Brickhouse

by Rita Ewing

“Really? So you are a Harlem girl.”

  “All the way.”

  “I wish you had told me that before I tried to fight you on this venue change.”

  She searched his face for sarcasm, but he only smiled. “Would it have made a difference?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “Well, look at it this way. We fight so well together.”

  They laughed.

  “Derrick, I do want to thank you, though. You didn’t have a lot of time to put this together with all of the changes, and it still turned out wonderfully.”

  She meant for her words to be an apology of sorts–for all the dissension between them.

  “You’re welcome. Having the shoot here was a good idea.”

  There it was–his apology. It made her smile.

  He returned his cup to the table. “Well, I’m going to get going,” he said.

  Nona was surprised that his words disappointed her.

  “I have another appointment.”

  Nona frowned inside, but kept the smile on her face. Another appointment–at eleven o’clock? It sounded more like a Friday night booty call. She took another sip of her punch. Why should she care? She didn’t know why, but she did.

  “I’ll see you soon, Nona.” He reached for her, and she was in his arms before she could understand what had happened. It was a professional hug, or more like a spiritual one–the kind that men and women gave each other at church. Only he held her longer than he had to. And she stayed in his embrace because she wanted to. She closed her eyes and inhaled his scent again. When he finally pulled away, Nona wondered what she saw in his eyes. Was it desire? Was it yearning? She was sure he was going to kiss her. She braced herself and almost closed her eyes.

  “Good night,” he said and turned away.

  She was startled and could barely nod her good-bye. She watched him inch through the crowd, stopping for moments to say good-bye, or congratulate someone on a job well done. She watched until he disappeared into the mass of people who remained.

  Nona sighed. She was certainly ready to go now.

  “Hey, you.”

  She grinned at Allen as he lifted a water bottle from a steel bucket in front of them. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” she said, forcing herself to keep her eyes from searching for Derrick.

  “I’ve been moving around. Whew,” he said, “this has been some day.”

  “Yeah, but I’m ready to go home.”

  “Okay.” Allen took Nona’s arm and tried to rush her through the people, but they had to pause every few steps, just as Derrick had minutes before, until they reached the curb where Ray had returned.

  “Do you want a lift?” Nona asked as she climbed into the SUV.

  “Sure.”

  She told Ray they’d be dropping Allen home first, then leaned back into the seat and closed her eyes.

  Allen took her hand. “This was a good day.” He paused. “You know, Nona, you’ve accomplished so much in this city.”

  She knew his next words before he spoke, so she kept her eyes closed.

  “You can be proud of today … you can be proud of every moment you’ve spent in Harlem.”

  “But it’s time to leave,” she said for him.

  “I think so.” He let his affirmation rest in the air. “You and I have always been that one-two knockout punch. Imagine how much bigger and better we could be in LA.”

  Bigger and better is not what I want, Nona thought, though she kept that reflection to herself.

  “It’s always best to move when you’re on top,” he said.

  Who made that up? she wondered.

  “The event today was something that Harlem hasn’t seen in years,” he continued. “This could be your last hurrah.”

  She was glad when the car slowed in front of Allen’s Ninety-sixth Street walk-up, stealing his opportunity to toss more daggers into her heart. She hugged him, without saying a word, but then directed Ray to take off the moment Allen stepped from the car.

  “Ray, before I head home, can you take me up 125th Street?”

  “Sure thing, Ms. Simms.”

  Alone, she kept her eyes open as the Escalade rolled through the spirit of Harlem. The clock was inching toward midnight, but it wasn’t apparent by these streets. People still walked, shops were still open, the streets pulsed with life. It was Friday night. Nona stared at every sight, photographing it in her memory.

  She tried to imagine riding down the streets of Los Angeles and feeling this way. Feeling as if every avenue, every boulevard was part of her DNA. But there was no room in her mind for that. No place else would ever be called home. There was no place like Harlem.

  Still, what Allen said made sense. There was too much going on here. Brickhouse, Kelly, this was even taking a toll on Allen. Every time she saw him, he was thinner, paler. This was too much for him too.

  It was time to give LA serious consideration. She could force a better deal from Reverend Watkins and his goons. She could make them pay big for what they were doing to her.

  Nona leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes again. She couldn’t look at Harlem anymore. She had to prepare herself. As she tried to envision the streets of Los Angeles, a single tear slipped from the corner of her eye.

  It was almost midnight when Leila glanced out the living room window. The black sky was the canvas for the twinkling of the stars that filled the night. A beautiful sight. At least that had been her thought in the first years of her life in this house. But there was nothing that resembled beautiful now.

  She was miserable–as she’d been all day. This morning, she’d fought the thought that she shouldn’t go to Nona’s filming. She didn’t want to see Nona, or Anna, or Toni. But she needed to see her lover.

  Too much time had passed since she’d been with him last, and she found that she could barely breathe. For months, her life had been all about him. He kept her beyond happy, and her plan was to feel that way straight to forever.

  But just a simple slip of the tongue, just speaking a wonderful thought aloud had pushed him away.

  She’d been sure it would be fixed today. She’d purchased just the right suit to remind him of her assets. To force him to remember the pleasure her body gave him. But even when she spotted him from afar, and then stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him in front of the stage, he’d treated her as if they’d never met.

  She’d left before the taping began, not wanting anyone to see her tears. What was she going to do if she lost him? That had been her only thought all day as she called his private line and left message after message.

  The creak of the garage door opening and rap music thumping from inside the Hummer surprised her, and she glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the foyer. It was just after midnight, a bit early for her husband on a Friday night after a game. She almost wished that he would have kept his normal hours, creeping in just before the first sign of morning light.

  Shawn opened the door and stopped when he saw her. “What are you doing up?”

  She stared at him for a moment. “What are you doing home?”

  He chuckled. “If you don’t want me here, I can leave easily.”

  She held up her hand as she passed him. In that instance, she took in the smell of him saturated with another woman’s fragrance. “Whatever.” She rushed up the stairs. A fight with Shawn Lomax was not what she needed. There was only one place where she wanted to put her effort. And that was finding a way to be with the only man she’d ever really loved.

  nineteen

  Reverend Watkins barely acknowledged her when she walked into the Harlem Empowerment Office conference room with Allen. Nona walked to the back as the reverend opened the meeting. She leaned against the wall. This time, there were no chairs for the public–no need for other input. It was as if the future had already been decided.

  “This won’t be a long meeting,” Reverend Watkins said and glanced at Nona. “This is t
o review the schedule now that all permits have been attained and many of the leases have been signed. At this point, we have a seventy-two percent occupancy rate for Harlem East.”

  The reverend paused, and the committee members gave their nods of approval.

  “Mall construction should be complete in sixteen months.”

  “Reverend Watkins,” Nona interrupted. “I have something for the committee.”

  He didn’t hide his sigh. “What is it, Ms. Simms?”

  She handed him the pages of the petition. “The people of Harlem would like to be heard,” she said as he glanced through the papers. “I have over seven hundred signatures from people who believe in the mall, but also believe that Brickhouse should remain a part of this community.”

  The reverend shuffled through the papers, took off his reading glasses, and leaned back in his chair. “It appears you have a lot of support, but where are all of these people?” he asked, waving his hands toward the empty space in the conference room. “People are concerned, but why aren’t they here to let us hear their voices in person?”

  “That’s what petitions are for, Reverend,” Nona said as if she were explaining the concept to a two-year-old. “People have to work, take care of their children. They don’t have time to run behind you and your bandits of–”

  Allen touched her arm, stopping her.

  She took a breath. “You have to give consideration to the people who will be affected by this.”

  Reverend Watkins pushed the papers aside. “We will … consider your petitions.” He looked at the men in front of him and continued, “Now, as I was saying, the contractors have assured me that we will be in business …”

  Nona tried, but couldn’t listen to the reverend’s scratchy tone as he droned on. She glanced at the pages of the petition, tossed to the side–which was exactly where Nona suspected they would stay.

  Why am I fighting? she thought. She stared at the reverend as he spoke, his mouth moving, sounds that made no sense bombarding the air. She felt as if she were jabbing a brick wall. She couldn’t win against this man who had probably purchased his doctor of divinity from the National Enquirer.

  As the reverend continued his “blah, blah, blah” soliloquy, Nona glanced around the table. The committee was attentive, all eyes watching him–all except the mayor. Nona stared at Anthony Leone as he scribbled on the pad in front of him. It was his frown and lack of attention that made Nona wonder if Anna had spoken to her husband. After the argument she’d overheard at the taping on Friday, Nona had decided not to ask Anna about going to her husband anymore. Besides, Anna had done more than any of her friends to help her with this issue.

  But clearly, something was troubling the mayor of New York. Maybe Reverend Watkins didn’t have all the support he needed.

  For fifteen more minutes, Nona stood until she couldn’t stand it anymore. She tapped Allen on his arm and motioned toward the door. Before she stepped outside the room, she glanced back at the reverend. He paused and looked at her, then smiled. It was a smirk of victory.

  Nona and Allen rode the elevator in silence, and the quiet continued between them until they climbed into the SUV and Ray pulled away from the building where her future was being decided.

  “It’s over, isn’t it?” Nona asked, keeping her eyes focused outside the window.

  For the first time since they’d begun these discussions, Allen stayed silent.

  “LA is a good market to start over,” she said, making the arguments herself now.

  Still, Allen was quiet.

  “It’ll be good for me, the business, and most importantly, Kelly.”

  Without a word, he took her hand.

  She turned to him. “Will you go with us?”

  “If you want me to.” He squeezed her fingers.

  “I couldn’t do it without you,” she said with tears in her voice.

  She leaned back. This was the end. She knew it now. It didn’t make sense to keep fighting. She had to move forward, plan her life for the way it was going to be.

  She would be strong. For herself, for Kelly, for Allen. But even with that resolution, she couldn’t hold back, and the tears that were in her heart moved to her eyes. She cried.

  Allen glared at the phone number on the paper in front of him as if it were a poisonous snake. He had taken his pills a few hours ago, but just looking at the digits made his nausea return.

  He reached for the telephone, then pulled his hand away. He stood and walked to his office door, locking it. Then he dialed the number.

  “Reverend Watkins,” Allen said when the call was answered.

  “I’ve been waiting to hear from you. What the hell was that about petitions? I’m warning you, Allen–”

  “You can keep your threats, Reverend. Nona is leaving. She’s not going to fight you anymore.”

  He paused. “Are you sure? It didn’t look that way when you two left the meeting.”

  Allen closed his eyes, remembering every word of Nona’s conversation in the car. Even now, what she’d said tore his heart. “Yes, she’s ready to leave.”

  “Brickhouse and Harlem?”

  Memories of the years he’d spent with Nona building Brickhouse flashed through his mind. “Yes.” It was a struggle for him to say that single syllable.

  “Well, Mr. Wade.” The reverend paused and laughed. “I guess your reputation is more important than your friendships.”

  Allen felt bile rising from his stomach.

  Reverend Watkins said, “Just make sure that Nona doesn’t change her mind. I don’t need any more interference from her. Some members of the committee are already a bit concerned.”

  “Yes.”

  “And, Allen, you’d better truly come through or else the entire world will find out that you’re more than a traitor. You’re a murderer.”

  Again the reverend laughed, and Allen hung up. He waited a few seconds before he reached for the trash can at the side of his desk. Then he heaved, releasing all that had been building inside him since Reverend Watkins answered the phone.

  Nona had been able to stop the tears in her eyes, but cries continued to fill her. She sat behind her desk, staring at the walls of her office, and years passed through her mind. She remembered the days at the beginning when it had been a struggle to pay the bills. She recalled the month when her accountant called to say that she was in the black for the first time. She was reminded of the time when she’d made a ten-thousand-dollar donation to the Boys and Girls Club of Harlem–her first charitable contribution of any size. All because of the success that came with Brickhouse.

  She blinked, not wanting to cry again. It was true, she was leaving, but the reverend could never take away what she’d accomplished.

  She picked up the phone, needing to hear the reassurances of a friend.

  “Hey, Sam, it’s Nona. May I speak to Toni?”

  There were seconds of silence. “Toni’s not available.”

  Nona frowned. There it was again. The same words. “Sam, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing. She’s just not available.”

  “Is Toni all right?”

  “She’s fine. She’s just not available.”

  Nona hung up without saying good-bye. She couldn’t take the chance of hearing him say that Toni wasn’t available again. She didn’t want Sam to be on the bad end of all that she’d been saving for Reverend Watkins.

  What is going on? she wondered. But before she had time to contemplate that thought, her phone rang.

  “Nona, how did the meeting go?” Anna asked.

  She shook her head. “I think it’s time to let it go, Anna,” she said, her voice filled with fatigue. “I’ve accomplished a lot here and maybe–”

  “Don’t talk like that.”

  “I have to face reality.”

  “I have to see you, Nona.”

  “No, that’s okay. I’m fine really.”

  “I have to see you,” Anna repeated. “Stay in your office. I’ll be th
ere in ten minutes.”

  Anna was gone before Nona could protest, and she hung up the phone. Nona didn’t know what her friend wanted, but from the firmness of her tone, she knew she’d better stay still.

  Nona was sure now. Kelly had been praying, because God had personally stepped right into the middle of her life.

  “I’ve been gathering this for weeks, Nona. I didn’t want to say anything until I had spoken to Anthony. It took me a while to come to terms with things. I was hoping to find something that would prove that what’s inside this folder isn’t true.”

  Nona couldn’t say a word as she turned the pages in the folder that Anna had given her. It was all here, the backroom deals, the payoffs, the promises of future bonuses– everything that Reverend Watkins had used to push his project through. Everything that Nona needed to bring him down.

  “I can’t believe this,” she whispered.

  “It’s all true. Anthony confirmed it.”

  Nona looked up for the first time since she’d been given these sheets of gold. “Anthony was involved in all of this?”

  Anna shook her head. “I don’t think so. I believe most of it was done by the time he found out. But still, he didn’t do anything about it.” Anna sighed and sat in front of Nona’s desk. “Anthony feels some strange allegiance to that jerk Watkins because they went to college together and because the reverend helped him get elected.”

  “I still have a hard time believing Reverend Watkins went to any college.”

  They laughed, although the sound was not filled with cheer.

  Anna said, “The key is that Anthony did nothing, and now he’s vulnerable.”

  Nona caressed the folder as if it were a child. “But Anna, if I go public with this, it could ruin Anthony. I don’t want to do that.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have to go public, Nona. Once the reverend finds out what you know, he’ll have to back off.”

  Nona shook her head as if she were unsure.

  “Look, you’re only asking to keep Brickhouse. You’re not trying to stop the building of the mall. Hell, I think Harlem East is still a good idea–even if it’s going to make Reverend Watkins a multimillionaire.”

  Nona sat still, staring at the papers. When she looked up, her eyes were filled with tears, but they were different from the ones she’d shed just an hour before. She stood and walked to her friend.