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Authors: Eric Pete

Reality Check (6 page)

BOOK: Reality Check
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12
 
Max
 
I woke up early Sunday morning and did some major cleaning. My funky clothes needed to be washed, and the apartment was a mess. I straightened things out around the place then decided to tackle the laundry. But first, I remembered my promise to my Uncle Mo.
Adding two hours due to the different time zone, I figured she’d be back home. Orelia always attended the early mass at Saint Henry’s then hung around chatting with the other parishioners. Barring a church barbecue or fair, you could set your watch to her.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Momma.”
“Max! How’s my baby doing?” she asked. I’d given up trying to stop her from referring to me that way. I would always be her baby, even when old and gray.
“I’m fine. You just got back from Mass?”
“Yeah, baby. I saw Mrs. Duplechein in church today. Remember her? She used to do the sewing for us. Anyway, she asked how you were doing. I told her you were in California. She said a prayer for you when I said that.”
Holding back a chuckle, I replied, “Yeah, Momma. I remember her. Her boy still in jail?”
“I think so, baby. She don’t talk much about him, so I don’t ask. You know how that goes. You know your cousin Huey died?”
“Who?”
“Huey. Auntie Suzette’s stepson’s boy,” she rattled off ... somehow. “You never met him, but I know I mentioned him before. Well, he had a heart attack just last week. Way too young, that one. I went to the wake.”
“No, I don’t remember him, but that’s too bad. How are you doing, Mom? Uncle Maurice said he spoke with you.”
“I’m doin’ just fine, baby. Just the old arthritis and gout every now and then. I hadn’t heard from you, but I didn’t want to bother you with that mess. How’s your money lookin’?”
“I’m okay. Still looking for a full time job. That’s all,” I admitted, groaning internally. “Me and my neighbor are going downtown this week. I hear the state’s hiring.”
“Downtown,” she mumbled. “Just be careful down there. I hear they have winos and drug addicts that try to mess with folk. Maybe you should carry some Mace or one of them Taser things.” I had to snicker. Momma had a habit of excessive worrying at times.
“No problem, Momma. I’ll be on the lookout when I go,” I assured her.
“How was your meal at your uncle’s? I know Lucy can put too much salt in her food sometimes.” There she went, the old competitiveness flaring up.
“It was fine,” I answered swiftly before catching myself. “Well, it was good ... just not as good as your cooking.”
“Oh, you’re so sweet,” she gushed. “That’s why I’m gonna fix you a big ol’ meal when you come home.”
“Thanks, Momma. It may be a while, though. I plan on making a go of it out here,” I said, planting my flag in the ground. “Once I get permanently situated, I’ll probably be able to fly down . . . to visit.”
“Just don’t be showin’ up on my door with one of them fast California women on your arm. You need to get a good girl from right down here, not one of them siddity little wenches.”
Time to go. The last
good girl
she approved of had ripped out my heart.
“Momma, you need to stop. Lake Charles has plenty of its own ‘fast’ women—and some siddity ones too.” I thumbed through the yearbook of my mind, coming up with a few faces that matched both those descriptions.
“Well, I guess you got a point there.”
“Momma?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, baby.”
Despite my terseness at times, I really did love her. It was just that she reminded me of my failings every time I had no news for her. She was also my escape valve from all this, so I resented it to some extent. Other people would be lucky to have a parent that cared so much and could do for them, but I was a man, and part of me needed to feel the desperation, as if pushed into a corner, to spur me to better myself.
Cutting through the bull, maybe I needed to prove it to my ex.
Rub it in her face.
On the real.
Take that, Lake Charles. How ya like me now?
Holla!
After taking that brief mental vacation, I grabbed my laundry and headed out the door. On my way to the laundry room, I caught Smitty lurking near the pool, waiting to gawk at Mrs. Griggs, no doubt. Couldn’t fault him. For an older woman, she was finer than most of the young things in the complex. And with her husband being away on lock for several years, she fed into many of our fantasies.
“You about to wash?”
“No, I just like carrying clothes around in a fuckin’ basket,” I teased him.
“Wouldn’t surprise me. You a strange one, Maxwell.”
“Whatever. Are you washing, or you gonna stay here hoping Mrs. Griggs shows?”
“I’ma wait it out. If she don’t bring her ass down soon, I’ll join your little laundry party.”
“Suit yourself,” I said, knowing I had two more loads to haul down.
Smitty eventually got around to washing his shit too. Being his usual prepared self, he ran out of laundry detergent. I remembered a brand new box I bought being in my trunk, so we walked out to the parking lot, where the familiar red BMW was just arriving.
“Uh-oh, Cousin Junior’s in da house!” Smitty yelled out when he saw Jay’s car.
“Shhhh. Call him Jay, Smitty,” I hissed back. I regret the day I told him about the “Junior” issue.
Jay finished his texting then exited his car.
“Whaddup, fellas?” he hollered as he came over. He wore one of the new Lakers jerseys with the warm-up pants, perpetrating, no doubt. The circles under his eyes were probably from a night of partying.
“Whaddup, cuz?” I replied while digging in my trunk for the Tide. Smitty gave Jay a wary nod.
“Washing clothes? You can do mine next.”
“I’ll wash that Beamer for you, Jay,” said Smitty. “But you gotta leave it with me for the day. Whatchasay?”
“I say yo’ little skinny ass better look like Vida Guerra or Meagan Good before I would even consider it. And last time I looked, that ain’t you.”
Smitty didn’t find Jay’s comments that funny.
I just shook my head.
“Went out last night, huh, Jay?” I guessed, changing the subject to something more appealing to my cousin.
“Yeah, cuz. That’s why I wasn’t able to roll by. I had to hunt up a new suit. Let a true player fill you wannabes in on what went down last night.”
As Jay droned on and on about his latest exploits, I tuned out. Instead, I thought back to his immature outburst at the family dinner the other night, realizing again that I didn’t want to be that dude.
13
 
Glover
 
It took until Tuesday for Mona to loosen up again. Charmaine and I had exchanged whispers here and there since the drama at Drama, but we avoided the subject when in Mona’s presence. Charmaine had felt bad even when she carelessly mentioned beer.
Lionel called me before lunch, wanting me to meet him at his office over in the central business district, or CBD. All he said was that he had something to discuss with me. I wondered what it could be, but decided not to dwell on it, as I’d know soon enough. Due to my short lunch hour, I hoped he’d at least have something tasty waiting for me.
As I drove up Grand Avenue toward Lionel’s office in the Gas Company Tower, I thought about the changes the area had been through. The homeless had all but disappeared, having been “relocated” to other parts of downtown by design. That left the area more palatable for the business conducted around here, but at what cost to the people that found shelter from the elements amidst these tall buildings? The professionals milling about on their cell phones as they crossed the streets and overhead walkways to drive off in their Range Rovers and Mercedes wagons were probably oblivious to people having to live like that. Of course I wasn’t. I was old enough to remember those first years after my dad left us.
I pulled into the parking garage adjacent to the architectural wonder in which Lionel worked, taking the special elevator up to the fortieth floor, where Barnes & Greenwood was headquartered. Lionel hooked up with them straight out of Stanford and made a name for himself in no time. For being one of the few minorities there, Lionel was considered a real “team player” and trusted confidant. I wondered at times if the outcome would have been different if Lionel didn’t have the old L.A. Dunning name to back him up. Probably not, as he was so driven.
The contemporary-styled lobby bustled as usual with what I called The Suits, older white men in dark blue suits with red ties, as they either welcomed their clients or rushed out to meetings. It was never too late to change their ways, but at least Lionel didn’t fall into that stuffy, traditional trap. My baby was a trendsetter and trailblazer, destined to have his name added to the corporate logo before long.
I went to the receptionist’s desk, about to ask her to call for Lionel. I saw his office door was open, so decided to see myself in instead. I had been here before, and they weren’t stuffy enough to keep me from seeing my man. I was close enough to Lionel’s office to read his nameplate on the door.
“Hey!” I yelled, almost being knocked aside.
“Oh,” she said, equally startled but less pissed off. It was that eager-beaver chick, what’s-her-face. She’d flown out of Lionel’s office like a bat outta hell and ran right into me. She didn’t look too happy.
“Misha, right?” God, I hoped I was right with the name. I extended my hand. That’s me, Ms. Courteous when I want to be. No need for an office scene.
“Yes! You remembered my name!” she bubbled. “How are you doing, Glover? Lionel’s in his office. Sorry about almost bowling you over.”
Almost?
“That’s okay. Accidents happen.”
Bitch. At least she knew my name.
“Well, I’ve got to run. Lunchtime,” she rapidly commented, pointing at her watch for emphasis. “Nice seeing you again.”
And with that, Misha hustled away, awash in her normal perkiness.
I stepped into Lionel’s office to see my baby standing by his window, looking out onto the city. He was wearing the tie and suspenders set I’d bought him last Christmas.
“Well, hello, sir. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything. Your friend almost ran over me on her way out.”
“Nah, baby. Misha was pissed with her salary review and was venting to me about it. She can be high-strung at times,” said Lionel with those pearly whites glistening. Misha didn’t seem pissed to me, but perhaps she was good at concealing stuff to outsiders. Made good sense in the business world.
“
Oh, really?
I didn’t know she confided in you like that. Am I gonna have to keep an eye on her?” I joked, perhaps feeling some wariness about pretty, ambitious kittens like Misha.
“Not at all, babe. Come here,” said Lionel as he outstretched his arms. I walked behind his desk to kiss him, but he cut it short.
“What’s up with that?” I asked, denied my sugar.
“The door’s open, baby. I don’t want anyone around here tripping. That’s all.”
“How about if I did this?” I asked, discreetly passing my hand between Lionel’s legs, where I brushed against his manhood. Lionel jerked suddenly and protested a little, but figured no one could tell we were doing anything else but hugging. As Lionel began to harden, I suddenly stopped. I didn’t appreciate my kiss being cut short, so got my revenge.
“I hope you had lunch delivered, because I don’t have much time.”
“Oops. Well, I didn’t have anything delivered except for what’s on my desk there,” he replied, pointing over my shoulder.
On Lionel’s desk were airline tickets, as well as brochures. I saw the words “Miami” and “South Beach” and went crazy.
“Lionel! No! Is this the secret you mentioned the other night?”
“Yeah.” He chuckled, sounding sexier than usual. “You like?”
“Do I like? Of course!” I jumped in his arms again, getting the kiss he’d intentionally put off before. “Um, when are you planning this for?” I asked, catching my breath.
“This weekend. We fly out of LAX Friday and return Monday evening.”
“Monday? But I have to work.”
“Guess you need to go back to that office and tell them you need Monday off, huh? Or you could just quit ...”
“Nope. Nice try. I’ll take Monday off.”
“Good. Now we’ll have some alone time. No distractions, just rest and relaxation and time to talk about us.”
That last comment bothered me slightly, as I knew what that “talk about us” entailed. I needed to start acting my age and shake off these irrational doubts that plagued me.
“I look forward to it,” I answered with as honest a smile as I could muster.
BOOK: Reality Check
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