Chapter 6
6
As tired as I was Monday night after staying until close at the garage, I knew better. I made sure to drive on over to my mother and grandmother’s to stop in for a visit.
Outside of Uncle Rod, my mother and grandmother were the only family I had. My father had died when I was a baby. After that, my mother lost contact with his side of the family. It was unfortunate, but it made me extra grateful for the family I did have.
I had a key to the house, but I always knocked or rang the bell out of respect.
It had barely been a minute since I’d rang the doorbell before my mother was coming and opening the door for me.
“Well, look who’s showin’ his face,” my mother remarked as she stood back, taking me in from head to toe.
These days, I was usually a hermit and made sure to stop by once a month at least. It was trash on my part, seeing how they only stayed a few blocks away from me.
“My fault.” I leaned down and engulfed my mother into a hug, pressing my face into the crook of her neck as she hugged me back. Nice and tight. I was her only child, and I had to do better on keepin’ in touch with her.
Deep into the house, I could smell the remains of the evening’s dinner.
It smelled like brown sugar ham, one of my grandmother’s famous recipes next to her renowned potato salad.
“What y’all got goin’ on in here?” I said as I made my presence known and stepped further into the house after my mother let me in.
“Is that Keith?” the voice of my grandmother, Betty Jean, filtered through the house as I recognized her location in the dining room.
I made my way to her to greet her with a hug and a kiss. Betty was at the dining room table, with a late-night mug of tea in front of her. Her face lit up at the sight of me and that itself made me smile.
At eighty, Betty was a ray of sunshine in this dark world. Nothing kept her down or angry, a trait I wished I’d inherited. Then, I wouldn’t have battled with my depression for over a year. Wouldn’t have walked around with that perpetual chip on my shoulder. I was working on it, little by little. I was here , not home like I’d usually go after work.
“Hey, Betty.” I gave her a hug and planted a kiss on her cheek, which she returned hard and long as she often did. When I was a boy, she was always emphasizing how important it was to “love hard.” She hugged you like she didn’t want to let go, told you you were handsome or beautiful, smart and funny, and squeezed extra hard on those tough days when you weren’t feelin’ it.
“Big Man!” Betty professed as I stood away from her embrace. She’d been calling me that since I was a little boy. “ What you doin’ bein’ so tall, Big Man ?” she’d asked me when I’d gone on a growth spurt that never seemed to be ending when I was six.
“I’m just stoppin’ through,” I let Betty know. I glanced out the room toward the kitchen where I could see pots and pans still out from their dinner. “Smells like a feast up in here.”
“Gon’ and get you something.” Betty waved me off as my mother came and joined her at the table.
I shook my head. “Nah, I’m cool. I’ll heat somethin’ up at the crib.”
“Boy, if you don’t get you a plate,” Betty snapped.
Of course . “Yes, ma’am, yes, ma’am.”
Betty Jean was not to be played with by any means. The kindest, sweetest soul, but she wasn’t a fool.Everybody in the neighborhood had love for her, because of her no-nonsense approach and supportive nature. I didn’t have any blood cousins, but the block I grew up on had everyone feelin’ like Betty Jean was their adoptive grandmother.
“Want me to help you?” My mother was beginning to rise from her place at the table and I shot her down. For as long as I’d known my mother, she was a hard worker, doing what she could to take care of me, and then Betty Jean when she’d stopped working. At fifty-two, my mother was still a schoolteacher, and because I knew she would be going to bed soon to get up early for her class in the morning, I wasn’t about to let her lift a finger for me.
I helped myself to the kitchen and made my own plate of Betty’s ham, my mother’s collard greens, and a portion of the potato salad it had been too long since I’d had. After grabbing a glass of water, I went back to the dining room and sat across from my mother and adjacent to Betty.
“You’re looking good,” Betty observed as I ate some of her ham.
After last night, I had started off my morning feeling lousy and like a piece of shit for what had gone down with Kennedy in that office. But then she’d come back, telling me she’d liked it—that she wanted more, and as much as I couldn’t wrap my head around it, I did feel better. I was no closer to a hundred percent, or my old self, but I was solid.
“Feeling a little better,” I spoke up. I tossed my grandmother a smile. “This ham never disappoints.”
She smiled. “Take some home with you.”
It wasn’t an offer I could refuse, so I didn’t.
“You seein’ anybody new?” Betty asked.
“Mom!” my mother fussed as she scolded her own mother.
Betty rolled her eyes. “I’m just asking, Sherry, dang.”
My mother rolled her eyes and shook her head. To me, she softened up, concerned. “How are you doing, Keith?”
I shrugged as I forked at my greens. “I’m straight.”
And unlike the many times before when I was asked this question, I was telling the truth.
My mother and Betty Jean gave me my space when I’d first gone into the dark. Something that I’d needed at the time. I didn’t want to be nurtured or talked to. I’d wanted to be alone.
Sometimes, when I was close to the edge, feeling like nothing, I thought of them and came back down to Earth. The thought of them kept air in my lungs and a reason to believe in my heart.
It had been a rough year since my ex.
These two women kept my ass in line. There was a rough patch in my teen years, and by the grace of God, my mother had saved me from succumbing to the streets of Bedford Heights. I could never repay her, and I just hoped my love was enough.
I looked her in her eye. “Thanks for asking.”
She nodded. “Rod says you’ve been putting in a lot of work down at the shop. I hope you’re finding time for yourself again.”
She wasn’t wrong. I did need to step outside more. I needed to let the past go. “The year’s just starting, but I definitely intend to make the most of it.”
I wasn’t sure how, but I was going to fully pull myself out of the pit I’d crawled into.
Betty Jean yawned and covered her mouth. “I better turn in. Biiig day tomorrow.”
I took a drink of my water and took in my grandmother. “What’s tomorrow?”
My mother chuckled. “Something’s going on in one of her stories she watches.”
Betty Jean took a step back, aghast at my mother’s blasé approach to her soap opera. “David is coming out of his coma, and Pauline is going to find out she’s been seein’ his twin brother the whole time!”
“Yawn,” my mother responded with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Give it up already, woman.”
“Do not downplay impeccable storytelling, girl.”
All I could do was laugh at their bit. They’d been going back and forth about Betty Jean’s stories since as far as I could remember. At a time, I’d definitely dabbled in watching with her. They could be addictive with the plotlines and dramatics. I wouldn’t front.
Betty Jean went to turn in and my mother remained seated across from me. The soft look in her dark eyes let me know she truly cared for me and wanted what was best for me.
“We worry, Keith, we really do,” she said to me.
“I know, and it’s my fault for being so caught up over that situation,” I admitted.
“Getting your heart broken is no easy feat. Can’t control how you handle it. It’s important to know she was wrong about you, and obviously wasn’t a good fit,” my mother insisted.
She and Leila had gotten along, because my mother was always so nice to everyone. A habit she’d gotten from Betty. When I thought about it, I came to the realization that I’d probably taken after my father instead, because I wasn’t a happy-go-lucky type of guy.
I was still surprised I turned Kennedy on, because a lot of out-of-towners—especially women—thought I was too serious and intimidating.
“Hey,” my mother said gently, capturing my full attention. “What’s a word of wisdom I taught you?”
A corner of my mouth curled up at the thought of her instilling in me quotes from the intellectuals and greats. “Marianne Williamson, ‘Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.’ An innate fear to be great can stunt you, so don’t be afraid to dream and achieve big.”
My recollection of a lesson she’d taught me brought a smile to my mother’s face. “You are a great man, Keith. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
I finished my dinner, trying and trying to believe her words to be true.
* * *
I owed Savon an appearance, so Wednesday night, after work, we linked up. Of all places, he’d chosen Crazy Legs, the only strip club in Bedford Heights, to grab beers and catch up.
We sat at the bar, taking in the music and scene.
“Cole and Wale need to stop playin’ and drop a tape, man,” Savon observed as he listened to the music playing in the background.
“Heard you,” I agreed as I bobbed my head to the beat.
“You know, I’m not gon’ lie to you, bro, I didn’t think you’d show,” Savon said as he looked at me.
I had that coming. “I’ma be around more. Trust.”
He cut the humor as he peered into my eyes behind his lenses. “You better be. We need you down at the center.”
Yeah, I definitely was going to get my act together. Growing up in the Heights wasn’t easy, and no one knew it more than Von and me.Our Face Cards couldn’t be touched after earning our stripes, and most times, the new youth listened when we spoke.
“Anyway,” he moved on. “What happened the other night? You never texted me back.”
“It’s a crazy story, man.” I shook my head and grabbed my beer. Normally, I wasn’t one to talk—not that I intended to tell it all, but the whole thing was still unbelievable to me.
Crazy Legs was buzzing with conversation, laughter, and music from the speakers. No one was paying us any mind as we hung at the bar.
I ran a hand down my face and stared ahead at the wall of liquor behind the bar. “Me and her…kinda got into it at the garage.”
“Excuse me?” I could hear Savon’s shock in his tone.
I nodded and kept going. “One thing sorta led to another and we had a good time.”
He gripped my shoulder, demanding I look him in the eye as I told him. “ That girl? Let you touch her?”
I couldn’t be offended, because I got his meaning through and through. Baby girl was a bougie little bih with an attitude that could grate on anyone’s nerves.
“It just…happened.” I shrugged. “One minute she’s actin’ stuck-up, and the next…she’s asking for it.” I winced at the phrasing. “I mean, she gave me the green light. She was feelin’ me. Wouldn’t let me kiss her, though.”
“Oh,” Savon said as he took a swig of his beer. “She one of those .”
I chuckled. I needed to ask her about that. Kennedy had a face that demanded attention. “Who knows?”
“So she ain’t got a man? Shit, with that big ass rock on her finger, I was willin’ to bet she was marrying some tech guy,” Savon went on.
My face scrunched up at the reality that Kennedy was very much engaged. “No, she’s getting married, but…it’s complicated.”
“Sure.” Savon’s sarcasm bit at me, making me feel a need to defend Kennedy. I didn’t know her. Didn’t know if she had fed me bullshit to keep seeing me, but I didn’t want to set her out like that.
“Nah, she got rich people problems. Some business deal between her pops and this dude has her being married off to finalize it.”
Savon looked at me, squinting his eyes, not understanding the scenario either. “What is she? The princess of Zamunda?”
My shoulders shook as I relaxed and laughed. “I don’t know, man. Shit is twisted.”
“Jesus.” Savon took another sip of his beer. “You don’t need that mess.”
I stroked at my chin, thinking over the stupidity in getting involved with Kennedy knowing her situation. “I gave her my card when she came to pick up her ride Monday.”
I could feel Savon’s gaze on me. “So, you finally over Leila then?”
Lately, I hadn’t been thinking about her. Still, there was an old grocery list stuck to my fridge at home I’d kept to have a reminder of her. Her feminine handwriting was all I had left.
I needed to throw it out.
“Guess so,” I stated in the end.
Savon whistled and raised his glass in the air, signifying a toast. “Must’ve been somethin’ mean.”
That I couldn’t deny.
I liked it a little more than I should’ve.
“All right, coming to the stage is a lady that needs no introduction. Get all your money out right now. I need big bills for this lady, fellas. Let’s give it up for Sabrina!” the DJ announced enthusiastically. His words were met with a riotous cheer from the men bordering the stage and those at the tables and booths beyond.
Whoever this girl was, she was a highly admired dancer.
The lights in the club dimmed as a spotlight centered on the stage, awaiting the arrival of the next dancer to come out.
Music began playing, a smooth R&B song I soon recognized as Ciara’s “Body Party” just as the dancer emerged from behind the velvet curtains.
Her hair was dyed cherry-red, even in the dim room you couldn’t miss it. That or her hourglass figure. Perky breasts, a tiny waist, a light reflecting off her belly button ring, and what looked like a nice ass behind her. She hadn’t yet shed her neon pink lace bra, matching panties, or garter belt. There was plenty still left to the imagination, and it was already raining dollar bills her way for how sexy she was.
She approached the pole stealthily and confidently, circling it as her eyes searched the crowd vacantly. Ciara began singing and Sabrina began moving her body sensually.
My eyes didn’t linger long on her figure before I really took in her angelic face. There was something about it, something youthful— too youthful that begged the question just how old she was. Sabrina didn’t look a day past sixteen, and for that, I turned around on my stool and faced the bar again and propped my arms against the counter.
“What now?” Savon wondered. “Y’all gon’ see each other in the future?”
“She would have to call for that,” I commented. It had been two days and I hadn’t heard a peep. “Until then, not much to be said.”
Savon considered this. “Would you turn her down if she did call?”
Common sense told me I should’ve. I wasn’t the type of guy to mess with women in relationships, whether shitty or not. Kennedy’s case was rare and special.
There was something bratty about her, entitled even. As if she was used to getting everything handed to her. Leila was a regular girl from around the way, and if I wasn’t good enough for her , of course I’d never meet Kennedy’s standards and expectations.
She wouldn’t call.
“We’ll cross that bridge if it happens,” I said, noncommittal.
Savon accepted this. “So, what if word gets out? What if homie try to press you?”
I wasn’t fazed. “Ain’t nothin’ but a conversation, man to man.”
Her fiancé didn’t scare me, whether I knew what was up with him or not. His corny power play in getting her to marry him for business said enough about him.
Still, I didn’t need that kind of trouble in my life. I had people counting on me.
It didn’t really matter. Because I was certain. This was just a one-off. A moment of carnal need and weakness. Kennedy would not call.