Friends and Lovers (35 page)

“I’m up, I’m up.”

Somebody else said, “Good morning, Shelby.”

My vision cleared up a bit, then I wiped the slobber from my mouth and said, “Oh. Morning, Alejandria.”

Bobby’s wife was dressed up in a golden pantsuit and heels, mascara done
early
in the morning. Both smelled fresh.

Slobber slipped out of the corner of my mouth and spotted the pillow. I only did that when I was tired as hell. Stress was a burden to be reckoned with. They’d seen the circle of dampness, so I didn’t deny it or try to hide it.

I stretched and yawned out, “What time is it?”

Alejandria said, “Almost eight.”

Alejandria kissed Debra’s cheek, then went out the door. Debra had on an oversized sweat suit; her hair was combed back. I guess everybody and their momma had been up for a while.

Debra kicked off her flat shoes. “Get up, sleepy head. The news people are coming by to interview me.”

“Which news people?”

“Entertainment Weekly.”
Debra’s voice softened, “They’re doing a thing on Leonard. I want to make sure
it’s done right. I don’t want them to make it a black-being-wronged-by-an-Asian thing. I don’t want to be exploited.”

Her tone had more anger than I’d heard from her since I don’t know when. It hit me like I was IV’ed to caffeine.

I said, “You gonna be okay with it?”

“I thought about it. Prayed on it. I hate the media.”

“Why?”

“Can’t trust them. They distort, hyperbolize, misquote, selectively print misleading information.”

“That’s their j-o-b.”

“That’s why I’m doing the interview.”

“You’re camera shy.”

“That’s why I want you guys there.”

I didn’t ask who
you guys
were. Before the tick made it to the tock, I saw some of that leftover attitude from the old days coming through. Looked like she was about ready to flip the script from being a diva and digress to a rug rat from Market Street. Then she went back to acting like the diva she was born to be.

The sun peeped through the vertical blinds. Debra was talking about getting her hair done, asking me how she should wear it for the interview while she browsed through her walk-in closet for something to wear. Then she stopped. Her heavy sigh made me get goose pimples. She was motionless, staring at Leonard’s suits. I held my breath and tensed. Debra ran her fingers back and forth over each piece of clothing, touched the shoulders like he was still in them. Her fingertips grazed his belts. She sucked her lip in. Her shoulders slumped.

I went to her, moved her hands. I said, “Let me do that.”

After I eased Debra back to the bed and sat her down, I brought out dresses, one by one. Debra shook her head if she liked what I had grabbed, did a serious sneer if she didn’t. My mouth tried to fill the room with a sound other than the radio, but she was quiet. I talked as I yawned, said, “How long you been up?”

“Cover your mouth when you do that, please.”

I yawned again. “Hush.”

She covered her own yawn. “I’ve been up long enough for Alejandria to take me down to the funeral home. I had to drop off”—Debra swallowed—“drop off a suit.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I wanted to do it by myself,” Debra said. “That blue dress is fine. You know how Leonard hates dark colors.”

Once again, the cat had a serious grip on my tongue. I tried to be lively. “Yep. Bright colors and light women.”

“I know that’s right.”

She was staring at her wedding ring. It became real awkward when silence took over the room. Then Debra was gazing at nothing. From where I was standing, her eyes were out of focus with the world.

“Debra?”

She jumped up and hurried into the bathroom. My heart thumped. I was thinking the worst, having visions of stress and miscarriage and all kinds of crap like that. I said, “You okay?”

Debra laughed. “I had to pee and didn’t feel like moving.”

She left the door open. I heard the sound of water breaking water. She started humming something. I exhaled, twisted my hair at the roots. Wondered and worried and worried and wondered about my best girlfriend. Tried to smile, but didn’t own one at the moment.

I wondered why Debra didn’t ask me why I had slept here. Why with a jealous fiancé and an arrogant ex-boyfriend so close, I’d crawled between her sheets and cuddled with her. But then again, she never asked me why I did much of anything. I guess I’d done that move so many times, had crashed at her side so many a night and kept her up talking while we watched videos, ate fattening microwave popcorn, chowed down pounds of Tolberone if either of us was on the PMS train. Kicking back in our undies doing the girl-bonding thing.

I stood at the closet door, leaned forward, peeped inside. This time, with her out of the room, I was too scared to really commit to a long look. I took a breath, then made easy steps back into the closet, went to the
side filled with things that belonged to a man. Gave myself time to take another breath before I held my hands out and touched Leonard’s suits. Ran my fingers across his leather belts.

All of my memories were in the way back part of me, stuck on that night we met Leonard at Denny’s. There was a light knock on the door. I jumped and moved away from the memories.

“Yeah,” I said. “We’re up.”

I knew it had to be Richard, but it was Bobby. He had on blue gym shorts over his black biker shorts and a maroon Morehouse College T-shirt.

He said, “Where’s Debra?”

“Pissing.”

“You are so crass.”

“It’s a crass world.”

“Debra!” Bobby yelled.

Debra yelled, “Can I have a minute to myself, please?”

Bobby told her the
Entertainment
crew would be here to set up at eleven. They wanted to finish by twelve-thirty.

Debra said, “Okay.”

I asked Bobby, “Where are you going?”

“Running.”

“How far?”

“Maybe five.”

“Where?”

“Down at Dorsey High School.”

“Let me get my stuff.”

When I went into the bedroom, the curtains were drawn. The room was dark. Richard was sound asleep, which meant he’d been up late. Probably waiting for me. I grabbed my running shoes, borrowed some of Debra’s biker shorts and an oversized white T-shirt. By the time I rushed into the living room, Bobby was on the floor, stretching.

“Let’s roll,” I said.

The doorbell rang just as Bobby put his hand on the doorknob. Bobby looked through the peephole.

I asked, “Who is it?”

He shrugged and pulled back one of his loose dreads.

When Bobby opened the right side of the double doors, an Asian girl was smoothing one hand over her jeans and black midriff shirt, like she was trying to make herself look decent. The girl looked middle-school young, and she jumped and dropped a book. Her leg wobbled a touch and she almost fell off the porch. She bent over and picked up her Thomas Guide.

“Good morning.” That was Bobby.

I asked, “Are you with the news people?”

She wiped her face, put her eyes on the welcome mat. She opened and closed her mouth over and over, but nothing came out.

I said, “What can I do for you?”

She choked, cooed, covered her face. It was getting ridiculous. Before I knew it, I was shaken up and had bumped by Bobby and put my arms around the girl. Her shoulders were shaking like jelly. Shit. Pain was contagious. My throat felt snug and when I blinked, tears splurged out of my own eyes.

I kept saying, “Shhh. Don’t cry. It’s all right.”

“I didn’t m-m-mean to. Pleeease forgive me.”

The girl whimpered and stuck her head deep into my chest. Held on so tight I got winded. I tried to ease her away from me. That didn’t work. So I pushed her away from me. When I broke free, I stumbled back into Bobby. She almost collapsed before I found my footing. She was still wailing for us to forgive her.

I asked, “Mean to do what?”

“It … it was … an accident. I d-didn’t mean …”

That was when I glanced at Bobby, then peeped out the door. An older Japanese couple were waiting in front of a sedan at the foot of the driveway. The old lady’s hands were clamped over her mouth. The man was wearing a suit with no tie, and from what I could tell, was wiping his eyes, just like the girl.

Damn. A big fat wave of emotion tried to numb me, but I shrugged it to the side. Then it came back, rushed
and chilled me from the top of my head down to my toes.

I held the girl at arm’s length.

“Go get Debra, Bobby. Tell her to come here.”

By then the girl had cemented her hands over her mouth. It didn’t drown out all of her cries. Sounded like the regret was oozing out of her eyes and ears, echoing from her throat.

There was a stampede outside my door. A set of hoofs raced down the hall yelling Debra’s name. I grabbed my jeans from the foot of the bed and stopped putting the finishing touches on the obituary. I’d been up awhile, had gotten up when Alejandria and Debra were leaving.

A second later, Debra shouted, “In my house?!”

A cavalry of feet raced toward the front of the house. When I stepped into the hall, shrills loud enough to break glass and shouts harsh enough to rock the house met me. Richard was to my right. He’d stepped out into the corridor and blocked my view. I moved right by him without a word, rushed toward the foyer.

Everybody was in front of the glass case filled with awards, facing pictures of Leonard and Debra that had been taken last month at Bobby’s studio.

Debra screamed again, “Why?”

Shelby yelled, “Debra, no!”

Bobby was behind Debra, holding her back, begging her to calm down. Bobby’s only about five-seven, so for him, holding Debra was like wrestling with a mule. Shelby was crying, protecting a teenage girl who was balled up like she was trying to make herself smaller than an ant. Debra tried to yank free from Bobby with each of her words. Each time she jerked, the girl flinched, blinked, yelped. The girl raised her palms to
cover her face, then she dropped her hands like she wanted Debra to attack her.

“Answer me!” Debra’s chest was rising and falling.

When the girl eased her hands to her side, sweat had waterfalled from her pale skin down over her eyes. She had the same tight eyes Leonard had. Only hers could open. Her black hair fell over her eyes, like it was giving her a hiding place.

“I’m sorry,” the girl said. She became fixed on the pictures on the wall, then lowered her head. She wailed, “Forgive me …”

“Look at all the people you hurt,” Debra snapped and wrestled away from Bobby. When she slipped free, I made a quick move and jumped between her and the girl, leaped at the same moment Shelby did. We collided, tripped. Shelby grabbed my arm for balance, then pushed my chest so I wouldn’t knock her down. I twisted my ankle, and Bobby caught me. While we were off balance, Debra pushed Shelby to the side and Bogarded her way to the girl. Shelby dashed in between them again. Debra stopped and glared at the child. The heat from her eyes could have melted metal.

Debra held her hand out to the girl and said, “Come here.”

Shelby looked at Debra, Bobby, me, then at Debra again.

Shelby pleaded, “Debra, no.”

“
Move
, Shelby. I want her to come here.”

Bobby nodded. Shelby stepped to the side. I moved too. The girl trembled like she’d been abandoned. Up the hallway, Richard was watching like he wanted no part of the scene.

The girl took baby steps toward Debra. Everyone had quieted. I was afraid of what Debra might do. I’d never seen Debra this vicious. But this was the first time she’d been in this situation. The first time any of us had had to face something like this. None of us had adjusted to the reality of the tragedy.

Debra took the girl’s hand and slowly raised it.

“I want you to feel something,” she said. Debra’s body was peaceful, but her voice was disturbed.

She placed the girl’s hand on the curve of her stomach.

The girl whimpered, dropped her head. Debra said a turbulent “Look at me when I talk to you.”

The girl raised her head fast enough to snap her neck.

Debra took the girl’s other hand and gently placed it on her stomach and moved them around in a circle.

She said, “Feel that?”

The girl looked confused, then nodded.

“That’s a baby inside of me. Leonard’s child.”

The girl was still nodding. Shoulders slumped. Head heavy.

Debra took her hand and led her to the pictures of Leonard, his friends and family. She put her hand under the girl’s chin and brought her eyes to each photo. Calmly told her where they were taken, when. Debra took the girl’s moist hand and put it back on her stomach, held it for a few seconds before her voice calmed.

“My husband will never be able to feel that again.
Never.
“

The girl stopped twitching her head. She was rigid.

Debra said, “This baby will never, ever see his daddy. You know why? Because of you. You and nobody but you. Your stupidity has changed my life in a way that can’t ever be fixed by your sorry-ass tears telling me how sorry you are. My husband was here with me a few days ago. Right here. Now he’s dead. Little girl, you killed my husband. Messed up my life. Messed up my baby’s. What do you think my future is now? Huh? Look at our friends.”

Her eyes moved in fear when she gaped around at us. First back to Shelby. Then to Bobby. When she looked at me, I stared and her body rocked from my vibes. I’d never seen a murderer before, up close in person. Never wanted to. I had imagined that the person driving would look like the stereotypical Manson. This was somebody’s pock-faced child.

Death had a face, and it looked like one of us.

I asked, “What’s your name?” My voice sounded strange, felt strained. My face was wet.

She said, “Nikki Yamamoto, sir.”

Debra moved Nikki’s hands from her belly, “You’re only nineteen.”

“Yes, ma’am. I was celebrating my birthday, and my friends kept buying me drinks—”

Debra cut her off, “I don’t want to hear. I don’t care.”

Nikki lowered her head, but jerked it back up and looked at Debra. Shelby moved over and eased her arms around Debra.