Of Things Unseen Page 15

  Tucked safely in his usual booth with a Stella, Barrington listened to Teddy Pendergrass croon and watched the cars come and go. It was the perfect spot from which to see the entrance, exit, and front parking lot. Daddy Dunn had taught him that a man never sits with his back to a door. Most cops held fast to that rule, as well.

  Travis entered and walked straight to the booth without ordering, his pants lapping at his ankles as he walked. They were always a shade too short. “You drinking?” Barrington asked him.

  Travis eyed his beer. “I really shouldn’t but what the hell,” he said, signaling the bartender. The worn leather seat creaked as he settled onto it.

  “So what’s up?” Barrington asked.

  Travis leaned in. “Alright, keep this close. This big case y’all got, with the task force and all the extra resources and shit? They ain’t even working it. It’s all a front.”

  Barrington frowned. “How do you know this?”

  “I had those tire tracks two weeks ago and you’re the first person who’s come to see me. And the scene they’re at today, another black girl, right?”

  “Yeah.” The bartender passed by, sliding Travis’ beer across the table without missing a step.

  “They sent John James out there to her place.” He took a long swig. “He’s a trainee.”

  “You serious?”

  Travis nodded. “But that’s not the worst part. We have bags full of evidence down there and none of it was fast-tracked. I got instructions to add it to the stack. That’s a direct quote. ‘Add ‘em to the stack.’”

  “But I got called back from that scene to work the tire tracks.”

  “That’s because I called your man myself.” Barrington raised his eyebrows and Travis nodded. “Oh yeah, I talked to Price this morning.”

  “Why call?”

  “Because, man, I don’t like what they’re doing. We had a homicide a few months ago. Forgot her name, but it was a white girl. All the shit from her case was top priority, man. Fast-tracked, overtime, the whole nine. Price called us every day checking up on us and shit. Even Echols rolled his fat ass down here to babysit. But with this case? I ain’t heard from nan one of these cats.”

  Barrington stared at his bottle, watching the condensation drift slowly down the sides before joining the ring puddle at the bottom. The table was filthy, but that was part of Busby’s charm. He flicked a half-eaten peanut onto the floor.

  “I gotta get back to it,” Travis said, “but I thought you would wanna know. Do with it what you will but keep my name out of it.”

  Chapter 18

  IT WAS A BAD, BAD DAY.

  I had barely slept the night before and my body made me pay for it a hundred times over. The pain was severe and unyielding, and I had no idea how I was going to make it through the rest of the evening.

  Despite Detective Dunn’s soothing reassurances, reporting my brother had been hard. I felt guilty, and thoughts of my mother plagued me. I thought about telling her what I had done and mentally rehearsed what I would say. It was weird. I really wanted her to know. Andre, too.

  With Tony’s help, I managed to make it out of bed at a little after noon. Four aspirin took the edge off, but the pain persisted. I would have loved nothing more than to spend the day in bed making to-do lists but I didn’t want to disappoint Tony. So against my better judgment, I refreshed an old twistout, painted my nails, did my makeup, and put on my sexiest little black dress, the one that makes me look more shapely than I actually am. I knew the routine—Tony liked to impress other men, so I needed to look impressive.

  I pulled up to the Townsend Center for the Arts and gave the valet my keys. I hate driving myself to evening events but Tony was one of the organizers so he had to be there early. And in the war between punctuality and looking my best, the latter always one.

  I’m not positive but I think I made quite an entrance. I noticed a few lustful looks thrown my way before I spotted Tony across the room. As soon as he saw me, a big smile spread across his face and I forgot about my pain for a moment.

  He greeted me with a big hug and a sweet kiss on the cheek. I was happy to see him, feel him, smell his cologne. It was always different outside the house. Better.

  “You feeling okay?” he asked.

  “Not really but I’ll be alright.”

  “Well, you look good. Damn,” he said deep into my ear. I didn’t know if he knew, but I could never hear that enough. He seemed to ration out his compliments to me as if they were finite. I smiled my response and tried not to show how turned on I was.

  “Thank you,” I said. “So do you. Where do you need me?”

  “We need to make rounds. You want a drink first?”

  I rolled my eyes because of course I wanted a drink. I was going to need at least two to get through all the small talk and networking.

  We passed the crowded dance floor as we walked through the hall. It’s always an amusing sight to see: my people all dressed up in their finery, dancing to the most vulgar, gritty music on wax. The juxtaposition tickled me to no end. No matter the reason for the event, if a beat is playing, black folks are going to be dancing.

  We dropped off my bag of brand new school supplies on the way to the bar before being stopped by one of Tony’s fraternity brothers, his green and gold letter scarf draped conspicuously across the shoulders of his black suit.

  “T, what’s up?” he yelled, enveloping Tony in a rough bear hug.

  “Duke, good to see you, man! You remember my wife, right?”

  The man beamed at me. “Of course, how you doing Tamara?” he asked before kissing my cheek.

  “Good, it’s good to see you,” I answered, having no idea who the hell he was. His cologne was loud and cloying and lingered even after we parted. I couldn’t believe this negro still wore Cool Water.

  “Y’all look good, as always. How’s everything going?” he asked.

  “It’s good, man. Going up for tenure soon,” Tony said, proud as ever.

  “Good luck, man, but you don’t even need it.”

  “Appreciate it, bruh.”

  “And Miss Tamara, how are things with you?”

  I froze, racking my brain to come up with a good way to answer the question without embarrassing myself. “I’m doing okay,” I began. I cleared my throat. “I’m actually—”

  “She’s actually in PR now,” Tony said.

  Duke looked impressed. “Oh, really? What’s that like?”

  I cut my eyes at Tony. “I’m enjoying it.” And it was true, I was.

  Duke was satisfied. “Good, good for y’all. Good to see you, fam.”

  “You too, man,” Tony said before giving Duke a parting dap.

  I waited until he was out of earshot. “I work in PR now?”

  Tony laughed. “Well don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but not like that.”

  “Not like what? You’re putting your skills to use. You might not be getting paid but you’re working. Right?”

  “I guess.” I wasn’t getting paid, yet. Tony knew nothing of my plans and I didn’t intend to tell him. I lost count of how many times I ran to him with a big smile and an even bigger idea. No, this time I was going to keep my mouth shut until I reached my goal.

  He looked into my eyes. “You have a tendency to sell yourself short. It’s not a good look.” I let the words sink in for a moment. On rare occasions, my husband spoke to me as if he were dispensing wisdom to his daughter. That didn’t mean he was wrong but I wasn’t fond of the feeling it induced.

  “Tam, he’s asking what you want,” Tony said, gesturing toward the bartender.

  I hadn’t realized we were at the bar already. “Oh! Sorry. Can you make a lemon drop?”

  The man—his name tag identified him as Johanis—leered at me. “I can make one for you.”

  “Thank you,” I purred, smiling sweetly. Just being polite. I glanced at Tony and waited to see what he would say. He stared daggers at Johanis until he finally noticed.

 
“Oh that’s you?” he asked Tony, gesturing toward me with the cocktail shaker.

  “Yeah, that’s me.”

  “My bad bruh, I didn’t know.”

  Tony’s demeanor instantly changed. “Don’t worry about it, man,” he said before tossing two dollars into the tip jar. Johanis handed Tony the drinks and they nodded, an exchange I had seen many times in my life. Sometimes I wish I spoke their language.

  The first sip was medicine, calming my nerves instantly and covering the manic clarity stomping through my mind with a light fog. I would pay in pain later, but for now, I was going to enjoy myself.

  After Tony got me tucked into my seat, he wandered off to talk to some people, probably to network and exchange stories about how great it is to be black and gainfully employed. I took the opportunity to people-watch, and there was no shortage of entertainment.

  I never understand the way women dress at these events. When I get invited to something, I am diligent about reading the invitation, noting the dress code, and planning my outfit accordingly. There are no designer gowns in my closet but I always make sure I look appropriate. There’s simply no excuse not to. It doesn’t take a lot of money to look appropriate.

  There I sat, buzzed, watching a parade of skintight poly-blend minidresses, synthetic leather stilettos, giant handbags, and terrible lace front wigs. And all of them teetered gingerly in their heels with the gait of a newborn baby deer.

  I tried to decide which was the greatest offense and finally settled on the wigs. Were they supposed to look like real hair? Because they didn’t.

  Now, I have nothing against a good weave, and I’ve worn them myself occasionally, but I don’t understand the wig epidemic. I can only conclude that we’re like those rich white catwomen with their bad plastic surgeries; aesthetics are secondary to the ability to signal to others in the group that you can afford to belong. Yeah, that has to be it. I needed another drink.

  Tony returned to the table with a few business cards in hand and I found myself thinking about Detective Dunn. I hadn’t heard from him so I had no idea where he was with Andre. And then I wondered what he was doing at that moment and forced myself to bring the tide in.

  I WAS ON MY THIRD LEMON drop and had finally gotten to the point where I didn’t think I sounded like a complete idiot every time I opened my mouth. I’d had one misstep—apparently, Landon Curry had brought his girlfriend instead of his wife. They were separated, Tony assured me, but I didn’t buy it, and I was still a little embarrassed that I called the woman Pam. Her name was Tamika.

  Thankfully the drinks made my memory short, and by the time Tony was on the stage to give his speech, I had forgotten the whole thing.

  “I really appreciate everybody coming out tonight for Youth Rising, a cause that is near and dear to my heart. I’m sure most of us in here have success stories we could share involving some person or persons who greatly influenced our lives in some way and helped us get to where we are. Many of you would say your parents did this. For others, it was a teacher who took on that role. For me, it was the volunteers at Youth Rising.

  “When I was a little ashy negro growing up in the SWATS,” he said to laughter, “Youth Rising was an oasis. I walked to and from school past things a young child should never see. My parents worked hard to support our family, but that meant being away from home, and the volunteers at YR were like surrogate parents to me, making me do my homework, checking my report card, even signing my permission slips at times.

  “There was one particular volunteer who planted a seed in my life. Mr. Reginald Wilkins. We called him Mr. Reggie. He didn’t play.” The audience laughed again. “One time I tried to hide my report card. It was the year Nintendo first came out. Some of y’all don’t know nothin’ about that. But I slacked off. Hard. And Mr. Reggie finally got me to turn over my report card. I was scared of what he would say and of the fact that he was gonna tell my parents. But something else happened.

  “Mr. Reggie took me in the back office and told me I had potential. He said he saw something in me. Now, in my mind, I was just a little dusty black kid who had never thought past the next day, much less what I would be when I grew up. But Mr. Reggie told me I was going to do something great. He told me I was smart, which was true, and that I had the ability to succeed if I just got my shit together—that’s what he said verbatim—to get my shit together and stop playing around.

  “It sounds cliché, I know. But it resonated. And the one thing that always stuck with me was when he said ‘black folks don’t have room to fail.’ I took that to heart. I got my shit together, with Mr. Reggie checking me every step of the way, of course. Mr. Reggie wrote recommendation letters for me for college and graduate school and has served as my mentor for the past 25 years.

  “I’m telling you this because it’s us. I know us. And I know that many times, our people want to give back. We want to help, but even after achieving some measure of success, we’re often struggling to hold our own heads above the water.

  “I don’t know Mr. Reggie’s circumstances at the time, but what I do know is that he gave of himself. Freely. Every day. Spending valuable time away from his own family in order to care for his family at YR, with no financial compensation. As such, it was only right for me to do the same. I’ve worked with YR for over twenty years now, and when it was my turn to organize the annual charity, it was never a question.

  “Just before I came up here I was informed that we have enough school supplies out there for approximately 500 students for an entire school year.” The audience clapped. “Yes, yes, thank you all. In addition, you all helped us raise an additional $16,490 in cash for YR.”

  Tony looked around before covering the microphone. “Do we have it?” he asked someone off stage. “Yes? Okay.” He turned back to the mic. “They’re bringing the check. Y’all know we gotta do the photo op. To receive the donation, I would like to call up Mr. Reginald Wilkins. Come on Mr. Reggie!”

  The older man stood on his cane and walked proudly up the steps and onto the stage. He embraced Tony and the two men exchanged words before patting each other on the back. When they separated, I thought I saw tears in Tony’s eyes, which caused my own eyes to well up.

  Smiles, handshakes, flashing lights. Tony approached the microphone again. “Thank you again for coming out tonight. Now, we have a DJ, food, and good people. And yes, you can take a plate home if you like.”

  I marveled at his command of the crowd. He had once told me that teaching was like acting, and all you had to do to be a good professor was act like a good professor. I could see that now, with him onstage, acting the part of a witty host. He was good at it, and they believed it.

  “SO WHEN ARE Y’ALL GONNA have some babies so y’all can be the modern-day Huxtables?” asked Mr. Reggie. The evening air was muggy and I was sticky under my dress. It was almost time to go and I was grateful, eager to get into my car and blast the air conditioner directly into my face.

  “After Tony gets tenure,” I answered. The official party line.

  Mr. Reggie looked at Tony. “And when will that be, young man?”

  “If everything goes well it should be before the end of the year.”

  “Well I have no doubt in my mind you’ll get it. I’m so proud of you, Antonio.”

  “Thank you, sir. That means...everything coming from you.”

  The two stopped and embraced again. Mr. Reggie then wrapped his arms around me. “You take care of him, here? And you take care of her. This right here,“ he said, gesturing back and forth between us, “is the most important thing. It’s the foundation of everything else in life.”

  We nodded at the platitude and helped him into his car. He looked at us again and beamed. “This is why I do what I do. Who would have ever thought you would turn into this?” he asked, pointing to Tony. “You know I worried about you all the time but you turned it around.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  “Goodnight kids,” he said out the window as he drove a
way.

  “Were you that bad back then?” I asked.

  Tony laughed. “He’s exaggerating.”

  We watched him drive away, arms around each other, and then Tony turned his attention toward me.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay,” I lied, the pain already coursing through my muscles. “A little tired but honestly, I feel good. I had fun.”

  “Good.”

  We walked along the sidewalk. I looked up and tried to find Orion’s Belt. It always grounded me when I felt loopy. “What you said, it got me to thinking. I probably do sell myself short.”

  “Mm-hm,” Tony said, playing the part of the father who’s always right.

  “I think maybe I devalue myself sometimes, you know? Like I feel like I don’t have anything to offer. I guess I do.”

  “You know what gets me?” he asked. “For someone with so many assets, you have really low self-esteem. It blows my mind.”

  I nodded. “I’m gonna do better. I feel like I have a purpose now. Like I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing.”

  “Good.”

  I thought a lot on the long walk to my car as Tony held my arm to keep me from falling over. Maybe I would never be able to say I was a professor or doctor or journalist, but I was doing something meaningful that was actually helping people. It felt good. And this time, I didn’t feel a sense of dread. Nothing was going to ruin this.

  Chapter 19

  BEST FRIENDS ARE SUPPOSED to know you well, and mine definitely did. If asked, Nikki could rattle off my likes, dislikes, pet peeves, and quirks. She usually did a good job navigating my various neuroses, which made what happened all the more alarming. The day after Tony’s charity event, Nikki called and told me she was ten minutes away and would be dropping in to see me. That she knew how I felt about pop-ups and chose to do so anyway made one thing very clear. Something was wrong.