Don't Ask My Neighbor Page 14

  “Let’s point out the obvious. You don’t like me, and I damned sure don’t plan on sitting down to chitchat with you over tea and crackers any time soon. We don’t need a jury to render a verdict on that.”

  Her silence provided the affirmation I needed. She stared at me, folded her arms, and waited for me to continue.

  “You don’t think I’m good enough for Jelani?” My mother didn’t teach me much, but she did tell me if I wanted to know how someone really felt about me, ask. I knew Felicia had some reservations, but to be honest with you, I didn’t care. I didn’t need her permission, and my marriage to Jelani wasn’t doomed without her blessings.

  “You asked that question as if what I thought matters to you. But, since you inquired, I guess I can waste a few minutes entertaining you.” Felicia unfolded her arms and dropped them to her side. “It’s not that I don’t think you’re good enough for Mr. Graybourne, I think you’re just no good, period.” Felicia clarified. “And I wouldn’t be too far off in saying I’m not the only person around here with those sentiments, but I’m sure you already knew that. Now, if that’s all, if you’re done with your little game, I do have to get back to my desk.”

  “Well, you’re right. I’m glad you know I didn’t ask that question because I value your opinion about anything related to my fiancé and me. I asked because now I get to tell you this: whatever you have up your sleeves can’t stop me now.”

  We stood in face-off position. Her stare up at me was unrelenting, and I smiled to lessen the tension, feeling that the ring on my finger had put this woman even further beneath me, and she couldn’t stand it. When she turned to excuse herself from my presence, Jelani stood in the doorway, with his hands in his pockets and a mischievous smile on his face. Again, I wondered how much of our conversation was said loud enough for him to hear. Then I wondered how long had he stood there. This impeccable timing he’s so known for was just starting to get on my last nerve; the same nerve Felicia had worked on since she started at the firm. Jelani stood for a brief moment and nodded in acknowledgment, looking first at Felicia and then at me, and then he walked away.

  Just before her exit, Felicia turned toward me with a cynical smirk on her face, as if she detected a level of skepticism in Jelani that was never present before.

  “My grandmother used to tell my sisters, brother, and me to always take advantage of the opportunity to tell the truth. She said it had this amazing ability to set you free.”

  “And exactly where is your grandmother now, Felicia? Where did that opportunity to tell the truth put her?”

  She had no problem ignoring me. Felicia opened the black notebook and began moving her head from left to right, scanning the fillings.

  “Did he tell you about Peyton Ashmore?” she asked, keeping her eyes in the notebook.

  “What is your problem, Felicia?” I headed over to the water dispenser in the corner of the office and filled a small cup. Talking to Felicia made my throat bone dry. “Jelani and I keep no secrets from each other.” After the cup was emptied, I threw it in the small trashcan and assumed my position I held in front of her.

  “Wow! And you were actually able to say that without laughing at yourself. You really believed what you just said, don’t you? Jelani may not have anything to hide, but you have a litany of secrets neatly folded and tucked away in a small crevice next to your lies. Your truths, no matter how inconvenient you think it might be now that Mr. Graybourne has put a ring on your finger, won’t stay hidden for too long. So, that shovel you’re gripping so tightly in your hand, feel free to use it to keep digging. Eventually, that hole you’re standing in will be too deep for you to climb out of, and everyone you’ve pissed on,” she flipped one page, and then another, “everyone you’ve stepped on, and forced out of your way as you positioned yourself for this moment,” she nodded to her right, “will be there to fill it while you’re still in it. How many throats have you cut, and how many times have you just stood there and watched them bleed, overcome with satisfaction?”

  She closed the folder and glared into me.

  “You don’t know me or anything about me. My profile on the firm’s website is as close as you or any of these other sorry-ass females around here are going to get to Samantha Madelyn Wells.”

  “Garrett,” Felicia smiled.

  “What did you say?”

  “Oh, you heard me. This is the age of Facebook and Twitter, honey. Who you really are is just a click, a post, and a friend request away.”

  “Once again grasping at straws.”

  The walk to my desk was in silence. I removed the contents from the chair and sat with my legs crossed, turned on my desktop, and began to give my attention to several files that needed it. Felicia couldn’t take a hint, but she had just been dismissed.

  “Samantha, stop the sideshow.”

  She walked closer to my desk, rested her palms on the edge, and leaned her face closer to mine. This seemed to be her favorite position during our disputes, as if her stance was supposed to put a fear in me. Little did she know, neither her stance nor her words caused me to tremble, but I didn’t blame her for trying.

  “You don’t even know you,” she continued. “This new woman you’ve become, this embellishment you’ve been parading around here, isn’t going to get you what you think you’ve poised yourself to receive. Mr. Graybourne may have given you that ring, but this agreement to marry you is nothing but a promise. If I were you, I wouldn’t get too comfortable wearing it. In case you’ve forgotten, promises are meant to be broken.”

  I wanted to say so much to Felicia, but the words seemed to reach a bottleneck in my throat. I regarded her with bewilderment, and then watched her leave my office with her shoulders back, her head lifted high, and a smile I could see even though I viewed her from behind. My thoughts earlier that there was something familiar about her were correct, and yet again, she had given confirmation that she knew more than she pretended to know. What had I missed? I thought I had vetted everyone, had crossed all my t’s and dotted all my i’s, but it was obvious I had overlooked something, or someone. Who had she been in contact with, and what did they tell her after she’d earned their trust?

  I sat at my desk with a menacing headache that began at the base of my neck and extended to my forehead. I wasn’t a stranger to this sickening feeling, since it was the same one I experienced immediately after my father died, and my mother started on her road to fill the void he left behind, though the emptiness was the right side of a bed he rarely slept in, even when he was sober. My father really did a number on her. I guess this is where I was supposed to say “Lord, have mercy on his soul”, but as I thought about him, and the throbbing in my forehead, I silently cursed him, and prayed for his banishment to hell.

  The high-back leather chair had a sudden feeling of discomfort. I gave my attention to a cold November sky the rest of the morning until I left for the hearing. I drove with Felicia’s voice on replay in my head, and not even Monica’s “Catch Me” could drown the nonsense she spoke. I thought about Jelani and his stifled greeting that morning and couldn’t wait for the opportunity to find out what went through his mind. For the second time, he witnessed an exchange with Felicia that was tension-filled. I looked forward to my late lunch with him and Mr. Sullivan to get a hint of what swirled in his head, but I knew the demeanor he would display in front of Emory wouldn’t contrast his usual presentation.

  Twenty-Two

  __________

  Yes, It’s Me

  Ryle

  I LOVED DRIVING DOWN THE QUIET Capitol Square where, by day, stay-at-home moms and hired nannies busied the streets on bikes with bicycle seats, or ran steadily behind a three-wheeled stroller where babies slept lulled by the smooth motion on newly paved sidewalks. As night neared, neighbors exchanged pleasantries and shared stories of the day’s events, and dads tried to enjoy that last minute of play with junior, or daddy’s little girl, just before the sun disappeared behind the evergreens, and the street
lights came on. That’s how the summer days and nights were.

  It was something entirely different as winter approached, even though it was only November. The roads were abandoned much earlier, since we were four days into daylight savings time, and darkness arrived sooner. There were still those who enjoyed what mimicked a late-night run, but the conversations once held outside in front yards while children engaged in child’s play with each other, were now happening inside living rooms and around dining tables in front of large, bared windows.

  Since the month began, the temperature hovered between forty-five and fifty-three degrees, and Thursday promised to give us more of the same. The light rain that began just before midnight had come to an end before morning broke. The sky had gone from having just a few clouds when I walked out the door at 8:15 a.m., to fair and breezy when I returned home seven hours later. It was a comfortable fifty-two degrees. The breeze packed a northwest gust—that’s the direction the meteorologist said it came from—and I wished I could see the sun before night came.

  I parked my new sand-colored Range Rover Sport at the front of the house, slammed the gear into park, and rushed inside. I sat my briefcase, keys, and cellphone on the fossil stone foyer table, and then stood staring at the picture of a little girl, Gari. I would have given anything to hear the pitter-patter of her little feet as she rushed to greet me, her arms flailing above her head as she anticipated daddy lifting her up, to hear her first words, or to see her grow. I missed out on so much, and not because I wanted to. Samantha took that and more from me. I enjoyed her soft, beatific voice as we engaged in conversation with words I barely understood. I had so much love for my little girl, now all I had were her pictures and a few DVD recordings of moments we spent together.

  Upstairs, I searched frantically for the extra set of office keys I kept hidden in the top drawer of the antique style nightstand. With so many things going on in my head, I had forgotten where I hid them, as if I’d hidden them from myself. I found them concealed behind a case of recordable discs. I removed the keys and tossed them on the bed, close to the pillow. I removed half of the DVDs from the stack to the one in the round, white envelope appropriately labeled “Emanuel, Sullivan and Graybourne, March 2007”. I didn’t bother putting them back in the drawer; instead, I left them scattered near the edge of the bed, and grabbed my tan leather shoulder bag from the closet. I placed the keys and the DVD in the outside back pouch pocket and started back down the spiral stairs. At the bottom of the steps, the cellphone rang, but I ignored it, walking instead to the kitchen to grab bottled water. I looked at my watch and watched the time tick closer to 4 p.m. There was a certain someone I needed to pay a visit, and I had no time to entertain whoever was calling. As I grabbed the keys from the table and reached for the cellphone, it rang again. I decided to see who was calling with such urgency.

  Although I deleted the information from my phone, I recognized his phone number that displayed as if I’d just used it yesterday. This same number and the one to his office have appeared on my phone several times over the last two weeks, but just like I did earlier, I disregarded the calls and even deleted the messages he left. I was giving J.B. a dosage of his own medicine, the same unconcerned reception he gave me when I reached out to him. Maybe he came to his senses and saw Samantha for the evil, manipulative, dark-hearted bitch she is, but the only words I had for him, if that were true, I couldn’t tell him, because he never gave me the opportunity to tell him about this woman. There was a lot I never told J.B. about the woman who marched out of my life; pride wouldn’t let me. And he never gave me the opening to tell him this same woman returned to wreak havoc in a life I had worked hard to put back together after her, and she was poised to do the same to him. I pressed the decline button, threw the cellphone in the same compartment of the bag that housed the DVD and office keys, and tossed the bag over my shoulder.

  As I walked out the house, Samantha’s voice echoed in my head: I never meant to cause you any pain. If that didn’t sound like bullshit, I don’t know what did, but that’s what she offered as she strode out of my life, carrying Gari in one hand, hauling a large red suitcase in another, while my pride followed behind her. She walked silently to a hefty, pale-looking man who leaned on the side door on a black stretch. Samantha never looked back, not even as Gari stretched her arms to me, as if she knew she might never see me after that day.

  In the jeep, I removed the phone from the bag and tossed the bag in the back seat. I keyed in my security code, scrolled to my contacts and dialed Felicia’s number.

  “I’m on my way,” I spoke as soon as I heard her voice.

  “And you know how this is gonna go?” There wasn’t a worry in her voice.

  “I don’t have a plan, but I’ll let you know how it goes when I get back.”

  I hung up without saying goodbye, and concentrated on my drive. Traffic was just starting to jam in all the usual high traffic areas. I headed onto 395, drove just above the speed limit, and kept a watchful eye for speed cameras in places I hadn’t yet committed to memory. I took the once-frequented C Street exit, and headed down Louisiana Ave., NW to an office building that sat on the corner of Constitution Avenue and Sixth Street. Some things I never let go of, and I was glad my badge that gave me entry to the underground garage was one of them. True, I was surprised when the garage gate began to open after I waved the badge in front of the silver box. Before then, I had only silently prayed it still worked. I parked the car on the far end, away from the elevators, on the third floor of the garage. I grabbed the bag from the back and quick-stepped toward the elevator, hoping to avoid running into a familiar face, though I had my reason for my visit, should I have to give one. Whether or not they believed me wasn’t an immediate concern.

  In the elevator lobby, I waited for the second elevator to arrive. The third one was on my left, in the corner. Of the three elevators, it was the one that got the least usage. For some reason, people—including me—avoided that elevator like the thirteenth floor in an old building. So far, my entrance into the building went without a glitch, until the doors opened, and I locked eyes with Parker Chandler. His eyes were wide, and unquestionably, the expression on my face mirrored his. It’d been years since Parker and I had spoken, but it wasn’t because I blamed him for his involvement with Samantha. Like the rest of us, he didn’t see it coming. He was knee-deep in shit, caught in a damned-if-you do, damned-if-you-don’t situation orchestrated by this devil in a blue dress. I was wrong when I thought he would pass without speaking.

  “Ryle, you’ve been all right?” His speech was soft, although only he and I stood in the lobby.

  “I guess you can say I have a way of bouncing back.”

  “There’s no guessing about it, man. You look good.”

  Silence followed his flatter, and a pensive expression swept over his face. Parker has never been one to shy away from giving compliments. He was a smart guy, which always made me wonder how he allowed himself to get wrapped up in Samantha’s games.

  “I appreciate that. They can’t keep a good brotha down, right?”

  “Right,” Parker agreed.

  I pressed the up button on the right side of the elevator and waited for the doors to part. Parker pushed to open the door leading to the garage.

  “If you’re here to see Jelani, he already left.”

  “This visit is a lot more personal than that,” I corrected and entered the elevator.

  Emanuel, Sullivan and Graybourne, LLC occupied the twelfth floor of the Burton Building. The letters E, S, & W were carved in gold square placards outside the entrance to the office. The desk at the front was unoccupied, just like Felicia said it would be. I headed down the hallway to my right, walking close to the wall, passing the Graybourne Conference Room, appropriately named for Stanley Graybourne, where Emory and J.B. confronted me with Samantha’s accusations. I remembered how composed she was, listening to her lies being retold. The disappointment on my best friend’s face hurt less than the f
act that he believed the lies she told.

  I stood outside the door listening for signs of occupancy. When I heard nothing, I turned into the office I once occupied, leaving the door slightly opened, just like I saw it. Not much had changed about the room and its furnishings. The large desk was still centered in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. A long, rectangular glass-center coffee table was on the left side of the room, close to the matching case of law volumes. The smell of women’s perfume dominated the air. I removed the bag from my shoulder, took out the DVD from the outside pocket, and then made my way over to the high-back leather chair that was turned to face the window. I sat in the chair, leaving it in its exact position, and waited in stillness. What if she doesn’t return to the office like Felicia said she would after her late lunch with Emory and Jelani? Man, she was taking these two for a spin.

  In the glass window, the door slowly opened and Samantha entered. She closed the door, turned the latch, and leaned against it, as if she expected someone.

  “You’re always trying to surprise me.” Her image in the window moved closer to the desk. “You should have told me you were coming.”

  I turned the chair around to face her. “And lose the chance of not seeing that look on your face. No, I shouldn’t have told you I was coming. You know what they say about surprises.” I stood and brought my face closer to hers. “Life is full of them,” I kissed Samantha on the side of her faced, and smiled.

  I walked to the other side of the desk with my eyes fixed on hers. I held the disc in my hands behind me. There was something in her eyes, and I saw it once before, when she stood in front of me and boldly admitted she had been unfaithful. It wasn’t fear in her eyes. No, it was a readiness to repudiate everything I would say.