“Dang,” L. C. said on the phone as he made his way over to the group. “I hope he saves a piece for me. ’Cause I did not like
how Robert did Veronica. Wasn’t nothing right about that.”
“I hope there is some left, L. C. But I will make sure to get some good pictures for you,” Lynette said, and started photographing
the altercation with her fancy cell phone.
Robert happened to turn around and see Lynette snapping pictures of him with her phone as if this were some kind of reality
TV show. He walked up to Lynette and put his hand over the part of the phone capturing him on digital camera.
Lynette drew her head back and then snatched her phone out of Robert’s reach. She said, “Oh …
Oh
…
Oh
, no you did not just try and front me, Robert Herman Washington. I guess you must want this to be the ultimate throwdown.”
“Hold on, baby,” L. C. said as he pulled his fedora off his head by the front tip of the crown, put it in Lynette’s hand,
and pushed her back with his arm. “This ain’t a fight for you as much as I know you want to be in it.”
Lynette started jumping around saying, “
Yeah
… that’s
my man
fighting for
my honor
. Get him, baby, get him.”
Obadiah, who was talking with Curtis and Maurice about the pending game, looked across the banquet hall and said, “What is
in the water up in here tonight?”
“What do you mean, Obadiah?” Maurice asked.
“Look.” He pointed to the ruckus that was now taking place. “Over there. Charles Robinson and L. C. Smith are about to kick
Robert Washington’s butt.”
“Shoot,” Curtis said. “I’m not going to miss this. The only negro other than Rico Sneed that everybody in Durham County wants
a piece of is that negro, Robert Washington.”
The three of them practically sprinted across the hall, and made it just in time to see L. C. backhand Robert. At this point,
two of Robert’s boys showed up. But Charles’s boys Pierre and Bay rolled up on them and quietly opened their suit coats, and
Robert’s boys got ghost.
Tracey could not believe how this had gone down. It had been her idea to come over here and rub the relationship in Robert’s
ex-wife’s face. But she realized that this was not such a good idea after all. Her friends had warned her about coming down
here from Baltimore and starting stuff with those crazy black folks in the Bull City.
Now, her man was getting his butt kicked like he was a little B on the corner. And that was definitely not sexy in her book.
In fact, she’d been pondering on this relationship for a moment. Robert had lied and told her that they were going to live
in that house he moved out of in Carillon Forest, only to have her move into that apartment in Bismarck Ridge.
Tracey would never forget how she felt when Robert picked her up at the airport and drove her to the new place he had been
boasting about for months. And now, there was Veronica standing there eating a chicken wing, dressed to the nines, and watching
Robert get a beatdown, as if she were watching one of those fights on a show like
I Love New York 2.
“I guess I should try and do something like a good pastor and stop the fray, huh,” Denzelle, who had just joined them, mumbled
through a mouth stuffed full of shrimp, with about as much enthusiasm as somebody petitioning for an extra dose of the flu
shot.
“Well, uh, I guess so, Pastor,” Maurice said with great hesitation. “But you know—all in God’s timing. Ecclesiastes clearly
states that there is a season for everything.”
“I see what you mean. We don’t want to interfere with the workings of the Lord, now do we, church,” Denzelle replied solemnly,
and tried not to start laughing when he glanced over at his boy Obadiah.
Robert threw a hard punch in the air, hoping that the power of his swing would offset some of his reputation damage, and he
wouldn’t walk away looking like a total poot-butt. He stood up straight, squared off his shoulders, and walked up to Veronica,
who was now working on the second chicken wing, which she personally thought tasted better than the shrimp everybody was gobbling
down.
She stopped chewing and looked up at Robert, who was a big, thick brother, and obviously spent a lot of time in the gym.
He jabbed his finger at Veronica and said in that harsh, bellowing, and nasty voice he was so famous for, “This is your fault.
That’s why I’m with Tracey and not you. Couldn’t teach you anything. All you want to do is read your Bible and pray. So what
has God done for you, Veronica? Huh?
Tell me.
”
If Robert had said that to Veronica a year ago, those words would have cut through her like a knife. But God had done a lot
for Veronica Washington in the time that Robert Herman had been out of her life. Perhaps it was time to give this man a testimony
of just how much God could do.
“Robert Herman,” Veronica began, knowing that Robert hated it when she called him by his first and middle name. “God answered
my prayers and snatched you out of my house because you are crazy and don’t need to be there.
“God provided for my mortgage so that I could live comfortably and enjoy my beautiful, custom-made home after you used our
money to buy this ho-hussy-heifer a plane ticket down to Durham, when you stayed at the Four Points Hotel in Baltimore, ate
at the Timbuktu Restaurant Lounge in Hanover, Maryland, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, ad nauseam.
“God comforted me every time Stewie here called my house asking for you to pay her 280-dollar cell phone bill or take her
shopping at Macy’s in Columbia, Maryland, with money that was
stolen
from our household budget. God has restored everything about my money and I have more than enough. God took away all of the
love I had for you and turned it into forgiveness and
agape
love so that I could live a blessed and prosperous life.
“
God
,” Veronica said, putting great emphasis on the word, “told me not to answer your phone calls, letters, or e-mails about coming
to
my
house to get what you have erroneously assumed are your belongings. Because there is nothing, absolutely nothing in
my
house that belongs to the likes of
you
. And in fact, if you want to know where your little pitiful mess is, go on over to the Durham Rescue Mission and ask them
if they’d like to sell it back to you.
“And my God gave me comfort and peace concerning all of your cheating and dirty dealing. Because all of the gym workouts and
Viagara tablets in the whole wide world will not increase your stamina or add any extra inches to that short appendage you
put such stock in. That’s what God has done for me. And if you will excuse me, Robert Herman Washington, I have some chicken
wings that I have to finish eating—and you and your big-head skoochie are interrupting the flow of my meal.”
“You think you bad ’cause you got all of this backup. But they won’t be with you all the time,” Robert snarled.
“Oh, that is where you are wrong, dawg,” Charles told him. And then turned to Veronica and said, “You better call me before
you call 911”—he patted the holster under his arm—“because I got something that will definitely be the right answer to that
call.”
“I’m not through with you, Miss Veronica,” Robert spat out, snatched Stewie by the arm, and turned to storm off. But he didn’t
get far before one of those chicken wings came sailing through the air and hit him upside his head.
“Dang,” Lynette said to L. C. “I told you ’bout those little quiet ones. Robert Herman better get gone before he finds himself
lying up under some dirt fertilizing Veronica’s tomatoes. We go over there and will be asking her what she did to grow all
of those pretty tomatoes.”
At that moment, Dayeesha and Miss Deena, followed by Miss Hattie Lee, came from out back with more food and some new pastry
dishes. They looked around the room and at the cluster of black folks bunched up in a corner looking pissed and whispering.
“Did we miss something, Miss M?” Dayeesha asked Marquita.
Yvonne nodded her head yes. This had been some day. She looked across the room for Curtis, hoping he was as ready to go as
she was. And she didn’t care if he was the head coach and one of the main reasons that everybody was here. This year it was
different. They needed to go home and get some rest. And then they needed to show up at church on Sunday morning and pray.
Curtis had to win the game with Bouclair College, and prayer—not this reception—was the only thing that was going to make
that happen.
Curtis saw Yvonne looking at him and told Maurice and Obadiah.
“I need to get baby girl home. She is exhausted and so am I. Maurice, will you hold down the fort for me?”
“Bye” was all Maurice said and then he added, “What about the team? We’re here because every single year, this school wants
to celebrate its basketball team. And that team is nowhere in sight.”
“And they aren’t going to be anywhere in sight. I gave them the evening off after you left practice. You know that most of
them would rather be anywhere but here. Plus, we have practice bright and early in the morning. Those boys need to be under
the bed about now.”
“What time?” Maurice asked.
“Seven-thirty sharp.”
“I won’t be too far behind you, dawg. I’ll make the rounds and then head on out. You and the team are coming to the Family
and Friends Day this Sunday?”
Curtis nodded. He’d told the team that if anybody missed service at Fayetteville Street Church, they’d be benched. And he
knew that his best players would be there because they all went to church. The only ones he had to be concerned about were
June Bug Washington and DeMarcus Brown. And since he wanted to keep those two on the bench, he hoped they stayed true to form
and rebelled against anything he had to say—this time by not showing up for church.
He headed over toward Yvonne, who was already walking in his direction with her new purse on the old-lady spot high up on
her arm—a clear sign that it was time to go.
“Ready?”
“Yeah … I’m tired, Curtis.”
“I hear you, baby,” he told her, marveling at how easy it was to be with Yvonne, and how comfortable he felt thinking of her
as “baby.”
“You wait here in the lobby while I go and get the car.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Yvonne said. She’d gotten a good
whoosh
of that night air and it was a whole lot chillier than it had been when they first arrived.
“Enjoying your last semester at Eva T., Mrs. Copeland?”
Yvonne didn’t even have to turn around to figure out whom that voice belonged to.
“She iggin’ us, man,” Yvonne heard Kordell Bivens say. Funny, she didn’t remember seeing Castilleo Palmer tonight. He usually
made it his business to be around when some dirt was going on.
“You short a troll tonight,” Yvonne said, without even turning around.
“I beg your pardon, sweetheart,” Gilead said and came to stand next to her.
“Beggin’ my pardon for what? If you’re short a troll, you’re short a troll.”
Yvonne couldn’t believe how good and bold she was feeling right now. Just this morning she was sitting in her car crying and
wondering how she and her babies were going to make it. And now she had a check buried in her fancy new purse that guaranteed
a sweet and very permanent position at Evangeline T. Marshall University. God was so good, and He had a great sense of humor.
“Let’s go, Gilead. I’m bored with this gig, and want to head over to Rumpshakers for some much needed R & R,” Kordell said.
“They’re closed, man,” Gilead told him. “Didn’t you see all of the bosses here tonight?”
“Then where was Castilleo when he texted me and said for us to get over there ASAP? I had a taste for watching Sweet Red work
that thang.”
“Out at the strip club in the boonies not too far from Warren County.”
“Ain’t that kinda far?” Kordell asked.
“Yeah it is. But it’s our only choice this evening,” Gilead replied.
“Well, Warren County it is,” Kordell answered, disappointed. “This club must be way out in the middle of nowhere. I’ve been
to Warren County recruiting players and I’ve never seen anything remotely close to a club, except that hole in the wall that
looks like it got lost in a time warp called Sock It to Me.”
Gilead didn’t open his mouth.
Kordell shook his head. He could not believe that was where they were going. Life was getting rougher by the minute. He pulled
out his phone and texted his boy Rico: “Head on up to Sock It to Me in Warren County. Rumpshakers is closed tonight.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Rico texted back.
“Naw, dawg. That’s where Castilleo is, holding down the fort, waiting for us.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I help Marquita load up.”
“How are you going to get out?”
“Pick a fight and then tell her I need to get out and meet up with the fellas for a few beers. She’ll buy it.
“Plus, she’ll be happy to make it up to me when I act crazy about how she had the napkins and tablecloths folded and stacked
up all wrong.”
“You are so wrong, Rico.”
“Maybe. But do you want me to come or not?”
“We’ll see you in Warren County.”
“Does this hole in the wall offer more than just some strippers?”
Kordell didn’t know the answer to that question and he certainly wasn’t about to discuss it with Marquita’s girl standing
there. He showed the text to Gilead, who grinned, took the cell, and sent the message he knew Rico wanted to hear.
“More than just strippers is an understatement … even Rumpshakers can’t offer what you’ll get at this place … It’s
a good thing it is a hole in the wall out in the middle of nowhere. Or else we’d be wearing some orange jumpsuits.”
“My kind of place,” Rico texted back and then sent a smiley face to emphasize his point.
Curtis pulled up in front of the hotel entrance, hopped out, and opened the passenger door for Yvonne, who couldn’t get away
from those men fast enough.
They drove off before any exchange could occur between Curtis and his so-called colleagues. This had to be the weirdest day
he’d had in a long time—no, ever. He slipped a CD in but was stopped by Yvonne.