The mention of the police sobered Ilene and she calmed herself for the sake of escaping certain jail time.
“You know what officer, you don’t have to worry. I was just leaving before this maniac attacked me. If you don’t mind, could you please keep her at bay until I make it to my Mercedes.” Ilene stressed the last word of her statement.
The woman lunged at Ilene as she attempted to leave again. Ilene laughed and looked back at the enraged woman being held back by one of the security guards. The other guard was escorting Ilene to the parking lot. She couldn’t resist the urge to taunt her new enemy.
“Make sure you keep that bitch on leash, she looks like she’s in heat and could fuck anything not tied down.”
Incensed, the woman then spat at Ilene.
“You’re the whore. You fucked my husband and then begged for money. You dirty little slut. Check her bags, she’s a fucking thief! Why don’t you take you wrinkled ass on the strip where some other fool might pay you for that tired shit. You better stay the fuck away from my husband or I swear I will kill your ass!”
As the guard prepared to check her bags, Ilene then remembered where she saw the woman. She was standing next to Paul Cummings when he was at a ribbon cutting ceremony for a community center in his ward. She was …his wife? Paul told her that the woman standing next to him was his daughter. The irony of the situation choked her, but Ilene refused to show arack in her cool armor. She snatched her bag away from the officers and walked towards the woman, where she launched her final assault to Mrs. Cummings.
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me messing with your husband, he was a horrible screw. But then judging from the looks of you, I can see why he would want a break from your psycho ass. Oh, and by the way…how do I taste?”
Ilene’s comments sent Mrs. Cummings into a fitful rage. She then broke loose and sprinted towards Ilene. After tackling her to the ground, she released several blows to Ilene’s face. She managed a fistful of Ilene’s hair as he held her in a headlock and attempted to tear the hair out of her head. Ilene screamed in horror.
The two security guards rushed to Ilene’s aid and began to restrain the woman by putting her hands behind her back. She clenched her fists around Ilene’s extracted hair as if it were the trophy that she treasured. Ilene spat in her face and backed away cautiously. The security guards commanded Ilene to leave the premises immediately or she would be prosecuted for trespassing.
Ilene enjoyed a jittery, but menacing laugh as she walked away. She overheard the guards telling a distraught Mrs. Cummings that they needed to hold in her their facility until she signed an agreement that banned her from the establishment. She would then need to have someone witness the signing that would be a guardian for the agreement. Ilene chuckled and yelled as she walked out of the clear mall doors.
“Don’t worry. I’ll call your husband for you.”
Ilene left the mall smiling, though her face ached uncontrollably. She called Paul Cummings as soon as she could find her cellular phone. His answering machine picked up. She decided to leave a message.
“Paul, it’s me, you know, your fairy godmother. Looks like your bitch, also known as your wife, had a few choice words today. Really Paul, what strip club did you get her from? But then again, we know how you love slumming. Don’t we? I think you had better tell her to steer clear of me before she finds out more than she wanted to know. I have to say, I am disappointed, even for you. You really must hire better help to sleep with. I trust that my money will be where it needs to be by the end of the day before I make things difficult for you. I AM NOT BULLSHITTING. You don’t want to fuck with me. I have given you enough chances. Have a great day.” Beep. That ended Ilene’s message.
She started her car and drove off hoping that Paul would take her threat as seriously as she meant it.
When Ilene arrived home, she found Charles sitting at the granite and mahogany island in their kitchen. She often found him sitting there reading the newspaper or grading term papers.
She was nursing a massive migraine as a result of her altercation with Mrs. Cummings. Things had returned to relative normalcy in their household, barring the occasional spats over Ilene’s exorbitant taste regarding the fiftieth birthday bash that was in planning. The event had ballooned to a $50,000 budget though Ilene originally insisted that she was going to host an intimate gathering of a few of her dearest friends.
Charles knew better than to challenge Ilene’s spending too much. He picked his battles carefully. Ilene approached him with a smile that resembled the one she plastered on when she saw friends she purposely lost touch with.
“Hey Chuck, what’s up? How was your day?” A customary peck on the cheek followed.
He leaned in and responded with the same jubilance.
“Oh, I can’t complain. I did a little yard work. Then I went down to the hall to meet with the banquet manager at the Ritz Carlton. Do you know she wants to give out bottles of Moet as departing favors for your guests? Moet! I told her to forget it. Who the hell does she think we are, the Trumps?” Charles chuckled incredulously and shook his head in disbelief.
Ilene frowned in disgust. Her head was now throbbing immensely.
“Why did you ell her that? That’s a fabulous idea. None of my friends have done that before. That would have been…classic.” Ilene’s mind began to drift into visions of grandeur.
Charles’ grumbling jolted her into reality.
“Have you lost your ever loving mind woman? I am sinking into debt to finance this mess in the first place. Why the hell are you always trying to compete with your friends anyway? I let you go overboard with this. This is not a damned wedding. It’s a freaking birthday party for God’s sake.”
Ilene’s face grew flush with irritation and exhaustion.
“You know what? This is getting so old. We have the money, why not spend it? You only turn fifty once. Why not enjoy it? You’re acting like we’re poor or something.”
Charles’ eyes stretched in disbelief.
“News flash Ilene. We ‘aint exactly living it up. Have you forgotten the bills for your constant botox injections and the lipo you had to have? Or maybe the tummy tuck slipped your damned mind? Oh yeah, you must have lost recollection of your little shopping trips that blew our credit card bills to hell.” Charles threw his hands in the air in frustration.
Ilene bit her bottom lip regretting that Charles was ignorant to the fact that her “inheritance” money funded most of the party. She decided that she was not in the mood to have another battle with him. She would simply call the banquet manager and okay the Moet when Charles left for his poker game down the street. Opting to earn a few brownie points, Ilene digressed.
“Chuck, you’re right. This is just a party and I don’t want to upset you. This is supposed to be a happy occasion, right? So, let me make it up to you. What do you want for dinner tonight?” Ilene asked in an attempt to calm and distract her irate husband.
Charles’ doubtful grimace let Ilene know that she would have to try harder to win his affection.
“Nothing, I already ate. I had lunch with a few of my former students to see what they were up to.”
Ilene feigned interest in Charles’ students, assured that he would enjoy talking about their worldly contributions to society and their wide eyed dreams of black nationalism. Charles began raving about one of his students named Regina and how she was blazing a trail in SWATS, South West Atlanta, an area where drug abuse and poverty once went hand and hand. The area was slowly regaining its stature among Atlanta’s desirable neighborhoods.
Ilene struggled to appear interested as Charles spoke of building Habitat for Humanity houses and a new job skills center. Charles was overjoyed. Ilene was bored.
“I think I am going to start volunteering on Saturdays. They could use the help and Regina would try to take it on by herself if she could. She was always such a dedicated student…”
Ilene was at her wit’s end. It was growing harder a
nd harder for her to pretend to be interested in her husband and his causes. She would make a gallant effort nonetheless.
“You should invite her to the party. I would love to meet her. It’s so hard to find people who care about the less fortunate. That’s why I donate all of my out of season clothes to the House of Ruth for battered women.” Ilene proudly asserted.
Charles instantly felt nauseated by Ilene’s trite contribution to society as a whole. It was another reminder of how different they were. He was about to explain to her the importance of giving wholeheartedly and anonymously when the phone rang.
Ilene anticipated the pending lecture and sprang up to answer the phone.
“Hello.” Ilene answered cheerfully.
“Hey ma, what’s up?” Marc’s voice boomed through the phone.
“Hello my baby, it’s so nice to finally talk to you.” Ilene radiated love every time she spoke with her son.
“Sorry we haven’t talked, I have been so busy with work and things. You’re still my favorite girl, though.” Ilene blushed like she was in high school talking to the object of her crush. Her son always made her feel like she was flawless.
“I better be, I didn’t go through eighteen and a half hours of labor for nothing.”
Marc smiled remembering that his father had secretly revealed to him that his mother was not actually in labor for longer than an hour and a half without strong anesthesia that dulled her labor pains.
“So, you’re ready for your big party? I heard the Queen of England didn’t even get invited. I hope I made the list.”
“Don’t be ridiculous child. In fact, when are you getting here? I wanted you, me and your father to take some photographs by this fabulous photographer friend I have.”
“Oh yeah, I am going to get in on Wednesday. I wanted to meet with a few people about some business prospects, and I want to take you guys out to dinner on Thursday night. I know you will be getting ready for the party on Friday, so I figured Thursday was the safest bet.”
“You’re taking us out to dinner? What’s going on? You’re not going to tell us that you’re gay are you? Let me know now so I can start grieving…”
“Ma, relax. It’s nothing like that. I just wanted to spend some time with you guys, you know catch up on things.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll make reservations at Bonefish. You love it there. It’s a little bit too trendy and yuppie for me, but hey, I can be hip. I love their artwork. You know you should really look into investing into one of these restaurants that they are building on the west end of Atlanta. It’s becoming really trendy and you know I have a few contacts…”
“I think I got everything under control ma, thanks. Is dad around?”
Ilene ignored Marc’s question.
“So, how are things going with that Rachel girl? Is she still modeling? Her parents owned the nicest bed and breakfast at Martha’s Vineyard. It’s so understated and beautiful. Your dad and I vacationed in Martha Vineyard years ago. It’s a little bit too ‘new money’ for my taste. Honey, you should go sometime. The salty air is good for your skin. Are you taking care of your skin? You know how fair your skin is and you really need to exfoliate regularly. I am going to make an appointment for you with the aesthetician at the Nseya Spa in midtown.”
“Fine, whatever ma. But can I talk to dad please?” Ilene resented Marc’s closeness to his father.
“Sure, I just thought that you maybe had more than two words for your mother that carried your for nine months. But here’s your dad.” Ilene reluctantly passed the phone to Charles as she rolled her eyes and walked away.
Charles smiled triumphantly at his son’s slight of queen Ilene. Charles immediately chuckled when he started talking to his son.
“Boy, you’re a mess. What’s going on with you youngster?” Charles’ enthusiasm irritated Ilene who pretended to be in the next room not listening.
The two men enjoyed a playful conversation that seemed to lack the frigid structure that Ilene and Marc shared.
Ilene used the opportunity to call the banquet manager. She knew that Charles would be far too distracted to detect her conversation. She overrode Charles’ decision and gave the okay for the Moet. She also added a caviar bar and chocolate fountain for the cocktail hour.
As Ilene pressed “END” for her call, she noticed that she had an incoming call. The number was blocked and Ilene hesitated before she pressed “TALK”. She thought that it might have been Paul calling after receiving her message and could not resist the urge to gloat. She allowed her finger to press the button and listened before she said hello. The person did not allow her the time to offer her salutation before the voice commanded her to look outside and quickly hung up.
Fear gripped Ilene as she walked slowly towards the front door. She looked back to see if Charles was watching her. She found that he was far too engrossed in what seemed to be a secretive relationship with their son to notice her actions. As she approached the front of the house, Ilene grabbed the iron fire prod from the fireplace. She swung the door open and looked around frantically to see what was going on. She found nothing. She hurried over to her car to see if there had been any damage done to it. Nothing. She instinctively looked in the mailbox and found nothing. With each moment, Ilene became more aggravated. Annoyed by someone toying with her at her place of residence, Ilene prepared to launch her phone onto the cemented circular driveway.
Just as she was about to toss the phone, it rang again. Again the number was blocked. This time Ilene would not allow someone else to control the conversation. She pressed “TALK” and began to spew insults and curses to her would be assailant. When she finally stopped her rant, the voice emerged again. “Now that you have acted like the raving little bitch that you are, I just want you to turn around and take a look behind you. You haven’t done a lot of that in your life. It’s time for you to see the mess that you leave behind.” The phone hung up again.
The caller sounded like Paul Cummings, but Ilene reasoned that he sounded too relaxed and not at all unnerved by her threats.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Ilene asked to no one.
She turned around in just enough time to see Charles walking towards the French doors that led to the backyard. He seemed to be drawn by something that was in the middle of the deck. Ilene rushed behind him to see what he was seeing. She noticed the cordless phone lying on the island in the kitchen. As the two grew closer to the door, Ilene nearly lost her breath as she felt a wave of heat coming from outside. The wooden veranda connected to their house was set afire and quickly spreading to the back of the house.
“Oh my God!” was all Ilene heard from Chuck as he rushed to grab the garden hose to attempt to extinguish the fire.
Ilene was shocked and frozen in her tracks. “When you play with fire, you get burned.” Ilene recalled the ominous words that she heard from the stranger in St. Lucia.
Charles looked up in annoyance at Ilene’s frozen stance and commanded that she call the fire department. Ilene backed away slowly and grabbed the phone on the counter. Without thinking, she dialed 911 and told them that the veranda was on fire and gave her address. Her cell phone rang just as she pressed “END” on the cordless phone. The number was blocked but she knew who it was and snatched the phone from her pocket where it rested.
Ilene had enough of the games and decided that she was going to even the score. She calmed herself and answered the phone.
“Hello”. Ilene answered calmly.
The male voice answered. “Everything okay Ilene?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t it be?”
“Oh, I don’t know, if my house were on fire I might be a little, I don’t know, vexed.”
Ilene’s lips tightened involuntarily.
“Not at all. We have insurance. I don’t sweat dumb little things or people. Though, I have to say, you should have been more careful about who you pick fights with. You just started a shit storm for yourself.”
The voi
ce responded with a deep throated laugh.
“A fight? Nah, that’s too clean. What we have here is an all out war and you’re on the loosing end.”
“I guess we will soon see, wont we?”
More cynical laughter.
“I can’t wait. See you at the party.” The phone clicked and the call was disconnected.
Ilene felt panicked and angered at the same time. She was forced to face reality when heard Chuck scream out.
The wind shifted causing one of the flames to graze his face. He was bent over in pain by the time that Ilene reached him. Her guilt was compounded by the fact that she spent time on the phone that she could have been helping to control the fire that now threatened her house.
“Did you call the fire department?”
“Yes, of course I did. They should be here any minute. Let’s get away from this until they get here. Theycan handle it. The wind keeps shifting and it’s dangerous.” Chuck acquiesced reluctantly and they both came around to the front of the house to await the fire department.
Within seven minutes, they heard the sirens nearing their gated community and were surrounded by neighbors who congregated in small groups rapidly exchanging whispers and their theories about the mysterious fire. No one offered buckets of water or hoses.
“Bigots…they probably set it. The south will never change.” Charles hissed as he mentally processed the moment.
Ilene rolled her eyes as she understood that Charles’ militant mind was hard at work.
The engine roared up to their house and men jumped off before it came to a full stop. Ilene gasped as the firemen pushed her aside and asked who the owner of the house was as they quizzed the mass of all white on lookers.
Charles emerged from the interior of the house where he went to close off the windows to prevent the fire from leaping into the interior. Clearly shaken and annoyed at the racist implication of the chief fireman, he raised his hand and approached him. The southern drawl of lower class whisky drinking white trash greeted him with contempt.
“This YOUR place?” The words seemed to pain him as a spittle of white foam formed at the corner of his mouth. Clearly a sign of alcohol abuse, Charles reasoned to himself. Charles forced himself to be decent in front of Ilene, and more importantly, a mob of white onlookers waiting to see if he would evolve into the proverbial angry black man of their preconception.
A Price to Pay for Everything Page 16