The Best Possible Angle

by Lloyd Johnson

  “What are you two talking about?”

  “How Kendrick thinks everything is about him, and how the fame is going to his head,” Paris said quickly.

  “Well, that’s true.” Sabathany giggled. “Honey, are you coming back to bed?”

  “In a little bit, babe. We were just about to go finish up Mrs. Doubtfire.”

  “All right. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” Paris said, putting a bag of microwaveable popcorn into the microwave.

  Sabathany kissed Kendrick’s cheek before leaving the room.

  Paris turned back to do a quick study of Kendrick’s face. “So, do we have a deal?”

  “I’ll cut you a check in the morning.”

  There was something in his tone that rubbed Paris the wrong way. “Seriously, Kenny, I’m not blackmailing you.”

  Kendrick began to leave the kitchen to go back to the living room. “If you say so.”

  “And you won’t mention any of this to Lenox, right?”

  Kendrick continued toward the sofa. “I won’t if you won’t.”

  “Then we’re good?’

  “You’re getting your money. Don’t push it.”

  TEN

  The next morning, Sabathany sipped her latte, having just finished her breakfast of half a grapefruit and buttered rye toast. She found the news articles in that morning’s Star Tribune especially riveting.

  Kendrick crossed through from the sofa, his vision adjusting from the sunlight reflecting off the stainless steel appliances.

  He loved the ultra-modern touches throughout the apartment, complete with angular, futuristic pieces of furniture, and psychedelic pop art paintings on the walls. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered views of Minneapolis just beyond the dandelion fountain in Loring Park.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Sabathany said, glancing up from her reading.

  Kendrick leaned in for a kiss.

  Sabathany recoiled. “Morning breath, Honey. You know better.”

  Kendrick ran his tongue along the thickness on his teeth. Cupping his hand in front of his mouth, he both breathed in and grimaced from the smell of his own bad breath.

  “I just had breakfast. I can make you something if you want.”

  “I’m good for now.”

  “How did you sleep?”

  Kendrick paused as the memory of conversation with Paris came to mind. “Fine.”

  “Couldn’t have been all that fine, you never came back to bed.”

  “Yeah, I just have a lot of stuff on my mind. I didn’t want to wake you again, so I crashed on the couch.”

  Sabathany put the newspaper down. “Did it have anything to do with what you and Paris were talking about?”

  “Not really.”

  Sabathany blinked at the fast response. “No?”

  Kendrick made a point to look directly into her eyes. “No.”

  “Okay, then. Well, you know that I’m here in case you want to talk about it.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  Sabathany’s face disappeared behind the newspaper again, leaving Kendrick happy with a dropped subject.

  “You know what? I think I will have a bowl of cereal after all. Good morning, Paris.”

  Paris entered the room. “Good morning, you two.”

  Sabathany smiled dryly. “And how did you sleep?”

  “Pretty good. I barely have a hangover.”

  “Want breakfast?” Sabathany asked.

  “No, I need to get home.”

  “Is Lenox coming to pick you up?” Sabathany asked.

  Both Paris and Kendrick looked at her.

  “Uh, no.”

  “He was kinda rude to you last night. What was all that about?”

  “We’ve never gotten along. He tolerates me because of my brother, otherwise there’d be no reason for us to even interact.”

  “That’s all there is to it?”

  “Is there something in particular you’d like to ask me?”

  “No. I was just curious.”

  Kendrick spoke up. “Babe, she’s right. Lenox can be an ass sometimes for no reason.”

  “Paris, I wasn’t trying to get all in your business. I just noticed he was a tad chilly last night, and I wanted to ask you about it at the lounge, but we started talking about your counseling.”

  Paris’s face relaxed. She pushed the elevator button. “Oh. Okay. Well, I’m leaving. I got a lot to do today.”

  “You don’t want me to drive you?” Kendrick asked, hoping for a no.

  Paris stepped through the elevator doors when they opened. “No, Kenny, I’m good. Thanks for a fun night last night. Sabathany, my offer still stands. Call if you need to.” She waved to them as the doors closed.

  “What do you want to talk to her for?”

  “Oh, that’s in case I needed someone to talk to about my mom.”

  “Cool. Was there anything special you wanted to do our last day in Minneapolis?” Kendrick fished a large bowl from the cupboard.

  “Whatever you want to do is fine. By the way, I hope Paris didn’t misinterpret my question.”

  “No, she’s fine. “Kendrick looped around the island, grabbing the milk from the refrigerator. He placed the milk next to the bowl and brought the box of cereal close. Kendrick stared at the three items. Spoon, he thought, reaching into a drawer to get a spoon.

  “She sure ran outta here quick enough,” Sabathany said, facing where Paris once stood.

  “Like I said, she’s fine.”

  Sabathany continued reading the newspaper. “Not that I’m naïve, but I wouldn’t think you all had serial killers here in Minnesota.”

  Kendrick watched the cereal rise from poured milk. “Where did that come from?”

  “Says here that several murders may be the work of a serial killer. You’re about to eat so I’ll spare you the graphic details.”

  “The world is going to hell in a handbasket,” Kendrick said, chewing the synthetic berry flavored flakes.

  After breakfast and a quick shower, Sabathany rejoined Kendrick in the living room and talked him into what amounted to uninspired, lazy sex. There was none of their usual organic chemistry, mostly because she acted like she was directing a porn film.

  “A little to the left…don’t squeeze my titties so hard…plop up and down on me…let’s try it standing up…let me ride you…doggy style…kiss more on my neck…eat me out some more…good… now stick it back in…yeah…go faster…I think I’m gonna…oh wait…never mind…kiss me…that’s too rough…yeah, like that…let me lay on my back again…”

  While Kendrick did as he was directed to do, taking whatever physical pleasure that wasn’t stripped from the experience, a little red flashing light lodged between some books on the bookshelf went unnoticed.

  ELEVEN

  Lenox knew something was wrong when Kendrick ignored the open passenger door, opting to sit in back with Sabathany. His lack of eye contact drove the feeling further.

  “You’re not gonna sit up front with me?”

  The way the pampered couple stared forward gave Lenox his answer. Their refusal to speak was an intended punishment. Had to be.

  Lenox started the car and pulled off, tuning into the same oldies station from when he picked them up from the airport. Stevie Wonder’s “Uptight (Everything’s Alright)” attacked the awkward silence.

  “Is it possible to listen to something else? From this century, maybe?” Kendrick asked.

  Lenox changed the channel to a top forty station. Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” was finishing. Hoping to try again with some conversation, Lenox lowered the volume of the stereo.

  “I didn’t hear from you all day yesterday. What did you two wind up doing?”

  Sabathany cleared her throat. “We went to the Mall of America.”

  “Oh. How did you like that?”

  “We had a nice time. I was amazed how big it was. I had some items shipped to L.A.”

  “Hey, Kenny, you remember when we used to
chase females on Friday nights out there?”

  “Yep.”

  Sabathany patted Kendrick’s leg and nuzzled to his ear. “I bet you boys were wild! Did Lenox keep up with you, Sweetie?”

  Kendrick didn’t even break a smile.

  “I did okay with the ladies back in the day. But Ashley and the kids are the best things that ever happened to me.”

  “Wow. That’s really beautiful. I wish this one would hurry up and follow your lead.” Sabathany locked an arm with Kendrick’s, and rested her head on his shoulder.

  Kendrick turned outward as Minneapolis passed by on the ride to the airport. He wondered if it was difficult for Lenox to say the things he just said. Evidently Ashley and the kids weren’t enough. In a morbid sort of way, he wanted to know how Paris factored into all of this. When he spoke to her, she seemed so sure of her storybook outcome that she should be the last woman standing. After all, she convinced her brother to give her money to put toward that end. Kendrick controlled his urge to knock Lenox in the back of the head with his fist. At least she won’t go blabbing about Kayla, he thought. Then, needing to convince his Higher Power, “God, you know my heart. I’m trying to make this right. I’m going to make this right. I just don’t know what right is at the moment.”

  The thought of going to the police came up again stronger than before. Anxiety bubbled in his stomach then rose like a belch. He wanted to free his conscience. He wanted the nightmares to end, and Kayla’s soul to rest. And yet, a different tangent of thought snuffed out those before it…

  I’ve got this amazing woman sitting next to me. Why can’t I give her a ring? If it’s worth it to her, she’ll have to just wait, goddamn it! But we’d have great-looking babies, wouldn’t we? But what if she takes the babies and runs? Wouldn’t be the first time that happened in Hollywood. If she wants to be with me I need to test her. I want to sell the house in Laurel Canyon, and make Minneapolis my real home. Better place to raise kids, assuming we have any. Plus, my mom is getting older… I want to buy her a home closer to me. But that’s much later down the road.

  “Honey, you seem really deep in your head. What are you thinking about?” Sabathany asked.

  “Trying to mentally prepare to do this publicity. I don’t want to sound like some wound-up robot when I answer questions,” he lied.

  “Nothing wrong with talking points. Everyone uses them. It’s all in how you deliver them that keeps them fresh.”

  “You sound just like my agent. Brenda better watch out,” he joked.

  At the airport, Kendrick was besieged with more requests to take pictures and sign autographs. Sabathany remained close by incase some overly enthusiastic female tried to invade her man’s space. As Lenox busied himself taking luggage from the trunk, he watched Kendrick’s bourgeoning fame with pride.

  When the crowd thinned out, Sabathany proceeded inside with the luggage, leaving Kendrick to say goodbye to his friend.

  “Are we cool, man?” Lenox asked after receiving what he perceived as a stiff hug from Kendrick.

  “Yeah, we’re cool. Why wouldn’t we be?” Kendrick said, looking everywhere else but at his friend.

  “I don’t know. Just a feeling I’m getting.”

  Kendrick laughed. It sounded forced. “You were always so damn sensitive.”

  Lenox held his hands up, palms out. “Can’t argue with it.”

  Kendrick checked his watch, then turned toward the automatic sliding door to see Sabathany waving her hand as if to say, “Wrap it up!”

  “Chi-town next, right?” Lenox asked, noticing Sabathany’s gesticulation.

  “Yep. Anyway, you take care of yourself. I’ll be in touch.”

  Lenox backed away, sensing some return of his friend’s normal vibe. It was also nice to see Kendrick drop the Hollywood razzle dazzle and ease back into his guy next door charm.

  “Okay. You two have a safe flight.”

  “We’ll do our best. Oh, by the way, Paris left before I had a chance to give this to her. Could you make sure she gets it? I mean, if you happen to see her.” Kendrick pulled a folded check out from his coat pocket.

  Lenox’s expression was quizzical at first, then he unfolded the check and gave it a peek. His expression became one of knowing and fright. He had to will himself the ability to speak. Finally, he managed a faint, “Sure.”

  “She’ll know what it’s for. And judging by the look on your face, you already do.”

  TWELVE

  Paris had only been in her new place for a couple of months. She lived on the top fourth floor unit. The walls of the apartment were exposed brick, painted white. Her living room was decorated with a beige couch and loveseat, and an oak coffee table covered with Us Weekly and People magazines.

  Yards of fabrics were draped about the living space, giving the room colorful depth. Some of the same fabrics and others were neatly folded and stored in the built-in shelves. On a small table tucked in a far corner was a sewing machine and several plastic canisters filled with sequins, rhinestones and bugle beads. There were also several dress mannequins adorned with garments she hoped to finish.

  A loud pounding disrupted her relaxed state of mind.

  It was Lenox, wearing a mixture of hurt and anger on his face. He wore the long, black leather coat she bought him, which reminded her of his hero, Richard Roundtree, in Shaft. Lenox looked dashing in it as he stormed past her, causing a breeze.

  Paris was unaccustomed to Lenox showing up at her apartment during daylight.

  “What possessed you to tell Kenny about us?” Lenox demanded to know. “And don’t bother acting like you don’t know what I’m talking about. He knows, Paris. Kenny knows everything, and I sure as hell ain’t the one who told him!”

  Paris flinched. “Calm down,” she said, closing her apartment door. “What did he say to you?”

  “Naw, what did you say to him?”

  “Have a seat.”

  “I don’t wanna sit down!”

  Paris sat down on the sofa, leaving Lenox to tower over her. She was tempted to mention his involvement with Kendrick’s problem. Maybe it would take some of the heat off of her. “I wish you’d sit down. You know I don’t like people standing over me.”

  He complied. “I’m sitting. Talk!”

  Paris rolled her head back and forth, while massaging her own neck. After a full exhale she said, “Okay. I wasn’t planning on telling him, but I had no choice. There was a whole lot of stuff going on in the conversation. I had to come clean so that he’d understand why the money was so important. I told him that you wouldn’t leave your wife unless I took care of everything.”

  “Who told you to tell him that?

  “Was I lying?”

  The veins at Lenox’s temples were pronounced despite his almost midnight-blue skin. “You don’t get it.”

  “I know my brother. He just needs some time.”

  “Naw, naw. You didn’t see how he looked at me, like I was dog shit he wanted to wipe off his shoes.”

  “Welcome to the club. You know, Kenny asked me if I’d thought all of this through, but I think I should be asking you the same question!”

  There was still traces of love in the way he looked at her, but the anger boiling was stronger. He leapt from the sofa and walked the floor, running his hands back and forth along the slickness of his bald head.

  “I’m not sure you have thought this through. I won’t continue to be your little secret. No more booty calls when the wife and kids are asleep. If we move forward, then we do it openly.”

  Lenox stopped walking around, but still buzzed with frantic energy. “You don’t understand. Ashley won’t let me see my kids. She’s gonna turn the courts against me. I can’t lose my kids, Paris. I can’t.”

  “I don’t want you to lose your kids. But I’m not going to sneak around with you, either.”

  “You’ve gotta be patient.”

  “Not this again.”

  Lenox went into his pocket and pulled out the check Kend
rick instructed him to give to her. He held it out as if meaning to hand it to her, but when she reached for it, he let it go. Both watched it flit its way to the coffee table.

  Lenox went to the door and opened it. With his back to her, his words drifted over his broad shoulder. “You know how I feel about you, but, if that ain’t enough, then I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  Lenox stepped through, closing the door behind him. And in the moments that followed, he realized what he felt for her would never be enough. He knew he needed to walk away. Without a doubt he loved his five-year-old twins, Keyshawn and Toya, more. They gave him focus and a whole lot more respectability than the complicated mess he left behind in Paris’s apartment. He was certain Paris would wonder if this was goodbye. She would wonder if she pushed too hard, or expected too much. And he expected she would no doubt call him, demanding those answers. But Lenox also knew that Paris was a very smart cookie. If she took the time to look within herself, Lenox didn’t need to explain anything. She would figure it out.

  THIRTEEN

  Det. VanDrunen was still at the precinct by 7:00PM. He promised his wife that he would be home at a decent hour, but it looked like the Kayla Jones case wasn’t going to allow that to happen.

  His eyes bounced from one crime scene photo to the next. Clockwise, and then counter, each photo received the precise scrutiny expected from a detective with his experience. All he could do was hold onto the possibility that each would piece together a story, or provide even the smallest clue as to what happened to the little girl. However, the longer he stared—especially at the pictures of Kayla’s dead body—he was reminded of his own children, a son and daughter. They were older now, practically adults. His son, Caleb, was going to graduate from the University of Minnesota with a journalism degree, and his daughter, Emma, was busy finding herself in the artsy, bohemian part of town. Both called on Sundays to check in, send their love, and ask for money. It had become their predictable pattern, one that annoyed VanDrunen. However, looking at the close-up of Kayla’s torso, which was covered with baby ants, he felt a sense of gratitude that he still had children left to annoy him at all.