Читать книгу The Trouble with Luv' - Pamela Yaye - Страница 8

Xavier masked his disappointment with a spurious smile. Where is everybody? he wondered hopelessly. Three elderly women and their stern-faced husbands were seated on orange chairs, getting acquainted. Xavier had been counting on twenty volunteers for the program; he’d be lucky if he ended up with ten. He checked his watch and was surprised to see that it was minutes to seven.

At the close of the banquet, scores of people, both young and old, had surrounded him to hear more about the Changing Lives Through Meals program. They praised what the church was doing, and seemed eager to get involved. Where are those people now? Xavier didn’t know why he was so upset; this happened every year. People gave lip service to helping out and giving back to the community, but when it came time for them to step up, they fell back.

Creak.

Xavier’s head snapped up. Creak. Creak. Creak. Someone was trying to open the door. Another volunteer! Xavier jumped to his feet, flew down the hall at the speed of light and took the stairs two at a time. He reached the foyer in seconds. But when he saw who was at the door, he came to an abrupt halt. What is she doing here? He was desperate for volunteers, but not that desperate. His brief conversation at the banquet with the overtly sexual woman was still fresh in his mind. Xavier didn’t allow his thoughts to linger on the past; there was no way of knowing where they would take him and he was in the house of the Lord. Scratching the side of his face, he tried to remember her name. He would feel bad if he had to ask her her name, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember. Xavier concentrated for a few seconds. She was named after a color. That much he knew for sure.

Blue? Naw, that’s stupid. Nobody names their daughter Blue!

Raven? No.

Violet? Definitely not.

Xavier moved forward. The poor woman was wrestling with two gargantuan black pots, several plastic bags bearing the Ralph’s Gorcery logo were swinging from her wrists, and here he was standing here watching her like a mannequin.

“Looks like you could use some help,” he noted, snapping out of his musings and relieving her of the pots.

Massaging the tenderness out of her wrists, she smiled her thanks.

After a brief pause, Xavier greeted her warmly. “It’s nice seeing you again.”

Ebony’s nose wrinkled. “It’s nice seeing me again?” she repeated, the doubtful look on her face carried into her tone. “Funny, I got the distinct impression you didn’t like me.”

Xavier opened his mouth to dispute her claim but the words didn’t come. She was right; he didn’t like her. The collar on his striped dress shirt and the accompanying tie were suddenly stifling. Her eyes rolled over his face and he wisely looked away.

Oblivious to his discomfort, Ebony apologized for being late. “I’ve been driving around this neighbourhood for the last ten minutes trying to find this church. I couldn’t remember what side of the block it was on.”

“No worries, you’re right on time. We haven’t even started yet.” Then, “Is this everything?”

Ebony nodded.

The aroma seeping out of the pots was tormenting Xavier’s empty stomach. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply. “Something sure smells good.” He motioned with his head to the pots. “What do you have in here?”

Ebony pointed to the pot in his right hand. “Sweet and sour meatballs. The other one has fried chicken. The vegetable casserole, coconut rice and cream and mushroom soup are in these grocery bags.” She trailed him downstairs, appreciating the view of his tight butt and muscular legs. Does the man ever have a body on him!

Xavier ducked into the kitchen, leaving Ebony in the banquet hall with the others. She blinked rapidly, as her eyes took in their surroundings. Was this the same room she had been in four days ago? The dim lights and oversize paintings had concealed flaky paint, crumbling borders and a stained and tattered carpet. The once elegantly dressed tables were now bare, revealing food stains, pen markings and chipped wood.

A fair-skinned woman, wearing an auburn wig, which looked like it was clinging to her head for dear life, waved her over. “Hello there,” she greeted, with a full smile on her plump, collagen-enhanced lips. “I’m Sister Bertha and the man over there in the beige fedora is my husband. Say hello to the pretty lady, Willy.”

When the man did as he was told, Ebony said, “It’s nice meeting you both.”

“Wow! Your hair is just too cute.” Sister Bertha touched her nape with clawlike fingernails. “All the big celebrities are wearing their hair like you. I just love the cut. Do you think I should do my hair like that?”

Sister Bertha fluffed her hair and Ebony just about fell out laughing. The sixty-something woman evidently thought she had it going on in her chartreuse A-line dress, multicolored sandals and heavy makeup. The ensemble was hideous, but Ebony couldn’t help admiring the old lady’s spunk. She didn’t know about the others, but she was going to get along just fine with Sister Bertha. “I think it would look great,” she lied, averting her gaze. God, forgive me for lying in church.

Sister Bertha introduced her to the others. Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne were the oldest couple, and the introductions seemed to interrupt a heated argument; Maria and Jules Hernandez were a nice-looking Mexican couple, who confessed that they had celebrated their thirtieth wedding anniversary yesterday. After offering her congratulations, Ebony excused herself and set out to find the unbelievably handsome program coordinator. She didn’t have to look very far. Xavier stood at the back of the kitchen, with a plate of food in his hand and a fork in his mouth.

“What are you doing?”

The sound of Ebony’s voice startled Xavier.

She pointed a finger at the stove, which was topped with plastic bags, casserole dishes and various sizes of pots and containers. Fixing a hand on her lap, she said, “The food you’re eating is supposed to be for the homeless.”

“I know, but—”

“But nothing. Put down that plate and step away from the stove before I call Sister Bertha in here.” The tone of her voice was harsh, but Xavier could tell by the way her mouth was twitching that she was trying hard not to laugh.

Xavier did what he was told, but not before he ate the last three meatballs on his plate. Shamefaced, he threw his hands up in surrender. “Guilty as charged. I was in here tasting the food. But I was starving and the food smelled so good!” He grabbed a napkin from the counter and cleaned his mouth. “You sure can cook! Those are the best sweet and sour meatballs I’ve ever had.” He walked toward her, a smile playing on his lips. “It’s true what they say, you know. The fastest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

That’s not the only way, Ebony thought, returning his smile.

He pointed at the stainless steel pot he had carried into the kitchen. “You’re going to have to teach me how to make those.”

What’s the harm in letting him think I cooked the food? It might help him see me in a better light. Deciding she wasn’t breaking any of the Ten Commandments by not correcting him, she said, “I’m glad the food is to your liking, Xavier, but keep in mind it’s for the less fortunate. I didn’t slave over a hot stove for three hours so you can eat it all up before the guests arrive.” Ebony ignored the guilt pricking her heart. She waved a hand toward the stove. “It’s hard work cooking all that food.” Now you’re overdoing it, said a voice. Remember, less is always more.

Xavier cocked his head to the right. He crossed his arms over his chest as he locked eyes with the woman sharing his personal space. Oval-shaped face. Accentuated cheekbones. Small, even teeth flanked by an inviting mouth. A black calf-length body-hugging dress masked her full chest, curvaceous hips and thick thighs.

Black…Black…Black…Ebony! Her name is Ebony! Xavier couldn’t hold back his smile. Remembering her name saved him the embarrassment of having to ask. His eyes returned to her face. She was without a doubt his sexiest volunteer to date. He would have to be careful. Very careful. Caution had to be the order of the day whenever she was around. Ebony was a clear and present danger to his emotional and physical well-being, and if he wasn’t vigilant he just might yield to her seductive charms. Strikingly beautiful women had the power to turn even the most moral and upright man out, and Xavier didn’t want to be the newest member inducted into the Sucker Hall of Fame.

Ebony was just another woman. Albeit, a provocative and amorous one, but a woman nonetheless. He had mixed feelings about her, but decided to reserve judgment until he got to know her better. Xavier plucked at his shirt. Is it just me or is it hot in here? he thought, feeling like the walls of the kitchen were shrinking. Is it her come-hither stare that’s got me hot under the collar or did someone turn up the thermostat?

He watched Ebony walk over to the fridge and pour herself a glass of juice. When she raised the glass to her lips, he wondered what it would be like to kiss her. Sucking her bottom lip. Licking the—Xavier gave his head a good shake. Clearing his throat, he dragged his eyes away from her face. You’re in church for God’s sake! Stop lusting after that woman! She’s bad news. But soon, his eyes were back on her. Ebony gave new credence to what made a woman sexy. She definitely had a penchant for fine clothes, but it wasn’t her outfit or makeup or diamond rings that made her desirable. It was the way she carried herself. Her lithe movements and sensual grace. She walked like the ground was her runway. Shoulders squared. Chin up. Arms hung loosely at her side. Elegance was integrated in every move. And every step she took was flawless. It was these formidable characteristics that left Xavier wondering why she was here. Volunteers didn’t look or act or sound like her.

“Don’t take offense to what I’m about to say, but you’re the last person I would’ve expected to volunteer,” he said, voicing his thoughts.

“Oh, really? Why’s that?”

“Well, with your twelve-hour days and all, I didn’t think someone in such high demand would have the time.”

Now I have to stay. Ebony stepped toward him, took off her cream-colored trench coat, and flung it over a chair. Xavier had pegged her all wrong, and there was nothing she enjoyed more than proving people wrong. How hard could it be serving the homeless? Ebony was a little bummed about missing the season finale of her favorite show but this was more important. Xavier-the-know-it-all Reed would see just how charitable and generous she could be. She would have to catch the season finale of CSI Miami some other time, because tonight there was nothing more important than teaching Xavier Reed a lesson.

The doors of Jubilee Christian Center opened an hour later, to a crowd of over a hundred people. Far more than anticipated. Xavier and the male volunteers wasted no time scrounging up more tables and the women had them dressed in no time. After Xavier welcomed everyone and said a short prayer, he saw to it that guests were organized in two orderly lines. Sister Bertha and Maria dished the food, Ebony staffed the drink table and the rest of the volunteers ensured everyone was comfortable and had enough to eat. Aside from the food Ebony had brought, there was macaroni and cheese, fried shrimp, meat loaf, potato salad, baked beans, dinner rolls and an assortment of soups. There was enough food in the kitchen to feed a large army.

When all the guests were taken care of, the volunteers fixed themselves a plate and sat down wherever there was a vacant seat.

“Spend time getting to know the people at your table,” Xavier had encouraged, when he was giving last minute instructions. His eyes had circled the room and then lingered on Ebony’s face. “The only difference between the people eating here tonight and us is that they fell on hard times and didn’t have the necessary support system to survive. Inside, we are all the same. We all want to be loved, supported, cared for and cared about. Make the people who walk—” Xavier had swept a hand toward the hallway “—in here tonight feel special. Talk to them. Ask them questions. Listen earnestly to what they have to say. For a lot of them, it’s been months or even years since they had a quality meal and a meaningful conversation.”

Xavier’s words of encouragement played in Ebony’s mind now. He was asking the impossible. She couldn’t even look at her tablemates without shuddering, let alone engaging them in conversation. Mariana, the pencil-thin woman to her left, smelled like she had bathed in vodka. And every time she opened her mouth to put food in, some spilled out. Chester, who sat on her far right, was no better. He had a set of utensils, but pretended they weren’t there. He scooped up vegetables with his callused hands. Cut meat loaf with his fingers. Slurped his cream of mushroom soup. His shaggy facial hair was soiled with dirt and now remnants of his meal. When he guzzled down his drink, and then belched loud enough to shake the entire church, Ebony pushed away her plate. I’ll eat when I get home.

She caught Xavier watching her, and managed a weak smile.

“Are you going to eat the rest of your food?”

Ebony redirected her eyes to the beige-skinned man with the fatherly voice. “No, you go ahead.” When she handed him her plate, he grinned broadly, revealing badly stained teeth. “Old Man Griffin’s the name,” he told her. “Thanks.”

He tossed a handful of shrimp into his mouth. “Suppa’ sure is good, miss. Lady.”

Realizing he was referring to her, she said, “Glad you’re enjoying it.” Sister Bertha had seen to it that all the guests washed their hands and faces with soap, but to remove the grime out from Old Man Griffin’s fingertips called for something a little stronger than regular soap. It looked like the man needed some extra-strength bleach.

“We gonna get dessert?”

“I think I saw some chocolate swirl cheesecake around the back.”

“Chocolate swirl cheesecake! My old lady used to make that…was good…real good. Haven’t had dat in a long while.”

“Where is she?”

He shoveled macaroni into his mouth. “Don’t know for sure.”

“What happened?” Ebony asked in a quiet voice. She was about to withdraw her question, when the older man dropped his fork, propped his elbows up on the table and started to talk.

Ebony, and the other people at the table, listened quietly as Old Man Griffin shared from his past. He recounted how his life had taken a turn for the worse with clear detail and emotion. It was the winter of 2001, three months after September 11th. People were still scared. The economy was crumbling. Jobs were hard to come by. But the construction industry was flourishing. He loathed the cold weather, but he needed a steady paycheck. It was his third day on the job, the coldest day of the year, and he was battling the flu. A gust of bitter wind had rocked his scaffold, and in the blink of an eye, he slid off and landed hard on his back. Neck and facial injuries and a broken back had ended his construction career. He scratched his head. “Da foreman said I wasn’t en…entittl…”

“Entitled,” Ebony corrected.

“Thank you, miss. Lady. Da foreman said I wasn’t entitled to any cump…cumpens—”

“Compensation?”

He smiled his thanks. “Yes, dat’s it. He said I wasn’t entitled to any compensation because temporary workers aren’t covered for disability insurance or health benefits.” He fell silent for a few seconds. “Those damn welfare checks weren’t enough to feed my pregnant wife and two small kids. It was hell. I couldn’t get another job until my back healed and I couldn’t send my old lady out to find work, either. When we couldn’t pay da rent da second month, our stupid landlord kicked us out.”

Old Man Griffin twiddled with the napkin holder. Unshed tears pooled his black-brown eyes. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, pushed the pain back to its rightful place and said, “We didn’t have anywhere to go. My wife’s cousin took pity on us and let us stay with her and her family for a month, and then we had to go.”

“And you don’t know where your family is now?” Ebony asked.

“My old lady took da children to her people down south…I think they’re in one of da Carolinas, I’m not sure. I haven’t seen or heard from dem in a year. Her family never thought I was good enough for her anyways.” He hung his head, but the anguish in his voice was unmistakable when he said, “I miss dem kids, especially the baby. She was just a few weeks old when my wife left. She’s three now and don’t even know her own daddy.”

“At least your ma didn’t toss you out on the street so her pimp could move in.”

Ebony swung her head to the right. Her gaze landed on the slight adolescent-looking girl with the chalk-white lips sitting next to Amelia. The girl reminded her of Halle Barry in New Jack City. The stringy blond hair. Cheap makeup. Too-short skirt and stretchy blouse. Ebony didn’t know what drug she was abusing, but it was obvious she was a slave to something.

“Back in the day, I was the most popular girl in school. All the brothers wanted to get with me. Jocks. Pretty boys. Geeks.” She snorted. “Today, those boys wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole.”

Silence fell over the table. In the silence, Ebony searched for the right thing to say. “There are places you can go and get help. Agencies. Shelters. Community Centers. They’ll get you off the street, help you stay clean and give you a fresh start.”

“There’s no help for me. Ma used to say I’d never amount to anything. Told me I’d end up turning tricks like her. Said it was in my blood.” With a flick of her head, she said, “Guess she was right.”

Ebony extended a hand. “I’m Ebony. What’s your name?”

“Why do you care?” The woman’s eyes hardened, and her shoulders arched like she was gearing for a fight. She took in Ebony’s perfect hair, flawless complexion and polished nails. “You must feel pretty good about yourself, huh? Serving poor black folk. I bet you think you’re better than us. All dressed up in designer clothes and shit.”

It took a lot for Ebony to get embarrassed. But when a hush fell over the room and people at surrounding tables gawked at her, she felt her face flush. She didn’t dare look over at Xavier; she could feel the heat of his angry stare right where she was. Drinking from her glass didn’t loosen her airway. Keep your cool, she told herself. Don’t argue with her. If you ignore her, she’ll get bored and move on to something else.

No such luck.

“Is this your good deed for the year, Ms. Socialite? Feeding homeless bums? Giving advice? Pretending to care? Trying to make the world a better place, huh?”

For the first time in Ebony’s life, she was speechless. Running a shaky hand through her hair, she wished that she were back at home, in bed, figuring out the latest mystery on CSI.

“Don’t you hear me talking to you?”

Ebony’s eyes spread. Is she talking to me?

“Yeah, you heard me, Miss I-think-I’m-Better-Than-Everybody-Else. You’re too good to answer me now, huh? People like you make me sick. You walk up in here like you know what’s going on out there on the streets, but you have no idea. I’ve been taking care of myself for years—y-e-a-r-s—and I don’t need no damn agency making my life worse.” Her eyes tapered. “I don’t need your advice, either, ya hear? I can take care of my damn self!” She leaped out of her seat and the plastic chair sailed back on the floor and landed with a clunk. Leveling more insults at Ebony, she snatched up her frayed windbreaker and then stormed out of the hall.