An Arrangement of Love (2 page)

“We’re calling you lucky number four,” Lucy had admitted. “A lot of sick people are making bets on whether you’ll make it. Just ignore that.”

The hallway light blinked on and off. I dropped my shopping bags full of new work clothes. Samba music blasted from next door. For once, I wasn’t upset the neighbors were having a party.
Tonight I’m celebrating too!
My phone buzzed again. I checked the screen.
Mom.

She probably needs money.

With my brothers in jail, most of their kids stayed with my mom. The kids’ mothers usually landed in jail for accessory to whatever crime my brothers committed. Therefore, Mom always needed money for medical bills, daycare, winter clothes, etc.
I’ll send her some money tomorrow.
A grin spread across my face. This was the first time I could give her money and not experience a stomach ulcer. I tucked a huge binder under my left arm. Chase required so much from his assistant that Lucy was forced to compile a binder that listed my responsibilities, his likes/dislikes, and information on his fiancée, associates, and relatives.
I’m in over my head.

Conferences, business meetings, test runs, and negotiations crowded his calendar. He had no day off, not even Sundays. And with each expected appearance of Chase, I was supposed to be next to him, taking notes, assessing the quality of business deals, reminding him of an event’s significance, and carrying out his personal stuff—gifts for holidays/birthdays, booking travel arrangements, and anything else he thought of.

When do I sleep? I guess when you’re making six figures, you can sleep when you die.

That bizarre news flickered in my head again.
All three of his assistants are dead. Crazy.
Although the last assistant’s death had been two years ago, unease still nipped at my thoughts.
If Mom discovered this, she would forbid me to work there. Now that she was three years clean of drugs, she spent her days devouring religion and preaching to anyone who would listen.

“This is a sign from God that you shouldn’t be working for those rich white people,” she would probably say. “Work on filling your soul, instead of your bank account.”

Meanwhile, you need me to send you money to fill your bank account.

I yanked my keys out of my favorite pocketbook. Sadly, Lucy told me I couldn’t bring the purse back to the office because it might disgust Chase. Two-inch pieces of coconut shells covered it. A multi-colored yarn cord served as the strap. I’d explained to Lucy my style represented an eclectic flair for odd things.

“Oh, that’s so cool,” Lucy had replied. “But definitely don’t return with the purse.”

Shoes, suits, and accessories filled my shopping bags. Lucy had dragged me around Merrick Square and towed me into stores with flashy titles and clerks who greeted you at the door with glasses of champagne and wide smiles on their faces. For hours, I’d tried on clothes I would’ve never considered for myself—form-fitting pencil skirts, brightly colored blouses with ruffled collars and revealing cleavage lines, uncomfortable shoes that didn’t possess a heel; instead, the back of the shoes arched upward into torturous slants that mimicked four inch heels and forced me to focus on every step. Each time a cashier reported the total, I’d cringed. The costs surpassed the value of my car. Yet, Lucy never flinched and just charged it to Stone Industries.

“Chase demands elegance,” Lucy had explained when we entered Fantino Spa. “I’ll walk you through your makeup. Take notes. Be aware of current trends. Fashion is important to him.”

“Okay.” I inhaled a floral perfume as we walked down a hot-pink passageway.

“When in doubt, just have a clerk from one of the shops we went to dress you.”

“And what about hair styles?” I was still trying to get out of the perm.

“Each month, Chase emails Fantino what he wants your hair to look like. Get used to it. I’m actually a blonde. Chase decided to make me a redhead. You’ll have monthly salon visits unless you both are out of the country. By the way, is your passport current?”

“Yes.” I trailed behind her and held in my irritation over Chase’s control issues.

“Good. Always keep your passport, ID, credit cards, and a pair of clothes with you. Sometimes you’ll have to hop on a plane with only ten minutes’ notice.” Lucy guided me down another pink passageway. “Sign all the documents I gave you. Especially the thirty page anti-disclosure agreement. You can’t discuss anything about your job with anyone.”

“Okay.”
Apparently, you can’t style yourself either!

Lucy had scanned the area and leaned toward me. “You’ll be monitored and watched.”

Again, I waited for a punch line that never came. “O-kay.”

She headed to a black door. “Fantino will wax you to Mr. Stone’s requirements.”

“Um . . . excuse me?” My heart banged at an increased rate. “I thought I was just getting my hair done. What will be waxed?”

Lucy chuckled. “Almost everything.”

And Fantino had waxed everything. My skin ached. The person who invented waxing must’ve been beaten as a child, to the point that only a monstrous mental state remained. My eyebrows stung.
And I’m sure the tiny hairs between my buttocks were there for health reasons. They had to serve some sort of biological function.
I’d argued that point to him. But he’d just cackled like an evil sorcerer and yanked the hairs away.

I opened my front door. Marijuana smoke hit me first, then darkness. My roommate’s boyfriend, Noc, claimed he was a spoken word artist, but he was actually just a skinny Puerto Rican guy who sold drugs and wrote lyrical rhymes that would cause Dr. Seuss to rise from his grave and slap him. Noc was probably visiting her since the place reeked of weed. I loved Vivian like my own sister, but I hated many of her life choices. Her drug usage was one of the big ones. Second was her choice in men.

I just hope they’re not getting freaky on the couch again.

“Hello?” I entered the hallway. “Vivian, are you home?”

Giggling sounded from the living room. Huge hands grabbed my waist and lifted me high in the air. The lights rushed on.

My twin brother Troy hugged me to him. “Sis! I’m out!”

That’s why Mom was calling me.

“Hey.” I hugged him back. He gripped me hard with bulging muscles that almost squeezed the breath out of me.

“Good god. Did you do anything else besides work out in jail?” I asked.

“He’s huge, right?” Vivian giggled and walked by us on bare feet. Her long blonde curls ended at her waist. “Dude, whose shopping bags are these?”

“Mine.” I took in my bald-headed brother as he stood, smirking, in front of me. We both had the same hazel eyes and pointed nose, but that was where our resemblance ended. When we were kids I’d joked that he not only took up the whole womb with his huge frame, but he’d sucked up the entire gorgeous gene. When he smiled his cheeks lifted with perfection, full lips bloomed, and every woman within a ten foot radius drooled.

“I’m glad to see your face wasn’t ruined,” I said.

“Our brothers run one-fourth of Polemont Island. No one touched me the whole time I was in jail.” He flashed flawless teeth and crossed tattooed arms over his bare chest. “You look good too, Sis.”

“Well. I’m trying.” I combed my fingers through the new silky strands Fantino had attached to my head. He’d permed, weaved, and curled me into some high-end woman I didn’t recognize in the mirror. Almond-brown hair with honey-blonde highlights swung to my butt, announcing to the world there was no way I naturally grew this perfect hairdo.
Somewhere in India a poor bald-headed girl is missing her locks.
Even worse, the weave weighed my head down like a heavy helmet.

“Jazz, you look like a model chick.” Troy beamed.

“Yeah.” Vivian peeked into one of the bags still in the hallway. “When you left the house you had curls, an old black pantsuit, and the ugliest pocketbook created on earth. Oh wait, you’re still holding that coconut contraption.”

“My purse never did anything to you. Leave it alone.” I clutched it to my chest. “Anyway. I got the job!”

“What?” Vivian’s blue eyes brightened as she jumped up and down. “Stone freaking Industries?”

“Yes!” I screamed back and swayed, doing a victory dance we’d created back in high school when we were on the debate team. “Tell your father thanks.”

Benny, Vivian’s father, was out of town now, somewhere in Europe. When he returned, I would thank him face-to-face. I hadn’t even known he’d recommended me for a job. One morning, a woman called and told me that Mr. Benny Nix referred me for the executive assistant position and to start the application process.

“In fact, I’ll have to send him a bottle of scotch,” I said. “Something really expensive.”

“Dad will love that.” Vivian did the dance with me and added some extra skips and steps. I laughed and copied her.

“You’re both still my geeky little girls.” Troy went to the hallway, swept the bags up with one hand, and carried them in. I followed Vivian into our tiny living room. She crashed on our green-and-yellow-polka-dot couch.

“This is huge. I get six figures! I had no idea.” I paused as I spotted Troy’s duffle bag slumped against the wall next to Vivian’s TV. “Why is your bag here?”

He remained quiet and placed my shopping bags by the lime-green coffee table. Vivian had painted a landscape scene on top of the table full of lush grass, jagged brown cliffs, and vibrant violet flowers that sparkled in a shimmering sun. Currently smoking paper, a three-foot bong, and a bag of light green marijuana buds adorned the art work.

“I told him he could stay for a while.” Vivian rested her feet on the table as Troy collapsed next to her.

“Was this before or after you both smoked a joint?” I asked, knowing that Troy would be on probation and drug use would be a major violation.
He’s only been out of jail for a few hours and already he’s breaking rules.
My joyous night crashed back to my normal state of constant anxiety.
I can’t watch him go back to jail, and damn it, I’m so tired of dealing with this.

“It’s temporary, Sis.” Troy displayed a gloomy expression. “It’s not like I can go stay with Mom.”

Nope.
One day back in South End and he’d be in jail by the evening. Our older brothers hurt a lot of people in our neighborhood, from stealing, shooting relatives, or getting their loved ones incarcerated. Men trying to get a name for themselves would bother Troy just because our other brothers weren’t around to protect him. Even worse, Troy would only be bored and discouraged. The whole area had a way of dragging the residences’ spirits down and making them feel like there was no God or salvation, only depression.

Not that where Vivian and I lived was high class. We stayed in a small town called Knightson, ten minutes outside of Oshane City. It was so small it only had two stop lights. Lots of hippies walked the streets, holding baskets of fresh fruit and radiating the scent of weed. The rest were middle class families who commuted to their jobs in the city. Knightson provided an easy and relaxed living compared to the fast-paced life of Oshane City. No one bothered anyone, and if they did it was to help in some way. The area claimed to have the best schools in the state and lowest crime rate in the country.

Living here would be better for him.

“Only temporary?” I asked.

He flashed that winning smile and nodded. “It was Vivian’s idea.”

Sure it was.

Ever since we were young, Troy had a way of getting Vivian to agree to anything. She used to do all of his homework in middle school, although she claimed it was tutoring. When he ran away from home, she hid him in her bedroom for a whole week and didn’t even tell me he was there. Four years ago, she’d even let him borrow her car. The same car that was impounded when he was caught inside of it with our brother, Neil, who happened to have several pounds of drugs in a duffle bag in the back seat. Troy told me he didn’t know about the drugs and that Neil had just asked for a ride. It was probably true. Neil tended to get people in trouble. That was the last time I’d seen Troy and Neil. I hated going to visit my brothers in jail. So I chose to write them constantly and send them packages instead.

“Having Troy here will be awesome.” Vivian clapped and rubbed her hands together.

I didn’t want to get Vivian in any trouble or take further advantage of her father’s hospitality.
They’ve already done enough for us.

I looked at Vivian. “I’ll give you the rent I’ve owed you—”

“You don’t owe me any rent.” Vivian rolled her eyes.

“I haven’t paid any.”

“Neither have I. Dad does it.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Oh, be quiet.” I placed my hands on my hips. “I’m paying Benny my year of rent and then I’m giving him a little extra for Troy to stay here.”

“I was thinking we don’t say anything about Troy staying here.” Vivian winked.

“I agree,” Troy chimed in.

Of course you agree. Benny is going to kill us.

“Your father’s name is on the lease,” I said. “He should know who’s in here.”

“Yada, yada, yada.” Vivian twirled her fingers in the air. “You are such a tight butt.”

“I just don’t want to make Benny mad.”

“You can never make him mad. All he talks about is the Golden Jasmine.” Vivian laughed. “I’ll be the one who gets in trouble because it was my idea. Although I don’t remember when the idea came to me.”

“You suggested it after the second joint,” Troy said.

“Have you seen Mom yet?” I asked.

“Nah. You’re the first address I went to. Grandma picked me up and I gave her one of the envelopes your letters came in.”

“Will you be visiting Mom any time soon?”

“I doubt it.” He frowned, signaling for me to drop it. I bit my lip as I slung off my scuffed heels, which were another thing Lucy had ordered me to trash as soon as possible.

“Do you have a plan?” I sat on the floor since there were no more chairs. “You need a plan or you’ll be right back in jail.”