“I’m sayin’ she was some ghetto girl I had an empty fling with! I thought she was just trying to land me, you know, using me to get out of the ghetto by accusing me of being the father and—”
“And you told her that?”
“Yeah!” He regretted how defensive that sounded. But he knew there was no point soft-pedaling it now. He had to get this out into the open and get his father’s reaction over with.
“Did you offer to help her out at all, O. J.? A paternity test after the birth? Money for an abortion? Not that you should consider that an option.”
“I tried to pay her off to go away and leave me alone, Dad. Clearly, she’s convinced herself that I’m really the father. She’s crazy as a road lizard!”
His father began speaking at a creeping pace, as if he couldn’t fully accept the words. “Let me . . . get this straight. This was her way of getting revenge because you denied getting her pregnant, even though you knew it was entirely possible?”
“Um, yeah.”
“So what are you gonna do, O. J.? Turn the police on the potential mother of your child?”
Through the tears starting to frame his eyelids, he glared back at his father. “What choice do I have?”
“O. J., I want you to tell me right now, is this how you always treat God’s most precious creatures? I am your father, son. I’m not here to judge you, but I know how your momma and I raised you, and weren’t nothing we taught you that should have landed you in this state. Talk to me, boy.” The pulsating veins in the pastor’s right temple told O. J. this was no time to be coy.
He lost his composure as he removed the invisible mask he had worn for his father through the years. He could’ve kept him there all night with exhaustive details of his exploits, but he knew the simple examples he confessed were more than enough to paint the picture. He recounted how it had all started, as a ploy to prove he wasn’t the fat sissy that the kids at school and church accused him of being. He’d started out just doing what it took to convince them that he was normal, that he wasn’t some Goody Two-shoes preacher’s kid. But that didn’t stop the womanizing, the liquor, and the games from turning into daily habits. He let it all out.
“Oh, dear Lord,” Pastor Peters whispered, to himself as much as to God. “Please forgive my son for stepping far outside the direction of your Holy Spirit. You know I’ve done all I could with the boy, Lord, as did his mother, may she rest in peace with you. We was never perfect, Lord, but he can never say he wasn’t taught right. But Lord, you can do all things, and I pray you will re-ignite the fire of the Holy Spirit in my son’s heart. Help him to walk as you walked when you trod this earth, with dignity and honor toward all. Please . . .”
“Dad,” O. J. whispered reverently. He couldn’t take any more of his father’s anguished prayers right now. Every word was a knife piercing his softening heart. “I understand you praying over me, but I got to finish my confession. I-I know I need to do something to help Keesa out. She can’t go free, not when she’d pull somethin’ this wacked, but she is in a family way. Brandon mentioned earlier that the police plan to talk to me tonight or tomorrow morning. I need you to sit in when I speak to them, okay?”
Exhaling deeply, Pastor Peters placed a hand over one of O. J.’s. “We’ll work somethin’ out, son. So you will take responsibility for this child, if it’s yours?”
“I don’t see how I have a choice, huh? Wouldn’t that be something, me a dad?”
Rising from his chair, Pastor Peters backed away from the bed, his eyes dim and dark as he motioned over his shoulder. “I-I need to go and call Deacon Smith and Sister Parker, they got a phone chain set up to spread word about how you doin’. When I come back, we’ll figure out how to get this girl picked up in the most peaceful way possible, okay?”
Shaken at the veiled look of disgust on his father’s face, O. J. slurped up new tears and sighed in response. “All right. And Dad, thanks.”
He had barely finished the sentence before his father burst out into the hallway. O. J. knew why he had left so suddenly, and it had nothing to do with the urgent need to call Deacon Smith. Oscar Peters, Sr., was no Otis Grier. He would never abandon his son, but O. J. had seen the disappointment on his father’s face. His heart was rent. Yesterday he’d thought betraying Grier had been rock bottom; he’d had no clue. Hoping that the nurse wouldn’t emerge for another few minutes, he bent his head into his chest, soaking it in seconds with salty drops of guilt. There had to be a special place in hell for him now.
CHAPTER 29
. . . . . . . . . . . .
TO THE WIRE
Brandon lay stretched out on his recently defiled bed. It still reeked of Monica’s peachy, rapturous scent, and he didn’t plan on changing the sheets anytime soon. Propping his phone against his ear with his shoulder, he checked his watch. It was almost nine o’clock. Where was Terence? He’d come home expecting to see Larry and Terence discussing the Ellis meeting. He knew Larry had been hot on Rolly Orange’s tail, and that Terence had served as their lone representative at this morning’s board meeting. He regretted the fact that he’d let his and O. J.’s problems distract him all day, but now he was ready to find out what was going on. Where were these brothers?
“Brandon, you’re not listening to me, are you?” Floating through the phone receiver, Monica Simone’s voice had an edge he’d not heard before.
Jumping to his feet to keep his mind alert, he paced the floor. “I’m sorry, there’s just been a lot going down today.”
“Well, I’m glad that O. J.’s okay. What I wanna know now is, how are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. Why didn’t you call me this morning after O. J. had his surgery? I told you to let me know what was up.”
“Monica, look—”
“Don’t give me excuses, Brandon. I want the truth. You blame me for what happened last night, don’t you? Do you think I planned for things to go that far?”
One night together, and she was reading him like a book. “Monica, i-it’s not about blame. Last night wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t want it to.”
“That’s what bothers you, isn’t it? The fact that you enjoyed it?”
Brandon was so frustrated. By most people’s morals, he should be strutting like a prize pig right now. Not only had he just lain with the woman of his dreams, but now she sounded like she was interested in more. And here he was, pushing her away like she was some depraved criminal. “Monica, I don’t know what bothers me anymore. I don’t know what I should believe. Yes, I enjoyed last night immensely. But it’s not that simple.”
“Why not? It’s simple enough for anyone else who’s ever tried it. Brandon, come on, how many of those exfriends of yours in the Disciples do you really think are celibate? Even my grandmother’s known for saying everybody has a little freak in them. Why should you be any different? Don’t you think you deserve some pleasure in your life?”
“What the Disciples, or any other Christians, do or don’t do is none of my business, Monica. That’s between them and their God. You don’t understand, this is about me and nobody else. To just toss away what I’ve viewed, correctly or incorrectly, as part of my spiritual integrity? I can’t do that. I can’t accept that last night was okay.”
Monica sighed. “Brandon . . .”
He could tell his self-torture was alienating her. Maybe that was for the best. It was either that or try to explain about Brandy.
“Brandon, I’ve never dealt with this before. Usually I’m fightin’ brothers off. I’m used to being the one who questions myself when I give it up to a guy. This is freaking me out!”
Brandon bit his lower lip and shook his head. He was convinced he and Monica had a connection deeper than one night of fevered passion. The emotional chemistry he’d felt with her since that first double date had proven that four years of carrying a torch for her had not been in vain. God must have had some hand in all that, right? They were enjoying each other’
s company, and, illicit though it was, the sex had shown promise. But none of that mattered to him now. He could see they were separated by a deep chasm that neither was willing or able to cross, at least not now. He would be leaving town in a matter of weeks. Why prolong the inevitable?
“Monica, I can’t handle you. You need a man who can serve you hot-buttered lovin’, guilt-free. I need a woman who respects my wishes enough to keep her body off limits. We’re wasting our time.”
“Wasting our time?” Her tone immediately made him wish he could snatch back the last sentence. “That’s what last night was to you, a waste of your time? I think that qualifies as the most insulting thing a man has ever said to me.”
“Monica—”
“You know, Brandon Bailey, for such a choirboy, you sure can be an ass when you want to. I don’t need this.”
“Monica—”
The phone line went dead before he could clean anything up. He wasn’t proud of his behavior, but at least the drama was behind him.
As he dropped the phone back onto his bed, he heard the front door open and slam shut. Time to get some Ellis news. A couple weeks and graduation would almost be here. Brandon told himself the time would fly; he’d help solidify the Ellis crisis, bust his last final, and hang out with Bobby and a few friends before skipping town. He prayed that would be enough to keep Monica hidden away, locked in the deepest dungeons of his subconscious. He tightened the belt around his Dockers and stepped into a pair of Dexter loafers. Terence had some explaining to do.
Lisa clutched wildly at Terence’s windbreaker. He’d failed to hide his self-hatred from her all afternoon. He’d left the board meeting and ridden the bus across town, out to Virginia, back through town, and out into Maryland before finally landing at her doorstep. He’d hoped that an hour of frantic pleasure in Lisa’s arms would reduce the sting of what he had done, but the throttling power of his orgasms had been no more than a temporary diversion. By the time he and Lisa had dressed and gone out for a bite to eat near campus, the events of the past week had cascaded from his tongue like prisoners fleeing a jailhouse. Now that he’d fully vented, Lisa was full of ideas about how to resolve the situation. As they returned to the house, she continued to pound home her opinion.
“You’ve got to tell the guys about this, Terence! You are going to tell them, aren’t you?”
Pausing at the front door, he searched his jeans pockets for his keys. “Lisa, I’m not gonna tell you again! I can’t! I do that, Nico’s likely to kill us all, Biggie included! I had no choice. The only hope is that Larry figures out what’s goin’ on and cracks things open. Hopefully Nico wouldn’t blame me for that.”
“Oh, so he can blame, maybe even kill, Larry instead?” Her eyes searched his face for a sign of sanity. “Terence, have you lost your mind?”
“Maybe so, Lisa. All I know is I just saved my brother’s life. It’s too late to go back now.”
“I don’t believe that. Between us, we can figure out something! What good are our Highland educations, if we just let a vital institution of this community go under?”
Ready to end the discussion, Terence swung the front door open, lowering his voice. “Lisa, do you know what would happen to my grandmother if Biggie or I were to be murdered? Her life would end. I don’t want that weight on me. I’ve got us out of harm’s way, and I’m not goin’ back in.”
As he ushered her into the kitchen, Lisa glared at him. “I don’t believe you. The Terence Davidson I know is about more than looking out for himself. You make me wonder why I’m even thinking about taking a job here in D.C.”
Terence stifled the smile that wanted to spring to his face. “I-I thought you were Jersey-bound for sure.”
“So did I, and maybe I should be. But I can’t help but think we need one more year, Terence, one last chance to—but that doesn’t even matter right now, does it? If you let your friends stumble in the dark over this Ellis fiasco, you will not be the man I love. Do you understand?”
Reaching into the refrigerator for the glass water pitcher, he filled two plastic cups. Hoisting one before him, he rolled his eyes before meeting Lisa’s. “To my new momma, thank you for showing me the way.” He knew he was sounding like a pompous ass, but who was she to judge him? She could tell him what to do when it was her family’s life on the line.
Larry was seething. As he pulled the Lexus into the driveway, he continued to spray the car with profanities, even pounding the steering wheel at several points. He was still in shock over his discussion with Sheryl Gibson. He had called her from the Highland library, where he and Sheila had conducted some additional research before changing clothes and regrouping.
“How the hell did Terence sign over access to the Highland contributions? What is he, a retard now? I may not be able to design computer software, but I damn well know how to follow instructions: do not give over access to the contributions! What the freak is his problem?”
Giving his hand a few light pats, Sheila sighed anxiously. “I’m sure he’ll have some sort of explanation, Larry. Take it easy. We’ve had a pretty hair-raising day as it is.”
Looking into his rearview mirror, Larry was struck with the realization that the day was not going to get any easier. The automobile lights bouncing off his mirror were unmistakable. A 1995 candy red Jaguar XJS. Property of one Ashley Blasingame. “Oh, shiiit.”
Turning in her seat, Sheila surveyed the luxury sedan as it hemmed them into the driveway. “Larry, is that who I think it is?”
“It’s cool, Sheila. Why don’t you go on in the house and find Terence. I’ll deal with this.”
As Larry and Sheila emerged from the Lexus, Ashley shot out of the Jaguar, staring them both down with a look tailor-made to kill. “You two make such a lovely couple, you know that?”
Larry’s heart leaped as Sheila moved to separate them. He was struck again by their contrasts. Although the women were roughly the same height, Sheila’s Detroit Pistons cap and Champs sweat suit were the polar opposite of Ashley’s glistening mane and dazzling Anne Klein ensemble. Substance versus style.
Sheila held her hands up innocently. “Ashley, there’s no need to start a soap opera here. Larry and I are just friends, working on an investigative assignment—”
Ashley stepped to within an inch of Sheila’s personal space, her voice rising several decibels. “Look, Aunt Jemima, you can step off me right now, bitch. I got your number! The whole campus is laughing at me, seeing you run around with my man!”
Sheila began rolling up the sleeves of her jacket. “Aunt What? You prissy-ass little prig! I oughtta give you a Motown-style beatdown—”
Larry gently grabbed Sheila around the waist, depositing her on the other side of him and Ashley. “Sheila, please go in the house. I got this one.”
“Handle your business, then.” Shooting a final glare at Ashley, she turned and huffed up the sidewalk.
Larry knew he had to move quickly to defuse this thing before it turned truly ugly. Another second and he’d have had a catfight on his front lawn. Filled with regret and determination, he stood toe-to-toe with Ashley, locking hands with her and meeting her moistening eyes.
“It’s over, isn’t it?” The whisper in her voice sounded like a small child’s.
Refusing to let his gaze waver, he touched her lips lightly. “I think we both figured that out a while ago, Ash. I really do think I loved you. You’ve got everything I ever thought I wanted. But it’s not working.”
“But Larry, weren’t we good together?”
“We looked good together. We were good in bed, good at stylin’ and profilin’. Could have had a family out of Central Casting and the family wealth to match. But would we be happy?”
Ashley’s words sounded like a whimper. “What is happiness, anyway?”
Larry locked eyes with Ashley. “Ash, be honest with yourself. Could you really get behind things like the Ellis Center, or stick with me through a down time, like what happened with my campaign?”
/> Wiping the pearl-shaped tears that rolled down her golden cheeks, she reached for him and pulled him close, planting a soft, vulnerable kiss on his lips before responding. “Larry, I don’t understand what I did wrong. No man has ever asked anything more of me than my beauty, my body, and my money. Now all of a sudden you want to come along and invent rules I’ve never played by. Go ahead and live like the other half, if you want to. One day you’ll miss this.”
Larry frowned but kept his eyes on hers. “I guess we’ll never know, Ash. I guess we’ll never know. I’ll call you later, okay? Before I leave for the summer. I got my hands full right now.”
“Fine.” She wiped her eyes, which slowly turned into cold, hard blocks of ice. As she climbed back into the Jaguar and revved up the engine, Larry waved slowly and watched her back out of the driveway. Later tonight, or sometime after the madness ended, he knew he would have to shed some tears. There was no time for that now.
When he stepped into the living room seconds later, Sheila and Lisa were perched on the couch, shaking their heads at each other. Brandon was pacing the hardwood floor as Terence stood in front of the couch with hands on hips.
“Terence, this is a joke, right, brother? How could you just hand over the contributions lock, stock, and barrel?” Brandon was as edgy as Larry had ever seen him.
Larry and Terence met each other in a deadlocked stare. Terence seemed defensive, determined to keep everyone out of his family business. Larry was still reeling from his confrontations with Eldridge and Ashley. Brandon was wrung out emotionally and physically, and Sheila and Lisa felt as if they were trapped in the middle of a train wreck.
“Whitaker, what you lookin’ at?” Terence said. “You better not come at me crazy. You got somethin’ to say, say it. Quit tryin’ to show out.”
As Brandon huffed and puffed, perching himself on the edge of the loveseat, Larry stayed rooted to his position just inside the entryway. “Terence, I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m confused, brother. You knew Sheila and I were closing in on a link between Orange and some seedy elements, especially Eldridge. You also knew that to release the contributions to Orange and his crony Spears could spell financial disaster for Ellis. Why would you betray us like this?”
Between Brothers Page 31
