Read Online STRINGS of COLOR by Marian L. Thomas - Free Book Online
Authors: Marian L. Thomas
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through in life is like a string of color, which pulls us this way or that." She said as she crossed one string over the other. "That's how come we get so twisted in life. Can't grab our own strings and pull them in the direction we want them to go. No, we allow someone to not only hook us but to string us along."
"There." She exclaimed somewhat out of breath. She leaned back and stared at her shoes.
Jake noted that she seemed very satisfied that they were tied again.
"Is there a story behind your shoes?"
Monà smiled.
"When I was a young girl, I allowed the strings of color to hook me and pull me along until I felt like I could no longer breathe on my own. Do you know what that feels like, to not be able to breathe on your own?"
Jake didn't answer. He knew when to be quiet and when to ask questions.
Monà stopped and stared at the ceiling. It was all she could do to gather her composure.
Jake kept his eyes on her. Her words were making tiny circles in his head that never seemed to meet. He watched her body's movement. He wasn't sure what she was trying to tell him, but he had a strong feeling that, whatever her story was, it had New York Times bestseller all over it.
He fought to hide his excitement.
"You can show it."
"Show what?"
"You can show the fact that you think that I'm about to tell you a story that will be the story of all stories."
"Well, aren't you?"
"That's why I said you can show it."
Jake smiled.
"You know I have always found the life of a journalist interesting."
"Why is that?"
"I guess it's because you get paid to be all up in someone else's business."
Jake let out a strong laugh.
"There now, feel better?"
"Much"
"Good."
"Can I ask you a question?"
"That's what a journalist does, right?"
"Why did you come see me?"
"Didn't I answer that one already? Anyway, I read the column you did on my Naya. Of course, you call her Jazzmyne."
"What did you think about it?"
"I thought that you obviously want to do more than write a column for a living."
Jake nodded.
"Have you seen her?"
"I've seen her all my life, just never face-to-face."
"Do you want to see her? Face-to face, I mean..."
Monà looked at her shoes again.
What is it about those shoes
? Jake wondered.
"We all go through life wanting many things, Jake. I suppose I am no different than anyone else. My list of wants is long."
Jake got up slowly and walked back over to his desk. He grabbed a notebook and a pen. He knew she was watching him. He made sure to do everything slowly. One thing he learned many years ago was that any sudden movements during an interview can come off as a sign of being aggressive. Aggression doesn't get you the story; in fact, it ends it.
Something is missing here. Is she beating around the bush now, or am I?
Jake eased back into his chair.
She crossed her legs.
Not good. You're losing her. Better think of something quick
. Jake began to twirl a piece of his hair.
Monà watched.
He suddenly found himself nervous.
Maybe all I'm really cut out to be is a columnist.
Stop that man! That's your old man talking. Get it together. Ask a question. Get back in the game!
"So JK is your father and Naya's?"
"Yes, but you knew that already."
"True, but I needed it for the record."
"No, you wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth, as they say."
"Have you ever wondered why he did that to both of you?"
"I didn't have to wonder Jake, I knew."
"You do?"
"Of course, it's not rocket science."
Jake gave a quick smirk.
"Anyway, I didn't come here to talk about that. It happened. Enough said."
Shoot! Did I just tick her off? What's wrong with you, man! You've done interviews before with multi-millionaire celebrities. Now you can't do one with an old lady?
Jake took a deep breath, leaned back in his chair and when he opened his mouth he decided to do what he does best—get up in her business.
"Why did you choose to raise Simone and not Jazzmyne?"
It caught her off guard but she didn't show it.
"Finally,
"There." She exclaimed somewhat out of breath. She leaned back and stared at her shoes.
Jake noted that she seemed very satisfied that they were tied again.
"Is there a story behind your shoes?"
Monà smiled.
"When I was a young girl, I allowed the strings of color to hook me and pull me along until I felt like I could no longer breathe on my own. Do you know what that feels like, to not be able to breathe on your own?"
Jake didn't answer. He knew when to be quiet and when to ask questions.
Monà stopped and stared at the ceiling. It was all she could do to gather her composure.
Jake kept his eyes on her. Her words were making tiny circles in his head that never seemed to meet. He watched her body's movement. He wasn't sure what she was trying to tell him, but he had a strong feeling that, whatever her story was, it had New York Times bestseller all over it.
He fought to hide his excitement.
"You can show it."
"Show what?"
"You can show the fact that you think that I'm about to tell you a story that will be the story of all stories."
"Well, aren't you?"
"That's why I said you can show it."
Jake smiled.
"You know I have always found the life of a journalist interesting."
"Why is that?"
"I guess it's because you get paid to be all up in someone else's business."
Jake let out a strong laugh.
"There now, feel better?"
"Much"
"Good."
"Can I ask you a question?"
"That's what a journalist does, right?"
"Why did you come see me?"
"Didn't I answer that one already? Anyway, I read the column you did on my Naya. Of course, you call her Jazzmyne."
"What did you think about it?"
"I thought that you obviously want to do more than write a column for a living."
Jake nodded.
"Have you seen her?"
"I've seen her all my life, just never face-to-face."
"Do you want to see her? Face-to face, I mean..."
Monà looked at her shoes again.
What is it about those shoes
? Jake wondered.
"We all go through life wanting many things, Jake. I suppose I am no different than anyone else. My list of wants is long."
Jake got up slowly and walked back over to his desk. He grabbed a notebook and a pen. He knew she was watching him. He made sure to do everything slowly. One thing he learned many years ago was that any sudden movements during an interview can come off as a sign of being aggressive. Aggression doesn't get you the story; in fact, it ends it.
Something is missing here. Is she beating around the bush now, or am I?
Jake eased back into his chair.
She crossed her legs.
Not good. You're losing her. Better think of something quick
. Jake began to twirl a piece of his hair.
Monà watched.
He suddenly found himself nervous.
Maybe all I'm really cut out to be is a columnist.
Stop that man! That's your old man talking. Get it together. Ask a question. Get back in the game!
"So JK is your father and Naya's?"
"Yes, but you knew that already."
"True, but I needed it for the record."
"No, you wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth, as they say."
"Have you ever wondered why he did that to both of you?"
"I didn't have to wonder Jake, I knew."
"You do?"
"Of course, it's not rocket science."
Jake gave a quick smirk.
"Anyway, I didn't come here to talk about that. It happened. Enough said."
Shoot! Did I just tick her off? What's wrong with you, man! You've done interviews before with multi-millionaire celebrities. Now you can't do one with an old lady?
Jake took a deep breath, leaned back in his chair and when he opened his mouth he decided to do what he does best—get up in her business.
"Why did you choose to raise Simone and not Jazzmyne?"
It caught her off guard but she didn't show it.
"Finally,
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