by Angela Henry
“All right Joy, just what did you hear?” I was getting annoyed and didn’t care if it showed.
“I heard she caught him with another woman and smoked both their asses.” Her hands were on her hips as if she was daring me to tell her anything different. I was tired of the whole thing, and it was getting late. Joy would just have to wait until she read tomorrow’s paper to get her facts straight.
“Look, I don’t have time to get into this with you. I need you to cover my shift while I go take care of some important business, and I’ll work for you this afternoon.” I hoped the direct approach would be better than trying to be nice to the little troll.
The direct approach worked a little too well, I thought later that evening as I sat in the Red Dragon Chinese restaurant with Lynette, her fiancé Greg Hull, and my blind date Drew Carver. Joy had happily agreed to work for me from eleven to four, and I got stuck working her four-to-eight shift, which barely left me any time to get ready for my date. As a result, I ended up wearing a dress that had fit just fine two months ago when I last wore it. But now I felt like a five-pound sausage in a two-pound casing.
I didn’t have the time to iron anything else to wear and was wearing a girdle underneath my control-top pantyhose. I didn’t have to worry about eating too much and looking like a pig because I could barely breathe. On top of that, I had a splitting headache, courtesy of Mr. Drew Carver.
I’ll be the first to admit that when I laid eyes on the man, I was more than a little excited. One glimpse of that smooth ebony skin; that tall, muscular body; and that killer smile and I was halfway to being in love. Then the man opened his mouth and it was all over. His good looks were swiftly eclipsed by his negative attitude. At first he started out doing a simple soft-shoe routine on my nerves, but that soon gave way to a full-scale chorus line complete with encores.
He complained about the prices being too high, the time it took to get our meals, the portion sizes. The only time he wasn’t being critical was when he talked about himself and his career. He was a bank manager and took it and himself very seriously.
“So, Kendra, Lynette tells me you’re a teacher. What subject do you teach?” asked Drew after he spent five minutes picking imaginary lint from his shirt. It was the first time he’d asked me anything about myself. Up until now, he had shown less interest in me than he had in his food, which he’d already declared was inedible.
“I teach English in an adult literacy program,” I said a little defensively, bracing myself for a put-down.
“How commendable,” he said like I was a two-year-old who just peed in the potty. “We need more black teachers. I almost went into teaching myself, but I find banking much more rewarding.” And with that I was dismissed as he returned his attention to Greg, who he’d spent most of his time talking to all evening. I was very tempted to strip off my girdle and give it to him to contain his swelled head. I turned and glared at Lynette who at least had the decency to look embarrassed as she mouthed a silent “I’m sorry.”
My discomfort and overall disgust over the waste of a perfectly good evening was almost enough to make me forget my visit to the police station earlier in the day. I spent almost two hours with Detectives Harmon and Mercer. They kept stressing details and how important it was that they know everything that I could remember about last night.
I couldn’t help but wonder if they knew that I was lying about why Jordan was really at Vanessa’s and that Bernie was aware of the real reason as well. I couldn’t figure out why Bernie didn’t want to tell the police the truth about Vanessa and Jordan. What possible difference could it make whether Bernie knew for sure or not? And just how did she find out? Somehow she’d never gotten around to telling me that.
I did find out that Jordan had been killed somewhere between nine and eleven yesterday morning. The cause of death was repeated blows to the head with a blunt object. The murder weapon hadn’t been found. I also found out that Vanessa had taken two days off from work Thursday and Friday. But she was still missing. Bernie was still giving her statement when I left to go back to the restaurant. She owed me an explanation, and I intended to get it as soon as possible.
I looked around the restaurant at the other diners laughing and having a good time. Smiling couples leaned close to each other with their faces illuminated in the soft glow of the lanterns that lit each table. I wished I was someplace else, anyplace but where I was. I always loved coming to the Red Dragon under normal circumstances; besides Estelle’s, it’s the only other decent restaurant in town that isn’t a franchise.
My eyes continued to wander around the dimly lit room until they came to rest on a man sitting alone at the bar. His back was to me but I could see his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He looked to be in his early thirties. He was dressed in gray dress pants and a white dress shirt. His burgundy tie was loosened. He was brown skinned, average looking, not hard on the eyes but not exactly fine either. I couldn’t help but notice his mouth. His lips were full and sensual, and he wore a neatly trimmed mustache. I watched him take a sip of his beer and wondered what that mouth would feel like all over my body. He looked up and our eyes met in the mirror. I quickly looked away, embarrassed, as if he could read my mind.
Lynette slid close to me in our booth and hissed in my ear, “That’s the last person in the world you need to be making goo-goo eyes at.”
“Who is that?” I whispered, glancing over at Greg and Drew who were still deep in conversation. Lynette looked at me and rolled her eyes.
“Carl Brumfield. You know, Vanessa Brumfield’s soon-to-be ex-husband or widower as the case may be.”
I knew that Vanessa had married a black man, but I’d never met or seen him before now.
“How do you know him?” I was suddenly very curious about the owner of that mouth.
“He has an account at the bank. I’ve talked to him a couple of times when he’s come in. Seems nice; never has much to say or maybe he’s just not into sisters,” Lynette said, shrugging.
Lynette’s a personal banker at Willow Federal Bank, which is how she met Drew Carver, who is one of the bank’s branch managers. Lynette also met her fiancé Greg working at the bank. Greg’s an accountant and a much better match for Lynette than her first husband, Lamont Gaines. Her marriage to Lamont brought a temporary halt to our friendship ten years ago.
The summer after we graduated from high school, Lynette had run off and married Lamont, who was a year older than we were and in the air force, stationed in Texas. She told her mother she was spending the night with me. Everyone thought I was in on the plot. Her mother even stopped speaking to me for a while. I was as surprised as everyone else when I found out that Lynette had forfeited a full academic scholarship to Kingford College to run off and become Mrs. Lamont Gaines. It took a long time to straighten out the mess Lynette had left behind.
The marriage, as predicted, was a disaster. It didn’t take long for Lamont to realize that he hadn’t finished sowing his oats, and he didn’t let a little thing like marriage keep him from doing so. Five years later, Lynette moved back home with four-year-old Lamont Jr. and one-year-old India and filed for divorce.
I was out of college by then and was home looking for a job. During her marriage, Lynette had written to me a couple of times asking me to try and understand and forgive her for using me the way she had. I never responded. I can be pretty hard-hearted when I want to be. It wasn’t until we ran into each other at a garage sale after her divorce that I decided enough was enough, and we renewed our friendship. It was like we were never apart.
I looked over at Carl Brumfield, who was ordering another beer, and wondered how he was handling the possibility of his ex being either a murder victim or a suspect. I remembered Gwen telling me that he had been arguing loudly with Vanessa. What had it been about? Was it the same old arguments that people getting a divorce went through? Who was going to get what and who was to blame? I couldn’t imagine ugly words coming out of a mouth like that. But, I thou
ght wryly, looking over at Drew, looks can be very deceiving. I’d been wrong about men too many times to mention. Did he know about Vanessa and Jordan, and if he did, did he care?
The evening came mercifully to an end. Drew at least had the good manners to walk me to my car. Once at my car, he started fumbling in his pants pocket. Surely his arrogant ass wasn’t about to give me his phone number. Instead, he handed me his business card.
“Kendra, if you ever have any banking needs, such as a car loan perhaps,” he said, looking at my little blue Nova with amusement, “please don’t hesitate to call me. Willow Federal Bank is firmly committed to helping the black community with all its banking needs. We even offer special financing,” he said, briefly looking me up and down.
I stared at him in amazement and then started laughing.
“Don’t worry, Drew,” I said, leaning against the hood of my car.“If I ever need help from a self-absorbed, uptight, arrogant ass such as yourself, you’ll be the first person I call.”
He gave me a dirty look, mumbled something under his breath that rhymed with witch, and walked quickly across the parking lot to his silver Miata.
As I was sitting in my car in the parking lot, using Drew’s business card to pick cashew chicken out of my teeth, I decided that it had been far too long since I had a good beer. I’d certainly earned it after the day I’d had. If I just happened to strike up a conversation with Carl Brumfield, then so be it. What harm would it do? I didn’t stop to think about it.
I pretended to search for my car keys in my purse as Lynette, Greg, and Drew drove off in their separate cars. I made a mental note to call Lynette and cuss her out the next day.
I went back into the restaurant and sat as comfortably on a bar stool as my tight dress would allow. I ordered a beer and looked around slowly, not wanting to appear too obvious. Carl Brumfield was sitting a couple of stools away and didn’t give any indication that he was noticing much of anything or anybody.
“Hey, baby,” said a reedy-sounding voice on the other side of me.
I turned and saw an elderly man who looked to be in his seventies. He was dressed in a green-and-black plaid suit with a polyester shirt opened just enough to reveal grizzled gray chest hair. The hair on his head—what was left of it—was slicked back with sickeningly sweet-smelling hair pomade that was clashing furiously with what smelled like Old Spice. He was grinning at me with large white teeth that looked too big for his mouth and couldn’t be anything but dentures. Strangely enough he looked very familiar.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, gesturing toward the highball glass in his hand.
Oh, Lord, help me. I just got rid of one fool, now here was another one trying to hit on me. “No, thank you,” I said and turned away, hoping he’d get the hint, which, of course, he didn’t.
“Aw, come on now, just one drink. I don’t bite.”
I sure the hell hoped not because I wouldn’t have stood a chance against those teeth. I turned and looked at him again and then realized who he was. I smiled wickedly. He looked as if he couldn’t believe his luck and grinned harder.
“My name’s Bert,” he said and extended a hand that shook slightly.
I ignored his hand and turned completely around on my bar stool, which wasn’t easy.
“Don’t I know you?” I asked with exaggerated interest. This was going to be too much fun.
He squinted at me in the dim lighting for a few seconds, trying to place me. “No, honey, I don’t think so. ‘Cause I would sure remember a fox like you.”
He obviously had no idea that his vocabulary was as outdated as his clothing. I went in for the kill.
“Sure you do. Don’t you go to the Saint Luke’s Baptist Church?”
He sputtered on his drink, which he’d been greedily gulping as he stared at my cleavage.
“You remember me, don’t you, Mr. Ivory? I’m Kendra Clayton, Estelle Mays’s granddaughter. Doesn’t your wife play bridge with my grandmother?”
I thought the man would swallow his dentures. His mouth started moving almost a full minute before any words came out.
“Er... ah... yeah, I remember you now. You’re Estelle’s granddaughter, that’s right,” he said as he moved off his bar stool and started slowly backing away.
“It’s been nice seeing you, sir. I’ll tell my grandmother you said hello,” I said brightly.
“Yeah, you do that,” he said as he beat a hasty retreat. I couldn’t wait to tell my grandmother that bossy Donna Ivory’s husband—dressed like Huggy Bear no less—had tried to hit on me in the bar of the Red Dragon. I hoped she’d get a kick out of it and not be too mad at me for not calling or coming by for the past few days. Maybe I’d make one of my rare appearances at St. Luke’s tomorrow and surprise her. I’d stopped being a regular churchgoer years ago and only went occasionally to please my grandmother.
I heard a deep-throated chuckle to my left and turned around. Carl Brumfield was looking my way and laughing. His eyes were crinkled and his full lips were curved into a smile, revealing perfect straight white teeth. His face was transformed from ordinary to extremely attractive. His laugh was infectious, and I joined in even though I didn’t know what we were laughing about. He got up off his bar stool and came over to me.
“Sorry,” he said, sitting down next to me, “I couldn’t help but overhear. That old guy is probably pissing in his pants right now. Although,” he said, looking at me appreciatively, “I can’t blame him for trying.”
So much for him not being into sisters. I took a sip of my beer and caught a glimpse of his left hand. No wedding ring. He was going through a divorce, though technically he was still married.
“What did you do, ditch your blind date?” he asked casually.
“Was it that obvious?” I was inwardly pleased that he’d been checking me out too.
“Oh yeah. Quite obvious.” I watched as he absentmindedly traced the rim of his glass with a finger.
“And how did you get to be such an expert on blind dates?”
“Well, when you’re the younger brother to two older sisters, you can’t help but get fixed up on a lot of blind dates. Everyone seems to think they know what you need better than you do.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” How in the world could Lynette have thought I’d hit it off with Drew Carver?
“Of course, sometimes when you think you’ve gotten what you need, life has a way of showing you that you haven’t got a damn thing.” He said it with such bitterness that I set my glass down and looked at him. Was he talking about his divorce or Vanessa’s disappearance?
“Ouch, where did that come from?”
“Sorry, don’t pay me any attention,” he said, smiling again. “I was just thinking out loud. My name’s Carl Brumfield.” He extended his hand.
“Kendra Clayton.” I shook his hand; it was cool and dry.
“So, Kendra, do you live here in town or did you just come here to meet your hot date?” he asked with just enough sarcasm to let me know he was joking.
“As a matter of fact, I do live here in town. I teach English at Clark Literacy Center. How about you?”
“I’m from Columbus. I recently moved back. But I graduated from Kingford College, and I lived here for about three years after law school while I was married.” He said the last part with a hint of a frown.
“So you’re divorced then?” I asked, playing dumb and feeling a little guilty for pretending I knew nothing about the man.
“Not quite.” He looked into his glass of beer. “We’re supposed to go for our final hearing on Monday. But something’s come up.”
He could say that again.
“A change of heart maybe?” I asked and then realized by the look he gave me that maybe I’d overstepped my bounds.
“No,” he said quickly, looking away. “It’s nothing like that.”
“It must be a very painful process to go through. At least that’s what I hear.”
“It’s hard when you realize no mat
ter what you do or how bad you want something to work that it’s over. A divorce is the one thing we’ve agreed on in a long time. It’s all right though. We’ve actually become friends.” His body was slumped in defeat.
Good friends who were seen “arguing up a storm” as Gwen had put it. They had been so loud that the police were almost called. Maybe his idea of friendship and mine were different. Was Carl Brumfield so anxious to be rid of Vanessa that he had killed her? Maybe Jordan walked in and tried to come to her aid and was bashed in the head for his trouble. It suddenly dawned on me that this man might not be very understanding if he knew I was playing games. Maybe it was time I got my nosy butt home where it belonged. But nosiness to me was like smoking is to smokers; it was a hard habit to break. And they don’t have a patch for nosiness.
“So it’s nothing serious then?”
“God, I hope not. I don’t know why I’m so worried though. Nessa, my ex, always seems to land on her feet. Yeah, she always comes out of every situation smelling like a rose. And always gets exactly what she wants,” he said with a sad little laugh.
“Is that why you’re in town tonight, because of your wife?” I was getting bold now, but he didn’t seem to mind my questions.
“Yeah, but it was a waste of time. There’s nothing I can do. I haven’t seen or spoken to her in more than a week. Why don’t we change the subject?” he said, suddenly perking up. “Can I buy you another drink?”
“No, thanks. It’s time I got home. It’s been a long night.” I eased my way down off the barstool.
“Well, it’s been a pleasure talking to you, Kendra. Maybe I’ll see you here again sometime.”
“Maybe,” I said with a big smile. As I walked away, I could feel his eyes on me and added an extra sway to my hips. I knew I needed to quit but figured what the hell. He was the most interesting man I’d met in a long time and that wasn’t saying much, considering my earlier date. It would be just my luck if he was mixed up in this crazy mess.