Nappily in Bloom

by Trisha R. Thomas

  “I saw the limo out front. Who is it?” I peeked out and didn’t see anyone. I dropped my bag and straightened myself out a little. The white cap I wore with a ponytail pushed through the vent in the back made everyone think I was just the help, which was fine by me. With ownership came problems. Solicitors were shooed away by saying the owner wasn’t in. On the few occasions when bill collectors came, they were easily thwarted by saying the owner had just left.

  “It’s a lady and her daughter.” Vince shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing new there.”

  “People don’t shop for flowers in a limo, Vin. Did she ask for me specifically or did they ask for the owner?”

  “She asked for you specifically. What’s the paranoia about? You in the witness protection program or something?”

  “Funny.”

  “Well, are you?” he asked with serious consideration. I got the idea he may know a little something about people hiding for their lives.

  “No, but I have made a few enemies in my time.” I moved past him. I walked out and stopped in my tracks. The woman turned around. I threw my arms out. “Ohmigoodness,” I stammered. “Judge Hawkins, how are you?”

  “It’s so good to see you,” she whispered near my ear. “Look at you.” She pulled back to get a fresh view. “How’s Mya and your husband?”

  Vince was waiting, arms folded over his wide chest. He leaned on the archway, making sure everything was copacetic.

  “You’ve met Vince,” I said. “This is the Honorable Judge Delma Hawkins and—”

  “This is my lovely daughter, Keisha.”

  The young woman put out a slender hand to me. “Nice to meet you, Venus. My mother’s talked about you often. She thinks the world of you.” There was no resemblance, with Keisha being near six feet in heels and Delma being only my height in three-inch mules—which meant short.

  “Really?” I tried not to make it sound too implausible, but honestly, the last time I’d laid eyes on Judge Delma Hawkins, she was about to grant full custody of my daughter to Airic Fisher, her biological father. That wasn’t the behavior of someone who thought highly of me.

  If not for the intervention of a defrauded DNA test, Judge Delma Hawkins would’ve handed my daughter over to the enemy wrapped with a bow. Looking back, I realized we hadn’t made a strong case for ourselves. Jake had been accused of his accountant’s murder. I had spent a brief time under psychiatric evaluation after accidentally overdosing on antianxiety medication. Not to mention various other legal mishaps under both our belts. I guess anyone could’ve made the mistake of assuming Airic would’ve made the better parent. I tried not to hold it against Judge Delma while she stood in front of me, beaming with proud excitement.

  “My baby’s all grown up and about to embark on a new life. She’s getting married. I absolutely had to bring her to you to handle the flowers. I heard about this quaint little shop of yours.”

  “When’s the ceremony, and what kind of budget are we working with?” I was trying not to stare at the Rock of Gibraltar–size ring on her daughter’s finger. I may even have drooled a bit.

  “Honey, she’s marrying Gray Hillman, senior partner at Shark Boyd, a prominent entertainment law firm. The sky is the limit, that’s what your man said.” She cut her eyes at Keisha, following up with a lopsided frown. “Mr. Moneybags wants only the best for my Keisha, because she’s worth it.”

  “Mom, I think we’ve already discussed this.” Keisha stroked the length of her long silky hair. “Money has nothing to do with our relationship.”

  “Yes, we’ve discussed it. Did you see the limo out front?” Delma pointed. “He arranged for a full day of limo service so we’d get all our errands done without stress. Then we’re set up for lunch at the Calloway Gardens to do the sampling. After that, straight to the spa and salon just so Keisha can try out a few hairstyles and nail colors. Does that sound like someone who isn’t trying to buy love? Being lavish and boastful.”

  “Mom, please. You can’t complain about it, then sit there giddy, enjoying the ride.”

  “Hey, I’m not complaining. I’m just saying . . . stop trying to pretend money doesn’t make the world go round. If he was broke, we all wouldn’t be here,” Delma huffed, finally getting her point across. “Shoot . . . I haven’t had this kind of fun in . . . well, ever. This is going to be a spectacular wedding, one like you’ve never seen.”

  “What about your own wedding, Mom? That was really special and beautiful.”

  This seemed to quiet her. The puzzled look on my face asked the question: Who? I couldn’t imagine who the victim could be.

  Keisha answered, “It was cute and intimate by candlelight. The most romantic ceremony. She married Hudson, her clerk. They’re the cutest couple,” Keisha said with great pride.

  Delma remained silent.

  “It’s like they’re schoolkids when they’re around each other.”

  Delma finally spoke. “I guess that’s what marrying for love will get you—cute and intimate. Back to you, let’s stay on task here. Focus on the time line.” She plopped on the couch with her legs coming together only at her ankles. She picked up a brochure and fanned herself. “Anything to drink around here?”

  “Champagne.” I moved quickly to the back for a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. Whoever Keisha was marrying had deep pockets, and I was only too happy to oblige.

  Minutes later, we were toasting and signing order sheets and Delma was writing a check from what she called the “sugar daddy account.”

  “So, I’ll take it from here.” I reached out and patted Keisha’s hand. “You’re going to be a beautiful bride.” She was long and lean with gentle features.

  She stood up, a bit wobbly. “Too much champagne. Your restroom . . .”

  “It’s all the way in the back. Watch out for those boxes.”

  As Delma scooted toward my chair, I could see in her eyes there was something heavy on her mind. “There’s something I have to tell you. I wouldn’t expect you to know this, but I just wanted to come right out with it.”

  “Okay.” I tensed up for whatever bomb she was about to drop.

  “Well, there’s no easy way to say this, so here goes it. Keisha is Trevelle Doval’s biological daughter.”

  My mouth refused to move. My face shook side to side like a silly cartoon character. “How can that be? You knew this all along, even when we were all in your courtroom?”

  “I know, I know. I’m not proud of the way I handled things in my courtroom last year. The only reason I had even considered giving your ex custody of your daughter was because Doval tried to force me not to.” She put up a hand as if she’d already spoken to God about it, so enough said. “Ya see, she was a prostitute. But you knew that—the whole world knows. It’s her bragging rights to say, Ooh, look at me. I’m a sinner, but now the queen of the self-righteous.”

  She caught herself going off on a tangent. “I worked in the district attorney’s office at the time. I happened to be driving in the downtown area when Trevelle gave birth to Keisha in the back of her pimp’s car. She just left her there for dead.” Delma stared straight ahead, as if she’d rehearsed this story many times. She held her chin high, like she was on stage doing a one-woman play. “What I saw that night would indelibly be a part of me. The good part was finding Keisha.”

  She took a sip of her champagne, then poured some more. “I found Keisha and raised her as my own. Trevelle Doval never even mourned the loss of that child, just left her there. I would’ve never divulged my secret. But then the biological father felt it his duty to mix us all up in one big pot of mess. He was a married white police officer, supposed to be protecting and serving. He was serving, all right. Got a fifteen-year-old pregnant.”

  I covered my mouth with shock. A married white cop and a teenaged Trevelle. Unfathomable. The woman who’d made a name for herself through pointing fingers of indignation at others? I still couldn’t speak.

  Keisha emerged from the back with her cell pressed against her
ear.

  “Goodness, the man doesn’t give her a minute on her own,” Delma whispered quickly. Then back on the more important subject. “I just want you to know that Trevelle could be a thorn. If anyone could be trusted to keep her out of the details, it would be you. Whatever it costs extra for your wonderful wedding coordinating skills, I’m willing to pay.”

  “But wait.” I was reaching for Delma’s sleeve, drowning in the 101 questions that were fluttering in my head.

  Delma scooted away to tend to Keisha, so the questions would have to wait for another time.

  From that point on, it was hard to look at Keisha and not think of Trevelle. Scandal. Intrigue. I wanted details. I wanted to know how Trevelle reacted when she found out . . . and why this wasn’t in the news like everything else about that woman. I could barely focus on the job at hand.

  Delma downed her last corner of champagne. “It’s going to be beautiful. My baby’s getting married,” she announced, as if we hadn’t been discussing old secrets.

  They hugged, and I thought I’d cry, too. I could only imagine what they had been through. Had Keisha known Trevelle was her mother? The ties of love were strong with these two.

  Delma gathered herself, wiping her eyes. “I don’t stand a chance at the actual ceremony.” She moved toward the door, following Keisha out. The swish of her thick panty hose suddenly stopped. She turned to face me. “I want you to know I tried to make it up to you.”

  “What?” I’d heard her, but didn’t understand.

  “I pulled as many strings as I was able to try to get your adoption passed—you know, last year.”

  “Thank you. I had no idea.”

  “Just so you know. I tried.”

  It was quiet and still, as if the last hour had been a dream. I plopped down onto the vintage sofa, which could have used some extra stuffing. All I could do was say, Whoa. My mind was spinning with the emotional overdose.

  Delma had reminded me of all I’d tried to forget. I had stopped myself from thinking about the past few years and the deluge of disappointments. Jake and I had suffered through the birth of our stillborn son, then fought tooth and nail to keep Airic from taking our daughter. The final heartbreaker was not being able to adopt a ten-month-old little boy named Ralph, whom I’d fallen in love with, and wanted dearly to take care of.

  Once again, the same issues on paper pegged us as at-risk parents, and we couldn’t get approved for the state adoption. If the baby hadn’t already been in the state system, I could’ve adopted him privately. I even tried the foster parent route to get him that way. By the time I’d finished the drawn-out paperwork, another family adopted him. I was devastated. Between the stillbirth in my seventh month and losing Ralph, I simply couldn’t deal with another loss, so I put the whole notion of another child out of my mind.

  I had my sweet daughter Mya to be grateful for, even if I had to share her with Airic. I watched the black limousine pull away.

  “Sounds like a windfall,” Vince said from behind. “But you’re going to have to work for it. Only thing you won’t do is officiate the ceremony.”

  “I’m going to be officiating, all right. Like Tyson versus Buster Douglas. This should be interesting.” Delma had basically hired me to keep Trevelle at bay, as if I were any match for that woman. I’d barely saved my own daughter from Trevelle’s claw, and now Delma wanted me to save hers?

  With Friends Like These

  Trevelle

  The concierge called out to me as I tried to rush past. “Your mail, Ms. Doval. It’s been piling up for the last few days.” I slid my sunglasses back on. I didn’t want anyone to see the black smudges underneath my eyes.

  “Thank you.” I took the stack of bills. The constant bombardment of invoices and credit card statements stuffed daily in my box was Airic’s department. Late notices were beginning to show up now, to the point where I refused even to stop by the desk. Not that I didn’t have the money. The Doval Ministry was a multimillion-dollar empire.

  I moved swiftly to the elevator. The condo had all the amenities—doorman, concierge, and valet. But along with all this service was a lack of anonymity. Everyone knew your comings and goings. I got inside the elevator and resisted the urge to give in to the fatigue after the doors closed. Elevators had cameras, and I was determined not to let anyone see me rattled.

  My floor had only two units—the other unit belonged to a male couple, Dr. Joe Perry and Donte Clancy, both plastic surgeons, highly regarded in their field. Had I known what was going on, I would never have moved in. I’d done my part by sprinkling holy water on their door. I’d offered a prayer of salvation from their affliction. Needless to say, prayer can’t fix everything, especially when the parties involved don’t want to accept the blessing.

  The elevator stopped at the fourth floor, where the gym was located. Speak of the devils—at least one of them. Dr. Perry was perspiring with a towel around his neck.

  “Good afternoon.” His heart rate had yet to calm down, so he rested both hands on his hips.

  I nodded, but kept my eyes forward. I didn’t need to absorb any more negative energy. I would spend the evening praying and meditating. By morning, I would be cleansed and rejuvenated after my terrible meeting with Airic. I wished I could understand why he betrayed me this way. I understood why Chandra McKinney wanted to take everything I had. That was the easy answer. Chandra said she felt like I had everything—and I must admit that I did.

  She could barely read, let alone type a decent sentence. I gave her a job because she needed guidance and direction. I offered her my hand when she needed a lift up. Three months in, I found out she’d been stealing from me. Jewelry—my diamond tennis bracelet was the first to come up missing. Then it was the engraved cross with almost three carats total weight down the center. I tried to ignore the larceny. I understood the mind of someone who stole, feeling cheated from all that society has to offer.

  I drew the line when I caught her trying on my Christian Louboutin taupe heels that took six months to get on special order. That was a whole other level of disrespect, to slip her stank feet into my shoes. I sent her packing. Three days later, the tape arrived.

  The elevator stopped while I’d drifted into murderous thoughts of Chandra. Dr. Perry stood, holding the doors open with a hand. “You can’t get any higher,” he offered lightly.

  “Yes, you can. It’s called heaven.” I strode past him. We took our opposite directions.

  Inside my home, I locked the door with the double security latch. I hadn’t changed the locks, holding on to hope that Airic would come to his senses. Now I was certain he had lost his mind, and I didn’t want to be so easily accessible. I picked up the phone and pressed maintenance. “This is Ms. Doval. I’d like to request new locks, immediately.”

  “Yes, Ms. Doval. We can schedule that service for Thursday.”

  “What part of immediately do you not understand? Tomorrow morning is the latest I will wait.”

  “Yes, Ms. Doval. Is there anything else?” He didn’t sound fazed in the least.

  “Well, what time? What time am I scheduled?”

  “Is eight o’clock too early?”

  “Which part of as soon as possible did you not understand? Of course eight is fine.” Honestly, I was surrounded by numskulls.

  “How many keys will you need?”

  “I’ll need three sets of keys.” I counted one for Marcella, and . . . just in case, I was thinking, in case Airic came to his senses. Stop it. It was so hard. Anger made you take the first step, but the journey was difficult, when you were letting someone go. Someone you trusted and loved. Flip-flopping: I love him, I hate him. Why couldn’t he just do as I said? I’d tried to teach him the right ways of maintaining a relationship. Neither of us had a good record to speak of. I’d never been married, and Airic had been married twice before. But at least I had the Bible’s teachings as a guide.

  “Are we done here? Then fine, see you in the morning,” I told the maintenance man.


  I bent over to take off my shoes and saw a few pieces of mail that had fallen when I threw the stack on the glass table. I zeroed in on the thick white envelope with calligraphy script and knew before I picked it up: Keisha’s wedding invitation.

  As if I were some common acquaintance. Some guest expected to buy one flatware setting from the gift registry. I tore it open:

  Delma J. Hawkins and

  Mr. and Mrs. Titus Hillman

  Request the honor of your presence

  at the wedding ceremony of

  Keisha Hawkins & Gray Titus Hillman

  March twenty-first, two thousand and nine . . .

  The rest of the details began to bleed together. I had no right to be angry. No right to feel left out. I had no right, no right—yet I picked up the phone and dialed Keisha, filled with jealousy and a few choice words. Before the phone rang, I hung up.

  I dialed again, hung up again.

  No right, I kept telling myself. But the nagging voice was overpowered by the unmitigated truth: It was my only daughter’s wedding. My only child.

  “Missus?” Marcella came from the laundry room. She put down the basket of linens she was carrying. “Missus, oh please, don’t cry.” She rushed off and came back with wads of tissue.

  Her solid hand rubbed my back comfortingly. “He will come back. And if he doesn’t, you don’t need him.”

  I blew into the tissue. More than anything, I wanted her to remove her hands from my body. If it required me to get myself together for that reason alone, I would do so with quickness. I blew once more. “I’m fine. Really. Thank you. Tea. Please.”

  “Right away.” She pushed off on her rubber-soled shoes and headed to the kitchen.

  I placed the phone back on its charger. I would save my conversation with Keisha for when I was stronger, because in all honesty, the one I had to confront was Delma J. Hawkins, the woman who’d stolen her from me.

  “Missus, you have company.”