Apple Brown Betty (23 page)

“You must work out, too,” Jacinta said and she reached for his biceps. “You're pretty hard.”

“Am I?”

Jacinta's eyes widened, she covered her mouth in embarrassment. “I didn't mean it like that.”

Desmond smiled. “So where to now, work?”

Jacinta looked at her watch. “I've got a little over an hour before I head in.”

Desmond tapped her car. “You want to go for a ride?”

Jacinta nodded her head toward Cush. “Don't you have to get back inside? I imagine Glenn Close in there is probably boiling rabbit in the kitchen by now.”

Desmond laughed. “It's going to be a long day for me,” he told Jacinta. “I can use some time away.”

Jacinta pulled her keys from her side pocket, tapped the low hood of her car. “Hop in then.”

Desmond moved around the back of the car to the other side, glanced once more at his restaurant and hopped in. He knew it was a mistake.

 

Cydney dialed the numbers and sat waiting. After a few rings the voice mail greeting came on.

Hi, you've reached the voice mail of Desmond Rucker. I'm unable to answer your call right now, but leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible.

Cydney sighed and waited for the beep. “Hey, Desmond, this is Cydney. Just wanted to let you know I'm thinking about you and I can't wait to talk with you after class tonight. Okay, lo…bye.” She hung her cordless back on the charger stand. Damn, she thought, did she almost say that she loved him? Slow down, girl.

J
acinta let up off the gas and let the car slow to a near stop as she passed by the Shuhara Life Church holistic healing retreat. The church consisted of a shingled house with a large sign hanging from the living-room window that proclaimed: Spiritual Ointment for Cracked and Damaged Souls. On the three-step walkup were two potted plants that took up most of the stairway. The top step had a folded beach chair that leaned against the house. On the front door there was a lighted ornament of two hands clasped together in prayer.

“That's me,” Jacinta said to Desmond. “Cracked and damaged soul.”

Desmond turned his head and studied the building as they passed. He turned back, facing Jacinta. “You got a booboo, baby?”

Jacinta's eyes were on the road but you could have passed a hand across them and she wouldn't have blinked. A vision of her onstage, swiveling her hips, danced through her head. She considered her other work at the Berkeley Carteret; the sweaty men with receding hairlines and hairy bellies. Men who checked in to the Berkeley using an alias.

She thought about herself, down on her knees, crawling across thick, lush hotel carpet wearing a thong and a fake-diamond neck choker. The sound of heavy panting filling the room, the rhythmic slapping of flesh, stuttered phrases like, “Oh, brown sugar, brown sugar. Keep moving like that, brown sugar.” That pervert, Jeffries, masturbating to her moves and then wanting Jacinta to lick the life milk off his thighs.

“Are you zoning out on me?” Desmond asked.

Jacinta forced a smile but didn't give him her eyes. “Thinking.”

“Care to share with the rest of the class?”

Jacinta continued to drive in her trance. “Tell me about your girlfriend, Desmond. The woman that had you all shook up the other day.”

“What?”

“Is she pretty? Smart? What does she do?” Jacinta tapped her hand on the steering wheel, softly at first, then increasingly harder. “I bet she's in the financial industry—a broker, an accountant, something classy.” Jacinta nodded, conversing with herself, not even waiting for a reply from Desmond. “She has got to be a classy woman. I bet she's all into the Donna Karan and Liz Claiborne suits. Ooh, and designer eyeglasses—carries a briefcase…” Jacinta made a wild turn around a corner, all gas and no brakes. The front end of her sports car veered into the other lane. Desmond sat up in his seat but said nothing. “What college did she go to?” Jacinta continued. “Ivy league or private I bet.”

Jacinta took her right hand off the gearshift and held to the steering wheel with both hands. The transmission made a jarring sound as her speed and the gear she drove in didn't quite fit each other. Her eyes flooded with tears. Desmond reached over and downshifted as she steered and braked. She brought the car to a stop and plopped her head down on the steering column. The horn wailed but she didn't seem to notice. Desmond took her by the shoulders and eased her back into her seat.

“What's going on?” he asked as she wiped away the tears with her fingers.

“I'm sorry.”

“That still doesn't answer my question.”

“Just wishing I was in a different place,” she said. She took a breath, leaned her head back with her eyes closed and then took a second breath. “I went to college, Desmond, did you know that?”

“I figured as much,” Desmond said. “You're very intelligent. What happened?”

Jacinta laughed. “That's always the next question. What happened? How did a fairly intelligent woman like you end up as a whore?”

“I didn't say that,” Desmond interjected.

Jacinta looked over to him, her eyes reddened, the runny mascara painted in a ghoulish-looking circle around her eyes. “Sure you did.” She swallowed, turned off the engine. “I didn't graduate for one. I stopped a few semesters short.”

“You can always go back.”

Jacinta laughed and shook her head. “Not me.”

“So what got you dancing?”

Jacinta shrugged. “A girl in one of my classes did it, was open and proud of it. She turned me out. And I found that I'm good at it. The money made it a no-brainer for me.”

Desmond pinched his lips. “Oh.”

“Disappointed are you,” Jacinta said. “You were hoping I had some tale of woe, that some abusive boyfriend pushed me, I had a terrible childhood, something like that. I didn't.”

“Why are you crying then, Jacinta?”

“Because I'm still a victim of my circumstances, Desmond,” she said, emphasizing each word.

“Which are?”

“I love sex. I love the power my body and my movements have over men. On the other hand, I feel demeaned, cheated by my natural impulses. I wish I was the kind of woman that deserved a man like you. I wish I were normal. It would be so much easier if I were a man with these desires…”

Desmond nodded. “Men do get off easy.”

Jacinta turned to Desmond. “God, how I wish I deserved a man like you. I think I would stop dancing and make you a bunch of little babies, attend to your every need.”

Desmond crinkled his nose. “Deserved? Don't you think you're shortchanging yourself? You're making me out as some kind of saint. I come into Hot Tails to watch you when I should be tending to my business, or working to build on this relationship with my woman. I'm no different than any of the other men that come in to watch you. You're a special woman, don't shortchange that. And, by the way, I think you've got a lot more to offer than making somebody's babies and attending to their every need.”

Jacinta wiped away her tears and leaned in closer to Desmond. “I'm done analyzing myself for the day. Can you do something for me?”

“Anything,” Desmond said.

Jacinta touched his arm. “The thing about you, Desmond, that struck me right away was that I could see a certain appreciation in your eyes when you came to the club. Fear, too. You enjoy women, you enjoy sex. I gathered something about you, as if you thought it would be easier to enjoy us from afar. You're fighting demons.”

Desmond's mouth dropped open. “How could you gather that?”

Jacinta smiled. “I have the same fight, but like I said, it's different when a woman has a large sexual appetite. I'm never going to own my own business and walk through society with my head held high.”

“And why not, Jacinta?” Desmond wondered. “You're beautiful, intelligent—”

“A slut,” she said.

“Stop it.”

Jacinta reached for Desmond's hands. “It doesn't matter. I just want you to do one thing for me.”

“Anything,” he said for the second time.

“I know this is crazy but I want you to have sex me, Desmond, right here, just this once. I promise I won't cause you any problems with your girlfriend. I just want to feel you inside of me. We're two of a kind, you know.”

Desmond frowned. “After all you just said, now you want to sex me, Jacinta? This is screwed up.”

“Please, Desmond,” she cooed. “I need this. I know it's screwed up. I'm screwed up, but I need you so much right now.” She pulled her sweater up above her breasts so they'd be on display. “Please! Don't you want some of my stuff?”

Desmond's jaws tightened and he could feel himself hardening with erotic desire. The street was devoid of people, a ghost town. Jacinta reached down and grabbed a hold of that manly part of Desmond through his pants, a twinkle forming in her eye as she examined his girth. “Sure you want this. This is the evidence.”

“I have a lady. I'm trying to build something special with her.”

“I'm not looking to tear down that house,” Jacinta said. “Just looking to rent it for a brief moment.”

“This isn't right.”

“Our little secret,” Jacinta assured him.

Desmond hung his head and closed his eyes.

Jacinta worked open his zipper.

 

Slay paused at the sight of his mother's apartment door cracked halfway open. He looked both ways up the hallway before inching forward. He never carried a weapon, knowing he'd never use one if he did carry it. He made a couple of baby steps and pushed in on the door. The darkness of the apartment met him. His mother's radio was playing as usual. He stepped inside and looked around for something to grab. The closest thing at hand was a single broken-heeled shoe. He picked it up and walked toward his mother's bedroom. He paused for a moment and then kicked in the door.

“Waaaaa,” a voice yelled out in surprise.

Slay dropped the hand he held the shoe with to his side. “Kenya, damn, you almost got yourself hurt, girl. I thought somebody broke in, the front door is open.”

Kenya touched her chest, looked to the shoe in Slay's hand. “Them Payless shoes is hard as hell but I don't think it would have done much if I was in here boosting.”

Slay smiled, dropped the shoe on the floor. “You got jokes.” He moved over to the bed where Kenya was wiping his mother down with a bath cloth. His mother was covered in sweat, rocking back and forth, her eyes concentrated on the ceiling. “How she doing?” Slay asked Kenya.

“Look, see there,” Nancy said, grabbing Kenya strongly by the wrist. “Them buggers are huge, huge, huge, huge…”

Kenya shook her head. “I don't see anything, Ms. Nancy.”

“What's going on, Mama?” Slay said.

Nancy looked toward the sound of his voice, recognizing him for the first time. “This stupid-ass girl of yours don't care that my place is getting overrun by roaches. I keep telling her to kill 'em, kill 'em, kill 'em, kill 'em!” She jumped up suddenly and grabbed a magazine off the nightstand. “Bunk it, I'll kill 'em myself.”

Slay moved quickly to her side, took the magazine from her hand, sat her down. Nancy shot back up just as quickly. He sat her down again and she took a swing at him that he dodged.

“She's suffering,” Kenya told him.

“I thought she was pulling herself up. She started taking better care of herself lately.” Slay put his arm on Kenya's shoulder, looking down on his mother who'd commenced to rocking again, her eyes still trained on the ceiling as an angry scowl darted across her face.

Kenya turned to him, leaned in, sniffed. “Where you been?”

“Had to handle some business with a couple dudes from around the way,” Slay lied.

“Them dudes must be some real faggots,” Kenya said, “'cause that's some strong perfume I smell on you.”

“I hope you ain't getting jealous on me, Kenya.”

Kenya turned away, shook her head.

“Good,” Slay said. “Because I ain't yours and you ain't mine.”

Kenya nodded.

Slay clasped his hands together. “Finish washing her if you would and we can go ahead and get her somewhere.” He shook his head. “I didn't want to have to do this. Have them looking at my mother like she's a junkie.”

“She is, though, Slay.”

He shook his head. “I know she is,” he said softly. “We'll take her to the hospital and act like we don't know what's wrong with her…” His voice trailed off. He shook his head.

Kenya moved closer to his mother and resumed wiping the sleep and mucus from around her eyes and mouth. Slay watched Kenya dabbing at his mother with a nurse's care. His stomach churned because with each passing day it was becoming more and more painful to realize this was what his mother had become…and Kenya wasn't his.

“Those buggers are huge, huge, huge, huge,” Nancy called out.

 

Jacinta curbed her car just outside Cush and let the engine idle. “Back to the lab,” she said.

Desmond looked away from her, to his restaurant. He was paralyzed by what they'd done. The new depths he'd sunk to. In a few hours Cydney would be calling him and he'd be up on his stage, performing, pretending that everything was business as usual.

“Don't beat yourself up,” Jacinta said. “I forced your hand.”

Desmond put his hand on the door handle and let it rest there.

“I wish you and your girlfriend the best,” Jacinta said.

Desmond opened his door and exited without a word. He shut the door and the sports car immediately pulled from the curb and moved up the street in a whir. He walked slowly to Cush and moved inside with strength he didn't know he possessed. Karen looked up, her eyes like his mother's that day when he told her he was calling off the wedding to Nora. Desmond looked away and moved past Karen. She didn't attempt to stop him. He walked into his office and closed the door behind him. He felt his way to his desk, pulled out the chair and sat down at his desk in the dark. He could hear the voice of his father, sucking his teeth, shaking his head, the word
failure
on Frank Rucker's breath like a mint. He could see Cydney's eyes through the darkness, refusing to look away from him, refusing to let him off the hook. Nora was next to Cydney, whispering in her ear, telling her all about the exploits of Desmond Rucker.