get high off life, Yasmine, over and over again. I’m an adrenaline and philosophical junkie, thinking about how this shit works then feeling determined to make something happen.” He swirled his finger about in the air.
“I like to think about shit, the hard shit, the things people run from. I make a lotta fuckin’ money, baby. But I can’t take that shit with me. I believe we can take love with us, though. It imprints itself on our souls, like the love of a sister whose way of telling you she loved you was by needing you. She didn’t mean any harm. You were just that special to her.”
Yasmine lowered her head and shook like a leaf. He could hear her quietly crying over the soft, romantic instrumental music. With a sigh, he tossed his napkin down, stood up, and walked over to her chair.
Resting his hands on her shoulders, he gently pushed her ponytail to the side and kissed the gentle curve of her neck, then her crown.
“And now you know what the journal was for. Good job, beautiful. Second tape in your mind has been officially erased. I’ve replaced it with a new memory, just like I promised. Now, when you think of Tamia, you’ll think of beautiful, vibrant fish… not the ones swimming in a tank or at the aquarium, but those swimming free in an ocean. There are no edges… no ends… no stop signs there. She’s free. Nothing can stop her now.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it for dear life. “Come on, baby. Time to take you home…”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Asking for a Friend…
Goldie’s condominium had all the accoutrements one could desire. The white walls were adorned with minimalistic art, large canvases with random scribbles. She found these annoying yet captivating all at once. The decor looked rich and luxurious – matching emerald vases with gold and silver flecks at the entrance, expensive Greek statues and matching bookends here and there.
The woman was beautiful, with dark, flawless skin, the lean, toned body of a super-model, and long, merlot-colored, poker straight hair parted down the middle. She handed Yasmine a glass of Sangiovese.
“Thank you, girl.”
Goldie sat down next to her, the scent of her sweet perfume filling the area.
“You’re welcome, honey. So good to have you here. We’ve not had time like this, just the two of us, for about two months.”
Her best friend, an attorney who worked for a different law firm, reached for a cigarette she’d left resting in a clear astray on the coffee table. The onyx table legs were in the shape of a male crouched on all fours, his back supporting the glass surface. She and Goldie had met in 8th grade, both at the top of their class and rather popular, and later attended the same law school to boot. That’s when the friendship really took off and stood the test of time. Goldie was Yasmine’s best friend, a true-blue girlfriend who’d seen her through thick and thin.
“It’s so good to hang out with you in a non-professional setting.” Yasmine treasured her time spent with family and friends, despite her hectic schedule. An instrumental, jazzy version of ‘Roni,’ by Bobby Brown, regaled her ears, taking her back to childhood memories that were soft and fuzzy around the edges. Good times.
“So.” Goldie took a long draw of her cigarette, placed it back into the ashtray, then drank some of her wine. She sipped daintily, pinky finger sticking out and all. “Why have you seemed, oh, I don’t know…” she shrugged, “so distracted yet gleeful lately?”
Yasmine looked away, hiding a smile.
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
Goldie burst out laughing. “That means one of two things. It has to do with money or a man. The two M’s of life are the only bullshit that cause us this type of distress.”
“It’s not distress, but it is a mess.” Yasmine chuckled and crossed her legs. She glanced at her black glossy heels that sat near the front door. Goldie’s white Persian cat sauntered by, looking stuck up and sadiddy. The damn thing stopped to glare at her as if to say, ‘Tell that bitch living with me that I want you out of my house. You don’t even buy sardines for me as a form of payment for me letting you stay.’ “But I’m… happy with it. At least, so far.”
“Look, I’m not the joker, so please cut the riddles.” Goldie grunted and tucked one leg beneath her bottom. “Man or