Friends and Lovers (30 page)

Mrs. Vaughn had a crooked grin. I knew why Richard had dragged her blubber along. Not to take us to the airport, but because he knew I wouldn’t start any shit in front of her.

Richard called out, “Momma asked when we’re going to sit down and set a date for the wedding.”

“Eventually.”

She said, “What kinna answer is that? A woman is ‘pose to obey her husband.”

“Dogs obey. People collaborate.”

My mind kicked into overdrive. I struggled to think of a legitimate argument for Richard not to go.

“What about your business, Richard?”

Mrs. Vaughn acted like I was talking to her, “The flower shop will be fine.”

I wanted to scream my way back into my bedroom and slam the door. If I had’ve known it was gonna be like this, I would’ve zoomed north up the 5 freeway with the rising of the sun.

That bastard was slick. He was staying in the kitchen sucking up the last of my juice, keeping out of sight.

Richard put his glass in the dishwasher. That pissed me off because I’d already cleaned up the kitchen, and he knew he could’ve washed that one glass out. He strutted into the living room and smoothed his hands over his polo shirt.

We stared at each other. His eyes were on the scarf around my neck. I waited for him to say something.

He said, “Ready?”

“Yep. As ready as I’m ever gonna be.”

After I locked up, I moved right by them, made it to parking first, then hurled my luggage into the trunk of Richard’s
SAAB
. Mrs. Vaughn was ten yards back, wobbling like a Weeble; Richard was snailing along too. Before they caught up I had crawled in the backseat and had sucked my bottom lip hard enough to smear blackberry lipstick across all my teeth.

Richard’s work papers were on the seat. I yanked the mess from under my butt and tossed everything on the floor. The next thing I did was let out a fake yawn and pretend I was so sleepy I couldn’t stand it, even threw in a soft snore and a fake nod or two. My plan was to have a bogus siesta from airport to airport, so the sooner I inaugurated the charade, the better.

Richard and his mother chattered about what needed to be done at his business down on the harbor, about which one of his brothers was going to help his sister. Their conversation was a damn shame. My best friend’s husband, my friend, had died, and they were stuck on irrelevant crap.

I peeped at my engagement ring. Saw how it sparkled like a star in a night of gloom. All the other attendants thought it was the bomb. They thought Richard was the bomb. Maybe I was a fool to not do a quick wedding. At thirty years of life and strife, being single and living alone in a one-bedroom apartment wasn’t exactly where I had pictured myself. This wasn’t my plan.

But I was comfortable. No complaints. No regrets.

My mind started to wander. Wandered and wondered.
I wondered when things had changed between me and Richard. Things used to be damn pleasant, and I used to look forward to seeing him every now and then. Sometimes I’d called from a layover. It gets damn lonely on trips. Yep, I missed him. But that was when I didn’t see him as much.

Three months ago, Richard had taken me back over to his parents’ house. It was the day his daddy, Papa Ray, had gotten out of the hospital. He was around eighty and spending more time with doctors and nurses than he did with his family. So, everybody was there, and before I realized what was really going on, the relatives had circled me the way the Indians surrounded Custer. Scared the hell out of me. I guess when you start to accumulate secrets, every little
boo
rattles your nerves.

Richard got down on his right knee and clicked open a maroon case, stuck a ring under my nose. I was the only one surprised.

“Will you marry me?” he asked, smiling ear to ear.

It wasn’t exactly a sunrise on the beach proposal, but that wasn’t the point. We had never, ever talked about marriage. Broom-jumping wasn’t on my mind at the time. I didn’t even consider him my boyfriend because it wasn’t that kind of party. He sent me flowers every Friday, had told me he loved me, but that emotional confession was on him. I made him call before he came over, never talked to him long, always ended the conversation first, never let him lounge two nights in a row. And I hadn’t done all the sensuous, creative things with him that I’d shared with Tyrel. Either I was like a stick in the mud, or he didn’t have the spark to ignite this powder keg.

When he proposed, the room was full of anxious cousins, aunts, uncles, Richard’s brothers and his sister. A whole family tree with broad, smiling faces filled with expectations. And my panties itched in a personal spot. I hated pressure.

My first mind wanted to know why he didn’t take me
to a nice romantic place so I could laugh my ass off and reject his butt.

Then there was his momma. Mrs. Vaughn lurked in the door, fat under her arms swaying like a child on a swing, foot tapping. When I saw her, a nightmare kicked in and I imagined my crumb-snatchers being the image of that, rug rats with sagging skin and dingy rollers. I almost jumped out of my seat and screeched “
Hell no.
”

But then I saw Papa Ray. Richard’s father was alive back then, but he had died in his sleep a month back. He was a princely, peaceful man. Tall, thin, white hair, walked with a cane. He always hugged me, always got my name right. A time or two he’d called my apartment and we’d talked for a couple of hours. I loved that man and wished he had’ve married my mother. I would’ve loved to have been his child for a while. Papa Ray smiled at me. I smiled at him.

Maybe the real reason I went with the program was because the night before I had called Tyrel. I’d stolen his phone number off Debra’s refrigerator, called him in the middle of the night and a woman answered. I know I had the right number because I had dialed it earlier and got his answering machine, but I didn’t leave a message because I wanted to hear the first reaction to my voice. So I guess somebody else was sleeping on the right side of his bed. Resting at his kitchen table on Sunday mornings.

Richard smiled at me, offered a lifetime of love, and while he was humbling himself, I felt like a fool. Like I said, my momma died without ever having been offered a ring.

Eventually, my eyes went to Richard and said. “Yeah.”

Richard screamed and scared the hell out of me. He jumped around like he’d caught the winning pass at the Super Bowl. All of the Vaughns were laughing and hugging me. Papa Ray smiled at me; I smiled a little. Mrs. Vaughn left the room and headed toward her kitchen and that pork smell.

The ring hadn’t cooled off on my finger before
Richard grabbed a calendar, a Bic pen, and wanted to mark a date. Every damn day, every time he asked, I said I wasn’t ready, told the brother we had plenty of time. He started making funky comments about me going to Los Angeles so much. Then, out of the blue, he started asking if Tyrel called, would I go back.

I said, “Hell no. I don’t do reruns. That’s extinct.”

Richard asked. “If he wanted to get with you, would you?”

“I don’t do shit like that.”

“Have you been talking to Tyrel?”

He was asking more questions than Perry Mason when I marched out of his place and drove home. Before I stuck my keys in my door, Richard was there, apologizing. We couldn’t have a two-minute conversation without him asking about the wedding, or making some funky insinuation about Tyrel. Richard made me so damn mad I changed my answer.

I snapped, “You know what? Anything’s possible.”

His voice softened. “So now you don’t know?”

I thought Richard was gonna take his ring back, and I was ready to give it up, but he’s been trying harder ever since. Calling, calling, hanging up, then calling. And when I blocked his number, fifteen minutes didn’t go by before I thought I heard his car driving by my bedroom window. Money was tight, so I picked up extra flights, bidded for as many trips as I could stand, and boosted my work time from seventy to damn near ninety hours a month. I needed breathing room; no matter where I went, he called the hotel before I could get out of my damn uniform.

Richard said, “What I do wrong?”

“You haven’t done nothing wrong.”

“You love me?”

“You’re working my damn nerves.”

“You love him?”

“Him who?”

“Him.”

“I’m hanging up. Look, I’ll see you when I get back. I’ll call you, don’t call me. Don’t leave all those sad-ass
messages on my machine, and please, no more flowers. Okay?”

He exhaled. “All right.”

“I’m sorry.” I sighed. “You just get too intense and a little bit too pushy. I like to breathe my own air sometimes.”

“So do I. Don’t I give you space?”

“Your version of space.”

“’Bye, Shelby.”

I hung up, then gazed at the marquis on my finger. It wasn’t a token from the swap meet, had clarity and quality, and I had the certificate of authenticity to prove its flawlessness. My hand tilted side to side and I remembered how it sparkled a happy song of always and forever in the sunlight. Yep, diamonds are a girl’s best friend. Chiquita the Confused said I should be happy; good brothers were hard to find. And she ought to know.

Richard said, “Are you hot?”

“Nope.”

“You’re sweating.”

“I sweat easily.”

Our yellow taxi stopped in front of Debra’s crib. A few neighbors were outside. I spoke and made a break for the trunk. Two things happened: Richard went to pay the driver, and Debra opened the front door. They saw each other. She put her hand up to her eyes and stepped out into the sunshine. Damn. She was baffled, but I read her new pain from the distance. She waved. I waved. Richard waved. Debra hesitated, then waved at him.

In the meantime, my luggage was trapped. His Samsonite was laying on top of my garment bag, holding it down. By the time I had yanked out my gear, Richard
was following me like he was the LAPD chasing O.J. down the 405 freeway.

I told Richard, “Keep off the grass.”

“Why?”

“Sprinklers.”

What made it worse was that Debra came down the walkway and met us halfway. Debra’s breasts and hips were filling out; her face was fuller, nose was spreading, had that fruitful mommy-to-be glow.

Debra pointed at my head, “Boss hat, girl. Don’t take it off. I might borrow it forever.”

“Then I’ll leave it for you forever.”

She said, “You’re a day early.”

“Shut up and hug me.” I put my bags down and kissed her cheek. “How’re you holding up?”

She rubbed my back with both hands and whispered, “I’m so glad you’re here. I need you, girl. About ten people and a reporter from the
Sentinel
just left.” Debra slowly let me go and wiped away her dark rose lipstick. Then her attention went toward Richard.

I said, “Richard, this is Debra.”

He said, “I’m Shelby’s fiancé.”

Debra rubbed small circles in her stomach and said, “Nice to finally meet you. Shelby has told me so much about you.”

The lawn sprinklers kicked on. That killed the conversation and snatched our attention. Richard was acting like he’d never seen wet grass before, and Debra was glancing at my ring finger.

I was saved again when one of the phone lines rang. Debra headed back toward the crib and told us to come in from the heat. I picked up my bags and followed the trail of her Bijan scent.

It was a weird feeling stepping inside the house. I expected Leonard to come out of the back room, smiling, saying “What’s up, Chocolate?” It didn’t happen. Wouldn’t happen again.

Richard was riding my heels when we went through the arched foyer and headed toward the den.

Richard said, “House smells like pasta.”

“Yeah. Neighbors have probably been bringing food over.”

Richard chivied too close for comfort, so I made a pain noise, shifted and accidently-on-purpose dropped my garment bag at his feet. He stumbled. My timing was off. If I’d’ve dropped it a second later I could’ve tripped him up.

I said, “Ouch. Shit, it slipped off and pulled my shoulder.”

“I asked you to let me carry it.”

Richard left the bags and moved over by the glass cabinet full of African artifacts. He saw me watching him.

He asked, “These are her wedding pictures?”

“Yep. Her cousin Bobby did the photos.”

“You look nice.” He didn’t sound thrilled.

“Thanks.” Neither did I.

Forever ticked by before he went down toward the civic awards in the glass casing, stood like a tourist in front of Leonard’s pictures and certificates.

Richard asked, “Isn’t this the mayor and the chief of police in this picture with you and your friends?”

I nodded. Somebody did a catcall. My nerves twitched, and I almost pissed all over myself.

That familiar voice said, “Shelby Janine Daniels.”

My heart did cartwheels. His look was fresh, vogue enough to make a sister rub her eyes. He smirked. We hurried toward each other, kissed each other’s face, hugged, rocked side to side.

He said, “Damn, you look good.”

“Thank you.”

“How’re you doing?”

“Fine, considering the circumstances.”

Behind me, Richard made a few funny sounds, then his luggage dropped hard to the floor. He cleared a lump of nothing from his throat, then moved right up on us, stood closer than a shadow.

He put his hand out and said, “My name is Richard Vaughn.”

“I’m Bobby Davis. Are you the shuttle driver?”

“I’m with Shelby.”

“With—
Oh.
You’re Shelby’s friend?”

“Not exactly. I’m her fiancé.”

“Oh. Congratulations.”

Richard said, “You didn’t know?”

Bobby said, “I haven’t been in touch for a while.”

I didn’t waste a second before I interrupted the jacked-up conversation. “What you done did to your hair, Bobby?”

Bobby raked his fingers through his wild dreadlocks. “You like?”

Before he could get his laugh on, a Hispanic woman with full red lips stepped down from the kitchen. She was darker than Debra, but lighter than me. Her light brown hair hung down to her bra strap.

She asked, “Are you Shelby?”

“Yeah.”