Love Delivered (13 page)

“Anyway, maybe Jordan’s mother could stomach blue eyed soul.”

I nod again, this time leaving for good.

In the car, I ask my assistant, Srey, in the front passenger seat, “Who’s this meeting with?”

I’m tired and in a pissy fucking mood, especially after my talk with Azmir. Just thinking about Zoey, since South Carolina, toils my stomach.

“I don’t know.” I see her checking her iPad. “It says here your father-in-law,” she drawls out dubiously.

“Srey, you do know I’m not married, right?” I can’t help the sarcasm. This shit is absurd.

“Yes, sir, I do. I don’t know who scheduled it. I can find out now.”

“We’re here already. We have security, so all should be well. Besides, I’m hungry as fuck.”

We enter the restaurant and are taken to our section right away. I stop off to take a leak then take to my reserved table where I’m given a menu right away.

While examining it, I hear, “So, you can’t wait for your guest to arrive to eat?”

I respectfully stand right away, in pure astonishment. “Michael… What are you doing in the City?”

I go to shake his hand, thrown totally off kilter. This is a huge surprise. I haven’t seen him in about a month, since Sarah’s birthday party.

“I guess I have to come to where you are since you won’t stop by the house to see Sarah anymore.”

We sit. I give a cue for privacy from all.

“I thought space would be nice for all parties,” I offer.

“I guess that’s rational thinking, considering your monumental offense,” he quickly returns.

“You don’t believe in preambles, I see.”

“I didn’t believe you did either. Not the way you busted up in my house seven years ago informing me that you impregnated my child.”

I exhale deeply. I knew this day would come sooner or later.

“Where do you want me to begin?”

I know my posture is placid, not yielding my anxiety, but that’s just who I am. The only person who can get me in a place of animation is his daughter.

“Is Zoey right in saying you got her pregnant on purpose?”

Shit.
This is harder than I anticipated. Telling him she was pregnant was so much easier. That type of slip up is the reason why millions of us are here. But my deliberate action seven years ago isn’t as common a practice.

“When I met her…” I attempt. “She was just so...” I find my finger pads scraping from the top of my head to my chin.
Shit
. That approach won’t work.
Fuck it
. “Michael, I can’t say that I’m sorry for conceiving my son. He’s been the only sure thing in my life. He’s been…mine. Something irreversible.” I hear the remorse in my voice.

Michael shakes his head. “I’m not asking you to be. That boy has brought so much joy. I don’t wish to change his existence. I couldn’t imagine my life right now without him running amok through my house—now, that’s not something I could easily explain to his mother. That young boy that brings us joy has caused her, probably, the biggest heartache of her life.”

“How so?”

“Awww…c’mon, man!” he quickly reacts to my question. I’ve never seen him so dynamic.

His statement is honestly lost upon me.

“Stenton, you’re a father just like me. You may not have been one for as long and you may not have girls, but there’s nothing worse than seeing your child walk around for years with what was once the brightest light in her eyes, now darkened by sadness. You broke her heart, man!” he declares so vehemently, droplets of spit fling from his mouth. “Zoey hasn’t been the same since she got pregnant, and it wasn’t the baby. It took years for me to discern that. No. It was you. Not being with who she believes has touched her soul.”

Michael sits back and gazes off into the distance, I assume needing a breath. “She adores that little boy; getting over the setback of her career and the disappointment from her family eventually passed, but what hasn’t is that gleam in her eyes. She doesn’t have the…vibrancy she used to.”

“And you attribute this to me?”

Michael rolls his eyes as he turns his head, and I believe I hear him suck his teeth. He’s struggling with his emotions.

“I hate to admit it, but yes. I don’t know about your connection; I wasn’t there when your…affair started. But I do know about your chemistry. All these years, you coming around stealing goo-goo looks at her every time you get a chance. Her, always looking glum when you leave family events. You, always showing for those very events, and even coordinating some. I know you love my wife, but every vacation or holiday retreat hasn’t been for Sarah Barrett…or at least not only for her. It’s because you’re crazy about that little girl of mine. I get it. But what are you gonna do about it now that it’s hit the fan?” He leans back in his seat with arched brows and an expectant expression. “You were so big and bad, barging into my home seven years ago, giving your word that you would take care of her. Now that she has a need just as fundamental as the fancy mortgage note you pay on, what you gon’ do? My child needs caring for, Rogers. Are you gonna keep your word as you assured or are you going to drop the ball?”

The proverbial ball
…

My forehead wrinkles. “Does Bernard know you’re here with what I presume to be your agenda?”

Michael has always been a proponent of Zoey’s relationship with Bernard. His disdain for me over the years has been distinct, too. I’d be remiss to not address this haunting fact.

He waves his hand, brushing off the notion. “Oh, Bernard ain’t fit to marry my daughter. He ain’t fit to marry at all. He knows nothing about caring for a woman. He’s too concerned with trying to be the next Deitrick Haddon. Too concerned with flamboyance and…having proprietary rights over her rather than honing in on Zoey’s needs. Truth be told, you staying away all these years has played into that. The support you’ve provided her makes her more desirable in his eyes. It makes her a trophy to him. You so busy all these years with your head in the sky, you ain’t been paying attention to a pussy cat wearing a bear’s mask, shaking down your tree.”        

The fuck?

I’m rendered speechless. How do you come back from that? If I’m real with myself, I’ll admit to never viewing Bernard as enough of a threat because he was in a completely different lane from me. He was lame. I’d never considered if he could take care of Zoey and Jordan because since falling in love with her, I’d made caring for her my charge, and there’s no question of what I’d do for my son. Maybe my arrogance has made me blind to the possibility of him actually pulling off marrying Zoey.

Just to think, all of this shit could’ve been settled four years ago when I was prepared to call off the
Giving Zoey Time to Grow Mission
. Had I not allowed Erika’s trickery to derail our trajectory, we could have been together today, avoiding all of this bullshit that has literally made me sick all these years. Zoey could be my wife. That could’ve been me rubbing on her dimpled ass earlier.

Fuck my life!

I sit back in my seat, still unable to meet Michael’s challenging glare. I nod. Too many thoughts—and fears of losing—running through my mind. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Then

January 2010

~
Zoey
~

“All right, gang, I think that’s all for tonight,” Dr. Phelps called our dismissal. “Next time, let’s consider Ms. Barrett’s passion, even if not her audacious ambition. She articulated a captivating pitch, but with less thought out details. Let that be our starting point,” He snorted. “…just not the destination in organizing venture capital funds.”

I couldn’t help my eye roll as I gathered my things to pack and leave. David, who many referred to as Dr. Phelps, couldn’t help his dig when closing out. At least I had a proposal. My plans may have been unpolished, but they were valid.

Since my first semester at Wharton, I’d been bitten by the entrepreneurial bug, so to speak. I wanted to spread my wings and start a business. Why not? I didn’t have a job and collecting a check from Stenton didn’t qualify as an occupation. Ironically, the substantial amount from his monthly “co-parenting” stipends—an income that I couldn’t justify, but wouldn’t reject because it made me feel connected to him, as weak a connection as it was—had been building. Stenton had been generous with me as well as what he provided for Jordan each month.

Now that I had the bug, my business plan had begun to assemble as well. I’d been in touch with Angela and even included her culinary pursuits in my plans. It seemed as though everything came together and in great timing that collided with my ambition. Getting the theoretical approval from my professor here wasn’t as fluid.  

“Was that a backhanded compliment or genuine enthusiasm for your proposal, Barrett?” Stephan Henry, a sixth generation diamond mining descendant, tossed my way.

After shrugging I mumbled, “As if I could give a crap.”

Stephan’s thin lips twitched just before he chuckled audibly.

We’d just wrapped in my
Venture Capital and the Finance of Innovation
course. I was in my second semester at Wharton, and apparently standing out amongst my privileged colleagues. I admittedly came into this program with a chip on my shoulder. I had something to prove. My classmates were all cultured and already experienced in enterprise. Many came from a long line of inheritance from businesses that had been flourishing since before my parents were born. I came from Forrest Drive of Columbia, South Carolina. My father had owned his business for years, but it never yielded the lucrative turnover these students were born into. And on top of that, I was a minority with only one other African American male in my program.

I immediately acclimated to Wharton. Having Eligia around was my saving grace. Her schedule was flexible, allowing me time to attend class, study, and have a moment to myself to shop or paint. Jordan was my treasure and a job at the same time. So, when David invited the class for coffee and chat before class, every once in a while, I’d oblige. I grew comfortable with my professor, enough to engage with him on a first name basis because I’d taken a management course with him in the fall.

On my way out the door, I felt a grip on my arm, causing me to falter in step. I peered up and saw Jacques Moreau, a fairly good-looking man with an olive tone and jet black hair. His shoulders were broad in his cognac suede jacket, and chestnut leather gloves hung from his left hand.

“Jacques, is there something I can help you with?” My tone was terse, but voice was low.

Jacques had been strongly coming on to me since the first night we met after a class toward the end of the fall semester. He was a friend of David’s from France and sat in on a few classes. He was bold in introducing himself and throwing me unabashed salacious eyes. Initially, I thought it was weird that he didn’t have anything better to do until I learned the genius he added to the curriculum with success in enterprise. His flirtation was a bit much, but from my understanding was how French men operated, per Tynisha who I’d shared this encounter with. He asked me out a few times, to which I declined, but found myself entertaining his coquetry. He started by trying to allure me with communicating his banter with a mixture of his native tongue and mine until one night, after having a few too many glasses of wine while out with a group from class, I informed him that the act turned me off. He’d been tolerable since.

“I have something for you, Elizabeth,” he grinned mischievously, a common expression of his.

“Okaaay,” I hummed with narrowed brows.

“This way. I want to share it with you before
Daveed
is ready to go,” he instructed before taking off.

I glanced over at David, who was making small talk with stragglers, then decided to go. I’d only followed because after being out with him more than a half dozen times, I didn’t fear him kidnapping me. Plus, he and David usually left together whenever Jacques visited.

I followed him all the way into his chauffeured Maybach and clutched my bags at my side, not getting comfortable. He handed me a paper bag and I pulled out a cloth pouch from the tissue paper inside and found a classic quilted leather wallet with the Chanel emblem. A conspicuous note lay underneath.

It read:

Elizabeth, you must be some lady. I only give limited editions to friends.

Enjoy,

Karl Lagerfeld
.

“You wear women’s accessories?” I joked, making a mental note to Google one Karl Lagerfeld.

Jacques’ head rolled back in laughter. “You have some sense of humor, don’t you, Elizabeth?”

I flicked my brows, unmoved and confused. “So they say,” I murmured. “But I thought I explained, extravagant attempts won’t get you far with me.”

Jacques shrugged as he repositioned himself in his seat. He, too, appeared unmoved by my rejection.

“You are one tough cookie, as you Americans say. However, don’t underestimate me. I know exactly how to arouse your kind, my feisty, ambitious Elizabeth.” I was intrigued. “Your pitch in class tonight, traditionalists like
Daveed
, would believe it was…ah…how do you say? …overzealous?” He tilted his head. “But for a credible businessman like me, I see the hunger.”