What Goes Around (12 page)

Sydney gritted her teeth and stood up. She knew what she had to do—get her father out of jail. Now the only problem was, how? It wasn't like she could just call Carmen and Rhea and ask them for the CliffsNotes on how to post bail. She didn't know anybody who would have intimate knowledge of the Georgia jail system…except Lauren. It hit Sydney like a ton of bricks; her sister's boyfriend had been arrested and released for the same crime. Without a second thought, Sydney rushed out of the room and headed upstairs.

“Lauren, are you here?” Sydney called out urgently as she burst into her sister's empty room. “Hurry, it's an emergency!”

“What happened? What's going on?” Lauren asked as she came racing out of the bathroom with her hair pinned up and her favorite avocado-and-honey mask slathered on her face. “Is the house on fire?” She immediately grabbed her new Gucci trench coat and started to break for the door.

Frantic as she felt, Sydney couldn't help but laugh at her sister's bright green face and impulse grab. “No, there's no fire,” she said, struggling to contain the giggles. “I just need to talk to you about something.”

Realizing that her sister was laughing at her, Lauren held up her middle finger. “Forget you, Sydney.” She tossed the coat on top of a pile of clothes on her bed and headed into her bathroom. “What the hell do you want, anyway?”

Trying not to step on any of the clothes or numerous pairs of shoes strewn all over the floor, Sydney cautiously ventured farther into the Lilac Spring-scented bedroom. “I need to know how to bail somebody out of jail,” she said simply.

Lauren turned away from the mirror in which she was examining a new pimple on her cheek. “Excuse you?” she asked sharply.

“I said, I need to know how to bail somebody out of jail,” Sydney repeated.

This time, Lauren looked around as if there were a hidden camera somewhere in the room. “Okay, what the hell is going on?”

“It's not a prank, Lauren,” Sydney said. “Altimus just offered me the money to bail Dad out of jail, and I'm gonna do it,” she said, trying to make herself seem a hundred times more secure than she really felt.

Lauren suddenly grabbed Sydney, pulled her into the bathroom, and shut the door. “Have you lost your cotton-picking mind?” she hissed. “You cannot take money from that man to bail out Dice. This is a setup. He's going to have Dice killed, frame you for the murder, and then send me off to a nunnery! Omigosh, I just saw this same thing on an episode of
Law & Order
! Don't do it, Syd!!!”

“Lauren,” Sydney said as she looked at her overly dramatic sister. “This is bad, but this is not a made-for-NBC television show. Remember, Altimus said that he would help get Dice out if you and I fell in line. Well, apparently, we've been doing a pretty good job of acting like the world isn't totally crazy. So according to him, he's just keeping his word.”

Lauren gave Sydney a hard side-eye. “And you really trust him?”

“To be honest, I'm more worried about what Dice is going to think when he realizes that we accepted Altimus's money to get him out,” Sydney said quietly. “But if this is the only way for him to be free, then…” Sydney took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Then I'll just have to worry about that later.”

Lauren didn't look quite as convinced. “Okay, if you say so…” she said hesitatingly. “And exactly how are we going to get him out? We're not really going down to the jail, are we?” Lauren questioned with a look of disdain.

“I don't know,” Sydney admitted. “I was thinking that you could call Jermaine and ask him how this all works—”

Lauren shook her head. “No way,” she cut Sydney off sharply.

Sydney looked confused. “Huh, but why? I'm sure he would be able to tell us,” she pressed.

“Um, let's just say I'd rather not get him started on the whole 'who shot Rodney' thing again,” Lauren answered as she turned back to the sink and started to wash off her mask. “Have you tried looking online?” she asked from under the water.

Sydney sensed there was more to it than Lauren was willing to share, but she didn't bother to push. “No, Altimus just told me about the money two seconds ago,” Sydney explained. “I came running right up here.”

“I see,” Lauren said as she used a soft white towel to pat dry her face. “Well it is 2009. I'm sure we can find something about it online. You have the name of the jail, right?”

“You know I do,” Sydney said wryly.

“Okay, well, let's make it happen,” Lauren said as she finished applying her Kiehl's facial moisturizer. After putting the bottle away, she nodded toward the closed bathroom door. Sydney turned and opened it so that they could both walk back out. “Hop on,” Lauren said as she headed
directly over to her bed and climbed up into the middle of the plush mattress. Sydney crawled up beside her. Lauren grabbed her open laptop off the nightstand. “So I guess we should just Google it, huh?”

“Probably,” Sydney replied as she leaned over her sister's shoulder to see. “The name of the jail is the Fulton County Correctional Facility.” Lauren quickly typed in the information and pressed
ENTER.
There were fourteen hits for the search. Sydney pointed to the very first URL. “I think that's it,” she said hopefully. Lauren clicked on it and the girls waited for the page to load.

“This is, like, so surreal,” Lauren said as the colorful home page of the Fulton County jail opened up. “Even the prisons have dope Web sites nowadays.” Sydney simply grunted as she scanned the site for information on posting bail. “Oh, wait. There's something called a prison roll call, let's see what this is,” Lauren said as she typed in Dice's full name. Moments after pressing
ENTER,
his booking picture popped up. Lauren gasped. “Ewwa, he looks a mess! I am so not related to that man!”

“Will you shut up?” Sydney snapped. “How the hell did you think he was going to look after getting dragged out of his house and arrested in the middle of the night?”

“My bad,” Lauren replied meekly. “I was just saying…”

Sydney sighed in frustration and stood up. “You know what, Lauren, I don't get you. The things that you worry about? It's, like, so ridiculous. Our father is in jail, accused of a crime he didn't commit. We have an opportunity to get him out, and you're stuck on the way he looks. Don't you understand that this is bigger than that?”

Feeling chastised, Lauren just looked at the screen. “I didn't mean anything by it, the words just popped out, Syd. You don't have to, like, kill me.”

Sydney shook her head. “Can you just type 'bail' in the search box?” she finally asked her sister quietly.

As soon as Lauren typed the word in, a laundry list of instructions popped up. Sydney quickly scanned the list and stood up. “Okay, thanks,” she said simply as she headed to the door.

“I didn't mean anything by what I said,” Lauren pouted.

“I heard you the first time,” Sydney replied without turning around. And then she walked out the door.

“Oh, and don't make any plans for after choir practice tomorrow—you're all mine,” Donald gushed as he gingerly put his knapsack into his immaculately maintained locker. He grabbed his blazer and picked and swiped at imaginary lint on the shoulders before tucking himself into it and checking his mustache and hair in the mirror he'd hung on the locker door. Lauren's hot-pink lipstick kiss dotted the mirror's corner. “I've got to hit Phipps Plaza to find the perfect gift for my new boo, and I just can't do it without you.”

“Um, okay, time-out,” Lauren said, shaking her head and shifting from one foot to the other. Her pink round-toe Louboutins were literally squeezing the blood from the tips of her toes. She'd said a silent
Thank you, Jesus
when the final bell rang, because it meant she could hobble to her
locker for the wholly inappropriate, but comfortable, yellow Chanel ballet flats she'd been dying to change into since about third period. Alas, they just didn't go with her House of Dereon jeans and purple Proenza Schouler belted sweater, but they'd make do for walking to her car. If Donald would keep it short and let her get to her locker, that is. “You're taking me too fast,” Lauren insisted. “Who is this new 'boo'?” What happened to the Morehouse boy you were cavorting with at the Jack and Jill luncheon last week?

“Oh, honey, come on, that wasn't serious—he was just a beautiful distraction. My new booby boo holds the key to my heart,” Donald said, waving his hand dismissively, and then pointing to a picture of his latest conquest. He was Latino, with dark almond-shaped eyes and long, curly red-streaked hair that swept over his eyes. Four round earrings hung from his lower lip—each of them a different color and size. His muscles peeked from beneath the tight gray spandex jeans that hugged his thighs and waist; a black T-shirt that hung just down to the top of his pants read,
COME TO THE DARK SIDE. WE HAVE COOKIES
.

Lauren raised an eyebrow. “Name?”

“Jose Lexy,” Donald said. “I call him Sexy Lexy.”

“Alrighty, then,” Lauren said slowly, struggling for words. “He's, um, a goth Mexican?”

“Actually, he's from El Salvador—not everyone you
see with olive skin and dark hair is an illegal from across the border.”

“Wow—let the record show that I never questioned his legal status,” Lauren said, raising a finger and laughing. “So, um, details.”

“Oh, he was too cute—mixing smoothies at that sweet ice-cream shop down in Little Five Points. I was just parched from the shopping and needed a quick liquid fix, and there he was behind the counter, fingering the bananas. Too sexy, my Sexy Lexy. He's not all that smart, but he has his moments of brilliance. He'll do. For now.”

Lauren rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Okay, then. So Sexy Lexy is working it enough for a Christmas gift, huh?”

“You betcha!” Donald said, shrugging his shoulders as he giggled. “Let's just say his cookies are well worth it.”

“Please,” Lauren said, lifting her hand. “No more,
no más.
My virgin ears are starting to singe.”

“Uh, huh, speaking of virgin, how's Jermaine?”

“Ugh, I'll have to fill you in on that drama another time, but it can't be now because my feet are k-i-l-l-i-n-g me, and I need to change out of these shoes, pronto,” Lauren said. “And about tomorrow: No can do. The decorators are coming to put up the Christmas lights and trim the tree, and for some reason, Altimus and Keisha want to have a kumbaya moment with the neighbors once everything is lit. There's
gonna be eggnog. You in? Say you are, because I'm not going to be able to take Keisha and Altimus prancing from one neighbor to the other. The mere thought of going it alone makes me want to throw up a little bit in my mouth.”

“Ewwa, sucks for you,” Donald said, wrinkling his nose. He slammed his locker shut. “Then let's go now,” he said, grabbing Lauren's elbow. “It's Friday, your sked is clear, and you're working those H.O.D. jeans. Let's go be cute at Phipps.”

“But my feet…” Lauren started.

“Oh, we'll buy some cute new comfortable shoes at the mall—you'll live,” Donald said, locking his arm into the crook of Lauren's. “Shall we?”

Phipps Plaza. Shopping. New shoes. Who was Lauren to resist? She did need to pick up some makeup and a new pair of Spanx for the upcoming Benefit next week, and she just couldn't think of a time in her schedule when she'd be able to make it back over to the mall, so what better time than now? “Let's go,” she bubbled.

Within minutes, Donald and Lauren were headed down Peachtree Road NE, taking in the bright, crisp Christmas lights dotting the specialty shops and sidewalks crowded with holiday shoppers. It was a time of year that always made Lauren's stomach twirl; Buckhead literally buzzed with the electricity that came from the throngs of people
who descended on the chichi town and its two main malls in search of the perfect present. She could do without the present hunt—she always got hung up on what exactly to get people who pretty much had everything they could possibly want and then some—but she always managed to reward her hard work with a few presents for herself. Okay, a lot of presents. But who was counting?

Donald pulled Lauren's car up to the valet stand and waited for the skinny white guy dressed in a tragic, standard-issue red Christmas blazer and black earmuffs to open his door. “Oh, aren't you a dear,” he said, giving a halfhearted smile. “The keys are in the ignition. Merry Christmas,” he added with a quick wave and a body glance that swept from the top of the man's head to the tip of his black sneakers. Donald pressed a five-dollar bill into the man's hand. “Take good care of my friend's baby.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” the man said, rushing around the car to open Lauren's door. “Don't you worry about a thing.”

“So,” Donald said, turning his attention back to Lauren after giving the man's butt a look-see, “tell me about what's going on with Jermaine.”

“First things first,” Lauren said, standing aside so Donald could open the door leading to the main entrance of Phipps Plaza. “I haven't had the chance to tell you about Dara and her trifling, preggers behind.”

“Ewwa, what you know no good about Dara?” Donald asked, taking Lauren's hand and picking up the pace of his stroll. His shopping sense was leading his legs to Hugo Boss; he was thinking a hot pair of sunglasses would be mucho appreciated by Sexy Lexy. “Do tell.”

“Well, let's just say that her love child with my sister's ex is a little less than loved,” Lauren dished, leaning into Donald and running her hand across his muscular arm.

“Ooh, are we surprised by this?” Donald asked, gazing at the mannequin in the Giorgio Armani display window. “I mean, anybody could have guessed that baby was the product of a hit-it-and-quit-it hookup gone terribly wrong. But I always thought Dara was one fry short of a Happy Meal. She wouldn't know she was being played if you slapped her with a Monopoly board.”

“Well, to hear Dara tell it, she thought it was much more than that, the dumb ass,” Lauren smirked. “I mean, come on. After all the conversations we had about Marcus and how fake and over-the-top he is with that up-with-the-people posing and stuff, she still fell for his foolishness. Now she's praying to the porcelain god and he's ho-hopping with Caroline and company.”

“Ugh,” Donald said, doing a massive mock shiver. “At least Syd is recovering nicely. That hottie Jason Danden could get it, fo' sho'.”

“Um, yeah, something tells me that Mr. Footballer shot
caller ain't switch-hitting for the other team—sorry, baby,” Lauren laughed, leaning into her friend as they strolled past a line full of rowdy little kids waiting to take a picture with Santa Claus.

“Humph, you'd be surprised about them little boys on the football team,” Donald giggled. “Let's just say some of them are quite comfortable in those tight little pants for a reason—hut one, hut two! Omigod, we have to sit on Santa's lap—come on, let's get in line,” Donald insisted, pulling Lauren toward the end of the massive procession.

Lauren stopped short and would not budge. “I absolutely cannot walk another inch in these shoes,” Lauren said. “They are squeezing the life out of me. Seriously, I think they're going to have to amputate my pinky toe. And my feet are much too cute for corns and bunions. We gotta get to Saks, pronto.” Lauren took another step, and pain shot like a razor through the tops of her toes. “On second thought, Juicy is closer, isn't it? Let's go there. They have those cute, bedazzled ankle rain boots. They'll look a little crazy but like I mean it. Anything to get my feet out of these shoes and into something comfortable, without looking like a fashion tragedy.”

“Not even on your worst day, but you know I'll never turn down a romp at Juicy,” Donald said. “Shall I lead the way?”

With Donald doing everything short of carrying Lauren to help her walk, the couple weaved through countless shoppers slogging through the mall with arms full of Tiffany, Nordstrom, and Saks bags, husbands and boyfriends who clearly weren't into it, and crying, snotty babies ready to get out of Dodge. Despite the onslaught of attitude, though, there was an air of glee everywhere—couldn't be helped with the twinkling trees and gaudy gold-and-white decorations hanging from literally every corner of the building. Christmastime indeed.

Lauren was giggling about Donald's predictions of what Dara and Marcus's baby would look like when they walked through the double doors of the Juicy store; the hee-hee haw-haw came to a dead stop when Lauren looked up and saw Brandi walking out of the dressing room toward some roughneck posted up on the couch like he was at home watching a football game with the remote in one hand and a beer in the other. Or a dough boy out on the bench waiting for the next customer.

“What?” Donald asked, tugging on the arm of his friend, who wouldn't—couldn't—budge.

Lauren couldn't find the words.

“Lauren? What the hell?”

“Shh,” she said, staring wildly at Donald. “Look, let's just go.”

“But what about…”

“Well, well, if it isn't Altimus's baby girl,” Brandi called out. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yeah, um, hey, Brandi,” Lauren said meekly. “What up?”

“Going somewhere?” Brandi asked, strutting toward the door. She touched her boy's knee on the way over.

“Uh, no, not particularly—just getting a little holiday shopping in,” Lauren stuttered.

“Yeah, me, too,” Brandi said, looking down at her Juicy sweat suit. “I just love early presents, don't you?”

“Uh, yeah.” Lauren shrugged, sneaking a glance at Donald.

“So, who's your special friend?” Brandi said, tossing her chin at Donald. “You two looking awfully cozy together.”

“This is my friend Donald,” Lauren said simply.

“Your friend Donald, huh?” Brandi said, giving him the once-over. “Isn't that special. He buying you some early Christmas presents, too?”

“Who, Donald?” Lauren laughed nervously. “No, no, he's not here to buy me anything. He's, um, picking out presents for a friend of his.”

“A friend of his,” Brandi said, her eyes shifting from Lauren to Donald and back to Lauren. “Well, speaking of friends, let me introduce you to mine—I'm so rude sometimes.” She turned back toward the dressing room.
“Ki'anna, Dre, Lisa, Fly,” she yelled out, making everyone, including the already jittery saleswoman cowering behind the register, jump. “Come here,” she continued yelling, waving her friends over. “Come meet Altimus's girl.”

With a quickness, the four of them shot over to where Brandi, Donald, and Lauren were standing, each looking more angry than the next. Though her instincts told her to let go of Donald's arm, she held on for dear life, feeling a little woozy by the sheer number of people—people who were friends of her man's ex—who were now crowded around her. Lauren felt very, very small.

Brandi cleared her throat and folded her arms. “Lauren Duke, this is everybody. Everybody, this is Lauren Duke, Jermaine's, um, lady, though it looks as if she may have moved on.”

“What? No, no,” insisted Lauren. “This is my friend Donald—emphasis on
friend.
You know, boy? Road dog? Ace?”

“Uh-huh,” Brandi said. “Sure, and, um, has Jermaine been introduced to this 'friend' of yours?”

Lauren squared her shoulders; she was ready for a hasty exit—ready for this to be over already. “Look, I have some shopping to do, and obviously, so do you and your friends, so why don't we just all go on back to what we were doing. I didn't come in here for any trouble; I came for the boots.”

“Oh, trust, sweetie, won't be no trouble from this end, either,” Brandi said. “If you stop causing it.”

“If
I
stop causing it?” Lauren asked. “You're the one who's got me surrounded in the Juicy store.”

“Girl, ain't nobody surrounding you. We're just having a friendly chat. And as a mutual friend of your man—Jermaine, I mean, not Donald—I thought you should know that it's time you opened your eyes and realized what's going on. I mean, we're not surprised that Altimus is all mixed up in Rodney's beat down and all, but we didn't know how deep the dirt goes in your family.”

Lauren sucked her teeth and sighed. “Look, I don't know what you're talking about…”

“I'm sure, sweetie,” Brandi said. “Go on ahead and keep that pretty little head in the sand. But the hood knows what's up with the Dukes and the extended family…”

“Look,” Donald interjected. “Really, we're just going to get the boots…”

“Yo, who asked you, playboy?” Fly boomed, stepping toward Donald. “You not about to stand here and disrespect my girl.”