All Up In My Business (28 page)

Maria, who had four children herself, was no stranger to childbirth. She looked at Victoria and knew they had no time to waste.

“Get my bag,” Victoria panted. “It’s in the closet. Then help me downstairs so we can get to the hospital.”

“I’ll get your bag, Mrs. Livingston, but you are not moving. I’m calling an ambulance, now.”

At almost midnight, after they’d watched a movie, Malcolm pulled himself away from Joyce. “I’ve got to go.”

“You know that I don’t want you to leave,” she murmured, her hand reaching for his privates.

“And you know that I can’t stay,” he countered, stopping her movement. He’d come close to actually having sex with her tonight, had almost taken her up on the offer to give him head. But Malcolm drew the line at having her help him release
—anything more and he felt the legacy would be jeopardized. It was already tainted, and Malcolm felt bad enough about that.

“Congratulations again on the completion of the smoker’s mass production.”

“Thanks, Joyce. I’ll call you tomorrow to finish talking about QVC.”

There was a spring in his step as he left Joyce’s apartment. Being with her was invigorating, and not just physically. He couldn’t understand why some man hadn’t snatched her up. Goodness knew if he were single …

He got into his car and reached for his phone. As soon as the face lit up, he noticed missed calls from his mother, father, uncle, aunt, the job’s answering service, and home. That could only mean one thing.
But she’s not due for another two weeks
, he thought as he dialed the home number. When he didn’t get an answer at his home or his parents’ number, he called Candace’s cell.

She picked up on the first ring. “Malcolm, where are you? We’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

“Forgot I had my phone on vibrate. Is Victoria in labor?”

“No, she’s in her room, recovering from an emergency C-section.”

“Is … is the baby all right?”

“She is now, but it was touch and go for a moment. You need to leave Joyce’s house, Malcolm, and come see your child.”

55

A
lexis had forgotten that sometimes she liked her mother. Loved her, of course, that emotion was required for your parent. But Jean Barnes had a funny, likeable side. It had been a while since Alexis had seen it, or paid attention. But today she’d been reminded: while they’d shopped at Big Lots and Goodwill and before eating at a hole-in-the-wall that served up some of the best catfish Alexis had ever tasted. Now, four hours later, she was eating a simple dinner, having spent the afternoon cleaning Jean’s two-bedroom apartment from top to bottom—with the help of a cleaning crew from Happy Maids—and then redesigning her mother’s living room, dining room, and bedroom with simple fixes like slipcovers, rugs, and accessories.

“This is good, Mama,” Alexis said as she helped herself to another serving of spaghetti. “I haven’t had any of your food in a while.”

“That’s because you rarely get back here,” Jean responded. “You’re busy, though. I understand.”

Both women were silent, knowing that Alexis’s schedule wasn’t the only reason her visits were sporadic at best. It was no secret that no love existed between Alexis and her stepfather,
who’d been blessedly absent all day and almost every time she’d come over to visit during the five days she’d been in St. Louis. And while Alexis loved her brothers, she didn’t like them most of the time, because of how they leeched off society in general and their mother in particular. She’d seen Sean, her older brother by five years, only once since coming home, and that was when he’d stopped by just long enough to ask to “borrow” five hundred dollars, then he had “someplace he needed to be” when she said no. Sebastion, or “Bass” as everyone called him, hadn’t shown his face at all, even though he hadn’t seen his sister for over a year and knew she was home. Alexis had decided it was probably for the best, given he thought she was trying to be bougie, and she thought he was trying to be gangster. But all in all, the trip had been a good one, one she hadn’t even known she’d needed before losing herself in her mother’s hug.

Her heart still hurt. Not a day had gone by when she hadn’t missed Toussaint. She’d listened to his messages over and over, his impassioned pleas to return his calls, and she had purposely kept her voice mail box full so he couldn’t leave any more. Aside from the one call to Kim and the short conversation with Zoe, Alexis hadn’t talked to anybody about what had happened. And as much as she’d enjoyed her mother’s company this visit, they’d never discussed Alexis’s personal life. It was her father who’d given her the talk about dating and had encouraged her to set her standards high and not fall for the first man “wearing some nice cologne and a smile.”

Alexis had just taken the dishes into the kitchen when she heard her stepfather come into the house. Rather, she heard the front door bang against the wall as he flung it open.

“What the hell?” he slurred, stopping in the middle of the living room, his hands on his hips as he looked around.

“Alexis,” Jean said cautiously. “She did this for us. Don’t it look nice?”

“What was wrong with how it was? Where’s my
Jet
magazines? Where the hell are my shoes I leave by the door? I likes my shoes by the door!”

“Now, Frank, it’s all right. They’re in a special place, right inside the room there. In the bedroom. If you look next to the couch, your magazines are stacked real neat and nice like, in that wicker basket.”

Frank walked over, grabbed the wicker basket, and flung it across the living room. “Nobody told her to bring her high-falutin ass in here and mess with my got-damn stuff. This is my got-damn house!” The sound of another slamming door, this one to the bedroom, provided the exclamation point to the outburst. For Alexis, the sound was her cue that it was time to go.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Jean said, hurrying into the kitchen as soon as Frank slammed the door.

“It’s all right, Mama. I’m all done here.”

“Baby, I don’t want you to feel like he’s run you off. I’ve enjoyed you, Alexis. It’s been a long time since we hung out, mother/daughter like. And I really appreciate what you did to the house.”

“I was leaving anyway,” Alexis lied. She’d actually planned to ask her mom to bring out the photo albums and reminisce about her dad. Instead, she asked her mother if she could have them.

Her mother hurried to comply, pushing the dusty, yet treasured memories into her hands. “I know you don’t understand it, baby. But Frank’s life ain’t been easy. There’s a heart underneath the alcohol. I’m one of the few he shows it to. I love him.”

“I know, Mom. I love you.” Alexis gave Jean a heartfelt hug.

“I love you, baby. Don’t stay away so long next time.” Alexis’s cell phone rang as she reached the car. She’d taken
few calls while visiting her mother but now was ready to get back to work. “Alexis St. Claire.”

“Hi, Alexis. This is Diane Livingston.”

Toussaint’s aunt?
Alexis was shocked, to say the least. “Yes, Mrs. Livingston. What can I do for you?”

“Girl, somebody who enjoys soul food the way you do can definitely call me Diane. How are you?”

“Fine, and you?”

“I’m fine, Alexis, and I hope you don’t mind that I asked Toussaint for your number. But I’m worried about him. I’ve known that boy all my life, Alexis, and I’ve never seen him like this. He’s hurt, confused, and frustrated as all get out because you won’t talk to him.”

“Look, Diane, I—”

“I know it’s not my business, and I can certainly understand why you’re upset. Trust me, if I walked into a suite that Ace and I shared and found a woman lounging in the bed, my reaction would be like yours, with a good amount of violence thrown in for good measure. I also know what it’s like to date a man who’s attractive and successful, with women throwing themselves at him left and right. I’ve dealt with that situation for almost thirty years. It’s not easy, but when the man is one like my husband, or my nephew, Alexis, it’s worth it.”

How am I supposed to respond to this?

Before Alexis could formulate a comment, Diane continued. “I talked to Toussaint, and I believe him when he tells me that he knew nothing about Shyla’s visit to Los Angeles. I’ve never seen him so furious as when he found out she was there. Alexis, he had her fired. She’s no longer a part of the Livingston Corporation.”

For the second time in as many minutes, Alexis was stunned. “Mrs. Livingston, Diane, I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, Alexis. Just think about what I’ve said. That’s all I’m asking. Well, not quite. Like I said,
what happens between you and Toussaint is none of my business. But Toussaint is a good man. If you’d talk to him, for even five minutes, you might decide to try and work out whatever y’all had. Even if you don’t, at least you’ll have made your decision based on all the facts.”

Alexis thanked Diane for calling and after saying good-bye, closed her eyes and put her head in her hands.

What do I do?
She cared deeply for Toussaint, wanted to give him a chance. But she was afraid. Loving somebody cost too much, could hurt too deeply. She’d done that once, with her dad. And yes, it was unrealistic, even stupid perhaps. But she wanted a love guaranteed to not hurt.

Like Jon
. Alexis knew that Jon Abernathy had been disappointed to learn that they’d only do the one date and that she’d begun dating Toussaint. No, she didn’t see fireworks or hear trumpets when she was with him; her heart didn’t soar or her nana tingle when he came near. He’d probably be described as more distinguished than handsome. But he was a gentleman—nice, respectful. Most of all, someone like Jon Abernathy was safe and as close to a guaranteed drama-free relationship as Alexis would get.

Alexis packed her bags, feeling better with each passing thought. Diane was right. Toussaint at least deserved a conversation, a chance to be heard. Alexis decided that she would listen. And then she’d invite Jon Abernathy out for dinner and get on with her life.

56

“Q
, somebody’s here asking for the owner.” Q, who’d been bench-pressing an impressive two hundred pounds, dropped the weights. They fell with a clang. “Who?” He took the towel from around his neck and wiped sweat from his face.

“Health department.”

“Health department? What do they want?” Q swung his legs to one side of the bench and stood.

His assistant manager shrugged. “Something about an inspection or something.”

Q strolled over to the men and woman standing in the middle of his gym. He was not impressed as he took in the middle-aged, balding man in a bad-fitting suit, the woman with mousy brown hair and pale skin, and the man dressed in drab khakis and a Cardinals baseball cap.

“Quintin Bright,” he said, offering a hand to first the man and then the woman. He nodded at the third person, who looked like a maintenance man. “Y’all here for a membership?” That they all needed the benefits of his gym was obvious.

The balding man stepped forward, looking around nervously.
“Uh, we’re here to inspect your establishment, for mold and lead.”

“I’ve already been inspected,” Q replied easily. “Had to, in order to get the business license.”

“Yes, well, we’ve been sent to do a special inspection. It shouldn’t take long.”

Q’s eyes narrowed. “Sent by who?”

“Higher-ups in the department. Don’t mind us. We’ll just have a look around, take some samples, shouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes, half an hour tops.” The balding man nodded to the maintenance worker, who began walking toward the office area.

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. That’s off-limits to the public, son. Y’all can’t just walk up in here talking about checking me out. How do I even know you’re who you say you are?”

“We’re sorry,” Miss Mousy said, her voice appropriately high-pitched to go with her face’s pinched features. She reached into her briefcase, showed Q her government employee badge, and handed him a notice for the inspection.

Q looked at each of their badges, read the notice, and then called over his assistant. “Stay with them while they look around,” he said with feigned casualness. “I don’t mind them looking. I have nothing to hide.”

Q’s nonchalant attitude lasted exactly forty-eight hours—until he got the notice that the city was closing him down.

57

M
alcolm and Victoria’s home buzzed with activity and tension. After four stressful days in the hospital, Victoria and Victory were home. Mother and child had survived childbirth. Whether they would survive this postdelivery gathering of relatives was another matter.

So far, after the initial strained round of greetings, the camps had kept their distance. Malcolm, Adam, and Ace were holed up in the library, smoking cigars and drinking brandy. Candace and Diane were in the family room, eating cake that neither of them wanted and bonding with Malcolm’s two older children. The twins were with Victoria, Valarie, and the baby, in the formal living room. If words were bullets, this showdown would have been a draw.

“I can’t believe she’s acting so snooty,” Diane muttered after Justin and his sister had left the table. “Acting like her shit don’t stink.”

“And what was with that ‘baby-making machine’ comment?” Candace asked. “To hear her tell it, Victoria’s pregnancy was all Malcolm’s fault. Hell, it takes two to make a baby, which, since she’s had one, she should know.”

“I don’t know, sis. Since she thinks she walks on water, she
might also believe that Vickie came here by way of immaculate conception.”

“Maybe I’m being too hard on her. She’s still upset at Malcolm for missing the childbirth, and I can understand that.” Candace pushed the saucer of half-eaten cake away from her and reached for the glass of sparkling water. “At least the baby’s healthy.”

“And already looks like Malcolm spit her out. Did he ever tell you where he was that night, and why we couldn’t get a hold of him?”

“No, but I have an idea.” Candace sighed, thinking about the son she had thought the least likely to stray yet was MIA when his daughter was being born. She knew she was the last person to talk to someone else about cheating, but Malcolm was her son, his marriage was in trouble, and Candace would bet her house that Joyce was ready and waiting in the wings. Sooner or later, they’d have to have a conversation.