The Night Before Thirty (17 page)

“Do you want iced tea with your dinner? It's sweetened.”

“It's like that? I even get iced tea?”

“I take that to mean yes,” Elise said, and pulled out glasses from the cabinet.

“If you want,” she said, “we can take this into the living room and watch the game.”

“Who's playing right now?”

“Well, the game that was playing when you called is over. The Colts lost to the Giants. Dallas versus the Patriots just came on.”

“Dallas is my team, but let's eat first … and talk. We can catch the second half over dessert.”

“Okay,” Elise agreed.

“So, how is everything going over at the gym since the robbery?”

“Well, as you know, we've had to budget in a security guard just for the last two hours of the day. An unexpected expense,” Elise said, feeling frustrated.

“The unexpecteds always manage to creep in, throwing off the budget.”

“Hattie, my accountant, bought another watch for Mike's girlfriend, and the Office of Minority Services assisted him in repurchasing his books. Believe me, Gotta Flip is grateful for the assistance.”

“That's a tough break. I hate that it happened to you. But I'm glad that everything turned out okay.”

“I just thank God that neither of us got shot.” Elise couldn't help but visualize how pitiful she and Mike had felt, kneeling down on the concrete, frightened for their lives.

“Me too, because if you did, I wouldn't have had the opportunity to be sitting here with you, sharing this meal,” he said and smiled. “And let me tell you, this dressing is almost as good as my momma's.”

Elise laughed. Allen had a great personality. She had gotten comfortable meeting with him at the gym. It was strange having him in her home, in a personal setting, but she liked having him there.

“Hattie really is a nice lady,” Allen commented.

“Yeah, she really is. She's been so helpful to me this year.”

“Yeah, me too,” Allen said underneath his breath.

“What did you say?” Elise asked.

“Oh, nothing. When's your birthday?” he asked.

“My birthday?” The question seemed out of place to Elise, but she answered anyway, assuming that he was making small talk. “December first. Why? When's yours?”

“No reason. But mine's August twenty-first.”

“Oh, okay.” Elise smiled.

After dinner, they sat on Elise's sofa, watched Dallas clobber the Patriots, ate pumpkin pie, and drank eggnog. They conversed between
plays, and Elise found herself daydreaming about them breaking into a passionate kiss. But she knew that wasn't going to happen. Allen and she were business associates, maybe becoming friends. He didn't appear to have ever looked at her as someone he would want to become intimate with. Any idea of a romance with him had to be pushed aside. So Elise forced herself to become even more into the game than usual. If he was interested, he would have to let her know.

ASHAWNDA PACKED A
bag for a weekend at her mother's apartment in Bankhead, Georgia, while Cicely prepared to take a train to Charlotte, North Carolina, to spend the weekend with her parents. Communication between the two of them had been shaky the past few weeks. At work, they were fine, like old friends. At home, things were much different. As Lashawnda attempted to keep up with Cicely's need for intimacy and stroking, she found herself growing emotionally detached. She was glad to have the break from her. Instead of spending the entire weekend with her mother, she was going to spend one night and drive back after dinner on Thanksgiving Day. She wanted to spend the rest of the weekend alone at the house to contemplate how she was going to proceed with their relationship.

After putting her suitcase into Cicely's car, Lashawnda walked upstairs to the bedroom, where Cicely was closing her suitcase.

“Your train leaves at eight, right?” Lashawnda asked. “Do you need a ride?”

“No. I've arranged for a car to pick me up.”

“Oh, okay. I'm gonna go ahead and take off. My mother wants me to help her clean the chitterlings.”

“Pew!” Cicely said, keeping things light.

“I know. But what would Thanksgiving at my momma's be like without the scent of chitterlings lingering through the apartment?”

Lashawnda looked Cicely over. She was dressed casually in jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers. Even dressed down, she was as glamorous as the first day Lashawnda met her, only without the mystique. In fact, Cicely was now a bit of a disappointment to Lashawnda, as if she'd met her favorite movie star and found out that her personality wasn't really as great as had been projected by the media.

How did we ever get here?
she wondered. She turned to walk out of the room.

“Hey, I don't even get a hug good-bye?” Cicely asked.

As Lashawnda turned around and caught Cicely's eyes, she felt guilty; she was betraying Cicely by having a change of heart about their relationship. She walked over to Cicely, and they slowly and carefully embraced.

“See you when I get back.” Cicely smiled.

“Have a good time with the folks,” Lashawnda replied. She waved good-bye and walked out.

ON HER DRIVE
back through the neighborhood, Lashawnda noticed the increasing number of cars parked in driveways and at the edge of lawns. Her next-door neighbor had so many cars that they were lined up in front of her own lawn. She pulled Cicely's car into the garage and felt a wave of relief when the door came down behind her. Finally, some time alone.

Her mother had been disappointed that Lashawnda left earlier than planned, but she was having her own drama with her new live-in boyfriend, John. Lashawnda was glad to get away from there because the couple had argued all morning long, made up long enough for a civil dinner, and, by the time she was heading out, were at it again.

She stepped outside of the car, stretched, and then looked around. She was a long way from her mother's two-bedroom apartment, where there were broken-down cars in the lot. The grass was balding and there was bound to be a shouting match at any given moment between neighbors, Lashawnda's mother included. The homes in Alpharetta had
garages and nicely manicured lawns. The neighbors were quiet and friendly.

Lashawnda wondered what her next place of residence would be like. She knew for sure that she could never go back to Bankhead, not as a resident, anyway. But she wouldn't be able to afford Alpharetta anytime soon.

She slid her key into the door and walked into the kitchen. The aroma of cooked food met her nose. She stopped and looked around through to the living room. Nobody was in there; however, jazz music was echoing through the house.

Lashawnda's first thought was to walk back out. Apparently Cicely had missed her train or decided to stay home alone herself. Lashawnda didn't want Cicely to know she'd come back early. She didn't want to disturb Cicely's moment of aloneness because she would have been disappointed if things were the other way around, if, after getting home first, she'd been ambushed by Cicely.

Where could she go? She surely didn't want to go back to her mother's. There was noplace.
Think, Lashawnda, think!
She scanned her brain for ideas. The only thing that came to mind was a motel, but where she was from, people only stayed in a motel when they were out of town or sneaking to get their freaks on.

Why not? I'm grown. I can afford it. It'll still allow me to be alone, and Cicely wouldn't have to know that I stopped by,
she thought.

She turned to tiptoe back to the garage, when, in the silence between songs on the jazz CD, she heard the faint sound of a voice.

Cicely must be on the phone,
she reasoned, but couldn't help but want to eavesdrop. Lashawnda turned back around and crept to the edge of the staircase. Cicely's voice was coming from their bedroom. From where she was standing, Lashawnda could see that the door was closed, and she heard a voice. However, she couldn't hear well enough to decipher words. So she took a deep breath, eyed the stairs, and before she could stop herself, her feet moved up the steps. She reached the top and rushed into the guest room across from the master bedroom. Standing just behind the entry, she peeped around to get in better listening range.

The music from the living room was distracting, but Lashawnda concentrated. Cicely was giggling.

“No, that would be you,” she said.

Lashawnda tried to steady her body to keep the slightest movement to a minimum.

“Oh, I know I'm sexy. If I wasn't, you wouldn't have invited me to your room,” the other voice purred.

Lashawnda's mouth dropped.

“You want to know what I like?” Cicely asked.

“What's that?”

“To feel your soft lips against my skin.”

“Oh really?” the other voice chuckled.

“Really,” Cicely responded. “Can I get more of that feeling?”

“It would be my pleasure,” the voice responded.

Lashawnda pulled herself away from the door and fell against the wall. Her eyes widened and her arms went limp.

Her instinct was right. It was time to move on. Cicely had actually beaten her to the punch—she'd already brought another woman into their bed.
That bitch!
Lashawnda thought.
She's worse than any of the men from my past. At least with them, I knew they were dogs.

She started to leave, but caught herself.
I've got to confront this.
Lashawnda moved toward their bedroom. She didn't rush, nor did she hesitate; she just moved naturally toward the room that had been partially hers for half a year. Just as casually as she'd open that door any other day, she turned the doorknob and walked inside.

Candles were lit throughout, casting shadows of light on the walls, while cigarette smoke and Cicely's perfume heavily scented the room. She was lying on her back on top of their nice duvet cover as a beautiful woman with long hair and a beautiful lean backside lay draped on top of Cicely, cupping one of her breasts with one hand and playfully licking the other. Cicely's eyes were closed, an expression of pleasure on her face. She didn't even notice that Lashawnda had walked in.

Wait a minute,
Lashawnda thought.
Isn't that …
She couldn't hold it in. “Marissa?” she said aloud, surprise in her voice.

Marissa, one of Cicely's patients, looked behind her and saw Lashawnda standing beside the bed. She didn't even try to cover herself, just looked Lashawnda directly in the eye and smirked deceitfully.

Cicely jumped up. She turned pale. “Lashawnda?” she questioned, as if to make sure Lashawnda was actually standing there.

“What are you doing here?” Cicely's face filled with guilt. She reached for her gown and fumbled to put it over her head.

“The last time I checked, this was where I lived.”

“Calm down,” Cicely said.

“Believe me, I am calm. I'm not even mad. How are you doing, Marissa?”

Marissa's mouth moved, but nothing came out.

“Listen, Cicely. I'm going to go to the bathroom and get that nice bubble bath and salt scrub you got for me. Then I'm going to leave. You two can get back to whatever you were doing.”

Cicely stood up off the bed, but she didn't move. Lashawnda went into the bathroom, picked up her bath products, and came back out. She planted a smile of disbelief on her face as she looked at Marissa sitting and Cicely standing, both looking dumbfounded.

Before she walked out of the door she stopped and said, “By the way, watch yourself, Marissa, this one lays it on thick. Three years will fly by before you know what hit you.”

Marissa rolled her eyes and folded her arms.

Lashawnda looked at Cicely one more time. Cicely no longer looked like the in control, together power figure Lashawnda looked up to. The sight of her there with Marissa was disgusting. Lashawnda couldn't digest the two of them any longer, so she quickly turned away and shot out the door.

She grabbed the rail at the top of the stairs and sat down on the top step. She had to catch her breath, accept the reality of what she'd just witnessed. Lashawnda stared down the steps. She knew that when she walked down them, her life would never be the same. She was struck with fear. How would she ever be able to trust again?