Reality Check (22 page)
Authors: Eric Pete
50
Max
“Excuse me,” I said as I moved aside for the people who knew where they were going and how to get there. Having adjusted to Los Angeles, I was reduced to tourist status here. Nevertheless, I adjusted my tie and moved with the flow.
My airline tickets, along with instructions to Sandifer Industries, had arrived just as Amy Sorinson had promised. Upon arriving at Oakland International, I’d changed into my interview suit and taken the BART, after learning what it was. I’d travelled north to Oakland City Center station, where I had two hours before my interview in Concord. Per the mini-map in my briefcase, it would only take thirty minutes to get there. Having a little time, I skipped the first train and went exploring.
Goosebumps popped up on my arms and neck as I walked through the crowd, imagining it was my daily routine. The thrill of a new challenge and a new place gave me a nervous feeling, but a good nervous feeling. I inhaled deeply, envisioning success on this trip. I’d imagined something similar when I stood in the CBD of downtown L.A., but the feeling was stronger this time. I felt sure that I belonged.
Right here.
Right now.
I wanted to stretch my arms out and proclaim, “Hate it or love it, the underdog’s on top,” but decided against it. There’d be plenty of time for the haters.
The spirit uplifted me from Oakland to Concord. From the BART train to the taxicab that took me through the main gate of Sandifer Industries, it was with me. I admired the precise, manicured landscaping on the grounds as my cabby droned on with the history of Concord, California and Sandifer. The only thing that stuck was him saying that Concord used to be called All Saints by the Spanish.
We entered a large circular drive and came around the Sandifer logo in front of the headquarters’ main entrance. The building was only five stories tall, but the shiny metal-and-glass facade stretched on forever, curving like a rippling wave. I gave the cabby a generous tip, hoping I would recoup it with my first paycheck.
A security guard guided me to the front desk, where I was presented with my visitor’s badge. I was early for my interview, so asked for the restroom.
Inside the restroom, I opened my briefcase and reapplied cologne, did the breath and underarm checks, and eyed myself in the mirror. While I checked my nose for stray boogers, a bearded, middle-aged white guy in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts exited a stall and washed his hands. Nothing I could say.
“That bad?” he asked with a laugh.
“No, just freshening up. Been flying ’n stuff.”
I adjusted my suit a final time in the elevator on the way up to the fifth floor, becoming conscious of every little wrinkle and line. The pinging sound indicated I’d arrived, just before the doors parted. Waiting for me was the same guy from the bathroom.
“Small world, huh?” he teased.
“I—”
“Just breathe. I’m Brad, by the way,” he said, patting me on my shoulder. I assumed he was HR, or simply helping out, as he escorted me down the hall. We talked some small talk, with him offering to get me some water, which I declined. At the end of the long corridor, we stopped at a large corner office. On its massive door was a plaque, which I scanned as I went by: BRADLEY SANDIFER III.
An HR rep was in the interview, but my guide was not that person. This was the president of the company who was walking with me. I’m glad I didn’t do or say anything too stupid.
The interview was conducted by both of them, with Brad doing most of the talking. The HR rep sat and took notes, only joining in from time to time. I felt pretty comfortable, hoping it was reflected in my answers without my seeming cocky. Brad was an energetic fellow, straight out of an infomercial at times, explaining their business and products at a frantic pace. The only uncomfortable moment was when my cell phone began ringing. Being on vibrate may have been better, as it played the opening verse to Li’l Wayne’s new song. I quickly turned off my phone, apologizing profusely. By the time the interview was over, I had forgotten all about it.
With no further questions, Brad gave me a brief tour of Sandifer Industries headquarters. I was given the impression that I had this, pending my physical and drug test. I wasn’t sweating that, as I never touched drugs. Salary still had to be discussed and agreed upon, and Brad was unsure if the opening would be in the Bay Area or L.A., but I wasn’t picky.
A change of scenery would do me good, as a certain someone still lurked in my mind, in spite of the craziness with Jay. I still wrestled with the issue of who was telling the truth, but it didn’t matter now. Glover was jumping the broom this weekend, if I remembered correctly.
As I headed out the front lobby, I asked the receptionist if she could call a cab for me. My flight back to L.A. left in a few hours, so I called home to check my messages while I waited. My answering machine told me I had two messages. The first message began playing when I remembered my missed call during the interview. I was looking down at the displayed number I didn’t recognize when I heard the message:
“Max, this is your Aunt Lucy, baby. I need you to call us as soon as possible. Something’s happened to your cousin. Junior’s been shot.” Aunt Lucy’s voice was shaken.
I was in shock, felt the weakness in my knees as I hung up.
“Could you call the cab company and tell them to hurry up?” I asked of the receptionist. Not bothering with the second message at home, I hung up and called my Uncle Mo’s number. Something told me to stop, though. I hung up again and checked the missed call one more time.
The area code was 310.
I pushed the button to call it back. The phone rang a few times, and then someone answered.
“UCLA Medical Center,” they said.
51
Glover
My recent nights were spent at Lionel’s. I was on leave from my job, finalizng the wedding plans and going over last minute details. I apologized to Lionel’s father for my Uncle Rob replacing him in the wedding. An apology really wasn’t needed, but I felt obliged, as Goodwin had been kind to me throughout. Uncle Rob had his measurements taken at a tux shop in Virginia and called them in to me. He and his family would be here Friday, so I offered up my apartment, as there were still a few weeks on the lease. I would just hold off on moving my furniture.
It felt good knowing I’d have family at my wedding. Deep down, something still didn’t feel totally right, but there was no turning back.
A lot of my belongings were moved or packed up now. I was going to miss my place. Once cozy and cluttered, it now felt vanilla and soulless. A lot of my personality had gone into it in the five years I’d lived there. From the odd picture frames to the little green ceramic frogs in my bathroom, this place had been me.
Most of my stuff didn’t fit with the theme of my future home. I entertained the thought of setting up a little private room to myself over there, a place to which I could escape and retain a piece of me.
Maybe do my gift bags in there
, I thought with a laugh. I dismissed it all, though, as being childish and immature.
Maybe do my gift bags in there
, I thought with a laugh. I dismissed it all, though, as being childish and immature.
Fuck it. Lionel would just have to put up with my little frogs in the bathroom. It still wasn’t perfect, but it would do.
My last piece of unfinished business needed to be taken care of. Something I could only do alone and in the privacy of my apartment. I picked up the phone several times before putting it back down on the stand and walking away. I even let out a shriek of frustration as I kicked one of my throw pillows across the floor, terrified of somebody answering and my cool melting.
Yep, I was one trifling sister right about now.
After pulling out enough of my hair, I went for it. I left my eyes closed as it rang. My wish that the answering machine would pick up was granted. I kept my eyes closed, letting my thoughts flow—the last thoughts of Glover McDaniel before she would be swallowed up by the House of Dunning, never to be seen nor heard from again.
“Max, it’s me. You probably didn’t expect to hear from me again and probably don’t want to hear from me.”
Eyes still shut, I bit my lip before continuing.
“Don’t worry. This is the last time. I’m through fucking up your life.”
I exhaled deeply.
“There’s just stuff I need to get off my chest, and I don’t trust myself talking directly to you. As strong as I believe myself to be, I guess deep down I’m a scared little girl. More like a coward, the more I think about it. I’ve done some awful shit since I first met you. I’ve schemed and given in to temptation. I’ve done some wrong things to both you and my fiancé.”
A nervous giggle escaped as I bared my soul more to a lifeless machine than I could to a real person.
“Max, for that shit that went down with your cousin, I don’t blame you for believing him, even if you say you don’t. As misguided as your loyalty may be to him, it is loyalty that you have. That’s probably one of the things I like about you. Loyalty is something that ... that I’ve been lacking. And I’m trying to make up for that these days.”
I paused, debating whether to continue. I hoped I’d run out of time and the phone would just hang up on me. It didn’t, so I kept going. Virtual confession.
“We’ve never said the words, but Lionel knows or suspects what was going on with us. I don’t have to tell you that, though, and I’m sorry for things going down like that. I’ll have to live with what I’ve done and with what I’m about to say ...”
My heart screamed out for the first time since my mother had passed away. Tears wanted to burst forth, but I wouldn’t let them. Held them back out of fear.
“I love you, Max.”
Four simple words that had weighed a ton until I’d set them free.
“Heh,” I chuckled. “I think I realized it when we first had lunch at the diner. Oh God, I can’t believe I admitted this.” I began choking up. My words slowed. My throat constricted.
“I love you enough that I want nothing but happiness for you with whoever is lucky enough to be all yours. I wish that were me, but unfortunately, it can’t be. Max, I will never speak these words to you again—or even admit saying them.
“It was incredible knowing you for this brief time, so I thank you for that. Don’t think about calling me back. I won’t be here. And I’m sorry for ... for all of this. Good-bye, Max.”
My eyes hurt from being clenched shut for so long. After hanging up, I still refused to cry. I was Glover, my mom’s tough little girl.
I unplugged the phone permanently from the wall and left.
52
Max
I treaded through the isolation of the ICU, nothing more than the hum of respirators for company. I hated it. Some warmth and hope would have been welcome in its place. Aunt Lucy’s wailing shattered the cold serenity. I followed the sound, rushing headlong around the corner to see Aunt Lucy going ballistic in Uncle Mo’s arms. He held her tight, rocking back and forth to soothe her. They stood in the hallway outside a room, positioned as if defending it from unseen forces that threatened their son. I slowed as I came upon them, waiting for the right moment when they’d see me. The look of relief on their faces told me the most important thing: Jay was alive.
Aunt Lucy’s eyes were painfully swollen, with dried salt from her tears on her cheeks. In spite of him being the rock of the family, Uncle Mo’s eyes were red too, his voice straining as he greeted me. We all embraced in silence then said a prayer.
Aunt Lucy had done her best to fill me in when I called the hospital earlier. Jay had been shot last night. He took two in the back after work. He was on the mall parking lot with some woman when someone came up from behind and shot him. The guy was still on the loose after leaving Jay bleeding on the ground with two nine-millimeter slugs in him. Talk was that it was gang-related, even though Jay wasn’t a gang member. It was touch and go most of the night, but they got Jay stabilized just before dawn.
Aunt Lucy had left a message on my answering machine this morning, but I had already left for the airport. Uncle Mo found my cell number, and they called it when they didn’t hear back from me.
“Maxwell, your cousin done it this time. Messin’ with them girls finally caught up with him. I told him time and time again, but his ass wouldn’t listen,” Uncle Mo said as he cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner. Is ... is he gonna be all right, Uncle Maurice?”
Aunt Lucy composed herself and answered, “Junior had his spleen taken out. He ... he can’t feel his legs, Max.” She broke down once again.
“The doctor just told us about his legs when you got here. My boy might not walk again. If I catch the punk that did this, I’ma kill his ass.” Uncle Mo’s voice broke off as he covered his face with his hands to hide how he was losing it too.
Uncle Mo’s primal howl rocked me to my core. One of them I could handle, but not both. My control started to slip as I tried to tend to them.
A petite nurse came out from the nurses’ station to render assistance, seating my aunt. She told Aunt Lucy that God would take care of everything, as she rubbed her back.
A doctor and another nurse emerged from Jay’s room. He was stable and conscious, but in a great deal of discomfort. One of the slugs was still in him, and it wouldn’t be known if the paralysis was permanent until the swelling had gone down.
“Are you his cousin?” the doctor asked.
“Yeah,” I replied.
The doctor told me that Jay was asking for me, but to make my visit short. I was surprised by his request, especially after our last encounter. I don’t think my aunt and uncle knew anything about that. I gave them a smile to reassure them, then wiped my face and went in.
Jay’s eyes flickered as I approached. His face, laced with tubes in his nose, looked dry and pale. Aunt Lucy had placed a set of Rosary beads in his hand. My gaze trailed down to his legs out of instinct. I was hoping to see a twitch or something.
“Whaddup, cuz?” Jay asked, his crackly voice trailing off at the end. His lips barely moved when he spoke.
“Hey. Don’t talk too much, man.”
“Moms okay?”
“Yeah. She’s in the hall with Uncle Mo.”
“How do I look?”
“Like shit.”
“Still hatin’ with yo’ country ass,” he joked, fighting off a cough.
“Who did this, cuz?”
“Remember dudes in my store that day?” he asked, referring to the gangbangers I’d seen once. “Talkin’ smack is one thing, but I ... never . . . thought ...”
“You told the police?”
“Nah. Way ... too much ... trouble.” He coughed. “Ol’ girl this was about knows where I live. Don’t need Moms and Pops catching anything. Besides, they didn’t touch my face.”
“Look, I’m going let you get some rest, cuz.”
“Sit, man. For a sec.”
I debated ignoring him, but complied. I took a seat in the chair and scooted closer.
“Remember when I dropped out of school?”
“Yeah.”
“That was over a girl, man. Can ... you ... believe? I was wildin’ out when I got to UCLA. Met shorty my second year.” He smiled, medication having him here and somewhere else simultaneously.
“Man, we can talk about that later. You just get some rest.”
“Shut up. If I don’t talk about it now, I never will.”
Not one to question what my cousin needed at this moment, I did as he said. I listened.
Jay went on to tell me about this girl with whom he’d fallen madly in love. No one off campus knew about it, including his parents. They dated for two semesters and were inseparable. Jay gave up his playing for her and was about to propose. He’d even bought a ring and planned on moving out of Uncle Mo’s. Jay had the ring with him and dropped by her dormitory to surprise her.
“She surprised me,” he mumbled. “All three of them did. Fuckin’ dudes from the football team were runnin’ a train on her. Whole dorm knew. Then ... motherfuckers beat my ass for interrupting them. She wasn’t sorry. Shit ... hurt.”
“Damn, man,” I gasped, realizing so much about him now. My cousin sought payback on some level for the humiliation he’d suffered, taking it out on every other woman he’d been involved with from that point on. I put my hand on his shoulder, glad I’d taken a different path after Denessa’s betrayal with my friend back in Louisiana.
The nurse came in to check on Jay, and I got up to leave. I was pulling on the door handle when he spoke again.
“I’m sorry, cuz.” Not being sure of what I heard, I stopped and listened.
“Jay?” I called out while the nurse checked his monitoring equipment. His pain meds were kickng in, and I wasn’t certain he was still awake.
“I’m sorry, cuz,” he repeated, more like a groan than a statement. “I lied, man.”
“About what?”
“Your girl. I made that shit up.”
I stood in stunned silence, unable to move.
Jay continued, still conscious. “I met ... her ass in the club, but she wouldn’t give me any play. Pride was hurt. Maybe I was jealous when I saw her with you. Dunno.”
“Dammit, Jay!” I yelled. I caught myself when I looked at the monitor Jay was hooked up to. The nurse was startled by my outburst, but went back to pretending to ignore our conversation.
“Guess I was dumping a lot of my baggage on you when I made up that ... shit about her. Good punch, Country,” he wheezed.
I was fuming still, but it was under control, due to the circumstances. “Don’t worry about it, cuz. You just concentrate on getting better. That’s all over with now anyway.”
“Why you fuckin’ with me, nigga? You in love with that woman. Could tell from the look on your face that night. That’s why I was so mad. Knew ... that ... look. It was the same one I had . . . before ... You wouldn’t have hit me like you did if you weren’t.”
“She’s getting married, Jay. It’s over.”
“No shit? Damn,” he said as his voice tapered off all wispy-like. Jay’s eyes shut. The nurse didn’t like something she was seeing with his readings.
“Sir, you have to leave now,” she insisted.
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