Is the Bitch Dead, Or What? (19 page)

“Ruff, this is Ritz. I'm home. I need to talk to you ASAP. Call me back!”

She hung up. Ritz's brain was clicking. She had to come up with a plan. Monday was too late. The damage would be thoroughly done. But if she couldn't do anything until Monday, then when Monday did come, Ritz had to come back with a bang. They had to forget this Michelle bitch and remember what they loved so much about Ritz.

She had to call Chas again and plan out one of the best shows of her life.

Tracee opened the door to her loft and breathed a sigh of relief. Even though she hadn't called the loft her home for more than a year, she had quickly gotten reacquainted with it. She knew this is what a home was supposed to feel like. Her simple wood floors and soft light never seemed more warm and inviting. She realized just how sick she was of animal prints and the color black, all of which seemed to match Ritz's dark soul.

She walked over to the window in her living room that went from the floor to the ceiling and watched the parade of yellow cabs scramble through the streets below, and felt at peace with herself and her home. She realized for the first time that she loved her loft. The unrest she associated with it and New York City had really existed only within her, not around her.

Despite the nasty departure from Ritz's and the heated words exchanged, Tracee's nerves were not shaken. She decided she was going back to Florida, but not to escape. She was going back because she missed the weather. She was going back to Florida, but she knew now that New York was also home. First thing in the morning, Tracee would call her realtor, Spencer Means, and take her loft off the market.

Hesitantly, Tracee picked up her phone. It was late, but she had to make the call. She tapped the contacts bar on the bottom of the screen. She thought how ironic it was that Randolph's name was perched right above Ritz's on her contacts list.

Randolph picked up on the second ring.

“Hello? Tracee?” He recognized her number from the caller ID.

“Hey,” she said.

“I didn't expect to hear from you tonight, at least not while you were in the same house as Ritz,” he said, propping himself up in his bed on one elbow. Hearing Tracee made all his senses come alive; he was wide awake.

“I hope I didn't wake you, but I just wanted to say goodbye, because I am heading back to Florida.”

“Wha-what?!”

“But… the good news is I'm not leaving for good. I'm keeping my loft. So I'll have good reason to come back as often as I want.”

“Wait! Hold up! What do you mean you're leaving?” Randolph sat up immediately. He swung his legs out from under
his covers and sat on the edge of his bed. He wasn't prepared for this, and he couldn't hide the disappointment in his voice.

“What are you doing right now?” Tracee asked.

“Nothing.”

“Good. Please come over to my place. I want you to see it. And I want to say good-bye to you in person. I am trying to get a flight out tomorrow afternoon.”

“Of course, Tracee! Give me your address and I'll be right over,” he said.

Randolph hung up the phone, put on a pair of navy-blue sweatpants, a T-shirt, and a pair of Timberlands. He grabbed his cell phone, car keys, and wallet and headed for the door. Maybe he could convince her to stay just a couple more days. He didn't want her to leave.

Tracee's loft was sparsely furnished, so it took no time to make it immaculate and inviting for Randolph. She opened the fridge to see only two bottled waters and some baking soda. But if he was hungry she could order something, or they could walk to one of the numerous stores around the corner.

She didn't know whether she should change the sheets. She smiled to herself. What was she thinking? She allowed herself to explore that for a moment.

The phone rang. Even though she was expecting his call, the phone startled Tracee out of her thoughts.

“Hey, Tracee. I'm downstairs. What apartment?”

“A-17.” Tracee quickly glanced around the apartment, making sure everything looked just right. A person's home revealed so much. She unlocked the door and left it ajar and stood by the window, wanting to take in all of Randolph's body language as he entered her space.

He opened the door fast, as if he had been there before. He didn't look around, as she assumed he would. His eyes went directly to her. He walked over to her at the window and held up both hands as if to say,
What's up
?!

He reached out and grabbed her hands.

“Tracee, why are you leaving? Why so fast? What happened? Was it something I said?” It was Randolph's feeble attempt at humor, which wasn't his forte.

“Ritz and I had this big fight, and she told me to get the hell out of her house,” Tracee said. “Actually, she didn't use the word ‘hell.'”

“Wait. Ritz threw you out?”

“Yeah. She told me to get out. She was angry about a lot of stuff that's not right in her life. I guess it was just easy to dump all of her crap on me. She's great at doing that to people who happen to care about her.

“What I do know is that I will be there for her if she ever needs me. But I will not be one of her flunkies who tolerate her abuse. But I didn't call you here to talk about that, Rand. I called you to say how wonderful you are and to say that I hope this is not a permanent good-bye.”

Randolph led Tracee to her simple chocolate, leather
sectional that she had found at Huisraad, a store in the Mall at Shorts Hill. Where most leather sectionals are masculine, Tracee managed to find one that was feminine, with curved armrests and extra-soft leather. Randolph interlocked his fingers behind his head and looked around in amazement. As an electrician, he had been in many homes— some of the most magnificent, and some of the crappiest. Tracee's was one of the most exquisite he had seen. It wasn't just the architecture, which was unique in a loft space. Most lofts have a steely, industrial feel, but this one actually felt like a warm, cozy home. Tracee didn't have much furniture, but the furniture she chose and the colors she used and her selection of art pulled it all together.

She took him by the hand and gave him the grand tour. She enjoyed showing him the artwork on the walls— all of which was original. Her pride and joy was a piece by this hot artist Bernard, who had a shop in South Orange, New Jersey. It was an incredible oil painting of a little girl in a yellow dress with Afro puffs. She'd bought it one day while she and Ritz were hanging out on South Orange Avenue.

Tracee led Randolph upstairs and they continued the tour. The upstairs was just as beautiful as the downstairs.

They sat on the top step of the staircase.

“You really have great taste,” Randolph said. “That bathroom sink upstairs is unique. And where did you find those lights? It's like you have stars in the ceiling. I wish I had done that for you.”

“I get a lot of ideas from watching HGTV. But since I was a kid, I have kind of been into home improvement and decorating. I love it. Maybe I'll take it up when I decide to come out of retirement. I am planning on redoing this place when I come back.”

“Yes, let's talk about you coming back,” he said. “Better yet, let's talk about you not leaving. Okay, so you had a fight with Ritz. But what's back in Florida for you?”

Tracee didn't want to dredge all of that drama up again. She just wanted to sit there with Randolph. She was so near to him, and she now could really see his face. She knew he was handsome, but he was really handsome up close. Most men had hair bumps, or a crooked tooth somewhere. This man had no flaws— or least none that Tracee could see. Randolph sat there, waiting for an answer.

“My house is in Florida,” she said. “And I have a few things to take care of with that. Part of my life is there.”

Randolph looked at Tracee's face as she spoke. He wanted to take in everything about her. He loved the way she smelled, but there was no expensive “scent” lingering from her. It was just her body chemistry, and he couldn't explain it, but it smelled so much better— so much better— than anything he had ever smelled from a bottle.

He ran his hand across the side of her face, tucking some of her soft curls behind her ear.

The place where his hand touched her face left a searing hot spot. It was like electricity shooting through her body.

Tracee knew immediately that she had it bad for him. She was trying to tell him what happened earlier that evening, but she couldn't remember anything she had said once he touched her hair.

Tracee stood up. “Randolph, can I get you something to drink? I have water and I have… water.”

He burst out laughing. “Thanks. I think I'll have some water.”

Before she was able to get up and go get the water, Randolph reached out and grabbed her hand.

“Trace, look, I want to just say that I don't want you to leave. I have more of a bond with you than I've ever had with anyone. You can't go back to Florida. Not yet. I'll get the water. You just sit and relax and think about it.”

Randolph went to the fridge and pulled out two bottles of water. He handed her one as he settled on the step right below her.

“Rand, you're making this very tough for me,” Tracee said.

“Good! Now stay.”

“I want to go and just clear my head. I feel like I've been through a battle and I need to get better, get strong again. I lost my best friend— twice. I am going to lose a woman who is like a mother to me. Maddie doesn't have much time left. I know that. How brave she is. And she loves Ritz so much— so much.

“Then there is Uncle Cecil. Seeing him breaks my heart. He's in the middle of it all. What a good man, what a strong
man. It makes me want to strangle Ritz, to see how callous and immature she has been to them.

“Then there is a murderer out there somewhere, who may try to kill Ritz again. It's too much. I just need a little break,” Tracee said, as tears started burning her eyes.

She didn't realize how much of a bundle of raw nerves she was. Her Christian walk was getting tougher and tougher these last couple of days. She got up from the steps and went down to the couch, where she put her face in her hands and sobbed.

Randolph sat down on the couch next to her and pulled her over so that her head rested on his lap. He watched a tear fall into her right ear, and while he wished he could do something to make her feel better, he knew the best thing to do was listen.

Neither of them spoke. Tracee looked up at Randolph, and he looked at her. The quiet between them was long but not awkward— it was a beautiful, comfortable silence. The feelings they had for each other lingered in the air, certain and understood. Tracee reached up and gently guided his mouth to hers. She kissed him lightly.

Randolph could taste the salt as he kissed her eyes before letting his tongue part her lips gently. Tracee kissed him, forgetting everything that pained her soul. She didn't remember when they stopped. She seemed to doze off and float into a place of peace.

Later, when she opened her eyes, Randolph was behind
her on the oversized sectional, holding her, hugging her. She had never felt more secure.

At three in the morning the phone rang, waking both of them. Tracee recognized the number from the hospital.

“Hello?” Tracee knew the familiar voice, and there was something terribly wrong with it.

“Tracee, this is Uncle Cecil. Maddie's gone, Trace. Mad-die's gone.”

Ritz had Jamie running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

“Jamie! Get me my diet Pepsi! I need it now!” she yelled from her basement studio. “I also need more pillows. I need more pillows!”

Jamie rolled her eyes. She was thisclose to quitting for the third time since she started working with Ritz. The contempt for her boss was overflowing. Jamie was grateful for the promotion to assistant producer and the regular paycheck. She was grateful for the opportunity to learn so much. But she was getting tired of being treated like a peon by Ritz. And being at Ritz's place practically twenty-four/seven was wearing very thin on Jamie.

However, there was a part of her that was okay with keeping so busy. At least she didn't think about Derek.

“Jamie!” It seemed like a constant rant coming from Ritz, who seemed to need something every second. Jamie was waiting for Ritz to start ringing a bell to beckon her.

She brought down the drinks and the pillows and set up the computer so that Ritz could communicate with Aaron and the studio. Jamie also made sure that all of the ringers on all of the phones were turned off. Ritz was going to sound like she was in the studio even if she wasn't. There would be no distractions.

She had the television, tuned to
CNN Headline News
, on mute. She kept that on for breaking headlines. Ritz wanted to make sure she was on top of everything. If the world blew up, she would know and immediately let her audience know.

Jamie did a test with the studio to make sure that Ritz's voice levels were perfect and to make sure there was no feedback, which could be really distracting. It was two minutes to showtime. It had felt like two eternities since Ritz Harper was on the air, and she was nervous.

“Let's rock and roll!” she screamed into her headset before her theme music started. Ritz was a bundle of excitement.