An Inconvenient Friend

by Rhonda McKnight

  “We have a very limited budget to work with.” Carol’s tone was snappy. I could tell the idea of some poor woman walking off the street and getting treated to a massage or facial the way she did whenever she wanted was obscene.

  “Wellness and healthcare aren’t free. What does Greater Christian Life Church want to do? Something relevant, or just be able to say, ‘Hey we had a health fair, and everybody left with a balloon.”

  The room was silent. Carol visibly backed down. It was pretty obvious they were waiting for Angelina, and no doubt, hoping she’d shoot my idea down, but she didn’t. Angelina Preston turned up the corners of her mouth and said, “I love it. Rae, you’re a genius.”

  I let out the breath I’d been holding.

  “What do you need us to do to make sure this happens?”

  I did a celebratory dance in my seat and opened my portfolio. I’d spent the entire evening mapping out my plan and each person’s to do list. I handed them each a different colored assignment list complete with timelines for completion. As they reviewed them, I couldn’t help thinking how cool it was to actually have an interesting consulting job. I mean, I wasn’t getting paid for it, but it could go on my lean resumè. Maybe I would become the designer health fair guru of Atlanta and be interviewed by Fox5 News or something about my revolutionary way of bringing wellness to African American women. I’d have to get the media to come. This could really be big. Greg would be impressed. He seemed to like his women smart, I thought, stealing a glance at Angelina.

  She was studying her list. I noticed she twisted that huge rock of a ring around on her finger, and at the same time tilted her head in a curious way that belied the confident woman persona. She looked sweet, almost innocent, and I thought that might be something a man—a man like Greg—would find attractive; vulnerability. I thought about myself. Did I do anything coy or cute like that? I was always trying to be sexy, but maybe I needed to appeal to the little boy in a man and copy that head tilting mannerism of hers.

  Carol’s irate voice pulled me from musing. “Rae, we all have pretty long lists here. Do you mind sharing what you will be doing?”

  This wench was dancing on my last nerve, but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of knowing. “I will attempt to secure a mobile mammogram machine, and the massage crew. I’ll also work my behind off getting all the goodies and freebies we’ll give way, including some food that doesn’t consist of hotdogs and popcorn. That’s going to be a full-time assignment in and of itself. Would that be enough for me to be doing?”

  Shut down once again, Carol nodded.

  “This is very good, Rae.” Angelina put her list in her bag and stood. “I’m really pleased with your creativity, and you’ve obviously put a lot of thought and work into the planning already. I knew you were the right person to lead this. She smoothed down the front of her silk crepe pantsuit. “Ladies, aren’t you excited?”

  Carol’s crew had versions of smiles on their faces. They spoke in unison that they thought it was a good idea. Carol cleared her throat before saying, “If we can pull it off and the cost doesn’t escalate, it looks promising.”

  “Good.” I clapped victoriously. “See, when I began, you were looking at me like I said Jesus was white.” I stretched and stood. We all exited the conference room. I was about to ask Angelina if she wanted to have an early lunch when her cell phone rang. She excused herself, walked a few paces, and began to listen to what sounded like bad news. The other women had left the building. Carol and I stood alone, like two school girls fighting for a best friend. We sized each other up. Carol had that demeanor again, the “you’re a bad seed” look, and her hands had gone up to her pearls.

  “Are those real?” I asked, with a nod toward her neck.

  Shock registered on the biddy’s face. She stammered over her words. “Of course they’re real. What kind of question is that?”

  “I was wondering. I used to work a jewelry counter at Macy, and they look like good paste to me.” I could see the steam coming out of her ears. “I mean, if they’re fake, it’s not a crime. Tyra Banks wears cubic zirconia—”

  “I assure you I don’t have anything fake in my jewelry box. The nerve of ... Tell Angelina I’ll talk to her later,” She sputtered and took off down the hall like a bull seeing red.

  Mission accomplished.

  Angelina ended her call. Her forehead was wrinkled, and worry lines creased her mouth.

  “Is it that work stuff with the dead child?” I asked.

  She dropped her phone in a pocket on the side of her purse. She was emotionally disheveled. She looked up and down the hall. “Where’s everyone else?”

  “They left.” I ignored the dis. Guess it wasn’t work. “So you have time for coffee or lunch?”

  Angelina looked at her watch “Yeah, sure. I could use the distraction.”

  Great, I thought. I could use the intel.

  Chapter 13

  Angelina was right. She was distracted today. Not that I really knew her, but in the time I’d spent with her, I’d noticed her great attending skills. The eye contact, in particular always, made me feel like the only person in the world. Angelina used just the right mix of titling her head and nodding to make sure a person knew she was engaged; so the woman who sat across from me was one I’d never seen before. This woman was having a hard time being in the room period.

  “That’s a pretty suit.” I hoped to bring her back from Mars or wherever she was. We’d been having this one sided conversation for the last five minutes. Whatever was on her mind was way over the top.

  She looked down at herself like she’d forgotten what she was wearing. “Thanks. Lavender’s not really a color I care for, but I have an important dinner with my husband tonight, and it ’s his favorite.”

  I nodded. “So you’re wearing lavender because he likes it, or because you need him weak in the knees?”

  She smiled coyly. “You know your men. I need to convince him of something. He absolutely loves me in any shade of purple, and honestly you’ve got to work what you have to get a man on the same planet as you sometimes.” She reached for her ice tea and took a sip, careful not to let any spill on her suit.

  I moved my rear end back and forth on my seat. Purple was news to me. Good intel. I decided to see if she’d share more. “So anything else on the agenda to get him on that planet with you?”

  “We’re meeting at one of his favorite Creole restaurants. He’s from Louisiana, and he grew up on red beans and rice and blackened salmon.” She smiled a weak, pitiful smile that lacked confidence. “I’m hoping that’ll help too.”

  “Hmmm,” I moaned thoughtfully. “I guess that’s why I haven’t gotten myself all entangled yet. Seems like too much of a bother to me.”

  “All relationships involve sacrifice and compromise,” Angelina countered.

  Always the teacher, I thought; even when she had her own problems.

  She continued. “We have to commit to relationships with our parents and other relatives. Friendships. You have to work through things, especially in marriage. Giving someone a foot rub now and then isn’t going to kill anyone.”

  Foot rub. I picked up my water glass. I supposed she was right, but who was compromising in my world? Not my mother. I didn’t have any friends, and of course, I was doing all the giving in this relationship with Greg. But that was only because I was the other woman. Once I became the woman-woman, it wasn’t going to be his world with me scrambling for nuts.

  “So what do you want, a bigger house or something?” I squinted at her.

  She looked to her right, and then left, like she was checking the perimeter before she shared a secret. “No, nothing like that.” She sat back and waved a hand. I didn’t know why she was playing Secret Squirrel. She wasn’t telling me jack, or had she changed her mind?

  “What did you think of pastor’s message on Sunday?”

  Water got caught in my throat, and I coughed a little before speaking. “I, umm, didn’t go to
church on Sunday. I had to work Saturday night.”

  Angelina frowned. “I assumed being a consultant was a nine to five type thing.” Her tone belied that she wasn’t pleased that I hadn’t gone to church.

  “I’m a registered nurse. When my consulting money is lean, I pick up shifts at the hospital. I worked an eleven to seven overnight, and I was worn out.” Angelina nodded, and I redirected the conversation. “So how long have you been married?”

  The waitress swooped in, put salads in front of us, and filled our drink glasses.

  Angelina scooted closer to the table. “Thirteen years.”

  “Wow.” My eyebrows went up. “That’s a long time. You married young.”

  “I was twenty-four.” She picked up her silverware.

  I wondered if we had to say another grace or if the blessing over the bread would suffice. Angelina began to eat, so I figured the grace covered the entire meal. I picked up my fork. “Do you like being married?”

  Angelina nodded and answered between chews. “Most of the time.”

  “Not all the time?”

  “Marriage is hard work, and like anything that’s work, we occasionally want a break.”

  That made sense. I didn’t expect her to say it, but it made sense.

  Angelina raised her eyes to mine. “Are you dating someone? Thinking about marriage?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Marriage can be good, if you’re with the right person. It can be nice to have someone to grow old with. You won’t always be young.”

  I pulled back from the table. “So is that why you got married, so you wouldn’t have to be afraid of getting old alone? That seems like a long range goal at twenty-four.”

  Angelina laughed. “I married my husband because I loved him.”

  “Loved?” My tone asked a question.

  Lines creased Angelina’s forehead and she answered, “Love.”

  “Well, I don’t think of marriage as permanent. I think that’s the mistake people make. They try to make something permanent that should be temporary.”

  Angelina shook her head. Her disappointment in that statement was as palatable as my salad. “Rae, I know you’re a new Christian, but one of the things you’ll learn from attending church is that marriage isn’t about what you think. God has a design for marriage, and it’s a much deeper commitment than a lot of us like to accept.”

  So she was going to go chu’ch on me. Unbelievable. She had all these ideas about marriage and commitment. She was clueless. I rolled my eyes.

  “How old are you, Rae?”

  “Why? Are you assuming it’s my youth talking?” I asked, my frown in my voice and on my face.

  “No, I’m curious.” She shrugged. “I’ve been curious.”

  “I’m twenty-seven. Not as young as I look.”

  Angelina didn’t say anything.

  “Well, what does it tell you? Why I’m so naïve?”

  “No, actually, I was wondering how you got so bitter.”

  Bitter. I flinched. “I’m not bitter. I’m a realist. Men are dogs, and the ones that aren’t dogs, you can’t count on.” Mekhi’s face skittered through my mind.

  “All men are not dogs.” Angelina smiled like she was sure of this fact. Like I was silly for suggesting such.

  Well, she was right. Not all. The last doctor I’d tried to get my hooks into hadn’t taken me up on the offer, and I was half naked when he said no. But Angelina wasn’t living with him. She was living with Greg. She’d obviously convinced herself that he was faithful, and I had the check in the mail to prove nothing was further from the truth.

  Angelina’s phone rang. She excused herself, stood, and walked away from the table.

  The waitress arrived and put down two steaming plates of food left just as Angelina returned. Angelina reached across the booth for her handbag. “I have to go. I’m sorry to run out on you, but the governor and the DFYS chief are holding a press conference downtown.”

  I threw my hands up. “It’s okay. You have to do your job.”

  “Please have her wrap my plate up and take it for your dinner.” She removed money from her wallet and placed it on the table.

  I shook my head. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Of course I do.” She put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” Then she swept out of the restaurant.

  The waitress returned, and I instructed her to make Angelina’s meal to go. I pulled out my cell phone and my wallet. I had to see what my available balance was on one of my credit cards. It was time to go shopping. I needed something purple.

  Chapter 14

  The media had turned up the heat on their reports about the death of Robin Edwards. Angelina kept waiting for the reprieve that normally happened when something juicier came along and the cattle of reporters shifted in a herd to torture a new victim. But the metro Atlanta area was quiet, and the only thing they had to gnaw at was The Division of Youth and Family Services. And gnaw they did. A reporter had even done a feature titled DEATH BE NOT PROUD: TEN YEARS OF FAILURE IN THE DYFS SYSTEM, wherein he chronicled every child death the agency had had in the last ten years. Many of which were not the agency’s fault. To the reporter’s credit, he didn’t try to even sway the story in that direction, but the title spoke volumes and sent a negative message regardless of the content.

  Angelina’s BlackBerry vibrated for the eighth time since the press conference. It was another newspaper calling. She had come to recognize the prefixes on their telephone numbers.

  The governor announced that the agency had completed its preliminarily investigation. He assigned blame to high case loads and systemic internal system issues that could have been avoided had the agency been given money to purchase a computer system that kept data in one repository instead of paper records all over the state. Once management pulled case files together for children who had lived in the foster family’s home, it was pretty clear there was a pattern of monitoring neglect on the part of the agency. They were in trouble. The commissioner was angry, and the governor was hot. Heads were about to roll.

  “I thought you could use this.”

  Angelina looked up to see Portia, her receptionist, standing in front of her desk holding a steaming mug of coffee. She smiled and accepted the cup from the young woman. Portia, a twenty-two-year-old red head with green eyes and multiple tattoos, was as different from Angelina as night was from day. But the young woman was efficient and sensitive to Angelina’s moods, often going out of her way to soothe the ills of the day, like she was doing now.

  “Thanks.” Angelina smiled and placed the mug on a coaster.

  “And there’s more.” Portia pulled an envelope from behind her back and stuck it under Angelina’s nose. They made eye contact, and Angelina noticed Portia was blushing. The reddening of Portia’s porcelain skin meant she was excited or angry, and since she was giddy, her coloring meant excitement. Angelina felt her heart skip a beat. They had a donation, likely a big one, and boy did they need it.

  Angelina removed the check and letter from the envelope. It was notification she’d been awarded the grant she’d requested from Murray Sporting Goods and a check for ten thousand dollars to fund a summer mentoring program for pre-teen boys. She wanted to cry, but instead, she put Portia to work. “Call the community relations manager, what’s his name, Van something from the Atlanta Sparks.”

  Portia nodded and made rapid steps to the door.

  “I’m going to send an email to the director about that campground in Conyers and see if they still have space,” Angelina continued. “Would you pull the file for me?”

  Portia nodded.

  “And after you reach Van, get me contact numbers for V-103’s publicity department.”

  Portia threw her hand up and saluted Angelina. “Will do, boss.” She turned to exit.

  “Oh, and Portia,” Angelina called before the young woman disappeared. “Thanks for the coffee and looking out for the
good news.”

  Portia winked and disappeared through the door.

  Within minutes, Angelina was on the phone negotiating the details of a summer program with the Sparks community relations manager. The basketball team had been willing to match money they received from a sponsor, so they had twenty thousand dollars. It would be an awesome time for the kids. The plan was to sign up one hundred pre-teen foster boys and teach them everything from how to tie a tie to how to start a small business. In addition to a few of the team’s players, she was hoping to get the attention of a local celebrity entertainer—hip hop star or radio personality—to really make the week special. This was what Something Extra was all about. This made DYFS’s failure less of a burden on her soul.

  Angelina locked up her small office. Once Portia was gone, that was it for staff at Something Extra. Volunteers came and went, but usually finished their day by 3:00 P.M. to avoid getting stuck on the interstate. She looked at her watch. It was after five. She was a little pressed for time, but if she didn’t hit any pockets of traffic, she’d be at the restaurant by six, as promised, for her dinner with Greg.

  She climbed into her automobile and pulled into the thick of cars heading out of downtown Norcross. Choosing a restaurant in Atlanta had been a good choice because she was actually moving against most traffic.

  She was on cloud nine. After the grueling press conference, where angry words and accusations flew around like planes over the airport, things were looking up. She prayed her luck wasn’t about to run out at dinner. She’d been anxious all day about their meeting, but the truth was the conversation could go well with Greg. He, like she, had a chance to mull some things over and really think about their future. An earlier text message from Felesia had reminded her to remain positive about it all. She’d been doing that, or at least trying, until the phone rang.