If Only You Knew (4 page)

As she made her way over the last pile of junk between her and the boxes, Sydney heard the sound of the garage door opening. Panicking, she tossed the album into the fray and
made a dash for the door. But common sense told her that when Keisha or Altimus found the album haphazardly thrown on top a pile of old clothes it would be just as bad if not worse than it just being missing. At least that way, there was a chance they might assume it was lost during the original move years prior. Sydney did a 180-degree turn, retrieved the album, and bolted up the stairs.

Just as she stepped out and closed the door behind her, Mrs. Duke appeared in the garage entrance wearing a hot pink Juicy track suit and holding three large Crate & Barrel shopping bags. As she placed them on the ground, the sound of clinking glasses escaped. “Hey, Mom,” Sydney exclaimed a little too brightly.

Keisha looked up as she bent over to take off her leather Hogan sneakers. “Hay is for horses, Sydney,” she answered automatically, flipping her honey blonde weave over her left shoulder. “And why are you yelling? There's nothing wrong with my hearing.”

“Sorry,” Sydney returned in a more normal tone.

“That's better,” she said, grabbing her bags and heading over to the counter directly in front of Sydney. “I swear I hate going to the nail shop late in the afternoon. It's always so crowded,” she huffed as she put the bags on the counter. Edwina automatically stood up, grabbed the bags, and disappeared into the pantry to put the items away.

“Sorry to hear about it,” Sydney said, trying to steady the
nervous tremor in her voice. More than anything, she wished Keisha would pass so she could move away from the basement door.

Finally, noticing the stressed look on Sydney's face and the large book behind her back, Mrs. Duke's eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?” she asked suspiciously.

“Oh, um, nothing. I was just grabbing my after-school snack and heading back up to my room to study,” she stuttered. She stepped forward and anxiously grabbed the large plate of fruit still sitting on the counter and placed it on top of the photo album as quickly as possible.

“Is that so,” Keisha said as she looked from the album to the basement door where Sydney was standing and back again.

“Yes, ma'am,” Sydney answered, realizing that if she didn't make a speedy exit Keisha's twenty-twenty would spot the album's distinct markings. “Got a big test on Friday, can't afford to waste any time. Especially with all the party planning I still have to do.” Sydney took big steps toward the door. “I'll see you at dinner, okay?” she said as she darted into the living room.

“Oh, okay,” Mrs. Duke responded to Sydney's retreating back as she slowly walked over to the closed basement door. As soon as Sydney was completely out of sight, Keisha opened the door and found the light on.

My God, Donald's got to get a hold of himself,
Lauren practically said out loud. There he was, up there on the Grace Temple AME Church of Christ choir-rehearsal stage, fa la la la la-ing and smiling at the other singers and swinging his head like he was in the school glee club. Yeah, um, the “I'm not gay, really” charade? To the wind. Donald came back from his “punishment” at the all-boys' school in Chicago early (his father—finally catching on to the grapevine gossip that Trinity Men's Academy was practically the citadel of gay pride—pulled his boy out and reenrolled him at Brookhaven Prep) and now Donald was a changed man: He was more gay than ever and clearly willing to go public with it, despite the fact that his father threatened to force him into West Point and then the Marines to, well, you know,
really
make a man
out of him or something. The thought of unlimited buff boy toys made Donald hot, but he had no interest in taking up arms or, worse, waking up before sunrise to, as he put it, “Pull on those perfectly dreadful overstarched uniforms.” Lucky for him, Donald's mother couldn't wrap her mind around an image of her son running through some foreign country with an assault weapon in his hand, either, so she deaded the whole “off to the Marines with you” mantra her husband had adopted, threatening to divorce Mr. Aller, take half his money, and tell a reporter friend of hers at the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
a few details about the celebrated attorney's Internet porn addiction. Now, Donald, empowered by his mother's hardball stance, was on a damn rampage. Which explained why he was practically twirling off the rehearsal stage.

“He so wants me,” Donald said as he walked up to Lauren, winking at the choir director and tossing in a “tootles” wave for good measure. “Can't touch this,” he hissed, making a sizzling sound for effect as he rubbed his booty. Lauren sucked her teeth and shook her head at his outrageous shenanigans. “Anyway, smooches,” Donald said to Lauren, air kissing each side of her face. “It's good to finally see you again. Where you been hiding?”

“Oh, well, you know, just maintaining,” Lauren said half-heartedly as she straightened Donald's tie and brushed imaginary lint off his choir-issued red velvet jacket.

Actually, “maintaining” was a really enthusiastic assessment of the situation, considering Lauren had hardly eaten or slept since her run-in with Brandi and Uncle Larry in the West End. She had replayed the scene over and over in her mind, and had seriously considered borrowing someone's phone to call Aunt Lorraine, but it was too risky and she did not want to have to explain to anyone—or, worse, read all about it on YoungRichandTriflin.com. As it was, she was already doing damage control over the message from Jermaine that somehow got forwarded “mysteriously,” according to Elizabeth Chiclana, to the Web site. The resulting fallout was downright ugly:

Looks like one of Brookhaven's own just can't get enough of the hard-knock life; despite numerous warnings from her Daddy Warbucks to stay away from the dirty dirty, she's been making a go of reconnecting with her West End boo. Too bad the feeling's not mutual; sources tell YRT that booby boo is looking for a “little space” while he tries to get that dirt (and potential murder charge) off his shoulder, and there just isn't enough room for him to put his “dukes” up.

Lauren was so embarrassed by the posting that she convinced Keisha she was too sick to go to school on Monday
and Tuesday. When Keisha called Dr. Robertson to make an appointment Wednesday morning, Lauren “miraculously” started feeling good enough to make it to class, but she stalked the halls with a snarl so fierce nobody dared speak beyond a standard “What up?” much less ask details on what was going on with Jermaine.

Try as she might, Lauren couldn't shake Sydney, though. In her sister's eyes, Lauren had violated their pinkie-swear agreement. On the night of their parents' anniversary celebration, the two of them made a pact not to speak to anyone but each other about Rodney's murder, or the potential involvement of Altimus, Dice, and Jermaine, or especially what they had found out about their parents' marriage. Even those conversations, they agreed, should take place outside of Keisha's prying ears at the house, either at school or on their way back home in the car. Nowhere else. And especially out of earshot of everyone else.

Which explained why Sydney was all in Lauren's face before she could even pull her Saab down the circular driveway as the two made their way to choir rehearsal, demanding to know what Lauren had done to set Keisha off.

“What do you mean, ‘What did I do?'” Lauren charged back.

“You were trying to reach out to Jermaine again,” Sydney said through her teeth. “I thought we agreed you would stay away from him until things calmed down.”

“For your information, I haven't seen him,” Lauren snipped.

“But you talked to him—I saw it on YRT,” Sydney said. “You should have known it would be just a matter of time before it got back to Mom. She was stalking around the house just now like she's a detective on
Law & Order.
Shoot, she almost busted me out with the photo album.”

“What? She knows you have it?” Lauren asked, fear making her head hot. She reached over, turned on the air conditioner, and unfastened the belt on her Heatherette flight jacket.

“I was trying to put it back in the basement, and she came home before I could get it back down there. I swear my heart was in my throat when she started walking over trying to see what I had in my hand. I got out of there in time, I think, but still. We don't need to make her any more suspicious than she already is. Try to stay off YRT, okay?”

“I'm not doing anything to get on YRT,” Lauren insisted. She decided that instant to keep her trip to the West End, and her introduction to Uncle Larry, to herself.

“Whatever, Lauren,” Sydney said. “Just lay off calling Jermaine until we can figure some stuff out. And try to keep this on the hush; nobody, especially your little friends, needs to know about what's going on.”

Now Lauren was trying to decide whether that directive should include Donald, her ace confident.

“Maintaining, huh?” Donald asked, clearly not convinced. “I heard a little chatter about what's been going on with you while I was, um, ‘away,'” he continued, making imaginary quote marks with his fingers. “So tell me about this boy you got caught with on the other side of town.”

See? There just wasn't any good reason why Donald should know all Lauren's business, seeing as he'd been incommunicado in an entirely different region of the country for the past month. Except that big-mouthed Keisha had been all up in Sheer, telling Toni, her hair stylist, to keep an eye on her twins because “It takes a village to keep these little girls in check and out of the hood.”

“Kids these days—this MTV culture is going to be the death of this generation,” Toni clucked, sipping his tea and tossing Keisha a knowing look. But not because he actually believed what she was saying to be true; in the mind of Toni, who styled the hair of Buckhead's black high society, Keisha's girls were just apples off the old Keisha tree—new-money problematic. His clients were watching her. And warning their kids to watch the girls, too. Keisha, for all her street smarts, was too new to catch on. Lauren got it, though, and so did her sister.

“God, I don't know why Keisha can't talk about something else with her friends besides my damn business,” Lauren huffed.

“Oooh, potty mouth in the House of the Lord,” Donald squealed, holding his hand up to his mouth. “The shame of it all.”

“What's a shame is that you weren't even in the state and you know what was going on with my tragic soap opera saga,” Lauren sighed.

“Come on, honey, you know your boyfriend had to keep up with the happenings. But these sorry heiffas around here are good for getting it all twisted, so I'm coming to you to get the real deal,” Donald said. “Besides, you know I'm happy to run interference between you and all these nosy haters. Just tell Donald baby what's really hood.”

Lauren took Donald by the hand and led him to a set of folding chairs far away from the rest of the choir, which was preening and prepping for their morning service entrance. She smoothed down her charcoal gray silk Elie Tahari dress and sat on the cold metal seat. “Honestly, D, I don't know sometimes if I'm coming or going,” Lauren whispered, looking down at her hot-pink box-toe pumps. “I haven't heard from Jermaine in weeks, and as far as I know, he's either still being blamed for his brother's death, or looking for his killer, or both, which means he could be in a lot of trouble and Altimus may be involved in all of it.”

“Whoa, whoa—slow down. Murder and mayhem? When did all of that enter the equation? And what does Altimus have to do with it?” Donald gasped.

Lauren looked at Donald and rolled her eyes. “Okay, why don't you tell me what you think you know, so I can fill in the real details,” she said, exasperated. Who knew what rumors were floating through the Buckhead Jack & Jill set.

Donald took a deep breath and let it whirl. “What I had heard was that you were wrapped around a catfish sandwich at a bar in the SWATS, and Altimus dragged you outta the hood drunk and half high after an afternoon of cavorting with some boy with a record a half mile long. I also heard that you will never see the light of day again if you ever get caught over in the West End and that Sydney finally caught on to the fact that Marcus is more of a dog than ten of Mike Vick's pit bulls…”

Lauren huffed and cut Donald short.

“What? Were at least some of the details right?” he asked.

“Well at least Keisha's managed to keep some of the details to herself—the stuff that she's got a part in. I guess I should be happy about that much, huh?” Lauren huffed.

“Well, dang, you mean there's more?” Donald said, genuinely surprised.

“I mean, there's way more to the story than what you heard and what people think they know,” Lauren said quietly.

“Well, do tell.”

“I don't know if I'm ready yet,” Lauren said.

“Lauren, what in the hell are you talking about?” Donald gasped. “It's me, Donald. We don't have
any
secrets, remember? I know everything about you, and you know pretty much everything about me. Have I ever let you down? Told anyone about Dice? Or dished about Keisha and all her mess? When you were trying to be the queen of BET, did I tell anybody about your tryouts? Does anybody up in this piece, besides your twin sister, know you're still a virgin? I mean, come on. I know how to keep a secret.”

“Well, at the rate we're going, I might die a virgin. I can't find Jermaine, and if I do end up finding him, Altimus might kill him dead, which could quite possibly mean he's solely responsible for making Jermaine's mother a childless mom.”

“Hold up. What do you mean Altimus would be responsible? Are you saying Altimus laid out Jermaine's brother? All this time, I thought we were talking about Dice.”

“I didn't say that,” Lauren said, her eyes darting across the room to get a visual on who might be listening to their conversation. To her relief, everyone seemed pretty consumed with preparing for their morning service entrance. “And for God's sake, keep your voice down.”

“Well then, stop playing and tell me what you're trying to say,” Donald said, leaning in conspiratorially.

Lauren made another eye sweep of the room, then leaned into Donald. She started from the beginning, explaining how she met Jermaine after her failed video dancer tryout, and
how they started dating on the DL because she was afraid of what people might think of where he lived and how much money he didn't have, and how she fell in love with him because he didn't put on any airs and he liked her for her and was brave enough to be with her despite who her father was.

“Which is why I need to find him. I'm afraid that he's going to get pinned for something my father may have done,” Lauren said.

“Wait, I'm confused,” Donald said. “Which father?”

“Altimus! Damn, Donald!” Lauren said, annoyed. “When do I ever call Dice my dad?”

“Look, I'm just trying to get the facts right, okay—don't get loud with me.” Donald huffed. “All that I've ever known about your stepfather is that he's a solid businessman who spent years on the come-up, and now he's running things. Anything outside of that, well, it's news to me. But if you're saying he's a gangsta for real? Oh, my…”

“‘Oh, my,' would be the understatement of life,” Lauren said. “Personally, I don't know if Altimus is involved, or if Dice had something to do with this. My money's on Dice—” Lauren started. She stopped talking when she got a visual of Sydney, who was tossing her a look from across the room while trying desperately to look like she actually gave a crap about whatever Alicia Smart and Nory Cole, two choir members who served on the Jack & Jill holiday charity committee under Sydney, were talking about. She was tugging at her ear
and looking over her shoulder in Lauren's direction, giving her the “what the hell are you talking about” eye. Honestly, Lauren was always amazed that Sydney instinctively knew when she was messing up, and Lauren was messing up for sure.

“Look, can we talk about this some other time?” Lauren said, trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to turn her attention away from Sydney's angry eyes.

“We're most definitely going to talk about Altimus and Dice and all this mess later, but right now, I want to talk about this Jermaine and why you're not out there trying to get your man.”

“Don't you think I've tried?” Lauren asked, finally standing up and turning her back to Sydney. “I call his house, and his mother acts like I'm the damn law calling to cart her child off to prison. I would assume that he hasn't returned any of my phone calls because his moms isn't giving him the message, but he hasn't answered any of my e-mails, hasn't acknowledged any of my writing on his Facebook wall, and outside of that message that showed up on YRT, he hasn't texted me, either. It's like he's dropped off the face of the earth.”