“Stereotypical black woman?” I bark, ready unleash the brewing anger onto her that I’m trying to reserve.
“Yes!” she exclaims. “It was immature, but that’s all we had to combat ourselves against you. You’ve always been so mean and angry towards us…for no reason! We never viewed you negatively. Heck, when others tried to paint you as an opportunist to Michelle, secretly Brit and I went to bat for you on several occasions. We never understood your bond, but what we could see was reciprocity. You adored her and…well, we couldn’t understand why you didn’t give us the same opportunity of friendship. So, yeah,” April’s voice turns definitive. “We teased you and got silly in your presence to have fun at your expense.”
My mouth pries open. Revelations begin hitting. Her accusations sound vaguely familiar of me, but spot on for…Syn? My head won’t slow its spin. These are thoughts I’ve had of how Syn regards me: angry to the degree of antagonism.
Oh, my god!
Suddenly, I understand that all of my flaws and self-discoveries aren’t limited to counseling sessions with Pastor Edmondson, or via fights with Azmir. This time they’re coming from a different source. However, I don’t understand the nature of her call, her insistence of getting in touch with me.
“Is this the imperative conversation you said we needed to have, April?”
“Some of it, yeah! I didn’t want to dig right in like that, but you…” she sighs again. “Hear me out, Rayna. For crying out loud, we are sisters in Christ now, right? I mean, I’ve heard bits and pieces about the new Rayna through your pastor while with my in-laws. He and his wife adore you and that’s saying a lot.”
“Is it so hard to believe that good people like me?” my voice cracks.
“No! God, no, Rayna!” she assures. “It’s just that since Michelle died, you up and left contact with us. It’s just weird hearing about your life through an unlikely party,” she murmurs.
“Well, April, the last place I expected to see you settle into is a pending first lady role, myself,” I softly challenge with humor.
“Shit—I meant—crap! Me, too! But people change. They see better and then sometimes want it for themselves. I’ve been lucky or should I say—”
“…blessed,” I insert, certainly understanding the sentiment.
“Well, I know you have to go, but I want to say a few things to you,” she informs.
“Finally, we’re getting to the point of the call,” I sputter on a giggle. April joins me for probably our first shared laughter in all these years.
“Anyway, I heard about you and Erin. I’m very happy about you reconnecting with her. Believe it or not, I fought for you to Amber. No one deserves to be in that little girl’s life like you, Rayna. I mean that,” she almost chokes out.
“Thanks, April. I appreciate that,” I breathe into the phone. Instantly, her words mean a lot. “I just dropped her off before you called.”
“Awesome!” she cheers, and seemingly authentically before going silent on the line.
“April, you still there?”
“Yeah,” she nearly whispers.
“You alluded to calling about several things,” I remind her as we turn onto my exit.
“Yeah, I know,” she confirms shakily. “There’s no easy way to get into this,” her voice grows with fortitude. “About that sex tape in The Bahamas…”
I can’t believe the latter part of the conversation…
Chapter 14
Rayna
Drenched in anger. That’s how I feel. It’s as though my entire body has been subdued in an oily batch of fury. So much so, I don’t recall packing, neither much of my flight. I didn’t sleep, didn’t eat the entire four hours and forty-two minute trip. When the plane landed, I grabbed my Pagase 45 and made a mad dash to a cab. Although I observed, unseeing, the city, I didn’t take in the beauty of it all. I didn’t even admire the epic Lincoln Memorial when the cab passed by it. All I can think of was what those bouncy curls will feel like, stretched and twisted against my fingers and bawled into my palms.
I reach the concierge at the Mandarin Oriental without batting an eye to the opulent reception area, vaguely appreciating plush décor from the carpets, to the walls, and up to the chandeliers. I’m looking for my destination.
“Good evening!” the café au latte male with a shiny head greets. Even his ideal smile can’t warm my cool veneer. “Welcome to the Mandarin. How may I assist you this morning?”
His question makes me wonder about the hour. It’s after seven in the morning on the East Coast and I don’t even feel the lack of sleep.
“Checking in. My name is Rayna Jacobs. My husband is here: Azmir Jacobs,” I offer.
“Okay…”
That’s all I take in from him until he instructs me to the fourth floor with a key. But the biggest phase of my plan hasn’t been determined. I don’t know how I’ll accost Dawn; I have no clue of her room. So, I back up, literally, in reverse to the desk.