A Cold Piece of Work (37 page)

Late that afternoon, Quintin Moss, with baggy jeans hanging off his butt and smelling of a wretched combination of alcohol and weed, showed up at the Atlanta County Courthouse. Lucy met him on the steps.

“How my son gon' be on trial and you just calling a nigga?” Quintin asked.

“I didn't know if you cared or not,” Lucy said. “Ain't nobody heard from you.”

“You know I'm one hundred for my kids.”

“Really? One hundred? One hundred what? One hundred proof. That's about it.”

“Hey, I'm here, ain't I?” Quintin shot back.

“If you'd been here, none of this would've happened,” she said.

Quintin looked away.

“The lawyer set it up to meet with Q,” Lucy went on. “I need you to tell him to take the deal so he can get some drug counseling, get into an educational program and start getting his life together.”

“He still gon' have to do three years,” Quintin said.

“That's better than fifteen years, Quintin.”

“Just take me to the place,” he said, and she did.

They were directed into a small room with a table and chair on either side of it. Someone brought in a third chair. A minute or so later, Quintavious was led into the room.

When he saw his dad, he stopped walking. “What the hell he doing here?”

“Oh, now I'm ‘he'?” Quintin said. “I can leave.”

“Then leave; nobody want you here no way,” Q said.

Quintin got up. Lucy grabbed his arm. “Please, Quintin sit down. Both of you sit down.”

“Ma, I ain't siting down at no table across from him,” the son said about the father.

“Yes, you are, Q,” Lucy said. “I don't ever ask anything of you, which is part of the problem. But I'm asking now. Sit down and listen. If you don't want to talk, don't talk. But listen.”

“Ma, listen to what?” Q said.

“Your father…” she said, “…wants to talk to you. The state wants to offer you the deal again.”

The father and son stared at each other. Anger covered Q's eyes; embarrassment overtook Quintin's.

“Listen, son—” he started.

“Son? Man, you think I'm gonna sit here and listen to this crap…from you?” Q said.

“Son…” Lucy said, “…please, do it for me.”

That softened Q's position. He leaned back in his seat and folded his arms as his father started again.

“Listen, I ain't been the best father; I know that,” he said. “I got my problems. But don't make me having problems mess up your life. You ain't no thug, boy. You robbing people? Taking cars? Forget about me; I ain't been no good example. But I never wanted you to be like this.

“Remember when we used to play tackle football when you was four or five years old? It was good. We did good things, father/son things. You ran the ball just like I did. You were me… But the man I am now ain't what you should become. You better than me. That's what yo' momma wants and that's what I want, too.

“You ain't been to real prison before. You been locked up, and that ain't shit compared to what you got to go through in prison. You won't be ‘round here so your momma can visit you. Those little girls you chasing ain't coming to Kansas or wherever they gon' send you. And for fifteen years. Shit, you ain't but eighteen.”

“I'm nineteen,” Q said.

“Either way, three years is a lot less than fifteen. You take this deal, get the help I ain't never got, get your GED and do your time like a man. Then you get out and be something. Fuck that bullshit, ‘I ain't taking a deal.' That don't make you a man, not even on the streets. It makes you a fool everywhere.

“Don't be a fool. I don't know you like I used to but I remember that you ain't do much for yourself without thinking about yo' momma and yo' sister. You think they ain't hurting with you? You gon' hurt them more to go away for so long.

“One thing I know: I ain't done the best with my life, but I ain't bring no stupid ass nigga into the world. You'd have to be a stupid-nigga
to take fifteen years over three and a chance to get yourself better.”

With that, Quintin Moss stood over the table, patted Lucy on the shoulder and walked out.

Mother and son sat there for several seconds in silence. Finally, Q rose from his chair.

He said, “I love you, Ma,” and turned and walked toward the door to exit. Then he turned around to her. “Okay, Momma,” he said. “Okay.”

Lucy dropped her head in her hands and sobbed.

Not long after, Solomon and Michele got the news from Lucy.

“Thank you for being so nice,” she said. “It means a lot to me and my son.”

The lawyers ironed out the particulars and presented them to the judge the next morning. Defendant Kenyan Parker was not happy Q took the deal. But he accepted it, too.

After the process was finalized, Lucy brought over Michele and Solomon to her son before he was whisked away.

“You have something to say to them, don't you, Q?” Lucy said to her son.

Quintavious looked uncomfortable but sincere. “I'm sorry about what happened,” he said. “And thanks for trying to help me.”

“Make your mother proud,” Solomon said, and Q was pulled away.

Michele shook Lucy's hand. When Solomon extended his hand, she moved in for a hug. “Not too many people like you,” she said. “I appreciate you so.”

“You're welcome,” Solomon said, holding her close. “Good luck. And keep us posted, please.”

On the car ride home, Solomon told Michele, “This might sound strange, but maybe everything that happened that night—learning
about Gerald being my son and us being carjacked—was supposed to happen to us. In different ways, they both had a big impact.”

“You're probably right,” Michele said. “I never told you this, but that night was the night I fell in love with you again. The way you handled that whole situation; learning about your son and then that craziness. I sat in the police car while you talked to them in such a controlled way. I felt like you saved my life twice that night.”

“Saved your life? How?”

“The way you accepted the news I gave you; if you had been ugly or refused to believe me, it would've killed me,” she said. “Not literally, but it definitely would've done something bad to my soul.

“Then you controlled that situation when we were being robbed. If you hadn't talked to them, made them think, no telling what would've happened to us. Basically, you made it happen. Nothing's sexier to a woman than a man being a man.”

Solomon blushed, which was a rarity. “Since we're having confessions, I should tell you that us finding each other again was the chance I needed to save my soul,” he said. “That might sound dramatic, but it's true. I had lost it. I did wrong to some good women who deserved more, either by not giving my all or not giving the relationship an honest try or just believing they would be the bastards other women were to me or just disappearing without a trace. It was selfish; I did it to protect myself, but it ate at me.

“Ray said I was a ‘cold piece of work.' And he was right. I didn't care who was hurt as long as it wasn't me. But that wasn't who I really was. I wasn't sure how to get back to me or who I wanted to be; until I saw you. That's when it became clear that I needed to do right by you to be right with myself.”

At his house, Solomon's parents and Gerald were watching a
movie when he and Michele arrived from court. They were wrapped in blankets with all the lights out.

Mr. Singletary stopped the movie. “Maybe this is a time for full disclosure,” he said to Michele and Solomon.

They knew what he meant; telling Gerald what had happened to them. And so, they did. Gerald was typically inquisitive but clearly not concerned because his parents were fine.

The grandparents interjected their views on the matter and Solomon concluded the talk by imparting a message his father had shared with him many years before: “Gerald, you're my son, a Singletary, and that means a whole lot of people expect a whole lot of good things out of you. That doesn't mean you have to discover a cure for cancer, although that would be great, or be President of the United States, which, with the way they've treated Barack Obama, I'm not sure I'd even want for you. But it does mean you can make your mark by being a good person, by standing up for what's right and by working for the things you want in life. That's how you honor your family.”

“I like that, Daddy,” Gerald said. “You should write that down so I won't forget any of it.”

“I will,” Solomon said.

He and Michele left the room and let them resume watching their movie. “This is freaking me out,” he said.

“What?” Michele asked.

“My parents. I can't remember the last time they were this civil to each other. Not only are they civil, but they're actually nice to each other. What's going on? It can't be just Gerald, can it?”

“I don't know, but don't question it; embrace it,” Michele said. “It might blow up. If it does, at least you have these moments to hold on to.”

W
ith live-in sitters in Gerald's grandparents, Solomon and Michele took to a night on the town. Michele called to invite Cynthia and Ray, but was told Ray was already out, running errands.

So, it was just Solomon and Michele on Interstate 20 West, trying to decide where to go.

“Café Circa?” Michele suggested.

“They do have a new rooftop lounge,” Solomon said. “But the last time we went there, a lot happened. You might tell me you're pregnant or something.”

“Oh, no, I won't,” Michele said, laughing.

“How about Serpas; great restaurant at Studioplex?” Solomon offered.

“I went there a few weeks ago. I kind of want something different,” Michele said.

They decided on the lounge at the Mansion Hotel in Buckhead. They could get cocktails and eat there with live music. It was cool and fun, with a contemporary but warm feel. It was not too dark, but still romantic.

There, they sipped on margaritas and settled for wings and lobster bisque. Their conversation turned from a weekend destination with Cynthia and Ray to the direction of their relationship. Of course, it was Michele who wanted some clarity.

“So, Solomon, we've been through a lot and we're still here, together. What's next for us? I'm not trying to put any pressure on you, but I'd like to know what's on your mind.”

“I've actually been thinking about that, too, Michele,” he said. “You know me: I'm sort of cautious about marriage. When almost everyone you know who is married is complaining about being married, well, that tells you something.”

“You can't go on other people's problems and think they'll be ours,” Michele said. “We're not them. More important than that, they're not us. We've been through a lot that has tested if we should be together. And we
are
together. Do you want to be single all your life?”

“I'm not single; I'm with you,” he answered.

“You know what I mean, Solomon.”

“I want you. That's what I know. Last night, I had a conversation with this woman… a woman I'd been seeing. I hadn't seen or talked to her in a long time but she deserved to hear why. So I told her about us.

“She asked me if we were getting married. I told her that I didn't know. She told me that I needed to grow up and stop running from being a man. I was insulted at first. But when I thought about it later, I understood what she meant. Her position was that if I have the woman I say that I love, then why don't I know what I want to do with her?”

“Yeah,” Michele said, “so what's your answer?”

“I love you and I love our son and I want us to be a family— that's my answer,” he said. “The time will come when I'll light you up.”

“Light me up?” she asked.

“Yeah, light you up—put a diamond on your finger,” Solomon said. “Make it official that we're a family.”

“Really?”

“Really. But you won't have a clue when it's going down. I love surprises,” Solomon said. “It'll happen when you least expect it.
The reality is we're a family. Gerald needs to see us together as a family.”

They hugged. “I'm so happy right now,” she said. “But I'm gonna know when you propose. No one can surprise me.”

“Aren't we a surprise?” Solomon said. “You couldn't have expected this.”

Michele did not answer.

“Ah, hello?” Solomon said. A look he had not seen covered Michele's face. “What's wrong?”

“Look over there,” she said, nodding her head in the direction of two men engrossed in serious conversation. They were sitting side-by-side. One guy looked rather feminine, with a dangling earring and a tight-fitting, spandex T-shirt. He was overtly gay with the unmistakable gesturing and posturing.

The other guy was Solomon's friend, Ray.

“Isn't that Ray?” he said.

“It is,” Michele said. “Cynthia told me he was out at IKEA. What is he doing with that man? Solomon, that man is obviously gay, right?”

“He looks gay to me; not to judge,” Solomon said. “I'm tripping. Ray isn't gay. He can't be, could he, Michele?”

“I wouldn't have said so five minutes ago, but from what I'm seeing now…” She paused and sighed. “You tell me? Do straight men hang out with gay men?”

“No. Pure and simple. It never happens. No way. At least not knowingly,” he answered.

They watched—stared, rather—as Ray and the man talked and laughed for another five minutes. Solomon and Michele ignored their drinks and food. They were engrossed in this unfolding drama.

Finally, the men rose from their seats and headed for the area
outside the lounge. They walked left, toward the front lobby, past the bathroom and staircase. Michele and Solomon followed, an intrigued pair of voyeurs desperate to see as much as possible.