Second House from the Corner (6 page)

“How did you sleep?”

“Okay.”

“Just okay?” I turn off the flow, pat my face with a paper towel, and then get down on my knees so that we are eye-to-eye. His features are Preston's, nut brown, curved eyes, and a strong nose. I can't locate anything of me. I kiss his cheek and then we walk hand in hand to wake up Two.

I manage to get them all ready on time, and Preston drives the kids to school while I run around the house making sure I have everything for Liv, the audition, and my trip into the city. I slip a cute purple romper over Liv's head and fasten the snaps. I bring her into the bathroom with me and take the extra time with my stage makeup: foundation, blush and shadows, mascara, lipstick, translucent powder. I go at least two layers heavier when I'm in front of the camera, and I'm grateful Liv is sitting still for a half hour to let me get it all done.

The anxiety sifts like flour in my belly as I rehearse my lines one more time in the mirror. I need this audition to turn into a callback so that the agency will put me back on their top call roster. The clock races faster than me. When I bend down to scoop up Liv, she's got styling cream all over her romper and fingers. What is it with my children and freakin' hair products? The outfit is ruined and now I rifle through her wardrobe looking for something else. I can't send her to Erica's house looking anything but cute. Coltrane and McCoy are always dressed well. Most of the laundry is piled in my room and I don't have time to iron so I pull down a yellow sundress with the matching “panty bottoms” and head downstairs.

Snacks (can't ever leave the house without snacks), diapers, wipes, change of clothes, toys, books. My left arm is weighed down so I've scooped Liv up with my right and head to the car. Our block captain, Ms. Minnie, is watering her lawn and I give her a quick wave and shout good morning while strapping Liv in her seat. She squirms and kicks her feet. She pulls on my shirt and I know she wants to nurse. We are fifteen minutes behind schedule and there is no time. I hand her a sippy cup filled with diluted apple juice and round the car to the driver's seat.

I can smell the tangerine floating from the belly of my favorite flowers and I let the window down for a gentle wind, but as I turn onto Liberty Avenue, the breeze has my hair blowing and I can't chance the frizz. Air-conditioning it is.

Erica lives a few blocks from the kids' nursery school, up the hill and close to the South Mountain reservation. I lug Liv and all of her things down the winding walkway while balancing in my skinny heels. I ring the doorbell. Liv starts up a little fuss and I bounce her on my hip, hoping with all my might that she doesn't throw up on me. The door opens, I look up, and there is Erica's husband, Warren.

“Hey there,” he greets me, smelling like some kind of essential oil.

“When did you shave your head?”

“Oh,” he reaches up and touches his head like he's just remembering his new look. “I'm shooting a small scene in a movie.”

“Really?”

He ushers me into the open-concept living room.

“Nothing big. A walk-on really but the director asked me to shave so I thought what the hell.”

“It looks nice.”

He gives me a wicked grin. “My wife likes it.”

“It's sexy as hell on him, isn't it?” Erica floats into the living room, wearing faded cutoff shorts and a baby tee. She's thinner than me and the outfit makes her look youthful. She squeezes Warren's hand and they gaze into each other's eyes. I feel shy, catching them in an intimate moment, and turn my attention to smoothing down Liv's hair.

I can smell something baking, buttery and nutty. Warren excuses himself to his den. Erica throws her arms around me and then reaches for Liv.

“What is all of this stuff?”

“Just in case.”

“In case what? You know I have every toy she could think of with these monsters I have running around here.” Erica leads me into the kitchen. She places my bag on the white marble center island. There is an office nook off to the corner with a big window looking out onto the deck. It's only my second or third time in Erica's kitchen and I feel like I'm in the middle of a magazine spread.

“What time is your audition?”

“Eleven.”

“You better hurry.”

“I know, thanks so much. If you need me for anything…”

“Felicia, go.”

Erica's mother walks gingerly into the room. I hear her shuffling before I see her. “Oh, 'scuse me. Didn't know you had company.”

“Have you met my mother?”

“No. I'm Felicia.”

“Gweny.” She leans heavily against the counter like she's short of breath. Her hair is cut short and she's wearing dark glasses. “Lord knows I'm tired. Just pulled a load of clothes from the dryer and folded them. Then picked up all the toys in the playroom. Coltrane is big enough to pick up after himself. You need to start training him, Slim. You want me to change the linen on the beds too?”

“Mom, won't you go relax?” Erica chides.

“Just trying to be helpful.”

Erica waves her hand for me to follow her. “Come on, let me walk you out.”

“You keeping her baby?” her mother calls after us.

“Yes!” Erica shouts back. At the front door she whispers, “Honestly, that woman is going to have me drinking scotch by lunch.”

“Be grateful you have her,” I say, thinking of my own mother.

Erica blows her breath and then smiles. “Break a leg today, and don't worry about Liv. We've got her.”

*   *   *

I merge onto Route 78 and take the New Jersey Turnpike. I flip the radio to 1010 WINS to hear what the traffic is like. The Lincoln Tunnel is a twenty-five-minute wait, so I take that route, praying that the traffic around Forty-Second Street isn't too bad. All the cars slow as the traffic merges to get to the toll at the tunnel. I flip through my phone to calm the nervous energy. On Facebook I see that Shayla replied to my direct message.

If you can get away, let's do lunch. Midtown works best.

With all the hustling this morning, I almost forgot about Martin calling.

That's perfect. Twelve o'clock. You pick the place.

I drop my phone in the passenger's seat. Shayla. What am I doing reaching out to her? Last I heard she was living that underworld, fast-money life. When we were growing up, I never wanted any part of the street game, but Shayla's always been down for climbing up by any means necessary. Lunch at a public place should be fine. It's not like I'm inviting her to my house, where my family lives. Introducing her to Preston. I'd never do that. Seeing her might help me get to the bottom of how Martin found me, and just get that man off my chest. That's all I wanted.

The audition is at Fifty-Second and Eighth, and I maneuver into a parking lot a half block away. The cost is exasperating, but what can I do but cross my fingers that this commercial will pay back dividends?

Now, you know the odds are against you. Actresses come a dime a dozen.

But I ignore her. I pop down my driver's side mirror to refresh, recheck, and regather. My Louise Hay affirmation is taped to the visor on a yellow Post-it so I read it out loud while looking myself dead in the eye.

“All is well. The Universe supports me at every turn.” Preston thinks talking to myself in the mirror is bonkers and maybe it is, but I do it anyway. When I step out of the car I am ready.

*   *   *

“Morning.” The petite blonde smiles at me from behind the small desk.

“Felicia Lyons, here for Samsung Galaxy.”

“Room eight.”

She hands me the copy and I'm relieved that it's the same lines I've practiced. Sometimes they change them at the last minute.

There are two women waiting in front of me. I give a polite smile; one smiles back, and the other nods. We all have similar looks but I'm the brownest of the bunch and I hope that works to my advantage. My mocha doe eyes are my best feature. I do an awesome surprise, and watch out when I have to gush and cry. I haven't relaxed my hair since college, so my natural is long and thick and full of body. I go over my lines one more time, and when they call me in, I tell myself it's all mine.

*   *   *

Shayla messages me to meet her at Landmarc at the Time Warner Center in Columbus Circle. I've never been inside the building, and when I see the directory of stores I wish I had more time to buy myself something. As always I'm on the clock. I have about an hour to meet with Shayla before I need to dash back for the kids and figure out dinner.

At the entrance of the restaurant, I see Shayla sitting at a table by the window bent over her tablet. She is as beautiful as the day is sunny. I envied that when we were kids. Shayla woke up pretty. I always felt like I needed to do a little work to catch up. Her shiny hair was bone straight, hanging down her back. She had coal eyes, high Ethiopian-like cheekbones, and a natural pout to her mouth. When she turned to face me, I saw her hand-size breasts mushed together with a demi cut bra. No surprise there. That's been Shayla's trick for cleavage since we were eleven.

“Faye.” She steps and hugs me. She smells expensive. I squeeze her back. She's taller than me by an inch and her waist is small.

“You look great, as always.” I slip into the seat across from her and glance out at Central Park.

“You look good. How many years has it been?”

“A few,” I say, knowing damn well that I haven't seen her for at least seven years, before I married Preston.

The waiter comes out of nowhere and is smiling down at me, asking for the order.

“What are you having?” Shayla looks over at me.

“Chopped salad.”

“Salad? That's bird food. Give us two cheeseburgers and surprise us with your favorite draft beer.” She winks at the waiter.

“I don't drink beer in the middle of the day. I have to pick up my children from school.”

“One beer won't kill you. Chill out. Damn, you uptight.”

I feel weird. “So what you been up to?”

“Business, that's all.” She said business like it wasn't the type of thing I needed to know. So I changed the subject.

“You want to see my kids?” I unlock my phone and pull up pictures. The waiter drops off the beers.

“Damn, Faye, they are beautiful. Don't look nothing like you.”

“Whatever.”

She looks over each picture slowly, studying at least ten before handing me back my phone.

“You could have made me godmother to at least one kid. Damn. I am your oldest friend. You didn't even invite me to your wedding.”

“Girl, please, you've never even liked kids. Swore on a stack of Bibles when we were thirteen years old that you would never have them.”

“Still.”

Preston texts me.

How did the audition go?

I text back,
Well. Heading home soon.

I check the clock before stashing my phone in my purse. The burgers come and Shayla chews.

“Did you give Martin my phone number?” I say abruptly.

“What? Martin?”

I watch her face for the lie and keep my eyes even.

“Who the hell is Mar—oh, wait, Martin from—”

“Did you?”

“Girl, no. Is that what this is about? Why you finally had time to see me?” She shakes her long hair. “I haven't seen that fool since, damn, like back before things happened. Probably wouldn't even recognize him on the street.”

I believe her. “I don't know how he found me.”

The waiter approaches and drops off two waters.

“You're a frazzled mess.” Shayla touches my arm. “What happened?”

I tell Shayla about him calling the house and catching me off guard. “You should have seen how my middle daughter was clinging to me. Like I was having an affair or something.”

“It's probably because you were all flushed like you are now. Look at you. Breasts all full. Face, cheery and shit. You still got feelings for the old dude?”

“Nooo.”

“Faye, you ain't got to fake it with me. It's obvious. You gonna fuck him?”

“Shayla!” I touch my fingers to my throat and look around to see if anyone has overheard our conversation. “That's not what I want. I'm married. Happily married.”

“Mmm hmm.” She stares me down. “Does your husband know about—”

I cut into her quick. “No. And he doesn't need to.”

“Okay, Faye.” She holds her hands up in surrender. “You did make me solemnly swear to take it to my grave.”

I was about to remind her that nothing had changed, but her phone rings. She checks the caller ID but doesn't answer.

“So what does the man want?”

“He's about to be released from prison. Asked me to come see him in Philly when he gets home.”

“You going?”

“I don't even go to Philly to see Gran.”

“My mother used to say, best to let sleeping dogs lie.” She sips her beer. “But it looks like that dog is wide awake. I'll cover for you.”

“You'll cover for me? What are we, sixteen?” I laugh.

“You know it's something about that first man who pops your cherry. You just don't ever get that dude out of your system. It's like they live inside of you. Forever. Time doesn't change that.”

Her words unnerve me. My appetite is gone.

“I need to go.” I pull two twenties from my wallet.

Shayla pushes the money back toward me. “I wouldn't dream of letting you pay, Faye.” The waiter passes the table and she thrusts her credit card at him. “That's insurance, so that I'll see you again.”

I gather my things. Purposely stand without the usual promise to touch bases with available meet-up dates. A quick hug and then I am walking out the front door.

 

SEVEN

The Man, Mr. Martin Dupree