P. G. County

by Connie Briscoe

  “Can I help you, young lady?” the woman asked.

  Mind your own fucking business. “Um, I was just looking for my uncle. I’m from out of town.”

  “Ah,” the woman said. “They’re probably over at the housewarming party. Most of the neighbors are there.”

  Lee looked up. “Housewarming party?”

  “If you drive up here a few blocks and turn right at the fork, you’ll come to it. It’s a big new contemporary-style house on the right. You can’t miss it. There will be a lot of cars parked out front.”

  “Thanks.” Lee smiled and hopped into the car with Mookie.

  “Where are you coming from?” the woman asked.

  Mookie sped away before Lee could answer.

  As they followed the woman’s directions, the houses became grander and the lawns bigger and Lee’s jaw dropped to her chest.

  A black family in a BMW SUV glided away from the curb, and Mookie pulled in behind them. Lee leaned forward and looked out the front window. She could hardly believe what she was seeing. A goddamn black Beverly Hills.

  “I don’t have to tell you I don’t like this place, Lee. I’m thinking we should take our butts on back to Seat Pleasant. This the kind of place where even the niggas will turn your ass in if you don’t look a certain way.”

  Lee shook her head. “No,” she said firmly. “Not till I find him.” She was gonna go up there and look around for the man in the picture. But her plan had changed. Now she wanted to tell this dude a thing or two.

  Chapter 38

  Barbara downed her second glass of champagne and licked her lips. Now she was ready to confront Jolene and get to the bottom of this mule business.

  She walked from one crowded room to the other. The place was packed with people, but there was no sign of Jolene. Come to think of it, she didn’t see Bradford either. Dammit. All sorts of dirty little thoughts about what they were up to danced through her head.

  Then she spotted Jolene coming down the stairs and Bradford out on the patio talking to a small group of Digitech employees. Barbara shook her head. She was letting her imagination run wild.

  “Jolene,” Barbara called. “I want to talk to you.”

  Jolene turned and saw Barbara approaching her. Oh hell. There was something different about Barbara’s tone, something about the expression on her face. Had Barbara seen something between her and Bradford? Jolene smiled. “Yes, Barbara?”

  “Um, how have you been, Jolene?”

  “Actually I’ve never been better, Barbara.”

  “Well, I don’t know how you managed all of this so quickly, with all the work that goes into moving.”

  “Well, like an idiot, I insisted on having this party a month after moving in. But I’m so glad we did. Now it’s out of the way. Everyone knows we’re here, and I can focus on other things.” Like your husband.

  “I know what you mean,” Barbara said. She had barely heard what Jolene was saying, she was so busy trying to figure out how to get to that label. She glanced down at Jolene’s feet. “I love your shoes, Jolene.”

  Jolene blinked. “Oh, thanks.” Was Barbara onto her little gimmick with the photos? She certainly hoped so.

  “Um, which designer is that?” Barbara asked.

  Jolene smiled. “You know, I can never remember which designer I’m wearing, unless it’s Manolo Blahnik.” She slipped the mule off, and they both looked down. “Ah, this one is Stuart Weitzman,” Jolene said nonchalantly. “Not an incredibly expensive shoe but a nice one for a casual affair like this. And I haven’t seen this particular style on anyone else since I got them.” In other words, yes, I sent the pics to you, bitch. Yes, I was in your bedroom with your man. “Do you wear mules, Barbara?”

  Barbara froze. So those were Jolene’s Stuart Weitzman mules in the photo. And Jolene’s funky underwear. And obviously, Jolene wanted her to know it. Barbara felt hot rage swelling up in her throat. She ought to throw this drink in her hands right in Jolene’s face. But she was a guest in Jolene’s home and would never do that.

  Instead she took short, deep breaths of air. She was surprised at how easy it was to control her anger, probably because she had seen it coming. And she’d had a lot of practice over the years with these women. The booze also helped.

  “Do you wear mules, Barbara?” Jolene asked again.

  Barbara blinked and stared at her. “What?”

  “I said, Do you wear mules?”

  “No, I don’t,” Barbara finally replied. God, she hated this woman. The sneaky, conniving little tramp. She despised Jolene more than all the rest of Bradford’s women. Their husbands worked together. They socialized in some of the same circles. They had visited each other’s homes. Barbara felt she had been deceived not only by Bradford this time but by Jolene, too.

  “I always thought mules were inappropriate outside the bedroom.” Barbara smiled wickedly. She couldn’t resist getting that little dig in.

  Jolene’s eyes popped open. “Excuse me. Are you trying to tell me that I look tacky? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “It’s what I’m trying not to say,” Barbara said coolly.

  “Oh!” Jolene could barely catch her breath. She couldn’t believe that Barbara Bentley would insult her to her face. If anyone else dared talk to her that way in her own home, Jolene would have had them thrown out on their derrieres in a minute. But she couldn’t possibly throw Bradford Bentley’s wife out. Patrick worked for Bradford, along with half her other guests.

  It had to be the alcohol making Barbara behave so outrageously. Everyone in Silver Lake knew she couldn’t control her drinking and she’d been nursing a flute of champagne ever since she arrived.

  Jolene tossed her weave over her shoulder and stalked off. Drunken country bitch.

  Barbara glared at Jolene as she walked away. Cheap tramp.

  Candice noticed Ashley standing across the room chatting with Kenyatta and his mom. She had assumed that Ashley would eventually bring Kenyatta over to speak to her. But it didn’t look like that was going to happen anytime soon. Candice supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. She hadn’t exactly given Ashley the impression that she was delighted about the two of them as a couple.

  She twirled her glass of red wine between her fingers. Maybe she should walk over there and say hello. It would be a nice gesture. She had nothing personal against Kenyatta or his mom. In fact, she had a few things in common with Pearl. From what Ashley had said, Pearl’s ex-husband had been fooling around when they were married. And they both ended up raising their children as single moms.

  And if this ancestry stuff had taught her anything, it was that Kenyatta and Pearl didn’t choose their heritage. It had chosen them. And now her. And there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do to change that.

  Candice sighed. Everything—every thought, every look, every gesture—led her back to this black-white thing these days. Enough of that for now. She was going to go over and say hello to Pearl and Kenyatta simply because she knew them and they were nice people.

  Oh Lordy, Pearl thought. Here she comes—that Candice Jones. What on earth would she say to her? Pearl smiled and did the French double-cheek kissy thing with Candice. Kenyatta nodded politely in Candice’s direction. Ashley smiled faintly.

  “You look great, Pearl,” Candice said with a smile. “How have you been?”

  “Oh, I’m fine. And you?”

  “I’m well.”

  “Good.” Pearl cleared her throat and folded her arms and the four of them stood silently with smiles plastered on their faces. Pearl tried to steal a closer look at Candice without appearing obvious. What on earth did one say to a white woman wearing a flowered dress and those hippie-like sandals? Not to mention that weird crystal around her neck.

  Candice shifted on her feet. Now what? She used to be so comfortable around black people. She worked with them. She lived next door to them. So why the hell did she feel so damn awkward now? The secret. This damn secret was ruining her life. She ought to yell
right this minute and tell everyone.

  “How do you like the house?” Pearl asked.

  “Oh, it’s lovely,” Candice said. Perhaps if you were Jolene, that would be the truth, but it was too flamboyant for her. Still, it would be rude to say that. Everyone would think she was being the snotty white bitch. “What do you think of it?”

  “Actually, it’s a bit much for me,” Pearl said. “Although it has some beautiful things in it.”

  Candice blinked. Well, this woman obviously spoke her mind. Candice liked that. Then again, it was easier to get away with saying something like that if you were black. No one assumed you were racist.

  Stop it, Candice Jones. Stop thinking that way. She could say what she thought as long as she was tactful about it. “Actually, I agree with you, Pearl. It’s beautifully done but not for everyone.”

  “Yes,” Pearl said. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “Ma,” Kenyatta said, “we’re going to mingle.”

  “See you around,” Ashley said.

  “Just a minute,” Candice said. “When are you going to come to our house for dinner, Kenyatta?”

  Kenyatta blinked. Ashley’s jaw dropped.

  “Whenever you’d like,” Kenyatta replied. “I’m just waiting for the invitation.”

  “You and Ashley talk it over. We’d be glad to have you.”

  “Thanks,” Kenyatta said, still looking stunned.

  Ashley reached up and kissed Candice on the cheek. “Thanks, Mom,” she said softly.

  “Kenyatta is a nice young man,” Candice said after he and Ashley walked off. “I know from experience that it isn’t easy raising a child on your own.”

  “Tell me about it,” Pearl said. “Does your ex-husband help out much?”

  “Please.” Candice waved her hand. “He sends a check now and then and they visit him a couple of times a year, but he’s into his new life with a new wife. I did most of it myself.”

  “Same here. But personally, I preferred it that way. The man could move to Alaska for all I care.”

  Candice chuckled. “I know what you mean.”

  “Although it was tough on Kenyatta not spending much time with his daddy while he was growing up, and I regret that.”

  Candice nodded with understanding. “I imagine it must be harder with a son.”

  “In some ways. The temptations out there—gangs, drugs—seem to entice boys more.” Pearl shook her head. “Girl, the things I went through to keep him out of all that could fill a book.”

  “Those things entice girls, too,” Candice said. “Although with girls, the problem is more about the kind of boys they bring home.”

  “And to think you had two girls to deal with. Umph.”

  “Well, we both got through it. And we did all right, didn’t we?”

  “Amen to that,” Pearl said, clasping her hands together.

  “Maybe we should get together sometime and swap stories, Pearl. Lunch?”

  Pearl hesitated for a second. Lunch? With Miss Hippie? Well, why not? It was obvious that she and Candice had a lot in common, if they could just look past the race thing. If Candice was willing to give it a go, how could she say no?

  “I’d like that, Candice.”

  Jolene couldn’t believe her eyes. Patrick and Bradford were out on the patio together and it looked as if they were having harsh words. All Jolene could think was that they’d damn well better be arguing about work. Of course they were. Patrick would never tell Bradford that he found the e-mail about their affair. Or would he?

  As if to answer her question, Patrick took a swing at Bradford. Jolene gasped as the two of them went at each other like high school kids out on the playground. Grown men didn’t fight like this about business. How dare Patrick behave this way at her party?

  She banged her champagne flute down on a side table and ran out to the patio. Everyone had stopped what they were doing and stared at the commotion. Just as Jolene approached the scene, four men grabbed Patrick and Bradford and held them back.

  “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, man,” Patrick yelled as two of the men held on to him.

  Bradford didn’t say a word. He just jerked his arms, freed himself and glared at Patrick.

  “Stop it!” Jolene screamed. She turned to Patrick. “What the hell is wrong with you? Fighting with our guests.”

  Patrick wriggled free of his captors and straightened his suit. He gave Jolene a dirty look, then turned back to Bradford. “And don’t bother to fire me,” he snapped. “I quit.”

  Jolene gasped. Was Patrick losing his mind? How the hell would they pay their mortgages? “Patrick, no.” She turned to Bradford. “He didn’t really mean that.”

  “The hell I didn’t,” Patrick snapped. He stormed past Jolene and headed inside.

  “Fine with me,” Bradford said, wiping blood off his lip with his handkerchief.

  Jolene tried to stay calm. She smiled nervously. “Everyone, please go on and enjoy yourselves. We’ll work this out.”

  The crowd began to disperse, and Jolene walked up to Bradford. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Bradford ignored her question. “What the hell is this about you sending some pictures of my bedroom with your things in it to Barbara?” he whispered as he dabbed his lip.

  Jolene swallowed hard. Sweat popped out on her forehead. Patrick found the photos on the computer, too? She had been so careful about hiding them. After she sent them to Barbara she gave the file a businesslike name and buried it deep inside two other folders. And still he found the photos. The little sneak. “Uh, I’m … I’m not sure what you mean. What did Patrick say?”

  “He said he found them in an e-mail addressed to Barbara. Is that true?”

  Jolene’s mouth felt like it was the one that had just been socked. She avoided his eyes.

  Bradford gave her a withering look and turned to walk inside.

  “Bradford, wait. I can explain. I …”

  He ignored her and kept walking.

  Oh hell, Jolene thought. This was turning into a nightmare. First she had a spat with the doyenne of Silver Lake—but she had engineered that. Then her husband attacks Bradford and tells him about the photos. It couldn’t get any worse than this.

  Barbara lifted her glass to Patrick as he flew past her. “Good for you.”

  Patrick glanced at Barbara, then shook his head as he walked upstairs.

  Barbara giggled and took another sip of champagne as Bradford walked in from the patio holding a bloodied handkerchief to his lips. As he approached Barbara, she could see that he was raving mad. Good. He had gotten exactly what he deserved.

  “Come on,” he barked at her. “We’re leaving.”

  “No. You’re leaving,” she said curtly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Barbara, I said we were leaving.”

  “Bradford, I said I’m not going anywhere.” She rolled her eyes and lifted her glass to her lips.

  He took her arm. “You’re too drunk to stay here.”

  She yanked herself free just as Jolene walked up to them. Now what the hell did that bitch want?

  “Bradford, please,” Jolene pleaded softly. “Can I speak to you in private for a moment?”

  Barbara’s eyes opened wide. Of all the nerve. After what had just happened, this whore had the audacity to walk up to them and ask to speak to Bradford in private?

  “Hell, no!” Barbara shouted before Bradford could respond. “Who the hell do you think you—”

  “Barbara,” Bradford hissed. “Will you please calm down? You’re really embarrassing me.”

  Barbara turned on him. “I’m embarrassing you?” she shouted. “Well, that’s a new one. You’ve been embarrassing me for thirty damn years, Bradford Bentley, with all your screwing around. So don’t you talk to me about embarrassment.” A few people turned and stared at them, but in that moment, Barbara was beyond caring what anyone thought.

  Bradford lowered his head and walked away. So did Jolene, in the o
pposite direction.

  Chapter 39

  A tall, clean-shaven black man wearing a dark suit answered the door. He had closely cropped hair and a ready smile. But the smile disappeared when he saw Lee standing on the front porch. He looked over her jeanclad body with obvious disapproval. “May I help you?” he murmured.

  “Um, I’m lookin’ for Smokey.”

  “There’s no one here by that name.”

  Now how could he be so damn sure of that, Lee wondered. There must be a hundred cars parked along the driveway and the curb outside this pad.

  “You sure about that?” Lee asked, trying to peek around him. “Can I come in and look?”

  “I’m afraid not, miss,” the man answered indignantly as he moved deliberately to block her view. “This is a gathering for the residents of Silver Lake only.”

  “And who are you?” Lee asked.

  The man looked down his nose with an air of superiority. “I am the butler for the evening. And you are?”

  “Uh, never mind.” She backed away and fled down the long driveway. She reached the car and turned to see the snobby butler standing in the doorway watching her every step. She got in, and finally the butler closed the door.

  “What the hell happened?” Mookie asked.

  “Punk-ass butler won’t let me in.”

  “Well, that’s that.” Mookie started the car.

  “Wait. I’m going to try around back.”

  “Are you tripping?” Mookie shouted. “Someone will stop your ass before you get anywhere near that place. In case you forgot, this isn’t my car. And I can’t afford to have the police coming around asking questions.”

  “You don’t have to wait for me.”

  “What the hell are you saying? How you planning to get back to Seat Pleasant?”

  “I’ll find a way. It ain’t all that far.”

  Mookie shook his head as Lee opened the car door. “Be careful out there.”