Scared of Beautiful (8 page)

“Why not?” Jade asks, confused. I laugh; Jade thinks like a guy, always has. You like someone, you fuck them, it’s simple. Although, that’s never made her a slut. She’s also very selective.

“Because I genuinely don’t want to fuck this up, and it just seemed like Maia needed to know that sex is not the first thing on my mind. I actually like her,” I answer as we approach the counter. After ordering we sit at a table by the window, so Jade can ‘check out the scenery’.

I had decided on the way to picking Jade up that I would tell her I knew where Shana was. I really have no clue how she’ll react, but she does deserve to know. Shana was her best friend, and plus, I don’t like the idea that she would likely castrate me if she found out I lied to her.

“So you two are dating, like, high school dating?” she asks, pulling at her face.

“Guess so,” I say shrugging my shoulders.

“But you don’t date. You may have Maia fooled with your good guy act, but you and I have history. I know how much of a bad boy you’ve been since Shana left,” Jade looks concerned, and truthfully I think she’s worried about me hurting Maia. And she has a point.

When Shana left, I really stopped giving a shit about life in general, and there were so many things that I did, so many women that I did, one night stands, random club fucks when I was high or wasted or both. Jade has every right to be concerned for Maia. The old Jackson woke up with a different chick in his bed every night, and most times they were nameless, and faceless. And heartbroken when I shuffled them out the side door without saying so much as ‘I’ll call you’. And I’m really not proud of any of it.

“I quit all that shit, Jade. Brown is a fresh start. I didn’t plan on meeting Maia, but I did. So please try not to count me out so soon?” I look at her, wondering whether or not she’s feeling obliged to tell Maia about my not so pleasant past.

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” she smiles at me reassuringly, but in seconds her face darkens and she continues. “Maia clearly has her own shit to deal with, and if you hurt her, I swear you’ll be missing some of your vital organs.”

“Noted,” I nod, “but what shit does Maia have to deal with?” My curiosity piques as I realize that maybe Jade can shed some light on why Maia’s so guarded.

“Don’t know, to be honest,” she shrugs. “I know she gets checks for five grand every month from her father, and she just throws them into her drawer. Unopened. She has other money though, and she shops with me in thrift stores when I know she can afford better. I’ve met her mother once, and she seems a touch sensitive. She owns a BMW X5 but she walks and takes the bus everywhere. And Maia doesn’t talk about her past, not about her past boyfriends, friends, family, anything. It’s like her life started when she got to Brown.” I know what Jade means, and I got that feeling, too. Still, she did talk about her family last night, briefly. The more I get to know Maia, the more complex she becomes.

I take a breath and decide to bring up the Shana subject.
May as well just say it
. “So,” I start slowly, “I found Shana.”

Jade looks up, holding a butter-covered knife over her croissant and stares at me. “Oh,” she says and continues to butter the croissant haphazardly.

Jade was hurt when Shana left without so much as a goodbye. They’d been inseparable as friends, so as much as she wants to know everything that I know, she doesn’t want to ask, either. She’s clearly still mad. So I continue, saving her the mental torture. “A P.I. I hired found her. Not because I wanted her back, but because I needed closure to come here. Jade, he found her and a little girl.”

Jade’s knife falls to her plate with a resounding clank. “What?” Her jaw has dropped and she’s staring at me in disbelief. “Is she yours?” she asks.

“How should I know?” I answer. “She definitely looks the right age, but I don’t know. I didn’t call her. I have her number.”

“Give it to me,” Jade says pulling out her phone. Jade’s going to call her, there’s no reasoning with her about this. I can see the sheer determination in her face, but her eyes are clouded over with anger.

“Jade, it’s not a good idea, just leave her be. She doesn’t want to see us, either of us, or she would have called.”

“No!” Jade’s voice echoes through the Bean, and a few students turn in our direction. “Who the hell does she think she is, running off and having your child without so much as a ‘hello, just thought you may want to know’?”

I sigh. “Let it go, Jade.”

“No! I can’t, and neither should you. She owes you an explanation, at least!” I hold my phone facing Jade as she saves Shana’s number. She grabs her bag, leans down to slam a quick kiss onto my cheek and storms off.

I rub my temples in frustration.
I knew that was a fucking bad idea.
I look up to see Maia staring down at me.

“What’s up with Jade?” she asks concerned.

I shake my head twice. “Jade can be a bit melodramatic sometimes.” I decide against telling Maia why Jade is so mad. The last thing I need is to have two chicks walking out on breakfast this morning. “Thought you had a class?” I ask casually, taking the opportunity to change the subject as Maia sits down. Her hair falls over her right shoulder and her skinny jeans and tank top look as though they’re painted on. Nothing like a visual of early morning sex to brighten a man’s mood.

“Cancelled. Turns out my Comp Lit professor took a leave of absence after offering candy to the students,” she shudders.

“Really?” I ask, laughing.

“Uh huh,” she grins. “They’re trying to find a replacement.”

“Suits me fine,” I tease as she plops down on the couch next to me.

“So, I have a favor to ask,” she looks at me sheepishly. “My mom needs to move some stuff out of our apartment. It’s long story, but she’s moving out. Can you help us?”

If my mother were leaving my father, I sure as shit wouldn’t be smiling the way Maia is now, I’d be depressed as hell. But she seems pleased.
Another question for another day
, I decide. “Sure,” I smile, putting my arm around her shoulder. “But what do I get in return?” I grin at her suggestively and she laughs slapping my chest.

“What happened to good old-fashioned gentlemen?” she shakes her head in mock sadness.

“The gentlemen you read about never had the pleasure of being tempted by someone hot as hell, sitting an inch away from them.” I lean in and kiss Maia gently. “Besides,” I say grinning, “I’ve never claimed to be a gentleman, more of an opportunist, really.”

“It shows,” she laughs.

Jade’s right. Maia doesn’t laugh enough, but it’s melodic when she does. May have to work on that, too.

Maia

Talking to my mother this morning was less than pleasant. My father’s been harassing her, calling and telling her that without him, she’s nothing. But to her credit, it doesn’t seem like she’s hearing it anymore.
What a fucking joke
. Aunt Megs called me as well, to say that she’s worried that my mother is wearing down with all of his phone calls. And the fact that he cancelled her credit cards and froze all of her bank accounts. He changed the locks on the apartment, but a courier delivered me a new key.
Did he really think that I wouldn’t help her get her shit?
I feel bad asking Jackson to help us move her stuff, but truthfully, and though I would never admit it, I need him there. I need him to remind me that I am likeable without my money or social status. The fact that he doesn’t know much about my past and doesn’t care is reassuring.

After lunch, I introduce him to my X5. I laugh as he grabs the keys like an excited schoolboy when I ask him to drive. First stop, the Bronx to pick up my mother at Aunt Megs’ place. Jackson doesn’t flinch at the neighborhood at all; in fact, he smiles at the kids playing and skipping on the sidewalk. My heart warms a little when I see it.

“My parents grew up in a neighborhood like this,” he says. “Places like this are good for the soul.” I’m surprised at how deep he is. “Except at night. At night, this shit’s bad for your health,” he deadpans.

Aunt Megs lives in a walk up, with paint flaking off the walls on the stairwell and molding carpet on the floor. We head up to the second story apartment. I could have called my mother to come down, but Megs would kill me for being so rude. I’m nervous as hell about Jackson coming so far into my world. Surprisingly though, this impoverished neighborhood is not what embarrasses me. It’s my life in Manhattan that does.

Aunt Megs flings open the door as we knock. She never changes, this woman. “Maia!” she yells and pulls me into her large bosom in a suffocating hug. Her tall and wide stature is deceptive; she’s a gentle giant. Her warm, brown eyes give her away, and her cocoa colored skin seems to pop amidst her always colorful outfits and wide grin. “You’re too much of a stranger these days,” she scolds. She turns her attention to Jackson and I hold back a giggle, waiting for her assault. “And who is this strapping young man!” she exclaims, pulling him into a bear hug. I damn near collapse into a fit of laughter as Jackson flails around in her embrace.

“Jackson Jones, nice to meet you, ma’am,” he nods when she finally releases him and he can breathe again.

“And he has manners!” she nods at me approvingly, and Jackson grins like he’s just been given a lollipop. “Come in,” she scolds as if we were standing in the hallway by choice. Megs’ apartment is as colorful as she is: red tablecloths with purple sunset curtains being her norm. Yet it feels homely, even if it does hurt your eyes sometimes.

My mother in a grey pants suit is the only thing that looks out of place in here. She glances up from pawing through her handbag as we enter, and walks over, offering me a long hug.

“Hi Mom,” I say, “This is Jackson.” She smiles at Jackson and holds out her hand. “Jackson this is my mother, Celia.”

“Lovely to meet you,” he greets her, taking her hand. My mother smiles warmly at Jackson. Even though she’s been a socialite for the past two decades, she’s never been shallow. Any other Manhattan mother would have asked immediately about his lineage.

Megs makes us chai tea, which Jackson politely accepts. but doesn’t drink. I notice that my mother’s eyes are red rimmed again. She engages in the conversation, but seems so distant. Then again, that’s nothing new.

The ride to Manhattan is uneventful. Jackson offers a brief history of himself and his family. I stare out the window, dreading each turn of the wheel that brings me closer to my old life. We pull up outside the apartment on the block opposite Central Park, and the valet races to park the car. I politely decline and say we would prefer if it stayed on the street.

“Wow,” Jackson doesn’t hide his astonishment at the luxury block. My mother and I have the same fearful look in our eye.

“Are you sure he’s away?” I ask her.

“Magda said he would be for the next two days,” my mother answers.

Magda is my father’s P.A., my mother’s friend, and my father’s mistress. Has been for the past 12 years. Talk about a convoluted fuck up. Jerry, the doorman, smiles as we walk past and into the elevator. My mother presses P and we ascend to the top floor of the building.

Jackson is clearly in awe of the apartment, from the extravagant flower arrangements that adorn the expensive hall tables, to the baby grand piano in the foyer, to the imported Italian leather lounge suites and marble tiles. I hate the extravagance, hate every square inch of this place, and every memory it recalls in my mind. My mother walks purposefully to her bedroom, ignoring her surroundings.

“I need to grab a few things as well,” I say to Jackson, leading him to my old bedroom.

My bedroom is Queen Anne and shabby chic through and through. My father paid a designer a small fortune to cater to my every whim, mainly because the daughters of other families would see it. I don’t stay for the reminiscing, and instead walk straight over to my walk-in closet. The wardrobe is bigger than our whole dorm room at Brown. Jackson follows me in, and all of a sudden I am ashamed of the sheer amount of expensive shit that surrounds us. The shoe rack is lined with rows and rows of Christian Louboutins and Jimmy Choos. The handbags hung neatly on the adjoining shelf cost nothing less than $1000 each. The racks look like the inside of a designer clothing store.

I pick up a Louis Vuitton overnight bag and throw in some sentimental pieces of jewelry. Next, I grab a box that’s filled with paperwork, and shove everything to do with my investment portfolio into the bag and reach up for a small shoebox and place that in as well.

“Can I help?” Jackson asks.

I’m so focused on taking our shit and getting the hell out of there that I forgot that he was behind me. “I’m good, got everything I wanted,” I smile and stand on my toes to kiss him slowly on the lips.

The sound of breaking glass shatters the moment. I grab my bag and race towards the hallway, with Jackson in tow. My father holds my mother by her hair. Hearing Jackson’s and my footsteps in the hallway, my father turns and flings my mother to the side like a rag doll.

“You!” he yells pointing a finger in my direction. “I should have known you had something to do with this, you ungrateful little bitch.”