by Mitzi Miller
After forty minutes of aimless driving, Sydney pulled up to the back parking lot of Brookhaven. Ironically, of all the places she could be, this was the only one where she still felt like she still had some semblance of control over her life. She turned off the car, rested her head back against the headrest, and closed her eyes. She considered swinging by her Aunt Lorraine’s or even the Boys Club, where Marcus was supposed to be volunteering until at least nine o’clock, but she quickly decided against it. A surprise visit was how she had gotten into this mess to begin with.
As the sound of Gwen Stefani’s yodeling filled the car, Sydney felt the overwhelming sensation of despair pressing against her chest. She had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. Once again, Lauren had sold her down the river. Sydney thought about how angry Altimus and her mom were with her. She could still see the rage as it filled Altimus’s face. In that moment, he had looked like a complete stranger to Sydney. She just couldn’t understand why her parents were so hell-bent on keeping her from her father. She inhaled deeply to relieve the increasing pressure.
Just then a crowd of varsity football players spilled out of the gymnasium doors. Play fighting and yelling back and forth among themselves like a pack of frisky puppies, they headed toward the group of cars parked a few rows in front of Sydney.
“Aye, dog, I’m telling you. That little redbone from the skating rink is on it,” asserted loudmouth Terrance.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Blue answered sarcastically. “Ain’t that the same thing you said ‘bout Trina before she played you short at the Fall Festival?”
“Yes, indeed, yes, indeed,” laughed the group. As the boys drew closer, Sydney recognized Jason bringing up the rear of the crew. Unconsciously, she started tugging the gold hoop in her right earlobe.
“Say what you want, when I walk into the Homecoming dance with li’l mama on my arm, don’t say shiiiiit!” Terrance countered with confidence as he clicked the car remote to his white BMW with ridiculous-looking rims. Three fellow players quickly pulled open the passenger doors and crowded in.
“We shall see, my man,” laughed Shaun as he gave Jason a farewell handshake, opened the door to his Dodge Charger with the purple bowling ball paint, and motioned for Big Mo and Blue to join him.
“All right y’all, get home safe. Don’t forget, extended practice tomorrow night. We got to get right for Homecoming,” Jason reminded the remainder of the group as they all hopped in their respective vehicles. As team co-captain, he always chose to wait until everyone was situated with a ride before he headed out.
Sydney watched as Jason turned back and headed toward his truck. She hesitated as she weighed the pros and cons of getting his attention. It’s not like she had anything important or specific to say. Truth be told, Sydney simply didn’t feel like being alone. She took a quick peek in the vanity mirror. Once she verified that her makeup still looked fresh and her hair wasn’t a complete wreck, Sydney made the sign of the cross and jumped out of her car. “Hey, Jason!” she called out brightly as he was getting into his truck. Jason stopped and turned at the sound of his name.
“What up, Syd?” he asked as a huge grin spread across his face.
“Nothing much,” she replied as she headed over toward him. “Seems like I can’t stop running into you these days, huh?”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed as he closed his door and leaned his back against the truck. He looked over at her Saab. “Funny, I don’t remember seeing your car earlier today. I normally look for it when I get here in the morning.”
“And why in the world would you be looking for my car? Jason Danden, you’re not stalking me, are you?” Sydney teased as she finally reached his truck. She put her hand on her hip and tilted her head mischievously.
“Not at all. It’s just that, normally, you and I are the first people to arrive . So I’m accustomed to seeing your Saab when I pull in,” he replied easily and then paused to look Sydney in the eyes. “But if I was, would you be mad at me?”
Sydney hesitated at the loaded question. “Whatever, silly. So where are you headed in such a rush?”
“No rush, I’m just headed home. What about you? I didn’t think there were any committee meetings this afternoon.”
“Oh, no, I was out driving to kinda clear my head and ended up here. Weird right? You’d think I’d want to get as far away from this place as possible and instead…”
“Naw, I get it. It’s like second nature,” he said patting one of Sydney’s flyaway curls back into place. The sensation from his touch made Sydney shiver. “You cold?”
“The temperature feels like it might be dropping,” she said, trying to play off the goose bumps.
“You might be right,” Jason said, although he looked like he didn’t believe her for one second. “Well, you want to sit in my truck? It’s def warmer inside there.”
“Um.” Sydney looked around. At almost six o’clock, the place was pretty deserted. “Yeah, sure, why not.”
Jason simply smiled and walked around to the passenger side to open the door for her to get inside. As he was closing her door, Sydney leaned over and returned the favor by opening the driver side door for him.
“I knew you were one of the great ones,” he quipped as he got into the truck.
“Ah, A Bronx Tale,” Sydney said softly, suddenly very aware that once again she was sitting in the star of the football team’s truck.
“Don’t laugh, but I love that movie,” Jason admitted bashfully.
“No, I totally get you. I like the old movies, too. Love Jones, The Best Man, Pretty Woman, Poetic Justice…”
“…Set It Off, The Godfather, Boyz n the Hood, Dead Presidents,” he continued with a smile.
“I don’t know about no Boyz n the Hood,” Sydney said with a laugh. Once again, she was surprised at how easily they were able to talk and find things in common.
“Gotta say, I’m glad to see you laugh,” Jason admitted. “You weren’t really looking like yourself when I asked you what you were still doing here.”
“Let’s just say,” Sydney said as she fidgeted with her Gucci horsebit ring, “it’s been a long week.”
“Dang, it’s only Tuesday, Syd.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes it’s like that,” she said softly as she thought about all the chaos swirling around her.
“Wanna talk about it? I mean you don’t have to, but sometimes it helps,” he offered sweetly as he gently placed a hand on top of Sydney’s.
For the third time that day, Jason made Sydney hesitate. There was something about the gentleness of his voice, the warm pressure of his hand, and what felt like an honest interest in what was happening in her life that made her warm to him. She couldn’t remember the last time Marcus had taken a genuine interest in what was happening to her if it didn’t directly involve him or improve the status of their public profile as a couple. Not that Sydney wasn’t guilty of her share of shadiness when it came to maintaining the perfect image. She just wished that sometimes he’d remember that there was an actual relationship that needed to be attended to beneath the facade. Sighing, Sydney slowly pulled her hand away. “It’s okay. I think I’ll figure it out.”
Sensing the awkwardness of the moment, Jason straightened up. “Okay, well, my friends tell me I’m a good listener. If you ever need an ear, I’m here.” He turned away and started up the truck. “Besides, the last time I checked, you still owed me a call,” he joked as he put the truck in reverse and brought it up alongside Sydney’s car with ease.
“Very nice.” Sydney opted to compliment his driving skills instead of answering his question. “The last time Lauren threw her car into reverse, she almost backed into a tree.”
“Yeah, no offense, but I heard your sister goes through cars like underwear,” he replied good-naturedly.
Sydney snorted. “Please, no offense taken. If you knew what I’ve been through with my sister, you’d know that calling her a bad driver is the least.”
Jason chuckled. “Yeah, seems like si
blings can be a trip. All my boys who have brothers and sisters stay bellyaching about them.”
“Is that so?” Sydney asked sarcastically. She couldn’t imagine anyone dealing with as much grief as Lauren constantly caused.
“Yep, yep. But take it from an only child, when push comes to shove, no one gets down for the get-down like family.”
Sydney briefly considered his words. “I guess,” she said quietly.
Jason reached out and softly touched Sydney’s face. “Don’t guess, know.”
16
LAUREN
“You’re not scared, are you?” Jermaine asked Lauren as he filled a glass with ice and stuck it under the rush of water coming out of the kitchen-sink tap.
“Uh, first of all, don’t insult the kid like that—ain’t nobody skerd of your friends,” Lauren giggled as she reached around Jermaine’s waist for the water glass.
Of course, she was lying; the evil looks she got from that girl the time she met Jermaine’s friends at the mall were not lost on her, and it was crystal he was afraid to bring her around them, too, because over the past few weeks during their clandestine love affair, he avoided meeting her in his neighborhood at all costs. They’d always show up somewhere neutral, where people were too preoccupied with their own doings to pay too much attention to theirs—Piedmont Park in the middle of Atlanta, where they strolled hand-in-hand and rolled down the expansive hills set against the silvery Atlanta skyline; the Georgia Aquarium, where mothers pushed their strollers past the smooching couple as they shared a kiss in front of the dancing beluga whales; Fat Matt’s, where they licked the barbeque sauce off their fingers with abandon—without a care in the world who was looking, because there was no reason for anyone either of them knew to be in any of those places. They liked it that way; that anonymity gave them the opportunity to show each other who they really were, without being forced to color in the lines that their friends, their families, and even they had created for themselves. But this playing with his friends plan? Extra.
“I’m just saying, why we gotta go to a pool hall and hang out with your friends when we can stay here and enjoy some quality alone-time?”
Jermaine turned around slowly so that the front of his body was pressed directly against hers. Lauren could feel his breath on her cheek. “Because when my moms gets home in a half hour, we won’t be alone and it certainly won’t be enjoyable,” Jermaine said, leaning down to kiss her lips.
“Well, if I had the choice between meeting your mother or your friends, I’d go with your mom. I mean, I don’t exactly have on the proper gaming attire,” Lauren said, looking down at her tight metallic V-neck BCBG sweater, Earl Jean pencil skirt, and black patent-leather Bottega Veneta peep-toe pumps. Clearly, she was reaching. “And why you hiding me from your mother, anyway? What?—I’m not good enough to meet her?”
Jermaine kicked his game into high gear; he knew that the next few words out of his mouth had to be convincing enough to get Lauren out of the house now, because it was only a matter of time before his mother came back from the parole office with Rodney, and there was no way he could have the daughter of Altimus Duke standing in the middle of the living room when they arrived. After all, Rodney had made it clear that if Jermaine didn’t tell her, he would.
And that Jermaine wasn’t about to have.
“Look,” he said, kissing Lauren’s lips between every few words. “I want you to meet my moms, for real. But she ain’t really going to appreciate walking into her house and seeing you sitting in her kitchen, spending what she might misinterpret as quality alone-time with her son while she’s not in the house. That would not be a pretty scene, trust.”
Lauren looked into his eyes and smiled. She, of course, could understand the dilemma. It wasn’t like she could invite Jermaine over to her house for tea and crumpets, either, not with Altimus and Keisha standing in the foyer. She conjured up an image of her parents opening the double wrought-iron doors, Altimus with his arms folded, Keisha with her lips pursed, zoning in on his sagging pants and white T, ready to frisk him for weapons and send him packing once they decided he didn’t have the right addy and daddy. Especially since the whole Donald-is-gay-thing, which, at first, her parents didn’t want to believe—until, that is, Keisha happened upon a letter Donald sent from his new boarding school. It started: “Dear L, My God, I thought I would hate your sister forever for pulling me out the closet, but my ‘punishment’ at this all-boys’ school has turned into quite the tasty treat. Tell Syd I said thanks!”
Yeah, Keisha wasn’t exactly trusting of Lauren’s judgment or taste in men these days (though Lauren had done enough fast-talking to make her parents believe she was just as clueless about Donald’s sexual status as they were). Anyway, Lauren quickly decided that she should probably stop pushing the “I wanna meet your mom” issue with Jermaine, seeing as there was no way in hell she was going to be hosting her own “meet the parents” soiree anytime soon. He had to remain her secret, for now. And this she wasn’t ready to explain to Jermaine. Better to go and be uncomfortable standing around a bunch of thug Negroes for an hour or so than have that conversation. “Fine. Let’s go meet your little friends. But don’t get there and forget who you came with,” she warned. “You should know that I don’t like sharing.”
“Is that right?” Jermaine said, planting another gentle kiss on her lips. “Well, I have no intentions of sharing this right here.” He squeezed Lauren’s butt and kissed her again. “That’s all me.”
The word “uncomfortable” was a gross understatement of how Lauren felt walking hand-in-hand with Jermaine into The Playground, a small hole-in-the-wall neighborhood haunt nestled between a small independent music store (where in addition to mix tapes and bootleg rap CDs, they sold everything a modern Negro could want: white Ts, sports jerseys, caps, sneakers, and a wide assortment of gold fronts) and a fried-fish joint called Pride, where she and Jermaine waited behind no less than a dozen people to buy a four-dollar basket of crispy fried tilapia piled high on top of three pieces of white bread (the fish made Lauren’s mouth water, but she was ticked that she’d have to find a way to get that smell out of her top). Suffice to say that her man’s friends didn’t exactly roll out the Welcome Wagon when Lauren, freshly introduced by Jermaine as “my girl,” shined her high-wattage grin in their direction, hoping her big butt and friendly smile would be disarming enough for them to treat her like she belonged.
Not so much.
“What up, Pimpin’?” Jermaine said, slapping hands and snapping fingers with a guy he introduced as Don.
“Yeah, man, what’s really hood?” Don said, half smiling as he stared Lauren up and down. He looked back at the crowd of his boys and their various ill-dressed chicks who seemingly adored them; they were assembled around the pool table, pretending to be waiting for or watching the game action, but really what they were doing was peeping Lauren. The pressure made her ears hot; the smell of the fish grease on her hands made her nauseous. She wanted—needed—to make a speedy exit, but then how would she look running through the hood in four-inch heels and a $200 glitter sweater? Her guess was it wouldn’t end well.
So she chilled. Or at least tried to.
“Where you been, man? We ain’t seen you round in a while,” Don said, his eyes shifting back and forth between Jermaine and Lauren.
“Aw, man, you know—just maintaining, doing my thing,” Jermaine said.
“I can see that, blood. Can definitely see that,” Don said, his eyes strolling slowly up from Lauren’s shoes to her eyes.
Lauren tried not to shiver. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a group of boys shooting dice in the far right corner, near the video machines, started hollering, laughing, and slap-snapping each other’s hands, presumably over one player’s lucky roll. “Um, Jermaine, I’m going to go over to the bar area over there and get some water—you want anything?” she asked quickly.
She heard the girls sucking their teeth and got a mental image of them rolling their e
yes behind her back.
“I’ll get it for you—you want bottled or tap?” Jermaine asked as she started walking to the bar.
“No, no—it’s cool, I’ll go get it,” Lauren practically snapped.
“I’ll go with her,” one of the girls chimed in, stepping forward. “I’m Brandi.” She said her name sweetly, but the look on her face read something else altogether: bitch. “Come on, leave the boys to their game.”
Lauren tossed a look at Jermaine, who just shrugged. “Take care of my girl,” Jermaine said half-jokingly, his eyes showing his worry. Brandi didn’t bother answering him back. Don shoved a pool stick in his hand and motioned Jermaine over to the pool table.
“So,” Brandi said without looking at Lauren. “What’s your name again?”
“Uh, Lauren.”
“You have a last name, Lauren?”
“It’s um, Duke,” Lauren said, clearing her throat, making it sound like she wasn’t really sure if her answer was correct. “Duke,” she said more confidently.
“Stone!” Brandi yelled at a guy standing in the storeroom behind the register. The bass in her voice startled Lauren, who instantly turned her head and looked back for Jermaine. He paid her no nevermind; Jermaine was already knee-deep into his pool game. “Hey, Stone! Let me get a Coke and a bottled water!” She turned to Lauren: “Let’s sit here by the door; the vent is over here—it’s warmer.”
Lauren looked back at Jermaine again; he waved and went back to his stance over the pool table, taking aim at the yellow-striped ball. Brandi sat on a rickety stool at the bar and motioned for Lauren to take the stool next to her. Lauren obliged.
Brandi didn’t waste any time getting to the matter at hand. “So, you and Jermaine, how’d y’all meet?”
Lauren cleared her throat. “We, um, we met while I was visiting some relatives over here in the West End.”
“You got people livin’ around here?” Brandi asked, wrinkling her eyebrows. Stone dropped the Coke and water on the counter and swiped up the three dollars Brandi had left for him.
