Black Lace (8 page)

Lacy banged her head again for a few more moments, then straightened up. “Okay. I’ll just have to deal with it, I guess.”

“Prepare yourself for a few pieces of hate mail too, then.”

“Hate mail?”

Ida nodded. “Some of the women in this town are cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, as we used to say back in the day. They’re not going to be happy seeing you with the mayor.”

“What?” Lacy asked incredulously.

“I’m not kidding. When he first got elected, women tried to break into the mansion to see him. They hid in the bushes, waited for him in the baggage claim at the airport. That’s part of the reason he has the police detail with him most of the time. One crazy broad even went to the papers and said he was the father of her five kids. She was a woman from his church. Supposedly his mama took care of that one.”

Lacy couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Do you know about the magazine spread he was in?” Ida asked.

“No. When was this?”

“It was right before the election so must have been early ’02.”

“What was the article about?”

“It was called the ‘Fifty Most Eligible Black Men on the Planet,’ and His Fineness was one of them. Rhonda said he got 35,000 letters after the magazine came out.”

Lacy was speechless, then asked, “Who writes to men they see in magazines?”

“At least 35,000 women do.”

“Oh my goodness. Ida, that’s crazy.”

“That’s what I’m telling you. Enjoy his company but expect the unexpected.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Ida smiled, then asked, “So how was the date?”

Lacy swooned against the back of her chair. “Fabulous. He is so wonderful.”

“Good. I think you two will do good together.”

“Why?”

“Just a feeling.” Ida stood, then said, “Let me get back to my desk. If the
National Enquirer
calls, we’ll tell them you’re in Paris with Tupac.”

Lacy laughed. “Appreciate it.”

Once the silence resettled, Lacy mulled over what she’d been told. She found the 35,000 letters pretty amazing. It had never occurred to her that dating the mayor might be hazardous to her health. He had run her off the road, but that was different. Ida was convinced there were some pretty Mad Hatters out there, and Lacy knew that as crazy as the world was today, it behooved her to take Ida’s warnings seriously.
Lordy!

Lacy supposed she should call him and let him know that thanks to Ida’s cousin Remmie, the cat was out of the bag.

Rhonda put her call right through.

“’Morning, baby,” he said in that sensual voice of his.

“How are you?”

“Doing okay. Thought about you after I got home. Wanted to call you but I don’t have your number.”

“Do you have a pencil?”

“Ready.”

Lacy recited the numbers.

“Thanks,” he said. “So, what’s going on with you?”

“Just wanted to let you know, Ida’s cousin lives across the hall and she saw you leaving my place.”

“Damn. Can she keep a secret?”

“According to Ida, not even if her life depends on it.”

She heard Drake sigh with frustration. “Okay,” he said. “How are you feeling about maybe being on the front page?”

“I’ll just deal with it. Can’t do anything else.”

“I’m sorry,” he offered quietly.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for and besides, I had a really good time.”

“So did I. How about dinner at my place next time?”

“Just tell me when.”

“I’ll call you tonight and see what we can work out.”

“I’d like that.”

He then said, “Can you hold on a minute, please?”

“Sure.”

She heard his muffled voice and assumed their call had been interrupted by someone wanting to discuss something with him. A few seconds later he was back, saying, “Sorry. Had to talk to Rhonda a minute.”

“No problem.

“So, we agree on dinner at my place.”

“We agree.”

“Good. I’ll call you tonight.”

“Okay. ’Bye.”

“’Bye.”

After she put the phone down, Lacy sighed. She now
knew what women like her mother meant by a
“dream boat.”
Drake was all that and a bag of chips, too.

That night he did call. “What’re you doing?” he asked.

Lacy picked up the TV remote and muted the television. “Watching a documentary on snow leopards on the National Geographic channel.”

“Is it any good?”

“Yes, but I’d rather talk to you.”

“Watch out. You’re going to give me the big head.”

“I think your head’s already there. Ida told me about the magazine spread you did back in ’02. Did you really get 35,000 letters?”

He laughed. “Sure did, and I’ve been sending them all thank-you letters.”

Lacy shook her head. “That’s insane. They’re insane.”

“Come on, now. Some of them were very nice ladies. I got pictures from Guam, France, Switzerland. I still have about five thousand to go, though. Give or take a few hundred.”

Lacy was amazed. “I’m sure they all appreciate you writing back, but 35,000? I told Ida I’d never write a man in a magazine.”

“Not even me?”

She laughed. “No.”

“I’m hurt.”

“Life is rough sometimes.”

“If I were there, I’d kiss that sassy mouth of yours.”

“And I’d let you.”

“Be careful now. I’m only a few minutes away.”

“I dare you.”

He laughed then. “You dare me?”

“Yep.”

“All right, Miss Girl. You’re on.”

And he hung up.

Lacy stared down at the phone with wide eyes. Had they been cut off? She punched his number into the phone. It rang but he didn’t pick up. She lowered the phone. Was he really on his way over? She’d been kidding. It was after ten and she was in her pjs, for heaven’s sake. “He wasn’t serious. He’s not coming here,” she said to the silent apartment.

But what if he was? The thought made her giddy. Jumping up, the now grinning Lacy ran to her bedroom and struggled into a clean set of sweats, checked her hair, quickly brushed her teeth, then went back out to the snow leopards to wait.

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later the buzzer sounded. Making herself walk slow, she strolled to the intercom. “Who’s there?”

“Me.”

“Do I know you?” she asked saucily.

His humor-laced voice came back, “Let me up, woman. Don’t make me call the fire department. I’ll have a cherry picker drop me right down on your balcony.”

Laughing, Lacy hit the buzzer and awaited his arrival.

When she opened the door to his knock, the smile on his face told her all she needed to know. He was
dressed in a pair of jeans and a tattered Lions shirt. He closed the door behind him, then said possessively, softly, “Come here, you….”

And Lacy went.

He pulled her in against him and gently held her there. Looking down into her eyes, he said, “Now, about this kiss…”

Lacy’s eyes glowed with sensual challenge. “Took you long enough to get here.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “What am I going to do with you?”

She remained silent.

“Guess this is all I have,” he whispered, then lowered his head to give her the kiss they’d both been craving.

He brushed his lips over her in silent invitation, and she replied in the same wordless fashion. They teased each other with hypnotic gives and takes until they were both breathing loud and their hands began to roam. His palms burned through the thin cotton of her sweats to her skin, and she reveled in the feel of the hard smooth strength of his bare arms beneath her caressing hands.

They kissed their way across the room and then down onto the couch. He ran a worshipping hand up the outside of her thigh over her hip and up her ribs until he found a small hard-nippled breast. He nibbled at it, and Lacy arched and let out a sound of pleasure. Somewhere a phone buzzed. It was Drake’s, but he chose Lacy over it and let his voice mail get it. But the buzzing came back, again and again. Finally,
Drake snatched the phone off his belt and looked at the number. Myk.

He sighed. “Sorry, baby.” Then he barked into the phone, “Dammit. What?”

“Where are you?” Myk asked on the other end.

“None of your business.”

“Testy, are we? Well get your mayoral behind to the meeting. We’re waiting on you.” Then he hung up.

Drake sank back against the couch. He turned to Lacy. The look of her passion-lidded eyes made him even harder. “I have to go. It’s what I get for having so much on my plate.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t.” And it wasn’t. In his eagerness to get over here and taste her sassy little mouth, he’d forgotten about tonight’s eleven o’clock NIA meeting. Now he had to leave her.

Lacy understood that he had responsibilities, and for her to get upset because of it made no sense. He was the mayor, after all. She moved closer and kissed him softly. “Go take care of your business.”

Resigned, Drake kissed her back so thoroughly and completely they both wished they had more time. He ended by giving her a series of short parting presses of his lips against hers before drawing away from her tempting mouth for good. He then ran a slow finger down her soft cheek. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

She nodded.

He kissed the tip of her nose then stood.

While Lacy watched from the couch, he left, softly closing the door behind him.

Drake walked into the conference room at Chandler Works, and the five NIA board members already at the table applauded his arrival. Embarrassed, he shook his head and took a seat.

“Glad you could make it,” Myk told him.

“Just start the meeting,” Drake tossed back.

So the smiling Myk did just that.

They were reviewing the video made by the crew that snuck into Parker’s house on the night of the museum dinner. The only points of interest were the two safes they’d found. There was one in the basement and another built into the wall in what appeared to be the wife’s bedroom. There hadn’t been time to open them and search the contents. They’d save that for the next trip.

Drake asked, “Any new news on finding Wheeler?”

“Nothing new so far. The feds are going to search his computer sometime in the next few days. They’re hoping it’ll shed some light on what might have happened to him.”

The next item on the agenda was a report on Maxine Blake and the scientist Adam Gary. “She’s at his compound, but the two of them aren’t getting along.”

“What’s the problem?” one of the female NIA board members asked, adding, “Please don’t tell me the man has gender issues?”

Myk nodded. “That’s part of it. Apparently he’s not comfortable having Max as his security advisor, and he’s not feeling her dogs either.”

Max worked with two very intelligent rottweilers
named Ruby and Ossie. Drake knew that the dogs were more intelligent than a lot of people, so he was confused by Adam’s reactions to them. “Is he allergic to dogs? I don’t remember seeing anything about that in the info the Defense Department provided us on him.”

“No. According to Max, Gary just doesn’t like dogs.”

“How’s she handling it?”

“You know Maxine. She told him to get over it.”

The NIA board members went over a few more agenda items then called it a night.

Drake and Myk were in the elevator going down to the garage when Myk said, “Not like you to miss a meeting.”

“I was busy.”

“I see,” Myk replied knowingly. “She must be speaking to you now.”

Drake smiled but didn’t answer.

“Remember all the grief you gave me when I missed NIA meetings because Sarita was all I could think about?”

“Yes.”

“Well, payback is a dog, my brother.”

“Shut up,” Drake told him, trying to keep a straight face.

Then they laughed.

Lacy’s Thursday evening meeting at
the Northwest Activities Center started off slowly, mostly because there were only ten people in attendance. She quickly got over her disappointment with the low turnout and dove into her presentation. She began with the Blight Court proposal. It was basically the same talk she’d made at the mayor’s meeting, and like the mayor, the environmentalists found her ideas exciting.

A light-skinned Black man named Rick Klein represented a group called Detroit Rehab. When Lacy finished her report, he pumped his fist in the air and called out, “Finally, somebody downtown gets it! Thank you, thank you, Ms. Green!” His organization, one of the city’s most visible groups, refurbished abandoned homes then sold them for a profit.

Lacy was glad for his support but still wished there were more than ten people at the meeting.

A lady who said she represented one of the block clubs nearby asked, “So what can we do when we see somebody dumping? I’ve stopped calling downtown because nobody ever does anything when I do.”

Lacy noted that many of the others nodded in agreement. “I want you to call my office,” she said. “We’ll be setting up a hotline. It should be up and running in a few days. We’re also in the process of fixing the surveillance cameras. Once they’re working again, we can use the pictures on the tapes as evidence. In the meantime, I’m trying to get funding for disposable cameras people can use at their homes, especially people on the southwest side. Most of the real dumping happens there.”

The same woman asked, “When do you think you’ll get them? We have a lot of seniors in our area who’d be real helpful with this since they’re retired and home most of the day. Lot of them don’t do nothing but look out the window anyway.”

A few people chuckled.

Lacy told her, “Depends on if there’s any money available. The mayor has promised to look into the matter. I’m not sure if the City Council has to approve the purchase first.”

Rick Klein tossed out sarcastically, “Hell will freeze over before Council acts. What about private money?”

Lacy shrugged. “I’ve tried to get donations, but so far nothing. You have any ideas?”

So for the next hour, Lacy and her small group of volunteers brainstormed ideas on how to get the home camera program privately funded. Someone wanted
to bombard the camera manufacturers with letters and phone calls, others wanted to hit up the auto manufacturers, or the Big Three, as they were known in Detroit: Chrysler, Ford, and General Motors. Someone else thought getting the local churches on board might be the way. Lacy liked that idea. She hadn’t thought about enlisting the city’s very powerful church base in the battle.

Once the initial discussion began to wind down, she asked, “Anyone else?”

“Yeah!”

Startled, she looked up. A young man was standing back by the doorway. He appeared to be in his late twenties, had a large ’fro and wore a leather jacket and scruffy jeans. Beside him were three similarly dressed men of about the same age and a lone young woman with an Ipod jack in her ear. Her winter white skin stood out against the dark skin of the men.

But the man who’d spoken was the one Lacy was watching, just like he was watching her. He had an average dark-skinned face, but the light brown eyes seemed to glow like flames.

“Are you here for the environmental meeting?” she asked.

A light of amusement appeared in his blazing eyes. “Don’t I look like an environmentalist?”

The small band of new arrivals made their way to the front seats. “Name’s Lenny. Lenny Durant. This here’s my main crew. We call ourselves, BAD—Blacks against dumping. Hey Rick.”

“Lenny.” The tightness on Rick’s face made Lacy wonder what the history between the two men involved. Rick didn’t look happy to see Lenny at all.

Lenny and his crew sat.

“Thanks for coming,” Lacy said.

“You know about us?”

Lacy shook her head. “Sorry. I’ve only been in Detroit six months.”

He took a moment to look her up and down. “So, what have I missed?”

“Quite a bit, actually. I’ll catch you up when we’re done.”

“Don’t worry about it. I just came to say me and BAD aren’t waiting on the city anymore. The next dumper we find is gonna wish he’d stayed his ass in the suburbs,” and he looked around at Rick.

Rick seemed to take offense. “And that means what?”

“Nothing, but if we bust a few caps in a few fat suburban butts, they’ll think twice about polluting our neighborhoods again.”

Rick shook his head. “This isn’t the sixties. You can’t go around blowing people away.”

“Why not?” The anger in Lenny’s eyes was apparent to everyone in the room. “I say we declare open war on these busters and see how they like it.”

Lacy shook her head. “I feel you, but we aren’t advocating violence.”

“They’re advocating violence on us. Have you seen the statistics on how much crap is dumped in our communities nationwide every day? Want to know
how many kids and seniors die each year from these toxic murderers? I heard you talking about cameras. Forget that. What the city ought to be giving out are guns.”

Lacy blew out a breath. “How many members are in your organization?”

“Depends. If I put the word out, I can call on maybe two, three hundred people.”

Lacy wondered how much truth lay behind that boast. If he could really depend on that many people, maybe this coalition would work. “Would they be willing to come to a meeting so I can get their addresses and add them to our alert phone trees and mailing list?”

“They’re not much on meeting and talking. BAD is about action.”

“I have no problem with that, but can I have your number in case I need your people?”

“I’ll give you my mom’s number. She’ll know how to track me down.”

Lacy had him write the number on her pad, and as he wrote, he looked up at her and asked, “You got a man?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“You gay?”

Lacy just looked at him.

He chuckled, then handed her back the pad. For a moment those burning eyes seemed to stare into her soul. It was like looking into the eyes of a predator who intended to play with the prey before killing it. She shivered involuntarily.

He asked then, “You got a card?”

Lacy gave him one from the stack she had on the table. His eyes never left hers as he put it into the pocket of his coat. “I’ll be in touch,” he said quietly.

The woman with him cut Lacy a cool look but didn’t say anything. Lenny waved a tight good-bye to the scowling Rick, then left the room.

“Well,” Lacy said.

“Stay away from him,” Rick told her. “He’s bad news. Real bad news.”

Lacy got the sense that she might not have a choice. She knew as sure as her name was Lacy Green that she would run into Lenny again somewhere, soon. “How do you know each other?”

“Was introduced to him about five years ago. He was just starting BAD. Wanted our board’s help in getting them some funding. We were happy to help. When the funding was denied because they hadn’t been in existence long enough, he blamed us. Said we deliberately sabotaged the application.”

“Did you?” Lacy asked.

He looked shocked. “Of course not. The next day some of the houses we were working on burned to the ground. The fire marshal said it was definitely arson.”

“And you suspected BAD.”

“Yes. But we couldn’t prove it and the arsonist was never caught.”

Lacy studied Rick’s face for a moment. She wasn’t sure if she believed his version of the story. Something in his eyes just wasn’t right. She didn’t have time to delve into it now though, so she filed his story away
for later. Right now she wanted to wrap up the meeting and go home.

She made sure she got everyone’s contact information and then thanked them for coming. They decided to meet once a month for now, and after setting a mutually agreed upon date, grabbed their coats and belongings and headed for the door.

When Lacy got back to her apartment, she helped herself to the Chinese food she’d picked up on the way home, then turned on the NBA and sat down to eat.

Then she called her mother. Lacy had deliberately not told her about the dinner with Drake beforehand, because knowing Valerie Garner Green, her mother would have hopped a plane and been knocking on Lacy’s door that very same night, eagerly wanting the 411. Lacy loved her mother dearly, but all that creative energy could be overwhelming at times. Her own personality was more in tune with her mailman daddy, Martin, or at least that’s how she viewed herself—very down to earth, and even boring at times, though she could be moved to passion when it came to something she cared deeply about. Like cleaning up the environment.

Lacy’s father answered the phone. “Hey there, baby girl.”

“Hi, Daddy. How’s the mail business?”

“Not bad,” he said with a smile in his voice. “How’re things up there in the Murder City?”

“Stop that. Lots of folks being shot in Atlanta too. So don’t ever start. I feel real safe here.”

“Well, I’d feel safer if you got you a gun.”

“Daddy?”

“I’m serious. When was the last time you went to the range?”

Lacy thought back.

He told her, “If you have to think about it, then it’s time.”

Her father, like most of the men in the South, grew up around firearms for hunting and protection purposes. To her mother’s dismay, Martin’s gift to Lacy for her thirteenth birthday had been a brand new bb gun. He’d set up a small range on the fence in their rural backyard, and over the next few weeks taught Lacy to shoot, and shoot well. She thought shooting was cool for a while, but like most teenage girls, moved on to more gender appropriate activities, like gawking at boys.

Her father asked, “You still have a valid permit, don’t you?”

Silence.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Daddy?” she whined.

“Get your license renewed. Now, here’s your mother.”

Lacy felt twelve years old all over again.

“Hey baby. What was he fussing about?”

“My not having a valid gun license.”

“He’s just worried about you. Do what you think is best. Now, what’s going on with my child?”

“Remember when you told me if the mayor asked me out, I was supposed to say yes? Well, I invited him to my place for dinner instead.”

A profound silence followed.

“Mama? You still there?”

Val finally answered. “I am. I just had to find a chair so I could sit down.”

Lacy laughed. “Are you ready now?”

“I think so. Go ahead.”

So, Lacy told her about the dinner date. She left out the kissing parts, though. “What’s he like?”

“Genuinely nice. Said we’d take it slow, and I liked that.”

“Praise the Lord.”

Lacy laughed. “Why’d you say that?”

“Because maybe you’ve finally found somebody worthy of you, baby. You’re a real complex woman, and some men these days can’t handle complex.”

“Amen to that.”

“So the fact that he wants to go slow and isn’t pushing himself on you says a lot to me.”

“Me, too.”

“Good. I hope I’ll get a chance to meet him. Hint. Hint.”

“If it gets that far, you will definitely meet him. I promise.”

“I’m going to hold you to that. What else is going on?”

Lacy gave her mother an update on her ankle and what was going on at work. She also related her encounter with City Councilman Parker.

Val asked, “Did he say why he was so mad?”

“Not really. It was weird. Kind of surprising too.”

“Did you feel threatened?”

“In a way, yes, but not really. Does that make sense?”

“I suppose. Well, keep an eye on him. People are crazy these days.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Oh, one last thing. Did you ever get a car?”

“Haven’t had time.”

“That’s what I figured, so I ordered you one from one of the dealers up there.”

“Mama—”

“Lacy, you’re no longer the little girl I can spoil anytime I like, so let me do this. Just this once?”

Lacy was thirty-two years old, and she had a good job. She didn’t need her mama buying her a car. “Mama, I don’t—”

“Lacy, my art has made me so rich, there’s no way your father and I can spend it all before we die. You know that. Since the bulk of it will be coming to you anyway, think of the car as an advance on your inheritance. Oh, and an early birthday present too.”

Lacy knew when she was fighting a losing battle with her mother, and this was one of those times, so she surrendered. If her mother wanted to buy her a car, so be it. She was independent, but she wasn’t stupid. “Okay, what’s the name of the dealership?” she asked.

Val gave her the name, and the name of the sales person she needed to contact.

“Thanks, Mama.”

“You’re welcome. Enjoy the car, and tell that fine man of yours I say, hello.”

A smile filled Lacy’s face. “I will, and you tell that fine daddy of mine I’ll get my licensed renewed so he can sleep at night.”

Val chuckled. “Good. I’m on my way to Amsterdam in the morning. I’ll be back at the end of the month. Keep me posted. Love you, baby girl.”

Lacy wasn’t surprised to hear her mother was leaving the country. For Valerie Garner Green, traveling was a way of life. “Love you too, Mama. Be careful traveling. ’Bye, now.”

Lacy clicked off.

“So, I have a car,” she said out loud. She shook her head at her beautiful flower child mother and went back to the game. Drake had called her this morning at work. He was flying to San Antonio tonight for a mayor’s conference and would be returning Sunday afternoon. Thinking about them both getting onto planes, Lacy said a quick prayer that their journeys would be safe ones.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, miss. This is the car your mother ordered.”

It was Saturday afternoon and Lacy was looking at the black Chrysler Crossfire Coupe her mother had purchased to replace her Escort. The car resembled a fine piece of art. From the black clear coat finish, to the stylish wheels, to the satin silver finished interior, it was beautiful. According to the salesman, the Crossfire had 215 horses under the hood, and a six speed manual transmission to set them free. The sleek coupe was way flashier than anything she would have
purchased, probably the main reason her mother had chosen it. Val had always been after her to be more cutting edge, more extravagant, and this Crossfire was definitely both.