Other People's Business

by Pamela Yaye

  “Oh, Stu, be kind. They’re a young family just starting out,” came a soft, melodic female voice. “I think it would be a nice gesture on our part to have them over. Kind of like a welcome-to-the-community get-together. Remember when we moved to the neighborhood? The Pertelli family came by with lasagna and two bottles of Italian wine.”

  The stifling scent of tobacco wafted down the hall into the living room and slammed into Autumn’s chest. She was deathly allergic to nicotine, and just the smell could set her off into a chain of sneezes and coughs. She cleared her throat, then rubbed the sting from her eyes.

  “Oh, there you are,” Fannie said, finding her nephew at the door of the living room. “I was wondering where you were.”

  L.J. gave his aunt a peck on the cheek. “How was the farm?”

  A robust man of large proportions filled out the room, his thin, chapped lips pressed together in distaste. He crossed log-thick arms above his protruding stomach. His eyes darted between his nephew and the stylishly dressed woman standing in front of him. “It was no different than any other day, son.” Then, “Who do we have here?”

  L.J. took Autumn’s hand and led her over to his relatives. “Autumn, this beautiful young woman with the twinkle in her eye is my Aunt Fannie and the old-timer beside her is my Uncle Stu. These are the Hamiltons.”

  Fannie blushed in embarrassment at her nephew’s compliment. “Nice to meet you, Autumn. We were wondering who that fancy sports car belonged to.”

  Autumn started to correct her, but stopped herself. It didn’t matter. “It’s a pleasure meeting you both.” She shook the woman’s hand.

  Mr. Hamilton kept his arms crossed. She watched the couple exchange a look, and sensed she wasn’t welcome. L.J.’s uncle had the face of a man who didn’t smile enough. Wrinkles underlined his eyes and circled his wide mouth. The man didn’t like her, but she didn’t care. Autumn didn’t think she liked him, either. “I should leave. I’ve—”

  “Have you and L.J. been friends a long time?” Stu’s frosty eyes went down the length of her and back up again. “’Cause I don’t ever remember him mentioning you.”

  Autumn couldn’t get her words out fast enough. “No. We don’t know each other at all, really, um… We—we’re both standing for the Grisbey–Delancy wedding. I’m the maid of honor. We met at their engagement party a couple of weeks ago.” Autumn was babbling, but she couldn’t stop her lips from moving. “We went to the movies, with Melissa and Peter, and I gave L.J. a ride home. He invited me inside for a drink and we got to talking. But I finished my drink and I was on my way when you came in.” She paused to catch her breath. “I should go. I think I’ve overstayed my—”

  “No explanation necessary, dear, and there’s no need to rush off, either,” Fannie’s heart-shape face brightened. She had a soft, youthful appearance and her cheerful smile revealed coin-wide dimples in both cheeks. She took Autumn by the hand. “I’m going to warm up some walnut bread and make us some cocoa. Then we can sit around the table and get more familiar. How does that sound?” Fannie was already steering Autumn down the hallway.

  Autumn glanced at L.J. for help. He waved her on. She turned back to Fannie, and said the only thing she could, “That sounds wonderful.”

  Chapter 7

  Autumn opened the door to the main-floor bathroom. The living room and dining room may have been cluttered and filthy, but the oversized bathroom was immaculate. Dainty soaps and miniature candles sat along the elongated sink, and the marble tile floor was spotless.

  Autumn eyed herself in the oval-shape mirror, startled by what she saw. The ice cube-shape lights were studio bright and illuminated her every flaw. L.J. had sucked her lips bare, her foundation had faded and her hair was nice and ruffled. Horny and desperate was written on her forehead in big, bold letters, and the dreamy look in her eyes only highlighted her desire. No wonder his uncle hates me! He thinks I’m loose! Autumn opened her makeup case and got down to work.

  She reapplied her golden bronze foundation and added some sheer lipgloss. She ran her wide-toothed comb through her micro braids, then did the same with her bristle brush. Satisfied with her refreshed appearance, she rinsed her hands, dried them and left to find Fannie.

  A slice of walnut bread big enough for two men and a steaming mug bubbling over with cocoa were waiting for Autumn when she returned to the kitchen. Taking a seat on the wooden bench, she cursed herself for coming inside for that drink. She should have declined L.J.’s offer, and taken her tired butt home. Now, she was stuck. But when the man of the hour strode into the kitchen a heartbeat later, and slid in beside her on the bench, Autumn’s frustration abated.

  “I can’t finish all of this,” she whispered, motioning with her fork to the plate of walnut bread. “You have to help me eat this, L.J.”

  He set his mouth into a devilish smile. “And, what do I get for rescuing you a second time?”

  It took a minute for Autumn to catch his meaning. First, he had come to her rescue on that brutal stretch of road, and now this. She wanted to tell him he could have anything he wanted, but doubted she could carry off such an enticing line. Clinking dishes brought her mind back into focus. Fannie was watching them. She returned the middle-aged woman’s smile before turning back to L.J. In a library-quiet voice she said, “I don’t know. What do you want?”

  L.J. caught a whiff of her perfume when Autumn leaned into him. Her fragrance was light and refreshing and suited her sweet-as-molasses nature. The scent evoked memories of playing in his mother’s rose garden with his sister, their shrieks of laughter floating on the summer breeze. L.J. was poised to ask Autumn for his payment—a kiss, maybe two, when his cell phone vibrated.

  He checked the number before picking up. “Hey, Pete, what’s up?” L.J. could tell by the sound of his best friend’s voice that something was wrong. He could almost see Pete’s face: lines of tension working their way across his jaw, balled fists and his deep-brown eyes dagger-sharp. “Hold up man, slow down.” L.J. tilted the phone downwards. “Autumn, I’ll be right back.”

  Autumn waved him on with her hand. “I’ll be fine.” She cut into her cake and chewed slowly. She put another piece in her mouth and then another. “This is the best walnut bread I’ve ever had! This is bakery-good, Fannie.”

  Fannie’s eyes lit up the entire kitchen. She dried her hands on her animal-print apron, and came over to the table. “Do you really think so?”

  Autumn nodded. She put another piece of cake into her mouth, her eyes closing as if she had no control over them. “I can’t get enough of this cake! It’s so moist, like it just came out of the oven!” Then, “If it’s not too much trouble could I have the recipe? I’d love to make this for my father. He eats more walnuts than rabbits and squirrels combined,” she joked.

  Fannie laughed. “I’ve been making this bread since I was this high.” She raised her hand to indicate the measurement. “I’m not sure if I have it written down. I’ll have to check. The recipe is dear to my heart. It was my great-grandmother’s recipe, and although many have asked, I’ve never given it out before, but I can make an exception for my nephew’s new girlfriend.” Fannie winked, and before Autumn could correct her, she was hurrying out of the kitchen and down the hall.

  Fannie returned with the recipe five minutes later. For the next half hour, the two women chatted over second helpings of walnut bread and warm cocoa. When Fannie confessed she would be fifty-two on her next birthday, Autumn almost charred her tongue on her cocoa. “Wow! You look awesome! I thought you were in your late thirties. I hope I look half as good as you when I’m in my fifties.”

  “Well, thank you, dear.” Fannie picked up their empty mugs and plates and set them in the sink. She placed a plate for Stu in the microwave and turned it on before seeing to the dirty plates.

  “What’s your secret, Fannie?”

  “Genetics. All the older women in my family have managed to elude the wrinkle bullet. My grandma Thea will be ninety on her next birthday and s
he doesn’t look a day over sixty.” She smiled to herself, then added, “She’s as smart as a whip and even dating younger men!”

  When Fannie winked, Autumn chuckled.

  When the microwave signaled its end, Fannie set a plate of food, shielded by a microwave cover, on top of a Christmas-themed placemat. “Stu, your dinner’s ready,” she called, “and if your food gets cold, don’t expect me to reheat it.”

  Stu came to the table seconds later. He sat down with a thud, lifted the microwave cover off his plate, and waved his hand across his food. He grabbed the ceramic gravy boat sitting in the middle of the table, poured the thick liquid all over his food and smacked his lips together hungrily.

  Autumn thought she was going to be sick. A pungent odor infused the dingy kitchen. Her stomach was churning, and she suddenly had the urge to gag. Stu had poured so much gravy on his food, she couldn’t even discern what was on his plate that was upsetting her stomach.

  Fannie sat down with a much smaller plate, clasped her husband’s hand and they said grace. “I can fix you a plate if you’re still hungry, Autumn,” she offered when they were finished blessing their meal. “I made cow foot, black-eyed peas, sweet-and-sour pork balls and steamed veggies.”

  Autumn said no before Fannie finished. Realizing she sounded unthankful, she explained, “I couldn’t eat another bite if you paid me to, Fannie. I practically polished off that whole pan of walnut bread myself.”

  “I guess our dinner ain’t good enough for you, huh?”

  Autumn didn’t dare look at Mr. Hamilton. Instead, she kept her eyes straight ahead. Where was L.J.? He had been gone for almost an hour. “No, that’s not it,” she began. “I had a huge slice of walnut bread, two cups of cocoa and several pieces of chocolate. I’m full.”

  Grunting, Stu took a swig of his chilled beer.

  Autumn held back a laugh. The man needed a bib. Beer was dribbling down the side of his mouth, and down his shirt. To keep from laughing, Autumn looked around the kitchen, taking in the decor and the pictures hanging on the wall.

  Stu gestured at his plate with his fork. “I can’t see your kind eating cow foot anyways.”

  Now he had Autumn’s undivided attention. She aligned her eyes with his, unable to wash the disgusted expression off her face. “My kind?” she asked, now thoroughly annoyed by this brute of a man. “What kind am I exactly?”

  Stu’s fork hit his plate with a clank. He clasped his short, podgy fingers together, then placed them on the hill of his stomach. “One of those uppity society people, of course. Your parents have a mansion decked with servants, maids and drivers and spend the entire day ordering people around, right?” Stu shook his head. “It must be exhausting doing nothing all day, huh?”

  Stu didn’t give her a chance to reply. “You rich people make me laugh. You do nothing but sit on your butts being waited on, but you enjoy the greatest privileges in society. You play tennis at your private country clubs, golf from sunup to sunset, and don’t know the first thing about earning your pay through hard work. That’s a damn shame, if you ask me. A damn shame.”

  Tempering the anger she felt rising in her throat, Autumn said, “With all due respect, Mr. Hamilton, you don’t know anything about me or my family, so how can you pass judgments about—”

  “Oh, I know your type all right. A pampered princess with a fancy sports car, designer clothes and a lofty job you landed because you had the right last name. Did you even graduate from university, Ms. Nicholson? ’Cause I’ve heard about you rich kids paying classmates to do your assignments and then passing the work off as your own.”

  “Stu Nathaniel Hamilton! Enough!” Fannie threw down her napkin. When his mouth cracked open, she withered him with a glance. “Don’t you dare say another word! Not one more! Autumn is a visitor in our home and I won’t have you insulting her. Just eat your cow foot before it gets cold and keep your unwelcome comments to yourself.”

  “I’m speaking the truth,” he replied gruffly, picking up his fork, “and she knows it.”

  Autumn felt like she was living out an episode of Ripley’s Believe It or Not. Mr. Hamilton had stained teeth, a face full of wrinkles and was balding in the middle of his dome-shape head. The top three buttons on his age-old plaid jacket were gone and his dusty blue overalls looked as if they had seen better days, but he had the audacity to insult her. If that wasn’t craziness, she didn’t know what was.

  Then to add to the madness of it all, Autumn’s eyes began to water. Hot, salty tears stung the back of her eyes, blurring her vision. She turned her eyes away, but not before a lone tear slipped out of her eye. Brushing it away, she bit down hard on her bottom lip. How would it look if L.J. returned and found her bawling all over herself? He would think she was a big, fat crybaby. Speaking of L.J., where was he?

  Autumn thought about her parents. They’d taught her to respect her elders and never, under any circumstances disrespect anyone, but she was finding it hard to honor their teachings. She wanted to tell Mr. Hamilton he was wrong—wrong about her, wrong about her family, but she didn’t have the courage. Her parents had worked hard to achieve a comfortable life for her and her older brother, Isaac, and she loved them dearly for the sacrifices they’d made. Her father had worked seven days a week, and as a result he’d often missed school concerts, parent-teacher interviews and family functions, but her mother had always been there.

  Autumn didn’t care if Mr. Hamilton ridiculed her until the sun rose on tomorrow, she wasn’t going to apologize for her parents’ wealth. She was proud of their accomplishments and she was striving to build a life as good as they had. And if Mr. Hamilton thought she was spoiled and pompous, so be it. She didn’t like the mean-spirited man anyway.

  Autumn felt the tear gates opening. But she wouldn’t cry. She’d rather drink a gallon of dish soap than let Mr. Hamilton see how his comments had affected her. The old brute would love nothing more than to see me cry, Autumn thought as she quickly collected her things. I’m not going to let that happen. She turned to Fannie as she stood to her feet. “I’m leaving now, Fannie, but thanks for everything.”

  “’Bye,” Stu’s voice was suddenly infected with cheer. “See yourself out.”

  Fannie scrambled to her feet. “You don’t have to leave, Autumn.”

  “I do.”

  “Wait for L.J. to come back. He should be off the phone any minute now.” She hastened to add, “He’ll be crushed if you leave without saying goodbye.”

  “He’ll get over it.” Autumn didn’t mean to be insensitive, but when she heard Mr. Hamilton’s grumbles behind her, she knew that was the way it sounded. She stuffed the walnut bread recipe in her purse, but not before saying, “Thanks again for the recipe, Fannie. I really appreciate it.”

  Fannie patted her shoulder. “It was nice meeting you, Autumn, and I enjoyed our little talk. Don’t be a stranger, okay? You’re welcome here anytime.”

  A deafening silence followed the generous invitation. Fannie waited for Stu to agree and when he didn’t, she wheeled around. He was too busy shoving food into his mouth to notice his wife eyeballing him.

  Fannie met Autumn’s eyes and saw in them how hurt she was by Stu’s behavior. No one deserved to be put down, especially as a visitor in someone’s home, and that’s what her husband had done. Fannie would take Spike Lee’s advice and do the right thing; she would just have to deal with Stu later.

  “Autumn, before you go, there’s something I want to say. I’m sorry about…” Fannie broke off when she heard L.J.’s voice beyond the kitchen door.

  “My apologies for being on the phone so long, but it seems we have another wedding catastrophe on our hands.” L.J. strolled into the kitchen and placed his cell phone on the chipped countertop. “We’re several tuxedos short, none of the matching dress shoes have arrived yet and it looks like one of the groomsmen may have to pull out of the wedding. Melissa’s blaming Pete for the screwups and my best friend is ill-equipped to deal with her dramatic mood swings. She—�
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  L.J. took a good look at Autumn. Her sad, watery eyes plucked at his heartstrings. He rested a hand on the base of her back, and gently pulled her to him. “What’s the matter?”

  His voice was low, his touch light and this outward show of affection almost made Autumn forget that she was angry. She couldn’t tell him the truth, so she did what any woman in her position would do. She lied. “I’m fine, L.J.”

  “But you look upset.”

  She masked her hurt with a smile. “I’m okay. Fannie has been most welcoming and kind. She even passed on her treasured walnut bread recipe.”

  L.J. knew why she was upset and he only had himself to blame. She had every right to be angry. He had invited her inside for a drink and instead of spending time with her, he’d spent an hour on the phone. He wanted to take her into his arms for a kiss, but his aunt and uncle were watching, and he didn’t want to embarrass her. “I apologize for being gone so long, but in my defense, Peter needed to let off some steam. I was just trying to be there for him. I wasn’t ignoring you and I didn’t forget that you were here.” When her mood didn’t brighten, he quickly added, “I knew you were in good hands.”

  “And I was,” Autumn lied. “But it’s running on midnight and I have a half-hour drive ahead of me. I should go. I’m exhausted.”

  He had to admit, she did look sleepy. Her normally bright eyes were dull, her shoulders slightly hunched and just keeping up her end of the conversation seemed to be taxing. “If you’re too tired to drive home, you can spend the night here. I’d hate for anything to happen to you on the road and we have plenty of room, don’t we, Aunt Fannie?”

  “We sure do. I can go set up the spare bedroom right now.”

  “No!” Autumn watched his brown eyes narrow and took the panic out of her voice. She moved out of the warmth of his embrace and repositioned her purse strap. “No, thanks. There’s no need for all that. I don’t live that far. I’ll make it home just fine.”