Between Brothers Read online

  “What are you talkin’ about?” Keesa was suddenly livid. She had told no one at the church about her pregnancy, much less who the father was.

  “Keesa, you don’t have to hide anything from me, sister. I’m an observant brother. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know the two of you have been intimate. The only reason I know any more than that, my dear, is due to his comments at a meeting of the church leaders last week.”

  Her jaw clenched tight, Keesa pushed the words out in a breathless huff. “What comments?”

  “We were closing our prayer session when Pastor Grier asked O. J. to share a trial he’s going through. O. J., whom everyone knows is a ho, excuse my French, stands up with a straight face and asks us to pray for you. Says that you’re spreading lies that he got you pregnant, when all he’s ever done is treat you kindly, something he says you obviously weren’t used to, because you’ve fallen in love with him. Sister, he did everything but sport a halo. Pastor Grier even followed up by saying we all need to pray for you, that you’d clean up your ways and be able to responsibly raise your child. It was a sad day, in my view.”

  Keesa was out of her bed now, pacing. “Why the hell should I believe any of this crap? If any of this is true, some ass is gonna get kicked! You willin’ to reveal yourself and give me some proof, brother? If not, get off my phone!”

  Nico took a labored pause. “Keesa, I honestly didn’t want to hurt you. I know enough about you to respect the obstacles you’ve overcome so far. That’s why I didn’t feel I could sit by and let this pass. But I understand if you don’t trust a stranger. How’s this? If you need to verify everything I’ve said, just ask Rev. Archibald, Grier’s right-hand man. Between you and me, he’s no fan of Peters, so he’d probably tell the truth if you ask him nice. But ask yourself: if I was lying, would I even suggest you talk to him?”

  “Damn you!” Keesa slammed the phone down before the smooth talker could stretch her strained nerves further. Tasting the salty flavor of blood in her mouth, she realized she had bitten down on her lower lip with too much force. The call had to have been a stunt by one of the more mischievous church members. But how would anyone have known to antagonize her, unless they had heard about the pregnancy from O. J.? And who would be so sick as to share such painful revelations, if there wasn’t at least a shred of truth to them?

  Slowly Keesa felt herself lifting from the cloud that had shrouded her mind for weeks. The answer was clearer to her than ever before. O. J. had no intention of acknowledging his paternity of her child, and worse yet, he had no concern for her as a human being. He would sooner see her already soiled reputation completely destroyed than allow so much as a speck of his private dirt to be revealed.

  Leaning back against the bed, she slid to the floor and grabbed the rotary phone again. She could feel her voice tremble as her cousin answered her call. “Hey, Marcus,” she said in a shaky monotone. “Can I borrow your car sometime in the next week? I have to go set something straight.”

  Meanwhile, seated snugly in the backseat of his Mercedes, Nico Lane erupted into raucous laughter. “This is too easy!” he howled. “That pudgy preacher will be out of the picture in no time! I can’t stand hypocrites anyway.” He slapped Buzz Eldridge on the back before tossing his cell phone onto the seat.

  Eldridge grinned, despite himself. The girl had been easier to rile than even he had imagined. Disrupting these kids’ lives was proving to be less of a challenge than he, Nico, or Orange had imagined.

  CHAPTER 22

  . . . . . . . . . . . .

  THE PLOT THICKENS

  Maddy Nouri was enjoying her third week as a waitress at the Fourteenth Street Bistro, a casual gourmet hangout for local college students, young political operatives, and the occasional tourist, most of whom were lilywhite in complexion. Though a five-minute car ride up Fourteenth Street would land you in primarily African-American territory, the bistro was not a place in which people of color normally chose to spend their time. Maddy supposed that was what piqued her curiosity about the black couple that had just been seated in her serving area. She was guessing that they weren’t there on a date, so she felt no shame in finding the man attractive. She had had a few flings with black men over the years, although she knew better than to bring one home to Daddy. But this guy looked like he could be right up her alley. She searched her mind for the name of the actor he reminded her of. Prince? No, the Fresh Prince, the silly guy who kicked alien butt in Independence Day. He was okay, but this mystery man was even more enchanting.

  As she approached his table, she threw some extra emphasis into the movement of her hips and even ran her hands slowly through her spiked black locks. She hoped he liked nose rings. “How may I help you this evening?” As if it was necessary for taking their order, Maddy leaned in close enough to Larry that her ample bosom rested a couple of inches from his face. From the corner of her eye, Maddy could make out an annoyed smirk on the face of his female companion. She realized she might be endangering her tip.

  Pretending to be ignorant of the extra attention he was receiving, Larry shut his menu and met Maddy’s eyes innocently. “My friend here will have a house salad, a glass of your peach tea, and an order of your breadsticks. I will have a California Chicken Grille, fries, and a Sam Adams.”

  Maddy took one last chance at pissing his table mate off. “Anything else I can get ya?”

  Sheila Evans flashed the coquette a withering glare. “No, you can just fill the order as it’s been requested, thank you.”

  As the waitress whirled off, Sheila shook her head in wonder at Larry. “Hmmph! You get that type of patronizing treatment from women everywhere you go?”

  Feeling more relaxed than he had since the night of the debate, Larry flashed a smile. “Ah, trust me, it’s not so bad normally. In all honesty, I gotta admit I really used to take advantage. Used to be a time when any fine cutie who paid me some attention could get with me, at least on a short-term basis. Fortunately, I’ve outgrown that phase. I started to learn, after the first few rushes of excitement, all you get is harassing phone calls, paranoid accusations, and grubby hands in your wallet. Comeons like that are just embarrassing now. I want to be with a woman who respects herself too much to just toss it at me.”

  Smiling, Sheila got down to business. “Well, Larry, let me thank you for agreeing to meet me here. You know you didn’t have to. I really felt you deserved to know something about what happened the other night.”

  “Well, I’d like to hear it. Truth be told, I’m just glad to be alive right now. I figured you were luring me off campus to have me assassinated or somethin’.”

  Laughing at his recognition of their antagonistic relationship, Sheila said, “Larry, let me apologize for the heated interview we had. I admit I let my personal opinions infect the nature of our discussion. Let’s just say I called you here because I think the attack on you at the debate goes deeper than you might imagine.”

  Larry cast a confused expression at Sheila. “What do you mean? Sheila, I was sincere with what I said about clearing my name, as well as Ellis Center’s. Mark will be presenting you with evidence tomorrow to disprove all of Kwame’s charges.”

  “Well, the Sentinel will publish any credible evidence you have to refute the charges, believe that. What I’m concerned about has to do with where the charges originated.”

  “That’s no secret. I’m sure if you snoop through your boy Winburn’s trash long enough, you’ll come across evidence he engineered the whole story.” Larry felt his right temple tense at the thought of Winburn. The smug S.O.B. had ruined his good name, at least for the moment. Some of his A-hole supporters had even tacked up signs around campus calling him Larry “the Broken Promise” Whitaker. He knew time was short; if he was going to save his reputation, he had to clean things up quickly.

  As Maddy set their drinks and Sheila’s salad in front of them, Sheila placed a finger over her lips. “You’d be surprised where I think the story actually came from. At best, I
think Winburn’s campaign just took bait that was dangled in front of them.”

  Larry frowned. “Dag, Sheila, I knew you were tight with Winburn & Company, but you’ve really got some inside info there, huh?” He was starting to wonder if she’d had advance knowledge of Winburn’s sneak attack.

  “Well, I know that David was fed this story because it was offered to me a few days before the debate. I got a mysterious call from an anonymous source one evening, claiming he could get evidence you were receiving money from Ellis and misappropriating the private contributions you’ve been raising. To be honest, it sounded so ridiculous to me, especially considering the caller’s evasiveness, that I passed on the story. After that mess the other night, I decided to use my caller-ID option and get a statement showing all calls received that night. You wanna guess where the call came from?”

  Unable to fathom where she was headed, Larry shrugged his shoulders wearily. “Office of the undergraduate trustee?”

  “Try the Ellis Community Center.”

  “Rolly Orange!” Larry saw Sheila’s eyes pop. “I knew that fool was up to no good! Who else would be out to trash the rep of one of the board members? I don’t know what Orange is trying to do to Ellis, but someone’s got to stop him.”

  Larry summarized to Sheila his suspicions about Orange and the decision to set up segregated investment accounts. The journalist in her rising to the surface, Sheila stopped him before he could complete his diatribe. “Do I have to take off my journalist hat regarding all this?”

  “I think it would be best, Sheila. But I would be more than happy to give you full scoop rights once we’ve uncovered some concrete evidence and get Orange on the path to prison, if that’s appropriate.”

  “I think I can be that patient. Of course, depending on how long you take, I may be employed by another paper by that time. Graduation’s only four weeks away.”

  Larry smiled. “Where you thinkin’ about going after graduation?”

  “Well, I have an offer from the Chicago Tribune right now, working as an editorial assistant. Besides that, I’ve interviewed with USA Today in Alexandria, and The Washington Post. I think I’d rather stay here, actually. My parents still can’t believe I’m not coming back to Detroit. You think they’d just be grateful that I’m finally taking my little boy off their hands.”

  Larry had heard through the years that Sheila had given birth to little Andre shortly before beginning her freshman year at Highland. Her parents, a steel-mill foreman and a grade-school teacher, had insisted on raising the baby while she went ahead and got an education. Unlike some who might have taken unfair advantage of such a generous offer, Sheila was clearly anticipating the opportunity to be in her child’s life on a regular basis.

  “I’m a little on edge about taking him out of his environment when I move him, though. He’ll be four by then, and I just don’t know how he’ll react. Fortunately, my parents have agreed to go with us whenever we move, so by the time he realizes they’re leaving without him, he’ll already be settled in with me.”

  Larry set his beer back on the table. “I suppose staying here in the D.C. area would make for an easier time, in terms of commuting and knowing your way around.”

  “You’re right. I already know we could get a small apartment in Alexandria or Arlington on the little bit I’d make at either paper. The squeeze will be paying for day care, but there’s always loans, right? That’s a price I’ll have to pay to bring my child up in a safe environment.”

  Larry had to pick with his new friend. “Oh, so you’re gonna sell out and move out of the hood, huh, sister? Thought you were down with the cause.”

  The playful bounce in Sheila’s eyes warmed Larry’s heart as the waitress placed the breadsticks and Larry’s sandwich in front of them. “Hey, I’m just like most Highland folks,” Sheila said. “We come in ready to save the world, proclaiming we’ll always live in or near the hood, to help nurse it back to health. Then, after four years of feeling like nothing’s changed, we’re ready to become Republicans!”

  Laughing heartily, Larry met her eyes intently as he fingered the wheat roll of his chicken sandwich. “No, seriously, sister, you do what you must to make sure you’re raising your child in a safe environment. I can’t condone that Republican business, but family has to come first.” As he took a bite of the sandwich, he brimmed with admiration for the woman across from him.

  Sheila paused with a breadstick halfway between the basket and her mouth. “So where will Mr. Whitaker be settling when he leaves Highland land?”

  “Most likely Wall Street, Manhattan, New York. It’s just a question of which investment bank shows me the most money, as Cuba Gooding would say. But I’m not completely wedded to New York yet. Matter of fact, I’m lookin’ at taking an internship with a major bank in Los Angeles this summer. I’ve gotta respond in a couple of weeks. If I don’t do that, I could always work at my pop’s company this summer.”

  Sheila smiled. “Well, that’s your calling, isn’t it? Your résumé reads like a CEO-in-grooming.”

  “It’s not that simple, Sheila. My old man would like me to succeed him, but I think I wanna focus on building my own fortune first. If I don’t run the company, there’s always my sisters.”

  “What, you don’t want to go back to lovely Ohio?” Sheila was toying with Larry in return now. “The Buck-eye State is such a live place, who wouldn’t want to be there?”

  Larry took a quick bite of his sandwich. “Ha, very funny, Miss Motor City. You name me one other state besides Texas or Cali that has as many major cities as Ohio—Cincy, Columbus, Cleveland, Toledo, Akron, Dayton, Youngstown—”

  “Oh, Larry, stop, you’re going to break that limb you’ve crawled out on. The last four cities you named are nothing but big towns, and who can tell Columbus from any other run-of-the-mill city in the Midwest? Cincinnati is notorious for a place where the Klan can still march freely, and Cleveland is known primarily as the king of the smokestack. That’s the best defense you can provide of your state?”

  “Ah, we not even gonna get started on Detroit city. You and I both know the Mo done been gone from Motown for quite some time. What’s left downtown other than the headquarters of GM, that paragon of efficient management techniques? Didn’t your momma ever warn you about throwing stones from a glass house?”

  When Maddy returned to take their plates, it was obvious that the dynamic between this strikingly handsome man and his plain but pretty companion was taking on a new edge. Maybe they weren’t even aware of it yet, but Maddy decided to steer clear of showing any more interest in the Fresh Prince’s twin. It would probably only annoy him, and possibly draw the young lady into an unnecessary confrontation. She sighed as she rang up the couple’s bill, although she sensed they would not leave the booth anytime soon. If she wanted to meet a cute guy tonight, she would have to hit one of the clubs when she got off work.

  Sheryl Gibson leaned back in her plaid cushioned chair, the door to her office open just a crack. She was yelling into the phone, setting her daughter straight. “Nikki, don’t get smart with me, girl. Have you lost your mind? You know I got contacts at hospitals and clinics all across this city. You keep trying to run around town with your friends when you’ve got an almost fullterm baby inside of you, and I will have you committed to Highland Hospital for the duration of your pregnancy. That little one’s security comes before your own comfort or pleasure, understand? It was your desire for pleasure that got you in this situation in the first place.” Rolling her eyes as she concluded another difficult conversation with her wayward daughter, Sheryl hung up the phone and stared longingly out the window.

  She was so tired. Her entire life she had tried to do what she felt was right, and now this seemed to be her reward. A husband who bolted after being laid off from his fifth job, a teenage daughter who had seemingly gotten herself pregnant on purpose, and a place of business that was crumbling before her eyes. It would be enough to make some women in her situation either gi
ve up or chuck it all and go for it on their own. But not Sheryl. She loved her daughter, and she believed in the center’s mission with a passion that had only grown stronger in the years since she had been appointed director. Regardless of how bleak the odds might appear, she was going nowhere.

  Checking her watch, she flipped through another stack of the invoices covering her desktop. Some of these vendors, especially the utilities and food-service companies, were getting downright nasty. Most hadn’t cut Ellis off completely yet, thanks to pleading phone calls that she and Rolly Orange were making every morning. Sheryl was still amazed at the depth of contacts Rolly had throughout the D.C. metropolitan area. Having him aboard seemed to be the one bright spot in Ellis’s recent past. Brushing a piece of hair out of her eye, she sighed as she read the latest letter from Office Mates, their office-products supplier. It had been written by the company president and stated in no uncertain terms that he would not allow any further sales to Ellis until they had paid off their $6,200 balance. Sheryl hoped Rolly would be able to help free up some of the center’s restricted funds or recent contributions to pay off Office Mates and some of the more insistent vendors. Of course, when they paid off one, word would probably spread to the others, increasing the pressure. Sheryl laid the threatening letter aside and whispered a prayer. It was too early in the day to let the weight of her world come crashing down on her now.

  “Sheryl, you got a minute now?” Before he had even poked his head through the crack in her door, Sheryl could see Rolly Orange’s rotund belly creep through the doorway. As the door swung wide open, he stepped through, flanked by a small, dark-skinned man with an unkempt Afro. The man was dressed in what looked like a seventies-style olive leisure suit, complemented by a wide-collar white dress shirt and a thin polyester tie covered in speckled goldfish. Not sure where to sit, the man hesitated as Orange nonchalantly plopped into one of the two deep leather chairs facing Sheryl’s desk. He patted the other chair. “Have a seat here, Tracy. Sheryl, I’d like you to finally meet my friend, Tracy Spears.”