“I was going to call.” I tried to squirm free. Lupe noticed and pushed his white Nike deeper into my chest. I quit moving. “I’ve been busy trying to get your money.”
He produced my gun, waving it in front of my face, daring me to grab at it. “With this? What’s this about?”
“Protection,” I mumbled.
“Protection,” he repeated. “From what? Surely not from us. We’re your friends.” Lupe grinned. Kash continued: “As good as I’ve been to you, Henry? Were you gonna shoot me?”
“No. How’d you get in here?” My front door didn’t look busted.
He growled, “Ain’t nowhere I can’t go, man. Now . . . where’s my money?”
“I have till tomorrow. That . . . that’s what you said.”
“Uh-huh. Well, it’s already tomorrow somewhere in the world. You’d know that, Mr. World Traveler.”
“Look . . . my watch. Take it. It’s worth a couple thou.”
“A couple? That watch had better be a whole lot more. You know the agreement we had.”
Agreement. Interesting way of putting things.
A week ago, Kash and Lupe had caught me exiting a local Waffle House. Syrup still on my lips, the taste was smacked out of my mouth before I could get in my car. As Lupe proceeded to break my finger, we
agreed
I would make a payment toward the hundreds of thousands I owed Kash. As he knew me from back in the day, and because of the lucrative job I held, Kash told Lupe to spare my face.
The next morning I’d limped into work, finger in a splint, prepared to divert funds from Tanner’s special projects fund to one I managed. The bet I was to place would’ve been last night.
Lupe yanked me to my feet, reminding me of the seriousness I faced this time.
“Who won last night?”
“The Cavs,” Kash calmly replied. “You know LeBron don’t play.”
It’s not fair. I would’ve won if I’d had that money. A sobering thought while Lupe proceeded to break the remaining fingers on my left hand. I had another extension, but the price had gone up. Something I should’ve been thankful for as I screamed, holding back tears. It would’ve been worse if they’d known that I’d lost my job.
5
BIANCA
I
slowed to the curb, watching the valet as he motioned patrons forward. Even at the wheel of the new car, I shuddered over lying to Tanner. He went to great lengths to provide for me. He’d blown off the mishap, simply directing one of his dealerships to deliver something else to our place. I’d been summoned down to the lobby as if I were picking up a piece of mail. I’ll never forget the look of the doorman, Ruben, as he salivated over what I thought to be a rather ordinary car. At least, that’s what he told me he was looking at when I addressed the uncomfortable glances cast in my direction.
My best friend, Rory, had already arrived at the Tuscan café. From her outside table, she waved to get my attention. I lowered the window and waved back. Even before my heated discussion with Pumpkin, I was spent. I’d be sure to order some coffee once I parked.
“Mr. Clucker bought you another one, huh?” Rory snapped between bites of her pasta salad. She never forgot the business that set Tanner on his way, even though he’d diversified, going beyond being a simple fried-chicken peddler. “What’s he apologizing for this time?”
“His name is Tanner, in case you forgot. And he’s not apologizing for anything. I had an accident last night.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” The blond bombshell’s demeanor changed. Whether through exercise, surgical means, or simply good genes, Rory Calhoun was a beautiful woman. Accustomed to men handing the world to her on a platter, she had no qualms about accepting their tribute. Most women would have found her objectionable, but she was really a sweet person once you got beyond the sculpted facade. “Are you okay? Well . . . I assume you are; otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”
I smiled, continuing to lie for Pumpkin. “Yes. I’m fine. Pretty radical way of getting a new car, though, wouldn’t you say?”
She laughed, all the while considering whether to use the option I’d jokingly suggested. Her six-month-old baby in the stroller beside her was an unusual sight. His pacifier had him sedated for now.
“Brought Morris today, huh? He’s such a cutie.”
“Yeah. I figured I’d let the little monster get out. It’s such a beautiful day, after all that nasty rain last night. Sometimes I wonder why I moved here.”
“Where’s Hazel?”
“With her nanny,” she matter-of-factly replied. “Girl, you know I could only do one of them for lunch. When they get together, I can’t get a word in edgewise. Isn’t that right, pookie?” She’d turned to pinch her son’s cheek. “Yes, yes, yes!” she cooed. Mother and son’s complexions matched, with the exception of his bronze being natural while hers was sprayed on. Not enough sun around here at this time of year for her to be that brown. Both of Rory’s children were biracial, the dads being professional athletes, from what I understood. With the exception of their identities, Rory didn’t hide her claim to fame and how these fathers ensured that she was taken care of in exchange for keeping their names out of the news. Not my cup of tea, but I tried not being judgmental.
I summoned the waiter for another cup of coffee, feeling my eyes drooping as Rory continued to speak.
“Bianca, are you sure you’re okay? You look a little worn-out.”
“I’m fine. Just terribly sleepy. Don’t worry. It’s not the company.”
“I know it isn’t.” She cracked a wry smile. “I take it your shop is closed.”
“Yes. I was the only one on the schedule today,” I said of my shoe boutique, where I carried all the latest designer brands. That was how I’d met Rory in the first place. She’d come into my establishment looking for the hottest sandals for summer during my grand opening. Even though I could’ve been simply the hired help, she never talked down to me. I had to let her know I was the owner when she kept trying to overtip me. We’d agreed to lunch the next day and discovered we were both from Seattle. A common bond for this girl, fresh off the bus and in a strange town, although I was sure we’d grown up on different sides of the track. And the rest, as they say, is history.
“I’m surprised Mr. Clucker even lets you work. You let that man dictate the terms of your life way too much.”
I chomped down on a bite of calzone, motioning for her to wait before I replied. I was starving. Maybe that explained my lack of energy. “Tanner’s not controlling,” I finally offered after my last chew.
“Uh-huh. How did you meet him again?”
“Shoe store,” I replied for her amusement, knowing what she was getting at. I wasn’t the owner of a shoe store when I met my future husband. I was a simple sales associate trying to earn a commission. Tanner Coleman swooped in before closing with the intention of surprising his then girlfriend. The man possessed an overpowering aura, a gravity I’d never been around. In spite of his pressing mission, he asked questions, showered attention on my malnourished soul. The more he asked, the less importantthe shoes seemed to him. I apparently sold him more than a pair of Jimmy Choos. When I got off work, he was waiting on me. He’d called off his date on the spur of the moment. After he pleaded with me not to take the Metro back to my one-bedroom efficiency, I gave in. A whirlwind courtship ensued until I agreed to enter his world. When I used my work schedule as an excuse for some distance, he had them fire me and bought me my own boutique.
“Tanner loves me,” I offered while looking at her son, Morris. He was smiling at me, clapping his hands—either a simple child doing what kids do or applause at a masterful performance.
Following lunch, I retreated to my home. The other doorman was on duty, so I was spared Ruben’s peculiar interest. In the elevator mirror, I checked the dark bags forming beneath my eyes and picked at the ends of my short curls. In Seattle, I remembered the white kids’ fascination over what I thought was just awkward and unruly. The black kids didn’t worry about my hair. They were too busy picking at my skin color, constantly asking if my mom was white or whatever foreign notion they could conjure. Nope, just a pale, skinny black girl with confused hair from the Central District. If the society magazines in this town were to be believed, the ugly duckling had emerged a swan on the arm of Tanner Coleman.
If only emotions could be shed like feathers.
“Lorenda, I’m back,” I called out as I walked into the ample expanse that was our entryway. The marble floor seemed almost glasslike, courtesy of her hard work. I set the car keys on the table and took my purse off my shoulder.
“Mrs. Coleman, I’m in here.” Lorenda shouted from the kitchen. Tanner liked dinner cooked, even if he didn’t come home to enjoy it.
“Anyone else here?”
There was a pause. “No. Just me and you.” She hadn’t run into Pumpkin yet. Good.
“Do you need anything?” she followed up.
“No. I think I’m going to bed for a while.”
“Are you ill? I can bring you some medicine or some soup.”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you,” I replied. She was always so helpful, so motherly. I didn’t know what I’d do in this place without her warm spirit.
I retreated into the master bedroom, determined to rest up for Tanner. He’d spared me his carnal demands out of concern over the car wreck.
My pass was up.
6
PUMPKIN
“Mrs. Coleman, I knew you’d smell my soup. I...”
We slammed into each other as I scurried down the hallway. Here I was trying to sneak out of my sister’s prison and I ran dead into her damn maid. The bitch’s eyes met mine, nervous and disapproving. Like I couldn’t borrow some of Bianca’s clothes. She was asleep and wouldn’t mind. Besides, they fit me better. I rolled my eyes back at her and looked away. All this under-wraps stuff could drive a woman out of her ever-lovin’ mind.
“Hey,” I said. I rushed past her before she could ask or accuse, putting my cell to my ear in pretense to keep her at bay.
Out the lobby door (pussy-eating Ruben was off, I saw) and away from the suffocation, I pulled out my cell again, but made a call this time. I’d wait down the block for the response to my request. I smiled wickedly when the familiar sports car turned the corner an hour later. I emerged from the shelter of Starbucks, dumping my latte, and approached.
“Still alive?” I asked as I put my seat belt on. Henry was quizzical in his stare.
“Something like that,” he dryly replied as he shook his head. The hand with the splint was now encased in a cast, its fingers fixed in a strange partial curl.
“Where was it you wanted to take me last night?” I smiled, waiting till it was reflected in him. He reached out with the undamaged hand and lightly touched my cheek. Tenderness wasn’t something I was accustomed to. I grasped it and inserted the fingers into my mouth, applying my lips and gently sucking.
“You’re crazy,” he offered in faint protest.
“Maybe the world is crazy and I’m the only sane one. Want to watch old ladies cross the street, or are we going somewhere?”
He left a trail of rubber on Lancaster Boulevard as he rocketed me away, old ladies be damned.
Henry’s apartment was a few tax brackets below Bianca and Tanner’s, but still impressive. Deep reds and oranges defined the walls. Rich oil paintings and ornate metal sculptures that blended perfectly with the rich hardwood demonstrated his controlover the domain. In spite of the initial impact, something wasn’t quite right. Its current condition mirrored that of its owner. Sure, the paintings were hung right and all the furniture was in place, but the place felt as if it were a hollow space. It was missing a presence.
Noises came from Henry’s bedroom. I heard him curse as he threw things around. I left the couch where he’d deposited me and investigated. This room was different from the others. Clothes lined the bed in a haphazard fashion. The bottle of Scotch from his car rested on its side, its cap missing. It was empty. This was where he lived . . . or perhaps where he hid from something, an avoidance of life.