At that moment, R.C. turned, and when he did Khan felt herself melt like a mother at the sight of her baby’s first tears. He wore a powder blue Nike jogging suit, a color that Khan had always loved on him. He’d never looked so handsome. Oh God, how she missed him.
“R.C.?” she whispered under her breath.
R.C. narrowed his eyes at Khan and turned away quickly, disappearing into the crowd.
“She should have fucked that motherfucker’s brains out,” a woman said a few steps behind Khan, referring to the movie.
Khan sniffed back tears. “Damn right, girlfriend.” Khan’s eyes were glued to the spot where she’d last seen R.C. “He deserved to die.”
Walking with the crowd, she exited and felt the cool night air kiss the tears on her cheeks good-bye.
Minutes later, she slipped inside her cranberry-colored Phoenix sports car and started the ignition. In the parking space beside her was a face she didn’t recognize.
The man with dreadlocks had pearl-white teeth that sparkled spectacularly in the darkness.
She turned her head and turned up her nose.
Freaky bastard!
His dreadlocks rested on his shoulders. Khan hated them. To her, dreads looked hideous. Being black didn’t mean being ignorant. She couldn’t understand why it was necessary to show America that blacks were from Africa when ninety-nine percent of the black community had never even been there. It didn’t make sense.
As she started up the ignition, she yawned.
This is one damn night I wish I had gone to bed instead of going to the movies.
The image of R.C.’s cold face burned hotly in her chest.
Once home, she considered calling her Mama Pearl, but realized it was too late. Her next thought was calling Thyme, but she shrugged that off, not wanting to invade her friend’s privacy. Her final thought was to call her Uncle Ron. No, she figured, he and Aunt Ida could be getting it on just like Thyme and Cy.
She needed to be consoled by the wisdom of those older. To them, her troubles were probably trivial. She could hear them preaching:
“Wait till you’re married. . . .”
“You think you got problems. Wait till you have a husband. And children . . .”
Which was exactly what she wanted: a husband. A family. Children.
Why had R.C. ignored her?
Without thinking, she went straight to the phone. He must have been expecting her call, because he answered on the first ring.
“R.C. It’s me.”
“I figured you’d call.”
“You could have called me. I deserve at least that.”
“I thought it would be better this way.”
Khan wanted to scream “You cowardly son of a bitch!” Instead she said, “Hey, maybe you’re right. I’ve met someone my own age and my Mama Pearl is pleased as plum pudding. You know how old-fashioned she is.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie, she thought. Julian Anderson, a computer analyst at Champion, had been bugging her to go on a date for months.
“Yeah.”
“Whew.” Khan wiped the lying sweat off her forehead. “So how’s your health?”
Has your new wife been able to convince you to use lotion on your ashy ass yet?
“Cut the shit. I’ve got it coming. Go ahead, cuss me out.”
I guess not. You’re still ornery as hell.
Her voice was low, cunning. “Why?” She took a deep breath. “I thought we were going to get married. Why would you have given me the ring?” She heard him stutter.
Khan continued, “Well I’ve been thinking that we’re better off friends than lovers. So, R.C., now I’m your friend. And I know you’re still my friend.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Don’t trouble yourself worrying about me. As I said, I’ve found someone too.”
“Khan.”
“No.” She tried to keep her voice even, gulping back tears. “I think it’s better this way. We weren’t meant for each other anyway. . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Baby—”
You son of a bitch. How dare you call me baby when you’ve got a wife? Does she wear colorful kimonos to bed? Is that what turns you on?
She took another deep breath. “I wish you and your wife all the happiness that you deserve.”
You both deserve a six-day-old case of the clap.
“Please let me explain—I had to marry her. It’s an arranged marriage to get her out of Japan. She had to leave the country. I’m just helping her out—”
Khan didn’t let him finish. “Stop, R.C. I don’t want to hear it.” She knew he was lying. The truth was that R.C. had gotten a smell of some young Oriental pussy and he wouldn’t let go till Gabriel blew his horn. “I’ve got to go,” she said casually. “Bye, R.C.”
Click.
Speaking of horn, I’m going to get some motherfucker to blow mine.
Rushing to the bathroom, she washed her face with ice-cold water. “You’re okay, girl. You’re just fine. Don’t let that bastard get his rocks off on your pain.” She splashed more water on her face. “Okay. Okay. You’re okay now.”
Lifting her face, she looked into the mirror. Even though her face was coated with water, she could still feel the tears.
Khan leaned her head back, raking her fingers through her two-inch haircut. Her roots were a half-inch long. “Bitch. What you need is color.” Bending down, she reached beneath the sink cabinet and sifted through the piles of junk for a box of L’Oreal hair coloring.
Mixing the white developer with the nearly clear coloring until it thickened, she stood before the mirror and said to herself, “Okay girl, you’re ’bout to be a pretty bitch tonight. And you too, missy,” Khan said, patting her crotch. “Fuck R.C. and his young bitch. You can do without him. He’s doing just fine without you. Somebody gonna tell
you
that you fine. That you
all
that she is and more.”
I can’t help it if the stupid bastard didn’t know I was the best damn woman he would ever have.
She washed, washed again, conditioned, and blow-dried her pretty yellow hair. It was Ice Gold, the exact color of her lipstick and new nail polish.
As she dressed in satin pajamas, dried flowers rustled on the sill. The mellow May air was still cool as it rushed in through the half-cracked bedroom window.
It was 10:00 P.M. She was itching in places she couldn’t scratch, tossing and turning, and trying to concentrate on Julian. Wrapping the cotton coverlet over herself, she turned on her side.
Tossing and turning, Khan kept replaying her conversation with R.C. Should she have told him to fuck off? Why had she been so gracious, telling him they were friends? Could she really be his friend?
The clock on the nightstand said 1:10 A.M. and she wasn’t even close to sleep. She kicked the covers to the side and tucked the sheets beneath her chin. Shortly thereafter, she tried to dream about Julian fucking her brains out, something R.C. rarely did. Then Khan tried to remember R.C.’s deficiencies: he was so old, he had a problem fucking and staying hard. As she continued struggling to sleep, Khan tried to picture R.C. as a tired, withered old man. Finally she fell into a dreamless sleep.
* * *
Khan was almost finished with her day’s production. Her new partner, Jeremy Stannapolis, was working out well. Khan smiled smugly as she watched Luella swishing down the aisle. Luella had insisted on a new partner when Khan had been out with her injured hand. At first Khan had felt hurt. As much as Luella was a pain in the ass to work with, Khan had grown accustomed to their teamwork. Now, Khan was glad; her new partner was much easier to get along with.
Just then, her cousin Valentino came by her workstation, dressed in a pale lavender sport suit. Beneath his suit, Tino wore a tight white T-shirt. Khan thought, With a body like his, how could he hide it?
“Hey there, cousin. How you doin’?” Valentino said affectionately. Nodding in the direction of Luella, he said, “I’m sure you don’t miss being partners with Luella.”
Khan instinctively rose to Luella’s defense even though she was pissed at her. She knew Luella was a good person underneath. “She’s a pain in the ass, Tino. But we worked well together. Don’t diss her. It’s only natural I see a side of her that you don’t.”
“Next thing you know people around here are going to be calling you a whore, too.”
“Tino, Luella’s a good wife and a good mother. She works hard to put her two boys through college.”
“A good wife, hah! She’s the kind of wife that asks her husband to pull out the broken stove and once he fixes it, doesn’t mop the floor behind it before he pushes it back.”
“Hm.” Khan cocked an eyebrow at Tino. “What if it wasn’t dirty?”
“It was dirty all right. Look Khan, every man around here knows that the broad has had more pricks than a secondhand dart board.” He sneered. “And them fools are still standing in line to screw her during lunch in the company parking lot.”
“You lying.”
“Get real. The women around here call her Skunk Butt behind her back.” Tino’s eyes grew in amazement. “Where you been?”
“Shhh, here comes your dad.”
Tino mumbled, “And he knows all about her too.”
She could hear the sharp intake of breath from Tino as they walked toward Ron, who had been stopped midway in the aisle by a man and woman.
Khan noticed the woman eyeing her uncle’s crotch during the entire conversation. She was positive that Tino observed it as well.
“Well, Ron, it’s just like Millie was saying,” the man spoke up. “Cordell Mitchell, the supervisor on midnights, worked Saturday and Sunday afternoon in Maintenance moving machines out of the Illusion truck unit. I don’t know what’s going on around here, but that’s a carpenter’s job and he knows it. He thought he was slick, but my Millie spotted him all right.” Millie, still eyeing Ron, nodded in agreement. “Are you going to write up Cordell or not? We’ve been getting the runaround from the other committeemen for over a week now.”
“I’ll speak with Cordell this evening,” Ron said patiently.
“You know he’s going to deny it,” Millie harped, still giving Uncle Ron’s body the once-over.
“I can’t just take your word for it, Sam,” Ron said, as he shifted a stack of papers from one arm to the other. When he caught sight of Khan, Ron ended any further discussion. “I’ll get back with you by tomorrow. That’s the best I can do.”
Khan thought the woman was tacky, checking out Uncle Ron so blatantly. But apparently her uncle didn’t agree. His eyes sparkled from the woman’s attention. And in those eyes she saw a certain sexiness that she’d never noticed before. She had to admit, at fifty-six, and with thinning gray hair and a thick mustache, her uncle was still quite a sexy man.
“Hi, Ron,” Khan said after Sam and Millie had left. “I’ve been meaning to stop by your office. It’s been so long since we talked.” She gave Ron a quick conspiratorial wink, then smiled. “Will you give my best to Aunt Ida?”
“Sure.”
“Ron,” Valentino said, nodding hello to his father, his tone more formal than usual.
“Hey,” Ron said, not bothering to add anything more—not even a “How are you,” never mind a “Hi, son.”
Khan felt torn. The tension between father and son was almost unbearable. Even though she loved them both, she didn’t want to get involved in whatever battle Ron and Tino were duking out.
Ron looked at Valentino, hard. “How’re Sarah and the baby?”
Valentino gave his stock answer, and Khan wondered why Ron seemed to know so little about Tino’s family.
Just then Luella approached them.
Luella was wearing the teeniest top possible without risking being written up by her supervisor. Hell, the weather had barely stabilized at seventy but already the diva of Champion was ready to show off her huge breasts and flat stomach.
Khan was often shocked by Luella’s scanty attire, but she had to admit that even at forty, Luella had a body worth showing off.
Luella’s long, luscious legs on her five-foot-seven-inch frame made her hard to ignore. The wild, crinkled, shoulder-length hair she had weaved and wore to perfection only added to her sexiness. And Luella had a natural mesmerizing presence about her that reminded Khan of Marilyn Monroe.
If truth be told, Luella made Khan keep her own shit in check. Khan didn’t want to be outdone in the looks department by a woman sixteen years older than she was.
“Did you take care of my grievance?” Luella asked in the throaty voice she used for flirting.
Valentino rolled his eyes and Khan smiled.
What’s up with these women checking out Ron’s crotch? Khan wondered. He couldn’t be raising that much hell at his age. Or could he?
Ron avoided her eyes. “The meeting is on for next week, Luella. You’ll hear from a member of the committee. You know I don’t handle those negotiations.”
Luella’s ripe body was inches from Ron. “But I want
you
to handle it,” she said in a whimpering voice. “They don’t know my situation like you do.”
Khan could feel both Ron and Valentino cringe.
“I’ll talk to you later, Khan, Dad,” Valentino said abruptly.
Khan could almost hear Ron scream when Tino’s “Dad” echoed down the aisle.
Luella extended her nude leg and cocked her shoulder back before turning her gaze toward Tino. “I’ll see you later, junior,” she said.
“Sure.” Valentino rushed off.
Usually during work hours, Valentino addressed his father as Ron. The policy had been established since Valentino was first hired in at Champion. He hadn’t broken Ron’s harsh rule until now.
What was up with this triangle? Khan wondered. You could cut the tension between Tino, Ron, and Luella with a knife.
It was lunchtime, and only a few people were in the unit. Generally, Khan ate by herself, having no desire to join the others in the cafeteria. Khan was about to leave and go eat when her uncle stopped her with his hand on her arm.
“Come up to my office for a minute.” It wasn’t a request; it was a command.
Passing all the committee room offices, Khan followed Ron into his office, which was the largest on “committee row,” as the workers called it. Unlike the other cookie-cutter rooms, Ron had color in his office. His visitors’ chairs were dark teal, his desk and bookcase a dark walnut wood grain. Two large fern plants, courtesy of Ida, were balanced in opposite corners.
Once inside he asked her, “Do you have money in the bank?”