Apple Brown Betty (27 page)

Men.

Cydney shook her head. “Come on in. I'll eat the fried rice, you can eat one of the subs.”

Desmond looked up, his eyes immediately brightening. “I can come in?”

Cydney gave him some neck action. “Oh, you don't have to, now. I know you're wishy-washy.”

Desmond struggled to raise a hand. “No, no, no. I want to come in.”

Cydney took her hand off the door, turned and walked back toward the kitchen. Desmond stepped in, slipped out of his shoes and closed the door behind him. He placed the bag on the carpet and fastened the locks, picked the bag up and joined her in the kitchen. She had two paper plates and two glasses on the table by the time he got there.

“I was about to take a bath, but I don't want that food to get cold. Shrimp fried rice doesn't go over so well in the microwave,” Cydney said.

“How are you coming along with your paper?”

“Shitty.”

“I'm sorry.”

“You should be.” Cydney poured soda into the two cups and turned away from him.

“I was acting kind of strange this morning, yes?”

“Yes.” She dropped a cube of ice in Desmond's cup and the soda shot up like a spray from a water fountain. He jumped. Cydney turned from him and placed the ice tray back in the freezer.

Desmond cleared his throat. “I have different issues from time to time, and instead of—”

Cydney sat down, bowed her head and closed her eyes. Desmond did the same. “Lord, we thank you for the food we are about to receive. Bless the hands that prepared it. For Christ's sake. Amen.”

“What I was trying to say,” Desmond continued, “was…” His voice lowered. “Something you should know about me. I have a habit of running away when someone gets close to my heart.”

Cydney looked down and twirled through her rice with a fork.

Desmond reached across the table and grabbed her wrist. Cydney looked up. “I'm falling in love with you, Cydney, honestly. And I'm scared to death. Can you understand that?”

Cydney dropped her fork in the heap of shrimp and rice. “Yes.”

“So how do I handle this?”

Cydney shrugged. “I don't know.”

“I was hoping for more insight than that,” Desmond said.

“One thing I can tell you,” Cydney offered. “Running solves nothing. You have to stand down your problems.”

“I bet you're an expert on standing down problems, Cydney. That's not really one of my strong points.”

A sad smile crossed Cydney's face. “No, actually, I'm with you, Desmond. I'm an expert on running.”

“Isn't that tiring?” he asked for corroboration.

“Yes,” she acknowledged.

“So how about the both of us stop running?”

“I'm not running from you, Desmond—other things, yes, but never you.”

“I'm not running away from you either, Cydney. Not anymore.” He thought about his damaged truck. “You know, someone took a sledgehammer to my truck today.”

Cydney's eyebrows crested. “What happened?”

“Some kids doing vandalism most likely,” Desmond said. “At first the cops thought someone had it in for me, but they found another vehicle smashed in the same manner up the road.” Desmond didn't mention that the other car didn't have a note neatly tucked under its wiper blades, or that his did.

Cydney's shoulders eased. For a moment she'd thought it might be the work of Slay. “It's drivable?”

“She ain't as pretty,” Desmond said, smiling easily. “The windshield is cracked and the front grille is busted up, but she's drivable. She has an operation from a motor medic due to come in her near future.”

Cydney shook her head. “Crazy.”

Desmond took her hand. “Crazy would be you and me not putting our best foot forward to make something special.” He sighed. “I have to make an admission, Cydney.”

“Oh boy, here we go.”

“Hear me out before you cut me off,” Desmond said. Cydney nodded. Desmond sighed again, his sigh tally rising with each passing second. “I was engaged to be married last year.” Cydney took a deep breath. “I backed out of it with Nora,” he finished.

“Nora?”

“My intended,” Desmond offered.

“Are you still in love with her?”

Desmond shook his head.

Cydney gave Desmond her hardest look. “You two still…?”

Desmond shook his head.

“Well, this is quite an admission.”

“Actually,” Desmond said. “That isn't the full admission.”

“There's more?” Cydney asked.

“I want to tell you something that I've never told anyone, not even Nora.”

“I guess I want to hear it,” she said. “Go ahead.”

Desmond smiled. This was the first step in a major breakthrough for him. “Cydney Williams…I'm committed to loving you the way you deserve to be loved.”

 

“Thanks,” Tuffy said as Slay handed him a wad of bills.

“No problem,” Slay said. “And do something with that sledgehammer. You can't be walking around with that thing over your shoulder.”

Tuffy dropped the sledgehammer by his feet. “That cat had a nice truck.”

“Had?”

Tuffy smiled. “Yeah, had. I fucked his shit up.”

“You left the note?”

Tuffy nodded. “Under his wipers. I wrote it with my left hand like you said.”

Slay touched the youngster's shoulder. “Keep your ears open and yourself ready, little partner.”

“Aiight.”

“Peace.”

“Peace.”

Tuffy walked off and Slay jumped in his car.

 

Cydney sat up as soon as Desmond rolled away from her. Their exchange had been more like what she expected—tender, passionate. He didn't have any problem performing this time—these times—for they'd done the do thrice since Desmond showed up at Cydney's door. Desmond seemed intent on proving that he was a caring, concerned lover, that he wanted Cydney forever in his arms.

Sweat, cologne, sex enveloped the air of Cydney's bedroom.

“Thirsty?” Cydney asked as Desmond's chest rose like an asthmatic in desperate need of Primatene Mist.

He touched her wrist and indicated yes with a nod of his head.

“I've got some sparkling apple cider or some Coke. What's your poison?”

He nodded his head, smiled.

“Either-or, I take it,” she said. “I guess that's what you're saying.”

He nodded again.

“I worked you good,” she bragged.

Desmond ran his finger over the outline of her breast, circled her dark nipple. Cydney shooed his hand away as if it were a pesky fly. “Don't start anything you can't finish,” she teased.

Desmond laughed, his breathing returning to normal. “I can—I can finish.”

Cydney smirked. “Let me get those drinks.”

She caught herself half skipping toward the kitchen, stopped, and leaned against the hallway wall and laughed. Slow your roll, girl.

She moved straight to the cupboard and pulled down two glasses, moved to the refrigerator and took out the cold two-liter Coke. She turned and was headed back to the bedroom when she remembered she'd gotten a call while Desmond was arching her back and curling her toes. She placed the two-liter soda bottle and the glasses on the counter and picked up the phone, dialed the access number to retrieve her voice mail messages.

“Hey, Cydney,”
Slay said.
“I need to speak with you, sis. No bullshit. Call me. That GQ Smooth cat is no good, trust me. He—”

Cydney erased the message. She wasn't about to let Slay, and his craziness, mess with her high.

D
esmond noticed the bright red sports car with plumes of white smoke rising from the back as soon as he neared his restaurant. The car was parked just up the road from Cush, facing the restaurant but on the other side of the street. The headlights flashed as Desmond slowed his truck. Just got my truck fixed and now she's showing up here, Desmond thought. He sighed and drove on past Cush. He crossed over the center line of the road and pulled next to the car. Jacinta powered down her windows. Desmond did the same.

“Can we talk?” she asked.

Desmond looked over his shoulder. “I'm kind of busy.”

“I won't take up much of your time, I promise.”

Desmond pointed up the road behind her. “Meet me up by that weeping willow.” He moved immediately in that direction. Jacinta did a U-turn and followed.

He was waiting, standing outside his truck with the engine running, when she arrived. She eased her car close to his bumper, wiped her eyes and got out to meet him. Just as Desmond had done, Jacinta left her engine running. Desmond's face seemed to tighten as Jacinta neared him and she lowered her head to avoid the glare of his eyes.

“Thanks for having a moment with me,” she said as she reached him. She kept her head lowered.

“No problem at all,” he answered, all business, as if he were talking with one of his vendors. His tone almost made her get in her car and drive off, but she didn't.

“I wanted to let you know that I quit Hot Tails, quit dancing,” she said.

“Good for you,” he offered. “I'm glad you told me. Not that I was planning on coming in there anymore. It took what we did for me to realize how much I was jeopardizing—”

She looked up, her eyes rimmed with red. “Running around after whores,” she finished for him.

Desmond shook his head. “Don't be dramatic, Mona.”

“Keep it real—I'm Jacinta to you. Never could be anything but Jacinta to you.”

He nodded. “Jacinta, don't be dramatic. All I'm saying is I've got a good lady in my life and I messed up.”

“You tell her about us?”

“Hell no, what are you crazy!”

“Are you ever going to?”

“No, and I hope you aren't either.”

“Your secret's safe with me.”

Desmond sighed. “If things were different maybe you and I could have worked out.”

Jacinta looked at him again, hard. He turned his eyes away from her. “What would have had to be different?” she pressed. “If I wasn't a slut, is that it?”

“If I wasn't falling in love with someone else,” he countered.

Jacinta wrung her hands together. “I guess this is for the best,” she said. “If you call how you operate love, then I hope never to find love.”

Desmond was clearly angered by the cut of judgment in her voice. “What was the point of this? Did you even have a point in waiting outside my place of business?”

Jacinta snickered. “I did,” she said sadly, “but it would be wasted on you.”

Desmond rubbed his hands together. “Cool. Are we done here then?”

Jacinta nodded.

Desmond touched her shoulder. “You take care of yourself. I'll be praying for you. And be thankful I didn't press charges for what you did to my truck.”

Jacinta shrugged her shoulder away from his touch. “What are you talking about, your truck?”

Desmond looked at her for a moment, then shook his head and got in his truck. His tires wailed as he sped off toward Cush.

Jacinta moved to her car and sat staring at the bent tree off to the side of her. For as long as she could remember it had been bent out of shape like that, looking as if it might fall, and yet it didn't. It didn't fall, it didn't collapse. It wasn't straight and perfect, but it didn't fall, it didn't collapse. She had to remember that.

Desmond looked back at the shiny red car as he drove up the block. Something in his gut told him that Jacinta, despite what she proclaimed, wouldn't be moving so easily from his life. He tapped his steering wheel in disgust. Having sex with her was the stupidest thing he'd ever done in the name of lust. He prayed that God was merciful enough to pass him through this, unharmed. He prayed that she'd gotten all the anger out of her system by banging up his truck, and that was the end of her. He pulled out his cell phone as he parked outside his restaurant and dialed a number.

“Hey,” he said when Cydney's voice mail picked up on the third ring. “I'm right outside my restaurant preparing to go in for what I'm sure will be a hectic, hardworking day, and the only thing sustaining me is the thought of you. I just want to let you know that I'm so looking forward to Saturday night, and hopefully the rest of our lives. All right, I've got to go.” He hung up, a flush of happiness chasing away the blues of a moment prior. This was what love was supposed to feel like. Finally, he was ready to embrace it fully.

 

“You no-good sorry nigga, I dread the day I birthed you.”

Slay looked at his mother, her hospital gown falling off her bony shoulders, her arms and feet shackled to the metal bed rail, food caked in the corners of her mouth. “You don't mean that,” he said, unsure.

“I mean it,” she said. “You're a piece of shit.”

“I'm trying to help you,” he defended. “The doctors said this program can get you cleaned up.”

“Where's my Cydney?” she cried. “Lord, I miss my George.”

Slay gritted his teeth. “Neither one of them ever really gave two shits about you. I'm the one that has stuck by you.”

She churned her lips and tried to spit at him. Her attempt failed, no spittle forming in her dry mouth. Slay's feelings hurt just the same as if a stream of nasty mucus ran down his cheeks.

“You're hurting, I know,” he said.

“Fuck you, nigga. I want out of here.”

“You signed the papers, Mama.”

“I didn't know what I was doing,” Nancy said. “You tricked me. You've been fooling me your whole life.”

“What are you talking about, Mama?” Slay said. “I've always kept it real with you.”

“I should have listened to George,” she whined.

“Leave that be, Mama,” Slay cautioned her.

“Touching your sister with sex on your mind,” she continued.

“Shut up!”

“Shut me up, you nasty nigga! Why, boy? Why'd you do that nasty thing?”

Slay refused to revisit that dead issue. “Aiight, then,” he said, backing away and stumbling for the door. “I'm gonna head on out, but I'll be back to check on you soon.”

“Get out!”

Slay's back banged the door; he turned, surprised to see himself up against it, and struggled with the handle.

“Get out of here, nigga!”

He moved through the doorway and up the hall. One of the doctor's he'd been speaking with earlier approached him, a clipboard in his hand, smile on his face. The doctor stopped in his tracks.

“As you can probably see, your mother's already making progress. At least now she's communicat—”

Slay pushed his hand into the doctor's chest and trotted past. He pushed through the double doors at the end of the hallway, and as they closed behind him he bent over and squeezed his eyes shut. He gasped for air. She was so wrong, his mother was, and Cydney, too. He was the only one who'd ever cared about them. Why didn't they see that?

 

Cydney placed the telephone back in the cradle, a smile threatening to crack her face into a thousand pieces.
The only thing sustaining me is the thought of you,
Desmond had said. There was pure poetry in his words and the imminence of love in his heartfelt tone. Love, proper love, was indeed sustenance. The thought of a lover was indeed shelter from the harshness of this cold world. Cydney's worries from just a few days prior dissipated like a puddle on a hot June day. She stared off into the living room, the laundry basket of clothes on the counter in front of her at risk of turning to a pile of wrinkled cottons and polyesters. The extra hours she'd have to take on at Macy's, the overload of schoolwork, none of it seemed to matter anymore. She'd found her Mr. Wonderful. She shook off her daydreaming, grabbed the phone and moved to the living room where she settled on the couch.

She muted the volume on the television at first, and then picked up the remote a second time and just shut the television off completely. She punched in some numbers on the phone and waited as the rings cycled. A sleepy voice picked up after a few rings.

“Hello,” the voice said.

“The only thing sustaining me is the thought of you,” Cydney said into the phone.

“Cydney, do you know I'm trying to get some darn rest?” Faith asked, still groggy.

“Yes.”

“And I can see that doesn't matter to you. I was up all night working on Greenwood's paper. You finish yours?”

“Not yet.”

“You better step to it.”

“I will.”

“Now, what was that you were saying about staining me?” Faith asked after a long yawn.

Cydney laughed. “Desmond called and left me a message. He said, ‘The only thing sustaining me is the thought of you.'”

Faith perked up. “He said that? Why?”

“He just called me on his way in to work and told me he wanted me to know that.”

“Darn.”

“What do you think?” Cydney said.

“I think you answered the question V and I wondered about,” Faith said.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yep. You gave up the booty.”

“Maybe.”

“No maybe. Hold on, I'm going to get to Victoria on three-way.”

Cydney smiled. News travels fast.