“I’m just saying. Most of the boy’s roles have been low-budget, straight to DVD movies. And we all know those DVDs will collect dust before anybody watches them.”
“Perhaps you ought to check my IMDb page. I’ve got way more film credits than you think. And don’t forget the sitcoms I co-starred in.”
Wallace cackled. “Yeah, but all those shows got cancelled.”
Kendrick took a deep breath. “This time is going to be different,” he said, fighting to stay calm.
Wallace continued to stare at his son. He grabbed a piece of white bread and spread a dollop of margarine over it. “It had better be, or else you’re gonna wind up on your knees sucking off some film executive for your next great role.”
“That won’t happen. And you know what? I get that my line of work doesn’t mean a hill of beans to you, but I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. Just wait until my movie comes out, then you’ll see.”
Wallace’s eyes glowed with delight. “Oh, I see. So now you’re Mister Important because you’ve got your lil’ flick coming out. Guess that means we all need to be kissing your ass, right?”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Ain’t it? All right then, let me ask you this. What’s it like to inconvenience your entire family by making us celebrate Thanksgiving a whole month early? It must be nice getting everybody to rearrange their lives just to accommodate you.”
“Wallace.” Diane’s eyes plead with her husband.
“No, Mom, it’s okay. I think Dad has something he’d like to get off his chest.” Kendrick turned his full attention toward his father. “For your information, I don’t have to be here. I could be somewhere promoting my film, but I thought I owed it to the family to be here. Mom practically begged me.”
“Like I said, you must be expecting us to kiss your ass or something.”
“Wallace, I asked him to come early. This was the only time he had available to be with family. Now, if you’re going to be mad with someone, be mad at me.”
The unfazed children continued to eat as the adults squirmed uncomfortably. Wallace pounded the table with his fists, startling everyone. Kernels of food flew about; dribbles of red punch stained the table cloth.
“You say your little prayer like nothing’s changed. What do I have to be thankful for, huh? I got one dead son because of you, and another child that may as well be dead! Then here you come, like some hot shot because you moved off to La La Land! What does any of that even matter? You ruined this family when you screwed your brother Alvin out of his chance to get into the NFL!”
“You still want to blame me for Alvin’s choices? Go ahead, but his downward spiral isn’t my fault, Dad. I can’t believe that you’ll stand behind the child who became a junkie and threw his life away, but won’t speak to Paris because you think she’s a disappointment.”
“First off, don’t utter that name in this house! Secondly, you’re the one who told on Alvin. You told those folks that he raped that girl!”
“Because he did!”
“You don’t know that! And even if he did, who are you to sell your brother up the river? And now he’s gone—took his own life because he didn’t know how to live without football. You took his dream from him, and I’ll never forgive you for it.”
This was the confrontation Kendrick needed, one long overdue. With the revelation of his father’s true feelings, Kendrick was free to abandon the pretense of a mere dislike existing between them. He harbored a deep-seated loathing in his gut. Kendrick eyed the carving fork and knife protruding from the ham, deciding both were suitable for puncturing the perfect size hole into his father’s throat. He imagined a deep red gushing forth, spraying his family as they applauded the deed. A malevolent smile crept across Kendrick’s face, and for the first time he was unashamed of wanting his father’s worthless life to bleed out.
Kendrick’s glee was partnered with a tingling in his face, followed by a flowing heat that spread broadly across his skin. He had reached his limit. Time to leave before a fantasy of murder turned into reality. With nothing else to say, Kendrick left the dining room.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Wallace’s voice followed Kendrick out of the room.
“Sweetheart, come on back and sit down with your family,” Diane urged her son, pulling at his arm. “I was up late last night cooking all your favorites. Barely got any sleep.”
“Mama, I refuse to sit at the table of a man who doesn’t respect me.”
“Let Mr. Uppity go, Diane!” There was an unsettling delight in Wallace’s words.
“Shut up, Wallace!” She turned to her son, who to her was the exemplar of perfection. She had no idea that his inner monologue ran so dark where his father was concerned. “Honey, you know we haven’t seen you in Lord knows how long. You can’t go now. You just got here.”
“I didn’t force the drugs into Alvin’s veins. Dad can’t keep blaming me for what ain’t even my fault!”
“I know, honey. I know.” Her words had a sing-song appeasement to them. She managed to get him back into the dining room. Everyone waited in silence; some had lost their appetites, though Wallace ate spiritedly, unbothered by the tension clouding the room. Diane pulled a seat out for Kendrick. “That’s right, sit down right here.”
Kendrick did not sit, instead he reached across the table for the bottle of Remy Martin, which glistened like citrine on the candlelit table. However, the theme song to The A-team interrupted his movement.
“I have to take this. It’s better if I go outside.” Kendrick left the expensive cognac, grabbed his coat from the back of the chair, and walked away before his mother protested.
“Remind me to plant a great big kiss on you when I get back to L.A,” he said into the phone. Now that he was away from his family, he chuckled openly.
“I take it I called at a good time,” Brenda said.
“Yeah, you just don’t know.” The cold air filling his lungs felt good. “What’s up?”
“Got some good news. The people at Live! With Kelly and Michael want you to co-host with Kelly Rippa. Michael Strahan is out sick.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I’m serious. Got the call a few minutes ago.”
“Whoa, this is big.”
“Are you kidding me? It’s huge!”
“But, what if they don’t like me? Michael already has an established fan base.”
“You’re not out to steal his gig. You’re just warming his chair for a day or two. Think of all the publicity we can get for It Is What It Is. The universe threw this one into your lap. America is about to fall in love with Kendrick Black.”
Kendrick’s dimples chilled when he smiled. “Wow! That would be an honor. I frickin’ love Michael Strahan!”
“If you nail it, think of the doors this’ll open.”
“Yeah, but I’m not sure I can sit and be Mr. Charming for an entire hour. What if I suck?”
“Oh please! You’re about the most charming man I know. Imagine all of the soaked panties in the audience,” Brenda said.
Kendrick moved down the porch and across the stoned path which led to the metal gate. He threw back the latch with a gloved finger and walked through the gate, closing it behind him. He deactivated the car alarm, unlocking the door. He was sure his family got the hint that he was not coming back. He would call his mother later. Kendrick climbed into the 2013 black Escalade and started the ignition with the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder.
Kendrick sped off down the block, thrilled that he was going to be swapping jokes with Kelly Rippa Monday morning. Unfortunately, in his excitement, he did not see the young girl dressed in cotton candy pink cut between two parked cars, though he did hear the heavy thump of the impact.
“Oh, no! God, no!” Kendrick Black screamed, breaking at the red light. Panic entered his body with the same potency of snake venom entering the bloodstream. With closed fists, he pounded the dashboard and steering wheel, accidently hi
tting the horn, causing it to toot like an unintended breaking of wind.
“What’s going on?” Brenda asked.
Kendrick tried to gather his wits. “Some asshole just tried to cut me off. I really need to pay attention to the road. I’ll call you back.” Kendrick ended the call and glanced through the rearview mirror. “I should just turn around and go back,” he said to himself.
The light turned green. In a frantic, swift movement, Kendrick checked to see if anyone had witnessed the accident, but saw no one.
“Just go back,” he whispered. He gripped the steering wheel as his foot squeezed the gas pedal. The Escalade eased forward. Through the rearview window the little girl shrank into the distance. His eyes teared, his heart thumped loudly in his chest. Thoughts raced, overlapping in a way that made no sense.
After an hour of aimless driving, he pulled into an alley which led to an abandoned warehouse. Kendrick parked behind three dumpsters.
Alone and out of view, Kendrick closed his eyes, visualizing the girl’s rolling body coming to a contorted stop. He saw her lying there, twisted with a snapped neck. Crushed, dried leaves were matted into her side ponytail, and blood turned her once pink jogging suit crimson. Worst of the mental images, he pictured her eyes open, arrested of their innocence, staring out at nothing. He knew she was someone’s child. He imagined the parents losing their minds when notified.
“That’s somebody’s baby,” Kendrick repeated to himself as though it was an affirmation. An overwhelming impulse to cry came upon him. As he sobbed, tears spurt from his eyes like blood from a wound. His dry tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
“I’m not a monster. I should just turn myself in,” he said into the dark interior of the vehicle. He took out his cell phone and speed-dialed a number.
“Hey, it’s me. I think I’m going to hell for what I just did.”
TWO
It was dark when a silver 2010 Audi pulled up beside the black Escalade. Lenox Hunter got out, dressed from head to toe in black, wearing mirrored aviator sunglasses despite the takeover of night. He looked like a chic, urban superhero; anyone else happening upon the scene looking as he did would have looked ridiculously contrived. There was a coolness in the way Lenox approached the vehicle, and rapped his knuckles against its tinted window.
The window rolled down immediately.
“You could’ve told me you’d have me out here waiting forever and a goddamn day! What took so long?”
“Ashley and I were messing around. The only reason I answered my phone at all is because I saw it was you.”
“It took you that long to finish?”
“You know how she is. If I don’t put in the work, I get the third-degree.”
Kendrick anxiously got out of the vehicle for the first time since the accident to get a better sense of the forlorn surroundings.
“Try to calm down and tell me what happened,” Lenox said.
A flickering street lamp cast shadows upon and around the building. Taken by paranoia, Kendrick inspected the areas closest to the vehicles. For all he knew there were derelicts roaming about, listening to his conversation.
“I don’t know. It all happened so fast,” Kendrick said, satisfied the two men were alone.
Lenox put a hand on Kendrick’s shoulder. “Listen to me. If you want me to help you then you need to tell me everything that happened no matter how bad it is, you dig?”
Kendrick smiled despite his stress. Only Lenox could say, “you dig” with any current day hip believability.
Kendrick took a breath, trying hard to recall what happened. His head felt like someone took a sledgehammer to it. “I was on my cellphone talking to Brenda. There was no one on the road, and then suddenly I heard a banging noise, and I when I looked up there was cracking glass and the color pink going over the windshield. I got to the light, looked back and saw that I’d hit the little girl.”
“Anyone see you?”
“I don’t know.”
Lenox intensified his grip, causing Kendrick to flinch. “You gotta be sure.”
Kendrick pondered for a moment. “Honestly, I don’t know. All I remember is telling myself to go back. Instead, I found myself moving forward, and the next time I glanced back into my rearview mirror, the girl got smaller in the distance. After driving around for a while, I turned into this alley and called you.”
“Did you call anybody else? Sabathany? PR people?” Lenox asked, taking out his phone.
“No.”
“Good. Don’t.” Lenox dialed.
“I guess I called you because I needed someone to talk to before I went to the police.”
“Yeah, 911? I wanna report a stolen vehicle,” Lenox said, nodding at Kendrick to indicate he heard what was said.
“What are you doing?” Kendrick whispered, reaching for Lenox’s phone.
Lenox swatted Kendrick’s hand, and waved him away.
Kendrick obediently stepped back, never losing the confused look on his face. After Lenox got off the phone, Kendrick approached again. “What did you just do?”
“Gimme the key to the Escalade.” Lenox held his palm out and shook it urgently.
“Dude, I can’t let you do this. This is so wrong.”
Lenox tilted his head down, peering sternly over his glasses. “Do you wanna go to prison?”
Afraid of the prospect, Kendrick looked away. “No.”
“Then gimme the goddamn key.”
Kendrick glared despite his appreciation. Lenox seemed to have forgotten who was working for whom. He reluctantly passed over the key.
Lenox caught the warning in Kendrick’s eyes, realizing how foul his tone sounded. He brought down the level of bossiness. “Okay. We need to junk it.”
“You’re crazy!”
“Uh, I don’t think you appreciate the magnitude of what we’re dealing with here. Someone’s kid died because of you.”
“I know,” Kendrick said. Shame pulsed through his fingers.
“You ran. Plus, you’re a celebrity on top of it. You already know they won’t be very nice when they get a hold of you.”
The shame moved past Kendrick’s fingers, up his arms, and through his chest. His mouth was still dry. “But, you know me, man. You know I didn’t mean to do this.”
“Do you want me to help you or not?”
Kendrick wondered if the little girl’s family had been notified, and again pictured them bawling in despair. He thought of a tattered pink jogging suit, the girl’s angelic smile while the sun burned behind her. He gave Lenox a nod.
“All right. I’m gonna need about ten grand.”
“For what?”
“We need to junk the Escalade.”
“Yeah, you said that already, and I told you that your ass is crazy.”
“Everything points back to you. Do you actually want the cops to find it? At least if it’s so-called missing you can say you don’t know what the hell happened.”
“The junkyard is supposed to give you money for junking it.”
“Yeah, but by law they’re supposed to report vehicles. This way, they won’t ask any questions, and there’s money to take care of any penalty they would get if it ever got found out. But for ten grand they won’t let it get that far.”
Kendrick lived a very comfortable lifestyle, but was not A-list rich. He was fortunate to have been responsible with the money he made over the years, wisely investing most of it. He kept a nice chunk of it in a safe in his Minneapolis home because living in California made it unlikely that he would blow through it.
“We’re going to have to swing by my place first.”
“Whatever you need to do. Now, you take the keys to the Audi and once you get the cash, you can follow me to the junkyard. You’ll wait for me outside.”
“Okay.” Kendrick’s tone and look were solemn. “Why are you going through all this trouble?”
Lenox’s facial expression, which had once been cold and matter-of-fact, softened toward his friend. “Beca
use of you, I’m not sitting on a mountain of debt from when Ashley was sick. She may not know what you did for her, but I do. And I won’t forget it,” Lenox said. “This is the least I can do.”
Eyeing Lenox’s hand, Kendrick said, “Give me the key.”
Lenox handed it over. “Let’s do this.”
Kendrick followed in the Audi. During the drive, he wondered how long it took the police to swarm the accident site, or the news outlets to begin reporting about the little girl. He wondered if there was still time to turn himself in; however, by the time he returned to his Loring Park penthouse and disappeared inside, those haunting thoughts ceased.
“Okay, after we do this thing I think maybe you need to get lost. Like tonight,” Lenox suggests when Kendrick reappears with a thick manila envelope.
The logic of what Lenox said churned slowly. “I guess I could,” Kendrick said semi-absently.
“You can and you will. Once you’re in New York you should be all good.”
Kendrick handed the envelope to Lenox, then backed against the car door. “You think this’ll work?”
“For sure.”
There was still panic in Kendrick’s stare. He glanced down at his ringing phone and noticed Brenda calling. He chose to ignore the call.
“Seriously, you have nothing to worry about. You just gotta commit to it. Think of it as committing to a character. You can’t go around acting like you’re guilty of something. Go on your talk shows and do your thing. Talk about your movie. Smile at those people like you don’t have a care in the world.”
Kendrick nodded. “You always got my back.”
“You’re my best friend.”
“Can you do me one more favor?” Kendrick asked as the phone rang. Again, he checked the phone. This time it was Sabathany calling.
Lenox sighed deeply, careful to trim off any exasperation. “What?”
“See if you can find out anything about the little girl’s family.”
“Man, I don’t think that’s a good idea, Kenny.”
“Just do it, please,” Kendrick said, powering off his phone.
“Fine. Consider it done.”
THREE
The Best Possible Angle Page 2
