Dangerously In Love (25 page)

The man approached while Reed was in his driveway washing his car.

“Hey man, how ya doin’?” The pleasant-looking man, who mopped his perspiring bald head with a white towel that had been draped around his neck as if part of his summer wardrobe, looked to be around Reed’s age. There was friendly laughter in his voice.

Taken off-guard, Reed spun around. He didn’t recognize the man, who beamed as if he expected Reed to drop the hose he held and embrace him.

“Aw, don’t tell me you forgot me, man.” He had a twinkle of knowing in his eyes.

Squinting, Reed tried to place him.

“I’m Bo!” The man extended his hand.

“Bo?” Reed questioned as he gave the stranger a limp handshake.

“I’m Bo Miller…Chris Miller’s cousin. You’re Reed Reynolds, right?”

“Yeah, I’m Reed Reynolds, but I don’t remember meeting any of Chris’s—”

“Chris wanted me to bring you these papers,” Bo interrupted, and snapped open his briefcase. “He wants you to look this paperwork over. You know, concerning the real estate deal he’s working on in Chester.”

“Yeah, right, right,” Reed said dully. His interest in the deal had diminished to nonexistent.

“You mind?” Bo asked, setting his metal briefcase on the back of Reed’s car.

Reed minded a great deal, but didn’t say a word. He didn’t want to slight Chris’s cousin because Chris was wealthy and had connections. There was the possibility that Reed might need a favor one day. Still he chastised himself for not letting Chris know he wasn’t going to participate in the real estate venture.

Giving Chris money that he had charmed out of Dayna’s pop was one thing, but things had changed and there wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to give the dude
his
money. What kind of fool would invest his own money in something that wouldn’t start turning a profit for years to come?

He glanced at Chris’s cousin and was seriously annoyed. The man was flipping through papers as if he was searching for something really important like the deed to a mansion in Palm Springs or Beverly Hills. Reed fought the urge to spray the interloper with the hose he held in his hand. Why didn’t this asshole hurry up and be on his way?

“Here you go, Reed.” Bo said, smiling even more broadly. He stuck out his hand as if to solidify an important deal.

Reed shook his head. If the fool only knew how fast those papers were going to be thrown in the trash, he could conserve some energy and forgo the handshake.

Reed accepted the thick envelope but didn’t give it even a cursory glance. Just to get rid of him, Reed forced a smile and shook the man’s hand. “Good looking out, brother. Thanks for taking the time to bring these papers by.”

“Damn, I almost forgot,” said Bo, patting his pants pocket. Reed couldn’t contain a huge sigh.

“Smile, man,” Bo said suddenly, snapping a picture with a camera that seemed to have materialized out of thin air. He quickly secured the camera in the briefcase, gave it a snap, and turned the lock. “You’ve been served; that’s a divorce petition. Your wife wanted me to tell you she’d see you in court.” Bo turned away, doubling over in laughter. Damn, he loved the work he did! Being the sort of man he was, fun loving and a real practical joker, Bo got a big kick out of witnessing the shocked and stricken expressions of those whom he duped into thinking he came as a friend.

Too bad Reed didn’t have a camera handy when he turned up the water pressure and sprayed Bo with the hose. Getting a picture of Bo haul-assing it to his car would have given Reed a small measure of satisfaction. However, a photograph of Dayna with a bullet hole in her head would make him giddy with excitement. In fact, he’d be overjoyed.

Leaving his car half-clean, he jabbed the numbers to his wife’s cell phone. When she answered, he launched into a thundering, incoherent tirade, which ended with “This is my house, too; you can’t put me the fuck out!”

“Did you look over the papers?” she asked with a calm voice usually reserved for use when one finds oneself in the unfortunate position of having to talk some sense into a raving lunatic.

“I don’t have to read them; I know what you’re trying to do. You’re a violent person. The court ordered you to vacate the house and you can’t deal with it. Being homeless is humiliating and you want to take your revenge out on me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Sure it is. But let me tell you something, Dayna,” Reed said ominously. “I’m not going anywhere. The last time I looked, my name was on the deed, too. I don’t want to hear a long conversation about how you pay the lion’s share of everything around here. Because all that’s changed now. Baby, I don’t need you; I can hold my own.” He laughed maliciously.

“Good for you, Reed. I’m glad to hear that because I won’t be making any more mortgage payments.”

“Yeah, I knew that was coming and I’m one step ahead of you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“That’s good news.”

“For whom?”

“For you.”

Suspicious that Dayna had a trick up her sleeve, Reed became quiet.

“If you look over the papers, you’ll see that I don’t want anything. I just want to move on,” she explained. “Being that property is involved, my attorney advised me of several options. We can simply sell the house and split the proceeds or we can determine the equity value, subtract any outstanding mortgage from the market value of the home, and split the remaining value.”

“Your lawyer’s talking shit. We have a thirty-year mortgage. What kind of equity do you think we have?”

“Not much, that’s why I suggested a no-fault divorce. We won’t have to worry about a property settlement. Sign the papers and we’ll be free of each other in three months.”

“I’m not signing shit. You fucked up this marriage.”

“Fine. Whatever!” Dayna said, exasperated. “If you don’t sign the papers, this divorce could drag on for two years or more.”

“Let it drag. And now that I know where you stand, don’t expect me to act like a married man when that court order’s lifted and they let you come back home. You want a divorce? You want to be single again? Yeah, all right, I’m going to show you how a single man behaves.”

“You’ve shown me how a single man acts for three years. And I’m not coming back. I don’t plan to ever come anywhere near you or that house again.” Dayna hung up.

Absence had definitely not made his heart grow fonder. Reed hated Dayna as much as always, and with all this divorce talk, it was possible he hated her even more. He ripped open the envelope, but nothing made sense; it was all legal gibberish. Oh well, she said she wasn’t coming back, that he could have the house. So be it.

He looked around the spacious home, delighted that it was now his and his alone. He thrilled at the thought of never having to see Dayna again or hear her complaining, whining, nagging voice.

Aside from that slip-up with that phony submissive, Reed was on a winning streak. Life was throwing him fastballs and he was hitting nothing but home runs.

There was one thing, however, that disturbed him…the mortgage payment. Paying that crazy-high monthly note would put a big dent in his new windfall. He hadn’t intended to use that money for bills; it was his personal stash to be used strictly for self-indulgent pleasure.

Muttering obscenities, directed at Dayna, Reed stamped to the kitchen. With his arm held high in the air, he leaned back, aimed, and then dunk shot the divorce papers straight into the waste can.

A pile of unpaid bills lay on the countertop. Bills that he assumed would soon be paid by his wife. Some, he noticed, were enclosed in attention-demanding pink envelopes. Reed supposed it couldn’t hurt to take a look at what he was up against, so reluctantly he picked the bills up. There was a bill for everything: mortgage, gas, electric, cable, water, alarm system, home phone, cell phone, credit cards, car insurance, and a bill for his student loan. It was mind-boggling; he’d never paid for anything except his car insurance and monthly car note. Anxiously, he bit his lip, wondering what he was going to do, now that it appeared Dayna would no longer be paying the household bills.

Then he had a thought. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking but if memory served him correctly, didn’t Buttercup say her grandmother had money stashed away in
two
coffee cans?

It was early in the day, Buttercup was probably still sleeping and old Dottie…well, he hoped for her sake she was having a lucid day. If she didn’t point him in the direction of that other coffee can, he was going to snap her scrawny neck!

Reed’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. The house was boarded up and appeared abandoned. “What the hell?” he mumbled as he got out of his car. Hurriedly, he approached the house, scratching his head.

Unlike the last time he was there, when he was quiet and his movements around the property had been stealthy, he banged loudly on the boarded door, demanding that someone let him in. They had to be in there, where else would they go? The hell with Buttercup; hopefully, Dottie was inside refusing to come out.

“Who ya lookin’ for?” A woman called from an open window next door.

“I’m looking for Darlene,” he said, using a professional tone.

“Gimme a minute; I’ll be right down.” In a matter of seconds, the woman came barreling down the stairs and was outside on her stoop. “You’re Darlene’s friend, ain’t you? I know I saw that car before.” There was suspicion in her voice, or at least it sounded that way to Reed.

“I wouldn’t refer to myself as a friend. Darlene has an addiction and I’m one of her counselors.” The lie rolled off his tongue with such ease, he amazed himself.

“Her drug counselor, huh. Well, you shoulda kept up with her more better. That girl done got locked up for prostitutin’. You know she was only doing all that nasty stuff so she could go out and buy herself some drugs.”

Reed lowered his head and shook it regretfully. He raised his head suddenly and asked in a voice that sounded eager to hear good news, “What happened to her great-grandmother?”

The neighbor closed her eyes and shook her head in sorrow.

Reed furrowed his brow, his voice oozed with concern. “Is she dead?”

The woman shook her head. “No, she ain’t dead, but poor Dottie was in there all by herself for two or three days or more. Ain’t nobody knew nothing about it, though. If we did, we sure would have helped her. I guess she just went crazy from hunger because she came outside and started digging around in all the trash cans. Right here on Delancy Street! Eating garbage out of the cans!” The woman scrunched up her lips and shook her head vigorously, as if telling the tale of old Dottie’s downfall was taking a terrible toll.

To keep the woman talking, Reed shook his head and uttered, “Umph, umph, umph. Is Dottie in the hospital? Are they going to let her come back home?”

“Oh, she’s too far gone for that; they done put her in that Philadelphia Nursing Home. You know that place that was on CNN news last year?”

Reed didn’t know what she was talking about and he damn sure didn’t care.

“Yeah, some nurse went wild up in there and cut up about four or five feeding tubes,” the neighbor continued.

“Umph,” Reed grunted. “So what’s going to happen to Miss Dottie’s house? Where’s Darlene going to live when she eventually comes home?” Reed inquired, worried sick over the possibility that a money-filled coffee can might be somewhere inside the abandoned house.

“Ain’t nobody paid no taxes on that house for years.” The neighbor reared back and stretched her neck and looked over in the direction of Dottie’s house. “There was a sign tacked up on one of them boards; I guess one of those bad kids tore it down. I sure hope the city does something about that place before the drug addicts and the rats take it over.”

Nausea gripped the pit of Reed’s stomach at the thought of a wretched crackhead, exercising his squat-ter’s rights and lucking up and finding the money.

“Well, it was nice talking to you,” Reed said, giving up but still treating the neighbor with respect. There was a strong possibility that on a desperate night, he might come back with a crowbar and a flashlight. And if the neighbor caught him sneaking around, he wanted to be sure she thought of him as a friend.

C
hanelle felt conspicuous wearing the waitress uniform. The little cap she was forced to wear was enough to make her puke, but what could she do? The uniform came with the gig. Finally earning an honest dollar, she was determined to make the best of it.

She’d honed her people skills when she’d worked as a stripper, so at least her tips at the restaurant were pretty good.

The only thing she hated about working in a public restaurant was that she never knew who would walk through the door. She’d die from embarrassment if one of her former co-workers from Lizzard’s caught her wearing the corny waitress uniform while she hustled tables for tips.

“May I help you?” she asked the gentleman who sat in an empty booth in her section. He was nice looking, and older than she was. She guessed him to be about twenty-five or so. Then it hit her. He’d sat in the same booth a few days ago and had left her a nice tip. “Hi,” she said in recognition. “How are you?”

“I’m good.” He nodded, pleased that she remembered him. “And how are you?”

“Pretty good,” Chanelle said, smiling as she rattled off the daily special and waited for him to make up his mind. Not only was he handsome, he also dressed nice. She checked out his watch. It looked expensive.

“I’ll have the catch of the day.”

“Something to drink?

Contemplating, the man gazed upward, rubbing his chin. “How about a glass of lemonade.”

“Okay, be right back.” She gave him a sincere smile. As she traipsed back to the kitchen with his order, she hummed her favorite song, which was a sure sign that her depression was finally lifting.

“What’s your name, pretty lady?” the man asked when she returned with the beverage and garden salad appetizer.

“Chanelle.”

“My name’s Greg.” He studied her with a curious arched brow. “Is this a part-time job? Are you in college?”

She laughed. “No, I’m not in school. Hopefully, I’ll go back one day. Right now, I’m just trying to pay the bills.”

“You young people don’t understand the value of higher learning—”

“Oh, check you out,” she interrupted, amused. “You’re not that much older than me.”

“I’m probably old enough to be your father.”

“No way,” she said in a burst of laughter.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Eighteen.”

“I’m thirty-five.”

Chanelle gawked. “Really? Dag, I didn’t think you were that old.” Wanting to know if he were truly old enough to be her father, she tried to work the math in her head but gave up and started scribbling figures on her pad.

“There’s a seventeen-year age difference,” Greg informed her. “I could have had a kid at seventeen.”

“That’s wild.”

“What’s wild?”

“That someone who looks as young as you is actually old enough to be my father.”

Shaking her head in wonder, Chanelle excused herself to go to the kitchen to get Greg’s entrée. She rushed right back, wanting their conversation to continue.. Surprisingly, she enjoyed talking with the mature and intelligent older man and thankfully, she wasn’t real busy. She’d be getting off in another hour, so why not have some fun on the job? She could probably learn a few life lessons from the distinguished gentleman.

She waited on her remaining customers but kept checking on Greg. There was something about him that was kind and patient. He didn’t seem interested in her body, only in her mind.”

When he asked her to tell him about herself, she was careful not to talk about her work in the sex industry. She did, however, tell him about her mother’s passing and that she had no family that she was aware of.

“I’m in awe,” he said.

“Why?” she asked, blushing.

“To have overcome so many obstacles and not succumbed to drugs or a teenage pregnancy…well, I’m amazed, truly amazed.”

Chanelle enjoyed the compliment though she didn’t feel she deserved it.
If you only knew
, she wanted to say.

Standing on her feet for eight hours took an enormous toll, so when Greg offered to give her a ride home, she gladly accepted. Cab rides were no longer an affordable mode of transportation. Chanelle got around the city traveling on public transportation, which sucked big time.

“Would you like to stop and have a drink or a cup of coffee?”

Chanelle was tired to the bone, but Greg was so nice, she decided one drink wouldn’t hurt. It might do her some good to relax and unwind.

They went to a bar in a hotel near the airport. He ordered a bottle of Perrier water with a twist of lemon; Chanelle, relieved that she didn’t get carded, ordered a Long Island Iced Tea.

“Excuse me, I have to go tinkle,” she said with a girlish giggle that she recognized as sounding a bit too loud and giddy. She’d forgotten how strong the drink was, and reminded herself to sip slowly and monitor her tone.

“Are you feeling okay?” Greg asked when she returned from the restroom.

“I’m a little tipsy, but in a good way. Don’t worry, I’m not drunk.”

“I have to confess, I feel guilty for hogging your time. You’ve had a long day and I know you must be tired.”

“A little,” she admitted.

He smiled kindly. “Okay, Princess, drink up and I’ll take you home.”

Princess!
She liked being called Princess, she thought, as a hazy feeling came over her.
I had too much to drink
. She hiccupped, giggled, and covered her mouth.
I sure hope I don’t puke in front of this nice man
.

Next she had a vague impression of being outside; she felt herself being half-dragged, half-carried to the car.
He’s so sweet!
she thought as she felt the seatbelt being strapped across her chest. The metallic sound of the seatbelt being snapped into place was the last thing Chanelle heard before she drifted into a blissful sleep.