Weapons of Mass Seduction (26 page)

“Okay, Mrs. Jamison. Please tell her I'll call and check on her tomorrow. I'm so sorry,” Dee said, shedding sad tears for her friend. “If there is anything I can do, please let me know.”

“Maybe there is one thing,” Maizelle said. “Do you know how to reach Valen Bellamy?” A tear for her daughter rolled down Maizelle's face. To be heartbroken twice in such a short period of time seemed so unfair.

Chapter Thirty-three

O
ne week after delivering and cremating her stillborn son, Pia stood gently twisting the birthstone necklace her mother had given her. She, Maizelle, and Darlene, all dressed in white, stood barefoot in the surf, waiting for the late October sun to set over the Atlantic Ocean. In deference to Grand Nelson, Pia had chosen the Sag Harbor beach for their baby's memorial service because eventually these waters would connect to Aruba's—the place they'd met. As per their agreement, Pia never told him that she was pregnant, so there was no point in telling him that their child had died due to an undetected knot in his umbilical cord. But in this small way, Pia felt she was paying her respects to the man who had graciously and unselfishly tried to make her dream come true.

With the cold ocean water rushing between her toes, Pia felt tinges of guilt and resignation interlaced with her grief. She had unfairly pinned so many high hopes on her child that she had to wonder had it all been too much for his little spirit to uphold. Pia had taken her lifelong desire for a child into her own hands and become a mother by any means necessary. But apparently God had other ideas. Motherhood was evidently not meant to be a destination on Pia's road map.

“The sun is setting. Are you ready?” her mother asked, giving her daughter a hip-to-hip hug. Maizelle was trying to stay strong for Pia, but the death of her grandchild had hit her much harder than she'd expected. Standing here in this grief-stricken moment, she felt a sense of shame for months of denying Pia and her child the unconditional love they deserved. She'd spent far too much time being caught up in her own shame and concern over what people would think of her because of Pia's decisions. Because of her selfishness, Mai hadn't properly celebrated and enjoyed what should have been one of the happiest times of Pia's life.

“To those of us who knew and loved my baby, he will always be known as Pomegranate or Pom, as we affectionately referred to him,” Pia said with a small smile to begin the memorial. “Dee named him that as a joke. At the time she said it was because he was like a little seed growing inside me, and since Gwyneth Paltrow already had dibs on the name Apple, we had to come up with another fruit. We laughed, and from then on referred to the baby by this sweet nickname.

“But after…well, recently I decided to look up the word, and what I learned amazed and comforted me. The ancient Greeks associated the pomegranate with death and rebirth, while to modern Greeks it represents
agatha,
or the good things in life. It is also a Christian symbol of the Resurrection.

“So I know we named him appropriately,” Pia said, squeezing the hands of her mother and friend. “And I have to believe that Pom's death will eventually cause some kind of positive rebirth in all of us.

“Officially, my son's name is Charles Nelson Jamison, named after my father and his. And I am trusting you, Daddy,” Pia said, looking up into the heavens, “to look after my…angel.” The words caught in her throat, causing her to pause, and Maizelle's weeping, mixing with the gentle lapping of the ocean waves, filled the space.

Pia motioned to Darlene and then watched stoically as the two women lit eight floating candles. Pia then followed by launching eight gardenias into the water—one for each month her baby had lived inside her. As the sun dipped into the horizon, she and the others watched the flowers and flickering flames head out to sea.

“It is said that we all come into this world with a specific purpose. Some people arrive knowing exactly what their mission is and live their lives fulfilling that purpose. Most of us, though, arrive with some vague notion that may take us the better part of our lifetimes to understand. But even with this uncertainty, we still manage to touch others and change lives, usually unaware of just how much until something unexpected happens.

“Pom's life was short, his mission still unclear,” Pia continued. “He came and went in an instant, taking with him a lifetime of hopes and dreams. But his presence was felt, and without ever taking a breath he touched us and left a tiny, eternal imprint on our hearts. I love you, son.”

Pia concluded her remarks, remaining eerily calm while the others wept openly. Pia held Darlene's hand, handing her a fresh tissue to dab her eyes and blow her nose, and then rested her head on her mother's shoulder, watching the lights float farther away from the shore.

“That was beautiful, Pia,” her mother said, finally breaking the hush. Pia remained quiet as Maizelle shot Darlene a questioning glance.

They were worried. When Pia had first learned of the baby's demise she had broken down and for days was inconsolable. But following the induced labor and delivery, she'd settled into this unnaturally contained and unemotional state in which little seemed to touch her.

The drive back into New York City was quiet and uneventful. Both Dee and Maizelle came upstairs to help Pia get settled in. Inside they found several new bouquets of flowers—including a Texas-size arrangement of white peonies and calla lilies from Florence and Becca. Tired from the long day, Pia decided to retire early. Dee volunteered to cook a light dinner while Mai kept her company.

“It was a beautiful memorial,” Maizelle said, sitting at the breakfast counter and peeling an orange. “I was pushing her to have the service at the church, but I'm glad she didn't. This was better and more meaningful for Pia than sitting in a church full of folks she didn't know.”

“It was touching and powerful. And it was important for Pia to say good-bye her way. I know she appreciated you understanding that,” Dee said as she gently seasoned the eggs to make omelets. “This has to be so sad for you too.”

“There is nothing worse as a parent than knowing your child is hurting and you can't kiss away the pain like you could when they were little.”

“It also makes it hard to help when she's so closed down,” Dee said. “I know it's only been a couple of weeks, but it's like she's in this unreachable zone where nobody can touch her.”

“I'm very concerned. Best I can tell, Pia hasn't shed a tear or expressed any kind of real emotion since the procedure. I've talked to her about getting grief counseling from Pastor Saxton, but she's not interested. I wish she'd just open up and at least tell us what she's feeling.”

“I guess grief affects people in all kinds of ways.”

“Pia has always been pretty private. She was five when her grandfather died and eighteen when her father passed, and she was the same way. She kept everything bottled up inside her, just like now.”

“So how can we help her?” Dee asked as she served Maizelle's omelet and toast with a supportive smile.

“I'm not sure there is anything
you
or
I
can do.”

“I agree with you. We're not the one she craves comfort from.”

“So what should we do?” Mai asked.

“I know that you were planning to spend the night here with Pia, but you look exhausted. Why don't you go home? I'll stay with her. Maybe we'll have a chance to chat,” Darlene replied with a wink in her voice.

After Maizelle left, Dee looked in on Pia and found her asleep. She tidied up the kitchen and proceeded to make herself comfortable on the sofa in front of the television. But instead of paying attention to the program, she continued to worry about her friend. Ever since things had ended with Valen, Darlene had seen sutble signs of despair, which now had catapulted into full-fledged depression since the death of her baby. Pia barely ate, refused to speak to anyone other than Dee and her mother, and spent her days either sitting in her bedroom, staring out the window or sitting on the sofa mindlessly watching cable news. Sleep came only with the help of sedatives. Dee couldn't be sure, but she guessed that Pia's thoughts were typical of those who experience this kind of tragedy—alternating between wondering what she did wrong and why she was being punished.

“You don't have to stay and babysit me,” Pia said, emerging from her bedroom.

“No problem,
chica
. Besides, your cable reception is better than mine,” Dee said, trying to keep things light. “Are you hungry? I can make you an omelet or something.”

“I'm good,” Pia said, joining her on the couch with the coverlet Flo had made in memory of Pom. She'd asked Dee to send all of the baby clothes from the shower and had pieced together a beautiful one-of-a-kind quilt. It was heartbreakingly thoughtful, and it had become Pia's security blanket of sorts. The blanket and ceramic baby shoes from the hospital, engraved “Charles Nelson,” were the only baby items that Pia kept as an open reminder that she'd once had a child.

She and Darlene sat in comfortable silence, watching reruns of
Sex and the City
on TBS. Neither was paying much attention to the episode, as each was lost in her own thoughts—Pia going over the sad and touching events of the day and Dee wondering how to bring up the very delicate subject of Valen Bellamy.

“That Carrie really loves her some Mr. Big,” Darlene said, easing her toes into the troubled waters.

“I know. The sorry thing is that he really loves her too but is just too scared to admit it.”

“There's a lot of that going on,” Dee commented, wading farther out into the potential riptide.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that you should call Valen. There's too much unfinished business between you, and…”

“And you think by calling Valen somehow I'll feel better about losing the baby? Or, worse, he may come back to me because I did,” Pia replied, her voice still flatlined.

Pia couldn't explain that because of the nagging guilt she felt, getting back with Valen would never be an option. It was her fault she'd engaged in the emotional tug-of-war of wanting her child and wanting Valen. Pia could only believe that her internalizing the disappointment of not being able to have both had somehow broken the spirit of her baby, causing her to lose him forever.

“I really wasn't thinking about it like that,” Dee said, totally lying. “I was thinking that you seem to be the only one around who can't see how much you love him. And I was thinking that just because you lost one love doesn't mean you have to lose both.”

“You think too much.”

“That's it?”

“I don't want to talk about this. It's over. I've accepted it and I'm moving on. But there is one thing you can do for Valen.”

“Name it.”

Pia left the couch and went into her study, returning moments later holding a business envelope. “You can mail this for me tomorrow.”

Darlene looked at the sealed envelope. It was addressed to the Board of Elections.

“It's my absentee ballot. The race is too close, and he needs every vote he can get.”

Dee tried to contain her smile. The fact that Miss Liberal Lucy was crossing party lines for the first time in her voting life was all the convincing she needed. Pia had always counted on her to keep her life straight, so the way Dee saw it, getting her boss and Valen Bellamy reconnected was just one more thing to add to her to-do list.

“Will you get that?” Pia asked, referring to the ringing phone. “Please take a message. I don't really feel like talking to anyone.”

Darlene picked up the phone. It was Florence Chase checking up on her friend.

“Hi, Flo. Well, it was a tough day and she's resting. But I'll tell her you called…”

“Wait, I'll talk to her,” Pia said, taking the receiver from her surprised secretary. “Hey. Thank you so much for the beautiful flowers and the coverlet. It's very special.”

“You're welcome. How you holdin' up, sugar?”

“I've had better days.”

“Well, I'm not gonna keep you. I just wanted to let you know that Becca and I are thinkin' of you and sendin' you lots of love. We're lookin' forward to seein' you soon, but don't you worry about pushin' our reunion off until you're feelin' up to company.”

“No, I've already postponed it once. And even though I look and feel like anything but a weapon of mass seduction, I don't want to cancel. It'll give me something to look forward to, because right now there's not much going on in that department.”

“I know, darlin', and as much as you think you'll never get over this hurt, while it won't ever go away, it will fade to a dull ache over time.”

“Maybe” was all the agreement Pia could commit to. “You'll call Becca and let her know?”

“I will. Now you go rest, and darlin', you call me anytime, night or day. If you need to cry or bitch or moan, I'm here for you.”

“Thanks. See you in December.”

Chapter Thirty-four

P
ia was awakened by the smell of bacon wafting under her nose. Bacon could mean only one thing. Her mother was up cooking her yet another breakfast she wouldn't eat. Filling her stomach had seemed so important when she was pregnant—first to ward off the morning sickness and then to fuel and sustain the growing life inside her. But her baby was gone and so was her appetite—not only for food but for life as she'd known it.

Pia was as confused by her reaction to Pom's death as everyone else around her. When she'd first learned that he had died, the pain swept over her like a tsunami, destroying her life and then quickly receding, leaving an eerie calm behind. Inside she was hurt and heartbroken, but just like when her father had died, or after the horrific tragedy of September 11, or even when Valen had told her he loved her, there was an impermeable numbness about her. It was as if her heart was layered in bubble wrap, protecting her from any feeling—good, bad or otherwise.

She sat up in the bed, letting the sunshine hit her face, and for the first time in weeks, a small smile decorated her face as she woke. Election day in New York would be a pleasant sunny November day. Bad weather could be crossed off the list of potential reasons voters might stay at home.

Pia had been secretly looking forward to this day and was happy it had finally arrived. Today gave her something else to concentrate on besides her grief. She would stay in and watch the news and follow the election returns. All the main pollsters—
New York Times
/CBS News,
New York Post
/Fox 5 News, and the Marist Poll—predicted a virtual deadlock between Valen and his rival, Democrat Betsy Franklin. Only one, the Quinnipiac Poll, had Franklin leading by as much as eight points. Valen had picked up a late-minute endorsement by the top elected officials of color in the New York State Legislature, and Pia was hoping that this would help kick him to the top.

Despite what she'd told Dee, Pia had not fully accepted Valen's walking out on her, and she hadn't moved on. She missed their romantic friendship, with its camaraderie, compassion, and sexual tension. And though she knew a future for them was not possible, in many ways Pia was happy she still felt so strongly for him. It proved that despite her crumpled heart and years of shutting down and closing off her emotional and sexual sides, she was feeling again.

But feeling what?

That question left a niggling sensation under her skin, causing Pia to get up and stretch. She tried to pinpoint just what was bothering her as she glided through a modified yoga sun salutation. She had completed the series of poses and was sitting down to rest on the settee when a huge aha moment descended on her and the answer to her question emerged from within.

Feeling everything.

She hadn't known at his conception, when learning of his death, or while standing on the beach releasing his spirit to the sea. The reason had remained unclear until this exact minute. And the fact that this moment of revelation included thoughts of Valen made it all the more poignant. Suddenly everything was making so much sense.

Her lost baby's mission had been to open her heart and teach her how to
feel
again. Since losing her father so many years ago, she'd been running on neutral, with a smooth, even emotional range—never high, never low—moving through life without any true emotional commitment.
Not
feeling had become her normal state of existence.

Even the mysterious cool charisma that defined her sensual self was a mask she hid behind. When it came to her personal life, she'd become an observer, because to participate meant to put her feelings on the line and risk being vulnerable. After years of feeling hurt and abandoned by men, beginning with her grandfather and continuing with her dad and Rodney Timble, Pia'd closed down her emotional side and tried to find personal passion through sex while allowing lust to replace love.

And when that didn't work, she'd shut down her sexual self and constructed a false serenity around her. At home, Pia had let the Zen-like atmosphere she'd created, with the soothing new age music, calming candlelight, and affirmation cards, become a cocoon insulating her from the highs and lows of her life. In addition to her yoga practice, she had been posing all of her adult life.

Pom had changed that. Her pregnancy and his death had forced Pia to tap into the emotional reserves she'd been storing up since shutting down production on her sentiments. The pain of losing her child was too powerful to self-medicate away with champagne and mood music. But with the grief and anguish came the realization that she could be whole, though only if she had the courage to chose to be.

Another bolt of enlightenment hit her. This was why she didn't know how to translate her strong feelings for Valen into the actions and words necessary to keep him. He had told her he loved her and she had ignored him in the most polite way she could think of. But why? Yes, she'd avoided a physical relationship with him because of her pregnancy, but Pia now saw that being his buddy was also a way for her to remain emotionally unavailable. Instead of giving herself to him in totality, she'd held back, keeping the depth of her feelings in reserve.

Remembering the pain on Valen's face when he'd repeated his declaration caused the storm clouds to gather over her heart and threaten a deluge. She blinked back the early sprinkles as she picked up her BlackBerry from the nightstand and typed in Valen's e-mail address. She left the subject line blank and typed the words she hadn't uttered to a man since Rodney broke her heart, and even then she wasn't sure if she fully understood the concept.

I love you too.
Pia stared at the words and took inventory of her bodily reactions. A warm sensation crept through her body, culminating in a small smile that ignited her tears. It was true.

Are you going to send it
? her heart inquired.

No, it's too late
, her head quickly responded.

Why?

Because you lied to him and hurt him and put his candidacy at risk. He doesn't trust you.

Her heart had no reply, and Pia tossed the device on the bed as the tears rained down, and she sat alternating between sobs and laughter, purging her years of pent-up hurt and grief and allowing them to be softened—not replaced—by the resurgence of love in her life and the sorrow of its loss.

Pom and Valen were lost to her, but in the rubble that was currently her existence she would rise and she would feel and she would love and she would live.

“I owe that to you, Pom. Thank you,” she sobbed into the morning.

Maizelle had just put the biscuits in the oven when she heard a hodgepodge of noises coming from the bedroom, and she rushed in, spatula in hand, to find her daughter in some sort of controlled hysteria. She was concerned but pleased that finally Pia was releasing her grief.

Sure that Pia was still grieving the baby, Maizelle dropped the spatula, got in the bed with her daughter, and gathered her into her arms. She held and soothed her, just as she'd done throughout the years. Pia continued to cry and before long her sobs became whimpers and the whimpers became sniffles.

“Why don't you go shower and I'll finish your breakfast,” her mother suggested.

Pia gave her mother one last squeeze, disengaged her body, and headed off to the bathroom. Mai was about to get up when she rolled over onto Pia's BlackBerry. She picked it up to put it on the nightstand and couldn't help noticing the message.

I love you too.

Maizelle became even more interested when she noticed the message was addressed to Valen Bellamy. Her maternal side kicked in, suggesting to Mai that here was her chance to help make Pia's pain more bearable. Hearing the shower, she decided to call Dee and get her to weigh in on what Pia was sure to find a
mom
umental act of meddling.

“Do it,” Dee said without hesitation. “It's not like you wrote it. You're just making sure it gets delivered.”

“She said ‘too' so that means Valen said it first,” Maizelle rationalized.

“All the more reason.”

Mai agreed, then looked toward the bathroom, closed her eyes, and hit Send. She dropped the device back on the bed where she'd found it and padded back into the kitchen, smiling all the way. If Valen loved Pia and Pia loved him back, it seemed crazy for them to be apart, especially now. In Mai's eyes, if Pia was willing and ready to love, Valen was the perfect candidate.

Pia emerged from her shower feeling both mentally and physically refreshed. She quickly got dressed and made her bed, refusing to spend another day holed up in her bedroom grieving. She picked up her BlackBerry to place it on its charger and noticed with great dismay that her message had been sent.

I know I didn't send it,
she told herself.
She wouldn't. Oh, God, she did
.

“Why, Mother?” Pia asked, marching into the kitchen.

“Because you finally figured out what all of us knew for months. And we decided it was in both your best interests to send it,” Mai told her, not the least bit apologetic.

“We? We who?”

“Dee and I talked while you were in the shower. It was apparent to both of us that you and Valen were at some sort of impasse and needed a little push.”

“First the workshop and now this? She really crossed the line this time.”

“Don't blame Darlene. I was the one who made the final decision. What workshop?”

“It doesn't matter,” Pia said, unwilling to even try to explain that concept to her mother. “Dee knows better, and for that matter, so do you.”

“I know
you,
Pia Clarice Jamison. And all your life you have needed a push toward things you were interested in but afraid of. Remember in high school when I wanted you to apply for the Links Debutante program? You absolutely refused, and what happened?”

“I won the scholarship,” she muttered.

“And you had a great time. And you didn't want to do that summer abroad thing your senior year at college, but I pushed you into going, and what happened?”

“I met Larry Holland…”

“Who?”

“Who worked for WJLA-TV and hired me as a production assistant when I graduated.”

“So maybe this push will be just as fruitful,” Maizelle suggested. “Pia, Darlene and I both love you. We're only trying to help.”

“It's a lot more complicated than you understand, Mother.”

“Pia, I don't know exactly what went on between you two, but maybe if you'd told him how you really felt, it wouldn't have gotten so complicated. And now the ball is in his court. If you two are meant to be, you'll know soon enough.”

By the eleven o'clock news, it was clear. Despite a valiant effort and inspired campaigning, Valen Bellamy had failed to win the election for U.S. senator from New York. The entire state was stunned, as the winning margin for Senator-Elect Betsy Franklin had left most pollsters way off the mark. What had been billed as a virtual deadlock had proven to be a 23 percent margin of victory for Franklin. Whatever the reasons for the miscalculations, Valen was not to be the champion tonight.

Forty minutes later Pia sat with her mother, once again in tears, heartbroken for the man she now realized she loved as he delivered his concession speech.

“I am disappointed,” Valen stated after congratulating his opponent and thanking and commending his hardworking campaign staff and volunteers. “But tonight marks only the end of this particular campaign. I will not retire from politics because I will not abandon the great citizens of New York State, neither will I abandon the causes we have fought so hard to bring to the forefront.” Valen delivered his concession speech with the same graciousness and dignity with which he'd run his campaign, and Pia was mightily proud.

The ball is in his court
. Her mother's words ran through Pia's head. She was certain things were probably much too hectic and disappointing for him today for Valen to even look at e-mail, let alone tackle such an unexpected and thought-provoking message. Still, Pia wondered what response her mother's boldness would bring.

It occurred to Pia that despite a lot of praying and campaigning on both their parts—she for a baby, he for office—neither of them had achieved their professed dreams. She wondered why. Why did the feel-good gurus of the world build you up to believe that everything was possible, that dreams did work out as long as you believed, and as soon as you started believing—
BAM!
—the jesters of the universe found a way to let you know that the joke was on you.