What Goes Around (13 page)

Donald shrieked and put his hands up to his face like he was blocking a punch; Lauren reared back. Brandi and her friends let out a series of huffs and giggles and head shakes.

“Oh,” Fly said, a little more tenderly. “I see, I see. Y'all were here to buy the boots. Who are the boots for, homegirl here, or you?”

Donald didn't dare open his mouth; Lauren squeezed his hand in hopes that it would calm him.
Hold on, Donald,
she said to herself.
It'll be over soon, hopefully without us being carried out on a stretcher.

“Like I was saying,” Brandi said, turning serious again. “I'm beginning to think Jermaine could teach your family a thing or two about class and how to be legit.”

Lauren's eyes narrowed to slits.

“What, you didn't know?” Brandi asked. She leaned in some more. “Yeah, Rodney may have been the wild child, but Jermaine is The One. While y'all are spending Altimus's dirty money, he's getting the grades, scoring the points on the court, working with the kids, taking care of his mom, and doing the right thing—trying to be somebody special. No, matter of fact, he
is
special—to all of us.”

“And what makes you think he's not special to me?” Lauren insisted, albeit with a tone much less threatening.

Brandi's friends groaned; she sucked her teeth. “If he's so special, why you locking fingers with ole Armani boy, here?” Ki'anna asked.

“He must be some kind of prince of Buckhead or something,” Lisa chimed in.

“But, you know what?” Brandi said. “Jermaine is
our
prince, and we're tired of girls like you coming around and slumming it with thugs to get mommy and daddy mad, and then going back to your big houses and your cozy little lives up under the people who forgot where they came from and ain't interested in doing anything but staying clear of the hood. Jermaine is ours.”

“Look, I don't want any trouble,” Lauren said. “Jermaine is my friend, too.”

“Did. I. Stutter?” Brandi said, getting in Lauren's face.

“Excuse me, you're going to have to take this somewhere else,” said one of the saleswomen, cautiously creeping up on the group. The walkie-talkie in her hand squawked; a deep male voice warned that security was on the way.

Mortified, Lauren raised her hands in mock surrender. “No, no, we were on our way out—it's okay,” she told the woman.

“Yeah, so are we,” Ki'anna said.

“Not without paying for that,” the saleswoman snapped, pointing at the lime-green sweat suit Brandi was rocking.

“Yeah, we're gonna take that—and all that other stuff she tried on, too,” Fly said, whipping his finger in the air. He pulled out a wad of cash like he was going to hit the saleswoman off right there at the door.

“You're going to have to come to the cash register with the clothes so that I can ring them up,” she said.

“Okay, Lauren, let's head for the car—don't want to miss that appointment, right?” Donald grinned nervously.

“Yeah, see you around—but not in the West End, correct?” Brandi said through clenched teeth.

Lauren simply turned on her heel and grabbed Donald's hand.

“Oh, and tell your Uncle Larry the crew said what up,” Fly said.

Uncle Larry?
Lauren asked herself.
What the
…

Before Lauren could begin to consider how Fly knew her uncle, Donald snatched her arm and practically dragged her out of the store. “Come on, dammit,” he said, looking over his shoulder wildly. “Are you waiting for them to tear us from limb to limb?”

“Donald, I'm gonna need you to calm down,” Lauren said, doing her best to walk fast, despite her sore toes.

“We could go to the valet and get the car and skedaddle, but I'm afraid they might catch up to us there. I think we should make a break for one of the restaurants.”

“They may be heading to dinner after the big Juicy splurge,” Lauren said, hobbling alongside Donald as best she could.

“Right. My guess is they'll be grubbing at Johnny Rockets or Chik-fil-A,” Donald deadpanned. He reached
into his jacket pocket and pulled out his iPhone. “We should head over to TWIST. I'll give my uncle a heads-up to let his staff know not to let anyone who looks like they're from the set of
Menace II Society
through the front door.”

“And what if they're still here when we leave?” Lauren asked nervously.

“Good point,” Donald acknowledged. He thought for a moment. “Okay, I'll have my uncle send a car that'll meet us out back. We can have some tapas and a cocktail and head out before they figure out we disappeared.”

“Wait,” Lauren said, stopping short. “Not another step.” She braced herself on Donald's arm while she snatched off her Louboutins. Under any other circumstance, Lauren would never have run barefoot anywhere but the beach. However, desperate times called for desperate measures. The stilettos were dangling from her fingers when she and Donald rushed to a waiting booth in a quiet corner toward the back of the dining room. Almost as quickly as they were seated, their waiter brought over steaming plates of the roasted herb gnocchi, the crispy calamari, the beef-and-olive empanadas, and two miniburgers.

“I'll have the peach martini,” Donald said nonchalantly, like he'd been ordering liquor for years.

Lauren gave him the side-eye. “I'll have a Sprite, thanks.”

“Look, sweetie, I just almost got my behind whipped in the middle of Phipps Plaza, like we were walking through Greenbriar Mall. I have never.”

“I know, I'm still shaking,” Lauren said. “Every time I run into that girl, she comes this close to stomping me to a pulp,” she added, holding her thumb and pointer finger together. “I just can't figure out what about her makes me such a punk. I mean, I stared her down and gave her a piece of my mind once, but…”

“But she's, like, a foot taller and from the West End—no need to explain,” Donald said.

“Yeah, but I don't usually back down for anyone. And then I run into Brandi, and all of a sudden I'm ready to scream like a little girl. I can't call that.”

“The question is, why do you keep running into her?” Donald asked.

“What do you mean? She lives in the West End, near Jermaine. They hang out in the same places…”

“Yeah, but if you didn't go see Jermaine, you wouldn't have to deal with the cast of
New Jack City.
Aren't you tired of her? I mean, really, is Jermaine worth all of this?”

“He's a good guy,” Lauren said weakly.

“Yeah, but good enough for you that you can take the beat down from his friends and yours, too?”

Lauren thought about how she ditched him after dance
squad practice rather than introduce him to her girls. Remembering the look on his face made her stomach queasy.

“I like him a lot, Donald—the first guy in a long time that I've even remotely considered calling my boyfriend,” she said. “Well, the first one who really is my boyfriend. You don't count.”

Donald laughed and took a bite of his empanada.

“I think he's worth fighting for,” she added.

“Uh-huh—but is he worth getting your ass kicked for—that's the question,” Donald said, barely letting his martini hit the table before he took a sip. He swallowed hard and took another sip. “Altimus and Keisha can't stand him, your father is in jail because of him—well, kinda—and the first and last time any of our friends peeped him, he was running through your lake house like an escaped convict. I'm just trying to figure out what you're hanging on to, because at this point the only connections y'all got are a couple of kisses, a funeral, and bail money.”

“Wow, you just took a left and went all the way there, huh?”

“Donald is always going to tell the truth, baby,” he smirked, popping a piece of calamari into his mouth.

“Yeah, I guess that's why I keep you around,” Lauren laughed. “You'd be the perfect boyfriend for me. I need to figure out how to bump off Sexy Lexy.”

“Oh, please, not until after Christmas,” Donald cooed. “I'm looking forward to my thank-you after I get him those shades. I guess I'm going to have to make it back over here to get those, huh?”

“You can go back out there if you want to,” Lauren started.

“Nah, I'm just fine right here with my girl and my snacks and my drinks, thank you,” Donald laughed. “You couldn't pay me to go back out there—not today, not now.”

“I feel you on that one, fo' sho',” she said. “Fo' sho'.”

“Okay, I am so torn right now,” Rhea grumbled from the oversized massage chair on Sydney's right-hand side. She slammed closed the copy of
The Vow
that she was reading.

“What's wrong, Rhea?” Carmen asked as she placed a copy of
Essence
on her lap and leaned forward from her own seat to look at her friend with concern.

“You know my indecisive ass is still debating which dress to wear tonight. And I just realized that I have to make my decision before she puts on my polish,” Rhea said with a splash of her foot in the bubbling aqua-colored whirlpool. “If I go with the sparkly dark blue that I saw in
CosmoGIRL!
, I might be doing too much with the magenta Richard Tyler strapless. But if I do the neutral, flesh-tone pink, it'll be a wash against the crimson Armani full length.”

“Hmm,” Sydney murmured as she envisioned the two dresses Rhea had purchased for the night's highly anticipated event. Although the two dresses were completely different styles, her BFF looked absolutely hot in both choices. So she totally understood the dilemma.

“Personally, I think a Sadie Hawkins deserves a little flash. I mean, how often do the girls get to choose their dates, right?” Carmen questioned, picking up her magazine again. “Go with the hot pink,” she voted as her nail technician gently massaged the soles of her feet with the sweet almond-scented lotion.

“Wait a sec, what color suit is Tim wearing? That might help,” Sydney said as she lifted her feet out of the water so that her own technician could begin trimming her nails and cuticles.

“Square or round?” the cute Hispanic woman asked before she began clipping away.

“Square with rounded sides, please,” Sydney replied absentmindedly.

“He's wearing a dark gray Hugo Boss suit,” Rhea said. “We picked it out together about two weeks ago.”

“In that case, definitely go with the hot pink,” Sydney stated authoritatively.

“Are you guys sure?”

“Absolutely,” chirped Carmen. “Hot pink with great makeup and hair and a neutral nail is the only way to go.”

Sydney nodded affirmatively. “If you're totally married to a dark nail, I think I saw this amazing dark-silver Chanel polish in the last issue of
Elle UK
.” She tried not to wiggle her toes as she thought about her own dress for the night. Originally, she wanted to go with a gray three-quarter-length halter dress she found in Bloomie's, but on second thought, she realized that the gray would clash with her bracelet, so she switched up to a golden Elie Saab number that she found on the pages of last month's
Vanity Fair.
With a sparkling natural-colored sheer overlay on top of the nude-colored silk, the one-shouldered beauty made Sydney look like she was wearing a cluster of stars. She couldn't wait for Jason to see her later that night.

“Done, done, and done,” Rhea said, finally closing the case on her clothing dilemma. “Excuse me,” she said, leaning forward toward the blond-haired woman working on her feet. “Can you please see if you guys have a dark-silver Chanel polish?”

“I know just the one you're thinking about,” the woman confirmed with a crooked smile. “I'll be right back.”

“See, everything worked itself out,” Carmen mused as she handed Sydney the copy of
Essence
and picked up the issue of
In Touch
she had stashed at her side.

“Thank you very much,” Sydney said as she immediately flipped to the cover story on Raven-Symoné.

Rhea's nail technician returned and handed the bottle
to Rhea for her approval. “So did I tell you guys that Tim's older brother booked him a huge suite in the Ritz-Carlton downtown?” Rhea asked casually as she handed the bottle back to the blond woman with an approving nod.

“What?” Carmen almost dropped her magazine in the tub.

Sydney's head snapped toward her best friend. “Are you serious? You're going to spend the night at the Ritz with Tim? Omigod, you guys have only been dating for, like, two seconds,” Sydney blurted out.

“Relax, you two.” Rhea laughed at her friends' scandalous assumptions. “He's totally throwing an after party there, that's all. There's no way in the world my mom would let me spend the night out with some boy I just met.”

Sydney released an audible sigh of relief. “Thank God! For a second, I thought we were going to have to call your parents and stage a bootleg A&E
Intervention
.”

“Don't ever play like that again,” Carmen warned. “Or I might lock your fast butt up in a closet until you get married!”

“No need to worry about me and Tim just yet,” Rhea laughed briefly. “He's still trying to figure out how to get to second base without getting his little feelings hurt.” All three of the girls groaned in sympathy. Then she sobered up and looked at her friends. “But what about you? Carm, you've been dating Michael for almost four months. And
Sydney's got the new golden handcuff. I know you guys have at least talked about it with your boyfriends.”

What an appropriate description,
Sydney thought as she looked down at her bracelet and remembered Jason's cryptic words, “nothing in life is really free.” Although they'd engaged in some pretty intense kissing sessions, so far Jason had been a total gentleman. But at the rate the relationship was going, she wondered how long that would last.

“Obviously, we've talked about it,” Carmen admitted. “And yes, nosey, we've made it past second base. But he's really good about waiting until I'm comfortable trying anything more. Although, honestly, every time I look at Dara, I move further and further away from ever being ready. Who really wants to be a statistic?”

“You're so right,” Rhea nodded. “I mean, my mom totally took me to the GYN right after I turned sixteen just to get my first checkup, but that certainly wasn't the wildout pass. She was very clear that I had to respect my body because no one else was going to do it for me.”

“Things between Jason and me are definitely intense,” Sydney said. “But I'm not ready to make that move. Bracelet or no bracelet, I don't want to rush into anything that I can't get out of, you know?”

“I know that's right,” Carmen co-signed with a smile. “Although, I must say, it is a beautiful piece of jewelry.”

“Amen to that, my sister,” Rhea chirped as she settled back into her seat.

“You guys are soooo retarded,” Sydney said with a laugh.

“Uh-uh, not half as retarded as Essence Dervay is gonna look if she wears the dress that she was spotted trying on at Dillard's,” Rhea objected. “I saw the photos on YRT and trust, it's a situation!”

“Oh, I missed those,” Carmen whispered gleefully. “Was it really bad?”

Rhea gave her a look. “Let's just say, if it was me, I would schedule an intervention session my damn self.”

Sydney fought to control her giggles. “You guys! Stop! That is so not nice,” she chided, looking around nervously. After spending the last couple of months as a regular on YRT, she was extra sympathetic to the latest gossip-blog victims.

“My bad,” Rhea said as Carmen let one last giggle slip.

Sydney shook her head and reopened the magazine. “So back to the Ritz,” she said, steering the conversation toward the evening's activities. “Are we all invited, or is this, like, some baseball-team-only thing?”

“Of course you guys are totally invited,” Rhea insisted. “His brother only booked it last night so he hasn't had a chance to tell that many people, but I think it'll be fun.”

“Works for me,” Carmen said with a smile. “At least I'll
get some wear and tear out of the six-hundred-dollar dress my parents bought me,” she said, referring to her sapphire-blue Nicole Miller strapless full length.

“True,” Sydney said as her green Hermès Kelly bag started buzzing. “Oh, God, I hope this isn't my mom,” Sydney complained. “When I left the house this morning to get my hair done, I threatened to chop it all off just to scare her. I'll bet she's on the verge of a freaking breakdown,” Sydney laughed as she dug through her handbag for the iPhone. When she finally pulled it out, the caller ID read:
PRIVATE NUMBER.
“Hmm, I wonder who this could be,” she mused as she answered the phone.

“Sydney speaking,” she greeted the unknown caller formally.

“Ms. Duke?” a familiar voice questioned on the other end of the line.

“Principal Trumbull?” Sydney questioned, clearly taken aback.

“What's wrong?” Rhea whispered with a concerned look on her face.

Sydney looked at her girls and mouthed the words, “I have no idea.”

“Yes, how are you,” Brookhaven's longtime principal continued in his characteristically formal manner.

“I'm okay,” Sydney responded hesitantly. “Is everything all right?” She looked at her favorite red-banded
Michelle watch. With only five hours until the big event, she couldn't imagine what might've prompted this call.

“Actually, Ms. Duke, there seems to be a bit of a problem at the bank,” the principal continued. “You see, when I went to verify the amount of money raised, the balance was fifteen thousand dollars below the balance that you submitted two days ago in our final meeting.”

“Fifteen thousand dollars!” Sydney struggled to keep from jumping out of the massage chair. Her heartbeat started racing uncontrollably and she struggled to catch her breath.

“Yes,” Principal Trumbull continued gravely.

“But how can that be? Who would take it out? I'm the only one with access to the account. I don't understand,” Sydney said as she gave her girls a weak smile. She waved her hand dismissively and mouthed, “It's fine, a little mixup. No big deal.” Thankfully, they both nodded and went back to their respective reading material without a second thought. Sydney cleared her throat.

“I'm aware that you are the only one besides me with access, which is why I immediately asked for a copy of the last withdrawal receipt,” he continued.

“And,” Sydney demanded.

“And the slip had your signature on it, Ms. Duke,” Principal Trumbull said quietly.

Sydney covered her mouth to contain the gasp. Luckily
her technician had just finished the final coat of clear on her Ballet Slippers pink toes. Sydney stood up abruptly and faced her friends. “I'll be right back, you guys,” she said, and without waiting for a response, headed to the reception area in search of privacy. Finding a secluded corner, she took a deep breath and started again. “Principal Trumbull, I assure you I did not withdraw fifteen thousand dollars from the Sadie Hawkins savings account,” she insisted.

“Ms. Duke, this is a very uncomfortable situation for us all. Obviously, I believed you to be a truthful young lady. Otherwise, I wouldn't have appointed you as co-chair. But in light of recent circumstances…”

“Did you ask Marcus? He'll tell you,” Sydney asserted, as notes of desperation crept into her voice.

“Yes, I did call Mr. Green. And, needless to say, he, too, assured me that he had no knowledge of the situation. And although he was certain there had to be a mistake, he reiterated that, as we all agreed in the initial planning meeting, you were the only one with signing power.”

Sydney started to tell Principal Trumbull that Marcus had just made a deposit the other day, but she stopped herself just in time. There was no point in getting both of them in more trouble for disobeying the principal's rules. She ground her teeth and mentally chastised herself for being such a control freak. Why hadn't she allowed Marcus to be the one with signing power? At the time of the initial
organizing meeting, she was still so mad at Marcus for the whole Dara debacle, she didn't want him to have the lead on anything she was associated with. And now look…

“Obviously, this type of incident normally requires immediate disciplinary action,” the principal continued. “But because of the wonderful fund-raising work you've accomplished in the past and your parents' generous donation history, I'm willing to give you some time. I will use the money in Brookhaven's emergency discretionary fund to cover this evening's events and presentation to the board. However, come Monday morning, I expect all fifteen thousand returned to the account. Otherwise, I
will
be notifying your parents and the authorities.”

Sydney's chest tightened as if she were stuck in a vise. “What am I supposed to do?” Sydney questioned desperately. “I didn't take the money; I don't know how this even happened.”

“Well, I'm not one for idle gossip, but the bank manager said that the last time something like this happened, it was a family member who was to blame,” the principal hedged.

“Excuse me,” Sydney said in total disbelief. “I don't know what you're implying, but Lauren is not a thief!”

“No? Well, then, how about your stepfather? I understand that he's been under a bit of a financial strain lately. Perhaps…”

Sydney could feel the vein in her temple throb. “Principal Trumbull, I don't know who stole this money, but I assure you, it was no one that I love or care about,” Sydney snapped as she cut him off. “I appreciate you giving me the benefit of the doubt for the length of the weekend; you will have the fifteen thousand on Monday.” And with that, Sydney disconnected the call.

“Are you sure you're okay, Syd?” Carmen asked gently as the trio finally left the spa an hour later. “I don't know what Principal Trumbull said or where you disappeared to, but ever since you came back you've been really quiet.”

Mentally a million miles away, Sydney just nodded her head. “Uh-huh, I'm fine,” she said as she repeated her conversation with Principal Trumbull over and over in her head.
A family member was to blame…how about your stepfather? I understand that he's been under a bit of a financial strain lately.
His thinly veiled indictment skipped through her thoughts like a DJ scratching a beat. Thankfully, she was certain Lauren would never steal money from her—clothes, maybe—but fifteen thousand dollars was absolutely ludicrous. However, if Altimus was capable of murder, stealing fifteen thousand to get the IRS off his back suddenly seemed like small potatoes.