Gone?
I sat straight up. I needed this job, no matter how crappy it was.
“I’ll do my best,” I said as humbly as I could.
“I hope so, Chevy. All of these things aside, you’re a damn good travel agent.”
“Thank you.” I grinned and then asked, “Is that all?”
“Yes, Chevy,” she said without looking at me as she reached for her phone and began dialing a number.
“Have a good day, Ms. Bitch,” I muttered under my breath.
“Thank you, Chevy. You too.”
Twenty-Two
I’ll transfer you,” I said into my headset and looked up at the clock that sat directly on the wall in front of me.
It was ten minutes to five and it seemed to me that it had been ten to five for the past half hour.
Little Eric had left for basketball camp that morning. I had to admit, I was already missing him and not at all looking forward to going home to a lonely apartment.
I picked up my pen and began making little hearts across my yellow notepad. I looked at the clock again and it was still ten minutes to five. “Jesus Christ,” I griped under my breath as I began drawing link chains between the hearts.
The switchboard began to blink.
“Ain’t I A Woman Foundation, how may I help you?”
“Geneva?”
“Yes,” I said, not immediately recognizing the voice.
“I looked for you all day last Saturday.”
“Nadine?” I uttered in shock. “How did you get my work number?”
“I got it off your application.”
“I thought those were confidential,” I hissed into my headset, already feeling the heat of my anger climbing up the back of my neck.
“Well, I have friends in high places,” Nadine said with a snicker.
“Look, Nadine,” I began. This was the last straw; I was getting ready to tell that bitch where to get off when Ash came slinking up.
“I hope that’s not a personal call, Ms. Holliday?”
I just blinked at him and shook my head no. “No, I’m sorry, we already have a long distance carrier,” I said quickly into the mouthpiece of my headset and then pressed the release button on the switchboard.
Ashton scrutinized me as he absentmindedly picked at a ripe red boil on his cheek.
I smirked at him and then bent down to remove my worn pumps from my feet. I opened the bottom drawer of my desk and reached in and pulled out my old, dirty Reeboks.
I really needed a new pair of sneakers, but as long as they weren’t to the point where I had to use cardboard at the bottoms, then they would have to do.
“Excuse me.” The words came like tiny pinpricks to my scalp.
I slowly raised my head and came face-to-face with Ashton once again. Hadn’t he left? The little sneak.
“Ms. Holliday, I believe your hours are from nine to five,” he advised sourly.
“Yes, you’re correct,” I said, trying to keep my tone even.
“So being that your hours are from nine to five, I expect that your job would be your focal point during those hours.”
“Yes, yes it is,” I repeated like a parrot.
“If that is the case, why are you putting on tennis shoes at ten minutes to five? Is that part of your job description, Ms. Holliday?”
I looked at the clock, and sure enough it was still ten minutes to five. I felt like I was in the twilight zone.
“No, it’s not in my job description, and yes, my job does end at five,” I said in a defeated voice.
“Are you sure about that? Because if you’re not, I can always pull your job description from the file so we both can know where we stand.”
“No need for that, Ashton.”
Ten, nine, eight, seven . . .
Ashton looked me over once more, wriggled his nose like I hadn’t washed my ass that morning, and then slinked away.
I really don’t know how much more of him I can stand.
I didn’t want to mention to Crystal that Ashton was harassing me. It would seem as if I was whining and worse yet, that I couldn’t handle myself with a corporate asshole.
So I just kept on with my calming countdown.
Six, five, four . . .
The switchboard light began blinking again. I looked up at the clock. Three minutes to five. Thank God!
“Good evening, Ain’t I A Woman Foundation, how may I direct your call?”
“Hey, girl,” Crystal’s voice rang out.
“Hey,” I answered coolly as I leaned over to see if Ashton was lurking somewhere down the hall.
“You up for a drink?” Crystal asked.
“Well, I don’t know,” I hedged.
It had been two weeks since I’d last spent time with her. She’d been in Texas all of last week for a conference, and we’d been playing phone tag for the last few days.
I have to admit that I was still feeling a little sore about what she’d done to Eric. I mean, he was still my son. My child. My baby.
“Aw, c’mon. It’s Friday,” she wailed like a five-year-old.
“Where’s Kendrick?” I said in an icy tone.
She was quiet for a while.
“He’s around. But what does that have to do with us?” Crystal sounded wounded.
I felt bad. She didn’t really deserve that. Inside I was still in turmoil about what had happened. On one hand, I felt like no matter what Little Eric had done or said, she should have kept her hands to herself. I handle the discipline. But on the other hand, I knew that Crystal had been like a second mother to him. When I was pregnant she’d accompanied me to most of my doctor appointments, and she was the one, not Big Eric, who went to Lamaze classes with me. Not that those classes helped either one of us when it came down to the delivery; we were both screaming and hollering like we didn’t have good sense!
And somewhere in my junk drawer there was a letter that I’d signed when Eric was a baby, explaining that I wanted Crystal to have custody of him should something ever happen to me.
So why was this whole thing picking at me so badly?
Crystal hadn’t given me the entire story. She said she thought it would be better if Eric told me what had happened, but when I’d pressed him for information he’d just said, “Let it rest, Mom, okay?”
“Well, just one drink. I’m tired,” I said, finally caving in.
“Good. Meet you out front in about five minutes.”
I shut the switchboard down and changed back into my shoes. Going out drinking with Crystal wasn’t something you did in run-down Reeboks. I powdered my face and applied a bit more of the copper-colored lipstick to my lips before snapping off my desk lamp and heading toward the bank of elevators across the floor.
I checked my appearance in the mirrored walls of the elevator before stepping out and into the main lobby.
My thoughts on what it was I would do with myself over the next few weeks while my son was gone, I almost walked into a woman who was standing in the middle of the hallway, digging frantically inside her purse.
“Oh, excuse me,” I mumbled and started to walk around her.
“You got an attitude about something?”
I spun around. “Chevy?” I said in disbelief.
“Chevy?” Chevy said, mocking my surprise. “Yes, it’s me, fool! What’s wrong with you?”
“What the hell did you do to your hair . . . your eyebrows?”
Chevy was really spinning out of control. The blond was bad, but this fire engine pinkish red was completely out of order!
“They let you go to work like that?”
“They let you come to work like that?” Chevy retorted, referring to my wool houndstooth suit. “It is summertime, ain’t it?”
She eyed me and then said, “Girl, invest in some clothes, some shoes, and a hairdo other than a damn ponytail.”
“Don’t start with me, okay?”
“Let’s play nice, children.” Crystal approached from the bank of elevators acro
ss the hall. She gave Chevy a quick once-over and then shook her head in dismay.
She always handled Chevy’s eccentricities better than I did.
“You look very nice, Geneva,” Crystal said to me, seeing the hurt misting in my eyes. Then she turned to Chevy. “Well, let’s see . . .” Crystal placed her hands on her hips and took a step backwards. “This is what,” she said, waving her index finger at Chevy, “the L’il Kim look?”
“Screw you,” Chevy spat and started off.
We took a table outside Ollie and Pinks, a small upscale barbecue place inside the South Street Seaport.
Crystal was dressed in a beige linen tank dress with a matching jacket the same length as the dress, while Chevy sported a black knit mock-neck sleeveless dress that clinged for dear life to her size-eight curves.
Men walked by and gave them both approving smiles while I cooked in my fall wool houndstooth suit and got no looks. Not even pitiful ones.
Oh, well.
The waitress brought apple martinis for them and a Corona Light for me.
“Would you like a glass?” the waitress looked at me and asked.
I shook my head no and took it by the neck. After I few gulps I saw Crystal looking at me with an amused expression, while Chevy’s face registered disdain.
“What?” I asked defensively.
Chevy just shook her head.
“Chevy, what’s wrong with Noah? I’ve been trying to call him all week, and either I get his machine or he picks up and gives me some random excuse as to why he can’t talk right then.”
“I don’t know, Crystal—he’s been acting real strange lately. I leave for work and he’s locked in his room. I come home and he’s locked in his room.”
“Did he break up with Zhan?” I asked after I took another gulp of my beer. “Remember the last time he went through a breakup? He almost had a nervous breakdown.”
We all nodded our heads at the memory.
“Maybe you being in his space is upsetting him,” Crystal said and turned her eyes on Chevy.
“It is not. We never even see each other.” She waved her hand. “He don’t even know I’m there.”
“Uh-huh.” Crystal gave her an even look.
“So how’s work, Chevy?” I asked.
“Next subject, please,” Chevy said and winked seductively across the room at a man who had caught her attention.
“Why? You do still have a job, don’t you?” Crystal turned expectant eyes on Chevy.
I leaned in and waited for the answer.
“Okay, if I say, ‘Beautiful . . . fabulous . . . wonderful,’ then can we move on to something else?” Chevy said, all snidelike.
“You got fired, didn’t you?” Crystal spouted as she set her glass down on the table.
“Not again, Chevy,” I chimed in. “We can’t afford it!”
“No, I didn’t get fired. But I wish the hell they would fire me so that I could collect unemployment for a few months.”
Crystal and I uttered a sigh of relief.
We looked over the menu and threw some small talk around the table. I was just about to ask Crystal about the garlic mussels when Chevy’s cell phone rang.
She looked at it and made a face at the number.
“Hello?” She listened for a while before she began to grin. “Well, hello, stranger.”
Crystal and I turned to each other. “A man,” we said in unison.
“It’s been some time. How have you been?” Chevy said as she leaned back into her chair and crossed her legs.
Crystal and I turned our attention back to our menus. We knew from experience that Chevy was going to be a while.
“Dinner, tonight?” She beamed. “Um, I don’t know—it’s so last minute.”
We rolled our eyes at her.
“Asia de Cuba? Yes, I know it. Actually it’s one of my very favorites.”
“Very favorites”? We thought we were going to be sick.
“Nine o’clock sounds fine.”
We looked down at our watches.
“No, no, you don’t have to pick me up. I’ll meet you there.” Chevy, giving up a ride? She must have a fever.
“Ta-ta,” she said and flipped the phone’s face closed.
“ ‘Ta-ta’? Who the hell are you supposed to be, Zsa Zsa Gabor?” Crystal laughed.
“And why didn’t you want him to pick you up?” I asked.
“Oh, this is a new one. You know, I got to weed the crazies out before I let them know where I live, and even then I don’t like to give out my address.”
“So I guess you’ll be leaving us now? It’s almost seven and you have to get to Brooklyn and slip into something even more fabulous than what you already have on, right?” Crystal’s voice was heavy with playful sarcasm.
“You are right!” Chevy said as she jumped up, barely waved goodbye, and dashed away.
Twenty-Three
I was late. What else is new?
It took me some time to get my outfit together. After trying on about ten different dresses, skirts, and pantsuits, I decided on a beautiful cream Ungaro linen halter jumpsuit and a pair of strappy gold high-heeled shoes. Some gold Monet jewelry to complement, a small gold and white clutch bag, an I Dream of Jeannie–style ponytail, and I was out the door.
I really didn’t have money to spend on a cab from Brooklyn, so I jumped on the train and crossed my fingers, hoping that the NYC transit company would for once in its miserable existence not let me down. But, of course, it did.
We sat between stations for a good ten minutes while the lights blinked on and off and the motorman halfheartedly apologized for the delay.
Once in the city I strolled confidently past gawking men and turned down Thirty-seventh Street, headed toward Madison Avenue and the Morgan Hotel, where Asia de Cuba was housed.
Once inside, I checked with the maître d’. “Um, reservation for . . . for . . .”
Dammit, I’d forgotten the man’s last name. Had I ever even known it?
The maître d’ smiled tightly at me and waited.
“Oh,” I said and dug into my purse for my wallet. I’d slipped his card behind by driver’s license. Pulling it out, I slowly pronounced his name so that I wouldn’t butcher it too badly.
“Abimbola Lenguele.”
The maître d’ looked down at his book and then back at me and smiled. “Yes, Mr. Lenguele hasn’t arrived yet. So you can take a seat at the bar,” he said, sweeping his hand left and toward the bar area.
I loved this restaurant. The billowy white curtains, seductive lighting, and wood paneling gave it a smoky, sultry feel.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“Champagne,” I said, already light-headed from the atmosphere.
Beautiful people came and went, and before I knew it I was sipping on my second glass of champagne and it was a quarter to ten.
Where the hell was he? Now I was getting mad. No one makes Chevy wait! Who the hell did he think he was? I looked at my watch again. I should just leave. But I’m starving and haven’t had anything but a bag of potato chips since noon.
And to make things worse, the bubbles from the champagne were starting a war with the gas in my stomach.
I discreetly rubbed my chest and was able to slip out two small, dainty burps without anyone noticing. But then my stomach began to swell up like a balloon and I knew that the air building inside me wasn’t going to be passed through my mouth. If I didn’t get up soon and hustle my fine ass off to the ladies’ room or outside, I was going to blow a hole the size of Texas out the seat of my jumpsuit.
I jumped up from the stool and quickly negotiated my options.
Outside, or the ladies’ room?
Which one was closer?
I could feel the air seeping out even as I stood there trying to look calm.
I looked toward the restroom and watched as four women sashayed through the swinging door. That option was out.
The bartender gave me the “Where do y
ou think you’re going?” look.
I clenched my butt cheeks together, dug deep into my purse, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, and threw it on the bar. “I’ll be right back,” I mouthed and made my way, as naturally as I could, toward the front door.
The maître d’eyed me suspiciously as I wobbled out and onto the sidewalk. A small crowd was milling in front of the restaurant, so I had to sidestep my way past them, and then . . .
Bllllllllllllllllllleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
It was the loudest release of air I had ever been witness to. The legs of my jumpsuit fluttered as if caught in a great wind, and the small group looked around and above in search of the offensive noise. Me, I had my right hand cupped to my ear and my mouth chattering happily away as if I were on my cell phone.
A few more small explosions, and I was done. Whew!
I looked at my watch again. It was ten o’clock, and my anger started a slow, heated climb up my neck. Some people just had no consideration for others!
Just as I made up my mind to start home, a long, sleek black limousine pulled up alongside the curb and Abimbola climbed out.
As unsightly looking in his face as he was, the cream and gold dashiki he was wearing somehow made him not so hard to look at. I felt that we must be linked in some cosmic way, because we had chosen the same colors. This was a very good sign.
He looked left, smiled graciously at the white people who stood outside smoking and gawking at him, and then waltzed into the restaurant.
I did not follow. Who the hell was he to make me wait on him all this time?
I turned on my heel and started down the street, raging inwardly. Once I reached the corner, my stomach grumbled and reminded me that Asia de Cuba had some damn good food. That release of air had opened up an empty pocket in my stomach that needed to be filled.
“Damn,” I muttered, spinning around and starting back to the restaurant.
Chevanese,” Abimbola sang when I sashayed up beside him. He stood and took both of my hands in his. “How are you, my beautiful queen?” he said as he bent and kissed me first on one cheek and then the other.
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