Too Close for Comfort (17 page)

They all waved, as Camille and Myla drove off.

 

 

“Paige got another car?” Yaya asked.

“Yeah. She copped the Benz from Titus.” Quincy nodded. “It's a nice ride.”

“What? Stop playing!” Yaya snapped. “I wanted that car! I told Titus.”

“You didn't need that car; you already have two cars.”

“And you have four! I can't believe she got that car. How could she pay for it? Doesn't she work at the library making like ten dollars an hour?”

“What?” He frowned. “Paige is the head librarian. She has a master's degree. She makes about sixty thousand a year.”

Yaya was now confused. She distinctly remembered Celeste telling her that Paige barely could pay her bills every month and lived for free in their cousin's townhouse. Celeste made it clear that Paige was a golddigger, if there ever was one.

“Then why doesn't she pay rent?”

“What makes you think she doesn't pay rent? She pays a mortgage each month.”

“That's her cousin's place, isn't it?”

“Yeah, but Page is buying it from her. Meeko and Stan hold the mortgage because it's already paid for. She pays them directly . . . like Uncle Fred did for me before he gave me the building.”

“Oh,” was all she could say.

Quincy explaining all of this to her still didn't change the fact that she had been cheating with her ex. And to her, that was unforgivable.

“We saw Mr. Quincy today,” Myla said while they ate dinner. Paige almost choked on the chicken she was eating. “Saw him where?” “We went to Aunt Cam's job. He was standing outside talking to a pretty lady.”

“Oh, really? That's nice,” Paige said, nonchalantly.
Didn't take him long to move on
.
He was probably already cheating, which is why he tripped about that stupid picture
.

“He says he's coming to my first soccer game. I like Mr. Quincy.”

“Eat those peas,” Paige told her.

Camille came in and sat at the table. She tried to resist, but had to ask, “You saw Quincy today?”

“Yeah. I was gonna tell you, but I guess someone beat me to the punch.”

Camille looked across the table at her niece.

Myla shrugged. “I didn't know it was a secret.”

“You can't hold water, can you?” Camille shook her head.

“We did see him this afternoon.”

“She told me he was with a pretty girl.”

Again, Camille gave Myla a threatening look.

“He was,” Myla said, pretending to concentrate on her peas.

“He was with his sister!” Camille laughed.

“His sister is pretty.” Myla nodded. “She has really long eyelashes.”

“They're fake,” Camille told her. “I know how to put them on. You want me to do yours?”

Myla started looking excited.

“No!” Paige announced to both of them. “You're not getting any eyelashes, and you're not putting any on her. That's her problem now—she thinks she's grown.”

“I was just kidding, Paige. Myla, you can't get eyelashes until you're ten.”

“Don't play with me.” Paige tried not to smile. “So where did you see him?”

“You mean Barbara Walters, Junior here didn't tell you?”

“She said you were at your job, which by the way you still haven't told me about.”

“Well, you are now looking at Taryn Owens' personal assistant,” Camille said with pride.

“You're working for Taryn at the shop?” Paige wasn't at all impressed.

“Well . . . not at the shop. I pretty much work wherever she needs me—from home, the shop—I get to go with her when she travels sometimes. I think it's going to be cool; plus the pay is more than I expected. She's so talented and smart. I know I'm gonna learn so much from her,” Camille said without taking a breath.

“And how did all of this come about?”

Camille went on to tell her how she ran into Taryn at what she thought was about to be a fashion show, but turned out to be a fashion shoot.

“So what is she gonna do when you go back to school in the fall?”

The smile faded from Camille's face. “I don't know. I hadn't even thought about that. All I know is this is the opportunity of a lifetime, Paige, and I'm gonna take advantage of it.”

“And I think you should. But school has got to be a priority too. Think about it. The only reason I'm able to move ahead when your brother and I split up is because I had my education to fall back on. You've got your entire life ahead of you, and more opportunities are gonna come; this is just one of many.”

“I know.” Camille sighed. “Oh my goodness! I know what I forgot to tell you—guess who the receptionist at the salon is?”

“Who?” Paige asked.

“Celeste!”

“Tell me you're lying.” Paige sat back in her chair.

“No. She didn't show up for work today either. She must still be recuperating from the beating you gave her.” Camille laughed.

Paige nodded toward Myla. “Not right now.”

“Oh, well, yeah, Yaya was saying how she didn't even call or anything.”

“She was probably with Aunt Gayle. You know her dialysis started today. I called Mama, but they were at the hospital, and she couldn't talk.” Paige stood up and picked her plate up off the table. “Eat those peas, Myla.”

“I was thinking, what if Celeste showed Yaya the picture and that's how Quincy got it?”

Paige began to wonder the same thing. If Celeste was somehow working at the shop, she had probably given Yaya more than an earful of lies and half-truths. “That may be possible. Myla, go throw your plate away. You're playing in your food, and that's nasty. And no, you can't have ice-cream.”

“Awww, Mom.” Myla got up from the table and walked into the kitchen.

Once she was gone, Paige sat back down.

Camille continued, “Then there's the fact that I looked at the appointment book and saw that Kasey has been coming in there to get her nails done too. I can't believe Monya or Taryn would even touch her.”

“This is crazy. You should talk to Quincy, really. I don't even know if he knows she works there. Monya says the girl barely comes to work, and when she does, she's always in Yaya's office talking about something—my guess is that it's you.”

“I'm not talking to Quincy. Even if this is the case, he made the assumption without even giving me the chance to explain. He believed who he wanted to believe, and that wasn't me—that shows me right there that he doesn't trust me.”

Paige cleaned the kitchen and put away the food and then walked upstairs to her bedroom. Sitting on the side of her bed, she looked over at the clock and noticed it was still fairly early.

She went back downstairs and grabbed her keys. “Camille!”

“Yeah!” Camille yelled back.

“I'm going out for a while. I'll be back later!”

“Where are you going, Mommy?” Myla stood at the top of the steps.

“I'll be back,” Paige said, walking out the door.

She got into her car and sat back, indulging herself in the lavishness of the leather seats. She started the engine and began driving, not having a set destination.

For hours, she drove around aimlessly, just thinking and listening to music. When the car finally stopped, she was parked in front of After Effex. The parking lot was empty, and the lights were off. Even the barbershop was closed.

Why the hell am I over here?
She put the car in reverse and was about to back up, when a car pulled beside hers. She turned to see Yaya staring at her.

She put the car back into park and remained still.

Yaya opened the car door and stepped out, walking over to Paige.

Paige rolled the window down.

“What's up?” Yaya asked, her voice full of attitude.

“I don't know. I guess I rode over here to find that out myself.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I think we need to talk—You got a few minutes?” Paige opened her door and got out.

“I got a second.”

“I'm beginning to think—no, let me correct that—I know that you seem to have a problem with me. I just need to know why?” Paige inhaled and exhaled slowly.

Yaya blinked several times.

Paige noticed the eyelashes that Myla and Camille were speaking of earlier.
I have to admit, they do look nice. I wouldn't mind having some myself
—
girl, stop tripping and concentrate on the subject at hand.

“I don't have a problem with you at all, Paige. Whatever is going on between you and my brother is between you and my brother. It's none of my business.”

Paige took a chance at asking, “Was it your business when you sent that picture to his phone that Celeste sent you?”

“I didn't have anything to do with the picture. I will tell you this—I think that what you did to Quincy was dirty as hell, and I don't appreciate it one bit. My brother cared a lot about you, and not only that, he cared for your daughter. A lot of brothers out here wouldn't do that—don't blame me because you messed it up because you couldn't leave your baby daddy alone.”

“Is that what you think happened? Or was that what Celeste told you? I know my cousin very well—she's a manipulator, and she's very good at what she does. She has a way of twisting and turning things to make people look a certain way, and she also has a way of turning situations into her favor. She makes people feel sorry for her—they give her money, they give her jobs. I mean, that's just her; she's been like that her entire life.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Yaya raised her eyebrows.

“Consider this a warning.”

“A warning for what? I know you're not threatening me. I told you I didn't have anything to do with you and Quincy; none of this is my fault.”

“No, there's no need to feel threatened. This isn't even about Quincy and I; it's about you and your employee. You see, I'm used to Celeste turning on me, but there's going to come a time when she's going to turn on you and you're going to find yourself looking crazy. I advise you to watch your back and the ones around you, because she doesn't care who she hurts in the process.”

With that, Paige got back into her car and drove off. She looked in her rearview mirror and saw Yaya still standing and watching her.

“I've looked everywhere! It's not at home, it's not here!” Yaya yelled from the storage room.

“I know Taryn took it!”

“She said she didn't have it,” Monya replied.

“Celeste just called and asked her.”

“She's lying. I know she probably grabbed mine thinking it was hers!” Yaya continued to look for the set of brushes that was usually in her make-up kit.

Packed and all set to leave for the airport, she did a double-check of her bags and saw that her brushes were missing. She stopped by the salon, hoping they were there, but she was wrong.

“What time does your flight leave?” Monya asked.

“Six-thirty!”

“It's only two o'clock, Yaya. Chill out!”

“You know everything has to be perfect for this trip, girl. Don't even try it,” Yaya told her.

“Celeste, can you call Taryn again for me?” Yaya asked.

Her cell began ringing. It was Jason. “Yeah.”

“‘
Yeah
'
—
what kind of way is that to answer your phone?”

“I knew it was you, Jason. What's up?
—
I'm kinda busy right now.”

“I'm calling to make sure you'll be ready to leave in the morning,” he said.

“Ready for what?”

“The retreat—the one for my job. We're going to the Poconos, babe, remember?”

She didn't remember. Well, she did, but he hadn't said anything to her about it the two times they had spoken since that night.

“Jason, I can't go to the Poconos with you. I'm sorry, but I am flying out of town to work tonight.”

“Qianna, do not play with me. You know how important this weekend is to me. Stop tripping!”

“I'm not tripping and I'm not playing! I'm dead serious. I have a flight leaving out this evening, and I'll be gone for two days. I gotta go.” She closed the phone and put it on the shelf. She knew he was pissed, but she didn't care. The only thing that mattered was that she find those brushes and get ready for the weekend.

“Yaya, you have a call,” Celeste said.

“Take a message! You know I'm trying to get outta here, Celeste, damn!”
That girl has got to be the most incompetent receptionist in the world. She'd better be glad her mother was ill, or she would definitely be fired.

“He says it's an emergency.”

Yaya rushed to the phone, thinking it may have been Quincy calling about something. “Hello,” she panted.

“Hey, what's up, Yaya. It's Fitz.”

“Man, I thought something was wrong. Celeste said it was an emergency.”

“It is—do you know where Taryn is?”

“She is actually on a shoot for a hair book this afternoon.”

“You know what time she'll be done?”

“Probably around eleven tonight. Those shoots last a while—What's going on?”

“I just needed her help, that's all. Listen, you think you can help me?”

Yaya frowned. “Help you with what?—I don't have any money!”

“Nothing like that, Yaya. Don't even insult me like that. You know how hard I work. Look, can you just grab your make-up stuff and meet me somewhere. It won't take that long, I promise.”

“Meet you where?” she asked, still confused.

“Come on, I need a favor. You know I would never ask
you
of all people for a favor.”

“I still don't know what the favor is, besides, Fitz, I have a plane to catch in a couple of hours, and I'm still not packed.”

“Yaya, can you please come and meet me? I swear, I will never ask you for anything else as long as I live.”

She hesitated, hearing the seriousness in his voice. “Fine. Tell me where, so I can hurry and get back.”

She wrote down the directions he gave her.

Just as she was about to walk out, Celeste stopped her. “Um, are you coming back before you go to the airport?”

“I doubt if I'll have time.”

“Well, um, I wanted to ask you if I can have my check early or maybe get an advance,” Celeste said, sheepishly.

“Celeste, you've barely been to work these past two weeks.”

“I know, but you know my mother's been ill, and I was there for her,” Celeste said with tears in her eyes. “I'm the only one who's there to take care of her.

Yaya took a deep breath. “Celeste, I can't give you an advance or pay you for time you haven't worked. Taryn and Monya wouldn't even allow me to do that. It's just not in our budget right now, especially when we just hired the new nail techs.”

Celeste whined, “I don't see how Taryn should have a problem with it, when she has her own personal flunkie around here.”

“Camille's paycheck comes from Taryn not After Effex,” Yaya said, wondering why she was even having this discussion.

“I'm my mother's only source of income, Yaya; I don't know what else to do.” Celeste began crying.

Yaya immediately felt sorry for the girl. She reached into her purse and took out her checkbook. She wrote her a check for two hundred dollars out of her personal account and passed it to her. “Don't say anything to anyone about this.”

“I won't, I promise.” Celeste wiped her face.

Yaya rushed out and got into her car. She reached into her pocket to get the directions out, but realized she left them right on her desk. She didn't know Fitz's number, so she couldn't call him either.

“Dammit,” she said as she focused and tried to recall what he said. She paused and closed her eyes and then as if by some sort of mental telepathy, she could hear his voice in her head instructing her. It was scary.

She followed them, and when she looked up, sure enough, she realized she was on Dickens Ct., exactly where she was supposed to be. She didn't know what the house number was, so she just made the turn.

Without fail, in the driveway of the biggest house in the center of the court was a burgundy Honda Accord station wagon. She pulled behind it and stepped out of her car.

The house was huge, sitting on what seemed to be ten acres of perfectly cut grass. It was her dream house—a two-story, brick mansion, complete with white columns and a fountain in front.

She walked up to the door. Just as she was about to ring the bell, the door opened.

Fitz stood in the doorway, smiling. “Thanks. This means a lot to me.”

“I still don't know why I'm her.”

“Come in and I'll explain it to you.”

She stepped inside and took in the opulence of the place. The brightness of the skylights welcomed her into the foyer. “Wow, this place is amazing,” she said, as they continued into what she assumed was the living area.

“Yeah, it is. Lincoln did most of the work.”

“Is this your house?” She looked around.

“Naw.” He laughed. “I wish.”

“Fitzgerald . . . who's out there?” a woman called.

“Hold on, I'll be right there.”

“Okay, what's going on?” Yaya asked. “Why am I over here with you and some woman?”

“Where's your stuff?” He frowned.

“What stuff?” She looked at him.

“Your make-up stuff—I told you to bring it.”

“It's in the car.”

“Why did you leave it in the car?—that's the point of your being here. Why do you think I told you to bring it?” He sighed. “Where are your keys. I'll get it.”

“You had me drive all the way over here to do someone's face?”

“Yeah.” He rushed out the door. He returned with her two large bags in tow. “Damn, all this is make-up?”

“Uh, yeah, and I have another bag in the trunk,” she said. “You better tell me what's going on before I do anything.”

“Fine. Come on.” He led her down a hallway.

They came to a closed door and he opened it slowly. It was dim inside due to the curtains being closed tightly. Yaya could make out a shadow sitting on what appeared to be a bed. The only light came from a small lamp on a bedside table.

“Hey, I'm coming in. I brought somebody with me.”

“Who? Who's with you?” the woman screeched. “You know I don't want to see anybody! Get out. Get out now!”

Yaya stopped in her tracks and turned to leave, but she felt Fitz's hand hold hers. A spark of electricity went up her arm, and her fingers clasped around his. She began breathing harder, and her heart began beating faster. Her mind was thinking of a hundred different things at once.
Why am I here? Who is this woman? What are they about to do to me? What does he want from me?

Yaya became scared. Not only because she didn't know the answer to any of those questions, but also because she knew that when Fitz's hand touched hers, it sparked something inside of her. Something she had never felt before.

“I'm about to turn the lights on,” Fitz said. “We're not leaving.”

“Don't turn them on, Fitzgerald,” the woman pleaded. “I'm asking you not to.”

“It's okay. She's here to help you, that's all,” he said, softly. He released Yaya's hand and she saw him walk over to the bed.

The woman turned her back to him. Yaya could hear her crying. She could see the silhouette of Fitz putting his arm around her and comforting her.

Yaya gently put her bags down and walked over to the dimmer switch near the doorway. She slowly turned the lights up just enough so she could see better. She noticed the woman had on a loose-fitting robe and was trembling. Her eyes fell on the nightstand and saw bottles of medication and a book on healing. She closed her eyes and asked God for direction, something she hadn't done in a long time.

Feeling confident, she finally spoke. “Hi, I'm Qianna.” She walked closer to the bed.

“Please, go away,” the woman told her.

“Nope,” Yaya told her.

The woman's head turned toward her. “What did you say?”

“I said, ‘Nope.' I'm not going away. Fitz will tell you—I don't like being told what to do.”

“That's true; she's just as stubborn as you are, believe me, if not worse.” Fitz laughed. “Yaya, this is my aunt, Natalie.”

“Nice to meet you.” Yaya walked over and was now facing both of them.

The woman hesitated and looked up.

Yaya saw that her face was swollen from what looked like months of crying, and her head was completely bald.

“Yaya, would you believe today is her sixtieth birthday, and she doesn't want to see anyone? We planned a celebration dinner and everything, and she's refusing to even attend.”

“I don't want people to see me like this, Fitzgerald, and I'm not in the mood for celebrating. Qianna, if you had gone through everything I've been through these past six months, I guarantee you wouldn't feel like celebrating either.”

“That's not true. Fitz, can you get me some towels?”

“Sure. I'll be right back.” He quickly left the room.

“I've been through more surgeries and chemotherapy than a little bit. I've been fighting breast cancer for over thirteen years, and I'm tired. What do I have to celebrate?”

Yaya walked over to the windows and began pulling the shades open. Sunshine began flooding into the room.

“What do you have to celebrate?—Life!” Yaya smiled as she grabbed one of her bags. She put her After Effex cape over her clothes and set up the materials she knew she would be working with.

She heard the doorbell ring in the distance. Yaya pulled out her iPod and speakers, finding a nearby plug.

“What is all this? What are you about to do?” Natalie asked.

“Hey,” Camille's voice came out of nowhere.

Yaya frowned. “What are you doing here?”

Camille held out Yaya's cell phone. “You left this at the shop. I knew you were going out of town, so I brought it to you.”

Surprised by the girl's thoughtfulness, she said, “Thanks. But how did you know where I was?”

“You left the directions on a piece of paper on the counter. I told Monya I would bring it to you.”

“Wow! I appreciate that Camille,” Yaya told her. “Oh, Natalie, this is Camille.”

“Hi,” Natalie said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hello.” Camille smiled at her. “You need anything else?” she asked Yaya.

Yaya thought for a moment. “No, that's it. I wish I had found my brushes, though.”

“I have some in my truck you can use.”

“No. I use M•A•C brushes. Thanks, anyway.”

“I know, those are the only ones I use.” Camille laughed. “I don't have all of them, but I have a nice set. I'll be right back.”

Yaya was shocked when Camille returned, make-up bag on her shoulder. She watched as she reached inside and pulled out a black zippered bag and passed it to her.

Just as Camille told her—they were the exact brushes she needed.

“These are yours?—these are expensive.” Yaya looked at the brushes, each of which cost no less than thirty dollars.

“Yeah, they're mine, and I know how much they cost.” Camille laughed. “I've been buying like one or two a week this summer. Like Taryn said—you have to sacrifice to be a master at your craft; I look at it as an investment.”

Yaya smiled. “That's the right way of looking at it.”

“You can take them with you to D.C. Just be sure to bring them back,” Camille told her.

“Really? Thanks a lot. I really appreciate that, Camille. And don't worry, I'll take great care of them.”