Kiss the Girl

by Susan Sey

  “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.” Nixie put a stealthy hand to her hair to assess the mayhem. She flattened a particularly wild curl. It sproinged back into place with a happy bounce. “Is it?”

  “You could use a little trim.”

  Nixie folded her arms. “I don’t want a hair cut. I want to work.”

  “A haircut is work, Nixie. You’re a brand, remember? If people don’t admire you, they don’t give us the money to change the world. You want to change the world, don’t you?”

  “Not all of it,” Nixie said. “Just this little corner.”

  “Start with your hair.”

  She sighed. “Okay, fine. But tonight we work.”

  “Tonight we work.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  By Friday, Nixie’s hair looked great. DC had transformed itself, too. Gone was the punishing wind, the half-frozen raindrops, the steely sky. Suddenly, the sun beamed and the breeze bounced by, full of the scent of cherry blossoms. Even the graffiti looked cheerful, Nixie thought as she stood in the alley behind the clinic. Kind of bright and festive and exuberant.

  “Nixie!” Wanda stuck her head out the door. “What are you doing out here? Missy Jensen from Channel Four is standing in the waiting room!”

  “Did you know that your hair matches this graffiti exactly?”

  Wanda touched her hair and glanced at the wall. “That says Fuck Da Police.”

  “I meant in color, not in spirit.”

  “Mmmm-hmmm.” Wanda gave her a skeptical look. “Well, listen, unless you want Mama Mel going on about cheap-ass carpet and cockroach shit to Missy Jensen, you’ll get moving.”

  “I just wanted a minute to gather myself,” she said. But she got moving. “I figured you could handle Mama Mel,” she said, as she trotted behind Wanda’s rolling behind. “She’s about as big around as a chop stick.”

  “She’s wiry. You’ve got to respect that. Besides, I’m not dressed to wrestle on national TV.”

  “I’m sure it’s just local.” Nixie eyed the straining seams of her uniform pants. “And I think you’re dressed to wrestle just fine.”

  Wanda shot her a warning look over her shoulder. “Girl, you are wasting my time. Now get your skinny butt into that waiting room and do your thing.”

  “Right.”

  Nixie paused at the door to the waiting room, scanned the scene as if it were a field of landmines. She made her living walking into crowds of strangers who knew everything about her. Maybe they hated her, maybe they loved her. She never knew until it was too late to do anything about it. As far as stressful occupations went, she supposed jumping blindfolded out of airplanes might be worse. But not by much.

  Nixie spotted a petite blonde woman in front of a camera reviewing notes while her camera man checked the light levels. Missy Jensen, Nixie assumed, as nobody else in the room came equipped with her own camera man. Expertly streaked hair kicked around her Miss Kansas face in a cute, choppy shag as she licked her teeth behind glossy lips. Probably prepping for a long stint of professional smiling. The camera man made a comment and the woman rewarded him with what looked like a genuinely amused grin. So either she wasn’t a cut-throat shrew, or she was too smart to alienate the help. No way to tell from here. She’d have to wing it.

  Nixie slid through the waiting room doors, sticking to the perimeter of the room until she’d circled around behind the camera man. She watched as Missy Jensen ran through several intros. The woman radiated an unusual combination of ambition and compassion, brains and sex appeal. She was young, probably Nixie’s age, give or take a few years, but she was going places. The question was, what would she do or who would she screw to get there?

  The million-watt light from the camera snapped off, and Missy Jensen blinked at Nixie. “Nixie Leighton-Brace?” she asked.

  “Missy Jensen?”

  Missy strode forward on ice-pick heels that matched her peacock-blue suit. “It’s an honor to meet you in person, Ms. Leighton-Brace,” she said. “I’ve followed your work since I was a little girl.”

  “Since I was a little girl, then.”

  “That’s right. I was thrilled to get your call. This is a wonderful cause, of course, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit how much I appreciate the exclusive.”

  “I have faith in the power of personal connection,” Nixie said. “From what I’ve seen so far, you’re a good fit. Are you ready to take the next step?”

  “Always.” Missy’s glossy mouth curved in anticipation.

  Nixie couldn’t help grinning back. “Great. I have somebody I’d like you to meet. Follow me.”

  Missy made you’re with me eyes at her camera man and they fell in behind Nixie. She picked her way through the crowd. It was thicker than usual--word that the press was coming had spread through the neighborhood faster than the flu.

  “Hey, white lady!”

  Nixie turned and found Darryl the Flasher grinning at her. He’d put on basketball shorts in deference to the summery weather, and though he looked sober, Nixie couldn’t see him resisting the opportunity to offer Missy Jensen some good loving.

  “Darryl!” she said, grabbing both his hands in hers as a pre-emptive strike. “I was hoping you’d be here.” She turned to Missy. “I want you to talk to Mama Mel first, but Darryl here is one of Anacostia’s success stories. In a neighborhood where more than half the adults are out of work, and young black men have a greater chance of being shot than graduating from high school, Darryl has both a diploma and a job.”

  Missy smiled warmly at him. “You must be an exceptional young man.”

  “Yeah, baby, I got it where it counts.”

  Nixie gripped his hands with a desperate strength. “Ow.” He frowned at her. “You’re crushing my hands, girl.”

  “Oh.” Nixie didn’t release her hold on him. “Sorry.”

  Missy said, “I’m looking forward to our chat.”

  Darryl’s eyes went unfocused, as if Missy’s dazzling charm were a sudden blow to the head.

  Nixie put herself into his line of sight. “You’re going to represent the neighborhood, Darryl. On live TV. Be...good. You understand?”

  “I’m always good, baby.” He beamed foolishly at Nixie. “I’ll be right here,” he told Missy.

  Nixie sighed and started across the room again.

  “What should I know about Darryl?” Missy asked. Nixie could hear the distinctive tippy-tap of the woman almost trotting in those punishingly high heels. She’d never understood how women did that.

  “Good kid,” Nixie said. “Not bright. Tendency to flash his junk.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Okay.” Missy turned to her camera man. “Run tape on the kid. Nothing live.”

  “Got it.”

  They arrived in front of Mama Mel who snoozed in her usual corner of the waiting room, her kids parked around in her various states of wakefulness. The older ones slouched in the puke-colored chairs, plugged into their cell phones and headsets and iPods. The younger ones tumbled on the floor at her slippered feet, where she could poke the appropriate one with a toe when his or her name was called.

  “Mama Mel?” Nixie sat in the vacant seat across the row and tapped the woman’s sharp knee through her house coat. Her eyes opened a slit and she humphed out a snort.

  “I gots a bone to pick with you, Madame Rich and Famous.”

  “Yeah?” Nixie leaned forward, elbows on knees.

  “Yeah.” She slid her irritated gaze to Missy, then back to Nixie. “This place was enough of a zoo before your famous self started hosting parties for reporters. I got eight kids to get through their breathing treatments. That’s a lot of time sitting here in this place. It used to be quiet enough for my babies to get some homework done.” She sent Daryl, who was telling a loud, profane story two rows over, a killing look. “Ain’t nobody getting no homework done today.”

  “I know,” Nixie said. “I’m sorry, Mama Mel. I promise things will
calm down soon. But it’s for a good cause.”

  “Yeah? What cause is that? Getting our neighborhood idiots on TV?”

  “No, ma’am.” Nixie drew Missy forward. “I want you to talk to Missy Jensen. She’s a reporter.”

  Mama Mel’s slitty gaze moved back to Missy. “From Channel Four. I know. We may be poor, Nixie, but we got TV. How come?”

  “We’re going to raise some money for the clinic, Mama Mel. If we raise enough, we can pay for another doctor here. Somebody who’ll focus only on kids, particularly kids with asthma.”

  “Sounds expensive.” Mama Mel humphed again. “I ain’t got no stories that good.”

  “I think you do,” Nixie said. “But even if you don’t, at the very least, we’ll be able to buy more nebulizers.”

  “More nebulizers?” Mama Mel’s eyes finally opened all the way. “How many?”

  “A lot. Enough to get your kids in and out of here in thirty minutes instead of four hours.”

  Mama Mel sat up, smiled at Missy. “What you want to know, girl?”

  Missy motioned to her camera man, then perched on the very edge of the chair next to Nixie’s, tucking her skirt carefully under her rear. “Are these kids all yours?” she asked.

  “Some’s mine, some I picked up here or there, but yeah. The courts gave ‘em to me right and proper.”

  “They all have asthma,” Nixie said. “To the degree that they need breathing treatments three to four times a week.”

  Missy frowned. “But they’re not all biological relations?”

  “Well, let’s see.” Mama Mel gazed into the middle distance and rubbed the single whisker that poked out of her chin. “I gots one brother-sister pair, and another two are cousins, but they ain’t related to one another, no. I mean the cousins to the brother-sister set. Nor none of the others. They come to me through the foster system, see?”

  “Is it unusual to see rates of asthma like this among unrelated children?” Missy asked. Her camera man crouched in the aisle between them, getting Nixie and Mama Mel in the frame. He’d shoot Missy’s reaction shots later.

  “Not if they living in the Wash, it ain’t.” Mama Mel’s mouth worked like she was chewing something sour.

  “The Wash?”

  “Washburn Towers,” Nixie said. “It’s one of the low incoming housing facilities here in Anacostia.”

  “Is there a connection? What does Washburn Towers have to do with childhood asthma?”

  A hand landed on Mama Mel’s thin shoulder, and a hearty voice boomed out, “Nothing!” at the same time she said, “Everything.”

  Nixie knew that hearty boom. She knew that hand, too, its tan a calculated contrast against the white of the shirt. But it was the cuffs that gave him away. Senator Edward Harper--James Harper’s father--always wore his cuffs rolled back exactly once. More than once, and you worked with your hands for a living. Closed cuffs--or cuff links, God forbid--and you might as well tattoo Ivy League Intellectual on your forehead and kiss the red states goodbye. Cuffs rolled back only once said I am educated but I am not unmanned. I could clear brush if necessary.

  Edward stood in the aisle between Nixie and Mama Mel, his good side toward the camera, his serious smile trained on Missy. She leaped to her feet, pleasure at an unexpected ratings bump flaring in her wide brown eyes.

  “Senator Harper! What are your thoughts on the idea that living conditions in Washburn Towers are contributing to childhood asthma?”

  Edward smiled at Missy, but reached for Nixie. He leaned down and planted a smacking kiss on her cheek.

  “Nixie, it’s been months! How have you been?”

  “Okay.” She smiled grimly. Better since your son stopped screwing my mother across Europe.

  “Never thought I’d see you stirring up trouble in my neck of the woods.” He smiled at her, but they both knew he wasn’t being funny.

  “It’s a living.” She smiled sweetly.

  “Now what’s this about Washburn Towers giving kids asthma? You know that’s not true. The government goes through a rigorous bidding process that weeds out unscrupulous contractors. There’s not a fiber of asbestos in that building, and it’s inspected regularly.”

  “Asbestos causes cancer, Edward, not asthma.”

  He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “And it was freshly carpeted and painted last summer.”

  “With materials so cheap they’re outgassing enough chemicals to keep these kids on nebulizers through college.”

  “Cheap-ass carpet,” Mama Mel muttered, sticking her fists into her armpits.

  Edward put on his concerned face. “I had no idea such a thing was even possible.”

  Missy stuck her microphone in Edward’s face and said, “Environmental toxins have long been suspected in the link between poverty and childhood asthma. How do you address the accusation that the government itself is responsible for poisoning these children?”

  Nixie smothered a smirk. She decided she liked Missy Jensen after all.

  “That’s a very serious charge, Ms. Johnson.”

  Missy smiled. “Jensen.”

  “And I give you my word as an elected representative of the people that I will get to the bottom of it. Children are our most precious resource, and deserve all the protection we can provide. I believe the children are our future.”

  “Teach them well, and let them lead the way,” Nixie muttered, disgusted.

  Mama Mel snickered. “Show them all the beauty they possess insiiiiide,” she warbled.

  Missy turned her back on a baffled Edward to give the camera a serious face. “Whitney Houston couldn’t have said it better. From Anacostia’s Free Health Clinic, this is Channel Four’s Melissa Jensen, reporting.”

  The camera man lowered his camera. “That’s a good feed, Missy.”

  She beamed at him. “Thanks, Mike. You were totally on top of it, as always. You’re going to have to wear a tux when we win our Emmy.” He shuddered theatrically, and Missy turned to Mama Mel. “Thanks for the interview, ma’am. I’ll see that Mike sends you a tape.”

  “That would be real nice.”

  Missy shook Edward’s hand, then Nixie’s. “Thanks again for the opportunity,” she told Nixie, then turned to Edward. “I’ll be following up with your office about the carpet at the Wash.”

  “I hope you do.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.” Her smile this time was less shark, more heat. Edward’s own smile went sleek and self-satisfied as he watched Missy stride off on those killer heels.

  “She looks a lot bigger on TV,” Mama Mel said.

  Nixie nodded. “The camera really does add weight. You think all those women in Hollywood are anorexic because it’s fun?”

  “Huh.”

  “Nice work, though, Mama Mel. You were perfect.”

  “Anything for my babies,” she said, patting her hair net. “I wish you’d told me we was expecting company, though.” She cut her eyes to Edward. “I’d have worn my better dress.”

  “I wish somebody had warned me, too. What are you doing here, Edward?”

  “Karl called me.” His dark eyes warmed with the sincerity Nixie suspected he could summon up at will. James had to have learned it somewhere. “He said you were stumping for childhood asthma in my backyard and could use some high-profile backers.”

  Nixie grabbed his elbow. “Will you excuse us, Mama Mel?” Mama Mel waved them away and settled back into her chair. Nixie led Edward to the corner by the bathroom, dropping his elbow the instant they left the crowd.

  “Let’s be honest, Edward,” she said, her voice low and tense. “James didn’t come off well in his tangle with the women of Leighton-Brace.”

  “He looked like an ass.” Edward smiled pleasantly.

  “I’d think you’d want to distance yourself from us and anything associated with us, given your presidential ambitions. Why would you risk dragging the scandal back into the papers by turning up here?”

  He smiled. “Your mother--a fifty-year-old wom
an--stole your boyfriend. She humiliated you with the whole world looking on, and you’re worried about me? Come on, Nixie. Where’s your pride? Aren’t you angry?”

  Nixie opened her mouth. To say what, she didn’t know because it wasn’t like the guy was lying. Edward shook his head, cut her off before she could speak. “Don’t deny it, Nixie. We both know what Sloan is. She sacrificed you to her need to be outrageous, sexually provocative. Desired. Don’t you want to get even?”

  Nixie studied him wearily. “Edward, please. Don’t insult my intelligence. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want something. What is it?”

  He gave her a blinding campaign-poster of a smile. “I want you to take James to the gala you’re planning.”

  She stared. “Why on earth would I do that?”

  He smiled, but it was flat and joyless. “Sloan’s always been terrified of getting old. I can’t think of anything that would gall her more than thinking you were finally coming into your own. Your stealing back the man she stole from you tells the world that you’re finally eclipsing her sexually.”

  “Oh my lord.” Nixie waved both hands in the air between them, as if erasing the words. “Let me rephrase. Why on earth would you want me to do that? It’ll be a tabloid blood bath.”

  “That’s the point, Nixie. James has been off the rails for some time now. I thought indulging him with this African hospital project would bring him back on line, but--” He shrugged. “You saw how that went.”

  “Yeah. The whole world saw.”

  “Damn internet.” He spread his hands helplessly but his eyes went dark and hard. “The boy’s a liability right now. If I’m going to keep him on staff his image needs a serious overhaul. I want the world to see him do the right thing.”

  “And that is?”

  “Ask forgiveness from Nixie Leighton-Brace.”

  “Ah.” Nixie nodded, finally seeing the angle. “And receive it. Be judged sincere and worthy of forgiveness in a nice, high-profile venue.”

  Edward stretched his lips in a parody of a smile. “You’re a bright girl, Nixie. James is an idiot for screwing you this way.”