Brent Sinatra: All of Me (12 page)

That was why she got out of bed, being careful to remove
Brent’s arms from around her without waking him up, and hopped in the
shower.
 
It was Saturday morning.
 
Tomorrow she would have to drive back to
Augusta to complete her final two weeks on the job.
 
She had found some apartments on line that
interested her, apartments she knew did not belong to Big Daddy Sinatra, and
today would be the only day she could check them out.
 
But telling Brent about it was another
matter.
 
She told Brent’s brother, Tony,
whom she was closest to of all of the Sinatra family. He understood her need to
have her own.
 
He agreed to help her.

But Brent, she thought, as she showered.
 
He was not going to like the fact that she
was getting her own place.
 
She tried to
bring it up to him a couple times, but he would dismiss it.
 
“You’ll staying with me,” was all he would
say about it.
 
But she wasn’t staying
with him. They were going to have to ease into this transition.
 
He was going to need his space, and she was
going to need hers.
 
She was getting her
own place.

After showering and brushing her teeth and putting on clothes
(a white shirt and a pair of black shorts), she made her way downstairs just as
her cell phone began to ring.
 
Since
Brent was still asleep and she didn’t want to wake him, she hurried to answer
it.
 
It was in her purse and her purse
was on a side table.
 
She was certain it
was just about to go to Voice Mail when she answered.

It was Bess Gibson, one of her friends and colleagues.
 
“Hey, Bess,” she said as she headed for the
kitchen.

“Hey Bess?
 
Is that all
you have to say?
 
Why didn’t you tell me,
girl?
 
Why did I have to find out from
Joan of all people?
 
I hate that!
 
She’s rubbing it in too.”

“Are you talking about Neal, or my resignation?”

“Both!
 
That Neal!
 
They say he’s being investigated by the FBI.”

“Yeah, I heard.
 
I also
heard he’s recovering.”

“He’s a disturbed man.”

“Tell me about it.”

“And the rest of it is true too, I take it?
 
You’re leaving your good life and moving to
Jericho?”

“It’s true.”

“But why in the world would you do a fool thing like that,
Mal?
 

Makayla didn’t respond.
 
She remembered that framed photo that she kept on her nightstand, of a
smiling Brent, his muscular arms folded, his green eyes sparkling with
intelligence and intensity.
 
She knew
why.

“But why is it always you who have to make the sacrifice?”
Bess asked.
 
“That’s the one thing I
don’t like about him.
 
He knows you have
a career.
 
He knew it when he met
you.
 
He’s not going to give up shit, but
he expects you to give up your great career and move to little ass nothing
Jericho and be with him and support him in his.
 
You gave up D.C.
 
Now you’re
giving up yet another position.
 
It
doesn’t seem fair.
 
Why do you have to be
the one to sacrifice?”

But Makayla wasn’t thinking about Bess.
 
“I don’t recall you giving it a second
thought when you moved here to Maine to be with your man, and to support him in
his career.”

“That’s because he had a real career,” Bess said arrogantly,
“and he was at least working for the state, not just some local
municipality.
 
He had a bigger career
than mine.
 
It’s only natural that I
follow him.
 
A police chief in Jericho,
Maine is a big deal, I’m not saying it’s not.
 
And he’s great looking and comes from a wealthy family, which means he’s
wealthy too.
 
I know all of that.
 
But you could have made it to the big time,
Mal.
 
It was all laid out for you.
 
That cop’s career pales in comparison.”

But Makayla didn’t see it that way.
 
It wasn’t about Brent’s career, or even her
career.
 
It was about Brent and
Makayla.
 
But no one seemed to want to
understand that.
 
So Makayla gave up
trying to explain it.
 
“Have you
completed the background on Honeywell?” she asked, purposely changing the
subject.
 
She was the lead attorney in
her area, and Bess worked under her supervision.

But Bess laughed at the tactic.
 
“Why did you change the subject?
 
Why don’t you want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Makayla responded.
 
“What I decide to do is for me to
decide.
 
You didn’t give me a vote in
your career and your choices, and I’m not giving you a vote in mine.
 
Now back to Honeywell.
 
I’ll need everything your office found on him
by noon on Monday at the latest.
 
The
trial starts Tuesday even though I just got the file yesterday.
 
But Jude’s on me about it, so I’m on you.”

“I’m only looking out for you,” Joan said.
 
“I wasn’t trying to run your life.
 
I just know that it’s not going to work out
with that guy and I don’t know why you would even want it to work.
 
You could be Attorney General someday if you
stay, Makayla!
 
And you’re get a
man.
 
Do you realize how many great
looking guys are walking around the state capital, all of which have been
begging for years to get next to you?
 
But oh no.
 
You won’t give them
the time of day.
 
You’re keeping yourself
pure for some white guy in Jericho who probably has some white girl in his bed
every night of the week when you aren’t around!
 
I just don’t want to see you make a bad choice.
 
You’re one of our young stars, Makayla.
 
I want you to soar!”

Makayla knew what she meant.
 
Bess was thirty-nine years old, a decade older than Makayla, but was
still a staff attorney while Makayla was already lead Attorney.
 
“Thanks for your concern,” Makayla said.
 
“But I’m sure I’ve made the right decision.”

“So it’s final?”

“Yes,” Makayla said firmly.
 
“It’s final.”

Bess exhaled.
 
“Anyway,” she said, “you always land on your feet.”

“Thanks, Bess.”

“You are so fortunate.
 
I would give my right arm to get the kind of promotions you get, but all
you had to do was smile your pretty little smile and they gave it to you.”

Makayla didn’t like that insinuation.
 
“What do you mean they
gave
it to me?
 
I’ve been
busting my butt for years to get to this point.
 
Nobody gave me anything.
 
I worked my ass off to get here.”

 
“I’ve been working my
ass off too,” Bess said, “and I’m still a line attorney.
 
So hard work isn’t always the only reason,
Mal.
 
But I guess if I was stacked like
you---”

“You need to stop,” Makayla said with a smile, knowing where
Bess was headed.
 
“Most of the men in
Maine don’t even go for women with my kind of curves, and you know it.”

“Are you joking?
 
They’ll throw their mamas from several trains to be next to you.”

Makayla laughed.

“You’re the one who needs to stop,” Bess continued.
 
“Talking about curves.
 
I’ll show you curves!
 
I have the kind of curves that would put
Precious
to shame.”
 

Makayla laughed.
 
“I’d
better get off this phone, girl.
 
See
what my beau is up to.”

“Oh.
 
So Brent’s here
in town?”

“No.
 
But I’m in
Jericho.”

“In Jericho?
 
You
aren’t giving two weeks’ notice?”

“I gave it.
 
I’m just
here for the weekend.”

“I hear that.
 
Well.
 
I’ll let you go this
time.
 
Bye.”

“Talk to you later,” Makayla said, and ended the call.
 
Then she exhaled.
 
And began to prepare breakfast for her man.

Jenay woke up to the feel of tongue between her legs.
 
When she saw her husband’s head, and realized
he was licking her, she smiled, placed her hands in his hair, and almost forget
what woke her up in the first place.
 
It
wasn’t his oral.
 
It was the sound of
their doorbell ringing.

“Honey, somebody’s at the door,” she said to Charles, who
didn’t seem to hear anything but the sound of his tongue against his wife’s
pussy.
 
He was so into his licks that he
was opening her folds and just about to start eating her, even as she was
hitting him.

“Charlie!
 
The
door.
 
Somebody’s ringing the bell.”

And that was when he stopped.
 
But he wasn’t happy.
 
“This time
of morning?
 
What time is it?”

Jenay looked at the clock on her nightstand.
 
“A quarter to six.”

“
Got
dammit!”
 
He didn’t like it, but he got up.

Jenay smiled.
 
“Serves
you right.
 
Getting all of that pleasure
without waking me.”

Through his anger, Charles smiled too.
 
“You were going to wake up,” he said as he
put on his bathrobe.
 
“I was warming
up.
 
I didn’t need you for that.”

Jenay threw a pillow at him, which he sidestepped with a
laugh, and then headed downstairs.
 
And
even though the bell was still ringing, he peeped into little Bonita’s room to
make sure she was still okay and wasn’t having any nightmares.
 
She was fast asleep.
 
And when he saw his son Tony, asleep in the
nanny’s rocking chair, being the protector he naturally was, he smiled.
 
Charles had a lot of children: four grown
sons from his first marriage; two adopted daughters; and Bonita, the only child
he had with Jenay.
 
But Anthony was by
far the most selfless child he had.
 
He
gave and he gave, often to the neglect of his own wants and needs.
 
Charles could always depend on Anthony to be
there and help.
 
Until Anthony opened one
eye, as if he had been awake all along.

“Aren’t you going to answer the bell?” Tony asked his father.

Charles’ smile was gone.

“What?” Tony asked.
 
“I
didn’t want to move around and wake the baby.”

Bonita was hardly a baby, but Charles let it slide.
 
He went down the hall, across the living room
and foyer, and peeped through the peephole.
 
When he saw it was Bobby at his front door, he frowned, but opened the
door.
 
“Where is your key, boy?” he asked
him.
 
All of his children, except his one
minor child, had a key to the family home.
 
Bobby was no exception.

But Bobby was in no condition to answer any irrelevant
questions fluently.
 
He just blabbed
words.
 
“I don’t know,” he said as he
entered his father’s home.
 
“I lost it or
whatever.”

“You lost it
or
whatever
?
 
What kind of response is
that?”
 
Charles began closing the
door.
 
“You are the most irresponsible
child I have.
 
It used to be Donald.
 
But you have Donald beat by leaps and
bounds.”

But when Charles turned around and saw just what kind of true
state Bobby was in, his heart squeezed with concern.
 
“What’s wrong?”

Bobby stood there, and started shaking his head.

“Son, what is it?”

Tears began to appear in Bobby’s big blue eyes, and Charles
didn’t hesitate.
 
He opened his
arms.
 
Bobby ran into his father’s
embrace, and began to sob.

Tony came from Bonita’s room when he heard sobbing, just as
Jenay was coming downstairs tying her bathrobe.
 
She was surprised to see that Tony was there, but she was more concerned
about the sobbing she was hearing.
 
When
they saw Bobby in his father’s arms, they were both worried.
 
Bobby was a lover, but he was no weakling.
 
It took a lot to reduce him to tears.

Jenay went to Bobby, and as soon as she touched him, he
turned from his father’s embrace and fell into hers.
 
Tony stayed back in that serene way he had,
while Charles rubbed his son’s back and he and Jenay stared at each other.
 
It was bad, they already knew that, but they
had no clue what would cause him to become so unhinged.

When Bobby was finally able to control himself, he leaned up
from his stepmother’s embrace.
 
But he
still had that devastated look on his handsome face.
 
“I’m in trouble, Dad,” he said.
 
“I’m in so much trouble!”

“Come and sit down,” Jenay suggested, worried sick now, and
Bobby followed her to the living room sofa.
 
She sat down beside him.
 
Charles
sat in one of the two flanking chairs.
 
Tony sat in the other one.

“Tell us what happened,” Charles ordered his son.

Bobby was already sitting on the edge of his seat, but he sat
his elbows on his knees and covered his face.
 
Charles was getting impatient to know what was going on, but Jenay saw
it and gestured to him to wait.
 
Bobby
would tell them.
 
But in his own time.

It took several more seconds of anxiety for all, but Bobby
finally started talking.
 
“I took Kaci
out dancing at Roulette.”

Charles and Jenay exchanged a glance.
 
Did something happen at Roulette?
 
Bobby didn’t know it yet, but Charles now
owned that nightclub.
 
They listened
attentively.

“We had a lot of fun there, and we did what we do.”

Charles started to ask what in the world did that mean, but
Jenay, knowing her husband all too well, gave him that look.
 
He remained silent and listened.

“After we left the club,” Bobby said, “we were driving her
home.”

“What do you mean
we
?”
Charles asked.

“Charles!” Jenay admonished.
 
“Go on, Robert.”

“We were driving to her home, like I said.
 
We started playing around, doing what we do,
so we turned down a side street.”
 
He
scrunched up his face as a memory flashed though his mind, and then he ran both
hands through his thick blonde hair, and held it.
 
“Next thing I know,” he said, “I heard this
loud noise.”
 
He looked at his father,
the terror still in his eyes.
 
“We hit
her, Dad.
 
We hit that woman.
 
We killed her.”

“Good Lord,” Tony blurted out, Jenay covered her heart with
her hand in shock, and Charles moved to the edge of his seat.

“
You
killed her?”
he asked his son.
 
“You were driving?”

“No, but what difference does it make?
 
I was there!
 
It’s as much my responsibility as Kaci’s.”

“But what do you mean you killed her?”

“Kace didn’t see her.
 
She didn’t know she had drifted onto the sidewalk.
 
But she did.
 
And she hit her.
 
We hit her with
my car.
 
We killed her.”

Jenay and Tony looked at Charles, but Charles was staring at
his son so intensely that they looked at Bobby too.
 
But Charles had a reason for staring.
 
Because what happened was horrific in and of
itself, but what happened next was even more critical to him.
 
“And what did you do after you hit her?”
Charles asked his son.

Bobby’s handsome face became a mask of anguish again.
 
And he shook his head.
 
“I was high as a fucking kite, Dad!
 
Kace wasn’t as high as I was, but she was
high too.
 
I’m still high.
 
I was drinking.
 
I smoked weed.”
 
He looked at his father.
 
“I was stoned.”

But Charles was still in his same intense state. His question
had not been answered.
 
“What did you do
next?” he asked again.

Bobby was ashamed.
 
It
was that shame that made him leave his apartment, after taking Kaci home, and
hurry to his parents.

“What did you do next, Robert?” Charles asked for the third
time.

Bobby swallowed hard.
 
“I left,” he said.

Nobody could believe it, but it was Tony who verbalized their
collective disbelief.
 
“You
what
?”

“I drove away.
 
Kace
didn’t mean to hit her!”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Tony asked
him.
 
“That lady didn’t mean to be hit,
either.
 
But she was.
 
Thanks to you and Kaci’s drunk behinds.”

Jenay had tears in her eyes now.
 
This was worse than she could have ever
imagined.
 
“Robert, how do you know the
lady died?
 
Are you certain?”

Bobby nodded.
 
“I felt
her pulse.”
 
He looked at Jenay.
 
“I’m certain.”

And they all looked at Charles.

But it wasn’t even a close call with Charles.
 
He stood up.
 
“You’ve got to turn yourself in,” he said bluntly to his second youngest
son.

But Bobby jumped from the sofa hysterical.
 
“But, Daddy, I can’t!
 
I have dope in my system, and alcohol, I told
you.
 
And Kaci.
 
I can’t snitch on her!
 
They’ll put us in prison for the rest of our
lives!
 
You’ve got to do something.
 
You’ve got to make this go away. If you love
me you’ll make this go away!”

Jenay and Tony both leaned back in their seats, disgusted
that Bobby would say such a horrible thing to a man like Charles.
 
And they were right.
 
Charles looked at Bobby as if he had just
been hit himself, and moved over to his son.
 
Face to face with his grown son.
 
“If I love you I’ll make it go away?” he asked him.
 
“I’ll make it
go away
?”

Bobby was crying now.
 
“I can’t go to prison, Dad.
 
I
can’t tell on Kace, and I can’t go to prison.”

“What about that woman you killed?
 
Do you think she wanted to go to her grave
last night?
 
Do you, Robert?
 
But you put her there!
 
You and that fast-ass girlfriend of
yours!
 
And you want me to make it go
away?
 
Right is always right and wrong is
always wrong.
 
You are going to turn
yourself in.”

“But I’ll go to prison!
 
Don’t you hear what I’m saying?
 
You know how they hate you in this county.
 
They’ll love to see a Sinatra spend the rest
of his life locked up.
 
I won’t stand a
chance, Dad!
 
Kace won’t stand a
chance.”
 
Then he turned to Jenay.
 
“Ma, tell him!
 
I won’t stand a chance!”

Jenay took Bobby’s side in many arguments he had with his
father down through the years, but she couldn’t support this.
 
“Your father is right,” she said to him.
 
“You have to face the consequences, Robert.”

“We’ll turn you over to Brent,” Charles said, “and see what
he recommends.”

“
Brent
?” Bobby had
incredulity in his voice.
 
The thought of
his oldest brother handling the case didn’t comfort him.
 
It riled him up even more.
 
“Brent’s worse than you are, Dad!
 
He’ll toss me in jail and throw away the
key!
 
He’s more hardcore than you are!”

Charles could see that Bobby was getting to that place of
fear that was becoming too bleak to be rational.
 
He was on the verge of total panic.

And Bobby kept complaining.
 
“I’ll never see the light of day again if Brent has anything to do with
it!
 
He’ll make me an example for the
whole town!
 
He’ll make me an example,
Dad!”