But she had another daughter to deal with.
The following day, she called Sterling.
“Hi,” she said as if nothing were wrong between them. “I was wondering if you needed anything. Maybe I should come over.”
“I’m fine, Spice, really.”
Spice guessed that Sterling was roughly thirty weeks along in her pregnancy. “How are you feeling? Keeping healthy?”
“Don’t start in, Spice.”
Spice decided to take another tack. “I’ve spoken to your aunt Carmen. I thought maybe if it was okay with you, Carmen could come and check on you sometime?”
“What’s the matter, you too busy?” There was a pause in the conversation. “I’m sorry, Mother, I’m cranky.”
She called me Mother! Spice’s eyes filled. “Hey, baby, I’ve been pregnant. It’s those catty hormones. So, it’s okay?”
“Carmen?” Sterling paused. “Yeah, that’ll be fine. So how come you’re home early? How was the wedding and the honeymoon?”
Spice was careful not to make too much of her happiness with Golden. “Everything went well until Mink relapsed. We came home immediately.”
“Mink relapsed? What happened? Is she going to be okay?”
Spice was surprised by the real emotion in her daughter’s voice. “Would it be too much to ask you to go and see her?” she asked.
“I have. She doesn’t want to see me. I don’t want to lose this baby, Spice. I feel if I take on Mink’s problems, I won’t be able to cope with my own. After all, Mink has Dwight. Bennie, as you had warned me, doesn’t give a damn about this baby.”
“I understand.”
“I’ve sent cards to Mink. To Dwight and Azure. It’s a little late in the season for forgiveness, but I’m hoping they’ll understand. This baby means everything to me, Spice. No way I want to lose it.”
So Spice went back to work. She began concentrating her energy on the grand opening of the Foxphasia project. Months before, she had planned the gala black tie affair set for a week from today. She knew that her reliable staff had followed through on every last detail of the celebration.
After the two investors signed on, Spice changed the name from Royal Oak Southern Spice to the Southern Spice Royale because one of the new partners had requested it. The grand opening was planned for two thousand guests. Although the doors of the hotel and restaurant didn’t officially open until Friday, the $100-a-ticket, black tie affair was sold out in early September.
The decor of the sister Southern Spice was a mix of French and African styles. With the help of a renowned interior designer in West Bloomfield, Spice had chosen only top-grade fabrics, carpets, and furnishings in chocolate browns, copper, rich golds, and iridescent white. Now she watched as the guests, wandering about munching on salmon Wellington and sipping miniature bottles of Chandon champagne through curly colored straws, commented on the elaborately detailed Goli dance masks, the just discovered reproduction pieces of African art by Picasso and Matisse, and the Kongo and Chowke figures that were carefully arranged on walls and pedestals throughout the three-hundred-seat facility.
The guests were all her regulars—the wealthy, the politicos, the entertainers. It was obvious, by their intense interest, that some would leave under the spell of African art.
Wearing a Chinese white silk shantung evening gown by Bill Blass that clung to her every curve, she, not her restaurant, was the topic of conversation. Spice seemed out of step, not her usual gracious and graceful self. It wasn’t like her to let her nerves show in this way, but she was married, and unescorted. Everyone knew the unasked question: Where was her new husband?
And it was a good question. Without either her daughters or her husband by her side, Spice felt vacant. The occasion on its own didn’t mean as much as it would have in the past. Nowadays her priorities seemed to be shifting.
Ever since she and Golden had returned from their honeymoon, the only time they’d spent together was at night. Golden for the most part had been unavailable. His numerous development projects were taking precedence above anything else. In order to fulfill his duties as a pastor and balance his personal projects, he had to work sixteen-hour days. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Golden had told her before they married how much his businesses meant to him. But with Mink ill and the stress of her own projects, she was needy. She found herself grasping for his attention, and frequently he wasn’t there.
Spice had moved temporarily into Golden’s house. She’d agreed to do it so he could be closer to his first love—Divinity Baptist. Golden owned five acres of prime riverfront property, surrounded on three sides by the Detroit River. In eleven months, their new home would be built there, although Spice always planned to keep her apartment above the restaurant.
Sex was great, but that wasn’t enough. She wanted Golden by her side tonight, and he wasn’t there. She poured herself another glass of champagne. How many did that make? She’d lost count.
After making a wonderful speech and complimenting both her partners and other members of the project on a job well done, she headed once again for the champagne. She felt herself weaving as she mingled with her guests.
“Let’s go, Spice.” Suddenly Otis was by her side, taking her by the arm and leading her away from the couple she was talking to. “You’ve had too much to drink. I’ll take you home.”
Spice snatched her arm away. “No,” she said, stomping her foot like a child. As she turned around, she found herself suddenly facing Golden. Her immediate thought was, Well, it’s too damned late.
“It’s a lovely party, Spice. I’m sorry I’m late.”
“You should have been here earlier, Golden. The best part is over.”
“You knew I had church business to attend to. It couldn’t be helped,” Golden said, ignoring Otis.
Spice was hurt. “I’m the guest speaker at another party in Birmingham.” She tapped a finger on his chest. “I thought you weren’t going to make it. I’ve asked Otis to escort me.”
“I’ll take her,” Golden said to Otis, fuming.
After Spice made excuses to both men to get her fur coat, Otis spoke up. “Don’t fuck with my family, Golden. You’ll find you’ll lose every time.” And when Spice moved toward them, he grabbed her arm and pulled her with him to the door.
Once in the limousine, Spice began to sob into her hands. Otis rubbed her back as she said, “I just can’t take it. Everything is falling apart. I just don’t know what it all means anymore.”
“Let me take care of you, Spice. You know I love you.”
Spice pushed open the door. She had to find Golden. Just then she saw him pull away in his car.
Momentarily defeated, Spice climbed into the car and rested her head against the backseat in exhaustion. Then she looked at Otis and said, “Otis, I love Golden. I wouldn’t have married him if I didn’t. I’ve just had a few really difficult weeks.”
“I’ll back off then. Truly, Spice, I’m trying real hard to understand why.”
They sat next to one another in silence, Otis respecting Spice’s pain.
OTIS
The smallest children are nearest to God, as the smallest planets are nearest the sun.
—JEAN PAUL RICHTER
I t burned to the ground last night.”
“What!”
Otis’s boss, Sandra Hunt, rose and sat at the edge of her desk. “Two lives were lost—a twenty-one-year-old student painter, who was putting in extra hours for the finishing touches on the interior—and Travis Foxx. They both died from smoke inhalation.”
“Foxx?” Otis began to sweat. He shifted in his seat, knowing somehow that this was the third sign of his condemnation. He kept silent, waiting.
“Weren’t you supposed to inspect the electrical specs on that property?”
“Um-hm. I did. Everything was up to code.”
Sandra slid off the desk and moved around behind Otis. “Not exactly. We’re told that department officials suspect that it was an electrical
fire, and substandard components were used.”
“That’s bullshit, Sandra! You know—”
“Look, you’re a good employee, Otis. I’m behind you in this. But I want to prepare you for the inevitable. When a life is lost, there’s always an investigation. Our department has never gone through one. I hope, for your sake, that this one will prove unwarranted.”
“I don’t understand how this could have happened.”
“I’m sure you noticed the activity in the office this morning. They’re pulling the plans for the Foxx building and checking what happened between the time the building permit was issued and our department’s numerous inspections on the site. Also—”
“They will want to speak with the person who made the final electrical inspection.”
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Otis wanted to scream out loud.
“If anything is found to be questionable about a city employee’s performance, criminal charges can be brought against him or her and the department. As you know, wrongful conduct by a public official is punishable by prosecution and termination of employment.”
As soon as Otis had walked into his office earlier that morning, he had sensed something was wrong. At just past seven on Monday morning, the office was unusually full of employees hard at work, talking animatedly to one another. Their averted eyes had given them away. That had been the first sign.
With a scalding hot cup of coffee in his hand, he’d ignored the whispers behind his back and gone into his office. Before he could hang up his coat, the telephone had begun to ring. The second sign.
“Hello,” Otis had said hesitantly.
“Otis, I need to see you in my office as soon as possible,” Sandra had said, hanging up before waiting for a reply.
Calmly removing the previous day’s reports from his briefcase, he’d canvased his mind about the probable cause for a meeting with his boss this early in the day. No way, he’d thought, could she know about the kickbacks. Moving through the maze of hallways that led to Sandra’s office, Otis had flexed back his shoulders before knocking on her door.
“Come in, Otis.”
“Morning, Sandra,” he’d said, taking a seat.
“Otis.” She’d looked up from her desk, pushing her glasses down to the tip of her nose. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the office is under investigation.”
“What for?” Otis had eased back in the chair, uncomfortable but not showing it.
“Are you familiar with the establishment on Grand Circus Park, known as Foxx’s Fancy Foodplace?”
And then she had told him the bad news.
It couldn’t be. Termination of employment. Prosecution! He had less than two years before retirement. How could he cover his tracks? Everyone would rat him out. Why hadn’t he seen this coming? Could he be responsible for the deaths of two people?
He thought about the night before, sitting next to Spice in the limousine. How could he face her? His life seemed over.
Otis left the office in a hurry, sprinted to the underground parking lot, and steered his Cadillac toward I-75. Before he knew it, he was sitting outside Spice’s restaurant. He’d never been in this position before, never had to ask for help.
Spice wasn’t in her office. It was still early. Was she home or at Golden’s? He’d completely forgotten she’d said that she was moving to Golden’s place once they were married.
Moving like an automaton, Otis got behind the wheel of his car and drove out to Golden’s house. He noticed that Golden’s car was gone, but that Spice’s was still in the circular driveway.
He rang the doorbell, and then there was Spice, standing in front of him.
“Otis, last night was a mistake. I told you—”
“No, Spice, it’s not about last night. It’s, it’s . . .”
“What, Otis? What’s happened? Is it Sterling?”
“No. It’s me. Travis’s restaurant burned to the ground.”
“Oh, my God.”
“That’s not the worst of it.” Otis paused. “It burned to the ground because I let him get away without proper safety precautions.”
“Did anyone get hurt?”
“Yes. A young painter, and . . .” He hesitated. “Travis Foxx.”
“Oh, my God,” Spice said, covering her mouth with her hand.
“There’s going to be a major investigation. And, well, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but I have a few enemies. Some people might hold me responsible.”
“Otis, why don’t you come in. Let’s talk about this inside.” Spice led him into the kitchen, which was bright and sunny, the autumn colors glowing in the plush brown woods of the kitchen.
“Start from the beginning, Otis.”
He told Spice everything—about the kickbacks, the inspections, the contrived stop work orders. He even told her how he had tried to sabotage Golden’s Renaissance project.
“You will hate me when I tell you this—”
“What? That you were Travis’s silent partner?”
“You knew?”
“I guessed.” Spice was silent for a moment. “But wasn’t Travis aware that you were skimping on the inspections?”
“Sure, that was the whole point.”
“Well, then you can’t take on the entire blame for the fire. Travis was also responsible. It was his restaurant.”
“I guess.” Otis let his head fall into the palm of his large hand.
“Otis, but how did all this get so out of control? Why did you do it?”
“I’m not sure anymore. It was the money at first; then the power. But when it comes to Golden . . .” Otis paused and looked at Spice. “Well, that was about you. You can guess the rest.”
“Do you have enough money for a good lawyer?”
“Some. But I’ve wasted so much money. Spice, I don’t want to do jail time.”
Otis turned away from Spice. He was ashamed to look her in the eye.
Spice patted her brother-in-law on the shoulder. “If Golden and I can do anything to help, please let us know.”
“Why would you help me after all I’ve done?”
“You’re family, Otis. You’ll always be family.”
STERLING
You cannot teach a child to take care of himself unless you will let him try to take care of himself. He will make mistakes; and out of these mistakes will come his wis dom.
—HENRY WARD BEECHER
S terling hadn’t heard from Bennie for almost three months, ever since the day in the hospital. Sterling understood that it wasn’t just the sex that she loved and missed about Bennie. She knew that even when the physical allure was gone, she would still be fascinated by him. She was sure that her lover wasn’t even aware of his own mystique, his expressions, his intelligence. There was a fire, a yearning, that was constantly burning in his eyes. She wanted those eyes to look upon her now. She wanted to feel his arms caressing her now.
Sterling massaged her stomach. Her body was like a piano, as happiness was to music—she needed to have the instrument in good working order. Her miracle of life was becoming more evident. Soon she’d have a child in her arms. Nothing on this earth, she thought, could be better.
Part of her couldn’t really believe that he’d forsaken her; part of her believed it. She thought of all the warnings she’d had about Bennie, then her mind went to Spice.
Some of her anger at her mother was waning, but Sterling wanted to prove to Spice that she really could be independent, that she could and would care for her child without her mother’s help.
But Sterling’s checkbook revealed she was down to her last $200—$220, to be exact. What was she going to do? She was almost seven months pregnant and she had no cash. No one would hire her like this. What was she to do?
As the thought entered her mind, she tried to brush it aside. Could she do just one more drug run? Fast, easy cash? Enough to get her through for a while?
But she didn’t want to call Bennie. She decided to call Horacio, her backup supplier.
“Hey, Horacio, it’s Sterling.”
“Hey, Sterling, how’s it going?”
“Okay, I guess. Listen, I need some work, if you know what I mean.”
“I thought you quit.”
“I quit doing the stuff, but frankly, I need the money.”
“Does Bennie know?”
“What does this have to do with Bennie?”
“Everyone knows about you and Bennie, Sterling, it’s no secret.”
“Bennie and I are history. Now, are you going to help me out or not? You’ve got to get your dope from somewhere, Horacio.”
“Watch what you say, where you say it, girl.” He paused. “Now let me think. I may be able to put something together for you. But you’ve got to be willing to travel.”
“I like to travel.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Be available.”
When they hung up, Sterling experienced the first heroin craving she’d had in a while. She knew it was because she was scared.
* * *
By the next afternoon, Sterling was on her way to Texas and then Mexico. On this trip she’d be hauling a half million in cash. The exchange was almost identical to the one Bennie had had her do the last time. This would be easy. She was barely nervous. Her take, when the deal was over, would be ten thousand—better than she’d thought.
It was hot, scorching hot. The temperature had topped a hundred for the fifth day in a row, unusual for late September in Michigan.
In a strange way, Sterling felt relieved to be putting things together on her own—even the run. This child was her motivation in life. No way could Bennie love this child the way she could—too much had happened. And how could she ever trust him? Rely on him? It was better this way.
After Sterling landed at the Houston airport and took the shuttle to the rental car agency, she retrieved the keys and paperwork, put the duffel bag with a half million dollars in cash in the trunk, and steered her car through Texas.
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