If Only You Knew (14 page)

“Oh, you know, she's doing so much better now,” Sydney
enthused. “The nightmares have finally stopped, and she's even playing with the other kids now.”

“That's good news for sure.”

“Yeah, she's adorable. It's like you can't imagine how horrible it must have been growing up in that environment, with her father beating her mom so badly all the time. Slowly, but surely, she's recovering,” Sydney said thoughtfully. “Kids are so resilient. They seem to be able to forgive and move on so much faster than us, huh?”

“Yeah, that's for sure,” Marcus said quietly as he drained the last of his cup. The two sat in silence for a moment listening to the soft jazz playing in the background. Marcus finally cleared his throat. “So, um, how you doing with that cupcake?” he asked playfully.

“Just fine, thank you,” Sydney responded as she popped the rest of it into her mouth. Her cheeks puffed up like a balloon.

“Mmm-hmm, okay, greedy,” he laughed as he glanced at the steel Montblanc watch his mother had given him for Christmas last year. “I certainly hope you don't plan to eat like that at Thanksgiving dinner this year!”

“You know, I do,” Sydney laughed. “I'm eating all the turkey, all the candied yams and macaroni-and-cheese that Edwina cooks!”

Marcus laughed loudly. “Remember the first year
we were dating when you came over to my house for Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sydney said slowly. “And instead of slices, you cut the poor turkey into a million little shreds!”

“Whatever, you know my carving skills are on point at all times!”

“Humph, okay, Iron Chef, all I know is I don't want you wielding no kinda knife around me anytime soon,” she immediately countered.

Marcus chuckled. “Hey, the only reason my hands were so wobbly was because you were around.” Then he thoughtfully added, “I was so busy acting like I could handle it and that I had everything under control. I completely ruined everything, huh?”

Sydney sat quietly. “Yeah, pretty much,” she said softly as she stared at the bottom of her now-empty coffee cup. The two shared another awkward moment.

Clearing his throat, Marcus pushed back from the table. “Well, lemme get you home so I can get some rest,” he said, dropping a crisp twenty. “You ready?”

“I'm always ready. But the real question is, am I willing,” Sydney replied with a suggestive smile.

Marcus shook his head. “Okay now, don't get in trouble, Miss Duke,” he said with a chuckle as he stepped back to allow her to exit first.

Contrary to the silence of the earlier trip, when Marcus pulled his BMW around the Duke's fountain, laughter filled the car. “Oh, my God, you are hilarious,” Sydney laughed at his imitation of Principal Trumbull getting excited at the pep rally.

“You know I like to keep you laughing,” Marcus replied easily.

“I guess,” Sydney said, somewhat sad that their time together had come to an end. “Well, lemme go.”

“Okay, no problem,” Marcus said, and hopped out to open her door for her.

As soon as Sydney stepped out, Marcus positioned himself directly in front of her face. “You know, sometimes people have to feel the burn to learn to stay away from fire,” he whispered softly as he fingered a strand of her hair. Sydney paused and looked down to avoid his piercing stare. “I can't front, Sydney. I definitely miss you. Us. Together. And while I accept that we might not be able to be that way now, in my dreams, you are always the woman by my side when I'm being inaugurated for the mayoral post.”

“Marcus, don't,” Sydney's voice cracked, betraying all the emotions swirling inside of her as she struggled against her own better judgment.

“I won't,” he said. “I'm just saying, I hope you can still see the vision.”

Sydney barely closed the front door behind her before her eyes began to sting. Kicking off her boots, she ran directly upstairs, hoping to make it to the safe confines of her room before the inevitable tears began to flow.

“How did it go,” Lauren called out from her room as Sydney rushed by.

“Fine, just fine,” Sydney tossed over her shoulder as she gently closed her door. Taking extra-deep breaths, Sydney struggled to hold it together. “It's fine, I'm fine,” she repeated over and over. As the tightness in her chest and the stinging subsided, her cell phone buzzed again.

Sighing, Sydney grabbed her phone out of her bag before tossing it on her desk chair and heading over to her bed. “I thought he was going to let me call him back,” Sydney muttered to herself, assuming it was another message from Jason. To her surprise, it was from Renaldo: Darling. Hit me when you get a chance. Need to review the confirmed guest list to make sure we have everyone before the big night. Smooches. Sydney groaned out loud as Marcus's ominous words, “I hope you can still see the vision,” repeated themselves over and over. Of course she could; she just wasn't exactly sure if that included her upcoming holiday party.

The bright red bullhorn was as extra as the rotund, orange-colored, sweaty little man yelling into it, but that's what made it all the more fitting. Renaldo, after all, was one to be heard, and on this night, he was going to make sure that the guests at the most spectacular event of the Lake Lanier Thanksgiving season were listening—so that this particular event on this particular evening could go off without a hitch. Which meant that, first and foremost, he needed to keep the guests of the Duke daughters—and the wannabes—in check.

“If your name is not etched in red on this list I have in my hand, it sucks to be you. I will ask you kindly to vacate the premises now to spare yourself any embarrassment,” Renaldo shouted into the bullhorn. “For those of you who have a problem understanding the words that are coming out of my
mouth, let me make it clear: If you weren't invited, you ain't got to go home, but you got to get the hell up outta here.

“Everyone else who has a gold card featuring Lauren and Sydney's beautiful faces and whose names appear on said guest list will be invited to swipe your card in the Red HOTlanta machine to gain access to the red carpet, which will usher you into the soiree of the year. Please enjoy the musical offerings of DJ Goldfinger as we await the arrival of the fabulous Duke sisters. Thank you.”

Renaldo handed the list to one of his many minions, then turned to his personal assistant, whose sole purpose on this evening was to a) keep Renaldo's wineglass full, b) have his Vicodin ready for the popping, and c) clear paths large enough for him to get to and handle whatever fires popped up throughout the evening. There was no room for errors. As it was, he was the only adult at the party, save for the chefs, bartenders, and waitstaff, and Altimus Duke had made it clear that he better have a handle on things. Or else.

And let's just say, Renaldo did not want to even begin to consider what, exactly, “or else” meant. He eyeballed the throng of teens—there had to be at least a hundred and quickly growing, dressed to the nines in the finest gold and red outfits daddy's money could buy—and shook his head, pushed the bullhorn into the assistant's chest, and then started yelling into his walkie-talkie. “Bosco! ETA on the arrival!” he screamed, stomping down the red carpet, his
ankle-length gold brocade jacket whooshing hard enough to flicker the candlelight flames that licked the unseasonably warm night air.

“Copy that, Ray—about five minutes over and out,” the driver, Bosco, said quietly into his walkie-talkie as he maneuvered the gold stretch Rolls-Royce through the dark, woodsy roads of Lake Lanier. He'd been ordered to take his time getting to the party, even though it was, quite literally, just two minutes away from the resort where the girls had gotten themselves ready and their anxious parents were spending the night. Bosco couldn't see through the partition separating the front seat from the main cabin, but that didn't stop him from glancing through the rearview mirror anyway, wondering just what in the hell the black guy who paid for all of this did for a living to be able to afford to spoil his daughters with such an affair. Shoot, the two-day rental cost for the Rolls-Royce alone was more than $8,000, and he'd heard that dude laid out an additional twenty-five grand to have the car custom-painted—transformed from a shiny, sleek, black machine, into a rich, warm gold tone with red flames painted up the sides, and, after the party, back to black. The suites at Emerald Pointe Hotel, the obviously expensive outfits the girls were wearing, the expansive five-bedroom boat-house, private dock, and exclusive beach he peeped when he took the test run a few hours earlier—it all had to add up to
pretty much more than his and his wife's yearly salaries put together. The thought of it made Bosco sick—as did the laughter coming from the back cabin.

“Come on, turn the music up, it's a damn party already,” Lauren insisted, shooing Donald toward the control panel that already had T.I. overloading the speakers. Sydney was sitting quietly in the far corner, acting like she had a million things on her mind—and none of them about that fine-ass boy she was sitting beside. In fact, her BFFs/support system/groupies Rhea and Carmen were doing more to entertain the boy than Syd was, which was a crime and a shame, Lauren thought, because had
she
noticed Jason when she was a single, unspoken-for woman? Oh, best believe she'd have been riding shotgun on Mr. Danden's lap. She hoped her sister would pull it together and get focused before they arrived. The party was going to do what it do, and there wasn't anything either of the two of them could change now, no matter how much last-minute worrying, begging, pleading, and barking she did to make sure Renaldo was handling, as she put it, “All the little but important details that'll make or break a party.” The way Lauren saw it, Renaldo had his check, he was being paid to do his job—leave it to the professionals to sort out. How-some-ever, Lauren wasn't about to study any of this too long: She looked fly, her party was about to be the straight fire, and Jermaine had just called to say he was on his way. She was good.

“Wait, dammit—you're going to make me spill my drink,” Donald laughed easily as he hoisted up his Diet Mountain Dew Code Red.

“Forget turning it up, how about turning it off,” Jason said, pushing a CD into Donald's face. “Pop that in, playa.”

“Oh, a man who knows how to take charge—work, Sydney, you know how to pick ‘em!” Lauren yelled, completely oblivious to the blush that rushed across Sydney's face, which read, quite clearly, “Sit back and calm the hell down—you're embarrassing me.”

“No worries, J. She may be acting all shy now, but I guarantee you by the end of the night, it's going to be a totally different story,” Lauren predicted, snatching the CD from Jason's hand and shoving it into the player. Sound unheard, she pumped the volume and practically blew out everyone's ears when a brand-new underground Jay-Z mix pumped through the speakers.

“Aw, shucks—let me find out Jason Danden still got that East Coast flava in him!” Lauren said, nodding her head hard to the beat and gyrating on the leather seat.

“Lord, help us through,” Sydney sighed, shooting a weary look at Rhea and Carmen, who, too, were rocking out to the music. Rhea, sensing her best friend's nerves were being worked, patted Sydney's hand to help settle her.

Jason chuckled and shot a knowing glance toward
Sydney. “Yeah, um, you know, I'm from New York, so I can't exactly get rid of the, um, East Coast flavor.”

Sydney smiled back as she punched
SPEED-DIAL
for Renaldo, and all at once signaled Lauren to turn down the music. “I just want to make sure everything is all right,” Sydney started for what felt like the fiftieth time since they had gotten into the Rolls.

“Syd, just let it go—we're already on our way to our hot party. You should be chillin' and getting ready for your star turn on our red carpet. Time to do the last-minute panty-line check and get focused!”

Sydney turned off her iPhone and sat up. “What, exactly, would someone who doesn't wear panties know about lines?” she teased as she bumped up her roller-set curls and adjusted the thin gold straps of her fringed Ungaro minidress.

“Oh, you know wha—” Lauren started in response.

“Ladies, ladies, ladies! We're here—we've arrived. The red carpet awaits!” Donald said, clapping. “Save the Saturday Night Smackdown for next week. We've got to go to work!”

“Yay!” Lauren said, throwing up a “hoorah” cheerleader hand for good measure and grabbing her 14-K gold compact out of her purse to check her lip gloss and powder. “Um, Rhea, Carmen, darlings, let me by—my sister and I really should be the first ones out of the car. Wouldn't want the paparazzi to get it confused.”

Sydney rolled her eyes, shook her head, and willingly moved closer to her girls to avoid Lauren's mad rush to be the first one out of the car. Lauren was giggling like a child on Christmas morning as she waited for the driver to open the door. “Ooh, my fans await!” she said to no one in particular as the doors opened to a crowd of literally one hundred and fifty or so of their closest friends, all screaming at the top of their lungs. Spotlights searched the starlit sky, and one was trained right on the Rolls-Royce. Goldfinger queued the music—“Party Like a Rock Star” blasted through the speakers as Lauren gingerly stepped her perfectly pedicured Vamp Red toes onto the red carpet, smoothed out her red Carmen Marc Valvo, and bounced to the music, mouthing the words and tossing beauty queen waves to the crowd. She stopped and struck a pose for the photographers, putting on the glamour puss she and Donald had perfected back at the hotel. One for YRT, yes, sir.

But Lauren's fabulousness was instantly forgotten (except in her own mind, of course) when Jason stepped out of the Rolls and extended his hand to help Sydney out—so loud were the cheers you would have thought he'd just thrown the winning touchdown. After several individual and couple shots, Sydney and Jason paused next to Lauren to pose for flicks. The photographer's flashes were punctuated by squeals of “Ohmigod—I knew something was up with them!” and “Damn, Sydney done upgraded, fo sho.” Sydney
continued to smile as she wrapped her arm around Jason's muscular arm and gave it a little squeeze, as a signal for them to move down the candlelit red carpet. Like the perfect escort, Jason accommodated her wishes, and the newly minted couple stepped forward. From all the energy in the air, Sydney was clear this was a big moment…how big she had no idea.

Lauren wouldn't allow for such folly, though. “Where's the stage? Where's Renaldo? And where is my drink? Seriously? I need you on point, people—this is my damn night! Somebody needs to come with it! Syd? Get your boy!”

“Oh, gosh, Lauren! Sydney! Welcome. Welcome,” Renaldo gushed, rushing up to the girls as if on cue, bullhorn in his right hand, cell phone in the left, assistant with drinks in hand bringing up the rear. “A signature cocktail, ladies?” he said, snapping his fingers to signal the assistant to hand over the drinks—a pretty pomegranate, rosewater, lime squash concoction served up in martini glasses that had been dusted with gold-colored sugar. The sisters graciously accepted their cocktails and let Renaldo lead the way. “The stage is set up in the great room. I've a special signal arranged for Goldfinger to play Ludacris's ‘Georgia' the moment you're up and ready and there's a critical mass of friends on the dance floor. Everyone is swiping their red cards to gain entrance as we speak.”

“Perfect,” Lauren said. “Now, be a dear and see if Jermaine Watson has arrived. He's my special guest, and he's supposed to be here waiting for me. Thank you.”

“Uh, um, not a problem, um—you're Lauren, right?” Renaldo asked, his cocktails and prescriptions starting to get the best of him.

“That's correct,” Lauren said, a tad disdainfully. She reached into her purse and pulled out her dedicated cell, which she'd set on vibrate earlier, to be sure she didn't miss Jermaine's phone calls. Though she was sure it hadn't rung since the last time her man dialed her digits, she still checked to see if there were any missed calls. Nothing. She slammed the phone shut. “We'll be on the stage,” she said, signaling to Donald to follow her.

“Jason and I are going to go greet our guests,” Sydney said.

“See you at the top,” Lauren said, turning on her heels and grabbing Donald's hand. She was grateful for the breeze that blew through the glass French doors running the length of the back of the house. Renaldo had wisely left them open to keep the air circulating among the hundreds of people who were piling in and working up a sweat in the great room, and to give easy access to those who chose to have drinks and food from the four-course buffet set out on the bonfire-lit beach.

Lauren had barely gotten into her over-the-shoulder sexy dance on the stage when she noticed the commotion—saw a swarm of her guests rushing through the French doors and out onto the beach. “Aw, damn,” said Donald. “Can't take your people nowhere. I told you to get security.”

“Shut up, D,” she laughed nervously. “It's probably that hooker Julia out there dropping it like it's hot. You know how her big booty draws a crowd.”

“Indeed,” Donald said, craning his head to see if he could catch a glimpse of what—or who—was causing the ruckus. “Regardless, we better get out there.”

Donald took Lauren by the hand as they walk/ran to the patio leading out to the beach, where a massive crowd had gathered. It was quiet, save for the music blasting from the system and what sounded like two guys exchanging heated words.

“I'm just saying, you obviously ain't handling your business too well, money, because if you were, your girl, Sydney, here wouldn't have been out on a date with me last week,” Lauren heard one of the voices say.

“You guys, just stop—this is so fifth grade, seriously,” Sydney pleaded. The desperation in her voice made Lauren push harder through the massive collection of bodies gathered around what turned out to be her sister, Jason, and Marcus.

“Well, you couldn't have been handling business too well yourself,
money,
because it's pretty obvious who she chose,” Jason said, folding his arms. “In case you missed it? We came together. This right here?” he added, nodding at Sydney, “All me, playa. All me.”

“Man, listen, Sydney Duke and I been
doing
the relationship thing for four years. You were in the limo for five minutes. Seriously? You need to back up and let a grown man handle grown-man business.”

“Aw, it's like that, playa?” Jason asked as he took off his suit jacket and his boys—read the entire football team—crowded around him. “Grown man, huh?”

Lauren got to the center of the action just as Jason's fist pounded down on Marcus's left cheek like a hammer on a nail head.

“Oh, my God!” Sydney screamed. “Stop it! Just stop it!”