Friends and Lovers (22 page)

Then I remembered Tyrel was a bonafide twin. I’d met his sister’s twin sons, and those loud-ass bad-ass rug rats could put Bebe’s kids to shame. Tyrel’s grandfather was a twin. And there were probably a thousand sets of twins weighing down his family tree before them. Damn. The brothers in his bloodline must’ve had some sort of super ninja Shaka Zulu sperm that sliced a sister’s egg down the middle then impregnated both halves.

I tried to see me with two little bowlegged, dimple-faced children. After a couple of groans, I sat down and did a little bit of a prayer. Then I thought about how people always waited until it was too late to pray. What
was done was done. As far as I knew, the angels had turned their back on me a long time ago. Had done to me what they had done to my momma.

So many thoughts.

I wondered if I could live up to the lifelong expectations of Tyrel, plus a baby. When a sister gets pregnant, she has to think about what she would do
if
the baby’s daddy didn’t stay around until its high school graduation.

That’s the quicksand my thoughts were sinking in when Lisa came into the clinic. I heard that bitch cackling before the glass door swung open. That bitch walked in like a bad memory, both of her crumb-snatchers on her heels. She stood in front of me, smiling and toying with her bracelet. Her makeup was done to the tee. I felt fat and ugly as hell. I needed to rub ice over my puffy face and eyes to make me look close to normal.

I heard Lisa say, “Shelby?”

“What?”

“In for a checkup?”

“Well, this ain’t Jiffy Lube.”

She laughed. “Don’t you look haggard.”

“How’s your daddy doing, Lisa?”

She stopped laughing then. “He’s fine.”

Lisa led her family away, found herself a ringside seat two chairs down. The other side of the room was empty, but she had parked her family next to me. The heifer found herself a seat where she could watch me like a chicken hawk.

Her little girl had braids and sat in Lisa’s lap. The little boy had Coke-bottle glasses, looked like a black Mr. Peabody.

The door to the back opened and a white girl in her early twenties walked out, on the verge of tears. She brushed her blond hair from her face, breezed through the lobby and out into the sunlight without raising her head.

I would’ve sprinted and caught the door and gone into the back of the clinic and waited for Debra to un-impregnate me, but the door to the hallway and examination
rooms closed too fast and automatically locked when the girl rushed out.

Lisa stared at me. I didn’t see her, but I knew she was watching. I turned my body away from her, opened my purse and fiddled around with my checkbook, raised my head long enough to put on lipstick and see
L’Enfant
, then chewed a stick of gum and made my shaky hands count the cotton balls and Q-tips in my purse. Next I’d be counting lint.

Faith came into the lobby. Debra was at her side, holding a clipboard with charts. Lisa spoke. Lisa’s kids spoke too.

Debra’s smile was flat; her eyes were heavy.

I stood up, pushed my lips up like it was the best of my birthdays, and moved my downcast limbs toward Faith and Debra.

Lisa said, “Hey, Shelby?”

I shifted my eyes toward her. She pointed toward the chair. I’d left my purse behind.

As I picked it up, Lisa spoke just loud enough for me to hear her say, “Congratulations. I’m sure your momma would be proud.”

* * *

When the procedure was a done deal and I was recuperating, I felt a sense of loss, like I had when I was at Inglewood Cemetery, dressed in a black dress, holding a blossoming rose in my left hand, holding Debra’s hand with my right, watching them toss dirt on my mother’s peach-colored coffin.

Faith came in and held my hand for a while. She finally said, “Women are strong. Black women are the strongest. We always make it through.”

I said, “Faith?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Other than asking if I was paying by Visa, Master Card, or American Express, that was the first human thing she’d said to me in my life. I was ready to fly off in a rage and scream f-you, but I sealed my eyes and whispered, “Close the door on your way out.”

A baritone voice rang out: “Tyrel Williams?”

Joshua Cooper was in my office doorway. Dark suit. Bright tie. Huge smile like he’d won the lottery. Paper-thin moustache on dark skin. Chubby and dapper. I gave him that same exaggerated business smile and reminded myself to lock and barricade my office door from this day forward. It was 3:17
P.M.

I said, “Afternoon, Mr. Cooper.”

He extended his hand with the golden bracelet on his arm. “Mister Williams, your presentation was brilliant.”

“Thanks.”

He looked curiously at the eight-by-ten of me and Shelby resting on my desk. I hadn’t heard from her for twenty-four hours. Her image was next to Leonard and Debra’s wedding portrait. I had a photo of Twin, her husband, and the Dynamic Duo. Everybody in every photo looked like they owned tranquillity.

I asked Joshua, “How long have you been married?”

He said, “Since I was seventeen. Married right out of high school. Had a diploma in one hand, marriage license in the other. I’ve been married most of my life. Over forty years.”

“Same woman?”

“Same woman. We have nine children. Fourteen grandchildren. None of them have ever been to jail. None are on drugs.”

“You’re blessed.”

“Truly.”

Joshua checked his Rolex. I checked him out and wondered how many designers we were keeping in business. Saw how neither of us settled for second best. I never bought lower-end in clothes or cars, but I always ended up in swap-meet relationships.

He gazed deeper into the City of Impatient Angels.

He said, “The view from the office windows up in San Francisco puts this to shame. Imagine the Golden Gate being so close you could reach out and touch it. There are no fish better than those at Fisherman’s Wharf. Chinatown. Theater. The Opera.”

I wished he would
poof
and go away.

He smiled. “How does it sound?”

“Take away the Golden Gate and it sounds like L.A.”

He laughed. Joshua unfolded the
Times
on my desk and flipped to an article about the school systems getting federal funding for Ebonics.

He said, “When did broken English and pure laziness become a language? Is this what all the marching for equality and getting beaten and chewed by dogs and sprayed with hoses has come to?”

I didn’t want to debate, didn’t want to be rude, didn’t want company. I’d give him fifteen minutes tops, then one of us would have to leave.

A softer voice sang, “Tyrel?”

Lisa Nichols was in my door. In her purple suit and golden blouse. She looked like success waiting for an invitation. Her hair was short. It’s strange seeing a woman after you’ve fallen out of love with her. It made me wonder what made her so damn special in the first place.

I said, “What can I do for you, Miss Nichols?”

Lisa was upbeat when she said, “I was seeing a client on your floor, and I didn’t want to be rude and pass by without speaking.”

I’d seen her in the hallway from time to time. We’d made eye contact, shared a cordial nod, but never said a word. Her company had moved from the MCI building to the third floor.

Joshua smiled like he was thirty years younger.

I was about to introduce them, but they introduced themselves. Joshua shook her hand long enough to make Lisa look irritated; it showed in the corner of her eye and on her mouth. But when he told her who he was,
spoke of his high position in Dan L. Steel, her eyes opened up and a real smile blossomed.

I wanted to puke.

Lisa whipped out her dawn-tinted business card so fast her wrist popped. She told him they must do lunch and talk.

His card cracked like Zorro’s whip when he snapped it out.

The conversation changed. We talked about tax shelters, had a short conversation about investment properties.

He said, “So, what’s your financial plan, Tyrel?”

I said, “To live off my interest. I want to make sure me, whoever I marry, and my kids have something. More eighteen-year-olds have one hundred dollars in the bank than sixty-five-year-olds.”

Lisa’s grin was phonier than a smile at the wax museum, but Joshua was eating it up. That was my first reaction to her too.

I introduced reality and said, “How’re the husband and kids?”

Lisa bumbled, said, “What was that?”

I repeated myself, crisp and clear.

At first she looked like she didn’t have a clue, then Lisa smiled like she remembered she had a mate and offsprings out there somewhere. She said, “The family’s fine. Their father took them out to San Bernardino to visit his parents. Their grandparents.”

“Mr. Cooper was just talking about his nine children and his grandchildren. He’s been happily married for forty years.”

He chuckled.

Lisa said, “Really?”

Joshua peeped at his watch one more time, then excused himself. He had to make it to LAX and shuttle back to the Bay. Joshua closed my door on his way out. Did that on his own.

Lisa stopped smiling and massaged her hand.

Me and Lisa were alone. We made generous eye contact.

She said, “You look tense.”

“Tired. Didn’t sleep much last night, that’s all.”

“Too tired for a game?”

I checked my watch before I said, “Sure.”

She opened the top drawer on my desk and took out my darts. Lisa handed me the black ones and kept the red ones.

She said, “Want to flip a coin to see who goes first?” “Ladies first.”

She stood behind the trash can, aimed. Her first toss was a bull’s-eye; it thumped right in the middle of Bill Gates’ mouth.

I said, “I see you’ve been practicing.”

“A few things. Other things I’m getting out of practice on.”

I let her comment go without response. My first toss barely made it on the board.

She said, “Seems like you could use some practice.”

That remark went unanswered too.

She made a curious sound and said, “You know me and Shelby have the same OB-GYN.”

“I heard.” I threw a dart, hit Bill Gates in the right ear.

“I’ve been going to Faith ever since I was in high school.”

“Uh-huh.”

She threw a dart. “I was there yesterday afternoon. Around the same time Shelby was going in for her appointment.”

Her chase-me tone had my attention.

A beat later, I asked, “What time yesterday afternoon?”

“Around noon. Shelby was back there for quite some time.”

I said, “What did she say to you?”

“We hardly spoke. I guess you don’t know, huh? We went to Crozier Middle and Inglewood High together.” She cleared some jealousy from her throat, then added, “Is Shelby doing okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“She was definitely upset yesterday. Whatever she was down there for, she was very unhappy.”

I listened with burning ears. An ache was rising, made me want to loosen my tie, felt an urgency to race to the phone brewing in my soul, but I kept it all in check. I hadn’t done anything wrong, so I’d be damned if I’d be the first to call.

Lisa continued instigating, “And right now you don’t look satisfied.”

“Is this why you’ve found your way to my office?”

She laughed. Then she shrugged and threw her last dart. Lisa picked up her attaché, checked her watch.

I said, “Leaving?”

“Meeting a new client over in Carlton Square. I’m doing a home presentation.” She nodded. “But I could cancel.”

I shook my head. “Remember, if you don’t take care of the customer, somebody else will.”

She sang, “My husband and the kids will be in San Bernardino for the next few days. Maybe we could meet somewhere real quiet like we used to. My treat for old times’ sake.”

“No, thank you.”

Lisa laughed away the rejection and did one of those subtle, flirty moves with her hand. Ran the tips of her fingers through her hair, then slid hands over her backside.

She said, “Offer still stands. Redeemable on your demand. Some nights a man gets lonely for a change of venue. Sometimes a man needs a warm place to go where his troubles can’t follow.”

Lisa hopped on the elevator. It dinged, then the one-trick pony was gone. Yep, I’d have to remember to lock my office door.

I picked up the phone and tried to find out where Shelby was. Leonard would tell me, if he knew. We’d been friends forever, would be friends as old men, sitting in weather-worn rocking chairs, talking about days gone by, then we’d be buddies long after our spirits fled our flesh and our bones turned to dust.

With us, the truth was always a breath away.

He wasn’t home. It didn’t take much thinking for me to realize that I only had one other alternative. I had to go to the source. I called Faith’s clinic. Asked for Debra.

After all the laughter, this was the first time Debra wasn’t happy to talk to me. But I barreled through her distant attitude, made a beeline to the point, asked if Shelby was down there yesterday afternoon. And if she was, for what.

Silence.

Debra’s words were low-spirited when she finally said, “You’re my husband’s friend. Shelby’s my friend. I’m your friend. If I had some concern about my husband’s whereabouts, or any other matter, I’d speak with him directly. I wouldn’t come to you. I wouldn’t run to Shelby. I’d ask my husband.”

All of my interests felt second-class, if that high.

We said awkward, abrupt good-byes.

A rift widened between me and Debra. I stared out my office window, toward her job behind the Wyndam hotel, and reminded myself, that in reality, she was my buddy’s wife. Not my friend.

Tyrel had been blowing up my pager. Debra had been beeping me too, but I wasn’t concerned about her. She could go hop her happy-go-lucky ass in the shower with Leonard for all I cared.

I finally called Tyrel, reluctantly. Soon as the brother said hello, well, I was gonna tell him I wanted to stop by so I could “pack my shit and go.” But when I called his job and heard his voice this morning, it did something to me. Bad feelings were shoved aside. I went into a soft song and dance, told him how much I missed him, told him I loved him.