A Meeting In The Ladies' Room (15 page)

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Authors: Anita Doreen Diggs

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Elaine drank Bailey's over ice. I'd have to find a liquor store and then stop by the supermarket to pick up some kind of finger food.
She arrived promptly at noon with a basket of fruit and a bouquet of flowers. “Jackie, it is such a relief to see you in person.”
I took the gifts and her coat and spoke over my shoulder as I went in search of a hanger and a vase. “I don't know how to thank you, Elaine.”
When I came back she was thumbing through a copy of
Winner.
There was a smile on her face. “This is a big fish, Jackie. I hope you're trying to reel him in.”
“Not at all,” I replied crisply. “I have far more important things on my mind.”
She put the book down. “I'm not saying he should be the only item on your ‘Things to Do' list, but he should definitely be in one of the top three slots.”
I had to laugh at that. “Come on. We have to sit in the kitchen.”
“Why isn't there any furniture in the living room?”
I told her about the upstairs bedroom and my idea about Keith's way of handling one-night stands as I bustled about the kitchen, fixing drinks and putting food on the table.
Elaine got a kick out of my theory. “Imagine being rich enough to indulge those kind of whims,” she sighed.
I sat down and we sipped our alcohol quietly for a moment. “Tell me what is going on, Elaine. I'm completely out of the loop.”
“Jackie, you are the only topic of conversation when I'm at work—then I watch every bit of the newscast when I'm at home.”
“So, what is the verdict?”
She shrugged. “No one really knows what to believe.”
I gazed at her intently. “What do you believe, Elaine?”
She took a deep breath. “The motive doesn't work for me or anyone else in the book business, Jackie. Nobody in their right mind would literally kill to become executive editor. This isn't Wall Street! We are the most underpaid people in the world. To be frank, many people think you were having an affair with Craig Murray and things got out of hand.”
Elaine was being honest with me, but her response wasn't what I'd expected. She was supposed to say that I was not capable of taking a human life. How could I feel so insecure inside and appear so severe on the outside?
“Well, they're wrong,” I said sternly. “Let's talk about our project.”
Elaine and I ate buffalo wings, nachos and cheese, chips and dip while we discussed the memoir which would keep Mama financially safe if I went to prison. The book would easily be worth half a million dollars. We decided that Elaine would rent a post office box and I would send daily updates on the case to her there. She would start searching for a superstar crime writer to cover the trial. If I were convicted, New York's Son of Sam law would prevent me from making money, so it would then become my mother's story “as told to” the superstar writer. Elaine would walk Mama through the publishing process until the money was safe in the bank. Although I asked her to report any news she heard on the case back to me, Elaine made it clear that she would not do it.
“I won't become part of the story,” she said, “unless I overhear the real killer confess to the crime.”
In the end, we handwrote an agreement that I would not take the project to another editor.
I kissed her cheek at the door.
She winked at me and walked out.
I had forgotten to ask Keith about going to see my mama but I needed to do it, no matter how many reporters were perched on her stoop. There was no one outside when the cab pulled up in front of her building—perhaps the interview she'd given was enough to feed them for a while.
She hugged me like I'd just been released from Leavenworth before snatching Elaine's fruit basket from my hand. “Oh, Jackie, you spent too much money!”
I hung my coat up in the living room closet, “No, I didn't. A friend of mine gave it to me.”
Mama placed the basket on her kitchen countertop and ripped the plastic covering off it. “Look at this! My, ain't this somethin',” she crowed.
“I brought you some money, too. It should be time to fill your prescriptions again, right?”
She hesitated in a way I didn't like. “Jackie, you can't afford to do that anymore. I'll be okay.”
“Don't be silly,” I said. “Do you have anything cold to drink? I'm thirsty.” I opened the refrigerator and there was only a jar of mayonnaise, two leftover pork chops, and a dozen eggs.
“I haven't had time to go shopping,” she said.
It was amazing how the events of the last few weeks had changed me. I could smell the lie as it came out of her mouth. “I don't believe you.”
She took an apple from the basket and bit it. “Girl, I know you done lost your mind. How you gonna stand there and call your own mother a liar?”
“Mama, I have never seen you eat a piece of fruit without washing it first. You're hungry, and I want to know why.”
“If I'm hungry, it's because that Weight Watchers group I'm in is real strict.”
“Really?” I placed my hands on my hips. “I'm going across the hall right now and talk to Elvira about this group.”
“No!”
“Why not?”
She said nothing, so I marched to the door.
“Please don't.”
My hand was on the knob. “Why? Because you've never been to Weight Watchers and Elvira won't know what I'm talking about, will she?”
The apple went down on the counter. “No.”
Then Mama was slumped on the sofa, crying into her hands. I sat bewildered, with one arm around her thin shoulders. “What is it, Mama? Is there some gang in the building taking your money?”
She shook her head and took a deep breath to get control of herself. “There ain't no gang, baby. My medicine started goin' up months ago. I tried takin' it every other day, but then I didn't feel good so I went to half a pill every day and things got worse. So now I buy what I'm supposed to buy and there just ain't no money left over to buy a lot of food.”
This was truly baffling. I paid Mama's rent, utilities, and gave her $200 a month for food and medicine. “What are you talking about?”
“Come here.” She took me by the hand and led me into the bedroom. She kept her prescription bottles in a nightstand drawer. “This,” she said, holding up one slim bottle, “is Vasotec for my high blood pressure . . . thirty pills cost $100.” She picked up a fat vial. “This is Ultracet that I gotta take for arthritis . . . ninety pills cost $150 now.”
There was one last container. A fat bottle of green pills called Cardizem CD. “How much are these?”
“Those are for my arthritis, too. They cost $135 for only sixty pills.”
“Mama, why didn't you tell me that what I give you isn't nearly enough?”
She shook her head sadly. “It ain't your fault that I left school. You shouldn't have to take care of me. I don't know what to do anymore, Jackie.”
I grabbed her by the shoulders, sat her down on the bed, and knelt on the floor beside her.
“Mama, I'm going to tell you something but you can't even tell Elvira. If you do, I'm going to get in a lot of trouble with Keith and that won't be good at all.”
“I won't say nuthin,' but what's goin' on now, Jackie?”
I rubbed her hands. “Mama, no matter how things turn out with my trial, you and I are going to come into a lot of money. At least half a million dollars.”
Her eyes got wide as saucers and she drew her hands back like my own were burning hot. She looked suspicious and disappointed all at the same time. “Jackie, you swore to me that you didn't have nuthin' to do with what happened to that poor woman. What in the world have you done?”
It would have been funny if the whole situation weren't just so damned desperate and tragic. “Mama, I did not kill Annabelle and this is not her money. This is money that as far as I'm concerned, I've already earned. My reputation is tarnished, to say the least, I've been arrested and thrown into exile, and still have a trial to get through.” The anger was building inside of me and my tone became strident. “I should get a billion dollars for pain and suffering when this is all over, but I won't. The best I'm able to do for myself is sell the inside story of my ordeal.”
I told her about my deal with Elaine. “So get up, put your clothes on, and let's go shopping for food, medicine, and whatever else you've been doing without.”
She looked doubtful.
By now I was shouting at her. “Look, I know you didn't want to worry me or ask for more, but this is ridiculous. I was bringing home $50,000 a year after taxes and giving you another $200 a month would not have been a struggle.”
“Stop hollering at me, Jackie. You buy fancy clothes. Your rent is $2,000 a month, and every time I talk to you, it seems like you just been to some fancy restaurant. You and your Black Pack, just eatin' and drinkin' like y'all the first folks to ever be Black with problems. It's all stupid, but that's your life. Who was I to stop you from eatin' and talkin' 'bout bein' Black? I jus' took what you gave me and stretched it like I always done.”
By now she was standing up, her eyes were on fire, and I understood on a very deep level that compared to the problems of her generation, those of the Black Pack seemed inconsequential.
Deflated, I slumped into the armchair. “Fine. I have $10,000 in my bank account. There is no reason for you to jeopardize your health or go hungry. So, let's go shopping.”
She wasn't through. “So, you got $10,000 in the bank. That means you got five months' rent for a place you can't even stay in, Jackie. And how long is that gonna last?”
“I don't know, Mama.”
“Well, girl, you better start knowin'. This thing you and Elaine got goin' might work but it might not. You need to get rid of that apartment because that $10,000 is all you can count on. Ask Keith to let you put the furniture in the place where you stayin' and then you won't have to pay storage.”
“Is that it?”
She smiled and kissed me on the cheek. “No, that ain't it, baby. Tell Keith that the next time some reporters wants to talk to you or me, they better have their checkbooks with 'em because we need the money.”
27
CHOCOLATE-COVERED STRAWBERRIES
M
y plan for getting even with Miss Tiffany Nixon was coming together but it was so bodacious that every time I thought about it, my courage waned a little more. So, there was nothing left to do for the rest of the day except go back to the brownstone.
I took a cab back down to Greenwich Village, feeling exhausted from the heated exchange I'd had with Mama a few hours before. It also saddened me deeply to know that I'd have to give up my own apartment, but it was the only sensible thing to do.
I sprawled out on the living room floor, listening to an old Whitney Houston song called
You Give Good Love.
The pain-filled lyrics enveloped the room, a fitting accompaniment to my own despair. The doorbell rang just as I was contemplating suicide.
“Who is it?”
“Paul.”
I unlocked the door and was about to throw my arms around his waist until I saw his face. There were scratch marks on each cheek and his right eye was reddened and beginning to swell.
I was horrified. “Who did this to you?”
Paul closed the door behind him and held me tightly in his arms. His voice was raw with emotion. “I went to Rosa's house that night after I caught you waiting for Victor. We ended up in bed and after that . . . well, we were pretty much a couple. Then you called. My first instinct was to hang up but I couldn't.”
“Nothing happened between me and Victor that night. We did not have sex, okay?”
He sighed. “Thank you for letting me know that, baby. Anyway, I didn't tell her that I was putting up my house for your bail or that I was going to tell you how I felt. When you and I finally got it together last night, I felt I owed her an explanation and telling her the truth by phone felt cowardly.”
“Did Rosa do this to you?” I touched his eye and he winced.
“Yes. I went to see her this evening to tell her that we're through. She didn't handle it well at all.”
I kissed him on the lips and squeezed him hard. “I'm sorry.”
“I deserved what I got. It was wrong of me to use her just because you were interested in someone else.”
So Paul had bedded Rosa and then kicked her to the curb. Yes, he'd earned the punch and scratches, but I was still angry at her for hurting him.
He allowed me to put a cold compress on his eye as we relaxed on the bed upstairs. I told him about needing to give up the apartment and move my furniture into the brownstone.
“Damn, honey. I'm so sorry.”
The rest of my day spilled out. “My mother has been starving herself halfway to death because she can't afford the high cost of medicine and the rent on my apartment is $2,000 per month plus utilities and cable. It won't take me long to run through $10,000, which is all I have in the bank.”
“Hey, Jackie,” his tone was softer. “It's gonna be okay. Keith and I will handle everything. We'll have you out of the lease and your furniture in place by Saturday. Now, let's talk about the case. Who do you think did this thing?”
I bit my lip. “Keith isn't sharing much with me. But if you look at it logically, the only person who had both means and opportunity is Annabelle's sister.”
“What about motive?”
“That's what I have to find out.”
Paul sat up suddenly. “What does that mean?
“It means I can't just sit in this house and do nothing.”
He took my chin in his hand. “Jackie, what are you planning to do?”
“I'll tell you about it over dinner. Let's find a good restaurant—I'm hungry.”
He motioned toward his eye. “This hurts. How about an indoor picnic?”
I gave him a half-smile. “I don't feel like cooking.”
“Me, either.” He checked his watch. “Why don't I go pick up some champagne, okay? What kind do you want?”
“Dom Perignon.”
“Damn. Who is paying for all this?”
“Keith. He told me to get whatever I want.”
“Okay. What about Cristal?”
I made a face. “Dom Perignon tastes better.”
“Fine. What would you like for dinner?”
“Lobster, shrimp, and caviar.”
Paul laughed. “When Keith gets this bill, he's going to take back what he said, so we might as well enjoy his generosity for the night. Would you like me to rent some videos?”
“If you want.”
“Okay. Put on something pretty and I'll be back in an hour.”
“What about dessert?”
I could tell by the look on his face that he wanted to say something naughty but then he collected himself. “We're going to have chocolate-covered strawberries,” he declared smoothly.
When the door closed behind him, I turned Whitney off and took a hot bath, which soothed my frazzled nerves.
What to wear? What to wear for our romantic indoor picnic? I hunted around in the closet and came up with a sleeveless, clingy, yellow dress that hung down to my ankles.
Paul loved it. He pressed me close to him, and as we kissed, I could feel his erection growing. I pushed him away. “Later, baby, I'm really starving.”
He took a quick shower as I unpacked the delicacies and came out wearing a pair of blue silk pajamas. We sat cross-legged in front of the food, which was laid out on a pretty white comforter, and started filling our paper plates.
“Paul, where does Keith live?”
“He has an apartment in the residential section of Trump Tower and a home up in Connecticut. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. He just appears and disappears without saying very much about himself.”
“Did you read
Winner?”
“Yeah. It's not like I couldn't find a copy.”
He laughed. “What do you think of it?”
“It's very good. Where is his family now?”
“Keith's mother lives in Houston, which is where she is originally from. Dolores lives in Scarsdale with her husband and fourteen-year-old son. Her husband works for Keith as an administrator.”
“Oh. Does he fly down to Houston a lot?”
“He sees his mother four or five times a year.”
“There is some sort of tension between Keith and his mother. The book leaves a lot of questions unanswered.”
He paused while loading shrimp onto his plate. “That's what I told him while we were working on it. He wanted to encourage college students to enter law school and didn't want to delve too much into his personal life. What is it that you want to know?”
I shrugged nonchalantly. “Why is he still single?”
“His college sweetheart wanted to get hitched during the summer between college and law school but Keith got cold feet at the last minute. He came close to getting married again right after the Buchanan case ended. He was seeing one woman exclusively for two years and was thinking about popping the question when she started putting the pressure on him. It became unbearable and when she gave the ultimatum, they broke up.”
“Two years! He was dating her for two whole years and didn't marry her?”
He started eating. “I would do the same thing to you but we're too old. I want at least five kids and there isn't much time.”
“Five kids! Are you out of your mind? You'll be too old to even pick up the last baby,” I laughed.
He pretended to be insulted as he flexed one arm. “I don't know what you're talking about. Look at the shape I'm in.”
I waved away his flexing arm. “What movies did you rent?”
“Not so fast. You promised to tell me about this detective work you're planning.”
Slowly and carefully I laid out my plan.
Paul listened until I was done. “Jackie, what if there are no skeletons in Tiffany Nixon's closet?”
“Then I'll find another reporter who has one.”
“I didn't know you could be so devious. To be honest, it's a little scary.”
Tears sprang to my eyes. “Then find a woman who isn't facing life in prison. She'll be the person I was before that cell door slammed on me.”
His arms were around me in an instant. “Hey there, girl. Take it easy. You're the only woman for me, and I'll help you with this plan, even though I think it is far too risky. Right now, Tiffany Nixon is just trying to sell papers. If she gets angry on a personal level, she could make things rough for you and really damage Keith's reputation.”
“It's a chance I'm going to take. An acquittal just isn't good enough for me, Paul. I want Annabelle's sister behind bars and my own name cleared.”
“Fine. There's a lot of hard work ahead of us, but let's just try to relax tonight.” He gestured toward the bag at his feet. “I picked up
She's Gotta Have It, School Daze, Do the Right Thing,
and
Jungle Fever.
We'll have our own Spike Lee Film Festival, okay?”
“Paul, that's eight hours' worth of movies!”
“Do you mean to tell me that a young woman like you can't stay up all night?”
“Nope! I'm not that young anymore. So pick one.”
He laughed.
“Hey, wait a minute! What kind of Spike Lee Film Festival is this? You forgot
Mo' Better Blues
and
Malcolm X!”
He threw up his hands. “No way. You'll forget that there is a living, breathing man in the room with you. I'm far too smart to even try and compete with Denzel Washington.”
That was funny. “So, which one are we watching?”
“I choose
She's Gotta Have It.”
I shook my head and spoke around a mouth full of seafood. “No way. Too sexy. Let's watch
School Daze.”
Paul smiled wryly. “I went to Morehouse, remember? Pick again.”
We settled on
Jungle Fever.
What a wonderful evening! We talked, laughed, ate ourselves silly, drank two bottles of champagne, and got into the movie like neither one of us had ever seen it before. We didn't talk about the case and after a while I didn't feel like a murder suspect.
But that night, my dreams shattered our peace.
My hands were wrapped around Annabelle's slim, white throat. Her silky blond hair was turning red as blood spurted from the top of her head and flowed through it, yet she was still able to scream, “Astrid gets the job—ha ha ha ha ha,” in a taunting, singsongy, little-kid voice. I squeezed tighter, and her eyes bugged out but that didn't stop her from shrieking, “All about Moms! All about Moms!” over and over again.
I woke up screaming in the middle of the night. Paul and I wrapped ourselves around each other and talked quietly. We didn't even try to go back to sleep.

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