Schooled In Lies

by Angela Henry

  “Where are you and who are you with?” I demanded, anger making my voice rise a whole two octaves.

  “I’ll give you a call tomorrow,” he replied quickly and then hung up.

  I was sitting at the light at an intersection staring at my cell phone with my mouth hanging open. No he didn’t just hang up on me. I hit redial twice and got his voice mail both times. I started to leave a scathing message when a loud car horn blasted from behind me and made me jump. The light was green and I sped through it, rounded the next corner, and coming to screeching halt in front of Frisch’s Big Boy. Hot fudge cake here I come.

  I was waiting to be seated in the near empty restaurant when I noticed a bald, brown-skinned, handsome older black man sitting at a booth in back. It was Reverend Morris Rollins. My stomach did a flip-flop. Morris Rollins was a local minister just as well-known for his way with women as for his fiery sermons. I’d met him a year ago, under tragic circumstances, and he’d been trying to get into my pants ever since. Not that the thought of letting him wasn’t extremely appealing; but he was old enough to be my father and I wasn’t sure how much I trusted him. I’d already locked lips with him on more than one occasion, which deep down inside made me think I probably deserved whatever Carl was doing behind my back.

  Rollins looked up suddenly like he’d sensed my presence, and his smile lifted me out of my murderous mood. He got up and came over to where I was standing.

  “She’ll be joining me,” he told the hostess, who went to put another place setting at his table. Then he grabbed my hand and grinned.

  “Kendra,” he said, pulling me into an embrace.

  “I know. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” I pulled back to look up at him. He was over six feet tall.

  “I haven’t seen you all summer long? You never returned any of my phone calls.” He led me back to his table.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with—” He held up his hand to stop the lie that was about to spring forth from my lips.

  “No problem. You don’t have to explain to me. I just moved on to plan B.” He was laughing at me like he always did when he knew I’d been avoiding him.

  “Plan B? What are you talking about?”

  “I know you come here a lot. Do you know how many nights I’ve eaten here trying to run into you?” he asked, suddenly serious. I was stunned.

  “You’re telling a tale and you know it,” I said, laughing nervously.

  “No, I’m not and you know it.” His eyes held mine and I looked away first.

  “Now, I don’t care what you say. I’m buying you dinner. What do you want to eat?” he asked in a low seductive voice.

  Talk about a loaded question.

  Chapter Four

  I WAS EXPECTING A call from Carl the next morning. By 10 o’clock it still hadn’t come. I started to call him. Then the pleasant memory of my evening of food and flirting with Rollins stopped my fingers before they could punch the numbers. Spending my evening with another man, and dread over wondering what was up with my own man, made me suddenly not quite so eager to know what was going on. I was sure I’d be finding out soon enough. Instead, I put on a pot of coffee and settled down at my kitchen table with a cranberry muffin and the newspaper. I was scanning the local news section, glancing over the emergency squad runs from the night before, when a name jumped out at me: Audrey Grant. I quickly read the brief blurb.

  Audrey Grant, 29, of 1291 Pensacola Pike, taken by squad to the emergency room of Willow Memorial Hospital due to illness. Admitted for treatment.

  Audrey was in the hospital? I wondered what could be wrong with her. She seemed healthy enough at the meeting last night, maybe a little tired from chasing around five kids, but otherwise healthy. I wondered if she was still in the hospital. There was only one way to find out. I made a call to Willow Memorial and asked to be connected to Audrey Grant’s room.

  “One moment, please,” replied the mellow-voiced operator. Seconds later the sound of a busy signal filled my ear.

  “Ma’am, that line is busy. Would you like me to put you on hold or will you call back later?”

  “I’ll call back. Thanks.”

  So, Audrey was still in the hospital and judging by the busy signal she wasn’t ill enough to not be on the phone, which made me even more curious about what was wrong with her. I hung up and headed for my bathroom. It was Saturday. I had nothing else to do that day and decided that visiting Audrey would be better than sitting around waiting for Carl to call.

  An hour later, and armed with a cactus plant from the gift shop, I was standing awkwardly in the doorway of Audrey Grant’s hospital room. She was propped up in bed dressed in the requisite blue gown with the same plaid headband she’d had on in the meeting last night, only now it was crooked and pieces of hair had escaped and were falling in her face. She was also as pasty as the white sheet that was bunched up under her large breasts. Dark smudges under her eyes looked like bruises on her pale skin. An IV of clear fluid was hanging from a pole on the right side of the bed with the line inserted into the back of her right hand and held in place by clear tape. Audrey was staring off into space in a daze. I knocked softly on the open door and she snapped out of her trance and looked over at me.

  “Kendra?” she said in a surprisingly strong voice for someone who looked so ill.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” I said, coming into the room and standing by the side of the bed. “I read in the squad runs this morning that you’d been admitted to the hospital. Are you okay?” I set the cactus down on the table by the bed.

  She glanced at it then back at me without speaking. She continued to stare at me without speaking and looking quite confused, I might add, for a full minute and it took everything in me not to squirm.

  “Okay. Well, I should probably go so you can get your rest. Sorry to have bother you.” I turned to go.

  “Wait,” she called out, stopping me before I could get out the door. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I’m just a little out of it.” She shook her head as if to clear it and gestured for me to sit in the chair by the bed. I sat.

  “What happened? You seemed fine last night.”

  “That’s a good question,” she said with a laugh.

  “What do you mean?” I leaned forward in the chair.

  “They told me that I had a bad reaction from mixing my antidepressants with alcohol. My husband found me unconscious on our bedroom floor when he got home from work last night.”

  “Then why do you say you don’t you know what happened?”

  “Because I don’t drink. I haven’t had a drink in years. This has to be some kind of big mistake. We don’t even keep any alcohol in the house.” She pulled her headband off and tossed it on the bed in frustration.

  I felt for her but couldn’t help but remember the hard partying Audrey of old. The same Audrey who I sat behind in science class senior year and who reeked of stale beer and weed on more than one occasion. Sitting behind her all those years ago, and bearing witness to a level of popularity only rivaled by a pop star, I never pictured her becoming the dumpy, plaid wearing, stay-at-home mom I was currently looking at.

  If I recalled correctly, I remembered overhearing her telling her fellow round table cronies more than once that she planned to model after high school. It’s no mystery why that plan didn’t work out since the modeling world isn’t real big on 5’ 3” models, at least not any that wear clothes. Of course I could have told her that back then but she didn’t ask me. I wondered if that’s why she was being treated for depression. Was there such a thing as Failed Model Syndrome?

  “Could you have accidentally had some alcohol?” I asked for lack of anything better to say.

  She thought hard for a minute and then buried her head in her hands and groaned. “No! It’s just not possible. I know not to mix alcohol with my prescriptions. I would never make that mistake. I know my husband probably thinks I’m lying but I swear I didn’t have a drink.” She started to cry and I handed her the box of ti
ssues on the bedside table.

  “How long are they going to keep you in here?” I asked softly.

  She shrugged miserably and leaned back against the pillows, causing her tears to run down the side of her face.

  “Well, I’m going to leave now so you can get your rest. Is there anything you need before I go?” I figured my curiosity had been satisfied sufficiently.

  “Oh, I need my cell phone. Can you hand me my purse. It’s in the closet,” she said through her tears.

  I grabbed a large tan leather purse from the floor of the narrow closet and walked over to hand it to her. But in her weakened condition, she didn’t get a good enough grasp on her heavy purse and dropped it. It fell on the floor spilling some of its contents. She mumbled an expletive as I bent down to pick up everything. Amongst the wallet, brush, can of hair spray, box of wet wipes, and set of keys on a unicorn key chain, I spied something surprising. It was a half empty bottle of baby oil. Hadn’t baby oil been what Ms. Flack had slipped on last night? I looked at Audrey as I stuffed everything back into her purse. Her eyes were closed. Was she the one who put baby oil at the top of the cafeteria steps? It didn’t make any sense. Then I remembered that Audrey had arrived after Ms. Flack and me and couldn’t have put the baby oil on the steps. I realized how paranoid I was being. Because why in the world would Audrey want Ms. Flack, or anyone else, to fall down the steps?

  I handed Audrey her purse and headed out of her room, almost colliding with a nurse in green scrubs and a white lab coat. It was Audrey’s best friend and Carl’s ex-wife, Vanessa Brumfield. Vanessa was a nurse at Willow Memorial, though to be honest I was surprised she was still working. She’d inherited a large sum of money from her father when he died, money she only got because she ended her marriage to Carl. Her greedy behind must have spent it all. I stepped aside and held the door open for her. She gave me a dismissive look before walking past me into the room.

  “You’re welcome,” I said when it was obvious she wasn’t going to thank me. She rolled her eyes and flipped a piece of her long dark curly hair over her shoulder before closing the door in my face.

  I couldn’t tell if she was just being bitchy or if there was something she was going to be talking about that she didn’t want me to hear? And if so, was it about Carl? Had she left the door open I’d have gladly left. But to someone as nosy as me a closed door only meant one thing: an invitation to eavesdrop. I looked up and down the hall to make sure no one was coming, then pressed my ear to the door. I could only hear muffled snatches of what they were saying. So, I pushed the door open just a sliver.

  “What am I supposed to be listening to?” I heard Vanessa ask Audrey with barely concealed annoyance.

  “Just listen. It’s the third message,” Audrey responded tensely.

  I pushed the door open a little further and peeked in. Vanessa was sitting on the hospital bed with her back to the door with a cell phone pressed to her ear. Thankfully, she was also blocking Audrey’s view of the door and neither woman had noticed me spying on them. Vanessa must have been listening to Audrey’s voice mail messages.

  “What have you done now?” Vanessa asked when she was done. She was waving the cell phone in Audrey’s face.

  “What do you mean what have I done? I have no idea who that message is from let alone what they’re talking about,” wailed Audrey.

  “The message said, you will pay for what you did. All I’m asking is what is it you did to piss someone off?”

  “Nothing! I’ve done nothing,” insisted Audrey. I could see Vanessa crossing her arms and turning to stare out the window.

  “Just forget it! Go on back to work. I just thought since you were my best friend you might care that someone threatened me. My mistake.” Audrey’s voice rose angrily with each word.

  “Oh, calm down,” Vanessa said in disgust.

  “Calm down. Someone left a threatening message on my voice mail and all you can say is calm down. You fucking calm down.”

  “I’m sorry. But are you sure you don’t know who left that message?” Vanessa stood up abruptly. I quickly closed the door a smidge.

  “You obviously have something on your mind. Just say it.” Audrey’s voice was hard and cold as ice.

  “All right. Are you sure one of your little friends didn’t leave that message?”

  I didn’t hear a response. I peeked in again and saw Audrey glaring at Vanessa. She looked so mad her pale cheeks had turned bright pink.

  “No one I know would have any reason to leave me a message like that,” Audrey said, through gritted teeth.

  “I certainly hope not. Because if you don’t cut it out, you’re going to lose everything you have.”

  Vanessa turned towards the door and I hot-footed it across the hall and into another hospital room. I peeked through the door and watched as she stalked off down the hall. I started to leave when I heard a familiar voice coming from behind me.

  “Well, ain’t this a surprise! Hey, baby doll, you just in time to help me wit my sponge bath. Come on in here, girl, and let me look atcha.”

  I whirled around and found myself face to face with Lewis Watts, of all people. Just great. I’d made Lewis’s acquaintance last spring at a local hole-in-the-wall called the Spotlight Bar & Grill. Lewis was height challenged, thought he was a Don Juan, and dressed like he shopped at Pimps R Us. The seventies had been Lewis’s glory days, and he wasn’t about to let that decade go without a fight. The last time I’d seen Lewis was when he’d caught me hiding in a house I’d snuck into while he was delivering furniture. He’d tried to feel me up in exchange for not busting me and only kept his mouth shut after I’d threatened to report him for disability fraud. In other words, we’re not friends.

  He was sitting upright in the hospital bed nude from the waist up exposing his thick muscular arms and a barrel chest lightly sprinkled with grey chest hairs that were in great contrast to the jet black processed hair on his fat head. A plastic tub of soapy water was sitting on a tray positioned in front of him. He leered at me and tried to hand me the sponge in his hand.

  “I don’t think so.” I backed up towards the door.

  “Hey, wait a minute, Kelly. I’m just kiddin’,” he said with a devilish laugh. He tossed the sponge into the tub and pushed the tray aside. “You mean you really didn’t come to see ole’ Lewis?” He looked genuinely hurt.

  “It’s Kendra and, no, I didn’t come to see you. Bye.”

  My hand was on the door handle but before I could pull it open, it was pushed opened from the other side and in walked a nerdy looking doctor staring at the chart in his hand and not where he was going. I was pushed backward, slipped on Lewis’s hospital gown, which was on the floor, and practically landed in his lap. When the doctor finally looked up, Lewis had his arms wrapped around me and was nuzzling my neck while I tried in vain to break free.

  “Ah, I see you’re feeling much better, Mr. Watts,” said the doctor whose name tag identified him as Dr. Samuel Kincaid.

  “Yeah, Doc, my lady here has a way of making me feel a whole lot better if you get my meanin’.” Lewis winked at the doctor. Both men laughed. My face was burning.

  “I’m not his—” I began but didn’t get far.

  “Are you ready to be discharged?” Dr. Kincaid cut me off. I was finally able to break free and stood up glaring at both of them.

  “Don’t worry, Miss. We’ll be releasing your Boo within the hour,” he said in an attempt at sounding black and only succeeding in making me want to slap him. “But only if you promise to drive him straight home. Understand?”

  “I got it, Doc. Kelly here is gonna take me right home, ain’t you, girl?” His eyes were pleading with me and I realized he probably had no other way home. Great. I nodded my head in agreement.

  The doctor left and I rounded on Lewis. “Call a cab,” I spat out at him and turned to go.

  “Hey, wait. I ain’t got no money and I only live ‘bout five minutes from here over in the Pullman Apartments. Come on, K
elly. Help a brotha out.”

  “You mean to tell me you don’t have a girlfriend who can come and get you?”

  “Naw, I’m between ladies at the moment. See, my lady left me when my disability got cut off back in May. Once I didn’t have no check to spend on her, she bounced,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Finally caught up with you, didn’t they? What happened? Did Social Security find out you were delivering furniture when your back was supposed to be bad?”

  “Yeah, my ex-lady called and told on me when I cheated on her with my last lady,” he said smugly, like he was proud that the loss of his love pushed women to drastic measures.

  “So now you have to work like the rest of us,” I said, laughing. But Lewis didn’t laugh.

  “Yeah, you lookin’ at the custodian at Springmont High School.” He shook his head sadly.

  After dropping Lewis at his apartment, and grilling him about how often the floors got mopped at Springmont High, I headed over to the Kingford College bookstore to buy the book for my class. According to Lewis, he mopped the floors at least three times a week. But he’d been in the hospital since Friday morning with chest pains and hadn’t mopped the floors since Thursday, and he doubted the custodian who subbed for him Friday would have mopped. So, anybody could have spilled the baby oil on the floor in front of the cafeteria steps anytime on Friday. Most likely it was one of the summer school students. I felt stupid for thinking it could have been Audrey.

  The Kingford College bookstore was in the student union. Since it was the summer session, which is always a slow time for the college, I was the only other person in the bookstore besides the staff. I quickly located the book I needed for my class. After getting over the shock of having to fork over sixty bucks for a used copy, I headed to the checkout counter and was surprised to see a fellow member of the reunion committee running the register. It was Dennis Kirby. He looked just as surprised to see me as well. He had a bruise on his forehead and his left wrist was wrapped in an Ace bandage. The nametag he was wearing pinned to his yellow button-down shirt identified him as the manager.