War. Read online

  War.

  (This. Is. Not. Over. #4)

  By Shannon Dianne

  Copyright 2015 by Shannon Dianne

  This is a work of fiction. (Don’t start that ‘this book is about me’ shit.)

  All Rights Reserved.

  http://shanndiann.blogspot.com/

  www.19SixtyFour.com

  [email protected]

  SHANNON DIANNE

  Marie begot Diane. (Marie was Italian, her lover was a black man. This was a taboo. But she didn’t care. She birthed her child and then gave her to Neva. Adoption in 1942. This was a taboo. But she didn’t care.)

  Neva adopted Diane. (Neva was black, her husband was white. This was a taboo. But she didn’t care.)

  Diane begot Alicia. (Diane was seventeen and not yet married. This was a taboo. But she didn’t care.)

  Alicia begot Shannon. (Alicia was a twenty-year-old college student, studying to become a doctor. This was a taboo. But she didn’t care.)

  Shannon begot Penelope. (Shannon is a feminist and feminists supposedly don’t have children. This was a taboo. But she didn’t care.)

  I come from a long line of feminists, whether my grandmother, mom or great-grandmothers used the term.

  We lived our lives.

  Full of taboos.

  Because we don’t care.

  Danielle ‘Red’ Rouge is woman who came out of my mind. A woman whose life closely resembled my own. Sure, her story (because this is her story) is full of dramatic interludes, fancily scenarios and fantastical outcomes, but the spirit of this story was created from my accumulated life experiences. Thank you for loving her, hating her, laughing with her and laughing at her. All that means is that you see her humanity, though she is just a figment of my feminist imagination. An imagination which is full of wishes, romanticism, darkness and, most importantly, humor. So, after saying all of that …

  Let’s do this shit.

  MEMORIES ARE THAT WAY

  By Bill Withers

  Memories take you back

  To the good times

  When it’s over

  And the sad times disappear

  Memories are that way

  Memories tell you that

  All the best times

  In your lifetime

  Are the times of yester-year

  Memories are that way …

  MEMORIES …

  Hilton Head, SC

  5 Years Ago

  “I love her, Mac. I just do. I love Jasmine and I can’t make that shit go away.”

  I had no words of comfort for Jacob so all I could say was, “Jacob, there was a reason you started seeing Winnie. Try to remember it. Why did you go to Winnie if you were so happy with Jasmine?”

  He couldn’t answer.

  “I don’t remember,” he said.

  (Excerpt from Over)

  REMEMBERING…

  911 Transcript

  Operator: 911, what’s your emergency?

  Caller: Hi, um, there’s seems to be—

  (Loud thump can be heard.)

  Unidentified Man: Alright! Relax. Relax. Relax.

  Operator: Hello? Can you tell me where you are?

  Caller: Did you hear that?

  Operator: I did. Where are you calling from?

  Caller: Oh, boy. It’s just that we don’t have these kinds of issues here…

  Caller: Can you tell me where you’re calling from?

  Unidentified Woman #1: Are you kidding me?

  Unidentified Woman #2: Listen, I didn’t come to cause problems.

  Unidentified Woman #1: Then why are you here!

  Unidentified Man: You’ve gotta leave. You’ve gotta leave now. Okay? You’ve gotta leave.

  Operator: Hello? Are you there?

  Caller: Shh! I’m trying to figure out what’s going on.

  Operator: Where are you calling from?

  Caller: The, uh, Brookshire Condominiums. And I hate to report this because we’re all good people here, but it just sounds like that young man is outnumbered and…oh wait…hold on…

  Unidentified Woman #1: Are you fucking her? Huh? Are you?

  Unidentified Man: No…no…it’s just…no. I don’t know why she’s here.

  Unidentified Woman #2: Listen, I just came to ask a question and—

  Unidentified Woman #1: Where were you two about to go? Huh? You were out in the hallway whispering. I saw you trying to hurry her into the elevator!

  Unidentified Man: Because I knew that you’d—

  Unidentified Woman #1: Do you know how disrespectful this is? To have this bitch come to the place where our children lay their heads! Do you know how fucking disrespectful that is?

  Unidentified Man: I swear, I…I swear…I—

  Unidentified Woman #1: Get it out!

  Unidentified Woman #2: Oh, will you relax! I just came to ask a question!

  Unidentified Woman #1: You came because you thought I wasn’t here! You thought I was gone! Were you two planning on going to Piranha’s together?!

  Unidentified Man: Okay, alright. Let’s just…please. Let’s just all…just…separate. Please.

  Unidentified Woman #1: Separate! Took the words right out of my mouth!

  Unidentified Man: You know I didn’t mean it like that. Please. Okay? Let’s just all go. Come on. You and I were on our way out, baby, let’s just go. Please.

  Unidentified Woman #1: No. I want to know what she wanted. What the fuck did you want with my husband? Speak, bitch.

  Unidentified Woman #2: Bitch? Are you gonna let her talk to me like that?

  Unidentified Man: Oh, God…please…

  Unidentified Woman #1: I’m his fucking wife!

  Unidentified Woman #2: I don’t give a damn who you are! You WILL NOT call me a bitch!

  Unidentified Man: Oh, God…

  Unidentified Woman #1: What did you want with my husband! Why did you come knocking on my door? Bitch!

  Unidentified Woman #2: If you call me a bitch one more time!

  Unidentified Woman #1: BITCH!

  Caller: Oh boy, I have no idea what’s going on, but maybe you should—

  Unidentified Man: Winnie! Winnie! Winnie! Stop! Stop! Get off of her, Winnie!

  Unidentified Woman #2: I can’t breathe!

  Unidentified Man: Winnie! Winnie! FUCK!

  Unidentified Woman #1: What the fuck did you come here for?

  Unidentified Woman #2: GET OFF OF ME!

  Unidentified Man #2: Winnie. Relax. Relax.

  Unidentified Woman #1: Get off of me, Malcolm!

  Unidentified Man #1: Winnie! Stop!

  Unidentified Woman #2: She’s crazy!

  Caller: Someone else just joined them. Another man.

  Operator: Do you recognize their voices?

  Caller: Not really. But I do recognize some names. I think…

  Operator: Which name is that?

  Caller: Malcolm. Malcolm Blair.

  Operator: Attorney Malcolm Blair?

  Caller: Yes. That’s the only Malcolm I know of in this building. His cousin, Jacob, and his wife, Winnie, live on this floor. I heard a man say ‘Winnie’. It has to be them. It has to be Malcolm, Jacob and Winnie out there.

  Operator: So how many are there?

  Caller: I hear four voices. But I don’t know who the other one belongs to. Like I said, I’m assuming that one of the men is Jacob Blair.

  Operator: Attorney Jacob Blair?

  Caller: Yes. Gwyneth Blair. Jacob Blair and Malcolm Blair.

  Operator: And the other?

  Caller: I have no idea. Oh goodness…this isn’t good at all. Maybe I should see if I can—

  Operator: One moment, please. Yes, this is operator 521. I need all available squad cars at Brookshire Condominiums. Attorneys Malcolm Blair and Jacob
Blair seem to be in some trouble there. Considering their profiles, we may need as much force as we can get. Yes. Jacob Blair and Malcolm Blair—Attorney to the President of the United States. Send all available squad cars.

  JACOB

  I need a goddamn drink.

  “Here,” Mac says as he passes me a bourbon across the bar. “You need a damn drink.”

  Okay, so this is what the hell happened tonight. I was standing in the master bathroom doorway looking at Winnie as she was fixing her hair. She and my sisters were planning on going out tonight. Everyone’s kids were already at my parents’ house for a weekend sleepover. That meant my brothers-in-law were free for a drink. Jasmine and I had already texted each other that morning and she said she was going to the movies with Danielle. No Winnie, no Jasmine; I was a free man tonight. (I’ll get back to Jasmine later.)

  So I called up Mac, Nat and my three brothers-in-law and planned a night out at Pirahna’s. Sounded like a good idea. Mac said, Cool. My in-laws were excited as hell. Nat said he’d be there. All was well.

  The world was a happy place.

  “I’ll miss you,” I told Winnie as she ran her fingers through her bob.

  “Shut your ass up, Jacob Blair. You plan on getting wasted tonight. By midnight, you won’t even remember me.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  She and I talked about her outfit (Why the hell do you have all that leg showing, Winnie?); her hair (Yeah baby, that Aveda shit really is giving your bob a new luster); our new matching tattoos (the bodies of a dead skeleton couple with the words J. Blair and G. Blair over their skulls. G. Blair has a bob); and our newest son, Jaden. (You know, Jacob, I don’t understand why he had to look just like you when I look so much better). We were chilling. I walked to the kitchen, pulled out our best wine and walked back to the bathroom with two glasses. Winnie spritzed on that perfume she always wears. I smelled the musk, I drank the wine, I watched my woman and I was…happy as hell.

  Happy with Winnie.

  I’m confused as hell these days.

  Just last month, I stood outside St. Michael’s Church and basically married Jasmine. I gave her that necklace and made myself a promise: I wouldn’t let her go. Not again. But I’m no fool; I was about to lay low for a while. I hadn’t planned on contacting her for at least a month. I had to let things settle. Winnie gave birth to our latest baby the night Jasmine and I stood on those church steps. I may love women but I’m in love with my kids. Jaden was about to get my full, undivided attention. I even went ahead and took a paternity leave, working from my home office. About a week after Jaden was born, I had to head to the office to grab some files. As fate would have it, Jasmine came to the office that day, knocked on my door and let herself in.

  Dangerous as hell.

  “Listen, I, um, just need to talk,” she said as we sat side-by-side on the couch in my office. “I don’t know, I, uh, just…I’m just really…I don’t know.” But I knew what she was saying. She couldn’t get her mind off of me. Now, I’m not saying that to make it seem like I’m the man, but I knew it was the truth. I, on the other hand, hadn’t thought much about her that week. I had a newborn at home who didn’t understand why humans chose to sleep at night. The last thing I had on my mind was a good fuck. I’m not casting shade on Jasmine, it’s just that she wasn’t on my mind as much as, say, shitty diapers, four a.m. feedings and cradle cap.

  So, as she and I sat in my office, it was as though I knew at that very moment that something was different. I had fantasized about this woman for over a decade. I finally had her. I finally had my chance. Why hadn’t she been on my mind? I pushed the thought away. It was because of Jaden, I rationalized.

  Speaking of Jaden, I had to hurry home to him and Winnie.

  Jasmine sat beside me, biting her lip, nervous that she was making the first move. Usually, I would have teased her and finally had mercy on her and helped her out. My hand would’ve made its way up her dress slowly, relieving her of the burden of making the first move. But not that day. I didn’t have time for Jasmine. I made a show of looking at my watch. Again, this wasn’t personal—I had a newborn at home.

  “I have a meeting in ten minutes,” I leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Can we continue this conversation tonight?” I searched her face and saw a hint of annoyance.

  I remembered that look.

  I almost smiled. Damn, I forgot about that look. If there’s one thing I know about Jasmine, it’s that she wants what she wants, when she wants it. I had diagnosed her with ‘only child syndrome’ years ago.

  “Where do you want to meet up?” she finally asked.

  “Cadence’s place.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Jacob.” She bit her bottom lip again and scooted away from me. I wasn’t buying it. I knew she would meet me there.

  And she did.

  My youngest girl, Beckett, will only drink almond milk. So at around ten that night, I poured the last cartoon down the drain and told Winnie I was running out to the market to buy another. “You know how Beckett gets if she doesn’t have her glass of almond milk in the morning,” I said to Winnie in the doorway of our bedroom where she was breastfeeding Jaden.

  “Yes. Whiny and bratty. Not to mention last time, when she called my mom on me. Go get the milk before I have to punch her in the face.”

  Ten minutes later I was at Cadence’s place. Jasmine was already there waiting outside the door.

  “You’re late,” she said. I almost laughed. She’s always hated my concept of time. “You know I don’t like it when you’re late.”

  “Won’t happen again,” I said as I unlocked the door.

  Once inside, we didn’t talk. We both knew why she came to my office earlier that day. She thought she’d be able to stay away from me and she couldn’t. To say that I was surprised she came to me first is an understatement. But I wasn’t mad.

  That night began what I guess can be classified as an affair. We began texting throughout the week. No calls. Just texts. As I think back on it now, why I left a paper trail is beyond me. I’m a lawyer; I know better.

  Anyway, later that week Jasmine met me at Cadence’s place again. And once again, she was waiting by the door before I got there.

  “Jacob, can you, like, please be on time? This is rude.”

  “Sorry, baby. Won’t happen again.”

  “Yeah, you said that last time.”

  And for the next three hours we drank wine…chilled…fucked. It was nice, but…I don’t know. It didn’t necessarily feel like I thought it would. I was sure it was because I was living with the stress of a newborn. I was sure that’s what it was.

  And then tonight…

  “With or without earrings?” Winnie asked as she held up a pair of diamond studs to her ears and turned to look at me.

  “Does it matter, baby? You can’t see your earrings with your hair.”

  “Yeah, but,” she put the studs on the bathroom counter. “Sometimes when I dance on the bar tables, I put my hands in my hair like this,” she slid her hands through her hair, lifting it up above her ears, “and then I close my eyes and go like this.” She gave me a slow wind with her ass while making an Mmm sound.

  “Oh, then you need to put on earrings.”

  “Okay.” She dropped her hands from her hair and went for the studs.

  We were having a nice night. What could go wrong?

  Two weeks into my affair with Jasmine, she and I were good. We met once a week, so we’d officially had two nights worth of fucking. But strangely, I was beyond ready to return home to Winnie after I put Jasmine in a cab and sent her home. Or maybe I was just ready to get back home to Jaden.

  Anyway, things between Jasmine and I were good. She texted throughout the third week, just to see what I was up to. I’d respond back after about an hour because like I said, I was taking care of a newborn, which meant I slept when he slept. I’d get the occasional, You’re being rude. Why aren’t you returning my texts? But I’d always respond
with, Sorry baby, won’t happen again. Sometimes I’d give her a wink face. She gave me a smiley face back. Things were going fine.

  And then Jasmine saw my new tattoo.

  “What’s this about?” she asked during the third week of our affair. I had taken my shirt off to hop in the shower before I poured a glass of wine and eventually hopped into bed…or on the floor…the couch…wherever.

  “Oh, I got it last weekend,” I told her as I looked down at my arm. I officially have half-sleeves now; tattoos covering my shoulder blade to right above my elbow. The skeleton couple was the tattoo that completed the half-sleeve on my left arm.

  “Yeah, but why did you get it?” She blinked a few times. She used to do that all the time. It meant she was mad. But I was confused.

  “Well, Winnie and I went ahead and-”

  “Oh, so Winnie has one too?”

  “Well…yeah, she-”

  “This is bullshit, Jacob!” Now I was really confused. Winnie is my wife. She’s the woman that, when I die, I’ll be buried next to. She and I will eventually be these skeleton people one day. Side by side, bob and all. Everyone knows that, including Jasmine.

  “What’s the problem, baby?” I asked her.

  “Nothing.” And before I had a chance to figure out what I had done wrong, she walked through Cadence’s living room and out of the condo. Gone. Damn, this felt familiar. Jasmine storming out on me, me not having a clue as to why but knowing that it was, somehow, all my fault.

  What did I miss here?

  So, after that botched third date, she didn’t contact me. In my defense, I texted her right afterwards and asked where I went wrong. No response. The next morning, I texted her again: Jasmine, what am I missing here? No response. I’m a lawyer; I know that one unanswered text is fine. Two unanswered texts are acceptable. Three unanswered texts are a misdemeanor. I didn’t text her again.

  But this is the strange thing: I was fine about it. I was still walking around my condo with a pep in my step. Winnie, the kids and I still watched the Frozen DVD several times back to back, until we were all singing the songs together when the downbeat dropped. Jaden, our one-month-old, would lie in my arms and be mad as hell about it. I’d pat his butt, walk around the condo with him and pour Winnie and me a glass of wine. (Three ounces for her since she was breastfeeding.) We’d put the kids to bed, hop in the shower together and do our best to follow her doctor’s orders of no sex for one more month.