Love Becomes Her

She breathed in deeply the empty air, hoping perhaps to catch at least a brief hint of Raquel’s scent. Even that was absent.

She should be relieved. She put her breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. Oddly, she wasn’t. Walking into the bathroom, she opened the medicine cabinet in search of her bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol. She shook out two gel caps and tossed them down her throat with some water. It would take a good ten to twenty minutes for the full effect to kick in. They’d really tied one on last night and she was paying dearly for it this morning.

Ann Marie frowned, trying to bring the events of the prior evening into focus as she walked back to her bedroom. It seemed that everyone was in some kind of turmoil, as if a cloud of unrest had settled on their quiet block. Ellie with her cheating husband; Stephanie with a boss who wanted more than nine-to-five and good old conservative Barbara being pursued by a boy toy.

She shook her head and laughed. Then snippets of their conversation began to come back to her, something about showcasing men.

Right! She snapped her fingers as the details became clear. A slow smile tipped the corners of her mouth. Yes, even in the light of day their idea was a winner. And if memory served her, she was the first link in the chain.

Picking up her pace, she went into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. She’d need to be clearheaded.

While the coffee brewed, Ann Marie turned on her computer in the small room at the end of the hall that she used as an office. She placed her notebook and several empty manila folders on the desk then turned on the printer. To keep her company she popped in a John Legend CD then went to get her coffee.

If there was one thing Ann Marie knew hands down it was a good piece of property—and a man, of course. But finding a true gem of a building and understanding its potential gave her a rush equivalent to sexual expectation.

She smiled to herself as she added Sweet’n Low to her coffee with a dash of canned milk.

Ann Marie had been in the real-estate game for more than fifteen years. Her master’s degree in urban economics helped her to fully appreciate the power of ownership and how easily poor communities can become no more than a memory in a matter of a few short years once an investor with a keen eye discovers the value of a particular area.

She’d been telling her friends for years that they needed to invest in some property. Of course, Ellie was already married with a home, but Barbara and Stephanie came up with one excuse after another why they couldn’t buy.

The area of Harlem where they lived, an area where houses couldn’t be given away ten years earlier, was now so expensive that it was unreachable for most. At least she owned her apartment, and a four-story apartment building on the lower east side of Manhattan that was finally paying for itself after eight years. And she had a town house.

Yes, she’d done well for herself without the help or support of anyone. Her mother putting her out and her leaving Terrance were the best things to happen to her. Yes, they were.

Her throat tightened. No, she didn’t need anyone. And the quicker Raquel understood that the better off she would be.

She took her coffee cup into her office. She had work to do and wanted to have some viable locations to show the girls as soon as possible.

Just as she sat down in front of the computer screen, the phone rang. She let it ring three times while she debated whether or not to pick it up. Curiosity won out.

She picked up the extension off the wall in the office.

“Hello?”

“Hey, baby.”

“Phil.” A fire lit her up inside at the sound of his voice. “Where are you?”

“Still out in L.A. I was hoping to leave on Monday, but things are taking longer than we anticipated.”

“Oh.” She sat down in the leather swivel chair and slowly spun in a circle, cradling the phone to her ear.

“Don’t sound so down, baby. I should be home by next weekend. And then we can spend five whole days making up for lost time.”

She laughed then stopped suddenly. Raquel.

“You, okay? Something wrong?”

“No, I’m fine,” she lied. “Just missing my man, that’s all.” At least that part was true.

“Next time I’ll arrange for you to go with me.”

“I should have come this time. You know how much I love California.”

“I know. But this trip was real work. The director and executive producer have been bumping heads since we got here. The E.P. swears there’s not enough money in the budget for the scenes that the director wants to shoot. So we’ve been scouting out new locations. I think everyone is finally satisfied. I’m pretty hopeful that these scenes won’t take more than a couple of days.”

Good, by that time Raquel would be out of the house.

“So what have you been up to?”

“Hmm, just an evening with the girls last night.”

Phil chuckled. “I would love to be a fly on the wall at one of those gatherings.”

“I bet you would.”

“So, what was it this time?”

She often came back from the girls’ night out and told Phil about some of the things they talked about: finances, the state of the world, vacations, job woes and men, of course. But this time was different. They’d all shown a side of themselves that they’d never revealed before—a totally vulnerable side, a side of hurt and uncertainty. They’d entrusted each other with secrets, and this time those secrets were sacred.

“Hmm, nothing special, just the usual stuff.”

“Okay, well, listen, I have to run. Need to be on the set in twenty minutes. Behave until I see you.”

Ann Marie giggled. “What fun would that be?”

Phil laughed in return. “Talk to you soon.”

“Bye.”

Slowly she hung up the phone. In the year and a half that she’d been with Phil she’d never outright lied to him. What had that storm blown in yesterday?

Chapter 7

Elizabeth sat in the solitude of her ultramodern kitchen. The black-and-white space was equipped with every tool to make even the most resistant cook want to try their hand at being a chef. Cooking was Elizabeth’s passion. She so enjoyed the looks of delight on her family and friends’ faces when she’d present them with a new creation.

She’d transferred her culinary love to her twin daughters, Dawne and Desiree, who ran a small health-food café and grill in the West Village. They did all of the cooking themselves and enjoyed it, and from the booming business they did, so did their customers.

Elizabeth looked around. Her entire home was a showplace. She took pride in creating a special feel and tone to the four-bedroom brownstone. She’d spend hours scouring catalogs or hunting through out-of-the-way shops for the perfect pillow, throw rug, handmade sculpture, quilt or piece of art. Her family and her home were all she had. It was who she was.

Her throat muscles clenched as a single tear slid down her cheek. She thought she had no more tears to shed. Her eyes were swollen and her throat was raw.

Matthew hadn’t even bothered to come home last night, and if he did, she’d been too drunk to notice, and he was long gone by the time she woke up. Just as well.

What was she going to tell her daughters, that she was a failure, another woman who couldn’t hold on to her husband?

Damn you, Matthew! She hurled a mug across the room. The sound of it crashing against the opaque-colored stucco wall was equal to a sonic boom inside her head. She covered her face with her hands and wept.