by Pearl Cleage
“As I mentioned on the phone, I’d like to support the work you’re doing with returning vets and their families. The piece in The Sentinel made such an impression on me.”
At the mention of the Sunday story, which had been full of praise for his program and his vision, the slight smile flickered again briefly. “That was well done, wasn’t it?”
Regina waited for him to say more, but he just looked at her.
“Yes, it was,” she said. “It made me want to get involved instead of just complaining. I live in West End, where we’re already feeling the consequences of what’s happening, and since you’re right here in the neighborhood, I thought this would be a good place to start.”
He placed his palms together under his chin and an expression she couldn’t read flickered across his face.
“To start what?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Samson Epps shook his head disapprovingly. “Mrs. Hamilton, there is no need for either of us to continue this charade.”
Regina felt her cheeks flush, although she had no idea what he was talking about. “If you have something to say to me, Dr. Epps, I encourage you to say it. I came here to talk about helping you raise funds for your program. Your tone is inappropriate.”
He pushed his chair away from the desk slightly. “Inappropriate? I mentioned to one of my colleagues that a neighborhood woman who had seen our recent press coverage had called to explore a possible fund-raiser to support the project.”
Regina hated the way he described her as “a neighborhood woman.” It was the way people talked about the human beings they had decided to think of generically. A native woman. A Palestinian child. A homeless man. The more he talked, the more she didn’t like him.
“My colleague was pleased, but when I told her your name, she kind of laughed and said, ‘Don’t you know who that is?’ ”
A sudden realization made her cheeks flush. This was about Blue! The article had said Samson Epps had been in Atlanta for only a year, but how long did it take to meet the community that was the campus’s nearest neighbor? How long did it take to notice how different that community was and ask somebody why?
But there was another voice in her head arguing the other side almost as strongly. That part of her wanted to know why she was blaming Samson Epps for not knowing that in some circles, her husband was regarded as less than respectable and, when crossed, undeniably dangerous. That part of her wanted to know whom she was really mad at, Samson or Blue. Regina sat silent, not knowing what to say next.
“Mrs. Hamilton, you must be aware of your husband’s reputation,” Samson Epps said.
“Go on,” was Regina’s answer. Aware of it? She thought. I live with it every day.
“Then you must know that there are certain trade-offs for the lives we choose.”
He was talking to her like she had come to him for pastoral counseling.
“I respect the choices your husband has made and I’m asking that you respect mine. This is a government-funded program, Mrs. Hamilton. I can’t accept money from gangsters.”
He said the word with such contempt he almost spit it at her. Regina tried to compose herself before she responded. She wanted to find the words to explain how careful Blue was never to take his role lightly or use the power he had irresponsibly. She wanted to say it weighed on him. She wanted to tell Samson Epps about the women and children whose lives were saved by Blue’s willingness to defend them. She wanted to witness for the brothers who had been transformed by working with her husband in West End. She wanted to tell him how they had become men who could be loved and trusted without fear. She wanted to tell him that her husband acted out of absolute love for his people and a definition of manhood that did not depend on any commander in chief other than the one he saw in the mirror every morning, gazing back through his own blue eyes.
But she didn’t tell him any of that. What was the point? Besides, she didn’t think she would be able to get the words out without crying. She stood up, gathered her things, and walked out of Samson Epps’s office without uttering another sound. She had nothing to say to him. The person she needed to talk to was Blue.
46
Precious was not looking forward to this meeting. She had liked and trusted Lee Kilgore, but no more. The things Blue had told Precious made it impossible for her to even consider keeping Lee around as part of her team. It was Precious’s intention to be in and out in fifteen minutes, tops. There was really nothing to discuss. Blue had not only confirmed what Mrs. Robinson had said, but had identified Kilgore as part of a network of dirty cops and corrupt civilians who were making millions with little or no danger of arrest.
Before she had fully digested that news, Blue also shared a rumor he had not personally verified yet that Bob Watson had a hand in it, too. That was the part that had really thrown Precious for a loop. She had no idea how she could tell Kwame that his new idol had feet of clay. Taking a deep breath, she pulled into the visitors’ lot behind the Atlanta Police Department’s downtown headquarters and tried to compose herself before she confronted Lee Kilgore.
Police headquarters was always crowded. Police officers and perpetrators, people being charged and discharged. There was a grim determination in their faces. Everybody knew that once you walked inside those doors, everything that happened was going to be serious. Precious knew it, too, but she still smiled back at the young female police officer at the security desk inside the front door who directed her to a tiny cubicle on the second floor.
When Precious knocked on the door, Lee’s voice answered with the edge of someone who doesn’t want to be disturbed.
“It’s open!”
Somehow, Precious had imagined Lee in grander surroundings. This small, airless space was barely large enough for a desk and a tiny bookcase. A chair for visitors was wedged in the corner almost as an afterthought. Lee’s annoyance at being interrupted was immediately replaced by her surprise at finding Precious standing in her doorway.
“Senator Hargrove.” She stood up and came around to extend a hand. “What a pleasant surprise. Sit down.”
Precious stepped in and closed the door behind her without a handshake.
Lee frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“I’ll get right to the point, Captain Kilgore. As part of my investigation into the death of Kentavious Robinson, I’ve been given some information by a completely reliable source that not only confirms his mother’s suspicions about police involvement, but points to you specifically as one of those protecting the dealers. Is there any truth to what I’ve been told?”
Lee sat back down behind her desk. She tried to keep her face impassive. This was the moment she had been trying to outrun. Remain calm, she thought. Just remain calm.
“I’m shocked that you would ask me such a question.”
Precious didn’t blink. “That’s not an answer.”
“No. There is no truth to it at all.”
The two women looked at each other for a minute, each taking the measure of the other. Finally, Precious spoke quietly. “I don’t believe you.”
Lee’s left eye twitched slightly. “These rumors always follow a cop who tries to bust the dealers, Senator. You should know that.”
“You’re a talented woman,” Precious said quietly. “I admire some of your ideas, but I can’t ask you to be part of my team. Not anymore.”
Lee felt her future drying up like Georgia crops in a summer-long drought, but she didn’t flinch. “I’m sorry to hear that, Senator.”
“I won’t be pursuing these allegations personally at this time, but I think it’s only fair to warn you that I will be passing on what I’ve heard to your superiors, and one more thing.” Precious stood up. “When I’m elected, cleaning up the police department will be job one.”
Lee’s eye twitched again. “I understand.”
“Good.” Precious picked up her purse.
Lee stood up, too. “Do you mind if I ask you one question?”
“Go ahead.”
“Are you really destroying what we both know could be a productive partnership based on the word of a bunch of crackheads and con artists?”
“No.” Precious opened the door. “I’m dissolving our association because it’s still working.”
“What’s still working?”
“My built-in bullshit detector.”
47
Kwame turned the car into a long winding driveway that brought Aretha to the front door of the three-story, blindingly white house. She was shocked. Its glass-and-chrome exterior was glittering in the midday sun and she could only imagine how bright the interior of the house was with all those windows everywhere. The old adage about people who live in glass houses not throwing stones came immediately to her mind. Sitting there, so dramatically different from its neighbors, the structure didn’t look like a house as much as a museum extension or the offices of a once very hip architect with a chip on his shoulder.
“Wow!” was all she could say.
“I told you it was a showpiece,” Kwame said, coming around to open her door.
She stepped out and followed him up the front steps into the small entryway that opened quickly into the great room with its high ceiling and glittering chandelier. The windows were even more dramatic than she had imagined and the sunlight streaming in everywhere was bright enough to make her squint. Kwame, who was watching her closely, flipped a wall switch and what looked like flat silk or linen venetian blinds hissed into place without disturbing the clean lines of the place.
White walls? Floor-to-ceiling glass? Linen blinds? Bob had clearly not designed the place with an active two-year-old around. Aretha’s motherly eye clocked the potential dangers as Kwame walked her through every room, including the giant kitchen and the master suite, which boasted a tub big enough for the whole family to enjoy a soak. Could I live here? she asked herself at the doorway to each new room. Could I be myself here? The house felt so cold she almost shivered.
At the end of the tour, they went back downstairs. There were no chairs. Kwame hugged Aretha gently and tried to read her reaction in her face.
“So what do you think?” he said. “Can you stand it for a year or two until we decide what we really want to do?”
From the circle of his arms, she looked around. It helped to think of it as temporary. She could stand almost anything for a year or two.
“Are you sure this is really where you want to live?”
He nodded and tightened his arms around her. “This is where I want us to live.”
“All right,” she said. “Then this is where we’ll live.”
“I love you,” Kwame whispered, leaning down to kiss her, relief flooding his body. And he did love her. The part of him that needed more didn’t have anything to do with his wife. That was just who he was.
Aretha kissed him back, reminding herself that Kwame had changed his whole life for her and Joyce Ann. She knew this job and this house meant a lot to him and maybe she owed him a little compromise to make it work. That was part of love, too, wasn’t it? Learning to meet the beloved halfway? She couldn’t deny that he had been a different person since accepting the new job. When they made love, it almost felt like it used to before they started fighting all the time. She tightened her arms around him.
When they came up for air, she grinned at Kwame. “You think Bob would let me add some color to these walls?”
“Probably not,” Kwame said, so happy at the outcome of the morning he decided to take a chance. “Maybe there’s another way we can warm it up.”
As he spoke, he slid his hand under her skirt and caressed her gently. She leaned into his hand and felt herself tremble slightly. He felt it, too, and kissed her again, softly, sweetly, with no demand implied. Just an invitation.
She put her lips against his ear and teased him. “What are you doing up here in these people’s house?”
“I’m making love to my wife,” he whispered back, loving the way her breasts felt against his chest. Teddy was right, he thought. There was no reason he couldn’t have everything he wanted. This was only the beginning!
“I don’t care where we live,” Aretha said softly, leaning back to look into his face. “I just want us to be okay.”
“We’re better than okay.” He kissed her again. “We’re doing just fine.”
He caressed her with growing passion and she responded the same way. He nibbled her neck, the base of her throat.
“Kiss me there, baby,” she whispered. “Will you kiss me there?”
Kwame lifted her skirt to her waist and lowered himself to his knees, pulling her toward him and burying his face in her softness. Moaning softly, she surrendered to the waves of pleasure that weakened her knees, closed her eyes, and slid to the floor, pulling him closer, playing the role this strange house required, and pretending she could make it real just because she wanted it to be.
48
Lee hadn’t spoken to Bob in a week. There had been no contact since their last meeting when she told him their partnership was in its last days, but Precious had really shaken her up. The last thing Lee wanted was an official investigation into anything. She needed a way to cut this off at the pass and the only person with as much to lose as she did was Bob. He would have to help her contain this situation. She didn’t intend to go limping back to Macon in disgrace, or worse, serve time in jail for drug trafficking.
She needed Bob to use that special access to Precious Hargrove he’d bought with all those campaign contributions. She needed him to vouch for her integrity and help her nip this in the bud before it ruined everything. It was his fault she had stayed in the business long after she wanted out. He owed her this much and she intended to make sure he understood that, too.
Bob greeted Lee at the door in his shirtsleeves. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Come in.”
“Where’s your lovely wife this evening?” Lee said, looking around to be sure they were alone.
“She’s at a spa in Santa Barbara, thanks for asking.” Bob led the way into the den.
“Like I give a damn.”
His lips curled into a smile that was more of a sneer. “Exactly. Drink?”
“Rum. On the rocks.”
Bob splashed the dark, fragrant liquid over ice and handed her the Tiffany cocktail tumblers with which Marian had outfitted the bar. “Are we celebrating or commiserating?”
Lee took a swallow of her drink and the rum burned its way down her throat. “Precious Hargrove said she has it on good authority that I am one of a cadre of dirty cops protecting the cocaine trade, including the murderers of Kentavious Robinson.”
“Jesus,” Bob said beside her, and took a swallow of his scotch and soda.
“She also said that she’s going to turn the information over to my superiors, and when she gets elected mayor, my ass is grass.”
“Jesus!”
“You already said that.”
“Did she say anything about me?”
Lee looked at him. “As I recall, your name never came up.”
“Good.”
His obvious relief annoyed her. “That doesn’t mean it won’t.”
Bob raised his eyebrows. “You’re not threatening me, are you?”
“Of course not. But we’re still partners, remember?”
“Oh, that.” He smiled that sneering smile again. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“We’re not partners anymore. I’m out. Turns out T.G. already had a guy lined up who wanted in immediately. Nice guy, too. Record producer. Lots of available cash. He made me a nice offer for my share of future earnings. Couldn’t have come at a better time, actually. I’m too old for all that mess.”
Lee willed her face to remain neutral. She hadn’t expected Bob to move so quickly, but she couldn’t fault him. This was business and she was the one who’d told him to make other arrangements. That was exactly what he had done.
“So you don’t have to worry
about me, sweetie,” he said, his voice oozing insincerity, “but I do appreciate your concern. For old time’s sake and all that, but I’m back to being just another hardworking black architect with a few political connections. So, what can I do for you? Freshen your drink?”
“I don’t need a drink,” Lee snapped. “I need you to make that call.”
“What call would that be?” Bob got up and poured himself another splash of cognac.
“The one you bought with all your contributions to Precious Hargrove. The one you’re always bragging about.”
“Oh, you mean my emergency phone call.”
“You know damn well what I mean.”
“I’m not sure I do,” Bob said, still standing at the bar. “Can you be a little more specific?”
Lee wanted to throw what was left of her drink in his face. She forced herself to speak calmly. “I need you to call Precious Hargrove and vouch for me.”
“Vouch for you?”
“Tell her I’m innocent of the charges she’s heard, no matter where she heard them.”
He nodded slowly like he was considering her request. “And what if she asks me how I can be so sure?”
“Tell her you’ve known me for years and you have no doubts whatsoever regarding my integrity.”
“I see. And what if she remains unconvinced of your innocence?”
Lee took a breath. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but she had already considered the possibility. “Then tell her I want to be allowed to resign and pursue my professional options elsewhere.”
“So let me get this straight,” Bob said. “You want me to use my one phone call to save your ass? You want me to call the next mayor of Atlanta and tell her to please back up off my friend the dirty cop who promises to leave town immediately and return to whatever sad little Southern fork in the road spawned her?”
Lee looked at Bob and suddenly wished she’d never come here. There was no way he was going to help her and she knew it. “Fuck you, Bob.”
