All Up In My Business (7 page)

Alexis took a seat and looked around the dining room. It was less crowded than usual, but several tables were occupied. Alexis’s eye fell on the last booth on the far wall. Instantly, she remembered her encounter with Shyla, the person she’d thought was Toussaint’s woman before he informed her that she was “merely a colleague.”
Maybe he asked her to join him today, since I turned him down
. A sudden wave of loneliness washed over her, and Alexis sprang from the chair and walked to the jukebox, just for something to do.
Who Toussaint Livingston dates is none of my business
, she firmly told herself. Just then the songs changed. The Whispers crooned about saying yes, and Alexis wished she’d given Toussaint a different answer.
“Have you ever been kissed from head to toe?”
Alexis listened as Walter and Scotty sang a question straight through her heart and imagined that if she’d said yes, her evening would have entailed a very different type of fireworks than the ones she’d later watch from a promenade near her home.
He’s trouble, Alexis, and you won’t go out with him!
But her heart wasn’t listening. Her heart was beating to a totally different drum. Her heart was saying yes.

A
ll hail the power of Jesus’ name, let angels prostrate fall Bring forth the royal diadem and crown him Lord of all
…

Victoria sat in the sanctity of her quiet master suite. Malcolm was at work, Justin and Brittany were at school, and the twins were at preschool. Their cook wasn’t coming until later in the afternoon, and she’d given the chauffeur the morning off. She was blessedly alone in the house.

Victoria leaned her head back against the velvety fabric that covered the chaise. Tears ran down her face as she raised her hands in supplication, proclaiming Jesus as the Lord of her life. As the last note of the classically arranged piece played, Victoria bowed her head, tears running down her cheeks.
Yes, you are Lord of all. You are all that matters
. She squeezed her eyes tight to stop the flow of tears and waited for the next song on the CD to begin, the next praise to the Most High that would block out her thoughts.

“Holy, holy, holy,” Victoria whispered, drying her cheeks with the lacy handkerchief that had rested atop her Bible. “Lord God Almighty. Early in the morning our songs shall rise to thee.”

Victoria stayed seated for the next fifteen minutes, bathing herself in the worship CD that her spiritual mentor had given
her. Her mentor was an older woman at the church she’d joined less than three months ago, shortly after visiting the doctor and hearing the news. The beep of her cell phone jarred her out of her devotion. She looked at the ID and frowned.

“What’s wrong, Malcolm?” Victoria’s carefully crafted peace was immediately shattered. “Why are you calling in the middle of the day?”

Malcolm’s thought to remain calm throughout this phone call flew out the window. He’d received great news, which is why he’d called his wife. It was time to share what he’d been working on with her, something he hadn’t wanted to do until he was sure of its success. He’d hoped the joy he felt at being one step closer to his goal could extend into the evening. Maybe not.

“Does there have to be a problem for me to call my wife?” he retorted. He stopped, took a deep breath, and continued in a softer tone. He and Victoria had been operating in a disconnected mode ever since she’d joined that church. Actually, they’d been disconnected for years, but this church thing took their dysfunction to new heights. Every conversation was a potential argument. Whenever he’d tried to broach the subject of what was going on, Victoria would claim she was too busy to talk and would either focus on one of the children, retreat to another wing of the house, or leave the house altogether. He hadn’t noticed this behavior the first couple months, because his mind had been elsewhere. But ever since the Fourth of July celebration two weeks ago, when Victoria had spent most of her time lounging on a hammock and reading the Bible instead of engaging with their family, Malcolm had deduced that something was deeply wrong in their marriage. And he planned to find out what it was.

“I know I’ve been busy lately,” he said, deciding to begin by placing the focus on himself. “I thought that I’d get out of
here a little early, and we could drive up to Stone Mountain, have dinner at that restaurant we discovered last year, with the desserts you loved so much.”

“It’s Wednesday, Malcolm,” Victoria said with restrained patience. “I have Bible study tonight.”

“I was hoping that you’d consider skipping it for one night. I have some news to share with you.”

I have some news too. News that I’m not ready to share
. “God is to come first in one’s life, Malcolm. Even before one’s spouse.”

“Is that what they’re teaching you in that place?”

“Why don’t you join me tonight?” Victoria said, her voice pleasant for the first time in their conversation. “Then we can learn together.”

“So is that the only way I can get my wife back? To come to church with you? Is that the exchange? You’ll give me some pussy if I spend time with Jesus?”

Victoria’s hang-up was his answer.

Malcolm slowly placed the phone on the receiver. He rose from his desk and looked out of the company’s tenth-story window. The Atlanta skyline beckoned him into the city, a place he rarely ventured unless for business. But looking out toward the Bank of America Plaza, Atlanta’s tallest landmark, Malcolm realized how long it had been since he’d socialized outside his role as a Taste of Soul VP. He thought about his good friend Jon, a popular and prominent city councilman, and wondered if he still hung out at FGO, an upscale private club that catered to the city’s elite.
It’s time I get back into the swing of things, start living like the young man that I am
, Malcolm thought as he sat down at his desk, retrieved his key chain, and unlocked the drawer that contained his future treasure. Malcolm’s pet project would benefit from him reconnecting with old acquaintances. He pulled out the top-secret folder and smiled, his good mood returning.
Yep, I’ll stop by and see my baby and then it’s on to FGO….

*   *   *

The CD had stopped playing, but Victoria remained where she was, seated on the chaise. Dozens of thoughts clamored for attention in her mind, but one was definitely front and center. Soon, she knew, she’d run out of excuses for why she’d been distant from both Malcolm and his family, why she didn’t want to have sex and had begun sleeping in the guest room more frequently.
But how can I tell him, Lord? How do I explain a problem that only you can solve?
These were the questions that consumed Victoria’s thoughts until she heard the sound of the nanny bringing the twins home from preschool and the cook arriving shortly afterward. How did she tell her husband—who hadn’t wanted a third child when they had twins—that baby number five was on the way?

M
alcolm straightened his suit coat and adjusted his tie as he rode the elevator to the top floor of the tall building, where FGO was located. Founded by a senator’s son a half century ago, FGO—For Gentlemen Only—had been, until ten years ago, a male-only club. Now, women were allowed to frequent the establishment, under what was defined as a guest membership, but they could not formally join the club as a voting or chartered member. And the only way men could become members was to have another member in good standing refer them. Ironically, Adam and Ace had been referred by Victoria’s uncle and had been members for over twenty years. Both Malcolm and Toussaint had been invited once they graduated Morehouse. Toussaint was a regular visitor, going there at least once a week. Malcolm, on the other hand, hadn’t been to FGO in months.

“Mr. Livingston!” the host exclaimed, shaking Malcolm’s hand enthusiastically. This elderly gentleman, with a dark, well-worn face and stark-white hair, had known Malcolm since he was a boy. “It’s a pleasure to see you, sir.”

“The pleasure’s mine, Harold,” Malcolm said, giving the host’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. They chatted briefly,
inquiring about each other’s families, Harold’s beloved Atlanta Braves, and his second love after baseball—barbeque.

“Tell your daddy he still owes me from our last bet,” Harold said, his eyes twinkling.

“Ha! Will do, sir. Will do.”

“Malcolm! My man!” Jon Abernathy walked briskly toward his former college roommate and dear friend. “Who let the dogs out?”

“That should be my question,” Malcolm answered as the two men exchanged a soul brother’s handshake and quick em-brace. “I thought I might find you here.”

“What, did Victoria make you delete all of your single friends’ phone numbers? I haven’t heard from you in ages! Just last week I thought about driving over to Taste for a rib dinner, see if you were hiding out in the kitchen.”

Malcolm laughed at Jon’s statement. The Auburn Taste location, specifically the kitchen, had been where Malcolm could be found on most nights he wasn’t on campus, especially during his undergrad years.

Jon led Malcolm over to the table where he’d been sitting. “Well, at least she loosened the leash and let you out tonight,” Jon continued. “Good to see you, man.”

“It’s good to see you too.” Malcolm signaled the waiter, who brought him a cognac, neat. He raised the glass in silent salute and took a sip. “So what’s up, man? What’s the latest around the way?”

“Oh, same old, same old,” Jon answered. “Still fighting off the sistahs, running from wedding rings.”

Jon had been a ladies’ man for as long as Malcolm had known him. At five foot nine and around one hundred sixty-five pounds, he wasn’t a big guy. But what he lacked in height he more than made up for with swagger and style. Jon was always impeccably dressed and expertly groomed. His weekly manicure and pedicure was routine, as were his trips to the barber. The spa in which he was part owner kept his dark skin
smooth and soft, and the gym kept his muscles firm and abs tight. A marriage shortly after college, just before Malcolm and Victoria wed, had ended in divorce five years ago. Jon doubted he could ever stay faithful, and had vowed to be a bachelor for the rest of his life.

“How’s your son?” Malcolm asked.

“Looking more like me every day,” Jon proudly answered.

The two men continued talking casually, enjoying each other’s company. Malcolm ordered another cognac and Jon had his Seven and Seven refreshed. They’d just finished lamenting the loss of a mutual friend, who’d died in a car accident several months earlier, when Jon stopped midsentence. “Damn,” he said, under his breath. “Who is that?”

Malcolm followed Jon’s gaze and saw a beautiful, dark-skinned woman with a bodacious body and long, thick locs, accompanied by a distinguished-looking older man. He recognized her instantly. “That’s Alexis St. Clair. She’s an interior decorator, and in case you’re thinking of using a remodel as your line, save it. Toussaint already tried it and it didn’t work.”

“Maybe Toussaint’s getting rusty.”

“Hardly. She doesn’t date clients, and right now she’s redoing his house.”

Jon watched the older man walk away from the table, leaving Alexis alone. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured as he stood, straightened his tie, and walked to his target.

Malcolm shook his head, smiling at memories of him and Jon in grad school. They’d gotten in more trouble than the law allowed, with many of their young-adult antics known to them alone. It was only now that Malcolm realized how much he’d missed his friend. But they’d grown distant when Jon left Atlanta for Yale Law School and Malcolm became immersed in the family business.
I wonder if he still plays golf. Maybe we can hit the holes once a week and stay connected
.

“Malcolm, I thought that was you.” Joyce Witherspoon had noticed Malcolm when she entered the establishment but hadn’t
wanted to interrupt the conversation. Now she sidled up to his table with her hand outstretched.

“Hello,” Malcolm said while rising, his expression revealing his puzzlement. And then, recognition dawned. “Joyce! I almost didn’t recognize you!”

“May I join you?”

“Please.” Malcolm moved so that Joyce could sit on his side of the booth. “You look nice. Not that you don’t when you come to the office, or I see you in the catering kitchen but … well …”

Joyce laughed. “I’ve been told I clean up well. And after wearing conservative suits all day while interacting with my clientele, I like to get girlie after hours.” She especially took care with her appearance when she came to the club, and tonight was no exception. The Christian Dior silk, form-fitting dress that stopped a couple inches above the knee, not to mention her four-inch heels, made Joyce feel feminine and fabulous. The thick, permed hair that was almost always in a conservative bun swung loose and carefree around her shoulders, and the subtle fragrance that brought to mind flower gardens and springtime tickled the noses of those around her. She’d stopped by here on her way home, hoping she’d run into Adam. Even though he’d called her the month before and clarified—yet again—that there was no way he’d have an affair with her, that he very much loved his wife, Joyce was determined and patient. She’d always been attracted to older, successful men, and had carried a torch for Adam Livingston for years. She would most likely never stop hoping they’d get together. But now, here sat Adam’s son, bearing a striking resemblance to his father. She’d always thought Malcolm handsome but had never considered how much he favored his dad.
Hmmm, I wonder if he’s faithful to Victoria?
While Atlanta had come to be known as the “black gay capital,” there was still a plethora of single, heterosexual men who would love to spend time with Joyce. She was attractive, smart, and her event-planning business
already boasted an upscale clientele. But for some reason, the men Joyce found herself attracted to, the ones she felt most successful, most attractive, and most desirable, were also, usually, most married. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here,” she said once the waiter had taken her drink order. “It’s been a while.”

“I’m sure a wife, four children, and the business keep you pretty busy.”