Forever. (This. Is. Not. Over. Book 3) (7 page)

“So this is the annual Christmas party that we aren’t invited to, huh?” Malcolm says as he looks around. Waiters walk around, their arms raised with sterling silver trays; swan ice sculptures dot the room; white and black marble floors run throughout the Rouge home; a grand crystal chandelier hangs right above us, and framed paintings of Thomas Kinkade hang along the walls.

“You see these paintings?” I ask Malcolm as I look around at the walls.

“Kinkade, right?” he answers immediately.

“Yeah, you’re definitely Danielle’s second husband. The Rouges love Thomas Kinkade and they bring his holiday paintings out each year.” I point to my right. “That one is called
The Lights of Christmastown
and the one next to it is called
A Victorian Christmas Carol
.” I look around. “There are tons of other ones but those are my favorites.”

“He was decent painter,” Malcolm says as he nods his head at the paintings. “Danielle has
Flags Over the Capital
hanging up in our living room.”

“Yes, well I bought that for her,” I say while giving him a snide look. “I gave it to her as a birthday present since her second husband is a politico. It remains to be seen which painting I will give her once she marries her third.” Malcolm lets out a light laugh but says nothing.
As we stand between the double French doors and the winding staircase, I glance around and see my mom and dad, Zara and Leo, laughing and falling drunkenly, blissfully all over each other near the grand piano, off in the corner. My mom is dressed in her azure blue ball gown, my father in his tuxedo. Flirty. Festive. Happy. Must be nice …

“Senator Roy,” I say as I point to Senator
Sandra Roy and her husband Gene who are standing near my parents, clinking their glasses of champagne together.

             
“I noticed them. And there’s Judge Carmichael.” Malcolm points to Grayson Carmichael who’s standing by his wife Paula near the meat carving station.

             
“Danielle’s parents,” I say as I point to Elise and Jax who are kissing in front of the seafood buffet.

             
“I’ve got a feeling Jax is going to stiff me on the Celtics game next week and take my father instead.” Malcolm concentrates on Jax. “That leaves me with two options: I can either buy my own ticket or knock my father off.”

“Buy your own ticket. Much easier that way.”

“You’re probably right.” He says as he begins to check his cell phone. “Damn, I need to call her back.” He says to himself.

“Workaholic?”
I say as I cut my eyes at him. I forbid Marlon to even glance at a work message after nine p.m.

“
Of course not.” He says with that smile of his. “Just trying to make it happen.” He slides his phone back in his pocket before looking around at The Board again.

“I’m not sure how it is with Boston’s
white elite, but it’s not easy to gain entrance into The Board here in the city. You have to be invited in. My society is
very
select,” I inform Malcolm. Just in case he thought my society wasn’t up to par with his.

“It’s damn near impossible to get an official invitation to an event like this.” He looks at me. “And I’m not a part of Boston’s
white elite. I’m with the politicos and it consists of everyone.” He looks out into the crowd. “Just ask Judge Carmichael, I run into him often.”

             
“I didn’t mean to offend you.” I did.

             
“You didn’t.” Damn.

             
“It’s just that I always wanted to get my own invitation to enter this group; but alas, I’m still riding on the coattails of my parents.”

             
“I did that for a while. No shame in using what you’ve got. And what you have is a mother and father who are top Boston doctors. Use them—that’s what they’re there for.”

             
“But I always wanted to get respect in my own right. You know?”

             
“I know exactly what you mean.”

             
“Marlon’s almost there.” I nod as I look into the crowd. “Pretty soon, he and I will be invited in because we deserve it, not because of my parents. Or should I say, we
would
have been invited in.”

             
“It’ll happen. Marlon’s the go-to guy for property. You know that when you deal with him it’ll all be fair and confidential.” Speaking of confidential …

             
“Rumor has it he sells homes to politicos to stash their girlfriends in.”

             
“He does.” He turns to look at me and we both smile at each other. Surely, Malcolm has used Marlon’s services to stash the girlfriend of a client or two. (Or possibly his own girlfriend. Poor Danielle. And to think she’s seven months pregnant.) “And I’m sure he tells you some of the stories.”

“Alright, I’ll admit it, he does. Oh wait, should I have said anything?”

“To anyone else?” He laughs. “No.”

“Well
, I hope you don’t think any differently of him because he tells me things. I wouldn’t want you to stop referring people to him … or using him yourself.”

“I don’t use him myself
,” he says with a smile. “And you’re his wife. I tell Red shit all the time. When you’ve got a good woman, you trust that she’ll keep her mouth closed and vice versa. And you’re a good woman, Jasmine.” Wow, Malcolm considers me a good woman? After I just told his beloved
Red
off?

“
Well, um, thanks.” I shift uncomfortably on one leg. “And I, um, don’t want you to think I’m being petty by not going to this play. I would never miss a church play out of pettiness. That wouldn’t be very Catholic of me at all. It’s just that I hate your wife.”

“I get it.”
He nods at me with a little smirk, those brown eyes of his scanning mine, seemingly trying to read what’s going on in my very mind before he drifts them away and towards the crowd. Goodness, Malcolm’s really … unnerving. I’ve known him since he was the forward on St. Bernadette’s basketball team. I’ve known him since he was walking down the hallways of school, winking at girls and trying to make eye contact with Danielle.  So why in the world am I nervous standing here next to him? I inch away from him.

“What’s wrong?” He says to me, his eyes still focused on The Board, his voice low and steady … his cologne intoxicating.
(Did I just think that?)

“Nothing.” I whisper. Why am I nervous?

“You sure?” He turns to look at me, his eyes more relaxed now.

“Yeah.” I say quickly while I fidget with an earring. He nods slowly and looks away.

“So what’s going on with you and Red?” Ugh. Danielle.

“It’s complicated.” I breathe out with a sigh.

“Jasmine, I’m married to Red; I live in Complicated. It’s that far off place where you never quite know what’s going on or how much Fed time you’re liable to accrue. Try me.”

“
I just don’t approve of the life that she’s living,” I shake my head and roll my eyes. “I just don’t agree with it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s dangerous.” I say as Malcolm and I lock eyes. “Point blank.”

“You think so?”

“The feminist rallies, this high-profile she has now because she’s a Blair, her living in the fortress of Brookshire Condominiums, all of that extra security they have there because of you all, her affair with you … your obsessed ex-girlfriend.” I lift an eyebrow to him. “Your lifestyle and past should be enough to make a sane woman run for cover. Instead Danielle is having baby after baby by you.” He lets out a small smirk and flashes his eyebrows at me.

             
“Ready to go to our next stop?” he asks without skipping a beat. He reaches out and places a hand on my back to escort me back through the French doors.

             
“Wait, you aren’t going to respond to that? I accuse you of ruining my best friend’s life and you have no rebuttal?”

“What’s there to say?” He asks as he opens the front door, freezing Boston air crashing into us. I notice the spot on my back, where Malcolm has his hand, is still warm.
“You’re nothing if not observant.”

“Well at least respond to the ex-girlfriend comment.”

“I will,” he says matter-of-factly, unruffled by my accusations. “But let’s go grab a cup of coffee first. Then we can talk.”

Jacob

(
no
.)             

“You want coffee, Queen Jasmine?” I’m trying to be myself tonight, but it’s hard as hell.

“Don’t mind if I do,” she says to me as I turn around and look for the waitress. After making eye contact, I point to the coffee pots behind the counter. Full of energy, the waitress nods and heads over to the pots. I turn back around and watch Jasmine cut into her pancakes; whole wheat, gluten free, a splatter of fresh maple sugar. I just took a bite out of my French toast; wonder bread and sugar doused in Mrs. Butterworth. Tonight we’re celebrating Jasmine’s victory at her favorite café here in Boston, The Coffee Bar Café. She has no idea that I watched her walk across the pageant stage last night and wave to us peasants as she strutted past with her crown on her head and a rose bouquet in her arms. She thinks I flew up to Boston this evening, after she called and told me of her coronation. I picked her up from her condo at around midnight and we headed straight to our favorite spot in the city: The Coffee Bar Café, seated in a booth right beside a window. I watch her lick maple syrup from a fingertip.

             
“Mmm. That was rude.” She says as she cuts into her pancakes again. “But so good.”

             
“So tell me about last night,” I say to her as I take a sip of my orange juice. “Who came out?”

             
“Everyone. Naturally.” She gives me an eye lash flutter. “I was, what you would call, the queen of the ball. All of society was there. Black society, I mean. Of course my friends came up from New Orleans, Danny and Rena.” She gives me a smile before taking a bite out of her pancake.

             
“Danny, huh?” I ask as I cut into my French toast. “Did she bring Jon?”

             
“She did, in fact. And I have to admit, I really like him. He’s all strong and silent, something Danny needs because she can be a bit of a loose cannon.” She looks out the window and smiles into the Boston night. And I know why. I look out of the window and across the street at Brookshire Condominiums.

             
“You still want to move into those condos?” I ask her as she watches a doorman help a woman out of her town car.

             
“I do,” She has a faraway smile on her face. “Don’t you?”

             
“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind.” I look down into my plate and cut into my French toast.

             
“What’s wrong?” By the time I look back up, she’s staring at me. “You haven’t been yourself tonight. Is it school?” The waitress walks over with a tray holding a cup of creamer, sugar cubes and two cups of coffee, white smoke steaming up from them. “Thank you so much.” Jasmine says to her. “It’s after midnight, you must be exhausted. How long is your shift?” This is typical Jasmine, engaging with the plebeians, or regular people as she calls them. It builds their moral, when you speak with them, she once told me.

             
“Three more hours to go,” the waitress says with a look of mock exhaustion.

             
“Oh dear,” Jasmine gives a look of regret. “I’m sorry.” The waitress smiles and slowly walks away.

             
“Why didn’t you ask me to come to the pageant?” I ask coolly as Jasmine reaches for the creamer. “Not that I mind but I’m just wondering.”

             
“I knew you’d be mad at that.” She says without even looking at me. I watch her as she pours her creamer into her coffee.

“Who’s mad?”

“You.”

“Why didn’t you ask?” I watch her grab a sugar cube with a set of silver prongs.

“It wasn’t your crowd.”

“Oh no?”

“It was black society, Jacob.”

“And your parents.” I reach for my coffee cup.

“I was fighting to be the black queen of Massachusetts. It just wasn’t the time to introduce my electors to my white boyfriend.”

“So who
did
you introduce them to?” She looks up at me as she stirs her coffee.

“I guess you have eyes and ears around the entire city, huh?” She says without skipping a beat. “I’m impressed.”

“Who was the guy with Jon?”

“His friend.” She takes a sip of
her coffee.

“And his name?”
It’s Marlon Kyles, I’ve already looked him up.

“Marlon Kyles. And before you say anything, there’s nothing going on between the two of us. Marlon’s from an old Philadelphia family, the Philadelphia Kyles, the ones that opened the first stop of the city’s Underground Railroad. Have you heard of them?”