“Is that what you want, to go to therapy with you father?”
Cody smiled, “Funny. No, but did you see those kids in the barber shop today? They were making memories with their dads. Even Mr. Omari, he told us stories about the places he’d been to in the world with his dad. I will never have that...like I don’t deserve that or something...he doesn’t love me...he doesn’t want me...does he even know I am alive?”
Chantal began to cry. The tears she never shed when Brett Coates handed her a paper bag full of money and told her to go away didn’t hurt this much. She sat the wine on the table and moved to the couch to embrace her son.
“He knows you exist, Cody Mooreland,” she told him rocking his body in her embrace, “but you are too good for a man like him. He doesn’t deserve you.”
Chapter 6 Who’s Your Daddy?
Monday
The administrator at Hilston Prep pulled Cody into the office, angry at the young man for again getting into a nasty altercation with one of the other students. This was the third time in a month Cody had gotten entangled with some of the other children over what he deemed to be acting out in anger. Carter Molson had had enough of the young man. Cody Mooreland was going to be ejected from the school.
“I am sorry, Mr. Mooreland, but your behavior is unacceptable. You will have to be expelled,” Mr. Molson said.
Cody threw his hands up. “Wait for a second, Mr. Molson. In all fairness to me, these over privileged kids are always bullying me. I am defending myself, yet I am the one to be punished because of their intolerance of my difference. They are picking on me ‘cause I’m black.”
Mr. Molson began to balk at Cody’s words.
“I will call CNN and every news station I can find on Google as well as upload videos of your rich high class students calling me out on my name, making racists comments and talking about me being from a broken home,” Cody said to the administrator.
“Hold on now, Mr. Mooreland. We do not want to be rash in our reactions to this matter,” he told Cody. “How about I call your mother and have her come to the school and we chat and decide on a course of action.”
Cody hated the smug red face of Mr. Molson. He was starting to hate the school even more. The desire to put the stupid man in his place outweighed logic, common sense, and the punishment he was going to receive from his mother. The gauntlet had been thrown down and he was about to go all in.
“No, why don’t you call my dad instead. I want him to come up here and talk with you about how you are nurturing such an intelligent young black man like me,” Cody said with sarcasm in his voice.
“Your father...,” Mr. Molson stuttered.
“Yeah, I have one. What? You thought he was in prison?” Cody asked smartly.
“Of course not...he is not on any of your paperwork...” Mr. Molson tried to say.
“That’s because my Momma doesn't want you folks all up in her business,” Cody retorted.
Cody pulled Omari’s card from his pocket and handed it to the administrator. “Call my daddy and have him come up here for a man to man conversation with you on fairness and my treatment in this school by your upstanding students,” Cody pushed. He hoped the bluff would make the administrator back down. Instead, Mr. Molson took the card and began to dial the number.
Cody’s heart sank.
When Mr. Molson talks to Mr. Omari...then my mother is called...I am going to be in so much trouble. The military school had never been a thing for him, but he knew after this he was going to be sent with a one-way ticket. That, or a first class ticket to hell wearing gasoline underwear.
Mr. Molson dialed the number.
Cody watched in fear as his heart thudded against in his chest.
Someone must have answered Mr. Omari’s line.
“Mr. Cromwell, this is Carter Molson at Hilston Prep. I am calling about your son Cody. He has been in an altercation again...”
Cody watched Mr. Molson’s face as he listened to the words from the other end of the phone. I’m going to be in so much trouble. My mom is going to kill me first then send my dead body to military school. I am in so much trouble.
“Yes, yes, that would be fine. Thank you, Mr. Cromwell,” Mr. Molson said as he hung up the phone.
He looked at Cody, who braced himself for the worst.
“Your father is on his way,” Mr. Molson said. “We are going to get to the bottom of this bad behavior, young man!”
Omari drove to Hilston Prep, wondering what in the hell the boy was up to, but the call was an SOS. If Cody was using him as a cover, he must be in a world of trouble. He was also very familiar with the exclusive Manhattan school and its standards. Before leaving his shop in Harlem, he quickly took the elevator upstairs to change into a suit and tie. Luckily, the shop was closed on Mondays and he was about to start a new project in his studio when the call came in. Just go. Find out what is going on. Deal with the rest later.
The school was still as pretentious as he remembered when he walked down the halls towards administration. The snooty receptionist eyed him from head to toe as he entered the office. “Can I help you?” she asked in a condescending tone.
“I am here to see Mr. Molson. He is expecting me,” he said. “I am Omari Cromwell.”
No time was wasted showing him into the office where Cody sat in an overstuffed chair, looking defeated. Omari shook the administrator’s hand first before looking at his “son.” He also knew his best suit was a good choice for meeting with the stodgy administrator.
“Mr. Molson, before you and I speak, I would appreciate a word alone with Cody,” Omari said.
“Of course, Mr. Cromwell,” Mr. Molson said as he stepped out of the office to give them time alone.
“Explain,” Omari said to Cody. No anger was in his voice.
Cody shrugged his shoulders, “Bunch of rich kids constantly going in on me about being from a broken home...jokes about my daddy being in prison...whether or not I know who my daddy is... or does my mama know who my daddy is... so I punched one of them in the mouth...I was gonna get expelled...played the race and bully cards...threatened to upload my videos so they could go viral...he was going to call my Ma to talk about having my daddy in my life...I shut him up and told him I had a daddy and gave him your card.”
Omari nodded, saying nothing as he watched the defeated look on Cody’s face. He was certain the boy’s life was filled with many disappointments and let downs. The anger at his mother said as much. For whatever reason Cody called him, for whatever hopes he had of having him as his champion, Omari would deliver. The rest he would address on another occasion.
“Mr. Molson, we are ready,” Omari said as he opened the outer door to Molson’s office.
“Mr. Cromwell,” Mr. Molson started. “I appreciate you coming on such short notice, but we have been having the hardest time here lately with Cody.” It was the way he said it. It was that look on his face. The condescending poor little black boy look that nearly made Omari’s blood boil. This was why Cody called me.
“It is understandable. His mother and I are going through some co-parenting issues, but we must be very clear on where we all stand, Mr. Molson. Bullying is unacceptable,” Omari said to the man.
“You are correct, Mr. Cromwell,” Mr. Molson began. “but...”
“There are no buts, Mr. Molson. Bullying is a very serious matter. The sheer cost of tuition of this school alone should guarantee that our child is safe when he enters these doors. No amount of privilege should be granted to any child who feels they have a right to mistreat another person because they look different or have a different background. Heaven forbid that a child should be singled out because of his race, creed or color. Please tell me, Mr. Molson, that our child is not being singled out in your school because of any of these factors because if that is the case, I will ask Cody to leave and you and I can have a totally different conversation,” he said to the ever more nervous Carter Molson.
“Ah...no....I mean...I just....,” Mr.
Molson attempted to say.
“Sir,” Omari said with a cock of his head. “I think we are on the same sheet of music here and I want you to know that you will not have any more issues out of Cody. We will deal with him accordingly when we get him home. However, I don’t want to hear of any more instances of him being singled out by anyone at this school, including you.”
Mr. Molson knew he’d been outflanked. He changed tactics.
“Mr. Cromwell, we have an understanding. I do hope we see you on the annual Father-Son camping trip next month,” he said to Omari. “You two have never been before.” There it was again, that smugness which made Omari want to reach across the over ornate wooden power desk to throttle the man senseless.
“What are the dates?”
“Memorial Day weekend, right after school lets out for the summer,” Mr. Molson said to Omari.
“I will plan to be there,” Omari told the smug man. “Have a nice day.”
School had ended twenty minutes prior to Omari’s arrival and children filed out of the ivy covered walls to town cars to be chauffeured in the back seats with arrogant drivers. Frazzled mothers honked expensive car horns as teens filled with angst sauntered along the perfectly manicured grounds in no particular hurry to their upper East Side homes. An equally harried Chantal entered the school doors looking for her son, who should have come out of the building almost thirty minutes ago. She was greeted by Mr. Molson, Cody, and Omari Cromwell. The smile on Omari’s face suggested she play it cool as Mr. Molson welcomed her cordially.
“Ms. Mooreland, we have just had a very pleasant conversation with Cody and his father, who has agreed to attend the annual Father-Son camping weekend this year,” Mr. Molson said. “I am also looking forward to an improved behavior on Cody’s part and Mr. Cromwell, we will work diligently on our end to handle the bullying situation.” He pumped Omari’s hand furiously while thanking him for his time.
The three said nothing as they walked down the hallway and out the front door. Chantal was beside herself in her anger with her son, one, for getting into trouble again and two, for calling Omari and pretending the man was his father.
Omari looked at Chantal. “Allow him to explain first –then we can talk about the rest of it later. I have to get back to the shop.”
Cody called after him, “Mr. Omari?”
“Yes, Cody?”
“Thanks,” he said to Omari.
Omari nodded and smiled at Chantal before calmly heading to his car. The smile broadened as he thought about not only what the kid had done, but also what Cody had accomplished. He put the school on notice that Cody was not a statistic. He was a child, regardless of his skin tone, who deserved to be treated like every other kid in that school, regardless of whether his parents had known each other for a lifetime or if his father was a one-night stand with his mother.
I like that kid a lot.
Chapter 7 Shiver Me Timbers?
Monday
A cold shiver ran up Tae-Tay’s spine as she thought back to Saturday night. One, she could not wrap her mind around her husband allowing a strange man in the door and two, her husband allowing the same man to leave Douglas with a flippin’ puppy. A puppy. Of all things.
The furry little thing was running all over the place, yapping, gnawing on things, and about to pee in the middle of the floor.
“Douglas,” she called out. “Take Spiderman outside so she can tinkle.”
“Mom, only girls tinkle,” he called back.
“And Spiderman is a girl. I don’t know why you didn’t name her Spidergirl,” she said. The frustration of it all boiled up to her neck and threatened to spew out of her mouth like a scene from The Exorcist. That, coupled with the idea that like she and her sister, her father had a twin. Zephaniah Wilson being her uncle was nearly too much for her to handle. In New York. In my kitchen. At my table eating my food. It was even weirder that he chose to not discuss anything with her other than being happy to sit at the table and have a meal with his family.
“I head back to LA in the morning,” he said. “I need a home for the puppy.”
Just like that, she had a dog.
They had a dog.
Douglas had a dog.
Thurston asked, “Zephaniah, why are you in New York?”
“Just visiting,” he said. “Keeping an eye out.”
He said no more but spent most of the time talking to Douglas about how to care for the animal and responsible pet ownership. Tae-Tay could not stop shaking. By the time they made it around to dessert and coffee, she was an anxious wreck, twitching like the crackhead that worked the corner store on her old street in Compton. Today was Monday and she still could not stop shivering. A light red rash developed on her hand from the constant rubbing of her fingers against the drying skin. It was her tell when she was nervous – rubbing her hands together. Several times during the spaghetti dinner from Hell, Thurston placed his warm hands on hers to prevent her from rubbing her flesh down to the bones.
Douglas tramped back in the back door, smelly puppy in tow as they made their way up the stairs. “Spiderman is ready for a nap, Mommy,” he said softly.
So was Douglas. The great thing about the little globule of yapping fur was that she exhausted the boy to the point that he didn’t have to be told to go to bed on Sunday night. After chasing the little animal from one end of the house to the other, Douglas was more worn out than the dog.
“Do I need to lend you a hand?” she asked him.
“No. I got it, Mommy,” he said as he made his way to his room. “Me and Spiderman are on the job.”
Several times she had picked up her phone to call her mother, but put it back down. Does she know where I am? Did she send Zephaniah to check on us?
Other questions flooded her mind as she began to worry that her uncle was a spy for her father. Dread filled her belly when she set the cup of tea to the side and went to find her phone. The moment she located it, it began to vibrate in her hands. It was her mother.
“Girl, how are you doing? It seems like you would call your mama every now and then,” Cookie Brown said in the phone.
“I had a bit of a scare over the weekend. I’m still reeling from it,” she told her mother.
“I hope everything is okay,” Cookie said sweetly.
“It will be. Douglas has a puppy now,” she said, trying to find a way to broach the subject of Zephaniah showing up on her doorstep.
“Tay,” her mother sometimes called her. “Do you remember that dog you girls had? What was its name?”
“Poodles,” she said with a bit of a chuckle.
“Yeah, that’s it. A stupid name for a Rottweiler but that dog was so protective,” she said. “Funny thing was, a man showed up one night and brought you girls Poodles as a puppy. I hated that dog, but you girls loved her. The man stayed for dinner and then left. He left me with two young girls and another mouth to feed in the form of a shitting puppy to clean up after. I was so mad...”
Cookie was known to sometimes wander off on tangents. Tae-Tay was not in the mood for it today. She started to interrupt her mother but was cut off.
“You want to hear something funny, Tay? That man came back nearly a year later, and that dog remembered him. He was the only person Poodles would allow in the yard or on the front porch. Anyone else, that damned dog would rip out their throats. I learned to love and respect that overeating slobbering heffah,” she said to her daughter.
Tae-Tay was frowning at her mother through the phone, “Mama, somebody shot Poodles, though.”
“Poodles was shot after some crackhead climbed into one of our windows. That dog clamped down on their leg and would not let go,” she said.
“What are you saying?” Tae-Tay asked.
“Poodles was trained to protect you and your sister. She did that for nearly 10 years. No harm ever came to either of you because of that dog,” she said.
“Mama, did you send Zeph...,” she started.
Cookie interrupted her w
ords. She said loudly, “Oh, look at the time. Girl, you know how buggy these phones are—even the prepaid ones. It’s all a scam if you ask me. These damned cell phone companies are all in cahoots to get your money. Anyhoo, I gotta jet. Me and Ethel are about to play some Bid Whist with some silver foxes so I can earn me some beer money. Love ya, gotta run,” Cookie said and hung up.
Tae-Tay scratched at her arm.
What the hell did she just tell me?
Lord, order my steps. The shivering began again right after her silent prayer. She leaned forward with her head in her hands, praying harder than she ever had before. It would be easy if it were just her, but she now had a husband and son. Three targets instead of one for her father to come after. Leviticus would come after Thurston because he took his family so far away. She didn’t want to think of what he would do to her once he got her under his control. In many ways, she wanted to cry, but the tears would not come.
I will cry later when I have time.
Time was not a friend to Chantal. No matter how much she tried to do right by Cody, no matter how many examples she set for him, the boy always managed to screw something up.
He had some nerve calling Omari Cromwell to his school.
The child had the audacity to have the man pretend he was his father.
Omari telling me to hear the boy out.
I am going to hear him out from military school.
I want him to get a feel of what it is like to have someone dictate every moment of your life including when you can take a poop or have a snack. I have been too easy on him. He’s had it too easy. No more. No more. I have had it with his smart-ass antics and iggnant ass ways.
Cody touched her arm, “Ma, you know I can hear you. You are talking out loud.”
Her knuckles were discolored from holding the steering wheel so tightly. She parked the car, still mumbling as she locked the doors of the vehicle and made her way to her mid-town apartment. She was so furious with Cody she could wring his neck with her bare hands.
Cutting it Close Page 4
