Body By Night

by Day, Zuri

  “Girl, I’m not trying to put my big fat ass on something moving under my feet.”

  “Well we could do something else then. Go walking at the beach maybe, or the park.”

  “Look, everybody ain’t trying to lose weight. I’m fine just the way I am. Besides, Boss loves me this way.”

  It was a rare, fairly civil conversation, one that D’Andra didn’t want to have turn into an argument. So she changed the subject. “Why aren’t you at the casino?”

  “Humph. Them bitches been taking too much of my money,” her mother replied, referring to her favorite vice, the nickel and quarter slot machines.

  D’Andra laughed. “I thought those were your girls?”

  “That’s when they’re paying me; when they’re robbing me, they’re bitches.”

  The fact of the matter was Mary hadn’t been feeling well lately. She’d been tired, sluggish. This past week she was in a building where the elevator was out of service. She barely made it up two short flights of steps to her appointment. Her daughter was probably right that a little exercise would be good for her. Maybe she’d join her one day. She affirmed that thought by grabbing another juicy rib soaked in sauce and followed the bite of meat with half a slice of white bread.

  “Looks like Cassandra might be close to getting married,” Mary said.

  “To whom?”

  “What do you mean, to whom? Anthony, the ball player.”

  “What about the rapper?”

  “What rapper?”

  D’Andra hadn’t told her mother about Cassandra’s romp between the sheets in the house they all shared. Obviously Cassandra hadn’t either.

  “I thought I heard her mention a rapper.”

  “No, Cassandra’s gonna marry that ball player so we can get paid. He took her and the kids to Magic Mountain. Once the man starts entertaining the kids, you’re close then.”

  D’Andra wanted to ask if that were the case with Cassandra’s father, if he’d ever taken Cassandra anywhere. If he had, D’Andra didn’t remember. But then, she could barely remember her own father, and that may have been best. Instead, she decided to head towards Pacific Theatres where she was meeting Night. It was early, but she could walk around, maybe visit a store nearby. She was too excited to sit still, and didn’t want her mother to say anything to spoil her mood.

  “See you later, Mama,” she said. She came over and gave Mary a quick peck on the cheek.

  “Try and keep him if he’s a good one,” her mother said. “And make sure he has some money!” she added, just before D’Andra closed the door.

  Coming to Manhattan Village shopping center early had been a good idea. It was a perfect evening, announcing the coming of March, with a nice breeze that ruffled D’Andra’s freshly permed curls. D’Andra made a leisurely stroll down the row of shops, and in just short of an hour she picked up two pairs of earrings, a short, flirty spring dress, a couple of her favorite baby doll tops and a bottle of Vera Wang cologne. Now she headed to Pacific Theatres, where she and Night would be seeing a much-talked-about independent film. It was such a delight to learn that Night liked offbeat movies the same as her. Chanelle used to always say about a subtitled movie, “If they can’t say it in English, then I don’t need to know.”

  Night and D’Andra had agreed to meet in front of the theatre by the ticket counter. D’Andra arrived about five minutes before their scheduled meeting, and took the time to make sure she was presentable, as if she hadn’t checked ten times before leaving the house and once again in the dressing room at Macy’s where she’d done her earlier shopping. It wasn’t that she was nervous, not exactly. But try as she might she hadn’t been able to forget about Miss America, the woman with the perfect body and drop-dead gorgeous face. She knew she couldn’t compete with her; knew it was crazy to even try. So she’d gone for casual chic in black Capri pants and a belted jersey top. She felt her slingback sandals flattered her calves and ankles, worth the discomfort brought on by sixty minutes of walking around in new shoes. Pleased with what she saw when she looked in the mirror, she pulled out her Raisin Rapture L’Oreal lipstick, and after applying it added a thin coat of gloss. She puckered her lips at the mirror and deemed them just right…perfect for Night’s lips when they met hers later on that evening. She couldn’t wait to see him.

  Night was running late. It had been a crazy day. Night’s hip-hop artist client came into town unexpectedly and wanted a workout. Then the realtor called with good news about the property for his gym. The buyer who’d swooped in after Night had to pull out had fallen out of escrow. Night had to move fast if he wanted to secure it, but now, with the ability to offer a higher down payment than he could have with Jazz, the bank would work with him. He hadn’t thought twice about putting his name on the dotted line. The space was as good as his. He couldn’t wait to share the news with D’Andra about being that much closer to realizing his dream.

  Once home, he’d barely had time to shower and shave and hoped his casual attire of jeans and a starched shirt would be okay. Jazz was always critical of his attire if it wasn’t perfect. For a moment he hesitated, thinking to change his clothes. Then he remembered it wasn’t Jazz he was meeting but D’Andra, who had accepted him for who he was from the first. He couldn’t wait to see her.

  Just as he was setting his home alarm, the phone rang. Night thought about answering but decided against it. He was late enough as it was. His cell phone started ringing before he got to his car. Probably Mom, he thought, without looking at the caller ID. He figured he’d call her back once he got on his way. There was a spring in his step as he bounced to his car and hurriedly backed down the drive. Before he was able to drive off the block, his phone rang again.

  He answered without looking at the caller ID. “Hello?”

  “Yes, may I speak to…a JaJuan Simmons?”

  Night’s heartbeat quickened immediately. No one called him JaJuan but his mother. Almost no one outside his immediate family even knew his real name. He’d been called Night by everyone—student and teacher, adult and child, friend and foe, men and women alike, since he was six years old.

  “Yes, this is JaJuan Simmons.”

  “Mr. Simmons, this is Martin Luther King Medical Center calling. You need to get over here right away, sir.”

  “Martin Luther Ki—” Night’s hands turned clammy. “Why, what’s going on?”

  “It’s your mother, sir. There’s been an accident.”

  D’Andra didn’t worry, at first. It wasn’t unusual to run a little late with L.A. traffic. Plus she knew previews would run for about ten minutes. They still wouldn’t miss the movie.

  Twenty minutes later and she thought to call him. But she didn’t want to appear over-anxious. She figured she would give him ten more minutes and smiled at the thought of watching six feet of fine man walking through the theatre’s double glass doors.

  Ten minutes passed and still no Night. She called his cell, the only number she had, and got voice mail. She thought about calling the gym and asking for Marc, but that seemed a little overboard. After all, this wasn’t business, it was a date. She refused to think anything negative. He’d have a perfectly good explanation when he drove up, which she knew would be any minute now.

  Forty-five minutes passed before D’Andra admitted the obvious; Night wasn’t coming. She’d called his cell phone again twice with no results. A niggling fear set in. What if something had happened to him, an accident of some kind? She thought about going to his house, but just as quickly dismissed the idea. If he had been in an accident he wouldn’t be at his house. After an hour she could no longer hold the doubts at bay. Nor could she erase the image of Miss America, in all her glory, stopping by Night’s house and changing his plans. That image melded with the one of Charles, and the horrible incident that had led to their breakup. The pain rushed up unexpected, clouded her mind and lodged in her throat.

  She made it to her car without breaking down. Navigated the traffic as if nothing was wrong. But once
she reached her house, the blue Toyota parked in front of the black Infiniti rubbed salt in her wounds. She didn’t see her mother’s Buick, and doubted that the kids were home. D’Andra couldn’t help but draw the obvious conclusion: Cassandra had been dropped off by Anthony and immediately called Hollah, the rapper, who was no doubt fucking her brains out in D’Andra’s bed.

  The insistent bass of an unknown tune was D’Andra’s greeting as she opened the door. Otherwise, the house was still; no one else in the downstairs area. As loud as the music was, D’Andra could still hear creaking bedsprings and lovers’ moans. She walked into the kitchen, slammed a few cabinet doors, and when the lovers’ sonata continued, walked into the living room, turned on the television and blasted CNN.

  The amplified drone of Anderson Cooper’s “Planet In Peril” had the desired effect. Within minutes the creaking stopped, and then the music. A slamming door alerted D’Andra that she would soon have company.

  “What the hell?”

  “Oh,” D’Andra asked innocently. “Is this too loud?”

  “You know good and damn well it is!”

  “Not really; didn’t know what you could hear over the music and the bedsprings.”

  “Damn, D’Andra; you could have just knocked. I thought you were out on a date.”

  “I was…where’s Mama?”

  “Hollah gave her some money to go to the casino.”

  “I thought you had a date with Anthony.”

  Cassandra looked anxiously towards the stairs as she stepped toward her sister.

  “Girl, don’t be mentioning his name like that,” she hissed, looking over her shoulder again. “Hollah’s my man right now. He’s getting ready to sign a record deal with Snoop’s label.”

  “Guess baseballer didn’t get up to bat fast enough,” D’Andra countered sarcastically.

  “At least I’ve got a man,” Cassandra shot back. “Don’t be mad at me because of whatever happened tonight that has you back before ten o’clock. And don’t try and mess up my shit. I’m trying to get paid and come up. I’ve got kids.”

  “Kids? Plural? So you finally told him about the twins?”

  “Yes, not that it’s any of your business. He took me to drop them off at Jackie’s.”

  D’Andra snorted and Cassandra, in a rare moment of sharing, let her sister peep into her world.

  “I’ve got to get it where I can DeeDee,” she said softly, her eyes on the stairs. “You were always smart; you can handle things yourself. I’ve always known that my looks are my ticket and I’m okay with that. But the truth of the matter is I’m not getting any younger; and I’ve got three kids. It’s either Hollah or Anthony that will help me get where I need to go and yes, may the best man, and the man who gets there the fastest, win. Right now, Hollah’s got the paper; that’s why he’s here.”

  “If Hollah’s got the paper, why aren’t you at his house? Or the Marriott, the Hyatt, someplace private?”

  “And why aren’t you with your man? Mama said you had a date. Don’t come in here thumbing your nose at me, big sis. I’m handling my business.”

  “Yes, in my bed.”

  “Whatever…I’m handling it. And if all goes well I’ll be out of here in another month or so.”

  “With your children?”

  Pushing Cassandra’s “baby button” was not the button of peace.

  “At least I’ve got kids,” she snarled. “What have you got besides a fat ass and a piece of paper that allows you to wipe an old person’s behind? Don’t get so high and mighty on me, D’Andra. Because the truth of it is you’re cleaning up shit and living with your Mama. You ain’t all that.” Cassandra turned toward the stairs.

  “I don’t want to hear y’all fucking.”

  “Why? Will it remind you of what you’re missing?”

  “Oh, please. There is nothing missing from my life!”

  “Yeah; keep telling yourself that, sister. Maybe one day you’ll believe it.”

  Moments after Cassandra stomped up the stairs she came back down with a carry-on bag, Hollah by her side.

  “Yo, D’Andra,” he drawled, nodding his head knowingly.

  What did he think he knew? D’Andra thought. She dared not ponder the answer. It was no telling what Cassandra told him to get him to spring for a hotel room.

  “Hey,” she said simply, not wanting to be rude.

  As she watched them walk out the door, she wondered about Cassandra’s friend, Hollah, and his real name. She pondered men with nicknames, why and how they stuck. Looking back it seemed interesting and a tad odd that she’d only recently learned Night’s full name. Her first thought was that he was being secretive, but she knew that reasoning was simply paranoia. Maybe she didn’t know more about him because she hadn’t asked. Belatedly she realized that aside from his cell phone, home address and love of all things fitness, she knew very little about the man who’d stood her up, and even now had her panties in a bunch.

  The silence in the now empty house was deafening. Too late D’Andra realized that next to it, she preferred the bedsprings. She wished more than ever for a friend in that moment. The thought of calling Elaine was quickly doused. Saturday night was date night for Max and her, when the kids stayed with one of their parents’ siblings. D’Andra didn’t feel her situation enough of an emergency to interrupt their private time. Without thought, she went back to her old standby of comfort: food. She walked to the freezer and pulled out the quart container of Ben & Jerry’s chocolate chip cookie dough that hadn’t been touched since she started working out. Bypassing a bowl, she took a large spoon from the drawer and walked into the living room. Just as she was getting ready to take her first bite, the phone rang.

  Finally, she thought, already forgiving Night for whatever held him up. She didn’t even look at the caller ID as she answered.

  “Well, it’s about time you called. Your excuse better be a good one and even then, you’re going to owe me big time!”

  There was a slight pause, and a throat-clearing sound.

  “Night?”

  “Dee, it’s me, Connie.”

  Connie? Dee hadn’t talked to her childhood best friend in months, since about the same time she stopped talking to Chanelle and Connie kept trying to mediate a truce. But this was her girl, and she sensed trouble.

  “Hey, Connie. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Dominque,” Connie replied between sniffles. “She’s gone, Dee.”

  “Gone? What do you mean gone?”

  “She’s gone, dead. They found her body in Griffith Park. Nelly said it was all over the news last night.”

  The ice cream forgotten and melting, D’Andra reached for the remote. “Oh my God! What happened?” she asked, reaching a news station and hitting the mute button. Nothing stayed news for more than twenty-four hours in L.A., but D’Andra kept the TV on just in case.

  “What happened?” she repeated, tears in her voice.

  Connie relayed the short version: that their friend’s partially clothed body was found near a bike trail. An initial autopsy revealed a possible drug overdose and while there were no physical signs of trauma, foul play was suspected.

  “You need to call Nelly,” Connie concluded.

  “Why?” D’Andra barked, anger quickly joining the mix of anguish and tears.

  Connie sighed. “She’s taking it pretty hard for one thing. And you two need to talk for another. Dominque is gone, Dee. We can’t get time back. Life’s too short to end a friendship on a misunderstanding.”

  “There is no—”

  “I’m not going to argue with you,” Connie interrupted. “I love you both and I’ve heard both sides of the story. I just think that you should too, and that’s all I’m going to say about it.”

  Silence filled the air.

  “I’ll call Miss Ann,” D’Andra said finally. She knew Dominque’s mother would be beside herself right about now.

  “Yeah, Nelly said she had to be sedated. I tried to reach her a little bi
t ago. No one answered. But keep trying, okay? I’ll let you know when I’m flying in, which will be as soon as the funeral arrangements are made.”

  They said their good-byes and hung up the phone. D’Andra missed Night immensely. She dialed his number again, and once again, got voicemail. Life was too short for many things. Like playing games with grown ass men. It didn’t matter why Night stood her up. The fact of the matter was, he did. And unlike with Charles, she wasn’t going to wait around for a sorry explanation. She jerked her phone off the couch, scrolled down to Night’s number, and pressed delete.

  15

  “You’ve got to call him again, D’Andra; go over to his house tomorrow. From what you’ve told me, he doesn’t sound like a man who would stand you up without so much as a phone call for no good reason.”

  “It’s been two days, Elaine. Unless he’s dead, in a coma or had an accident where his fingers are broken and he can’t dial a cell, there’s no reason he couldn’t have called me by now.”

  Elaine had to admit, it didn’t look good. D’Andra had so looked forward to Saturday’s date with Night, and to see her friend’s face when she walked into the hospital had told her immediately things hadn’t gone well. But why would he not show and not call? D’Andra wasn’t just a friend, she was his client. It didn’t make sense.

  “Just cover all your bases before you jump to conclusions,” Elaine suggested. “Go to his house, stop by the gym. Maybe somebody there will have seen him and you’ll at least know he’s alive.”

  D’Andra rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, he’s alive. He just woke up and realized it wasn’t me he wanted.”

  She didn’t want to believe that; not after the camaraderie they’d experienced, the kisses they’d shared. But what else could it be? And try as she might, the image of running into Miss America kept teasing the edges of her mind. Was the woman just a client, or more? She definitely looked more Night’s type, and she definitely had serious attitude upon seeing D’Andra. Was there something going on there? And then there was what Connie had said, about life and misunderstandings. Connie was right. And so was Elaine: she needed to talk to her friend Chanelle, and she needed to find out about Night.