by Nikki Woods
I stretched my arms out and gestured around me. “I just convinced Mr. Mansini to start this operation, how can I just up and leave?”
“Girl, please. I’d be outta here so fast.” Jonetta twirled her finger in the air.
Laughing, I cocked my head to the side. “You would just pick up and leave your whole life?”
“Yeah, and start a new one—in the glorious sunshine with all those gorgeous Jamaican men.” Jonetta shivered. “If you decide not to go, let me know where to apply. I could sure use a Dexter right about now.”
For her, it was a rare display of humor and laughter bubbled up inside of me. “You need to get your groove back, Jonetta?”
A broad grin broke across her painted face, her lips a petunia in full bloom. “I need to get something back—my groove would be a good start. Oops, the phone is ringing.” She cupped a hand over the receiver and hollered from her desk. “It’s Scooby!” So much for formalities.
I sat up straight, waiting sixty seconds before picking up the phone, and forcing festivity into my voice. “It’s about time you returned my phone calls. I’ve left you a ton of messages.”
Scooby breezed over my reprimand, with the easygoing nature of a twelve-year-old. “ Awww! You know how that goes,” he yelled over the noise in the background. Apparently, the party was still going on. I pictured him hanging onto his oversized pants with one hand and gripping the phone with the other. “What’s up, Mami? Whatcha’ know good?”
“I know we got you one hell of a record deal.”
“Oh, it’s about to be off the chain, Mami! We’re about to blow this shit up for real.”
“I heard the celebration was really something.”
“Yeah, we set it off—blew off some steam and what not—y’know how I do, but I’ll be ready to get down to business when you are.”
“I hope you mean that, the hard work is about to begin.”
“I know all about grindin’, Baby. You must have forgotten where I come from. Surviving the streets is the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do. This here’s cake.”
“I’m looking forward to a little bit of cake.”
“Oh, that’s a done deal, believe that.” The signature hard-core raspy edge left so quickly, I had to wonder if it had been there to begin with. Now he sounded more like an R&B singer about to croon a love song. “Anyone as sexy as you deserves all the friggin’ cake you want and I’ll be more than happy to be the one serving it up to you. Ya’ feel me?”
“Slow down, Scooby,” I said, keeping it professional. I had enough of that, dealing with Mr. Mansini. “Right now, the only thing I want served up to me is a double-platinum album.”
“That’s a done deal, Mami. I’ve got five smoking joints just waiting to be laid, ya’ heard? I got some tracks that are on fire.”
“I hear you, Scooby, and can’t wait to listen to them; but don’t get your heart set on anything until we hash out the details.”
“This producer will blow you away, guaranteed. I’ll have my manager e-mail you a clip so you can check ‘em out.”
“Cool. I have a conference call with Mr. Mansini today, then I’ll give your manager a call and let you know when we’ll need you in the studio.”
“I’m ready when you are.”
“You better be.” I hung up the phone.
* * *
More time was spent during the conference call with Mr. Mansini trying to finagle my trip to New York, than on actual business. I hung up feeling as if I needed to take a shower to wash off the innuendos and double entendres. Mr. Mansini had no idea what to do with a Hip-Hop label and was content to see how far I could take it, giving his blanket approval to everything; including the producer that Scooby had chosen. “As long as you’re comfortable with it, Kingston,” was all he’d say.
The rest of the afternoon was spent putting together marketing plans, advertising budgets, recording schedules, and booking studio time. I even scribbled random ideas for album covers. Mr. Mansini wanted this project done within two months, and we’d be on point even if I had to work straight through the holidays.
That is if I decided to stay.
A measly seven days ago and I’d have been clicking my heels together, singing with elation at the free reign. But now, guilt was weighing me down like an anchor; knowing that with the other things that I had going on, I might have to walk away from this project and from Scooby.
I rubbed my eyes and leaned away from the computer screen. The snow was falling gracefully, like in the snow globe. Shake it up and there’d be a moment of confusion before everything settled into peaceful perfection, just a few stray flakes sticking to the container.
A wrecking ball swung in front of my office window before burying itself into a dilapidated building—clearing out the old to make way for the new. Sort of like my life, I mused.
Jonetta stood in the doorway and tapped her watch. “Five minutes to three. You better get going or you’ll be late. Keela called and left the address and phone number for the doctor.” She laid a piece of blue paper on the desk in front of me. I stuck it in my purse, then scooped up my briefcase, tossed my coat over my arm and headed out the door. She leaned into the hallway. “I forgot to tell you, a Mr. Bartlett called while you were reviewing things with Mr. Mansini. He didn’t say it was important and I didn’t want to bother you, so I just took a message.”
“It’s okay, Jonetta. That’s my grandmother’s lawyer. He keeps calling to find out about my decision. He acts like I’m making a decision on what to eat for lunch or something.”
I pressed the button for the elevator and heard the rickety doors close below; then muttered, “I know it’s his damn job, but he’s starting to irritate me.” The frustration was wearing at my already frayed edges—ripping and tearing at my sanity. I didn’t need the pressure. “ Aaaargh!”
Jonetta’s eyes bucked and her grip tightened on the door. I knew I sounded crazy, probably looked it too, but afterwards I felt better.
“What your grandmother’s trying to do is important, Kingston,” Jonetta asserted. “You’re an intelligent woman, but this decision may have to come from your heart, not from your head.”
I didn’t like being told what to do even if Jonetta was right; and to my own ears, my protests were starting to sound a tiny bit on the selfish side. I thought about Sharneesha and the children starving in Africa. Things could be worse.
I slid between the elevator doors before they opened fully. “Just hit me on the cell phone if you need me,” I said before the doors squeaked shut.
The decision had been made in my heart when the lawyer read Mama Grace’s will. My head just needed to catch up.
Chapter 26
“Wait, slow down, Sharneesha, I can’t understand what you’re saying.” I punched the volume button on the cell phone—even though it was already loud —and pushed the earpiece further into my ear.
Edging away from downtown Chicago’s Magnificent Mile, I watched the parade of feathery-soft furs, heavier shearlings with a few butter-soft leathers mixed in, hunkered down beneath the whipping Chicago wind. Shopping was the main draw of the Magnificent Mile and despite it being the middle of the workday, the jet set was out in droves.
Leaning forward, I squinted up at the street signs that were partially covered in snow. It was bad enough that I was in unfamiliar territory, but being lost in a snowstorm was akin to having your tooth yanked without anesthesia. I was negotiating the maze of streets that made up Chicago’s near north side with blinders on.
“They’re giving me three days,” Sharneesha stammered, a sniffle followed every other word. “Three more days until the sheriff comes to put my stuff out in the street.”
“That’s the day after Christmas,” I pointed out. I smoothed the small piece of paper on my thigh and looked at the address again. If I had just spent the extra two hundred dollars and bought the car with the navigational system, I’d probably have been there by now.
“It’s bullshit; tha
t’s what it is. How can you do that to someone during the holidays? Where the hell am I supposed to go?” Sharneesha’s voice faded off in another torrent of tears. “ Why do these things always happen to me?”
I held the phone away from my ear as Sharneesha sobbed. She should have been better prepared—eviction was a long process and she’d been well aware that this day was coming - but not wanting to pour salt in the wound, I didn’t tell her that. Besides, it didn’t matter now. What we needed to talk about was a solution.
“Just try to calm down, Sharneesha. Being hysterical is not going to help.” I looked around for a familiar landmark, but didn’t see one. Why Keela couldn’t find a doctor in the hood was beyond me. “There may be a way that I can help, but I don’t want to get into it right now. I have to meet my girlfriend at her doctor’s appointment. I’m already late and I think I just missed my turn.” I squinted up at the street signs and made a quick right. I passed the plaque with “ Health Care Center” embossed in blue. I made three more quick rights and started looking for a parking spot.
“Is everything okay with …?”
“Keela,” I supplied. “Everything’s fine. She’s getting some testing done and is a little freaked out about it. She has me driving all over God knows where to come and hold her hand.” I fumbled with my keys as I tried to grab them and my purse at the same time while not dropping the phone. I accidentally slammed my coat in the car door.
“I’ll let you go. This is the second time that I have completely broken down on your shoulder.”
“It’s okay, all part of the sisterhood. When we put our heads together, we’ll come up with something. Believe me, everything’s going to be fine. There’s no way that you and Teeka are going to end up on the streets.”
“I’m just so tired. Life shouldn’t be this hard.” Sharneesha sighed.
“Yeah, well it is. Trust me; you’re not alone. Bad things happen to good people all the time. The difference is how you handle it. You gotta have a little bit of faith, Sharneesha. Faith will bring you through any situation.”
“I know, I know.”
“Look, why don’t you come for dinner tomorrow? It’s Christmas Eve. I’ll cook, make some drinks and we can celebrate together. Keela will be there; you can give her some pointers on motherhood. Plus, I’d like to see Teeka again. I think the bright spot in this holiday season is going to be finding a Christmas gift for her.”
“You’ve done enough already,” Sharneesha protested.
“Girl, please. I need something to take my mind off what’s been going on with me. In fact, I think it may be good for all of us.”
* * *
“Here,” I said, handing Keela the zip-locked bag of Gold Medal flour with one hand while turning on the stove burner with the other. “Start flouring the chicken so I can fry it. Seasonings, spices, etceteras, are in the cabinet about the stove. And don’t put too much Lawry’s in it,” I warned as I transferred the cast iron skillet full of oil from the kitchen island to the red-hot burner. “You know you got a heavy hand when it comes to salt.”
Keela sucked her teeth, but only added a few shakes before screwing the cap back on the bottle. “Why did you decide to fry chicken instead of making a turkey or something anyway?”
“Are you complaining? ‘Cause if you’re complaining . . .” I gave her a stern glare that only caused Keela to giggle.
“I never, ever complain about a free meal. I was just asking a simple question.”
“Today just felt like a fried chicken day. Good down home comfort food to soothe the soul. I wonder if that’s why they call it ‘soul food’?” Keela’s face twisted as she thought about it way too long. “Anyway, I threw together some homemade macaroni and cheese, green beans, spaghetti, catfish for me and tossed a salad. Hell, I even made the monkey bread and chocolate rum cake from scratch.”
“Not the famous Mac n’ Cheese.” Keela had the nerve to open her mouth and gasp. “With some extra Velveeta thrown in?” I nodded, lining up the paper plates, cups and utensils on the counter. “It must really be a special occasion. All right then, Bettina Crocker. It smells divine in here.” Keela pulled open the oven, took a whiff, and then sighed with dramatic pleasure. Cocoa sprang into action, prancing into the kitchen and sniffing the air. Keela shooed her back into the living room with an oven mitt.
“Chocolate rum cake, Kingston? I just gained ten pounds. You sure got enough food here. It looks like you’re expecting an army.”
And I was expecting an army—sort of. Over the past couple of days, the festivities of four had ballooned to over twenty invited party guests. The holiday spirit was starting to catch up with me. The whole day had been spent hanging garland, wrapping presents, cooking dinner, and stringing Christmas lights. I even went so far as to buy a pre-decorated tree that now blinked from its designated spot in the corner.
“Not quite an army, but I did invite a few extra people: Jonetta from the office, Darryl and Henry that live just down the way—Oh! I forgot you met them when you got your hair done at their salon—Brigitte, the lady that does my nails, and her sister, Bertice.” I waved my hand as if the list went on and on. “Just a slew of folks. Oh, and my next-door neighbors, Sharneesha and her daughter Teeka. You’re going to love Teeka. She’s just the most adorable little thing.”
“Oh, it’s gonna be a party up in here.” Keela squealed, then stopped short and stooped over, placing her hand on her belly and motioning for me to come closer. I placed my hand on the side of her protruding belly. “Now just wait,” she instructed and ten seconds later, I felt a whisper of movement. “Did you feel that?” she asked, her eyes shining.
I bobbed my head in wonder.
“Pretty cool, huh? The first time that it happened, I thought I had a gas bubble or something, but now this baby is rocking and rolling. Sometimes she keeps me up at night.”
“That’s the second time with that girl thing.” I gasped as the baby moved again then gave her tummy a final pat. “Amazing. Maybe you should sit down.”
“If I had to sit down every time this baby moves, I’d be on my butt all day long. Our ancestors used to have their babies in the field while picking cotton—no drugs or comfy hospital beds—no, suh, they’d just squat and plop; then they’d go right back to picking cotton and you want me to sit down because the baby moved. Girl, puh-lease.”
“Excuse me if I’m a little in awe over here. You’re creating a life, Keela. You are the epitome of woman right now, fertile ground.”
“Fertile ground?” Keela exclaimed. “What the hell is wrong with you, Kingston?”
“I don’t know—maybe a little jealous.” Waving my hands, I tried to fan away the tears that stung my eyes, then swung away and started dropping pieces of chicken in the pan.
“Awww! Sweetie, your time will come. Everything happens when it’s supposed to.”
“Yeah, yeah!” I pursed my lips. “My luck with men ain’t too hot right now, so I’m not gonna hold my breath.”
“Hey, I’m not exactly batting one hundred over here either.”
“Have you talked to Brandon?”
“He’s left about a million messages, but I don’t want to talk to him about anything but child support and a DNA test.”
“DNA test? Brandon asked you to take one?” I gulped. The idea that Brandon could question the paternity of Keela’s baby snagged a bit on the way down.
“Hell, no. It’s my idea and I don’t give a damn what he thinks,” she said, slamming the oven mitt down on the counter. “I’m not going to risk him waking up one day and trying to say this baby isn’t his so he can get out of paying child support or some nonsense like that. I want proof. The court will order it if he refuses.”
“Maybe he’ll do the right thing and take care of his kid.”
“I’m not taking any chances.” Keela tilted her head and looked at me. “You know, maybe it’s not such a bad thing it only being us. We’re single, educated, black women doing our thing. Who cares that we
haven’t met the elusive Mr. Right? We don’t need a man to make us complete. We’re fine the way we are, so let’s not throw a pity party. Especially not tonight.”
“All right.” I flipped the chicken, inhaling the down home smell of seasoned flour and Crisco. It reminded me of Mama Grace and the warm summer nights when homesickness would hit me like a wave of nausea, rolling around in my belly.
She’d rub my back while I bawled for my Mama, then tease me until I ate. “Come now, Pickney, I may not be the Colonel, but my fried chicken’s not that bad.” I shook my head to clear the cloud of nostalgia. “People should start coming soon. Can you handle this while I go set up card tables?”
“I know how to fry some chicken, Kingston.” She pulled an apron from the drawer and tied it around her waist. “Girl, give me those tongs and go do what you got to do. I got this!”
“I don’t want you to accuse me of slave labor. I’m trying to be considerate of your delicate condition.”
“Kingston,” she warned.
“I’m going.”
“And don’t forget to look for the dominoes. I may feel like slapping some bones!”
“You not ready for the bones, Keela. Don’t forget, I’m from Jamaica where they breed real dominoes players.”
“You know you talk more trash than a little bit.”
“That’s the first sign of a true domino player. Talking trash allows me to get into your head. Once I get into your head, the game is over.”
Keela laughed and pulled the last piece of chicken out of the pan, setting it on the paper towel-covered plate to drain. “And by the way.” She waved the greasy tongs at the kitchen wall. “ The oversized wooden spoon and fork are played out. Come on, Kingston, move into the 21st century with the rest of us.”
* * *
Five hours later, the music was pumping full blast and we were well into our fifth spades game. Henry and I were partnered up against Sharneesha and Jonetta and to say that we were in the process of whooping up on them would’ve been an understatement. I was about to run a Boston when I felt a tug at my leg. Teeka was smiling up at me, with her pink barrettes that dotted her head.