What Goes Around

by Denene Millner

  “I mean, really, the ’must maintain an unimpeachable reputation’ part alone disqualifies her for the job,” Caroline insisted. She didn’t make any kind of effort to lower her voice. “A father who rips off Uncle Sam? Cavorting with hood rats and pushing them off on friends and family? Really?”

  “Well, maybe she was taking the ’being cooperative with guest teams’ part literally,” Elizabeth chimed in, peering into a compact mirror to slather gloss on her lips.

  “Yeah, whatev,” Meghan snapped as the three walked slowly down the hallway. “I don’t care if this is the house the Dukes built. I don’t see it written anywhere on these walls that Lauren has to be the team captain. That whole Thanksgiving party? Total fiasco. And the gangster tax thing with the dad? Hot mess. And as much as she thinks she’s Beyoncé’s long-lost sister, she could use a little extra direction on how to cheer off some of those hips and thighs.”

  “You ain’t never lied,” Elizabeth laughed as the three walked into the coach’s office, one after the other.

  Not even the slamming door could snap Lauren out of her shock.

  Lauren paced back and forth across the lobby, trying really hard to look like she wasn’t fazed by what was going on. But it was clear to anyone watching that she was a wreck—and best believe, everyone was watching.

  “All right, then, Lauren, um, see you around,” said Eunice Blake as she and her BFF, Chere Baker, tumbled past her and out the door, both of them giggling. Lauren had seen them whispering all the way down the hallway—who were they kidding, like they weren’t talking about her? Lauren wanted desperately to reach out and slap them or else melt into the wall. And just where the hell was Donald anyway? He knew she needed to get out of Brookhaven, stat.

  “Okay, first of all, breathe,” Donald insisted, rushing up to Lauren and putting his arm around her shoulder. “Here, let me take your bag. You lookin’ a hot mess.”

  “Well, wouldn’t you have a fever if you found out your father was about to go to the clink?” Lauren snapped. “Dammit, I got one in jail; do I really need another one there?”

  “Alrighty, friend, calm it down, you’re talking awfully loud for someone who just had her business put on front street,” Donald said, looking around wildly to see who all was listening. “Let’s keep the details between us.”

  “Do the details even matter?” Lauren snapped. “I heard Caroline and them already plotting and planning how they were going to use this to take away my captain status. I mean, can you really imagine me on the squad and not in charge? Sweet Lord.”

  “Are you really going to worry about Caroline, Meghan, and Elizabeth taking your spot?” Donald insisted as he took her hand. “Honey, please. They only put the cute ones up front. You could totally put Caroline’s picture up on the refrigerator to discourage late-night snacking—she’s so not cute.”

  “But being the prettiest girl on the team wasn’t part of Coach’s standards of conduct,” Lauren pointed out as she rummaged through her purse for her keys.

  “It should be,” Donald said quickly. “When is an ugly captain ever acceptable?”

  “Donald, I’m being serious!”

  “So am I,” Donald insisted. “Shoot.”

  “I can’t believe they were just walking down the hallway, shamelessly talking about me like I was invisible—or worse, like they didn’t care if anyone heard them.”

  Donald stopped short, right in the middle of the parking lot.

  “What?” Lauren yelled, her eyes darting all around the cars to see what had startled Donald. “What’s wrong?

  “I can’t believe you just fixed your mouth to say that!” he insisted.

  “Donald, what in the world are you talking about?”

  “You just said they were talking about you like they didn’t care if you heard them,” he said.

  “Yeah—and?”

  “So who do you think they learned that from, Miss Put ’Em in Their Place?”

  “True,” Lauren said after a brief hesitation. “But still, that doesn’t give them the right.”

  “Nobody ever gets permission to talk smack about somebody,” Donald said. “You sure didn’t. Those little girls learned how to diss and stomp all over people from the best: Lauren Duke.”

  “So what you trying to say, Donald—don’t hold back,” Lauren said, taking off for her car, annoyed.

  “I’m not trying to say it—I am saying it: You’re the queen of social climbing, and these little bitches are going to try you every moment they get. You’re going to have to fight to keep your captain’s sweater and bullhorn. Don’t pay them any mind—go get what’s yours. And not for nothing? But I think Altimus can more than handle his own, so I wouldn’t be too worried about him, either.”

  Lauren took in a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and pushed the UNLOCK button on her key ring. “I hope you don’t have any homework,” she said.

  “Actually, I have enough calculus and AP physics homework to last me through my third year in grad school,” Donald droned.

  “Well, bring it with you—you can work on it while we’re at Justin’s,” Lauren said.

  “And what in the world are we going to be doing at Justin’s?”

  “We’re going to strategize,” Lauren said, ducking into her car. “It’s. About. To. Go. Down.”

  And with that, Lauren started her engine.

  By the time she dropped off Donald, drove to her house, and pulled Baby into her parking spot in the circular driveway, the Duke household was in full crisis mode. She could hear Altimus and Keisha in his office, talking in hushed tones. Even though she couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, she was sure the discussion involved how all of them were going to end up in the clink. Sell drugs, beat people upside the head with a baseball bat, threaten family members with bodily harm and cell phone monitoring and nobody cares. But mess with Uncle Sam’s cut? Even Lauren knew the government wasn’t to be played with.

  “Oh, hello, Ms. Lauren, can I get you a snack?” Edwina asked, grabbing Lauren’s book bag and purse as Lauren flipped off her heels.

  “Häagen-Dazs,” Lauren said, not bothering with greetings and niceties. “Lots of it.”

  “Yes, Ms. Lauren, right away,” Edwina said.

  Lauren walked over to the closed office door and lingered a little, while she waited to hear a lull in the obviously heated conversation. When she heard someone walking toward the door, she quickly knocked, lest whoever was approaching thought she was spying.

  Keisha snatched open the door.

  “Hey,” Lauren said simply when her eyes met Keisha’s. They were bloodshot—so red they almost matched the Chanel lipstick that had begun to wear off of her lips. Over her mother’s shoulder, Lauren could see Altimus, sitting at his heavy wooden desk, rubbing his temples, his elbows resting on stacks of paper-filled folders.

  “Hey,” Keisha answered back. “What’s up?”

  “Um, question of the day, for sure,” Lauren said quietly. “I saw the article about Dad.”

  “I’m sure,” Keisha said. She looked at Altimus, then stepped outside his office and shut the door. “Look, we’re not going to panic, okay? To hear your father tell it, this investigation is preliminary, and it doesn’t prove he did anything wrong. That’s the family line if anyone asks, got it?”

  “But…”

  “Look, Lauren, now’s not the time to ask questions or give your two cents about anything, okay? Your father and I? We got this. This family has been through far worse things, trust,” Keisha insisted. “Now, like I said, keep your mouth shut about this, and let me and your father handle it. No worries. Yet. And if anyone’s got anything to say about it, tell them to come see me.”

  And with that, Keisha stepped back into Altimus’s office, and quietly shut the door. Lauren stared at the massive mahogany door, then dropped her head and headed for the kitchen. Her ice cream was waiting.

  5

  SYDNEY

  “Not for nothing, I don’t know what�
�s more unbelievable: that you and Jason are back together, or that your parents are even letting you out of the house with everything that’s going on with your dad’s business,” Carmen mused from her end of the three-way call.

  Sydney had initiated the call twenty minutes earlier to discuss strategy for her first official-official date with Jason.

  “I hate to say it, but Rhea might really have a point about that, Syd…”

  “I told you.” Rhea happily tooted her own horn. “If it were my mom, she’d have me and my sisters sitting in a twenty-four-hour prayer vigil for her country club membership.”

  Humph, you’d be surprised at half the things my parents are capable of, Sydney thought cryptically before responding with the more appropriate, “I guess I’m just really lucky to have the parents I do.”

  “Totally,” Carmen responded, “and—”

  “Anyhoo, it’s almost seven. So let me…” Sydney cut Carmen short.

  “Oh, no, my dear. I’m so not hanging up this phone until you absolutely promise to call us the moment you walk back in the door and tell us Jason’s reaction to the dress,” Rhea threatened.

  “Yeah, Syd, after all this prepping, we deserve the blow-by-blow before it ends up on YRT,” teased Carmen.

  “Okay, okay! Barring all unexpected paparazzi and hidden cameras, I solemnly swear to give my best friends a full account of my date as soon as I get home,” Sydney assured her girls. She finished applying her favorite lemon-scented Bliss body butter and pulled out the new gray Calvin Klein sweaterdress Rhea had chosen for her from the silver Saks shopping bag. “Now, let me go before Jason shows up and I’m still standing around talking to the two of you in my underwear,” she insisted as she held the dress up against her scantily clad body and tried to envision which of her countless accessories best complemented the form-fitting minidress.

  “The way he looked at school today in that adorable baby blue Lacoste shirt and those Sean John jeans, we’re probably doing you a favor by keeping you on the phone,” Rhea mused playfully.

  “Um, Rhea, can you please get your mind out of her man’s pants?” Carmen retorted with a snort at Rhea’s ongoing joke about Jason’s form-fitting football uniform.

  “Good-bye, ladies…”

  “Just tell me you’re at least wearing the purple polka-dot undies we spent an entire afternoon searching for,” Rhea insisted as Sydney disconnected the call with a smile. She could always depend on her feisty best friend to try to get in the last word.

  Placing the phone on its base and the dress on her bed, Sydney headed into her closet to dig through her enormous jewelry box. She finally settled on twisted, chunky Cartier bangles and the silver hoop set Keisha had bought on a whim and then handed down to Sydney when she decided they didn’t exactly have the same effect as a platinum pair she’d seen Vanessa Williams rocking in Us Weekly a couple of days later. Just as Sydney finished securing her second earring, there was a knock at the bedroom door.

  “It can’t be seven-thirty yet,” she mumbled, grabbing a pair of black tights and hurrying out of the closet to find Lauren standing by her bed gently fingering her dress.

  “Cute,” Lauren commented. “I hope you’re wearing the right underwear or that panty line is going to be a situation.”

  “Thanks for the news flash, Britney,” Sydney retorted sarcastically as she shooed her sister away from the bedside so she could sit down. “Um, correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t remember the part where I granted the fashion police permission to come in.”

  “My bad,” Lauren sighed dramatically as she flung herself into Sydney’s desk chair.

  Recognizing the beginnings of a signature Lauren Duke meltdown, Sydney nervously eyed the iHome clock on her nightstand. With only twenty-five minutes until Jason’s scheduled arrival, she still had to get dressed, put on her makeup, and do something with her hair. “Okay, what’s wrong?” she questioned as she carefully pulled up her tights to avoid causing a run. “And honestly, with everything going on, do I even want to hear this right now?”

  “I mean, I guess it’s not that big of a deal,” Lauren mumbled as she carelessly flipped through the copy of Vanity Fair Sydney had sitting on top of her closed laptop.

  “Lauren,” Sydney paused in the middle of pulling her dress over her head. “I’ve only got twenty-five minutes. Spare me the dramatics and start talking.”

  “Fine,” Lauren pouted as she closed the magazine and turned to face Sydney. “Well, it’s just…I was so excited to see Jermaine. You know? Especially after all the craziness, I just wanted him to hold me and for us to just, like, be together like a normal couple…”

  “Okay, so what’s the problem?” Sydney asked over her shoulder as she headed into the bathroom. “Not enough time together?”

  “No, no, it’s not that,” Lauren continued as she followed behind her sister. “It’s that Jermaine just won’t let the whole ’who killed Rodney’ thing go.” Lauren sat on the closed toilet lid next to the vanity and examined her fingernails.

  “Uh, are you really surprised?” Sydney questioned as she leaned into the mirror and carefully applied her trusty Diorshow mascara. “Jermaine was literally on the run for a crime that he didn’t commit. Did you think he was going to get over it that quickly?”

  “But I wasn’t the one accusing him,” Lauren insisted, standing up beside Sydney to grab the bottle of Aveeno hand lotion off the counter. “So why do I have to deal with the tirades?” she whined. “Why can’t we leave it up to the police and move on? I mean, with all that’s happening with Altimus and the tax situation, don’t I deserve to be comforted instead of always being put on the defensive?”

  Sydney stopped applying the second coat of her shimmering lip gloss to look at her sister’s reflection in total disbelief. “Lauren, Jermaine’s only brother was murdered. Your own father is looking at life in prison until the real killer is brought to justice. And you want to move on?” Momentarily ashamed, Lauren cast her gaze downward. “Seriously? Are you that self-centered?” Sydney continued sharply.

  “Whatever, Syd, it has nothing to do with being self-centered,” Lauren snapped as she slammed the bottle of lotion down on the counter. “I just need a freaking break. I am sixteen years old. I am not supposed to be worrying about going broke or going to jail. I just want to enjoy my life! And if that makes me a bad person, then”—tears of frustration welled up in her eyes as Lauren took a deep breath—“then I don’t know what to tell you. I guess you’re just a better person that I am.”

  “It’s not about being a better person, Lauren,” Sydney said, quickly softening her tone as she turned to comfort her distraught twin. “It’s just that this isn’t something we can just ignore and it will disappear. And that sucks. But the good news is, the sooner we figure out who’s at the bottom of all this, the sooner it will be over for everyone. Okay?” Lauren sniffled and nodded her head in response. “So instead of getting upset, why don’t you go see Uncle Larry? See if he’s heard anything new.”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” Lauren said softly.

  “It’s definitely a better idea than you standing here crying on my new dress,” Sydney teased gently as she hugged her sister.

  “Ha-ha,” Lauren said with a smile as she turned to grab a tissue out of the box on the counter. Cocking her head slightly, she looked at Sydney in the mirror. “You look good, Syd.”

  “Really? I haven’t worked out in a minute so I wasn’t so sure about the mini…”

  “No, I mean the dress is great and all; but you look happy,” Lauren clarified. “I’m glad you and Jason figured things out.”

  “Yeah, me, too,” Sydney said softly as she felt the butterflies in her stomach. “Now, if I could just figure out this hair,” she complained as she started to pull her curls back away from her face.

  “No, wear it out,” Lauren advised knowingly. “I heard guys from up north totally dig that whole big hair, curly look. Besides, it works for you.” Sydney smiled at her s
ister. “Okay, okay, let me get out of here before your head gets too big for the both of us.”

  “Forget you,” Sydney laughed as Lauren headed out the door. Deciding to take her sister’s advice, she fluffed up her curls, slid on a skinny headband, and sprayed some Luster oil sheen for the finishing touch. “Perfecto,” she said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. Sydney sprayed her neck and wrists with the L’Occitane perfume, grabbed her lip gloss, and headed back into her bedroom to pack her purse.

  “Oh, so I guess you think you cute,” sneered Keisha Duke from the open doorway as Sydney stood by her desk disconnecting her iPhone from the charger.

  Refusing to make eye contact with her mother, Sydney simply focused on the phone and shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You don’t know what I’m talking about?” questioned Keisha as she stepped into Sydney’s bedroom and closed the door firmly behind her. “Well, please, let me break it down for you. I’m talking about that little boy sitting in my living room waiting on you. For some reason, he thinks that the two of you are going on a date.”

  “His name is Jason,” Sydney retorted as she turned away from her mother to throw her wallet and cell into the silver Balenciaga bag on her bed. “And for your information, we are going out on a date.”

  “Is that so? ’Cause it seems to me, I already done told you how I felt about that situation, months ago. But maybe I wasn’t clear enough,” Keisha sneered. “Here’s the deal, princess—your father and I donated a lot of damn money to Councilwoman Green’s campaign. Not just this past election or even the last; I’m talking on a continuing basis. Donations, dinners, gifts, you name it, we gave it. And it all equals way too much for you to be ’going out’ with someone other than her beloved only son.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, no, you heard me correctly,” Keisha continued as she walked up directly behind her daughter. “Every hand greases the wheel. The security and longevity of our family business depends on making the right connections. And be clear, your little star quarterback sitting in my living room looking crazy ain’t part of the program. So you can play dumb as long as you like, but at the end of the day a winning pass ain’t gonna save none of our asses from jail!”