Wrath Read online

  Before I could blink or breathe, she sashayed away. My plan was to chase her down and choke her, but before I could take a step, the dude stopped me from being breaking news on Channel 2.

  “This must be my lucky night,” he said.

  Now I studied him openly, taking in his height, which was something I always noticed, since I was five eleven myself. Even with my three-inch pumps, he had two or three inches on me. And then he smiled—well, it was a half smile. Only the left side of his lips twitched upward. It was a smile that matched his swag.

  But even all of that didn’t stop me from saying, “Don’t even front. You wanted to talk to my best friend, not me.”

  “That’s not true.”

  I crossed my arms. “She said you’d been following her.”

  “I was,” he admitted, “just so she could introduce me to you. You’re the one I’ve been looking for, and I’m so glad she helped me find you.”

  Against every part of my will, the ends of my lips quivered, though I was able to stop a full-fledged laugh from seeping out. “That’s a good line.” I pointed my finger at him.

  He laughed, a robust guffaw that I imagined would have come from Santa Claus. He held out his hand. “I’m Xavier King.”

  For a moment, I let his hand dangle in the air, feeling, for some reason, that if we pressed flesh in this greeting, my night would change. And I didn’t want it to. Now that Melanie was gone, getting the heck out of this club was my number one priority.

  But because Pastor and Mrs. Jeffries hadn’t raised a savage, I took his hand. “I’m Chastity Jeffries.”

  His eyebrows raised. “Chastity?” His one-sided grin became wider.

  Any cheer I’d felt was gone. I said, “Don’t say it,” as I held up my hand.

  “What?”

  If I had a dime for every man who asked me if I was my name… Shaking my head, I said, “Nothing. Just call me Chaz. My friends call me Chaz.”

  He no longer grinned; he gave me a soft smile. “I like that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I wasn’t talking about your name, I like that you’re already calling me a friend.”

  This guy had great lines, but still, I glanced at my drink on the bar’s counter. I’d only taken one sip, so I had two choices: to finish my drink or just allow this $12 to be the price paid for me to get away.

  I chose the latter since it wasn’t my credit card being charged. “Well, Xavier, it was nice meeting you.”

  “Was it something I said? I mean, you don’t even want to finish your drink?” Before I could go into my monologue of how tired I was, he said, “Come on, at least finish your drink. You’re the only person I know in this place.”

  “You don’t know me,” I said.

  “And isn’t that pitiful? I just happened to walk into this club, looking to have a drink, and there’s a whole party going on, and I don’t know a soul. So can’t you just help a brotha out so I don’t look so wretched?”

  His words were so sorrowful, spoken with that sly smile. Without saying a word to Xavier, I sauntered back to the bar, grabbed my glass, and took a sip. But when I put the glass down, he took his own sip of my drink.

  I leaned back as he smiled and said to the bartender, “I’ll have what the lady is having.” Then, turning to me, he said, “So, Chastity…”

  To the bartender, I said, “Bring me a fresh drink, please. And put it on his tab.” Then, without letting a beat pass, I said to Xavier, “I told you, Chaz is just fine.”

  He smirked when he said, “I’m a proper kind of guy. Love proper names. Plus… I really like your name.” My chuckle made him ask, “You don’t believe me?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to. I read body language.”

  “Is that what you do for a living? Read bodies?”

  He shrugged. “In a way.” He paused as if he was trying to decide if he should say more. In those quiet seconds, I wondered about this fine man who’d been so talkative, and now his silence was so sudden. What did he do for a living? Clearly, my earlier guesses had been wrong if he was this reluctant to say. And his hesitancy made me suspicious. Was he hiding from the police?

  The bartender placed our glasses side by side, and Xavier took a sip (of his own this time), before he said, “I’m a lawyer,” and then returned the glass to his lips as if that would stop him from saying more.

  I gave him a moment’s stare before I giggled. He frowned as he shifted from one spit-shined Ferragamo shoe to the other.

  “I said I was an attorney, not a comedian.”

  That turned my giggle into a laugh out loud. “I’m sorry,” I said as I pressed my hand against my chest, trying to gather myself. “If you knew what I’d been thinking…” Stretching my hand out to him, I said, “It’s always nice to chat with a fellow counselor.”

  His eyes narrowed, his body stiffened as if he thought I was making some kind of joke. But when I nodded, his eyes widened with surprise, then amusement, and he laughed, once again filling the air with Santa Claus’s joy.

  We laughed, even as those around us gave us long glances. It was crazy, we were laughing at nothing, but in the few minutes that we’d stood at the bar, I had a feeling of delight I hadn’t felt in years. So I grabbed my glass and let Xavier lead me away to the cushioned seats against the wall.

  We were still laughing as we found a space away from all of the barking that was roomy enough for two.

  * * *

  FOR THE LAST hour, I’d laughed with Xavier, trading all kinds of self-deprecating jokes about lawyers, something we all did as attorneys.

  “How does a lawyer sleep?” Xavier had asked me.

  “Well, first she lies on one side and then she lies on the other,” I said.

  We laughed as if we hadn’t heard that joke fifteen million times.

  “My turn,” I said. “How many lawyer jokes are there?”

  He flicked invisible lint from his shoulder as if he were about to win a competition. “Only three; the rest are true stories.”

  Again, we buckled over, before we tossed more barbs back and forth. Xavier raised his hand, in a pause, as he motioned toward one of the waitstaff. As he asked the young woman to refresh our drinks, my eyes wandered to the dance floor, where bodies still gyrated.

  Woke up today, looked at your picture just to get me started…

  “So, do you have another joke?”

  Turning back to him, I shook my head. “Nope, now I have another question.”

  “Shoot!” Then he held up his hand. “No, wait. I shouldn’t say that. I’m a lawyer.”

  I chuckled. “So, what do you like best about being an attorney?” I asked, though I was careful not to ask where he worked. Not only did I not care but that kind of question led to questions about me.

  He paused, thoughtful, then said, “I’m finally settled. I’ve been at the same firm coming up on seven years now.”

  “You’ve moved around a lot?”

  That question didn’t seem deep to me, but his eyes lost a bit of their shine. “I guess it depends on your definition of a lot. I wanted to experience a couple of places before I settled down. What about you? Why’d you become an attorney?”

  I’d thought my question had been safe, had never expected him to turn it around. Now I was the one who darkened a bit. “Someone I love went through some pretty deep things. I thought by becoming an attorney, I’d be able to help.”

  “Ah… so, did you help?”

  I shook my head. “Not in the way I wanted to, but I ended up with a career I love.”

  “Well, that’s always a great thing.” When I tilted my head in question, he leaned a bit closer. “It’s always wonderful when you’re in love.”

  His words, and then that sexy smile, made me set my glass on the table. “It’s time for me to get up and get out.”

  “Was it something I said?”

  “Nope, just ready to go.”

  “Well, if I can’t talk you
into staying, can I get your number?”

  Without thinking about how my next words would sound or what they would mean, I asked, “Are you seeing anyone?”

  His response came just as fast. “Would I ask for your number if I were?”

  I shook my head for a couple of reasons. Truly, I’d enjoyed our hour together, but I needed to dismiss any consideration of giving this man my number. For what purpose?

  “So,” he interrupted my thoughts, “your number?”

  “Why don’t you give me yours?” My usual line always worked for men and always worked for me when I ended the night tossing their business cards into my trash can.

  “I can respect that.” But then Xavier did his own tossing. Threw me a curveball I hadn’t expected. “Pull out your phone.”

  “What?” I asked as if I no longer understood English.

  “If I give you my business card, there’s a chance it could accidentally fall into the discarded dudes file.”

  He smiled, but I didn’t. Had he just read my mind?

  Gesturing toward my purse, he said, “So pull out your phone and lock me in.”

  It was a new approach, one that showed me he was serious about seeing me again. And the DELETE button would indicate my seriousness—when I was out of his sight, of course.

  Taking out my phone, I awakened the screen. There was no chance of me pretending anything with the way Xavier looked over my shoulder.

  He watched as I typed in what he told me was his cell, and it wasn’t until I pressed SAVE that he smiled and scooted back on the sofa.

  “Are you satisfied?” I held up the phone for him to see his number and his name.

  “I will be when you call. When will that be?”

  “Thirsty, aren’t you?”

  “Not really,” he began with a shrug. “I’m just a successful man who knows what I want, and I want to talk to you some more.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said and wished I could cross my fingers behind my back, a move that, even at the age of thirty-four, was something I believed in.

  “Set a reminder,” he said.

  “What?” Again, I’d lost my comprehension of my native tongue, because this dude was speaking words in a combination I’d never heard before.

  “Set a reminder so you won’t forget,” he explained as if his request were a natural thing to say to a woman he’d just met.

  Right then, he was too bizarre for me, but I set a reminder because I just wanted to go. I’d delete it all when I got home. “Satisfied?”

  “Very.” He gave me that half smile that brightened his whole face, and just like that, the thoughts I’d had about him softened. “It was nice to meet you, Ms. Chastity.” Before I could protest, he said, “I know, Chaz. I love your full name.”

  My answer: I stood, smiled, and sashayed away just as Marvin Gaye crooned: Let’s make love tonight…

  2 Xavier King

  The heat of the morning sun burst through my window, making me groan. How had the new day come so soon? I rolled over and, with my eyes still closed, reached across the expanse of my king-size bed. The surprise of the cool sheets made my eyes pop open.

  For a moment, I stared at the empty space. It was still a bit shocking, sickening, that this happened to me… again.

  Pushing myself up, I leaned against the headboard and massaged my temples. This hangover was real, but it wasn’t from the drinks I’d had at Club 40/40 last night. This was one of those hangovers I’d learned about from Diana Ross when my grandmother played “Love Hangover” back in the day.

  My grandmother… I was just about to shake my head to rid it of any memories of that woman or that time, when the three beeps of my front door alarm took my attention away.

  The sound made me stiffen, made me move with the stealth of a lion as I rolled across the bed toward the nightstand, where my protection and five bullets lay. A second before my hand touched the drawer’s handle, I pulled back. Because I felt her, I smelled her… and when I sat up in the bed and faced the door, finally, I saw her.

  Roxanne paused at the threshold, pressing her hand over her heart. “I didn’t know you were here.” She took steps back as if she wanted space between us. “I was sure you’d be gone already. Playing golf or at the gym.”

  “Had a late night,” I said. “Probably won’t go out today. Maybe tomorrow.” I chattered like she cared, though her caring had stopped a week ago.

  “Well”—she glanced down at her feet before she looked back up—“since I’m here… and if you don’t mind… I came for the rest of my things. I don’t have much. Just a suitcase, probably.” She chuckled, though there was no joy in that sound. “I never planned to leave that much here…”

  “I’ve always wanted you to move in, and even now…” I paused, waiting for her to raise her eyes, but she wouldn’t keep contact for more than a second, as if she didn’t want to chance any connection. I tried to conjure up words to change her mind. “Even now”—I picked up where my voice had dropped off—“I want you here; I want you to stay.”

  Her feet shifted, and her glance did the same, from the window to the closet to the dresser. When she turned back to our bed, she gasped.

  It was a soft sound, but I heard it. I’d surprised her by standing and strolling toward her. Now I held her eyes and I had her attention. I stood before her in my birthday glory. This was a trick, but it was all I had in my arsenal.

  When I was close enough for her to sniff my morning breath, she finally glanced away from the parts that made me the man she’d loved just last week. But she didn’t back away.

  That gave me hope, especially when she said, “I came… for the… rest of… my things.”

  My girl was rattled; she never would’ve been stuttering if she were not flustered. So I used this time to tell her what she already knew. “I love you.”

  Her eyes were laser focused on all parts of me from the neck up. “I know that, but I also know that sometimes, love isn’t enough.”

  I stepped back, needing distance between me and her words. But I also hoped her glance would once again wander so she’d see the rest of me and remember.

  It worked. For just the shortest moment, her eyes soaked in my nakedness. But she didn’t remember, because she turned away. She moved to the right toward the closet we’d shared.

  And I pivoted the other way, taking the few steps into the master bathroom. Leaning against the sink, I tucked my chin into my chest as images of my life with Roxanne flashed in my mind: our meeting at a professional singles mixer just about a year ago; our engagement at Masa six months ago; last week, when this all ended.

  I had failed because I was unworthy.

  Those words made me blink. Took me back to the time when I first realized just how unworthy I was.

  February 14, 1991

  Gran’s laughter thundered from her bedroom, and I made my move, tiptoeing and dodging the wooden plank that creaked at the end of the hallway.

  Inside the living room, I hopped onto the sofa and peeked through the curtains. Only Mr. Washington’s beat-up Ford sat in front of the cemetery across the street; no sign of Mama.

  But she was coming. She’d promised she’d come home today and take me for pizza. For my birthday. The best birthday gifts ever: pizza and Mama coming home.

  “Didn’t I tell you to stay off my sofa?”

  I leaped from the couch, shocked that Gran stood hovering behind me. How had I missed her heavy steps?

  “Don’t you put your feet up there again, boy.” She slapped my head, and although it stung a bit, it wasn’t a switch, or the broom, or the electrical cord she’d used a couple of nights ago when she caught me sneaking my broccoli into the trash.

  “And if you mess that suit up, you’re gonna get it, do you hear me?”

  “Yes,” I said, reeling from the stinging right above my ear.

  She glared as she stepped so close her belly pressed against my nose. “Yes, what?” Her words, her tone, were her warning that
I’d better get it right.

  I stepped back from the stench of her rage. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She nodded. I breathed. “Now go over there and sit down.” She pointed to the corner chair that looked like a throne. “Wait for your mama there—she probably won’t come anyway.”

  There was no way I could tell my grandmother what I was thinking: that she was a mean liar, because my mama was coming. She’d promised me last Saturday, right before she’d left, and I’d been counting the days.

  Gran watched as I climbed up on the chair, careful not to let my shoes touch the fabric. When I sat, she turned and grumbled her way out of the room.

  As soon as she was out of sight, my thoughts went back to Mama. Forget about the pizza, I only wanted one birthday gift—for Mama to tell me she’d found another apartment so we could leave Gran’s house forever.

  I closed my eyes and remembered when it was just me and Mama. When we were together, it wasn’t all good, but it was all love. Yeah, there were nights when dinner was nothing but peanut butter and bologna, but even though I went to sleep with my stomach growling, it was okay ’cause my mama hugged me until those hunger pangs went away.

  “One day it’s going to be better, X,” Mama said. “As long as we’re together, just the two of us. Because we have love and we’re a family.”

  Being a family with Mama was the best. We did everything together: watched old movies that always made Mama cry or watched cartoons that always made me laugh. When Mama had money, she’d buy chocolate ice cream (my favorite) and we’d eat it right out of the carton as the radio played and we would dance and dance and dance.

  It’s driving me out of my mind…

  My eyes popped open. At first, I thought I was imagining that music.

  That’s why it’s hard for me to find…

  No! It was coming from outside. “Mama!” I shouted. That was her song. She said she’d change her name to Poison if she she could.

  I jumped off the chair, then hopped onto the sofa. I tucked back the curtain, my mouth open wide at the sight of that big shiny red car.