by Mitzi Miller
The two sisters locked eyes, neither willing to look away. Suddenly, Sydney walked toward her sister. Lauren braced herself for Miss Nappy Roots to start up their running argument about how she and the rest of the good light-skinned folks of their circle were backward. But Sydney just walked on by, and stalked out the door.
“What’s up with your sister?” Donald asked, confused.
“Who cares? If it’s not one thing, it’s another with her. But whatever. Check it, I got a serious problem,” Lauren said, leaning in to Donald.
“Well, damn, I guess so, with you and your sister looking like you’re about to throw bows,” he said.
“It’s not about her. I got a phone call the other day from my father.”
“So, what’d he say? You better pull up your grades and panties if you want that inheritance?” Donald laughed as he grabbed Lauren by the hand and walked over to the full-length mirror to check out his robe.
“No, not Altimus, jackass—my real father, Dice Jackson.”
“What? I thought he was locked under the jail!” Donald frowned, staring at Lauren’s reflection in the mirror.
“He was,” Lauren said, looking into Donald’s eyes. The night Donald had come clean to Lauren about his homosexuality, Lauren had given him the 411 on her father, the jailbird. He knew all the dirty details, but, friend that he was, Donald never told anyone—not even Dara knew about the Duke family history. “He’s out now.”
“Damn, word? And he called you? Your moms know ’bout this?”
“Hell, no—if she does, she didn’t get it from me. If Keisha Duke knew Dice was back in Atlanta and trying to see us, she’d flip right back to her days in the West End, cock Altimus’s gun, and shoot him her damn self.”
“It’s like that?” Donald asked.
“It’s like that.”
“So what he want?”
“He wants to see me and Sydney. And she’s all pressuring me to do it. We got into it Friday, so I’m assuming she’s mad about it.”
“But you’re not going, right? I mean, if your moms found out—”
“Who cares what my mother thinks?” Lauren shot back. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t really give a crap whether Keisha likes what I’m doing or not—even if she thinks I do. Fact of the matter is, he’s back in town, and I need to figure out if I want to see what he’s talking about now, or if I want him to go away. That’s my decision, not my mom’s, not Sydney’s.”
“Fine,” Donald said, slightly annoyed. “But you know she’ll be in that ass if she finds out you was talkin’ to Dice.”
“Whatever…” Lauren said, turning her attention to her reflection in the mirror. She adjusted her choir robe so that her diamond-encrusted cross fell perfectly between her breasts. As she began to run her fingers through her silky hair, Donald elbowed her out of the way. What the hell?
“Whatever, whatever,” Donald whispered over his shoulder as he struck his own GQ poses directly in front of Lauren. “Obviously, you got a mouth on you, but Keisha ain’t no joke…”
“Um, what the hell are you doing?” Lauren said, going from annoyed to pissed in seconds flat. She put her hands on her hips and was just about to go off on Donald for blocking her view when the choral director, a white guy named Ron Sheff who just loved the Lord, chamber music, and choir boys (in that order), cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. “People! Hello!” Ron said with a clap of his hands. “It’s time. Soloists first, choir en masse second!”
“Okay, darling. Gotta run,” Donald said, turning to reach toward Lauren to give her a peck on the lips. His face met with her fistful of Altoids instead.
“Mint?” she said in disgust, unable to contain herself. “’Cause your ass needs it. Ever get around to having that checked out?” It was all she could do not to remind Donald for the hundredth time that he needed to make an appointment with someone to see if everything on his insides was right, because his chronic halitosis made it extremely difficult for her to even have a conversation with him, much less fake-tongue him down to keep up their PDA charades.
“Whatever, bitch,” Donald said, pushing the Altoids away and awkwardly taking Lauren’s shoulders into his hands to pull her closer. He stuck his tongue into her mouth and wiggled it and his head around, throwing in a few “mm-MM’s” for emphasis. Lauren fell out laughing at his dramatics, which left a few of the other choir members shaking their heads.
“You’re the one,” he said, twirling out the door.
Lauren shook her head; just as she was about to follow the choir out of the room, her Sidekick rang. She snatched it out of her purse, pounded the answer button, and practically yelled a much-annoyed “Hello?”
“Yeah, Lauren? This is Hal Workman, down at Paintless Dent Removal. Calling you about your Saab.”
“Oh, yeah, hey,” Lauren said, adjusting her voice. She’d been anxious to hear from him and hoping he’d have some good news about the repairs to her car. As usual, she needed him to be quick about it because she hadn’t exactly told her parents she was in a car accident in the first place. She’d talked Will, one of the sales guys at Altimus’s Conyers dealership, to let her “borrow” a loaner identical to her Saab while she got Baby fixed, and she needed to get that loaner back to Conyers before Altimus noticed it was missing, or worse, before he noticed that the car parked in his driveway wasn’t really Lauren’s.
“How’s it going, Hal? Did you fix my baby? Can I come pick it up today?”
“I’m sorry, Lauren, but Mr. Duke came down to the shop earlier on some business and saw your Saab here. He asked me to put it in storage. I just thought I’d give you a head’s up and let you know I won’t be at Paintless anymore,” Hal said, his voice dark.
“You won’t be at Paintless anymore? What…”
“You didn’t think your father would eventually catch on to what I’ve been doing for you? In case you were wondering, he wasn’t a happy camper knowing I was helping you deceive him. So my boss fired me. Just wanted to call and tell you to have a nice life.”
“Oh, God, Hal, I’m so—”
Lauren’s apology was cut off by a dial tone. She silently cursed to herself; Altimus hadn’t let on that he knew about the accident or the loaner car when she and Lauren left for practice. He was probably home waiting for her ass, figuring out a way to punish her for real. For sure, this one probably would be worse than the time she and Sydney took the cherry red Sting Ray coupe—one of twelve in his classic car collection—for a spin to Lake Lanier sans his permission. He had called them everything but a child of God when they pulled back into the driveway with his ride, and then not only proceeded to bar them from driving their own cars for a month, but relegated them to calling a car service and begging rides from their friends (taking MARTA, Atlanta’s ridiculously inadequate commuter train system, was so not an option—the thing didn’t go past Stone Mountain, for Christ’s sake. And besides, it was gross—that much Lauren knew from riding on it once). Thank God Dara and Donald could shuttle her around, but it was still a major pain to have to depend on others for rides.
Lauren put her Sidekick on vibrate and pushed it back into her purse, then walked out into the sanctuary. Though at any given choir practice she could find herself in a compromising position with one of her side pieces in her cuddle corner (really, it was a small closet just off the pastor’s office), she didn’t often find herself on her knees in the Grace Temple AME Church of Christ. But today, she decided, she was going to have to do a little kneeling on that pulpit to ask God to save her ass from Altimus.
7
SYDNEY
“Hey, Lauren,” Sydney called across the hall to her sister’s room, “Lau-ren!”
“What?” was the grumpy response she finally received.
“Would you do me a favor?”
“No.”
“Lauren, I’m serious.” Sydney gritted her teeth against the sound of her sister’s voice.
“So am I. Leave me alone,” Lauren rep
lied in the same annoyed tone of voice.
Sighing, Sydney walked over to Lauren’s room. “Lauren, it will take two seconds.”
“God, Syd, what part of ‘no’ don’t you get?” Lauren questioned from a very comfortable-looking spot on the middle of her extra-deep queen-size bed. “Besides, after that shit you pulled about you know who—trying to guilt me into going to see him. Man, please.”
“I get what you said. For the record, nobody’s trying to guilt you into anything, I just thought you should know. Besides, you’re the last person that should be telling me no to anything considering I’m the one with the car you’ll need to borrow while you’re on punishment. Again,” Sydney said, referring to the two-hour, high-decibel chew-out Lauren got from Altimus as soon as they walked in from rehearsal for getting into a car accident and using the guys at Paintless to cover her tracks. Sydney tried desperately to make Altimus understand that his supposed punishment for Lauren—that she be “forced” to share Sydney’s ride until she could appreciate having and taking care of her own—was really a punishment for her, too. But Altimus was too pissed to bow to logic. Which Sydney thought was some straight bull. “I’m just saying, you’d think a girl would be grateful—or at least scared—the car she needs to drive will be unavailable to her when she needs it.”
Sydney turned around and walked back to her room. By the time she counted to twenty-one, Lauren was standing in her doorway. “Okay, what do you need me to do?”
“Can you please take me over to Marcus’s house?”
“Are you serious? Why can’t you drive or have him scoop you up? I don’t need the car.”
“Because I want to surprise him when he gets home from volunteering at the Boys Club, and that won’t happen if he sees my car in his driveway.”
“Fine, whatever.” Lauren answered matter-of-factly. “I guess I could use a Ben & Jerry’s sundae to relieve the tension in my temples anyhow.”
“From all the stress of Altimus up in your face, I’m sure,” Syd mumbled.
“What’d you just say?”
“Nothing. Just hurry up and get ready.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Lauren said with a roll of her eyes as she turned to head back into her room. “I’ll be ready in thirty minutes or so.”
Almost an hour later, Lauren emerged from her room dressed in a skintight Pucci minidress, purple Prada slingback pumps, and a huge pair of Nicole Richie-esque Christian Dior sunglasses propped on her head, looking like she was headed to Club 112 instead of on a quick sundae run. With only a curt head-nod, Lauren indicated to Sydney that she was ready. It took all of Sydney’s strength not to gag.
“By the time we get there, he’ll already be home,” Sydney seethed through clenched teeth as she buckled up the seat belt on the passenger side of her car.
“Whatever, I don’t even understand why you’re going out of your way for Marcus anyway,” Lauren replied as she pulled out of the driveway. “Ain’t he already your man?”
“Of course you wouldn’t understand, Lauren. The only other person you know how to be nice to besides yourself is your sidekick, Dara.”
“Humph, at least I know I can depend on Dara to be faithful!” Lauren fired back.
“Excuse you? What’s that supposed to mean?”
For a fleeting second, Lauren contemplated ‘fessing up to the scene she had witnessed at the High. But one glance at the indignant look in Sydney’s eyes at the mere mention of Marcus’s potential shortcomings and she quickly changed her mind. “Nothing. Nothing. If you want to waste a perfectly good Saturday night waiting around for your way jabber-jaw, power-to-the-people, fake Rasta, wannabe politician boyfriend, have fun. I could care less,” Lauren stated as she turned up the radio and simultaneously drowned out the remainder of the conversation.
By the time they pulled up to Marcus’s lavish colonial-style home, Lauren was talking a mile a minute on her cell phone about some stripe on the new cheerleading uniforms and Sydney’s head was killing her. Thanking God for small favors, Sydney jumped out of the car. “Thanks,” she offered lamely as she straightened the green-and-white-striped Ella Moss top that Marcus loved so much.
Without a word, Lauren reversed out of the driveway at top speed. Sydney inhaled deeply and walked toward the front door.
The sound of the doorbell was drowned out by the incessant barking of Ms. Green’s two toy Yorkshires, Pork and Chop. “Who is it?”
“It’s Sydney, Ms. Green.”
The heavy oak door swung open. There was Marcus’s statuesque mom, bent over and scooping up the frantic Chop. Althena Green looked exactly like an older Omarosa, except with a pair of small reading glasses. “Shh, be quiet, you!” she admonished the little noisemaker as she turned her thousand-watt smile in Sydney’s direction. “Hey, honey! What a pleasant surprise! Please come inside.” She gracefully stepped aside to allow Sydney to enter the bright foyer. “Do you hear these little monsters?” she asked with a laugh. “I swear I’m putting them up for sale on eBay!”
“Oh, you know you love them,” Sydney chided as she stopped to scoop up Pork.
“Between you and me, sometimes more than Marcus,” Althena joked as she closed the door securely behind her.
“Speaking of which, is your son home from the Boys Club movie night?”
“Um, I think the movie night was canceled because of some Jewish holiday this week. He’s at some study group thing or the other. But we spoke about fifteen minutes ago and he should be home shortly.”
“Great, then I can surprise him after all. Mind if I wait?”
“Of course not, dear. Go ahead to his room. If you guys decide to stay in for a late dinner or even just dessert, be sure to let Belinda know.”
“Thanks, Ms. Green,” Sydney said, placing the squirming Pork down. She started up the wide wooden staircase.
“If you need anything, just give me a holler, ya hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The soft scent of Marcus’s Marc Jacobs cologne enveloped Sydney as soon as she stepped into his room. She closed her eyes as the fragrance brought back warm memories of the two of them cuddled up, then she gently fingered a framed photo of them from last year’s spring formal. The twists that Toni, Mrs. Duke’s personal hairdresser, had put in Sydney’s hair for the occasion complemented Marcus’s freshly touched-up locs even better than she remembered. But Sydney was most thankful that half of her big butt was blocked from the camera’s view by Marcus’s towering frame.
Next her glance fell upon the open MacBook right in front of her. Hmm. She softly pressed the “on” button and the screen reopened to the AOL homepage.
She took a quick look behind her to ensure that the door was completely closed. Once Sydney was sure the coast was clear, she scrolled down the Web site history log.
Let’s see: a Google search for Princeton; youngrichandtriflin.com; myspace.com; facebook.com; lots of youtube.com; nothing too out of the ordinary. Sydney clicked on his inbox to see whom he’d been e-mailing. Hmm. There was a fantasy football newsletter; a quick note from his boy, mikeyd2008, about some march in DC; and an alert from YRT about the latest student-body scandal. Finding nothing remarkable in the first ten, Sydney decided to check the trash folder when an unfamiliar address caught her attention. Who was misskitty80? As she sorted by sender, Sydney noticed at least twenty or more e-mails from the unfamiliar user ID in the trash. Sydney opened an e-mail from Thursday night:
Hey babe just got home. SUCH a long day…Sorry I missed you before lunch, I was running late. But by the time I got to the cafeteria, you were already eating. It’s so weird for me now when I see you with her. Oh, well. Can’t wait for our next “study session.” X and Os, Dara
Did Dara just refer to my boyfriend as “babe”? Sydney scanned through all the others; every single one of them was as personal as the last. In all the discussions about his difficult class load, Marcus never once mentioned having classes with Dara, let alone her being his study partner. And exa
ctly what did she mean by “it’s so weird for me now”? Just then, she heard the sound of a car pulling up into the driveway. Sydney quickly closed the e-mail and shut down the site. She rushed over to the window and stood behind the curtain.
Wait a minute—why did that cherry-red Audi look so familiar? Sydney moved slightly to get a better view of the driver of the car in the dim driveway light. It was Dara! What the hell was her sister’s best friend doing driving Marcus home? How much damn studying were they doing together?
While Sydney stood there struggling to figure it out, Marcus leaned over and gave Dara a quick peck on the cheek. He jumped out, waved good-bye, and headed inside. She could hear him call out in greeting to his mom and even Belinda, the housekeeper, as he stomped up the stairs. Sydney rushed back over to the bed and tried to compose herself.
“Hey, what are you doing here? Everything okay?” Marcus exclaimed in surprise, as he opened the door to find Sydney sitting on the edge of the bed reading one of his issues of GQ. She couldn’t tell if his smile was genuine or a knee-jerk reaction to the shock of finding her unsupervised in his room.
“Sure. I figured I’d come over and surprise you,” Sydney responded as she fought to remain calm. She refused to jump to any conclusions and risk trashing four years’ worth of a relationship.
“I’m totally surprised,” Marcus continued as he crossed the room in several long strides and pulled Sydney up to her feet. “Since I didn’t hear from you all day, I thought you were still mad about last night.” Marcus gave her a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. When he finally released her, Sydney discreetly wiped her cheek.
