Slay smirked. “Boom wouldn’t want to hear that shit. You know that dude jealous than a mug.”
Kenya shook her head. “Boom ain’t about much, he’s gone all day, comes in late every night smelling like Strawberry Hill and CK One—the woman’s one.”
“You still his lady, though,” Slay said. “At least that’s how he sees it.”
“I was the happiest I ever been while he was locked up,” Kenya said. “When it was just you and me, you know?”
Slay nodded. “It didn’t last long enough.”
“It could be different, you know that.”
Slay shook his head. “You know me and Boom have our understanding. Plus, me and Boom go back a long ways.”
“Me and you go back further,” Kenya said.
Slay thought about the letters Kenya sent him when he was in juvie. They were still up in his mother’s apartment, filed away in a rusty old Maxwell House coffee can. He gripped his mother’s sweater. “I got to get this over to the hospital.” He offered Kenya one last smile and turned to leave.
“I’d tell him about us if you let me,” Kenya called to Slay. Her voice had risen at the beginning of the sentence and then settled into an almost whisper at the end. She stood in place, her body tense from the can of worms she’d opened, the can she’d wanted to open for so long.
Slay stopped, his back to Kenya, and looked down at the sweater. “Go ahead,” he said. “And, yo…those letters you sent me when I was in juvie, they kept me going. Even now I think about them and they keep me going.” Slay walked on, through the doors and out to his car. When he got inside the car he placed his mother’s sweater on the driver’s seat, patted it like you fluff a pillow and drove off.
Inside the apartment tower, Kenya looked down at her bag of laundry. She gripped the tie strings in her hand and pulled the bag down the hall toward the community laundry room, her pockets jingling with the required quarters. All of a sudden the load didn’t seem quite as large anymore.
CHAPTER 24
“Why did you do it?” Cydney asked Desmond.
“I don’t know.”
“How often did you go there?”
Desmond shrugged. “I went there a few times.”
“You care for this girl?”
“No.”
“The truth,” Cydney said. Her voice was soft and tender whereas her demeanor was hard and forceful.
“The truth is, I did it and I’m ashamed. Jacinta’s a decent soul and all but she isn’t you. I’d like to say it happened because I was concerned you were going to go running back to Stephon, but I can’t. I mean, that was in my head, but I knew what I was doing and at the time I wanted it.”
“So, you have a problem with monogamy?”
Desmond looked at Cydney. “Yes, in the past I always have.”
Cydney sighed. “Okay.”
“But,” Desmond said, “I can also honestly say I’ve never dealt with anyone that made me want to conquer that problem like you do. I never thought too much about it until you came along. I’m feeling so good just being honest with you. I’ve never done that before.”
“Honestly, Desmond,” Cydney said. “Do you want to be with me?”
Desmond reached over and took her hands. “I want to be with you more than anything in the world.”
“I think we should both get HIV tests done.”
Desmond nodded. “I get one every year, but yes, I think we should.”
Cydney sighed. “I’m scared.”
“You think I’m not?”
Cydney shook her head. “You know if I hadn’t lied to you and messed up myself, I wouldn’t give you a second chance, Desmond.”
Desmond smiled. “Yes, I figured as much.”
“We moved too fast, didn’t we?”
Desmond nodded again. “Probably,” he said.
“Why do people do that, knowing the consequences?”
Desmond shrugged. “I was just afraid you’d get away. I wasn’t sure if you were what I needed or if I was what you needed. But I knew I wanted you.”
Cydney’s eyes were lit with a new understanding. “You were dictated by lust then?”
“Yeah,” Desmond acknowledged. “Part of it was lust.”
“What was the other part?”
Desmond leaned back against the leather of his seat. “Your playfulness…How you teased me about my Eddie Murphy tape. The way you made me feel…You were so complimentary and so impressed that first time you came by the restaurant. You made me so proud to be the owner. I didn’t even feel that good when my parents came on opening night. And then when you told me what you were looking for in a man—someone you’d look at in forty years and wonder how the years went by so fast and how it was you enjoyed them so much. That was the answer I’ve needed to hear from a woman my whole life. That’s what I want and I didn’t know it until you said it.” Desmond stopped and smiled at a memory. “The first time I kissed you. I never was much of a kisser but your lips pulled me in. I appreciate a beautiful body, Cydney, and you have one, but not every woman has a spirit that you can see as clearly as her body. You have the kind of spirit that just is out there in the open, in plain view. I love that about you. It’s contagious.”
“And yet you still did this thing with the dancer?” Cydney asked. There was no bitterness or anger in her voice, just a question.
“Yes, I did.”
Cydney shuddered. “God, this is so scary to me.”
“I think that’s a good thing,” Desmond said, “because everything I’ve ever done that really meant something to me caused me some anguish and nervousness at the beginning, and yet I knew it meant something because I did it anyway.”
“We’re pretty much starting all over,” Cydney said.
“I think we’re awful lucky to get that chance,” Desmond added.
“No matter if you stumble or not, I want you to always be truthful with me,” Cydney told him.
“And you with me,” Desmond answered.
“So how do we start again?”
Desmond took her chin in his hand. “How about we start with a kiss?”
Cydney nodded. Desmond kissed her…
It was the type of conversation that embedded itself in one’s mind like a video recording, to be played over and over again. Desmond turned his truck off and removed his keys from the ignition—his way of stopping the recording of his earlier episode with Cydney. He moved from his truck and crossed the street to see about handling the other issue that held his mind captive. There was still the unsettled issue of Shammond Slay. Desmond owed Slay for his involvement in Felicia’s attack.
Desmond gripped the familiar door handle and moved inside.
The heavy voice and disinterested drone hadn’t changed from the first time Desmond visited Hot Tails. “Two-drink minimum. Make sure you get the first drink before you get a permanent seat,” the bouncer said. He didn’t appear to recognize Desmond.
Desmond frowned as he walked into the darkened building. He noticed for the first time just how cheesy the place was. The strobe lights that circled the walls was a drab bluish-purple, the speakers that cranked out the excessive bass of the DJ-spun records cracked with static, and the air ducts blew out warm air that smelled stale and mildewy. The place was like the bouncer, no personality whatsoever, just concrete walls painted white, horny men, and women doing sexual gymnastics with the air. It was hard for Desmond to imagine how the place once held such a spell over him.
Most of the same faces from the other times he’d been here were here now and Desmond hoped one of them would lead him to Jacinta. He was desperate to get in touch with Shammond Slay and he hoped Jacinta would shade in the blank areas of the thug enigma for him.
Wendy, the bartender, was on a stool on the customer side of the bar, nuzzling noses with a ruddy-looking man wearing a wrinkled dress shirt. Desmond walked up to her and tapped her on the shoulder. The man Wendy sat with took the opportunity to sip from his drink.
Wendy turne
d, a tight red shirt with Boys Lie inscribed on the front, the shirt tied in a knot under her store-bought breasts. “Hey there, Mr. Screwdriver,” she said. She leaned in and gave Desmond a hug that he didn’t reciprocate. She didn’t seem to pick up on his discomfort. “I’m going on in an hour, are you here to check out my show?”
“Oh, I was wondering why you weren’t behind the bar,” Desmond said. It was his way of avoiding her question.
Wendy smiled. “Yeah, I’m done with that. So you gonna check out my show?”
“Actually,” Desmond admitted, “I’m trying to get in touch with Jacinta. I know she quit this place but I was hoping you might be able to tell me how to get in touch with her. Or maybe you can get in touch with her and let her know I’ve been looking for her.”
Wendy furrowed her brows. “What do you mean she quit? She’s on right now.”
Desmond left Wendy without a further word and went to the room where the main stage was. Sure enough, Jacinta was on her knees on the platform, her back to Desmond, slow grinding some imaginary lover. Desmond moved closer and took a seat by the front.
Jacinta worked the crowd on the other side of the room, jiggling her breasts and playing coy with her nipples at the same time. As the staccato rhythm of the drums pulsated, Jacinta rose to her feet, turned and wiggled her hips as if she were balancing a Hula-Hoop. The DJ spurred her on, his voice cutting in over the music. “Chachachachacha.”
Jacinta easily bent into a split, cupped her breasts and kissed the plumpest part of each one. Three college-age boys stood, their arms around each other, their mouths wide with pleasure, and flashed her fistfuls of money. Jacinta obediently moved in their direction. Desmond shook his head. For the first time he felt sorry for Jacinta—for Mona. For the first time he felt sorry for himself—and for Cydney.
A hand gripped hard into Desmond’s shoulder. He turned to face the wall that had greeted him at the door.
“You must not have heard me, my man,” the wall said. “I told you to get yourself a drink before you got comfortable.”
“Okay, okay,” Desmond said. “I’ll go get one now.”
The wall ushered him back to the bar.
“Let me have a cola,” Desmond said to the new bartender.
“A rum and Coke?”
Desmond shook his head. “Just a Coke.”
Desmond took the drink and walked back to Jacinta’s performance. She was on Desmond’s side of the room now. Their eyes met as soon as Desmond took his place at the front. The smile left Jacinta’s face but she kept up her erotic grind and dollars continued to pass her way. Desmond reached into his pocket and pulled out a dollar. He held it up for Jacinta to see, and she did, but she moved away from him. Desmond reached deeper in his pockets and then flashed a bit more money. Jacinta continued to ignore him, dancing on the other side of the stage again. Her set came to a close and she quickly disappeared through a door at the back of the stage.
Desmond got up and went to Wendy. Wendy was sitting on some guy’s lap, a different guy than the one she was nuzzling noses with when Desmond walked in.
“Wendy,” Desmond called to her.
“What?”
“Can you go in the back and ask Jacinta to come out and have a word with me?”
“I’m busy, Screwdriver,” she said. “I’m promoting my upcoming set.”
Desmond handed her the money Jacinta had ignored. “What can I do with five dollars?” Wendy said, crinkling her nose.
Desmond pulled out another five and handed it to Wendy. Wendy kissed the guy—whose lap supported her—on the cheek and hopped off to go get Jacinta.
Desmond took a seat at the bar. After a few moments he could feel a presence behind him. He turned.
“Hey,” he said to Jacinta.
“Thought you were staying away,” she said as she took a seat next to him.
“Thought you were quitting,” Desmond shot back.
“I decided to finish out the year,” Jacinta said.
“Can I get you a drink?” Desmond asked.
Jacinta shook her head. “No. I don’t plan on being here long enough to finish a whole drink.”
“I need to ask you something?” Desmond said.
“Ask away.”
“You know a guy named Shammond Slay?”
“No,” Jacinta said. She looked away.
“Please…Mona.”
“Jacinta—and I said no.”
“You’re lying.”
“What!” Jacinta moved to leave. Desmond took hold of her wrist. She looked to the wall that guarded the front door and made eye contact with him. Desmond turned to see the bouncer taking long hard strides toward him.
“Mona…Jacinta…whatever…Please. My sister was raped. I believe this Slay character had something to do with it.”
Jacinta looked at Desmond, studied his eyes. “It’s okay,” she said to the bouncer just as he prepared to rip Desmond from his bar stool.
“You sure, Jacinta?” the bouncer asked. She nodded. The bouncer gave Desmond a hard stare and then walked back to his post at the front.
“Thanks,” Desmond said to Jacinta.
Jacinta took a seat next to Desmond. “What were you saying about your sister?”
Desmond dropped his eyes. “She was raped by a bunch of guys at the Berkeley Carteret. She was going to meet this Slay guy.”
“He was one of them that raped her?”
“No.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m dating Slay’s sister and he’s not taking too kindly to it.”
Jacinta’s eyes registered something. “Slay has a sister…and you’re dating her?”
“Yes.” Desmond looked at Jacinta. “I know I hurt you and for that I’m sorry, but I need to know what you know about this Slay. He’s been watching me or something. He mentioned me coming to this place—and you—to his sister.”
“This is the woman that had you all shook up?”
“Yes.”
“So she knows all about us now?”
“Yes.”
Jacinta nodded several times to herself. “And she’s Slay’s sister?”
“Yes,” Desmond said. “You obviously know the guy.”
Jacinta sighed. “Yeah, I know him. He’s not that bad, unless you cross him.”
“Apparently I have.”
“And you think he had something to do with what happened to your sister?”
“Either that, or it is one huge coincidence. You know where he lives, or do you have a number for him?”
“I usually just contact him through his cell,” Jacinta said.
“Could you give me the number? My sister wouldn’t and neither will my lady. The police interviewed him and have cleared him…they say it’s a privacy issue and they can’t give me his contact info.”
“What are you planning on doing?”
Desmond smiled. “Why is everyone so worried?” Jacinta held her eyes on him. “Just having a word with him,” Desmond told her.
“Don’t go writing a check your ass can’t cash.”
“That sounds like a line from one of those seventies blaxploitation movies.”
Jacinta smiled. “I am foxy…and brown.”
Desmond nodded. “I just want to have a word with Slay, see if he knows anything.”
Jacinta processed it all for a moment, staring at the determination in Desmond’s posture and on his face. She was glad in a way to see him. Disappointed that things didn’t work out between them, but that was to be expected, she’d set it up for failure from the get-go, she’d given herself to him with a promise of no strings attached. He’d done what most weak-willed men would do in that situation. Jacinta motioned to the bartender and asked him for a slip of paper and a pen. She wrote the number down and handed the slip of paper to Desmond.
Desmond took the paper and held it in his hand. “Can I ask what dealings you had with Slay?”
Jacinta rose to her feet. Her eyes were sad and her lips held several
secrets. The work she did for Slay, and the baby, Desmond’s, she’d aborted after that fateful day by the weeping willow. She smiled weakly and patted Desmond’s hand. “Take care of yourself, Desmond.”
Jacinta walked off through the side door to the back of the building. Desmond watched her stride away. He finished off his Coke, rose, and left for what he knew would be the last time. Hot Tails had been good while it lasted, but it was time he moved on to something else. Cydney Williams.
But first, he had a call to make.
The traffic light was still a shade of orange as Slay approached it, but he pressed down on his brakes and came to a stop rather than ride through. Despite his mother’s worsening condition, seeing Kenya had put him in a relaxed state of calm. He had his music turned down low and rode with the exaggerated lean that marked young black males for profile targeting of racist cops. In his world, though, cops were the least of his concerns.
At the same time as the light turned green his cell phone chirped for an incoming call. Slay turned his stereo even lower and picked up the line.
“This is Slay.”
“Shammond Slay,” a foreign voice said, dragging it out.
Slay gave his car some gas, moved through the intersection with the phone pressed to his ear. “Yeah, who is this?”
“You know who this is,” the voice said.
“No, I fucking don’t. Who is this?”
“Desmond Rucker.”
A smile crept across Slay’s lips. “The mighty, infamous GQ Smooth.”
“See,” Desmond said. “I knew you knew me.”
“Look,” Slay said, “if this is about your sister—”
“This is about my sister. It’s about your sister, too, right? What you mad because I’m hitting it and you aren’t.”
“What did you say?”
“You’re a sick guy, Slay.”
“Whatever,” Slay said. “I told Cydney and I told the cops, I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Felicia. I’m sorry about what happened.”
“You got to do better than that.”
“Look, B, I was planning on fucking your sister, just how you fucking mine, but that’s it. I wanted to show you how that feels, but I wasn’t there when Felicia got raped and I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
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