A Good Dude (26 page)

But the caseworker didn’t want to talk about drugs. She sat on the sofa and asked Trisha what kind of person Candace was. Candace was sure her friend wouldn’t bash her while she sat right there, but Trisha was brutally honest.

“She’s young. She is immature about some things.” Gabriella nodded. Candace wore the look of Caesar.
Et tu, Brutus?

“But she’s real confident, too,” Trisha went on. “She thinks she can do everything by herself. And she can, too. Everything she has, she got it by herself. She’s going to be a great mother. She’s the only girl I know who really wants to do something with her life.”

Candace took Gabriella to her bedroom, where everything was nice and neat. She had a crib for Leila right next to her bed and two dresser drawers filled with clothes for the baby. Candace had diapers in the closet and a stockpile of Enfamil in the pantry. Gabriella seemed to like Trisha, and she even picked up Little Sammy when he started his antics.

On the way out, the caseworker gave Candace a smile and a nod, and it was clear everything went well.

* * *

Candace drove Trisha across the street after the five o’clock news went off.

Tino called at seven. Candace was about to watch
For the Love of Gina
, but Regina Smith’s love life came second to her own.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Is this Candace? May I speak to Candace?”

“Who do you think might be answering my phone, Tino?”

“I don’t know. You’re so beautiful, I thought you might have some evil stepsisters.”

“Oh, man. You’re laying it on thick,” Candace said. “Do you want me to stop?”

“You’d better not.”

“So, what you got going on over there?” he asked. “Nothing. Just watching TV.”

“Don’t tell me,
For the Love of Gina
, right?”

Candace smiled. “How’d you know?”

“Everybody’s watching that show.”

“You don’t like it?”

“Oh, I like it, but she’s giving women a bad name. She makes me think all y’all care about is big muscles, a big mouth, and big-time learning disabilities.”

“You don’t have any of those things,” Candace said with a giggle.

“I know. That’s why I never sent them my audition tape. The only good show was Flavor Flav’s. After that, it all went to hell.”

“You like Flavor Flav?”

“Hell, yeah,” Tino said. “When I was in high school, I was friends with this guy named Marcus. I used to go to his house a lot after school. His brother was older. He graduated ten years before us. But he was cool. He would take us with him when he went out. We were too young to do
everything
, but he would still give up his night for us.”

“So, where’s Flavor Flav?” Candace asked.

“I’m giving you background information,” Tino said. “I’m trying to create a mood for my story.”

“Oh, carry on.”

He chuckled. “Anyway, Marcus’ brother, his name is Harold, by the way, he loves music. All kinds of music. Back then, he mostly listened to old stuff. Stuff that was popular when he was in high school. He listened to one particular group all the time. One day I was walking by his room, and I heard: ‘Elvis was a hero to most, but he never meant shit to me.’ Sorry about my language.”

“You’re fine. That was Public Enemy, right?”

“Yeah,” Tino said. “I went in there and listened to that song, and it was like nothing I ever heard on the radio—the things they were saying. Harold had all of their CDs. He let me take some home, and I listened to every one. For a minute, I hated white people.”

Candace laughed.

“But mostly,” Tino said, “I started thinking about black entertainment differently. Those guys on TV, with the gold and the teeth, and—”

“Like Rilla?” Candace asked.

Tino snickered. “Yeah, like him. Those guys don’t speak about the black experience and what y’all went through. All they talk about is drug dealing. Big cars with big rims. I started listening to Chuck D and the X-Clan, and the next thing I knew I was reading about Huey Newton and Fred Hampton. Those guys were deep.”

“Wow,” Candace said. “From Flavor Flav to Fred Hampton. You’ve thoroughly impressed me, Tino. You probably know more about the Black Panthers than I do.”

“My mom’s a history teacher,” he said. “She loves when I read. Whenever she saw I was interested in something, she’d bring home lots of books about it and make me write a report.”

“She made it a chore?”

“Yeah. But I liked it. She’s a good lady. I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

“You want me to meet your mom?”

“Man, I can’t believe I said that,” Tino said. “I told you I do that sometimes. My mind starts to go way overboard. I think too much.”

“That’s something I like about you,” Candace said. “I like the way you think, the way you talk.”

“Good,” Tino said. “You’d be surprised how many girls don’t want to hear about Huey P. Newton.”

Candace laughed. “Don’t tell me you talk about him on your dates.”

“Not anymore,” Tino said. “I learned my lesson!”

“Tino, you should be a comedian!”

She made him hang up so she could call him back on her home phone. Her cellular minutes were a source of stress as of late, especially since she talked to her parents so often.

She chatted with Tino for another thirty minutes. Towards the end he said he wanted to take her to the famed Overbrook Meadows stockyards for their date. He said there would be action and excitement and promised the smell of bull poop wouldn’t be overwhelming. Candace was happy to hear that.

When they got off the phone, she made herself a spaghetti dinner. Trisha thought she couldn’t cook, but who couldn’t make spaghetti? Maybe if you made your own sauce from scratch the meal might get a little difficult, but Prego already had a winning recipe. Candace wasn’t about to compete with them.

RIDE ’EM, COWBOY!

On Friday morning Candace had another visit with the Whitleys. This was the next to last one, and tensions were at an all-time high. Leila, as always, was at the center of the struggle. Today she didn’t want to stop crying unless her foster mother held her. This made Candace’s blood boil. The hair stood on the back of her neck.

“Give her to me,” she said. They stood in the Whitleys’ kitchen waiting for Leila’s bottle to be ready in the microwave. Their kitchen was almost as big as Candace’s whole apartment.

“Let me get her calmed down,” the older woman said. She bounced with Leila’s head on her shoulder. The baby continued to fuss, but she wasn’t screaming like when Candace had her.

“There, there,” Mrs. Whitley cooed in Leila’s ear. “It’s almost ready.”

Candace couldn’t stand the way the woman held her baby—like Leila belonged to
her
or something. Candace didn’t like the way she leaned her head against Leila’s, and Candace didn’t like the way Mrs. Whitley kissed Leila on the side of the face. She didn’t like how Mrs. Whitley made those cutesy sounds that weren’t even words when she played with Leila. What kind of language was she teaching the girl?

“Give her to me. I can hold her.” Candace had her arms outstretched. Mrs. Whitley saw them but turned towards the microwave instead.

“Okay, just a moment. Let me get the bottle and you can feed her.”

Candace stared at her baby’s face over the woman’s shoulder. Leila nuzzled the woman’s neck and had almost stopped crying.

“I don’t just want to feed her,” Candace said. “I want to hold her when she’s upset. I don’t like how you take her from me when she’s fussy.”

“I don’t mean to offend,” Mrs. Whitley said. “I was only trying to help.”

“Then let me hold her,” Candace demanded. “This is my visitation. You keep her all the time.”

The microwave dinged.

Mrs. Whitley turned around, with a bit of an attitude, Candace thought, and handed the baby over. Leila immediately began to wail.

“See, now you’ve upset her again,” Mrs. Whitley said and turned back to the counter.

“I didn’t upset her,” Candace said. “She’s just used to your scent. She doesn’t even know who her mother is.”

“Well, she wouldn’t be in this situation if—” Mrs. Whitley caught herself. She turned back with the bottle and screwed the nipple on. “I was only trying to help.”

Candace took the bottle and went into the Whitleys’ living room. Her visits were technically still supposed to be monitored, but Martha didn’t follow her. Candace sat on the love seat and positioned her baby for feeding. Leila didn’t stop crying until she had the bottle.

Candace’s traitorous eyes were determined to cry, but she was equally determined not to let them. She could cry on the way home. She didn’t want her daughter to see her as this woeful woman who came to feed her sometimes.

“
I’m
your mother,” she whispered to the infant. “I am. I’m your mother.”

Leila looked into her mama’s big brown eyes and seemed to comprehend, but Candace knew there was no way she could.

* * *

Tino rang Candace’s doorbell at 7:00 p.m. sharp. His face lit up when she answered it.

“Oh, man.” He put a hand over his mouth and looked her up and down. “You really look nice.”

For her date that night, Candace wore denim capris that looked pretty tight, but the stretchy material made them comfortable. Up top she had on a white halter top that tied up behind her neck. Her sandals were dark brown. Her hair was down and flawless.

Tino wore a white button-down and heavily starched jeans. Candace thought he had on maroon-colored Polo boots, but she looked closer and saw they were real cowboy boots. He had a shiny belt buckle, too.

Yippee ki yay!

His hair was down, jet black and as luscious as ever. His face was clean-shaven. His eyes were dark, his smile invigorating. He wore a sweet scent Candace couldn’t place.

“You look good, too,” she said. “You look handsome. You’re wearing boots?”

“Yeah.” He clicked his heels together. “You can’t mosey too good if you don’t have your boots on, I reckon.”

Candace laughed. “We’re going to mosey?”

“Everybody moseys at the stockyards,” Tino said. “If you think I’m something, wait till we get down there.

Those
charros
wear big hats, spurs, and everything.”

“
Charros
?”

“Mexican cowboys.”

“Real live cowboys?” Candace asked.

“Yep. They’ve got guns and everything.”

“They do not have guns.”

“All right, if they have guns, you have to kiss me,” Tino said. “Right then. No matter where we are.”