Chapter 51 Crystal
Crystal
I didn’t speak to Neville for the rest of the day, or the evening for that matter. It didn’t take much for Neville to get the hint because he’d prepared a tasty dinner, and when I didn’t emerge from my bedroom, he left.
I lay in my bed like a stubborn child, even though my stomach was growling like there was no tomorrow. But when I heard that front door close, I was up and in that kitchen, digging into the pots like I’d just come off a hunger strike.
Don’t get me wrong, I remained angry the whole time I was gobbling down the stew, peas, white rice, and fried plantains.
Angry still when I drank the two glasses of freshly prepared sorrel he’d made.
And just as angry when I picked up the phone and called my mother, who I hadn’t called since she’d been in Vegas.
“Hey, Neville,” she said when she answered the phone on the fourth ring. My breath caught in my throat. “You and Crystal still getting it on?” She snickered wickedly.
“Ma!” I screamed into the phone.
“Oh! Oh!” Peyton was flustered, and Peyton Atkins never got flustered. “Hello, darling, how are you?” she said meekly.
“Don’t ‘Hello, darling’ me. What the hell is going on?”
“What are you talking about, dear?” she said, trying to sound as innocent as possible.
“I’m talking about you and Neville!”
“Neville? Oh, is he still staying with you?”
“Stop it, Mother. You answered the phone fully expecting it to be him. Why?”
Peyton was quiet for a minute. “Well, sweetheart—”
“Cut the sweetheart shit—”
“Don’t you dare speak to me that way, Crystal Atkins. You ain’t too grown for an ass-whipping!”
“Just tell me what this is all about.”
“Well, baby, you see, it’s just that since Kendrick left and you stopped getting it on a regular basis…
I mean, you’ve been so grouchy and miserable, and sex is such a natural thing, I just thought that you should be with someone you were already comfortable with, so Neville just seemed the logical choice because he’s an expert and all—”
“What?” I said, astonished.
“He’s an expert—”
“He’s a male prostitute?”
“Well, he likes to be called a coastline executive, honey—”
“You got me a rent-a-dread, Mother!”
“Well, he doesn’t like that title either, baby. You see—”
“I can’t believe you turned your own daughter into a trick!”
“Oh, stop being so dramatic, Crystal!”
“Dramatic! As if what you’ve done isn’t?”
“Look, from what I’ve heard, he has done his job and done his job well, because the reports I’ve been getting tell me that you’ve never been happier!”
“Reports? Reports from Neville?”
“Not from Neville, from Noah.”