“Wasn’t me.” She picked up one of the nachos they had ordered and crunched on it.
“Eugene sent me a copy of that email,” Nichelle said. “How in the world did you even come up with such a spiteful idea in the first place?”
“That man is a pathological liar. That’s part and parcel of being on the down low.”
“Just leave him alone, or I’ll arrest you myself.” J.C. signaled the bartender and ordered a Sprite. “So what’s the next step with the lawsuit, Nichelle?”
“Eugene has to answer the complaint. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to get it dismissed.”
Special stopped mid-crunch. “He won’t be able to, will he?”
“I doubt it. At least not this early on.”
“Good. I can’t wait for you to put that boy on the witness stand.” She pointed a finger at the now-muted TV screen. “At least that brother right there got what he deserved.”
J.C. looked up and saw a photograph of Nathaniel Allen, the star running back at Fox Hills Junior College, flash across the screen.
“Special!” Nichelle glared at her. “How can you be so mean? The man was murdered.”
“I know for a fact that brother was on the down low, too. No telling how many women he infected.”
J.C. put down her Sprite. “What did you say?”
“You heard me. That brother was all up in the closet.”
“How do you know that?” J.C. asked.
“’Cuz I just do. You know Shawnta, my braider? Well, she knows this guy named Donte who was one of Nathaniel Allen’s boys. Or I should say, girls.”
Nichelle folded her arms over her ample bosom. “I don’t believe that. You think every guy you meet is gay.”
“You don’t have to believe it. Shawnta didn’t believe it either until Donte showed her a picture of the two of them together.”
“A picture of two men together doesn’t prove anything,” Nichelle said dismissively.
“It does when it’s taken with a hidden camera and shows two you know whats. Shawnta told me Donte was in the shop yesterday crying like a baby.”
“He must’ve really loved him,” Nichelle said sadly.
“Loved him?” Special crinkled up her nose. “Hell, nah. Donte’s a major whore. He was waiting for that boy to win the Heisman trophy and go pro so he could confront him with the photographs. He kept extra copies of ’em in a safe deposit box at Bank of America. Donte was crying over all that blackmail money he won’t be getting.”
“That’s awful,” Nichelle said.
“It is what it is.”
J.C. drained the remainder of her Sprite and hopped off the bar stool. “Gotta go.”
“Already?” Nichelle said. “They should have a table for us soon.”
J.C.’s face glowed with excitement. “I think Special may’ve just given me some information that might help me solve not one murder, but three.”
Chapter 24
Nichelle arrived at the O’Reilly & Finney offices just before seven o’clock the following night. Vernetta had agreed to help Nichelle work out a trial strategy for the lawsuit against Eugene. Wrongful death wasn’t her area of expertise, but she knew lots of tricks of the trade that might be useful at trial.
“So Jamal isn’t helping you?” Vernetta asked.
Nichelle pulled a stack of cases from her satchel. “Nope. His managing partner vetoed that. They’re concerned about the type of publicity this case is likely to attract.”
“Well, you’ve got Sam.”
“He’s not about to help me. He doesn’t even think we should be suing Eugene. But don’t worry. It’s been a while since I litigated, but I have a pretty good handle on everything. I just wanted to bounce a few ideas off of you.”
They discussed several recent negligence and wrongful death cases involving HIV and AIDS and made a list of the legal elements Nichelle would need to prove. It was close to nine when they finally decided to pack up.
“I need to drop off a document for O’Reilly’s secretary,” Vernetta said. “I’ll be right back.”
When she reached the secretary’s cubicle, she heard laughter coming from O’Reilly’s office. Male laughter and female laughter. She stood there, eavesdropping through the closed door.
Vernetta saw the doorknob turn and dashed into the secretary’s cubicle and pretended to be writing a note. When she turned around, Haley was standing behind her, white as a sheet.
“I . . . uh . . . I was . . . just looking for a document in O’Reilly’s office,” Haley volunteered.
Vernetta had not asked a question, so her unsolicited explanation made her sound guiltier than she looked.
Her blond hair was mussed and her red lipstick was smeared to the left of her lower lip. Haley noticed Vernetta examining her untidy state and quickly wiped her mouth and raked her fingers through her hair.
“O’Reilly forgot to give me some documents I needed for the Vista Electronics case,” Haley offered, again without solicitation.
But he hasn’t left the office yet.
Vernetta’s mind raced. Was O’Reilly stupid enough to be messing around with Haley? And here in the office of all places? Men were such knuckleheads when it came to sex.
“Which documents were you looking for? I might have copies.”
“Uh . . . the . . . oh, never mind. It’s late and I’m exhausted. I better be getting home.”
“Are you okay, Haley?”
“Yeah, of course.” She ran her fingers through her hair again. “Why do you ask?”
“You just seem a little flustered.”
“I’m fine.” She started walking away.
“Good night,” Vernetta called after her.
Haley turned back and flashed a syrupy smile. “Good night to you, too.”
Vernetta was dying to charge into O’Reilly’s office and bust him. He was probably inside with his ear pressed to the door. Instead, she scampered back to her own office.
She closed the door behind her and rushed over to her desk, her heart beating wildly.
“What’s the matter?” Nichelle asked.
“I have the gossip of the century.”
“Do share.”
“You know that little witch, Haley?”
Nichelle nodded.
“She’s messing around with the managing partner.”
“And how do you know that?”
“I just caught them.”
Nichelle stood up. “You caught them? Here? In the office?”
“Yeah—I mean no. I didn’t actually see them. But I heard laughter coming from O’Reilly’s office and then Haley walked out with her hair messed up and her lipstick smeared.”
Nichelle sat back down. “I don’t think that evidence would hold up in a court of law, counselor.”
Vernetta plopped down behind her desk. “I’m telling you, he’s screwing that girl. I could tell by the look on her face. The same guilty look both of them had when I saw them here late a couple nights ago.”
Nichelle apparently wasn’t buying it. “That doesn’t make sense. He would not take the risk of messing around with her in the office.”
“We’re talking about sex,” Vernetta said. “Men take stupid risks for a five-second orgasm all the time.”
“If they wanted to mess around, why wouldn’t they go to O’Reilly’s place? Or hers?”
“Haley lives in the same apartment building as two other associates. And O’Reilly has a live-in girlfriend.” O’Reilly’s significant other was a fortyish interior decorator whom everyone at the firm was predicting would finally get him to the altar.
“Well, it’s not like they couldn’t afford a hotel.”
Vernetta shrugged. “I can’t explain why they’re screwing around here. I just know they are.” The firm had a strict policy prohibiting dating between employees in a direct or indirect reporting relationship. Partner-associate liaisons were a definite no-no.
Nichelle stubbornly shook her head. “I just can’t see
O’Reilly being that stupid.”
“I can,” Vernetta said adamantly. “Those two are having an affair. I just know it.”
Chapter 25
Special circled the lower level of LAX for the third time, trying to keep an eye on the car in front of her and dial her cell phone at the same time. Clayton had promised to call the minute his plane landed. His flight was obviously late. Special just needed to know how late.
“Whatever happened to a human being answering the friggin’ phone?” she said out loud, as an automated voice gave her a menu of options. She had to make four selections before finally learning that Clayton’s plane wouldn’t be landing for another twenty minutes.
Special found a spot in the short-term parking lot across from the Delta terminal. She was glad to have the additional time before Clayton arrived. She’d been on edge all day long and knew she had to get her act together. She was excited about seeing him, but still hadn’t been able to quell her concerns that her man might be a fraud.
She reached underneath her seat and pulled out her worn copy of J.L. King’s book, On the Down Low: A Journey into the Lives of “Straight” Black Men Who Sleep with Men. Over the past month, she had devoured the book and then scoured the Internet for anything else she could find about men on the down low.
She’d also read two books on the subject written by women, Faith Under Fire: Betrayed by a Thing Called Love by LaJoyce Brookshire, and a book written by J.L. King’s wife, Brenda Stone Browder, On the Up and Up: A Survival Guide for Women Living with Men on the Down Low. Special’s heart went out to those sisters. She was determined to learn from their mistakes.
She turned on the overhead light, quickly flipped to Chapter 13 of King’s book and reread it for the umpteenth time.
In this chapter, King described various categories of DL men. Some were quintessential family men and presented themselves to the public as the ideal boyfriend or husband. If she were right about Clayton, he would probably fall into that group.
Turning the book face down on her lap, Special closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest. She had been back and forth all morning long, mulling over the factors that said Clayton might be perpetrating. Then, minutes later, she would come up with a longer list that contradicted each one of them.
She checked the time on the dashboard clock, turned the key to the alternator position, inserted her Queen Latifah CD, and hit track seven. Queen Latifah’s remake of California Dreamin’ had a way of chilling her out better than three glasses of Merlot.
Thirty minutes later, Special slowly drove along the airport walkway, leaning her head down to peer out of the passenger window, hoping to spot Clayton. She stopped at the sight of a wiry man in a bright, flower-print jumpsuit and a closely cropped auburn Afro. He was prancing down the sidewalk with a pronounced feminine gait.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Special watched the man swing his hips from side to side. “Why can’t you down low assholes give a sister a sign like that brother right there?”
She pulled over to the curb, rolled down the passenger window, and called out to the man. “You lookin’ mighty good in that outfit, my brother. Go on with yo’ bad self!”
The man stopped, put his hands on his hips, did a slow pirouette, then sashayed on down the sidewalk.
Special was still laughing when Clayton knocked on the driver’s window, causing her to jump so high she almost hit her head on the roof of the car. She threw open the door and fell into Clayton’s arms.
“Miss me?” he asked, pulling her to him.
“Every day and every night,” Special said.
Clayton was only wearing jeans and a T-shirt but he still looked hella sexy. He tossed his bag into the backseat and they took off. He held her right hand as she drove and leaned over to kiss her at every traffic light.
“I can’t wait until we get to your place,” Clayton said. “I’ve missed you so much, and I’m horny as hell.”
Special blinked. Down low brothers supposedly had unusually strong sex drives.
Clayton started going on and on about some project at work. He stopped when Special turned into the Ladera Center.
“Where we going?”
“I need to make a Starbucks run.”
“I’m tired as hell,” Clayton complained. “Can’t you make some coffee when you get home?”
“If I get a couple extra shots of caffeine, I’ll be all hyped up.” She reached over and gave his upper thigh a quick pat. “I just wanna make sure I have enough energy for everything I have planned for you tonight.”
Clayton’s lips formed a slow grin. “Well, what you waiting for then? Let’s go get your coffee.”
Special lucked out and found a parking spot right in front of the Jamba Juice, next door to the Starbucks. Before she could get out, Clayton jogged around and opened her door. He pulled her out and kissed her again.
Special had a dual purpose for this stop. She wanted to observe Clayton in the presence of other men. DL brothers, according to On the Down Low, had a discreet way of signaling each other.
This particular Starbucks, a popular neighborhood hangout, was always crawling with black men. As they approached, several men lounged in wrought iron chairs out front and more filled cushy chairs inside. Outside to the left, groups of men crowded around tables observing two chess matches.
Special joined a long line of customers. “You want something?”
Clayton kissed her on the side of the neck. “Just you.”
A muscular black man in a red Lycra T-shirt entered from a side door and walked in Clayton’s direction. The man gave Clayton a barely perceptible backward nod accompanied by a glance that was way too long for Special’s taste. Were they signaling each other with her standing right there? She turned around and stared up at Clayton.
“Ma’am, may I help you?”
Clayton nudged her. “Your turn to order, babe.”
“Oh . . . uh, a tall White Chocolate Mocha,” Special said weakly.
“You okay?” Clayton apparently noticed her distress.
She tried to play it off. “I’m fine.”
The clerk wrote Special’s name on the side of a paper cup and they stepped away from the counter. More people entered the Starbucks. Every black man who approached eyed Clayton and nodded. Dang! Is every black man in here gay?
Special knew she had to calm down. The way one man greeted another was not a bona fide confirmation of his sexual orientation.
“Where’s the restroom?” Clayton asked.
She pointed toward a short hallway at the back of the store. Special watched him as he walked away. At least he didn’t walk gay. But neither did Eugene. And look where Maya ended up. Special gazed skyward and inhaled. Girl, I miss you so much. Give me a sign, Maya. Please, help me figure this thing out.
The clerk called her name and Special retrieved her drink. As she grabbed a napkin from a side counter, a smiling Clayton returned. “Drink up, baby, and let’s go get this party started.” He kissed her lightly on the lips.
Special’s hand tightened around her drink. She would get the answer she needed soon enough. By tomorrow night, if Clayton was on the down low, he was about to get his ass outted big time.
Chapter 26
You look bushed, girl,” Jefferson said when Vernetta trudged into the bedroom, still reeling from her discovery about Haley and O’Reilly.
She yawned and dropped her purse on the dresser. “That’s certainly an understatement.”
Jefferson was lying in bed, propped up on two pillows, one hand behind his head, watching basketball highlights.
Vernetta stood over the bed. “Guess what I just found out?”
“What?” His eyes did not leave the television screen.
“I think O’Reilly and Haley are messing around.”
“Is that right?” He still didn’t look her way.
“Is that all you have to say?”
Jefferson finally gave her his full attention. “W
hat am I supposed to say? He’s a man and she’s a woman. And Haley ain’t exactly bad on the eyes. She’s kinda pale for my taste, but she’s got a nice ass for a white girl.”
“Since when did you have time to check out Haley’s ass?”
“I wasn’t checking out her ass. It was just there. Staring at me.”
Vernetta pulled the pillow from behind Jefferson’s head and started slugging him with it.
He laughed and blocked her blows with his forearm, then snatched the pillow back.
“Don’t be mad at the girl. She’s just using what she’s got to get what she wants. That’s the American way.”
“Well, it makes me sick to my stomach.” Vernetta stepped out of her heels and started to undress. “I’m really screwed now.”
“I would have to agree. If Haley’s banging the big boss, sounds like you better get on her good side.”
“I would if she had one.
“Just stop trippin’ and make friends with the girl.”
“That’s not going to happen.” Vernetta slipped a nightgown over her head and plopped into the armchair next to the bed. “She’s the one who needs to be nice to me. If I expose their little affair, she’ll be the one out of the door, not O’Reilly.”
Vernetta tried to watch television, but couldn’t get Haley and O’Reilly off her mind.
“You, okay, babe?” Jefferson asked. “Ever since you got passed up for partnership, you’ve been in a constant funk.”
Passed up for partnership. Vernetta hated the sound of the words. “Have I?”
Jefferson turned over on his side and faced her. “Lately, the first thing you do when you get home is start complaining about Haley or O’Reilly or the firm. You never talk about your cases anymore. Why don’t you tell me what you’re working on?”
She shrugged. “Nothing exciting.”
“Babe, I don’t understand what’s going on with you. It’s obvious that you don’t like working at the firm as much as you used to. Why don’t you just leave? It’s not like you can’t find another job. And we have enough cash saved that it wouldn’t be a big deal if you didn’t work for a while.”
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