Deadly Charm (13 page)

His voice boomed with authority. “Don't come any closer!”

Sister Lou got closer.

He held his arm out to keep her at a distance. “Drop the miracle prosperity oil, lady.”

“I'm 'bout to anoint you, boy.”

Jazz backed away, but at an angle that caused him to bump into a pew. Quicker than you could say, “nuqneH,” which is Klin
gon for “What do you want?” she'd lunged for my husband's forehead.

Jazz had just enough time to cry out, “
Bell!
”

Klingon tongues of fire rolled effortlessly out of her mouth. She smacked Jazz in the forehead and said, “Name yo'self, you foul demon.”

“
What?
” Jazz screeched.

“You got a
sechal
demon.”

“I got a
what
?”

Even I didn't know what that was. I riffled through my limited knowledge of demonology. Sechal…Hmmm. Is that some kind of medieval thing? What could it mean?

She hissed at Jazz, “You got a sechal demon all over you.”

I interrupted. “What's a sechal demon?”

“A
sechal
demon. You know what a
sechal
demon is, hussy!”

Oh…no…she
didn't
…just call me a hussy again. Now, it's one thing to refer to sistahs as hussies in the privacy of your own thoughts, but it's quite another to call a sistah out like that. She didn't know me like that.

My ghetto roots started showing. “I'm just sayin', lady, maybe I want to know what it is so I can pray with you.” I figured if I could convince her I was her ally, maybe Jazz could escape while we prayed.

“
Sechal!
S-E-X-U-A-ayell!”

“Ooooh!” I said. “She thinks you have a
sexual
demon.”

Jazz looked mortified. “A
sexual
demon?”

I tried not to laugh. Really I did.

Again, Sister Lou seized him. She grabbed his arm with one claw this time, while the other claw rested—if you could call that
resting—on top of his head. “Come out in the name of Jesus!” she yelled, as if the sexual demon was hard of hearing. “Come out!”

Jazz didn't fall out under the power of God, so she tried to help him. Apparently he's not used to being slain in the Spirit at his Catholic parish. He resisted. She overpowered him.

Sister Lou started slinging Jazz around like a Raggedy Andy doll. Poor Jazz's arms flailed about wildly. Honestly! If I hadn't heard it for myself I wouldn't have dreamed a big, tough guy like Jazz could scream like a girl.

Her Chantilly didn't seem to have the same effect on him as it did me. Poor Jazz wouldn't give her the satisfaction of throwing up. I wondered if we'd be there for hours, Sister Lou jerking Jazz around while he flopped helplessly.

When I could take it no more I shouted, “Look, a demon!” I pointed to the pulpit area.

Sister Lou stop slinging Jazz long enough to look behind her. I grabbed Jazz by the hand, and we hightailed it out of there. Thankfully my ankle felt better, and—hey! My ankle felt better.

When we'd gotten outside, he stopped. He put his hands on his knees and began to hyperventilate. That or he had an asthma attack. His breathing sounded painful. I tried to encourage him.

“Don't stop now. She may be behind us.”

He started gasping for air. “I can't breathe!” he shouted. “I can't breathe.”

“Of course you can breathe. You're talking. Now, let's go.”

Too late. Sister Lou had torn out of the church after us.

“We're going to have to make a run for it,” I said, yanking him by the arm. He didn't even protest about his breathing or
my ankle. He let me pull him, running like a girl in his infirmity. I hoped he wouldn't fall like girls always do in horror movies. I could just see it. Attack of the Holy Klingon Prayer Warriors.

We made it to the Love Bug, and I clicked the button on my remote opener, swung the passenger-side door open, pushed him inside, and slammed the door. I hurried to the driver's side, jumped in, shut the door, and locked the car. Sister Lou started pounding on my windshield, miracle prosperity oil in hand. I turned the engine on, thrust the Love Bug in gear, and we sped out of the parking lot practically on two wheels. We didn't even put on our seat belts until we reached Huron Street.

“Are you okay, Jazz?” I took a quick look at him. I didn't think he'd describe himself as “okay.” “Jazzy…”

I continued down Huron until it changed into Washtenaw, and we headed toward Ypsilanti. Poor Jazz was not just shaken; he was actually shaking. He really did have a pathological fear of Pentecostals.

A small coffee shop, the Java Joint, was ahead in a strip mall. I wanted to get off the road and see to Jazz.

It seemed to take forever to get to the mall, and Jazz had truly begun to hyperventilate. “Breathe, honey,” I said over and over.

I finally got to the coffee shop and parked the Love Bug. I undid my seat belt and took him in my arms. I kept whispering “breathe” to him. The poor baby's heart felt like it was going to slam out of his chest.

“I've got you,” I said, patting him on his back. I held him for a long time.

Finally he pulled out of my embrace. “I'm sure you'll have a big laugh at this.”

“It's not funny when you're terrified, Jazz.”

“I
hate
that. I hate the way those people make me feel. Sexual demon! What is that, anyway?”

“I don't know. Then again, I wasn't aware of interracial-dating demons, either. They must have been popular in the days of yore when interracial dating was against the law.”

My attempt at humor fell flat.

“Does that mean I want to have sex too much? Or that I think about sex too much?”

“It doesn't mean anything, because you're not possessed.”

He didn't seem to hear me. “I'm not into porn or illicit affairs. And that one time we were together was the only…” He rubbed his hand across his forehead, smearing the spot of olive oil Sister Lou had left. “Maybe I think about making love to you too much.” His eyes searched mine, as if I had the answers to his questions.

Again he crossed his arms, but it looked like he was giving himself a hug rather than putting on the protective gear. “Sometimes I relive our wedding night. Not…not the Rocky part. Being with you—over and over.” He stole a glance at me and looked away again. “It's just you I think about that way. I try to keep my mind
right
.”

His Tourette's syndrome returned momentarily. Apparently, to Jazz, cussing was allowed when you have a right mind. Then he shook his head. “Maybe I shouldn't have dwelled on it. Maybe I…”

“Jazz?” I took his hand in mine. He still wouldn't look at me. “When we made love, it was singularly one of the best experiences of my life. That time with you was as sacred as being in
church.” I tried to think of a way to explain that he would truly relate to. “You know how when you take Communion and you believe it's truly the blood, body, and divinity of Christ?”

He nodded, still not looking at me.

“Our loving was like Communion. You and I were completely one body. I was yours, and you were mine, and we were joined together in this beautiful, mystical way. And you know what?”

This time he did give me a shy look.

“I've relived that sacred time in my head, too.”

“You've thought about it?”

“I met you there every day. I longed for you when you were gone, and the only place I had you was in my memories. Sure I thought about it. And it had nothing to do with the devil. What we shared was holy, and it's perfectly acceptable to God to meditate on good, holy things, as long as they don't become idols.”

“I'm not possessed?”

“No.”

“But I still think about being with you probably more than I should. What does that mean?”

“Would you say you thought about it a
lot
? I mean a
whole
lot?”

He nodded, a fearful look etched in his beautiful face. “What if I did?”

“It would have to be
a lot
, Jazz, for me to be concerned about it.”

“What if it were a
lot
? What does that mean?”

“I'm afraid to tell you.” I pretended to really be afraid.

“Bell, you have to tell me so I can get help.”

“It can't be helped, Jazz. I'm sorry. I mean, you can change it, but the cost would be prohibitive. And this isn't something insurance pays for.”

For a moment he looked hopeful. “What's wrong with me? I'll do whatever it takes to fix it.”

“You sure you want to know? It's not easy for me to tell you this.”

He yelled like Samuel L. Jackson. “Just tell me!”

“If you think about making love to me a lot…”

He blew air from his cheeks. “What?”

“It means…”

“Just spit it out, woman.”

“It means you're a
man
! My man, to be specific.”

I cracked up, and he couldn't help himself—he smiled, too. “I'm going to get you, woman.”

“If you're thinking about me that often, I guess you
are
planning to get me.”

“Will I succeed?”

“Time will tell,” I said.

I prayed that time would be as chatty as the church gossip, and that it would get to telling soon. After seeing him naked…

Real soon.

A
FTER COFFEE
—to go—Jazz and I headed back to my apartment. I made sure to let him know not to start flirting again, despite what I had said in the car. We needed to focus. He didn't seem to mind my “no hanky-panky” rule. I think the idea of a sexual demon still spooked him, and he played extra nice.

My ankle felt so much better, I insisted on climbing up all those darned steps to get to my apartment myself. Honestly. Management should have free bottled water and a giant bowl of candy on each floor to reward the weary sojourners who make their way up those stairs. Halfway up I said, “Jazz?”

“What?”

“Do you think Ezekiel Thunder healed me? I shouldn't be feeling this good.”

He groaned, “Baby, baby, baby! Please don't make me think about that. Please. I've had way too much supernatural power of God today.”

“I don't think you had
any
supernatural power of God experiences today.”

“Whatever! I don't care. I don't want to think about healing and miracles and your spooky friends.”

“She's not my friend.”

“I don't care. Stop talking to me about it!”

By now we'd reached my floor. “Fine,” I said, letting him guide me with his hand on my back.

He looked a bit repentant about his harsh tone, stuck my key into the lock, and glanced over at me with kind eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don't worry about it, Jazz.”

“Tired?”

“I'm always tired. I think I'm going through the change.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“What?” I said, my horns sprouting. “Does that bother you? Do you need a younger wife? Maybe one Nikki Thunder's age, which is, what, twelve?”

“You're thirty-five. You're not going through the change.”

He turned back to the door, ignoring me. I didn't feel ready to let go of the issue since my defenses had shot up like bottle rockets and exploded over my head.

“Older women have something to offer, too,” I said, as if it weren't me who suggested he wanted a younger woman in the first place.

He opened the door, put his hand at the small of my back, and guided me inside.

“Some men prefer older women,” I said in defense of sistahs over thirty-five everywhere. He closed the door behind us and locked the three locks.

He tossed this little question over his shoulder: “Men like Rocky?”

No, you wicked, evil man, because even he had gone on to fall in love with Elisa, who is younger than he is
.

But all I said was, “Among others.”

I could tell he wanted to have a bit of fun with me. I could also tell I wouldn't have fun with whatever he had in mind.

He gave me that dazzling smile of his. “Your dance card is full, huh, baby?” He took my coat off and hung both of ours in my closet.

“I was speaking in general, not about me.”

“Older men are into you, too. Like Thunder.”

“He's not into me. He's into
women
. As a whole.”

“He looked at you like he's into
you
, as Amanda Bell Brown.”

“He's not.”

“Maybe we can switch. He can take you, and I'll take Nikki. Everybody is happy.”

I froze. My animal nature kicked in, and I had a powerful urge to pounce on him and claw him about the face and neck.

He kicked out of his shoes and stepped over to my sofa smirking. Until he saw my face. “Bell, are you okay? You're not moving.”

I couldn't speak, either. My own latent Tourette's syndrome came dangerously close to activating.
If I don't speak, I can't cuss. If I don't cuss, I may be able to keep my rage in check
.

He laughed and plopped down on the couch, among my throw pillows. “You're so easy to frustrate.” After having a chuckle at my expense, he went on, despite the fact that I was still livid and cemented to the spot.

“We need to do a background check on everybody,” he prat
tled on. “I'll need their names—their
real
names. And why do I think “Thunder” is made up?”

I stood as still as Lot's wife after she'd turned into a package of Morton's salt. I'd had crampiness off and on in the past month, but nothing comparable to the sharp pain now twisting in my gut. I wondered if he'd made me so angry I'd gotten physically ill. Again, pain seared my entire abdominal cavity. It felt like my insides wanted to go outside.
Jazz made me burst my tumor!

He stood, concern shadowing his face. “Baby?”

I shut my eyes. Someone had put a giant vise across my waist and squeezed. Hard! “Oh.” Just a tiny sound escaped my mouth.

“I was joking,” he said. “I didn't mean it.”

Another “oh,” only this one was soundless. I buckled at the knees. “Something is wrong,” I whispered.

He rushed to my side. I decided to let out my secret.

“I think I have a tumor, Jazz. It's on my abdomen close to my bikini line.”

“A tumor! What kind of tumor?”

“I don't know. I haven't really told anybody, including my doctor.”

“Baby! You can't…” He looked confused. Angry at me, yet compassionate. “I'm taking you to the emergency room.”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Take me to Tiernan McLogan.”

“Dr. McLogan is an hour away. And he's probably not even seeing patients today. It's Saturday.”

Tears spilled from my eyes. “He's open on Saturday. Please, Jazz.”

He looked torn.

“I want to see Dr. McLogan.”

“Fine,” he said. What happened after that, I couldn't say. I fell unconscious in his arms.

 

According to Jazz, I woke up, moaned miserably, and promptly passed out again. Unconsciousness was a mercy. When we got to Dr. McLogan's office, the pain hit me with such force, I thought it would kill me.

Jazz parked the car as close as he could without taking a handicapped space. He held me in his arms, slammed the Love Bug door shut with one of his long legs, and locked the doors with the remote locker. I curled my body into his. “It hurts, Jazzy.”

“We're going to take care of you. Don't you worry, love.”

“This is it. I'm going to need a hysterectomy.”

“I don't care what you get as long as you stay here with me.”

“I won't be able to have a baby. Ever.”

“You alone are a handful. With my luck we'd have a girl. I probably couldn't handle two of you anyway.”

I rested my head on his shoulder. He carted me into Tiernan's office. I had to be the envy of every woman there. I had a strong, gorgeous man who had no problem carrying me across a threshold. I only wish I felt well enough to enjoy the full benefits of having him. Instead, pain shot through my belly and radiated down my thighs.

I whispered to Jazz, “I'm scared.”

“Don't be. Whatever this is, we'll handle it. We've gotten
through everything else. We'll get through this, too, but you should have told me. A
tumor
!”

Dr. McLogan's nurse opened the door to the clinic. Tiernan had prepared a room for me as soon as he got the call. An ultrasound machine was already set up. We passed Dr. McLogan in the hall. He touched my arm and assured me he'd be right in.

He ordered Jazz, “Get her out of those clothes and into a gown.”

Jazz didn't even say anything flirty to me after those directions.

The nurse settled us into the room, and I lay down on the gurney, clutching my belly.

Jazz pried my hands away and started undressing me. “Now, I have to take off your clothes. You're sick, baby.”

I moaned.

He sighed. “It must be pretty bad if you don't have a sharp comeback for me. It's okay, though. I'm here.”

He slid my groovy dashiki shirt over my head and peeled off my tight jeans.

He took a pale pink hospital gown—Tiernan totally has a chickcentric practice—out from under the gurney.

“I have to
completely
undress you, baby.”

“No!”

“Bell, I've seen it all. Trust me.” He stroked my hair. “I'm not in danger of having a sexual demon flare-up.”

I grinned despite my pain. “Okay.”

He pulled off the last of my clothing and put the gown on me. He tied the back, carefully supporting me, and gently laid me down again. He stood at my head, rubbing my hair. His pinched expression conveyed his concern.

Dr. McLogan came into the room with a nurse, and they rolled the ultrasound machine over to me. Dr. McLogan was kind enough to perform the ultrasound himself.

My elfin doctor friend, the sweet Irishman who'd taken my father's place and given me away at my wedding, held a tube of gel in his had. He muttered, “Warm, dear,” to me, before squeezing the preheated goop onto my stomach.

He guided the ultrasound probe gently across my aching abdomen. I wailed at being touched there.

“Hmmmm,” he said.

“What?” Jazz said. “Is she going to be all right, Dr. T?”

“Oh, yes, dear one,” he said, “but we have some concerns.”

“Concerns?” I squeaked. I craned my neck up to peek at the screen, which he'd turned so I could see it. I couldn't make out a thing.

“Do you see this mass?”

I did when he pointed it out. Jazz and I nodded.

“It's a rather impressive fibroid tumor. The last time I saw you, dearest, it was the size of a grape. It's a grapefruit now, and there are several small grape-size ones that weren't here before.”

Great. My womb had turned into a fruit basket.

Jazz bordered on hysterical. “Grapefruit?”

“I take it that your clothes don't fit anymore, yes, Bell?”

I chuckled through my hurt. “Definitely not.”

“Your uterus has expanded to make room, that's why it's so distended. It's benign, glory be, but there are two more concerns I have to tell you about.”

“Two more!” Jazz screeched.

Dr. McLogan gave me that silly little leprechaun smile and
scratched one of his mouse ears. He turned back to the ultrasound screen. “This baby and this one.”

He'd shocked Jazz and me into silence. For a few moments we watched the areas he pointed to on the screen. Two little heartbeats pounded away.

“I'm
pregnant
!” I'd taken over the hysteria department.

“With
twins
?” Jazz said, matching me emotion for emotion.

Dr. McLogan grinned at us. “Congratulations, dear ones. God has given you above and beyond all you can ask or think. And they look absolutely perfect.”

That moment will stay with me all of my days. Chains fell away, and I felt light and dreamy. I felt in my body the first heady experience of Jazz touching me. The first time he whispered something in my ear. I felt the first time he prayed the Lord's prayer with me and the gentle pressure of his hand holding on to mine. Our first kiss. The first and only time we made love. Everything about loving him had become quite literally embodied inside of me. I touched my belly. My babies'—
my babies!
—new home.

Did I look different?

Could the whole world see me glowing?

They'd definitely see me growing, changing into a woman so loved that we had made two people,
and I carried them inside me
.

Another “oh.” This one filled with wonder. It caught in my throat and stayed there tickling and delighting until it turned to holy laughter. Jazz and I looked at each other. Great big, sweeping waves of happiness flowed into and out of me, and for a moment I forgot the pain. Jazz reached down and kissed me. “I knew
it.” His own voice broke. “You surprised me with two, though.” His eyes shone with unshed tears.

I laughed, letting tears stream freely down my cheeks—silly, joyful tears. Even Dr. McLogan's eyes misted.

“I'm
pregnant
,” I said over and over.

“And you have a fibroid gone wild from the estrogen surge, dearest. Let's get you out of pain,” my wonderful doctor said.

But pain had taken a backseat to the overwhelming gratitude bursting through my heart. I thought about my great-grandmother Ma Brown. She used to say, “Every shut-eye ain't sleep, and every good-bye ain't gone.” Just when I thought the fat lady had warmed up and was about to start belting out blues songs for my womb, God pulled a fast one on me.

He sure knew how to surprise a sistah. And for one of the first times in my life, I was thrilled to have been wrong about something.

 

Dr. McLogan admitted me to the University of Michigan hospital. It seems that the wild and crazy fibroid fed off of my increased estrogen and had outgrown its blood supply, which is why the pain started. The bleeding that I'd mistaken for a light period had been implantation bleeding when the babies first attached to my womb. Even though I felt like I was in some magnificent dream, I really was pregnant. With twins!

I was grateful that Tiernan was also a U-M doctor. I didn't want to be far from home and the people I needed. And, thank God, my people came out in droves.

Jazz was the first to appear at the hospital, having followed the ambulance. Once he made sure I was comfortable and in the care of Addie Lee and Jack (who must have broken traffic laws to get there that quickly), he said he should get to the office soon to wrap up some things so he could take the next couple of days off.

“Take as long as you want, son,” Jack said, patting my leg through the sheet. “We'll take good care of her.”

Addie couldn't stop crying and fussing over me, bless her heart. As Jack settled Addie, my mother blew into the room—Hurricane Sasha.

She flung herself onto my bed. “My poor sick baby. Look at you. You look like death eating a soda cracker.”

Before I could recover my self-esteem, the good news burst out of Addie Lee. “She's having twins, Sasha. Twins!”