It occurred to her that she had walked right past Lamont’s building plenty of times when visiting Bug and Vanessa’s office suite for their accounting firm. Theresa had driven by a few of Green Pastures-houses and developments, and read newspaper articles on the company. But she’d never given much thought to what the company was all about, or taken the time to stick her head through the office doors to say hello.
Theresa was impressed as soon as her feet crossed the threshold into Green Pastures’ chic lobby. Large picture windows afforded a great view of the busy parkway below. The café-au-lait walls showcased original African American paintings set in burnished copper-colored frames. A chocolate leather sofa and matching oversized chairs, along with an elegant, chrome-trimmed glass coffee table accentuated with a large crystal vase filled with purple, yellow, peach, and cream-colored flowers rested comfortably on a plush carpet that matched the walls.
Theresa knew without asking that her friend Yvonne Fountain had decorated this office suite. Because Yvonne, who had apprenticed under Rosie Vicks-Hall in St. Louis, was about the only decorator, other than Rosie herself, who could so perfectly match up an interior with its owner. This suite may have had Yvonne’s expert touch but everything about and in it was Lamont Kenneth Green.
It was hard to believe that no one had heard her come in. She knew that somebody had to be somewhere in the vicinity. This was a black business with a lot of fancy and expensive stuff in it. Black folk, especially ones who had been raised in the ’hood, did not leave their offices open and unattended.
Theresa sat down on the sofa and started flipping through a local black business magazine. In it was an article featuring North Carolina’s freshest crop of black millionaires across the state. Number six on the list was none other than Lamont Green, whose company was estimated to be worth $13 million, with profits totaling $2 million in the last year.
She ran her finger up to the top of the list, and then down to number ten, looking for Parvell’s name. Her finger slipped to the end of the page, where she spotted his name, situated in a three-way tie at the bottom of the “Almost There, Honorable Mentions” list, with profits skimming the half-million-dollar mark.
“Who woulda thought it,” Theresa murmured to herself and put the magazine back on the table. She nestled down into the comfortable chair, eyes scanning the very tasteful room, trying to still her impatience. She’d hoped that she could meet up with James, get the ring, and leave without running into his brother.
Theresa glanced at her watch and realized that she’d been here all of six minutes, even though it felt more like fifteen. She picked up the magazine again and hurriedly flipped to the article on Lamont, peeking over her shoulder to make sure that no one was around to see her reading it.
Spread across an entire page in living color was Lamont Kenneth Green, grinning and skinning, legs akimbo, hands on his waist, with the jacket of his navy suit pulled back far enough to reveal a mint green shirt. Theresa felt her face flush, staring at that man like that. Lamont was way too sexy for his own good. And even worse, he knew it.
“That is one of my best pictures.”
Theresa jumped, more unnerved by the feel of his lips near her ear than by not knowing he was there. Just how long had that mannish rascal been standing there watching her?
“Hi Lamont,” she barely whispered, wondering why she was so shy and uncomfortable around this man. Here she was, a well-educated, respected businesswoman, and the only response she had for Lamont Green was the same old tired one she always had, from back in the day when they were teenagers at Hillside High School.
Back then, he and his boy, Curtis Parker, were star members of the basketball team, and she was a member of the Pep Squad. Theresa being the grade-conscious, hard worker that she was, always made sure that the team had the utmost support. And Lamont, who thrived on his reputation as a smooth player, both on and off of the court, drove her crazy with all of his empty flirting, and eyes that gave the impression they could penetrate the thickest Hillside Hornet Pep Squad sweatshirt. He made her uncomfortable and got on her nerves then, and he was still doing it now, more than thirty years later.
Lamont took great delight in his effect on Theresa, especially when he noticed the ruby tint spreading across her cheeks. In fact, he was especially delighted with this unexpected opportunity to “fellowship” with the good Sister Hopson this morning. And he found himself a bit mesmerized by the way Theresa’s naturally long, heavy, dark brown hair—the kind of hair sisters spent a heaping of good weave-money on—fell around her pretty face, accenting those large, dark brown eyes. Lamont had been privileged to observe many a well-dressed black woman in Durham. But he’d rarely seen one who always managed to choose an outfit that was so appropriate for the moment, classy yet sexy, and clearly demonstrated impeccable taste in clothes.
Theresa’s purse shook and gave off a low rumbling moan. She politely moved her ear away from Lamont’s warm lips, and dug around in the bottom of her purse for the cell phone.
“You still there?” James asked breathlessly, as he whipped his car into the parking space next to his brother’s and hopped out.
“Yes,” she answered. “Where are you?”
“I’m in the building,” James said, as the door flew open and he was face-to-face with Theresa while still talking to her on the phone.
“Girl, I am so sorry. I got stuck behind a school bus and one of those slow mowers and couldn’t get around either one to save my life,” James said, still frustrated.
He reached inside of his breast pocket and put the ring box in Theresa’s hand.
She closed her hands around the box just like she did the first time the ring was given to her, not even thinking about looking at it.
“Aren’t you going to open the box, Theresa?” James asked, just itching to see the expression on her face when she laid eyes on it. He had examined the ring several times, marveling that something so ugly could cost so much money.
“Uhhh yeah,” Theresa answered, hoping they would go about their business and not stand there watching her open the ring box. Last thing she needed was for either one of them to figure out that she didn’t have a remote notion of what that ring looked like.
It was clear to both Lamont and James, however, that Theresa was clueless concerning the contents of that overpriced box. There wasn’t a woman in Durham with active brain cells who would have been as composed as Theresa was right now, if she had an inkling of what was in that ring box.
“Why you taking so long to inspect your property, girl?” Lamont asked. “You standing there acting like you’re about to open up something you’re not going to like.”
“Why wouldn’t I like it,” Theresa exclaimed a bit too sharply. “It’s a big, expensive ring, right? I’m a woman. I’m supposed to like that kind of thing.”
“How do you know it’s a big expensive ring? It could be a piece of cheap costume jewelry in a big fancy box from Dollar General,” Lamont stated, avoiding James’s glare because he knew he was being so wrong.
Theresa cut her eyes at Lamont and bounced the box up and down in her hand like it was a big rock. She wanted to throw it upside his head so bad. But she triumphed over that urge, and snapped open the ring box, which contained a four-carat yellow diamond, set in the middle of eight stones—two sapphires, two rubies, one white diamond, and three emeralds. The ring was big, obviously expensive, and the ugliest piece of jewelry she had ever seen.
In fact, the ring was so ugly, it out-uglied the fake diamond and ruby ring owned by Dayeesha, the night clerk at the Kroger grocery store several doors away from Holy Ghost Corner. Whenever Dayeesha rang her up, she waved that ring, which she wore on her right forefinger, and started bragging like there was no tomorrow, exclaiming: “You know, Miss Theresa, my second and fourth babies’ daddy, Metro, put this heah rang on my fanger, just to let his third, fifth, and eighth babies’ mama, Trygliserod, know that I’m number three, and not number five like she is. ’Cause that
heifer know she trifling and ghetto with that medicinal turninology name.”
“Why don’t you try it on,” Lamont said, mischief lighting up his eyes.
Theresa took the ring out of the box and held out her ring finger, looking like she was going to puke the closer the ring got to slipping down her finger.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Lamont. Nothing at all,” Theresa managed to say through clenched teeth. She felt like putting the ring on and then using it on him like it was a pair of brass knuckles. And she would have hurt him, too, as heavy as that thing was.
“Then, if nothing, ‘nothing at all’ is wrong, you shouldn’t have any problems putting that thin . . . ring on your finger.”
“Well, I think I’ll wait and do it in private,” Theresa said, wishing he would just shut up and leave her alone before she forgot she was saved and got to talking all ugly up in his business es-stablishment.
“Hmmm, that’s odd,” Lamont replied.
“Odd?” Theresa managed to say.
“Yeah, odd. Most women receiving a ring that large can’t wait to put it on. But, Theresa, not only can you wait until you can do it in private, you lost the ring. And just a few moments ago, Miss Lady, you were clueless about what it even looked like.”
Theresa opened her mouth.
“. . . and,” he continued, dismissing her attempt to fabricate some nonsense just to save face, “I betcha that if I looked in the player’s manual about you and this ring, I’d stumble right on the term odd, missy.”
“Ms.”
“Huh?”
“Ms., Lamont. As in Ms. Hopson. ’Cause I’m grown.”
Lamont was not going to allow Theresa to get away with that. He got all up on her and whispered, “How grown are you, baby?”
James closed his eyes and shook his head ever so slightly. His brother was so wrong. And poor Theresa was, as always, outdone when she came up against his big brother.
Theresa, who was clearly out of her league, was searching hard for a comeback with enough umph in it to put Lamont in his place, when their uncle, Joseph Green, who was Lamont’s office manager, came strolling in. His eyebrows lifted ever so slightly when he spied Theresa Hopson standing with her left hand outstretched and scowling at his oldest nephew.
Joseph took that same hand to extend a greeting, but as soon as he laid eyes on that ring, all he could say was, “Peter, James, and John, and Paul and Jesus’ baby cousin, too. Man! Baby girl, your ring is so ugly, it makes Mr. Lacy’s new girlfriend’s fake false teeth look real.”
James could not believe his uncle went there like that. Uncle Joseph was so wrong, even if he were so completely on point about that ring.
“Theresa,” Uncle Joseph went on, “you need to go and call the police and have them put out a warrant on the man who gave you that mess. Better yet, take it over to that hippity-hoppin’ store, Yeah-Yeah, ask for Trucie Smith’s grandbaby, Jaequon, and let him take that ring off of your hands. He’s a jeweler, and will make one of these rappers who come to the store when they in North Carolina, one of them there pairs of fancy teeth grille things with the stones. Give you a good price for it, too.”
“Don’t you think I should just give the ring back to its original owner?” Theresa replied, thinking that “gettin’ on yo’ nerves” had to be a genetic trait in the Green men.
“Depends. Who gave it to you?” Uncle Joseph asked.
“Parvell Sykes.”
Joseph refused to even position his mouth to respond to her question. He simply held out his hand and said, “Give me that thang and I’ll take it over to Jaequon myself. Is there anybody you think could use a few grand?”
“Mr. Lacy and his new girlfriend,” Theresa told him.
“Good thinkin’. Those two definitely need some extra cash. ’Cause that Baby Doll needs to get her self some different shoes before the first snowfall. I don’t think she will like walking around in ice and snow wearing those yellow jelly sandals she always has on.”
Theresa bit back a smile. She was glad that she wasn’t the only one who had noticed Miss Baby Doll’s shoes. She’d recently seen Miss Baby Doll and Mr. Lacy at Kroger, and Baby Doll was still wearing those yellow jelly shoes. Only this time her socks were a bright red, a noticeable contrast to the orange shirt and hot pink skirt she was wearing that day. And even more noticeable was the way Mr. Lacy was looking at her—like she had a freshly fried pork chop hanging around her neck.
All Theresa could think at that moment was, “Lord, what am I doing wrong here?”
“Theresa,” James said, “I’m expecting to see you at the first Christmas Festival meeting at church next Sunday.”
“Sunday?” she asked, trying to shake her mind clear of Miss Baby Doll and Mr. Lacy. Sometimes, she had to pray so hard about being jealous of Miss Baby Doll. Theresa knew she was wrong but she couldn’t help how she felt—no matter how crazy or ridiculous those feelings were. She owned a fancy boutique, made plenty of money, was attractive, and about as man-less as a nun. And Miss Baby Doll, with those yellow jelly shoes and men’s socks, could go on and on ad nauseam about how Mr. Lacy couldn’t keep his hands off her.
“No, next Sunday, as in the Sunday after next. You will be there, right? And you and Yvonne are still doing the decorations?”
“I’ll be there. And it’s more like Yvonne is doing the decorations. I just take orders and put things where she tells me.”
James smiled. Theresa was right. No one at their church could decorate like Yvonne Fountain. And ever since she moved back to Durham after her divorce from that stuck-up husband of hers, she had been very busy with projects at the local churches and Eva T. Marshall. He liked Yvonne, and was always tempted to introduce her to his frat brother, Coach Parker.
“Are you still gonna be Mrs. Claus?” he asked more for Lamont’s sake than anything else. Theresa was not one to promise to do something and then renege and not do it. Lamont, on the other hand, had been gung ho about playing Santa at first, then got cold feet when he saw the costume, tummy pillow and all.
He had said, “Do you honestly expect me to put this on and then proceed to go out in public? How can I be big-pimpin’ with the honeys bringing their babies to see ole Santa in this thing? I’ll be looking like a fat old man.”
“Uhh, Big Brother? If my memory serves me right, Santa is a fat old man. And on most occasions he tends to be of the Eu-ro-pe-an persuasion,” James had told him. “And therefore, a black Santa with some serious ‘dap,’ talking junk to the honeys while he is placating their little darlings won’t have much trouble at this festival, big round tummy and all.”
“So, you think that li’l Junior, Man-Man, T-Joint, and Tarsha/
Tasha/Teisha’s mama might wanna spread some good tidings by hopping up in ole Santa’s lap and dancing him up some holiday cheer?”
At that point, James had moved away from his brother.
“I do something wrong?”
“I’m not partial to the way lightning feels when it strikes. Lap dances for Santa at church. Talkin’ ’bout your naughty and nice scenario,” James had told him.
“So, who is Santa this year?” Theresa asked.
“Who you want it to be?” Lamont said, suddenly rethinking his decision to back out of the Santa gig. Miss, no Ms. Theresa would make one fine Mrs. Claus. And she’d certainly fit all nice and snug on Santa’s lap.
“It’s more like who I don’t want it to be.”
“As in . . . ?” Lamont questioned.
“As in Brother Jesse Mumford,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Ewww,” Nina Rhodes said as she walked into the lobby, arms full of drawings and plans for Cashmere Estates. As the head architect at Rhodes, Rhodes, and Rhodes, the firm she co-owned with her two sisters, Nina was in charge of figuring out what kind of units Lamont needed to build to blend in with the historical buildings they planned to keep and renovate on the grounds of the property.
“That is so nasty. Jesse Mumford.
Ewww. He has so many teeth in his mouth, he looks like a shark. And he is always trying to hit on somebody at a church event, when he thinks his wife isn’t looking. I can’t stand him.”
Nina handed James some of her papers.
“And one of these days Shark Tales is gonna roll up on the wrong saint, and get his feelings hurt bad.”
“Does Mr. Mumford still wear a Jheri curl?” Theresa asked, curious.
“What else would you call ‘good hair’ that converted to finger-ripping naps at the edges and the roots?” Nina put in.
“I didn’t even know that they still did curls,” James said.
“You can get a Jheri curl over at Yeah-Yeah,” Uncle Joseph said.
“Is there anything that you can’t get over at Yeah-Yeah?” James inquired.
Uncle Joseph started to expound on the things that were not available at Yeah-Yeah, and then thought better of it. Last time he was at Yeah-Yeah, he bought some chitlins off the food truck they kept in the back parking lot. Yeah-Yeah had the best chitlins in town—had so little fat on them, a ten-pound box didn’t whittle down to six when you cooked them. In fact, they barely went below eight.
“You can get just about anything you want and need at Yeah-Yeah.”
Theresa glanced down at her watch and realized that she had a little more than twenty minutes to get over to her own store. She picked up her purse, and started moving in the direction of the door. Lamont grabbed her by the wrist.
“Slow your roll, Miss Thang. We need to get something straightened out before you run out of my place of business.”
“And that is?”
Lamont tilted his head back and scratched his chin.
“Well, I just want to make sure that my Mrs. Claus is a fine woman, and someone I believe I can work with, like yourself, before I totally commit to working for the festival.”
Holy Ghost Corner Page 10