Apple Brown Betty (12 page)

“Miss Wonderful, née Cydney Williams.”

“Been standing there long?” Cydney asked.

“Long enough to have you make my day. Which I might add is quite an achievement on your part because my day hasn't been going well.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Cydney said.

“No need to be,” Desmond assured her. “You've done more than your share to correct that.” He pulled the free seat at the table and looked at Faith and Victoria. “Excuse me a moment, ladies.”

“I have to be going anyway, Cydney. I'll see you in class on Wednesday,” Faith said, rising from her seat.

“No dessert?” Cydney asked.

Faith grabbed her stomach. “Stuffed—” she looked to Desmond “—everything was wonderful and it was nice to meet you.”

Desmond nodded.

“I better head out, too,” Victoria said. “I have a hot date with one of my beaus tonight.” She looked at Desmond. “A real pleasure, Desmond,” she told him. Victoria then looked at Cydney. “One word—camcorder.” Cydney smirked, looked down to conceal her smile. Victoria blew Desmond a kiss and sashayed through the aisle and out the front door.

“Your friends are something, Cydney,” Desmond said.

“They're the best,” Cydney agreed.

“I trust you enjoyed your meal, Miss Wonderful.”

Cydney dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, touched her stomach as Faith had done. “Yes, it was very nice.”

“Look, I have to watch the front door, I'm a bit shorthanded today, but I'd love to have your phone number.”

“Would you?”

“Yes.”

“And then what?”

“Then—” Desmond pressed his fingers to his lips “—then I call you, talk your ear off, make you fall in love with me and we live happily ever after.”

“That sounds straight up Harry Potter, a fairy tale.”

“Try me and see,” Desmond said, smiling, his dimples hypnotizing Cydney. “You just might find yourself, forty years down the road, looking over at me and wondering where the years went.”

“Wondering why I was foolish to put up with your stuff for all those years, you mean,” Cydney shot back.

“I hope that isn't the case, Cydney.”

“But you're not saying it definitely won't be,” Cydney said, catching that important omission.

“I owe it to you to be real,” Desmond countered.

“You barely know me, you don't owe me anything.”

“But I
want
to know you, so I do owe you,” Desmond said.

“Is it always going to be a dance like this between us if we do get together?” Cydney asked.

“I've got soft shoes on if it is.”

“Prepared, huh?”

“Didn't know it…but yes, I guess so,” Desmond admitted. His heart was doing things inside his chest he'd never experienced before. He didn't for one second think about his father and how Frank Rucker would view Cydney Williams and Desmond's prospects with her. “So, may I have that number?”

Cydney wrote the numbers on the lunch tab, her hands shaking the entire time. “Hope I'm not making a mistake,” she said as she handed the slip of paper to Desmond.

“The gentleman will try and see that Miss Wonderful hasn't,” Desmond responded.

“Such a charmer.”

“Let me walk you to your car,” Desmond said as Cydney rose from her seat.

“You don't have to do that,” Cydney said.

“I want to,” Desmond told her.

“Okay.”

He walked Cydney to her car and stood holding the driver-side door for her. “I'll be giving you a call soon.”

“I look forward to that,” Cydney told him.

He surprised Cydney and himself, leaning down and kissing her on the mouth. The kiss was long, passionate, a shedding of sorts for the both of them. They both got an inkling their lives wouldn't be the same again after the kiss. They handled it with loud silence. Staring each other in the eyes but saying nothing.

“Well,” Desmond said after a moment, “you take care of yourself, Miss Wonderful. Expect my call soon.”

Cydney nodded, bit her lip, smiled, got in her car and drove off. Farther up the road she ran her fingers over her lips. She'd never been kissed like that before. Especially this early in the game. And she was always a fast mover, never known to look before she leaped.

Back at the restaurant, standing by the curb, Desmond touched his fingers to his lips in a similar fashion. Where had that come from? Kissing her like that. It felt so right, though. As did Cydney. Felt very right.

 

Slay was inside the Dunkin' Donuts on Main Street, flirting with the Mexican girl behind the register, trying to recruit her, when Kenya's uncle pulled up outside.

“Hit me off with another strawberry filled,” Slay said to the girl, dabbing his mouth with a little white napkin. “Those shits is tight. Almost as tight as you,
chica.
”

The Mexican girl smiled politely and scooped aside another donut for him.

Slay dropped a single on the counter and moved toward the door to meet Kenya's uncle. The old man's truck coughed a few times as he exited, the engine clearing all that dust from its carburetor. Slay shook his head. Old cat has some nerve driving around in that dusty bucket.

“How do?” the old man said as he came in the doorway.

“Good,” Slay responded. “You want something?”

Kenya's uncle squinted at the big menu board. “Get me a coffee, black, no sugar and one of them plain donuts.”

Slay nodded to the Mexican cashier girl. “You heard that,
chica?
”

She nodded and went to work preparing the order. Slay directed the old man to a booth in the farthest corner of the shop.

“So what's the word?” Slay asked as they took their seats.

“Mockingbird,” Kenya's uncle said, smiling.

“You crazy old school, ain't you?”

“I guess.”

“So what you find out so far?” Slay asked, rephrasing the question.

The Mexican girl brought over the donut and black coffee, no sugar. She smiled at Slay after she set it down.

“Throw that thang,
chica,
” Slay said, watching her hips as she moved back behind the counter.

“You like the ladies, I see,” Kenya's uncle said.

Slay nodded. “Some would say different. But I think I do.” He left it at that. “So…my sister?”

“I've been enjoying this little project,” the old man said. “I been using my horse-racing binoculars—” a pained expression crossed his face, like he'd felt a sharp pain in his side all of a sudden “—God knows they ain't never helped me none at the track.”

“Right, right,” Slay said, wanting this to move along.

“Well, your sister, Cydney, I don't think you have to worry about her with no drugs.”

Slay forced a fake bit of glee. “Thank goodness!”

“She drove up to Rutgers that one day—we gonna have to discuss extra monies for that lag. My baby out there almost went into labor out on that highway.”

“That's no problem,” Slay said.

“Then she went up to the mall the next day. She's got herself a good job at Macy's, you know that?”

“Selling perfume,” Slay said. “Right, right.”

“She only went out one time,” the old man went on. “I mean out-out.”

This was interesting. “Where about?” Slay asked.

“Over to that fancy restaurant on Cookman. She was with two other girls—you'd like them for sure.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah,” the old man continued, “they got some good sweet-potato pie in that place, I tell you. And your sister's boyfriend, he seems like a good brother. I think he manages the place or something. He's a big shot over there. That much I know. They were, ‘yes, Mr. Rucker-ing' him to death.”

Slay shot his eyes at Kenya's uncle. “Boyfriend, you said?”

“Yeah, that Rucker fella. He walked her out after her girlfriends left, gave her a long kiss at her car and then went back inside. I followed your sister back home and then—” the old man stopped, grinned sheepishly “—then I headed on back over to that Cush—funny name for a restaurant, but that don't matter. I headed back over there and got me a rib dinner, and some of that sweet-potato pie.”

“And you sure this Rucker cat kissed her?”

“Yeah, why, you haven't met up with him before?”

Slay shook his head. “Not as of yet.”

“Well, he's a good fella like I said. I can't see him letting your sister get involved in no drugs.”

Just as Slay suspected, his sister had found someone to replace him. That's why she'd been so quick to toss him aside.

“You gotta get over to that Cush and try some of they food,” the old man continued.

Slay looked at him, a smile creeping across his face. “Right, right.” He would definitely pay this Rucker cat a visit; get himself some eats, too.

C
ydney promised herself she wouldn't play the game of sitting by the phone waiting for Desmond to call. However, the only way she could fulfill that promise was by busying herself with whatever task she could find to do around the house. She thoroughly cleaned the place. Only after she turned off the vacuum cleaner did she allow herself a peek at her caller ID box. There wasn't any red flash indicating a call. She stood on the floor looking around her pristine apartment. Without even knowing it, Desmond had already added something to her life; the place had been in need of a thorough cleaning for quite some time.

Next, Cydney drew a hot bath, threw in her flavor crystals like pennies in a mall decorative fountain and eased her weary body into the soothing water. She lay back in the tub and let the water engulf her, let it work into every muscle, let it massage away her tensions like a skilled and diligent lover. The possibilities Desmond offered had her in a spiritual mood, so she'd pulled her Donnie McClurkin
Live in London and More
…CD from the tower beside her television and brought it into the bathroom. She kept her favorite song, “Great Is Your Mercy,” on repeat for the entirety of her soaking.

Done in the tub, Cydney toweled off with her softest linen and with a surgeon's care rubbed her skin from crown to heel with baby oil. She wrapped herself in the one silk robe she owned and went to return the CD to the living room. As she passed her kitchen she allowed herself a second peek at the caller ID box. The music and the din of the exhaust fan in her bathroom could have easily drowned out the phone ringer. There wasn't any red flash indicating a call.

Much later, after more useless housework had been done, the phone finally did ring. Cydney took a deep breath and scurried across the carpet on the tips of her toes. Her exhilaration ended as she scanned the caller ID monitor. It was Stephon.

Cydney contemplated not answering for a moment, but then decided against that. Stephon was still her boss. “Hello.”

His voice sounded far off, strained and weary, like he needed a hot bath himself. “It's done.”

“What's done?”

“I served her with papers.”

It was a move he'd talked about many times but one Cydney never thought he'd follow through on. She'd always hoped he would even though she told him contrary. From the first moment she eyed him, walking through Macy's on his wife's heels like a stray puppy, Cydney had desired him all to herself. They locked eyes that first day as his wife moved about in her own world. Cydney didn't look away coyly and neither did Stephon. They had an instant connection. He'd come over to her post a short while later and relayed his entire life story in a rushed few minutes. He told her about his unhappy marriage, his wife's problems with painkiller medicine and his feelings of entrapment. He handed Cydney a business card and asked her to call him at work sometime.

“Wait a minute,” she'd said, looking at the card print. “You're the publisher of
Urban Styles?
”

“Yes,” he replied.

“You know I'm a subscriber,” she said. “Some nights I'm reading that magazine and I should be working on my papers.”

“Papers?”

“Yes,” she said. “College work. Rutger's University.”

His eyes smiled. “I'm a Rutgers alum.”

She smiled at him. “Small world.”

You could see gears churning in Stephon's head. “Cydney, can you write?”

“Yes, I mean, what do you mean by write?”

“I've been looking for someone to come on staff at the magazine for my restaurant and music criticism columns. I've been writing them myself because we're shorthanded. Would you be interested? It doesn't pay a huge salary or anything, but—”

“I'd love to.”

Stephon had smiled at her, so pleased with the burgeoning situation. “Now I need to get my wife a bottle of perfume as explanation for my time away. You collect a commission on sales?”

“Yes,” Cydney said.

Stephon had looked at her with those eyes that would eventually invade her dreams, both in sleep and awake. “Give me the most expensive thing you have. Matter fact, give me two.”

A business relationship that would evolve into so much more was formed that day. It never moved to the level that Cydney always hoped it would though, and eventually she stopped praying that it ever would. The lonely nights of this past summer when Stephon and his family vacationed in Jamaica had been the moment the prayers stopped. Now their relationship had evolved again—to strictly business. The hope of Desmond gave Cydney the strength not to falter in her conviction to keep Stephon at bay.

“Cydney,” Stephon was saying into the phone now, breaking her thoughts. “Did you hear what I said?”

“I heard you.”

“You're not going to say anything?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Ask me how I'm doing,” he said. “What my new hopes are. Ask me was it difficult. Ask me if we can meet up at our special little hiding place.”

“How are you doing?” Cydney said. “What are your new hopes? Was it difficult?”

“You left out the question I most wanted to hear from you.”

“I left in the questions I most wanted to ask,” Cydney responded.

“I did this for you—for us,” Stephon whined.

Cydney shook her head as if he could see her over the fiber-optic line. “No, no, no. I told you don't make this decision based on you and me.”

“Is it because of the other night?” Stephon said. “Because I'm sorry about that.”

“That showed me something about you,” Cydney answered. “You don't have to be sorry, though, I've moved on.”

“I got your e-mail earlier with the review of Cush,” Stephon said slowly and softly. “You're really feeling this Desmond Rucker, aren't you? That has a lot to do with you not wanting to try this with me, doesn't it?”

Cydney knew it would hurt him but she had no choice. “Yes, Stephon, you're right. I'm sorry.”

He coughed, the revelation making him sick immediately.

“I'm sorry,” Cydney repeated.

“Me too,” he said. “Goodbye, Cydney.”

His voice haunted her as his eyes once had. “Stephon, don't—”

It was too late, the phone clicked in her ear. He'd hung up. Cydney hung up too, pressed the delete key on her caller ID box to erase the number and stop the machine from flashing for a new call. However, the box continued to flash. Cydney picked up her phone again—the special dial tone for new calls buzzed. She'd received a call as she spoke with Stephon and must not have heard the call-waiting beep. Cydney anxiously dialed the voice mail system to retrieve the call.

Cydney Williams, née Miss Wonderful, this is Desmond—Desmond Rucker from Cush. I wanted to tell you that I truly, truly hope we can start something that ends up being special and long lasting. I've never really been the lucky-in-love type, I have to admit, but there is something about you that makes me believe my luck just might be changing.

I'm an honest guy. I work hard. I don't have any major vices. You look like an honest woman. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders. I'm hoping we can create something that—I'm talking too much for a voice mail message. Listen, I'll try you again tomorrow. I just wanted to call and let you know that you're heavily on my mind and that I hope we can do this. Bye for now.

Cydney closed her eyes and held the phone to her chest. That quickly Stephon was forgotten. Desmond was so sweet, so sincere, his words warmer than the bath she'd taken earlier. There was no looking back. Cydney was going forward.

 

“You're going out?”

Desmond turned to his sister standing in the entrance of the kitchen. She was still dressed in her pajamas—her uniform of late. He swallowed a gulp of orange juice. “Yeah,” he said. “I see you aren't though, again.”

Felicia moved into the kitchen, wiping the sleep from her eyes as she dragged her slippered feet across the linoleum. “I'm heading back into the city tomorrow to meet with some folks from the agency—discuss my concerns.”

Desmond nodded. “That's good to hear. I was afraid you were going to turn into a couch. You shocked me the other day by not taking my offer to rent you a car.”

Felicia smiled. “You're going in to the restaurant? I thought you tried to stay away on Sundays?”

“I do,” Desmond said. He threw the empty juice carton into the garbage can, brushed the crumbs from his toast onto his paper plate, balled the plate and tossed it into the garbage as well. “I'm just going to drop in for a moment and make sure everything is in order. Then I have to make a couple of stops. We can go to a movie or something if you want to later.”

Felicia shook her head. “I'm just going to chill today.”

Desmond scooped his keys off the table, walked over and gave his sister a kiss on the cheek. “Suit yourself. I'll be back later.”

“Enjoy your day, baby brother,” Felicia said as Desmond neared the door. “And tell whoever she is I said hello.”

Desmond stopped, half in and half out. “What?”

“Tell this new woman in your life I said hello,” Felicia said.

“Who said anything about a new woman in my life?”

“I can see the excitement all over your face,” Felicia said. “I imagine she's one of the
stops
you plan on making before coming back.”

Desmond eyed his sister. “Smart aleck.” He blew her a kiss and shut the door behind him.

Miss Wonderful
was
on Desmond's mind as he approached the turn for his restaurant. He could imagine her smiling as she played back his message. He couldn't wait to talk to her at length, to take her out and show her what a woman of her magnitude deserved, to make love to her for the first time.

Today would be the last time. He swore it to himself.

Desmond made the left turn onto Cookman and slowed as he neared his restaurant just enough so he could peek inside. As usual the crowd was thick, his staff busy attending to them. He drove past without stopping. At the end of the avenue he made that familiar left turn and came to a rest across from Hot Tails go-go. Today would be the last time.

Desmond cracked his knuckles and moved from his truck. He set the alarm and carefully crossed the street, looking both ways as if cars were whizzing by. Besides his truck there were only a few other cars as far as his eyes could see. Desmond walked inside the bar.

The human wall from last time was still manning the door. “Two-drink minimum. Make sure you get the first drink before you get a permanent seat.”

Desmond nodded, getting to know the routine. He walked to the bar immediately and leaned against the counter. The bartender today was a guy, not the girl from before with the small chest who wore the T-shirt with Nasty written across the front.

“Can I get for you?” the bartender said. He seemed wired on some type of drug, his words coming out in fast speed while he himself moved in slow motion.

“Screwdriver,” Desmond told him. Desmond moved from the bar and took a look in the room where the performers danced. A thin white girl with no ass but plenty of fake boob was onstage. Desmond turned back to the bartender.

“That a be six,” the bartender said.

Desmond reached into his pocket and pulled out two fives. The bartender reached for the money but Desmond held it. “I was here the other day and this one dancer really caught my eye. Dark-skinned girl, real big butt, nipples the size of—”

“Jacinta,” the bartender said, not needing to hear any more.

“Is she dancing today?” Desmond asked.

“She's one of the house girls. Jacinta dances almost every day,” the bartender said. It was funny how the mention of Jacinta seemed to calm the bartender. Jacinta had that effect on quite a few men.

“When can I expect her?” Desmond said, still holding the money, the bartender still tugging at the bills.

“She's up in about an hour, after the next two or three sets.”

Desmond released his grip on the bills. He had time to burn. He'd wait for Jacinta. “Thanks for the info,” Desmond told the bartender.

Bartender nodded. “Enjoytheshow.”

 

Slay parked across the street from where Cydney parked and watched as she exited her vehicle. She had on sunglasses and was wearing a long silver coat, flossing like some Hollywood actress, like she was Halle Berry or somebody. Slay pulled out his R. Kelly and Jay-Z CD,
The Best of Both Worlds,
and put it into the CD changer. Slay forwarded the CD to track 8 “Shake Ya Body”—the joint featuring Lil' Kim. R. Kelly, now that was a misunderstood dude, Slay thought. Not many men in his position, with the nappy dugout being thrown their way every five seconds, would avoid the kind of trouble that R. was now enduring. Those fast-assed underage girls probably lied about their age and set Kelly up for the downfall. It was to the point you needed two forms of ID before you slept with these tramps nowadays.