Destination D (25 page)

Chris was tired of her performance and wanted to leave before the second act of her show. “Yeah, much
later,”
he said as he grabbed his jacket and limped toward the doorway to let himself out.

Damaged Belongings

D
ee felt as if she had been hit by an assembly line of cars. All she wanted to do was curl up with a good book and pretend that yesterday had never happened. She reveled in the fact that she and Pam's schedules were so opposite that they rarely were ever home at the same time. Today she was really looking forward to being home alone.

She slid the key into the doorknob, opened the door and pulled her luggage through. Without warning, her hopes of solitude were dashed. Still clad in her silk pajamas, Pam was sitting in the kitchen, reading the newspaper, and sipping a cup of coffee.

“Hey, what's up?” Dee walked in the kitchen and pretended to sound like she was happy to see her.

“Hey, girl,” Pam said sluggishly. Her eyes stared out blankly at the bare branches that tapped softly against the kitchen windowpane.

Dee glanced down at her watch. “Pam, what are you doing at home in the middle of the morning?”

“Huh?” Pam answered, still preoccupied with the branch's images.

Dee sat down next to her. “I said, what are you doing home?”

“I'm taking a little time off, that's all.”

“You?”

“Uh huh,” Pam said, continuing to sip her coffee and stare outside.

Dee got up and placed her hand over Pam's forehead. “No fever. So what's really going on with you? Does this time off have anything to do with you and Amanda?”

“My answer remains the same. I'm taking some time off.”

“You said that already, but why now?”

“I don't think I've taken a vacation in three years and I deserve it.” Pam sounded like she was trying to convince herself. She placed the cup carefully on the table and wandered toward the rays that were coming through the window, feeling the sun's warmth.

“Pam, I don't know what's going on, but I do know you well enough to know that this is not like you,” she said thoughtfully. She looked down on the floor and saw a small stack of papers sitting next to her chair. Dee scanned the statements from each of the paralegals in the office. Amanda Shipman was typed on every document. She walked over and placed her arm around Pam, who stood erect, managing to hold back her tears.

“I was right. You are home because of this issue with Amanda. What is happening with the two of you? This is so out of control!”

Pam chuckled slightly as she walked over to the coffee maker and poured herself another cup.

“What does this mean?”

“Well, according to the firm, I won't be selected for partnership at this time.” She choked on the words. “I mean, why would they make me partner if so many paralegals are afraid to work with me, right?” Pam turned her head back toward the window.

“Well, is any of it true? Any of it at all?”

Pam turned around and looked at Dee like she had just knifed her in the back. “Look, I work damn hard and have made that firm a helluva lot of money. And if you—or anyone else, for that matter—think that I'm going to let one whining bitch run through the firm and get all of these other whining-ass bitches to make besmirching and false accusations about me, then you're just as bad as they are! The only difference is that I'm not going to sue you!” Pam slammed down her coffee cup, spilling its contents onto the countertop before tearing out of the kitchen.

Dee followed Pam and stood in the doorway of her bedroom. It was hard to believe that she was talking about the same person that they went to college with not so long ago. “Pam…I'm sorry…I didn't mean to imply that—”

“Leave me the fuck alone, Dee! It's bad enough that they won't even let me confront her to defend myself, and now I've got to defend myself to you, too!
All
of you can just go straight to hell!” Pam yelled, slamming the door in her face. Despite her better judgment, Dee opened Pam's door slightly and stood in the doorway.

“Pam, don't take this out on me. I was only trying to find out what was true and what wasn't.”

Pam shot her an inquisitive look and all of a sudden she seemed miraculously calmer. “I know…I would have asked the same thing. I mean, it's what any good attorney would do right?”

“Very funny, Pam. I'm not going to let you turn this into a discussion about me, okay? So, what are you going to do about this? I know you. I'm sure you've already got a plan.”

“I really don't know yet.”

“I find that really hard to believe, Pam. You? Listen, I don't know how all of this has spun so out of control, but I do know that Amanda is
one of us.
You can't allow this to happen. This relationship has to be salvaged.”

“Why?”

“Because I can't come between you and her. I have a relationship with Tracey
and
Amanda, and I can't stand to see the two of you going at it like this.”

Pam shook her head solemnly. “I'm just so damn mad right now that all I can do is picture myself placing my hands around the necks of Amanda and those pompous bastards!” She picked up a pillow from her bed and tossed it across the room, missing Dee's head by a few inches.

“Ooookay,” Dee remarked, as she darted out of the way. “Maybe you
should
take a couple of weeks off and sort through this whole ordeal.”

“I know. I really do need some time to think about it. I'm just so pissed off.”

“I can see that and I'll leave you to your thoughts, okay?” Dee started walking toward the den as Pam suddenly eased up.

“Hey listen, I shouldn't be taking my problems out on you. Please, come back. My bark is worse than my bite,” Pam managed to crack a smile. “It's been a while since we've really talked. I've missed that.”

Dee sat down next to her on the bed. “Are you sure?”

Pam glanced down and lifted Dee's hand. “It's good to see your hand is back to normal,” she said as she eased it back down. “How are things going with
you?”

Dee's eyes shifted away from Pam. She was surprised to see the conversation quickly turn toward her and Pam's sudden interest in her hand. “All right, I guess.”
My hand is the only thing that is back to normal.

“Just all right?”

Dee nodded hastily. She definitely didn't want Pam to know what had happened in Miami. “Hey, all is good over this way. I think you've got enough of your own problems at this point. You certainly don't need to hear mine.”

“Hey, I guess we are both batting zeroes this week, huh?” Pam made the number with her thumb and middle finger as the phone rang. “Dee, hold on a sec. Hello?”

“Hello. May I speak to the most irresistible, smart, and beautiful woman in the room?”

“Hey there, Marc,” Pam said. Her eyes suddenly lit up and she managed to form a half-smile.

“I called you at the office and was surprised to hear you were on vacation.”

“I know. I hadn't had the chance to tell anybody yet. It came up kind of suddenly.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes, I'm fine. It's nothing I can't handle. Hey, can you call me back a little later?”

Dee shook her head no. “We'll talk later,” Dee whispered, as she left the room.

“Okay, I'm back,” Pam said into the receiver.

“Do you need to go?”

“No, it's okay…”

“Listen, I really want to see you again—kind of make up for the last time.”

“Marc, I don't think so. I wouldn't be very good company right now.”

“What do you mean? You should be on top of the world, lady! You have it all!” He was referring to the partnership he
thought
she had gotten by now. Pam could barely speak. Her throat felt like it was filled with cotton balls.

“Pam, are you there?”

Pam said nothing. She wanted to, but the words would not come out. She stared into the receiver and quietly hung it up.
I'm sorry.

Cruising Altitude

T
he main lobby of Vini Vidi Vici was filled with people waiting for a table in the trendy restaurant. Amanda made her way back to the bar, sauntering through the smoke and extreme noise. There he was. He was seated and handsomely dressed in a tailored, charcoal gray three-button Italian suit, which he accessorized with a light gray shirt and tie.

Amanda's heart seemed to stop momentarily as old feelings surfaced.
What am I thinking? I'll get what I came here for, and then I'm gone,
Amanda thought defiantly.

“Hey Amanda, over here,” Rickey said. His dark eyes penetrated the crowd as he walked toward her. The smell of his cologne was making Amanda weak. No matter how hard she tried to deny it, Rickey still looked good, even after all these years.

“Hi, Rickey.” Her tone was cool as she suddenly remembered his arrogance at the airport.

“Wow! Look at you,” he said hoping to warm the chill between them. She looked as stiff as the Mona Lisa. He touched her. “You look gorgeous, lady. I didn't realize your hair was so long.”

How could you? You haven't seen me in seventeen years, Rickey.
“Thank you.” She patted her hair awkwardly. His hair looked as if it had just been freshly cut.

“It makes you look about five or six years younger,” he said, as he found himself unconsciously reaching out to touch it. He loved women whose hairstyles looked natural. No extensions, no weaves.

Uncomfortable with his touch, Amanda pulled back slightly. “So, when will our table be ready?”

Rickey felt her uneasiness and pulled his hand back. “The waitress said in about ten more minutes. Do you want a drink?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Hmmmm…let me see, you look like an Apple Martini or Cosmopolitan Woman.” He eyed her up and down as he signaled to the bartender to take their drink orders.

Amanda didn't know why, but she felt herself blushing. “Either will be fine,” she said. She found it oddly coincidental that he knew her favorite drinks.
Did Tracey tell him that, too?

“Is that a smile I see seeping out of those cheeks, Ms. Shipman?”

Her smile quickly faded. “Rickey, don't get carried away. I'm only here for Tracey.”

“As am I,” he said, taking the drinks from the bartender. He tapped his glass with hers. “To Tracey!”

“Sir, your table is ready,” the waitress interjected.

Thank goodness,
Amanda thought.
I don't know how much longer I can stand this.

Rickey pulled Amanda's chair out, holding her drink while she took off her coat. “Here let me take that for you,” he said, taking a quick look at her behind.

“Thank you.”

Rickey nodded and gave Amanda a quick once-over. She had gotten a lot heavier since high school, but she was still a looker, and to him, she had the finest behind this side of Georgia. Amanda still had the same sweet personality that had made her so popular in high school even though she was hanging onto her poker face.

“I'll give you a few minutes to look over the menu and then I'll be right back,” the waitress said.

“I already know what I want,” Amanda said, quickly glancing over the menu and handing it back to her. “Let me get the salmon with a side salad.”

“Salmone with an Insalta Verde.
Good choice.” The waitress scribbled down her order then turned to Rickey. “And you, sir?”

Rickey looked over the menu. “I'll have the veal cutlet and a garden salad, also.”

“Great!
Scallopine Al Funghi and Insalta Verde.
I'll be back shortly with your dinner.”

Amanda waited until the waitress left the table before she spoke. “Okay, Rickey, let's skip the formalities, all right? You got me here to talk about
my
daughter, so let's do that.”

“You mean
our
daughter, don't you?”

Amanda shook her head somberly. “I said what I meant. Now, you tell me what is going on with you.”

“Well, how about you start first.”

“Me?”

“Why not you?”

Amanda could feel her tears waiting to fall. “Look,
I'm
not the one who wanted to meet after all of these years. You did! And as far as I'm concerned, you have been an MIA father since the day
my
child was born.”

“And that's how you wanted it,” Rickey flared. It took all of his strength to keep from raising his voice.

“Just stop it, Rickey.” She caught herself before she lost control, just as another couple looked over at them. She immediately lowered her voice. “You never once answered any of my letters.”

“All right, here we go again with that.”

“Yes, here we go
again,”
Amanda said, annoyed.

“Look, Amanda, the first time I had even
seen
your letters was when Tracey showed them to me.” Rickey paused. “Damn it…” he mumbled under his breath.

“Tracey, what?”

Rickey looked like a little boy who had accidentally let out the big family secret. “Nothing.”

“No. Please repeat what you just said.”

The waitress came back with their food and set it down on the table. “Would either of you care for some freshly ground pepper?”

“No!” they both shouted at the same time. The waitress looked as if she might cry.

“Listen, we're sorry.” Rickey's voice was sincere.

“He's right. We didn't mean to yell at you, really. Please accept our apologies,” Amanda added.

“We'll let you know if we need anything else,” Rickey chimed in. The waitress nodded and briskly walked away.

Rickey's voice grew calmer. “Listen, I wasn't supposed to say anything about it, but Tracey showed me some letters you had written and for some reason, I never got ‘em.”

Amanda clenched her teeth. “But how did she know where I kept them?”

“She said she happened to find them one day when she was cleaning out your closet.”

Amanda nibbled on her salad, thinking back to when Tracey had last helped her with her closet. That was three months ago. Right when Tracey started acting distant.

“Amanda, I swear to you I never got those letters.”

“Well, they were all returned unopened and in an envelope. Dummy me just kept sending and sending again, hoping you would open just one that had Tracey's picture in it. Just one!” she said, angrily stabbing her fish and shoving a tiny piece in her mouth.

“Amanda, this is mind-boggling. I never got them. I swear. And it's not like I didn't try to reach you either.”

“Rickey, stop it.” She firmly placed the fork down on the side of her plate, restraining herself from stabbing him with it. “The only thing I've ever received from you is a transfer of funds from your account to mine for child support.”

Rickey thought about what Amanda was saying. When Amanda had gotten pregnant, he was busy playing for Notre Dame. And with the NFL scouting him big time, his mother decided that she would be the one to handle his personal affairs. She had been the one to set up the bank account and wire the money. He didn't have time to do anything except play football. She opened his mail and—

“No, she wouldn't!” he said out loud to himself.

Amanda raised her eyebrow at him. “What did you say?”

Rickey sipped his drink. “Nothin'.”

They were both silent. Amanda watched him as he slowly chewed his veal. His mustache didn't have a hair out of place, and his skin was as smooth as chocolate brown satin. Rickey's good looks remained true to him over the years. Too bad the rest of him was such a lie.

“Okay, Rickey, it's pretty evident that we are not going to be able to resolve the letter issue, but can you at least be truthful about how you found Tracey?”

Rickey's face showed his disappointment that she still did not believe him. “Fair enough. Well, if you don't believe me about the letters, I doubt if you'll believe me about how I met Tracey.”

“You're probably right. But tell me anyway,” Amanda sneered.

Rickey shook his head and looked at her intensely. “All right, Miss Smarty. But don't say I didn't warn you.”

Amanda rolled her eyes and felt the urge to just get up and leave. What a waste of time it was coming down here to meet him. He wouldn't know the truth if it crawled out from under the table and set him on fire.

“Amanda, I'm telling you, it was so surreal. I was on the radio about the same time Tracey found those letters, I guess. It was Kiss FM, I think,” he said, tapping his fingers on the table, trying to remember. “The interview was about young men who were getting drafted from their second year in college and going right into the NFL, like I did.”

“Rickey, will you just get to the point, please? I didn't come here to listen to your stories about your radio interviews or your—”

“I know, but this has everything to do with Tracey,” he pleaded.

Amanda sat back, impatiently folding her arms across her chest and nodding for him to go on with the story.

“Anyway, I swear they must have answered fifty calls, but it was that last one that blew everyone away. I'll never forget it. DJ Cal said, ‘We only have a few minutes on the line here with Rickey Mavers. What's your question?' A young woman's voice blazed through the phone like a flare gun. She said, ‘I'd like to ask Mr. Mavers why he has not seen his daughter in seventeen years?'”

Amanda opened her mouth to speak, but managed only to gasp.

Rickey paused for a moment. “You asked me to tell you about how Tracey and I got together. I know you want to know, but do you think you can handle the truth?”

Amanda nodded slowly. She wasn't sure. If the rest of the story was going to be more dramatic than this, then maybe she needed another drink. She signaled the waitress with her glass to bring her another Cosmopolitan. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had alcohol, and it had been even longer since she had two drinks back-to-back.

Rickey chuckled to himself, watching Amanda take another sip of her drink as soon as the waitress set it down. He knew how she felt. He'd felt the same way when he heard Tracey's voice for the first time.

“Anyway, Cal looked at me, and I must have been in total shock as he scribbled onto a piece of paper, ‘You wanna answer this, man?' I was speechless. The lines on the phone lit up like a string of white Christmas lights. Then Cal picked up the line she was on and asked if she wanted to leave a contact name and number where I could call her. She said, matter-of-factly, ‘He knows my name, and as for my number, it's 404-555-6189.' I couldn't take any more calls after that! They had to break right into a commercial.”

Amanda stared into space. She didn't know if she was in shock from Rickey's story or if she was just tipsy. “Rickey, I don't know what to say. What did you do?”

“Well, Cal came over to me and said, ‘Hey, man, you all right?' I could only shake my head slowly from side to side. I said, ‘I can barely breathe, man.' He had one of his staff members go and get me some water and the phones were still lighting up like crazy and then he asked me, ‘What you wanna do, man?' I couldn't do nothin'. Not a damn thing.” He took another sip of his drink and closed his eyes. “The call just made me weak, you know? Like I had just been hit in the gut with a sledgehammer.”

Amanda had rested her hand on the side of her face as she listened intently. She was still speechless and numb. Was this really Tracey he was talking about? It didn't sound like her.

“Anyway, Cal went back on the air, hoping—and I mean praying— that he would come up with something since I'd left him swimming in the deepest part of the ocean without a life jacket. I heard him say ‘Yo! Listen up everybody, Rickey's gotta handle his business right now, but we gon' get him back here after he's straightened it out.' He looked me dead in the eyes. ‘Right, man?' I was so weak; all I could say was ‘Yeah.' His assistant had offered to give me some privacy in their reading area. I had to get out of there. I just asked for the number that Cal had written down on a piece of paper and then told her to tell Cal that I would holla at him later. I cursed your name all the way home that night,” he said, looking at her with resentment for the first time that evening.

“Cursed me, why?”

“Cause I felt like you never told her about me. She hated me. She thought
I
was the reason why she never knew me.”

“Rickey, have you forgotten? You
are
the reason.”

“No, I'm not! I keep trying to tell you that, but you won't listen to me.”

Amanda looked at him hopelessly. He had really convinced himself that he was not at fault. She relented for the moment as she carefully posed her next question. “So, did you end up calling her that evening?”

“Naw, you kiddin' me? I had to wait about a week before I could get up the nerve to call her.” He paused again and took another sip of his drink. “When I finally
did
get up the nerve to call her, she answered the phone and my stomach just felt like it had just gone down a roller coaster slope. I told her that calling her up on the phone was a little awkward.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Amanda interrupted.

“I even told her that I wasn't sure if she was who she said she was.”

“Oh, I'll bet she had something to say about that.”

Rickey shook his head. “Man, that girl is somethin' else. You know what she said to me?” Amanda shook her head. She found herself hanging onto every word. “She said, ‘Oh, I can show you all of Mama's bank receipts with your electronic transfers on it for my child support if you need proof that I'm really your daughter!'”

“And that's when you knew?” Amanda asked, still having a hard time believing that this was
her
daughter that they were talking about.

“I knew even before then. She sounds just like you, Amanda. And then she mentioned the little picture that you still keep hidden in your wallet of us at senior prom and asked if I would like her to bring that to me as well. Is that true? Do you still carry it around with you?” Amanda's silence answered his question. “May I see it?”