All Up In My Business (19 page)

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“I thought I asked not to be disturbed,” Toussaint barked into the intercom.

“I’m sorry, Toussaint,” his assistant replied. “But there’s someone here to see you.”

“Who?” The last thing Toussaint wanted to do right now was talk to anyone about business. He hadn’t been able to focus on work since Malcolm left his office.

“Alexis St. Clair.”

Toussaint started, then smiled.
I don’t feel like seeing anybody, except her
. “Sorry for snapping at you, Monique. Please, send her in.”

Toussaint stood and walked around his desk. When Alexis came in, he motioned for her to close the door and then opened his arms. She stepped into them, hugging him tightly, breathing in the woodsy scent she so adored.

“To what do I owe this unexpected visit?” he whispered.

“Would you believe I was in the area and decided to stop by?”

“Baby, I’d believe just about anything you told me.”

“I was interviewed by a potential client just down the street. That gave me the perfect excuse to stop by, see how you’re doing, and find out if everything is okay with your mom. I probably should have called….”

“No, Alexis,” Toussaint said, hugging her tighter and lazily running a hand down her back. “I’m glad to see you.” Reluctantly, he released her but reached for her hand and led them over to the sitting area he and Malcolm had recently occupied. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, I’m fine. Can’t stay long.” The ensuing silence was interrupted only by a soft gurgle from a fountain in the corner of the room. Alexis’s eyes shone with something akin to love as she watched a myriad of emotions play across Toussaint’s face. Her heart flipped. She ignored both that and the tingling feeling that began when her gaze went from his eyes to the full,
lower lip that he nervously gnawed. “Want to talk about it?” she gently prodded.

“My parents …” Toussaint eyed Alexis intently, then turned and stared out the window.

“I’m a good listener, Toussaint. And a confidant who can be trusted. What you share will go no further, if that’s your concern.”

“They’re having problems,” he tentatively continued. “A major one, in fact. It seemed to come out of the blue. I can’t tell you the last time I heard my parents disagree, much less argue or have to deal with … something like this.”

Alexis didn’t know what to say. She wouldn’t dream of prying for details and couldn’t quite relate to his parental angst. Her parents had separated when Alexis was a child. Except for a handful of occasions, she’d interacted with each of them one-on-one. As for her mother’s current husband, whom Alexis refused to think of or address as stepfather, she was thankfully long gone from Missouri by the time he came on the scene. “I’m so sorry,” she said at last. “I can’t imagine the pain you must be feeling. But try and think positive. Your parents have been together for a long time. They’ve undoubtedly weathered other storms. Choose to believe that they’ll weather this one as well.”

Toussaint’s eyes sparkled as he looked at Alexis. “Come here, baby girl,” he whispered seductively.

Alexis scooted over and allowed herself to be wrapped in Toussaint’s embrace. Her presence alone was his comfort; further words were unnecessary.

“H
e’s with someone,” Monique said as a fast-walking Shyla passed her desk.

“With who, Zoe? It’s okay.”

“I wouldn’t,” Monique hastily replied, nervously twisting her thick, blond hair, her deep blue eyes as wide as those of a deer caught in headlights.

The frantic tone of her voice caused Shyla to turn around. “Why? Who’s in there?”

Toussaint’s assistant hesitated. She’d been on the job less than six months and was still learning the ropes. Besides, this soft-spoken daughter of a single-mother librarian found Shyla’s verbose personality frightening. “I, uh, think it’s personal.”

Shyla looked hard at Monique and then at Toussaint’s closed office door. “Okay, then. Well, tell him I’d like to see him. On second thought, never mind. I’ll send an e-mail.” Shyla turned and walked back down the hallway. But instead of leaving the area, she ducked inside the small break room at the end of the hall. After pouring herself a cup of coffee that she had no intention of drinking this late in the day, she stood and pretended to look at the poster board on the wall near the door. Whoever was in Toussaint’s office would have to walk by this door on the way out.

She didn’t have to wait long. Just after reading an Avon party invite and rolling her eyes at what she considered a mother’s lazy attempt at selling Girl Scout cookies by simply posting the order form, Shyla heard Toussaint’s low yet unmistakable voice. She turned slightly, pretending to read the notice at the board’s right edge. A low murmur, followed by the light, seductive laugh of a woman, told Shyla the couple was almost to the door. She looked up just in time to meet her adversary’s eye as Alexis casually looked into the room.
The designer! He’s still sniffing after that little twit?
Shyla had seen the woman only one time, when they’d met at Taste. Shortly afterward, the meeting had been forgotten, as had the woman.
But that’s around the same time Toussaint went MIA
. Shyla’s eyes narrowed as certain puzzle pieces began to fall into place, and she didn’t like the picture coming together.

Shyla hadn’t asked Toussaint about his interior designer or thought any more about her than she did the parade of other women she knew Toussaint occasionally screwed. She knew for a fact that for the past three years, she’d been the most constant woman in her lover’s life and believed it was just a matter of time before he tired of the pussy parade and settled down—with her.

After waiting a beat, Shyla marched back down to the assistant’s desk. “What’s her name?” she asked, as if she had every right to know.

“Who?” Monique asked, not open to being interrogated or getting in the middle of office mess.

“You may look stupid, but don’t act that way, okay? I know it was Toussaint’s interior decorator. I just don’t remember her name.” Shyla tapped a finger against her arm as she impatiently awaited an answer, then tried a softer tactic. “I’m sorry, Monique, let me start over. I’m thinking about surprising my mom with a makeover to her dining room and want to talk with Toussaint’s friend. But I don’t want to ask him because he’ll try and talk me out of it.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he knows that I know that they slept together, him and the designer. He’ll think I’m still jealous and want to cause trouble. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. I just want to get the best person to do my mother’s house, and from seeing her work up close and personal—when I spent the night at Toussaint’s house—I know she’s the best.”

Shyla let these revealing words settle like a blanket around Monique and suppressed a smile as the assistant’s eyes widened with understanding. “Oh, I’m sorry, Shyla. I didn’t know …” Her face reddened with embarrassment as she fiddled with the charm bracelet on her left arm.

“Many here have speculated but few truly know for sure. So let’s keep this just between us, okay?”

“Her name is Alexis St. Clair.”

“Ah, right. Alexis. Now I remember. Thanks, Monique. When it’s time for your raise, I’ll put in a good word.” Shyla winked, turned, and walked briskly away.
Ignorant female. But she might come in handy
. Plus, she was plump and plain, a departure from the last woman who’d worked for Toussaint. Shyla had breathed a sigh of relief when the former assistant got married and moved to D.C. It meant one less pretty woman to turn Toussaint’s head. At least in the office. But that only left about a zillion outside the workplace. Including one certain interior designer who was about to learn that there was already a Mrs. Toussaint Livingston on the horizon. And her first name was Shyla.

Z
oe watched, shocked, as Chardonnay laughed while her son rapped with the music. It wasn’t the genre she had a problem with but the choice of song. Her good friend’s seven-year-old was spewing expletive-filled lyrics about female body parts, Uzis, and crack, as if the song were a nursery rhyme. “Cognac, stop that!” she finally shouted, exasperated.

“What?” Cognac wore a pair of sunglasses and an oversized, sideways baseball cap.

“Singing that disgusting song, that’s what!”

“Why?” Cognac asked in an indignant voice that was underscored by scrawny arms crossed over a chest that had the nerve to be puffed out.

“Because you can’t talk like that around your aunt Zoe, that’s why!”

“I can too!” Cognac continued rapping as he mimicked the videos he’d seen, bobbing his head with his shoulders hunched over. The only thing missing was his blunt and a beer.

“Boy, shut the hell up. I’ma have Q beat that ass when he comes over, like he threatened the last time. Go on in there and clean your room. Go on!” Chardonnay lit a cigarette and then reached for the stereo remote and changed CDs. Soon
the tamer sounds of Alicia Keyes drifted throughout the living room.

Zoe watched Cognac completely ignore his mother’s directive, opting instead to retrieve a bag of chips and a box of juice from the kitchen and then walk back through the living room like he owned it. He eyed his mother defiantly as he walked past them and out the front door. “Oh, hell no!” she exclaimed, reaching for her own pack of cigarettes. “Are you going to let him get away with that?”

“Girl, I can’t control his bad ass.” Chardonnay reached into her cigarette pack, pulled out a half-smoked blunt, and lit it.

“That’s why you need a man around, and that’s why I think you should stick with Bobby. Q’s fine and all, but he doesn’t sound like the settling-down type. At least, not any time soon.”

“Maybe not, but as long as he’s laying the pipe like he’s doing, I sure as hell ain’t sending him nowhere. I thought Bobby was big, but unh-unh-unh …” Chardonnay made smacking sounds and licked her fingers.

“Is that all you think about, girl, getting some?”

“Just about.”

“What about the pictures Bobby has on you? Have you thought about that? And what would happen if the Livingstons ever found out?”

“Girl, those pictures are long gone. He deleted them the first night he was over here.”

“How do you know he doesn’t have copies?”

“Baby, after what I put on him? Trust and believe, that evidence is history. His nose is wide open, sniffing behind me like a puppy dog.”

“See, that’s what I mean, Char. Bobby really likes you. He seems to be interested in you for more than what’s between your legs.”

“Girl, please. Nobody’s marrying Bobby’s tore-up ass.”

Zoe looked at her friend a long moment. “Why do you talk about him like that, Char? I’ve seen the dogs you go out with, the dealers and players. Bobby might not be that much to look at, but he’s got a steady job and seems to genuinely care about you. And didn’t you say he fixed your car last week?”

“Yes, he did, and my screen door too. I’m gonna keep him around until he fixes all that’s broken, and then lock him out of the very door he repaired!” Chardonnay laughed, took a long drag on the blunt, and started coughing. “Here, you want some?”

“No, I’m good.”

“What, since you got offered that trip to LA you don’t get high no more? Trying to go corporate, all Shyla Martin and shit?”

“Please, I’m hardly trying to be like her. But I am cleaning up my act. I had my annual review last week. Ace is very pleased with my work and says I have a bright future with the company. I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Aw, hell, girl. You gonna believe that? His old ass is just trying to get some.”

“No, Char. Ace isn’t like that. He really believes in my abilities—he even said that if I decided to go back to school, the company will pay for it.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Chardonnay got up from the couch. “You don’t drink no more either?”

“Yes, but I don’t want anything.”

“I sure hope your ass don’t turn into a fuddy-duddy.”

“A who?”

“That’s what my grandma used to call women who were stuck-up or plain or didn’t know how to come correct with they shit.”

“Oh, and you think that’s me now?”

“Don’t stop being fun—that’s all I’m sayin’.”

“So … is Bobby coming over tonight?”

“Why are you always so interested in Bobby? I think it’s because you’ve got a closet crush on him.”

“He just seems like a nice guy, that’s all. I went to Taste for lunch the other day. He came up to the counter and asked if I’d seen you. Last week, I told you, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, and so what?”

“He’s not really ugly, Chardonnay. If he did something to his hair, got his teeth fixed, and maybe got a few facials for his bumpy complexion, he’d look all right.”

“Then why don’t you go out with him, Zoe?” Chardonnay sat back on the couch, positioned a tray on her lap, and began rolling another blunt. “I tell you what. He’ll probably be calling later, after he gets off work. Why don’t I give him
your
number, and
your
address, and
you
can fuck him? How’s that sound?”

Their conversation was interrupted by Cognac’s loud wail as he came back into the living room.

“Boy, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“I hate Dontae!” he wailed. “He hit me!”

“Hit you? Did you hit him back?” Cognac shook his head.

“Bring your ass on over here.” When he came within reach, Chardonnay snatched him close to her. “Put your hands down away from your face.” She grabbed his chin, turned his face this way and that, and seeing no blood, concluded he wouldn’t die soon. “Shut up, boy. You’re all right. Now take your ass back outside. And don’t come back in here until you hit him back. Bust him right in his face, here me? If you don’t go hit him, I’ma beat your ass. Understand?”

Cognac nodded and ran out the door. “Dontae! Where you at? I’ma beat your ass!”

Chardonnay took a puff of her newly rolled joint and howled. “Ha! That’s what I’m talking about. That’s my little man right there!”

Zoe sighed. Although the scene was a normal one for the Johnson household, today it made her sad. “I’m outtie, sistah,” she said, reaching for her purse. “I think I’m going to go by the mall, see if I can find a cheap suit to take on my trip.”