Who's That Lady?

by Andrea Jackson

  “Yeah,” Crystal agreed, feeling her own smile begin to crack at the comment. They always joked about that.

  It had started when they met in middle school back in Fayetteville, North Carolina. Starting school in the middle of the year, Crystal was very much the outsider. Cliques were already established, her clothes weren’t right, she didn’t know the current slang or the right places to hang out. Shonté Emerson was in a couple of her classes and rode the same bus. Shonté was part of the fashionable crowd, the ones with the most stylish clothes and the latest games and music, who joined clubs and played school sports. They weren’t as cool as the thugs and gangstas, but they were well liked and well known. A laughing group of girls always surrounded Shonté, and boys gravitated to them.

  Then one day Crystal walked into the girl’s bathroom on the eighth grade hall at school and heard someone sobbing. She was frozen with fear for a moment.

  “Does somebody need help?” she demanded.

  There was a moment of silence. Then a tearful voice whimpered, “Is that Crystal Taylor?”

  “Yeah.” She didn’t recognize the voice but when the stall door opened, she immediately identified Shonté, despite her swollen, tear-streaked face and bloodshot eyes.

  “I don’t feel good. My stomach.”

  Instinctively, Crystal took a step forward to embrace the girl, who was hunched over and hugging her belly. “I’ll help you get to the nurse.”

  “No, no!” Shonté’s scream was near hysteria. “I just want to go somewhere to lie down awhile.”

  “You want to go home?”

  “No, no,” she moaned. “Oh, please, God. I don’t know what to do. Help me. Please, help me.”

  The sobs tore into Crystal’s heart and she instantly made up her mind. “We’ll go to my house. My mom isn’t home now.”

  From that day forward, Crystal had taken on the role of caring for, nurturing and keeping Shonté’s secrets.

  Despite their differences, they had become friends. Crystal tutored Shonté with homework, kept her in college, and even helped her get the job at the hospital. While Shonté was impulsive, creative, and unconstrained by rules, Crystal was socially aware, analytical, and evaluative.

  She always thought their friendship thrived on the balance of opposites, that Shonté needed Crystal’s direction and drive, just as Crystal needed Shonté’s sense of fun and love of life. But now she wasn’t so sure.

  * * *

  Two nights later, after play rehearsal, Crystal went out with Graham and Shonté for pizza. She watched the interplay between the two with interest. Graham was clearly dazzled by Shonté. Once more she wished he weren’t quite so wimpy. She wanted someone who would provide strength for Shonté.

  Of course Shonté was on her best behavior to start with, remorseful about her shenanigans with Trevor Devlin. When Crystal came back from a visit to the restroom, she caught a little of their conversation as she quietly sat down at the table.

  “Listen, Graham. I want to apologize about the crappy way I’ve been treating you lately.”

  He smiled and put his arm around her, drawing her protectively against his side.

  “I understand, Shonté. You’ve got performance nerves. It’ll be okay once the play is over.”

  “I guess,” she said absently. “Graham, I’m not sure I’m the right person for you.”

  “Shonté, honey, of course you are.”

  “No, I’m not. I can be a real bitch. Just ask anybody who knows me.”

  Graham laughed. “I find that hard to believe. You have to be as sweet as you look.”

  Shonté drew away and glared at him. “As I look? How the hell can you tell anything about me by the way I look?”

  Graham leaned back, puzzled by her hostile tone.

  Crystal moved in smoothly. “Hey, guys, what are we going to do now?”

  “I’m tired,” Shonté snapped.

  That pretty much ended the evening. After Shonté made it clear she didn’t want Graham to hang around, he left the two of them at the condo.

  When they were alone, Crystal kicked off her shoes and looked at her friend’s unhappy pout.

  “You were a little rough on him, weren’t you?”

  Shonté wore high wedge-heeled sandals but made no move to take them off. She still looked as sleek and put together as she had when she left the house that morning.

  “He’s an idiot!” Shonté burst out. She bit her lip, took a deep breath, and pressed her hands to her temples, pulling back tightly. “Graham is so straight, and he doesn’t have a clue as to what I’m about.”

  “Shonté, you can’t blame him for adoring you.”

  “I don’t,” she said on a sigh. “He’s a sweet, nice guy. My parents would like Graham. But I’m not sure I do.”

  “Well, dump him!” Crystal urged again. “There are loads of men out there for someone like you.”

  Shonté gave her an exasperated look and stalked toward the stairs. “You’re doing it, too. I don’t want to be some man’s trophy.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Crystal called after her. “Because you know that’s all you’ll ever be to Doctor Dawg.”

  Shonté rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry about him. He hasn’t even called me this week.”

  She flounced up the stairs, and a minute later, Crystal heard her bedroom door close.

  Good, Crystal thought with gratification. The end of Shonté’s current fling, and nobody had gotten hurt. With her flair for drama, Shonté thrived on scenes with lots of emotion and vivid purpose. She had probably been acting out a drama in which she could explore herself in the role of vixen. However, her personality would demand redemption in the end with a good man—someone like Graham. Shonté would see that soon, Crystal told herself.

  * * *

  Friday rolled around without any incident. Then Crystal woke up on Saturday morning and found Shonté hadn’t been home all night.

  She phoned Graham. “Is Crystal there?” she asked, barely waiting for his sleep-muffled “Hello?”

  “No,” he said, still sounding half asleep.

  “Okay, never mind.” She hung up. Then she called Key’s cell phone. By that time, she was in a panic.

  “Key, Shonté wasn’t here all night. She wasn’t with Graham either.”

  “Did you call her cell phone?”

  “It’s off.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to talk then.”

  “But don’t you understand? She said she was planning to call Graham and then she didn’t. She must have spent the night with that Doctor Trevor and lied to me about it!”

  “What would you have said if she had told you she was going out with him?”

  “I would have talked her out of it!”

  “Exactly.”

  “Oh, Key, what am I going to do?”

  Key made a throaty sound of frustration over the phone. “I can’t really talk right now. We’re having practice. Why don’t you come over to the campus? After we finish up, you and I will go out to breakfast and you can talk all you want about Shonté.”

  Still distressed, Crystal agreed.

  * * *

  Key was an associate professor of kinesiology and the defensive football coach at the college. People sometimes speculated on how far Key would have gone in his athletic career if a knee injury during college hadn’t put him on the sidelines for good. Multiple surgeries had restored normal mobility, but he occasionally suffered with painful bouts of tendinopathy. She had worried about Key during the first months after the injury, but after all these years he seemed completely content with his role as mentor and coach to the next generation of football players.

  In a glum mood, she drove to Hope University, an independent, co-educational, four-year college. The football field lay blindingly green in the early morning sunshine. Key stood on the sidelines watching his student athletes as they dodged and pummeled one another on the field. When he saw her approach the bleachers, he flashed her a white-toothed smile and waved.
Dressed in jersey sweatpants, a hoodie and his signature white sneakers, Key managed to look regal and sexy at the same time. Occasionally he called out an instruction or consulted with another coach in a low voice. Hope’s football team was one of the lower ranked ones, but they were always working to turn that around.

  When the players were dismissed to run final laps around the field, he and David Welch, the head coach, walked over to her. Key’s boss had been at Hope for twelve seasons and had led the college basketball team to Division II championships. He hoped Key would do the same for the football team.

  They spent a few minutes talking about some upcoming activities at the college before the other man left them alone. Then Key focused his full attention on Crystal. She’d always loved Key’s luminous black eyes. Under the well-defined sweep of his brows, it was like looking into a mysterious well.

  “What are you doing this weekend, Taylor?”

  “I don’t know. Shonté is supposed to have rehearsal—”

  “You, Taylor. What are you doing for yourself?”

  “I didn’t have any plans. But Emerson, we have to find out where she is and what’s going on.”

  “She’s fine, Shortcake. She called me.”

  Crystal gasped. “When?”

  “A little while ago. She didn’t want you to worry.”

  “But why didn’t she call me? Where is she? What the hell—?” Indignation made her voice rise.

  “Taylor, Taylor, she’s fine but she didn’t want to talk. I think you have to respect that. Now I’m going to make sure you don’t sit around worrying your brains out and preparing a lecture for Shonté when she gets home.”

  She subsided, gazing at him miserably. How could she explain to Key what she felt? She had always kept her girlfriend’s secrets and she was always the one Shonté turned to. But now Shonté didn’t want Crystal as part of her life. Crystal was becoming the outsider, just as she had been for so many years. Her anger towards Trevor Devlin swelled.

  Key seemed to sense her misery. “Shortcake, don’t worry. She’s going through some changes. Let’s forget her for at least the weekend, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said meekly.

  “She’s not the only one going through some changes. I could use a little company myself.”

  “What’s wrong, Key?” she asked, instantly concerned. She had thought he seemed a little edgy the last few weeks and had meant to talk to him but had been distracted by Shonté, she realized with a trace of guilt.

  Key watched her. “As a matter of fact, I’m getting a little tired of the whole singles scene.”

  “Are you serious about somebody?” she asked, pausing to stare at him.

  “No.” He shook his head emphatically.

  She eyed his powerful, long body as he propped one foot on the bleacher step. “So you’re looking?”

  “Not really. You think I have to be cruising all the time, Shortcake? Can’t I just take a break?”

  She paused. “You’re turning gay?”

  “No!”

  “Abstinence?” Her voice trembled with disbelief.

  “Why is that so hard to believe?” he demanded.

  “You, Emerson?” She figured he was teasing her. Key always had a woman. Always.

  “Yes, me. I’m going to devote myself to my work. And….”

  “And?”

  “You know. Work and….” He was clearly seeking something to fill the blank. “And my family. And friends,” he added, gesturing to her. “And helping kids get into college.”

  “Okay. If that’s what you want.” Crystal eyed his averted profile. She couldn’t read anything in his controlled demeanor. “Any particular reason for this little hiatus?”

  Key’s forehead creased. “You know how it is. Just thinking about what my life is all about. I like my job, I have a good future, security. Everything should be cool, but something’s missing.”

  “Like what?”

  He shrugged and gave her a half-embarrassed look. “I don’t know. Nothing probably. Just feeling like I could use a friend. So why don’t you and I just hang this weekend?”

  “Yes,” she said without hesitation, glad to be needed, even if she understood he was doing this for her as much as for himself. “What do you want to do?”

  “I was going to a club downtown tonight for a show. Wanna go with me?”

  “Who is it?”

  “A local rap artist. We can go and get our boogie on.”

  Crystal hunched her shoulders with displeasure. “I don’t know, Emerson. Hanging out with a bunch of rowdy teenagers? Why don’t we go to a movie or something?”

  “Stop making yourself out to be so old. It’ll be good for you to let your hair down for a change. This guy is great. I’ll take you to dinner and a movie and we’ll do the concert afterwards.”

  Again she was driven to protest. “Afterwards? What time are we talking about, Emerson?”

  He laughed. “Come on, Grandma. We’re going to get down all night long. You can show Miss Shonté she’s not the only one who can get wild. We’ll make her worry about you for a change!”

  “She knows me better than that. My life is just not that exciting.”

  Key eyed her while one corner of his mouth lifted in a rueful grin. “I don’t know about that, Shortcake. Tonight you’re going to be my hot momma.”

  The easy compliment made her squirm with a warm glow of pride that was unsettling. “Yeah, right,” she mumbled, ducking her chin down into her chest as she sat hunched on the bleachers.

  “Come on, I’ll race you up and down the bleachers. Loser buys drinks tonight.”

  She forgot her discomfort in a squealing spurt to beat Key to the top and back down. He let her win, of course. They always ended up doing something physical when they were together. She theorized it was because he was generally athletic, by nature and profession. She didn’t mind. In fact, she figured it helped keep her size sixteen figure from ballooning out of control. She’d never be a hottie like Shonté, but with Key around she was never going to be out of shape either.

  He was right about going out, too. As the day passed with no sign of Shonté, Crystal found the anticipation distracted her from too much worrying. Key had a point. She did need to do something reckless now and then. This date had her blood pumping and her mind active.

  Not that it was a real date. Still, she spent an inordinate amount of time going through her closet, trying on and discarding clothes. Why was everything she owned so seriously stodgy? Maybe it was time she loosened up. She fussed with her hair, washing and blow-drying it. It was a simple bob-length cut, easy to keep up. But so boring.

  CHAPTER 4

  When the doorbell rang, Crystal backed out of the closet clutching a pair of leather loafers. Flinging them down, she shoved her feet into the shoes. She took a last hasty glance in her dresser mirror as she passed it, tweaking her hair, smoothing her sweater over her hips. Were these jeans too tight?

  When she opened the door, Key’s appearance made her even more self-conscious. Key’s custom-made burnt orange shirt and trousers fit his toned physique with an easy grace that was certain to turn women’s heads. A wool sweater vest added an easy panache, along with the white athletic shoes trimmed with orange around the shoestring eyelets.

  Key’s glance skimmed over her, not registering anything in particular. “Hey. You ready?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” She spun to grab her jacket and purse from a chair near the door. Her total wardrobe consisted of jeans, sweats or one of her conservative work outfits. She would have to make do with what she had on.

  “Umm. You smell good,” Key commented.

  She had borrowed some of Shonté’s perfume. She melted at the appreciative smile on his face. “Yeah? Thanks.” Her knees felt a little wobbly. Maybe she was unusually susceptible to men after her long dry spell. Key was her friend, she reminded herself, and this was only a friendly outing. She adjusted the shoulder strap of her purse.

  “Well, let’s
go,” she said.

  A mellow ambiance accented the dinner at an Italian restaurant. Then the movie was biting and funny, making her feel like an intellectual insider.

  Key’s enthusiasm bubbled for the new rap artist they were going to see. The club was small, smoky, with vibrant beams of light stabbing the darkness. Inside the packed club, they were among the oldest people in the audience.

  She had a jab of apprehension, thinking about the gangster reputations of some rap artists and their fans. The news was full of shootings in and out of clubs like this one. Was that why the name of this one seemed familiar to her?

  But one look at Key’s broad shoulders, plus the feel of her hand in his, soothed her nerves. She knew he had zero tolerance for lyrics that objectified women or glorified violence. If he liked this young artist, he must have something of substance to him. Besides, no thug with any sense would go up against a man with Key’s powerful physique. Crystal held onto to Key’s hand a little tighter as he plowed through the crowd, searching for a place to sit.

  They ended up jammed around a small table with a group of three young men and two women, all of them dressed in the latest street styles. Crystal tried not to stare, but one of the girls appeared to be dressed from neck to toe in fishnet, except for a few strategically placed strips of electric pink satin. In her loose sweater and comfortable denim, Crystal felt like somebody’s grandmother.

  In a few minutes, Key managed to charm everyone at the table and they were all sharing some bottles of Hennessey and spritzer. She gulped down her drink.

  Crystal barely heard the preliminary acts—a comic and a local radio DJ—over the crowd noise. But after her second drink, she started to find her tablemates fascinating. After her third drink, she started giggling riotously at some earnest story one of the young men was yelling into her ear, even though she didn’t understand a word he said. On the other hand, the humor might have come from the fact that he looked like Clay Aiken with short blonde hair but sounded like Snoop Dogg. When the bottle passed around again, Key gave her a warning nudge, but she defiantly pushed her glass up for a refill anyway. Snatching the glass, she rolled her eyes at him. Wasn’t he the one who had told her to get wild? Liquid from her glass splashed on the table, causing Key to jerk out of the way. Shaking his head, Key gave a little shrug and laughed.