Your Love Is King

  “I bet the boys were sad to see you go,” I said as I pressed the button to scan the stations on her radio.

  She smiled. “Well, Derek was pretty nonchalant about it. I guess since he’s ten, he doesn’t think he needs me anymore. But Patrick was pretty upset. But then again, Patrick’s always been a mama’s boy.” That much I knew to be true. Patrick was seven and loved to stick near his mother.

  “It must’ve been hard to leave them.”

  Carla sighed. “Honestly, Marli, I really needed the break. I love my boys, but it hasn’t been easy doing all of this alone. I don’t envy what you’ve been through. I figure that maybe I can make enough money this summer that I won’t have to work in the fall. That way I can devote more time and attention to them.”

  I flashed her a concerned look. “You don’t think you and Bryan will ever get back together?”

  Carla shrugged. “I really don’t know, Marli. I love Bryan, and I always will, but although I can forgive him, I know I’ll never forget what he did. He cheated on me with a member of our church. I always trusted him, and now that trust is gone. What kind of marriage can we have if I can’t trust him?”

  “I don’t know, Carla. I just hate for you and the kids to have to go through a divorce. Is Bryan still calling, begging to come home?”

  Carla nodded. “Yeah, every other day and coming by the house with all kinds of lame excuses. I just need a break from all of it.”

  I nodded. “I can understand that.”

  “So did you tell your parents you were leaving?”

  It was my turn to sigh. “Yeah, I told them. Of course they both thought I was crazy to leave my ‘real’ job and take off for some temporary assignment. I just listened to them. I wasn’t in the mood to argue.”

  Carla smiled. “Well, I’m proud of you. There was a time when you never would’ve done this knowing they disapproved.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m quickly finding out there isn’t much about me that they do approve of. So why try?”

  “Well, I just try to live life the way I want to and make my own decisions. That way, when something goes wrong, I have no one to blame but myself.”

  “Good idea,” I said and then stopped the radio on a smooth jazz station.

  Carla shook her head. “There you go with that jazz. Dang, Marli! I don’t see how you can listen to that stuff. Who is that singing anyway?”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s Sade. Now you know I love me some Sade.”

  She shrugged. “It sounds all right, I guess.”

  “It sounds excellent. You really need to broaden your horizons. Talk about me being stuck in a rut. It wouldn’t kill you to listen to someone other than Usher or Trey Songz, you know?”

  Carla waved her hand in the air. “Okay, okay. I’ll listen to Ms. Sade, but if I get sleepy and run off the road and kill us, it’s on you.”

  I laughed. “You’ll stay alert. Sade sings to your soul.”

  “Mm-hmm, well Usher and Trey Songz sing to my everything else.”

  I laughed again and relaxed against the seat. Maybe this trip was just what I needed. I was leaving my life behind—at least for the next three months. Maybe I could start a new one. Maybe I could become a new Marli.

  Six

  “Diamond Life”

  I stepped into the apartment that Carla and I would be sharing for the next three months and smiled. It was a modest, two-bedroom space with clean, beige carpets and pristine, white walls. It smelled of fresh paint and pine cleaner. It was completely furnished with sturdy—though not particularly aesthetic—furniture. The small living room included a navy blue sofa and arm chair, a set of oak end tables with a matching coffee table, and a metal TV stand, which was missing a TV.

  “Wow, they couldn’t include a TV?” Carla asked.

  I shrugged. “I guess they don’t consider a TV furniture.”

  I stepped into the kitchen to find that it was fully equipped—including a microwave oven. There was even a compact washer and dryer set.

  “At least we won’t have to go to the laundromat,” I said.

  Carla rolled her eyes. “Yay.”

  I sighed. “Carla, what did you expect? A penthouse?”

  “No, just not this.”

  “Well, we can make it feel like home. I’m gonna go and pick out my bedroom.”

  “Yeah, sure. Doesn’t matter to me,” she muttered.

  I shook my head and continued through the apartment. I checked out both bedrooms and settled on the smaller of the two since it included a window that overlooked the pool.

  I took a seat on the bed and checked my phone. No missed calls. Tiff must be staying pretty busy, I thought. I hadn’t heard from her in a couple of days, but I didn’t want to bother her. I sat there for a moment and caught my breath. The next day would be my first day of work at St. Louis’s University Hospital.

  ~*~

  I stifled a yawn as I sat in one of the conference rooms within University Hospital. It was 8:00 A.M., I hadn’t slept well in my new, temporary home, and I had the bags under my eyes to prove it. I brought a Styrofoam cup of stale coffee to my lips and took a sip, hoping it would jolt me out of my drowsy state. Next to me sat Carla, who’d evidently slept well and was wide awake.

  The room was full of a variety of scrub-clad men and women, some permanent employees and others temporary help like Carla and me. We were all waiting for the orientation session to begin.

  The 356-bed hospital employed hundreds of healthcare professionals and, like many other facilities of its kind across the nation, it was experiencing a nursing shortage on top of a strike. Evidently, they were in need of other staff as well, which explained the presence of Carla and several other respiratory therapists and ancillary staff members.

  Carla leaned over and whispered, “How you holding up, Marli? You gonna make it?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, you know I specialize in functioning on minimal sleep.”

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  Our conversation was halted by a loud voice coming from the front of the room. Speaking was a petite woman who wore a bright smile and a stark white shirt. An ID badge hung from the left side of the shirt’s stiff collar.

  “Good morning. I know all of you are anxious to get started and to be dismissed. I’m April Hence, the training coordinator here at the hospital, and I wanna first thank you for choosing to work here at University Hospital, and I also wanna extend a warm welcome on behalf of the CEO,” she said. And with that, orientation began.

  Three hours later, we were handed our floor assignments.

  Carla nudged me. “Ha! ICU! I’m so happy.”

  Carla had always loved working in the critical care areas of the hospital. She was a true adrenaline junkie. I really didn’t care where I worked.

  “Well, good for you.” I unfolded my own slip of paper. “ER,” I read aloud.

  I wasn’t surprised about the assignment. I’d worked in so many areas at the hospital back home, I figured they’d want me in a critical area.

  “Wow, that should be interesting. This is like the trauma hospital for this area,” Carla said.

  I nodded. “Yeah, shouldn’t be a dull moment, huh?”

  After we were dismissed, we went to check out our work areas and meet our new supervisors. Then we went home to rest up. Both Carla and I were scheduled to begin working our regular shifts the following evening at 7:00 P.M.

  Seven

  “Smooth Operator”

  We’d been living and working in St. Louis for exactly three weeks. Well, truthfully, I use the term “living” loosely, because all we’d really been doing was working, eating, and sleeping. After twelve hours in the ER, it was all I could do to drag myself to Carla’s car in the morning and then into my bed once we made it home. In those three, short weeks, I’d seen several stabbing and gunshot victims, a few guys who’d ended up on the wrong end of a fist fight, more than my fair share of motor vehicle accident injuries, and several cases that were more than suitable for a
n episode of Untold Stories of the ER. I was emotionally drained and physically exhausted, so when Carla brought up the idea of us going out for drinks, I jumped at the chance.

  She’d heard about Charmaine’s, a popular “grown and sexy” club located downtown, and we’d made plans to meet up there with a couple of ladies who also worked at the hospital. So, with me dressed in a silver, off-the-shoulder blouse and black slacks, and Carla in a tight, red dress and black stilettos, we headed out for an evening of relaxation and fun.

  As Carla pulled out of our building’s parking lot, I checked my cell phone and saw that I’d missed a call from Tiffany. I decided to call her in the morning and tucked my phone away as I took in the images of St. Louis nightlife that flashed through the window.

  Ten minutes later, we arrived at Charmaine’s. I smiled as we entered the club. It was small and cozy and filled with round tables covered with black table cloths and accented with centerpieces of vibrant, red roses. The dim lighting added a sense of intimacy to the place.

  It didn’t take long for us to find the two ladies we were meeting. Carolyn and Ronda waved at us from their seats right in front of the small stage. I was happy that they’d managed to get us a good table.

  The ladies greeted us with bright smiles and a promise that the band slated to perform that night, The St. Louis Kingsmen, would be good. I took a seat, ordered a strawberry daiquiri, and anxiously awaited the show while chatting with the ladies. Thankfully, we didn’t have to wait long at all.

  “Welcome to Charmaine’s, everyone!” proclaimed the short, stocky man with a booming voice, seizing our undivided attention.

  The crowd applauded in response. I looked across the table and smiled at Carla. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been out and it felt great.

  “Thank you for coming out tonight. You will not be disappointed,” the announcer continued. “Back by popular demand, we give you, all The St. Louis Kingsmen!”

  He left the stage and the lights brightened to reveal the full band—a drummer, keyboardist, two guitarists, a saxophonist, and a trumpeter. I took a sip of my daiquiri and clasped my hands before me on the table as they began to play a mid-tempo song. It was one of my favorite Sweetback tunes.

  They were good, very good. I leaned over to share the sentiment with Carolyn.

  “I told you they were good. We heard them a couple of weeks ago. The lead singer is awesome,” she said.

  I nodded and returned my attention to the stage where the lead singer was now approaching the microphone as he continued to strum his guitar. His voice was smooth and rich and the music they provided was nothing short of aural beauty. I swayed and snapped my fingers and thoroughly enjoyed myself. They played a satisfying mix of smooth jazz and R&B and, by the time they took their break, I didn’t think I could take anymore, but the second half of the show proved to be even better than the first.

  Through the second half of the show, I found it hard to take my eyes off of the lead singer. He was tall, dark, sexy, and very handsome, and his voice had me absolutely mesmerized. He sang with so much emotion and soul. I sat there and watched him perform and wondered if he smelled as good as he looked. I was really feeling him.

  I leaned over to Carolyn again and asked, “Who is that guy?”

  “Who, the lead singer?”

  I nodded but didn’t take my eyes off of him. I could’ve sworn he was looking at me, too.

  “Quinton Farver. Gorgeous, isn’t he? Women come from miles around to see him perform. He’s gonna be a big star one day.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed and then continued to enjoy the show.

  The last song was an instrumental tune that featured solos from each individual musician. I was especially impressed by the trumpeter, who was the only non-African American in the band. He was a tall, white guy with short, dark-blond hair. He played that trumpet like he was full of the soul of a black man.

  After two encores, the show ended with a standing ovation from the entire crowd. Carla and I decided to stay a little while longer, both of us hating to see the evening come to an end. We’d really enjoyed this night out with Carolyn and Ronda and were discussing plans for our next weekend off when a waitress approached me.

  She placed a fresh daiquiri in front of me. “Here you are, ma’am.”

  “Oh, wait,” I said, stopping her in her tracks as she turned to leave. “I didn’t order another.”

  She gave me a knowing smile. “Complements of Mr. King.”

  I frowned. I didn’t know any Mr. King. “Um, who is Mr. King?”

  “A member of the band,” she replied and then walked away.

  I sat there with a confused look on my face as the other ladies at the table broke into a refrain of “oh’s” and “ah’s,” along with verbal speculations as to who Mr. King could’ve been. After much deliberation, the consensus was that Mr. King was probably the keyboardist since Carla claimed to have seen him looking at our table more than once. I had no idea who Mr. King was, but I did want to thank him for the drink. I decided that if he was the keyboardist, it wouldn’t exactly be a bad thing. He wasn’t as handsome as Quinton, but he was cute.

  The other ladies continued to chatter on. I continued to sip my drink and was shocked to see the trumpeter from the band approaching our table a few minutes later. Maybe he’s relaying a message from the keyboardist, I thought. He pulled a chair from the table next to ours and sat down beside me.

  “You enjoying your drink?” he asked. I was taken aback by the fact that he sounded like a black man.

  “Um, yes, I am,” I answered.

  He smiled, revealing two rows of perfectly white teeth. His blue eyes sparkled as he spoke. “Good, I thought you might want another one.”

  I nearly choked. “You mean you bought this drink for me?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. And I’d like to buy you dinner one day, too.”

  I looked around at my table mates and smiled. Were they pulling a fast one on me?

  “Oh no, is this a joke?” I asked.

  His brow furrowed. “No, why?”

  “Well, I haven’t ever been approached by a guy like you before,” I replied, choosing my words carefully.

  “What? A trumpet player? Don’t tell me you’ve got something against dating musicians,” he said with a serious look on his face.

  Damn, I’m gonna have to just come on out and say it. “No, I mean a… a white guy. I’ve only ever dated black men, you know?”

  He leaned closer to me. “Oh, so you have something against dating white men?”

  I leaned back and frowned. “Well… no, that’s not what I’m saying. I mean, I’ve just never dated outside of my race before. That’s all.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Really? Well, I’ve never dated inside mine.”

  I tilted my head to the side. “Really? Never?”

  “Really. Never. So, what’s your name? Mine’s Chris. Chris King,” he said and then gave me a lopsided grin.

  I returned his smile without even realizing it. “Um, it’s Marli.”

  “Marley. Like Bob Marley?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, but it’s actually short for Marlena.”

  “Oh, that’s cool, like the actress.”

  “Yeah, but spelled differently.”

  “I like it. So about that dinner..." Boy, was he persistent. He seemed nice enough and he was cute, but I just couldn’t see myself dating him. I had a thing for brown skin and huge features, neither of which he possessed.

  “Look, Chris. Thanks for the drink, but—”

  He held up his hand, “But you don’t date white men. Okay, okay. I get it. Well, enjoy the rest of your drink and the rest of your evening, Ms. Marli,” he said, then stood to leave. He leaned over and whispered, “By the way, you have no idea what you’re missing.”

  He looked me in the eye, flashed that smile at me again, and then left the table. As I watched him walk away, I couldn’t help but notice that he had a pretty nice body and he oozed confidence.
r />   “Wow, Marli,” Carolyn said. “I didn’t see that coming.”

  “Me, either,” I replied, never taking my eyes off of Chris King.

  “He seemed nice, though, and he has a certain swagger about him. You know what I mean?” Carolyn added.

  “Yeah, he does.”

  I finally took my eyes off of him and looked across the table to find Carla engaged in a lively conversation with none other than Quinton Farver. Well, that figured.