Young Wives (56 page)

“Anyway,” Lisa went on. “I brought all the things you asked for. I thought I could save you a trip out to Marblehead. You know, I figured it might be…well, awkward or too painful for you.”

Oh shit
, Angie thought. Awkward? This was absolutely wrong, catastrophic, even. Why did something always go wrong? She
had
to get to Marblehead, and with Lisa, and in two hours, max. “Well, and I’ve brought something for you,” she said in a voice she managed to keep calm. She’d have a whole mango chicken to think through. Lisa wouldn’t defeat all their careful plans.

Taking tea for two

Jada felt weird walking across Boston Common. People looked at her. Was it because she was black? Or because of her get-up? She certainly wasn’t dressed like a Bostonian, she thought. Leather pants were definitely
not
what most women wore in Boston. Jada got across to the other side of the park—that was apparently all the Common was—and after all those years of hearing about it, Jada was a little disappointed. She’d never been to Boston, and she’d expected more.

Now, though, she had to hurry to meet Samuel Dumfries, the son of the husband of her mother’s cousin. What a way to find help, she thought! Only Bajans would bother to go through that much trouble, and when they did, the help given was usually incompetent. Still, she was desperate, and he sounded competent over the phone. What did she have to lose?

She walked out of the Common and by a corner that looked very familiar, but it couldn’t be, since she’d never been in Boston before. Still, it was a place she’d been. She stood there for a second until it registered with her—it was the place where
Cheers
had been filmed, the place where everybody knew your name.
Fine
, she thought. Now she was confusing old television with real life. Except here everybody didn’t know Jada’s name, and that was a good thing, since she was about to perform lewd and lascivious acts, or at least pretend to, as well as meet with an off-shore lawyer to talk about illegal immigration. Jada shook her head. All her life she’d been a good girl, following the rules, behaving the way her mama told her to. How had it all come to this?

She crossed the wet street and walked into the impressive warmth, color, and gold-leaf grandeur of the Ritz Carlton. She expected nothing from this. She was only showing up because she had nothing to do until the caper with Michelle at six. When she heard Michelle’s voice on the recording, she sounded all excited and put together. Good old Cindy. But now she had to walk across the Common and meet Mr. Dumfries for tea.

She smiled. When was the last time she’d been on her own, well-dressed and in a city where she knew no one? She couldn’t remember. It made her feel adventurous suddenly, as if she weren’t thirty-four but twenty-four. She strode through the foyer and hallway. She hoped she didn’t look like a hooker—her walk had already proved to her that the hair extensions, boots, and leather did not exactly scream “Beacon Hill Matron.” At the concierge desk, she asked where tea was being served and was relieved that she was given polite directions. No wonder they called classy things “ritzy.” This was it.

It was easy to spot Dumfries. He was the only black man in the room, and he stood up when she came in. He was tall, but a little too thin for his frame—and he was very, very black. It couldn’t have been easy for him on the island, where each shade darker usually meant a rung down the social ladder. Jada crossed the room and realized closer up that his skin had the kind of darkness that seemed to absorb light. His face was arresting—he had gray eyes, a light gray, and the whites of his eyes were very, very white. It made his face almost, well, spooky. He wasn’t DDG, but he was a handsome man, and when he smiled at her, she relaxed a little bit.

“You are Jada Jackson?” he said.

She nodded. “You have got to be Samuel Dumfries.”

He smiled again. His teeth were very white, too. “Sit down, please,” he said. He didn’t have an island accent. His voice was deep, but his enunciation was clipped, precise. It was actually quite British.

“Tea?” he asked, and she was surprised to see that he was already sipping a cupful. “It’s India, not China, but at least it’s properly brewed,” he said.

“Well, thank goodness for that,” she wisecracked. Samuel Dumfries didn’t seem to get it. Jada thought of her Lipton tea bags at home. She’d forgotten how seriously some islanders took their tea. The English influence.

He shook his head. “It is amazing that there are only two or three places left in all of Boston where you can get a cup of brewed tea.”

“That
has
always amazed me,” Jada said, joking once again.

But this time he turned to her, paused, and said, “You’re having me on, aren’t you?”

“If that means I’m teasing you, you’re absolutely right. But I’m not sure that I speak English.”

He smiled again. “I think you’re doing just fine,” he said. “Sorry I was so thick. I wasn’t expecting humor. I mean, your mother explained your situation and I…”

Jada wondered what the hell she was doing. Well, she knew what she was doing—she was flirting. But she hadn’t done it in fifteen years. Why now? It must have been the leather pants, she thought, or maybe it was the hair extensions. She noticed him looking at her hair. It
did
look good. If she had an extra hundred and eighty-five dollars to throw away every month, she might keep it this way. “Mr. Dumfries,” she said. “I know I have a serious problem.”

“So I understand. Sugar?”

She blinked. Wow. Was Samuel Dumfries flirting with her? For a moment she thought he had called her “sugar.” Then she realized he was offering her the bowl of sugar lumps. Well, she’d already taken her lumps from a man. “No. Thanks.”

“Milk?” he asked.

“No,” she said. She didn’t give a damn about the tea. She never drank the stuff unless she had cramps. “Anyway, Mr. Dumfries, I don’t know how much my mother told you. Knowing her, it was quite a lot.”

Samuel Dumfries smiled. “Your mother has never had a reputation for being tongue-tied,” he agreed. “It was quite a sobering story.”

And she wondered how they’d told it, and how much of it he believed. Suddenly, she wished she wasn’t wearing this ridiculous outfit and the hair. She wished the orange lipstick and the flirting had never happened. Because though she’d come to this table in Boston without hope, something about this man, some emanation, gave her the feeling that he knew how to get things done, that he was used to having power.

“Well, anything my mother told you is actually not as bad as the reality.” So Jada launched into the facts and she went through an entire tea pot, a jug of hot water, four lumps of sugar, two Kleenexes, and a trip to the ladies’ room before she was done. Samuel Dumfries listened through it all, nodding, asking intelligent questions, and looking at her with his strange gray eyes.

He handled the waiter smoothly, and though they were the only black couple in the place, and had stayed so long past tea time that they were the last ones there, he never let her feel rushed, nor beholden to the staff. There was a deep calmness to him.

“So,” he said, when she was finally done, “what will you do next?”

“I’m going to be honest with you,” she said. “I know you’re an attorney, but I feel that I have to move against the law, or perhaps I should say beyond it. When my parents came to visit, they suggested going to the island; I had already thought of the idea but resisted. I’ve never even gotten a traffic ticket in my life. But now I’m sure that for the sake of my children, I have to get them back. And I can’t wait for the court to catch up with what’s right and what’s good for them.” She waited for his eyes to close with disapproval, or for him to actually tell her he wouldn’t,
couldn’t
, discuss it. But instead he nodded.

“One way to look at all common law is simple, as a code to settle property claims,” he said. “The unfortunate thing about that is that while the law is a truly beautiful construction, human conception of what property is has changed significantly while the law carries remnants of the old patterns. Our ancestors were once regarded as property. Wives were. So were children. Instead of thinking solely of the children, the law here is based on precedents and property. That, and of course, fake and misleading evidence.”

Did he actually believe her? All the wrong steps, all the slanted testimony, all the accidents of fate that made her sound at the worst an incompetent mother, and at the best, a poor judge of legal help, the victim of a clever man? “So, if I can get them on a plane to Barbados, what is likely to happen once I get there?”

They talked it over for a little while longer, until Jada understood that the situation would be far from ideal. As the light faded outside the window, so did her hope.

“But do you know the Cayman Islands?” Mr. Dumfries asked.

Jada shook her head. “You see,” he said, “since you’re not a citizen of Barbados, it would be difficult to find a way to block your husband there. But as an American in the Cayman Islands, a place where I do a great deal of business, if you had…well, a certain amount of cash on deposit, you might do very well. There would be the added benefit of no reason for your husband to seek you out there, and the economy is booming. Anyone with a banking background like yours could find work. I just thought that perhaps…”

Jada could hardly believe it. What was this guy’s NUP? “You mean you might help? You don’t disapprove of what I’m trying to do?” she asked.

“Protecting your children? Certainly not,” he said. “Of course, I can’t condone breaking the law, but I certainly know what it is to live with injustice. After all, I was educated in the UK.”

Just then Jada noticed his watch, the thinnest, most elegant she’d ever seen. But she also noticed the time. “Oh my God,” she said. “I have an appointment. And I can’t be late.” She’d expected nothing from this man, but somehow she had spent nearly two hours with him! It had seemed like twenty minutes. And she had been given some good counsel, support, and encouragement. Now, though, she didn’t even have time to be gracious about it.

“I’m going to be late if I don’t leave right now,” she said. She stood up and he did, too. Awkward for a moment, she extended her hand. “I’m so happy to have met you. I’m going to think about your advice.”

“Oh, do more than think about it,” he said. “You will need some help.” He took out a card and handed it to her. Jada had to leave, but she didn’t want to break this comforting connection. “Why don’t you give me your phone number?” he said.

She gave him Angie’s number and picked up her purse. She hoped there was a taxi waiting right outside, otherwise she’d never make it. “Thank you,” she told him. And, much as she disliked having to do it, she left.

During which Jenette and Katherine play hard to get, while Reid is merely hard

Jada saw Reid come into the bar and knew, even before Michelle began to whisper, that he was Angie’s husband. His eyes took a little while to adjust to the dimness; in that time Jada knew a lot about him. She could read it from his height, the blue suit he wore, that arrogant, light yellow Foulard tie, and the way he stood in the doorway. Michelle raised her hand and the movement turned his head toward them.

As Reid crossed the room, making his way among the mostly empty chairs clustered around the tiny cocktail tables, Jada had him pegged. He was one of those white boys who owned the world. They were the kind of men who were so high on the totem pole of power and prestige, that stooping to do a black woman didn’t threaten their status, it was a forbidden treat. Blue-collar white guys rarely looked at her, but Jada could see how Reid Wakefield’s eyes opened when he saw her. She wondered if a hundred and fifty years ago or so, his ancestors had bought black women at auction. Well, to be fair, she thought Angie had said they were all Bostonians for the last two hundred years. For all she knew, they were Abolitionists all the way back.

“Hello,” he said to Michelle, and Jada reminded herself again that her friend was now Katherine and she was Jenette. “May I join you?” he asked, turning to include her in his smile, smooth as the skin inside a baby’s elbow.

“Certainly,” Michelle said, and Reid slid into the banquette seat across from Jada. She smiled at him, but couldn’t make the smile move up to her eyes, so she half closed them.

“Jenette, this is Reid Wakefield,” “Katherine” said, and Jada extended her long hand.

“I’ve already heard a lot about you,” she said, deepening and softening her voice. She thought she saw Michelle’s mouth twitch, and realized for the first time this could be a lot of fun, but she decided it was best to play it straight. Well, she told herself, as straight as a
faux
lesbian lure could play it. “Katherine says you’ve already won her trust, but in my opinion Katherine has always been far too trusting.” She smiled, but made her smile cold.

“Well,” Reid said in a corporate-lawyer-I-bill-by-the-hour voice, “I’d like to think that my reputation and my personality will gain your trust, too.”

“Well,” she echoed. “I certainly do know you by reputation. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here.” Did she see Michelle smirk again? She wasn’t sure. She took Michelle’s hand. What the hell. Might as well make the first move and see how he reacted. “Katherine needs someone who can take care of her,” she said. “She deserves it. I know Charles better than I wish I did, and I know what he’s put her through.” She paused a minute to let the guy imagine a few of those scenes. Then she opened Michelle’s palm and she kissed it, putting it back down on the table.

Michelle left her hand lying open like a blown flower, and the orange imprint of Jada’s lipstick seemed to shine like neon off of Michelle’s white, white flesh: SEX! SEX! SEX!

Jada looked across at Reid. He was staring at Michelle’s palm, mesmerized. Jada allowed herself to smile. That old black magic, she thought. But it was more than the race issue. It was the lesbian thing. She had no idea why white men’s fantasies so often seemed to center around two women, when they were so often inadequate even with one. Maybe it took the pressure off them. She couldn’t think of anything less attractive then going to bed with two gay men.