Chapter 11 Adesua Ridley #2
Adesua’s nose flared so much that the anger rising from her was palpable.
She didn’t care whether they noticed her eyes slowly starting to twitch.
Adesua wondered what heat, in particular, the girl was talking about, but Dale’s murder surely shouldn’t have caused her to make such a bold statement.
This drastic reaction coming from the same girl who gossiped over any lick of news about white society.
She deemed it rather irrelevant, if she remembered correctly.
Unless she was referring to something in her file.
Dale couldn’t have known what she’d done. Or could he? “How dare you!”
Adesua shoved the girl out of the way. She tuned out the noise of Joseph and Mabel calling her back, waving them off as she ran out the door.
Adesua was on a mission. She wasn’t trying to be in the spotlight; she wanted to make a difference in the community, and that was exactly what she was going to do.
Joseph grabbed her hand, stopping her in the middle of the road. “Where are you going?”
She didn’t respond to him. The words that were unspoken were quite intentional for her.
He hadn’t stood up for her in front of his posse.
That was a form of betrayal to her. All she knew was that she was heading for the Harlem School of Music and Arts.
Her donations helped keep them afloat and let the kids get new supplies.
That was something she was proud of, although it had been a couple of months since she had been there.
Something good was being done with her wealth.
Happy to be far away from the Dark Tower, Adesua got to the worn steps of the school.
It was quaint, like a redbrick schoolhouse.
The elderly headmistress of the school, Mrs. Sampson, stepped out of the large black door.
She loved Adesua so much, and Adesua needed that warmth.
Instead, she was met with a stone-cold face and a cigarette in one hand.
“Little girl, if you don’t get up off these steps . . .”
Adesua was still choked up from the incident earlier.
“Mrs. . . . Mrs. . . .”
“Save it. We trusted you, but you are just like these other folks and their empty promises, having all these parties with donations, and we get nothing! We are going to have to close our doors soon because of you, and this means you are not invited to the recital.”
Mrs. Sampson stomped up the stairs, slamming the door behind her.
Adesua looked back at Joseph.
“I trusted you to handle this,” she said with disgust.
“Look, the people I gave the money to at the Harlem Outreach Community Center always handle where donations go. I promise you, Adesua, I never had problems with them. One of the politicians has nothing but love for the people of Harlem. I will get it under control.”
Joseph grabbed her wrist, kissing it in adoration.
He loved her. She knew he would never betray her like that.
She let it go, leaving Harlem. Mr. Pierre was back at their meeting spot at 125th Street.
Days like this, she was grateful to have a driver.
With everything that had happened today, she would have no way to focus.
The moment they made it back to the estate, Adesua made a beeline for her father. He was in the parlor, reading the paper per usual.
“Father, I need your guidance.”
Father looked up at her with curiosity. Adesua rarely ever approached him with serious matters.
“What is it, darling?”
Adesua gulped, because of course when she needed him, it was because of a bad business move.
“I think I have got caught up in some business with the wrong people in Harlem. I am not sure how to go about fixing it.”
She kept her face confident, ready to own up to her mistakes.
“Why don’t you go talk to your mother about this? She’s the one good with all that philanthropy stuff,” he said in a nonchalant tone.
“But, Father, I know you handle business. I just want to make sure I am donating my funds to the right people and the right places to make a change.”
He adjusted his tie. Adesua noticed how uncomfortable he was.
“Honey, Harlem is going to always just be Harlem. I wouldn’t lose much sleep over it. You’re more than welcome to be a part of the Ridley Line, as I have told you before. We will make a position for you. I’ll make sure Mellie sees to it.”
Adesua knew exactly what her father was getting at.
He didn’t see Harlem as a business opportunity.
Adesua saw it as another home, and she wanted it to continue to flourish.
She wanted to support the up-and-coming talent from there.
No, it wasn’t the quick money that her father wanted, but Harlem had something other places didn’t have, and that was life and soul.
With that, she collected her bag and left to go to her room.
Adesua went to the top deck of the estate, staring at the moonlight. She wanted to paint the night, filling a blank canvas with her emotions. She went back to her room to get the perfect shade of blue she was missing in her painting bag. Instead, the color red fell out in the form of a letter.
Do you paint with the blood on your hands?
Adesua looked up at the full moon while crumpling the letter in her fist and then throwing it under her bed. A slanted smile went across her face as she shook her head silently. The devil had surely made its way to the Ridley estate, but she knew she wasn’t the only one getting these letters.