“How could we forget?” Adam asked. “Some of the stuff y’all made could have killed me! Like that almost-raw pork you served covered in barbeque sauce? I think some of those worms are still crawling around inside me.”
“Naw, Dad,” Malcolm countered. “I think you’ve drunk enough cognac to kill anything living down there. Besides, I was, what, seven or eight years old when I baked that first slab of ribs?”
“And you were so determined,” Candace added, smiling. “You looked so proud as you brought in that platter and set it on the table. Your father and I didn’t have the heart to tell you that we couldn’t eat that meat.”
“You didn’t have to. Toussaint spitting his bite back onto the plate was hint enough.”
Everyone at the table cracked up at that memory and at the fact that Candace had diverted the boy’s attention long enough to secretly microwave the ribs to a level of doneness. The conversation continued, largely revolving around cooking and food.
“Yeah, if your last name is Livingston, you’ve got to be able to burn,” Adam concluded. “And thank God that now I’ll gladly park my feet under Malcolm’s table and eat anything he fixes.”
“Well, you better make sure it’s Malcolm and not Victoria cooking,” Toussaint joked. “That girl’s been in the family for over ten years and still can’t boil an egg!”
Malcolm joined in the laughter, but the smile on his face didn’t match how he felt inside. The family had often joked about Victoria’s lack of cooking skills, but her stellar pedigree, good looks, and large bank account had overruled what would have been a deal breaker with a more common woman. Malcolm was embarrassed by the fact that hiring a chef had been a move of necessity as much as convenience—and not because Victoria was busy being a mother to four children. She was also a spoiled only child who had been the apple of her late father’s eye, and she had always lived the life of a prima donna. From the second year of their marriage, Malcolm and Victoria’s home had never been without a cook, housekeeper, or chauffeur, and after the first childbirth, they added a nanny. Malcolm’s grandfather had put the situation into succinct order after tasting the omelet his granddaughter-in-law attempted during his first visit to their home after the wedding. The eggs were almost burned on the outside, runny on the inside, and she’d failed to wash the vegetables that were mixed in.
“Well, it must be what she does in the bedroom,” his grandfather had said somberly after forcing himself to eat a few bites.
“Excuse me?” Malcolm had asked, confused. “You obviously didn’t marry her for her skills in the kitchen, son. If you didn’t know how to cook, your family would starve to death.”
“I’m looking forward to the Fourth and heading to Hilton Head,” Malcolm said, changing the subject. The Livingstons owned a rambling, eight-bedroom, ten-bath home on this tony island, on land that had been in the family since purchased from the master who freed Malcolm’s great-great-grandfather. “Even Justin is excited,” he continued, speaking of his oldest son. “He’s asked to bring a couple playmates along.”
“Well, everybody’s welcome,” Candace said. “We’ve already reserved an additional villa to handle any last-minute additions to the guest list. It has four bedrooms, with two beds in each, so that should accommodate everyone. Toussaint, will you be inviting a guest? Shyla, maybe?”
“Shyla? Why would you think I’d invite her?”
Candace fixed her youngest son with a knowing look. “Not much gets past your mother. I noticed the way Shyla looked at you during the planning meeting. She handled herself quite professionally, mind you, but while you were presenting the expansion plans, love was written all over her face. And hers wasn’t the only one,” she finished, mumbling under her breath.
Toussaint chose to ignore the last sentence. He knew that Zoe also had a thing for him. And while he preferred dark chocolate, he rarely turned down a tasty sweet treat, no matter the flavor. Toussaint had wondered more than once how Zoe’s administrative efficiency would translate in the bedroom, and he hadn’t totally dismissed the idea of finding out. But she wasn’t coming to Hilton Head, and neither was Shyla. “I might bring someone,” he finally answered.
“Who?” Malcolm asked.
“You’ll just have to wait and see, big brother,” Toussaint answered, already envisioning Alexis in a skimpy yellow bikini. She’d turned down his first date request, but Toussaint was persistent and determined. When it came to challenges, he didn’t back down, especially when the object of said challenge looked so delicious.
8
It was a rare day off, and Alexis St. Clair was bored to tears. She sipped coffee that had been liberally doused with hazelnut cream and wondered for the umpteenth time why she’d turned down Toussaint’s offer to spend the Fourth of July with his family. It definitely wasn’t because of the excuse she’d given him, that she never dated clients, even though it was true. No, the reason she’d turned down the oh-so-charming Toussaint Livingston was because she saw him for what he was—trouble with a capital T. She’d been caught off guard at their initial meeting, having forgotten the name of the man whose car she’d tried to protect months before. But she hadn’t forgotten one detail about him—that tall, lean body, killer smile, and gorgeous eyes that had made her mouth water and her kitty cat wet. She’d never reacted to a man the way she had to Toussaint and knew she was treading dangerous waters by taking him on as a client. At the end of the day, it was an astute business decision. But personally …
As if it would help her erase these thoughts, Alexis shook her head and stepped away from the large bay window in her two-bedroom condo. She continued to sip coffee as she surveyed her kingdom—a cunning combination of Spanish modern and American contemporary, comfortably formal with hints of eclectic whimsy that showcased Alexis’s style. The condo was small, less than a thousand square feet, but everything in it was quality and classy, much like its owner.
Alexis eyed her cell phone sitting on one of the ebony blocks. She thought about calling her best friend, Kim, but knew she’d be with her in-laws. Another best friend had joined the peace corps. Alexis had to wait until that friend called her. “Maybe I should call Mama,” she mused out loud, picking up her cell. She held the phone in her hand and contemplated the possible outcome of the call. Would Mrs. Barnes be in a rare good mood, or would she be talking about Alexis’s brothers and the latest trouble surrounding them? And how much money would she ask for? That was how the calls usually ended, with Mrs. Barnes asking for some money “to hold until the first.” Of course, Alexis always sent the money, knowing she’d never see it again. It wasn’t that Alexis minded helping her mother. She didn’t. It was that much of the money went to support her unemployed brothers and alcoholic stepfather that Alexis couldn’t stand. No, she concluded, calling Missouri was not a good idea.
“That’s it, Alexis. Go … anywhere!” She finished her coffee as she strode to her room, thinking of what she could wear that didn’t need ironing. When she turned the corner and entered the hallway to her bedroom, her eyes went to where they often did—to the grouping of photos that artfully lined the wall on both sides. She stopped, focusing on one picture in particular. It was of a handsome, dark-skinned man looking proud and distinguished in a double-breasted navy suit. He wasn’t smiling, but a devil-may-care twinkle in his eye belied the picture’s serious tone. His evenly shaped lips were framed by a tidy mustache, and his hair, which was liberally streaked with gray, was combed away from his face. Thomas Alexander St. Clair was the first man to tell Alexis she was beautiful, the first to take her on a date, and the first man she’d loved. Her father was also the reason she was afraid to love again. But Alexis didn’t want to think about that now.
Thirty minutes later, a casually dressed Alexis walked into Taste of Soul. The sounds of Archie Bell & the Drells immediately welcomed her. This quartet thumped out a mean beat, using drums, bass, guitar, and organ, and encouraged everyone to “tighten up” and “make it mellow.” She reached for a
takeout menu and began to scan her choices.
“You gotta do the ribs, pretty girl.” A skinny, plain-looking man wearing a stark white apron spoke to her from behind the counter. “I cooked them myself, just for you.”
“Then I guess I should try them,” Alexis politely countered.
“Yeah, and you should try going out on a date with me too!”
“Stop harassing our customers, Bobby!” Chardonnay said, playfully smacking him upside the head as she walked up to the register. “Don’t pay any attention to him, ma’am. He’s special.” Chardonnay and Alexis shared a laugh. “But he’s not lying about the ribs. I just had them for lunch and they are bangin’!”
“Then ribs it is!”
“The James Brown Baby Back Big Snack or a whole slab?”
“Um, I think I’ll take a whole one.”
“And your sides? You get three.”
Alexis reopened the menu. “Let’s see … I’ll have the barbe-qued beans, the collard greens, and the mac and cheese.”
“You chose exactly right, sistah. Anything to drink?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“For here or to go?”
“To go.”
Bobby, who’d been standing by Chardonnay this entire time, took the printout from her hand. “Just sit and relax, pretty lady. I’m going to handle this order personally.”
“Thank you, Bobby.” Alexis couldn’t help but smile as he spun on his heels and marched into the kitchen. She knew he was teasing, but the attention felt good, as did the camaraderie. Good food wasn’t the only thing behind Taste’s success. It was the people too.
Alexis took a seat and looked around the dining room. It was less crowded than usual, but several tables were occupied. Alexis’s eye fell on the last booth on the far wall. Instantly, she remembered her encounter with Shyla, the person she’d thought was Toussaint’s woman before he informed her that she was “merely a colleague.” Maybe he asked her to join him today, since I turned him down. A sudden wave of loneliness washed over her, and Alexis sprang from the chair and walked to the jukebox, just for something to do. Who Toussaint Livingston dates is none of my business, she firmly told herself. Just then the songs changed. The Whispers crooned about saying yes, and Alexis wished she’d given Toussaint a different answer. “Have you ever been kissed from head to toe?” Alexis listened as Walter and Scotty sang a question straight through her heart and imagined that if she’d said yes, her evening would have entailed a very different type of fireworks than the ones she’d later watch from a promenade near her home. He’s trouble, Alexis, and you won’t go out with him! But her heart wasn’t listening. Her heart was beating to a totally different drum. Her heart was saying yes.
9
All hail the power of Jesus’ name, let angels prostrate fall Bring forth the royal diadem and crown him Lord of all …
Victoria sat in the sanctity of her quiet master suite. Malcolm was at work, Justin and Brittany were at school, and the twins were at preschool. Their cook wasn’t coming until later in the afternoon, and she’d given the chauffeur the morning off. She was blessedly alone in the house.
Victoria leaned her head back against the velvety fabric that covered the chaise. Tears ran down her face as she raised her hands in supplication, proclaiming Jesus as the Lord of her life. As the last note of the classically arranged piece played, Victoria bowed her head, tears running down her cheeks. Yes, you are Lord of all. You are all that matters. She squeezed her eyes tight to stop the flow of tears and waited for the next song on the CD to begin, the next praise to the Most High that would block out her thoughts.
“Holy, holy, holy,” Victoria whispered, drying her cheeks with the lacy handkerchief that had rested atop her Bible. “Lord God Almighty. Early in the morning our songs shall rise to thee.”
Victoria stayed seated for the next fifteen minutes, bathing herself in the worship CD that her spiritual mentor had given her. Her mentor was an older woman at the church she’d joined less than three months ago, shortly after visiting the doctor and hearing the news. The beep of her cell phone jarred her out of her devotion. She looked at the ID and frowned.
“What’s wrong, Malcolm?” Victoria’s carefully crafted peace was immediately shattered. “Why are you calling in the middle of the day?”
Malcolm’s thought to remain calm throughout this phone call flew out the window. He’d received great news, which is why he’d called his wife. It was time to share what he’d been working on with her, something he hadn’t wanted to do until he was sure of its success. He’d hoped the joy he felt at being one step closer to his goal could extend into the evening. Maybe not.
“Does there have to be a problem for me to call my wife?” he retorted. He stopped, took a deep breath, and continued in a softer tone. He and Victoria had been operating in a disconnected mode ever since she’d joined that church. Actually, they’d been disconnected for years, but this church thing took their dysfunction to new heights. Every conversation was a potential argument. Whenever he’d tried to broach the subject of what was going on, Victoria would claim she was too busy to talk and would either focus on one of the children, retreat to another wing of the house, or leave the house altogether. He hadn’t noticed this behavior the first couple months, because his mind had been elsewhere. But ever since the Fourth of July celebration two weeks ago, when Victoria had spent most of her time lounging on a hammock and reading the Bible instead of engaging with their family, Malcolm had deduced that something was deeply wrong in their marriage. And he planned to find out what it was.
“I know I’ve been busy lately,” he said, deciding to begin by placing the focus on himself. “I thought that I’d get out of here a little early, and we could drive up to Stone Mountain, have dinner at that restaurant we discovered last year, with the desserts you loved so much.”
“It’s Wednesday, Malcolm,” Victoria said with restrained patience. “I have Bible study tonight.”
“I was hoping that you’d consider skipping it for one night. I have some news to share with you.”
I have some news too. News that I’m not ready to share. “God is to come first in one’s life, Malcolm. Even before one’s spouse.”
“Is that what they’re teaching you in that place?”
“Why don’t you join me tonight?” Victoria said, her voice pleasant for the first time in their conversation. “Then we can learn together.”
“So is that the only way I can get my wife back? To come to church with you? Is that the exchange? You’ll give me some pussy if I spend time with Jesus?”
Victoria’s hang-up was his answer.
Malcolm slowly placed the phone on the receiver. He rose from his desk and looked out of the company’s tenth-story window. The Atlanta skyline beckoned him into the city, a place he rarely ventured unless for business. But looking out toward the Bank of America Plaza, Atlanta’s tallest landmark, Malcolm realized how long it had been since he’d socialized outside his role as a Taste of Soul VP. He thought about his good friend Jon, a popular and prominent city councilman, and wondered if he still hung out at FGO, an upscale private club that catered to the city’s elite. It’s time I get back into the swing of things, start living like the young man that I am, Malcolm thought as he sat down at his desk, retrieved his key chain, and unlocked the drawer that contained his future treasure. Malcolm’s pet project would benefit from him reconnecting with old acquaintances. He pulled out the top-secret folder and smiled, his good mood returning. Yep, I’ll stop by and see my baby and then it’s on to FGO….
* * *
The CD had stopped playing, but Victoria remained where she was, seated on the chaise. Dozens of thoughts clamored for attention in her mind, but one was definitely front and center. Soon, she knew, she’d run out of excuses for why she’d been distant from both Malcolm and his family, why she didn’t want to have sex and had begun sleeping in the guest room more frequently. But how can I tell him, Lord? How do I explain a problem that o
nly you can solve? These were the questions that consumed Victoria’s thoughts until she heard the sound of the nanny bringing the twins home from preschool and the cook arriving shortly afterward. How did she tell her husband—who hadn’t wanted a third child when they had twins—that baby number five was on the way?
10
Malcolm straightened his suit coat and adjusted his tie as he rode the elevator to the top floor of the tall building, where FGO was located. Founded by a senator’s son a half century ago, FGO—For Gentlemen Only—had been, until ten years ago, a male-only club. Now, women were allowed to frequent the establishment, under what was defined as a guest membership, but they could not formally join the club as a voting or chartered member. And the only way men could become members was to have another member in good standing refer them. Ironically, Adam and Ace had been referred by Victoria’s uncle and had been members for over twenty years. Both Malcolm and Toussaint had been invited once they graduated Morehouse. Toussaint was a regular visitor, going there at least once a week. Malcolm, on the other hand, hadn’t been to FGO in months.
“Mr. Livingston!” the host exclaimed, shaking Malcolm’s hand enthusiastically. This elderly gentleman, with a dark, well-worn face and stark-white hair, had known Malcolm since he was a boy. “It’s a pleasure to see you, sir.”
“The pleasure’s mine, Harold,” Malcolm said, giving the host’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. They chatted briefly, inquiring about each other’s families, Harold’s beloved Atlanta Braves, and his second love after baseball—barbeque.
“Tell your daddy he still owes me from our last bet,” Harold said, his eyes twinkling.
“Ha! Will do, sir. Will do.”
All Up In My Business Page 5
