Hot Flash Page 7

  He held the door to a late-model silver Porsche 911, black interior with red trim. Nice. Midlife-crisis car, no doubt. Calvin’s other car was an older Mercedes S430, white with black interior. Not too shabby by any means.

  He closed the door and scooted around to the driver’s side.

  “Nice,” I said when we pulled away from the curb.

  “Just a little something I picked up for special occasions.”

  “Special occasions, huh.” We chuckled.

  “Tell me again what you do.”

  “That would take a while, when I’d much rather talk about you, what you do, and what I would like to do to you and with you.”

  “Really, Calvin. It’s been what, three months? And all I know about you is that you own the club and you can sing. Oh yeah, you live over the club, you’ve never been married—or so you say—and you don’t have any children. You’re a Philly boy by way of Alabama and . . .”

  “I’d say you know quite a bit.”

  “Sooner or later you’re going to have to spill it. All of it.”

  “So be it,” he whispered. He reached over and took my hand, kissed it, and held it next to his chest while he drove the rest of the way to the restaurant and Etta James crooned from the car stereo how she’d rather be a blind girl than watch her man leave.

  When we arrived at the restaurant, everyone, from the parking attendant to the hostess and the wait staff, lionized Calvin, and since I was on his arm, me too. I won’t say I did not get caught up in the attention from the get-go. It was mesmerizing. I was spellbound—until the first time my phone buzzed.

  It was Nareece.

  We nibbled on the appetizer of escargot with butter, garlic and parsley and made goo-goo eyes at each other like a scene from a sweet-sixteen-and-never-been-kissed movie. No direction needed. By the sixth Nareece disturbance, I was sufficiently stupefied and needed a break to shake off the trance anyway. After one heavenly bite of the entrée, poulet—French for chicken—with aligot potatoes, I excused myself and went to the ladies’ room to take the call.

  Before I could say a word, Nareece pounced. “What happened? Where are you?” She was teetering on hysterical, her voice piercing my ear.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “No. Everything is not all right. I’m scared, Muriel. I’m scared for my life and my family’s life. Why aren’t you here? I need you here so we can open the envelope and fix things.”

  “Nareece, did something happen? What do you mean, you’re scared for your life? Did someone threaten you?”

  “No, not exactly.”

  “Then what are you talking about? You just sent my blood pressure through the roof.” I struggled to keep my voice in check. “You’re taking this thing to someplace it doesn’t need to be. We don’t even know what’s in the envelope. It could be somebody playing some kind of a joke.”

  “Yeah, right.” She snorted with sarcastic laughter. “Who the hell do you know that can make that kind of joke or even knows that much about me to make that kind of joke? Who?”

  For a moment I listened to the hollowness of her heavy, fast breathing in the phone.

  “I’ll be there tomorrow, Reece. I promise. I’ll call you when I get on the road.”

  She clicked off without even a grunt of acknowledgment. It seemed her regular modus operandi of late.

  I rang her back, but it went straight to her voice mail. I left a message. “Reecey, I love you. Whatever it is, we’ll work it out. I’ll call you tomorrow when I get on the road.” I hung up and called back again just in case, but it went to voice mail again.

  When I returned to the table, Calvin stood and pulled out my chair for me, a gesture I thought long retired from all existing etiquette teachings. On second thought, it probably was gone from existing etiquette teachings. Calvin was old school.

  “You good, babe?” he asked, scooting his chair in. When he was done, he reached out and covered my hand with his. “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “No. I mean, it’s my sister.” I sighed. “I’m going to visit her for a few days. There are . . . issues.”

  “Can I help?”

  “Believe me, you are helping right now.”

  A pretty salad of persimmon, pear, and avocado followed the entrée. Calvin explained that while Americans tend to eat salad before the entrée, it was customary in many European countries to eat it after.

  The best part was the wine, Four Bears Sauvignon Blanc 2010, that accompanied the appetizer and the Byron Pinot Noir 1996 that complemented the entrée. It was the effect of the wine I’d say that would not let me leave our getting-to-know-each-other conversation alone.

  “Calvin, this is lovely. Thank you.”

  “Muriel, I would love to spoil you for the rest of your life.” He leaned in. “I get the most pleasure out of pleasing you, seeing that smile of yours light up your beautiful face. And best of all, that ugly face you make when you come.”

  “Ugly face! I make an ugly face, huh? So you’re saying you have a problem with the way I look when I’m—”

  We laughed. I probably could have been embarrassed or insulted or something in one of those corners. Instead it felt right, a quirk of mine that only he knew about and loved.

  Over dessert, pot de crème, or custard, that was orgasmic, Calvin talked about his singing days and how he’d almost recorded an album and made it to overnight stardom. He and his band were famous in Europe, Japan, and Korea in the sixties and seventies. It was then that they were offered a record deal by a label out of London. At the same time, he received word that his mother was ill and he rushed back to America—Philadelphia, to be exact. He took care of his mother for ten years before she passed away, and here he’d stayed.

  Something signaled me that Calvin was holding back. I made a note to check him out more, then wiped it away thinking I was overreacting or worse, acting like a police officer.

  We left the restaurant and drove down Sixteenth to Market Street to Fifteenth and around Penn Square. Calvin bypassed I-95 and drove the streets, the long way home. A sweet, comfortable silence settled between us. I gazed at him in adoration. Bright lights flashed. I screamed and then nothing.

  CHAPTER 7

  The dark was peaceful. An ugly gurgle crept up and back down my throat, causing a fit of coughs and dragging the pain through every part of my body. A shadow propped up my head and offered me a sip of water. More darkness.

  When I opened my eyes, the dark hung on, but the peaceful feeling became more like the garden of evil. Afraid to move any part of me, I tried to focus on my surroundings until my vision cleared on Travis and Laughton, both sleeping in chairs next to my bed. My head spun with the memory of my last moments with Calvin. Tears trickled down the side of my face, causing an itch I was helpless to scratch. Was Calvin alive? I lay in silent agony waiting for someone to notice.

  Laughton stirred and came to me, then Travis, then darkness.

  A soft, melodious voice pulled me back. “Muriel, wake up, Muriel. It’s okay. You’re just having a dream. Wake up, dear.” The nurse rubbed my arms with a cool cloth. “That’s it, wake up. That must have been some dream you were having. I thought for sure you would leap out of this bed.” She lifted my head, put a pill on my tongue, and stuck a straw in my mouth. I sipped. I was afraid to move for fear of pain, but then I panicked. I lifted a finger and wiggled my toes to check.

  “Everything works,” the nurse assured me. She was plump with a skinny face and wide eyes. “You’ve been in and out of consciousness going on five days now. Today is Wednesday. You were brought in Friday night.” She moved around the bed, tucking in my sheets and checking the bag of fluid hanging from a hook suspended above my head. A tube from the bag attached to an IV in the back of my left hand. I lifted my hand and spread my fingers to test the degree of pain. The nurse gently pressed my hand back down and pulled the covers up. She slid a thermometer in my mouth and took my blood pressure and pulse.

  “You’re going to
be fine, young lady,” she said. “Your son, sister, and police friend visited every day. Your son and sister never left your side until I sent them home today. They’ll be back in the morning.”

  It took a minute before I gathered that “my sister” was Dulcey.

  “You have questions, but they’ll wait until the morning when the doctor comes. You rest now.” She scurried out.

  Wake up, go to sleep, was all I could think. Protest did not register. Once again, darkness ruled. I woke before dawn feeling like I had to use the bathroom, but was unable to move enough to escape the confines of the hospital bed. I pressed the button for the nurse, but no one responded. I cried, not so much feeling sorry for myself, but trying to remember what had happened and afraid that Calvin was dead. I pressed the button again. It seemed an eternity before a nurse came, by which time I recognized I had a catheter. I cried some more from the frustration of not knowing what was happening, if Calvin was alive or dead, if I had all my parts and they worked. Somehow the nurse’s words of reassurance did not feel true.

  The next morning, Dr. Lebowitz ran down my ailments, the worst of which was a severe concussion. I also had multiple cuts and bruises, a busted lip, three cracked ribs, and a broken toe. Complete recovery was certain in time. The doctor said a Jeep broadsided us on Calvin’s side—a drunk driver ran a red light.

  I managed a few more hours of sleep before the onslaught of voices humming, phones ringing, machines whirring, dishes clanging, and the groans and moans and wailing of patients woke me. My eyes were still sticky and my vision blurred when Laughton arrived.

  “Tried to check out on me, huh?” he said. “You’re damn lucky, M. Scared the hell outta me. Scared the hell outta everyone.”

  “Travis,” I managed. My voice sounded foreign to me, thick and raspy.

  “He damn near chewed his thumb off, but he’s good. I’ve been keeping an eye on him. He should be coming around in a minute.”

  “Calvin.”

  Laughton did not answer.

  “Calvin.”

  “I’m not going to bullshit you, M.” He hesitated before continuing, “Calvin’s in a coma. They still don’t know if he’s going to pull through.”

  I closed my eyes against a jagged pain. Laughton pulled a tissue from the box on my side table and dabbed at the sides of my face. “He’s a fighter, M. Got to be if he’s in your sights.” He grunted and smiled, then got serious again. “He’ll make it.”

  His expression told me he wanted to say more, but I did not want to hear more. He tried to talk, but Travis and Dulcey rushed in and rescued me. After hugs and kisses and Travis assuring me that he knew I would come through because “Nothing and no one can defeat Moms.” Dulcey dismissed him to the cafeteria for coffee. Laughton went with him.

  “Girl, you gave us all a scare,” Dulcey said. “Living without you is just not an option.” She bowed her head and mumbled, “Thank You, Lord.”

  “Dulcey, Calvin . . .”

  “The Lord has His hand on him, Muriel. You worry about getting on your own feet and outta here.”

  “Nareece.”

  “She disappeared again. John called me when you didn’t show up this past weekend and his phone calls to you went unanswered. Baby girl took off. I’ve called her cell a thousand times, but she won’t answer. John’s been beatin’ up my phone. I finally told him to call the police.”

  Dulcey smoothed my covers and fixed the pillow under my head for more comfort—unattainable comfort. The throbbing was building in my head again. I closed my eyes.

  “There’s more, Muriel.” She pressed her fingers against my temples and moved them in a circular motion. The throbbing retreated. “Someone broke into your house over the weekend. When Travis got home, the place looked like a bomb had blasted through. The boy was petrified, especially since he couldn’t get you on your cell. He’s staying with me for now.”

  “Mr. Kim.”

  She worked her fingers to my widow’s peak with the same circular motion. “I talked with Mr. Kim. He wasn’t there. He visited his daughter in D.C. for the weekend and didn’t get back ’til Monday. He’s a good man. Said he’d keep an eye out ’til you got home.”

  “Twins.”

  “Honey, they’re fine. John is taking good care of God’s little angels. I told him you’d call soon as you’re able.”

  “Reecey.”

  “I keep telling you, Reecey is stronger than you think.” Dulcey’s voice deepened. “You think she’d be here or would have called me or something to find out if you’re okay. Girl doesn’t think about nobody but herself.” She hesitated before she spoke again, her manner more tender. “She’ll figure it out. Besides, ain’t nothing you can do now ’cept get yourself well.” She walked around the bed and cleared tissues and empty plastic cups from the table situated in front of me. Then she went for the matted hive my hair had become and started to work her magic. Twenty minutes later, she handed me a mirror and stepped back, waiting for my approval. I shared a strong likeness to Frankenstein, or rather, Frankenstein’s mistress. I started to cry, which sent Dulcey hustling for tissues and dabbing at my cheeks to stop the flow.

  “Honey, you’re looking good now. You looked dead for sure when I first saw you. Made me want to scream.”

  “Scream about what?” Travis said, reentering the room. Laughton was not with him.

  “Where’s Laughton?”

  “We ate lunch and he took off. Said he’d be back. Scream about what?” he repeated.

  “The way your mama looked when we first saw her.”

  “That’s only the half of it. I freaked out after going home to the place all jacked up and you didn’t answer your cell. Laughton didn’t answer his cell. If Auntie hadn’t answered . . .” He sat forward in the chair beside the bed. “I don’t know what I’da done—”

  “No worry. God don’t want me,” I said.

  “Ma, Auntie Reece called my cell. She surprised me, because she never calls my phone. Said she’s been trying to call you since you were supposed to go there this past weekend. She sounded off the hook.”

  “You tell her about the accident?”

  “I didn’t know about the accident then. She hung up on me.”

  “I’ll call,” I said, to ease his anxiety. “New York?” All I could think was how Nareece must be crazed by now. In twenty years, a day had not passed without us talking. Now it had been five. And there was still the envelope to contend with. I squeezed my eyes closed, then opened them again and refocused on Travis.

  Travis bounced around the room with big gestures and expressions, talking about the grandness of his New York trip. I must have dozed during the telling, because at one point when I peeped at him he smiled, flicked on the television, and settled back in a chair. Dulcey slouched in the chair on the opposite side of the bed from Travis. A peaceful, painless sleep found me.

  CHAPTER 8

  Travis fumbled with the house keys. I held my breath, waiting for the shock of my house turned upside down. Instead, the faint smell of Clorox Clean Up and Pledge hit me before the familiar smell of home filtered through. A stack of mail on the couch end table was the only blemish in an otherwise spotless setting. Dulcey and Travis steered me to the couch, one on either side of me, and made me sit. Resistance was not an option. I sat back and eyed the spiderweb in the corner above my head.

  Travis settled me on the couch. He put a pillow under my head and covered me with the navy afghan Nareece had crocheted for a Christmas gift one year, four, maybe five years ago. Times does get away.

  I tried to relax and closed my eyes against the vision of Calvin still unconscious in the hospital. In all my years on the force, gunshot wounds, broken bones, cuts, nothing ever touched me. The cliché, “I always thought I’d die on the job,” came to mind. I never imagined it might be on a date.

  A week after I arrived home, Nareece was still missing. Calvin was still in a coma, though in stable condition. And I was still stumbling around, too well to stay in be
d and too unsteady to go outside. Periodically my brain dislodged, floated around, and knocked against my temple, making me hurl.

  John had graduated from irritated with Nareece for putting him and the twins through another disappearing act to hysterical with thoughts of her dead in a ditch, a driveway, or a Dumpster. Her cell phone went right to voice mail.

  Nareece had disappeared on several occasions before, causing John and me needless worry. For the first few incidents, I drove to Boston on search-and-rescue missions. She returned home fine, just after I arrived, unwilling to discuss her whereabouts. I returned to Philly both times angry that I’d made the trip. Now I hesitated to call homicide detective Gerard Bates of the Boston Police Department, but I’d promised John I would. I held some concern, too, since this was Reece’s longest escapade ever. And there was the letter to consider.

  Detective Bates and I had gone through the Philadelphia police academy together. We stayed friends through the years since his wife, Vicky, was a high school girlfriend of mine. I solicited his help the first time Nareece disappeared. Thing was, I didn’t share with him Nareece’s real identity. He thought she was just a good friend. Nobody knew Nareece’s true identity but me and her, Dulcey, and Cap. That was the whole premise behind protective custody, even if it was not official—and that was also me rationalizing my actions.

  “Muriel Mabley, I’ll be daggone,” he said. “How are you doing, Ms. Mabley? You’re still Ms., I presume.”

  “Hey, Bates. Life is good,” I answered. “Time passes too fast, and yes, I’m still Ms.”

  “Nineteen years, forty-one days, twenty-six hours, and, let’s see, thirty minutes and twenty seconds to be exact, since I’ve been graced with your mesmerizing beauty.”