“Pam, tomorrow morning, I want to meet with you, there at your work.” I would have preferred tonight but I want to try to track Yolanda down before she’d disappeared.
Concern filled her voice. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. No one will be there to question.”
“I don’t want to question anyone. I want to take a look inside her cubicle.”
“Okay. I know the guard who works there on weekends. He won’t give us any trouble.”
“Perfect. We’ll meet at around eight in the morning, have something to eat to get our heads straight and then we’ll make a beeline for your office.”
For the first time since she answered the phone, I heard some of Pam’s old zeal. “Sounds like a plan.”
After the phone call I searched the house for God knows what. She might have left a note or some type of clue inside. She must have come directly from work, to have removed all her stuff before I got home. Pam said, their fight was around eleven, it takes about twenty minutes to drive from the University to my place.
She had nearly five hours to take whatever she wanted. I hadn’t even made it inside when she stormed out of the house onto the porch. She had a gym bag. When I tried to kiss her, she shoved me aside, ran down the stairs to her car. On the sidewalk, she whirled around so quickly she appeared as a blur. I stood there dumbstruck until she’d marched back on the porch, thinking she would explain. What I got was a savage slap to the face and no answers.
I moved about the house in a state of bewilderment, scarcely aware that I was in the living room when I stepped on something that crunched. There were more crunches from shattered glass with the shifting of my foot. A picture torn in two lay with its back facing up. I don’t know why I was compelled to pick up the torn picture. Perhaps it was the same unknown force that wouldn’t let me put the engagement ring back into my pocket. Or maybe I was just a gluten for punishment.I flipped the torn photograph around. It was the one taken on our first vacation together. We were outside the CN Tower in Toronto. A sidewalk photographer took it while we were sharing cotton candy. She and I had sticky apple red and sky blue candy garlanded on our faces. We looked like a pair of circus clowns. I hadn’t wanted to keep it because we looked silly but Yolanda loved it for that very reason insisting we buy it. She had it framed.
She kept it here at my place I think just to taunt me. The photo never meant much to me before, but with the glass from the picture frame in a hundred pieces, holding the ruined halves in my hands, it started to mean something.
I opened a drawer in the display cabinet that held decorated plates; she had talked me into buying the monstrous cupboard to add a little life to the bland living room. It always struck me as strange that she’d placed more of her attention in beautifying my house than in her own apartment. In the drawer, under a pile of paid receipts, I got the invisible tape, determined to bring the halves together. Shutting the drawer harder than intended, one of the cabinet’s doors slowly creaked open. I rarely unlatched it except for dusting. The catch had been pried open. That’s when I noticed all the plates inside were broken. They looked like a hammer was taken to them.
I fell back into a chair, my strength completely drained. She bought those for me. They’d cost her a months pay. Knowing that she would do that, sacrifice so much money for me, was when I first realized she was in love with me. Like the plates, my heart lay shattered, and broken in small pieces.
***
I parked outside of Yolanda’s apartment building just after seven. The evening sun remained bright and high showing little signs that the night would shortly be forcing it into retreat. I gazed up toward the fifth floor. Had I expected her to be waiting at her window, ready to throw down her hair for me to climb to her rescue? This was no fairytale. She would not be waiting for her knight to come, although I prayed for the happier-ever-after ending. Looking away from the building, I’d called her number, both cell and phone, collectively more than ten times. I stopped leaving messages after the fifth. I approached the front entrance. I almost pressed her apartment number. If she was there, how would she react? Would she run and hide? I had a key. I could simply show up and surprise her. Without thinking, the key was in my right hand, perched between my thumb and index finger, opening the downstairs front door.
Exiting the elevator on the fifth floor, I hesitated. I knew no more now than I had earlier. What would I say to her? How do I prove my innocence, when I don’t know what I have done wrong?
Innocence.
The word echoed in my mind as though it was shouted across the Grand Canyon.
Innocence.
I was headed down the empty hallway getting angrier with every step.
Innocence.
She’s the one who went into a rage, not only with me but her best friend! It was Yolanda who smashed things we’d cherished, not me! I couldn’t understand why I was the one ready to apologize for something I most likely hadn’t done.
I was going to make her explain what was going on, one way or another. Stopping in front of apartment 517, my tightly wound fist was ready to pound the door down. But was that the right thing to do? I took several deep breaths getting my temper under control. I realized I’d let my anger blind me to the fact that the key to her apartment was in my pocket. I used it and stepped inside.
The door swung opened and, still carrying some of my anger, I shouted, “Yolanda!”
A part of me expected the place to be completely empty; no furniture, no pictures, and no cat--just an empty apartment with the lingering scents of her perfume. The sparse decorations still hung on the walls and cluttered her shelves. I closed the door behind me and stepped further inside.
“Are you here, it’s Tony,” I asked softly.
The perfumed aroma I expected was not there but a faint unpleasant smell hung in the air. It seemed to be everywhere. It wasn’t overpowering but it was enough for me to scrunch my nose in mild disgust. Yolanda wasn’t the most responsible person when it came to the upkeep of her place. She would leave clothing on the floor for hours, leave dishes in the sink for days, and not take out the garbage. I, being the complete opposite, would sometimes remind her, in a nice way, to clean up after herself. The odor could be rotting meat she had put out and forgotten about. I ignored the smell for the moment.
I searched the small apartment for her. She was not home, not even the cat, Wanabe (pronounced, Wan Na Be). I bought the gold and tan Tortie Smoke Persian cat six months ago on a whim. Yolanda gave her that stupid name as a joke. She kidded that I wanted to be this or I wanted to be that, just because I spoke of wild dreams for our future or what I wanted to do with my career. Most of those dreams I let go for the security of a steady paycheck. Others stayed in the back of my mind.
Those months ago, when she was mad at me; and when I gave her the cat as a peace offering, she said, I wanted to be forgiven; that led to the cat’s name. Despite my mixed emotions of anger and fear, a small smile fought at the edges of my lip. It was something I did every time I thought about Wanabe’s name. Though I now found little humor or even comfort in it.
The edges of my mouth cracked with sudden dryness. I licked at my lips. They too were dry, as was my throat. Worry was robbing me of needed fluids. My throat ached for some type of relief.
In the kitchen, I opened the refrigerator looking for something sweeter than water. It was stocked. She hadn’t cleared the fridge out which meant she might return. Whether that would happen tonight, I had no idea. Still, I decided I would wait for her. I quickly downed a can of Mountain Dew with a single swig. The soft drink was there for me; Yolanda never touched the stuff. Caffeine kept her up. When I lifted the trash lid to drop the green aluminum can in, I dropped it to the tiled floor instead.
I’d discover the nauseating odor.
Inside was Wanabe. Her head twisted backwards. Blood dripped from her still opened eyes and mouth.
Pam
Speaking with Tony made me feel a little better but not much. Placing the cell phone back
in my purse, I looked out from my patio to feel the warm sun on my face. I wondered what he expected to find in Yolanda’s cubicle.
And what was going on in that girl’s head anyway? Why did she call me a slut?
Had Tony said something to her about us? But there was no us to talk about. He and I were friends and that’s all. Besides, he wouldn’t hurt Yolanda for the world. I’d never seen a man so devoted to a sistah in my life. I wished I could find someone like him. Oh, let me honest with myself for once. I wish I found him. Just listen to me; Yolanda goes off the grid for one minute and I already have thoughts of taking her man.
I looked up at the sky staring directly into the sun, hoping to burn the thought from my brain. Yolanda’s a good friend—the best in fact. She doesn’t need me daydreaming about Tony—not now—not ever. I needed to focus on finding her and finding out what was happening.
Quickly spinning around, I stepped back inside the apartment. I heard the loud voices of Mo’Nique and Countess Vaughn throwing one-liners back and forth at one another, a rerun of The Parkers. On cue, a dubbed laugh track followed their wisecracks. The invasive sounds were irritating, giving me a headache. Throbs at my temples came rapid and continuous as though Sheila E were playing a drum solo on my brain. I quickly found the remote and put the TV on mute.
Though there was no sound, I could still see the Parkers were arguing. Whatever problems they were having would be resolved at the end of the show. I wished life was like that. Have major crises, break-ups, arguments, dragged out cat fights, or mental breakdowns that would be solved in less than thirty minutes. But life wasn’t like that, was it? Life was unpredictable and complicated.
The phone rang and disrupted my thoughts. “Yolanda,” I said even before picking up the handset, but the caller-ID displayed my mother’s number. Putting the handset to my ear, I collected myself, and said, “Hi, Mama.”
“Hey, Coco,” she said.
I hated when she called me that. I hated it when I was a kid, and I hate it even more as an adult. But she’s my mother, so what could I do?
“What time will you be stopping by the house tonight?” she asked.
The question threw me. We hadn’t scheduled anything, so whenever she hit me with the dropping-by-the-house question, I knew she was fishing for information. “What do you mean?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean? Yolanda said you would…”
My heart pounded in my chest. I gripped the handset tighter. “Yolanda? Did she call?”
Concern rose in Mama’s voice as she asked, “What’s wrong, Coco?”
I took a deep breath before continuing. “Nothing’s wrong. I just want to know if she called you today, that’s all.”
“No, Yolanda didn’t call me today.” Disappointment brought my heartbeat back down to a normal pace. That was until Mama added, “She came by. Left about thirty minutes ago and dropped off some boxes.”
Boxes? Why would she leave boxes? “Can I assume you’ve already went through them?” I asked, knowing she had already inspected every item inside.
Mama was the type of person who sat on the couch all day in the living room, staring out the front window to watch her neighbor’s going-ons. She’d known everyone’s business and never minded sharing it with anyone who’d listen. Her nosiness extended beyond the neighbors and intruded into my life. In all my years living under my parent’s roof, it was like being under guard by Homeland Security. There wasn’t an entry she hadn’t read from my diaries, a number she hadn’t called back after I talked with friends on the phone, or a boyfriend she hadn’t scared off after giving them the third degree. Even after years in my own place, she made frequent stops to my apartment and called me incessantly to keep tabs on my life.
Anything left at the house straight away fell under her prying scrutiny, especially if Daddy wasn’t around to stop her. He wouldn’t be home--a senior police homicide detective--he’d be on duty.
Mama said innocently, “Now Coco, you know I wouldn’t—”
I was on a short fuse and not in the mood for her blameless act. “Oh, come on Mama. What did Yolanda drop off?”
Unexpected silence fell on the other end of the line. She debated whether to reveal what was in the boxes and confessing the truth about her perusing. Finally, she said, “It’s filled with things you’ve given her, birthday gifts, clothing, pictures, and… and…” Mama’s tone softened, underlined with snooping concern. “Is there something going on between you two? Yolanda seemed… Well, hot and bothered. Did you two have a fight?”
My hand again tightened around the handset. I couldn’t find the words to respond. But I had to say something, the last thing I needed was to have Mama involved in my personal life, again. If anyone could make a situation worse, it would be her. With that last thought, I said, “It’s nothing, don’t concern yourself.”
Mama waited for more.
Instead of responding to her curiosity, I asked, “What did she say, Mama?”
“Not much at all. Yolanda seemed distant, angry even. She told me to tell you, not to look for her. When I’d questioned her about it, Yolanda went into a huff, dropped the boxes to the floor and stormed out of the house.”
“Really?” I asked, more to myself than to Mama.
She repeated. “Is there something going on, Coco?”
For Mama, Yolanda might as well have thrown fuel on top of a proverbial fire. She wouldn’t let the matter go, no more than I would. I’d have to give her some type of explanation before she involved Daddy. “We had an argument okay, that’s all. She and I will work it out.”
“I hope this isn’t anything to do with Anthony, I know how you feel about—”
“Mama, please don’t! This isn’t about Tony.” I hoped. “Anyway, there’s nothing going on between him and me. Get that straight in that head of yours, okay?”
I lied and she knew it. Due to her prying into my life and going through my personal journals, Mama knew I’d always had feelings for Tony. That woman was a better detective than Daddy.
She went on ignoring me. “You don’t ever want to be that other woman. Yolanda and Anthony are good together. If your father ever cheated on…”
I stopped listening and moved the handset from my ear, dropping my arm to my side. She was ranting. It could go on for hours. I grabbed the remote and turned the television sound back on to drown out her chattering.
I wished I had a remote control that could put Mama on mute like in that Adam Sandler movie. I would rewind back to the morning and play everything that happened at the office to figure out what made Yolanda so upset. She’d always been a little flaky, but never as much as that morning. We had our arguments but at the end of the day, we always made up. Maybe not as conclusive and clean as a sitcom, but enough that we stayed best friends over the past two years.
Two and a half years before
I just finished with a client when Jan, my department manager, appeared outside my cubicle. Beside her was this dark skin sistah who, in heels, was an inch shorter than me, putting her around five seven. The stranger wore a bright blue dress with yellow flowery trimmings around the breasts and on the skirt’s lip, which offset her deep chocolate complexion. She didn’t have on any jewelry or makeup. I thought that was unusual in this day and age of pretentiousness.
Her wide, friendly grin was as vivid as her clothes. It was infectious and I couldn’t help but return her smile. Without her saying a word, I found myself liking this stranger.
Jan said, “Pam, this is Yolanda. She’ll be starting today. She’s replacing Debbie.”
Debbie used to work in the cubicle right across from me. She wasn’t what you would call a people person and hadn’t gotten along with anybody in the HR department. I doubted she even had a friend outside of work and probably lived in a house filled with stray cats. She quit more than a month ago after finding another job, leaving a vacancy in the department Jan desperately tried to fill.
Yolanda stretched out her hand in greeting. �
�It’s nice to meet you, Pam.”
Her grip was tight. I felt calluses on her palm. It was like shaking hands with a man. I doubted whatever she’d done for a living before was in an office environment.
I said, “Nice to meet you too. Welcome.” She let go of my hand which was a relief. I gave her a double-take, reevaluating my first impression. Jan didn’t move after the introduction. “Is there anything else?”
Jan winked. “As a matter of fact, there is. Would you mind getting Yolanda acquainted with everyone and explain how things operate around here? I have a meeting in a few minutes and simply don’t have time.”
I frowned, curling a corner of my lip and arching an eyebrow. Jan was always dumping her work on me. “Sure. Why not?” I asked, exaggerating like an overzealous dingbat.
It was quiet now.
Yolanda looked embarrassed and Jan maintained her perky disposition, unaffected by my clear reaction to her request. Standing, the squeaky wheels from my chair slowly rolling backwards broke the edgy silence.
Jan said, “I’ll leave you two to it then.” She whirled around on her high heels, humming a tune and quickly disappeared down the hall.
“Does girlfriend always trip like that?” Yolanda asked, in a low voice.
“Girl, you haven’t seen nothing yet,” I retorted playfully. “I don’t know where you worked before, but this will probably be a whole new world to you.”
I left it out in the open for her to say something about her last job. All she did was giggle. When she finally spoke, it was about work at the university, not what she’d done previously. It was like that for a several weeks. She knew about everyone in the office, but no one really knew anything about her. I even went so far as to access the personnel records on Yolanda just to find out where she had been employed. All I could find was a name, the Erikson Group.
Crossroads: An Anthology Page 27