The Retreat. Dijorn Moss
Jamal said with a smile.
“You were a player. You and Clay used to run around school thinking y’all were some pimps.”
“You got with Clay,” Jamal reminded her.
“That’s because he had better game than you.” Chantel followed her comment with a laugh.
Jamal put his hands over his heart, as if he were going into cardiac arrest. “I didn’t want you anyway, chickenhead,” Jamal said.
“Oh, you know you did.” Chantel stood up and walked over to Jamir.
Jamal followed Chantel to the floor where the two sandwiched Jamir.
“Here!” Jamir handed Chantel a building block.
Chantel played with the block in her hands before she handed it back to Jamir.
“So Friday is the big day? Isn’t it the Retreat?” Chantel did not divert her eyes from Jamir.
“Yeah, so I need to make sure I go see my father this week before I go.”
“Humph! Is he going?” Chantel grunted.
Chantel and Otis, Jamal’s father, did not get along. Otis saw Chantel as a complete waste of Jamal’s time and he made sure to treat her with as little respect as possible. While Chantel remained respectful, she made it abundantly clear that she did not like Jamal’s father either.
“I don’t know. To tell you the truth, I haven’t seen him in a while now.” Jamal checked his phone for any missed messages.
“Well, don’t let that stop you from getting what you need to get this weekend,” Chantel said.
“Oh, for sure.” Jamal put his phone away.
Jamal did not know what to make of today. He wished it were that simple that he could go from loving a child like a son, to that child feeling foreign to him in a matter of moments. He hoped that this weekend’s retreat could provide him with some much-needed answers.
Chapter Five
The ice in Quincy’s glass melted with the warmth of the Glenfarclas single malt, slowly dissolving into an oval shape. The coffee brown ballpoint pen matched the color of his complexion and stood suspended between his recently and expertly manicured fingers. It was the same pen he’d used over the years to close multiple deals that made him and his business partner embarrassingly rich. This pen, he thought reflectively, this pen. It had paid for itself and would keep on paying.
This pen would also come in handy when Quincy began the divorce process on Thursday when he returned home. For the last two days he had indulged in the aphrodisiac that only Sin City could provide. For two decades he had regulated his trips to Las Vegas. A little gambling and a lot of booze. But since Karen was not going to honor her marriage vows, this time neither was Quincy.
Of course it was not as easy for Quincy to disregard ethics. He had been faithful to a wife for twenty years. Quincy was not an avid churchgoer, but he did believe in God and he did see a simple prayer go a long way. Even though he used Karen’s affair to justify his actions, Quincy’s principles vexed him. His train of thought was derailed by a knock on the door.
“It’s open,” Quincy called out, gently placing the pen back on the stand next to his drink.
Candy walked in with a silver dress that hugged her curvaceous body. The springs in the hotel room door slid the door closed quietly behind her. As she approached, Quincy casually leaned forward and flipped the chrome top off of the ice bucket.
With acrobatic ease, he used the tongs to gently place a couple of cubes into his glass, all the while making a drink for her. Some said the ice diluted the flavor. Well, single malts were his drug of choice, and he bought it, so he was going to do what he wanted.
“What’s the occasion?” Candy asked.
“We’re celebrating.” Quincy handed Candy a drink.
“If there’s one thing I love to do, it’s celebrate,” Candy replied.
Quincy squinted and exhaled lightly as the warm liquid spread across his palate. “You’re looking at the man who develops new lavish condos in Culver City. Did I mention that I’m also back on the market?” Quincy flashed a LeBronsized smile.
“How come you’re not celebrating with the Mrs.?” Candy nodded toward Quincy’s ring finger.
Why did she have to call his attention to his wedding band? Quincy was not in the wrong. Karen cheated first, and as a result, it was only fair that he got a little something on the side.
“That’s not something that I care to talk about.” Quincy removed his wedding band and placed it on the nightstand next to his bed.
“That’s fine; we don’t have to talk about anything that you don’t want to talk about. Okay, baby?”
Quincy loved the sound of her voice. He took Candy by the hand and spun her around, almost spilling her drink. He placed her honey blond hair on one side of her neck, as he leaned forward to kiss her shoulder. Both gazed out of his Wynn Hotel Fairway apartment. He loved the seclusion that the room offered.
There were no views of the luminous Mirage Hotel or the kiddy Treasure Island. This room offered a view of the Las Vegas desert at night and of the golf course. He just might take her out on the balcony and have his way with her on the outdoor dining table. How could a woman not be impressed with a man who could provide her with such an awe-inspiring view? Why wasn’t this life enough for Karen?
“My wife and I are going through a divorce,” Quincy muttered in Candy’s ear.
Candy turned around and pulled back from him a bit. “You seem very happy for a man who is about to split from his wife.”
Quincy tenderly broke her grasp, took a quick pull from his glass, and walked deliberately back to the wet bar to pour himself another drink. Quincy took a sip, regaining his composure, as he surveyed her from across the room. “Why shouldn’t I be? There is nothing that she can use to keep me.”
“Money! Money always talks.” Candy took another sip of her drink.
Money was not the issue. Karen was unfaithful and she would not be entitled to a dime. Of course, admitting the truth surrounding his pending divorce to her would be a massive blow to his pride.
“It’s only money. There’s a ton of it out there that I can make and I have made. I couldn’t care less about the house. Too many bad memories.”
“I hope she is taking it as well as you.”
“What’s that suppose to mean?”
Candy crossed the room deliberately. She lifted the glass effortlessly out of Quincy’s hand and took a hard swallow before setting the half-empty glass on top of the TV.
“I deal with married men all the time. Most of them love their wives very much, but they desire something different every now and then. I can’t imagine being married for as long as you have and it being easy for me to walk away,” Candy surmised.
An image of Karen in her two-piece turquoise bathing suit popped into Quincy’s head. The image came from a trip to Jamaica two years ago. Karen had a flat stomach with caramel skin and brown hair with blond highlights in it. Most men would die to be with a woman like that. But when he thought of her it was in abstract terms, like she was a house he had paid to renovate.
All he could see was all the money he had paid to keep her forty-two-year-old frame looking like a twenty-five-year-old. He could not explain why such a random image had an emotional impact on him. Maybe it was because, for the first time, he felt lucky to be with her.
“What do you know about what she’s going through?” Quincy asked.
“I don’t know. In fact, I’m the last person to give advice about marriages and relationships.”
“All