Chapter 15
I knew my relationship with Greg had kicked up a notch. I could tell by the way he looked at me when he walked out of the door. It was that “I don’t want to leave” look. The one a man gets on his face when he’s satisfied completely. And satisfy him I did. It began with the phone call where he’d answered and I’d whispered, “I’m wearing purple panties.” Within an hour, Greg was stretched out on the lavender silk sheets I’d picked up on the way home. I’d sat next to him in my new lavender satin “Merry Widow” getup I’d gotten at Fredrick’s of Hollywood on my last stop. I kept a credit card for the store for emergencies like this one. Just like I hoped, they had this God awful-uncomfortable set hanging in the back on a display. And that wasn’t it, I was in luck—purple was in fashion. I purchased everything from thongs to elbow length gloves. He was never going to see so much purple in his life. Angelina had no idea how I welcomed that little tidbit of information.
“Where did you get that sexy get-up?” he’d asked, loosening his tie.
I helped him remove his jacket. Then I pushed him down on the couch, hard. I straddled him. “Don’t you worry about that.”
I fed him from a fork like a king, rubbed his feet like I now knew he liked, gave him some mind blowing sex, and sent him on his way. I was exhausted. Stealing a man was hard work.
I stripped. Ready for a long, hot soak, I climbed into my Jacuzzi tub. Just as I reached for the knob to turn on the jets for the water massager, the telephone rang. I cursed. One glance at the caller ID, and I could see it was my mother. Reluctantly, I answered. “Hi, Mama.”
“Hey, baby, you busy?”
She wanted something, but it wasn t urgent. When it was urgent, she didn’t care if I were busy. “I’m taking a bath.”
“A bath. Why you wanna take a bath when you got a shower?”
She was stalling with that question. Whatever she wanted was going to really piss me off. “I’m worn out, and a bath is relaxing. What’s up?”
“You the tiredest young girl I ever seen. Whatcha doing to get so tired?”
All I want is this soak. “I work. A lot on several different jobs and projects. Tell me what’s up?”
There was a long pause before my mother spoke. “I know you gonna be upset, but ya’ cousin need some more of those pills.”
I sat straight up, water sloshing. “What do you mean more? I gave you ten pills. I can’t take anymore. I’ll get caught!”
“He gets his check the end of the month, and he can buy some more.”
“The end of the month is more than a week away. What happened to what I gave you? He couldn’t have taken that many so fast.”
“He dropped some down the drain.” Her voice was nervous with the lie.
Dropped some down the drain. Now I know she thought I was a fool. Those were the lies I told when I stole the dang pills: dropped them on the floor, patient refused them but I had already contaminated them, patient spit them out, etc. etc. to account for needing to get more. So I knew a rouse. I created one every time I went to work.
“Mama, is June selling them?”
“No. Why would you think that?”
“Because I don’t believe a drug addict would drop a pill down the drain. A coke head wipes the table clean. Nobody addicted wastes drugs.”
“Well, he did. You know he got that bad arm. So unless you got money to buy some, I need more,” she barked and then got humble. “’Til the first.”
Those pills were at least fifty dollars a piece on the street. No way could I buy enough to keep him going for ten days. I didn’t have any cash, and my credit cards were maxed out. The lavender had taken me over the top. This was insane. “I can’t do it. I’ll get caught and fired. I could lose my license.”
“It’s just one more time. Then we’ll ... I mean, he’ll buy some.”
“Mama, June has got to get help. He can’t afford a hundred dollar a day drug habit.” I let out a breath. “I can give you some money, and he can pick up some Demerol or Percocet.”
“No!” she screamed. The shriek startled me so that I almost dropped the phone in the tub. “I can’t live with him when he ain’ t got his stuff. He start yelling and acting crazy.”
“But—”
“No ‘but,’ Samaria. I told you we gonna have money at the end of month. I need you to give me some more pills. Just this last time.” My mother’s breathing became ragged. I could hear her taking a breath from her inhaler. “Ya’ cousin, June, is all I have left of my dead sister. I promised her I would take care of him, and I’m trying.”
“Mama, you not going to have June if he’s overdosing on that stuff, and uh, he’s almost thirty years old. He’s not a kid.”
“I been talking to him about rehab. We working on it. I’m working on it. I need you to just help me ’til I gets him there.”
I nodded, although I did not believe her. “Okay. I’ll try.”
“Can you get the green ones? They stronger. He breaks them in half.”
“I’ll get what I can, but I’m telling you, this is the last time.”
I hung up with my mother and reached for the loofah to wash my body. Then I turned on the jets and tried to let the heat and rhythmic flow of the water relax my muscles. This was getting crazy. I had never done this before in my career, and to think I was doing it and it wasn ’t even for me. I had turned into a drug supplier, and I didn’t know how to get out of it. And June was getting worse about feeding his habit. He’d gone from the white to the pink and pink to peach, and now he was begging for the green ones. OX was bad stuff, which meant this couldn ’t end good. I had to stop supplying him. I couldn’t afford it from my wallet or on my job, so he’d either start stealing or killing to get more and end up in jail. That would break my mother’s heart.
I closed my eyes to the problem and tried instead to focus on Greg. I said his name over and over again out loud to hypnotize myself and bring my world back into the order that my mother ’s call had shattered.
Greg. I loved the crazed look in his eyes when he’d seen me in the lingerie which was heightened when he entered the bedroom and saw the lavender rose petals leading to the bed. I had worked the heck out of that little piece of information Angelina shared. Worked it until only the motion of the water could remove the ache. Greg was a stallion. The only man I’d known who’d ever been able to keep up with me in bed had been Mekhi.
My heart rate sped up just thinking about Mekhi. He looked so good last week. Greg was fine, but he was an older man. I had no idea how much we’d have in common when we did eventually get together. I envisioned him wanting to listen to old school music from the eighties, or heaven forbid, he was into neo-classic jazz or some fusion music or crap like that. I liked hip-hop and rap. That music was in my blood, which brought my memory full circle back to Mekhi.
Music always made me think of Mekhi. He loved it. Taught me to love it. Taught me to understand the beats and the rhythms. How to feel the music in my heart instead of just hear it with my ears. He and I would spend hours chillin’ on the roof of his building with a boom box listening to Jay Willie and Busta Lee ’s early underground stuff while Mekhi wrote silly little poems and love songs. We mapped out our future; planned our escape from White Gardens.
It was also when Mekhi introduced me to the business.
“Girl, we gonna make this money and get up out of here. ”Mekhi’s white teeth shone in the moonlight. “I’ma buy you a phat house off Cascade or in Buckhead. Wherever you wanna live. I got you.”
I was lying on my back. Mekhi was perched on one elbow next to me, his clear eyes staring at the moon and the stars. What he was talking about seemed like it was as far away from our world as the Milky Way, but fantasies were all we had as teenagers. Our reality was so bad. While Mekhi had dreams of living the lifestyle of the rich and famous, all I wanted to do was get away from my mother’s boyfriends; their filthy looks and even filthier hands.
I raised an arm and reached around the back o
f his neck and pulled him to me. All my hopes and dreams for leaving these rat and roach invested projects were tied to this man; his plans, his lips, and his body.
“You promise you’re going to take care of me, Mekhi?” I asked, looking deep into his eyes, always making sure he never flinched or blinked when he assured me he would. We sealed our dreams with kisses and teenage love making that had gone from being clumsy to being as sweet as the fantasies that preceded it.
My experiences and my mama had taught me that I couldn ’t trust a man. Yeah, I’d known Mekhi since I was eight years old. Yeah, Mekhi had been a friend before he’d become my boo. Yeah, Mekhi had me wearing FUBU and Phat Farm and blingin with YSL and Gucci bags. Yeah, Mekhi was the reason I didn ’t ride the crappy school bus. We rolled everywhere in his Honda Accord on twenty-inch spinning rims with his base stereo announcing our arrival. Mekhi was my savior. My mama kept warning me. “Girl, don’t get yourself all in love with that boy. As sure as the sun rises, he gonna let you down. Something about being male makes them all stupid.”
Mekhi ’s tape played louder in my head than my mother’s. When he thought I was ready, he had brought me into his business. Boosting. Mekhi taught me how to steal any clothing item that wasn ’t nailed down, and we were moving on to jewelry. “You can do this, Sammie. Ain’t nobody gonna get caught.” His voice was strong. His words sure. I trusted Mekhi Johnson one hundred percent. Trusted what he said and what he did.
Slam! Bars closed in my face. The sound was so real it startled me. I bolted up in the water which was now chilly. My heart raced with such velocity I thought blood would come out of my ears.
“Argh,” I moaned. I stood and reached for a towel.
Mekhi Johnson was history. Bad history. I stepped on rose petals as I moved across the bathroom floor. They paved the road to my future. The rose petals, sheets, and lingerie I’d discarded on the floor. Forget Mekhi. I had to focus on Gregory Preston.
I thought of Angelina. How disappointed she had to be when her husband called and cancelled dinner. I thought about how proud she’d been of me when I shared my ideas for the health fair. She liked me, which was interesting because women never did. Especially women like her. I wanted to blame it on stupidity, but I knew Angelina was no dummy. She was just kind and genuine. Pure, even. I hated that her good heartedness and naivety were going to cost her so dearly because I was going to bust up her marriage and take her husband if it were the last thing I did.
Chapter 16
Angelina wanted to knock that lying smile off his face. An emergency consultation. Oh it had been a consultation, but it had nothing to do with anything medical.
“Can we talk now?” She still wanted to accomplish her agenda. Still wanted a win despite the diminished aura of the atmosphere. It was killing her to speak to him calmly, civilly.
Greg was peeling his clothes off. She could smell the cologne from his woman all the way across the room. Or was her mind playing tricks on her? The scent was the same as hers, but it seemed so fresh. She hadn ’t sprayed herself since she’d gotten in the car when she was on the way to the restaurant for the dinner she’d so carefully planned. “Can we?” she repeated the question that had come back unanswered.
“I’m tired, Lena.” He went into the bathroom.
Angelina flew off the bed and went into his closet. She pulled his shirt from the hamper and buried her nose in it. Perfume. Her perfume, but it was so strong. What was going on? She was losing her mind. She dropped the shirt in the hamper and thought about the one she’d cut to shreds the other day. Maybe it was her. Maybe she was imaging all this drama; imaging that Greg was cheating. Maybe he was working and doing all the things he said. She was going to acquiesce and let it all go when she saw it. Stuck to the back of his shirt. A rose petal near the hem that fell off when she reached for it. A lavender one.
She waited until she heard the water go off in the shower and walked into the bathroom with her evidence. Greg was toweling off. She extended her hand. “What’s this?”
Greg looked at the rose, his face a mask of confusion. “Where’d you get that?”
“It fell off your shirt.”
“So are you doing laundry this late at night or snooping through my clothes again?”
“Does it matter how I found it? Tell me where it came from?”
Greg turned his back, wrapped the towel around his waist and reached for his electric toothbrush. She grabbed his hand before he could turn it on and shoved the petal closer to his face. “Tell me where this came from?” She applied pressure to his fingers until their bones met. Until his cold stare forced her to release him.
“Don’t get started with that nasty temper of yours.” Greg shook his hand, no doubt to work out the discomfort from her grip. Then he applied toothpaste to the brush. He did it so casually that she would have been impressed with his ability to stay placid under pressure if she hadn’t been so disgusted. “It’s nothing.”
Angelina looked from his face to his reflection in the mirror. “It’s a freakin’ rose petal, and I want to know how it got in your clothes.”
“Freakin’?” He leaned close to her. A sarcastic grin came over his face. “Come on, Lena. If you’re going to curse, be a real woman about it. At least use the word.” He turned on the toothbrush and proceeded to do his three minute brushing routine. She stood there determined that tonight he was going to answer her. He was going to tell her where he’d been, or he was going to find out how nasty her temper really was.
“I’m not letting this go, Greg.” She opened and closed her hand around the petal.
He turned off the toothbrush. “It’s nothing. It’s a flower petal.”
“You stood me up for your tramp!” she yelled. “I drove all the way—”
“What are you talking about? There is no tramp, and I called you,” he interjected, walking out of the bathroom.
“I was almost there.” She followed him. “How could you do that to me? I told you I had a special evening, and you cancel—”
“Lena, I had to work.” He turned back to her. “You know this happens.”
“Where were you working, in a flower garden?”
Greg sucked in his cheeks and let out a long, frustrated breath. “You really want to know where that came from?”
“Yes.” She guffawed. She knew he was stalling, trying to think of a lie. “I want to know.”
“You and those outrageous delusions of yours have spoiled my surprise. I stopped by the florist on the way home this evening and ordered roses for you. I intended to buy some, but the only ones she had left were wilted, so I ordered them to be delivered at your office tomorrow. I felt bad about cancelling tonight. It couldn ’t be avoided. I wanted to make it up to you.”
Angelina was not convinced. Her gut told her Greg was lying, so she pushed. “It was not on the outside of your clothes, it was inside. How did a rose petal get in your pants?”
“What?”
“You heard me. How did the petal get inside your pants?”
Greg threw up his hands. “I don’t know. I was in the place looking around. I guess I bumped up against something.” He walked into his closet and pulled pajama bottoms from the bureau. He removed his towel and stepped into them.
Angelina’s glance darted between her husband and the evidence in her hand. She didn’t believe him, and now it was time to let him know that. “Where’s the receipt?”
Greg shook his head. “What?”
“The receipt for the flowers?”
Greg dropped his chin to his chest and sighed, then met her eyes with a shake of his head. “You’re the snoop. Go look in my wallet. Look in pockets. I’m not going to hand it over like a child. If you want it, you find it.” He pulled a T-shirt over his head and walked out of the bedroom.
Angelina closed her eyes, but a tear escaped and ran down her face. Liar, liar, liar. She collapsed on the bed. Did she go through his pockets, check his wallet, and embarrass herself with the hope that he was t
elling the truth? She opened her fist and looked at the crushed petal in her palm. She wished she could make it disappear. Lavender. How ironic that the very thing she thought would serve to bless her today had done the opposite and cursed her.
Chapter 17
Angelina stared at the lavender roses sitting on her desk. They’d been delivered before she returned from court this afternoon. The search through Greg’s wallet and pockets had been futile. There had been no receipt. Not that she expected to find one. She trusted her instincts. They told her he was lying.
“They pretty.” Katrice pointed her tiny finger in the direction of the enormous vase that took up most of the space. Angelina smiled at the little girl and returned her gaze to the blossoms. He did have good taste. Too bad his attempt to fool her left such a bitter taste in her mouth.
“Let’s see.” Angelina stood and removed one of the flowers from the arrangement. She broke the stem off close to the bud and pushed the flower into the child’s wild, kinky hair above her ear. Angelina reached into her handbag and removed a compact. She showed Katrice her image, and the little girl laughed with delight.
“Pretty,” Katrice said.
While Angelina appreciated the woman who’d finally had the nerve to step up and temporarily house Katrice, she was white, and the child ’s hair was a wooly mess of cultural misunderstanding. Katrice needed an African American foster mother, and she needed one bad.
Angelina stared into Katrice ’s beautiful brown eyes. What was the world coming to when someone as sweet and affectionate as this baby could be displaced? She’d had a not so nice visit with her mother. Angelina had observed it with her own eyes through the one way glass outside the visitation room. Afterward, she decided rather than send the child back to the daycare center with a hundred other kids, she’d give her one-on-one attention that no one else in the world had time to share. It was uncustomary, but so were her feelings toward the child. She did what she deemed best and didn’t worry about protocol.
An Inconvenient Friend Page 9
