Crimson Footprints (23 page)

“
Because I got a hundred
dollars for my birthday and—and I thought that I could give it to
you. If you—you know.”

Lizzie stopped. “A hundred
dollars? Cash?” She eyed Harold with interest

He nodded.

“
Is it with you
now?”

Again, he nodded.

She thought of what she
could do with a hundred dollars. She could get a cell phone or an
iPod, maybe even some makeup—the expensive kind that they let you
try on at the cosmetics counter in the mall.

“
You want to do it now?”
Lizzie asked.

“
No.” Harold recoiled.
“I—I’ve got class and—and anyway you can suspended for
that.”

“
So your house, then? After
school?” She didn’t want to miss out on that hundred
bucks.

Harold shook his head. “My
parents won’t just let me bring a girl over and...”

Lizzie sighed. “Fine.
Whatever. Just me at my locker after school. I know a
place.”

When Lizzie met Harold at
just after three, the sun hung dull in the sky, rays blunted by an
overcast sky. They walked for fifteen minutes—across a six-lane
intersection, through an open field littered with trash, and pass
an old railroad track. Near a series of blackened warehouses was an
old hatchback, its make, model and color singed from recognition.
Rumors abounded as to why it’d been burned.

“
In here,” Lizzie said,
prying open the door. “This is o.k. if we hurry up.”

Harold stared as she tossed
an old tire iron from the back and pushed aside yellowed newspapers
bums covered themselves with when they slept.

Lizzie turned to him, took
in his sickly expression. “What? Are you scared?”

“
A little,” Harold
admitted.

Her eyes became slits. “Well
either way you pay me, since you’re the one who’s
reneging.”

She folded her arms and
waited, thoughts of the Mac counter at Aventura Mall coming easier
with the passage of time.

“
No, no. I’ll do it.”
Harold nodded. “Just, get in.”

When Lizzie climbed in,
Harold slid in next to her. The interior was pungent. It was hot
and smelled of bum funk and Harold piss. Still, she wanted that
makeup. She peeled off her shirt and scooted out of jeans. And when
she sat before Harold in not a whisper of clothes, he stared back
her in lip trembling astonishment.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE

Deena shoved open heavy
double doors and spilled into the sanctuary just as Tak’s silver
Ferrari peeled out of the church parking lot. She tugged on the hem
of her ivory jacket, tucked her black leather bible under her arm
and squeezed onto the front pew between her grandmother and
sister.

“
You late,” Grandma Emma
said, scowling as Deena tuck wayward brown tendrils into her bun.
After a night of Tak’s fingers in her hair the coils were willful,
unruly.

Deena wondered if she looked
different. She certainly felt different. So much of her life had
changed in the last two weeks. A single reckless presentation and a
night in New York had changed everything for her.

“
You needs to be on time.
Ain’t nowhere you needs to be more important than the Lord’s
house.”

Deena met her grandmother’s
stare, aware of her ever present blush. She just couldn’t suppress
it.

“
Yes ma’am,” she muttered
with what she hoped was deference.

Still, her thoughts were
with the presentation. Had that been a twinkle of pride in Daichi’s
eyes, or a sliver of wishful thinking? And he’d actually said ‘well
done’? Certainly, not!

Grandma Emma continued to
glare, and ordinarily, it would’ve been enough to upset her. But
these days, little could deflate Deena Hammond. With her name
attached to the most prestigious construction project in Florida,
and with a human aphrodisiac, an insatiable, irresistible,
positively indulgent Takumi Tanaka waiting for her at home, no
amount of staring from Grandma Emma could dampen that. With the
realization that she was smiling at her grandmother’s hardened
expression; Deena turned her attention to the pulpit.

“
It ain’t like you missed
something,” Lizzie mumbled rolling her eyes.

Deena frowned at her
sister’s spaghetti straps. Her blouse sculpted her boobs with the
aid of a diving neckline which allowed them constant movement.
Deena scowled.

“
Pull your shirt up before
you lose those things.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes, but
obliged.

Deena faced forward,
shifting in the tight seat. Her mind wandered already. Preliminary
estimates for the Skylife project. Tak’s hands. Follow-up phone
calls. Tak’s lips. The construction timeline. Tak inside her. Deena
sighed.

She turned to the choir as
they filed onstage. Two dozen men and women in bright white robes
and not a single one with a distinguishable feature. Her vision
blurred and melded together as she scolded herself for sinful
thoughts in the house of the Lord.

They sprung to action, the
pianist belting out a quick flurry of notes, the percussionist
jumping in with a snare and the choir with a hand clapping sway
that was instantly contagious. Next to Deena, Grandma Emma rocked
with the music, her wide-brimmed hat bobbing with the beat. The
sound from the choir chimed full and rich, and instinctively, a
foot-tapping number about leaning on the Lord in times of adversity
came together. It was rousing but humble, exciting the way only
Black gospel can be. Deena clapped in time with them, her
distractions forgotten. But when Cicely Williams’ stepped out for
her solo, Deena knew what would follow.

“
That should be you
singing,” Emma shouted over the congregation’s
enthusiasm.

Thirteen years ago, when
Deena was twelve, she’d brought the church to frenzy with the voice
of a timeworn woman and the aid of the very same song. She’d been a
child though, and not so much moved by the power of Christ, but
rather, the necessity to show an equally young Cicely Williams who
the better singer was. She’d peppered her song with a few
well-placed ‘hallelujahs,’ and after that, there’d been no
disputing it. Even back then, she was competitive as
hell.

Deena wondered what Tak was
doing. She’d left him in her bed with the promise that she’d be
gone for a few hours only. She glanced at her watch, unable to keep
from wishing she hadn’t left him at all.

After tapering off to
silence four or five times, Cicely dove back into song with foot
stomping, hand-clapping fury. When it ended, Deena half expected
the girl to roll on the floor, white robe and all, but of course,
she didn’t. Next to Deena, Grandma Emma brought a lace handkerchief
to her face and dabbed sweat. Holy Ghost Fever was what Anthony
used to call it, an ailment he was certain was three parts bullshit
and one part hoopla.

Deacon Moore wanted them to
pray, so Deena closed her eyes. He said something about tenderness
and temptation and her thoughts turned to Tak. She bit her lip with
the memory of his words after the first time they made love—husky,
breathless, provocative whispers of how he dreamed of her, craved
her and loved her. She remembered the way he teased her to
fruition, touching her, filling her, his hardness forcing its way
into an opening that seemed not to exist. She’d clung to him as he
bore into her, shooting pain and pleasure with his
penetration.

Eyes shut, Deena’s breath
ran shallow with the memory, her very core pulsing and heating in
the sanctuary.

“
Girl, what in the world
are you doing?”

Deena’s eyes flew open at
the sound of Lizzie’s voice.

“
What?”

Deena blinked.

“
What’s wrong with you?
What are you doing?”

She looked around. Prayer
was over, and if the sight of Deacon Moore resting in his seat was
any indication, it had been for some time. Deena looked down at her
hands, clutching the pew in a white-knuckled grip and
blushed.

“
I—I don’t know. I had
something on my mind.”

“
Well, whatever it was it
looked pretty damned good.”

Deena looked away. “Shut up.
And stop swearing.”

Reverend Lincoln was a short
and slight figure with a black beak of a nose and a voice that
bellowed in the rafters. He’d been a friend of Grandpa Eddie’s and
shared a platoon with him in Vietnam.

When the reverend found the
pulpit, he cleared his throat, adjusted his reading glasses and
instructed the congregation to turn to First Corinthians, Chapter
6, Verses 9-11. With a hand to her mouth, Deena stifled a giggle at
the horrible irony of him choosing one of Grandpa Eddie’s favorite
passages.

“
Do ye not know that the
unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God?” Reverend Lincoln
gave them a hard look. “Do not be deceived. Neither fornicators,
nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor homosexuals, nor sodomites, nor
thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor
extortioners will inherit the kingdom of God.”

He looked up, his gaze
falling on the front pew, the Hammond pew.

“
And such were some of
you.”

At the end of the service,
the congregation spilled out onto the sidewalk. With their exit
Grandma Emma turned a glare on Deena.

“
Your mind was not on the
Lord’s word today.”

Deena shrunk back. “I—I have
a lot going on right now. With work.”

“
Mhm. Jus’ so longs as you
keeping the Lord’s work on your mind, too, namely this here
fellowship hall. You wasn’t at the last two meetings we had to
discuss it. Reckon cause you was in New York.”

Deena hesitated. “About
that, Grandma. You guys are—are going to have to find someone
else.”

“
What you mean ‘someone
else?’ You the only one in the church that knows—”

“
I understand that. But I
just started this new project at work and I have to devote all my
effort to it. I can’t be distracted with this.”

She was drawing the
reverend’s attention and a few others, including Cicely Williams
and her mother Mabel. Already, her family, including Aunt Caroline
and Aunt Rhonda, were by her side.

“
Chile, what you mean
‘distraction?’ I know—”

Deena held up a hand to stop
her. “I’d be more than happy to give the church a referral, but I
can’t do this. I won’t do this.”

Her grandmother stared and
her Aunt Caroline asked her who the hell she thought she was.
Meanwhile, Deena dug out her phone and sent Tak a
message.

Don’t want 2 wait 2 see
U.

After service, she was
supposed to help with dinner at Grandma Emma’s house.

But his response came
quick.

Be there in
half.

She looked up again, a smile
broadening her face. “Oh, and uh, I made other plans for
dinner.”

Lizzie grinned. “Me, too.
I’ve got other plans too.”

Deena shot her a look of
warning before waving good-bye to the family, though she doubted
they noticed. She then started off for the two-block hike in pumps
to the Starbucks where Tak would meet her.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO

She could hear them at the
water cooler, talking as if she wasn’t there, Whispering and
giggling as if she didn’t matter. There were two of them this time,
but there’d been others at other times. The ones who didn’t
participate weren’t exactly casual spectators either, as they sat
around their tables in the break room, laughing and beaming with
pleasure.

Jennifer Swallows stood,
arms folded over her massive bosom. She had a round and scowling
face, pitted and lean-lipped; her nose a quick beak. She wore drab
grays and dull darks over an otherwise dumpy frame. If her bullet
point breasts were any indication, Deena guessed the bra she wore
was as old as her career.

“
I’m telling you, it’s some
huge housing development venture. It’s going to be a private
subdivision in Brickell. And that’s after she disappeared for a
month.” Jennifer shot Deena a contemptuous look and Deena froze,
tuna rye halfway to her lips.

“
It’s on Fisher Island,
Jen. Only one of the wealthiest zip codes in the nation.” Walter
Smith said. A bright-eyed and petite architect, he prided himself
on an unscrupulous sense of fashion.

“
It’s not Fisher Island
it’s Brickell. And at twenty-four years old,” another look from
Jennifer, more sinister than the last.

Walter fished in the pocket
of his charcoal slacks and came away with loose change. Jennifer
followed him to the vending machine as he made his
selection.

“
Makes you wonder, doesn’t
it?” he said. “The sort of talents a girl has to have to land a gig
like that. Architecture aside, of course.”

“
Of course.”