Hotlanta (17 page)

“We've got to stop meeting like this,” Jermaine said as Lauren climbed the stairs at the MARTA West End Station. “Somebody might think we got a thing going on or something.”

Despite that she felt like crap, Lauren giggled and threw her arms around Jermaine's neck, leaning in for a short, passionate kiss. “I was under the impression that we do have a thing going on, Mr. Watson.” Lauren pulled back to look at Jermaine's face; she loved it when he smiled and made a habit of sticking her Vamp Black-painted pointer fingernail into his dimples. She remembered once while she was lying around in her room thinking about Jermaine that her mother used to do this to her when she was a little girl. Jermaine once mentioned to her that his dimples were definitely one of his “selling points” with the ladies. “But they're mine, now,” Lauren
said, feigning jealousy with a pronounced pout. “I might as well put them in my pocket and take them with me.” He always seemed amused when Lauren said that.

Jermaine pulled back from Lauren's embrace and looked around to see who all was watching them. It was cold outside—the first real chill of the fall season—so there weren't a lot of folks hanging out like usual, just a few stragglers rolling dice outside Nifty's Package Store, which, on most nights, stayed open longer than the clubs. If you couldn't get your drink on at Joy's Gentleman's Club (a strip joint, it was anything but gentlemanly, but nobody ever paid much attention to the name), you could always count on a quick stop at Nifty's to get your after-hours drink on. On this particular night, though, nobody seemed to be paying anyone else who was on the street much of any mind, but Jermaine, still a little shaky from his last almost-run-in with Lauren's daddy, wasn't trying to linger too long out in public. This much Jermaine knew for sure: He didn't want Altimus Duke to know that he was the reason his daughter was still hanging out in the hood.

“Come on, let's get outta here,” Jermaine said, pulling his hoodie up onto his head and taking Lauren's hand. “It's cold out here. My moms is over at my auntie's house, checking in on my grandmother, so it's cool if we go back to my place.”

“What about your brother—he there?”

“Nah—I don't know where he at, and don't really care,” Jermaine snapped.

“Okay then,” Lauren said, wrinkling her eyebrows. “Your house it is.”

On the short five-minute ride to his place, Lauren emptied out her cache of goings-on, starting with the crazy way Altimus was acting in the car, and how she'd written down on that slip of paper a few fake names instead of the real ones, hoping that it would keep Altimus off his trail. She continued with Marcus telling her that he had a bona fide “thing” with Dara behind Sydney's back, and her suspicions that it was Sydney who circulated the ugly story about her encounter on the Thug Heaven video set. By the time they pulled into Jermaine's tiny, gravel driveway, Lauren was running down the entire list of “don'ts” Altimus and Keisha had laid on her as punishment for visiting the West End. “The crazy thing about it,” Lauren said as Jermaine opened her car door and took her hand to help her out, “is that both of them are acting as if nothing is wrong—like they don't have me practically tethered to my sleigh bed. I mean, one minute they're taking away every form of communication I own and treating me like I'm in preschool, and the next minute we're going to dinner. Keisha's all treating me to pedicures, and Altimus is throwing hints about some big surprise he's getting for me. He even offered to take me shopping for my Homecoming dress. I just don't get them,” she insisted.

“I'm not so sure you really want to,” Jermaine said cryptically as he pushed his key into his front door lock and hit the massive piece of wood with his shoulder. “That's what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“See, that's what I love about you, Jermaine,” Lauren said breathlessly. She eyeballed the living room and kitchen to make sure they really were alone, and then grabbed Jermaine by the tail of his hoodie and pulled him close to her. “You're the only one who truly understands me, who doesn't judge me for who I am or who my parents are, isn't all impressed with it and stuff,” she said, planting a kiss on his lips. “You're not like the other boys I've dated. Nothing like them.” She kissed him again.

“Look, did you ever think that there might be a chance that your father isn't who you think he is?” Jermaine asked, pulling away from Lauren and taking her hand. This time she instinctively led the way into his bedroom.

“Whose parents are who we think they are?” Lauren asked, twirling onto Jermaine's bed and kicking off her chocolate Chanel ballet flats. “I swear, they spend so much time trying to keep us from doing all the things they know good and well they did when they were our age that they forget we have the right to live our lives the way we see fit. Shoot, I know Keisha was some wildfire back in her day, especially if it's true that you mellow with age, ‘cause mellow, she ain't.”
She pulled Jermaine onto the bed next to her and drew him close.

“Yeah, you're right about that,” Jermaine said, rubbing his brow. “But do you really know any of Altimus's background—where he's from?”

“Of course I do, Jermaine—I mean, he raised me from when I was in kindergarten. He grew up in the hood in Atlanta, father wasn't around, got rich selling cars, blah, blah, blah. I mean, what more is there to know?”

“A lot,” Jermaine murmured under his breath.

“Look, there's no reason to be afraid of Altimus Duke,” Lauren assured. “He's just an overprotective daddy who didn't take too kindly to seeing his daughter hanging out in a pool hall in the West End. We live in Buckhead for a reason, trust.”

“There may have been more to it than that,” Jermaine insisted.

“What? Altimus is afraid I might fall in love with someone with less than sterling credentials? Someone who doesn't live in a fancy house or drive one of his luxury rides, or have the phat bank account or go to the right schools or churches? Well, so what? He grew up the same way, and look how he turned out. Besides, Altimus is my father, but he's not Lauren,” she said. “Lauren decides who Lauren is with, and I choose you, Jermaine Watson. I choose you.”

“There's more to it than that,” Jermaine said, shaking his head. “Your father…”

“Not in my mind,” Lauren insisted. “Not at all. I know who my father is, and no amount of bougie, overprotective bull from him is going to keep me away from you, Jermaine. You're truly the only person who I have ever trusted this much. And you don't let me get away with shit, either. And I'm good with that—for real. All those other boys, they ain't got nothing on you, for real.”

Jermaine was quiet as Lauren stroked his face and then ran her fingers down his neck and his arm. He smirked when she gave his biceps, which were pushing against his hoodie, a squeeze. She leaned into his neck and inhaled deeply; she loved the way he smelled—like baby powder, no doubt from the deodorant he'd just applied. Once, when his scent rubbed off onto her sweater (from an extra-long, extra-close hug,) she slept with it in her bed for nearly four days, sending it with Edwina to the cleaners only after she could smell him no more.

Jermaine turned his face to Lauren's and looked into her eyes. He licked his thick brownish-pink lips, then leaned in and kissed her softly. Lauren returned his kiss with a passionate one of her own; they rocked back and forth, holding each other so close and tight that they felt like one.

Lauren pulled back from his lips and his embrace and sat up. She looked down at her hands and fidgeted just a little,
trying to find just the right words to say at this precise moment. Jermaine sat up, too.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing's wrong,” she said. “Really, everything is exactly right.” Lauren was quiet for another moment. “Look, after that e-mail was sent out about me being a ho, you asked me why I cared about the people at my school thinking I'm fast. Well, I care because—despite a reputation to the contrary—I'm not fast.”

“I know that, Lauren…”

“Wait, let me finish, or else I may chicken out and not say what I have to say,” Lauren said, raising her finger in the air to silence him. “People at my school think that because I flirt with guys and dress the way I do and don't care about the things my sister cares about that I'm, uh, sleeping around. But the truth is, Jermaine…”

“What,” he urged.

“The truth is, I've never, um, been with a guy before. Not, um, in the way that people think I have.”

“Hold up: You're a virgin?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Lauren snapped, giving her head a little twist for emphasis.

“No, no, I mean, no…” Jermaine said, trying to redeem himself. “I mean, it's just that, you know…”

“I know, I know, I'm not shy about rolling up on guys,
right?” Lauren asked, letting out a nervous giggle. “I'm just confident, is all. I know what I want, and I'm not afraid to say it or get it when I want it, and I guess people confuse that.”

Jermaine was quiet.

“And if you haven't noticed, I'm picky. And the right guy just hasn't ever come along. All the little boys I've dealt with thought they knew me, which means they thought I'd hook up with them just because. Such a turnoff. The only other person on this earth who knows I've never been with anybody is my sister, which makes perfect sense why she put that e-mail on the blog saying I slept my way through the Thug Heaven set. She knew that would be the one thing that would really hurt me.”

“Damn, I don't know what to say, L,” Jermaine said.

Lauren leaned in and kissed Jermaine. “Don't say anything,” she said as she unzipped her sweater. She looked into his eyes: “I already told you, I choose you, Jermaine Watson. And I want you to be my first.”

Lauren peeled off her sweater, revealing a black-and-beige-print La Perla bra, a Christmas present from Keisha. Jermaine stared at her breasts and then at Lauren's eyes. Common sense told him this wasn't a good idea. His body was saying something totally different, and that side won out when Lauren touched his chest and kissed him again.

“Hold up,” he said. “Let me just go and get some protection. My brother should have some in his room. I'll be right back,” he said, rushing to his door.

When he flung it open, he ran smack into Rodney.

“Hey there, little brother. What's the haps? Little late for company, ain't it?” Rodney asked, leaning over Jermaine's shoulder to look at Lauren, who was hastily pulling her sweater back on. She was mortified.

“Yo, dude, what you doin'?” Jermaine sneered, squaring his shoulders.

“The question is, little brother, what
you
doin'?” Rodney said, his eyes still on Lauren.

“Minding my business, that's what,” Jermaine said. “You would be wise to do the same.”

“Oh, baby brother, you know any Duke business is my business,” Rodney said, smiling.

“How do you know my name?” Lauren asked, pulling her sweater tightly around her chest. The menacing look on Rodney's face made her nervous, as did his hulking frame, which was wrapped in what appeared to be dirty work clothes. The lint in his natty braids didn't help his cause, either.

“Lauren, right?” Rodney said, pushing past Jermaine and into his room. Lauren was silent. “I know your daddy.”

“How do you know Altimus?” she asked.

“No, baby girl—not Altimus. Your daddy—Dice Jackson.”

Lauren did everything within her power not to shudder at the sound of Dice's name falling off Rodney's lips. “He's not my father.”

“Oh, he may not be your father, but he's your biological, correct? At least that's what he told me.”

“No, I don't know what you're saying,” Lauren said, confused. “How do you know Dice?”

“Let me break it down for you, then…” Rodney started.

“How about you just go on in your room and leave me to my company, Rodney,” Jermaine interjected. Steam was practically rising from the top of his head; his eyes were fire-red.

“Nah, li'l bro—I think your little girlfriend needs to know a few things about Daddy Dearest,” Rodney continued. “Daddy Duke and Daddy Dice go back—way back. And Daddy Dice ain't none too pleased that ol' Altimus done prospered so well, especially since he did it on Dice's back.”

“Yo, I could kill you right now,” Jermaine seethed through his teeth.

“But you won't, li'l bro. Blood can't take out blood—it's against the code,” Rodney smirked. “So I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that. That's one for ya.”

“Look,” Lauren said, standing up and grabbing her coat. “I don't know what you're talking about or what you think
you know about my family, but I've heard enough. I want to go home. Now. Jermaine, please,” Lauren practically begged. She was scared beyond words and wished she were anywhere but standing in front of this lunatic in the middle of the night in the damn hood.

“Come on, Lauren, I'll get you home,” Jermaine said.

“Yeah, run along, young'un. And tell Altimus he might wanna get ready to settle up.” Rodney laughed as Lauren and Jermaine broke into a trot past him. “Yeah, tell him it's time to settle up.”

Lauren didn't take a breath until she was sitting in the front seat of Jermaine's car, and then she thought she was going to hyperventilate.

“Lauren,” he said as he started the car. “Baby, come on—talk to me.”

“I. Have. No. Words,” she said curtly. “Just take me home.”

Jermaine knew not to say anything else. He simply pulled out of his driveway and onto Hopewell Street.

It was 1:24 A.M.

And when they passed him, neither Lauren nor Jermaine noticed Altimus slumped down in the front seat of his car. Watching.