Dangerous Consequences

by Lisa Renee Johnson

  Minutes later Manny Perez, whose father owned the Golden Star Market, followed Payton around the corner to the house. With young Manny at her side, she knocked on the side door that led to the basement. After several minutes of waiting without an answer, she instructed Manny where to tape the notice and had him complete the paperwork. She sealed it and the additional envelopes she had already addressed. Then she gave Manny twenty-five dollars, and he left her standing on the narrow side walkway.

  As soon as Manny disappeared, Payton slipped the key into the security screen and entered the basement, making sure to hold her breath. She half-expected the smells of rotting food and dirty clothes to jump out at her, but they didn’t. The trash bags filled with clothes and the old fast-food containers were gone; the basement was empty except for the computer and printer and, upon closer inspection, a small stack of blank computer checks with her uncle’s name, Donald Jones, Sr., imprinted on them.

  “Hello,” a voice called from the alleyway. Payton walked over to the wrought-iron gate.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, appraising the man from head to toe as she took in the dark sunglasses, his dark blue uniform, and the handgun that rested neatly in its holster on his right side.

  “Ms. Jones?”

  “Yes,” she said, extending the tip of her well-manicured hand for a formal shake.

  “I’m Officer McGrady,” he responded, “but please call me Mac. I got your message that you were coming down here to serve Ms. Mitchell and I thought I’d come by to—”

  “Look, I’m doing everything by the book, even though I find it ludicrous to have to evict someone I’ve never had a contract with. I had Manuel Perez serve the papers and he just left.”

  “Slow down, Ms. Jones,” Officer McGrady instructed, interrupting her tirade. She turned on her heels, headed toward the printer, then retrieved the small stack of checks.

  “Look at this.” She shoved the checks into the officer’s hand and watched closely as he scanned the documents.

  “Why are you giving these to me?”

  “Because my tenant is up to no good. My uncle has been in jail for three weeks and his lifestyle doesn’t afford him the luxury of a checking account. Sonja Mitchell knows he’s coming into some money once we sell this house and I know these checks are fake.”

  Officer McGrady studied the checks further. They looked valid, but these days most fraudulent checks did.

  “My uncle Donald doesn’t have a valid California driver’s license or identification card, so he couldn’t legally open a checking account.”

  “As I was saying before, the reason I came down here was to apologize for not doing a warrant check on Ms. Mitchell last week. Turns out she was arrested yesterday for passing bad checks at Walmart. After we picked her up, it was later discovered there was a warrant for her arrest for a probation violation.”

  “How long is she going to be in jail?”

  “Ms. Mitchell will be in jail for at least ninety days.” He removed his sunglasses and looked around the room. “Have you touched anything else in here besides these checks?”

  She looked at him strangely. “No. I hadn’t been inside long before you arrived. Why?”

  “Can you excuse me for a few minutes while I contact the detectives working on her case to see if they want to get a warrant for these checks, the computer, and the printer?” He walked away, speaking into the radio attached to his left shoulder.

  Payton wanted to scream, but she didn’t say a word. Sonja Mitchell would be tucked away for at least ninety days and that was more time than she needed to be rid of her squatting ass.

  Payton’s troubles with the house were nearly over. She moved to the corner and dialed a number that had become familiar to her over the past few months, eager to share her news. When the call went directly to Tony’s voice mail her mood shifted. That feeling of disappointment was exactly why she didn’t do relationships. She hadn’t heard from Tony in four days, even though she’d left him several messages. She knew his mother was dying, but the least he could do was call her back. She sighed, chastising herself for forgetting the fact that she couldn’t depend on anyone but herself. She left a message, her voice cold and firm.

  “Y’know, I thought we were better than this, but obviously I was wrong. I’ve left three messages for you with no return call, so I guess this means you only call me when you need something. Don’t bother calling me back; just lose my fucking number.” She hung up the phone.

  The tears appeared out of nowhere, threatening to spill from her eyes. But she fought hard to retract them, refused to let them fall. She’d made it this far without needing anybody and she sure as hell didn’t need him.

  CHAPTER 25

  Sydney guided a medical student through a spinal tap on a six-week-old baby who had been born prematurely. She prayed the infant was negative for the respiratory syncytial virus that plagued so many babies this time of year, but it would take a few days before they knew for sure. Miles poked his head into the exam room, breaking her concentration.

  “We’ve got work coming in,” he announced, looking from the medical student to Sydney.

  “What is it?” she asked, never taking her eyes off the medical student.

  “There are two—a nine-month-old who fell from a four-story window and a two-year-old hit in the stomach by random gunfire. They’re both about five minutes out,” he answered, backing out of the doorway.

  Sydney watched closely as the student removed the needle from the baby’s lumbar vertebrae, careful not to make any sudden moves, as instructed. Once the needle was fully removed, the student backed away, and Sydney affixed a small bandage to the baby’s skin. The student then handed her the small circular tube of fluid, which she held up to the light for inspection.

  “What do you think?” the student asked.

  “It should be clear, like water. Cloudy fluid like this might indicate meningitis,” Sydney said, lifting the lethargic infant.

  “Go ahead and start an IV on the baby so as soon as they get her settled upstairs, we can start the antibiotics. But first bring her family back so I can give them an update.”

  A young woman with an electric-blue braided ponytail entered the room. Her visible fear and worry manifested itself in the rings of moisture under both armpits of her dingy T-shirt. Tamara Freeman couldn’t have been more than seventeen.

  “Tamara, I’m Dr. James,” she said, handing the young girl the baby. “We just completed the spinal tap on Leeshelle. Although it will take twenty-four hours to get the results back from the test for meningitis, the spinal fluid was a little cloudy, so as a precaution we’re going to go ahead and start antibiotics immediately.”

  “What about the RSV test?” the young woman questioned, holding the baby close to her chest.

  “We ran the respiratory syncytial virus test also; unfortunately, that test won’t come back for a few days.”

  “I don’t want my baby to die,” the girl pleaded, her face riddled with fear.

  “Sweetie, you did the right thing by bringing her in to the emergency room. I’m going to admit her and we’re going to do everything in our power to get her back healthy and thriving. Okay?”

  The young woman hesitated. “Okay. But will I be able to stay with her?”

  “It won’t be the most comfortable stay, but there are rocking chairs in the intensive care nursery.”

  The girl smiled and placed her free hand on Sydney’s arm. “Thank you, Dr. James.”

  “You’re welcome, Tamara. The other doctor will be in soon to start an IV on the baby and get her settled upstairs. I’ll check back on the two of you a little later.”

  Sydney left the room, heading toward the emergency bay. She was impressed by the young mother and confident the baby would be okay. Tamara Freeman had blue hair, but she was articulate and asked all the right questions.

  Through the luck of the draw, Sydney had inherited the gunshot victim. They’d taken the child to surgery and now, three h
ours later, he was stable, but all she could think about was whether he’d regain full use of his legs. The child had been hit by a stray bullet as he lay sleeping in bed with his parents. The senseless gun violence in Oakland had to end.

  Sydney sat down at the nurses’ station, further reflecting on her day. It was almost over, but the last fifteen minutes couldn’t come soon enough. She’d already given reports and finished her charting. To pass the time, she surfed the internet, eventually finding her way to the celebrity gossip sites she enjoyed. She scrolled her way through bossip.com, theybf.com, and finally made her way to karma.com, a local Bay Area site.

  The headline jumped out at her: The Sex Doctor Is Making House Calls.

  Underneath the headline was a picture of Donathan, clearly upset and reaching for the camera. Sydney clicked on the “view pictures/read more” link and scanned the article. The headline was brutal enough, but the rest of the photos were worse. Her husband was in a serious lip lock with an unknown woman and, according to the web site, the photos had been taken just the night before. The site even had posted a photo of Donathan and Sydney for confirmation that he was a married man.

  Sydney could feel fury building inside her like a volcano about to blow. That bastard! He had to know this shit was on the internet and his cowardly ass hadn’t even tried to warn her. The web site she cruised for entertainment now had everyone laughing today—at her expense.

  “I see you like to read karma.com, too,” Miles said, craning his neck to peek over her shoulder. “Which lunatic is on blast today?” he asked before he recognized the man on the screen. He had never met Donathan in person but had seen his likeness on the numerous billboards plastered around the city.

  “Is that who I think it is?” he asked to Sydney’s stiffening back. She grabbed the computer power cord and yanked it from the electrical outlet, causing the screen to go black. She spun around and stared at Miles, saying nothing, but the fire in her eyes made it clear she was ready to burn the place down.

  Without a word, she headed down the corridor to the doctors’ quarters. When the door failed to close behind her, she realized Miles was on her heels.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, his frame crowding the doorway.

  Sydney removed her Crocs and reached for the sneakers perched at the bottom of her locker. She sat on the bench, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. But the horrendous picture rested on the inside of her eyelids.

  Finally, she responded, “I will be,” but she refused to look at him. Not only had Miles seen everything, but she was sure everyone else had, too, and she was mortified. How was she going to show her face around here again?

  She removed her lab coat, tossed it in the soiled linen receptacle in the corner, and sat back down on the bench to put on her shoes. Miles sat down beside her.

  “I’m a good listener. How about we go grab a bite to eat?”

  Sydney appreciated the gesture, but she wanted to be alone. The last thing she wanted to do was be seen in public. She wished she could just disappear.

  “Excuse me,” she said, reaching under his leg to pick up her other sneaker.

  “If you want to talk about this, you know I’m here for you, right?”

  He watched in silence as she tied one lace and then the other.

  She finally looked at him, her eyes burning with anger, pleading for him to back off. “Miles, I know you mean well, but now is not a good time.” Sydney stood up to leave. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get the hell out of here.”

  The drive to El Cerrito was quick. When Sydney arrived home, Donathan’s Mercedes was parked in the driveway. She pulled in behind him and entered the house, dropping her keys on the foyer table. She noticed he was in his office but didn’t say a word; instead, she climbed the stairs to the master suite, two at a time. She entered her walk-in closet, removed her overnight bag from the shelf, and began methodically selecting pieces. Donathan appeared in the doorway.

  “Is everything okay?” he said as he leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms tightly across his chest.

  Sydney ignored him, continuing to stuff items into her bag.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

  He looked genuinely surprised.

  “What is this about, Sydney?” he said, closing the space between them.

  She pulled away from him, opened her underwear drawer, and grabbed a handful of her personals.

  “Baby, whatever it is, we can fix this,” he said.

  “Fix this!” Her voice escalated. “You should have thought about that before you humiliated me by putting your mouth on some bitch who was not me. And then being stupid enough to let your fucking picture get taken and plastered all over karma.com.”

  Donathan stood frozen. Sydney found herself staring at the stranger in front of her who had promised to love, honor, and cherish her before God. She wasn’t feeling honored at the moment.

  “Say something damn it!”

  “Baby, I know you’re upset, but it’s not what you think,” he pleaded, again reaching for her arm. She yanked it away.

  “You have no idea what I think,” she said and jabbed her index finger into the center of his forehead. “I don’t know what the hell it is, but I sure know what the fuck it looks like.”

  She moved around him to the vanity area to collect some toiletries.

  “C’mon, Syd, you gotta listen to me. Can we talk about this? Baby, please, you have to listen to me.”

  “Give me one good reason.” She stepped out of her scrubs and shimmied into a pair of jeans and a tank top. There was a pause, as if Donathan hadn’t expected that she would do anything other than listen.

  “Because you need to have all the facts before you walk out the door.”

  Facts or no facts, there was no way she was going to sleep under the same roof with him tonight. She needed space to clear her head and figure out how she would ever be able to walk into the hospital with her head held high after this mess.

  She looked at his reflection in the vanity as she brushed her hair into a ponytail. “Talk.”

  He shifted his weight, not into a fighting stance, but to show a man who’d had all the wind knocked from his sails. She turned to face him, waving her brush in his face.

  “I’m a thirty-eight-year-old professional woman who loves her husband and was under the impression the feeling was reciprocated and this is how you repay me? You could have at least given me the common courtesy to do that shit behind closed doors.”

  Donathan simply stared at her.

  “Do you love this woman?”

  “Love her? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. This woman is ruining my life.”

  “Ruining your life? How do you expect me to go to work? All these years I’ve put up with people talking behind my back because of you, walking into rooms and feeling like everyone knows the secret except me because of you. Well, ‘Sex Doctor’ James, you are on notice that this is the first and last time I will let you do this to me.” She slipped into her flipflops, moved past him, grabbed the overnight bag, and headed for the door.

  * * *

  Donathan’s first instinct was to go after her, but he knew Sydney well. The last thing he should do was try to stop her. What he needed to do was get to the bottom of this, to show her that for once he hadn’t done anything wrong.

  When he heard the front door slam shut he hurried back to his office. He typed in karma.com on his computer and viewed the photos. The first was a harsh black-and-white of him clearly upset about having his picture taken and the last was a full-color image worth a thousand words. He and Austyn were in what appeared to be a sensuous lip lock. They looked like lovers.

  “God damn it,” he screamed, knocking the glass vase off his desk. He was a fucking idiot! This was another setup and he’d walked right into it again. In his mind, he’d gone to Mimosa to shift the power dynamic, but it was clear from these pictures that Austyn was still the one
with the upper hand.

  He understood why Sydney was so upset, but there was nothing he could do about it. This wasn’t his first tabloid storm, and in his line of work it definitely wouldn’t be his last. By next week he’d be old news. These pictures were bad, but not as damaging as the ones Austyn had taken of them together at the Marriott. If she circulated those pictures . . . all hell would break loose.

  CHAPTER 26

  Payton sat on her sofa, binge watching DVR episodes of her latest shows, a Friday-night ritual when she didn’t have a date. But tonight the recorded line up failed miserably at holding her attention. Flashes of her mother dropping her off at the movie theater, the memories she had long ago suppressed, had haunted her since her uncle had mentioned that her mother was looking for her. She hated the vulnerability of the thirteen-year-old girl she was back then, who wanted nothing more than for her mother to come back for her. But twenty-five years later wasn’t exactly what that girl—or Payton—had in mind. Competing with those thoughts was the fact that she still hadn’t heard from Tony. She’d hurried home from her Zumba workout at Fitbody, sporadically peering at her iPhone the whole drive home to see if she had missed a call or text from him. How had she let herself get caught up enough to care? She told him never to call again, but he had to know she didn’t mean that.

  She muted the television and picked up her cell phone again. She scrolled through her contacts, located his name, and sent him a text message containing all capital letters:

  FUCK YOU!

  No sooner had she placed the device back down on the table than it vibrated, as if responding to her harsh words. She picked it up and grinned. It was a text message from David, a friend with benefits—just what she needed right now.