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Authors: Trice Hickman

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BOOK: Playing the Hand You're Dealt
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Carl hated when people raised their voice to him, especially in public. I had absolutely no doubt that had I been anyone else, man, woman, or child, no matter where we were, Carl would've knocked me out. But Carl had tolerance for my shit. Almost as if he liked it.That's messed up, right? But that was how we were. And that was why I knew I had to distance myself from him.
“You need to calm the fuck down,” he said in a more hushed tone, trying to take control of something that he knew could quickly escalate. “Why you always trippin' and shit?” he huffed as he reached into his pocket for his wallet.
“ 'Cause you're always trippin' and shit!”
I turned on my heels and headed inside, leaving Carl where he sat as he paid for our drinks. When I looked up again, he was standing next to me as I browsed for children's books. “Carl, it's late and I don't have time for your nonsense.”
He leaned in close to me and pressed his huge dick against the side of my hip. “You sure you don't want none'a this?” he asked, licking his full lips.
Carl can sex you up like nobody's business. And I won't even lie, the thought of gettin' down with him was tempting. But sex would only cause our already warped relationship to drag on, and that was something I couldn't be a part of anymore. “The only kind of ride I'm up for tonight is the one that leads back to the house.”
“Come on, baby, you know you want it.”
“Carl, I'm not playing with you. Move out of my way so I can get these books for CJ and head back home.”
“You don't mean that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I know what you want, and what you need.”
I looked at him and shook my head. “What I used to want is no longer what I need. Give it a rest, Carl,” I said as I waved him off with my right hand.
What happened next was completely crazy. All of a sudden, this fool decided to lose his damn mind. From out of nowhere, Carl got a weird look in his eyes that I'd never seen before. He reached up and knocked several books off the shelf next to where I stood.
“You gonna have enough of fuckin' wit' my feelins',” he growled, standing so close I could smell the tart lemonade that lingered on his breath. “I'm steppin' so I won't have to hurt yo ass,” he said directly into my ear, through clenched teeth, so low that only I could hear him.Then he calmly walked away.
I stood in the middle of the aisle with books lying at my feet and scared customers looking on, but trying not to
really
look too hard. I felt unnerved. This was the first time that Carl had ever threatened me in all the years I'd known him. I had yelled at him many times before, and one time I even shoved him in public. But not once had he ever been aggressive with me or uttered anything that remotely translated into a threat.
Maybe he's on something?
I thought. I had never known him to use the drugs that I knew he sold, but just like his threat, there was a first time for everything.
I was shaken, but I knew I didn't have time to dwell on Carl. I had to ignore the people who were still staring, resist the urge to curse them out, and get my behind back home so I could comfort my best friend. I hoped Emily was still awake.
Carl had ruined my mood, so I left the book section without making a purchase. I was headed out the door when I passed a group of brothers coming into the café.There were three of them, so I casually scanned each one from head to toe. When I came to the last guy I smiled, and he did, too. His friends slowed momentarily, but when they saw that we were making a connection, they nodded and kept walking.
“I don't mean to stare, but don't I know you?” he asked.
Although he was fine as hell, after further inspection I could see that he wasn't my type. He was wearing a white T-shirt, faded jeans, and brown flip-flops. His thick dreadlocks framed his beautifully squared jawline, which looked almost Romanesque. He smiled at me through pearls of white teeth with a face so handsome he could easily be a male supermodel. I could tell by his tight diction that he was highly educated and probably from somewhere in the northeast, judging by his accent. And looking at his choice of clothing and hairstyle, I surmised that he was one of those granola-eating, earthy kind of guys, and I wasn't into that. “I don't think so,” I said, answering his question, ready to glide out the door.
“Yes, I think we've met,” he said, taking a moment to reappraise me. “Aren't you Jeffery Baldwin's sister?”
His comment made me come to a complete stop. First of all, I knew for a fact that I'd never met this brother before tonight. How did I know? Because I always remembered fine, chocolate-dipped men draped in good-smelling cologne. But if he knew my brother, it brought a few other things into question—namely, his sexual orientation.
My brother Jeffery was gay, even though my mother refused to openly acknowledge or address the truth. As a matter of fact, his partner was a tall, dark, and handsome specimen, much like the man in front of me. They'd been living together in Paris, France, for the last eight years, and that was how long it had been since Jeffery was last home. He stayed away because of mother. He couldn't stand her. He once confided to me that she'd nearly driven him to the point of suicide. He basically excommunicated himself from our entire family, including me, all so he could break free of everything associated with her.
“Yeah, I'm Jeffery's sister. How do you know my brother?” I asked, raising my brow.
“We went to school together, at Howard.”
“Oh . . . so you and Jeffery were
friends?
” I said, giving him a curious stare. The more I checked him out, the harder it was for me to believe that this man was gay. But then again, down-low brothers were hard to detect. Not only could they look you dead in your eyes like they were feelin' you, they could kiss you with passion, sex you up, and then go get their freak on with one of their boys after they left you. That wasn't down-low, that was just low-down!
He smiled, catching my drift. “Not exactly. We were both premed. I remember meeting you when you were with him during homecoming one year, at a mixer.”
As I thought back to my college days, I remembered hanging out with my brother during Howard's homecoming one year. “That was a long time ago,” I replied.
“Yeah, it was. That's been what . . . eleven, twelve years?”
“At least. But even so, I think I would remember if we'd met,” I demurred, softening my eyes with a smile. I got a kick out of flirting with men.
“Trust me, we've met,” he said. “You probably don't remember because I wore a close fade back in the day. Dreads can change one's appearance.” He motioned as he raked his hand through his thick, shoulder-length locks.
“Oh, is that it?” I leaned in close to him, pretending to get a better look at his face, but I was really checking out his sexy scent. He smelled like the exotic oils that the African street vendors sold.
“Yes, I think so.You should see my before and after shots.”
“Well, I look different, too, so how did you recognize me?”
“I never forget an intriguing woman, or a beautiful face,” he said in a sexy voice.
We were briefly distracted when the hostess walked up to seat a couple next to where we were standing. I took that as a sign for me to get up out of there and head back home . . . fine, smooth-talking man or not! “I guess I better be on my way.”
“Are you waiting for your boyfriend to bring the car around?”
I smiled and simply said, “No.”
“You're headed over to his place?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“I have a curious mind.” He smiled, then extended his hand. “I'd like to reintroduce myself. I'm Tyme Alexander.”
I stretched my hand out to greet his. His palm was soft and warm. “Samantha,” I smiled back, “and you know the last name.”
“I wasn't sure if it had changed. I guess it's my good fortune that it hasn't. It's nice meeting you again, Samantha Baldwin.”
“Likewise, and I hope you and your friends have a good evening,” I said, turning toward the door.
“Wait, do you have a card?”
I put my hand on my hip and raised my brow. “You tryin' to call me?” I said in my sistah girl voice.
“Call you, e-mail you, fax you, text you, Tweet you, Facebook you, whatever it takes to reach you.”
I thought my little attitude would discourage him, but I thought wrong. There might be something to this guy after all. “Why don't you give me your card?” I smiled.
He dug into his back pocket and pulled out a Gucci embossed brown leather wallet.That was a very good sign for someone with my expensive taste. He was an interesting mix. A bohemian brother with couture flair. He removed a business card and handed it to me. “Do you have a pen?” He smiled, looking at the pastel-colored bag on my shoulder.
“Sure.” I reached in and fished around for my Montblanc.
“While you're at it, why don't you give me your card, too,” he said, slow and smooth. “I don't want to run the risk of you misplacing mine.”
Normally, I'd be all over a handsome man like Tyme from the word go, even with the earthy look he had going on. But there was something about him that made me a little hesitant. Not that he was creepy or anything. It was just a vibe I got. But against my instincts, and in favor of my curiosity, I handed him my pen and then pulled out my sterling silver business card case. We exchanged information, and when he read mine he smiled before putting it in his wallet. I slid his card down into my bag without even looking at it.
“I'll call you,” he said, extending his hand again.
I shook his warm palm one last time before saying good-bye. When I walked back out into the humid night air I felt a strange chill on my arms. I replayed my evening as I drove back home. Carl had really thrown me for a loop, and the way he acted tonight was a sure sign that I needed to stay the hell away from him. If he was using, I didn't even want to know. I just wanted to put as much space between us as possible.
Blocking Carl out of my mind, I thought about the man I had just met. There was something about him that I couldn't quite put my finger on, and it held a strange appeal for me.
As I turned into the driveway around the back of the house, I looked up to the second-story window and saw that Emily's light was still on. I felt like shit for having left her alone. I should've told Carl to leave as soon as I answered the door. But you better believe I wasn't going anywhere with him again. I was serious this time. No more bullshitting around. Right now I needed to concentrate on helping my best friend and making sure that I was there for her.
After all the things Emily had done for me over the years, and the countless times she'd stood by my side—from drunken skirmishes she helped me to avoid at wild college parties, to nursing me back to health our junior year after an abortion that had gone terribly wrong, Emily's always been there for me. Now I was finally in a position to repay her for her generosity, kindness, and love . . . and I needed to get this right.
I messed up tonight, but this was the last time. I was going to help Emily through her grief. I planned to give her the scoop on the city—where to shop, where to hang out, which areas to avoid, and last but not least, I was going to help her find a man. She needed someone to comfort her during times of loneliness. And hey, if it was one thing that I knew a little something about, it was men!
Chapter 5
Ed . . .
 
 
 
 
Careful Caution
 
I
sat in my study, polishing off the last drop of vintage brandy in my snifter. It was the extra-good stuff I reserved to celebrate special occasions, but tonight it was helping me to temporarily escape the complications brewing under my roof.
I had a hell of a grueling day that began with depositions for a wrongful death case and ended with a last-minute request for a continuance on another. But that wasn't why I felt drained, like I'd been carrying five-hundred-pound weights on each shoulder, uphill. I felt this way because it had been almost a half hour since Emily retreated upstairs to her room, and I was still trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do.
I'd been thinking about how I would handle this situation since the day my wife informed me that she had invited our daughter's best friend to stay with us until her contractor finished renovating her new home.
“Ed, Emily will be staying with us until she can move into her house,” Brenda said a month ago, not asking, but telling me that we'd have a houseguest for an undetermined amount of time.
The news caught me completely off guard. To know that Emily was moving to DC was one thing, but to know that she'd be sleeping in a bed down the hall from me was another. I couldn't let that happen. “Why did you tell her she could stay here before talking it over with me?” I asked.
“I didn't think I needed to check with you about helping Emily,” she answered with indignation. “She's practically like our daughter, and she's in need right now, especially after everything she's been through.”
Even though it pissed me off that Brenda had made a unilateral decision about something that stood to test me more than she could ever know, I was puzzled because generosity had never been my wife's strong suit, unless there was something she could gain for the effort. And although I wanted to help Emily, I knew that having her under my roof wasn't a good idea. So I tried to get out of it. “She can't stay with Sam?”
“Samantha won't be closing on her condo until sometime next month.” Brenda grunted. “Besides, Emily's great with CJ and I could really use her help around here. Taking him to camp so early every morning is beginning to wear on me.”
I knew it, and I wasn't surprised by Brenda's self-serving angle. Her real motivation had nothing to do with helping a vulnerable young woman make a smooth transition into a new city. It was all about how Emily's presence in our home could relieve her of her responsibilities to her own grandson. I wanted to call her out on her hypocrisy, but I held my tongue for a better time. After being married for so many years, I knew how to deal with my wife. But right now, sitting here sipping my brandy, I had no idea how I was going to handle the situation with Emily.
I had prayed that by some small miracle Emily's house would be ready by now, thus freeing me from a potentially sticky situation. But then I thought, hell, I prepared for tough cases all the time, how hard could it be? Turns out it was going to be much harder than I thought.
My profession was the law—I was a plaintiff attorney, to be exact. And frankly, I was one of the best on the East Coast. That wasn't bragging, it was just a fact. I was blessed to have a very successful career, even by my profession's standards, which were quite high. I was a senior partner in a prestigious and well-connected firm on K Street in downtown Washington, DC—where the big boys played. I lived in a beautiful home, was father to two college-educated adult children and grandfather to a very smart and energetic grandchild who was just like me. And even though I was languishing in a loveless marriage, my wife and I had weathered the storm for thirty-two years, and that meant something to me. By all accounts I had a pretty damn good life.
That little piece of background information was very important because it spoke to my present state, which was a vast contradiction from the confident, self-assured man I was. Right now I felt unsure and anxious, and it was all because of Emily's presence. “Damn!” I whispered aloud. She still had a strong effect on me, even after all these years.
I remembered the first time we met. Brenda and I were helping Sam move into her dorm room her freshman year at Spelman. It was a hundred degrees that August day.The heat was oppressive, and amidst the flurry of intense estrogen at the all-girls school, the only thing on my mind was how quickly we could move Sam in so we could check into the hotel, get some rest, and then head back to DC the next day. I had been working nonstop on an upcoming trial, and it was imperative that I returned as soon as possible.
Sam and Brenda headed up to find her room while I grabbed two large boxes from the minivan we'd rented. I took the stairs because the elevator was too slow and too crowded. Sam, Brenda, and I arrived at the room at the same time, and the first thing I noticed was a neat stack of luggage and a few plastic crates lined up against the wall. A frail-looking, middle-aged woman with gray hair and a pleasant smile greeted us when we walked through the door. I smiled back, and then caught the image of someone standing near the window, and that's when it hit me. For the first time in my life I understood what people meant when they said that someone had taken their breath away.
I felt it the instant Emily looked up to say hello. She was delicate, innocent, and beautiful. She looked like a princess waiting to be rescued from something. I know it sounds corny as hell, and I, above anyone else, was surprised by my reaction to an eighteen-year-old girl who could've been my own daughter. But she was exquisite.
Her posture was erect and regal for someone so young, and her velvety smooth skin was a rich brown, like soft suede. She smiled as she swept her right hand through the wild mass of hair covering her head. I got the impression that she was nervous because she began to fidget with one of the large hoop earrings that dangled from her lobe. When she walked toward me I savored the way her curves filled out her faded jeans, which were torn at the knee, while her perky breasts seemed to tease me through her fitted T-shirt that boasted a multicolored peace sign. I was captivated.
We made introductions as handshakes and hugs were spread among us. I was glad for the commotion in the room; otherwise, I was sure it would've been obvious that I was taken by my daughter's new roommate. I went out on a limb and tried to start up a conversation with Emily.
“So, what do you plan to major in?” I asked.
“Um, I'm not sure, Mr. Baldwin. I'm leaning toward elementary education.”
“Emily, please.” I smiled, trying to put her at ease. “It's just Ed . . . okay?”
She smiled back, then quickly looked away, as though she was searching for something she'd lost. While her mother, Brenda, and Sam discussed the room setup, I took the opportunity to probe her. I wanted to find out everything I could about her. But instead of engaging me, she hesitated, offering polite yet guarded responses to my questions. Hell, I didn't know why I thought a young woman like Emily would be interested in shooting the breeze with an old man like me, which was no doubt how she perceived me through her youthful mind's eyes. But the more I talked to her, the more I felt a strained yet intense energy pass between us.
After my failed attempt at conversation, I made myself useful bringing up the rest of Sam's luggage, crates, and boxes, which were full of an assortment of supplies that Brenda said our daughter
had
to have. My wife always went overboard with everything. She had registered for Sam's graduation gifts at Saks Fifth Avenue, Neiman Marcus, and Williams-Sonoma. I thought it was much too extravagant, especially for someone just finishing the twelfth grade. Brenda single-handedly turned the simple task of housing a college freshman in a small dorm room into what looked like setting up house for a family of four. Between the new temptation in front of me and the old frustration staring me in the face, I prayed I'd make it through the day.
That evening after Brenda and I checked into the hotel, I turned in early, citing an achy back. “I just need a good night's sleep,” I'd said.What I really needed was to rest my mind because I felt like a damn pervert for the thoughts that had invaded my head since meeting Emily. The simple truth was that I wanted her. I wanted an eighteen-year-old girl more than I had ever wanted any woman in my life.To be frank, I was used to getting what I wanted. Whatever I set my mind to, I got it. But I knew this was going to be very different.
At the time, I honestly thought it was just a phase I was going through. A lustful attraction to a pretty face and a firm, young body. But when I found myself driving down to Atlanta to pick Sam up during school breaks and holidays, rather than sending her a plane ticket to come home, I couldn't fool myself any longer. I took those long road trips because I wanted to see Emily. I wanted a chance to be in the same room with her and inhale the sweet scent of her perfumed skin. I wanted to see her look at me with her beautiful brown eyes that made me feel alive. Even though our conversations were usually brief and a bit awkward, I looked forward to them like a kid waiting for his allowance. That's what she'd reduced me to. And although I was inwardly embarrassed by the thought, I still went back for more.
Over the years, Emily always kept her distance from me. I wanted to believe that it was because she felt the same way I did, but knew it was too dangerous to cross the line. However, my rational mind forced me to accept the probable reality that she was simply uncomfortable around me. Whatever the reason, she had put up a wall that gave us clearly defined boundaries.
I also had to admit that another reason why I was still sitting in my study was because I felt like such an ass. Even though therapy was a reasonable option to offer someone coping with a devastating loss, the look on Emily's face told me that I had offended her. Actually, what I had really wanted to tell her was that I'd be here for her if she needed anything. But instead I played it safe because I had no other choice.
I was also sure that she took notice of the fact that I didn't comment on her hair. She'd always worn it loose, wild, and free, a stark contradiction to her disciplined and controlled manner. But now her thick mass of wiry hair was straight down her back, giving her a sleek, alluring aura. I couldn't tell her how beautiful I thought she looked tonight because the next thing to follow would've been the kiss I have wanted to devour her with for the past eleven years. That was out of the question, so I offered her a psych referral instead.
Everything inside me wanted to go upstairs to the guest room where Emily was sleeping and hold her close to me. But there was no way I could make a move like that, especially not in the house I shared with my wife. That would be like inviting hell to break loose, and we had been down that road before.
Brenda and I didn't have a loving relationship. We never had. She always thought I was having some sort of torrid affair. The truth was, yes, I had dipped my spoon in the past. They'd been meaningless affairs, quick thrills and simple indulgences. Brenda even caught me once and she never let me live it down. We went to counseling, but when the real issues of our marriage boiled to the surface, she told me that she'd had enough therapy. That was a long time ago, and now I was harmless and downright saintly, especially compared to a lot of the men I knew.
Brenda and I had been together since college, and that was a long time to spend with the same person. I cared about her, but I couldn't truthfully say that I'd ever been in love with her. We'd known each other practically all our lives. Our families vacationed together on the Vineyard every summer. Her older sister was married to my first cousin. We were connected and intertwined. But we didn't start dating until our junior year at Howard University. I was president of our class and had been giving a speech for a peace rally in front of the student union when she approached me. I knew that political and social causes weren't Brenda's thing, but she volunteered to help me post flyers around campus after the event. I asked her out that evening and we've been together ever since. It may sound like a fairy tale, but it's far from it.
She was the sensible choice—attractive, smart, cultured, and respectable. Our families had both breathed a collective sigh of relief when we started dating, but I felt nuptial pressure almost from the very beginning of our relationship. We were in our senior year when she got pregnant, even though she'd been on the Pill. Three months passed before she told me that she'd missed her period. When I asked her why she had waited so long to tell me, she said it was because she didn't know how to break the news to me. My best friend, Ross Morgan, still swears to this day that she set a trap for me.Whether Brenda stopped taking her pills on purpose or not had been a moot point back then. The bottom line was that I had a responsibility to own up to. I was raised to honor family, and that was what I planned to do.
A month later we had a rushed but elaborate wedding with all the bells and whistles. Our son, Jeffery, was born five months after we married, and then Sam followed. Things happened so fast we really didn't have time to examine our relationship. The span between the births of our children and my law school graduation was a blur. In the years that followed, there were ballet recitals for Sam, softball practices for Jeffery, volunteer activities for Brenda, and career climbing for me. We were so busy with “things” that Brenda and I never had time to focus on the two of us. Once we did, neither of us really liked what we saw.
BOOK: Playing the Hand You're Dealt
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