Driving Heat

by Day, Zuri

  “You’re probably right. She was even on my route the other day, just happened to be over there, she said. I asked where her car was. She said a friend was using it. Can you imagine Tanya letting someone use her car while she took the bus?”

  “Heck, no.”

  “Me neither. She’s up to something.”

  “Bottom line, dude? She knows she messed up and wants you back.”

  “More like she wants back my paycheck.”

  “Yes, that would mean more child support.” Byron shook his head. “Me and Ava tried to tell you how to stop that madness.”

  “I know. But when she and Ricky moved in together and they had another baby, I thought that lie was finally put to rest.”

  “A woman like Tanya will say anything, and do anything, to get a man. I had a similar conversation earlier with your baby bro.”

  “Barry?”

  “Who else, fool?”

  Byron laughed. “What’s that fool into now?”

  “Too many pussies, without protection. I told him his time would be better spent looking for a J-O-B.”

  “He still talking that personal trainer nonsense?”

  “It wouldn’t be nonsense if he’d get serious and put some real work into getting steady clients who actually needed his services, instead of these size-two sistahs who only want him to practice pushups while they do leg lifts.”

  “Ha!”

  The two brothers were silent a moment. Out of the five Carter boys, Barry, the youngest, was by far the most spoiled, the only one still at home and the only one who didn’t work full-time.

  Douglas stifled a yawn. “When is this date with your fantasy woman?”

  “Saturday morning, ten o’clock.”

  “Not a lot of time to smooth out the rough edges but enough for you to learn a couple tips from a pro.”

  Byron made a big deal of looking around. “Where’s he at?”

  The brothers laughed. Douglas teased him about being on a “Carter come up” by going after a woman outside the realm of those he normally dated. Byron headed home feeling a little less nervous about his meeting with Cynthia. But not much.

  Cynthia resisted the urge to squirm and worked to look interested in the speaker’s impassioned endorsement of the national health care system. Not that she disagreed with anything said, but that other matters were vying for attention. And winning.

  After another torturous hour, Cynthia made her escape. Halfway home, her cell phone rang. “Lisa?” Cynthia quickly answered the call. It was almost midnight in Chicago. She hoped her friend was all right. “Hello?”

  Whispered words, frantic, garbled, played through the car’s speakers. “Lisa?”

  “. . . in five minutes.” Cynthia made out through irritating static.

  “Do what in five minutes? Lisa, what’s the matter?”

  “Call me! In five! I’ll explain later.”

  “Where are—”

  The line went dead.

  What in the world is going on ? She considered calling Gayle or Dynah, the other women in their four-person posse, but decided to wait the five minutes Lisa requested. If Lisa didn’t answer, the cavalry would be called.

  “Is Mercury retrograde?” Ironically it was Lisa who’d told Cynthia about this planetary phenomenon, when the planet appeared to travel backward and communication went crazy. While remaining somewhat skeptical of the planet’s effect on human experiences, in this moment she felt cosmic insanity would explain the odd occurrences of the last two days. Four minutes and fifty-nine seconds later, she tapped the redial button.

  “Okay, what’s going on?”

  “Excuse me, who is this?”

  “Lisa, I am not in the mood for foolishness. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, this is Lisa. Oh, hi, I’m sorry, wasn’t expecting to hear from you this late at night. Is the paperwork in order?”

  “So . . . I’m supposed to figure this out on my end.”

  “Yes, I have that information, but it’s at my house and I’m not there right now.”

  The lightbulb flashed.

  “Seriously? This is a rescue call from another one of your illicit adventures?”

  “Hold on a minute.” Cynthia heard muffled mumbling. SMH. “I’m leaving right now. No, no, it’s okay. This is important. I’ll get over there as soon as I can.”

  “You do that, heifah,” Cynthia managed between laughing. “Because I have a newsflash, too.”

  7

  Byron arrived at the coffee shop early, as he’d planned. Nerves had been replaced with a curious attraction. He wondered if she lived here, Marina Del Rey, where she’d suggested they meet. It was an expensive area. If this was her neighborhood, she was either independently wealthy or her job paid very well.

  Douglas had been right about one thing. Cynthia wasn’t the type of woman he usually dated. Byron wasn’t fazed. As an LA native, and a ten-year bus driver, there weren’t many parts of the metropolitan area that he’d not at least driven through or any echelon of individual whom he hadn’t met. Whether five-star or two for five dollars, the surroundings didn’t matter. The kids who’d been raised by retired Sergeant Willie Carter were nothing if not comfortable in their own skin.

  “The early bird catches the worm. The smart one eats half and saves some for later.” That mantra from Willie, that Byron had heard from the time he was five, is why he sat scrolling the Internet on his cell phone, sipping a bottle of water, and thinking about his fantasy woman.

  Had she been able to read what was on his mind when she entered, there wouldn’t have been the need for coffee to heat her up.

  “Good morning, Byron.”

  “Hello, pretty lady.” Byron stood to greet her.

  Cynthia held out her hand. Byron took it and pulled her close, giving a chaste kiss on the cheek.

  They sat. Byron watched as she positioned her purse strap on the chair. If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn she was a little flustered. By that little kiss? Naw . . .

  “It’s Saturday and you look like you’re headed to work. Do you ever let your guard down, lose the professional look?”

  “Slacks and a top hardly qualify as that. But if that was a compliment, thank you.”

  “Oh, you look good. There’s no mistaking that. What are we drinking?”

  “I’ll take a small mocha, decaf.”

  “That’s all?” She nodded. “No roll, croissant, breakfast sandwich?”

  “No, I’m fine, thanks.”

  An unreadable smile touched his lips and met his eyes. “All right, then. Be right back.”

  Within minutes he returned with her drink selection and then went back for his order, a large fruit smoothie and gooey cinnamon bun. He took a large bite and chewed it with appreciative abandon.

  “So . . . you’re one of those, huh?” he said while licking his fingers before another bite.

  “What?” She’d heard him, but her mother’s voice had been louder. If Anna Marie Hall ever saw Cynthia lick her fingers anywhere, she would have gotten popped.

  “Bird nibbler.”

  “Meaning . . .”

  “You know how y’all do. Go on a date and eat like a bird. Be so hungry by the time you get home that you clean out the fridge and empty the cabinets.”

  Cynthia laughed out loud. Another Anna Marie public no-no. But she’d been that bird a time or two. “No acting here. I’m an early riser and have already had breakfast. But don’t mind me. Enjoy your food.”

  “I intend to.” He finished another bite, wiped his hands, and took a drink. “Do you live around here?”

  “Close by, Culver City.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “It has its pluses and minuses, but overall it’s a nice place to live.”

  “I have a few friends in the area. It can get congested down here on the evenings and weekends.”

  “It can get congested just about anywhere in Los Angeles.”

  “True.”

  Silence de
scended as Byron enjoyed his roll.

  “Byron, as I said at the office, I am very pleased Leah has you as a positive male role model. I understand she’s endured hardships and—”

  “Whoa, wait a minute.” Byron hurriedly finished his bite and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I’ve loved my niece since she took her first breath and will do whatever I can to make her life better. But I did not leave my warm bed and risk missing the March Madness game that comes on in an hour to talk about Leah.”

  “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

  “You.” He lowered his voice in a way that Cynthia imagined had separated many a woman from the clothes she wore. “What’s your story?”

  “I never give a specific answer to a general question. What would you like to know?”

  “I want to know it all,” he said with exaggeration as he made a face. His goofy antics reminded her of Cedric the Entertainer. She laughed again and realized this type of easy joy hadn’t been felt in a while. “For starters, where are you from?”

  “I grew up near Minneapolis.”

  “Minnesota, huh. Do you know Prince?”

  “Oh, sure. We went to school together.”

  “That’s what I get when visitors find out I was born in Compton. Do you know Ice Cube or Dr. Dre?”

  Cynthia remembered her thoughts as she drove to Ava’s house. She kept them to herself. “I don’t meet many LA natives.”

  “We’re here. Never been to Minnesota, though.”

  “You should visit. It’s a beautiful state.”

  “I know you’re not married, but do you have kids?”

  “What is it with you assuming so much about me? Just because I’m not wearing a ring, doesn’t mean I’m not married. As a man, you should know that’s not true.”

  “Are you married?”

  “No, but—”

  “But what? I just said you’re not married. You’ve agreed that’s true. What’s the problem?”

  Cynthia became very interested in the taste of her coffee.

  “Look, when you’re interested in people and you have an occupation that has you surrounded by them for over ten years, you develop keen observation skills. It’s not personal.”

  “Let’s talk about you.”

  “All right. You know my name, Byron Carter. I’m the oldest of five hardheaded boys.”

  “What about Ava?”

  “She’s the big sis of all of us.”

  “You come from a large family.”

  “It’s all relative. There are families on the block who had ten, twelve kids. We were raised by two parents married thirty-five years and still together. I’m a single father. My daughter, Tyra, is almost ten years old. And I’m looking for a mama to raise her and give me at least five sons. I’m trying to outdo my parents.” As Cynthia tried to rearrange the look of near-horror his comment brought out, it was Byron’s turn to chuckle. “I’m just kidding with you, girl. Don’t run away.”

  “Okay, because I was about to grab my purse and hit the exit!”

  They both laughed; the first moment of true camaraderie between them since Cynthia boarded the bus.

  “By that statement, I take it you have only one child?”

  “Yes, and she’s a handful.”

  “You share custody with her mom?”

  “I have primary custody. Contrary to popular belief, there are black men who take care of our children.”

  “I’m thankful for those who do. More men like you mean fewer children like Leah coming into my office.”

  “By the way, that girl hating on you the other day? That’s Tyra’s mother.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “No, you don’t. Tanya and I basically grew up together. We never really dated, just messed around. When she got pregnant we tried to make it work but broke up three years later. That was almost seven years ago.”

  “Why was she on your bus?”

  “The same reason you were on it, to hear her tell it.”

  “Sounds like you don’t believe her.”

  Byron shrugged.

  “It’s really none of my business. I wanted us to meet today to prove I have nothing against you personally. As Leah’s counselor, it can also be beneficial to know a little about her extended family.”

  “Leah wasn’t always the person you see. She was a bright, funny kid, full of sunshine. She doted on her big brother and when he died, I think a part of her did, too. But we’re not going to talk about work, remember?”

  “We’re not. We’re talking about Leah’s extended family.”

  “What about your family? Do you have siblings, kids?”

  “I have a younger brother attending law school at NYU—”

  “Nice . . .”

  “And a son, who just turned eight.”

  “Does he like California?”

  “Are you kidding? Wonderful theme parks, the beach, neighbors his age, and basketball court and skate board weather all year-round . . . he’ll probably never leave.”

  “Where did you live before?”

  “Chicago.”

  “Ah, that makes sense. I spent a whole winter in Chicago one night.”

  Cynthia responded with a tinkling chuckle. Byron immediately decided it was a sound he’d like to hear more often.

  “My plane was grounded due to a mechanical problem. The airline put us up for the night and I had the bright idea to check out the city. Stepped outside and oh, man! I’d never experienced wind that could cut through cloth.”

  “That’s why it’s called the Windy City.”

  “Windy is the air that sways palm leaves or helps a kite float in the air. What I felt that night went way beyond windy.”

  “It can get pretty intense.”

  “Sounds like your son is a smart young man.”

  “I think so.”

  “I never appreciated all my parents did until Tyra came to live with me. Raising kids is hard work when two people are doing it. By yourself it’s even more difficult. Add to it the fact that I’m raising a daughter and the responsibility seems overwhelming at times.”

  “I have similar feelings when it comes to raising a son.”

  “My hats are off to all the single mothers out there who’ve held it down. It’s a labor of love, though. I’d do it all over again, except I’d choose a different mother. Not that I chose this one to tell you the truth.”

  “Baby mama drama?”

  “You don’t know the half.”

  “Actually, I do, except with me it’s less about drama and more about . . . well, it’s about the pitfalls of having a parent missing from a child’s life.”

  “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

  “Yes.”

  “Sounds like one you don’t care to share.”

  “Correct.”

  Byron slowly nodded, eyeing her with interest as his curiosity grew. “I can respect that. What is one of your biggest challenges dealing with him? With my daughter, it’s clothes and the styles she wants to wear! Why do they make outfits for ten-year-olds as if they’re eighteen?”

  “Unfortunately, fashion is largely driven by a pop culture that pays little attention to the term age appropriate. Look at the people singing the music she loves or the shows she enjoys watching on TV. They’re probably the ones she’s emulating, and they’re probably not much older than her.” Cynthia took a sip of coffee. “Jock straps.”

  The roll on its way to Byron’s mouth was stopped halfway there. “Excuse me?”

  “One of the challenges in being a single mother raising a son. I have no personal knowledge of that particular apparatus.”

  Byron’s look was that of a confident man. “It just so happens I’m an apparatus expert. What would you like to know?”

  The two continued chatting and getting to know each other. One topic flowed into another without effort and before either of them knew it, two hours had gone by. Cynthia left for her hair appointment. Byron headed over to his parents’ house to watch wha
t remained of the game. Both left having experienced the unexpected. For Byron, it was that Cynthia wasn’t as uppity as he thought she was, and even more beautiful when relaxed and smiling. For Cynthia, it was that they had so much in common, and since he wasn’t her client’s immediate family . . . that she’d agreed to join him for dinner tomorrow night.

  8

  Anyone listening to the cacophony that greeted Byron as he stepped into the Carter household would have thought there were thirty people in the Carter living room. Instead, it was just his dad (the loudest), three brothers, Tyra, and a cousin who was around Tyra’s age. As he entered, they ran out of the room in search of more age-appropriate, girly entertainment. Byron greeted them and then entered the living room and immediately made his presence known.

  “How can y’all hear the TV with all this hollering?” he yelled loud enough to be heard over the din. “Stop all this yakkity-yak. I’m here to watch the game!”

  “Shut up, fool. You’re louder than anybody!”

  “Nobody cares why you’re here.”

  “You bad, come over and shut me up!”

  “Hey, big brother, we learned from the best.”

  “Byron, go sit down.”

  Barry, the youngest son, delivered this command and got bopped upside the head for his trouble. Byron sat down beside him. “Shut the hell up.”

  “Hey!” Elizabeth “Mom Liz” Carter walked into the room wearing a scowl. “Cut out all this ruckus! And stop all that got damn cussing in my house!”

  The room erupted into an even louder cacophony as all but one of Byron’s brothers—Douglas, Nelson, and Barry—verbally reacted to her comment. The girls, Tyra and her cousin, ran back into the living room, looked at their grandmother with wide-eyed glee, and plopped down on an oversized floor cushion in a way that suggested the best entertainment was in this room. Liz was a walking, talking tornado who made no apologies for who she was. At five-foot-eight, she was just two inches shorter than her husband, and outweighed him by about fifty pounds. Both bark and bite, with a heart of gold. Would curse you out one minute and feed you the next. Her family loved her to death.

  Byron jumped up to give her a hug. “What’s up, Mama Lizzie?”

  “My blood pressure. What’s up with you?”