Playing the Hand You're Dealt

by Trice Hickman

  “I have to pay a sales call to a new customer, but after that I’m free.You still want to meet up at the house this afternoon?”

  “Sure, but I won’t get there until a little later. After I leave school I’m going to drop CJ off at Ray’s.”

  “Drop him off at Ray’s . . . for what?” I asked.

  There was a brief silence on the other end.

  “CJ is sleeping over at Ray’s tonight, remember?”

  I didn’t remember at all. I knew I needed to be more involved in my son’s life, but honestly, he was better off with Gerti, my parents, and Emily. The only thing I could add to his world was confusion. I quickly wrapped up our call and slid my phone back into my bag. When I looked up, Tyme was staring at me, smiling. “What?” I asked.

  “I like you, Samantha,” he said in a soft, romantic voice.

  I didn’t know how to respond so I didn’t say a word.

  Tyme reached across the small table and put his hand over mine. “I hate to run, but I’ve got to get over to the hospital.”

  “I’ve got to run, too. Customers I need to see.” I suddenly felt anxious to leave.

  “I know you’ll be hanging with your girlfriend this weekend and spending time with your son, but I’d like to see you again before you go back to New York. Do you think you can carve out a little time?”

  Part of me wanted to run away from Tyme and the other part wanted to kiss his soft-looking lips. I told him that I’d call him later tonight so we could make plans. Even though I wasn’t sure about where things were going, I knew the only way to quiet my reservations was to get to know him better.

  After we finished our lunch, Tyme hailed me a cab. I gave the driver the address to where I was going, while Tyme handed him a crisp twenty. I tried to figure out why I was tripping so hard. This man was into me, so why was I stressing like this? I should be happy . . . right? Tyme could see the slightly confused look on my face.

  “Don’t worry, Sam. I feel it, too, and it’s all right.” He smiled gently, then kissed me softly on my lips before shutting the door.

  I looked at him through the window as my cab pulled away. I knew he couldn’t have been feeling the same emotions that were running through my body and my mind; otherwise, he wouldn’t have been standing on the curb, smiling.

  My visit to the Lancôme counter at Bloomingdale’s was quick. Sasha and Carmen were no muss, no fuss. After giving them several bags of samples and some information about the launch party for a new product we were introducing this December, I hailed a cab and headed to my parents’ house.

  When I walked through the door I knew I was in for some bullshit. Mother was there. She was usually out shopping, lunching, or giving someone a headache, but she was rarely ever home this time of day.

  “Samantha, is that you?” she called out from the kitchen, of all places. “Come here, please, I need to speak with you.”

  I sighed, then sat my bag down at the edge of the staircase and walked into the kitchen. The aroma of Gerti’s homemade brownies made my stomach jump, but as soon as I saw Mother sitting at the table the sensation turned to nausea. “Hey, Gerti,” I said. I walked over and gave her a quick kiss on her cheek. “Hello, Mother,” I forced myself to say. “What do you want to talk to me about?”

  She wrinkled her nose and looked down at my feet. “Are those Chanel?” she asked with a frown.

  I couldn’t believe she was turning her nose up at my red patent leather Chanel pumps. My shoes were fierce and she knew it. I immediately got an attitude. “Yes,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “And they’re fly. Why you askin’?”

  Mother bristled because she hated bad grammar. “I am asking,” she enunciated to make her point, “because I just bought the same pair in black last week.”

  Now see, why couldn’t she just say, “Sam, nice shoes. I bought a pair just like them.” But noooooo, she had to act like I’d just walked in with shit smeared on the bottom of my feet. That was the reason why she didn’t have any friends, because of petty bullshit like this. People tolerated her, but they didn’t like her. Some people were even afraid of my mother and only dealt with her because they had to, or out of respect for Daddy.

  My mother was a bitch. It’s a terrible thing to say about your own mother, but it was true. She’d been this way all my life. I was ten years old when I came to that realization. We had been shopping at Nordstrom one Saturday afternoon, looking for shoes . . . for her, of course. As we browsed, several sales associates came over to help us. I remember noticing that even though Mother had hardly spoken a word to those ladies, they were extremely nice and friendly to her.They went to the stockroom several times to check on different items of her choosing, all done with happy smiles and enthusiasm. But when I went to the back of the department to inspect a shiny pendant that had caught my eye, I found out what the real deal was.

  “Mrs. Baldwin is such a bitch. She’s going to make me scream,” the plump blonde who’d been helping my mother said to her coworker. “She’s rude and insufferable. If it weren’t for the fact that she spends a small fortune every time she comes in here, I would walk away from her right now. She’s so nerve-wracking!”

  “Yeah,” the other woman said. “But a big spender equals a big commission.”

  Those women didn’t like my mother because she was notorious for coming in and treating people like shit. Before that day, I thought she only treated our family that way, but standing in the back of the department store that afternoon, I learned that my mother cast her darkness on everyone around her, unless she wanted something from them.

  I didn’t have time for her bullshit today, so again, I asked her, “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “I need to know when you’ll be available to go to Saks Jandel with me.”

  Saks Jandel was one of Mother’s favorite boutiques. I was starting to smell a rat. “Why do you want me to go there with you?”

  She looked at me like I’d just asked her how to spell my own name, like I was asking her a stupid question or something. “Because,” she paused, “we have to pick out your outfit for the party. It’s only two weeks away.”

  I let out a big huff and rolled my eyes.

  Gerti looked at me. “You better get those eyes straight,” she warned. “Don’t look at your mother like that.”

  Even though I learned how to roll my eyes by watching her, I knew better than to disobey Gerti, so I looked away. I had a lot on my plate, and Mother’s demands were the least of my concerns. “I already have an outfit for the party, so don’t stress me. I know how to dress,” I said in a hostile tone.

  Mother sat in silence. She knew I was right and that there was no point in arguing. She and I had similar taste in fashion, hence the Chanel shoes. Brenda Baldwin was a fashion tour de force, and even though she was in her fifties, she didn’t look it. I gave credit when it was due, and the truth was that my mother was a good-looking woman. And sadly, that was another reason why she had always been disappointed in me. I wasn’t pretty enough by her standards. I knew how to spruce myself up, but I definitely wasn’t a natural beauty like she was. Physical looks were very important to her.

  As I stood near the counter looking at her and thinking about what she’d just said, I started to get angry. Mother knew I had great taste, yet she wanted to take me shopping, as if I couldn’t pick out my own clothes. She had called me in here just to mess with my head because she knew I wasn’t thrilled about the birthday party in the first place. She was also probably afraid that I’d show up in something ridiculous just to make her look bad, which I had to admit was something I’d done in the past. But that was when I was in high school. I was an adult now, and I didn’t play childish games anymore. I left that foolishness to her.

  “If you think what you’re going to wear will be appropriate, I guess that’s that.” Mother sighed, then planted her eyes squarely on mine. “But, Samantha, I do hope you’ll be on your best behavior. This is a very important party. Try not
to mess it up, for Emily’s sake.”

  I wanted to curse her out so badly. Gerti knew it, too, and she gave me a calm the hell down look. I hated that I felt this way about the woman who gave birth to me, but I couldn’t help it. She was such a hypocrite. She had the nerve to sit there and tell me how important this birthday party was for Emily, when she knew that she didn’t give a damn about Emily or me, for that matter. It was our birthday, but it was her party.

  I knew I shouldn’t let her stress me out. I reminded myself to chill, “for Emily’s sake,” as Mother had just said. I looked at her and smiled. “Don’t worry, Mother. I’ll be on such good behavior, it’ll blow your muthafuckin’ mind.”

  Before she or Gerti could say a word I turned on my Chanel heels and marched upstairs.

  “She burns me up,” I said to Emily as I reached for another Q–Tip to dab off the excess color that had settled on the side of my pinky.We were lying across my bed, polishing our nails. Emily’s looked good, but mine looked terrible. I was used to having someone else do the dirty work for me. I had made appointments for us at my salon, but Emily convinced me to cancel. She said it would be fun to stay in, do our nails, order pizza, and talk all night like we used to when we were roommates in college. She was right, as usual. CJ was at his sleepover, mother was out with Aunt Dorothy, thank God, Gerti had turned in early, and Daddy was still at the office, so we had the house all to ourselves.

  “She’s so damn phony and evil,” I snarled, still talking about Mother.

  Emily shook her head. “Samantha, don’t you think you’re being a little harsh? She’s not that bad. I mean, she’s your mom.”

  Poor thing. I knew she was still mourning Ms. Lucille’s death, and probably thought I was a disrespectful ingrate for talking about my mother the way I did. But she didn’t know the real Brenda Baldwin. For some reason, Mother had always put on a good face in front of Emily. I could tell my friend some stories that would make her want to curse, too. But Emily didn’t need to hear all that garbage, so I decided to change the subject. “Tell me how your first week of school went.”

  Emily perked up with a big smile. “The other teachers are friendly and the kids are so bright!”

  I was happy to hear the joy in my best friend’s voice. Things were finally falling into place for her. She talked for nearly a half hour as we moved on to polishing our toes. She told me all about her students, the friends she’d made at her school, her flamboyant neighbor with the perfect teeth and hair, and the fabulous new upgrades that her contractor had added to her house.

  After the pizza arrived we headed to the kitchen to continue our girl talk. But as I listened to Emily, one thing became very clear. She’d been here for nearly a month and she hadn’t gone out on a single date in all that time.

  “Emily,” I said, sitting my pepperoni slice on my plate. “Why haven’t you met a man yet? What’s up?”

  She waved me off. “There you go again.”

  “Listen, I know the dating scene is rough, but you’re gorgeous and you have a lot to offer. I can’t believe you haven’t met anyone who piques your interest?”

  She took a sip of her sparkling water and lowered her eyes. “I’ve been way too busy trying to get my life together. I don’t need a man to complicate things.”

  “Wow, now, that’s a good attitude to have.”

  “I’m serious. Between school and the house, I haven’t had time to think about dating. Right now my focus is on lesson plans and my move next Saturday.”

  “Have you ever thought that meeting a new man could add excitement, not complications, to your life?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Girl, at this rate, CJ will be dating before you,” I teased as I took a bite of my pizza. We both had to laugh on that one.

  Just then, we looked up when we heard a key rattle in the back door. I hoped it wasn’t Mother, and to my relief it wasn’t. It was Daddy, and even though he was visibly tired, he still managed to give us a big smile. Unlike Mother, who was out socializing over apple martinis, Daddy had been grinding it out at the office. I knew he would be glad when his big trial was over. He was in serious warrior mode. We talked several times a week, and he had mentioned how intense things were right now. But I’d never heard him sound as stressed as he had lately. I was a little worried about him.

  “Hello, ladies.” He nodded toward Emily, and then to me. “Did I interrupt a joke?”

  “I was just teasing Emily about her love life.”

  “Samantha!” Emily hissed, seeming embarrassed.

  She looked at me like I’d just told Daddy her cup size. She’d always been shy around him, but damn, we were family. Daddy looked at her as his second daughter and couldn’t care less about her boring-ass love life.The trial was all he was focused on.

  “You’ve met someone?” Daddy asked Emily, raising his brow. I guess he was thinking that it was about time.

  “No,” I interrupted, “and that’s the problem. But don’t worry, I’m gonna hook my girl up and introduce her to some men in this city.” I grinned as Emily looked on like she was still embarrassed. “Anyway, how was your day, Daddy?”

  “Long, but good. I’ll leave you two alone to enjoy the rest of your evening.” He gave us a smile, said good night, and then headed into his study.

  Emily looked at me with slight annoyance. “Why did you tell him that?”

  “Chill, it’s just Daddy.”

  “But you didn’t have to tell him . . .”

  “Daddy’s so involved with his case, he’s not even thinking about you. His mind is on the courtroom and that expensive brandy he’s about to drink. Besides, there’s nothing to tell about your love life because you don’t have one.”

  Emily folded her arms across her chest. “I guess you have a point.”

  We were silent for a moment before she spoke again. “Samantha, does your father drink brandy every night?”

  “Yep, ever since I can remember. It’s his one guilty pleasure. Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Girl, living with my mother for thirty-two years, can you blame him? I’m surprised he doesn’t do more than that.”

  At the very mention of her, Emily and I looked up in unison as the door opened and Mother appeared. I held my breath and braced myself for some mess. She walked in and stopped in front of the table. She stared at our plates, mine covered with two pepperoni slices and Emily’s with her vegetarian slice.

  “Eating food like that at this late hour will wreak havoc on your waistlines,” she said as she wrinkled her nose.

  Well, I’ll be damned! No hello, kiss my ass, or nothing. She couldn’t even greet people nicely. Since she was being so nasty, I decided to return the favor. “Kind of like that Grey Goose you’ve been throwing back tonight. Alcohol can do damage to the waistline, too.” I glared. There, I shut her down like a club at dawn. She was embarrassed as hell, but only because I’d hit a nerve of truth. When she got together with my aunt Dorothy they mixed martinis all night. She drank a little too much and then had the nerve to get behind the wheel . . . and she called me careless and irresponsible!

  Mother ignored my remark. “Good night,” she said, smiling nicely in Emily’s direction before leaving the room. I guess she had to spread her evil around because I heard her and Daddy exchange irritated words in his study before she went upstairs.

  “See what I mean about my mother?”

  Emily didn’t say anything. “Hey, let’s talk about your love life.” She smiled. “Tell me about your lunch date with Tyme, how’d it go?”

  “Hmm, I don’t know how to feel about him.”

  “What do you mean? He sounds like a dream, and any man who’ll offer up his weekend to do manual labor is worth giving a chance,” she said.

  “It’s hard to explain. He’s handsome, smart, considerate, and very nice. But there’s something about him that makes me want to hold back.”

  Emily stared at me, chewing her veggie slice while she listened with int
ense concern. I knew what she was thinking, so I addressed the question before she asked it. “And no, it’s not because he’s straitlaced. I’m older now, and I know I should look for other things in a man besides a good time.”

  “Do you have a good time with him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Does he make you laugh?”

  I thought about Emily’s question, and the answer I came up with threw me for a loop. “Actually no. I mean, he makes me smile, but he’s never made me laugh.”

  “Drop him.”

  “What?”

  “Drop him now,” she repeated.

  I was shocked. “I know you’re not telling me to drop a decent, upstanding man just because he doesn’t have jokes?” I hoped the hardness of the city hadn’t already started to affect my friend.

  Emily put down her pizza slice and wiped her mouth. She leaned forward in her chair and gave me the familiar, soft and sincere expression I had come to know over the years. “Samantha, I might not have much of a love life, but one thing I do know is that you need a man who can make you laugh. Laughter is medicine for the soul.”

  I thought about Emily’s words as she continued. “Remember back to the times in your past relationships when a man made you laugh, and not because you were out partying.” She paused. “I’m talking about laughter that came from a general conversation when he said something simple, yet so funny that it made you both crack up like you were sitting in a comedy club.That’s the kind of laughter that comes from deep inside, and a man who can bring laughter from that place can reach your heart.”

  I reflected back, knowing I had experienced that feeling only once—with Tyler. That man could have me rolling so hard I had tears in my eyes. “Did Bradley ever make you feel that way?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Has any man ever made you feel that way?”

  Emily looked off to the corner, like she was thinking about someone from her past just like I was. “Yes, but it was never meant to be.”