All Up In My Business (10 page)

“Malcolm, did you hear me?”

“Huh?” He exposed her breast and licked her nipple.

“We’re getting richer.”

“How?” He moved to the other side.

“We’re pregnant.”

Screech
. Malcolm stood and walked over to the light-dimmer switch. Bright light flooded the room, killing the mood as much as had Victoria’s announcement. He glared at her for a long moment. “I thought we’d decided to have no more children? I distinctly remember telling you I didn’t want to have any more. We hardly have time for ourselves as it is!”

“I know, Malcolm. But I never agreed—”

“Oh, so your body, your babies? Is that how it goes? I’m just a sperm donor with no say at all?”

“No, Malcolm, not at all. I didn’t set out to get pregnant….”

“I’m supposed to believe it just happened?”

“Yes.”

“Well, guess what? I don’t believe it.”

The evening ended with their not speaking to each other and Malcolm sleeping on the couch. Eventually he came around, and even after discovering they were having twins, he resigned himself to another round of raising babies. He talked to her about him having a vasectomy—she had talked him out of it.

In the blink of an eye, Victoria was balancing newborns and toddlers. The children became her world, and her focus. She paid no attention to herself, or the fifty pounds she’d gained. In her children she found fulfillment; she felt wanted, needed. She hardly noticed when Malcolm began spending more and more time at the office, the club, the golf course, anywhere but home. By the time she realized anything was happening, their rift had become a chasm, with Victoria becoming more and more unhappy. Three months ago, she poured her heart out to her mother, who mentioned church….

A movement, soft but definitive, brought Victoria out of her revelry. She looked down at her stomach before placing a hand on the bulge. As she felt the movement again, Victoria smiled broadly, tears welling up instantly. It was the first time she’d felt this baby move. “Hello, pumpkin,” she whispered, wiggling her stomach in hopes of getting the baby to move again. “I love you!”

When the phone rang minutes later, Victoria was still rocking the baby within herself. “Hello?” she said dreamily, her hand resting on the place where she’d felt its movement.

“Victoria?” Candace thought she recognized her daughter-in-law’s voice, but whoever it was sounded much too happy,
considering the soberness of the situation. “I told Malcolm about the baby, and he is not pleased.”

Victoria’s happy mood quickly dissipated, replaced by fear, which was quickly masked by the snobby, confident attitude she’d honed for decades. “What did he say?”

“What do you expect a man to say who has told his wife in no uncertain terms that he didn’t want any more kids and finds out another one is on the way? He’s furious, Victoria. And as I told you earlier, he has every right to be.”

“Let’s not do this tonight, Candace. I’m not in the mood.”

“Neither am I. And neither is Malcolm.”

Victoria changed tactics, along with her position on the bed. “Some husbands would be happy to learn that their wife is with child.”

“Your husband is not one of them. But you got pregnant anyway. Children get older, Victoria. They grow up. They leave home. So even with your explanation, I can’t condone what you did. You can’t keep having babies to fill the hole in your marriage.”

“Don’t condone it—just accept it. You’re getting ready to be a grandma again.”

Is this woman crazy?
Most of the time, Candace ignored Victoria’s haughty attitude because anyone who met Valarie Saunders would see that the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. And she knew another Victoria, the sweet, bubbly one her son fell in love with, whose house was immaculate and whose children were well bred. She hadn’t seen this version of Vickie in quite a while. Candace took a deep breath and tried to tamp down an escalating temper. “Victoria, we need to talk, really talk. Technically speaking, your marriage is none of my business.”

“Technically?”

“But you’ve got another baby on the way. Your kids need their father around.”

“I would never push Malcolm out of our home, Candace. I love your son and can’t see life without him.”

“But he may be able to peep one without you. Has that thought crossed your mind, Victoria? A dissolution of marriage? Divorce papers?” After a moment of silence, Candace continued. “Uh-huh, I didn’t think so. Now, when do you want to meet?”

16

“M
r. Livingston! Gracing us with your presence two times in as many weeks. Is it getting ready to snow in Atlanta?”

“I think we’ve already seen that,” Malcolm replied, finding a soft smile for Harold, FGO’s kind host.

“Yessiree, we have! But the first week in August?”

Malcolm gave Harold a pat on the back and walked into the club. For someone who’d been absent from the scene before last week, Malcolm felt a strange comfort in the surroundings—the dark oak booths and tables with stately gray fabric cushioning the chairs. There weren’t many people in the club this rainy Monday night, Malcolm noted as he walked to a far booth and sat down. He looked dispassionately at the muted candle-style chandeliers, taking in the framed black-and-white pictures of Atlanta’s finest that adorned the walls and finally resting his eyes on the large U-shaped ornate bar that anchored the room. There was one person sitting on a barstool, texting on her BlackBerry and sipping wine. She looked up at the same time he realized who it was.
Joyce
. She waved but didn’t come over.
Good
, he thought. The only company Malcolm wanted right now was a Rémy Martin XO. Straight, no chaser. He placed his head in his hands and ran weary fingers
over his face. When he opened his eyes, Joyce was standing beside him.

“Hello, Malcolm. Fancy meeting you here again.”

“This is obviously your hangout spot,” Malcolm responded without looking up.

“It would appear that way. I am here quite often. But I just received my guest membership a few months ago. Guess the excitement of being allowed inside these hallowed walls hasn’t worn off.”

Silence.

“I was going to ask if you were in the mood for company, but I think I have my answer. Hard day?”

“I’ve had better,” Malcolm replied.

“It’s been a rough one for me too. May I?” Joyce motioned to the seat on the other side of the booth and sat down after Malcolm nodded his agreement. “Lost a major client today,” she went on. “One that would have given me an in to the 2012 presidential election arena—fund-raisers and what have you. I’d worked on that account for almost six months.”

This information piqued Malcolm’s interest. First and foremost, he was a businessman, and losses for Joyce’s company, Silver Spoon Events, was potentially a loss for the Livingston Corporation’s catering arm. “What happened?”

“Got undercut, big-time. Big event planners out of Los Angeles came in with figures I couldn’t match. They’re basically eating the cost to get their foot in the door. I’d have done the same thing if I could have afforded it.”

“Doesn’t look like you’re doing too bad.”

Joyce smiled. “I do okay, but not good enough to wave away six figures … yet.” Joyce watched Malcolm sip the cognac the waiter had brought while she nursed her Pinot Noir. “Something happen at one of the restaurants today or … at corporate?”

“Naw,” Malcolm said, leaning back and kneading his fore-head.
“Business is booming. Everything at Taste is just great.” His comment dripped with sarcasm.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Joyce’s voice was soft, caring. “Sometimes it helps to air it out.”

Malcolm remained silent for so long that Joyce didn’t think he’d answer her. She toyed with the idea of getting up and leaving, but something about Malcolm’s demeanor kept her glued to her seat. He looked as if he could use a friend, and since Adam had rejected her blatant advances yet again, so could she.

“Victoria’s pregnant.” Malcolm surprised himself by sharing this news, then realized how much he wanted to talk about it with someone neutral, someone who wasn’t a grandmother, grandfather, or uncle to the unborn. “Baby number five.”

Joyce remained quiet, absorbing the impact of this news as much as Malcolm’s obvious displeasure.
Goodness, they just had twins. And now another one?
“You don’t sound too happy,” she finally said.

Malcolm’s laugh was sinister, hollow. Instead of answering, he downed the liquor in his glass and motioned to the waiter. He held up two fingers to indicate a double shot.

“Have you eaten?” Joyce asked. She was concerned at how much Malcolm was drinking in a short time period, especially considering that he had to drive home. Fortunately, FGO had an arrangement with the four-star restaurant located on the first floor. Orders could be placed by phone and delivered to the club.

When the waiter came over, Joyce asked about the day’s special and then placed two orders. When asked, she declined another glass of wine, opting for lemon water instead. If necessary, she would be Malcolm’s designated driver. Once she knew Malcolm would soon add food to the liquor in his stomach, she continued. “This isn’t any of my business, Malcolm but both you and Victoria know how babies are made.”

“I almost got a vasectomy last year,” Malcolm said after a
long pause. “The wife talked me out of it, convinced me that since she was on the pill, there was no need to worry.”

“No pill is foolproof. Most manufacturers leave room for error, claiming their products to be around ninety-eight-percent effective.”

Malcolm snorted. “And here I sit, part of the unlucky two percent.”

“Well, there’s another way to look at this. Babies are blessings. I’ve always wanted a child.”

“Why don’t you have one? Come to think of it, why aren’t you married?”

“Good questions.”

“Seriously, Joyce. You’re a smart, attractive woman. You obviously have a lot going for you. I can think of any number of eligible men here in Atlanta who would be lucky to have you.”

“And they’re not gay?”

“Well, there’s that. ATL has become the black gay capital. But trust me, there are plenty of bona fide heterosexuals hanging in here, and then there’s the rest of the country. You travel quite a bit, correct? Which means you’re not limited to just looking in this area.”

“Maybe I’m just picky. I had my sights on a certain gentlemen the past couple of years, but that didn’t work out.”

“Oh? What happened?”

“It’s a long story, but the short version is that he wasn’t available.”

“Married?”

To your mother
. “At the time we met, he hinted at some dissatisfaction with his marriage. I thought a separation was imminent. He’s a wonderful man, worth waiting for. So I did.”

“And now …”

“He’s not going to leave her. So I’ve moved on.”

“Good for you. You deserve someone who can give you as much as I’m sure you’ll give him.”

Joyce cocked her head and studied Malcolm.
You really are a younger version of your father. I wonder if you’re as committed to Victoria as he is to Candace
. “You’re a good man, Malcolm. I hope Victoria appreciates you.”

Malcolm took a long sip of cognac. “Victoria appreciates the lifestyle and the children. She doesn’t even—”

Malcolm became silent as the waiter appeared with rolls, two side salads, and piping-hot plates containing medium-well sirloin steaks; buttery baked potatoes, and carrot, corn, and green bean vegetable medleys. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” he said after a few bites. “Thanks for reminding me to eat. And thanks for listening. It’s been a while since I felt I’ve been heard.”

“That’s what friends are for.”

Joyce waited for the conversation to change from good food and big business back to babies and the state of Malcolm’s marriage. When it didn’t, Joyce decided it was time to go home. She’d had a busy day and another awaited her tomorrow. Still, she’d enjoyed spending the evening in the company of a handsome, intelligent man.

“Thanks for dinner,” Joyce said after Malcolm insisted on paying the bill. “I’ve enjoyed the company but have probably kept you away from your family long enough. Are you okay to drive?”

“Yes, but I’m not ready to go home. Let’s go back to my office and have coffee. There’s something there that I want to show you.”

17

S
eptember came in bright and balmy. Candace and Diane sat in Diane’s airy dining room, sipping cappuccinos and poring over the program samples for the upcoming annual black-tie social.

“I like that one,” Diane said, pointing to a design made from cream-colored linen paper that featured a scalloped border.

“Yes, that’s nice.”

“But this gold and purple design looks more regal and would complement the overall color scheme. This,” she said, picking up the cream-colored paper, “might be too bland.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Candace Renee Livingston, where is your mind, darlin’? Because it certainly isn’t on Jack or Jill. Never mind, I know what it’s on, or more specifically, who it’s on. I made some sweet potato ice cream earlier, with a pecan crunch topping to go with it. You want some?”

“Sweet potato?”

Diane walked the few feet from the dining room to the kitchen and kept talking. “Yes, from the Neelys cooking show. Girl, you know I love me some Pat and Gina. I think I’ve TiVo’d every show they’ve done and am trying to get in touch
with them regarding our bid for a spot on the Food Network. Anyway, I was watching their show one day, and when I saw them whip up this dessert, I couldn’t get into the kitchen fast enough. It took me a few tries to put a Livingston spin on it.”

“Ha, you know how we do!”

“You know I had to add my creative flair.”

“What did you do different?”

“The pecan crunch topping. They topped theirs with caramel syrup.” Diane returned to the table with two bowls of ice cream topped with a generous helping of the pecan crunch.

“Oh my goodness!” Candace exclaimed after her first spoonful. “Girl”—she took another bite, and closed her eyes as she savored the flavors—”this needs to be on the menu, ASAP!”