Scarlett Love (The Scarletts Page 2

  She moved away from the window and looked around at the old furniture pieces. Her grandfather had loved antique pieces and heavy brocade curtains. She smiled fondly at the place; it smelled of furniture polish and homemade potpourri. Just how she remembered it from her childhood.

  She used to come here with Zack a lot when she was a youngster. They had so much to do here. The horse farm was a couple of acres away.They used to enjoy going with their grandfather as they jostled along in his old truck on the way to the stables or playing with their cousins down by the aqueduct, which was still in working condition and looked like it did in the seventeen hundreds.

  So many memories, and she probably would not have a child to share those memories with or someone to create more memories with at this family house.

  Zack and Terri's children would not have any cousins from her. Unless she found someone to father her child.

  That debate was still raging in her mind from the beginning of the year when Yuri told her about Marla.

  She had felt him slipping through her fingers and she had known that her time was running out. She was not holding out hope that she was going to have a normal relationship again. Something always went wrong with the men she came in contact with and the relationships she formed with them.

  If she were to wait on the perfect man she would end up never having babies.

  So she had a few choices and she had listed them in order in her head and on the jacket of more than one unfortunate legal brief. Her options were: Sperm bank. That option usually got a question sign. It was scary; it was an unprecedented move in her family. She didnt even know anyone who had done it. Well, not intentionally; there were some men who were nothing but sperm banks. A hit and leave situation.

  Option two, considerate guy friend, who of course would have no STDs or history of mental illness. Her list was not exhaustive. Said guy friend would have to be willing to sign a waiver of parental rights.

  Or option three. Him. A guy whose handwriting looked like the doodles she drew when she was extremely bored at a meeting. A guy who delivered packages to her office and who looked good enough to eat and who she had a more than mild crush on, if she were to be completely honest.

  That last option was indicative that she really had baby fever, as Terri often teased her.

  But she couldn't get the thought out of her head that Slater would be ideal in this situation. Getting pregnant by him would not be hard a thing to contemplate.

  The good part about having a child for a guy like Slater would be that she would run the show; she wouldn't have to tell him that she had a baby. Her child would be hers alone; there would be no need to share her child with him.

  But that thought was ridiculous. Of course she wouldn't get with the delivery guy, no matter how yummy he looked.

  Case closed.

  She headed into one of the guest rooms for her bag. She told a busy Barbara bye and then made her way in the general direction of the tent, her smile fixed firmly in place as she greeted friends and family along the way.

  *****

  The tent was transformed into a gorgeous haven of floating lights and flowers. The main colors, lime green and chocolate brown, were interwoven in the centerpieces. The music from the live band was nice—old school, not intrusive.

  She spotted her father and her mother rocking to the beat, looking all loved up, after nearly forty years together. They were extraordinarily pleased that Zack had gotten married. They were probably right now counting up the future grandchildren.

  Amoy made a beeline for the far end of the room, closer to the band than she wanted but far enough away from her parents for her peace of mind. If she sat near them her father would probably find some way of bringing up the topic of her wedding day and how disastrous it had been compared to this one. It had been on a rainy day. The weather had been horrible; and one of her bridesmaids had fainted in the middle of the service.

  The cake, which was made by one of the top cake makers in the Caribbean, had mysteriously slid off the cake stand and fallen in the middle of their first dance.

  The bride was happy though; it had been her day, the beginning of the rest of their lives. She had babies on her mind, even back then, and she had foreseen a spectacular future with Shawn Gardener and their four or five children.

  She sat down at a table for six beside two middle-aged ladies who were whispering and giggling. They were obviously Scarletts, with their distinct red hair. One of the ladies was pointing at the stage where the band was and she heard the word “handsome.” The other started fanning herself with her program.

  "He's looking at you," one of them whispered to the other loud enough for Amoy to hear.

  She looked up at the stage idly. She hadn't really looked at the band before. She quite expected a group of older guys because of the soothing romantic oldies they were playing, but her eyes widened in disbelief when she made eye contact with Slater, the delivery guy. He was playing the keyboard.

  He was in a tux. He looked totally transformed in formal clothes. The light hit him on the left side of his face, creating shadows to his right. She had to take a second look to make sure that it was indeed him, or a guy who looked very much like him. After all, these days that wasn't impossible. Terri and Lola looked very alike.

  And then he looked up from the keyboard, his fingers flying over the keys, and his gaze landed on her. She looked away guiltily. She had thought about him only today. She didn't want him to read that in her eyes.

  Crazy thought. He wasn't a mind reader.

  She looked at him again. He wasn't staring in her direction anymore. What was it about him that was so appealing?

  He was an ordinary guy. He was lean and tall. He looked more like a long distance runner than a sprinter. He had those dark amber eyes and those deep red lips that looked male model hard.

  "Now that musician guy is what I'd call perfect eye candy.” Eugenia slapped her purse down on the table and sat beside Amoy. The two ladies at the table glanced at her and smiled in agreement.

  Amoy winced. "Do you have to announce your presence so jarringly?"

  Eugenia laughed. "You had a dreamy look on your face, like you were not here. You were staring at the young hot guy, weren't you?"

  Amoy inhaled and glanced at the two ladies, who were listening to them.

  "Eugenia," Amoy hissed. She could feel her ears becoming warm.

  "Relax." Eugenia chuckled. "These old ladies were looking at him too, and they are not embarrassed. God created good-looking people for us to admire his handiwork."

  The ladies nodded and giggled and slapped each other.

  "Of course he did the same with people who are on the opposite spectrum so that we can be thankful for what we have," Eugenia continued wryly.

  Amoy shook her head. "You got your pictures with Zack?"

  "Yup, made him gather the Baker side of the family too, just so that I could participate in a group picture." Eugenia lowered her voice. "So why were you looking sad earlier?"

  "Nothing." Amoy shook her head. "I couldn't tell you now, not after the way you embarrassed me in front of those two ladies."

  "Lighten up, Amoy. I am sure that at some point in time or the other, I have been caught looking at a handsome guy. I wouldn't get all huffy if you called me out.”

  "Oh shut up," Amoy grinned. "I'll have you know that I was staring at the guy in question because I know him. He delivers packages to the office. I think he has a crush on me."

  Eugenia leaned toward her, an impish look on her pointy face. "How'd you know that?"

  "He sent me a letter." Amoy rolled her eyes. "It was probably supposed to be a romantic note. It read like gibberish."

  She instantly felt bad after saying it. She was dismissive and out of line because she was warring with herself over Slater.

  Eugenia furrowed her brow. "That guy playing the keyboard can't read?"

  "No…ah, forget it," Amoy said, looking at him again. He stared right back, not break
ing a beat as his hands flew over the keyboard.

  "He likes you," Eugenia chortled. "The hot guy who is illiterate likes my uptown uppity lawyer cousin!"

  Amoy looked at her cousin angrily. "Why is it that when you and I get together we still act like we are in prep school? He just has a little crush, that's all."

  "How old is he?" Eugenia asked.

  "I don't know," Amoy whispered fiercely. "I don't know anything about him."

  "But you'd like to." Eugenia giggled like a happy schoolgirl. "He is playing my jam. Hear that? If I were a carpenter and you were a lady, would you marry me anyway; would you have my baby?" Eugenia started singing to the John Holt version of the song.

  Amoy pursed her lips disapprovingly. "Everything is your jam, and you are acting like you are drunk."

  "You are right, it's not my jam; he is playing it for you." Eugenia giggled and started singing aloud to the song with completely different lyrics. "If I were a delivery guy and you were a hot shot lawyer, would you marry me anyway; would you have my baby?"

  Amoy sat stoically, looking away from the stage and her cousin who was acting half her age and not like a professional mother of one. She waited impatiently as the song, the dratted song, tantalized her with its evocative, mind-reading lyrics.

  Was Slater really playing that song for her, or did they have it on some pre-arranged list?

  "Wait," Eugenia stopped rocking long enough to say, "you know what I think?"

  Amoy didn't even bother to reply.

  "Seriously," Eugenia said, "I think it would be great if you dated somebody who is not in your social class. It would relax you. Make you less uptight. So what if the guy can't read? You can teach him."

  Amoy grimaced. "It's funny you should say that. I am volunteering at Grandma Baker's church as an adult teacher."

  Eugenia laughed. "She got you to do it?"

  "No," Amoy mumbled, "Zack convinced me that Grandma Baker was the key to an internal war I am having with Dad."

  "Ah." Eugenia nodded, "so you are trying to get closer to your old granny. That's nice. I wish for you all the blessings in the world with that. I cannot stand Granny B for more than two minutes and she cannot stand me. She only likes men, ergo she only loves her grandsons. So bear that in mind."

  "I hear you," Amoy nodded, "loud and clear."

  "So you teach at a remedial place and the hot delivery guy can't read?" Eugenia shook her head. "This is just providence."

  "I already asked the receptionist to give him the address for the church," Amoy murmured. "He didn't come at all. Maybe he likes ignorance."

  "Or maybe he misunderstood," Eugenia said a light in her eye. "Did he know that you were going to be teaching there?"

  "He is younger than me by at least ten years," Amoy hissed. "I should not be encouraging him. We are like chalk and cheese in everything."

  Eugenia smirked. "Chalk and cheese can both be foods, so that's something they have in common. I have patients who eat chalk. It has in a fair amount of calcium. I don't discourage them from having it."

  Amoy grunted.

  "Come on, ten years is not that bad. These days it's not that big a deal. And you don't quite look like an old hag yet."

  Amoy chuckled. "‘Yet’ being the operative word."

  "And you probably never will. Look at Aunt Sharon. She still looks good for her age. Then again, she is a Baker. We tend to age gracefully. Black don't crack and all of that."

  Amoy did turn around and look at her mother. She looked really good for her age but that was purely because of good living. Her mother was a stickler for going to bed on time, eating right and being temperate in all things. She ran a natural skin and hair care line that was extremely successful.

  She swung back around to Eugenia. "Forget this madness."

  "Sure." Eugenia shrugged. "Now, about you being sad."

  "It's nothing." Amoy straightened up when other people joined the table. "Maybe we can talk about it privately at another time. We'll do lunch."

  Chapter Three

  "Hey Slater. Good job, man." Tony slapped Slater on the back good-naturedly. "You really came through for us, dude. I am beyond grateful."

  Slater nodded. "No problem. I am happy that I could fill in."

  "He had all the old ladies at the party checking him out," Rick, another band member, said in jest.

  Slater laughed but as he helped to stow away the equipment inside the truck, he was feeling far from jovial. Not only old ladies were checking him out. Amoy Gardener had checked him out as well.

  All night.

  She sat pretty close to the band in her red dress, her hair flowing down her back in a casual style that he had never seen her in before. Usually when he delivered packages to the office she was all dressed up and looking lawyerly and efficient and unapproachable.

  And he had caught her looking at him too often for it to be a coincidence. She chatted with her friend and ate him up with her eyes.

  But he wasn't going to assume anything about that ever again. Amoy Gardener was never going to come out and tell him that she liked him. She was content to admire him from a distance.

  And that would be fine. The gap between them was too wide. If only he was someone else, but he wasn't, and she was just one woman. This interest in her would have to wear out if he was going to have any peace of mind.

  "Slater," Tony came around the side of the van where he was wrapping the adapter cord for the keyboard, "there's a lady around there who wants to talk to you."

  "Me?" Slater's throat suddenly got dry. Could it be Amoy? was his first panicked thought. Was she putting into action the longing he had seen in her eyes earlier when he had caught her looking at him unguarded at one time?

  Tony indicated with his head. "Around that way--she asked for you by name."

  Slater walked rapidly toward the left side of the van that Tony had indicated and saw that it was Amoy's friend. The one she had spoken to all night. They had even danced together and had giggled through the speeches.

  "Hey," she said giving him a wide smile and holding out her hand to be shaken. "I am Eugenia Baker-Frost."

  "Hello." Slater shook her hand. Did she think that he was looking at her earlier tonight? He almost groaned in despair. In his line of work he had delivered packages to many places and there were several older ladies who thought that they could slum it with him. He hadn't been interested then and he wasn't interested now.

  "You are a very good-looking guy!" Eugenia said, putting her arms akimbo. "How old are you?"

  Slater frowned. "I... er, twenty-six."

  "Not bad, and you speak really well. Nice." Eugenia squinted her eyes and looked at him suspiciously. "Your lips are not dark red because you smoke, are they?"

  "They are naturally like this." Slater was getting uncomfortable now; Eugenia was looking him over as if he were an animal on the way to the butcher.

  "Do you know where the large church is on Constant Spring Road? The one with the orange poui tree at the front?"

  "Yes, I play there sometimes." Slater exhaled. She was here to invite him to church? "I already go to church—the one on Boulevard," he told her hastily. That was Mrs. Perry's and Edwin's church.

  "But this church," Eugenia said, her eyes well lit with glee, "is the church where Amoy Gardener teaches literacy classes on Tuesday and Thursday at 6 pm. Don't be late."

  Slater winced. "She told you about the letter?"

  "Yup." Eugenia moved closer to him. "You go and sort out that reading problem, Slater, and then you will find that the world can be one interesting place. Imagine the possibilities."

  Slater realized by the time that she had walked away, after giving him a saucy wink, that she was talking about the possibilities with Amoy.

  *****

  "I heard that lady, the one who came to you," Tony said when they were on the way to Mrs. Perry's house.

  Tony had already dropped off the rest of the band and Slater was sitting at the front of the bus with him. />
  "You were eavesdropping," Slater accused. It seemed now that everybody knew his issue. He tensed up for Tony to mock him.

  "Sorry, yeah," Tony said unrepentantly. "She's right though."

  Tony glanced at him. "Hear me out; this is coming from me, man. I hated when my mom and dad used to insist that I stay in school. I used to spend all my time in the garage playing instruments with Mike, Rick, and George.

  "But one day while I was in high school my dad sat me down and asked me how I was going to cope in the music business if I didn't understand money and how to read contracts.

  "You really shaft yourself when you don't know the basics."

  Slater looked at Tony's concerned expression and relaxed. Tony seemed genuinely concerned, which was unexpected. He was usually a happy-go-lucky guy who was all about the music.

  He had heard Slater play the piano at his grandmother's house and had asked him to come hang with his group one day. Slater could play all of their instruments.

  Tony had been suitably impressed by him, even sought his help on fixing his guitar or filling in when one of his band members was not around. They didn't have the kind of relationship where he would be comfortable talking about his reading problem, but he found himself confessing to him something that he had not even told Edwin.

  “It's not that I don't want to read or anything. It's just that words get jumbled on each other; the whole letter thing looks strange. I have no problems reading music or with figures, though. So I don't know. And it's not like...

  "Sounds like that condition--what's it called again?" Tony tapped the steering wheel rapidly. "Ahm, er...asphyxia...nah, man...dyslexia! You know Grandma used to teach at the special needs school for slow learners?"

  "Mrs. Perry?" Slater squeaked.

  "Yeah, man." Tony nodded. "Years ago. You should tell her about your situation and she should be able to help you. She's not doing anything with her days; she's taken to calling me every day now. You know I am her favorite."

  Slater chuckled. "So you want your grandmother to be occupied otherwise?"