The Accidental Mistress (7 page)

"What? Is he crazy?"

"Maybe. I don't know. He seemed different. I
can't explain it. Hell I don't even know his last name."

Her sister rose from her squat. Zuri watched
Joi pace in a yellow sleep shirt and silk scarf tied down on her
head. She mumbled several times to herself. Her face was twisted in
rage. Then she stopped and frowned down at Zuri when she spoke.
"You sure you don't want to go back up there to set him
straight?"

"Why? What's his crime?
Sleeping with a woman that got naked for him and threw herself at
him? I'm so embarrassed, Joi. Don’t make it worse. What if you
cause a scene and
mère
and
père
find
out? What then? I want to forget him. Please."

Zuri grabbed the side of the tub and forced
herself to stand on her rubbery legs. She wanted out of the stained
dress. Immediately she slipped it off. Joi marched out of the
bathroom. Her sister's quick temper was unmatched by Zuri's weak
self-esteem. If she had been more confident, she wouldn't have
chosen some man in a bar to sleep with, she supposed.

Another quick shower cleared her head. It
also scrubbed away every trace of his scent. She left the bathroom
and found Joi going through her suitcase. Her sister fished out a
nightshirt and gave her an understanding smile. She and Joi should
have been twins the way they connected at times. It felt as if they
were. Joi set aside her anger and protectively cared for her.

"You scared me, Zuri. It's over. Let's just
forget it for now."

Zuri nodded. She slipped on the nightshirt
and climbed into bed. Joi turned off the lamp and climbed in with
her. It felt good being with someone that loved her and knew she
wasn't the mean things that Christophe, 'the creep', implied.
Tonight, Zuri understood her heart and how delicate it was. She
vowed never to throw it at a random stranger again.

"It's over, Zuri.
Je t'aime
."

"I love you too, Joi."

***

Christophe stepped aside while the hotel
manager walked through the suite.

“
Bad break-up huh? I guess
it happens. People are less likely to commit murder in hotels.
Instead they just destroy their rooms.” A tall lean man in tailored
grey suit stepped over broken glass and furniture pieces.
Christophe was reminded of a mortician by his cool detached manner
and the way he clasped his lean fingers behind his back. The hotel
manager stopped. Christophe followed his line of sight. The plasma
television had been ripped from the wall and beat against the
dresser until it splintered down the middle.

"Aw, so this is the noise maker that alerted
our other guests on the floor."

"I'm willing to compensate the hotel,"
Christophe mumbled and waked out of the suite into the bedroom. He
wasn't a violent man. But the destruction he put on his $4,000 a
night suite after the Zuri fiasco told another story. When he
finally put himself together (a pot of coffee and two showers
helped) he granted the visit from the hotel manager. His family
name and wealth didn't require a full explanation.

"Mr. Montague, allow me to place you in
another room for the night sir."

"Get out," Christophe mumbled. He sat on the
edge of the bed staring at nothing. The hotel manager snapped his
fingers and his assistant left, but he stayed. Christophe finally
glanced up. He noticed the greed in the man's eyes. He'd seen it
before whenever someone thought Montague's fortune could be used to
his or her benefit. Deciding he didn't need the hassle of the
tabloids, he rose and dug down in his pocket to extract his wallet.
He had six crisp one hundred dollar bills. He counted them out and
handed them over. The manager gave a curt nod and accepted the
money.

"We have your credit card on file. I
estimate maybe twenty to thirty thousand dollars worth of
damage."

Christophe shrugged. He threw the wallet
over to the nightstand.

"You have a pleasant day, sir. If you decide
you want to remain at the hotel another evening, please don't
hesitate to let us know."

"I will be checking out shortly."

"Yes sir. Ring us for your luggage."

The mortician left. Christophe dropped again
on the mattress. A slither of daylight reached his foot. He lifted
his head and stared out of the partially uncovered window.

***

"
Bonjour!
Rise and shine."

Zuri turned over to light, lots of light.
She put her hand to her eyes. They burned, as did her throat, and
her sour belly. "Close the drapes."

"Nope,
mère
called. They want to go to
breakfast, and I want to go to Walgreen's again."

"Huh? Are you kidding?"

Joi plopped down on the
mattress making Zuri bounce under the comforter. The action was
like a sledgehammer to the back of her head.
"Cesse tes jeux!"
she snapped.
Pushing up, she rested against her pillows, focusing on her sister.
Joi looked at her with a concerned glare. "I want to talk to you,
Zuri."

"Not now, Joi. I'm not in the mood."

"Yes, now. Then we'll never speak of this
again."

Zuri nodded.

"What you did last night was dangerous. And
it's my fault. I made fun of you and teased you. I only did it
because I wanted you to have some fun. I didn't mean for you to
pick up a stranger, and... you could have been hurt or worse," Joi
said.

"I'm grown. None of it is your fault. He was
a creep but not a freak. I'm fine."

"Still, I want to tell you
that though I want to kill you for scaring me so bad, I admire you.
You're much braver than me, Zuri. You came to America alone, and
made a life for yourself. You were right about me not wanting to
leave Martinique. I don't want to leave
mère
and
père
and they both have been
encouraging me to go to school in France. I only like pretending at
being adventurous."

Zuri moved aside her cover. She ignored the
shifting stabs of pain in her skull and went to her sister's side.
She wrapped her arms around Joi and smiled. "I'm fine, okay."

"If something had happened
to you
—
" she
choked on her emotion.

"Joi, it didn't. I shouldn't have come in
here looking like that. I scared you to death. I'm sorry. Do not
blame yourself, okay? And you're right. Let’s never speak of this
again."

Joi looked up. "Want to go back to
Walgreen's?"

Zuri laughed. "We will
take
mère
to the
Loop and shop in the best boutiques."

Joi shook her head. "We have them all on the
island, fancy shops and stores. I like Walgreen's," Joi smiled.

Zuri nodded. "Can I wear your suede
boots?"

"Deal."

"Let's get dressed
before
mère
is
calling for us."

Joi rose and went to the closet. Zuri
watched her sister pull out her suitcase. She didn't understand why
Joi feared the world. Zuri was curious about all they hadn't seen.
She longed for change. What was there really to do and become in
Martinique?

***

With his briefcase in hand and a pounding
headache that forced him to squint against the new day sun, he
headed through the hotel lobby for his chauffeured ride. Soon he'd
be on the Montague jet headed to New York. That's when he saw her.
She wore fitted faded blue jeans, chocolate suede riding boots with
a matching waist jacket. She was beautiful in the daylight. Her
skin was a golden even shade of brown and her hair, raven black,
was smoothed back into a ponytail. She walked with a woman who
looked almost identical to her. A large pair of oval sunglasses
covered those big brown eyes of hers. He should have kept walking;
maybe she wouldn't have spotted him. But seeing her through sober
eyes in the daylight made it hard to move.

Zuri turned up the walkway. His heart surged
at the spark of recognition that flared between them, then sank
over the cold wave of contempt he felt when she paused.

"Mr. Montague, sir," the driver said,
standing with the door open.

Christophe thought to approach her. He
didn't apologize often. In fact, his mother deemed that a great
weakness in a man who would. But he did want to apologize to her.
The moment passed when a younger, equally beautiful woman stood at
Zuri's side holding a Walgreen’s shopping bag. She looked at Zuri
then at him, and he knew their night of passion and its disastrous
end had been shared with this one. The young woman took a
challenging step forward, but Zuri grabbed her arm and pulled her
back.

All hope of any exchange was lost when Zuri
dismissed him and walked away. He was left holding his guilt and
regret. Zuri treated him as if he were nothing more than a
stranger. But the other continued to glare.

"Mr. Montague, sir, the traffic... we need
to leave."

"Yes, yes," he said. With a burdened sigh,
he slipped inside the waiting car.

***

"Zuri? Zuri? That was him! Wasn't it? Wasn't
it?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Wait. Go out there and tell him to piss
off. Don't let him get away with it!"

"Get away with what, Joi? I went to the
man's room and got undressed. He didn't invite me. Last night was
as much my fault as it was his. Though he's just a evil bastard."
Zuri snatched her arm free of her sister and turned to see her
parents exiting the elevator. She dropped her voice to a whisper.
"Don't say a word, Joi. It was my mistake and it's over. Let it
go."

Joi opened her mouth to object, but her
mother caught up with them.

"
Ma chérie
,
bonjour
, did you pull your car
around?"

"I did,
mère
." Zuri said kissing the side of
her mother's mouth. She inhaled the familiar fragrance of Chanel
that her mother carried and savored it. She felt so much better
when Nanette showered her with love. "I told you I want to drive
you guys down to Lake Michigan today. Show you more of the
city."

"Joi, what's wrong?" her mother asked,
releasing Zuri and touching her sister's forehead. Her mother's
attentions were more frustrating to Joi who thrived on
independence. Joi swatted her mother's caring hands away.

Zuri removed her sunglasses
and gave Joi a pleading look. Joi shrugged her shoulders. "Just
hungry,
mère
."

"Me too!" her father said, "Now let's
go."

Zuri hugged her father's waist and walked
out with him. She would never think of Christophe, the creep,
again.

Chapter Five

Four years later -

Sainte Marie, Martinique Island

The indigenous Caribbean
islanders referred to Martinique as
Madinina
(Island of Flowers).
Colonized by the French, Martinique is a mix of European settlers
and African slaves. Zuri knew all about the painful history of
slavery and the ensuing cast system of her people. She grew up
between those worlds with her Haitian father and mulatto Matinican
mother. However, home for her was never about what family she was
born into and the privilege of being a Baptiste. It had been about
community. Zuri believed the warm milk of life flowed from the long
family bonds forged on these island shores. She knew the strength
to be found in a sense of family amongst all Martinican’s. So,
returning home was always part of her plan, someday. That was until
it was decided for her.

Zuri could barely wait for
the family car to slow to a stop.
François
called out a warning, but she
threw the door open and hit the pavement running. Hurrying up the
inclined cobblestone drive, shadowed by tall beach palms, Zuri had
only her father on her mind. Her legs felt shaky. So were her hands
from the constant twisting of them on the plane. She covered her
red puffy eyes now swollen near shut behind dark sunglasses.
Contrary to popular belief, crying doesn't make one feel better.
Yes, the flow of tears is a release, but the pain is there all the
same. She could cry an ocean and nothing would ease her
suffering.

Zuri walked fast through her family home
with her chest and lungs so tight she struggled to breathe. Staff
she hadn't seen since Christmas called out her name. She ignored
them.

Joi had phoned her before
the long flight. Her sister said she would be there by noon. She
was driving in from Fort de France. It didn't matter. She didn't
need debriefing. What she needed most was
père
.

The stairs were made of the same mosaic
decorative tiles as the open foyer. Her heels clicked as she
climbed the stairs nearly two at a time in a yellow long hemmed
cotton sundress. The panic didn't really settle in until they
arrived at the Baptiste plantation. Her mind was now a jumble of
awful truths that she was certain she'd find. Her mothers' call in
the middle of the night had been the beginning of it. She and Joi
had waited an entire week before sharing the news. She would never
forgive them for this. Never!

"Zuri?"

Nanette stepped out of the
room at the end of the hall. She wore all white, a long linen skirt
and a loose fitted linen shirt. "
Ma
chérie
."

"
Mère
!" Zuri rushed into her
arms.

They embraced, and instantly Zuri felt some
relief.

"How's
père
? I got here as soon as I
could."