by Traci Bee
“Oh, that’s embarrassing,” Simone said as she shook the sand from her sarong.
“No, it’s not. We don’t know them.” Andre grinned. “C’mon. Let’s get some more of that punch.”
Four punches later, Simone was tipsy and a cup away from being drunk. Andre, on the other hand, had one foot on drunk and the other on pissy. Laughing loudly, his words were nearly slurred beyond comprehension. Simone had no idea how many Bahama Mamas he’d poured into his system. She’d stopped counting at eight.
The steel drum band broke out into a Caribbean conga, sending the intoxicated crowd into a frenzy. After clowning his way onto the makeshift stage in the middle of the beach, the MC screamed, “I need all the people who came to party over here! C’mon, y’all,” he instructed as the rowdy bunch congaed their way to the dance floor, where a real party was forming. “I’m gonna teach ya’ the line dances we do here on the islands. We do more than the Electric Slide and the Macarena.”
The MC moved and twisted his body like a professional hip-hop dancer. He showed the crowd the basic steps to a few dances and then added his flavor to those daring enough to try.
“Some of you white people need another drink.” He laughed. “But some of y’all got it goin’ on.” He leaped from the stage to do his thing on the floor with everybody else. Shaking his hips provocatively, he danced with a few of the women in the crowd and put a few on display by escorting them back to the stage.
“Whew, look at this sexy lady,” he said as Simone danced with her back to Andre. She smiled and broke it down playfully with the MC. He grabbed her hand to lure her onstage, but Simone snatched her hand back, shaking her head no. Her partying side was ready, but the part of her uninfluenced by the alcohol reminded her of the extra weight jiggling around in her hot-pink bikini.
“Last call for alcohol,” the MC roared over the mic.
The end of the party was near. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, Simone reached out and grabbed Andre by his arm.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go get another one ’fore they shut it down.” He slapped her hand away. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she asked.
“Don’t even try it, Simone,” he said, storming from the dance floor in a drunken fit. “Go over there wit’ your boyfriend!”
“My boyfriend?” she questioned, walking quickly alongside him, trying to keep up. “Who the hell is my boyfriend?”
Andre stopped dead in the sand and shot Simone a look of disgust. She’d never seen him so upset. “Simone, you act like I wasn’t fuckin’ right there,” he yelled, creating a scene.
Simone chuckled, shaking her head as Andre marched up the beach to the bar. He’s drunk, she told herself over and over to keep from matching his tone.
“Get the fuck away from me, you stupid bitch!”
Simone froze, shocked as hell. “What did you call me?”
“You heard what I called you, you trifling-ass hoe. Go over there with the MC!”
Andre stormed off and left Simone standing in the sand with her mouth wide open.
● ● ●
Simone’s heart pounded as she waited for her results to scroll across the computer screen.
C’mon, she thought. The suspense was killing her. She wanted to go back and change a few of her answers, but decided against second-guessing herself. So much was riding on her results. She wanted to quit her job and become a real estate agent full-time. The flexible schedule and the fact that she would be her own boss were both appealing. And pass or fail, Simone was hoping her results would be the tension breaker for her and Andre.
The remaining days in the Bahamas had been money flushed down the toilet. Simone had tried to strike up conversations, but Andre shattered her attempts with his one-word responses. Initially, she blamed the argument on all the alcohol he had consumed at the beach party, but when the silent treatment followed them home, she realized she was wrong. Not only was Andre feeding her one-word answers, but all of a sudden, he had a million drug cases to work on every single night. In the evening, he’d stroll through Simone’s apartment simply to drop off Kayla and head back out to work. Three, sometimes four o’clock in the morning, he’d come in, climb in bed, clinging to his side the way he did when he was pissed, and doze off. He still had his apartment across town, but Simone’s was more convenient. Besides, it was his idea for Kayla to go to Angela’s, which made getting her back and forth his responsibility.
For two weeks, Simone relived the beach party in between cramming for her test. She remembered her simple two-step exchange with the MC, which was all in fun, just like the meaningless, innocent flirting with the bartender. Something else had to have happened, something crucial that her tipsiness wouldn’t allow her to remember. There was absolutely no way Andre was walking around pissed for nothing.
The computer came to life. Seconds later, ‘Congratulations’ flashed across the screen. Simone leaped from her chair. “YES! YES! YES!” she rejoiced. She’d passed.
As she drove down the highway, her ideas ran rampant. Kathy, her supervisor, had already given her permission to hold a home-buying seminar.
“Having a realtor on board is just another incentive we can offer to the residents,” Kathy had said. “And since the bulk of them move because they’re buying a house, you may as well be their agent.”
Simone reached for her cell to call Andre and share the news, but her call went straight to his voice mail.
“Hey, it’s me. Call—”
“Please enter your password.”
“What in the world?” Simone sighed. The voice mail prompt had cut her off right in the middle of her message. Hanging up, she redialed the number, and once again, his voice mail answered.
“Hey, guess what. I—”
“Please enter your password.”
“Come the hell on!” Simone said in frustration. “I don’t know the password, stupid!” Andre’s password was just that—Andre’s password. She never needed it or even had a desire to know it.
“Please enter your password.”
Shrugging her shoulders, she thought, what the hell, and entered his date of birth. “This stupid-ass thing. Why can’t I just leave my—”
“You have one new message.”
She smiled. Now, that was too easy. I know him too well, she thought, realizing the one message was probably the message she just tried to leave.
“Hey, Andre,” a female’s voice purred into the phone. “This is Sunshine…well, Sanora. You know I’m only Sunshine onstage.” She he-heed. “I just wanted to let you know that I enjoyed you last night. Give me a call. I’m calling to see what’s up for tonight.”
Simone’s excitement shattered into a trillion pieces. She replayed the message again, but nothing had changed. She couldn’t believe it. “Another cheatin’-ass muthafucka!”
Chapter Twenty-One
Trash bags packed with all the mess Andre harbored at Simone’s sat in the hallway outside her door. Not only had she packed his shit, but the on-call maintenance technician had changed her locks. Since the beginning of the year, Andre had been serving her bullshit on a silver platter, and she couldn’t tolerate another helping. Simone was through, but Andre had no plans of letting her go.
Night after night, he tapped on Simone’s door, determined to mend their relationship. He threw on the charm, wooing her the way he had in the beginning of their relationship. He explained over and over again, and his tears tugged on her heartstrings. Deep down inside, she wanted to believe his pitiful excuse—that ‘Sunshine’ had been nothing more than an informant who’d given him information that led to a big drug bust. Andre swore that the only thing he’d been guilty of was taking her out to dinner. Yet, the more he explained, the more Sunshine’s words echoed in Simone’s head. I enjoyed you last night was way more than surf and turf, and Andre had done more than lick his fingers.
Simone’s home-buying seminar had generated a ton of business. In two months, she’d already sold three houses, an
d she had four sales pending. With nearly seven sales under her belt, her commission would well exceed her salary as the sales manager. She tried to hang in there with her job at the leasing center. After all, that was where six of her seven clients had come from. However, the long hours there, coupled with her clients and Kayla, were all becoming a bit too much. Though her hectic schedule kept her mind off of Andre, Simone knew she couldn’t continue the pace. With Kathy’s blessing, she bid farewell to her apartment and the managerial position that had ultimately revived her from the state of depression inflicted by her mother and moved in with Thomas and Mae.
Thomas greeted his daughter with open arms once again, knowing it was only for a matter of weeks. Simone was buying a house. The seventh house she sold was to herself.
Sitting on the couch in front of the television, Thomas jumped up to help Simone as she fumbled through the front door.
“There go Granddaddy’s baby!” he yelled, removing Kayla from Simone’s arms. “Where you been, boo-boo?” Thomas said playfully as he unzipped Kayla’s jacket.
For Simone, Thomas had been more help in the last two months with Kayla than Andre had been her entire life.
“Come on over here and watch the game with Granddaddy.”
“I got two surprises for you,” Simone said. She plopped onto the loveseat with her attaché case.
“For who, me?”
“Yeah.” Clicking open her briefcase, she tossed Thomas a set of keys. “I went to settlement today!” she beamed. “That’s your set of keys.”
“What!” he shouted. “You really bought it?”
“Yep.” Simone smiled brightly as she continued to fish through her briefcase. “And,” she said, passing her father a white envelope. “That’s for you, too. Open it!” she instructed, tapping her feet like a child.
Thomas eased his fingers through the seal and gasped at the five-thousand-dollar cashier’s check.
Simone danced in her seat. “Daddy, say something! It’s like you hit the lottery!”
“Girl,” Thomas mumbled, shaking his head. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Don’t be proud of me because I gave you money.”
“Simone, you know damn well it ain’t got nothing to do with this check. My baby girl is turning out to be everything that I imagined she would. You better be the best agent out there, you hear me?”
“I’m already working on it, Daddy. And I’m ready to get Jordan back.”
“Good. Now all we have to do is find you a husband.”
● ● ●
Simone loved her house. It was everything she wanted: four bedrooms, a first-floor library that instantly became her home office, a master bath with a Jacuzzi tub, and an unfinished basement that she wasn’t completing anytime soon. The house had it all, except for the cure to her loneliness. She’d exchanged numbers with a cutie or two that she’d met at the club with Lavon, but none of them wowed her the way Andre had in the beginning. Chivalry wasn’t dead and she refused to kill it. With no one to date, she spent more of her free time with the girls—Jordan, Alicia, and Kayla. While they each had their own room, they rotated camping out in either Simone’s king-sized bed or snuggled up in front of the family room fireplace, watching movies.
“Hi, Simone!” Jordan grinned as she and Alicia got in the car. In the front seat, Jordan immediately began flipping through the radio stations. “Where we going?”
“Well,” Simone said, backing out of Angela’s driveway, “I’m going to take you to see my father.”
“Ooh, good, Kayla’s granddaddy. I like him. He’s crazy.”
“Yeah,” Simone said slowly. She was tiptoeing down tender territory. When it came to Jordan, Simone walked on eggshells, obeying all of Angela’s rules, spoken and unspoken. Taking Jordan to see Thomas on a regular basis was one of those things Simone knew Angela would have a problem with.
“Well, remember, he wants you to call him Granddaddy, too.”
“Okay,” Jordan said casually. She found a song she liked on the radio and turned the volume up.
“His girlfriend, Mae, has been dying to meet you.” Simone said over the music.
“Okay,” Jordan uttered, more focused on the radio than on Simone. She snapped her fingers, cleared her throat, and started singing at the top of her lungs. Her tone was beautiful, her tempo perfect. She hit every note, the highs and the lows, and hung in there with the runs and the riffs, leaving Simone in awe.
Alicia noticed Simone’s expression in the mirror and said, “Yeah, Simone, she sings all the time just like you used to.”
“You can sing, Simone?” Jordan asked.
“Yeah, I use to sing all the time in school. At the talent shows, the assemblies, everything. Sometimes my history teacher, Mr. Berry, would let me entertain the class. You sound pretty good, Jordan. I’m impressed. You must get that from your mother,” she said more so to herself.
“Naw,” Jordan shook her head, “my mother can’t sing.”
As they pulled in front of Thomas’s house, Jordan jumped from the car and sprinted up the steps to ring the doorbell.
“Oh my goodness!” Thomas yelled. He smothered Jordan in his embrace. “Girl, look at you!”
Alicia grabbed Kayla from her car seat while Simone fished around, looking for her cell phone.
“Shoot,” she said, realizing she’d left it at home. “Hey, Daddy!” she yelled out the window. “I gotta run back home real quick. I left my phone; that’s my money.”
“Go ’head,” Thomas yelled with a fan of his hand. “I got ’em. C’mon, Alicia. Hey, Kayla-boo! Y’all come on in here.”
Thomas couldn’t take his eyes off of Jordan. He hadn’t seen her in so long. “If you don’t look like Simone…boy, I tell you!” he beamed as Mae crept up behind him.
“Is this little Miss Jordan?” Mae asked.
“Yeah, this is Jordan. I guess she’s Big Miss Jordan now. Jordan, this is my sugar momma, Miss Mae,” Thomas playfully introduced.
“Thomas, don’t tell her no mess like that!” Mae slapped playfully at his hand.
“Granddaddy, what’s a sugar momma?” Jordan asked.
“It’s an old woman who takes care of handsome young men like your granddaddy.”
“But, Granddaddy,” Jordan protested, studying Mae, “she don’t look old.”
“I know.” Thomas chuckled. “I’m just playing with you. You know I have your pictures all over my dresser.”
“You do?”
“Yep. I got a couple of them. You just don’t know how much I’ve missed you! How come you don’t come see your granddaddy?”
“I don’t know.” Jordan shrugged. “You gotta tell Simone to bring me.”
“Where’s my camera? I need to take your picture. Who knows when I’ll see you again?” Thomas headed down the hall to his room.
“Wow, you look just like your mother. I can’t believe it,” Mae said, smiling at Jordan. “A little light-skinned Simone.”
“Huh?” Jordan said.
“Oh, umm,” Alicia said, fanning her hand to get Mae’s attention. She couldn’t find a subtle way to let Mae know that Angela was Jordan’s proclaimed mother.
Thomas’s slipper–covered feet slid across the hardwood floors. “Say cheese, Jordan,” he said, ready to snap.
“Granddaddy,” Jordan said as the camera flashed. “Miss Mae said I look like my mother, Simone.” Jordan laughed.
“You do. You just a vanilla version.”
“Yeah, Granddaddy, but Simone’s not my mother.”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” Alicia chimed in. “She don’t know.”
Mae threw her hand to her mouth. “She don’t know?”
“You got to be kidding me,” Thomas mumbled in disbelief, just as surprised as Mae. “You serious? She really don’t know?” He asked as he set the camera on the kitchen table.
“Mmm-hmm,” Alicia confirmed.
“I don’t know what? Tell me,” Jordan begged.
“
I want you to tell me something first,” Thomas said. “What’s your momma’s name?”
“You serious?” Jordan frowned.
“Yeah, what’s her name?”
“It’s Angela,” Jordan said with a silly expression to match the seemingly silly question.
“Angela?” Thomas was shocked as hell. “Then who’s your father?”
“Ricardo.”
“Lord have mercy.” He sucked his teeth and glared at Mae. “That’s a got damn shame.”
“Yeah, this is like one of those cable movies or something.”
“This ain’t no damn movie. This is real life. Simone ain’t never told me Jordan didn’t know who the hell she was. What kinda crazy mess is that? It’s bad enough Angela stole her, but then she brainwashing her, too?”
“Thomas,” Mae interjected, “don’t confuse her. She’ll know one day.”
“What?” Jordan asked anxiously. “What will I know?”
“Boy oh boy, if that ain’t Simone. She was nosy, too.” Thomas mumbled, smiling despite the seriousness. “Jordan, you don’t think Ricardo and Angela too old and wrinkled to be your parents?”
Jordan shrugged. “Umm, I don’t know. But they not wrinkled.”
“So why you call me Granddaddy?”
“’Cause you told me to the last time I was over here.”
“Jordan, I told you to call me Granddaddy ’cause you my real granddaughter and I’m your real granddaddy.”
“Uh-uh?”
“Who’s Simone to you?” he asked.
“Umm, my aunt. No, my sister.” Confused, Jordan turned to Alicia for the correct answer. “I don’t know. She’s something.”
“My mother calls Simone her aunt,” Alicia added. “Simone says sister.”
“Simone says sister? Good God almighty.” Thomas couldn’t believe Simone was feeding into Angela’s scandal. “Listen, Jordan,” Thomas said as he sat next to Jordan at the kitchen table. “I’m going to tell you this because you need to know the truth. It’s one thing for Angela to raise you, but to brainwash you is something else. Baby Girl, Simone is your mother. Angela is Simone’s mother, which makes her your grandmother and me your grandfather. Ricardo? Well, Ricardo ain’t shit!”