“I guess I did get a little excited. A sale sign will do that to me.”
“Is that all it takes?” Bobby snorted. “Wish I could say the same for your girl. Looks like nothing I do can please Chardonnay. And I really like her too.”
“Chardonnay’s bark is worse than her bite.”
“I know, but she’s always dogging a brothah out. What’s up with that?”
Zoe shrugged. “She tries to come off hard, but she’s a good person when you get to know her.”
“The ‘get to know’ is the problem. Don’t want to let nobody behind that tall-ass wall she has around her heart. Look, do you think she’ll like this?” Bobby reached inside a bag from a jewelry store, opened a small box, and showed Zoe a heart-shaped necklace set with tiny diamonds. Zoe thought it was a sweet gift but knew Chardonnay would complain that the stones weren’t bigger. “That’s nice, Bobby.”
“Yeah, but do you think Chardonnay will feel that way?”
“What woman doesn’t appreciate a man who buys her jewelry?”
“True dat. She’ll like it,” Bobby said, as if trying to convince himself. He offered Zoe a lopsided smile.
Zoe took in Bobby’s slightly worried expression and smiled. Maybe I can help this brother, and in the process help Chardonnay, Cognac, and Tangeray. “Bobby, you have a nice smile, but can I ask you something? And please, don’t get offended.”
“Can’t guarantee that, but go for it.”
“Have you ever considered getting your teeth fixed? I mean, these days they have all kinds of—”
“Girl, my grill’s been jacked up since I put the last baby tooth under the pillow at my grandma’s house. I ain’t sensitive about that.”
Zoe visibly relaxed. “Good. Then why don’t you think about having some cosmetic work done, getting caps. That would probably do wonders for your fa—That would probably change your whole look.” Zoe continued to eye him critically. “And your hair has a nice, natural curl. Maybe a little texturizer—”
“I ain’t got time for all that,” Bobby interrupted. “Plus, I’m over a hot grill six days a week, ten, sometimes twelve hours a day. That shit wouldn’t last in my head.”
“Well, maybe get a nice cut, then. Or maybe even shave it off. Have you thought about that?”
“Look, Zoe, I know I’m not all that to look at and whatnot. But I’m a good man. I’m just a line cook right now, but this is just the beginning. I’m going places. That’s what I told Chardonnay. But she don’t believe me.”
“Maybe that’s because of how you got with her. Using those pictures you took to blackmail her, Bobby? Forcing her to have sex? Not cool.”
Bobby showed the lopsided grin that Zoe decided was a cross between a smile and a smirk. “She ain’t complaining.”
“Not to you.”
“She tell you she didn’t like the dick?”
Zoe realized she was on a road that she didn’t want to travel. “What about her kids?” she asked, changing the subject. “Do you get along with them?”
“The little girl’s a sweetheart, little Ray-Ray. But me and Yak got some business to handle. Little man thinks he runs the house. Somebody needs to get in that ass; then we’d be all right.”
Zoe nodded, further convinced that Bobby was just the man Chardonnay needed in her life. “Why don’t you go to the toy store over there?” she said, pointing across the aisle. “Since you bought Char a present, you might want to bring her kids one too.”
Bobby fixed Zoe with an appreciative gaze. “I like how you think, Zoe. You’re pretty cool.”
“I try.”
“Hey, do you think … Naw, that’s all right.”
“What?”
“I’m not around kids and wouldn’t have a clue about what to buy them.”
“And you want my help.”
“Do you mind?”
Zoe almost declined, but then thought again about the home where no one was waiting for her. “Not at all,” she said, grabbing his arm. “Let’s go.”
38
“Dad?” In a rare move, Malcolm had used his key and let himself into his parents’ home when both his phone calls and doorbell ringing yielded no response. It was Tuesday, and Adam was still not at work. Malcolm’s concern had deepened to the point where he’d left the office to check on him. Stepping into the foyer, he noticed that copies of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution lay just inside the doorway and that the heavy, royal blue curtains that covered the living room windows were still drawn.
“Yo, Pops, you in here?” He kept walking, past the formal dining room, down the hall, and into the den. There, Adam sat in the dark, nursing a tumbler of cognac. It was nine a.m.
“Dad,” Malcolm breathed, almost tearing up at seeing his father look so broken. A man who was usually dressed impeccably, even in casual wear, now wore a wrinkled T-shirt and baggy gym shorts. He didn’t have to ask how he was doing. “Not too good” was written on his face. Malcolm sat down in the wingback chair facing the love seat where his father sat. “A little early for that, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Adam said, slowly bringing the glass to his mouth and taking another sip.
“I’m worried about you, Dad.”
Adam set the glass on the side table. “Don’t be, Malcolm. I’ll be okay.”
“What about your marriage? Will that be okay too?” Malcolm hadn’t meant to ask this, had thought to give his dad the opportunity to bring up the cause for his angst. The words seemed to flow of their own volition, and once out, Malcolm realized how badly he wanted to know the answer.
Adam leaned back against the love seat’s soft, tan leather and rubbed dark-circled eyes that had seen little sleep. “For the past two days, I’ve been thinking about divorcing your mother, how it would be to live without her, and all of the ramifications.” Adam shook his head slowly. “I can’t imagine life without her, but I can’t imagine sleeping in the same bed with her either, ever again.”
Malcolm needed to digest those words. He rose, walked over to the bar, and poured himself a ginger ale. “We’ve got to do something, Dad. If Mama stays away too long, people are going to talk.”
“Have you been talking to my brother?”
Malcolm shook his head.
“That’s what Ace said when he called this morning.”
“Oh, so you answered his calls but not mine.”
“I was in the bathroom when you called earlier. Just hadn’t gotten around to calling you back.”
The sleek and modern Howard Miller grandfather clock ticked off the passing of time in an otherwise quiet room. Malcolm glanced at his watch, aware that he had a conference call with the restaurant managers in one hour.
Adam drained his glass and got up to pour himself another drink. “How’s Victoria?”
“Victoria?” Malcolm asked, surprised by the abrupt subject change.
“Yes, Victoria, your wife. How is she doing? And speaking of marriages, how are y’all doing?”
Now it was Malcolm who felt that a shot of alcohol might not mix too badly with the coffee and Danish he’d consumed on the way to his parents’ home. “All right, I guess.”
“The baby or your marital state?”
“She looks healthy enough,” Malcolm said, rising to open the curtains on the room’s double windows just for something to do. “But our marriage … it is what it is.”
“It was wrong of her to get pregnant and not tell you, son. But the baby is on the way now. Can’t change that.”
“Nope, sure can’t.”
“And I guess you could stay mad for the next eighteen years, but what good would that do?”
Malcolm didn’t answer. How could his father, who even now was dealing with a wife who had stepped out on him, understand the dilemma involving a wife who wouldn’t even make love to her own husband? The phone in Malcolm’s pants pocket vibrated against his leg. “Hello?”
“Hey, handsome.”
Joyce. “Hello.”
Joyce noted M
alcolm’s serious tone. “I’m sorry, are you busy? Am I interrupting?”
“Yes, but that’s okay. I have a minute.”
“Okay, good. I just wanted to invite you to dinner tonight. I have some QVC information to share with you,” Joyce hurriedly continued after feeling that the invite had sounded more like her real intentions instead of the strictly professional ones she wanted to convey.
Malcolm closed his eyes against the sexiness of Joyce’s voice. So far, he’d done well to withstand her subtle advances, had ignored the allure of her sweet-smelling perfume and curvy body.
“I’m thinking McCormick and Schmick’s, around seven?” Joyce prodded when Malcolm didn’t answer.
“Uh, yes, seven is good. See you then.” Malcolm walked over to the bar, placed his empty glass into the sink, and turned to face his father. “Toussaint and I want to have a family meeting, here, with you and Mom.”
“Just us, not your wife?” Adam knew his son and hadn’t missed the subtle shift in his expression as he listened to the caller. He’d bet a thousand dollars that Joyce was the person on the phone and the one his son was meeting later tonight. It hadn’t gone without notice that Joyce’s e-mails to him had stopped shortly after the partnership with his son had started. He knew for a fact how dangerous someone like Joyce could be to a marriage, and soon he would have to have the conversation to make sure Malcolm understood this too.
“Let me know if you need me,” Adam said as he walked Malcolm to the front door. “I’ll take a shower in a minute and do some work from home.”
“So you won’t be in at all today?”
“No, son. I still need to sort this whole mess out between your mom and me.”
The two men hugged as Malcolm prepared to walk out the door. “Oh, and, son.” Malcolm stopped, turned around. “Make sure that there aren’t two Livingston men who are thinking of breaking a fifty-year legacy and divorcing his wife.”
39
While Malcolm enjoyed his time with Joyce, Victoria lay miserable in their master suite. “No, Mom, it’s too late for you to come over.” Victoria repositioned herself in the bed and winced as pain shot down her back. “I’ll get the maid to bring me some tea, maybe sit in the tub for a bit.”
“Good thing you have a maid to help you,” Valarie said. “Because your husband surely isn’t.” Valarie hadn’t approved of Victoria marrying Malcolm. She’d wanted her to marry a prominent doctor whose father had been a vital member of the Clinton administration. She was still smarting over the fact that he and his parents had dined with President Obama. If her daughter had listened, that could have been her! “I’m livid about the way Malcolm is treating you, darling,” she continued. “It is neglect, plain and simple. You deserve better.”
“Who? Someone like Charles?”
“Well, I wasn’t going to mention him but …”
“Mom, not tonight.”
“I’m worried about you, Victoria. And Malcolm, well, he ought to be ashamed …”
Victoria pulled the phone away from her ear as her mother continued to bash Malcolm. Valarie’s attitude toward him was partly her fault. She probably shouldn’t have shared so much of her marriage with her mother, especially the problems they’d had for the past five years. But she had. Every time Malcolm did something to upset her, Valarie’s shoulder was the one Victoria cried on.
“Men like him have no control of their physical urges,” her mother was saying when Victoria began to listen again. “Having that many children is shameful, even when you can afford it. It’s people who live by their baser, lower natures who carry on in such a manner. I’m surprised you’ve put up with it this long, Victoria, and … Victoria? Are you listening to me? Victoria!”
“Mom, I have to use the restroom. I’ll call you later.” Victoria eased off the bed, waddled to the restroom, and then left the master suite for the guest room where Malcolm had slept for over a month. She opened the door slowly and breathed in his scent as she reached for the light switch. She swept her hand across the comforter and took in the messy desk, the only part of the room that the housekeeper was not allowed to straighten. He left in a hurry. I wonder what’s going on?
Victoria walked over to the desk, realizing how little she’d thought about her husband since her last missed period. She looked down and spoke to her stomach. “Since your appearance, me and your daddy have rarely talked at all.”
Victoria idly picked up a folder and began flipping through it. Her brows creased as she saw drawings of some type of grill. Is this a product the restaurant plans to endorse? She continued to flip through the pages and was just about to set the folder back down when a card fell out and landed on the swivel chair seat. She reached down and picked it up. “ ‘Joyce Witherspoon,’ “ she read aloud, “ ‘Owner. Silver Spoon Events.’ “ Victoria sat down and for the next half hour went through the folder and other papers on her husband’s desk. She was shocked to learn that the grill she’d seen wasn’t somebody else’s product, but her husband’s invention. And he hasn’t said a word, not one word! She also saw several memos from J. W, with a variety of marketing plans for Malcolm’s perusal. “Who are you, Joyce Witherspoon? And how involved are you with my husband?”
Tonight she missed him. For probably only the second or third time in the past five years, Victoria admitted that she missed Malcolm. That wasn’t always the case, or at least it’s not what she often allowed herself to think or believe. But for the past three weeks, since she’d been put on partial bed rest and hadn’t been able to attend the near nightly church services that kept her mind off her marriage and on the Lord, Victoria had begun to long for what she’d never truly had—a healthy relationship with her husband … and herself.
Malcolm sat and sipped his cognac, feeling relaxed as he looked around the near-empty restaurant. He’d talked to Candace, and while his mother sounded slightly better than his father had, he could still hear the tears in her voice. To hear Candace Livingston in a weak moment was rare but was made somewhat better by talking to his aunt Diane, who said Ace had gotten Adam to agree to see Candace that weekend.
And then there was the state of his own marriage. After a week of trying to do the right thing and warm up to both his wife and her pregnancy, the situation had quickly fizzled back into a state where each spouse simply tolerated the other. For the past two weeks, only the Livingston men’s track record of remaining married had kept Malcolm from filing divorce papers. Now, as he watched Joyce’s sexy approach—tailored black suit, black pumps, and a bright smile—he wondered if even the legacy was enough.
40
Bobby rubbed his hands together nervously, looking in the mirror for the umpteenth time since he’d left the dentist’s office two days ago. He still couldn’t get used to the reflection in the mirror. What a difference a few facials, a haircut, and a set of even white teeth made. Damn! Who knew? It had been a week of transformations since his chance encounter with Zoe at the mall, and he’d taken his first vacation in eighteen months. After talking with Zoe, he’d gone home and spent the next two hours online, looking up dental offices specializing in cosmetic surgery and dermatologists who treated adult acne. During his family visit in New Orleans, he’d gone on a makeover journey and felt he’d been handled “from the rooter to the tooter.” He’d been so excited about it that he’d called Zoe as soon as he got back; then they’d met so she could be one of the first to see the results of her pep talk.
As soon as he saw his girl’s familiar red Maxima pull into the parking lot, Bobby reached for the bag on the seat next to him. In addition to the purchases he’d made at the mall the night he saw Zoe, he had several items from New Orleans, including an official Saints’ Super Bowl T-shirt. I can’t wait to see her in this and nothing else, he’d thought when purchasing one for himself, one for Chardonnay, and two more for the kids. He hoped that she would see him tonight. Bobby wasn’t one for tapping strange slits on short notice. He hadn’t seen Chardonnay in a week, hadn’t had sex in thre
e. He missed her, but tonight he needed her too.
Chardonnay frowned when she noticed Bobby’s car in the restaurant parking lot and saw a shadowed face inside the car; then she saw his car door open. Damn! He’s back. Chardonnay wouldn’t tell anyone, even Zoe, that for as much as she dogged Bobby, she’d kinda missed him while he was gone. She’d been disappointed when he’d canceled on her the previous Friday, and after finding out Q was also busy, she had gone out, bought a bottle of her daughter’s namesake, brought home the T.I.-looking tenderoni who’d sold her a dime bag, and proceeded to screw the boy senseless her entire two days off.
“Hey, Char,” Bobby said through her rolled-up window.
Chardonnay huffed before rolling down the window. “What the f—” she began as she turned her head. But what she saw left her momentarily speechless. Whoa. He did clean up pretty good. Just like Zoe said. For a moment, she entertained the thought that he was a good man and that he might make a good baby daddy, but the moment was short-lived. Char was known for dating pretty boys; it didn’t matter if they were drug dealers, ex-gangbangers, jobless, or thugs—just as long as they could screw and were fine. Bobby could hit her spot, but at the end of the day, he was a cook. Gangsters got respect; diamond-sporting dealers received mad street love. And Q owned his own business. How could she hold her head up in the hood on the arm of a man who fried food for a living?
“It’s about time you got that grill straight,” she finally said. “And your skin looks better. But don’t stand there grinning like the cat who stole the canary. You still ain’t all that.”
The comment wiped the smile off Bobby’s face and caused the hand holding the bag to go limp. The bag plopped on the ground beside him. “Why you have to cut a brothah, Chardonnay? I walked over here to give you something. For you and the kids.”
“Well, why are standing there flapping your yip-yap, then?” Chardonnay asked through a cloud of cigarette smoke. She took in Bobby’s hurt expression. “Louisiana must agree with you, all right? You look … different.” Bobby raised his eyebrows. “Okay, better. But check this out, I gotta be inside in ten minutes. It’s not my birthday, so what’s with the gifts?” Chardonnay kept up her tough-girl act, but inside she was moved that Bobby had thought of her while on vacation. Maybe Zoe’s right. Maybe this man does deserve a chance.
All Up In My Business Page 16
