Ex-Terminator Life After Marriage (14 page)

T
he champagne-colored Nissan Altima swerved in and out of traffic as Claudette headed toward the beauty shop. Rain fell in buckets and visibility was low, but she plowed on unconscious of the blaring horns that warned her not to cross the line again. Pink fingernails gripped the steering wheel with one hand and a lighted cigarette hung from the other. Bleach-blonde dreads moved each time Claudette shook her head at the thought of what she would find.

She continued to drive in silence, whimpering softly as she tried to remain calm. She was within blocks of her shop and now could see the fire engine as it sat quietly against a street full of colorful umbrellas, whose owners had come hell or high water to view what the rain had failed to put out.

A policeman blocked the road as Claudette neared and motioned for her to detour. She waved the policeman down, and he approached her car.

“Ma’am, you need to turn and go the other way. We’ve got us a mess here.”

“Is it bad?” Claudette asked, fighting back the tears.

“It’s a total. The owner is probably glad it burned down, sitting in this run-down neighborhood. Probably got no insurance, either. Now ma’am, you need to move on. You’re obstructing traffic. You need to move before I give you a ticket.”

“I’m the owner of the building that just burned down in this raggedy neighborhood. I worked hard to build my business, and when I collect on my insurance, I’m going to rebuild in the very same spot. And your hair needs washing; smells like old grease. Now move away from my car.”

The officer moved back and stared at Claudette as she prepared to drive away. “We’ll need some information from you—if you
are
the owner,” he said.

“When I get back. I’ve got to check on my son.” Claudette looked in her rearview mirror as she sped away. “I’ll be back sooner than you think.”

Rachel had some regrets about baring her soul to the ladies about her night with Marvin. She couldn’t take it back, but she felt she needed her sisters at the time. But it was no longer about her.

She picked up the phone and dialed Mona’s number. Mona wouldn’t forgive her or the group if they neglected to tell her about Claudette’s shop catching on fire.

“Mona,” Rachel said when she heard Mona’s voice at the other end.

“Rachel, how was the meeting? Did you get the candy and wine Marvin brought you for your make-up session?”

“What are you talking about, Mona?”

“I ran into Marvin just before…oh, I think I’ve messed up. Can I call you back?”

“Not so fast.”

“Look, Rachel. I’m out on a date. It’s very rude of me to be talking on my cell phone when I have a handsome gentleman feeding me caviar.”

“Yuck.”

“Look, I saw Marvin when he was on his way to your house, and I tried to warn him about the meeting. I guess it didn’t do any good.”

“No, it didn’t. You could have given
us
a call to warn
us
that Marvin was on his way. But, no, that was too much for you to do. Selfish you.”

“Yes, selfish me. Now I’ve got to go. Why did you call in the first place?”

“It’s Claudette.”

“Claudette? What about Claudette?” Mona asked with sincerity.

“Her shop burned down.”

“What?”

“Yes, and Kwame might have done it.”

“Thanks, Rachel. I’ve got to get to Claudette.”

“Okay, I thought you’d want to know.”

Her knees felt wobbly as Claudette proceeded to the information desk to inquire about Kwame. There was little activity aside from the occasional guard who walked by and flipped a “what’s going on” sign to the sergeant behind the information desk. Before Claudette could ask about Kwame’s whereabouts the outer door to the police station opened and in walked Tyrone, looking like the young serviceman she’d married so many years before.

Tyrone moved swiftly toward Claudette dressed in an olive dress shirt, off-white slacks and blazer and a tie that tied it all together. A diamond earring sat in the lobe of his left ear, and his hair was trimmed close to his scalp. Kwame looked so much like his father, she thought.

Claudette stood in the middle of the room, not knowing what to say. Tyrone met her and wrapped his arms around her.

“Hey, girl. We’ll get through this together,” Tyrone said. “Let’s go find our son.”

“Thank you, T. I appreciate you coming down.”

“Claudette, Kwame is my son, too. I would have been here even if you hadn’t called.”

“Michael, I really hate to leave.”

“Then don’t. I don’t think I could stand to have you out of my sight for even a second.”

“Flattery usually works but my friend Claudette needs me. Her beauty shop caught on fire, and I know she’s at her wit’s end.”

Michael sat the glass of wine on the table. “If you must, I do understand. The night is young, and there’s yet so much to enjoy.”

Mona smiled. She liked Michael Broussard’s style. He was smooth as silk and he wasted no time in telling her what he wanted.

“I want you, Mona. Ever since I laid eyes on you at the Gordons’ party, it became my mission to pursue you for this moment. Timing, I say, and it has been well worth the wait. I don’t want to sound selfish, but…no, you do what is best.”

“What if I come back? I need to know that Claudette is okay.”

“Why don’t I drive you? You can leave your car at the restaurant and we’ll pick it up later.”

“Really? I don’t want you to go out of your way. I’ve already spoiled our evening.”

“Not a problem. We can check on your friend and continue where we left off once we know she’s all right.”

“I’d like that, Michael. I feel lucky to be in your company.”

“Mona, it’s just the beginning.”

Mona gazed into Michael’s eyes and wouldn’t let go. This man could not be real. It had been a long time since someone who was worthy of the society page crossed the threshold into her life. She blinked.

“Let me get my umbrella. It’s still raining outside.”

A scared Kwame sat in a room with two chairs and a table. Claudette and Tyrone rushed in when the officer gave them access.

“Baby,” Claudette wailed, “tell Momma what happened!”

Kwame looked at Claudette, then Tyrone, and dropped his head.

“Kwame,” Claudette pressed, “what happened? Where is your sister? Why were you at the shop?”

“Take it easy, Claudette. Can’t you see that he’s traumatized?” Tyrone said.

“I just want to understand what happened, Tyrone. Why did they pick you up, Kwame?”

“Because they panicked and left me at the shop, and I was the only one there when the fire truck got there.”

“Who is ‘they,’ Kwame?”

“I…I don’t know.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Some guys and Reebe.”

“Where is your sister?”

“She’s with the guys.”

Ohhhhhhhh,
Claudette sighed out loud.

“Kwame,” Tyrone began, “what happened today?”

“It was an accident, Daddy.”

“What was an accident?”

“The fire.”

“What happened?” Tyrone pushed.

“I lit a cigarette like I see Momma do. Reebe was kissing—I mean, talking to this guy, and when she smelled the smoke she screamed at me to put the cigarette out. I threw the cigarette in the trash can. Then it caught on fire.”

Tyrone took charge. “Where was Reebe when the police picked you up?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see her anywhere after I ran outside. I guess she was scared and ran away with that guy she was with.”

Claudette popped her knuckles and got up from the chair. There was fire in her eyes, but she didn’t say a word. There were so many “what ifs” to be answered. What if she had stayed home and not gone to the meeting? What if she had been more responsible…had not left the cigarettes lying around? What if she had paid more attention to the company her daughter was keeping instead of making sure her own needs were at the top of her priority list? What if?

“Sit down, Claudette. Don’t go blaming yourself for what happened,” Tyrone said. “Kwame didn’t do it on purpose. We have to make sure the law understands that.”

“Oh, it’s not that. You get a second chance at life T, and things are going fine. There’s never a thought that things could go wrong again…ruin your life.”

“You can rebuild the shop, Claudette.”

“I keep thinking about how hard I worked to get to where I am today. What am I going to do? No income means I won’t be able to pay the mortgage, the car note, the light bill, the phone bill…”

“Enough. It’s not all about you. We have Kwame to consider, also. We can rebuild the shop, and I’ll help you until you get on your feet.”

“No handouts. I can make it on my own,” Claudette stated.

“Have it your way.”

“Momma, Daddy, I can’t take it. I didn’t mean to burn the shop down.” Kwame placed his head down on the table and cried.

“Son,” Tyrone said, “we believe you. We’re going to talk with the police and see what we can do.”

“I’m scared,” Kwame cried. “Daddy, I’m scared.”

Claudette and Tyrone went to their son and hugged him. “We’re going to get you out of here,” they assured him.

“I’m grateful for the neighbor who saw the building on fire as she passed by. Kwame could have been killed. Thank God for cell phones.”

The door to the interrogation room opened.

“Is everything all right in here?” the officer asked.

“Yes, sir,” Tyrone said. “I need to talk to someone about my son. He told his mother and me that it was an accident, and we believe him.”

Anderson Cooper concluded another interview on CNN. An ad for Allstate began to play on the screen.

Caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaww. Caaaaaaaaaaawww. Caaaaaaaaawwwww.
Marvin jerked his head up, then down.
Caaaaaaaaaaawwww. Caaaaaaaaawwwww.
His eyes popped open at the sound of the phone ringing. Groggy, he sat staring into space as the phone continued to ring. In slow motion, Marvin reached for the mobile that sat on the table.

“Hello,” he mumbled.

“Marvin?”

“Yes.”

“This is Rachel. Is this a bad time?”

“Rachel. No…oh no, this is not a bad time. I’m sorry, I fell asleep on the couch—a deep sleep—and I’m still a little out of it.”

Marvin was happy to hear Rachel’s voice. The incident earlier was childish, and he was going to make it up to her. He understood how she must have felt seeing Denise at the restaurant hovering over him, and she did what most women do: confide in a friend.

“I want to apologize for this evening, Marvin.”

“No need, Rachel. I’m the one who needs to apologize. I want you to know that I had no idea Denise was going to be at that restaurant. In fact, I didn’t know she was in town. I do hope we can start over…get a fresh start, because I do enjoy your company.”

“I’d like that very much.”

“If you’re not busy, maybe I can drop by. I know tomorrow is Monday, but I won’t stay long.”

“Why don’t you pick me up? Claudette’s shop burned down tonight,” Rachel told him.

“Oh my God.”

“She got the call while she was at the meeting. Maybe we can check on her—she was not doing well and I’m concerned about her state.”

“I’m on my way, Rachel. We have to help Claudette. That’s what the group is all about—supporting one another during a crisis.”

“You’re right. I’m lucky to have you, Mr. Thomas.”

“I’m the lucky one. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Beasley?” the judge asked.

“Yes,” both Claudette and Tyrone said.

“Do you have an attorney for Kwame?”

“No, sir,” Tyrone replied. “Our son has said the fire was an accident and his mother and I would like to take him home given this information.”

“Sir, your son is being charged with a serious crime. Arson is a felony, and he was found at the scene of the crime. I recommend that you obtain a lawyer. Bail is set at fifteen-thousand dollars.”

“Jesus,” Claudette spat out. “Fifteen-thousand dollars. My baby can’t stay the night.”

“Ma’am, you and your husband are going to be asked about your whereabouts while your son was at the shop.”

“Don’t say anything else, Claudette. Let’s get an attorney.”

“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!” Claudette wailed. “I’m going to kill Reebe.”

“You can’t talk about killing anybody,” Tyrone tried to whisper.

“I’m going to—”

“Excuse my wife…”

“
Ex
-wife,” Claudette corrected.

“Ex-wife, sir. Excuse my ex-wife. She’s a little distraught.”

“I need a cigarette,” Claudette said.

“Not now, Claudette. Have you forgotten that cigarettes are the root of this whole problem?”

“I need a cigarette and I need to see Kwame.”

“Okay. Then I’m taking you home and I’ll try to work the other out.”

Claudette was unable to move. She shivered at the thought of Kwame being left alone at the juvenile detention center. How she wished she could control fate and erase the moment that now caused her so much pain and frustration. She was a tigress when it came to standing up to Ashley’s ex, William. Now here she was at the detention center, unable to save her own son.

She let Tyrone lead her from the room.

“What a nasty night. I would hate to see you out here in all this mess. I’m glad you agreed to let me take you,” Michael said.

“I’m glad, too. Hopefully, the rain will have stopped by the time I’m ready to go home,” Mona replied.

“We can remedy that, too.”

Mona smiled. She wasn’t quite ready to expose herself to Mr. Broussard just yet, but she’d keep the offer in the back of her mind.

“Where to?” Michael asked.

“The south end of Stone Mountain. Claudette should be home. I’ll call her cell.”

Michael stole glances at Mona as she chatted briefly with Claudette. He held the steering wheel with his left hand and allowed the other to gently graze Mona’s other hand which hung over the console. Mona flinched, then turned in Michael’s direction, finally ending her phone call with Claudette.

“Claudette is on her way home.”

“Your hands are soft,” he murmured.

“Why me, Mr. Broussard?”

“Why not you, Mona?”

“There were so many good-looking women at that party.”

“Need I remind you, most of them came with a date.”

“Everyone except us.” They laughed.

“You intrigue me, Mona Baptiste.”

“You have a faint accent—islander?”

“West Indies.”

Mona sat back and her mind roamed to the day she met Timothy in college. It was the accent that caused her to take another look at the dark-skinned guy whose pearl-white teeth glistened like a lighthouse on a foggy day. She shook the memory from her mind.

“You all right?”

“Yeah. I was thinking of home. Haven’t been there in awhile.”

“Maybe you should go for a visit. It might do you some good.”

“I will eventually.” There was a short pause. “Make a left, then a right. Claudette lives four houses from the corner. I hope I find the right words to say.”

“Just be her friend. And think about getting an airline ticket home.”

Mona looked at Michael Broussard. He was a lucky find. Her Ex-Files had been emptied long ago. She had plenty of empty space to accommodate someone in her heart. And she was ready.

Darkness fell as Mona and Michael waited for Claudette to arrive home. The night was silent, save for the hissing sound of the tires of the few automobiles that passed through the rain-soaked street. Another set of headlights beamed in their direction but slowed as it approached the house. Mona didn’t recognize the car that turned into the driveway but she did recognize the driver as he got out of the car. Claudette herself exited on the passenger’s side.

“Hmmph, Claudette’s ex,” Mona said. “I wonder what happened to Claudette’s car.”

“He must have come to Claudette’s aid when he got the news.”

“Maybe.”

Mona and Michael exited the car when another set of headlights stopped right in front of them.

“Marvin and Rachel? I can’t believe they made up so fast. Just a few hours ago, Rachel was sulking,” Mona said in surprise.

“These your friends?” Michael asked.

“They are part of our support group for ex-wives, even though I’m not sure why I joined. I’ve been an ex for awhile, and I’ve gone on with my life.”

“Hmmm,” Michael said, perplexed. “So, your life is fulfilled and happy.”

“Well, yes, but there’s always room for new adventure.”

“I see. You are a very complicated woman, Mona Baptiste, but don’t worry, I love puzzles.”

Mona looked at Michael and smiled.
I am
very
complicated, Dr. Michael Broussard, and it won’t be that easy to navigate my waters
, she thought.

As everyone gathered in Claudette’s driveway and gave her hugs, another set of headlights approached. Out hopped Sylvia and Ashley, outdone by the welcome party who beat them there.

“Let’s go into the house, everybody,” Claudette said, throwing the butt of her cigarette down on the carport floor and smashing it for good measure.

The group followed and sat on the sparse furniture without taking off coats or wraps. Claudette stood next to Tyrone; his arm was wrapped around her shoulders.

“I love you all,” Claudette began. “It’s late and most of you have to get up tomorrow and go to work, but you cared enough to see about a friend.” A tear welled up in her eye. “Standing next to me is Tyrone, my ex-husband.” Claudette looked at T and dropped her head.

“Hello, everyone,” Tyrone began.

“My…my…my shop is gone,” Claudette interrupted. Tyrone squeezed her tight. “I drove by there after I left Rachel’s, and there’s nothing left. Kwame is in the juvenile detention center because the police found him outside. My baby is in jail and will have to stay there until we can make bail—fifteen-thousand dollars. Can you believe that?”

The group stood up to offer their support. Claudette let the tears roll. There was no more shame.

“Sit down, Claudette,” Tyrone prompted and led her to a chair.

“Did Kwame set the shop on fire?” Mona asked.

“Not on purpose. He was at the shop with his sister, for what reason I don’t know. He picked up a pack of my cigarettes and lit one. Reebe shouted at him and he threw it in the trash can, and it caught on fire. Accident. He didn’t mean to do it. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“You can use your house as a shop,” Rachel put in.

“Yeah, that’s a great idea,” Mona chimed in. “Go back to the roots. You know that’s how we did it before these fancy, schmancy salons came along.”

“I agree,” Sylvia said. “It’s an excellent idea. We’ll help you notify your customers.”

“I’m so grateful to you all,” Claudette said. “I don’t know what I’d do without the Ex-Files.” She laughed for the first time.

Marvin moved toward Claudette. “I’ll donate the money for Kwame’s bail and help you get whatever you need to get your shop set up.”

Everyone stared in awe at the gorgeous and gracious gentleman who had withdrawn from the group only hours earlier.

“Oh, oh, I…I can’t, Marvin. That is so generous, but I can’t take anything from you.”

“Please, accept my offer. If we hurry, we can bring Kwame home tonight.”

“And I’ll purchase the hair supplies you need,” Ashley put her two cents in. “You were right there for me, Claudette, when I needed a friend.”

Rachel could not stop staring at Marvin. She went to him and kissed his lips. Marvin searched her eyes, which were full of tears, and he kissed her back passionately in front of a room full of friends.

Sylvia turned away unable to keep the tears from streaming down her face. She had not seen such a beautiful display of affection in a long time. It was obvious that Rachel and Marvin were soul mates, and Sylvia knew she could mark the day as a pivotal one in Rachel’s life—her resurrection day.

“Thank you, Ashley,” Claudette said, giving her a hug. “I appreciate it, girl. Whenever you need a babysitter, Auntie Claudette will be here for you.”

“Thanks, man,” Tyrone said, shaking Marvin’s hand. “I appreciate what you’re doing for Claudette—for us. Kwame’s my son, too. I’ll hit you back, man. I’m going to do all I can to help my family.”

Claudette glanced at Tyrone. She had gotten used to being by herself—gotten used to her independence. This was not the time for Tyrone to try and waltz back into her life. Maybe God was trying to tell her something. She would not dwell on Tyrone at this moment; she wanted to bring her baby home, and she had to find the other one. Reebe was in trouble.

“Before we go,” Marvin began, “another thought came to mind. We should have a fund-raiser this Saturday to help Claudette.”

“You have to plan for that, baby,” Rachel insisted.

“Not if we do it right. We’ll have a barbecue. I’ll get the meat and ladies, you can make the dishes that go with it. Everybody is tasked with calling their friends and co-workers. I don’t care who they are as long as they buy a plate. It’s for a worthy cause, and I expect everyone to work. We can have it in the parking lot of the beauty shop—I’ll check to make sure we can have it there.”

“Take charge, baby. Take charge!” Rachel shouted.

“What happened between three o’clock and now?” Sylvia asked Rachel with a nudge to her rib cage. “You were singing a different story earlier.”

“Break up to make up. It’s a beautiful thing. Don’t hate, my sister.”

“I don’t, Rachel. I’m happy if things are working out for you and Marvin. Give that ex-wife, Denise, a run for her money.”

Rachel threw Sylvia a sly glance. “I’m not worried about Ms. Denise. I’ve got something for her if she thinks she’s gonna try and reclaim my man. Plus I’ve got backup. We really are a team.”

“Don’t expect me to fight like a street hood,” Sylvia shot back.

“If I’m in trouble, you better come running.”

“I’m happy for you, Rachel. I really am, sis.”

“Thanks, Sylvia. That means a lot.”

Sylvia longed for Kenny, but she knew he could not be a fix every time she felt she was in trouble. No one would ever say she was a junkie, but she wanted him. She needed him like a crack addict needed his rock. Kenny had become her rock. Yes, she had become very dependent on him because he offered shelter from the rain, his words soothed when she sought calm and he had become the man she had looked for to complement her life. Sylvia walked to her car and waited for Ashley.