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Authors: Valerie Wilson Wesley
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your age, right? I remembered the name because I had an aunt named Celia, and I loved Celia Cruz. I read in the paper that she was killed.”
“Murdered and so was her son, Cecil. He came to see me a couple of days before he died with a retainer to find his mother's killer.”
“So I take it her son is your deceased client. I remember now. The kid was killed last week. He was around the same age as Jamal so it made an impression. Another bad day for our side.” He shook his head, as he often did when remarking on “bad days” for his beloved city. “Listen, a cop I know is working on the kid's murder. Red. You might remember him as Griffin, from when Hakim was killed.”
I did recall him and along with that memory came the sorrow that always comes when I remember the murder of Hakim, Jamal's best friend and half brother. Jake still bore a physical scar; Jamal and I carried ours in our hearts. Griffin remembered my brother Johnny and had gone out of his way to be helpful and kind to me and my son on that terrible day. As far as I was concerned, Griffin had a special pew in heaven. Jake wrote down Griffin's telephone number on the back of an envelope and gave it to me.
“He may be able to give you a sense of where the case for the son is going. Tell him I told you to call him, but he probably remembers you anyway. Hey, Tarn, be careful!”
His words of caution made me grin. “Hey, Jake, I'm always careful!”
That made him grin, which I love to see because it lights up his whole face and when you see it, you know everything is going to be okay. And if it's not, he'll make it so. We sat there grinning at each other for a minute enjoying each other's company. Until the front doorbell rang and Jake answered it. Then the grin dropped off my face. My intuition told me who it was. I gulped down what remained of my wine; I'd need the fortification.
Ramona Covington swished into Jake's kitchen as if she belonged there. Although I didn't like to admit it, she was an undeniably attractivewoman. Her short hair framed her pretty, square-jawed face in a style that said whoever wielded those scissors knew what he was doing. Her light-brown eyes were made up so flawlessly they looked natural, and her cherry red lips told me lipstick had just been applied. She was dressed casually, and her red cashmere sweat suit, if you could call it that, showed off the finer points of her well-toned body in sexy detail. Obviously surprised at my presence, she tossed me a grimace that only a fool could mistake for a smile and turned to Jake.
“So where have you been? I missed talking to you last night,” she didn't so much say as purr as she settled into the chair next to him, crossing her legs seductively. I noticed with annoyance that there was nary a spot on her blindingly white sneakers.
Jake looked mildly embarrassed. I wasn't sure if it was because of what she said or my hearing it. ‘At a game.”
“Game?” she asked as if she'd never heard the word before.
“Basketball. I tookjamal, Tamara's son, to see the Nets. Big fun. Nets won.”
Has he rhymed the words intentionally or did her presence have that effect on him?
“Oh, that's right, you mentioned it. So you're Jamal's mom.” She turned to me with a phony smile.
And you're the hitch from hell, I thought.
“Yes, we've met before,” I mumbled, pulling my lips into what probably resembled a sneer.
“Oh, that's right! I remember now,” she said, her condescending smile assuring me how easily forgettable I was. “How nice to see you again.”
There was no need to dignify that remark with a response so wesimply gazed at each other in awkward silence until Ramona turned her attention back to Jake, essentially sweeping me from the room with a toss of her head. There seemed to be no graceful way for me to enter their conversation, so I watched them without saying anything, desperately trying to figure out what this woman really meant to my friend.
Ramona Covington had
“Murdered and so was her son, Cecil. He came to see me a couple of days before he died with a retainer to find his mother's killer.”
“So I take it her son is your deceased client. I remember now. The kid was killed last week. He was around the same age as Jamal so it made an impression. Another bad day for our side.” He shook his head, as he often did when remarking on “bad days” for his beloved city. “Listen, a cop I know is working on the kid's murder. Red. You might remember him as Griffin, from when Hakim was killed.”
I did recall him and along with that memory came the sorrow that always comes when I remember the murder of Hakim, Jamal's best friend and half brother. Jake still bore a physical scar; Jamal and I carried ours in our hearts. Griffin remembered my brother Johnny and had gone out of his way to be helpful and kind to me and my son on that terrible day. As far as I was concerned, Griffin had a special pew in heaven. Jake wrote down Griffin's telephone number on the back of an envelope and gave it to me.
“He may be able to give you a sense of where the case for the son is going. Tell him I told you to call him, but he probably remembers you anyway. Hey, Tarn, be careful!”
His words of caution made me grin. “Hey, Jake, I'm always careful!”
That made him grin, which I love to see because it lights up his whole face and when you see it, you know everything is going to be okay. And if it's not, he'll make it so. We sat there grinning at each other for a minute enjoying each other's company. Until the front doorbell rang and Jake answered it. Then the grin dropped off my face. My intuition told me who it was. I gulped down what remained of my wine; I'd need the fortification.
Ramona Covington swished into Jake's kitchen as if she belonged there. Although I didn't like to admit it, she was an undeniably attractivewoman. Her short hair framed her pretty, square-jawed face in a style that said whoever wielded those scissors knew what he was doing. Her light-brown eyes were made up so flawlessly they looked natural, and her cherry red lips told me lipstick had just been applied. She was dressed casually, and her red cashmere sweat suit, if you could call it that, showed off the finer points of her well-toned body in sexy detail. Obviously surprised at my presence, she tossed me a grimace that only a fool could mistake for a smile and turned to Jake.
“So where have you been? I missed talking to you last night,” she didn't so much say as purr as she settled into the chair next to him, crossing her legs seductively. I noticed with annoyance that there was nary a spot on her blindingly white sneakers.
Jake looked mildly embarrassed. I wasn't sure if it was because of what she said or my hearing it. ‘At a game.”
“Game?” she asked as if she'd never heard the word before.
“Basketball. I tookjamal, Tamara's son, to see the Nets. Big fun. Nets won.”
Has he rhymed the words intentionally or did her presence have that effect on him?
“Oh, that's right, you mentioned it. So you're Jamal's mom.” She turned to me with a phony smile.
And you're the hitch from hell, I thought.
“Yes, we've met before,” I mumbled, pulling my lips into what probably resembled a sneer.
“Oh, that's right! I remember now,” she said, her condescending smile assuring me how easily forgettable I was. “How nice to see you again.”
There was no need to dignify that remark with a response so wesimply gazed at each other in awkward silence until Ramona turned her attention back to Jake, essentially sweeping me from the room with a toss of her head. There seemed to be no graceful way for me to enter their conversation, so I watched them without saying anything, desperately trying to figure out what this woman really meant to my friend.
Ramona Covington had
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