No One in the World (27 page)

Afterward I was famished. I devoured the panini sandwich I ordered, but Blac did nothing more than pick at his spinach pizza.

We were both wearing the hotel's plush white bathrobes.

“What's wrong? You've barely said two words to me all night. Something on your mind?” I asked.

Blac looked up at me, as if wondering whether or not he could tell me. “I'm having problems with the woman I stay with. She put me out.”

I took a moment to ask myself if he was telling me this because he wanted help from me. I took another second to look him over, and saw that he was genuinely distraught by what he was saying. “What, that means you have no place to stay?”

“Guess not,” Blac said, shame in his voice.

I walked over to my slacks draped across the back of the hotel's desk chair and went into my pocket. I pulled out my checkbook.

“What are you doing? You can't do that again,” Blac said, getting up and following behind me.

“You said you're homeless. You're going to need money to get a place.” It was the right thing to do, I told myself. And it was what I wanted to
do. He was not only my brother's friend, he was my . . . my sexual associate now. It wasn't as though I was going to allow him to stay at the mansion, but I wasn't going to have him out on the street either.

“But I . . . I didn't ask for any,” Blac said, seeming astonished by my generosity.

“You don't have to ask. You need it, and I have it to give,” I said, placing the point of my pen to my check. “Is this just a spat? You need just enough for a week or so, or will you be moving out permanently?”

“We're done. I'll need to get an apartment or something.”

“Will ten thousand work?”

Blac nodded. “Ten thousand will work just fine.”

E
ric sat in his car, staring at the tattered picture of Maya. He wiped the last tear from his face. The thought of being with his daughter was what got him through his time in prison. He stayed strong inside for her. Since he'd been out, he'd been trying to be a better man for the same reason. But what was the point? He worked the job Cobi got him, but what was the point in that, either? His daughter was taken away from him, and Jess lied to do it. That shit wasn't fair, and Eric couldn't let that slide.

He stuck his daughter's picture back in his pocket, pushed open his car door, and walked the path up to the house Jess lived in.

It was a nice big brick house in a quiet neighborhood, with a large front lawn and a black wrought-iron fence. It must've belonged to her boyfriend, because Eric knew Jess couldn't afford anything like that.

Eric stabbed the doorbell several times, then stopped, looked through the sheer curtains of the living room window. A lamp was on, and Eric thought he saw movement inside.

“Jess! I know you're in there.” He banged on the door with the side of his fist. “You lied. You took her from me. Now come the fuck—” He paused when he heard sounds behind the door. “I hear you in there. Come out! Let me see Maya!” He yelled louder. He started banging on the door again. “I ain't leaving till you let me see her.”

Ten minutes passed, and Eric pulled himself from the front stair where he had been resting and prepared to bang on the door again till Jess answered or the thing fell over.

He stepped to the door and raised his fist, but stopped himself when he heard the squeal of brakes, and a car pulling to the curb behind him. He turned. A police cruiser stopped in front of the house.

Both doors opened, and two fit officers were walking across Jess's lawn toward the front porch. One, the shorter of the two, had his hand on the butt of his holstered weapon as though he had no problems drawing and using it.

“I ain't doing nothing but trying to see my daughter,” Eric said, slowly raising his hands shoulder high.

The door of Jess's house opened behind him. He turned to see Jess holding the storm door open.

“Ma'am, did you call the police?” the taller, dark-haired officer asked. Eric saw that his name badge said Williams. “Is he causing a disturbance?”

“Tell him I'm just here to see Maya, Jess. The daughter you lied and had taken away from me,” Eric ordered.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Jess said.

“You know exactly what the fuck I'm talking about!” Eric said, lowering his hands, and moving toward Jess as if to attack her.

The shorter officer was quickly up the stairs on the porch. He grabbed Eric by the arm, wrenched it behind his back, almost bringing Eric to his knees.

“Stop!” Jess said, stepping out onto the porch. “No! He didn't do anything,” she said to the officers.

“If he didn't do anything, ma'am, you wouldn't have called us,” Officer Williams said.

Jess looked at Eric, still being subdued.

“Can I talk to him a moment? Privately, please,” Jess asked.

The officers exchanged looks, then released Eric.

“We'll be right here, just down the stairs, ma'am,” Officer Williams said.

Holding his arm, Eric walked over to Jess and sadly asked, “Why did you do it?”

“I don't know what you're talking about, Eric. I didn't do—”

“Stop fucking—”

“Eric!” Jess scolded, looking quickly to the officers whose narrowed eyes now focused on him. In a quieter voice she said, “I'm sorry you lost Maya, but that's over. What you need to worry about is what's happening right now.”

“Fuck now. I want you to let me see my daughter,” Eric said, his voice lower. “So fuck now and fuck those officers.”

“Really. You just got out of prison. You continue to do this, and it could violate your parole,” Jess said. “I know you just lost Maya, but do you want to lose your freedom, too? Take what you got left and be happy with it, and leave, okay?”

Eric thought about what Jess just said. He looked down the stairs at the officers staring up at him. What did he really plan to do now? Run through Jess, storm in the house, and take his daughter. The police would have him facedown on the living room floor, cuffed before he knew it, if they didn't shoot him in the back first. He couldn't deny what she said made sense, so he turned back to her, and said, “Yeah, Jess. Okay.”

I
t was a beautiful spring day out. Not a single cloud dotted the baby blue sky overhead, so I chose to eat my bag lunch outdoors on the front steps of the courthouse building. I was still troubled by what happened yesterday with my brother. I heard him come in late last night. I was tempted to walk down to his room, check on him, but he told me not to mention the situation again, so I respected his wishes.

As I took a bite out of half of the sandwich Stella made me, I caught a glimpse of someone sitting down very close to me.

I turned to see a middle-aged, balding man with a bad comb-over and square-framed glasses sitting next to me, turning the pages of a
Chicago Tribune
. He held the paper open wide in front of him, almost as though he was trying not to be seen. I slid away from him a little and went back to my lunch.

A moment later, I heard the paper crinkling loudly beside me. Then, “Hey . . .”

I turned around to see that the man had folded the paper into a neat rectangle and was leaning toward me.

“Aren't you a district attorney?”

“State's attorney,” I said, correcting him, showing a bit of a smile. “Would shake your hand, but I'm eating, sorry. Cobi Winslow.”

“I know. Young hot-shot attorney, who happens to be from a family of millionaires. You don't remember me?”

I smiled, trying to place his face, feeling badly that I couldn't. “Sorry . . .”

“Wow,” the man said. “I don't know how I should take that. My name is Steven Ballard. Funny, you put a man in jail for two years, and I'd at least think you'd remember his name.”

Immediately, I scooted away from him, desperately trying to place his face, scared I was in danger of being harmed.

“No, no, don't worry,” Ballard said, reading my expression and my actions. “It wasn't a violent crime, more of the white-collar variety.”

“I'm sorry,” I said, gathering my lunch.

“But I was innocent.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Ballard,” I said, standing, “if you were innocent, you wouldn't have been convicted.”

“I was innocent, Mr. Winslow, but you don't believe me now, just like you didn't believe me then. No matter,” he said, smiling. “Before you go, can I show you something?”

“I'm sorry,” I said, looking around, making sure there were still people around to witness this man if it came to that.

“No, you need to see this,” Ballard said, standing and pulling a small, greeting-card-sized envelope out of his jacket pocket. He looked at me with a somewhat deranged smirk on his face. “You're gonna love these.” He opened the envelope, pulled out a handful of snapshots, and handed them to me.

“What are these?” I said, afraid to take them.

“Take a look. I'm sure you'll enjoy them.”

I hesitantly took the photos, looked down at them, and felt my heart skip. I couldn't believe what I saw. A picture of myself and Blac on the patio of a restaurant, kissing. I feverishly shuffled over to the next photo. Another one of Blac and me walking into a hotel.

“Keep going. There's more,” Ballard whispered.

I continued to flip through the thin deck of photos, then stopped, wide-eyed at the picture before me, knowing the irreparable damage that would be done if this were to ever get out. It was an image taken by a zoom lens, through a window, of Tyler and myself, naked in bed together, having sex.

I
told you, he wouldn't give the pictures to me,” I said, frantically pacing back and forth through my father's office.

Sissy leaned against the edge of the desk, her arms crossed, her face balled into a mask of anguished thought. “I know it's not what you want to hear, Cobi, but we have to do what he says and pay him the money he's asking for.”

I halted. “I'm not fucking paying him! That's not happening. You gave money to that boy and—”

“And he went away. And that's exactly what this man will do—go away.”

“No.”

“Half a million is practically a deal considering the damage he could do. In case you've forgotten, there will be a very well publicized wedding in five days. You want to take a chance of this man showing up, passing out these photos to all our guests? Just meet him tomorrow night like he said, and—”

“I said no, Sis! I would rather suffer the consequences of whatever he's planning than to roll over again and pay to cover up who the hell I really am. There just has to be another way.”

“There is no other way, Cobi!” Sissy said, standing from off the desk. “If there is, tell me and we can consider it, but if not, we need to cough up this money.”

We stood at a stalemate we'd never resolve when we heard a knock on the office door.

“Who's there!” Sissy said, marching toward the door.

Eric stepped into the office.

“What are you doing here?” Sissy said, speaking to Eric as though he were a child. “Did you hear any of what—”

“Don't pay him a cent,” Eric said, a stoic expression on his face. “I know how to handle this.”

B
lac lay on his back as he stared up at Theresa's naked body through partially closed eyes. She gyrated on top of him, holding his palms to her large bare breasts, as she moaned.

She had already come twice, and she quickened the rapid pace of her tiny thrusts. “Oh, baby, I think I'm coming again,” Theresa said, bearing down harder on Blac's hips.

He raised his behind further off the bed, forcing her to give herself over to him once again. “Come on, baby. Come on!” he urged, pounding himself up into her. Suddenly, she threw her head back, screamed, then her body started to convulse until she fell over forward onto him.

Blac wrapped his arms around her, kissed the side of her face.

“Do you love me?” Theresa murmured.

“You know I do, baby,” Blac said. And for the first time, finally admitted to himself that he truly did.

After he left Cobi last night, he was happy there was a $10,000 check in his pocket, but he was still upset with Theresa. He didn't want to crawl back to her house, as he was sure she was expecting him to, so he bused it over to Stony Island Avenue, and stayed in a ratty motel off of Eighty-first.

There he lay on top of what he figured to be a filthy blanket. He thought about Theresa and why she did what she had.

She was making a statement, Blac knew. She wanted to bring to his attention her value. It was a bold move on her part, he thought, and it had actually worked.

When Theresa came home from work earlier today, the house was spotless, a dinner of boiled hotdogs, Kraft macaroni and cheese, and canned peas was on the stove, and a warm bubble bath had been drawn.

Blac had even bought a bouquet of $9.99 roses and set them on the center of the table.

Theresa had burst into tears before she fully made it through the front door.

Blac fed her, bathed her, and now was just finishing thoroughly making love to her.

Theresa rose off of him, just to look down into his face. Sweat plastered strands of her hair to her forehead, but she looked beautiful that moment to Blac.

“I didn't wanna do that yesterday,” she said.

“Shhh,” Blac said. “You been with me before I was in prison, and you here now. You've always been good to me, and you deserve the same. From now on, I wanna give the same to you.”

“Are you for real, Blac?” Theresa asked, her face brightening. “Don't be playing with me.”

“I'm not playing. I wanna get my life together. I was thinking about moving with my sister and nephew in Wisconsin and—”