The Jewel Box Read Free Page A

from our first home.
    Shortly after Nikki and I arrived at my parent’s home, I learned Kent remarried before the ink dried on our divorce decree. Men sure don’t stay sad long. His newlywed butt soon got drafted and shortly after he shipped overseas, I found out nice guy Kent deceitfully filled out military paperwork. Claiming his new wife as his only dependent meant no child support. Fine. He could evaporate for all I cared. I was hell-bent on getting by without his financial aid.
    I enrolled at community college and got a part-time evening job as office assistant, which prompted quotes from Mother. “A woman’s place is in the home.”
In one ear and out the other, Lynn.
Morning classes revitalized my stale brain, and working at a fast paced marketing firm fueled my hyperactive nature. Employees stayed super busy, thanks to our thirty-something tall, lanky boss with piercing raven eyes, slick black hair, and a villainous look that intimidated most. Not me. I found Wesley’s tailored suits and smug poise alluring in a John Dillinger sort of way.
    But I didn’t do well at balancing employment, education, and motherhood. My behavior slipped into back sassing, dish throwing, door slamming, tears flowing, mood swings. Mother spouted self help quotes for a while, then next thing I knew my erratic behind was parked in a psychologist’s chair. Well, general practitioner slash psychologist. Dual practice was common in Lake Jackson, where I suspected one could go to the proctologist and flip over for a pelvic exam. The doctor/therapist prescribed an antidepressant to help ease my confusion.
    After two
Tofranil
filled weeks my disposition went on the upswing.
    “Hey Jill,” Wesley shouted as we worked late one evening. “Wanna go over projected sales before heading out?”
    Hmmm. Hang with suave guy or head home for an earful of Mother’s quotes? I bolted down the hall and into his office.
    “What can I get you to drink?”
    “Orange juice,” I said.
    “With what?” Wesley opened a cabinet that could have passed as a Spec’s Mini Mart. Lake Jackson was in a dry county.
    “Gotta pass on the liquor. Mother forbids drinking in her house.”
    “Well, I hate drinking alone, this isn’t your mother’s house, and I won’t tell if you don’t.”
    “I’m taking medication and my doc said not to mix it with alcohol.”
    My excuse was still hanging in mid-air when Wesley jumped from behind his desk and walked around to my chair. “Let me see your prescription,” he insisted.
    I handed him my bottle of Tofranil. “These damn quacks!” A vein in his neck pulsed as he snatched the meds from my hand. “You don’t need to bepopping pills and your daughter certainly doesn’t need her mom hooked on tranquilizers.” In an instant he had taken my vial of capsules to the bathroom and flushed them down the toilet.
    I was awed by his assertiveness. When Wesley returned, he handed me a large drink. Sipping on my tequila and orange juice for over an hour, I listened to the man in the Brooks Brother’s shirt who got more attractive by the minute.
    Wasn’t long before I dropped out of college to become office manager, and also became charmed by my boss. Wesley drove a cherry red Lincoln Continental convertible, which fueled my daydreams into thoughts of romantic deeds with this fiery guy. What a disappointment when my fantasy finally came to life. Our liaison evolved after a stressful day amplified into an evening of nonstop tequila shots, so it didn’t rate high on the romance scale. Future “romantic” deeds always included alcohol and always transpired on the office sofa. I wasn’t exactly qualified to rate sex, but considered Wesley eighty percent better than inert Kent. Experienced Wesley taught me Sex Ed 101, albeit carnal encounters failed to arouse—much less satisfy me. Within weeks Wesley’s behavior began to parallel my dad’s, but I convinced myself that leaving Lake Jackson would be the magical cure for his