Dede tossed a blanket on the back of the couch that landed with the scent of the cedar chest where she kept linens. That smell always reminded him of Nana’s, where everything was old and familiar. And safe.
Dede kept her eyes straight ahead, focused on the television screen. “I fixed you a cot in the study and bought you an alarm clock,” she said tonelessly. “Please sleep in there so the kids don’t keep finding you here. Kaya asked me today what was going on with us.”
Hilton blinked. He knew she wasn’t trying to pick a fight, but he felt irritated. “What did you say?” he asked.
“What should I have said?”
Hilton puffed out his cheeks and exhaled slowly, staring at the TV. His brain and heart felt empty. In time, he could make things better between them. In time. Now he could barely take care of himself and he had too much to worry about. He had his hands full just making sure Charlie was tied properly, the alarm was set, the gun was loaded at his feet, all the doors were locked. He was thankful, when he glanced behind him, to see that Dede was gone. “I love you more than this world, Dede,” he said, so softly he could barely hear himself even in the stillness of the empty room.
CHAPTER 14
Hilton was jolted awake when the door to his office opened with a sharp crack against the wall, and Stu strode inside wearing his white coat and a stethoscope.
Hilton was too tired to sit up straight. Since it was only Stu instead of Ahmad, who would have been crushed to find his boss this way, Hilton glanced up at him from the same position he’d been sleeping in; his head cushioned on his arms folded across his desk. Only Wanda knew how often he took catnaps, since she had to redirect his calls when he pulled his door closed with a nod in her direction. Thirty minutes at a time did it, usually. He’d found that he wasn’t so prone to dreams at the office, and the naps gave him just enough energy to muddle through the day.
Only three o’clock, Hilton saw on the wooden wall clock above his doorway. Jesus, it had been three o’clock forever.
“Gee, sorry to wake you,” Stu said, grinning. His coat pocket was still bulging with the sandwich Hilton had seen stuffed there earlier that afternoon.
“Out with it, Stu. I had a rough night.”
“So I see,” the physician said, gently easing a handful of papers onto Hilton’s desk. “These are reports on six new clients. I need your John Hancock, and we’re in business.”
Hilton rubbed his eyes to clear them, then glanced at the papers and the names scrawled on them. Garcia, Jesus. McKinsey, Mary. Peterson, Sahara. Sahara—exhausted or not, he couldn’t forget a name like that. He pushed the papers back toward Stu.
“Get lost. I just signed these, man. You getting senile?”
Stu slowly worked on a piece of chewing gum in his mouth, crossing his arms as he gazed down at Hilton quizzically. “Afraid not, boss. These are hot off the presses.”
Hilton continued to read the reports and nodded with each familiar word. “Right. All six HIV negatives, one diabetic. Sahara is pregnant. I’ve got all this.”
“You got all this when?”
“When you brought your butt in here fifteen minutes ago.”
Stu shrugged, smiling. “Maybe you dreamed you read it. That’s handy. To the untrained observer, it looks like you’re sleeping, but you’re actually hard at work.”
Hilton stared at Stu hard. “Look, don’t mess with me. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not in the mood.”
Stu’s smile vanished, and he sat in the chair across from Hilton’s desk. “As a matter of fact, I had noticed.”
“I’ve signed these papers.”
“Then where are your signatures?” Stu asked.
Hilton glanced at page after page, where the line left for the supervisor’s signature was blank on each. He flipped each page more quickly than the last, his heart beginning to thud as though a dream had followed him somehow. When he looked up again at Stu’s eyes, he saw raw concern glistening back at him.
Hilton swallowed hard. “I signed these,” he repeated. “You told me Sahara is in her third month. That sandwich in your pocket is ham and cheese. I made a joke about it not being kosher. Quit playing with me.”
Stu leaned closer to him, his blue eyes unblinking. “Hil, what time do I come in on Wednesdays? At three. I just got here. All of Sahara’s gestation information is in that report, and you know I eat ham and cheese every day.”
Hilton rested against his chair back, rubbing his face. He could feel the walls of his office constricting around him, as though his world would shatter at any moment. “No,” he said, mostly to himself, “this is bullshit. First Raul, with that Mets cap, and now this. Something’s not right. This is fucked up.”
When he looked at Stu again, studying him carefully, Hilton sat up straight. The stethoscope hadn’t been around Stu’s neck the last time he’d seen him, he was certain. It had been in his pocket. Stu had played with it while they spoke, he recalled. Yet, he couldn’t have simply dreamed up Sahara’s name, her pregnancy. He couldn’t have. Why did these bizarre incongruities creep in while he slept?
“How long have we known each other, Hil?” Stu asked.
“A long time,” Hilton said, breathing deeply.
“When have I ever butted into what isn’t my business?”
“Every chance you get.” Hilton failed in his effort to smile.
“Be serious. Never. I’ve never done that. But I have to say something, because I think it’s my business. You don’t look well. You’re sleeping at your desk. You’re highly stressed.”
“I’ve got those, you know . . . those threats,” Hilton mumbled. “It’s a little rough at home, you know?”
“All right, I realize that. That’s why I haven’t said anything. But I’ve been hearing things here and there, from this person or that. Just talk, I thought. They say you’re slipping, you’re moody.”
“They can go fuck themselves,” Hilton snapped.
Stu extended his hand. “This is what I’m talking about. It’s not like you. All these years, I’ve never seen you like this. What I’m saying is, you need a break. Everyone takes vacations.” Hilton found a pen in his desk drawer and began to scribble his signature on the reports, hearing the far-off pounding from the construction on the new wing, which was still several weeks from completion. Vacation. That was a good fucking laugh, all right. He needed a vacation from his whole life.
“Hil, I know you’ve got everything here to deal with, the threats against your family, then Antoinette’s death—”
Hilton lifted his pen to silence Stu, meeting his eyes less than kindly. “I’m sure I signed these once, and I just signed them again. I think you have some patients to see, and I have a meeting downtown.”
Stu’s eyes dimmed with disappointment. “Just trying to help.”
“I don’t need help. I’m fine. I’m cool.”
“One last thing, then. I think you and Dede are taking on too much trying to throw that party next week.”
Hilton couldn’t argue with his logic, but it was out of his hands. Dede had been talking about hosting a party to thank her campaign supporters since the November election, and he’d promised her a party by the end of January. They stood to lose hundreds of dollars in catering if they canceled now, she’d reminded him—money they already couldn’t afford— and she would consider it uncouth to fail to show her appreciation in a timely way. It was too much of a struggle to remain civil during his arguments with Dede, so he’d given in rather than shock her with the obscenities that usually flew through his mind.
“Stu,” Hilton said patiently, “you asked me how many times you’d butted into what wasn’t your business. Only once. And this is the time.”
Stu blinked and sighed, standing up, then gathered his reports with a nod. He was hurt, Hilton knew. “Okay, boss. I’ll let it rest. I just have to say I’m worried about you, that’s all.”
Amen, brother, Hilton thought. You and me both.
Traffic w
as light on Northwest Seventh Avenue in midafter-noon, but Hilton was catching red lights at each intersection and nodding off while he drove. Each time his bleary eyes flew open, he told himself he was asking for an accident, driving like this. This couldn’t keep up, going without sleep.
He heard a siren wailing in the distance coming to get you, to take you where you belong, the way you should have gone from the first, the way everyone must go and then a screech of brakes ahead as two cars nearly collided. He was at a red light again, his eyelids drooping.
“. . . ain’t nothing worse to me than a tiny coffin this size, some child’s life trapped inside that never got lived . . . you never know what the boy could’a been, could’a done . . . just won’t know. . .”
The traffic light still burned red when Hilton opened his eyes. He shook his head to wake himself, to fend off shrouded voices babbling beyond his consciousness. His armpits were stinging from new perspiration even as the car’s air conditioner blasted his face in his effort to stay awake. Maybe he needed to see Raul, to insist on help. Maybe he should try to take a long vacation. Or maybe, he thought, he just needed to pray to somehow pull himself together.
The red light was interminable. Hilton was certain he’d seen the red DON’T WALK sign flashing for pedestrians in the intersection, indicating the light would change soon, but now the yellow box proclaimed WALK with confidence, as though the stoplights entire cycle remained. Maybe he was simply losing his mind. In some ways, Hilton decided, that would be a relief.
Hilton glanced through his passenger window and realized that he was stopped directly in front of the cool green-colored twin towers of The Terraces, Danitras apartment building.
WALK, the pedestrian sign still read. He hadn’t checked on Danitra since the day he helped her move in, and he didn’t know what state the counselor had found her in during follow-up visits. Would she be at home at three-fifteen on a Wednesday afternoon?
WALK. Wouldn’t hurt to take a look.
Hilton didn’t remember Danitra’s apartment number, but he knew she lived in the end unit on the third floor of the east tower. He climbed the steps slowly, thoughtfully, remembering the reason he hadn’t come back; Danitra had made a pass at him that day. Perhaps that was part of the reason he was here now, but he wouldn’t have thought to visit if the light hadn’t stopped him there, if the light had changed just a moment sooner, if he hadn’t been conveniently poised in the building’s driveway. What a string of tiny coincidences had brought him here, he thought. And of course she would be home. He knew she would be there.
“Baby’s sick, so I took off from work,” Danitra explained when she saw him, after hugging him warmly, tightly, in her doorway with a squeal of delight. “And Lord, I’m glad. Ain’t you something in your suit and tie? Come on in, Mr. James.”
The apartment, once bare, was now decorated with artificial plants, rugs, and framed posters in shades of pink and fuchsia. A woman’s place, he thought, noting the flowery artwork. Danitra herself had gained some weight and looked healthier than ever before, her hair straight and pulled back in a rubber band. Her needle tracks had nearly faded by now. She wore shorts and a long T-shirt that read FLY, her full breasts unrestrained beneath the thin cotton. He could see their quivering silhouettes when she moved, capped by upright nipples.
She leaned over him, smelling of baby powder, and cleared away some books after offering him a seat at her table, explaining that school was going fine. She said she was still studying nursing, although the work was hard. When she brought him a glass of Coke, he noticed she had brightened her face with peach lipstick. The color was lovely on her, like sunshine.
“You ought to be shamed, taking this long to call on me,” Danitra scolded, sitting across from him.
“Girl, my life has done gone crazy,” he said, allowing his country-tinged vernacular to surface since he was away from corporate America, in the company of a sister. “You know I would have been here before. I didn’t forget you. You’re looking good.”
“You too,” she said. “A little worn out, but just as fine as you always did look.”
They talked about Miami New Day, about her son, about how she fought her cravings for drugs, all the while gazing deeply at each other with unspoken words much less mundane. Danitra leaned on her elbow and paused a moment.
“You know what? I’m ’a ask you something that ain’t none of my business,” she said.
“I’ve had plenty of that today, so you might as well.”
Her dark eyes seemed to burrow inside of him. “Is everything okay with you at home?”
He swallowed the last of his soft drink, realizing that he must look like hell. All of his troubles would be clearly written on his face for someone bent on seeing them. “Fine,” he said quietly.
“You don’t sound like it’s fine.”
“As fine as it’s going to get.”
Her warm hand found his, and Hilton’s fingers didn’t move beneath hers. Between her touch and heavy stare, he was so filled with desire that every nerve in his body was charged and riveted. His eyes wandered to her chest again, and his lips parted slightly as he imagined how her breasts would taste to darting flicks of his tongue. He’d been starved for a woman’s juices, it seemed, for years. A desperate erection fought against the binds of his slacks.
“I have to go.” The voice jumped to his lips from nowhere.
“You have to?” Danitra asked, cocking her head.
He chuckled, his first laugh in a long time, at the thought of how easily Danitra was seducing him. Yes, he wanted to be seduced, but he had reached a point where the thrill of fantasy had ended, and a dangerous, real longing had slipped into its place.
“I purposely stopped here on my way to a meeting. That way, I have to go. Pretty damn smart, ain’t it?”
“You think I’m a whore, huh?”
“Oh, no,” he said earnestly, squeezing her fingers. “I think you’re smart. I think you’re determined.” He paused and licked his lips because they felt parched suddenly. “I won’t lie. I think your body is hot enough to send me straight to hell. But I know I’m not telling you something you don’t already know.”
Danitra nodded at him. “I’ll tell you where I’m at, Mr. James,” she said. “I got work, I got school, and I got Terrance. That means I’m not a woman anymore; I don’t got time for it. Got to get paid, got to hit the books, got to be a mama. I can’t be chasing after all these fools trying to move in with that ‘yo, baby, yo’ mess, and the next thing you know, somebody’s hitting on your child or touching them or who knows what. I don’t got time for none of that.” She blinked several times. He was surprised to see her near tears.
“But see, every once in a while I miss that feeling when a man slides his hands from one end of your body to the other. I miss that. I miss that feeling when a man’s hot breath is in your ear. I ain’t gon’ lie, neither. I ain’t after nobody’s husband, and I ain’t trying to break up nobody’s home, but when I look at you, Mr. James, I remember how much I miss being a woman.”
Hilton was certain Danitra must be able to hear his pounding heart even from where she sat, that her sharp eyes could read every thought surging through his brain. He’d never cheated on Dede, never even seriously considered it. Not with the redheaded freak he’d met at Curt’s party, not with the fine sister at the city manager’s office who always called him Billy Dee and invited him for drinks (“strictly business,” she said) whenever she knew Dede was out of town. Fifteen years, and he’d always said no. No. No.
Suddenly, those years didn’t matter. His desires for Danitra, to swallow her aches, to spread his own over her nakedness, felt larger than that. This could be the one thing to save them both from their private miseries. Hilton was a prisoner, he realized. Nothing could make him leave this room. Already, his mind was constructing excuses for the city officials who were no doubt waiting for him at a meeting that could be worth thousands of dollars for Miami New Day.
Danitra
stood up just beyond his reach. Her powder smelled sweet and light, tickling his nose. She folded her arms across her chest, hiding those tantalizing nipples.
“But you know what?” she said. “I know you say you got a meeting, and I know you’re an important man, so I’m ’a let you go this time. Even though I know you want to stay. I ain’t gon’ get nobody in trouble, so you just go on.”
Hilton’s muscles relaxed, and he remembered to keep breathing. Lord Jesus help, she’d shown mercy on him. He caught his breath and stood up, uncreasing his pants. Danitra would plainly see the signs of his arousal, but that didn’t matter to him. He did not move toward her because the slightest movement would shift the balance between staying and leaving, he knew. He must leave now.
Danitra still held his gaze. “I’m here after six most days, all day mostly on Saturday and Sunday,” she said. “I just want you to have something to remember me by, so you won’t walk out and never come back.”
With that, she whipped her T-shirt over her head in one deft movement, revealing her light brown nakedness beneath, her cocoa-colored nipples more full than Dede’s, pinched and stiffened.
Hilton could only stare. “Girl,” he whispered, “I wish you wouldn’t have done that.”
Danitra cupped her breasts in her hands and closed her eyes, just seconds before Hilton was upon her and began to explore her with his mouth. Danitra’s hand made a skillful journey between his thighs, finding its way to the spot where his need for her longed to breathe. “I’m sorry, Mr. James,” she said against his neck. “I almost let you walk out of here, too. I came just that close.”
“Shhhhhh,” Hilton breathed as his tongue found her nipple and replaced her words with tiny moans from her smooth, lovely throat that stretched toward the ceiling. He wriggled out of his suit’s jacket and allowed it to drop to her floor.
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