Apple Brown Betty (24 page)

“What is wrong with me?” he wondered out loud as the tears began to fall from his eyes.

 

“Yoohoo.”

Cydney turned to the voice behind her as Professor Greenwood scribbled his almost indecipherable script on the blackboard. Victoria was all smiles. Faith had her head down, trying to suppress a giggle.

“What?” Cydney asked through clenched teeth, one eye on her friends and the other eye on Professor Greenwood.

Victoria handed Cydney a sheet of paper and then made a quick gesture for Cydney to turn around. Cydney took the paper and turned just as Greenwood began to address the class again.

Greenwood was fond of wearing turtleneck sweaters and dress jackets. Tonight he had on a black shirt with a gray jacket. His hair was brownish-gray and cut close, his skin was tanned, pock-marked, and clung so close to his skull he looked ghoulish. He wore a pair of glasses that always hung on a chain around his neck, yet no one had ever actually seen them covering his eyes. His voice was three-packs-of-Viceroys-a-day scratchy and he used it to intimidate and humiliate his students at every opportunity.

Greenwood took a hold of his glasses as if he was about to place them on his face, then stopped to speak, with them in his hand. “I'd like you geniuses to read over what I've written on the chalkboard and then jot it down in your notes. I have to make a quick run to the lavatory. When I get back I'll hand out last week's exams and then we'll go over this new material. Can you geniuses handle that?” No one answered him. He shook his head and rushed from the room.

Cydney looked down at the paper Victoria had handed her. She could hear her friends giggling again from behind her. The paper was a crude note with two boxes in the margins and a sentence next to each box. At the top was the instruction
Check the one that applies.
Cydney looked to the first box. It said:
I got my freaky deaky on with you know who since I last spoke to you beautiful divas.
The second box said:
I plan on getting my freaky deaky on but haven't yet. You beautiful divas will be the first to know, the moment I do.
Cydney smiled and shook her head. She was about to ball the paper up when she noticed a line at the bottom of the page, written in smaller handwriting. It said:
If you ball this up without checking a box you ought to be ashamed of yourself with your fast ass.
Cydney's mouth dropped open. She turned and faced Faith and Victoria. The both of them turned away and hummed at the same time.

“Simple asses,” Cydney said to them. She turned back to the chalkboard and started writing down Greenwood's notes as he returned to the room.

“Sorry for that interruption,” Greenwood said, walking into the room and talking at the same time, “but the majority of you will be thankful for the delay when you receive your scores. I don't know whether to blame your parents, your high schools or your capacity for learning. This is a university course, ladies and gentlemen. I'll expect college-level work in the future.”

Cydney's stomach muscles tightened. She glanced back at Faith and Victoria again; the playful energy had left both of them as well. Faith's and Victoria's shoulders slumped in the same manner as Cydney's did.

Greenwood pulled a pile of papers from his briefcase and tapped them on his desk into one neat stack. He started moving through the maze of desks. When he reached Cydney's desk it seemed as if he took a pause. He dropped her test, faceup, in front of her. She looked down at the exam.

C-

She'd hoped for a B at the least.

 

Felicia scooted across the linoleum floor in Desmond's kitchen. Her sock-covered feet allowed for a nice slide to the kitchen countertop. She grabbed the counter edge like a woman on ice skates, to stop herself and regain balance. She glanced at the caller ID as the phone continued to ring. A smile darted across her lips. She cupped a hand over her mouth and picked up.

“Rucker's Massage Parlor and Ecstasy Lounge…we massage shit,” she said into the receiver. “Felicia speaking.”

“Felicia?”

She let her voice rise and put a little crack in for good measure. “Oh my goodness, is that you, Daddy?”

“What was that you said when you answered?”

“No—nothing, just a little side business Desmond has going until things pick up at Cush,” she said, her tone serious.

“I hope this is just part of your twisted sense of humor,” Mr. Rucker said.

Felicia laughed. “You think I'm twisted, huh?”

“Among other things,” Mr. Rucker admitted. “I didn't know you were visiting Desmond.”

Felicia walked with the cordless to the sink area and jumped up on the counter for a seat. She looked out the window at Desmond's bare backyard. Desmond needed a pool and a nice flower garden arrangement when the weather warmed again, she thought. She closed the thin curtain and returned her thoughts to the call at hand. “Yeah, I ran down to spend a few days with Desmond. Things are good, though, Daddy. How are you and how's Mommy?”

“I'm fine. Your mother is off doing some of her charity work,” Mr. Rucker said. “I figured I'd call and leave Desmond a message to call us. We haven't spoken in some time.”

“That was nice of you,” Felicia said.

“I left one on your machine in New York, too.”

Felicia switched ears with the phone. Had she heard correctly? “You called me, too?”

“Yes,” Mr. Rucker said. “I left you a message earlier.”

“Man, that's…” Felicia didn't know how to respond. “That's nice.”

“You sound surprised,” Mr. Rucker said.

“I am.”

“Why is that?”

“Let's not get into this, Daddy.”

“I think we should. My youngest child acts all surprised because I called to check on her, something isn't right about that.”

“I know I don't exactly measure up to your standards,” Felicia conceded. “I know I disappoint you.”

“You go out of your way to try and disappoint me, Felicia, but you don't.”

“I'm not Desmond, bending over backward trying to get one word of approval from you. You thrive off that little dance you make Desmond do.”

“That's how you see me?”

“I told you we didn't need to get into this. Your voice is changing, you're getting upset.”

“I want to know how my children see me, I'm a big boy, I can take it. Go on.”

“I've watched how desperate Desmond has always been to get your approval,” Felicia said. “I've watched how broken he's been when he gave his best and still didn't get a nice word from you. I decided early on that I wouldn't even try.”

Mr. Rucker was quiet on the line.

“I know you love us,” Felicia continued, “but it's hard being your child.”

“It was hard being my father's child,” he replied. “The job of a parent is to push their child to be the best they can be.”

“I couldn't have come up with a better word if I tried—pushed.”

“It saddens me that you don't know my true intentions are always to help you reach your great potential,” Mr. Rucker stated.

“Let me ask you one question,” Felicia said.

“Go ahead and ask it.”

“I always wondered what you said to Desmond the day he called it off with Nora. I saw you talking to him by the stairs and I'll never forget the look on his face.”

Mr. Rucker cleared his voice, said nothing.

“Daddy?” Felicia prodded.

“I told him it takes a real man to hoist a real woman on his shoulders and not have them both fall down.”

“And what did he say?”

Mr. Rucker hesitated. “He asked me if I thought he was that real man.”

“And you said?”

“I told him the God's honest truth, Felicia.”

“Which was?”

“Nora better have herself some strong bones, because he was sure to drop her.”

 

Cydney walked in her door, dropped her backpack on the floor, slid out of her shoes and tossed her jacket on the arm of the couch. She moved to the kitchen and hung her keys on the key hook, opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice. There wasn't much juice in the container so she made an exception and turned it up to her lips, gulping down the drops inside, frowning the entire time as the taste of the juice was spoiled by the taste of carton. She took out her little billfold that held her license and one credit card and placed it on the counter next to her purse and the wallet she normally carried. Later, she would put everything back in her purse. Tomorrow was a workday and she'd have to carry her purse instead of a backpack.

She went into the bedroom and changed into her silk pajama bottoms, removed her bra and put on a simple white T-shirt. She noticed her nipples pressing through the material and went and turned up the heat.

She went into the bathroom and wiped away her touch of eye shadow and lipstick, brushed her teeth, gargled, sat on the toilet and squeezed out a drop. She rinsed her hands thoroughly and went back out to the living room and glanced at the clock on her digital cable box. Okay, she'd been home for thirteen minutes. That was time enough. She could call Desmond without feeling like some excited schoolgirl dealing with her first crush.

She grabbed the phone and settled in on the couch, her fingers tripping over each other as she dialed Desmond's number.

“Desmond Rucker.”

“Guess who?” she said, her voice high.

“Cydney,” he said. “Hey.”

There was no sound in the background, as if he were inside a vacuum. “Are you still at work?”

“On the road driving home,” he said.

“It's awful quiet. What, no Eddie Murphy playing?” She was hoping to hear the smile in his voice.

“Not tonight.”

“How was work today?”

“Good.”

She waited for him to say more but the line sat silent. “I didn't do as well on that exam from last week as I'd hoped,” she offered as a conversation starter.

“You passed, though?”

“Yes, I passed—barely.”

“That's all that counts.”

“I don't like just squeaking by.”

“Hmm.”

“You're not too talkative tonight,” Cydney said. “You sure everything went okay at work today?”

“Yes, Cydney, I'm sure.”

Usually the sound of him saying her name sent a shiver down her spine. This time, however, it made her want to end the conversation. “You want me to give you a call, or you can call me, when you get home?”

“Whatever you want,” he said.

“I want you to come spend the night with me,” Cydney said.

“I'm halfway home.”

“I didn't expect you to cartwheel or skate here, Desmond. You are in a car. It wouldn't take you long. I want to hold you, make love to you and give you a backrub.”

“Okay,” he said halfheartedly.

“You don't have to.”

Desmond sighed. “I'm on my way.”

He didn't give her a chance to respond. Cold silence hit her ear. Cydney dropped the phone on the sofa cushion and hugged a pillow.

Something wasn't right.

 

A short while later Cydney got up to answer the door. Desmond stepped in without giving her a hug. He took off his shoes and dropped them in a pile by the door. She frowned but kept silent.

“I need to use the bathroom real quick,” he said to her.

Cydney stood in the doorway with the door still propped open. She nodded her head. Desmond walked down the hall and went in the bathroom, shutting the door loudly behind him. Cydney closed the front door, latched the lock and took a seat on the sofa. She sat there thinking and then picked a magazine off the coffee table when she heard the toilet flushing, the bathroom door click open and Desmond's footsteps. He came over and kissed her forehead, took a seat in the chair next to the couch. Cydney didn't look up but she saw his hand reach for a magazine. She closed the magazine she'd been pretending to read and tossed it back on the coffee table.

“What's the deal, Desmond?”

He looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Something is wrong. You're in a real crabby mood. You're here but it's like you're avoiding me.”

Desmond smiled, closed his magazine, tossed it on the coffee table just as Cydney had done. “I lied to you. This business is kicking my ass right now. You feel neglected, baby?”

The tension left Cydney's shoulders. She'd thought Desmond's bad mood was probably related to work stress. “Yes, I suppose I do feel neglected, but that's okay.”

“No, it isn't, baby.” Desmond moved closer to Cydney, bent to his knee and took her hands from where they were crossed on her lap. He wrapped Cydney's arms around his neck, lay his head on her warm lap. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I had a long day and I'm tired and I'm taking it out on you.”