Apple Brown Betty

by Phillip Thomas Duck

  “Did it already,” Cydney told him, loving the feel of his arm around hers.

  “Oh, okay.” Desmond scooped up the cup of lemonade and handed it to Cydney.

  Cydney took a sip. “Mmm, sweet and cold, just the way I like it.”

  “I remembered that’s what you had at my restaurant the other day,” Desmond offered.

  Cydney looked him over. “You remembered that?”

  Desmond nodded. “Sure did. Lemonade, half a rack of ribs, honey-fried chicken, smothered pork chops—”

  Cydney jabbed him in the side. “I wasn’t that bad.”

  Desmond looked her up and down. “It’s all good, Cydney Williams. Food does a body good.”

  “So where we headed?” Cydney asked.

  Desmond smiled. “You look like absolute royalty,” he said. “Only one place to take a queen around here.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Desmond eased his truck in Reverse and pulled from his parking spot. Cydney sorted through his small pile of CDs and cassettes. She stopped shuffling as she came upon one particular cassette, laughing as she tapped the cassette case with the tip of her fingernail.

  “No, you do not have Eddie Murphy, Desmond.”

  Desmond moved through a turn, his face serious. “What? ‘Put Your Mouth On Me’ was the joint.”

  Cydney shook her head. “I’ve definitely got to help you update your music collection. You don’t have anything from the last couple of years.”

  “I like the classics,” Desmond told her.

  Cydney picked up a second cassette and waved the hard pure evidence at him. “PM Dawn is not the classics, Desmond.”

  That cued Desmond to laugh. “I liked that ‘Set Adrift on Memory Bliss’ or whatever it was called,” he said in defense. “Maybe I got caught up in the hype. You know KRS-One rushed them onstage at one of their shows?”

  “Oh, so you like hip-hop?” Cydney asked.

  That easy smile of Desmond’s came like a flash rain. He nodded. “I don’t really listen to music too much in the truck. Most of the music I hear is at work, in the kitchen. I know what’s hot, though.” He smiled, counted off on his fingers, “Jay-Z’s Blueprint. India. Arie and Alicia Keys. Oh, and I’m feeling that kid Jaheim.”

  Cydney drew in her mouth and rainbow curved her eyes. “Well, excuse me.”

  Desmond moved past the multiplex movie theater on his way from the mall lot. A crowd was gathered on the steps and in the lobby. Desmond nodded toward the large overhead movie billboard. “Speaking of hip-hop…I want to see that Brown Sugar movie.”

  Cydney tapped his arm. “Me too, and I bet I know why you want to see it.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Sanaa Lathan.”

  Desmond smiled. “I’m sure Taye Diggs isn’t informing your desire to see it, right?”

  Cydney fanned herself. “Woo, don’t go there.”

  Desmond smirked. “Women.” He moved through a light onto Highway 35, took it north. “So what do you do, Cydney?”

  “I’m studying for my bachelor’s at Rutgers. I work part-time in fragrances at Macy’s. And one other thing but that’ll have to remain a mystery for a few more days.”

  “Keeping secrets?”

  “No, just holding on to something for a little while longer. You’ll find out soon, I promise. I think you’ll be pleased. And don’t worry, I’m not going to take you on Jerry Springer or something and unload my sexy secret job. I’m not some nasty exotic dancer or anything like that.”

  Considering where he’d been earlier, and how he’d responded to Jacinta, Desmond didn’t quite know how to respond, so he shifted gears. “So what is this bachelor’s degree at Rutgers preparing you for?”

  “Sociology—I either want to teach or work in community development for a corporation, maybe counseling.”

  “So you’re a deep sistah, then, is that it?”

  Cydney looked away from him and out the window as they blurred up the highway. “Not as deep as I would like to be. No.”

  “I know you’re not supposed to ask a woman her age, but I’ll chance it.”

  “Twenty-seven,” Cydney said. “And you?”

  “I’ve got a year on you.”

  “I thought I saw some gray in your beard.”

  Desmond laughed. “What about family?”

  Cydney continued to look out the window. “My father is deceased. My mother…she’s in a home. My father’s passing sent her into a terrible spiral of depression.” Having to tell a lie hurt almost as much as the truth did.

  “That what got you into wanting to be a counselor?”

  Cydney saw an opening. “Yes, it sure did.”

  Desmond nodded. “Cool. Siblings?”

  Cydney shook her head. “Nope, I’m an only.”

  “You know they say only children tend to be more intelligent, more introspective,” Desmond told her.

  Cydney turned back to Desmond, smiling, with a devilish look in her eyes. “So you must have a lot of brothers and sisters then.”

  Desmond let his mouth hang open, and pointed a finger at her. “Now, you know that ain’t right.”

  Cydney laughed. “You know I’m joking.”

  Desmond shook his head before moving along. “I’ve got one sister. Felicia. She’s staying with me now. She’s a model signed to this agency in New York. She had an incident with a photographer last week and came down to my place to do some soul-searching, decide if she wants to continue pursuing the modeling.”

  “He didn’t harm her, did he?” Cydney asked, concerned.

  “Physically, no, but he did plenty of emotional damage. Men don’t think sometimes.” Now it was Desmond’s turn to look away. He considered his own demons. Cydney had a father looking down on her, hoping for the best, Desmond didn’t want to be the man that didn’t think, the man that broke her spirit.

  “What about your parents?” Cydney asked. “Are you close to them? I know they owned that chain of restaurants in Pennsylvania, so obviously their influence rubbed off on you.”

  Desmond nodded. “Yeah, we’re close. A tight-knit unit, I guess. You can plan on some big-time eating for Thanksgivings and Christmases.”

  “Oh, you plan on bringing me home to Mommy?”

  Desmond looked at her. “I’ve got big plans for you. Gonna treat you like the queen you are. Meeting my parents is just the beginning.”

  Cydney smiled, looked out beyond the windshield, they were still traveling down Highway 35. “Speaking of queens, where exactly do you take a queen around here? I’m too curious now.”

  Desmond somehow blushed, a severe feat for a chocolate brother such as himself.

  “What?” Cydney asked.

  Desmond made a face. “I shot off my mouth back at the mall. I didn’t really have anything in mind. I just wanted to drive and talk.” He shrugged, tossed those dimples at her. “I figured if I was lucky I’d possibly get to wrap my arms around you and give you the world’s greatest hug. At any rate, get to know you.”

  Cydney shook her head, fake huffed. “The world’s greatest hug, huh? Well, keep on driving into Red Bank. They’ve got a beautiful park where we can go watch the sun go down, and then we can walk up Broad Street and pick a restaurant to eat at. Cool?”

  Desmond touched her knee. “Right now, everything is so cool.”

  Slay pulled into the twenty-four-hour FoodMart, his Nas CD cranking from his sound system, the back windshield of his BMW vibrating to the music, sounding as if it might crack into pieces. He located a spot, parked and cut the engine, and then rubbed his hands over the dashboard. It was like coming home after a business trip and finally getting to sleep in your own bed again. In the short time they’d been apart he’d missed his BMW dearly.

  There was a crowd milling about in front of the Mart, the same faces as the day before yesterday, and the day before that. Smoking, drinking, talking shit, bopping to the tunes from the stereo plugged in and cribbing juice from the Mart’s electrical outlet. Not one of the
m thought about the future or exercised their voting rights. They were a part of the lost generation, and unfortunately, their greatest affliction wasn’t that they were lost—it was that they didn’t recognize that they were. As the temperature dipped and spring acquiesced to winter, the crowd would thin but at no time during the year would it disappear completely.

  Slay stepped from his car and moved toward the Mart. He stopped and gave a few pounds on his way in.

  “Your whip is lookin’ tight, son,” one of the lost told him. “Them twinkies is glittering, dawg.”

  Slay nodded and moved inside the store. He headed directly to the back, the beverage cooler, and picked out a carton of orange juice and a carton of milk. He walked the items to the front and sat them on the counter and went back out to the sales floor. He grabbed a loaf of rye bread and was looking over the overpriced cereal for something with high nutritional value and little sugar.

  A shadow came up on Slay. “Yo,” the shadow called to him.

  Slay turned, a box of Cheerios in his hand. “Tuff,” Slay said, breaking off into a smile. He placed the cereal box on the shelf, moved to Tuffy and clasped hands with the young boy. He hadn’t seen the kid in a while, not since just after he took care of that situation with George for him. “How you been, dawg?”

  Tuffy shrugged, chewed up his face. “Chillin’. I was wondering when you might have some more work for me.”

  Tuffy was about the business. Slay liked that. “Funny you ask. Soon.”

  Tuffy seemed pleased, let a small smile creep from his lips. “Word?”

  “Word is bond,” Slay told him.

  Tuffy extended his fist for a pound, Slay touched with him. “Holla at me,” Tuffy said. He walked off and out of the store. Slay watched as Tuffy moved through the crowd outside and walked across the street, smoking on a cigarette as he disappeared around the corner. Tuff reminded Slay so much of himself when he was younger.

  Slay turned back to the shelf, scanned the cereal boxes again, then settled on the Cheerios. He moved to the open-air cooler at the side of the store and grabbed a pack of bologna and walked these last items up to the register. He moved everything to the center of the counter. “Hit me off with one of them three-dollar scratch-offs, too,” Slay said to the cashier. “Maybe my luck will change.”

  Ten minutes later Slay was knocking at Kenya’s door. The door opened and her two little boys ushered Slay in; he rubbed their heads as he passed through to the kitchen. He split the tied plastic bags and pulled out the orange juice and milk, placing them on the top shelf of the refrigerator. He put the box of cereal on the counter, out in the open so the kids would see it. He put the luncheon meat in one of the refrigerator compartments and put the bread on the bottom shelf. Kenya strolled into the kitchen as he put the slit plastic bags in the garbage. She had on an oversize pajama shirt and her hair was wrapped in a towel covered by lint.

  “Hey,” she said. “I was in the shower.”

  “I picked up a few things for the kids.”

  Kenya moved to him, wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his chest.

  “You gonna get my Michael Vick jersey wet,” Slay scolded her.

  Kenya leaned back from him. “I’m sorry.”

  Slay smiled, pulled her back in, let her lean her head on him again.

  “You staying the night?” Kenya asked from the warmth of his embrace.

  “Yeah, I’ll hang.”

  Kenya planted a kiss on his chest. He could feel the intensity of her lips even through the fabric. “You gonna take care of me, I hope,” he said. “I had a bad day.”

  “You know I got you, Slay.”

  Slay tightened his arms around her. “Tomorrow I wanted to take you to this new restaurant over on Cookman. You can get someone to watch the kids?”

  Kenya leaned back from him, looked up in his eyes. “Really, Slay?”

  He smiled. “Really.”

  Kenya rushed to the kitchen phone. “Let me call my girl, she owes me a favor.” She dialed the numbers as if the digits were 911. “Girl,” she said after a beat. “This Kenya. I need you to do me a really big favor…”

  Slay moved to the edge of the kitchen, looked out to the living room. The kids were arranged around the set. “Y’all move back from that TV some,” Slay said. “You’re gonna ruin your eyes.” The two boys moved back without looking in his direction.

  Kenya came up behind Slay and wrapped her arms around his torso. “It’s all set.”

  Slay nodded. “Right, right.”

  “Well,” Desmond said, pulling into the mall lot, “here we are.” He parked in the empty spot next to Cydney’s car.

  “I hate for the night to end,” Cydney said, “but all good things have to eventually.”

  “There’ll be plenty more nights for us.” Desmond seemed to be asking more than saying.

  Cydney held her ring of keys, jingling them together in anticipation of her exit. “I hope so.”

  “You’re all that and then some, Miss Wonderful,” Desmond said. “I thought I might as well put that out on the table.”

  Cydney leaned in, kissed him on those luscious lips. She pulled back, biting on her bottom lip, her eyelids heavy with desire. “I better go. If I stay much longer we’ll end up fogging your windows.”

  Desmond’s eyebrows arched. “Oh, yeah?” He hit the power-locks button, the click echoing through his truck. “In that case I’m going to have to keep you here with me.”

  Cydney smiled as Desmond hit the lock button again to unlock the doors. He said, “I’ll give you a call tomorrow, okay, Cydney?”

  Cydney touched his shoulder. “You better.”

  She opened her door and slid from the truck, moved behind the vehicle in the direction of her car, Desmond’s eyes on her every move. She adjusted her seat, fixed her rearview mirror and put on her seat belt. He was still looking at her from the perch of his truck. She waved, started her car, and backed out of the spot. He followed behind her until they got to the main road. She turned left. He went right.

  Slay slid on his jeans and then his Michael Vick jersey, and eased his feet into his boots. Kenya stirred behind him just as he placed his hand on her bedroom doorknob. She sat up in bed, the sheet wrapped around her chest like a bra.

  “You leaving, Slay?”

  He turned to her. “Yeah, just for a minute.”

  Kenya turned on the lamp next to the bed. The small lamp shot off a dense bit of light that only lit the half of the room where Kenya lay. She was under her own spotlight like a star. “You going to check on Ms. Nancy, you can stay up there with her tonight, you want. I ain’t going nowhere. I’ll be here in the morning.”

  Slay smiled. “I’ll see you in the morning. I want to hit the restaurant for lunch, okay?”

  Kenya nodded. “Hey, Slay,” she said as he turned to leave.

  Slay turned back to her. “Yeah?”

  “Thank you for not gassing me, telling me you loved me and all that stuff niggas be saying. Thanks for showing me that you do care, though. For always looking out for me and the boys.”

  Slay was about to say something, but Kenya turned off the lamp and settled back under the covers. He stood there for a moment watching her before he turned and left. When he closed the door Kenya shifted in the bed, took the warm pillow Slay had been resting his head on and hugged it tight against her chest.

  Slay took the rickety elevator up to the thirteenth floor. He pulled the key as he exited through the doors and went to his mother’s apartment. The hall lamp just across from his mother’s was busted and so he fumbled in the darkness to get the key in the lock. On the third try he got it in, turned the lock to open and walked in. As usual the apartment was dark, the radio in his mother’s bedroom playing. He went in the kitchen and pulled down a glass from the cabinet. Went in the refrigerator and took out the two-liter of Schweppes Ginger Ale and poured a half glass full. He put everything back in place and grabbed the white package of saltine crackers f
rom the countertop, where he’d left them yesterday. He went to his mother’s bedroom, tapped as he always did, and went in without getting her approval, as he always did.

  Nancy wasn’t in the room. The sheets and blankets were off the bed, bare mattress the only thing left. Slay plopped down on the mattress; he was too tired to go searching again. He’d just wait for her to return. He ran his fingers along the surface of the mattress. The only positive thought he had was the reality that some old sheets wouldn’t buy anything in the bartering crack game.

  Cydney walked in her apartment and went straight to the phone without removing her jacket or shoes. She dialed Faith’s number.

  “Hello,” Faith said.

  “You didn’t cancel your three-way calling service, did you?”

  “I been meaning to. I hardly use the darn thing, but no, not yet—”

  “Good,” Cydney cut her off. “Get Victoria on the line with us.”

  “You haven’t even said hello yet,” Faith said.

  “Do you want to know about my date with Desmond Rucker or what?”

  “Y’all went out, already?” Faith said, her voice rising with interest. “Hold on, I’ll get Victoria.”

  There was dead air for a few minutes.

  “I knew you’d be on him before the weekend let out,” a voice cut through the dead air.

  Cydney smiled. “Good of you to join us, Victoria.”

  “Skip the preliminaries and get right to the scoop,” Victoria replied.

  “Yeah,” Faith said. “The complete blow by blow of the good stuff.”

  “Whoa there, Faith dear,” Victoria said. “Cydney is a lady of the highest honor. There’s no ‘blow’ in her repertoire.”

  “You know what I meant, darn it,” Faith said.

  “You two finished playing sexual innuendo at my expense?” Cydney asked.

  “You are so right, of course,” Victoria said. “The floor is yours.”

  Faith couldn’t let that go. “Whoa, there, V. Cydney is a lady of the highest honor…she wouldn’t be caught dead doing anything on the floor.”