All Up In My Business (20 page)

“Miss Fuddy-Duddy,” Chardonnay sang as she rose from the couch and began picking up toys scattered across the living room floor. “Just make sure you get some of that Toussaint dick while you’re Miss Biz-ness in LA. Otherwise, that trip won’t have meant a damn thing.”

Zoe’s retort was interrupted by a knock on the door. When Chardonnay opened it, six feet of oh-my-goodness and Lord-have-mercy walked in, dressed in a black muscle shirt, jean shorts that rode lean, powerful-looking hips, and sandals. His presence seemed to fill the room. While she didn’t agree with Chardonnay’s choice, she had to admit that he beat Bobby out in looks, hands down.

“Hey, Q,” Chardonnay said, pulling him farther into the room. “This is my friend Zoe.”

Zoe stood. “Nice to meet you, Q. Chardonnay, I’ll call you later.”

“You don’t have to leave,” Chardonnay countered while almost pushing her best friend out the door. “I’ll call you later, hear?”

Zoe waved without looking back. From the look of raw anticipation on Chardonnay’s face, Zoe doubted she or anybody else would hear from her tonight.

Z
oe pulled her shiny new Honda Accord into the mall parking lot. It was relatively empty for a Sunday night, which made her happy. She loved to shop but hated crowded clothing stores. But she needed something to rid her of a worsening mood. Between Cognac’s cursing-filled rapping and Q’s booty-call appearance—reminding Zoe of her empty apartment—she’d lost the high Ace’s news had brought her. Zoe left the car and hurried toward the mall entrance, sure that nothing could cheer her up like a clearance rack.

Two hours, a couple hundred dollars, and a peanut butter smoothie later, Zoe slowly strolled through the near-empty mall. She felt good about her purchases, which included a light blue silk pantsuit she thought both professional and sexy, two slim-line skirts that deemphasized her hips while highlighting her assets, a pair of black pumps, and a small bottle of her favorite perfume.

Satisfied and a bit tired but still not ready to go home to an empty house, Zoe walked back to the music store she’d just passed. Her eyes lit up when she saw a bin full of CDs directly ahead with a sign announcing fifty percent off. She placed her bags beside her and dove into the R & B and hip-hop section as if she were digging for gold.

“Damn, baby, you out of music or what?” a teasing voice whispered close to her ear.

She frowned, pissed at the stranger who had the nerve to invade her personal space. “What’s it to—Oh, hey, Bobby.”

“Hey, Zoe. What up?”

“Nothing, just out spending the check that I just earned.”

Bobby peeked around her and eyed the bags at her side. “Look like you’re doing a pretty good job. And digging through those CDs like somebody’s chasing you.”

“I guess I did get a little excited. A sale sign will do that to me.”

“Is that all it takes?” Bobby snorted. “Wish I could say the same for your girl. Looks like nothing I do can please Chardonnay. And I really like her too.”

“Chardonnay’s bark is worse than her bite.”

“I know, but she’s always dogging a brothah out. What’s up with that?”

Zoe shrugged. “She tries to come off hard, but she’s a good person when you get to know her.”

“The ‘get to know’ is the problem. Don’t want to let nobody behind that tall-ass wall she has around her heart. Look, do you think she’ll like this?” Bobby reached inside a bag from a jewelry store, opened a small box, and showed Zoe a heart-shaped necklace set with tiny diamonds. Zoe thought it was a sweet gift but knew Chardonnay would complain that the stones weren’t bigger. “That’s nice, Bobby.”

“Yeah, but do you think Chardonnay will feel that way?”

“What woman doesn’t appreciate a man who buys her jewelry?”

“True dat. She’ll like it,” Bobby said, as if trying to convince himself. He offered Zoe a lopsided smile.

Zoe took in Bobby’s slightly worried expression and smiled.
Maybe I can help this brother, and in the process help Chardonnay, Cognac, and Tangeray
. “Bobby, you have a nice smile, but can I ask you something? And please, don’t get offended.”

“Can’t guarantee that, but go for it.”

“Have you ever considered getting your teeth fixed? I mean, these days they have all kinds of—”

“Girl, my grill’s been jacked up since I put the last baby tooth under the pillow at my grandma’s house. I ain’t sensitive about that.”

Zoe visibly relaxed. “Good. Then why don’t you think about having some cosmetic work done, getting caps. That would probably do wonders for your fa—That would probably change your whole look.” Zoe continued to eye him critically. “And your hair has a nice, natural curl. Maybe a little texturizer—”

“I ain’t got time for all that,” Bobby interrupted. “Plus, I’m over a hot grill six days a week, ten, sometimes twelve hours a day. That shit wouldn’t last in my head.”

“Well, maybe get a nice cut, then. Or maybe even shave it off. Have you thought about that?”

“Look, Zoe, I know I’m not all that to look at and whatnot. But I’m a good man. I’m just a line cook right now, but this is just the beginning. I’m going places. That’s what I told Chardonnay. But she don’t believe me.”

“Maybe that’s because of how you got with her. Using those pictures you took to blackmail her, Bobby? Forcing her to have sex? Not cool.”

Bobby showed the lopsided grin that Zoe decided was a cross between a smile and a smirk. “She ain’t complaining.”

“Not to you.”

“She tell you she didn’t like the dick?”

Zoe realized she was on a road that she didn’t want to travel. “What about her kids?” she asked, changing the subject. “Do you get along with them?”

“The little girl’s a sweetheart, little Ray-Ray. But me and Yak got some business to handle. Little man thinks he runs the house. Somebody needs to get in that ass; then we’d be all right.”

Zoe nodded, further convinced that Bobby was just the man Chardonnay needed in her life. “Why don’t you go to the toy store over there?” she said, pointing across the aisle. “Since you bought Char a present, you might want to bring her kids one too.”

Bobby fixed Zoe with an appreciative gaze. “I like how you think, Zoe. You’re pretty cool.”

“I try.”

“Hey, do you think … Naw, that’s all right.”

“What?”

“I’m not around kids and wouldn’t have a clue about what to buy them.”

“And you want my help.”

“Do you mind?”

Zoe almost declined, but then thought again about the home where no one was waiting for her. “Not at all,” she said, grabbing his arm. “Let’s go.”

“D
ad?” In a rare move, Malcolm had used his key and let himself into his parents’ home when both his phone calls and doorbell ringing yielded no response. It was Tuesday, and Adam was still not at work. Malcolm’s concern had deepened to the point where he’d left the office to check on him. Stepping into the foyer, he noticed that copies of the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
lay just inside the doorway and that the heavy, royal blue curtains that covered the living room windows were still drawn.

“Yo, Pops, you in here?” He kept walking, past the formal dining room, down the hall, and into the den. There, Adam sat in the dark, nursing a tumbler of cognac. It was nine a.m.

“Dad,” Malcolm breathed, almost tearing up at seeing his father look so broken. A man who was usually dressed impeccably, even in casual wear, now wore a wrinkled T-shirt and baggy gym shorts. He didn’t have to ask how he was doing. “Not too good” was written on his face. Malcolm sat down in the wingback chair facing the love seat where his father sat. “A little early for that, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Adam said, slowly bringing the glass to his mouth and taking another sip.

“I’m worried about you, Dad.”

Adam set the glass on the side table. “Don’t be, Malcolm. I’ll be okay.”

“What about your marriage? Will that be okay too?” Malcolm hadn’t meant to ask this, had thought to give his dad the opportunity to bring up the cause for his angst. The words seemed to flow of their own volition, and once out, Malcolm realized how badly he wanted to know the answer.

Adam leaned back against the love seat’s soft, tan leather and rubbed dark-circled eyes that had seen little sleep. “For the past two days, I’ve been thinking about divorcing your mother, how it would be to live without her, and all of the ramifications.” Adam shook his head slowly. “I can’t imagine life without her, but I can’t imagine sleeping in the same bed with her either, ever again.”

Malcolm needed to digest those words. He rose, walked over to the bar, and poured himself a ginger ale. “We’ve got to do something, Dad. If Mama stays away too long, people are going to talk.”

“Have you been talking to my brother?”

Malcolm shook his head.

“That’s what Ace said when he called this morning.”

“Oh, so you answered his calls but not mine.”

“I was in the bathroom when you called earlier. Just hadn’t gotten around to calling you back.”

The sleek and modern Howard Miller grandfather clock ticked off the passing of time in an otherwise quiet room. Malcolm glanced at his watch, aware that he had a conference call with the restaurant managers in one hour.

Adam drained his glass and got up to pour himself another drink. “How’s Victoria?”

“Victoria?” Malcolm asked, surprised by the abrupt subject change.

“Yes, Victoria, your wife. How is she doing? And speaking of marriages, how are y’all doing?”

Now it was Malcolm who felt that a shot of alcohol might not mix too badly with the coffee and Danish he’d consumed on the way to his parents’ home. “All right, I guess.”

“The baby or your marital state?”

“She looks healthy enough,” Malcolm said, rising to open the curtains on the room’s double windows just for something to do. “But our marriage … it is what it is.”

“It was wrong of her to get pregnant and not tell you, son. But the baby is on the way now. Can’t change that.”

“Nope, sure can’t.”

“And I guess you could stay mad for the next eighteen years, but what good would that do?”

Malcolm didn’t answer. How could his father, who even now was dealing with a wife who had stepped out on him, understand the dilemma involving a wife who wouldn’t even make love to her own husband? The phone in Malcolm’s pants pocket vibrated against his leg. “Hello?”

“Hey, handsome.”

Joyce
. “Hello.”

Joyce noted Malcolm’s serious tone. “I’m sorry, are you busy? Am I interrupting?”

“Yes, but that’s okay. I have a minute.”

“Okay, good. I just wanted to invite you to dinner tonight. I have some QVC information to share with you,” Joyce hurriedly continued after feeling that the invite had sounded more like her real intentions instead of the strictly professional ones she wanted to convey.

Malcolm closed his eyes against the sexiness of Joyce’s voice. So far, he’d done well to withstand her subtle advances, had ignored the allure of her sweet-smelling perfume and curvy body.

“I’m thinking McCormick and Schmick’s, around seven?” Joyce prodded when Malcolm didn’t answer.

“Uh, yes, seven is good. See you then.” Malcolm walked
over to the bar, placed his empty glass into the sink, and turned to face his father. “Toussaint and I want to have a family meeting, here, with you and Mom.”

“Just us, not your wife?” Adam knew his son and hadn’t missed the subtle shift in his expression as he listened to the caller. He’d bet a thousand dollars that Joyce was the person on the phone and the one his son was meeting later tonight. It hadn’t gone without notice that Joyce’s e-mails to him had stopped shortly after the partnership with his son had started. He knew for a fact how dangerous someone like Joyce could be to a marriage, and soon he would have to have the conversation to make sure Malcolm understood this too.

“Let me know if you need me,” Adam said as he walked Malcolm to the front door. “I’ll take a shower in a minute and do some work from home.”

“So you won’t be in at all today?”

“No, son. I still need to sort this whole mess out between your mom and me.”

The two men hugged as Malcolm prepared to walk out the door. “Oh, and, son.” Malcolm stopped, turned around. “Make sure that there aren’t two Livingston men who are thinking of breaking a fifty-year legacy and divorcing his wife.”

W
hile Malcolm enjoyed his time with Joyce, Victoria lay miserable in their master suite. “No, Mom, it’s too late for you to come over.” Victoria repositioned herself in the bed and winced as pain shot down her back. “I’ll get the maid to bring me some tea, maybe sit in the tub for a bit.”

“Good thing you have a maid to help you,” Valarie said. “Because your husband surely isn’t.” Valarie hadn’t approved of Victoria marrying Malcolm. She’d wanted her to marry a prominent doctor whose father had been a vital member of the Clinton administration. She was still smarting over the fact that he and his parents had dined with President Obama. If her daughter had listened, that could have been her! “I’m livid about the way Malcolm is treating you, darling,” she continued. “It is neglect, plain and simple. You deserve better.”

“Who? Someone like Charles?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to mention him but …”

“Mom, not tonight.”

“I’m worried about you, Victoria. And Malcolm, well, he ought to be ashamed …”

Victoria pulled the phone away from her ear as her mother continued to bash Malcolm. Valarie’s attitude toward him was partly her fault. She probably shouldn’t have shared so much of
her marriage with her mother, especially the problems they’d had for the past five years. But she had. Every time Malcolm did something to upset her, Valarie’s shoulder was the one Victoria cried on.

“Men like him have no control of their physical urges,” her mother was saying when Victoria began to listen again. “Having that many children is shameful, even when you can afford it. It’s people who live by their baser, lower natures who carry on in such a manner. I’m surprised you’ve put up with it this long, Victoria, and … Victoria? Are you listening to me? Victoria!”