Second Chance Page 11

  “Jayd, you want me to do your nails tonight after I finish with mine? Boys like pretty hands and feet,” she says, taking my hands into hers and examining my long fingers and nails, which are identical to hers and Mama’s. She’s never offered to do my nails before.

  “Honey,” she says, making herself comfortable on the couch next to me. “Something tells me Jeremy’s special to you. Am I right?” Feeling like I’ve just been read, I nod my head in agreement. “Well, if that’s the case, I want to help you be at your best. From what you told me about your last date he seems like a keeper, especially if he treats you like a queen. So, I’ll help you pamper yourself tonight, and I’ll pick you up and help you get ready tomorrow after work.” She’s never offered to do that either.

  10

  All in the Business

  “Why you all in my business?”

  —WHITNEY HOUSTON

  I could barely concentrate on work today, I’m so excited about tonight’s dinner. Since my Mom gave me a ride home after work, I have more time to look my most fly for Jeremy.

  “You’re not nervous about tonight, are you?” my mom asks while inspecting the outfits she laid out on the couch when I was at work. She picked out outfits that make me look respectable and cute at the same time. It’s nice when we bond, although it’s not often enough. She can be hella cool sometimes, like a big sister. And, she knows all about looking fly for her man. “Believe me, Jayd, they’ll like you. And wearing one of these ensembles, they’ll love you.” I didn’t tell her about his little run-in with the law, or that this dinner is in celebration of his stroke of good fortune, courtesy of my special touch.

  “I’m a little nervous. But, I think I’ll look good enough to hide any issues I may have.” I approve of her choice in outfits. She’s narrowed it down to two favorites: a cognac, shoulder V-neck tee and some flood-length jeans from Baby Phat with some gold heels, or my black, high-heeled boots, with her yellow Akademiks silk tee and some low-rise jeans. “Both outfits are just right, Mom. How do you do it?” I say, giving her mad props.

  “It’s a gift. Now, just pick an outfit and you’re good to go. I’ve got to go meet Ras Joe at the Bar and Grill for the game. So, have fun and tell Jeremy dinner’s here next time. It’s time I meet this new man in your life. Tell him we like White boys too,” she says, switching her thin frame through the hallway to her bedroom to dress. I look over at the clothing options and decide the boots and tank might be a little too much for these conservative White folks. So, I’ll go with the cognac tee and heels. Sexy yet sophisticated—just what I’m going for.

  Jeremy already called and told me he’s on his way, so I better get in the shower now. Luckily, my mom’s just changing clothes and heading out the door, leaving me time to get myself together in peace. I’m lucky I have my mom’s apartment to escape to on the weekends. Here I almost feel like a normal girl.

  “Jayd, I’m out. You know how to reach me if you need me. And don’t be out all night, either. I know them White folks let their kids stay out until sunrise, but not here,” she shouts from the front door. My mom probably won’t be home before sunrise herself, so she’s really got her nerve. But it’s not her I have to worry about. If I should ever come home after my mom, all she’d have to do is tell Mama, who would have me on lockdown for years to come.

  “Have fun, Mom, and I’ll be home before you,” I yell to the closing door.

  “Okay, baby, and have fun. I want to hear all about it in the morning.” And she’s out.

  When Jeremy arrives, I barely have time to get my mascara and lip gloss on before he kisses me like he hasn’t seen me in years.

  “Slow down, baby. We’ve got all night,” I say, pushing him off me and into the living room to wait while I make the finishing touches.

  “I’m glad because I want to look at you all night. Damn, girl, you’re fine,” he says. I blush. “I feel underdressed, and it’s my damn dinner party,” he says, looking over his tie-dyed Rip Curl T-shirt and some blue boardshorts with the brown suede Birkenstocks to match.

  “So, this is your mom’s house? Very nice,” he says. He looks like a giant sitting on my mom’s couch.

  “Yeah, it’s all her. Let’s go before we get caught in traffic on Crenshaw. You know the lowriders will be out tonight,” I say, realizing maybe he doesn’t know. When my mom was growing up, Sundays were the night to cruise down the Shaw. But the police put a stop to that. And now, everybody just rolls out on Saturday after the sun sets.

  “That’s cool. I’ve always wanted to see what Tupac was talking about.” This boy is too much. He has no problem with his naiveté in my world, and that’s what I like about him the most.

  “I’m going to let that one slide because I’m feeling too good, but remind me to bring it back up at a later time,” I say, grabbing my beige corduroy jacket from its hook and heading for the door. “I’m ready. Let’s go,” I command, like I’m his boss.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says, rising from the sofa to follow me out the front door. “I like it when you’re bossy,” he says, kissing me on the lips.

  “Good, because you need some direction, Eminem,” I tease, pushing him out the door and down the stairs.

  “I’ll just take my time getting to the car while you lock the fifty bolts,” he teases back.

  “How many locks do you have on your front door?” I ask, genuinely curious.

  “You’ll soon find out,” he says as we walk hand in hand down the long walkway to his Mustang. It’s a peaceful evening, and no one’s outside. We should have a good view of the setting sun if we go down PCH to Palos Verdes Boulevard. I’ve never been, but from what I’ve heard, that’s the only way to get in and out of the estates.

  As we approach PCH from Aviation Boulevard, the scenery quickly changes from airport cargo and industrial businesses to beach condos and strip malls. Jeremy speeds down PCH, passing South Bay High on the left.

  “Do you want to stop at the school?” he asks sarcastically. I’ve heard of students hanging out on campus during the weekend, but never witnessed it. And I know Jeremy isn’t part of that clique.

  “No, that’s okay. I get more than my share of this place during the week,” I say, enjoying the cool, salty air blowing against my face. The sun’s quickly setting, and the beach folks are ready for the night life to begin. It’s pretty live around here. There are plenty of coffee shops and clubs to keep it crackin’ all night. As we approach the estates, I lose track of the unfamiliar street names because of all the twists and turns to get up the hill. The view is breathtaking. All I can see for miles is water and mountains.

  “Is that Santa Monica?” I ask, pointing to bright lights far in the distance.

  “Yeah. And that’s Malibu further to the left,” he says, releasing my left hand and pointing out of my window.

  “Watch the road, man. Watch the road,” I say, only half joking. These curvy roads up here scare me a little. Bike riders and rollerbladers fly by, also making me nervous.

  “Don’t worry. You’re safe with me,” he says, taking my hand again, making me feel instantly protected.

  After another mile or so, we arrive at a two-story brick home with an enormous front lawn. There are four cars parked in the crescent driveway: a black CL 55 Benz, a silver Range Rover, a red convertible BMW Z 4 Roadster, and a classic red Corvette.

  “My grandfather would go absolutely crazy if he saw this car,” I say, referring to the Corvette as we walk up the driveway toward the massive front porch. “Well damn, you only need one lock for this huge door,” I say, a bit taken aback by the solid oak and stained-glass door with a brass hook and one lock above the antique door handle.

  “Yeah, it would be kind of hard to break through this thing,” he says, opening the door and leading me into his home. As we walk into the foyer, his mother comes in from the living room to greet us.

  “Come on in, darling. You must be the Jayd we’ve all been hearing so much about. I’m Julie, the mom of the househol
d,” Jeremy’s mother says, looping her right arm through my left and leading me into the dining room, where everyone’s already seated and waiting to devour the ten-course meal filling the table. It’s a Martha Stewart kind of moment. Jeremy’s right behind us, getting a kick out of this, I’m sure.

  “Hey, what took you two so long?” Jeremy’s father asks. “We almost started without the man of the hour,” he says, picking up a bottle of Moet and pouring himself another glass before pouring one for Jeremy, and then one for me. Julie seats us next to each other, with Jeremy at the opposite head from his father. I wonder if they eat like this all the time.

  “Inglewood isn’t down the street, Dad,” Jeremy says, placing his right hand on my left thigh under the table.

  “Let me introduce you to everyone, Jayd,” Julie says, ever the Southern belle. “This is Michael, our eldest son, and his wife, Christi, Justin, our middle son, and his girlfriend, Tammy, and this handsome man is my husband, Gary.” Jeremy seems to be the most relaxed person in his family. Michael looks like he’s suffocating, and Justin looks ready to go. “Everybody, this is Jeremy’s Jayd,” she says, obviously amused at my embarrassment. As if sensing my need to be rescued, Christi jumps in.

  “Inglewood? That’s where my dad is from, originally, that is. Now if you say he’s from anywhere but Palos Verdes, he’s liable to put a hit out on you.” I can see why. He must be passing for pure-bred rich Negro, because her mom’s obviously White. And, she looks like one of those sorority kind of girls. Real prissy and well-mannered. Nellie would love to be friends with this broad.

  “Yeah, your dad is pretty high strung about being from here,” Michael says, agreeing with his wife. I hate to admit it, but maybe Mrs. Bennett was on to something here. Tammy’s a cool-looking surfer chick, and she looks like she’s mixed too.

  “So, are all the stories we hear about Inglewood true?” Justin asks, passing the first dish around the table. There are three empty bottles of Moet on the table, so everybody has obviously started drinking.

  “Hey, back off, everyone. There’ll be time for twenty questions later. Pace yourselves. She’ll be here all night,” Jeremy says, trying to protect me. I’m sure I’m an interesting anthropological study to these folks. But I’ll play the game to eat this food right about now. I haven’t eaten anything all day because work was so busy, and I didn’t really get a break today. And besides, I think Jeremy was telling the truth about his mom’s cooking. This spread looks like it could go toe-to-toe with Mama’s Christmas dinner.

  “I hope you like Cajun cooking, Jayd. I hear your family’s originally from Louisiana,” Julie says, sounding a lot like Mama, but her accent’s a little more proper.

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s right. My mom’s family,” I say, remembering Mama’s warning about talking too much and telling all our business. She always has to remind me about running my mouth.

  “Well, I’m sure you can appreciate all this food, then. We have crawfish étouffée, black-eyed peas, glazed sweet potatoes, sweet potato rolls, green bean casserole, barbecued shrimp, crab salad, and for dessert we have chocolate fondue, caramel pralines, pineapple cake, and peach cobbler. My boys can eat.” I’m impressed. If this dinner tastes as good as it looks, I might have to get some private lessons for myself.

  “So, can you cook, Jayd?” Christi asks, again drawing attention away from Julie, who seems annoyed. I sense some drama between these two women.

  “Hell, yeah, she can,” Jeremy answers in between bites. “She made me the best cupcakes before the hearing. I think they had something to do with my good luck,” he says, winking at me.

  “Is that right?” Julie asks suspiciously. “So, you’re the one who made those cute little cupcakes Jeremy brought home on Thursday,” she says while ever so carefully picking up the tail of the jumbo shrimp from her pristine china plate. Before placing it in her mouth, she pauses and asks, “What part of Louisiana did you say your family’s from, Jayd?” I know better than to answer this woman truthfully. She gives me the chills, like our neighbor, Esmeralda.

  “I didn’t,” I say, realizing how defensive I must sound, quickly rethinking my answer. “I mean, I don’t know exactly. My mom never talks about her life down South. And my grandmother didn’t really know her family. So, she actually ended up in Texas with my grandfather’s family. And that’s where our history begins, as I know it,” I say, carefully leaving out all of the vital information about Mama’s legacy, but giving enough of an answer to satisfy her, I hope.

  “Oh, that’s a shame. There’s so much power in knowing one’s family heritage,” Gary says while pouring more étouffée into his bowl. “I can trace my ancestors all through the Diaspora back to Poland, before the Holocaust,” he says proudly.

  “When’s the last time you went to temple, Gary?” Julie says, touching on a seemingly ongoing argument.

  “As I’ve been telling you for the last thirty years, my love, I’m not Jewish by religion, but by heritage,” he says, making a good point. If they weren’t drunk, I think this could quite possibly be an interesting debate. Is it possible to get a contact high from alcohol? I haven’t had a sip of my champagne at all, although I will partake in a toast if there is one. But everyone here seems to be high off something. Maybe it’s the food. I haven’t touched my plate because I’ve been too busy answering autobiographical questions, but I’m eager to taste everything.

  “I love your outfit,” a soft-spoken Tammy says to me from the other end of the table. She has a perfect beach tan, which the white and pink puka shells hanging around her bare neck set off well. She looks like a pretty troll doll. She could be Pacific Islander, or maybe Latina. I’m sure she’s sick of people asking her about her race, so I’m not going to let my curiosity get the best of me.

  “Thanks. And I like your necklace. I’ve always wanted one of those,” I say. I just don’t think I could rock puka shells with my gold hoops and bangles.

  “You should get one. I think it would look very nice with your complexion,” Justin says, eyeing me like I’m prey. I heard about him being the playboy of the three brothers. Justin is a slightly taller and tanner Jeremy, with long, golden brown dreadlocks hanging down his back in one thick ponytail. Goddamn, he’s beautiful.

  “I’ll think about it,” I say, mesmerized by his intense smile.

  “I’ll show you where to get them. I bought hers from this cool spot in Venice,” he says, lightly flicking the shells around Tammy’s neck, making her blush. She’s obviously sprung on this boy, and he probably cheats on her every chance he gets.

  “If anyone’s going to show her where to get anything, it’ll be me,” Jeremy says, sounding slightly possessive, and it makes me smile. I’m glad to know he cares that his brother’s shamelessly hitting on me in front of him.

  “Down, you two,” Michael says. It’s clear he’s the family’s unofficial referee. “Excuse my family, Jayd. Moet tends to make us all act on impulse,” he says, pouring himself another glass.

  “I’ll take one of those, please,” I say, referring to the rolls in front of Michael.

  “I was starting to wonder if you didn’t like my cooking,” Julie says, referring to my untouched plate.

  “Oh, no. I’m just pacing myself. I’m actually starving,” I say before finally digging in. “Oh, this is good,” I mutter through a full mouth of shrimp. I should have worn stretch pants because I feel like throwing down.

  “I’m glad you like it,” Julie says in a tone that again gives me the chills. “My boys have to have women in their lives who can cook as well as their mother can, isn’t that right, Christi?” Julie says. Christi makes an unpleasant face.

  “Hey, Ganymede,” Jeremy says as the cutest light brown dog hops onto his lap, settling in for the rest of the evening’s festivities.

  “That’s our barkless dog,” Gary announces, sounding a little annoyed.

  “Yes. We’re very proud. She’s a pure-bred basenji,” Julie says, like she gave birth to her. “She’s w
on several awards and has been in every dog show on the West Coast for the past seven years.”

  “Yeah, but can she warn us when someone’s breaking into the house?” Gary retorts. “We spend more money on that damn dog than we do on our groceries every month.”

  “Gary, not in front of company,” Julie says, immediately silencing her husband. “Besides, you’re hurting Ganymede’s feelings.”

  “Jayd, you want to see the rest of the house? We can take our plates upstairs.” Jeremy is already setting the dog on the floor and picking up his plate and napkin. He reaches for my hand, and I can see he obviously needs a break from his family.

  “Sure,” I say, picking up my own plate and napkin. I grab his hand and follow him out the dining room and up the stairs.

  “Oh, son, don’t let us run you and Jayd away,” Gary calls after us.

  “I just want some peace. It’s my celebration, right?” he says. We’re already at the top of the stairs, and I don’t know if Jeremy’s dad even heard him.

  “Sorry about my parents. They can be a bit intense sometimes,” Jeremy says, leading me into the first of five rooms. “This is my room,” he says, flicking the black lights on, revealing a wall covered in glow-in-the-dark stickers of planets and stars. The furniture and bedding’s all black, really setting off the iridescent walls.

  “Wow,” I say in surprise. “I like your room. It’s bigger than my mom’s entire apartment.” There’s a walk-in closet to the left of the door, revealing a bathroom on the other side. In front of us is his king-sized waterbed and a computer desk with the bookshelf attached. There are four surf boards and two boogie boards leaning up against the wall, next to the desk. To the right of the door is a sitting area with a large black leather couch with a matching recliner, a black marble table, and a huge flat-screen television. He takes our full plates and sets them down on the table.