No One in the World

by E. Lynn Harris; RM Johnson

  He fidgeted around in there, pulling on belts and hoses, till he heard the sound of an approaching car.

  He hunkered down behind the hood, then scurried around the side of the car, not wanting to be seen.

  Bright lights lit up the Audi and the space around it. Eric heard the sound of tires crunching gravel as the approaching car pulled up slowly behind his.

  A moment later, still crouching, Eric heard a door open.

  “Eric, you over there?”

  It was Cobi.

  “If you’re over there, come out. I didn’t call the police.”

  He thought a moment of just turning and running, but he finally stood and slowly walked out, his hands raised over his shoulders.

  “Put your damn hands down. I’m not the cops,” Cobi said, anger in his face.

  Eric lowered his hands. “I think I messed up your car.”

  “No, you didn’t. I called the antitheft service and had it shut down.” Cobi dug his cell phone out of his pocket. He was wearing pajamas, slippers and a trench coat. “I’ll have it turned back on, and you’re going to drive it back home.”

  At the house, Eric silently followed behind Cobi like a child awaiting punishment. They ended up in the kitchen.

  Cobi opened the fridge door. “I’m having milk. Do you want something?”

  “I’m good,” Eric said, his head down, brooding on one of the kitchen chairs.

  His back to Eric, Cobi poured himself a half glass of milk, took a sip, set it on the counter, and then rested his hands there. From behind, Eric saw Cobi take a deep breath, then heard him exhale. Finally, he turned around, indignation on his face. “Exactly what the hell were you thinking?”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “No. No!” Cobi said, taking two steps toward Eric. “Play stupid, but I know you’re not. You had a plan.”

  “Fine. The plan was to take the car and some of your shit, and I hadn’t thought about anything past that.”

  “Bullshit! That’s not good enough, Eric,” Cobi yelled. “I find you, take you in as my family, welcome you into my home, and this is what you do? How could you?”

  “What the fuck did you expect!” Eric shouted, standing from his chair. “Think about where you found me—prison. I’m a criminal. A fucking car thief. Then you trust me with your big cars and all the shit you got?”

  “So I can’t trust you? Is that what you’re saying to me?”

  “Why are you doin’ this?”

  “Because you’re my brother.”

  “That don’t mean shit. You don’t know me from any fool on the street. I’m asking you again. Why you doin’ this?”

  Cobi took a moment before answering. “I was adopted by good people, but I never knew my family—my real family. You had hard times. It’s probably what got you in trouble to begin with. But I know you can do better. I want you to do better. I’m going to help you, because now that I found my family, I don’t want to lose you.”

  Eric dragged a hand down his face. “What if I can’t live up to your standards? Just because we look alike don’t mean we are alike.”

  “So that’s why you did it? You stole from me on the first night you’re here, because you’d rather kill our chances now than put forth the effort it takes to make this work.”

  “I don’t know if I can be who you expecting me to be.”

  “What if I hadn’t known it was you who took the car? What if I had called the police, and they tracked you down? You would be in custody right now. You would’ve violated your parole and you would be going back to prison. Is that what you wanted?” Cobi said, walking up to Eric.

  Eric turned from Cobi’s harsh stare.

  “I said, is that what you wanted to do!” Cobi shouted.

  “No!” Eric yelled back.

  The two men stood, eye to eye, each looking like a mirrored reflection of the other, until finally Cobi stepped away. “I can’t make you do something you don’t want to do, or be someone you don’t think you’re capable of being.” Cobi walked to the kitchen table, grabbed the keys to the Audi, walked back, and placed them in Eric’s hand. “You want it, the car is yours. I’ll go upstairs and get the title for you. Then the choice will be yours. You can get in the car, drive off right now. Keep it, sell it, whatever you want, but don’t ever, in your life, think of contacting me again. Or you can stay and we can work on getting to know each other, being a family. We’ll both make mistakes. I’m okay with that. But if you ever steal from me again, I’ll be the one prosecuting your case and personally sending you back to prison. The choice is yours.”

  Eric looked down at the keys in his hand, then at the path to the back door. He gave the decision long, hard thought, then said, “Okay. I guess I wanna try.”

  “Can’t be any guessing,” Cobi said.

  “All right, I want to try.”

  “Good.”

  33

  Austen sat on a stool, beside her friend of ten years.

  They sat in Julia’s West Loop condo, drinking coffee, the balcony doors open, enjoying the late-morning sun.

  Julia owned a hair salon called Exposure, just three blocks from where she lived. She considered herself the best weave artist in all of Chicago. Her motto was, “I’ll take you from bald to Beyoncé in just two hours.”

  Julia had an eight-year-old daughter, Jasmine, who she had already dropped off at school when Austen had called and said she needed to have “a life-and-death conversation.”

  Austen had just disclosed the details of the dilemma she was facing. Afterward, Julia’s mouth dropped open, and her eyes grew to the size of ping-pong balls.

  “No, no, no, ho, ho, hold up,” Julia said, waving a hand. “This woman just pops up out of the blue, talking about she wants to give you half a million dollars to marry her gay brother? This stuff don’t happen to real people.”

  “It happened to me,” Austen said, sipping from her coffee.

  “Why in the hell would you even consider such a thing? You told her to kiss your ass, right?”

  Julia didn’t know anything about Austen’s fall from grace. She didn’t want her friend feeling sorry for her, treating her like she was a charity case.

  “No, I didn’t quite tell her to kiss my ass.”

  “Okay, you said something more like, ‘Fuck you, skank? Screw you, bitch?’ What?”

  “I said I’d think about it.”

  “And exactly why did you say that?”

  “Julia,” Austen said, getting up from her stool and stepping away from the breakfast bar. “There are things I haven’t told you about my situation. I haven’t sold a house in I don’t know how long, which means I’m not making money.”

  Julia stood. “But when I asked you if you were okay with—”

  “I lied. I wasn’t okay with money, and as of right now, I’m just about broke. I’ve depleted all my savings, I’ve sold all my furniture.”

  “Why are you selling all your furniture? Please don’t say for money to live.”

  “Okay, I won’t, but that’s why. And more to the point, in two days, I might not have anywhere to keep what little I have left because my place has been foreclosed on.”

  Sorrow appeared on Julia’s face as she sighed deeply. “Why didn’t you come to me? I could’ve helped you.” Julia looked around her place, like she was picking out a spot to stick a cot. “You know what? You can stay here till you—”

  “No. You have a two-bedroom condo and a daughter,” Austen said. “I truly appreciate it, but you already have someone to take care of.”

  “So that’s why you told that lady you’d think about it?”

  “Yeah,” Austen said. “I know what I should do, but I needed my best friend’s input just to make sure.”

  “Austen,” Julia said, shaking her head. “I don’t want to be the one to tell you to do this if—”

  “You aren’t telling me,” Austen said. “I really just need to know what you think. Please. I really value your opinion.”

 
Julia shook her head. “I hate to say this, but if you have no other options, baby, I really think I would do it.”

  34

  I sat having lunch with Sissy at the café in the downtown Ritz-Carlton. We ate there with a view of the huge lobby, with its water fountain, sofas and chairs, and the massive windows overlooking the bustling Gold Coast just outside. Sissy said nowhere else made a better Caesar salad.

  That was what sat before her now. I had the tuna salad on whole wheat with a side of coleslaw and water with lemon.

  We were supposed to be having a quaint little lunch filled with family conversation, but I should’ve known that would never be the case with Sissy.

  She had already received two phone calls, returned four texts, and was talking on her iPhone, while her BlackBerry sat beside her plate, ready to buzz or ring at any moment.

  “Okay, yes. Sure, uh huh. And I will hear from you when?” Sissy said. She was wearing a pastel pink suit with a white blouse. “No later than this evening. Good. Looking forward. Good-bye.”

  Sissy disconnected the call. “I was just told that Procter & Gamble have approached a few of our board members. They’re saying they’re willing to pay them double what their shares are worth to sell.”

  “Do we have anything to worry about?” I asked.

  Sissy took a long sip from her glass of water. “Not if we get your shares, Cobi. And that gives us two weeks before your birthday, but you already know that, and that plan is in action, so finish telling me about the convict.”

  “Stop it. Eric is our brother, and you need to start calling him by his name.”

  “It’s hard. ‘Convict’ just sounds so much better.” Sissy smiled, then managed a straight face. “Okay, sorry. So you said he finally told you what he was in for.”

  “Grand theft auto,” I said, taking a small bite of my sandwich.

  “Wow. And you let him stay in the house. I’m surprised you didn’t wake up this morning to see that he had stolen Daddy’s Mercedes.”

  “No. He definitely didn’t steal Daddy’s Mercedes,” I said, happy I didn’t have to lie.

  “So how long is this little experiment really going to last?”

  “It’s not an experiment, and you know it. Eric is living there and will continue doing so until he feels comfortable enough to move out on his own.”

  Sissy shook her head and pushed more salad into her mouth.

  “What?” I said.

  “I think you need help with this. I think your vision is clouded by what you want to happen, and you don’t see what most likely will.”

  “You have a pretty harsh opinion of him for someone who has never even met the man. You need to meet him.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “But you’re going to. I won’t have my sister avoiding my brother.”

  “It’s not a good idea. You know me. And if I meet him, I’m going to be me. Are you ready for that?”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Cool.”

  Sissy’s BlackBerry started to ring.

  “Don’t pick it up,” I said.

  “I won’t,” she said, looking at the screen. “I just want to see who it is before I ignore the call.” Then, “Oh, Cobi, sorry. I’ll make it quick, but this is the call I’ve been waiting for.”

  “Of course it is,” I sighed.

  After several minutes of back and forth, Sissy said into the phone, “I’m glad you’ve come to that decision. I’ll make sure and tell him, and we’ll be getting back to you.” Sissy disconnected the call, sat back in her chair, and looked very satisfied.

  “Okay, what just happened there, Wonder Woman?” I asked.

  “I have some very exciting news,” Sissy said with a smile. “You have yourself a wife.”

  35

  Eric arrived early at the Artist’s Café. The day was a beautiful one, so he sat outside at the tables and chairs beside the sidewalk.

  This morning when he woke at seven, he rose in bed, grabbed the phone, and called Jess’s number again.

  When she answered the phone and discovered it was him, she was silent.

  “Jess, you can’t do this to me. You have to tell me something.”

  “There’s nothing to say. Maybe you should just stop calling me.”

  “What? No. You stopped coming to see me. You kept our daughter from me, and now you’re trying to take her,” Eric said. “You need to tell me what’s going on now.”

  “I can’t, Eric. You wouldn’t understand. Please, just leave us alone.”

  “I got your address when I got your phone number. I’ll come over there. Jess, I need to see you and the baby, and you need to tell me what’s going on.”

  There was silence for a long moment. “Fine,” Jess said, and gave Eric a time and place to meet her.

  Now, Eric had been waiting ten minutes, sipping from a complimentary glass of water.

  He straightened his T-shirt and wished he had better clothes. There were no holes in the shirt he was wearing. It wasn’t dirty. Neither were his jeans, but he felt like a bum and was sure he looked like one. He lowered his head, wondering what he would say to Jess when he finally saw her.

  A moment later, he heard someone call his name. He looked up and saw a beautiful woman, wearing a beige business suit. The woman’s hair was pinned up, a single curl falling down one side of her face. She wore dark sunglasses and glossy red lipstick.

  If it hadn’t been for the tiny dimple in her left cheek, Eric wouldn’t have known it was Jess. She looked drastically different from the days when he dated her, when all she wore was jeans and T-shirts like he did.

  Looking at her for the first time in years painfully reminded him just how much he missed her. Eric stood from his chair and motioned to give Jess a hug. She allowed it but didn’t give him one back.

  Eric pulled Jess’s seat out for her and waited till she took it before he sat back down.

  He smiled. “You want something to eat? I ain’t never been here before, but the food looks pretty good.”

  “I don’t have time.”

  Eric wrapped his hands around the half glass of water. “So how you been?”

  Jess looked over her shoulder as though worried someone was following her. “Eric, you said you needed to talk, so maybe you should talk.”

  “Fine. What happened to us? You and Maya was coming to see me, then you just all of a sudden up and stopped. Now you trying to do this thing by taking Maya.”

  Jess closed her eyes and frowned as if her answer caused her pain. When she opened them, she said, “I can’t do this anymore. I want you out of my life. And I’m filing the petition because I want you out of our daughter’s life as well.”

  “What! Jess, I loved you. I still do,” Eric said, standing, reaching across the table for Jess. She backed her chair away.

  “I’m sorry. I truly am, but it’s not working.”

  “You can’t just leave me and tell me you’re taking my daughter with you because it ain’t working. There has to be more than that.”

  “Let this happen, Eric,” Jess said sadly. “It’s better for everyone.”

  “I won’t let you do it.”

  “You don’t have a choice. It’s already happening.”

  36

  Blac sat alone in his cell, on a chair, staring at a wall. It was almost lights out and the cell doors would be closed soon.

  He had just come back from speaking on the phone to his girl Theresa. She was so excited that she screamed through the phone and told him she was going to make his favorite meal, give him a bath, a full body massage, and anything he wanted after that.

  The phone pressed to the side of his face, Blac smiled, grateful that at least there would be someone there at the gate to pick him up. He didn’t even know if Eric had that. He hadn’t heard from him since he got out, which led Blac to believe Eric’s so-called twin brother didn’t come through for him.

  That’s why there was a frown on Blac’s face as he stare
d at that dirty cement wall in front of him. He was excited about getting out tomorrow, but he had been betting on somehow being able to use Eric’s filthy rich brother to put his hands on the $150K he needed to save his ass. If this Cobi character decided to disappear, then Blac would be back to the drawing board, and that would be a bad thing. He just wanted to be done with this chapter of his life and move on to something better.

  Blac had a twenty-six-year-old little sister, Wanda, that he loved dearly. She had an eight-year-old son named Johnny. He hadn’t seen his nephew since the last time he was a free man, years ago.

  Wanda and Johnny lived in the small town of Racine, Wisconsin. Blac hated to think about it, but he was what drove them out of Chicago.

  The late-night visits by thuggish men, rolling up in pimped-out cars, unexplained stacks of money appearing in the house he lived in with Wanda led her to believe that Blac was not a good influence on her or Johnny’s life.

  She told Blac she was certain of that the morning Johnny, at four years old, came running down the hallway, playing with a gun. Wanda was in the kitchen cooking breakfast for the boy when she heard a loud click.

  When she spun around, she saw her son giggling and pointing a gun that was just about as big as he was, at her.

  Later that night, Wanda had sat her older brother down and explained to him, “If your gun had been loaded, I would be dead right now. And who knows, maybe even Johnny, too. Stay here if you like, but I can’t take it anymore. I love you, Joseph.” Wanda refused to call him Blac. “But I can’t have you influencing Johnny like that, wanting to grow up to be like you. I won’t let you and the streets take him from me.”

  Wanda had a friend who found her a job way down in bum-fuck Wisconsin of all places, and she packed herself and Johnny up as quickly as she could and got out of Chicago.

  Before she left, she asked Blac to come with them, start a new life there.