Free The Babysitter by Kenya Wright Page A

toward the kitchen. The door slammed closed behind us. A huge staircase rested on our right. On our left were sitting and entertainment rooms full of the band Depraved Minds’ awards. In a smaller room, where not many people ventured into, stood my father’s prized piano and so many memories of him that it suffocated me to just step inside. Although we didn’t go inside of it, my stomach twisted into gloomy knots.
    An abstract expressionist painting done by Jackson Pollock hung in the center wall above the hallway to the kitchen. One of the best things about Kaden was that he had an incredible eye for art. The painting exemplified the artists’ great drip painting method. I’d read in several of Pollock’s interviews that many times he had simply set a canvas on the floor, poured and dripped paint on it until he believed it was done. It was similar to Kaden and Dad’s songwriting process. I had witnessed them creating song after song on the After the Storm album. They would lay blank sheets of music on the floor right next to their instruments and spill out pictures of themes and symbols that inspired them. For hours, they fondled piano keys and caressed guitar strings, searching for the song they yearned to sing.
    “Did you ever do beauty queen pageants like your mom? If you did, I bet you won tons of them.”
    Has he forgotten what I looked like as a teen?
    “No way. Mom tried.” It was one of the few things I’d put my foot down on when it had came to my overbearing mother. No freaking beauty pageants. “I couldn’t do it. Being Miss Jamaica’s daughter and then entering a pageant would pretty much load a whole lot of unwanted expectations and criticisms my way.”
    “I forgot she won. When Jack met her, she was dreaming about being Miss Jamaica. It was all she talked about. So many years have passed by.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Can I get that for you?” He gestured to the gift bag.
    “No.” I put it behind my back. “I’ve got it.”
    Why didn’t Jude tell me his father was in town? I’m going to kill him.
    “It’s been five years.”
    “Yeah.”
    “That’s too long, Rainbow.” He got in front of me before I could walk into the kitchen. “No more avoiding me. I know the whole band could’ve done more for you when your parents died. I think we were just all taken aback by that tragedy, but you’re a woman now. I’m here for you if you ever need me. Call me anytime.”
    “I’ll try.”
    He shook his head. “Do more than try.”
    “Dad! You have any condoms?” Jude rushed down the staircase with only his boxers on, and what a glorious sight that was. Nervousness from earlier surged back into me. Goodness. He was honey poured over an athletic body. Short, sandy blond curls outlined his face, which boasted full lips, high cheek bones, and long lashes that should have been placed on a woman. Even with those soft features, his face appeared hard and sculpted by an artist. “I need a few condoms. I ran out.”
    It’s early in the evening and he’s already having sex with some female. This night gets better and better.
    It was then that Jude noticed me standing there.
    “Fuck! Rain, what are you doing here so early?” He glanced at his watch. “I thought I was supposed to pick you up in three hours.”
    “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
    “What?” He skipped over to me and pulled me into a hug. “You better not be canceling out on me. Damn, I love this dress, and your hair is so sexy. What’s this bag about right here?”
    “Nothing.” I tried to move the bag out of his reach, but he yanked it out of my hands.
    Everything fell out. The packet of condoms, warming strawberry lubrication, furry glow-in-the-dark handcuffs, my iPod full of the unique playlist for tonight, and the hotel key card all dropped to the floor in front of him. The urge to escape bounced around in my body. Silence met my ears. No one moved for a few seconds, and when they did it was a rush to sling