Hotlanta

by Mitzi Miller

  “You sure you can handle that?” one of the Men of Unclear Purpose questioned.

  “Fall back,” he said. “I got this, man.”

  Cute Boy let his friends get far enough away before he turned his full attention to her. “I need to see your driver’s license, registration, and your phone so I can call po-po over here to get a report. ‘Cause you fixing my ride.”

  Lauren opened the door and slowly stuck out one leg, then two so he could get the full effect of her shoes and the muscles on her calves and thighs. By the time she stood up, shook out her hair, and smoothed down her jacket, she, not the damaged car, had his full attention.

  “Where’s your phone?” Lauren asked, shaking her hair for emphasis.

  “Relax, sweetie, I left it at home.”

  “Let’s take a look, shall we?” Lauren said sweetly, smiling.

  She whipped past him and put enough swing in her hips to make her hair bounce as she made her way to his car. “Damn,” she cursed silently. His fender was practically crunched up to the grill of his car, and her back bumper was dented and scratched enough for Altimus to have a small cow over the damage. He’d confiscate Baby for sure, but that was neither here nor there. Lauren needed to figure out a way to defuse the situation at hand so she could get the hell on back to Buckhead. The Altimus situation she would figure out later.

  “Oh! It’s just a small dent and some readjusting. You can take that to Paintless Dent Removal in downtown Atlanta—they can hook that right on up.”

  “I think you mean you can take it there,” he said, softening his tone a little bit.

  “I know the guys there—they’ll fix it for you and send me the bill.”

  “Oh, I see, you pushin’ the new Saab and got fly connects, huh, shorty?”

  Ugh. Lauren turned up her nose.

  He’d been doing so good until he opened his mouth with all that ruffneck talk. Fine or not, the macho-boy thing wasn’t working for her. Lauren walked over to stare up in his face. “My name isn’t Shorty. It’s Lauren.”

  “Well, nice to meet you, Lauren,” Cute Boy said. “You can tell your hookup that I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon, so have your credit card handy. And how exactly do you know a bunch of guys at a body shop? You crash into people often?”

  Lauren moved in a little closer to him and said, “Only ones I want to meet.”

  “Ah-ight. I see Ms. Lauren got game to go with the fancy car and clothes, huh?”

  “No game, sweetie—um, what did you say your name was?”

  “Jermaine,” he said, tossing his chin in her direction and extending his hand. “Jermaine Watson. It’s nice to meet you, even under such unfortunate circumstances.”

  “‘Unfortunate’ is a bit harsh, don’t you think?” Lauren said with a sly smile. “After all, we did meet.”

  She walked back to her car, reached for her Sidekick, and speed-dialed Hal at Paintless, leaving a message for him to expect Jermaine Watson. “Oh, and um, no need to tell Daddy about this—I’ll take care of the charges, same as usual.”

  Lauren clicked off, tossed her phone back into her car, and curtly explained to Jermaine, “Hal and my dad go back—he does a lot of work for him, so it’s no biggie.”

  “Uh-huh, I see.” He laughed. “Definitely not the first time this has happened, huh?” This time, she laughed. Then she looked down at his sneakers. Bright white Air Force Ones. Nice.

  “So if I have problems with Hal, how do I get in touch with you?”

  “Oh, don’t worry, Hal will hook you up, no questions asked.”

  “Then how does a brother get in touch with you if he wants to see you again?”

  “A true gentleman would politely ask for my number.”

  “Well, I’m a gentleman, and I’d like you to consider this an official request for your number,” he said, licking those juicy lips for emphasis.

  Lauren didn’t say a word. Cute or not, she really didn’t know if she wanted a thug calling her phone and trying to come see her. Lauren’s mother wouldn’t take too kindly to the bottoms of that boy’s sagging jeans scraping their front doorstep. And he was crying over a little dent in his raggedy car, like he couldn’t afford to pay the couple hundred bucks it would take to pay for the touch-up. No, Lauren quickly decided, Cute Boy couldn’t have her number. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.

  “If you’ve got skills, you’ll find out what my number is and get at me,” she said coyly. “In the meantime, I’ve got to get home. It was nice chatting with you.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it,” she said.

  Then Lauren noticed a light go on in the front of Aunt Lorraine’s house, which meant that whoever was there—quite possibly Dice—could look out the window at any moment and see her there. And just that moment, she realized that she did not want that. As fun as this flirting was, she needed to get outta there before she was spotted.

  “But there is one more thing,” she said quickly, with another sly smile, slinking around the backside of her ride.

  “What’s that, Ms. Lauren?” Jermaine said, punctuating his smug words with an even slicker grin.

  “Can you tell me how to get back to Buckhead?”

  5

  SYDNEY

  “I missed you so much, baby girl.” Dice Jackson’s huge, tattoo-covered arms wrapped themselves around Sydney’s small frame.

  Sydney relished the feel of her father’s protective embrace, though it startled her a bit to feel the grooves of his ribs. His once shiny caramel skin had dulled during his twelve-year stint behind bars, and he looked as tired and raggedy as the old armchair he rose up from. She reminded herself that Dice wasn’t back from an extended vacation. On the contrary, he had been released from one of the most notorious prisons in all of Georgia.

  “It sure is good to see y’all back together,” her Aunt Lorraine chimed in. She was hunched over in a dining room chair she’d dragged to the far corner of the room, wearing a dingy housecoat and run-over slippers. “Lord knows what kinds of trickery you had to use to pick up your dad’s letters from here all those times. What with your mama frontin’ like she ain’t from these same parts. Shoot.”

  “Mind your business, Lorraine! This girl don’t have no control over her mother, so stop talking to her about it,” Dice snapped back.

  “Well, excuse the hell outta me,” she grumbled, turning up the volume on the television and taking a long drag on her Newport.

  Unfortunately, her Aunt Lorraine was right. Sydney’s mom had gone out of her way to make sure that Lauren and Sydney severed all ties with their father. Whenever either of the twins asked to speak to or visit Dice, Keisha would become furious and threaten them with all kinds of cruel and unusual punishment. She made it very clear that she was not interested in having Dice anywhere near her children or her new life. Although Altimus normally weighed in on behalf of the girls when Keisha was being over the top, he refused to be involved in the Dice situation. According to him, it was Keisha’s right to make the decision.

  When Sydney was finally old enough to do some snooping of her own, she found her Aunt Lorraine’s address in one of Keisha’s old black books. It wasn’t long before the headstrong twelve-year-old found a phone number for Aunt Lorraine, who put her in touch with her father. Although twelve years had passed since she’d physically laid eyes on him, thanks to the monthly packet of letters and photos her Aunt Lorraine would sneak to her, Sydney felt as if she knew Dice like the back of her hand.

  “Mom can try all she wants, but nothing will keep me away from you again,” Sydney said as the two moved over to the torn leather couch.

  “I believe you, Ladybug. If only your sister could be as understanding…”

  Sydney bristled at the mention of Lauren. “Why do you even care what she thinks?” she asked, pulling back from his embrace. After Dice lost his first appeal five years ago, Lauren made it very clear she wanted nothing more to do with her dad.

  “’Cause she’s my chi
ld and I love the both of you equally, Sydney,” he whispered. “Deep down, she knows I’m innocent.”

  “I guess.” Sydney pouted, feeling as if any discussion of Lauren unnecessarily detracted from her long-awaited father-daughter quality time.

  “Now tell me. What kind of stuff have you been getting into these days?”

  Sydney’s face lit up. She was happy to steer the subject back to something more positive: herself, naturally. “Well, I’ll be glad when this Benefit Gala is finally over. It has been nothing but drama pulling it together. Not for nothing, but if everything goes as planned, my committee will have raised over ten thousand dollars for the new library wing, which is actually a record for any Brookhaven class.”

  “That’s cool, Sydney. Real cool,” Dice said as he tucked one of Sydney’s flyaway curls behind her ear. “To think that when I got locked up, you were just starting to count your one, two, threes, and now you’re raising ten G’s and better to help build libraries. Makes me sad that I’ve missed so much of your life.”

  “Daddy, we both know that wasn’t your fault.” She took his callused hand in hers. “I’m just glad you’re here now. And I can’t wait to make you a part of everything in my life now.”

  “Yeah. I want to meet this boyfriend of yours. Flex some fatherly muscle in front of this boy. Marcus, wasn’t it?” Dice questioned. “You surely wrote a lot about him in all your letters to me.”

  Sydney’s heart dropped. She’d gone to bed last night without hearing from Marcus, only to have him wake her up with a midnight assault of pebbles on her window. He explained he’d had a marathon study session and his cell phone had died. According to his story, as soon as he realized how much time had passed, he’d driven directly over to the Duke mansion to apologize.

  But Sydney Duke had pride, almost a bit too much, and refused to go down and speak with him. If Marcus thought some lame excuse and a couple of pathetic-sounding apologies could make up for the humiliation of being left standing in the dark, he should try again. Not that she’d admit it but Carmen and Rhea’s stinging accusations of her frequent willingness to revolve her life around Marcus’s schedule had struck a chord. Especially now that she saw how nice Jason was toward her. Not that the most upstanding, faithful, devoted girlfriend in Brookhaven Prep would ever think about stepping out on her man. But still.

  “He’s the smartest, most ambitious guy I know. He’s like my soul mate,” she said, leaving out the fact that she had yet to tell Marcus her father had been released from prison because she still hadn’t spoken to him.

  “Soul mate, huh? That’s a pretty big statement considering how young you are. Just be careful throwing words like love and soul mate around. Shoot, I can remember a time I used to say the same things about your mother…”

  “I guess,” Sydney said as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat and looked down at the ratty shag carpet beneath her Chanel ballet flats.

  Raising Sydney’s face to his, Dice instructed: “Don’t guess. Know. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now you best get out of here, before your mother figures out you’re not doing your service work.”

  “Okay, Dad, but listen. I was thinking, now that you’re back here maybe I can talk to Altimus about getting you a job at one of the dealerships. You know, he’s so cool, I bet he’d hook it up and never breathe a word about it to Mom if I asked…” Sydney leaned into her father’s ear and spoke in a low whisper. “I mean, at least it’d give you a way to get out of the house during the day.”

  “Absolutely not,” he said sternly as his face distorted in anger. “I don’t want a damn thing from that man.”

  “Huh?” Sydney reared back in surprise.

  “You heard me. This is not open for discussion, Sydney. Just go,” he ordered without a blink of his eye.

  “Okay, then,” she replied meekly as she stood up and headed to the front door. “I guess I’ll call you later. Bye, Aunt Lorraine. I love you, Dad,” Sydney called out as she walked out.

  As she sped down I-20, Sydney found herself consumed with confusion. After all these years, could Dice still be mad because Keisha left him for Altimus? Eventually, the persistent flashing of the message light on Sydney’s phone managed to distract her from her thoughts. Hmm, probably just more messages from Marcus.

  To avoid any sudden impulses to call Marcus and clear the air, Sydney left her phone in the car while she went into the Better Day Women’s Shelter. She wanted him to suffer a bit longer. Still, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. And even after three hours of cleaning up behind the residents and playing with and feeding lunch to their kids, Marcus was still on her mind.

  As she emerged into the late Saturday afternoon, Sydney stopped to consider her options. Normally, she’d call Marcus and see if he was finished tutoring at the local library in Decatur or even hit up the girls for a late lunch at Harry’s. But clearly she wasn’t on the best terms with any of the three. And while there was that BBQ at Satonja Gilbert’s house, there was no way she was rolling solo. She resigned herself to heading back to the house.

  There, everything was pretty quiet. Altimus was probably making the rounds of his dealerships, and you could safely bet both girls’ college tuition that their mom was at Château Elan getting a deluxe spa treatment. Sometimes it seemed like all Keisha Duke ever did was yell at the girls, plan extravagant parties, go to the spa, and sleep.

  Kicking off her shoes, Sydney headed up to her room to relax until it was time for her five-thirty choir rehearsal. Sneaking over to her aunt’s house had required waking up earlier than normal to avoid running into Altimus as he returned from his morning jog. Sydney was beat. As she walked by Lauren’s room, the sound of laughter from her sister’s television attracted her attention. Sydney could see an open laptop sitting precariously close to the edge of the bed, while the top of Lauren’s silk scarf-covered head poked out from under the mountain of covers. Unless Lauren had a football game to dance at, she was usually napping and therefore completely antisocial until at least three o’clock in the afternoon on the weekends…like mother, like daughter.

  When Sydney reached her room, she could tell from the made-up bed and orderly pile of textbooks on her desk that Edwina had already started straightening up on the floor. She had hoped for a little peace and quiet, but her cell’s relentless, annoying vibration finally forced her to retrieve it from the bottom of her purse. Scrolling down, she counted eight new messages on her screen.

  After listening to all eight of Marcus’s pleading messages, Sydney’s heart finally melted. Life was too short to be mad. It was almost eighteen hours since she’d last spoken to Marcus. That was a record for the couple that’d been checking in with each other every couple of hours like clockwork for the past four years. Granted, Marcus may have been dead wrong for getting caught up in his personal agenda, but that’s what made him the star that he was. Being a slacker now certainly wasn’t going to get him into the mayoral office down the line, and Sydney was all about the big picture. When Martin Luther King was busy leading the masses, he probably missed more than a movie date with Coretta.

  Sydney checked her cell, then paused to reconsider. Instead of calling and simply saying she forgave him, she decided that after choir practice, she would go over to his house and show him all evening long.

  6

  LAUREN

  “I told my parents we went to Harry’s and a late movie last night—be aware,” Donald told Lauren as she helped him get ready in the choir room for practice at the Grace Temple AME Church of Christ.

  “Ooh, out biting pillows again?” she asked as she pulled a lint brush over the shoulders of his choir robe.

  “The dancing queen’s got jokes, huh?” he laughed. “So, was that your ass I saw bouncing next to Young Jeezy’s head in his latest video?”

  “You actually noticed a girl’s body part while you were drooling over Jeezy?”

  Donald chuckled, picking imaginary dirt from his pe
rfectly manicured nails. This was the running joke between Lauren and her kinda-sorta boyfriend, whom—despite all glaring signs to the contrary—everyone mistakenly believed was straight. After all, in Atlanta, one gay guy’s effeminate behavior could easily be the next cultured Southern boy’s charm. But Donald and Lauren kept up appearances because each was the other’s perfect alibi for all their dirty little deeds. For Donald, Lauren was a beard that he wore as often as he found himself down at the AU, making the acquaintance of some of those cute, intellectual college boys. For Lauren? Well, to keep Keisha and Altimus in check, Donald was the perfect alibi: smart, nonthreatening, gentlemanly, from good stock. And whenever one of Lauren’s boy toys thought he was going to get a little more from Lauren than she was willing to put out, all she had to do was reference her “boyfriend” to get them to back off.

  It was a match made in heaven.

  “Anyway,” Donald said, “how’d it go at the video shoot?”

  “Never mind the video shoot,” Lauren snapped. “Some other stuff went down and I need to figure out…”

  Just then, Tonya Giddens belted out a high note, totally interrupting Lauren’s train of thought. Lauren’s head snapped back; she scowled. So did Donald.

  “Ugh, must she be so loud? It’s not like she needs to draw more attention to herself with that back-to-Africa afro she keeps forcing on the rest of us,” Donald said. “I thought Madame C.J. Walker created a remedy for that mess back in the forties. Guess Tonya didn’t get the memo.” He let out a howl that made a few of the choir members, Sydney included, look in their direction. Sydney cut her eyes at Lauren from across the piano.

  “Uh-oh. The African princess is glaring,” Donald said, jutting his chin in Sydney’s direction. “Guess she don’t like you dissing Tonya’s coif.”

  Lauren rolled her eyes, turned her back to her sister, and ran her fingers through her silky shoulder-length weave. “Seriously, I’m in no mood to get into it with her about her back-to-the-motherland stance on hair this afternoon, and particularly her decision to stalk the earth looking like her thick, curly bush of a head ain’t seen a comb, like, ever. I mean, I would straight take a razor to my wrist if Jamilah couldn’t find her way from Snellville to Buckhead every other week to fry, dye, and lay my hair to the side.”