White Male Page 18

  Chapter Twenty

  We arrived back in Atlanta on Saturday at noon, feeling rested and happy. Our mid-week get away had been sensational and my birthday a memory etched in my mind for all eternity. I knew it’d also been a turning point in our relationship and solidified our desire to be together; to fight for each other regardless of what we may face. Instead of dropping me back at my apartment, Jonathan instructed Jackson to head to the penthouse; then he’d drop me back himself after a light lunch together.

  When we arrived in the basement parking, someone had parked in one of Jonathan’s private parking spots. Oh no, I thought. Someone is visiting him...

  “Is someone in your apartment?” I asked, glancing at the luxury vehicle.

  “No,” he replied, “Someone’s car is parked in my spot. Let’s go see what it’s about.”

  He stretched his hand out to Jackson who handed him something.

  “Come with me,” he instructed, opening the door for me to get out of the Tahoe.

  As we walked towards the car, he pressed a fob in his hand and the car’s lights flashed to unlock it. That’s when I noticed it was a white Mercedes GLE coupé. I slowed down confused, then realization struck me. I looked at him in horror, with my hand over my mouth.

  “Happy birthday, my baby,” he said handing me the key fob with the Mercedes star on it and a little pink ribbon attached to a tiny card with my name on it. I struggled to process this.

  “You bought me a car?” I squealed in shock.

  “Yes; and I don’t want any arguments about this.”

  I went weak and could only manage to stand there looking at the car, shaking my head.

  “Jonathan, I can’t accept this,” I argued.

  “Lena, please,” he pleaded, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Just accept it; if not for yourself, do it for me.”

  “But it’s a car, Jonathan, not a gift voucher at Macy’s.”

  His lips pressed into a firm line and I could see him calculating.

  “We talked about this. We had an amazing time and now you’re ruining it,” he declared. Okay, so he played the manipulation card and I immediately fell for it. I hugged him and he lifted me around the waist, twirling me around while kissing me.

  “Thank you,” I breathed, stifling tears that were threatening to well up in my eyes.

  “You’re welcome, baby.”

  When we got to the apartment and Jackson had set our bags down and gone back downstairs, I followed Jonathan to his home office. I found him talking on the phone, sitting behind his desk. He gave me a questioning glance when he saw me enter.

  I pulled my dress over my head and removed my panties and bra, dropping them as I walked towards him. The only thing I was wearing was the canary diamond pendant he’d given me for my birthday. I saw his expression change from surprise to delight as I swung his chair around, knelt before him and opened the front of his pants, pulling them down below his ass. His dick was instantly hard as it sprung forcefully out of his pants. I watched the look of anticipation on his face as he stuttered on the phone, distracted by my attention.

  I began by licking his cock with long slow licks from balls to the tip, savoring and enjoying the taste of his arousal. He was watching me wide-eyed, gripping his phone tightly as he battled to continue his conversation. I pulled the thick moist head into my mouth, sucking sloppily and noisily. I glanced up at him to see beads of moisture blooming above his top lip while he struggled to answer the caller’s comments only responding with mere grunts. I rubbed my cheek and lips against his dick, worshiping it, loving it and stroking him firmly. He shifted and squirmed in his seat, his thighs rock hard as he fought for control. I took his dick in my hand then slapped it rapidly on my tongue causing him to cry out erotically and he cut the call then dropped the phone on the floor. My mouth moved over his enormous length and I swallowed him to the very back of my throat, sucking rhythmically while swirling my tongue rapidly around it, licking off every drop of pre-cum that surfaced. The sustained suction drove him over the edge and he thrust his cock hard, several times into my mouth; spurting repeatedly, grabbing the back of my head until he fell back against his chair, breathing heavily.

  “Fuck,” he panted. “That was the most amazing blow job ever. Come here, I want to taste you.”

  Without a word, I rose up, picked up my clothes and made my way to the door, giving him a tiny wave and a dazzling smile.

  “Where are you going?” he called, surprised I was leaving him just like that.

  “To arrange lunch, baby. You can have me for dessert; finish your calls,” I called out as I disappeared down the hallway.

  After washing up, I plugged in my dead cell phone in the kitchen to charge it up. Instead of ordering food from the restaurants in Jonathan’s building, I decided to order a ready-to-bake salmon, wild rice and salad from an excellent Deli nearby. All I’d have to do was bake the salmon in the oven for twenty minutes and lunch would be ready. After checking with Jonathan, I called Jackson who was downstairs to give him some cash and asked him to collect the food from the Deli; along with other grocery items we needed. While he was gone, I made calls to my parents who’d both tried to call me Friday on my birthday. I spoke to my father for a good ten minutes filled with laughter; my mother didn’t answer but at least she’d see my missed call. I heard Jonathan talking on the phone again, making calls to various business associates. I cringed imagining what a mid-week break must have cost him in work hours.

  Chapter Twenty One

  An hour later, a lunch of Honey Ginger Salmon, wild rice and coleslaw salad was almost ready to serve. I called Jonathan out of his office, while I arranged the plates on the kitchen counter.

  He came to the kitchen and gave me an appreciative kiss.

  “Babe, I could live like this forever, having you to come home to every night,” he said casually, then headed for the wine cooler and chose a White Pinot Noir to serve with our meal. My heart came to a halt; he was toying with the idea of moving in together someday.

  Just as he poured me a glass, the private elevator dinged and he looked momentarily puzzled before going off to see who it was. With the kitchen at the far end of the penthouse and built around a curve, I couldn't hear or see what was happening. When I realized he hadn't returned immediately, I began to worry it might be a visitor from the office or another nasty person from his past. Whoever it was had a code to the penthouse so I knew it must be someone close to Jonathan.

  I heard footsteps and voices coming towards the kitchen area.

  "It smells glorious dear. Since when do you cook?"

  "Mother, now is not a good time...”

  "I'm your mother darling; it's always a good time to check on my son."

  Shit. His mother was here. I was done ducking and hiding as if I should be ashamed to be there. I was stepping forward to deal with whatever was coming.

  She rounded the curve and came to a sudden stop when she saw me. She was an attractive, well groomed, older woman with expertly coiffed platinum blonde hair and perhaps a little too much make-up. She wore a pair of white slacks and had a chiffon Gucci scarf casually draped around her neck. She smiled knowingly.

  "Oh, Jonathan," she scolded. "I knew you wouldn't be cooking. So you have new cooking staff?"

  She didn't wait for him to respond.

  "Hello there, I'm Mrs. Carter; and you are?"

  I walked towards her to shake her hand and saw her appraising me carefully. Jonathan stepped forward.

  "Mother, this is Lena Williams, my girlfriend. Lena, this is my mother, Adalie Strauss Carter."

  The elder lady looked from Jonathan to me with obvious shock. Her eyes fluttered helplessly as she grabbed her purse strap with both hands, as though someone might snatch it. I decided to speak first.

  "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Carter."

  Mrs. Carter's bottom lip quivered for a moment then she turned to face her son. I watched in horror as she raised her right hand and smacked him across the face
. I could tell he knew it was coming; before her slap landed he’d grimaced and closed one eye, bracing for impact. And with that, she walked off. Jonathan looked at me grimly and thoroughly embarrassed, then followed her.

  My heart was pounding in my chest as I tried to figure out what to do. My instincts told me to get my things and leave immediately. I switched off the oven and walked to the living room intending to fetch my purse and bag that Jackson had dropped there from the trip. I’d gone back into survival mode in my mind. My boyfriend's mother hated me on sight; she’d hit her son because of me. It took me back to an old saying I'd heard, that you can replace a lover but you can't replace your mother. It was different when it was another woman; but in this case, I couldn’t make him choose between his girlfriend and his mother. I couldn’t even confront her. As I rounded the curve, I heard her berating her son,

  "How could you? How could you do this to me after what I told you? How could you do this to your father? You’re our only son! This is going to kill your father. You are all he has."

  Jonathan was mumbling in disagreement and very obviously trying to placate her. She wasn't having it.

  "You’re always on those awful TV shows with too many lovers. This time you have gone too far,” she scolded in distress.

  “Mother, stop this now,” he chided gently. “I’ll come to the house tomorrow and we’ll talk then.”

  “I’d come to tell you good news that your fiancée, Ashley, the love of your life is back from Texas. She came here to surprise you but she was told you were out of town so she came to stay over at our place for a few days, and this is what I find here?"

  She looked at me as she said this, undeniably wanting me to hear it.

  What? Who is Ashley? Did she say fiancée?

  I watched him become deathly still in response to her words. I knew he’d been battling to handle the hysteria from his mother, but when she mentioned this Ashley woman, a change came over him. He’d become silent and was no longer arguing with her. He knew I was listening as I walked past them towards my bags. Mrs. Carter took a step towards me.

  “You!” she shouted, wagging her finger at me. “Stay away from my son. Do you hear? Now get out and go back to wherever you came from.”

  “Mother, that’s enough,” Jonathan chided more tersely, taking her arm and pulling her away.

  She clearly didn't want me anywhere in her son's home. Wow. The hurt was excruciating and palpable. I felt a screaming sob rising in my chest. Don't ever let them see you cry, my father had always taught me whenever I faced a humiliating situation. In that instant, I acted on his advice and swallowed hard, chasing away the sobs with forced self-control. It took me less than two minutes to gather my things while Mrs. Carter broke down sobbing and asked her son to make a promise I hadn’t managed to hear. I watched as her son held her to his chest, soothing her as much as he could.

  "I promise, mother. I’ll be there," he murmured in her hair.

  Whatever he promised her seemed to placate her. She took out a tissue to wipe her tear stained face, her heavy mascara running, giving her a diabolical appearance. I was weak and in shock; I had to think hard and fast. Jonathan had chosen his mother over me; I couldn’t compete. I sank down on the couch and stayed out of sight until I heard the elevator open and knew his mother had left.

  Jonathan turned around and began calling for me, coming towards the living room. I stood up and he tried to pull me into his arms. I pushed him away. Without saying a word to him, I picked up my purse and bag, headed towards the elevator. The ‘hood’ side of me wanted to tear his ass up and rip him a new asshole. But no; I decided to remain calm and leave with whatever little dignity I had left, after what the Carters had done to me. I kept my facial expression calm and composed. He ran both hands through his hair in frustration.

  "Baby, I'm sorry. I don't even know what to say." I didn't answer and pressed the call button for the elevator.

  "Please, Lena. Don’t leave. Stay and let’s fight about it. Hit me; anything. Just don’t go like this," he pleaded, taking a step towards me, looking desperate, despondent and embarrassed. I took a step back and held up my hand; I did not say a word.

  The elevator opened and I stepped in and left him.

  When I got to the basement, I remembered my Subaru was at my apartment in Midtown. My mind was thinking practically and methodically. I didn’t have time to break down just then. I had to keep it together. I had to get home. I glanced at the sleek new Mercedes parked there between his Porsche Cayenne and his S-Class; my birthday present. In a split second decision, I walked back to his private elevator and opened the doors. I dropped the key fob for the Mercedes on the floor then placed the canary diamond pendant and the Visa card on either side of it. I sent the elevator back up to his apartment, returning all his birthday gifts. I headed to the hotel lobby through the public elevators, jumped into a cab and went home.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Opening the door to my apartment was like turning on a faucet. I’d barely shut the door when I began crying uncontrollably, my body wrenched with pain and fury. I paced my living room and raged at the unfairness of what had happened to me. How dare his mother speak to me like that? Who do they think they are? And Jonathan, that fucking coward. Couldn't even defend me. Comforted his mother yet I was the one who was being abused. Is this how it’s always going to be? His people treating me like shit and him not doing anything about it? Fuck them. Fuck Strauss Carter. Fuck Atlanta. Fuck everybody. I’d reached well past my breaking point.

  After the tears had subsided, I searched for my cell phone. I couldn't find it. Shit. I’d left it charging in Jonathan's kitchen. I looked at the clock; it was after 3.00pm. He’ll probably be here any minute on the pretext of dropping it off, then fuck his way out of this once again.

  Without any further delay, I grabbed my tablet and an overnight bag and threw together a few things for the night and for church tomorrow. I was going to my mother's house to spend the night. I didn’t want to be in Atlanta for another day; I wanted to go home to California; staying tonight with my mother would be a good way to begin preparing her for my relocation.

  My mother lived in a predominantly black neighborhood with working class people in Rockdale County. She took care of a few relatives who included her brother Uncle Samson, her brother's daughter Tamika and Tamika's son Jacob.

  I left my apartment with a sense of vengeful satisfaction at the thought that he’d find my apartment empty if he came searching for me, not knowing where to find me.

  When I arrived at my mother’s home, she wasn't there; I assumed she must be at work since she always worked Saturdays so she could have Sundays off. My elderly Uncle Samson was there, sitting on the porch as he did all day; Tamika and Jacob were out. I went to hug him then put all my things in my mom's room. I always slept in her room when I was visiting her tiny home. The house hadn't been tidied that day; I made a mental note to ask Tamika about this. My mother was in her late fifties and still worked full time as a nurse at the hospital while taking care of all these people. She reminded me of a middle-aged Maya Angelou in both appearance and wisdom. Tamika, my cousin, was a freelance nail technician so I knew she avoided getting her nails messed up as much as she could, by letting my mom do all the housework. Back when I stayed with my mom when I first arrived in Atlanta, our running battles with Tamika were always about her not lifting her weight.

  After I’d reluctantly nibbled a sandwich that I barely tasted, I set about vacuuming and dusting the living room and dining room, then cleaned out the fridge and kitchen. After that, I cleaned Uncle Samson's room, the single bathroom and my mother's bedroom. I always loved giving her that 'my daughter's home' feeling, by making a difference whenever I was there. I didn’t want to sit there and mope about what’d happened to me so I kept myself busy, finding more to do, waiting for my mother to get home. I planned to go back to my apartment late after dinner Sunday night, hoping by then Jonathan would have given up searching for me.
I remembered people might be calling me on that phone, so I sent him an email from my tablet.

  “I'll pick up my cell phone at the office on Monday morning. I'm unavailable the rest of this weekend.”

  That was it. No salutation. No ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye’. I didn't want a conversation with him. When he stood there like a fool and held his mother’s beer while she abused me, I’d heard everything I needed to hear. Actions speak louder than words; he had no respect for me. Plus he had a fiancée he’d never even mentioned. So I’d be staying at my mother’s, amongst people who actually loved me and told me the truth. At least if he knew I wasn't coming back to my apartment, he wouldn't waste time waiting for me there.

  After I was done, I called my mom at work from her landline, to let her know I was spending the night. She was delighted I was home as she’d tried to return my call earlier, then she asked me to start dinner before she came home from work.

  When she arrived early evening, she was tired but happy.

  "Oh hi, honey," she said, hugging me close and swinging us from side to side as she loved to do.

  "So glad you’re here. Happy birthday."

  “I couldn’t help the tears that welled up in my eyes as she hugged me. She pulled back with grave concern.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” she soothed, stroking my head.

  I sniffled and wiped my eyes. “Nothing, mom. I’m just grateful to have you back in my life.”

  We’d spent time reconnecting after years of speaking on the phone when I was in California. Since my move to Atlanta, it’d been as though we’d never been apart. She’d fought to get herself sober from alcohol addiction, then fought my father for me, but she had no money to keep fighting and had gone back to college to study nursing so she could come and get me. By the time she’d graduated and was working, I was settled in California and she didn't want to uproot me. My father had since remarried and his new wife, Florence, was a second mother to me.