Jasmine gave him a quick glance. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”
“No. I have everything he’s ever recorded. My only regret is I never got to see him in concert.”
“I’m really surprised with you being from New Orleans that you didn’t select a jazz musician.”
“I didn’t because I couldn’t,” Cameron confessed. “They are too numerous to pick a favorite.”
Jasmine accelerated as their conversation about music genres and performers continued when they left the city’s skyscrapers behind. In between their discussion there were pauses where they were content to listen to music without talking, and Cameron realized Jasmine didn’t feel the need to talk when she didn’t have anything to say.
The passing landscape changed from apartment buildings and condos to single and multi-family homes with trees and lawns. There was a slight delay getting onto the Long Island Expressway and he noted the signs indicating the number of miles to Riverhead. He found Jasmine to be an excellent driver as she merged into traffic and maneuvered past other vehicles and tractor trailers into the HOV lane.
“I can’t believe people do this every day in order to get to work,” he remarked.
“There was a time when folks called the LIE the longest parking lot in the world before they added more lanes. If I lived out here, I’d commute into the city rather than spend hours in bumper-to-bumper traffic.”
“I hear you,” he said under his breath.
Fortunately Cameron did not have that problem. He lived within walking distance to his office in a building on Carondelet Street in the CBD. Days when he wasn’t scheduled to meet clients he would walk if it wasn’t too hot or humid in order to take in the sights. Although a native of the Big Easy, Cameron never tired of his native city. Whether it was the food, drink, or the music, the essence that made New Orleans so unique was a part of his DNA. Even when he left the city to travel abroad or to other places in the country it was as if after a few days something intangible would pull him back home.
“Sorry about that,” he said, when he’d attempted to smother a yawn with his hand.
“What time did you go to bed last night?”
Cameron smiled. “It wasn’t last night, but this morning. We got back from Connecticut around ten, but no one wanted to go their suites, so we all hung out in the hotel lounge until around two. I was still too wound up to sleep, so I sat up watching an all-news cable station, and didn’t doze off until around four.”
“If I’d known this I would’ve picked you up later this morning.”
“Well, I didn’t know I was going to stay up that late.”
“Recline your seat and take a nap. It’s still going to take a while before we get to Peconic.”
Cameron smothered another yawn. “That’s okay, I’ll—”
“Please do it,” Jasmine ordered softly, interrupting him. She tapped the steering wheel again and changed the station to one featuring classical music.
He wanted to tell Jasmine that he wasn’t going to collapse because he’d had less than seven hours of sleep. “Yes, ma’am.” Cameron reclined the seat, crossed his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes. The smooth motion of the vehicle lulled him into a state of complete relaxation, and much to his surprise he fell asleep.
* * *
Jasmine slowed when she heard the siren and then saw the flashing lights of a police car behind her. Once she saw an opening, she changed lanes and came to a complete stop and smothered a groan.
When she called Danita to tell her she was coming out for a visit, she’d told her aunt she planned to arrive before eleven. During the height of the summer season, she usually left Manhattan either late Friday night or before sunrise Saturday morning to avoid the traffic delays that resulted from those driving east to spend the weekend. Once she informed Danita that she was unemployed, her aunt extended an invitation for her to come and work with her. Jasmine would have considered it if it hadn’t been for the isolation during the winter months. After Labor Day business slowed appreciably and Danita and her husband, Keith closed the bed-and-breakfast and restaurant in late November and did not reopen for business until Memorial Day weekend. During the off-season they traveled abroad, perfecting their culinary skills and/or visiting their medical doctor son and attorney daughter.
Slumping back in her seat, she chanced a glance at Cameron. His chest rising and falling in an even rhythm indicated he’d fallen asleep.
Jasmine knew she had rejected the attention of men who’d been interested in her because she’d developed a mental list of her ideal man. And when she’d disclosed this to Nydia, her friend turned on her like a rabid dog declaring all men were alike under the skin. Then she reminded Jasmine that although her ex-husband and Hannah’s ex weren’t in the same racial classification, both were cheaters. And if Hannah had decided never to date a black man then she would not have married St. John McNair.
Nydia’s explanation did give Jasmine food for thought, because she knew she was being not only biased, but close-minded. Smiling, she thought about her former coworkers. It had taken less than a year since they’d found themselves unceremoniously discharged from their positions at the bank and now two of the four were embarking on new lives with husbands.
And she truly believed Nydia when she declared she liked being single and at thirty-two she was willing to wait until hell froze over before becoming involved in another relationship. Jasmine had told herself she also enjoyed being single, but there was a difference. Nydia was looking for a relationship and she wasn’t. Jasmine wasn’t against dating, but drew the line when it came to a committed relationship. She wanted to be the one to establish the rules whether to continue or end the relationship. Never again would she give another man control over her life as she had with Raymond.
Her gaze shifted from Cameron to the road. He wanted to take her around when she returned to New Orleans and Jasmine planned to tell him she was looking forward to having him as her tour guide. She would enjoy his company and when she returned to New York she would have even more wonderful memories of the historic colorful city.
Traffic had begun moving at a snail’s pace, but at least it was moving. It took more than forty-five minutes before she was able to accelerate and maneuver into the HOV lane again. A box truck and several cars had rear-ended one another as flares and automobile parts littered the roadway, tow trucks were positioned behind police cars and waiting to hook up the damaged vehicles.
Jasmine had to agree with Cameron. There was no way she wanted to commute by car to and from work. She had driven to downtown Brooklyn for the temporary position because she found parking at a nearby garage. When she’d worked at Wakefield Hamilton she’d taken the subway to work and occasionally rode the bus back home because she loathed being sandwiched in between hot sweaty bodies during the summer months. The one time a man attempted to touch her behind, she reached into her handbag and took out her keys and stabbed the back of his hand. Then she warned him in no uncertain terms that his face was next. When the train stopped he got off at the next stop, but not before he let loose with a string of expletives that stunned those in the car and others standing on the platform. It was another month before she took the subway home for fear of running into the pervert again.
Jasmine exhaled an inaudible sigh when she finally left the expressway and drove along a local road. The drive which should’ve taken two hours was now closer to three. She passed acres of farms and several vineyards, before turning off on the path leading to her aunt and uncle’s property. The three-story Victorian house with a broad front porch sported a new coat of navy-blue paint and white shutters.
