“Quise!” Terelle shouted.
Marquise sat on the floor helping Markeeta push the buttons to a Fisher Price toy that made animal sounds. He looked up, scowled quizzically.
“You plannin’ on opening your gifts before I go to work?”
“Here, baby,” he said to Markeeta, putting her finger on the bright yellow button. “Push it all the way down, Keeta,” he instructed as he stood up.
“I don’t feel right havin’ all these presents when I didn’t get you nothin’,” he said unhappily.
“Baby, you’re my present,” she said, embracing Marquise who had slumped sadly down onto the futon. Terelle didn’t want Marquise to feel inadequate. “Look at us! You, me, and Keeta, finally together on Christmas…” Overcome by emotion, Terelle paused.
“Quise, you know this is the best Christmas of my life. So stop messin’ up my day.”
“Why’d you git me so much stuff?” Marquise asked, shaking his head in embarrassment.
“Because I love you. Now stop pissing me off and start unwrapping.” Terelle glided to the mountain of gifts and picked up the largest box. “Here, I’ll make it easy for you. Open this one first—and don’t shake it—it’s fragile.”
“I ain’t opening shit ’til you rip into this!” Grinning, he pulled out a small gold wrapped box that was tucked under the futon cushion.
“Quise!” she squealed. “Oh my God, Quise, what is it? I can’t believe you got me something. How?”
“Don’t worry about how. Yo, I got friends and associates. Just because I’m on house arrest don’t mean I can’t make major moves. A lotta niggas still owe me from before I got popped, so a coupla my dawgs handled my business—collected some of that cheddar out there that belongs to me.” Looking proud of his accomplishments, Marquise nodded and nibbled at his bottom lip.
Terelle didn’t know how to feel about Marquise dabbling in his old life—collecting debts. Troubling thoughts were pushed to the back of her mind.
“I’m waitin’,” he said.
Blushing, she shook the square box. It was heavy—probably a watch. Terelle ripped off the wrapping and tore into the box. There was another small box inside; it obviously contained a ring. Had Marquise managed to replace the emerald birthstone ring he’d given her on her eighteenth birthday? The precious ring she had to twist off her finger and hand over to the man in the pawnshop when Marquise was arrested? The ring that had been sold by the time she had acquired the money to get it back? She refused to get her hopes up. There was absolutely no way Marquise could have come up with enough cash to buy another emerald ring.
“Open it, babe,” he implored.
Terelle’s hand shook as she raised the lid of the velvet box. She stared incomprehensibly at the gleaming rock that blurred her vision. She lifted her gaze and stared at Marquise, confused.
“Gotta git engaged before we can git married, babe,” he explained.
Moved to tears, she cried out, “Oh Marquise…Marquise!” She cried as she clung to his shirt and buried her head into his chest. His arms quickly enfolded her.
“Whatchu crying for? This is a happy occasion, right?”
“Yes,” she said, sniffling. “I just can’t believe…”
“Man, if you don’t let me put this ice on your finger and kill that noise. I thought this would make my baby smile.”
Terelle forced a smile, but the tears continued to stream down her cheeks.
Marquise took the box from Terelle who was now limp, leaning against him for support and still weeping. He put the ring on her finger. “It’s a carat and a half,” he informed her with pride.
Terelle held up her hand to admire her ring and shook her head in disbelief. “We’re really engaged, Quise?”
“Uh-huh. We’ll set the weddin’ date as soon as they cut this bracelet off my ankle.”
There was too much happening. Terelle was beginning to feel dizzy. Markeeta had mastered the mechanics of pushing the buttons of her new toy. A cow mooed, a dog barked, a cat meowed, and apparently particularly fond of the pig sound, Markeeta pushed that button over and over.
Overly stimulated and feeling lightheaded, Terelle eased down onto the futon and stared at her ring.
“Guess it’s time to open up my presents,” Marquise stated.
Terelle nodded but was uninterested. She continued to gawk at her ring. Married! They were finally going to get married! Her lips slowly spread into a smile as she envisioned them at the altar, Marquise lifting her veil to kiss her.
Marquise crept over and snapped her picture. The flash of light broke into Terelle’s reverie, brought her back to the present.
“Whatever was going on in your head gave you a glow. I had to get a flick with you looking so peaceful…so beautiful.”
His compliments made her uncomfortable. “You like your gift?” she asked, taking the spotlight off herself.
“Yo, I needed this Xbox,” Marquise shouted. “I get tired of watchin’ TV all day.” He tore open another box. “Oh shit, you even got the extra controller, the memory card…the remote…everything!”
“And three games,” Terelle added, finally tearing herself away from her mental wedding plans. She got up and handed him a present wrapped in paper with tiny Christmas trees.
Marquise tore open the wrapping of two sports games and one game that required killing everybody in sight. “Okay, aiight,” he said, gnawing on his bottom lip and nodding happily. “You know what your man likes. Thanks, babe.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and began plugging in the Xbox.
“Hold up. Open the rest of your presents,” Terelle demanded.
Eager to play the Xbox, Marquise seemed disinterested in the remaining pile of gifts, but began opening boxes to pacify Terelle. There were several pairs of Miskeen jeans, Dickie sets in various colors, a tan-colored Diesel watch, Sean John sweats, two pairs of Rocawear jeans and hoodies, a leather belt with the Rocawear logo on the buckle, buff-colored high-top Timberland boots and a pair of white Nikes.
“Damn, babe,” Marquise exclaimed. “How you afford all this fly shit?”
“Christmas club,” she replied, lying. “Been saving all year.” Actually Saleema had provided the cash. Saleema couldn’t stand Marquise but she made sure her best friend was able to feel the joy of giving her man the best Christmas ever.
Terelle walked to the bus stop holding her hand in front of her face. Then, worried that some desperado would knock her upside her head to relieve her of the cherished diamond, she quickly stuffed her hand inside her pocket.
She picked up speed; she couldn’t wait to get to work to show off her ring. Coworkers who were engaged or married all wore rings with tiny stones. Terelle laughed to herself because she would have been satisfied with just a diamond chip, but Marquise had gone all out and had shown his love by adorning her finger with some bling-bling that would not go unnoticed.
For those who had talked behind her back, calling her a fool for her devotion to Marquise…she’d simply flash her left hand and keep on steppin’.
Chapter Sixteen
Kai’s father, Dr. Philip Montgomery, was on the board of directors and made healthy contributions to the nursing home where she worked, thus Kai was given the preferential treatment she felt she deserved.
Doctors, department heads, board members, and visiting VIPs were given reserved parking in a secluded area close to the entrance and far away from the peons who scrambled for parking in the limited spaces provided in the employee parking lot. Since Dr. Montgomery hardly ever visited the nursing home, Kai was permitted to use his parking space.
Getting dumped by Dr. Kenneth Harding was not a situation Kai took lightly. And so, as luck would have it on this cold and windy day, Kai had the good fortune of finding a parking space two cars away from Dr. Harding’s British Racing green Jaguar. Eyeing the rear of his prized possession, Kai rolled her eyes at the nauseating vanity plate. DRLOVE. How could a mature, seemingly sophisticated, prominent member of society display suc
h a lack of good taste and still maintain his status in the community?
Sacrificing her delicate Italian knit hat, that was more for show than for the warmth the gusty January weather required, Kai placed her finger under its tight band, shook her head and permitted the hat to slip off her head and set sail. It landed on the hood of the Jag. Prying eyes from nearby windows would realize she had to recover her wind-blown hat. With a handy set of keys in her hand, Kai retrieved the hat and engraved angry jagged lines into the hood of the car. There was no time to admire her craftsmanship as she dragged the key from the head-light past the passenger door and all the way to the taillight. Feeling creative, she walked to the other side of the car and etched looping circles into the door of the driver’s side.
Securing her hat on her head, she threw her head high with satisfaction and pranced to the employee’s entrance. Inside the elevator with her jangling keys still in hand, Kai stroked the special key—the one used as a weapon. Running her fingers across the ridges, she flicked off bits of green paint. She’d give anything to witness Dr. Love’s expression when he viewed her artwork.
“Good morning,” Kai chirped as she breezed past the nurses’ station.
Taken aback by Kai’s sudden acknowledgment of their presence, the nurses and nursing assistants were too shocked to utter a return greeting.
In the hours after her exhilarating morning activity, Kai became alert each time the receptionist made an announcement on the intercom. Expecting to hear something pertaining to the vandalism of Dr. Harding’s car, she was surprised there was no mention of it.
By two that afternoon Kai had attended a Care Conference meeting, a two-hour-long meeting held for each resident every ninety days and comprised of a clinical team. Every blue moon, family members showed up to hear about their loved one’s progress. Whenever this happened, the meeting would go on endlessly. On this occasion, the wife of Mr. Randolph joined the team around the table. She had lots of questions and complaints about her husband’s care. Kai could have killed her, but since that wasn’t an option, Kai had sat twirling her hair, not even pretending to be mildly interested throughout the coma-inducing session.
“I’d like to update you on your husband’s current diagnosis,” the registered nurse who was conducting the meeting said with a gracious smile. Mr. Randolph has a history of a CVA, dysphasia, hemi paresis on the left side, dementia of the Alzheimer’s type, hypertension, and diabetes. He had a recent fall when he tried to transfer himself from his wheelchair to the toilet, but sustained no injuries. For his safety, we’ve place an alarm on his chair that will sound if he topples forward.
The nurse continued to drone on, but Kai tuned her out. Having to listen to the long list of ailments that plagued the hopeless man was making Kai grumpy. Oh, why doesn’t someone just put the man out of his misery? Next, the nurse listed about a thousand medications the resident was given each day. She disclosed that he was incontinent and wore adult diapers and was being trained to use a urinal at night.
Oh yuck! Kai fidgeted in her seat.
Then, the physical therapist discussed the resident’s inability to self-propel his wheelchair with his hands due to having a contracted hand brought on by the stroke. Thus, he scooted about using his feet. However, if his cognition improved, the physical therapist promised, he’d be put on the waiting list for a motorized wheelchair.
Oh, that makes a lot of sense. The man’s missing half his marbles, but if there’s some improvement, they’re going to provide him with a motorized vehicle so he can zip about the facility like a speed demon, running recklessly over the feet of anyone in his path.
The physical therapist continued talking about exercises…active and passive range of motion exercises and the resident’s ability to transfer in and out of bed.
Boring, boring, boring!
The dietitian muttered something about the resident consuming 75 percent of his meals. Sensing that she was expected to say more, the woman launched into a spiel about Mr. Randolph being on a special puree diet (food that was ground in a blender until it had the consistency of baby food) and drinking honey-thickened juice. The dietitian smiled broadly as she spoke as if the poor geezer’s meal plan was appealing and appetizing.
Oh, I’m gagging. Yuck, yuck, yuck!
For Kai, having to listen to all that medical gobbledygook was absolutely unendurable. Thus when it was her turn to speak, she simply stated that there had been no significant changes in the resident’s mood and behavior since the last review.
After Kai‘s unenthused report, the monotonous meeting should have been over. However, the nurse coordinator turned to the recreation therapist and inquired about the resident’s activity involvement. As if anyone cared.
On queue, the recreation therapist became instantly animated and began rattling off a long list of activities that sounded therapeutic, sophisticated and fun. The dippy recreation therapist gushed on and on about all the activities that were offered: Sensory Stimulation, Armchair Travel, Culinary Arts, Golden Games, Morning Stretch, Scenic Variation Hour, Pleasure Bus Rides, Field Trips. Lies, lies, lies. Kai was ready to pull out a machete. Bloodletting was definitely in order if she didn’t get out of that bullshit meeting so she could attend to the important matter of locating Dr. Hardy. Surely, everyone seated at the table knew the County Nursing Home residents didn’t do all those grand activities. They all lived only to play BINGO. Morning, noon, and night…that’s all they wanted to do and when not engaged in a game of fucking Bingo they cluttered the corridors, causing traffic jams. They hung around the nurses’ station, or rampaged each others’ rooms, stealing anything from horded sugar packets to packs of generic-brand cigarettes.
As the recreation therapist continued bullshitting the family member and the team, Kai covered her ears and looked down at her lap and gasped in surprise. At some point during the insufferable two-hour meeting, she had managed to pull out enough hair to knit a pair of baby booties. The evidence—a clump of hair the size of a tennis ball lay on her lap.
Back in her office at last, she immediately checked her messages. None from Kenneth. Damn! She hated to admit it, but what she’d done was a crime of passion. She’d keyed his car so that he would have to pay her some attention. Even negative attention was preferable to none. Had he come storming into her office as she expected, she would have pled her innocence and then cajoled him back into her life. Hell, she would have stripped right there for him. Fucked him on top of her desk or sucked him off while seated in her swivel chair. Whatever it took.
Awakened by the office telephone while taking a power nap at her desk, Kai clumsily reached for the receiver. “Hello,” she said, sounding annoyed and sleepy.
“I hope you enjoyed your little stunt this morning.”
It was Kenneth. Not having her wits about her, Kai was momentarily speechless. “What stunt?” she asked a few seconds later.
“You know damn well what I’m referring to.”
“I haven’t spoken to you in weeks. You refuse to return my calls and now you call me—out of the blue—accusing me of something…and I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Cut the crap, Kai. I know you. I know what you’re capable of…”
“Kenneth!” she cried. “Please stop it. Why are you tormenting me? This is cruel and sadistic. Is this your idea of a joke?” To authenticate her role of the falsely accused, Kai’s mind quickly raced to retrieve a memory sad enough to produce tears.
She thought about the sixth-grade Valentine’s Day party. Her mother had told her she’d be the prettiest girl there, but she didn’t feel very pretty when none of the white boys asked for a dance. “I’m not dancing with that chocolate drop,” she overheard one of the boys saying. “Yeah, a chocolate drop who thinks she’s a Vanilla Wafer,” another boy said, laughing.
Their words had sent Kai running to the restroom in tears. Locked in a stall and crying hysterically, she refused to return to the dance. Her parents had to be called.
/> Wearing embarrassed faces, they ushered their inconsolable daughter out of the restroom and past the gawking pale-faced children and teachers who all considered Kai high-strung and oversensitive.
Caught up in that painful memory, Kai burst into tears. “We haven’t spoken for months and you finally call. Why? To torment me?” she asked, sobbing.
“Your theatrics don’t move me,” Kenneth said with a mirthless chuckle.
“I miss you, Kenneth.” Her voice cracked. “I’d do anything to start all over again. I’m so sorry about the picture…the threats. I was acting childish, but I…”
“You’re sorry about everything…including my car?”
“Your car!” she screeched. “What about your car?”
“You disappoint me, Kai. You’re a poor actress.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Listen, little girl, get yourself some help—get to the root of your problems before you get hurt.”
Her tears were useless; she wiped her eyes. Flooded with anger and indignation, she cleared her throat and asked, “Are you threatening me, Kenneth?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“Well, I don’t take threats lightly. I’m going to report this call…”
“Report whatever you’d like. However, if you come near my car or me ever again, I won’t waste time getting a restraining order or anything else the legal system has to offer. Your face…your beautiful face is going to look far worse than my Jag. Am I making myself clear?”
“Fuck you, Kenneth,” Kai shouted.
“I did.” Dr. Harding gave a low chuckle and clicked off the line.
Fuming, Kai gathered her purse, hat and coat. There was no way she was sitting in that closet of an office a second longer. She needed air and she needed some dick. Yes, she needed a good hard fuck. The mere thought started her juices flowing. And somebody, somewhere was going to give her what she needed.
Kai strode into the lobby of her apartment building. The daytime desk clerk, a pretty dark-skinned woman who reminded Kai of a younger version of Ms. Nubia, greeted Kai with a smile. “Good afternoon,” the attractive mocha-colored woman said.
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