Frost on My Window

by Angela Weaver

  * * *

  Eleven p.m. Thank God tomorrow’s Friday. Unlocking the door to the apartment and quietly slipping inside, I set my gym bag down beside the closet and laid my keys alongside Rena’s on the small side table. I walked into the living room to see my cousin curled up on the sofa holding her head. Lines of tension pulled tight across her brow. I pulled off my shoes and padded across the floor.

  Gently, I sat down, maneuvering Rena’s body over so that her head lay in my lap. In the dim light of the room, I could still see the tracks left by dried tears. Her pain-filled groan was a confirmation of my first thought. Migraine. Simba sat at my feet. Normally, the attention-hungry cat would meow and jump into my lap demanding to be petted. Instead he lay down with his tail switching back and forth, staring at Rena with his unblinking eyes.

  I placed my fingertips lightly across her temples and kneaded, smoothing her brow. After a few minutes, Rena’s breathing eased and her fingers unclenched.

  “Bad day?” I whispered.

  “They ambushed me. Told me they wanted my opinion on a new artist.”

  “What happened?”

  “The fools wanted me to co-manage Nine. They forced me to listen to his entire solo album and read his bio. It read like a prison rap sheet. Then they brought him in.”

  Shudders ran through her body. This was bad.

  “Leah, he stood in front of me looking like a mother’s worst nightmare come to life and said, ‘Ain’t no tight-assed bitch gonna manage me.’ ” My cousin mimicked the rapper’s voice.

  I concentrated on keeping my hands from shaking with anger as I kept massaging her temples.

  “What did Michael have to say?” I asked.

  “Nothing. He just sat there like a puppet without strings,” she sighed. Her eyes remained closed.

  “Do you have to take him on?”

  “No. I made sure to put that in my contract. I choose my artists.”

  “So what’s got you so stressed out?”

  “Michael.”

  “What does he have to do with you?” I asked. The senior executive had begged, cajoled, and bribed Rena to move back to NYC. The week after she started the job, Michael left to head the company’s more lucrative hip-hop/rap artists.

  “He came to my office an hour after the meeting. I took a good long look at him. What hair he ain’t lost is turning gray. He offered me fifty thousand to help him, Leah. I swear he had tears in his eyes.”

  My hands stilled. Fifty thousand. Rena was bringing home a hefty salary, but that kind of money is hard to turn down. “Please tell me you said no.”

  Impossible causes were okay but this one was different. From what I’d heard and seen in the papers, Nine was for real. Rap music’s newest poster boy was straight out of the Bronx ghetto, no suburban kid turned street thug. According to XXL and Vibe, the self-proclaimed leaders of street news, Nine had been in and out of juvenile and prison all his life.

  Rena opened her eyes, and in the dimness I could see the pain. “I told him no and he left.”

  “Michael just got up and walked out?” I questioned.

  “Didn’t say a word,” Rena added.

  “Good.” I didn’t really like or trust the man. On more than one occasion he had tried to use me to get to Rena.

  “Yeah, I had enough of that back west. I’m not going down that road again. Let someone else save him. Too tired.” Her voice trailed off, heavy with sleep.

  I sat in the darkness listening to the sounds of passing cars and the humming of the refrigerator. I’d been in the passenger seat as Rena struggled against her own demons while battling to help brothers who didn’t want to save themselves. Ex-slanging, banging, badass brothers from the hood. All the support and money in the world couldn’t help them. The Lord helps those who help themselves. My only regret was that Rena had found that out the hard way.

  “Hey,” she said all of a sudden.

  I jumped. “Thought you were asleep.”

  “An overnight envelope came for you today. It’s on the coffee table.” She motioned with her hand.

  I leaned over and turned on the lamp, then picked up the package. I ripped it open without looking at the return address. When I turned it upside down, two blue and white tickets fell into my right hand.

  “What is it?” Rena asked.

  “Front row tickets to Sean’s concert at the Garden.” My voice held a hint of disbelief. I hadn’t remembered his promise. “What are we going to do with the ones you bought?”

  “Don’t worry,” Rena chuckled weakly. “I already sold them for a tidy profit.”

  “But…” I started.

  “But what? Sean knows your phone number by heart. Even on a worldwide tour, he’s calling at least three times a week.”

  “What does that have to do with you selling the tickets?”

  “If you can’t figure it out I’m not telling you. Now why are you home so late?”

  Change of subject. I could tell Rena was starting to feel better already.

  “Problem at the office. The web servers crashed as we were uploading this week’s content.”

  “Isn’t that why you’re a vice-president? You’re supposed to tell people what to do and then leave,” she joked.

  “All the articles got wiped out. I stayed to help recreate the pages from our backup documents.”

  “Did you eat?” Rena questioned.

  “Yes, Mom. We ordered in. Chinese, on the company of course.”

  “Are you sure you’re going to be able to make it to Nina’s album release party tomorrow night?”

  “I told you I would.”

  “Just checking, you being such an important woman and all.”

  “Yeah…yeah. Rub it in, Ms. Record Exec. Why don’t we get to bed? I’m done for the night.”

  * * *

  It started with Rena’s phone call. I was flipping through the stations and paused on Oprah when the telephone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “You’re home early,” came Rena’s voice over the line.

  “It’s Friday.”

  “And?”

  “The director lets the division go home at four p.m.,” I explained.

  “I forgot. I need a favor.”

  “What’s up?” I asked, sitting up.

  “Can you go to Nina’s party with Traxx?”

  I almost dropped the phone as an image of the super handsome soul singer danced before my eyes. “What?” My voice cracked.

  “Damon and I need to stay late. We have to finish up a project before Monday and I’m absolutely not coming into the office this weekend. Traxx is new to New York and doesn’t have any real solid connections up here yet.”

  “Why me? The man has to beat women off with a stick.” I listened to her laughter as it blended with another’s. Damon, I assumed.

  “Leave it to you to ask why. The truth is that you’re the only woman I know that won’t look at the man with either stars, dollar signs, a wedding ring, or a check from a tabloid magazine in her eyes.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” I asked, trying to remember if I’d ever heard any gossip about the R&B singer.

  “He’s a good guy. Wouldn’t be calling you if he wasn’t. I was supposed to go with him but I won’t be able to get out of here until eleven p.m. at the earliest.”

  “Oh.” I chewed my lip. I tried to keep as far away from the entertainment business as possible. Being in the public eye was not one of my career goals.

  “Aren’t you the one who said ‘Live life to the fullest?’ ”

  Leave it to Rena to remember a drunken New Year’s Eve resolution.

  “True,” I reluctantly admitted.

  “And I have it on good authority that a certain someone from the UPenn, an ex-Mrs. Lance Phillips, will be making an appearance.”

  She knew me too well. “What time do I need to be there?”

  “Traxx’ll be driving back from a radio appearance in Philly. He’ll pick you up at about nine-thirty p.m.�
��

  “Wait. How’s he going to pick me up if he doesn’t know the city?” I asked suspiciously.

  “Please. My boy travels in style, plus he’s got a navigation system.”

  “Good grief.” The lifestyles of the rich and famous.

  “Don’t thank me,” she sighed. “Anything for family. Now I gotta jet. See ya tonight.”

  I pressed the off button on the phone and sat back on the sofa. Simba took it as an invitation and jumped up into my lap. The semi-overweight cat stared up at me with narrowed eyes. I ran my hands over his fur and patted his back as he meowed before settling down.

  “A date. I’ve got a date with the Best New Male Artist of the Year,” I murmured out loud.

  The sentence looped over and over in my mind like a refrain. Then I remembered Sherrie. The image conjured by her name wiped away the giddy excitement. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to dredge up the nickname everyone had given Lance’s ex-wife. What was it? The Queen of Sheba. And with the answer, I was thrust into the memory of my sophomore year in college.

  * * *

  “You came. Come on in.” Sherrie’s smile was wide.

  Any momentary feeling of ease I had vanished. I wanted to wring Lance’s neck for blackmailing me into coming over to her apartment. She was smiling at me. She wanted something. The woman was pretty. Her unblemished brown sugar complexion, shoulder-length black hair, and almond eyes attracted men like flies.

  She waved me inside her apartment. She wore the sweet expression that Lance saw when he looked at her. Her warm, dulcet voice I’d heard before at the ‘get to know’ you meetings and open sorority pledge events.

  “Would you like something to eat or drink?”

  “No, thank you.” The Philly pizza steak I’d eaten for lunch that afternoon threatened to rise up out of my stomach.

  The room was quiet. No loud music from freshman neighbors or sounds of passing cars and ambulances headed down Chestnut street towards University Hospital. One of the advantages of living off-campus.

  Sherrie walked to the far end of the room and gestured towards the sofa and chair. Against the beige walls was a large mahogany bookcase, full of textbooks, strategically placed knickknacks and picture frames. On the wall were two black and white photos of the Brooklyn Bridge and the Manhattan skyline. I knew that the photographer’s initials were on the back. Lance had asked for my help in picking them out at the photography exhibit.

  “Leah, have a seat.” She gracefully seated herself in the side chair. I took a seat opposite her on the sofa. I sat on the edge and crossed my legs. My eyes focused on the arrangement of fresh flowers that graced the coffee table.

  I reached out and touched the orchids. As a part of the sorority pledging process, one of us would have to deliver orchids to Sherrie once a week. I’d always wanted to keep the beautiful blossoms instead of handing them over into Sherrie’s perfectly manicured fingers.

  “You made us walk into Center City in the middle of winter to get these,” I said.

  “That’s water under the bridge.” She waved her manicured hand dismissively. Sherrie continued, “It was part of pledging. Besides we were reprimanded.”

  I leaned forward and inhaled the sweet perfume of the flowers before glancing over at her, meeting those wary eyes. She would never acknowledge that she’d gone too far those weeks we struggled through the sorority pledging process.

  “I can’t believe you’re still holding a grudge,” she said.

  It had been two years since I’d had to watch her take a pair of scissors and hack off Allison’s hair. I’d seen Sherrie’s face that night. It was full of vengeful triumph as she held Allison’s curly locks in her hand. I suppressed a shudder.

  “I’m not holding a grudge, I’m holding a memory.”

  It could have been me, but it hadn’t been. Sherrie had picked the weakest of my line sisters. Allison’s mother had been an AKA. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to join. That desire for acceptance and her long wavy hair had been all Sherrie had needed.

  “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” she said with a confident look on her face. Like she’d scored some huge point.

  “Look, I called you over here tonight so that we can make a fresh start. I want us to be friends,” she smiled.

  Sherrie almost had me with that smooth line about forgiveness, but the look of triumph on her face killed any thought of being friendly with the woman.

  I said, as evenly as I could, “You want to be friends?”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  The question was so ludicrous that I simply looked at her for a second or two. It took me two tries before I could find an answer. “Yeah, I’m surprised.”

  “We’ve never really taken the time to get to know one another. We’re going to be graduating soon and I don’t want to pass up the opportunity. You and I have so many things in common.”

  The light bulb went off. “I get it. This is about Lance.”

  Her face was an open book. The way her lips pressed together into a thin line showed her annoyance.

  “Look, Leah,” she sighed. “I’ll admit that Lance would love it if we were cool and I’d like for us to be friends.”

  She sat back and crossed her legs expectantly, waiting for my reply. A queen on her throne. Somehow the woman made her statement sound more like an order than a request. The whole situation seemed unreal.

  “You know what? I’m going to be honest with you. How about that?” I looked her in the eye. “You and I will never be friends. Since you’re so holier than thou tonight, how about a new phrase: ‘God don’t like ugly.’ You might have had to haze us a little while we were on line. That I understand. But cutting off a girl’s hair, making us walk into Center City on the coldest day in winter and then sitting here still not willing to say you’re sorry? Sherrie, I really don’t need or want friends like you.” I stood up. I’d had about enough.

  “I should have known that you weren’t woman enough to know when you’re beat.”

  “Excuse me? What did you say?” My voice rose.

  “Face it, girlfriend. Lance won’t ever look at you.” She pointedly made a show of looking me up and down and then tossing her hair. “This following him around like a lost puppy is really pathetic. You need to find someone else.” She paused and laughed. Her laughter grated like a fingernails on a chalkboard.

  She continued, “No one wants a stuck-up, tight-lipped, white girl wannabe like you.”

  I moved before I could think. My hand lashed out, striking her face. I wanted to scream as I stood trying to keep still when every nerve in my body wanted to beat her senseless. It took me a moment to realize I was shaking.

  “You’ll regret that,” she threatened as she rubbed her cheek. Even under the glow of the halogen lamp, I could see the faint hint of redness in her skin. I couldn’t tell if it was from my slap or her anger.

  “No, I won’t.” I reached down to pick up my book bag.

  “When Lance hears about this, he’s going drop you like a bad habit,” she screeched.

  “And who’s going to tell him?” I shot back.

  Sherrie’s smirk abruptly disappeared. In that moment, something alien welled up within me. Something dark and heavy under my skin. It lay there coiled and waiting. It felt as if I were bleeding and it hurt. I walked across the room and jerked open the door. I took two more steps before turning around to face her again.

  “If you come against me, I promise that I won’t stop until I’ve pulled down this house of cards that you’ve built.”

  As I stomped down the steps and walked through the streets towards my dorm, I heard her words echoing in my mind, You’ll regret this!

  In the end, she was right. I regretted not stomping her like a bug.

  Chapter 6

  “Come on in. I’m almost ready.”

  I waved Traxx through the door and hurried to my room. Part of me wanted to stand there with my mouth wide open like a star-stuck, hormone-cr
azed adolescent. The other part knew that Traxx was just a man with eyes the color of maple syrup on a Saturday morning. He was a tall, beautiful brother with a golden voice. I leaned against my dresser and drew an unsteady breath.

  Just a man, I reminded myself. A gorgeous man that had me raiding Rena’s closet for the low-cut black Armani dress I had on.

  Just another highly paid multi-talented black man, I repeated to myself while putting on a dab of lipstick. He deals with the same daily drama just like everybody else and wipes his butt with two-ply toilet paper. He was the epitome of handsome. Traxx’s midnight locks had given women across America a new reason to dream. When you saw him smile on video, your finger just itched to hit the pause button.

  I came back to find Traxx looking at pictures on the mantle. As I took the chance to observe him, he was staring at one in particular. His hand reached out towards the picture of Rena sitting on the beach reading a book. His fingers seemed to caress her cheek through the glass. The man had it bad. I sighed and took a step forward. Another one bites the dust.

  “Ready to go?” I asked cheerfully.

  “That was quick.” He turned, surprised.

  Closing and locking the door, I caught myself wondering what woman in her right mind had ever kept this man waiting. We settled into an awkward silence as we walked down the stairs. I was about to comment on the weather when Mrs. Renald stepped out the door with Jacques, her little chihuahua, trailing behind. Jacques immediately began barking. I bent down and gave him a pat on the head as he sniffed my shoes for Simba’s scent.

  “Sorry, ole boy, no treats this time,” I whispered, giving the energetic dog a quick scratch behind the ear.

  “Leah, you look très belle.”

  I straightened up and smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Who is this young man with you?” She peered up at Traxx through her glasses.

  “Let me introduce you to…” I opened and closed my mouth. I didn’t know his real name.

  He reached out and took her small delicate hand within his own. “Trey Matos. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  My lips curved into a smile. The man was politeness itself.