One Better Page 17

  After administering a Breathalyzer test, he said, “I’ll have to cite you an OUIL, ma’am: operating under the influence of liquor. You’ll have to come with us,” he said, cuffing her.

  By the time Sterling reached the police station it was one A.M. They printed and photographed her and took her to a holding cell. With the alcohol and drugs wearing off, the joy of not getting busted for possession of heroin gave way to a growing rage. The fact was, she was alone. “Can I at least have a cigarette?” she asked her guard as she stood just inside the cell door.

  “Sorry, this is a nonsmoking facility.”

  Fuck. She took irritable steps to an empty cot and, keeping her eyes focused on her shaking hands, avoided the bold glances of four other women sharing the cell with her. Sitting down, she bit her bottom lip, trying to contain her craving. She knew that it wouldn’t take long for her jones to come down, and without a cigarette, she didn’t know if she could make it.

  She figured it was about eight A.M. when the officer finally told her that she could make a call. She immediately dialed Bennie—there was no answer. She waited a few minutes, then dialed again. After five tries and still no answer, she had to laugh. The officer had said so nicely, “You can make all the collect calls you want to, miss.” But what if no one is home? she wanted to scream.

  Then she dialed Otis.

  MINK

  Who is not attracted by bright and pleasant children, to prattle, to creep, and to play with them?

  —EPICTETUS

  O ur imaginary woes are conjured up by our fantasies and fostered by passionate feelings. Real hurts come of themselves and need to be opposed by a nearly superhuman exertion of mind. Mink knew well that real grievances had displaced her troubles borne of passion.

  Today, as lonely as the ghost of that portentous conversation she’d had with Julie, Mink sat with her husband in the judge’s chambers. Julie’s statement haunted her: “If you don’t put that man first in your life, another woman will.”

  The judge stated matter-of-factly, “Mr. Majors, the court is certain you are the boy’s father.”

  “Hell,” Dwight said, jumping up from his chair.

  “Sir.” The judge tapped her gavel, then wagged her index finger in Dwight’s direction. “May I remind you that you’re in a court of law?”

  Turning away from Dwight, Mink lowered her head in anger and shame.

  Dwight ignored the judge and stood up, shouting, “That bitch has fucked everything that could walk or crawl. And now you want to say that this child is mine?”

  “Mr. Majors, I must warn you again—”

  “Bullshit!” he hollered. “You picked the first man with a decent job—which was me—an employed black man, just to get that bitch off the welfare rolls. You will always be 99.9 percent sure an employed black man is the father!”

  “Mr. Majors, are you saying you never slept with Estelle Rivers?”

  Sweat streamed down Dwight’s shiny head as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. As silent as fate, he turned to look into his wife’s eyes, which were wet with tears.

  Not waiting for him to answer, Mink got up and walked out.

  After the initial hearing and the results of the blood tests, the court concluded that Dwight was the father.

  That same night Mink moved into the guest room, refusing to speak to or sleep with her husband.

  Like fragile ice, anger passes away with time. Not with Mink. Her heart was as frozen as the glacier that anchored her soul.

  * * *

  A week went by and Mink still refused to speak with her husband.

  “You don’t have to talk to me. Just listen to me, let me explain, okay? Look, you can be mad tomorrow!” he screamed as he stood outside the guest bedroom door.

  “I’m filing for a legal separation,” Mink said, finally opening the door. Her voice was hoarse from hours of crying. “Don’t waste your time trying to talk me out of it.” She and Dwight had been planning to celebrate their eighth wedding anniversary in a couple of months.

  “But sweetie! I told you that the bitch is lying about the kid’s age—if he’s mine, then he’s got to be older. This all happened way before you and I were married. All she wants is money.”

  But Mink wouldn’t listen. “If you have an ounce of respect left for me and your daughter, you’ll leave.” She slammed the door in his face.

  Dwight moved into the firehouse.

  A week later, as Mink dressed for work, she flicked on the television set to the midday news. She listened with half an ear as she toweled herself dry. While spraying oil sheen on her neatly cropped ’fro, she heard a story that caught her attention.

  A three-alarm fire at a two-family duplex on Linwood and Gladstone flashed across the screen. A fireman had been killed trying to save a mother and her two children.

  That was Dwight’s district! Her heart began thumping wildly inside her chest, and she turned up the volume and listened. Please don’t let him be hurt, she prayed.

  Mink sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a towel, waiting and dying a little inside.

  In the background, the remnants of a contained fire smoldered as the reporter gave a brief summary of the tragedy that had just transpired at 28894 Gladstone. When he concluded, he moved to interview a firefighter who was sitting on the rear bumper of the fire truck.

  “This is Firefighter Conyers,” the reporter said, placing a microphone before the man. “Could you tell us what happened?”

  Mink recognized Kim Conyers’s smoke-stained face. Her body tensed, and tears fell as she prayed silently for her husband.

  “I’m sorry,” Kim said in tears, “I can’t talk right now.”

  The camera panned to a fellow firefighter, this one suffering from smoke inhalation, being wheeled into an ambulance.

  Mink thought her heart had stopped. Then, suddenly, there was Dwight, standing next to the reporter.

  “Can you fill us in on what happened here?”

  Mink’s heart started beating normally again as she watched her husband speak. He looked hurt. He looked thin. He looked like the man she loved, Mink thought as she watched him speak into the microphone.

  “Kim and I warned Harvey to wait for backup. This was Harvey’s second week on the job and his first fire. He heard the kids screaming on the third floor and panicked. Kim and I tried to pull him from the flames. Harvey wouldn’t budge. He fought us and ran farther into the depths of the fire.”

  The reporter’s face showed genuine emotion as he hung on to every word.

  “I knew that unless we left right then, we would die. We had six minutes of air left, and that wasn’t going to get us up and down six flights of stairs when the fire was out of control.”

  Dwight stopped. He hugged Kim, who was still overcome with emotion.

  Mink clutched the folds of the spread, the harsh words she’d used the night she’d kicked him out burning her ears. She hadn’t seen or heard from him since. It had been seven days.

  “I had no choice . . .” Dwight stopped and covered his face with his hands. His shoulders shook. Mink had never seen him cry.

  Kim finished for him. “When Dwight made it outside, he fell to the ground. There wasn’t an ounce of air left in his tank. I had to drag him to the truck; he needed oxygen. The bad news came minutes later . . . four lives were lost. Harvey had run out of air trying to save the kids and their mother.”

  Mink’s fury was suddenly sidelined, but her ambivalence remained. They were miles away from each other, and she knew that she could not reach for what had been or try to control what was to be.

  She picked up their wedding picture on the dresser and pressed it against her breasts. At that moment he was closer to her than her next breath. But she wondered, Am I still so close to you?

  * * *

  The next day, with a thirty-hour layover in Dallas, Harrison Fielding suggested they rent a small plane for an outing. Mink assumed that he was kidding and declined his offer. Three hours later
he called up to her room to say that a limousine was waiting downstairs to drive them to a private airfield in Balch Springs. Forty minutes later they boarded a small rented plane.

  “You were so keyed up during the flight, I thought you might like to feel like a passenger for a change.”

  “That’s sweet of you, Harrison.”

  “I remember how you looked when you talked about your Cessna.”

  “You remember?”

  Harrison’s agility in the cockpit was as smooth as a mirror. They took in the sights of Dallas from the sky. Harrison pointed out each geographical landmark as accurately as a talking travelogue. Mink was used to pointing out the areas of interest in each state they flew through to the Pyramid passengers, but she did so by rote from a written instruction card. This was the first time that someone had actually pointed them out to her, and in such vivid detail. She loved it.

  She thought of telling Harrison about the fire and her problems with Dwight. But as she’d learned from her mother, it was never a good idea to share secrets.

  As they landed, it started to rain. The innocent time that they’d shared together had been unexpectedly exciting. Mink was struck by Harrison’s wisdom and self-assurance. She admired him; she also found him incredibly sexy.

  Still, in the hours they’d spent together, Harrison had spoken often and languidly of his marriage. Clearly he was a man who was totally in love with his wife.

  Back at the hotel room, Mink felt wired, but instinct told her to rest. If the weather cleared, in three hours her crew would be on their way back to Michigan. She decided to take a hot bath and try to force her body to relax. As she toweled off, she received a call from Julie informing her of the severe fog and thunderstorms coming in from east. The Dallas airport was closed until tomorrow; all flights were canceled.

  Mink picked up her revised flight schedule from beneath her door, read it, then called Erma and told her that she wouldn’t be home until tomorrow afternoon.

  She stared out the window and watched the rain come down in waves. She felt cut off from her world, disoriented. She couldn’t think of home.

  She called Julie. “Do you want to meet for drinks later? We both could use a distraction right about now.”

  “No. But thanks for offering. I’m going to call it a night.”

  Mink felt a bit of tension in Julie’s voice. Maybe her friend was feeling disgruntled about the strike that was brewing among the flight attendants. Why else would she sound so distant?

  Just then the phone rang. It was Harrison. “Mink, would you like to go out this evening?”

  Suddenly Mink’s whole attitude changed. She was connected once again, and she wanted to party. She took a quick shower and went downstairs. At the sight of Harrison, Mink forgot about home, husband, and child. She was enjoying the moment, even with the rain shouting like music outside. The plane ride and the rain outside only heightened the opera.

  They discussed braving the rain to try the Italian restaurant two blocks away. Soon they were dashing through the pouring rain.

  It was pitch black behind the hotel. Harrison held fast to Mink’s arm as they ran toward the restaurant. Even with his supporting arm, Mink tripped on a curb and fell backward, pulling Harrison to the ground with her.

  In the midst of the storm, no words were necessary. The rain pressed Mink’s chiffon dress against her small breasts. She could see the silky hairs on his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt. No one was around. There was not a single person to point a finger and condemn. They were less than a hundred feet from the restaurant, and the feeling hit them like a brick wall. They were helpless.

  Harrison kissed Mink’s shimmering lips. Overwhelmed with lust, Mink eased back on the flooded pavement and spread her legs open wide. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t softened either by the exotic atmosphere of the Italian eatery in the background or the spicy scents emanating from it. It was quick thrusts, heightened by the pounding rain. It was just what it was: sex. Hot and heavy sex that peaked at a point neither had expected.

  Afterward their parting was quick and clumsy. As she hurried back to her room, Mink was torn by mixed feelings. She felt both thrilled and ashamed by how quickly she’d succumbed to her lust.

  How could she face him again?

  * * *

  The next afternoon, as soon as Mink stepped through the doors of her home, the telephone was ringing. It was Dwight.

  “How are you, Mink? How was your trip?”

  “Fine. We were delayed because of the weather.” Mink paused. She felt simultaneously relieved to hear his voice, angry, and suddenly awkward. Then she thought of Harrison on top of her.

  “I saw you on TV the other day. That was some fire.”

  “The boys were pretty shaken up. But everyone is settling back down. So, Mink, don’t you think it’s time we saw each other and talked things over?”

  “I’m sorry, Dwight, it’s just too soon. I’ll call you in a while.” Mink put down the phone without waiting for his reply. The truth was she felt too guilty to face him.

  The winter season had taken its toll, and several captains had called in sick. The next day, Mink was asked, for the first time since becoming a captain, to work overtime. With nothing better to do, she accepted.

  When she returned home three days later, Kim Conyers called. He was worried about Dwight. He’d been drinking straight tequila for two and a half days.

  Early Thursday morning, Dwight pounded on the door. This time Mink answered.

  “Hello, Dwight,” she said, stepping back upon seeing the rage in his eyes. She smelled the liquor and knew it was going to be a scene. “Go upstairs, baby,” she called to Azure, who was playing in the hallway. Then she opened the door to let Dwight in. Azure immediately ran to her daddy and clung to his legs. She hadn’t seen her father in three weeks.

  “Daddy’ll be up to see you as soon as I talk to Mommy, okay?”

  Mink pulled Azure back toward her as he spoke, then sent her little girl up the stairs. Instantly, she turned on Dwight. “What’s wrong with you? You smell terrible.”

  Dwight breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. He entered his old home and kicked the door shut behind him. “I need to talk to you.”

  “You’re drunk, Dwight. Maybe we should wait—”

  “Dammit, I said I need to talk to you!” he hollered.

  “Okay, okay,” Mink said nervously. Suddenly she was scared. Dwight never got drunk. In fact, he hated drunks. After she heard Azure’s footsteps in the upper hallway, she led Dwight into the library and sat on the sofa.

  Dwight paced the floor in front of his wife, rubbing his forehead, sighing, and gritting his teeth. “I want to come home.”

  “No—”

  “We can work this out. The judge says the child is mine. So I guess he’s mine—on paper, that is. The point is, he happened before you and I even met—I’m sure of it.”

  “You think the lawyers can’t determine the child’s age? Is that what you really believe? Hell, you’re not drunk—you’re crazy!”

  “Look, I’ll pay the child support for the boy. You won’t even know he exists.”

  “What!” she yelled. “You admit you’ve got a son, and now you want to shirk your duties as his father?”

  “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve. Poor Azure can’t even ride in her mother’s Jaguar because she might mess it up. All you care about is you, your career, your luxuries—”

  “Fuck you, Dwight. I’m the kind of mother who needs to work for a living because her husband can’t afford to take care of her.”

  “You bitch! I work two jobs. I let you have a career. I let you follow your dream!”

  “After expenses, those jobs wouldn’t even pay my yearly shoe bill. You spend more money every year purchasing new equipment. The fact is . . . you’re losing money and you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

  “Tell the truth, Mink. Money’s never been the problem—”

  “Look, maybe I’d like to be
able to sit on my ass every day. Live the good life. Do volunteer work once a month, bake homemade cookies, and be at home for Azure.”

  “Azure couldn’t stand you being here all day. You suck as a mother, and you know it. Don’t try to pretend—you’ve never been a good mother.”

  “How dare you!”

  Even though in her heart she knew he spoke the truth, who was he to sit in judgment of her?

  “I’m sorry.” His voice was suddenly tender. He reached out to touch her arm. “I didn’t mean that. Forgive me.”

  She jerked away from him, her voice thick with tears. She was consumed with anger and guilt. “I look at you now and know myself better. Because much of what I am today is because of you.”

  CARMEN

  No man has ever lived that had enough of children’s gratitude or woman’s love.

  —WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

  C armen woke early, an iridescent sky shining through her window. From her bed she could see the roof of the greenhouse where she worked while in rehab. Under the two 1,500-square-foot glass domes, hundreds of trays of fruit and flower seedlings were growing. Carmen remembered when she had helped Spice plant the herb garden on the grounds of Southern Spice. Together they had chosen to arrange the herbs in the shape of a wheel, and the different plants grew between the spokes of old cartwheels, the outer rim edging the makeshift circle.

  At Temple Gardens Carmen had planted the herbs in a traditional checkerboard design, choosing her favorites—anise, basil, tarragon, valerian, lemon balm, mint, hyssop, lovage, and rue. She treated each plant with as much love as she would have her own child, and the garden reflected it. Carmen loved working with herbs and soil. She felt closer to God. One afternoon, one of the patients who’d been in and out of Temple Gardens over the past year told her that in the summertime beautiful butterflies would look for their favorite herbs—red-flowered pineapple sage and cinnamon basil. Carmen quickly ordered the seeds through a catalog.