Second in Command, page 5
part #1 of Fairview Station Series
Jazz’s admission surprised Emory. People who disregarded protocol threatened the system as well as the children and foster parents. “You do realize flaunting the rules isn’t really a good thing, right?”
“As my sister explained when she gave me the most recent verbal reprimand.” After a quick repentant look, Jazz asked, “Has your job put you off children entirely?”
Emory adjusted to the quick change of subject and carefully formed her answer before plowing into personal territory. “Not at all. I love children. My work has only strengthened that, and I happen to think I’m very good at what I do.”
“I’m sure you are. So…children of your own someday?”
The bright, expectant look in Jazz’s eyes contrasted drastically with the disappointment Emory felt. Another tick in the why-this-can-never-work column. “I need to get back to work.”
Jazz glanced at her watch. “Jeez, it’s almost one.”
Emory took a final sip of water and waited for Jazz to pay before preceding her to the car. She’d been so attuned to Jazz that the time had passed quickly. How would it feel to have someone like Jazz in her life full time? Someone handsome and chivalrous who was still unpretentious and honest? But Emory didn’t want just anyone who fit that mold; she wanted impossibly unattainable Jazz Perry. Facts were facts.
Jazz drove back to the hospital slowly, her hand occasionally brushing the side of Emory’s leg when she shifted gears. “Sorry. I never realized how tight this space was.”
“It’s all right. I’m sure I take up more room than your usual passenger.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Put yourself down like that because I’m going to call you on it every time.”
Emory swallowed hard and blinked back tears. She searched for something to say, but words failed. How could she thank Jazz for doing something she seldom did for herself?
Jazz stopped in front of the hospital and came around to help Emory out. “Thanks for letting me kidnap you and pick your brain.”
“Sorry I wasn’t more helpful. I plan to find out more about USAA. There are rumors that the state is taking bids for outsourcing some CPS services, and as a prestigious national adoption agency, USAA will probably be a frontrunner.”
“I left a message for their Greensboro director slash counselor to check on Shea but haven’t heard back yet. Maybe we can compare notes later?”
Emory nodded. “Thank you for lunch…and everything else.”
“My pleasure. See you soon.”
Emory felt Jazz watching as she walked toward the hospital entrance. She placed one foot directly in front of the other, mimicking the runway model stroll. The trick gave her gait extra bounce and her backside an added twist. She wanted Jazz to look at her, to imagine caressing her, and to desire that touch as much as she did.
When the entrance doors slid shut behind her blocking Jazz’s view, Emory slumped against the nearest wall. What was she doing to herself? To Jazz? The first answer was easy—working herself into a frenzied fantasy that would never come true. A few nights of masturbation to memories of her brief time with Jazz was all she could hope for. In her mind, she was setting Jazz up with desires and expectations she had no interest in filling. Totally unfair. With such unrealistic hopes, they couldn’t possibly establish even a decent friendship. She needed a break from her flesh-and-blood dream girlfriend and a cold dose of reality.
Chapter Four
Emory parked at the Y downtown after work on Tuesday and stared at the red and beige brick building. Was this a mistake? Diane would be here soon, so she needed to decide quickly. Stay or leave? Tell Di about Jazz or not? Face the truth or hide behind the fantasy? Fantasy. Decision made. She cranked the car, but before she could back out of the space, Diane tapped on her window and crawled in beside her.
“Jeez, you scared the crap out of me, Di.” Purple-spiked hair on a forty-year-old was enough to give some people pause, but on Di it was a nice addition to her exuberant personality and a perfect contrast to her grounded, realistic side.
“Were you going to jet?” Her best friend eyeballed her hard and brushed wispy bangs out of her eyes.
“No.”
“You were totally jetting, so your news must be seriously low-key.”
Emory shook her head but stopped short of rolling her eyes. “You realize that just because you teach teenagers doesn’t mean you have to talk like them, right?”
“They like teaching me something too, and I feel lit.”
“A lit forty-year-old doesn’t sound so good. They probably laugh behind your back because you’re using everything in the wrong context.” No matter what she said, Diane’s indomitable spirit couldn’t be dampened. That was one of the reasons they’d become friends in college and gotten closer when their mutual friend, Jean, dumped Emory. “Okay, but when we’re together could you at least attempt to speak adult?”
“Maybe. What’s up? Are we actually considering sweat-producing exercises again? Not that I have anything against working out if I can do it horizontally. That shit is GOAT.”
“Do I even want to know what that means?”
“Greatest of all time, but you’re deflecting. Why are we here? Quick, before we’re seen and can’t dash.” Diane rubbed her hands together, stared at Emory for a second, and went straight for the kill. “Snap! You’ve met someone. Girl, tell me all about her.”
Hopefully, Diane was the only one who read her so easily. If Jazz had seen the lust in her eyes, she was in deep trouble. “Sort of…met again is more accurate.”
“What’s her name? Where did you met, again? What does she do? Is she hot? Is she totally into you? Tell me everything. Like now.”
Emory glanced around the empty parking lot. They were too early for the class, so they could still abort. “I’m thinking we take this conversation to an adult establishment.”
“No wonder we’re best friends. Where?”
“Smith & Edge?”
“Perfect. I’m right behind you.”
Diane was in her car pulling out of the parking lot before Emory readjusted her seat belt and started the engine. No moss. The woman was constantly in motion, which probably explained her size-six figure since college. But if anyone dissed Emory about her weight, Diane flew hot, and she’d agreed to spin class again. She was a perfect friend in so many ways.
When Emory walked into the bar, Diane had two dirty vodka martinis waiting at a table away from the noisy games section so they could talk. “Thanks. I so need this.” She took a couple of sips and waited for the heat and first tingles of a buzz. “Life saver.”
“Hundo-P, my new aesthetic.” When Emory rolled her eyes, she added, “Hundred percent my new vibe.” She took another sip and traced a bead of condensation down the stem of her glass. Diane’s version of patience, but it didn’t last. “Seriously, Em?”
“All right. Do you remember Jasmine Perry? Jazz?”
Diane shook her head and fished a loose olive from the bottom of her martini glass with a toothpick. She popped it in her mouth and chewed a few times before her jaw dropped. “Wait.” She shoved her hand toward Emory before she could respond, took a big gulp of her drink, and then leaned across the table. “Isn’t she Gayle and Bryce Carlyle’s adopted daughter?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Didn’t I meet her and her siblings years ago at a high school basketball charity event for the Children’s Cancer Society you dragged me to?”
“Good memory.”
“I only remember because you bought dinner at B. Christopher’s afterward. You’d just started volunteering, and Gayle and Norma were mentoring you. So…you’re dating Gayle’s daughter?” Diane’s voice rose on the last word.
Patrons at the pool tables turned toward them, and Emory waved her hands as if she could disperse the words echoing toward everybody else in the room. “Could we please not share this conversation with the entire downtown population?”
Di whispered conspiratorially. “I’m right.”
Emory’s body heated as she recalled sitting across from Jazz at lunch and Jazz’s gaze on her. She fanned herself with a napkin. “I’m not dating her. We just bumped into each other after all these years and chatted.”
“I’m sensing more to the story.” Diane signaled the bartender for two more drinks.
“We just talked. I probably shouldn’t have another drink. You know what they say, ‘one martini, two martini, three martini, floor.’”
“And I always say, when in doubt, Uber about. It might take several of these before I get the whole story out of you. Come on. First question, is she still adorably handsome? I recall she already had that I’m-going-to-be-a-butch look.” Di slid her chair closer and wiggled her eyebrows. “Tell me every little detail.”
Emory play-pushed her away as the bartender placed two fresh martinis in front of them. “You’re incorrigible and you’re cut off. I need these.” She pulled both drinks closer and encircled them in her arms. “So…I ran into Jazz in the hospital canteen Sunday morning and…”
“And?” Di eased one of the drinks away from her and took a sip. “Is she hot or has she gotten flabby and snaggletoothed with age?”
Emory circled the rim of her glass with the tip of her finger.
“Does she make you all gooey in your hinter regions? Come on. I’m dying here.”
“Hinter regions, Di? Is that part of your new teen vocabulary?”
“Hardly, just answer the question.”
“Yes, to the hot factor and the other thing, and I’m not sure what to do about it.”
“Just remember she’s not eighteen any more, and you’re not an inexperienced thirty-two-year-old. Has she asked you out?”
“Not exactly. We had tea in the canteen Sunday and lunch Monday.” Di straightened beside her, and Emory could almost see the transformation from kidder and teen slang aficionado to mature, grounded friend, which is exactly what Emory needed.
“Sort of sounds like dating to me, Em, or at least a warm-up.”
“She had questions about adoptions. We didn’t discuss anything personal, except…”
“Except?”
Diane rubbed her back in small circles, a technique that normally soothed her, but right now the little kindness only fueled Emory’s embarrassment. She couldn’t meet her gaze.
“Wait. Did she make a joke about your size? If she did, I’ll so cancel the bitch.”
Emory laughed despite her discomfort. “No, I did. I referred to myself as Mrs. Jumbo.” Diane gave her a questioning look. “You know, Dumbo’s mother. An elephant.”
“Em, you didn’t.”
She nodded.
“And what did she say?”
“That’s the part that totally shocked me, Di. She called me on it, told me I was perfectly proportioned, and then schooled me on what a great mother Mrs. Jumbo was.”
Diane fist pumped the air. “Yes! I like this woman.” She toasted her glass to the side of Emory’s and added, “You now have my permission to date her.”
“But—”
“I see.” Diane knew Emory better than she knew herself sometimes. “She isn’t the problem. Em, you’re the only one who sees someone unattractive when they look at you. You’re a beautiful, Rubenesque woman who designs her own clothes and carries herself with poise and grace. Heads turn when you walk in a room. You’re seriously on fleek, girl. Not to channel Oprah, but until you accept yourself, you won’t let anyone close again. BTW, fuck Jean Dunlap for what she did to you. She is so dead to me.”
“I love you so hard right now. And for the record, I don’t design clothes, I just throw together what works for me.” Emory struggled with the rest, but if she wanted a true reality check, she had to put everything out there. “It’s not only Jazz’s looks or that she’s a total body goddess. I’m fourteen years older. I don’t do flings, which are probably her staple. I’ve only had one relationship, and we know how that ended. Jazz drives a sports car for goodness sake. She was adopted and she’s a cop, which can be a potentially troublesome combination. And she wants children.”
Diane finished her second martini and stared at Emory. “You’ve already talked about having children?”
“No, we talked about work and adoptions. Then she asked the kid question.”
“What did you say?”
“What should I say? I can’t handle my own screwed-up life, so how could I possibly raise a child? I’d be a totally insecure, overprotective mother? Or I’ve had a hysterectomy and can’t have children?” If she didn’t get involved with Jazz, they’d never have that conversation. The next sip of her drink was especially bitter, and the thought of walking away from Jazz left another sour feeling. Diane raised her hand to order another round, but Emory said, “No.”
“Fine. If I can’t drink, I must dispense wisdom. Let’s recap. You’re passing on this woman because she’s younger, attractive, has a decent job, understands your work, drives a sports car, and may want children? Have I left anything out? Oh yes, and she’s had a lot of sex so she probably knows how to please you. Could it be your standards are a bit too high?”
“She hasn’t just had a lot of sex, she’s an opportunist.”
“Meaning what in Em-speak?”
“Gossip around the hospital is she’ll sleep with anyone who’s available and chases her long enough.”
“Anyone?”
“Well, maybe not all of them. She’s bypassed a few,” Emory admitted.
“So…she’s a selective opportunist, which probably describes most humans who ever dated or had sex, except you of course. You’re the exception to every dating rule.”
Emory shifted in her chair. Diane was shooting holes in her excuses as quickly as she threw them out. “Never mind. It’s not about me.”
Diane touched her forehead to Emory’s. “Oh contraire, my lovely friend. Life and love should be primarily about you, or it can never be about anyone else.”
“Okay, that’s a little deep for me after two martinis.”
“And maybe a little too true?”
“Time to summon your Uber. I can walk from here and pick up my car in the morning, then I’ll swing by and get you. Working girls’ car pool.” Emory tapped open the app and plugged in her location and, after a quick stop at the restroom, they headed outside to wait. She tucked Di into the back seat when the car arrived. “I love you, Di. Thanks for listening.”
“Always, Em.” She kissed Emory lightly on the lips before closing the door and lowering her window. “Remember my gift of advice. I may be slightly tipsy, but I speak the truth. And one more thing. Flip the script. Dick and dash, as the kids say.”
“Do I want to know what that means?”
“Sex her up and leave, sister. No strings.”
The car started to pull away, but Emory called, “Stop. I forgot something.” She dug a pen from her purse, motioned for Diane’s hand, and scribbled a phone number on her palm. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”
“Is this—”
“The nurse’s phone number you’ve been gagging for. Use it wisely. Her name is Jane, and she’s a friend, so play nice.” Diane yelled, “And we are going to spin classes, starting next week.” Emory waved as the vehicle left the lot.
On the walk home, Diane’s words tumbled around inside scratching at something old and buried. She’d managed the family home and her baby brother while her mother worked and had chosen a career requiring more sacrifices of time and energy. Maybe Diane was right and it was time to put herself first. Did she even know how?
Chapter Five
Jazz rolled to the opposite side of the bed and sighed as the unused sheets cooled her naked body. Her sex throbbed, and she rubbed her thighs together. She’d come in her sleep to a dream of Emory rocking a pair of red high heels, a thigh-high skirt, and a scoop-necked blouse that revealed her creamy, generous breasts. “Jeez.”
She threw the covers back and stared at the ceiling fan while her skin chilled and dimpled. Emory had caught her staring the other day, but Jazz didn’t care. Emory needed to know she was attractive and desirable. She’d ignited a slow burn inside Jazz along with a desire to know more.
A light tap sounded at her bedroom door, and she quickly covered herself. “Yeah?”
“Honey, do you want breakfast?”
Mama’s soft voice so soon after an orgasm reminded Jazz of the first time she’d been caught with her hand in her pants. They’d had a long talk about sex with emphasis on respecting your body and your partner’s wishes. She blushed and pulled the covers tighter. “Be right down. Thanks.” When the first squeaky stair registered Mama’s descent, Jazz hopped in the shower, suddenly feeling like she hadn’t eaten in days. She was downstairs five minutes later.
“Good morning.” She kissed G-ma and Mama before settling at the long bar with a plate of food Mama pushed in front of her. They were prepping for the Ma Rolls food truck run and eating at the same time. “Can I help with that?”
“Enjoy your breakfast. We’re almost done, honey,” Mama said.
“You must’ve been tired after that last shift,” G-ma said. “We’ve only seen evidence of you since Monday.”
“I guess.” She stuffed a strip of bacon in her mouth. “W…wait. It’s Tuesday, right?”
Mama shook her head. “Wednesday, and Norma and I are off to a committee meeting at the hospital before the lunch run.”
“Hospital?” Jazz tried to moderate her sudden interest. “What kind of meeting?”
“The Greensboro Hoppers charity baseball game for kids is coming up soon, and we need to finalize plans.” G-ma wrapped a line of sandwiches as fast as Mama made them and tucked them into a Tupperware container to keep them fresh.
“Who’s on this particular committee?” She reached for a coffee and slowly mixed in the cream and sweetener to avoid making eye contact. G-ma and Mama didn’t miss much where their children were concerned.
“The usual suspects,” Mama said, “The two of us, a couple of nurses from the pediatric ward, a pediatrician, oh, and Emory. She’s back in town so we railroaded her into helping because we were shorthanded this year. She’s always so good with people.”
