Sinful (3 page)

“Uhh, yes,” she agreed. “Giving you the ten-cent tour shouldn't take more than ten, fifteen minutes tops.”

I know they don't think I'm gullible to the point of being tricked into getting to know this tiny little bread box,
Chandelle thought. “Well, if it only takes a few minutes, maybe I should look it over and you know, see what's what,” she said, easing off her leather mule slip-ons.
I ain't trusting to the point of letting my man traipse from room to room with that former prom queen either.

“This house is a charming three-bedroom with a study,” Kim began, once Chandelle followed. “Marvin said you only wanted to see two-story properties, with spacious master bedrooms, a garden tub, and kitchen upgrades,” she said to Chandelle, who strategically paced between the realtor and Marvin. “As you can see, the ceramic floors are practically new and very nicely maintained.”

They don't look that new,
Chandelle thought.

“There are two food pantries, a particular upgrade because there's also a breakfast nook. Usually there isn't room for both,” Kim pointed out.

“Two pantries?” Chandelle replied. “And a breakfast nook?”
This bassinet is too cramped for an extra trash can
, she almost said aloud. She was already glancing at her trusty Movado timepiece and this was only the first home on their list to view.

“Note the vaulted ceilings, two full baths upstairs,” Kim politely explained. “This closet has a custom finish, see the his/hers built-in shoe racks and hat coves; a distinctive difference.”

Chandelle wasn't even slightly interested in the walk-in closet.
This isn't a closet, it's a hutch,
she thought,
a tiny one at that. I couldn't even turn around good inside of it, much less stroll through trying to decide on outfits and shoes. And what do hats need with some coves in the first place?”

With the second house, it was even more charming than the first. Chandelle understood then that
charming
must have been an industry code word for very, very tiny. The vibrant chatter that had accompanied them before the tour began dwindled each time they exited another of Kim's wonderful finds and piled back into her fancy vehicle. Marvin was increasingly embarrassed each step of the way. Chandelle was just plain through. Not at all impressed by the finely manicured lawns, charming four-bedroom split levels, updated kitchens, and fresh paint, she couldn't envision moving her royal throne into either of them.

During the ride back to the realty office, not one single word was uttered. Marvin gazed out of the back window in a cloud of frustration. Chandelle flipped through pages of her magazines, silently wondering where the photographer who'd found them officed because that's who she wanted on her house-hunting team. Kim wasn't in the least bit surprised. For most young couples, agreeing on their first home was one of the toughest decisions they'd ever have to face. She'd seen marriages implode because of it. Hopefully, Marvin and Chandelle's wouldn't become one of them.

With the wind taken out of his sails, Marvin exited the SUV and opened the door for Chandelle even though he couldn't muster anything to say.

Kim thanked them for choosing her, asked that they talk things over and openly share ideas before planning another trip around the block. When neither Marvin nor Chandelle offered much in the way of an endorsement, she handed business cards to them and excused herself.

Marvin blew out a laborious sigh, the one he'd held in for hours. Chandelle stood near him in the parking lot, with her mind on dissolving their relationship with Hightower Realty. Both of them were frayed at the edges with great measures of disappointment.

“Marvin, I didn't want to say anything because you and Kim's brother go way back, but she isn't doing it for me. Maybe we need to get another realtor with better taste. Maybe that white chick we saw coming out earlier, maybe she can come up with something. If I have another day like this one, I'd be willing to keep the apartment.”

Scratching at the nape of his neck, Marvin put on his business hat after removing the one that said, “Husband.” “You didn't have to tell me you weren't feeling any of the places we saw today. It was written all over your face. Kim noticed, too, but didn't trip on it. If you really want to be honest, the problem isn't with her.”

“What, you trying to say she's right and I'm wrong?” Chandelle challenged.

“Now you're tripping. Listen to what I've been thinking before jumping on me about it. I know people. I'm a salesman. It's my job to figure out what they want before they do and I'm good at it. Kim went out and located what we, I said
we
were looking for based on the financing we got from the bank and the stuff you put down as ‘deal makers.' Let's give her another shot and see if we can't stretch our money.”

“Ooh, baby, you think we could?” Chandelle moaned heartily, like she had when they were in bed.

“Yeah, it'll work out fine. I just don't want you to get discouraged. Home buying is a big deal. We'll talk to Kim about it and see if she can work on another group of
properties
.”

 

When the seasoned realtor saw them exchange tender lip smacks from her desk, she headed out of the door on cue with briefcase in hand. “What are y'all still doing here?” she questioned, believably surprised. “I was on the way out.”

“Kim, do you have another client today?” Marvin asked, behind an eager grin.

“Actually, I do, my favorite one,” she answered with a gleam in her eyes. “I'm booked all afternoon with my four-year-old Danni. She's with a sitter now and I'm sure watching the clock. What was I thinking, teaching her how to tell time?”

“It was just a thought but we'd hate to keep you from her,” Marvin said, his eyes exhibiting a glint of defeat.

“Is there something you wanted to discuss? I do have a minute.”

He tossed a smile at Chandelle, then slid both hands inside his front pockets. “It's obvious that we need to reevaluate a few things.”

Watching as Chandelle's eyes flickered, Kim nodded that she fully understood. “Sure, let's step inside a few minutes. I know exactly what you mean. Chandelle would like more house than you've qualified for.”

“Yes!” Chandelle answered for him.

“It happens all the time,” Kim admitted. “And it won't take but a sec to run some numbers. Hopefully, our next outing will sustain that smile on Mrs. Hutchins's face.”

“
Mr. Hutchins
would like that very much,” Marvin replied, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was also secretly hoping that their credit line didn't end where Chandelle's happiness began. What he hadn't considered at all was his own state of mind.

S
aturday afternoon, Marvin showed up at Appliance World even though he was scheduled to be off. Mr. Mercer was happy to see him. The store was packed to the gills with potential shoppers who'd missed the big sale the day before. Since the newspaper mistakenly ran the same ad for a second day, he felt compelled to honor their requests and extend his cost-cutting sale throughout the evening.

“Didn't think I'd have a chance to breathe today,” Mercer told him. “Now that you're here, I can roam around and check on things.”

Marvin knew what that implied. It wouldn't be long before the unscrupulous owner found another willing female who wanted something from the showroom she'd have to pay only pennies on the dollar to work out a backdoor deal. Since it was none of Marvin's business, he decided once again to mind his own.

“Lem, where's Rodney?” Marvin questioned the energetic salesman. Rodney was the weekend only part-timer who sat in an office Monday through Friday. He was a natural, thirty years old and liked the buzz he got from closing deals. Marvin often wished he was still just as enthusiastic about moving metal, one difficult customer at a time. Lem, in desperate need of a break, shook his head while searching a microwave for the serial number. “I don't know,” he grunted, utterly dismayed. “Rodney has been displaying dishwashers all day. He's probably sold ten of them by hisself.”

“That's what's up. I'll make a sweep to see if Reeka and Thomas need a break. Knock off and take a thirty after your next sale. I'm covering today.”

Lem seemed puzzled. “What about Mr. Mercer? He said nobody gets to leave until the showroom closes down at seven.”

“Don't worry about him. He'll be too busy working his own magic.” Marvin knew it was against state laws to enslave employees by refusing them time for lunch. When the younger man glared at him, regarding Mr. Mercer's overly aggressive sales tactics, Marvin changed the subject. “By the way, the serial numbers on General Electrics are always stamped on the door…right under your thumb.” Lem slowly lifted his hand, discovering what had him steaming for over five minutes. Marvin was right, but then he always was when it came to products sold in the store. He should have been promoted to manager years ago, but Mr. Mercer wasn't about to relinquish that kind of power. His “say so” was all that mattered unless his wife superseded his authority, which she did every now and again.

Grinning wildly, Lem thanked Marvin as he jotted down the serial number on an order and pay pad. “Go get 'em, Lem,” he cheered, as Rodney marched down the aisle between televisions and high-end stereos.

Rodney was almost as tall as Marvin, a dusky shade of brown, twenty pounds heavier, and often complained about losing his boyish physique because of fifty-hour work weeks tied to a desk. They were alike in many respects, both of them shared the same disrespect for the way the boss pimped merchandise and cheated on his wife. “Hey, Marvin, where's Mr. Mercer?” he asked anxiously, slapping Marvin's right palm homeboy style. “I need to get something to eat before I fall out. Reeka's starving too. She's getting mean.”

“Getting?” Marvin said, suggesting that was her most notable personality trait. He craned his head to peer over the tall shelves. “Naw, I don't see him. Tell you what, though, take Lem with you and dash out. He's wrapping up something and I've talked to him already. I'll get Reeka's back while y'all skate. She's a selling machine when she's hungry. I'll slide her some lunch money and make it cool with her. Now, beat it before the old man gets done with one of his…meetings.”

“Oh, Mercer's in freak mode? It figures. He's been cracking a whip until you showed up. I just want to be around when wifey rolls up on him like she did last week. I ain't gonna tell you who he had bent over the sink in the restroom because I don't like to gossip, but Lem's mama left with a crook in her back and something in her sack, no charge, no tax.”

“Ahh, man, I could've lived my whole life without knowing that,” Marvin whispered regretfully. “A single momma don't stand a chance around him.”

“Humph, not if she wants something nice for baby boy's twenty-first birthday, on the house. Yep, Lem's legal on Friday. I'm taking him out for a few. See if you can get a hall pass from Chandelle.”

“Man, I don't need a pass,” Marvin huffed adamantly. “Shoot, I'm running things at my house.”

“That's what I thought,” Rodney chuckled. “See you in a minute. Bring you something back?”

“Naw, I'm straight. Just don't get lost out there. Reeka's on the prowl.” Rodney headed left as she stormed in from the right. “Hey, Reeka,” Marvin greeted, with a manufactured grin. “Here's twenty dollars on your lunch, but first I want to see who can rack up the most sales in a half hour. If you can beat me, I'll make it forty.” Of course she bit, made an immediate U-turn, and shot off in the other direction. Within the first ten minutes Marvin had arrived, he'd arranged a workable lunch schedule to spell valuable associates he cared about, learned more than he ever wanted to about Lem's mother, a mere sixteen years older than her son, and he convinced Reeka to shine brighter than she thought probable on an empty stomach. Marvin was talented like that. His uncanny ability to spot a dilemma and resolve it with little effort was invaluable. But for the time being, he was proving that no one could match his prowess on the sales floor, including Reeka on her best day while hyperfunctioning on fumes.

When the doors closed, Appliance World had amassed a record sales day. Mr. Mercer didn't give a flip who took a break after seeing the cash register printouts. All he could see was money rolling in, more than ever before, and he had a dedicated team to thank for it.

 

At Dooney Does It barber shop, chatter resonated in the five-chair salon. During his last eighteen-month stretch in the state pen for check kiting and credit card fraud, Dooney learned a trade. His skills with shears were legendary by the time he made parole. With a dream and a barber starter kit from Wal-Mart, he began cutting neighborhood heads in his tiny apartment bathroom. When the booming traffic sent the police to his door, they expected to make a drug bust. Although none were found, Dooney was forced to become a legitimate operator and find a place to accommodate his loyal clientele. Blessed with friends in low places, a city councilman persuaded him to throw every cent he had into an abandoned storefront, to access the city's revitalization program in impoverished neighborhoods. Within two years of barely making ends meet, Dooney was awarded the deed to the building free and clear. He'd been living that dream and laughing about his good fortune each and every day since.

This Saturday night was no different. The shop was humming with hip-hop music and black men catching up on old news and discussing current events. Children were not allowed to hang around after seven o'clock because there was no telling what topic might have jumped off once the sun set.

Dooney howled loudly when his seven-thirty appointment strolled in with a dinner box from Maylee's soul food down the street. “That's what's up! Rocky, you came through.” Dooney snatched the box, wrapped in a plastic bag, from the tough-looking customer. He pulled out a roll of money and passed a crisp ten-dollar bill to the man for his trouble, and then held the package up to his nose. “Did they put the extra syrup on my yams?” he asked, hoping they did. “Oh man, I'm on time for this! All y'all got to wait. My man Rocky is next.” To a chorus of complaints from those who'd waited longer than anyone should have, Dooney held his arms outstretched. “What? Did any one of y'all cut for a brotha? That's what I thought. Then quit your yapping. Rocky, go 'head on and get in the chair. This here is gonna feed me like two fat females. Ain't nothing like yams and big women. Ooh!”

“I know you gonna let me sample some that baked chicken,” Tim, the grossly overweight barber standing nearest to him, suggested, rubbing his pot belly that appeared to be more than full as it was.

“Huh? Did somebody say something?” Dooney smarted. “Brotha, you's gonna have to get your own.”

“Come on, Dooney, don't be like that. I'd run on over to Maylee's myself but my feet hurt.”

“Your feet hurt? So!” he shouted dispassionately to a roaring herd of customers who saw not a war of words but of wit whereby to the winner went the spoils. “You think bad feet, bunions, and corns got anything on what I have to deal with. You don't want to get started. Can't no man up in here outcomplain me.”

“Put that hot plate on it, then,” Tim chided. “I got more stuff wrong with me than going to war with them Iraqis.”

“If y'all's going at it, I want in too,” asserted yet another busy barber, two chairs down.

“Uh-uh, this is between me and Tiny Tim,” Dooney objected. “Please believe, you don't want this.”

“But I do want that,” Tim replied, staring down Dooney's meal.

“All right, then, there's only one rule, no cussing 'cause I'm tryna quit. You cool with that?”

“It's on, then,” Tiny agreed. “Do your thing.”

Suddenly the shop fell silent with anticipation.

“Okay, you said your feet hurt. Yeah, but…my dogs are barking and I got a hitch in my back from standing all day.”

Tim's stomach shook as he chuckled. “Too easy,” he smirked. “Okay then, my feet hurt…my back is tight, and my momma told me last night that I was adopted.” A quiet band of “oohs” rose into the air.

“Okay, okay, my feet hurt, my momma told me I was adopted, and I woke up this morning missing a kidney.”

“I still got you beat, my feet still hurt, my back is so tight I can't stand up straight, this morning my kidney just fell out, before I came to work I watched
Brokeback Mountain
thirty-seven times, and I cried because two grown men who love one another can't just do their thing and be left alone.”

Once again silence played loudly over Tim's daring offering.

Dooney stared at the barber, gritted his teeth, grunted loudly, and then reluctantly handed over the sack of food in defeat. “Here you go, man. I just lost my appetite and now my stomach hurt.”

The assortment of customers clowned Dooney noisily as Tim raised his short stubby paws in the air triumphantly. “And once again the challenger goes down, down, down,” he cheered.

Dooney waved his friend off dismissively. “Naw, podner, that'd be you and them two white cowboys going down, down, down.”

Everyone in the shop was rolling when Marvin entered through the front door.

Gazing over the boisterous clamor, he inquired, “What'd I miss?”

Dooney snatched a pack of Newport cigarettes from his black barber smock and headed for the door. “Nothing but Tim coming out of the closet, butt naked in cowboy boots.”

“You lost to him again, didn't you?” Marvin surmised.

“Yeah, how you know that?”

“Because he's the one licking syrup off his fingers.” Marvin watched the big man gloat through the large-paned window. “Turn around, it's all running down those thick wrists of his.”

“Kinfolk, I can't even much watch. He got me out here hungrier than a hostage and working on getting past losing my vittles.”

“Talk about getting over, Chandelle had me all house shopping today. She didn't like a doggone thing.” When Dooney blew smoke into the air and then cut his eyes sharply at Marvin, he sneered in disgust. “You don't even have to ask. She punked me into raising the stakes. We can get a handle on it, though, but it won't be easy.”

“Serves you right for marrying my cousin,” Dooney joked. “She's been pimping egos since we was kids. Now she got you caught up. Didn't you know she's a thoroughbred? High minded, high stepping, high maintenance. You'd better yank on the reins or rope her in before it's too late. That's why I don't ease outside the hood. You let a woman see too much, sooner or late she'll want it all. That's the cost of doing business, I guess.” After a sidewalk philosophy session, Dooney flicked a lit cigarette into the street. “I hope Tim done finished with them yams by now 'cause I might have to clock him.”

“Yeah, you have a full house. I'll come by for a cut early next week. Want me to swing by Maylee's for you?”

“You got enough on your own plate with house gazing and whatnot. Tell Chandelle I said what's up.”

“I will,” Marvin said, slapping palms as a parting salutation. “Oh yeah, I haven't seen Dior in a while.”

“And you won't neither until she needs something,” Dooney answered knowingly. “You can bank on that.”