Friends and Lovers (44 page)

The hotel seemed so far away. If I screamed my loudest, he could be choking the air out of me before my scream became significant. I moved again. He cut me off again. The bastard pushed me, cursed me out, and shoved me. He bulldozed me so hard I toppled against the car harder than I did the first time.

When I hit the ground, Tyrel’s keys jingled in my pocket. Made that Jingle Bell sound. When I stuck my hand in my pocket and fished around the three condoms, I fingered the remote. Yeah, I could use the keys as a weapon. Charge at him and poke his eyes and scratch his face. But that meant I’d have to get too close. If I was close enough to touch him, then he would be close enough to hit me.

“Leave me alone. Richard, stop.”

“No. Nobody fucks me over, especially a bitch.”

“Richard, you can find somebody else.”

“I am meant for you.”

“Grow up.”

“Grow up? It’s not me. You got around your—your so-called
friends
and changed. All of a sudden, I’m not shit. You didn’t even tell Debra that we were getting
married—and don’t lie, I saw it in her face. I wasn’t nothing but nice and friendly to your cold-ass niggas. You can’t run over people and walk off like shit didn’t happen. All you give a damn about is what Shelby wants, screw everybody else. What goes around comes around, and I’m bringing it back to your damn face, special delivery.”

“Please, stop. I’m sorry and I’m begging you, all right? You’re right. I’m wrong. Now stop.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yes, I’m sorry this happened.”

“Then make it right.”

“How?”

Richard went to his Corsica and opened the passenger door.

“Get in the car, Shelby. We’re leaving.”

“What?”

“We’re going to Vegas and we’re getting married right now.”

“I’m not leaving with you.”

“Get in or I’ll knock your ass out and drag you in.
Now.
“

He staggered back toward me, grimacing like he was an overseer trying to reclaim a runaway slave. I scurried to the opposite side of Tyrel’s car, pulled out the keys and almost lost my mind trying to figure out which gray button to push.

Richard jumped when the alarm chirped and the doors locked. Then it chirped again and the trunk locked or unlocked. Then the alarm kicked on—loud, vibrating, and irritating. That’s what I was trying to do, hit the panic button and make the ruckus echo out into the streets. At first I felt some victory. Then I realized that was a false feeling of hope. I was in L.A. Nobody cared about a fucking car alarm. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and Richard was coming my way like a steamroller.

The elevator dinged open and three brothers stepped out. One of the brothers was bald, had a goatee, and no neck. He moved like an ox and looked like a football player hunting for steroids.

A fear dance took over my body and I squealed for help.

The brothers slowed down.

“Hey, my sistah,” the ox said, and lowered his purple gym bag. “Everythang ah’right?”

His thick friends said, “What’s up over there?”

Richard said, “Everything’s fine.”

“Like hell it is. Don’t y’all know what
help
means?
Help
means
help.
” I was shouting so loud I think the concrete pillars cracked. “This bastard has been stalking me. He ambushed me, and now he’s trying to rape me. He hit me. He knocked me down.”

The brothers looked at each other, mumbled something, then expanded their chests and made slow steps in my direction.

Richard gave me a damn angry glare, stroked the part of his beard that still had spit hanging on the edge, then quit moving.

“Lying bitch,” Richard murmured, then stumbled and hurried to his car. “You ain’t about shit.”

After they took a step or two, the brothers stopped and watched Richard change direction and stagger toward his car. All of the brothers were shaking their heads. After Richard whisked into his rental, I pushed the buttons until I found the right combination to deactivate Tyrel’s car alarm.

Richard rolled down his window. He wasn’t that close, but he was too close and too threatening for me to even think about relaxing. He gritted his teeth. A vein popped up in his neck.

“Bitch. Tell your nigga he can have his stank ho back.”

“What?”

“My momma kept telling me you weren’t about shit. Said she saw the deceitfulness in your eyes. If I ever see you again—” Richard bobbed his head and sucked his teeth. The bastard craned his neck and spat at my face. The spit landed on my jacket.

I was cursing when his car screeched off and fishtailed. He barely missed a concrete column. First the echoes
from his car faded, then I heard all four of his tires’ rubber burning a hole in the concrete all the way to Centinela. Toward LAX. The screams of the rubber against concrete finally faded.

“Everythang cool?”

That was one of the brothers calling out. I blinked. I felt alone and thought they were gone. I broke out of my trance.

It was the ox. He said, “You straight?”

“Uh,” I said, “thank you. I’m okay now.”

“You wanna call the po’lease?”

“Poor what?”

“Po’lease. Y’know, the cops.”

“Oh, police. Yeah. I mean, no. I can handle it. Thanks.”

“Want me to stay down here with you, sweet thang? Want me to look out for ya?” The ox smiled and made me feel naked.

“We’ll protect you, honeybunch.”

“No, thank you. I can manage. But thank you for your help.”

I tried to sturdy myself, wake up that firm, flight-attendant tone. Hoped I hadn’t jumped out of the frying pan into the fire.

I said, “My husband is on the way down.”

They were still coming my way. Smiling. That drowning sensation came back, felt like I was chained to the bottom of a pool, gurgling for a cup of air. My knees bent a little, I dipped in sprinter’s position. If they made two more steps in my direction, I was gonna start screaming and run toward the lobby.

Then the elevator opened. First two waif blond women in flossing bikinis, sandals, and thin T-shirts sashayed out. Then Tyrel appeared. I started tiptoeing and waving like I was marooned on a desert island and he was the Love Boat passing by.

He smiled. Laughed.

“Hey, baby!” I called and focused on him like he was the only one in the garage. The only person in my world.
My voice cracked while I wiped my face. “What took you so long?”

While Tyrel grinned and held up a shopping bag, Mr. No-Neck-Ox had the nerve to wink and wiggle his tongue at me. Bastard. The brothers picked up their bags and followed and flirted with the skinny Caucasian women. That was the first time I was ever glad to see brothers chase a Barbie doll.

I took a deep breath, then let my air out in short pants while I twisted my hair. The moment I touched my mane, Tyrel’s expression darkened and his body stiffened.

He sped up and yelled, “What’s wrong?”

I couldn’t move and could hardly say, “Hurry.”

He ran to me.

The crowd was rumbling in ten different languages. Everything from DC-10s to L1011s roared out on the concrete field. Planes floated in one by one. Below us, blue-uniformed workers in steel-toe boots and earplugs loaded, unloaded, and directed planes to their destination.

Shelby handed me the red roses, then adjusted her sun-dress. She pulled her cap back, made a sound of pain and touched the Band-Aid on her two broken nails, frowned at the scratches on her palm, then dabbed a few drops of sweat from her face with a tissue. She’d showered again and changed before I checked out of the room and we headed toward LAX. The sleeve to her jacket had almost been ripped off. She’d trashed it at the hotel.

We had been standing at the United Airlines terminal for about thirty minutes. The monitor said Daddy’s plane was
ON TIME
, due to touch down in ten minutes.

I’d been gone from the parking lot so long because the front desk said the Corsica wasn’t registered and it might take an hour for another tow truck to show up. Busy morning for AAA. That would’ve cut our time close, so I gave Debra a call to let her know what was up, then went by the gift shop and charged Shelby a bright paisley sundress to pull on over her body suit. Picked up dental kits, a comb and a brush, some lotion so we wouldn’t stroll around looking crusty. Found her a mud-cloth baseball cap, just in case she wanted to cover her head. Had wasted time and bought everything but the pack of Juicy Fruit I was sent to get.

The intercom called for final boarding of a plane heading to D.C. A sister was behind us, crying because her man was about to go back to Howard. We scooted down, let them have their moment.

“I’m sorry.” Shelby took my hand, held on tight, squeezed it, then released it over and over.

“What he did wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. I mean, I don’t want to mess up your moment. I want you nothing but smiles when your daddy gets off the plane.”

She leaned close to me.

“Tyrel? Any regrets?”

“Other than wishing I was with you when he showed up at the car, no regrets.” I pulled her closer to me.

“You all right?”

“I can fake the funk.”

I asked, “What kind of a brother would do that to you?”

Shelby stood in the sunshine that was heating up the glass, one hand covering her face, shaking her head, “A low-down, trifling brother who doesn’t have an ounce of character or integrity. I used to think he was so nice.”

“Has he always treated you like that?”

“Like that, no.”

The more Shelby talked, the choppier her breathing became, and the harder she wrung her hands. We were waiting off to the side of the international, multicultural crowd that was jabbering in a hundred languages.

We’d driven from the hotel to LAX, hit damn near every terminal that flew to San Diego, looking for Richard. It wasn’t until then that I noticed how many Corsicas polluted the roads of L.A. Twice I had followed and tried to run down the wrong car. Twice I’d scared the hell out of a carload of Asians.

People were being paged to the white courtesy phone. A young brother next to me had on a Walkman. The music was so loud I heard Tony Toni Toné grooving over the call for boarding.

I asked Shelby, “You want to file a police report?”

“Right now, I’m just glad he’s gone. We’ve got more important things to do. Debra needs us.”

“Just let me know what you want to do and it’s done.”

I made a fist, then let it loose when I felt a chill across my chest. Felt a brotherly hand patting my shoulder, telling me to let it go and stay focused. That must’ve been Leonard’s vibe.

And I was feeling young, like back when me and Leonard would be at the store and my daddy would be in the back balancing the ledger. Leonard and I would be cleaning up, sweeping the floors, straightening up the canned goods. Back then, Daddy gave Leonard pocket change when he stopped by and worked. But our version of working was cracking jokes on everybody from ages eight to eighty, half-blind, crippled, or crazy.

Shelby nudged me. She was fidgety like she had to pee. I smiled and put my hand in the small of her back. Shelby was still intact. At my side.

I said, “I’m just glad those brothers walked out.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

I said, “What about a restraining order?”

“I don’t want to think about it right now, okay? Your daddy’s plane is coming into the gate.”

Daddy’s plane was being directed to the gate. The ground crew was ready and the bridge from here to there was set to be connected. Separation was about to become a memory.

She said, “Nervous?”

I swallowed and nodded once.

Shelby pulled my hand to her face and kissed my fingers, then picked up the roses and card we’d bought on the way. Straightened out her clothes again, put on some more lipstick.

She was talking fast, “Should I lose the hat?”

I spoke slower, “It looks nice.”

She adjusted my shirt, picked some lint out of my hair. After she licked her finger and rubbed something off my face, Shelby found her reflection in the glass, picked her teeth and modeled. She said, “I don’t look like a homeboy, do I?”

“You’d be the finest homeboy I’d ever seen.”

“Damn. Oh, no.”

“What?”

“No perfume. I don’t smell sweet.”

“You’re fine.”

“Should I call him Vardaman or Mr. Willliams?”

“Shelby, calm down.”

“You should be anxious too.”

“Why?”

“Because you have a daddy, that’s why. You’re such a booty.”

We watched the flight come in, moving slowly like it was the tease of all teases. Nashville had finally come to L.A.

I held on to Shelby’s hand, and we bumped through the crowd and shuffled closer to the gate, found a better position so we could watch the people leave the plane and come up the tunnel.

They came out in droves. Laughing. Yawning. Rushing.

We waited. Waited until no more people were heading our way.

Shelby’s eyes were misty. She lowered her roses.

Then the old crew left. A new crew boarded. The plane took to the skies. Vanished in the clouds.

I looked at the piece of paper with the flight information. Checked the gate. The time. Double-checked the airline.

I went to the pay phone and called Daddy’s home
number. It had been changed. To a nonpublished. Had changed.

Shelby was rubbing my back and asking, “You okay?”

I’d dialed most of the digits to one of the stores, the main one, but I stopped before I made it to the last number.

My hand opened and let the phone fall. Did the same with the flight information. Shelby held the roses to her chest, let out a harsh sigh, then stared at me like she was trying to read my feelings. Her eyes asked me if I was okay. I kissed her, hugged her awhile, took her hand, and we moved on. We walked away without a word or a tear.

Behind us, the phone screamed, letting me know it was off the hook. Disconnected.

When we left LAX, I asked Tyrel to drive by the Great Western Forum and take me to Inglewood Park Cemetery. I hadn’t been there in a couple of years. We stood over my momma’s grave for a few, shared some memories. Tyrel stepped to the side and I stood alone and smiled down on one beautiful woman. I did a little prayer thing. It was awkward, but it was the best and came from my heart. The roses that Tyrel had bought for his daddy, we left those leaning against Momma’s resting place.