I laugh and turn toward Cleo Exeter, the restaurant's owner and head cook. She looks up from the grill, sees me, smiles, and waves her spatula.
“Denmark! Get over here and gimme a hug wit'yo fine self,” she says, talking over the popping bacon, din of conversation, and radio.
Several women look around to see whom Cleo's talking to. One woman who's scoping me looks away when the man beside her snarls a whisper into her ear. The rest of them, some alone, some not, take their time enjoying me. I let them have their fun and keep stepping. One of the gawkers is Vondie Hamilton.
Vondie works in Speed Shift's corporate procurement department, stands about five feet five, wears a close-cut natural, and has some of the smoothest, prettiest dark skin I've ever seen. A man could run his finger across her cheek and get back a thick drop of chocolate. She's also got some dynamite legs and loves to show them off. She and I were dating just before I met Sierra. It was nice and we had fun, but when Sierra showed up, Vondie was out!
Vondie's sitting at a table with a stylishly dresssed butterball of a guy who's running his mouth a mile a minute. She's probably not hearing a word he's saying, since she's so intensely focused on me. Butterball finally realizes that he's talking to himself, follows her gaze over to me, scowls, and looks back at Vondie. She's stirring her coffee like all is well.
Sierra and I would never disrespect each other like that. But I'm not naïve. I know my baby appreciates attractive men, just like she knows that I'm not blind to pretty women. The most important thing she knows is that no one is more beautiful to me than she.
I get over to the counter and wait for Cleo to finish fixing a plate before she comes to hug me. She's a wiry, honey-skinned woman with a glass eye and cigarette burns on her lower jaw. She got her wounds from the ogre she once called husband. But Cleo got even. One night after he'd passed out drunk she undressed him, tied his hands and feet to the bed, fixed a big pot of grits to throw on him, and got a bat. People still remember the blood-curdling scream and sight of the naked man who found the strength to break loose from his bonds, leaped from the second-floor window and tore down the street like slave catchers were on his case.
I slip between two bar stools, lean across the counter, and hug Cleo. “Hey beautiful,” I say.
“Beautiful! Don't make me drag you in the back,” Cleo threatens. “It's been a long time since I had some good loving, and I'd hate to wear out a fine man like you.”
“Don't hurt me, Cleo,” I beg playfully. “You know I'm delicate.”
She shoves me back and waves me off. “Stop talking trash. How's you doing?”
“Good and getting better. Today's my anniversary.”
“Well, that's just wonderful. Are you still in love?”
“Madly,” I answer. “How are you doing?”
“I got up on the green side of grass, honey. It don't get much better than that.”
“True word,” I laugh. “Do you have some fresh coffee for me?”
Cleo rolls her eyes. “Everything in my establishment's fresh.”
She pours me a cup, and I add cream and sugar. “Go on in the back and have a seat,” Cleo directs. “Gordon's already in there with his sweet wife.”
I glance into the private area that Cleo graciously sets aside for me and the guys when we meet for breakfast. Gordon's definitely in there, and so is Alice. They look like the world's happiest couple, sitting close, holding hands, whispering, and staring deep into each other's eyes. I should let them have their peace and sit in the main dining section with the other customers. But Harry won't care about disturbing their bliss, so I might as well take my regular seat.
“Somebody’ll get ya'll's order in just a few,” Cleo says.
Cleo's lying through her teeth. The service in this place is glacial, but the food's great, so it's worth the wait. I just hope that today it's not too long.
I wink my acknowledgment and start toward Gordon and Alice. They spot me, smile, and wave, and I wave back. Alice is one good-looking woman. When she's dressed in her Horizon Airlines flight attendant's uniform, she's absolutely stunning. And she's so gentle. Sierra's gentle too, but Alice is almost too sweet to be human. It's too bad that she's married to a dog like Gordon. I sometimes want to shake her and yell “Wake up!”
But that's the kind of nonsense that can get a brother killed. Gordon has always respected my Brownfield District roots, but nothing stirs a man's courage faster than news of his woman's cheating. And Gordon owns a gun. For all that I learned while battling in the streets, I never learned to outrun a bullet.
Besides, Alice is free to walk any time she wants. If after all the gossip, catching Gordon in lie after lie, and not one but two court-ordered paternity tests (which cleared Gordon—but still), she continues to put up with him, nothing I could say would impress her enough to leave. He needs Alice far more than she needs him, and I keep telling him to be careful. If she ever bolts, Gordon will be like a blind zombie bumping into walls.
My stroll across the restaurant is slowed as I exchange greetings with Cleo's many regulars. From a nearby table, a soft female voice says, “Hello, Denmark.”
I stop and look at fine Vondie Hamilton. “Hello, Vondie. How are you?”
“I'm doing okay. And you?”
“Things couldn't be better. Today's my anniversary.”
She purses her lips, then gestures to her butterball companion. His scowl deepens. “Denmark, meet Lennox Foster,” says Vondie. “Lennox, this is Denmark Wheeler.”
We exchange a shabby handshake. Lennox's face is a contorted frown, but I can't blame him. If I were standing as deep in his shadow as he is in mine, I wouldn't be happy either.
“We're in the same investment club,” Vondie quickly offers. “Lennox is the founder and has offered to help me learn how to best plug into the markets.”
From the way Lennox's eyes are scoping Vondie's boobs, he's interested in “plugging” into more than the markets.
“I'm told that those clubs are pretty good,” I respond. “Maybe I should join.”
“Yes, you should,” Vondie agrees. “It's a nice way to learn the ins and outs from someone like Lennox who really knows.”
I look at him. “Is that your line of work?”
He starts to answer, but Vondie cuts him off. “Lennox is vice president of North Coast Bank & Trust,” she proudly informs me.
I glance at Lennox. “That's some outfit. The financial news says that you guys are one of the fastest-growing banks in the Midwest.”
Lennox starts to speak, but Vondie cuts him off again. “Lennox is masterminding their expansion into the Detroit and Chicago markets.”
I nod approvingly. “That sounds like a nice little job.”
“Little!” he snaps. “I'm the vice president of a bank. That's more than a little job.”
“Don't get your back up,” I chuckle. “It wasn't meant as an insult.”
“Yes, Lennox,” Vondie quickly adds. “Don't take it the wrong way. Denmark's just an inner city regional manager for Speed Shift Auto Parts, so your position carries a lot more power, prestige, and pay.”
I fix my eyes on Vondie. She smiles back like the portrait of innocence.
Lennox twists his pursed lips into a smirk. “So you're an inner city regional manager, eh. Now that sounds like a little job.”
He glances at Vondie, who's looking at him with unhinged adoration. Okay, I've had enough of this game. I once would've made this fool suffer twice, first for his insult and then for being stupid enough to let Vondie manipulate him into antagonizing me. But forget them. Today's my anniversary, and in a few short hours, I'm going to celebrate with my wife.
I look at Vondie, shake my head, and step off. I'm disappointed in her. I thought we'd buried our differences during that business trip to Orlando last year.
Once she, the chief financial officer, Porter Grant, and I had finished our day's work, we cruised back to the hotel, where we talked and laughed through dinner. After the meal
, we moved to the bar and lounge for drinks. Porter wanted to call his very pregnant wife to see how she was doing, so I let him borrow my cell phone. He left the noisy lounge to make his call, and, for the first time since our breakup, Vondie and I discussed what had happened.
“You were a real jerk, Denmark,” she said. “One day we were dating; the next there was nothing.”
I sat back and sipped my rum and Coke. “What can I say? I met Sierra and fell in love. I didn't want to lead you on, so I ended it.”
She pursed her lips. “You didn't have to be so mean.”
She had a point. The day I took her to lunch to tell her it was over, I said: “Vondie, I've fallen in love with someone else. It's over!”
She gasped, threw her drink in my face, and stalked out of the restaurant.
That evening down in Orlando I asked her, “What would you have preferred?”
“I don't know!” she snapped. “You could've at least said ‘I'm sorry’ or something!”
The bar and lounge had gotten more crowded, noisy, and hot. Porter was still talking with his wife, so Vondie and I moved out by the pool. I told the bartender to send Porter our way when he got back, then ordered us a couple of potent Florida Hurricane drinks. The server brought them, and I listened quietly as Vondie unloaded more of her frustrations.
“Vondie, I'm sorry,” I said when she finally finished.
“You should be.”
She excused herself, got up, and started to leave. I stood quickly, blocked her path, and took hold of her hand. “Vondie, I really mean it,” I stressed. “I'm truly sorry.”
She smiled tightly and nodded, then went up to her room. When I told the guys what had happened, Harry insisted that Vondie had been trying to one-up me.
“Inez does that whenever we argue,” he reasoned. “She has to either get in the last word or make sure I know that I've been a slug.”
Gordon wanted to hear more about the alluring stranger who'd bought me a drink. “Forget Vondie!” he'd insisted. “Tell us why you turned down that honey who wanted to give you some poo-na-nay.”
After Vondie went up to her room, I kept waiting for Porter to bring me back my cell phone. I'd nursed my Hurricane down to the last sip when a server brought me another.
“I didn't order this,” I said.
“That's correct, sir,” he agreed. Gesturing toward a gorgeous woman sitting on the other side of the pool, he said, “She did.”
We made eye contact. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with a brick-house body that she proudly displayed in her skimpy two-piece swimsuit. Her bronze skin, large bright eyes, delicious lips, thickly flowing hair, and sweetly angular face betrayed centuries of finely blended African, European, and Amerindian bloodlines. Her eyes were lit bright with invitation, her smile was an assurance of her willingness, and her sexy posture was a foreshadowing of sweet satisfaction to come.
In another time as another person, I'd have escorted her to horizontal heaven in an eye-blink. But it wasn't that time, and I was no longer that person. I held up my left hand and wiggled my ring finger for her and the world to see. She frowned. I shrugged, picked up my new drink, told the barkeep where Porter could find me, and strolled down to the beach for a nice long walk— away from her! Getting my cell phone from Porter was important, but not enough to stray into the crosshairs of temptation.
When I told the guys, they were appalled. “Man, you could'a smoked that booty and been gone before the sweat dried,” Harry had teased.
“And if the candy was as fine as you say,” Gordon chimed in, “you should've at least gotten a taste.”
“I'd'a been hittin’ that goodie like it wasn't no tomorrow,” Harry boasted, slapping five with Gordon.
“You clowns ought to stop,” I laughed. “The moment that fine woman said ‘Hi!’ you'd both have been tongue-tied.”
They kept up their harassment until I said, “Look, you guys, there's a simple reason why I didn't do it.”
“Why?” they asked together in equally incredulous tones.
I looked at Harry, then Gordon, and said, “I love my wife.”
Harry frowned. “Is that it?”
“That's all there needs to be,” I answered defiantly. “Sierra's the only woman I want. She's the only woman I'll ever need.”
Gordon nodded thoughtfully. “That's admirable, Denmark. It's stupid, but admirable.”
“Think what you want,” I retorted. “But I'm not risking a romp with a babe who might heap all kinds of biological, psychological, and emotional poisons onto the good life I've got with Sierra.”
And I meant it! I'd dealt with enough drama queens, nuts, she-wolves, and lowlifes to know that women like Sierra didn't come a dime a dozen. And they certainly didn't hook up with hood escapees like me. So no matter how much Harry and Gordon have pestered me about having a ring through my nose, or the vacant space where my balls used to be, I'm married and loving it, and I'm staying deep inside the safety zone.
SEVEN
Alice's eyes smile as I approach her and Gordon. His cheesy smile says that he's encountered some fans, so he's being his best on-camera self.
He gives me his best star smile and points his stiff index finger at me. “You're the one!” he says, his tone full of admiration.
Gordon doesn't have to go through this routine with me, but he does it with everybody, so it's just him being him. It's the same technique he uses with all his TV guests to make them feel like no one has ever been, or ever will be, more important to him. People get sucked in, then tell him their most intimate secrets. Harry and I once watched Gordon do a special on Cleveland's persisting segregated housing patterns, and we sat amazed as people of all types bared their bigoted souls about whom they didn't like and why.
“They're stupid for openly admitting this stuff on camera,” Harry asserted.
“No,” I corrected. “Gordon's a genius for getting them to do it.”
He's used that same “genius” to feed Alice truckloads of crap about his womanizing, complaining that it's the price he pays for “their” success.
“Alice knows I'm only doing my job,” he once lamely insisted. “I've told her time and again that TV's a tough racket. You can be a hit in the morning and scrubbing toilets by afternoon. If I'm going to stay a winner, I've got to do whatever it takes.”
“How is bedding every babe who walks onto your set accomplishing that?” Harry pressed.
Gordon's brown skin reddened. “That question explains why you're in the audience, and I'm among the stars.”
Gordon gestures vigorously for me to hurry and take a seat. “Get over here and let me soak up some of your power,” he urges, pouring on the flattery.
He stands, and we shake and hug. I notice several women standing in the doorway, whispering excitedly and pointing at him. Gordon looks over at them, and I step aside so he can have the spotlight.
He winks at Alice. “Honey, I'll be right back. You know it's all for the show.”
“I understand,” Alice says softly.
Gordon gives her that “You're the one!” pointed finger, then looks at me. “She's the best, Denmark. She's the absolute best!”
He backs away, points again at her, then me. “You—two—are—the—best!” Then he scurries off. The starry-eyed women are joined by a few men. Gordon plunges into their midst like a fish returning to water.
“I just loved the show you did on staying young and fit,” coos one woman. “It changed my life.”
Gordon hugs her. Another woman shoos people away so she and Gordon can take a picture together. They stand close, her hugging him tight. He slips his arm around her waist so that his hand is just beneath her boob. He hugs her tighter, moving his hand slightly higher. She glances down at his hand, then up into his grinning face, smiles, and bats her eyes. After the picture, another woman pulls him close and whispers into his ear. Gordon glances at me and Alice, sees Alice rummaging in her purse, and quickly accepts the slip of paper the woman gives him. His ey
es meet mine, and he grins.
“They really love him,” says Alice, looking into a small mirror as she refreshes her lipstick.
“Yes. They certainly do.”
“He loves them, too, each and every one of them. As often as he can.”
I snap my eyes onto Alice. She's still looking into the small mirror while using her free hand to tame an uncooperative lock of hair.
“What do you mean, Alice?”
She puts the mirror away, glances at her watch, then looks at me. “How are things with you, Denmark?”
I study her for a moment. Her eyes tell me not to revisit the question she didn't answer. “Things are going great. Today's my anniversary.”
“Congratulations!” she says, smiling large. “How many years does this make?”
“Five.”
Her smile dims. “Gordon and I have been married for twelve.”
“That's encouraging. It's good to know people whose marriages are working.”
Harry squeezes his way through Gordon's thronging worshipers, nodding a stiff greeting to Gordon as he passes. Gordon smiles and gives him a “You're the one!” finger point. Harry rolls his eyes and hurries over to me and Alice.
“Hi, Alice,” he greets, shaking her hand. He jerks a hooked thumb back at Gordon. “You're too good for that bum,” he declares.
Alice laughs. “That's sweet of you, H. Good morning to you also.”
Harry looks at me. “I'll be right back. Skinny Bumpers just walked in. He's agreed to sell me his barbecue joint and come work for me.”
“H, Inez is going to brain you,” I warn. “You don't have enough room on your plate for another venture.”
“Man, get real,” he retorts. “There's always room for makin’ money. Besides, Inez is already brainin’ me with her baby-makin’ belly-achin’.”
Then he's off. Gordon's still happily signing autographs and posing for pictures. “Gordon's told me about Harry and Inez's disagreements over children,” Alice confides. “Is Harry really that opposed to the idea?”
“Harry's one thousand percent opposed,” I confirm.
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