The Pleasure's All Mine (32 page)

“Mom, it’s okay.” Eric walked to the closet, pulled a keyboard from the top shelf. “I remember when Grandma got me this.” He stroked the ivory keys. “She bought Kayla and Manny Nintendo games. I didn’t even want to play the keyboard, but she bought it, so I learned to play.” He shrugged again, plugged the cord into the outlet. “Kayla’s video game didn’t last a month and Manny never even played his, but I ended up in the jazz band at school and still play every chance I get.” He blinked, tickling over the keys, tears welling up in his eyes again. “She might’ve bought it trying to save money, but I think what she really wanted was for me to learn the piano because she’d always wanted to play and couldn’t. That says a lot.”

“God, she was horrible on that old thing, wasn’t she?”

“Better not tell her that,” Eric said with a laugh. “But she loved to hear me play.”

“Yes, she did, sweetie.”

“You know, when I found out she…died, I didn’t think I’d feel anything, because I really didn’t know her.” Eric looked down at the keyboard before fixing a gaze on his mother. “Yesterday I felt sad because you were sad, and it was okay ‘cause then it was all about you.” He looked away. “Now, I feel sad for my own reasons. I didn’t know her, and she never really knew me.”

Raven asked, “Do you believe that people who read your books know you?”

“Some,” Eric said after a few moments. “Yeah, I guess they would.”

“Come with me.” She extended her hand. “Let me show you something.”

In the living room, Raven spread out the items she’d taken from the safe deposit box and passed the clippings and two of the novels to Eric.

“What are these things sticking out here?” He flipped open to a page and plucked a small yellow sheet from the top. “Hey, these are notes on my books.”

The back page had a full commentary, exploring the similarities of the characters and the plot to real-life events and people, ending with,
Smart little fella, just like his mother.

Eric read it out loud, his voice wavering toward the end. “She liked my books!”

“Yep, gave them five stars, baby.”

“And I thought she only read the bible.”

“Well, evidently yours and mine made the cut.”

He fingered through an envelope. “And look at these!” It contained newspaper clippings from everywhere in the country. “Oh man, this one’s from the
Atlanta Tribune,
and this one’s from the
Columbus Dispatch
. I enjoyed that interview with Margaret Quamme.”

She showed him the pictures of the man she had found in the safe deposit box.

“I look just like him!” It was true. The only difference was that Eric had more of a tan. “So what are you going to do?”

“I’ll try to find him and…” She shrugged, unsure what she actually
could
do or where to start.

“Mom?”

“Hmmm.”

“Are you gonna call Pierce?”

She paused for a second or two before answering, “No.” She shook her head, refusing to meet her son’s eyes. “He wants too much from me. He wants me to give up my life here to be with him, but he won’t even think of moving to Chicago.”

“Why not meet somewhere in the middle, like Virginia, Ohio, or Pennsylvania? It’s not like you’ve got a lot else going on.”

Her head whipped up. “Watch your mouth.”

“It’s true,” he said with a mild grin. “I’m glad he took you to Hawaii. He
is
husband material, right?”

“There’s more to it than that, sweetheart.”

“No, there isn’t,” he shot back, ignoring her icy glare as he sifted through the clippings again. “You fall in love, get married, ride off into the sunset…”

“There’s
definitely
a lot more to it than that.” She gave him a hearty chuckle. How had she raised such an optimist when it came to romance?

Eric perched on the arm of the sofa. “You write about good relationships all the time.”

“Writing is one thing—”

“So put it into action,” he said with a wide grin and sly lift of his eyebrows. “I need to see an example—live and in person. It’d be nice for a change,” he joked and scurried away from the playful punch aimed at his midriff.

“I need some time, Eric.” She gathered up the remaining items. “You did your part. Let the adults take it from here.”

Eric trudged toward the kitchen to whip up something to eat, muttering, “It’s the adults that mess things up.”

He was sure right about that.

Hours later, Raven had still put off calling Pierce because she knew a relationship with him would never work. Maybe a little drive-by nookie every now and then might, but a relationship? Never. The man was too stubborn. He wanted too much. Well, at least more than she wanted to give. So why call him and give him false hope?

She had settled in for the night and was jotting down the names of a few people who might know about her father when Drew called with Janetta on the line.

“I’ve already given as much help as I’m going to,” Raven said sourly. “We have the date and time. At this point, time is all I have to offer. Why don’t I call the people in Mom’s address book? Reverend Lowry said he would like you to hold the service at St. Thomas. It’ll save money, and it’s large enough to hold everyone.”

“Hold the service at St. Thomas?”

She continued writing. “Yes, sir.”

“But Mom wasn’t Catholic!”

“It’s Lutheran, Drew.”

“She wasn’t that either.”

“What church would you say Mom belonged to?”

“I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “She went to so many of ‘em, but didn’t really join any.”

“That’s my point. Mom won’t care where it is, because she was everywhere, doing the church chit’lin circuit. And you know that little chapel at the funeral home will not hold all the people who’ll show up.”

Drew finally conceded. “Okay, St. Thomas. I’ll call Ms. Sullivan.”

Janetta rudely asked, “What about the money?”

“What money?” Raven shot back. “You mean the money you’re shelling out to help your brother with everything? I mean, with all the money you made from stealing Mom’s televisions and stereos, the funeral’s all paid for, right?”

“But—”

“No buts, that’s it.” She broke the connection without giving them another thought.

Picking the phone back up, she called each church her mother had attended––more than thirty in all. They would spread the news to everyone else. Then she contacted her mother’s former employer, followed by everyone in her mother’s address book, before finally falling asleep with the phone in her lap, thinking that somehow she hadn’t reached everyone who mattered.

The phone rang, jarring her awake.

“We need your help with Mama’s services.”

“Drew, I know you’re not still on that trip.” Raven rubbed her eyes and shifted to a sitting position on the sofa.

“You’ve got money!”

“Did you hear what the lady said? You—
only you
—are supposed to handle everything. That’s not clear enough for you?”

“You know she didn’t mean it
that
way.”

“You were close to Mama; you should know more than anyone else.”

“There’s not enough money.”

“Then that’s a problem, but certainly not mine. I’ve helped a lot behind the scenes where it counts.”

Raven heard a muffled voice in the background before Drew replied, “You could just give the money to me. Mama won’t know.”

“I’ll know, and trust me, Mama’s still hanging around enough to watch over everything—at least that’s what I believe. Money will come in from cards and well-wishers. Use it for what it’s supposed to be used for.”

“Janetta’s already calling people trying to collect money,” Drew mumbled.

“That sounds like something she would do.”

“She’s telling everyone to bring cash.”

Raven jerked up, disgusted by the lack of class. “And you’re telling me this because?”

He lowered his voice. “You know she’s going to keep it all for herself.”

“And that’s a problem for me because…”

“See, you never did give a shit,” he snapped. “Got all that money and never really tried to help us out.”

“Oh, so the time I gave you the money to buy your car,
that
wasn’t helping you? Or the time I gave you the down payment for your house,
that
wasn’t helping you? What about the time I gave you the money to pay your past-due child support and kept your ass out of jail? That wasn’t…” Raven blinked back tears of rage. “Fuck you! And don’t call my house again.” She slammed the phone down, resting her eyes before the shrill ring jarred her again.

“What!”

“Hey, don’t snap at me,” Ava said. “Are you still doing the expo this weekend?”

Oh, God. She’d forgotten the annual expo for women held at McCormick Place. For the last four years, she and Eric had been guest speakers for the writers’ seminar. Major advertising by the promotion company had stated that they would be there again this year.

Call waiting buzzed in.

“Hold on for a minute.” Raven switched over to the other line.

“Where’s the new clothes?” Janetta demanded. “Where’s all that jewelry? I know she had some new stuff in here!”

Raven broke the connection and returned to Ava. “Yes, we’ll still do it. I’m checking into the Hyatt.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Working will give me the break I so richly deserve. My family members have lost their damn minds.”

After a brief update from Ava, she pulled the plug from the wall.

Eric strolled in and noticed the cord dangling from the side of the end table.

“All the people who really need to reach us have our cell numbers,” Raven said. “When do you have to be back in New York?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

She stood, stretched and gave a small sigh before saying, “Pack some clothes, we’re about to be incogNegro for a little while.”

The day after the signings and seminars at the Expo, Eric flew back to New York to handle the auditions Pierce had scheduled. People stood waiting for their chance at stardom, in a line that snaked around the corner and to the doors of the Hammerstein Ballroom. Unfortunately, at the moment, Pierce, Steve, and Eric had heard only a surplus of unparalleled no-talents, and they still had more than three hundred people to see.

Pierce looked out of the window as the Sunday morning sun hid behind the clouds. He wished he could do the same. His eyes watered from equal amounts of pain and shock. The high-pitched screeching from the woman standing before them bordered on fifty sets of nails dragging across a chalkboard.

Eric blinked and stared curiously at the woman, whose yellow—not blond—hair was a striking contrast to her ebony skin—just as her voice was a striking contrast to that of someone who could actually sing. Pierce sighed. Risqué had probably considered herself ambitious for choosing a Mariah Carey tune. The woman was ambitious just showing up and calling herself Risqué.

Steve brushed a shaky hand across his forehead and dropped it over his mouth, trying to stifle either a laugh or a scream—Pierce couldn’t tell which. Finally, Pierce ended the woman’s performance with a single lift of his hand. All he could manage was, “We’ll call you.”

“No, we won’t,” Eric said, uncharacteristically tactless.

Risqué gave him an icy stare as Steve elbowed him in the side.

“Well, it’s the truth,” he countered, looking at both of them.

The woman nearly burst into tears.

Eric sighed, but at least he softened his tone as he looked at her and said, “I’m going to be honest here—you have the range and volume, but your pitch and your tone are
not
working for you. Two pieces of advice: get some singing lessons so you’ll at least be able to do theater, ‘cause you certainly can carry an
entire
room. And tone down the look if you want people to take you seriously in this industry.”

She grabbed her belongings and stormed away.

Steve tried his best to keep the laughter in, but finally gave up and leaned back, letting himself laugh so hard, tears ran down his flushed cheeks.

Pierce turned to face Eric. “There is this thing called tact.”

“I know, and we should’ve
tactfully
told her she couldn’t sing after that first line,” he said with a straight face. He rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes as though a headache were brewing. “Telling her we’ll call her only gives false hope. Tell the truth—we would call her if she could actually find a note on a regular scale. I should get hazard pay for listening to that comedy routine. My eardrum’s busted, and I need a drink.”

“Should I remind you that you’re too young to drink?” Steve said, adjusting his collar and tie.

“That was before Vampirella hit the key of Z.”

Steve nearly fell off his chair laughing again.

“Eric, Steve, please,” Pierce admonished, trying to bring some decorum back before the next would-be artist joined them. “You never know where we’ll see that young lady again. We’re going to do movies, too. She might have acting abilities.”

Eric shook his head. “Yeah? Well, she should’ve
acted
like she could sing. Now you
know
somebody has already told her she sounds like a hyena in heat.”

“Eric,” Pierce said, giving Steve the evil eye for cracking up again. “you can’t critique every single applicant.”

“How else are they going to improve?”

“That’s not our concern,” Pierce replied, passing him the next ten manila folders. “ ‘We’ll call you’ is standard. Let’s go with that.”

“It’s lying.”

“It’s expedient. Give five minutes of feedback for more than three hundred people, and we’ll be here a year!”

“Quit trying to be Simon Cowell,” Steve teased as he went to the serving tray and helped himself to another cup of coffee.

“Simon’s mean; I just
mean
business,” Eric retorted.

Out of patience, Pierce stood. “You know what? Since you two clowns got me into this mess, you should do the initial screenings, then I’ll see
your
favorites.”