Soft steam formed on the windows, clouding the outside view as the women worked. With the subject of husbands dropped, they moved on to a safer topic — food.
“Don’t you think this is a lot for just four people?” Carmen asked while stirring three pounds of fresh jumbo shrimp and lobster into the bubbling red pot of gumbo on the stove’s front burner.
“Of course not! It’s time for a celebration.” Spice paused. “How often does a mother see her black child promoted to captain with a major airline, and a female child at that.”
Spice expertly sliced the piping-hot pork roll then began arranging the circles of meat around a platter of roasted new potatoes, leeks and baby carrots. “However,” Spice added, “whatever food is left over, we can wrap up and deliver to the Mother Maybelle’s Soup Kitchen downtown in the morning.” As she poured a hefty amount of the hot glaze into a separate dish, Spice dipped a finger in and gingerly sampled the tangy bourbon sauce. “Mmmm,” Spice said, “perfect.”
Carmen gave the gumbo one final stir, then replaced the cover on the pot and lowered the flame. “Everything else should be ready in about fifteen minutes.”
Spice moved to the refrigerator and looked inside at its contents once again. On the top shelf, a Spinach Salad with Apple-Onion Vinaigrette glistened in a glass bowl. She checked Carmen’s work of art on the lower shelf: five lotus-shaped stemware goblets filled with Peach Melba. She breathed in the sweet scent of raspberries, kirsch, and mint through the plastic wrap.
“I haven’t even worked my usual shift yet, and I’m exhausted,” Carmen said, sitting down and putting her feet in the opposite chair, and once again removing her small flask from her apron pocket.
Spice and Carmen had been cooking since six that morning. It was now 11:10 A.M. The brunch was set to begin in just under two hours. Everything would be perfect except for the fact that Carmen refused to come. Spice thought she’d try one more time to convince her. “Carmen, I’m having a problem with you not joining us. You know how important you are to this family. It won’t be the same without you.”
“Not today, Spice.” Carmen rose to bring a dish into the living room. Stepping back, she automatically smoothed the swirled gold moiré skirt draping the buffet table that she and Spice had accented with gold silk bows. Fabergé silverware was laid out next to the red china. Ivory linen napkins were rolled through glittering cylinders of jewel-studded rings. “However,” Carmen said teasingly, “if you’d like to offer me a bottle of your private cognac, I could be persuaded into accepting one of those.”
“Of course,” Spice said, hesitantly moving toward the bar.
The south wall of the living room was dominated by an elegant black lacquer Yamaha. Beside it sat three of her most prized possessions: two papier-mâché gilt, mother of pearl and cane side chairs with a similarly painted papier-mâché mother-of-pearl cave à liqueurs. Though she rarely drank, Spice kept the bar well stocked. There were several bottles of Dom Perignon and Cristal, along with the usual stock beverages. But what Spice was particularly proud of was the case of Louis XIII cognac, valued at $1,355 a bottle, which David had given her for their twentieth anniversary.
Carmen rested her hands on her narrow hips. “I was just kidding about the cognac, girl.” She chuckled. “I could have sworn you’d say no, knowing how much those bottles mean to you.”
Spice exhaled and felt her body relax. Truly, she would have given Carmen one of the bottles, or anything else that she wanted, but she was thankful her friend didn’t feel the need to test her like that. She hugged Carmen’s tiny body, then said seriously, “If you change your mind . . .”
“Spice, I know I’m family, but today should be just kin, your brother-in-law and your daughters. Anyway, it’s been a while —”
“ — since I’ve seen Mink and Sterling. I know,” she said softly. “You’ve mentioned that before. I’ve just been so busy with this new project.”
Spice removed her apron and sat down at the kitchen table to fill Carmen in on the progress of her latest entrepreneurial adventure. Though few people knew it, Spice was opening a second Southern Spice in downtown Royal Oak. But the proj-ect was bigger than the restaurant. The new restaurant was launching Spice into the rough and tumble world of business development. To prevail, Spice had often expressed the idea that she had to appear as creative as a woman yet with a man’s strength.
Foxphasia, the $38-million hotel, restaurant and office center, was located on the northeast corner of the triple intersection of I-696 and Woodward and Washington in Royal Oak on a 6.8-acre site. Spice and two other investors had formed Foxphasia Corporation, which encompassed three office buildings of three, five, and fifteen stories respectively, a five-story condominium and a three-story children’s museum. A bridge for pedestrians would be built between the existing Detroit Zoo on the corner of I-696, and the 154-bed hotel that housed Southern Spice’s sister restaurant on the first level. The five-phase complex, due to open in the spring of 1998, was thirty percent near completion. When Spice finished telling Carmen of the plans, she clapped her hands like a child and exclaimed, “It’s getting exciting, I can tell you that, girl!”
“I’d like to see it one day.”
“Why wouldn’t you? Anytime, kiddo.” Then Spice added, “Even though my daughter is talented, I made a mistake in commissioning her to design the children’s museum — she screwed up again.”
“Sterling?”
“Yes. It took all of Otis’ and my pull to get her hired temporarily at Zuller Architectural Firm. She has to work in partnership with another architect because she’s not licensed yet. She seemed so excited about it last summer. Now she’s a month behind the bank’s deadline for approval of the plans. And the cold shoulder I’ve received lately from Zuller might never thaw.”
“Don’t worry, she’ll come through.” Reaching across the table, Carmen touched Spice’s hand. “You need someone to help you with all this.”
“Otis has offered many times to help me. But I don’t want him involved. He may be my brother-in-law, but I see him enough already. He eats dinner here every Thursday night. Daily contact would be too much.” She leaned back in her chair and turned to gaze outside. “I’m hoping to talk to the girls today about the development. It would be nice if they saw the possible benefits of building a family empire. Otherwise, it just doesn’t make any sense to work so hard for much longer.”
“Marriage is still an option.”
“One more time: I’m still not ready,” Spice said, turning to face her friend. “So it’s not. If I could only convince Sterling how important — If only Sterling would get fired up over something — anything. You know how much talent she showed while she was growing up — those sketches she’d just whip up from designing hotels to log cabins.”
“Yeah, but once she reached womanhood — Maybe she caught it from us — huh, Spice?”
“No. I don’t think so. Sterling had so much more than me — more brains, more talent, help, schooling — Oh let’s face it, it’s hopeless.”
“Sterling knows how to get to you, Spice. But she’ll come through.”
“I’m not so sure anymore about anything. I’d like to know that one of my daughters is being groomed to take over.”
“You can still have another child, Spice. You’re still a very young woman. I don’t think you’re being fair to yourself or the girls by trying to figure out their future.”
“I’ll tell you what. I won’t discuss anything serious today. We’ll just eat and have fun.” Spice forced a smile that faded quickly.
With her hand still extended on the kitchen counter, Carmen touched her friend’s arm. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” she asked.
Spice looked Carmen squarely in the eye and held it before saying, “No.”
“You’ve been acting funny since your birthday two months ago.” Carmen turned her head to the side. “Personally, I partied through most of that year. So I really can’t remember how I felt. But I’ve heard that turning forty-one is worse than turning forty.”
“I’m not an advocate of that myth,” Spice said, turning away and hearing, but not seeing Carmen take another sip from the flask.
In eight months Carmen would be forty-five. Her small body, with tiny breasts and hips, and even her full head of naturally curly hair, cut in a 60s shag, resembled a child’s. To most, Carmen appeared undernourished, and the bones of her gentle hands looked like trembling branches. It hurt Spice to see her friend’s frailty.
“It’s never the physical that concerns me most. It’s my mental attitude; staying on top of things, being in control. Life has been good to me, but I don’t want the girls to make the same mistakes that I made.”
“Mistakes teach us about life, Spice.”
“David and I worked hard to build this business, and we assumed they would want to keep it.” Spice removed the bread pudding from the oven and placed it on the butcher block to cool. “Mink’s got her own career —” Spice added quickly, “Of course I’m happy for her. But Sterling . . . Sterling.” She shook her head. “What am I going to do with her?”
“She’ll learn.”
“When? Sterling doesn’t care about anything but shopping.” Spice sighed. “I keep making excuses for her not delivering the plans at the bank, but I’m running out of lies. I didn’t raise her to be an underachiever. I know I made some mistakes early on, but —”
“You did what you had to do, Spice.”
Their eyes locked. A shared understanding was enough right now.
* * *
Sterling arrived first. Using her key to Spice’s private-access elevator and residence, she entered the duplex and hung her coat up in the front closet.
“Spice?” she called out to her mother. “Spice!” she said louder, “it’s me, Sterling.”
“Hi, baby. I’ll be down in a few minutes,” Spice yelled from upstairs. “Open a bottle of champagne while you wait.”
First, Sterling checked out the spread of food and sampled a piece of toffee before removing one of three chilled bottles of champagne on ice and moving upstairs to the library. Just as she settled down with a glass of champagne, she heard the elevator stop, followed by the sound of a key unlocking the door. In an instant Mink came into the library.
“Hello, Sterling,” she said, giving her a hug. Mink stood five foot nine, Sterling, five foot one. Sterling wore her hair long, in waves of autumn gold; Mink wore a perfectly shaped half-inch afro. Sterling’s complexion was ivory, like a delicate lily; Mink’s flawless skin was chocolate-brown. Sterling’s eyes resembled the goddess Athena’s, a striking gray that at first glance appeared blue; Mink’s eyes were a deep sepia, that mirrored the stars in midnight waters. The stunning high arch of Mink’s sculpted cheekbones, broad nose and full lips called attention to her exotic appeal; Sterling’s high forehead, sleek brows, aristocratic nose and narrow lips gave her a classical 1930’s kind of beauty.
After setting her purse down on a lower shelf of one of the bookcases, Mink asked her sister, “Where is everybody?”
“Spice is still dressing, and Otis hasn’t arrived yet.”
Sterling rose, smoothing and adjusting her cuffed sleeves just so. She felt euphoric because she knew she positively shimmered in her stunning ivory Christian Lacroix pantsuit. Three rows of lustrous gumball-sized pearls hung from her neck. Her nylons, pumps and softly painted mouth were all in muted opalescent tones. She didn’t need anyone to tell her that she looked terrific. Also, the heroin high didn’t hurt.
“Join me in a glass of champagne,” she said, reaching inside the library liquor cabinet for another crystal flute. Sterling poured a drink for her sister, then toasted her. “Congratulations on your promotion.”
* * *
Leaning over her dressing table, Spice reapplied her make-up for the third time. She’d underestimated how nervous she’d be and couldn’t get her hands to stop shaking. Consequently, at 1:20 P.M. she wasn’t dressed.
Finally, make-up as good as it was going to get, Spice left her room with an air of forced relaxation and headed toward the familiar sound of her daughters’ voices. She hesitated for a moment and took a deep breath just outside the entrance to the library. Just as she was ready to go in, she heard the catty tone in Sterling’s voice as she spoke to her elder sister.
“You might as well hear about it from me,” Sterling said loftily. “The dean’s wife caught us together.”
“Did she catch you in his bed or yours?” Mink was clearly having trouble controlling her voice to a low roar. “Never mind, I don’t want to hear the vulgar details.”
“Neither. It was in the back seat of his car in the school’s parking lot.”
“Jesus!” Mink exploded, “how stupid can you get. How stupid could
he
get?”
Sterling began detailing how their affair had begun. There was no remorse in her tone. The innocent meeting about her appointed advisor turned into a re-assignment to the dean himself. In this small school there wasn’t anyone left in the liberal arts college to mentor her besides Dean Harris. The rest of the seamy business was as natural for Sterling as a lizard eating spiders. Dean Timothy Harris was a name and a body to add to her list. And he was bait for hooking Bennie, the only man she cared about — or so she told herself.
Cutting off Sterling’s melodramatic tale, Spice walked into the room. “Hello, girls,” Spice said, kissing Mink then Sterling on the cheek. As she stood back to appraise them, she said, “You both look stunning.”
“So do you, Spice.” Mink poured her mother a glass of champagne.
“Thank you,” she said, accepting the drink from Mink. Turning to Sterling, Spice said, “Finish your story,” then took a seat on the velvet ottoman in the middle of the room.
Mink took a seat beside Spice and gently patted her on the knee.
Even though Sterling had consistently won top grades in undergraduate school, her flagrant disregard of discipline policies was the core of all her problems. And the problem was getting worse. She’d been expelled from one architectural program after another. And the sad part was — soon she’d be out of options.
“Anyway, somebody spotted us in the car and called security, they found us and a half-gram of cocaine. The assistant dean suspended me. Harris took a paid leave of absence.”