Part 30 (1/2)

”See you in a few hours.”

We hung up. No matter what time of night I called, he was awake. I didn't think much about that because I wasn't sleeping on a regular schedule my-d.a.m.n-self. Not having a job stole away the importance of an alarm clock. It also made it easy to lose track of my days. When a man didn't have a job, didn't have a Monday, a hump day, and a payday, all days started to blend and lose value. All were just today. All he wanted was a better tomorrow.

I was on edge, a little hungry. I walked over my two-shades-of-brown carpet, went to the kitchen sink, washed my face, dried it with a paper towel, then opened the fridge. Not much in there except leftover salmon and rice and a frozen Healthy Choice meal.

Restless. Scamz had left me agitated.

I did two hundred sit-ups, crunches, worked on my obliques. Did half as many push-ups. Stretched my legs into a split on the left side, did the same on the right, then went down into a Chinese-style split. Shadowboxed against my old memories until a layer of sweat glistened on my skin.

I looked at that stack of job rejection postcards.

Anxiety was all over me, clinging to my skin like a thousand ticks.

More push-ups until my arm burned. More sit-ups until my abs were on fire.

Dealing with Scamz meant I needed to be in shape. Ready to rumble, ready to run.

I rested in my sweat. Put on my Levi Chen Liquid Gardens CD. Meditated a few minutes.

Then with that music calming me, I stood in my window and looked out at the palm trees.

I was lonely. Broke and lonely.

L.A. was an expensive b.i.t.c.h. A wh.o.r.e who sucked your d.i.c.k and swallowed all of your money, then left you sleeping on the concrete.

A man stayed broke and hungry long enough, his value system was bound to change. And when it did, Scamz was waiting.

FROM P. G. County.

BY CONNIE BRISCOE.

Barbara stepped back and smiled at her daughter. Rebecca looked regal in her beaded ivory satin gown, and for a moment Barbara forgot the utter chaos on the lawn. She forgot about the tent being decorated with flowers, the tables and chairs being arranged, the band, the buffet, the bar.

Rebecca stood in front of the mirror above her dresser and picked at her upswept do. ”Does it need more hair spray, Mama?”

Barbara glanced at Pearl.

”No indeed,” Pearl replied as she reached up and fussed with a tiny stray hair on Rebecca's forehead.

From all that Barbara could see, Rebecca's hair looked absolutely smas.h.i.+ng. Pearl had done a fantastic job, as always.

”Another drop of spray and it will be sitting up there looking like a rock, child,” Pearl continued. ”Your hair looks beautiful just the way it is.”

”I've never seen you look prettier, sweetheart.” Barbara kissed her daughter gently on the forehead, being careful not to muss her makeup, then she turned to Pearl. ”Let's get the veil on her now. It's already twelve-fifteen, and the photographers are due at twelve-thirty.”

Pearl reached for the floor-length veil sprawled across the bed as Barbara took a quick glimpse out the bedroom window onto the lawn. The wedding planner, a pet.i.te black woman named Darlene Dunn, was leading the florist around the grounds as they placed brightly colored centerpieces and other doodads on the tables inside and outside of a large white tent. The caterer and his staff were running back and forth between the four-car garage, where they had set up a temporary kitchen with food warmers, and the buffet being set up under the tent.

Despite the busy atmosphere, everything seemed to be falling into place, Barbara thought thankfully. Well, almost everything. The only exception was that husband of hers. She checked her watch. The photographers would arrive soon to take pictures and video before the family left for the church, and the father of the bride was still out banging his mistress. Unbelievable.

She needed a cigarette badly. But she had promised Rebecca that she wouldn't moke on this day. She sighed and turned to help Pearl lift the veil just as something outdoors caught her eye. She looked out the window to see a black car turning onto their driveway. Now who on earth could that be? Rebecca's G.o.dmother had offered to come by and ride to the church with them so she would be there to supervise the procession of the wedding party and Barbara could take her place in the front pew and relax. But Marilyn drove a tan Lexus.

Barbara frowned with disapproval as the car approached the house. Anyone arriving at this early hour was either extremely rude or just plain ignorant. Her frown deepened as the sporty little car ran right up over the edge of the asphalt on the freshly mowed lawn.

What the devil? Barbara blincked hard. Her eyes must be playing a horrible trick on her. She had been awfully busy planning this wedding lately and sometimes she didn't know if she was coming or going. It was entirely possible that her eyes were giving out.

Barbara blinked again as the little black sports car kept coming across the lawn. This was no illusion. Some idiot had lost control and now the car was plowing straight toward the reception tent.

”Oh my G.o.d!” she screamed just as the car smashed headlong into the tent frame. Pearl dropped the veil on the bed and followed Rebecca to the window. Barbara could have sworn the whole tent would come cras.h.i.+ng down, but mercifully it didn't. The car, which by now Barbara realized was a small late-model BMW being driven by a woman, backed up. Thank goodness. What an idiot.

But before Barbara could catch her breath, the engine revved and the car jerked forward. Barbara gasped as it picked up speed and rammed into the tent frame. This time the tent sagged on one end.

This woman wasn't drunk. She was doing this deliberately. Barbara covered her open mouth with her hand as Darlene, the florist, the caterer, and the waiters all ran to and fro. It looked like a fire had broken out under a circus tent.

”Lord have mercy,” Pearl whispered, clutching her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Rebecca shrieked. ”Who is that?”

”I have no idea,” Barbara said, turning toward the bedroom door. ”But I'd better get down there.”

”That woman is crazy,” Pearl said.

”Mama!” Rebecca cried. ”Daddy just pulled up.”

Barbara turned back to the window to see Bradford's silver Jaguar convertible come to a screeching halt. He jumped out, ran toward the BMW and yanked the driver's-side door open.

Slowly it dawned on Barbara that she recognized the little black car. It belonged to Sabrina, that hussy mistress of Bradford's. Barbara twisted her lips with disgust. This was utterly ridiculous. She s.n.a.t.c.hed her cell phone off Rebecca's dresser.

”I'll be right back,” Barbara said hurriedly. ”Pearl, can you stay here and help Rebecca finish getting dressed? I know I'm only paying you to do her hair, but-”

Pearl put her forefinger to her lips. ”Shh. Don't worry about a thing. Of course I will.”

”Thank you so much,” Barbara said as she raced to the door.

”Mama, wait!” Rebecca shouted. ”Oh my G.o.d. She's getting out of the car and yelling and screaming and waving her fists at Daddy.” Rebecca lifted her gown and followed Barbara to the door. ”I'm going down there with you.”

Barbara held her hand out. ”Oh no you aren't,” she said firmly. ”Your father and I will handle this. I don't want you getting involved.”

”But Mama, she's-”

”No buts.”

Rebecca sighed and ran back to the window and stood next to Pearl. Barbara walked out the bedroom door so fast she nearly b.u.mped into Robin, Rebecca's older sister.

”What's going on? Who is that crazy woman outside?” Robin asked. She was wearing her lavender maid-of-honor dress and fastening pearl earrings.

”I'm going down there now,” Barbara replied.