Don't Miss the Picture Focusing on the Frame

By Val P.

Imani Jefferson was one paper from her Doctorate Degree, something she decided to pursue mid-career with the hopes of expanding her brand in the corporate world. Her daughter was college bound and she was about to be an empty-nester. She needed a new project. Michael Blue was the ultimate bachelor that had big dreams to be a music producer but lacked the get up and go to expand his local DJ title to go get it. When Ms. Corporate America took time out to celebrate with family, who knew he would spin his way into her heart. She noticed the DJ right away, she always did. Imani loved music but there was something about him that intrigued her. Thanks to social media she could play it cool at the party and hit him on the DM later when she got up the nerve. Imani was strong-willed and was not afraid to go after what she wanted. Would the DJ be intimidated by her status and not get to know her? Would he be like all the other guys that she met that asked the wrong question on the first date and because of her brutal honesty not be able to handle a second date? With music being the tie that binds them, who knew their love would be award worthy or was it? Just like the grooves in their favorite LP, their relationship would be tested and it would leave you to question, could the DJ save her life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781684096589

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Don’t Miss the Picture Focusing on the Frame

VAL P

Copyright © 2016 Val P

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2016

ISBN 978-1-68409-657-2 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-68409-658-9 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

To the one from which my help comes…thank you

To my mother, thank you for letting me make my own decisions and being just what I need...my mom

To my daughter, no one can keep you from being great. You are all that and so much more, I love you

And last but not least, Dear Heart, let me quote you, Sure, whatever you want to do. I thank you for giving me space to create memories for us

Chapter 1

Imani

How did I get here?

Four years ago, in the fall of 2010, I enrolled in a doctoral program to add a title to my name and improve my résumé for the last half of my working career. Well, today is graduation day, and as I look in the mirror and adjust my regalia, I am left to question if it was all worth it. I have been unemployed, in the traditional sense, for the past year, and to be quite frank, I am not sure I want to return to mainstream America. I have enjoyed my freedom to come and go as I please. I have not missed a volleyball, basketball, or tennis match that my daughter has played in, and that alone is priceless to me. I have attended church every Sunday straight, without fail. I feel blessed that I have been able to volunteer for whatever I wanted and attend midday Bible study on Wednesdays when I am not otherwise engaged. My daughter will also be graduating next year with a full ride to Tuskegee University. I am able to buy her a car and still have enough saved for her future wedding and possibly a down payment on her first home. Don’t get me wrong; my savings account has taken a hit, but I am thankful to my mom for supporting me and sending me to Grambling State University all those years ago. I majored in accounting in undergrad, and I have my MBA, so my investment knowledge has served me well.

When I cross the stage, I will be left with the name Dr. J, $79,735.08 of student loan debt, and an impressive résumé that makes me over qualified for the positions I don’t want and under experienced for the ones I would love to have.

As they call my name and I prepare to cross the stage, I am awakened by the voice of my daughter, who is actually calling me because I have overslept and she needs a ride to school because her car is in the shop for maintenance. I have had this same graduation dream repeatedly for the last couple of months. It has intensified as I officially made the decision to not finish school. I have completed my course work, but I have left the actual writing of my dissertation on the table as I’ve decided not to continue my studies. I am not disappointed with myself; in fact, I feel freed from the need to be accepted by my peers. I am coming into my own identity, and I have a sense of calm that is unexplainable.

I release my morning pee, brush my teeth, and turn on the water. The shower feels great running down my body. I can’t help but reminisce that I was in this very spot last night with my fiancé as he prepared for work. We have been dating for the past two years, and my dream wedding date would be December 13, 2014—yes, 12/13/14. I’m excited, but I digress.

I hurry, and as I moisturize my skin, I undo my cornrows so I can get out the door on time. I have gone natural ever since I let go of the Jheri curl back in the eighties, but I hung up my pressing comb last year for a heatless existence, thanks in part to my premenopausal state. I’m only forty-four, but I am blessed, and that time has come. It is a slow process, but the hot flashes are real, and my hair cannot compete. I still rock my human-hair braids in the summer. I love the flexibility they provide when we vacation, and let’s keep it 100, I’m cute when I rock my wet and wavy extensions.

Breakfast is quick but hearty. I whip up some pancakes and turkey sausage for my daughter and leave enough for Michael, who should be here when I get back.

The ride to school is informative. My daughter, like any other teenager, waits until we are in the car to inform me she needs more money on her debit card and to ask if I can make a transfer before two. I also have to do a balancing act to read a permission slip for a field trip, which she has been carrying around for about a week and has just decided to show me on the day it is due. I just smile while she makes an attempt to sign my name, and I tell her I will make the transfer.

She and her friends want to hit the thrift store today before practice. Wednesday is 50-percent-off day. I mean, really, 50 percent off what is already priced under $20. My child will be able to manage her money just fine as she gets older. I am not into thrifting, but I do like a good sale from time to time. I consider myself an amateur extreme couponer and love when I get change back without opening my wallet. It has only happened twice, but what a rush! I am not a mall person. I would rather spend the day at the Home Depot or Lowe’s than shop for shoes or jeans. If I need to go to the mall, I get in and get out, and I usually go alone to save time. I would rather buy a backsplash than a bra any day of the week. I guess that is why I have been in the friend zone all these years.

After my marriage ended fourteen years ago, I have been the perfect home girl. I love sports—everything except hockey. I have season tickets to the Jets, and just like the mailman, I am there on the thirty-yard line through rain, sleet, or snow. The latest announcement that Michael Vick will be joining the lineup is a bonus! I just wish I could have scored that fourth seat. Three seats is an odd number to have, but I started from the bottom with one seat, and now I have three. They come in handy when I am going with the girls, and I usually sell the extra seat if I’m booed up for the day. I’m hoping to score that fourth seat so that we can network with other couples, but I will have to wait another season and put my bid in again next year.

I drop my daughter off to school and make my way to the gym. Let’s be clear: I am not some fit chick. I have curves, and I love to eat food that had parents. I am a steak-and-potatoes-raised woman and have a love for red wine like no other. My trainer is late, but I hit the treadmill to pretend I am committed when he walks in the door. He must be on the outs with his wife because he tries to kill me, but I do what I can and survive the ninety minutes of torture. I love the feeling I get from working out; my heart feels great, and my doctor doesn’t bother me as much because I am committed to not needing any daily meds for the rest of my life.

When I get home, Michael has eaten but right away tells me he doesn’t want to go for our daily walk. He won’t join the gym, but we do walk five days a week. I am used to his excuses, and as I walk to the front door, he is always right behind me. We walk for almost two hours today. He tells me all about his night and the drama and entertainment his African co-workers provide him overnight. He has a Nigerian and an Algerian that work with him from time to time, and they can’t stand each other because they are from different countries. His descriptions are quite colorful, and I can just imagine them going at it all night with their distinctive accents. Michael works overnight, and he owns a jazz club that he opened in the Bronx. He loves to deejay, and because I love music, I cannot ask for a better partner to share my life with. He plays my song and keeps me dancing all night long (in my World Famous Supreme Team voice).

We met at the Grand Havana Room in Manhattan. I was celebrating with my cousin that won an ESPY Award for her documentary featured on ESPN’s Women of Color in Sports, and Michael was taking a picture with my play-husband, Kevin Durant of the Oklahoma Thunder. I jumped in his picture, of course, and he held my hand behind Kevin’s back. Kevin thought we were together and invited us to have a drink with him. We sat there most of the night, not saying a word to each other, and two years later, we still enjoy season tickets to the Thunder that we will probably take more advantage of next season, when my daughter is off to college.

Michael is a God-fearing man, and every time I look at him, I fall more and more in love with him. He is a born and raised New Yorker and is the baby of five children. His hard exterior protects his warm and sensitive side, which he only shares with me and his family. I cannot ask for a better person to be with.

As we head back to the condo, he reminds me we are going to the Garden this weekend. The Knicks are playing the Thunder, but he has to drop in the club probably both Friday and Saturday nights, which means he may be staying over in the Bronx. We spend a lot of time together, but he still maintains his place in New York, and I still live in Connecticut. We have not quite decided where we will live after the wedding. We spend quite a bit of time in Atlanta, Miami, and of course, Oklahoma City. Another reason I have not aggressively searched for a job. I hope to be settled and not have to go through the interview process but once more if that is the path I choose to take.

Back at home, we make love in the shower and sleep for what seems like forever. I leave him sleeping, check on my mom, check in with my dad, and then jump back into the mommy role when my daughter calls for a ride after volleyball practice. Dinner is easy these days. We feast on grilled-chicken salads and unsweetened iced tea. I am on my third George Foreman Grill because I use it nine to ten times a week.

Today is quite uneventful, and I do need to stay focused and work on my wedding plans. I have been slacking, and if I don’t find a dress soon, I may be walking down the aisle in my birthday suit. I set my alarm and turn it up louder so that I don’t oversleep in the morning. I settle in for my Monday-night fill of Love & Hip Hop: New York followed by Single Ladies. As I drift off to sleep, I feel Michael kiss me good-bye as he heads off to work. I move to the middle of the bed and close my eyes. Maybe I will graduate before I wake up tomorrow.

My name is Imani Jefferson. I was born and raised in New Haven, Connecticut, and I still live in the area forty-four years later. I attended the New Haven Cooperative High School and, last December, celebrated my twenty-fifth class reunion. I went on to Grambling State University and ended with an MBA from the University of New Haven in West Haven, Connecticut. I was married in 1995 and gave birth to my daughter in June of 1997 one class and a thesis shy of my graduate school graduation. I spent my last class in a chair at the professor’s desk. My nine-and-a-half-pound child could no longer fit behind those fixed-chair-and-desk setups that are made for eighteen year olds. I wrote my thesis on the beach while breast-feeding my daughter the summer she was born. Life was uneventful, and I thought I was on the road to forever after.

I divorced in 2000, and ten months and $10,000 later, I was single again. I sold the house that I was awarded with the divorce and started fresh in a two-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath condo that my daughter and I have shared ever since. I have been told that once she graduates from college, I will need to move out because she wants to live here with her husband and ten kids. My standard response has always been Talk to me after you push out the first one.

Ashley is a great kid, and I am so proud of her. She is a better athlete and a far superior student than I was, but life has taught me well, and I am able to stay one step ahead of her and share my wisdom with her. I tell her all the time, I’m a corner store kid, something her suburban upbringing has not afforded her, but with her attending an all black inner-city high school, she is prepared and knows what to watch out for. Being in the top 3 percent of her class has also aided in her funding her undergraduate studies. She made all-conference in volleyball and is the captain of the volleyball and tennis teams and co-captain of the basketball team. I am very proud of her accomplishments.

I have decided to not sweat the small stuff, and after a few heartbreaks and missed opportunities, I find myself in love with life and in love with the possibilities my future will hold. I love music. Old school hip-hop cannot be beat. The hip-hop nation is in the midst of celebrating forty years, and while that is most of my life, I can recall summer house parties in the Bronx with my cousins and riding the subway trains all over the city. I love New York in the summer, and the annual Harlem Book Fair reminds me that God renews our faith annually. Summer is officially here when I hear my favorite lyrics coming from WBLS:

Looking through the morning dew

At smoky mountains, nothing new

Lead me to the mountaintop

And we’ll work until it’s time to stop

Oh, Baby

Walking on Sunshine is a classic and always puts me in a New York state of mind. I can still see myself walking up and down Fordham Road on a shopping spree with my dad without a care in the world. Fire hydrants open, barbecue in the air, and the slightest stench of urine in the elevators are all the things that have molded me into the woman I am today.

The year 2014 will also mark my seventh year as an Alpha Kappa Alpha woman. There is no love like the love of one’s sorority sisters. Regardless of the drama that being with a group of women can bring, when there is a need, we help each other because we know there’s no other like our sisterhood.

I think of myself as a unique person. I love my own company. While friends are important and I don’t take them for granted, I have hung out with the same person forever—my homie, my ride or die, Veronica. Every Thanksgiving, she makes cider, and after dinner with the fam, this is where I end my night of thanks. We sit and talk, our kids hang out, and we catch up on the latest. We have been friends since we were two years old. A lifetime of sledding, mud pies, sleepovers, stakeouts, shots of Patrón, and being in each other’s weddings. People that knew us then are surprised that we are still friends today. You are lucky to have one, maybe two, good friends in a lifetime. I have been blessed to have her in my life, and if I ever need anything, I know whom I have and would call first. We have seen a lot, done a lot, and would never tell any of it. Christmas can be a repeat of Thanksgiving, but with gifts. I have my spot on her sectional, and depending on what’s on tap, I nap from time to time, but when it comes to playing Taboo, I am in it to win it and my clues are undefeatable. I can be very competitive, especially when the ladies and I get together for Pokeno, which is always a recipe for food, fun, and friendly teasing. It takes a tough skin to hang in my circles, but I won’t trade any of it for anything in the world.

I love to travel. I have been to Africa more times than I can remember, to Hawaii, and to just about every island in the Caribbean—been there, done that. I have had my feet in the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian Oceans. My bucket list is not complete by far, and I have my sights set on South America next to attend the 2016 Summer Olympics. My cousin Destinee will once again be leading the USA volleyball team to gold. I have never been to South America, and I am always up for an adventure. Michael loves to travel also. He is bolder than I am in that he has traveled extensively alone. I hope to change all that. He is sweet and special to me. Finding a man that treats you nice and is not crazy is a plus. Michael has never been married, and that is probably the most unique feature about him. I am finding that his love for music is deeper than I could have imagined. He is a pioneer of music. He is a deejay in demand and does it for the love of the music. Sure, he can drop names and brag about the famous people he has worked with, but that is not what drives him. He is passionate about music, and I am proud that he has the ability to do something he loves and touch so many lives in the process. Michael is good for me. It helps that when he talks, he has something to say. I love that about him. He will be my second chance at marriage, and I believe we will be just fine. We have taken our time, have become friends first, and our foundation is solid.

Since I am not working, I have taken the time to redecorate my condo. I have put in new hardwood floors and upgraded the kitchen and all three bathrooms. I have replaced the carpet, window treatments, and my noisy garage door opener. My furnace and AC units are good for now, but I did buy new living room and dining room furniture to go with my need for change. I think I am done, but I would love to own the new Range Rover—but I am not crazy. Depending on where Michael and I end up, I will have that on my to-do list. I will be forty-five next year, and while Veronica and I are going to purchase LV bags, I still want to treat myself to something special. Michael and I are planning to take the Tom Joyner cruise in 2016, but I have time to spoil myself between now and then. I will have to get used to consulting him on purchases that will affect our household after December. I love to negotiate and make compromises. It shouldn’t be a problem. Michael will be fifty in three years. I have been saving to purchase him the Maybach 57, but I may be putting down a sizable deposit and we’ll work out the rest monthly. My Rover will be a drop in the bucket compared to the cost of this mansion on wheels. Michael is worth it, and I can’t wait to see the look on his face. I smell some major brownie points. I may get a week in the Seychelles Islands off the coast of Cape Town, which I have been hinting about.

This week has been a rough one. My baby has taken the SATs, and my other baby has had a health scare. I am on edge and need to relax. Ashley is spending the weekend with her dad, and I don’t have to go to the club tonight. I decide to run a bath and pour a glass of Ménage à Trois red. I just need to relax for a couple of hours. I love my own company, and with everybody having a schedule except me, I can escape for a couple of hours every now and then. I sink into the tub, turn on the jets, and let my cell phone playlist take me away. Thanks to Shazam and my man, I have a playlist that will put any underground deejays mixed CD to shame. Beyoncé’s Partition is followed by Monica’s Street Symphony, and as I hear Van Hunt’s Mean Sleep coming on, I close my eyes and relax as the jets take away any unclear thoughts that I may have. I think I’ve dosed off. When I sit up, the water is lukewarm and Me’Shell Ndegéocello is crooning Rush Over. I wash my body and cornrow my hair before getting out of the water. Usher is singing Good Kisser, and I moisturize and slip into one of Michael’s dress shirts, which I love wearing around the house.

Michael picked up dinner before he left. Friday night is always takeout, and since he went out, he chose Malaysian food from the restaurant around the corner. I love the crepes they make, and he remembered to get extra sauce for me to dip in. I always get the chicken over brown rice with seasoned mixed vegetables on the side. The chicken is seasoned with spices that I cannot decipher, but I enjoy just the same. I put the food on a plate and pop it in the microwave. Its 11:00 p.m., which can only mean Michael left the food for me around seven-thirty before he left for the city. I pour another glass of wine, light a candle, and dig into my plate. When I finish, I’m not sleepy. I check my phone and see that Michael texted me that he made it to the club okay and that he wishes I were on the dance floor. I text him back See you in the morning, scan through Facebook, and head back upstairs to bed. I turn on the idiot box and catch a rerun of The Big Bang Theory. It is the Valentine’s Day episode, when Sheldon kissed Amy. I laugh hard. I remember setting the TV timer, moving to the middle of the bed, and letting my lavender-scented body spray soothe me to sleep.

My sleep is interrupted by a text from Veronica. She is in LA and does not realize the time difference. She thinks she has found the perfect shoes for the wedding. They are available online, but she wants to know sizes before Sunday so she can have an excuse to shop. She wants to pick them up for everybody so we can have them for next week’s dress fitting. I’m sleepy, but I try to think of everyone’s sizes. I look up the site, and the shoes are all that. My bridesmaids are Veronica, matron of honor; Jean, my LS, maid of honor; my daughter Ashley; Michael’s daughter Lynne; and Michael’s sister Denise. His granddaughter will be the flower girl, and his grandson will be the ring bearer. I can recall all the sizes except Denise’s. I text Veronica back that I will call Denise in the morning to get her information. I remind her of the time, and she calls me old and hangs up on me.

My landline is ringing, and it’s Veronica; her cell died, as usual, because she never charges her phone, and we talk for two more hours about the dresses and LA. She is more concerned if we are going to have a specialty drink at the reception and asks me to let her know when we’ll go for the food tasting. She can be such a lush at times. Hell, we both can when the mood hits us. We laugh a little and end the call with her husband in the background