Grown Folks Business Read online

  “Where are you, Quentin?” she asked aloud. And she prayed her mind wouldn’t take her there again. To Quentin and Jett. Jett and Quentin.

  “Golf!” She remembered his Saturday morning tee time. He’d canceled during the holidays, but since it was almost seventy degrees, she was sure where he was now. She glanced at her watch. She had more than thirty minutes to intercept him before he took to the course.

  Sheridan backed the car from the driveway and then onto the 405 toward the private club in Bel Air. As traffic whizzed by, she glanced in the mirror, wishing she’d done her hair. Wishing she had on something other than her standard sweat suit uniform.

  Why am I trippin’? It didn’t matter what she wore or whether her hair was done; life was different now. But he wanted me for all those years. The other side of her told her that he hadn’t.

  Still, after she parked, she checked herself in the mirror.

  She slammed her car door, and then she heard his laugh. It surprised her, the way it made her feel. The way it made her smile. The way it robbed her of her anger. She turned toward the laughter, and her heart didn’t take another beat.

  There was her husband. Walking from his Mercedes. In khaki pants and a navy golf shirt. With his Louis Vuitton golf bag draped across his shoulder. With a grin on his face. With Jett Jennings at his side.

  She didn’t want him to see her, but she couldn’t move. She watched them walk, just feet away from her. Old friends. New lovers.

  They chatted and laughed. A second before they stepped into the clubhouse, Jett turned. Eyes met. She stood, bolted in place. He stood, as Quentin disappeared behind the doors.

  Jett’s face filled with surprise. Hers stretched with sorrow. They stayed, staring, waiting for the other to move. He shifted first. Turned the ends of his lips upward into a slight smile. The ends of hers drooped down. She pressed her emotions through her eyes and prayed that he would know what she was thinking. Then, she prayed that God didn’t punish her for those thoughts.

  Jett understood. Took away his smile. Nodded slightly. Then, in the next moment, he was gone.

  And still, she stood, shackled to the spot.

  “Sheridan. Sheridan.”

  She didn’t have the power to turn toward the voice.

  “Sheridan.” Francesca Mills scooted over, rolling her golf bag behind her. “Darling, what are you doing here?” Francesca stood on her toes to lift her five-foot frame tall enough to air-kiss Sheridan’s cheek. “Don’t tell me your husband finally got you to take up golf. That’s wonderful. Perhaps we can play together some time. Are you playing today?” Francesca chatted as if Sheridan were talking back.

  Francesca stepped back and eyed Sheridan’s sweat suit. “You don’t look like you’re playing golf.”

  “I’m not,” were the first words Sheridan was able to push through her throat.

  “So what are you doing here? Are you meeting Quentin?”

  “No.” That was all Sheridan was going to say. Francesca Mills had made millions as an upscale interior designer, but she could have doubled her fortune as a gossip columnist. There was no way Sheridan was going to say anything more.

  “Oh. Well…”

  Sheridan hopped into her truck before Francesca’s inquisition continued. “I’ve gotta run, Francesca.”

  “Oh. Well…I’ll see you in church tomorrow. I wanted to ask—”

  Sheridan slammed the door on the rest of Francesca’s words and then sped off as if she had somewhere to go. She needed to get away fast, but no matter what the speedometer said, she couldn’t get away from the image in her mind. The two men—one clean shaven, one with a short haircut. Both impeccably dressed. Either able to turn the head of any woman passing by.

  But only one of them aware that he had just squeezed every bit of her life’s blood out of her heart.

  The image stalked her.

  The picture in her mind of two men. With their heads tossed back, their laughter filling the air. No cares in their world.

  The ringing cell phone forced her to leave her misery. She didn’t want to answer, but when she saw the caller ID, she pressed the earpiece into her ear. “Hi, Mom,” she said, trying to hide sadness behind cheer.

  “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she sniffed. “How’s Dad?”

  “He’s fine, but I want to know what’s going on with you.”

  Sheridan shook her head, knowing she wouldn’t be able to drive if she said aloud what she’d seen five minutes before. “Nothing, Mom.”

  “Have you heard from Quentin?” Beatrice asked, her voice steady.

  “Yes, but I can’t talk about it right now.”

  “I understand.” Beatrice let a beat pass. “You know we’re praying for you.”

  “I know.” Sheridan could imagine her parents in their bedroom, both on their knees until their joints ached.

  “And the greatest battles are won during the midst of a storm.”

  “I know.”

  “I wish you’d talk to your father and me. We want to help.”

  “I know.” She knew now how Christopher felt. She loved her mother but just wanted her to leave her alone—for now. “Mom, I’m fine. It’s just hard.”

  It was her mother’s turn to say, “I know.” Beatrice continued, “But we’re here. And the Lord’s always there.”

  “Mom, can I call you back?” Those were all the words she had left.

  “Sure, sweetheart. Call us later.”

  She clicked off her phone just as she drove up to her house.

  The moment she saw his cell phone number, she picked up. She couldn’t take the chance of Christopher or Tori answering the telephone.

  “Sheridan, it’s me.”

  She didn’t say anything. It had been that way since she’d picked up Tori. Even though Tori was burning to ask, her daughter didn’t inquire at all about the promise her mother had given her to have the plans finalized for her visit with her father. Tori asked nothing—as if she knew better.

  And then the three Harts spent the quietest Saturday evening Sheridan could remember. Each in their own bedroom, after Christopher ordered pizza when it was clear Sheridan had no plans to cook.

  She couldn’t cook. She couldn’t talk. She could barely walk. All she could do when she slept was dream. All she could do when she was awake was remember. Quentin and Jett.

  “Did you get my message?” he asked through her silence. “I left one on your cell this morning.”

  Did Jett tell you he saw me? “I got it,” she breathed.

  “I was waiting; I was hoping…”

  Jett didn’t even mention me. “You can pick up Tori tomorrow,” she said, trying not to imagine Jett sitting by his side as he spoke to her. “Come here. After church.”

  “Great.” She could see his smile. “I’m really looking forward to seeing them.”

  “I said you can pick up Tori,” she spoke slowly. “Not Christopher.” Now she could see his frown. “He doesn’t want to see you,” she explained before he asked.

  “What?”

  She repeated what she’d said and then waited for his fury.

  But his response was soft. “Maybe we should…insist that Chris come with me.”

  “Can’t do that.” Her answer was quick. “He’s sixteen.”

  “Still…I’m his father.”

  You should have thought of that before.

  “And I want to see him.”

  “He doesn’t want to see you.”

  The silence that followed felt like a moratorium, and Sheridan was sure that at this time, in this place, even Quentin was grieving for the way they’d been.

  “All right,” he acquiesced.

  His words shocked her. Where was his fight?

  “I’ll take Tori to lunch and maybe a movie. And I’ll talk to Chris when I pick her up.”

  Sheridan nodded but made no sound.

  “Sheridan…are you okay?”

  A beat passed before she said,
“How can you ask me that? Are you looking for an answer to make you feel better?”

  “No, I really want to know that you’re okay. That’s important to me.”

  She spoke quicker than she could think. “Then come home.”

  The moments of silence were even longer this time. Finally she said, in a tone that let him know she was setting the rules, “Just make sure it’s only you and Tori at lunch. I don’t want her around…anyone else.”

  She hung up before he could respond and sat absorbing the conversation. She had been convinced that Quentin would rage about Christopher. How he wasn’t about to take no from a sixteen-year-old. How he was the father and Christopher was the son.

  But Quentin hadn’t battled at all. Not for his son. Not for his wife.

  “Who are you, Quentin?”

  She glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even eight, but she wanted to crawl back into bed. Fall into unconsciousness so she wouldn’t have to deal with any of her feelings—not the loss, not the anger, not the confusion, not the waiting for the AIDS test results.

  She tossed the extra pillows onto the floor, but as soon as she placed her knee on the mattress, her wedding ring glimmered at her.

  Sheridan frowned. It was supposed to be under her pillow, where she tucked it every morning. But somehow it had slipped to the center of the bed—almost to Quentin’s side.

  She picked up the wedding band and the telephone rang. She grabbed it without looking at the caller ID, sure that it was Quentin—ready to go to war to save his family.

  “Hey, girl, do you have some time for your best friend?”

  Sheridan looked at the ring between her fingers, then tucked the symbol of everlasting love back under her pillow. “What’s up?”

  “I’m on my way home from a date,” Kamora said.

  Sheridan looked at the clock, wondering if she’d misread the time minutes before. “This is a bit early, isn’t it?”

  “I’m just getting home from last night,” she said as if she should win a medal. “I’m a few blocks away. Can I come by? I need to talk.”

  “Okay, but not here.” The memory of Christopher maybe hearing her and Kamora that night had stayed with her. “Let’s go to Starbucks. Come get me.”

  After telling Christopher, Sheridan waited at the front door until Kamora pulled up.

  “So it’s true,” Sheridan said as she squeezed into the Lexus coupe. She eyed Kamora’s low-cut leopard-print spandex dress. “You haven’t been home.”

  “Girl, I’ve been on the world’s longest date, and you’ll never guess with who.”

  Sheridan shrugged. There was no chance of her guessing. Kamora was her best friend, but it was mostly because of the length of time they’d known each other. Since Kamora opened her business four years before, they hadn’t shared the same circle of friends. Kamora was a creature of Hollywood. Her world overflowed with celebrities she’d met when they hired her limousine company, while Sheridan lived for her husband and children. Everyone she knew was connected to the four Harts.

  Kamora said, “I finally got Jackson to dip into the inkwell.”

  Jackson? Sheridan frowned. “Your driver?”

  “He’s not my driver anymore. After last night I decided to promote him to supervisor. But then this morning he performed tasks that earned him the position of vice president. And then this afternoon,” Kamora sighed as she steered into the Starbucks parking lot, “I decided to sign my entire company over to him. Cars and all.”

  Kamora laughed, and Sheridan shook her head.

  “So this is what you want to talk to me about?” Sheridan asked.

  Kamora looked at her as if she were stupid. “Yeah.” She smoothed the front of her dress as she slipped out of her sports car and strutted in her three-inch Jimmy Choos like she was a runway model.

  Every man seated under the Starbucks’ heat lamps twisted his neck to gape at Kamora as she pranced toward the door. She swayed her hips, tossed her golden-hair weave over her shoulders and pretended she didn’t notice the tongues hanging out of opened mouths. Even women stopped speaking, stopped laughing, stopped drinking, and stared at Kamora as if royalty were passing.

  It was always that way when they were together. Most times Sheridan felt invisible, but it never bothered her. She was secure in who she was—before. And she wasn’t looking for a man. She already had one—before.

  Inside they ordered their drinks, and the gawking continued. Kamora chatted as if they were the only two in the place, but Sheridan knew her friend was very much aware. This attention was more precious to Kamora than the air she breathed.

  “Let’s sit over there.” Kamora wiggled toward a table right in the center of the café.

  “So…” Kamora crossed her legs and the hem of her dress rose up her thighs. She licked the slight bit of foam from the plastic cover of her Caffè Verona. “What do you think?”

  “About what?” Sheridan slouched in her chair. Tonight, the stares bothered her. She felt like a cardboard cutout sitting next to Kamora. For the second time in one day, Sheridan wished she’d worn something else. Wished she’d done something with her hair.

  Kamora said, “Girl, I am in love with Jackson.”

  “You said that last week, Kamora, when you were seeing what’s-his-name.”

  Kamora dismissed Sheridan’s words with a wave. “This time it’s for real.”

  “You said that the week before when you were seeing what’s-his-face.”

  Kamora pouted. “I really mean it this time, Sheridan. You know that I don’t sleep with a man on the first date.”

  And that’s supposed to mean…Sheridan took a sip of tea.

  “But Jackson, he’s different,” Kamora continued. “He treats me like he really loves me.”

  Sheridan wanted to remind Kamora that she’d said that about all the men she’d been with. But she stayed quiet and stared at the steam rising from her cup.

  “He told me he loved me from the moment he laid eyes on me.”

  Were you on top of him when he said that?

  “He told me I had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.”

  Maybe that’s when you were on top.

  “And he said that he could imagine me being the mother of his children.”

  I don’t even want to know what you were doing when he said that.

  Kamora said, “So, what do you think?”

  “I don’t think anything.” Except for the fact that I can’t believe you slept with that boy. “I don’t know Jackson.”

  “You met him. You spent the entire day with him.”

  “I spent the day with you, running into stores buying every variation of white clothing.”

  Kamora laughed. “Has Quentin said anything about the bill?”

  “He hasn’t gotten it yet. The Amex bill won’t be here for another two weeks.”

  “I can’t wait.” Kamora leaned forward. “Anyway, how are you doing?”

  Sheridan tried to keep her thoughts away from Quentin and Jett. Quentin and Jett this morning. Quentin and Jett tonight. “I’m okay.”

  “Have you talked to Quentin?”

  “Right before you called.” She paused. “He wants to see the children.”

  “Well, you knew that. No matter what I think of him, I know he’s a good father. I knew he’d be hanging around your house. Shoot, that might make him come to his senses and keep his behind home.”

  “He wants to see them away from the house. He wants to take Tori out.”

  “Take her where?” Kamora sounded as if the thought offended her.

  Sheridan shrugged. “To lunch, somewhere. He wants to take Chris too, but he won’t go.”

  Kamora smiled as if that was good news, but then her smile was gone. “You’re not going to let Tori go with Quentin, are you?”

  Sheridan frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Kamora twisted her lips like she had a bad taste in her mouth. “Because you need to be careful.”

  “Of what?” />
  “Well, I would never let my children go into any homosexual environment—”

  “You don’t have any children.”

  “Because homosexuality is a spirit,” Kamora continued, as if Sheridan hadn’t spoken. “You have to be careful about having your children around people like that.”

  “ ‘People like that’? Quentin is Tori’s father.”

  Kamora leaned forward and whispered, “But he’s gay.”

  “You think you have to remind me?”

  “I’m just sayin’ you don’t want Tori catching that.”

  Sheridan laughed. When her friend didn’t smile, she said, “You’re serious? What are you talking about? You think Tori can catch that like a cold or something?”

  “I’m just sayin’ you don’t know where those spirits come from or what they do. You need to have complete control over your children. Quentin shouldn’t have unsupervised visits.” Kamora paused as one of the many Denzel look-alikes who frequented the coffee shop walked by. But the moment he stepped to the bar and kissed a woman on the cheek, Kamora continued as if she’d never stopped. “Not to also mention that what Quentin’s doing goes against everything God says in the Bible.”

  Sheridan shook her head, full of disbelief. This was the same woman who had spent an entire night and then the next day in bed with a man she barely knew. Yet Kamora sounded as if only Quentin was bound for hell.

  “I’m just sayin’,” Kamora continued, “you gotta watch out. Girl, all sin comes from spirits.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Girl, it’s in the Bible…somewhere. Just be careful. You gotta think about who your children are around.”

  What’s the difference between you and Quentin?

  “Anyway”—Kamora sat back and let one of her Jimmy Choos dangle from her foot—“you haven’t seen a man until you see Jackson naked. And the way he…”

  Sheridan’s eyes wandered around the coffee bar as Kamora continued her litany of the virtues of her new man. She focused on the couple sitting at the next table. Then she watched the baristas as they whipped up exotic drinks that were once just called “coffee.” She stared at the photo of Magic Johnson holding a Starbucks mug. Anything to keep her from asking Kamora why she was above God’s word but Quentin wasn’t. Kamora slept with every man who smiled at her, yet she sat in judgment.