Naughtier than Nice (16 page)

“On that note, from the passenger, the bill maker who you can only see as being just another baby maker, the one incapable of taking control, the immature one you use to unload, good night.”

He pushed the palms of his hands against his eyes, took deep breaths.

“Honest, I didn't do it to hurt you, Tommie. Never wanted to hurt us. Love you. We say hurtful things to the ones we love the most. When we're frustrated, that's who we hurt. I'm sorry for that.”

I said nothing. Apologies without actions were just another Easter speech.

He turned, went back to the bedroom.

This was our first night sleeping apart.

This was my first night not wanting his touch.

When I woke up again, Mo was on the sofa with me, snoring, her warmth blending with mine.

Saturday morning.

My group of between twenty and thirty weekend warriors had a run at five
A.M
. We did a short run that day. Our crew was mostly African American, most transplants from all over the country who had come to California in search of their own form of gold, but we were an international bunch, a few whites and Indians and people with their roots from south of the border in our mix, this being our version of being progressive. During the afternoon we were all poolside at a barbecue at the home of CEO Tyrel Williams and his wife, Dr. Shelby Williams. It was a casual get-together for both adults and children.

The men were on the other side of the pool, laughing and talking man talk, and the women congregated like we were at a book club meeting, only we had profound and at times divisive conversations on the Michael Brown verdict, racial profiling, how some felt the Democratic Party was as beneficial for black people as the GOP had been for rednecks trapped in trailer parks. The hot issue was the Metro on Crenshaw, how that would change our neighborhoods. The property values would go up, but the culture would evolve. Capitalism. Religion. Politics. We were a group of learned women and all knew how to debate and agree to disagree on many relevant issues. We did a great job getting down to the nitty-gritty and if we had been in a film, we would've passed the Bechdel test with flying colors.

Soon the karaoke machine was out and we were all having an
impromptu concert, and everybody was as competitive on the microphone as they were running on the pavement. Livvy, Tommie, and I were on the small, colorful backyard stage and we gloriously butchered two En Vogue numbers. Passionately but off-key, we begged the men to hold on to our love, then gave them something they could feel. Tommie pulled Blue up and was freaky dancing all up on him. Mo ran from over by the pool and tried to join in. Everybody cracked up. Mo stole the show, then ran back to dive into the pool.

Blue threw Tommie into the pool. Tony was pulling at Livvy, trying to do the same. She went in, but she pulled Tony with her. Daniel wasn't there. I almost wished he had shown up. I was in the mood for both fun and the company of a gentleman. I guess he was out in the Inland Empire.

I ran and did a cannonball and splashed water on everyone I could.

When I resurfaced, I saw Rosemary Paige standing near the edge of the pool wearing a fuchsia two-piece. We waved at each other. I guess she was becoming part of our circle. I swam to the edge of the pool and reached out to shake her hand. As we shook, I got a firm grip on her wrist and pulled her in. She smiled at me after she wiped the water from her face and unclogged her ears.

We swam four laps together, racing. I was faster than she was in the water.

She floated on her back as she asked, “When can you and I get together?”

“I'll text you. Would love to show you a property or two before they are snatched up.”

“Text me your new home address. I will make sure I call before I stop by.”

“Sure, no problem. You can ride around and look at the homes, see if any fit your needs.”

Monica came over and I introduced Rosemary Paige to the
precocious kid. Rosemary Paige swam a couple more laps before leaving the pool. Dr. Shelby handed her a towel and she dried off. When I looked around she was already gone. I hoped she wasn't mad because I pulled her into the water.

Blue swam up next to me. “Who was that?”

“Tommie's friend from somewhere.”

“Tommie has a lot of new friends lately.”

I jumped on Blue, dunked him, and held him down. He flipped me and we wrestled until he broke free and swam away. I joined in with everyone else and swam and played pool games. Mo rode Tommie's shoulders and had the happiest face on the planet. Her hair was braided on both sides, the top loose, so she looked like she had a McBroom Mohawk. A moment later, Monica was on Tommie's shoulders while Tommie balanced both of them on Blue's shoulders. We applauded the family pyramid.

All were yukking it up.

My phone was off to the side, and I could see it vibrating on the glass bistro table. It was one of those assholes. It was Franklin or his crazy wife. No one knew that the threats, everything, had escalated.

Soon she and Tony were showered, changed, and back in Beverly Hills, this time dressed work casual. They picked up Dr. Ashley. She had returned to the States in order to hang out with her American friends again. They went to a concert at the Dolby Theatre, then walked Hollywood Boulevard before going back to Dr. Ashley's celebrity-filled hotel, back to the bar where food cost twenty dollars a bite, the same DJ again playing house music. In a room filled with also-rans and hangers-on, they flirted unabashedly as they danced. Livvy looked at her husband, at Dr. Ashley. Both smiled broad smiles. The time had come to move the party. They headed toward the elevators, with drinks, smiles, and laughs.

Livvy saw that Dr. Ashley was as excited as she was nervous. It was her fourth time being with them. It reminded Livvy of how she had felt years ago, the time she was going to the hotel with her lover in San Diego. Recently, when she had gone to the door of her former love nest in Manhattan Beach, she found a Greek man now lived there along with his lover—a black man—and two small dogs. They had no idea who Carpe was. They invited her in, offered her tea. She sat with them awhile, told them her story. They had cried.

Ashley Li asked Livvy, “What are the rules this time, Livvy?”

Livvy snapped out of her trance. “There are no rules this time, Dr. Ashley.”

“You're generous with your husband.”

“And Dr. Antonio Barrera has learned to be generous with his wife.”

“I've missed both of you. This experience has changed my life, for the better.”

“This has helped me, helped us, more than you will ever know.”

“That's what doctors are for. I'm here to help your heart heal.”

Ashley Li kissed Olivia. Tony's hands found their way to Olivia's breasts.

Olivia kissed Tony as Ashley toyed with Olivia's nipples.

Livvy put her hand in the small of Tony's back, eased him toward their companion.

As they made out, Livvy glanced down at her Blahniks.

She stared at the shoes her lover Carpe had bought her during her heated days with him.

After I left the pool party, I went home with Blue and Mo. Mo got in the shower with me so I could wash her hair; I gave her nine French braids going back toward her neck, then read her a story about princesses, one where I did voices and acted out all of the characters, before I put her in bed. I told Blue I needed to work a couple of hours, said I was going to take my laptop and drive to Starbucks on Sepulveda. I packed up and talked to Blue on Skype as I drove, kept him on my phone as I ordered a green tea and a muffin. I set up my computer and blew him kisses, told him I'd be back home in a couple of hours and to text me if he needed anything. He told me he loved me. I told him I loved him.

I ended the call, packed up my belongings, and headed to my car.

Soon I was punching the code into the gate at Beale Streets's mansion.

As I pulled into his garage I realized I wasn't there because Angela had pissed me off. I was there because I wanted to be there, because I couldn't stay away. It had become about desire, no longer about anger. We were no longer at eight times. We were beyond twenty. This affair had taken on its own life.

I parked in my designated spot in his garage, used my key to enter. The alarm started to count down. It was on the
HOME
setting to disable all motion detectors when Beale was here. If a window or door opened, the alarm was activated. The home was so large, someone could be in the basement of this mansion and if Beale was upstairs working or sleeping, he'd have no idea he had an intruder.
I put in the four-digit code, stopped the countdown, then reset the alarm, put the code in again, set it back to the
HOME
setting. I hadn't called. I no longer had to call before I came over. I just came over like this was my Shangri
-
La.

Here nothing went wrong. Here I didn't age. Here I was in utopia, had access to an earthly paradise. I went to the kitchen, made a three-course meal. Tilapia. Mixed veg. Mashed potatoes.

I hummed as I took the elevator up, went to his office. He was at his desk, working.

He whispered, “Hey, baby.”

“How was your day?”

“It just got better.”

“Come eat.”

I kissed him and took his hand, had him come downstairs. We sat at the dining room table, had dinner like we were a family. Not long after, we were almost naked, on the living room floor, my feet on his chest as he sucked my toes and eased inside me as far as he could, then stroked me in slow motion.

Minutes after that, we staggered to the elevator, went upstairs, and fell across the bed.

Over Beale's sound system, throughout his home I could hear the clear, soulful voice of Tink singing she wanted someone to treat her like she was somebody. After a few minutes of being intimate, I rested my head on Beale's chest. I hummed and hand-combed my wild hair as I looked at the time, saw I had at least another free hour. I checked my cellular, returned text messages to Livvy and Frankie, sent a flirty message to Blue, told him the writing was flowing and to check on Mo, then rose long enough to kiss Beale, shared his taste with him as he had shared my taste with me, then rested my head on his chest again, my hand automatically reaching for his penis. He was still hard. I think he took Viagra for kicks. Virile men took that blue pill the same way weight lifters took steroids. They didn't need to but loved the advantage, the results, and the ability to be super in bed. I wondered if Viagra caused cancer too.

We got up, naked, walked to the bathroom, washed up.

I asked, “How old was your birth mother?”

“Very young. Looks like she was in middle school when she was carrying me.”

“Middle school? Are you sure? She could be as young as thirty-seven. In LA forty is the new thirty, so if she's in shape, you and your mother could look like siblings more than like mother and son.”

“That's the only thing I am sure of. I am trying to obtain the sealed documents. I'm very close to finding her. I can feel it. My
adoptive parents don't support my doing this, but they understand. My identifying so strongly with this part of my heritage, it has left them both perplexed and disappointed. They think it is a horrible investment to buy a home this size in a black neighborhood. They say I am a fool for having the best house in the area. It will be impossible to sell, unless I find another fool.”

“Maybe you shouldn't go down that road. Maybe your adoptive parents are right.”

“Every child who has been abandoned wants to know why. We send probes into the universe because on the most basic level we want to know who we are. We want to know our parents. We want to trace our heritage back to the start, back to the big bang, back to God. We want to find God to ask why he created us and abandoned us. Why did he forsake us? Were we not good enough to keep?”

“Wow. Never thought about it like that.”

“I tend to overthink things.”

“Your adoptive family has money. You could kick back, live the life of the rich, chill out day and night in Argentina or live in another country. Why do you work so hard, the way you do?”

“I want to be seen. I want to be found. I want to be famous so my mother can see me, so my father can see me, and they will have to know it's me and that I am here. I tell my story so they can hear and put two and two together, so they can come out of hiding. They know I am closing in on them.”

“You want them to acknowledge you.”

“They created me; they owe me at least that much.”

“What if they are dead?”

“That's the only thing that would stop me, but still I would seek out relatives. I need to look into their face, see the eyes, not only of people who have my complexion but who look like me, who hold a strong resemblance to me. I was the odd one in every photo my adoptive parents took. I was the odd one. I was the one asked to
play any black character in any play that had a black character. I was the one they looked to in February, as if I were the expert on that month and the history of my unknown people.”

“You're right. I had parents. Wonderful parents. I can't relate to that part of you that's missing.”

We left the bedroom, then he led me to the elevator. He pushed the button for the basement level, then cornered me, kissed me. The elevator stopped and we stepped into the room filled with pinball machines, video games, a pool table, all the accoutrements of a well-appointed man cave.

I sat at the Ms. Pac-Man machine. He played some sort of shoot-'em-up game next to me.

After I lost, I stood behind Beale, sucked his ear as he shot
Walking Dead
zombies.

Beale asked, “Do your sisters know about us?”

“No one knows about us. Keep it that way if you know what's good for you.”

“Frankie has no idea? You don't girl-talk and talk about the sex?”

“You wouldn't try and hit on Frankie just to piss me off, would you?”

He gave up on killing the zombies, picked me up, carried me to the pool table, laid me down gently, went down south, found that space where my legs meet, and filled my emptiness with his tongue.

I pushed his head away, sat up, panicked, said, “I think I hear my phone ringing.”

I ran, bypassed the elevator, and when I made it back upstairs, I saw I had more than a dozen text messages. Blue had called four times back to back. So had Livvy. So had Frankie.

I said, “Something's happened. Something bad has happened. I have to go.”

Beale was right there, had followed me. “I'm not letting you leave.”

“Everyone is calling me. Something is going on.”

“You promised me two hours.”

I snapped, “Damn it, I have to go.”

He grabbed my clothes and I freaked out. I screamed at him, felt my heart about to burst in my chest. He took my clothes and ran into the bathroom, locked the door. I banged on the door. My cellular rang, Blue's ringtone. That made me fall apart. I banged on the door harder. Then I tried to kick it open, only managed to hurt my foot. My phone rang. It was an old-school Sister Sledge song. “We Are Family.”

And just like that I was overwhelmed with shortness of breath, had a racing heart. Trembling. Shaking. Could barely swallow, felt like I was choking. I was out of my body floating above myself.

He made me wait twenty minutes. Blue kept calling, but I couldn't answer my phone, not here.

Beale opened the door and tossed me my clothes. There was no time to fight. I rushed to get my clothes back on, then growled and pushed his big screen over, let it crash to the floor.

I threw his golden key back at him. I cursed and told him this shit was over.

I screamed, “That was immature, Beale. That was so fucking immature.”

I ran out of his home, backed out of his garage, scared that Blue would be on the other side of Beale's gate waiting on me. Wondered if my phone had given up my longitude and latitude. The gate opened on an empty avenue. I sped through the gate, went to the top of Kenway, then pulled over at Valley Ridge, not knowing whom to call first, not knowing if my world had fallen apart, wishing I had never met Beale Streets. I called Blue. I called and hoped Monica was okay. He answered on the first ring.

When I made it to the Fais Do-Do on West Adams, the police and a fire truck were outside; so was a small crowd. Blue was there, Mo standing next to him. Blue looked at my hair, at my clothes,
then Monica came over to me, put her arms around my legs. Frankie had on red high heels and a short black dress that had Saturday-night cleavage, her new hairstyle as popping. She was ranting, furious. The flashing lights, being out at an adult place—it was a different world for Mo. Livvy and Tony pulled up ten minutes later. Frankie had been sneaky and gone out with Daniel, went to see Sy Smith perform at the club named after a Cajun party. While Frankie was inside, someone had broken the windows out of her Audi, poured cheap red, yellow, and blue paint over the interior, then dumped what looked like two gallons of battery acid all over everything from the hood to the trunk.

Someone said the damage would be at least thirty thousand dollars.