What Mother Never Told Me (12 page)

L
eslie awoke with a monster headache. She’d been getting them more frequently of late and Celeste made her promise to see a doctor, which she never got around to doing. Slowly she sat up, closed her eyes as the pain slowly washed through her, before settling down to a dull throb. She pushed up from her full-sized bed, which was too small and too old for her plus-sized frame. Yet another thing on her agenda—get a bigger bed. When she stood, the room shifted slightly left then right. She gripped the headboard to keep from falling. Her heart thumped. Her head thumped harder.

That was a first, she thought as the out of body moment slowly passed. Gingerly she walked down the short hallway to the bathroom before going in to check on her mother. As she stared at her reflection in the mirror she silently prayed that it would be a good day for her mother. She had an important
meeting with Nick Hunter, Sammy Blackstone and Parris McKay at what would soon be Rhythms, the hottest new nightspot in Harlem. This job could turn her whole business around and maybe her mundane life as well. She turned on the faucet and splashed warm water on her face before applying her daily facial wash. Her baby-smooth complexion was her strongest physical attribute and she worked diligently to ensure that it stayed blemish free.

The faint sound of a ringing bell floated above the rush of water as she rubbed the granulated cream into her cheeks. Slowly she lifted her head, keeping her eyes shut to keep the water out, and angled her head slightly to the right in the direction of the sound. There it was again. Her heavy chest sagged. Mother was awake. She could barely speak, couldn’t get around without major assistance, but the one thing she could do was ring that damned bell.

“Coming!” she yelled, tossing her head back to throw her voice. Water and the specially formulated soap slid down into her eyes. The sting was red-pepper hot and in concert with the string of expletives that burst from her lips as she hopped from bare foot to bare foot, tossing cold water on her face while trying to squeeze the pain out of her eye.

Momentarily blinded in one eye, she pressed a cold cloth to it as she hurried to tend to her mother.

“Mornin’. Sorry, I was in the bathroom.”

Her mother’s brows drew together and her mouth tried to form words.

“Got some soap in my eye when I was washing my face,” Leslie explained as she approached the bed. “Need to get up?”

Theresa bobbed her head, the faintest sound which could have been “yes” was barely audible.

Leslie lowered the railing on her mother’s hospital bed, something the hospital insisted that she purchase to ensure that Theresa didn’t take a tumble. At her age, the doctor had warned, a broken hip was more deadly than a stroke.

Of course, her mother’s medical plan didn’t cover a hospital bed, so Leslie had to dip in to her meager business account to buy it. And pretty soon the coverage for the home health attendant was going to be cut off as well.

The doctor insisted that Theresa should have been doing much better by now. Her brain cells were normal and there was no major neurological damage. At this point, Gracie, the physical therapist, was beginning to believe that Theresa’s inability to speak and move around on her own was more in her head than in her body, which she’d quietly expressed to Leslie on more than one occasion.

“Your mother wants
your
attention, not mine,” she’d said one evening last week on her way out.

“What do you mean? I’m not a therapist.”

“No, but you’re her daughter.”

Leslie thought about the remark as she practically lifted her mother out of the bed, both of them grunting and grimacing as Theresa was finally steady enough to grip the handles of her walker and shuffle to the bathroom.

Beads of sweat dotted Leslie’s forehead and slid down her temples as she plopped down on the narrow bed, feeling it sink beneath her, in sharp contrast to her near weightless mother. She inhaled slow and deep and wondered how much longer she could do this. It was a cruel trick from the Almighty that after years of animosity, verbal standoffs and hostility, the two of them would be forced to live with each other. And her mother, who’d never mothered her, was reduced to having to
depend on the one person who held her in contempt. They may have to love one another for no reason beyond the ties of blood that bound them, but they despised who they were as people. Neither of them lived under the illusion that there was a relationship between them.

Leslie listened to the muffled flush of the toilet, followed by running water in the sink. She checked the bedside clock. It was almost nine. Her appointment was at one. She needed to fix breakfast, straighten her mother’s room, help her eat and get dressed and hopefully Gracie would arrive in time so that she could make her one o’clock meeting.

Bracing her palms on the side of the bed she pushed up and stood, pausing momentarily to make sure she didn’t experience another episode. She walked over to the bathroom and tapped lightly on the door. “You okay?”

Theresa grunted her response, which Leslie took for a yes. “I’m going to fix breakfast.” She started to tell her that she would be going out as soon as Gracie arrived, but thought better of it. Recently, each time Leslie made plans to go out, or had an appointment that would take her out of the house, Theresa would become totally unmanageable. She wouldn’t eat, refused to participate in her physical therapy, wouldn’t help at all in getting herself in and out of bed or off the recliner, preferring to transform herself into dead weight. Leslie felt chained to the house, chained to her mother, and she resented it and her more every day.

Today she didn’t give a damn what tricks her mother pulled. She wasn’t going to blow this appointment. It was too important. Securing this job and doing it well could finally get her the recognition she’d been struggling to attain in the design business. She’d done a variety of small jobs; friends’ home office
spaces, the lounge at Downbeat, a couple of start-up businesses, but nothing on the scale of a nightclub. Getting this job meant freedom. It was the least her mother could do for her.

Gracie arrived by noon, which gave Leslie a good half hour to get herself ready, although she wouldn’t have a minute left to spare. The moment Gracie arrived, Theresa’s eyes brightened like a light in a dark room. Leslie’s feelings for Gracie hovered on the fence. On one side she desperately needed her to make living with her mother bearable. On the other she resented the give-and-take between her mother and Gracie. Theresa saved her weak smiles, eagerness and mini-milestones of physical improvement all for Gracie. All she got were grunts, and looks of scorn or disappointment—she no longer knew the difference. Her mother had such a low level of tolerance that nightly Leslie questioned why she bothered.

As she put on her wool coat, which was getting too small, she knew why she bothered. There was a tiny part of her—the little girl in her—that was still looking for her mother’s love and acceptance. And maybe if she ever attained it, maybe if her mother could ever love her enough, she would tell her what she needed and deserved to know about who she was.

Leslie buttoned her too-tight coat, threw a wool scarf around her neck and heard the shredding sound of the inside lining of her coat opening up like a chasm. Muttering a curse she turned over her shoulder. “I should only be gone a couple of hours. But I’d really appreciate it if you could stay until I get back, just in case I’m running late.”

Gracie waved her hand and took a seat next to Theresa, who sat in the recliner with a food tray in front of her. “We’ll be
fine.” She patted Theresa’s hand. “We have exercises to do today.” She winked at Theresa, who smacked her hand.

“’Bye, Ma.”

Theresa didn’t bother to look at her daughter, focusing instead on Judge Judy.

Gracie looked at her over Theresa’s head and mouthed,
Go on, we’ll be fine. Do good
.

Leslie’s chest pinched. If it weren’t for Gracie giving her those words of encouragement and, of course, Celeste, she didn’t know what she would do. She pressed her lips tightly together, turned and walked out.

Nick still found it hard to believe that he and Parris were sharing the same space and that the obstacles that they’d faced from the moment they’d met more than a year earlier were no more. Their relationship was an open door and they’d begun to take those tentative steps to the other side.

While he’d lain next to her last night, feeling her warmth, the pillow softness of her skin, every inch an invitation to become enveloped by it, listening to the steadiness of her breathing, he wondered what it was about Parris McKay that made him want to be a better man. She’d had that effect on him from the beginning when she questioned and challenged him to examine his reasons for dealing with Percy and his questionable money, his strong-arm tactics as well as his intimate relationship with Tara, Percy’s daughter. Her presence in his life compelled him to look beyond his mirrored reflection and examine who he was, and, more importantly, who he wanted to be. Walking on the dark side of life had been who Nick was. It was in his blood since he was a teen, hustling on the streets of New York City. It was second nature to fall under the
mystique of Percy and all that he represented. And it gave him the chance to do what he loved—play his music. But it all came at a price—his soul—and it nearly cost him Parris. There was an innate decency about her that made him believe there was still goodness in the world. It wasn’t that she was preachy or holier than thou. It was more about her living by a code of values and seeing the best in people until they showed her otherwise, which was why it infuriated him so that anyone would dare to hurt her as her mother had done.

He walked up behind her as she stood at the sink and curved his arms around her waist. He pushed her hair away and kissed the back of her neck. His body stiffened when she leaned back into his embrace. He moaned deep in his throat.

“Did I tell you how glad I am that you’re here?”

Parris turned in his arms. “Tell me again.”

“I’m glad you’re here. Very glad.” His gaze moved languidly across her face.

She rested her head on his chest.

“Everything’s going to be okay. I don’t want you to worry. I know we haven’t really talked about what happened and we don’t have to. But I want you to know that I’m here for you if you decide you want to talk about it.”

She nodded her head. “I know. Right now, I want to put it behind me. Maybe at some point when it doesn’t ache so bad…” She leaned back a bit and looked up at him. “What I do want to talk about is the club, the plans.” She moved over to the table and leaned against it. Nick stepped between her slightly parted thighs.

“I set up a meeting with Leslie Evans for one o’clock over at the club. I’m hoping you’re up to coming with me. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you again. Not sure how bad the jet lag had hit you.”

Parris grinned. “Not bad, but I’m sure it will. I still want to come. I’d like to keep tabs on the other woman who’s going to be vying for your attention and approval,” she teased, tracing the shell of his ear.

Nick pressed closer. “There’s only one woman whose approval I’m interested in and she has all of my attention.” He sucked on his bottom lip as he caressed the curve of her hip.

“Is that right?” She draped her arms around his neck and linked her fingers before easing his head toward hers.

The warmth of his lips sent a sudden and unexpected current ripping through her that physically shook her. Nick pulled her closer. The pulse of his erection pressed alarmingly hard and stiff against her pelvis. She rose up on her toes to angle him right in her center and they moaned at the perfect fit.

Parris reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it out of his waistband. Nimble fingers unfastened his jeans. He gave one pull on the belt of her robe and it opened as if the magic word had been uttered. His jaw clenched when his gaze traveled down her half-naked body. Slender and curvy all at once. Honey-brown skin that was as sweet to the tongue as it was tempting to the eye. He inhaled her, filling his veins with the soft scent of her.

With one hand he pulled a chair out from beneath the table, switched positions until he lowered himself onto the seat and Parris onto his lap. His thumbs grazed her nipples and she shuddered.

“All the time I want you,” he confessed, nibbling her neck.

Her body heated to his touch. “You have me…all the time.” She pressed her lips against his and for the moment nothing else mattered.

Sammy was parked in front of the soon-to-be nightclub when Nick and Parris pulled up behind him. They met at the front door.

“Hey, lady,” Sammy greeted, kissing Parris lightly on the cheek. “Welcome home.”

“Thanks. Good to see you.”

Sammy shook Nick’s hand as he lifted his shoulders toward his neck to ward off a blast of chilly air. “Guess we can wait inside out of the cold. Is, uh, Celeste joining us?”

Nick and Parris shared a short, knowing look. “Not that I know of,” Nick said, hiding his smirk while he worked the locks on the gate. The metal rattled against the frigid air, echoing like shotgun fire. He pulled open the gate and unlocked the door. They stepped into the chilly dimness.

“I can’t wait to get this place up and running,” Nick said, walking around as if for the first time.

“It’s going to be
the
spot,” Sammy announced with conviction.

“Especially with our very own star,” Nick said, turning his smile on Parris.

“Speaking of star, what are you doing about that contract offer?”

Parris blew out a breath. “I know I’ve got to take care of that, and soon, before they take the offer back. If they haven’t already. There’s just been so much going on.”

Sammy nodded in agreement. “Hey, if they want you, they’ll wait.”

“And if not, then it wasn’t for me.”

“For real. You have more talent in one note than half of these folks perpetrating themselves as musical artists.” He made a hissing sound. “Please.”

Parris chuckled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”