Friends and Lovers (32 page)

While I rode under sunshine, streets lined with palm trees, and chased memories, I took out my c-phone and called Daddy. He said he’d picked up his tickets and he was through packing. I called Twin. She was packed and
waiting for Momma to call her back so they could arrange a connecting flight together.

Everybody would be here in hours. It’s a damn shame what it took to get some families together again.

I went to La Brea near Venice. People had made a shrine and put flowers on the spot where Leonard took his last breath. Chipped glass had been swept away from the oil-stained concrete.

Part of me wanted to drive to West Angelus funeral home. I didn’t have the strength. Not yet. Not alone. I couldn’t bear to see my buddy’s shell with his spirit removed. But I wanted to be close enough to send my feelings.

Love you, Buddy. I’m gonna miss you. Thanks.

I talked to him like he was sitting in the car with me. Leonard understood. He felt and knew the rest.

* * *

It was getting dark when I rolled up the concrete mountains rising from the jungle into Baldwin Hills. In Los Angeles every evening, darkness chased away heat and brought a chill. I parked close to the garage, right behind Debra’s Mercedes, turned off my thumping music, pushed the button to make my top ride up.

When I bumped my overnight bag and suitcase up the walkway, by the pool, and into the kitchen, lots of voices were coming from the other side of the door that led to the den and front room. Enough noise to know the house was cluttered with people.

Bobby came in the kitchen and tossed a Snapple bottle in the overflowing trash. He sounded exhausted. “What’s up, Tyrel?”

I said, “Hey, Bobby.”

He had on ripped jeans, no shoes, no shirt. We both stopped by the marble-top island, in front of mountains of food.

A bearded brother stuck his head into the kitchen, watched me for a second, I nodded at him, then he vanished.

I asked Bobby, “When did you get here?”

“Right after you pulled off.”

“Who’s here?”

“A few comics, some actors, people ain’t nobody ever heard of in their life are stopping by.”

“Make sure you watch Leonard’s people.”

“They just left. His momma and Debra weren’t seeing eye to eye on the arrangements.”

“Pretty much like the wedding.”

“Worse.”

Bobby’s wife walked around the corner. Alejandria is Mexican with skin the color of sunrise. She has the body of a woman and the soft voice of a child. She had a novel in her hand.

She said, “E-mail is coming on the computer.”

Bobby said, “And I need to check the service again.”

We talked a few minutes while I snacked. Spoke our concerns about Debra. Nobody had seen her cry, so we were on guard.

I mingled my way into the living room; several of Leonard and Debra’s friends were sitting on the tan sectional sofa and the ivory carpeted floor, talking and sipping on sodas.

A few people I recognized stepped up from the den, Emil Johnson and Edwonda White. They were making conversations with a black actress off of a soap opera I never watched, either
General Hospital
or
The Young and the Restless.

The CD player was on random, alternating from Coltrane to Natalie Cole to Rachelle Ferrell.

“Hello everybody,” I said, and gave a generic wave.

I turned around and the same brother who had peeped in the kitchen was stroking his beard, easing my way. I thought he was checking out the women, but he was watching me.

“Are you Tyrel Williams?”

“Yeah.” I dropped my luggage to shake his hand. His grip was strong and sudden, felt like we were arm-wrestling.

“Richard Vaughn.”

I repeated, “Richard Vaughn. I’ve heard your name before.”

“I know. So, what is up?”

The way he gazed deep into my eyes, I hoped I hadn’t tripped into a homosexual moment.

I said, “Nothing much. Same old same old.”

I was about to ask him where we had met, if he was a frustrated comic, or nonworking actor, or something, when somebody dropped a tray of drinks. When one of the glasses broke, the comics didn’t miss a beat and cracked a joke or two.

Richard didn’t laugh with the crowd. He stood over me when I picked up my luggage, watched me while I strolled toward the bedrooms. I glanced over my shoulder and he was still watching, bobbing his head and masturbating the hair on his face. I hoped he wasn’t butt-wishing because I’d hate for us to have a misunderstanding.

I opened the middle bedroom door and saw four pieces of luggage by the dresser. The bed had been sat on. That room must’ve been taken by Bobby and Alejandria.

Debra’s giggles came from the back bedroom. Hearing her lighter mood made me feel better. Before I claimed what was left, I’d checked with Debra and made sure none of the family was going to show up tonight and need a place to rest.

Actually, I still hadn’t checked out of my hotel, because with the amount of traffic that would be coming through here for the next few days, I might need a place with some space. Might need to get away from the pain.

When I put my bags down to the side, Richard Vaughn was still watching me. Somebody started talking to him and stole his attention. The moment I knocked on the bedroom door, the chatter inside the room stopped. I knocked again.

Debra said, “Come in.”

I smelled banana and coconut incense before the door opened.

Debra was sitting on the bed. Next to Shelby.

My eyes locked on Shelby. Stuck on a memory gone by.

I finally said, “Hello.”

Shelby answered with a dry, “Hello.”

She didn’t smile. Didn’t look at me. Didn’t matter.

I’d be a liar if I said that Shelby didn’t look good. Much better than she did the last time I saw her. The entire Transitional Team couldn’t come close to being a Shelby.

Debra’s bedroom was the size of an apartment. There was a loveseat, a couple of valets, a circular shower with two shower heads, and a bathtub. Around the corner was a dressing room that looked like a makeup room on a movie set. Debra and her friend had kicked their shoes off.

Shelby squirmed around then got up off the queen-size bed. After she turned her back to me and straightened out the section of gray and peach comforter she’d rested her butt on, she meandered toward the black lacquer dresser. She moved, fidgeted with her neck, adjusted the red-yellow-gold scarf around it, shoved her hands in the pockets of her slacks.

Debra was peaceful. Her breathing was calmer than when I first showed up.

I said, “Debra?”

She raised her head.

“Which bed should I sleep in?”

Debra pointed next door. “Sleep in the middle room.”

Shelby said, “My stuff is in the middle room.”

Shelby glanced at Debra in the mirror. Then at me. When our eyes collided, she made herself busy adjusting her vest and blouse. Something about her irked the hell out of me. I’d have to pretend that being in the same world as she didn’t bother me.

Debra scratched her nose. “Then take the end room.”

“Okay.”

I’d be a wall away from Shelby.

Debra said, “There’s plenty of food in the kitchen.”

“I know. I ate some.”

Leonard’s day planner and golden bracelet rested under Shelby’s nose. Comedy tapes were on top of the television, next to copies of the movies he was in.

I picked up my luggage. “Anything you need me to do?”

Debra said, “I’m fine.”

I left.

My room had plain white walls. A regular size bed with peach sheets and a green heavy comforter. Quilts and extra pillows were at the foot of the bed. I clicked on the ceiling fan and cracked a window to get the air moving.

I had just put my suitcase on the foot of the bed when I saw Richard Vaughn was in the door, steady-bobbing his head like one of those children’s toys from the zoo. Maybe his beard was new and that was why I couldn’t place his face. His hands were too rough for him to be gay, but in L.A., you never knew.

I deepened my tone, “What’s up, my brother?”

“I was just about to ask you the same.”

“Have we met before?”

“Not face-to-face. I’m Richard Vaughn.”

I shrugged, said, “Okay.”

“I’m with Shelby.”

I paused for a second, then let out a stiff “Oh.”

Now I understood. I kept my cool, played it off, and continued unpacking. Used my busy hands to hide my surprise.

“We’re getting married.” He let loose a sardonic grin. “I’m her fiancé.”

“Fiancé?” I parroted.

“So, you’re telling me you didn’t know?”

“Didn’t watch CNN this morning.”

I almost closed my suitcase and chopped off my fingers. He was standing in my space like he was waiting for something.

My voice lowered and I said, “Well, congratulations.”

“I wanted you to know that.”

“Thanks for the update.”

He didn’t move. Kept on bobbing his head like there was some offbeat music between his ears. That repetitive move was getting on my nerves. We stared at each other for an endless second. Felt like he was taunting me.

I went back to unpacking like it was no big deal.

Shelby called out from the hallway: “Richard. Come here, sweetheart. I want to show you something.”

Her voice had changed from the lifeless pitch she’d had with me, had livened up to a cup of sweetness with two cubes of tenderness. Richard gave his beard a break and put his hand on the tip of his nose. Again we looked at each other for a moment. Glared man to man. He closed the door on his way out, left me standing holding a pair of green drawers.

Shelby had brought her fiancé to my friend’s house.

They were sleeping together in the bedroom next to me.

What bothered me was that I could see who she’d picked after she’d walked out. But if she’s already engaged, she might’ve picked him before. It shouldn’t matter. More important things were on my agenda.

After I stood and looked myself over in the mirror, I decided to head back into the living room and see who was still out there lingering. Maybe make myself busy with irrelevant conversation and a strong drink. Better yet, I could throw on a jacket, let the top to my car down, drive around a while, find some old watering holes down on Rodeo by Dorsey High, blow some time tracking down some old friends of Leonard’s and mine.

Just as I opened the door, Shelby and Richard were holding hands, flirting their way back down the hall. The corridor was wide enough, but the space closed in and crammed us together. I felt awkward, wanted to stare, but didn’t want to glare.

Shelby gave a rude smile and then turned her head away. Richard kept his eyes on me. Smirked like he’d won a battle.

“Shelby, Richard?” I said that when they got right up on me. We were face-to-face, close enough to taste each other’s breath.

Shelby slowed down, let Richard’s hand go. A set of lines sprinted in her forehead when her eyes met mine.

Richard’s attention went to her, then to me.

Shelby’s hand went up to her head, twisted her hair.

He said, “What is up?”

“Congratulations,” I said. “You two look good together.”

It hurt to say it, and I didn’t mean it, but it was time to bring some order and reality into my life. To show I was a bigger man than the other man. And I had to respect my friend’s home. I tried to keep my heart from flavoring my words and hoped I didn’t sound too contrived or too disappointed. Didn’t want to come across as petty or jealous.

Shelby didn’t smile. “Thank you, Tyrel.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Richard continued walking into the living room. Shelby followed like the loyal women of a Middle Eastern culture who stayed a few steps behind their men. After he turned the corner and headed toward a crowd of people who were standing near the door, she glimpsed back toward me before moving on.

Shelby waved good-bye.

“Tyrel?” That came from behind me.

Debra was standing in her door, leaning against the frame with a hand on her belly, smiling. Shelby wasn’t waving at me, she was waving at Debra. I’d deceived myself once again.

I went into Debra’s room.

I asked, “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine.” She sighed. “Best as I can under the circumstances.”

Debra sat on her bed and rubbed one of her feet. She told me that the obituary was done, but she wanted me to look it over before it was taken to the copier. She didn’t want anyone wearing dark colors to the funeral. That was a point of tension between her and Leonard’s mother. That and the fact that Leonard’s mom wanted a wake and a funeral.

Debra said, “I’ve never understood the wake process.”

“It’s an old Southern tradition.”

“Well, we’re not old, and we’re not in the South.”

“I’m with you.”

“She wanted to talk to me about insurance papers.”

“They’re after the money already?”

“Already.”

I sat on the floor and scooted close to her. I reached up and massaged her foot. Debra jerked away.

She said, “I’m ticklish.”

“Forgot.”

We sat for a couple of minutes and listened to the buoyant music floating from the living room. Rachelle Ferrell was singing a duet with Will Downing. I told her Twin and Momma were coming. Told her my daddy was coming too.

“Want to go back out to the front room?” I asked. “I just saw some people from the businesses in Leimert Park out front. The guy who owns the black museum and the Lena Horne-looking lady who has the bookstore and card shop were walking in.”

“I should,” Debra said and made half a motion to get up. She sat back down. “But not right now.”

“You okay?”

“I don’t want to be sad. Leonard wasn’t a depressed person, so I don’t want to cry—in front of them, anyhow.”

“People understand. You don’t have to be strong. We’re here for you. Your holding everything inside worries me.”

“Let me be me.” She rubbed the top of my head.

“When I’m ready, you’ll be the first person I call.”

“Promise?”

She kissed her hand and touched my face. “Promise.”

Debra said she was throwing a celebration of life at the house, before the home-going. Leonard loved jazz and blues, so she’d hired a band Leonard used to drag her to go watch at 5th Street Dick’s. My eyes roamed across the pictures of them that flooded their dresser. Pictures from South Africa to South Central. Wedding pictures were on her nightstand—me standing next to Leonard, Shelby next to Debra. She saw me looking, then leaned back, picked it up, and handed it to me.