There would be no sleep for Envy for some time. Her thoughts turned once again to the child she gave birth to in the bathroom stall when she was a teenager. How could she have been so cruel and heartless back then? If only she had told someone, but she didn’t. Not even Stanton, the baby’s father. It wasn’t like he rushed to her rescue, anyway. He was the one who told her he did not want a baby, nor did he want a relationship with her anymore. It was hard to believe that Stanton was one of the kinds of boys she had heard about around school—the ones who ran as quickly as night turns to dawn once they got what they wanted from a girl. She had pegged Stanton as being more mature. Being a college student, and older than she was, how could he have been so uncaring?
Envy shivered at the thought of what she went through back then. How could a mother, no matter how young, or alone, or scared, leave her child to die in a filthy toilet?
Envy tossed and turned. Here she was, a full-grown woman, with a hideous past, who had slept with over eighty men since she lost her virginity to Stanton. How could she be so critical of Layla and Kacie, when what she’d done was despicable and vile. She was worse than the scum of the earth.
Next, Envy’s thoughts drifted to the late Mrs. Rawlings; someone she used to consider a nosy, meddling, old neighbor, who turned into a confidante. Mrs. Rawlings was the one person who saw through her. The wise old woman seemed to understand that the life Envy was living was nothing but a cover-up, a façade, for the dastardly decisions made in her past. Envy grew to accept Mrs. Rawlings’s uncanny way of involving herself into her life. In the end, their relationship was strengthened; and Envy was grateful that Mrs. Rawlings was genuinely concerned about her.
Ever since Mrs. Rawlings had gone to be with the Lord, there were times Envy sank deep into depression. Her mother was dead; she didn’t exactly have the best relationship with her sister, Nikkei, and having a bevy of men at her disposable no longer made her forget about her past.
Several months after Mrs. Rawlings’s death, the property owner decided to bail out and sell the duplex property where she lived. It was a great opportunity for Envy when he proposed selling the property to her before offering it up to anyone else. The real estate market had dwindled during the recession, and Envy looked at it as a blessing in disguise.
Not only did she get the first-time homebuyer’s credit, but she became a property owner, and within a few weeks of closing on the property, she was able to locate a word-of-mouth tenant who was anxious to rent Mrs. Rawlings’s former side. The tenant, a female truck driver in her late forties, was on the road more than she was at home, which suited Envy just fine. She would always love Mrs. Rawlings for looking out for her, but Envy didn’t want another neighbor prying into her private life.
Envy smiled and then switched back to wrestling with the decision she’d made recently to turn herself in to the police. The case about her dead baby had never been solved. There was not a day that passed, when Envy wasn’t reminded of the life she so crudely turned her back on.
Before she talked to the police or an attorney, Envy had to find a way to tell Kacie and Layla about her past. There was no way she could get around it. If the police happened to lock her up, she would want one of them to bail her out. She had no one else to turn to. What Kacie and Layla would think of her after this−only God knew the answer to that, but she would rather tell them before she told her sister. She was not up to hearing Nikkei’s ridicule.
Envy planned to find the courage to tell Kacie and Layla this weekend at their girls’ night out, something they did at least once or twice a month when their schedules coincided. This weekend, if the weather permitted, they were going to dine at one of their favorite spots, The Silver Spoon.
Envy’s thoughts drifted back to the one and only true person who could help her through the mess she had made of her life. “God,” Envy prayed, lifting her head upward, “help me. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, but I know one thing, it’s time to do the right thing for once in my life.”
4
No matter how discouraged we get, God has not asked us to do the impossible.
Kacie groaned when she heard the shrill sound of the alarm clock. She turned over on her left side and tried her best to reach the table next to her full-size bed to turn it to snooze. It was to no avail, because Kyland lay in the bed next to her and popped up like a jack-in-the-box as soon as the alarm went off.
“Ma-Ma,” he said, and immediately climbed up on her side like it was a mini-mountain. “Ma-Ma.”
Kacie groaned again and used her right hand to pull Kyland over the side so they were face-to-face. She gave him a kiss on his soft, round, dirt brown cheek. Looking at him, she still could not believe that he was not Deacon’s son. He looked so much like him from his fat, juicy cheeks to his thin, curly bush of sandy brown hair.
“Boy, I sure don’t need an alarm clock as long as I have you sleeping next to me.” She eased herself to an upright position without loosening her grip around his toddler waist. “Go wake up your sisters and brothers,” she ordered the two-year-old. After she released her hold, he turned over on his belly, like a big boy, and slid down the side of the bed until his feet touched the carpeted floor; then he ran out of the room.
“Good, maybe now I can catch an extra five minutes of shut-eye.” Kacie lay back down on her side, closed her eyes, and drifted into a light sleep.
The ruckus of children pulled her from the dream she was having about a good-looking, sexy man who loved her a hundred times more than Shrek, the ogre, loved Princess Fiona. The mystery man welcomed her and her seven kids into his life. She stood next to him in front of the altar; dressed beautifully in a pure white, one-shoulder, silk-and-chiffon, ankle-length wedding gown. Her hair was coiffed perfectly and a rhinestone and alloy silver tiara rested on top. She and the man in her dream were about to exchange wedding vows when she was awakened by sounds of crying, screaming, and hollering flooding into her bedroom from the hallway.
“What in the world are y’all doing in there?” Kacie rubbed her eyes and sat up in the bed. While she yelled, she placed both feet on the floor, reached hold of the bedpost to steady herself, and then out of the room she went, moving as fast as her deformed legs would carry her.
Kenny yelled at Keshena, who screamed back at him, while Kassandra talked over the other kids, including Kyland, who stood in the midst of the other kids trying to outcry or outyell them all. Kacie couldn’t quite decipher the scene unfolding before her at the time. But one thing was certain; they had spoiled one of her best dreams yet.
“Stop it.” Kacie pointed her finger. “Stop it right this minute. Have y’all brushed your teeth and washed your faces? Kenny and Kassandra, have y’all started breakfast; and Kali, while you’re running your mouth trying to act like somebody’s mama, have you even bothered to change Kyland’s pamper, and, Keith, you look guilty as−.” Before she resorted to using profanity, the way she sometimes did when her children really aggravated her, Kacie gave them a firm warning. “I know one thing, by the time I come back out of my bedroom, dressed and ready to get out of here, y’all best be ready too . . . or else.” The kids shot off in all directions like shotgun pellets, including li’l Kyland.
In the short span of time since waking, the full fantasy events in her dream had quickly dissolved, which made her even angrier.
“I’m so glad the holidays are over and y’all are back in school,” she told them while she walked away. “Y’all better hurry up and get ready before I come in there and give you all something that’s going to give every one of you a reason to holler. You can play me this morning if you want to, but I’m going to show you better than I can tell you.”
Kacie went to her walk-in closet and pulled out her red work uniform shirt that she’d washed and ironed the night before. She put on the red top and black trousers. Afterward, she went deeper into her closet until she found her black Reebok tennis shoes. The shoes were one of the few types that relieved the pressure o
ff her ankles because of her bended knees. She could move around better at work and maintain her balance more than she could when she wore shoes with a heel.
“Are y’all getting ready in there?” she hollered at the kids again.
“Yes, ma’am,” most of them answered, almost in unison.
She finished getting dressed; and before she left her room to go help the kids finish getting ready, Kacie turned from the closet and walked over to her dresser. She stood in front of the mirror and stared at the reflection. One hand slowly touched her face and rubbed the side of her cheek. In her mind, it was like the mirror had two faces; and Kacie disliked both of them. She looked at the pitiful woman staring back at her. How did you get inside me? Why can’t I be beautiful and successful? What do you want from me? What happened to make my life so messed up? God, why did you make me this way? The flurry of questions kept her frozen still, like a block of ice. If only the woman staring back at her would answer. Suddenly, angry at God and the woman in the mirror, she balled up a fist, prepared to hit the mirror, and then suddenly stopped.
Kacie released a long, sullen sigh before she turned her back on the woman in the mirror.
“Y’all better be ready in there,” she said again, and left the room to start another day.
5
A woman has got to love a bad man once or twice in her life, to be thankful for a good one.
Dennis and Steve walked outside after having attended the monthly postal workers’ union meeting. Friends since seven years old, and co-workers since eighteen, the ebony and ivory friends hung out as often as time permitted. Their bond of unity was probably as tight as it was because Dennis grew up in a house with seven sisters, and Steve was not just an only child, but the only white boy who lived and grew up in a black neighborhood two houses down from Dennis. Their bond of friendship remained tight, like brothers.
After three months of seriously dating Layla, Dennis formally introduced her to Steve and Steve’s wife, Betty Jean. He confided in his best friend that he was in love and wanted to spend the rest of his life with Layla. Dennis often fantasized about living a grander scaled but mirrored life of Steve and Betty Jean. Steve appeared to have a perfect life, surrounded by a woman who always acted as if she adored him.
Dennis never verbally admitted the pinch of jealousy he sensed when he witnessed Steve’s children bolting toward their father and repeatedly squealing, “Daddy” when he walked into a room. It was the type of happy, serene life he hoped to one-day share with Layla.
“You going to see Layla tonight, man?” asked Steve as they approached their individual cars parked side by side.
“Naw.” Disappointment lodged in the base of his throat. “I don’t know, man.” Dennis shook his head.
“You don’t know what? Trouble in paradise?” asked Steve.
“It’s just an unsettling feeling I’m starting to have about me and her.”
“Like what, man?” Steve folded his arms like he was trying to fight off the sting of the hawk blowing directly at him.
Dennis apparently noticed. “Man, get in the car. It’s brutal out here. I’ll talk to you about it later. Anyway, it’s probably nothing.”
“I disagree. Man, if you sense a change, something different, then it’s probably something. I’m not saying anything like her stepping out on you, but females . . . well, all I know is they can be some moody creatures, and that crosses the racial lines. You know Betty Jean and me been together since I was nineteen. Man, I promise you, I’ve seen so many personalities from that woman until I think I’m loco sometimes.” Steve laughed and opened the door to get inside his car.
Dennis barely chuckled. “I’m about to head to the house. See you tomorrow. Peace out.” He got inside his Ford Edge. Simultaneously, he closed his door and turned the ignition.
“Yeah, backatcha.” Each of them pulled out of the parking lot, almost at the same time.
Dennis pushed the radio button on the steering wheel until he located one of his favorite media playlists. Immediately he started singing along with the song.
Minutes later, while driving away from downtown and toward the I-240 Nashville junction, a call came in. SYNC identified the caller and paused the music so Dennis could hear and take the call.
“Hi, I thought you would be asleep by now,” he said to Layla.
“I was about to close my eyes, but I thought about you, so I called to say good night.”
“Umm, awfully nice of you. You know, it’s simple things like this that make me love you more each day— that’s if it’s possible to love you more than I already do.”
“Love you too. Are you still at your meeting?”
“Nah, I’m about to get on the interstate. I should be home in about twenty minutes.”
“I heard that.”
“What? You must want me to come over there?”
Layla sighed, disregarding his question. “Be careful out there. I heard the streets are icing over, and I don’t want anything to happen to my most prized blessing.”
“Yeah, okay. Look, let me get off this phone so I can concentrate on what’s going on out in these streets, and not what I’m missing between your sheets.” He repositioned his body as he felt tension and desire warring in his flesh. “I’ll talk to you in the morning. Okay?”
“For sure. G’night, babe.”
The call ended and the music started up again. Lord, why does she do me like this? She knows how much I want her. But she’s right. I don’t want to take the treasure you’ve given me, and misuse or abuse it. I never want to take her for granted.
Dennis thought some more about Layla, but this time he wasn’t asking God, Why? Instead, his mind drifted to thoughts of making love to her. When it came to that part of their relationship, he and Layla disagreed too. She usually discouraged his sexual advances and innuendos, but there were other times when he managed to win. Afterward, she often acted like she regretted giving in to him by becoming quiet and distant. Her behavior after making love didn’t make him feel bad, because he loved her and didn’t want anyone but her. So what if she said she was against sex outside of marriage? She wasn’t a virgin when he met her, and he wasn’t about to start being celibate. If he had his way, he was going to make sure Layla wouldn’t have to feel guilty much longer. Her birthday was coming up in a few months, and he planned to ask her to be his wife. Dennis continued his drive home. Everything was going to be all right. It had to be.
Once inside his three-bedroom flat, Dennis removed his burlap overcoat and threw it over the living-room sofa. He sighed as he walked farther into his empty house. It was toasty warm inside. The words of Steve replayed in his mind. The sound of Layla mentally toyed with his body. What if Steve was right? Maybe the change he noticed in Layla really meant something. Was she losing interest in him?
The change had come on subtly over the past few months. She began to make excuses as to why she couldn’t see him; whereas she used to want to be around him every day. He used to sleep over at her apartment, or vice versa; but now he was lucky to see her once a week.
There were Sunday mornings that he left his house or Layla’s apartment with Layla still in the bed. That was out of character for someone like Layla who used to be at church almost every time the doors opened. How could he have missed the signs?
When she told him one Thursday night, about a month and a half ago, that she resigned from her church choir, Dennis almost choked as he took a deep swallow. She always said that singing was her release. She had a voice that no one could mistake being a gift from God. He loved hearing her melodious voice. Her singing could tame the savage beast, and melt the coldest heart. She used to tell him that she could not see herself doing anything else, because God had made it plain, simple, and clear that she was to use her voice to sing His praises. And she had—that is, until recently.
Dennis processed all of Layla’s changes in his mind as he disrobed and stepped inside the shower. It was like putting together the pieces of a pu
zzle. As he neared the end, the pieces of the puzzle became easier to find. He washed his mocha-colored skin from head to toe while he tried to wrap his mind around what he had not allowed himself to think.
Dennis carried his newly revealed thoughts to the bedroom after he dried off. With his towel wrapped around his midsection, he went to his king-size bed, pulled back the comforter, and sat down. When he spotted his cell phone on top of the cherry wood chest of drawers, he got back up and took two giant steps to retrieve it. The phone and his index finger seemed to have a mind of its own as he pressed the speed-dial button.
Ring, ring. No answer. Ring, ring.
“Hi, if you want me to return your call, leave me a message and I promise to get back to you as soon as I become available.”
Dennis hit the End button. “She must be asleep already.” He went back to his bed. This time he released his towel and climbed underneath the top sheet. With both hands behind his head, he lay on his double pillows. A heavy boulder of pain took the liberty to sit over his heart. He was afraid to say aloud what he already knew on the inside.
Layla is messing around.
6
Beauty and ugliness disappear equally under the wrinkles of age; one is lost in them, the other hidden.
“I’m so glad we’re going out tonight. It’s always good to get away from the kids every now and then for some me time.”
Envy responded, “Kacie, I don’t know how you do it, but I’m proud of you.”
“Me too,” added Layla. “School, work, motherhood. Ooh wee, you rock, black girl.”
“Thanks, y’all. I know my patience with the kids can wear thin sometimes, but it’s harder than y’all can imagine. Neither one of you have kids. Here I am with seven.”
True Beauty Page 3