Don’t Love, Don’t Lose

Chapter 11

Jasmine was determined to enjoy her Sunday, as much as she could. She was determined, because she had made up her mind about how she was going to spend the evening and probably the night.

Anthony, Roger, Rita, and she had had a surprisingly good Saturday evening, determinedly not talking about any of the things that worried them. They had even fit in some karaoke. Roger had a very pleasant baritone and absolutely no diffidence of any sort.

He’d given everything a go, from Umbrella to Singing in the Rain.

Rita was a goner.

Jasmine could see that.

Well, she would just have to keep a close eye on Roger, that was all.

“Well, it’s nice to have my girls over again!”

“You have us over every Sunday, Mama.”

“Not last Sunday.”

“Sorry, Aunt Della.”

Jasmine hadn’t come by last Sunday. She’d been too wrapped up in her work. She’d been having to pull double shifts, for all intents and purposes. She was working two full-time jobs, or so it seemed.

“It’s all right, baby. I’ve been seeing you more often now that you drop by work. How is all that going?”

Jasmine smiled and shook her head.

“You’re not pumping me about that, Aunt Della. I can’t tell you. Your boss made me sign confidentiality agreements. In plural.”

“Well, he knows how to run his business, that’s for sure. He’s a good man, Jasmine. He’s watching out for us, you know.”

“He’d better be, considering the mess he’s dragged us into.”

“He is watching out especially for you.”

Jasmine shook her head.

“Don’t even go there, Aunt Della. That is over before it starts. It’s not going to start. It never will.”

“He asked me to make my tuna casserole and send it with you this time because he’s coming by tomorrow evening.”

“I think that was supposed to be a surprise, Mama,” piped up Rita.

“Nonsense, my girl. A woman needs a heads up. She needs to look casually good when her man drops by.”

“He’s not my man, Aunt Della.”

“That’s true. Why, Roger dropped by yesterday when I hadn’t even had my hair done and I was so embarrassed!”

“That Roger Vickley boy, he’s a bit smooth for his own good.”

“You didn’t like him, Aunt Della?”

Jasmine was hopeful.

“No, I liked him just fine. He needs a strong and firm woman to keep him in line, that’s all. I’m not sure you can do that, Rita.”

Jasmine sighed.

“Can we please not? Anyway, I heard that Uncle Thomas might be back in town next week.”

That was usually enough to shut Aunt Della up. Rita shook her head frantically. Bringing up Uncle Thomas could go two ways – bonding over how men sucked, or wounded recriminations.

“You two girls are getting chances with lovely young men who are nothing like that old hound who packed his bags and left as soon as things got tough. If you want somebody to stick around when things are tough, you should get yourself a woman, not no damn man.”

Rita and Jasmine giggled. Aunt Della had had her three glasses of wine. She was in fine form now.

“Do you think we should turn lesbian? I thought those fake conversion therapy things advertised the other way. We should start a conversion therapy camp, too. We can turn straight people gay, and then they don’t have to deal with any of that drama.”

“As if there’s no gay drama,” remarked Aunt Della.

Jasmine was delighted. This was Aunt Della really letting go.

“At least we’d know, right? I’m pretty sure it would be easier to live with a woman than with a man.”

“So you are considering it, Jas.”

Jasmine glared at Rita.

“Shouldn’t we be getting back, don’t you think? It’s late afternoon. I should get some more work in.”

“Somebody’s got a hot date,” teased Rita.

“I do not.”

Jasmine was relieved when her godmother and her sister started their usual squabble about the food. She was perfectly aware that Aunt Della had packed more for her than usual. She’d packed for two. That would probably last her three weeks. Maybe she should give some of the food away. She wouldn’t have room in her freezer at this rate.

But then if Roger and Rita made a habit of dropping by, it would…

“Ah, you’re dreaming of Anthony. He’s a good man, Jasmine. I worry about you. He understands you, you know. I think you understand him, too. You should give it a chance before telling me that it will never happen and all those things. Why can’t you give it a chance?”

Jasmine considered making a joke and shrugging it off, but she decided against it. Instead, she told Aunt Della the truth.

“Because he will leave, Aunt Della. I can’t risk that.”

Having successfully destroyed the mood, she helped Rita pack her car, and then packed her own. By the time she drove off, she was wired with anticipation.

She was done playing. She was going to do it. She was going to get it done. She should have known, really, from the beginning. There was only one way the whole thing was going to be over.

She’d have to get her hands dirty and have no regrets. If that meant that she’d have to use herself as bait, well then, she would do it. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t done that before to keep her aunt and her sister safe. She had done it before, and she would do it again.

She’d made her choice. She was at peace with it.

She was going to ignore all of Anthony’s instructions and go after Sanders. She was going to dig – and she wasn’t going to be subtle about it.

If he was going to go after anybody, it was going to be her. Not Aunt Della, and not Rita.

And not, she thought in despair, Tony. Because she couldn’t let him get hurt, either.

She couldn’t.

Because she was in love with him.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Sanders?”

Anthony’s tone made it very clear that it wasn’t a pleasure. Still, he had no proof – no real proof – yet. He could prove that Sanders had rather more diverse business ventures than he let on, but that wasn’t illegal. He couldn’t do anything with that.

So he’d play the game.

“Anthony Malone. I wondered when you’d come back home.”

Anthony didn’t let surprise show. He didn’t let anything show, except a lazy smile.

He hated the sight of this man who he was now growing to detest in his home. He sat on the couch as if he owned it.

His hair was dark, but it wouldn’t be without liberal help from a bottle. The eyes were green, but the pale and slightly watery green that made you think of allergies. Anthony knew that at one time he’d been fit, but he wasn’t fit any longer. Gout, at least, was a problem that had made it to the tabloids despite efforts to keep it out.

He wasn’t just running to fat, but he was already there. Maybe being a little more ruthless with himself was what the man needed.

“Doing well in Baltimore so far, from all that I’ve gathered. How’s that lovely receptionist of yours? Della Simone. I remember her. She used to be a very sweet thing indeed.”

Sanders was over sixty. Della was older.

Anthony would not let himself be blindsided by anything this man said. Nothing he said would matter

“And that young god-daughter of hers. What’s her name? Ah, you’re not going to tell me, are you? Don’t worry, I’m not going to forget!”

The wheezing laughter made Anthony’s skin crawl.

“Ah yes, of course. Jasmine Turner. It’s a good name for her. She was fresh as a sweet jasmine when I first got to know her.”