Outcast (11 page)

 

 

It had been two days since Tirrell discovered that Tasha had an abortion. He hadn't gone to work and Betty hadn't forced the issue. She crept quietly around the house, making sure she had everything she needed. After collecting her purse and keys she hustled into the kitchen for her thermos of coffee. Tirrell was there and dressed in his uniform.

“Can you drop me off at the garage?”

“Baby, are you sure you're feelin' up to it?”

“I'm fine.” Tirrell inhaled deeply to ensure the maximum effect of the cocaine he'd ingested before coming into the kitchen.

“You don't look fine,” Betty noted.

Tirrell discerned the pinched concern in Betty's expression, and kissed her cheek in a vain effort to reassure her that he was better than he let on. “I don't wanna talk about Tasha anymore, a'ight? What she did was really foul. But, maybe it was for the best. I don't know that I could have been any kind of father.”

“I can't say whether it was for the best. I'm just sorry that she hurt you.”

“I'm dealin' with it.”

Betty took Tirrell's hand and gave it a squeeze. “You know I'm here for you.”

“I know. But, I just need to process right now. Is that okay?”

She nodded and smiled.

 

“Tirrell, what the hell are you doin'?” Marquis shouted.

“What?”

“You were gettin' ready to put oil in that radiator.”

“Oh, shit,” Tirrell spat, realizing his mistake. “I must've grabbed the wrong hose.” He immediately righted himself and checked to make sure that he hadn't spilled any oil.

“What's wrong with you, man?”

“Nothin'. I'm just a little distracted.”

Marquis recognized the look in Tirrell's eyes. “Man, you high as hell.”

“No, I'm not.”

Marquis grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. “Yes, you are. I can see it.”

Tirrell yanked his arm back and threw the funnel down that he was holding. “Get off me, man.”

“T, what's up with you, man?”

Tirrell looked around to see who was in earshot. Drills, hydraulic lifts, and jacks distributed enough noise to keep anyone from overhearing. “Tasha had an abortion.”

“Get the fuck outta here. Tasha? It was yours, right?”

“I don't know. Maybe.”

“What do you mean
maybe?
”

“She said it was mine, but I found out she was screwin' this dude while I was in North Carolina.”

“Who was it?”

“I don't know him.”

“Damn.”

“He showed up the other night when we were at Bone's, all friendly and shit.”

“So, he gave you that black eye?”

“Hell no. I kicked his ass. Tasha got pissed and left me at the restaurant, so I went to a bar and had a little too much to drink.”

“So, what happened?

“I got arrested for DUI.”

“Damn, T.”

“Whatever you do, you can't tell your pops. I can't afford to lose this job.”

“Then you need to get your shit together, man. You can't be comin' up in here high every day. That just ain't cool.”

“I know,” Tirrell said, properly contrite. “It won't happen again. I swear.”

Coke, flake, girl, dust, blow, toot, snow. It didn't matter what it was called, or how he may have thought he could handle it. The insidious lure of cocaine was pulling him closer to the edge and that was the most dangerous place for someone like Tirrell Ellis to be.

“Travis, it's Alex . . . Did the caterers call? Do they have what I asked for? Are they going to have them on time or not? Look, call them back and tell them if they don't want me to cancel the contract they will . . . Dammit! I think I just hit something . . . I'll have to call you back.”

The woman slowed down and pulled her Yukon Denali over into the far left lane of the interstate. She looked up into the rearview mirror to see that other cars were swerving to avoid a piece of plywood lying in the center lane. Pressing a button on the OnStar device in the dashboard of the vehicle, she called for the location of the nearest mechanic. She discovered there was one just off the exit she was approaching.

The sign read Crawl's Service and Repair; this would have to do until she could get to the dealership.

The sight of the pearl-colored Yukon Denali pulling up on the lot didn't garner much attention, but when the curvaceous red-boned driver stepped out from behind the wheel, everyone noticed.

The woman leaned over into the passenger seat to retrieve her purse as lascivious eyes watched. She pushed her Versace sunglasses up on her nose and adjusted her navy-blue pencil skirt, as two of the mechanics at an open bay closest to her fought to be the first to assist her.

“Can I help you?” Marquis leered, his glance sweeping her from head to toe.

The woman stepped toward the back of the vehicle as Marquis turned to the others with a roguish grin on his face and followed.

She stooped to examine the back tire on the driver's side. “I may have a nail in my tire. I think I ran over a piece of wood or something.” She stood up, almost bumping into Marquis, who had leaned in close enough to tell what perfume the woman was wearing, if he'd known what it was. Annoyed by his immaturity, the corners of the woman's mouth curled into a grimace. “Do you think you can check it out? The tire I mean.”

Marquis cleared his throat. “Yes, ma'am.”

“How long do you think it will take?”

“I can pull you right in . . . Your car. I can check it now.”

“I knew what you meant.”

“You can step inside and wait while I take a look,” Marquis said, pointing to the lobby of the shop. “There's a soda machine if you want somethin' cold to drink.”

“Thanks. The keys are in the ignition.” The woman offered a half smile and started toward the lobby as Marquis and a couple of the others ogled her.

When she stepped inside she spied Tirrell bending down to retrieve a soda from the machine's receptacle. He had his work shirt off, tied around his waist, and his wife-beater T-shirt slighted soiled with grease and oil. His biceps glistened with perspiration. She pulled her designer glasses down and they made eye contact. “Hi.” She smiled.

“How's it goin'?” he responded, popping the top of the can of cola.

The woman took a seat facing a frumpy house frau fussing with an unruly child, and leered as Tirrell chugged the cold drink. She flicked her French-tipped nails through her highlighted spiky bangs and pixie-cut tresses, suggestively crossing her legs when he looked in her direction. He stuck his tongue out just far enough for it to graze his upper lip, sucking in the excess of soda.

Her cell phone rang. Without taking her eyes off him she fished into her bag and pulled it out. “Travis . . . What did they say?”

As the woman chatted on her cell the other woman, noticing the nonverbal exchange between Tirrell and the leggy temptress, interrupted.

“Do you know when my car is gonna be finished? I have to go,” she directed to Tirrell. “Excuse me . . . Excuse me . . . Did you hear what I said?”

Tirrell shot the woman a side-glance. “I'll go see how much more they have to do on it.”

He exited through a side door that led to the work area of the garage, and the irritated customer cut her eyes across the room toward the other woman as she ended her call and put her phone back in her purse.

Within minutes Marquis came in to let the woman know that a nail had been found in her tire. “We patched it up. You're good to go.”

“I don't believe this,” the unnerved customer scoffed. “I've been sittin' here for almost an hour. How come you got done with her car so fast? I knew I should've taken my car somewhere else. You try to support your own and look how they treat you.”

“Ma'am, all we had to do was take a nail out of her tire,” Marquis said evenly. “There was more to do on your car.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Well, y'all need to hurry up. I can't be sittin' up in here all day.”

Marquis escorted the fashionable beauty out to her vehicle.

“How much do I owe you?” the woman asked, looking around for Tirrell.

“Don't worry about it.” Marquis smiled. “We didn't have to do much. But those are pretty expensive tires so if you got a warranty you may wanna take your car back to the dealer.”

“Thank you. I intend to do just that.”

Preparing to get into the Denali, she spotted Tirrell under the carriage of a truck. To Marquis's disappointment, but not surprise, the woman strode over to him. Tirrell poked his head out from under the truck, scanning the length of her legs. She smiled and removed a card from her purse and pressed it into his grimy hand. She then turned on her Gucci heels, being careful to sidestep the grease stains on the ground, and sashayed back to her vehicle. As she drove off, a couple of the guys, including Marquis, gathered around Tirrell to see what she'd given him.

“Event Planning, by Alex,” Tirrell read aloud.

Marquis was peeved. “Ah, man. She gave you her phone number.”

One of the others asked. “You gonna call her?”

“I don't know.” Tirrell smirked.

“Shit, dude. That babe was fine as hell. If you don't want to call her give me the number.”

He reached for the card and Tirrell slapped his hand away.

“She don't look like the type of woman who would be into corn-fed white boys, Scotty. Besides, you wouldn't know what to do with a woman like that.”

“Man, shoot. I'd climb up in that and—”

“Cry like a little girl.”

They all laughed.

“Hello. Can I speak to Alex?”

“This is Alex. Who is this?”

“This is Tirrell. I was the guy at the garage earlier you gave your number to.”

“Your phone came up with a nine-one-oh area code. I almost didn't answer.”

“It's a North Carolina area code. I've been meanin' to get that changed.”

“You're from North Carolina?”

“Somethin' like that. I could tell you about it if you want to get together some time.”

There was silence on the phone.

“Hello . . . Alex . . . You still there?”

“You should know, Tirrell, that I'm not a beer and wine cooler kind of girl.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that out already.”

“Do you know where the Omni Hotel is?”

“Down by Centennial Park?”

“That's the one. Would you like to meet me at the Overlook Bar at nine tonight?”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

Tirrell hung up the phone and stripped. He dashed into the bathroom for a quick shower, taking extra time to scrub the grease and dirt from his hands and under his fingernails. The water beat down on his flaccid erection, causing it to stiffen with anticipation. Following the shower he rummaged through his inadequate selection of clothes like a nervous teenager getting ready for the prom. There wasn't a thing suitable enough for him to wear to meet a woman like her. “Dammit,” he spat, trying to decide between the one good suit he owned and his favorite pair of slacks. He opted for the suit. He checked himself in the mirror, glad that he at least had a fresh haircut.

It was Friday night and Betty hadn't made it home yet or he would have begged her to use the car again. He thought about calling Marquis, but he didn't want to add salt to his wound, given his reaction when the woman chose him. He ultimately decided to catch the MARTA.

There are several significant holidays throughout the year when the energy and the pulse of Atlanta comes to a frothy head—Labor Day weekend is one such occasion. There would be hundreds of parties, reunions, festivals, and cookouts, and the clubs and bars are overrun with locals and tourists alike.

The Overlook Bar in the south tower of the Omni Hotel offered a spectacular view of the hustle and bustle of the park below, but it could have overlooked the city dump for all Tirrell cared. Having only arrived just minutes before his date, he was seated at the bar trying to pull himself together when she walked in, dressed in a royal-blue silk sheath of a dress that complemented her buttery, smooth complexion. It hung loose around her shoulders and clung snugly to her hips, the hemline cut just below her pleasure zone, a look that could have made any other woman look cheap, but Alex Solomon had the poise and exuded the confidence to pull it off.

“Hi.” She smiled.

“Hi.” He smiled back.

“Have you been waiting long?”

“No, not really.”

“So, how about that drink?”

“Lead the way.”

They commandeered a table near one of the windows where a male server quickly approached them.

“May I get you something from the bar?”

Tirrell deferred to Alex.

“Grey Goose on the rocks with a twist of lime.”

“Make that two,” Tirrell added.

“Are you trying to impress me, or keep up with me?”

“Both.”

Alex inhaled. “What's that cologne you're wearing?”

“Egyptian musk. It's not cologne, it's actually an oil.”

“I like it. It smells like sex.”

Tirrell's dimples popped when he smiled and he blushed.

“Too direct for you.”

“Not at all.”

“How old are you, Tirrell?”

He thought about the tired dictum “how old do I look,” but decided this wasn't the game he wanted to play with her. “I'll be twenty-three in November.”

“Young and hard, just like I like 'em.”

He covered his mouth to keep from laughing aloud.

“You're not embarrassed, are you?”

“Should I be?”

“If you are, then you're not the man I thought you were.”

“And what kind of man is that?”

“The kind who can appreciate a woman like me.”

The server returned and put their drinks down on a table. Tirrell reached into his pocket for his wallet.

“We'd like to start a tab, please,” Alex said to the man.

“Certainly,” he responded, noticeably and shamefully eyeing Tirrell.

“He must know a good thing when he sees it,” she teased as the server left the table.

Tirrell scoffed. “I'm not gay.”

“Don't be so defensive. You're a very handsome man, but you know that already. Your eyes alone probably get you a lot of play, and those dimples don't hurt either.”

“Is that what attracted you?”

Her eyes smiled and scanned him. “That and a few other things.”

“So, why would a classy woman like you want anything to do with a grease monkey like me?”

She ran her manicured nails up his thigh. “I'm willing to bet that there's a lot more to you than meets the eye.”

“You know you caused quite a commotion today when you came into the shop ridin' in that big Yukon.”

“What can I say? I like riding big things.” She picked up her drink and they toasted.

There was no doubt in Tirrell's mind where this evening was going to end up, and he was enjoying the journey just as much as he was sure to benefit from the destination. They chatted for over an hour, each seemingly feeling the other out.

“So, you have a North Carolina phone number?” she noted.

“I used to live there.”

“For how long?”

“A couple of years.”

“Is Atlanta your home?”

“Yes.”

“What brought you back?”

“Family.”

“No girlfriend? No wife?”

Tasha briefly crossed his mind, but she wasn't worth mentioning. “Not anymore. What about you?”

“No. I don't have a girlfriend or a wife either.”

He laughed. “That's not what I meant.”

“I know. I was just teasing you. I'm currently single and I'm not seeing anybody.”

“You from here?”

“New York.”

“So, why are you here?”

“I needed a change of scenery.”

“I feel you.”