CHAPTER 10
Cydney promised herself she wouldn’t play the game of sitting by the phone waiting for Desmond to call. However, the only way she could fulfill that promise was by busying herself with whatever task she could find to do around the house. She thoroughly cleaned the place. Only after she turned off the vacuum cleaner did she allow herself a peek at her caller ID box. There wasn’t any red flash indicating a call. She stood on the floor looking around her pristine apartment. Without even knowing it, Desmond had already added something to her life; the place had been in need of a thorough cleaning for quite some time.
Next, Cydney drew a hot bath, threw in her flavor crystals like pennies in a mall decorative fountain and eased her weary body into the soothing water. She lay back in the tub and let the water engulf her, let it work into every muscle, let it massage away her tensions like a skilled and diligent lover. The possibilities Desmond offered had her in a spiritual mood, so she’d pulled her Donnie McClurkin Live in London and More…CD from the tower beside her television and brought it into the bathroom. She kept her favorite song, “Great Is Your Mercy,” on repeat for the entirety of her soaking.
Done in the tub, Cydney toweled off with her softest linen and with a surgeon’s care rubbed her skin from crown to heel with baby oil. She wrapped herself in the one silk robe she owned and went to return the CD to the living room. As she passed her kitchen she allowed herself a second peek at the caller ID box. The music and the din of the exhaust fan in her bathroom could have easily drowned out the phone ringer. There wasn’t any red flash indicating a call.
Much later, after more useless housework had been done, the phone finally did ring. Cydney took a deep breath and scurried across the carpet on the tips of her toes. Her exhilaration ended as she scanned the caller ID monitor. It was Stephon.
Cydney contemplated not answering for a moment, but then decided against that. Stephon was still her boss. “Hello.”
His voice sounded far off, strained and weary, like he needed a hot bath himself. “It’s done.”
“What’s done?”
“I served her with papers.”
It was a move he’d talked about many times but one Cydney never thought he’d follow through on. She’d always hoped he would even though she told him contrary. From the first moment she eyed him, walking through Macy’s on his wife’s heels like a stray puppy, Cydney had desired him all to herself. They locked eyes that first day as his wife moved about in her own world. Cydney didn’t look away coyly and neither did Stephon. They had an instant connection. He’d come over to her post a short while later and relayed his entire life story in a rushed few minutes. He told her about his unhappy marriage, his wife’s problems with painkiller medicine and his feelings of entrapment. He handed Cydney a business card and asked her to call him at work sometime.
“Wait a minute,” she’d said, looking at the card print. “You’re the publisher of Urban Styles?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“You know I’m a subscriber,” she said. “Some nights I’m reading that magazine and I should be working on my papers.”
“Papers?”
“Yes,” she said. “College work. Rutger’s University.”
His eyes smiled. “I’m a Rutgers alum.”
She smiled at him. “Small world.”
You could see gears churning in Stephon’s head. “Cydney, can you write?”
“Yes, I mean, what do you mean by write?”
“I’ve been looking for someone to come on staff at the magazine for my restaurant and music criticism columns. I’ve been writing them myself because we’re shorthanded. Would you be interested? It doesn’t pay a huge salary or anything, but—”
“I’d love to.”
Stephon had smiled at her, so pleased with the burgeoning situation. “Now I need to get my wife a bottle of perfume as explanation for my time away. You collect a commission on sales?”
“Yes,” Cydney said.
Stephon had looked at her with those eyes that would eventually invade her dreams, both in sleep and awake. “Give me the most expensive thing you have. Matter fact, give me two.”
A business relationship that would evolve into so much more was formed that day. It never moved to the level that Cydney always hoped it would though, and eventually she stopped praying that it ever would. The lonely nights of this past summer when Stephon and his family vacationed in Jamaica had been the moment the prayers stopped. Now their relationship had evolved again—to strictly business. The hope of Desmond gave Cydney the strength not to falter in her conviction to keep Stephon at bay.
“Cydney,” Stephon was saying into the phone now, breaking her thoughts. “Did you hear what I said?”
“I heard you.”
“You’re not going to say anything?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Ask me how I’m doing,” he said. “What my new hopes are. Ask me was it difficult. Ask me if we can meet up at our special little hiding place.”
“How are you doing?” Cydney said. “What are your new hopes? Was it difficult?”
“You left out the question I most wanted to hear from you.”
“I left in the questions I most wanted to ask,” Cydney responded.
“I did this for you—for us,” Stephon whined.
Cydney shook her head as if he could see her over the fiber-optic line. “No, no, no. I told you don’t make this decision based on you and me.”
“Is it because of the other night?” Stephon said. “Because I’m sorry about that.”
“That showed me something about you,” Cydney answered. “You don’t have to be sorry, though, I’ve moved on.”
“I got your e-mail earlier with the review of Cush,” Stephon said slowly and softly. “You’re really feeling this Desmond Rucker, aren’t you? That has a lot to do with you not wanting to try this with me, doesn’t it?”
Cydney knew it would hurt him but she had no choice. “Yes, Stephon, you’re right. I’m sorry.”
He coughed, the revelation making him sick immediately.
“I’m sorry,” Cydney repeated.
“Me too,” he said. “Goodbye, Cydney.”
His voice haunted her as his eyes once had. “Stephon, don’t—”
It was too late, the phone clicked in her ear. He’d hung up. Cydney hung up too, pressed the delete key on her caller ID box to erase the number and stop the machine from flashing for a new call. However, the box continued to flash. Cydney picked up her phone again—the special dial tone for new calls buzzed. She’d received a call as she spoke with Stephon and must not have heard the call-waiting beep. Cydney anxiously dialed the voice mail system to retrieve the call.
Cydney Williams, née Miss Wonderful, this is Desmond—Desmond Rucker from Cush. I wanted to tell you that I truly, truly hope we can start something that ends up being special and long lasting. I’ve never really been the lucky-in-love type, I have to admit, but there is something about you that makes me believe my luck just might be changing.
I’m an honest guy. I work hard. I don’t have any major vices. You look like an honest woman. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders. I’m hoping we can create something that—I’m talking too much for a voice mail message. Listen, I’ll try you again tomorrow. I just wanted to call and let you know that you’re heavily on my mind and that I hope we can do this. Bye for now.
Cydney closed her eyes and held the phone to her chest. That quickly Stephon was forgotten. Desmond was so sweet, so sincere, his words warmer than the bath she’d taken earlier. There was no looking back. Cydney was going forward.
“You’re going out?”
Desmond turned to his sister standing in the entrance of the kitchen. She was still dressed in her pajamas—her uniform of late. He swallowed a gulp of orange juice. “Yeah,” he said. “I see you aren’t though, again.”
Felicia moved into the kitchen, wiping the sleep from her eyes as she dragged her slipper
ed feet across the linoleum. “I’m heading back into the city tomorrow to meet with some folks from the agency—discuss my concerns.”
Desmond nodded. “That’s good to hear. I was afraid you were going to turn into a couch. You shocked me the other day by not taking my offer to rent you a car.”
Felicia smiled. “You’re going in to the restaurant? I thought you tried to stay away on Sundays?”
“I do,” Desmond said. He threw the empty juice carton into the garbage can, brushed the crumbs from his toast onto his paper plate, balled the plate and tossed it into the garbage as well. “I’m just going to drop in for a moment and make sure everything is in order. Then I have to make a couple of stops. We can go to a movie or something if you want to later.”
Felicia shook her head. “I’m just going to chill today.”
Desmond scooped his keys off the table, walked over and gave his sister a kiss on the cheek. “Suit yourself. I’ll be back later.”
“Enjoy your day, baby brother,” Felicia said as Desmond neared the door. “And tell whoever she is I said hello.”
Desmond stopped, half in and half out. “What?”
“Tell this new woman in your life I said hello,” Felicia said.
“Who said anything about a new woman in my life?”
“I can see the excitement all over your face,” Felicia said. “I imagine she’s one of the stops you plan on making before coming back.”
Desmond eyed his sister. “Smart aleck.” He blew her a kiss and shut the door behind him.
Miss Wonderful was on Desmond’s mind as he approached the turn for his restaurant. He could imagine her smiling as she played back his message. He couldn’t wait to talk to her at length, to take her out and show her what a woman of her magnitude deserved, to make love to her for the first time.
Today would be the last time. He swore it to himself.
Desmond made the left turn onto Cookman and slowed as he neared his restaurant just enough so he could peek inside. As usual the crowd was thick, his staff busy attending to them. He drove past without stopping. At the end of the avenue he made that familiar left turn and came to a rest across from Hot Tails go-go. Today would be the last time.
Desmond cracked his knuckles and moved from his truck. He set the alarm and carefully crossed the street, looking both ways as if cars were whizzing by. Besides his truck there were only a few other cars as far as his eyes could see. Desmond walked inside the bar.
The human wall from last time was still manning the door. “Two-drink minimum. Make sure you get the first drink before you get a permanent seat.”
Desmond nodded, getting to know the routine. He walked to the bar immediately and leaned against the counter. The bartender today was a guy, not the girl from before with the small chest who wore the T-shirt with Nasty written across the front.
“Can I get for you?” the bartender said. He seemed wired on some type of drug, his words coming out in fast speed while he himself moved in slow motion.
“Screwdriver,” Desmond told him. Desmond moved from the bar and took a look in the room where the performers danced. A thin white girl with no ass but plenty of fake boob was onstage. Desmond turned back to the bartender.
“That a be six,” the bartender said.
Desmond reached into his pocket and pulled out two fives. The bartender reached for the money but Desmond held it. “I was here the other day and this one dancer really caught my eye. Dark-skinned girl, real big butt, nipples the size of—”
“Jacinta,” the bartender said, not needing to hear any more.
“Is she dancing today?” Desmond asked.
“She’s one of the house girls. Jacinta dances almost every day,” the bartender said. It was funny how the mention of Jacinta seemed to calm the bartender. Jacinta had that effect on quite a few men.
“When can I expect her?” Desmond said, still holding the money, the bartender still tugging at the bills.
“She’s up in about an hour, after the next two or three sets.”
Desmond released his grip on the bills. He had time to burn. He’d wait for Jacinta. “Thanks for the info,” Desmond told the bartender.
Bartender nodded. “Enjoytheshow.”
Slay parked across the street from where Cydney parked and watched as she exited her vehicle. She had on sunglasses and was wearing a long silver coat, flossing like some Hollywood actress, like she was Halle Berry or somebody. Slay pulled out his R. Kelly and Jay-Z CD, The Best of Both Worlds, and put it into the CD changer. Slay forwarded the CD to track 8 “Shake Ya Body”—the joint featuring Lil’ Kim. R. Kelly, now that was a misunderstood dude, Slay thought. Not many men in his position, with the nappy dugout being thrown their way every five seconds, would avoid the kind of trouble that R. was now enduring. Those fast-assed underage girls probably lied about their age and set Kelly up for the downfall. It was to the point you needed two forms of ID before you slept with these tramps nowadays.
Slay sat with the engine running, the music playing, the heat blasting, and waited as Cydney went into the CVS pharmacy. “Bet her trick ass is going in there to get body spray and condoms,” he said aloud, disgusted. He fumbled at the CD player, struggling to move to another track as the current one finished playing. This wasn’t his beloved BMW, instead the car of an acquaintance; Slay hadn’t wanted to risk Cydney spotting him. The last thing in the world she’d expect was her brother tailing her in a Toyota Camry.
Cydney emerged from the store with a small shopping bag and got into her car. Slay was dying to know what it held. She pulled from the curb and rode on up the block. He followed a few car lengths back. Not too farther up the main stretch she stopped in front of a small record store, Mike’s Music, and emerged from her car. She walked into the record store with a purpose. “Hooker is really setting this up nice,” Slay fumed. “Bet she’s getting some Maxwell, some smooth shit like that. Gonna work this nigga over good today.” He pounded his fist on the steering wheel and accidentally hit his horn. He looked to see if she’d noticed. She hadn’t. She’d already gone into the store.
Cydney emerged from the store a short while later, another bag under her arm. She got in her car and drove off. Slay continued to follow her. She surprised him by driving back in the direction of her home. He was sure she’d be going to this dude’s house. She probably planned to have the guy come over to her place instead. Slay shook his head at her bravery as he continued his tail.
A short while later, she made the turn into her apartment complex and parked in her numbered spot at the front of her building. Slay eased into a spot on the other side of the Dumpster enclosure and parked out of her view. He moved from the car quickly and rushed around to meet her on her way in.
He could see her sitting in the car, appeared as if she was singing to her music, waiting for the song to finish before she got out of the car. Eventually she killed the engine, grabbed her bags and got out. She walked around to the trunk and pulled another bag from there. She sure is spending some cash, Slay thought. Probably some of the money he gave her.
She walked up the sidewalk toward her place, whistling, swinging the bags with her stride. Slay rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He glanced behind him and at all the windows to make sure no one was looking out with their phone propped to their ear, worry on their face as they dialed 911. Everything seemed normal and peaceful. That was the thing about these condominium complexes, they were so quiet.
Cydney was about ten feet from him now. He readied himself.
She stopped suddenly. He wondered if she’d spotted him and would try to make a break for it. But no, she dropped her bags and bent down and ran a finger under the sole of her foot. He saw a small pebble fall out, heard her say, “Woo.” She picked up the bags and started moving forward again. She was five feet away now.
Showtime.
Slay stepped out in her path.
“Hello there, sis,” he said.
Cydney jumped, startled, and dropped one of
her CVS bags.
“Here, let me get that for you.” Slay moved forward and picked it up for her. It didn’t appear she had the capability of moving or speaking. He handed her the bag but her hands didn’t, or couldn’t, reach for it. “I’ll hold on to this for you then,” Slay said. He narrowed his eyes. “So, Cydney, tell me something—who’s this GQ Smooth dude I hear you been hanging with?”
Her eyes were on him and he could see that she was trembling. That bothered him, she should know she didn’t need to fear him; he loved her, he was her brother. The sight of her trembling took some of the hardness from him. “Cydney, come on, don’t do this.”
“What are you doing here?” she said finally. She had the coldhearted demeanor from their last encounter back. She looked to him like a soldier willing to spill blood right here on the sidewalk for the cause, if need be.
Now he was angry again. This was no way to treat a loving brother. “I’m asking the questions,” he barked. “Now, who the fuck is this GQ Smooth dude I hear you been hanging with?”
She smiled. Slay smiled, too. This was more like it.
“None of your damn business,” she said with edge, still smiling.
Slay’s smile disappeared as Cydney’s held.
CHAPTER 11
The DJ interrupted his spin of a club version of one of Whitney Houston’s songs to introduce the next performer coming to the stage. Desmond had raised his glass to his lips, but held it without taking a sip, his ears and eyes on the DJ, waiting. Since he’d come in, over an hour before, he’d endured the white girl with the silicone boobs, a clumsy Asian girl who didn’t have the sense to get her own boobs inflated and a black girl with overlapping teeth, reddened hair and a trail of brown freckles that traversed her entire body. Still, no Jacinta, though.
“Muy caliente,” the DJ said with a hint of excitement and rousing in his voice. “Coming to the stage to shake what her mami and papi gave her…Jacintaaaaaaa.”
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