Up at the College (8 page)

Eva T. boasted pretty dorms, lush landscaping, and good food, much of it grown by the students earning degrees in the Agriculture
Development Program. Its graduates came out well trained and had their pick of jobs, as well as graduate, law, medical, and
professional degree programs. But the one department that made the university stand head and shoulders above all other schools
in the area, including the big three (Duke, Carolina, and N.C. State), was its Department of Architecture, which had been
built almost single-handedly by one of the most prestigious early twentieth-century black architects in the country, Daniel
Meeting. And the school was now earning a top-notch rep with all of the great things happening in its Building, Construction,
and Interior Design Program, an offshoot of this program.

Trina finished tossing the salad and drizzled a heaping helping of homemade bacon ranch salad dressing in the bowl. Yvonne
inhaled—Trina’s bacon ranch dressing with fresh peppercorns in it was the best.

Maurice ran his finger over the dressing on top of the salad and licked it off. “Mmmm, baby. I don’t know what you do to that
dressing to make it so good.”

“I put my butt in it,” Trina said, laughing.

“You know your self is just as crazy, Trina Fountain,” Yvonne said. “But I don’t know. You may have stuck your booty or feet
or toe jams or something in that salad dressing to make it taste so good.”

Curtis shook his head, smiling, and started putting some of that delicious-smelling food on his plate. He was starving and
couldn’t wait to finally dig in to the meal he’d been waiting to eat all evening. He took a seat next to Yvonne and picked
up his fork, ready to dig in.

“Hold up a second, Curtis, man. We need to bless the food,” Maurice said as he slid into his seat at the head of the table.

Trina put the pitcher of tea on the table and sat down. Maurice reached out his hands. Trina took one and Curtis took the
other, and then reached out and wrapped his large hand, which could palm a basketball effortlessly, around Yvonne’s.

Yvonne knew that boy had big hands but she didn’t realize just how big they were until she felt her own lost in the warmth
and security of Curtis Parker’s. Curtis wanted to squeeze Yvonne’s hand but feared he’d hurt her because it was so tiny and
delicate. But then again, it was also a very strong and sturdy little hand—the kind that cared for babies, cooked delicious
meals, trimmed hedges, painted, stripped wood floors, washed cars, and did a host of busy-bee types of things.

Curtis marveled at how this tiny and delicate hand could hold such strength, and yet contain such delicate sweetness. He knew
that Yvonne Fountain had been “going through” as his grandmother and her girls would say. But for a woman to come through
a crisis, remain strong,
and
stay sweet was something worth praising God about. Because Curtis was certain that the only way anybody could come through
like this was by the grace and favor of God, and with faith in God.

He took a chance and squeezed Yvonne’s hand gently, allowing their palms to touch. What he felt in that second set his heart
on fire. He couldn’t believe the power of this woman’s touch. It took a considerable amount of restraint to refrain from lifting
her hand up to his lips and placing hot kisses on Yvonne’s fingertips. What an experience that would be—to feel her fingertips
on his lips, and then have the pleasure of witnessing the girl’s reaction to him when she felt all of that heat searing through
her entire body.

Curtis smiled at that thought, and before he could stop himself, slipped his fingers through Yvonne’s. His smile broadened
when she blushed. It felt so good to behold a woman’s simple and honest reaction to the feel of his fingers sliding through
hers. Curtis closed his eyes for a second. How had his life become so sophisticated, of the world, and jaded that he’d forgotten
how heartwarming such a straightforward response to him could be?

“Lord,” Maurice began in a voice that sounded like he was getting revved up for a very long prayer, “we are some blessed people.
And we just wanted You to know that we know it. We also know that everything we have comes from and will always come from
You. Thank You, Lord.”

“Yes, thank You, Lord,” Curtis said hurriedly, hoping that this would push Maurice to focus on blessing the food so they could
eat. He was hungry.

Maurice ignored Curtis. He could wait. “And, Lord,” Maurice continued, “I just want to thank You for this basketball season.
I want to thank You for the victory You have in the wings for us. I can’t see it but Your Word has given us permission to
call things that have not yet come, as if they are already right here in our midst. So, Lord, I’m calling for a victorious
and blessed season in spite of what I see. Because Your Word does not return void. Thank You, Lord, in Jesus’s name, amen.”

“In Jesus’s name,” Trina and Yvonne said together.

They all sat there waiting for Curtis to say something to affirm that he was in agreement with them. When Curtis remained
silent, Maurice frowned at him and said, “You need to get in that Word and come back to church. God just gave us a victory
but He is not going to bless you in a tangible way, dawg, if you’re not in line with His Word and will for your life. We’ve
been hanging in there by God’s grace. And I’m sure the only reason you and I are still employed at this university is because
God wants us there, and He has kept us there so that you can get it together, so that He can bless you and the team. But,
dawg, I hate to tell you this—God doesn’t leave those windows of opportunity open forever. He does close them after a season.”

Curtis acquiesced and said, “In Jesus’s name.” He then let go of everybody’s hand, picked up his fork, and dug in to his food,
stuffing a hefty piece of fish in his mouth. Curtis couldn’t believe Maurice had clowned him like that—even though he knew
in his heart that Maurice was right. Still, it hurt like heck to hear it, and especially in front of Trina and Yvonne.

“Baby,” Trina said, “we’ve been praying so about the team and winning, I’m thinking that we might want to say a word lifting
up the cheerleaders. ’Cause Lawd knows those little girls need somebody praying over them.” She shook her head. “You know,”
she continued, “I almost hate to see them coming, when they bust up in the Sheraton Imperial at Eva T.’s fall reception, sashaying
up to everybody who thinks they are anybody in black Durham.”

“No, not all of black Durham, all of the black Triangle,” Curtis said, his mood on the upswing after that Holy Ghost–inspired
smackdown from the Lord. Maurice would have never spoken to him like that and especially in front of others unless he himself
had received a nudge from the Lord to handle some heavy heavenly business. “’Cause y’all know,” he continued, “that every
ed-u-mu-kay-ded
individual with visible African ancestry will be at that reception.”

“True dat,” Maurice said and scooped up a hefty forkful of salad, stuffing it in his mouth. “You know something, I’m sick
of those little girls, and in particular that ShayeShaye Boswell and her partner in crime, Larqueesha Watts. I’m sick of having
to deal with all of the mess they keep going with my players.
Always
something up with those two heifers.”

Maurice finished chewing and then stuck some more salad in his mouth and proceeded to start talking again, as if the food
in his mouth were helping with his ability to hold a dinner conversation. “You know, about the only thing I can think about
lifting up on their behalf is that not a one of those baby skeezers in training gets knocked up by June Bug Washington or
DeMarcus Brown this academic year.”

Curtis shook his head in disgust. He said, “I’ve never seen young men act the way they do. In fact, other than Kordell Bivens
and his boy Rico Sneed and
dem
, I really don’t think I’ve seen any other brothers acting like those two overprivileged thugs. It’s like they are running
in some kind of
pack of hos
like they are in a pack of wolves.”

“Who are the men running around with Kordell and Rico?” Yvonne asked, feeling bad that Marquita’s husband was out in the streets
embarrassing her and making a mockery of their marriage.

“Larry Camden, Castilleo Palmer, naturally, and Paulo Yates,” Curtis told her.

“Are you kidding? Paulo Yates is in the ho pack with them?” Yvonne asked.

“Umm … hmm” was all Curtis said.

“But …”

“But what, Yvonne,” he responded sternly. “You thought that because Paulo has a family and is on the usher board at the church
that he was okay?”

She really wanted to say “Yes,” but didn’t want to let on that she was that naïve.

“I thought so,” Curtis said evenly. “You and half of the folks who don’t pay enough attention to people like that thought
the exact same thing. But just ask Mr. Tommy, the head usher at Fayetteville Street Church—he’ll tell you all about them.”

“Okay, so now we all know that Paulo and the rest are out there ho’in’ themselves out,” Yvonne said. “But seems to me that
they would want to ho alone, not in a pack where folks know way too much about your business.”

“Okay, Cuz,” Maurice said patiently. “First off, Paulo, Larry, and Rico are all married. They can’t just up and go out without
some kind of cover or excuse. They need that ho pack to get out of the house.”

“All married to some good women who look a whole lot better than those scuzzleducks they out there in the streets with,” Trina
added.

“Baby, have you ever seen their women? We don’t know that they look like scuzzleducks. They probably do. But we don’t know
that, baby,” Maurice said.

“Maurice, you know good and well that tricks like that don’t look like much. Even if they are
technically
cute, the way they live is bound to show up and make them looked used and hard—like scuzzleducks.”

“And kinda ugly, too,” Yvonne added.

“Plus, Mr. Tommy told me when I was talking to him after church that he saw pictures of those women, and that they didn’t
look like nothing.”

“Trina,” Curtis asked, “I know Mr. Tommy gets around. But when did he see those women?”

“At the new IHOP in Apex. Mr. Tommy said that he ran into Rico, Kordell, Larry, Paulo, and Castilleo at that IHOP. Said they
were all huddled up over Rico’s new laptop pretending like they were admiring it but what they were really doing was looking
at those women. Mr. Tommy told me …”

“Baby girl, at first I was going to just stop by their table and say hi. Even though I ain’t got much use for them, I believe
in speaking to people. So I went on over to their table. But those fellows were so deep into what was on that computer screen
they didn’t even notice that I was hovering around. So, you know me,” Mr. Tommy said, his eyes getting big like they do when
he’s giving you the 411. “I just kinda eased over closer and looked, too. And Lawd, those girls weren’t nothing but some cheap
nothings. They were the kind of women who get up from laying up with a man, and then spray themselves with perfume instead
of going somewhere to take a decent bath.”

Trina wrinkled up her nose.

“Uh … huh … I knew you know what I was talking about,” Mr. Tommy said, and scratched at his head for a moment. “I
almost blew my cover and told them that I hoped they took some rolled-up newspaper with them when they met up those gals.
’Cause they were going to need plenty of it when those mutts started acting like the untrained dogs in heat they were, and
the only thing that would calm those heifers down was a hard tap on the nose with some newspaper.”

At that point, Curtis doubled over with laughter and almost fell out of his chair. He said, “Mr. Tommy is crazy.”

“Yeah,” Maurice added, “Mr. Tommy knows he is on some different stuff. Who knew that ho’in’ had gotten so organized and high-tech?”

“I hear you, man,” Curtis added. “I just wish Kordell and Castilleo were as serious and organized about their jobs as they
are about planning those ho junkets they are always running off to.”

“Question,” Yvonne said. “Why did Castilleo’s mama and daddy name him that? It is way too fancy for a lil’ broke negro running
around Durham County thinking he’s a bona fide pimp. Y’all feeling me on that one?”

“Yeah, we are definitely feeling you on that one, Cuz,” Maurice said. “Because I can’t imagine why anybody would want to name
their child
Castilleo
.”

“You’re right on that one, baby,” Trina seconded. “Because even Metro Mitchell and Dayeesha Hamilton’s children don’t have
names like that.”

“They sure don’t,” Yvonne said.

“They may not have names like that,” Maurice began, “but still, I’m kinda scared to find out what their names are. We are
talking about Metro and Dayeesha, right?”

“Their names are Joseph, Jeremiah, and Jeneene,” Yvonne told them evenly.

“We really are in the last days,” Curtis said. “’Cause those names are relatively normal.”

“They have middle names, too,” Yvonne replied with a big grin on her face.

“And I can surmise that you know what those names are,” Curtis said, now curious about the middle names and how Yvonne came
across this information. She was good and that scared him a bit. Made Curtis wonder what she knew about him—even though he
wasn’t so sure he really wanted to ask her that question.

“Yep.”

“And they are?”

“Joseph Crayshawn, Jeremiah Crentwan, and Jeneene Crystawn.”

“Whew,” Curtis said, as if in sheer relief. “Just when I thought that the predictability of everyday life was in jeopardy,
I discover that all is well after all. Crayshawn, Crentwan, and Crystawn. I can sho’ sleep good tonight.”

“Yes, Lawd,” Maurice stated. “Dayeesha had me scared there for a moment with those first names. I was on my way to Kroger
to take the baby to the hospital to get her ghetto-fabulous genes checked out until I heard the middle names.”

“I love Dayeesha Hamilton,” Trina said with a hearty laugh. “That baby is definitely cut from the same cloth as her daddy.”