Between Brothers

by C. Kelly Robinson

  “Evening, folks. Somebody’s been grubbing on Chinese up in here! Smells good.” Brandon beamed a smile so bright Larry almost blushed with happiness for his friend. Things must be going well. Larry decided to keep the info on Ellis on the down low for tonight. No need to interrupt what looked to be a promising date.

  “If only it tasted as good”. Larry helped Sheila to her feet. “Have you guys met?”

  “Everybody knows Sheila Evans. What’s up, girl?” Monica gave Sheila a familiar wave. There would be no games played between these sisters tonight.

  Smiling, Sheila returned her greeting. “You guys didn’t know Monica and I lived on the same floor in Tubman Hall freshman year? Girl, the stories we could tell!”

  Placing his hand playfully over Sheila’s mouth, Larry winked at Brandon. “Uh, sisters, we men may not wanna hear them stories. Some things are best kept between sisters.”

  After they all sat and shared a few laughs and small talk, Monica stood up and said, “Brandon, when are you going to deliver on your promise to give me a tour of this lovely house?”

  “Give me a second, would you please?” Brandon said, rising. “I got you, I got you. If you’ll excuse us, people, I have a promise to fulfill.”

  Standing against the wall near the couch, Larry eyed Brandon suspiciously. “And where will you two kids be once the tour is finished? Don’t forget, Choirboy, we got that Ellis board meeting in the morning. Don’t be doing anything I wouldn’t do.”

  Catching the jibe, Brandon shook his head as he led Monica out toward the kitchen. “You silly, man. We’ll see y’all later.”

  “All righty then.” Larry decided not to push the joke any further, but this was the first time he had seen his boy take a date up to his bedroom. Larry liked to give Brandon a hard time about his rules regarding women in his room, but he had to respect the fact that it helped the Choirboy stay sexless, something Larry would never consider. After all the effort Brandon had put into being a monk, Larry was almost disappointed to see his boy playing with the sexual equivalent of fire. According to Brandon’s rules, if there was anyone who should never set foot in his room, it was Monica Simone.

  Sheila’s voice snapped Larry out of his thoughts. “Larry, is there a phone I can use? I need to check my voice mail.”

  Pointing Sheila toward the wall unit in the kitchen, Larry sank into the sofa, wishing for a moment of rest before continuing on the Ellis trail. The pace of the past week was starting to take its toll, but he couldn’t afford to let up now. He was closer than ever to clearing his name and uncovering something at Ellis. He hadn’t spoken to Ashley since the night of the speakout, even though Mark claimed she was acting like everything was still hunky-dory between them. Apparently she’d even had her father set him up with an interview at Goldman Sachs in Manhattan, which would mean they could spend the summer together. So why wasn’t she calling him? More important, why hadn’t he called her, and why didn’t he care that she hadn’t called?

  His musings were interrupted by the frantic sound of another key turning in the lock. Checking his watch, Larry figured it was still too early for O. J. to be home. Friday nights were usually his time to run the streets. He was proven right as Terence burst through the doorway like a hound from hell. “T! What’s goin’ on, man?”

  Terence froze midstride, his eyes cold and distant. It was as if Larry had interrupted him in the midst of some crucial task. “What’s up, Dog.”

  Larry flashed a smile. “What you been doin’ all night, boy? Out with Ms. Lisa again?”

  Terence looked at Larry as if he had insulted his momma. “You got a problem with that?”

  Still reclined on the sofa, Larry scrunched his brow in confusion. “Uh, okay, brother. I have no problem with that whatsoever. It was an innocent question.”

  “Hey look, we can’t all pull the Supermodel of the Week whenever we feel like it, Larry. It’s only so many good women out there in the first place.”

  Larry met Terence’s steely glare. “My man, you must be under the mistaken impression I was tryin’ to hold some symposium on male-female relations. Who you date is your business.”

  The tense air bottled up within Terence slowly oozed from him as he leaned against the living room entryway. “I didn’t mean to trip, man. Damn. You got to cut me some slack, I got a lot of shit on my mind.”

  Larry arched his eyebrows in concern. “Anything you wanna share?”

  Biting his lip, Terence focused his eyes on the refurbished wood floorboards. “Um, naw, it’s nothing you need to worry ’bout.”

  Hoping to lighten the conversation, he nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “That Sheila Evans’s voice I hear?”

  Larry grinned. “See, now I get to act ignorant with you. Hell yeah, it’s Sheila. You got a problem wit’ that?”

  “Now, Larry, does Ashley know that another woman is visiting you at ten o’ clock on a Friday night? Remember, in this day of AIDS, monogamy is the only way. The day of havin’ a little thang on the side is over!”

  “You’re freakin’ hilarious, Davidson, you know that? For your info, Sheila and I are going to solve the riddle of what’s going on at Ellis.”

  Terence pursed his lips. He never wanted to think about Ellis Center again. “You all, uh, find anything of interest?”

  As Sheila returned to the living room, Larry updated Terence on their discoveries and disclosed their plans to uncover the suspected link between Eldridge and Orange. Larry noticed Terence fidgeting uncomfortably.

  “T, you sure you’re okay?” He eyed his friend like a mother hen.

  Waving his hand in front of him, Terence frowned. “Just nervous energy, man. I was workin’ late tonight on a project for Jerry Wallace, think I had one too many cups of coffee. Look, if there’s anything I can do to help with this Ellis business, let me know.”

  “Brother, right now I would just say make sure you show up at the board meeting tomorrow. They’ll be having the vote regarding the investment of the contributions and completing plans for the rededication ceremony. We’ve gotta be represented up in there. I’ll do my best to go, but if I get a hot lead, I may not make it. So you brothers have got to be in the house. Are you sure you straight, man?”

  Terence’s knees felt ready to buckle. “I-I’m fine, yaw, really. I just need some rest. Have a good night, hope things go well with the investigation. Hopefully we’ll see each other at the meetin’. Peace out.”

  As his friend skulked up the central staircase, Larry turned to Sheila. “I worry about him sometimes. He’s already overcome odds I’ve never even had to imagine, but sometimes I wonder how much he can take, you know?”

  Sheila laid a warm hand on top of Larry’s. “You can’t be everyone’s savior, Larry, and I don’t think Terence needs saving. He didn’t get this far without being stronger than most.”

  “You’re right, but I still worry about the brother. Once we get through the school year and this Ellis fiasco, we’ll have to take him out and blow off some steam. We’ve all earned it.”

  Now Sheila was rubbing her eyes. “Well, I agree. How about we continue this conversation while you drive me back to Bethune?”

  Larry rose from the couch and wiped his brow. “Aw, my hospitality ain’t enough for you, sister? That’s all right, though. Let’s jet.”

  As he retrieved his car keys from his leather satchel, Larry watched Sheila gather her things. Would she invite him up for coffee when he dropped her off? Sure, the forty-year-old dormitory had long outlawed the use of electrical appliances like coffeemakers, but then, coffee wasn’t really the issue, was it? Once again, he reminded himself: she don’t fit the profile. For the first time, as he opened the front door and watched Sheila walk through the doorway, Larry wondered if he really believed that.

  * * *

  Upstairs in his room, Terence gripped his phone and cradled his head against his right shoulder. His grandmother was pleading like he’d never heard before.

  “Terence, you and I
both know you got no choice, son. This man already got you fired from your job. You don’t think he’d take Aaron’s life?” Granny’s words rang in Terence’s aching head like an obnoxious bell. He appreciated where she was coming from, knew that she was just being a realist where the life of her youngest grandson was concerned. He, on the other hand, was burdened with a broader view of his dilemma.

  “Granny, if I help sabotage the Ellis Center, do you know how many young kids’ lives would be affected? Some of those same kids you taught in Sunday school could end up standin’ on street corners slangin’ rocks, instead of being educated within Ellis’s walls. You want me to have that on my conscience?”

  “Boy, since when did you develop this conscience? I been tryin’ to git you to accept Jesus since your momma birthed you, and you never paid me no mind. For once, Terence, let your worldliness motivate you to do something for your brother and no one else.”

  “What do you think, I wanna see him die?”

  “I know you don’t, that’s why you gonna do whatever this Mr. Lane say.”

  “For God’s sake, don’t give that fool a title—”

  “Boy, where did you get that mouth. You want me to come through that phone right now?”

  “I’m sorry, Granny. All I’m sayin’ is, how do I know if I save Aaron this time that he won’t go out and get himself killed anyway? Then I’d be hurting all those kids for nothing!”

  “Terence,” Granny wept, “please don’t let this man kill your brother, your only sibling! What kind of man would let anyone hurt his family?”

  Nearly losing the strength to maintain his grip on the phone, Terence leaned forward to rest his head in his hands. He was flooded with memories of the Biggie he once knew and loved, the cherubic, goofy little brother who followed him around like a loyal puppy dog. The sniveling, whimpering six-year-old whom Terence had personally shielded from the fists of their mother’s boyfriends. The nine-year-old who had written a class essay for Father’s Day identifying Terence as his father figure and role model. The eleven-year-old who walked to the front of Granny’s church, to her eternal delight and Terence’s admiration, to accept Jesus into his heart.

  At some point that precious child had died and been replaced by a coldhearted clone. By the time he turned fourteen, Biggie had joined up with Nico Lane’s gang, dropped out of school, and started on a quest to sleep with every teenage girl in Northwest D.C. Terence admitted to himself that he had been so busy with school when it all first started, he’d never gotten a handle on what changed his little brother. He’d done everything possible to mend the relationship and show Biggie the way back to a better road, but from the day he was infected by Nico Lane, his brother had been beyond his reach.

  Their last attempt at a heart-to-heart had ended with a savage tirade from Biggie. “Forget you, nigga! I ain’t the pudgy little kid who does nothin’ but look up to your ass no more. I’m about gettin’ mine! I may not have your book smarts, but I sho’ ’nuff got the smarts enough to slang some crack!”

  “Biggie, I’m just sayin’, you can do better—”

  “Hell naw, that’s what this is about, Terence. I’m already doin’ better than your broke ass. You runnin’ around workin’ for the Man, tryin’ to pay your way through school, all your bills are overdue, and you can’t even keep your woman. I’m clockin’ more dollars than I can spend, gettin’ the honey I want, and living free of white America. Hell, the only time I gotta bother with a cracker is when I sell my shit to those lame-ass suburban fools. And I’m the one with the power! Naw, nigga, face it, you need to be me, not the other way around.”

  Terence had stormed out of that argument before Biggie’s attitude pushed him over the edge. Even though he could beat his brother in a fair fight with no effort, he never knew when Biggie might be packing heat. He reflected on these moments through a haze of enraged tears, his heart thumping loudly in his ears over the searing rhythms of Marvin Gaye’s “Inner City Blues.”

  “Terence, are you still there?” His grandmother’s voice, still soggy with tears, was weighted with concern. “Please talk to me, boy. Say anything.”

  “I’m here,” he said, sniffing. “You right, Granny. I can’t let anybody take my flesh ’n’ blood out. I’ll work something out with Nico. Biggie’s life will be spared, okay?”

  Once he had assured Granny, he hung up the phone and hurled his Nerf basketball at the window over his desk. As he watched it bounce lamely off the glass, scattering the small flock of olive pigeons nesting outside, he wished it had been a fully pumped leather version. He needed to break something tonight.

  It was time to face facts. Nico was promising money and the protection of Biggie’s life, and right now both were crucial to Terence. The day Nico had taken him for that ominous ride in the Mercedes, he’d returned to work at Technotronics so late that Jerry Wallace already had his desk cleaned out. A gavel pounded in Terence’s brain as he recalled his confrontation with Jerry.

  “Jerry, I can explain why I was so late this morning! Please, you’ve got to hear me out. I would never leave you hanging on the day of a big board meeting, if I had any control over what happened.”

  Jerry had barely looked up from his computer before cutting Terence off. “Terence, I just had my ass handed to me by the CEO himself and the entire board! You know how foolish I looked, not being able to provide the latest specification data on the Reveal project, all the shit you were supposed to update me on this morning? It’s a wonder they didn’t burn my fat ass at the stake. Terence, I’m sorry, but I can’t survive any more fuckups like that.”

  Knowing he could never give a truthful explanation for his absence, Terence had considered lying for a minute. He’d actually started down that road. “Look, my grandmother was ill this morning—”

  “Terence, I can’t hear you. There is no acceptable excuse. You wanna know the truth? My fellow managers have had me on the hot seat since the day I took a liking to you. Of course no one ever mentions your color, but I know they watch you closely. That reflects on me. Today’s episode played right into their hands. I’m sorry, son, but I can’t have my career capsized on your account.” Jerry had waved his hand menacingly at the door of his office. “See Marlene on your way out. I had her type up a strong letter of recommendation for you. I’m sure you’ll do well in life if you get away from the influence of your peers, Terence. Take care.”

  Fighting back angry tears, Terence had blotted out his surroundings and fled the office before pure rage overtook him. Four years of diligent work and study, and one absence beyond his control had derailed his corporate career. What was the point? Now he was broke, and he’d eventually have to tell Ms. Simmons he would need more time to pay off his tuition. And he knew what that meant: more payments made in the privacy of the trifling woman’s bedroom. No way! Rising from the bed now and wiping away the remnants of tears on his cheeks, Terence repeated his promise to himself: Can’t nobody hold me down.

  It was time to look out for number one.

  In the near–pitch black of his room, the face of Brandon’s alarm clock burned a faint glow, the only light except for the thin beam of moonlight that escaped through a crack in the drapes of the window above his desk. The clock read 1:12 A.M. He shifted his head toward the right side of his bed, wondering, momentarily, if Monica was still awake. She was clinging to him still, obviously desiring to be held. As he turned back to her, cradling her Dark & Lovely–scented head of wavy locks against his still-thumping chest, he replayed the previous hour’s events.

  The trip up to his room had started innocently enough. Some lighthearted conversation about the jazz show at Takoma Station. Her playful criticism of his room—the tattered plaid comforter on his bed, the exhaustive collection of DeBarge CDs, the outdated clothes in the back of his closet. He responded by tickling her firm abdomen, which wound up with them lying on his bed, their eyes locked together like magnets. Before he knew it, he was clumsily following her lead, feeling her soft palms on hi
s inflamed face, the realities of life falling away as Monica stretched out beneath him like a warm, inviting river, taking him on a rolling ride that convulsed into a wild tide, rising and sinking with the ebb and flow of the percolating charge that connected them. Knowing mentally, if only in minute flashes, that he was outside of his moral zone, he had clung close to her fountain, letting her warm waters cleanse and clear his senses, elevating them to new heights, making him strong and keen, until she finally lifted him to dry on a cooling, sunlit bluff under a deep blue sky, his hands raised in confused adoration for her warm, pliant hospitality.

  Her voice woke Brandon from his mental replay. “Hey.”

  In the waning light, he could see her eyes slowly open, looking innocent as a doe’s. “You’re not about to kick me out, are you?” The laughter in her voice said there was no shame in her game over what had happened.

  Unsure of himself, he tried to make his voice sound confident. “Of course not.” The answer felt like a lie. He asked himself when he had lost control. Had that really been him, in this same bed, minutes ago? Staring through the murky darkness at Monica’s frantically folded Donna Karan ensemble, Brandon faced up to the situation for what it was. He’d heard it said time and again, always dismissed it as the excuse of the weak, but now it fit him like a glove: one thing had sure enough led to another. As Maxwell’s “Suitelady” serenaded them from the CD player to the right of the bed, he felt Monica’s fingers tugging at his cheek. “Brandon, are you okay? Don’t go quiet on me.”

  Hearing her voice without processing her words, he tried to make sense of what had happened. It wasn’t like he hadn’t fled direct temptation before. He remembered the time in the ninth grade when he had stupidly agreed to go home with Sharon Riley after school. Her parents both worked second shift, and Sharon had a reputation for abusing her latchkey status by having frequent male company. He had walked into that situation thinking he could play with fire and not get burned, and actually succeeded. Even now he stifled a laugh at the sight of Sharon, half-naked, braids flying, chasing him out her doorway, tossing books and shoes at him. “Who you think you are, not wanting to go all the way with me? I tell my brother you did this to me, your butt gonna get kicked!” Now, almost seven years later, the joke was on him.