Tea Leafing: A Novel (19 page)

“Sure did.” Mary Jane
slid the plastic silly putty egg across the table to Grace.

Photography had been
Grace’s major, but she had taken several jewelry design classes at SCAD. She
loved making her own pieces although she hadn’t taken her tools out in years.
The basic equipment for the class had put a seven hundred dollar dent in her
pocketbook, so she never got rid of the supplies. She’d always thought that one
day she was going to set up her workbench and start designing again. The time
had finally come.

Grace split the egg
with her thumb and looked at the mold of the door key inside. “Perfect. I
should be able to do this, no problem.” Snapping it shut, she slid the orange
plastic egg into a side pocket on her satchel.

“Now what?”

Mary Jane put a forkful
of cheese grits in her mouth. She glanced around and chewed enough that she
could speak, “I get the hardware.”

Simultaneously, the
girls reached for their bags.

“Un-Uh.” Mary Jane
squinted as she swallowed. “Wait ‘til we pay so it looks like we’re splitting
the check.”

They had agreed they’d
each chip in a hundred dollars so Mary Jane could canvass used computer stores
and pawn shops for the necessary items. EBay was the simple choice, but there
couldn’t be a paper trail, so everything had to be done in person, and in cash.
No phoning around to look for the parts. They couldn’t run the risk of
appearing on a caller ID. So for this task even a phone booth wasn’t good enough.
There could be no trace.

The four finished their
meals just as Tyrone and Tyrese glided through the doors with their companions
skittering around their height like no-seeums at a picnic. Their eyes went
immediately to the girls cozied up in their regular booth by the plate-glass
window. Tilting chins up in perfect unison, they gave a quick, casual nod that
would have been missed by anyone not looking for the greeting. Tanya walked
over and gave them all hugs; then led the troop to the semi-circular corner
booth in the back.

CHAPTER 37

Gio couldn’t remember
dropping his keys on the floor, but he supposed it could have happened during
the kerfuffle while he tried to get Pietra calmed down. He’d gotten her a glass
of water and, from the storage locker, a pair of rather tight “Pink Pussycat”
shorts for her to change into. The pants had been sealed up in a garbage bag
that he’d leave with his dry cleaner first thing in the morning.

“You just don’t
understaaand what it was like for me Gio! It was awful! Oh my GAWD! I’m gonna
have nightmaaaares about this.” Pietra carried on talking to no one in
particular.

Gio was having a hard
time focusing on anything other than his mother’s mushy, blue veined,
road-mapped thighs stretching in front of him. The unflattering, snug, black
satin shorts weren’t helping matters, either. Apparently she’d only thought to
apply self-tanner to her knees and the visual was almost too much for Gio.

‘I’m gonna have
nightmares about
this
!’ Gio thought
to himself.

Mary Jane had gotten
through her checkout quickly. Her numbers matched the
computer’s
to the penny, or to the quarter, as it were. Gio was grateful she wasn’t one of
the high-octane drama girls who would have needed to linger endlessly,
yabbering on, encouraging Pietra to recount the story again and again in full
detail. Mary Jane did her job well and kept chatter to a minimum. Gio loved
that about her.

“Out of NOWHERE! I
swea-to-Gawd! It was like a crazy tsunami of bawf. GIO! Are you even listenin’?
This is important! I coulda slipped and seriously inju’d myself!”

Realizing he wasn’t
going to get out of this easily, he called Pietra’s favorite bouncer over the
radio headset.

“Calm down, Ma. I think
we should get you checked out just to make sure you’re okay.” Gio smirked at his
own stroke of genius. She went to the emergency room for hangnails, so why not
this? “You know you have a weak hawt, whaddya say we make sure you didn’t
suffah any strain from the scare. I
wanna
know you’re
out of the woods before we just fugget about this. Okay?”

Pleased that Gio had
finally realized the seriousness of being puked on, Pietra agreed to go to the
hospital. The bouncer came through the door and Gio turned just in time to see
him falter in his footsteps. He wasn’t sure if it was the sight of Pietra and
her two-toned, vein riddled legs, or the lingering smell of yark, but he saw
the bouncer’s spirits drop with no hope of finishing his night on a good note.

Gio slipped him a
hundred and instructed him to take Pietra to Piedmont Hospital and wait with
her. This plan clearly pleased Pietra to no end as she cheerfully jumped to her
feet, snatching her purse she kissed Gio and patted his face.

“I don’t want you
worryin’ babe, I’ll be all right. I’ll call you.” With that, she was off. The
bouncer trudged behind her. Gio collapsed back into his chair and wondered if
it would ever get easier.

Turning his attention
back to his keyboard, he started keying in pass codes to check the nightly
revenue and arrange for blocks of money to be transferred to several different
accounts.

CHAPTER 38

Popping the silly putty
egg open, Grace examined the crisp key impressions imbedded in each half of the
polymer. Thinking how lucky it was that Mary Jane had been able to get such a
clean imprint under duress, she set the shells on the kitchen counter and
headed for the storage closet where she kept all her supplies.

Digging through the
floor of the closet, she moved a vacuum cleaner and pail of cleaning supplies
out of the way. Where was the gunmetal gray toolbox that housed her
metalworking equipment? Finally, she found it under a stack of
Playboy
and
Better Homes and Gardens
magazines. She pulled her propane torch
and nozzle off the second shelf and kicked the door shut with her heel. Picking
up the heavy box, she headed back toward the kitchen.

Kyle was standing
behind the barstools lined up at the counter, shirtless with a wild mess of
sleep-styled hair. He held one of the putty shells in his hand with the pad of
his thumb on the putty. “What’s this?

“NO! Put that down,
Kyle. Please.”

Ignoring her request,
he persisted, “Why do you have an impression of a key?”

Grace held out her hand
for the egg and gave him the sternest look she could muster.

He dropped the plastic
shell into her hand, “Whatever.”

Kyle walked to the
fridge, yanked the door open and pulled out a bottle of orange juice. He turned
and disappeared down the hallway without another look.

Grace watched him go,
letting out a breath as she looked down at the mashed putty. Kyle hadn’t
managed to completely destroy the cast but he did flatten it somewhat, adding
his thumbprint to the surface.

“Damn.”

Kyle and Grace had been
together for three and a half years. In the beginning, he’d been a perfect
boyfriend. Good job, motivation, and manners, not to mention great in the sack.
When the two moved to Atlanta and Grace started dancing, Kyle began to change.
Not for the better. He became disenchanted with the company he worked for,
swearing he couldn’t take it, so he quit. Grace was the sole breadwinner and
naturally offered to pay the bills while he was job hunting. The only Kyle she
had ever known was charming and chivalrous, bordering on old-fashioned in his
need to take care of her. They were very much in love.

Searching for work over
the next few months, Kyle became discouraged. Initially, he had been diligent
about the household chores. He
cleaned,
grocery
shopped, ran errands, paid bills and assumed all the responsibilities of the
nonworking half of a partnership. The two casually joked about their role
reversal, but Grace was always careful not to emasculate him during the jobless
spell she considered temporary. She had to admit she liked the pampering. Not
having to worry about anything but maintaining a positive cash flow was just
fine with her. Sure beat doing the laundry.

Over time, Kyle gave up
on finding work and began to resent his “housewife” status. His cleaning and
errands became an occasional event, and when Grace brought it up, he’d start an
argument. As the relationship deteriorated, Grace asked him to go to counseling
with her, but Kyle refused. Feeling like his self-esteem was suffering because
of his lack of work, she continued to encourage him. Kyle had turned from her
wonderful, loving future husband into a sulky, difficult child. Grace was at her
breaking point.

Popping the egg shut,
she returned it to her dance bag. She knew it would be safe from Kyle because
he’d long ago quit washing her work clothes for her, claiming the smell of the
cigarette smoke and sweat turned his stomach. She couldn’t blame him. It was
gross.

She flipped off the
kitchen and hallway lights and headed toward the bedroom. Glimpsing a sliver of
light below the drapes, she knew sunrise was approaching. She hated to be up
when the sun was rising, preferring to be nestled in the folds of her warm bed
while it was still dark. Bedtime was usually only an hour or so before dawn,
but there was something psychological about turning in when it could still be
considered night. Not morning.

CHAPTER 39

Mary Jane hit five
pawnshops and three used computer stores before she found the hard drive she
was looking for. While she was there, she also picked up an inexpensive laptop,
with two connection ports, and a bay to house the new drive. She managed to get
away with spending less than the girls had allotted, so she added two video
games she’d been wanting to her pile on the counter.

“‘That it for ya,
Ma'am?”

“Oh yeah, throw a
couple extra thumb drives in there.”

“Two?”

“Yup. That’ll do it for
today. Thanks for your help. My sister’s gonna be so excited I was able to find
her exact hard drive.”

“Yeah, we usually have
a pretty good selection.”

“Good prices too.” She
grinned at the clerk from under the rim of her Braves cap.

He passed her the
receipt and the generic plastic bag with “Thank You” in red lettering across
the front.

“Put my card in the bag
so if there’s anything else ya think of, come on back and see me.” The clerk
gave her a lopsided but wholesome smile.

“Thanks. I’ll take you
up on that.” Mary Jane raised her bag in a gesture of thanks as she headed out
the door. The bell tied to a string above the entrance chimed and she could
feel the shopkeeper’s eyes on her as she headed out.

She picked up her pace
slightly as she headed down the sidewalk and around the corner. She pulled her
hat down to shade her eyes and cradled the bag in her arms as she walked the
remaining block and a half to her car.

* * * *

Sam studied the
documents she’d spread neatly on the kitchen table, which she used as a desk.
She arranged small, color-coded post-it tabs in what might look like a random
order across the paperwork. Carefully printing a letter on each tab, she
scribbled notations on her grid paper about each marked item.

Flipping back through
the reference books she’d marked with the same colored Post-its, she compared
the pages with web page printouts she’d made at the public library. She could
have printed the documents at home but she didn’t want to leave a trace of her
web searches. Luckily, the library didn’t check IDs for their computer usage
sign-in.

Sam jiggled the mouse to
wake her Mac from its sleep and took one last look at the documents.
A Georgia driver’s license, a passport, and a birth certificate.
She hit the button to launch Photoshop and stared at the screen collage
featuring a large eye staring back at her. The challenge excited and scared
her; this was a true test of her skill as a designer. Could she fool even the
most expert eye? They had purchased the identity from a rather shady customer
at the club and Sam hoped the numbers were good. “Time will tell.” she thought.

* * * *

Grace inspected the
partially mashed putty under a swing-arm lamp she’d moved into the kitchen. It
seemed salvageable, but she wouldn’t know until her cast was done.

Turning to the stove,
she lifted a Pyrex measuring cup containing blue liquid wax from a gas burner
that was set on low. She waited a moment for the wax to cool slightly before
tipping the contents carefully into the recesses of the Silly Putty. Then,
repeating the process on the second half of the egg, she placed the measuring
cup back on the burner and flipped off the flame beneath it.

Grace studied a tabloid,
flipping pages casually while she waited for her wax to harden. After skimming
an article on celebrity break-ups, she tested the integrity of the wax with her
thumbnail. She gently pried the putty from its plastic case with the tip of a
knife, mindful to maintain the shape of the delicate wax key. Turning the two
halves of putty upside down on parchment paper, she slowly curled each edge up,
separating the wax from its cast.

One perfect and one
slightly flattened piece of wax stared up at her. She studied the two for a
moment, thinking about the best way to proceed.

Turning the gas flame
back on, she heated the blade of a knife over the fire until it glowed hot.
After first moving the steel quickly over each half of the key, as if frosting
a cake, she pressed the two halves together. She waited a moment for the wax to
set, then picked up the wax key and turned it over in her hands. Inspecting
every edge and angle, she hoped this would do the trick.