Two Thin Dimes (16 page)

J
amaica's sensuous laugh resonated throughout the living room. She wore very short tights, which exposed her silky, flawless, mocha legs. They were stretched across Tameer's lap, and he watched them intensely, while caressing them softly. She could feel him throbbing underneath the back of her legs and this caused her outburst of laughter.

“You want some of this, huh?” she asked, smiling at him tauntingly.

Jamaica raised her legs into the air, and rubbed them gently, only inches away from his face. His eyes followed her slow-moving hand along her legs, and again, she could feel him throbbing beneath her.

Tameer wanted her. He wanted her bad. The dryness of his mouth caused him to swallow hard.

“Okay, so you want to tease, huh?” he asked. Tameer reached over Jamaica, and grabbed the ice pack cloth from her right hand. “Give me my rag, and my ice. See how funny and sexy you are with a hand that looks like a melon!”

Jamaica removed her legs from Tameer's lap, and sat up next to him on the couch. “So, are we going to do it or what?”

A smile shot across Tameer's face, and he quickly went for Jamaica's neck. “Yeah! That's what I've been wanting to hear!”

Jamaica pushed his head back. “Not that, silly. Are we going to go visit your mom and my dad?”

Tameer folded his arms, and leaned back in the sofa. “I want to, but I just don't know.” He shook his head. “What if she doesn't…”

“Tameer, she's your mother,” Jamaica interrupted. “She'll be glad to see you.”

Slowly, he nodded in agreement. “I guess you're right. I'm just nervous.” Tameer turned and stared into Jamaica's eyes. “I haven't seen her in a long time.”

Jamaica reached out to him. Gently, she placed her arm around his neck and pulled him close.

“I know you're nervous, but I'll be there with you.” She leaned forward to kiss Tameer on his forehead, but right before her lips were about to touch him, he raised his head and locked lips with her. She pulled back.

“Tameer!”

“Shhhh!” was his reply.

Tameer pulled her close again, kissing, rubbing, pulling, maneuvering. After a moment, Jamaica found herself lying back on the couch, with Tameer inside of her.

“Oooooh, Jamaica.”

“Oooooooh, Tameer.”

The trip to Houston took over three hours. Jamaica's penchant for fast driving, along with the scarcity of traffic on Interstate 10, allowed them to arrive sometime around noon. The actual navigating of the massive city, choked arterial roadways, and their unfamiliarity with both, resulted in a three-hour search for Cherice Harris' home. It was nestled inside of the Tony River subdivision, one of the city's premier addresses. When they finally arrived, their initial enthusiasm had given way to nervous apprehension.

Jamaica placed her arm onto Tameer's shoulder, and stroked the side of his face gently. “So, what do you want to do?”

Tameer didn't know. It was for a lack of a better plan that he decided to go through with the meeting. Slowly, he turned to Jamaica and shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, we're here now,” he answered. Tameer exhaled loudly, and his gaze shifted toward the car's floorboards. “Might as well go in,” he mumbled.

Jamaica offered an encouraging smile, and then took the first step by unbuckling her seatbelt. Nervous and shaking visibly, Tameer followed suit.

The home of Cherice Harris was massive, brick, imposing. It was nestled deeply with a spacious, wooded, corner lot. The home's massive Doric columns, gigantic floor-to-ceiling celestial windows, and grand symmetric balconies which overlooked the wide, pristine street, caused it to exude a formal posture.

The lawn was green, unusual for this time of year. It sat well manicured, filled with decorative shrubbery, and active flower beds of red, white, and pink. Interspersed within this neatly clipped domain, rose numerous, spindly, twisting, turning, knotted oaks, which stood majestic, like sentries guarding a medieval castle. To say that the home was impressive, would be an understatement.

Tameer was deeply hurt, as he examined the setting on both sides of the twisting, turning, winding pathway to the door. It hurt to know that his mother lived in this manner, while her family lived amidst the violence and poverty of the Courts.

The doors were made of a solid dark wood, with several massive beveled-glass inlays inserted within, as well as surrounding them. They were flanked by a pair of fancy brass lighting fixtures of French design, which matched the fancy brass door handles jutting out from the massive double doors. It was very clear from the residence, as well as from the S600 Mercedes and convertible Jaguar XKR convertible sitting in the driveway, that Cherice Harris had money. Lots of money. It hurt Tameer even more.

It was Jamaica's tiny fist that knocked first. Tameer found the doorbell.

“Who is it?” a voice called out from behind the massive doors.

“It's Tameer.”

“Who?”

“Tameer.”

The door opened to reveal a tall, slender, elegantly dressed woman in her mid-forties. Cherice Harris had aged gracefully, they saw. Her hair revealed only a light, yet dignified, streak of silver, which twisted with the rest of her hair into a tightly done French roll. Cherice wore a long, white, sleeveless vest and pants suit, which bell-bottomed at the cuff to reveal a pair of matching white Manolo pumps. Her hands caressed a loose string of Mikimoto pearls hanging from her neck, revealing an expensive manicure with French tips. Cherice leaned slightly forward.

“May I help you?” she asked the strangers at her door. Her gaze shifted inquisitively from one to the other, demanding an answer. Tameer cleared his throat.

“Uh…yea, ma'am, I…I'm your son Tameer Harris.”

Cherice's left hand left her pearls, and pressed down upon her chest. “Oh…my goodness, I see.” She shook her head slightly, as if to rid herself of a daze. Her hand waved toward her home's interior. “Well, please, come in.”

Jamaica knew things were wrong. The lack of a hug, a smile, or any type of affectionate greeting, aroused her suspicions. She knew that she had to maintain her silence, yet she also knew that she would have to remain alert.

Cherice led them into her formal living room, which was larger than Tameer's entire apartment in the Courts. She waved her hand, offering her guests a seat. They took the couch; she chose the love seat across from them. Seated, Cherice crossed her legs and smiled at her son.

“So how are you?” she asked him.

Tameer quickly shifted his gaze from the upstairs balcony, which overlooked the living area, back to his mother. His heart was palpitating rapidly.

“I…I'm fine,” he answered. Quickly, he turned toward Jamaica. “Mom, I'd like you to meet my special friend, Jamaica.”

“How do you do?” Cherice rose briefly and extended her hand toward Jamaica.

“I'm fine, thank you,” Jamaica greeted, as they clasped hands softly. “Nice to meet you.”

Cherice nodded. “Likewise.” Her finger rose, and she shook it slightly toward Jamaica. “It seems like I know you from somewhere. You look very familiar.”

Jamaica adjusted her bini. “I get that a lot. But I don't believe we've met.”

Cherice shook her head. “I don't believe so, either.”

Tameer leaned forward nervously. “Mom, I've just wanted to come and see you. I mean, how are you?” It was not what he wanted to say, but his nervousness made him reluctant to express his true feelings. She was so…so formal.

“I'm fine,” Cherice replied. “And please, call me Cherice.”

Tameer's eyes blinked rapidly at her reply.
Call her Cherice
, he thought to himself. It was crazy. It disturbed him greatly.
I'm here so I may as well press on.

“Savion and I have always wondered how you've been. I mean ever since the day you left.” Again, he swallowed hard. “I know that…well, I have so many questions, so many things to say.”

Cherice rubbed her top lip using her index finger, and sat up straight.

“Tameer, I know that you have some questions, some I may be able to answer, some I may not.” She paused for several moments, and leaned forward. “It was not your fault and it was not your brother's fault; the fault was with me. I want you to know that. I hope that you didn't blame yourselves for my leaving. You were wonderful children.”

It made Tameer smile and lean forward also. “No, Mom…I mean…Cherice. We never blamed ourselves, and we never blamed you. Savion and I both understood why you left, it was Dad's fault.”

Tameer balled his hand into a tight fist, and clenched his teeth. “It was his abuse, his punches.” He pounded the air slightly with his fist. It hit Cherice hard.

Cherice closed her eyes, and leaned back into the comfort of her plush white love seat.
My God
, she told herself,
Eddie Lee has not told them. After all of these years, Eddie Lee still has not told them the truth.

“Tameer,” she spoke softly, almost a whisper. “I was gone before that.”

Her voice cracked and caused her to swallow hard. “I was still there in the physical sense, but I had long since made up my mind to leave.”

Tameer's mouth fell open, and Jamaica, having heard the story previously, closed her eyes and bit down upon her lip. She, too, now realized that Eddie Lee had not told his son the truth. Tameer's dreams were once again shattered, and she could do nothing to stop it. In fact, she had brought him to this place, she had played a major part in coming to this house of broken dreams. Jamaica wanted to grab Tameer, and race to the car before Cherice could say anything else. She wanted to cover her ears, cover his ears, cover Cherice's mouth, do anything to stop this conversation from taking place. She shivered when she heard him ask the question that she knew he needed to ask.

“Why?” Tameer asked his mother.

“Tameer, I…I…I didn't want children,” Cherice blurted out. “I didn't want to be married to your father, I wanted another life.”

Cherice shook her head fervently, and grew very emotional. “I didn't want two kids, a big, white house with a picket fence, and a dog. I didn't want to become a soccer mom, a PTA member, or…or one of those people who look back on their life forty years and fifty pounds later, and say I should have, or I could have. I'm…I'm sorry.”

Tears had formed in the corners of his eyes, but Tameer managed to hold them back for the sake of his manliness.
Real men don't cry
, he could still hear Eddie Lee shouting.
Real men don't cry!
The crackling inside of his voice was another matter entirely. Eddie Lee never covered that.

“Why?” Tameer asked her. “Why did you have us? Why didn't you tell us, why did we have to come home from school and find you gone? Why did you just leave!”

“Tameer, I was young! Eddie Lee wanted children, I gave him children, then I left. I ran here to Houston, I got my MBA, and I started my own company. This is the life I wanted, this is the life I have!”

Cherice Harris rose quickly from the love seat, and removed a slim white cigarette from a crème-colored pouch lying on her stone-and-glass coffee table. She lit it, inhaled, and exhaled, in what appeared to be to be one smooth flowing motion. She shook her head.

“Tameer, I didn't ask you to come here. You, your brother, and your father are part of a life I no longer have, or even want. Please show yourself to the door, and I ask you kindly, do not return.” With that, Cherice Harris turned and exited the room.

Tameer was the first one up. He raced for the door, and quickly headed for his car. He was crying.

“Tameer, wait!” Jamaica called to him. “Tameer! Tameer!”

She continued to call to him from the front door, but he continued to his car. Jamaica watched from the entrance as Tameer climbed into the car over the door sill, and leaned his head on the dashboard. She could tell by the way his body was shaking that he was bawling like a baby. Quickly, she wheeled around, and walked back inside the home.

Jamaica walked through the massive home, searching each room until she found Cherice Harris, who was sitting in her bedroom using the telephone. Jamaica strode over to the bed where Cherice was sitting, reached over her, and hung up the telephone.

“How dare you!” Cherice shouted at her. She rose quickly from her king-sized bed. “I thought that I asked you to show yourselves out!”

Jamaica folded her arms, and shifted her weight to one side. “Oh yeah, I'm about to show out alright.”

Cherice rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “I suppose you've come to accost me now.” She returned her gaze to Jamaica. “You want to fistfight me or something? Leave my home!”

Jamaica pulled off her bini hat and ran her hands through her hair. Cherice's eyes went narrow as they examined her.

“You…you're the singer.” Cherice pointed at her. “You're Tiera!”