“Maybe the next time we do a little scene like this, they will pipe in music,” Madison said as she stood up and brushed past me, adding, “A real actress is never late to the set.”
CHAPTER
8
Ava’s first party back in society had been all she hoped. Over thirty guests arrived, all of them from, in Ava’s words to Lyrical, “all the right places.” Lyrical, however, was unimpressed. In fact, she was very upset over a slight confession made in confidence after too many glasses of champagne.
Lyrical had begun to suspect Ava had a hand in Yancey’s problem, but never would she have thought she’d set up her own daughter for a drug bust. Although Lyrical knew Ava had a ruthless streak right down to her bone, and while she found Yancey a stuck-up bitch, it was a stretch for her to imagine a mother would do her own daughter so dirty. Her own mother had disappointed her so many times in her childhood, but even a crackhead wasn’t this low down.
Lyrical had the whole night to mull over what she’d heard, and by morning she decided to confront Ava.
“How could you do that to your own daughter?” Lyrical asked.
“Do what, girl?” Ava was making a pot of coffee, pouring out little scoops into the filter.
“Last night when you told me you had helped set up Yancey with the drugs.”
Ava’s hand stopped dead. “I never said that. What kind of bullshit are you talking about?” Ava asked. She gave a brittle laugh as she looked into the cabinet for the bagels she’d purchased.
“Yes, you did. We might have both been a little drunk, but I remember what you said.”
Ava’s shoulders slumped. There was no way she was going to con an ex-con. “She did it to me and I was just giving her what she deserves. The little bitch.”
Lyrical had already added up two plus two. “Does this have anything to do with you meeting with Donnie Ray? Did you get the drugs from him? I don’t like it, Ava.”
Ava stopped and faced Lyrical. “My business with Donnie Ray is just that. My business, Lyrical. Now, have you thought any more about moving to California to be my assistant?”
“I’m not moving, Ava. I’ve told you that a million times. You know what I think? I think you’re trying to buy me off and keep me quiet or something by getting me out of New York. Why don’t you go to the police and tell them that Yancey is innocent? And who is this guy that she keeps talking about but nobody can find?”
Ava gave her a long-suffering look. “Lyrical, you’re bringing me down. All I want to do is have a cup of coffee and a bagel. I need to start packing my stuff. I will call you later on.” She was talking fast, moving swiftly about the kitchen. “And let’s just forget about last night. I mean the bad stuff. The party was a big hit, wasn’t it?”
“I didn’t like any of those people. Thought they were big shit. Are those the kinds of people you used to hang around with?”
“Some of those people were my friends. And I think you’re the one that’s being snooty, Lyrical.”
She couldn’t believe Ava was such a phony. “They weren’t your friends, Ava. A lot of them had never heard of you. One lady told me she had met you over the internet when you read about her in some society blog. Is that what you’re going to do the rest of your life, use your money to buy friends?”
“Girl, you’re tripping me the fuck out,” Ava said hotly.
“You’re so fake, Ava. Listen at how you’re cussing at me. I thought you told me a real woman didn’t need language like that to make her point.”
“Whatever, bitch. Talk to you later.”
“Don’t walk out on me, Ava. I told you how my mother used to do that and how it made me feel. Don’t do that to me,” Lyrical pleaded.
“Oh shit, you’re going to make me scream! You make my ass hurt. I’m so sick and tired of hearing about your dead drug addict mother,” Ava said harshly. “She’s dead, so build a bridge and get over it! I’m not your mother, Lyrical.”
Tears rushed down Lyrical’s face, and she felt like she’d been hit in the stomach with a baseball again. Still, she was determined to have the last word. “You’re nobody’s mother, Ava. Look what you did to your own daughter.”
CHAPTER
9
I was zipping up the side of my black pencil skirt when I heard a knock at the door.
“Come in,” I said.
Derrick opened the door and peeked in. “Are you decent?”
A part of me wished he had walked in a minute before. “Come on in, Derrick,” I said as I located the red leather belt I usually wore along with a snow-white oxford cloth shirt.
“You did great today. The directors are really pleased with your work, Yancey,” Derrick said.
Did he really come in just to tell me that? “Thanks, Derrick.”
“It couldn’t have been easy. Madison told me what she said, and I really got on her about being so grown.”
“That’s okay, Derrick, and Madison had every right.” I held up a hand to stave off his protest. “She is quite the little actress. You would have never known how much she hates me when we did our scenes.”
“Madison doesn’t hate you, Yancey,” Derrick said, discouraged. “That’s one thing I know about my little girl; she isn’t capable of hate. Give her a little time and everything will be fine.”
“I deserve whatever happens to me,” I said solemnly.
Derrick was having none of that. “Do you deserve to go to jail for something you didn’t do?”
“I’m hopeful that won’t happen. My lawyer and a friend of mine are trying to help me find the guy who set me up.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Derrick said.
If I didn’t know how protective he was of his daughter, I would think he was making a play for me. “Thanks, Derrick, but you’ve done enough. A lot more than I’ll ever deserve.”
He was pleased by that remark, and he slapped his thigh, thinking of something else. “Say, Madison got some big news.”
“What happened?”
“She’s doing a concert for the president-elect’s daughters. It turns out they’re big fans,” Derrick said.
“Oh, that’s wonderful. I was supposed to sing at one of the victory parties, but my arrest messed that up.” I didn’t really mind, because I was only singing backup. “I sure would like to go to see Madison singing at the White House.”
“Why don’t you come?”
I drew back, immediately refusing. “I don’t know. Madison might not like that. I mean, this is about her. Not me.”
“You can come as my guest,” Derrick said.
There it was again, that sparkle in his eye which I didn’t know how to interpret. “Let me think about it. I don’t want to do anything to upset Madison. This could be a really special night for her,” I said.
“Okay, but I’m sure it wouldn’t be a problem. Do you have plans for this evening?”
“Just to study my lines for tomorrow,” I said, wondering why he asked.
“If you like, I will ask Madison if she’d mind if you joined us for dinner.”
I thought about it for a moment and thought how uncomfortable I would be if I was in Madison’s place, and so I told Derrick I would pass.
He seemed deflated. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay, but this isn’t the last time I will ask you.”
“That’s fair, Derrick,” I said as I reached up and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. He looked surprised but in a good way. He wasn’t looking at me like a protective daddy.
I WAS STANDING OUTSIDE the studio in Queens, trying to hail a taxi when my cell phone rang. I saw the 305 area code and thought it might be Marcus finally calling me to explain what was going on. Instantly I answered it.
“Hello.”
“Yancey. This is Jeff. Steven’s partner. We met when you came to Miami. Remember?”
What could he want? “Yes, Jeff, I remember.” Then what he said registered with me. “But you said Steven. I know y
our partner as Seneca,” I said.
He sounded fretful as he replied. “That was all a part of his plan. I need to talk to you and try and explain what’s going on. Where are you?”
“Right now I’m in Queens on my way back to Manhattan,” I said.
“Do you have plans this evening?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then you should meet me and I can try and explain what’s going on.”
I would have preferred that S. Marcus do it face-to-face, but I would do anything to find out what had happened. “Sure, I can do that. Where do you want to meet?”
“How long will it take you to get to Manhattan?”
“About fifteen minutes when I get a taxi,” I said.
“Okay. I’m staying at the Hudson Hotel. Why don’t we meet there? I understand the restaurant there is pretty good,” Jeff said.
I wasn’t familiar with it myself, but Jeff seemed to have good taste. At least when he wasn’t trying to act ghetto. “Okay, but why don’t you give me an hour? I need to make a stop.”
“Okay. Did my number show up on your phone?”
“Yeah.”
“This is the number where you can reach me. Lock it in.”
“Okay, Jeff. I will see you shortly,” I said.
I WALKED INTO THE dimly lit bar at the Hudson Hotel on West 57th Street and saw Jeff standing at the corner of the bar. He raised his ring hand in the air, motioning for me to join him.
“You got here really quick,” Jeff said. He gave me a kiss on the cheek and I immediately pulled back. I didn’t know what information he had for me or if I could trust him.
“How are you, Jeff? Where is your buddy?”
He saw the suspicion written all over my face. “That’s what I want to talk to you about. I think I have some information you might need. Can I get you something to drink?”
“No. What information?”
“At least have a club soda or something.”
He had offered to meet with me, I remembered. “Club soda with cranberry juice.”
Jeff motioned to the bartender and patted his hand on the bar stool, which I took as his telling me to take a seat. As I did, he gave me an appreciative once-over.
“You look great, Yancey. How is the filming going?”
“Look, Jeff, I know you didn’t invite me here to talk about how good I look. Are you and Marcus involved in some sort of drug trade? Is that why you agreed to finance my show, so that you could use me?”
He waved both hands, as if to signal cancel that. “No, I’m not involved in any type of drug trade, and I seriously doubt that Marcus is. I’ve known him since prep school and that’s not Marcus. His family would be livid. Marcus comes from good stock.”
“Then explain to me why I was arrested carrying a bag with drugs provided to me by Marcus.”
“I can’t explain that, but I did find out a few days ago that Marcus and some of his family members are really upset with you.”
That idea completely threw me. “For what? I only know Marcus. Why would members of his family be mad at me?”
“Come on, Yancey. I found out you were the one who took Marcus Senior away from the family some years ago.”
The stern way he was looking at me was totally irritating. “What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t you have an affair with Marcus Senior?”
I was trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about. “Are you talking about Marcus’s father? Hell no! I’ve never even met Marcus’s father. Matter of fact, Marcus and I have never even discussed his father. I just assumed he was either dead or they weren’t close.”
“Marcus and his father were always very close, Yancey,” Jeff said.
“Were? So he is dead?”
“No, but he has a sickness that makes him no good to anyone. It’s been that way for several years. I think that’s why Marcus Junior was so hell-bent on getting revenge on you. He told me you were the reason his family is in such disarray. He blames you for his mother’s death. He told me that he knew one day he would meet you and exact revenge.” He must have seen how baffled I was by the accusation, and he backed off slightly. “I love Marcus, but I don’t think he’s going about this the right way. He didn’t tell me until a couple of days ago when I asked about the show what he’d been up to.”
“I don’t know Marcus’s mother or his father. This is crazy.” Suddenly I had a flash of that first night, when his car pulled up to the curb. “So we didn’t just meet innocently. This was all some plan to get back at me for something I didn’t do,” I said as I stood up from the bar stool.
Jeff said quietly, “You better sit down. There is more I need to tell you.”
CHAPTER
10
So, do you have the menu for my party, Chef Crenshaw?” Ava asked. After one successful party she was ready for something on an even grander scale. A party that, once word got out, Kathleen Crowell would be begging to attend. This party could put her dead center on the social map of New York society and provide entrée back into California’s social movers and shakers.
“I do have it, Ms. Middlebrooks, and I hope you will approve,” Crenshaw Roberts said. He was the former head chef for the South African cuisine in a popular restaurant in Harlem. Ava read an article on him in New York magazine and was delighted when he agreed to cater her going back to Cali party.
“What are you suggesting, Crenshaw? It is okay that I call you Crenshaw, isn’t it?”
“That’s fine, Ms. Middlebrooks.”
“Call me Ava, darling,” she said in a teasing purr.
“Okay, Ava. I thought we would start with fish sambal served on toasted bread. We will also have chicken satay and corn fritters with a sweet apricot sauce.”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful. My guests will be so impressed,” Ava said. “Do you know Kathleen Crowell of EbonySocialite.com?”
“Yes, I know Kathleen, and how many people are we talking about?”
“Between twenty-five and thirty,” Ava said.
“Perfect number.”
“I want you to make sure Kathleen’s office knows that you’re the chef of this party.”
“No problem.”
That was a key piece put in place. “So what will we have for dinner?”
“I suggest, with it being fall, that we start with a pumpkin soup.”
“Again a perfect choice.”
“Follow that up with a beet root and onion salad. I also want to have a platter of cold green asparagus with a spicy mayonnaise that I do.”
“Is this popular in South Africa?”
“Yes, it is, Ava. I want to serve a braised lamb with apple mint relish and fish cakes. I will also serve pumpkin fritters with a coconut curry sauce.”
“What’s for dessert?”
“I have the perfect thing,” Crenshaw said.
“I’m listening.”
“Pears in spiced red wine with vanilla ice cream,” Crenshaw said.
The spiced red wine part would be helpful. “Sounds delicious.”
“I think we should serve South African wines with each course.”
“Oh, honey, my guests are going to be so impressed,” Ava said.
“I hope that you will be as well, Ava. I hope this won’t be the last party that I do for you. Is this your only home?” Crenshaw asked as he looked around the living room.
“Oh, of course not, honey. My house in Palm Springs is being renovated. I will be back there in the spring. If this goes well, maybe I will use you for my housewarming. I will fly you out at my expense, of course.”
“I would love to do that,” Crenshaw said.
“Can I get a copy of the menu? Oh, and how many on wait staff?”
“I think four will work perfectly, and yes, I will have my assistant forward you a menu. I’m pretty sure we have your email address.”
“Okay. That will be fine, Crenshaw. I hate to rush you, but I still haven’t found the right dress for the event and I’m expec
ting my personal shopper any moment.”
Crenshaw stood up. Ava looked up, briefly startled because she hadn’t realized how tall Chef Crenshaw was when he came into the house.
“I don’t want to get in the way of a lady looking for the perfect dress. It was nice meeting you, Ava Middlebrooks.”
“Same here, love.”
AVA PICKED UP HER cell phone and pressed the number programmed for Lyrical. It went right to voicemail.
“Damn,” Ava muttered to herself.
“What up, ya’ll? This girl Lyrical. Right now I can’t chop it up with you ’cause I’m laying down some tracks on my music hustle, so just leave me a message and I’ll get back witcha soon.”
“Lyrical, girl, where are you? Are you all right? I haven’t heard from you and I’m worried. I hope you’re not mad at me. Call me or come by when you get this message. This is Ava.”
Ava was waiting on some of her purchases to be delivered so when the doorbell rang she answered without hesitation.
“Yancey, what are you doing here?”
“I need to talk with you, Ava. What are you up to?” Yancey asked.
“I think I should be asking you that, Missy,” Ava said as she looked at Basil, who was standing next to Yancey, and gave him a dirty look.
“Why did you have my locks changed?”
“Because this is my house and I don’t consort with drug dealers even if we are blood. And what are you doing with him?”
“Basil is letting me stay with him and you know I’m not a drug dealer.”
“I don’t know any such thing. So he’s doing girls again. Can’t you make up your mind, Basil Henderson, and Yancey, are you that hard up for a little dick? You’re really a case.”
“Do you know Marcus?”
“Who?”
“Marcus Pinkston. Do you know him?”
“Can’t say that I do and if you two don’t mind I have some beauty sleep to catch up on. Good day,” Ava said as she slammed the door.
CHAPTER
11
I told Yancey about your big news and she was really excited for you,” Derrick said.
Mama Dearest Page 28