Apple Brown Betty (11 page)

A young woman appeared just behind the screen. She was wrinkled from hard living instead of years; she couldn't have been more than thirty-five or thirty-six, Slay estimated. The woman had her hair wrapped in a red bandanna and was missing a few teeth on her upper row. She stood in the screen, guarding the house with the fortitude of a Secret Service agent. “Yeah,” she said. Her voice had been deepened by years of smoking Newport cigarettes and worse.

Slay smiled. “Hey, I'm Slay. Kenya called ahead. I'm supposed to speak with her uncle.”

“Chuck?” the woman asked.

“Yeah,” Slay answered.

Recall flashed through her eyes. “'Bout the dogs, right?”

“Right, right,” Slay said.

Ms. Hard-Luck Life moved aside and opened the screen door. “Chuck is down in the basement. End of the hall, door on the right. Ain't no light, so watch your step.”

“You his daughter?” Slay asked as he walked in.

The woman laughed. “I've been taking care of him since his wife passed. Not like no daughter, though.”

Slay looked at her and she winked. “Right, right,” he said. He moved down the hall and came to the door, opened it and walked in a crawl down the steps, making sure to hold to the rail for guidance. At the bottom, he saw that it led to another room, which was lighted. Slay walked through the opening. A large pit bull lurched for him and got pulled back by the chain around its neck. Slay stared at the dog and then turned to a smiling old man. Kenya's Uncle Chuck.

“You the first person didn't jump out they skin when Stinger jumped up like that,” the old man said.

“I was about to snap her neck,” Slay answered, “but that would be rude.”

The old man smiled. “Got a litter of four, you can have two of 'em.”

Slay looked over by the adult pit, noticed the four little puppies lying sleep at her underside. “The two black ones,” Slay said.

“What's Kenya up to these days?” the old man asked as he moved around Slay.

“Taking care of those kids. Her man is locked up again.”

“Same ol'. Same ol'.”

“Yup.”

The old man turned and looked Slay over. “You a pretty-put together fella. I've been hearing your name since she was little. How you figure in Kenya's life?”

Slay didn't know how to respond. His relationship with her had never been defined even though it spanned the majority of his life. “We close” what he came up with.

The old man looked up, up where the girl with the missing teeth, weathered skin but young backbone and strong thighs was. “Nice to have someone you close to.”

Slay studied the old man for a second. He placed him in his early sixties. He was small in stature but had hands the size of baseball mitts. Strong hands. “Did Kenya mention to you I might have some work that'd interest you?”

The old man looked at Slay. “She did.”

“I see you have that truck outside. I want you to follow my sister around, just for a week or so, and tell me where she goes, what she does…who she sees.”

The old man shook his head. “I don't like the sound of all that. I make it a habit not to be getting up into other folk's business.”

“You know my mother,” Slay said. “Nancy Williams. She lives in Kenya's building.”

The old man nodded.

“You seen her lately?” Slay asked.

Old man nodded again.

Slay forced himself to speak. “You seen what the drugs did to her, then. I'm concerned about my sister, Cydney. I think she might be headed in that same direction. I really need your help on this one. I'd follow her myself but I got a whip that screams out ‘look at me.'” Slay puffed his chest out. “A BMW quarter to eight.”

The old man nodded, unimpressed.

Slay frowned. “The drug trade ain't no joke, sir. I don't want my sister caught up in it.”

The old man looked up at the roof again, thinking of the young woman with the weathered skin and the missing teeth. “Cydney, you said your sister's name is?”

“Yes, sir, Cydney Williams,” Slay said, smiling. Slay always was good at figuring a person's weak spot and exploiting it for his own gain. Kenya's uncle's jaws tightened at the mention of drugs. He'd be Cydney's second skin this next week.

Kenya's Uncle Chuck nodded. “I'll keep a watch on your Cydney.”

T
his particular evening had drained almost all of the energy from Cydney's overworked body. Her feet hurt even though she was wearing her Reebok cross trainers, and her hands were sore from writing. She'd just completed what was perhaps the most difficult test she'd ever taken. Her Critical Thought instructor, Professor Greenwood, pushed her harder than all of her other professors combined. His tests left the body sore and the mind exhausted. It was like some military strike gone bad and Cydney was the POW of his hostile exam.

Cydney settled onto the couch in the lounge and nursed a cold ginger ale and a small bag of honey-roasted peanuts. She was feeling a bit jittery—blood sugar low—and decided a quick snack would be wise before she took that drive on 18 South back home. A woman was on her cell phone across from Cydney, standing against the window of the lounge, whispering microwave-warming instructions to her husband. Cydney eavesdropped on the woman for a moment before a thought hit her. That woman had a husband—children, too, it appeared from what Cydney could make out. When that woman graduated she'd have someone cheering her on, someone to share in the moment with. Cydney had no one, unless you counted Faith and Victoria, and both of them would be reveling in their own graduations, with their own family and loved ones. Cydney had successfully moved from the confines of her old life only to find that her new life had even greater challenges, different challenges to be sure, but still, challenges.

The woman standing by the window closed her cell phone and moved back toward the lounge area. She walked over to the little table where she left her pocketbook and textbooks and placed the cell phone in her purse. The woman, like Cydney, appeared exhausted. She sat down in her seat, closed her eyes and ran her fingers over her temples. Cydney heard the woman mumble, “It's all prepared. Just remove the aluminum foil. Cover the dish with a paper towel. Put it in the microwave. Hit time. Punch in three minutes…voilà.” Cydney smiled. Okay, so this woman didn't have the perfect life either, but she had more than Cydney.

Cydney was about to glance at her watch and see what was taking Faith and Victoria—the only friends she had at school or anywhere anymore—so long. But just then they came around the bend of wall. Faith looked as exhausted as Cydney. Victoria looked like she'd just stepped out of a rejuvenating hot shower. Cydney hated Victoria for always having her stuff together.

Faith scooted next to Cydney on the couch and plopped back against the softness of the cushions. “That man should be decertified,” Faith said. “That wasn't a test. That was a darn master's thesis.”

Cydney nodded in agreement. Faith definitely grew up more privileged than Cydney—father a judge, mother a big-shot accountant—but she had a down-to-earth quality that Cydney appreciated from the first moment they met. Faith had a nutmeg color to her, brown hair and a tight little dancer's body. She'd been destined for ballet stardom until an ankle injury developed a tolerance for ice packs and hot-wrap treatments. After that disappointment, college was the logical option.

“I wish,” Victoria chimed in, “in the name of everything just and sacred, that that man would recognize the error of his ways, and cease, effective immediately.”

Faith and Cydney laughed. Victoria had a way of putting things that made laughter the only option. She was a diva among divas. On quite a few occasions it had been noted that Victoria bore a striking resemblance to Vanessa Williams. Every time, she waved off the comments. “I think not—isn't she in her forties?” was her usual reply. Victoria had come to college after spending her early twenties traveling the world.

The three of them had been sistahgirlfriends since alternative schedule orientation, over two years prior.

“How did you get finished so darn fast, Cydney?” Faith asked.

“I've been studying for this exam like you wouldn't believe,” Cydney said. “I have to raise my scores in this class.”

“Your eyes show it, too, honey,” Victoria said. “You need to move from the perfume counter at Macy's and go over to the makeup counter.”

“Thanks,” Cydney said.

Victoria waved her off. “Don't thank me, thank Lancôme.”

“I do need something,” Cydney admitted.

“I'm off to the Bahamas after the semester ends,” Victoria said.

“Sounds like a plan,” Faith responded.

Cydney forced a smile.

“So what new music have you discovered for us, Cydney?” Faith asked as Victoria, who had been standing the entire time, settled in the tiny space next to Cydney.

A thought crossed Cydney's mind. “No music this month. But I am doing a feature on this great new soul food restaurant.”

Victoria's eyes crested. Even though it was hard to tell by her svelte figure, she was a food connoisseur. “Do tell,” she begged of Cydney.

“It's called Cush,” Cydney said.

“Oh. That's a name of an African city, from ancient times,” Faith said.

“It's a delicacy as well,” Victoria chimed in. “A Southern dish, like a cornmeal pancake. Oh, and also a soup made with cornmeal, milk, onion and seasonings.”

Cydney looked at the both of them. “Can anyone say,
Jeopardy?
Damn, you two are something.”

Victoria smiled. “I told you, anything you ever need to know about food you come to me.”

“We've been talking the past few weeks about getting together,” Cydney said. “Why don't you come with me to the restaurant. We can't let these books hold us hostage.”

“That's a wonderful idea,” Faith said. “Where is it?”

Cydney hesitated. “Asbury Park.”

Victoria said, “Oh.”

“Asbury used to be the happening place in New Jersey,” Faith offered. “My parents say it's on the upswing again. They go down there and shop in this one antique place all the time.”

Victoria seemed surprised. “Well, let's do it then, once and for all. What day, Cydney?”

“How about Friday?” she asked.

Victoria and Faith both nodded.

“Friday it is, then,” Cydney said, beaming.

 

Desmond was having one of those mornings everyone has from time to time. The kind of morning you wish you could start again from that first glimpse of the sun's orange haze, that bright beginning filled with promise that the rest of the day never lived up to.

Felicia had attempted to be helpful by cooking him breakfast. She wasn't in any danger of being a guest on that cooking show Desmond liked,
Nigella Bites,
that's for sure. She glazed his last frozen waffles in a black-toasted crust. They'd make perfect drink-glass coasters but were totally inedible. She spilled a half carton of orange juice on the floor, startled by the smoke detector going off, she said. So, Desmond, who relied on his breakfast as the fuel for his day, left the house with an empty stomach.

His stomach growling on the way to work, Desmond stopped at a convenience store to grab a bagel and a small bottle of juice. He walked to the register, smiling, but then a few moments later backed away from that same register, embarrassed, and still with that growling stomach. He'd rushed from the house without his wallet.

When Desmond arrived at the restaurant he received the news that Karen had called in and would be running late, some personal problems. Desmond would have the fine pleasure of meeting, greeting and seating the patrons until Karen arrived. Thank God it was Friday.

Desmond was at the front of the restaurant now, reflecting on his poor day when the promise of that bright early-morning sun walked through the door. Desmond noticed her immediately and couldn't hold in his smile.

“Miss Wonderful,” Desmond said to Cydney.

She smiled. “You remembered me.”

Desmond looked to her two companions. One looked like Vanessa Williams and the other looked as if she'd work the hell out of some spandex. “I see you brought along much better company this time.” He extended a hand to the spandex queen. “Desmond Rucker, I'm the proprietor.”

“Faith,” she said. “It's nice to meet you, Mr. Rucker. We could smell the food from outside.”

Desmond then gave the Vanessa Williams clone his hand.

“Victoria Beauville,” she offered. “I'm very much looking forward to this meal, Mr. Rucker. Cydney told us so much about the place.”

Desmond's eyes widened, his smile, too. He turned to his Miss Wonderful. “Did you, now…
Cydney?
”

Cydney shot Victoria a scowl. Victoria covered her mouth. “Oops. I meant,
Miss
Williams.”

Desmond bore his eyes into Cydney. “Cydney Williams. It has a nice ring to it.”

“Did you say
ring?
” Victoria asked playfully. Faith elbowed her in the rib cage.

“What?” Victoria responded to Faith's elbow.

Desmond and Cydney continued their eye tango.

“Let me show you three to your table,” Desmond offered after a while. “One of our most romantic tables I might add, in the back room.”

Victoria asked, “
Romantic?
Oh, are you joining us? Because you know we need a handsome man to make the romance thing happen.”

Desmond smiled, looked at Cydney. “Not today, unfortunately, but I'd love the opportunity in the future.” Cydney shifted her gaze to her feet.

Desmond led them to their table, pulled out chairs one by one for them, and handed each woman a menu. “Your waitress will be over shortly.” He brushed Cydney's shoulder as he went to leave. “Oh, pardon me, Cydney Williams.”

“It's okay,” Cydney said. Some unknown force actually made her bat her eyelashes.

Desmond smiled and moved toward the front.

“You did that on purpose,” Cydney said to Victoria when Desmond left.

“I sure did,” Victoria responded. “Cydney, that man is fine. He's got Taye Diggs's smile, Samuel's cool and Denzel's charisma. You can borrow my camcorder if you want. You two can make a movie.”

Faith laughed. “I knew you were going to ruin it with something freaky.”

Victoria touched her chest, manufacturing a look of hurt. “I'm wounded, Faith. I wasn't suggesting anything carnal.”

“You think he's interested?” Cydney asked.

“It's obvious,” Faith told her.

“Yes,” Victoria agreed, “and playing all hard to get is foolish. That's why I went ahead and accelerated the process for you.”

“That darn Miss Wonderful bit really got me, though,” Faith added. “Isn't that the cutest thing you ever heard, V?”

Victoria nodded, fanned herself. “Camcorder, Cydney. I'm telling you. That man has so much potential.” Victoria took a breath and looked down at her menu. “But enough about him, we need to get our order together. I am absolutely famished.”

They ate to a full belly, laughing and joking like lifelong girlfriends. Cydney forgot about all her problems during the course of the meal: Slay, Stephon, her mother, the stress of a full load from work and school. It had been ages since Cydney felt this good.

“A sistah is feeling good right about now,” Cydney said, scraping the last bit of food from her plate. “This place is excellent.”

“I know you're going to give it a good write-up,” Faith said.

“She better,” Victoria added, “considering fine Mr. Rucker was such a gentleman to us.”

“That could be a conflict of interest, come to think of it,” Faith said.

“Why?” Victoria asked. “She's not going to sleep with him until after the piece runs.”

Cydney waved her hands. “Yoo-hoo, I'm right here. Feel free to talk to me. And who said anything about sleeping with anyone, Victoria?”

Victoria's eyes lit, she sat up straight in her seat. “Now, are you telling me, Cydney, that you don't find Desmond absolutely gorgeous?”

Faith shot Cydney a closemouthed smile. “Don't answer that, Cydney.”

Cydney waved her off. “No, I must.” She looked smiling Victoria dead in the face. “Desmond is most certainly an attractive man, Victoria. And yes, I would be lying if I said I didn't have any interest—”

Faith reached for Cydney. “Cyd—”

“Hold on a second, Faith,” Cydney said, fanning her hand away. “Like I said, Victoria, he's handsome, has style and cool, my type of man. But as of yet it has been nothing but some harmless flirting. I don't know anything about him. Is he married? Does he have a girlfriend? Is he even interested in me?”

A deep voice bellowed, “No. No. Yes, with a capital Y.”

Cydney didn't even have to turn to the voice. Embarrassment shot through her. She looked at Victoria, who winked. Faith gave Cydney an I-tried-to-warn-you shrug. Cydney closed her eyes for a moment of composure, and then turned to Desmond, smiling. “Desmond.”