Between Brothers

by C. Kelly Robinson

  A loud honk from behind momentarily startled the men. Larry and Brandon pulled alongside the station wagon in Brandon’s Altima. Through his open window, Larry yelled, “Dawkins, you ready for your road trip? You straight on cash?”

  “Your check set me straight, boy. I’m rett’.”

  Terence opened the passenger’s side door. “Biggie, you stay cool now. Those handcuffs of Chuck’s can chafe the skin pretty bad, if what his girlfriends say is true. Don’t fidget. Just lay back and enjoy the ride. Chuck, can’t thank you enough.”

  As Terence climbed into the Altima, he paused to watch Dawkins zoom the Taurus down the alley and up onto Euclid Street, heading for 395 South. The last glimpse he had was of Biggie’s panicked, tortured face, pressed tightly against the glass of the back window. Terence stifled a weary laugh. The boy would thank him for this someday.

  CHAPTER 30

  . . . . . . . . . . . .

  BOYS TO MEN

  “Mr. Peters, wake up. It’s dinnertime and you have a visitor. Are you up for some company?”

  O. J. opened his eyes and exhaled softly at the sight of the shapely, toffee-colored nurse laying his dinner platter on the tray before him. This was the second evening she had served him, and her presence was starting to stir up the canine rumblings that had been all too familiar since he first entered adolescence. Before he could be tempted to take a second look at the knit of her snug white uniform, he fixed his eyes on the steaming plate of veal Parmesan and succotash. “Thank you, ma’am. Who’s the visitor? I’d like some company.”

  “Do you know a Larry Whitaker?” His smile gave her the answer. “I’ll send him right in.”

  After a warm greeting, Larry sat beside the bed and talked while O. J. ate his meal. Then he lifted the tray off the bed and set it on a nearby chair. “So, playa, anything else you wanna get up to speed on?” He had already briefed O. J. on the guys’ progress regarding Ellis.

  “Well, for starters, when are you gonna be crowned HSA president?”

  Larry strolled over to the window in the corner and began to loosen his tie. “Well, that’s kind of a long story. I just left the last debate; the election is tomorrow. I pulled out of the race tonight.”

  Shocked, O. J. shot forward, wincing in pain as he straightened his back. “You did what? Larry Whitaker passed up a spot in Power Hall? What’s really goin’ on?”

  “I don’t even think I know, man. These past few weeks have had a funny effect on a brother. You think I’m trippin’, you shoulda seen the look on David Winburn’s face when I threw my support to Winston Hughes!” Larry erupted into laughter at the memory. Ever since he had started to clear his name last week, Winburn’s position in the polls had dropped steadily, as the Highland body came to the realization that he had been behind the unfounded attack on Larry. On top of that, Hughes had actually gained some ground since the first speakout, on the strength of his well-informed proposals to restructure some of the university’s debt and address the financial aid crisis. With the benefit of Larry’s supporters behind him, Hughes was set to give Winburn an exhausting run for his money.

  Smiling at Larry’s glee, O. J. pressed him for more gossip. “You ain’t sayin’ nothing but a word, these weeks have changed you. When Preston stopped by yesterday, he was goin’ on and on about you kickin’ Ashley to the curb. None of my bidness, but—”

  Larry shook his head, staring at the floor and smiling gently. “Your boy’s right, man. I don’t know, working to try to salvage Ellis Center, it’s made me look at life in a different light. I ain’t met your God or Jesus yet, understand, but something’s changed. Choosing between the politics of a campaign and doing something to help some young brothers and sisters, well, it was no choice at all. And who was by my side when the crap hit the fan? Not Ashley. She didn’t want to deal with anything that varied from her narrow expectations.” O. J. smiled. “So man cannot thrive on pumps and a bump alone. You think Sheila Evans is the answer?” O. J. had suspected the chemistry lurking between the two long before Larry had been hip to it.

  “Well, I . . . look, man, how I’ma sound stepping to Sheila two days after breaking up with my woman? I’m trying not to make a decision about her for a while. She’s gonna take a job at the Post, so she’ll be around.”

  Still waking himself, O. J. stretched his hands heavenward. “Well, playa, one thing I can say for sure. Don’t leave her waitin’ too long, if you’re interested. It’s only so many good women out there.”

  “What you mean, O. J.?” Larry inspected his friend’s face carefully. He had never known O. J. to worry about how good a woman was, except where the bedroom was concerned.

  “Look, man, let’s just say my trial by fire has made me appreciate the principled, straight-up sisters that are out there. I know I brought a lot of this mess on myself, but you wanna know what? Black women made me what I am, Larry. You have any idea how many of the women I’ve been with at Highland would turn their back on a nice brother like the Choirboy? These the same women who come to my church, wave their hands all during the service, complain about brothers being dogs, and then go home with me! I’m just saying, there’s a lot of women out there like that. When you find one who knows what’s good for her, you better grab her while you can.”

  Chuckling, Larry slumped against the wall next to the bed. “I wouldn’t worry about Brandon’s progress with women, O. J., but you are right on. Guess it takes a playa to know one, hey? You wanna know what’s tight, though? I’m gonna have to squash the last remnant of my old playa self before I get into any relationship with Sheila and her little boy.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How do I explain it? When I go out in public, on campus, or anywhere, I still find myself judging sisters on that same old shallow-ass criteria my pop trained me to use: hair length, complexion, height, and figure. And let’s face it, based on the most stringent and shallow measures—”

  O. J. nodded. “Which used to be your forte—”

  “Sheila doesn’t quite measure up. But you know what, when I’m with her, I don’t care! The personal connection, the chemistry, the shared ambitions—they blot out the superficial mess.”

  “Look, Larry, Sheila is an attractive sister in her own right. She’s no Ashley, but Lord, other than Lela Rochon or Halle Berry, who is? Wanna know the truth? Up until a few days ago, I’d have taken Sheila into my room—”

  Larry let loose with a hoarse laugh. “Hold up now, Chumpy. Point taken, you ain’t got to go there. All I’m sayin’ is, I can see myself with Sheila, but I know it’s gonna take a while to completely let go of my old concepts of beauty. That’s why I want to take it slow.”

  Sighing in admiration of his friend’s determination, O. J. turned his head to face the window. “Well, just make sure you’re not too slow. I’ve already lost out on the one good woman I had. Carla and Pastor Grier stopped by yesterday before church, and, bro, it weren’t pretty.” Putting on a strong face, O. J. proceeded to explain to Larry how upset Carla had been. She and Pastor Grier had come bearing cards, gifts, and homemade goodies from the church members. After Grier prayed with him and offered some general words of support, he had left O. J. and Carla alone. Carla had wanted to take the attack as a sign that it was time for O. J. to settle down, namely, with her. By the time she’d arrived, though, he had already agreed with his father as to his next steps, and it had hurt him to tell her that she was not a part of them.

  “You fired her, just like that?” Larry was surprised, considering that Carla had always been O. J.’s favorite.

  “Man, I’m leavin’ town the day after graduation, and long-distance relationships have never been my thing. Besides, I did it for Carla’s good. I got no business being in anybody’s relationship these days. I got to get my life together.”

  “Well, you’re gonna go home and preach at your pop’s church, right?”

  “I may never step into the pulpit again, brother. My father reminded me of the Scripture that says, ‘Man loo
keth at the outward appearance, but God looketh at the heart.’ Larry, I gotta tell you, when God looks at my heart right now, I know what he sees is pretty frightening. I can fool man any day. I’ll tell you now I can outpreach my daddy, Rev. Grier, Jesse Jackson, anybody you put in my path. I’m a performer. But God ain’t fooled by those outward charms. It’s time for me to stop gettin’ over on God, blaming and hating him for taking my mother, making me short, making me dark, whatever. I got to get to know him one-on-one. Who knows what I’ll find, but once I know him, then I can tell others about him. Until then, I’m chillin’.”

  Larry leaned against the windowsill and eyed O. J. dubiously. “O. J. Peters, doing something other than preaching? How you gonna pay the bills, man?”

  “Gonna get my teaching certificate. I figure my charm can be put to less destructive use on impressionable elementary school kids. I may not teach forever, but it’s as good a place as any while I straighten myself out.”

  The conversation was interrupted by a rap at the door. The attractive nurse inched open the door, smiling shyly as she made eye contact with Larry. “Sorry, but visiting hours are over. Please sign out at the front desk as you leave.”

  “No problem, ma’am. Thanks again.” Larry leaned over the bed, his hand stretched out toward O. J. “Be strong, kid. You’ll be out by Wednesday, right?”

  O. J. gripped Larry’s hand in a firm handshake. “Yup. You guys’ll have to get me up to speed on the rededication ceremony for Ellis. Take care, bro.”

  As Larry followed the nurse out into the hallway, O. J. lay back and rested his head against his stiff pillow. Larry had already told him that he suspected Keesa’s attack had been prompted by the enemies of Ellis. There was no point trying to prove that, but he was hoping that his remarks to the police yesterday would encourage some leniency, maybe get her some mental health treatment instead of a lengthy prison stay. He checked the clock on the opposite wall. His father should be returning shortly from the police station, with news about Keesa’s arrest. Willing himself to stay awake, O. J. punched the TV remote and settled back for an episode of Melrose Place. He was looking forward to helping out Ellis in whatever way possible, once he got out. Already, the experience had gained him more than he could ever give back.

  Brandon stepped into the glass-enclosed lobby of Crystal’s, a five-star restaurant on the waterfront of Southwest D.C. He crossed the cobblestone floor and approached the middle-aged host, who stood before a maple-colored lectern, dressed in a traditional black tuxedo. “Good evening. I have a reservation for three at eight, in the name of Bailey.”

  The host smiled crisply before locating Brandon’s name in his book. “Ah, yes, sir. Is the rest of your party with you?”

  Brandon turned around and greeted his parents as they strolled into the atrium arm in arm. His father cut an imposing figure, his six-foot-three frame cloaked in a chalky gray pin-striped Pierre Cardin business suit. His mother looked deceptively younger than her husband, her magenta-tinted hair cut close and curled. “They’re here now, sir.” To his parents he said, “I don’t know why you guys insisted on searching for parking down the street. They have a valet.”

  As the host led them to a table overlooking the glittery boardwalk below, Dr. Bailey berated his son. “Son, why would I waste good money on some punk kid to park my car, when I can do a perfectly fine job of that myself? Besides, you know your mother already set the budget for our trip this week, to the penny. Valets weren’t included.”

  Brandon grinned as his mother tugged at his father’s sleeve. “Now, Brent, you know better than to try to pull that, blaming me. Without that budget, you wouldn’t be able to buy yourself some more new suits at outlandish prices this week.”

  “Oh, please, wife, I always shop for deals, now, come on. What’s the harm in a hardworking man treating himself to some harmless spoils?”

  “They’re only harmless as long as you can afford them.” Mrs. Bailey fixed her husband with a playful glare. “Boy, Visa and MasterCard must love you.”

  Enjoying his parents’ familiar banter, Brandon leaned back and took a swig of his ice water. Solidly upper middle class, with just one more child to get through college, his parents seemed to enjoy bickering over money, pretending they were members of a lower tax bracket. He had been looking forward to graduation week for a while, in part because he knew his parents were going to spend the entire week in D.C. as a vacation, before his brothers and extended family arrived. They had promised to stay out of his way until Friday, but he had asked them out to dinner tonight so he could get things about Monica off his chest. Bobby and his brother Gregory had helped him think things through some, but Brandon felt like he needed to unload to someone with a little more life experience.

  Once the waiter had taken their orders, Brandon tiptoed toward his revelation. “Well, you asked why I didn’t want Bobby or any of my other friends to accompany us here tonight. I think it’s time I told you the real reason.” His father hunched his eyebrows and chewed on a hot roll. His mother’s eyes filled with concern. “So you know, everything’s fine with me, at least surfacewise. I’m happy about attending Duke, and everything’s going smoothly there. I already mentioned that we’re close to securing the Ellis Center’s future, God willing, and everything’s gone great with school this year. But something happened last weekend that’s made me question things deeper than school or work.”

  Clearly growing impatient at Brandon’s awkward buildup, his parents shifted in their seats. His father took the lead. “Uh, son, what exactly are you trying to say? You’re not about to pull an Ellen DeGeneres on us, are you? As your little brother says, I’m not tryin’ to hear that.”

  “What? No! Dad, come on. Look, you guys remember when I had to get tested for HIV, after Brandy died?”

  The Baileys inhaled in unison and peered at Brandon.

  “You all told me,” he said, “that it was a wake-up call, the way things ended with Brandy, the fact that her boyfriend had tested positive for HIV.”

  Dr. Bailey sniffed impatiently. “Well, that sounds about right, son. You were blessed, being able to walk away from that girl with your health intact. We always reared you and your brothers to save that stuff for marriage. It’s in the Bible, and God’s Word doesn’t lie. And for the record, I’ve always taken a bit of pride in the fact that my boys have managed to be the exception, keeping yourselves set apart from worldly immoralities—for the most part. I mean, I look at my sister’s kids, how some of the ones who were just born yesterday are already pregnant with their own kids, and it’s just—”

  Brandon raised a hand. “Dad, maybe you should hold off and let me finish. I’ve always agreed with your view about sexual temptation. The problem is, I’ve been using that as an excuse for my lack of a social life. This girl I’ve been seeing, Monica . . . I know I did the right thing finally asking her out, but it’s already gotten more serious than I’d planned.”

  Pausing to let the waiter set down their salads, Brandon shifted his gaze between his parents and watched his words sink in.

  “Oh.” His mother’s voice had an “Aha!” tone to it. “Well . . .”

  “Wait, wait,” Dr. Bailey pleaded. “Am I missing something here? What exactly do you mean, son?” Dr. Bailey had a brilliant medical mind, but his affinity for implied knowledge, by comparison, was limited.

  The admission rushed from Brandon like a bubbling spring. “Dad, I slept with her! I lost my virginity, again!” Brandon stared down at the tablecloth as he felt the eyes of other diners on him. “Um, well, you know what I mean.”

  Dr. Bailey rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue against his teeth, looking deep in thought. “Well . . . sounds like you had yourself quite a time, son. Does this explain that sissy earring, too?”

  “Brent, this is not about his earring—”

  “It’s okay, Mom. Dad, let’s not get sidetracked. The earring’s a long, separate story. After the other night with Monica, I feel like I can’t win. Not only di
d I break my promise to God, but in order to keep from doing the same thing again, I’m holding off a woman I used to dream of being with.”

  “It’s difficult, isn’t it?” Brandon’s mother’s voice was full of sympathy.

  Brandon ran his fingers over his brow. “Tell me about it. I’m gonna be straight up with you guys—I’m ready to say that celibacy is an unrealistic ideal in this day and age. If I hadn’t run from passion, I might have pulled Monica a long time ago. You know how many lonely, painful nights I could have saved myself?”

  Dr. Bailey leveled a skeptically paternal gaze at his son. “Is this you talking, Brandon, or your johnson?”

  “Truth be told, it’s probably both. I just wish my romantic life could make sense for once. I was supposed to wind up with a good girl, like a Kim Fields. Instead, I’m under the spell of a Toni Braxton.”

  Mrs. Bailey placed a hand on Brandon’s wrist. “Brandon, what exactly is bothering you? Do you want to continue seeing this girl? Are you just disappointed in yourself? What are you feeling?”

  Meeting his mother’s concerned eyes, Brandon groped to express his frustration. “I . . . just . . . I don’t know what the point is anymore. First, I was disillusioned with the Disciples of Christ. Now I’m questioning something I thought symbolized my commitment to God. Have I been kidding myself?”

  Pausing first to look at her husband, Mrs. Bailey patted Brandon’s hand again. “Brandon, listen to me. You should be proud of the way you’ve lived your life. Regardless of what the Bible or anyone else says, your behavior has ensured that you never shattered a young girl’s heart, fathered an illegitimate child, or caught or passed on any sexual diseases. That’s an accomplishment for any young man these days. And I do believe that abstinence before marriage is God’s will. It makes too much sense when you look at the pain caused by loose living.