Aftermath (25 page)

“Hey, stranger!” he opened the passenger side door and greeted her, smiling from ear to ear.

Dominique smiled back, gave him a kiss when he leaned in for one and decided to keep her mouth shut about his outfit. After all, what had she expected? Surely, he wouldn't be caught dead in anything that fit him right. They set out for the venue in Far Rockaway and the tension was palpable as they crossed the Verrazano. Jamel turned up the radio and Dominique said nothing, wondering why he was being so distant all of a sudden. Finally, he spoke up.

“I didn't want to call and bother you while you were dealing with Octavia's situation,” he explained. She glanced at him briefly and kept driving. “I know that must have been hard for both of you to deal with, you feel me?”

Dominique didn't answer, she simply nodded.

“And I came home that first night, kicked off my shoes and sat on my mother's couch and it was lights out. I woke up and ate, and fell back asleep. I woke up and Shonda was there with J.J.”

Dominique almost skidded to a halt on the Belt Parkway. She looked at him in surprise. Shonda, his son's mother, had seen him first.

He continued quickly—just a little too quickly. “That's how I felt. I was like, wow! So anyway he was so happy to see me, 'cuz you know it's been months since the last time she brought him up north. He got so big.”

Dominique plastered on the fakest smile.

“So, you know my moms had cooked, everybody ate, and it got late. Shonda went to take J.J. home and he lost it! He didn't want to leave me. So I went back to the house with them.”

“You went to Shonda's house?” Dominique asked without taking her eyes off the road. The speedometer crept to the right.

Jamel knew this wouldn't be easy. “Yeah. But just to play with J.J. Anyway, so J.J. falls asleep and I go to leave. That's when she started with her bullshit. She tried to stop me from leaving, telling me how she's sorry for not being there for me while I was gone.”

Jamel noticed that she swerved a little. He cleared his throat. “You okay?”

“Mm-hmm. Continue.”

He knew what that meant. “So I tried to leave, she blocked me.”

“She blocked your big ass from leaving, Jamel?” He was six two, nearly three hundred pounds.

“She was running her mouth. I told you how Shonda is. So before I knew it, my curfew had passed. Now she's holding it over my head that if I try to leave, she's gonna call and tell the cops to pick me up on my way to my mother's house 'cuz I'm out past my curfew.”

Dominique had to laugh. She had to hand it to him. He had worked out the perfect scenario in his mind.

Jamel thought Dominique was laughing
with
him at Shonda's tactics. “Word!” he chuckled. “So I stayed there on the couch. I didn't really sleep, though, 'cuz all she did was run her mouth all night.” He looked at Dominique sincerely. “I didn't touch her. I swear on my son.”

Dominique listened in silence as he filled her in on the rest of the events that had occuppied the past two days since he had been released from prison. He had reported to his parole officer within twenty-four hours as required, gone looking for a job but nobody was hiring. He had spent the morning “babysitting” his son while Shonda went to work.

Dominique noticed that despite his grim circumstances, Jamel had a cell phone. She stared at it and rolled her eyes, let out a sigh.

“Jamel, you know you don't have to lie about—”

“See? I knew you would think I was lying!”

As Jamel pleaded his case, insisting that he was through with Shonda, that his mama had given him the phone, that he didn't even know the number to it, that's how little it mattered, Dominique said nothing.

She was too close to the venue to turn back now. If she went home, she would have disappointed the kids who had put together an entire musical repertoire to impress the “Def Jam exec” coming to see them. She tuned Jamel out as he babbled, listened instead to the CD playing. It was Amy Winehouse.

“Kept his dick wet, with his same old safe bet.”

She turned it up. Jamel stopped talking midsentence and looked at her. He knew then that she wasn't trying to hear him.

They arrived at the Queens high school and were met by airport-level security. Metal detectors and handheld scanners were necessary to gain entry. Dominique looked at Jamel questioningly, praying that this fool hadn't brought anything illegal with him. She had already made up her mind that he had fucked Shonda. She wondered now if he was back to all of his old habits or just one.

Thankfully, the search went without incident and they proceeded to the next level of security at the poorly performing school.

“May I see ID, please?” a security guard asked.

Dominique fished in her purse and pulled out her driver's license, explained that she was there as a guest for the assembly. The security guard nodded and looked to Jamel. He looked like he had swallowed a lemon.

The only ID he had was his prison ID card. Reluctantly, he pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to the security guard.

The guard's eyes flew open and she looked at Jamel suspiciously. She handed him back his card and waved them on, but the damage was done. Dominique's world and his had collided embarrassingly.

The assembly was wonderful and Dominique did her best to motivate the young people present to know that they could do everything they had ever dreamed of. The whole time, she was glancing at Jamel, sitting in the corner looking like one of the students—and a bored one at that. She knew then that it was over.

When the long day was over and the two of them climbed back into the car, Dominique stuck the key in the ignition and started the car, letting it warm up.

She looked over to the man she had wanted so badly to be the one. She had convinced herself that he would be ready to grow up this time, that he was done with the lifestyle of a hustler. She had convinced herself to accept him even though he had no job, no ambition, and no experience being anything but a drug dealer. And he couldn't even believe in
himself
for a full three days. She shook her head.

“I'm so mad at you,” she said. “You let me persuade myself and everybody else that you were different and the whole time you knew you weren't.”

“Can I speak?'

“No,” she said. “I heard what you had to say. I thought you would at least try, Jamel. You talked all that shit while you were locked up about being in it to win it this time. You fuckin' loser!”

He looked like she had sucker-punched him.

“Yo, I hate you.” She put the car in drive and argued with Jamel for most of the ride back to Staten Island.

By the time they pulled up in front of his mother's house, he had finally come to grips with the fact that his scam was over. Dominique had cried, yelled, cried some more, and rambled on and on about how much she had trusted him, loved him, believed in him. He knew that she was right. He was a loser. He had lost his desire to be anything more than what he already was, and lost the willingness to try something new. All he had ever been was Shonda's baby's father, Betty's son, Jay from around the way. And Dominique wanted him to be a whole lot more.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I really wanted to do what we talked about. I wouldn't have wasted your time if I didn't want to change. And you're acting like I did something I didn't do and I respect it,” he said, lying till the end. He shrugged. “But I want you to know that I really do love you.”

Dominique wanted to spit in his face and tell him that his dick was smaller than she would have liked, that she had cum all over Archie's while he was away. Instead, she hauled off and slapped the shit out of Jamel, leaving him looking like he wanted to hit her back. Instead, he climbed out of her car and watched as she sped out of his life for good.

*   *   *

“He's dead?”

“Word, son. I can't believe nobody told you. They found that nigga's body slumped over in the driver's side of his S-Class with three shots to the face.”

Baron was sitting in a wheelchair in his hospital room waiting for his mother to finish handling some paperwork at the nurse's station. He was being released from the hospital today and had been talking to Tremaine on the telephone about his plans to settle the score with Jojo as soon as he was back on his feet.

“What's Frankie saying about that?” Baron asked. He was careful about what he said on the telephone these days, but Tremaine still understood the question. He was asking whether Frankie was the one who handled it.

“He ain't sad about it,” Tremaine said. “But your sister's the one who really does most of the talking these days.”

Baron couldn't believe his ears.
Gillian?
“Word?”

“Yeah,” Tremaine confirmed. “Gillian's been holding her own lately. Frankie has his hands full with everything going on in his family. But your sister still has her eyes on the prize. Seems like she has everything under control.”

Baron sat and chewed on that for a moment. Gillian had ordered the hit. Now that Jojo was dead, and Nobles's death had been avenged, Frankie and Gillian had no loyalty to Baron anymore. Baron knew that both his sister and Frankie blamed him for what Jojo had done. Truth be told, Baron blamed himself. His father had warned him that shit had gotten out of hand. But hothead Baron was never one to back down from a fight. He had gone too far in his war with Jojo and it had cost him his father's life, had nearly cost him his own, and had apparently cost him his status as the head of his family. While he sat crippled in a wheelchair, Gillian had rushed in and saved the day and was riding off into the sunset with Frankie and the Nobles family's loyalty. Baron seethed.

“What about Camille?” Baron asked. “Frankie just deaded her?”

Tremaine sighed. Even he thought that what Frankie was doing to Camille was grimy. “Yeah,” he said. “He cut her off altogether. No money, no nothing. She's out there in Shaolin by herself in that house and Frankie just said fuck her. He's with Gillian now.”

“Damn,” Baron said. It sounded like losing Nobles had turned Frankie's heart to stone. He was cutting everybody off who he felt had crossed him. Baron wondered how Camille was handling that. She always seemed so meek, such a doting wife. He wondered how she was dealing with the fact that Frankie had left her for Gillian. If what Tremaine said was true, then Camille was broke and had nothing. Baron thought about Misa then, wondered how she was getting by since he'd paid to spring her from jail.

“You still there?” Tremaine asked since the line was dead silent.

“Yeah,” Baron said. “Aiight, then. I'm gonna hit you back when I get home.”

Tremaine knew that Baron had gotten the message. His reign at the top was over.

*   *   *

Camille and Misa
sat in the back of the church and listened as the reverend spoke on the subject of tithing. Camille closed her eyes, remembering a time when she had something to donate ten percent of. She remembered the lyrics to a song that her mother used to play years ago.
“Ten percent of something beats one hundred percent of nothing at all.”
How true.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around to see that Celia Parker-Nobles was seated behind her.

“Hi.” Camille smiled brightly and clasped hands with Celia. Misa turned around and smiled at Baron's mom.

“What are you ladies doing after service?” Celia whispered.

The sisters exchanged looks and then shook their heads. “Nothing,” Camille whispered back.

Celia nodded. “Come with me.”

Camille and Misa agreed and turned back around to give their attention to the reverend. Camille had never seen Celia at this church before all the way out in Long Island near Lily's house. That meant that Celia had come there specifically to see them, and she wondered why.

Misa thought about what Celia had already done for her. Camille had finally told her out of their mother's earshot that Celia had basically bailed her out. Misa had been wondering ever since then whether it had been Celia doing it as a favor to Camille or a message from Baron that he cared about her. She hoped that after service she would get some answers.

Celia sat there with her big red hat putting all the other parishoners' Sunday finery to shame. She watched Misa and Camille as they participated in the service. She had a special place in her heart for both of them. Camille reminded Celia of her younger self. Like Camille, Celia had been the first wife of a very handsome and powerful man. She, too, had been abandoned in favor of a woman she had known, someone who had been in her home. As Celia watched Camille come unraveled by Frankie's behavior, she had warned her to keep her dignity. Celia herself had never compromised her dignity for anybody. Not even the late, great, notorious Doug Nobles. She had acquiesced and divorced him, watched as he married Mayra Leon and had Gillian, and she had laughed all the way to the bank. Today, Celia was going to teach Camille how to do the same thing.

Service ended and the congregants spilled out into the parking lot, all of them hurrying toward luxury cars in this affluent community.

As they walked along, Celia linked arms with Camille. “It's good to see you again,” she said. “I want to take you out to lunch, have a talk just me and you.”

Camille smiled. “I'd like that.” She glanced at Misa. Celia winked as if she had a plan.

“Misa,” Celia said, smiling and taking the young lady by the hand. “I've been praying for you and for your son. Everything is going to be just fine. Keep the faith.”

Misa nodded and allowed Celia to lead her over to a black Town Car. A balding, round black man opened the car door for her as they approached and Misa turned to Celia, confused. Camille was but a few steps behind.

“My son was released from the hospital the other day and he's been asking about you. I told him how you held vigil at his side for so many days while he was comatose. He appreciates that because he's feeling deserted by a lot of other people.”