On the porch, his mother reclined on a chaise lounge, her eyes closed, and so still that Deuce hesitated for a moment, checking for the rise and fall of her chest.
“Here.” His father handed him the bag. “For when she wakes up.”
He turned to leave then paused to look back once more. His eyes looked a little clouded, and when he spoke his voice was slightly thicker than usual.
“Call Robyn,” he said. “She’d love to see you.”
~~~
“Did you get up today?”
Regan was on the sofa when he opened the door. Wearing black leggings and a tank top, she held the remote in her hand, and was staring at the enormous television screen mounted on the wall above the fireplace.
“I am up,” she said, without looking in his direction.
“I mean … up, and out,” Deuce clarified. “Out of the apartment.”
“Without you?” This time, Regan did look at him, and her eyes were wide.
“Regan.” Exhaling, he sat next to her on the sofa. “This kinda shit … It can turn into a head-thing. Like a real phobia. You’re safe. You have to get up. You have to go out. Even if it’s to the mailboxes in the lobby downstairs.”
It had been two weeks since the robbery at Molto Bene, the restaurant where Regan worked, and she hadn’t once been outside. Her job was assured. The owners, a multi-million-dollar restaurant group had agreed to pay each employee present during what they were euphemistically calling “the incident” ten-grand, and each of them had been given six weeks leave, if they needed it.
After one of a round of several calls among her and her co-workers, Regan told Deuce that two of the other girls, one of them a server and the other a sous chef, had taken the money and immediately quit. Two other servers were back at work, and only Regan and Owen—who had been in the alleyway and had guns pointed in their faces—had neither returned, nor made a firm decision about whether they would.
The manager, who had been in the doorway to the alley and gotten hit in the face when he tried to run back inside and call the police, was rumored to have been compensated by the owners to the tune of five times more than anyone else. Owen had taken some of his settlement money and gone on a trip to Puerto Rico with his girlfriend for a week to “clear his head” and told Regan he would know when he came back whether he could work in Molto Bene or would be moving on.
The dispersal of her crew after the event was almost as unsettling as the robbery itself, since they were probably the only people who knew precisely how she felt. But Deuce couldn’t lie, he was losing patience.
“If it’s so important to you, I can go to the mailboxes,” Regan said, her eyes growing misty. “I can … I’ll try.”
“Look … don’t … I’m trying to help, okay? Don’t …” Deuce moved closer and let her rest her head on his shoulder. “It’s just that you can’t live like this …”
And he sure as hell couldn’t, either.
“This is because of Kaleem and his girlfriend coming, right?”
Deuce tensed a little at the bitterness in her voice.
“It’s part of it. They’ll be here day after tomorrow and I did promise them they could stay here. I’ll be clearing out and moving to my Dad’s spot on West 73rd while they’re visiting.”
“Well, I could …”
“I was thinking that would be a good time for us to try having you stay at your place again.” Deuce interrupted the suggestion he knew was coming.
Regan sat upright, and when she looked at him, her expression was reproachful.
“If I’m getting on your nerves …”
“Regan, I never said ….”
“You don’t have to say it. I feel it. You come home from work at like, seven o’clock every day, you head right into the back and hardly even speak to me. Then you …”
Deuce stood. “You know why I come home at seven every day? Because my work demands it. And I go right into the back so I can get my head straight and forget about all the day’s problems and make room for your problems, real or imagined.”
“Or imagined?”
“Yeah. Imagined. No one is after you. You’re as safe as anyone else in this city, Regan! And if you don’t believe that, maybe you should’ve taken your parents up on their offer and gone back to Cleveland.”
“Cincinnati, asshole! I’m from Cincinnati!”
“Whatever,” Deuce muttered, looking down at the floor and shaking his head.
Regan shoved herself up from the sofa and headed for the front door, snatching Deuce’s bundle of keys off the table in the foyer.
“Where the hell are you goin’?” he asked, trying to swallow his exasperation. “With no shoes, or …”
“Down to the lobby. To the mailbox!” Regan screamed at him before yanking the front door open, stepping out into the hallway and slamming it theatrically behind her.
Exhaling a long, slow breath, Deuce looked at the ceiling.
Kal had warned him about this. He said it was best that Deuce move her to her apartment as soon as possible.
Don’t let her get too comfortable living at your crib, bruh. Unless what you want is her … living at your crib.
Deuce knew he was right. He knew he was right but was trying to do the noble thing. And then there had been that call with her parents, when he assured them that he was looking after their little girl and everything would be fine.
Regan’s father, with his gruff Midwestern accent had been adamant about coming to get her, but because Regan asked him to, he talked her father out of it. So, now he felt responsible for her.
Reaching for his phone in the back pocket of his jeans, he called a number and waited.
“Hey!”
Her voice was like sunshine. Bright and cheery.
“Hey, Zee, what’s good?”
She laughed. “That’s Kaleem’s line,” she said. “Are they here yet?”
“Nah, that’s a couple days from now. You still hangin’ out, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” she said. “What d’you have planned?”
“Not sure yet. They’ll be staying at my spot though, so you’ll get a chance to see it.”
“Oh. I thought …”
She broke off and Deuce knew she was stopping herself from asking about Regan being there.
Frustration tightened his gut. He wanted so damn bad to tell her that Regan wasn’t a factor; that she didn’t need to worry about her. But it wasn’t true. At least not right now.
“Yeah, I’ll stay at my Dad’s apartment. So, look … what’re you up to right now?”
“Doing some stuff with my cousin. Stuff for his documentary. I told you about that, right?”
“Yeah, you did. Anyway, I just …”
He stopped and there was silence while Zora waited for him to continue. Instead, he just sighed.
“Hey,” she said, her voice gentle. “You want to come hang out with us?”
“With you and your diesel cousin who saw me come half-naked out of your bedroom?”
Zora laughed, and he was glad she wasn’t still feeling weird about that night, because as far as Deuce was concerned, what happened between them was as natural as breathing.
“Asif’s bark is worse than his bite. Come hang out with us for a little while. Get your mind off your visit with your mom.”
Deuce stood stock still for a moment, then sunk onto the sofa.
“How’d you know that I …?” he asked.
“It’s Saturday. You go see her on Saturdays. And you sound … I don’t know, like you could use a friend.”
But you’re more than that, he wanted to say. You’re so much more than that.
“Hang up. I’m going to text you the address. Come as soon as you can, because after this we’re moving to another location.”
“Another loca…”
“Hang up, Deuce. And come soon, okay?”
“Okay.”
He ended the call and played with the phone for a few minutes until the text
message came through.
Moments later, Regan reentered the apartment carrying two pieces of mail that she put on the foyer table. Her face was balled-up in a defiant, petulant look, like she was prepared to pick up the argument where they had left off.
As soon as she opened her mouth, Deuce cut her off.
“I’m going out for a little bit,” he said. “Just to …”
“Get your head straight?” she asked, twisting her lips.
“Yeah,” he said, brushing by her and retrieving his keys. “Exactly.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“I didn’t want to wear my hijab to school,” the girl said, shrugging. “That was the beginning of the end for me.”
“What do you mean the end?” Zora’s cousin asked from behind the camera.
The girl was pretty, dark-haired doe-eyed and about nineteen-years-old. Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved cardigan over a t-shirt, she tugged at the hem of the shirt and looked down at her lap before shrugging again.
“That’s how you lose your faith,” she said. “In inches. Bit by bit. When I stopped wearing hijab, that was where it started for me.”
Her dark eyes flitted toward the back of the room, where Deuce was sitting with Zora and the girl shifted a little in her seat.
“I’m not saying, you understand, that a woman can’t be a good Muslim without wearing hijab. I just mean … for me, not wearing it was the beginning of me letting go.”
“And have you?” Asif asked. “Let go of Islam?”
The girl smiled, brightly. And then it subsided to a quiet sadness.
“I say that. But you never really let go of Islam. Not completely.”
Asif lowered the camera and smiled at her. “Thank you, Yasmin,” he said. “That was great.”
“No, thank you.” She stood, smoothing her hands over her thighs, and heaved a deep sigh. “It was good to talk about that.”
Then she switched easily to Arabic and Asif responded in kind, both of them speaking the language as he ushered her out of the room and toward the exit.
“Damn,” Deuce said, leaning back into the couch. “That was deep.”
Two hours earlier, he had cabbed it over to W. 116th to the Masjid Malcolm Shabazz, the mosque where Malcolm X had preached. Asif was getting some footage of the building since Saturday was a quiet day, and there were few activities in and around it.
When Deuce arrived, he was filming an impromptu interview with a young man who, Zora explained, upon seeing the camera became suspicious. He approached them and wanted to know whether Asif worked “for the government.” Her cousin told him he didn’t and then asked whether the young man, who was wearing a kufi, wanted to say a little bit about why he thought the government might be watching the mosque.
After that interview was done, they’d all gotten in an Uber and headed to the Flatiron District to the studio for the interview with Yasmin. Asif hadn’t been as standoffish as Deuce expected, probably because he was too focused on his work to spend time mean-mugging the dude who was bespoiling his cousin of her virtue.
“Asif has a talent,” Zora was saying now. “For making people spill their guts. I’ve done about seven of these with him now, and he just has that … something.”
“Does he make you want to spill your guts?” Deuce asked.
Their shoulders touched a little, because the couch was a little too plush, and too soft, so their weight seemed to naturally pull them together, and toward the center of the shapeless seat.
Zora was wearing a yellow, sleeveless turtleneck sweater-top which made her smooth, dark shoulders appear to shine with an inner light. With it, she wore cut-off denim shorts, frayed at the hem, and all-white Chucks. Deuce found it hard to keep his eyes off her legs, though the presence of her cousin helped with that.
“Y’know what?” she said, turning to look at him. “He does. He even makes me want to spill my guts. A little bit.”
“But he’s family, so that might be weird?”
“Yeah. That, but part of me feels like my point of view isn’t represented yet, so the more I listen to the interviews, the more I want to do it. To fill in the blanks.”
“What would you say if he interviewed you?”
“I would say …” She looked across the room and her brown eyes became a little dreamy and unfocused. “That my lack of religious observance doesn’t compromise my Muslim identity. And that, I think we can be less purist about some things.”
“Like what part? Eating pork? Praying to the Holy Trinity?”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“Nah. I’m jus’ sayin’. Either you’re in, or not. Know what I mean? Why half-step if you make that kind of commitment?”
Zora’s face fell and their eyes met. Suddenly, Deuce wasn’t sure he was talking about Islam at all.
“Not compromising on some things causes a lot of pain, and unnecessary estrangement,” Zora said, still holding his gaze.
“But if you compromise too much, then you lose the core of the thing. You turn it into something else entirely.”
Zora opened her mouth to respond just as Asif re-entered the room.
“Y’all wanna grab something to eat?”
They found a Japanese place where Asif and Zora ordered an enormous sushi platter and Deuce got chicken udon.
“Saké?” Asif asked the table just before their server walked away.
“Yeah,” Deuce drawled. “As long as you don’t …”
“It’s fine,” Asif said, laughing. “I drink. And I know she does too, sometimes, so don’t worry about blowing her cover.” He nodded in Zora’s direction.
“Cool.” Deuce shrugged.
When the ordering was complete, Zora excused herself to go to the women’s room. Asif looked him over, gaze unwavering.
“So, what’s the deal with you and my cousin?” he asked without preamble.
“There’s no deal.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means that asking what ‘the deal’ is, is the wrong question. Because it implies that with me and Zora … that there’s some on-off switch when the truth is, it’s always on.”
Asif shook his head and gave a brief laugh. “That right? I thought y’all broke up.”
Deuce shrugged. “Those are just words.”
“Okay …” Asif chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. “Then forget words. Let’s talk about behavior. What if y’all move on to other relationships? Is it still ‘on’ then?”
Zora must have told him about Regan.
“Anyway …” Asif made a scoffing noise. “She’s grown. So, I’ma let y’all figure that out. But one thing you not gon’ do? Is disrespect my cousin.”
“I never would.”
“Good.” Asif needlessly consulted the drink list in front of him. “Until and unless I see otherwise, you and me are cool.”
Throughout the meal, all they talked about was the filming and interviews and the progress of Asif’s documentary. He had grant from a foundation, that had gotten him through the past few months of studio time, production costs and even living expenses, but in the fall, he would be facing a lean season.
“That’s when I go dark for a little bit,” he explained. “Get a day job, try to find some investors.”
“How’s that work?” Deuce asked.
“I clean up some of the footage, do a reel that shows them what I’ve got and shop it around.” Asif shrugged.
“I could get you in front of some people if you want.”
Zora sat up a little straighter. “No, Deuce, you don’t have to …”
“Whoa, whoa,” Asif said, reaching out and touching her hand. “Did he ask you?”
Zora exhaled. “I just don’t want him to …”
“It’s fine,” Deuce said shrugging. “I’m not promising anything other than hosting a few people. Getting him an audience of people who might want to invest or contribute.”
“Why would you do that?” Zora put down her chopsticks. “You don�
��t even know if he’s any good.”
“I saw him interview someone today. Seemed pretty good to me.”
“For one hour. After one hour, you feel confident that you’d want to …”
“Time out,” Asif said, raising his voice a little and making a ‘T’ with his hands. “Zora, keep out of it. We all know he’s doin’ this for you. But I ain’t worried about that. I know my product is good. So, if he wants to get me in front of some investors just to prove his love for you, or whatever, I’ll take it.”
Deuce stifled a grin when Zora rolled her eyes.
“Fine. And he’s not doing it to … prove his … love for me, Asif.”
“Then why you so bothered? Shut up. Eat your sushi.”
He extended a fist toward Deuce who did the same, giving Asif some pound, but shaking his head.
“A’ight,” he said. “Let’s see what we can do. But … don’t tell her to shut up.”
Zora looked at Asif triumphantly and stuck a tongue out at him. He laughed.
“Whatever, man. Because today was good day,” he said.
At the curb outside the restaurant, Deuce called himself an Uber and stood opposite Zora, close, but not close enough. She looked up at him and smiled.
Asif had walked a few feet away and was on his phone, waiting for them to say their goodbyes.
“I’m glad you could come hang for a little while,” she said.
“I’m glad, too.”
“And I know we didn’t get a chance to talk about your mother and stuff, but …”
“I didn’t want to talk about stuff. I just wanted to see you.”
“Well, if you do want to talk, later.” Zora ignored entirely the second part of what he’d said. “Call me, okay?”
“‘Kay.”
His Uber pulled up and Deuce turned toward it, then paused and looked at her again.
“Zee, I …”
“Uh uh.” She shook her head. “Don’t say anything. Just call me later. If you want.” She got on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.
His skin tingled where she pressed her lips against it, and he briefly closed his eyes.
When he opened them, she was walking away.
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