Soulmates (9 page)

“Why are you paying
her
?” Nelda said the first time she saw the backyard paradise. “She should be paying you.”

“Noni, you are too funny. Daniela is okay. She’s another pair of hands.”

The idyllic summer day, Gladys brought a tray of lemonade and snacks to the yard. Lisa curled up on a lounge chair, reading a new novel and Daniela was having a pretend tea party with the girls. The boys stretched out on the quilt looked like they might take a catnap any moment. Ruining the peace, Lisa’s cell phone buzzed; it was Dan.

“I’ve got bad news,” he said. Lisa fell back against the chaise.

“What now?”

“Cara’s parole was granted.” Her heart dropping, Lisa sat up again, looking over at Dan Junior curled up with Marcus, sleeping under the trees.

“What does it mean for us?” She knew but needed him to reinforce it.

“Nothing, yet. We have a restraining order in place. She’ll have to go through the motions to see the baby. It won’t happen overnight.”

“Why are you calling? Is she out already? Should I get the boys inside the house?”

“No, just relax. I thought you should know is all. Make sure you lock the doors and lock the gate. I doubt she’d try anything, but we need to be vigilant.” Lisa said goodbye and got up from the chair.

“Let’s get everyone inside,” she said, urgency evident in her voice. To Gladys she whispered, “Cara’s out.” Gladys bypassed the boys going right for Megan, irritating Lisa.

“Mom, get Marcus for me, will you? Daniela can manage the girls.” Getting everyone safe inside the house, the worry that Cara could be lurking on the other side of the fence propelling her, Lisa couldn’t prevent the tears from careening down her face. “I can’t believe we’re here again.”

While Lisa secured her household with the worst-case scenario in mind, Cara Ellison waited in the prisoner discharge room, giddy with excitement about going home. The few belongings she’d come in with were returned to her earlier that morning, clothes skintight, evidence what a year of prison food and pregnancy could do to the body. Her attorney, Clifton Johnson, was present as the clerk went over important documents, outlining conditions of her parole.

“You are to have absolutely no contact with the Chua’s. Not a phone call, drive by, if you see them at the beach, run in the opposite direction. I can’t emphasize this strongly enough. Counsel, make sure you’ve discussed this with your client. Miss Ellison, it will take only one call from the Chua’s to bring you back to serve the rest of your sentence.”

“What about my baby? I should be able to see him,” she cried.

“We’ll discuss it later,” Mr. Johnson grumbled, shooting her a warning look.

“That’s a different thing altogether,” the clerk interrupted. “You’ll have to go to court for anything pertaining to the child. You’ve lost your custodial rights.”

Although Cara already knew this, hearing it again brought on a fresh torrent of revulsion for Dan and Lisa. “For no fucking reason,” she spit out, Johnson grabbing her arm.

“Unless you want to reinstate your original sentence, you better be quiet,” he hissed. “Shut… the hell… up!” She wrestled out of his grasp and started walking toward the door, wanting to be in the fresh air, the mildew stench of the room overpowering. Standing by his car crying, Cara fought to regain control, aware that once false move and she would be incarcerated in a flash.

“You must have a death wish,” he said, unlocking her door.

“I’m upset! I want to see my son,” she cried.

“You should have thought of that before you knocked his father over the head with a frying pan. Now get in. If someone sees you giving me trouble out here, you’d better believe they’ll lock you up again.” Cara got in, forgetting how comfortable a car could be and how uncomfortable she’d been in the past year.

“What’s the next step? I have to do something to see my son as soon as possible. Don’t tell me to be patient. You knew this day was coming so you should already have something in place.” He looked over at her, wishing he could dump her off on the road.

“I have everything ready to go. We will file a complaint to overturn the custody arrangements made while you were in prison. We’ll have to wait for a date to be set. In the meantime, you need to get back on your feet. You’ll have a lot to do while you’re waiting, trust me.”

“Like what? All I want is for my baby to come back to me.”

“Understand that ain’t happening. You’ll get supervised visits at the most, if at all. You need to get a job first; ability to support a child is crucial. Plus, I’m not going to carry you along free much longer. I’ll file this child custody thing for you and that’s it. We will be on a cash basis after that. If you try to go to another lawyer, he’ll be made aware of my bills.” Not believing what she was hearing, Cara lashed out again.

“This is the way you treat a client on the day she’s out of prison! Hurry up and get me home.” They didn’t speak the rest of the trip, Clifton Johnson resisting the temptation to slap her across the face and Cara trying her best to keep from pounding her fists on her thighs and screaming, her frustration level so high.

It would be a way of life for all concerned; fighting, drama and angst, but not for long.

Chapter 7

Sitting in the back of a limo going into work Monday morning after the wedding, Sandra Benson’s overwhelming guilt vacillated between moments of hysteria and thinking about Pam. When it was over, no one would believe that Sandra had nothing to do with Jason’s actions on Saturday. She’d taken the train to Philadelphia Friday night to help his daughters prepare for their roles in the wedding, and when she arrived at Jason’s house, heard the news that would stun her.

“Daddy doesn’t know if he can go through with it,” Jane announced, reluctantly allowing Sandra inside the dark vestibule.

“Ah, he doesn’t have a choice, Jane. He can’t get away with this. Pam’s invested so much emotionally in him, it will destroy her.”

“She can’t force him to marry her, and besides, I’m not thinking of Pam right now,” Jane snapped. “He doesn’t love her or he wouldn’t be in such a mess.”

She was blocking the way to the staircase, which lead to the bedrooms where Jason was hiding. “Can I get by? I’m not going to kidnap the man. I just want to talk to him.” Grudgingly, Jane moved aside.

“Don’t try to make him feel guilty,” she snapped.

“He is guilty, Jane. Stop being a pussy about your father.” Sandra moved past her, her height intimidating, and Jane stomped up the stairs after her.

Sandra knocked on his bedroom door. “Jay, it’s me. Come out here so we can talk.” She could hear shuffling around in the room along with an occasional sob. Breathing on the other side of the door revealed that he heard her. “Come on. I traveled for two hours to see you; you can’t send me away now.” The door creaked open and a haggard old man peered out at her.

“This is a catastrophe,” he whispered. “I can’t go through with it. No one here can stand her and I barely can myself. What was I thinking?” Appalled, Sandra turned to pace, glad she wasn’t in the wedding party after all, at the beach with Pam and her
friends
.

When she’d first recognized the slight that her supposedly best friend didn’t ask her to stand up in the wedding, the hurt was intense, her pride taking a beating.

“I don’t get it,” she cried to Jason. “I have her grandson, we’ve been together through hell and back and she doesn’t ask me to be in the wedding. I noticed Jeannie’s a bridesmaid; she’s only known her for a year.”

“Do you want me to say something to her?” Jason asked. “I could find a way to bring it up so she wouldn’t suspect we’d talked about it.”

“Ha! Get a grip. Pam’s like a homing pigeon now. She’d zero on what’s going on right away.” Forcing herself to acknowledge the part she played in the demise of Pam and Jason was another regret she had.

Last fall, she’d fallen into a platonic affair of sorts with Jason. It started innocently enough, the flirtation leading to a short time of physicality, but they never had intercourse. It reminded Sandra of something two young children would do. Almost fetish-like, they nurtured an odd type of sexuality that would have infuriated Pam; it was so like something she’d imagine Jack doing. Pam and Jack had their own indulgences; Pam confessing he liked watching her do summersaults.

Jason’s needs were simpler; he asked Sandra to dress in his late wife Emily’s clothing. He would ask her to dress up for particular occasions; a kilt with a cashmere sweater Emily had since high school, or go-go boots from the seventies. At Jason’s direction, she’d march around the yacht named Emily’s Paycheck, pretending to model. He loved sweeping moves. “Bend to the side and let your hair swish around!” or “Squat and throw your head forward, like an African dancer,” he’d direct. One thing that drove him crazy; taking knee high boots off, as slowly as possible. She stifled laughing hysterics when doing it, the absurdity of their relationship glaring at those times. Directing her poses, he’d take videos of her with his phone. They’d watch together, careful to delete them afterward. It was the time she missed Pam most; not able to share the craziness with her. Nothing particularly provocative about it, he got off watching her and she needed the attention he poured while on she was doing it.

While on the boat; free to do whatever they wanted without the threat of his children disturbing them, Sandra secretly thought the dress up productions were a waste of time. They should be having wild sex, partying for all it was worth. But the boat was one of the perks of being in a relationship with him, and if he didn’t want to have sex, or unable to, she’d live with it.

Not having sex wasn’t a problem for long; Pete, the neighborhood dock boy was single
and
he was looking for love. Sunday afternoons, after leaving Jason on his boat, but before heading back to Brooklyn, she’d make a side tour to Pete’s dank apartment. Later, memories of it would make her skin crawl. Out on the dock, his pristine white attire and witty humor were captivating. The apartment, on the other hand, was disgusting. Filthy and roach infested, she got in and out without lingering.

Pete let her know he was interested soon after the first boat ride.

“Why’s a young girl with that old geezer?” he asked. “It gives me the creeps.”

Defensive, Sandra made sure Jason wasn’t within earshot. “Can you offer me something better?” she whispered in return. Slipping her a business card with his phone number, he swept the area with his eyes.

“Don’t let him know we spoke, please.” As soon as the weekend was over and she was back in Brooklyn, she made the call. Arranging to meet the following weekend, Sandra could barely wait to get off the boat. A battered coffee shop in the Italian market would be the place of their first rendezvous, walking through chicken blood from the butcher shop next door, it reminded her of Houston Street when the meatpacking district still had meat.

“So where’s your place?” she asked. Sheepishly, he pointed south.

“We can walk,” he said. Sorry for her high heels, she managed two blocks without complaining too much. The building was in rough shape, on a narrow alley, but it was close to the main drag. She worried how she’d get home if she were there after dark.

“Cabs come here,” Pete said, defensively. “It’s not the slums.” Ignoring him, Sandra was leery.

The apartment cast a pall over their first time together. After he had invited her in, she looked around the bedroom in horror, making it clear that nothing was happening unless he put clean sheets on the bed, shoveled a path to the bathroom and cleaned the toilet.

“How old are you anyway?” she asked the next time they met. It had been several weeks since she’d visited his apartment, hoping that he’d make some headway cleaning it.

“How old do you think?” he asked, aroused and eager to get her in bed. He was standing at the bedside, proud of the new, clean sheets.

“Don’t ask a question with a question, it’s disrespectful.”

“I’ll be twenty-three next month.” Appalled, that haunting question passed through her head; why’d she always go for the wrong men? Tom Adams was perfect for her; the right age, handsome, employed, beautiful apartment, and she drove him away. Now she was with an old guy who had memory problems and a drug-addicted son, and a young kid who lived in a dump.

“Well, make sure you use protection if we make it to your bed,” she said. “You do have something, correct?” He turned to his nightstand and started rifling around.

“I don’t. But I’m safe and I’m sure you are.”

“You don’t know that. No condoms, no sex,” she replied, opening her purse, one she hadn’t used in awhile. At the bottom, she found a string of three, probably there for years.
Why hadn’t she used them with Jack?
He never used a condom and she was so stupid she didn’t insist. Oh well, it was done with. Throwing the packages to him, she started to undress.

“You’re just lucky tonight. If you want to see me again, buy your own.”

“Okay, I will,” he said sitting up watching her, his youthful eagerness charming albeit a bit disturbing.

When it was clear they’d keep seeing each other because the sex was incredible for them both, extracting promises of strict confidentiality from him was embarrassing, emphasizing the inappropriateness of what she was doing.

“I have just as much to lose as you do,” he said. “If the dock owners ever found out I had you here, I’d lose my job. I’m not supposed to hang out with their guests, especially not Mr. Bridges’ woman.”

“I’m not Mr. Bridges
woman
, Pete. We’re just friends,” Sandra said, indignant.

“Well, that’s not the story he’s telling everyone,” Pete said, sheepishly. “He sort of threatened me the first time you came around, said I’d be out of a job if I
stared at you again
the way he said I was staring.”

“Jason’s delusional. Now, about your job,” she said, curious. “How’d it come about? Why aren’t you in college?”

“I don’t have the money for college, not even junior college. I’m lucky to have this job, I get to drive great boats, I’m well paid and the bonuses are big.”