Hotlanta (5 page)

“I missed you so much, baby girl.” Dice Jackson's huge, tattoo-covered arms wrapped themselves around Sydney's small frame.

Sydney relished the feel of her father's protective embrace, though it startled her a bit to feel the grooves of his ribs. His once shiny caramel skin had dulled during his twelve-year stint behind bars, and he looked as tired and raggedy as the old armchair he rose up from. She reminded herself that Dice wasn't back from an extended vacation. On the contrary, he had been released from one of the most notorious prisons in all of Georgia.

“It sure is good to see y'all back together,” her Aunt Lorraine chimed in. She was hunched over in a dining room chair she'd dragged to the far corner of the room, wearing a
dingy housecoat and run-over slippers. “Lord knows what kinds of trickery you had to use to pick up your dad's letters from here all those times. What with your mama frontin' like she ain't from these same parts. Shoot.”

“Mind your business, Lorraine! This girl don't have no control over her mother, so stop talking to her about it,” Dice snapped back.

“Well, excuse the hell outta me,” she grumbled, turning up the volume on the television and taking a long drag on her Newport.

Unfortunately, her Aunt Lorraine was right. Sydney's mom had gone out of her way to make sure that Lauren and Sydney severed all ties with their father. Whenever either of the twins asked to speak to or visit Dice, Keisha would become furious and threaten them with all kinds of cruel and unusual punishment. She made it very clear that she was not interested in having Dice anywhere near
her
children or
her
new life. Although Altimus normally weighed in on behalf of the girls when Keisha was being over the top, he refused to be involved in the Dice situation. According to him, it was Keisha's right to make the decision.

When Sydney was finally old enough to do some snooping of her own, she found her Aunt Lorraine's address in one of Keisha's old black books. It wasn't long before the headstrong twelve-year-old found a phone number for Aunt Lorraine, who put her in touch with her father. Although
twelve years had passed since she'd physically laid eyes on him, thanks to the monthly packet of letters and photos her Aunt Lorraine would sneak to her, Sydney felt as if she knew Dice like the back of her hand.

“Mom can try all she wants, but nothing will keep me away from you again,” Sydney said as the two moved over to the torn leather couch.

“I believe you, Ladybug. If only your sister could be as understanding…”

Sydney bristled at the mention of Lauren. “Why do you even care what she thinks?” she asked, pulling back from his embrace. After Dice lost his first appeal five years ago, Lauren made it very clear she wanted nothing more to do with her dad.

“'Cause she's my child and I love the both of you equally, Sydney,” he whispered. “Deep down, she knows I'm innocent.”

“I guess.” Sydney pouted, feeling as if any discussion of Lauren unnecessarily detracted from her long-awaited father-daughter quality time.

“Now tell me. What kind of stuff have you been getting into these days?”

Sydney's face lit up. She was happy to steer the subject back to something more positive: herself, naturally. “Well, I'll be glad when this Benefit Gala is finally over. It has been nothing but drama pulling it together. Not for nothing, but if
everything goes as planned, my committee will have raised over ten thousand dollars for the new library wing, which is actually a record for any Brookhaven class.”

“That's cool, Sydney. Real cool,” Dice said as he tucked one of Sydney's flyaway curls behind her ear. “To think that when I got locked up, you were just starting to count your one, two, threes, and now you're raising ten G's and better to help build libraries. Makes me sad that I've missed so much of your life.”

“Daddy, we both know that wasn't your fault.” She took his callused hand in hers. “I'm just glad you're here now. And I can't wait to make you a part of everything in my life now.”

“Yeah. I want to meet this boyfriend of yours. Flex some fatherly muscle in front of this boy. Marcus, wasn't it?” Dice questioned. “You surely wrote a lot about him in all your letters to me.”

Sydney's heart dropped. She'd gone to bed last night without hearing from Marcus, only to have him wake her up with a midnight assault of pebbles on her window. He explained he'd had a marathon study session and his cell phone had died. According to his story, as soon as he realized how much time had passed, he'd driven directly over to the Duke mansion to apologize.

But Sydney Duke had pride, almost a bit too much, and refused to go down and speak with him. If Marcus thought some lame excuse and a couple of pathetic-sounding apologies
could make up for the humiliation of being left standing in the dark, he should try again. Not that she'd admit it but Carmen and Rhea's stinging accusations of her frequent willingness to revolve her life around Marcus's schedule had struck a chord. Especially now that she saw how nice Jason was toward her. Not that the most upstanding, faithful, devoted girlfriend in Brookhaven Prep would ever think about stepping out on her man. But still.

“He's the smartest, most ambitious guy I know. He's like my soul mate,” she said, leaving out the fact that she had yet to tell Marcus her father had been released from prison because she
still
hadn't spoken to him.

“Soul mate, huh? That's a pretty big statement considering how young you are. Just be careful throwing words like
love
and
soul mate
around. Shoot, I can remember a time I used to say the same things about your mother…”

“I guess,” Sydney said as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat and looked down at the ratty shag carpet beneath her Chanel ballet flats.

Raising Sydney's face to his, Dice instructed: “Don't guess. Know. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now you best get out of here, before your mother figures out you're not doing your service work.”

“Okay, Dad, but listen. I was thinking, now that you're back here maybe I can talk to Altimus about getting you a job
at one of the dealerships. You know, he's so cool, I bet he'd hook it up and never breathe a word about it to Mom if I asked…” Sydney leaned into her father's ear and spoke in a low whisper. “I mean, at least it'd give you a way to get out of the house during the day.”

“Absolutely not,” he said sternly as his face distorted in anger. “I don't want a damn thing from that man.”

“Huh?” Sydney reared back in surprise.

“You heard me. This is not open for discussion, Sydney. Just go,” he ordered without a blink of his eye.

“Okay, then,” she replied meekly as she stood up and headed to the front door. “I guess I'll call you later. Bye, Aunt Lorraine. I love you, Dad,” Sydney called out as she walked out.

As she sped down I-20, Sydney found herself consumed with confusion. After all these years, could Dice still be mad because Keisha left him for Altimus? Eventually, the persistent flashing of the message light on Sydney's phone managed to distract her from her thoughts.
Hmm, probably just more messages from Marcus.

To avoid any sudden impulses to call Marcus and clear the air, Sydney left her phone in the car while she went into the Better Day Women's Shelter. She wanted him to suffer a bit longer. Still, she couldn't stop thinking about him. And even after three hours of cleaning up behind the residents and playing with and feeding lunch to their kids, Marcus was still on her mind.

As she emerged into the late Saturday afternoon, Sydney stopped to consider her options. Normally, she'd call Marcus and see if he was finished tutoring at the local library in Decatur or even hit up the girls for a late lunch at Harry's. But clearly she wasn't on the best terms with any of the three. And while there was that BBQ at Satonja Gilbert's house, there was no way she was rolling solo. She resigned herself to heading back to the house.

There, everything was pretty quiet. Altimus was probably making the rounds of his dealerships, and you could safely bet both girls' college tuition that their mom was at Château Elan getting a deluxe spa treatment. Sometimes it seemed like all Keisha Duke ever did was yell at the girls, plan extravagant parties, go to the spa, and sleep.

Kicking off her shoes, Sydney headed up to her room to relax until it was time for her five-thirty choir rehearsal. Sneaking over to her aunt's house had required waking up earlier than normal to avoid running into Altimus as he returned from his morning jog. Sydney was beat. As she walked by Lauren's room, the sound of laughter from her sister's television attracted her attention. Sydney could see an open laptop sitting precariously close to the edge of the bed, while the top of Lauren's silk scarf-covered head poked out from under the mountain of covers. Unless Lauren had a football game to dance at, she was usually napping and therefore completely antisocial until at least three o'clock in
the afternoon on the weekends…like mother, like daughter.

When Sydney reached her room, she could tell from the made-up bed and orderly pile of textbooks on her desk that Edwina had already started straightening up on the floor. She had hoped for a little peace and quiet, but her cell's relentless, annoying vibration finally forced her to retrieve it from the bottom of her purse. Scrolling down, she counted eight new messages on her screen.

After listening to all eight of Marcus's pleading messages, Sydney's heart finally melted. Life was too short to be mad. It was almost eighteen hours since she'd last spoken to Marcus. That was a record for the couple that'd been checking in with each other every couple of hours like clockwork for the past four years. Granted, Marcus may have been dead wrong for getting caught up in his personal agenda, but that's what made him the star that he was. Being a slacker now certainly wasn't going to get him into the mayoral office down the line, and Sydney was all about the big picture. When Martin Luther King was busy leading the masses, he probably missed more than a movie date with Coretta.

Sydney checked her cell, then paused to reconsider. Instead of calling and simply saying she forgave him, she decided that after choir practice, she would go over to his house and show him all evening long.

“I told my parents we went to Harry's and a late movie last night—be aware,” Donald told Lauren as she helped him get ready in the choir room for practice at the Grace Temple AME Church of Christ.

“Ooh, out biting pillows again?” she asked as she pulled a lint brush over the shoulders of his choir robe.

“The dancing queen's got jokes, huh?” he laughed. “So, was that your ass I saw bouncing next to Young Jeezy's head in his latest video?”

“You actually noticed a girl's body part while you were drooling over Jeezy?”

Donald chuckled, picking imaginary dirt from his perfectly manicured nails. This was the running joke between Lauren and her kinda-sorta boyfriend, whom—despite all
glaring signs to the contrary—everyone mistakenly believed was straight. After all, in Atlanta, one gay guy's effeminate behavior could easily be the next cultured Southern boy's charm. But Donald and Lauren kept up appearances because each was the other's perfect alibi for all their dirty little deeds. For Donald, Lauren was a beard that he wore as often as he found himself down at the AU, making the acquaintance of some of those cute, intellectual college boys. For Lauren? Well, to keep Keisha and Altimus in check, Donald was the perfect alibi: smart, nonthreatening, gentlemanly, from good stock. And whenever one of Lauren's boy toys thought he was going to get a little more from Lauren than she was willing to put out, all she had to do was reference her “boyfriend” to get them to back off.

It was a match made in heaven.

“Anyway,” Donald said, “how'd it go at the video shoot?”

“Never mind the video shoot,” Lauren snapped. “Some other stuff went down and I need to figure out…”

Just then, Tonya Giddens belted out a high note, totally interrupting Lauren's train of thought. Lauren's head snapped back; she scowled. So did Donald.

“Ugh, must she be so loud? It's not like she needs to draw more attention to herself with that back-to-Africa afro she keeps forcing on the rest of us,” Donald said. “I thought Madame C.J. Walker created a remedy for that mess back in
the forties. Guess Tonya didn't get the memo.” He let out a howl that made a few of the choir members, Sydney included, look in their direction. Sydney cut her eyes at Lauren from across the piano.

“Uh-oh. The African princess is glaring,” Donald said, jutting his chin in Sydney's direction. “Guess she don't like you dissing Tonya's coif.”

Lauren rolled her eyes, turned her back to her sister, and ran her fingers through her silky shoulder-length weave. “Seriously, I'm in no mood to get into it with her about her back-to-the-motherland stance on hair this afternoon, and particularly her decision to stalk the earth looking like her thick, curly bush of a head ain't seen a comb, like, ever. I mean, I would straight take a razor to my wrist if Jamilah couldn't find her way from Snellville to Buckhead every other week to fry, dye, and lay my hair to the side.”

The two sisters locked eyes, neither willing to look away. Suddenly, Sydney walked toward her sister. Lauren braced herself for Miss Nappy Roots to start up their running argument about how she and the rest of the good light-skinned folks of their circle were backward. But Sydney just walked on by, and stalked out the door.

“What's up with your sister?” Donald asked, confused.

“Who cares? If it's not one thing, it's another with her. But whatever. Check it, I got a serious problem,” Lauren said, leaning in to Donald.

“Well, damn, I guess so, with you and your sister looking like you're about to throw bows,” he said.

“It's not about her. I got a phone call the other day from my father.”

“So, what'd he say? You better pull up your grades and panties if you want that inheritance?” Donald laughed as he grabbed Lauren by the hand and walked over to the full-length mirror to check out his robe.

“No, not Altimus, jackass—my
real
father, Dice Jackson.”

“What? I thought he was locked under the jail!” Donald frowned, staring at Lauren's reflection in the mirror.

“He was,” Lauren said, looking into Donald's eyes. The night Donald had come clean to Lauren about his homosexuality, Lauren had given him the 411 on her father, the jailbird. He knew all the dirty details, but, friend that he was, Donald never told anyone—not even Dara knew about the Duke family history. “He's out now.”

“Damn, word? And he called you? Your moms know 'bout this?”

“Hell, no—if she does, she didn't get it from me. If Keisha Duke knew Dice was back in Atlanta and trying to see us, she'd flip right back to her days in the West End, cock Altimus's gun, and shoot him her damn self.”

“It's like that?” Donald asked.

“It's like that.”

“So what he want?”

“He wants to see me and Sydney. And she's all pressuring me to do it. We got into it Friday, so I'm assuming she's mad about it.”

“But you're not going, right? I mean, if your moms found out—”

“Who cares what my mother thinks?” Lauren shot back. “In case you haven't noticed, I don't really give a crap whether Keisha likes what I'm doing or not—even if she thinks I do. Fact of the matter is, he's back in town, and I need to figure out if I want to see what he's talking about now, or if I want him to go away. That's my decision, not my mom's, not Sydney's.”

“Fine,” Donald said, slightly annoyed. “But you know she'll be in that ass if she finds out you was talkin' to Dice.”

“Whatever…” Lauren said, turning her attention to her reflection in the mirror. She adjusted her choir robe so that her diamond-encrusted cross fell perfectly between her breasts. As she began to run her fingers through her silky hair, Donald elbowed her out of the way.
What the hell
?

“Whatever, whatever,” Donald whispered over his shoulder as he struck his own
GQ
poses directly in front of Lauren. “Obviously, you got a mouth on you, but Keisha ain't no joke…”

“Um, what the hell are you doing?” Lauren said, going from annoyed to pissed in seconds flat. She put her hands on
her hips and was just about to go off on Donald for blocking her view when the choral director, a white guy named Ron Sheff who just loved the Lord, chamber music, and choir boys (in that order), cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. “People! Hello!” Ron said with a clap of his hands. “It's time. Soloists first, choir en masse second!”

“Okay, darling. Gotta run,” Donald said, turning to reach toward Lauren to give her a peck on the lips. His face met with her fistful of Altoids instead.

“Mint?” she said in disgust, unable to contain herself. “'Cause your ass needs it. Ever get around to having that checked out?” It was all she could do not to remind Donald for the hundredth time that he needed to make an appointment with someone to see if everything on his insides was right, because his chronic halitosis made it extremely difficult for her to even have a conversation with him, much less fake-tongue him down to keep up their PDA charades.

“Whatever, bitch,” Donald said, pushing the Altoids away and awkwardly taking Lauren's shoulders into his hands to pull her closer. He stuck his tongue into her mouth and wiggled it and his head around, throwing in a few “mm-MM's” for emphasis. Lauren fell out laughing at his dramatics, which left a few of the other choir members shaking their heads.

“You're the one,” he said, twirling out the door.

Lauren shook her head; just as she was about to follow the choir out of the room, her Sidekick rang. She snatched it
out of her purse, pounded the answer button, and practically yelled a much-annoyed “Hello?”

“Yeah, Lauren? This is Hal Workman, down at Paintless Dent Removal. Calling you about your Saab.”

“Oh, yeah, hey,” Lauren said, adjusting her voice. She'd been anxious to hear from him and hoping he'd have some good news about the repairs to her car. As usual, she needed him to be quick about it because she hadn't exactly told her parents she was in a car accident in the first place. She'd talked Will, one of the sales guys at Altimus's Conyers dealership, to let her “borrow” a loaner identical to her Saab while she got Baby fixed, and she needed to get that loaner back to Conyers before Altimus noticed it was missing, or worse, before he noticed that the car parked in his driveway wasn't really Lauren's.

“How's it going, Hal? Did you fix my baby? Can I come pick it up today?”

“I'm sorry, Lauren, but Mr. Duke came down to the shop earlier on some business and saw your Saab here. He asked me to put it in storage. I just thought I'd give you a head's up and let you know I won't be at Paintless anymore,” Hal said, his voice dark.

“You won't be at Paintless anymore? What…”

“You didn't think your father would eventually catch on to what I've been doing for you? In case you were wondering, he wasn't a happy camper knowing I was helping you deceive
him. So my boss fired me. Just wanted to call and tell you to have a nice life.”

“Oh, God, Hal, I'm so—”

Lauren's apology was cut off by a dial tone. She silently cursed to herself; Altimus hadn't let on that he knew about the accident or the loaner car when she and Lauren left for practice. He was probably home waiting for her ass, figuring out a way to punish her for real. For sure, this one probably would be worse than the time she and Sydney took the cherry red Sting Ray coupe—one of twelve in his classic car collection—for a spin to Lake Lanier sans his permission. He had called them everything but a child of God when they pulled back into the driveway with his ride, and then not only proceeded to bar them from driving their own cars for a month, but relegated them to calling a car service and begging rides from their friends (taking MARTA, Atlanta's ridiculously inadequate commuter train system, was so not an option—the thing didn't go past Stone Mountain, for Christ's sake. And besides, it was gross—that much Lauren knew from riding on it once). Thank God Dara and Donald could shuttle her around, but it was still a major pain to have to depend on others for rides.

Lauren put her Sidekick on vibrate and pushed it back into her purse, then walked out into the sanctuary. Though at any given choir practice she could find herself in a compromising position with one of her side pieces in her cuddle
corner (really, it was a small closet just off the pastor's office), she didn't often find herself on her knees in the Grace Temple AME Church of Christ. But today, she decided, she was going to have to do a little kneeling on that pulpit to ask God to save her ass from Altimus.