Friends and Lovers (33 page)

“Tyrel, that reminds me—could you please try to get the garage door opened?”

“Stuck again?”

Debra tsked, rolled her eyes, nodded. “Yep. I couldn’t get it up and Shelby was no help. I wasted my ice cream on my blouse struggling with the remote. If you can get it open, please pull my car in. You can park your car in Leonard’s space.”

I took another look at the picture before I put it back.

Debra said, “You are staying, I hope.”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable with Shelby and her friend being here.”

“Why would I be uncomfortable?”

Debra paused, “She’s engaged, and you still care for her.”

I went over to the dresser and picked up her car keys.

Debra’s face was reading a question in mine. She said a soft, “I didn’t know.”

We traded weak smile for weak smile.

I snapped, “What’s up,
Richard?
“

I’d dragged his six feet of attitude out back, close to the garage where we’d be camouflaged by the hedges, but the sensor activated the lights. They couldn’t see us from the backdoor, so I was in a good spot to let my hair down and have space to clown my best clown.

Richard leaned against Debra’s car and yanked at his beard. He heard what I had said. He was taking his time, pissing me off. My temples hurt. I stopped, blew out the negative and sucked in the positive, found an ounce of focus.

“They have a pool,” Richard said. “Too bad I can’t swim.”

“Don’t ignore me.”

“What?”

My hand was on my hip, I’d let my backbone slip, and my damn neck was snaking. I was almost a motherless child gone wild, but I found the switch to cut that ghetto mode off, then found a mature USC tone, and whispered, “Why are you tripping?”

“You’re the one tripping.”

“Richard, I heard you. Debra heard you. Why in the hell did you walk up in Tyrel’s room and try to start some shit?”

Richard opened his hands, held his palms up to me like he was surrendering. “Maybe if you took the time to introduce me to your so-called friends, it wouldn’t come across like I’m tripping. When we walked in the door you ran off—”

“I didn’t run off. Debra had some business to take care of.”

“You left me standing around with my hands in my pockets. I don’t know anybody, and I’m just being friendly by introducing myself. Is there a problem with me knowing who you know? These will be my friends after we get married. Right?”

I almost dropped down on all fours and shrilled like a bitch at the half moon, but I caught myself. Tried to practice a little self-control before I lost control. My neck was sweating. Embarrassment was draining down my back. Right about now, I didn’t need to add to my humiliation by letting my wicked tongue carry all the crap that had been stirred up.

From where I was sitting, I saw everybody leaving in droves, like it was last call at Joseph’s and the lights had been clicked on. A few people got in cars waiting in the mouth of the cul de sac, some strolled up the Dons to their houses. I stewed in my pisstivity until the front of the house was pretty vacant.

Richard finally said, “What is up with you and him?”

“Him who?
Him
have a name?”

“Don’t act stupid.”

Stupid? He’d straight-up said the wrong word. I doubled up and swung as hard as I could. It wasn’t exactly a Holyfield punch. I missed, pirouetted, lost my balance,
fell on my butt, groaned. Damn, I wished I could fight as good as I ran my mouth.

Richard said, “You all right?”

I pouted and reached my hand up to him. “Help me up, baby.”

When I got up, I whined, dusted my butt, and swung again. He fell for a sucker move. I hit his shoulder. Hurt my damn hand. That was the first time I’d ever hit somebody when I was mad.

“Hey!” Richard jumped back. He held his palms up and made a move toward me, but backed away when I got ready to swing again. I caught my breath. Then we got into a nowhere argument. Richard came closer, but left plenty of space.

“All right, Shelby. I’ll be straight.”

“Good.”

“Which is more than you have been with me.”

“Yeah, right. Anyway.”

Richard exhaled. “So, what is up?”

I slapped my head along with each of my words, “Not a damn thing is up. I told you. Richard, you knew he was gonna come.”

“You didn’t tell me that you were going to be staying in the same house. You were probably going to be in the same bedroom.”

“It’s not that kind of party.”

Richard lowered his voice, “Why didn’t you want me to come?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want you to come. You didn’t ask.”

“I’m your fiancé, so I shouldn’t have to ask.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Why should I?”

“Being engaged doesn’t mean you own me.”

“Have you been seeing Tyrel?”

My throat tightened. His question was stiff and rang out more like a statement.
Seeing
sounded like
sexing.
He was trying to play me; I wasn’t in the mood. As far as I knew, neither of us had done anything that could be a good reason for breaking up. Nope. I hadn’t done
a thing I had thought of doing. Hell, I regretted having no regrets.

Richard said, “You’ve been flying down here very often.”

“L.A. is up from San Diego, not down.”

“Don’t get flippant.”

I was gonna leave his ass and go inside, but stopped because I had to finish this. No way I wanted to have a domestic dispute in front of Debra. Definitely not in front of Tyrel.

Richard leaned on the hood of the Benz. I avoided him and tried to sit on the trunk, but the car was waxed and each time I hopped on, I slid off like I was being thrown, and stumbled, like I was intoxicated with anger.

Richard moved toward me. “He hasn’t called you?”

“What part of this conversation don’t you understand?”

This was jacked up. I came out here to dog him and put him in check, so how in the hell did I let him turn this around?

He said, “You’re a liar, Shelby.”

That rocked me. Richard stuck his hand in his pocket, then spun around like he was leaving. But he came right back.

He said, “The phone I bought you has last-number redial.”

His voice was chilly, but I was still the Ice Queen. “And?”

We stopped our ping-ponging conversation because somebody was talking in the dark. Over by the backdoor. Then the backdoor closed. We straightened up. I corrected my posture, took a half step closer to Richard.

Tyrel tramped out of the shadows like a dark cloud ready to rain on somebody, frowning like somebody had puked in his Kool-Aid. He marched his attitude our way. When he brought his bowlegs deeper into the light, came close enough for the depths of his dimple to show, his eyes were glazed and his mouth was fixed.

He shot me a look so intense it felt like his eyes
slapped me. That scowl made the fine hairs on my arms stand up, skin bumped like I had the chicken pox.

Tyrel stared at me. Then at Richard. That’s where his eyes locked. They didn’t say anything for a second or two.

Tyrel said, “Nice to talk to you again, Richard Vaughn.”

Richard nodded. “So, you decided to stop playing naive?”

“I’m not playing a damn thing.”

Richard replied, “Nigga, please.”

I spat on the ground and moved toward Shelby. When I got too close, she twitched and stutter-stepped out of my way.

“Excuse me.” I opened the car door, leaned in, reached up to the visor. When I touched the remote, there were a series of clicks. The garage door opened, smooth and agreeable. The way life was supposed to be for a brother like me. Shelby was propped against my friend’s Benz.

I jingled the keys and said a rude and rugged, “Shelby, if you don’t mind, Debra wants me to pull their car in the garage.”

While her perfume was waltzing in the breeze, Richard Vaughn was opening and closing his hands, like he was checking himself for arthritis, eyeballing me when I slid inside Debra’s car. I checked the remote control again. It didn’t work this time. I got out, opened the trunk, reached into a bag Leonard had bought from Sav-On drugstore, took out a pack of Duracells.

“Tyrel.” That was Debra’s voice. It startled me the way my momma’s voice used to when she called for me after the streetlights had come on. The way Shelby and
Richard flinched, they were knocked out of their thoughts. Debra stepped into the light. She had her red-hooded house coat over her clothes and was holding a glass of orange juice. Her eyes were bloodshot.

I asked, “You okay, Debra?”

Shelby jumped to attention. “Everything all right?”

“Just checking on everybody before I went to sleep.” Debra paused, looked at each one of us, then took a swallow of her juice. She cleared her throat, wiped her face and pointed toward the garage. “It’s late and my neighbors are sleeping. Move the car, Tyrel. Then come on back into the house, please.”

I nodded. She’d been waiting in the shadows for a while.

Debra went on, “Shelby, we’ve got things to do in the morning.”

Shelby said, “Okay.”

Debra walked away, went up the two brick steps, closed the backdoor a little too hard. Not intentionally. Sometimes the door slammed because it needed some minor adjustments.

Richard was facing me, but his eyes were on his woman.

I inhaled some of the cool night air and exhaled the heat of a dragon. Since I remembered his voice, it was hard to pretend I didn’t know. When I was pissed, the first thing on my tongue rolled out of my mouth, uncut and uncensored.

Shelby said, “Richard, let’s go inside.”

She headed across the grass. Her pace turned into a jog.

I opened the pack of Duracells, popped the back of the remote off so I could replace the weak ones. His energy was too close, I didn’t feel him move, so I glanced his way again. His hands had stopped opening and closing. His passion was toward the house, sending his woman a meaningless gaze. A soft, weak stare. Then his mad-doggin’ glare shot my way.

He was two inches taller, twenty pounds heavier. That didn’t matter. One blow to the throat and he’d be wheezing and crying. It was a good thing Debra came
out when she did. Seeing her put things in perspective, reminded me why I was here, and kept me from testing the waters. I spat on the ground and moved my anger toward the car.

He spat on the ground and held his position.

My expression said I wished he would. When he didn’t take a step toward me, I blew him off, went about my business and started changing the weak battery in the flaky remote.

He made a grizzly sound, “I’ll fuck you up.”

I said, “You’re a long way from home to be talking shit.”

His fist doubled up. He took a short step.

I eased into the light. Six horizontal feet of mother earth lived between us. The face he gave, I gave back to him in harder granite. His eyes softened up like overcooked spaghetti. He flexed. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, Shelby yelled, “Richard!”

I whispered, “Your bitch is calling you.”

“What?”

“Your best bet is to go on after your ho.”

He swallowed, gritted his teeth. Richard moved backward a few steps, like he was reluctant to turn around.

Richard frowned. “Watch your back.”

“Richard!” Shelby called again.

Richard double-timed and followed her into the house.

I mimicked Shelby’s fiancé: “What is up.”

When I had first come out a few minutes ago, I’d stood like a soldier in the cut, lingered at the backdoor and heard snatches of their argument. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on purpose, but I did. From where I was, their conversation was low and fast, so I couldn’t make out much anyway. They didn’t hear me come outside because the backdoor didn’t make any real noise that time. Debra had eased up behind me and caught me listening. She was lending an ear herself. Worry had piled on top of her worry. I hung out on the top step long enough to remember the cadence of Richard’s speech. Long enough to realize he was trying to punk me in my friend’s house.

Months ago, some fool had called my condo in Oak-town every hour on the hour. I’d answer, they’d hang up.

Once I answered and the brother said, “I’m going to be straight,
Mister
Williams. What’s between you and my woman? I know she’s been sneaking down to see you. So, what is up?”

“What is up?” I mocked and laughed. I was seeing Lorna, had broken off with the Transitional Team, and didn’t know or care who he was talking about. He was trying to start a battle when the war was over, long after the smoldering ashes from the dying flames had been blown away. I was in a mood, so I played along.

“Coming down? No, she’s going down.”

He couldn’t take a joke. “I’ll find you and mess you up.”

That threat hit a nerve.

“What’s your name again? Dick John?”

“Richard Vaughn.”

“First off, if she was with me, she must’ve been my woman. Might’ve been yours that morning, but that night—mine.”

“Nigga—”

“Okay, Tricky Dick. Me and your girl had it going on, but I’m through with her now, so
chill.
“

Richard started screaming obscenities; I moved the phone from my ear before he yelled me deaf. I put my TV on mute and got quiet. He quit yapping when he thought I’d hung up.

“You still there? Hello? Tyrel Williams? Hello?”

“Did I tell you she likes it doggie-style? Arf,
arf!
Bow wow-wow-wow, yippie-yo, yippie-yay!”

I hung up. The next couple of weeks he thought I was worth at least one hang-up a day. I did a *69, but his number was outside the range. Eventually the calls tapered off. I had figured the lunatic phone call was about Lorna. I thought it was her jock with an itch trying to track her down for a rendezvous.

Richard didn’t call back.

But he showed up here.

I left those fools outside and went into a house that was empty and quiet. Men are so confrontational, especially when there was nothing to be confrontational about. If you asked most brothers why they fought in a war, they couldn’t tell you. Fought just to be fighting. Always trying to start some shit or ready to hop in some shit that somebody else started.