"I had a flight to catch, Kiel."
"I'll be at LAX on Monday, bright, early." He clips each word for emphasis.
"That's ridiculous. The plane from Madrid won't be there until 5pm."
"I'll be there early, waiting for my wife."
The golden bubbles of my Moscato swish around with excitement as I twirl my glass. We use to have these fuck fests. Hard ones, where arguing was permissible. But now there's only ‘I hate him, yet he somehow still loves me.'
"What if I don't get off the plane?" I toss back the entire glass of wine.
He gives a sinister chuckle. I've made him this way. A man who knows just how to please a woman. A man with more Grammys for writing love songs than he has fingers. A man that weaves together romance, and those fucking mysterious dynamics of the heart. His voice, his fingers strumming a guitar or piano have made life. He's written songs that have been played at weddings and in the privacy of people's marriage bed or the likes.
"To death do us part, Mel. And you know what," he pauses; I can hear him puffing on poison in the background. "Till death do us part isn't even the end. Melody in this world, in the next, you'll always be mine." There it was, the love seeping from his tone till he spat the last warning. "You're mine, you're my Melody. Believe that."
My mother cursed my marriage the day I returned home with a man of no advanced education, a plethora of tattoos and hair as long as mine. She said I had to be a fool. She said he'd ruin me …
"Goodbye, Kiel." I say.
GOODBYE – this word is taboo. When we first met, Kiel was so attuned to my needs. He nurtured my heart. He breathed air into me. I can still recall the moment he told me there would be no goodbyes, not ever. I felt it in my bones, that I belonged to him even in my world, Black America, were African Americans take pride in color and affluence. And they do not marry outside of their race, especially not men without advanced degrees or pedigrees.
"See you soon, my love." Kiel says.
My thumb skims over the iPhone screen, and there's a physical pain in my chest as I press the ‘end call' button.
I've never seen a greater love than the way that he loves me. And it fucking hurts so bad in my chest right now. Palm to heart, I sink down with this heaviness onto the bed.
I don't want this love. Not anymore. I've defied my parents for him. Six years of marriage down the drain. Six years of plunging into the deepest end for a whirlwind passion, a rollercoaster that nobody can force me to get off of. Not even Kiel McIsaac. But I must get off.
"Mel, get your scrawny ass in here!" My friends slur and shout, snatching me away from the pressure in my chest. Instead of allowing this heavy love to get me down, as its been taking a toll on me, I will live for the friendships that I've cultivated in my girlfriends. At least while in Spain …
CHAPTER 22
Angelique
FRESH AIR RUSHES through my lungs as I step outside. Franco is gone. My eyes search toward the sea, and hastily travel down the shore, then flit up the coast. The moon is milky, full even, but doesn't provide much illumination. Dread steps onto my shoulders, and I wished I had searched for Franco longer last night. Instead of giving up.
Melody and I spent a few hours waiting around at the airport. Erin and Josaline's flights were delayed so I didn't get to see Franco at the last course. I planned on sneaking out later this evening, seeing that Franco and I've almost been like vampires. A sense of urgency surges through my veins. So I'm determined to find Franco tonight. Using analytical reasoning I determine he may have traveled to the main Inn. There isn't such an outstretch of land like the seashore where he'd still be in view if he'd walked in that direction. I'll catch up to him along the windy path, I determine while stepping toward the trail that leads inland. A figure comes into view. Franco? My heart almost bursts as I perceive a petite silhouette.
"Hey, Angelique!" Selena's cheerful, but I'm unsettled. This might be my last chance, but Selena bounds toward me.
"I almost knocked on the wrong door," Selena smiles.
My eyes stop surveying the Inn veranda up, off in the distance, and land on hers. "Oh, yeah? It's a good thing I came outside."
"I got sashes for you and you've got three bridesmaids right?" Selena rummages through her leather tote; she begins to take out a sash which reads: BRIDE.
My eyelid twitches on key but I force myself to smile, something is truthfully wrong with this woman. "Oh, Selena, this is too much. You know I'm not getting married?"
"Yes, of course. I admire you, Angelique, and your gumption." Selena stops walking toward the front door of my bungalow as if waiting. "I wasn't thinking. It's been ages since I've been invited to any sort of celebration. Anyway, let's go inside. I've got enough poison for us to drink like fishes."
Determined to get rid of her soon and very soon, I nod, "Now drinks, I think I can hang with that."
She lingers, hand on the knob. And I realize that it's me. She's been stalling, waiting for me to follow her inside.
"Um... Just go right on in." I wave, teeter tottering on the heels of my ballerina flats. "I've got ice duty."
"Don't you need the ice bucket?"
Palm to forehead in faux surprise, I follow her back inside. I quickly grab the bucket from the kitchen counter. Considering my frame of mind, it's half full. Then I decide to use the good sense the Good Lord gave me and introduce Selena to the others. Though she met Melody yesterday, it's my place to do this.
"We're about to find some muscles, Jelly. Where ya going?" Erin asks.
Josaline says something about wanting an assortment of dicks slapping her face as she makes it rain with an impressive amount of one-dollar bills. She came prepared. I can see Melody from within the bedroom door, she seems tense, chatting on her iPhone.
"I'm gonna get more ice." I hold up the bucket and try not to jiggle it too much, since it's half full and not half empty. I'll let my friend's deal with Selena until I can decide on a proper way to ditch the little psycho.
When I get outside, I leave the bucket on the walkway. Which way did he go? Mind clouded, I decide, His place!
~~~
It takes half an hour to walk to the bottom of the stairs that lead to his villa. While on the long climb up, I tell myself that I've done well. Franco is hot. Super hot. But sleeping with him a few days into our friendship is a no go. While huffing, halfway up the stairs, I determine, I'm going play it cool, exchanging numbers sounds like the adequate course of action. If the famous chef can fit time in his busy schedule to call me, I'll nibble all he has to offer.
Orgasmic moans carry over the wind as I get toward the top. The garden of tranquility has been transformed into a den of sin. The ornate fountain is no longer the focal point, because two very familiar bimbos have taken over.
Laura and Brandi.
If I keep climbing up, they'll see me. And I don't want to see how much Franco is enjoying the show. But my eyes can't tear away from them as the women go at it, doing the scissors!
In a daze, a cold air swishes by, chillier than before. I start back down the stairs. Arms wrapped around myself, I allow the darkness to envelope me once more. Here I am, preparing to celebrate fakery. A stupid bachelorette party. I've wasted years on Carlton, I'm still young, I can start over. But it's the principle.
A part in me doesn't feel like hanging with my girls when they're always the antidote to a bad day. I start toward the Inn. Let me see if the bar is open. A deep, generous glass of red wine should sooth my soul, and then this vacation that Melody forced me on will turn back into such. A vacation. We've traveled many places, so yes, I can do this... Then as Mel said, the celebration at Le Grande will be just that. I nod, thinking about it.
"You aren't enjoying yourself." The words are truth not questioning, keying me to exactly how far I've already began to walk. I turn at the top of the veranda, just outside of the main cafe where Melody and I had breakfast this morning.
A woman is seated on one of the intricate, wrought iron chairs. There's a pot of tea before her, and steam wafts from her cup.
"Please sit." Her eyes twinkle like molasses orbs, familiar molasses orbs. Though there are a few etches around her gaze, I believe that it's half due to age and half due to smiling. Before she can introduce herself, I already know who she is. She's much thinner than her twin, and more reserved.
"I'm Carmen De León Rodriguez, my sister and I own this Inn."
I take her extended hand, though not in the right frame of mind to carry on a conversation. "Nice to meet you, Senora..."
"Please, please, please, Carmen is preferred. No need for formalities. I believe a cup of tea would serve you well."