Hotlanta (16 page)

Dara pushed her way out of the locker room with a quick “see ya later,” and not so much as a sideways glance at Lauren. Honestly, Lauren didn't know how much longer she was supposed to take her best friend's abuse; she'd apologized to her on several occasions, even though she didn't really have anything to do with the whole e-mail debacle, and even had gone on youngrichandtriflin.com to defend the two of them, clarifying the whole video tryout rumor—
My agent did suggest I try out for the Thug Heaven video, but when I arrived on the set, I quickly determined it just wasn't my scene and I left without auditioning,
she'd written,
insisting that, to the best of my knowledge, Dara's private parts are all her own and nobody's business but her own.
While it seemed like the rest of the
school had lightened up and moved on, Dara was still hanging on to the mess like a two-year-old in a dirty diaper.

Lauren was over it.

Besides, she had much bigger concerns, namely the fallout after Altimus caught her in the West End. It had not been pretty. From the moment he snatched her from the pool hall, Altimus had been laying into her with questions about why she was there, who she was seeing, what she knew about the neighborhood, if she was there trying to find her father's family, like her sister. “Come on now, Daddy, you know I don't want anything to do with that man or his relations,” Lauren had insisted as she slumped down in the front seat of Altimus's ride, her shades hiding both her fear and embarrassment of having been snatched up.

“Then what were you doing here?”

“I told you, I have a few friends in that neighborhood and I just dropped by to hang out for a while,” Lauren insisted.

“You just dropped by, huh?”

“Yes—just like you,” Lauren snapped, gathering up a little courage to ask Altimus what he was doing there, cussing out folks and looking real regular. Altimus had already made a point of saying he was there for “business purposes,” but what car dealership business would have him jabbing his finger in somebody's face and cursing like he was? “Didn't look like a business call to me,” Lauren huffed.

“I'm a grown-ass man with multiple businesses around Georgia, and if I need to be in the West End, I most certainly don't need to check in with you to do so,” Altimus sneered.

“No disrespect, but that's how I feel about the company I keep,” Lauren said, her heart racing. “I don't need to check in with you or my mother about my friends, and I most certainly am capable of making a few outside of the exclusive little group you and Keisha force on me.”

“Force on you? Force on you? Little girl, let me tell you something,” Altimus seethed, abruptly pulling the BMW to the side of the road, a screech of the brakes punctuating his anger. He slammed on the breaks so hard, Lauren's head jerked forward and then crashed back against the butter-soft black leather headrest. Altimus threw the car in park and then jerked his body around to face Lauren. He leaned into her face so close, she could feel his hot breath on her cheeks. “You don't know a damn thing about force,” he practically whispered, his words giving way only to his heavy breathing. “But I sure can show it to you, little girl. You want to see some force in action?”

Lauren tried to back away, but there was nowhere for her to go—her head was already lying against the cold glass of the passenger window. The fire in Altimus's eyes made her fingers go icy. Her stepfather was scaring the crap out of her.

“What?—Can't speak now?” Altimus said, leaning in closer still. “See you real quick at the lip, but let me tell you
something, you little smart-mouthed brat: You don't want no part of this. What I do in the West End is my business. Grown-folk business. Stay the hell out of it, got me?”

“Y-yes,” Lauren stammered.

Altimus stared into Lauren's eyes a beat longer and then slowly leaned back into his own seat. He reached into his ashtray and grabbed an old cigar he'd stubbed out before he walked into the pool hall earlier. He lit it, then puffed a few times, all the while looking through the front windshield.

“Now,” he said calmly. “Hand over your cell phone, don't even think about driving Sydney's car, and outside of school and after-school functions, don't even think about going anywhere other than home.”

Under normal circumstances, Lauren would have protested the lockdown, but something told her to keep her mouth shut, lest Altimus pop her in it.

“And one more thing,” he added, finally turning to look at her again. “Reach into the glove compartment, take out a pen and a piece of paper, and write down the names of everybody you know in the West End.”

“But—” Lauren started.

“But, hell,” Altimus yelled, slamming his hands down on the steering wheel. “Write them.”

Lauren jumped at the sound of Altimus's hands against the wheel. “Okay,” she said, “but I only know first names. I barely know them.”

Altimus puffed on his cigar. “That's all I need.”

And this is why the very next day, Lauren found herself rushing to the computer lab after school to IM Jermaine. Her phone confiscated and both her and Sydney's computers down in the kitchen where Keisha and Altimus could keep close tabs on their usage, she had no other choice but to fight off the geeks in the computer room to get the message to Jermaine that her father may be looking for him. More important, though, she wanted—needed—to see him. Lauren checked her watch; she had no more than five minutes to run up to her locker, switch out her books, check her lip gloss, and run back down to the computer room to send Jermaine a short IM. Lauren took the steps two by two, weaving between kids laughing and playing around in the hallway as they made their way to the buses and cars and extracurricular activities. She hardly heard Marcus calling her name, so consumed was she with getting to where she needed to be.

“Lauren!” Marcus shouted a little louder. He rushed up to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “Hold up a sec, I need to talk to you.”

Ugh.
The scent of his musty-ass hair filled her nose before she fully understood what he asked her. “What?” she said, annoyed.

“Listen, I need to talk to you,” he said, looking around to see if anyone was watching.

“Marcus, I'm in a rush—I don't have time to chat,” Lauren said as she began to walk away.

Marcus's grip got a little tighter; Lauren looked at her shoulder and then at Marcus, who, after seeing the look in her eyes, quickly moved his hand off Lauren's body. “I really need to talk to you,” he pleaded. “It's important.”

“Go,” Lauren said, rolling her eyes and shifting from one foot to the other.

“I need to set things straight with Sydney and the only way I can do that is with your help.”

“Oh, Negro, please…”

“Wait, hear me out,” Marcus insisted. “She's been treating me like crap lately and I feel like we've built too much over these past four years for it all to go down the drain.”

“And what, exactly, does all of this have to do with me, Marcus?” Lauren huffed, checking her watch. “I mean, you lie down with dogs, you come up with fleas. Sounds like Sydney's just itching. If you ask me, it's about time.”

Marcus let out a sigh. “Look, Lauren, I know you think I'm about the bullshit. But I really love your sister and I don't want to lose her, especially over Dara.”

Dara? Now Lauren's ears perked up. “Go on.”

Marcus, oblivious, continued. “Look, I need you to give Dara a message. I'd tell her myself, but if Sydney catches me within a hundred-foot radius of the girl, she'll lose it, and
frankly, she's already on the edge. I don't want to be the one to push her over it. Just tell Dara that I said Sydney knows all about our relationship and it has to come to an end—it's over.”

“What's over?” Lauren said, confused.

“Me and Dara.”

“You and Dara?” Lauren asked.

“Come on, Lauren—me and Dara. Don't make me have to spell it all out for you. I know Dara's told you all about us. She's your best friend, for Christ's sake. Just tell her for me that what we had between us is o-v-e-r. Tell her to stop calling me, stop trying to come over to the house, stop showing up at my volunteer functions, my classes, leaving notes in my locker. Just stop it all. I need to focus on Sydney now, and I can't have her shadowing me, screwing up things even more between me and my girlfriend—your sister. Enough. What we had together is over.”

Lauren was flabbergasted—had no words. This was her sister's boyfriend standing here telling her that the girl she considered her best friend in the entire world was creeping with her twin's man? Right up under her nose? Seriously? For the first time since that night at the High, Lauren was learning of the true extent of Dara's deceit. It was one thing to kiss Marcus, but have an entire hot-and-heavy hookup relationship? And then practically stalk him like she was ready to take Sydney's place? What the hell?

What was so bad about it, Lauren thought, was that Dara was stomping around Brookhaven Prep like Lauren had done
her
wrong. And all this time, Lauren was trying to think up ways to get it back to the way it was before all the drama. Now she knew the answer: It wasn't going to happen. No way.

And God, what must Sydney be thinking?

“Marcus,” Lauren said, “Sydney is your girlfriend, not mine. Anything you got going on in your little love triangle is your business, not mine. Now if you'll excuse me,” she said, pushing past him.

Lauren ran over to the window to get a good look at the pick-up circle; the black Benz was there waiting, the driver leaning against the front bumper, alternately checking his watch and looking at the front door for his charge. He could wait, Lauren quickly decided as she pushed past Marcus and headed for the computer lab. She rushed in, only to find all the computers taken. She rolled her eyes and shook her head at all the geeks leaning into the screens, oblivious to the fact that, after school, the rest of the world actually lived their lives while they sat mesmerized by their stupid little computer games and homework and whatever else it was that they did on those machines. She quickly surveyed the room and scoped out the ugliest, corniest boy she could find and sauntered up to him. “Hey there, cutie, what you working on?” she asked sweetly. The boy practically fell out of his chair.

“Um, uh, I'm, uh, just doing a little homework,” he gushed goofily.

“Well, I was hoping you could help me out. I need to send a quick IM to a friend of mine and all of the other computers are taken. Can I use yours? Just for a sec?” she asked, leaning into the boy so close he could smell what she had for lunch.

“Su-sure,” the boy stuttered as he got up clumsily from his chair. “It's all yours.”

Lauren's fingers flew across the keys as she logged into her Yahoo account and IM'd Jermaine.

“I really need to talk to you. I'm breathless—been waiting for you,” she wrote.

Her computer rang out almost instantly.

“Breathe!” followed by a smiley face.

“It's about my dad,” she wrote. “It's kinda hectic around here, but I need to be around someone sane. You won't believe what I just found out. I need to see you.”

“You're on the lockdown—I'll send a picture.”

Lauren laughed. “I'm on the lockdown between school hours and bedtime. Nobody said anything about midnight.”

“Midnight? What U got in mind?”

“Just meet me at the spot. Midnight. Gotta run. Be careful.”

By the time Lauren made it to the car—a good fifteen
minutes after she was supposed to be there—the driver had a serious attitude, but Lauren didn't really give a crap. As she approached, she put her sunglasses on and stood at the back passenger side of the vehicle, waiting for the driver to open the door for her. Annoyed, he took his sweet time rounding the car, and, with attitude, opened the door. “Your chariot awaits,” he said sarcastically, waving her into the car.

Lauren rolled her eyes and began to tuck herself into the seat when she noticed Sydney sitting on the opposite side. Her heart skipped a beat, but she played it cool. “What are you doing here? What happened to your car service?”

“Don't talk to me,” Sydney snapped. She turned her body toward her window, leaving not much more than her back for Lauren to watch.

Under normal circumstances, Lauren would have tore her a new one. But now she knew why Sydney was trippin'. For the first time, Lauren realized that her twin thought she was complicit in her boyfriend's affair with Dara. And what could she possibly say to that? She did have some intel on Dara having a bit of carnal knowledge of Marcus, and she never once said anything. So she wasn't completely innocent in all of this. But she wished she could tell her sister she didn't know how deep it had been between Marcus and Dara.

And how sorry she was that she'd done nothing to stop it from going that far.

“There has to be a reason,” Sydney whispered to herself over and over as she lay motionless on her bed facing the slowly rotating ceiling fan. She had stopped feeling the breeze on the stream of salty tears running down the side of her face hours ago. In fact, she had pretty much stopped feeling anything at all since she ran out of her Aunt Lorraine's house the day before. Sydney flipped over on her stomach and reached for the picture frame on her nightstand. Inside was a photo of the twins when they were just three years old. The two girls sat on either side of their mother unwrapping gifts under the Christmas tree. It was one of the few keepsakes from the years before Keisha married Altimus that she actually allowed the girls to keep out in plain sight.

As she slowly fingered the frame, Sydney examined the
old photo closely. As often as she'd looked at this picture over the years, she'd never really thought about just how many gifts were actually under and around the tree. For a so-called dead-ass-broke family in the hood, there seemed to be way too many gift boxes. Dice's words rang in her ears: “You need to be careful and pay attention.” Counting as many as twenty big gift boxes in this photo alone, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that her parents weren't living quite as broke down as Keisha loved to assert. The sound of her bedroom door opening interrupted Sydney's train of thought. She hurriedly put the photo back down on the nightstand and wiped her face with the back of her hand.

“What did I tell you about closing doors in my house?” Mrs. Duke questioned as Sydney silently stared at her.

“Sorry,” she finally uttered from between clenched teeth.

“We're meeting your stepfather at Justin's for dinner tonight,” Keisha stated as she cut her eyes suspiciously back and forth between Sydney's flush and tear-stained face and the turned-over picture frame. “You coming?”

“No,” Sydney stated sourly.

“Excuse you? And who do you think you're talking to in that tone?”

“I meant, no, ma'am,” Sydney grudgingly corrected herself.

“Humph, that's what I thought. Well, suit yourself. I guess you can let Edwina know what you feel like eating for
dinner. We won't be long,” she said as she turned to walk out the door. Mrs. Duke paused with her back facing Sydney. “Dice Jackson ain't never been worth all that crying. He really ain't.” And with that, she proceeded to walk out, pushing the door open even wider behind her.

“Ugh, I hate you!” Sydney said vehemently as soon as she was certain that her mother was out of earshot. Frustrated, she hurled one of her pillows across the room.

A short time later, Sydney could hear the sounds of Lauren and Mrs. Duke leaving the house and getting into Keisha's new CLK. The two of them chatted away about Lauren's chances at Homecoming Queen like it was real news. It seemed like even when she was on punishment, Lauren still had something to talk about with Keisha. Her mom and her sister were like two identical peas in the pod—both beyond trifling.

The persistent knot in Sydney's stomach tightened. She hadn't eaten a bite in almost thirty-six hours.
If nothing else, at least I'll lose a couple of pounds from all this freaking stress,
she thought. As Sydney glanced over at the Gala committee binder sitting next to her chemistry book, she stuck out her tongue. The last thing she felt like doing was reviewing the outstanding-ticket-sales numbers or preparing for what was sure to be another impossible chem chapter test. Sighing loudly, she dragged herself up from her bed and stretched her arms above her head to try to relieve some of the tightness
in her muscles. Missing out on her weekly spa appointments was definitely taking its toll. As she closed her eyes and slowly tilted her head to the side, Dice's ominous words continued to haunt her: “I made a lot of enemies, apparently even among those people who were the closest to me.” Sydney's eyes snapped open. Her father never once named those people who were closest to him. Why?

Sydney's first instinct was to pick up the nearest phone and call her Aunt Lorraine's house. Then she would definitely know who Dice's friends were back in the day. But placing a call on the Duke landline was too risky. Since Sydney was only allowed to make school-related calls, Keisha was monitoring all outgoing numbers on the landline like a hawk. Sydney then considered waiting till the morning to ask Marcus to borrow his car again, but in addition to the chemistry exam making tomorrow's attendance mandatory, Marcus was slightly suspicious of how long she'd been gone the last time she borrowed his car. He kept insinuating that he didn't necessarily believe her story about going home for note cards. At her wit's end, Sydney was ready to throw herself back on the bed like a five-year-old having a temper tantrum when she remembered the old Christmas photo.

While that might be one of the few mementos from their earlier childhood that Mrs. Duke actually allowed her to display in the house, there had to be more stuff in the storage boxes downstairs in the basement. If there was anything to
be learned about her family's past, it was somewhere in the boxes. Filled with renewed hope, Sydney quickly slipped on her fuzzy slippers and headed downstairs.

“What would you like for dinner, Ms. Sydney?” Edwina asked as Sydney passed through the kitchen on her way to the door beside the pantry that concealed the basement staircase.

“Oh, I'm not hungry, Edwina,” Sydney said, barely pausing to flip the light switch as she headed down the steps.

“Okay. Do you need any help looking for something down there, miss?” Edwina inquired as she wiped down the already immaculate stovetop.

“It's okay, I'm good,” Sydney called back up from the foot of the stairs. For years, Altimus had been threatening to clear everything out and renovate the basement into a game and workout room for himself. “Pay attention, pay attention,” Sydney mumbled as she looked around the huge and cluttered space. Sydney noticed her old ten-speed with the same flat tire that put it out of commission over seven years ago next to a pair of beat-up roller skates; a pile of board games; lots of old luggage sets; the huge teddy bears that Altimus had won each of the girls at the State Fair so many years ago; and garbage bags full of clothes that were probably Salvation Army bound at some point.

Sydney slowly walked around the perimeter of the basement. She spotted an old bag of kitty litter from the time
Lauren rescued a stray kitten. Li'l Tigger barely lived in the house for forty-eight hours before Keisha caught him inside her closet scratching her full-length llama-hair sweater. She promptly dropped the poor thing off at the nearest no-kill shelter.

Moving along slowly, Sydney passed an old VCR with countless Billy Blank's Tae Bo tapes piled on top. Next to that was a dusty stationary bike and small, green plastic dumbbell weights from Keisha's fanatical healthy-living stage. Sydney smiled slightly as she remembered the horrible faces her mom used to make as she forced herself to drink a rawegg-and-protein shake every morning.

Finally, a small pile of dusty brown moving boxes behind several old metal lawn chairs and a huge beach umbrella caught Sydney's attention. She immediately picked her way through and pulled the boxes out into the limited free space. From the looks of the layers of dust, half of the boxes had remained completely untouched since the day they moved into this house.

Sydney struggled to open the first box. Using the edge of a stray wire hanger she found on the floor, she was able to tear the masking tape that securely held the edges. When she finally pulled back the flaps, a faded red-and-white bib with a huge red-and-black ladybug embroidered on the corner was the first item to emerge. Sydney fought to hold back the tears as she stroked the edges of the ancient item. Pulling herself together, she continued to dig through to the bottom of the
box. There were a whole bunch of baby clothes but no concrete clues. Stashing the bib in the back pocket of her Joe's Jeans, Sydney quickly threw the rest of the stuff back in and closed the lids. “One down and three to go,” she grunted, still feeling hopeful as she ripped open the tape on the next box.

The second box was filled with Mrs. Duke's belongings. An old-school pair of Lee jeans with the big brown logo patch on the back sat at the very top of the meticulously folded pile. Sydney snorted at the idea of Keisha's pretentious butt squeezing into the pair of cheesy acid-washed jeans. As she delved deeper, Sydney found more outdated clothes and shoes, including a pair of white Keds with pink laces. Just before she reached the bottom, her hand hit what felt like an old leather-bound journal. After struggling to pull it out from under the weight of the clothes, Sydney anxiously opened it to the middle pages. Lo and behold, staring right back at her was a huge 9 x 11 photo of the twins with Keisha and Dice taken at the local swap meet. “Wow,” she breathed softly.

Sydney reached back in the box to make sure that there weren't any more albums in the bottom and closed it back up. Feeling like she may have found what she was looking for, Sydney carefully pushed all the boxes back to the corner and placed everything back in its prior position as best she could. Then she hauled butt outta there.

“You find everything you need, Ms. Sydney?”
Edwina asked as Sydney hurriedly closed the staircase door behind her.

“Mmm-hmm, I'm good, thanks. I'm just gonna go do some studying,” she reassured the old lady as she headed back to the safe confines of her room.

Taking the steps two at a time, Sydney's heart pounded painfully by the time she reached her bedroom. She considered hiding out in her walk-in closet but settled on her bathroom—it was the only door in the house the girls were allowed to close without their paranoid mother busting in like a federal agent. Just to be safe, Sydney grabbed her chemistry book and placed it on her bed as a decoy. Then she took a deep breath for courage and headed into the bathroom.

This time Sydney started from the very beginning. There were several pictures of a very pregnant Keisha at her baby shower, surrounded by a lot of women. The only person Sydney recognized was her Aunt Lorraine. She couldn't believe how many people her mother, the ultimate loner, used to be cool with. Next there were pictures of Keisha and Dice with the girls shortly after the delivery. Both of her parents looked exhausted but overjoyed. Even though the photo was taken no more than a few minutes after the delivery, Keisha still managed to rock a huge pair of gold hoops and hot-pink lipstick. Sydney smirked as she imagined her mother demanding time to freshen up before having the photo taken.

Sydney flipped slowly through countless pages of the girls as newborns and toddlers wearing various matching outfits, including those annoying frilly underpants that mothers with too much time on their hands tend to put on their little girls. With each page turn, Sydney longed for the years before they moved into the big house, when her real family was still intact and the twins were still totally inseparable. She took her time and slowly examined each photo, trying desperately to memorize each one.

Sydney was almost three-quarters of the way through when a candid shot of her father and a friend relaxing on the red leather couch, drinking Heinekens, and watching the television caught her attention.
Where do I know this guy from
? she wondered as she pulled the grainy photo from the page to get a better look. Unable to put her finger on the answer, she replaced the photo and kept flipping. She flipped through several more pages filled with candid pictures of Keisha, her grandparents, and a guy who looked so much like Keisha, Sydney just assumed it was her Uncle Laurence. And then there were a bunch of Dice and the familiar-looking stranger. In one, the tall, dark stranger rocked a serious Jheri curl and posed with Dice in front of a pimped-out black Cadillac with gold rims. They were wearing the exact same outfit from head to toe. “I know him,” she muttered under her breath as she tried to imagine what the two men might have been about to get into when the photo was taken.

Suddenly, Sydney heard the front door slam. Startled, she jumped up from her perch on the closed toilet and a large professional photo fell out from the back page. “Stop! You play too much, Altimus,” Lauren whined dramatically as Sydney listened to the group heading up the stairs. She quickly bent down to retrieve the picture. However, as soon as she turned it over she froze. It was her parents' official wedding photo: Keisha, Dice, and their entire twelve-person bridal party in all their tacky eighties fashion glory. Once again, the tall, dark stranger was standing right next to Dice. But this time, thanks to the clarity of a professional photo, it was perfectly clear: The stranger—and best man—was Altimus.

Sydney's heartbeat roared in her ears. “Oh, my God…” she wheezed. She didn't know whether to run, hide, scream, or just faint.
Mom married Dad's best man. Altimus was my father's best friend!

“Say it, say it,” Altimus commanded playfully from down the hall. “Who loves you more than me, Lauren?” Just the sound of his voice made Sydney break out in a cold sweat.

“Ain't nobody love her more than her damn mother,” Keisha interjected.

“Whatever, you're both crazy,” Lauren quipped.

Sydney involuntarily dry-heaved. As soon as she regained her composure, she shoved the album under the sink behind the countless bottles of shampoo and conditioner and turned on the faucet.
I've got to talk to Lauren. But she'll never believe
me. She's got to know. She'll just sell me out again.
Sydney wrestled with her thoughts as she feverishly rinsed her hands over and over. When she finally got herself together, Sydney turned off the water and dried her hand on the fluffy, white, monogrammed hand towel. It was decided: She definitely had to tell Lauren. All she had to do now was figure out how.