The Sordid Promise (5 page)

“Morning, Mom.” I felt a little better that she was awake this time. There was an additional line added to her free arm. An oxygen mask covered nearly half of her face.

She gave me a faint smile. “Janet told me you blew it with a handsome young man.” She breathed out the words like it severely labored her to talk.

“Did they up your meds?”

“Don’t avoid my topic of discussion.”

“He doesn’t like me,” I said quickly to make her move on.

“My greatest regret? I’ll never be able to see you get married or have children.”

“Maybe I can hire someone. We can have a wedding right here, and I can pretend like I’m really in love. We can steal a baby from the maternity ward and pretend it’s ours.”

“That would work, if you hadn’t told me your plan.” Her hand moved, but it didn’t seem to go where she wanted it to go. I quickly slipped my hand in hers. “I want you to be happy, Nikki. Genuinely. Like I thought your father and I once were. Say whatever you would like, but we all need someone in our lives. Someone needs to bring some life into the houses I’m leaving you. Just imagine the winter vacations you’ll have with your husband and your children at the cabin in Aspen.”

“I stole the neighbor’s dog. She brings quite a bit a life into the house. I can vacation with her. Think it’ll be fun,” I deadpanned.

“Nikki, I’m serious. I want you to be happy.”

I propped my elbows on her bed as I fingered her thin, feeble hand. She had no idea. It was so easy to want it. It was so easy to think I could have it. The things I needed in order to feel it; protected, loved, safe, and controlled. To have someone understand that pain breeds my pleasure. To have someone who knew about my darkness and didn’t see fault in it. It was better to be alone without those things, than to be with someone who couldn’t give them to me. Besides the fact, I didn’t have the energy or the mental strength to be in a relationship.

“I never will be, Mom.”

She strategically touched the thick leather bands that I wore on my wrists. She was doing it for a pointed reason, and as she did, her eyes began to water.

My bottom lip quivered as I tried to fight back the emotion. “Please, don’t do that,” I quavered.

“I’m so scared you’re going to do something to yourself when I’m gone,” she sobbed lightly. “Can’t you see why I would want a companion for you? Don’t sell a connection short. There is a perfect someone for everyone out there.
Everyone
.”

“Medicine fixes me just enough to get me out of bed. What makes you think anything, or anyone could do and be the impossible? Would it be so bad if we were together in that big cloudy castle in the sky? Me. You. Dad. Together.”

“These aren’t thoughts I want to have on my deathbed.” She removed her oxygen mask. “Don’t negate how well your mother knows you. No matter how twisted and damaged we are, there’s always someone out there who will love us as we are.” Her eyes erratically searched around the room as she grew disquiet. “I want to return to my home.”

“You say that a lot,” I sighed, “but when I make plans, you change your mind.”

“I didn’t want to be a burden to you. I need to access a wheelchair in order to find the handsome man you turned down and implore him to give you another chance.”

“Mom,” I whined.

“Promise, you’ll give him a shot? He seems like such a compatible match; good job, good teeth, and good looking amongst other things. Did he invite you to dinner?”

“How did you know that?”

“Janet, of course.”

“Janet,” I mumbled, annoyed.

“She was invited as well. If I must, I’ll tell her to drag you to his home.”

“Okay,” I relented, throwing my arms up in the air. “I’ll go.”

“I think he would be more open to chat about some of the things we’ve discussed, if you were nice to him. Let that be your motivation. Guilt.”

“Nice to him?” I nearly croaked. Her words had a double meaning, reminding me of something we'd discussed months ago. In her way, she was telling me he was the one to do what we needed him to do. “Why? He has yet to do anything to warrant that. Besides, he said some pretty vulgar things to me.”

“Gah!” She waved me off. “I’m sure it made your temperature rise.”

“A little awkward, Mother,” I said sardonically. “Why are you so impatient with your disease? Why can’t nature do its thing? I’m starting to think you’re in a rush to leave me.”

“Diouana, you haven’t the slightest idea. All I want to do is stay and be here for you in ways I failed to do for much too long. I allowed my career to become number one. My, how I regret that now. Unfortunately, nature is seeing fit to rip my body apart as she takes her precious time. Some pain is just too much to endure for too long.” She shot her eyes up at me. “So, yes, if you won’t do it for your wilting flower, do it for your dying mother.”

I raised a brow. “Wilting…flower?”

“You know how I abhor the word pussy,” she complained. “My childhood kitten Wiggles was a pussy. The life giving flower between my legs is not a pussy.”

I chuckled a little, making her laugh weakly as well. “Okay. You guilted me. I’ll go to the idiotic dinner that I will probably hate and bitch about the whole time.”

She put up a smile. “Make sure you look cute. Make him weep, like you know you can.”

I dug deep inside the back of my closet—beyond the T-shirts and jeans to a time period in which I use to care. I settled on a navy striped pencil skirt, chiffon spaghetti strapped blouse, and my t-strap brown stilettos. My makeup was done with bronzy hues and neutral glossed lips. I parted my hair off-center, added large curls, and gathered it to one shoulder.

It was a quarter to five, but I hoped by being early, I could pretend to help him cook. In truth, I needed to speak to him before the crowd showed up, then leave before the get-together started.

Before I could knock on the door, it swung open

Eric immediately regarded me from head-to-toe and tried (unsuccessfully) to hide his smile. “You’re early. Guess you took my invitation to get to know me to heart. I knew I’d chip that ice somehow.” He was simply dressed in a pair of dark denims and a T-shirt, but still managed to look expensive and stylish all the same. The scent of his cologne whirled around my nose. That very scent made me delay until the very last minute to wash his sweater. I think I spent a good day, wearing his sweater around the house, so I could take in the fragrance every now and then.

I took a bated breath. “I didn’t bring a dish. I didn’t know if I was supposed to. I think I read somewhere that I was supposed to bring a dessert. I didn't have time to get one. I can make something here—or not. Anyways….” I held up a medium sized box.

He looked speculatively at the box. “What’s that about?”

“Your camera—or your uncle’s camera. I fixed it.”

His jaw dropped. “You’re kidding?” I shook my head. He took the box from me and opened it on the steps. As he clutched the camera, he checked out all the features, ensuring it worked properly. He moved to take a picture of me.

“There’s no film.”

“Can’t believe you fixed it,” he remarked with slight awe.

“When I said I fixed it, I meant that I took it to a repair shop, who tried to fix it, but screwed up the shutter. I finished the job with some parts I had around the house. I’m just really good with mechanical things.” I fiddled awkwardly with my hands. “I’m really sorry about my behavior that night. I have a phobia of having my picture taken.”

“Why? Do you think it will steal your soul, or something?”

“What?”

“Bad attempt at historical humor,” he muttered through a tempered simper. “It went so much better in my head.”

“I understood it. What I meant is that, people can’t be trusted nowadays.”

“Could people ever have been trusted? It’s about having the right people on your side, right? Anyway, I get that…now. I would’ve given you the film if you just told me your concern back then. That would’ve been a proper exchange of communication. See how that works, Nikki?”

“I’m really sorry,” I said in earnest. Never bothered by my inability to communicate effectively, at the moment, the skill I lacked weighed on me.

Eric no longer hid his smile as it turned broad, friendly, and warm. “It’s okay. Problem solved.”

“And this…” I shoved his sweater towards him. “Freshly laundered.”

The door creaked open. A woman stepped from behind the door in a dress that clung so tightly to her body, I could see her pelvic bones. “Eric? Are you coming in?” she questioned with a heavy southern drawl. “I think the sauce is burning.” She stepped forward with her arms folded and sized me up. “Who is she?”

“Nikki…Tamala.”

“Nikki?” she asked with a giggle. “Your name is really just Nikki, or is that short for something?”

“It was a pet name derived from my middle name. My father used to call me that. My first name is Diouana.”

“That’s worse.”

Eric shot a perturbed look at his female friend. She looked uncomfortable for a moment and took a step back from the door. With a lightened expression, he nodded his invitation to me.

I looked around, noting that the interior of the house didn’t look structurally different from my mother’s home.

“Were you named after the character in
Le Noire de
?” Eric asked me as we walked down the hall alongside one another with Tamala trailing behind us.

Slightly surprised that he was familiar with the film, I eased up on the cold front. “And just like her, I slit my wrist once.” The truth was more than once.

Eric immediately froze in his position. Tamala gaped at me with her eyes full of horror. With the way they gawked at me, I regretted sharing the information. It reminded me of how my mother would berate me about my communication skills. She said I never said the appropriate things at the appropriate time. When her sickness took hold, she ceased caring about filtering her words, too.

“Look, I don’t do this,” I said. “I don’t know
why
I’m doing this—this posturing. I’m not any good at it. I came here to give you back the camera and to talk to you. I thought you’d be alone, so we could talk. But as expected, a guy like you has dogs hot on his scent and—” I looked at Tamala. “—bitches can be very territorial, so I’m going to just go.”

Tamala dramatically swung her hips as she approached me. “Did you just call me a dog and a bitch?”

“Actually…you were redundant. They are one in the same. So, yes, I did.”

Tamala charged after me, forcing Eric to immediately stand between her and me. He glanced back at Tamala. “Check on the sauce and give us a few minutes alone.”

Tamala rolled her eyes, but did as Eric asked.

Eric considered me with concern. “Stay. Whatever you need to talk to me about can wait until after dinner. I need to take away any and every excuse you have to leave early.”

“I told you.” I shook my head vehemently with a frown. “This isn’t fun for me. I don’t want to be here. It will get worse when your friends arrive. Either way, I wouldn’t use an excuse when I wanted to leave. I would just…leave.”

“I don’t know what you’re used to, but my friends are a decent bunch of characters. You’ll have fun.”

“Fun?” I asked as if it was an impossibility.

“I’ll personally make sure of it.” He turned to walk inside the kitchen.

I nodded, following in step. He hadn’t convinced me on why I should stay. Also, I wasn’t convinced that he could somehow make me have fun. The fact that I would be around a crowd of people I didn’t know, wasn’t a good start to my idea of fun.

My mother’s wishes were at my command. I would’ve done anything for her.

At the moment I reached the kitchen, Tamala continuously glowered at me while absentmindedly stirring the sauce.

I gave her a look, telling her I wasn’t in the mood to work some sort of pageant stage to win Eric’s affections. She turned back to the sauce, gripping the handle of the spoon tightly as she muttered inaudible things under her breath. Eric took over the duty, prying her hands from the spoon, and closed the lid.

I remained on the other side of the kitchen island and fingered the erratic marble design in the granite. I looked around the mostly unpacked house. Everything was black and white…too clean. Sharp edges and modern fixtures abounded. The walls were a stark white juxtaposed against the black stained concrete floor. I expected someone as cocksure as Eric to have photographs of himself on every wall and in every room of the house. Instead, large still life photographs of inanimate objects were affixed to the walls.

“What are you making?” I asked because it seemed like the appropriate thing to say, not because I cared to know.

“Realize we never had a formal introduction. Think we should have one with whatever it is you’re going to tell me later. I have a feeling it’s heavy.”

“I know your name.” I turned my eyes back to his. “You know mine. No point.”

“It’s a new start.” He turned around and leaned across the counter. “I’m Eric, and you are?”

As I whirled my eyes around, I offered him a temperate smile. “Nikki.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Nikki. Can I just say—” Slowly, his eyes grazed down my body, taking the most time at my exposed legs. “—you look incredible.” He extended his hand to me. When I didn’t comply, his eyes narrowed and his fingers gesticulated.