Sinful (4 page)

“W
hat do you mean I need to find some other place to be?” Dior yelled, waving her finger in Kevlin's face. “After I've been cooking for your sorry butt and cleaning this nasty apartment for you, now I'm supposed to gladly accept my walking papers and bounce? Man, you're crazier than you look.”

Dior had been on her best behavior since arriving unannounced at Kevlin's door. After playing house over the weekend, he was merely conducting himself the way he always had before, and in the same manner Chandelle had predicted. That was the worst part of it, Dior reasoned, as she stared at the furious Kevlin. “My cousin told me you'd be stuntin' like this, but I told her she was wrong about you. Well, you're not making a fool out of me. I ain't going nowhere,” she'd concluded firmly.

Danger, was the expression Kevlin wore when he pushed the mute button on the remote control to silence the football pregame show on the stolen big-screen television, much too large to be in a living room that small. “I let you lay up for free. I even took you to the city pound to get your ride, so that ought to cover the cooking and cleaning, since you're making a big deal about it. Humph, like you didn't have to eat too. If I say you're leaving, that's it,” he told her, his voice thickening with contempt. “I didn't ask you to come here; you just showed up and like a friend I took you in, but this ain't no rest haven for hoochies.”

“You can't be squawking at me because I ain't hooch,” Dior argued, before sucking her teeth. She swung her behind in his face and then snapped her fingers. “You wasn't calling me that when breaking your neck to get all up in this.” Kevlin tried to look away but the way those tight workout shorts hugged Dior's thighs held his gaze in check. “Uh-huh, that's what I thought,” she challenged. “You can't say no to this, never could.”

“Watch me!” he snapped, leaping from the sofa. He darted past her toward the bedroom. “Get your purse, you're leaving,” Kevlin barked. “I've got company coming and there's some things I need to get a handle on before that.”

Dior smirked at him defiantly when he returned with an armful of her clothes stuffed in the only luggage she owned. “Wait a minute!” she screamed. “You bet' not throw my stuff out, Kevlin. Why you doing this to me?” Dior hustled behind him as he headed for the front door, dug in her house slippers, and wrestled the bag away from his hands. She recoiled like a frightened child when he raised his fist. Suddenly, he caught himself and lowered it. The beating Dooney put on him was still fresh in his mind. Dior was not worth going through that again, he'd decided.

Slowly, her eyelids fluttered. Dior squinted nervously, then fully opened them. The look she saw on Kevlin's face didn't fit. He was scared, not of Dior directly but what trouble she could bring to his door.

“Well, well,” she said slyly, realizing a change in his demeanor. “I guess the mad dog done got his shots because he ain't so bad no more. Yeah, this is what's up. I like the way you checked yourself like a smart little doggie. You didn't like what happened when that man from animal control rolled up on you at the car wash. See, I tried to protect you, but Chandelle wasn't having it. Now, you get the chance to protect me. Feel me?”

There was a time when he'd have popped her across the face for such insolence, but times had changed. Dior laughed at Kevlin, huffing mad and doing nothing about it. He simply stood there, glaring and wishing she was gone.

“Naw, not quite,” he answered, wearing a mask of resolve. “See, you will leave or I'll have you put out.”

“What? You're threatening to call the police? That's a laugh. With all the dope you got stashed around this tacky place? Huh, go on and dial them up.”

Kevlin rubbed his hands together, playing the card he'd hidden up his sleeve. “That's where you're wrong again. All I have to do is pick up the phone and tell that lady where you are. Who knows, animal control might sneak up on you too.”

Now it was Dior's turn to shudder. Her prideful eyes dimmed the moment she believed Kevlin might follow through on his threats. Oddly enough, she dealt with it better when he intimidated her with violence. At least that was something she understood. “You're really making me go?” she asked, with a single tear staining her cheek. “Knowing what I'm up against, I got to get out?”

Kevlin was hard but nowhere near as sinister as Dior was when she had the upper hand. “It's like I said, we kicked it. That was well and good, but I've got company coming.”

Assuming he was trying to make room for a gaggle of beer-guzzling homeboys to watch the football game, Dior pleaded with him. “You know I hate to beg, Kev, but please don't do this to me. I'll help you entertain the fellas. I can put some hot wings on if they'd rather have that than the roast in the oven, and…and…there's brew in the frig and…” she rambled, in a feverish attempt to grasp at straws. A faint knock at the door brought her back to reality. “Wow, look at me,” Dior heard herself say. “This ain't it…not even close. What was I thinking that you'd have my back and stand up for me?” As if nothing happened at all, Dior glanced at the door before walking over to the bar area to retrieve her purse and car keys. “You should keep an eye on the meat before it overcooks. It'll dry out if you don't watch it. The cornbread is ready and on the stove. I hope you and the boys have a good time.”

Kevlin's face softened, but he was unwilling to change his mind or his ways. “You need to put on a coat,” he said as she reached for the doorknob. “It's cold out.”

“Yeah, but it can't be no colder out there than it is in here. You don't have to worry about me coming back, I won't. Bye, Kevlin.” Dior lowered her head and opened the door. The young woman, fair-skinned and pretty who looked to be about 24, standing on the other side smiled politely when their eyes met. Dior turned back to look at Kevlin, finally realizing that he wasn't expecting a crowd of friends to watch the game and that he'd pushed her out to make room for a replacement, someone who would soon be stuffing her mouth with the roast she'd prepared. Dior hauled off and slapped the taste out of his mouth, exhaled her frustration, and then stared down the woman she hadn't seen before. “Sooner or later, he's gonna hurt you too,” she asserted thoughtfully and without malice.

“Yeah, I know,” the woman replied, sidestepping Dior to get in through the doorway. “Something sure smells good, baby,” she sang to Kevlin before he closed the door and locked it.

Dior's stomach growled as she hoisted the bag from the ground. Her arms and legs sprouted goose bumps when the winds scraped against her skin. “Shoot, I was wrong. It's just as cold out here.” She scurried down the sidewalk to her Ford Escort and jiggled the key until the lock tumbled. While waiting for the car heater to manufacture warmth, Dior winced and growled. She dug into the bag, flinging clothes about until running across a pair of sweatpants. Her teeth chattered as she pulled them up past her hips. “It's cold,” she yelled, “too cold to be out here without a coat.” Before Dior knew it, Kevlin's visitor was strutting down the path toward her car, waving the jacket that she'd been too proud to go back for and carrying something covered in aluminum foil in her other hand. Dior lowered the window, having no idea what to think then.

“Hey, girl, you forgot this,” the woman said, handing it to her. “Sorry how things went down back there. Oh, here's a plate to take with you. Kevlin said you were hungry too. It's the least…you know.”

Dior imagined a thousand vile things she could have said after Kevlin had his new plaything deliver a mere portion of her dinner curbside but “Thank you” came rolling out instead. Dior raised the window and shrugged on her leathered sleeves, all the time watching the woman rushing back to Kevlin like she had done all the times before. “So that's what a fool looks like from behind,” she said, thinking of herself.

Twenty blocks and a world away, the choir at Fellowship Union belted out a final number from behind the pulpit. Chandelle gazed at Marvin and squeezed his hand. She smiled thank you at him, then leaned against his broad shoulder as if she wasn't sitting close enough.

Chandelle's immediate boss and mentor, Grace Peters, who was sitting with her husband in the next pew, caught a glimpse of their tender moment. She had a lot to be thankful for as well, a wonderful marriage to Wallace, a wardrobe of designer maternity clothes, and a baby growing inside of her. It was Chandelle's brainchild that had inspired Grace to take stock in her life and envision it with a husband. Dating woes, men's lies, and alibis plagued her throughout a tumultuous journey. However, she stumbled onto something great and subsequently has been enjoying it.

“I almost passed you a note suggesting that you two get a room,” Grace whispered in Chandelle's ear, once the church services concluded. “It was hard paying attention with all of that body checking going on.”

“I didn't know it was that obvious,” Chandelle said, her face all aglow. “Marvin and I met with the realtor yesterday. As soon as we find a house we like, we'll have plenty of rooms to choose from.”

“Ooh, Chandelle, I should have known better than to bring up married folks' business around you. I'm surprised you're not standing here with your belly stretching out like mine.”

“We've been practicing, that's for sure,” Chandelle chuckled. “But we decided to wait so the baby would have a real nursery. Now it won't be long,” she said, slightly envious of Grace's good fortune. “It'll be nice for our kids to come up together. You'd make a wonderful godmother, Grace. That'd make it harder for you to fire me, then.”

“Job security isn't a bad thing nowadays, is it?”

“No, it isn't,” Chandelle agreed. “Speaking of that, when is Wallace going back to teach?”

“He decided to let it go for now. His father's been leaning on him pretty heavy to join the family firm. Since I'm not interested in moving to Austin, he'll probably run a satellite office here. Oh, there he is flagging me down from the back door. See you tomorrow.”

“See you, Grace,” Chandelle hailed, very glad to have a friend whom she could look up to and receive a paycheck from at the same time. Marvin eased up behind her, slyly brushing his hand against the back of her dress. “Oops,” she stammered. “Boy, don't be sneaking up on me in public like that. I didn't know who that was trying to cop a feel.”

“It'd better be only me, in public or otherwise,” Marvin said, with a raised brow. “I almost had to break down the water cooler in the pastor's office. He didn't opt for the delivery service like I recommended. Now I'm the one he expects to change out the bottles and keep it running.”

“So, what did you do?”

“I changed out the bottles,” he admitted, laughing at his predicament. “And I'm waiting on the call I know is coming to keep it running too. Let's get out of here before something does go on the blink. I'm picking up an extra shift today.”

Chandelle wrinkled her nose at Marvin's latest news flash. “I thought you got Mr. Mercer straight last year about working on Sundays?”

“I did, but this was my idea,” he confessed, knowing that an argument was imminent. “We'll talk about it on the way home.”

We most certainly will talk about it,
Chandelle thought, while dragging her feet all the way out to the parking lot. “Have a good week, Sistah Kolislaw,” she spoke pleasantly to one of the mothers of the congregation. Once inside the car, it was another story. “Now, what's this about you wanting to work on Sunday? We both decided that Sundays were family-me-and-you-chill days. Why didn't you confer with me about it?”

“I didn't want to get into it because I knew we'd be right here doing this, fussing about it. Sometimes I hate being right.”

“What's right about you living at the job, Marvin? If you'd taken a regular office position by now, this wouldn't even be an issue.”

Marvin huffed as he turned the wheel to exit the lot. “If you didn't have to have a more expensive house, it wouldn't be an issue either. Chandelle, there's a cost that goes with moving upstream.” When she didn't have words to combat his, Marvin assumed the discussion was over, but his wife was only catching her breath.

Chandelle gathered her thoughts and chose her words. No matter how she planned on using them, they seemed to backfire in her mind every time. When Marvin parked her car outside of their apartment building, Chandelle was positive she had an airtight argument to keep him home. Then the unthinkable happened: He pushed the trunk release button from the inside.

As the lid sprang upward, she screamed but nothing came out. She had forgotten to return the mink coat. Ready to take her punishment for breaking their agreement on purchases above one hundred dollars, Chandelle held her breath and winced.

“Are you too mad at me to get out of the car?” he asked, fiddling around in the side wells for a music CD. “Ahh, there it is,” he mumbled to himself, before slamming the trunk shut. Chandelle was afraid to face him until he forced her hand. “Aren't you getting out? Don't tell me you're hot enough at me to sit out here in the cold?”

“No, no, I'm not mad,” she whimpered.
I just got a pardon from the governor.