No Boundaries Page 2

  When her bedroom door reopened, I never knew what kind of mood she’d be in. With a mere phone call, he could change her disposition fi'om gay to morose or from controlled to erratic. A call from Mr. Lord would have my mother practically floating on air one minute and then, jumpy and nervous the next.

  I hadn’t met him, but I didn’t like him. In fact, I detested him. At least I wanted to.

  While my mother stuffed items inside her luggage, I peeked out her bedroom window and noticed a shiny Town Car pull up to the curb. “Your ride’s here,” I said gloomily.

  “Okay, sweetheart. Nana and Poppy will be here to pick you up at seven,” she said. “Lock the doors and don’t open them for anyone until your grandparents get here.”

  “I know the rules,” I whined in annoyance.

  Continuing to gaze out the window of our third-floor apartment, I noticed the driver opening the back door. A well-dressed man emerged, carrying lots of large bags with impressive labels.

  “Mommy,” I whispered. “I think your boss is coming up to visit.”

  She glanced out the window and gasped. She gazed around our neat apartment, looking aghast, as if she wanted to give it an instant makeover.

  I saw her boss pull out a cell phone, and the next moment, our house phone rang. My mother grabbed it on the first ring. “Hello,” she said breathlessly. “Yes, Mr.

  * Lord, please come up. It’s apartment. 3-C.”

  She raced around plumping the pillows on the couch. “Fix your hair, Fonia. And be extremely poHte to Mr. Lord. I’ll have none of your sassiness. You will not embarrass me in front of my boss. Do you understand, young lady?” She had an almost crazed look in her eyes that warned of dire repercussions if I behaved inappropriately.

  The doorbell rang. My mother’s frantic eyes locked with mine, and I began to feel nervous too. Suddenly desiring to make a good impression on the man that was so important to her, I smoothed errant strands of hair and took a deep breath.

  She opened the door and he entered with his arms laden with bags. God, he was handsome and so well-groomed and important looking in his suit and tie. He smelled good, too, and exuded a sort of masculine power that I’d never noticed in any of the male authority figures in my life. Not my own estranged father, not my Poppy, not any of my male teachers, or kindly Mr. Smithers, who owned the corner store that I frequented daily. None of the men in my life carried themselves like kings.

  “You must be Fonia. And you’re even lovelier than your mother described,” he said in a rich baritone voice that commanded respect. “These gifts are for you, Fonia,” he said, extending his arms.

  It was as if someone from black royalty had entered our humble abode. As I stepped forward to accept the gifts, a curtsey seemed appropriate, but I suppressed the urge.

  “You shouldn’t have, Mr. Lord,” my mother said, gushing with pride.

  There were four bags and each was filled to the brim with gifts that any girl would die for. Juicy Couture apparel, footwear, handbags, jewelry, and an assortment of cute accessories. There were also electronic gadgets, sneakers, and a cell phone of my own.

  “It’s like Christmas in April,” I said in awe.

  “What do you say to Mr. Lord?” my mother prodded anxiously.

  “Thank you, Mr. Lord,” I replied earnestly.

  “It’s my pleasure. Princess,” he said with a warm smile

  that removed the negative feeHngs I’d held for him. “I’m sorry I have to take your mother away on business...” He paused.

  “It’s okay,” I quickly assured him.

  “My phone number is programmed in your phone. If anything comes up...if you need anything, call me immediately.”

  “All right.” I was enchanted with Mr. Lord. He seemed like the kind of man that could fix anything. The way he’d showered me with presents and had called me Princess made me feel special. He had treated me the way I’d always wished my own father had, but he’d forgotten about me after he remarried. He and his new family lived in Seattle, Washington and I only saw him for one week every summer. Last summer, he’d tried to back out at the last minute, claiming he couldn’t afford my airfare. My mother ended up paying for my transportation, determined that my father and I would have a relationship.

  That visit was a disaster. My father and his wife were constantly on the go, and I was nothing more than their built-in babysitter. I felt more fike Cinderella than a princess in the presence of my biological father.

  Mr. Lord picked up my mother’s luggage, and she gave me a hug. I watched out the window as the driver opened the car door for my mother and her boss. I gave a long sigh, but it wasn’t a sigh of disapproval. I wanted a dad like Mr. Lord, and I wished with all my heart that I could join him and my mother on their business trip.

  FONIA

  A few months later, we moved into a small but elegant townhouse that was located in downtown Philadelphia, in an upscale neighborhood. I was enrolled in private school, and Air. Lord sort of Hved with us...or maybe we lived with him. Our residence was beautifully decorated to suit his taste and standards.

  The den was turned into his personal office. He stayed overnight approximately two or three times a week, sharing my mother’s bedroom. During his overnight visits, I assumed they’d worked late and Air. Lord had accidentally fallen asleep. Alost of the time, he only stopped by for a couple of hours in the evening to check on us before going to his own home, which my mother had said was an enormous estate outside the city.

  I wasn’t quite sure of how to categorize my mother and Air. Lord’s relationship. He was her boss, and possibly her lover. Despite their closeness, she still referred to him as Air. Lord. Sensing that the nature of their relationship was a sensitive topic, I didn’t press her for information. He’d improved our lives drastically, and

  like my mother, I had also begun to believe that he could do no wrong.

  Late one night, I was awakened by peculiar sounds, like someone was clapping their hands together in sporadic bursts. Curious, I crept toward the sound that emanated from my mother’s bedroom and pressed my ear against the door. I heard the rumble of Mr. Lord’s deep voice, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. Next I heard the loud clap followed by my mother’s breathy, enraptured murmurings.

  What were they doing? Sex? I knew enough about sex from watching X-rated shows on cable channels to know that it was usually accompanied by moans and groans and a headboard banging against the wall. I had no idea what they were doing, and I trudged back to my room, completely puzzled.

  The next morning, my mother sat down to breakfast wearing a new pair of diamond studs. “Your earrings are beautiful. Mommy,” I said, trying to work up the nerve to ask about the curious sounds I’d heard last night.

  “Do you like them?” she said, brushing her hair away from her face to give me a better view.

  Mr. Lord put down the newspaper he was reading and smiled at me. “I didn’t forget you. Princess.” He beckoned me with the wave of a hand, and I leapt from my seat and rushed to him, scooting onto his lap. At this point, we’d grown close and I enjoyed the way he always swept me up into his arms, swinging me around. His lap

  had become my personal domain. It was my favorite spot whenever we watched TV together.

  From the pocket of his robe he withdrew a gift-wrapped box. “Open it.”

  Grinning, I ripped away the gold wrapping paper and found a velvet box. Inside was a pair of diamond studs that were identical to my mother’s, only smaller.

  “Do you like them?” he asked.

  My response was to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him on the cheek, inhaling his aftershave, and pretending that he was actually my father.

  “Okay, go finish your breakfast,” he said, picking up the newspaper.

  “You shouldn’t spoil her,” my mother said in a tone I’d never heard before. I looked at her, searching her face, and trying to determine if she was happy for me, but I couldn’t read her expression.

  M
r. Lord left the kitchen to get dressed and my mother glared at me.

  “What’s wrong; what did I do?”

  “You’re not a baby, Fonia. You’ll be thirteen on your next birthday...too old to be climbing onto Mr. Lord’s lap. I don’t like it; I want you to stop.”

  But he's my father! I wanted to say, but I kept that thought to myself. Her criticism was a reminder that I was living in my own fantasyland, pretending that my mother’s employer was my father.

  Feeling deflated, I went to my bedroom and dressed

  for school. When I came out with my backpack, Mr. Lord was giving my mother a list of duties. She held a notepad and rapidly jotted down his instructions, while repeating, “Yes, Mr. Lord,” over and over.

  When he noticed me, he said, “Let’s go. Princess; I’ll drive you to school today.”

  I gazed at my mother for approval. She gave me a curt head nod, but had an anxious look in her eyes.

  I strapped on my seatbelt and gave Mr. Lord a smile. I felt so special, sitting up front with him.

  “I understand you’re scheduled to visit your father in Seattle,” Mr. Lord said.

  I frowned and nodded.

  “What’s wrong? Don’t you want to spend time with your father?”

  “Not really,” I mumbled.

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged.

  “Don’t shrug your shoulders, Fonia. Why don’t you want to visit your father?”

  “I’m not comfortable around him.”

  “Well, I can’t have my princess feeling uncomfortable. You don’t have to go.”

  “I don’t?”

  “No. He doesn’t pay regular child support and the visits aren’t court-ordered.”

  “But Mommy thinks it’s important for me and my father to stay connected.”

  An angry look came across Mr. Lord’s face. “He doesn’t deserve you! I’m more of a father to you than he is. I pay your tuition and I’m the one responsible for everything good in your life. Do I not treat you as if you were my own child?” he asked with anger flashing in his eyes.

  “Yes.”

  “Good, I’m glad to know that you and I agree. The discussion is not up for debate. Your relationship with your father is over. Am I clear?”

  Hit with a mixture of pride and confusion, I murmured, “Yes, Mr. Lord.” To myself, I said, Yes^ Daddy. Hopefully, Mr. Lord would make it legal and adopt me. I wondered if he’d have to marry my mother to make that happen. The thought of having my name changed from Fonia Jerkins to Fonia Lord put a smile on my face.

  cro^

  One evening, after my mother had prepared a quick dinner for me, she announced, “Mr. Lord is on his way over. We’ll be having a working dinner and I don’t want you to pester him when he arrives. He’s a busy man and he doesn’t have time to Usten to your endless, adolescent chatter. Stay in your room and work on your book report.”

  “My book report isn’t due until next week.” I enjoyed being with Mr. Lord and couldn’t understand why she wanted to shut me out.

  “Start working on it, anyway.”

  “Can’t I say hello to him?”

  “No! Stay in a child’s place, Fonia.”

  My feelings were hurt, and I could feel my lip quiver; I couldn’t understand why my mother was trying to keep me away from Mr. Lord. When she’d first started working for him, she wanted me to like him, and now that I loved and adored him, she seemed to have a problem with it.

  From the soHtude of my bedroom, I heard my mother greet him. “Hello, Mr. Lord,” she said in cheerful tone. She was usually tense and uptight when Mr. Lord was around, but not tonight. I assumed she was happy that she had me locked away in my room.

  “Where’s Fonia?” I heard him say.

  “Oh, she has a book report. It’s past due, so she’ll be busy until bedtime.”

  Liar! Why would she lie to him, and why was she trying to keep us apart? I couldn’t understand it. Refusing to be locked away like a leper, I boldly came out of my room and found the dining room table set up with candlelight and flowers.

  “There’s my girl,” Mr. Lord said. “How’s the book report coming along?”

  “It’s not due until next week,” I said, giving my mother a look of defiance.

  “Then sit down and join us. Princess.”

  “No! She already had dinner. Besides, she has other homework that she hasn’t completed,” she interjected.

  Mr. Lord glowered at my mother. “WTiat did she have for dinner?”

  Mommy nervously fussed with her hair. “Hot dogs... mac and cheese.”

  “Don’t ever feed her that kind of garbage again. Only lean meats, fruit, vegetables, and grains. No junk food! Now prepare Fonia’s plate; I want her to have a proper meal.” His voice rang with authority.

  Mommy was furious. I could tell that by her mannerisms and the way she slammed my plate down on the table.

  I felt triumphant. I hadn’t started the rift between and my mother and me, but I was determined to win. That night, I reahzed that my mother was in love with Mr. Lord. And though my feelings were a jumbled confusion of infatuation, hero worship, and the desire for fatherly love, I refused to allow my mother’s jealousy to interfere with my relationship with Mr. Lord.

  Later that night, I was awakened again by those strange clapping sounds. I tiptoed down the hall and stood outside my mother’s door. Overcome by curiosity, I gently turned the door handle and peeked inside the dimly lit bedroom.

  Wearing a white negligee, my mother was standing with her palms pressed against a wall. Behind her, Mr. Lord wore an angry expression. He held up her negligee with one hand, and with the other he spanked her bare behind with a paddle. I thought I was seeing things, and so I stretched my eyes wide. But my eyes had not deceived me. What did Mommy do to get Mr. Lord so upset with her? Embarrassed for my mother, my face flushed and I quietiy closed the door.

  The next morning, I could barely look my mother in the eye, and when Mr. Lord didn’t join us, I panicked. Maybe he was so mad at Mommy, he’d left us both. “Where’s Mr. Lord?”

  “He went home last night, not that it’s any of your damn business,” she said in a bitter tone.

  “Is he coming back?” I asked worriedly. From what I’d witnessed, he’d been infuriated with Mommy, but hopefully he wasn’t mad at me.

  “Why are you always so concerned about Mr. Lord? He doesn’t come here to see you. He comes here to see me!”

  Her words felt like a slap in the face, but I came back with a cutting comment. “No, you’re only his secretary, but he loves me like a daughter.”

  She laughed bitterly, and the sound was terrible and mocking. “You’re living in a dream world, Fonia. You have no idea what I put up with.. .the things I do so that we can maintain this lifestyle.” She waved her hand around, indicating our posh environment.

  Mr. Lord loves me; he doesn't have to spank me the way he spanks you! I thought and then pulled out my cell phone and called him. I had to know that he and I were still all right.

  “Good morning. Princess,” he said, sounding happy to hear from me. “Is everything okay, do you need anything?”

  I didn’t have a plan formulated; I simply blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. “1.. .um, I have some-

  thing to tell you. I lost one of my diamond earrings, and IVe been afraid to tell you.”

  “Is that all? That’s only a material thing—easily replaced. I’ll bring you another pair when I come over tonight.”

  “You’re not upset with me?”

  “Of course not. I’m glad you were honest with me.”

  I gulped. The earrings were in the box they’d come in. I hated lying to Mr. Lord, and I wished I’d come up with a better story. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to buy me another pair,” I said guiltily.

  “I love showering you with gifts.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Lord.” I hung up feeling awful about my dishonesty. Now I’d have to get rid of one of the earrings to
cover up my lie. The only good thing that came out of the phone call was that I was convinced that he cared about me and thought of me as his daughter.

  I gazed at my mother victoriously. “He’s coming to see me tonight!”

  JAGUAR

  T he meeting I’d had with Sharif had resulted in a bartending job, but I wasn’t sure if taking the job had been a good decision. My shift had started at six p.m. and so far, the bar was dead. It didn’t seem likely that I’d be getting the generous tips I’d counted on. I should have known better than to listen to Sharif. Sharif could spin a tale better than a bestselling novelist. During our meeting, he’d convinced me that the small bar called The Dive was raking in cash.

  “It’s a hole in the wall, but don’t let the aesthetics fool you,” Sharif had said. “There’s an eclectic mix of customers: corporate executives, blue collar dudes, rich college kids, doctoral students, professors, surgeons, poUticians, hood chicks, gangsters...you name it. It’s the kind of environment where people working stuffy jobs and living fake lives get to hang out with the common folk. When CEO’s and hood rats get to mixing it up and drinking together, all kinds of craziness starts to pop off. There’s never a dull moment at The Dive, but it’ll be worth it when your tip jar is overflowing with twenties and fifdes.

  I’m serious Jag, you can make five or six hundred in tips on a bad night!”

  Sharif’s sales pitch was intriguing, and as I considered the offer, I began to imagine the possibility of not only surviving the summer, but also making a dent in the enormous debt I had accrued over the past seven years.

  “So, why are you leaving? You find something that pays more?” I had asked inquisitively.

  “Some associates of mine put me on with a new job— something that allows me to fully utilize my talents,” Sharif had replied with a secretive smile. Sharif always had some kind of hustle going, and since I wasn’t interested in anything remotely illegal, I didn’t pry.