A Good Man (9 page)

“I’m as old as you are, Jazz,” Kim said.

“Hush.”

“And I want a new name, too, Jazz.”

“Why?”

“You get to be Jazz, so I want to be … Jezz, as in Jezebel.”

She should be Huss, as in “Hussy.”

“Or Queen,” Kim said. “I like that name a lot. That name is the shit. You’re the princess, but I’m the queen.”

Yes, this queen bee is definitely buzzing. She gets coffee from here on. “Please watch your language.”

“We’re not in your house anymore, Sonya,” Kim said. “I can be myself again, right?”

At least she respects me enough not to curse in my house.

“Maybe I should be something African like … Titilope,” Kim said. “I looked it up online. It means ‘forever grateful’ in Yoruban.”

That name for this child? Never. That’s like calling a skinny baby “Chubs.”

Kim tapped Sonya’s arm. “I know you didn’t get the chance to name me, Sonya, but what would you have named me?”

Sonya sighed. “Shani.” Shan-eye. Oh, how I loved that name.

Kim sat up somewhat straighter. “Shani.”

“It’s Swahili for ‘wonderful.’”

“Shani.”

She likes it. I don’t know whether to smile or cry. I may do both.

“What was my middle name?”

Sonya smiled as tears formed. “Neliah.” Shan-eye Nee-lie-uh. Just saying it was like casting a magical spell.

Kim closed her eyes and smiled. “Shani Neliah. Shani … Neliah. What’s ‘Neliah’ mean?”

“Someone who is strong-willed, has a forceful personality, and has a level mind.” Sonya wiped away a tear.

Kim nodded. “Well, two out of three ain’t bad.”

And we’re gonna have to work on that third one right now. Sonya waved a flight attendant over.

“Yes, ma’am?” the flight attendant said.

Ma’am? Do I look that old? “Coffee for me and my, um, sister.”

The flight attendant nodded and went to the galley.

“I don’t need coffee,” Kim said dreamily, opening her eyes and rubbing them. “I’ll just take a nap.” She put her pillow against the window and snuggled into it. “Shani Neliah. Yeah. That’s a good name.”

Sonya took the blanket swaddling her own legs and placed it on Kim’s back. Yeah. It would have been a very good name.

“Shani Neliah,” Kim whispered. “I’m a wonderful badass …”

Ain’t that the truth, Sonya thought, wiping away another tear.

Michelle, wearing a shin-length black Moda Italiana coat, chic black sunglasses, and a black beret that did nothing to contain her miles of jet-black weave, met them as they emerged from the tunnel at the gate. As she looked from Kim to Sonya, her smile changed to a frown.

“Which one of you is …” Michelle blinked rapidly. “You’re twins!”

Kim sipped coffee from a Styrofoam cup. “I’m Kim.”

“Kim,” Michelle said in a monotone. She smiled at Sonya. “I didn’t know you had a—”

“She’s my daughter,” Sonya interrupted.

Michelle’s jaw dropped. “She’s … your … daughter.”

“But only for the last six years,” Kim said. “I spent the first twenty years being raised by rabid wolves in New Jersey.” Kim took another sip. “Sonya, this coffee sucks bad. It tastes like ass.”

“Keep drinking,” Sonya said. “And please watch your language.”

“But it does taste like ass,” Kim said. “Ever hear of cream and sugar?”

Sweets for the sweet, and bitter for the bitter. “Let’s go,” Sonya said. “We’re making a traffic jam.” And a scene.

Michelle, wide-eyed and hyperventilating, trotted beside Sonya on the way to baggage claim. “She’s your daughter?” she whispered.

“I can hear you,” Kim said. “Yes, I’m the long-lost daughter of the greatest woman to ever play basketball on planet Earth.”

“But she’ll be my sister on the show,” Sonya said.

“Half sister,” Kim added, grimacing. “Even some damn half-and-half would have made this shit taste better.”

“Please, Kim,” Sonya said.

Kim waved the cup under Sonya’s nose. “You taste it.”

Sonya sniffed the top. Eww. That is some old coffee. It does smell like … dung. That’s a word in the Bible, so I can think it. First class is slipping. “Toss it. Maybe we’ll get you something on our way to …” She looked at Michelle. “Where do we have to be first?”

Michelle’s lower lip trembled. “Why does she call you Sonya?”

They arrived at baggage claim along with a thousand other people. “Yes, Kim,” Sonya said, “why don’t you tell Michelle why you don’t call me mama?”

“Just a sec.” Kim spied a trash can and walked toward it.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a kid?” Michelle asked. “I’m your publicist, for God’s sake. How will it look when this comes out? My reputation would be ruined because I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Sonya said. “It’s a little something called the law. I retired as soon as she turned eighteen so I could register to find her, and by then, you weren’t really representing me, were you?”

“Why’d you give her up?” Michelle asked.

“I was young and dumb,” Sonya said. “I was a child.”

“And now you’ve been reunited.” Michelle looked at Kim weaving through the crowd. “That would make an amazing story, maybe even a movie.”

Sonya shook her head. “No, Michelle.”

“No, what?” Michelle asked.

“I know how your mind works,” Sonya said. “You’re looking at my pain as a way to make you some money.”

“It would make a good story,” Michelle said.

“No.”

Michelle straightened a few of her tresses. “She looks just like you did fifteen years ago. Maybe she should do the show instead of you and you can play her spinster aunt.”

Sonya lost feeling in her body. “If that child did the show, she would set women, not just black women, back fifty years. And the censors couldn’t possibly keep up with her mouth.”

Michelle sniffed a laugh. “It must be so hard on you.”

She’ll never know the half of it. “I’m working on her, Michelle.”

“Kind of a yin and yang thing, huh?” Michelle said. “Where there’s the Force, there’s also the Dark Side.”

“Hush, Michelle.”

Kim returned. “I don’t call her mama, mother, or mommy because she’s never been my mama, mother, or mommy.”

“Until recently,” Sonya said.

“You just send me money,” Kim said. “You’re nothing but a MoneyGram. Maybe I should call you Money.”

Please, bags, come spitting out of that little cave right now! And if you want to shoot out real fast, make sure you hit this child in the head to knock some sense into her.

“Your mama was money when she played, Kim,” Michelle said.

Thank you, Michelle, but Kim is going to turn that around on you so fast that—

“Yeah, while I was being told ‘your mama didn’t want you’ and my real parents let me run wild,” Kim said with a sneer, “Money here was making mad money bouncing a ball and flying all over the world.”

“Did you ever see her play?” Michelle asked.

Kim rolled her eyes. “No. I hate basketball. I won’t even watch the Hawks play.”

“No one watches the Atlanta Hawks play, honey,” Michelle said.

“True,” Sonya said.

Once they had their bags and suitcases, Michelle led them to her Camry. “Hope you’ve had enough time to stretch your legs,” she said. “You’re gonna be sitting for a while.”

“Is Warner Brothers that far away?” Sonya asked.

“Only thirty miles, but I have to take the one-oh-five, the one-ten, the five, and Ventura Freeway to get there. It’ll take us about … ninety minutes.”

“That’s only ten miles an hour,” Kim said. “Why don’t we walk?”

Michelle blinked her eyes rapidly. “No one walks in California, Kim.”

Once on the 105, Kim stretched out in the back and went to sleep.

“Traffic is light today,” Michelle said, content to creep along, the speedometer jumping above fifteen miles an hour every few minutes or so. She glanced into the backseat at a snoring Kim. “How much did she drink?”

“Too much,” Sonya said. “And this is light traffic? Charlotte is bad for about an hour, but, girl, it’s only eleven o’clock in the morning.”

Michelle shrugged. “Welcome to my world. I spend five hours a day in my car.”

Michelle loses a full day every week stuck in her car, Sonya thought. I am so glad I chose to live in Charlotte.

“Our meeting with Larry Prince is at twelve thirty,” Michelle said, changing lanes and nearly cutting off a motorcyclist, who flew by so close a few seconds later that he could have adjusted her side mirror. “We have plenty of time to get there.”

“That guy on the motorcycle almost hit you,” Sonya said.

“He’s a future skid mark for sure,” Michelle said.

Now there’s an image I don’t want to have in my head, Sonya thought.

“Oh, you’ll just love little Larry Prince. He’s a cross between Mr. Magoo and Burgess Meredith, you know, Rocky’s trainer. And wrinkly! And he always wears shorts, so try not to stare at his wrinkles, I mean, his legs. And don’t roll your eyes at his outfits, such as they are. He wears long-sleeved golf sweaters with those shorts, white socks, and boat shoes. I’ve met the executive producer, too, and he’s an absolute ass. Oh, sorry.”

Sonya shook her head. “It’s okay, Michelle. The word ‘ass’ is in the Bible. So the executive producer is a jerk?”

“Bob Freeberg is a certified and certifiable prick. He wears thousand-dollar suits and penny loafers with half-dollars in the slots instead of pennies, if that tells you anything. He’s only twenty-three, but he walks around like he owns the universe. He also walks around like he’s got a redwood tree stuck up his ass. His daddy was once a movie mogul or something.”

A redwood tree? Ouch. “How often will we have to deal with him?”

“Hopefully not at all,” Michelle said. “Larry does most of the dirty work.”

I don’t know if I like the sound of that. “Why are you wearing that heavy coat?”

“It’s only going up to sixty-five degrees today. It’s cold.”

“When we left Charlotte, it was thirty-five. This is nice.” Sonya looked back at her daughter. Lord, please have her wake up civil and mannerly.

Once they finally arrived at Hollywood Way, Michelle entered and circled an underground parking lot for several long minutes before zipping into a spot. “Yes! Hu-ah!”

“Hu-ah”? Isn’t that what the Marines yell?

“It is so hard to get parking around here,” Michelle said. “Yes!”

Californians have such simple joys, Sonya thought. “Kim, we’re here.”

Kim sat up. “Have we been driving all night or what?”

“We’re underground,” Sonya said, getting out and opening the back door. “Hungry?”

“I guess,” Kim said, stepping out and blinking. “How long was I out?”

“About an hour.” Sonya brushed a stray hair from Kim’s forehead. “Have any dreams?”

Kim took a step back. “Yeah, I had a dream that I was drinking liquid shit, and it’s still in my mouth. I need something to drink.”

I shouldn’t have asked. “Let’s go.”

Once up and out in the sunlight, Michelle led them to Café Valentino, a sandwich shop located across the street from Warner Bros. Studios.

“There’s Larry,” Michelle said, nodding at an old man sitting in a chair at a table under a large gray umbrella. “I guess we’re eating outside. I’m glad I wore this coat.”

“Why aren’t we meeting at the studio?” Sonya asked.

“You’re not an employee of Warner Brothers yet,” Michelle said. “Only employees get to eat in the commissary. I hear it’s fabulous, especially the Filipino food.”

Larry Prince stood as they approached, and Sonya tried not to stare, but once she saw his knobby knees peeking out of his red-and-white plaid shorts, she could do nothing but stare. He is Mr. Magoo. He even has the glasses and the bald head. Eww. Don’t look, don’t look … Shoot. I looked at his legs. Tan but … loose. There’s a kneecap inside that flesh somewhere. Sorry, Lord, but some men should always wear pants, You know? What is Larry, eighty? Ninety?

Larry reached a wrinkly, liver-spotted hand to Kim. “So this is the famous Sonya Richardson.”

Kim avoided his hand and sat. “I’m, um, I’m Shani.”

She chose Shani, Sonya thought. Very cool. I was afraid she’d pick Titilope.

Larry squinted, his hand still in the air. “Does that make you the best friend?”

Kim squinted back. “No. I’m her half sister.”

Larry dropped his arm and looked from Sonya to Kim. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

“Different daddies,” Kim said.

Too much information, Kim. Sonya extended her hand. “I’m Sonya. Nice to meet you, Mr. Prince.”

Larry shook her hand. “And you look so young.” He motioned to a chair. “Please, sit.”

Sonya sat, the umbrella swaying above. “When will I see the contract, Mr. Prince?”

“Oh, let’s eat first,” Larry said. “I’ve already ordered an assortment of sandwiches. They’re all delicious.”

As if on cue, a server arrived with a dozen sandwich halves and took drink orders. Kim immediately reached for a sandwich that oozed mozzarella, salami, and peppers, and Michelle grabbed what looked like a Philly cheesesteak.

“I’d like to see the contract now,” Sonya said, analyzing the remaining half sandwiches. Now, which one of you won’t give me gas?

Larry smiled. “Business before pleasure, huh?”

“The next year of my life before some sandwiches, yes,” Sonya said.

Larry nodded, reached into a satchel hanging on the back of his chair, and took out a sheaf of papers. “As you wish, my princess.”

Sonya rolled her eyes. “Just call me Sonya, please.” She took the contract and began reading rapidly. This is similar to what I read online. Her eyes popped. This number wasn’t online, though. A one followed by five zeroes. Wow. This is diva money, and I’m no diva. St. Mark AME is going to be very happy with my tithes this year.

“Is everything … acceptable?” Larry asked.

“Everything seems to be in order.” Sonya watched Kim devour another half sandwich in three bites and gulp half of her soda. I wish you’d eaten like that before you had the champagne.

Larry handed Sonya a pen. “Just sign at all the X’s.”

“Not yet.” Sonya lifted a slice of bread. Looks like turkey. Is that some sliced avocado? At least it’s healthy. She took a bite. Not bad.

“So you have some reservations about the contract?” Larry asked.