Love in a Carry-On Bag (21 page)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Unwanted Guest

Erica didn’t know how
long she sat in the stairwell in Warren’s building with the lyrics of “Fool of Me” by Me’Shell Ndegecello playing in her head. Erica felt dumb. Stupid. Blind as a one-winged bat. What kind of idiot was she? How long? That’s what she wanted to know, and as she found herself sinking into the seat cushions of the train back to New York, she felt like the playlist of every broken-hearted love song. This pain hurt worse than brand new shoes, Ms. Sade. It was the type of suffering that offered no cure, no amount of prescription drugs could help her now. All she could do was ache.

When she emerged from the subway back in Harlem, she tried walking away her misery on the five block stretch to her house so that her mother wouldn’t ask questions. The woman was like a bloodhound when it came to detecting Erica’s mood and she couldn’t go through it with her, not tonight. Her excuse for leaving had been a book signing in Baltimore, and her mother wasn’t expecting her until the morning. Hopefully she’d be asleep, and Erica wouldn’t have to explain coming home in the middle of the night.

As she got closer to her brownstone, Erica spotted Tess sitting on their saggy front porch, wearing a ratty French beret and an oversized army coat buttoned to her neck. No wig, no lashes, and lips covered with a thin layer of Vaseline. Something was wrong, she didn’t look herself.

“What’re you doing out here in the cold?” Erica pulled her hat low so that Tess couldn’t see her face.

“You look like shit,” Tess flicked an ash. “Where’re you coming from?”

Erica couldn’t discuss it now, and stuck with the work story. Tess must have been too preoccupied with her own problems to detect the lie, because she just pulled over a vinyl kitchen chair and patted the seat for Erica to sit. The sparse furniture on the porch could easily be mistaken as trash, but anything nicer had the potential of being lifted. Even with the gentrification taking place in Harlem, where developers were constructing hundreds of million-dollar condos on every other corner, there was still a certain street element that couldn’t be ignored. Tess lit a second cigarette and passed it. Erica dragged hard.

“Mercury must be in retrograde, ’cause now Hercules and I are on the outs. Why can’t I find a guy who sexes well and just wants to have a good time? I’m not trying to get married, don’t want no babies. Just a good damn time,” Tess pulled a crumpled brown paper bag from a side pocket in her army coat and passed it. Erica sipped from the pint and coughed, then wiped her mouth with the back of her gloved hand.

“What was that?”

“Bourbon.”

“You drink like an old woman.”

Tess shrugged and puffed on her cigarette. A crackhead wobbled down the street lugging two shovels, and both girls watched him, knowing that the tools were stolen. Erica was glad for the moments of silence. There was no way she could tell Tess what happened in D.C. without falling apart. She was exhausted physically and mentally.

Tess flicked her cigarette into the garden of dead art, and Erica
watched the last bit of the flame die in the air before it hit the porcelain sink. Her butt was frozen and her toes freezer burned.

“Come on, it’s getting cold,” Tess stood and unlocked the door. Erica followed her inside, happy for the warmth. Tess made it to the second floor before stopping and leaning her thick frame against the banister. She coughed hoarsely. “Before I forget, I have a big gig coming up.”

“I’m there.” Erica replied, pleased to have something to look forward too. Tess sung like an angel and Erica was one of her biggest fans.

When they reached their floor, the smell of cigarette smoke was as strong as air freshener in the hallway between their two apartments, and noisy, raspy voices were coming from Erica’s end.

“Why does she have the TV on so loud?”

The door was unlocked and when Erica pushed through to her living room, she was face to face with yet another person she didn’t want to see. It was becoming obvious that Erica had fallen out of favor with Lady Luck the instant she broke the handmirror at work, because since then her life had steadily headed downhill without a set of sturdy brakes.

Bonnie, the devil herself, was sitting in Erica’s living room with her feet propped up on the coffee table like it was the most natural thing in the world, and it was almost funny.

“My bad, E. Long time no see,” Bonnie waved her hand in the air and then reached for the remote control.

Erica nodded her hello. It had been years since she saw Bonnie, but she hadn’t changed. She wore stark-white glasses that were too large for her mousey face. Her cocoa-colored skin was still pocked by black pimples, and her short hair was
snatched together with a pink glittery clip. Erica knew without looking that the pink glitter was repeated in her nail polish, socks and
perhaps even her shoes. For as long as Erica had known Bonnie, she had been flashy to a fault. Wearing bright-yellow running suits with matching sneakers in January, floor-length fur coats and earmuffs in April, bodysuits and cutoff jeans worn with fishnets in November. The kicker was when she showed up to Grandma Queeny’s funeral wearing blood red in the dead of July.

Bonnie Thomasetta Clark, the woman who took her mother away, caused her parents to split, and changed Erica’s life forever. Just being in the same room with her brought up the agonizing times Erica went to bed hungry and scared, ran “code badman” to protect her and Jazmine when the doorbell rang, couldn’t call her friends at school because they didn’t have a telephone, ate spoiled food because the electricity had been shut off, all because her mother had been more concerned with Bonnie.

“Heey, Slim,” her mother slurred, waving like they were meeting someplace other than Erica’s own living room. “Don’t be upset, we’ll clean this mess up.” The alcohol had her eyes protruding like oversized marbles, and her head was rolling around her neck like a newborn’s.

A near-empty liter of Bacardi, two red plastic cups, and an ashtray of butts overflowed on the table where they had been playing cards. The smell of lemons and pines had been replaced with the stinking scent of betrayal.

“You said you weren’t comin’ back til tomorrow. Bonnie came to keep me cump-nee.” Her mother was attempting to stand, but the futon was dipped so low, she kept sliding backward. The more she concentrated on getting up, the further back she fell.

It was a dilapidating picture and Erica felt traumatized. “You need to go,” her voice was deliberate.

“See, I knew I shouldn’t have come,” said Bonnie. “I told you.”

“No. Her house is my house, you welcome anytime.” Her
mother touched Bonnie’s hand. “I’m still the mother round here,” she mumbled under her breath for Bonnie’s benefit, but Erica had dog ears.

“Are you?” Erica clinched her fist. “Were you?” she shouted. “When? Please tell me when. Because that’s not the way I remember it.” The wrath pushed hard against the fibers of her face, rearranging her loveliness into pure pit-bull rage. Tess piped up, “Ms. Gweny, why don’t ya’ll come over to my apartment and give Erica a chance to get settled.” Bonnie grabbed her purse and switched her narrow hips over to where Tess stood in the doorway, but Erica’s mother didn’t move.

“I ain’t raise you to be disrespectful.”

“You didn’t raise me at all. You were out running the streets with her,” she pointed to Bonnie, “and you left me to fend for myself.”

“I did the best I could.”

“No. You didn’t.” Erica moved closer. “You were never around and when you were, you were drunk or in the bed. I’m sick and tired of you acting like I owe you something, calling me for money every other day. I’m not responsible for you. It was supposed to be the other way around. And you never got it right.” Erica’s mouth scrunched as she sliced her hands through the air. “I’m done. I’m so F-ing done.”

She tried to take a deep breath, but the words continued to fight for freedom. “How could you treat us like that, like you didn’t give a damn? What was more important than taking care of your children? I really need to know. Where were
you all those nights? How could you leave us unprotected? What kinda mother would do that to her babies?” The tears welled and Erica brought her hand to her lips. She had finally said what she had been thinking for so many years, and it felt like the guck in her chest had
loosened.

Her mother’s hands shook as she reached across the table for her cigarettes, squeezing one from the package. “This ain’t the time,” her voice sounded almost sober. The lighter flickered but wouldn’t catch. “What is it that you want from me?”

The guck had started to separate, and the untreated wounds that Erica had buried whole with her fancy degrees, company cars and job titles emerged without permission. When she parted her lips the little girl who had long since died inside of her was resurrected.

“I wanted you to stop drinking and love me. Get a job and pay the bills. I needed you to show up at my school sober and not embarrass me. Put gifts under the Christmas tree and pretend that Santa had come. I wanted you to take me shopping at the mall, read stories, tuck me in at night...” Tears spilled down the little girl’s cheeks and her voice was soft and trembling. “I…I wanted a mother who would take me to ballet lessons and be waiting for me in the lobby when I came out of class, not outside on the pay phone. I wanted you to be my goddamn mother. And for my entire life I could never figure out why that was so damn hard for you to do.”

Erica’s mother had started rocking in her seat and her arms were shaking so badly that her cigarette dropped. She had finally figured out how to maneuver her ass to the edge of the futon. When she leaned her hearty body forward for the cigarette, her fingertip grazed the filter. But she bent too much, and before she could catch herself she missed her footing and slipped to the floor.

“Damn it, that’s my bad hip.” She rolled on her side.

“That wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so drunk,” Erica’s voice came out like a mad whisper.

“It’s the weekend Slim, cut me a break.”

“Every day it’s something, and all I’ve done is cut you breaks.”

“Well, could somebody help me up?” Her mother looked like Humpty Dumpty who fell off the wall, with a cigarette clasped between her fingers.

“I’m tired of helping you, Ma.” Erica stepped around her, pushed past Tess and Bonnie, who stood suspended in place by the tension.

“Please don’t be here when I get back,” Erica said. And when she walked out of her apartment, she left the old Erica behind.

Chapter Forty

Nothing Left to Lose

W
arren was fucking Blanche.

Her mother had once again chosen Bonnie.

Now the only thing Erica had left was her job. Deciding that it was time to cast her personal life aside, she focused on her promotion. With Edie home on maternity leave, Erica had to make her move. She shoved her feeling inside of her gray tailored pant suit, hid what didn’t fit in her French twist, and covered what was left beneath with shimmered eye shadow and a fresh coat of clear gloss.

In the office, she headed over to Karen and requested a meeting with Claire.

“There’s a ten o’clock departmental scheduled today. She has a small window directly following,” Karen replied, and Erica thanked her.

Inside her office, Erica sipped her coffee and rehearsed what she wanted to say. This was the most important conversation of her adult life, and she only had one shot at getting it right. Erica wanted the Director’s position now more than she ever had before.

At ten o’clock sharp, the publicity department filed into Claire’s office and took their appropriate seats. Assistants on the floor, publicist and above on the sofa, but no one sat in Edie’s chair. Claire stood glowing in a heap of jewels behind her desk, making her petite frame seem taller. She asked about their weekend, and once everyone finished bantering, she cleared her throat to begin.

“I have some good and bad news,” she pressed her fingertips together. “The good is that you have all done a phenomenal job in Edie’s absence. Erica, Reverend Black is still singing your praises.”

It was always an honor to have your name recognized in the meeting, and Erica smiled her thank you.

“The bad news is that Edie will not be returning,” Claire paused to let her words sink in, and Erica knew her face was caught between a grimace and smile. She wasn’t sure where the conversation was headed and she prayed she wasn’t too late. Claire went on to say that Edie had decided to stay home full-time with the baby, and the disappointment of losing her business partner was obvious in her eyes.

“But I’ve found someone to replace her.”

Erica’s stomach turned. Would Claire announce her promotion without consulting her first? Wouldn’t they need to discuss the details like salary, office with a view, and the other perks that come with moving up?

“His name is Athan McKinley,” Claire said, and on cue Karen passed around his bio to all fifteen people in the room. Erica was struck silly. Claire had gone outside of the company to hire someone without even considering her. How could she do that?

“I’m sure you’ll all love him. He comes from Miramax films. He was their head of publicity for seven years and has been a good friend of mine for ten. I’ve often bounced ideas off him in the past, and I think he will fill Edie’s irreplaceable shoes just fine,” Claire smiled.

Erica had grown tired of feeling like the wind had been knocked out of her. Work had been the one safe haven, until now.

“I went ahead and pulled someone from the outside because I wanted fresh, innovative ideas; someone who could come in and
shake things up a bit. He starts a week from Monday, and I hope you will all do your best to make him feel welcome. Any questions?” she asked.

None.

“Great. The announcement will be made companywide this afternoon.”

The meeting adjourned, and the department filed out of the office in the same schoolyard manner in which they had entered. Karen motioned for Erica to stay, but she really just wanted to go.

“What do you think of my news?” Claire gave her that motherly smile that usually put Erica at ease, but it didn’t help. “I know you’re going to love Athan. He’s so smart, and I’m really looking forward to him showing us new ways of doing business.”

“How come you didn’t consider me for the position?” Erica stared straight into Claire’s eyes. “From day one I’ve handled the top-notch campaigns, worked with the most difficult authors, all with stellar results. Why not me?” she knew the anger was oozing out, but she decided that it was now or never.

Claire reached for her bottled water and took a long sip before returning Erica’s steadfast gaze. “You are doing a wonderful job, and it’s true that you are my go-to-girl. Experience is what Athan has that you’re lacking, and I think he will be instrumental in teaching you how to hone those skills needed.”

“How much longer?”

“It’s hard to say. Why don’t we see how the spring plays out and revisit this conversation?” Claire extended her hand, which meant it was time for Erica to go. “I’m really counting on you to help Athan get settled.”

Of course she was; wasn’t that always the case? The black woman gets passed over by some white man, when in fact she has to teach him the job for which she had long since been qualified. Returning to her office, Erica called over her shoulder that she was going for coffee. Outside, the air wasn’t fresh enough. She bypassed the truck on the corner with the stale bagels and headed to the new gourmet shop three blocks away. She needed to put some distance between her and Claire’s news. Light jazz was playing when she walked into the coffee shop, and the small wood-burning fireplace was lit. Indian throw rugs and overstuffed cushiony chairs lent the room comfort but did little to lighten Erica’s mood. Sweets would do that, and she ordered a fatty latte and a thick slice of marble cake and wolfed it all down.

She took the long
way back to the office, and no sooner had she removed her coat, Prudence bounced, in swinging her brown hair, with two message slips. The girl was so cheerful that it was sickening.

“Warren called and so did LaVal Jarvis,” Prudence handed Erica the slips.

Warren called? Her insides fluttered and she couldn’t concentrate on the next five things that Prudence said.

“Goldie was emphatic about needing it by the end of the day. Erica?”

She was pulled from her thoughts. “Yes. Sure. Fine. Thanks.”

Prudence backed out of the office. What did Warren want? Had Blanche told Warren about her showing up at his apartment? Erica picked up the telephone, hesitated, and dialed LaVal.

“Jarvis.”

“LaVal, Erica Shaw from B&B returning your call.”

“How are you?” his voice was husky, and he made small talk before getting down to the nature of his call.

“I’m in New York at the end of the week, and there’s something that I’d like to discuss with you. Can we meet?”

“Of course,” Erica replied, and scribbled down the appointment.

Warren’s message stared at her from the desk, and although she was itching to call him, she balled it up and tossed it in the trashcan. Being hurt twice was not an option.

Warren brought home some
files from work, along with an 18-year-old single malt Scotch. The Knicks were playing, but it was no fun watching the game without Erica. Even when it was a weekday game, they would watch over the phone. Why hadn’t she returned his calls? Warren had left a message with her assistant, and tried her cell phone so many times that he felt as though he was becoming a stalker. He was ready to talk and clear the air. Could she have moved on?

His bottom lip was still slightly swollen, and it had curbed his thirst to shed. The love affair he had with his trumpet was like being in a marriage—some days his lust was so strong that he couldn’t keep his hands off of her, while on others he didn’t want to be touched. Right now it was the latter, and he was glad that his band didn’t have rehearsal until Wednesday night.

Blanche had offered to buy him a drink as he was leaving the office but he declined, deciding that it was best to put some space between them. He really hoped that she would get the hint. Alan seemed to be watching them, and the last thing Warren needed at work was Alan scheming behind his back, especially with Brett’s chest puffed out over Warren’s unannounced absence.

Warren was used to getting looks from women, but lately they had become bolder. Monday night, a short-haired girl with a nice smile was practically throwing the booty at him when he got off stage. Warren was flattered, but he only wanted Erica. Once he made up his mind on something there was no turning back.

Athan McKinley, the new
Director of Publicity, had reported to the office, and Erica spent her days explaining campaigns and operations, while Claire carted him around to meetings showing him off like a brand new kitten. After a few days with him, it was clear to Erica that while Athan may have come with more publicity experience, she knew publishing. And the two professions were as different as swimming in a four-foot lake and deep-sea scuba diving. The fact that he had stolen her job and was benefiting from her knowledge was like a noose around her neck. Her only act of refuge had been leaving the office each day at five. No more working ten- to twelve-hour days. If Claire noticed the change, Erica didn’t care.

She had read once that in a single day, 75 percent of an average person’s thoughts were negative, and as Erica moved through her day, her negativity went from thoughts to actions. She snapped at her assistant for forgetting to give her a message, cursed out the guy at the mail desk because two boxes of books that she needed were missing, accused the clerk at the deli of giving her the wrong change, pushed her way onto the subway, knocking a too-skinny woman out of the way so that she could squeeze into the last seat. Her day had been out of sorts, and to remedy what was left of it, she stopped at the fish shop on the corner of 125th and Fifth Avenue and waited in line behind ten people for a large order of fried porgies, hush puppies, collard greens and potato salad. Nothing was more comforting than salty soul food, and she practically ran up the four flights of stairs to her apartment with her tongue dragging over the wet paper bag.

Since she sent her mother back to Newark, and was passed up for the Director’s position, Erica couldn’t stand to be in her apartment alone, spending most of her time over at Tess’. Hercules had turned out to be another dud, and the girls distracted themselves from their man troubles by eating, listening to old music, and watching every Diana Ross movie that Tess could get her hands on. They drank woo woos by the pitcher, a drink made with peach schnapps, vodka, and cranberry juice. Tess swore the drink had healing powers and Erica didn’t complain because it helped her sleep through the night. But after so many consecutive nights of boozing, she couldn’t help wondering if her mother’s addictions had begun this way, couch-potatoing with a girlfriend while pity-partying over some man. She still hadn’t returned Warren’s calls, and once Tess heard the full story of Blanche, she called Erica a ditz.

“I woulda slapped that bitch upside her head and kicked her out of the apartment. Sugar, I don’t know why you didn’t wait for Warren to come back. I’m sure there was a logical explanation,” Tess said every time the subject came up. But Erica had stopped listening. Tess was such a hopeless romantic that Erica had to take her advice in small doses. Erica was sick to pieces of feeling like a wheelbarrow on wobbly wheels, and although she missed Warren like an amputated limb, she was done. It was time for her to develop the thick skin of a rhinoceros and move on. She would only do what was necessary to survive, and once Erica had set her mind to something she could be as stubborn as the Arizona sun.