One Better Page 2

  Carmen gave the gumbo one final stir, then replaced the cover on the pot, lowering the flame. “Everything for the brunch should be ready in about fifteen minutes.”

  Spice moved to the refrigerator and looked inside at its contents once again. On the top shelf, a spinach salad with apple-onion vinaigrette glistened in a glass bowl. She checked Carmen’s work of art on the lower shelf: five lotus-shaped stemware pieces filled with peach Melba.

  “I haven’t even worked my usual shift, and I’m exhausted,” Carmen said, sitting down, putting her feet in the opposite chair, and once again removing her small flask from her apron pocket.

  Spice and Carmen had been cooking since 6:00 that morning. It was now 11:12 A.M. and the brunch was set to begin in just under two hours.

  As she spoke, Spice’s voice was inflected with the hurt she felt inside. “Carmen, I’m really having a problem with you not taking part in today’s celebration.” She slipped on a pair of oven mitts and lifted one of the chafing dishes filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausage. The center island and counters in the kitchen were covered with eggs Benedict, ham, corned-beef hash, biscuits and gravy, homemade waffles with strawberries and whipped cream topping, and fresh Danishes completing today’s meal. “You know how important you are to this family. It won’t be the same without you.”

  “Not today, Spice.” Carmen placed the dish she’d transferred from the kitchen beside Spice’s in the living room. Stepping back, she automatically smoothed the swirled gold moiré skirt draping the buffet table that she and Spice had lavished with gold silk bows. Ornate Russian Fabergé silverware was laid out next to red china. Ivory linen napkins were rolled through cylinders of jewel-studded bracelets. “However,” Carmen said teasingly, “if you’d like to offer me a bottle of your private cognac, I could be persuaded into accepting one of those.”

  “Of course,” Spice said, moving hesitantly toward the bar.

  Reflected in the mirror along the well-lighted bar was an elegant black lacquer Yamaha piano facing the south wall. Spice’s most prized possessions were two papier-mâché gilt, mother-of-pearl, and cane side chairs with a similarly painted papier-mâché mother-of-pearl cave à liqueurs that were carefully positioned beside the piano for a stunning effect that added to the flamboyance of the room. Though she rarely drank, Spice kept the bar well stocked. There were several bottles of Dom Pérignon and Cristal along with the usual variety of liquors.

  But what Spice was particularly proud of was the case of Louis XIII cognac, valued at $1,355 a bottle, that had been given to her by David on their fifteenth anniversary.

  “Now, Spice,” Carmen said, resting her hands on her narrow hips, “I was just kidding about the cognac, girl.” She chuckled. “I could have sworn you’d say no, knowing how much those bottles mean to you.”

  Spice exhaled and felt her body relax. Truly, she would have given Carmen anything she wanted, but she was thankful that her friend didn’t feel the need to test her loyalty that way. She hugged Carmen’s tiny body, then said seriously, “If you change your mind ...”

  “Spice, I know I’m family, but today should be a celebration for kin, your brother-in-law, and your daughters. Anyway, it’s been a while—”

  “Since I’ve seen Mink and Sterling. I know,” she said softly. “Otis called yesterday and said that he wanted to talk to Sterling about something. It might have been about a job.” She shrugged it off. “Anyway, I’ve forgotten the conversation, I’ve been so busy with this new project.”

  She removed her apron and gloves and sat at the kitchen table. Carmen joined her and listened as Spice told her about her latest entrepreneurial adventure.

  Foxphasia, the $38 million hotel and office center, was located on the northeast corner of I-696 and Woodward in Royal Oak on a 6.8-acre site. Along with two other investors, Spice had founded the Foxphasia Corporation to develop three office buildings of three, five, and fifteen stories, respectively, a five-story condominium, and a three-story cultural children’s museum with a pedestrian bridge that would be built between the Detroit Zoo and the 154-bed office-hotel that housed Southern Spice’s sister restaurant on the first level. When Spice finished explaining her version of the completed project to Carmen, she clapped her hands like a child and exclaimed, “It’s getting exciting, I can tell you that, girl!”

  “I’d like to see it one day.”

  “Why wouldn’t you? Anytime, kiddo.” Then Spice added, “Even though my daughter is talented, I made a mistake in commissioning her to design the children’s cultural museum.”

  “Sterling?”

  “Yes. It took all of Otis’s and my pull to get her hired temporarily at Zuller Architectural Firm. She had to work through one of their senior architects because she’s not licensed yet. And she still hasn’t finished the plans. She seemed so excited about it last summer. Now she’s a month behind for the bank’s deadline for approval of the plans. And the cold shoulder I’ve received lately from Zuller might never thaw.”

  “Don’t worry, she’ll come through.” Reaching across the table, Carmen touched Spice’s hand. “You need someone to help you with all this.”

  “Otis has offered many times to help me. But I don’t want him involved. I see him enough already. Daily contact would be too much.” She leaned back in her chair and turned to gaze outside. “I had planned on discussing my future plans for the development with the girls. You know, let them see the possible benefits of building a family empire. Otherwise, it just doesn’t make any sense to work so hard for much longer.”

  “Marriage is still an option.”

  “As I said earlier, I’m still not ready.” Spice turned to face her friend. “So it’s not. But if I can convince Sterling of the importance of her career, and how it’ll tie in with our Foxphasia Corporation projects, maybe she’ll get serious. You know how Sterling thinks soul food is another name for slave food and refuses to eat it. She feels no matter how you fix it, or serve it up, it’s still slave food, which is why I decided not to encourage her to take an active role in the restaurant part of the business.”

  “Sterling knows how to get to you, Spice. But she’ll come through.”

  “I’m not so sure anymore about anything. In twenty years I’d like to know that at least a son-in-law or a grandchild is being groomed to take over.”

  “Spice, I don’t think you’re being fair to yourself or the girls by not get—”

  “I’ll tell you what. I won’t discuss anything that serious today. We’re just going to eat heartily and have a laughter-filled afternoon.” Spice forced a smile that faded quickly.

  With her hand still in the center of the table, Carmen touched her friend’s arm. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” she asked.

  Spice looked Carmen squarely in the eye and held it before saying, “No.”

  “You’ve been acting funny ever since your birthday.” Carmen turned her head to the side. “Personally, I partied through most of that year. So I really can’t remember how I felt. But I’ve heard that turning forty-three is worse than turning forty.”

  Spice could smell the liquor on Carmen’s breath as she spoke. “I’m not a believer in that myth,” she said, turning away and hearing but not seeing Carmen take another sip from the flask. “It’s never the physical that concerns me most. It’s my mental attitude—staying on top of things, being in control. Life has been good to me, but I don’t want the girls to make the same mistakes that I made.”

  “Mistakes teach us about life, Spice.”

  “David and I worked hard to build this business, and we assumed they would want to keep it going.” Spice removed the bread pudding from the oven and placed it on the butcher block to cool. “Mink’s got her own career—” She added quickly, “Of course I’m happy for her. But Sterling . . . Sterling . . .” She shook her head. “What am I going to do with her?”

  “She’ll learn.”

  “When? Sterling doesn’t care about anything but shopping.” Spic
e sighed. “I keep making excuses for her not delivering the plans at the bank, but I’m running out of lies. I didn’t raise her to be a loser. I know I made some mistakes early on, but—”

  “You did what you had to do, Spice.”

  Their eyes locked, and the silent understanding they shared was enough right now. “I’m surprised that Otis hasn’t arrived yet. He loves to catch me off guard.”

  “Nervous?”

  “No,” Spice lied. “Yes. Otis has been pressuring me a lot lately about dating again. He feels it’s time I moved on with my life. I’m certain dating isn’t like it used to be back in our day.” She felt Carmen’s smile on her back as she checked the clock above the double ovens: fifteen minutes before twelve. “They’ll be here pretty soon—”

  “And you’d better get dressed.” Carmen scrambled from the chair and began stacking the dishwasher. “I’m just about to leave for home, but I’ll call you later to see how everything went.”

  Spice whispered a warm “Thanks” in Carmen’s ear, then ruffled her curly locks before leaving the kitchen.

  * * *

  Sterling arrived first. Using her key to Spice’s private-access elevator and residence, she entered the duplex and hung up her coat in the front closet. “Spice?” she called out to her mother. “Spice,” she said louder, “it’s me, Sterling.”

  “Hi, baby. I’ll be down in a few minutes,” Spice yelled from her bedroom doorway. “Open a bottle of champagne while you wait.”

  Sterling checked out the spread of food and sampled a piece of toffee before removing one of three chilled bottles of champagne on ice. She took it upstairs to the library. Just as she was settling into a relaxing glass of champagne, she heard the elevator stop, followed by the sound of a key unlocking the door.

  A few seconds later Mink peeked into the library. “Hello, Sterling,” she said, giving her sister a hug. After setting her purse on the lower shelf of a bookcase, she asked Sterling, “Where’s Spice?”

  “She’s still dressing, and Otis hasn’t arrived yet.” Sterling sighed. “Join me in a glass of champagne,” she said, reaching inside the liquor cabinet for another crystal goblet. She poured a drink for her sister, then toasted her, saying with a smile, “Congratulations on your promotion.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll be back in a sec,” Sterling said, setting down her empty glass. “Gotta take a trip to the bathroom.” As she stood, she smoothed and adjusted her cuffed sleeves just so. Every gesture showed that she knew how she shimmered in her stunning ivory Christian Lacroix pantsuit with three rows of lustrous bubble-gum-sized pearls hanging from her neck. Wearing all muted opalescent tones, poised and lovely in pastel nylons, pumps, and a softly painted mouth, she didn’t need anyone to tell her that she looked terrific.

  As beautiful as both women were, they couldn’t have looked more different. Mink stood five feet nine to Sterling’s five feet one. Sterling wore her hair long, in waves of autumn gold; Mink wore a perfectly shaped half-inch afro. Sterling’s complexion was ivory, like a delicate lily; Mink’s flawless skin was a rich chocolate brown. Sterling’s eyes, a striking gray that at first glance appeared blue, made many people think of the goddess Athena; Mink’s eyes were a deep sepia that mirrored the stars in midnight waters. The stunning high arch of Mink’s sculpted cheekbones, her broad nose and full lips, called attention to her exotic appeal; Sterling’s high, sophisticated forehead, sleek brows, aristocratic nose, and narrow lips gave her a classical, 1930s beauty.

  Throughout Sterling’s and Mink’s lives, their hobbies, choices in men, and recently their career paths were as dissimilar as their physical features. It was obvious they had different fathers, though neither woman thought much about it—and that was lucky for Spice.

  The master suite was decorated in the same theme as the rest of the apartment: rich creams, taupes, brass and glass in the furniture, thick white carpeting, and bold, black velvet walls. Leaning over her dressing table, Spice reapplied her makeup for the third time. She’d underestimated how nervous she’d be and couldn’t get her hands to stop shaking. Consequently, at 1:22 P.M., she still hadn’t finished dressing.

  Finally, expelling a last sigh in a futile effort to calm herself, she left her room and headed toward the familiar sound of her daughters’ voices. She hesitated for a moment and took a deep breath just outside the entrance to the library. Just as she was ready to go in, she was stopped in her tracks by the catty tone in Sterling’s voice as she spoke to her elder sister.

  “You’ll probably hear about it next week,” Sterling said loftily. “The dean’s wife caught her husband and me together.”

  “Did she catch you in his bed or yours?” Mink’s voice practically roared. “Never mind, I don’t want to hear the vulgar details.”

  “Neither,” Sterling answered with what sounded like pride. “In the backseat of his car in the school’s parking lot.”

  “Jesus!” Mink exploded. “How stupid can you get? How stupid could he get?”

  As Sterling began detailing how their affair had begun, there was no remorse in her voice.

  Steadying herself, Spice walked into the room. “Hello, girls,” she said, kissing Mink and then Sterling on the cheek. As she stood back to appraise them, she said, “You both look stunning.”

  “So do you, Spice.” Mink poured her mother a glass of champagne.

  “Thank you,” she said, accepting the drink from Mink. And with her eyes fastened on Sterling, she said, “Finish your story,” then took a seat on the velvet couch.

  Mink took a seat beside Spice and patted her on the knee.

  “Anyway, the wife called security, and since a half gram of cocaine was found in the car, the university decided to suspend me.”

  Spice had learned long ago not to react to Sterling’s outlandish, self-destructive behavior. The more she showed she cared, the more her younger child rubbed her nose in her failure as a mother. When the telephone rang, Spice jumped, tipping the bubbly beverage over onto her lap, staining her silk dress.

  “Hello,” she said angrily while reaching for a handful of tissues to dry her soiled dress. She listened to her head chef explain why he’d called. “What kind of emergency, Travis?” From the corner of her eye, she could see Sterling lighting a cigarette and listening to her every word. “I’ll be right down.” She slammed down the receiver and rolled her eyes at Sterling.

  “I’ve got to go,” was all she said before quickly leaving the room.

  * * *

  She knew that I’d been planning this for months, Spice thought, nervously twisting her gold wedding band, which she wore on her middle finger, back and forth. She was positive that Sterling had staged the whole affair to draw attention to herself. They had played this game many times before. Losing another opportunity? And drugs? Again? Spice was fed up with Sterling’s secondhand theatrics. She was so angry, she welcomed the excuse to escape—not an unfamiliar feeling, unfortunately.

  Spice had tried to teach her daughters that they could be more—more intelligent, more talented, more attractive—one better than anyone, just by being themselves. But somehow the message hadn’t gotten through to Sterling.

  Pushing the button for the elevator to the restaurant, Spice thought back to another incident just four years earlier, on Sterling’s birthday. All the preparations had been made at Southern Spice for Sterling and her boyfriend Bennie’s wedding. Though Spice and Mink knew that Bennie Locke was the human embodiment of Narcissus, they’d had no luck convincing Sterling how awful her future would be with him.

  And no one discussed that Sterling’s real motive for her early graduation from Rochester High School and subsequent marriage plans had more to do with Mink’s eloping with Dwight immediately after her twentieth birthday than with Bennie.

  Anyway, there hadn’t been a ceremony that day. Bennie had never shown up. The young bride-to-be was “all dressed up with nowhere to go.” Sterling had been overwhelmed with embarrassment and filled with rage. Un
fortunately, it had not proven to be the last of Bennie in their lives.

  When the elevator stopped on the main level, Spice stepped onto the pink-and-white checkerboard flooring of Southern Spice’s main kitchen.

  She waved at the employees as she made her way toward the head chef’s office.

  Just as she entered Travis Foxx’s office, Spice heard a rumbling, rolling noise, then the sound of a file cabinet drawer clicking shut, telling her that Travis was wearing his manager’s hat at the moment. Travis had filled some of the tasks left by David’s death. But Lord knew he was no David.

  From the moment she sat down, Spice felt his eyes visually undressing her. “What’s the emergency?” she asked.

  She caught the snide smile on Travis’s face as he moved from behind his desk and, facing her, rested his buttocks against the desk and leaned forward. He was a carbon copy of Will Smith on Fresh Prince of Bel Air, especially the ears. Spice had slipped once and called him “Will,” which had pissed him off.

  “If you’d come downstairs with me a moment, I’ll show you.”

  They took the elevator to the basement. All the way down, Travis complained about the freezer, which was costing a fortune in repair bills. His immediate bugaboo was with the new compressor system that currently ran their freezer and refrigerator. He’d voiced his concern over the hassles caused by the system last year. The system took up too much room and used double the electricity that a more compact unit would cost. Now they had the bills to back him up.

  At Travis’s suggestion, Spice peered at the overburdened circuits. She tried to make some sense of what she was looking at. She’d never been able to grasp the necessity for all the wire and tubing that extended off into a zillion directions.

  With a sudden movement, Travis was behind her, gently cupping her buttocks.