I should’ve seen the disrespect then, she thought, continuing down the winding, narrow streets, lined on either side with SUVs and station wagons.
Daylight had begun to slip away, with just enough light left to make out the houses. They all looked alike, yet different at the same time.
Lenox was in the yard out front of a gray house with maroon trim. He was smiling, something Paris rarely saw him do. The twins were on their knees playing with a small tan, floppy-eared puppy. The puppy ran circles, enjoying the attention it received. It yipped excitedly into the coming night. Then Paris noticed the wife, a light-complexioned, short haired woman who seemed to be enjoying her life. There was no indication that Lenox stepped out on her, or had any intention of leaving.
Paris was startled by the toot of the horn from an oncoming car, warning her that she had veered too far over. She swerved, allowing the car to pass, and ignoring the glare of the passing driver. She continued down the block, and pulled into the next available parking spot.
Turning the car off, she was hit with the compulsion to weep into the steering wheel. What she had just witnessed bore no resemblance to what Lenox told her. That woman in the yard did not look like someone who nagged her husband into a loveless, sexless marriage. The warmth in both their eyes proved love was still very much alive in their relationship. The realization that he had no intention of leaving his family hit Paris like a fist.
“It’s not fair!” she sobbed. She checked her phone to see if he answered the text stating she wanted to talk to him.
“Can’t you take a hint? Leave me alone!” Lenox’s reply read.
Delirium set in, as Paris didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the cold response. She felt like an irritant—a gnat being swatted away.
“Why should I be the only one who has to sacrifice? Why does he get to have it all?” she asked. Anger replaced drying tears and sadness. Before she lost the nerve, Paris got out of the car, activating the auto lock on the car. She charged down the sidewalk, her steps long and purposeful. She could see the Hunter family’s jovial movement down the street. She was angry with herself for giving her heart to a man who selfishly ruined her life. If she was going to be declared the loser of this, she would make sure Lenox fared no better.
Paris approached the front of Lenox’s house. The family interaction played out like a scene from a movie. The children rolled on top of hardened grass with the tan puppy, it licking its new playmates. Laughter permeated their perfect world. The wife looked on, happy because they were happy. She looked up from their frolic to a distressed woman, standing at the steps of the house.
“Hi, there! Can I help you with something?” she asked, extending her smile to the woman.
The wife’s voice sounded different then Paris imagined, the few times she tried imagining it. It was sweet and trusting, the antithesis of a woman unhappy with her marriage.
Lenox’s face froze from alarm when he followed his wife’s gaze to Paris.
Paris paused herself, unable to do what she had come to do. She had been looking forward to staking her claim, but the bravado that had been building since the walk from the car disappeared. Suddenly, the idea to wreak a little havoc was less appealing in light of what he stood to lose. Paris hated that she even cared. She no longer wished to become the reason behind the breakup of a family, or these children crying out for a father who could no longer be with them.
Paris spoke up, “Hi! I’ve been trying for the life of me to find this bakery that sells really big chocolate chip cookies. Do you know where it is?”
The wife relaxed her eyes. “Oh, yes. You want Ruby’s bakery. It’s three blocks over,” she said, pointing in the direction Paris should go.
“Thank you so much,” Paris said, forcing a smile.
“You’re welcome. The cookies are delicious. I know you’re gonna love them!”
“I’m sure I will. By the way, you have a lovely family.”
“Oh, thank you,” the wife said. “Do you have children?”
Paris’s eyes jumped to Lenox, who moved closer to his wife, placing a protective arm around her, making it clear that he made his choice. His eyes carried a warning in them.
“No. I’m afraid I don’t,” she said, backing away as though she suddenly became aware of the danger. “Thanks again for the directions. Have a great night.” Then she quickly proceeded back to her car, resisting the urge to give Lenox a parting look.
As soon as Paris returned to the car and fastened her seatbelt, she laughed uncontrollably. It was as though she had stuck her head inside the mouth of a lion and lived to brag about it. Just as she turned the ignition of her car, she received notification from her phone of a new text. Tapping the icon, she retrieved the message.
“Thought you were smarter than that. You really don’t wanna fuck with me!”
Paris grinned. “No, Lenox, you don’t wanna fuck with me,” she said.
Getting a rise out of Lenox redeemed the visit. As a treat to herself, Paris made her way to Ruby’s bakery.
And the wife was right, the cookies were delicious.
TWENTY
November 18, 2013
3:20PM
“Your champagne sucks,” Sabathany said to the flight crew as she exited the aircraft. “That’s if you can even call it champagne.” She chuckled to herself as she walked the jet bridge like a diva.
Other than the crappy sparkling wine, the flight had been a smooth one, though she was surprised Kendrick had not rigged it so that she rode with the luggage. Sabathany expected her driver to be outside waiting with a popped trunk to slip her luggage into it. The sooner they could get moving the better before she got anymore of “the look.”
The sex tape thing blew up in her face. She hated the double standard, which in her opinion allowed white women to survive leaked tapes by sitting down with publicists and executives to discuss brand expansion, whereas she was just another dehydrated, fame-thirsty whore trying to dig her claws into any kind of notoriety available. She read the magazines, and online gossip blogs. All of them said the same thing—Kendrick Black needed to kick her to the curb. Public opinion being what it was, she could not go anywhere without getting dirty looks from people.
Outside on the arrivals deck, Sabathany waited for her ride. Five minutes became ten, then fifteen to twenty. She took out her phone, surprised with herself for waiting that long to see what was keeping her ride. There were moisture spots on the phone’s screen that expanded as she pressed her thumb into them. She had no idea where they came from. When she attempted powering off the screen changed from black to deep purple, followed by the faintness of a familiar chirp. Sabathany looked around for someone to lend her a cell phone when she realized she had no idea who to call in Minneapolis.
More and more people got picked up and drove away. Soon, there were no cars left, except for one far down by door one. Sabathany was at door twelve. She dragged her carry-on toward the car, praying the driver had mistakenly parked at the wrong door. Drawing nearer, she saw how beat-up the car was. No way it was her driver, and even if it were, she would never be caught dead getting into the rusty car, BMW or not.
“Where’s my car service?” she whined aloud. “Where’s Lenox?’ she wondered. Wasn’t he the one witnessing her signatures? At the very least he could have been the one to pick her up.
Sabathany became startled by the blast of a techno ringtone, which was not the ringtone she set but she was grateful the phone worked the little it did.
“Hello?”
“How was the flight?” It was Kendrick, sounding overly enthused to speak to her.
“Where’s my driver?”
“Aren’t there cabs sitting out there?”
“Why are you playing with me, Kenny? You know damn well that I don’t do cabs!”
“That’s right, I forgot. Well, there’s also a lightrail tram that leaves from the airport. You better hop on it.”
“You think this is a joke?”
&nbs
p; “This whole relationship is a joke.”
She ignored his last statement. “Where’s Lenox?”
“No idea.”
“Will you call him and tell him to come pick me up. Or, if you can’t be bothered, give me the number and I’ll do it.”
“He doesn’t work for you. He works for me.” The line went dead.
“Oh, so you wanna play, Kenny? Sabathany asked, staring at CALL ENDED flashing on the phone. “Fine. Let’s play.”
There were no cabs sitting idle as Kendrick suggested. Sabathany proceeded back inside the airport in search of signage pointing to a taxi stand. As she walked, her blood boiled. Kendrick’s flippant way of dealing with her was not the beginning she expected, or felt she deserved.
After taking the escalator to the lowest level she approached a bunch of Somali and white drivers chatting together outside their cabs. Conversations quieted with all eyes on her. Some of the drivers scampered to their vehicles, wanting her to cut the line and select them.
“Where you go, lady?” a driver with a heavy accent said to her from his first spot in line.
“I need to go to Loring Park.”
The man scowled. “Too much gay at the park. You gay?”
Sabathany laughed. “Uh, not at all.”
The driver’s face calmed. “Ok. Get in.”
Sabathany waited for the driver to assist with her carry-on in the trunk, but was shocked when she saw the trunk pop open and the driver remained inside the car. She gave the other drivers an incredulous glance, but received no sympathy for choosing him. Sighing, she placed the luggage in the trunk herself.
“Thanks for the help.”
“Where in Loring Park you want to go?”
Sabathany read the address from a piece of paper.
“Oh,” he said in a pleasantly surprised tone.
“Oh?” Sabathany asked. “Now it’s worth your time?”
The driver did not respond. He turned on the radio. Sabathany was unaccustomed to the prayer music blaring whiningly from the speaker. She would have preferred the local R&B station or Top 40 at the very least, but decided not to protest, doubting the driver would care. Instead, she crossed her arms, bit her lower lip and slinked into her corner of the back seat, hoping for a quick trip to Kendrick’s penthouse.
As the ride went on, strange terrain and landscape passed her by. Without Kendrick there to nuzzle and make out with, she could pay attention to the environment around her. Thankfully the view provided a temporary comfort from the blaring music.
When they arrived out front of the building, the driver popped the trunk, but again made no effort to assist her. A doorman came out of the building and began taking Sabathany’s bags.
“That’s all right. Just don’t get mad when you get squat for a tip,” she said after reading the meter. Sabathany counted out exact change and let it drop wherever it fell into the front seat, not bothering to hand it to the driver.
“Say, wasn’t he supposed to charge me a flat fare?” she asked the doorman. But before he responded she said, “You know what? Never mind.” She was glad to be rid of the useless driver. After the professional greeting and assistance from the doorman, she gave him what she would have tipped the driver, and then some.
The apartment felt cold without Kendrick there. She second-guessed how she played her hand. The intent was to get Kendrick to love her, not drop her like Michael Wray did. Any deceit and machinations stemmed from self-preservation. Since there were no guarantees in life, sometimes people had nothing but their hustle to get through it. Kendrick should have understood that and cut her some slack.
Sabathany moved toward the sofa where they made love for what she guessed was the last time. But as much as Sabathany liked to think on what could have been, she realized there was no going back. Kendrick made it clear that he had no intention of working on their relationship. What remained between them was nothing more than a business arrangement. But what would she gain by signing the documents? An allowance? Trinkets when he saw fit? The only thing he had given her recently were cold eyes and an emotionally vacant heart.
Sabathany hung on to the thought as she rolled the luggage into the master bedroom. Then she ran herself a bath. There was something about the relaxation from soaking in a tub that opened her mind and sent ideas her way. When the water was just right, she poured herself a glass of wine and slipped into the water.
Any marriage to Kendrick would be loveless on his end. She understood. So again, what was the point? Since she was unable to win his heart, then at the very least she wanted all that she could get from him. But he was far more valuable to her if he thought she could spill the beans on him at any time.
“I want that son of a bitch to know that I own him. He won’t be able to take a dump without me knowing about it!”
TWENTY-ONE
It was a little after one o’clock when Kendrick met Brenda at the outdoor café on the corner of Santa Monica Blvd. and Robertson. Kendrick wore jeans and a red and white striped button-down shirt. His pectoral muscles squeezed the fabric nicely.
Brenda wore a powder blue sundress; her braided hair was coiled into a bun centered on the top of her head. Her lips were glossed to perfection.
Kendrick noticed them immediately.
“Thank you for meeting me,” Brenda said, watching him ease into the seat like only he could. The server waited patiently for Kendrick to get settled before taking his drink order.
“The iced tea is really good here,” Brenda said. “They spiked mine with a little lemonade and a splash of vodka, in case you’re interested.”
“I like how you think,” Kendrick said, matching Brenda’s mischievous smirk with one of his own. He glanced at his watch. It was too early in the day for him to drink. “I’m going to be boring and take a regular iced tea.”
The server nodded. “Very good, sir. You’ll find the list of specials inside of the menu in front of you.” Then he left them to get the drink.
Brenda took off her sunglasses and checked for smudges. “I received a couple of interesting phone calls today.”
Kendrick’s eyebrows raised. “Really? How interesting?”
“Truly change your life interesting.”
“I’m intrigued.”
“For starters, the pre-release reviews coming in for your movie have been fabulous. If the public agrees, that’ll only help your bankability. I guess I should let you know that there has been some interest in you for a couple of future projects. One is a heist film where you’d be co-starring with Mark Walberg. The second is a buddy comedy. You’d get second billing to Kevin Hart, of course, but the good news is that he personally asked to get you.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope. You’re really hot right now.”
“I guess I am.” Kendrick became thoughtful. “Any talk about money?”
“You’re looking at seven figures per movie.”
“How deep are the seven figures?”
“Last I heard, they were talking five million. But if box office receipts for the new film are on point opening week, it’s possible we could get you more.”
“I like the sound of that.” Kendrick acknowledged the server when he brought his beverage. Then, looking back at Brenda he said, “Are you ready to order?”
“They make an awesome turkey club Panini with a Cajun potato salad.”
Kendrick passed the server his menu. “Sounds good. I’ll take that.”
“Me, too.” Brenda said, following suit.
A few people passed their table, giving Kendrick the stare he had become accustomed to. They accepted his polite smile as invitation to approach the table and ask for autographs and selfies. He delighted in giving them what they wanted. Brenda sat quietly, smiling at her latest creation.
When the last of the fans left, she said, “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Kendrick could not deny that, yes, it did feel good to be recognized. “Thankfully I haven’t gotten tired of it yet.
”
“Believe me, you’ll have those days when you want to tell people to leave you the hell alone. Just do your best to stay centered, and be gracious. And remember those of us who helped you to get to where you are.”
“I would never forget you,” he said before his face dissolved into a look that read he had been wrestling with something.
“What’s wrong?”
“I keep thinking what if this is too good to be true?”
“Kenny, when good things happen to you, just say thank you. Don’t ask a whole lotta questions. You’ve worked very hard in the time that I’ve known you, and it’s paying off.” Brenda could tell her words were having little effect, especially when he stared off toward Santa Monica Blvd. She stroked his forearm.
“This is supposed to be a happy time. What’s going on with you?”
Kendrick tried to smile, but it felt weak at best. Disheartenment settled in.
“I still have nightmares about the girl. I think she’s haunting me.”
Brenda listened, unsure whether the confession was for her benefit or his.
“I don’t think that little girl is going to let me have any peace of mind unless I turn myself in.”
“Kenny, you don’t have to turn yourself in,” she said quietly, scanning to see who was around them.
“Yeah, I do. It’s the right thing to do.” He quieted down as soon as the food came.
Brenda waited for the server to leave before saying, “Then, why don’t you hop your ass on a flight to Minneapolis and turn yourself in?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I should.”
“Look, no one here at this table is going to jail. You hired me to do a job, and damnit, I’m going to do it.”
Kendrick didn’t appear convinced.
“Okay, I understand that you feel terrible for what happened. You should feel terrible. But doing the right thing doesn’t necessarily mean doing prison time. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll set up a press conference. You’ll say that you’re a native Minnesotan and the family’s story touched your heart. In fact, you can say that your thoughts and prayers go out to the family, and you’d like to create a foundation in the child’s name. In effect you’re paying restitution. This way, you can address the issue without placing yourself at the center of an investigation. How does that sound?”
The Best Possible Angle Page 12