CHAPTER TEN
An hour after waylaying Jayson in the courtroom, Leslie Melendez grabbed her purse and slung the strap over her shoulder, lay bare by a silky, red top that hugged her hourglass figure. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered, and slid out of her seat opposite Jayson’s. “Order me a Brandy Alexander.”
“Okay,” Jayson said, and out of habit, stood. His father had taught him to stand when a woman approached or left the table, which in this case rested in the corner of a spacious but very dark room. He sat and checked his watch, which indicated it was almost five in the afternoon. He wouldn’t make it back to the office before Victor left for the day.
“Now don’t go away,” Leslie teased.
Jayson said nothing. He watched the young, admittedly beautiful woman in her tight jeans and high-heel shoes as she sashayed down a long corridor leading to the ladies room. Jayson felt a little guilty about ogling the woman’s shapely figure, but hell, he was still a man—a man with a sparse sex life.
A short, thin waiter in his early twenties stepped into Jayson’s field of vision, diverting his attention away from his “date.” The young man, who wore a white shirt, red tie, black pants and an apron, held an order pad. “What can I bring you?”
“Bring me any kind of diet soda—and a Brandy Al for the lady right away, please,” Jayson instructed, “and make sure her drink is strong.”
The man glanced in the direction of the ladies room, indicating that he had seen Leslie. “Sure, I get it,” he cackled, and gave Jayson a wink.
Jayson frowned as the waiter rushed off to fill the order. Sitting alone, he counted heads and concluded the place offered adequate privacy. The patrons in the half-full bar—mostly professionally attired men with much younger, attractive women hanging on their arms—paid him no attention.
He had driven Leslie to an out-of-the-way spot near UMass/Boston. A former client whom he had successfully defended for tax evasion owned it. Forever grateful to have escaped what four previous attorneys had advised would be a certain one-to-five-year stretch, the proprietor had assured his savior if he ever needed a favor, all he had to do was ask. Forty-five minutes before arriving at the bar, Jayson had called and asked for a quiet, very private table.
Modern instrumental jazz seeped through circular speakers hovering alongside dim recessed lights in the ceiling. Jason hardly noticed the music as it blended with the low, indecipherable murmur of the room’s occupants. He played with the small table lamp shaped like a lantern, spinning it around, and weighed his options. He had successfully avoided Leslie for over six weeks, but had known sooner or later she would catch up with him. He had to consider the best way to get her out of his life—permanently. Too bad he had scruples and believed in God. In his line of work he had met more than one man who, for the right price, would be willing to remove Leslie from the face of the earth.
Jayson knew he possessed far more education and life experience than Leslie, a twenty-four-year-old Costa Rican native who hadn’t finished high school, but he knew he shouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating her. She possessed keen survival skills and street smarts. For the time being, he decided his best bet would be to ply the woman with alcohol, listen to her demands and stall.
The waiter returned with the drinks and winked at Jayson again before heading back to the bar area. Jayson felt reassured by the strong bouquet of quality brandy coming from Leslie’s glass. She returned and eased back into her seat and immediately began slurping her drink. “Hmmm. It’s delicious,” she declared, and pushed her long, curly hair away from her face. “Aren’t you having one?”
“It’s a little early for me and I’m driving, remember?” Jayson replied. He raised the glass containing his diet soda. “I’ll just stick with this.”
“Suit yourself—and oh my, it’s a nice suit, too,” Leslie gushed, inspecting Jayson. “So it looks like you’re doing pretty good. When’d you get that Jag?”
“Last year,” Jayson said. “It’s just a car.”
Leslie gulped her drink and shook her head. “People with money always talk like that. They live in some castle in Belmont with a maid and say ‘it’s just a house’ or drive a Jag or Beemer and say ‘it’s just a car.’”
Jayson recognized her warning shot. She had discovered where he lived. Although alarmed, outwardly he just shrugged. “People blessed with some money often worked hard or made sacrifices, Leslie. A lot of times they went to college and studied their asses off.”
“That how you and…what’s your wife’s name?”
Jayson felt himself become angry but displayed no outward sign of emotion. “Renee.”
Leslie nodded. “Um-hmm. That how you and Renee got all that money?”
Jayson leaned back in his chair. “What is it you want, Leslie?”
She slowly raised her glass to her mouth, showing off a set of elaborately decorated artificial fingernails, then slammed the glass, almost empty, on the table. “First, I want some respect around here from you, counselor. Who do you think you are, giving me the runaround for two fucking months?”
Jayson nodded. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have done that. I apologize.” He signaled for the waiter. “Another for the lady right away, please.” After the waiter left, Jayson continued. “But we’re here now. And I assume this isn’t a social call.”
Leslie put a coy smile on her face. “It could be.”
Jayson tightened his. “Please, Leslie.”
“Well, I did have something in mind,” Leslie announced. She paused for a few seconds, apparently waiting for Jayson to solicit more details. He didn’t, so she presented her case. “I talked to a lawyer—one of those feminist dyke types—about our little arrangement years ago.” She paused again and waited, but Jayson still offered nothing. “And she told me giving a woman money for her baby amounted to baby-selling and is against the law in Massachusetts.”
Jayson opened his hands. “I still don’t know what you want, Leslie.”
Leslie brought the glass to her lips again and set it down more gently. “This lawyer tells me I could go to court and tell my sad story—you know, how six years ago a poor, ignorant eighteen-year-old girl, all alone with no man, wanted to give up her baby for adoption, but couldn’t make up her mind who would be the best parent until—”
Jayson pointed at the approaching waiter who dropped off another Brandy Alexander. “Thank you,” he said.
Leslie finished her first drink and grabbed the second one. She stirred it for a few seconds, took a huge swallow and resumed her tale. “Until one day this lawyer paid her a visit and offered to give her five thousand dollars if she would agree to let him and his doctor wife adopt her beautiful, precious daughter.”
Jayson sighed. “Leslie, don’t tell me that after all this time you suddenly miss Jennifer and want her back?”
Leslie winced. “‘Jennifer,’ huh? Whatsthematta? ‘Yesenia’ wasn’t good enough? That’s the name I gave her.”
“It wasn’t that,” Jayson said. “Jennifer was my wife’s grandmother’s name. Jennifer’s middle name is Yesenia.”
“Does Doctor Mrs. Jayson’s wife know about our arrangement?”
Jayson spoke slowly. “What do you want, Leslie?”
Leslie chugged down her second drink and waited as Jayson signaled for another. “Life hasn’t been so good for me for the past six years. I went back to Costa Rica but five Gs don’t go very far, even there.” She shrugged. “I was able to land a couple of opportunities, though.”
A couple of men you mean, Jayson thought.
“But the country’s a mess. So I came back here. I got an aunt living here. She works at one of the hotels and got me a job with her doing housekeeping.” She grimaced. “But I couldn’t fucking stand it.”
“Leslie, please get to the point.”
“Goddamn it! I need money, okay?” Leslie snarled. “There. I said it.”
Jayson shrugged again. “So get another job, one more to your liking.”
“
Don’t be a smart ass, counselor,” Leslie ordered. She pointed. “You and Mrs. Doctor got plenty.” She leaned back in her chair and pushed out her ample bosom. “But I ain’t greedy. I just need a little something to help me get by.”
“How much would help you get by?”
“I think I should be able to make do with…” She stopped talking when the waiter returned with her drink. He grabbed the other two empty glasses and quickly disappeared. “...twenty-five thousand dollars.”
Jayson moved his eyebrows close together. “The adoption was final years ago, Leslie. The transaction you described would certainly have been in cash, so there’s no proof to your claims. You’ve got no bargaining chips.”
Leslie pointed at him again. “Now that’s where you’re wrong. I don’t need to prove shit. I just need to stake a claim. Maybe I could get my picture in the paper showing a little skin and cleavage, and maybe add a little flavor to my story.”
“Flavor?”
“You know, tell everyone I was you mistress.” Leslie made thrusting movements with her hips. “That you started banging me after we met, you know, complaining your wife was too busy at work to open her legs for you.”
Jayson felt himself becoming enraged but forced himself to breathe regularly. “Leslie, if I remember correctly, you offered but I declined.”
“That don’t matter,” Leslie retorted, slurring her words a bit. “Men see me and want to fuck me. From my no good ass stepfather when I was twelve years old to that drooling priest at the church in the province where I grew up.” She slowly ran her hands over her breasts and down to her waist. “No one’s gonna look at me and believe you were stupid enough to turn this luscious shit down.”
Jayson thought for a few seconds. Jennifer knew she had been adopted but she had no idea how fortunate she had been to get Renee for a mother rather than the one God had given her. Of course Leslie would never get Jennifer. She didn’t even want the girl. She just wanted money, and the clearly ruthless vixen did have some leverage. She could severely damage his reputation and his family’s life if she made good on her threat. “Leslie, you know I can’t do this,” he said. “I guess what I did was wrong, but my wife took one look at the photos of that little angel and fell in love with her. So did I. We’ve been good parents, not that you’re interested, obviously.” He pointed. “All this time and you haven’t asked even once how your daughter is.”
Leslie changed her demeanor. She smiled and spoke tenderly. “Look, Jayson, you don’t have to get nothing out of this for yourself.” She dipped her finger into her drink, stuck out her tongue and slowly licked it. “I know you like what you see. And I don’t mind telling you I think you’re very handsome and sexy. I’ve always had a thing for black men. Yesen—um, Jennifer’s father was black, you know.” She reached across the table and squeezed Jayson’s hand. “You could still take me up on my other offer. Trust me. You’d get your money’s worth.”
Jayson slowly pulled his hand away from hers and stared at her. The air conditioning had kept the room chilly. He could see the outline of her nipples through her tight blouse. True, she was beautiful. Still, he felt repulsed by her. “I don’t think so, Leslie.”
“I can tell just by looking at you that Mrs. Doctor Renee hasn’t been giving you regular doses of your medicine.”
“Leave it alone, Leslie.”
“You’re missing out on some wonderful affection.”
More likely an infection, Jayson thought. “Leslie, we both know you’d never get anywhere with this. Why come back here and hurt Jennifer?”
Leslie finished her third drink. “I’m not looking to hurt the kid but I’ll do what I have to do.” She slowly stood and clung to the chair to steady herself.
“Let me think about this for a while,” Jason replied. “Do you have a number where I can reach you? Where are you staying? I’ll drive you home.”
“I ain’t stupid,” Leslie insisted and held out her hand. “Give me some money for a fucking cab.”
Jayson stepped around the table and took Leslie by the arm.
She pulled away. “You don’t touch for free, nigga. How many times I gotta tell you muhfuckas that?”
“Okay,” Jayson whispered, raising his hands in the air. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a few bills and dropped them on the table. “I saw a couple of cabs outside when we got here. I’ll get you one.” He walked alongside the shaky woman and opened the front door for her. The warm, muggy, late June evening air greeted them. Jayson didn’t relish the thought of standing outside where the two of them could be seen. Fortunately, a cab pulled up a few feet away and another couple got out. Jayson couldn’t help but stare at them. The woman was young enough to be the distinguished, white-haired man’s granddaughter. Jayson approached the yellow automobile and held the door for Leslie, who all but fell inside and stretched out across the backseat.
“Take care of the driver, Jayson,” she commanded through a long yawn.
Jayson closed the door and walked to the driver’s side.
“Where to, amigo?” asked a fiftyish Latino with a thick accent and cigarette breath.
Jayson handed the man two twenty-dollar bills and spoke to him in Spanish. “Take her wherever she wants to go.” He slipped the man his business card and whispered. “And there’s another fifty for you if you call me tomorrow precisely at nine a.m. and tell me where you dropped her.”
The cabby cranked his neck to give Leslie the once-over. He turned and winked at Jayson. “Sure. I get it.”
“Not until you call me, then you get it,” Jayson joked. “What’s your name?”
“Juan.”
“Don’t talk to anyone but me and say it’s Juan the cab driver.”
The man laughed. “Okay, amigo.” He drove off.
Jayson whipped out his mobile phone, but after a few seconds of indecision, put it back in the breast pocket of his suit jacket, and peeled the jacket off. He walked toward his car, parked a block away, and considered his options. Should he tell Renee about his meeting with Leslie? No. Perhaps he could deal with her without involving Renee….
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