WG2E All-For-Indies Anthologies: Viva La Valentine Edition (6 page)

“Yes. I warmed the pans in the oven with the
covers on, and put them in the aluminum trays with an inch of
water. Then I lit the Sterno cans underneath.” He repeated her
instructions word for word.

“I’m impressed. Just let me take a look to
see if there’s anything else you need.”

Mac took her into the dining room where fresh
flowers adorned the table. Real china, silverware and cloth napkins
were arranged neatly on the sideboard underneath a wall of windows
that offered a panoramic view of the twinkling Buckhead
skyline.

Jan raised her eyebrows in approval. “Good
job. You’ve obviously done this before.”

He smiled. “So, now that I’ve passed the
test, can we sit and talk?”

They discussed their hometowns. She hailed
from New York. Mac called suburban Dallas home. Just as he started
sharing more of his personal life, the doorbell rang.

“Show time.” Mac rose and crossed the room
with a nonchalant grace that dazzled her. He pressed the buzzer to
allow his guests to come upstairs. One by one, huge men with necks
the size of tree trunks accompanied by tall, beautiful modelesque
women joined them. A woman wearing a conspicuous waist-length weave
and too much makeup hung on the arm of a mountain-sized man. She
sported what Noreen called an “Atlanticure” – a manicure of bright
purple nail polish with a zebra striped design. Mac introduced them
as Marcus Holt and Shaquita somebody-or-other. They spoke and
headed straight to the bar. Jan marveled at how similar the couples
looked, with the exception being Rondelle Moore, a basketball
player whose girth was only half as wide as the other men. Another
tall, slender female clone with hair cascading down her back stood
at his side.

It seemed all of the men knew each other, and
for the next few minutes the conversation perked up. They discussed
sports, contracts, money and cars. All of the guests appeared to be
in their twenties or early thirties. None of the women talked to
Jan except Pam Johnson, the wife of the Falcon’s wide receiver, Ken
Johnson. The others were too busy boasting about the men, the men’s
money and the jewelry the men had bought them. Pam and Jan
discussed Pam’s children and her idea for starting a business.

Mac called them to the dining room and the
guest served themselves. Jan ended up sitting next to a woman named
Missy, who promptly made it known that she was a singer struggling
to break into the hip-hop music scene. She kept asking what
everyone did for a living. The moment Jan said, “I’m a personal
chef,” she simply said, “Oh,” and turned away.

Shaquita had successive glasses of
Courvoisier and was already woozy. She kept laughing way too loud,
which promoted Mac to eye her several times. He whispered something
to Marcus, who promptly took the glass out of the tipsy beauty’s
hand a few seconds later.

The last available morsel of food
disappeared, and several of the men showered Jan with praise. Just
as he’d predicted, two of them asked for her card. With dinner
done, Mac changed the music to an up tempo song. “Dance with me.”
He took Jan’s hand and drew her toward the center of the glossy
hardwood living room floor.

Jan had always been pretty confident on the
dance floor, but when she noticed Shaquita and one of the other
clone dates whispering and staring in their direction, her
confidence fizzled. Shaquita dragged Marcus onto the floor and did
a raunchy booty dance that would’ve put Jan in traction. Suddenly
the awareness that she was old enough to be the mother of every
person in the room hit her like a locomotive.

“I’m calling it a night, Mac,” she said,
following him to the sound system after the song ended.

“Can you wait just a minute? I want to talk
to you about something before you go.”

“Sure. Let me say goodnight to Ken and Pam.
I’ll meet you at the door.”

Mac stood at the front door and reached for
her hand. “You did an excellent job. Everyone loved the food. I’m
sorry I couldn’t spend much time with you tonight. I had to stroke
those huge egos, you know,” he said, still holding her hand as they
walked to the elevator. “I’d like to see you again, Jan. Can I call
you? Maybe we can do something Friday night.”

“I’d like that,” she said against her better
judgment.

Before the doors closed, he bent down and
kissed her cheek. In the privacy of the empty elevator, Jan shook
her head and tried to snap out of her romantic daze.

What was I thinking? I should’ve said no.
Dating a man so young could be considered cradle robbing. How would
I explain this to my daughters?

Chapter Two

Jan had made up her mind to tell her
daughters about the date the next evening when they came for
dinner. How they’d receive it was up for grabs. Val and Bobbi
always had conflicting opinions on practically every issue.
Certainly this one wouldn’t be any different.

Both girls lived on their own, and Jan didn’t
get to spend as much time with them as she would’ve liked. Val, the
youngest, lived in the dorms at Georgia State. Bobbi had been
sharing an apartment with a girlfriend for two years since she
graduated from college.

The girls were saddened but not surprised
when she’d told them of the pending divorce, since they were old
enough to recognize it, they had witnessed how their father’s
disinterest had battered their mother’s self-esteem. Both girls
were still on good terms with him, and he and Val kept close
contact.

During her marriage to Robert, Jan tried
countless times to make him understand that she needed romance and
attention, yet her words fell on deaf ears. Several times she
dragged him to counseling, and when the counselors told him that
his wife’s requests were natural needs for a woman, he made an
effort for a week or two and soon forgot about it. He claimed to
love her but just couldn’t bring himself to give her what she
needed. Eventually Jan started to believe there was something very
wrong with her.

Over the years Jan invested ridiculous
amounts of time, effort and cash into everything from self-help
books to the “
Victoria’s Secret
cure.” No matter what she
did, she couldn’t stir up any real passion in the man. Nothing
worked for long, and they settled into a joyless boredom that
suffocated her for twenty-five years.

One morning she woke up knowing what she had
to do. She told Robert of her plans, hoping it would shock him into
working harder at their marriage. He listened and never responded –
not a mumblin’ word, as her grandmother used to say. That same
afternoon Jan called a lawyer and began divorce proceedings. Robert
didn’t fight the petition for divorce and agreed to the terms of
the settlement. He just didn’t care.

The judge awarded her the house in the
settlement. Robert moved back to Mississippi to be nearer to his
family, and simply returned to the life he’d had before they met.
What hurt Jan most was knowing he wouldn’t miss her any more than
the old chair that had once occupied a corner of their bedroom.

Bobbie and Val arrived and settled at the
kitchen table, our meeting spot. Jan decided to get right to the
point. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Oh, and we thought you just wanted the
pleasure of our company,” Bobbi said with a sarcastic grin.

“You know I love when you visit me, but
tonight I do have a purpose.” Jan passed the hot garlic bread
across the table.

Val’s eyebrows rose in curiosity. “Come on,
Mom. What is it?”

She bit her bottom lip and took a deep
breath. “One of Mr. Scott’s business associates asked me on a date.
He hired me to do a dinner party for him then he invited me to the
party. At the end of the night he asked me out with him this
weekend.” She stopped to read their expressions. Bobbi face broke
into a wide smile, but Val wore a blank stare.

Bobbi spoke first. “That’s great, Mom. You’ve
been sitting around here by yourself long enough.” She turned to
her sister, whose expression had escalated from bewilderment to
shock.

“You and Daddy have only been separated for a
year.” Val’s voice climbed an octave with each word.

“We’re not
separated
, Valerie. We’re
divorced
. The papers were signed. He’s moved on, and it’s
about time I did too.”

“What do you mean, he’s moved on? Is Daddy
seeing somebody?”

“He relocated to another state, honey. I
consider that moving on. And it doesn’t matter what he’s doing or
not doing. Our lives aren’t connected anymore.”

“He’s still our father.” Her voice
trembled.

“Yes, but he’s not my husband, and you have
to accept it. You’re nineteen and old enough to face the realities
of life.”

“So, who is he? What does he do?” Bobbi
asked, obviously trying to diffuse the tension between her sister
and her mother.

“His name is Mac Sinclair. He’s an agent for
a sports management firm. The dinner party was for his current
clients and a few guys he’s hoping to sign.”

When Val pushed her plate away and sat
staring at her half-eaten meal, Bobbi made an attempt to snap her
out of her funk. “You know Mom’s had to start a totally new life on
her own. The least we can do is be there to support her. She didn’t
divorce
us
.”

“But
she
divorced Daddy. He didn’t
divorce
her
.”

Fed up with the bitterness Val had harbored
against her since the divorce, Jan took a hard line. “Valerie, I’ve
had enough from you. I know you love your father, but I don’t
anymore. One day realized I’d spent half my life with a man who
didn’t care for me any more than his lawnmower. I couldn’t exist in
misery the rest of my life. I’m sorry if you can’t understand.”

Quite unexpectedly, a tear trickled down
Val’s cheek. “I know you were unhappy for a long time,” she
whimpered. “I guess I always hoped it would get better.”

Jan rose from her seat, walked around the
table and put her arms around her baby girl’s shoulders.

“It’s hard for me to imagine you with
somebody other than Daddy.”

“I know, but it’s just a date – nothing
serious. Listen, why don’t we finish dinner so we can get on to
dessert? I made Death by Chocolate.”

“And we all know Death by Chocolate can fix
anything.” Bobbi said, smiling at her sister.

• • •

On Monday morning, Mac called and invited Jan
to the Alicia Keys concert at Chastain. She quickly accepted,
thrilled yet apprehensive about her first date in twenty-five
years.

He rang the doorbell promptly at seven on
Friday night. She stifled a laugh when she opened the door and saw
him wearing a white gauze shirt that matched her dress. “We
couldn’t have done better if we’d planned it. My girls are going to
be so jealous. They wanted to get tickets, but the show sold out
early.”

They arrived at the Chastain amphitheater
early and had a little time to talk before the show started. Mac
recounted his years as an Army brat who’d lived all over the
country.

“Earlier you mentioned family. Do you have
brothers and sisters?” Jan asked.

“One of each. Don’t laugh, but my father was
military to the bone, right down to naming his children. He’s a war
history buff and named all of us after famous generals – MacArthur,
Patton and Grant. And Pat is a girl.” He let out a rumbling laugh
that made her toes curl.

“Very imaginative. So Mac is just a
nickname.”

He opened the hatch of the Range Rover and
produced a picnic chest and a folding bamboo tray table. The chest
contained a perfect meal for a warm summer night – chicken salad,
croissants, a green salad, chocolate-dipped strawberries and
bottles of sparkling white grape juice. The man definitely had
style. He’d even remembered to bring citronella candles and
mosquito repellent.

“This is lovely, Mac.” All traces of her
earlier nervousness had disappeared until he asked, “Did you say
something about
your girls
earlier?”

Had she said that? A sudden a trickle of
sweat inched down her back. Now that it was out, Jan figured she
might as well address the issue. “Yes. Bobbi, that’s short for
Roberta, has been on her own for a couple of years now. Valerie is
sophomore at Georgia State. She lives in an apartment in the GSU
Village.”

“You look too young to have college-age
daughters,” Mac replied with no change in his easy, relaxed
manner.

“Oh, you’re sweet. The truth is, I’ll be
forty-seven this year.” She held her breath and waited for the
hammer to drop.

Instead, he sent her an admiring look.
“That’s hard to believe. I wouldn’t have guessed you were past
thirty-five.”

A burning heat rushed into her cheeks. “Thank
you. Are you sure it won’t be a problem for you?”

Mac fixed his gaze on her face. “Your
daughters or your age?”

Jan gave him a sidelong glance. “Both.”

“Why would either one be a problem?”

Jan smiled and studied the man sitting next
to her. At just over six feet tall, his beautifully proportioned
body moved with easy grace. Gold jewelry seemed to be his weakness,
but he limited it to a watch, a ring and a thin rope chain around
his neck. His demeanor appealed to me the most – cool without
appearing arrogant.

Very conscious of his physical presence, Jan
didn’t talk much during the show. When the music ended, Mac packed
everything up and preceded her back to the parking lot.

“This was a wonderful evening, Mac. You
really outdid yourself.”

He put his hands on the car on either side of
her shoulders, hemming her in. When he leaned forward and inched
her back against the truck, the musky masculine scent of his
cologne teased her senses.

“I really like you, Jan.” He fingered one of
her dangling earrings, cupped her face between his hands, and
kissed her long and deep, leaving her feeling as if she’d had a
Mojito overdose. The delicious sensation of the touch of his lips
wasn’t passionate, yet it was more intimate than the kind of kiss
you’d give a friend. Instantly Jan felt heat in places that hadn’t
been warm in a very long time. Mac had awakened something inside
her that had been dormant for years. The thought of telling him how
she really felt about him scared her silly.