Beautiful Liar (6 page)

              Later that evening, Dominic helped me carry my shopping bags to my bedroom. After Marley dropped me off home from hanging out at her father’s house, I immediately hopped in the Range and dashed to the mall. I hit Nordstrom, Bloomingdales, and a few other stores. If I was going to attended church every Sunday, I needed more suits…with matching hats… fabulous ones that a first lady would wear… I needed matching shoes too! And, a purse for my bible…. and a bible.

              “All this stuff, Nola?” Dominic tossed my bags into my walk-in closet.

              “Careful, Dom. Look, boo, I got you something, too.”

              I tossed him a small bag and watched as he pulled out two Armani Exchange T-shirts. I loved how Dominic looked in A|X shirts, because they helped him look more his age. Although Dominic could care less about apparel, he appreciated A|X t-shirts, because they didn’t have the scratchy, flapping tags on the back which drove him absolutely insane.

              “Thank you, Nola. I love red shirts,” he stuffed them back into the bag.  Then he suddenly grinned big and pointed his finger at me. “What is the name of the source of electric power for a subway car?” he asked.

              “Aw, man. Another pop quiz?”

              Dominic smiled, anxiously awaiting my answer. It was a warming smile - a smile that had enough power to brighten any of my worst days… a smile that I’ve often needed growing up.

              Dominic was born on my tenth birthday, and he was the best gift my parents have ever given me. He came at a time in my life when it was difficult to make friends, and when I often felt isolated from my family.

              “I don’t know. Electric train?” I answered from inside of my closet.

              Dominic burst into a roar of laughter. At his age, most guys were interested in bagging women, enrolling in maybe their second semester of college, pledging a fraternity, or deciding which house party to crash next. Dominic’s preoccupations were trains. In fact, he was the walking and talking Wikipedia on the subject. When he wasn’t educating us all on trains, he was showing a rare but genuine interest in people’s thoughts and emotions. He housed many of my secrets and deepest thoughts, because I trusted Dominic more than anybody I’ve ever known. I trusted his advice, his criticism, and his opinions. Where most people see a socially and behaviorally impaired young man, I saw a genius life coach, and I sometimes imagined he was one.

              When he finally stopped laughing at my incorrect answer, he answered, “Third rail, Nola!”

              I snapped my finger as if the answer was on the tip of my tongue and said, “Aw, man. I should have known.”

              “Next time you get it right like Derrick did. Derrick is smart.”

              I poked my head out of my closet.

              “Derrick was here?”

              Dominic nodded enthusiastically.

              “Why was he here?” I pried.

              “Derrick took Manny to eat.”

              I smirked. “Those fools are at it again. What an idiot!”

              “Nola, you hate Derrick.”

              “No, Dominic. I don’t. Hate is a very, very strong word.”

              “You do,” Dominic insisted.

              I hung one of my suits on the rod and cupped Dominic’s face in my hands to get him to look directly at me.  “I do not hate our older brother. Hate is a strong word. I hate my natural hair color. I hate when I overdraft my checking account and I have to tap into my trust fund. I told you before, I do not hate Derrick… I just don’t love him the way that I love you.”

              “Why don’t you love Derrick?” Dominic asked innocently.

              I released Dominic’s face, closed my eyes, and bit my bottom lip. “I love our brother, Dominic… just not how I love you.”

              I tried to explain, but I couldn’t find the words, only vivid memories. I especially recalled one memory in particular. Before my parents moved here to Delaware, two years before Dominic was born, we lived in Bowie, Maryland in a big house located in a small development. I was walking home from my bus stop on the last day of school year, and a group of girls from our development were following me.

              They were chanting, “Witch of Bowie, why is your hair so big? Witch of Bowie, we wish you were dead!”

              They chanted this every school day, as a matter of fact. They chanted that awful song so much that it sometimes still haunts me at unexpected times. Each day, I would speed walk ahead of them all the way up the hill to our home, never looking back. This particular day, I guess I didn’t walk fast enough, because after they chanted, ‘Witch of Bowie, we wish you were dead,’ the unexpected happened.

              SMACK! I was shoved to ground, and my face slapped the concrete pavement. I remember tasting a blend of blood and saliva in my mouth. The four girls rolled me on my back, and it felt like a piece of the sidewalk was attached to my face. That’s how bad my face stung.

              “Eww. She’s all bloody.”

              “Ain’t witches’ blood supposed to be green?”

              “Maybe she’s not a witch.”

              “Shut up, you three. She is a witch! She’s the only person in the world her skin color with that wild and ugly hair!” the leader of the evil crew demanded.

              They tied twigs to my sandy brown and blonde hair and dragged me half a mile to our front lawn, using the sticks as handles. When they left my bruised body on my front lawn, I ran across our yard and busted through the door with a swollen and oozing lip, a bloody shirt, and dingy jeans.

              I ran straight to my mother and cried, “They me beat up!”

              My mother grabbed “Nola! You’re such a tomboy.”

              With twigs still knotted in my hair, my father led me to the kitchen and tossed me an ice pack. “Daddy, it was four of them! The ones that always tease me.
I hate it here!”

              He lifted me onto the bar stool and roared, “Shut up! You’re a victor not a victim. If you’re gonna play rough, then you better be tough!”

              I lowered my head, and my fallen tears met my bloody lip and converged on the icepack.

              “Stop it! You’re being a wimp!” he scolded through clenched teeth. “Stop crying!”

              I tried so hard to make the tears stop, but I couldn’t. I had enough of it all. The bullying from the kids at school, the pressure, confusion, and constant name calling from my father, mom’s passive aggressive reaction to almost absolutely everything, and even perfect Derrick.

              I remember he smashed through the door while I was being chastised for being bullied. He was waving his report card like it was Willy Wonka’s golden ticket.

              “I’m being skipped! I’m being skipped!” he cheered.

              As he always, my father reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. “I don’t know what to do with you, Nola. I never knew what to do with you.”

              He tucked the money into my hand and went off to join Derrick and my mom in the living room. From the barstool I was sitting on in the kitchen with sticks in my hair, an icepack in one hand, $150 in the other. I watched as Derrick was praised. My parents gave him proud smiles, benevolent eyes, and exuberant pats on the back, shoulders, and head.  I watched as our father morphed into butter right before my eyes.  If I had ever wondered before, that day it was confirmed that my feelings meant nothing to them. If time had been frozen and placed in their hands to control, our parents still wouldn’t have used that time to be there for me, because my father didn’t like me. Even though my eight year-old body had been tortured by the town’s worst bullies, they chose to shower Derrick.

              That day in particular, summed up how it always had been for me growing up. Derrick was exalted and shown off to family and friends, while I was merely paid to stay out of trouble, be happy, and forget it all. Derrick always had our parents’ attention, and I was left having to prove that I was worthy of that same attention, acceptance, and recognition, too. I carried that weight with me into my teenage years and adulthood. I spent my life constantly vying for attention, even if it meant breaking some rules. I was vying for recognition, even if it meant starting fights just so I could play the hero. I was vying for acceptance, even if it meant putting on a façade from time to time or falling for all kinds of guys—the goods, the bads, and the uglies.

              Dominic stretched his 6’1’, 206 lbs. body and headed for the door. Just before he exited, he said, “I’m proud of you, Nola.”

              I smiled at his random but regular compliment.

              He chanted, “Push hard. Pull hard. Chug hard like—“

              “Like a train,” we said his favorite advice to me in unison.

              He high-fived me and gave me a warm smile. As he left, I thought about how Dominic would never fully understand my animosity towards our brother, Boy-Perfect. He wasn’t there during my terrible childhood nor was he aware of the isolation I felt for the first ten years of my life. I didn’t actually hate Derrick. I despised our disparity. While I struggled with never feeling good enough, Derrick was celebrated daily. He was the perfect blend of our parents characteristically and physically. He was perfectly intelligent and spoke with perfect diction. Then, he grew up and graduated college with perfect grades and wound up working for a perfect Fortune 500 company. He was married to the perfect wife, and together they created a perfect baby girl. He lived in a perfect home in the most perfect section of Philadelphia… and, the man even had the perfect secret.

              After I finished putting away my clothes, I finally turned my phone back on. There were two voicemails from Silas. The first one was energetic:
Hey it’s Silas. The address you gave me sent me to some farm. Call me back!
The second one was low and flustered:
Yo, it’s Silas. I guess you aren’t getting service. Every time I call, I get your voicemail. Anyway, I’ve been driving around for ten minutes, and I don’t see anything residential…. Uh… uh, I guess I’ll wait another five minutes for you to call back. Call me back
!

              I giggled while I deleted both messages. Moments later, I received the phone call I was anticipating all evening.

              “Hey, what’s up with your phone? I have been trying to reach you since I dropped you off,” Marley said.

              “It died without me even realizing it. I’m sorry. What’s up?”

              “My dad said you left your wallet at his house.”

              “Oh no!” I said dramatically, trying my best to sound surprised. Before I pocketed my driver’s license and a credit card, I strategically wedged my Givenchy wallet between Ronnie’s sofa cushions right next to his remote.

              “Don’t worry, I’ll pick it up for you tomorrow after work. But, it’ll have to be right after I leave this boutique, if that’s okay with you. I’m bridesmaid’s dress hunting tomorrow.” I could hear Marley smiling through the phone.

              “That’s exciting. You know what, Marley. Don’t even think about going out of your way for my wallet. I have Ronnie’s address. I’ll just get it myself.” Marley sighed in relief. I smiled mischievously as I continued to erase any chances of her ruining my plan. “Your focus should only be on finding a dress for your bridesmaids. That’s very important. Plus, it can get pretty challenging.
You know that I know
.”

              “Awwwwww. Thanks, Nola. You are so thoughtful,” Marley fawned. “Are you sure?”

              “I’m sure about everything I say.”

              Marley asked, “What time should I tell him to expect you?”

              “I don’t know. My hair appointment is in the morning. Just text me his number. I’ll let him know,” I said cautiously, trying not sound like I was up to something.

              The naïve Marley replied, “Okay. I’m texting it now.”

              I blew imaginary smoke from my imaginary gun. Two birds. One bullet.

              Delilah, my stylist, gave me the works that Monday morning. She dyed my hair chestnut brown with honey highlights and tossed it with loose and bouncy s-curls that laid gracefully about my mid-back. It was layered to perfection. I flipped the front of it to the side just enough to expose my neck. My diamond studded cross necklace and matching earrings winked at the sun as I sat at the table by the large window that faced my old condominium building.  Its view slapped me with nostalgic memories of strutting across Market Street in my Giuseppe heels with my hair dancing against the wind.

              An empty chair and an empty tea cup were placed across from me while I sat patiently yet anxiously waiting for Ronnie to show up. Five minutes prior, he texted that he was wrestling through the Center City traffic for parking. Since I looked a mess on Sunday, I reached for redemption by wearing a navy high-waist skirt that kissed my kneecaps and a tan cropped blouse that gave my abdomen a peek… just little peek. I tapped my red bottom nude gladiator sandals on the floor rapidly. I wasn’t nervous. I was just excited to see the man that I wanted badly. When I texted him the night before, he told me it would better to meet somewhere in the Philly area since he'd be out and about. Immediately I picked FeliciTEAs.

              I felt my body heat rise when he walked through the glass doors. He looked so damn good in his light denim jeans, dark blue t-shirt, and knit grey slouchy hat. He looked absolutely nothing like a pastor, but everything like a Diesel model, except sexier. He flashed his dimple and smiled when he spotted me. I wanted to leap into his arms. Instead, I slowly rose and met him a quarter of the way so that he could check out the silhouette of my petite yet curvy shape. I led him to our table and made sure to flip my hair as I sat back down - men love that stuff.

              I smile and chirped, “Good to see you!”

              Ronnie dug into his pocket and pulled out my wallet. When he placed it on the table, I noticed his toned arms which were not too bulky and not at all scrawny. They were just perfect for his slender yet athletic body. Physically, we looked like the perfect couple.

              “Sorry to keep you waiting. Traffic is a challenge in the city.”

              “I know. I used to live there,” I said as I pointed out of the window toward my old place.

              “Did you? Living large, huh?” he teased.

              I chuckled, “Of course.” I gestured at his tea cup. “Have a seat. You have to try their tea before you leave.”

              Ronnie adjusted his hat, then he hesitated before he sat. I motioned for our barista.

              “I’ll have another mango green tea. Could you get him the black cherry special?”

              “Actually,” Ronnie spoke up. “Could you make that for two, and can we grab an extra chair?”

              The barista nodded and went off for our drinks. I sat confused while Ronnie grabbed a chair from another table and brought it to ours. Before I could part my lips to ask who the other chair was for, he was waving to a woman who had just entered the store, dangling car keys. She had big round eyes, a tapered haircut with dark roots and blonde tips, and she wore a khaki colored button-downed flare dress with those disgusting $2 flip flops from Old Navy.

              “I finally found a good spot,” she said as she approached us. She handed Ronnie the car keys and then looked at me and smiled big. “Hi!”

              Ronnie quickly introduced us. “Nola, this is my lady, Carmen. Carmen, this is Nola.”

              Carmen sat down, “Nice to meet you.”

              I looked at Ronnie, “Oh I’m sorry. Lady what? Lady of the usher board? Lady of the deacons?”
She couldn’t have been his lady-friend
.

              Carmen giggled and patted my hand. “No, Sweetie. There’s no such thing.”

              I snatched my hand away. I wanted so badly to say, “Wench don’t touch me. You don’t know me.” However, I bit my tongue.

              Ronnie nodded slowly. “She’s my lady—my girl.”

              My heart sunk, but my exterior didn’t let it show. I dryly said, “Oh. How nice.”

              Carmen smiled. “Ronnie told me that you’re his daughter’s sorority sister.”

              The barista placed our tea on the table, and I quickly sipped some to keep my mouth from blurting out something that could hurt her feelings.

              Carmen continued, “I always wanted to be an A.K.L.”

              I swallowed my tea and retorted, “We don’t pick any ole-bodies. We’re very selective. I’m sorry you were rejected.”

              “Oh! I wasn’t rejected. I just never… You know what? Never mind that,” she said, rolling her eyes.

              I rolled my eyes. “Thank you.”

              There was an awkward pause before I looked at Ronnie and smiled. “How come Marley doesn’t know about, Camilla?”

              Carmen retorted, “It’s not Camilla, it’s Carmen. Ms. Carmen”

              My eyes never left Ronnie as I continued, “Marley thinks you’re single.”

              Ronnie stroked his chin, and glanced at Carmen. “We’re taking it day by day.”

              I chuckled, “We all know what
that’s
code for.”

              He said, “Code?”

              I gladly explained, “Listen, when a man is really into a woman, he can’t wait to introduce her to his family and friends.”

              Carmen wrapped herself around Ronnie’s arm and rested her head on his shoulder. “I have no doubts that my baby is into me.”

              Although I felt my blood boil, I hid my hostility and changed the subject. “Try your tea,” I said to Ronnie. “…before it gets cold.”

              Ronnie sipped and nodded. Carmen continued to cling to his arm. “Nice,” he said. “And by the way, I like it here.”

              I beamed. “Really? This is my favorite spot along with this Moroccan Restaurant not too far from here.”

              “I love Moroccan,” he said with a smile.

              “Seriously? I’ll have to take you some day.”

              Ronnie looked at Carmen whose smile had long disappeared. “Cool. That shouldn’t be a problem. It’s not often I get to hang out in this city. Why not?”

              Carmen unlocked her hold and glared at her wrist watch. “Bae, we should get going. We don’t wanna miss lunch.”

              Ronnie rose and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “I’ll take care of everything. Where do I pay?”

              While Ronnie scurried off in the direction that I pointed, Carmen sat cross from me with her arms folded, burning a whole into my forehead with her gigantic eyeballs. I smirked. “I'm sorry but I gotta ask. What's the age difference between you two?”

              “Ten years. Why?” Carmen asked defensively.

              “Hard to tell,” I said. “You look so
old
.”

              She flexed her jaw and rocked side-to-side like she was hoping I’d say the right thing to set her off. Since I’ve never responded well to intimidation tactics. I gave her exactly what she wanted.

“You seem threatened by me,” I gave her an affected grin.

              Her response was quick. “Believe me baby girl, I have
NO
reason to feel threatened.”

              With my elbows resting on the table, I took a sip from my tea cup. Smiled. Took another sip, and then smiled again. Before I sat my cup back down, I looked directly at Carmen and raised my eyebrow. “Better watch your dress before you get tea all over it.”

              This set Ms. Carmen off. She jumped out of her chair and wagged her finger in my face. “I wish you would,” she begged. “I wish… you would.”

              Before I knew it, Ronnie was behind her tugging on her arm. He was trying to calm his woman down.

              “Ronnie, this is embarrassing,” I said standing up and waving my hands, “I can't deal with trashy behavior. Thanks for bringing my wallet, but goodbye!”

              As I walked towards the door, I could hear Carmen yelling, “She said she’d throw tea on me! She said she’d throw tea on me!”

              I laughed all the way back to my car. Moments later, my phone buzzed through my purse. My heart skipped several beats and did a cartwheel when I saw Ronnie’s name flash across the screen. It was a text message:

              “Sorry for what happened just now.”

              I responded: “It’s okay. Although, the altercation was random.”

              I sat in my Range while I waited for his response. When his name flashed across the screen, my heart skipped a beat again. 

              “It was nice speaking to you today.”

              I replied with: “Let’s do it again
.
”

              Less than a minute later, my phone buzzed again. However, this time it was a text from Silas, the guy from church.

              He sent: “
Hello, Beautiful.”
...That one was ignore.