Don't Ask My Neighbor

by Kristofer Clarke

  “Yes. I’m here,” he said, snapping his head back to his reality.

  “You can’t stop thinking about him, can you?”

  “It’s really hard for me to.”

  “Sounds to me like you’re lost without him.”

  “I kinda am, Kenna,” he confirmed.

  I wanted Parker to be all right. I knew Keaton was his world, and not being able to spend time with him was tearing him to pieces. He already missed his birthday, and now he could add Thanksgiving to the list. I looked at my watch. It was a few minutes past noon, which meant Cody and Alexis would be coming downstairs for lunch. When I looked up from my watch, the doorbell rang.

  “Are you expecting someone?” Parker asked.

  I didn’t respond to him. I got up from the stool and headed toward the front door. I looked back over my right shoulder to make sure Parker wasn’t following behind me, and then opened the door without asking who it was.

  “Hey, Nigel,” I whispered.

  Nigel and Keaton stood at the front door. I didn’t think he would accept my invitation when I asked him to join me for dinner. He knew Parker would be joining us as well.

  “How are you, Kenna?” he asked, guiding Keaton inside. I was glad to see them both, and I couldn’t wait to see the look on Parker’s face. Nigel and I shared a warm embrace, something we did not do when I saw him three weeks before. “Is he here yet?” he asked, letting go.

  “How are you, my handsome nephew?” I stooped in front of Keaton and whispered.

  “Hi, Auntie K,” Keaton said, hugging my neck. He mimicked my volume as if he were hipped to this little game his father and I were playing.

  Keaton was growing and looking more unlike his mother. Though I haven’t met him, I presumed Keaton was a short replica of his biological father. I imagined he looked just like him, ‘cause he damn sure didn’t have anything for her. It’s almost as if her DNA had nothing to do with his make-up, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, either. His curls fell evenly around his head. His brown eyes displayed a loving intention, and his smile was to die for. How could you not love a young boy with a smile like his?

  “Kennalyn, who’s that?” Parker yelled from the kitchen, but I ignored him and continued my walk back into the kitchen with Nigel and Keaton following closely behind.

  I smiled, anticipating Parker’s reaction. I stopped at the kitchen door and allowed Nigel to pass. He paused just inside and pointed toward Parker, who stood at the sink with his back toward us.

  “Daddy,” Keaton yelled, running over to Parker.

  He whipped around at the sound of Keaton’s voice, but then froze briefly when his eyes met Nigel’s. He bent to meet Keaton as he jumped into his arms. I suspected their reunion would be as emotional as it was. With one hand around his body and another cradling his head, he held Keaton securely in a long embrace. Keaton kept his hands around Parker’s neck, holding him just as tight. Parker smiled as the tears flowed.

  “I love you, man,” Parker said, as he tightened both arms around Keaton. “Thank you, Nigel,” Parker added, finally acknowledging his presence with words.

  “You don’t have to thank me,” Nigel said, walking over to him. He stood next to Parker with his back pressed against the counter. “I’d planned on bringing him to see you today, anyway. It just happens it’s here and not at your house. Plus, he’s been asking about you a lot more lately, and to be honest with you, I’m running out of excuses.”

  “You mean lies,” Parker corrected.

  They looked at each other and laughed.

  “He doesn’t know that,” Nigel said, moving closer, and rubbing Keaton in his back.

  I stayed at the door, watching this new normal family. They behaved as if they occupied the kitchen by themselves, and I didn’t mind that my company was being ignored. Happiness had crept back into Parker’s face. It was good to see him smiling for all the right reasons. He wasn’t consumed with Samantha and what his involvement with her had done to him. He wasn’t overwhelmed with stories of his mother, going down that same lane of memories he traveled every holiday we got together. For the moment, though I hoped it would last longer, Nigel and Keaton’s presence had fixed everything.

  “Plus, I’m tired of answering Shara’s questions, too. I love her, but you know how I feel about people in my business, especially family,” Nigel continued.

  “So you coming here is about his mother?” Parker asked, finally putting Keaton down.

  “Come on, Parker, man. Me coming here is about us. If this has anything to do with Shara, it’s that she chose us to raise Keaton because we were stable, unlike all the other jokers in my family.”

  Nigel stared at the floor, as if he were tracing the complicated patterns embedded in the tiles.

  “Looks like we’ve managed to become one of those jokers,” Parker said, turning around to face the sink. “I’m not going to stay in a relationship because of some promise to your fifteen-year-old cousin.”

  I waited for them to ask me for privacy, but that request never came. It’s not like I would oblige. I was going to witness anything between these two, as long as it was happening in my house.

  “Fine, Parker. Then do it because of the promise we made to Keaton. And if that’s not enough, do it because.”

  “Because what, Nigel?” Parker looked up.

  “Because I love you,” Nigel admitted, bringing his eyes to meet Parker’s.

  They stood there gazing at each other with Keaton looking up at them. I smiled from across the room.

  “Look, Nigel, I know we have to talk.”

  “But, can you guys do all that talking after today?” I broke in, walking over to the stove. “For now, let’s just enjoy this reunion, and this turkey,” I said, opening the oven and pulling the container from the oven.

  Cody came downstairs to grab a light lunch for him and Alexis, and brought Keaton upstairs with him, leaving Nigel, Parker, and me in the kitchen to finish preparing our small Thanksgiving feast. While Parker stayed in the kitchen carving the turkey and finishing the three apple pies Cody and Alexis requested, Nigel decorated the rectangular table in the dining room. I asked him to set his place and Parker’s at either head of the table. The kids and I would sit on either side, with Keaton sitting next to Cody.

  The turkey carvings and the two bottles of wine that sat on either side were all the centerpieces we needed. A tall decanter of homemade lemonade for the kids was placed next to that. Before we ate, Cody said a prayer that included thanks for family and friends, and even thanked God for having Uncle Parker and Uncle Nigel with them. I swear, sometimes I forgot he was growing up. During dinner, we listened to Parker share stories about his dealings with Samantha. He looked forward to the Awards Gala and admitted he couldn’t wait to see what surprise Felicia or J.B. was cooking up for her, especially since it didn’t seem as if he was up to doing anything. I, too, would have a front row seat to Samantha’s recognition. I was going to play that day by ear, waiting for the best opportune time to make that bitch finally pay.

  Twenty-Nine

  _________

  When I Get You Back

  Joyce

  THEY REALLY ROLLED OUT THE WELCOME mat for this bitch, I thought, putting one leg outside the chartered limousine. Red carpet and velvet ropes just to honor Ms. Samantha Wells. If they only knew just an ounce of truth about the woman they invited to be a part of their exclusive club. I switched my small purse to my right hand, extended the driver my left, and accepted his muted offer to assist me to my feet. Either he was just doing his job, or there still were a few gentlemen left in this godforsaken world. I decided to believe the latter. He was as handsome as he was polite, and he kept me entertained the entire ride from the Hotel Palomar, unlike the dull man I drove with from Reagan National Airport, just across the bridge in Arlington, to the hotel.

  Inside the gallery, the guests were dressed to impress, as if they were invited to the Queen’s ball. I gave them a run for the best-dressed award. I
removed the long sleeve Chinese style jacket to reveal a one-shoulder white evening dress. I’m not one to blow steam under my own dress, but I looked Marilyn Monroe good. I was a real woman, and I still had curves some women in their twenties secretly wished they had. I looked around for Samantha, but she was nowhere in sight. She was probably working the room, trying to find her next victim, that was my guess, and with her luck, that shouldn’t take too long. Unfortunately, there were a few who still fell for her same bag of old tricks.

  When I entered through the doors and into the banquet hall, two servers stood on either side, presenting trays of Champagne to the guests. It was my pleasure to relieve them of the weight they carried. I took one of the flutes, and almost in one gulp, it was gone. After I returned the emptied glass to the tray, I took another for the road, though this road only led to the back of this lavish-looking hall, not far from where I stood sipping on that second glass. I bet the gentleman and his Barbie doll arm-piece who followed behind me called me all sorts of uncouth in their minds, though the last thing on my mind was their simple-looking asses. His Barbie doll wife had nothing on me, or what I wore that night; assuming wife was the title she borrowed for the evening. Four extra-large crystal chandeliers hung on either side of the huge hall. The guests, those who weren’t passing the time in idle chatter, occupied round tables covered in black tablecloths. Short vases with an assortment of Tulips and Hyacinths were placed directly in the center. None of the guests sat with their backs toward the stage where Samantha would be presented her award. I could only imagine the style of chairs purposely arranged in that manner, since they hid under white silk chair covers. I sat in the back and waited for disaster to begin. It wasn’t long before the lights dimmed and the emcee took his place on the raised platform, behind the stand-up microphone.

  He adjusted the microphone to complement his tall stature, and even still, he needed a slight bend to be heard. He introduced himself as Stanley Graybourne. I knew, then, where his offspring, Jelani Graybourne, got his good looks. Stanley’s bronze complexion glistened under the spotlight. I imagined he broke a few hearts in his younger days. His voice had a rhythmic boom that commanded your attention, and I figured every woman hung onto his words like I did, even if they didn’t want to admit it to themselves or their dates. He spoke with his hands behind him. His eyes perused the room, and I found myself following his scan from one side of the room to the other. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. The guests scurried in the faint darkness to find reserved seats. “I’m honored to celebrate the accomplishments of one of E.S.G.’s own Samantha Wells, and I thank you all for joining in this celebration.” He paused and waited for the applause to subside. I kept one hand in my lap, clutching my purse, and the other around the stem of the wine glass. I cut my eyes at the mere mention of her name, and then finished the last bit of wine. I placed the glass on the table, sat back in the chair, and then crossed my right leg over my left.

  He doled out one accolade after the other. Not only was she the first from the firm to win the prestigious award, but also the first to receive the nomination. She was the first woman since 2008 to receive the award. She’s going to be singing that praise for years, I thought. Since Mr. Graybourne focused most of his attention on one particular table in the front, I imagined that was where Samantha sat, smiling from ear to ear every time she heard her name. When he was finished, he invited Michelle Ambrose from the Washington D.C. Council of Attorneys to help him with the presentation. She was a shorter woman, especially standing next to Mr. Graybourne.

  “The Washington D.C. Council of Attorneys would like to recognize Ms. Samantha Madelyn Wells as the 2012 Attorney of the Year.”

  What was I thinking, giving her my grandmother’s name? She hasn’t done anything to make my grandmother, Madelyn, proud, including giving birth to Gari. Samantha had even managed to screw up motherhood.

  The room stood to their feet in unison and began their applause before Ms. Ambrose completed her announcement. I was in no haste to stand and celebrate Samantha. I uncrossed my legs and, in a slow motion, stood. Samantha walked to the stage as if she had just won an academy award. Hell, with the performance she’s given over the years, she might as well be accepting the Lifetime Achievement Award for the bedlam she’s caused in the lives of the people she claimed to love. On the stage, she extended her hand to Mr. Graybourne, who then kissed her on both cheeks. She had a brief exchange with Ms. Ambrose before she accepted her award, and then stepped to the microphone. I sat as the rest of the room sat, and then waited.

  “Wow,” Samantha said, looking down at her award. “Do I deserve this?” She laughed.

  I wanted to answer that question for her and scream from the back at the top of my lungs, “hell no, but they don’t know any better.” Instead, I remained a lady and held my peace. I knew my moment in the spotlight was coming, and so I waited with patience for my turn. I can’t believe this was the little girl who used to melt my heart with her smile. I used to be proud when I was told she looked just like me, but I now cringed if someone even set his or her mouth to draw that comparison.

  Samantha stood on the stage in front of her colleagues and their guests wearing a black knee-length, spaghetti strap cocktail dress, and a confident smile. She still had the perfect figure—won’t let her hear me say that. Her dark red, five-inch platform pumps seemed to extend the curves in her legs. She showed off a deliberate cleavage, the one she’s used to demand the attention of so many men, and later reduce them to stupid, cause that’s the only thing that could cause them to fall for her type. She had a list of people she needed to do that. Her list started with Jelani Graybourne and ended with Felicia Hailey and Parker Chandler, though she forgot to mention that anything they did was probably done against their will or without them knowing. She stared at her award again and then lifted her head to speak, but I had heard enough.

  “So, is this what you wanted?” I questioned.

  Samantha’s swift glance in my direction almost gave her a whiplash. In concert, the crowd turned their focus toward me with equal curiosity. I was seated in the back, watching her scan the room for the voice and the person who owned it. I interrupted the acceptance speech she had been planning for weeks.

  “I waited to hear my name in your so-called thank you speech that you’ve prepared. And I must admit, it’s being delivered as if you truly deserve all the accolades these people have bestowed upon you.”

  “Do I know you?”

  She played the part of innocence well, but I knew her better. She stood in a spotlight, so the focus was definitely on her, though now it was for an entirely different reason, one I knew she didn’t prepare for.

  “What matters is that I know you,” I responded, still trying to keep my location a secret. But every eye in the auditorium stared at me as I spoke, and then at Samantha, like the little Shitsu sitting on the couch in the Coming to America movie, at awe in the ricochet of exchange.

  “Samantha Wells, is it?” I got up and walked to a far corner and stood disguised in brown tinted sunglasses. “I’m here to see Samantha Malloy. I mean, that’s who you were, or pretended to be, when you left,” I said, slowly removing my specs.

  Samantha should have recognized my voice, but almost everything else about me had changed.

  “You must have really faked your way to this one, just like you’ve done everything else. You were so good, they even gave you an award for it.” My compliment was delivered soaked in sarcasm.

  “Do I?”

  “Know me?” I said, finishing her question. She had become so damn predictable. “Surely you don’t have to agonize over trying to figure out who I am. You’re no amateur. I’m quite sure.” I paused, searching for my words. “In fact, I know you kept a list of all the people you wittingly manipulated, stepped on, and treated like second-class citizens, and for whatever reason, the next person, and the person after that, still fell for the same manipulation. Their stupidity made you a professional.”

  �
��What do you want?” Samantha asked with embarrassment grabbing at her throat.

  “You know, that’s a very good question. One I hadn’t figured out until this very moment.”

  I began a slow walk closer to the podium. For the first time, I saw the fright in Samantha’s eyes; the fear that her past had joined forces to plot her destruction, and it was unraveling at the very moment she should be celebrating. She was Samantha Lucas, the same heartless woman who conned and cajoled Ryle, and then left him defeated when she took all she thought she could from him. She was the same Samantha who punished him for another man’s decision, even though all he had done was love her.

  Samantha looked in Jelani’s direction with hope in her eyes, waiting for him to rescue her from the rage that was leaving her feeling as if her feet were planted in cement. But he’s had his questions, too—unsettling feelings he tried to quell with questions that were answered with words and phrases that never really made him feel at ease. Jelani stood motionless, as Samantha’s secrets came gushing like water from a broken dam.

  She looked with intent toward the table in the front for her secretary, Felicia Hailey, hoping she would interrupt in some way; surely this wasn’t part of the presentation. But Felicia stood poised in the back, listening to Samantha as she delivered thanks to everyone for the role they had, or didn’t have, in making her the front-runner and eventual winner of this award. It’s the same place she stood witnessing the glistening beads of sweat form perfect circles on Samantha’s forehead as she nervously engaged in that aching exchange with the woman she strained her eyes to recognize in darkness.