Between Brothers

by C. Kelly Robinson

  * * *

  Rolly Orange had decided it was time to get the hell out of Dodge. It was almost five o’clock Wednesday afternoon, and the rededication ceremony would kick into full gear the next morning. Ellis’s halls were swimming with volunteers from throughout the District and Maryland, people donating their time and talents to help fill balloons, stitch costumes, assemble the outdoor platform stage, and do the many other last-minute preparations required to pull the ceremony off in respectable fashion. In a couple of hours Sheryl was expecting him to give the board a last-minute update on the expenses incurred for the ceremony, as well as his success in raising additional private monies to offset the cost. That was what she thought he was doing now, preparing a summary report. What he was actually doing was packing. Not everything, of course. If anyone happened to peek through the plastic-covered space in his door where the glass pane had been and see packing boxes, his jig would be up. He wasn’t that much of a fool. He knew precisely what he needed to take from the office, and it could all fit in the leather satchel he carried with him every day.

  He removed his family pictures, checkbook, and Rolodex and neatly deposited them into the satchel, before looking longingly around his dingy office. His flight was leaving National Airport in two hours; it was time to go, before his conscience took him in a stranglehold and forced him to reverse the considerable damage he’d already done. Smoothing his dark suit, the most conservative outfit he’d worn in months, he looped the leather bag over his right shoulder and headed toward the door. He was halfway there when he saw something he knew he couldn’t leave behind.

  Just to the left of the door hung a laminated, framed copy of the last major profile the Post had run on him. “The Comeback Kid,” the article headline read. The story, printed ten years earlier, outlined how Orange had reclaimed his seat on the city council after resigning a year earlier to help care for his gravely ill daughter. Reading of Angela’s bout with lupus again, even years later, caused a stirring pain in his stomach as he again thanked a now distant God for her complete recovery. His daughter wasn’t returning his calls these days, but he believed she would always understand the special place she held in his heart. His eyes filled with proud tears as he read the article again. The reporter wrote admiringly of the younger Orange’s reputation as a “man of the people; one who represented the best of what they could be without leaving them behind. One who never forgot from whence he came.” Sighing as he reread his own bold quotes, many of which promised to bring a sense of honor and dignity back to public service, Orange reached up with a quivering hand to remove the article and place it in his satchel. A reminder that, with his new cash and newfound freedom, he might recapture that glory in another time, another place.

  He was stopped short by the sound of Sheryl’s voice. “Rolly.” Her tone was fraught with accusations.

  Leaving the article in its place, Orange leveled his eyes to meet Sheryl’s. She stood just inside the doorway, her arms crossed grimly. Orange felt a surge of crippling cold shoot through his entire body. “Uh, yeah, Sheryl, what do you need?”

  “I have some friends I’d like you to speak with.” The words had barely escaped Sheryl’s mouth when Brandon, Larry, and O. J., his neck still in a brace, stepped into the office behind her. Languishing behind them was a young boy dressed in a familiar L.A. Lakers windbreaker.

  “Pooh? Not you, too?” Orange knew he had no right to feel betrayed by the youngster. Pooh Riley, like all of the at-risk children served by Ellis, was the real victim.

  Feeling triumphant but slightly embarrassed, all three men were strangely mute, almost avoiding eye contact with Orange. They were glad they’d agreed beforehand to let Sheryl do all the talking.

  Sheryl stepped in front of Pooh and crossed her arms, maternal rage burning in her eyes. “Rolly, my Highland friends and little Pooh here have provided me with a string of very disturbing information, all of which calls into question your stewardship as business manager.”

  Orange’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he stumbled forward and reared back suddenly, like a wounded horse. Instinctively, Brandon stepped forward, helping to steady the large man and navigate him to a nearby chair. “Easy, Mr. Orange.”

  As his judges stood over him, Rolly Orange swept his eyes over each face before breaking into a heaving, wracking sob. At last, for better or worse, it was all over. He had tried to tell himself that this was his last jig, his last game, his final thrill, one that would get him off to a new start. But he had known all along he was lying to himself; he had done nothing to address the addictions and other demons that had ended his marriage and his political career, not to mention his relationships with his children. He didn’t know how to identify or attack them, but now he would have no choice but to face them head-on. “Sheryl, please, you must understand. Oh, God!”

  He collected himself, sniffing up the tears and reminding himself to restrict his admissions as much as possible. There was no point making the cops’ job easier for them. “Sheryl, I have more respect for you and what you’ve done here at Ellis than just about anyone I’ve ever worked with. You’ve got to believe that I never would have gotten involved in this if not for the money. I needed money, Sheryl, to support my family, to try to build a new life for myself. It was nothing personal—”

  Sheryl turned her back on Orange’s pleas. “Rolly, maybe you should save your comments for the police. I’ve already called them, and they’ll be here shortly. Besides, I’d be lying if I said I can even hear you at this point. There is no justification for what you’ve done. I have nothing to say to you.”

  Unable to suppress his emotions, Larry stepped over to Orange’s droopy frame. “You know, Rolly, I hope I never lose sight of my goals the way you have. You were a great man in your own right, once. You must have really hit rock bottom to try to pimp a center dedicated to the people, somethin’ positive. Was that really the best you could do, brother?”

  Rising with determined speed, Orange fixed his eyes on Larry. “Son, you can judge me all you want. I know I found that easy to do when I had a full head of hair, a washboard stomach, all the women I wanted, and my whole life in front of me. But you talk to me twenty, thirty years from now. When everyone speaks of you in the past tense or as a ‘Where is he now?’ When your seventeen-year-old daughter pins her hopes to attending your alma mater but you can’t afford to send her anywhere other than the local community college. When men who used to depend on you to get business done in this city won’t return your phone calls. Then you can come and preach to me about who to pimp. Get out of my face.”

  “Mr. Orange.” Officer Perkins stepped into the room, trailed by two younger men in blue. “We have just completed our interrogation of one Nico Lane, who provided us with some interesting information.” Perkins paused to grin at Brandon, Larry, and O. J. “Ms. Gibson, why don’t you escort these young men outside? We’ll handle business with Mr. Orange from here, before we go pick up his friend Mr. Spears.”

  As Sheryl led them out of the room, Orange called to her. “Sheryl, please,” he said, “you may never forgive me, but I’m asking for your understanding. J-Just remember that this was never about you.”

  Sheryl paused in the doorway, her icy stare repelling his earnest pleas. “I know, Rolly. It was all about you.”

  CHAPTER 32

  . . . . . . . . . . . .

  HARAMBEE

  The weather had taken a sharp positive turn on the morning of Ellis Center’s rededication ceremony. The sun shone brightly, bathing everything and everyone in a hazy golden halo. The skies were ocean blue, and the air was free of the humidity that would likely weigh it down in the summer. The courtyard that separated Ellis’s main structure from its football field and swimming pool was packed with a crowd three hundred strong, cheering on Sheryl Gibson, the board members, and assorted VIPs lining the platform stage. The program had kicked off promptly at 11:30 A.M., with a rousing performance by the St. Albans teen choir, who had brought the
house down with their own version of Kirk Franklin’s “Stomp.” That had been followed by welcoming addresses from the mayor and the honorable D.C. delegate Eleanor Holmes Norton. When the Rev. Banks completed his invocation, Sheryl rose and shook his hand before assuming her position at the lectern. Even from where they sat several feet behind her on the platform, it was obvious to Brandon, Larry, Terence, and O. J. that Sheryl was on the verge of being overcome with emotion.

  “I love this community!” She seemed to be shouting with someone else’s lungs, her voice carried so effectively. “Ellis Center exists because of this community, and you have made it what it is!” The crowd, full of children, teens, and adults who had received knowledge, home training, and sustenance within Ellis’s walls, rose to its feet, showering Ellis’s embattled matriarch with loving praise. “My brothers and sisters, this beloved institution has come a mighty long way! Some of you agonized with us and for us when our key sources of funding were withdrawn. Many of you have personally dedicated your time, your financial resources, and your prayers to help us make up the financial shortfall. And I am here to announce that we have almost arrived at the other side of the mountain! I have faith that we will raise the remaining twenty-five thousand we need to repay the bank loans that come due this fall. We are also actively investing the tens of thousands of dollars that you and many other good-hearted citizens have provided. We are doing it!” She paused to allow the throng to express its joy and adulation. “Before we complete this program, I cannot sit by without recognizing the dedicated efforts of the Ellis Center’s board of directors. It has been their leadership and dedication that has seen us through these trying times. Please show them your appreciation, as they stand so they can be acknowledged!” As Rev. Banks, who had to be nudged from a catnap, and the ten other board members stood before the row of chairs they shared on the stage, the crowd clapped and whooped as if they were at a Highland football rally. As the board members began to take their seats, Sheryl’s voice froze them in midmotion.

  “I would like to ask four of these great board members to remain standing one minute longer. Mr. Brandon Bailey, Mr. Larry Whitaker, Mr. Terence Davidson, and Mr. Oscar Peters, Jr.! These young men went far beyond the call of duty in ensuring the fiscal safety and salvation of this institution. I cannot thank you enough!” Sheryl’s voice cracked audibly as she stepped back from the lectern and clapped in unison with the crowd.

  The men had barely begun to take their seats when Sheryl and Rev. Banks held them up again, this time so that they could present them with tokens of appreciation. Each gift had been carefully selected to fit the individual. Little Pooh Riley, sporting a new L.A. Lakers jersey, presented Brandon with a photography portfolio, featuring the work of the preteen students he had mentored at Ellis. O. J. was given a leather-bound, pocketsized Bible with the words ellis—a place for all god’s children imprinted on the front. It took all of O. J.’s manly pride to keep from bursting with tears when he found the dedication page was filled with signatures of the nine-year-olds he had tutored in English. Larry guffawed in appreciation when he was handed a leather checkbook case with the words chief financial officer, ellis community center inscribed across the front. Most impressive was the presentation to Terence of a gold-plated plaque recognizing him as the first annual recipient of the Spirit of Ellis Award, to be presented, in Sheryl’s words, “to an individual whose ability to overcome economic adversity mirrors the spirit Ellis encourages in all of its youth.” Terence’s surprise was increased by the announcement that Technotronics, Inc., would be assuming responsibility for all of his remaining Highland tuition costs.

  When the men took their seats, the program continued with personal testimonials from Ellis alumni. The board members themselves as well as many onlookers sat in awe as elderly, middle-aged, and young adults took the stage, tying their time at Ellis into the productive lives they had come to lead. Most touching was the testimony of Jenae Watkins, a tall wisp of a woman with a girlish face. Her story of how she had first arrived at Ellis’s door fifteen years earlier, as a pregnant teen with a heroin addiction, held the audience rapt. She told how the staff had helped her beat the drug addiction, study to earn her GED, attend college for an associate degree in nursing, and make a stable home for herself and her child. “And a few weeks ago I was accepted to attend medical school, right here at Highland!” Her face streaming with tears, she urged the audience to withhold applause. “I-I’m nobody special, really. The special people are the ones who keep this place runnin’. Sheryl, Rev. Banks, and now these young men from Highland, their work makes it possible. If Sheryl Gibson and her predecessors hadn’t believed in me, I might have died in the streets fifteen years ago. Instead I’m going to take a shot at becoming a physician. Brothers and sisters, I mean this: the next time a place like Ellis, or any worthwhile institution in our community, asks for your money or your time, please remember me, if you don’t remember anything else! Me, the person who might still be walking up to you and asking for money for my habit instead of preparing to treat your infirmities. Giving back can make a difference!”

  More than an hour later the proceedings were finally winding down. As he bopped to the Highland Gospel Choir’s rendition of Fred Hammond’s “Glory to God,” Terence leaned over to whisper into Sheryl’s ear. “Sheryl, are you going to make any announcement about the status of the monies needed to pay off the banks?” He and the other fellows had been expecting a little more information about how close the center was to satisfying all the banks. They knew that their contributions, which were now safely out of Spears’s hands and in Ellis’s bank account, were going to help reduce the debt, but Sheryl had given no indication of how they were going to close the remaining gap.

  Sheryl let a sly grin slip and winked at him. “You’ll hear how it goes, soon enough. Just enjoy yourself.” With that, she rose and returned to the podium, giving the crowd a few seconds to collect itself before making her concluding comments. She removed a printed document from the pocket of her slacks and beamed brightly. “Before I dismiss this great celebration, I must confess I chose to save the best news for last. I mentioned earlier that we had a twenty-five-thousand-dollar shortfall that we needed to cover in order to completely satisfy our creditors and avoid closure. Well, I was a little coy with you all. We received, just yesterday, the final dollars needed to make that goal.” Pandemonium took over as the weight of Sheryl’s words settled in.

  Terence and his friends and fellow board members could barely restrain themselves; they crisscrossed the stage trading hugs, backslaps, high fives, and proud, thankful shouts of glee. When Sheryl had finished cavorting with the others, she returned to the microphone.

  “To show my special gratitude for these last-minute donors, our black knights, if you will, I’d like to recognize a representative of each group. As I call your name and your organization, please come join us on the stage so this assembly can express its appreciation!” She slipped on a trendy pair of eyeglasses and began to make her way down the list. “Mr. Matthew X, representing the Highland chapter of the Nation of Islam, donating twenty-two hundred dollars! Mr. Allen Gilliam, representing the Highland chapter of the Disciples of Christ, donating fiftyone hundred dollars! Mr. Jerry Wallace, representing Technotronics, Inc., donating six thousand this year, with a five thousand annual endowment! Pastor Otis Grier, representing Light of Tabernacle Church, donating fifteen hundred dollars!”

  Terence, Brandon, Larry, and O. J. looked on in astonishment, wondering how many donors there had been. There was still a little ways to go to hit that twenty-five-thousand figure. The rest must have been due to someone with major ducats, or a large group of folk making small donations. Sheryl paused dramatically, then resumed. “Lisa Patton, representing the Women of Highland Society, donating twelve thousand, five hundred dollars!”

  As Lisa, dressed in a tasteful spring suit, climbed the steps to join the throng of donors lining the stage, Terence was unable to hide his amazement as he went to
join her. “Lisa, where in the world did you get that type of money?”

  Taking his hand, she leaned in, kissing him gently on the cheek before responding. “Let’s just say the Women of Highland is a front for we sisters who consider ourselves to be important in the lives of you and your housemates.”

  His eyes searching the crowd, Terence looked furtively at his friends on the stage before continuing. “Is you saying—are you saying that Monica, Sheila—”

  “Monica, Sheila, Carla, and, believe it or not, Ashley are all in on this. You got it, babe. Did you all think we’ve been blind these past weeks, while your work for Ellis almost ate you all alive? We’ve been using our pull, all over the campus, combined with Ashley’s pocketbook, to make our own impact. How ya like us now?”

  Unable to be heard over the roar of the crowd, Terence made do by drawing his woman close and planting a warm display of his affection onto her lips. They were surrounded by Brandon, Larry, and O. J. The time to celebrate, as one unit, one household, had finally come.

  EPILOGUE

  . . . . . . . . . . . .

  Larry senior was unable to hide his naked glee at his son’s news. “Hot damn, I knew my boy would come to his senses! How many times I gotta tell you, ain’t nothing those snobby Wall Street worker bees can teach you about business that I can’t! It’s about time you gave me another chance to show you the ropes, son!”

  His shoulders trembling in silent laughter, Larry rested the phone in the crook of his neck. His hands freed up, he shushed Sheila before responding. “Well, Pop, what can I say? I got a nasty call from the boys at Goldman Sachs Monday, and I didn’t have any time to talk. Basically, they wanted me to accept their offer to work there this summer. Dad, a brother’s been busy, so I had to tell them to check me out next year. After the last couple of weeks I’ve had, I think I need to be in familiar surroundings this summer. I got the rest of my life to bow to the Wall Street power structure. I figure I may as well enjoy this last summer and give the family business a chance before I graduate next year. Besides, I’ve got a lot to fill you and Mom in on regarding these last few weeks. Amy, too.”