The Best Possible Angle

by Lloyd Johnson

  “Of course.” The doorman stepped into the street, ready to hold out his uniformed arm to hail a taxicab.

  Sabathany picked through her oversized purse to get her tip money ready. When a cab arrived, the doorman opened the backdoor for her. She pressed a tip to his chest and let her eyes settle upon his for slightly longer than usual.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Javier.”

  “Well, Javier, that’s for being a gentleman,” she cooed.

  He was charmed by her attractiveness. His face blossomed red, like a school boy with a crush. “Thank you, Miss,” he said.

  See? I’m not a total bitch, Sabathany thought as the doorman’s eyes lit up after discovering the twenty-dollar tip she gave him.

  “Where are we goin’, lady?” the portly driver asked, sounding like he was doing her a favor for having stopped. It was a brash contradiction to the way she had just been treated by Javier.

  Sabathany held her breath to avoid the stench of underarm and cigarettes. After she belted herself in, she told him the address.

  She imagined less offensive aromas tapping her nose in the Black home. The very thought transported Sabathany back to the days when she lived with her grandparents. Anyone who had the privilege to break bread with her family at Thanksgiving never left the house hungry, not with Cornish hens, ham, potato salad, sweet potatoes and marshmallows, and cornbread stuffing to fill them up.

  It was not just the food that assaulted Sabathany’s senses, it was the memory of how her grandparents looked and smelled, and the only time in her life that she ever felt truly loved and cared for by anyone.

  Sabathany arrived at the house expecting a warm smile, not the empty stare she received from Kendrick’s mother when she answered the door. She braced herself for another rigid embrace from the older woman.

  “Good to see you again, Mrs. Black.”

  Diane allowed herself to be hugged. Disappointment flagged her face when she realized Kendrick was not accompanying Sabathany. “What brings you here, honey?” she asked.

  “I’m in town on some business, and it dawned on me that I couldn’t go back to L.A without seeing you,” she said, attempting to draw out Diane’s smile.

  Sabathany proceeded inside and sniffed the air. There was no bouquet of delectable holiday dinner smells, though it did smell as though someone had cooked. Sabathany entered the living room. She was greeted by the faces of forlorn-looking people sharing a familial resemblance.

  “Why does everyone look as though they’ve just come from a funeral?” Sabathany asked, balancing curiosity with light-heartedness.

  “No ones’ heard from Paris,” said a collection of solemn voices.

  “Not to be rude, but who are you?” asked the young lady who bore the closest resemblance to Kendrick.

  “She’s Kendrick’s special friend, Arlene,” Diane said.

  Sabathany assumed the man staring at her was his father. “Have you called Kenny? I know they’re close,” Sabathany asked.

  Diane shook her head. “Today his movie comes out. I don’t want to bother him. Besides, Alex went to check up on her. We’ll find her.”

  Sabathany put a comforting hand on Diane’s shoulder. “I know you will.” She shared memories of her first encounter with Paris.

  “It’s not even that serious, you guys. I mean, if I was banned from being a part of this family I wouldn’t answer my phone either. She’s fine. No need to worry. Now, can we please eat?” Arlene said.

  Relief passed through the room like a breeze. Arlene stood up, signaling the end of her involvement in the conversation. Everyone else followed her.

  ”Young lady, you’re more than welcome to stay and have something to eat,” Wallace said.

  “Thank you, I’d like that.”

  Sabathany took a seat at the dining room table. Dinner was offensively basic—Sloppy Joes. Sabathany expected down-home cooking, not something from a can. Conversation was minimal, and the sound of loud chomping made Sabathany think of a pride of lions feasting upon a kill.

  “I don’t mean to be nosy, but…”

  “Yes, you do,” Diane interrupted.

  “Go ahead with your question,” Wallace said.

  “I was just curious why you and Kenny don’t get along.”

  Wallace stopped chewing. The welcoming gleam in his eyes cooled. “Ask his mother.” “Can’t we just enjoy our meal?” Diane asked.

  “Fine.” Wallace said before taking another bite of his sandwich.

  Sabathany quietly observed the family dynamic play out like live theater. Despite their crabs in a barrel mentality, at least Kendrick had a family to come home to.

  “So when are you heading back out to L.A?” Carl, Arlene’s husband, asked with a flirtatious lilt in his voice.

  “Not sure. Got some business to tend to,” Sabathany replied, feeling Arlene’s and Diane’s dagger-like glare.

  “Yeah, you make sure you handle that!” Arlene said.

  Between Paris and jealousy, the mood in the house was sour. Sabathany announced that she was going to call a cab, thanking them for the meal. She politely declined Wallace’s and Carl’s insistence that one of them give her a ride back to the penthouse.

  Fifteen uncomfortable minutes passed before the cab showed up. Sabathany was glad to escape the hostility. As Sabathany headed toward the front door, Diane gently tugged at her arm.

  “Next time you decide to drop in, it might be better for everyone if my son accompanied you, don’t you agree?”

  “Of course, I completely understand.”

  “Also, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to Kendrick about his sister. Ain’t no sense in getting him all worked up over what’s probably nothing.”

  Sabathany gave Diane a kiss on the cheek, knowing the matriarch would most likely wash the kissed area clean after she left. Sabathany smiled, but promised nothing. She had every intention of saying something—and she would do so happily.

  Sabathany entered the penthouse. The smell of over-nuked spaghetti hung in the air. Lenox was sitting at the counter, eating greedily. Sabathany was happily surprised to see a glass of juice had replaced the whiskey.

  “How was your Thanksgiving feast?” Lenox asked after slurping a noodle.

  “Wasn’t a feast. We had Sloppy Joes. Anyway, there was too much bad energy flowing. Both Kenny’s mama and sister were upset because both their dogs for husbands paid me too much attention. Plus, they were upset about Paris.”

  Lenox looked surprised. “You told them what happened?”

  “No. They’ll find out soon enough. They said Alex went over there to check on her.”

  “They’re good people. Wouldn’t have hurt you to tell them.”

  “If that’s how you feel, why don’t you tell them?”

  “You told me not to.”

  “Yes, and for a very good reason. Look, I know it sounds cold-blooded, but I don’t involve myself in things that don’t concern me. I’m going back to California and don’t need to get caught up in any investigations. Hell, I’ve got my own stuff to worry about. But you feel free to do what you gotta do.”

  “You wanna run that story by me again about why you went over to Paris’s?”

  Sabathany cleared her throat. “I already told you. I wanted her to help me change Kenny’s mind. When I got over there, she was drunk. I asked her what was wrong and she told me she didn’t want to talk about it, so I went ahead and asked for her help. She told me that her mother didn’t think I was trustworthy.”

  “And you wonder why you walked into so much hostility?”

  “Anyway, from that point on she got really bitchy. I wish I would’ve known about the gender thing because I would’ve used it to make her feel really low about herself.”

  “Why? She was just being true to who she was.”

  “What do you care? You said she ruined your marriage.”

  Lenox stabbed into his spaghetti.

  “Speaking of which, after every
thing that’s gone down, I think it’s best if I spend the next few days at a hotel.”

  Lenox put down his fork. Despite Lenox’s intimidating size, his confidence was on par with an awkward teenager. “Did I do something?”

  “Oh no. I’m actually thrilled to learn that I slept with a sexually confused man.”

  “I ain’t confused.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I’m not!”

  “Besides that, I need to cut my ties to Kenny. This is his place. You’re his friend.”

  “Don’t you mean was his friend?”

  Sabathany shrugged. “You know what I mean.”

  She was about to leave him standing in the heat of her rejection. His feelings had not mattered up to that point, and would never begin to.

  “You’re right. I am confused about my sexuality. Didn’t used to be. I always saw myself as a straight man. But being with Paris for so long put doubt in my head. I figured it would be easier to go the normal route with my wife and kids, than to stand around holding some banner. Where I come from, nobody would understand that.” He searched Sabathany’s eyes for sympathy, but was shaken by the coldness he found in them.

  “Guys like you go on your merry way, thinking it’s all about you. And while you’re busy finding yourselves, you don’t think about the women who get sucked up into your messes. You never think about the lives you destroy!” She turned to leave again.

  “Look, I know you can’t stand the sight of me right now. Hell, I can’t stand the sight of myself. But will you please stick around? You can call me names and tell me what a piece of shit I am. I just can’t be alone.”

  There was a desperation in his eyes. Sabathany chose her words carefully. “Lenox, the plan was always going to be that I return to California. So, no matter how awful you feel, and I get that you feel awful, I’m not going to be here to babysit you.”

  “I never expected you to babysit me. But you said yourself we’ve been abandoned.”

  “Yes, I did. And I’m learning to get over it. You need to do the same.”

  “I’m not sure I can.”

  Sabathany turned on her heel, determined to go on her way. “Well, you’d better figure out a way.”

  An hour later, Lenox had fallen asleep on the sofa. Sabathany could hear his breath steady to an even-rhythmed snore.

  She quietly packed her belongings into her roll-on luggage. As she packed, she began to question the wisdom in telling Lenox she had paid Paris a visit, especially after the look of disbelief he had given her. Something told her he still didn’t believe her. When she finished, Sabathany glanced out the window overlooking the park. Snow swirled about the evening. She put on her coat and grabbed the key and cell phone laying on the kitchen island.

  During the ride down in the elevator, Sabathany leaned against the elevator wall. She fought to quiet the many thoughts in her mind of how bad her involvement in this looked. When the elevator doors opened, Sabathany passed through. Javier was outside, sneaking a cigarette. This time he smiled and continued smoking. With his free hand he held the door open for her.

  “Could you hail me a cab again?”

  “Certainly, Miss.” Like a magician waving a wand, he extended an arm out into the oncoming stream of traffic, gesturing for a taxicab.

  When one finally showed up, Javier put out his cigarette and placed Sabathany’s luggage into the trunk. She handed him another twenty dollar bill and surprised him with a kiss on the lips. It was willful and forward, but she did not care. She would never see him again anyway.

  “That’s for being so kind,” she said before slipping into the backseat of the cab.

  This cab smelled like synthetic cherry—a sickeningly sweet aroma—but the tradeoff was an interior one hundred times cleaner than the last cab ride. As Sabathany rode to the hotel, she checked her watch, reminded that she had to give Kendrick a call. She was convinced he would want to hear what she had to say.

  THIRTY-ONE

  It was the sixth movie theater of the day and twelfth showing of It Is What It Is that Kendrick sat through. It had become his ritual, his way of knowing if he starred in a hit or a flop.

  Hot, buttered popcorn and soda replaced any number of Thanksgiving meals he had been invited to partake of. Kendrick always enjoyed spending the day and well into evening of opening day, incognito, sitting in the shadows of the back row, corner seat, watching the audiences love or hate his films. But thankfully in this case, the responses were consistently positive, which told him all he needed to know…Kendrick Black had a hit movie on his hands.

  Shannon Dwight was Hollywood gold, but if the movie did well, he wanted it to be as a result of collaborative talent, not because he rode her coattails.

  Someone could have recorded a laugh track using every audience attending the showings. His comedic timing was impeccable. Every audience laughed at the same places in the film. He was also thrilled to see the theaters filled with people who were not offended by the interracial coupling of the characters.

  Kendrick was watching Shannon Dwight’s character decide how to discreetly leave personal items in his character’s medicine cabinet, when his phone rang. The back of his neck warmed as he scrambled to silence the ringer. Moving to his feet, he ignored the glares and groans from the paying moviegoers. He scurried to the lobby. Seeing the number made him want to turn the phone off altogether, but curiosity brought the phone to his ear.

  “I had no idea your father was such a dirty old man,” Sabathany said.

  “And how would you know that?”

  Sabathany was tickled that Kendrick had not bothered to defend his father’s honor. “Because I thought with it being a holiday, I would pay your mother a visit. He was there.”

  “What possessed you to go to my family’s house?”

  “I thought they might’ve been enjoying a real Thanksgiving dinner since you ruined the other one they had for you.”

  Kendrick gritted his teeth. “You better stay away from my family!”

  “Listen, I didn’t call to argue. Something happened to Paris. No one knows where she is.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I was there when your family talked about it. The whole vibe in the house was depressing. I didn’t stay long after I ate.”

  “Nobody thought to go by her apartment?”

  “Supposedly your brother Alex went over there. I feel bad, actually. I like Paris.”

  “Save it. You just called to gloat.”

  “Is that what you think of me?” Sabathany quivered her words hard for effect. “Honestly, I didn’t call to fight with you, Kenny. I called because I’m worried.”

  A young mother with two children came from the bathroom. She gave the large movie poster a glance and then Kendrick a long stare. Kendrick turned away, pulling his ball cap down to maintain his anonymity. “Maybe she went out of town.”

  “Maybe. I know she and Lenox had words before he came to crash with me at the penthouse. Maybe she felt like getting away from all the drama.”

  “Whoa, my penthouse?”

  “Where else was he supposed to go, Kenny?”

  “A hotel.”

  “I felt sorry for the guy. You would, too, if you’d seen how pitiful he looked.”

  “Get him the hell out of my house! Neither one of you have any business staying there.”

  “Calm down. I moved to a hotel.”

  “And where is he?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  “Was he there when you left?”

  “Yes. As a matter of fact, he was sleeping.” Sabathany gasped. “You know what, what if he did something to her?”

  “He wouldn’t do anything to my sister.”

  “His wife left him, and promised to keep the kids away from him. How can you be so sure? You know what? You’re right. It’s none of my business anyway.”

  “That’s right, it’s not.” Kendrick received an in-coming call. He looked at the phone. “I gotta go,
my mother is calling me now.”

  “Give your family my best,” Sabathany said. But it was too late, Kendrick had already clicked over.

  “Hello?” Kendrick said, happy to hear from his mother. She would provide reassurance. There was commotion on her end of the phone. Kendrick pulled the ball cap from his head as though it would help him hear better on his end.

  “You gotta come, Kenny! You gotta get here!”

  Wailing resounded in the background on his mother’s end, forcing him to strain to hear.

  “Why? What happened, y’all?” Kendrick asked, dropping the crisp, perfected grammar Hollywood taught him.

  “Somebody killed Paris!”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Alex sat in his mother’s favorite armchair, the one by the window facing the street. Yellow police tape, booming voices from the homicide detectives ordering him to leave the premises after he forced his way through, and Paris’s brutally stabbed body played themselves like home movie footage in Alex’s head.

  Alex watched his mother breakdown as she spoke to Kendrick on the phone. He resented his brother’s phoned-in sorrow. He thought it was typically convenient and removed. Alex also blamed Kendrick for putting it in Paris’s head that he was ashamed of her, and while that was true in the past, Alex regretted the lost time he could have spent in reconciliation with her.

  Wallace did his best to remain stoic. However, Alex could tell from the way Wallace chugged the remaining swigs contained in the Remy Martin bottle, that despite all the horrible things he had said about Paris, he was having a difficult time with the news. Wallace finally took the phone from his wife.

  “Son, it’s me, your father.”

  “What? Put mom back on the phone.”

  “Your mother needs a minute. You can talk to me.” He had no intention to argue, only to listen to what Kendrick had to say.

  “Daddy, what’s gone down between us doesn’t matter at this point. Paris is dead. And I know you’d like to think that Paris died the moment she revealed her truth to you, but that’s still your child,” Kendrick said, taking the conversation out to his car, and leaving the scripted world of It Is What It Is playing on the cinema screen.