Nappily in Bloom

by Trisha R. Thomas

  When the car dropped me off at In Bloom, I sang a different tune. I don’t know if it would’ve felt the same had I paid for it myself. I would soon find out, since I’d scheduled another appointment in two weeks. Addicting, to say the least.

  “What was that?” Jake was standing at the back entrance with his arms folded over his chest. He was wearing a dark blue corduroy blazer over a white shirt and jeans. He’d shaved all his hair off, leaving smooth cocoa-brown skin except for the two strips of goatee that met in the middle.

  “What—” I cleared my throat. “The car?”

  “The car,” he said, nodding with a get on with it expression. “Where’ve you been?”

  “I had a spa day. It was a gift.” I shifted my eyes to Vince, who was conveniently nose deep in a floral arrangement.

  “From who?”

  “The Stantons. I guess they felt guilty about the mishap over the weekend.”

  Vince sneezed mildly. “Bullshiiiii.” I heard his undercover expletive.

  “I’ve been calling you all day,” Jake said, deciding to ignore it, but I know he heard it, too.

  “I left my phone in the car. I’m sorry to have worried you.”

  “You don’t sound sorry.”

  “I figured you’d be busy playing detective.”

  He flapped his arms up. “Well, excuse me for wanting to clear my name so we can live with a little peace of mind.”

  “And excuse me for needing some time to unwind. One too many car chases, one too many broken windows and vandalized places of business, and one too many houseguests.”

  “You know what—” He pointed his finger at me with that little dagger thing he did. “—let’s go. C’mon. Get your purse.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I’ve been calling you all day. I asked you not to leave the house, and Vince”—we both turned to look at him hiding behind a spiky floral arrangement—“seemed to have no idea where you went. I was two seconds from calling the police. This close. I don’t need this right now.”

  “Nerve, a lot of nerve. I’m running around with a bat in the front seat of my car,” I said slowly, so he’d understand. “For protection. And you don’t need this right now?” I swallowed the lump in my throat. I wasn’t about to let this argument close with him feeling sorry for me. I wasn’t going to cry. I turned my back. “I’m not going anywhere. I have orders to fill.”

  “You weren’t worried about filling them a couple of hours ago.” Jake left, but not before going out to my car and coming back with my phone and shoving it into my jean pocket. “Answer your phone, you hear me?”

  Vince stayed silent even after Jake left. We worked steadily but without our usual banter. After the day’s orders were lined up, he started loading them in the van.

  “Thank you, Vin.” He knew what I was thanking him for. He nodded, but that was all.

  Mama Said There’d Be

  Days Like This

  As many times as his mother had warned him he was taking the plunge with the wrong woman, was equal to how many times he’d felt grateful to have someone like Venus in his life. She breathed life into his world. But damn if sometimes she didn’t drive him absolutely insane. She was older than him by five years, yet he was the one who had to constantly rein her in, make her see logic and reason.

  What in the world did she expect him to do? All he wanted to do was cooperate and get everybody off his back. If he went into a meeting with Ronny and could get him to somehow confess to killing Byron, he’d be cleared and Ronny would go to jail and never mess with him or his family again.

  Legend had valiantly tried to talk him out of it. He said Ronny wouldn’t stop—he’d send somebody from jail if he had to. Legend’s argument was to just pay him the money and to hell with the Feds. They didn’t have anything on Jake or they would’ve acted on it. Ronny was the only one he should be afraid of.

  The W Hotel was dark and moody, though it was only mid-afternoon. Jake checked the time then dialed Legend again. For the second time, it went straight to voice mail. “Hey, I’m waiting for you in the lobby, man, second call.”

  “Sir, would you like to order a drink while you’re waiting?” The hostess in a white blouse and fitted black pants leaned over to remove a glass that had been on the small table when Jake sat down.

  “Ah, no. My partner’s coming down in a few.” He gave her a polite smile but couldn’t ignore the nagging tug at the pit of his stomach. He went to the front desk. “How ya doin’?” The clerk was female, and that was all he needed. “Can you call my buddy’s room? He was supposed to meet me down here half an hour ago.”

  “Sure.” Her bright red nails were in position on the computer keyboard. “What’s his name?”

  “Legend Hill.”

  She tapped a few keys then picked up the phone. Before she dialed, Jake held up a finger. “Hold on, this is him calling. Hey, I was worried, man. Just about to have someone call. Sure, okay, I’ll be right up. No problem, man. Finish your shower.” Jake slid his phone back into the leather case on his hip. He snapped his finger. “Oh, great, I hung up before he told me what room.”

  “I got it. Eleven thirty-four,” she stated proudly. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  Jake leaned in close. His dark lashes blinked embarrassment. “You know what . . . seriously there is, but I don’t want to get you in any trouble.”

  “What?” She was young and, thankfully, not yet bitter toward the male species, who could lie on demand.

  “My buddy takes helluva long showers. You think you can just make me a key so I can wait inside the room?” His lips softly parted, signaling innocence. “You know what—I shouldn’t have even asked.”

  She clicked a few buttons, then put a fresh keycard into the machine. “It’s fine. Eleven thirty-four,” she repeated. “Enjoy your stay, Mr. Hill.” She winked.

  “I will do that. Thank you very much.” He held the key to Legend’s room to his chest, gracious for the hospitality. The hallway of the eleventh floor was deathly still. Deserted. No trays outside the room. No signs hung on doors. The half-lit hallway reminded him of a seedy strip club instead of the upscale modernism this hotel chain was known for.

  “Legend, it’s Jake.” He knocked before sliding the key in. The green light flashed.

  He paused, turning the knob. He knew things were about to go very wrong. Legend should’ve been downstairs waiting for him. He should’ve answered his phone. Jake never should’ve left him alone to his own devices. All in one moment, he was angry, frustrated. He didn’t want to be responsible for something happening to his friend, let alone his wife and daughter. Venus was right, he needed to stop playing in the sand, end this thing.

  He stepped inside. The curtains were drawn, blacking out everything except a sliver of light escaping down the center. He pushed them apart, then braced himself for what he might see.

  The unmade bed was empty. Relieved for more reasons than he could count, Jake checked the bathroom. “Legend, man, you in there?” He pushed on the closed door, but it wouldn’t move. He paused to listen.

  A faint moan. “Ah shit,” Jake whispered, swallowing the fear that assaulted him. With his full weight, he shoved slowly. Inside was his friend, collapsed and nearly unconscious.

  Who’s Your Daddy Now?

  Two hundred invites sent out, and every single one of them returned by the RSVP date except one. But here it was. Delma pulled the last envelope out of the post office box. Nausea swelled in the pit of her stomach. So many people, friends, family, and work associates would witness her baby getting married in less than a week. But this one was the one that mattered: Keisha’s father, the judge. HONORABLE KELLOGG LEWIS AND FAMILY, the preprinted address card read. Delma slid the tiny envelope open. In the tiny box, he’d written the number one. Meaning he would be attending alone. Neither his sons nor his wife, Linda, were coming. Delma couldn’t blame her. The woman had every reason to still be bitter.

  How could
she so easily forgive and forget the many times Kellogg had invited Delma into their home, a few times with little Keisha in tow, only to find out she was his daughter. Right under her nose was the child he’d fathered after having an affair with a fifteen-year-old girl whom they’d let stay at their home. That girl was Trevelle Doval, teen homewrecker extraordinaire. He’d lied to Delma, too . . . by omission, of course. Delma had no idea Kellogg Lewis was Keisha’s biological father. Would have never guessed it if her life depended on it.

  He’d lied to all of them, even if it was by omission. He could’ve been forthright—he was a man of the law, for goodness’ sake. Delma would’ve listened with an open mind. Back then, when she was a young district attorney, she’d thought the world of Kellogg. His affable personality, always wanting to do the right thing for those girls on the street. Begging for leniency in their cases, hoping they’d get sent to a halfway house instead of jail. It was understandable that he got caught up.

  All he’d had to do was go to Delma and say, “I know you stole that child that night, ’cause I was right behind you. ’Cause you see, it was my child, but if anyone found out I’d gotten a fifteen-year-old girl pregnant, my life would’ve been ruined, so I kept it a secret for over twenty years. But now I want to be a part of her life, and if you don’t mind, give her back to her biological mother . . .’cause enough hearts have been broken in the deal.”

  When Keisha found out about her real parents, and especially Kellogg, a man who’d fed her hot dogs and pretzels at their July Fourth barbecue, she cried till her eyes puffed up like marshmallows. Delma held her steady and told her to let it out. It took weeks before Keisha would talk to him. “Do you think she’ll ever understand, ever forgive me?” Kellogg had asked Delma. “Keisha’s got a heart of gold. She’ll come around,” she assured him. Eventually Keisha did. They laughed and talked regularly over lunches and coffee dates until Keisha asked the big question. Would he walk his daughter down the aisle on her wedding day?

  The answer was a resounding no. That would mean a lot of explaining to his peers. Sure it was the right thing to do for everyone else—to come clean—but not the almighty judge Lewis.

  “Buzz off,” Delma said to herself, tossing the card and envelope off to the side once she was in her car.

  She pulled into traffic and landed at a red light. The post office was only a few blocks from the courthouse. She had a mind to walk in there and tell Kellogg personally that he needed to step up and finally take full responsibility, including walking his daughter down the aisle. Puleeze, just showing up like an average Joe—or john, in this case—would indelibly be a stain on Keisha’s special day.

  She’d taken a four-week leave to deal with the wedding details. Now that Venus had stepped in, there wasn’t much for her to do. Finding Venus and hiring her was genius on Delma’s part. She certainly was efficient. The little spitfire had found nine ways to Sunday to save them money, but Delma had never been concerned about funds. Gray Hillman was fully capable of covering the bill—at least he was good for that much. He’d made a specific account just for the wedding expenses, and Delma was in charge of writing the checks. After the final bills were paid to the caterer, resort, and Bishop Talley, there’d be well over five grand left over. Delma was giving a great deal of thought to giving it to Venus as a bonus. To top it all off, she’d kept Trevelle out of their hair.

  As if Trevelle didn’t have enough to do besides ruining people’s lives. One thing or another was on the news every night featuring Trevelle and her husband and their public display of hatred for one another. Lawd, lawd, something to be said for karma.

  The light was taking forever. Delma leaned her head back on the leather rest and closed her eyes. She’d depend on the rudeness of others to honk when the light turned green.

  Asleep or daydreaming, Delma pictured the perfect ceremony. Mya, the charming flower girl sprinkling red petals on the ground, leading the way for the bride. The guests standing, all eyes waiting as Keisha stepped inside the chapel, holding on to her gorgeous bouquet. The procession song beginning with those famous chords.

  Then suddenly there was shouting and knocking from outside the chapel window. Hands slapping at the window, “Let me in!” Why, who could it be? Trevelle Doval demanding to be let in after the security enforced specific orders not to let her pass through the wooden doors and flowered arches.

  Delma’s eyes were still closed, but she could feel the smile across her face, satisfied to have the last laugh. She could dream, couldn’t she? Only the knocking and slamming of hands across the window, the shouting sounded unbelievably real.

  Soon, Delma realized it wasn’t her dream, but her reality. There were two or three people pounding her window. The woman was yelling, “Are you all right in there?” Cars honked as she sat in park. She pushed the window down.

  “Oh . . . I’m so sorry.” Delma tried to focus, get the sleep out of her eye by blinking rapidly. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I’m moving.” She put the car in gear and hit the gas. She got more honks when she cut off another driver as she tried to get over to the side of the street. She wasn’t ready to drive yet. Her eyes still blurry; she pressed a hand to her forehead. She had no idea she’d fallen into such a deep sleep. Resting your eyes, Hudson would’ve guffed. Just resting my eyes. Maybe after the wedding she’d finally get a good night’s rest.

  “Are you okay?” The same woman was back at Delma’s window, where she’d followed and parked behind.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you. Really.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure. I can drive you to the hospital—it’s not that far. Or call the paramedics.”

  “No.” Delma shook her head and put on a big cheesy smile to reassure the good citizen. Her phone began to ring the theme to Star Wars, Hudson’s all-time favorite movie. “This is my husband now. Really, everything is perfectly fine.” Delma answered, grateful to be left alone.

  “Hey, man. I was asleep at the wheel.” She chuckled. “I mean it, I literally fell asleep at the stoplight. Whew, I’ll be glad when this wedding business is over.”

  “Well, it might be over sooner than you think. The bank called about ten minutes ago. They say you’ve got three checks about to bounce. Well, not you personally, but the wedding account. You been out shopping again, woman?”

  “What in the world would I be buying?” Delma shook the cobwebs out of her head. “Three checks?”

  “Yep. You better get on over there, find out what’s going on.”

  “Doesn’t make any sense. That account was fat and full, last time I checked.”

  “Maybe our friend Gray forgot he was getting married. I don’t know, but you’re the signer, so you need to get to the bottom of it. The wedding’s next Saturday.”

  “Thanks for reminding me,” Delma said smartly. “It may have slipped my mind.”

  “Save the attitude, woman. Find out what’s going on—then call me back.”

  “Will do, Sergeant.” This is one thing Delma knew and knew very well: The minute a man took on the role of husband, he felt the distinct need to start bossing.

  Inside of a minute, Delma was furious and spouting words she wished she could take back. She cussed the petite bank woman upwards and sideways, telling them they’d made a major mistake and somebody had better fix it. This was her one and only daughter’s wedding. Life depended on a caterer, resort fees, and a cake from a baker that swore everything he touched was a work of art.

  “I can’t do anything besides hope the money comes in by midnight tonight in the form of a transfer. Otherwise the checks will be denied payment.” The woman put the printed-out statement on the desk for Delma to see. “Right here is the problem. A huge withdrawal was made—one lump sum.”

  Delma couldn’t see straight from rage. But she could see straight enough to drive to Shark and Boyd entertainment law firm. She and Gray were the only ones with access to the account. She stepped off the elevator to the luxurious floor of chrome and wood. The modern fixtures
and crisp floors made Delma feel out of place, landing in warp speed to a futuristic space pad.

  Nikki stood up the minute she saw her. “Mama D, what a surprise.”

  “I’m more comfortable with Delma,” she said, but her body language spoke even louder. It’s Judge Hawkins to you. “Where’s your bossman, honey? I need to talk to Mr. Hillman like now.”

  Nikki’s eyes blinked back concern. “Sure, okay.” She rushed off. Delma stood in the lobby, ignoring the odd stares of the few young associates who’d passed her. She, in her floral housedress, didn’t look like the latest new R & B act. She was a solid five feet two, and the stress of the wedding had made her waistline gain some inches, so she hadn’t felt like stressing about clothes. Her mother-of-the-bride suit was already being let out as far as it would go. To hell with the rest of the days of the week.

  “Mother.” Keisha came to her side. “What’s wrong? Nikki called and said you were hostile and having some kind of breakdown.” She looped her elbow through hers. “Come, come to my office.” When she wouldn’t budge, “Mommy, are you okay?”

  Keisha looked at her like Delma were some loon who didn’t know her right mind. “I came here to see Gray.” If anyone knew she was not to be moved till she was good and ready, it was Keisha.

  “He’s at a lunch meeting. Tell me what’s going on.”

  As much as she wanted this thing to all fall apart, she wanted her baby’s happiness. Telling her that her fiancé had drained the wedding account would break her heart. “I . . . need to talk to Gray. It doesn’t concern you.”