Between Brothers

by C. Kelly Robinson

  As the little man, who reminded Sheryl of Miles Davis without the curl, approached the chair, she rose and extended her hand to him. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Spears. I’ve heard some very exciting things about your financial management skills. I’m hoping you can help Rolly and me stabilize our organization’s financial base.”

  From behind his wire-rimmed glasses, Spears’s eyes twinkled. “Ms. Gibson, you are even more attractive than Rolly described. I, too, am excited about helping such a valuable treasure of the community take advantage of some good investment opportunities.” Flashing a smile at Orange, who seemed a little annoyed at the reference to Sheryl’s appearance, Spears pressed ahead with his introductory spiel. “Ms. Gibson, if you’ve had a chance to review some of my brochures, you already know that I have a well-established track record of helping unconventional investors, such as churches, nonprofit organizations, and educational institutions, solidify their financial security through the use of derivatives and related instruments.”

  “Before you give me the dog-and-pony show, Mr. Spears, I need to get clear on a few points.” Sheryl’s interruption surprised the two men. Spears clearly had not expected Sheryl to question him so actively. “Mr. Spears, do you have all of the necessary credentials to engage in securities transactions? What type of training and certification do you have?”

  Spears smacked his lips lightly before answering, an almost hurt look on his face. “Why, my good woman, I am a licensed certified public accountant, a chartered financial analyst, and I have an MBA from UDC. I have laminated copies of all my certificates and degrees, if you must see them.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Spears. I just have to ask about these things. I need to be sure that you can put our money to work legally so that when our next audit comes up, we don’t get slammed. I hope you can understand that after years of having a solid, governmentprovided financial base, I still get a little queasy at the thought of risking my money in the stock market.”

  Spears’s southern accent emerged as he adopted a patronizing tone. “Ms. Gibson, I understand completely. We as a people have been conditioned to think like my own parents, who kept all of their savings under a bed mattress; we think that risk is a bad thing, when the upper classes prosper every day because they know that to make money you have to risk money. It’s the only way to get a real return. I’m here, Sheryl, to help you and Rolly turn the recent private contributions you’ve received into a sum large enough to pay off all your debts and get your creditors off your back.”

  Sheryl smiled. The odd little man appeared as if he had stepped out of a time capsule planted in the seventies. He seemed pleasant enough, but this was not how she had expected Orange’s financial guru to look.

  Shifting his weight in his chair, Orange turned toward Spears. “Tracy, why don’t you brief Sheryl on the nature of the investments you would utilize?”

  “Well, we would use the contributions you’ve received so far—I believe Rolly says something in the range of ninety thousand dollars—to purchase a portfolio of stock-index futures and fixed-income security futures. In short, Sheryl, a futures contract is a firm legal commitment between a buyer and a seller, wherein they agree to exchange something at a specified price, at the end of a designated period. So, in our case, we will set up contracts agreeing to buy or sell shares whose values are tied either to one of the major stock indices or to a group of fixed-income securities, such as Treasury bills or corporate bonds. In short, we will be speculating as to what we believe the market will do, and propose our buy or sell prices accordingly. Given Ellis Center’s immediate cash needs, we will do short-term contracts so that we can see returns in ninety to one hundred and twenty days.” He continued to wax eloquent on the complexities of futures and options investing, thoroughly confusing Orange, himself a Highland MBA, in the process.

  Sheryl, who had no business training, hung tough with the little man. She peppered him with questions that simplified his message and helped her get a handle on his schemes. Orange admired the way Sheryl could dig into something so far outside of her expertise, especially when she could have easily let him handle this issue. But that would not have been Sheryl Gibson’s style.

  Forty minutes later Sheryl rose from her seat and extended a hand to Spears. “Well, Tracy, you’ve certainly given this old gal a mental workout, but I appreciate your patience. I’d be lying to say I’m not still scared, but when you’re in dire straits like we are, I guess there’s no way to go but up. I’d like you to speak with our board at our meeting this Saturday, so we can get approval to invest our funds with you.”

  Spears flashed a wide grin. “That will be my pleasure, ma’am. I see I’m running late for an appointment. If you don’t mind, I will see myself out. Rolly, thanks again. We’ll be in touch.”

  As Spears turned and sped out the door, his flimsy suit flapping loudly behind him, Sheryl sighed and crossed her arms. Orange noted that his old friend was not looking her best these days. He wished again that his own survival did not depend on her failure.

  They had known each other since high school, when he escorted her older sister to the local debutante ball. He had been more interested in Sheryl than her sister, but being a few years ahead of her, he’d assumed he had no chance. Regardless, their friendship had lasted through the years, and Sheryl had hired him when no one else would. Maybe he should warn her of the coming trouble. The Highland students were being picked apart one by one; it would just be a matter of time before their contributions would cease and they would resign the board. Then all the money could be placed in the reliable hands of Spears, who would eventually funnel it to Nico Lane. From there it would be easy for Spears to weave a web of lies about the downside risk of derivatives, explaining how the market had eaten up all of the contributions. Embarrassed, and unable to refute Spears’s complicated claims, Sheryl would have no choice but to resign in disgrace, sealing Ellis’s fate.

  Who would prop the center up when the last symbol of its vitality walked out the door? Nico Lane would finally have what he wanted, a neighborhood free from the distractions of the Ellis Center; Buzz Eldridge would have land for his Develcorp Living Complex; and Rolly would have his life spared, along with enough money to move out of the country and still send money to his ex-wife and children. But maybe he could warn Sheryl to get out now, while her dignity was still intact. Maybe . . .

  They were interrupted suddenly by a violent knock at the door. Accustomed to such savagery, Sheryl yelled, “Hello! I’m in here!” It had to be the latest uncouth parent, trying to start some trouble.

  The door swung open to reveal a tall, gaunt young man with an unkempt head of kinky burrs. “You Ms. Gibson?” The sharp stench of fresh alcohol sprang from his person as he approached Sheryl and Orange.

  Noting the young man’s menacing tone, Orange placed his bulk between the stranger and Sheryl. “How may we help you, sir?”

  “You ain’t got to block me off like that. I got sent up here by the secretary. My little girl, Misha Starr, is enrolled in your grade-school program. I came to get her out early, ’cause weeknights is the only time I get to see her. The secretary come callin’ herself stopping me from takin’ my own child out of here, saying I gotta come through you first.”

  Her irritation level rising, Sheryl forced a calm smile across her face. “Oh, I’m sure she didn’t state it that way. You sound like you’re threatening me, young man.” She eased around her desk and came to stand beside Orange, looking the impatient man in the face. She hadn’t forgotten Jerome Johnson from the days when she’d kicked him out of the center’s ninth-grade program. “Now you need to understand something. Your little girl Misha does nothing but benefit from her time here. If I recall, she’s showing a lot of promise as an artist, doing some beautiful drawings and paintings. That may be her ticket out of this neighborhood someday. The fact, Jerome, is that you have no custody rights over that child. You apparently chose not to acknowledge paternity when she was b
orn, and all of her mother’s legal paperwork indicates that a blood test would have to be documented to prove your paternal rights. Have you visited a hospital lately?”

  His face contorted in rage, Jerome spat out his response. “Look, woman, you don’t know nothin’ about me and my family. Just ’cause I wasn’t around at one point don’t mean I cain’t look after my daughter now. Her mother lets me spend time with her. That should be proof o’ somethin’.”

  Sheryl stepped closer to Jerome, a stern but motherly look in her eyes. “That is very admirable of her, Jerome. Hopefully you can reciprocate by getting a blood test and taking on some of the financial responsibilities of fatherhood. You do that, and get some legal rights, and you can come complain about Misha’s participation in the program. In the meantime, she stays here, and if you show up here again, I call the police. Are we clear?”

  “Whatevah.” A look of angry defeat in his eyes, Jerome turned on his heels and blazed a trail out of the office.

  “Sure would be nice to be able to afford some security guards for that front desk again,” Sheryl said to Rolly, a laugh offsetting the sincerity of her remark. Chuckling lightly, Orange wondered why he was feeling hungry so early in the morning. Finally, as he turned to leave his friend’s office, he admitted to himself what the sensations in his stomach really were: pangs of conscience.

  CHAPTER 23

  . . . . . . . . . . . .

  THE PRESSURE

  D.C. rush-hour traffic was as relentless as always. Brandon, still not able to compete with the thoughtless antics of most D.C. drivers, clamped his teeth tight as a gray minivan cut off his attempt to get into the far left lane of Thirteenth Street. They were nearing the heart of downtown, and he had to get this next left in order to drop Terence at the Technotronics office on time. He had offered T a ride so they could catch up on the events of the past couple of days, but he was starting to regret it. He was in danger of being late for his zoology final, and he had to pick up his graduation cap and gown before lunchtime. He was nearing the finishing line of days like these, at least at Highland, but he still had to get through these final ones.

  “Dang, I don’t believe these folk ain’t trying to let me in.” Hearing the blaring horns of the cars behind him, Brandon steeled his nerves, keeping his Altima in its inconvenient position as he waited for one of the speeding cars in the left lane to let him over.

  “Bro, you gonna just have to take that,” Terence prompted him. “You know these folk ain’t worried about anyone but themselves, ’specially at this hour.” Seeing that Brandon was in no hurry to put his Altima in harm’s way, Terence tried to get a nearby driver’s attention. “Yo, bro!” he yelled at the top of his lungs at the conservatively dressed, middle-aged black man in the black Cadillac to Brandon’s left. Obviously annoyed at Terence’s nerve, the driver made brief eye contact with the two, then began to look away.

  Terence was on the case. “Hey, help a brother out, let us in, okay? Didn’t you go to the Million Man March, brother?”

  A look of irritation on his face, the man reluctantly gestured them over. As Brandon waved in gratitude and hopped into the coveted lane, Terence laughed to himself. “There, that wasn’t so painful now, was it?”

  Cruising through the intersection, Brandon shook his head wearily. “Hey, look, I’m not like Larry, I haven’t had my car here since freshman year. This was my first year adjusting to D.C. driving. I know Chicago’s notorious for its drivers, but a brother like me spent more time drivin’ through the burbs than the downtown Loop, so dealin’ with this stuff’s not exactly second nature.” Checking his watch, Brandon decided he had exaggerated his risk of being late for the final. “Hey, I’ll have a few minutes before I need to leave for campus. You want to get a bite of breakfast at that cafeteria in the lobby of your building?”

  As they sat down to devour their food a few minutes later, Terence returned to one of their earlier topics. “So, I hear Larry got some valuable info out of Sheila Evans last night.”

  “Apparently so. He briefed O. J. and me last night when he got back, then he went out to scheme some more with Mark and Janis. They’re going to try to track down proof that Rolly Orange conspired with Winburn and crew to plant those allegations of Kwame’s. They’ve already given Sheila copies of the investment-account statements, as well as a statement from Sheryl that no money has been paid to Larry or any of us. That should neutralize this as a campaign issue, but who knows what it means regarding Ellis’s future. If we can’t pin down what’s going on soon, the center’s days could be numbered.”

  Terence crunched a brittle piece of bacon between his teeth. “I just wish there was something more I could do. Man, I don’t know about you, but I feel so out of touch. My time has been so tight lately. It’s obvious something’s going on, but how do we help clear it up?”

  Touching his fingers to his chin, Brandon pondered the question. “Probably the healthiest thing we can do is continue to watch Orange, especially when we discuss the budget and the investment of the contributions at the board meeting Saturday. Other than that, it’s probably best to leave the investigative work to Larry and Sheila.”

  “Larry and Sheila? Who ever would have thought we’d hear those two names together?”

  Rising to the bait, Brandon set his fork aside. “Uh, what exactly are you speakin’ about, bro?”

  Terence let a sheepish smile slip out. “Oh, I don’t know. Let’s just say I always suspected the strong emotions between those two had a root beneath the waistline.”

  Brandon frowned. “Oh, Terence. Come on now, I know I’m not exactly in the loop where sexual matters are concerned, but I’ve never picked up on any chemistry between those two. Shoot, just look at ’em.”

  Terence shot a self-righteous look at his friend. “What you mean, man? You mean you think your own boy is so shallow he wouldn’t be attracted to Sheila, just ’cause she’s not a redbone?”

  “Look, this is no attack on Larry. I know he judges women by more than their looks, but you can look at his past dates and see a pattern. He’s not the only one. I’ve got certain minimum looks standards myself, even though complexion and hair length aren’t included. But I’ve turned away more than my share of girls who didn’t measure up on one attribute or another—”

  “See, see, that’s your problem.” Terence playfully wagged a finger at Brandon. “All that lampooning you do of the black male shortage? Well, there may not be a shortage for the women who look like Ashley, Monica, or Lisa, but for those who have a few too many pounds, not quite enough hair, who are too tall or too short, or who don’t look like Whitney Houston or Vanessa Williams, life is rough.”

  “You ain’t tellin’ me nothing new, T. But I don’t believe in settling. Shoot, why would I of all people settle? You think I’ve kept Brandon junior under wraps all these years so I can marry a woman I’m not physically attracted to? Guess again, Genius. There’s somebody for everyone. Just ’cause I don’t find a given girl attractive doesn’t mean another guy won’t.”

  Terence leaned back and patted his gut. “Hey, all I’m saying is, those of us having a hard time findin’ a good woman might think about lowering some of our less important standards. Some black women seem to have figured that much out.”

  Brandon frowned. “You know what I’ve figured out? There’s no guarantees when it comes to dating. You can have everything women say they want on paper, and get zero play in real life. And I suppose the same goes for some sisters. But it’s an individual problem, you know what I’m sayin’?” He used his fork to pick at the pool of runny eggs on his plate. “What about your search for a good woman, T? You think Lisa’s gonna act right this time?”

  Terence’s eyes dropped to his plate. “You wanna know the truth? I don’t know. All I know is that I love her, man. I have since the day we first met, and I probably will until the day I die. I decided a while ago I could either try to live in denial of the truth, or accept it, and take the journey with her as it comes.�
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  “So what happens if she winds up marrying someone else?” Brandon knew he was in danger of running late, but he rarely took the opportunity to probe his friend’s confusing relationship. “You’d just keep carryin’ that torch?”

  “I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. My life would go on, don’t get me wrong. But, yeah, if she married someone else, that might cut that tie for good. I mean, as it stands now, Lisa is the only person other than my granny who’s always been there for me. You can’t relate to that, Brandon, and you shouldn’t feel guilty about it. But those are the facts. My father didn’t raise me and serve as a role model like yours; he never bothered to come around until he was sentenced to life in prison, and what good could he do me then? And my mother, well, you know she didn’t teach me life’s lessons or live an example for me, like your moms. She flipped out a few years after Aaron was born, dumped us off on Granny, and split town to work the streets. I’ve spent my whole life wondering what I did to run them off, Brandon.” Brandon sat in uneasy silence across from Terence, watching him play with his fork. “Lisa always comes back. She may need time off from me. Hell, why should she be different from anyone else, right? But she always comes back. That’s why I put up with her. Maybe it ain’t love, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

  Brandon took his last bite of oatmeal and began to clear his place. “Well, T, being romantically impaired as I am, I respectfully decline to pass judgment on you and Lisa. Hopefully things will work out this time. I just want you to demand the best for yourself, the way you already do in school and on the job. But hey, what do I know, I’m about to go on another date with a sister who can hardly relate to my most deeply held sexual principles. I guess that makes me a hypocrite just like the rest of the Christians you lampoon, huh?”