Riding the Corporate Ladder (Indigo) (4 page)

“I love you, too, Aunt Cheryl.”

“I love you, too, baby. And we’re all real proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Deena said, and she meant it. It never stopped feeling good to have someone proud of you, especially if it was your family.

* * *

Deena had a full meal prepared twenty minutes later. She took her plate and a bottle of Pinot Noir to the dining room, although it was much easier to eat right there in the kitchen. She paid twenty-five hundred dollars for her dining suite, and she intended to get some enjoyment out of it. She sure as hell wasn’t going to let the termites have it while she waited for that husband and kids combo—a fantasy that was less likely every year.

By nine-thirty, Deena was done with her dinner and the dishes. She lounged in the living room in a position typical of her lifestyle: curled on the sofa with a glass of wine in one hand and her current case files in the other.

Boogie snuggled in her lap contently. Deena stroked his dense fur and turned pages slowly, with each minute growing more and more unsure about those tainted Blood Money employees. The doorbell rang, and she was happy for the diversion.

She smiled and stretched her back when she stood. She undid the strap holding her robe at the waist and slipped the soft fabric off her shoulders. It felt good to be down to the bare essentials again. Deena had always been an exhibitionist, and she was fortunate to have the figure for it.

She loved the way Keshaun swallowed her up with his eyes. He was more in love with her body than any man in recent memory. He loved to touch and lick, but he liked to look at her most of all. Anyone can bring any man to climax, but to inspire awe—that was a totally different level of sensuality.

Boogie followed her to the door and started barking incessantly.

That was Deena’s first indication that her visitor might not be Keshaun. She checked the peephole and rolled her eyes when she saw the silhouette slouching under her porch light. She went back to the couch and snatched up her robe roughly. When she opened the door, her look said it all.

“What do you want, Spencer?”

Her late night caller was over six feet tall, but only 170 pounds. He was dark-skinned with a short afro composed mostly of black and gray naps. He was clean-shaven, but that’s only if you’re really liberal about the word clean. In actuality, Spencer was the forty-six-year-old king of disheveled. His black t-shirt had dark stains that were somehow blacker than the fabric. His jeans looked to be those of a hard-working mechanic, and his shoes had more holes than soles.

Even worse, Spencer had an old ten-speed bike with him that should have been in an antique shop somewhere. It had an official banana-style seat, a basket for groceries on the back fender, and a shiny chrome horn with a big, plastic bulb. It would break Deena’s heart to find out where he stole it from, so she didn’t plan on asking.

Spencer stepped into the living room, oblivious to his sister’s expression and Boogie’s protests.

“Hey, what’s up, shorty?” He closed the door behind himself and stood there like a hobo at a high-end auction.

Deena posed with a hand on her hip. She looked him up and down, then looked up to the ceiling and gave a quick prayer before speaking.

“Spencer, what are you doing over here? And…and what’s up with those clothes? What happened to the jeans I bought you? Be quiet, Boogie!”

But the dog wouldn’t shut up. Few visitors got the terrier in such an uproar. Spencer was in no danger of being bitten, but you’d never know it looking at the hair standing on Boogie’s back.

“Be quiet, or you’re going to your room!” Deena warned.

Spencer leaned against the door and laughed roughly. He grinned at his sister and then at the menacing pooch. “That dog don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Oh, yes he does,” Deena said. “Shut up, Boogie! Shut—Okay, go to your room!”

The dog stopped barking immediately. He looked at his owner and cocked his head in confusion.

“Go to your room,” Deena said again.

Boogie turned and exited without another yip, but he looked back over his shoulder twice with the exaggerated sorrow of a child sitting in the corner. Deena put a hand over her mouth to hide her smile. Spencer stepped past his sister and scooped her wine glass from the end table.

“Was you ’sleep already?” he asked over his shoulder. “You left this out since yesterday?” He took a cursory sniff, and then downed the wine in one gulp.

“No, fool! I was drinking that right now,” Deena spat.

He turned and smiled at her. “My bad. I thought you forgot it was over there.”

“It was still cold,” Deena countered. “How long could it have been sitting there?”

Spencer smacked his lips comically. “All right. You got me. I ain’t gonna argue with no lawyer. Shit was good, though. You got some more?”

“Yeah, I’ve got more. It’s a hundred dollars a bottle, too. You’re not supposed to guzzle it in one swallow.”

He grinned. “That’s my lil’ sis.” He plopped down on her loveseat, and Deena shuddered inwardly. “Always had that expensive taste,” he went on. “I drink five dollar wine. It do the same for ya.”

“That’s because you don’t care about quality,” Deena told him, but looking at his outfit, that was a huge understatement.

“You gonna be up for a while?” he asked.

“Why?”

“I wanna take me a shower.”

“You got some more clothes on that bike?”

“Naw.”

“You’re gonna put the same funky rags right back on?”

He shrugged. “They all right.”

“Spencer, that’s nasty—even for you.”

He frowned and a quick sneer curled his lip. “This all I got, girl! Is you gonna let me take a shower or not?”

Deena was plenty sympathetic, but her compassion had limits. “Negro, don’t raise your voice at me! You’re the one coming in here looking like who did it, and what for? I was just asking about the clothes I bought you. I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

Her big brother lowered his head and took a slow breath. Deena didn’t expect honesty, but Spencer was already at the final stage of his addiction: compliance.

“I sold them pants to some young nigga,” he confided. “I was gonna keep that shirt, but when I went to sleep at the walk-in, somebody was trying to take it off me when I woke up. I got in a fight and it got ripped. I beat his ass, though. Let ‘em know they can’t do that shit with something my family bought me.”

With just that little spiel, Spencer broke his sister’s heart all over again. They didn’t come from the best of homes, but Deena never thought her brother would be out there selling his clothes for crack and fighting in homeless shelters.

She knew her enabling would have to come to an end at some point, but how do you turn your back on the guy who used to put a Band-Aid on your knee when you fell down at the playground? Spencer found out where Mama hid the Christmas gifts thirteen years in a row. He used to stick up for Deena after school when the popular girls alienated her because she developed early.

“You can use the shower in that guest room you were in last month,” she told him.

“Can I spend the night?” he asked quickly.

Deena shook her head. “Don’t push it.”

“Well, can I have something to eat?” Spencer asked. “It smells like a restaurant up in here.”

Deena pursed her lips, but nodded. “Go on and get cleaned up. I’ll fix something.”

His smile was carefree like a child’s. “You the best, Dee Dee. I went over to Sheila’s house last week, and she wouldn’t even open the door. I know she was in there, too, ’cause they turned off the light in the living room while I was standing there. Janice don’t be wanting to help me, either. I guess you the only one that loves yo big bro.”

Deena didn’t know how to respond to that. She knew she treated him better than her sisters did, but that was only because she had the time and finances to devote to his foolishness. Everyone thought her kindness was delaying Spencer’s rehabilitation, but Deena knew something her family didn’t want to accept: Spencer was done with rehab. She could either love him as the crackhead he was, or she could despise him, waiting in vain for Mr. Do Wrong to do right.

“You’re never going to do right, are you?” she asked him.

He stood and shrugged. “What might be right for you, may not be right for some…”

Different Strokes was one of the shows they watched together as children. Spencer’s obscure reference to the theme song did more to reinforce Deena’s love for him than any explanation he could have given.

“You like Italian?” she asked. “I have some of my dinner left over.”

“Yesterday I ate some steak I got out the dumpster,” he said. “You can give me anything in your kitchen, and I’m pretty sure it’s better than that.”

“Yeah,” Deena agreed. “It’s a little better than that.”

* * *

By the time Spencer got out of the shower, the ten o’clock news was on. Deena had her brother’s plate waiting in the kitchen, but he brought it to the living room so he could sit with his sister. Boogie growled at him from Deena’s lap, but she gave him a quick, Shht! and he quieted down.

Spencer got comfortable on her love seat with a big smile on his face and dove into his plate like it was his last meal. Much to Deena’s surprise, he did look significantly cleaner about the arms and face. She shuddered at the thought of what her bathtub might look like.

“Whatchoo watching?” he asked around a mouthful of pasta.

“The news.”

“That’s good. You should always stay up on them current events. I tell them niggas that all the time. You still kicking ass at your job?”

Deena’s phone started to ring before she could answer. She scooped the cordless from the cushion next to her and smiled at the number on the caller I.D.

“Hey, Mama.”

“Hey, precious. Just calling to let you know we’re sitting here in front of the TV.”

“Me, too.”

“We didn’t miss it yet, did we?”

“No. But I’ve got it recorded. Even if you don’t catch it, I can still let you see it this weekend.”

“That’s fine, baby girl, but you know I’m not missing this. I called your cousins and Pete and them. You should be getting some more calls when it comes on.”

“Aw, Mama. I don’t want to deal with all of them tonight.”

“Girl, shut your mouth. You’d better be happy so many people care about you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I was just talking to your cousin Frank about them three boys Pete’s got. You know ain’t none of them…”

Deena lost the rest of her sentence in a succession of clicks from her three-way. It was one of her good friends this time.

“Um, Mama, I’ve got another call coming. Can I call you back?”

“Oh, that’s fine, baby. I’ll be up watching.”

“All right. I love you.”

“Love you, too, child.”

Deena clicked the line to accept Yesenia’s call.

“What up, bitch?”

“Dee, I forgot all about you being on TV.” Her friend sounded out of breath. “I just turned on the news. Did I miss it?”

“No, not yet. And how you gonna forget about me being on TV? Do you know how much of that drama you call a life I’ve kept up with?”

“I’m sorry. But you said they haven’t showed it yet?”

“No. Not yet. And they’d better not skip it, cause Mama’s got our whole family waiting for it.”

“They’ll show it,” Yesenia predicted. “They’ve been talking about that soda can almost every day.”

Deena looked up at her brother. Spencer was already done with his plate, but he didn’t have the look of contentment Deena wore after the same meal.

“Say, let me call you back,” she told her friend. “My brother’s over here.”

“Is he asking for money?” Yesenia asked.

Deena smiled. “No, not yet.” She hung up and gave Spencer her full attention.

“Something wrong?”

“You was talking to Mama?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why you didn’t tell her I was here?”

“She told me to stop pampering you,” Deena confessed. “I would have had to tell her I fed you and let you bathe.”

He shrugged. “What’s this about you being on TV?” He was upset, but Deena couldn’t figure why.

“They did a story on one of my cases today,” she explained. “It’s not a big deal.”

Spencer frowned. “How come it ain’t? Everybody else seem to know about it.”

Deena frowned back at him. “Boy, you live in the gutter. You don’t have a cell phone or pager. You don’t know about half the shit that goes on in my life.”

Spencer looked down at his empty plate and sighed. “I know I be screwing up. But that don’t mean I don’t care about y’all. I been here thirty minutes and you ain’t said nothing about no TV. I don’t expect you to come find me and tell me shit, but if I’m standing right here…Damn…I just like to feel normal sometimes.”

Deena couldn’t believe it, but he was really hurt. “Hey, Spence,” she said affectionately. “I’m going to be on TV tonight. Would you like to watch it with me?”