All Up In My Business

by Lutishia Lovely

  “Malcolm! My man!” Jon Abernathy walked briskly toward his former college roommate and dear friend. “Who let the dogs out?”

  “That should be my question,” Malcolm answered as the two men exchanged a soul brother’s handshake and quick em-brace. “I thought I might find you here.”

  “What, did Victoria make you delete all of your single friends’ phone numbers? I haven’t heard from you in ages! Just last week I thought about driving over to Taste for a rib dinner, see if you were hiding out in the kitchen.”

  Malcolm laughed at Jon’s statement. The Auburn Taste location, specifically the kitchen, had been where Malcolm could be found on most nights he wasn’t on campus, especially during his undergrad years.

  Jon led Malcolm over to the table where he’d been sitting. “Well, at least she loosened the leash and let you out tonight,” Jon continued. “Good to see you, man.”

  “It’s good to see you too.” Malcolm signaled the waiter, who brought him a cognac, neat. He raised the glass in silent salute and took a sip. “So what’s up, man? What’s the latest around the way?”

  “Oh, same old, same old,” Jon answered. “Still fighting off the sistahs, running from wedding rings.”

  Jon had been a ladies’ man for as long as Malcolm had known him. At five foot nine and around one hundred sixty-five pounds, he wasn’t a big guy. But what he lacked in height he more than made up for with swagger and style. Jon was always impeccably dressed and expertly groomed. His weekly manicure and pedicure was routine, as were his trips to the barber. The spa in which he was part owner kept his dark skin smooth and soft, and the gym kept his muscles firm and abs tight. A marriage shortly after college, just before Malcolm and Victoria wed, had ended in divorce five years ago. Jon doubted he could ever stay faithful, and had vowed to be a bachelor for the rest of his life.

  “How’s your son?” Malcolm asked.

  “Looking more like me every day,” Jon proudly answered.

  The two men continued talking casually, enjoying each other’s company. Malcolm ordered another cognac and Jon had his Seven and Seven refreshed. They’d just finished lamenting the loss of a mutual friend, who’d died in a car accident several months earlier, when Jon stopped midsentence. “Damn,” he said, under his breath. “Who is that?”

  Malcolm followed Jon’s gaze and saw a beautiful, dark-skinned woman with a bodacious body and long, thick locs, accompanied by a distinguished-looking older man. He recognized her instantly. “That’s Alexis St. Clair. She’s an interior decorator, and in case you’re thinking of using a remodel as your line, save it. Toussaint already tried it and it didn’t work.”

  “Maybe Toussaint’s getting rusty.”

  “Hardly. She doesn’t date clients, and right now she’s redoing his house.”

  Jon watched the older man walk away from the table, leaving Alexis alone. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured as he stood, straightened his tie, and walked to his target.

  Malcolm shook his head, smiling at memories of him and Jon in grad school. They’d gotten in more trouble than the law allowed, with many of their young-adult antics known to them alone. It was only now that Malcolm realized how much he’d missed his friend. But they’d grown distant when Jon left Atlanta for Yale Law School and Malcolm became immersed in the family business. I wonder if he still plays golf. Maybe we can hit the holes once a week and stay connected.

  “Malcolm, I thought that was you.” Joyce Witherspoon had noticed Malcolm when she entered the establishment but hadn’t wanted to interrupt the conversation. Now she sidled up to his table with her hand outstretched.

  “Hello,” Malcolm said while rising, his expression revealing his puzzlement. And then, recognition dawned. “Joyce! I almost didn’t recognize you!”

  “May I join you?”

  “Please.” Malcolm moved so that Joyce could sit on his side of the booth. “You look nice. Not that you don’t when you come to the office, or I see you in the catering kitchen but … well …”

  Joyce laughed. “I’ve been told I clean up well. And after wearing conservative suits all day while interacting with my clientele, I like to get girlie after hours.” She especially took care with her appearance when she came to the club, and tonight was no exception. The Christian Dior silk, form-fitting dress that stopped a couple inches above the knee, not to mention her four-inch heels, made Joyce feel feminine and fabulous. The thick, permed hair that was almost always in a conservative bun swung loose and carefree around her shoulders, and the subtle fragrance that brought to mind flower gardens and springtime tickled the noses of those around her. She’d stopped by here on her way home, hoping she’d run into Adam. Even though he’d called her the month before and clarified—yet again—that there was no way he’d have an affair with her, that he very much loved his wife, Joyce was determined and patient. She’d always been attracted to older, successful men, and had carried a torch for Adam Livingston for years. She would most likely never stop hoping they’d get together. But now, here sat Adam’s son, bearing a striking resemblance to his father. She’d always thought Malcolm handsome but had never considered how much he favored his dad. Hmmm, I wonder if he’s faithful to Victoria? While Atlanta had come to be known as the “black gay capital,” there was still a plethora of single, heterosexual men who would love to spend time with Joyce. She was attractive, smart, and her event-planning business already boasted an upscale clientele. But for some reason, the men Joyce found herself attracted to, the ones she felt most successful, most attractive, and most desirable, were also, usually, most married. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here,” she said once the waiter had taken her drink order. “It’s been a while.”

  “I’m sure a wife, four children, and the business keep you pretty busy.”

  Malcolm nodded. Suddenly, he didn’t want to talk about Victoria, the kids, or Taste of Soul. He wanted to talk about a topic he hadn’t paid much attention to lately—himself.

  As if she’d read his mind, Joyce’s next question provided the opportunity to do just that. “How do you know our esteemed councilman?”

  “Jon and I went to school together.”

  “Morehouse, correct?”

  “Yes.” Malcolm shared a little of the good old days, when he was the big man on campus—large and in charge.

  “I have a hard time envisioning you as a happy-go-lucky collegiate. You’re always so serious when I see you, so grounded. You seem to lead the life of someone well established, but you can’t be more than, what, thirty-five, six?”

  “Thirty-four.” Malcolm took a sip of the drink that had remained untouched since the waiter had brought it over. “I guess I did settle down rather quickly. I married young. Victoria and I had our first child two years later and our daughter two years after that.”

  “And you have twins, correct?”

  “Three years old.”

  “Plans for more? You know, you can have eight and get your own reality TV show.”

  “Oh, no,” Malcolm said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Four is more than enough.” And two more than I wanted, he thought. “My baby-making days are over, at least the human kind. I have another baby I’m working on, though.” “Oh, really?” Joyce leaned forward and placed her chin in her palm, giving Malcolm her undivided attention. She’d never talked with him about anything but food and event business, and found him fascinating. “Tell me more.”

  Malcolm was just about to share his secret endeavor with Joyce when Jon came back to the table.

  “Jon Abernathy,” he said, sitting down and extending his hand to Joyce.

  “A pleasure to formally meet you, Councilman. Joyce Witherspoon.”

  “Your face looks familiar. Where have I seen you before?”

  “Any number of places. I’m an event planner and have organized several affairs for the city, including some campaign fund-raising events.”

  “Yes, of course. I knew I’d seen you before.” Joyce reached into her pu
rse and pulled out a card. She’d hoped to learn more about Malcolm but felt that rather than wear out her welcome, now was a good time to take her leave. “Malcolm, I so enjoyed visiting with you. Jon, it was a pleasure to see you again. Please keep me in mind for any social event you need planned, large or small.”

  Malcolm rose and helped Joyce out of the booth. “Take care,” he said, giving her a light kiss on the temple. Her fresh, floral scent was intoxicating, a turn-on, especially for a man who’d gone months without intimacy. Yet, he forced himself not to watch her as she walked away. Rather he turned his attention to his friend.

  “So … how was your fact-finding mission?”

  “Successful, Malcolm. You know how I roll.”

  “Oh, really, a date just like that?”

  Jon had the decency to look sheepish. “Okay, more like an appointment. She just joined the Black Chamber of Commerce. I’m good friends with the president, and can, you know, help her out.”

  “Uh-huh. Who’s that guy she’s with?”

  Jon shrugged as he repeated the name. “She introduced him as a friend. But since I didn’t see a wedding ring, I’d say she’s fair game.” Jon looked over at her again. “Very fair game. She’s even more beautiful up close.”

  Malcolm looked up and met Alexis’s eye. She smiled and waved, and he waved back. “Guess I should go say hello,” he said, easing up from the table. “She turned our family room into my personal paradise and did a bang-up job.”

  Is that so? Jon pondered as he watched her and Malcolm’s easygoing interaction. Well, when I get with you, baby girl, I’ll be banging too.

  11

  Zoe pulled into the fairly crowded Taste of Soul parking lot. It had been a long Monday, and the last thing she felt like doing was cooking dinner. It had been a while since she’d eaten at the restaurant of her employ. She walked into the bar area, which was also where takeout orders were placed. All of the bar seats were taken, as were most of the two-seater tables. Zoe waved at the hostess and spoke to the woman behind the takeout counter, who handed her a menu. Zoe swayed from side to side as the Commodores serenaded her with sweet love, followed by a love ballad from L.T.D. She’d narrowed her choices down to two when someone came up behind her and whispered in her ear.

  “The greens are good, but be careful of the cabbage. … I’m just sayin’.”

  Zoe smiled. “You know you better keep your sauce out my shit,” she whispered in an equally conspiratorial tone. “What you still doing here, girl?”

  Chardonnay waved at one of her regular customers. “Workin’ a double for someone who called in sick.”

  “I’m trying to decide between Marvin’s Mellow Meat Loaf and the Tempting Temptations T-Bone.”

  “The meat loaf, hands down. Chef put his foot in it today, real talk. Plus, that special comes with three sides.”

  “Dang, my mouth is already watering.”

  “I’m getting ready to take my break. So I’ll go ahead and put in the order with Chef, tell him to hold it for ten, and then you can join me in the parking lot for a cigarette.”

  “Bet. Hook me up with the greens, fried potato salad, and, of course, the mac and cheese. Oh, and add a slice of that sweet potato pie.”

  A couple minutes later, Zoe and Chardonnay sat in Zoe’s Toyota Camry, puffing on Newports. “It’s hot as Hades out here!”

  “Yeah, they say this is going to be the hottest August Atlanta has seen in a long time.”

  “Sure feels like it.” Zoe took a drag from her borrowed cigarette. Her New Year’s resolution had been to quit smoking, but so far she’d only managed to quit buying her own. “Shyla been back?”

  “Naw, that skank ain’t been back in here. But this fine brother walked up in here today. His name’s Q. He’s a personal trainer and also owns a gym.”

  “What, you’re getting ready to start exercising?”

  “Yes, but probably not in the way you mean.”

  “Ha! You’re a mess, girl.”

  “Uh-huh. Toussaint’s been back, too, with another heifah on his arm.”

  “That boy has a woman for every day of the week.”

  “Shit, I wouldn’t mind a day of the week with his fine ass.” Chardonnay took a long pull off her Newport, followed by a swig of cola.” But you were probably right with what you said. Brothah like him would never look twice at a chick like me.”

  “C’mon now, I didn’t mean that in a bad way. I was just saying—”

  “You don’t have to explain that shit,” Chardonnay interrupted. “I know I’m not high black society, model material, rich or whatever. I know I’m a single mother with two bad-ass kids by two different fathers. But my pussy is still tight, and I can rival a video vixen when it comes to giving head. So don’t count me out. ‘Cause no matter what circle you travel in, an expert blow job is clout all day long.”

  “You’re good peeps, Chardonnay. And one of these days a brothah’s gonna see that.”

  At that precise moment, the back door to the restaurant opened and Bobby strolled out. He looked rugged and work-ready in a cool white top and loose jeans.

  “Aw, hell,” Chardonnay said. “Here comes trouble.”

  Zoe watched as Bobby approached. She took in his plain facial features while noting his tight, albeit thin, body and the muscles evident through his sleeveless white tee. There’s something about him …

  “What’s up, ladies?” Bobby said once he’d reached the car and Zoe had rolled down the window on Chardonnay’s side. “Tobacco all y’all smokin’?”

  “What else would I be smoking with three more hours on my shift?” Chardonnay shot back. “You one ignorant-ass mutha—”

  “What’s that tattoo on your arm?” Zoe interrupted, overriding Chardonnay’s insult.

  “Aw, that’s in memory of my moms. She loved flowers, roses especially. When she died a few years ago, I got this rose,” he said, turning to show off the tattoo more effectively, “with the sun in the background on account of how she was the sunshine of my life. And then the cross running through it is because she was a religious woman. I ain’t followed in her footsteps on that right there, but I think her prayers are still keeping a brothah protected, you know?”

  “That’s beautiful, Bobby,” Zoe said sincerely.

  Chardonnay stared straight ahead as Bobby walked over to her side of the car. She finished her cigarette and squashed it in the ashtray. “Your order’s probably up,” she said to Zoe. “And so is my break. Move, Bobby!”

  “Damn, baby girl, you’re so hot! I like that shit right there—bodacious!” Bobby’s smile was lopsided as he opened Chardonnay’s door and stepped aside.

  “Bye, Zoe,” Chardonnay said as she stepped out of the car. She brushed past Bobby and hurried into the restaurant.

  Zoe waved to Bobby before going around to the front of the restaurant and picking up her special—Marvin’s Mellow Meat Loaf with sides. She smiled when she checked her order and noted that Chardonnay had exchanged her collard greens for smothered cabbage. “Whatever, wench,” she said, laughing out loud. She loved each green equally and was confident that the only seasonings in this serving were from the chef’s pantry, not Chardonnay’s panties.

  It wasn’t until she was almost home, with visions of meat loaf dancing in her head, that she remembered what she’d forgotten to ask her friend. What she meant to find out from Chardonnay the next time she saw her. What was up with her and Bobby? Had he told the truth? Had Chardonnay really been on Bobby’s Candid Cell Camera, thus enabling him to blackmail her for a “taste” of her goodies? Or had she just been punked?

  12

  The house was quiet. Candace browsed through the materials for the upcoming Jack and Jill conference while Adam flipped through a Forbes magazine. The chef had cleaned the kitchen and gone home for the night, his dinner of filet of sole with braised vegetables and saffron rice a pleasant memory. A bowl of fresh, cut fruit chilled in the refrigerator, along with a bottle of sparkling white wine. Candace had
turned down Adam’s initial offer for a glass of bubbly but now thought it might be just what she needed. She had a lot on her mind.

  “I think I’ll have that glass of wine now,” she said, rising. “And some fruit. You want some?”

  Adam eyed her suggestively. “I sure do.”

  Candace laughed, even as thoughts of greed and indulgence interfered with her husband’s flirtations. She’d been with the same man for three decades, enjoying two wonderful boys and a fairly stable family life. Adam had given her the world, without her even asking. “You’re too good to me, you know that?” she whispered, walking toward him.

  “Is that so? You’re too good to me, too—looking good, that is. Those workouts are agreeing with you.”

  Candace twirled around, her soft cotton housecoat flowing around her. “Ooh, can you tell?”

  “I’d better be able to tell something. You’re working out now, what, three days a week?”

  “Yes, if you don’t include my Pilates class.”

  “Just remember, I like a woman with some meat on her bones and some junk in the trunk.”

  “I’ll remember.”

  Just then a memory flashed in Adam’s mind—the naked picture Joyce had sent him months ago, before the conversation in which he warned her to not call him again. He deleted the mental image quickly, just as he’d done from his computer. He was glad to be rid of her; he had all he needed right here.

  Candace leaned down, placing a tender kiss on Adam’s lips. “Wine or cognac?”

  “I’ll lay off the heavy stuff tonight and share the wine with you.”

  Moments later, Candace joined Adam on the couch. He put down the magazine and, once Candace had reclined beside him, reached over and began to massage her feet.

  Candace closed her eyes, focused on her husband’s ministrations. It’s these little things …

  “Can.”

  “Hum?”

  “What’s on your mind, baby?”

  Candace’s eyes opened slowly. “Nothing, Adam. Why do you ask?”

  “Girl, don’t even try it. I’ve loved you over half my life and know you probably better than I know myself. Now, talk to me, baby. What’s wrong?”