbean egg rolls, braised beef oxtail with butter beans, and curried goat.
 
 
I used to hate when we were married and he’d order what he thought I would like. Just like a child, I didn’t have a say in my meal selection back then. The waiter returned and we made our selections. I purposely didn’t order any of Brice’s recommendations. He just looked at me. Finally we started to relax and sip our drinks.
 
 
Brice spoke first: “It was nice seeing you guys the other week. It was just like old times,” he said his eyes never leaving my face.
 
 
“Not quite like old times. That’s seriously stretching it,” I responded in an indignant tone.
 
 
Brice picked up on what I was implying. “Mia, you know what I mean. It was good seeing you again. It had been a long time.”
 
 
“Yeah, I’m glad you could reunite with Christian. You were always like a brother to him, and he missed you.” I pretended to be preoccupied with folding my cloth napkin in my lap.
 
 
“What about you? Did you miss me, Mia?” Brice asked in a serious, sexy tone.
 
 
“What kind of question is that?”
 
 
“I think it is a valid one. Did you miss me?” he asked again with his eyes caressing, seducing my face.
 
 
I started having flashbacks, started wringing my hands in my napkin, doing anything to get out of answering his question or looking directly at him.
 
 
“Mia, can you look at me? Look at me. Is the question really that hard? Did
you
miss me?” he asked in a demanding tone.
 
 
I looked up, looked him dead in the eyes, and said, “No, no, Brice, I didn’t.”
 
 
Brice stopped in middrink and laughed. “Damn, that’s cold! You’re a cold lady, Mia.”
 
 
At that moment, our waiter, luckily walked over with two steaming plates of mouthwatering dishes.
 
 
As we ate our meals, there was more conversation, mostly from Brice.
 
 
“How’s your food?” he asked.
 
 
“It’s okay,” I said without looking up at him.
 
 
“Just okay? See, you should have ordered what I told you to.” I did look up at him after that comment. Brice was smiling.
 
 
At one point, I had gotten salad dressing on the side of my face, above my mouth. Brice leaned over and started to wipe it off with his fingers, then proceeded to lick it off.
 
 
“No, I got it,” I shouted, a little too loudly. I quickly picked up the nearest napkin. His touch was bringing back too many memories.
 
 
“Here, let me get it. You still don’t have it all.”
 
 
“Brice, stop, I’ll do it!”
 
 
Brice reclined back in his seat and looked at me with raised eyebrows. “Mia, I thought you were more comfortable and relaxed with me by now. I don’t bite, baby. A man can change, you know. Ask my wife. Ask Kree. I touch her with love.”
 
 
“Brice, it’s not even like that. Just don’t—”
 
 
“Oh, so you
are
comfortable with me? Then why can’t you even look me in the eyes when you speak to me? Why is it that every time I’m close to you, you flinch? You think I haven’t noticed that? At one point, I knew you better than you knew yourself. Knew you like I know the back of my hand. Why is it that a simple act of wiping food from your mouth makes you freak out? Explain that.”
 
 
“Why does it matter how I feel about you? It doesn’t matter. We are history. End of story. It ended the last time you beat the shit out of me. Remember? Or how soon we forget.” I felt my temper rising.
 
 
Brice leaned forward in his seat. “I want to make it up to you. I know I hurt you, Mia, and I’m terribly sorry.”
 
 
“You owe me nothing. You don’t have to make anything up to me either. I’m happy with my life the way it is. Christian makes my heart sing—something you were unable to do. I love Christian with all my heart and soul.”
 
 
“Touché. I know that, and I’m truly happy for you and Christian. He’s a good man.”
 
 
“I know.”
 
 
Brice nodded his head in amusement, gulped down the last of his beer and signaled the waiter for another.
 
 
“Mia, I know you said, with much passion, that you didn’t miss me, but I believe you did.” Brice looked me over with an arrogant expression and said, “Yeah, I know you did.”
 
 
“Think whatever you want, Brice; that’s your prerogative,” I stated nonchalantly.
 
 
“Do you want to know how I know?” he boldly asked.
 
 
I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m sure you will enlighten me.”
 
 
“I thought about you a lot over the years, what we had. How good we were together.”
 
 
“Ummph.”
 
 
“No, hear me out, Mia. Of course, I couldn’t say all this the other evening, but I’ve missed you. I miss touching your spot and feeling you cream from my touch, from just my hand. I miss feeling and seeing your nipples swell and respond to my tongue and mouth. I miss your warmth when I touched you between your spread legs, and I miss hearing you call out my name so softly like you used to do in the throes of passion. ‘Brice, oh, Brice. Oh, baby.’ Remember that? Just knowing I was the one giving you all that pleasure . . . Your eyes would glaze over, your legs would start trembling, and I’d know you were there . . . Yes, I miss all that. You were so giving.”
 
 
I had heard enough! “Brice, I’m outta here. You are a freaking piece of work! You claim to be Christian’s friend, but you are such a lying fucker. The nerve of you. I don’t want to hear this shit! What is all this BS you’re proclaiming? What about Christian? Talk about all the times you beat me down, talk about my black eyes, my bruises, my broken wrist—remember
that.
Well, I can’t forget. Talk about that! Yeah, talk about that shit!” I said in a low, menacing voice between clenched teeth. I stood up from the table, ready to book.
 
 
“Mia, calm the fuck down! You didn’t let me finish,” he demanded, roughly grabbing my arm. “See, you are still running from me. Sit down, Mia! Please. As I was saying, I know I did you wrong, very wrong. I’m not proud about that time in my life. You were my woman and I hurt you. Badly. Believe me, I’m happy that you’re happy. And I’m very happy with Kree. She’s the woman I always needed in my life. Kree knows how to please me.”
 
 
Brice left the
and you didn’t
part hanging in the air, unspoken.
 
 
I sat there with a frown on my face and stared at him. I rubbed and massaged my wrist where he had grabbed it. I’d probably have a small bruise.
 
 
Shortly afterward lunch ended, and Brice insisted on paying the bill. He refused to take my money. After walking me safely to my car, which he insisted on doing, Brice gently kissed me on my left cheek, right above my lips, before I had the chance to object, and thanked me for having lunch with him. He told me to tell Christian hello and that he would call him soon. But I would never mention this lunch with Brice to Christian.
 
 
As I watched him walk away, so arrogant, confident and determined, I realized I was excited. Dampness. Wetness. Throbbing. My nipples, straining against my top, were hard as rocks underneath my halter top.
Damn.
My one weakness had just walked off into the sunset. Trouble had reentered my life. He had already changed my world once.
 
 
Christian
 
 
Today was like one of those days you see on postcards—picture-perfect. Deep, rich blue sky without a cloud in sight, greenery everywhere the eyes could see, birds chirping in the trees, fragrant flowers in bloom. Kids out riding their bikes and scooters, shouting to each other, having a great time. Just a picture-perfect summer day.
 
 
It was a few days after the first of July, roughly a month since the get-together. The Fourth of July had come and gone with no great fanfare. My clan and I decided to rise and shine and attend morning service at Bowler Rock Baptist Church. One of my employees, Joseph Webber, had been inviting me to visit for months now.
 
 
Every Sunday, something else always comes up—namely, sleep. I admit, my family definitely needs to do the church thing more often. Most definitely. As it
is
now, once a month is the norm. Most Sunday mornings find Mia and me wrapped up in each other’s arms after late-night through early-morning lovemaking sessions.
 
 
I know my moms is rolling over in her grave, because when I was growing up, I was in church every Sunday with her, sitting in the front pew. She’d place Randy, my older brother, and me in the first or second pew and would head up to the choir stand. Moms had a beautiful voice, like an angel, and would occasionally lead songs. I used to love to hear her sing. I miss that so much. I miss her. Yeah, those were the days.
 
 
However, things change. Events change a person—they change your total philosophy and take on life. And a lot of times, we never see it happening. It’s such a gradual change that it becomes a part of our core being without our ever noticing. My moms died; before that, my brother was shot and killed. I felt like God had let me down. If he could let bad things happen to good people . . . well, there wasn’t a need for church and spirituality.
 
 
Now, with a family and child of my own and after experiencing and seeing a lot more in my life, I was feeling a strong push to gain back that feeling that church had brought to me in my youth. Peace, serenity and comfort.
 
 
Bowler Rock Baptist Church was our site of praise that morning. Service started promptly at eleven A.M. Mia, Lyric and I had a wonderful time. The church flock welcomed us with open arms. We felt genuine warmth and hospitality that morning. Bowler Rock was under the direction and leadership of Reverend Shipler.
 
 
Reverend Shipler appeared to be in his mid-forties or so, medium build, clean cut, and the members of the church adored him. The church itself was traditional brick and still had that old-time, Southern-charm feel to it. It hadn’t grown too large, too prosperous or too arrogant that the real purpose had been forgotten. That was the problem with many African American churches in the community. With everybody hugging, kissing, smiling and welcoming us, we felt right at home.
 
 
That morning, the reverend spoke of the power of prayer. In his thunderous voice, a voice that embodied a spirit wise beyond his years, he spoke of how society had forgotten how to fall down on its knees and pray. When prayers go up, blessings come down. Our parents and grandparents knew the power of prayer. Hell, a lot of us are still around today because somebody prayed for us. Prayed for our well-being and protection.
 
 
As I listened to his message, his charismatic bass voice put me into a trancelike state. I glanced around at the congregation responding and holding on to his every word and gesture. There were a lot of amens and hallelujahs being shouted! The beautiful, graceful mothers and the stately deacons, sitting in their special corners, had years of wisdom and knowledge amongst them.

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