Other People's Business

by Pamela Yaye

  He chuckled, revealing a slim dimple in his chin. “Well, do you have a spare, Miss Manicure?”

  “I think so, Mr. Mechanic.” Much to Autumn’s surprise, he burst into a hearty laugh. She joined in. Clicking open the trunk and stepping aside, she said, “Hopefully, it’s in here somewhere.”

  Autumn watched him dig around in the trunk and stared at his hands. It was hard not to. They were filthy. Her mother’s voice echoed in her ears, You can tell a lot about a man by how he carries himself. Check out everything. His walk. His posture. Even his fingernails. Taking her mother’s advice, Autumn surveyed the man before her. His thin, ashy fingers were covered in nicks and cuts, a faint burn mark was in the middle of his left hand and dirt was lodged beneath chipped fingernails. Mud marred his jawline, but it was his wretched body odor that made Autumn’s stomach jolt. Mr. Mechanic was in dire need of a shower and the strongest deodorant money could buy. For a half minute Autumn thought of reaching into the trunk for the air freshener and slinging it around his neck. The smell was that bad. When the stranger tossed her a backward glance and caught her eyeballing him, Autumn buried her eyes in the trunk and pretended to be aiding in the search.

  “Here we go.” L.J. pulled out a full-size tire and a steel jack and rested them against the bumper. “Can you close the trunk?”

  Autumn did, then looked on as the muscle-bound stranger wheeled the tire with one hand and carried the jack with the other. She watched with keen interest as he jacked up the car and removed what was left of the tire without breaking a sweat. The sun beat down on them with no mercy, elevating Autumn’s anxiety with each passing second. Sweat trickled down her back, and her clothes were sticking to her body. The moisture between her thighs made her long for an ice-cold shower. She swept a hand across her forehead, grabbed the roadside assistance brochure from the passenger seat, and fanned wildly.

  “You picked a prime time to get a flat,” he said as the blare of beeping horns rained down on them. Their cars were safely off the road, but heavy-footed drivers were forced to slow down as they approached the scene.

  “I know and it doesn’t help that it’s the hottest day of April, either. I’m roasting out here.” Her stomach let loose a monstrous grumble. Autumn patted her stomach. She had more problems than she knew what to do with.

  L.J. glanced up just in time to see her unbutton her blazer and fling it into the backseat. The sight of her alabaster lace camisole aroused thoughts of its softness under his fingers. He wondered if her toffee-brown skin was as smooth as it looked. She plucked at her camisole, lifted her mid-back-length braids off her back and rolled her head forward. The mindless act left L.J. gasping for air. He gulped down his desire as he rubbed the palm of his hand across his forehead. I must be getting really desperate to be lusting after marooned women, L.J. thought, giving his head a good shake. But the sight of trim, shapely legs crossing just inches from his face seconds later, made his mind wander down the road once again. He was definitely a leg man and this woman had a pair that could rival any Las Vegas showgirl’s. He was so caught up in his appraisal of her physique that he didn’t feel the wrench slip from his hands. The clatter snapped L.J. back into the here and now. Smiling away his embarrassment, he retrieved the wrench from the blistering pavement and went back to work.

  Forcing himself to concentrate, L.J. worked for the next ten minutes without incident. He tightened the bolts and then kicked the tire to ensure it was secure and the pressure was adequate. He returned to the trunk, and once the young woman had clicked it open with her key remote, he heaved the damaged tire inside. At last, finished, L.J. dusted his hands, wiped them across the front of his shorts, and announced, “All done, miss. You can be on your way now.”

  Autumn almost broke into song. If I rush, I can still make it to the party on time, she thought. Grateful to him for all his help, she reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet. It wouldn’t be right to leave without giving the stranger something for his troubles. He had practically saved her life. Besides, he looked like he could use a helping hand. Autumn held out a crisp twenty-dollar bill. “Thanks. I know it’s not much, but it’s all I have.”

  “Save your money,” he advised, repositioning his worn-out baseball cap. “It was no problem, really. I’m just glad I could be of some help.” Taking in her oval-shaped face and clear complexion, L.J. wondered how God could give so much beauty to one woman. He didn’t know if her skin had a natural glow or if the heat magnified it, but he was enraptured all the same. Her expressive eyes twinkling in the reflection of the sun dazzled him, but it was her cheek-to-cheek smile which made his breath catch in the walls of his throat.

  Autumn shoved the money into his hands. “If I’d been at the mercy of roadside assistance, there’s no telling when they would have showed up. I wouldn’t feel right leaving without giving you something as a token of my appreciation.”

  “I can’t take your money, miss.”

  “But, I have to give you something,” she stressed.

  “Then give me your phone number.”

  Autumn’s eyes flickered. “Pardon me?”

  L.J. cleaned his hands on the sides of his shorts again. He put on his most charming smile, stuck out his right hand and introduced himself. “My friends call me L.J.”

  Disregarding his grimy hands and his outlandish request, Autumn slipped back on her Jackie O-inspired sunglasses. She was in no mood for idle chitchat, but she couldn’t be flat-out rude, either. After all, he had saved her. “Well, thanks again for your help, L.J.,” she said, trying out his name. “My best friend would have crucified me if I had missed her party.” She started to walk away, but stopped. Glancing over her shoulder, she asked, “Are you sure you won’t take the money?”

  L.J. nodded. He didn’t need her money, but he wouldn’t mind taking her out. Nothing fancy. Maybe drinks at a nice bar or a quiet dinner. Not ready to let her go without the possibility of reconnecting, he asked, “What’s your name?”

  Annoyed and uninterested, Autumn wanted to say, but instead told him she really had to go. She had an unruly stomach to feed and a party to get ready for, all in the next hour. Anxious to be on her way, Autumn began the trip back to her car. “Thanks. Bye.”

  L.J. tugged the tip of his hat forward. He eyeballed her as she rushed over to her car. The swish of her shapely hips was mesmerizing. Ms. Flat Tire had a tight body and a face worthy of gracing magazine covers, but she was much too thin for his taste. L.J. liked his women the way he liked his steak: thick and juicy. But it was the first time in months that a sister, or any woman for that matter, had piqued his interest.

  Don’t go there, he chided himself, ripping his eyes away from the curvature of her butt. These D.C. women are all the same. A bunch of uppity snobs. And Ms. Flat Tire was no different. She drove an expensive car, wore enough sparkly jewellery to require her own personal bodyguard and didn’t look like she had worked a day in her life. Probably some poor schmuck’s girlfriend, he decided as her car merged back into traffic.

  L.J. didn’t know why he had wasted his time trying to step to her anyway. The last thing he needed was to get involved with someone like her. That was how he had landed himself in troubled waters the last time. Chasing a sister with a pretty face and a banging body without knowing who she was or what she was about, was just inviting heartache and strife.

  When L.J. returned to his truck and turned the key in the ignition, it coughed like a senior with a serious case of bronchitis. He pounded the gas until the engine came to life. Two intersections later, he pulled up beside a two-door Infiniti. L.J. couldn’t resist peeking inside. It was Ms. Flat Tire. She smiled politely before returning her eyes to the road ahead.

  L.J. didn’t want her to think he was sweating her, so he fiddled with the radio. He bobbed his head up and down as though he was jamming to an infectious hip-hop beat rather than a weepy Whitney Houston song. When the light turned green, her car lurched forward, leaving his sick truck and the other vehicles in he
r wake. The Infiniti disappeared into the sea of traffic and L.J. couldn’t help wondering where she was racing off to. What do you care? his conscience prodded. He didn’t. Women as a whole were a pain, but the ones in D.C. were a migraine. The opposite sex had caused him nothing but trouble and he’d had enough trouble to last a lifetime.

  Chapter 2

  The Grisbey estate sat on two acres of impeccable grounds in the most desirable and prosperous neighborhood in all of Washington, D.C. The breathtaking landscape of Kalorama, which sat upon a rugged hill above Dupont Circle, housed attractive and luxurious homes. Tree-lined streets, broad sidewalks and the relative peace and isolation from the rest of the city made Kalorama home to Washington’s most privileged families. The residents were as refined as age-old china and the stench of new money hung in the spring air like a November fog.

  Autumn trailed the procession of luxury cars crawling through the wrought-iron gates. The sight of the ten-bedroom, eight-bathroom palatial home never ceased to amaze her and she had been visiting the Grisbey home for years. The modern-day castle had every imaginable comfort: a world-class, fully equipped gymnasium complete with a workout room, a fifty-seat theater and game room, a commercial elevator and an Olympic-size swimming pool. Melissa’s mother, Janet, was the most sought-after interior decorator on the east coast and she had converted her home to a showcase of the best decor money could buy. The sumptuous furniture, the light fixtures and marble flooring had been imported from Venice; the warrior sculptures and vibrant oil paintings shipped from a tiny South African village and the outsized Oriental hand-made rugs purchased in Hong Kong. The Grisbey estate, which had recently been featured on Martha Stewart Living, was rumored to be in the ballpark of ten million dollars.

  After parking on the outskirts of the sprawling lawn, Autumn locked the car doors and headed into the backyard. The smell of freshly cut grass and the gracious chatter of fashionably dressed guests greeted her as she proceeded down the walkway. Autumn accepted a fruity cocktail from one of the suit-clad servers and made her way over to Yvette Albright, the third member of Autumn and Melissa’s friendship trio.

  Yvette was unhappily married to a police detective whom she claimed to still love. Her nine-year marriage had produced three adorable daughters, ranging in age from four to seven.

  “You’re late.” Yvette gave Autumn a peck on the right cheek. “Why do you look as if you were in a street brawl? Fix your face into a smile before Melissa sees you,” she warned. Noting Tyrell’s absence she queried, “Where’s your man?”

  Autumn didn’t answer.

  “What did he do this time and how long will it be before you go running back to him?” Yvette asked sourly.

  Autumn didn’t know if she could discuss what had happened with Tyrell without getting worked up, but she could always count on Yvette to be straightforward and that was precisely what she needed—straight advice. Concerned that someone might overhear them, Autumn steered Yvette over to a sheltered spot near a grove of trees.

  “Do you think I overreacted?” she asked after telling Yvette an abbreviated version of what had happened that afternoon. “You know better than anyone that I have a tendency to blow things out of proportion. I jump to conclusions, tell people off then discover I didn’t have all the facts. Give it to me straight, Yvette. Am I wrong?”

  “Hell, no!” Yvette paused to regain control before continuing. “Tyrell left you high and didn’t even have the decency to call and make sure you got home safely. You have every right to be furious! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Tyrell Wellman’s a self-absorbed momma’s boy who doesn’t deserve a woman as devoted and loving as you are. Why do you keep putting up with his mess? For the last time, cut that brother loose.”

  Autumn twirled the glass in her hand as she weighed Yvette’s advice.

  “Tyrell thinks he’s the salt of the earth just because his parents have money and he has a few fancy sports cars. Big deal! There’s a lot more to making a woman happy than just buying her nice things. He constantly disrespects you and your relationship. Don’t you see that, Autumn? Do you need me to remind you of all the messed-up things he’s done since you started dating? Where should I begin?” Yvette tilted her head to the right, as if deep in thought, then stuck out her right thumb. “First of all, the man lies through his teeth. Remember when he told you he couldn’t come to your birthday dinner because he had the flu, and then we ran into him later that night at the club? What about when he stood you up at the theater? He arrived an hour late to your parents’ anniversary party and didn’t even apologize. What about when he…”

  Like darkness giving way to light, the truth of her injurious relationship with Tyrell became clear to Autumn. As Yvette rattled off a list of his most recent infractions, she reflected on that afternoon. On the drive over to the Grisbey estate Autumn had wrestled with her conscience. I lost control again. It’s not his fault he’s sick. Maybe I need to be more understanding. Maybe I should quit nagging him. Maybe I need to loosen up. Just because I revile the party scene, doesn’t mean I have the right to make him feel guilty every time he hangs out with his friends, right?

  Autumn had struggled for answers. But after a few seconds with Yvette, everything became clear.

  “You’re right, Yvette. That’s just what I needed to hear.”

  Yvette’s nose wrinkled as though she had just gotten a whiff of some old garbage. “Enlighten me, Autumn, because I’ve been trying to figure out what the attraction is. What keeps you hanging on? Tyrell mooches off his parents instead of standing on his own two feet, he’s deathly afraid of commitment and he has roving eyes. Your devotion to him can’t be attributed to something as heady as mind-blowing sex, because y’all ain’t having any. So what is it?”

  Autumn elbowed Yvette sharply in the ribs. “Don’t go there, Yvette.”

  “What?” Yvette shrugged, an innocent smile playing on her lips. Reading the terse expression on Autumn’s face, she wiped it away. “Fine, but I’m just trying to make sense of this mess you’ve gotten yourself into.” After a pause, she asked Autumn a tough question. “Are you in love with Tyrell?”

  Autumn felt as though a spotlight was shining on her. It was as if a microphone had been thrust in her face and the whole world was listening in. She had never had weak-in-the-knees feelings for Tyrell, but he was a decent guy and kind of cute. “I guess so.”

  “Autumn, either you’re in love with him or you’re not. From what I’ve seen, I’d venture to say it’s the latter. And I bet Tyrell would say the same thing. He hasn’t exactly been discreet about his other women and the word around town is he’ll sleep with anyone with big boobs.”

  Autumn avoided the hazel eyes staring back at her. She didn’t want to hear any more gossip about Tyrell. She had heard it all before. And although his once flawless character had revealed pothole cracks, it was still hard for her to believe that he would cheat on her.

  Autumn sipped her drink, trying not to think about what she had had planned for later on that evening. Tyrell was such an accomplished smooth-talker that she had actually believed him when he’d said the problems in their relationship were a direct result of their nonexistent sex life. He had made her feel guilty for not “taking care” of his needs and assured her that sex would bring them closer together. Autumn shook her head slowly. She had been up-front about her values from day one, and Tyrell had led her to believe he could handle it. What a joke.

  “I’m not interested in a physical relationship,” Autumn had confessed, adopting an assertive tone of voice. She had sounded less like herself and more like her pastor’s wife, Regina Carrington-Nelson. The bubbly, thirtysomething clinical psychologist had invited Autumn to a session for single women and, initially, she had spurned the invitation. She had better things to do with her free time than sit around with a bunch of single women bashing men. But when Regina had popped up on her doorstep one Wednesday evening and ordered her out the door, Autumn had had no choice but to comply.r />
  Autumn had learned more in the two-hour session than from all the self-help books she had ever read. And after attending a month of sessions, she had made the life-altering decision to become a “born-again” virgin. It had been three years since that fateful night and Autumn had never once regretted her decision. Most men balked when she told them about her pledge, but not Tyrell. She still remembered his reaction after she had told him….

  “I find it hard to believe that a woman of your beauty isn’t getting any,” he admitted, tossing back his beer. He finished the bottle, and then rolled his tongue over his lips. He examined the dewy-eyed woman sitting across from him, undressing her in his mind. Sure she looked sweet and wholesome, but her curvy figure and sexy smile told another story. Celibate? Impossible. Sexually frustrated? Definitely. All Autumn needed was a man to show her the ropes. Teach her how sex was supposed to be. Tyrell was more than willing to add another student to his class. But first, there was something he needed to know. “You’re not one of those church girls who thinks sex is revolting or immoral, are you?”

  “Of course not!” Autumn answered, the heat rising steadily up the back of her neck. She usually saved this conversation for the third or fourth date, but when Tyrell had suggested they go back to his place to “get to know each other better,” Autumn had determined that was as good a time as any. “I’m not scared of sex and I’m not ashamed of my body. I’m just not ready for the emotional baggage that sex creates, so I have committed to put my future happiness and emotional well-being ahead of the fleeting needs of my body. The next man I make love to will be my husband, and if you can’t respect that, I need to know now.”