White Lines (60 page)

But Ava had unselfishly steered the conversation back to the subject of Jada. “I know she still loves you, Born,” Ava had said. “Don’t tell her that you got this from me, but you should call her someday. I’m sure she’d be happy to hear from you.” And as hard as it was for her to do, Ava walked away from Born, and hoped that he would call her sister.

Ingrid nodded. “So you think Jada will be happy to hear from you?” she asked. “Y’all haven’t spoken to each other since …” Ingrid stopped cooking for a moment and thought about it. “How long has it been since you last saw Jada, Marquis?”

Born finished chewing his cereal. “Almost ten years. We broke up in ninety-eight. I think she got locked up the following year, and by then so had I.” Born chuckled at the irony in that. Both he and Jada had gone to jail, and it had changed their lives for the better. Ava had told him that her sister was clean, and that she had regained custody of her son after Jamari was killed. Born still hated the thought of Jada having Jamari’s baby. Even though Jamari had been slain in a late-night drug deal gone bad (at least, that’s what the police had called it), Born still hated Jamari, and he hated the thought of Jada ever letting him get close to her.

“Do you still love her?” Ingrid asked, without turning to face him. She didn’t need to see her son’s face in order to know if his answer was sincere or not. She could tell simply by the tone of his voice.

Born hesitated. He thought about it. And then he leveled with himself. “Yeah.” He shoveled the last of his cereal into his mouth, and sat back in his chair. “But I’m having a hard time forgiving her. She hurt me.” Born shrugged his shoulders. “And I still can’t help it that I love her. I don’t want her to feel no more pain.”

Ingrid smiled with her back still turned. At least Born was admitting it now. “So what if she calls you?” Ingrid asked. “You know. To say thank you for the flowers. Will you meet with her?”

Born shrugged his shoulders, as if it didn’t matter. But deep inside he was praying that Jada would call. “Yeah. I would meet her for drinks, or whatever, you know what I’m saying?” He tried to sound nonchalant. “If she calls.”

Ingrid nodded outwardly, and inwardly said a silent prayer that Jada would pick up the phone and call Marquis. This was her big chance!

Sunny sat in the backseat of the red Aston Martin, her Dior shades perched perfectly on her nose. She looked across the water as they crossed the Verrazano Bridge. She loved autumn in New York City. The
trees were all shades of red, brown, green, orange, and yellow blended together into a beautiful mosaic. She inhaled the cool air from the partially opened window and was so grateful to God for a chance to see such a beautiful day. Thinking back over her life, there had been many times she didn’t know if she’d make it to see and appreciate a day this blissful.

Sunny’s driver that day was Raul, a middle-aged black man. He was a good driver; kept the radio tuned to one’s liking, and talked very little. Sunny liked that about him. She couldn’t stand drivers who wanted to discuss current events or politics, sports or whatever else. Those types were never employed by her for very long. Sunny preferred a silent driver, like Raul. She had a lot on her mind.

She thought about Jada and about how sad she had sounded on the phone. They had both had more than their share of heartache in their lives. Both had been through hell. But Sunny always felt she was made of stronger stuff than Jada. Sunny was a bad bitch, and she knew it. But Jada was not as tough, despite her efforts to make the world believe otherwise. In Sunny’s opinion, Jada was fronting. She could make believe real well, pretend that she wasn’t incomplete in some places. But Sunny knew the truth. She knew that inside of Jada dwelled pain and distrust, and plenty of untold stories.

As they approached the toll plaza, headed for Staten Island, Raul held the EZ Pass up on the windshield. Sunny looked beside her, checking on her most precious cargo. Her nine-year-old daughter, Mercedes, sat calmly beside her in the backseat. Dressed in calf-length brown suede boots, a brown turtleneck, a denim jumper, and a matching jacket, Mercedes looked like a living ad for any children’s clothing line. She looked as sweet as pie, with her light brown complexion and soft light brown curly hair. She was adorable. Seeing that Mercedes was secure, Sunny relaxed and directed Raul to Jada’s place. The radio was tuned to KISS-FM, and Sunny couldn’t help singing along to the oldie but goodie as it played: “I’m wishing on a star, to follow where you are …”

Raul smiled as Sunny continued singing off-key all the way to Jada’s house. Raul couldn’t help laughing at her. She was a gorgeous girl with a
filthy mouth and an effortless charm about her. Sunny could make you cry from her verbal tirades, or melt you with her silky, sexy words, depending on her mood. She was, indeed, a handful.

But when it came to little Mercedes, Sunny was a pussycat. She loved her daughter, almost to the point of adoration. It seemed that, despite the hard life she had obviously lived, when Sunny gave birth to Mercedes, her life had reached its fulfillment. It was intriguing to all who knew Sunny as the hard rock from around the way to witness her melt like butter in the palm of Mercedes’s hand.

By the time they pulled up in front of 104 Christopher Lane, Raul was happy that the trip had come to an end. Sunny may have been beautiful, but her singing voice was anything but. Sunny looked around at Jada’s neighborhood and couldn’t help feeling proud of her friend. The two of them had seen all types of shit—from back alleys to penthouse suites. And now Jada was living in suburbia—a cozy, quiet, tree-lined street in Staten Island, while Sunny resided in a deluxe Manhattan high-rise apartment building, complete with a doorman. She and Jada had once lived self-destructive lives. And now they both lived tucked among doctors, lawyers, and accountants. It was truly remarkable. But damn, what a high price they’d paid to get there.

Sunny was modeling now. She was no Tyra Banks or Naomi Campbell. Not yet, anyway. She did mostly print work and magazine ads, a couple of runway shows here and there during Fashion Week, but it was work nonetheless. Finally she was living her dream. The only thing working against her was her age. Sunny was in her early thirties, and in the modeling world that was considered very old. Most of the girls who got the big ad campaigns were in their teens and twenties. The competition was fierce, but Sunny was holding her own. Having invested much of what Dorian left her hadn’t hurt either. Sunny was a rich socialite, spoiling herself and her daughter with the fruits of Dorian’s labor, and with her own. She wanted for nothing, and she had enough money to live lavishly.

She dated smartly. A Knicks player for close to two years, and most recently a Golden Globe-nominated actor, whom she’d accompanied to
the event. She was doing her thing and helping Jada pen a novel about the nightlife they’d enjoyed in their pasts. The two of them were learning how to balance motherhood and the single life. And more important, both of them were no longer addicts.

Sunny handed Raul a crisp fifty-dollar bill as he helped her from the car. He promised to return for her as soon as she called, and she smiled graciously. She helped Mercedes step from the car, and the two walked hand-in-hand up Jada’s driveway.

Sunny rang the doorbell, and ran her fingers through her natural brown hair, which was long and luxurious. Her makeup was flawless, as usual, and Mercedes looked up at her mother adoringly. Sunny tapped her foot as she waited for Jada to open the door. When the door at last swung open, Sunny could see that her friend had been crying. Her nose was red, and her eyes were puffy.

Sunny hugged Jada, and rubbed her back. “Here you go with this crying shit again,” she said.

This remark made Jada laugh, and Sunny smiled as she walked inside. Jada hugged Mercedes warmly, admiring her cute little outfit. “Baby girl, you get more beautiful each time I see you.”

“Damn!” Sunny looked around at all the flowers that had been delivered, and shook her head. “People go too far with their condolences sometimes. It smells like a damn funeral parlor up in here!”

Just as she strolled into the living room, Jada’s eight-year-old son, Sheldon, rushed over and threw his arms around Sunny’s waist. “Was-sup, Aunt Sunny!” He said it enthusiastically, genuinely happy to see her. Sheldon was always happy to see Sunny, the two of them sharing a unique bond. Over the years Sunny had spoiled him beyond reason. Sunny knew that she would never have another child. Mercedes would be her first and last. And aside from DJ.—Dorian’s son with Raquel—she knew that Sheldon was as close as she would ever come to having a son. She gave him everything he wanted. Every chance she got, Sunny sent Sheldon presents, and she took him on expensive vacations. Jada smiled, grateful once more that her friend was such a positive force in Sheldon’s young life. At a time when Jada was cloaked in darkness, it had
been Sunny who had held up a flashlight for Jada to find her way. For this, and for many other reasons, jada was eternally grateful to Sunny.

“Wassup, Sheldon?” Sunny pinched his cheeks as she always did, and Sheldon blushed. “Your face looks older, you’re getting all tall. Pretty soon you won’t have no time for Aunt Sunny.”

“Nah, I’ma always have time for you, Aunt Sunny.” Sheldon looked away shyly, and Jada laughed.

“Stop making my baby get all sensitive.” Jada smiled as she said it. Sunny ignored her completely.

“Mommy’s just hatin’ ’cuz can’t nobody make her big behind blush no more!” Sunny joked. Sheldon laughed, as Sunny tickled him.

Jada also laughed at this remark, because at five-foot-three and a solid size six, Jada was anything but big.

Sheldon hugged Sunny once more, and then smiled at Mercedes, who waited patiently on the sidelines. Mercedes loved Sheldon, and each time they played together she would entertain her mother with tale after tale of their adventures. They were so close in age that they played together for hours at a time. Grabbing her by the hand, he ran back to his room so that they could play with his Xbox. Sunny plopped down on the sofa, and Jada sat down as well. The card she’d received from Born sat looming on the coffee table.

Sunny scooped it up, and read it. When she was done, she sat back and looked at Jada. “So?” she said. “How did you feel when you got this?”

Jada shook her head, at a loss for words. “I felt like somebody sucked all the air out of my lungs. I haven’t heard from him since … it’s been years. It’s crazy that he would contact me after all this time. How the hell did he know where I live?”

Sunny pursed her lips, and sucked her teeth. “Girl, please! He’s the man out here. He knows everything that goes on in Staten Island. You can believe that. He’s probably known where you’ve been since the day he last saw you.” Jada closed her eyes at the thought of that, and Sunny crossed her legs. “So how do you feel about him after all these years, Jada?”

Jada chuckled somewhat, and looked helplessly at the ceiling. “I still love that man as much as I did almost ten years ago.”

Sunny frowned. “How? Explain that to me. How can you still love a man who did that to you?”

Jada fell silent, and looked Sunny in her eyes. “He was the love of my life,” she said.

Sunny looked at her friend like she was crazy. “He was the love of your what?” She was dumbfounded. Sunny pulled a cigarette out of her purse. She’d been swearing she was going to quit, but it was shit like this conversation that sent her reaching for a square. She lit it, and exhaled the smoke. “Don’t get me wrong, Jada. I always liked Born. Him and Dorian were tight like brothers. And when y’all were together, I thought he really loved you. But I lost some respect for him after what he did to you. Girl, the nigga threw you out on the street with a muthafuckin’ monkey on your back. And he was the love of your life?” Sunny’s expression was incredulous.

Jada sat back, and folded her arms across her chest. “I hate him for throwing me away like garbage. But I can’t help loving him still. I can’t explain it. It probably sounds dumb, or whatever. But I think I’ll always love him.” Jada looked away from Sunny, her eyes staring at nothing in particular. “I guess it has a lot to do with his relationship with his father. But that’s a long story.”

Sunny stood up and walked over to Jada’s small bar. She poured herself a drink, and returned to her seat on the couch. “Well then, start talking, girl. ‘Cuz I got all night.” Sunny stretched her legs across the sofa’s cushions and got cozy.

Born walked into Anisa’s house, using his own key, and dropped his jacket on the leather recliner. Seeing his son, Ethan, stuck in his usual spot on the floor in front of the TV playing Def Jam Fight For New York, Born smiled, happy to see his boy.

“Wassup, Dad?” little Ethan greeted his father.

“What up, boy?” Born lovingly rubbed his son’s head and glanced at the TV screen in time to see Method Man knock Snoop Dogg into the path of an oncoming subway train. Born glanced at all the games Ethan had—Xbox, PlayStation, Game Cube, even the new PSP. He had the hottest games for each and every system. Born knew that it was overkill, that all of this was too much for one seven-year-old to have. But Born was determined that Ethan would have his every heart’s desire provided to him by his father. For that reason, he went out of his way to fill Ethan’s closet with every designer children’s outfit by the likes of Phat Farm, Sean John, Rocawear, Akademiks, etc. Ethan had eleven pairs of sneakers—Jordans galore, Timberlands, Uptowns, and all that. Every two weeks he got a new pair of sneakers. The boy had a leather jacket, a Sean John snorkel, a suede Phat Farm coat, and a gold chain. Born even brought a hot hero from the local pizzeria to Ethan’s school each day so that his son wouldn’t be subjected to the school’s lunch. Anisa refused to make his son lunch every night, so Born bought it for him, since Ethan hated the cafeteria food. It was that serious. He had everything a kid his
age could ever possibly want, and his father was proud of that. Born enjoyed seeing Ethan enjoy the finest things.

To him, that was one of the marks of being a good father, ensuring that your child’s wants and needs were fulfilled. Born wanted to do whatever was necessary to ensure that Ethan knew his father had his back no matter what.