Crazy Summer (9 page)

“She in good hands,” Danté assured him, his eyes never leaving his stare.

“I’ll accept dat,” Willie James said. “You drink?”

Danté nodded.

“Come on in, nephew.” He patted his shoulder and invited him inside the crowded house, where Summer was already mingling amongst family and friends.

Everybody was happy to see her. Some women of the family rubbed her stomach, while the others adored the twins. When Danté entered the kitchen with Willie James, all eyes turned in their direction. He was introduced to everyone by her uncle as Summer’s boyfriend. He felt the stares from most of the men, who held beers in their hands, and the two ladies playing the back where food was being prepared gawked, also, but no one noticed. Seconds later, they went back toward the living room, leaving the men alone.

Danté wanted to spend time getting to know the family, but first, he wanted to give Mrs. Diane the gifts he and Summer had bought. After excusing himself from Willie James, he found Summer and Mrs. Diane sitting alone in her bedroom. The door was open, but he knocked anyway. Summer and Mrs. Diane turned their head in unison.

“Come on, baby,” Mrs. Diane said.

Danté walked in and gave Mrs. Diane a hug and a polite kiss on the check. He’d known her since he was twelve, which was when he first moved into the neighborhood with his daddy. His mother died when he was nine, and even though he had a stepmother, he still looked at Mrs. Diane as a mother figure.

“Merry Christmas, Mama.”

“Same to you,” she said.

 Danté handed Mrs. Diane the shopping bag and then stood close to Summer with his hand resting on her shoulder. Just then, his pager vibrated on his hip. He removed it from his front pocket, brought it up to his face, and studied the number.

“Lemme use da phone, Mama,” he said to Mrs. Diane, who had already started opening her gifts.

After she told him to go ahead, he grabbed the cordless phone and dialed the number from his pager.

“Sheraton Hotel, how may I help you?”

Danté didn’t know it was a number to a hotel, but he did remember the three digits entered in his pager after the main number, so he figured it was the room number of the person who had paged him.

“Room 406,” he told the lady.

The call was transferred, and the phone rang twice before someone picked up.

“Hey, lil’ playa,” the voice said from the other end.

Danté had to take a moment to catch the voice, but then he recognized it. “Whazzup, Shay?”

“I got a lil’ problem,” Shay told him. “Can you drop by in the next hour?”

Danté looked at Summer, and just as he thought, she was looking directly at him.

“Man…it’s Christmas. I’m wit’ my family,” he spoke into the phone.

“It’s very important. I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t extreme business.”

Danté had respect for Shay, who helped him get on his feet when he was only flipping two to three ounces. Shay had fronted him his first quarter key of cocaine.

He thought about all of this for a second and then said, “I’ll be there in ‘bout thirty minutes.”

“Solo,” Shay said before the line went dead.

As Danté pressed the power button, Summer gave him a look as if to say,
I know you ain’t going nowhere.

“I got some business I gotta handle,” he told her, addressing her unspoken words.

Jermaine and Jeremy ran into the room together and dived onto their mother’s lap. Their attention went to the children for a moment, and then their gaze met one another again. Mrs. Diane removed a tennis bracelet from a box and almost screamed with happiness while thanking Danté and Summer.

Summer stood up and walked over to Danté. “How long you gonna be?” Her tender voice was drowned with sadness.

He kissed her lips. “A couple of hours probably.”

She nodded and told him to be careful. When Danté left, Summer and Mrs. Diane talked for a few more minutes alone before joining the rest of the family. Summer got on the phone and tried calling Red Bone to tell her to come over, but the line had been disconnected. It’d been three months since she had seen her, and now she wasn’t anywhere to be found.

  Danté arrived at the Sheraton Hotel in less than thirty minutes. He tapped on the door and then looked both ways down the carpeted corridor. He heard the door being unlocked, and when it opened, Shay was standing in shorts and nothing else except a Cubin link chain around his neck. He was dark-skinned with bloodshot eyes and uncombed hair. He greeted Danté with a light, quick hug and invited him in.

After stepping into the living room area of the suite, Danté noticed two more guys. He studied their faces and realized he had never seen them before. Although the lights were dimmed, he didn’t miss seeing the Mack-11 semi-automatic gun lying on the dining room table. Something was wrong; he was positive of it. The picture just didn’t look right.

Shay walked Danté over to the table where the two guys were sitting. A bottle of Dom P separated them. Danté sat down, and Shay stood next to him with a hand on his shoulder. Danté had also noticed that neither of the strangers really looked at him or smiled. He did know his nine-millimeter was tucked in his waist, and he hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.

“This is my lil’ nigga Danté who I was tellin’ y’all ‘bout,” Shay said, patting Danté’s shoulder.

Now the two strangers were looking at Danté. They were older than him, he noted, maybe in their mid-thirties.

He couldn’t figure out the problem at this point. He knew he didn’t owe Shay any money. When their eyes finally drifted away, one of the guys began talking while pouring himself a glass of champagne.

“How much money do you owe, Danté?”

“I don’t owe nobody,” he said and twisted his head toward Shay. “I don’t owe you no money.”  By the tone of his voice, they could tell he was nervous.

Shay, who was looking crazy now, slowly pulled out a chair and sat next to Danté. A look of nervousness blazed from his eyes.

“I owe my people here sixty grand,” he said.

 The other guy slammed his fist onto the table, causing Shay to jump. Danté just starred in their direction. The same guy who had poured some Dom stood up and slapped Shay across the head. Blood began leaking from the open wound.

“You told me dude owed you money, muthafucka!” he shouted.

Shay held his hand pressed against his head, trying to stop the bleeding. His lips were quivering so bad that he couldn’t get his words out.

Fixing his eyes on Danté, he asked, “Can I borrow da money then?”

“You lied to me, Shay!” the guy with the champagne bottle interrupted, looking directly into Danté’s eyes. “Dis nigga ain’t no friend of yours.” He took a deep breath. “Do you wanna take up dis tab fo’ dis bitch?” he asked and pointed at Shay.

 Danté’s heart was thumping inside his chest, and his anger had risen to the point where he could have killed Shay himself. He looked at Shay, who gave him a look as if to say,
My life is in your hands
. He looked back at the guy across the table.

“All I got is fifty-five thousand to my name. After that, I’ll be broke,” Danté told them.

“Don’t worry ‘bout dat. You gonna take Shay’s place anyway. He ain’t trustworthy.”

He paused and took a sip from the champagne glass. His eyes went to his comrade, who hadn’t spoken a word since the meeting started. The guy stood up and went through the door that led to the bedroom. He came back with a shopping bag similar to the one Danté had given Mrs. Diane earlier. He dumped five small blocks carefully wrapped in gray duct tape onto the table. Danté hadn’t expected this much at one time, and besides, he’d only been flipping half a kilo. He looked at the dope and then glanced up at the guy across from him.

“How much you chargin’ me?” he asked.

“Twenty-five each,” the man replied. “Now, if you can’t handle it, you need to let me know.”

“Ain’t no problem,” Danté said, his eyes never leaving his.

The man put the coke back in the bag, stood up, and motioned for Danté to follow him.

Danté stood and moved around the table, following the guy out into the hallway. The two exchanged numbers, with Danté giving him both his pager and house numbers. He never bothered asking about Shay, and the arrangement was that the money would be picked up later.

Just as he was leaving, his pager vibrated. It was Summer.

With an IV needle stuck in her vein, a fatigued Summer dozed off in the hospital room, with Mrs. Diane sitting in the cushioned chair beside the bed. Mrs. Diane occupied herself with circling letters in her word search book. Her daughter had just given birth an hour ago to a healthy seven-pound baby boy, who she named Danté, Jr.

The door opened, and Danté walked inside with Jeremy and Jermaine. He spoke his last words into his cell phone and ended the conversation just as Mrs. Diane closed her puzzle book. The twins, who were almost three years old, were mature enough to know that something was wrong with their mother. They went to the bed, but neither one of them could actually see her.

One of them looked back at Mrs. Diane, and with sadness in his eyes, he asked, “What’s wrong wit’ Mama?”

As both twins waited for an answer, she simply told them that she was resting.

      Danté stood next to her, admiring how beautiful she was in her sleep. He brushed a few strands of hair from her forehead and then he kissed her there. She tried opening her eyes, and her face spread into a smile when she saw Danté. He leaned down again and kissed her lips.

“How you feelin’?” he asked her.

Moving her lips, she whispered, “I’m okay, baby.”

The twins called her while standing next to the bed, wanting to see her. Danté lifted one of them up so she could give him a kiss. Then he lifted the next one, and she gave him a kiss, as well. Mrs. Diane stood smiling at Summer.

Then she leaned down and whispered in her ear, “You been passin’ gas the whole time. I know it was you.”

Mrs. Diane and Summer laughed.

“I love you, Mama,” Summer said while hugging her.

“I love you, too, baby. You’re comin’ home tomorrow.”

“You been to the nursery?”

She nodded. “He’s doin’ fine.”

“I want somethin’ to eat.”

“You can’t eat nothin’ solid yet. Maybe later.”

There was a soft tap on the door before the doctor entered. He wore tousled blonde hair, a clean white overcoat, and gold wire-framed glasses. He checked Summer thoroughly; she was doing better than he thought. Since her baby’s birth was natural, she’d be discharged soon.

  A week later, Summer was washing clothes in the laundry room of her house, when she got a phone call from her mother.

“Summa.”

“Ma’am?”

“Somebody jus’ called here lookin’ fo’ you.”

“Who was it?”

“Her name was Ann. Said y’all was locked up together.”