One Better
Page 24
Spice didn’t miss the admiration in Mink’s eyes as she responded with pride to a female radio personality who asked about the landscaping that her husband had designed all of Southern Spice’s grounds.
A warm breeze blew the ribbons of the elaborately designed straw hats tacked around the dessert tables. The ribbons of the hats fluttered over the tops of the tables. The centerpiece, a spectacular hat design for Marlene Dietrich, sat atop the table in its original box from Saks Fifth Avenue from the 1930s. A half hour before the tea ended, each hat would be raffled off to forty lucky ticket holders.
Antique billowing lace tablecloths kissed the immaculate lawns. Iridescent silver china and delicately shell-shaped sterling silver stemware graced each table.
When the cold peach soup was served, with fresh blueberries and sprinkles of cinnamon garnish, the guests raved. She’d have to thank Laura; the additional wine had gone over well. Even the chilled berry soup with orange juice, yogurt, lemon juice, honey, and fresh blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries with no alcohol received rave reviews.
Just as a reporter had finally gotten Spice’s attention for a quick interview, she noticed Travis speaking to one of the guests. He held a stack of papers—fliers of some kind. Their eyes met, and he moved toward her.
Spice quickly read the flier he handed her.
Foxx’s Fancy Foodplace at 33178 Grand Circus Park, opening June 1.
Spicy Louisiana Cuisine.
Use this flier for 15% off your meal.
He was using her tea to promote his own restaurant! “What’s this, Travis?”
I just thought I’d drop in for a friendly visit.”
She kept her face indifferent. She’d be damned if she’d stoop so low as to mention his inappropriate behavior.
“When you own your own place you can afford to give yourself a raise anytime you deem necessary.”
“Is that what this is all about? The raise that I failed to give you?”
“Certainly not.”
Spice spoke in an unconcerned manner. “At the time, you didn’t deserve one. I thought I made that clear,” she said, handing him the cream-colored flier.
Travis smiled. “I thought you’d be happy for me. It’s what I’ve always wanted. You knew that when you hired me.”
“You still owe me fifty thousand dollars. Where’d you get financing?” Spice asked, knowing that his credit wasn’t good and that he’d had a cash flow problem for the past two years.
“I’ve got a private partner.”
“A partner willing to pay off your fifty-thousand-dollar debt?”
“Possibly,” Travis said, smiling and walking away.
Spice shrugged off the unpleasant exchange—good riddance to bad news. The tea had been a grand success, and Spice smiled, waving to the guests as they left. She knew though her personal life was in turmoil, she still could pull off a grand occasion with style.
* * *
Later that evening, Spice slipped into comfortable clothes, poured a cold glass of milk to wash down some Mrs. Fields oatmeal-and-raisin cookies, and, sitting on the recliner, gathered up a pile of Archie’s Pals ’n’ Gals comic books.
Archie and Reggie’s dialogue was written on puffs of white clouds with sharp hooks pointing to each. The words began to blur and run together into one jumbled text. She dozed.
Spice imagined she was a teenager once again. She found herself swooped into a world where Golden was Archie, she was Veronica, and Carmen was Betty. It was fun times at Riverdale High. They were all telling jokes and pulling pranks on each other with no worries whatsoever.
The phone startled her awake.
“Archie?”
“Who the hell is Archie?”
“Otis?” Spice asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Collecting herself, she pushed the recliner to the forward position.
“Now you got it.”
“Oh.” She was silent for a moment, trying to shake off the sweet fantasy. Damn! she didn’t feel like talking to Otis tonight. Spice glanced at her watch and jumped up. “It’s twelve-thirty, Otis. Why are you calling me so late?”
They hadn’t spoken since Otis had boldly entered her home without an invitation. The following day, she’d had the locks changed. Clearly Otis was doing as Spice had asked, allowing her space and respecting her privacy. She knew how much he loved mingling with the crowds during the annual tea.
“I didn’t want to disturb your day with the preacher, but I felt I had to talk to you.” He stuttered, “I—I wanted to come, I wanted to come over. Too late, though. So I decided to give you a call.”
No matter what, Spice knew that she and Otis would always remain friends. There was something special about a disavowed relationship that made you give respect to what might have been. Nothing could break the bond they’d formed over twenty-five years. For others it might seem inappropriate; for Otis and Spice, it was just how it was—a fact.
By the pronounced slur in his voice, Spice knew that Otis was drunk. “Thanks for your concern. But I think we need to put this conversation off until tomorrow.” She yawned. “I’m real tired, Otis.”
“I’ve just got two questions.”
Spice let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay. What is it?”
“What does Golden Westbrook mean to you? And what direction is our relationship heading?”
“First off, I don’t feel like defending my feelings about Golden to you. And second, you’re too intoxicated to remember anything I’d say to you tonight.”
“Was he better than you and I could have been together?”
By his lowered tone, she knew he was referring to sex. Why did men feel that in order to win a woman, they had to compete with each other sexually? “Is that the first thing that comes to your mind? My God, he’s a preacher, Otis.”
His voice was slow. “How does he treat you?”
“What a stupid question.”
“I don’t know what you’ve heard, Spice—”
“I’ve heard enough to know that I can’t trust you, Otis. The sad part is, you nearly convinced me that dating my brotherin-law wasn’t such a crime. I was starting to have feelings for you.”
Spice had read the rumors, headlined in the local newspapers, about city officials taking kickbacks. She was certain that Otis was involved, even though specific names weren’t mentioned. His lifestyle and income had never matched in Spice’s mind. How could she trust Otis, build a life with him, if his ethics were questionable? But she didn’t want to get into all that now.
“Spice, I—”
“No, now that you’ve brought it up I need to let you know that what there could have been between us can never be. I’m sorry, Otis.” She placed the phone down before he could respond, feeling somewhat guilty but glad to get it over with. Otis would have to understand sooner or later that Golden was her first and only choice for a future husband.
The irony that Otis hadn’t come that day to the tea because he’d wanted to avoid Golden didn’t escape her. And although she understood that Golden’s obligations kept him even busier than she, she was disappointed that he hadn’t been there to share in the beautiful day. The day he returned, in apology, Golden took Spice to a dinner at the exclusive Rattlesnake Club. With a view of the Detroit River, Canada, and the Renaissance Center, the Rattlesnake Club boasted a chef who had studied in France and made his own sauces from scratch. Among other divinely inspired dishes, rack of lamb was the chef’s specialty. But more to the point, the Rattlesnake was Southern Spice’s only real rival.
Under the watchful gazes of three fawning waiters, Golden and Spice discussed upcoming events at Golden’s church, then went on to their business concerns.
“How’s the refinancing going on the Foxphasia complex?” Golden asked.
“Better than I expected. I am fortunate. Lucky, actually. Four corporations with whom my husband had business dealings years ago were willing to invest in Foxphasia.”
“You should have contacted me.”
“You’ve got a point, but under the circumstances, I would have been willing to make an exception.” Golden smiled and took Spice’s hand.
Spice watched the lights suddenly go on across the Detroit River and felt there was nothing more breathtaking than Detroit’s riverfront or Canada at nightfall.
“But there is something we’ve got to talk about, Spice.”
“What’s that?”
“I got violation notices from every department on our project.”
“Our project?” Spice was surprised. Otis, she thought immediately. “Is there anything we can do?”
“I’m not sure. Working with these people is a bureaucratic nightmare.” Golden paused.
Spice knew that Golden was also thinking about Otis, and she respected him more for not voicing her brother-in-law’s name.
“What can we do?” she asked quietly.
“If worse comes to worse, we can sue the council.”
“This is so unbelievable.” Her voice reflected a tinge of anger.
“Try not to worry. I’m in for the long haul. I don’t care how many postponements we get, I’m determined to build this retirement facility.”
Spice smiled. “That’s the kind of partner I like.” She held up her hand for a high five with Golden. He tapped her hand and held it.
“Don’t look so serious, Golden. It’s just business.”
“No. It’s more. It’s us. You’ve made me see that no matter how much success you have in life, it’s empty unless you share it with someone. That’s what a marriage means. It isn’t about just sex, it’s about making you my center.”
“Golden, I don’t know what to say—”
“The Lord says, ‘Lean not in thine understanding, but in all thy ways acknowledge me.’ I knew that when the time was right for me to choose a wife, I wasn’t just going to go out and pick one. I knew the Spirit would guide me. And I’ve been led to you, Spice Witherspoon.”
“I love you, Golden. God knows that I do. But I’m confused by so many things. I’ve prayed over this. I’ve prayed for this, for our love to blossom into something deeper, into something permanent. But as much as I’ve prayed, I’m scared now that it’s actually happening.”
“In the natural world we expect prayers to happen overnight. But in the real world that instant may take tens of years or a century. Sometimes prayers are not answered because it’s not the will of God. The Lord’s Prayer says: ‘Thy will be done.’ Everything we do is a part of God.”
“So you’re telling me that you believe it’s destined for us to be together?”
“Yes. I’m telling you, my love, that my dream is over. No longer shall I long for the ethereal; I’ve no share in paradise. I want on this earth to live plainly and honestly. I will never again ask the Lord what exactly is this thing called love because until it came I had not yet been born, and now I know.” He stopped and turned to face her, and placed her hands in his. “Spice Witherspoon, I love you very much, and I’d be honored if you would consent to be my wife.”
“But there’s something I have to tell you.”
“It’s not necessary, Spice.”
“Oh, yes, it is. Please. Hear me out.” Ashamed to look into his eyes, she turned away before she began to tell her story.
“I don’t remember my mother after the age of four. I’ve told you this before, but what I haven’t told you is after being shuffled from one foster home to another and being sexually abused by two of my foster fathers before I turned twelve, I lost all respect for men. One of the men I was intimate with was a preacher.”
Spice stopped, trying to judge Golden’s reactions. When he said nothing, she continued. “By age fourteen I was pregnant. After Mink was born, my foster parents kicked me out. I had nowhere to go. I met a girl in Midnight, Mississippi, who was living in a home with three other unwed mothers. That woman was my friend Carmen. Even though she didn’t say so, I knew how they were making a living.
“I moved in, lived with them, hustling, until I became pregnant again. Soon after, I met David, and my life started to look up. I was working at a diner, then Carmen and I set up a catering business. Life seemed possible for me, and it was David’s belief in me that pushed me to believe in myself.
“I never lied to David. He knew where I was from, what I’d been doing. And he loved me anyway. But I have never gotten rid of the shame of giving myself to strangers for money.” Spice stopped, shoulders hunched, the pain pounding over her left eye, throbbing to the words “Will he still want me?” “I don’t know if I deserve you, Golden.”
With an aura of peace in his voice, Golden finally spoke. “There are many places in the Good Book that teach us to forgive, to not judge. I know how pure your soul is, Spice Witherspoon. And I know too that God has forgiven you, and that you now must forgive yourself. In other words, I can’t judge you without first judging myself. We all have crosses to bear. In forgiving your sins, I ask forgiveness for mine. The reason why your past prostitution doesn’t matter to me is simple. Some men say that they’d rather marry a whore than a virgin because she’s already been out there—she’s already experienced. Most women who have only slept with one man dream about other men. She daydreams about the thrills and frills of multiple sex partners.”
Spice sat back in her seat, the tension easing from her shoulders.
“What happened to you over twenty-five years ago merely made you a better woman today than you ever might have been. You’re wiser because of it, smarter. You are a complete woman, the kind of woman that any man would be proud to call his wife.”
Spice was in tears. Her body shook as she released the shame that she’d clung to for years. Golden reached out and placed his hands in the center of the table. She looked into his face and saw hope and life in his eyes. She placed her hands in his and smiled.
“Again, I ask you, knowing all that you know about yourself: Spice Witherspoon, will you marry me?”
Overcome with love, her hands trembling in his, she whispered, “Yes. Yes, I will marry you.”
OTIS
Before you beat a child, be sure that you yourself are not the cause of the offense.
—AUSTIN O’MALLEY
T he bartender set a fresh drink in front of Otis.
“I didn’t order this, Chappy.”
“The lady paid for it.” The bartender pointed to a well-dressed woman near the center of the bar, her face angled rather arrogantly toward Otis.
Otis smiled at the woman, and she was instantly off her seat and heading toward him. “I’m Shaylynn,” she said, extending her hand. “Are you with anybody?”
Otis hesitantly shook his head no.
Taking the empty seat to his left, the woman said, “I’ll have another Alizé, please.”
It was late. One-fifteen A.M. But he wasn’t ready to go home yet.
The Soul Twist Bar, a favorite night spot for businessmen and -women, was situated on the corner of Livernois and Tuxedo. Ordinarily the place was packed. Tonight, the door to the street was open and Otis could smell the early summer night wafting in—a small comfort.
Sipping his drink, he appraised the woman, who looked to be about forty. She said she owned a travel agency located in the Renaissance building downtown. Apparently she’d been there for ten years and was pissed that General Motors had bought the building.
“So where are you considering moving your business?” Otis asked flatly.
“Someone told me about a development in the inner city—I thought I’d look into that.”
Otis nodded, knowing that she was talking about Golden’s Renaissance project. “Oh yeah, what’s its name?”
“The Renaissance project.”
Otis laughed resignedly.
Shaylynn began to babble on for a few minutes about her job,
and Otis listened placidly—or, rather, heard her from a distance.
Suddenly she stopped, and was looking at him, her right shoulder dipped and her neck cocked back. Otis recognized this posture; many black women he knew responded this way when they felt defensive.
“Listen, I don’t know if I’m the best company tonight.” Otis was trying to be polite. Usually he could summon some interest in a good-looking woman.
He spotted her wedding ring. Thank God. “You’re married?” he asked, smiling.
“No. Recently divorced.” He could feel the woman’s hot breath on his cheek as she scooted a little closer to him. Otis stiffened.
He hoped he’d masked his displeasure.
“What about you?” she asked.
“Sad to say, I’m a widower and still single.” His every thought was of Spice as he spoke the words.
“I live just a couple miles away. You could follow me. I always keep my bar well stocked.”
Otis signaled for Chappy to refill his drink. How in the hell am I going to get out of this?
To his shock, Shaylynn pressed her breasts against his shoulder. What was he going to do? Suddenly he heard a familiar voice call out his name.
“Hey, Uncle O.”
Otis looked up and there was Sterling. He grabbed his niece and kissed her on both cheeks. “Sterling,” he said, “this is Shaylynn.”
“Hi,” Sterling said, removing her coat, all the while checking out Shaylynn.
“Hello.”
“This is my niece.” Otis asked the man next to them if he would move down one seat so Sterling could sit beside him. One look at Sterling’s blond hair and blossoming bosom and the gentleman obliged.
“Thank you,” Sterling said to the man in a sultry voice.
“Chappy!” Otis called out a tad too loudly. “Bring my niece a double shot of Courvoisier.”