Cornbread & Caviar (4 page)

Because I have no car, I have to wait until the girls finish their walks and handle their business. Although the Maxwell's household is off limits, I don't care. Wandering through the large mansion, I find a quaint little study, away from the roar of the madness.

The room is dimly lit, cozy, and inviting. Tossing myself upon the sofa, I seethe. If Satin comes in to chew me out, she'll have a fight on her hands tonight. Reaching into my bag, I search frantically for my cell. Lenisha will not believe what happened.

"Girl, I'm telling you it was a total disaster. They laughed at me, girl. They actually made fun of me. I'm no good at this sort of thing. I never should have tried to earn money like this." My nose becomes stuffy, and I lurch with disappointment.

"Now"—tears erupt from my soul—"how am I going to pay Spider, Lenisha? They've threatened my son! I can't even gap my damn legs to save his life! What kind of mother am I?"

Although Lenisha tries to console me, a horrible headache pounds miserably behind my eyes. After our conversation, I hang up the phone and stretch out on the leather sofa. Through my blurry eyes, I notice the room is an office of sorts; anyway, it's uncommonly beautiful.

A stunning painting of a beautiful woman catches my eye. She's probably a descendent of the Maxwell family. Nevertheless, she seems happy. I'd bet she never had any of my worries. Then again, why should she suffer? Rich people have everything they need. At any rate, I'll feel safe until the Hummer is ready to leave.

Sniffling softly, I realize the stress of taking the walk is over. Wiping back mascara tears, I don't know what to expect. How will I take care of our expenses? I'll just have to think of something. A mellow mood wafts over me. Placing my painted face upon the padded armrest, I soon fall asleep.

A few hours later, Coco kneels before me. "Let's go, Randi," she whispers, shaking my shoulder.
I'm startled by her touch and gaze wildly around the room. After rubbing my eyes, I ask, "Is Satin furious with me?"
Coco folds her arms. "Of course she is, but she'll get over it."
"I guess I'm the worst ever, huh?"
Coco smiles. "You were pretty bad."
"I'm so sorry. I ruined the auction, huh?"
"You didn't ruin the auction. Everyone had a pretty good time."
Placing my hands between my knees, I say, "I can't see how."
Coco gazes around the room. "You know we're not allowed in this part of the house, right?"
"I know, but I just didn't care. I needed to get away."
"Yeah, but if Hilton Maxwell finds you here, he'll really take a bite out of Satin's ass."
"I'm sorry," I reply, looking into her kind eyes. "We're like, the scum of the earth to him, huh?"
Coco places her hand on my shoulder. "You're kidding, right? Of course he hates us. I wish he didn't. He's a delicious piece of work. They wouldn't have to pay me to get with him."
Brightening my tone, I ask, "Was he here tonight? Did I see him?"
"Yeah." Coco wavers. "He came in and out. Mostly to check on things."
"Oh." I pull off the tight leather boots and place them across my forearm.
With the back of her hand, Coco tenderly strokes the side of my face. "Come on, it's time to go."

The next day, my conscience gives me a big whipping. Now, Tory is quiet. He fights for a decent breath, and his solitude tells me his breathing treatments are not working. Fearfully, I count down the days to T. J.'s retribution.

Unfortunately, T. J. has followed me home. To prove he means business, I'm positive he sticks his gun out the window of his car. Nevertheless, he wants the money more than he wants Mama or me dead. At least for now.

When I go back to work, my body language tells Lenisha all is not well. For the life of me, I can't muster a smile or be courteous to my customers. Casey has already warned me twice about my dead bird behavior, but I just can't help it. He pulls me to the storage room, and this time, he isn't trying to feel me up. Grabbing me by the arm, he slings me into the cramped room.

"Listen, you. You've been dragging 'round this place for days. I don't know what's wrong wit you, but you betta git it together. Now, you got another customer, and you'd betta act happy to see 'im. You understand."

I look into Casey's bloodshot eyes and nod. His large hands tighten around my arm. No doubt, he will leave a bruise.
In warning, I cast my eyes toward my arm.
Immediately, he breaks his grip.
"I understand." I hang my head. "I'll try."
However, Casey's threatening pep talk reaps little rewards. Again, I walk out with my menu in hand. Shortly afterward, I break my smile and slip back into my stupor.
A Caucasian male, wearing a dark, pinned-striped suit, is sitting in my area. He looks to be about twenty-eight or twenty-nine. I give him a menu and cock my head to one side. "My name is Randi. Here or to go?"
Rimless glasses covered eyes so light they appear ice blue in color. Stylish blond hair is gelled, closely cropped on the sides, and slightly spiked on the top. From his expensive suit to his expensive shoes, he reeks with class. A ring, having a single ruby, adorns his right hand. Fingers that look as if they've never held a spoon reach for the grimy menu.
Pointing toward my worn nametag, he speaks politely. "Randi. What a unique name."
Immediately, I zero in on his Jean-Claude Van Damme lips. I can almost swear I hear a wash-out accent of some sort; however, I may be mistaken. I smile and nod. There’s something vaguely familiar about him, but I can’t quite figure it out.
"I'll be eating here, Randi. Can you suggest something good?" He opens the menu. "I've never been here before," he explains, looking over the menu items.
"Are you sure about that?” I frown. "I could swear I’ve seen you someplace.”
"No,” he shakes his head. "I guess I just have one of those faces.”
"Well, everything on the menu is good," I reply wryly.
"What would you prefer?" he asks, his eyes now searching the back of the menu.
"Honestly," I say, shifting my weight lazily to the other foot. "I'd prefer to eat someplace else."
On the heels of my statement, the man busts into laughter, his timbre rich and deep. "I'll just have the dinner special, with a large coke."
With pencil in hand, I write his order. "So, that'll be one filthy colon with a large burp."
"Right!" He chuckles, shaking his head with amusement.
So, the customer is laughing, but I'm not. Inside, I feel as sick as my son.
Before my customer's order comes up, Natasha, my high school adversary, pushes open the heavy glass door. There is no way I'm going to let her see me like this. Though, I have to admit, she does look fantastic. Her curly weave is thick. Cascades of curls fall at her waist. Admiring her prosperous appearance, I notice her lashes are long enough to clean dust from the ceiling fan.
As if on a mission, she sits down in the same booth as my customer. He seems slightly annoyed as small talk passes anxiously between them. After a few moments, it dawns on me that Natasha is severely underdressed, that is, half-naked. Her breasts are implants. Boogie exposed that secret long ago. Their conversation appears strained, by the uneasy expression on my customer's face. He seems almost irritated by her presence.
When I bring the man's dinner to the table, Natasha ignores me, which is fine by me, why should I care? While checking out a customer at the register, I overhear part of their heated discussion.
Natasha leans next to the man, shamelessly displaying her breasts. "So, is that a yes or a no?" she asks assertively.
The man rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. Although he's holding his fork, he gestures with his hands. "I told you
no
a month ago, Natasha." An irate frown is welded on his face. He puts down his fork and massages his temples. "I'm not changing my mind."
Natasha gets closer to the man and squeezes his thigh beneath the table. In response, he jerks his leg. "Stop that. Now, please let me enjoy my dinner."
Natasha takes her finger and traces down the side of his granite face. "I'm not letting you have a bite until I taste it for you."
He pushes Natasha back, holding her at arm's length. "I don't need your help."
The minute he releases her, like a strong magnet, Natasha returns and snuggles up to the man. "You're so adorable. Don't you need somebody like me in your life?"
Folding his arms, the man says, "You know what? I think I'll just have a little talk with Satin. I'm certain you know the rules."
On hearing Satin's name, I blanche and my heart races. Natasha—Satin—so Natasha works for Satin. If that statement is true, then Natasha is a bona fide, genuine, authentic, high-class hooker."
"Satin," she scoffs, playfully caressing his tie. "I thought this was between you and me. You know," she whispers. "An investment, a business deal."
The guy picks up his napkin. "First of all, answer me a question."
"What's that?" she croons.
"Are you stalking me?" he states flatly.
"No, baby." She whines, using a babyish voice. "I'm not stalking you."
The man stands up. "Then give me my privacy. I simply came in for a quiet, uninterrupted meal. May I enjoy my dinner?"
Natasha cowers. "Why yes, baby. Anything you say."
"Then get lost!" He points toward the front door with his thumb.
Standing behind the register, I snicker like a schoolgirl. Natasha is getting what she deserves. I don't know who the guy is, but he really served her.
Lenisha comes from the storeroom and starts filling the saltshakers. Suddenly, she drops one of the shakers and I glance over. She's trembling all over as if she's seen a ghost.
"What's wrong," I ask, rushing to her side.
Lenisha is pointing at Natasha and moving her mouth, but no sound comes out. Finally, she says, "That's him. That's Hilton Maxwell."
I nod and smile. "Oh, so that's what he looks like. Cute. Looks familiar though."
Lenisha places her hands to her cheeks. "He's more than cute. He's drop-dead gorgeous."
Walking away I add, "Ah, he looks okay."
"Hello," she says nervously, spilling the salt. "Take another look."
I shrug innocently. "Lenisha, he's my customer. I've talked with him already. I said he's okay."
Lenisha stops doing her work and leans on the counter. Within seconds, she starts to daydream. "Girl, I know I've got two kids. But I'd have another one just for him, for serious though."
I snicker sarcastically and shake my head. "I'm sure he'd be flattered to learn you're willing to give him an heir, Lenisha."
Casey is keeping an eye out front. Wiping his hands on his dishtowel, he brings his nosy self out of the kitchen. "Is Natasha dating Hilton Maxwell? If she is, she just fell into the money pit."
I turn toward Casey. "If Natasha doesn't leave him alone, he's going to leave without eating his meal."
Casey grunts. "He's a grown man. I'm sure he can handle her."
Just as I'd predicted, Hilton tosses his napkin in his plate, stands up, and walks out the door. Not only does he leave his food, he also leaves payment and an enormous tip.
Natasha politely scoffs up his meal. After I ring up his ticket, I discover he's left a forty dollar tip.

On Monday evening, I open the mailbox and find two money orders. They're written in the amount of three thousand dollars each. Squealing with joy, I run upstairs to my apartment, leaping and praising God. Though trembling with fear, I just have to show Mama.

There are no names on the money order except mine. I flip the paper currency over and over. "Do you think it's any good, Mama?"
Mama reaches for the paper with wavering hands, then she grins and licks her lips. "There's only one way to find out, baby. Cash it."
And cash it, I do. I tear up another eviction notice and pay the rent. Past-due bills suck up an enormous amount. As if he can smell the cash, T. J. isn't far behind. He sticks out his grimy hands, and I pay for Mama's freedom. Then,
I
threaten her life. With Tory's life at stake, this is the absolute end of the line. I love my mother, but
she
ruined her own life, not me. Now, I have no problem letting her do time in jail.
With the money I have left over, I buy Tory three new outfits and a pair of shoes. When my spree ends, only six hundred dollars remain. Although the car desperately needs repairs, I put the cash away for a rainy day. I don't know who sent the money, and I won't ask.

On Wednesday evening, Hilton Maxwell comes back into the grill. I feel he probably wants to shut us down for poor service. Just like before, he sits in my area.
"Mr. Maxwell, I see you've joined us again today. How are you?"
His ice blue eyes sparkle with mirth; his smile is soft and sweet. "I'm fine, thank you," he says, peering over his glasses. "And how about yourself?"
Feeling giddy, I confess. "I'm feeling pretty damn good!"
"Great. I'm glad to hear that." He rests his elbows on the table and makes a steeple with his fingers.
Reaching for my pad, I ask, "What will you have this evening?"
"I've tried your chopped beef; now I'll have that meal I tried to eat the other day. How did you put it? A dirty colon and a burp?"
Giggling, I write the order. As I walk away, I realize there’s a knowing or a presence about him. I can’t seem to shake the feeling that I’ve met him before.
After Hilton finishes his meal, we make light conversation. "So you have a son?" he asks, raising both brows.
"Yeah, he's my heart. Sometimes, my mother helps me with him."
"It's nice to have a mom," he agrees. "I didn't have one."
"That's too bad. I love my Mama. It seems I'd do anything for her short of selling my soul."
"Well, you take good care of her."
Obviously, he didn't know
my
Mama. That's all I ever did. My life is lacking in the selfish department.
Casey yells from the window, "Order up!"
"I will. Listen, why do you eat here anyway? I'm sure there're better places to eat than this dump."
"Oh." Hilton stretches his eyebrows. "Any suggestions?"
"I might have a few. First let me get this order out."
"Sure. After all, you are a working woman."
I beam softly and walk away. When I return, Hilton is all ears.
"Lead on," he says, listening intently. "Where is the best food in town?" "Have you tried Cameo's?"
Folding his arms, he repeats, "Cameo's. No, I've never heard of that place. I must try it sometime."
"Some people like it and some don't. I think they have wonderful food."
"Let's say I pick you up on Friday, and we'll check it out."
"Me." I point to myself and shake my head. "You wouldn't want to take me there."
"Why not?" He shrugs.
"You need to take someone who's educated and refined. Well, you know, pretty."
Hilton leans forward and cocks his head to one side. "I take it you don't believe you're any of those things."
"Perhaps pretty, but not refined or even educated, for that matter."
Hilton slowly blinks. "Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"
"Okay. What time shall I meet you there?"
"Ah." He hesitates. "I'll send a limo at seven-thirty."
"Limo," I reply, with a bashful grin. "Seven-thirty, sounds good."
"Excellent!" Hilton stands up and nods.
Shoving my hands deep in my apron, I cautioned. "I hope you know what you're doing."
"I didn't make it this far swinging by the seat of my pants, Randi."