Playing the Hand You're Dealt

by Trice Hickman

  What happened next was completely crazy. All of a sudden, this fool decided to lose his damn mind. From out of nowhere, Carl got a weird look in his eyes that I’d never seen before. He reached up and knocked several books off the shelf next to where I stood.

  “You gonna have enough of fuckin’ wit’ my feelins’,” he growled, standing so close I could smell the tart lemonade that lingered on his breath. “I’m steppin’ so I won’t have to hurt yo ass,” he said directly into my ear, through clenched teeth, so low that only I could hear him.Then he calmly walked away.

  I stood in the middle of the aisle with books lying at my feet and scared customers looking on, but trying not to really look too hard. I felt unnerved. This was the first time that Carl had ever threatened me in all the years I’d known him. I had yelled at him many times before, and one time I even shoved him in public. But not once had he ever been aggressive with me or uttered anything that remotely translated into a threat. Maybe he’s on something? I thought. I had never known him to use the drugs that I knew he sold, but just like his threat, there was a first time for everything.

  I was shaken, but I knew I didn’t have time to dwell on Carl. I had to ignore the people who were still staring, resist the urge to curse them out, and get my behind back home so I could comfort my best friend. I hoped Emily was still awake.

  Carl had ruined my mood, so I left the book section without making a purchase. I was headed out the door when I passed a group of brothers coming into the café.There were three of them, so I casually scanned each one from head to toe. When I came to the last guy I smiled, and he did, too. His friends slowed momentarily, but when they saw that we were making a connection, they nodded and kept walking.

  “I don’t mean to stare, but don’t I know you?” he asked.

  Although he was fine as hell, after further inspection I could see that he wasn’t my type. He was wearing a white T-shirt, faded jeans, and brown flip-flops. His thick dreadlocks framed his beautifully squared jawline, which looked almost Romanesque. He smiled at me through pearls of white teeth with a face so handsome he could easily be a male supermodel. I could tell by his tight diction that he was highly educated and probably from somewhere in the northeast, judging by his accent. And looking at his choice of clothing and hairstyle, I surmised that he was one of those granola-eating, earthy kind of guys, and I wasn’t into that. “I don’t think so,” I said, answering his question, ready to glide out the door.

  “Yes, I think we’ve met,” he said, taking a moment to reappraise me. “Aren’t you Jeffery Baldwin’s sister?”

  His comment made me come to a complete stop. First of all, I knew for a fact that I’d never met this brother before tonight. How did I know? Because I always remembered fine, chocolate-dipped men draped in good-smelling cologne. But if he knew my brother, it brought a few other things into question—namely, his sexual orientation.

  My brother Jeffery was gay, even though my mother refused to openly acknowledge or address the truth. As a matter of fact, his partner was a tall, dark, and handsome specimen, much like the man in front of me. They’d been living together in Paris, France, for the last eight years, and that was how long it had been since Jeffery was last home. He stayed away because of mother. He couldn’t stand her. He once confided to me that she’d nearly driven him to the point of suicide. He basically excommunicated himself from our entire family, including me, all so he could break free of everything associated with her.

  “Yeah, I’m Jeffery’s sister. How do you know my brother?” I asked, raising my brow.

  “We went to school together, at Howard.”

  “Oh . . . so you and Jeffery were friends?” I said, giving him a curious stare. The more I checked him out, the harder it was for me to believe that this man was gay. But then again, down-low brothers were hard to detect. Not only could they look you dead in your eyes like they were feelin’ you, they could kiss you with passion, sex you up, and then go get their freak on with one of their boys after they left you. That wasn’t down-low, that was just low-down!

  He smiled, catching my drift. “Not exactly. We were both premed. I remember meeting you when you were with him during homecoming one year, at a mixer.”

  As I thought back to my college days, I remembered hanging out with my brother during Howard’s homecoming one year. “That was a long time ago,” I replied.

  “Yeah, it was. That’s been what . . . eleven, twelve years?”

  “At least. But even so, I think I would remember if we’d met,” I demurred, softening my eyes with a smile. I got a kick out of flirting with men.

  “Trust me, we’ve met,” he said. “You probably don’t remember because I wore a close fade back in the day. Dreads can change one’s appearance.” He motioned as he raked his hand through his thick, shoulder-length locks.

  “Oh, is that it?” I leaned in close to him, pretending to get a better look at his face, but I was really checking out his sexy scent. He smelled like the exotic oils that the African street vendors sold.

  “Yes, I think so.You should see my before and after shots.”

  “Well, I look different, too, so how did you recognize me?”

  “I never forget an intriguing woman, or a beautiful face,” he said in a sexy voice.

  We were briefly distracted when the hostess walked up to seat a couple next to where we were standing. I took that as a sign for me to get up out of there and head back home . . . fine, smooth-talking man or not! “I guess I better be on my way.”

  “Are you waiting for your boyfriend to bring the car around?”

  I smiled and simply said, “No.”

  “You’re headed over to his place?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “I have a curious mind.” He smiled, then extended his hand. “I’d like to reintroduce myself. I’m Tyme Alexander.”

  I stretched my hand out to greet his. His palm was soft and warm. “Samantha,” I smiled back, “and you know the last name.”

  “I wasn’t sure if it had changed. I guess it’s my good fortune that it hasn’t. It’s nice meeting you again, Samantha Baldwin.”

  “Likewise, and I hope you and your friends have a good evening,” I said, turning toward the door.

  “Wait, do you have a card?”

  I put my hand on my hip and raised my brow. “You tryin’ to call me?” I said in my sistah girl voice.

  “Call you, e-mail you, fax you, text you, Tweet you, Facebook you, whatever it takes to reach you.”

  I thought my little attitude would discourage him, but I thought wrong. There might be something to this guy after all. “Why don’t you give me your card?” I smiled.

  He dug into his back pocket and pulled out a Gucci embossed brown leather wallet.That was a very good sign for someone with my expensive taste. He was an interesting mix. A bohemian brother with couture flair. He removed a business card and handed it to me. “Do you have a pen?” He smiled, looking at the pastel-colored bag on my shoulder.

  “Sure.” I reached in and fished around for my Montblanc.

  “While you’re at it, why don’t you give me your card, too,” he said, slow and smooth. “I don’t want to run the risk of you misplacing mine.”

  Normally, I’d be all over a handsome man like Tyme from the word go, even with the earthy look he had going on. But there was something about him that made me a little hesitant. Not that he was creepy or anything. It was just a vibe I got. But against my instincts, and in favor of my curiosity, I handed him my pen and then pulled out my sterling silver business card case. We exchanged information, and when he read mine he smiled before putting it in his wallet. I slid his card down into my bag without even looking at it.

  “I’ll call you,” he said, extending his hand again.

  I shook his warm palm one last time before saying good-bye. When I walked back out into the humid night air I felt a strange chill on my arms. I replayed my evening as I drove back home. Carl had really thrown me for a loop
, and the way he acted tonight was a sure sign that I needed to stay the hell away from him. If he was using, I didn’t even want to know. I just wanted to put as much space between us as possible.

  Blocking Carl out of my mind, I thought about the man I had just met. There was something about him that I couldn’t quite put my finger on, and it held a strange appeal for me.

  As I turned into the driveway around the back of the house, I looked up to the second-story window and saw that Emily’s light was still on. I felt like shit for having left her alone. I should’ve told Carl to leave as soon as I answered the door. But you better believe I wasn’t going anywhere with him again. I was serious this time. No more bullshitting around. Right now I needed to concentrate on helping my best friend and making sure that I was there for her.

  After all the things Emily had done for me over the years, and the countless times she’d stood by my side—from drunken skirmishes she helped me to avoid at wild college parties, to nursing me back to health our junior year after an abortion that had gone terribly wrong, Emily’s always been there for me. Now I was finally in a position to repay her for her generosity, kindness, and love . . . and I needed to get this right.

  I messed up tonight, but this was the last time. I was going to help Emily through her grief. I planned to give her the scoop on the city—where to shop, where to hang out, which areas to avoid, and last but not least, I was going to help her find a man. She needed someone to comfort her during times of loneliness. And hey, if it was one thing that I knew a little something about, it was men!

  Chapter 5

  Ed . . .

  Careful Caution

  I sat in my study, polishing off the last drop of vintage brandy in my snifter. It was the extra-good stuff I reserved to celebrate special occasions, but tonight it was helping me to temporarily escape the complications brewing under my roof.

  I had a hell of a grueling day that began with depositions for a wrongful death case and ended with a last-minute request for a continuance on another. But that wasn’t why I felt drained, like I’d been carrying five-hundred-pound weights on each shoulder, uphill. I felt this way because it had been almost a half hour since Emily retreated upstairs to her room, and I was still trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do.

  I’d been thinking about how I would handle this situation since the day my wife informed me that she had invited our daughter’s best friend to stay with us until her contractor finished renovating her new home.

  “Ed, Emily will be staying with us until she can move into her house,” Brenda said a month ago, not asking, but telling me that we’d have a houseguest for an undetermined amount of time.

  The news caught me completely off guard. To know that Emily was moving to DC was one thing, but to know that she’d be sleeping in a bed down the hall from me was another. I couldn’t let that happen. “Why did you tell her she could stay here before talking it over with me?” I asked.

  “I didn’t think I needed to check with you about helping Emily,” she answered with indignation. “She’s practically like our daughter, and she’s in need right now, especially after everything she’s been through.”

  Even though it pissed me off that Brenda had made a unilateral decision about something that stood to test me more than she could ever know, I was puzzled because generosity had never been my wife’s strong suit, unless there was something she could gain for the effort. And although I wanted to help Emily, I knew that having her under my roof wasn’t a good idea. So I tried to get out of it. “She can’t stay with Sam?”

  “Samantha won’t be closing on her condo until sometime next month.” Brenda grunted. “Besides, Emily’s great with CJ and I could really use her help around here. Taking him to camp so early every morning is beginning to wear on me.”

  I knew it, and I wasn’t surprised by Brenda’s self-serving angle. Her real motivation had nothing to do with helping a vulnerable young woman make a smooth transition into a new city. It was all about how Emily’s presence in our home could relieve her of her responsibilities to her own grandson. I wanted to call her out on her hypocrisy, but I held my tongue for a better time. After being married for so many years, I knew how to deal with my wife. But right now, sitting here sipping my brandy, I had no idea how I was going to handle the situation with Emily.

  I had prayed that by some small miracle Emily’s house would be ready by now, thus freeing me from a potentially sticky situation. But then I thought, hell, I prepared for tough cases all the time, how hard could it be? Turns out it was going to be much harder than I thought.

  My profession was the law—I was a plaintiff attorney, to be exact. And frankly, I was one of the best on the East Coast. That wasn’t bragging, it was just a fact. I was blessed to have a very successful career, even by my profession’s standards, which were quite high. I was a senior partner in a prestigious and well-connected firm on K Street in downtown Washington, DC—where the big boys played. I lived in a beautiful home, was father to two college-educated adult children and grandfather to a very smart and energetic grandchild who was just like me. And even though I was languishing in a loveless marriage, my wife and I had weathered the storm for thirty-two years, and that meant something to me. By all accounts I had a pretty damn good life.

  That little piece of background information was very important because it spoke to my present state, which was a vast contradiction from the confident, self-assured man I was. Right now I felt unsure and anxious, and it was all because of Emily’s presence. “Damn!” I whispered aloud. She still had a strong effect on me, even after all these years.

  I remembered the first time we met. Brenda and I were helping Sam move into her dorm room her freshman year at Spelman. It was a hundred degrees that August day.The heat was oppressive, and amidst the flurry of intense estrogen at the all-girls school, the only thing on my mind was how quickly we could move Sam in so we could check into the hotel, get some rest, and then head back to DC the next day. I had been working nonstop on an upcoming trial, and it was imperative that I returned as soon as possible.

  Sam and Brenda headed up to find her room while I grabbed two large boxes from the minivan we’d rented. I took the stairs because the elevator was too slow and too crowded. Sam, Brenda, and I arrived at the room at the same time, and the first thing I noticed was a neat stack of luggage and a few plastic crates lined up against the wall. A frail-looking, middle-aged woman with gray hair and a pleasant smile greeted us when we walked through the door. I smiled back, and then caught the image of someone standing near the window, and that’s when it hit me. For the first time in my life I understood what people meant when they said that someone had taken their breath away.

  I felt it the instant Emily looked up to say hello. She was delicate, innocent, and beautiful. She looked like a princess waiting to be rescued from something. I know it sounds corny as hell, and I, above anyone else, was surprised by my reaction to an eighteen-year-old girl who could’ve been my own daughter. But she was exquisite.

  Her posture was erect and regal for someone so young, and her velvety smooth skin was a rich brown, like soft suede. She smiled as she swept her right hand through the wild mass of hair covering her head. I got the impression that she was nervous because she began to fidget with one of the large hoop earrings that dangled from her lobe. When she walked toward me I savored the way her curves filled out her faded jeans, which were torn at the knee, while her perky breasts seemed to tease me through her fitted T-shirt that boasted a multicolored peace sign. I was captivated.

  We made introductions as handshakes and hugs were spread among us. I was glad for the commotion in the room; otherwise, I was sure it would’ve been obvious that I was taken by my daughter’s new roommate. I went out on a limb and tried to start up a conversation with Emily.

  “So, what do you plan to major in?” I asked.

  “Um, I’m not sure, Mr. Baldwin. I’m leaning toward elementary education.”

  “Emi
ly, please.” I smiled, trying to put her at ease. “It’s just Ed . . . okay?”

  She smiled back, then quickly looked away, as though she was searching for something she’d lost. While her mother, Brenda, and Sam discussed the room setup, I took the opportunity to probe her. I wanted to find out everything I could about her. But instead of engaging me, she hesitated, offering polite yet guarded responses to my questions. Hell, I didn’t know why I thought a young woman like Emily would be interested in shooting the breeze with an old man like me, which was no doubt how she perceived me through her youthful mind’s eyes. But the more I talked to her, the more I felt a strained yet intense energy pass between us.

  After my failed attempt at conversation, I made myself useful bringing up the rest of Sam’s luggage, crates, and boxes, which were full of an assortment of supplies that Brenda said our daughter had to have. My wife always went overboard with everything. She had registered for Sam’s graduation gifts at Saks Fifth Avenue, Neiman Marcus, and Williams-Sonoma. I thought it was much too extravagant, especially for someone just finishing the twelfth grade. Brenda single-handedly turned the simple task of housing a college freshman in a small dorm room into what looked like setting up house for a family of four. Between the new temptation in front of me and the old frustration staring me in the face, I prayed I’d make it through the day.

  That evening after Brenda and I checked into the hotel, I turned in early, citing an achy back. “I just need a good night’s sleep,” I’d said.What I really needed was to rest my mind because I felt like a damn pervert for the thoughts that had invaded my head since meeting Emily. The simple truth was that I wanted her. I wanted an eighteen-year-old girl more than I had ever wanted any woman in my life.To be frank, I was used to getting what I wanted. Whatever I set my mind to, I got it. But I knew this was going to be very different.