Messalina: Devourer of Men (22 page)

From the expression on his face you would’ve thought I told him his best friend just died.

“Eva, don’t . . . please.”

I don’t know what cleaved my heart more: the catch in his voice or his eyes. He looks at me with the eyes of a man who knows what it’s like to be abandoned. It’s easy for me to see him as a four-year-old child right now because, despite being in his early forties, his face still has a boyish charm and a freshness many women would kill for. But what gives his innocence away is the set of his jaw, as if steeling himself for a blow. And after years of disappointment and uncertainty, he has come to expect the worst. Either he’s being sincere or he is the most convincing bullshit artist I have ever seen.  His expression combines panic and anguish so pitiful it rips straight to my soul. I can’t take it so I turn away.

“Eva, if Sarah—”

“Jared, this isn’t about Sarah. I’m not Sarah. I’m not an ice princess. But I just don’t think you’re ready to let her go.” I force myself to meet and hold his gaze. “You made it clear a few minutes ago that I better not talk trash about her. Why was she at your place, anyway?”

“It was her birthday. She’d been drinking.”

He looks at me embarrassed and I nod knowingly.

“Did you give Sarah her present in bed?”

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair before replying.

“Eva, Sarah is the past. There is no comparing you with her. I don’t want to be anything but honest from now on, because that is how you make me feel. I’ve hurt you and deceived you and all I can offer is my apology and my word never to do it again.” He looks at me and the dim lighting softens one side of his face while keeping the other side dark, hard.

“She wants you back, doesn’t she? Admit it.”

“OK, she does,” he says angrily. “Happy?”

I bite down hard on my lip. I don’t know if I’m more disappointed or frustrated or annoyed. I’ve been second choice many times and have known guys who use women like toilet paper. And while I’m not entirely convinced that Jared’s a compulsive dog, I take a few deep, calming breaths before I speak again. 

“Jared, it doesn’t matter how sincere you are or how I’ve changed your life. You say you need me, but if you still want Sarah, I can’t—I won’t compete with an old flame.” I look up and see his intense gaze leveled on me. “Do you want her back?”

“Eva, I don’t just want you for sex.” He sounds insulted and sits up. “Has it ever occurred to you that my relationship with Sarah was purely physical? Despite her lack of enthusiasm and warmth, I only ever wanted her for one thing.” He closes his eyes a moment and when he opens them, they shine with something that I can only imagine the source.

“I know we haven’t been together very long, but from the moment I saw you in the movie theater, my years with Sarah seem wasted compared to the last week. I have fallen in love with you, Eva. Not in lust. I want you to be comfortable around me, to be yourself. Don’t change to fit someone else’s image, it doesn’t work.” He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “Do you still want to leave me?”

The air in my throat compresses and I can’t help but squeak as his hands tighten around mine briefly before loosening, his thumbs stroking my wrist bones.

There’s a knock on the door. Our dinner has arrived. I watch the waiter come in and place everything on the table. Jared, however, keeps his eyes on me, waiting for my response.

I think I stopped breathing several minutes ago and have bitten into my lip hard enough to draw blood. I exhale slowly. We both want trust and honesty and, in return, we both expect to accept each other as we are. Is this really too much to ask?

“Jared,” I say, struggling to find the words and sigh. “I’m not cut out for high drama. Promise me that I can trust you . . . please?”

He presses his lips in a thin, firm line and grips my wrists to the point of discomfort.

“Evadne, I promise you.”

Chapter Eleven

“A Family affair”

I can’t fault Jared’s menu choice for me because the sirloin was perfection. When I mention the art show, I’m surprised at his eagerness to attend and risk meeting my folks. By the time we get to the bookstore things are going full throttle. Judging by the number of people present, tonight is a certifiable success. The shop windows blaze with lights and behind the green lettering announcing
Preston
’s Place, est. 1975
, I see dozens of people mingling and dressed in fine after-five wear. Some hold little plates of food, some hold cups, while others are becoming adept at trying to manage both.

Well, this is it. For the second time in my life, I am about to introduce a man to my family, or to be precise, my parents. The first time was an unavoidable fluke back when I was in high school and I hope this time isn’t the same.

Mom and Dad hold court at the front door, greeting people with Maia and Tess standing nearby wearing identical pinafore outfits and passing out programs.

I grin when I see them. My parents are stylin’. Dad wears a teal-colored suit cut to flatter his portly stature and Mom wears a flowing, ivory-colored lace dress with her long black hair arranged in a crown so her streak of gray hair stands out like a badge of honor. My parents see us at the same time and both fail to hide their dumbstruck expressions.

I have a date.

And he’s white.

Their shock makes me wonder if I’ve been wrong all these years about my parents’ tolerance. Oh, hell. Do I really know my parents at all? Just because they spent years at the epicenter of the civil rights movement doesn’t mean they are card-carrying members of the Love-Knows-No-Color Club. But when Mom reaches for Jared’s right arm and Dad for his left, completely pulling Jared away from me, I want to kick myself for my paranoia.

“You must be Evadne’s friend,” Mom gushes.

Then Dad cuts in. “It’s nice to meet you—?”

“Jared. Jared Delaney.”

“Jared Delaney.” Mom smiles at me. “I like that.”

Yeah, I bet she does. The name Evadne Delaney is going through her mind right now. This is why I never bring men around to meet the family and, once again, I’m assured that I should never trust Beverly and LaRue with secrets.

“Hi, Daddy. Hi, Mama.” They ignore me. They’re already showing Jared around. When I take a step to join them, Mom spins a pirouette to face me.

“Eva, you stay by the door. We’ll be back.”

Well I’ll be damned.

For the next twenty minutes, I play official hostess with my nieces. I meet the regular patrons, the society crowd, and several of the young artists with their families and friends. Although my parents took Jared away, it’s Theo and LaRue who bring him back. They’re all laughing.

“Hey, Squirt! I was just giving Jared a quick tour, but here he is, unscathed.”

My jaw drops at the sight of Theo. Usually he wears jeans and a shirt hinting of Africa, with his bushy Afro adding a few inches to his 6’3” frame. Now he stands in a navy-blue suit resembling my dad’s—and totally bald! The light shines off his pale almond skin and reminds me of how my late grandfather looked. Noticing my astonishment, Theo grins.

“Do you like?”

“Well—yes! You look great! But it’s obvious LaRue dressed you, though.” I turn to my sister-in-law who sports a red halter dress with a light, fringed shawl. Her long hair is in an elegant French roll.

“Yes, but what about the ’do?” Theo asks, smoothing a hand over his head.

“It looks great. Makes you look years younger.”

LaRue rolls her eyes. “Eva, the man saw a patch of gray hair yesterday and freaked.”

“Yeah, well I dare them to come back.”

We laugh and I look at Theo and Jared. “Good to see you and Jared are playing nice.”

“Of course, sis. Jared here is pretty hep. Ain’t ’cha, bro?”

“Oh, I’m a wigger from way back.”

The boys laugh and give each other a pound. Will the wonders never cease? I guess I’m the only one concerned, but Denver is pretty conservative and despite our being in a place full of so-called liberals, I don’t see many mixed couples.

As Theo and LaRue leave, she catches my eye and tips me the wink. I blush, but a tug at my hem quickly catches my attention. I look down to see Tess staring at Jared.

“Jared, I want you to meet my nieces, Princess Tess and Princess Maia.”

“Your royal highnesses.” He does an elegant bow from the waist, but as he raises his head, he stops and rubs his eyes. “Why, bless my soul, I’m seeing double!”

The girls giggle.

“Now, which is which and how can I tell?”

“I’m Maia.” She gives a slight curtsey.

“And I’m Tess.” She copies her big sister.

“Yes, but how do I tell you apart?”

“Practice,” they chime.

This is their response to anyone who asks, but I rediscover its charm all over again because of Jared’s hearty laugh. He reaches into his pocket as he kneels before them.

“Well, two beautiful young ladies deserve special treats.”

With a slight of hand he produces twin quarters from behind their ears. The girls squeal with delight. Jared can now call the girls his.

“Are you going to be our new uncle?” Tess asks.

Jared looks up at me with a combination of amusement and astonishment.

“OK, you two. Go have a browse.” Mom has returned to her post and I am eternally grateful. “Help yourselves to grilled shrimp quesadillas in the alcove.”

I grab Jared by the hand and lead him away.

“Your nieces are cute.”

“Yeah. Just adorable.”

Instead of going to the alcove I lead him upstairs to the exhibit. The room is crowded but we manage. We take our time perusing various drawings, paintings, and sculptures.

“These kids are good.” He nods in appreciation, which I see as high praise coming from someone of his accomplishment. “From what I can tell, you got a bunch of kids that with the right training and encouragement, they can go far.”

I smile. “Well, there’s my sister Bev and her husband Alex. She’ll be glad to hear that.” I wave to get their attention. She grabs Alex by the arm and drags him over to us. Her willowy frame works the devil out of her denim jumpsuit. Alex, who used to box in the army, is stocky and slightly shorter than Bev. His dark skin melds perfectly with his chocolate-colored suit. When he’s not working as a computer analyst, he helps Bev by counseling and organizing physical activities for kids.

After introductions, I have Jared tell Bev what he just told me and her face lights up. She looks so appealing it’s no wonder people are eager to help her just to see her smile. 

“Jared, you have no idea how much that means to me.” She grins. “These kids deserve every chance they can get to know there’s more to life than gangs and guns.” She turns to me and frowns. “You know, one of Alex’s kids was shot last week.”

“Oh no, Alex, which one?”

“Cubby,” he says.

Clarence “Cubby” Morton is one of the boys Alex councils. Cubby’s a chubby cutie pie and only ten years old. I played hoops with him at one of the group’s barbecues last summer and he’s a charmer. His mother works hard, but can’t stop dating the wrong men. Hearing that he was shot brings tears to my eyes and Alex notices. He puts his hand on my arm.

“He’s doing fine at Children’s Hospital. Just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Yeah,” Bev says with a frown. “His daddy came home.” Then she turns serious. “His mom is dead, though.”

“Are you sure he’s alright? What’s gonna happen to him?” I ask and feel Jared’s arm go around my shoulder.

“Evadne, everything’s fine,” Alex soothes. “We’ll take care of Cubby.”

I take a deep breath and when I exhale it makes me shudder. Jared’s grip tightens.

“Jared,” Bev asks, “would you possibly be interested in giving a talk one day? Maybe holding a workshop?” She gives him a sweet smile. She’s working it and Jared is hooked. He looks at me and grins.

“I don’t see why not.” He reaches into his back pocket for his wallet and gives my sister his card. “Give me a call next week and we’ll set something up.”

Beverly
takes the card and shakes his hand to close the deal.

“On a lighter note, we’ve been able to make nine sales already.”

“Make it ten.” Jared points to a canvas of a painting done in pointillism of a woman’s profile whose long black tresses turn into a raven in flight. You would’ve thought Beverly just won the lottery.

“Thank you, Jared. All the money goes to the after school program and towards a college fund for the kids.”

The three of them continue to talk but I don’t hear. I can’t take my eyes off my date. Less than two hours ago he was telling me his darkest secrets and now he’s charming my family. His chiseled but delicate profile, long neck, and thick auburn hair make him look like a dusk-colored angel. He’s so stylish and put together, could it be that after all my years of associating with frogs I have finally met my prince?

Why am I so skeptical? Because this kind of thing only happens in books and movies where the heroine is a size four and an oil heiress, that’s why. If this is a dream, I’ll follow it to the end. But if it’s a joke, I’ll be sure to have the last laugh. I shake my head. No, Evadne. That is the wrong attitude to have. Just take it for what it is. You have finally gotten what you deserve.