Chapter 3
Way Back . . .
Â
Â
“Now, you know what to do if somebody knocks, right?”
“Yeah, Mommy. Don't answer.” I glanced at the multiple chains and locks on the door. Could barely reach the top one without a chair to stand on.
“That's my baby,” she gushed. They called her Leila Marie, like Marie was her last name. She got rid of her last name when we made it to Hollywood. She called it Hollywood, but I don't think that's where we lived. Hollywood wasn't supposed to look like this.
“When can I go to school? I'm bored in here.”
“What about the books I got from the library?” she replied.
“I like reading them, but I don't have any friends. I wanna play.”
“You don't need friends, Truth. I'm your friend.”
“But you be at work all the time. Then you come and leave again,” I whined.
“I'm doing this for us, baby. You gotta network in this town,” she admonished, putting on her makeup. “Mommy's gonna make a name for herself; then everything will be all right. Better than all right.”
“When can I come by your work? I like that lady who plays like she's crazy.”
“We'll see, li'l man. They don't like kids on set, but at least you get to see me on TV.”
My mom told me of her dreams since coming here from New Mexico. I liked it better out there. At least I got to see her more often. As long as I could remember, she'd tell me stories of how she left New Orleans, pregnant with me, en route to her acting career in California. She didn't make it to California just then.
I stopped her.
Now that we were here, she made up for lost time.
“I don't like staying here by myself. Can we go back ta New Mexico? I miss playing with my friends.”
“Now, you know we can't do that, baby. How am I gonna find a nice daddy for you if we go back? Speaking of that, did you see him yesterday?”
“Yes, ma'am.” I sighed. My mom was seeing the guy who played Randall Fischer on
Promises for Tomorrow
. In addition to her soap opera, where she played a poor mother from across the tracks, she made me watch his. He didn't know about me. She said Hollywood needed to think she was single, so she could succeed. We barely went anywhere together these days.
I don't think anybody knew about me. Sometimes I would sneak outside onto the parking lot, where I would watch the people. I didn't quite understand all that I saw.
I told myself that one day I'd return to New Mexico, where everything was nice.
“How does Mommy look?”
“Beautiful,” I replied as rehearsed.
“Good!” She kissed me on my forehead. “Behave yourself and maybe I'll bring you back a treat.”
I followed her to the door and quickly closed it behind her before someone in the hallway saw me or tried to come in. The hallway smelled like pee-pee, so I usually held my breath.
I didn't feel like watching TV today. I turned back to my books on African and Greek mythology, escaping to another world. Kind of like my mom did with her acting.
Chapter 4
Months earlier . . . Dallas
Â
Â
I was running late and didn't want to miss her. I jogged up McKinney, dodging the antique trolley car that ran on the regular, while getting both facts and falsehoods straight in my head. My flight in to Love Field last night was rough, on top of losing my luggage. Luckily, I always kept the most important things close to me. Crossing Lemmon Avenue, I slowed to a casual stroll. No matter the attire, a black man running through trendy Uptown tended to attract unwanted attention.
The bookstore in the West Village shopping center is where we always met. Entering the front door, I surveyed the general vicinity. The line of cash registers to my right were half-staffed. More people were gathered amidst the rows of magazines on my left. The display in front of me told of an upcoming book signing by a local author. I laughed, thinking of a private joke. I tapped the bag at my side to ensure my laptop was inside and headed toward the smell of roasted coffee beans.
“Your usual?” the barista asked from behind the counter.
“You got it, man,” I replied as he prepared my dose of Seattle's Best. In reality, I didn't care for the Vanilla Bean blend, but it wasn't for him to know. I plunked down my cash and took a sip from the oversized ceramic mug.
She sat in a comfortable chair nearby, situated midway between me and the magazine row endcaps. I watched her tend the cup whose blend mirrored mine. Brown curly strands cascaded around the perimeter of her noble face. Full, sensual lips indulged in the coffee, her mouth appreciating every detail of the warm brew. Minus one obvious change, she was as poised and elegant as the day I first saw her.
At first, I walked past her. Took a seat at a nearby table where I could place my laptop. Still close enough to speak to her. I watched her as her fingers moved over the pages of her book, dark sunglasses obscuring her eyes. James Patterson. Her favorite author.
Opening my laptop, I powered up and waited for my Internet link to establish. When ready, I sent a packet of information courtesy of my latest trip.
Before I could exit, the recipient replied, a window opening to her
thoughts
:
Ur fast.
Told you I'd get it,
I typed.
Okay to post?
What do you think?
This is good stuff. REAL GOOD. Remind me to kiss youâif I ever see u.
You won't see me. Just credit my account.
K. U know if u ever came forward, I could make u a STAR.
No thx. Like my life the way it is. Out.
“You changed your cologne,” my friend said as she paused from her reading. I clicked, disconnecting my online connection with my associate, then shut it closed.
“You're scary,” I replied. “Then how did you know it was me?”
“Your musk. I caught it when you tried to sneak by me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Not like that.” She smiled. I liked it when she smiled. “Your natural odor. It's pleasant. You've been running or something?”
“Maybe just a little.” I walked over, giving Collette a hug. “Didn't want to miss seeing you today.”
“Whatever,” she scoffed. “Where've you been? Didn't
see
you last week,” she joked as she turned her head toward the sound of my voice.
“Still coming with the stale jokes.”
“Hey, you keep coming back.”
“Had to meet with my editor,” I lied.
“How is that story coming along, Hemmingway?”
“So far so good.”
“You ever going to read it to me?”
“Too early to tell. You know how I am about that. All my stuff is under a pen name. Maybe you've already read some of my stuff and didn't know it.”
“So you really are James Patterson. Would you please autograph a Braille edition to one of your biggest fans?”
“You missed me,” I teased, feeling unusually calm around her.
“I'd never admit it.”
One year.
One year of this unusual, casual friendship. A somewhat weekly rendezvous of sharing over coffee. No names. No strings. No invitations to one another's places, in spite of my knowing where she lived. Thoughts in general and wisecracks were our sustenance in spite of the mask I wore. But what purpose is a mask to one that cannot see it?
“Another coffee, ma'am?” the barista asked, bringing over a fresh cup out of habit. On the small table beside her was an additional cup. Either she was hitting the caffeine hard, or Collette wasn't alone. I thought I knew everything about her.
Shame on me.
“What's wrong?” she asked, grasping my arm. I flinched, distracted as I was.
“Nothing,” I replied, suddenly realizing how nice her hand felt. Was it just in response to someone intruding on our unique space?
“Your voice doesn't sound like nothing.”
“Just remembered something I need to do,” I stated calmly.
“Oh,” she mumbled, tinged with regret. “I wanted you to meet someone. Sophia!” she called out.
From somewhere between the News Publications and Arts and Hobbies sections of the magazines emerged a refugee from the Fashion and Beauty section. In her hand, she carried a copy of
Essence,
featuring Beyoncé on the cover . . . again. Although casually dressed in tan shorts and a white blouse, her face was flawless. Her height, demeanor, and stride said,
I am model. Hate me, bitches.
“Collette, this your friend?” she asked. Accent was southern California. Maybe Inglewood, although she tried disguising it as non-regional. Another person with a mask. Wondered what Collette had told her about me.
“Yeah. He's being shy. Was about to leave, but I wanted the two of you to meet.” Collette rose. I reached out to help her, but she shooed my hands away. Independent, she was. Brought a smile to my face that I'm sure she could sense.
“Sophia, this is my friend . . .”
“Chris,” I answered for her, referencing the name on my lease. I wrestled with my natural instincts to change accents, morph into something else before this stranger. “Pleased to meet you.”
“That's messed up,” Collette spurted. “This whole time, you won't give me a name, and as soon as you meet my cousin, you're volunteering everything.”
“You mean you didn't know his name? Y'all are weird,” Sophia said with a flip of her hair in mock disgust.
I laughed, not quite sure how to answer.
“He's an author, cuz. He likes his anonymity, so I play along.”
“Oh. Anything I might know?”
“I refuse to answer that,” I said with a wink at the beauty. Her deadly smile hinted at an interesting tale.
“A man with secrets can be sexy.”
“See. That's why I wanted you to meet him, Sophia. Ain't he sexy?”
I'm not sure how Collette's admission struck me. Should I have been flattered that she thought that way about me? But if she did, how did I feel that she would prefer hooking up her cousin instead?
“I suppose so,” Sophia coyly answered. “Want me to describe him? Or have you touched his face already?”
“Can't say that I have, but it's not like that.”
“Y'all are boring. Chris, is it okay if my cousin touches your face? She usually does it when she first meets someone. Don't know why she didn't with you.”
“No, I don't mind,” I answered, every fiber of my being protesting to the contrary. Sophia had me off guard and I didn't like it. I should've left as soon as I saw the extra coffee cup.
Sophia took her cousin's hand, guiding her in close as I stood stationary. I now found my private space shared with not one, but two others. Sophia stood before us, one hand resting on each of our backs as she moved Collette closer toward me. My personal boundaries violated, the three of us could've shared a breath. Those tender yet sensitive fingers caressed my features, creating some sort of emotional circuit between the three of us, completed by Sophia.
Surprisingly, being exposed before Collette felt liberating. I closed my eyes, letting her touch flow down over my eyelids and across my nose. Her fingers stopped at my lips, making me nervous. She had to detect the slight tremble as I contemplated kissing the tips of her digits.
“Nice,” she said with a smile as she removed them. “You are very handsome,
Chris
.” Either the newness of my name hadn't set in, having probably imagined her own name for me long ago, or she didn't believe me.
“My cuz said you were about to go? Too bad,” Sophia remarked. “We were going to get something to eat. Probably at Dragonfly at Hotel ZaZa. Collette's supposed to show me around.”
“As you can tell, my cousin's about the finer things in life,” Collette teased. “She's staying with me for a while, so you'll probably see her around the neighborhood. Maybe you can show her around some, since I have some limitations.”
“Would you, Chris? I mean, I don't want to intrude on my cousin's turf with you, but . . .”
“I have to check my schedule, but I can let you know.”
“Good. Want to take down my number? Or do you want to give it to me? Your number, that is.”
“Careful. She's flirting with you,” Collette joked. I think. The two of them were messing with my perceptions.
I took down Sophia's number, avoiding divulging mine. Probably wouldn't see her again if I was careful. Giving Collette a hug, I shook Sophia's hand then left them in the bookstore.
Back on the street, where I was free of their spell, my cell rang. The one I didn't want Collette's cousin knowing about. I glanced around, ensuring no one was listening, then answered.
“Yeah,” I answered in a tone different than what I'd been using moments earlier.
“Truth, how are you?”
“Fine. What you want?”
“Is that any way to talk to me? After all I've done for you?” he asked. “Are you still in Dallas? Trying to repent, my boy?”
“What do you want?” I asked again, tiring of him already.
“I have a job for you. That is, if you're not too busy freelancing these days.”
“Who told you I was freelancing?”
“Don't take me for a fool, my boy. I'd like to treat you to a show. Tomorrow. Call me when you arrive in town.”
I snapped my phone shut on him, cursing that I wouldn't get a chance to enjoy some down time.