Sinful Too (2 page)

“For one, I don’t need your apologies. I’ve had to learn to do for myself. Two, Dooney hadn’t been a
boy
since I can remember. Three, I didn’t mind doing the dishes. What pissed me off was the way you spent all of your free time with that punk boyfriend of yours. Sting was weak, I could see that back then, but all you could see was him. Four, I stayed on the phone because me and my friends talked about what was going on with us, what we were going through, and how to work with it. I don’t like to dwell on the past, but it’s worth discussing since you brought it up. You might not remember how I would come into your room in the evenings to sit up under you and share what was going on in my world with
my mama
, then Sting would call or come over and squash all of that. You pushed me aside and Dooney too, for a man, Billie! You played us cheap, for the same one who turned you in. Now ain’t that grand.” A few moments passed before either of the women made eye contact. Both of them sat there, quiet and torn. Eventually, Dior grunted to clear her throat. “Look, I didn’t come to hurt you and get into all of what didn’t go right before you were sent up. You are my mother and I don’t want to lose you a second time. Your bid is almost up. You deserve to have something decent to come home to. I’d like that to be a tight friendship with me.”

Suddenly Billie’s eyes rose to meet Dior’s. She’d learned to shield her emotions from others for so long it had become second nature, but hiding what she felt was impossible then. Billie’s bottom lip trembled as she opened her mouth to speak. “Maybe when I get out of here, I could make some things up to you as a good friend. I’d like to try.” A tear ran down her cheek as she slid her hand across the iron table to touch Dior’s. “Shoot, I’d probably find a way to mess that up too.” As her fingertips inched nearer to her child’s hand, Billie prayed the guards wouldn’t step in but for once look the other way. When she felt Dior’s soft, warm skin, she shuddered uncontrollably.

“No, ma’am, we can’t let that happen, not again.” Dior drew in a deep breath then shot a paralyzing glare at the officer who appeared to be a hairbreadth from ending their tender moment. Since he’d watched their tumultuous exchange closer than the others, she was certain he understood how important it was to allow concessions for Billie, if only for that minute in time. Dior held her intense stare on the guard until he looked away. “It’s okay, Billie Rae. You and me are going to be alright. You’ll see.”

Dior exited the visitor’s section of Azalea Springs the same way she’d arrived, shaken and stirred. While walking to the parking lot in front of the registration hall, she contemplated the need for prisons, the need to incarcerate those who had transgressed beyond the acceptable limits of immorality. Prisons were instituted to protect the law-abiding from the miscreants of society. Imprisoning the prisoners’ families was simply a by-product, she reasoned, sometimes more destructive than the crimes they committed.

After a long cry in the safe confines of her preowned 3-Series BMW convertible, Dior wiped her eyes with a tissue, then pulled out of the gravel lot onto the dusty farm road. Within minutes, she’d put this trip behind her like all the others. She was thankful for the broad leap she made with Billie in building their relationship. After an hour of quiet reflection along the interstate, Dior would be back to the reality she’d worked hard at creating for herself: a decent living in Dallas.

Two

Midday Diva

A
t eleven o’clock, Dior strolled into the entrance at Hills Peak Mall, where she’d been employed for the better part of a year. Coming in on Fridays often put a smile on her face. Her boss always arrived with a pay envelope stuffed with her nontaxable commissions from the week before. She loved selling fine clothing at Giorgio’s, a high-priced men’s boutique owned by a charismatic Italian almost twice her age. They shared an understanding on and off the clock. During business hours, Dior lured in male customers by the droves and then charmed them into parting with their money while spending casual time with her. And twice a week, Giorgio carved out niches of her private time for himself. Typically, Dior prepared something light for dinner then served him a hot dessert afterward, on her satin sheets. The arrangement met both of their needs — his for the attention of a young, desirable woman and hers to rack up as much undeclared income as possible. Giorgio Torricelli fit Dior’s objectives like a glove accentuated with diamond studs. Not only was he wealthy, he was distinguished, thoughtful, and uninhibited in the sack.

Making her way past corridors of recently decorated windows boasting after-Easter sales placards, Dior was surprised to find the clothing shop nearly void of customers. Suza Esquival, a tall Latina with long legs and a rather despicable loathing for men with children, organized dress shirts on top of a folding table near the back of the store. She glanced up when she heard Dior’s heels clicking against the hardwood flooring. “Hey, girl,” she squealed excitedly. “I knew that suit would be banging once you had it chopped and screwed.”

Dior stopped in midstride to strike a pose. “Yeah, I’m rockin’ it. Uh-uh-uh,” she moaned jokingly, while popping her hips side to side for effect. “A little bit of this and a little bit of that.”

“Why, ’cause this is where it’s at,” Suza sang, girl-from-the-hood style.

“Ahh, look at Suza. It’s got to be payday or else I wouldn’t be getting two words out of you.”

“Yeah, Chica, I don’t do
chatty
when I’m broke. Good thing Giorgio came by and dropped off the paper early. I’m cashing my check during lunch.” Suza quickly resumed her task of sorting expensive long-sleeve button-down shirts so she’d be completely finished with the shipment when her break rolled around at three o’clock.

“He already came through, huh?” Dior queried. “Did he say if he would be coming back?”

“He might have but I stopped listening once I got my pay envelope.” Suza placed her left hand on her narrow hip and held out her right one. “You think I’ll have time for a mini-manicure too? Monty, that cute guy from Sports Galore, wants to take me out.”

Dior analyzed the situation thoughtfully before answering. “I’d say yes to nails but no to nuts. That fool from upstairs is nasty. He’s got three or four chicks pregnant at the same time and they all work for the Gap. I’d bet all hell breaks loose every time they have a benefits meeting. Unless you plan on helping him start a basketball team, Suza, just say no to janky playas, wannabe-ballers, and dudes who don’t lay down with the latex. He’s looking to buy four of everything as it is: four blankets, four bottles, and a gang of bassinets. There’s no way he can sell enough sneakers, hats, and throwbacks to support that many kids. He should’ve knocked up some sistahs from the Baby Gap instead. He could use the discount.”

“He was kicking it with that stuck-up girl from the fragrance counter at Macy’s who we can’t stand. And she just had twins,” Suza remembered. “You saved me, girl. Uh-huh, see, he is nasty.”

“Told you.”

Dior left her bewildered associate alone to sort out her next move in the dating pool that mall employees dabbled in on the regular. The main reason Dior refused to overindulge in it herself was purely financial. Although there were hundreds of eligible men just around the corner if she broadened her scope, it was common knowledge that most of those who punched a clock at the mall couldn’t afford her. The few men whose pockets were deep enough didn’t set Dior on fire like Giorgio. In addition to a charming personality and a laid-back style, he had pockets deep enough to swim in. Dior loved stripping down to nothing for an occasional skinny-dip.

In the manager’s office, Dior set her purse on the desk. She flipped on the small clock radio. Tangerine “The Midday Diva” had just begun her daily broadcast from the hip-hop station located inside the mall. “Thank God it’s Friday, y’all, ’cause I needs my check,” a lively voice proclaimed through the speakers, with a bumping bass beat in the background. “Money ain’t a thing until you’re broke,” Tangie joked.

Dior nodded her head assuredly. “I feel you, Tangie, a girl’s gotta get that paper.” She hummed along with the music as she thumbed through the pay envelopes for the one with her name written on it. “Ooh yeah, there you are,” she said, after locating it. “Come to mama and say ahhh.” Dior wasted no time ripping it open. “Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen hundred,” she counted, before quickly returning the bills to the envelope. Her grin was accompanied by a musical sigh. By Dior’s calculations, Giorgio had padded her commission payout by three hundred bucks. “Oomph, I like surprises. Extra cheddar does a body good. Money ain’t a thing
today.
”

“Cool, then it won’t be no thing for you to slide your rent money over this way,” commented Dior’s twin brother, Dooney, from the office doorway. When her grin fell flat, he shook his head. “Now tell me, why is it that paying your own way puts that stank look on your face?” Dooney was tall and on the thin side of sexy. He wore his hair close to the bone and neat, like his ever present starched jeans and pressed shirts. His eyes were almond-shaped and covered by dark, perfect brows. Dooney was a bad boy, street educated and slick. His skin was smooth and a perfect match for his sister’s. Dior was quickly reminded how women found him attractive when she noticed Suza had passed by the door behind him more than once to steal candid glances. She’d commented weeks ago how she wanted the hookup, starting with a subtle introduction praising her, of course. Dior wouldn’t think of getting Suza in over her head. If Dooney was going to do his dirt, Dior didn’t want it to backfire then blow up in her face once he’d gotten bored. And Dooney was easily bored, especially where a sure thing was concerned. Oblivious to the heat rising behind him, he sat three large white shopping bags on the floor in order to retrieve the money from Dior’s clutched fist. Her arm was extended but wasn’t in the least bit anxious to part with six hundred dollars, not even for her three-bedroom brick home in a quiet neighborhood.

“Come on, Dooney, can’t you just ease up for one month?” she whined. “Could I at least hold on to it for a minute? I mean, for real.” Dior’s impish grin returned slowly as the wheels inside her head spun faster. “What if I told you I’d be a few days late with the cash?”

He chuckled and then smirked at Dior’s failed attempt to get over on him. “Then I’d have to tell you how quick your behind would be out of my rental property by the end of the week.”

Dior turned up her nose rudely. “You’d toss your own sister out on the street?”

“Yeah, and her stuff out on the curb,” he answered in an unwavering manner that she’d seen before. “Stop playing, girl, and hand over the rent. And anyway, you ought to be glad I’m not charging you for painting every room in that house a different color. You got no idea how hard it’s gonna be to fix it.”

“I don’t care. You won’t have to worry about fixing anything. I’m in love with that house and it loves me back. I’m not planning on leaving it until I’m ready to get married and upgrade to a mansion.”

“Well, until that happens,
Spinderella
, you need to have my money on time, every month. I got a mile-long waiting list of single sistahs begging to get up in there.”

“You can take that list and your tired threats back to where you came from,” she pouted. “If you keep on, I’m telling Billie Rae how you do me.”

“Whaaat, you’re going to see her again? When?”

“I was up there this morning. She looks pretty good, I guess. Age is starting to set in, though, around the eyes mostly. She was upbeat and all about you. Dooney is this and oh how I love me some Dooney,” she teased.

“That’s because I’ve been going to Azalea Springs to look in on Mama for years. You don’t get that kinda love for putting in just three funky visits.”

“Five, I’ve been to see her five times,” Dior proudly corrected him. “Anyway, I’ve got to get my stuff together before she gets out. After all this time, not knowing how to feel about Billie being gone, I’m scared she’ll come home trying to clown me because I don’t have it going on like you.” Dior shook her head slowly in retrospect. “There was a time I didn’t give a flip what she thought.”

“Then you grew up. Congratulations. You finally came around to thinking about somebody other than Dior. About time. Now pay your monthly living expenses before I have to call the county constable on that . . . you gonna fool around and make me cuss.”

“Dooney, you still have a buck-o-five from the first buck you ever made with your tight behind. Why do you need my measly six hundred dollars?”

“Six bills ain’t nowhere near measly,” he argued, as his voice raised one octave. “And, since when did needing it have anything to do with getting what’s mine? Stop stalling and give it up.” Dior held on to the money tightly before he pried it from her hand. “Now that we’ve got business out of the way, let’s talk up on some pleasure. I hear you jamming to your girl’s show on the radio. When are you gonna put me down with the Midday Deejay?”

“That’s
Midday Diva
, and why would I do that?”

“It won’t hurt you to tell Tangy I’m trying to get at her.”

“See, uh-uh. Her name is Tangie. Tangie, get it right. And every time I try to be nice and set you up with one of my friends, that’s one less friend I have after you bang and bounce.”

“Don’t blame me when they fall for the Doo-Doo. I can’t help it that I get down like that.”

“You know what, you’re right. I don’t blame you. I blame me and I’m tired of doing it. Looks like you’ve got enough going on as it is.” Dior sneered at the large bags from Sports Galore. “All of that gear can’t be just for you so don’t lie and say it is.”

“Most of it is for me,” Dooney admitted awkwardly. “Okay, some of it. I was upstairs scouting for some new kicks when this cat named Monty started making deals and busting his tail to lay it out for me. I got mad respect for any dude who works a legit hustle like a rented mule. Everybody’s gotta make ends meet.”

“You bought all that from Monty? He’d have to sell you one of everything in the store just to make a dent in his debt. This reminds me, you need to go so I can start working on a way to recoup my six bills.” Dior shoved her brother playfully, stepped out of the office, then closed the door behind her. “Go on now. I have to get up front and move some product.”